Possessed - Bucky Barnes x OC

Part 9

Maggie spent her Saturday morning at home, alone. She got up early and made time to work on her painting for James.

Thoughts racing, going over every last detail of their dinner together. She felt like she made a fool of herself, getting so flustered when he asked about her love life. She also felt as though she made herself sound like a boring homebody. Trying to brush off the anxiety, she focused back on her work.

The piece was progressing well. Peeking at the pictures on her phone that she took of the office a couple times, trying to find a speck of inspiration. Abruptly the screen went black and Natasha's contact popped up. Quickly answering the call, stilling the vibrating phone. She held it up to her ear, turning back to the painting.

"Hey, Nat."

"What are you doing? I've texted you a thousand times." Natasha sounded worried.

Maggie usually ignored texts while she worked, since they disrupted the rhythm of her art. "Ugh, I'm sorry. I've been standing at the easel all day."

"No worries, babe. I just wanted to make sure you weren't murdered."

Letting out a chuckle, Maggie rolled her eyes. "Nope. Still alive."

"Steve stop." Natasha aggressively whispered, followed by a cheeky laugh. It was muffled since she had pulled away from the phone, but Maggie still heard.

"Do you need to go?" Maggie asked, uncomfortably.

"No, it's fine. Steve just won't let me out of bed." There was more muffled talking. "I was just checking in. Let's do drinks on Monday."

Natasha never understood the concept of having a regularly scheduled job. She had rehearsals a few times a week and then the occasional show, so she'd often forget that most people had to be up before the sun most days of the week. Despite that, Maggie would always agree to her plans. "Sounds good."

"Okay, don't die before then. Love you, bye." A distant spank, followed by a muffled giggle punctuated the conversation. Thankfully a click cut off whatever was happening in Steve's bed.

Jesus christ. Maggie was absolutely thrilled for Natasha and Steve, but they were also incredibly ridiculous to her. She couldn't even fathom wanting someone like that. They were always together, never tiring of the other's presence.

Even during the best parts of Maggie's relationship with Elliot, she had never behaved like that. Never felt like she couldn't go a day without seeing him.

After spending another couple of hours on her painting, Maggie ordered some Chinese food to her house. She lived frugally, so takeout was rarely on option. That being said, she had a productive day, so she was treating herself.

Putting on a cheesy romcom while she ate, snuggled up on her couch, fingers clutching a pair of splintered wooden chopsticks. She shoved her lo mein and chicken into her mouth quickly, starving from ignoring her own well-being all day to paint. Often a whole day would fly by, without her realizing, feeling starved and exhausted. She loved those days, though. Days when she would just jam, instantly finding her pace at the canvas.

She ended up crashing on her couch. She woke up to goosebumps standing up over her freezing cold arms. Looking down at her phone she realized it was four in the morning. She weakly limped to her bed, hips sore from the uncomfortable position she passed out in.

She slept for another four hours, waking up with the sun, this time warm under her fluffy duvet. She didn't want to get up, but she was determined to finish her painting so she could take it to the office tomorrow.

Pulling on her overalls and t shirt, she cranked the music and got to work. Eight hours and a couple of very sore arms later, her work was done.

The canvas was filled with gorgeous tones of blue. Abstract, but each stroke was placed with care. She actually felt incredibly proud she had finished the piece so efficiently, but she had to. Although James told her to take her time, she owed the man three different pieces, and he was paying an obscene amount of money.

After brushing on the glossy seal, she opened a couple of the panes of glass that covered the walls of her art room, letting the late spring afternoon breeze roll in to help dry her art. She rinsed off her hands and found her phone, pulling up James' contact to send him a text.

Maggie: Hello, James. Hope you're doing well! I really enjoyed our—

"Ugh no, Mags. Keep it short." She reprimanded herself, erasing her typed out message to start over.

Maggie: Hello, James. Just finished the first piece.

Pleased, she pressed send and shoved her phone into her pocket. She grabbed her pallet and all of her brushes to clean up. Leaning over her sink as she scrubbed the bristles in her palm, her phone dinged. Dropping down her brushes and drying off her hands, she picked it up to read the text.

James: You work fast. Well done, sweetheart.

She smiled, biting her lip to stifle her excitement at his praise.

Maggie: I'll bring it by the office tomorrow!

James: Excellent. Thank you.

Setting her phone back down she got back to work cleaning her brushes. Although she was incredible proud of her work, part of her was nervous to unveil her art to James. Imagining his reaction was making her burst with anxiety. Her hands scrubbed harder, making her paint brushes shed a bit. Slamming them down onto a towel, she dried her hands.

She leaned up against the counter, running her fingers through her tangled curls, feeling overwhelmed by her feelings for James. He left her feeling so stressed, but in a good way that she didn't quite understand. Looking at him was like looking at the sun, leaving her blinded every time, but she couldn't stop. Like she was possessed.

She spun around in her kitchen, hands instantly finding a bottle of vodka. She hated hard liquor, but she needed a stiff drink to calm her nerves.