#Apocalypse Bucky Barnes x reader

[delicatebarness]

ᴀs ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ғᴀʟʟs ᴅᴏᴡɴ | ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʀᴀɪʟᴇʀ

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: In the middle of the night, your world is shattered. Chaos erupts around you and you're forced to leave your home as the terrifying reality of the apocalypse unfolds.

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: Apocalyptic Themes. Violence and Gore. Death. Panic and Anxiety.

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 968

sᴘᴏᴛɪғʏ ᴘʟᴀʏʟɪsᴛ | sᴜᴘᴘᴏʀᴛ: ᴋᴏ-ғɪ

sᴇʀɪᴇs ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ | ɴᴇxᴛ ᴇᴘɪsᴏᴅᴇ

ᴀ/ɴ: Another one for Prologue Season, remember to let me know what you think if you want the story to continue, by the way, it is eventually Bucky Barnes x Reader. - Please feel free to leave feedback or let me know where and how you want the story to continue, this is just as much yours as mine. - B

ᴀᴛᴡғᴅ: Let me know if you would like to be tagged for possible future chapters.

ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ: @hallecarey1 | @pattiemac1 | @uhmellamoanna | @scraftsku35 | @ozwriterchick | @sapphirebarnes | @rach2602 | @thetorturedbuckydepartment | @lanabuckybarnes

Tangled in the warmth of his arms, the blanket wrapped you in the quiet safety of the night. It was almost surreal how peaceful the night felt, the distant hum of the city outside, the steady rise and fall of his chest under your head. No urgency, no fear– just the comfort of each other. 

Then suddenly, sirens split through the silence, jarring you from your haze. Flashing light of red and blue outside the window, bathing the room in an eerie, pulsating glow. Sitting up, you clutched the blanket close to your chest, as your heart hammered against it. Looking over at him, you watched the color drain from his face. He knows. 

Dread opens a pit in your stomach, dropping further as you witness something unspoken in how he moved. In that instant, he jumped out of bed, yanking open drawers and tossing clothes into a duffel bag. His frantic energy only intensified your fear. Your mind reeled at the dull sound of metal scraped as he retrieved something from his nightstand: a blank and ominous gun. 

Finally, you found your voice, it trembled barely a whisper when you managed to find the words. “What’s happening?” You questioned desperately, a fragile hope that this was just another nightmare, and any moment now, you’d wake up. But deep down, as you looked into his eyes, wide and wild, you already knew this was reality. 

“Get up,” he urged, voice straining as he shoved the bag into your hands. “We’ve got to go. Now.” 

Clutching the duffel bag, you froze, your body refusing to move. Through the window, shadows lurched through the street, and alarms wailed and mingled with distant screams. Chaos erupted as streetlights flickered, covering the scene in a sickly, unnatural glow. You couldn’t reconcile the sense of it.

He gripped your shoulders, desperately shaking you out of your temporary paralysis. “Listen to me,” he said, his voice gruff but urgent, “ you have to move. Right now.” 

He pulled a jacket over your shoulders, it was thick and worn but, it smelt like him, the home you were about to leave behind. Barely registering his rapid instructions, as he continued to talk, your mind struggled to play catch up. 

“We need to head north. We’ll find a car and stick to the highways. Don’t stop, don’t–” he paused with a crack in his voice, just for a second, but long enough to make your breath catch. There was a fear in his eyes, fear you had never seen before.

Your throat was dry, and your words were stuck, catching on the forming lump. But, you managed to choke them out, even though you weren’t sure you wanted to know the answer. “W- What about everyone else? Our families and our friends are here– what’s happening to them?” 

There was no plan for them, the hesitation in his eyes was enough of an answer: no rescue was coming. Only this, a frantic scramble to survive, thrown at you without warning.

Stumbling to your feet, the duffel bag slammed against your legs as you tried to pull the jacket around you with numb fingers. It felt like you were watching this happen to someone else, maybe a character in a horror movie you never auditioned for. 

Already at the door, the gun gripped tightly in one of his hands as he peeks through the peephole. Each jagged piece of time cut deeper than the last as seconds stretched on. Fear twisted itself into something cold and sharp as the pounding in your chest drowned out everything else. 

When he finally opened the door, the sound hit you like a physical blow– The screaming, gunshots, and guttural groans from the dead. Nothing made sense, and there was no time to make it. Dragging you down the hallway, his grip tightened as you ran toward the chaos. 

“Go!” he yelled, shoving you forward as you made your way out of the apartment building and onto the street with a stumble. The night's air was thick with acrid smoke, the scent of burning mingling with the stench of decay, of death. 

Your eyes darted from one horror to the next, the twisted bodies that used to be people, shattered windows, and overturned cars. People were running, screaming, and falling. The world was falling down around you, and there you were, trapped in the middle of it, nothing more than a bystander to the end. 

Fingers digging into your skin, he pulled you toward the edge of the street. “Just run!” he shouted, but his voice was barely audible over the discord of the apocalypse unfolding around you.

Another stumble, you turned back to look at him. You didn’t understand, he wasn’t following. His gaze met yours, eyes wide, filled with fear and something else, something dark. You didn’t want to understand, but then, you saw it. His hand clutching his side, fingers staining crimson. Seeping through his shirt, the blook spread like inkblots. That was when you saw it— the ragged and deep bite, his flesh torn where the teeth had sunk in. 

“Go!” he shouted again, but his voice had grown weaker then, and he trembled with the effort to stay on his feet. His strength ebbed away with every drop of blood that soaked his clothes, what little color was left in his face, now draining with it. You knew what that meant, what he was trying to tell you without words. He wasn’t coming with you.

Your world collapsed in on itself at that moment. Driven by his last desperate command, your body moved instinctively and ran. The duffel bag slammed against your back, tears blurring your vision. As you sprinted into the unknown, his scream was swallowed by the night as the dead closed in on him.

---

sᴇʀɪᴇs ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ | ɴᴇxᴛ ᴇᴘɪsᴏᴅᴇ

[espinosaurusrexex]

Acid Fog

Wolds Collide Collection

BuckyBarnes x Female!Reader apocalypse au

summary: You take the chance to bond with a new friend when the acid fog rolls in, inevitably trapping you with Bucky for several hours. Bucky has to learn the hard way, that he won't get rid of you that easily.

a/n: I'm not dead. I just have so much to do. But you best believe, once I finally finished my papers, I will work on all the stories that are already outlined in my drafts 💚 please bear with me until then...

not prooread - will do so soon

word count: 2.6k

warnings: grumpy/sunshine, mentions of death, dystopia, deadly fog, reader is lonely, Bucky is lonely - they're gonna be lonely together, worried CatDad!Bucky, strangers to friends (for now)

collection playlist | main masterlist | collection masterlist

May 13th 2039

Hey, Book.

I’ve decided that Bucky needs a friend, so I’m going to visit him today.

Finding the handsome not-so-anymore stranger was a challenge. But you loved challenges. It mixed up the day, made things less boring, and was a nice way to spend your time.

You had planned things perfectly. You had enough time until the next acid fog would roll through, grabbed one of the canned soups that were rarely found anymore - but you’d gladly sacrifice them for a new friend, and you had a backpack ready with some essentials in case you wouldn’t make it home in time. 

You first headed in the direction Bucky took off to the other day after falling into your trap. There wasn’t much to “detour around” where you lived and chances of him being fairly close - considering being too far from shelter was a certain death sentence - gave you confidence with that approach. 

You walked for about two hours until the tree line faded into blotchy scatters of green. There was a house - or rather ruins of one - sitting by the edge of the forest. You frowned. Bucky wasn’t stupid. At least he didn’t seem that way. He would never hide above ground. Every decent survivor that had lived up to this point knew ‘low was the go’. The chances of being killed were cut to 20% when you lived secluded and underground - the beach was good too apparently, but you were too far to see for yourself. 

Your eyes swayed to the ground. You had a feeling Bucky was here, you just needed to find out where exactly. So you approached the ruins and stepped through what was left of the doorway. Dust and dirt covered the surfaces, ripped cushioned sofas, and scratched hardwood floors. There wasn’t much left to use here. The place was looted and brittle with holes in the ceilings and missing steps. You wondered how you ever recognized it as a house in the first place - because, really, this was anything but. The bones barely held up the remains and made it seem like an oversized version of a carport. 

It wasn’t long until you had scouted the place and reached the other end of it. Now you were standing on the porch and looking out onto a wild yard that reached into the forest again. You walked down and towards it, searching the area and still feeling as though Bucky was close. He couldn’t have lived any further - it would have been crazy. 

The leaves rustled beneath your feet as you skipped vines and roots peaking from beneath. Your eyes swept the area until they landed on an odd-looking lot of ground. As if the branches were forcefully pulled to cover up a buried something, the vines stretched over a green-grayish ledge. 

Immediately you headed for it. This has got to be it, you thought until you reached an opening into the ground that revealed a heavy-looking bunker door. 

Heck yeah. You knew he wasn’t that stupid - even though he did fall into your trap...

As soon as you opened it and entered, it felt as though you had stepped several decades back. The whole interior seemed to be dipped in sepia. Old furniture crammed into odd places and neatly kept surfaces without dust made it look like an old photograph. 

You walked further, let your hand wander over the spines of the books aligned atop a lonely shelf on the wall. They were Cyril, you guessed, as you watched the golden letters shine when you passed them. Beneath the books and next to a booger green armchair was a record player, aligned with old records of people with excessively gelled hairstyles and tailored suits - ancient. 

But Bucky was nowhere to be found. 

A heavy sigh escaped you as your backpack landed on the ground and you went about scouting the bunker some more. The space wasn’t too big, and Bucky seemed to have accumulated a bunch of treasures there for some time now, so you had plenty of things to discover. Eventually, though, you just fell back into the ugly armchair and tried to start up the record player. 

Bucky’s music wasn’t particularly your go-to, but you wouldn’t complain in a world where music was as rare as a working outlet. After a while, you could even understand why Bucky resided here. It was kind of comforting - homey. Something not many people could call their own in this world.

“What the hell are you doing here?” You shot up, knocking over a couple books and earning a dark glare from the man in the doorway - Bucky. 

You hadn’t even heard him come in. “I... I just wanted to see you,” you explained with an excited smile on your face. "I brought soup!" Your hands pointed towards your backpack.

“You- you broke in!” His boots stomped over to you just as you turned to pick up the pile of paperbacks. 

“Well, it’s not so much breaking in when we’re friends.”

“We’re not friends.” Bucky reached forward and snatched the items from your grasp. He was slightly sweaty, grime covering his forehead, and settled in the harsh frown lines you could only see because he was so close. 

“Yes, we are! You fall into my trap, you are my friend.” You ticked off the points with your fingers just as Bucky threw his hands in the air. 

“You can’t just make up these ridiculous rules.” 

“Or can I?”

“No. We can’t be friends. I don’t even know your name.”

He did have a point there. For a moment you watched as he neatly stacked the Russian books back in their place and then told him your name. 

“What?” He grumbled. 

And you just reiterated the words that you hadn’t said in forever. 

He turned back to you with a poker face. “I don’t like it,” Bucky said so monotonely, it almost seemed like he wanted to tease you. 

“Excuse me?” You weren’t offended, it was hard to make friends nowadays - there was nothing unusual about a person being hesitant at first. 

“It doesn’t fit you. You should be called trouble.“ He still had that dead look on his face and you were starting to think he just didn't know anything else. You wouldn't blame him - seriously.

“See! We are friends you know me!” You chuckled but Bucky just shook his head. 

“I don’t know you,” he whispered with slumped shoulders as he lowered his bag close to yours. Then he took off his hat and ran a hand through his shoulder-long hair. 

Man, he was kind of cute. But that was probably just the loneliness talking, so you shook out of it. 

You opened your arms and sunk back into the chair. “Well lucky for you we have a bunch of time to get to know each other now.”

And Bucky’s eyes widened. “What why?”

“The acid fog is rolling in early this evening.” You looked past him and out the entrance, where a deep gray sky covered most of the view. “I thought you knew... and that’s why you’re so, well, tense.”

“What, no I was just outside it’s-” The brunette turned and you could see his shoulders stiffen when he realized you were right. “Shit.” It was a low mumble that was followed by another nervous swipe through his hair. 

For a man who seemed to be cool, calm, and collected so far, his feet were doing an awful lot of pacing right now. 

“Are you okay?” You were careful to ask. Something was wrong and you didn’t want to risk him exploding. You didn’t know how he would react and a small sadness washed over your chest when you realized that maybe you weren’t as good of friends as you wanted to be. 

“Shut up.” Yup, definitely not the talking type then. 

“Can I help you or is ther-“ You were interrupted by a soft meow sounding over the rumbling of the clouds. 

“Fuck, finally.” Bucky exhaled and knelt down, just to reveal a white fluffy cat tangling in his touch. 

“Uh...There's a cat in your bunker,” you pointed out and Bucky picked his stiffness back up ever so slightly. 

“Her name is Alpine. Touch her and you’re dead.” 

So this was what had this big, broody man’s panties in a twist. He was worried for his pet. That was super adorable, you had to admit. And it charmed you just that much more when you saw the way he cuddled her into his chest before setting her back on the ground. 

“I- Oh.”

As soon as he’d said it, Alpine had sauntered her way to you and rubbed her fluffy white face on your shin. You were just frozen in place - unsure what to do. You wanted to pet her so badly, but who knew what Bucky would do if you so much as moved now. 

“The cat has chosen. Don’t blame me.” You threw your hands in the air when Alpine started to purr and jumped only our lab. Now that she was so close to your face, you noticed that one of her eyes was missing, a darker patch of fur replacing the spot where it should have been, but it just made her that much more charming. 

Bucky glared at you for a good second and then moved to close the bunker in order to keep the deadly air out. And you took the opportunity to finally pet his cat. 

It had only been 20 minutes and Bucky was already regretting his decision not to send you out into the fog. 

First, you had broken into his home. Then you had declared you as friends, to which - for the record - he never agreed to. And then you had stolen Alpine’s attention. That was just the cherry on top of your pile of audacity. 

And though he had been told that he wasn’t a pleasant contemporary, he wouldn’t send people straight to their deaths like that. He was a grump, but he wasn’t cruel. So he settled on quietly sitting in a corner and hoping that you’d eventually grow tired of snooping through his belongings. 

But he still held a grudge. Because he hadn’t planned to spend so much time with anyone, really - except for Alpine, of course - and now he was stuck with you for at least three hours. You had basically forced yourself into his life with that agitating sunshine demeanor of yours and the annoying optimism in every single thing you did. 

You had to be broken, somehow. Nobody could be this happy at the end of the world. Because that’s what this was. The end. The time you had to wait out until you escaped the hell this world had become just to spend an eternity in the actual one. 

Yeah, Bucky believed in heaven and hell. Somebody had to be responsible for idiots like Hydra and he was sure there was an extra special lava pit reserved just for the god complex fogged imbeciles that were responsible for it all going to shit once and for all. 

Bucky huffed at your occasional ‘woahs’ and ‘oohs’ and shrugged off his jacket while you went through more of his things. There was nothing he could do anyway. Tying you up and gagging you until it was over would be incredibly awkward for both of you. So, as long as you didn’t break anything or talk to him, he deemed you safe. 

“Woahhh, that is so cool! Where’d you get that?” You suddenly said, and when he turned, Bucky saw you pointing at his metal arm. 

He looked down, turned it in the yellow gleam of the bunker lamp, and then focused on your face again. People had seen a lot these days, though none of them ever asked him about it. They either stayed silent or avoided him altogether - the latter of which he preferred. He didn't like talking about it. It wasn’t anything he was proud of for that matter.

“Nonya,” he grumbled and sat back in the chair he chose to reside in for the rest of the day. 

“What’s Nonya?” Your head cocked to the side and Bucky couldn’t help but crack a small smirk.

“Non ya business.”

And finally, you shut up. He exhaled, closed his eyes, and smiled complacently. However the silence didn’t last long. 

“Okay that was a good one but really, where did you get that arm - it’s amazing.”

“It’s not amazing and I don’t want to talk about it, okay? Now do me a favor and shut up before I set you outside”

“You wouldn’t dare. After all, I was the one that helped you out of that trap.”

Buck had already established that he wouldn’t. But the thought seemed ever so intriguing right this second. 

“That you built,” he deadpanned. “I’m done talking to you. Just be quiet for the next hour, so we both have a chance at surviving this thing.” Before I murder you or myself.  That last part only echoed in his mind before he grabbed a book and hoped deeply that you’d comply. 

You huffed and slumped in the chair next to him. Bucky only dared to glance at you once. Then he began reading, enjoying the silence you finally granted him. 

You watched Bucky read his book. Fascinated by the shapes on the page that didn't look like letters to you, you leaned over to him. Bucky was skimming the pages swiftly, turning pages before you could even look at all the lines and then starting all over again. 

When you leaned in a little too closely, he scooted back and hid the page from you with a glare. So, you stood up and sauntered over to the shelf again, tracing the printed covers with your finger. 

“They’re all in Russian,” you pointed out after you had grazed the last spine. Most of the books were bound in brown, grey, or red. 

“So?” He just shrugged, not even bothering to look at you.

“Do you know Russian?”

“The guy that lived here first was Russian.” He shut the book finally, tracing the cover with his own fingers. “So, I taught myself.”

“You know, I can get you some normal books. I can’t imagine there’s anything interesting in there.” You stared at the Russian flag on most of the books. They looked like government-issued prints. Nothing like a fun novel or romance book.

“I don’t mind them, really...” Bucky set the book down and stood next to you. Then he scratched his stubble with his flesh hand. “Though, they all have a communistic touch.”

“See!” You pointed at him. “What do you like to read? I’ve got it all. Romance, fantasy, sci-fi.”

“No sci-fi please.” Bucky rolled his eyes and you could only imagine why. You’d had enough of it in the real world, so the sci-fi book you had once acquired during one of your town walks hat sat in the corner of your little home untouched.

“So, you’re not opposed to romance?” Your eyebrows raised suggestively only for Bucky to glare at you again.

Bucky huffed and sat back down. “Forget it. I'll read my Russian books.”

You chuckled and threw your hands up in defense. “Okay, okay. Fantasy it is.” And then you settled in next to him staring at the ceiling with a small smile and a giddy feeling in your chest. 

“See..,” you whispered, “I knew we would get along eventually.”

**Bonus

“Buckstar… Starbucks… Buck-”

“What are you doing?”

“I think it's only fair that if you give me a nickname, I can have one for you, too. How does Bucky-Buck sound?”

“No”

“Buckaroo.”

“Do I need to throw you out? Cause I will.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.”

“I thought I already had.”

"Good point… get out.”

“I can’t, the Fogg’s about to come!”

“Well, then I suggest you hurry your ass up, so it can’t kill you before I do.”

„I know you might not try to be, but you are very funny.“

*huffs in frustration*

Hey, Book,

Bucky's not that lonely anymore.

more…

Wanna be added to the taglist?

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[shamrockqueen]

Predator in the desert

Chapter 2

Pairing : Winter Soldier BuckyxReader (Post Apocalyptic AU)

Warnings : R18, eventual smut, dark themes, panic attack

Word count : 1224

Bucky’s masterlist

He leaned on the frame of the doorway as he watched as your little body squirmed under his heavy gaze.

You searched his larger frame, every inch of which was dark and rigid. Your eyes lingered on the bottle, still held tightly between his fingers, the water inside moving only slightly back and forth against the glass.

You shook your head, trying to steer your vision back toward the imposing figure still standing ahead of you. Instead, it made a familiar feeling of pain bloom along the back of your skull. You winced, looking back at the bottle as you felt your drying tongue stick between your cracked lips. It was only a matter of whether the pain would outweigh your intense thirst. Clean water was more than a dream to you, and you put that dull ache at the back of your mind as you tried to form the words to beg for another drink.

The words cracked apart in the back of your throat, scraping past your lips inaudibly.

He must have known what you were alluding to, as he pushed off from the door and held the bottle out for you to take it from him.

“Have the rest.” His voice was just as jarring to hear as the very sight of him.

You didn’t hesitate to reach back out for the bottle, but as you struggled to sit up, your fingers were shaking as you took hold of it.

You broke your eyes from him to take another grateful swig, sucking in a few bubbles of air. You pulled the spout away to sputter for a breath, trying to force the gasping away so as to take another drink.

You cursed the few drops that dripped from your lips and hit the dusty blankets.

The cool feeling it left on your skin was numbing, and you hugged the bottle to your chest as you shuddered.

Breathing shallowly, you turned back to the man still watching you. His eyes never shifted from your pathetic form, and neither did his stance as he stood firm by the only door to this little room.

You swallowed back thickly before trying to speak again, this time with more success.

“Can I ask any questions?”

God only knows who this man is and why he was apparently keeping guard over something as small and insignificant as you. He hasn't shown himself to be trustworthy, but to share such a rare and expensive commodity with a stranger meant he had some level of kindness to give you.

He gave you as little as a nod of his head to answer your inquiry.

“How did I get here?” You spoke carefully, trying to still the tremor in your voice.

He was quiet as he slowly shifted in his heavy boots, his brow raising slightly as he seemed to think.

You persisted with a weak “P-please?”

He gave you a slow nod before answering.

“I found you. And then I carried you.” It was far too cut and dry for your liking.

He was the next to break the silence.

“How are you feeling?”

It wasn’t something you expected him to ask, and it took you a second to register that he’d said it in the first place.

You rubbed at the sore spot at the back of your head as he waited for your answer.

“I’m fine. Thank you for the water.”

It wasn’t entirely a lie, as you certainly weren’t dead, and you made sure to be quick to thank him for the good deeds he’s done for you so far.

You tried to stand so as to hand him back the empty bottle. You swung your legs over the bed only to be stopped by something weighing unnervingly heavy on your weak ankle. He didn’t even flinch as you tried to plant your feet to the ground, only to hear the deafening clunk of a thick metal chain hitting the floor alongside your toes.

He nodded to your previous display of gratitude before giving you a barely audible “you're welcome” and taking the bottle back.

For the first time in your life, you felt cold. It was like your blood had frozen in your very veins as your eyes shot back to the still-steely face. As a few fresh tears welled up and threatened to spill, you looked down at the metal cuff that sat tightly locked around your ankle.

You struggled to breathe, cupping your hand over your mouth as a silent sob wracked through your chest.

His charity, more obvious now than ever, was in fact a farce. It's another question entirely as to how you even missed something so major in the first place.

You continued to gasp and sputter over the sight of a shackled leg. Your shoes and socks had been missing, leaving you to stare at your dirty toes.

His expression never changed as he watched the gears in your desperate little brain spin. You grabbed the chair, following the length with your fingers until it was pulled tawt to where it was hooked to one of the metal rungs at the bottom of the bed.

Your head was pounding harder and harder as your vision flooded over again. It blurred his image as he approached you, and you didn’t realize you’d started screaming until he finally rang over the pulsing in your eardrums.

When his hands met your shoulders, you threw yourself off the bed. You kicked at the sheets, falling backwards towards the floor until the wood met your shoulder.

You were a whirlwind of emotion, and he was a silent tiger standing at the edge of the monsoon.

You crawled, clawing at the floor, your limbs moving of their own accord from the waves of panic. You weren’t making it far, struggling like a dying fish in the sand but never reaching the water.

He planned to keep you, of course. Why would there have been any other assumption?

You were a captive, whether that meant for his company, labor, or food.

He remained unbothered by your turmoil, stepping past the wriggling chain and planting each booted foot on either side of your body. Still, in vain, you tried to crawl away. Even as he reached down and locked his hands around your shoulders, you scratched at the floor until he pulled you off of it.

You first saw the flint of dim light bouncing off that metal bicep as he raised you towards his own chest. It was like you weighed nothing more than a small parcel as he pulled you back towards the bed, your feet not even touching the floor anymore.

Your joints felt rigid and your limbs heavy as he hooked his hand under your knee before depositing you back into the bed.

You felt the world spinning as it became blurrier. The air around your head grew thinner and thinner as you fought for each breath.

His thumb was cold against your skin as he pressed it against your check. His fingers cradled the side of your face. You stayed conscious; even as your vision dimmed, you still clawed at the bedding below you.

What came next left you shaken. His voice was actually booming around the little room as he spoke in a commanding tone.

"You need to calm down."

Chapter 3

TagList : @itsswritten @cjand10 @dear-lolita @took-a-wr0ng-turn

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Time (D)rift 1

Warnings: this fic includes noncon/rape, blood, violence, and possible other triggers. Warnings may not be explicit or exhaustive.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: The end has come and gone as you keep waiting for your own. (Apocalypse AU) 

Sister series to Edge of Time

Characters: Bucky Barnes

Note: I'm posting this bc idk.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3

Love you all. Take care. 💖

The Avengers were heroes once, they once even deserved that title. Now they are just villains among the dregs of humanity. That was before all this, when it all mattered. Nothing makes a difference anymore and existence is only that. The basest form of survival, a purgatory of your own cowardice.

You carry in the bins and sort through them with the other labourers. Everyone has their place, a rung on the ladder and you share the lowest with those that line the tables and sift through the fruits, vegetables, and non-perishable rations. It is all to be doled out according to the system; how much is your worth?

Yours? A cup of instant rice, a scoop of canned corn, and a bone with some gristle… if you’re lucky.

You place the empty bin among the growing stack and return to the table. Your hands are chapped and sore. When you’re not bringing in the haul, you’re out chopping wood for the furnaces, not that your barrack has one, or collecting snow to melt and filter for the reserve.

You focus on your task, trying not to think about how little of this will ever touch your belly. Ignoring the pluck of jealousy as you hear the giggles from down the hall. When the men come to make their deliveries, it is rarely a kindness, merely a ransom for every head under those roofs. Those days when they come empty-handed are worse; those days they’re bored and need some distraction, not that they don’t find it regardless.

Cordelia was one of the lucky ones. You only thought they were lucky when your stomach contracted with hunger or revolted from some expired staple. She use to be in the same bunk as you, for a whole week before she was plucked from the bunch.

Bucky Barnes. He took her away, the bunk once more empty. 

Sergeant. That’s what he prefers, not that you’ve ever spoken to him. You keep your head down and do what you’re told. You avoid those who come in from the other side of the wall seeking to feed their egos with those they’ve entrapped. He likes her and prefers her full name to “Corey”. That was how you’d known her.

You knew another down at the Row. Once. They don't stay the same down there. None of you are the same as you were.

You hear Corey's voice among the babble as you smell the green leaves of stemmed tomatoes, the scent tickling your tongue. The fruits are full and firm. You don’t know where they come from but the recent addition of greens, reds, and yellows were welcome. One night, the kitchen was permitted to serve fresh tomato sauce with the hard noodles to your tier. As the cargo grew richer, you hoped that would come more often but hope never lasts long.

You look over at Al in his dirty grey flannel and the patched brown jacket that hung open from his shoulders. He barely seems to see what his hands do as they work out of habit. Your own are just as quick and mindless. 

It it wasn’t for you, no one would eat. The cooks wouldn’t get their ingredients and the guards and Parker Row wouldn’t get their hot meals. The resent fades. You don’t have energy for it. You keep up your work and marvel at the bunch of bananas unveiled in the next bin. Marietta gasps as several others peek over, a brief lull as they admire the bright exotic fruit.

“Keep sorting,” the guard in black hits a table with his baton.

Hands begin to shuffle, eyes return to the table, and whispers hush. At least the work keeps you out of the bitter winds. You’ll be longing for it once you’re sent back out to toil in the snow.

When the sorting is done, you button up your coat and pull on your thick gloves. There's still work to be done outside, reviewing the walls and marking the chart with inconsistencies. One of the guards in faded black will escort you to be sure you don't get any ideas. Well, how far could you make it on the other side?

As you come out on the concrete steps, you nearly bowl over the man coming up. You know him. Hard to mistake as his metal arm is left exposed to the bitter cold. Sergeant Barnes. You put your chin down and step aside.

"Sergeant," you utter and keep out of his way.

He gives no acknowledgement and continues through the door, no doubt to steal something sweet for him and whoever he's visiting that day. You take a breath and a step, continuing down to even ground. You glance around at the men rubbing their hands and blowing out clouds through their noses.

"You," the voice startles you. Barton, the ghost with his bow. You rarely see him in the daylight. "Let's go."

He's pointing at you. The men clustered by the trucks glance over. One nudges you and snaps his fingers impatiently. You wipe your nose with your wooly glove and pull your scarf up.

"Sir."

"You know how to play poker?"

You blink, dumbfounded as you stop a foot away from him. "Poker?"

"Texas hold 'em? You know what a flush is?"

You frown, "sure, uh, sir."

"Come on."

You don't argue. You never even heard the men speak before that moment. You know what he prefers better, but you wouldn't like that. You nod and follow as he turns on his heel without further consideration. 

Your confusion mounts as you approach the castle, so called for its seclusive purpose. Only those former saviours and their black-clad minions went within. You stopped at the threshold as Barton continued up the stairs.

"You like the cold or something?" He doesn't look back, his dry invitation hanging behind him as he pulls open the door.

You hurry to catch the door as he enters. His hand rests on a long knife handle sticking out of the sheath strapped to his thigh. You don't look beyond his shoulders. Minding your business is the surest way to avoid trouble. 

Up another flight of stairs, you head down a hallway and he gives a curt two-fingered tap to the door. There's voices from within, buzzing over the clink of glasses, but no decisive answer. He lets himself in without waiting.

You tail him, nearly stepping on his heels as the door closes behind you. He points you to an empty chair along the round table. The crowd of faces is familiar and not happily so. Nick Fury and his eye-patch, Steve Rogers and his new single-sighted veneer, Peter Parker, the boy for which the infamous district is named, and Natasha Romanov, the red-head with her emotionless gaze. Barton sits beside her and empties the glass of whiskey in front of her to her chagrin.

"Hey," she swats the back of his skull and he chuckles. The buoyancy is unlike the grim resignation that ferments in the rest of the settlement.

You sit stiffly, staring at the table blankly. You feel a set of eyes watching you. The steady clacking of plastic chips as fingers toy with the stack.

"Who's this?" The youngest, Parker, asks.

"We need a dealer without motive," Barton explains, "she's not one of yours so cut it out, kid."

"Eh, kid?" Parker snaps.

"Pete," Rogers warns and shifts in his seat, "you didn't see Bucky?"

"Sure did," Barton says, "different kinda poker for him."

"Typical," Natasha sneers.

"Shit, Romanov, you jealous?" Fury taunts.

"Jealous? I pity the poor girl."

"Sure," Rogers intones.

"Yours too."

The Captain growls as you wait rigidly in your chair. You remember the woman he brought there, weeks, maybe months ago. She looked unhappy, but that's hardly unusual. What is, is that she's seemingly still alive. 

"Shuffle," Barton orders as he fishes out a half-smoked cigar from his pocket.

You peel off your gloves and tuck them in your pocket, sliding your scarf under your chin as the warmth seeps through your layers. Your cold fingers are clumsy as you try to obey, several cards fluttering away from your grasp.

"Jesus, Barton, you really know how to pick them," Rogers snarls.

"Better get the whining started early," Natasha goads, "there'll be a lot of that."

"It's okay, honey," Peter wiggles his fingers to catch your attention, your eyes flick up cautiously, just for a second and meet his dark ones, "you don't have to be nervous."

"Leave her alone, we need a dealer," Barton barks around the cigar and hands you the stray cards.

"You wouldn't know a good time if it hopped on your dick," Peter retorts.

"Hey, this is a card game," Fury snarls, "shut the fuck up. All of you."

You finally steady your hands and the fan of cards fills the void. A snort breaks the silence as Rogers dares to laugh. The rest join in as you awkwardly focus on your menial task. The surrealness holds you in a frightful trance.

Content, you deal the cards, two to each player and burn one before the flop. Card corners bend back as the adversaries consider their hands. You hold your breath.

"Least you found one who knows what they're doing," Fury remarks, "unlucky though."

He folds, shortly followed by Rogers then Parker. Natasha raises and Barton matches her. You flip the turn card but no tell comes from either player. You wait. Check, raise, match. You lay down the river card and they both show their hands.

Straight for Barton, nothing for Nat. Pure bluff.

"Interesting strategy," Barton chuckles and gathers the pot.

"Hm, or your dealer is more than," she accuses.

He peeks at you and his forehead wrinkles, "I think she's more your type, Nat."

They laugh, you squirm. Peter's hand traces over the wood and draws your attention. You look up and he winks at you. You try not to show your discomfort as you collect the cards. 

You just need to be invisible, just like any other day, any other task. You're not a person, you're just there.

❄️ 

It's dark when the game ends. Natasha is a graceful but boastful winner. Fury is first to leave the table as Barton rolls his eyes and Rogers scowls and picks his nails. He's been restless all night, impatient for something or another. Likely eager to get out of the hellhole.

Peter watches you as you wait to be dismissed. Barton doesn't acknowledge you as he tosses a muttered accusation at Nat and reaches for the whiskey bottle. He stands and jostles her as they playfully kid about Budapest. You grit your teeth as they surpass the table, drinking and gabbing as they leave the room.

What? He just left? Okay? You stand as Steve grumbles and leans back, arms crossed. "I'm about to leave them all here," he growls.

"If it keeps you from moping in my house," Fury scoffs.

You get up. You don't know what to do except leave. You turn cautiously. No one says anything but Peter definitely notices. He mirrors you and you hear him follow you to the door.

He opens it before you can. You thank him, not wanting to offend him, and proceed. Again, he's right behind you. He comes parallel to you as he brushes out his curls with his fingers.

"You shouldn't be wandering out in the dark," he says, "that's dangerous."

You squint as a guard stands at the bottom of the stairs, descending silently. He laughs, "they're just as bad as the people outside, ya know?"

You nod and gulp as you get to the bottom. No one stops you. Natasha and Barton toss knives into the wall as they pass the bottle between them and the guards are dozing on their feet.

"So," Peter follows you through the door, "how long were you… outside?"

You chew your lip. This isn't good. You know of his reputation. It lingered even when he was away on his big mission to Wakanda. This must be how he did it. Be nice, unassuming, catch them off balance. It worked on her…

"I didn't bring you in so…"

The darkness drapes around you, most of the buildings black as curfew limits the generators to only a few. You quiver and look up at the slivered moon.

"Two years…"

"Two? Decent. Reasonable." He muses, "and you are…" he scans ahead, "down at the Row or–"

"Cannery," you blurt out, "I work on a crew."

"You? You're too pretty for that."

You keep your eyes forward. You pull your scarf up and do up the top button on your coat. He sidles closer as you walk along the gravelly street.

"The Row is nice. Good food, warm beds, and the company–"

"I should go," you say, "we wake up early to clear the snow."

"Like I was saying, you should think about it. The Row. I could find you whatever you want. You like jewelry?"

"I don't– I'm not–" you don't know what's worse, refusing him or going to the Row. "No, thank you. I… I don't think it's for me—"

"It would only be me. If that's what you want."

"N-no," you puff and shiver, "no. I work at the Cannery."

"I know," he says with exasperation, "you're cute though. Wasted there."

"I…" you begin. You don't want to be another mare at the barn. "No."

"No?"

"No."

Silence. Stalemate as you near the darkened Cannery. He catches your arm before you can edge away. He pulls you back.

"But… I want you," he says.

You freeze, chattering as you stand stalk straight. That's how it goes. It's exactly how the guards get the girls behind the yard or corner them in some abandoned hallway. But Peter, he's more than that. He's one of them.

"Unless you are fucking Barton. He's the kind to play it cool."

"No," you sputter, "I'm not."

"Great," his hand brushes up your sleeve, "so why don't you take me back to wherever it is they put you and we can have a little fun."

You can't move. Your feet are stuck in place. You're too scared to say no a third time but your body is paralysed in your horror. The inevitable. The only promise this world ever keeps. You will be used whether you want it or not. The lesson is learned the first time but doesn't get easier the next.

"Baby, please, don't be scared. I'm a nice guy. I'll be gentle–" he squeezes your arm.

"Oh fuck off, Parker," a deep voice rolls in the night and a bloom of light sparks before the broad figure, "she's not interested. It's like ten feet to the whorehouse."

The light on Bucky's rifle lights up the street as he aims it between you and Peter, "relax, I got the safety on."

"That thing has one?" Peter says.

"I think," Bucky shrugs.

"You think?"

"Mm," the other man nears nonchalantly as he gets closer, "got better gear on it than yours, bud."

Bucky reaches and cups Peter's crotch, the smaller man backing away in surprise, "what the fuck, man?"

"He's hard for you," Bucky chuckles, "holy fucking shit, look at you."

He points the light at you, waving it up and down your body, "sure this one is a girl?"

You hug yourself and shiver. You don't dare run though your feet tell you to. He sniffs and pokes Peter with the muzzle, "leave her. We gotta get out of here."

"Wait, no–"

"You had your chance, and what? You lost, didn't you? You know Nat counts cards," he points Peter away, "next time. Or I'll have Steve come and drag you back himself."

"Asshole," Peter snarls, "wouldn't have any of it if it wasn't for me…"

"Sure, kid, we did just fine without you."

"You–"

"Go," Bucky snaps and marches Peter away, "night, sweetheart."

You listen to their footsteps mulch through the snowy dirt. You're too afraid to look at them, afraid it might bring them back. You slowly veer towards the Cannery and open the door, moving carefully through the thick dark.

You've been seen. Your veil has been shorn away. Exposed, vulnerable, just like before. Like the outside. 

The walls are no good to you if the monsters are welcomed inside. In here, out there, it's all the same, but outside, you have somewhere to run.

[purehypnotic]

🤎𝑴𝒂𝒓𝒗𝒆𝒍🤎

🤍𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒗𝒆𝒍 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕🤍

𝑱𝒐𝒉𝒏𝒏𝒚 𝑺𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒎🤎

𝑩𝒂𝒃𝒚 𝒊𝒕'𝒔 𝒄𝒐𝒍𝒅 𝒐𝒖𝒕𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒆

𝒐𝒏𝒍𝒚 𝒚𝒐𝒖

𝑷𝒆𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑴𝒂𝒙𝒊𝒎𝒐𝒇𝒇🤍

𝑰 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒍 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒏𝒆𝒆𝒅 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒆𝒅

𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒑𝒆𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝒌𝒍𝒆𝒑𝒕𝒐𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒂

𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒔𝒐 𝒃𝒂𝒅

𝒗𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒐 𝒈𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒔

𝒂𝒇𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒆

𝑳𝒐𝒈𝒂𝒏 𝑯𝒐𝒘𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒕🤎

𝒑𝒆𝒐𝒑𝒍𝒆 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆

𝒄𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒆𝒓

𝒎𝒆𝒏 𝑰 𝒕𝒓𝒖𝒔𝒕

𝑩𝒖𝒄𝒌𝒚 𝑩𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒔🤍

𝑨𝒏𝒈𝒔𝒕 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒔

𝒇𝒍𝒖𝒇𝒇 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒔

𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒖𝒂𝒈𝒆𝒔

𝑰 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒇𝒊𝒙 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕

𝑵𝒂𝒕𝒂𝒔𝒉𝒂 𝑹𝒐𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒇𝒇🤎

𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒔𝒐𝒐𝒏…

𝑺𝒕𝒆𝒗𝒆 𝑹𝒐𝒈𝒆𝒓𝒔🤍

𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒑 𝒂𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅

𝑷𝒊𝒆𝒕𝒓𝒐 𝑴𝒂𝒙𝒊𝒎𝒐𝒇𝒇🤎

𝒇𝒍𝒖𝒇𝒇 𝒉𝒄𝒔

𝒂𝒇𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒆

[fluffyprettykitty]

hi bby! i have a request for your sleepover if you’re feeling inspired by it:

apocalypse!bucky — maybe a fluff piece?? i’d love for your imagination to run with it 🩷

pairing: avenger!bucky barnes x g/n reader

words: 300

a/n: thank you for the req baby, ily &lt;3 post apocalyptic avengers rebuilding the world let's go!

"Here, that's a good spot," Bucky said reading the shovel in his hand. His metal arm was shining against the sun.

"We could put three or four in a row, and then switch to the birch seeds down the line."

"Anything you want you're the boss." Bucky shrugged and threw the shovel in the dirt beginning to open a hole in the ground.

"Ha hah. If I was the boss I'd be showering daily." You rolled your eyes and placed your bag in the ground looking for the seeds.

"You know, next week when it's raining season, you can shower daily." He winked at you and continued shoveling the dirt away.

"Hmm, only when you're asleep."

"Oh." He said stopping just to dramatically hold his chest on the side of his heart with his free hand. "That hurts me."

"Good." You nod as you pull the container out of your bag. "Suffer."

"Alright, when you want to shower after we're done planting trees then my shower access will be revoked."

"I didn't know you showered." You snuffled up your nose. "It doesn't smell good around here."

"It's the soil." He retorts and looks at with an almost deadly stare.

"Right, the soil." You roll your eyes and with one quick move Bucky begins to shovel the dirt away and on to you.

"Hey!" You shout pacing a few steps back.

"Dirty. " Bucky points at you. "Wouldn't hurt to take a shower."

You shake your head and roll your eyes again.

"Be careful, we got plenty more trees to plant."

"Many more holes for me to dig."

He winks at you and continues and maybe later on when you both return to your base, you save some water by showering together.

[buckrecs]

heyyy !!! can i get multiple recs for bucky x reader but it's set during an apocalypse :P

Apocalypse AU

masterlist | req masterlist

Awake My Soul by @foreverindreamlandd

It's been five years since zombies first started walking the Earth, destroying anything and everything in their wake. Now, in this apocalyptic world, fighting for survival comes as naturally as breathing. The one thing you've learned ever since they arrived, though, is that the living can be so much more dangerous than the undead. When you stumble across two young, scared boys lost in the woods and being chased by walkers, you go against your better judgment and help them to safety. Little did you know that helping them would lead you to Bucky - an angry, grumpy, distrusting member of the camp Shield. Bucky has zero interest in having you enter his life. He's been hurt before and lost too many people to risk experiencing that kind of pain again, and he knows that there are secrets you aren't telling the group. Yet, when push comes to shove, and you're put at risk, he'll stop at nothing to keep you safe.

Long Enough by @urvenicebtch

living in a tent with him was risky from the start, but you never expected tonight to be the night.

Time (D)rift by @darkficsyouneveraskedfor

The end has come and gone as you keep waiting for your own.

It’s A Cruel World by @revengingbarnes

In the destroyed post apocalyptic world, the reader saves a group from getting eaten alive by the undead. In turn, they offer her to join them. She would have said no, but the blue, trusting eyes of a certain brunette were too hard to resist.

Imagine by @vanderlustwords

reader gets bit and they either must find a cure quickly or accept what they have to do.

[foreverindreamlandd]

Awake My Soul • 16

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

WC: 5k

Summary: It’s been 5 years since zombies first began their invasion, and despite everything you’ve been through, you’ve managed to survive up until this point. Now it’s time to face your most dangerous challenge yet….the grumpy, untrusting, fiercely protective Bucky Barnes.

Chapter Warnings: Mentions of nightmares, healing from trauma, mentions of injuries, liiiil bit of angst BUT MOSTLY FLUFF I SWEAR :)

A/N: Last chapter before the epilogue, folks. Please enjoy all the fluff in this one. Thank you a million times over for your patience. Will try to get the epilogue to you as soon as possible. <3

Series Masterlist

**There is a playlist for this fic, but linking it here messes up the tags so feel free to check it out in the series masterlist!

It was raining.

The soft pitter patter of water droplets as they landed on the roof of the watchtower created a steady, calming cadence for your ears.

Behind you, Morgan, AJ, and Cass squealed in delight as they ran around in the mud and rain with their new friends, Billy and Tommy, twin brothers. 

Once you had settled yourself back to camp, you requested to switch your watch shift to the day. Nights were still hard for you, and though you rarely slept through them anymore, it felt safer to be in the dorms where your family was just a few feet away rather than being outside  by yourself in the dark. 

The dark was still hard for you after all that time locked in that pitch black room with Hydra. 

The only argument Sam had was whether it was too soon for you to return to your regular duties, but you quickly waved him off. It was worse sitting around doing nothing, allowing intrusive thoughts and agonizing memories to enter your mind. You preferred getting your hands dirty as you picked the grown vegetables in the garden, or cleaning the weapons in your arsenal room.

And being here, on watch, where you could escape to whatever world existed between the pages of the book you were currently reading.

You stuck with comfort reads lately, first picking up Ella Enchanted to come back to something familiar, something grounding. Now, you were flipping through Along for the Ride by Sarah Dessen, a book you read at least five times during your days as a young, angsty teen.  

Resting the book on the ground beside you, you turned your gaze to watch the kids play, a  small smile on your lips. From the corner of your eye you saw the twin’s mom, Wanda, standing against one of the brick buildings. Her arms crossed in front of her, and she was laughing at the eruption of giggles coming from her boys.

Lord knows how long it had been since they had laughed like that.

The Maximoffs were one of the dozens of prisoners held at the Hydra camp. Shield had helped as many as they could escape, guiding them through the woods and providing any resources they could as you began your trek home. 

Many of the prisoners broke away a few days after the rescue, itching to go find any remaining members of their previous group.

Wanda’s husband Vision approached to join her in watching them play, wrapping an arm around his wife and kissing the crown of her head as she leaned into him.

From what you learned from the Maximoffs, Wanda had been separated from Vision and the twins for months after being captured by Hydra. Up until a few weeks ago when Shield blew the underground prison to the ground, she had nearly driven herself mad thinking they were all dead.

For the entire journey back to camp, she did not let her boys stray more than five feet from her, and you could see the distress in her eyes whenever she wasn’t holding their hands or holding them in her arms.

Turning your focus back to the outskirts of camp, you extended your arm out, letting the rain splash into the palm of your hand.

It had been so long since you were able to enjoy rain like this. To let its natural tempo steady your heartbeat, for the heightened smell of the trees around you settle your mind, to focus on the feeling of its cool droplets against your skin.

You closed your eyes, letting this small comfort bring ease to your senses. 

A soft whistle sounded off behind you, and your heart fluttered in response. Seconds later, strong arms wrapped you from behind, and gentle lips were pressing lightly on a faded bite mark on your neck.

“Hey, Sweetheart,” he whispered, chin resting on your shoulder.

Your hand when on his arm, thumb running up and down the sleeve of his Henley. “Hi, Bucky.”

Bucky let out a small breath of relief at the sound of his name on your lips, pulling away just enough to take hold of your chin and slowly glide your gaze to him.

You stared into those stunning blue eyes, and all of the adoration shining within them as he gauged your reaction to saying his name. Looking for any sign of discomfort, his body relaxing more and more when he determined you were okay.

This was the new routine the two of you had established since beginning your journey of ripping yourself of Hydra’s hold. It took…a lot of patience and learning from you both, and had been far from easy.

When you first cleared your mind of its clouded, confused state after Bucky had been bitten by the runner, the two of you naively thought that you were totally free from the brainwashing that had been done to you. There were so many happy tears, lots of kissing, and lots of smiles as relief flooded through you.

That night, after the rest of Shield had reunited and built camp on the outskirts of the rubble with the rescued prisoners, you fell asleep wrapped in his arms, feeling like everything was going to be okay.

But apparently the nightmares still remained in the darkest depths of your mind, and you were back in the woods running from Bucky. When you woke to concerned eyes, you let out a blood-curdling scream, fighting and clawing your way free from the monster before you. 

Moments later, after a lot of heavy breathing and his calm, soothing voice, you registered where you were and who you were with, collapsing into his chest as sobs overtook you, your brain trying to put itself back together again.

It was one of the worst moments of your life, witnessing the pain in his eyes, the fear that a part of you would always be afraid of him. 

It didn’t end there. Sometimes he would walk up to you too quietly and you would whip around pressing a dagger to his neck. Whenever you said his name, the pain of the collar that was no longer around your neck resurfaced so aggressively that you would keel over in agony.

And though each of these moments devastated Bucky, he was determined to stay by your side and help you through each trigger, determined to help you fight the demons that still lingered in your mind.

You were both determined to make sure that wouldn’t happen. Which was what prompted “The System.” 

Him whistling whenever he was approaching from behind to make you aware of his presence, you saying his name over and over and over again to chip away the pain it caused in your neck from the phantom collar.

Sleeping in separate spaces. That had been the hardest, going to bed desperately wishing to have your greatest protector and friend but having to force yourselves to be apart so that you wouldn’t wake up thinking he was trying to kill you.

Baby steps. It was what you had told yourself during those early days of knowing Bucky, when you were trying to get him to not hate your guts. It had worked then, and you hoped it would work now.

And of course it did, because everything involving you and Bucky would always work out. It had to.

It happened when you were walking the halls of the dorms late one night, returning to your room from the bathroom. When you passed Bucky’s door, you heard sounds of distress.

At first, you wondered if it was in your head, but then you heard the faint cry of Bucky calling for help, and you were by his side in an instant.

You touched his arm. “Bucky?” There was a slight sting in your neck but you fought back a wince.

His eyes were closed, face scrunched in agony. “Help. Help.”

“What’s wrong?” you asked, hand going to his sweat-covered forehead.

“Can’t…can’t…”

“Can’t what?”

“Can’t find her.”

Your brows furrowed. “Can’t find who?”

Tears fell from his closed eyes. “Y/n. She’s gone,” he whimpered. “I can’t find her. I need her.”

It broke your heart to hear the pain in his voice, the despair, and without a second thought you crawled into bed, holding him tightly in your arms as he clung to you.

“It’s okay, Bucky,” you whispered, kissing his forehead. “I’m here. It’s okay.”

Your comforting words made him release a long, heavy sigh, and his hands squeezed around your waist in desperation.

His breathing remained ragged for a little while longer, but eventually, with you whispering comforting words, he relaxed.

You tried to stay awake all night, dreading the idea of you falling asleep while he was in such turmoil and waking up in a state of terror being near him, not wanting to be the cause of more heartache for him.

But the nightmares that had incessantly haunted your dreams had made your nights restless, and you were completely exhausted. So eventually, as your eyelids grew heavier and heavier, you dozed off into a deep slumber.

This time, instead of running through the woods, you were standing in the clearing he had once taken you to. You watched a handful of wild horses - one of them a stunning blue-gray color - galloping along the lush field, the warm sunlight of golden hour on your face, sky aglow in various shades of pink, orange, and purple.

It was so…peaceful.

You felt something brush along your neck, and instead of panic, you felt warmth course through you.

Bucky pulled his lips away as you turned to him, his eyes shining in the bright sunlight. He was so beautiful, so happy as he looked at you.

You smiled, wrapping your arms around his and resting your head on his shoulder, the two of you staring out into the clearing, no thoughts of danger or fear in your mind whatsoever.

Only love.

When you woke up that morning, the smile was still on your face.

It dropped when you noticed Bucky was no longer in bed with you, but sitting on the floor, back resting against the bed.

He turned to look at you, a shameful look in his eyes like a sad puppy.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

You propped yourself up on your elbow. “Sorry for what?”

His lips curved up in a joyless smile. “Somehow forcing you in here. And then for being selfish and not leaving before you woke up.”

You sighed, shaking your head. “Bucky.” You shuffled over to create a space in the bed, patting the sheets. “Get your ass back in here.”

He narrowed his eyes, skeptical, but when he opened his mouth to argue, you scowled, and he thought better than to go against your wishes.

Slowly, and hesitantly, he got up from the floor and crawled back into bed, his muscles relaxing as he wrapped his arm around you.

Your head rested on his chest, and you listened to his heartbeat slow down.

“You were calling for help in your sleep,” you whispered after a few minutes, and his muscles tensed back up.

“Really,” he replied, hand moving over your head, massaging your scalp. 

You nodded. “You couldn’t find me.”

Silence.

“Do you have that dream often?” you asked.

More silence. And then…

“Every night since you left.”

Your heart split at the sadness in his voice and you lifted yourself up to look at him, hand cupping his cheek. 

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there to help you.”

Bucky let out a small, bitter laugh, rolling his eyes. “I should be saying that to you, Sweetheart.”

“Are you kidding? You saved me from the dark and brought me back to life, Buck, in every way that it mattered. You have been so kind, and patient, and loving. You never gave up on finding me, and you still haven’t given up on me even though I’ve been a fucking wreck. Through all the shit I’ve put you through, you never gave up on me.”

Tears welled in Bucky’s eyes as he wiped away the one sliding down your cheek.

“And I never will. I’ll never give up, I’ll never stop waiting, I’ll never stop fighting for you.” 

His hand moved to gently cup the back of your head as he pulled you closer for a slow, tender kiss. 

The two of you stayed in bed the rest of the day - with the exception of Bucky running to the kitchen to grab food for the both of you after his stomach grumbled for an entire minute. You stayed there, wrapped up in each other, drifting between silence and talking about anything and everything. 

Things hadn’t been this easy between you two in such a long time, that you had almost forgotten how much you had been craving it.

Enough time passed that you could barely register it passing anymore, your lids growing heavy as Bucky hummed a soft tune you both loved, the rumbling in his chest lulling you to sleep. 

You weren’t sure how long you had drifted off for before he gently nudged you awake, and the room was pitch black.

“We should get you to bed,” he whispered, kissing your temple before starting to slide out of his bed to escort you to your room.

A soft groan escaped and you shook your head, hands gripping around his t-shirt.

“I wanna stay,” you mumbled, eyes slowly closing.

Even in the dark, you could sense the skepticism in his eyes, and though he did not pull away from your hold, his body remained tense.

“I don’t want to risk it, Sweetheart. What if we just got lucky this morning?”

“Bucky, please let me stay,” you quietly begged. “I’m okay. I promise.”

The earnestness in your voice was what finally got him to relax, his body melding back against yours.

“If you start feeling overwhelmed or afraid even for a second, just let me know. Okay?”

You nodded, pulling him closer to you until your cheek rested against his chest once more, already drifting back to sleep. “I will.”

The last thing you felt before returning to your slumber were his lips pressing against the crown of your head.

And then…

You were back in the field, with gentle arms wrapped around you, staring at the most beautiful smile you had ever seen.

You felt loved. Happy.

Safe.

When you awoke hours later - the soft rays of sunlight warming your eyelids - you opened your eyes to a still sleeping Bucky. He must have tried to stay awake all night to make sure you were comfortable, exhausting himself. 

There was a small part of your mind that was just as nervous about waking up with him after these past few weeks. What if you weren’t ready for this moment? What if the triggers were hidden somewhere in your brain, about to go off any second as you looked at him?

You waited for said trigger to turn on as you continued to stare at Bucky, praying that he would remain the man you loved, not feared.

Seconds passed, turning into minutes, and your mind stayed in a state of adoration as you admired the peaceful expression on his face as he slept.

As if sensing your intense gaze, Bucky began to stir, body shifting, arm snaking its way around your waist-

He froze, realizing he wasn’t alone as his eyes shot open, looking over at you, hesitation painted across his face. 

“Morning, Beefcake,” you said, trying to make your voice as comforting as possible.

He licked his lips, eyes scanning yours. “Morning, Sweetheart. How…how are you feeling?”

You responded by crushing your lips to his, hand gripping the back of his neck for support. Bucky let out a moan of relief, pulling you flush against him.

The two of you never slept apart from each other again.

“You’re late for watch, you know,” you chided as Bucky settled himself by your side, gaze following yours to look at the rain. 

He rolled his eyes, fingers sneaking down to tickle your waist and you squealed. 

“I’m never late, Sweetheart, you’re just always annoyingly early.”

You gave him your best mischievous grin. “I know, it’s just that I love busting your balls, Beefcake.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” he grumbled, smile still on his face.

You scrunched your nose at him before leaning forward for a kiss. When you pulled back, your eyes went to the bite mark on his neck and you grimaced. “How’d it go?”

Bucky shrugged, fingers grazing over the newly-formed scar that matched yours. “Same as always. Banner says that my blood is showing up as normal. I’ve officially been given the clean, zombie-free bill of health.”

Your shoulders sagged in relief. “Good,” was all you could think to say.

Bucky pulled you closer to him and kissed your brow. “Can’t get rid of me that easily, baby.”

You smacked his metal arm with a scoff. “As if I’d ever want to be rid of you.”

“You better not!” he laughed. “Cause I don’t plan on ever leaving your side.”

Butterflies swarmed in your stomach and you looked up to meet that beautiful cerulean gaze. “Promise?”

He kissed the bridge of your nose. “Promise.”

Your romantic moment was cut off by a sudden squeal, and you both jerked your heads over to the camp in alarm, only to find that Morgan had thrown a handful of mud at Billy and was now running for her life as he chased her, preparing to strike back.

The two of you chuckled at the chaos before you. “Good to see they’re settling in nicely,” Bucky remarked.

“Who knows the last time they were able to have fun and be so carefree.”

Bucky nodded. “Been a while since we had any newcomers, especially kids. It’s nice.”

“Do you think they’ll stick around?”

He shrugged. “You never know. At the end of the day it’s up to them and what they think is best for their family. But I can’t imagine them saying no to a semi-safe place where they can heal together.”

“This is the best place for that. Healing, that is,” you added with a wink, and Bucky smiled, squeezing you a little more tightly to him.

A few beats of silence passed as you continued watching the kids play below.

“Banner mentioned he wants to talk with us,” he said.

Your brows furrowed. “Did he say why?”

He shook his head. “Not really. He says he has an idea he wants to run by us. Some long-term project or whatever. I was thinking we could go tonight, after dinner?”

You bit the inside of your cheek. “Actually,maybe we can talk to him tomorrow morning? You and I…we already have plans for tonight.”

Bucky’s lips turned downward in an intrigued expression. “Oh really?”

Heat rose to your face, knots growing in your stomach. “Well, I was kind of low-key planning to ask this super hot, grumpy pants with a heart of gold out on a date.”

His cheeks flushed a bright pink, but tried to keep his expression casual. “I sure hope you’re talking about me, Sweetheart.”

“What, is Yelena not available tonight?”

A loud, dramatic scoff escaped Bucky as you fell into a fit of giggles, and he tackled you to the ground playfully, peppering your face with a multitude of kisses, pinning you down.

“Alright, alright, fine!” you squealed. “I’ll take you on the damn date, Beefcake!”

He pulled back at the peace offering, face smug. “Pick me up at seven?”

You winked. “Wear that skimpy black dress you know I like.”

“Do you think I’ll get a kiss at the end of the night?” His lips lowered to hover over yours.

“Only if you behave,” you replied, suddenly breathless

He let out a low chuckle, the rumbling in his chest vibrating against yours. “Damn,” he murmured, “I know I can’t keep that promise around you.”

“Bummer,” you whispered, lifting your head just enough for your lips to finally meet.

“So anyways, I’m running through the woods as these giant dinosaurs in clown outfits chase after me. I finally managed to climb up a tree, but who’s at the top? Fucking Dum Dum with his giant bowl of soup smiling at me. And then I woke up.”

Yelena took a bite of green beans as you and Kate stared at her, eyes narrowed.

“Have you been sneaking sweets before bed, babe?” Kate asked.

The blond shook her head. “No.”

You crossed your arms and leaned them on the table. “Do you always have dreams like this, Lena?” 

Her lips turned downward as she considered the question. “The clown dinosaurs show up from time to time. But the Dum Dum thing is new….” she turned around and looked at Dum Dum, who caught her gaze, giving her his classic cheery smile and wave. She turned back around with a grimace, “...and slightly more unsettling.”

“Dum Dum is literally the nicest person in this entire camp,” Bucky remarked with a mouthful of bread. “And we literally just fought an entire evil empire and their hoard of flesh-eating zombies. How the hell can he be more unsettling than that?”

“Too much joy,” Yelena said, with what looked to be almost genuine fear in her eyes. “How can one person be so cheerful? In Russia, everyone was mad. Anger is what comforts me.”

“Don’t worry, Lena, if Dum Dum ends up smiling at you to death, I’ll make him pay,” Kate said, resting a reassuring hand on her girlfriend’s leg and kissing her cheek.

“Why does Yelena look like she’s just been to hell and back?” Druig asked, walking up to the table and resting his food tray down to join the group. Before sitting down, he slid the chair next to his back as Makkari - one of the new additions to camp after Hydra’s downfall - took the seat, her smile growing as she looked at Druig. She moved her hand from her chin out in front of her to sign  thank you.

The right corner of his mouth twitched as he mirrored her gesture. 

What had struck you most about Makkari upon meeting her was that – though she was barely able to stand from all of the injuries she sustained the day of the explosion – she was always there to lend a helping hand to someone who needed it, even if that meant holding someone else up for miles when she could barely do it for herself.

The other thing you noticed immediately was the way Druig’s eyes always found their way to her. She could be dozens of feet away and yet he always knew exactly where she was. And every time they locked eyes, she would lift her chin up at him with a smile, and the corners of his mouth would turn up ever so slightly as he lifted his own chin up.

“She’s scared of Dum Dum,” you replied, giving your blond best friend a quick wink as she glared at you. 

“Am not,” she grumbled, and Kate wrapped her arm around her in support, biting back a smile.

“Not what?” Sersi asked as she approached, taking the seat next to you and bumping her arm against yours in hello.

“Afraid of Dum Dum,” Druig responded, and Yelena growled as the rest of the group burst into a fit of laughter.

“Sounds like you lot are having fun over there!” Dum Dum called out. “What’s got the gang in such a fit of giggles?”

“It’s cause she’s afraid of y-” Bucky shouted.

“NOTHING’S HAPPENING OKAY LET’S JUST LET IT GO,” Yelena yelled over Bucky, but there was now a smile forming on her face as she began to see the ridiculousness of the conversation, and you felt tears streaming down your eyes from laughing so hard. 

You looked around the table, at the people who meant the most to you all smiling and laughing, as if you hadn’t survived the worst moments of your life, as if your lives weren’t at risk every second of every day.

These were the people who fought for you even when you thought you weren’t worth fighting for, who risked their lives to bring you our of captivity and back home with them. 

And you knew that they’d do it all again in a heartbeat if needed, just as you would for them.

It would be naive for you not to think that there would be even worse moments ahead, that terrible things were bound to happen, that there would be days when you couldn’t remember the last time you laughed.

Those moments would still come, but as long as you could also have these moments, you knew that you could survive anything.

“Alright, Sweetheart,” Bucky said as you led him out of the cafeteria to the location of your date. “Can I get any sort of hint as to where you’re taking me?”

You grabbed his hand. “Not a chance, but I’m sure you’ll get the idea the closer we get to our destination.”

He let out a huff in response and you glared up at him. “So dramatic, Beefcake. We’ll be there soon, so don’t get your pants all up in a tizzy.”

Another grumble, but his lips quirked up and you felt his thumb move along your knuckles.

Though you were joking, there was a bundle of nerves wreaking havoc in your stomach as you headed to the building with the science lab and library, leading Bucky to the semi-hidden  door tucked in the back.

You stopped at the door, looking up at his confused expression.

“Months ago, you pulled off the most romantic gesture I could have ever asked for, and I completely ruined it, then put you through absolute hell for a really, really long time.” Tears pricked your eyes and you looked down at the ground in shame thinking back to the night you left. “I know that at the time, I thought what I was doing was the right thing, but I don’t know if I’ll ever forgive myself for putting you through all that pain.”

“Sweetheart-” he began to say, and you looked back up to meet his watery eyes, shaking your head to cut him off as your hand went to the knob, slowly turning it and pushing open the door to reveal a familiar display.

Amber lights creating a soft glow throughout the room, a couch in the middle, a projector behind it, with a DVD case of a movie based on a book that brought you two together so long ago.

Though you had a feeling Bucky had known what was coming, you still felt a small flutter in your chest when his breath hitched.

“I wanted to give that night back to you, rewrite it so that we got the moment we deserved to share. One where two people go on a date and be all romantic and shit and one person doesn’t drug their partner and run away into the night.”

Bucky breathed out a small laugh, a tear running down his cheek.

You moved to wipe it away.

“You mean…everything to me, Bucky Barnes. You’re the most important person in my life, the one who owns my soul. If I could give you the world I would, if you’d let me. For now, I can only give you a Twilight movie date, and I hope that that’s enough-”

Unable to control himself any longer, Bucky jumped forward, wrapping his arms around the small of your back and pulling you close until your lips collided together, lifting you up in the air. 

You clung to him for support as your head grew dizzy from the taste of him, just as it always did. You weren’t sure if you’d ever get over the feeling of kissing Bucky, how his lips both kept you grounded and made you feel you were flying at the same time. The hunger you felt, never satisfied when the kiss finally came to an end due to you both being lightheaded from the lack of air. 

When that moment happened now, and he pulled away, there was a brightness in his eyes as he stared into yours, and you knew what he was going to say before the words left his lips.

“I love you, Y/n.”

It was the first time he had said it since that night in the woods, when they were spoken with desperation and grief, a moment where both of you thought it would be the end.

Now, as he said it, it felt like a true beginning.

“And I love you, Bucky,” you said in return. It felt so good to finally say that you said it again against his lips as he pulled you closer. 

After 15 or so more I love you’s from both of you, Bucky reluctantly lowered you to the ground and the two of you made your way to the couch.

“I promise I’m not going to drug the wine this time,” you said as you handed him a glass. “Gotta make sure you enjoy the hell out of this vampire romance.”

“You’re too good to me, Sweetheart,” he responded, taking a sip without hesitation as a sign of complete trust toward you, and you almost started crying again at the gesture.

After puttering around getting everything situated, you crawled into Bucky’s arms, head resting within the crook of his shoulder.

“Hey,” Bucky said, and you raised your head to look at him. “I love you.”

You smiled. “God, Beefcake, you’re such a sap.” He let out a low, rumbly chuckle, rolling his eyes.”Hey,” you said, and his gaze went back to you. “I love you, too.”

He leaned forward for another kiss before you grabbed the projector remote, pressing play.

Then, for the first time ever, in the middle of a zombie apocalypse…

You and Bucky Barnes went on a date.

Epilogue

[of-many-aus]

Chapter 1

You and Bucky stumbled across some people in the middle of the woods that offered you sanctuary. It’s safe to say that the two of you are hesitant

Warnings: mentions of death and dying, weapons, creepy men, slight cursing

Us Against the World Masterlist

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

The sound of leaves crunching beneath your boots was the only noise to fill your ears. A sound that had once been satisfying- calming, even. Now, deadly.

At any moment, you could step on the wrong twig, and it could alert the wrong ears. The infected could pick up on your sound first, then your scent. And once that happened, you were screwed.

From beside you, Bucky swept his narrowed eyes back and forth along the forest landscape. His hand rested purposefully right by where his hunting knife was swinging back and forth from where it was placed on his belt.

“We should make camp soon,” It was the first time you had spoken in hours. After so many years, the two of you had learned how to effortlessly communicate without actually talking. Because talking too loudly could always alert certain unwanted presences to your location.

The man beside you glanced up, squinting his eyes against the sudden harshness of the sun beating down on him and a small frown pulled on his lips, “We still have a good three hours before we even need to think about finding camp.”

You knew that, of course you knew that, and that was the reason you knew he was beginning to grow worried. Because neither of you ever requested to stop early unless something was wrong, and Bucky tended to worry when you were the one requesting it.

“I’m fine, Buck,” You automatically assured him, “Just tired s’all.”

His bright blue eyes scanned your features for another moment before he nodded, backing off, “Alright,” He agreed quietly, “We’ll get a couple more miles in and then we’ll see if we can find a cave. And if not,” He grimaced, “We’ll be sleeping in a tree.”

You cringed at the mere thought, but fell into a silence nonetheless and continued trudging on.

Not even five minutes could have passed before the rustling of leaves to the left of you two made your ears perk up and steps come to a sudden halt.

Despite the vast number of times you had gone through this process, your heart didn’t beat any slower than it did the first time you had to go through this. The same amount of panic flooded into your brain. You just knew how to better control and handle it now.

You and Bucky immediately went to stand back to back, drawing out your knives and standing in a defensive position.

It wasn’t hard to feel how tense the man’s muscular back was against your own, and the only way you didn’t mistake it for a wall was the way it rose and fell slightly with his calculatingly slow breaths.

Both of your pairs of eyes whipped around the trees and dead leaves, looking for any sign of what had made that noise. Even as the moments dragged on, you didn’t allow yourself to relax. There was no such thing as a false alarm. Not anymore.

The only thing that kept you from holding your breath the entire time was the knowledge that doing so would cut off circulation to your brain, making it harder to react within a split second like you knew you would need to when whatever was nearby showed itself.

Suddenly, four figures emerged from seemingly thin air and approached the two of you cautiously.

Though some relief flowed through your veins when you realized that they didn’t have the gray, decaying skin of the infected- instead having healthy enough looking bodies- you still didn’t allow yourself to drop your knife.

You and Bucky had run into enough other survivors in your time to know that they could oftentimes be crazier than the infected themselves. The fact that the people were carrying guns that were strapped over their necks and pointed directly at the two of you also didn’t help.

Immediately, Bucky shifted his weight so that he was standing in front of you, one hand still holding his knife in a death grip, while his other arm flew up in front of you protectively. As if that alone would stop a round of bullets from penetrating your skin.

A black man in the front of the group sighed in relief though, and dropped his weapon to his side, “Stand down, it’s not them.” He ordered the others, who did as he said without hesitation.

“We’re just passing through,” Bucky said monotonously, “We don’t want any trouble.”

The man grinned, “Yeah, I bet you don’t.” He was joking around as if the two of them had known each other for years.

Another man scowled, dropping his gun to his side, “I can’t believe we came all this way just to pick up a couple of strays.” His eyes moved from Bucky to you, and a disgusting smirk made its way onto his face as he looked your body up and down, “Although…”

A low growl left the back of Bucky's throat, something only you- who was standing close enough- could hear, but you doubted the group missed the way his fists clenched tighter and his glare became more prominent.

A blond man came over and whacked the creep on the back of the head with a gloved palm, “Don’t mind him,” He glared slightly at the man, “He doesn’t know when to shut the hell up.”

Just as the man was about to open his mouth, no doubt to let out a snarky retort, the only woman in the group- a redhead- spoke up, “We need to get going.” She said urgently, speaking to the man who seemed to be in charge, “The heard had to have grown by now.”

The black man nodded before turning back to face the two of you, “You’re welcome to join us,” He offered, “It can get pretty ugly out here when the sun goes down. The infected tend to get really riled up and rowdy around here.”

Despite the fact that Bucky stayed silent- no doubt praying that you would as well- your curiosity got the better of you, and you just had to speak up, “Welcome to join you where?” You questioned.

“We have a camp set up a few miles out,” He explained calmly, “It’s protected by tall gates and patrolled twenty four hours a day. We have at least a couple hundred people safely living inside.”

Silence fell over the group of you like an uncomfortable blanket, causing even Bucky sucked in a sharp breath at his words, and you knew it was because he was thinking the same thing as you.

It was impossible, not only to have so many people in one place, but that they were also all safe. It had to be a lie.

“I suggest you decide fast,” The blond man from before piped up, “I think the herd’s coming this way.”

Surly enough, you strained your ears and were able to hear the faint sound of groaning, growling, and heavy footsteps that always accompanied the infected. And by the sound of it, there were a lot of them heading your way.

For the first time, Bucky met your eyes, and you could tell that he was as torn as you were between your two options. Going with them and risking handing over blind trust to a bunch of strangers whom you didn’t even know the names of, or sticking around for the herd to find you.

Silently, you came to a decision, and you turned back to the four people, “We’re in.”

[pablopascal]

Dusk till Dawn

Bucky Barnes x fem!reader word count: 1.0k warnings: death, apocalypse au, needles, fluff, angst A/N: I wrote this a long time ago and it might me shitty and not make any sense. I hope you enjoy reading it though. I might write another part when I'm not busy. please reblog, comment, like much appreciated!! italics: always are flashbacks, conversations, letters *DO NOT REPOST ANYWHERE*

-

It felt as if I was in a dark room for years. At one point, I heard something click, and crunches of shoes. Then I felt someone kiss my forehead and mumble something inaudible. After a few moments, I heard a click, then silence.

After a few moments, I heard a click, then silence It seemed like years since that moment. I assumed that I was somewhere lying down. I didn't know what time, day , week, month, nor the year. I was somewhere out of place ,and I was alone.

Suddenly there was a blurry bright light that appeared in my vision. My vision cleared up, and I saw hospital room. After seeing that I was at a hospital. I looked everywhere for a call light button but I couldn't find one.

But I saw a envelope next to me on a small chair beside my bed. Trying to figure out how to get out bed without messing up my IV.

After a few minutes, I decided to just take it out so I carefully did. I sat up trying to regain the feeling in my legs. I eventually got up slowly walking to grab the envelope.

As I got to the chair my legs felt like jello. So, I hurriedly grabbed the envelope and sat in the chair. I took a deep breath and opened the envelope and started reading it.

-

I'm sorry I couldn't be there when you wake up. I love you dearly. You have been in coma for many years with protection. I know that you don't want this burden on your shoulders. But you have to save the world, and you will have someone to help. There should be a bag with clothes and a old flip phone with one number.

I love you. Be safe.

Mom

-

I got up and slowly walked around looking for a bag. After looking under, in, and inside; I opened the door to the small bathroom that had a shower, a sink, and a toilet. I patted the walls for secret compartments.

I then walk to the the back of the toilet and opened it seeing two plastic bags. One had a backpack and the other had clothes. I check to see if the water was working and it was. So decided to wash off the dirt gathering for years.

There was already a bar of soap and a towel on the racks in here. I turned the water on but it was freezing cold and it wouldn't get warmer.

So went under the cold water, and grabbed the soap and lathered it as much as I could to wash my hair. I was almost done with washing my body with a gush of memories hit me.

-

It was James and me and we were in the shower hugging each other. I had just got the news that I was chosen for the super-soldier surgery. James came to my room to talk but he saw me crying. He consoled me and held me, but eventually it ended with us having sex. Then slowly moving to the shower where we just held each other. -

I gasped back into reality, but I wanted to go back to that moment of happiness. I sighed knowing i would never get that moment back. I slowly got out of the shower grabbing the towel to dry my body.

I grabbed the plastic bag with clothes. I opened it up to see a black pair of jeans, a grey t-shirt, panties, a sports bra, socks, and my old combat boots.

I put on the clothes piece by piece. After awhile I was sitting on the toilet rummaging through the backpack. So far I've got needed feminine products and a few extra panties, bras, shirts, and jeans.

Finally, of the minutes of rummaging through I found the cellphone. I went to the contacts on the phone and saw the name James.

It felt as if my heart dropped to my stomach. I was hesitant to click call, but maybe it was a different James.

In my heart I did want it to be him, but why would he wait. He probably found someone better and was probably happier. He's can't be here waiting. I clicked dial and the familiar sound of clicking when someone answers.

" I'm awake. I don't know where to go. Is this you James? Bucky? please, answer." I said with stuttering and voice of sadness .

"Yes. It's me. Y/n, I want you to walk to the stairs till you reach the first floor." He replied.

I let out deep breath and asked " what year is it?"

"It's 2045. You grab everything from the room your in and come to me. Okay?" He said to me.

"Okay. I'm coming. Are you the only one there?" I asked.

"Yes. Now hurry you have to save the world." He said teasingly, but truthfully.

I hurried at packing all I needed or thought I needed into my backpack. The last thing I grabbed was a necklace by my hospital bed. I remember that it was the one my mother had given me for my birthday.

I unhooked it and put it on. Then I grabbed the backpack full of things. I walked around the floor I was on looking for the stair well. Soon I found it opening it up and looked at the number 400. I'm on the fourth floor.

I started my journey down the stairs. I slowly walked as I got closer to the first floor. Do I want to see him I questioned myself as I got to the second floor. Of course I do, I miss him so much.

I was talking to myself so much that I had reached the first floor without barely noticing. I grabbed the door handle and stared awhile at it. I started to slowly open it as if I was going into a danger zone.

As I fully looked up I saw the familiar icy blue eyes of James. I stared for I don't now how long before I spoke.

"James..."

-

[delicatebarness]

ᴀs ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ғᴀʟʟs ᴅᴏᴡɴ | s𝟷ᴇ𝟷

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: Your search for the truth finds you in an encounter with a hardened stranger and throws you into a dangerous journey through the fallen world.

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: Post-Apocalypic World. Violence and Gore. Encounters with the Undead. Reference to past trauma and loss. Panic and Anxiety. Implied Sexual Tension.

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 3548

sᴘᴏᴛɪғʏ ᴘʟᴀʏʟɪsᴛ | sᴜᴘᴘᴏʀᴛ: ᴋᴏ-ғɪ

sᴇʀɪᴇs ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ | ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʀᴀɪʟᴇʀ | ɴᴇxᴛ ᴇᴘɪsᴏᴅᴇ

ᴀ/ɴ: I'm very excited for this one, I won't lie. - Please feel free to leave feedback or let me know where and how you want the story to continue, this is just as much yours as mine. - B

ᴀᴛᴡғᴅ: @winterslove1917 | @ell0ra-br3kk3r

ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ: @hallecarey1 | @pattiemac1 | @uhmellamoanna | @scraftsku35 | @ozwriterchick | @sapphirebarnes | @rach2602 | @thetorturedbuckydepartment | @lanabuckybarnes

The years passed by, but the memory of that first night burned into your soul. One scar that time would never heal. Somehow, you survived. Letting the world forget you existed you learned to hide and to stay quiet. 

The world tried to move on, focus on ending the nightmare, and find a cure or a way out. You felt differently. You didn’t want to stop it, but more to understand it. Why did it start? Why everything you loved had been torn away from you within an instant? Somewhere in the ruined world the truth was buried and you were determined to find it. 

That’s what brought you to where you are now, inside the ruins of an old library. A place where knowledge may still be hidden beneath the dust and decay. It was silent, undisturbed, the only sounds from the building being that of age and neglected groans. Moving quickly, you traced your fingers along the spines of forgotten books, searching for hope and answers. 

The scent of old paper and mildew filled the air as you moved through the dim aisles. The titles were barely visible beneath layers of grime. As you scan the shelves, you pull at a few books; covers worn and faded. You scanned for any mention of events that could have possibly led to the world’s collapse. Flipping through the pages, your mind raced. The silence was almost comforting as it contrasted against the constant danger outside. It felt like you had found a sanctuary, somewhere you could piece together the fragments of the past.

Groans began to echo through the library, shattering the silence as the undead emerged from the shadows. Their eyes locked onto you, and your heart leaped into your throat. Panic surged through you, grabbing whatever books you could reach, you shoved them into your bag as you began to move. Tugging at your shoulder, the weight of the bag slows you down, but you don’t stop and don’t look back. Narrow aisles and towering shelves became a labyrinth, but with desperate speed and ragged gasps, you navigated your way toward the exit. 

As you brushed past them, the noise of tumbling books only spurred the undead closer. Your heavy footsteps thudded on the worn floor echoed. The scent of decay grew closer, and you could feel their presence gaining on you. 

A sliver of light in the darkness was in sight– the exit, and you pushed yourself harder, willing your legs to go faster. And, just as you burst through the door, the harsh light warming your skin, the undead reached the spot where you stood moments before. Your mind was fixated on one thing at that moment– survival. 

The streets were a blur as you ran, fear clawing at your throat. You didn’t see him at first, but a man sat in a car across the street, watching the chaos with annoyance and amusement. “What the fuck–” he muttered to himself, his hand reaching a gun that sat beside him. That was when he saw you– The terror in your eyes, and the desperation in your stride.

“Great…” he sighed with a roll of his eyes, stepping out of the car and raising his gun. “It’s always the pretty ones…” 

With deadly precision, each shot hit its mark as if it were second nature to him, he effortlessly cleared a path through the horde. Breathless, you stumbled as the last of the undead fell to the ground. You struggled to process what had happened as your chest heaved. 

Moving toward you, the man carried an air of calm that seemed unnatural in the fallen world– imposing, with broad shoulders and a muscular frame, easily over six foot, you thought. Each of his movements were controlled, and purposeful as his dark hair fell in messy waves framing his faintly stubbled face. 

The sharpness of his gaze, a piercing shade of blue, cold, and assessing, contrasted with the weary lines etching into his face as he scanned the area. There was something you couldn’t place in his expression, irritation? A reluctant duty? It was as if saving strangers was not how he wanted to spend his time, but he’d do it anyway. 

Dangling loosely at his side, the gun still smoked from the shot that had been fired. His red henley shirt, scuffed and worn, clung to his frame. As he glanced at you, his eyes narrowed as if he were assessing whether you were a threat or just another helpless survivor. Then, without a word, he holstered the gun and reached out his hand. 

The gesture caught you off guard causing you to hesitate for a second before you reached out, your fingers wrapped around his large, calloused hand. Pulling you to your feet, with a surprising gentleness, he kept a firm grip on your hand as you steadied yourself. Up close, you could see the lines around his eyes and a faint scar along his jawline. 

“Get in,” he commanded, his voice low and gravelly, no room left for argument. His order jolted you out of your daze, but he refused to wait for a response as he turned to open the car door for you. You hurriedly obeyed, scrambling into the passenger seat of his car. When you were inside, he released your hand and slammed the door shut, circling to the driver’s side. 

He wasted no time, flooring the gas pedal the second the engine roared to life and sped away from the scene. Swerving around abandoned vehicles and debris, he navigated the town’s maze with unnerving skill. 

Neither of you spoke, sitting in silence as the adrenaline coursed through your veins, and your heart raced. You watched the ruins of the town blur by as you stared out the window. 

And then, when he finally spoke, his voice was more contemplative, softer. “What were you doing in there?” 

Unsure of how much to reveal, you hesitated before taking a breath. “I’m looking for answers,” you admitted, keeping your voice small, barely audible. “I, um, I want to understand why this all started… why the world fell.” 

Letting out a low, almost resigned sigh as he repeated, “Why this all started–” The words hung heavy in the air. “Not many people left who care about that.” 

“I care,” you murmured. He glanced toward you, his knuckles turned white as his grip tightened on the steering wheel. There was a flicker of understanding that passed through his icy blue eyes. And, for a moment, it seemed like he was about to say something, but instead, he pressed his lips into a tight line and focused back on the road. 

“You’re chasing ghosts,” he muttered after a while, almost to himself. “Whatever answers you’re looking for, they won’t bring back what you lost.” 

You snapped your gaze toward him, surprised by the bitterness in his tone. “Maybe not,” you retorted, “but it’s the only thing that keeps me going.” 

There was a long silence settling between you, only broken by the sound of the car’s engine and the occasional groan of the undead lurking by the side of the streets. Outside of the car, you watched as remnants of the world passed by– abandoned vehicles, shattered windows, and overgrown greenery reclaimed what was once civilization.

The man sighed heavily with a weariness that ran deeper than just the physical toll of survival. “I know some people,” he said, he kept his voice low, almost reluctant. “My group might be able to help you, or at least give you somewhere to rest.” 

“Your group?” you echoed, unsure if you should feel weary or relieved. 

“Yeah,” he replied in a stern tone. “They’re not exactly the most friendly to strangers, but they’re good at staying alive.” 

Glancing at his side profile, you weighed his words carefully. He had an edge, a darkness, there was something about him that made you uneasy, but yet, at the same time, you could not deny the gravitational pull toward him. You had isolated yourself for so long in your search for answers, and the idea of finding others who may be able to help was almost too tempting to resist. 

“Why are you helping me?” You asked in need to understand his motivations. 

The silence stretched out, he didn’t answer as the car sped down a deserted road. Glancing over at you again, his expression was unreadable as he finally spoke. “Maybe I don’t want to be the kind of person who looks the other way anymore,” he said, his voice guarded.

As you searched for something– anything– that would give you a clue about who this man was, you stared at him. You wonder why he’d chosen to save you as his answer hung in the air, but his eyes, cold and piercing, gave nothing away. 

An endless ribbon of cracked asphalt and faded yellow lines stretched over the road ahead of you. The car’s tires hummed a steady rhythm, calming the chaotic thoughts swirling in your mind as the remnants of the world you once knew lay in ruins. 

As the time ticked by, you were unable to stay silent for any longer. “What’s your name?” you asked.

A flicker of surprise crossed his features as he glanced at you again before he turned his attention back to the road. “James,” he simply said. 

You repeated his name, testing the word on your tongue. Strange, you thought, almost too normal for someone who brutally saved your life. But then, maybe this was the type of normalcy you craved.

~

The sun began to set as you drove further, the landscape growing more barren. The trees were sparse, and their branches gnarled, twisting like something out of a horror movie. A chill crept into the air as the sky above turned a bruised shade of purple. 

Just then, as you were about to ask James if you were close to your destination, the car suddenly jerked to the side. A violent shudder came from the vehicle, and a loud thumping echoed from the rear. 

“God damn it!” James cursed, his knuckles turning white as his grip on the steering wheel tightened, fighting to keep the car under control. Easing his foot off the gas, the car slowly came to a halt on the side of the road. 

“What happened?” you asked, your heart racing from adrenaline. 

“Flat tire,” James sighed, a lace of frustration in his voice. Killing the engine, he stepped out of the car. “Stay here,” he ordered, not waiting for a response before slamming the door shut behind him. 

You watched as James circled to the back of the car before kneeling beside the rear tire. He mumbled curses under his breath as he inspected the damage. You suspected he drove over some hidden debris on the road, causing the tire to shred. He glanced around the deserted landscape as he stood, his hand instinctively resting on the gun tucked into his jeans. 

Staying in the car, you nervously tapped your fingers on the armrest. The sun sank lower, and the shadows began to grow longer. The sense of was back and stronger than ever.

James rummaged through the trunk before pulling out a spare tire and jack. He worked quickly, with a sense of urgency in his movements. Glancing around now and then, scanning the horizon as if expecting someone, or something to emerge from the shadows. 

You watched him work through the wind mirror, noticing something in the distance. It seemed like just a flicker of movement, barely noticeable in the fading like, until your eyes adjusted and you saw them– moving slowly but steadily towards the car, multiple undead. 

“James,” you called out, trying to keep your voice steady and low. “We’ve got company.” 

He looked around sharply before his gaze met theirs. His expression darkened as he recognized the approaching figures– At least a dozen of them stumbled toward the car. 

“Get in the driver’s seat,” he ordered, his voice tense. “When I say go, floor it.” 

Your heart sank as your eyes met his through the back window. “I-I don’t know how to drive.” 

James froze for a second, disbelief flashed across his face. “What?” 

“I never learned!” you confessed, a slight tremble in your voice. 

“Fuck my life,” he muttered under his breath, narrowing his eyes as he glanced back at the nearing horde. “No time for this, just, get in the seat anyway.” 

You hesitated before scrambling over the center console, and sliding into the driver’s seat. Your hands trembled as you gripped the steering wheel. Your mind raced as the undead drew closer, their groans growing louder. A smell of decay filled the air, a scent you’d have thought you’d grown accustomed to by now, but still made your stomach turn. 

Tightening the last lug nut on the new tire, James’ movements became frantic, tossing the jack into the trunk and slamming it shut. He sprinted to the passenger side and yanked open the door. 

“Okay, listen to me, Princess,” he said, his voice low and urgent, the nickname dripping from his lips with endearment as he slid into the seat beside you. “Put your foot on the brake– the left pedal.” 

Your heart hammered in your chest as you listened to him, following his instructions. They were almost at the car now, rotting hands reached out as they closed in. 

“Now, take the gearshift,” he instructed, nodding toward the lever between the seats as he rolled the passenger side window down. “Move it down to ‘D’ for drive.” 

Your hands shook so much, you were barely able to grip the gearshift, but with a deep sigh, you managed to push it into position, just as James set his gun up out the window.

“Nice, now–”

James was interrupted by one of the undead slamming against the window, a grotesque mask of decay moaning into the glass. Screaming, your foot slipped off the brake, lurching the card forward. Instinctively, you slammed your foot on the gas pedal. 

Tires screeched as the car shot forward, and you clung to the steering wheel. You could barely see as the vehicle swerved wildly. 

“Ease up on the gas!” James shouted, his hand darting toward you, trying to steady the wheel. “You’re going too fast, princess!” 

The fear had already taken over, keeping your foot pressed to the floor. Down the narrow highway, the car rocketed dangerously close to the edge.

“Let go of the gas! Now!” he barked, his voice managed to cut through your panic. 

The car immediately began to slow down to a more manageable speed as you forced your foot to lift. The moment of relief was short-lived, as when you looked up ahead, the road began to narrow, flanked by thick forest on either side. Between the trees, there seemed to be more movement, and as you got closer, the car’s headlights revealed why– more undead, dozens of them, staggering toward the road. 

“Oh my god, I-I can’t,” you whispered, gripping tighter on the wheel, your nails starting to dig into the leather. 

“Just keep driving,” he ordered, his voice low but calm. “Don’t stop. Just go right through them.” 

You looked at him, surprise and horror etched in your features. “You can’t be– what? We’ll crash!”

“We won’t if you hold steady,” he firmly said. “Trust me. Aim straight, and don't swerve. Just… trust me.” 

The undead were closing in, their eyes hollow as they fixed on the car. You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to look straight ahead. 

“Gas, now!” James shouted.

Slamming your foot back on the gas pedal, the car surged forward once again. The undead were everywhere, their bodies thudding against metal as you plowed through the horse. Cracking bones, groans, and the screech of metal filled your ears. You tried not to look at the blood smeared across the windshield, tried to think of anything other than what was happening, to not cringe at the sound of gunshots beside you. 

Eventually, you made it through, somehow. The road cleared ahead, forest fading into the distance as you sped away from the chaos. Adrenaline and terror coursed through your veins, shaking you uncontrollably. 

James reached over, gently loosening your hands from the steering wheel. “Ease up, princess,” he softly said. “You did it. You’re okay,” he continued reassuring you as you lifted off the gas again. His hands guided the car as its pace smoothed. 

Your mind was numb with shock, and you barely registered his words. The only sounds now were the engine’s soft hum and your heart pounding in your ears. After another rough mile, and as the last remnants of daylight vanished, the tension in the car was palpable. James must have sensed it when he glanced over at you. Your nerves were frayed, hands trembling on the steering wheel. 

His expression softened as he noticed the hardened lines begin to etch in your features. “Pull over, princess,” he quietly said. “I’ll take it from here.” 

Too exhausted to protest, you nodded. You eased the car to the side of the road with shaky hands and switched off the engine. James shuffled in the passenger seat and leaned toward you, his movements were deliberate but gentle. 

It was cramped inside the car, forcing you both to maneuver carefully. Sliding closer to you, his arm brushed against yours, a small shiver shooting down your spine. His scent caused your breath to hitch– earthy and warm– it filled the small space between you. You were acutely aware of the heat that radiated from his body.

You carefully lifted yourself from the driver’s seat and tried to give him room. Your leg brushed against his as you shifted, and your arm grazed his chest. The contact between you was brief but it was electric. Stilling for a moment, James’ eyes met yours and something unspoken passed between you before he moved under you, settling into the driver’s seat. 

You climbed over the center console, slowly to avoid bumping into him again, yet it was almost impossible not to. Your bodies were too close, the space too tight and his hand lightly touched your waist as you slid into the passenger seat in a small gesture to help steady you. You tried to ignore the heat rising to your cheek as you settled into the passenger seat. 

Adjusting himself in the driver’s seat, James’ demeanor changed. He was refocused, his gaze sharp as he pulled back onto the road. Now in his control, the car felt steadier and the tension in the air eased slightly. 

The car’s headlights cut through the night, the road ahead and its surroundings were barely visible. Yet, somehow James navigated it all with ease, it was evident he was familiar with the area. 

You couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt for being such a liability, twice in less than twelve hours this man had saved your life. Shaking the thought out of your head, you knew there was no time to dwell on that now, the only thing that mattered was getting to safety.

“Where exactly is it we’re going?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

“It’s not far now,” James replied, his eyes never left the road. “It’s a base camp– it’s secure and well fortified. There are people there, good people. You’ll be safe.” 

He was so certain and reassuring in his tone, it made you want to believe him. But you hadn’t felt safe or secure since before that night. Too much had changed in the world, and even the thought of somewhere being ‘safe’ seemed almost impossible. 

After what felt like hours, you fought to stay awake as your eyes grew heavy with fatigue. Just as it was about to take over, James slowed the car and a faint glow appeared ahead. A high chain-linked fence topped with barbed wire revealed itself as the road leveled out. You could make out the dim outlines of buildings beyond the fencing, and makeshift structures that looked like military barracks rather than homes. Illuminating the area, floodlights cast oppressive shadows on the ground. 

“Here it is,” James murmured, caution laced in his tone. A lone figure stood waiting by the large gate at the camp’s entrance. His silhouette was stark against the floodlights, broad-shoulders, imposing and tall. It wasn’t until the car approached that he stepped forward, his features revealing in the light. 

The man’s face was rugged and weathered, it spoke of years of hard living. Dark hair cropped short, and his strong jawline covered in a shadow of stubble. His eyes were cold and calculating as they locked on the car. There was command in his presence, a quiet authority that made it clear he wasn’t to be trifled with. He seemed the kind of man who would be ready for anything with a solid build, muscular concealed under a dark, well-worn jacket. 

James slowed the car to a stop, rolling down the window. “Bucky,” the man called out toward James before landing his gaze on you. He looked irritated, setting his jaw tight as he assessed you. “Who’s this?” he asked, without any warmth in his tone, just a cold, scrutinizing edge.

---

sᴇʀɪᴇs ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ | ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʀᴀɪʟᴇʀ | ɴᴇxᴛ ᴇᴘɪsᴏᴅᴇ

[espinosaurusrexex]

WORLDS COLLIDE Bucky when the apocalypse started “Survivor”

P.S. you will see many more AI images here. I am obsessed okay? Credit to owner - Animarvelita is really fueling my obsessions over on TikTok 💓☠️

[shamrockqueen]

Predator in the desert

Chapter 3

Pairing : Winter soldier x reader (post apocalyptic AU)

Warnings : Desperation, starving behavior, references to war, duality of the mind, emotionless man

Word count : 2020

Chapter 1

Bucky MasterList

You stopped breathing, the ghost of an echo bouncing through your ears after he’d yelled at you.

Your eyes snapped from his cutting and cold gaze, further down to the glimmer of his fearsome metal fingers as they closed around the old brass knob on the door. The only opening to the room, the only way out, and you wouldn’t be able to reach it, let alone slip past his solid stonelike frame.

You weren’t ‘calm’ by any means, but he had your attention, and even as you continued to shiver, it was all he really needed.

“Are you hungry?”

You flinched as he spoke; his voice edged only with a lack of patience as it reached out to you with heavy hands to shake you from your reeling thoughts.

You didn’t answer just yet, feeling your pulse thrum along your skin wildly. You just laid there, stunned as you stared at those metal fingers tightening around the knob of the door and trying to ease your own breathing before it made you feel numb.

“I asked if you were hungry.” He was much more stern, and even a little louder this time, watching with equal disinterest as you gasped back and struggled to answer.

“Y-yes… I‘m hungry.”

You spoke weakly, your lips shaking and your eyes welling with a wet dribble of tears. Like a small break in the smallest of bones as you gave in to the absurdity.

Of course you were hungry. You’ve been hungry since you were a screaming infant, just as everyone doomed to a life in the wasteland had been. Food in any amount was a luxury, whether it’s warm meat and grains or smashed bugs you find crawling along the floor by your bedroll.

This promise of food without a single bat of his eye should have felt like a dream come true, but something in your stomach felt heavy before clenching with a sharp cramp. That familiar pang of hunger pains morphing viscerally into obvious fear as your guts knotted together.

This was the only moment in your miserable life that you didn’t crave food, as you were consumed only with dread.

You didn’t want to take anything from this unholy amalgamation of man and metal. It was like cowering beneath the boogeyman, a monster of jagged teeth and twisted limbs that could steal your last shred of innocence, only to find an unreadable being that looked no different from yourself. He didn’t wear enough of his lethality on his skin, leaving you to spiral at the possibilities of what these chains binding you to his lair really meant for your near future.

It was no better than being a rabbit caught in a cage. There is the offer of water and now food, but the danger of your captivity, just as the chain around your leg, was a staunch reminder that none of this would be out of kindness. There is no good reason that you are here—none that could be conceived as all the terrible reasons swarm your aching head.

His expression never seemed to change as he took in every reaction you gave him, seeming to read it like new data to further his own strange purpose. When he was finished searching your jumbled tomes, whether having found his needed information or losing interest, he dragged that door open and disappeared through it before shutting you back inside that room. Only this time, you were alone with the crushing silence he had once held above you.

A silence quickly broken by the hard clack of a lock turning shut in the flimsy wooden barrier this soldier had placed between you two.

He fit the stories from old fantasies of war. An old story long left covered in dust, detailing how both sides ate away at one another until the bones were bare and empty of their marrow. He bore the red star, the mark of a demon of irradiated sands. One head severed from its ranks meant two would splinter out in its place, biting and gnashing its way through the wasteland.

The great hydra was supposed to be dead, a final rest assured long before your own birth. How wrong they all were apparently, and as you recounted those scary fairy tales, your stomach twisted harder and harder.

You tried to steady your breathing, letting it stutter and shake before it finally met an even rhythm.

‘You really did need to calm down’ The traitorous thought was the last fly to buzz through your brain before you let the muscles in your shoulders fall loose to hit the floor.

Your ankle still felt heavy with its new iron cuff, and you struggled back onto your elbows and further onto your feet, the sound of the chain dragging along the wood the only noise left to taunt you.

Your eyes narrow at the brassy knob, a small spark of defiance finally igniting in your chest only to fall short of catching a flame.

You were frustrated at best, hot tears stinging your eyes before spilling out over your dirty cheeks.

‘Why me? For fucks sake, why?”

How were you significant enough to be stolen? Did he pity you, thinking that keeping you would be better for your well-being, like a lost kitten climbing among the rocks he had scooped up?

Why would a monster want to help you? Why would he bother to care for you when he could do what any other villain would do to others who strayed too far from home?

But, this room didn’t look like a pen to keep his livestock. It had a small window at its other end, barred on the outside of the glass for your protection. The bed wasn’t shabby, only worn, and with actual blankets and pillows.

If you were to be kept, you suppose he chose to keep you well.

You turned back to the door, its knob within reach, but you didn’t jump to futilely pull or tear at it. You reach forward, a shriveled shard of hope still tearing at your heavy heart as you slide your fingers around it.

You know it was locked; you heard it happen, but you still clung to the possibility of this being a terribly real nightmare instead. Maybe your mind would let you open the door, but as you twisted the handle, it of course did not budge.

You stood closer, your head falling to your chest as you pressed your fingers to the wood. Your mouth opened with a shaking exhale of an empty scream, and new tears flooded over to wash the rest of your grimy face.

You did not expect the door to push forward on its own, nearly smacking you in the face as it knocked you back. You land on the floor unceremoniously. Still so weak and unsteady, you weren’t even a suitable match for an old door.

The man was back, standing over you with a plate in his human hand. He sighed before setting the platter of promised food on the bed, stepping over you in the process.

He spoke evenly, saying, “I didn’t mean to hit you,” but his voice didn’t carry any ounce of guilt for knocking you back on your ass. Would this have been the first time he’d knocked you down, or was it simply the only time he hadn’t meant to do so?

“Are you alright?” he asked as he leaned over your crumbled form, reaching towards your reddened cheek where the wood had initially smacked you.

You immediately shied away from his touch but didn’t fight to scramble backward.

He leaned away but offered you his less harrowing hand to help you off the floor instead of leaving you to do so by yourself again.

You never answered his last question, but as he didn’t press further, it was possible that he wasn't really interested either way.

He gestured to the plate of food he’d set on the bed and said flatly, “Eat.”

You looked over at the plate still perched on a pile of blankets. A slab of cooked meat, diced cubes of root vegetables, and a mush of something boiled, green, and leafy. It was the best thing you’d ever seen.

Actual meat the size of your hand coupled with real vegetables possibly rich with those vitamins and mineral-things the doctor used to talk about. Whatever it was, it made your tongue wet as you swept it over your cracked lips.

A small part of you still wanted to be cautious, as another balled its fists in frustration from being kept away from a beautiful plate of healthy food.

You opened your mouth, only to choke back on the words with a wet cough. You sputtered again, crying like a sad child for him to witness before finally speaking.

“Are you going to drug me?”

"No,” he answered quickly and with little care.

You watched for any signs of a farce, a twitch of an eyebrow, a quirk of a lip, anything. His eyes held their dull, disinterested blue as he waited for you to make up your mind.

You ventured closer to the plate, pressing a dirty finger against the still hot morsel of meat. It was light in color, like white meat off a rabbit, but you needed to be certain before going past this thin line you had drawn for yourself.

Your lips stuck together as you nearly whispered a squeak of a few words, “Is it people?”

The ‘P’ was sputtered by the drop of collected tears, making the sound more pronounced as it left your lips.

“No”

You looked back at him at the subtle change in his voice. With one word, one syllable, it was oddly unmistakable. He sounded a little offended, and yet he didn’t lift a finger against you.

That last ‘no’ was all you needed before throwing yourself at the plate, scooping at the wet potatoes and greens with your fingers to wipe the tasteless sludge over your tongue in ecstasy.

You tore at the meat with your bare teeth like a hungry dog in a frenzy of unending starvation.

You weren’t human anymore; no longer yourself. It was shameful how you felt. In this moment, as you tore at a lump of fat with your back molar, you wanted this more than ever.

You wanted to be a pet if it meant the promise of this minimal care. You wanted to be kept; you wanted the fresh water and food; damned be the consequences.

You weren’t thinking clearly, not until you licked the last stain of grease and green vegetable smudge off the plate with your desperate little tongue. You hadn’t realized you were panting, gasping at the air, and holding the plate with white knuckles and numb fingers as if he could fly off and never return.

His expression had shifted for only a second. A split moment where his eyes widened a single centimeter before returning to their natural steely state. His shoulders stayed stiff with new concern. It was all a subtle change you had missed during your indulgence.

“Do you want more?” He asked, his voice still tainted with that unspoken concern.

You swear you could nearly feel your heart stop at just hearing those words. You were still desperate, and you nodded frantically.

He reached carefully towards you for the plate, giving you his metal fingers instead of the soft fleshy digits of his other hand. Possibly anticipating being bitten when pulling away the saucer. You let him take it from you, watching as he repeated his earlier actions of leaving and locking you inside the room.

There was a burn of shame somewhere in your stomach, but it was greatly overshadowed by a deep desire for sustenance. And, this man, what should be a monster in your eyes, was unbothered to fulfill such a desire.

You stood in place, not reaching for the door like the captive you are, not waiting on the bed like a puppy missing its master. But, by god, you wanted that fucking food.

Chapter 4

More post apocalyptic AU

Tags : @itsswritten @cjand10 @dear-lolita @took-a-wr0ng-turn @scott-loki-barnes @ihavetwoholesforareason @potatothots @toozmanykids @wintrsoldrluvr @heletsmelovehim

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Time (D)rift 2

Warnings: this fic includes noncon/rape, blood, violence, and possible other triggers. Warnings may not be explicit or exhaustive.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: The end has come and gone as you keep waiting for your own. (Apocalypse AU)

Sister series to Edge of Time

Characters: Bucky Barnes

Note: I work until Thursday and have Friday off. i’m trying not to push myself and have nothing planned for the holiday. My family situation is kinda more obvious this time of year so I’m just tryna be chill.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3

Love you all. Take care. 💖

Winds whistle over the walls as you walk the perimeter. The guard keeps a few feet back, distracted as he shifts his gun and spits stale tobacco into the snow. You carry the metal clipboard and make notes, marking the diagram of the wall with any areas of concern. 

The task feels redundant as there's rarely more than the usual dimples in the brick or chipping of mortar. Besides, frost covers much of the wall and you're not permitted close enough to brush it away. You stop at the southeast corner and twist the pencil between your gloved fingers. The tree peeking over from the other side seems close…

You don't look long and slide the pencil under the metal clip. You turn back to the guard as he pulls at his thick vest. He chews loudly and horks again, right between your boots.

"Done?" His tongue makes a moist noise against his teeth. 

You nod.

"Mm," he takes the clipboard roughly and tilts his head back towards the cluster of buildings, "go'n."

You don't hesitate. Your boots crunch over the snow as more drifts onto the rolled edge of your hat. Your morning had been spent shoveling and you'd have more to do already. No shipments to keep you inside and warm.

Parker Row, the tall brick buildings with their ever pluming chimneys, loom against the grey sky. You pass and refuse to look over as two guards chatter and climb up the steps. There always seems to be someone coming or going.

At the Cannery, named for the line where you package the produce by hand, crimping cans with the clunky levers, the steady swing of shovels greets you as you climb the steps. A task awaits you inside as Al pushes crates along a long table; he sends Johann off with two meant for the castle as he sees you. He whistles and beckons you over.

"To the Row," he drags a crate over. You see a glimpse of the foil wrapped chocolate between the slats and can smell the rich coffee wafting from within.

You put your hands on the sides but don't lift it, "I can take one of the others–"

"Take it," he demands, "don't got time."

You sigh and lift the box. It's heavy as glass clunks. Wine, whiskey, maybe even some of the hoppy beer from the brewhouse. You retrace your steps and emerge back into the hollow swirl of the endless winter.

You pass between the shovelers. A shovel would be good, for more than just snow. You could hop a narrow river, more likely use it as a weapon. Not many of those to be had, but more than enough aimed in your direction. 

Another coat, extra socks, matches if they can be found, or a lighter… that's a hard get. No canned shit, too heavy, too noisy. Maybe rope? You can't carry much, not if you want to stay on your feet.

Shit, you went too far. You turn back towards Parker Row. You're getting ahead of yourself. Before you can even think of scaling the wall, you need an opportunity. Wait it out, you just hope you're not waiting too long.

You ascend the powdered steps and a guard gives a dull glance to you and your haul. He shifts over to pull up to cloth over the top of the box and shrugs you onward. You enter and look around the large entry way, the scent of burning incense mingling with that of the aged wooden banister. 

Where do you go?

The floorboards creak under your feet and you peer through the doorway to your left. You nearly gasp as a guard's bare ass peeks out above his slumped pants, the slapping of flesh interspersed with the trilled whines of the woman bent over the couch, only her legs visible to you. You quickly spin and march to the opposite door. A dining room with tables littered with unwashed glasses and empty bottles. 

You continue through to the next doorway and find the kitchen. It's abandoned too but you hear some fervour in the pantry, the door slightly ajar as giggle unfurl into moans. You put the crate on the worn wooden counter and back away.

As you face the door, a body appears in the frame, scarlet fabric fluttering around her as she calls back, "should be some wine, hon–"

Cordelia, Corey to you, swallows her words as she sees you, "oh, it's you."

You bounce on your heels, "delivery."

She looks beyond you and her groomed brows pop up, "wonderful," she swishes past you, her tits visible through the sheer robe, "you didn't get the perfume, did you?"

"I only brought what they gave me," you go to the door as she shuffles through the crate.

"You know, it's not so bad here," she says, "warm…"

"Glad to see you're doing well."

"You could clean up a bit and I'm sure–"

You ignore her and keep on, leaving her to her greedy search. A man sits shirtless at one of the tables waiting for her, scratch marks down his chest. You try not to look as he plays with his belt.

You quickly flit through the door and to the next, fleeing back into the grim hues. The guard doesn't acknowledge you as you tramp down the steps. Your heart races as your mind strays further.

Is that what it was like for her? Not Corey, she's just another one. Your sister. Is that how she spent her last year? Just so she could hand you off an extra scrap or two? She never said. You never asked. 

You quickly dislodge the thought. That was ages ago. She was just the last one you lost, the last one you would lose. She wasn't special, none of you are. 

It's like she was never even there, that she never truly lived. Like a figment of your mind that you could just forget. Just another sliver in your heart dulled by the greater struggle of your existence. 

You weren't going to end up there. After so long, you weren't going to give in just for some chocolate and a warm bed. Not for the cost of it.

There was little you had in this world, little more than yourself and you wouldn't give that away again. 

❄️

The bonfire lights up the west end of the settlement, the furor keeping most awake. You included.

You surrender to the restlessness and check the small pack crushed beneath your bunk. Not much but what you could get. Weeks of scrounging and searching and little to show for it. Would it be any better outside?

You peek into the hallway, bodies at the barred windows, watching the celebration from a distance. If that's what it is. You don't know the reason for the fiery affair.

You turn back to your room, this might be it. A distraction, even if dangerous. The grounds will be crawling with guards but with any luck they'll be drunk and dumb.

You pull on the extra sweater, patches sewn over the fraying holes and button up your coat over your scarf, wound high around your face. You put your hat on and every pair of mismatched socks you have, then your boots. You slip the pack over your shoulders, only one more piece needed.

Back in the hallway, the distant flicker glares in around the observers. You wait a moment before tiptoeing out, quickly swinging around the corner. Downstairs, all is quiet, no work is done this late. Or early. It's hard to tell the difference.

You ease down the stairs, leaning heavily on the wall as each step creaks and sends your heart lurching. You get to the bottom and gulp. This is it, this is the line. Once you cross it, there's no going back.

The storeroom is locked. The barrier nearly detering you entirely. You should have expected it. Are you really prepared for this?

You can make it without–

It's almost too good to be true. You stop short as you look to the front door. An errant shovel against the wall, forgotten. You cross the room cautiously and reach out disbelieving for the tool. Nothing happens. 

You take it and hold it steady as you peek through the bars along the window next to the door. There's the back door, where the waste stinks in piles until a crew loads it into trucks to be taken to some remote dumping ground. It'd the safest way out.

You curl around the staircase, the stench of the garbage drawing you on, assuring you of your path. You nearly retch as you get to the door and pause before twisting the handle. You could sigh as it opens easily but hold your breath against the reek.

You descend, leaving the door slightly ajar to keep from making noise. You almost clang the shovel head off the ground as you do and weave between the rotting bags and frozen cans.

The settlement is eerie as you head east away from the fire's orange haze. You keep to the shadow of the unlit buildings as you near the wall, the corner where the tree peeks over the top as if trying to see in. You take off your pack and your scarf, securing the shovel across your back before pulling the bag over it to keep it doubly snug.

Your first try has you mulching back into the snow. You stagger as you wonder at your own absurdity. Did you really think it would be easy? A second try isn't any more successful. You grow nervous from the noise of it. 

You take off your gloves and shove them into your pockets, the cold nipping at your exposed skin. You feel along the wall and find a divot in the mortar. You start again, progress eased as you can feel the wall and all its imperfections.

You pant out damp mist as you get higher, adrenaline thrumming, and your fingers ache as the temperature throbs in the joints. Your go higher and higher, dizzy from the cold and the height. Your foot slips and you sling your arm up, nearly falling before digging in your fingertips. 

You grunt and strain to haul up a single leg. You fight to drag your body onto the top of the wall and see the flames burning amid the groups of men as their raucous voices carry over the snow. You brace yourself, the moon casting a little too much light for comfort. 

You sit up and shakily set your feet  squatting low before launching yourself off the top and closing your eyes as you grasp at air. If you miss, the snow might dampen the fall, or make your demise a little slower.

You hit a branch and latch on, breathless as it dips beneath your weight. You whimper and hook your legs around the bark. You shimmy to the trunk, bumping your head as you remain blind to the world. Finally, you muster the courage to open your eyes.

You look up at the sky and listen. You can hardly hear anything within the walls from out their. Just the gales and gusts as mountains of snow blow between the barren trees and rundown buildings standing open-mouthed to the moonlight.

Your descent is perilous, frightful, and you fall the last few feet, snow dusting up and clumping along your hood and hat. You rise, the blankets past your knees, and start off. No direction, there's no where in particular to go. Only away, to your death or worse.

❄️

The night thins to a dull morning, the grim sky watches you pass between baren pines, twigs and sticks crunching under the snow. Your toes are numb, fingers too. Your nose is tender against the inside of your scarf as you carry the shovel in hand.

Second thoughts plague you but can't be followed. No going back. Your tracks are likely already guiding those who noticed your absence, if at all. The punishment for leaving is rarely a safe return.

You cross a river, half- frozen, and continue on to a snow buried house with only three walls. It's not obvious enough to be a first thought and you pray it snows before you can be trailed. You settle in a corner, shielded by a broken table as you curl up with your pack.

You wake up twice as cold, covered in snow and unable to stop shivering. You're stiff, barely able to sit up. You open the bag of crackers, stale and baked in the camp oven. You have a few and make yourself get up. It's almost night again.

You fall back down as a light flashes on the other side of the wall. You burrow into the snow as best you can and stay behind the table. Boots compress the layers of snow as they surveil the exterior.

"Saw tracks further back, don't think she came this way."

"If she's still around, picked the right time to make a break. Probably buried halfway down a hill," the other responds. You know his voice, Barton.

"You're the one wanted to chase her," another man.

"Shut the fuck up," Barton hisses, "do your fucking jobs."

Is it coincidence? Does he know it's you specifically? Would he even remember you?

You ball your fist and try to meter your breath. Time slows as you listen to the snap of sticks and the clatter of furniture.

"What does it matter if we only find a corpse? Huh? Shit, it's one girl–"

"It's about setting an example," Barton snarls, "come on then, show me where you think she went. How long you been tracking idiots? Not like it wasn't my fucking career before–"

"No one gives a shit about before," another man cuts in.

"What were you? A pencil pusher? Now you think you're tough cause the cards fell in your direction–" you hear splutter, a grunt, and the weight of a body in the snow, "nothing now."

A lull as treads sink into the snow, "we'll keep looking boss."

"Nah, she ain't that smart. She'll be running til nightfall."

You close your eyes and shudder. It takes some time for them to leave, the slamming of car doors and mutters signaling their departure. You wait until there's nothing but the wind and the dead man left in the heap.

It's almost night as you get away from the ravage of the torn down house. You head away from the tire tracks, hoping to hide behind some buildings or trees, anything to obscure you as the moon crests. You reach a valley, sliding down halfway clumsily, planting the shovel to keep from reaching the bottom.

You make slow progress, the shovel keeping you afoot as you fight through the thick snow. You're out of breath and weak but you can't stop. You won't, even if you freeze, even if you die. 

You don't want to be another body hastily disposed of. You'd rather rot into the earth. Rather die than live out the purgatory of a ruined world.

[purehypnotic]

🩰🤎༺•.¸🎧𝑷𝒍𝒂𝒚𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒌𝒔 🎧¸.•༻🤎🩰

𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒔𝒆 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒚𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒔 𝒘𝒆'𝒗𝒆 𝒎𝒂𝒅𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝒘𝒆 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒓, 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒍 𝒇𝒓𝒆𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒈𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎 𝒂 𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒏 𝒘𝒉𝒊𝒍𝒆 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈!

[moiravim]

The Sacrifice Chapter 1

Bucky Barnes x yn

Zombie Apocalypse au

Warnings: zombies, death (not yn or Bucky), weapons, mention of hydra, scary themes

875 words

@doingyourmom069 helped me write 💖💖

Only two years ago, the infection had started. It makes no sense that I'm one of the few people left alive.

There's not much to do other than walk around,hoping you'll find somewhere safe. Just in case I always have a weapon in hand.

I let out a gasp as I hear clanking footsteps somewhere near. I look around, searching for a lifeless creature, one we've been calling 'an infected'.

I see it in the corner of my eye. I sharply turn around to see it staring back at me. It quickly charges towards me. I run as fast as I can while creating a logical idea in my head.

I see a fence that most likely had belonged to an abandoned campsite. I jumped the fence and continued running, not realizing it had followed me inside.

Since when could zombies climb? It didn't matter because it was getting closer, and I was running out of time. I quickly pulled a long knife out and turned around, preparing to face the undead creature.

I stab it in the neck as it runs into me. Right when it's about to bite me, I hear loud gunshots. I look down at its lifeless body.

I quickly back away, turning around to seeing man my age staring back at me. He lets out an annoyed breath of air before shaking his head.

"Holy shit, thanks, man." I spoke, voice slightly trembling. In an attempt to catch my breathe I perch down. "Yeah sure, no problem. Were you bit?" He asks in a serious tone.

"No, I haven't been bit." I respond, sounding startled. I roll up my sleeves, showing him my arms to prove it. He seems to have believed it, so now I ask him a question. "Have you been bit?" My voice laced with suspicion.

"No if I was bit I wouldn't of saved your ass." He stated with annoyed eyes squinting slightly in the process.

After he finished taking the silence that took over was so awkward you feel yourself almost struggling to breathe, tension so thick you could cut it with a knife.

Instead of letting the silence grow I choose to introduce myself. "So... I'm y/n, and you are...?" I look him in the eyes awaiting an answer. He responds "Bucky."

He dosent even attempt to smile so you figure you should at least attempt to crack a joke.He laughs loudly before returning back to his stotic self. I chuckle before asking "Have you eaten yet?" He responds "No I haven't, have you?" You answer "I haven't, let me cook dinner. I got some new supplies earlier today that I can use."

He goes to sit down on an awkward block of wood while I begin preparing the food. I pull out a gas burner and a soup pot I had recently found. Opening my backpack, I grabbed the grocery bag containing vegetables I had found just a few hours prior.

I had started making the broth last night, so now all I had to do was cook. I sit patiently, waiting for the food to finish. I turn my head to look at Bucky, preparing to ask him a question. "Can you look around the campground for some bowls? Maybe spoons?" I ask him slightly annoyed.

"Sure thing." He says in a ambitious tone. He walks away as I turn back around to continue cooking out food.

I hear the sound of someone stepping on leaves, I turn around to see him returning with a box filled with bowls, plates, and silverware. He helps pour the soup into each bowl before handing one to me. I grab a spoon, thanking him and then tasting the soup I prepared.

I begin attempting to spark up a conversation. "So... You've been traveling alone this whole time?" I curiously ask him.

"No. No, I haven't. Only for a month or so." He responded dismally. I nodded, showing sympathy for him. "What happened? If you don't mind me asking."

He looks at me with an annoyed face before responding, "My friends Sam, Steve, and I used to survive together. Sam... Sam's gone. Dead. After Sam's death, Steve and I had gotten separated."

I noticed tears starting to pour in his eyes so I decided to change the topic. "Me and my friend Natasha lived together when all of this started. We got separated, too..." He looks at me pitifully and rubs my shoulder, attempting to comfort me.

I slightly smile at him sadly, and he smiles back. "You can stay here for the night if you'd like." He offers.

"I'm leaving this site in the morning. You can choose to stay here or come with me." He adds before putting his finished bowl of soup down. I nodded, letting him know I heard and understood what he said.

When I finish eating, I begin to get ready for bed, laying down on my sleeping bag, I almost immediately feel a wave of exhaustion hit, practically passing out right when my head hits the sleeping bag.

A/N: This first chapter was sm fun to write 🤣🤣 I already have chapters 1-6 planned so expect more parts coming soon!!