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ohtobeleah · 2 months ago

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Day Eight [Lethal Weapon]

Summary: During an intense interrogation, your existence is made obsolete when half the population is turned to dust. What felt like a mere five minutes was in fact— five years. With the knowledge that Hydra was once again rising with intentions more sinister then the last, you do the job you were originally sent out to do. Protect Sargent James Buchanan Barnes at whatever means necessary.

Warnings: Violence. Violence against women. Undercover Agent. Bucky Barnes x F!reader. Hurt!reader.

Word Count: 3.7k

Whumptober Prompt Day Eight: Rope burns, gagged, “You’re so much prettier this way.”

Author Note: Please make sure you read the warnings provided. Disclaimer: I do not condone nor endorse the actions that are written about during the month of October. These works of fiction are just that, fiction and should be treated as such. Thank you to @ailesswhumptober for this year's prompt list.

Whumptober Masterlist | Main Masterlist

“You’re so much prettier this way dear,” The bone-cracking, earth-shattering sounds behind the knuckle busters that connected with the side of your cheek, were enough to drown out a room full of men who seemed to take great pride in their work. Silence filled the underground hideaway, a derelict sewer under the streets of Los Angeles. Men of all backgrounds were stunned into silence as you groaned. Crimson blood dripped from your mouth like a leaking tap. You stared straight into their souls as you spat the rest that had pooled between your lips onto the ground before you.

You turned your head, slowly, but surely, to look back at the man who’d most likely broken your jaw. Through swollen eyes, you gave him a daring look. Challenging him with a small, all-knowing smirk, as the eyes of the men who stood behind him, watching on, stood as still as time. All were unable to breathe under what they’d consider to be the stupidity of some ‘silly girl’ playing eye spy.

“Is—is that the—“ You struggled to speak, trying to steady your vision as your head felt flimsy. “Is that all you’ve got?” You’d only ever known him by one name. O'neill. But as you spent more personal time getting to know the man who’d been powering up the old elitist, the sadistic, the narcissistic, the god awful power hungry world dominating psychopaths that still believed in the ideologies that Hydra had operated on. You’d come to know his first name too. Vincent Hickory. His loyalist henchmen called him Vick. An underground drug Tycoon, gang boss with a wicked mean streak. “Thought you were supposed to be some sort of heartless, show no remorse, prick?”

O’Neill’s calloused and bruised up hand intertwined itself in the bird’s nest of a mess that was your blood-soaked hair. He didn’t hold back as he pulled your head back to expose your neck. Hissing sharply through bloodied, gritted teeth, you tried your best to focus on the man who towered over you like some deranged God. Like a man who would stop at nothing until he got what he wanted.

James Bucanan Barnes.

“You really think now is the time to be a fucking smart-ass, dear?” O’Neill sneered. His face was so close to yours you could almost feel his lips on yours in a way you never wanted to. “You’ve got a lot of nerve Miss Y/l/n,” The tone he used sent shivers down your spine. This may have been your job, to remain composed under pressure, but you were only human. And above all? You were a woman in a very compromised position. “Now, tell me where Barnes is before I decide you’re life is meaningless.”

“I don’t know where—“ You didn’t get a chance to finish your sentence before the back of O’Neill’s hand was colliding with your swollen, cut and bruised cheek. You couldn’t help the yelp that escaped from you. “I swear—“ Again, every time you said you didn’t know, over and over, until you felt your lungs collapsing under the pressure of broken ribs. The chair your broken body was bound to was surely about to break. The ropes that bound you dug into fragile skin—leaving behind burns. “I don’t know where he is,” You whispered. O’Neill sighed, obviously disappointed. He knew you were lying right to his face or else you wouldn’t be here. “I wouldn’t tell you if I did, so just kill me, because you aren’t getting shit from me,” The overwhelming urge to allow your body to succumb to the injuries you’d had inflicted upon you, was beginning to sound like a pretty good idea. “Barnes is well out of your reach, asshole.”

As you waited for the final blow. The bullet wound that would surely take you out. The possible stable wound, the final blow, something—anything. You tried to remember why you were doing what you were doing. What you were so desperately trying to protect. Who you were trying to protect. Of course, you knew where James Buchanan Barnes was—he was in Wakanda. Halfway across the world, recovering. It was in the case file Nick Fury had given you.

“Agent Y/l/n—“ You heard your name being called from the chief Dawson’s office. Unbeknownst to you at the time, it was the start of a new way of life. Everything you’d ever known was about to change, be thrown out the window. You relinquished your toasted cheese and ham sandwich from your grasp and sighed to yourself as you dropped it onto your partner’s desk on the paper plate it came on. Lewis wasn’t all that impressed, but he’d just have to deal with the fresh aroma of grilled cheese and ham for a few moments of his precious time. You haphazardly balled up the napkin you’d whipped your face with as you looked at Lewis with a puzzled expression of curiosity and slight annoyance. You’d been sitting on his desk with your legs hung over the side, casually trying to enjoy a quick lunch. A somewhat luxury event on any given day.

“A moment please? If I’m not interrupting?” The chief's sarcasm was just as tasteful as your lunch.

“This is a dear friend of mine,” You couldn’t help by to stare at the eyepatch that covered severe scares as you shut the door behind you softly. You took a seat graciously as you frowned your brows in confusion. “This here is Nick Fury, he’d like you to work a case in liaison with what was formerly known as S.H.E.I.L.D,”

“I wasn’t aware S.H.E.I.L.D was still a thing?” You responded with more questions in your tone than excitement. Fury handed you the very case file that changed your life. As you took the manilla file, Fury crossed his arms across his chest as he leaned back on Chief Dawson’s desk. Taking you in for all that you were. One of the greats the CIA had to offer

“You’d be on your own essentially,” Fury explained very cutthroat-like. “I need someone who can disappear. Dissolve themselves. Hide in plain sight. I need someone who can take down an organisation that’s like a parasite once and for all.” Fury was as serious as you’d ever heard someone be. “I hear you’re interested in the Secret Service?” Fury questioned as you flipped through the case file, nodding quietly in response.

“I can promise an in if you do this for me, I’m all outta options at this stage in the game,” It was a career-changing opportunity you’d been chasing for years, you’d been trying to prove yourself, be noticeable, be better than the rest. You looked over at Chief Dawson who offered you a supportive smirk. It was as easy as leading a camel to water, but it just so happened to be one of the most manipulative things Nick Fury had ever done. But he was determined to get to job done, he didn’t want an army of Super Soldiers running around. He could barely handle the ones he’d come into contact with so far.

“I’ll do it—“ You never should’ve said yes. “I’ll do anything, sir.”

You weren’t going to be the person to take that away from Bucky, especially since you’d been tasked to try and infiltrate and assassinate the very people who demanded that something beyond his life was of import to them. His blood. The very serum that pumped through his veins.

“You should have just killed me when you found me, it could have saved you a lot of fucking time and energy, Vinnie Boy,” You could feel your body slowly giving up on you. The very desire to just give into temptation and close your eyes was coaxing you to the edge. But you had to hold on, even just for a moment.

“You’re either naive or stupid, or possibly both,” O’Neill hissed, his open hand came down against your face—leaving a stinging sensation that burned your broken skin. It was the final blow your body couldn't handle as you gave into unconsciousness.

O’Neill turned to his men, not missing the opportunity to spit at your feet as you gave into the darkness. He watched with great pride in his soulless heart as you slumped over yourself. The ropes that bound you, the very ropes that were covered in mould and dirt, supported your dead weight against the chair.

“Fuckin’ get rid of her,” O’Neill demanded his men through a thick Irish accent that you’d never be able to ride from your memory. “Dump her somewhere—make sure she’s dead and buried, because I don’t want her fuckin’ comin’ back.” Smirking as he leaned over, O’Neills hands dug into his knees for support as he leaned in to kiss your blooded forehead. He guided your unstable head forward by a hand to the back of your head before he softly placed a kiss on your forehead. “Seeya later princess, it was nice knowing you,“ The wink he sent you as you drifted in and out of unconsciousness would have sent a shiver down your spine on a good day. But this was a bad day, a very fucking bad day.

O’Neill slid a piece of gum casually into his mouth. Something you should have told him he needed early if you still had your wit. But let’s be honest for a moment, shall we? He totally beat the ever-living shit out of you.

“Hail Hyrda,” He chewed with a grin before turning on his heels to leave. O’Neill pulled a gun from the small of his back. It had been tucked away into his jeans under his shirt. The small of ones back could hide a plethora of things if you used your creativity.

As you held onto reality, you watched with heavy eyes as he checked the clip casually before handing it heavily to his second-in-command, Miles Müller. “Between the eyes,” He murmured in Miles’s ear, loud enough so you could hear it still.

Damn it—he was just a fucking kid. It wasn’t long before Miles had his hands on you, un-tying the ropes that bound you. He began to drag you along the concrete as you doubled over, leaving a trail of blood from your broken body. He was struggling just as much as you were. How could a kid do this? How the hell were you supposed to fight a kid?

“Walk—“ Miles hissed. You didn’t listen. You continued to struggle against his grasp as you fell to the ground with a heavy thud. The gun in Mile’s hand fell beside you, exactly how you’d hoped it would. You were quick, too quick for the kid. In just a blink of an eye through clouded vision, you turned from your stomach to your back, firing at anyone and anything you could make out.

“Touch me again and I’ll fucking kill you,” You spat, pointing the gun directly at Miles as he held his hands up beside his head. You couldn’t even stand, but you had a damn gun. The odds evened out. “The CIA knows you’re here, it’s over Müller.”

“I can’t,” Mile’s voice broke, he was just a kid, barely eighteen. “It can’t be—you don’t know what they’ll do if you do this,” It almost sounded as if he was begging you to give up, he was scared—terrified even. “Vick won’t stop until he gets what he wants,”

“At the expense of others!” You hissed. You struggled to hold your upper body weight on one elbow. It dug into gravel as you held the gun high at Miles. Tears began to well in his golden eyes. Almost hazel looking.

“It’s always been at the expense of others Agent, I just go with whatever Vick tells me to do,” There was something deeper, something more sinister behind Miles’s reasonings for doing the things he did. Why would an eighteen-year-old stumble his way into organised crime? The answer, you don’t stumble unless you’re shoved.

“But why? You’re just a kid, Miles, I can hel-help you.” Your head felt so heavy but everything else felt weak, light as a feather, goosebumps were rising all over your entire body. So many different sensations were taking over your body all at once. “You don’t have to live a life you don’t want to, I can protect you, at all costs,”

“He’ll kill me,” Was all Miles replied with, but it broke your heart. He was just as scared as you were.

“Guess we have that in common huh?” Your stomach churned, your head throbbed, your blood boiled and everything, everything hurt. “C’mon, help me out kid, I can help you,” You slowly started the lower your gun—shaking. But at the sight of your weakness? Miles jumped you. Swatting the gun from your grip as he straddled your waist. He pinned you down by your neck as his hands constricted your airways. “Miles—“ You gasped, clawing at his arms in a last-ditch effort to save your own life. “Don’t, do, this,”

“Cut off one head, two more shall take its place,” Miles spat, his grip only tightened as you began to panic. Choking you out as your legs began to fade. Turn to dust. It felt like nothingness. Slowly but surely, the feeling crept its way up your body.

“I’m so over hearing you psychopaths say that,” You choked out, Miles fell to the floor, your body disappeared before him, his hands gripped together as your neck dissolved under his touch. Panic consumed his entire being as he scrambled away—horrified. What had he done? He was only eighteen.

“Jesus Christ—“ Looking around, Miles panicked. He grabbed the gun you’d lost in the scrabble before sprinting off to find Vick. Hoping his poorly put-together cover story would pass. He’d finished the job, six feet under, dead and buried, a non-issue to the new world order O’Neill was so set on achieving—an elitist power. “Hail Hydra,”

At the same time half way across the world, Bucky Barnes felt the same unimaginable sensation you had. The feeling of pins and needles, nothingness, weightlessness. Looking around aimlessly for his best friend with a worried look and concern plastered across his one-hundred-year-old face.

“Steve?”

It felt like you’d passed out, fallen asleep under the aid of heavy painkillers. You came to on the gravel, groggy-headed and confused. You pushed yourself up onto your knees as you felt your face. Normal—unscathed, like the beating you’d just taken never happened. Besides a throbbing headache, you felt fine. As you looked around the derelict sewer-style hide-away, you only had one question.

Where had everyone gone?

Five Years’ and One Month later

Bucky Barnes sat eyeing off the receptionist who looked way too familiar for his paranoia. His leg shook as he tossed the idea back and forth. Should he say hello? With his gloved hands intertwined with one another, Bucky let out a sigh as he stood—sauntering over to the receptionist counter in the lobby of the building where he regularly saw his court-mandated therapist. Christina Raynor.

Making his presence known, Bucky reached into the bowl of hard, single-wrapped candies. He popped one into his mouth as he leaned over the counter. It was one of those counters like in doctors’ surgeries—the ones that are higher and hide the staff behind them.

“I know you from somewhere other than here—I can’t put my finger on it?” Bucky’s voice was soft, like he was afraid that his question would either startle you or annoy you. He was still learning to make conversation, struggling just slightly more with those he found attractive. “You spying on me?” Bucky teased, it was the first thought that came to his mind. Maybe you were some Russian spy? that’s where he’d known you, seen you. Were you a friend of friends from work? Had he accidentally stumbled across you while in his former Winter Soldier days? Were you an assassin? Or were you simply a face he didn’t want to forget? Whatever it was, whoever you were, Bucky didn’t think his simple question, the one that dripped with sarcasm, would receive the reaction he got.

“What?” You quickly shot your head up with wide eyes, looking at Bucky like you’d seen a ghost. “No? What makes you say that?” You tried to play your reaction off. Simply turning back to your monitor—trying to calm the fuck down. “There’s no such thing as spies, right? Aren’t they reserved for James Bond movies?” You tried to keep your head low and eyes engaged with the documents that lit up your monitor. The patient profile of Doctor Raynor’s current patient Michelle Pascoe.

Bucky frowned his brows—surely you were kidding. He chose to ignore the comment and persevere in his mission to remember where he’d seen you before.

“Have I seen you at Izzy’s?” Bucky asked politely. “My neighbour Yori makes me go there with him. He’s this sweet old man who’s only got a few people around him,” Bucky was rambling, he knew that. But he couldn’t help himself. He’d seen you somewhere. He was determined to remember.

You sighed softly, you knew Yori. You’d occasionally help him bring in his groceries up to his apartment. The brown paper bags would always break. You’d only known him about a week and in that time he’d managed to need your assistance five out of seven days.

“The apartment complex on Fifth Avenue, apartment 3B, pretty sure you’re 3C? ” You hadn’t even looked up from your computer monitor. “I’ve seen you around a few times, Yori? Nice guy—likes the patterns on the sundress I wore when I helped him pick up the apples that’d broken through the bottom of the grocery bag,” You chuckled. “I just moved in, maybe a week ago now? Still refurbishing the place—the landlady Mrs Shapiro, she was very quick to warn me about the psycho killer who I was moving next door to—made me sign a waiver and everything.”

“I’ll need your first, last, and security deposit, my dear. Are you sure you want to move in here? I don’t know if I feel comfortable with the man who’d be living next door.” Leaning closer the little old woman whispered in your ear. “He’s the Winter Soldier—“You held your tongue, never had you ever been more offended on someone’s behalf before. Maybe it was because you’d spent the better half of the last few months learning everything there was to know about James Buchanan Barnes—pre and post-Winter Soldier. Faking a soft smile you nodded. Excepting that ignorance could be bliss.

“Really just need an apartment, Mrs Shapiro, I’ll take it.”

Finally, you looked up to meet Bucky’s blueberry eyes and sheepish smile. He was still leaning over the counter on his elbows. He looked tired—like he’d barely slept. It wasn’t hard to understand why, you could sometimes hear the screams that echoed off the walls in Bucky’s apartment. Exercising his own demons, the ones that plagued his subconscious memory.

“Great—I love that.” Bucky sighed, shaking his head softly in disappointment—of course that little old Vietnamese woman saw Bucky as a monster. Of course, she did. Bucky carded his fingers nervously through his recently cut hair, still not used to the change of weight that usually dawned his head.

“I wouldn't be too worried,” You couldn’t help the soft chuckle you let out at his response. You were symptomatic.

“That’s where I know you from,” Bucky finally put two and two together. His mind eased knowing you weren’t some undercover spy spying on him. Oh, the irony. “I saw you in the elevator, must’ve been the same day, Yori was going on about frangipanis for hours,” You beamed up at Bucky, you really liked that sundress.

“Margot.” You reached your hand out to shake Bucky’s. “Margot Gilmore.” It was a new alias, a new identity—a new life. Told to go deep undercover at Nick Fury’s and Chief Dawson’s instructions. Only ever reach out if absolutely necessary.

Don’t bring attention to yourself, lay low—keep an eye on Barnes. Play the role of the sweet-talking receptionist and “Can I borrow a cup of sugar?” Neighbour. Playing neighbours with Bucky Barnes wasn’t a hard task. It was nice to have somewhat of a taste of normalcy after everything that had happened. From almost being snuffed out, being dusted during the blip. This was a walk in the park compared to what you’d been doing prior.

“Nice to meet you neighbour,” Bucky took your hand softly, shaking it gently for a few moments before he retracted. “Been coming here long?”

“Against my will for about a month now, I haven’t seen you here before?” Bucky already knew you were a better receptionist than the guy he’d had to hand his paperwork to four weeks ago. He even thought coming to therapy might become a little less strenuous with a familiar face around.

“New job, kinda just got the gig—today’s my third day. It’s pretty easy, just receptionist bullshit and all,” Bucky chuckled under his breath. He could only imagine how nice it must be to have something so normal as a boring nine-to-five office. “From what I gather, Christina’s pretty cool,” Bucky rolled his eyes.

“It’s an act, once she gets me behind those doors she’s completely different,” Bucky liked the dress you were wearing, office casual. Simple but it made your eyes seem bright, or maybe it was the lighting in the building he hated coming to, or maybe? you just had a thing for nice dresses. He’d have to ask Yori. You could see Doctor Raynor peering out from her door. Gesturing she was ready for Bucky.

“Ahh—Doctor Raynor’s ready for you,” You looked down at your monitor, pretending you couldn’t remember who Bucky was. “James—“

“Bucky.” Bucky was way too quick off the mark, correcting you before you barely had a chance to say his name. “Call me Bucky,” Tapping his hand on the counter, Bucky pressed his lips together with a shy smile as he pushed himself away. Walking reluctantly towards the woman who loved to pick his brain, turning to smile at you once more over his shoulder.

“Seeya, Neighbour—“

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