God sent me as a punishment @sicariav - Tumblr Blog

God sent me as a punishment.

This is an independent blog for James Buchanan Barnes of the Marvel Cinematic Universe Well loved by Riot (32)

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liss-art

Sketching chars

mohish-ko

dismoondart

Headcanon that Bucky repeatedly tried to tear off the metal arm

afliictionbound

@sicariav | a moodboard for Bucky and Caly

#Mmmm.#Yes good I love them.#So deliciousss

alfafacose

I love drawing Rumlow and his scarred face.

(Full pic on patreon)

alfafacose

Memories from the battlefield

Alternative undressed version on patreon 🖤

alfafacose

Two old men doing their own things

aka some Stucky foreplay.

Full on patreon 🖤

wintersoldiersocks

Thinking about the mask. About hands in nitril gloves forcing it onto his face, about his own panicked breathing suddenly trapped close and loud and hot and harder to get air. About the smell of his own breath, stinking of the rubber mouthguard and his own unwashed spit. About someone pushing his head forward as they jerk the straps tight. About the spot on his nose where it immediately starts to ache. About not being able to open his mouth all the way. About shaking his head to dislodge it, about raising his hand to try to touch it but his hands won't come they are restrained and it moves with him he can't, he can't get it off--

About someone patting over where his cheek would be and saying now the dog won't bite. And someone laughing.

alfafacose

~ Let's go home ~

Another piece from my patreon

vigilantheroes-deactivated20250

Clint stared at Bucky with a mix of amusement and concern. Was he joking? It was hard to tell, but the blonde was going to assume he was. Just picturing the most edgy assassin clad in black watching an episode of bad reality TV was hilarious.

" I mean, the guy you offed isn't gonna finish watching someone had to." Clint was grabbing the steak from the fridge.

"I like mine that way, too. Rare and well done are for idiots that don't know how to eat meat."

sicariav

It's a minor vindication, but he strangely feels a step closer to something akin to friendship. He lifts himself up onto the countertop he assumes the archer won't be using for a good look.

"I'd eat it rare before I ate it well done. I'll throat punch a guy if he orders his steak well done. Second most important part's the seasoning. What's your personal recipe?"

#eyesofthehawk

smerfols

So look in the mirror

And tell me, who do you see?

Is it still you?

Or is it me?

afliictionbound

"I remember." She snaps back at him, lips curling in an ugly sneer. The tension in her face lingers for only a moment (jaw clenched, teeth gritted, lips pursed into a thin line) -- and then the widow is back in control. Her features are schooled once more into a look befitting the mission, sultry smile and bedroom eyes. Because she's a professional, goddamnit.

Time to act like it.

When she returns her attention to the mark, Caly enters something of a trance-like state. It both is and isn't her -- the woman that climbs into Mancini's lap. She murmurs some sweet promise against the shell of his ear ("I'll make this quick.") and then the muffled pop. Now it's time to hustle.

Her fingers tremble slightly as they snatch up the casing, then the...The bullet. Where the fuck did it go? Shit. No time for scavenger hunts though -- she's peeling herself off of the now dead weight lounging on that stupidly plush couch. Men like Lionel have more money than sense...And as such, have a tendency to pour that money into all the wrong venues.

"You have a car, right?" She asks, eyes trained on his face with all the mock adoration she can muster. Make it convincing -- they're just a couple arm in arm, leaving an event they were never actually invited to.

sicariav

He'd offer her a saccharine smile to match the vitriol she's spitting back at him but his facial muscles don't swing that way. She'll have to settle for an unenthused stare.

Less than impressed with her attitude, he watches her like a hawk. Recognizes the disassociation in the sway of her hips, hair tossed over her shoulder, the stretch of her legs framing his. She's good. Plays on every fantasy every man has ever had about a woman as beautiful as she is.

He doesn't flinch at the sound of skull shattering.

But she does.

Brows furrowing, he's with her in an instant. Bullet's gone through the pillow, into the skull, no exit wound. Means the bullet's still inside. He learned that mistake from...

Doesn't take him long to dig around in what used to be a face and find it. A few bone fragments and bodily fluids as a trophy. Blood on black leather just makes it look wet, they'll be fine. His arm tightens around hers as they walk outside to the valet's stand.

"Even better." Fob handed over, he turns while they wait for the vehicle to be fetched.

"Your hands shook."

#afliictionbound

@zemothethirteenth from here

A soldier's intuition shared between soldiers, not a question in mind, Zemo follows his directive. It's a weight off his shoulders that trust is implicit.

Blue eyes peer over the metal framing across his nose, glancing in the direction of the cabinets. Big enough to fit a man Zemo's size, not big enough to fit his broad shoulders. He nods, boots silent on the concrete flooring as he inches towards the door.

Get in.

They're heavy on each step, solid boots, military grade. The sound of their equipment clicking together as they walk tell him hired guns, not trained for stealth. Shoot first, ask never. Company does the asking. They're just here for patrol but what they're guarding requires more than a security guard's baton so...handguns. Standard. One's got..sounds like an LMG. Lightweight but operable in close combat. No two-party system required.

The Soldier positions himself behind the door. Swing wide it hits the desk, leaves a triangular space to stay tucked into until its too late. Might be too late for Zemo, door's swinging open. Too tight to get his gun and they won't need it. Casual banter in Croatian says they don't suspect a thing. Probably just a pop-in.

Nothing's out of place and they retreat, leaving the door to swing shut behind them. It latches with a resounding click and Bucky exhales. Close one. Now where's his escort? Slipped out some side entrance or through the sewers?

"Clear. Patrol won't be by for another thirty minutes if we're lucky."

#zemothethirteenth