The notification pinged on my phone, a little burst of light in the dim room. One hundred thousand reads. A ridiculous number, really. I stared at the screen, a ghost of a smile twitching at my lips. It’s…nice. People are reading this mess I’ve cobbled together. + 

It's a story about hating someone. About wanting to break them, to *own* them, to grind them into dust. About someone else wanting *me*. And about Bucky Barnes, who wants to tear down every single wall I’ve built around myself. He wants me in every possible way. The thought twists in my gut, a familiar, sickening ache. + 

He wants me to break. + 

I should probably warn anyone who stumbles into this thing. It's not a fluffy romance. It's…dark. It's going to get uglier. A lot uglier. + 

There will be violence. Blood. The kind that sticks to your skin and tastes like iron. There will be…abuse. Torture. Things I’m not sure I can even type out without shaking. And yes, there’s going to be sex. A lot of sex. Angry sex. Brutal sex. The kind that leaves you hollowed out and wanting more. + 

And it’s all tied up in the kind of kinks that make my skin crawl just thinking about them. Daddy issues. Choking. Knives. Pet names whispered in the dark. BDSM. The whole nine yards. + 

If any of that…if any of *this* makes your stomach churn, then turn around. Walk away. This isn’t for you. + 

Because Bucky isn’t going to ask nicely. He's going to take what he wants. And I…I’m going to have to decide if I can let him. If I can let him break me open and fill me with something that isn’t hatred. + 

God, I hate him. I hate the way his name feels on my tongue. I hate the way he looks at me, like I'm a problem he's already solved. I hate the way he makes me want to…to *feel*. + 

I hate him. + 

But maybe, just maybe, I’m starting to wonder what it would feel like to stop hating him. To let him take everything. To let him…win. + 