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our-destiny · 10 months

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If you’re comfortable with it can I request a blurb or headcannons (whatever you prefer) with yandere Bucky Barnes with a darling who never wears anything that goes above the knee but eventually they get comfortable (assuming they haven’t been yoinked at this point) with Bucky that they take a chance and wear something that’s above the knee, and they just have a lot of SH scars on their thighs. I struggle with it still so it’d be v comforting.

That or a darling with an eating disorder because they feel like they don’t deserve to eat, or others deserve it more than them (I also struggle with this) (multiple skill issues on my part👎)

Tyyy!

-💪🌝

Thank you for sending in a request, in this post I'll do SH scars but I'll do another post for an ED, and I'll link it here when I'm done. Anyway, we're gonna do headcanons! <33 Also I hope this helps comfort you bb

Yandere Bucky sees GN!Darling's self harm scars

Trigger Warnings: Self harm (both past and present), implied suicide, stalking, kidnapping, Bucky's a perv and watches you change + a sappy note at the end from yours truly - if I missed anything please let me know

Want to read more of my work? Check out my Masterlist

. ☪︎* ☁︎. . * ✰ .· ☁︎ . * ✯. ☪︎* ☁︎. . * ✰ .· ☁︎ .

First off, our baby boy here definitely stalks you, and has probably seen your scars when he'd watches you get changed (little pervert). So when he sees you wearing something that shows them, he won't be very surprised. Chances are he'll just gloss over them and not mention them to hopefully make you more comfortable. But let's talk about how he first felt when he saw them.

Bucky was absolutely heartbroken when he saw them. You hurt yourself? Why? He thinks you're the best person in the world, he would move Heaven and Earth for you, what made you do that? He's not judging you, no he would never. He's just worried.

He probably stays awake at night for the first few days when he finds out. Worrying if he's gonna lose you, or if he's done something wrong. His stalking gets more intense, wanting to make sure you don't do it again, or hurt yourself worse.

If they're fresh ones he thinks about confronting you. About giving you a long speech about how he loves you, trying to intervene and help. But then he remembers that you don't know he knows. He shouldn't know. So that idea gets scrapped. So now he has two options.

1. Take you home with him (he doesn't like the word ''kidnap'') so he can physically stop you, even if he has to tie you up or lock you somewhere.

Or 2. Physically stop you by just taking away whatever you're using to hurt yourself. Knives would be the easiest, he'd just take them when you weren't looking, and if you bought more he'd take them, too. But if it's something else (your own nails, burning yourself, hitting yourself) he'd have to do something else. In that case, he'd be forced to take you, to keep you by his side and under his watch so you didn't hurt the person he loves any more.

Either way he is incredibly worried, and would act as soon as possible to try and help you from the shadows. He'd also insist that he's here for you, that you can call him whenever you want, even if it's the middle of the night, your safety comes above anything of his. He just wants to make sure you stay by his side, and happy. Is that so bad?

If they were old ones and healed up he wouldn't be as worried but still heartbroken.

Even the thought you did something like that just makes him want to cradle you and kiss your cute face all over, reassure you for hours on end. But he can't, because you don't know that he knows.

Either way, he becomes a lot more clingy and reassuring, telling you he's here for you if you should ever need him and showering you with even more love. Again, once you actually showed him, he wouldn't mention it or make a big deal out of it, not wanting to make you uncomfortable or pressure you into talking. But if you do want to talk, he's all ears. And has snacks and cuddles at the ready to comfort you.

As always, don't hesitate to reach out if you are struggling, there are many resources available to help you, pkease use them. Even if you feel no one cares, I care. And I love you. So take care of yourselves <33

#bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #yandere bucky barnes #yandere bucky x reader #yandere marvel #dark!bucky barnes x reader #yandere marvel x reader #yandere bucky #yandere james barnes #dark!bucky barnes #dark winter soldier #dark marvel #dark!buckybarnes #dark!bucky #dark bucky barnes x reader #dark bucky barnes x you #dark bucky x reader

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our-destiny · 11 months

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if the fates allow - chapter one

dark!bucky barnes x reader: As could be expected, you were just a tad upset about having to spend Christmas in a mental health facility. On the brightside, you didn’t have to spend it alone. Your friendship with Bucky Barnes, another patient on the unit, brought you a certain level of comfort during your stay. When you are discharged from the hospital shortly thereafter—and Bucky is forced to remain—you promise him you’ll be his pen pal until he gets out, after which, you’ll meet for coffee and catch up.

But when things don’t go quite as well as Bucky had hoped, he takes drastic measures to ensure that you remain the integral part of his life he always envisioned you to be.

warnings: stalking, kidnapping, suicide attempts, and non-con elements. proceed with caution.

(gif is not mine)

chapter two // chapter three // chapter four

chapter one: losing time

music

🎄DECEMBER🎄

“So. I got you a little something.”

Bucky smiled at you expectantly, clearly very eager for you to investigate further. You raised your eyebrows at him. It was just so ridiculous. What could he possibly have gotten you, a magic marker from the craft room? A rogue oreo from the kitchen? There weren’t many gifting options to choose from. But then again, maybe he had a creative capacity you were unaware of.

It was only seconds later that you were presented with an origami folded together on the cheapest construction paper known to man.

“Is that…oh, it’s a dog!” you said, carefully picking it up out of his palm.

“A wolf,” he corrected you. “See how it’s howling at the moon?”

That it was.

“That’s actually pretty impressive.”

Bucky looked at you sheepishly. “I can’t exactly take credit for it. I asked MJ to make it for me. I tried to do it myself, but well…”

He motioned towards himself. You didn’t know the specifics of what happened to his left arm, just that there was an accident while he was deployed overseas. He was hesitant to be fit for a prosthetic even years later. He said he had a bad experience with the first one he had tried, that he felt like he hadn’t healed quite well enough to be fitted for another one just yet.

“…you get it.”

You hated that Bucky was so diligent about letting you know what day it was. You already knew what day it was, but you figured if you pretended that you didn’t know it was Christmas Eve, then you wouldn’t feel so sad. So there you sat, side-by-side with your backs pressed up against the radiator in the group room. You were trying to derive as much heat as you could from that ancient radiator, but you knew Bucky was only sitting there for your benefit. It had to have been uncomfortable for him. He was always warm.

He just didn’t want you to feel alone.

“I didn’t get you anything, Buck. I’m sorry.”

He shrugged. “You can make it up to me one day.”

The gesture was sweet, so sweet that it almost made you tear up. You tried your best to ignore him as he observed you, shifting your focus towards the inflatable Christmas tree in the corner of the room. You were amazed that MJ hadn’t tried to pop it yet. She had been particularly bothered by the “tree” when she discovered it that morning. At first glance, she greeted it with a cheerful “what the fuck is this?”

You glanced up from your sketchbook (which wasn’t really a sketchbook. It was a marble composition notebook that you and Bucky had both been sharing for the last two days to write each other notes and play tic tac toe) and raised your eyebrows. “A tree apparently.”

“No, it’s not,” she said flatly. “Why can’t we have a real tree?”

Bucky sighed. “Isn’t it obvious? They’re afraid we’ll try to hurt ourselves with the glass ornaments or the branches or something. So we get whatever this is.”

“Come on, guys,” Sharon, one of the psychiatric technicians chimed in. “I think it’s cute. Cleaner than a real tree, too.”

“Sharon, seriously?” MJ scoffed. “This is insulting.”

At first, you thought the hot mess of a “tree” was actually kind of funny. But looking at it now—cheap and partially deflated with stickers and paper ornaments plastered all over it—you would have to agree with MJ. This was a downright shameful excuse for a Christmas tree.

All of it was shameful, really. Here you were, scratching away in your notebook with yet another dull pencil, trying as hard as you could to distract yourself from yet another painful wave of emotions. The “tree,” the “sketchbook,” the pencil. They all looked almost about as pathetic as you felt.

Almost.

Bucky was eyeing you carefully, just as he always did. You had a few friends in the past that were pretty empathetic. Bucky, though…

He was on a whole different level.

He was particularly perceptive when it came to picking up on others’ emotions, namely yours. When you first arrived on the unit, you felt an instant kinship with him. You weren’t sure what he was like with people on the outside, but any time you were together, you felt like the only person in the room. It was equal parts comforting and unnerving. He shone a light on things you weren’t willing to say, things most people preferred to ignore. You wondered if that sense of intuition had anything to do with his military training, with his PTSD. It had to have been. Or maybe he was just always like that and those things amplified what was already there. You would never know for sure.

Sharon sat on the bench nearest to the door, fully absorbed in her sudoku book. You turned to look out the window, slowly clenching and unclenching your fists as you tried to hold back tears. It was snowing outside. Not the ugly kind of snow, either. It looked soft, like it would be easy to shovel or build a snowman with. Was it sad that you would be more than willing to shovel the parking lot just to have an excuse to go outside?

Tomorrow would mark six months since your mother passed away. Half a year. You hadn’t seen or spoken to your mother in half a year. Worse yet, tomorrow was her birthday.

It should’ve been, anyway.

Before you could stop yourself, you let out a sob that clearly startled Bucky. Your voice sounded strange and shallow, and as you continued to cry, you began to breathe faster and faster. It didn’t take long before tears were streaming down your face uncontrollably.

“Hey, hey, no! Come on, don’t do that,” Bucky said, turning to face you. “Hey, come on. Don’t cry.”

You shook your head, raising both hands to cover your face. Your notebook slid to the floor, the pencil rolling across the room until it bumped up against the inflatable tree. The notebook and your new gift fell to your side. You felt resistance against your fingers, like Bucky was trying to pry them away from your eyes, but you kept leaning further and further away from him. You curled yourself up closer into the corner of the wall, pressing your forehead up against the cool glass of the windowpane. Your chest was starting to hurt from the hyperventilation.

Bucky closed in on you, his chest pressed up against your back as he rested his chin in the crook of your neck. He had never been that close to you before.

Shannon immediately perked up. “James, back up right now. Don’t touch her.”

Bucky ignored her, hooking his arm around you and squeezing onto you even tighter. “Shhh. Come on, cheer up. It’s not so bad.”

After a great deal of squirming, he finally managed to pull your hands away from your face. You turned your gaze towards him and he nodded towards the window.

“See, you’ve got the nice view of all the snow out there, you’ve got your new Christmas present, you’ve got your book here.”

“Our book,” you corrected him, your voice thick and pitiful.

“Ah, there she is,” he chuckled. “Our book. And, uh, you’ve got the…you’ve got the tree.”

You let out a sound that was halfway between a sob and a laugh. You felt unbearably hot, and Bucky was only making it worse with his warmth. Somehow, though, you didn’t mind. You clung onto him even tighter, a wave of exhaustion rushing over you. You wanted to melt into that exhaustion, into that warmth.

“You’ve got, uh…”

You suddenly felt pressure against your arms, someone’s fingers pressing into them. They were attempting to shake you away from Bucky’s grasp, but he wouldn’t budge.

“James, get off her now!” Sharon yelled.

“Sharon, h-he’s fine,” you stuttered, clutching onto his shirt. You were coughing, struggling to breathe as she yanked on your arms. “Seriously, he’s—”

“No, he’s not. Boundaries, James!” she shouted. “We’ve talked about this! Scott, get in here!"

“Let’s see what else,” Bucky continued, his voice low and soothing in comparison to the yelling reverberating off the walls. “We’ve got Sharon over here, our babysitter.”

Maybe it was the way he was joking around with you, maybe it was his warmth, maybe it was finally getting the chance to experience intimate human contact in such a confined, depressing place. Maybe it was the intention behind it all, a genuine attempt at comforting you. The concentrated effort to get you to stop crying. You weren’t quite sure. But in that moment, you were struck by something you thought had withered and died in you long ago.

The eager and persistent desire to live. To be alive. And not only that.

To be wholly, completely, fully alive.

“And I’m here. You’ve got me. See?” he mumbled. He was so close his lips were almost pressed against your neck. “Nothing to worry about.”

For just a split second, you actually believed him.

It didn’t take long for reality to set back in.

Sharon started violently pulling on Bucky’s arm. At a certain point, he chuckled and rolled his eyes, shifting away from you. Even with one arm, he was still ridiculously strong. He let his limbs go slack and allowed her to pull him up with one quick tug. Her eyes widened, perplexed by his sudden obedience. He rarely, if ever, did what anyone told him to do. You partially wondered if that was why he had been there for so much longer than everyone else.

Staff rushed into the room, followed by a few nosey patients. Once they entered, Bucky raised his hand up in front of his chest defensively, meandering towards the doorway as if nothing had happened. Much to your chagrin, he would probably be monitored more closely when he was around you now.

They couldn’t stop you from talking to each other, though, could they?

Right before he was escorted into the hallway, he looked over his shoulder at you and winked.

“Merry Christmas, doll.”

❄️JANUARY❄️

You hadn’t composed a handwritten letter in a very, very long time. You had a penpal when you were growing up, a boy you befriended at summer camp. From what you could recall, it had been a fun experience. You loved the anticipation of waiting to receive another letter, and the rush of excitement you felt when it finally arrived. The writing part was fun, too. You loved the process of filling Peter in on whatever was going on in your life at the time.

You would never forget how sad you were when Peter stopped writing back. You sent him three letters in a row before your mom finally convinced you to give up.

“He probably just moved away and doesn’t remember our address,” was her explanation. “Or maybe it got lost in the mail. He’ll get back to you eventually.”

You were all too happy to accept her version of the truth back then, delusional as it was. Every once in a while you wondered what Peter was up to nowadays. You once even considered looking him up on Facebook or something, but then you realized how psychotic that was and refrained from doing so.

As you stared at the little origami wolf sitting on your dresser, the prospect of writing to Bucky felt a lot less joyous to you. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to hear from him. You did. It just hurt you to think that he was trapped in a hospital during the most depressing month of the year. It was just so unfair. You had only been there for a few days, and you got to leave before he did. Granted, his situation was much more dire, and perhaps he only had a few more days left before they were going to let him out.

Likely not, though, based on the fact that he asked you to send him letters. That implied that there would be ongoing correspondence between the two of you, meaning he somehow knew that he’d be there for a while. You just wondered for how long. He probably wondered the same.

He was a “repeat offender” in that particular hospital, meaning he wound up there following a suicide attempt more than once. He had been a prisoner of war, and with that came severe PTSD. You would never be able to forget the sound of him screaming in the middle of the night, waking you up out of a dead sleep from several rooms away. Out of everything he endured, all of the symptoms he had been living with on a daily basis, he always said the nightmares were the worst.

“Hey, on the brightside, they let me have the room all to myself this time,” he had said the morning after one particularly rough night.

Bucky had been suffering so much, and for so long. He didn’t deserve to be under anyone’s control anymore. He hadn’t deserved it to begin with. However, you knew that his physical safety took precedence over everything, and if he posed a threat to himself, maybe it was better that he was there—as upsetting as it was.

To get yourself in the spirit of writing, you had purchased a set of multicolored gel pens. You sent three to Bucky and kept three for yourself. Yours red, orange, and yellow, and his green, blue, and purple. You thought he might get a kick out of them. You hoped he would, at least. When you were in a place that was so bleak and void of color, it was the little things that stuck out to you. They were ballpoint pens, not exactly sharp and lethal instruments, so you were hoping the staff wouldn’t intercept them.

You kept your first letter short and sweet, just so he wouldn’t feel any pressure to write you a mile-long response if he was tired or disinterested. You felt awkward and self-centered writing him a three paragraph update on your life, so you ended it with some questions about how he was, what he had been up to. That was what you really wanted to talk about.

As you went to put his name on the envelope, you stopped yourself short.

Bucky

Sgt. James Buchanan Barnes

You received a reply in less than a week. You were delighted to find that your wish had come true. He had been allowed to keep the pens. Not only that, he had used them to write to you. You thought your decision to give Bucky the cool colors while you kept the warm colors for yourself was an apt one. When you were in the hospital, he was always wearing dark colored sweaters, most of which were black and gray. He told you that when he was first admitted, one of his friends had stopped by and dropped off a bunch of clothes for him to wear. There was one blue sweater he owned that you particularly liked. You weren’t sure why he didn’t wear it more often.

He looked nice in blue.

Hey dollface,

Sergeant Barnes, huh? And here I thought we were on a first name basis!

How are things on the outside? Miss me yet?

I can’t even begin to tell you how much I appreciate you writing me this letter. Not sure if you’ll think this is pathetic or not (and even if you did, you probably wouldn’t say anything, would you?), but it gives me something to look forward to. I was having a pretty horrible day—and let’s be honest, every day is a horrible day in this place—but when Sharon told me I had mail from you, my mood was instantly lifted. It reminds me of when my pal, Sam wrote to me back when I was in basic training. That feels like a lifetime ago. It kind of was.

God, I feel so old lately. And I’m only getting older. I’m becoming more and more aware of that with every minute I spend here, the fact that I’m losing time. Wasting time. My sisters came to visit me the other day. I haven’t seen them in a while, probably a good year or so. You’ve only ever known me with long hair, but they were shocked when they saw me. They were absolutely relentless about it. It was strangely comforting.

Sometimes I wish I would have met you when I looked the way I used to. Back before all of this happened. Way back, before I was ever deployed. I was a completely different person then.

Although maybe you wouldn’t have liked me so much back then. I was much more sure of myself. Probably too sure of myself. I had a lot to learn.

You seem to like the person I am now.

I’m not so sure I agree.

I’m slowly but surely getting better. At least that’s what everybody is saying. I’m feeling a bit calmer, less jumpy. Even Dr. Banner can see it. I think the meds are working. They have to be at this point, right? The nightmares are still there, of course. Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever stop having those.

Oh, before I forget - MJ won’t admit it, but I can tell that she misses having you around. She made a little sketch of everyone on the unit the other day, and she included you in it. I might miss you a little bit, too.

Come visit me sometime, won’t you?

James

P.S. - Ever seen a decorated soldier write a letter in purple gel pen before? If I could roll my eyes in writing, I would.

Only for you.

this is a reupload of a story i wrote over a year ago. it's good to be back on this hellsite lol. thank you for reading 💌

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