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Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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So i almost have 3.3k followers and i probably know a handful of you.
Send me the reason why you followed me. Send me a fact about you. Send me your favorite animal. Idc! Just talk to me! What was your favorite fic i wrote? Why are yall so afraid to talk to me? How is your day/night going? what do you do for a job?
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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few people have messaged me asking about being added to my tag lists while i was on hiatus and while im still not 100% back, i'd like to go ahead and announce that my tag list is completely open and you can add yourself here.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Summary: He's watching you. For several nights. He finally tells you why. [WC 647] [AO3]
Pairing: Ex-Hydra Agent Reader x TWS!Bucky
Warnings: being stalked, angst,stalker bucky
Prompt: 20. âAlways feeling like someone is watching through the windowâŚâ Bucky Barnes âď¸ definitely has horror movie potential đť @goblin-king-of-anarchy67
3K Writing Challenge (send in a prompt!)
You notice it the third night in a row. That feeling. The slow crawl up your spine. Youâre brushing your teeth when you feel it â that prickle at the back of your neck, like static electricity. Like someoneâs eyes pressing into your skin. You freeze.
The bathroom window is small. Frosted. But thereâs a sliver at the edge where the curtain doesnât quite cover.
And you swear -with all of your being- something moved.
You tell yourself itâs nothing. You live in the city. Fire escapes creak. Shadows shift. Your mind fills in gaps.
Still.
You start double-checking the locks.
By the fifth night, you stop standing near windows entirely. You keep the curtains drawn. You avoid the living room after sunset.
But the feeling doesnât stop.
Itâs worse when youâre alone in bed. The blinds barely parted, letting in thin silver streetlight from outside of your house. You roll onto your side, facing the wall, because if you donât look at the window, maybe it canât look at you.
You almost convince yourself youâre imagining it. Until thereâs the faintest sound. Metal against brick. A shift of weight on the fire escape. Your breath catches. Silence. Then gone.
He isnât there to scare you. Not really. Heâs there because HYDRA gave him your face. A target file. Surveillance photos. Routine patterns.
He learned the times you leave for work. The exact minute you turn off your bedside lamp. The way you hum absentmindedly when youâre cooking.
The Winter Soldier does not feel.
But something in him hesitates when he watches you tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. When you laugh at a show alone on your couch. When you pause at the window, looking out â almost like you feel him there.
He stays in the shadows of the fire escape, metal fingers silent against rusted railing. He tells himself itâs reconnaissance. He tells himself itâs timing. He tells himself itâs preparation. But heâs been âpreparingâ for five nights.
On the seventh night, you donât close the curtain. Youâre tired. Tired of feeling hunted in your own home. You stand in front of the window deliberately. Your hands are shaking, but you push the curtain fully aside.
âWhoever you are,â you whisper, voice barely steady, âjust stop.â
Silence.
The city hums below. And for a second â just a second â you see him. A shape across the alley. On the opposite rooftop. Half-hidden in darkness.
Broad shoulders. Long hair. A glint of something silver where a hand should be.
Your stomach drops. Your eyes lock. And something strange happens. He doesnât move. Doesnât aim. Doesnât advance. He just⌠stares. Not like a predator about to strike. More like someone trying to remember something.
The next night you wake up absolutely freezing, the window is open when you sit up. Just slightly. Cold air drifting in. You know you locked it.
You know you did. Your heart pounds as you sit up.
Heâs inside. Not close. Standing in the far corner of your bedroom like a shadow pulled into human shape. You can barely make him out except for the arm â matte metal catching moonlight. Your breath shatters in your lungs. He doesnât lunge. Doesnât speak. He just watches you.
And when he finally moves, it isnât toward you. He steps closer to the window. Guards it. Like something out there is more dangerous than he is.
His voice, when it comes, is low. Rough. Rusted from disuse. ââŚTheyâre coming.â
Not threatening. Warning. You realize with a cold, dizzying clarity â You were never afraid of the wrong thing. He wasnât watching to stalk. He was watching to make sure no one else got to you first. He knew exactly who you were -- an ex-hydra agent, trying to live a normal life. He wasnât there to kill you. He was there to make sure you stayed safe.
