#monster bucky

[buckets-and-trees]

Fic: Silent Screams in Wildest Dreams

Title: SILENT SCREAMS IN WILDEST DREAMS Fandom: MCU Characters/Pairings: Bucky x female!Reader, side of Steve

Word Count: 8k

Summary: A dark tale with an unhappy ending. Just when you’ve married the man of your dreams, only just closed the chapter of your honeymoon, happily ever after is wrenched away, and you’re met with a nightmare you never could have imagined. This was written for prompt #14 in Roo’s Hallo-Cream Extravaganza: Each morning you feel more and more drained, but you don’t notice the marks until it’s too late.

Content Warnings: dark dark DARK tale, smut, main character death, rough sex, fingering, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v sex, creampie, talk of wounds, slight dub/con, elements of somnophilia, DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT

Additional Notes: I will leave more detailed notes at the end of the fic so I don’t give specifics away, but this is loosely based on some Scandinavian folklore I’ve been exploring. I emphasize this is loosely based on the folklore – I’m not a Scandinavian folklore expert AND there were a couple of elements I did adapt to fit the direction of the story overall. I've left some songs throughout the fic for a bit of a soundtrack, if you wish. The title is taken from a Taylor Swift lyric (from "This Love"), but don't let that fool you. Here be a dark story.  

Also, thank you to @darkficsyouneveraskedfor for letting me in on the party here with the challenge (my first challenge in this fandom) AND for literally saying "take all the time you need" when I said the beast was still being tamed and that life had been more life-y than I thought it would be over the past few weeks.

The first thing you’re conscious of are the warm fingers stroking lightly up and down your back. You take in a deep breath of morning air, and hum in contentment as you let it out, stretching one of your arms out across the mattress, and the other above your head, pushing out from under your pillow to press against the headboard.

“Good morning, beautiful,” your husband says softly, his hand now moving beneath the hem of your shirt to press gently against the small of your back.

“Morning, Buck.”

Then you frown, registering that he’s not on his side of the bed, but sitting on the edge of your side of the bed. You turn and try to sit up. “Wait, what time-?”

He cuts you off and pushes you back down to the mattress. “Early.”

“James! You said you were leaving at six!”

He chuckles, “I know. I’m sorry.” He leans forward, brushing some hair out of your face before kissing you. You wrap your arms around his neck. “You don’t have to get up until seven, and I didn’t want you to go to the trouble of getting up at five to try and make breakfast and send me off.”

He’s kissing you again to try to swallow your protests, which only works for a moment, but then you turn your head. “It’s our first day going back to work since the wedding, you should have let me dote on you.”

Pressing kisses along your jaw and down your neck, he counters, “Shouldn’t a husband allow his wife to sleep in so he can keep her up all the later when he gets home?”

You let out a soft moan as he punctuates his question by sucking softly at the crook of your neck.

“What time is it?” you manage to whisper, trying to stay focused on your spat.

“A little after four.”

“What?” you jolt up with shock. “Four!”

He laughs. “Wheels up at five so we could get back for dinner.”

You groan and settle back into the mattress. “Four in the morning is disgusting. I’m glad you tricked me. Just make sure to grab some toast or something on your way out.”

“Yes, dear.”

As he moves to leave, you pull him back. “One more kiss.”

“Always.”

He sinks back into you, and your lips meet again. You love to feel his weight pressed against you, but he does prop himself partly, his metal forearm right next to your shoulder, and vibranium fingers tangling in your hair. Both your hands hold his face, and you part your lips to drink in more of him. He reciprocates, tongue seeking yours earnestly. His flesh hand skims up the side of your body, moving again under your sleepshirt, over your ribs, and then he begins to gently palm your breast, and your moan again.

“Keep up with that, and you’re not leaving this bed anytime soon,” you murmur against his lips, your back arching into his hand.

He huffs out a sigh, easing his hand away, but pressing his forehead against yours. “Fuck, I know.”

Your lips capture his again, but with less urgency, just lips and feelings, and his warm hand withdraws from your chest and comes up to caress your face.

After another minute, he sits up.

You sigh but smile at him.

“I promise to pick up where we left off when I return.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

He takes your hand and presses a warm kiss into your palm before standing, then pulling the covers back up and tucking you in. You yawn, both of you laugh, and then he leaves a final kiss on your cheek.

“Sleep well, my love.”

 The sky grows darker, and you frown as you look at the clock on the wall. It wasn’t a problem for Bucky to be taking longer than you expected to get home for dinner because the soup was safe just simmering, but this much later when he texted he would be home soon wasn’t normal.

There’s a knock on the door, and you carefully move Alpine off your lap and deposit her back on the cozy armchair to go answer it. You wonder if it’s Bucky and maybe he forgot his keys?

A quick glance out of the peephole reveals the familiar frame of your husband’s best friend on the other side of the mahogany door.

“Steve!” You open it wide and beam at him. “Bucky didn’t say you’d be coming by! You’ll stay for dinner, I’m assuming?”

Because Steve is already such a regular fixture in the place you and Bucky had recently moved into before the wedding, you had already turned and crossed the living room, heading for the kitchen, when you pause and turn back around, realizing that Steve hasn’t said a word of greeting and has only taken a few steps inside.

He’s watching you closely in a way he never has, and you read hesitancy in every muscle and movement of his body. He slowly pushes the door closed behind him.

Steve looks around the room very quickly, then takes a deep breath in and out before saying your name, and there is so much emotion in it, your blood runs cold immediately.

“No,” you shake your head. “No, no, no. Steve, he can’t…”

He closes his eyes and gives a single nod.

The flood of anguish is overwhelming, dropping you to your knees, and the tortured sound that erupts from your soul is foreign to your own ears. In less than a moment, Steve is crouched next to you, wrapping his arms around you. As much as you’re clinging to him as you sob, his arms are holding you so tightly you can feel he must be trying to hold both of you together, but he weeps as well. You stay that way, huddled together, until both of you are empty – no more tears, past feeling, beyond exhaustion – overcome with the grief that Bucky is gone.

There is no body to bury, but Bucky had already stipulated he didn’t want to be buried. He and Steve both stated they wanted to be cremated when their time came to remove temptation for trying to develop any new super soldier serums from their remains.

Without a body, you, Sam and Steve decide burning mementos as part of a funeral bonfire would be a fitting tribute for those who wanted to pay their respects.

The man who so often perpetuated that he was a taciturn and sullen retired assassin had collected a small but mighty community of neighbors, friends, and colleagues who show up on the day. Seeing so many who regarded him as Bucky, James, Sergeant Barnes, or the White Wolf – not HYDRA’s Winter Soldier – gather to say goodbye is a balm to your soul in those days immediately after losing him. You know it will take years and still the vast hole of losing him will never be truly filled, but you don’t want to drown in the depths of despair.

Still, you are a shadow of yourself as you live through the enormous heartache.

Steve comes by to “check in” on you every other day, but it’s always around dinner, and you think he needs someone who feels this much pain over losing him, too, needs to know it’s okay that it still hurts, with someone else who knew him, even though you knew different parts of him. You’re glad because Steve had also become someone you considered one of your own close friends, and a small part of you had worried that without Bucky to tie you two together Steve might have disappeared as well.

One night about a week after the service, Steve seems a little distracted, and you ask what’s on his mind. He mentions that there have been two deaths reported that Bucky would have been interested in – Senator Stern and Jack Rollins. The senator had already been in treatments for advanced colon cancer, but it appeared there had been a severe reaction with his chemotherapy. Rollins, the former number two on SHIELD’s STRIKE team who was revealed as a HYDRA sleeper agent when Steve exposed them and Bucky escaped and went into hiding, had gone underground himself, a mercenary operating in the shadows of the shadows, but had turned up in an alleyway in Detroit. He’d died of what looked like an aggressive infection from a wound, likely from a violent altercation.

“I know he never pursued vengeance, but I think he would’ve liked to know those two were gone for good. It’s just another thing I won’t get to talk to him about,” Steve says.

“Damn it, Barnes,” you sigh. “This would all be so much easier if he’d been a pain in the ass not worth missing.” 

The ache still hurts, but the small genuine laugh you and Steve share is another tiny piece of healing.

A few days later, you’re curled up on the couch with Alpine who’d been distant and skittish at Bucky’s abrupt extended absence at first, but then finally sensed you were as forlorn as her and largely refuses to leave your side now. It’s late, and you’re starting to fight with your eyes to stay open as you read, when two distinct poundings on the door startle you and Alpine both.

“Who could possibly be here at this hour?” you whisper to Alpine, gently moving her from your lap into a small cocoon of the blanket you’d been wrapped in.

You move to the door as quietly as possible. You don’t want to confirm to whoever’s on the other side that you’re home if you can help it, glad now that you had been too lazy to get up and flip the record in your record player when the music came to an end however long ago.

But when you see the shoulders of the man leaning weakly against your doorframe, a shocked cry bursts out your chest. Your fingers struggle with the locks as you hastily work to throw the door open, and he stumbles in.

You’re quick to try and catch a cold and shaking Bucky Barnes as you close and lock the door behind him.

“Bucky?” Your left hand moves to his bicep to steady him, but your right hand tentatively seeks his.

He seems lost for another moment, but then his other hand comes up to cover yours and when his fingers brush over your wedding ring, he turns his eyes to look at you, and you see the flame of recognition. It’s confirmed and your heart sings when he murmurs your name.

“How are you here?” you ask, desperate to know this is real.

“I promised.”

Your breath hitches. You’d relived the pre-dawn moments of your last morning together in so many dreams, waking up with a tear-stained face too many times to count. “Is it really you?”

You’re not convinced this is any more than a hallucination.

But then he pulls you in and his lips consume yours, and its lips and teeth and crashing, too desperate and too real to deny.

“What do you think?” he growls, breaking the kiss for a moment, leaning his forehead to yours again as he had so many times.

“God, I missed you,” you respond, tears freely spilling down your cheeks.

“God has nothing to do with it.”

His hands grab the collar of the old sweatshirt you’re wearing, and you yelp in surprise as in one swift motion he rips it from top to hem and pulls it down away from your body. He’s never ripped your clothing – he always wanted you to feel safe even in your most vulnerable moments – but if he’s anywhere as close to as desperate as you are in this moment of reunion, it’s no wonder he doesn’t hold back.

Your hands go beneath the collar of his jacket to push it down his arms, and before it hits the floor, he’s already lifting his Henley and undershirt up and off his torso. You quickly unhook your bra and drop it while he yanks off his shoes. Then he’s up, and his lips capture yours again, his metal hand tangling roughly in the hair at the nape of your neck, the other palming your breast. This is truly where you left off the last morning you saw him, and you’re entirely overcome – by the grief that has enveloped you the past two weeks, the release of relief, confusion, but, more than anything else, your love and lust, blazing out from the depths of your soul. He sinks to his knees, pulling you with him, then pushing you back to the floor, the hard wood solid against your spine while he hovers over you, his lips moving down to your neck, kissing and sucking, nipping at your collarbone. Then his hungry mouth latches onto your other breast, alternating between sucking the nipple and teasing his tongue over it, drawing a moan from your lips.

Your hands seek every part of his bare skin they can reach, running over his face, his neck, in his hair, gripping his shoulders, up and down his arms, the planes of his stomach, his broad back. Then you pull his head back up to you, needing his lips against yours. You need him more than you need to breathe.

He pulls down your underwear, and you work at his belt and zipper, and in the next moment, he’s plunged fully inside you, bottoming out in your wet heat, and any pain is welcome, less painful than your heartache without him. He doesn’t let you take a breath to get used to the fullness of his cock inside you again before he’s already setting a quick pace, thrusting in and out brutally. You whimper against his lips, but you don’t want him to stop.

“I didn’t want to believe you were gone.”

“’m never leaving you again,” he swears.

You’re hit with a fresh wave of tears at his words and with a shift in his hips, his cock now hitting at a different angle, pressing furiously now against that most pleasurable spot up against your pubic bone.

“More,” you moan, and he grunts and gives you exactly that, more force as he ploughs into you.

Your walls clench around him, and he reaches down to pinch your clit, biting down on your lip at the same time, and it all pushes you over the edge, and you cling to him as your orgasm shakes you. He continues to fuck you through the waves, not slowing his pace or his force, and you whimper, but with no desire for him to stop. Every brutal thrust is primal, and you need to feel this as much as he does.

Finally, his movement stutters and then he’s filling you with his hot seed, his head tucked in the crook of your neck, hot heavy breaths against your skin. His pace slows, but he continues to pump into you until he’s finished, then collapses fully onto you. You welcome the weight of him, another reassurance he’s really here. You thread your fingers through his hair, no thoughts of moving.

“Don’t scare me like that again,” you say softly.

Bucky raises his head to look at you. His expression is unfamiliar – haunted, hungry. It’s unsettling. Or it should be.

“You’re still cold, Buck,” you note, moving a hand to stroke his cheek. Immediate intensity of your reunion starting to abate, and now you begin to assess and worry over him.

He moves quickly, standing up, then scooping you from the floor and pulling you into his arms, you wrap your legs around his waist. His destination is the bathroom where he deposits you on the counter before turning to the shower, twisting the knobs to initiate the stream of hot water. As you’re securing your hair up and out of the way, he drops his pants to the floor, and then the two of you step naked into the shower.

The hot water pours over your skin. Enclosed by the sanctuary of tile and glass, in here he kisses you as if it’s as essential as breathing, slow and concentrated. It’s still overwhelming, but it’s not the same frenetic desperation he took you with on the floor, and time flows by just like the rivulets over your skin, until you realize the temperature of the water is cooling.

A small laugh bubbles up from your chest, and you pull away from his lips. He tries eagerly to follow, but you gently cover his mouth with your fingers. “Let’s get you cleaned up before we lose the hot water completely.”

Bucky sighs, but nods meekly. You turn to see only your things in the shower, and it’s only a half of a second that you bite your lip before pushing out of the glass door, not caring that you’re dripping water all over the floor but do take care not to slip as you take the few steps to across the bathroom to the cupboard. You had removed Bucky’s toiletries from the shower, the counter, and his designated shelves behind the mirror so you wouldn’t be constantly reminded of his absence but couldn’t bring yourself to throw them out and had only been able to stash them in a box. You slide the box from the shelf, set it on the counter, quickly fish out his shower gel and shampoo, and return to him and the shower.

Bucky's already soaped up your loofah and gets to work running it over your skin as he has so many times before. You switch him spots to rinse off, then turn your attention to him. You work up the shampoo in your hands, and he bows his head down when you reach up for him. You draw a moan from him as you work your fingers through his hair and massage his scalp and his posture relaxes. You trade places again for a moment to let him rinse the suds out of his hair, then pull him back out of the direct stream so you can wash the rest of him. Neck, shoulders, arms, chest. You tug his vibranium arm to get him to spin around for you, but then you gasp.

“Bucky!”

Your fingers skim over burns below one shoulder blade, and he tries to turn back to face you, but you press your left hand firmly against him to keep him there as you continue to examine him. You knew every freckle and mole on his skin, the scars he had before, and these are new. So, too, are some bruises, and there’s even a gash lower on his side.

“Bucky, what happened?”

He’s slow to turn back and face you now, and there’s a deep furrow in his brow, the haunted look is back in his eyes, and he’s frowning. Your heart aches while you wait for him to speak.

You take his hand and gently tighten your grip, trying to reassure him that you’re here, that there’s no rush for him to answer.

After another moment, he finally answers, but he drops his gaze to the floor. “I don’t remember everything that happened. It’s just fragments.”

Setting aside the foam sponge you were using, you take a half step closer to him and cup his cheek, urging him to look back at you. “You’re here now. We’ll figure it out together.”

He engulfs you in another kiss. The heat and urgency grows, and then you two quickly rinse off the suds from his scrubbing down, and you’re escaping the shower, quickly toweling each other down, and Bucky pulls you to your bedroom and buries himself again in you. He’s relentless, taking you apart for hours, pulling orgasms from you, spilling his own into you, until you’re beyond spent, unable to move a muscle. Only then does he sink into the mattress next to you, pulling you into his side, you burrow happily against him, and he pulls the sheets and blankets up and around you both.

“Sleep well, my love.”

When you wake in the morning, you feel the sun on your face and fingers softly stroking up and down your back, and you sigh in contentment. A moment later your eyes fly open, and you shoot up in bed, your heart skipping a beat as you lock eyes with Bucky. You’d been so consumed by grief and conditioned yourself to coping with his absence that the reality of having him back hit you anew, and a laugh bubbled out of your chest even as you heaved a small sob.

“You’re really here,” you say softly, confirming it, reconditioning your brain.

“Never leaving you again,” he promises, pulling you close and wiping the few happy tears that spilled over your cheeks.

Tucked in under his right arm, you rest your cheek on his shoulder and let your fingers come up to trace lazy patterns over his chest, reacquainting yourself with the planes of his body. “I thought I had dreamed all of it.”

“This is not a dream.”

You shift slightly and laugh. “Yeah, my muscles are saying last night was very real. Can’t conjure up this kind of soreness in a dream, and I’m sure I’ve got bruises.”

“I’d apologize, but…”

He can’t see it, but you roll your eyes. “Bucky, I’ve always said I’d tell you if I ever needed you to stop, if you ever really hurt me.”

He huffs.

“Speaking of bruises,” you continue, letting your hand move to the side of his torso where you had discovered the gash in the shower. It’s still there. You lean up on your elbow and with your other hand, push up under his back, urging him to roll up onto his side. He tuts impatiently but indulges you all the same. Your fingers skim over the same bruising and burn marks that remain unhealed on his back. “Why are these still here? You always heal so quickly.”

He rolls onto his back again, looking at your concerned face. “I don’t know.” Your frown deepens. “No, I really don’t know, but they don’t hurt either.”

You sigh. “Okay, okay. But you’re also looking pretty peckish-“

“Peckish?” he interrupts, a smirk on his face. “I don’t think that means exactly what you think it means. How much BBC have you been watching lately?”

“Fine! Gaunt! You’re looking pretty gaunt for my super soldier, and I at least know how to fix that, so can we go make a ridiculously big breakfast?”

This had been a routine weekend ritual for the two of you, so you fall naturally into your roles in the kitchen, moving around each other to prepare your typical feast. Bucky is on waffle duty, in addition to making coffee and cutting up strawberries and bananas. You take care of scrambled eggs and frying up sausages and thick slices of tomato. The two of you know your timings, and you’re placing everything on the table around the same time.

He looks at the different dishes laid across the table, studying them. You watch his face, reaching slowly to spear a waffle with your fork. “Bucky? Everything alright?”

“Hmm?” He blinks and shakes his head before looking at you. “Of course, just… been a long time.”

You smile, but it’s a sad smile. He’s here now, but it doesn’t erase the weeks of pain your heart crawled through day by day, alone at this table, in this kitchen, in your bedroom, in this home you’d built with him.

“Tell me what you read this week,” he says, starting to pile food on his own plate.

And then you two fall into your rhythm. In your job as a literary agent, you read incessantly, and in a relationship with a man who turned out to be quite a book nerd, you’d established that you didn’t talk about books every night so you could have some off time from your job at the end of each day, but he was an eager listener each Saturday morning, and at the end of the week you always had an array to talk over with him. He would take seconds, and often thirds, while you spoke, and today was a dive back into that.

After an hour, the two of you cleared up the table, put the food away, did the dishes. As you do, Bucky eyes are on you constantly, and he takes any opportunity to touch you that the mundane tasks afford, a hand on your back as you pass each other putting things away, fingers brushing your skin when you hand him dishes, standing shoulder to shoulder at the kitchen sink.

As you close the cupboard, you turn and find Bucky moving to press you up against the counter, his arms bracing the marble edge on either side of you, and he slots his lips over yours, kissing you with a hunger that takes your breath away, and your fingers take desperate purchase clinging to the green t-shirt he’d thrown on with a pair of sweats.

When you finally break away to gulp in a lungful of air, he nips down your neck, then spins you around to face the counter and kneels behind you, yanking down your shorts and underwear with both hands, and you lean forward against the counter as he forces you to swiftly step out of them. Then he’s nudging your legs apart and burying his face into the apex of your legs, first biting at the tender flesh of your inner thighs, making you keen. Bucky makes one slow, torturous lick along your folds before going at your core with abandon, licking, sucking, slipping his tongue into your pussy, teasing your clit, bringing you to the edge. He backs off completely, and you whimper. “Bucky, no! More!”

He chuckles darkly, caressing the round curves of your hips. “More?”

“Need you. So close.”

He picks up again, but slowly, teasing you more, making you a whimpering mess, desperate for him. Your legs tremble, and you push back against his face, urging him to push you into waves of ecstasy.

Suddenly he backs off again, but he stands quickly, turns you around, and pushes you up onto the counter. He pushes his pants down, and you wrap your legs around him. Bucky sinks into you, but doesn’t move yet, instead demanding more kisses. You taste yourself on his lips and tongue.

“Take me back to bed,” you finally gasp out against his lips.

He nods and lifts you off the counter while keeping his cock inside you and takes you back to the bedroom. He tosses you onto the mattress, and you shuck your own clothes off, tossing them to the side, while he hastily removes his own and joins you on the bed. You push him down onto his back and straddle his hips. His hands move smoothly up your thighs as you reach down and guide his cock into your slick folds. You sink down slowly, and you both moan at the sensation. You close your eyes, but you can feel he’s watching your face. Your move your hands down to twine with his at your hips, and you gradually begin to move above him, raising and lowering yourself unhurriedly.

Since the very beginning taking Bucky as your lover, it’s always undulated between fast and slow, but with passion burning steadily through all of it. His every move, every touch, has always felt more intentional and cherished than everyone who came before. It consumed you in those early days, and he’s consuming you again now.

After a few minutes though, Bucky is not satisfied with the pace, and he sits up to take more control. With your faces close again, his hands move your hips up and down more quickly, setting a blistering pace, racing to another climax for you both, and you’ve no complaint, head falling back. He plants hot kisses along the column of your throat, his hands moving up your back, kneading, almost pinching the flesh as he clutches and clings to your shoulder blades.

He can feel you clenching down on him, knows your close, and he brings his metal hand around to reach down where your bodies meet in the thrusts, and rubs the small, tight circles over your swollen bud. Just another moment, and you let out a sob as another orgasm rolls over you, pulling him over the edge with you as your walls constrict around him. He grunts and holds you down, rocking your hips together back and forth as he shoots his hot sperm inside your womb.

You’re both breathless as he lays back, pulling you down to rest on his chest.

As your pulses return to normal, you place your hand over his heart, humming in contentment. But then you frown, noting that the skin you were so used to running hotter than anyone else because he’s got that super soldier serum running through his veins is still cooler than it’s supposed to be.

“What is it?” he asks, sensing your mood shift.

“Maybe we should call Dr. Banner and ask him to run a physical.”

He doesn’t answer, but you can feel the hesitance.

“I’m worried is all, Buck. You’re cold, and you’re never cold, and then the lack of healing with your wounds, I think something strange is going on.”

“Something strange is going on,” he admits, “but no Banner, not yet.”

You shake your head and push away, sitting up to look at him, “Why not?”

He earnestly sits up and cups your cheek for a moment, eyes seeking understanding in yours. “I can’t do it – no, I won’t do it again. I just got to a place in my life where I finally felt almost normal, and I don’t want to return to being be the oddity to everyone while I’m putting things back together.”

“What about Steve? He knows you better than anyone.”

He shakes his head. “Not even Steve. I’m not my old self yet, and Steve has seen me broken too many times, I can’t do that to him again. Maybe in a few days.”

You sigh.

“I know you’re worried,” he continues, “but please don’t. I still can’t tell you what happened, but I knew I had to get home, but it took me so long to remember how and to remember why. Someone said promise and I remembered I’d made you a promise. When I got here and you opened the door, when you put your hand on my arm and then I felt your wedding ring, another piece – quite a few pieces actually, it’s one of the reasons I couldn’t stop last night. Every touch put more pieces back into place. I’ll figure this out, but I can’t do this to Steve again.”

You chew the inside of your lip. “He’d want to know.”

“That punk doesn’t get to have everything he wants all the time.”

The comment draws a smile to your face again. Bucky rests his forehead against yours.

“I’m getting more clear pieces all the time; I just don’t know how they all fit together yet.”

“Okay.”

“Besides, you’re wrong about one thing.”

You pull away again, searching his eyes.

Now he is the one with a small smile on his face. “Steve doesn’t know me better than anyone. You do.”

Another kiss.

You melt. You understand. You trust him. You agree. 

Unfortunately, you don’t know what you don’t know. Neither does Bucky.

You spend the rest of the day wrapped up again in each other, the night as well.

Sunday passes much as Saturday had – eating, talking, more sex than you had on the honeymoon. He’s seemingly insatiable, and you’re no less desperate, but also no match for his stamina.

Monday he lets you work, but only just. He convinces you to set up shop in the living room, where he promises to behave, he just wants to be near you, and your heart can’t deny him. He is always near you, almost constantly touching you in some way whether it’s one of you leaning against the other on the couch, holding your feet in his lap, sitting at the table and your knees touching. He lets you read manuscripts, but not for long before exacting more than proximity or the innocent touches from your body. You’re so intoxicated in his return you can’t think of denying him. Even during the night, you sleep more than he does (you always have), and as you drift in and out of consciousness, it’s to the feeling of his hands or his lips on your skin, waxing again between innocent and carnal.

Each morning you feel more and more drained, but you don’t notice the marks until it’s too late.

Tuesday so many of your bones and muscles ache that you draw yourself a hot bath, unable to sleep and waking earlier than you had planned. The sex has been desperate and rough and frequent, and so the bruises on your body seemed natural.

When you step out of the tub, you happen to look over your shoulder in the mirror and see there are a couple of bruises that had bloomed on your back that were much darker than any you’ve had before. You just frown, finish drying off, and get dressed. Part of you longs to go back to bed and back to sleep, but you want to check in and see if you can’t get a few hours of work done. You do call off for the afternoon, and Bucky joins you for an afternoon nap.

You awaken with a gasp. It’s dark outside and Bucky has you on your back, planted between your thighs, his cock thrusting into you the action that woke you up. You clutch at his shoulders, letting him carry you away in the pursuit of more pleasure. He pulls you later into the kitchen to eat, but you’re still so tired that Bucky insists on returning you right back to bed after. You drift off, but not before he’s exacted another orgasm from your body, with his lips on your clit.  

The next morning, you look at the bruises on your back again. They’re still just as black, but now two of them look like they’re starting to open up like wounds. Your stomach floods with dread, and you call for Bucky, trying to keep the edge of panic out of your voice.

When he enters the bathroom, in the mirror you see there’s something that flashes in his eyes when his eyes first take in the planes of your back, but you can’t tell what it is, and it’s gone too quickly. You want to ask, but you’re also too afraid to know what it could be.  

“I…” he starts, then swallows almost imperceptibly. “I was thinking I would go to the store. I’ll get something from the pharmacy for that, but I think we should get you back to bed.”

You’re so bone tired you don’t protest, and even your worry is swept away by your exhaustion. He tucks you in, and you’re already beginning to fall asleep again.

Another long rest seems to help, and you’re able to pull yourself out of bed and into the kitchen. The clock reads that it’s early afternoon, but Bucky is still out. You warm up some soup, toast some bread, and curl up on the couch with your modest meal. You switch the television on and stream some of your favorite reality show; it’s engaging enough to pull your mind a little from worrying about Bucky’s extended absence.

There’s a soft plop, and Alpine has suddenly appeared on the other end of the couch. You extend your right hand out, and she stalks over, nuzzles her head against your hand, and climbs right into your lap as if she hasn’t been absent for days.

You chuckle. “Where were you, you little minx?” It wasn’t uncommon for her to come and go on her own adventures in and out of the home, but she rarely left for so long. “Bucky’s been back since Friday night, and you’ve missed him completely!”

She settles down and purrs as you start petting her, seemingly oblivious to your inquiry and revelation. You turn your attention – as best you can – back to the screen.

Bucky was only supposed to be going to the store, two stores at best, but many episodes later, he’s still not back, and you can’t even contact him because you realize you two haven’t even got him sorted out with a new phone since he’s come back from the dead.

It's dark when you finally hear a key in the lock, and you’re fully alert again, turning to watch him enter, disturbing Alpine asleep in your lap, and she jumps down and darts away.

“Bucky!”

His back to you, he methodically closes and locks the door. When he turns back around, the look on his face makes your heart skip a beat. His eyes are wary. His whole demeanor is tense with dread. He moves slowly toward you.

Adrenaline floods your veins, relieved that he’s back, but worried at his state. “Where were you?” you ask, noting he has returned empty handed. “You were gone for so long.”

He sits down next to you on the couch, positioning himself to face you, never taking his eyes off of you.

“James, talk to me. You’ve got me scared to death.”

He opens his mouth at that, then closes it again. You move closer and take one of his hands in both of yours, pulling it into your lap. “Dying moves lower and lower on the list of bad things that could happen.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m already dead.”

The blood rushes in your ears, and your heart stops.

“I don’t want you to be afraid.”

A bitter laugh falls from your lips, jumpstarting your breathing again. “A bit late with you talking like that. What happened? Where did you go? Why are you saying this?”

“I told you the other day that pieces were coming back.”

“Right, go on.”

“The marks on your back, they reminded me of a very old piece I didn’t even know was there.”

You nod slowly.

“When I was just a boy, my grandmother’s older sister, my mom’s aunt – so my great Aunt Ida, she came from Sweden to live with family here in the States after her husband died. They didn’t have any children of their own, and my grandmother had written to her and convinced her to come live with her in Brooklyn, because she’d have all of us around.”

Bucky rolls his left shoulder, something you’d noted he would do when he got uncomfortably nervous. You don’t push him, but just wait. He rubs his left hand up and down his leg, then continues.

“Aunt Ida liked to tell stories and read books – got me into books, actually. When my sister was around, she’d tell harmless stories, fairytales and stuff, but a couple of times when it was just me, I’d ask if she knew any scary stories, and she played along, teasing me, get me going. The last time, she told me this old folktale I’d never heard of before or since. She told me about there were souls who were killed but refused to die, souls who were either so tormented in life or who had tormented others so much that they could never be laid to rest.

“She got lost in the tale and before she realized what she was saying, she joked that her husband never wanted to leave Sweden, for years he knew my gran had wanted her to come to America, and she said she was surprised he hadn’t already risen from his grave and followed her to New York. She said it was only a matter of time before he tracked her down. My gran overheard that from the doorway though and screamed and scolded Aunt Ida for suggesting such a thing.

“A couple of weeks later Aunt Ida got pretty ill, I saw her only once more before she died, and she had the same kind of black bruise on her arm that I saw on your back today. Only once did I see my gran draw the two together – I wasn’t supposed to be close by, but I was down the hall when the doctor made a final house call to look over Ida, and my mom had to pull her out of the room. She was hysterical, saying it was this creature I’d never heard the name of before, that it was Ida’s husband, come to pull her away, but I couldn’t remember the name she used.

“But when I saw your bruises, and the way they were opening up like hers, I remembered everything about Aunt Ida and that story. I went to the library. I wasn’t sure where to start, except I figured folklore always starts with roots of truth somewhere in its distant past, so I pulled books on Swedish and Nordic folktales and got to reading.  

“Then I found it. They’re called gengångare, and I know I am one.”

“No!” You had let him go on for some time, fascinated and horrified, not even sure what you would’ve interjected previously, but this you couldn’t believe or agree with.

“I must be. No, don’t cry,” he says, bringing his vibranium fingers up to gently brush away the tears spilling over onto your cheeks. “It explains everything: you said I died, and I’ve remembered a lot about my life before the incident, but almost nothing after, only scattered pieces that are so much slower to come and foggier than my actual life. It explains why my body isn’t the same as it was – I ignored every time you said my skin was colder, didn’t want to think my body wasn’t healing, but I’m not feeling any pain with those injuries either. I’ve been so desperate to touch you, to please you, because the heat and the physical sensations – especially the pleasure – I can feel something of that.”

He pauses, his expression changing slightly before he continues. “It explains why loose ends from my past have turned up dead in these past weeks.”

You have to move away from him, have to think. This is too much.

You stand abruptly from the couch and start pacing, but you only manage to take a step or two before you sway and have to steady yourself with a hand on the mantle so you don’t fall. Bucky is at your side in an instant. He’s calling your name, but you feel so lightheaded, and it sounds like he’s miles away instead of right next to you, holding your arm.

You blink and try to shake your head to clear it.

The cool vibranium of his hand is suddenly on your face, pressing against your forehead, then your cheek, your neck, and your cheek again. “You’re burning up,” he mutters.

You remember his enhanced hand can register temperatures.

He scoops you up bridal style into his arms and takes you to the bed you share for the last time.

“The gengångare went after souls,” he continues to explain, “trying to pinch and pull at their life, whether to steal them away into death or try to just pull some life back into their own souls, they couldn’t seem to control their draw fully one way or the other.”

Bucky seats you on the edge of the bed, and you remain quiet. Truly, what could you say?

He plants a kiss on your forehead. You don’t fight him when he reaches for the hem of your shirt to pull it up and over your head. He turns your body so he can examine your back again, and his breath hitches. When you turn back and meet his eyes again, your heart sinks because his are full of resignation.

“I should have known it was too good for us to be happy. Taken from you after our honeymoon, brought back in a cursed state, doomed to lose you.”

“What now?

He lifts his own shirt up over his head and lets it drop to the floor.

“You’ll be consumed by what loves you. Ruined.”

He steps out of his boots, unbuckles his belt, and unfastens his jeans, sliding them to the floor.

Another tear slips slowly down your cheek, and he falls to his knees in front of you, fingers brushing the tears away. Then his fingers continue trailing down your neck and ghosting over the lace trim of your bra over the swell of your breast, making you shiver, terror and yet desire for him surging through your veins.

“You’re still so beautiful here at the end,” he whispers, his other hand smoothing up your leg.

Not knowing what else to do, your hands reach out and cup his face, drawing him to your lips. He kisses you so deliberately.

Bucky releases the clasp of your bra, you shrug it off your shoulders, and he pulls it away, tossed onto the floor in the heap with the rest. He pushes you back further on the bed and lays you down gently. The places you know those horrific bruise wounds should be feel numb against the sheets. He draws your panties down, discarding them as well.

Worshipping you as he has so many times, he hovers over your body, kissing your neck, your heaving chest, your breasts, while the skilled fingers of the assassin delve into your folds, drawing the wetness from the heat there, touching you in the way he knows your body craves. His fingers slip into you while his thumb rubs over your clit. He finds the tender spot within your pussy so easily, and you moan and whimper, one hand clutching his shoulder, the other tangling into the sheets.

You can only manage a short scream with your release, and though he was slow in the first stages, now he’s feral, wasting no time kneeling between your thighs and plunging his cock into you. It jerks you, but he pays no attention. He’s chasing with abandon now, both hands gripping your hips as he thrusts in earnest, bottoming out with tremendous force each time. The fullness, the force, it’s so much pain and pleasure with each stroke that you sob, clinging to him as another orgasm washes over you. His face is buried in your neck, and he cries out, his own climax coming soon after as your walls contract around his full cock. He pumps you full of his seed, moving until he’s empty, everything and every emotion poured from him into you.

He drops onto you, his energy fully spent. Once he’s recovered enough, he moves off of you, rolling to the side, and pulling you with him, chest to chest, face to face. His vibranium arm holds you close, and his other hand gently pushes some of your hair out of your face.

You look at him for a moment, but you can feel you’re slipping out of consciousness. So tired.

“Don’t be afraid. Dying is much easier than living.”

His blue eyes, darker than you’ve ever seen them before, are the last thing you see.

He whispers quietly to you in the dark as you fade away. He wouldn’t let Steve see him like this. He’d pulled you away from life, he wouldn’t do it to another now that he knew. He would return to Russia, so fitting to go to where so much else went wrong for him, and vanish in Siberia, waste away where he would never be a danger ever again.

Then after a while, he falls silent, wanting to hear the rest of your heartbeats while they last.

Then finally, he murmurs his goodbye.

“Sleep well, my love.”

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

Writer commentary available here as part of the 2023 Dark Forest Fest

More detailed author notes...

First, LONGEST ONE-SHOT I'VE EVER WRITTEN (I've got some very old HP fandom days under my belt from many years ago, just not attached to this tumblr account). Just kidding. I lost my masterlist, and so I'm going back through my fics and saw that Into Dust actually almost hit 9k.

Second, Into Dust was only a slightly dark fic, but this was a. dark. plot. I was stoked to write something for spooky season, and when I got the line part of the prompt, it wasn't exactly what I was expecting, so I... knew I wanted to go into some uncharted territory. This year I've been turning toward discovering my own ancestral heritage instead of just "being American." My ancestry DNA test reports that I'm a RIDICULOUS AMOUNT of Swedish - like almost half my ancestry. I've had an affinity for Sweden for ages - have friends who moved there, have been able to visit once myself and completely fell in love, half the stuff I own is from Ikea, etc, etc.

So with this, I was initially thinking, what's a folktale or fairytale or halloween thing that I could use that's not totally overdone... but then I thought, wait, I'm trying to learn more about my Swedish heritage anyway, so why not see if there are some creepy awesome SWEDISH folklore elements I could research and explore. I googled "Swedish folklore monsters" and started combing through different top 10/top 5/top 15/top 20 lists, and this Gengångare came up across most of them, and the concept intrigued me. I think I stayed true to about 90% of what my deeper digging led me to. Anyway... if anyone is more interested, let me know/send me an ask/whatever and I can share more of what I found and catalogued away.

[bucklikethedollar]

idk how to say this without sounding really boomer-ey, but like, what happened to horror content for kids? maybe i’m using the word “horror” a little liberally but i remember when i was a kid there was SO much out there that existed solely for the purpose of scaring kids in a safe, fun, age-appropriate way. just off the top of my head there’s goosebumps, scary stories to tell in the dark, tales from the crypt (little before my time though), coraline, mirror mask, monster house, dark crystal (more incidentally scary but w/e), even courage the cowardly dog; all these really fantastic books and shows and movies that let kids explore being scared on their own terms.

now there’s idk, those new addams family movies? but those aren’t really scary.

i see people talking about the “kid-ification” of horror games and i can’t help but wonder if part of the reason kids latch onto that stuff so much now is because there’s nowhere else for them to experience healthy, safe fear. a little kid wants to get the thrill of being scared, but their parents won’t let them watch any actual horror movies, so they go on youtube and what do you know, there’s markiplier playing another cheap horror game set in a toy store or whatever, and now that kid’s fear quota is being met. (obviously there’s more to it than that, but it’s a theory i have)

this like, doesn’t really matter probably but idk, i feel bad that ~kids these days~ aren’t getting the experience of something scary made specifically for them with their genuine enjoyment in mind, rather than whatever the next fnaf ripoff is that just wants to sell them merch. being a kid and watching a well-made scary movie feels like you’re finally being taken seriously; you’re not being babied or coddled, you’re being trusted to face the skeksis and the other mother and the nebbercracker house and not back down. i wish people were still making media that respected kids that much.

[purple-babygirl]

in the far corner of the forest I

Pairings: Orc!Bucky Barnes x f!human!reader Word Count: 3,867 Summary: For the longest time, the kingdom has used Bucky as their number one fighter, forcing him to win their wars for them. The only thing he asked for in return after he was done was that they give him a wife, and they did. They handed him the orphan he picked on a silver platter; it wasn't like anyone would miss her. It would've been perfect if she actually wanted to be there though. Warnings: drugging, sort of kidnapping, crying, a lil dirty talk, nudity, unwanted intimate touching, forced/arranged marriage. 18+ content. A/N: I thought I'd start small and see what you guys think first before posting longer chapters. Please let me know your thoughts if you can and please enjoy xx💜💜

~

“Don’t be dead already, dammit.” She heard a low voice mutter as she regained her consciousness bit by bit.

Her body felt so weak, her mind so fuzzy. Her head felt heavy as she turned it to the side with a groan, slowly opening her eyes.

The room she was in looked warm and kind of homely. It was a large room that looked like it was both a living room and a bedroom, only illuminated by the light coming from the fireplace and a couple of storm lanterns hung around.

“Ah, finally awake! How ya feelin’?” The rough voice asked her, now sounding louder.

She’s never sat up faster than she did when she saw the strange man standing at the end of the large bed. 

Her vision went black for a second and her head hurt, but she fought to open her eyes, deeming it unsafe to close them with a strange man around.

Wait, was he even a man? Shit! Was that a metal arm on him?! He appeared to be wearing dog tags.

Has she been kidnapped? Arrested? But what for? She didn’t step into forbidden territory, did she?

“Are you—?”

“A real orc? Yeah.” He smirked confidently.

“And your arm…” she started, sitting herself up straighter as she cradled her head.

He only chuckled, feeding more wood to the fire warming them up.

“Is—is that—”

His smirk widened, “a real metal arm?”

She nodded.

The orc nodded back mockingly and her head was back to spinning.

She was alone, in an unfamiliar place, with a massive snow orc, who had a metal left arm.

It seemed surreal. She felt high; like she was dreaming or making everything she was seeing up in her head. Her mind must be doing an Alice-in-Wonderland bit on her.

“I need to go,” she whispered, more to herself than the stranger, trying to get her feet on the ground but the soldier tutted at her and she froze.

“Not gon’ happen.” He walked closer, watching her cute, little face twist in confusion and fear.

“What?” she asked dumbly, her voice small and shaky.

“You’re not leaving.” He stood before her, huge arms crossed.

“Please, I- I didn’t mean to trespass. I swear. I barely even leave the orph—”

“What are you talking about?” He raised an eyebrow, his large hand getting closer to try and touch her forehead to see if the sleeping potion gave her a temperature.

She immediately flinched, dodging his touch as she started panicking inside. She took a couple of steps back as she tried to rearrange her thoughts, but she couldn’t.

“I— how did I get here?” she asked, her voice sounding way more scared than she had wanted.

“You’re my bride,” the orc informed her with another smile, tusks glinting, and if she wasn’t so terrified she might’ve thought that was a happy smile.

The previous events rushed back to her mind as she remembered her encounter with the orphanage manager just days ago. So the woman did end up giving her to the soldier as promised. She didn’t protect her from that terrible fate.

The woman who had raised her just so easily put her to sleep and let some savage stranger collect her as his trophy wife even after she'd begged her not to.

“Who did you think an orphan like you was gonna marry? A prince? This is not a fairytale kingdom! I’m doing you a favour.” She remembered the woman’s demeaning comment and how she mocked her in front of the rest of the girls.

“No, no.” She shook her head, tears pearling in her frightened eyes, “there must have been a mistake.”

“Oh, little human, quit whimpering. There’s been no mistake; you’re my mate.” His big thumb swiped across her chin. “I have you now and I’m never gonna let you go,” he told her with longing she didn’t understand.

His words made the dam collapse as she burst into tears, loud sobs tearing through her chest as she hunched over and cried.

This couldn’t be her fate. She knew she wasn’t the prettiest or the slimmest of girls out there, but she didn’t deserve this. She didn’t deserve to end up as a reward for some metal-armed monster. She was a good girl, she’s always been good. She deserved better.

Why did it have to be her that they offered? Why did it have to be anyone? Everyone knew what he was and who he was and they still handed her over like she meant nothing.

“Shush now, enough crying. I don’t like the sight of puffy eyes. Come on, you’re ruining our wedding night,” the orc said, his expression bored as he started to take his heavy sweater off.

She wished she hadn’t looked up at him.

He was big. Huge. What wedding night was he talking about? Was he trying to destroy her? End her?

“What are you doing?” She trembled as the words left her.

He raised a suggestive eyebrow and she chocked on a sob.

“No, no, please.” She shook her head again, crying harder.

“Stop. Crying,” he warned, grinding his teeth and she stopped her wailing at once, swallowing the lump stuck in her throat.

“Much better. Now get yourself out of these clothes,” the orc demanded, his fingers hooking themselves under the hem of her oversized, handed down pullover.

“Please don’t do this.” Her heart was hammering in her chest, her eyes frantically searching for an exit.

“You have one minute to be standing bare in front of me or I’m gonna have you find out what I do to those who make me repeat myself,” he seethed, his eyes hard as they pinned her in place.

“I— I’ve never…” she muttered, her face growing hotter as she fiddled her fingers, “please, I can’t.”

“Oh, you’ve never been fucked, little human?” He teased her, his smile bordering on a smug smirk.

She winced at his vulgar language but nodded, “I’ve never been with a man, in any way.”

Tears were back to her cheeks again at her humiliating confession. She knew it was her last hope and if he didn’t have mercy on her because of that then nothing was going to stop what he was about to do to her.

“Never?” He asked again, circling around her just to see her tremble under his starved gaze.

“Never,” she whispered, feeling as uncomfortable as never before.

“That’s okay. I’ll teach you all the tricks,” the orc chuckled, playing with her hair and she could all but sob again, "I'm only half orc after all".

Was that supposed to be comforting?!

It just made her sob harder.

“What did I say about crying?”

“Please let me go.” She begged, body shaking with her sobs.

“No.”

“W—Why not? I’ll give you all I have if you let me out of here. Anything you want. Please.” She cried and pled although she knew she had nothing to give him.

“I have all I want right here.” He leaned forward to smell her hair, his huge arm squeezing her side almost gently.

If she wasn’t so terrified of what was to come next she would’ve seen the way he was looking at her like she was the most precious thing he has ever seen in his miserable life. Like she was an actual trophy that only he was lucky enough to win.

“Please—”

“40 seconds, little human,” he warned, his face scary and showing nothing but impatience and anger.

There was no way out of this, was there? The door was too far and even if she managed to get out, he would easily catch her and who knows what he’d do to her then. At least he’s asking ‘nicely’ for now. Nice enough for a rough snow orc with a metal arm.

Her hands couldn’t stop shaking as she grabbed her pullover and just stood there fiddling.

“Could— could you look the other way, please?” she pleaded, her eyes too ashamed to meet his.

The orc huffed before giving her his back and allowing her these few seconds of privacy.

He thought it was ridiculous though because he was going to turn around and see her anyway, but decided he’d try and be understanding just because it was her first night with him.

“You’re not wearing that many clothes,” he complained after a minute and she whimpered behind him.

He took it as his cue to turn around and when he did she was as naked as the day she was born, holding the large sweater to her chest, trying to cover up.

“Let me see you now, come on,” the orc cooed, licking his lips at the sight of what was exposed of her before slowly pulling the item of clothing out of her death grip.

She stood there shivering from both cold and fear, shyness gnawing at her insides as the brute’s eyes skimmed down every nude inch of her.

Hell, she was beautiful. Goddesses had nothing on his bride.

“Now why would you hide such beauty from me, hmm?” He bit his lip, taking her hand in his larger one, “come here.”

She choked on another whimper as he forced her closer to his body. She could feel the heat radiating off of his chest and it made her shiver more.

The orc’s rough palms massaged her arms before settling on her bare hips, holding her close to him.

“The name’s Bucky, just so you know what to scream,” he whispered in her ear, softly kissing the spot behind her earlobe.

He felt her tense in his hold and tried to ignore the way it made him feel.

“Please,” she tried one more time but swallowed the rest of her words when Bucky’s face showed irritation.

“I’m sure I can make you cry and beg just fine, little human. Stop wasting both outside of bed,” he told her, his voice firm and authoritative, making her wipe her tears away at once.

“Speaking of the bed, go lay down for me, will you, sweet thing?”

His soft tone scared her more than his harsh one and she didn’t know what was real. It still felt like a nightmare that she would wake up from any moment.

Every muscle in her body was taut, tense with anxiety. Her face burned with disgrace from being exposed like this for the first time in her life and not willingly either.

This wasn’t how her first time was supposed to be. She shouldn’t be forced into it, let alone with an enormous half orc who had no feelings for her and neither she for him.

She desperately wanted to cry it out, but squeezed her eyes shut before she could so Bucky wouldn’t scold her again.

He climbed on top of her, caging her legs between his as his muscly arms framed her head, supporting himself up.

It might’ve been her mind trying to calm her down, but she didn’t think she saw Bucky looking at her with lust. She was expecting to see nothing in his eyes but hunger, like a ravenous beast would look at a piece of meat, but instead she could see… admiration?

Bucky wanted to kiss her but thought against it and pressed his lips to her cheek instead, letting them travel down to her jaw so he could reach her neck.

“Please go easy on me,” she whispered her plea when she felt Bucky’s ‘thing’ poke around her naked thighs.

He was big. So big.

Even if she had had sex before this night, she knew no man could have been enough preparation for the size she was making him out to be.

Bucky didn’t reply, letting his lips kiss and suck on her neck and when he pressed them to her pulse point, he felt like shit about himself.

Her heart was beating like crazy, pounding so hard it must’ve hurt inside her chest.

She didn’t want it at all. She was clearly scared and if her heart was hammering like that he could only feel bad for making her do this.

Bucky pulled away to look at her, her eyes were shut tight, her body trembling still and her fists closed up by her sides as she desperately tried to regulate her breathing.

He let his hand touch her tummy and she quivered but didn’t try to move away. He kissed between her breasts and she whimpered in fear, quickly biting her lip after.

Bucky took a deep breath before gliding his hand up her leg, watching as she her teeth almost drew blood from her lower lip as she bit down hard to prevent herself from crying, panting through her nose.

When he reached her inner thighs she was digging her fingernails in her palms so hard she was sure she’d hurt herself.

Bucky tried to be gentle as he slowly slipped a thick finger up further to touch the cut of her.

She whimpered again but Bucky didn’t stop, dipping the tip of his finger in just a little bit to feel her. He could see her trying so hard not to close her legs as her thighs shook and she started nearly gasping, her eyes still tightly closed.

Bucky swiped his finger between her lips and she was dry as a desert.

She wasn’t wet for him at all. She wasn’t anything but petrified. Nothing about her told him that she wanted this.

Bucky took his hand away and sat back, letting out a sigh as he ran his big hand through his hair.

He didn’t care what the humans of the kingdom thought about him, he knew he wasn’t actually a monster. He thought he could do it even if she didn’t want it, but he couldn’t. He thought it was enough if he wanted and knew how to do it, but it wasn’t.

He knew he didn’t need love to make babies, nor did he need her agreement. But Bucky just couldn’t hurt her, not like that.

He could get her wet enough with his tongue, but he couldn’t find it in himself to force her into this, not on their first night and not in a million years.

He couldn’t set her up for a war she would lose with her own body when her heart and mind wanted nothing to do with him. He knew how big he was; he knew it would be torture for her if she didn’t want it.

Bucky hated that she looked so scared of him. He didn’t want to scare her further. Maybe at first he'd found it amusing, but for some reason that wasn’t the case anymore.

The way she was hiccupping and trembling under him was anything but a turn on.

He couldn’t go through with this.

“Get dressed,” Bucky said as he got up from the bed, pulling his own pants up his thick thighs, ignoring his hard cock.

“W-what?” She opened her eyes, her eyelashes wet with unshed tears as she stared at him blankly.

Was she imagining this?

“Now, before I change my mind.” He really didn’t like repeating himself.

“O-okay! Thank you.” She hated that he made her stutter so much.

Bucky gave her his back, putting his own sweater back on and she got up quickly, nearly stumbling off the bed as she reached for her underwear and slipped it on. Her pullover was next and when her head was through, she noticed Bucky standing by the door, watching her.

She went to grab her shoes but Bucky’s chuckle stopped her.

“What are you doing?” he asked, making her unsure again.

“Getting my shoes?”

“I can see you. Why?”

“So— uh.. so you could take me back?”

“Take you back where exactly?” He folded his arms again and she felt nervous as she swallowed, coming to learn that this was probably not a good sign.

“To the orphanage? I mean, you’re letting me go, right?” She sounded so hopeful, he hated it.

“No.” His definitive answer shattered her hopes.

“What? Why not?” She started to tear up again and Bucky found himself turning his eyes away from her distressed ones.

“You’re my wife, that’s why.”

“But it isn’t supposed to be me! Marry someone else!” She screamed, tears streaming down her face.

“But it’s you I have here. I don’t want anyone else. You’re my mate now.”

Mate? What was he talking about?! They didn’t know each other! And she wasn’t an animal!

“But you’re not mine!”

“I will never let you go and that’s the end of it.” Bucky’s growl shut her right up.

She stared at him in horror and maybe even contempt, but Bucky didn’t care.

“But you said get dressed,” she cried out her disappointment because she really thought he had had mercy on her and was letting her go, but it seemed like he only decided to postpone her torture instead.

“Don’t try to leave because I’ll find you anyway and if I don’t, well, you’d probably be eaten,” he told her, ignoring her comment before grabbing his axe and a lamp.

“Where are you going?” She wiped her nose with the back of her hand.

She might hate him but that didn’t mean she wanted him to leave her alone in the middle of nowhere.

“Gonna go get some more wood to get us through the night. There’s food and water in the kitchen.” She nodded and he opened the door and stepped out.

“B-Bucky?” It was the first time she said his name since the night started and the orc had no idea his name could sound so sweet.

“Hmm?”

“Thank you anyway,” she said, her hushed tone grateful yet laced with sadness.

Bucky only nodded before shutting the door behind him, locking it from the outside.

~

Bucky found himself slamming his axe down on the wood more vigorously than usual. He had a lot inside of him and it had to be released. He couldn’t stop thinking about the way she cried and bit back sobs at his touch.

What’s happened to him? Bucky loved nothing more than scaring these pretentious humans of the kingdom! He found incomparable joy in the way they would cower down before his intense gaze whenever he would growl or flex his left arm. He had no problem talking them down, taunting them or even threatening them. So why on earth was it so difficult for him to continue to be like that to her?!

Why did he care so much all of sudden?! Why was it so hard for him to continue to be hard on her?! She seemed like someone who would follow orders just fine. Why didn’t he give her some?

Bucky picked her because she caught his eye. Because he deserved her. He deserved a bride and a family after all that he’d lost while fighting the kingdom’s people’s fights for them. It was the least they could gift him in return. A woman, a new life.

Another growl left Bucky’s chest as he slammed his axe down again.

He couldn’t go back to the cottage with a hard cock. He only had so much control. He needed to get it all out now.

This was going to be hard.

~

She continued to cry after Bucky was gone. She wasn’t really thankful he didn’t rape her when he could have, she just didn’t want to fall under his wrath had she tried to argue further.

She was always so scared, of everyone and everything. Always bending to the storm and never fighting back. And look where that had gotten her…. A cast out orc’s wife.

Was that really how her fate was drawn? Was that what was meant for her after so many lonely years in the orphanage?

Her thoughts were cut off by the sound of the key turning followed by the cottage’s door being kicked.

She swallowed the rest of her whimpers as she watched Bucky’s arms enter first, a bunch of cut wood in them.

He was so strong. She was sure he could crush her skull with his bare hands if he wanted to. The thought alone sent yet another shiver down her spine.

Bucky kicked the door closed before walking to the fireplace and setting the wood pieces beside it. He put some inside to keep the fire alive before getting up and looking at her with a look she couldn’t pin down.

“Have you been sitting here the whole time?” Bucky asked her upon noticing how she was curled up on the floor next to the bed, her face streaked with dried tears and her nose and lips swollen.

“Y-yes.” Her voice was hoarse from the constant sobbing.

“You didn’t eat anything?”

She shook her head and Bucky sighed loudly.

He walked to the kitchen and she could hear a fridge being opened. Then a match was lit and something metal sat down on the stove.

A few minutes later Bucky was coming out of his kitchen with a large glass of warm milk. He looked at her as he put the glass on the table.

“I put honey in there to help soothe your throat.”

“I- I don’t want to. Thank y—”

“Come here and drink your milk.” One glare and she was scrambling to the only seat on the table before the steaming glass.

“Don’t leave one single drop in there,” he told her before walking to the wooden closet in the corner.

Bucky got himself something clean and comfy to wear as well as a towel.

“I’m gonna go clean up,” he informed her in case she needed to go to the bathroom but she only nodded so he went on his way.

She watched the door to the bathroom shut and let out the breath she was holding before standing up.

Walking around the room, she found a stack of papers on the smaller table by the window. One was their marriage certificate that she hasn’t even gotten the choice whether or not to sign. She thought about throwing it in the fire, but it would likely cause her more problems than she would want to handle at the moment. Under it was what looked like a contract that they made this orc sign. Her chest tightened and tears pricked her eyes again.

It wasn’t enough that they gave her to a stranger, but they’d handed her out to an exiled orc, signing contracts to close their deal of selling her. What had she done to anyone to ever deserve this?

The room was suddenly too quiet when she looked around again. The milk before her looked tempting and she was hungry, but the door looked better and she was entrapped.

She slowly walked closer as she could hear water running inside the bathroom and when she twisted the handle, the door opened. Just like that. Bucky had forgotten to lock it and now was her chance.

The thunder cracked outside once more as if in warning, but she didn’t pay it any mind. It was now or never.

Part II

~

Tag List:

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[snowzapped]

Sometimes we all just need a smiling Bucky in our lives.

commission info / patreon / ao3 / Buy Me a Coffee ☕

[gaysindistress]

Allies or Enemies - masterlist

disclaimer: credits to original creator/poster of image/gif. found on google/Pinterest

Pairings: dragonborn!Bucky barnes x f!reader Summary: The reality of her cruel world is more evident than ever before when her stepfather sends her to her death under the guise of diplomacy. Y/n, the expendable daughter of a scared king, must find a way to secure her own protection among the Dragonborn and she will do that by whatever means necessary. Status: in progress Warnings: this is a monster au so there will be elements that not everyone is going to like/be comfortable with. Please read the warnings for each chapter and take care of yourself. If I miss any, please let me know and I will gladly add them.

Main masterlist | Bucky masterlist

The post that inspired it all

One

[the-iceni-bitch]

𝔑𝔞𝔱𝔞𝔩𝔦𝔢'𝔰 𝔎𝔦𝔫𝔨𝔱𝔬𝔟𝔢𝔯 𝔬𝔣 𝔐𝔬𝔫𝔰𝔱𝔯𝔬𝔲𝔰 𝔐𝔞𝔶𝔥𝔢𝔪

𝙿𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚟𝚎𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚊 𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚑 𝚏𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚠𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚊𝚕𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚍𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚜, 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚟𝚒𝚌𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚏𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚜𝚑 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚛𝚢𝚙𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚖𝚊𝚢 𝚏𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚢.

🥀𝙳𝚊𝚢 𝟷 - 𝙳𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚗 𝙰𝚛𝚒 𝙻𝚎𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚘𝚗 𝚡 𝚏𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚕𝚎!𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚌𝚑 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛: 𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚝𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝, 𝚐𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚑𝚢, 𝚜𝚝𝚢𝚐𝚒𝚘𝚙𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚊

🌑𝙳𝚊𝚢 𝟸 - 𝚆𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚠𝚘𝚕𝚏 𝙲𝚞𝚛𝚝𝚒𝚜 𝙴𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝 𝚡 𝚏𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚕𝚎!𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛: 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐

🍷𝙳𝚊𝚢 𝟹 - 𝙲𝚊𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚊 𝙱𝚛𝚞𝚗𝚗𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚍𝚎 𝚡 𝚏𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚕𝚎!𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛: 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚔𝚞𝚜𝚑𝚞 𝚐𝚘𝚞𝚔𝚊𝚗, 𝚠𝚊𝚔𝚊𝚖𝚎𝚣𝚊𝚔𝚎

🗡️𝙳𝚊𝚢 𝟺 - 𝙽𝚢𝚖𝚙𝚑 𝚆𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚊 𝙼𝚊𝚡𝚒𝚖𝚘𝚏𝚏 𝚡 𝚐𝚘𝚍𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚜!𝚏𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚕𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛: 𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚛𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚢, 𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚊𝚐𝚗𝚒𝚊

🪓𝙳𝚊𝚢 𝟻 - 𝙼𝚎𝚛𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚃𝚑𝚘𝚛 𝙾𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚘𝚗 𝚡 𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚜𝚜!𝚏𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚕𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛: 𝚊𝚕𝚋𝚞𝚝𝚘𝚙𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚊

🔪𝙳𝚊𝚢 𝟼 - 𝙼𝚒𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚊𝚞𝚛 𝙱𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚢 𝙱𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚜 𝚡 𝚌𝚑𝚞𝚋𝚋𝚢!𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚕𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛: 𝚊𝚕𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚘𝚕𝚊𝚐𝚗𝚒𝚊, 𝚊𝚗𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚙𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚊

🩸𝙳𝚊𝚢 𝟽 - 𝙵𝚊𝚎 𝚁𝚊𝚗𝚜𝚘𝚖 𝙳𝚛𝚢𝚜𝚍𝚊𝚕𝚎 𝚡 𝚌𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚎!𝚏𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚕𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛: 𝚙𝚎𝚝 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢, 𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚊𝚞𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚖, 𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚐𝚎𝚕𝚘𝚙𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚊

⚰️𝙳𝚊𝚢 𝟾 - 𝙶𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚕𝚎𝚜 𝙱𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚠𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚡 𝚏𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚕𝚎!𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛: 𝚊𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚡𝚘𝚙𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚊, 𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚐𝚘𝚖𝚞𝚕𝚌𝚒𝚊

🪓𝙳𝚊𝚢 𝟿 - 𝚂𝚑𝚒𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚂𝚝𝚎𝚟𝚎 𝙺𝚎𝚖𝚙 𝚡 𝚏𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚕𝚎!𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛: 𝚜𝚌𝚕𝚎𝚛𝚘𝚙𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚊, 𝚡𝚎𝚗𝚘𝚕𝚊𝚐𝚗𝚒𝚊

🌚𝙳𝚊𝚢 𝟷𝟶 - 𝙾𝚛𝚌 𝙰𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚆𝚊𝚕𝚔𝚎𝚛 𝚡 𝚏𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚕𝚎!𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛: 𝚊𝚐𝚘𝚗𝚘𝚙𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚊, 𝚊𝚕𝚐𝚘𝚕𝚊𝚐𝚗𝚒𝚊

🥀𝙳𝚊𝚢 𝟷𝟷 - 𝙳𝚛𝚊𝚐𝚘𝚗 𝙻𝚘𝚔𝚒 𝙻𝚊𝚞𝚏𝚎𝚢𝚜𝚘𝚗 𝚡 𝚖𝚊𝚕𝚎!𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛: 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚘𝚙𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚊

🌑𝙳𝚊𝚢 𝟷𝟸 - 𝙺𝚒𝚝𝚜𝚞𝚗𝚎 𝙽𝚊𝚝𝚊𝚜𝚑𝚊 𝚁𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚏𝚏 𝚡 𝚏𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚕𝚎!𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛: 𝚊𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚙𝚜𝚒𝚜, 𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚋𝚊𝚔𝚞

🩸𝙳𝚊𝚢 𝟷𝟹 - 𝙶𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚘𝚗 𝚈𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚊 𝙱𝚎𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚊 𝚡 𝚏𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚕𝚎!𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛: 𝚊𝚌𝚑𝚕𝚞𝚘𝚙𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚊

🗡️𝙳𝚊𝚢 𝟷𝟺 - 𝚈𝚎𝚝𝚒 𝚂𝚝𝚎𝚟𝚎 𝚁𝚘𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚡 𝚖𝚊𝚕𝚎!𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛: 𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚊𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚘𝚙𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚊, 𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚖𝚊𝚙𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚊

🍷𝙳𝚊𝚢 𝟷𝟻 - 𝚂𝚊𝚝𝚢𝚛 𝙹𝚘𝚑𝚗𝚗𝚢 𝚂𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚖 𝚡 𝚖𝚊𝚎𝚗𝚊𝚍!𝚏𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚕𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛: 𝚑𝚎𝚍𝚘𝚗𝚘𝚙𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚊, 𝚘𝚎𝚗𝚘𝚜𝚞𝚐𝚒𝚊

[mrs-barnes-rogers-writes]

Mrs Barnes-Rogers Writes Masterlist

A Second Chance Is A Better Chance

Marvel AU

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader; Alpha Steve Rogers x Omega reader; Alpha Steve Rogers x Omega Witch reader; eventual Alpha Steve Rogers x Omega witch reader x ?

Summary: Rejected by your true mate at 21, you’ve given up on the Fates and the Moon Goddesses giving you a second chance. Being a Roamer for the last 9 years, you’re an Omega hardened by the world. You’re safe on your own because of your witchcraft, but it doesn’t stop Alphas and plenty of others sniffing around, especially when you’re an unmated Omega witch, who’s wolf also happens to be white, the rarest kind. You don’t need anyone, but why do you keep coming back to Brookville and why do you keep walking into trouble and helping people that you don’t know but for some strange reason feel like family. And where is that smell of apple pie coming from?

The Fate Of A Fae

Marvel AU

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader x Steve Rogers

Summary: Natasha Romanoff is a meddling, pain in the ass Sprite, who you wrongly thought would leave you alone once you introduced her to your best friend, Darcy. News flash, she doesn’t and she won’t. Not when she thinks you’re a perfect match for two of her best friends. Could she be right? Maybe. Just don’t tell her that.

“Never tell Natasha Romanoff she was right” - Clint Barton

Sometimes Your Soul Family Is The Only Family You Need

Marvel AU

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader x Steve Rogers

Summary: 18 months ago you were a mess but with the help of your close friends you start to rebuild your life. Your soul friendships maybe chaotic but they're your family, just as you're theirs. With one of them about to have a baby, you and your misfit friends are here to visit. But will you stay? And what will the small town think of you having two soulmates and why do you keep finding yourself in the same place as a bunch of hot bikers.

"Sometimes families are assholes, sometimes your soul connections mean far more than family ever can. Sometimes your soul family is the only family you need." - Nurse Maggie

Pretty As A Picture

Marvel

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader x Bucky Barnes

Summary: When Bucky fell from the train, their soulmate was told he was gone. When Steve Rogers disappeared into the ice, their soulmate was again told one her soulmates were gone. But she didn't believe it. Couldn't believe it. Committed to a mental health institute, she dies of a broken heart. That's at least what the hidden S.H.I.E.LD files say, but if that's the case than why is there a photo of her. A photo that shows her side by side two redhaired Avengers.

The Pull Of You

Marvel

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader x Bucky Barnes

Summary: You meet Steve and Bucky on a Tuesday. Steve ignores the soulmate pull, Bucky can't. There's something about you that neither can shake, even when you're wearing one of Clint's tshirts and your unicorn slippers. After weeks of slipping into your bed Bucky decides he can't hold back anymore. He's telling you after the mission, whether Steve is all in or not. When you don't come back from the mission, they are both ready to burn the world down and the team have the matches to help. But is everything as it seems and have they been betrayed by someone on the inside.

[antiquitea]

time it took us to where the water was, that’s what the water gave me. and time goes quicker, between the two of us, but oh, my love, don't forsake me — take what the water gave me. ─── "𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐠𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐞" 𝐛𝐲 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 + 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞

john egan is a cecaelia (half man, half octopus) and gale cleven is the human who loves him.

— a collaboration w/ @wildbornsiren

[femmehysteria]

I'm doing a series of "Best Character Named X" polls where all the characters have the same first name but are from completely different media, feel free to send in name/charcacter suggestions, I'm posting one poll a day, check my pinned post for active polls

[imyourbratzdoll]

𝒔𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅𝒏'𝒕 𝒅𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒅𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒕𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝒂 𝒎𝒂𝒏 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒎𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓, 𝒔𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒅𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒅 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒉𝒆𝒓

🦇halloween masterlist - monsterverse masterlist🦇

warning - smut, slight manipulation, dacryphilia, knife/blade kink, oral, creampie, sort of loss of virginity?, nipple play, slut used.

18+ only please, the gif and headers I use aren't mine.

Warnings and Reminders - Please do not plagiarise, copy, repost/republish, adapt, or translate any of my work on any social media platforms, apps, or third-party sites. The only platforms I post my work on are: Tumblr and Wattpad. I do not own any character of any franchise (Marvel etc.) All my works are fiction and may be dark or triggering content: READ ALL WARNINGS BEFORE PROCEEDING.

The sound of thunder could be heard from within the walls, a mad scientist leant over his crafting table as he peered down at his latest creation. His monster lurked within the shadows, watching with curiosity as his creator informed him of her. Edward would finally get someone like him, someone to call his own, but he felt his stomach twist as he watched Bucky, something deep inside was telling him he wouldn’t be getting her all to himself.

Bucky moved swiftly, reaching over to his machine as he worked fast. Needing to connect it to you in time of the lightning or else it wouldn’t work. As lightning cracked throughout the night sky, Bucky pressed something against your chest, bringing you to life. You shoot up, eyes wide as your chest heaves rapidly. Your gaze darts around until it lands on the man standing in front of you, his hair wild, eyes crazed, and a shimmer catches your attention causing it to fall to his arm. Something inhuman rests there, making you feel as though he is one of you, whatever you are.

Movement from the corner of your eye catches your attention and you move toward it, landing on another man. His hair darker and wilder, face scarred and what are thought to be fingers that accompany his hand are instead scissors. The sharpness of them causes you to feel a tingle between your legs, something unfamiliar, for you are new to this world. Your mouth opens and closes as you feel you want to say something, but no clue on how. The crazed man beside you jumps, causing you to follow. 

“It worked! My god, finally!” Your brows furrow, wondering what he means. His eyes connect with yours and you feel a flutter in your stomach, the feeling foreign, but so is everything else. “Welcome to the land of the living, doll.” His smile does something to you, making you feel as though you owe your life to him, but a grunt interrupts those thoughts. 

Edward lurks forward, eyes wide and innocent looking, but something darker hides between. “Mine.” His grunt brings back those strange feelings between your thighs, causing you to squeeze them together. He looks toward his creator, repeating. “Mine!” No hint of a question can be heard. 

Bucky rolls his eyes, ignoring his monster and eyeing you. He did in fact create you for Edward but seeing you now. So beautiful, so unknowing. It did something to him, could he really give you up? You were his creation after all. His silver arm moves forward to brush against your soft skin but is brutally slapped away by another. 

“No touch. Mine.” You were confused, but also something else. You couldn’t put your finger on it, but seeing two men openly make it known they want you, did something to your insides. 

“H–h–el–lo...?” You try and speak, your words come out broken. Your brows furrow and head tilts wondering if you had said that correctly, two sets of eyes watching you. You try again, “he–l–lo?” It felt like you were improving, and with the smile that was making it’s way onto the crazed mans face, you decided to try it one more time. “Hello...?” 

Bucky jumps again, clapping. “Brilliant! Just brilliant, doll! You sure learned a lot faster than Edward here.” He cackles, throwing his head back. Edward? So that was the scarred man’s name, your eyes fell onto him as you thought, and you noticed his cheeks turning a sickly pink colour. Was that normal? Bucky returns to somewhat normal for a crazy scientist and looks back down at you. “Right, where are my manners? I’m Bucky Frankenstein, I am the one that created you and Edward here.” He leans forward and there’s a weird thumping in your chest. “What would you like to be named, doll?” 

You think, not really knowing any name, but one does appear in your mind as if it’s an echo, a sign. Your mouth opens again, and you softly reply. “Y/n… My name.” Bucky beams and Edward nods with approval.

“Beautiful name for a beautiful woman.” He winks, ignoring the glare from the other. Bucky holds his arm out, helping you off the table. “Come, I.” A throat clears. “We shall show you around and once you get comfortable, you can decide which of us you would rather.” It seemed quite mean, for him to make you choose when you didn’t even know yourself yet. They showed you around before leading you to your room and leaving you to get comfortable, for they would want answers later. 

A week had passed since Bucky had brought you to life, you had learnt more by going down to the library or listening to the stories he would tell. Your speech was improving, and you felt happier but there was one thing you were dreading and that was deciding between the two men. You couldn’t choose, they both had different things you loved, Bucky with his knowledge and Edward with his affection. You knew you were created for Edward, and that should’ve made your decision easier. But something in your gut was pulling you toward Bucky, knowing that even if you did choose Edward, he wouldn’t let you go. 

The dreaded day had come, you had walked into the library, wearing a new dress Edward had gotten you. (More like stolen, but the gesture was sweet.) You halted in your tracks as you noticed Bucky and Edward standing there, a wild look in the formers eyes and a soft in the latter's. “Hello...” 

“My dear doll. The day has come, do you have an answer for us?” Your palms felt sweaty, and your heart pounded in your chest, you had learnt these were nerves. You look between them, your mouth opening and closing, your chest feeling tighter and tighter as it becomes hard to breathe.

“Is okay.” Edward grunts, nodding. “Pick him.” He begins to step away and finally it was no longer hard to breathe, instead you felt sadness erupt throughout you and tears brimming your eyes. This is why you didn’t want to choose, you wanted them both, but they never made that an option, so you pushed it away. 

“I–I can’t… I don’t want to decide!” As dramatic as ever, you run after declaring that and as if it were a Disney film, you ran into your room and drastically flopped onto your bed, burying your face into your pillow. 

Bucky shakes his head, gesturing to Edward to follow as they make their way to your room. To be honest, he was never going to make you pick one. He was insane, he wanted to mess with everyone and everything. Bucky wanted to drive you to your breaking point, so you had no choice to agree to sharing, he had planned everything to a T. As he and Edward entered your room and your cries filled their ears, he felt his cock twitch. Ah, that wonderful feeling that he hadn’t felt for so long until you came along. A feeling you gave him every time you entered the room, spoke, even existed. The amount of times he wanted to bend you over the library table and pound his thick cock into you was driving him even more insane. 

“Doll, it’s okay.” He shoved those thoughts aside as he and Edward sat beside you on the bed. “You don’t have to decide, we’ll do it for you if you allow us.” His hand rests on your upper thigh, so close to the spot you all wanted to be touched/touch. Your head lifted from the soft pillow, looking up at him with tear-filled eyes. Unknowingly causing their cocks to harden and twitch. “Will you let us share you, doll?” You nod, not being able to speak with how overwhelmed you feel. 

Edward’s hand slowly moves up your body, the feel of his blades and the coldness they bring cause you to clench around nothing. It’s as though he knows how you feel about them because he begins to taunt you, dragging them even slower, pressing the tips into you soft enough to not break skin. “Mine… Ours.” He corrects himself, smiling gently down at you as you whimper beneath them. With quick movement, the dress splits from the middle and falls delicately to the sides, exposing your bare breasts to them. “Beautiful…” 

Bucky groans, ruining the soft moment between you two as he roughly reaches over and fondles your soft flesh. His fingers brush against your nipples, flicking and rubbing them until you are a whimpering mess beneath him. Your mind is cloudy as he touches you, pleasure exploding throughout your body. “Such a perfect creation. My pretty doll.” Bucky groans, leaning down and taking a nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it before sucking, causing your back to arch. 

Edward moves softly, pressing and running his blades all over your body as he watches your reactions. His eyes latched onto your glistening cunt, feeling his pants tighten as your juices begin to leak from your pretty hole. With slow and gentle movements, he brings his hand down to between your legs, experimenting as he presses the flat side of his blade against your puffy clit, enjoying the soft mewls that fall from your lips. Your hands fly out and clutch Bucky, tightening your grip as they continue to bring you pleasure. 

Bucky pulls away, leaving a string of saliva to follow as his eyes move down your body and glares at Edward’s hand. “Switch.” Without a fight, Edward slowly moves away with a pout until his gaze locks onto your juices that cover his finger replacements. You watch as he brings them to his mouth, eyes locked with yours as he licks it clean. You let out a soft moan, your hooded eyes watch as they move, switching places. “Good. You got her all ready for me.” Bucky speaks with a groan. You let out a gasp as Bucky rubs your swollen clit, making you wetter if that was even possible. 

Your hands lift as you decide to help Edward with his pants, needing to feel him in your mouth, taste him. See if he is as sweet as he seems. You move swiftly, moaning when you finally free his hardened cock. Your mouth falls open and you quickly latch onto his leaking tip, not wasting anytime as you begin to suck. Edward’s head falls back, whimpers escaping him, never having experienced this kind of pleasure before, Edward didn’t know what to do except dig his blades into the mattress. Your mouth so skilful as if Bucky himself made it that way. 

Bucky watches with heated eyes as you suck the soul out of his monster. His hands fall to his pants and immediately takes himself out, groaning as he wraps his hand around his thick, throbbing member, giving it a squeeze before slowly beginning to stroke it. “You’re doing so good, doll. A natural slut. One made for us.” He growls before laughing as he realises you were literally made for them, lining his swollen tip up against your sopping entrance, he groans as he slowly pushes in. Your walls squeeze him tightly, pulsating around him as he begins to thrust in and out. 

You moan around Edward, eyes crossing as Bucky fucks hard and fast into you. Your cheeks suck in, sucking him harder and swirling your tongue around his leaking tip. Your head bobs up and down, Bucky pounds into you. His hands grip your hips, balls slapping against your arse. Edward whines, his hips begin to jerk, thrusting his cock deeper into your mouth and hitting your throat as he feels his orgasm approaching. 

“G–gonna… So close!” He moans, squeezing his eyes shut as spurts of cum shoot out of him. You moan softly, swallowing his cum and finally finding out that he was sweet both inside out and out. He slips out of you and sags into your bed, watching you with a happy look in his eyes. 

Your moans are loud, bouncing off the walls as Bucky pulls you closer to him. His cock slides in and out of you roughly, a ring of white coating his base which each movement. Fingers gripping your flesh so hard, it’ll leave bruises in the morning. Your hands grip the sheets, fingers and toes curling as your back arches from the bed and your juices squirt out of you, covering your creator. Bucky groans, leaning over your body as he thrusts a few more times before releasing thick spurts of cum deep into you, coating your walls with white. 

He leans back, peering down at you and pushes your hair out of your face. “Such a good doll for us.” The smile he gives is almost wicked, suited for a crazed man. Edward curls toward the two of you, carefully placing his arm around you as you all begin to drift off into a blissful sleep. 

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[buckets-and-trees]

"You are nothing but a toy for me to fuck, little lamb. Now open your mouth for me, or I will break your jaw opening it myself."

👀👀👀

Well... as you know, this escalated quickly.

Title: Sacrificial Fandom: MCU Characters/Pairings: Minotaur!Bucky x Botanist!Female!Reader Word Count: 3.5k

Summary: If it seems too good to be true, it always is. Always. Too bad you had to go to the remote jungles of South America to learn that lesson.

Content/Concept Warnings: DARK, lulled into a trap, human sacrifice, dubious consent/fuck or die, public sex/exhibitionism, size kink, monster fucking, face fucking/oral male receiving, vaginal fingering/fisting, breast worship, rough fucking, possessive/pet, praise kink, dirty talk, cum play, marking, cream pie, choking

Additional Notes: Thoty time with @rookthorne... she's only responsible for enabling me when my monster thirst reared its head. Wicked entry for @buckybarnesevents WEEK ONE of Hot Bucky Summer: "What Should I Wear?" and my third square of @buckybarnesbingo K1 "Fuck or Die."

When you told your friends, family, and former colleagues about the research grant and fellowship you had been awarded in the weeks leading up to your departure that it was too perfect, clearly somewhere deep in your bones you had known.

Eighty thousand dollars a year for three years, travel covered, visa approved, fully furnished accommodations provided, and a book deal for the discoveries and research studying flora in a largely undocumented and remote part of the jungle on another continent.

No scientist got a deal like that.

The only downside was the isolation of the location. They had electricity and running water, but you would only be able to go into town for internet every few weeks.

But the part of you that had grown up watching Indiana Jones, Jurassic Park, LOST, and the deep space missions of Star Trek who had far too many plants in your apartment and in your tiny office at the university had beat back that downside. It was only three years, and after living through the strange isolation of the pandemic, you knew you could manage this where you wouldn’t be isolated from people, just for short stints from your old life.

And though you had good pieces and good people in your life, you were desperate to get away from the suffocating societal expectations you felt like you weren’t living up to while so many others around you were – marriage, kids, white picket fences, career accomplishments, tenured professorships, promotions, raises, overnight influencers, travel vloggers.

This was something no one you knew had ever done.

Everyone raved about the adventure ahead of you.

Everyone had been impressed.

You had conquered in the accomplishments department with this for the year, no question. Your older sister with her third child on the way and your younger brother and his Premiere League football contract could wallow in your shadow.

This was a golden opportunity for a research botanist still in the early years of their career.

Kneeling on the ground in the middle of the jungle with your hands folded in your lap, head bowed, surrounded by a village of people who all should have known better than to follow ancient superstitions, with a dozen or more guns trained on you in nothing more than lingerie, you were living a nightmare.

All of it had been a baited trap.

No one would even question you falling off the grid before it was too late, and even if they did, these villagers could say one day you never came back from the jungle.

And it would be true.

One afternoon and evening, a good dinner, a sleep you’d yearned for thinking it was the jet lag, and then you’d awoken screaming as the first strip of wax had been ripped from your skin to discover you were naked with a half dozen people attending to all aspects of your grooming, preparing you to be their human sacrifice for the beast that lived in the jungle.

You were past the crying and pleading.

The no WIFI had been a lie, too.

Everyone in this small village looked and acted like they lived in the present day except for this one thing.

The belief that if they did not provide the beast his human sacrifice that they would not survive his terror.

“Then why don’t you just leave?” you had implored.

“This is our home, our loved ones are here, our ancestors are part of this place, and,” their leader and the head of the research foundation paused – almost faltered before continuing to explain, “the sacrifice of one stranger will guarantee us safety for many, many years.”

Everyone else had been instructed not to speak or listen to you from that point on in the preparations.

Nails trimmed, buffed, shined. Luxurious oil that smelled delicate and heavenly rubbed over every inch of your skin from the neck down. Hair partially braided to stay out of your face with the rest left natural. Color applied to your lips. They didn’t bother with eye makeup. No jewelry.

You had been wrapped up in a linen garment that was not quite a robe but not quite a coat to be transported to the ruins of an old stone dais in the thick of the jungle but deprived of it and then pushed onto the sacrificial area, left only in the sapphire silk of a bra and panties delicately lined with lace.

After hours being poked, prodded, and prepared by strangers in a strange land in a state of dread and disbelief, you thought you were numb.

You had endured too much to think you were hallucinating, but that you now all waited illuminated by literal torches with fire made this seem almost like a season of Survivor gone horribly wrong.

But then you heard the hushed wave of whispers at the rustle and rumble of something approaching through the thick vegetation of the jungle and adrenaline shot through your veins. It didn’t inspire fight or flight. You were frozen, fixated on the beast that would finally appear and seal your fate any moment now.

It made no attempt at arriving quietly, and when it finally appeared, there were collective gasps and cries from the people gathered to watch the sacrifice, though no sound fell from your lips.

The reaction was more than warranted, and a whisper of a thought flashed through your head that you were surprised no one had screamed. Maybe they were too terrified to scream, worried they would draw the beast’s attention. You wanted to scream, but your chest was gripped in fear.

The thick, furry legs of a bull, down to the cloven hooves, and a girthy tail with a tuft of dark hair at the end, swishing slightly as he walked. There was a loincloth tied at his waist that – rather than providing modesty – inspired anyone whose gaze lingered there to imagine the bulge nudging conspicuously beneath. Not that anyone’s gaze would linger there for long, for the rest of him was altogether imposing. Only the tallest of the villagers might hope to measure up to the base of his sternum – the sternum that anchored the torso of a man with shoulders more than twice the width of a human. Skin golden from the sun stretched over muscles that burst and rippled over his chest and shoulders, extending down his arms. You could see a litany of angry scars littered up and down his left arm.

Great bull’s horns rose and curled out of his head, possibly longer than your own arms. He had a mane of long, glossy but mostly unruly brown hair, with a couple of braids, that fell past his shoulders. Though the rest of his physique inspired fear, the true terror was perhaps the face of this man beast – it was terrifyingly handsome. Strong jaw, stubbled beard, a crease between his brows, and piercing blue eyes. His expression was drawn into an ominous grin.

He was in no rush as he walked into the ring of the villagers.

“Weapons down,” he growled.

There was almost no hesitation – their purpose had been to keep you in place anyway. Though the fear in the air was palpable, the tone of it seemed to be turning to some sort of reverent fear now for everyone else.

What inspired this unquestioned obedience from an entire people? People you’d seen with smart phones as abundantly among them as any other place on earth, though you’d been advised to shut yours down and leave it behind since it would be of next to no use to you in the jungle. They were right – but had left out the true reason and made it even more believable for you to seem only cut off to those back home, not lost and gone forever.

His enormous legs took the step easily up onto the dais, and his eyes were now fixed only on you. He stopped at the foot of the altar where you were presented for him.

“Well done,” this was meant for the people and their leader.

Then he reached out and the fingers of his large hands traced the strap over your left shoulder, then along your jaw, tilting your chin to look straight up at him. “And your choice is set?”

“My – my choice?” your voice cracked, but you felt it was a miracle you even found it.

Your confusion must have been evident, as his eyes flashed with anger and her rounded on the man who had facilitated all of this. “You did not tell her anything, did you?”

“I thought it best if –“

“It is not your job to think. The thoughtlessness of your people is why we’re here at all,” he snarled. Then he turned back to you.

“No time for stories now. I’m a minotaur called Bucky; a lost soldier cursed long ago to this state. Suffice it to say II must be satiated or the village will be subjected to bloodshed and desolation in the face of my wrath. They’ve chosen you, but you can choose your fate: fuck or die. I’ll take your throat, or I’ll cut it and drink your blood in front of everyone.”

Your chest heaved in trepidation. “How is that a choice?”

“Is it not clear to you?”

“Have others chosen death?”

He nodded. “Or they refused to choose.”

You opened your mouth then closed it again.

“Do you wish to die?”

You thought your tears were spent, but you could feel them welling in your eyes. “No.”

“Then claim your choice.”

You took a shaky breath.

“Say it!” he barked.

You flinched, but managed to spit out, “Fuck.”

“Perfect. Open up.”

“In front of everyone?” your voice was barely above a whisper.

He nodded. “They will remember and mark this sacrifice. It will be the reason they continue to breathe.”

You spread your knees a part so you were still kneeling and sitting back on your heels but his to take like this.

“That’s nice but not what I meant.” He tugged his loincloth and dropped it to the ground. You whimpered, afraid of the enormous size of his cock and ashamed at the lick of heat that flared in your core at the sight of him. He leaned down closer, put a hand at the back of your neck, and slapped the side of your face with his rigid length. “You are nothing but a toy for me to fuck, little lamb. Now open your mouth for me, or I will break your jaw opening it myself.”

This drew a handful of muted gasps from the onlookers. You saw a spark of something new in his eyes at this reaction.

He was pleased at their reaction.

You dropped your mouth open for him, nervous knowing you could not take all of him, embarrassed to be on such display in front of these strangers, but wanting to please him.

Wait, you thought, wanting to please him?

He shoved his cock into your wet mouth, shoving any other thoughts immediately out.

“Suck.”

You did.

“Just like that,” he said. The hand on your neck moved up to cradle and command the back of your head. He slowly began to fuck your mouth but with only a small motion, encouraging you to continue sucking just that first bit of cock as it was in your mouth. He still was in no rush. It felt like a power play – not wanting to show impatience or lack of restraint in the onset of this sacrificial claiming.

As he continued to speak now, his voice was low, intended for you. “Get ready for more.”

You looked up at him and tried to nod your head ever so slightly. He smirked, then he brought his other hand up under your jaw and to your throat, wanting to feel himself using you. He groaned and briefly closed his eyes. His tip hit the back of your mouth, and you spluttered. He pulled out slightly, giving you half a moment to recover, then forced the point again, holding himself there while you adjusted. He opened his eyes again, locking back onto yours, and a thrill of terror shot through you again. That was only the preliminary.

Now he would truly begin.

That look was all you got. Keeping the one hand at your throat, the provided the anchor to begin truly fucking your throat, not in a rush, but he picked up the pace. You placed your hands on his thighs to steady yourself. Your muscles initially gagged in protest, but he persisted, stroking your throat with his fingers as well, coaxing you to relax. Tears spilled down your cheeks. You concentrated on breathing through your nose and the steady gaze he kept trained on you. Soon you were taking more of him than you thought you could. He quickened his thrusts into your mouth. Your fingers stretched into the fur on his hips, mewling as he continued to use your mouth.

A few short grunts with the last thrusts were the only hint before he came, shooting his hot spend in your mouth with an unrestrained howl that shook the crowd to their core. There was no way for you to swallow everything, but, if anything, seeing his cum spilling down your chin made him grin.

Then he raised his head to address the villagers. “Remember that you gave this human to me. I will do with her as I please, and you will never see her again. Hope that you never see me again in your lifetime,” his voice carried, his power unquestioned in the clearing. “If you are lucky, the children you left home today will not see me in their lifetimes either. All of you go now. What happens next is not for your eyes.”

They followed his instructions without hesitation, all of them eager to be gone from this cursed place and their collective and ignored shame.

They left the torches – no desire for a souvenir.

And now you were alone with him, the light of the flames flickering over every inch of your exposed skin – which was almost all your skin, the lingerie only for show.

With the hand that was still anchored at the back of your head, he roughly angled you up sharply to look directly up at him, and tipping his own head forward he loomed in all his height above you, a truly searing heat in this look. “I meant what I said: you are mine, and I will never allow those vile villagers to see you again. You’re mine to do with as I please.”

He stooped down to claim your mouth in a kiss. His large thumb brushed the remaining spend from your chin and then moved down your throat to brush it over your collar bone, rubbing it in. He pushed his tongue between your lips, and you opened your mouth for him again. His tongue was too big for your mouth, too, but the more he subjected your body to the largeness of his being, the more you seemed to seep into him. He used his tongue to wrap around and tangle with yours, stroking it with his, now and then slipping it further down your throat, teasing, choking, mimicking the actions of his cock not long before.

When you were truly gasping, he chuckled darkly and pulled away, you leaned forward, lips chasing his, and then you shook your head, trying to restore some logic.

Failing.

Bucky easily tore away your bra with his brute strength. “Lay back for me, lamb.”

You shifted, legs aching from resting on them in that kneeling position for far too long. He noted the care you took in moving your limbs and rubbed the muscles up and down a few times. Then he pulled your hips to the end of the alter, flush against his cock, which was already semi-hard again. You hummed as he pushed against your still-clothed core.

His hands moved from your thighs up your sides, stoking the desire surging through your body, moving up your waist, thumbs brushing up against the underswell of your breasts, then flicking over the nipples, bringing them to little peaks before diving down to lave one of them with his tongue and suck, rolling, twisting, and pinching the other with his hand. Then he moved his mouth, and as he latched on to the other nipple, his hands worked the lace and silk panties off your hips and down your legs before tossing them away. He rutted up against you again, slow but persistent pressure against your core again, but now with no barrier he felt your arousal slicking up your entrance. When you began working your hips against him, seeking more friction, fisting your hands into his hair, he moved a hand between your legs, stroking over your labia and pushing one of his fingers right into your cunt, making you keen immediately from the force and fullness.

“Going to ruin you, lamb, but don’t want to hurt you.” He was brutal, but only because he was a monster by nature, not because he was heartless. “Gotta work your tiny pussy open so you can take me like you were meant to.”

As before, he was patient, making up for the impatience mounting inside you as he worked his fingers into you, circling, questing, stretching, twisting. When he pushed three fingers in he could tell it was a lot, but he knew he needed you to easily receive four if he was going to get to fuck you on his cock the way he wanted. All through it, he was relentless in overwhelming you in other ways, continuing to worship your breasts, but also murmuring praises against your skin, and threatening and promising filthy things that you couldn’t even respond to.

When you were thoroughly primed, aching for him, a mess with tears and begging for him, he finally realigned his hips between your legs, forcing your thighs wide to accommodate him. He bumped the head of his cock against your throbbing clit a couple of times, making your whimper repeatedly. You were lost as you lay splayed out above him, eyes tightly shut, hands reaching for him, desperately pleading his name over and over. He bent down to you again, relishing the feel of your breasts brushing against his chest for one more moment before sinking his cock into your cunt with a brutal thrust, pushing clear to the hilt, making you scream. It was wicked, and he knew it, but also knew how much he had worked up your body and your mind, and he was rewarded as you arched beneath him, and wrapped your arms around his neck, adjusted your hips, and then rocked against him, clearly seeking more.

Holding you at the precipice of pleasure for so long meant you crashed into your first orgasm very quickly as he pushed his cock in and out of your, “tight heat, little lamb, taking me so well,” he cooed. You buried your face in the crook of his neck, shuddering as he fucked your through it, groaning at the feel of your walls around him. “No one else will ever have this cunt now,” he vowed. “You’re mine.”

“Mine,” you echoed without thinking, not knowing it was exactly how he wanted his pet to feel about him. He pushed you over the edge into another orgasm and then spilled his hot seed inside you not long after. You were beyond spent, at that point, and less than a minute after he scooped you up, tucking your legs around his waist, you dropped out of consciousness, and went totally limp. He kissed the top of your head, then shifted you to sling you over his shoulder for the trek to his lair – your home. He’d secure you there, then go back to the get the wooden crate of the belongings you had shipped ahead of you and the bag you had traveled with – both were supposed to be deposited and waiting in a cave, the final part of his negotiations for acquiring his new human from that village and their foolish leader. Humans were delicate creatures with peculiar needs, after all, and he was determined to keep you content and fucked out until you were devoted to staying with him until the end of your days.

But the last hour had exceeded even his own expectations. He suspected he wouldn’t have to try very hard to keep his little lamb.

NEXT PART: Do You Remember

"haunting thoughts" on Sacrificial for the Dark Forest Fest

brief insight into what reader's life is like now

physical appearance of Minotaur!Bucky

easy and challenging parts of writing the fic

the writing of the story from concept to completion in one night

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

[mjolnirswriststrap]

Silver Bullet

Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader, Helmut Zemo x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1,670 Masterlist

Summary: The best night of the year, Halloween, turns into a night you just want to forget. PART 1/4.

Warnings: werewolves, cheating, backstabbing best friend, Zemo is a whore, truly.

Red cloaks filled the crowd. This years Halloween parade theme being Dracula. Rob Zombie blared through speakers anchored to lampposts. You and your friends all wore matching costumes, collectively going as the wives of Dracula. It was a good excuse to wear the hottest outfits you could find. Most people paled their skin with white face paint, and molded little pieces of wax to their teeth.

Not you, you wore basically nothing for your costume. Each friend had a different color of fabric, that was loosely draped and cinched around your body. The best way to describe it would be a Greek toga, instead of linen it’s sheer silk, leaving nothing to the imagination. You all wore the same gold collar, a dragon etched on the front; curtesy of the blue bride, Miranda’s, 3D printer.

You didn’t plan on staying, you all agreed to be a part of the parade, once that was over, you were all headed to Zemo’s annual Halloween masquerade. You don’t think he particularly liked having hundreds of people flooding his property every year. But having the biggest house in town was a blessing and a curse. He hosted most festivities for your rather large population of teens and young adults.

You had a fascination with the bachelor. He inherited the mansion, land and money from his grandfather, skipping over his father completely. His family was prominent in the community, both of his parents having a chair at city hall. They volunteered at the food bank and donated to every shelter. Any sane person would think they deserved the money in a way. So why Zemo?

You made it to the party late, everyone leaving the house for the back yard. Zemo had the trees lighted and a dance floor built, always prepared for a celebration. Your friends ditched you as soon as you all got drinks, saying they were going to find their boyfriends. Leaving you to explore the surrounding woods alone.

You nearly drop your red solo cup when you see Zemo pressing Miranda against a tree, practically swallowing each others faces. Tears of betrayal sting your cheeks. She knew you had a crush on him, and she has a boyfriend anyways. You stalk away in anger, losing the trail but not caring. You found a tree far enough from the party that no one would hear your sobs.

You downed the cup filled halfway with vodka, a drop of orange juice for flavor. It dried your tears quickly, leaving your whole body warm. “Stupid.” You say, standing up and brushing the leaves off your dress. “Stupid for liking Zemo.”. You agreed whole heartedly with that. “Stupid for thinking Miranda was my friend.” That’s what hurt the most.

In the midst of your self hate you failed to notice a looming figure. “You’re not stupid.” You jolt, throwing the plastic cup in the direction of the stranger. “Sorry, you scared me.” You giggle, when you see it’s just a guy from the party wearing a phantom of the opera mask.

“It’s okay.” He reaches down and picks up the liter. “Gotta keep our forests clean.” He waves the red in the air. You give him a dry laugh. Men are scary and being alone in the woods with a stranger was causing every alarm in your brain to siren. But the vodka numbed your sense of fear.

“I should get going.” You say, turning and trying to step around the tree. Before you could, the stranger steps closer. “Should you?” He says deeply. He’s close enough now that you can see his piercing blue eyes behind the mask. They render you speechless, the way the moonlight shone off them, put you in a trance. You shake your head, too focused to verbally answer him.

“See, you’re not so stupid after all.” He teases. You have no reaction. His words didn’t fill you with pride or embarrassment. Your veins filled with the distinct warmth of feeling safe. You don’t know where it came from, your body was irrationally reacting to him. You should be shaking with fear and trying to get back to the party, not calmly standing here waiting for something to happen.

It felt like you were locked inside a body that wasn’t yours. It was being controlled by some outside force. You let him reach for you, never flinching away. Your body produced goosebumps where his fingertips grazed your skin. “You’re so beautiful. I’d hate to ruin that.” You nod your head, not even thinking of a single way he could ruin your beauty. Your mind was blank, you couldn’t even say thank you.

“Promise me you won’t resist, once it happens.” You knew nothing of what he spoke, but again you feel your neck bow to him, nodding in agreement. The masked man looks up at the moon, reveling in its fullness. “Are you prepared for no return?” You agree with a nod, now you know you were fully possessed by something. His words should send you running, but a small voice in the back of your head says you would never.

He steps closer again, grabbing fistfuls of your gown, cinched at your waist. “You have to say it. Say I have permission.” His voice was desperate and darker than before. You try to find the words but the influence he had on you was slowly fading, the way he started pressing you against the tree brought you back to your senses. He holds your hips in place as he nuzzles his face into your neck, taking a long deep breath.

The stubble on his chin tickled you and you had to remind yourself yet again that this is a masked stranger in the woods. Even though your senses were coming back, the way his hands lit a fire inside of you was enough to make you not care. That fire pooled lower and lower the closer he got to you. He smelled like a mix of musk and pine. You couldn’t tell if it was him or the trees surrounding you. But it made your mouth water, filling you with a want to taste his skin, just to be sure.

He raises his hand to cradle your cheek, “Please.”. He caught your eyes again, boring into them with an assured look. He focuses on your lips “Just say the words.”.

“I give you permission.” You say them without thinking of the consequences. He sealed your fate by closing the gap between your faces. Pressing his lips to yours. You moved your lips in sync with his, using your free will to wrap your arms around his neck. Before it could go any further the man disappeared. You felt him pull away, when your eyes opened to see why, he was already gone. You searched the surrounding woods with your eyes, there was no sign of him.

You grab your head, wondering if you drunkenly hallucinated. The moisture on your mouth and in your underwear was foolproof evidence that it really just happened. But you still began to question its validity.

You hear a twig snap somewhere near you, in hopes that it was the magnetic stranger you followed it, rounding an old fallen tree you spot a black dog. It was rather large in stature, must be a purebred if it’s that big. You knew an expensive dog wouldn’t be wandering the woods collarless. And you couldn’t remember if Zemo ever mentioned having any pets.

You stepped closer, never fearing animals. You loved dogs, you had a few of your own at your parents house. “Here boy.” You kneel down, reaching out your hand. It finally gives you its attention. Immediately showing his sharp canines, snarling loudly. “Oop.” You stand up and slowly back away, knowing the signs of an agitated dog.

When your view of it is blocked by the tree you turn around and sprint away. Not wanting to receive a rabies shot on Halloween night. You see the lighted trees nearing. That’s when you heard it, rhythmic thumbing coming from behind you. When you turn around you let out a scream, the dog is already pouncing on you, knocking you to the ground. You tray to scramble away. You see people’s feet running towards your screams.

The dog latches its mouth onto your leg, when you try to rip it away it only sinks its teeth deeper. You see Zemo come to your aid with a pool cleaner net, swinging it at the dog. “Get away.” He shouts, he ends up cracking the dog on top of his head with the plastic pole. It yelped, causing your leg to fall out of his mouth. He ran for cover, disappearing into the woods. Zemo drops to his knees beside you, shedding his jacket to wrap it around your bleeding leg.

“Are you okay?” Your eyes full with tears, embarrassment was an understatement. You didn’t want to face Zemo or Miranda. You didn’t want to see all the party goers pity filled faces either. You stood up, sucking a breath between your teeth at the pain. You limped past everyone giving eachother confused glances. Ignoring Zemo and Miranda’s fake concern.

You called your dad, sitting on the curb infront of the house. He rushed you to urgent care, spending the rest of the night with you in the waiting room. You were fine in the morning, a shot and a round of antibiotics set you on your way to recovering. You took ibuprofen for the pain. You called off of work for the rest of the week, needing to stay off your feet.

When you returned the next Monday, your boss told you there was a new bus boy. You waited tables all day before you finally saw him. Clocking in and disappearing to wash dishes. He was cute, dark brown hair and light stubble. He didn’t introduce himself to you or Mary, the other waitress, odd. But you had a feeling the little diner would grow on him eventually.

[atlasscrumpit]

I MADE EARRINGS OUT OF EXTRA LEGO'S OR RANDOM MONSTER HIGH KEYS I HAVE

I'm actually gonna wear these all the time

[onbearfeet]

Whump Wheel request for our favorite werewolf!

✨ High fever ✨

but he's ambulatory somehow

"Sit your stupid ass down," Bucky snarled.

Jack shook his head, more slowly than usual. "I'm fine," he insisted, and it would even have been convincing if he'd managed to avoid slurring the second word.

"You are not fine," Elsa snapped from where she was fiddling with what she claimed was a ghoul gate but that Bucky could have sworn was a garden-variety pipe bomb with funny writing on it. "You're running a temperature of forty degrees, according to Barnes' arm sensors." She rolled her eyes. "A hundred and four in idiot units."

"Hey," Bucky warned her, then returned his attention to Jack, who had begun methodically pulling books off the shelves of the Newport mansion in which they'd gotten themselves trapped. "What do you think you're doing?" he demanded, stalking over to where his prey had managed to escape. "Do you wanna cook your brain or something?"

"I dunno, would it help?" Jack's eyes were glassy as he flipped pages without appearing to read. His cheeks and forehead were flushed with fever.

"What kinda stupid question is--hey!" Bucky grabbed Jack by his bicep and spun him in place so the werewolf had no choice but to face him. "Listen to me!"

"'m lissning," Jack slurred, staring at a point in space that seemed to be just off the end of Bucky's nose.

Bucky brought his metal palm up to press against Jack's cheek. Jack leaned into the cool touch with a barely suppressed moan.

"Hey," Bucky said, more gently this time. "You need to rest. You're sick."

"Don' get sick." Jack sounded offended at the very thought.

"He's right," Elsa put in. "Werewolves are immune to just about everything humans can catch." She paused. "Everything other humans can catch," she corrected.

"So what?" Bucky shot back. "Maybe he's got parvo or something!"

"Tha's racist," Jack informed him, swaying on his feet.

Bucky closed his eyes and silently counted to five thousand. Then he reopened then.

"Jack," he said, watching the werewolf's head wobble in response. "You want some water?"

Wobbly nod.

"Yeah, something to drink probably sounds good right about now. But you gotta sit down to drink your water, okay?"

Scowl. Wobble-nod.

"Good man." He gently guided the swaying man over to a chair near the cold fireplace. Jack didn't sit so much as collapse into it like his strings had been cut, but his head didn't hit anything on the way down, which was a win in Bucky's book.

"Try the drinks cabinet," Elsa suggested, still fiddling with her definitely-not-a-pipe-bomb.

Bucky grunted acknowledgment and headed for it. He'd give Jack alcohol if he had to--fluids were fluids, right?--but he wanted to find something low-proof if he could.

Good thing every rich evil bastard he'd ever net had kept the good stuff locked up and left the watered-down shit where guests and tippling servants could find it.

"Are you planning to blow us up with that thing?" he called to Elsa as he rummaged through the cabinet.

"If I can disable the sigils," she replied distractedly, "I can turn it from a ghoul gate into a perfectly ordinary explosive to use on the door."

The bottles were what he expected. Shit bourbon, shit scotch, fake cognac, real vodka... "Do you know how to disable the sigils?" he asked.

"Not as such, no."

Bucky paused, his metal fingers wrapped around a bottle of bitters. "Then should you be fucking with it?"

"Only if we don't want Jack to die."

The bottle shattered in his grip. He thought vaguely that he was going to have to clean the plates in his hand later.

"What?!" he yelped.

"Nobody gets a high fever in ten minutes flat," Elsa snarled. "It's a curse. Probably attached to this bloody gate. Jack knows more about most curses and sigils than I do, Barnes. He's had centuries to learn, and my education was rather more specialized. And now the curse is cooking his brain before he can break it!"

Bucky glanced over at Jack, who was slumped in his chair. "Fuck. I think he passed out."

"Bastards. Time for plan B." Elsa bit the fingertip of her left glove, tugged it off, and spat the glove aside. Then she bit the cuticle on her thumb, hard.

"What are you doing?" Bucky asked, in a higher register than he'd intended.

"Duct tape for curses."

"What?"

"Duct tape fixes everything, right? Most curses break with either blood or true love's kiss. Do you see any true lovers in here?" She squeezed her index finger against the wound in her thumb and began smearing blood across the definitely-a-bomb-now. "Get Jack behind the davenport."

"The what?!"

"The couch, Barnes!"

The oh-shit-that's-just-a-bomb began to beep.

Bucky lunged for Jack, scooped his limp body up, and was up and over the dav--couch, it was a goddamn couch--in seconds.

Elsa landed beside them just as the beeping stopped and the world went white.

[shoshiwrites]

Orange sunsets for Jo & Egan? 💚

Friend, this prompt would not exist without you and your Gale senses, @mercurygray's military vehicle expertise, and @junojelli, because I have never driven stick in my entire life, much less a 1940s jeep. Prompt list here.

Bucky Egan/War correspondent OC, also on Ao3!

Somewhere between writing up her latest story and the blue censor’s slashes that render it half as long, she runs out of typewriter ribbon.

She thought she’d been careful — both in the writing and in the paying close attention to her supplies. Jo — reporter Jo, Your Trusty Correspondent Jo, she figures out her own shit. Doesn’t ask for even so much as a pencil. 

She’d thought it was a good piece, too. 

The things she does have to ask about — meals, jeep rides up to Norwich to report on the bombing runs there, woven through with conversations with the civil defense men, almost all of them veterans of the last war — those are careful things, done in uniform and with something in her voice that approximates flattery. Apologies without apologizing. It’s a relief when a Red Cross girl or two offers to go with her, the way they can talk without minding themselves.

Longhand’ll be fine, for a bit.

It’s warm enough to sit outside, in the grass, in the shadow of a Nissen hut. Overcast, as usual, an early summer day. The air smells like pollen, half like the promise of rain. 

“Hey, I know we’re short a few things up here but I think a chair might not be too big an ask.”

She squints up at him in the brightness from behind the clouds. “Major.”

“Seriously, you need a chair?”

“I’m alright, thank you.” It’s not the mud of spring anymore, at least. “Ground’s nice, on a day like this.”

The look that crosses his face seems to be considering a joke. “Where’s the machine?” He means her typewriter, the Underwood portable. Sitting inside.

She makes a noncommittal wave. 

“I’m sure we could figure you one of those too,” he says, even though they both know full well that hot commodities like typewriters aren’t just growing out in the grass. “Sticky keys? Bad spring? Screw loose? Space bar not doing its job? I mean, I’d still read it, but-”

“Nah, just the ribbon.”

“You need a ribbon?”

God, he’s worse than the boys at the office. She laughs, just a little. “Has anyone ever told you you’d make a great copyboy?”

If he were chewing gum right now, it’d be a lazy clack on his back teeth. “Well, not too different than what they’ve got me doing now, if I’m honest.”

“If you’re honest.”

“Jeep’s right there,” he says, even though it’s not. “I mean-”

She weighs her options. Jeep ride. Typewriter ribbon. Maybe even one for Kay or to squirrel away for later. She wonders about ration books and cigarettes, not that she bothers much with anything besides Luckies these days. Small bars of wartime soap, small, pretty tins of hard candy, boiled sweets, they call them here.

On the other hand. No ride. No ribbon. No sweets. The air’s gotten thicker as she’s been sitting here. It sounds nice — careening through the greenery with the wind on her arms. 

And he’d talk the whole time, she knows he will. 

“What’s your afternoon look like?”

“Wide open.”

She highly suspects it’s not. 

“Just the ribbon,” she says.

“Yes, ma’am.”

She’s glad she’s wearing trousers in the passenger seat, the open vehicle, the way she has to hold on to stay in. He’s used to the thing by now, he says, the way it handles, the good noises, the bad ones, the bite of the clutch. The road to Norwich is a straight line, and long, and he shouts over the wind, “oldest Roman road around! ‘S what I heard, at least.”

“And here we are, driving on it!” 

“Yeah!”

The fields run by, the rows of trees, wagons, the Queen Anne’s lace, cow parsley, clusters of daisies. 

“So, what’re you working on?”

She tells him, out here where it feels like they’re the only ones around, in the middle of the afternoon, even if they’re not. And he knows, of course, exactly what she’s talking about, the major who drinks among locals, the ones who tell stories and the ones who don’t. 

He waits outside while she makes her purchase, and then ducks into another store to buy that tin of candy, slipped into her pocket. A magazine too, a small, short thing printed on rough paper. She ought to get him something, for the favor. A beer or a meal would be the real thing, if this wasn’t just an errand. 

They walk back around the corner to where the jeep is parked, and he makes to toss her the keys. “Spin for the lady?”

She looks at him, unable to hide the confusion on her face. 

Even if they let her have a jeep, she couldn’t drive it.

“Would if I could,” she says. “Though I hate to make you take the wheel all the way back, too.”

“Hey, it’s fine, I like this thing. But seriously, you never-?”

She looks at him, maybe a little too long, trying to figure out who he thinks she is. “City girls don’t get a lot of lessons in motoring.” Like it’s 1922 and she’s got a parasol and a skirt that doesn’t let her move. Steelworkers who drink away good wages don’t usually go for nice cars, either. William’s family had cars, plural. The two of them went for drives sometimes, out to the quieter, greener spots around the city. She always felt like she was going to do something wrong, smudge something that had just been polished or cleaned.

“Why don’t you hop in, I’ll show you.”

She looks at him again. “I’m sure the last thing anyone needs is an accident that puts a major out of commission.” And she’s pretty sure her on a ship home would be a welcome relief for at least as many people as she can count on her hands.

He makes a noise of dismissal, good-humored. Kind of a snort. “You’ll be fine.”

“You can tell that to the MPs.”

“Hey, would I tell you that if I didn’t think it was true?”

No, you wouldn’t.

“If I can park a plane, you can drive a jeep.”

She gets in the driver’s seat.

“So right here’s the steering wheel-”

She’s quick enough to bite it back. You know I got to England all by myself, right?

He sees the look on her face, puts his hand up. “Just covering all the bases, Brandt.”

“Steering wheel, roger.”

“Steering wheel-” he points, “shifter. This thing-” he points to the long handle protruding from the dashboard, “parking brake. Don’t worry about that one yet.”

He reaches an arm over, down to the well where her legs are. “Left is the clutch. That’s important. Right foot’s the brake. Also important. Long pedal’s the gas, you guessed it, important, if you wanna get back to base before chow or there’s someone chasin’ you.”

“Who’s chasing me?”

“I don’t know, somebody.” 

“I’ll think something up.”

“You’re the writer, right? Now, you’re gonna start this baby up.” He hands her the keys, fingertips brushing her palm. "First turn that ignition, press the starter-” she does as she’s told, “and give it a little gas.”

It starts, mercifully, with a noise that he doesn’t wince at. “Now, if you wanna go faster than a farm wagon you’re gonna need to switch to second. But, can’t do that without gettin’ to first first.”

She’s fairly certain every window along the lane has someone looking at them, but she can’t worry about that right now. 

“So, shifter’s in neutral, keep your foot on that brake- and the clutch, yep- just like dancin’-” he sees her face, “ok, maybe harder than dancin’, unless it’s a fast song playin’-” The clasp of her watch digs into her wrist against the wheel. “Doin’ great- now, I shoulda had you look at these before we started so I’ll just tell you- you’re gonna push down good on that clutch pedal, take the shifter, like this-” 

She does, rewarded by an ungodly metallic noise and a corresponding smell. Her stomach wobbles. Nothing about his manner changes, except a handwave to get the smell away from his nose. This must be what’s he’s like up there. She’s surprised there hasn’t been a baseball metaphor yet. “You’re fine, just didn’t press hard enough is all. Need to get you some good boots like mine-”

She tries again, and the whole vehicle seems to take a cue from her stomach. “I hope you didn’t have anywhere you needed to be this afternoon.”

“Nope.” It’s clear she doesn’t quite believe that. A beat passes. “...you let me worry about that. Now-”

She reaches for the shifter again, just as he does the same, the tiniest spark of static. How, in this weather? If she didn’t know any better, she’d swear she heard something in his throat. “So I’ll handle this part now, you just focus on the clutch.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll tell you when.”

She nods, tries to look decisive about it.

“Alright- right- now-”

It bites, just like he said it would. 

“BEAUTIFUL!”

It’s almost a laugh, the breath that escape her.

“Now, we’ll try second.”

She doesn’t get too excited, because it stalls out again. But she gets it going out of neutral, to first. He looks proud.

And second gear- the second time- it works.

“Hey, see, you’ve got this!”

“I think steering might also come in handy.”

“You may be right.”

She’s not very graceful about it, but she doesn’t land them in a ditch as she slowly maneuvers onto the main road. “I think you ought to take us back if you want to get there before dark.”

He looks like he’s thinking about it. “Ah, alright. But this ain’t over.”

“Part two?”

“Third gear. On the strip. When we get back.”

“You’re crazy.”

“Kind of a requirement.”

She gets it back down from second, stops it, hands him the keys. She’s shivering a little, back in the passenger seat, from the nerves, energy. He looks over at her and smiles. “Passed part one.”

“How do I stack up?”

“Well, Buck still has me drivin’ him around so, I’d say you’re the top of the class.”

She laughs, from relief, from the fact that it’s still not raining, from the fact that she’s forgotten the typewriter ribbon in the little box in her pocket, from his smile.

“I expect you to keep this thing running while I’m up there,” he says.

She wants to laugh, but the unspoken if hangs heavy, like clouds pregnant with rain. 

“I don’t think that’s allowed,” she says. 

He glances over at her, East Anglia passing them on both sides once again. “Well, I’ll get you permission.”

It’s not even your jeep, she wants to say. It puckers on her tongue, like the cherry-flavored sweets in her other pocket. None of this belongs to us.

By the time they make it back to Thorpe Abbotts, the sky has miraculously cleared, soft and blue, the other side of the afternoon.

“Now, we can just call this practice,” he says. “For the gear shifts.”

Gamely she gets in the driver’s seat again, bolstered by his confidence.

Another stall, again, this time from first to second, but she handles it. No one’s ever accused me of having a bad memory. Quite the opposite, sometimes. 

The sensation of it runs through her arms, her legs. Something new, something she’d learned, something that might actually serve her, and not just what lipsticks to wear and how to dress for the season. Something he’d shared with her.

“I’m glad we’re not in Pittsburgh,” she says. “All the hills.”

“Hey, you’d handle them too. You’re a pro now. More practice than some of us got.” She’s a little afraid of what this looks like, although it’s not like discipline’s been the letter of the day at Thorpe Abbotts. Hardly something she’d write home about, aside from the swagger, the boldness. It meant something to her, though. Professionalism. William never thinks about any of it, she’s sure. “How about trying that third gear?”

“I hope whatever you’re missing right now isn’t too important.”

“Thought I told you to let me worry about that.”

“After dinner,” she says, unsure if she means it.

The next voice belonging to neither of them, low and a little amused, approaching. “Thought we’d have to send out a search party.”

“Just taking Josephine here for a little spin. Driving lesson.”

She shoots him a look. “An errand. I ran out of ribbon.”

“How was it?” Gale still looks faintly amused. “The lesson.”

“I told her if I can park a plane, she can drive a jeep.”

“Your ability to park a plane is questionable at best.” He smiles, just a little, before his expression is measured again. “John, Huglin wants to see you.” He can’t say what about in front of her, obviously. Jo hopes it isn’t about this. Something about what she knows of the colonel might tell her it’s not. Still, she feels guilty.

He leans over conspiratorially. “Jo, I won’t mind too much if you run him over.”

“Nice thing to say about your best friend,” Gale says.

“You’d be walking everywhere if it weren’t for me. Jeeps, bikes-”

“Sure, sure.”

“I’ll let you bring this back where you got it,” she says. “Better than me taking an hour to do the same.”

“After dinner, though?” Her mouth twitches a little. 

“Come on, you’ll be thankin’ me one day.”

“He likes to say that,” says Gale.

If the sky stays clear, it’ll be beautiful. Clear blue until late, and then pink, orange, lemon yellow. Red streaks like the sweets in her pocket, dusted with powdered sugar.

How many sunsets like that could you hope for?

“Alright,” she says. “Keep the keys ready.”

[mrs-barnes-rogers-writes]

The Fate Of A Fae Masterlist

Marvel AU

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader x Steve Rogers

Summary: Natasha Romanoff is a meddling, pain in the ass Sprite, who you wrongly thought would leave you alone once you introduced her to your best friend, Darcy. News flash, she doesn’t and she won’t. Not when she thinks you’re a perfect match for two of her best friends. Could she be right? Maybe. Just don’t tell her that.

“Never tell Natasha Romanoff she was right” - Clint Barton

Warnings: Monsters, eventual smut, violence in parts, fae magic, magic, witchcraft, shapeshifters

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4