#western!bucky barnes

[artficlly]

a dish served cold (mini series - part one)

Wild West Marvel AU

outlaw!bucky x reader The law had not brought you justice, so it appeared you would have to find it yourself. Fate led you to Crimson Junction for a reason.

Warnings: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, violence, mentions of death, blood, mention of guns, alcohol, swearing, creepy men, period typical attitudes, outlaw bucky, protective bucky, bucky has issues, mention of robbery & crimes, mention of police (law), mention of flooding & drought, vague mention of animal death, no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 3k

A/N: hiya! it's been awhile. i started a first draft of this story literally like a year ago? it's gone through so many changes to the plot (it was originally called queen of the gunslingers). this has been so refreshing and wonderful to write, i wasn't even sure if i was ever going to post it because western marvel au is so niche but i know a few people enjoyed me & the devil so!! this mini series is pre written so i'll be trying to post updates weekly as i edit. the series is sitting around 25k-30k words and will be 7 chapters long. if you'd like a tag list let me know. sorry for any typos - not proof read.

main masterlist | series masterlist

Rain was supposed to be a welcome sight. 

The inhabitants of Crimson Junction had been thankful for the blessing, a relief from the drought that had plagued them. The surrounding areas had been unceremoniously crowned The Dustbowl after seven years of no rain. Fierce winds had blown in, kicking up the dirt, sand, and dust, blanketing the surrounding areas. Crops failed to grow, animals suffocated, and homes were buried. Most left the area, choosing to abandon their land in search of fruitful and safe territories.

The canyons bled crimson the day the rains came; water mixed with the red soil and rock. The people of Crimson Junction celebrated, their prayers were finally answered. It was only as the valleys began to flood and the once barren riverbeds overflowed that the inhabitants considered the bleeding waters an omen. 

Those who lived out in the west were familiar with danger. Out in the open, death lurked everywhere. It watched from the desert, a darkness always lingering a few feet away. Death took on many forms—a bullet, a wound, a sickness—but when the rain came disguised as a blessing, no one was prepared for its wrath. 

Floods wiped away entire homesteads. Homes and countless heads of cattle were lost to the raging waters, swept downstream, and smashed between debris. Survivors, soaked and shivering in their nightgowns and nightshirts, gathered in the small crossroads town of Crimson Junction. Fortunately, the town had been spared, but it had become an island, isolated in a lake of thick, deep, red mud. Travellers and misplaced locals sought shelter, and the town came to life overnight. The canyons were unstable and too dangerous to travel due to the landslides and debris blockages, and with mud up to your elbows, it would be impossible to walk through, let alone lead a packhorse. So, you were all stranded, patiently waiting until the roads were cleared. 

It appeared fate had led you to Crimson Junction for a reason. 

The hotel attendant sighed as you descended the stairs of the rickety building, the older man muttering about the mud tracked in through the entrance. Even Crimson Junction had not been spared the sludge. The thick, red substance appeared to be a problem in every establishment in the area, gradually caked onto not only your clothes and shoes but also the flooring. 

You gave the attendant a shy nod of your head as you exited into the night. The chill of the night air bit at your bare skin, and you were suddenly grateful for the layers of skirts that pooled around your legs. The road so far had been hot and sticky, with layers of dust that clung to your skin. When it was not still and scorching, the winds would whip violently. Sand and rocks had pelted you, leaving your skin stinging and your hair tangled. The floods had allowed the temperature to finally drop below the pits of hell. 

You hesitantly depart the porch of the motel, the heels of your riding boots clicking as you lower yourself onto the street. Wooden planks squelched under your weight as they sank deeper into the sludge. The town had tried to combat the muck by laying out boards to traverse, but despite their good intentions, the wooden boards seemed to sink deeper and deeper with each passing day. The streets echoed something more akin to a pigsty than a walkable path. 

With the chill in the air, you hugged your arms around your bodice, still making sure to hike up your skirts to prevent them from dragging through the mud. Ever since finding yourself stuck after the rains, you had resigned yourself to your hotel room. You slept and read to pass the time, and your horse was boarded at the stables for a hefty price. But after days of waiting and your funds running low, you found yourself feeling rather antsy, your impatience growing the longer you waited. With impatience came risk and rash decisions, so, against your better judgement, you opted for a strong drink at the saloon to quieten your mind. 

The saloon was alive with music and chatter, with other stranded travellers slurring their words or in a state of undress despite the sun only having recently set. You expected many of them to have wondered into the establishment not long after awakening from whatever alley they had drunkenly stumbled into the night before. It certainly smelled like it, with clothing plastered in mud to match. The chaos allowed you to slip in quietly, finding an empty spot along the bar. You frowned at the coating of muck congealed onto the floor, a mixture of questionable liquids you did not want to identify. With a wave of your hand and coins slid over the sticky bar, you were content staring into space as laughter and singing broke out around you. 

Your peace was short-lived. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see a looming shape as a body slid in beside you. Your eyes stayed locked on your drink, only noticing the scent of whiskey and sweat clinging to the man. 

“Where have you been hidin’, Miss? I ain’t never seen a woman as pretty as you in these parts.”

You expected a lady such as yourself to be few and far between in these lands. Most of the folks who roamed this far into the desert were hardy, stocky, and rough around the edges. You did not fault them for it, but rather a sense of admiration for the determination it had taken to live through the seven years of drought. You were, arguably, a bit delicate in appearance. Though, it was a purposeful presentation. Pristine and shining among the filth. Your hands were smooth; there were no calluses or scars. Hair neatly pinned back, and a clean and tidy handkerchief knotted around your neck. Your skin was untainted by the sun, and your lips were unpeeled. Your dress, though not the height of city fashion, was impractical for such a lifestyle as farming or droving. The layers of fabric were orderly, with intermittent embroidery and lace. You had lived a comfortable life, and it was clear you were raised to be a wife and homemaker. Your Pa had worked hard to afford you such a future.

“Not from these parts.” You spoke into your glass as you raised it to your lips with an eye-roll. A gentle girl you might have been to your Pa, but he was not present. And you were not feeling particularly in favour of being pleasant. 

“Traveller, like myself. Guessin’ you stuck ‘cause of the floods too?” The man mused, leaning his forearms against the sticky bar. He shifted his body forward, craning his neck as if desperate to catch a proper glimpse at your face. 

“Somethin’ like that.” You respond dryly, unmoving. 

“Say, you interested in havin’ a good night, sweetheart? I got a room in the hotel over yonder if you wanna join me.” 

Grinding your teeth in annoyance, you jerk your head around to face the man.

“What do you take me for?” You snap at him. You take note of his greying hair and the locks thinning along his hairline. His beard, with uneven, yellowing teeth revealed by cracked lips, turned into a sneer. 

“I didn’t mean no insult, darlin’.” He starts, “I ain’t insinuating you’re an easy mark, sweetheart. Just knew I couldn’t let a catch like you go walkin’ out of here without at least tryin’.”

“Charmin’,” you huff. “Did you not consider that I would never want to lay with a dimwitted pest such as yourself?” As you speak, you can see his once-toothy grin harden into gritted teeth and a look of drunken rage wash over his features. 

"Well, ain’t you a quick one, huh?” He spits out, his body looming closer. Only moments before the two of you had been invisible, another set of bodies in the crowded saloon. As his voice began to rise, you could feel heads turning and eyes locking onto the both of you as the scene unfolded. “A fuckin’ tease, ain’t ya? Hangin’ around this bar all by yourself, askin’ for it. You tellin’ me a lady like yourself travelling alone ain’t some whore lookin’ for some attention?”

You roll your eyes once more, shooting back the last of your drink. Perhaps it would’ve been wiser to remain in your hotel room. Back turned, you begin to walk away from the seething man. In your brief moment of naivety and vunrablitiness, he wraps his mud-clad hands around your forearm, yanking you backwards towards the bar. 

“Now where ya think you’re goin’ now, miss? I weren’t done talkin’ to you.” He hissed into your ear, the stench of his warm whiskey breath fanning across your face. You began to lower your hands, reaching for your riding boot. Your fingers gathered your skirts, entangling themselves in the fabrics as you hoisted up the layers. Your hands drew closer to your knees, your back pressing into the hardwood bar, twisting your torso away from the man. 

A gruff voice quickly interrupted, drawing your attention away. 

“You know this man, ma'am?” The low voice asks. You glance over at it’s owner, a dark-haired man, and look him over with one sweep. 

The man was familiar to you, though he wouldn’t know you. Out of all of the towns you had visited in the past few weeks, there was scarcely any that failed to have his likeness plastered upon a bounty board. James Buchnan Barnes. Or Bucky, as he was more commonly known. The papers and gossip of fellow travellers spun a tale, one of a group of heartless butchers and thieves. He was wanted for a train robbery gone wrong in the south. A decent price upon his head, as well as that of his gang. From what you had read, the group had split in an attempt to lose the law. One had gone north, another deeper south, while Barnes had gone west. 

The posse of outlaws had been lucky, as the law had hurridly dismissed the chase; a different high-profile robbery had drawn their attention away. One they had prioritised more than the livelihoods of the lowerclass who had been on the train that day. Bounty hunters still pursued, but mostly the world moved on. Some Duke from Europe had been robbed while exploring the west too trustingly, and the story had become an overnight sensation. So Barnes and his companions had become a distant whisper, a sun-bleached and fraying poster behind a bar. 

But you had not forgotten Bucky Barnes. 

“No.” You finally choke out in reply, your hand raising back to thigh-height as you stand tall. When faced with a killer, you had anticpated a feeling of disgust, but instead a burning curiosity roared through your veins. 

Barnes lets out a slow breath, his eyes darting over the unwelcome man. Barnes was easily twice his size, with pure muscle and a wicked look in his eye. There was a charm to him, you supposed, in a rugged, dark-handsome stranger, saviour of damsels in distress type of way. Messy dark hair peaked out from beneath his hat; some pieces curled around the nape of his neck. Behind his dark lashes were icy blue eyes, with the crinkle of a smirk at the corners. Like many others, there was a hint of red earth dusted across his face, neck, and hands. The clothes covering his broad, muscled body looked well-worn, and his boots were caked in mud. You noted the two revolvers slung around his hips and a bandolier stocked with ammunition across his chest.

“Do you want to know this man?” He asks again.

You lift your chin. “No.”

“Good.”

Before you can react, Barnes has leapt forward, landing a solid upper-cut on the drunk man with a grunt. The room erupted into cheers and whistles as the two clashed, glasses smashing and furniture overturned in their wake. You stood frozen, fingers in a white fist around your skirts. There was the sickening sound of bones crunching beneath flesh, and blood sprayed in droplets across sodden floors. As quickly as it started, it was over. One of the bartenders promptly escorted the unruly man out as he seethed and yelled obscenities. The saloon crowd roared back, a pulse of excitement and adreline rushing through the saloon. Barnes put his hands up in surrender as the barkeep eyed him cautiously, but the barkeep inevitably backed off, returning to safety behind the bar. Barnes sweeps a hand through his messy locks, his eyes darting around in search of his hat, which had been knocked to the floor. 

Against your better judgement, you bend down, retrieving the hat. You brush some of the red dust and broken glass from the brim before handing it back to the outlaw. He places it solidly back on his head.

“I appreciate your concern, but you didn’t need to do that, Mr.” You tell him, and he shrugs. 

“If you say so.” Barnes goes to turn away, then thinks better of it. Sucking his teeth, he tilts his head, looking you up and down once again. His eyes linger on your hair, then your dress, before finally settling on your clenched fists. “You travellin’ alone, Miss?”

“I don’t see why that's any of your business, Mr…?” You trail off, fingers flexing as you force yourself to loosen the grip on your skirts.

“Mr. Clark. Benjamin Clark.”

A false name. Clever. 

“Right.” 

He chuckles with a shake of his head, tapping the bar for a drink to be sent his way. Exhaustion seems to embody his very being; fatigue hangs from his bones like his own flesh and muscle. He doesn’t seem to notice your analysing stare; his focus is instead drawn to wiping off the splatter of blood that had been spat in his face at some point during the commotion. 

“Look, Miss…?” He begins with a sigh, finally looking you in the eye. 

“Nellie Chase.” You lie through your teeth, watching him through your eyelashes. His tongue darts out, wetting his lips as he looks down at you. 

“Look, Miss Chase. I don’t know yer circumstances, but it ain’t safe for a lady such as yerself to be travellin’ alone, especially in these parts. I imagine you was just passin’ through like the rest of us, then got stuck ‘cause of all that rain. But, with men and women of all sorts all trapped up together like this… well, it’s bound to cause trouble. You’d be better to stay locked up in your rooms, Miss; it would be safer than roughin’ it out with this lot.” 

You hold back a scoff and instead opt to lift your chin. A smirk pulls at the corners of your mouth as you take a step closer to the outlaw, eyebrows raised and head cocked to one side. “Well, thank you for your wisdom, Mr. Clark, but I am perfectly capable of handlin’ myself.”

A glass of whiskey was now in his hand, and you coolly slid over a coin to pay for it before he could. He blinks at you in surprise, and you flash him a grin in response. With narrowed eyes, he swallows back half of the amber liquid. 

“I imagine so.” He lets out gruffly. “Where are ya’ headed?”

“Saguaro Basin.” 

“Saguaro Basin? Wha’chu doin’ headed that way? Last I heard, there was some bad business in those parts. Cholera and all that.”

“I’m goin’ to be married.” You make a point of flashing the ring on your finger, which is met with a half-interested grunt. He didn’t seem to question how garish it was or how the metal did not match the earrings dangling from either side of your head. Though you imagined, you could not expect a man to notice such details as a woman might. 

“Yer gettin’ married and yer husband-to-be ain’t even got the time to come get’chu himself?”

“Well, I imagine he is quite busy workin’, and it is such a long distance to get there and back. So he paid for me to take the coach, as it is supposed to be safer—” You cut yourself off with a frown as you notice his eyebrows raise. You clear your throat as you decide to shift the topic. “So, where are you headed then, Mr. Clark?”

“Same as you. West. Bit further, though maybe more Marielle ways.”

“Marielle… that’s…?” You trail off. You knew exactly where Marielle was, nestled deep into the western deserts and canyons. Once, it was the home of outlaws, whores, and rustlers. These days, it had been transformed into some sort of respectable town with the help of the law and the church. In fact, it seemed the now bustling town had grown in size from it’s humble beginnings and was becoming a hotspot of trade and business in the deep west. You’d heard mention of the fearsome prison that had been erected not two years ago, where prisoners were subject to hard labour while awaiting their sentencing. 

“Long past Saguaro Basin, that’s for sure.”

“Right.”

You were met with silence, but continue to pry. Would he spin a grand, elaborate tale just as you had done yourself? Or would he tell the truth—a raw, bitter confession of guilt to just another pretty, misplaced lady stuck in Crimson Junction? This was all rather exciting. 

“What brings you there? Business, pleasure… family?” 

“Business.”  

“What kind?” You dare to push further. 

“Not the type’a business a lady such as yerself would be interested in.” 

“How so?” You seem to be out of luck; as the outlaws patience had grown thin. You could practically hear the tension snap as he let out a low ‘hmph’, reluctant to answer the question. Your fingers dance across the sticky bar as you ponder if you should push your questions further, but Barnes had other plans. Taking a long swig from his glass, he finishes the last of his whiskey and gets to his feet. 

“Well, Miss Chase, I thank you for the drink but I must be goin’ now. And you should get back to yer rooms and keep outta’ trouble now.”

The outlaw did not stay long enough to hear your farewell, preferring to slink wordlessly out of the building. With a smile, you lean against the bar, motioning for the barkeep to get you another drink. 

Fate had led you to Crimson Junction for a reason, and how gratifying it was to know why.

#bucky x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #bucky x female reader #james buchanan barnes #marvel fic #marvel #marvel au #western au #cowboy au

[renif]

bucky in a cowboy au again because i genuinely love the concept.

#the winter soldier #marvel #bucky barnes #cowboy #cowboy au #art #illustration #digital fanart #mcu #western #james bucky buchanan barnes

[buckrecs]

Do you have any western or outlaw fics

Western / Outlaw AU

masterlist | req masterlist

treacherous by @scrumptious-delusion

you’re asking yourself why he keeps coming back, he’s asking himself why you keep letting him in. it’s a treacherous slope but neither of you can turn back now.

Bayou Bonding by @bucknastybabe

The boy who carried his father’s blue, blue eyes toothily smiled at you. He sat by the fire in your father’s manor, dressed in fine clothes. You named him James; after his father.

Love Me With Trouble by @slyyywriting

I just need to see my baby again/ She took my hand there from where it began/ Said she would love me with trouble I was in.

Burned by @moonlight-prose

Bucky Barnes was a man who you’d been infatuated with since he entered your home and decided to stay. He had lit the match, and now it was his turn to burn he way through you. Until there was nothing left.

Impressions on the Inside of your Thigh by @jen-with-a-pen

Head Ranch Hand James "Bucky" Barnes has had a very, very long day. Only way to remedy it is to make you squeal.

#bucky barnes fic rec #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes series #bucky barnes smut #winter soldier x reader #bucky barnes western au #cowboy!bucky barnes #outlaw!​bucky barnes #cowboy!bucky x reader #outlaw!bucky x reader #bucky barnes angst

[thatmexisaurusrex]

sixteen carriages driving away

Hey, people! This is for the @sambuckylibrary’s TFATWS Anniversary Event 2024 for the prompt “Period Piece”. It's also based on the song "16 Carriages" by Beyoncé and is sort of this western train heist? I hope y'all enjoy the fic! 🥰

sixteen carriages driving away

| Pairing: SamBucky | Rated: M | WC: 3.2K |

Summary: Ex-gunslinger and acrobat Sam Wilson comes home to his ranch to find his love taken from their home. He sets out to pull a train heist to steal Bucky Barnes back.

Excerpt:

The Thunderbolt was a Pullman. The kind of train where you slept. A sleek, comfortable sort that that was quick, but didn’t give motion sickness to those on board. Filled with the finest dining, the comfiest cushions, and wealth galore. There was no luxury left off this hotel on wheels. Sam had studied this train inside and out beforehand. He knew every single carriage on this train like the back of his hand. And Sam was going to get back what was stolen. He was going to bring Bucky back home.

READ THE REST ON AO3!

#tfatwsanniversary2024 #sambucky #sam wilson #bucky barnes #sambucky fic #established relationship #western au #train heist #period piece #my fics #sixteen carriages driving away

[bucknastysbabe]

Heyo the Bucky rdr western au has much more plot than expected. I have an old one that didn’t get much traction from Ao3 so wanted to post and see if y’all liked it! So something to tide over :)

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Derogatory language towards a woman, outlaws duh, light description of puking, rough handling, bickering bitches, sex pollen (or potion in this case), strip poker, cunnilingus, Bucky’s huge dick, dirty talk, rough pnv!sex, cream pie, pregnancy, open ending, love at first intercourse, ambiguous ending

Bayou Bonding

The boy who carried his father’s blue, blue eyes toothily smiled at you. He sat by the fire in your father’s manor, dressed in fine clothes. You named him James; after his father. He stared at the fire with a contemplative look on his face before asking, “How did you meet Daddy?” You blanched, Bucky was a sore topic around your home. A blight on one of Saint Denis’ finest families. You told the boy a watered down version of the truth, but your mind wandered back to the day.

1879, Saint Denis, LE

“Unhand me! You— you cowpoke!,” you hollered.

A gloved hand slapped over your mouth, the other wrangling you close to his body. The burly cowboy hissed, “Shut it! Howling ain’t gonna do you a damn thing.” You thrashed more, stomping a heeled foot into his foot. He grunted in pain, slinging you into the ground. Ragged ropes cut into your skin as the outlaw hogtied you. He shoved a dirty kerchief in your mouth, and hauled you up over his shoulder.

Another man, a lean blonde snickered, “Feisty one eh Buck?” The surly man cursed, “Too Fuckin’ feisty. Uppity little bitch.” You yowled behind your gag, trying to knee him in the back. The two men cautiously carried you down a back alley. Two horses waited in the murky gloom. ‘Buck’ and his smirking compatriot had plucked you from the Mayor’s party, for what you assumed was ransom. As sheriff, your daddy didn’t mix with the right people all the time.

Buck flipped you onto the back of his huge black horse, you crying out at the rough handling. The pair hopped on their horses, and off you went into the night. The movement of the galloping horse was making you sick. From what you could see they were taking you North into the swampy wasteland of Bayou Nwa. You managed to spit your gag out, but before you could speak, a rush of your dinner decided to make its appearance.

“For fuck’s sake! Tell me why Stark sent me to do this shit?,” the darker man spat. The other man laughed again, chuckling airily as you watched his bow bounced across his back. Buck rumbled, “Quit yer’ laughing Clint or she’s going on the back of ole’ Hawkeye.” Clint shut up and kept riding on.

You really wishes you could’ve taken off your corset, but one doesn’t prepare for kidnapping on horseback by dirty cowboys. The stink of the swamp started to envelop your nose as they closed into the darkness. Buck lit a lamp, you could watch it’s shadow away across the muddy ground. The pair stopped at a dilapidated dock, illuminated only by the sparse moonlight and the lamp. A dingy waited in the pitch water. Your vision swam as Buck hauled you to the boat, gently lowering you down to not disturb the boat.

You complained, “Atleast cut my feet, I’m not stupid enough to go jump in a damn gator infested swamp!”

Clint shrugged and pulled out a knife, cutting the rope after he sat down. Buck protested, “No you damn fool, what happens when we get out of the boat? Dumbass.” You rolled your eyes and muttered, “Like I’m going to either run away from heavily armed criminals.” The big man grumbled under his breath as he stepped down into the dingy. You dusted yourself off, taking a breath as you adjusted your corset. You wrinkled your nose at the smell of horse on your crinoline dress.

Buck began rowing, blue eyes scanning the misty swamp. Clint leaned back, staring up at the stars. He offhandedly asked, “So. You know your daddy is crooked? Don’t even start Barnes!” Bucky called Clint a dumbass, again. You replied, “I had a feeling. Not my business, I’m just here to look pretty and get engaged if it wasn’t for you dirty cowboys.”

“Not cowboys.”

“Outlaws,” you said in an exaggerated accent.

You crossed your arms and huffed, “Great. I really hope you two know your way around the Bayou. Then we’re all dead. Anyways how long is this ‘holding me for ransom’ to last. The entirety of the Saint Denis Police will be looking for me. Your gang must be on some hard times.”

“Shut it!,” Bucky barked.

Clint stage whispered, “We have a map. Headed to a safe house. And until he pays up, killing you has no purpose.”

You nodded solemnly, listening to the sounds of the bayou. This place had always intrigued and scared you. Your grand-mère told you stories of ghosts, pirates, the night folk and such. Although there were much more real, scary things than stories happening to you now. Clint said you weren’t in harms way but Bucky’s cold eyes frightened you.

The boat pulled up onto an old stilted house. There was a dim red lamp in the window. Bucky paddled the dingy flush to the dock, mooring with some rope. Clint stepped out first, extending a hand to you. You thanked him as the wiry blonde helped you up. Bucky trudged out last, pushing you into the shack. “Go on”, he growled.

Clint carefully slithered back into the weathered dingy. He cheerily announced, “Have fun in the swamp shack you two. Pleasure to meet you miss, Bucky doesn’t bite,” he paused, “Atleast I don’t think he does. Anyways I have to get back to the gang, see you around when the ransom is paid.”

You spluttered, “Why can’t he go? I don’t want to be stuck with this brute!”

Bucky glared at you, hands balling into fists.

Clint cackled, “Rule’s rules miss. I’d love to entertain you another time. Have a good night.”

You stomped into the shack, petulantly sitting on a weathered chair. You complained, “It smells like gator shit in here.” Bucky ignored you in favor of closing the small curtains. You watched him move. For a big man, he carried himself lightly. Maybe if he took a bath and had a trim, he’d even be attractive. Blue eyes turned on you.

You held your ground and deadpanned, “I meant it. You’re greasy and smell like horse.”

He collapsed into an ancient armchair, pulling out some gun oil. Bucky remarked, “You’re just a ray of sunshine aren’t you? Just shut up and lemme’ clean my gun. Yer’ daddy will pick you up soon and you can go back to your bubble.”

He dissembled the pistol efficiently, carefully cleaning each part. You watched him quietly, holding your tongue for everyone’s sanity. You really wanted to take off your corset, the tightness was driving you insane. You held off until your head felt light. With a weak voice you asked, “Bucky. Mister Outlaw.” Sleepy eyes turned to you, his brow quirking up in question.

“I need to take my corset off.”

“Well take it off.”

You whinged, “I need help for that you dullard! Just loosen the laces and I have the rest.” He remained stubbornly silent so you simply began to remove the outer layers of your extravagant outfit. Then you walked over to the ass and turned around. He mumbled, “Spoiled rotten. Fine, you want a plate of cheese and grapes with this madam?” Thick fingers started to loosen the corset, you taking a deep breath of air. You unlatched the front of it, now clad in your pantaloons and blouse. You breathed, “Thank you, and yes that would be delightful sir.”

Bucky gazed at your body as you were turned around, reluctantly appreciating the view. He threw his coat at you and chided, “Cover up.” With a disgusted look you put it on. The smell of leather and herbs was nice, but the stink of horse still lingered. Very warm coat too. You gawked at the filthy mattress in the corner of the shack. It was covered in stains and had a ragged blanket strewn across it. Grabbing your extensive overwear, you managed to cover the mattress and make a pillow out of your bustle pad.

“Hm. Maybe some brains under there. I know they don’t let you city girls learn much.”

You snapped, “I’ll have you know!” You stopped when you realized Bucky had made a very solid point. With a frown you crawled onto your emerald green crinoline pallet. Cuddling into the jacket you let a few tears slip. You hoped you’d be home soon and out of this mess. Your eyes began to droop as you listened to Bucky cleaning his weapons and the crackle of the small fire he started. You said a rosary in your head and drifted asleep.

You awoke to the darkness. Rain pattered against the tin roof. Bucky sat cross legged, reading a book. You prayed to the lord for sleeping safely. As you stretched and sat up he gruffly mumbled, “Mornin’.” You shot back, “Did you not sleep? Stare at me all night instead? I thought your type would take advantage of a helpless lady.” His brows furrowing made you cringe at your lack of forethought.

“Our gang might be criminals but we’re not deviants. You’d like that though, wouldn’t ya? Big scary cowboy rippin’ yer’ bodice,” Bucky smugly replied.

You remained silent, picking at your nails anxiously. The brunette licked his full bottom lip and closed his book with a soft thwip.

He stood up and handed you an open can of beans. You stared at the outlaw incredulously, eyes flicking back and forth from the gross looking food. You primly spoke, “Hate to ruin the moment but do you have an apple or crackers? I’m not eating that.”

He huffed a laugh and rifled through a satchel before tossing you an apple. Bucky busied himself with the beans, eating like it was his last meal. You stared in horror at the scene as you ate your apple. Bucky rolled his eyes as he inhaled the last scoop. You scoffed, “I need to get out of this smelly swamp shack or I’m going to feed myself to the the gators.” Bucky smirked at you, an amused look in his eyes.

“No can do, just gonna’ have to hop out of your bejeweled carriage Princess,” he chuckled.

You threw your hat at the smarmy cowpoke, which he easily caught with a surprised grin. You had to suppress your thoughts on his endearingly crooked grin. You spat, “Oh piss off, I’m not damn Cinderella! I just happen to have manners and morals !” Bucky snorted, “Not using your manners curssin’ at me and throwin’ hats in your skivvies!” You groaned in frustration, taking a particularly vicious bite of your apple.

Bucky busied himself back with his book, leaving you to boredom. So you shucked off the heavy jacket in the hot shack and rummaged around the place. Bucky raised a brow but ignored you. You found a loose floorboard and pried it open. Some strange marking in chalk lined the bottom of the space. Multiple glass jars and dried herbs littered the hidey-hole. You picked up some sort of carved charm, setting it back down carefully. A small bag of coins jingled as you inspected the sack.

It looked like some old hoodoo or voodoo practitioner lived here. You hoped it was the more spiritually benevolent voodoo. Bucky stomped over to you and bellowed, “What in fucks name are you doing?” You yelped and threw the coins at Bucky. After a breath you replied, “I got bored! Found this stuff, some swampfolk left some voodoo trinkets. The man’s face paled as fear entered his blood.

Bucky scolded, “Why would you go mess around with that cursed shit! That’s bad luck— already have enough of that!” He kicked a chair and hollered, “God dammit woman!” You cowered at his outburst, squeaking out, “Voodoo isn’t bad! Hoodoo is, that’s what the Night Folk practice. My grand-mère told me about this, these are probably just luck charms and health elixirs. Relax, you’re scaring me!”

His handsome face fell, wiping a hand over his forehead. He amended, “My bad— I don’t mess around with shit like that. You’d know better than me, now just put that stuff away. C’mon princess, we’ll play cards. I got a deck in my satchel.” While Bucky spoke, you stuffed the remaining trinkets in your underclothes. He held out a hand to help you up, you daintily taking the rough grip.

“You got any drinks?,” you drawled. You were cooking up a plan, something to give you the upper hand. Bucky turned around with a bottle of fancy rum. You awed, “Aged pirate rum, living above your means huh? Rob that off a poor citizen of Lemoyne?” The brunette growled, “You gonna drink it or what?” You waved a hand and seized the bottle. You called over your shoulder as you found some old cups, “Get the game ready, I like rummy. My brother taught me how to play when he got out of the war.”

“Got out?”

“Legs blown off.”

“Damn. Sorry ‘bout that.”

You pulled out the two vials of mystery liquid, reading the labels. They were written in creole. You only knew Parisian French so you had to guess. One said companionship and the other was something along the lines of rest. So you shrugged and poured a bit of both into his cup. You finished off the companionship one in your drink. You didn’t want the outlaw to pick up on the herbal scent.

Bucky questioned, “What’s taking you so long?” You lord smoothly, “Found some dried mint for a little flavor, a lady needs some spice.” He scoffed and crossed his arms. You smirked to yourself as you tucked the empty vials away. You brought the drinks over and handed Bucky his. As expected he sniffed the rum, but didn’t make a fuss as he took a sip. You sat down and teased, “Get ready to get your hide tanned, cowpoke.”

So you drank, and played, and drank some more. You’d beaten Bucky two times before he slammed his hand down on the table and barked, “A’right! Let’s see your hand in poker, Princess!” He grinned wildly, blue eyes sparkling. He looked handsome when he smiled, dimples popping with endearingly crooked teeth. You were trying to take it slow but you felt the effects of the alcohol. Your face was flushed and you felt loose and erratic. Bucky was also wide open, talking much more than you’d ever expected him to.

You teased, “Let’s make this fun, Mister Barnes. How about strip poker? Never seen a cowboy naked.”

He balked at your forwardness, pink lips agape in surprise. Nervousness bolted through your body before Bucky tumbled forward with guffaws. He howled in laughter, “Hah! Miss high falutin’ wants to play strip poker! Aight then, let’s play!” His flush ran down his tanned neck and up to his ears. So the game began, and you felt on top of the world.

Soon you were short of pantaloons and Bucky sat only in his pants, broad chest on display. He was quite drunk now, slurring and flirting shamelessly. You’d slowed down some but vitality thrummed through your veins. Bucky’s lusty stares were starting to make your core ache. You hadn’t felt this aroused since that visiting French Aristocrat fucked you silly a year ago.

He smirked as he dealt his hand, a straight flush. You were beat. The man leaned back, thick thighs spreading invitingly. Bucky crooned, “Get that top off princess, uh-uh no backing out you started this.” You shot back, “Fine fine, lucky day for you cowpoke. High class lady showing you her bosom.” You shucked your top off and gestured at your naked body. Bucky’s eyes visibly darkened with lust and before he spoke you cut him off, “Nah. We aren’t done yet. I want another round.”

As the last round went maddeningly on, your arousal was beginning to spike. You couldn’t pay attention as your skin felt on fire. Your cunt had soaked your thighs and the wooden chair. Your nipples, hips, and nethers throbbed and swelled up. All you could think about was getting a cock in you. Bucky fared no better, his chest was flushed with stiffened nipples. You saw his hand rubbing needily between his legs. Sweat beaded on his temples and the man looked like he was going to jump your bones.

You slurred in a rare moment of clarity, “I thin’ I drugged us.”

Bucky snarled, shoving the table aside. He stalked over to you and dropped to his knees. Worn hands gripped your thighs as he rasped, “S’that why you smell so good n’ my cocks fixin’ to pop? Dumb little rich bitch.” You mewled, rutting your hips toward his swollen lips. He groaned at the sight of your swollen folds. The brunette muttered, “To hell with it.” He dug his face between your thighs, licking a broad stripe up your slick center.

One palm held your hip as the other skated up to your swollen nipples. He plucked and tweaked at the sensitive bud. You wailed in pleasure, bucking into his mouth. His stubbly cheeks rubbed you raw in the right way. Bucky was direct with his cunnilingus, attacking your clit mercifully. He’d dip down and slurp around your leaking cunt before going back to your bud.

You yanked a fistful of his dark hair, wrapping your legs around his meaty shoulders. He moaned into your sex, “G’fuckin girl.” You babbled uselessly, writhing in pleasure. Whatever you had put in the concoction was some sort of sex potion. You’d never felt all of your nerve endings alight like this. Your lower belly was beginning to contract as Bucky suckled on your clit while he stroked your inner walls. You were so out of it you weren’t sure when he’d slipping them in. But tears were welling up as he abused that sensitive, sensitive spot.

You keened, “Heavens above! Fuck ah ah mmh!”

He grinned against your pussy and nipped down on your clit, sending you reeling. You clamped down on his shoulders, folding on top of his body as you shook with the intense spasms. You bit your lip to keep from screeching like a banshee. You held onto Bucky’s head and panted, “Need— more— fuck need your cock Bucky please not enough.”

He shakily got up, detangling you from his body. You whined at the loss, him shushing you. Bucky cooed, “Hol’ on sweetheart lemme get ya somewhere more comfortable. M’ gonna fill you right up.” You moaned in agreement, latching into his strong arms as he hauled you to the makeshift crinoline pallet. He rubbed your back, hissing, “Need that pretty pussy baby, bet it’s Fuckin’ snug. M’ fucking raring to go, gonna wreck you. Never gonna look at a city boy again.”

“Mhm, yes please, need it need it Bucky!”

Bucky ungracefully tossed you on the cot and covered yourself with that sculpted body. He snatched your lips into a quick kiss, before shoving down his jeans to reveal his cock. It was almost purple from the amount of blood flushing the organ. You whimpered and spread your legs. Bucky growled, “Yeah— spread em’ like a good slut. Gonna wreck you.” He seated himself between your plush thighs and sheathed in a quick motion.

Your mouth opened to scream but he shoved a coarse palm over your lips. You felt complete, Bucky’s girthy cock filling you to the brim. You were so wet he met little to no resistance. Without warning the brunette started up a brutal pace, fucking into you in abandon. Slick clapping noises echoed around in the light of the late afternoon. His powerful hips and thighs pistoned into your sloppy core. You sobbed at the intensity, crying Bucky’s name like a prayer.

He gasped into you neck, panting about your perfect cunt. He slid his big hands under your knees, pressing you into a ball. The new angle

had the outlaw’s blunt tip ramming into your sweet spot. You scrabbled at his back, biting and sucking at his muscular shoulders like a feral animal. Bucky let out a pained moan,

“Fucking heavenly— good little slut. Yer’ ole’ daddy gonna be wondering why you can’t walk.”

You cried harder, wondering how the man was holding it together as he drilled you into next week. A second orgasm was approaching at a breakneck pace and threw your head back in ecstasy. Bucky laved his skilled tongue up the column of your throat, gripping your thighs. You yelled, “Oh ah— ah ah Buck m’gonna come again fuck!”

“Come on n’ take it darlin’, it’s all yours,” he spit through clenched teeth. The cowboy’s pace didn’t slow any as you reached your peak. Your legs spasmed and shook as you sobbed at the overstimulation. Petting your sides, Bucky cooed, “Easy girl, I ain’t done with you yet.” You whimpered, “S’ too much please no, I can’t!”

“Yeah you can sweet thing, gonna wear you out and fill you up like the needy slut ya’ are.”

You whined pitifully, wrapping yourself around his broad scarred back. You panted into his scruffy cheek, begging for more or less you weren’t entirely sure. But Bucky kept up. The man had flipped you around like a rag doll and pushed you through two peaks before he came with a shuddering moan and shout of your name. Bucky rolled off of you with a sigh, breathing like a racehorse. He gasped, “Whatever..the fuck..you put in m’drink..a miracle.”

You were too worn out and dazed to speak so you gave a sleepy “mhmmm.” The outlaw rolled to his side, slinging an arm around your soft waist. He rubbed at your slick skin, a strangely soft look on his face. You snuggled into his body and drifted off again.

“Awe what the fuck?! Get dressed the sheriff is coming you horn dog!,” A voice voice rattled in the shack. A darker man threw Bucky’s clothes at him, grumbling about Barnes and his wandering dick. You bolted upright and slung on your clothes. Bucky was pulling up his ranch pants, cussing at the other man ‘Sam’.

“Ease off Sam— it’ll be fine!”

Sam shouted back, “Not when she looks like she’s been mauled by a leech! Idiot!”

The two bickered until you cleared your throat, loudly. You said, “If you two will stop fighting, this corset needs lacing. Then I can put on my dress with a high neck, therefore you don’t see the markings.” Sam harrumphed, “Fine. Turn around I used to lace up Sarah all the time”. Bucky pushed Sam aside and did the deed instead.

He rumbled, “You okay?”

You nodded as you turned to look at Barnes. You whispered, “More than good. If you find your way back to Saint Denis, I live in the big peach house by the Cemetery.” Bucky replied, “Will do.” He squeezed the nape of your neck before buttoning up your dress. You attempted to fix your mussed hair in a cracked half mirror but gave up with a grunt. You pecked Bucky on the cheek, Sam groaned in frustration from the doorway.

And so your father picked you back up. It was a happy reunion, and things went back to normal in Saint Denis. Until you missed your monthly cycle. Your fathers face haunted your dreams when the doctor declared you pregnant. He hissed in the carriage, “You got knocked up by that dirty criminal didn’t ya? Rapist piece of shit. I’m contacting higher ups.” You protested before your father realized, and he turned ice cold. Things in Saint Denis weren’t normal after that. You weren’t kicked out fortunately, and the boy was to be raised as a sad circumstance of your kidnapping.

Bucky didn’t come by, but he left a letter once. Saying he was changing his ways and got some land out in Canada. Your mother burned it up in the fire. You wrote a letter back, telling him to come get you and little James when everything was settled.

“Mama? So you ran with a gang before I was born?”

You blinked and snapped out of reverie. With a sad smile you cooed, “Yes James. We were free and wild! But I had to leave to take care of you. Your father will be back one day. Then we’ll be a family.” The boy grinned and cheered, “Maybe he’ll teach me how to ride a horse!”

In the night, Bucky stared at the luxurious cabin. He proudly smiled at his hard work. Only had a trip to Saint Denis to make

#western!au #rdr!au #bucky x reader #bucky barnes smut #sex pollen

[unstable-river]

Western Soldier

I wanted to try out the mix of analogue and digital drawing, like Julian Totino Tedesco explaines in this tutorial. So this is practise.

#Winter Soldier #Bucky Barnes #western #cowboy #marvel 1872 #1872 #marvel #art #drawing #painting #julian totino tedesco

[chickenfics]

Scars

Relationship: Bucky Barnes x Fem!reader Western AU

Summary: Running from a past that haunts you and a future that is unsure, the last thing you wanted was to take up with a stranger. Strangers, you'd learned, are almost always more trouble than they're worth. But when dangers from the life you're trying to leave behind get too close for comfort, drastic times call for drastic measures, and the stranger you'd once feared becomes the only person you can trust -- and perhaps the only person you'd call your friend. Now you both just have to make it out alive... 

Or: the western AU that nobody asked for

Word Count: 8k

A/N: This is a mature fic and is going to contain graphic depictions of violence and abuse, both physical and emotional. Reader has a brother (original character) and a backstory, but is still intended to be a self-insert rather than an OC. Content warnings will be given in the notes of every chapter, but expect most of the violence that comes with westerns (excluding any graphic depictions of sexual violence).

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged for future chapters!

Content Warning: mentioned domestic abuse, alcohol, guns, assault

Also on Ao3

Next Chapter Masterlist

Chapter 1

The saloon was half empty, giving the dusty rays of morning light plenty of room to cast themselves onto the floor. A plank or two was crooked, pulled out of the rest of the floorboards in one bar fight or another, never fixed, even after all this time; left to meld into the landscape of the place. Dirty windows, swinging doors, a bar situated to the left of them, and tables -- rickety, the kind that make you wonder how they’re still standing, let alone supporting the average lost soul’s weight as their choice of poison mixed with the sweat on their brow and the grime on their hands. 

And busted floorboards, ripped out to expose slender nails like teeth. A tripping hazard for sure, but the least a person had to worry about when entering a place like this. 

Even so, at barely the crack of dawn, all the drunkards, the cowboys, and the scum of the earth -- who stumbled in to get drunk after a long day’s work and stumbled out with bourbon in their bellies and fire in their fists, an unfortunate combination for the wives or children they had waiting for them at home -- were gone; fast asleep in their beds or passed out somewhere they weren’t supposed to be. 

In the early morning hours, the only people to be found in the saloon -- one you couldn’t remember the name of on account of it being too much like all the others you’d visited over the years -- were the occasional laborer stopping to get a quick, desperate pint before a long day in the sun, or a fur trapper or traveling businessman mustering the courage and strength to head out on their next journey through the wilderness. 

You fell somewhere in between and outside of the two -- a wandering soul passing through towns like a ghost or a curse; not many noticed you were there, and the ones that did weren’t sure enough of what they’d seen to remember you for long. 

Good. That was how you liked it. How you needed it. 

Blending into the scenery had been the skill to keep you alive. Not your talent with a gun, nor the experience you'd gained over the years -- two things that he would have scoffed at had he heard you make any sort of claim on them. But you knew they were true, no matter how long he and the others had spent trying to bend you towards thinking otherwise. 

You knew who you were, and you knew what you could do. 

You also knew what you couldn’t do, which made you more powerful than any one of them -- them and their drunken nights fueled by wild ideas and dangerous plans breathed beneath the crackle of the fire. Them and their heavy hands, reaching further, pushing harder than you’d ever thought they…. 

The door to the saloon swung open and closed in a swift movement, squeaking on its old, rickety hinges. You didn’t look up from where you sat, shoulders hunched and elbowed pressed into the rough wood of the countertop. A shot glass sat unattended between your arms, and your ill-fitting goatskin coat fell past the stool you sat on. In a way, it offered its own protection; another measure to blend into the dreary brown walls. 

Barely a minute passed before a hand fell onto your shoulder. You just managed to repress your flinch, redirecting it into the clench of your fists against the counter. 

“What’s a pretty thing like you doin’ dressed like that? Hm, darlin’?”

Clenching your firsts wasn’t enough. You added your jaw to the mix, grinding your teeth together before lifting your arm, shouldering his hand off and downing your shot of rye in one fluid motion. It burned going down, but it felt better than his hand trying to paw its way back onto you. 

“Piss off,” you threw through gritted teeth, your voice coming out harsher than usual thanks to both disuse and your disquiet. 

Fear had always made you rough, just in all the wrong ways. It made your throat clog up until you couldn’t speak, your muscles clench until you couldn’t move. Fear had always been the thing to hold you in place for whatever you were scared of to have its way with you. 

You were trying to fix that. 

Swinging the flap of your coat aside, you thumbed the heel of your revolver, fingers grazing the grip. A threat, but one that you did not intend to act on, not because you couldn’t -- you knew damn well that you could -- but because you knew you wouldn’t need to. There were plenty of ���pretty things” for a man to spend his morning with that wouldn’t threaten to shoot him where the sun didn’t shine. He wouldn’t waste his time on you, especially when you were already on your way out the door, swinging your hat onto your head and tilting it low. 

The weathered rim blocked the sunrise from your face as you stepped down off the porch of the saloon. Glancing down the road of the small town -- so small it was barely worth its mark on the map -- you were greeted with sand, dusty wood, and nothing more. You were a ghost in a ghost town.

The thought could have almost made you smile. It didn’t. 

Instead, you unwound your reins from the hitching post and threw them over your Palamino’s head -- a piece of stolen goods from your old life that you’d stolen again when you decided to leave that life behind. 

His head jerked with a start as you woke him from his early morning dozing, but he quickly calmed himself and stood at attention, ready for another day of work. He was a level-headed thing, but with more of an attitude than even you. 

“Well, Horse,” you muttered, tightening the girth before kicking your foot up into the stirrup. “Think we’ve overstayed our welcome. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

Swinging your leg around and settling easily into the saddle with a toss of your worn, faded coat, you checked that everything was cinched to the saddle and tapped your heels. Horse took off at a brisk trot, and you spun him in a circle before urging him towards the edge of town, a line just below the glowing, bright horizon. 

________________________________________________________________

You’d spent the last three months moving from town to town, picking your way along the map. The longest you’d gone without seeing civilization was three weeks, and it had been both the most content and the most uneasy you'd ever felt. On one hand, you had never liked being in town -- any town -- and preferred to keep a safe distance from strangers, especially when they came in herds. 

On the other hand, the only time you’d ever been alone in the wilderness was with them, back when you had been traveling with your own herd, so to speak. There had only been one time prior that you’d been alone besides now, and you didn’t think about that. Ever. 

If you did, it only made you push yourself harder, traveling faster and with fewer stops, less rest, more paranoia. That’s how you had spent the first month, and Horse was still recovering from it. Hell, you were too, but you were more worried about Horse. If he fell ill or injured, you would be abandoned out on the plains with nothing but a dead horse and a rapidly closing distance between you and the past you were trying to leave behind. 

So, when four weeks passed and nothing happened, you finally forced yourself to slow down. And, for the first time, you’d allowed yourself to stop at the nearest town. It had been small and meaningless, and you’d decided to stay the night. Then a faulty door lock and a drunk man had reminded you why you never trusted places like those. 

You were more careful, after that, whenever you stopped for supplies. You found yourself hearing his voice in your head, all the things he’d taught you since you were children, hiding under the bed as glasses were smashed and shattered outside your shared room. Its presence never failed to fill you with a roil of nausea, as potent as it was vile, but the advice it offered was sound. 

You’d always hated that about him; he knew what he was talking about, and he knew how to say it. It was all the things he did in between the words that made you run -- that had been the reason Horse was picking his way through the underbrush of a scarred, depressing forest. The plains had begun to change after two days of riding. You noticed more plant life, more shrubs and bushes, and then even a few trees. After two more days, those few trees turned into the beginnings of a forest. 

In a sense, it was a relief. The canopy offered you shade from the unforgiving sun that had been pressing against the top of your head and shoulders for the last several days. The trees would offer you more protection during the nights, too; a place to make decent camp -- a welcome change from simply rolling your bedroll onto the desert floor and propping your hat over your face. 

But the forest meant unforeseen dangers. Out on the plains, you could see the approach of a stranger from miles away. Sure, you couldn’t hide, but you could spot them first. But in the canopy of the forest, woven between the trees and bushes, anyone could be lurking. The chances of you seeing them before they saw you were just as likely as the alternative. You didn’t like that. It put you on edge -- or more on edge than usual. 

You’d spent life on the edge since you were but fourteen. The edge was a familiar friend and a lifelong companion. 

But in the pleasantly cool atmosphere of the woods, you found yourself relaxing ever so slightly. Enough that you let your feet fall from the stirrups, giving Horse a loose rein so he could comfortably navigate the rough terrain. Twisting around in your saddle, you took quick stock of your supplies; it had been almost a week since you’d passed any sign of occupied civilization, and the only evidence of life had been a run-down ranch and a few abandoned cabins. 

You were almost out of grain, and though there would now be some grazing options with the sudden foliage, you estimated you had about three days before running out entirely. Slipping the map from your breast pocket, you shook it out and located the last town you’d visited. Trailing your eyes along the path you’d taken, you quickly found the clump of woods. 

Reigning Horse to a halt, you let him dip his head and graze as you squinted at the frayed paper. The forest stretched on for about fifty miles, and the nearest town lay fifteen miles East beyond its edge. If you kept a brisk pace until nightfall, you suspected you could arrive by midday tomorrow. 

Scanning ahead on the map, you noticed that there would be a long stretch between this town and the next. You’d need to stock up on enough supplies to last you a few weeks. Fingering the coin purse in your pocket, the ever-present knot of anxiety twisted your stomach up in knots. You had more than enough money to get you to where you were going and then some; that wasn’t why the thought of it made your chest feel heavy or your lungs feel full of cotton and sand. Shivering, you tried to shrug off the memories swarming around the inside of your head like black flies. It would do you no good to think about any of that now. It was too late -- you’d made your choice, and if you didn’t keep moving, that choice was going to kill you. 

No amount of thinking would change that, so you pulled Horse’s head up and urged him forward. You wondered if he could sense it too, the need to keep moving. He probably could. Despite what the flashiest and most skilled cowboys tried to tell you, you’d always known that horses were sensitive. They were more sensitive than people sometimes, and you had seen many a horse broken by an iron rod and a ruthless fist, measures justified by the claim that it was “just an animal.”

Humans were animals, too. You wondered if that was the excuse people used when they beat people down; raped, killed, maimed. You wondered if they told themselves that they were “just animals” in order to sleep at night. You wondered if they even needed the excuse. 

At the squeeze of your legs, Horse picked up his pace. You weren’t looking forward to another trip into town. The knowledge that it was necessary -- that it was coming -- sank into your gut like a river stone; smooth and cold and heavy. It melded with the lining of your stomach until everything inside you felt frigid and abiotic. But as much as you were dreading the trip, you wanted to get it done and over with. The quicker you got in and resupplied, the quicker you could be on your way -- an assured few weeks of wilderness descending like a promise of relief on the stormy churn of your future. If you told yourself you needed only to do this -- this one last thing and then you could rest -- the weight of it became a little more bearable. 

So you focused on the steady footfalls of Horse and you listened carefully to the soft hum of the forest as the coolness of it soaked into your skin. The day passed almost peacefully this way, and if you were another person, perhaps you could have let yourself surrender to that peace. Perhaps you could have taken a breath. 

But you weren’t. You were… you, and you just couldn’t find it in yourself to relax. 

By the time the sun began to set, the filters of golden light disappearing from between the branches, replaced instead by an indigo glow, you were exhausted. You hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in a long time -- longer than just your recent journeys -- and you suspected that tonight would be no different. 

Still, you were looking forward to finding a nice bit of shelter. As the darkness of the growing night spread around you like ink, you began to search for accommodations. You found them in a fallen tree, its wizened, bare branches creating half of a shelter already. All you’d need to do was drape your rain slicker across the opening and you’d be hidden from the rest of the world. 

The reality of not being able to see your surroundings as clearly as out on the plains hit you square in the face, and you felt your panic rise a little from its place deep in your gut. But you shrugged it off, trying to convince yourself that if you couldn't see them, they couldn’t see you. Trying to convince yourself that they  weren’t here -- they were far behind you. You had enough time; you could get one restful night of sleep without punishment. 

As the last of the sun’s lingering rays dipped below the horizon, leaving the sky to blacken with the night, you dismounted, giving Horse a pat on his clammy, sweat-streaked neck. As the first stars began to blink into the sky, you pulled out your slicker and draped it along the opening. You suspected that it was going to be a cold night, despite how hot the day had been, and welcomed the extra protection from the elements. 

You had just untied your bedroll when you heard the snap of a twig. 

You spotted the horse first, so white that it almost glowed against the backdrop of the forest, looking so much like something out of the ghost stories you’d been told as a child that, for a moment, you almost had yourself convinced it wasn’t real. 

Then you saw the man. 

You scrambled for your gun, freeing it from the holster at your hip and taking a stumbling step backward -- eyes flashing down as you almost tripped over a root. In the few seconds that your gaze had been off of him, the man had pulled his own gun from beneath the clay-green poncho that covered his left side, stopping just below his hip. 

He held it out, barrel pointed at you with a steady hand that seemed to mock the tremor you could feel shooting through your own body. But when you glanced down at your hand, it was just as steady as his. You swallowed hard and the man tilted his head at you. 

It was hard to make him out in the dim light, and when you realized he was close enough for you to see the dark brown, almost curly hair that reached his shoulders, or the way his angular face was held in a passive stare, you felt yourself take another step back. 

He was massive. 

You’d crossed paths with your fair share of large men -- and women, for that matter -- but there was something about this one that had your heart clenching. His bicep looked bigger than your head, and his towering height -- paired with the fact that he was on an incline -- made him appear even bigger. 

“Easy now,” he spoke, voice almost as dark as the night, but soft. You’d learned long ago not to take a soft voice and equate it with kindness. The arm pointing your revolver at him tightened, the muscles flexing, and he noticed. 

“C’mon, take it easy. Wouldn’t want anyone getting hurt now…”

You felt the first tremor break through your hand. Your damn hands always gave you away. The man noticed -- you could see it clearly on his face, in the twitch of his brow.  

“I’m just passin’ through,” he said, lowering his weapon almost nonchalantly, but the eyes trained on you were so piercing that they felt just as dangerous as any gun. 

They were dangerous not because they were hostile or threatening, but because they were smart. 

Your hands were certainly shaking now. You balled your free hand into a fist against your thigh and grit your teeth, willing the sign of weakness to stop. It would get you killed if you couldn’t stop it. 

The man’s lips tugged into a small frown, and you tried not to let your breath sound ragged in your chest. He held up his hands in surrender, pistol hanging from his finger. 

“Look, if you just lower your weapon, I’ll be on my way. I have no quarrel with you.”

Your vision flashed white as you heard his voice. 

“C’mon, just lower the gun, Kitty. Be a good girl…”

You screwed your eyes shut for just a second to will the tears away -- you could absolutely not cry -- and tore them open, leveling the gun at the stranger with renewed vigor. He sighed. 

“Goddammit -- fine,” his voice raised in volume to meet you, and there was something in it that made whatever he would say next final. “Now I’m gonna turn around and continue on my way. I get the idea you know what you’re doin’ with that thing, so if you plan on shooting me your aim best strike true the first time because I assure you, you will not get a second.”

With that, he was moving again. You retreated another frantic step and your back hit the rough edge of the tree with a hollow thump. The man halted, tilting his head at you again. You couldn’t be sure, but you thought there was curiosity there. You felt your chest constrict, fear numbing your veins, but with a click of his tongue, he led his horse forward and disappeared into the underbrush. 

You watched him go, only relaxing when you could no longer hear the rustling of his feet. All at once, you felt the adrenaline flee your body. Your knees buckled and you slumped heavily against the tree, ignoring the future bruises painted on by the branches digging into your back. 

You drew in a shuddering breath, letting it out in a sigh -- repeating the process a few times with the mantra you now lived by running through your head; it hadn’t been him. It hadn’t been them. That was the most important thing. You could deal with a strange, terrifying man, but you wouldn’t survive if it was them. You lifted a subconscious hand to the side of your throat, thumbing the bandana that covered it. 

Knowing that you had come so close to a stranger -- and a man of that size and, if you were guessing right, skill, no less -- sent panic bubbling up into your throat. It was obvious you were making camp; what if he came back while you were sleeping? What if he had been lying and intended to return to rob you, or kill you, or worse?

The decision was made with that single thought -- that single potential threat -- and you were hastily rolling your rain slicker up and strapping it back onto your saddle bag. You’d just have to travel through the night. No matter how slow or dangerous the travel was, it was clear you couldn’t stop, just in case the man with the apparent good intentions had been lying. 

And they usually were. 

“Sorry bud,” you managed to whisper an apology to Horse as you swung yourself into the saddle, legs still a bit shaky. It was one of the few reactions you hadn’t been able to fix, no matter how hard you’d tried. 

“No sleep tonight.”

With a barely muffled sigh, you guided your horse forward, heading in the direction that, you hoped, was opposite of the stranger, trying to forget the way his eyes had bored into you or the way his pistol had aimed so steadily at your own. 

________________________________________________________________

The town wasn’t hard to find. It was bigger than the last you’d been to, containing more than just a few rows of buildings, outposts, and a church. This one had well-worn roads, a cluster of homes along the edge, and an array of shops clearly intended to sell anything a traveler might need while passing through. 

You kept your hat low, bandana pulled up and over the lower half of your face. You’d removed your goat skin jacket, securing it to the back of your saddle to try and find relief from the blistering noonday heat. Buildings sat on either side of you; a bank, a schoolhouse, an inn -- your eyes scanned the porches and doorways of each of them. People passed on either side of you as well -- women in dusty, sun-bleached skirts, their hair tied up in braids or wrapped in scarves. Men on horseback rode by you in the street, some tipping their hats in disinterested greeting, others ignoring you altogether. Your face remained passive, a blank and somewhat unpleasant mask to discourage anyone from talking to you. 

To your right, you caught sight of a corral, filled with what looked to be a group of fine wild horseflesh tearing about and wheeling in circles, challenging the wooden planks that held them inside. Horse pricked his ears, watching them intently. You urged him forward past the corral, stopping just outside the attached stable. 

A bearded man greeted you, wiping his hands on a handkerchief before tucking it into his waistband. You dismounted, tying Horse to the nearest post, and tipped your hat in hesitant greeting. The man's eyes were warm brown and looked kind. As if sensing the discomfort you carried with you, he tucked his hands into his pockets and hunched his shoulders slightly, almost timidly. 

“What can I do for you, Miss?”

“I need grain. Enough for a few weeks,” you replied, pulling your bandana down around your neck but still staying a good distance from him.

He nodded slowly and whistled in thought, eyeing up Horse. 

“This the fellow you’ll be feedin’?”

“Yes sir."

“Right then,” the man replied, tilting his head. “Feed ‘im anything else? Foliage or alfalfa, anything of the sorts?”

“He grazes when he can,” you answered, shrugging. “He doesn’t need much, just enough to get him by.”

The man nodded knowingly, then gestured for you to follow him into the barn. You went as far as the double doors before stopping, but he didn’t say a word about it and reappeared a few minutes later with two burlap sacks no bigger than your saddlebag tied together securely with twine. 

“This should do. You can mix it with water to stretch it a little further, make it expand so it fills ‘em up.” 

You took the bags from him, nodding your thanks and inquiring as to his price. He told you, and you handed over the payment. 

“Is there a… general store around here?” You reluctantly asked, your back already half turned to him with your eagerness to be on your way. Still, you figured getting directions would be quicker and less risky than wandering around town until you found what you needed. 

“Yes’m there is, three buildings down that way, on your left,” he pointed in the direction you’d been heading, and you nodded. 

“Thank you.”

“Yes’m. Ride safe,” he tipped an imaginary hat, and a thin smile worked its way onto your lips. His kind eyes shone a bit brighter before he turned away, heading back to the work you’d interrupted him from. 

It was moments like these that reminded you not all people were a threat. It was moments like these that were dangerous because they had you aching to let your guard down, to believe that not everyone would hurt you the first chance they got. You had believed that, once -- a long time ago, when you were still a child in your father's home. Not anymore, and it was the only reason you were alive. 

Shaking your head, you readjusted the cloth around your neck and tried not to let your fingers linger. You needed a clear head, and you needed to get moving so you could get the hell out of here. Grabbing Horse’s reins, you gave his neck a few soothing pats and led him forward, deciding that you’d walk to give him a break from carrying you. 

The general store proved to not be far, and you made it there without eliciting a glance from any of the wandering souls that passed you by. The store was a squat, brown building situated between a tailor and what looked to be the town hall. You secured Horse to the hitching post outside and stiffly climbed the stairs, feeling the old familiar ache in your knees from hours in the saddle. 

A woman, her skirts a pale blue, was standing just outside, folded umbrella in hand. She gave you a kind smile as you passed, and you managed a nod before slipping inside. The man at the desk watched you enter, eyeing you up in the way that all shopkeepers and merchants did; like he was trying to decide if you would pay or if he’d have to chase you out with a broom. 

You had a dire need to resupply, so you removed your hat, running a hand over your sweat-slicked forehead before stepping up to the counter. 

“What can I get for you?” The shopkeeper, a greasy-looking short man asked. He sounded like he had a cold, and he pushed his glasses up on his nose as he studied you with something like barely restrained disgust. 

“A… few things,” you began, then gave him a list of supplies you were short on. 

You had your stock committed to memory, going through it every night and planning out your use of it. You suspected it was a way for you to feel in control of your situation -- a desperate attempt at warding off the panic that was always threatening to consume you whole. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t -- but regardless, it at least meant you weren’t likely to miss or run out of anything. 

The clerk raised an eyebrow at your requests, but he adjusted his glasses and began scratching things onto a yellow notepad beneath the counter. When you finished, he tore the page off and handed it to you, then turned to begin packing things away. 

You scanned over the receipt with disinterest until something caught your eye. 

“When did the price of cornmeal rise?” you asked. The man scoffed. 

“I beg your pardon, missy?”

“You charge six cents for a pound of cornmeal,” you replied. “The last town I passed through sold it for three.”

“Well then, you had better return to the last town you passed through because here we sell it for six cents a pound,” he turned and dropped a bag onto the counter. A bag that was, apparently, worth six cents. “And you  have been the first to complain about such a price.”

There was a challenge in every aspect of his demeanor, and you felt anger swell through your chest. He was cheating you and he knew there was nothing you could do to stop him besides not purchasing the items. Which he likely knew you also couldn’t do. 

“Will there be a problem, or shall I continue wrapping your orders?”

You clenched your jaw, shoving your anger down, and gave a short jerk of your head. 

“No problem here,” you added, voice lowering to a hum, matching his challenge in the only way you could. 

Fake politeness got on your nerves. It wasn’t long ago that you would have pointed your gun at his head and taken whatever goods you wanted, but those days were behind you -- and for the better; even if you did have to pay six cents for cornmeal. 

The clerk finished gathering your order, but not without several unfriendly looks in your direction. It was only when you’d gathered everything into a canvas sack that he spoke again. 

“You know,” he leaned over the counter, as if the two of you were sharing some secret gossip about the lady two doors down. “You should visit the River Dog Saloon. I think you’d find it… interesting.”

There was something in his voice, in the smirk on his chapped, red lips, that made your stomach sink through the floorboards. You gave him a scowl, and unease followed you as you retreated back onto the porch. 

The woman from earlier was gone, and for some reason that only made your dread grow. You were being irrational -- the vague words of some slimy store owner shouldn't have you worked up like it did. Should have you feeling that old familiar tremble of fear trying to push its way past your defenses. It shouldn’t. 

Slinging your bag over the saddle, ensuring that everything was secure, you untied the reins. Giving Horse a little tug, you began your steady trek down the dust-covered road. Splotches of mud were caked along the edges, and you hopped over them, causing Horse to follow you and give a little buck of excitement. Even in your anxiety, you smiled at the animal before settling him with a firm rein and a pat. 

The center of the road was drier, and you steered clear of puddles. Your boots should have been replaced months ago, and at this point, it wouldn't be long before holes were worn into the leather. You spotted the sign towards the edge of the town, swinging lazily in the stagnant afternoon breeze. A cobbler. 

Slowing to a stop, you gently pushed Horse away as he tried to itch his forehead on your shoulder and stared at the building. It looked near deserted, and the distant view of shoes through the window was the only sign that it was even still in business. Glancing around, you found no one on that side of the street. A few school children, led by their teacher, walked hurriedly from one building to the next, but no one else was in sight. The saloon sat a door over, attached to the same building as the cobbler, and a bathhouse on the opposite side. Several horses were tethered to the hitching post outside, their riders presumably inside quenching their thirst or getting up to any number of other unsavory activities. 

Swallowing thickly, you made up your mind; if this was going to be your last taste of civilization for a while, you should probably err on the side of caution and buy a new pair of boots now while you had the chance to. 

Slinking over to the hitching post, you tied Horse loosely to it, ready to go with a quick tug in case of an emergency. Ruffling his mane absentmindedly, you headed for the nearest stairs to the porch. Your footfalls sounded too loud in your ears, but you tried to ignore it. You also tried to ignore how the town had suddenly gone quiet. That was fine, it was lunchtime for some people, anyway. 

The stairs let you onto the porch directly between the saloon and the cobbler. You had just turned left, ducking to look through the grimy window, when someone grabbed you around the waist, yanking you backwards as they clamped a harsh hand over your mouth. Your scream was muffled against their palm, which covered your nose, too, cutting off your oxygen. You slammed an elbow into their gut and they winced, giving you a cruel shake before spinning around and throwing you forwards and through a doorway. 

Your arms flew out to catch yourself, but they were met with a hard surface as you slammed into something. Stumbling back a step, you managed to right yourself, and there he was. 

“M… Mickey?” you breathed, eyes widening as you retreated another step. You whipped around, spinning on your heels and making for the door, but you were stopped by another chest. 

That’s when you recognized the person who had grabbed you. 

“Red,” you flinched as the name left your mouth, a raspy whisper, and the tall, lanky man gave you one of his signature grins -- the kind that meant he was about to hurt someone. Hurt you.

“Bernie’s here, too.” You spun around at the smug voice, a smirk plastered on his face as he nodded to the woman at his right lounging against a supporting beam. Even though she wore her hat low, you would have recognized her anywhere. 

“The whole gang’s here, baby sister,” Mickey drawled, taking a step towards you. You flinched but stood your ground, knowing Red was still behind you. “Well,” he tilted his head, a mocking pout twisting his lips. “Everybody ‘cept for the Twins. But you already knew that, didn't you?”

You opened your mouth, jaw working not for an answer but for air. You couldn’t breathe. 

“Oh?” Mickey's voice was soft, high, and he raised a scruffy eyebrow. “What’s this now? You don’t know?”

His voice dripped malice, and in a sudden, swift motion you reached for your holster -- but before your fingers could even touch the weapon, Red was slamming into you from behind, grabbing your arm and twisting it painfully behind your back. You muffled a yelp by biting your tongue and held still as he shook you a little, just to make sure you felt the twist of your shoulders as he pinned your arms. 

“You see,” Mickey continued, stepping closer. Your eyes flickered frantically around the saloon, but besides Bernie watching with a greedy, pleased expression, the rest of the customers -- of which there were only a few -- didn’t spare you a glance. Your heart sank as you realized that they were going to let him do whatever he wanted to you. 

For the first time, there would be people to hear your screams and it wouldn’t even matter. Your head began to buzz, and you were barely able to hear Mickey’s words as he continued. 

“When you pulled your little stunt back in Carlisle,” he grabbed your throat and, despite your efforts, you gasped. “You gave Potter and his officers a big fat chance to catch up with us. The Twins got nabbed, you see… tossed in a jail to rot,” he gave your throat a squeeze and you watched in horror as a knife appeared in his hand. 

“But that’s not the point, now is it?” He asked. "The Twins, they're expendable. A useless lot. We all knew that, didn't we?" He raised his eyebrows as he looked over your shoulder to Red and then back to Bernie. She grinned wickedly at you, and you felt Red’s hips press against yours. 

Suddenly, Mickey grabbed your face, jerking it up to meet his as he leaned into your ear. 

“What did I tell you about running, Kitty Cat?” he whispered, low on his breath. The smell of stale tobacco and whiskey filled your nose -- so familiar you felt sick. 

As he tilted his knife into your cheek, you kicked your heel back into Red’s groin. The man gave a howl, hunching forward, and you used the opportunity to throw the back of your head directly into his nose. It broke with a sickening crunch, and he stumbled aside. 

Whipping around, you scrambled for the exit, but Mickey grabbed your arm and pulled you backward, throwing you into the bar. Your back hit the edge of the tabletop with a thud, pulling a pained grunt from your lungs, but none of that mattered; the things they'd do to you would hurt a lot worse. 

Mickey’s hand was at your throat again, slamming your shoulders back and pinning you to the table. The impact knocked the air out of your lungs and your hat from your head. Reaching behind you, your fingers closed around the brim and you swung it forward, shoving it into his face and blinding him for a precious moment. He growled and slashed out wildly with his knife. It caught you on the shoulder, slicing deep into your collarbone. Crying out, you grit your teeth against the sting of the blade and tried to push him off of you, but he was bigger; stronger. He had always been. 

Suddenly your arm was forced down onto the counter. Bernie was there, fingers digging into your skin as she held you still. 

“Mickey don’t,” you cried, wincing as his fist crashed down onto the counter next to you, hard enough that you weren’t sure how he hadn’t broken bones. 

“What did I tell you about beggin’? Huh?” he barked, sliding the knife up to your throat, pressing hard enough that blood began to pool along the blade. You tried to kick out at him, but he smashed his hips against your legs, holding you still. 

“It seems there’s a lot you’ve forgotten, little sister,” he muttered between heaving breaths. “Suppose I’ll just have to remind you then, won’t--”

His threats were cut off as Mickey was suddenly jerked backwards by the scruff of his collar. You saw Bernie’s eyes flash wide a moment before her face twisted into a scowl, a low growl tearing up her throat as she reached forward and grabbed you by the neck, slamming your head into the table. Your head crashed once, twice, and a third time before you were able to finally free your gun from its holster. 

Lifting it, you leveled your aim and fired. Bernie fell back with a hoarse yell as her hand flew to clutch at the bloom of blood spreading across her shoulder in a pattern that almost matched your own. 

You kicked out hard, sending her backwards and crashing into the nearest table before spinning around and frantically searching for the boys. You found Mickey quickly. He was dragging himself up off the floor, fists raised in a fighting stance to face… 

The man’s back was turned to you, but you’d recognize the poncho anywhere. A portion of his dark hair was tied back with a strip of leather, strands pulling loose in the fray and laying against his temple. A dozen thoughts flashed through your mind. Was he following you? What were the chances that he wasn’t -- that he just so happened to be here at the same time? Why was he helping you when no one else would?

But these questions would go unanswered as you watched him land another punch, catching Mickey on the side of the head and sending him crashing back to his knees. Mickey pulled a revolver from his waistband, one that was the twin to your very own weapon, and pointed it at the man. He fired it just as the stranger’s left hand shot out from beneath his poncho. You heard the sound of bullets sparking against something and then the stranger was throwing his foot into Mickey’s chest, sending him careening to the floor once more. 

A surprised shout was ripped from your lungs as fingers grabbed the back of your collar. They flung you around to face Red, who you’d lost in the fight. Big mistake. 

He kneed you in the gut -- payback for earlier, you supposed -- and you fell to your knees with a painful thud, doubling over as you tried not to choke on your own breath. His fingers, long and bony, grabbed you by the chin, forcing your head up to meet his eyes. They were just as cold and serpentine as you remembered them. 

“Oh, we’re gonna make you pay for it this time, bitch,” he hissed, squeezing your neck until you were gasping for a breath that would never come. You grabbed his wrist with both hands, trying to pull it away, but to no avail. 

It was just as your eyelids began to flutter that Red suddenly dropped like a sack of rocks, struck on the head by the butt of the stranger’s pistol. 

“Come on,” he said, reaching a hand down to you. You took it without hesitation, knowing that if you didn’t leave now, they were going to kill you. Or worse. Probably worse. 

The stranger hauled you to your feet -- perhaps with a little too much strength, as he had to catch you by the shoulders to prevent you from face-planting into him. You flinched -- how could you not? -- but if he noticed, he didn’t say anything, just ushered you towards the door. Walking backwards, keeping his gun trained on the room, he waited until you’d stumbled down the stairs before whipping around. 

“They won’t be long,” he warned, and you didn’t need to be told twice. Grabbing Horse’s reins, you swung them over his head and pulled yourself onto his back in the same easy motion, thanking whatever gods may be that your legs hadn’t given out yet. 

Blood dripped down your chest from the wound in your shoulder, but you barely noticed it as you spurred Horse forward. He leaped into a canter, stride quickly lengthening as he raced out into the road. Throwing a look over your shoulder, you squinted past the dust kicked up in your wake and watched as the first of them appeared on the porch of the saloon. Mickey -- and he was looking right at you, yelling something you were thankful you couldn’t hear. You felt your limbs begin to shake but willed the adrenaline to stay with you a little longer. 

Whipping back around, reaching up to shove your hat more securely onto your head, you caught sight of a flash of white off to your left. The stranger, poncho furling out behind him, shot you a look. He brought his horse up next to yours and shouted, “Follow me,” before giving his mount a firm kick. 

You weren’t thinking, you were driven only by fear as you slammed your heels into Horse, urging him to go faster. He lengthened his stride, neck stretching out as he raced after the streak of white mane and green fabric. 

You hadn't been expecting them to find you so soon. How had they found you so soon?

Your chest tightened with panic, and you flicked a rein against Horse’s haunches. In a matter of seconds, you caught up with the stranger. When he noticed you in his peripheral, he pointed forward, then left; you were going to be making a sharp turn, it seemed. You nodded and he replied with a curt one of his own. Chancing another glance over your shoulder, you held your hat on as three horses swam into view through the haze of the sand and desert heat. You definitely couldn’t breathe now. 

They were gaining on you steadily. You just hoped that they didn’t start shooting. 

The stranger threw up a hand, signaling the preparation for the turn, and you braced yourself in the saddle, jamming your heels down and maintaining your balance. 

Even though he’d prepared you, somehow you were still caught off guard when he pulled up on his horse, wheeling it in a tight spin before taking off again with a leap. You weren’t sure Horse could do that -- but he sure as hell tried. Tugging your reins back, you squeezed with your legs and pushed him in the direction of the white horse. He reared up, hind end sliding under him, and for a horrible moment you thought he might fall on top of you, but after a breath, he launched himself forward, got his front legs under him, and galloped to catch up to the stranger. 

That was when you noticed why he’d led you in such a turn. Up ahead was a forest along the edge of a wide ravine. You followed the flash of white as the two horses burst into the tree line, throwing an arm in front of your face as you dodged branches. You’d hardly made it a few meters in before he pulled up, slowing his horse to an abrupt trot. Horse was quick to do the same without you even having to ask him. Your hands had begun to shake. 

“Come on,” the man said again, as if you hadn’t been following him already, and turned his horse towards the cavern. 

Trotting a little ways along the edge, he pulled up short and spun his horse around, then began to descend a steep, rocky slope. You felt your stomach lurch with a new anxiety now, and you anchored your legs and sat deep in the saddle as Horse picked his way downward. 

The stranger's horse slid the last few feet, then picked up a brisk trot as it finally reached the ground of the cavern. The man tugged on the reins, letting his mount sidestep for a moment and allowing you to catch up before urging it forward. You followed behind, and he led you down the path until he spotted a cave and reined his horse in. With a nod and a grunt, he swung his leg behind him and dismounted. 

Leaning onto Horse’s neck, you did the same. The moment your feet hit solid ground, your knees buckled and you fell. Your hands hit the stone and you yelped as pain shot through your collarbone. Horse sidestepped, jerking his head up as he snorted.  

“Woah, woah,” the stranger’s voice floated into your ears. He had grabbed Horse by the bridle and was steering him away from your crumpled form. “No use trampling her after all that, buddy.” He gave Horse a gentle, surprisingly fond pat on the neck.

You took a deep breath and shakily pulled yourself to your feet. 

“How ya doin’ over there?” 

It took you a minute to realize the man was talking to you. 

“I--” you cleared your throat. It was clogged with dust and fear. “I’m fine.”

It was a lie. You knew it, and you knew the man knew it, too. 

“Uh-huh,” he replied, a wrinkle interrupting the skin between his brow as he studied you. 

His eyes were blue, you realized. You hadn’t been able to see it before, in the darkness, but they were a cerulean blue. 

“Let’s get these horses hidden,” he muttered, and it was almost a command. 

Almost, but not quite.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #ao3 link #western au #bucky barnes western au

[tllgrrl]

Out West by @btwxsixesandsevens

Sarah Wilson/James “Bucky” Barnes, with Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson

Summary: Begins as a dream, then in Chapter 2 the actual story, back then, 1880s California.

Fictional town. Fictional past.

Everything turned just a little...

* * * * * * * * * *

#sarah wilson #bucky barnes #sarahbucky #buckysarah #sarah x bucky #bucky x sarah #sarah wilson/bucky barnes #bucky barnes/sarah wilson #sarah wilson x bucky barnes #bucky barnes x sarah wilson #sam wilson #steve rogers #sarahbucky fanfiction #by sixes and sevens #by sixesandsevens #moodboard by tllgrrl #western au #frontier au #fanfic rec #new years resolution #reblog #fleur de louve

[drgrlfriend]

Fan artists are already amazing, but @aukanemin takes it to another level. Not only are their artworks gorgeous, lush, and detailed, but they are producing them in the midst of terrible conflict, power outages, and incredible uncertainty. I commissioned this work for my Winterhawk fic, Freedom's Reach, and am beyond thrilled with the result as well as the entire process. Bucky Barnes and Clint Barton were new characters for @aukanemin and they did an absolutely amazing job manifesting something that lived only in my imagination and making it ten times as beautiful in the process. 100% recommend stalking them for commissions to open up again so you can nab a masterpiece of your own. Freedom's Reach by dr_girlfriend

Summary:

Clint is about to move on when his eyes drift up to the lettering at the top of the window.

FREE PASSAGE TO THE WEST!

Clint knows that the circus folk mock him — call him too trusting, too soft-hearted — but even he knows nothing in this life comes free. The words puzzle him, and he reads them again carefully to make sure he hasn’t made a mistake.

His eyes are drawn to one posting at the very bottom corner, different from the others. This one is sun-faded and starting to yellow, curling at the corners. Clint crouches down, brow furrowing and lips moving as he sounds out the unfamiliar words.

Western Man Seeking a Husband — I am a kind and unassuming man of good financial means seeking a helpmate and companion. I have lost my arm in the service of our Union, but am otherwise free from disease. I am not particular as to looks, but am seeking an individual of equal youth and vivacity with whom I can share my affection and devotion. I am a man of quiet habits, moderate temperament, and kind disposition and would seek the same in my husband.

#winterhawk #clint barton #bucky barnes #hawkeye #the winter soldier #freedom's reach #fan art #gorgeous art #fanfiction #marvel #mcu #marvel comics #avengers #my fic #aukanemin #arranged marriage au #mail order husband au #western au #historical au

[cyberneticasset]

Save a horse, Ride a cowboy

Uhh, brainrot took over again, had to get this outa my system. This time, it's almost a western thing but sluttier

Might shade/render or whatever but we'll seeee

#embarrassing honestly #cowboy au #western au #except not really #bucky barnes

[artficlly]

a dish served cold [masterlist]

Marvel Western AU

outlaw!bucky x reader

The law had not brought you justice, so it appeared you would have to find it yourself. Fate led you to Crimson Junction for a reason. 

Warnings: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, violence, mentions of death, blood, mention of guns, alcohol, swearing, creepy men, period typical attitudes, outlaw bucky, protective bucky, bucky has issues, mention of robbery & crimes, mention of police (law), mention of flooding & drought, vague mention of animal death, no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything - will be updated with each chapter

main masterlist

CHAPTERS

chapter one

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #james bucky barnes #bucky x female reader #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #marvel #marvel fic #marvel au #western au #cowboy au

[granatkoroleva]

Legendary Outlaw

Pairing ⊵ Dark!Beta!Sheriff!Bucky Barnes x Outlaw!Alpha!Steve Rogers

Warnings ⊵ No Archive Warnings Apply

Rating ⊵ E

Word Count ⊵ 1.4k

Tags ⊵ AU: Wild West, Non- traditional ABO dynamics, Consensual non-consent, extreme Dubious consent, Alpha!Steve, Beta!Bucky, Knotting, Kinks, Bondage, Sexual roleplay, Power imbalance, inappropriate use of lassos, Come as lube, basically just filthy smut.

Summary ⊵ Steve is an outlaw, a good one, but an outlaw all the same. When he catches wind of a mating run in the area for Alphas to find a match, he risks more than his livelihood to participate.

What he doesn’t know is that across the valley, one crooked sheriff is counting on his attendance.

Square + Prompt Fills ⊵

Ⓞ⓶ + Hogtie | All Caps Bingo | Card # AC 1094 | All Caps Bingo Masterlist | @allcapsbingo

Ⓝ⓸ + Kink: Blindfolds | Stucky Bingo | Card # R40101 | Stucky Bingo Masterlist | @stuckybingo

Author's Note ⊵ Nothing too sinister, contrary to the theme.

Moodboard is my own | Ao3 Link | Masterlist | AO3

#stucky #bucky x steve #Legendary Outlaw #smutconnoisseur #stucky fic #Stucky Smut #all caps bingo 2023 #stucky bingo round 4 #AU: Wild West #non traditional a/b/o #alpha steve rogers #Beta Bucky Barnes #rated e #ao3 #please read the warnings #dark fics #western #Cowboys #bucky barnes #steve rogers #steve x bucky

[thatmexisaurusrex]

Got a SamBucky Western AU I'm working on that I think is going to be awesome 😆 We'll see, though haha

#sambucky #sam wilson #bucky barnes #sambucky fic #my process #behind the scenes #western au #it's going to be something haha

[angelicalslayer]

Title: Fool’s Gold

Author: DeamonSlayer576

Artist: @murkycrush​

Rating: E

Word Count: 12,928

Warning: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Character Death (Not Steve or Bucky)

Relationships: Steve Rogers / James “Bucky” Barnes

Tags: AU - Western, Former Outlaw Turned Sheriff Steve, Outlaw Bucky, Gold Rush, Morally Grey Characters, BDSM.

Summary: Gold can do a lot of things. Give someone dreams, buy a new life, build a new nation, and turn even the most staunch of men into fools. But while gold makes men do crazy things, love makes them even crazier.

Steve is the former leader of the wickedest gang in the west. When his old lover Bucky shows up in the town he’s now working as sheriff, Steve has a choice. Should he push away from his old life, or fall back into fray.

For the @capreversebb​ 2022! Thank you mods for the great event!

#stucky #caprbb 2022 #western #fanfiction #Steve Rogers #Bucky Barnes

[sunny-rants]

someone PLEASE write a winterhawk fic inspired by the line “trouble's always gonna find you, baby, but so will I” from Western Nights by Ethel Cain??? pretty pretty please? I’ll leave all the kudos ‘n comments, I promise

#not me putting out vague songfic ideas marketed to an audience of one (me) hoping someone might actually write it #(its not gonna happen but I stay silly and delusional) #winterhawk #clint x bucky #bucky x clint #ethel cain #preachers daughter #western nights #ethel cain western nights #clint barton #hawkeye #bucky barnes #the winter soldier #marvel #616 clint barton #616 hawkeye #marvel fic #marvel fanfic #marvel fic ideas #marvel fanfic prompt #winterhawk prompts #marvel fanfic ideas #winterhawk fic ideas #fic ideas #fanfiction prompts #fanfic prompt #writing prompt #clintbucky #clintucky #clucky

[mclintocksdaughter]

Would anyone be interested in reading a Loki or Bucky x OC? It'd be a Modern Ranch AU.

#ranch au #I’d show you the animals and characters too #cows #horses #dogs #cats #marvel #western au #rancher marvel au #Bucky x reader #Bucky Barnes #Bucky x oc #Cowboy AU #Cowboy Bucky #modern ranch au #Cowboy Loki #loki x oc #loki laufeyson #loki x reader