Dark!bucky X Reader - Blog Posts

Muah muah

happy golden days of yore - series masterlist

pairing: dark!bucky barnes x curvy!reader

warnings: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat. 18+ ONLY. noncon smut.

status: complete

part one

part two

part three

part four

part five

The sculptor

Summary: Bucky has a way with words and actions, a true machiavellian under that pearly smile and those stormy eyes, well he knows he has the reader wrapped around his little finger, putty in his hands and he knows exactly how to mold her.

Pairing: Dark!Bucky x Naive!Reader

Word count: 1605

Warnings: TW/mentions of sexual assault, cockwarming, manipulation, edging, overstimulation.

A/N: so this is an entry for @mariessecretfantasies 500 followers challenge based losely on the lyric prompt 23 or Scary Monsters (and Super Creeps) by David Bowie, and also my first attempt at writing Dark bucky so any and all constructive criticism is welcome!

He takes his time with you, never in a hurry, never afraid. He isn't scared of losing the feel of your soft skin under the palm of his hands, your legs that wrap so well around him, the mouth he drinks out of, he consumes you everyday. To the brink and back, leave you heaving and broken but you'll never leave,

This is what he did, this is his reward, that's what he wanted and so it's what he has, his silly little woman wrapped like a coil around his little finger,

He watched you with half lidded eyes, his strong arms folded behind his head and the hints of a smirk that stretchs his lips, he'll let you exhaust yourself, before he makes a move, low whines rumbling through your chest

"Buckyyy, please" your head lulled back and your perfect tits in the air with every bounce, your hands on his abdomen, you stop every once in a while, pressing your hands down and grinding your hips, scratch your nails down his chest, make promises, anything for him to just please let you get there,

No matter how hard you try it just isnt the same, your strength is always less compared to him, and this drive to reach the high, with him, but he wouldn't give in, not that easily

You've always been so useless on your own, you know it too "please! I-I promise I'll be better, I'm stupid anyway, please bucky I won't ask you again" you whine again, it feels like it's been hours, your body and all its nerves on fire with need but he looked much too pleased with the little game.

Your shoulders slumped, body tingling with the overwhelming feeling of fullness but nothing more, body falling forward onto his chest, and those pearly tears on the harbor waiting for release when he speaks

"I don't know why you do it" he tsked, your whimpers in his ear as he looks down at the mess of hair and sweaty limbs on top of him, "asking me if you could go to the city, when I've told you that you can't, Don't you trust me?" He asked you, face pressed into his chests and soft sobs choked out,

"Look at me Y/N" you could hear your heart crack more, why did he call you by your name? Had you done it this time? What if he didn't want anything to do with you now?

"Why would you want to go there? In that danger? You know what would've happened if I hadn't found you don't you? I've given you anything you could want and more? So why do you always want to leave? Am I not enough?"

Big sad eyes peered into the bright azure of his, the pearly tears shining under the dim sunlight, you were a vision, so perfectly compliant, putty in his hands. He had you by the throat, his fingers pressing where it hurt and he knew that he had won the round, He was pygmalion and you were his best creation,

"No-No you're perfect bucky, so much better than I deserve, you've given me everything, I promise I won't ask again, I don't even know what i was thinking please don't leave me" you said quick and breathless, all choked up and he knew that you were close to a breakdown,

He operated these strings, he knew how to push you and he knew your limits, the perfect woman, a beautiful little doll and he was the handler.

"Leave you? Oh honey I could never" he changes it, his tone sympathetic, his eyes morose "are you sure that you don't want to leave?"

Hold the string that aches the deepest, gather it hard, dig with your nailbeds and pull

"No I promise! I love you, only you Sergeant please" he growled, you knew how to push him too,

"I'm yours please bucky take me"

You had to say no more, he turned you over at the speed of light, fingers digging into your thighs, he pushes your legs up, stuck so well against him,

He's heard your whines and he's heard your pleas, and hes seen what a perfect mess you can be and he wants all of it, every inch of it and more, he wants to destroy you, his, that's all you are and that's all you need to be,

So he gives it to you, hard and fast, hips jutting at the speed of light, he'd leave you struggling to hold on, so you could do nothing but take it, take him, anything and everything he would give you,

His doll squeals against him, one moment the squeals are muffled by his mouth and then the regal metal of his hand is closing around your neck, you see stars, your vision blackening around the edges and raw pleasure coursing through your veins,

You had never felt so good before, you probably wouldn't have existed without him, he's all you knew,

Close so close, you love it when he uses you like this, so majestic on top of you, when the only thing you could focus on was the dark azure, the pressure of metal on your neck and the feeling of fullness that comes with being joined to him this way, and you love every bit of it,

So you give in, let your body pull you into the deep ditch of ecstasy, he leaves you twitching and gasping, you tell him as best as you can "I-I'm-!"  his pace increasing at the notion and then you couldn't think anymore,

The electricity that reignited all of your nerve endings was too sweet to miss out on, you were floating for hours, stars in your eyes and the imprint of the beautiful blue ones you spend your days losing yourself in,

Limbo, sweet, sweet limbo, that's your safe place. You feel him belatedly, those strong arms wrapped around you again and his soft lips on your cheek, he was purring against you, when you stretched your fingers to feel his stubble and then his long beautiful strands, you moved your face to pull him in, show him how grateful you were with a single kiss.

He let's you, he knows he has you in his fist, He rules inside your mind, coiled around your soul, he's all you have, He has made sure of it.

"I love you" you murmers against his lips and he replies with a hum

"I don't like it when you talk about useless things like that"

But I just wanted to go out

You don't question him, you've learnt not to.

"It's been happening way too much for my liking, you know how i feel about this don't you little doll"  "yes Bucky"

You're such a bad person.

"I mean the least you could do is be grateful, you wouldn't last one day out there, if I hadn't saved you that day you wouldn't be alive either" and don't you know it, all too well.

You wouldn't be alive without him, the odds were never in your favor, you're only a silly girl who ran from an abusive home, a hitchhiker who trusted the wrong crowd, a fragile girl on the brink of death when he saved her, he saved you, the mystery man from the gas station, that's what you knew him as then.

Those blue eyes had always enticed you, you'd noticed him staring at you from across the dinner down the street, the cap hung on his head and his locks behind his ears, it irked you then, it looked like he could see right through you, but know you knew that it's because he did.

You were a lost little girl looking for stability and love, when you got on the truck that day you didn't expect the turn it took,

It's when they stopped on a rest stop, for a little while at night, you didn't know when it took the turn it did, how the sleazy men that rode with you managed to overpower you, you had  wanted to put up a fight, you thought you had it in you, but it's when you heard the rip of your dress that you realized you really didn't, that there was nothing you could do,

Until you saw it, the gloved hand that grasped the shoulder of the man on top of you, Bucky saved you when no one else would, he took you away from the big bad world,

So what if you weren't allowed to go into the city anymore? The city had done nothing for you anyway,

The little voice in your head used to scream at you all day but now it only popped back once in a while, it was easier to ignore now,

It stung how you couldn't do some things you thought you would do once you had it under control, if that night hadn't happened. You had hoped to leave when bucky rescued you, but that was never your choice to make anyway.

You were ungrateful about it, the voice always told you to fight it, leave him, that he was a monster, for trapping you this way, that he never really asked you if you wanted to be loved the way he loved you,

It was silly, at least you were loved. You'd take whatever he'd give you, his anger, his lust, his love. You'd give and give until you had nothing left to give,

The Perfect little girl, you were Galatea and He was the perfect sculptor.

I Wanna Be Yours❦

Part 1: Snap out of it

Part 2: Arabella - Coming soon

One stop off of heaven masterlist

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Angst, infidelity, reader is the side piece, hurt, brief mentions of childhood friend!Bucky, no happy ending (sort of), reader is used, no aftercare, all hurt no comfort, p in v, rough sex, hate sex, doggy style, hair pulling, slapping, biting, allusions to reader being infertile (can be ignored :))

Nicknames: My girl, whore, slut, Sweetheart, buttercup

WC: 4K

The Happier version: My Girl -Coming soon

A/N: This is the angstier version of the fic ‘My Girl’ and is the actually original version of the fic and more truly embodies what I was feeling when writing them both.

A/N: Ive been gone for a really long time (like almost 3 months) and I’m really sorry I’ve been extremely busy, because as a lot of you know I’m doing a PhD right now. Anyway, this is part of a series that I’ll hopefully finish when I’m not so busy. I also have a few requests to finish. Love y’all 💕

༻𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐓𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭🎀༺

You both laid in the middle of the hotel bed, your head nuzzled into Bucky’s chest as you held him tight, taking in the smell of him like it was the last time you’d ever be able to. Your mind burned as you broke down every note of his scent; Magnolia, vanilla, leather and petrichor. You chanted it like a recipe in your head, begging yourself not to forget it. Just in case you ever had to recreate it when he was gone, it was inevitable after all—It was reality, this world you had both created in this room was no longer tangible. Someone was going to find out, or they had already—and to make him keep risking it, running around with you at night. It couldn’t continue, the thought of it ending made your throat tighten and a smell similar to pva glue fill your nose. It burnt as you blinked the tears back. Even as you squeezed him tighter, closer, it felt like he drifted further and further away; you could just feel it. He was distancing himself from you mentally and now physically, to make it more bearable for you both; so that he could lessen the pain, but little did he know the more he moved away the more it hurt, the more your heart shattered into tiny, little pieces that you’d inevitably be left alone to pick up. You wondered if you’d ever be able to repair your heart, or if it had shattered so much into such minuscule pieces that trying would be futile.

You had one final night with him and here you were, spending it cuddling him trying to suppress your tears. You didn’t want to see the pity in his eyes if you shattered, if you showed how much this little love affair truly meant to you. You loved putting up the tough, emotionless bitch act but you couldn’t. Not now. Not if it meant letting him go, never feeling his rough hands trace your every curve, never having him to kiss every scar, never being able to hear his deep, silky voice. You didn’t give a shit about the sex, no matter how mind blowing it was. You just wanted him to stay, you’d become celibate if it meant he’d stay. You’d do anything. But you weren’t “his girl” no matter how many times he whispered it to you softly or made you scream it as he fucked you. You just weren’t his. Not in the eyes of the law and not in the eyes of any of your guy’s friends. She was and you hated her for it, you hated the nice girl who brought you ‘Welcome home’ cookies, who comforted you when you were crying, despite not know you were mourning your chance with her husband, the sweet, beautiful, perfect girl that would one day give Bucky the sweet, beautiful, perfect family he’d always dreamed of. You hated that you hated her, it felt immoral, this all felt immoral. But she had what you wanted; him. She had him wrapped around her tiny, wicked…pretty, well manicured finger, it was wrong of you to force him into this—Bucky had always been weak to you and you used that against him. You made him cheat, but deep down you knew a part of him liked it. He was just like you after all, he was broken and a collector—but instead of things you both collected bits and pieces of others and saved them up inside you, it’s what made you both feel whole.

His arm that had been laying flat under your head shifted, he ran his fingers through your hair, rubbing slowly circles on your scalp, caressing the base of your skull with his warm palm. His touch was too much, you didn’t deserve it. That’s what broke you. The burning in your nose got too much; tears began to stream from your eyes like water from a broken faucet and the knot straining in your throat gave way to heavy sobs as you scrunched the material of his shirt in your fingers “What’s wrong sugar?” He asked indifferently, but you couldn’t answer. The embarrassment from letting your walls finally fall in front of him and the pity you had for yourself, that you detested, jammed your throat. You tried to open you mouth to speak, to tell him it was nothing or that you’d had an awful day at work, you’d always been quite sensitive, he knew that, so the excuse of being yelled at in front of everyone at work would probably work, but no matter how much you tried to summon the words you couldn’t speak. The frustration just made it worse, the warmth from your emotional outburst and his natural heat made it hard to breathe. You pushed away from him, finally distancing yourself. But the implications of your action just intensified your blubbering, you felt like a child as you collapsed in front of him.

Bucky pulled you closer even as you tried to fight him off. You kept your face hidden behind your hair, but he started to peel it away from your damp cheeks. “There we go I can see you now.” He let out a halfhearted nervous laugh, smiling. His smile. Your chest tightened painfully, even through your drowned vision, the full intensity of his welcoming smile hit you like a pile of bricks. “What’s wrong, sugar pea? You can tell me, it’s just us.”

“I can’t- can’t tell you”

“Why not? We’ve know each other since we were kids, you can tell me anything.”

“You’re gonna- you’re gonna hate me.”

“I could never hate you. I’ve seen do a bunch of things and I’ve never once hated you.”

“I’m in love with you.” You blurted, your hands scrambled to your mouth covering it in fear of more words spilling out unchecked. The room fell silent and you heard Bucky’s breathing stop short. You’d ruined everything. Your whole chest ached as your heart beat ramped up, slamming against your rib cage, your ears ringing as the precious Eden you’d created with him began to crumble and rot. Neither of you said a word for what felt like forever, then he slowly pushed you away from him and he rose from the bed slipping on his shoes. “Wait, no don’t leave please.”

“You just had to go ruin it didn’t you? It’s like your specialty.” He turned to you sweeping his hand through the air as he spoke “ Y/N professional ruiner.” He scoffed as he returned to tying his laces “I mean God! You had one job! And it was to lay there and not talk, but you just had to open your mouth.” Every single poisonous word that fell from his tongue knived you.

You held onto his back trying to pull him back into bed “No please, please don’t leave me!” You cried, hardening your grip as he tried to stand.

“You’re so pathetically lonely, you always have been.” Bucky pushed you into the bed, holding your hands above your head as he glared down at you “You’re just like a dog you know that? A creature that can’t survive without its master. That’s what you’ve made me isn’t it? Your master. Well I can’t be anymore, the little doggy needs to realise that she can’t keep forcing people to be in her life, dragging people into her misery!” As he berated you you sobbed, trying to turn away from his scrutinising, to cover your ears. He was right, you were dragging him down into your misery. You were pathetic. You were harming him and his life by existing. “You know what? How about, as a parting gift, we do it one final time? Give the bitch what she wants? Would that make you happy? Would it finally fill that gaping hole inside of you?”

You nodded tearfully, gnawing down on your bottom lip to stop sobbing. It didn’t stop anything. In fact it just made the helpless feeling inside you fester.

He began tearing your clothes off, tugging at your shirt harshly making it catch your ear as he yanked. You resisted the urge to yelp, you didn’t want to anger him further. He tossed it carelessly and gave you a light slap on your cheek before squeezing your face in the palm of his hand. “You’re so pretty when you cry.” He let out a dark chuckle as he scrunched your face “You are pathetic aren’t you? I can’t believe it took me this long to realise just how pathetic you truly are. You can take off your skirt can’t you?” You whine out a yes and start to undo your skirt, but your eyes are drawn to Bucky undressing above you. You watch the muscle under his slightly tanned skin stretching and tensing as he removes his clothes. Once he was nude he looked down at you expectantly, catching your wander gaze with a stern scowl “Why are you still wearing clothes? I just told you to take your skirt off. Do it.” You scrambled to unzip your skirt, fiddling with the zipper. Bucky tutted, grabbing the sides of the fabric and tearing it apart “Simple.”

More tears filled your eyes as he yanked off your panties. You closed your eyes and thought back to the other times you were together in different hotels, how gentle he was as he stroked the soft flesh of your thigh and nibbled at your skin, whispering promises and praise as he approached your core. He’d stretch and tease you till you begged him for more and even then he’d be so very careful as he entered, pressing his skin against yours as much as possible just to feel even closer to you.

A searing pain shot through your scalp, making your eye shoot open, as he pulled your hair wrapped around his strong vibranium fingers “Face down, ass in the air.”

“Aren’t you going to prep me first?” You asked sheepishly, your voice not going above a whisper.

“Why the fuck- No. Just do what I told you to do. I’m hard, I want to fuck you.” He scoffed, clearly tired with your constant hesitations and questions.

Hesitantly you sat up and presented yourself to him, hoovering your face above the pillows. He pushed your head down, your heart jumped, fear blooming in your chest; for a brief moment you thought he was going to suffocate you, the reminisce of his smell on the pillows filling your lungs. He released your head, you lifted your face from the pillow slightly “Stay down.” He ordered sternly, sounding bored as his dripping tip pressed against your entrance. You did as he said, lowering your cheek back down on the cheap fabric of the pillow case; you began fiddling with the cream coloured fitted sheet, rubbing the fabric between the tips of you fingers. Waiting. Then you felt him push into you, a searing, stretching pain tingling through every fibre of your being as his thick shaft parted your walls. You weren’t as wet as usual, you weren’t as ready as usual, you were afraid of him in this moment. More afraid than you’d ever been in your life. “Fucking tight. God no wonder I keep coming back to you, it’s this pussy. It’s like silk.” He sheathed fully inside of you, ramming his weeping tip against your cervix.

“Ow! Buck, slow. P-please.” You requested timidly, stuttering out the last part fearfully, feeling a sense of uneasiness churn your insides.

He guffawed in response, leaning his head down to rest against your arched spine. Warm puffs of air made your hairs stand on end as he laughed at your request. Finally he rose back up, swiping a tear from the corner of his eye “Last time I checked whores don’t have much of a say in how their clients fuck them. Lay there and look pretty, moan for me, scream for me, but for fucksake whatever you do just don’t talk. You’re driving me crazy.” He pulled out in one Swift motion before slamming himself back inside, relishing in the cry that left your lips “I’m gonna use your little slut hole and you’re gonna thank me for it aren't you?” His voice deepened as he asked, changing his pace from long and brutal to shallow and fast. When you didn’t answer he slapped your ass harshly and clawed at your back leaving painful, searing red streaks “I said. You’re going to thank me, aren’t you.”

You choked on your tears as you answered, managing to croak out a very quiet “yes, Bucky.” Before burying your face back into the pillow in embarrassment from the sound of how ruined your own voice sounded. You took a deep breath in, taking in the lingering scent of Bucky’s cologne. Magnolia, vanilla, leather and petrichor. You chanted the list of fragrances, hoping it would carry you away to a better time. But the sound of his grunting, the sound of his skin colliding with yours and the painful, heavy sadness weighing on your head was too much for you to think back to the past. You were trapped here, under him as he ruthlessly pounded into you.

You felt his once loving cool, metal hand snake around your throat squeezing tightly, you began to choke spit flying from your mouth onto the already tear dampened white pillows “The one good thing about you is you feel so much better than her and you let me do whatever I want to you. You let me choke you.” Bucky gave your throat two strong squeezes before removing his hand to allow you to breathe “she- ah squeezing again? God I’m gonna miss this tight cunt. She’s so vanilla, only missionary, no blowjobs and I practically have to beg her to let me eat her out. But you, you’re a little whore, you'll do anything as long as I pump you full of my cock.” As he finished talking Bucky slammed his hips into your ass, watching it jiggle at the force. He craned his neck down and bit the supple flesh, grinding his teeth and licking the mark before returning to his thrusts, slapping your ass just to hear you yelp. You squeezed him even tighter every time he slapped your ass and with each moan and cry your voice sounded more and more ruined, you hated that even when he was treating you like dirt your body responded to him and he could draw this much pleasure from you.

The gradual heat that had been rising within you was becoming unbearable and the moans you have been trying to silence we’re now impossible to silence “That’s it. Scream for me.” A deep, guttural moan escaped from his open mouth, his hand on your hip growing stronger, to the point that you could feel bruises sprouting “Fuck. So close. So goddamn close, I need you to milk me with you tight hole.” Bucky’s metal hand moved away from you head and slipped underneath you, gathering your slick and fiddling with your clit with his thumb.

“Ahh! So good! So good, Buck!” His hand that was holding your hips buried itself in your hair before he yanked it at. You screamed in response to the burning in your scalp

“I said no talking you fucking whore!” You sniffled in response, feeling your release draw nearer. You pushed back against him choking out a moan as you came on his cock, your walls pulsing and squeezing around his twitching length. Bucky rammed into you a few more time with uncoordinated thrust, believing out a loud “Fuck!” As he painted your walls white. A whimper crawled from your throat as he pulled out; you could feel his seed leaking out of you. Bucky flopped down on the bed next to you pulling a few tissues from the bedside table to clean himself. An awkward silence permeated through the room. Not once after having sex with Bucky did you feel dirty, but today you did. You felt an indescribable urge to get home and scrub yourself till your skin bleed to even hope to remove the icky, gross feeling spread across your skin.

Slowly you lifted your head from the pillow and carefully laid down on your back, wincing as you reddened bottom came in contact with the quilt. You laid there staring at ceiling, tears making your vision swim. Bucky’s rough hand entwined with yours; he squeezed your hand twice and swiped the pad of his thumb across your knuckles tenderly “She’s pregnant. I thought I should tell you. She's gonna give me that family I’d always dreamed of.” The words that were crawling up your throat died, you died. Your body went rigid at the word, pregnant. Of course she was pregnant. The word made you sick, it made you jealous, it made you a crucible of contempt boiling over a bunsen flame—you were going to explode. “We'll, aren't you going to say anything? I’ve been wanting this for a long time. I thought you’d at least be happy for me.”

“Congratulations.” The voice that came out didn’t sound like you, It sounded robotic, metallic and forced. But that was all you could manage, if you said anymore you might snap and strangle him or go kill her. You hated yourself for hating her. But it didn’t make the nagging belief in the back of your mind that it should have been you. That it was destined to be you. He was yours, you were his. It was meant to be you at the altar, meant to be you telling funny stories at your wedding about how you were childhood friends that went to high school and college together, who both had brewing feelings that you both kept suppressed and when you finally both got the courage to confess you had to move for work, but destiny made it so you would both reunite and jump at the chance to confess. It was meant to be you.

“Thanks.” His tone was bitter “ I can stay a bit longer, but I’ll have to leave soon. She’s waiting for me after all.” He cuddled you close, stroking your hair, probably imagining you were her. Had he imagined you were her this whole time? Was it that painful for him to fuck you?

The amount of thoughts racing in your head made you want to step outside into the chilly night air to cool down, but now was your final chance to be with him and you weren’t going to waste it. You ran you hands across the corded muscle of his back, drawing soothing circles just like he used to do for you when you couldn’t sleep. When sleep made your eyelids heavy you barely put up a fight, you welcomed sleep with open arms, you wanted to be freed from the bleak, harsh reality and enter into a dream world where she was you. Yeah that sounded good.

“Bucky?” You called groggily. There was no reply. You crawled over to his side of the bed, it was still warm, and peered over the edge. His shoes were gone and so were his clothes. You laid back on the bed, your eyes catching sight of a torn bit of paper. You grabbed the paper and unfolded it, your hands trembling as you read it ‘I don’t want to see you anymore, please don’t bother my family. - James’ You read the words over and over praying they would change into another message, but it didn’t work. It only made the pang in your chest throb. You scrunched it in your hand as you curled up into a ball trying to disappear as you soaked up the shadow of his body heat, the memories of him that were lingering in that shadow—high school when he sat with you behind the bleachers in the rain and gave you his varsity jacket to warm you up “I’m your portable heater at this point.” He jested, letting out his signature low husky laugh that made you melt, college when he held you from behind as you cried into your pillow about your college senior boyfriend who dumped you, because he was graduating; you could still feel the phantom of Bucky’s warmth whenever you were sad thanks to that day. The day he stroked your hair and whispered into your ear that “He didn’t deserve you.” And that he’d “never make you feel like this.” Well he had so many times, he was right now. But it hurt even more now, it was over for good. You’d lost him, you were too many years too late and now you were just clutching to fleeting memories, but God if the feelings didn’t sting every time you thought about him. It was hard not to, he’d dominated every significant moment of your life. But now you were barred from his perfect little family.

Slowly you unscrunched yourself from the ball you’d folded yourself into, spreading your body out like a starfish drying out on the beach. Your throat was scratchy from crying and your eyes were heavy and swollen. Everything hurt, but simultaneously you were so numb.

You thought of showering, you thought of searching through your bag for some pain meds, you thought of driving your car off the bridge back to the city. You thought a lot, as you laid there staring at the yellowed patches on the popcorn ceiling from water damage.

You thought so much and so hard that you didn’t even notice you’d started crying, again, you were drowning in your emotions. You were huddled in a lifeboat slowly filling with water, with no sight of land. You were waiting for him to save you, but he wasn’t coming back “I wanna be yours. Just wanna be…”

A disembodied voice continued “Yours. Secrets I have held in my heart, are harder to hide than I thought.” The sweet sound of the man’s singing stops “I thought we were gonna sing together, sweetheart.” There was a soft knocking on the wall next to your head “No more crying okay? Guy was a dick anyway.”

“Who are you?” You questioned, sitting up and pressing your ear against the paper thin wall

“A person who’s also been left out to dry, a person who also needs someone to stop me from drowning. If you want some comfort I can come over; we can just lay here, Y/N.” The way he said your name brought back so many memories, you knew who he was

“Ari?” You asked hesitantly, the man who Bucky said didn’t deserve you all the way back in college was on the other side of the wall. He’d listened to everything. You wanted to evaporate.

The door knob of your room jiggled and then the door creaked open. In the doorway was Ari, droplets of rain trickling down his skin. He dipped his head down so he didn’t hit it as he entered your room, his brown hair was a bit longer than it was in college, his beard a bit fuller, he was much more muscular and his chest was more hairy; but for the most part he was the same, he even still had the same crotchety, yet solemn look on his face “Hiya, Sunshine.” His voice was low and soothing, as if you were the finest China that he was worried about shattering. He closed the door gently and walked over to the side of the bed, crouching down to try to make his bearish figure smaller and less daunting “Long time no see. didn’t think the next time I’d see you would be in a shoddy motel, but life is nothing if not unpredictable, right?”

Tag list: @alina02 @winterslove1917 @unabashed-lover-of-fictional-men @petesey @getwellsoontana @feyfantome @alexxavicry @ashenc-blog @floral-recs @addie5587483 @flamefoxxrecs @adoreyouusugar @teambarnes72 @wintasssoldier @gryffindorqueensworld @aerangi @taramaria @inlovewithremusjohnlupin @teddybearsgrr @raajali3 @godesslaura @alma13-blog @cevansgurl @sojuxxi @aerangi @itwillgetbetter @bean-is-reading @emi11ie @cjand10 @sweetwrathoflilith @royalwriteroftheuniverse

Monstertober Day 4:

Somebody’s watching me🦇

Pairing: Vampire!Bucky x Victim!reader

Warnings: Non con→Dub con, near death, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, dacryphilia, marking/biting, bruises (not the kinky kind), scratching, aphrodisiac, choking, spiting, making you drink your own blood, utter filth

Nicknames: Bambi, Doll, Deer, Pet

Word count: 2.5k

༻𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐓𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐌𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫༺

Have you ever felt like there was a pair of eyes following your every move?

All day that feeling’s been persistently nagging at the back of your mind. Each time you turned around, your eyes frantically scanned your apartment for the traces of the eyes. Nothing. You honestly felt like you were going crazy the entire day; when you were cooking you placed down the vegetable peeler to take the lid off the pasta that was boiling, you couldn’t have been turned around for more than fifteen seconds, you felt warm air blow against your neck and spun around instantly and there was nothing, no one and your vegetable peeler was also gone. You later found it on the coffee table. Odd, that’s all you could really say to abate the panic bubbling inside of you, the agitating feeling that you were not alone in your tiny one bedroom apartment. There was no way that you put that vegetable peeler on that coffee table, you knew that—but you lied to yourself.

As if nothing had happened, you sat down at the coffee table, put on Netflix and drowned out your fears for an hour, relaxed and laughed and now it was time to shower.

Slowly, you slipped off your clothes; shivering at the chilly air as it sends ripples of goosebumps across your skin, your nipples harden and you wrap your towel around yourself protectively, unsure if you’re protecting yourself from the cold or prying eyes. You open the bathroom door, staring out into the corridor one final time before letting out a steady breath and closing it. No one was there. “There's no one here, you’re being silly.” You reassured yourself, letting out a stifled laugh at the notion of someone being in your apartment.

You got in the shower, allowing the hot streams of water to wash away the stress that had plagued you all day. You lifted up your body wash squeezing a generous amount in your hand before spreading it across your body.

Thud

Your blood ran cold.

You turned off the shower, grabbed your towel, swaddled yourself in it and threw open the door to the bathroom “Listen! I know someone’s in here! So you better get the fuck out before I find you!” What were you going to do if you found someone? You had no idea. There was no way you could overpower someone, especially not in your towel.

Silence rang out in your apartment. Maybe you were going absolutely nuts. But it sounded so real.

You stomped through your apartment, heart hammering against your ribcage like a prisoner trying to escape, searching every single room. Throwing open each door one by one; as you did the terror you were feeling began to dissipate. You reached you living room, the rug was a bit dirty, but that was probably just from you spilling some dirt after repotting your plants.

Returning to your shower, you felt confident no one was inside your house. You had thoroughly checked reached individual room of your small apartment; looking behind your sofa, behind tables in the corner, even under your bed which took you a while to type yourself up to do.

You finished your shower, uneventfully, and got into your pjs and staggered over to your bed practically collapsing into it. The storm outside was raging on, rain hammering against your window, you laid on your side staring at the void. Lightning flashed and a rumble of thunder rolled on behind it, making you snuggle further into your heap of blankets. You let your eyes fall closed, listening to the rain.

Scratch

A branch must have been scratching against your window, you tried to ignore it.

Whack

Scratch

You threw your covers off, stomping over to the window and throwing it open to snap the branch. That’s when you realised. There was no tree that close to your window.

You were pushed to the ground by a person that came through your window. Your head hit the carpet as the person caged you in, the rain soaking his clothes from outside dripping onto you “Thanks for letting me back in, Doll.”

Glowing red eyes stared directly into your soul, you slammed your fists into him desperately in an attempt to get him off “Get the fuck off me! Who the hell are you?!” A scream died in your throat when an icy arm snaked around your throat pushing painfully into your trachea and pulling you into his broad chest.

“That is not very nice, I’ve been watching you all day after all. I even helped you clean up your vegetable peeler.” Your eyes grew as wide as dinner plates and your throat went dry at his confession. Hot tears streamed down your face and you opened your mouth to scream but a powerful hand clapped over your mouth “shhh. No need to talk, just relax for me little Bambi.” He steadily let his hand covering your mouth slip to below your chin and turned your head to face him. The harsh blue glow of lightning lit up the room for a brief moment and you were able to see him more clearly. His chiselled features are burned into the back of your eyelids; his chocolate brown hair, his sculpted jaw besprinkled with the beginnings of a beard. He was so enchantingly beautiful.

“You look so beautiful when you cry.” His reddened lips were slightly parted in an impish smile exposing his needle sharp canine teeth that glinted in the fleeting light, the sight of his wolf like canines only deepened your unease “Your heart is pounding Bambi.” He cooed letting out a dark chuckle as he tightened his hold on your throat, pulling you flush against you till his whole being is engulfing you—imprisoning you against his bulky figure, you cough as he squeezes. He lowers his head to the crook of your neck nudging his nose just below your ear and inhaling deeply. The strange man let out a groan in response “Fuck you smell so good, little deer. You’re going to be good for me aren’t you? Gonna be so good for Bucky whilst he eats his fill…In more ways than one.” His tone is honeyed, smooth and so sinfully deep that it allows you to momentarily forget that he is only using one of his arms to hold you in place, also the fact that he climbed through your window which was on the fourth floor. Then you feel something wet and cold lick down your neck before a sharp pain radiates through your shoulder, you wail in response; digging your nails into his hairy arm leaving bloody crescents as you drag them across Bucky’s skin praying that he will let you go.

Your head grows cloudy as he continues to suck, the wet lapping of his tongue against your skin and the sound akin to the slurping of a straw in an empty juice box overpowers the clattering of the rain outside. Uncomfortable heat spreads across your skin, leaving all your limbs tingling. Costively he lowers you to the floor, as he does the whole world feels like it’s tilting on its axis, the room around you is barely visible as your vision swims making your stomach do somersaults as you swallow down the urge to vomit. Your head is pressed sideways against the carpet and you rest on your elbows, knees bent with your ass in the air. The queasy feeling in you subsides and instead melts into a pleasurable throb in between your thighs.

Bucky’s teeth finally leave your neck, but he remains bent over you—his tongue swiping across your skin, collecting the excess blood that’s dripping from the punctures on your neck “God I knew I made the right choice. I could smell you from miles away, I followed the scent and it brought me here. This is the sweetest blood I’ve ever tasted, you’re like a heavenly nectar. My forbidden from the tree in Eden.” He growls, you feel him run his tongue across the holes last time; his head hovers over your neck, mouth open, hot puffs of air warming your skin. He pulls away. “I’ll stop for now, I still want you conscious whilst I fuck you and I need to savour your flavour.”

You slur out a jumbled ‘no’ and ‘fuck off’ in response, but he just titters condescendingly at the state of you; running his hands across your back in an exaggeratedly soothing motion. His hands slink round to your chest, squeezing your breasts before he tears your shirt down the middle in one harsh yank. You shift under him, unintentionally rubbing your ass into his bulge “Where’d all the fight go my frightened little bambi? Did it feel good having a vampire drain you of most of your blood?” Bucky withdraws himself from his position on top of you, removing his arm from the side of your head, instead opting to perch on his knees behind you. Planting both his hands on your hips and pulling you against him, grinding his clothed dick against you dampening pyjama shorts.

“Uhn- feels so good.” You keened into his touch, your previous hesitancy and fear becoming a distant memory, replaced by overwhelming lust that was corrupting your mind. His metal hand meanders down to the thin fabric tearing it and your panties easily, exposing your leaking slit to the cold air leaking in from the open window.

Bucky swiped two of his fingers down your creamy cunt, humming approvingly at the slick “Us vampires have a certain venom in our saliva, you’ll find that this is going to be the best pleasure that you’ve ever experienced. Rather sad, because it's going to be the last you ever feel.” He squeezed your clit between his fingers, toying with the button to hear you pathetic whines “Your pussy is practically drooling for me.” He roughly shoved two large, chilly fingers into you, pistoning them in and out—watching as you hole clenches around them trying to coax them back inside. He scissors his fingers twice before landing a slap on one of your ass cheeks, you yelp, your pussy clamps around his thick fingers. He repeats the action and you clench tighter “Naughty girl, getting turned on from me spanking your ass.” His tone playful and teasing. Bucky slips his fingers out and you whimper at the loss, the burn within you becoming unbearable, your ability to think coherently fading with each passing second—the only thought left behind was of him. Of Bucky and his cock that was going to split you open. You knew it was thick and long, you could feel it against your thigh as he finger fucked you. “Even your juices taste divine, Doll, you were made for me.” You hear him suck his fingers a bit more, before the brief sharp hiss of his jeans zipper being undone puts an end to your needy groaning. You feel the girthy wet tip of his cock circle your quivering hole, goosebumps litter your skin once again as both of his cold hands return to their position at your hips.

He plunges all of his length inside you at once, his thick length stretches you painfully around him.; you’re painfully aware of every inch and vein of his cock. Your toes curl as he continues to pound into you at a ferocious pace, not stopping once for you to adjust to his length. You let out a scream, biting your forearm as he angles his hips making you squeal. A ruthless smack meets your rear, you tighten around him; but even that doesn’t make him falter. His grip on your hips grows tighter, tight enough to break through the stifling pleasure and bring you back to your senses briefly; until another harsh thrust that bashes your cervix knocks you back into your pleasurable slurry—that has you sobbing with every rhythmic thrust. Orgasm builds in your lower gut, you were in sheer bliss as you came on his cock. It was the most mind numbing orgasm you’d ever experienced. Your legs give out below you, but his beefy arm keeps you up. He drapes himself back over you, his pace quickening, thrust becoming more erratic, hungrier as face lingered above your other shoulder. He licked the shell of your ear and pressed wet, hot open mouth kisses to the skin of your neck, the dusting of stubble on his jaw itching your skin; he grunted as his cock twitched inside you. Bucky rammed his hips into yours with one last powerful thrust, then he sank his fangs into your other shoulder.

The agony of the bite granted you a fleeting moment of clarity of what was happening. The fact that a strange man, a vampire, had climbed into your window and taken you against your will and was now sucking you dry of your blood. It all seemed like one convoluted dream, no, a nightmare. But these thoughts faded just as quickly as they flashed in your mind, instead they liquefied into a sea of nothingness. No thoughts, just feelings. A delightful, spine tingling, lip biting sensation that flooded your whole body, making you a pliable, moaning, dribbling mess below the vampire that was mauling your shoulder. You couldn’t feel the blood trickling down your chest or the barbaric way his teeth dug into every square inch of your neck and shoulder. You were on the brink of death and yet you put up no fight, you were revelling in the ecstasy that was muddling your brain. He was killing you so softly “You taste so good, best thing I’ve ever tasted. I’m so glad I followed your scent, Bambi.” Bucky pulled himself off your shoulder and slipped out of your tight heat, grabbing your arm and flipping you onto your back. His eyes stared down into yours; your pupils blown wide as you laid delirious mouth hanging open dumbly. He spat into your mouth; then glided his fingers over the blood running down your tit and shoved it into your mouth, wiping the blood on to your tongue “Swallow it, Pet, and be mine forever.”

You did as he said and reality grew clearer. You looked at him cluelessly “What?” You croaked, voice strained from screaming.

His cold hand stroked your face and he hushed you, a smile that did not reach his eyes contorting his features “I made you a Blood slave, Bambi, so I can feast on you forever. Forever and Always.”

Tag list: @alina02 @winterslove1917 @unabashed-lover-of-fictional-men @petesey @getwellsoontana @feyfantome @alexxavicry @ashenc-blog @floral-recs @renster05 @redbloodedgurl @teambarnes72 @shrekwreck @sweetwrathoflilith @cjand10 @flamefoxxrecs @addie5587483 @little-bunny0523 @tenpointsforbucky @sojuxxi @adoreyouusugar @teambarnes72 @wintasssoldier @gryffindorqueensworld @aerangi @itwillgetbetter

Thanatosis 🦋

Part 1 : Holometabolous metamorphosis🦋

thanatosis- commonly known as ‘playing dead’ or tonic immobility, is a protective behaviour of animals and insects in which all voluntary activity is ceased and posture suggesting death is assumed. it occurs when disturbed.

Pairing: soft! Mafia! Biker! Bucky x innocent! victim! reader → dark! Mean! Mafia Biker! Bucky

Warnings: Non con, Stockholm syndrome, victim blaming (reader blames themselves), crying, pleading, abandonment issues, alcohol, name calling, dark!Bucky, mean!Bucky, Beefy!Bucky, innocent!reader, manipulation, abuse, bruises (not the kinky kind), thoughts of suicide, dacryphilia, punching, slapping, mentions of blood, heavy angst, fluff (at one point then it’s downhill from there)

Nicknames: бабочка (butterfly), stupid, ugly, worthless, whore, dumb, crybaby

The relationship depicted is not healthy at all. If you are experiencing a situation similar to this, please contact an abuse hotline, womens shelter or your doctor who can get you help. Stay safe.

༻ 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐓𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐀𝐬𝐤𝐬 ༺

I am where I belong. My eyes drift open. I’m not on the floor. I’m not in my apartment, my cocoon. Instead I run my hand over fresh, expensive iron coloured sheets, I smell the air. Musky magnolia wood. I tap next to me, the bed is empty. But it’s warm. I swivel my head anxiously, but I’m alone. I plant my hands either side of me and push myself up, the world around me is fuzzy and my head buzzes painfully. I’m not dead. He saved me. He loves me. I need him.

The door clicks open, and in walks Bucky holding a cup of coffee. His sculpted jaw is set in a solemn expression, but his lips pull into a smile when his eyes meet mine “бабочка you're awake.” His voice is hoarse and just above a whisper, he sounds as if he’s been crying. He cautiously steps forward, scanning his eyes over me for any movement. I throw the cover off and practically leap off the bed “please, doll, I won’t hurt you. I should have never come near you whilst I was like that, I become a completely different person.” His reasoning stops as I limp around the bed and attach myself to his leg. He places the coffee down and attempts to remove me, but my grip tightens on his thick calf and my sobs grow louder as I let out incoherent pleads for him to stay. For him to never leave me again, promises that I would be good, I would be better, I would be whatever he needs, that I was stupid, that I was forever his.

We sit there for what feels like forever, on the carpeted floor. He rocks me back and forth gently, trying to console me, trying to stop my pleas. I do stop eventually, when he strokes my hair and holds me in his arms like a small child; whispering sweet nothings to me apologising like a prayer, his salty tears dripping down on to my face joining my snot and tears that leak on to the fresh clothes he’d put me in. He tries to wipe at the damp spot, but I nuzzle further into him, body weak, tiny next to his, shaking like a tree in a hurricane holding on to him for stability “I’m going to be better to you бабочка. You didn’t deserve that, okay? It wasn’t good, it wasn’t what you deserved; you’re precious I need to protect you my beautiful, beautiful fragile little butterfly.” His butterfly…I’ve always been his butterfly he thinks I’m beautiful he wants to protect me, my fresh wings are still unfurling. I’ve been born a new from my cocoon and now my life begins with Bucky. Bucky is good, I belong to Bucky “Are you okay now бабочка?” He asked, his face full of concern as I stared helplessly up at him, my eyes puffy, full of tears and face red nodding slowly. He stoops his neck and kisses me with all the tenderness and passion that was void from last night. The coldness that had seeped into my bones from being abandoned on my glum, dingy bathroom floor began to subside as Bucky’s tongue explored my mouth with his hot tongue. His kisses had always made me breathless, but now his hypnotising effect was doubled. I craved him so intensely.

I grabbed at his grey crew neck with my small hands, rubbing the fabric between my fingers as I pulled him even closer “Bucky.” I mewled, breaking gtg kiss and buryin fly face in the crook of his neck taking in his musky scent.

“I’ll never hurt you again бабочка, I promise you.”

It had been days since I’d first woken up in his bed and now it was an everyday occurance, he’d decided he didn’t want me staying in my apartment anymore, citing the bad memories and how depressing the space was as his reason. The past few days had been the best, he had cuddled with me on the couch continuously—wrapping me in soft blankets, kissing me constantly, always touching me in some way. Always praising me. Always telling me how much he loved me. He had to go out tonight to meet with the members of the gang, he told me not to call it that; he constantly says they’re not gangsters— though the whole of Brooklyn and the people he hangs out with would say otherwise. He wants to protect me, not to scare me…so thoughtful I remark.

The front door slams shut, I hear the sound of Bucky’s keys being tossed into the bowl on the chest of draws near the door. I turn off the TV, slip out of my cocoon of blankets and head for the door to see Bucky, pure adoration in my eyes. He’s kicking off his shoes, he looks up to see me and there is none of the usual warmth in his face. Blood is dripping from his temple, he has a cut across the bridge of his nose and his hair is dark and wet with sweat. His hands are trembling. No they’re thrumming. He’s furious, his breath is ragged like an animal sizing up its prey. His flame is burning brighter, harsher, hotter than ever. The adoration slips away. “бабочка. Come here.” He commands in a growl, I’m frozen staring at him like a deer in headlights. The smell of whiskey and a blend of other alcoholic beverages reaches my noses causing it to rinkle, he’s been drinking again. He promised not to “бабочка! I said come here are you FUCKING DEAF YOU WHORE?” He bellowed as he threw his suit jacket to the wooden floor. I took off down the hall to the bathroom, the only room with a lock. He caught up with me easily, slamming my head into the door as my hands desperately shook the knob trying to get it open. The pain from the impact sent shockwaves of dull pain across my nerves and caused white dots, dripping with colour to blot my vision. The door swung open and Bucky crashed into the floor, I clung to the door. I can lock him in. I pulled the door closed, but his fingers wrapped around it trying to pry it open as I was shutting it. I smashed his fingers in the door frame and he howled in response, using all of his strength—which was much more than mine—to slam the door into the wall. I’d failed, my only chance to get away. My face heated up tears blurring my vision as my lip wobbled pathetically just like my legs. They were jelly below me.

“No Bucky. No.” I cried fighting against his tight grip on my forearm, scratching at his face. He bit down on my finger. I screamed as he pushed me to the ground.

“Bedroom or here Bitch?” He asked lacing his fingers into my hair as I pummelled at his knees “FUCKING ANSWER ME!” Bucky demanded tugging at my hair enough to tear out strands. I yelp and weep in response, digging my nails into his forearm. Clawing at him. Begging for him to let me go “Fine. We’re doing it here.” He huffed releasing my hair and shoving my head into the ground. I was laying half way between the hallway and the bathroom, I tried to crawl away. Raking my nails across the wood, the awful scratching sound drowned by the deafening thump of my blood rushing past my ears. He grabbed my legs, bending them at the knee and pushing them painfully till the ball of my heels dug into my butt. He pressed harder into my bent legs as he draped himself over me, pressing his face to my ear, the beginnings of scruff on his jaw scratching the shell of my ear. “Try to get away and I’ll snap your little legs like chopsticks.” He threatened, spitting in my face as he rose back up, tearing my shirt in half and throwing it. I began to sob as he let me lay there helplessly on the ground, splayed out like a starfish on the beach. He tore my underwear as well, tossing the torn fabric carelessly like a used rag. I choked out painful sobs, as a tangle of cries and pleas ached in my throat trying to crawl out of my open, dribbling mouth. He shoved his fingers inside me roughly, causing a burn to radiate through me. It was so dry down there. He scissored his fingers twice before giving up and spitting on his cock, pumping his hand across his length a few times. That’s when the last sparks of adrenaline kicked in. I kicked him where it hurt, he yowled in agony as my foot connected with his balls. I clumsily got to my feet, pain shooting through my legs with every floundering step. I clung to the wall limping towards the front door. It was so close. I could fly free.

The flame burnt my wings. His fist connected with my temple and I collided with the oak wood, I traced the wood grain with my finger as my thoughts faded away. It’s Hopeless, like me. He turned me over and my unfocused eyes met his intense dark glare, his eyes were verging on black as his blue iris was swallowed by his insatiable black holes of pupils. The punches began. He pounded my stomach ruthlessly, then he threw a jab at my already bruised ribs, the metallic taste of iron rose in my throat and I coughed. Blood and spit smeared on my chin. He moved up to my face, slapping it over and over with the front and back of his hand—at least he isn’t wearing rings today— is the only thing that came to mind as I wordlessly let him hit, slap and scream. He soon got bored of it, the only thing that entertained him was the silent tears that streaked down my cheeks. He lapped at them like an animal; the heat of his tongue stinging my cheeks that he’d just finished slapping. I am where I belong. I am where I belong. IAMWHEREIBELONG. I try to reassure myself, the chant in my head almost overpowered the sound of his grunts and groans as he entered me. I broke my silence letting out a high pitched wail as he sheathed himself fully inside. I still couldn’t move. My body was frozen in place, my limbs felt as if they were pinned down by sandbags as I futilely tried to lift them. He continued his thrusts “Scream for me бабочка. Cry for me бабочка. You look so pretty when you cry, my little crybaby.” He chuckled as he cooed and ran his hand across my tear stained cheek. They way he said it sounded as if he was praising me, as if he wasn’t raping me in the hallway. As if my blood wasn’t the only thing making him slick enough to thrust. As if he wasn’t burning me. He promised he wouldn’t do this again. But the cycle repeats again.

Maybe I deserve this. He cares for you. My thoughts are disturbed by a distant voice. He loves you so much, this is what love looks like. He loves our wings, he burns us so beautifully. We can’t survive without him. We need Bucky.

His moans disturb my thoughts, he’s close I feel his cock twitch inside me. I let out a stifled sob “please stop.” My begging came out in a voice so small that it could be confused with the blowing of this wind, but he heard me. How could he not? He’s been staring intently at my face waiting for me to say something, anything, whilst he splits me open. His lips twitch into a smile as he picks up the pace earning a sob from my lips. His nails dig into the scabs from before, tearing them open causing blood to leak down my sides. I begin to regain feeling and the pain is atrocious. The white hot pain from where we are connected makes me try to reach out and grab him, pins and needles stab at the muscles in my arms as I begin to flail. I want to die. The pain is excruciating. Every part of my brain screams at me to get away from him. Stupid little moth. I curse. You flew too close to the flame and now look at you, pinned beneath him being fucked like a rag doll. Stupid, ugly, worthless little moth.

Maybe this is death, this is what death feels like. Painful until it’s not. Full of sadness until it’s not. Until it’s nothing but a dark hellscape to replace this hellscape. If I am dying I want it to be now, before he cums in me, before his warmth fills me. I want to die. I want to be an insignificant, little moth living my days chasing the brightest lamp; until I can curl up on some shitty windowsill and die, body stiff and useless—thrown in the trash or out a window. Or maybe this isn’t death, maybe I’m already dead and this is limbo, my own personal train platform before I get my ticket to heaven or hell. Maybe metamorphosis really did turn my fucking brain to soup, idiotic moth.

Give in to him. The pain will go away if you give in. The voice calls again, but this time I listen, closing my aching, heavy eyelids and the world around me fades.

And now I am where I belong. I thought I had completed metamorphosis before, how naive I was. As I sit upon his lap, head empty aside from the thought of Bucky, as he absent mindedly thrusts himself into me during his meeting. I suck at his neck, soaking in his scent. Babbling his name, moaning. Now my brain is soup seasoned by thoughts of him. Only him. I’m not dying, my life has only just started. He freed me from my cocoon because he loves me, he loves my wings, I’m his pretty moth. The cycle will repeat again, but for now I know that I am where I belong, with Bucky. I am his play thing, everything he does shows me he loves me. I’m just stupid, I need him to protect me. His flame burns me so sweetly. Without him I’ll die, he keeps me warm. The bruises hurt to remind me to be good, that he knows what’s best for me because I am where I belong.

Playing hard to get 3 🐰🐺

Part III (Restrained)

Part I (The Diner)

Part II (The Restaurant)

Playing hard to get master list

Pairing: Dark!Biker! Bucky x Reader

Warnings: dub con (but the reader is into it), size difference, Beefy!Bucky (he’s 6,2), country bunny!reader, restraints/bdsm/ropes, brat taming, scent kink, cunnilingus, overstimulation, threat of violence, knife play, begging, asphyxiation/ choking, breeding kink, pregnancy kink, lactation kink, marking, cream pie, praise, good ending

Nicknames: Bunny, BunBun, slut, mine

Word count: 3.2k

Master list

Taglist🎀

And so that brings us to the end of the ‘Playing hard to get series’ I wanted to thank you all for the support. There are more series to come and I may make continuations of this in the future.

Bucky’s piercing blue eyes finally drifted open, you just finished setting everything up. You were sitting on top of him, sliding your clit back and forth on the chiselled surface of his stomach. You lowered your face to his, nudging your nose against his gently. His tired features drew into a dopey smile, he pulled at the restraints attempting to grab your hips and grind you into him. His smile turned into a puzzled look, his brows drawing together as he tried again. Then it became as frown as he aggressively pulled at the rope “What the fuck is going on? You have 30 seconds to explain, Bunny.” He threatened lowly, glaring at you from below

“I don’t have to explain anything to you.” You allowed a pompous look to corrupt your features; to say you felt in power was an understatement. You felt like you had the keys to the kingdom. You had the dominant, cocky ruler of Brooklyn at your mercy. You cupped his bristly cheeks in your hands, before moving down towards his hardened cock. It was red and angry, a bead of precum decorating the smooth tip. You backed up on the thick veiny shaft dry humping him “How do you know Natasha?” You questioned.

“She used to run with us, but then someone she cared about got hurt and she decided she wanted a quieter life. It’s nothing serious or salacious, we were sworn siblings I guess.” He admitted he was being truthful. You nodded standing on your knees and sliding his leaking tip threw your folds; prodding it at your entrance before sitting back on top of his pelvis.

“Beg me for it, beg me to put your thick cock inside me Bucky. You always make me beg, now it’s your turn.” You moaned looking down at him, your face pulled into a cocky smile as you humped yourself against him. Soon enough that cockiness disappeared, as his metal hand flew to your neck squeezing tight enough to deprive you of oxygen as he spoke “I don’t beg for anyone. Not even you. You’re going to beg for me though, you’re going to be screaming, crying, begging like your life depends on it. Your pleasure definitely will. I’m going to edge you until the only word you know is my name, Bunny. Until you can’t walk and I’ll have to carry you. I’m going to ruin any other man for you.” He tightened his grip until your nails began to claw at his hand, watching as you wheezed craving oxygen. He threw you where he’d previously been tied “this is how you tie knots Bunny. Nice and tight.” He growled, pulling the ropes leaving barely any wriggle room “then you loosely twist there, pull it back through, pull as hard as you can, now the same with the other side, pull both sides. There. That’s really tight isn’t it. It’s a double fisherman’s knot, good luck getting out of that Bunny. it’s almost impossible to untie.” He spat.

He leaned over you towards the nightstand, flinging one of the draws open, he emerged with a knife. The black butterfly knife from the night you met. He threw it dangerously above you, catching it and tossing it around in controlled motions that resembled dance steps, it was graceful like a ballerina. He stopped, bringing his knife under your chin; stroking the blunt side against the column of your throat, you squirmed slightly, the danger making you nervous yet excited. He trailed down to the white strap of your bra “such an innocent colour for a naughty, slutty girl.” He cooed, swiftly cutting both the straps. You bite down on your bottom lip to muffle your moans as he hovers the blade above the swell of your breast, causing your skin to rise into goosebumps as he reaches the centre front of the bra cutting through it. The sound of tearing fabric filled the silence of the room and you whimpered, as your tits were exposed to cold air causing your nipples to stand erect in the chill; he circled them with the tip of the blade rubbing his hardened member against your thigh, as he dragged the blade down towards your panties. Your breath hitched as he pressed the blunt side of the blade to your clit, rubbing it ever so slightly before returning to the band of your lacey, white panties, hooking the blade under the fabric and yanking the knife. In one swift movement you were so close to being fully exposed to him. You squirmed again and his metal hand held your hips down “don’t move or it’s gonna hurt.” He stated firmly before doing the same to the other side of your panties. He discarded the ruined fabric, pausing to breathe in the scent of you, heady and aroused, before tossing it to join your ruined bra.

He trailed the knife on the inner flesh of your thigh, before placing the knife back on the bedside table and settling his face between your legs; hiking them over his shoulders, his hot breath fanning at your bare pussy. You squirmed, pulling against the bed frame, trying to wiggle your wrists. The rope rubbed against them burning “Bucky it’s too tight it hurts, please.” You whined, tears brimming in your eyes from the prickle of pain building in your arms from being above you head.

“You should have thought about that before you decided to tie me to the bed, Bunny, now I’m going to educate you. Very thoroughly. So that you learn your place.” He ran his fingers through your silken folds, dipping his fingers into your wet, pleading cunt. He took his slick covered fingers up to your clit, circling it slowly and squeezing it between his index and middle finger. You squeaked in response, trying to close your legs around his head. He wrapped his calloused hands around your plush thighs preventing you from doing so “look at you my sweet girl, dripping for me, pulsating. Too bad Bunny is misbehaving. Now I have to take it out on you.” The filthiness of his words made you wetter. Your back arches as his hot tongue comes in contact with your aching pussy, he lets out a groan which reverberates against your clit and you dig your nails into your palms—trying to buck your hips into his skilful ministrations. Sinful slurping sounds fill the room, almost drowned out by your debaucherous moans. You fought with yourself trying to maintain your dignity and choke down your moans. It was impossible. His skilful tongue scratched an itch you didn’t know you had, as he sucked and playful tugged at the sensitive hood of your clit with his teeth you sped up your grinding chasing your orgasm. You could feel the heat inside you building and building as he continued flicking his tongue against your desperate nub. All your inhibitions had melted away as you chased your release, you were moaning unabashed, you were on the brink, eyes rolling back into your skull. Then he pulled away. Looking down at his work with a satiated grin “That’s one. You have so many more to come, Bunny. I’m going to edge you till you are a mumbling mess.” He snickered at your pouting face, stroking your thighs before starting again.

He’d been at it for hours, bringing you to the brink of orgasm too many times to count and then pulling away. Your clit throbbed painfully as you thrashed in his grip, you had no idea what time it was, you barely even knew where you were at this point. The only thing you could think about was Bucky’s face buried between your legs, teasing you with his tongue as pain and pleasure bleed into one concept. You were desperate to cum, your head was stuffed with cotton and your eyes were puffy and red from tears of ecstasy and frustration. He’d barely spoken to you this whole time, Bucky had spoken, just not directly to you; he was talking to your pussy like it would respond, apologising to it, blaming you for this treatment.

You gripped at the ropes with your fingers as your hips began to thrash, trying to push your clit into Bucky’s face, trying to grind on any part of him to finally reach a complete orgasm. Your head was lulled to the side, drool and tears collecting in the crease of your elbow as you mumbled, begged and choked on your spit. Just as you were about to cum for the whoever knows manyth time he pulled away, his tongue jutting out to lick your juices which were smeared on his lips, he wiped his chin with his palm and finally looked down at his work, your pupils were blown wide, you eyes were glassy, and your gaze was distant. He waved a hand in front of your face and you just barely managed to look up at him. “Now say sorry, Bunny. Tell me that you're sorry for what you did and I’ll put my cock in your greedy little slut hole.”

“Mhm Sorwy…” you mumbled meekly, body still reeling from your last almost-orgasm. You were still a world aways from him, you still saw flashes of light, little stars, exploding in your vision. But his metal hand smacking into the soft flesh of your ass pulled you from your fantasy, you shrieked in response, closing your legs and you tried to crawl away from him. It was impossible. You were still tied to the bed. His hand came down once more at an angle drawing a yelp from your drool covered lips, fuzzy spikes of pain rippled across the inflamed skin as his hand gently rubbed the area he’d just brutally smacked.

“Again. Say sorry. Properly this time or I’ll hit you again and it’ll be worse this time, it’ll be a lot more than just two and I’ll keep on edging you until the sun goes down.” His hand lifted from your sore ass in preparation to hit you again.

“I’m sorry Bucky! I’m really really sorry for tying you up! Please I need to cum, need your cock in me rubbing all my favourite spots please.” You whined giving him a pleading look as your opened your legs wide for him.

“Such a good girl, my good little Bunny, so good at taking responsibility. Now it’s time for my good girl's reward.” He cooed as he swiped his fingers through your folds, collecting your juices and lathering his hard cock which had been taunting you this whole time. Your mouth hung open in anticipation for it to slide inside, for it to stuff you to the brim. But he didn’t put it in yet. Bucky rubbed the head of his cock against your clit, it was painful, but it felt so good you couldn’t help but let out little shrieks as you tried to squirm away. It was too much. Your clit was still so sensitive from the endless barrages of his tongue and fingers.

“Pleaseeeee” You cried lifting your hips with all the strength you could muster “In! Please!” Bucky pushed his head into you, then quickly pulled out. You squeezed your eyes, blinking away the tears to see his face. His lips were drawn into a devilish smirk, he was enjoying how slutty you were becoming for him as your craving for him to be inside you grew.

“Look at you so wanton, shamelessly presenting your pink, puffy pussy to me. You want me inside so badly don’t you?” You nodded your head furiously, his smirk only grew as your whines got louder. “I’ll give it to you Bunny. On one condition.”

“I’ll do anything! Bucky please!” You pleaded, pulling at the ropes in a futile attempt to get closer to him. He leaned in next to your ear, blowing. The colder air tickled causing you to thrash.

“Say you’re Mine. Say you’ll always be Mine.” He whispered and began to pull away. You surged forward, smashing your lips onto his. He surprisingly returned the kiss, chewing slightly on your lower lip as he pulled back.

“I’m Yours Bucky. I belong to you, now and forever. I want to be with you no matter what.” Just as you finished speaking he let out a low rumbling growl and slipped his cock into you, giving you no preamble as he began to thrust you came almost immediately. Squeezing around him and throwing your head back into the pillows, just barely missing the head board. Your spine curved and you dug your toes into the covers. Screaming as the most intense orgasm you’d ever felt steam rolled through your body. Your legs shook as you slammed back down into the mattress sobbing as Bucky continued his thrusts rubbing your sides soothingly

“Felt so good didn’t that Bunny. I give you the best pleasure don’t I? No one else will ever make you feel this way.”

“Yes Buck only you” you rasped as shockwaves continued to electrify every part of you. You clasped and unclasped your fingers, you wanted to hold him, you wanted to rake your fingers down his back. Bucky noticed, reaching over to the knife he had discarded on the nightstand earlier. He paused his thrusts, nestling himself deep inside, his tip rubbing almost painfully against your cervix as he cut the ropes. You waited for him to put the knife back before wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, inhaling him as nipped and sucked at his neck nuzzling your smooth face against his stubble covered cheeks “Love you. Cum, wanna cum.” You mumble grinding your hips against his, he placed a kiss on your forehead.

“Of course, Bun, I’m gonna get you pregnant. I want to see your belly swell with my little bunnies.” He responded, lifting his fingers to your mouth; you sucked on the briefly and he brought his hand down to your sensitive, throbbing bud rubbing it. Desperation flared in his eyes as he slowly pulled out, before returning to his original rapid pace, slowing at random intervals to grind against your sweet spot. He lets out animalistic grunts in response to your teary, squirming form below him. “I can’t wait for your tits to swell, for you to be dripping milk as you ride my cock like the little cock hungry slut you are. You're my cock slut aren’t you Bunny?”

“Yes!” You wail in response to his fantasies, that you are slowly craving to come true. He begins to pump harder, slamming his hips into you nibbling at your neck as you draw him closer with your arms. His whole body encompasses yours like an eclipse, all you can see is him and his beefy frame as he loses himself to his carnal desires “Close Bunny. You’re gonna cum with me aren’t you, I can feel your little pussy clenching around me. You want my seed to impregnate you, don’t you?” He ground his hips into your clit as he braced himself over you “Answer me.” He bellowed his face inches from yours, the storm in his blue eyes was violent, drowning his pupils that were blown wide with an unrivalled lust.

The look he gave, his body pressed against yours, and his distinctly manly scent sent you over the edge “Cumming! Cumming Bucky!” You cried, trying to choke down the scream that slipped past your lips as salt tears streamed from your eyes. You dug your nails into the skin of his back, ripping from his shoulders down to his sides as your body trembled and spasmed.

“Fuck.” He howled, gritting his teeth as he wildly pumped himself into your tight, fluttering hole. The way you squeezed him brought on his release, his cum painted your tight insides. His load just kept coming, he panted as he slammed shallow, harsh thrusts into you. You squeezed him tightly begging him to stop, screaming about how sensitive you were. Then it all went black, as you drifted into a warm, satisfied sleep.

You shifted on top of him, mumbling unintelligibly into the searing heat of his wide chest. You pushed yourself up, his large hand stroked the hair from your eyes

“Mornin’ BunBun, or should I say Good afternoon? You had a very good sleep.” He let out a deep chuckle, using his thumb to swipe the drool from your open lips. You panicked rubbing at your face “Calm down, Bunny, it’s cute. You’re so adorable. I really took it out of you didn’t I.” He had a goofy smile on his face as he sat up against the headboard, pulling you back against his warm chest. You admired the hard muscular plains of his chest as he rested your ear next to his heart. The soft thump calmed you.

“Did I pass out?” You questioned, looking up at him so innocently that Bucky swore it made his heart skip a beat.

“Yeah, you needed your rest so I cleaned you up and got into bed with you.” He explained, stroking your shoulders with his large, rough hands.

“Thank you.” You muttered, a wave of awkwardness washed over you. What were you meant to do now? You were in his house, he’d fucked you all the way into the afternoon and you still didn’t know what your relationship was.

“You can talk to me, you know? I can see your face, you’re confused, worried even. Tell me what you're thinking.” His thick fingers came underneath your hair rubbing at the nape of your neck and scratching at your scalp. The feeling relaxed you almost instantly, you chewed on the inside of your mouth looking into his eyes. His look was genuine.

“What are we Bucky?” You asked lowly, you felt stupid for asking. But the fact that he was so important, he told you last night he owned half the city…it made you question whether this was meant to just be a passing fancy for him, or whether you were just a plaything for him until he got bored.

The scratching stopped, he looked stunned “I love you Bunny, I want to be with you forever…I called you Mine remember?” He questioned, seeming sad at the fact that you were questioning his love for you.

“I didn’t know if you were being serious or not.”

“I’m always serious when it comes to you. I want you to be mine and I want to be yours. I want you to have my children, all the things I’ve said have been true. So will you be Mine?” He looks at you with intensity, waiting on baited breath for your response. He almost looks like a puppy that’s being withheld a treat, the way his blue eyes look up at you with adoration.

You smiled mischievously “hmmm I don’t know Bucky.” You pondered sarcastically, turning your head away from him and cupping your chin comically in a thinking pose.

“Bunny. Don’t play hard to get.” A growl rumbled in his chest, vibrating against you.

You laughed in response, cupping his face in your small palm “I’m yours Bucky and you’re mine.”

Playing hard to get 🐰 🐺

Part I (The Diner)

Part II (The Restaurant)

Part III (Restrained)

Playing hard to get Master list

Pairing: Dark!Biker!Bucky x Reader

Warnings: dub con (but the reader is into it), size difference, Beefy!Bucky (he’s 6,2), country bunny!reader, hair pulling, brat taming, forced oral (male receiving), scent kink, brief cunnilingus, threat of violence, knife play, begging, asphyxiation/ choking, breeding kink, marking, cream pie, praise, good ending

Nicknames: Bunny, Bun

Word count: 2.6k

Ko-fi, Materlist, Taglist🎀

Might make this a series, because I crave more biker Bucky in my life and I love the dynamic of a country bunny and a city wolf 🐺

Update: part 2 coming very soon

The rush had finally slowed down and the diner began to empty out, leaving only a few tables with customers. You stood next to Nat talking about random things that came to mind, like stuff you’d seen recently in the paper and gossip you’d picked up from tables “I know you’re new, but you seriously haven’t heard about the Biker gang that’s in these parts?” Her eyebrows were raised comedically high, displaying her utter shock.

“Why would I? It's not like I hang out with that type of people. I prefer just interacting with the average weirdos that frequent this diner, I don’t need to mess around with some biker weirdos, especially a gang.” You replied, as you busied yourself with cleaning the counter

“What are you guys talking about?” Wanda sauntered over, placing the stack of menus down next to us

“What are you guys talking about?” Wanda sauntered over, placing the stack of menus down next to us

“I was warning Y/N about the bikers.” To that Wanda's face paled and she began to fiddle with her apron

“Don’t go near those guys. Luckily they don’t come here often. Vis saw what they did to one of the guys at his job who owed them money…it wasn’t good.” Natasha nodded in agreement

“I won’t. Promise.” The bell chiming caused you to turn on your heel and put on your best smile, as you grabbed a menu with a hop, skip and a jump and went to meet the people at the door. That’s when you finally looked at them, four men with black leather jackets and icy stares. The man leading the group was an imposing, towering figure. He looked to be about 6,2, with broad shoulders and thick, muscular arms that were squeezed by his weathered leather jacket. His defined, well built curves of his chest could be seen through gunmetal henley. The sight of him made your cheeks burn as you resisted the urge to bite your lip.

“Looks like we’ve got a bunny serving us, you see the way she hopped towards us Buck?” The tall blonde smirked, as he tapped the man in the front who had cropped brown hair and eyes that had a storm rumbling within them, a spine chilling blue. He let out a low, gravely hum in agreement and let his stiff expression pull into a smile. You composed yourself and pulled your eyes away from his. The Howling Commandos. You held the menus in your hands tightly, running your fingers over the edge of the fraying card as you took in a deep breath.

“We have a few tables free, do you want one more in the front or the back?”

“Back.” The one standing in the doorway lowered his shades and did a one over of you, licking his lips. You had to swallow the vomit rising in your throat, he was way too old for you.

“Follow me gentlemen.” You finally heard the last one speak, he repeated the word ‘gentlemen’ in a joking tone to the blonde who also stifled a laugh. You brought them all the way to the back, furthest away from the front door. They slid into the booths and you handed out the menus and tried to scurry off, but you felt chilly leather wrap around your small wrist and tug you back

“I haven’t seen you around here before Bunny. What burrow did you hop out of?” The men sat with him laughed at his phrasing, you bit your tongue and turned slowly back to face him.

“I, uh, moved here about a month ago from Montana.” You stuttered nervously, eyes glued to his hand which hand began to play with yours

“So you’re new to Brooklyn. I thought I hadn’t seen you before, you’re a country bunny. Far from home. How you findin’ the city Bun?” His thumb began to massage circles in your palm, it was soothing and tickled slightly, your eyes drifted to his. He was looking at your face with intensity.

“It’s different, more people, expensive…but I like it.” You replied, he finally released your hand and you suddenly didn’t know what to do with it— so you began playing with the material of your skirt, he made you feel so small and shy. But he was dangerous. You had to remember that, but it was getting hard to remember.

“Well I’m glad you’ve had a nice experience so far Bun. My name’s Bucky, Blondie is Steve, glasses is Tony and that’s Sam. I’m guessing you know about us.” You nodded slowly

“You’re scaring her Bucky.” Sam chided

“Good. Means the bunny will behave.” Tony added

“I’ll leave you guys to think about your order.” You wanted to get away, you’d opened Pandora’s box by serving them.

“We’ll order now.” Bucky smiled.

They all ran through their orders and just as you were about to leave, Bucky grabbed you again. But this time, he grabbed your waist pulling you so your hips pushed against his face “Didn’t say you could go yet Bunny. Listen, I wanna take you on a date. Maybe after your shift I can show you around Brooklyn, show you all the best places, get you some good food and we can have a little fun.” Another smile spread across his sculpted face, which was shaded with stubble. He was attractive and tempting, but he was also dangerous. You wanted to kiss him, you wanted to feel his thick arms wrapped around your waist as you took him. But he was dangerous. You knew that, Natasha had warned you not even 20 minutes ago.

“No I really shouldn’t.” You tried to escape his grasp but he pulled you closer

“I wasn’t asking Bunny. I’m taking you on a date.”

“And I told you no.” You retorted, freeing yourself from him, you turned to face him. All the warmth that had graced his face had faded, his jaw ticked and the storm in his eyes had picked up, they were so dark it made your panties damp just looking at him “I’ll go put your orders in.”

You practically ran to the kitchen, almost tripping over your own feet as you turned the corner. You handed the tickets over and that’s when Natasha came up behind you

“Y/N what happened out there? He asked you on a date and you refused. Do you know what you’ve done?” Natasha questioned, you couldn’t face her. A feeling of nausea swept over you and tears brimmed your eyes. What did I just do? You asked yourself repeatedly

“I’m gonna take out the trash.” You managed to say and you walked out of the kitchen, back into the main dinner and out the back doors.

Just as your hand grasped the door handle, you felt a hand grab your hair and drag you on to your knees, your eyes met Bucky’s. He opened the door and dragged you outside, shutting it behind you. Your scalp burned and he threw you against the scratchy brick wall.

“No one says no to me. Not even little country bunnies, like you, who don’t know their place. Now, I’m going to take what I want and you’re not gonna be able to do anything about it.” You stood and tried to run at him to move him out the way, but he just grabbed the top of your head and shoved you down, bringing you back to your knees “Stop playing hard to get bunny. I'm not in the mood.” One of his hands held you in place whilst he undid his dark denim jeans, pulling his thick cock out from his grey briefs and slapping it against your cheek; leaving hot precum on the bridge of your nose. “Bite it and I’ll make your pretty face as ugly as your mouth bunny.” He threatened as he pulled out a shiny, black butterfly knife; which danced between his fingers and slinked over his bruised knuckles as he threw it in all directions. He threw it one more time then caught it in the firm grip of his gloved hand and hovered it over your cheek, allowing you to feel the sharp edge and the cold metal. Proving that his threat was indeed serious. You gave the head of his cock little kitten licks, relishing in the salty taste of his cum. You didn’t dare look up at him as you took his length into your mouth, you had to readjust your jaw to fit all of him. The head of his cock slowly descended down your throat. It was big. The biggest you’d ever taken, you almost began to gag when you finally reached the base. Your face was nuzzled into his crotch, his sparse hair tickled at your nose as you took in the heady scent of him. You loved it. His hands planted either side of your head, becoming intertwined with your hair, as he began moving you up and down his shaft in long, drawn out strokes “you swallow me so nicely Bunny. Maybe your mouth isn’t that bad after all. You look like you’re enjoying it, do you like my thick cock being shoved down your throat.” You whimpered a yes in response, shuffling on your knees to rub your thighs together. The sight lit a fire inside of him, he began thrusting his hips in time to the movement of your head, his thumb rubbing up and down the nape of your neck as he fucked your throat, you hollowed your cheeks in response. You could taste more of his tangy cum leaking down your throat as his cock twitched against your tongue, his hands held you still and then removed you from his shaft with a pop. You ran your tongue over his slit and swallowed the precum that had collected on the top of your tongue. He growled at the sight.

Bucky grabbed your arm pulling you to your feet as he got on his knees and peaked under your skirt, pulling down your panties “Pink and frilly, How adorable my little bunny, they’re soaked. You like this don’t you, me manhandling you. Me taking you for myself. Me forcing you to have sex outside.” Bucky interrogated as his adept fingers massaged your clit, he squeezed it between his fingers softly pulling a gasp from your lips, before burying his face in the apex of your thighs. His wet tongue burrowed its way inside you as he rubbed at you sensitive bud, he then switched, burying two of his thick, long digits inside you massaging your g-spot as he flicked your clit with his tongue, you squeezed his head with your thighs as you tried to bite back your moans. All of a sudden he slipped his fingers out and the warmth was replaced by cold metal, as he pushed the hilt of a knife inside you “you like my knife doll? It’s thick isn’t it? Not as thick as my cock, but it’s nice to get you ready with. God your pretty cunt clenches around it so prettily.” His voice was a husky whisper as he pushed the hilt of the knife back and forth.

“Please! Bucky!” You whined, feeling heat build in your hips, you were practically sitting on his shoulders as you gripped the wall desperately.

"Please what?" he grumbled as he came out from beneath your skirt, taking his blade with him.

"Bucky, please! Fuck me!" you pleaded, spreading your legs wide for him two fingers stretching apart your lips. He lifted one of your thighs, wrapping it around his waist and holding it in place with his hand. He pushed you harshly back against the wall and seized your neck in his free hand, nudging you face to look at him as he pushed the head of his cock past your slick folds, the beast in him didn't feel relief yet. His grip around your throat tightened, almost painfully as he set a brutal pace with his thrusts, jabbing at your cervix causing you to shriek. His pace calmed in response, but he still sheathed himself in and out roughly.

“You don’t ever say no to me again! You hear that bunny, never. When I tell you something your only response is ‘Yes Bucky’ Now I’m gonna fill you up with my seed and you’re gonna thank me aren’t you Bunny.” He snarled, punctuating his words with rough thrusts against your g-spot

“Yes Bucky! Yes, please breed me!” You begged, you mind becoming too clouded by the pleasure he was giving you to even care about the consequences.

“That’s right Bun. I’m gonna breed you. Gonna fill you up with some bunnies, you’d like that wouldn’t you?” You keened as his hand slipped from your throat down to your shirt, unbuttoning just enough so he could cup your breast, pinching and twisting at your nipple as he rolled it between his finger tips. A squeak left your mouth followed by a gasp as he quickened his pace. Your head grew fuzzy as you threw your head back, allowing you mouth to fall open in a silent wail “look at me. Look me in the eyes whilst I ruin you.” He demanded his voice gravely and thick with lust. His hand returned to your throat, depriving you of air once again and forcing you to lock eyes with him, the storm within his eyes was dark, angry, thrashing and swirling. A blue so deep and dark like a wave that swallows a ship, his pupil was indistinguishable from his iris. Hot tears began to run down your cheeks, Bucky licked the tears.

“You’re mine. All fucking mine. And I’m gonna make sure everyone knows, because I don't like when people touch things that are mine.” He growled as he pulled at the collar of your shirt and sunk his teeth into your shoulder. Cocktail of pleasure and pain mixing in your brain sent you over the edge, your walls clamped around his member as it twitched inside you releasing coating your walls in his seed. You dug your nails into the leather of his jacket, as you buried your face into the crook of his neck taking in the smell of leather, oil and bonfire that clung to him. He let out warm, heavy breaths next to your ear as he came down from his high, his hips still thrusting as he let out all of his load. He kissed your head tenderly, stroking your hair as your body quivered from after shock. You squeezed him as he pulled out, trying to keep him inside you for just a bit longer. His hot spend leaked down your thighs, as he put down your leg and helped you straighten out your uniform. He picked up your panties, scrunched them into a ball and shoved them into the inside pocket of his jacket. You pouted as a smug look appeared on his face “If you want these back then you're going to have to go on that date with me bunny.”

You giggled as he ran the back of his hand over your cheek “What time are you picking me up?”

Holometabolous metamorphosis 🦋

Part 2- Thanatosis 🦋

Holometabolous metamorphosis- Also called complete metamorphosis is a form of insect development that involves four stages of life: egg, larva, pupa (cocoon) and adult.

Dark!Mean!Mafia!Biker! Bucky x innocent!victim!Reader

Warnings: absolutely non con, dark!Bucky, mean!Bucky, Beefy!Bucky, innocent!reader, name calling, manipulation, abuse, bruises (not the kinky kind), dacryphilia, punching, slapping, mentions of blood, heavy angst, reader blames themselves (if you’re getting abused it not your fault), talk of death, allusions to suicide

Nicknames: whore, stupid, dumb

Read this at you own discretion. This is actually one of the darkest things I’ve ever written. I do have a continuation of it so if I finish it I’ll link it.

༻ 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐓𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐀𝐬𝐤𝐬 ༺

Surely I am dying. My head pounds as I hold the cover closer to me, hugging his pillow tighter as the rain clatters down, harsh like pebbles being thrown at a window, and the wind picks up outside, howling as gusts in all directions shake the trees. My ears prick at the sound of a branch scratching repeatedly at the window, the grating sound causes my brows to pinch together as I pull at the heavy covers, dragging them over my ear. The dark room is illuminated briefly by the blinding white of lightning. It allows me to see the dreary grey walls, lighter than the current sky which is a deep, dark never ending pit that allows for nothing to exist, the closet door is slightly ajar. It’s freezing, my teeth chatter, I ball my body up further, shrugging my shoulders till they reach the bottom of my ear and squeeze, tighter than I’ve ever squeezed before on the pillow. Bucky. The name flashes in my mind and more tears slip over my nose onto the pillow, I take a deep breath allowing his scent that still clings to the pillow to hijack my lungs- the smell of a warm bonfire, the leathery smell of his jacket, petrichor, musky magnolia wood and the oil from his motorbike. My thumb caresses the corner of the pillow and the knot in my throat grows painfully tighter, I bite on my lower lip keeping the sob that is trying to escape my chest inside. I let one of my hands drift to the impression of him that remains in my mattress, the outline of his bulky frame. It’s cold, colder than the bitter wind outside. I miss the days when the impression was filled by him, his feverish warmth and his solid, yet soft muscles. I miss the days when I could lean against his chest and hear the steady, strong rhythm of his heart. I miss the days when he’d run his calloused hands over my skin, under the covers, making the shape of stars, hearts or just random squiggles. I miss him so much, his soothing presence.

The room is illuminated again and I see blood on the pillow from my lip. I throw off the weighty covers, my naked body is kissed by the cold and my skin is pinched softly as it is littered with goosebumps. I throw my legs over the side of the bed, the floorboards groaning as I stumble out into the hallway. I cling desperately to the wall, trying my best to walk as a dull ache radiates through my calves and stinging throbs between my legs, sharp pains jab me as I shuffle like a newborn giraffe towards the glowing warm light of my bathroom. I push the door weakly and am faced with the mirror. Surely I am dying. I wish I was already dead, I want to sink to the floor. I glance over to the dead moths on the yellowed, flakey paint of my windowsill. I want to be a moth, I want the simple little life of a moth. I once thought being with him was freedom, but now I can see, true freedom is death and although I look like death, although I feel like death I am not yet dead.

The room is illuminated again and I see blood on the pillow from my lip. I throw off the weighty covers, my naked body is kissed by the cold and my skin is pinched softly as it is littered with goosebumps. I throw my legs over the side of the bed, the floorboards groaning as I stumble out into the hallway. I cling desperately to the wall, trying my best to walk as a dull ache radiates through my calves and stinging throbs between my legs, sharp pains jab me as I shuffle like a newborn giraffe towards the glowing warm light of my bathroom. I push the door weakly and am faced with the mirror. Surely I am dying. I wish I was already dead, I want to sink to the floor. I glance over to the dead moths on the yellowed, flakey paint of my windowsill. I want to be a moth, I want the simple little life of a moth. I once thought being with him was freedom, but now I can see, true freedom is death and although I look like death, although I feel like death I am not yet dead.

I run my shaking fingers over the bruise around my eye socket. Flowers of deep purples and black and sickly yellowish green buds climb along my cheek bone. I flinch away from my own touch “Stupid” I mutter to myself as I turn the handle of the tap, a metallic creak accompanies the sputter and cough of water as it forms a steady stream. I gather it in my cupped hands, relishing in the warmth, as warm as his skin. I crane my neck down and throw it at my face, rubbing at my stinging split lip with my pinky. I grab my face towel and dab my face dry, looking again in the mirror. Bruises, bushes of purple and black. Estranged petals adorn my waist from where he grabbed me harshly and held me down. A shudder runs down my spine as I feel the ghost of his hands digging into me, little bloody half moons accompany the bruises.

The sky hit its drum once again, I fell to my knees. My hands meeting the cold tiles, reddish brown stained the grout. I hadn’t cleaned it yet. I crawled straight to bed as soon as he left. I can hear his animalistic growls echo off the walls, growls as he plunged into me holding my legs open painfully wide, my hips threatening to come out of their sockets. He was like a man possessed, I’d never seen his eyes so dark and stormy before, wide and pregnant with malice ready to rain on me. I could smell the whiskey on him as he leaned down demanding I kissed him, I refused. That’s when he punched me and grabbed my jaw in a crushing grip, forcing me to kiss him— it was more than just whiskey; this time he was hammered— regardless of my sobs and incoherent pleading. I don’t know what I was pleading for. Maybe for him to stop, maybe for him to go harder, maybe for him to be kinder… I don’t know. Stupid brain, stupid idiot. ‘Stupid’ is what he called me. A ‘dumb whore’, a ‘hole to fuck’ as he snapped his hips chasing his release, unbothered if he pleased me or not. He slapped my face, his ring catching on my lip and tearing it open. He yanked my hair brutally from the root, one of his many rings scraping my scalp sending a white hot throb through my nerves. He demanded that I cry harder, the harder I cried the quicker this would go and the harder his dick would get is what he said. He was hard enough, as his thick cock tore through me slick with blood. Bucky had always been a loose cannon, but usually he directed it towards beating up men who owed him money or waging war on rival gangs. But today he wanted to take it out on me, all he wanted was sex but when I didn’t want to; he decided he was bored with me, my wings were ugly and tattered, but he wanted them, he wanted my freedom so he took it. He burnt my wings off. He raped me. He wouldn’t stop. I wish he just killed me with one of his prized knives. My winter soldier, my flame, my demise.

I hugged myself despite the pain, rocking back and forth on the tiled floor. He’s never coming back. I'm gonna die. I'm dying without him. I need him, he burns me so sweetly. Bucky Bucky Bucky. The chant of his name fills my head as I curl up on the floor like an abandoned animal, like the moth on my windowsill. Surely I am dying.

Part 2- Thanatosis

Unfinished Dark!Bucky x Reader Drabble

Warning: smut, asphyxiation/choking, marking, manipulation, dark!stalker! Bucky, dark!soft dom!Bucky, Stockholm syndrome, breeding (maybe soon if I finish it)

Nicknames: Doll

I have no idea if I’m going to finish this, you’re meant to be locked in Bucky’s basement and you’ve kind of developed Stockholm syndrome and developed a dependency on him—you want him to mark you, you want him to breed you—but that because you’ve been manipulated. This is just a fragment, so the story line isn’t that obvious enjoy.

Update: This story will be continued soon in a series called ‘Now and Forever’ coming soon

His thick arm pressed to your throat holding you in place preventing your head from swivelling away from the sight on top of you. His hair moist with sweat, darkened and glued to his forehead, his steely blue eyes stare intensely down at you with uncharted amounts of passion and love-fuelled aggression as he pounds you into the mattress. The sound of skin meeting skin bounces off the walls, the force of his thrust ensuring you’ll wake up with red marks, possibly even bruises, from the impact of his hips, and you wouldn’t have it any other way; you want his mark to remain permanently on you even if only you can see it, it’s a bittersweet reminder of the steamy nights we’ve shared. The lustful scent of sex fills the room as the humidity rises high enough for the rain covered windows to steam, enabling you to dive deeper into your fantasy of the world only containing you, him and this room.

You are snapped out of your trance by Bucky lowering his head to your earlobe, his prickly stubble itching your jaw and cheek, he encompasses the shell of your ear in his mouth and nibbles down on the thin skin prompting a yelp from your lips “Come back to me doll, keep your beautiful eyes on me.” His voice deep and thick with lust goes straight to your loins causing your walls to flutter around his throbbing cock.

Shattered Pieces

Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Genre: Romance. Smut in the future. Angst.

Warnings: Y/N was almost attacked. 

Summary: Bucky and Y/N were in love back in the 40s but Hydra took Bucky away from Y/N. Y/N tried to find him but HYDRA stopped her and she paid a price. Now all they knew was Bucky was dead, however they were wrong. Can she face the new Bucky, the infamous Winter Soldier?

This story takes place in Captain America The Winter Soldier.This will be a short story. Sorry for any tyops. Likes and comments are welcomed in this house lol, stay safe my dudes!! Text me if I forgot to tag you <333

Tag List is open!!!!

Chapter 4

A month passed since the incident, Bucky was nowhere to be found and Steve gathered a team of talented people to chase him. Y/N was also a part of the team, Natasha wasn't included but before she left town she brought files on Bucky from Kiev. 

The Intelligence Community was helping the team as well, Y/N first tried Brooklyn, she thought maybe Bucky remembered and started with Brooklyn but it was a dead end, however, finally they got signals from Europe.  He was a well trained assassin and knew how to hide, everyday Y/N's hopes crashed but with the dawn of new day she dared to hope again. What happened to Bucky was a tragedy and she wanted to make things right, they were on SHIELD's chopper heading to Romania. Steve was giving orders as always, Y/N's mind was somewhere else, she wondered what their conversation would be if they saw each other again. ''Y/N?'' Steve called her name for the third time, ''Yeah?'' she said with a faint voice. ''We are landing.'' The inside was loud so they were talkinf through black headphones, ''Alright.''

Team was tired so Steve gave them onre day to recover, SHIELD took care of the hotel, it was an expensive one. Steve and Y/N's rooms were on the same floor, ''I'm gonna take a shower, you should eat without me.'' she said. She was tired, the dark circles under her eyes were the proof of how hard she was working to find Bucky, Steve felt sad everyday to see his friend like that. ''Y/N, try to get some sleep.'' He said and went into is room.

She walked inside and locked her door, dropped her bag and hit the shower. It was a long and hot one, after that she got dressed because she had plans of her own. It was still early to travel and go to the places they marked on the map to find Bucky. She wore a simple blue denim pants, a black sweater and a black hat. She had a grey backpack, she  gave her tired self a look on the tall mirror before she left, ''God I look tired!'' they were in the capital city of Romania, which was Bucharest. The spies of SHIELD gave them few addresses of sububrs, dangerous places. ''If I were Bucky which place I would choose?'' Y/N thought, she was on a taxi and had a map on her lap. ''I would choose a crowded place to blend in, maybe an apartment building. Windows would be covered.'' 

She gave an address to the driver, she was watching the city through the dirty window, people minding their own business, everything seemed normal but nothing about her life was normal. The sun was setting and leaving an orangy red colour on the deep blue clouds, as she left the taxi she tipped the driver and kindly smiled at him, he was an old man with a deep accent. ''Sweet girl,'' he said, ''be careful around here.'' he was right the place looked shady. 

She watched the car leave, kids were playing together, throwing balls at each other, she was few women with bags, entering a tall apartment building. She sat on a bank near a big tree, trying to decide what she should do first. The last time she tracked Bucky she ended up being the toy of Hydra, she pushed the unwanted memories away. She opened her backpack and pulled a picture of Bucky, ''I have nothing to lose.''

For hours she asked people if they knew the man in the picture, some couldn't speak English, the ones that did couldn't help her. Now it was late night, children were already gone home, only stray dogs, and cats were out. She inhaled deeply, ''I knew it! I won't be able to find him on my own.'' she hated herself, if it was the other way around Bucky would've found her weeks ago. 

She gave a last look and put the picture back, as she was walking and looking around she decided to walk pass the tall apartment, the alley was dark. She was having a really shitty they and the last thing she wanted was some boys to chase her but here they were. 3 boys were sitting at the corner of a building but when they saw her they started to call out for her, she couldn't understand Romanian so she kept on walking, however the boys seemed interested. ''Nu vorbesc românește.'' She said which was the only sentence she knew in Romanian, it meant ''I don't speak any Romanian.'' but the boys started to laugh.  One of them was smoking and he threw the cigar on the ground, got close to Y/N. Y/N blocked his hand with hers, ''Leave and no one gets hurt!'' she yelled. 

She wanted to be heard by anyone but there was no one, or so she thought. She kicked the one close to her, he fell on his back. Other two pulled out their knives but something stopped them. They were looking at something behind her, they stood still for a second and helped their friend who was holding his crotch and struggling on the cold ground. Together they ran. She turned to see what was behind her and and saw him. Bucky was standing tall and looking at her.

''I told you to not come after me.'' He said annoyed, his ocean eyes regarded her with a strange calmness, she cleared her throat before she found herself lost in them, ''And I told you that I'll find you wherever you go.'' she snapped back. After leaving America Bucky did reaserch and collected pictures of her and Steve but he still didn't remember what she was to him before. ''Where do you live?'' Y/N asked, simply trying to strike a convo. ''You should leave. It's not safe out here.'' Bucky said and Y/N could swear that he was concerned for her safety and she smiled. He didn't wait for her reply and turned to leave but she spoke quickly, ''I can help you remember who you once were.'' He stopped in his tracks, she could see he was having doubts. ''Take me to your place and I will tell you everything. I know you want to know.'' She was silently praying that he would say yes, he turned back. Held her arm thightly, ‘’Follow me.’’ and he took her to his place.

His place was small, windows were covered with newspapers as she expected, dirty dishes were in the sink. Kitchen and the livingroom were connected, the source of light was a white light bulb, there wasn't a bedroom, his livingroom was also where he slept. As he closed the door she was standing, not knowing where to go. There was a brown couch with two pillows, they looked old, the walls were red and the rest were light green. He locked the door, she could see that he was trying hard not to look at her but why? ''May I sit here?'' She asked carefully, he simply nodded so she just sat. ''Nice place.'' Y/N tried to think of something and she cursed at herself for feeling like a school girl in front of him, ''After all these years do I still love him?'' he gave out a sarcastic laugh. She rolled her eyes which caught his attention, ''Why didn't you kill me in my house? Or that bridge? You could've easily ripped my head off but you didn't.'' she finally spoke after the silence. Bucky sat on his messy bed, got rid of his black jacket and hat. ''I wasn't sent to kill you, Pierce sent me to give you a message, but you attacked me, and then-'' he stopped, looked her in the eye. ''I remembered something, a memory. It made me stop chocking you to death.'' He was trying to be careful she could see that, ''What was it?''

''Do you really have to know doll?'' there he was, the Bucky that stole her heart 70+ years ago, it made her body completely warm to see that he was becoming more himself, ''I'm a curious gal, Sergeant.'' she slightly flirted, crossed her legs and took off her hat and jacket like he did. ''Okay... as I was chocking you with my metal arm on your kitchen island, I remembered a time where we,'' he cleared his throat, ''Having sex on a bed, I was chocking you and you were calling my name.'' he finally said it. His cheeks got pink, Y/N didn't expect that answer, her mouth was faintly open, ''Well, yes we used to do that sometimes.'' she wanted to punch herself for saying that. ''Why am I like this?'' Bucky's cheeks were red now, he looked at her entire body, a thought of how small she would be under him crossed his mind and that sent familiar signals to his body, he also had other steamy memories ever since he escaped spent his time by himself. ''You said you will tell me everything, I'm listening.'' Bucky said, he desperately wanted to know, ''What do you want to know? Steve? Me? or what kind of an asshole you were?'' Y/N couldn't help herself, she thouhght he would be offended by her remark but she caught a grin on his smooth looking lips,

 ''I forgot how they felt.'' 

he acted like he was in deep thought, ''I know that Steve Rogers was my childhood friend, I remember some stupid stuff we did back in the day, I want to know you. Who you were to me? How did we meet? What was I to you?'' His voice broke at the end, some light left his ocean eyes, Y/N wanted to hold him right there and never let him go but she knew it would freak him out, she had to tell the story first.

She took a deep breath, laid her back on the not so comfortable couch, ''I was Steve's friend and one day he introduced you to me. You were 19 and I was 15, it was the summer of 1936...''

Do you like the chapter? Lemme know ;)

Tag List: @jellyroom2​ @allonszassbutt​ @haynsey​ @toomuchbucky​ @putinovertime​ @marialopezzz0922​

「 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐏𝐓𝐒 & 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒 ෴۵✵ 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐒 」

⁎༊෴ 「 𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐒 」 : 𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 | 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐌𝐘 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 | MY OTHER 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒 | 𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍 𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐉𝐈 𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

PLEASE SEND IN THE NUMBER OF THE PROMPT AND THE CHARACTER YOU WANT TO SEE WITH IT WHEN YOU REQUEST. REQUEST VIA MY 𝐈𝐍𝐁𝐎𝐗. SEND IN A SHORT PLOT WITH THE CHARACTER AND NUMBERS OF PROMPTS.

IF YOU WANT TO USE THESE IN YOUR WRITING, PLEASE TAG ME IN YOUR WORKS AND REBLOG THIS POST.

⒈ Wiping off droplets of your blood from the floor, knowing he hates the mess.

⒉ Not hitting you when you anger him, waiting until he calms down and you detense.

⒊ Saying you don't want it because you're tired, and he says you're easier to handle then.

⒋ You crying and him kissing you harder.

⒌ Him wiping your tears, saying that you need him.

⒍ Locking the door again after bringing you food.

⒎ Making you pick your own restraints.

⒏ You passing out, but he keeps going.

⒐ Saying you made him do this while cleaning your bruises.

⒑ Telling all your friends and family you are just too dramatic.

⒒ Choking you with the necklace he gifted you.

⒓ Feeding you from his plate while your legs are tied to the floor.

⒔ Making you confess to him while being naked.

⒕ Him slapping the "modern culture" out of your head.

⒖ Gifting you right after an argument, while you're shaking on the bed.

⒗ Making you delete and block all your contacts in front of him.

⒘ Handcuffing you to the bed, you knowing he has to leave for a few days.

⒙ Him finding your "escape" bag and burning it in front of you.

⒚ Beating up your friends for trying to "take you away" from him.

⒛ Him telling you your terrified face makes him hard.

still available! ♡♡

⋆⁎✽๛ 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒 --- for requests

෴ 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐑: This content is dark and very triggering. Minors and easily triggered people, do not interact. Your mental health matters. You are responsible for your own media consumption.

෴ 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: MY CONTENT IS DARK AND DARK ONLY. My requests are now OPENED. You can request as many fictions as you want, but you have to check out my CHARACTERS LIST and my WARNINGS first. IF YOU ARE ANON, USE AN EMOJI, SO WE CAN TALK MORE <3. Request via my INBOX. Please, also write a short summary of your ideas, do not just send in the number of the promp and the character. Thank you.

𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 I will use for these: Choking; chasing kink; Dacryphilia (tear kink); fear kink; dv + heavy violence; restraints; manhanding and others. Please choose a few in your request.

"You flinch like that again in public, and I’ll give you a real reason to." (1)

"I don’t remember asking what you wanted, sweetheart." (2)

"You can cry if you want. Won’t change a damn thing." (3)

"That’s the problem with you. You never fucking listen." (4)

"Go ahead. Tell me no again." (5)

"You move, and I promise it’ll be worse." (6)

"I told you to sit down. Don’t make me say it twice." (7)

"You think I give a fuck if you’re scared?" (8)

"I liked you better when you knew your place." (9)

"You’re only still breathing because I let you." (10)

"See how quiet you can be after I slap you around?" (11)

"You can beg if you want. Doesn’t mean I’ll stop." (12)

"Do I look like a man who’s gonna change his mind?" (13)

"At least make yourself useful, baby." (14)

"You act like I haven’t done this before." (15)

"If you were strong enough to stop me, angel, you would have by now." (16)

"C'mon, baby, don't cry...we haven't even started." (17)

"I'll destroy your pretty face of yours if you do that again." (18)

"Come here. Now." (19)

"I'd suggest you returned because if I catch you...you won't like what I'll do to you." (20)

thank you SO much for reading and reblogging baby, I LOVE feeding dark fics to my people ♡

FRIGHTENING NEW WORLD

WE DRANK LOYALTY IN VINES...

...BUT YOURS TURNED TO BLOOD IN MY MOUTH.

⇀ word count: 1.1 K

⇀ pairings: dark! Sam Wilson x reader | dark! Bucky Barnes x reader (implied) | Joaquin Torres x reader | ✶✶✶

⇀ warnings: dark dark dark content, 18+ MDNI | violence; power imbalance; phsychological horror; blood: restraints; threats; mentions of rape; mentions of domestic violence; mentions of forced infertility; dacryphilia; swear words, my work is dark and triggering. You are responsible for your own media consumption.

⇀ author's note: i've finished this in ONE sitting, wow. I loved CABNW and this occured in my mind as soon as I finished watching it. Reblogs, comments, and more REQUESTS are appreciated. BUCKY BARNES MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST |

⇁ tags: my soul sister @highonmarvel xxx | If you want to be added to my taglist, let me know. I love you all so so much! Thank you for reading!

Oaxaca, Mexico

You had never believed that the sun might shine over you again, but here you were, strolling peacefully through the bustling market, a woven basket nestled in the crook of your arm, its handle tangled in your fingers. Your gaze lingered on the ripe, sun-kissed fruit— apricots, blushing peaches, nectarines, and ruby-red strawberries—while the air swelled with their honeyed fragrance, laced with the mellow sweetness of…plums.

Even after almost one year, the scent rose stripes of terror up your spine, and whenever you saw their blue–burgundy color, the broken ribs, the slaps, the punches, even his gaze flooded your mind altogether.

The anxiety attacks were fewer, shorter and less frightening every week, but your previous life still lingered in the back of your head. The wounds were long healed, but small scars were visible here and there—up your arms towards your shoulders, on your thighs, littlest ones on the crook of your neck and up your jaw and one people were…not able to see. After he took your freedom, broke your will, terrorized you even of your own shadow, he took your right and your ability of…ever having a family of your own. Your pained gaze often fell upon children around your house, in the village and it was like his reminder that said ‘I did this to you. You’ll never have one of your own.’, and it always made you turn your head away from them nauseously.

You never thought you'd be able to flee James Barnes, you thought it was impossible and it truly was. But some divine force must have helped you gain the bravery you never knew was inside you, and guided you all the way here, in this forgotten speck on the map.

The bells of the wide church —the only major social point in the town, situated right next to the market— rang loudly, in an oddly comforting way and you inhaled deeply as you adjusted the long skirts of your summer dress.

A loud explosion interrupted your beautiful life, and you fell on the road. Dust, mud and pulp of crushed, rotten fruit from the ground stained your new dress and you let out a broken sob when you also saw blood on your palms. Small cuts lingered on the raw skin, and you struggled to get up. The freshly bought fruit were long forgotten in the dirt as you looked disorientated around and your teary eyes caught a pair of coal black ones.

Your heart leapt out of your ribcage when you remembered the face. Sam Wilson, a shadow from your past, was James’ best friend. His eyes glinted when he recognized you. He was like a falcon—you never doubted his superhero name—and you were most afraid to hide away from him back then when you ran.

You never got the chance to see the smirk that planted on his face because of how swift you turned your head away, somehow pleading to the divine force to help you again and make him forget your features. But a man about your age already got his orders about you.

Joaquin Torres furrowed his brows in confusion when he heard Captain America's orders.

"So let me get this straight— you want me to gather all the bad guys and jus' throw them in the cars myself, man? Are-are you sure 'bout this?", the young man asked, looking around him.

"Do you think you can handle them?", came the voice from the other side of the phone to which Joaquin nodded vigorously to himself, then replied affirmatively and maybe too excitedly.

"Good, we'll meet at the agreed location in short time. I—", finished the older man, looking at the tiny, cozy cottage before his eyes, "—have some business to take care of."

You were stuffing clothing items in a bag with one hand and with the other you were looking through the bedside cabinet for your passport and cash. Tears ran down your face ever since you arrived home from the market and you simply couldn't stop them, despite the will to do so.

You zipped up the bag and you pulled on a pair of clean shorts and a large tee with leafy hands and then you climbed down the stairs. Regret, anger, fear, all these ate at you.

"It's good to see you again, honeybee!"

You almost stumbled across the last stair when the words hit you. Your lungs were rejecting the oxygen as more tears fell when your eyes caught the ones you knew so well.

His hands were carelessly caressing the chair before him, his gaze sticked on your trembling figure.

"You know, I really hoped to catch a glimpse of the pretty sight standing in front of me now earlier, it would've spared my pal of much suffering."

"Suffering?", you whispered, finding the voice under all the bitterness in your throat. "H-he suffered? He was the one t-that suffered?"

"Oh, and how he did. He refused to eat the week you left, he barely slept for months, he spent millions on men, private detectives, all types of shit just to find you. I also highly doubt he fucked since you decided to disappear into thin air."

Your face contorted into a disgusted grimace as you took a small step back.

"Honeybee—", Sam growled as he started approaching you, "—I'd reallyyy like to give you a nice, lil' chance to get the fuck outta this house and go back with me, but I'm afraid you lost that right looong ago."

You couldn't even resist when his rough, confident grip fell over your freshly healed wrists, and when you felt your back pressed into his broad, sculpted chest, a whimper escaped your lips.

Sam bent you on the counter and your face fell into the flowers you picked from your garden in the morning and you tried to block everything, simply not wanting to believe this was happening. You really believed you would be free and at peace, protected and joyful for the rest of your life. How pathetic and far away those hopes sounded. Scratchy plastic secured your hands together as Sam grabbed the back of your neck and pulled you up against him again. He knocked the door open with his foot and started pulling you out of your comforting shelter.

"Sam, I am begging you, don't t-take me back to him, pleaseeee.", you started crying as he forced you outside your home. "You can't d-do this t-to me, Sam, you can't! Y-you were my...my friend, too."

Sam slapped his palm across your mouth to muffle the screams, or maybe to stop the words that made him feel so guilty from coming. "I am James' friend, not yours. My loyalty is his, and everything you've done hurt him. Now it's jus' fair you suffer too, ain't it?". These words hurt more than anything he did until now. Sam knew what Bucky did, he had seen the bruises, he had heard the cries, yet he had done nothing against it. And maybe that unsettled you, but now? Now he was forcing you into the wolf's fangs, and it felt completely different.

Your lost eyes caught one of your neighbors, Ms. Solís , at the window. Another whimper escaped you pleadingly, directed to her, but she did not dare to do anything. Nobody ever did.

Your knees buckled under your own weight, and you collapsed in the dust despite Sam's grip. You heard him scowl and his hand came to the back of your shirt. He gripped it and pulled you up against his body again. You sobbed and you tried to elbow him but Sam was swifter. He caught your tied limbs and grasped. "Fuckin' walk, bitch. Bucky would want to teach you to behave first, but I don't mind starting myself right now, you hear me?". The threat made you cry harder and when Sam gripped your arms even harsher you nodded weakly. What Sam was doing to you felt like a short training considering what would wait for you back in New York.

A black SUV was parked there, behind some wide Madrone bushes. Your heart was beating so fast you thought it might just burst right there. You hoped that, if you were to be honest.

"S-sam, just know th-that if you're taking me back....he'll k-kill me—", you tried calling Sam's mercy out one last time. He just turned his head away, letting your words fall into the abyss of desperation and nothingness.

A younger man peeked from behind the vehicle. His smile dropped when he saw your trembling form. His eyes darted from the blood on your chin to your restrained and bruised arms. Hair was cascading over your face and your lower lip trembled as you fought with yourself to stop the sobs and whimpers. Joaquin thought you were so beautiful. So, why were you here in this state?

"Whoa, man, what's happening? What did she do?" Joaquin started, coming closer to you with raised hands, showing you you don't have to be afraid of him. You still flinched when his caring hands came in contact with your pained limbs.

"Leave her as she is, Joaquin...", said Sam and you looked desperately at the man your age. He furrowed his brows and looked at his superior. "B-but—"

"You wanna be the next Falcon, don't you?" Sam asked, patting the younger man on the shoulder.

"Yes, of course I do!"

"Then—", Sam started again, looking into the boys' eyes, "—you gotta learn to close your eyes at certain things. These are the stories media don't care about, you hear me? The majority of people get saved, everybody's happy, but you should know there are...collateral victims. And she's one of 'em. Now, buddy, if you really wanna be an Avenger...put her in the car."

Joaquin took a big step back, accidentally bumping into you. He quickly caught you, preventing your body from falling again, and then looked back at Sam, which raised his brows and his hands, as if he was giving Joaquin an offer he couldn't refuse. And Joaquin didn't refuse it.

He opened the car door and he tried to carefully place you in the backseat. " 'm sorry, so sorry...", he mumbled as he gave you the pill Sam told him to. "This'll help ya sleep, okay?"

"P-please, please help me—', you cried, looking into his regretful eyes as he forced the drug past your lips.

"Shh, shhh...you'll be jus' fine, 'kay? Be good now, please—".

You knew you will be anything but fine. Sam and Joaquin both entered the car and as Joaquin was starting it, Sam dialed a number and put the phone on speaker.

"Buck, I think I've found somethin' that's yours, buddy. And you'll be really thrilled to see it...", Sam laughed, smirking at you in the reviewing mirror.

The quietness that followed the sentence was short, but dense.

"Hello, doll...", came the voice from the other side of the phone, and its maliciousness and calmness made your whole body shiver. He knew you were there. He was sure of it somehow. You felt his presence right there, in Sam's deeds, in the dark sky, in your rapid, choked sobs, in your heavy lids.

That fucking nickname wrote right then, right there the end of your world and marked the beginning of the Frightening New World.

I'm am deceased, THIS MEANS SO MUCH OMG, especially coming from YOU....I love love love dark!Bucky and I never thought I would write dark!Sam but here I am I guess lol. I ADORED writing this, it was so so much fun experimenting with the characters. Thank you again! ♡

FRIGHTENING NEW WORLD

WE DRANK LOYALTY IN VINES...

...BUT YOURS TURNED TO BLOOD IN MY MOUTH.

⇀ word count: 1.1 K

⇀ pairings: dark! Sam Wilson x reader | dark! Bucky Barnes x reader (implied) | Joaquin Torres x reader | ✶✶✶

⇀ warnings: dark dark dark content, 18+ MDNI | violence; power imbalance; phsychological horror; blood: restraints; threats; mentions of rape; mentions of domestic violence; mentions of forced infertility; dacryphilia; swear words, my work is dark and triggering. You are responsible for your own media consumption.

⇀ author's note: i've finished this in ONE sitting, wow. I loved CABNW and this occured in my mind as soon as I finished watching it. Reblogs, comments, and more REQUESTS are appreciated. BUCKY BARNES MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST |

⇁ tags: my soul sister @highonmarvel xxx | If you want to be added to my taglist, let me know. I love you all so so much! Thank you for reading!

Oaxaca, Mexico

You had never believed that the sun might shine over you again, but here you were, strolling peacefully through the bustling market, a woven basket nestled in the crook of your arm, its handle tangled in your fingers. Your gaze lingered on the ripe, sun-kissed fruit— apricots, blushing peaches, nectarines, and ruby-red strawberries—while the air swelled with their honeyed fragrance, laced with the mellow sweetness of…plums.

Even after almost one year, the scent rose stripes of terror up your spine, and whenever you saw their blue–burgundy color, the broken ribs, the slaps, the punches, even his gaze flooded your mind altogether.

The anxiety attacks were fewer, shorter and less frightening every week, but your previous life still lingered in the back of your head. The wounds were long healed, but small scars were visible here and there—up your arms towards your shoulders, on your thighs, littlest ones on the crook of your neck and up your jaw and one people were…not able to see. After he took your freedom, broke your will, terrorized you even of your own shadow, he took your right and your ability of…ever having a family of your own. Your pained gaze often fell upon children around your house, in the village and it was like his reminder that said ‘I did this to you. You’ll never have one of your own.’, and it always made you turn your head away from them nauseously.

You never thought you'd be able to flee James Barnes, you thought it was impossible and it truly was. But some divine force must have helped you gain the bravery you never knew was inside you, and guided you all the way here, in this forgotten speck on the map.

The bells of the wide church —the only major social point in the town, situated right next to the market— rang loudly, in an oddly comforting way and you inhaled deeply as you adjusted the long skirts of your summer dress.

A loud explosion interrupted your beautiful life, and you fell on the road. Dust, mud and pulp of crushed, rotten fruit from the ground stained your new dress and you let out a broken sob when you also saw blood on your palms. Small cuts lingered on the raw skin, and you struggled to get up. The freshly bought fruit were long forgotten in the dirt as you looked disorientated around and your teary eyes caught a pair of coal black ones.

Your heart leapt out of your ribcage when you remembered the face. Sam Wilson, a shadow from your past, was James’ best friend. His eyes glinted when he recognized you. He was like a falcon—you never doubted his superhero name—and you were most afraid to hide away from him back then when you ran.

You never got the chance to see the smirk that planted on his face because of how swift you turned your head away, somehow pleading to the divine force to help you again and make him forget your features. But a man about your age already got his orders about you.

Joaquin Torres furrowed his brows in confusion when he heard Captain America's orders.

"So let me get this straight— you want me to gather all the bad guys and jus' throw them in the cars myself, man? Are-are you sure 'bout this?", the young man asked, looking around him.

"Do you think you can handle them?", came the voice from the other side of the phone to which Joaquin nodded vigorously to himself, then replied affirmatively and maybe too excitedly.

"Good, we'll meet at the agreed location in short time. I—", finished the older man, looking at the tiny, cozy cottage before his eyes, "—have some business to take care of."

You were stuffing clothing items in a bag with one hand and with the other you were looking through the bedside cabinet for your passport and cash. Tears ran down your face ever since you arrived home from the market and you simply couldn't stop them, despite the will to do so.

You zipped up the bag and you pulled on a pair of clean shorts and a large tee with leafy hands and then you climbed down the stairs. Regret, anger, fear, all these ate at you.

"It's good to see you again, honeybee!"

You almost stumbled across the last stair when the words hit you. Your lungs were rejecting the oxygen as more tears fell when your eyes caught the ones you knew so well.

His hands were carelessly caressing the chair before him, his gaze sticked on your trembling figure.

"You know, I really hoped to catch a glimpse of the pretty sight standing in front of me now earlier, it would've spared my pal of much suffering."

"Suffering?", you whispered, finding the voice under all the bitterness in your throat. "H-he suffered? He was the one t-that suffered?"

"Oh, and how he did. He refused to eat the week you left, he barely slept for months, he spent millions on men, private detectives, all types of shit just to find you. I also highly doubt he fucked since you decided to disappear into thin air."

Your face contorted into a disgusted grimace as you took a small step back.

"Honeybee—", Sam growled as he started approaching you, "—I'd reallyyy like to give you a nice, lil' chance to get the fuck outta this house and go back with me, but I'm afraid you lost that right looong ago."

You couldn't even resist when his rough, confident grip fell over your freshly healed wrists, and when you felt your back pressed into his broad, sculpted chest, a whimper escaped your lips.

Sam bent you on the counter and your face fell into the flowers you picked from your garden in the morning and you tried to block everything, simply not wanting to believe this was happening. You really believed you would be free and at peace, protected and joyful for the rest of your life. How pathetic and far away those hopes sounded. Scratchy plastic secured your hands together as Sam grabbed the back of your neck and pulled you up against him again. He knocked the door open with his foot and started pulling you out of your comforting shelter.

"Sam, I am begging you, don't t-take me back to him, pleaseeee.", you started crying as he forced you outside your home. "You can't d-do this t-to me, Sam, you can't! Y-you were my...my friend, too."

Sam slapped his palm across your mouth to muffle the screams, or maybe to stop the words that made him feel so guilty from coming. "I am James' friend, not yours. My loyalty is his, and everything you've done hurt him. Now it's jus' fair you suffer too, ain't it?". These words hurt more than anything he did until now. Sam knew what Bucky did, he had seen the bruises, he had heard the cries, yet he had done nothing against it. And maybe that unsettled you, but now? Now he was forcing you into the wolf's fangs, and it felt completely different.

Your lost eyes caught one of your neighbors, Ms. Solís , at the window. Another whimper escaped you pleadingly, directed to her, but she did not dare to do anything. Nobody ever did.

Your knees buckled under your own weight, and you collapsed in the dust despite Sam's grip. You heard him scowl and his hand came to the back of your shirt. He gripped it and pulled you up against his body again. You sobbed and you tried to elbow him but Sam was swifter. He caught your tied limbs and grasped. "Fuckin' walk, bitch. Bucky would want to teach you to behave first, but I don't mind starting myself right now, you hear me?". The threat made you cry harder and when Sam gripped your arms even harsher you nodded weakly. What Sam was doing to you felt like a short training considering what would wait for you back in New York.

A black SUV was parked there, behind some wide Madrone bushes. Your heart was beating so fast you thought it might just burst right there. You hoped that, if you were to be honest.

"S-sam, just know th-that if you're taking me back....he'll k-kill me—", you tried calling Sam's mercy out one last time. He just turned his head away, letting your words fall into the abyss of desperation and nothingness.

A younger man peeked from behind the vehicle. His smile dropped when he saw your trembling form. His eyes darted from the blood on your chin to your restrained and bruised arms. Hair was cascading over your face and your lower lip trembled as you fought with yourself to stop the sobs and whimpers. Joaquin thought you were so beautiful. So, why were you here in this state?

"Whoa, man, what's happening? What did she do?" Joaquin started, coming closer to you with raised hands, showing you you don't have to be afraid of him. You still flinched when his caring hands came in contact with your pained limbs.

"Leave her as she is, Joaquin...", said Sam and you looked desperately at the man your age. He furrowed his brows and looked at his superior. "B-but—"

"You wanna be the next Falcon, don't you?" Sam asked, patting the younger man on the shoulder.

"Yes, of course I do!"

"Then—", Sam started again, looking into the boys' eyes, "—you gotta learn to close your eyes at certain things. These are the stories media don't care about, you hear me? The majority of people get saved, everybody's happy, but you should know there are...collateral victims. And she's one of 'em. Now, buddy, if you really wanna be an Avenger...put her in the car."

Joaquin took a big step back, accidentally bumping into you. He quickly caught you, preventing your body from falling again, and then looked back at Sam, which raised his brows and his hands, as if he was giving Joaquin an offer he couldn't refuse. And Joaquin didn't refuse it.

He opened the car door and he tried to carefully place you in the backseat. " 'm sorry, so sorry...", he mumbled as he gave you the pill Sam told him to. "This'll help ya sleep, okay?"

"P-please, please help me—', you cried, looking into his regretful eyes as he forced the drug past your lips.

"Shh, shhh...you'll be jus' fine, 'kay? Be good now, please—".

You knew you will be anything but fine. Sam and Joaquin both entered the car and as Joaquin was starting it, Sam dialed a number and put the phone on speaker.

"Buck, I think I've found somethin' that's yours, buddy. And you'll be really thrilled to see it...", Sam laughed, smirking at you in the reviewing mirror.

The quietness that followed the sentence was short, but dense.

"Hello, doll...", came the voice from the other side of the phone, and its maliciousness and calmness made your whole body shiver. He knew you were there. He was sure of it somehow. You felt his presence right there, in Sam's deeds, in the dark sky, in your rapid, choked sobs, in your heavy lids.

That fucking nickname wrote right then, right there the end of your world and marked the beginning of the Frightening New World.

JAMES BUCKY BARNES' MASTERLIST

DISCLAIMER: (THIS CONENT IS DARK) This masterlist and its containing belong to The WINTER SOLDIER, so beware. You may stay as long as you would like, but i am sure that once you enter his district, you will never want to leave ever again. Make yourself comfortable and create and enjoy some magic with me. Any special requests, questions or just simple discussions will be submitted in my INBOX. You will be following these RULES and maybe you would like to check out my MAIN MASTERLIST as well. Below you will find my works, such as:

༊ ONESHOTS

➦ How it glistened as it fell

༊ DRABBLES

➦ Frightening New World (ft. Sam Wilson)

༊ SERIES

©thehydraethereal 2025 copyrights. My work is not to be translated, rewritten or reposted. My content is dark, you are responsible for your own media consumption.

FRIGHTENING NEW WORLD

WE DRANK LOYALTY IN VINES...

...BUT YOURS TURNED TO BLOOD IN MY MOUTH.

⇀ word count: 1.1 K

⇀ pairings: dark! Sam Wilson x reader | dark! Bucky Barnes x reader (implied) | Joaquin Torres x reader | ✶✶✶

⇀ warnings: dark dark dark content, 18+ MDNI | violence; power imbalance; phsychological horror; blood: restraints; threats; mentions of rape; mentions of domestic violence; mentions of forced infertility; dacryphilia; swear words, my work is dark and triggering. You are responsible for your own media consumption.

⇀ author's note: i've finished this in ONE sitting, wow. I loved CABNW and this occured in my mind as soon as I finished watching it. Reblogs, comments, and more REQUESTS are appreciated. BUCKY BARNES MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST |

⇁ tags: my soul sister @highonmarvel xxx | If you want to be added to my taglist, let me know. I love you all so so much! Thank you for reading!

Oaxaca, Mexico

You had never believed that the sun might shine over you again, but here you were, strolling peacefully through the bustling market, a woven basket nestled in the crook of your arm, its handle tangled in your fingers. Your gaze lingered on the ripe, sun-kissed fruit— apricots, blushing peaches, nectarines, and ruby-red strawberries—while the air swelled with their honeyed fragrance, laced with the mellow sweetness of…plums.

Even after almost one year, the scent rose stripes of terror up your spine, and whenever you saw their blue–burgundy color, the broken ribs, the slaps, the punches, even his gaze flooded your mind altogether.

The anxiety attacks were fewer, shorter and less frightening every week, but your previous life still lingered in the back of your head. The wounds were long healed, but small scars were visible here and there—up your arms towards your shoulders, on your thighs, littlest ones on the crook of your neck and up your jaw and one people were…not able to see. After he took your freedom, broke your will, terrorized you even of your own shadow, he took your right and your ability of…ever having a family of your own. Your pained gaze often fell upon children around your house, in the village and it was like his reminder that said ‘I did this to you. You’ll never have one of your own.’, and it always made you turn your head away from them nauseously.

You never thought you'd be able to flee James Barnes, you thought it was impossible and it truly was. But some divine force must have helped you gain the bravery you never knew was inside you, and guided you all the way here, in this forgotten speck on the map.

The bells of the wide church —the only major social point in the town, situated right next to the market— rang loudly, in an oddly comforting way and you inhaled deeply as you adjusted the long skirts of your summer dress.

A loud explosion interrupted your beautiful life, and you fell on the road. Dust, mud and pulp of crushed, rotten fruit from the ground stained your new dress and you let out a broken sob when you also saw blood on your palms. Small cuts lingered on the raw skin, and you struggled to get up. The freshly bought fruit were long forgotten in the dirt as you looked disorientated around and your teary eyes caught a pair of coal black ones.

Your heart leapt out of your ribcage when you remembered the face. Sam Wilson, a shadow from your past, was James’ best friend. His eyes glinted when he recognized you. He was like a falcon—you never doubted his superhero name—and you were most afraid to hide away from him back then when you ran.

You never got the chance to see the smirk that planted on his face because of how swift you turned your head away, somehow pleading to the divine force to help you again and make him forget your features. But a man about your age already got his orders about you.

Joaquin Torres furrowed his brows in confusion when he heard Captain America's orders.

"So let me get this straight— you want me to gather all the bad guys and jus' throw them in the cars myself, man? Are-are you sure 'bout this?", the young man asked, looking around him.

"Do you think you can handle them?", came the voice from the other side of the phone to which Joaquin nodded vigorously to himself, then replied affirmatively and maybe too excitedly.

"Good, we'll meet at the agreed location in short time. I—", finished the older man, looking at the tiny, cozy cottage before his eyes, "—have some business to take care of."

You were stuffing clothing items in a bag with one hand and with the other you were looking through the bedside cabinet for your passport and cash. Tears ran down your face ever since you arrived home from the market and you simply couldn't stop them, despite the will to do so.

You zipped up the bag and you pulled on a pair of clean shorts and a large tee with leafy hands and then you climbed down the stairs. Regret, anger, fear, all these ate at you.

"It's good to see you again, honeybee!"

You almost stumbled across the last stair when the words hit you. Your lungs were rejecting the oxygen as more tears fell when your eyes caught the ones you knew so well.

His hands were carelessly caressing the chair before him, his gaze sticked on your trembling figure.

"You know, I really hoped to catch a glimpse of the pretty sight standing in front of me now earlier, it would've spared my pal of much suffering."

"Suffering?", you whispered, finding the voice under all the bitterness in your throat. "H-he suffered? He was the one t-that suffered?"

"Oh, and how he did. He refused to eat the week you left, he barely slept for months, he spent millions on men, private detectives, all types of shit just to find you. I also highly doubt he fucked since you decided to disappear into thin air."

Your face contorted into a disgusted grimace as you took a small step back.

"Honeybee—", Sam growled as he started approaching you, "—I'd reallyyy like to give you a nice, lil' chance to get the fuck outta this house and go back with me, but I'm afraid you lost that right looong ago."

You couldn't even resist when his rough, confident grip fell over your freshly healed wrists, and when you felt your back pressed into his broad, sculpted chest, a whimper escaped your lips.

Sam bent you on the counter and your face fell into the flowers you picked from your garden in the morning and you tried to block everything, simply not wanting to believe this was happening. You really believed you would be free and at peace, protected and joyful for the rest of your life. How pathetic and far away those hopes sounded. Scratchy plastic secured your hands together as Sam grabbed the back of your neck and pulled you up against him again. He knocked the door open with his foot and started pulling you out of your comforting shelter.

"Sam, I am begging you, don't t-take me back to him, pleaseeee.", you started crying as he forced you outside your home. "You can't d-do this t-to me, Sam, you can't! Y-you were my...my friend, too."

Sam slapped his palm across your mouth to muffle the screams, or maybe to stop the words that made him feel so guilty from coming. "I am James' friend, not yours. My loyalty is his, and everything you've done hurt him. Now it's jus' fair you suffer too, ain't it?". These words hurt more than anything he did until now. Sam knew what Bucky did, he had seen the bruises, he had heard the cries, yet he had done nothing against it. And maybe that unsettled you, but now? Now he was forcing you into the wolf's fangs, and it felt completely different.

Your lost eyes caught one of your neighbors, Ms. Solís , at the window. Another whimper escaped you pleadingly, directed to her, but she did not dare to do anything. Nobody ever did.

Your knees buckled under your own weight, and you collapsed in the dust despite Sam's grip. You heard him scowl and his hand came to the back of your shirt. He gripped it and pulled you up against his body again. You sobbed and you tried to elbow him but Sam was swifter. He caught your tied limbs and grasped. "Fuckin' walk, bitch. Bucky would want to teach you to behave first, but I don't mind starting myself right now, you hear me?". The threat made you cry harder and when Sam gripped your arms even harsher you nodded weakly. What Sam was doing to you felt like a short training considering what would wait for you back in New York.

A black SUV was parked there, behind some wide Madrone bushes. Your heart was beating so fast you thought it might just burst right there. You hoped that, if you were to be honest.

"S-sam, just know th-that if you're taking me back....he'll k-kill me—", you tried calling Sam's mercy out one last time. He just turned his head away, letting your words fall into the abyss of desperation and nothingness.

A younger man peeked from behind the vehicle. His smile dropped when he saw your trembling form. His eyes darted from the blood on your chin to your restrained and bruised arms. Hair was cascading over your face and your lower lip trembled as you fought with yourself to stop the sobs and whimpers. Joaquin thought you were so beautiful. So, why were you here in this state?

"Whoa, man, what's happening? What did she do?" Joaquin started, coming closer to you with raised hands, showing you you don't have to be afraid of him. You still flinched when his caring hands came in contact with your pained limbs.

"Leave her as she is, Joaquin...", said Sam and you looked desperately at the man your age. He furrowed his brows and looked at his superior. "B-but—"

"You wanna be the next Falcon, don't you?" Sam asked, patting the younger man on the shoulder.

"Yes, of course I do!"

"Then—", Sam started again, looking into the boys' eyes, "—you gotta learn to close your eyes at certain things. These are the stories media don't care about, you hear me? The majority of people get saved, everybody's happy, but you should know there are...collateral victims. And she's one of 'em. Now, buddy, if you really wanna be an Avenger...put her in the car."

Joaquin took a big step back, accidentally bumping into you. He quickly caught you, preventing your body from falling again, and then looked back at Sam, which raised his brows and his hands, as if he was giving Joaquin an offer he couldn't refuse. And Joaquin didn't refuse it.

He opened the car door and he tried to carefully place you in the backseat. " 'm sorry, so sorry...", he mumbled as he gave you the pill Sam told him to. "This'll help ya sleep, okay?"

"P-please, please help me—', you cried, looking into his regretful eyes as he forced the drug past your lips.

"Shh, shhh...you'll be jus' fine, 'kay? Be good now, please—".

You knew you will be anything but fine. Sam and Joaquin both entered the car and as Joaquin was starting it, Sam dialed a number and put the phone on speaker.

"Buck, I think I've found somethin' that's yours, buddy. And you'll be really thrilled to see it...", Sam laughed, smirking at you in the reviewing mirror.

The quietness that followed the sentence was short, but dense.

"Hello, doll...", came the voice from the other side of the phone, and its maliciousness and calmness made your whole body shiver. He knew you were there. He was sure of it somehow. You felt his presence right there, in Sam's deeds, in the dark sky, in your rapid, choked sobs, in your heavy lids.

That fucking nickname wrote right then, right there the end of your world and marked the beginning of the Frightening New World.

Again

Summary: You live in a carefully constructed world with Bucky Barnes, unaware he’s been resetting your memories every time you try to leave him. Each time you begin to remember the truth, he gently erases it, cloaking control in affection. To you, it feels like love. To him, it is. (Yandere Bucky Barnes x reader)

Warnings/Disclaimer: Minors DNI. Dark Bucky Barnes, Memory loss, Gaslighting, Obsessive love, Hints of confinement, Yandere themes, etc.

Word Count: 2.9k+

A/N: Been a while since I’ve written something dark. Can you tell I love stories that have something to do with memories yet? You are responsible for the media you consume. Let me know if I should add something else to the warnings, tags, or anything else.

Main Masterlist

You weren’t really the kind of person who got involved with superheroes.

You worked quietly at a small publishing office in Brooklyn, mostly handling edits and scheduling for midlist fantasy writers. Your days were filled with manuscript notes, cheap coffee, and chasing deadlines. It was all comfortably mundane.

You weren’t the kind to chase chaos. You didn’t attend Stark-sponsored gala events or run towards falling buildings with a camera. The Avengers were just another headline, another source of distant awe that didn’t belong in your world.

Until him.

You met Bucky Barnes on a Tuesday morning in the rain. Your umbrella had fallen apart five minutes into your walk to work, and you’d ducked into a tiny, half-hidden café. He had held the door open for you; tall, quiet, gloved hands, and hood up.

You nodded your thanks. He nodded back. That was it.

The second time you saw him was two days later at the same café. He was at the same seat near the back window. You ordered your tea, and he was already nursing his coffee. You’d never seen him speak to the barista, but his drink always arrived without question. You wondered if he’d once lived in this neighborhood, before the metal arm, before the wars.

Weeks passed before you spoke again. It started small with quick glances, polite smiles, and silent nods that eventually turned into one-word greetings. Then one afternoon, as you sat reading a worn paperback in your usual seat, he asked what book it was.

You looked up, startled. His voice was gravel and velvet all at once. You told him the title, and he tilted his head, thoughtful.

“Used to read a lot,” He said. “Stopped for a while.”

You asked why to which he smiled faintly. “Memories. Some of ’em don’t belong to me.”

You didn’t comment on it considering his past.

After that, he started waiting for you.

Or maybe you started going there hoping he’d be there. You couldn’t tell when it changed. Your work days blurred together, but those moments with him became sharp, vivid pieces of color. You learned that he liked his coffee bitter and preferred home-cooked meals over fast food. He told you small things about himself: that he didn’t sleep well, that he liked jazz, that he used to have a sister. Never much more.

You never asked about the arm. You never needed to.

He started walking you home when it got dark. Just in case, he’d say, glancing at the sidewalk like it was dangerous. At first, he’d leave you at the corner of your street. Then at your building’s door. Then one evening, he followed you up.

Nothing happened that night. He didn’t even kiss you. But he looked around your apartment with that solemn, haunted stare, like he’d stepped into a dream he wasn’t sure he was allowed to have.

When you made him tea that night, he sat on your couch like he was afraid it would vanish if he blinked.

That was the beginning.

You didn’t fall for him in a rush of heat or fire. It was something quieter like water slipping under a door. He was gentle with you, more gentle than you'd imagined a man like him could be. He handled you like a secret. In some way, you liked that. It made you feel chosen.

He memorized you.

Your favorite foods, the way you liked your windows cracked just an inch at night, how your nose scrunched when you were skeptical. He’d brush your hair behind your ear absentmindedly, kiss your temple when you frowned at your laptop, run his thumb across your knuckles while you rambled about work.

When you finally asked if you were together, he simply nodded. “You’re mine,” he said, not possessively. Just… firmly. As if it had always been true.

You smiled. It felt warm and real after all.

As weeks passed, you didn’t realize how much of yourself was already unraveling.

You didn't notice that he always picked your meals before you had a chance. That when you asked about his past, his face turned to stone. That when you mentioned taking a weekend trip with friends, he flinched. Then the next day, every one of those friends mysteriously canceled.

You didn’t realize how often he said “You don’t need to remember that.”

Or that your own memories like how you met or how long you’d been dating started to feel soft, blurry, like a watercolor left out in the rain.

You didn’t question it then though because when you were with Bucky, you felt safe. And safety can be addicting, especially when you don’t know what’s missing.

But the truth was already whispering beneath your skin. And you were about to hear it for the first time.

Again.

You never noticed the changes at first.

They crept in like dust on a windowsill so subtle and quiet, you didn’t realize how much had shifted until it was far too late.

It began with a contact missing from your phone. You were trying to text your friend about a shared memory from childhood, a stupid inside joke involving a haunted amusement park, but her name was just… gone. Not grayed out. Not blocked. Gone. You assumed it was a glitch. You’d call her later.

But you didn’t. You couldn’t seem to remember the number. You opened your gallery to find the picture of the two of you at the beach with your arms around each other, her tongue out at the camera, wind in your hair yet the photo wasn’t there. Not in albums. Not in cloud storage. Not even in your deleted folder.

You frowned and chalked it up to a syncing error. You’d been so tired lately after all. Work had been relentless, your sleep scattered. It was probably your fault.

Besides, Bucky said you’d been overwhelmed.

“You’ve been stressed, doll,” He murmured that night, when he found you staring blankly at your phone. He slid into bed behind you, arms curling around your waist like a shield. “You’ve been forgetting things, yeah? That’s okay. I’m here now.”

His lips pressed to the back of your neck, soft and warm and grounding. “I’ve got you.”

And you believed him. Because Bucky didn’t lie. Because love was supposed to feel safe. Because it was easier than the other option: that something was wrong.

Then the dreams began.

Not nightmares in the traditional sense. They weren’t filled with monsters or screams. They didn’t leave you sobbing or breathless. They just felt wrong… familiar in a way that made your stomach twist.

In the dreams, you were in a room with white walls, too white. The sterile scent of alcohol and metal stung your nose. Your wrists were strapped to a gurney, a chill biting at your skin through the thin hospital gown. Machines beeped in the distance. Shadows moved behind frosted glass.

And you were crying.

Not screaming. Not pleading.

Just… crying. Quietly and exhausted like this had happened before.

Then a voice; male, calm, and clinical: “She’s starting to remember.”

Static buzzed through the dream, warping your hearing like water rushing through your ears.

And then, him.

Bucky.

But not your Bucky, not the gentle hands and tired smile that whispered “I’ve got you.” This Bucky stood behind the glass, unmoving, and half-shrouded in shadow. His face was unreadable and cold, tight-jawed with his blue eyes sharp with calculation. And something else beneath that: Guilt. Desire. Possession.

You always woke with your chest heaving, heart racing like a prey being hunted.

The dreams clung to your skin like fog. You couldn’t shake them, couldn’t forget the way your own voice had cracked in the dream: “Please, don’t do it again.”

You told Bucky about them one morning, curled on the couch with a blanket over your shoulders and your head pounding.

“They felt too real,” You explained, knuckles white around the mug he’d just handed you. “I… I don’t know. I was in some lab, or hospital maybe, and I was tied down, and someone said-“

You paused, trying to remember the exact words. They slipped through your mind like sand.

“‘She’s starting to remember.’”

Bucky froze. Just for a moment to the degree where you barely caught it. The tension in his jaw before it was gone, smoothed over by the version of him you trusted. He stepped closer, cupping your cheek in one calloused hand. His thumb brushed your temple, slow and steady.

“They’re just dreams,” He whispered. “You’re okay. I’m right here, remember? Nothing bad’s ever going to happen to you again.”

The pressure of his fingers lingered, gentle but firm. You leaned into it.

And you didn’t see the flicker of fear in his eyes. You didn’t notice how his hand trembled for just a second before he pulled it away.

Didn’t follow his gaze to the mirror where, behind the glass, a soft blue light blinked silently. A small device tucked into the frame, some HYDRA tech masked by a smear of dust. Unnoticeable unless you remembered it was there.

It hummed with quiet intent, its function cruel and simple: To monitor. To smooth the cracks. To start over.

Again.

-

The turning point finally came on the day you found the journal.

It was supposed to be a cleaning day.

Rain tapped gently against the windows. Bucky had gone out for groceries. He never let you go alone anymore, said it wasn’t safe. So you’d decided to reorganize the closet in your bedroom. It was cluttered, and you needed a distraction. Something to silence the weight of those dreams that had begun to come more often, vivid and fractured. Something to quiet the silence.

You were pulling out an old shoe box when your foot caught on the corner of the floorboard. It shifted under your weight with a soft, unnatural creak. Curious, you crouched and ran your fingers over the edge, pushing until the plank lifted just slightly enough to wedge your hand underneath.

There was something hidden beneath the wood. Wrapped in worn fabric, almost carefully. You pulled it free as your breath caught in your throat.

It was a journal. Black leather with no name on the cover. You didn’t remember buying it. You didn’t remember writing in it. But it was yours.

The handwriting was unmistakable. Slanted letters. Loopy e’s. The way you crossed your t’s too high. And inside…

Inside was your words: Unfiltered, unedited, and terrified.

He’s done something to me. Every time I leave, I wake up back in his bed. I think it’s him. I think it’s always been him. He smiles and tells me, “This is better. This is love.” Do not trust him. Do not trust him. You’ve done this before.

Your hands shook as you turned the pages. There were days recorded in scribbled fragments. Warnings. Notes written like you were trying to reach yourself across some invisible line.

You remembered none of them.

Not the time you described trying to run: “He caught me before I reached the door. Said he’d fix it. He always fixes it.”

Not the drawing of the device in the mirror. “It hums when I remember too much, blares out if I touch it.”

Not the shaky, final note: If you’re reading this, you still have a chance. Don’t let him see this. Don’t let him see you panic.

But it was too late.

Your breath hitched as you looked up. The walls of your apartment, the space you’d painted and decorated and thought you’d built with love, suddenly felt wrong. It was all too neat. Staged. The color schemes, the framed photos, the scent of lavender in the air, it was all… curated.

Like a set. Like a memory someone else had chosen for you.

And then you felt it. That presence. You turned, heart already racing.

Bucky stood in the doorway, grocery bag in one hand. His other hand was empty, fingers flexing once. Twice. His eyes weren’t on you.

They were on the open journal.

His expression didn’t twist in shock or confusion. He didn’t ask what it was. He didn’t even look surprised. He just stared at you for a moment, quiet, as if waiting to see which version of you he’d come home to.

And then, slowly, he set the bag down.

He stepped forward in a manner that wasn’t hurried, not frantic, just controlled. Measured, like a man who’d done this before.

“Doll,” He spoke softly, as if you were spooked. As if you’d simply read something silly. “That’s not what you think it is.”

Your mouth was dry as you stepped back, clutching the book.

“I wrote this,” You whispered. “I… I’ve done this before. Haven’t I?”

His jaw tightened. “You weren’t well. You didn’t understand what you needed.”

“I tried to leave.”

“And I couldn’t let you,” He said, eyes burning now but not with anger, rather something worse. Devotion. “You don’t remember how bad it was out there. You begged me to make it stop. You asked me to take it away.”

You backed into the wall.

“I don’t remember any of that.”

“I know,” He murmured. “That’s the point.”

He stepped closer. The air thickened.

“You were scared, and I saved you. Over and over again. I keep you safe, I give you peace. Isn’t that what you said you wanted?”

You shook your head. “No. I didn’t-“

“You did,” Bucky interrupted, “And even if you forgot, it doesn’t matter. I remember for both of us.”

Your chest was heaving as you took a step back. The journal slipped from your fingers and hit the floor between you. He picked it up carefully, smoothing the pages like an old wound.

Bucky watched you for a long moment, the journal still in his hands, the weight of your realization hovering between you both like smoke. You didn’t run, you couldn’t. Your body felt frozen in place, as if your mind already knew what was coming. Like it had before.

He approached slowly with no malice nor violence, just intention.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” He said gently. “You know that. I never have.”

Your breath hitched as he reached up. Not to strike, not to grab, but to brush your hair behind your ear. The gesture was intimate.

“But you always panic when it comes back. Always think you want out. And then you cry, and I have to watch you fall apart all over again.”

He moved slightly, lips brushing your temple.

“This is love, sweetheart. It’s just… not the kind you remember.”

That’s when he reached behind the mirror.

You didn’t struggle. Maybe part of you didn’t want to know the truth. Maybe part of you had been here before again and again, and each time ended in the same outcome: surrender wrapped in warmth and silence.

You heard the hum before you felt it. That low, soft frequency, like a lullaby trapped beneath your skin. Your vision blurred. The room warped slightly, as if you were seeing through water. Your knees gave out, and Bucky caught you easily, cradling your head to his chest.

“Sshhh. Just sleep,” He whispered into your hair. “I’ll keep you safe. I always do.”

-

The next morning, sunlight spilled across the room in pale golden stripes. The curtains swayed lazily with the breeze, and the air smelled like maple syrup and cinnamon. Somewhere in the distance, a record crackled softly with a melody playing something smooth and familiar.

You blinked up at the ceiling, your head foggy and strangely heavy. A dull ache pulsed just behind your eyes.

But your heart was quiet.

No fear. No dread. Just a lingering melancholy you couldn’t name, like missing a song you forgot you loved.

You sat up slowly, fingers curling into the sheets. The bed was warm and the room was tidy. On the nightstand sat a single framed photo of you and Bucky wrapped in a shared scarf, cheeks pink from the cold.

Something fluttered in your chest. You didn’t know why, but the sight made your throat tighten.

Then came his soft voice, full of that low, soothing rasp that always made your shoulders ease.

“Morning, doll.”

You looked up to find him standing in the doorway, wearing gray sweatpants and a soft black shirt with a spatula held in one hand and a dishtowel that rested over his shoulder. He smiled at you with such warmth, such relief, that it made your eyes sting.

“Smells good,” You mumbled, voice thick.

“Thought you could use something sweet.” He tilted his head. “You okay?”

You blinked at him, your eyes burning for some reason.

“Yeah. I think so. Just… a weird dream.”

His smile deepened, that tender practiced smile.

“Don’t worry,” He said. “I’m right here. I’ve got you.”

He always did.

And you’d never know how many times before: Never know about the journal that was burned in the fire pit. Never know how your phone only held five contacts, four of them fake. Never know how your reality was trimmed, polished, and maintained like a greenhouse.

Each morning reborn in the life Bucky made for you. Each memory rewritten not out of cruelty but love. Twisted, obsessive, relentless love.

And for now, this time, you were his again. Just as you were meant to be.

Rewritten

Summary: You wake up in a cozy home with no memory of anything. You find your alleged lovers reassuring you that you’ve always lived there and that they’ll stay by your side through this difficult time. However, you can’t seem to shake the feeling that something is wrong. (Dark!Bucky Barnes x reader x Dark!Steve Rogers)

Warnings/Disclaimer: Minors DNI. Dark Bucky Barnes. Dark Steve Rogers. Psychological & emotional manipulation. Memory loss. Gaslighting. Alludes to Kidnapping.

Word Count: 4.9k+

A/N: To be honest, I had the idea for this one but struggled to write it. I hope it turned out decent enough. You are responsible for the media you consume. Let me know if I should add something else to the warnings, tags, or anything else.

Main Masterlist

You wake to the soft warmth of sunlight spilling through sheer curtains, casting an ethereal glow over the room. The faint scent of pancakes lingers in the air, drifting through your senses like an old, forgotten memory.

The bed is plush beneath you and too soft, almost as if it were made to cocoon you, to hold you in a place of perfect comfort. The sheets are smooth, cool, but they don't belong. They're foreign, unfamiliar. You blink, disoriented. Something about the room seems… off. There’s a quiet stillness to it, a sense of being watched, though the air is unthreatening. A low hum of something distant, like a heart beating just a little too fast.

The room is small, but cozy. Elegant, even. The soft glow of the morning sun is reflected in the delicate furniture such as a nightstand with a polished wood surface or the dresser with a few scattered items on top. Your eyes, still unfocused, drift to a framed picture on the nightstand. You reach out automatically, though your hand trembles slightly as you grasp the edge of the frame.

The photo inside is a strange sight.

It’s a picture of you. You’re smiling, laughing, in fact. Your arms are wrapped around two men, standing close to each other with their own hands resting on your shoulders. You look happy, relaxed. Safe.

But you don’t recognize them. Not at all.

The taller man has blond hair, a strong jawline, and eyes that should be comforting, but they don’t reach you. He’s smiling down at you as if you were someone he cared about, but you can’t remember ever knowing him. The other man has dark, disheveled hair, a shadow of stubble along his jaw, and eyes that seem… more distant. Cold. But even as you stare, your heart feels like it’s trying to remember something buried, something lost.

You drop the frame back onto the nightstand with a soft thud, and for a moment, the silence is deafening.

“Hey.”

The voice comes from the doorway, low and warm, though the words hold an edge you can’t place.

You snap your head up, your breath quickening as you sit up on the bed. A man stands there tall, broad-shouldered, with a metal arm hanging at his side. His eyes, dark and full of something unreadable, watch you carefully. You can feel his gaze weighing on you, measuring you.

“You’re awake,” His voice is soft but firm. He looks oddly… relieved. But there's something about the way he watches you, something that doesn’t feel quite right.

“Who… who are you?” Your voice is hoarse, trembling, and you immediately feel a sense of panic clawing at your chest.

The man takes a step forward, his expression unreadable. “It’s okay. Don’t worry. You don’t remember us again, but that’s okay.” His voice dips a little, softer. “It happens.”

“Remember? I don’t remember anything.”

A sharp, sudden shift in the air. You don’t realize it until the second man enters the room. He’s around the same height, though leaner. Blond. His gaze falls on you immediately, and you feel an odd wave of something unfamiliar crash over you, a strange mixture of comfort and something darker.

The first man, the one who spoke, stands a little straighter at the sight of him. The second man, Steve, doesn’t seem phased at all. If anything, he’s relieved to see you awake.

But something is wrong. You can’t place it. There’s an unease in the pit of your stomach, like the weight of their presence is too heavy for you to bear.

“You’ve been through a lot,” Steve says, his voice gentle but steady. “Hydra did things to you… erased your memories. But we’re here now. We’ll help you remember.”

Your hands grip the edge of the blanket, knuckles white. Your head feels thick, heavy, as if there’s a fog clouding your thoughts. “I don’t… know you. I don’t remember this place. I don’t know who you are.”

“You’ve been here before,” Steve continues, taking a slow step closer to you. “This isn’t the first time, but don’t worry. It will get easier. We’ll help you through it.” His hand reaches toward you, a tentative gesture, but there’s something possessive in the way he moves, something that makes you shudder.

“You always forget,” The man with the metal arm, Bucky, adds quietly. He doesn’t step closer, but his eyes are locked onto you, searching. “But it’s okay. We’ll remind you.”

“Don’t lie to me,” You say, your voice trembling. There’s an instinct in you, a pull to trust what they’re saying, but your gut screams that something isn’t right. “Who are you? What have you done to me?”

Steve’s hand lingers in the air, just a breath from your cheek, before he withdraws it slowly. “You were lost. You didn’t remember us the first time, either.” His words are soft, almost too soft. “But you will. You always do.”

Bucky stands silent behind Steve, his eyes fixed on you with something too intense to describe. His posture is stiff, controlled, as if he’s afraid of moving too suddenly. But there’s something cold in his gaze, something calculating, like he’s waiting to see if you’ll break.

A memory flickers in your mind, so brief it might have been imagined: a faint moment of laughter, of warmth. You and these men together, somewhere you can’t quite place. But it vanishes before you can hold onto it.

“Just… tell me the truth,” You whisper, your breath shallow. “Tell me what’s happening.”

“You’re safe,” Steve assures, kneeling beside the bed, his hand brushing the side of your face with the gentleness of a lover. “You’re always safe with us.”

Bucky steps forward then, his eyes narrowing just slightly as he watches you. His voice is low. “We’ve kept you safe every time, haven’t we?”

Something heavy fills the air between you. They’re speaking like you’re a child they’ve been caring for, but you know, something inside you knows, that’s not all of it. This isn’t just care. This feels like control.

“You belong with us after all,” Bucky murmurs, almost to himself, but loud enough for you to hear.

You flinch back as the words reverberate in your chest.

The door locks behind them with a quiet click, and you feel it reverberate in your chest like the closing of a cage. The room suddenly seems smaller, suffocating. You try to stand, to make sense of your surroundings, but your legs feel unsteady beneath you, as if they’ve forgotten how to hold your weight.

Steve remains kneeling beside the bed, his hand still hovering near your face, his touch a strange mixture of warmth and weight. His eyes are searching your face with a tenderness that should be comforting. But it isn’t.

“You don’t need to be afraid,” Steve says, his voice almost too smooth, too comforting. “You’re home now.“

“But I… don’t know you,” You whisper, the words breaking against the thick tension in the air.

You don’t know how to feel. There’s a pull in your chest, an undeniable ache to trust him, but every fiber of your being tells you to run, to escape this unfamiliar warmth. But where would you go? There are no windows in this room, only soft, almost hypnotic light and the oppressive presence of two men who insist they’ve known you for far longer than you can remember.

Bucky watches from across the room, his metal arm resting against the doorframe, his eyes dark and calculating. It’s hard to tell if he’s waiting for you to calm down, or if he’s simply studying you, waiting for the exact moment your resistance breaks.

“We’ve been through this before,” Bucky says, his voice low, but it carries an edge of something dark. "Every time, you don’t remember, but you get it back. We’re here for you.”

Your eyes flicker to him, his posture so tense, it’s like he’s bracing for something, waiting for a signal you can’t see. You don’t know him. You don’t know any of this, and yet… The flicker of a memory dances in the back of your mind again. You see yourself in his arms held close, like you belong. But it’s all too foggy, too distant. The image fades before you can grasp it fully.

Bucky shifts, his gaze flicking between you and Steve. His body language speaks of restraint, like he’s holding something back, fighting a temptation to move closer. His hand flexes by his side, the metallic fingers of his left hand clenching in a subtle but telling motion.

“You don’t remember the last time we had breakfast together, do you?” Steve asks gently, as if testing a boundary. “You laughed so hard when I tried to cook the eggs. You called me an idiot, and then we ate on the couch, watching that romance show you love.”

You search his eyes for any hint of deception, but they’re so earnest, so soft. The words tug at something inside you, a small thread of something familiar, but your mind stubbornly holds its ground. You’re not sure if you want to trust him or if you’re simply desperate to feel like you’re home.

“I don’t remember,” You whisper, your voice catching. You want to believe him, but the words don’t feel right. “I… I don’t know, I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay,” Steve says, smiling as though this is just another part of the process, as if it’s routine. As if the confusion is natural, and it should be expected. “We’ll remind you, just like we always do.”

Bucky steps forward, his voice colder now, more insistent. “You always say that, Steve.” His eyes never leave you. “We’ve done this before. She’ll get it back, eventually.”

There’s something unsettling in the way he speaks, as if he’s not entirely sure himself that you are the same person who walked in here before. You look at Bucky, trying to make sense of him. There’s an intensity to his gaze, a hardness in his features that doesn’t soften, not even when he speaks. The way he stands, so still and poised, makes you feel like a mouse trapped in a predator’s gaze.

“Every time,” He murmurs, a strange satisfaction in his voice. “We’ll remind you. You’ll come back.”

Come back.

It feels like a command, like a foregone conclusion, and something inside you rebels against it. You want to ask him what he means, ask them both what they mean, but the words stick in your throat. You open your mouth, but nothing comes out.

Steve reaches up, cupping your chin gently with his hand. His touch is soft, but there’s an undercurrent of something darker beneath it. “We’re not going to leave you. You’ll remember. It’ll be like it always was. Like it should be.”

A flicker of discomfort sharpens your senses. There’s a strange, hollow weight behind his words, as though they don’t just want you to remember—they need you to.

“What… what if I don’t remember?” You ask, the words coming out quieter than you intended.

Steve leans in closer, his voice lower now, coaxing. “You will. You always do.”

Bucky steps forward, his eyes cold, unreadable. His lips barely twitch into something resembling a smile, but it’s fleeting, like it doesn’t quite belong. “We’ll help you. We always do.”

Something dark unfurls in your chest, a quiet, nagging suspicion that they’ve been here before. They’ve watched you forget, watched you become someone else. Someone who depends on them, who trusts them. And every time, you come back.

You come back.

The weight of the realization presses into your lungs, making it hard to breathe. You don’t know why you keep forgetting, but surely that must mean something is wrong. However, you haven’t figured out yet if it’s you or them.

-

The days blur together. Each one feels like a repetition of the last, a loop that tightens around you with every passing moment. You never quite know if what you're experiencing is real or another fragment of the memory that Steve and Bucky insist belongs to you.

Today is no different.

The room you’re confined to feels like it’s been designed for you to forget where you end and the walls begin. It’s soft, sterile, but just close enough to warm for you to feel like you should be at peace. But there’s no peace in your chest. There’s only an aching tension that never seems to let up.

Steve enters first, his footsteps silent on the floor as he walks toward you. He doesn’t speak immediately, just watches, as if waiting for something to happen. His eyes lock on yours, and for a second, you feel as though he’s peeling you open, reading you like a book.

"You’re quiet today," He says, his voice low, almost coaxing. "Not feeling well? You know I’m always here to help."

It’s a familiar line, one that’s said so many times it sounds like a chant, a mantra. Each word meant to soothe, to ease you into a false sense of security. But it doesn’t work. Not anymore.

"I'm fine," You reply, the words tasting bitter as they leave your mouth. Your throat feels dry, constricted. You’ve said this before, but it’s always the same. The moment the words leave your lips, you realize you don’t mean them.

Steve tilts his head, his gaze narrowing slightly. "You know that’s not true. You’ve been pushing us away, but that’s okay. We can fix this. We always do."

You want to protest, to argue that you don’t need fixing, but the words get tangled up in your mind. Something about his certainty, the way he speaks, makes it feel like you’ve always been broken. Maybe you are broken. Maybe you’ve always been.

Before you can respond, Bucky steps into the room, his presence an undeniable weight. His eyes flicker over to you, a hint of something unreadable in his gaze. There's a moment where neither of them says anything, just letting the silence stretch and press down on you. It feels like an eternity.

"I told you not to rush it," Bucky says quietly, but there’s no malice in his voice, just an edge of impatience, like he's waiting for something more. "She’s still trying to adjust."

Steve glances at Bucky and then back to you, his smile softening. "I know. But we need you to start remembering, sweetheart." His voice takes on a subtle urgency, like this is the moment he’s been waiting for.

You feel a cold shiver run through your body at the word "remember." It’s always been the same, always the same pressure—remember who you are, remember what you’ve lost, remember them.

But what if you can’t remember? What if you never will?

"I don’t know how to," You say, your voice barely above a whisper. It’s the truth, and it feels like the most vulnerable thing you could admit. But it’s a risk. A dangerous one.

Steve doesn’t respond with anger or frustration, he simply steps closer to you. The movement is slow, deliberate. His fingers brush lightly against your wrist, sending a jolt through your body that feels almost too intimate. Like he's trying to ground you to him, to make you realize how close you are to him.

"That’s why we’re here," Steve says, his voice soft, but there's a weight behind it now, an undeniable intensity. "We’re not going to let you suffer through this alone.”

You try to pull back, but there’s nowhere to go. The bed, the walls, they close in around you. Steve’s hand is warm on your wrist, steady, unwavering. He’s not letting you escape. And even if you wanted to, even if you tried to run*, where would you go?

Bucky watches from the doorway, his eyes tracing the movement between you and Steve, his expression unreadable. There's something calculating about the way he stands there, like he’s waiting for a signal, for you to break, for you to return to him.

“You should let her breathe, Steve,” Bucky says, his voice like gravel. It’s a command wrapped in the semblance of care, but you hear the warning in it.

Steve nods, his hand slipping away from your wrist reluctantly. “You’re right,” He mutters, his voice distant as if lost in thought. He steps back, but only just. His presence still looms over you, like a shadow you can’t escape.

You don’t know how to breathe without him close, without Bucky just in the corner of your vision. They’ve become your everything and nothing. They’re all you know and all you can remember.

“What if I never remember?” You ask again, the question hanging in the air between the three of you.

Bucky’s lips curl into something that could almost be a comforting smile, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. “You will. You always do.” His words are like a broken record, but there’s something in the way he says them that makes your heart sink.

Steve leans in, placing his hands on either side of your face, his touch gentle but firm. “You don’t need to worry about that,” He says, his voice so soothing, so tender. “We’ll help you find it. Every time you forget, we’ll remind you. It’s what we do.”

You want to protest, want to scream that you don’t need them to remind you of anything. But the words choke you. You’re too scared to speak, too frightened to resist, because something in you knows, they won’t let you.

"You belong here with us," Steve murmurs, his lips brushing against your forehead in a soft, intimate gesture that makes your skin crawl, even as your body betrays you and relaxes into it. "You always will."

And when he pulls away, it’s with the unsettling certainty that, even if you can’t remember it now, you will. You’ll always come back to them. You always do.

-

The days have begun to bleed into one another with a strange consistency, each one more difficult to tell apart than the last. The constant pull of Steve’s calm assurance, of Bucky’s quiet intensity, is starting to unravel something deep inside you.

It’s not that you don’t resist. You do. You fight against the tug in your chest, the strange sense of familiarity that lingers in every word they say, every look they share. But it’s getting harder to find the strength to push back.

Tonight, the room feels different. Softer, maybe. The lights are dimmed lower than usual, the shadows casting a calming blanket over everything. It should be unsettling, the dark corners and the tightness in your chest, but it isn’t. Not tonight.

Steve is sitting on the edge of the bed, his usual spot. He’s not forcing closeness, but you can still feel him there, a steady presence in your peripheral. Bucky stands near the door, leaning casually against the frame, his arms folded across his chest. They’re watching you, waiting.

You know what they want. They’ve made it clear in countless ways. Your memory. Your trust. Your acceptance.

And you don’t want to give it to them. But every time they speak, every time they’re close, it’s like the walls around you start to crumble. You don’t want to let go of what little resistance you have left, but the pull… it’s relentless.

“Do you feel it, too?” Steve asks, his voice low, as if the question is a secret shared only between the two of you. His eyes hold something tender, an almost imperceptible plea, hidden beneath the surface.

You know it’s a question you’re supposed to answer. You know that whatever response you give will shape what comes next. And for the first time in days, you feel the weight of that choice, heavy in your chest.

You swallow, your throat dry. “Feel what?” You ask, voice barely above a whisper. You’re stalling, buying yourself time, but it’s pointless. You already know what he’s asking.

Steve’s lips curl into a small, patient smile. “That we’re closer now. You and I. Bucky too. We’re… we’re getting you back. Piece by piece.”

A wave of something washes over you, something so familiar it almost hurts. You don’t know if it’s relief or fear, but it feels like the beginning of something you can’t stop. Something you’ve been slowly inching toward since the moment you arrived.

“I don’t…” You want to protest, want to say you don’t need them, but the words die on your lips. I don’t need them, You try to think, but the thought has no weight anymore. It’s hollow, empty.

Bucky’s voice cuts through the air, low and almost soothing, though there’s a bite to it that feels like it’s meant just for you. “It’s okay to accept it, you know. You don’t need to fight anymore.”

You look at him, his dark eyes meeting yours with an intensity that makes your breath catch. His gaze isn’t soft, but it’s not cruel, either. It’s knowing. He’s been waiting for this. Waiting for you to break.

“I’m not…” You try to force the words out, but they don’t sound like your own anymore. You don’t know who you’re trying to convince. Them, or yourself.

Steve’s hand rests on your shoulder, his touch warm and gentle, but there’s an undeniable pressure in it. “It’s okay to stop fighting,” he repeats, softer now. “We’re not going to hurt you. We’re the ones who care for you.”

And then, just as his words settle in, Bucky steps forward, his boots heavy on the floor, his presence overwhelming. He kneels beside you, his fingers brushing against your cheek in an oddly tender gesture.

“Let go,” He murmurs, his voice rough, like he’s almost pleading. “Let us take care of you. Let us remind you what it’s like. Let us remind you of who we are to you.”

His words are a poison you can’t resist. Something inside you stirs, a flicker of something you can’t place, but it’s undeniable. It’s like a missing puzzle piece clicking into place. You’ve always known them, haven’t you? You’ve always belonged to them. You don’t fight the tears that begin to well up in your eyes. Not because you’re afraid, but because it feels like something you’ve needed to release for so long. A truth you’ve buried deep, but they’ve pulled to the surface.

You don’t speak for a long moment, not sure what to say. You can’t say the words you need to. You’re afraid of the acceptance that’s threatening to bubble up.

But when Steve kisses the top of your head, when Bucky’s hand slides into yours, you feel the faintest hint of peace settle inside you. It’s quiet, like a lullaby you’ve heard before, long ago. Something you’ve always known. The tension in your chest begins to release, and your body leans into them.

“I… I remember,” You whisper, the words sounding fragile as they leave your lips. They’re barely a confession, more of an acceptance.

Steve’s smile widens, something dark and knowing in it. “Good. You always do.”

And as Bucky pulls you into his arms, the last remnants of your resistance fade away, leaving only the comforting weight of their control. You’ve stopped fighting. You’ve stopped trying to remember a life that’s no longer yours.

And now, it feels like you’ve come home.

As you lean into them, your body relaxed against theirs, Steve and Bucky exchange a quiet glance. To anyone else, it might seem like a moment of victorious tenderness, a sign that their carefully woven web of lies and control had finally worked. But for them, it’s the culmination of something far more sinister.

The truth, hidden behind layers of manipulation, slowly rises in the silence between them.

Bucky’s fingers curl tighter around the back of your neck, his touch deceptively soft. The dark gleam in his eyes says everything that words can’t. You’re finally theirs. The power, the rush of having you in their control, it’s almost intoxicating. But even now, when the most delicate part of their plan is complete, he can’t help but remember the meticulous preparations that had gone into this moment.

Steve is still close to you, his arm draped around your waist, his fingers moving gently up and down your arm in a soothing, possessive gesture. His smile is warm, patient, and reassuring, remaining on his face. It’s always been about the long game for Steve. They needed to win your trust first, break you down piece by piece. And it’s been slow. Too slow, maybe. But in the end, they always knew they’d have you.

What you don’t know, what you’ll never know, are the dark truths that have led them to this point.

-

Steve’s eyes glint with something darker, something sharper as he watches you, the one they’ve spent so long breaking down. You lean into him, hair brushing his shoulder. He could almost feel the weight of the years they’ve spent hiding their true intentions, every step of the plan coming to fruition. But in this moment, the only thing that matters is that you’re finally his.

Ours.

He thinks of the syringe hidden away in the drawer, tucked beneath a pile of medical equipment. The tranquilizer, strong enough to put even the most stubborn of minds to sleep, had been a backup. A backup they’d needed far too many times in the past. Every time you’d resisted. Every time you’d tried to break free from them. The memories you couldn’t keep, erased and rewritten. It had taken months to break you down. The endless resets, the subtle manipulation of your memories, it had all been worth it.

He thinks of the old HYDRA tech they’d found buried in the basement of the abandoned facility. They’d salvaged it, repurposed it for their own needs. It was the ultimate insurance policy. A device that would wipe your memories clean, start over again, give them the chance to erase everything and make you theirs all over again. They’d already used it once when you’d tried to escape. It had worked, just as they’d known it would.

And the faked photos. Oh, all the faked things they’d planted around the house and in your mind, subtle distortions of the past. You had thought they were real memories, but they were simply moments they’d manufactured from nothing. Childhood photos, moments that never happened. But you didn’t know. You never would. And now, as you lean into him, trusting him as if he’s the one person who truly cares about you, Steve can’t help but savor the sweetness of your submission.

Meanwhile, Bucky watches you, his fingers gently stroking the side of your face. He’s careful, almost tender, as if he’s not the one who had quietly orchestrated the destruction of everything you once knew. His eyes drift to the scarred corner of the room where they’d had their first confrontation, the first moment of resistance. He can still see the look in your eyes, the defiance, the unwillingness to bend. That’s when he’d first known they’d need to go further than they had before.

Bucky has always been the one to deal with the physical side of things. He’s the one who uses the needles when necessary, the one who watches as memories are erased and rewritten. He doesn’t mind. He never has. His past is just as twisted, just as broken, and he knows that the only way to keep someone is to make them forget everything they thought they knew. Make them bend to his will. Make them need him.

And so he did. The needles, the tech. He’d been the one to use the memory-wiping tech when you tried to break away, your mind racing with escape plans and a hope you hadn’t even known you were capable of. They couldn’t have you escaping again. No. You belonged to them. You would be made to understand that with time.

You don’t remember the screams, the pain. You don’t remember when they had locked you in that cold room and kept you there for days, only feeding you enough to keep you alive. You never remember the real consequences of those escapes. It’s for the best you didn’t.

Together, they had faked everything. The photos, the false memories, the false story, all crafted a perfect illusion of the past. Bucky had been the one to suggest it, to suggest that they give you a history. Let you believe in something. You were fragile after all, even with all the strength you had in you, and you needed the comfort of false hope to hold on to. It had been easy to implant those photos, to whisper lies of childhood friends and tender moments, and you had accepted them, like a child accepts the world their parents give them. You believed.

Now, you’re looking at them, unaware of the depths of their lies. Of how they’ve woven a prison out of every word, every touch. They’re building something permanent within you, and you can’t see it yet.

But you will. Eventually, you’ll understand. And when you do, you’ll want it. You’ll want them. They’ve worked too hard for you to slip away. You’ve already lost. And the more you lose yourself in them, the more you forget, the more they can control you.

That’s the way it always goes.

Bucky glances at Steve, catching the gleam of satisfaction in his eyes. They’re in this together. Always have been. You’re theirs now.

And neither of them is letting go.

Devoted Possession

Summary: To the outside world, including Steve Rogers, you're just a close couple. But as Steve begins to notice subtle shifts: distance, lies, unease, he starts suspecting something is wrong. In the moments he tries to confront you both about it, you and Bucky, still cloaked in innocence, continue playing the part. (Yandere Bucky Barnes x Yandere!reader)

Warnings/Disclaimer: Minors DNI. Dark Bucky Barnes. Dark reader. Yandere themes. Implied stalking/watching immensely. Implied death. (Hydra agent)

Word Count: 1.8k+

A/N: I could definitely continue this, but I wanted to focus on an outsider’s perspective for this one. You are responsible for the media you consume. Let me know if I should add something else to the warnings, tags, or anything else.

Main Masterlist | Obsessive Love (Part 1.)

Steve Rogers wasn’t the kind of man to jump to conclusions. He believed in giving people the benefit of the doubt, in second chances and quiet patience, especially when it came to Bucky.

So when he noticed that you and Bucky had grown closer, he smiled. It was good, he thought. Bucky deserved someone kind. Someone who made him laugh again, even if it was that small, fleeting kind of laugh Bucky rarely let out. Steve had seen it once or twice when you were around; a twitch at the corner of Bucky’s mouth, a softening in his eyes. That alone made Steve relax.

At first.

But it didn’t take long before something felt… off.

It wasn’t anything either of you did directly. It was the way Bucky always seemed to be near you, not in an obvious way, but always hovering somewhere just close enough. You could be in the training room, tying your shoes, and there he'd be, watching silently from the other side. You could be in the kitchen pouring tea, and he’d already be there, leaning against the counter, mug untouched.

Steve noticed that you didn’t mind. If anything, you seemed to expect it. Like it was natural. Like Bucky belonged there beside you and only you.

He chalked it up to trauma at first. Bucky had latched onto you for comfort, and you were returning the favor. It made sense. You were both quiet, careful, observant. You matched him in energy: soft tones, gentle steps, secrets tucked behind subtle smiles. But the balance between you was strange and way too in sync. Almost too practiced like you didn’t just understand each other, you anticipated each other.

And then there were the missions.

Steve began to notice how people who flirted with you on assignments, even jokingly, never got a second chance. Not because you rejected them. No, you always smiled in that sweet, calm way of yours, tilting your head like you didn’t even notice the attention.

But Bucky noticed and Steve began to suspect that something was happening after the fact.

A Hydra defector who had been “too handsy” with you during an interrogation mysteriously disappeared between transport stops. No trace. No camera footage. The others brushed it off. “Probably escaped.” But Steve caught the look in Bucky’s eyes that night when he told you, “You don’t have to worry about him anymore.”

You had responded sweetly. "I know. I wasn’t worried."

Steve didn’t question it out loud. But he felt a small crack in his chest open. Still, he said nothing. Because love made people protective, right? Bucky had been used, abused, weaponized for decades. If he felt like he had something, someone to protect now, who was Steve to challenge that?

But the more time passed, the stranger it became.

He once walked into a quiet common room, only to find Bucky sitting silently beside you, his metal fingers grazing the side of your wrist while you calmly read a book. You were smiling, a soft, dreamy thing, but what startled Steve was how Bucky’s eyes weren’t on the book. They were locked on your face, unmoving. Like he was memorizing you. Like if he looked away, you might vanish.

Steve coughed to break the tension, but neither of you flinched. So, he brought it up gently that night. “You and Bucky seem close lately.”

You looked up at him with wide, harmless eyes. “He makes me feel safe,” You’d said, sweet as sugar.

Steve nodded slowly. “That’s good. Just make sure it’s… healthy, okay?”

You tilted your head like you didn’t understand. “Healthy?”

Steve smiled tightly. “Yeah. Just… keep looking out for each other. That’s all.”

But behind your eyes, something unreadable flickered, a quiet promise wrapped in silk. You nodded. “Always.”

The word didn’t do much to ease Steve’s concerns. Time continued to pass with strange things coincidences occurring, the love between you two growing even stronger. It all felt off to him when he knew he should have been happy for his best friend. Maybe because Bucky was his best friend that he went to seek out Bucky alone one day, but Steve didn’t know.

He didn’t know that Bucky’s room was now yours too, not officially, not in front of anyone else. But Bucky had long since cleared a drawer, laid out an extra blanket, and memorized the sound of your heartbeat in sleep.

Steve didn’t know about the way Bucky trailed fingers down your back while you whispered in the dark, your voices blending together in quiet, mutual reassurances that no one else mattered. He never heard Bucky’s voice saying no one else deserved you.

He didn’t know about the list Bucky kept in his head. All the names of everyone who ever made you uncomfortable, who looked at you too long, who smiled at you the way only he should.

And he certainly didn’t know that you had your own list too.

Not violent, not confrontational. No, yours was different. You didn’t need to hurt anyone. You just needed to watch. To gather things like passcodes, schedules, weak points, and tuck them away like puzzle pieces. If anyone got too close to Bucky, you knew exactly how to make them leave. An exposed secret. A missing key. A harmless rumor whispered in the right ear.

And you always smiled. You always stayed sweet. That’s why no one ever suspected a thing.

Except, maybe, Steve.

Because was definitely starting to feel it, the way the air shifted when you were together. The way your devotion to each other was too complete. Too consuming.

So, here he was. It was late, the kind of quiet that settled only after everyone else had gone to bed and the Tower seemed to exhale. The hallways were dim, just the soft amber glow of the lights lining the floor. Steve didn’t usually walk this floor after midnight, but something had pulled him from sleep.

A feeling.

He was standing outside of Bucky’s door. It was closed, nothing out of the ordinary. Quiet. Unremarkable. Except your room was dark too. Empty.

Steve stood there a moment longer than he meant to, staring at Bucky’s door, then to your door across the hall, then back again. He hadn’t seen you all day. Come to think of it, he hadn’t seen you much at all lately unless you were with Bucky. And that wasn’t unusual, not on the surface, couples got close.

But this wasn’t just close. This was… something.

He lifted his hand and knocked twice. There was silence for a moment then the soft sound of movement. The door opened after a few seconds to reveal Bucky bare-chested, relaxed, and not alarmed. But not surprised either.

Steve’s eyes flicked over his friend’s shoulder, and there you were. Sitting cross-legged on Bucky’s bed, one of his shirts drowning your frame, a book in your lap. You looked up and smiled, warm, gentle, like someone caught in the middle of nothing suspicious at all.

“Steve,” You greeted softly, tilting your head. “Everything okay?”

Bucky didn’t move to block the door, but he didn’t step aside either. “What’s going on?”

Steve swallowed. It was dawning on him that he shouldn’t have come. He wasn’t even sure what he wanted to say. But the pressure in his chest had grown too heavy to ignore.

“I just… wanted to check on you two.”

Your smile widened, so sweet it nearly stung. “We’re fine.”

Steve’s eyes lingered on you, on how comfortable you looked in Bucky’s bed, in his space, like you belonged there. Like you'd always been there.

He turned his attention to Bucky. “You haven’t been on rotation lately. I figured you’d say something.”

Bucky’s expression didn’t shift. “Didn’t have to. Nat swapped with me.”

Steve nodded slowly. “You didn’t tell me.”

In response, he just shrugged. “Didn’t think I had to. She offered.”

Something inside Steve twisted. Not the lie, Nat probably had offered. But it wasn’t the truth either.

You glanced at Bucky, then back at Steve with wide, concerned eyes. “Did we do something wrong?”

“No,” Steve stated quickly. “No, it’s not that. I just…” His jaw clenched. “You two seem… close.”

“We are,” Bucky said before you could. His voice wasn’t defensive, just final. Undeniable.

You leaned forward slightly, resting your cheek on your knee, still watching Steve. “Is that bad?”

Steve exhaled. “Of course not. It’s just…” His gaze drifted around the room again, catching the second mug on the nightstand. The way your boots sat neatly by Bucky’s dresser. How a photo of the three of you, taken months ago, had been moved, slightly askew, like someone couldn’t stand the sight of it being centered on all of you.

Bucky watched him scan the room in silence.

Steve met his eyes again. “I just want to make sure no one’s getting hurt.”

Silence.

Your smile didn’t drop, but it dimmed, just a little. Your tone remained even though, but had a hint of confusion in it. “You mean… like emotionally?”

Steve hesitated. “That, and… otherwise.”

Bucky’s jaw tensed. Just slightly. “No one’s getting hurt.”

It was the first time Steve almost didn’t believe him.

You stood up then, walking slowly to Bucky’s side. Your hand slid up his arm, fingers wrapping around the crook of his elbow. Not clingy. Just natural. Just claiming.

Steve tried not to stare at your actions. “You two would tell me, right? If something felt wrong?”

“Of course,” You whispered, tilting your head again, the innocent confusion in your tone too pure to question, too calm to accuse.

But Steve felt it again building in his chest, that pressure. That wrongness. And he couldn’t identify or say why, but it terrified him more than anything else. You both looked so perfect standing there, close and quiet and composed, like a picture that had never been touched by blood or secrets.

Like you’d never hidden anything at all.

“I just want you to be okay,” He sighed at last.

“We are,” Bucky said firmly.

You nodded, stepping a little closer to Steve. “You don’t have to worry about us, Steve.”

And for a moment, Steve swore something flickered behind your eyes, just a shadow, a shimmer of something deeper. Something that didn’t match the smile on your lips.

He nodded stiffly. “Alright. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Steve,” You both echoed in perfect harmony.

The door closed quietly behind him. And the moment it did, Bucky exhaled. Slowly. Like he’d been holding it the whole time. You remained silent and turned to him, melting into his arms, into your rightful place in his bed, where the rest of the world couldn’t see the possessiveness in your fingers or the way your heartbeat sped when he held you tighter in his arms.

“He’s starting to notice,” You murmured.

“I know.”

“Do you think he’ll do anything?”

“No,” Bucky whispered, brushing your hair back with his metal hand. “Not yet.”

You smiled into his chest, a gentle laugh escaping your lips. A honey-laced weapon.

“He’ll learn eventually,” You whispered. “You’re mine.”

“And you’re mine,” Bucky growled.

And the rest of the world could burn.

Obsessive Love

Summary: You and Bucky Barnes fall into a quiet but intense obsession with each other. While your love is sweet, watchful, and clingy beneath a gentle surface, Bucky’s affection turns darker and more possessive. The love you two share was not born out of malice, rather need, devotion, and a love that tightens like a noose. (Yandere Bucky Barnes x Yandere!reader)

Warnings/Disclaimer: Minors DNI. Dark Bucky Barnes. Dark reader. Yandere themes. Implied stalking/watching immensely.

Word Count: 1.9k+

A/N: This was so fun to write. It has a second part to it too. I might post it tomorrow. You are responsible for the media you consume. Let me know if I should add something else to the warnings, tags, or anything else.

Main Masterlist | Devoted Possession (Part 2.)

It was never supposed to happen like this.

You never expected to be in the situation you were in now; curled in the arms of Bucky Barnes, eyes barely open as you lay against him. The warmth of his body acts as a shield from the world. At first, you were just part of the team because it was just a job. Just a mission, something you’d done countless times before, working alongside the Avengers to take down the bad guys. But then came Bucky.

It didn’t happen all at once. It was subtle, like the slow spread of a virus, but by the time you realized what had changed, it was already too late.

The beginning was almost innocent. Almost.

When you first met Bucky Barnes, you had no idea that he would become the center of your world. At first, he was just another soldier, another teammate. A broken man struggling to piece himself back together. But there was something about him that intrigued you, something hidden behind the dark intensity of his gaze that drew you in like a magnet.

You didn’t mean to get so close. You honestly didn’t mean for it to happen. But it did.

Because Bucky was different. He wasn’t like the others. His scars, both physical and mental, made him stand out in a way you couldn’t ignore. He didn’t pretend to be perfect. And you didn’t want him to be. The cracks in him made him… real. He wasn’t like the men from your past who had lied, manipulated, and betrayed. He wore his flaws like armor. And, for you, that was everything.

You started off by offering quiet companionship. A kind word here, a soft smile there. You knew that Bucky wasn’t someone who trusted easily. He had been through too much. So, you didn’t force it. You just… waited. Watched him from afar, letting your presence be a steady, comforting thing in the chaos that surrounded him.

It didn’t take long before Bucky began to notice you. It wasn’t obvious though at first. He would give you a nod here and there, maybe a short, clipped sentence when the mission was over. But it was enough. It was enough to make your heart race every time he glanced in your direction, to make you feel like he saw you. Really saw you.

And then, one day, it happened.

You were on a mission together, as usual, when the two of you got separated from the rest of the team. It was a small thing, just a few minutes of being alone in a quiet corner of a dark building, but it was enough for something to shift. Bucky looked at you in a way he hadn’t before. No longer as a teammate, not as someone to protect or be protected by, but as something else entirely. Something you couldn’t quite place but felt deep in your bones.

It was there, in the silence, that you took your first step.

You smiled at him. “Are you okay, Bucky?”

He blinked, but then something softened in his eyes. He looked away briefly, like he was trying to hide his vulnerability. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

But you knew better. You could always tell when someone wasn’t being honest, and Bucky… Bucky was never truly fine. You could see the cracks in his composure. It made you want to protect him. To shield him from whatever haunted him, even if that meant making sure no one else could ever touch him.

It wasn’t malice. It wasn’t some dark desire to hurt others. But it was a need. A need to care for him. To love him in a way that no one else could. To make sure he was only ever yours.

The thought was almost comforting, becoming something you would rely on and remind yourself of often. The world was big, but when you were with Bucky, it felt so small. Just the two of you. No one else mattered.

Your affection grew slowly, like a seed planted in the quiet moments. You would find yourself lingering near him, watching him without his knowledge, memorizing the way his jaw tightened when he was thinking too hard, the way he would instinctively hold things with his normal arm instead of his metal arm and you, being ever so observant, saw the way he flinched when someone made a joke about the metal appendage. You wanted to shield him from those moments. You wanted to be the one he turned to, the one he could rely on, even if you two just sat in silence.

But that was the thing, wasn’t it? You didn’t need to be loud about your affection. You didn’t need to be overt. You were like a shadow, always there, always watching. Just enough to make sure he never strayed too far from you. To ensure that no one else could have him, not when you were so willing to give him everything. Your love was sweet, soft even. But beneath it was something darker, something that always kept a careful eye on the world around you. You’d smile at others, be polite, make them feel comfortable. But you were always watching. Always waiting.

But you weren’t the only one watching. Bucky noticed you, just as keenly. He wasn’t blind to the way you lingered around him, the way your eyes followed his every move, the way you seemed to keep track of his moods as if you could anticipate them before they even formed.

But it didn’t scare him. No, it intrigued him. Because, as much as Bucky was a soldier with a dark past, he craved that connection. He craved someone who saw him, who understood him without him needing to explain.

Bucky’s obsession was different. It wasn’t that he was unaware of his feelings, but they were more visceral. More possessive. The way he looked at you when someone spoke to you for too long, the way his hand would always drift to your back when others tried to get too close. He was marking his territory. He didn’t just want you. He needed you.

And when he needed something, it wasn’t just for a moment. It was forever.

Therefore, one day when it was late in the night with a mission recently finished and the team dispersed to their own things, you weren’t ready to go back to your room. Not yet.

The hallway was empty, lit only by the dim flickering of old lights above. You hadn’t even noticed Bucky following you, your footsteps echoing softly on the cold concrete floor. It was a rare sight to see someone as observant as you being lost in thought. Your mind was still running through everything: the mission, the battle, the faces of the enemies you’d taken down. It was all so mechanical, so numb.

But then, you finally noticed it. The sound of boots on the floor, slow but deliberate, the familiar thump-thump-thump that you’d come to associate with him.

You didn’t have to turn to know it was him.

“Are you okay?” Bucky’s voice was low, soft, but the underlying tension was palpable. As always, he’d been the one to watch you, the one who noticed when you slipped into yourself, when you started retreating into that space where everything felt too overwhelming.

You didn't respond at first. Your chest tightened and your thoughts were spinning. You desperately wanted to reply, use this moment to talk to him. But you couldn’t, not now. Instead, you kept walking, your shoes tapping against the floor in a steady rhythm. You didn’t want to face him. Didn’t want to let him see the cracks forming inside of you. But you knew he wouldn’t let you get away that easily. He never did.

He caught up with you, walking just behind you now, close enough that you were sure he’d run into you if you stopped. The air between you thickened with each step. Then, without warning, his hand shot out and grabbed your wrist, stopping you in your tracks.

The sudden contact startled you. You whipped around, meeting his gaze to see those piercing blue eyes, full of questions, full of something more.

Bucky didn’t say anything for a long moment, just watching you, his grip on your wrist not letting go, as though he was afraid you might slip away if he loosened it. And maybe he was right.

“You’re not okay,” He said finally, his voice quiet but intense. “I can see it. You’re not okay, and you keep pretending you are.”

You swallowed, your throat tight. You didn’t know how to respond, didn’t know how to let him in. So you looked away, your eyes drifting toward the floor.

But he didn’t let you turn from him. Instead, his other hand found its way to your cheek, lifting your face up to meet his. His touch was soft, tentative, like he was testing the waters, unsure if you’d pull away.

But you didn’t.

It was that moment. That moment where everything changed.

There was a flicker of something in his gaze: something raw, something darker than you’d ever seen. It made your heart race and made your breath catch in your throat. You could feel the heat of his body close to yours, the scent of him, the sound of his heartbeat matching your own. And in that space, it was like time slowed down. Everything faded away, and there was only him. Only Bucky.

And before you could even register what was happening, he closed the distance between you.

His lips brushed against yours, tentative at first, like he was waiting for you to pull away. But you didn’t. You leaned into him instead, your hands finding his chest, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as you kissed him back.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t gentle. It was desperate, frantic. As if you both needed it. Needed the connection and the reassurance that you weren’t alone in this twisted, broken world. His lips pressed harder against yours, and your grip on him tightened, pulling him closer, deeper, until you could feel the thudding of his heart against your chest.

You both stopped thinking. There was no time for reason, no room for hesitation. There was just the moment. The kiss.

When you finally pulled away, your breath was shallow, your face flushed, and your heart raced as though you’d been running for miles. Bucky’s forehead rested against yours, his eyes closed, and he was breathing just as heavily as you were. His hand cupped your face, gently this time, like he was afraid you might shatter in his hands.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” Bucky murmured, his voice rough, as though it hurt to hold back for so long.

You blinked, your pulse still racing. “Me too,” You whispered, your voice barely audible, but it was enough.

In that moment, everything made sense. All the confusion, the loneliness, the emptiness you’d both been carrying for so long, it was gone. In its place was something else. Something new. Something unspoken. And you realized then, with chilling clarity, that there was no going back.

You didn’t care about the Avengers anymore. You didn’t care about the missions, the enemies, nor the people you were supposed to protect. The only thing that mattered was Bucky. And now, him and you were tangled so deeply that there was no way out. No way back to who you used to be.

And that’s how it happened. Slowly. Quietly. You became his obsession and he became yours.

Caged in Comfort (Pt. 4)

Summary: A fresh day, a fresh start. They help you to breakfast and show you to the playroom. Throughout the morning, you become more acquainted with the household, your undignified circumstances, and the new dynamics. No matter how frustrating they may be. (Dark Stucky x little!reader)

Warnings/Disclaimer: Minors DNI. Dark Stucky. Age Regression. Forced Age Regression. Kidnapping. References to Labs. Lots of dialogue. Stockholm Syndrome in the future likely. You are responsible for the media you consume.

Word Count: 3.8k+

A/N: I think the next chapter would have more emphasis on reader being regressed. Such an interesting balance. I wonder what their rules are. Wonder what the second door is. Should you explore it?

Caged in Comfort Masterlist | Previous | Next

You wake up slow.

Not in the comfortable, lazy way people are supposed to, more like your body is a second too late for everything. Your fingers twitch, then your toes. Your head feels like it’s wrapped in cotton, heavy and dazed. There’s a soft hum in your ears, the faintest ache in your stomach. You’re warm, too warm, the blanket cocooned around you so tight it feels deliberate.

You try to remember where you are. And then it all comes back to you.

The panic doesn’t come right away. Instead, it’s buried under the haze of whatever they drugged you with the night before. Milk. You remember the taste of it now, sickly sweet and unnatural. Bucky’s arms. Steve’s soft cooing. You swallowing it down with every intention of pretending, of escaping, of winning. You lost.

Your eyes stay shut, muscles tensing beneath the blanket. You’re not restrained anymore, you don’t think, but you’re too groggy to trust yourself with a sprint. A breath catches in your throat.

“She’s stirring,” Steve’s voice says from somewhere beside the bed. It’s low, careful, like he’s trying not to startle you. “Give her some room, Buck.”

A pause.

Then Bucky, voice gruff and firm from across the room, unmistakably annoyed. “She better not be planning anything again.”

You force yourself to stay still. Small. Controlled. However, you can’t resist cracking your eyes open just slightly.

The room is soft-lit, sunlight bleeding through light blue curtains. The bed is real and clean just like it had been the previous night. The room looked much more welcoming in the light too. The kind of place you’d think was safe if you didn’t know better. Steve is perched on the edge of the mattress, in a plain white T-shirt and sweatpants, like he never left. His face lights up the second he sees you awake.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” He speaks to you softly, like nothing happened. “You slept a long time.”

You blink slowly and try to focus your vision. Your voice comes out dry and cracked, straight to the point today despite the previous night. “Let me go.”

Steve doesn’t flinch. His hand moves gently to your blanket, smoothing a corner. “You must be starving. We made your favorites.”

You swallow hard, mouth sour and cotton-dry as you repeat. “Let me go.”

“No, baby,” Bucky’s voice comes from the doorway. You look toward him and see him leaning there, arms folded tight across his chest, watching you with that narrowed, sharp-eyed look. “That’s not on the table.”

Steve shifts slightly, picking up a hairbrush from the nightstand. His tone stays maddeningly patient. “We’re gonna help you get ready for the day, okay? Quick brush, soft clothes. Then breakfast.”

You push yourself up onto your elbows, the blanket falling away. Your body protests the movement, but you manage. You glare at them both, even as your arms shake.

“New rule,” Bucky says evenly, not missing a beat. “No glaring.”

You let out a breath, jaw tightening. “You can’t just make up rules. I’m not a kid.” You resist the urge to add that it was a stupid rule anyways.

Steve looks at you with quiet sadness, like you just don’t understand something simple. “You’re our little girl,” He says gently. “And little girls behave and have routines.”

You jerk your head away when he tries to smooth your hair.

“Don’t touch me.”

“You’re allowed to be upset,” He murmurs. “This is all new for you. You’ve been through a lot. But that doesn’t change what you need.”

You look back at Bucky, hoping maybe you’ll get something different there. You don’t know why you tried though. He simply meets your eyes without hesitation.

“You think you know how to take care of yourself?” His tone is firm and flat. “That lab didn’t raise a person. It raised a little girl who had to fight to survive and doesn’t know any better. And we’re not gonna let you keep living like that. Not anymore.”

You clench your fists in the sheets, every inch of your body trembling from the effort of staying upright and the indignity of it all.

Steve stands slowly and puts the brush aside for now. Instead, he retrieves and lifts a soft little sweater from the foot of the bed. It’s pale yellow with embroidered bunnies along the bottom hem, deliberately infantilizing. He holds it up, patient as ever.

“Arms up,” He says. “We’ll help with the rest after.”

You don’t move an inch. You can’t. Your brain is screaming at you to fight, to run, to do something, but your body won’t listen. It’s too early, too soon. You’re too tired. You know they’re taking advantage of that fact.

“You don’t have to like the rules,” Steve says gently, folding the sweater over his arm. “But you do have to follow them. You’ll understand soon.”

“She’s just testing limits,” Bucky mutters, pushing off the doorframe and walking over. His footsteps are heavy, deliberate. “She still thinks she’s got a say.”

“I do,” You snap, though your voice cracks. “You don’t own me.”

He doesn’t yell. Doesn’t even raise an eyebrow. He just stands at the foot of the bed and says with chilling calm, “You’re ours now and you’re home. And you’re not going anywhere.”

Steve smiles, reassuring and soft and completely out of sync with the nightmare unfolding around you. “Let’s get you dressed, honey. Then we’ll show you your spot at the table.”

You can’t do anything to stop him as he takes his time dressing you, like you’re fragile, like any sudden movement might break you. He doesn’t mention your glare again, doesn’t need to. Bucky already set the tone. Every time you twitch, hesitate, or look like you might refuse, you can catch Bucky’s eyes narrow just enough to remind you: He’s watching. They both are.

You let the sweater be pulled over your head. You don’t resist the leggings or the socks with soft rubber paw prints on the bottoms. You let yourself be moved like a doll, pretending your limbs are too tired to fight. You let Steve hum while he smooths your hair. You let them think they’re winning. Because you need the drugs to wear off, then you need them to stop looking. To turn their backs again.

When they guide you toward the kitchen, the scent of something warm hits first: cinnamon, butter, maybe apples. There’s a plate already set at the table, complete with a plastic cup with handles and a bib draped over the back of the chair.

Bucky pulls out the chair and gestures for you to sit down. “Go on.”

You stare at the scene with hesitation clear enough that it went on for a beat too long, prompting his tone to shift.

“Now.”

Your body moves to obey, slowly. Cautious almost.

Steve slips the bib around your neck, like this is normal, like you haven’t long passed the years when you needed one. “You need food in your belly,” He says softly. “We want you strong. Safe.”

You glance at the plate: a small bowl of oatmeal, sliced fruit, and two animal-shaped pancakes staring up at you. The plastic fork and spoon beside the bowl look like they belong in a toddler’s lunchbox. It’s humiliating on your part and perfectly calculated on their part.

Your hands stay in your lap.

Bucky leans on the back of your chair, watching you attentively. “Pick up the spoon.”

Your fingers twitch, but you don’t act.

He leans down closer, voice low and heavy against your ear. “Don’t make me feed you again.”

The panic returns like a short, sharp spike in your chest. You remember what happened last time when they took you away like you weighed nothing. The way your body betrayed you. How it shut down under the milk. How they tucked you in like nothing had happened.

You pick up the spoon.

“That’s it,” Steve says, sitting beside you with a warm smile like you just passed some important test. “Good girl.”

You don’t respond. You take a spoonful of oatmeal. It’s warm, sweet, and comforting. It’s comforting in a way that sickens you, like they planned it. Like they want your body to respond before your brain can resist. Every bite is loaded with more than food. It’s expectation. Control.

The plastic spoon feels awkward in your hand. Childish, thick-handled, and too large for your mouth yet somehow designed to make you feel smaller. The bib itches against your neck, scratchy where the edge meets your collarbone. You pretend not to notice. You pretend a lot now.

You chew slowly.

Steve watches you with gentle, unwavering attention. His hands rest folded on the table beside his own untouched cup of coffee. He smiles each time your spoon scrapes the side of the bowl.

"That’s it, sweetheart,” He says softly. “Eat up. You need your strength.”

Bucky, on the other hand, stands off to the side now, arms crossed, eyes sharp as glass. He doesn’t praise. He studies. One wrong movement and he’ll pounce. You can feel it in the air, like a storm barely held in check. It’s clear he still held some sort of grudge from your stunt last night.

Your eyes flicker over to the plastic cup full of who knows what.

“Try it,” Steve encourages, nudging it closer. “You’ll like what’s in there.”

Your heart skips at the comment as you eye it suspiciously now. It’s an opaque, thick plastic, definitely impossible to see inside. You know better than to assume it’s safe. However, Steve’s smile doesn’t falter. “It’s just juice, I promise.”

He’s probably not lying. Not today. You really don’t want to comply, but you know they would just force you to if you didn’t do it yourself. At least they’re not so insistent on hand-feeding you this morning.

You take a slow sip and taste…apple juice. Nothing comes after it that you can detect, you can’t taste anything wrong. But that doesn’t mean there wasn’t something there.

“See?” Steve speaks in a pleased tone. “Told you it was just juice.”

You don’t give him a response, resisting the urge to make a snarky comment.

Bucky shifts slightly. “Not even a ‘thank you’?”

You freeze for half a breath.

“…Thank you,” You mumble, pushing the words out like something sour.

He raises one brow. “You’re welcome. Now finish.”

You shovel the rest of the oatmeal into your mouth, quicker now. Your actions were not out of hunger, but because you want it done. The fruit goes down next, soft bananas and sliced grapes. Then the pancakes, one shaped like a bear, the other like a cat, syrup already soaked in.

Every bite makes your stomach twist. You couldn’t even enjoy the meal. Because they’re feeding you like you’re five. Talking to you like you’re four. Watching you like you’re a child.

You keep your eyes down as you eat, only glancing up once to see Bucky still watching, his eyes narrowed just slightly. Nothing else is said, but the tension in the air is still present no matter how much Steve tries to ignore it.

When the plate’s empty, you drop the spoon.

Steve is up in an instant, dabbing at your mouth with a cloth napkin before you can stop him. “Messy little thing,” He murmurs fondly.

You jerk your head away a little. Not enough to count as rebellion. Just enough to remind yourself you still exist.

“Such a squirmy girl today,” He remarks, not unkindly.

“She’s testing,” Bucky’s tone is flat, said like it’s a fact.

Steve sighs and crouches to your eye level again. “Are you testing us, honey?”

Your head turns to stare at him. He waits patiently for a response, nothing but gentleness and a hint of disappointment in his gaze. You shake your head.

“That’s good,” He exhales. “Because if you were, we’d have to do more quiet time. And you’ve had enough of that, haven’t you?”

The memory of the milk and the floaty nothingness. The way the world tilted when your limbs stopped working. You can’t bring yourself to reply, so you give him a slow nod.

“Good girl.”

Bucky moves then, walking past and ruffling your hair. Not particularly gentle, but not cruel. Just enough to make it clear, to send a message that you can’t escape his reach. “We’ll clean up. You sit right there. Don’t. Move.”

You stay frozen in your seat, hands still in your lap as the clinking of dishes starts. The bib gets removed, folded. Steve hums under his breath again as he washes the dishes. Something soft. Something wrong.

He turns back to you, drying his hands. “You’ve been so good,” He smiles at you softly. “Would you like some playtime before we go over your rules?”

“Play?” You echo, startled despite yourself.

“Mhm.” He taps your nose with his finger, not pointing out your slight flinch. “Blocks, crayons, picture books. You get choices now, sweetie. That’s what happens when you’re a good little girl.”

Despite the inviting offer, you find yourself hesitating. Even though the choices sound like freedom, a chance to regain your autonomy, it isn’t actually there. Because freedom doesn’t truly exist here, not with them.

Still, you nod, if not to appease them, then to buy some time.

Steve beams. “See, Buck? I told you she’d settle in.”

The man doesn’t return the smile. “She’s pretending to settle in.”

Your body tenses because you know he’s not wrong. Why was he so perceptive? Can’t he see it’s not like they’re giving you much of an option but to comply? You try to calm yourself.

Steve ignores him and holds out a hand. “Come on, lovebug. Let’s go pick something fun.”

You let him lead you, careful and warily. Your legs move on autopilot now, like it’s all part of the act. Steve’s hand is warm as it folds around yours, larger than life, too gentle for someone so strong. You feel the ridges of his palm, the faintest drag of calluses that speak of battlefields and shields, not nurseries and crayons.

Your bare feet make almost no sound against the sleek floors of the Compound. The hall stretches wide and bright, too pristine, like the world outside has been scrubbed away and replaced with a dream you didn’t ask for. The lights above hum softly. You pass windows, high and armored. It takes you a moment to realize they’re fake windows. They show nothing but the city skyline, looping in a projection so perfect it takes a second glance to spot the repetition.

This isn’t a home. It’s a story they’ve built around you.

As you walk, Steve slows his steps to match yours. Every so often, he glances down at you with that infuriating, infallible smile. Like he truly believes this is right. That you belong here, your hand in his.

“This whole floor’s just for us,” He explains as you turn the corner, noting the curiosity in your gaze. “Private access, state of the art security, fully soundproofed rooms.”

You don’t ask why that’s necessary nor what that might mean for you. Because somewhere deep down, you already know.

Bucky trails behind, boots thudding heavier than Steve’s footsteps. You can feel the weight of him even when you’re not looking. Like a shadow carved from iron. He doesn’t speak. There’s no need for him to.

They round a final corner, and Steve stops at a wide, reinforced door. He presses his palm to the panel beside it. A soft chime. The door unlocks with a hiss.

“This’ll be your space during playtime,” Steve says.

The room is deceptively cozy, almost impressive. The space has warm lighting, soft carpet, a wall of shelves holding books, plush toys, puzzles, art supplies, and so much more all arranged with care. There's even a beanbag chair in one corner and a low table with pastel plastic cups and empty tea sets.

As you step into the room, silence fills the air. It’s quiet. Too quiet.

Steve crouches beside you, his hand still holding yours.

“You don’t have to talk yet,” He reassures soothingly. “You’re probably still scared. But we’re not gonna hurt you, okay? You’re safe now. You’re ours. And that means we take care of you.”

You look at him, trying not to dwell on the contradictions in his statement. What did he think this was doing to you? The answer must not matter because his eyes hold nothing but kindness. And in some way, that’s what makes it worse.

Behind you, Bucky closes the door with a firm click. The lock slides back into place. You couldn’t figure out why a playroom would need a lock. But here you are, alone in a room full of toys with two super soldiers who believe, truly believe, you belong to them.

Steve stands again and gestures to the shelves. “You can choose. Anything you want.”

You know better than to say "no." So you nod, stepping forward carefully, fingers twitching as you brush the edge of a coloring book. You don’t look at the vents yet. Don’t scan for cameras or any other listening bugs. You just pretend again.

Pretend you’re adjusting, like you’re settling. Pretend you don’t notice the second door across the room. The one that was sealed with no knob, marked only with a small red light above it.

It must be another test put into place by them. Another line they’re wondering if you’ll try to cross. You don’t focus on it and instead swallow down your panic by reaching for a crayon. Because the longer they think you’re behaving, the better your chances when it counts.

You sit cross-legged on the soft carpet, a crayon loose in your hand. It’s a dusky purple, almost the same color as the sky in the fake windows you passed earlier but less blue. The coloring book in front of you is filled with gentle cartoon animals, wide-eyed and smiling, their expressions eerily similar to the ones Steve wears. You press the crayon down, start to color, slow and deliberate strokes.

You’ve never really got to do this before, not often at least. It used to be given as a fleeting reward for good behavior until they deemed you no longer needed or required such comforts.

Behind you, your two captors watch.

Steve settles into a padded armchair across the room, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, like he’s giving you space, but not too much. Bucky stands near the door, arms crossed. He hasn’t said a word since entering the room, but his presence speaks loud enough. You’re not going anywhere.

You shift your weight slightly before Steve breaks the silence first.

“That’s a really pretty color,” He compliments, voice low, meant to soothe as usual. “You always liked purples and blues in the files. We thought that might help. Familiar things.”

You don’t answer, trying not to think what else they read. Trying not to wonder what else they know about you. You keep coloring, slow and steady.

“Don’t gotta be shy,” Bucky adds after a beat, arms still crossed. “This is your place now. No one has to hurt you here.”

It’s not what they say. It’s how they say it.

You nod faintly, pretending to focus on the page. But your eyes flick upward to the shelves. You count six plushies. Three puzzles. Two identical dolls. All too neat. Nothing worn. Nothing loved. Not even the smallest sign of use. Everything here was bought new… for you. As if a new identity could be assembled out of soft fabric and crayons.

After a bit, you finally force your voice out. It sounds quiet, strained, but careful.

“…I like this one.”

Steve smiles like you’ve handed him the sun.

“Yeah?” He rises slowly, moving over to kneel beside you. “You’re doing so well. We’re proud of you.”

You feel it before it happens, his hand smoothing over your hair. Too gentle. Like you're breakable. Like you're small.

You flinch again, but only slightly. And just like before, he doesn't notice or he doesn’t make it a big deal. You don’t know which one.

As time passes, the quiet stretches long in the softly lit room, broken only by the soft scritch of your crayon on the paper. You keep your head down, shoulders relaxed, posture small. Intentional or not, you were starting to enjoy it. The simple act of coloring, but you justified it by saying you were complying. You’ve done that before. In the lab, in holding cells, in other places where survival meant silence and passivity.

You can still feel their eyes on you. Both of them.

Steve hums gently as he’s sat across the room again, reading one of the books in the room as his eyes occasionally flicker over to you. Bucky lingers closer, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, eyes always alert.

But you’ve noticed it, how the tension in Bucky’s jaw eases, just slightly, when you don’t resist. When you obey. When you’re good.

You reach for another crayon, soft pink, and start filling in the petals of a daisy. Your movements are slow, deliberate. Calm. You don’t dare look up, but you feel it: the shift in the room’s energy. The way Bucky’s stance loosens just a fraction, his weight shifting from foot to foot.

“…She’s quieter today,” He mutters, not quite to you, not quite to Steve.

“She’s getting used to it,” Steve says gently. “Told you she would. Just needs routine.”

You glance up, just once, and catch Bucky watching you, brow furrowed. Not angry. Not cold. Just… watching. So you do something risky. You offer a small nod.

Bucky blinks.

He doesn’t smile, you don’t think you’ve seen him smile once actually, but he exhales like something inside him unclenched. He pushes off the wall and crosses the room with slow steps, stopping just beside where you sit.

You tense, your body ready to flinch away if he touches you. But he doesn’t.

Instead, he lowers himself into a crouch beside you and rests his arms on his knees. His voice is lower than Steve’s, rough around the edges, but quieter now. Almost careful.

“Coloring, huh?” He mutters.

You nod again.

“Better than scribbling on a wall, I guess.”

You don’t give him an answer. But you slide the coloring book slightly toward him, an invitation. It’s barely noticeable, but his gaze softens.

“…Haven’t done this kind of thing in a long time.”

You risk a glance at his face. His eyes aren’t cold now. They’re watchful, yes. but less like a threat, more like something gentle or protective. He doesn’t reach for a crayon, but he stays there beside you.

“You’re doin’ good,” His voice has that sharp undertone still, but something in it has shifted. He doesn’t sound like a captor. He almost sounds… proud.

You duck your head, hiding the grim twist in your stomach. A part of you hates that you liked the sudden praise. But you’ve seen this before. Attachment through obedience. Trust built on chains. And if it softens the harder one, if it makes him hesitate when the time comes, then you’ll take it. Even if it makes your skin crawl.

What you weren’t realizing though, you were slowly leaning into it all, gradual and slow. The lines between pretend and reality blurring. And they could tell, they just needed to keep it slow, encouraging enough for your walls to fall unconsciously. And if that doesn’t work, there’s always a little something one of them can give you to push you over the edge.

Because He Always Knows

Summary: You're close friends with Bucky Barnes, trusting his quiet, protective nature. What you don’t know is that Bucky is secretly obsessed with you. Watching you, tracking your every move, and quietly eliminating anyone who gets too close. And he’ll do anything to keep you safe, close…and his. (Yandere Bucky Barnes x reader)

Warnings/Disclaimer: Minors DNI. Dark Bucky Barnes. Stalking. Tracking reader (location, cameras, etc.) Some implied violence toward others. Yandere themes.

Word Count: 1.2k+

A/N: Not going to lie, I have not seen many Yandere Bucky fics. Maybe I’m not looking hard enough. I think it’d be cool to turn this into a series though, depends if other people like it or not. You are responsible for the media you consume. Let me know if I should add something else to the warnings, tags, or anything else.

Main Masterlist

You’d known Bucky Barnes for a while now. Ever since you joined the Avengers on the intel and support side, he’d somehow gravitated toward you. Quiet and subtle. He never talked much unless spoken to, and whenever he did, it was always calm and short. But around you, he softened a little. He offered small, quiet smiles, sat beside you even when there were empty seats elsewhere. And he always seemed to know when you needed help. It was comforting. Familiar. You thought of him as a good friend, someone who didn’t push or pry.

What you didn’t know was that Bucky knew your schedule better than you did. He knew what time you got your coffee, which café down the block you preferred, and even which music you played in your room when you were winding down.

He never broke your trust. At least, not in any obvious way. But he was always watching. From rooftops. From darkened hallways. Even from shadows in the compound when you thought you were alone. He wasn’t trying to be creepy, not in his mind. He just needed to make sure you were safe. That no one got too close. That you didn’t drift away from him.

When you talked about a new friend one afternoon, some guy from the tech department who made you laugh, Bucky’s smile faltered for only a second. You didn’t notice it, but it was there, a flicker of cold calculation beneath the warmth. He nodded, asked a few harmless questions about him, and then let the topic drop. Later that day, the tech guy mysteriously fell down a flight of stairs. Nothing serious, but just enough to keep him out of work for a few weeks. Bucky never said anything. He simply showed up at your door like any other day with soup this time and a quiet, “Need company?”

You welcomed him in. Why wouldn’t you? He was always so gentle with you, always so present. His gloved hands carried your groceries, fixed your lock when it jammed, even installed extra security on your windows “just in case.” You never questioned how he knew you’d been anxious after that strange man on the subway followed you home. You never told anyone about it, but Bucky acted before you even had to.

Sometimes, you’d catch him watching you a second too long. His gaze intense, unreadable. He’d look away quickly, but the feeling would linger. You chalked it up to Bucky just being… Bucky. A little odd, a little broken, but ultimately good.

You didn’t see the way his jaw tensed when someone touched your arm. You didn’t notice the thin notebooks he kept tucked away, filled with observations about you. What you wore, what you said, who you talked to. Every page was a soft obsession written in ink, filled with the belief that you were his. Not in a romantic, normal way. In a quiet, inevitable, belonging sort of way. You were his peace, his reason, and he would burn the world down before letting someone else take you.

To you, he was just a friend. A good one. Steady. Loyal. Maybe a little protective.

To Bucky, you were everything. And he was never more than a few feet behind you; watching, guarding, and waiting. Always waiting.

One evening, you stayed late in the compound’s tech lab. It was nothing out of the ordinary. Just a backlog of reports and an excuse to avoid your empty apartment, then you heard the door open. Bucky stopped by with two coffees, one black, one exactly the way you liked yours. He didn’t ask if you wanted one. Come to think of it, he never did. Somehow, he just knew.

You smiled and thanked him as he sat nearby, silent as ever, occasionally glancing at your screen. It was quiet, comfortable even, until you laughed at something on your phone.

“Who’s that?” Bucky asked, and you glanced up. His tone was calm, but you noticed the way his shoulders tightened.

“Just a guy I matched with,” You said, smiling without much thought. You didn’t think he would know or understand what dating apps are in the modern day. “We’ve been texting a little. He’s funny.”

You missed it, but Bucky’s knuckles whitened around his cup. “You gonna meet him?”

“Maybe,” You shrugged. “We’ll see.”

He didn’t respond right away. Just stared at the floor for a beat too long. You assumed it was one of his quiet spells again: those moments where the past clawed at him and left him speechless. You reached over and gently squeezed his arm.

“Hey. You okay?”

He nodded slowly. “Yeah. Just thinking.”

You didn’t ask what about. You’d learned not to push him. You knew he would talk if he needed to. But behind his still eyes, something shifted.

That night, he followed you home like he always did. He was quiet as a shadow, footsteps masked by the hum of the city and his experience as the Winter Soldier. You made it home safely, texted him a “thank you for the coffee,” and turned in for the night. Bucky stayed outside your building for hours, hidden across the street. He didn’t move for a while, didn’t blink. Just waited.

The next day, your date canceled. No explanation. Just a sudden, awkward message and a block. You frowned at your phone, confused and disappointed.

“He didn’t deserve your time anyway,” Bucky tried to comfort you later when you vented about it. The way he looked at you, soft smile and worried eyes, you found yourself agreeing. Though, you weren’t sure why.

Days passed. The missed connections started to pile up. Plans you made with others were mysteriously interrupted. It was always something: car issues, sudden emergencies, sick coworkers. Yet Bucky was always around, always the one to stay and offer, “Want to grab food instead?” or say “You shouldn’t be alone tonight.” You welcomed the company. He was stable, kind and he cared.

But something started to gnaw at you. The feeling of being watched never quite left. Doors you were sure you locked felt slightly ajar. Items shifted. Your phone sometimes buzzed with strange glitches. You mentioned it in passing to Bucky. But he reassured you softly like he always did, “You’re safe. I promise.” His voice was low, almost reverent.

And you believed him, because no one protected you like Bucky did. No one was as constant, as present. Besides, you were probably overthinking it anyways.

What you didn’t see were the cameras tucked in the corners of your ceiling, hidden well behind the smoke detector and air vents. You didn’t know some tracking program had been installed on your phone nor the way Bucky’s fingers traced your location like a map he’d memorized.

To you, he was just Bucky. A little rough around the edges. A quiet and stead friend who was always there for you.

To him, you were the reason he hadn’t fallen apart completely. You were everything. His home. His anchor. And if you ever tried to leave him, if you ever even thought of running, he’d know. But he knows you wouldn’t do such a thing, you don’t even suspect a thing. Perhaps you never will. It’s better for you this way. But if you did, he would catch on immediately. Because he always knows.

Caged in Comfort (Pt. 3)

Summary: Your first escape attempt! It doesn’t go as you planned. (Dark Stucky x little!reader)

Warnings/Disclaimer: Minors DNI. Dark Stucky. Age Regression. Forced Age Regression. (Feeding again. Drugged milk.) Kidnapping. References to Labs. Restraints/Restraining. Lots of dialogue. Stockholm Syndrome in the future likely. You are responsible for the media you consume.

Word Count: 2k+

Caged in Comfort Masterlist | Previous | Next

Later, after they’ve fed you, after Steve has coaxed you into bed and Bucky tucked a soft stuffie beside you on the bed like some mockery of care, they finally leave you alone. The bedroom door closes with a soft click. You lie there eerily still and silent, waiting. You count the seconds in your head, ten seconds. Then thirty. Then a minute. Nothing moves. All you can hear is silence.

You sit up slowly and peel back the blanket. Easing your way off the mattress and careful not to shift the bed too much, your feet hit the floor. You move like a shadow across the room, scanning the space more precisely now for any escape route. The window’s is nailed shut. No use. You don’t know how many floors you are from the ground anyways.

Moving across the room carefully, you listen through the door. There comes the sound of muffled voices, but they’re far, maybe closer the kitchen? Another bedroom? You don’t know. Your fingers tremble, but your heart stays steady. This is the only chance you’ll get. And you take it.

The door is shut, but you still twist the handle gently. Click. It’s unlocked.

Your breath catches. They forgot to lock it. You slip out with practiced certainty, heart pounding, and creep down the hall. Everything smells like cedar and laundry detergent and something sweet. Lots of things you don’t really recognize. All the colors and different shapes are unfamiliar to you. It’s all wrong. Too normal. Too different.

Then: voices. Closer than you initially thought.

“…she’s adjusting,” You can hear Steve saying.

“She’s pretending,” Bucky replies, voice low and sharp. “She’s watching everything.”

“She drank from the bottle, Buck.”

“She was starving. Doesn’t mean she’s trusting us.”

You duck behind the edge of the hallway, flattening against the wall.

“Then, let her pretend,” Steve sighs softly. “She’ll see soon enough she’s safer with us than she’s ever been.”

Their footsteps move away again. You don’t hesitate to bolt. Silent, barefoot, and down the opposite hall. Whatever floor you are on seem impressively large. You find a door that you can only hope leads out. You lunge for it only to find it locked. Not only just locked, there lies a code panel next to it, clearly some form of high-tech.

Of course it is.

You stare, scanning for patterns, wires, anything that could be tampered with or help you. You know how to hotwire a panel. You’ve done it in the lab during simulations. But you need time and the right tools. Currently? You have none of those things nor do you know where you could get them. Then you hear it.

“Sweetheart?” Steve’s voice calls out gently, sounding a bit further away like it had been outside your “room”.

You spin, slipping into the nearest room you see, a coat closet. You close it behind you in a hurried yet silent fashion, quiet as breath, crouching under a shelf. Coats brush your cheek. You press your hand over your mouth.

Footsteps can be heard more clearly now. They’re coming closer to the door. You curl into yourself, eyes sharp, breathe silent.

“She’s not in bed,” Steve sounds heartbroken.

“I told you. She’s pretending.” Bucky growls. “We rushed it.”

Silence fills the air for a minute. You keep your breathing as quiet as you can, trying to remain still as a statue.

Then Steve says, quietly, “She’s scared.”

“I’ll check the kitchen,” Bucky’s footsteps depart.

You stay still. So still your knees ache. You count each second in your head. You’ve got maybe two minutes. Then you see it, hanging from one of the coat hooks. A keyring. Maybe the door can be unlocked manually. The previous high-tech panel having captured your focus entirely, maybe there was a key hole. You grab the keys, barely daring to hope. It jingles a little too loud and you let out a small curse under your breath.

Then a voice right outside the door.

“Sweetheart?” Steve. “Are you hiding?”

You freeze in place as the doorknob turns. The door creaks open with light spilling in the enclosed space, soft and golden.

Steve stands in the doorway, still in his sleep shirt. His eyes land on you, seeing you curled under the coats like a frightened deer, key ring in your hand. You can see his expression shifting. Not angry. Worse. Disappointed.

“Oh, honey,” He breathes, kneeling down. “Why’d you do that?”

You lurch back against the wall instinctively. “Don’t—“

“I’m not mad,” He interjects gently. “But this wasn’t safe. What if you’d made it out? Barefoot? Alone?” He reaches for you slowly, like you’re some skittish animal.

You slap his hand away out of instinct, not even bothering with innocent pretense anymore.

He flinches but doesn’t stop. “You promised you were trying.”

“I never promised anything,” You correct, standing suddenly. “You locked me in here like I’m a—”

“Bucky. She’s safe.”

Full of relief yet pained words escape from Steve as he calls out to his partner in crime. And then you hear him.

Much heavier steps with the intention of being heard. Cold air rushes in from behind Steve as Bucky appears. His face is like stone. He takes one look at you, the key in your hand, the defiance in your eyes, and grabs you.

You jerk back as he reaches for you, but his hand is suddenly there. He’s much rougher, faster, and stronger. Never enough to hurt you, but he grabs you around the waist and hauls you out like you weigh nothing. You scream once, purely out of instinct, kicking as your bare heels hit the wall. “Let me go!”

“Not a chance,” Bucky states, gripping you like a sack under his arm.

You thrash, twisting violently, but his metal arm clamps across your back and stills every movement. He carries you like he’s done this before. Like he knows exactly how to hold a squirming little girl who thinks she’s grown.

Steve trails behind, quieter, eyes sad. “You’re not in trouble, okay?” He murmurs. “You’re just overwhelmed. You’ll feel better after some rest.”

You snap your head toward him. “You’re insane! Both of you!”

But neither of them respond. Once you’ve all arrived back in your room, Bucky kicks the door shut behind him and sits on one of the rocking chairs in the room with you still wriggling under his arm.

“You want to act big?” He says flatly. “You get treated like a brat.”

“I’m not your anything,” You hiss.

“Not yet. But you will be.”

He shifts you in his lap and pins your arms tightly against your sides. It’s humiliating; being held like a toddler, legs dangling, chest heaving with frustration. Meanwhile, Steve walks in holding another warmed bottle in one hand, having took a short detour earlier. You stare at it, letting out an adamant:

“No.”

“It’s just milk,” Steve says softly. “You need something more in your system. You barely ate earlier.”

“I’m not drinking from that again.”

“Then you’ll be held until you do,” Bucky says. “Your choice, kid.”

He pins your jaw with one strong hand. Not rough, but impossible to move. Firm. Steve kneels in front of you, moving the bottle closer. You can faintly smell it now. Similar to before, it smelled sweet and warm. Maybe with some vanilla this time. And something else. Something wrong. Your gut twists.

“I said—!”

But the bottle is pressed against your lips, and your mouth is forced open just enough. The first taste hits your tongue, thick and cloying, and you try to spit it out this time.

“You fight everything,” Bucky mutters. “Even when your body needs help.”

You try to turn your head, but his hand follows you. The milk keeps coming, slow and steady, coaxed down your throat by pressure and patience. You gag once. Than you swallow. It doesn’t take long. Your vision blurs a little. Limbs going fuzzy at the edges, no longer squirming. You’re still there, conscious, but it’s harder to hold on. Your thoughts begin to drift, like static under water. You blink slowly, the fight draining from your muscles without your permission.

“There she is,” Steve whispers, brushing a hand through your hair. “You’re okay now. Just rest.”

You don’t answer. Well, you can’t. You slump forward against Bucky’s chest, heart still hammering with resistance, but your body limp like a puppet with its strings cut. The bottle is pulled away. You don’t know where nor do you care.

The world fades in and out, like a flickering lightbulb behind your eyelids.

Warmth surrounds you, lights dimmed, the dull ache of your limbs refusing to move. You’re distantly aware of motion… a shift… your body being cradled and lifted again. Everything slows, like time itself has thickened.

“She’s out,” Steve murmurs somewhere above you. His voice sounds far away. Gentle. “Poor thing fought so hard.”

You want to respond with some sort of protest. Screaming. Kicking. Running. But your mouth doesn’t obey. Neither do your eyes. Nor does your body. You can’t even lift your hand.

Bucky’s arms tighten slightly, a subtle adjustment as he carries you across the room again. You feel the texture change beneath you as you're lowered onto the mattress, your head meeting the soft, already-warmed pillow with practiced care. You can feel a blanket being pulled up as you’re tucked in with such care and tenderness once again. It should feel nice, but with your situation, it’s only sickening.

“She’s gonna try again,” Bucky says lowly, almost to himself. “Next chance she gets.”

“I know,” Steve replies, sighing. “She’s still scared. Still stuck in that survival mode. It’s not her fault.”

“She’s got too much fire,” Bucky mutters, brushing a stray piece of hair from your cheek with the back of his knuckle. “Reminds me of you.”

Steve huffs a small laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “Then you know you can’t scare it out of her. That’s not how she’s gonna trust us.”

“I’m not trying to scare her,” Bucky retorts, quietly defensive. “I’m trying to keep her. You know how easy it’d be for someone else to get to her if she ran? She doesn’t understand that. She’s still thinking like a weapon.”

Your chest rises and falls steadily. Too slow for comfort. Too heavy. They think you’re gone. But you’re still there. Just locked behind your body, helpless, your lashes fluttering slightly as their voices move around you.

“We’ll start smaller tomorrow,” Steve says softly. “Routine. Breakfast together. A story, maybe. You can show her the playroom.”

“She’s not gonna want to go anywhere with me after tonight.”

“She will. Just have to ease her into it, help her realize there’s a softer side.”

You feel the blanket tugged up higher, snug around your chin. Fingers adjust the pillow beneath your head, just so. It’s too much. Too close. You want to scream and cry and claw at your skin, but all you can do is lie there.

Then you hear it. A rustling sound. Then you feel something soft brushing your ankle. You try to move, barely, but your body doesn’t respond.

Just the faint sensation of leather or fabric being pulled snug around your ankle. Not tight. Not rough. But definite. Present. A physical reminder that you’re not free.

“She’ll hurt herself less this way,” Bucky murmurs, voice near your ear now. “Until she remembers she’s ours.”

You can hear Steve start to speak before holding back. The hesitation clear even if you can’t see it on him. The sound of a click can be heard next, a soft one. Probably coming from a buckle or clasp. You can’t tell in this state.

Your breathing must have hitched, because Steve whispers, “Shhh… just sleep, sweetheart. You’re home. You’re okay now.” A kiss lands on your temple, Steve, feather-light.

A hand brushes across your forehead. Then the soft click of a lamp being switched off. The nightlight in your room automatically illuminating and breaking through some of the darkness. Not like you could see it this time though.

You’re too deep in your drugged sleep to hear the final words between them, but there’s a sense of finality in the air. A feeling that you’ve crossed a threshold. Whatever you were, however you fought, it doesn’t matter anymore.

They’ve secured you.

You’ll sleep, and they’ll wait for you to wake, soft restraints in place, ready to keep you under their control.

Caged in Comfort (Pt. 2)

Summary: While Bucky gets you something to eat, you have a discussion with Steve and formulate a plan to bide your time. However, that eventually cracks when Bucky returns with some soup and milk. (Dark Stucky x little!reader)

Warnings/Disclaimer: Minors DNI. Dark Stucky. Age Regression. Forced Age Regression. (Feeding.) Kidnapping. References to Labs. Lots of dialogue. Drugged food and Stockholm Syndrome in the future likely.

Word Count: 1.6k+

A/N: I haven’t actually decided if I want the food to be drugged or not. I’m also not sure if this series would be interesting enough to read either. Regardless, please read the warnings. You are responsible for the media you consume. Let me know if I should add something else to the warnings, tags, or anything else.

Caged in Comfort Masterlist | Previous | Next

You stay still long after the door closes.

Steve doesn’t move either. He just holds you, one arm secure around your middle, the other gently combing his fingers through your hair. It’s too much; the tenderness. It scratches at something raw inside you. You’ve had scientists touch your skin with gloves, handlers yank your arms into place. This isn’t clinical. It’s worse.

“You know who we are, don’t you?” He says softly, not trying to force an answer.

You nod against his shoulder. You know exactly who they are. You’d heard of the guards talk of them. The scientist who tried to replicate what they were. You’ve heard your handlers speak about their DNA, about what made them tick. The serum of particular interest. You know what they are capable of. You never could have imagined this though.

“They called you super soldiers,” You murmur. “Potential weapons. Not people.”

Steve flinches at that, just slightly. “And what did they call you?”

You swallow, hating the memories that flicker through your mind briefly.

“They…didn’t call me anything. Just a number.”

He exhales slowly, holding you tighter. “Well, they were wrong.”

“No,” You whisper. “They weren’t.”

He doesn’t argue. That’s almost worse than if he had. You shift a little, just enough to glance toward the door. Calculating and observant. Steve notices though. Of course he does.

“He locked it,” He says gently. “Not because we don’t trust you. But because you’re scared. Scared people do reckless things.”

“I’m not scared,” You lie.

“You’re shaking.”

You hate that he’s right. It wasn’t enough that your life had been spent controlled by someone else’s wishes. At your first opportunity of being free from that place, you’re still trapped. Ownership now simply being transferred to whom should’ve been your saviors. Heroes who could’ve helped you adapt to a new life, not force you into one of their fantasies. A beat of silence passes. Then:

“I know what regression is,” You mutter, almost like it’s a curse.

Steve blinks. “You do?”

You nod slowly. “The others… the ones before me. Some of them couldn’t take it. Some snapped. Others regressed and went all soft. The scientists liked it, made them easier to control.”

Something tightens in his jaw. That’s not what he wanted to hear. It doesn’t match his image of how things would go: this warm, soft fantasy of what he thinks he’s offering you. But it seems you’re not going to let them paint over your trauma with pastel colors and lullabies.

“So if that’s what this is,” You snap, twisting in his hold just enough to look him in the eye, “If you think I’m going to curl up and call you Papa because you put me in a pink room and comfort me, you’re wrong.”

Steve’s expression doesn’t change much. But something behind his eyes shifts. He leans in just a little, brushing your hair behind your ear. “I don’t want to force you,” He says. “I want you to choose this. To feel safe enough to fall. Because you deserve softness. You deserve comfort.”

“No one deserves anything,” You say, the words bitter. The truth you’ve come to accept long ago. “Not in this world.”

“That’s what they taught you,” He murmurs. “That’s not the truth.”

You go quiet. But your brain doesn’t stop working. It never stops. You watch the way he looks at you. How he talks to you like you’re already his. That same warped gentleness Bucky wore earlier, albeit softer and more visible. You’re not dealing with captors. Not exactly. You’re dealing with men who believe, truly believe, they’re saving you.

And that’s when an idea strikes you. If they believe it? Then, you can use it.

“Fine,” You whisper eventually, your voice cracking in just the right place. You let your head rest against his chest again, limbs going limp. “I’ll try.”

Steve exhales a soft breath, full of relief. You feel it in his chest. You wonder why he doesn’t suspect you. Maybe he does. Maybe he truly believes he can mold you into their perfect little girl, waiting for who knows how long for this. But truthfully, your words are hollow. You don’t mean it. Not really. You’re going to play their game. You’re going to smile. Take their kindness. Let them think you’re softening. Let them hold you and wrap you in blankets and stroke your hair.

And the second that door is unlocked; You’ll run.

Your train of thought gets interrupted when the door opens again with a click. You don’t flinch this time. You remain curled in Steve’s lap, just like he left you, even though your muscles ache with tension under the calm exterior you’re forcing. You keep your eyes half-lidded, mouth set in a dazed sort of frown. You’ve seen the others wear this look. You can fake it too. At least, you hope you can.

Bucky walks in holding a tray. Soup, you think, and something warm in a bottle. Your stomach clenches at the scent before you can stop it.

“Good,” He says, shutting the door behind him. “She hasn’t moved.”

“I told you,” Steve says, brushing his fingers down your back. “She’s trying.”

Trying. That word sits in your mouth like rust. It makes you feel like you’re being graded, watched through one-way glass. You glance at Bucky. He’s watching you with that same hard edge in his eyes. Not cruel nor unkind, but… territorial. Protective. Like a wolf guarding something he’s decided belongs to him.

Bucky sets the tray on the bedside table, then kneels in front of you. Your first instinct is to pull away, but you fight it. You keep your face blank. Small. Helpless.

“This one’s chicken and rice,” He says, holding up the bowl. “Easy on your stomach. Warm. And you’re going to eat the whole thing.”

You blink at him slowly, not answering. Partly for the act but half from the sheer audacity and sureness this man holds. The way they both act so certain is frightening. However, you don’t let it show.

Steve presses a kiss to your temple. “Sweetheart? Can you sit up for Buck? Just a little?”

You shift slightly, only because Steve is guiding you. Not because you want to. You still feel like your bones are made of ice. Bucky lifts the spoon, not handing it to you. Holding it like he’s going to do it.

Your mouth twitches. “I can feed myself.” While you never had five course meals before, you were still allowed to feed yourself whatever mush or food your previous handlers would serve. You had a choice. You still had that fleeting sense of autonomy.

“No,” Bucky says, blunt. “You can’t. You’re too little. Not right now.”

Your hands curl into fists, a flicker of resistance present; but Steve rubs your back again and murmurs, “Just let us take care of you.”

You know what this is. You know it’s not about food. It’s about power. Control disguised as nurture. Infantilization disguised as affection. But still, your stomach growls. And the smell makes your head spin. So, you open your mouth.

Bucky feeds you the first spoonful with slow, deliberate care. It’s warm. It tastes like nothing you ever got in the lab. You hate how good it is.

“There you go,” Steve murmurs as he watches you obediently take bite after bite. “Just like that. Good girl.”

You tense.

You don’t want to like it. The praise. The warmth. But something in your brain flinches every time he says “good girl,” like it’s wired to respond. You push that part down. Deep away while Bucky offers another spoonful. By the fourth, he pauses to unscrew the top of the bottle. The milk inside is frothed and warm. Familiar almost, in a way that makes your throat tighten.

“I don’t need that,” You say hoarsely.

“You do,” Bucky replies. “It’s calming.”

“It’s a bottle.” Like the statement would change anything. Your exasperation and insistence do nothing to persuade either of them.

“You’ll drink it,” He says. “Or I’ll hold you in my lap and do it for you.”

That stops you cold in your protests. You glance at Steve, silently pleading. He was a bit more understanding in some twisted way. But he just gives you that same calm look, fingers combing through your hair again. “We’re trying to help you down,” He explains soothingly. “To feel safe. Cared for.”

“I’m not little,” You hiss, momentarily forgetting your initial plan.

“You are,” Bucky says again, with finality. “You just forgot how to feel it.”

You want to scream. You want to claw the bottle out of his hands and hurl it across the room. You know it won’t do you any good though if you’re trying to win their favor. So, instead, you reach for it. Bucky pulls it away from your grasp before pressing it to your lips, clearly intent on feeding you. With no where to go and nothing more you can say, you start to drink slowly, burning with shame. The milk is sweet. Too sweet. It fills your mouth with warmth that you almost hate yourself for liking.

Steve adjusts his hold, cradling you while you drink. Bucky wipes a smear of milk from your chin with a napkin like you’re two years old.

You don’t resist. Because that’s the only power you have left, to choose not to fight. To pretend. To outlast. They want a little? They’ll get one. And though it may be hell, you remind yourself it will be worth it when you get that chance to run and chase after that true freedom. Until that can happen, you hope you won’t succumb before then.

Caged in Comfort (Pt. 1)

Summary: Though your life was not perfect, it was familiar. There was routine. A system in place. You practically grew up there all your life. So, when two super soldiers take you away from it all, how do they expect a lab experiment to react?

Warnings/Disclaimer: Minors DNI. Dark Stucky. Age Regression. Not forced age regression yet, but heavily implied. Kidnapping . References to Labs. Lots of dialogue. Reader cries/panics. Stockholm Syndrome in the future likely.

Word Count: 1400+

A/N: As I say, if I can’t find a fic like it, I’ll just write it. Maybe you’ll like it too. Please read the warnings though. You are responsible for the media you consume. Also, let me know if I should add something else to the warnings, tags, or anything else.

Caged in Comfort Masterlist | Next

You wake with a jolt.

The air feels too still. Too clean. There’s something wrong. Your body’s stiff, your wrists ache, though they’re no longer bound. The sheets smell like detergent and lavender, not the cold metal and chemicals you were used to. You’re not in the lab. But this doesn’t seem like freedom.

You don’t move at first. You listen.

There are voices. Male. Muffled.

“She’s still sleeping?” One asks, firm yet laced with a hint of concern. It unsettles something deep in your gut.

“She’s just tired,” Says another. This voice is lower, rougher, but not unkind. “She’s been through a lot.”

You bolt upright.

The room is soft, painfully soft. Pastel walls, gentle lighting, plush toys sitting on shelves like they belong to someone half your age. There’s a rocking chair in the corner. The window is shut. There are no locks on the door, but that doesn’t mean you’re free.

You scramble back against the headboard, heart slamming in your chest.

Footsteps approach.

The door opens slowly, and you see them.

Steve Rogers and James Buchanan Barnes.

You know them. Not personally, you would have never imagined ever encountering them, not like this, but you know. They’re supposed to be heroes. But the way they’re looking at you now, like they already own you. It sends panic twisting in your stomach.

“Hey, hey,” Steve says quickly, raising his hands like you’re a frightened animal. “Easy, sweetheart. You’re safe.”

“No,” You breathe, barely audible. Your form is shaking now. “No, I don’t—this isn’t—where am I?”

Bucky takes a step closer, voice calm. Almost too calm. Like he has rehearsed this. "You’re home now. This is your room. We brought you here because the people who had you before? They didn’t take care of you. But we will.”

You stare at him. Then at Steve. “You kidnapped me.”

Steve frowns, as if the word offends him. “We rescued you.”

Your hands clutch the edge of the blanket like it’s the only thing grounding you. “I don’t know you. I want to leave.” Your words came out in a hurried manner as your eyes darted around the room, desperately searching for something. A way out? An exit? Anything will do at this point.

“You don’t need to leave,” Bucky says, slowly kneeling beside the bed like you’re a scared child. “You’re safe now. We’re gonna take care of you. Feed you. Keep you warm. No more experiments. No more pain.”

You shake your head, the pressure building behind your eyes. “You don’t get to decide that.”

“But we have decided,” Steve replies, still gentle. “You’re our little girl now. You just don’t remember what that feels like yet. But you will.”

“I’m not yours!” You shout, whether it be the conditioning or the fear breaking through. Your voice is sharp, almost shrill. “Let me go!”

Bucky’s expression doesn’t change. He doesn’t flinch. Neither of them do. They probably expected this. They simply look at you with something terrifying in their eyes. Not anger, not cruelty. But love. Warped, dangerous love.

“You’re scared. And that’s okay,” Steve says softly, stepping toward you. “New littles always are at first. But we’ll teach you. You don’t have to be strong anymore. You can let go.”

“I don’t want to let go,” You whisper. You don’t even know what that truly means. If you even know how to.

“But you need to,” Bucky says. “And it’s okay now. That’s why we’re here. To love you when you can’t love yourself. To hold you when it’s too much.”

You try to run.

You throw the blanket off and jump from the bed, but your legs are weak, your body too drained. Steve catches you instantly with ease before your body can hit the ground. He doesn’t hurt you. That almost makes it worse. He just holds you, firm and warm, like you’re something fragile. Like a child.

“Shhh,” He soothes into your hair. “You’re okay. You’re okay, baby girl.”

“No, no, no—” You fight, your voice breaking. “Don’t call me that. I’m not—!”

“You’re tired,” Bucky says firmly, yet still moves closer to stroke your back. “That’s all. Sleep a little. You’ll feel better. It gets easier.” The order comes out easy for him.

You sob once, harsh and sudden.

Because some part of you, the smallest part, wants to believe them. And that’s the most terrifying thing of all.

You can’t stop the tears now.

They come fast, hot, humiliating. Your body shakes as you struggle in Steve’s hold, but he doesn’t let you go. He just sinks to the carpet with you in his lap, sitting back against the edge of the bed as if this is routine. As if this is normal.

“I want to go,” You choke out, the words ragged against the lump in your throat. You know you didn’t have many things before, but at least it wasn’t as confusing and disorientating as this. “I want to go home. Please…”

“This is your home now,” Bucky rises with a sigh. His arms now folded across his chest. His metal fingers twitch, not with aggression, but with restraint, like he’s holding himself back. “You’re not going anywhere. You weren’t safe there nor would you be safe out there. You know that.”

“I don’t know anything!” Your voice comes out sharply, snapping at him as you try to pull away from Steve again. However, he holds you tighter. Not hurting you, never hurting, just keeping. Containing. “You drugged me…Took me—”

Steve’s voice comes quiet against your ear. “You were shaking when we first saw you. Do you remember that? Curled up in the corner of that place? That wasn’t living. That was surviving. Barely.”

He rocks you a little as he speaks, a gentle back and forth that makes your stomach twist.

You didn’t remember. You didn’t know they were even there, watching you. How long were they watching you?

“You didn’t ask,” You whimper softly, trying to find any rebuttal you could.

“We didn’t need to,” Bucky says, crouching now, eye-level. His eyes are hard, but not cold. Just…sure. Certain of himself, of what they’ve done. “You belong here. Whether you’re ready to admit it or not.”

“I don’t!” You cry out again, your voice cracking. “I’m not your little girl, I’m not—!”

“Sweetheart,” Steve soothes, rubbing slow circles into your back. “Shhh…I know it’s scary. I know your head’s telling you to fight. But you don’t have to anymore. Not here, not with us.”

You shake your head furiously, pressing your forehead into his chest to hide the tears, even though you hate how your body leans into the warmth. You don’t want to. You really don’t. But your resolve is starting to crack.

“I’m not little,” You mumble. “I’m not your baby.” Maybe if you repeat it enough times, it will come true. You know, deep down, it won’t.

“You are now,” Bucky says, simple and final.

You stiffen at his words, but Steve just hugs you closer, resting his chin gently atop your head like you’re something sacred. “He’s a bit blunt,” He murmurs. “But he loves you. We both do. So much already, baby.”

You start to tremble.

Because no one’s said that to you before. Not like this. Not without conditions or expectations or pain behind it.

You want to scream. You want to hit something. You want to run, even if your legs won’t carry you far.

But all you can do is sit there. Curled in the lap of a super soldier, a stranger, in a room that’s already been built for you like this was always going to happen.

Bucky rises again, slow, looming.

“I’ll bring her something to eat,” He says, turning toward the door. “Maybe that’ll help her accept us better when her stomach’s not empty.”

Steve hums in acknowledgment. “Thank you, Buck.”

Bucky pauses at the doorway. He looks back at you, one last time. His eyes narrow, jaw tight. “You’re not a prisoner. But don’t try anything,” He warns. “We’ll be kind. But if you think we’ll let you bolt out into the night and end up back in some lab’s basement? Think again.”

Then he’s gone.

The door shuts behind him with a soft click.

You stay frozen in Steve’s arms, your breath shaking in your chest. He’s warm. He smells like soap and leather and safety you don’t trust. You feel so small, despite your rage. Despite your fear and confusion.

Steve hums again, that same soothing sound, like a lullaby without words. “You’ll get used to it,” He says gently, brushing a tear from your cheek. “The softness. The quiet. The being wanted.”

You don’t reply.

Because part of you doesn’t believe it. And the rest is afraid that you might start to.

But no matter how pleasant these two strangers try to spin it, you’ve simply moved from one cage to another.