Dark!bucky X Y/n - Tumblr Posts

possessive (b.barnes)

pairing: soft!dark!bucky x fem!reader

fandom: marvel - masterlist here!!

summary: bucky doesn’t share, especially when it comes to you.

word count: 1100

warnings: manipulation, gaslighting, sub!reader (bordering on little but no regression), reader calls bucky daddy, bucky is a prick but also soft

You’ve never been in a more devoted relationship than the one you share with Bucky; sure, you know it’s intense and maybe a little wrong how possessive he is over you, but how could you ever care when he treats you so well? He gives you anything you could possibly want, showering you with affection at all hours of the day and spoiling you with gifts. Not to mention how pleasing he is to look at - six foot five of thick muscle carved by the gods themselves, yet still so caring and gentle. Really, could you have found a better man?

He’s so devoted, in fact, it doesn’t even occur to you when he’s cancelling plans on your behalf and distracting you every time you try to leave the house; not until your friends are complaining that they haven’t seen you in the longest time. He neglects his own friends, always saying that he doesn’t want to even look at anyone but you. You don’t realise the lengths he’ll go to to keep you trapped in his little bubble, locked away from the outside world. Keeping you where it’s just you and him. Forever.

So when you’re all dolled up and ready for a girls’ night with Natasha and Wanda, you know Bucky has an excuse on the tip of his tongue. Unfortunately for him, you’re riled up and already prepared for an argument.

“Bunny…” he calls as you saunter past the bedroom door in search of your favourite pair of heels.

“What, baby?” you answer, fluffing up your hair and making sure your pale lipstick and mascara are pristine. He pads into the bathroom behind you, surprisingly light on his feet for such a huge person, and snakes his arms around your waist, pressing his chest flush to your back. His chin rests in the dip of your shoulder and he kisses your neck, purposely pressing his growing hard-on into your back. The sight of you in the mirror - short black dress hugging every curve and ridge on your body just right, smokey eye makeup accentuating your features and hair styled and billowing around your face - is enough to drive him insane and want to take you over the sink right then and there.

“Bucky, no,” you scold, elbowing him and sliding out of his grip, “You got yourself all worked up on purpose so that I wouldn’t go. Take care of yourself.” Your voice is determined, a steel and grit behind it that he hasn’t heard from you before. He needs to up his game.

“Bun, please,” he moans, “Can’t do it by myself. I need you, angel. Please.”

His breathy whines catch you off guard; Bucky, your towering, terrifying boyfriend that brings grown men to tears, is begging you. He uses your surprise to his advantage, forcing his lips on yours and muffling your protests. By the time you wrench yourself away, your resolve is crumbling and Natasha and Wanda are almost forgotten.

Almost.

“You can’t do this every time I want to do something fun,” you huff, pushing at his chest indignantly, “‘s not fair, I’m not gonna have any friends left.”

“You have me, don’t you? Or am I not enough for you anymore? You don’t want me anymore, hm?” He pouts, actually pouts, crossing his arms and turning his back to you.

“Bucky, you know that’s not what I meant,” you object, already stepping towards him.

“It’s fine baby, go out. See if I care,” he spits with as much venom as he can muster, the quivering of your bottom lip enough to make his chest ache. This is for your own good, he reminds himself.

“Wait, daddy-,” you whimper, reaching for him again. Your retreat into subspace means he’s already won and he knows that. He smirks to himself, hardening his expression before turning back to face you.

“What are you still doing gaping at me like an idiot, hm? Fuck off, brat.”

Tears well behind your waterline and you grab for him again, only for him to move out of your grasp.

“Stop it,” you murmur quietly, the tears silently spilling over and down your cheeks, “You’re being mean.”

“I am,” he assents, “Because you’re being an entitled brat and you hurt my feelings.” He advances on you slowly. “You think they love you like I do? Huh? No one will ever love you as much as I do!”

“‘m sorry, daddy,” you babble desperately, grabbing his black henley in your fist, “I don’t wanna go, wanna stay here with you.”

“Really?” He cocks an eyebrow skeptically as you cling to his towering frame, crying into his chest; he makes no move to reciprocate, knowing exactly which buttons to press to keep you needing him. To keep you attached and obedient. You’re his and his only and you should know that by now.

“Please, daddy. Don’t be mad. Don’t need anyone but you.” Your voice is muffled through his shirt and your makeup is already ruined, streaks of nude pink lipstick and black mascara smeared down your face. Bucky coos, lifting your chin and forcing you to look at him.

“There’s my good girl,” he praises, thumbing your cheek and spreading more makeup along it, “Where’s my good girl been? Thought I lost you, poppet.”

“I’m sorry,” you sob, guilt gnawing at your chest as he finally hugs you back, “Don’t leave me.” You hear yourself begging and at any other time you’d be mortified. But you’re so deep into your subspace that the only thing your fuzzy, dazed brain wants is daddy.

“Never, bunny. Daddy forgives you, okay? I’m just sad ‘s all.” His brows furrow, and he knows it's cruel to make you feel so awful for something that’s not your fault, but he can’t help but push you to the edge.

“Daddy, wanna make you feel better,” you sniffle, pawing at his chest, “Please, ‘m sorry for bein’ so bad. I feel so stupid.”

“Shh, none of that,” he croons, kissing your forehead; you relish in the feeling of him so close to you, his warmth and familiar scent making you dizzy. You wrap your arms around him; your head only reaches the bottom of his chest but still you press yourself further until you’re hanging off of him. He chuckles, hoisting you into his arms and bouncing you lightly, rasping a low “clever girl” into your ear.

“Love you, daddy. I’m sorry,” you cry.

“Love you too, poppet,” He soothes you with quiet words and touches until you’re pliant in his hold, gazing up at him with so much love and affection. You don’t even realise he’s manipulating you. And he has you right where he wants you.