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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 6 months ago

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The Lonely Souls Club 8

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as stalking, loneliness, noncon, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Two lost souls cross, but not all those are lost, want to be found.

Characters: Bucky Barnes

Note: told you i had the itch.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Bucky

He lifts her with one arm. His real arm. She fits it perfectly. He carries her to the bed, feeling her rattle with barely restrained sobs. He lays her down and she yelps, her hand brushing his chest as she reaches to her hip.

“I’m sorry, I hurt you,” he hovers over her, his heart pumping hotly.

“No, no,” she groans and writhes in agony, “no, it’s... me. It always... hurts.”

He frowns. He feels that pain. They may have fixed him but there’s still pain. He can take a punch, even from a train on a track, but he still feels all of it. Most of all, he feels what’s missing. The part of him that isn’t there.

“Can I get you anything?” He asks. “Do you need to eat? Water?”

“Please, just leave me,” she begs and hugs a pillow, “please, I don’t want you to see me like this.”

“Doll,” the word slips from his lips, it tastes like sugar, but he can’t help but choke. He inhales and lets it out slowly, “I can’t leave you alone. It’s my job to help those in need. You need me.”

She looks at him and it’s like he’s been hit right in the gut. She’s beautiful. Her face is streaked with tears, her hair unkempt, and her eyes gleam with pain, but to him, she’s immaculate.

“Why?” She asks. “How... how did you find me?”

He’s struck again. He falters just a little bit. He thinks of telling her the truth. Of telling her everything. He can’t. If he does, she’ll be afraid. He couldn’t take that. He couldn’t handle her looking at him like everyone else does.

“Sometimes we just find who we’re meant to,” he says and believes it.

She sniffles and squeezes the pillow tighter. She rests her cheek against the top and stares off at the wall. He knows even talking is too much for her right now.

He goes to the door and picks up his arm. He looks down at the black and gold vibranium as he pulls shut the inner door, the outer one is broken. He lays his prosthetic on the corner of the bed, out of her way, and pauses to feel the thin mattress. He puts pressure on it and the frame creaks. Not good enough.

He stands straight and goes into the kitchen. The counter is cleared. He opens the cupboard and sees it all. She calls his name but he ignores her. Why was she so upset? It’s more than just her hip. He pulls out the box of macaroni. Inside, the packet of cheese is divided into three separate baggies, the noodles too.

He squints and puts it back. He takes out the oats and the rice. It’s all the same. It’s all portioned down but not nearly enough to sate. She’s rationing. He sets the boxes back and grabs the sugar dish. It’s empty. The box of green tea has only three packets left. Tea is an appetite suppressant; she’s gone through it so fast, he can guess why.

His heart drops. He ate more than this in the 30s. A mayo sandwich was much more appetizing than a quarter packets of quick oats. He looks around and nears the fridge.

“Bucky, please, don’t,” she calls to him. He stops. There’s a piece of paper under the magnet.

‘After review, your government allowance has been recalculated...’

He swipes the paper from under the magnet and reads it. They took more than a quarter of her usual stipend. How could they do that? He saw her shopping cart, he’s seen how she eats, how she lives. Why would they do this to her?

He wants to tear it up but he knows that won’t change anything. She continues to groan on the fold out bed, the frame squeaking with her sobs. He peers over at the bathroom door. He doesn’t need to look inside at the grimy shower barely big enough for her.

None of this is good enough for her. She’s all alone here. And now they’re trying to starve her out. That’s what they do. If you’re not useful, they abandon you.

Fuck that.

He marches around the couch and searches around. He grabs an empty tote hanging by the door and goes to the little plastic drawers. He reaches inside and stuffs as much into the bag as he can. She babbles his name. She sits up, watching him.

“What are you doing?”

He doesn’t answer. He can’t. He’s so fucking angry, he might scream and he doesn’t want to frighten her. He strides across the basement apartment and into the bathroom. He grabs her toothbrush, her brush, whatever he can. He opens the cabinet and finds the pill bottles. Two tablets. The rest are empty.

He comes back out and takes his arm off the worn mattress. He snaps it in place and throws a blanket over her. She whimpers as she gapes at him. He hooks the bag over his shoulder and scoops her up, keeping the blanket snug around her.

“Wait, Bucky, what’s happening?” She whines.

“You can’t stay here,” he says as he feels around until he finds the top of her cane. He grips it and turns it in his grip, angling it with him as he moves around the couch.

“No, what—where are you taking me?”

“You deserve better.”

“Please, Bucky,” she murmurs, “I...”

“I don’t judge you, doll,” he goes to the door and works around her to open it, “I judge those bastards.”

“What do you mean?”

“I lost my god—my arm for those people. I went to war. I went through hell,” he growls as he stomps out, stopping short as he sees the motorcycle parked outside. Shit. She can’t ride that. “But they gave me a new arm, they gave me a new life, but what did they do for you?”

She gulps and he hears her heart pick up. She’s embarrassed. She shouldn’t be.

“I told you, I help those who need me,” he takes her down the alleyway. “It’s okay to need people.”

He comes out to pavement and looks up and down the street. He’ll get a cab. That’s the easiest way. He’d walk but she needs to lay down. She needs a hot bath and a proper bed. She’s suffered enough.

Reader

Bucky waves the cane from under you and finally hails a cab. He approaches with you in his arms and you keep your head down. You feel like everyone’s staring. That’s what they do when he’s around.

He gets you in the back seat and rearranges you with the bag and your cane. There’s a tick in his jaw that worries you. You’ve seen that in men before. You’re distracted from the reminder as your hip pangs again.

You shakily buckle your seat belt as the driver shifts into gear and joins the slow stream of New York traffic. Bucky sits slightly forward, the seat belt straining on his chest, watching through the windshield impatiently. His fingertips tap together as his lips move noiselessly.

“Bucky,” you say his name.

He looks over at you and the tension drains from his jaw, “hey, doll, sorry I... I’m just thinking. You need something?”

“Where are we going?” You ask again.

He tilts his head, his brows lowering, “home.”

“Your place?” You ask as you shift and rub your hip.

He nods, “yeah, my place.”

“Oh.”

“Oh?” He echoes.

“Why?”

He looks away and his cheeks tug down, “I saw the letter. The food. You... you can’t live like that.”

“But--”

“I told you,” he grits. “No more arguing. You need to relax. If you keep tensing up, you’re only gonna make it worse.”

He’s right. You sniff and try to ease your muscles. The slow crawl of traffic has you jerking with the driver’s brakes. Bucky warns him to take it easy.

When at last you reach your destination, he pays and tips the driver. He gets you to the edge of the seat, taking the bag and cane too. You wave him off and grab the cane. He lets you have it and you stand. You stumble and grab onto him with your other hand to get up on the curb.

Your gait is stunted, more than usual as each step sends a ripple through your hip. You look up at the walk-up and stop at the bottom of the steep stairs. You stare at them, defeated.

“I’ll get you up,” he says.

You hang your head, “it’s just gonna be one thing after another. Can’t do this, can’t do that... take me home.”

He ignores you and wraps his arm around your back. He urges you onward, supporting most of your weight as you climb. You get to the top and he punches in a code on a keypad beneath the door handle. It opens and he angles you inside.

It’s a nice place. A townhouse. The kind you could never afford. The walls have that vintage brick look and the floors are real hardwood. The front room is plaster painted in sky blue and the trim matches the floors. It’s all so much nicer than your life. You feel even less welcome.

“Come on, I’ll take you upstairs,” he says as he finishes unlacing his boots. You have only your socks on.

“Upstairs?” You repeat.

“Bathtub is up there,” he says. He stands and puts his arms out, “can I?”

You look away and nod. You can’t do any more stairs. He lifts you carefully and you rest the can over you. He carries you up the stairs and down the hall. You weigh nothing in his arms.

“The room next to this, that’s mine. I’ll change the bedding, put your bag in there.”

“What?”

“Yeah, I—I don’t sleep in there. I don’t really sleep at all,” he takes you into the bathroom and sits you carefully on the toilet seat. “It’s not too far. If you need anything, say my name.” He stands up and puts his hands on my hips, “you don’t even gotta yell. I can hear through the walls.”

You look up at him. How could you forget how special he is. He has that serum in him.

“Okay.”

He looks over at the tub and chews his lip, “you... you good?”

“I can manage,” you realise he’s asking if you need help.

“Well, when you get out, don’t hesitate to call for help.”

“I’ll be alright.”

“You know,” he begins abruptly, even before you finish the last syllable, “I don’t think any of what you think I do. You’re not weak. You remind me of the strongest person I know, you might’ve heard of him,” he scoffs, “Steve Rogers. Not Cap, Steven Grant Rogers. Skinny kid I grew up with in Brooklyn. Weighed as much as a piece of hay. He didn’t need the serum. He was strong. Like you.”

You want to laugh. You put your head down and sigh, “that’s nice--”

“I’m not lying to you. I wouldn’t lie to you,” he says.

You feel more tears tingling. You rub your cheek and glance over at the tub. The thought of a bath and is intoxicating. Just a little relief.

“Thank you, Bucky,” you say, “you really didn’t have to do all this.”

“I did,” he insists, “someone shoulda done it sooner but the world ain’t what it used to be. Neighbours aren’t your neighbours.”

“It’s not... It’s my problem--”

“It’s not a problem,” he says. “I’ll bring in a fresh towel before you hop in.”

#bucky barnes #dark buck barnes #dark!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #series #fic #the lonely souls club #marvel #mcu #avengers #falcon and the winter soldier #captain america #dark fic #dark!fic

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 months ago

Text

The Lonely Souls Club 9

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as stalking, loneliness, noncon, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Two lost souls cross, but not all those are lost, want to be found.

Characters: Bucky Barnes

Note: in my feels.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Reader

Bucky leaves a dark blue towel on the bar for you. When the door shuts, you stay as you are. You sit on the lid of the toilet and contemplate the walls. The tub laps with running water, lulling your tired mind and body.

You sigh. Embarrassment nips at the base of you skull. You close your eyes. You don’t even let your doctors see you like that. When you try to describe your pain, they don’t seem to listen anyway. Yet Bucky, he sees more than you want him too. Things you don’t realise.

Well, you guess he is a hero. He saved you before and it’s his job to help others in trouble. This feels like more. It feels like too much. You don’t deserve any of this.

You glance over at your cane, another reminder that you can’t give as much as he can. That you can’t ever pay him back for this. Does he get that?

You strip off your shirt and fold it. You put it on the counter and roll your bra up your torso. You wear the ones without hooks. You can pull them on and off easy. Then the real taste faces you.

You use the corner of the granite to push yourself up. You grunt and whimper. You get your socks off and your pants. You have to stop. You’re out of breath. The pain is like a red hot iron in your thigh bone. You manage to get your underwear down and step out of them clumsily.

You catch yourself against the tub. You need another break before you get yourself in. You splash into the water and barely keep from fall over completely. You let the hot water steam over you and lean back.

The tub is deep and spacious. You cling to the sides with your hands. You shudder and your eyes tinge hotly. The tears fall before you can stem them. You don’t notice until they dribble off your chin.

All of it, the pain, the stress, the uncertainty, the prospect of being left without a home, it boils in the water with you. You don’t know how much more you can take. You stifle your sobs with your fist, inhaling deeply to keep them in your throat. You can’t break all the way.

You moan as you sit forward and shut off the faucet. You lean back and shut your eyes. Right now, you don’t need to think about it all. Not about how to get more money or how your stomach is aching or even how you’ll pay Bucky back. You just need that moment to forget.

Bucky

Bucky sits on the bottom stair and listens. He can hear her clearly as he focuses above. He can hear her heartbeat chugging as she struggles to move herself around. She grunts in agony and he flinches. Then the water splashes below her staggered movements. He wants to go up and help but he knows he can’t. He’s already pushing it. She’s stubborn and he knows how self-defeating that can be.

He closes his eyes as he keeps his ears pricked. She sniffles then heaves. And another sob follows, swallowed up as the water stirs. It’s as if he can feel her despair and pain. He knows those kind of tears. The exhausted ones. The ones when you just want everything to stop.

She shuts off the faucet with a whimper. He drops his head into his hands and splays his fingers wide. He combs them through his short hair as he blows through his lips. His phone is buzzing. Whoever it is can fuck off.

She doesn’t move for a long while. Only long enough for the water to cool. She sits up, her skin squeaking against the porcelain and she pulls the stopper. He listens to the water drain.

More grunting as she lifts herself up. He shifts and tilts his ear up the staircase. There’s a tense silence, dangling as she holds her breath. Her heart is pumping wildly.

*Crash*

He’s on his feet in an instant. He races up the stairs and slams into the bathroom door. It’s not locked. He bursts in without a thought. She squeals as he slides to a stop before the bath mat.

She on her side, the towel is haphazardly across her wet skin, her thighs are exposed but she hides her stomach and chest. She hugs the cotton and wheezes. Her eyes find his in horror.

“I’m sorry,” she says.

“Are you okay?” He bends to touch her shoulder.

“I... just wanted the towel,” she murmurs. “I was okay... I can do it. I... I can’t do it.”

She’s arguing with herself. He looks around. Her cane is all the way by the counter. He rubs her bare skin and recoils, stopping his touch from straying too far. His eyes are tugging toward her exposed body as it is.

He reaches to help her adjust the towel, “can I help you?”

She nods and hides behind her eyelids, covering her face with her hand. He hesitates, trying to figure out the best way to do it. First, she needs to be comfortable.

“I’m going to get the towel around you,” he explains. She gulps and dips her chin furiously. She’s horrified.

He gets the towel wrapped around her as best as he can. A zing sparks in his fingers as he touches her thigh. He holds his breath and hooks his hand under her side.

“Alright, I'll sit you up first,” he continues.

She makes a noise. She's too mortified to speak. He sits her up and she moans. He leans her against him and wrap his right arm around her back.

“Okay, I’m going to get you off the floor now. I need you to tell me if it hurts too much,” he instructs.

“Always hurts...” she mumbles.

He slides his arm under her knees. He lifts her, first on his knees, then he plants a foot, then the other. He brings her up and he turns to the door.

“The bed is made,” he assures her.

She sits in his arms stiffly. He carries her out and down the hall. He puts her on the bed, the towel hanging open at her back. His fingers tickle her bottom as he pulls away. He didn’t mean to. Really. As nice as she feels, he didn’t mean to. As much as he wants to touch all of her.

“I’ll get you some clothes,” he clears his throat and backs away.

He goes to the dresser and opens a drawer. He pulls out the grey shirt with military font that reads US Army. With that, he grabs a pair of his plaid boxers. He takes the tautly folded stack to her. She hugs the towel again and stares at the ceiling.

“I’ll let you get dressed. I’ll check in shortly.” He assures her.

She sniffles. He understands. He looks down at his vibranium arm. He should take it off for her but he also needs it to help her.

“Right,” he turns.

He walks out and shuts the door gently. He goes downstairs reluctantly and grabs his phone from his jacket. Sam called. Several times. And sent a dozen messages. The phone rattles again. He doesn’t have time for that dumbass.

He answers anyway.

“What?”

“So, you were in a hurry,” Sam snorts.

“Sam.”

“It’s that girl.”

“Shut up.”

“I get it, dude. She’s cute. But I really think she has enough problems--”

“Leave me alone.”

He hangs up. Sam is so nosy. He should have never asked him to help out. He shouldn’t have ever let him know about her. She needs to be protected from the world. He doesn’t get that. He can’t understand that. He doesn’t know what it’s like to be different.

He scrolls through the menu. He taps the icon and waits for the app to open up. How... alright, um... American? That sounds like normal food. He taps the category and scrolls through the options. There’s a chicken place. Chicken and veg, can’t go wrong...

He picks out a Meal for Two deal and adds it to the cart after the third try. Right, checkout... tip... Too many steps.

He should get her something in the meantime. He goes to the kitchen and fills a glass of water. He looks around aimlessly, shuffling through the cupboard and fridge. Granola? It will do.

He goes upstairs. He knocks with his knuckles as the bag of granola rattles. Her heart flips.

“Yes?” She calls out.

“I brought you some water.” He replies.

“Okay,” she says.

He takes the weak invitation. He enters and finds her under the covers. She sits against the pillows, her arms crossed.

“Do you need more pillows?” He asks as he puts the glass on the nightstand.

“I’m fine,” she barely whispers.

“I brought you a snack. For now. Food is on the way.”

She doesn’t look at him. She stares at her lap. “You didn’t have to.”

“Stop. Let me help,” he insists and gently places the bag by her leg. “I have a heating pad.”

She shrugs, “thank you. It's... a lot.”

“It’s the right thing to do,” he says. “I can bring you some books or something to do? I have a tablet. Never use it.”

She shakes her head.

He shifts on his feet awkwardly. He wish she wasn’t so scared. He wish he could just tell her everything. That he knows exactly what she’s feeling. That they are the same. That he will do anything to make her feel better. To keep her safe. To take care of her.

“You’ll let me know what you need,” he says.

“I don’t need anything,” she squeaks.

“But when you do,” he sighs.

She nods.

He stares at her. She’s trembling. She’s in pain. All because she fell. Because he let her fall! He should have been adamant. She needs help or it will all be worse.

“You know, it’s okay to need help.”

“I know I need help,” she snips. He’s never heard her speak so sharply. “I know that I’m broken.”

“I didn’t say that--”

“I’m broken and I’m a loser. I have nothing to give you, Bucky.” She lifts her head, her eyes hooded with pain. “I can’t pay you back for any of this.”

“I know.”

She frowns, “so why are you doing all this?”

As much as he wants to tell her the truth, to tell her how he feels, that he has nothing else in this world that makes him care. Only her. He knows he can’t. Not yet. She’s not ready.

“You know, I was alive during The Great Depression. All sorts of people needed help. Including me, my mom, my dad, my sister,” he explains. “They needed help but they also helped others. My ma, she used to make these big pots of stew and when some beggar walked by, she’d hand over her bowl. She thought we didn’t know that her bowl was full of water, but I did.

“I used to steal canned tomatoes and leave them in the pantry for her to find. She always thought she forgot because she was so hungry...” He shrugs and sniffs. He doesn’t talk about his family. “My dad came and got me from the base when the MPs caught me sneaking around the mess. He almost lost his job but he never told her. And those government issued crushed tomatoes kept going missing at the camp.”

She looks at him intently. Her face softens and her eyes gleam. She wiggles her nose and lowers her head.

“You must miss them,” she says.

“Sometimes,” he admits. “But I keep them close by doing what I know they’d want me to. Like helping those who need it.”

She doesn’t say anything. He watches her for a moment before he snaps himself out of his trance. He inhales deeply a scratches his neck.

“I’ll go wait for the food,” he says.

#bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #series #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #avengers #the lonely souls club #mcu #marvel #winter soldier #captain america

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