Invisible String (Bucky Barnes x Reader)

Chapter 2

"Clint Barton, the manager, he will tell you everything you need to know about bartending and handling the customers."

Did he just hire you? What changed between this and your previous meeting with him?

And just like that, he left. There was a part of you that wanted to say fuck off I don't need your help, but you knew better, so you went to that club later that evening. You found the Manager, Clint. He told you he was expecting your arrival and that made you feel weird because Mr. Barnes was totally opposite the day you met.

Your new job required you to be at work from 8 pm to 3 am, which was ideal for you. You usually reach home and pass out till 4 in the morning and wake up around noon. This schedule gave you a lot of time to work on your book.

You ended up making friends with some other people that work there as well. Wanda was the smart, sarcastic one that you'd have died to have as a friend in high school. Pietro, her twin brother, was also nice, a bit fast and impatient, but he was nice to you. Peter looked very young, but he knew what he was doing and he'd help you out a lot. That kid had a lot of energy and adrenaline, which surprised you every time he'd be done with work way before you.

You didn't see Mr. Barnes frequently. You saw him one time entering the club, and you tried to give him a smile which he ignored and went straight to his office upstairs. And then you decided to ignore him as well. It wasn't like you to be petty, okay, maybe you were being petty, but in your defense, he started it.

You were finishing up cleaning the table and were about to call it a day when a man you didn't recognize, probably wasn't a regular, came in asking for a drink.

"I'm sorry, sir. We're closed." You told him politely.

"Whiskey on the rocks."

You wanted to refuse him again, but you stopped yourself when he came into your sight. He didn't look like the kind of man who'd take your no seriously. He looked just as intimidating as Mr. Barnes, even more, but Mr. Barnes knew his boundaries, whereas this man in front of you evidently didn't. You could tell this by the way his gaze was slowly taking your body in and stopping a little longer at your cleavage.

You wanted to cringe and curse yourself for choosing to wear a top like that in a place filled with drunk men. The smarter part of your brain told you that he can go fuck himself, and you shouldn't think about men when you dress up. Women are entitled to wear whatever they want to and fuck men and people who tell them otherwise.

Carefully, you made his drink and handed it to him. His hand lingered on yours while taking the glass from you, and you wanted to just throw the drink across his face. His gaze remained on your chest even when you fixed your top and coughed twice to call his behavior out.

"What time do you get off?" he asked, eyes still on your chest.

Is this guy for real? , you thought.

"Um, this is highly inappropriate and I think you should leave now because I have to call it a night." you rejected politely, raising your hand towards the door, hoping he'd leave.

He chuckled darkly, his stare still drinking in your body as if you were a piece of meat, and it made you very, very uncomfortable. He obviously wasn't taking no for an answer, and you had no clue what to do. You were the only person left, and you didn't even know who to ask for help.

"Come on, baby girl," he said, walking towards you and forcefully snaking his hands around your waist to settle on your hips. " Don't make this harder than it should be. "

"No!" you yelled, pushing him away and creating some distance between you.

"Hard way it is then," he decided, walking towards you and forcefully holding the hem of your shirt in his hands to remove it. You struggled, yelled, and pushed him off you again. He furiously lunged forward towards you and hit you hard across the face. "Fucking bitch."

"Rumlow!" a voice boomed from behind you, and you hated yourself for being in such a vulnerable state. As much as you tried not to, tears welled up in your eyes and you hated being the helpless damsel in distress.

"Get the fuck out of here." the familiar voice ordered.

"Chill, Barnes. We were just having a little fun," the man known as Rumlow reasoned nonchalantly. "Besides, it's not my fault if she wears clothes like this."

You were all about feminism and how women should be treated equally with respect despite their attire, but at that moment you hated yourself for choosing that deep-neck shirt this morning.

"I'm not going to chill while you sexually harass my employees, so get the fuck out of here," Mr. Barnes warned again.

You closed your eyes and hoped that maybe this was a shitty dream and you'd wake up in your bed and have an anxiety attack because of the nightmare. You hoped that maybe the ground beneath you would open up and swallow you, so you could just not think about this ever.

You heard two sets of footsteps faintly in the background, one dragging its way away from you and the other rushing towards you. Furthermore, you didn't have it in you to open your eyes and meet the ocean blue ones that you knew were waiting for you.

In your head, you had already taken up the blame. The verdict came out the moment his gaze landed on your chest that it was your fault that you wore this shirt. Of course, if you were thinking right, you would have realized that you were undoubtedly the victim here and Rumlow was an asshole who assaulted you, but in your helpless state, your mind decided you were at fault here.