「THE APPENDAGE」 (ONGOING DARK SERIES) — MASTERLIST

Even if nobody would read anything I write, I would still do it, because it the way of emanating feelings and sharing them with the world. And I am being serious, two years ago, I was riding home from school on a shitty bus, I was depressed and miserable overall, and that day I came across your blog and I read 'Ribs'. It had played in my mind the whole week and month afterwards and I started aspiring to be like you and it distracted me from my reality. Then, last year, I started writing here and got the courage to message you and here we are: you shining and brightening my life and being my greatest support. What can I say? I am so so honored you liked it, my heart is blooming rn, literally.

HOW IT GLISTENED AS IT FELL

⇀ pairing: dark! Bucky Barnes x reader

⇀ warnings: My content is dark and contains triggering elements such as mentions of torture and/or torture; abusive relationship; dacryphilia; sexual themes; weapons and possible others. Read at your own discretion. MDNI, this work is 18+, as always.

⇀ author's note: This is for the ones doubting my dark content lmao. enjoy (if you can), these are the fruits of my mind (i am fucked up tbh). Finally, I got to write Bucky, especially for you, my love, @highonmarvel. Forever in love with you, my soul sister. xxx

©thehydraethereal 2025. My work and writing is not to be copied, translated, reposted or stolen. My content is dark. Your media consumption is your problem, not mines. Reblogs, asks, requests and comments are always required and appreciated

Small droplets of frozen rain and lost, shimmery snowflakes hit the windows as Bucky makes his way up the staircase towards his bedroom. The bedroom you two shared.

You really think you can leave Bucky. "That's almost cute", he thinks to himself, as he finishes to put the other leather glove on his vibranium arm.

His jaw is clenched, the low lights portraying him almost ghostly, demonlike, in the refections of the windows. That's how he had seen himself his whole life, since the forties, but having you---the nucleus of his life---see him such a monster that you try to leave him is something Bucky could never allow.

With a little help from Steve, the man that always had his back, Bucky was able to prevent the...loss of you.

And as his fingertips touch the doorknob, and his eyes fall on your restrained, frozen figure once the door is unlocked, the icy wind blowing softly the hair away from your petrified, purplish face, Bucky oddly feels no remorse. He actually feels his actions are entitled and extremely 'disappointed' at your previous stupid actions.

Blood runs to his already hardening cock when he hears your whimpers muffled by the blood-stained rag and your tears. Oh, those tears. The sweet acid rain falling from your bewitching eyes because of him is something that Bucky not only likes, but in fact adores.

"Hey, doll...", he sighs, rubbing his thick thumb over the much thicker bulge in his jeans, while his ocean eyes bore into your terrified ones.

When you try to crawl away, your feet get tangled in the white sheets and a mocking smirk screws on Bucky's features.

"Oh, doll...I thought we already went through this.", he says, his calm stressing you even more. His eyes rest on the drawer you know he keeps his knive and gun in.

Your pleading face is shoved down into a pillow. "You know, if I say I don't enjoy this---", Bucky starts as he takes his time with ripping down your underwear and moving his gloved, iron arm to grip your thigh, "---I would be telling a big fucking lie." You flinch when you feel a metalic pinch on your skin, followed by warmth pooling between your thighs, as Bucky's knife dances on your skin.

"And you know how much I hate lies."

The "Lucky" One

What the hell? Thunderbolts* In Theaters | dir. Jake Schreier

re-watching Defending Jacob I NEED Andy Barber so BAD it hurts

damn, daddy-

type shit 😝

Would you mind to do Brock Rumlow, all scarred up having nonconsensual sex with a woman he has an age gap with...he is doing a pent up frustration kind of thing with choking, spanking. He had been hiding out for too long from the goodie two shoes avengers and Hydra.

「 𝐂𝐀𝐓 𝐆𝐎𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐔𝐄 」

younger.ᐟreader && dark.ᐟcrossbones (brock rumlow)

「 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 」 I really hope I didn't disappoint you, babe...I can't say I love the way this turned out but I wrote it so so quick, I honestly felt inspired.

「 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 」 My content explores dark themes such as nonconsensual sex, abduction, fear dynamics, dacryphilia, choking and MORE. Minors, do not interact! If you are uncomfortable with these, do not interact please! DEAD DOVE CONTENT.

𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐂𝐊 𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐌𝐘 「𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓」 𝐌𝐘 「𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒」 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐌𝐘 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 「𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐋」 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 「𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐒」

The uneven surface in the warehouse was rubbing against the skin of your pelvis as you weakly tried to crawl away from the man standing above you. Scars adorned his face, especially the right side, all down to his neck, yet he looked impossibly strong. His broad chest rose and fell as he stared down at you, and you noticed the muscles in his shoulders and forearms flexing. Another tear slipped down your cheek and you screwed your eyes shut as he crouched down next to your shaking form.  

"Yeah, I know—it’s not exactly pretty. But trust me, what I’m about to do to you is a hell of a lot uglier.", he sneered, fingers gripping your hair and pulling up your head. You whimpered again, trying to pull away from the painful grip. He didn’t move an inch as he inspected your features with a cold gaze—your busted lower lip, your split cheek, the shadows of purple on your neck and jaw, and the fingerprints on your cheeks, all the way up to your wet lashes that surrounded your pleading, glossy eyes. 

He released your scalp with a push and a loud exhale and your chin hit the ground. 

His free, calloused hands found your hips and he pulled them up, right under his crotch. A sob escaped you as you felt the hardness rubbing against your thighs. That’s when you tried to push weakly at his abdomen with your tied wrists. 

With a growl, he snaked his arm on your chest and he curled his bicep around your throat, effectively cutting off your oxygen supply. 

Tears sprung to your eyes again as he was pulling himself out. When you felt his tip poke at your entrance, fear gripped all your senses but your vocal chords. It was all you were left with, after all.

“St-stop, no, please—”, you tried, but he squeezed your neck even harsher in frustration. He wanted you to shut the fuck up. It was crystal clear—this man felt no remorse, guilt, nor pain. He felt nothing.

 When you caught a glimpse of his face again in a piece of broken glass which lay in front of you, you flinched hard under his body weight, your pulse rising. 

 "That face scare you that much, sweetheart? Wait 'til all that is between your thighs.", he ruggedly grunted, pushing in.

this is so incredibly well written, you are amazing and so talented! 🥺 thank you for tagging me 🖤

Dinner Party

Inspired by @thehydraethereal ‘s prompts

Warnings: abusive relationship, physical abuse, emotional abuse, unwanted kissing, choking, slapping, alcohol, drug use

You didn’t have to look over at your boyfriend to know that he was displeased, you could feel his frustration emanating off of him in waves.

Across from you, Topper was jabbering away about some Kook vs Pogue nonsense with Kelce; neither Rafe nor you were listening to them. You looked down at your plate of barely touched food and sighed.

To say that you and Rafe had gotten into a fight earlier would have been a gross understatement; just 3 hours ago Rafe was berating you at the top of his lungs when you showed him your first outfit choice for the dinner tonight.

“Are you trying to fucking embarrass me? In front of my friends, in front of my dad?” He seethed, inching closer to you as you backed away.

“No Rafe, I-"

“You already know that he doesn’t like you, Y/N. I don’t know what in your dumb slut brain would make you think that dressing like that would be okay, but it’s not.” He crowded your space, grabbing at the fabric of your dress, and you squirmed in his grasp.

The truth was, this had absolutely nothing to do with what you were wearing, and you both knew it. Too many stressful days at work recently meant that Rafe had been coming home itching to release his pent up frustration, which usually meant picking fights with you.

“You’re not coming to this dinner half naked, either change clothes or you can stay at home.” His lip curled as he glared down at you, both hands firmly gripping your arms to keep you from pushing at his chest.

Tears were already welling in your eyes from his tight grip and harsh words, and as you struggled to free yourself from his hold, he pushed you too hard, knocking you off balance.

You yelped as you hit the floor, your cheek slamming against the hardwood painfully. For a moment you were too dazed to move, and your head ached as you numbly sat up and gingerly touched your cheek, cringing when your warm skin throbbed in pain.

“Do you know what Ward said to me after our last dinner together, huh? Hey, look at me when I’m talking to you,” you whimpered when your boyfriend’s fingers locked on your jaw, tilting your head up to meet his gaze.

“He told me he couldn’t figure out why I was spending so much time with a ‘piece of Pogue trash.’”

You swallowed hard, uncomfortable under his cruel glare; and the frustration and shame bubbling up in your gut made you feel sick. You couldn’t stop the frown that tugged at your lips or the tears that were now sliding down your cheeks.

“Ward thinks you’re a gold digging slut and that you’re in over your head,” he rolled his eyes as he spoke, but you knew that some part of him did care about what his father thought; and the idea that Rafe might think those things about you too cut you deeper than you expected.

“I know that you’re not,” he added. “but it’s about the way it looks, Y/N, you know that.”

Rafe eyed your cheek, bringing his hand up to touch the tender skin and you cringed, trying to pull away from him, but your boyfriend held you in place, softly stroking your puffy cheek, before placing a delicate kiss there.

Sometimes the way his moods would switch so fast made your head spin, and trying to keep up only led you to be more confused.

“I’m sorry, I… got a little rough. I’ll start a warm bath, and I’ll get your outfit ready for you, okay?” His voice was softer now, gentle even, “Want you to have plenty of time to make sure your makeup is perfect, baby.”

“Y/N, have you been making any more progress with your internship?”

Ward’s voice pulled you out of your thoughts and back into the present. You forced a smile as you turned to meet his eyes.

“Oh, yes, I actually just got assigned a new project and my company told me they’re planning on assigning me more leadership roles,” you beamed, finally happy to have something to brag about to Rafe’s father.

Your confidence was quickly shot down however with his next question.

“And are they going to start paying you?”

You could hear the unsaid part loud and clear, ‘so you can finally stop living off of my son’s dime?’

“Um, well,” you stuttered. “Technically it’s still an unpaid position, but this is a really good job for my subject field, a-and the experience will look really good on my resume. Most of the people in my classes are also in unpaid internships.”

Ward gave you a tight grin, one you knew was insincere and you tried not to feel disappointed by his response, but when you glanced over at Rafe, you knew you had only annoyed him more. Your heart sunk, and your mind raced to think of something to say to fix the situation.

“Isn’t Rafe starting a new project soon though?”

Rafe coughed, choking on his drink before clearing his throat and turning to look at you, “nah, Y/N, I think you’re remembering a past project.”

“What are you talking about Y/N?” Ward asked, and you felt your mouth go dry as you looked between him and your boyfriend.

Rafe’s face was even as he took a sip of his jack and coke, but you couldn’t miss the anger in his eyes, and you swallowed before shifting your gaze to Ward.

“N-nothing. Rafe’s right, I was confused. That was what he was working on last summer.” You covered for him quickly, stomach twisting when you glanced back over at your boyfriend.

Now the memory returned to you in full, Rafe telling you over a shared blunt in his hazy room about his plans to score a deal so big he’d never have to work again. The only problem was you’d forgotten one detail.

“Ward can’t know,” he passed you the blunt after ashing it into the tray on the bedside table.

“What, why?” You took a hit, inhaling the smoke deep into your lungs before handing it back to Rafe.

He didn’t answer, taking a long drag of the blunt and then lazily blowing the smoke up at the ceiling.

“He’d freak out if he knew the details, you would too,” he chuckled. “So don’t ask about it, and don’t mention anything to him.”

You pursed your lips, disappointed in the lack of details, but you understood and you had no choice but to trust Rafe, so you didn’t press further.

Ward accepted your excuse, and the conversation moved on to other topics, but Rafe was still simmering with barely disguised anger, and you didn’t miss the fact that he was on his fifth drink of the night.

The dinner was beginning to wind down, waiters soon appearing to remove the empty plates from the table before bringing out desserts. You picked at the slice of pie in front of you, too nervous to eat much of it at all.

Sensing your discomfort and still aiming to pass the two of you off as a normal couple, Rafe leaned in to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, and that was when you made your worst mistake of the night.

His finger brushed your sore cheek and instead of leaning into his touch, you flinched, sharply inhaling through your nose as you pulled away from him. Your heart was pounding, pulling you back to earlier that night and you froze in place before suddenly remembering where you were.

To you, the moment felt agonizingly long, though it couldn’t have lasted more than a second. Unfortunately, your reaction didn’t go unnoticed.

“What the hell?”

You turned towards Sarah, forcing a fake smile onto your face as you did. “What?”

Rafe’s presence behind you had you on high alert, desperate to salvage this dinner before it collapsed into disaster, and the way he tensed beside you made your pulse pick up pace.

“What was that?” Sarah asked you before shooting a harsh glare towards her brother.

“I- I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you chuckled nervously, playing dumb and hoping she would just drop it.

Her eyes narrowed as she looked between you and Rafe, and you silently prayed that your makeup was still completely covering your bruise from earlier.

“You practically jumped out of your chair when Rafe touched you,” she shot back, catching Ward’s attention now.

Topper and Kelce eyed Rafe knowingly, silent smirks growing as they watched from across the table.

You looked between Sarah’s eyes and Ward’s, mouth dry as they stared you down, “I- I wasn’t expecting it, that’s all.”

“Is it a crime to surprise your girlfriend?” Rafe challenged with a chuckle, possessively wrapping one arm around your waist and staring Sarah down.

She was silent for a few moments, her gaze flicking between you and Rafe suspiciously.

“I’m fine,” you reassured her with a small smile that didn’t quite meet your eyes.

By the time Rafe was finally able to pull the two of you away from the table, it was late, and you said your goodbyes quickly, trying to ignore the way Sarah’s gaze followed you on the way out.

As soon as the two of you exited the restaurant, his grip on your wrist was firm, tugging you towards the back of the parking lot and ignoring your protests.

“Rafe- that hurts-”

“You think I care?” He sneered, roughly pushing you up against the door of his truck. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

You cringed at his harsh words, eyes low to the ground as he glared down at you. The pit that had been growing in your stomach all dinner felt large enough to swallow you whole.

“Why the fuck would you tell Ward about the deal I’m working on?” His large hand came to your chin, tilting your head up to meet his angry eyes.

“I-” your voice cracked, warm tears misting up your eyes. “I just forgot, Rafe, I’m sorry.”

“You forgot?” He repeated slowly, like you were stupid, and you could feel your throat getting tighter with anxiety. “Nah, that’s the problem with you, Y/N. You didn’t forget, you never fucking listen!”

“I’m sorry, I really didn’t mean to-”

You heard the ringing in your ears before you felt the sting, and it wasn’t until Rafe’s fingers were threading into your hair to pull you upright again that you realized he had hit you.

Rafe forced your head back against the car door, roughly tugging at your hair to keep you in place.

“You fucking embarrassed me in front of my dad and friends ‘cuz you just couldn’t keep your fucking mouth shut,” he hissed, face so close to yours you could smell the whiskey on his breath. “Sounds like someone forgot her place.”

You whimpered when he tugged your hair again, tears staining your cheeks as he glared down at you.

Rafe’s hand came to your sore cheek, stroking your tender skin before mockingly tapping the soft flesh, “see how quiet you can be after I slap you around?”

“Y/N?”

The sound of Sarah’s voice on the other side of Rafe’s truck made you freeze, and your boyfriend immediately released his hold on you, stepping back as you quickly reached up to wipe the tears from your eyes.

“Yeah?” You asked as you turned to see her, worried that your cheek might be inflamed again after the hit Rafe just dealt you.

“Are you okay?”

“Of course she is.”

“I wasn’t asking you, Rafe.” Sarah snapped, scowling at her brother before turning her attention back to you. “I thought I heard you two fighting.”

“We’re fine, I’m fine,” you lied, plastering on another fake smile. “Just having a discussion, that’s all.”

Sarah’s eyes narrowed as she looked at you and then Rafe.

“You’re sure?”

You paused for just a moment before nodding.

“I just wanted to check in on you and make sure you were okay before-”

“God Sarah, do I have to shove my tongue down her throat for you to take the hint? She’s fine,” Rafe rolled his eyes at his sister, waving her off with one hand before turning his attention back to you, “we’ll see you tomorrow.”

Sarah scoffed, clearly wanting to ask you more questions, but when Rafe ignored her only to push you back against his truck and start kissing you, she let out a groan of revulsion before turning to leave.

You barely heard her say goodbye, too distracted by the feel of your boyfriend’s lips moving against yours and his tongue sliding into your mouth. Your stomach churned as he kissed you, a horrible and confusing mixture of desire and disgust mingling in your gut.

Rafe knew how much you loathed PDA, and you had no doubt this just another way for him to exercise his control over you and punish you for embarrassing him at the dinner. After all, this wasn’t even the first time he’d pulled a stunt like this. It was starting to become a habit.

When his hand circled around your throat, you gasped, and he deepened the kiss, devouring your lips as he held you in place. Rafe’s grip tightened, cutting off your airway even harder now, and you struggled against the tight hold he had on your neck and wrist.

He finally pulled away after what felt like an eternity, and you doubled over, falling to your knees as you gasped for breath and clutched your sensitive throat.

Your boyfriend sneered down at you, enjoying the fear in your eyes when you looked up at his looming figure.

“This had better be the last time something like that happens, Y/N, do you understand me?”

You nodded, sniffling and blinking fresh tears from your eyes as you tried to catch your breath.

“I don’t need Sarah or Ward sticking their noses into our relationship.” Rafe seethed, leaning down to pull you to your feet. His hands gripped your shoulders hard, fingertips digging into your sensitive skin, eliciting another pathetic whimper.

You looked deeply into your boyfriend’s eyes, trying to find any glimpse of softness or remorse for his actions, but instead you were only met with hard, cold blue.

"Don’t ever flinch like that again in public, or I’ll give you a real reason to."

my baby slayed the whole house down again. My stomach does backflips everytime you post ♡

Heyy love your work. I wanted to make a request for Bucky Barne was thinking something like reader goes to his house for Christmas but then he forcefully drugs her with a syringe and she's held captive. But he's overal nice enough. He'd let her kick or scream or fight back. But then one day he lets her out of the basement or wherever he keeps her and she tries to escape and succeeds to some degree He manages to catch her and he snaps, gets angry and punishes her and she's scared cuz he snapped.

Winter

i love this! i’m sorry this isn’t proofread—i’m late as is and needed to get this out into the world so at least some people can read this as they lie in bed and have it be relevant. also, i’m so sorry, i left out the syringe bit because i got too into the plot i conjured up with the food coma here, sorry, sweetheart, but please, send another request if you really want to see it get done. let me know your thoughts, also to my sister @thehydraethereal. with that out of the way:

Bucky Barnes: A Christmas dinner opens your eyes to a new type of Winter.

additional content warnings here!

CONTENT WARNING, PLEASE READ: This piece includes graphic depictions of torture. Seriously, this is really dark; do not proceed if you are not comfortable with explicit descriptions of physical violence. This is your warning. This is fucking dark. I can not stress this enough. I am fucked up.

It wasn’t that you were technically averse to relationships or had commitment issues, you just feel like at this point in your life a solid relationship wasn’t really going to work. You had been travelling to the other side of the country quite a bit to take care of your sister, but this Christmas, your parents went down, so you didn’t really have an excuse to bail when Bucky invited you to dinner.

You don’t think you’re technically dating him–you don’t ever recall you or him asking the other to be their partner–but you’ve at least been going out with him for a few months. Guess you’d have to face him at some point; it’s been nearly three weeks since he had suggested you live together, which had caught you completely off-guard. You had managed to side-step the conversation at the time before making up some bullshit excuse to leave, and you haven’t had the courage to face him since.

Pulling into Bucky’s driveway always makes you feel a little uneasy; he doesn’t live like a hermit or overly secluded, but for some reason the houses in this suburb seem just a little too far apart for comfort–no one really has ‘neighbours.’

The scent of a very well-cooked meal carries right up to the front door, making you take a deep whiff before knocking.

“Hi, honey,” Bucky answers the door, leaning down to give you a kiss on the cheek.

“God, I’m practically drooling out here,” you say, and Bucky laughs as he steps out of the way and allows you in. “How long have you been standing?”

“Ah, a few hours,” he admits, sheepishly, watching you hang your coat up and rubbing the back of his neck when you raise your eyebrows at him.

“But it’s just the two of us, no?” you question as you lead him into the kitchen (maybe you being so casual in his home gave him the impression you’d like to move in with him).

“Yeah,” he replies, tailing you. “But I realised I don’t really know what you like and I panicked a bit.”

You giggle and that seems to ease his apparent embarrassment, allowing him to let out a breathless laugh as he moves into the kitchen, standing on the other side of the island as you settle on a stool.

“How have you been?” he inquires as he pours you a glass of wine, not making eye contact.

“Alright,” you reply, watching the red liquid slosh into the glass. “Glad to have some time off.”

“How’s your sister?”

You sigh and mouth a thank you to him as he slides the glass towards you. After a sip, you look up at him. “Better, I think, and she’s only allowed two visitors at a time–my parents really wanted to see her so I let them for Christmas, they don’t really get a chance otherwise.”

He hums in understanding as he puts on pink oven mitts and crouches down.

“Are you disappointed?” he asks loudly as he pulls a dish out of the oven.

You shrug. “I’d have liked to go, but I’m not all that sad about it. I don’t have much going for me in New York, so I was worried I’d be bored, but I’m having a good time.

“You just got here!” He laughs as he rises with a turkey.

“I know, but wine.” You raise your glass to him and peer into the ceramic dish. “Turkey?” you ask, which he responds to with a hum of affirmation.

“I don’t really like it, not sure if you do.”

“I like it. I would have thought you patriots like Thanksgiving stuff, though.”

You help him set up a few dishes across a small dining table and sit down.

“This was really sweet, Bucky.” You smile, tone sincere and nearly sappy as he cuts you a large leg of turkey. “Doesn’t this stuff make you sleepy?” you joke, and it takes him just a beat too long to chuckle.

“I think that’s a myth, actually,” he responds as he sits back down across from you.

“Really?” you raise your eyebrows as you dig your knife and fork into the leg. “I could have sworn...”

“Is it good?” he asks, watching you carefully, and with a kind of interest that makes you slightly uneasy, but you can’t deny it’s heavenly. You nod enthusiastically and point to the meat.

“God, this is great! You’d swear there was cocaine in here or something.”

Something lights in his eyes for a second, a spark you mistake for happiness. Bucky has always loved nothing more than to see you happy and relaxed: one of the reasons you were so drawn to him was his genuine desire to not only make you as happy as possible, but to appreciate that joy. Sometimes you got the impression making you happy pleased him almost as much as it pleased you, if not more. And it was times like these you felt bad you weren’t really able to make a commitment to him. He never seemed to mind it all too much, but you can tell it’s something he wants, and you almost feel like you’re taking advantage of his affection–but he knows, and you know, and if he isn’t happy with this arrangement, surely he’d say something.

But Bucky has to bite back the retort, “Well, not that drug.”

After a hearty meal you only put down when you feel you’re genuinely on the verge of passing out, you push away your plate. “Woo! I don’t know how I’m ever gonna work that off. I think I’ve gained, like, 10.”

“You're perfect the way you are,” Bucky says, leaning down to press his lips to your cheek as he clears the table.

You close your eyes and hum in delight, but you find it a little hard to open them again. When you manage to pry your eyes open again, it’s not much, still looking at the table through droopy lids. You stand and sway, rattling your chair as you grapple the table for support.

“Are you okay?” Bucky asks as he reappears in your line of sight, brows furrowed in concern.

“Yeah,” you respond, squeezing your eyes shut and ripping them open again. “But I really should get going.”

“Get going?” he repeats, moving to your side for support as you stumble forward. “I don’t think you should drive right now.”

But you dismiss him with a wave of your hand, pushing off of him to stand up straight. You think you say, “I’m fine. I’ll call you.” but you can’t really make out the words through the slight slurring.

“Lie down,” he offers gently, taking a step towards his bedroom.

“No…” you tear your arm free of his grasp. You had spent the night with him before, but for a reason you can’t figure out, this time, something is screaming at you to decline.

“Really, darling, you need to,” he insists, his voice having dropped to a low murmur. He takes a step forward and you instinctively take a step back, feeling a little guilty when he stops dead in his tracks and something like hurt flashes across his features. You know something that makes Bucky wince is when he feels someone is afraid of him, and you can only imagine how he must feel now if you’re the one displaying apprehension.

You shake your head and turn away from him to the doorway.

“Hey...” You startle as you feel his grip on your forearm, gentle, but firm. “You’re not leaving.” The words are said in a sincerely concerned way, but the fact the statement came off as more of a command than a suggestion really triggers something in you.

“Bucky...” you groan as you uselessly try to pull away, feeling weaker than you otherwise would, even against him.

He doesn’t have to give too sharp of a tug to make you stumble into his arms, his hold on you steady, and, at any other time, safe, but now it feels more certain, somehow, almost possessive. You try to protest but you’re practically babbling incoherently under him, head lolled to the side as he adjusts his grip from under your arms to pick you up bridal style.

“Just lie down for a second...”

And you’re too out of it to notice he’s passed his bedroom door.

***

It’s difficult to open your eyes again, your lashes stuck together as you turn your head over. When vision slowly comes back to you, you’re met with a midcentury wooden bedside table you don’t recognise. You prop yourself up on your forearm and squint into the room, looking for any signs of familiarity, and the only thing you recognise is the thing you dread.

“What…” you begin to mutter, and Bucky looks up from the book he’s reading with a smile.

“You’re up.” He stands from the chair positioned by ‘your’ (this isn’t your bed) beside and moves to sit on the edge, placing a hand to your forehead. “How’re you feeling?”

You weakly slap his hand away as you start to really wake up and realise what’s going on.

“I’m not… this isn’t… what…” you can’t really find the words to ask the questions you need answers to.

“It’s your Christmas present!” he says with a grin, standing to make a grand gesture with his arms, out to the room. I’ve got your favourite books here, I remember you telling me you used to want a four poster princess bed.” He points to the ceiling and sure enough, pretty curtains hang over your head. “But if you don’t like it I can change it.” He shrugs and stands somewhat nervously as he waits for you to react.

“What… the fuck.”

He tsks and swings his arms back and forth, rocking on his heels.

“I set it up for you a few weeks ago, I didn’t know if you’d be comfortable sleeping with me every night, I know you like your space.”

“Are you out of your mind!?” You throw the sheets off of you and manage to stand, even though your head feels a little heavy.

He sighs and steps forward. “I know it feels like–”

“Oh, you know what it feels like? You know what it feels like to be ostensibly kidnapped by your boyfriend?”

He blushes. “So I am your boyfriend.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you!?” You throw a pillow at him (ineffective but it was the nearest thing) which he catches with ease and turns over to reveal an embroidered flower. “I made this,” he says, proudly.

“What the fuck!?” you shriek as you throw another pillow at him, this one he dodges easily.

You’ve never seen him like this, nearly giddy and, in this context, borderline delusional. It makes you grip onto your hair and bunch your fingers into the locks. “Oh, my god, you’re insane!”

“I’m not the one yelling and throwing things,” he mutters, and your eyes snap up to his.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you begin, exasperated. “I’m so fucking sorry I don’t react well to crimes committed against me.”

“You came into my house.”

“Yes, but I didn’t come into this room! Do you really expect me to believe I can just leave anytime? That that door isn’t locked. You think I’m fucking stupid?”

He gently tosses the pillow back onto the bed and winces. “I was hoping you wouldn’t.”

“Bucky,” you begin, carefully, voice dangerously low as you step up to him. “I don’t know what in god’s name has gotten into you, but I’m not having it. I’m leaving.”

“Sweetheart, you really don’t intimidate me.” And the way he says it with such sincere pity makes you shove at his chest. He doesn’t stumble, but he takes a step back for your benefit.

You match his step and poke your finger in his chest, glaring up at him with more fury than you thought you had and trying your hardest not to wrap your hand around his throat. What really pisses you off is his patronising speech; you can tell he genuinely thinks he’s doing good, and that he honestly feels bad that you can’t appreciate it, that you’re weaker than him, and it boils your blood. Apathy or even mockery would be better than this condescending way he’s deluded himself into believing this is for your benefit.

“Don’t call me sweetheart, you piece of shit. If that door is locked, you’re gonna unlock it, and you’re going to leave me the fuck alone.” You practically spit the words at him through gritted teeth, seething to the point you can feel heat radiating from your body and wouldn’t be surprised if there was literal steam coming out of your ears.

“Sit down, angel.”

“Talk to me like that again and there will be nothing angelic about what I do to you.”

“Your mother called.”

That gets your attention and your anger dissipates for a moment. “Really? What did she say?”

When he guides you to sit down, you’re not really in the space to fight him off, waiting to hear any news from your family.

“They’re coming down in a few days, for New Year’s, and, they’re bringing your sister–they say she’s stable enough for travel.”

You feel your eyes begin to water at the thought of your sister being that strong, of being able to talk to her like you used to, before she got sick. But you snap out of it, and that swelling in your heart turns to something close to anxiety, but closer to suspicion. “Why are you telling me this?”

He scoffs as if you’re asking him if the sky is blue. “Because I know you want to see them. I told them they could stay with us for a few days.”

“With us?”

He just blinks. “Yes, with us.”

“You must be out of your fucking mind if you think…” And the next few hours are spent with you screaming in his face, swinging punches which he easily dodges, but sometimes he humours you and allows you a hit–not like it hurts anyway. His calm demeanour and ‘care’ makes you infuriated beyond belief, and by the end of the night the room has been trashed, there are scratches on the door from your desperate clawing and pounding, your voice is hoarse from all the yelling, and you’re exhausted while Bucky is no more beaten than when you first woke up.

Eventually, you’ve physically exhausted yourself so much you can’t even push him away when he climbs into bed next to you and holds you in his arms, placing your head against his chest and caressing your hair, which he knows always relaxes you and helps you fall asleep.

***

You only know it’s morning when you wake up because Bucky greets you with it, but it doesn’t take long for your attention to fall to the walls, noticing there aren’t any windows.

“We’re in the basement, you know.” Bucky comments, watching your eyes dart around the room and catching on to what you’re doing. “I don’t have a spare room, you know that.”

You’re nearly tired of glaring daggers at him seeing as he doesn’t really feel it–if anything, it seems to spur him on, like he doesn’t really care what you do as long as he gets some kind of reaction out of you. If you remained as stoic as he did, maybe that would give him pause for thought, but you really can’t resist the urge to attack him, and he somehow sees it as endearing, like any attention you give him makes his heart swell.

Initially, you refuse his invitation for breakfast upstairs, but when that morning grumpiness subsides, you let your stubbornness fall away in favour of opportunity. This really solidifies in your mind Bucky is so convinced you’ll stay that he doesn’t really worry about turning his back on you as he flips an egg.

“Where’re you going?”

You stop dead in your tracks, shocked he had heard you get up when you were practically sneaking like a cartoonish villain.

“To the bathroom,” you lie, to which he responds with a simple, “Okay.”

It’s too easy, but you’d rather take your chances than wonder if this is some kind of setup. You have to get out of here as soon as possible, so you don’t have time to look for your car keys, but you hesitate at the door. It’s beginning to snow, and you’re not dressed anywhere near enough to make it to a neighbour–the only thing that had kept you warm before coming up to see him was that nice coat, but it’s not on the rack anymore.

There’re only a few locks you have to turn to quietly open the door, your teeth chattering as a cold breeze hits you so hard it’s painful, like your skin is literally freezing onto your bones. You’re barefoot, no less. You can’t kid yourself into thinking you won’t lose a toe or some extremities in the process, but you can not stay. It really has only been one night, but something you’ve never liked in your life is being trapped, makes your skin crawl to the point you’d rather shed it than be deprived of freedom, especially when you’ve got the chance to see your family soon. And besides, it’s really not that long of a walk to the next house, you won’t die out there, but you can only vaguely make it out through the snow, and if you scream, it’ll surely be drowned by the harsh winds. With one last glance behind you, you step into the snow, and instantly regret it, your feet set close to frozen in just a few seconds, and goosebumps rising so quickly across your skin it feels like you’ve suddenly broken out in hives. And just as you consider turning back, you’re shoved forward, and you shriek as you land face first in the snow, afraid of crying at the impact lest your tears turn to ice right on your cheeks.

You’re gripped by the arm and pulled upright, before being again pushed further away from the house you can feel radiating warmth just through the open door. You gasp for air as you manage to bring yourself to your hands and knees, fingers curling into the snow and slowly becoming numb. A harsh gust blows, nearly knocking you off balance, and you squint to look up at the door, Bucky standing before you in little more than a long-sleeved t-shirt (he’s more underdressed than you) and sweatpants, hair still a little messy with sleep, but the look in his eyes, it’s a look you’ve never been on the receiving end of–in fact, you’ve never even seen it, but you can recognise it immediately.

“You forget I’m the Winter Soldier.” You’re not sure how his deep growl manages to carry across the howling of the winds, but you don’t have time to figure it out before a metal hand grips a fistful of your hair and you’re dragged through the snow, instinctively trying to plant your feet in the ground to stop him but even if you could match his strength, the cold is unbearable, and your legs are starting to feel numb, yet still stiff.

You don’t have time to be grateful that you’ve been thrown back into warmth as you slide across the floor and Bucky kicks the door shut behind him. From a hallway table, he pulls out a wrench, and you struggle to get your arms and legs to move away from him as he approaches you, menacingly.

You don’t know how such slow and heavy footsteps manage to catch up to you so quickly, but soon he’s got his boot pressing down on your ankle, preventing you from doing more than thrashing around. He leans down and grips your face roughly, forcibly pulling you up to meet him, and his eyes are so void of emotion he nearly looks dead. He doesn’t look angry, he looks like he just can’t feel.

“I do all this for you, and you can’t even offer me a pretty little smile.” His large fingers reach into your mouth, pulling your lips and teeth apart wide, wide enough for him to shove the wrench into your mouth and attach it to one of your teeth. “You don’t know what you have until it’s gone. Maybe you’ll appreciate it more if it just wasn’t the same.” You feel your gum twist and let out a cry, gurgling through your throat. Your frail fingers grasp onto his wrist as you desperately try to shake your head, but his strong hold prevents you from it. He twists a little more and you squeeze your eyes shut, holding your breath, before he eventually pulls out and you gasp for dear life, tears stinging your vision.

He roughly tugs you up and practically throws you into a nearby chair, before taking your hand with surprising gentleness, caressing your hurting fingers with the back of his for a moment before adjusting his grip to bring the wrench back forward.

“Now this is no good…” he remarks, moving his head to see more of your frostbitten marks you’re sure will leave scars. “You know what happens to these?” The wrench attacks itself to your index finger and Bucky adjusts its width so it’s threatening to chop your finger right off.

You scream at him to let go, kicking at his legs gets no reaction out of him, but don’t dare to move the hand he’s still holding.

“What if I just…” He twists only slightly and your skin breaks, blood seeping down from your frayed skin and dripping onto your thigh.

Just as you’re about to let out an unstoppable shriek of pain, Bucky’s metal hand presses to your mouth, stopping the sound going any further than echoing off his palm for only you to hear again. He twists more and you move your wrist with it, trying anything to stop him from twisting your finger off. He notices this and removes his other hand from your mouth to hold your wrist firmly in place.

“Bucky, please–”

“Shut up!” he shouts, his hold on you tightening even further. He lowers his face to yours with wide eyes, jaw clenched impossibly tight, and speaks in a dangerously low register, his voice trembling with fury as he tries to hold it together, at least in demeanour if not in action. “You really fucked up, and if you don’t have any fingers, you won’t be able to open my door ever again.”

✪

[my beloved taglist: @cowboysnbugs, @keito-123, @vogueprincess, @cjand10, @mybabygirllove]

Troy (2004) -> shades of blue.

hii! i have a request please: dark steve rogers x reader where he is obsessed with her but she is bucky's gf (reader is clueless) steve kills bucky and forces reader to be in a rs with him. their friends notice how quick she got with bucky's bsf right after his death so they hate her for it but she can't say anything bc she's scared

I'VE DONE IT FOR LOVE

bucky's girlfriend.ᐟreader & dark.ᐟsteve rogers

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 1.9k words

MY CONTENT WARNINGS && MASTERLIST && NAVIGATION

MY INBOX OPENED FOR MORE REQUESTS

“I’m sorry for your loss, miss.”

You loathe this phrase with a burning passion. Everybody said it with void eyes that lacked any compassion or empathy. The most people gave away from their hearts was pity. 

Despite all these, you nodded politely and thankfully at the mayor, and watched him head towards Natasha, Pepper and Tony. 

You felt your eyes burn with tears again as your gaze turned to the cause of your agony: your fiancè’s —the love of your life—, your Bucky’s…coffin. 

The concept made your insides churn with terrified anguish, the acceptance simply not settling in your mind. 

The coffin was carved from plum tree wood, its surface a deep, bruised violet with streaks of dusky red—like veins beneath dying skin. The grain curled and twisted unnaturally, as if the tree had once grown in a place it shouldn't have, somewhere tainted. Bucky loved plums. Every thought about him drained a tiny bit of life out of your soul.

You remembered the day you were announced that the person you loved the most in this world was now no longer alive. 

If someone had told you before this would happen, you wouldn’t have believed them. You wouldn’t have believed that you would survive these lacerating, tormenting days. But apparently you did. 

However, the idea of everything just coming to an end for you, as well, did not sound bad. You wanted to die. And you gladly accepted the desire of your heart.

“Sweetheart”. The voice behind you slithered through your nerves and coiled in your belly like a serpent. His voice.

The man that you and Bucky trusted with your whole beings was the one that inflicted this absolute hell over your life. You loved Steve Rogers dearly. But apparently he “loved” you as well, and that acclaimed love burned like venom. 

You did not turn around. Your body felt planted deep in the soil, with iron roots that kept you still. His forearm snaked around your abdomen and the muscle felt unyielding, a flesh-forged shackle pressing into your bruised flesh, earning a small whimper from you. You screwed your eyes shut to stop the tears of dread from spilling.  

His lips attached themselves to the back of your jaw and traced all the way up your mastoid process, his hot breath and moist lips sending shivers down your spine.

“P-please…”, you whimpered at him, desperate fingers clawing at his arm, “...n-not here. Please.”

He growled against your skin and your despondent eyes darted towards Natasha and Sam. 

Oh… They could not help you. They didn’t know the actual truth.

Steve started moving and dragged your body along with his, just by Bucky’s casket. A sob erupted your throat as you were forced to stay there in front of it. 

His thumb caressed your cheek lazily, as your petrified eyes looked at the horrid thing that lay in front of you. 

Steve sighed, and you caught his broad chest tightening with the corner of your teary eye.

“I loved him, but good Lord…I couldn’t stand him having what I wanted, what I was supposed to have”. The lack of mercy in his tone scared you and his words were enough to have tears flowing down your chill-bitten cheeks again. His hand came up and wrapped itself around your jaw, pulling your face closer to his. He did exactly what you prayed he wouldn’t do. 

His lips pressed against yours, lacked any warmth or affection, and his teeth bit down on your lower lip in front of all your friends, family and people gathered at the funeral.

 The hot droplets fell from your eyes and wetted his face, as his tongue went past your swollen lips. He pushed his body against yours even harsher and your hand shot up to bare yourself on something. And that ‘something’ was your Bucky’s casket. You whined in Steve’s mouth when your fingertips came in contact with the frozy wooden surface, but his lips curled upon yours in a merciless smirk. He was enjoying the disrespectful act so much. Bile raised in your throat and blood was pumping so fast through your veins that, for a moment, you believed your temples would explode. 

“Let’s go home now.”, Steve decided when he finally released your mouth and your pleading eyes shot up into his immediately.

“N-no, please Steve, no…T-the funeral hasn’t even officially started”. Desperation clawed at your throat as you wrapped your wrists around his bicep and sobbed heartbreakingly. 

“Sweetheart, I was kind enough to even allow you to come here, was I not? Now…don’t make a scene, you really wouldn’t like what happens afterwards". The threat behind his words made you flinch, but you still didn’t let go of him. Your chest pressed to his in an attempt to beg him to let you witness Bucky’s last moments on earth. He didn’t do that. He never listened to your pleas, just as probably…he didn’t listen to his best friend’s when he pleaded for his life. 

Steve’s fingers caught your wrist and started to slowly walk you towards the car. 

“No. Steve, s-stop. What will they say? Steve, we haven’t even said goodbye, pl-please.”, you choked out as you were walking past the people you knew so well. Sam’s eyes caught yours, and the amount of hatred you saw in them made your gaze fall down in shame. 

“Behave.”, the Captain whispered in your ear and you swiftly shut your lips and followed him obediently. You knew what Steve was capable of and you surely didn’t want him to hurt others on your behalf. 

‘What a bitch, coming here and puttin’ up all that acting and fake tears, pretending she misses him and now she is leaving with his best friend and not even staying for the ceremony. How disgusting can some people be?’, you heard a couple of elderly women hiss as you approached the small groups of people. You wanted to yell and howl at everybody how your heart was shattered into millions of pieces and how you longed to just mourn your Bucky. You wondered, couldn’t they see your frightened features? Your dried tears? The small cuts on your cheekbones? 

No, all they could see was that another man was holding your hand, and it felt as if the word ‘WHORE’ was burnt in your skin with reddened iron. It was always the woman, never the man. It was never: "His best friend took his girlfriend”, but always: “His girlfriend moved on. With his best friend.”

With one last glance, you left your lover behind forever.

Steve and you arrived “home”, at the mansion that once produced you and Bucky only happiness. After years of savings, Bucky managed to buy it and that was like a symbol between the two of you and the beginning of a joyful life together.

Now, after Steve had taken it —he called it a “perfect gift” for the beginning of a relationship— it felt like the walls would constrict around you any day. 

The pictures of you and Bucky with your overjoyed faces were now only memories of the empty, saddened walls. You had them down, packed them up and wanted to take them with you to the small cabin your sister had in the mountains and heal there from the loss of your life. But fate had other things in store for you. 

Steve hauled you in the dorm that used to be yours and Bucky’s and you audibly gasped. You haven't been here since Bucky’s…death. Since your spitalization after you tried to finish off the pain in your heart.

“Wh-what are we doing here?”, you cried, now jerking away from him, breath sharp with fear. 

Steve’s nostrils flared as his fingers gripped around his hip bones. His tongue poked at the inside of his cheek and your shaky hand gripped the door knob tightly. 

In an instant, his eyes were on yours again and he pressed to you after a big step. You shrieked into yourself and your breath hitched. 

“I was good to you, patient, wasn’t I? Huh?”, he growled and you sniffled, nodding your head as tears sprung to your eyes again. “Answer me.”, Steve growled again and a ‘yes’ caught in your throat like a piece of glass. 

Steve’s right hand fisted itself in your hair and you groaned. You had the impression that, from Steve’s hands, Bucky’s blood was still dripping, and your breath was cut from your lungs.

“Le-let go, Steve! Pleaseee—”, you cried at him as he forced you towards the bed.

“No…”, you whispered, already knowing what he was willing to do. “NO! Steve, please…please, Steve, anywhere but here, not in h-his bed, please—”, you struggled to pry off his hands, hyperventilating. 

His ruthless fingers came forward and squeezed at your cheeks to stop your incoherent babbling.  

You, on the other hand, couldn’t stand this to happen on the bed you and Bucky were to share. You planted your feet on the polished, expensive floor, and tried to elbow at Steve's chest, ribs and stomach. 

Unexpectedly, he threw you in front of the bed with force, and you landed with a wail.

“You don’t tell me where I fuck you, when and how, understand? You are my wife now. Mine.”. His unfeeling words made you cry harder and your head was spinning so hard you could barely form out the objects in front of you. An unbearable ring was playing in your ears, blocking everything else but Steve’s words. 

“Wife? Y-you k-killed hi-him…”, you stuttered between sobs, fingernails gripping the plush carpet. “I fucking hate you! I ha-hate you, I f-fucking hate you, you psychopath—”, you screamed at him, the anguish tearing at your vocal chords.

Steve crouched next to your shaking body, and grabbed the nape of your neck, pushing your face down. You tried to hit at him, and when you did, he clobbered you and nextly you saw black dots dancing in your vision. 

“I can be very good to you, as I was all this time, but everythin’ can get really bad for you. So, close that pretty mouth and watch your tone and language because truuust me…”, he threatened in a sing-song voice, “...I can shut it for you and you won’t like that. There is nothing you can do about it. You are with me now, whether you like it or not.”

You flinched hard as his knuckles brushed the tear-soaked hair away from your bruised face. The sight of your glossy, widened eyes and your sigh-heavened chest rising in sorrow seemed to Steve the prettiest thing in the world. 

“I love you, and that’s why I'm asking you to be smart. I don’t want to pick a casket for my future wife too”. His words made you tremble even more, despite your struggle to stop. “I lost the man that was like a brother to me because of you. Now…don’t make me do to you somethin’ I’ll regret later, sweetheart.”

Was...was he blaming you for Bucky's death? Bucky's murder?

You simply nodded, what else were you supposed to do? You felt like your skull was on fire, as Captain's thumb played with your lower lip. His words were getting straight to your head.

He chuckled, as if shaking the previous threats off would make you forget about his dreadful being, and he started to tear off your sweatshirt. You didn’t fight him. There was no use in it. Then, he picked you up and sat you on the bed.

The mattress felt like nails pressed to your naked skin.

“Now—”, Steve groaned, pulling at your panties, making a sob choke you again, “—be a good girl for me…doll.” Steve never called you 'doll'. But he used to know someone who always called you that.

End.

✵⁎ TAGS: @highonmarvel ♡