Cutting Ties (Ghostface Bucky)
Bucky becomes dangerously obsessed with you even going as far as eliminating those around you.
warnings - murder, obsession.
The first time you noticed him, you thought it was just a coincidence. A dark figure at the edge of your vision as you walked home from the coffee shop. A fleeting shadow that seemed to disappear the moment you turned around.
Brooklyn was always alive with people, even at night, so you chalked it up to paranoia. But it wasn’t long before the coincidences became harder to ignore.
A knock at your apartment door late at night. No one there when you checked.
Your name written in the condensation on your bathroom mirror.
The faint feeling of being watched, even in your own home.
And then the killings started.
The first victim was your coworker, a sweet woman named Rachel who’d always made an effort to check in on you. You found out through the news the next morning. Stabbed in her apartment. No sign of forced entry.
The police called it random, but you knew better. Rachel had just been at your apartment two nights before, sharing wine and gossip. She’d been your only real friend in the city.
Her death left you shaken. But the city didn’t stop, and neither could you.
A week later, it was your neighbor, Marcus. He’d offered to help fix your leaky faucet the night before he was found in the stairwell, his throat slit.
The pattern was impossible to ignore now. Everyone who got close to you seemed to end up dead.
That’s when you saw him.
It was late, and you were walking home from work. The streets were unusually quiet, a thin fog rolling in from the river. The air felt heavy, suffocating.
And then you saw the figure at the end of the street.
Tall, broad-shouldered, and dressed in a black cloak, the Ghostface mask gleaming white under the streetlights. He didn’t move, just stood there, watching you.
Your heart pounded as you froze, clutching your bag like it could protect you.
“Who are you?” you called, your voice shaking.
He tilted his head, the mask turning slightly as if amused by your fear.
When he finally took a step forward, you bolted.
————————————————————————
You spent the next week barricading yourself inside your apartment, refusing to answer the door or your phone. Sleep was impossible. Every creak, every shadow set your nerves on edge.
But no matter how hard you tried to shut the world out, you couldn’t escape him.
A package arrived at your door one morning. No return address. Inside was a single black glove and a note scrawled in messy handwriting:
“You don’t need anyone else. You have me.”
Your stomach twisted, bile rising in your throat. This wasn’t random. He was obsessed with you.
The next time you saw him, it was in your apartment.
You woke up to find him standing at the foot of your bed, the Ghostface mask blank and staring. You couldn’t even scream, your body frozen in terror.
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said, his voice muffled by the mask. Low, gravelly, almost familiar.
“Who are you?” you whispered, your voice barely audible.
He reached up, slowly pulling the mask away.
Your breath hitched.
“Bucky?”
James Buchanan Barnes—your quiet, brooding neighbor who always seemed to linger a little too long in the hallway. The man who had offered to carry your groceries up the stairs, who had fixed your squeaky door without you asking.
“I’ve been protecting you,” he said, his blue eyes soft but unrelenting. “They didn’t deserve you. None of them did.”
You shook your head, tears streaming down your face. “You killed them… Rachel, Marcus… Why?”
His expression darkened, the softness replaced by something far more dangerous.
“They were getting in the way,” he said simply. “You don’t need anyone else. I’ve been here the whole time. For you.”
You tried to scramble out of the bed, but he was faster, his Vibranium arm pinning you in place.
“Don’t,” he said, his voice low and almost pleading. “I won’t hurt you. I’d never hurt you. But I won’t let anyone take you away from me.”
The days that followed blurred together. Bucky didn’t leave. He stayed in your apartment, always watching, always nearby. He cooked your meals, cleaned up after himself, even smiled at you like none of this was horrifying.
But the mask stayed, perched on the table like a silent reminder of what he was capable of.
You tried to escape once, when he was in the shower. But the moment you opened the door, he was there, dripping wet and furious.
“Don’t make me lock you in,” he warned, his grip on your wrist firm but not painful. “I don’t want to do that.”
You realized then that there was no reasoning with him.
Bucky Barnes wasn’t just a broken man. He was completely unhinged. And you were his obsession.
One night, as he sat across from you at the table, you decided to speak.
“Why me?” you asked quietly.
He tilted his head, considering the question.
“You were kind,” he said after a long pause. “The only person who looked at me like I was more than… this.” He gestured to his Vibranium arm, his lips curling into a bitter smile. “I couldn’t let you slip away like everyone else.”
“Bucky,” you whispered, trying to keep your voice calm, “this isn’t love. This is—”
“Don’t,” he interrupted sharply, his jaw tightening. “Don’t say that. I love you. I’ve done everything for you. I’ve made sure no one else could hurt you.”
You didn’t have an answer for that. What could you possibly say to someone who believed their obsession was love?
All you knew was that you had to find a way out. Before he decided that even you weren’t enough.