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#dark fic
cherienymphe · 2 days ago
One Last Time X (Peter Parker x Reader)
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WARNINGS: ABUSIVE RELATIONSHIP, physical abuse, violence
! By proceeding you are acknowledging that you are over 18 and are consenting to the content below the cut !
➥ series masterlist
summary: Your relationship with Peter becomes more and more suffocating…until you can no longer breathe.
You stared long and hard into the mirror, foundation clutched in your hand so tightly it was a wonder it didn’t break. It was easy enough to lay in bed with your face caked up as the team periodically visited you because you were “sick”. The pounds of makeup weren’t so noticeable in the low lighting, but it had been 2 days, and you knew suspicions would arise. 
More than they already did. 
With a sigh, you patted the matte liquid onto your face. You thought the bruise was bad the day after Peter had hit you, but it was somehow even worse 2 days later. Peter did everything he could to make the pain less and to help with the bruising, but it was strange how much more your heart hurt than your face. You didn’t know if he’d be able to fix that. You put the makeup down, satisfied with your work. 
Tony and Dr. Cho would be checking the progress of your leg today. You swallowed, looking down at it with a grimace. A thought had been nagging at you for some time now. Not really a thought, you supposed, but…the truth. The truth had been staring you in the face, and you didn’t want to believe it at first. After all, you didn’t want to think that Peter would do that. But he had done much worse, hadn’t he? However, you knew that it wasn’t the truth that you didn’t want to believe. 
You didn’t want to believe that the signs had been there for as long as they had…and you had ignored them. 
Peter was on a mission. A small one that would only last about a day. He hadn’t wanted to go, but Tony had told him that he was the perfect person for it. Sending anyone else would just make it more difficult than it needed to be. You could tell that it had upset him. If you closed your eyes, you could still feel his painful grip on your hips. He hadn’t meant to be that rough, you knew that, but it had slipped through anyway. 
You decided to swing by the kitchen before heading to see the doctor. The compound wasn’t as lively today, and you suspected that most of the team was out. As you neared the kitchen, you heard low voices. It was clear they were trying to be quiet, but the anger and frustration of a familiar voice bled through. 
“Why not?”
“Steve, that… That’s an invasion of her privacy. I can't do that,” Wanda softly told him. 
“Even if it’s to protect her?”
Your eyes widened as understanding dawned on you, and your jaw clenched. Steve was trying to convince Wanda to see inside of your mind, and the thought brought on a conflicting range of emotions. Anger, hope, fear, disgust… 
Wanda seemed to hesitate. 
“Something is going on. You know that something is going on,” Steve angrily spat. “Do you expect me to just sit around and wait until he hurts her again?”
“Steve, that’s a heavy accusation. You don’t know that he hurt her,” Wanda replied, but even she sounded like she didn’t believe her own words. 
“Well, I would if someone would do what I asked.” 
Wanda heaved a frustrated sigh. 
“You can’t ask this of me. She would never forgive me,” she firmly told him. 
“I know that they’re having problems. I know they fight sometimes…but Peter loves her. I’ve never seen two people more in love…” 
Wanda paused. 
“…but I won’t lie and say I’m not seriously concerned too. I want to believe her…but I just have this horrible feeling in my gut.” 
They both were quiet for a moment. 
“There just has to be another way. You’ve tried talking to her?”
“We all have. I had hoped that she would say something if something was wrong, but now I know she won’t. You didn’t see the bruise, Wanda. That didn’t come from training…”
You took a step back, eyes tearful. 
“Maybe…maybe when he comes back, I could look into his mind instead.”
Your eyes widened a bit. You heard her give a defeated sigh, and you heard Steve move. 
“She won’t know, Wanda. It’s a necessary evil, and if we’re right, she’ll thank us one day.”
You turned away with a frown, wiping a stray tear from your cheek as you made your way to Dr. Cho. You were in disbelief that Wanda would agree to such a thing, and you felt your annoyance with Steve growing. You knew that you shouldn’t be mad with them. After all, the ache in your face should’ve had you jumping for joy over what you had just heard. 
But you knew what would happen if the truth came out. 
You should want to be far away from Peter. You should want nothing to do with him. He had hurt you on many occasions, he yelled at you and made you cry and hurt your feelings… But he could switch back to himself so easily. He was the same guy who woke you up with kisses. The same guy who could make you feel like you were on a cloud, who made you laugh, who made your heart swell…
A part of you, a much smarter part, told you that this wasn’t temporary. That part of you told you to tell someone, get out, and get as far away from him as possible. But another part wondered if this wasn’t temporary. What if a month from now this just all seemed like a distant nightmare? You didn’t want to miss out on that chance that things could get better, even better than they were before. 
If they knew the truth, you’d never see Peter again. 
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You sat in the car, staring out of the window as Peter told you about his mission. You were trying to listen, trying to sound interested, but you couldn’t stop your mind from traveling elsewhere. Wanda and Sam had been sent on a mission the same day Peter was expected to come back. You were grateful that he arrived after they left, but you knew it was only a matter of time before Wanda went through with it. 
Your internal troubles must have been more obvious than you thought because you felt a hand under your chin. Peter turned your head towards him, fingers gentle as he gazed at you, brown eyes soft.
He leaned in, brows furrowed a bit as his eyes searched yours. 
“Are you okay? Is it your cheek again?”
You immediately shook your head, a frown on your face. Peter didn’t look like he believed you, and you held back a sigh. You didn’t want him to feel worse than he already did about what happened. You wanted to laugh to yourself, in shock that you were officially one of those girls, but Peter was genuinely sorry. 
He had apologized a ridiculous number of times, doing whatever he could to make you feel better. You could tell that the incident had shocked him just as much as it shocked you, and that just made it all so much more complicated than it needed to be. He hit you. He had lost his temper. He wasn’t supposed to feel bad. He wasn’t supposed to be remorseful and beat himself up and do what he could to earn your forgiveness. 
You hadn’t accounted for that. 
“Peter, I’m fine,” you said as you grabbed his hand. 
His frown deepened. 
“You don’t look it.”
Your stomach twisted, and you wondered if you should tell him what was really bothering you. You wondered if you should tell him what Wanda was planning to do. Two voices were in your head, both shouting contrasting answers at you, and unfortunately for you, both made sense. 
You wanted to tell him to keep it from happening. You didn’t want Wanda to look into his mind because then you’d lose him. You knew you would, but maybe you should lose him. You wanted this nightmare to be over, didn’t you? But you’d lose all of him. You’d lose the person who you loved more than anything and who loved you the same. 
If you didn’t tell him though then that’s exactly what would happen. You could just not tell him. You could let this happen, and part of you knew that was a good thing, but your heart didn’t agree. You’d been quiet for too long apparently, Peter calling your name again. Your lips parted, and you stared at him for a while before finally speaking. 
“You know what? It is my face. It was just a little flare but it’s over now,” you quietly told him. 
Peter’s face fell, and he leaned in to press his lips to your cheek. You closed your eyes, wondering how much more of this you could take. You hoped this would be the first and only time, but you’d seen relationships like this too many times. It was never just one time…but Peter wasn’t them. He wasn’t like those other guys. You doubted they felt bad like Peter did. You doubted they kissed the place where they hurt their lovers. You didn’t think they begged and begged for forgiveness like Peter did with you. He was different. He had to be…
Because you didn’t know what you would do if he wasn’t. 
“Are you ready to go inside?” he asked. 
You’d just come back from eating out, and you had been sitting in the car for a while as Peter and you talked. You nodded, and he smiled. Your face fell a bit as you watched him get out, but a smile returned when he opened your door for you. 
It was kind of late, so you weren’t surprised that no one was around. Steve and Bucky were probably out. Nat was probably with them. 
“I was thinking that we could go by the house tomorrow. It’s coming along great,” Peter told you. 
The thought of the house didn’t bring you as much comfort as it once did, and so your smile was small. 
“That sounds fun. I can’t wait to see what you’ve done with it so far.”
Peter wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer. 
“I can’t wait until we finally move in,” he countered. 
“Me neither,” you told him. 
The words didn’t taste right on your tongue, but you didn’t have the time to ponder over them before Peter was helping you get undressed. You smiled at him, and it was genuine as you allowed him to lead you to the bathroom. Sometimes you enjoyed showering with Peter more than you enjoyed having sex with him. There was something especially intimate about it. 
It felt nice to have him take care of you. To put his own needs aside to help clean you and relax you. It was moments like this where you could look past the bad stuff. It was moments like this where you convinced yourself that Peter wasn’t a bad person, just someone who did bad things sometimes, and truthfully… You’d rather he do those bad things to you than someone else. 
You were pulled from your thoughts by the feel of Peter’s fingers on your face. His brown hair fell into his face as the water soaked it, and you reached up to push it back. Peter ran his eyes over your face, his own pinched in thought. You watched him swallow before his lips met your cheek again. 
“I’m so sorry,” he murmured against your skin. 
“I know,” you whispered. 
He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer as his lips met yours. He breathed you in, fingers trailing over you like he would lose you, wanting to make sure you were still here. 
“I missed you,” he said, his words filling your mouth. 
You could only nod in agreement as he reached back to turn the water off. His hands were on you again, and you were suddenly in his arms. Neither one of you cared about wetting the bed as he laid you down. His hair hung into his face again, and it brushed your own forehead as he kissed you again. 
His touch was gentle, and you thought to yourself how much you preferred this. It had only been a day or so since you’d last been with him, but you would’ve thought it had been a month with the way Peter was trying to devour you. He nipped at your neck, scraping his teeth over the skin, and you sighed. 
It was strange, wasn’t it? You didn’t like when Peter left marks on you in anger or frustration. You didn’t like the pain he gave you when you didn’t ask for it…but you loved the marks he left when he was worshiping your body. You loved the act of him both showing you how much he desired you and how much you were his. 
You liked being his. 
Maybe that was the problem. You couldn’t imagine being anyone else’s, and you didn’t want to. You were Peter’s just as much as he was yours, and you couldn’t imagine it any other way. The thought of him with anyone else had you clinging to him, squeezing your thighs around his hand as he stroked you. 
God, you hated the way he treated you sometimes, hated the way he hurt you… But you loved when he sucked bruises into your skin. You loved the way your scalp stung when he clenched his fist in your hair. You got high from the way he clung to you, holding you to him like he was afraid you’d disappear at any given moment. 
His hands were clasped with yours, holding them to the pillow while he thrust into you. He swallowed all of your moans and gasps with his lips, chest grazing yours. Your legs were around his waist, and Peter pulled his lips away with a groan. 
“Fuck, princess.”
His words had you clenching in arousal, and he hissed at the feel. You lifted your head as best as you could to meet his lips again, but you only whined in frustration. 
“I want to touch you,” you pleaded.  
Peter’s eyes flickered between yours, and your eyes fell closed when he kissed you again, letting your hands go. You pressed your hand to the back of his neck, fingers playing with the hair there while your other danced along his back. Every stroke had you moaning into his mouth, and you pressed your lips to his jaw when he pulled away again. 
“I want to keep you like this forever,” he groaned, pressing a hand into your hip. 
His other hand was on your face, his thumb grazing your cheek as he pulled back to hold your gaze. 
“You’re mine…right, princess?”
You nodded, feeling your stomach clench, heat cooling deep within. 
“Yes. I’m yours,” you breathed. 
Peter’s brown eyes had grown darker, and his hand on your hip had tightened. 
“You promise?”
“Yes,” you moaned. 
And Peter pressed his lips to yours. 
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“You’re up early.”
You looked up as Steve entered the kitchen, a slight frown on your face for several reasons. You recalled both your last conversation with him, if you could call it that, and the last time you’d heard his voice when he was trying to convince Wanda to look into your mind. You didn’t know how to act around him, so you simply turned back around. 
“I’m making breakfast for Peter. He’s usually the one making me breakfast in bed, so I figured I could return the favor for once…”
Steve only hummed in response, and you imagined that he had made himself comfortable at the counter. 
“Do you want some?” you asked him as you turned to face him. 
His blue eyes studied you with a frown, making you slightly uncomfortable as the seconds dragged on. 
“No,” he eventually said. 
You could still feel his eyes on your back, and you soon found out why. 
“Are you getting an early start to a date or something?”
His words confused you. 
“No, why?” 
“You’re all dolled up.”
You only faltered for half a second. He was talking about your makeup, and you kept your back turned to him. 
“Well, we do have plans, but I wouldn’t consider it a date.” 
It wasn’t a lie. You and him were going by the house, but Steve didn’t need to know that. He would be asking you why you had on makeup for that when you never did before. Steve was quiet, and you wondered if he was thinking about your last conversation. Or maybe his conversation with Wanda. 
It sucked to think that Steve was one of your closest friends and now the both of you had been reduced to this. You supposed that it wasn’t really anyone's fault but your own, but it still hurt to think about. You used to talk to Steve as much as you used to talk to Nat, and now you felt like you couldn’t even have a conversation with him. You hadn’t heard him move, so you were shocked to turn your head and find him next to you. 
You eyed him, wondering what he was thinking as he eyed you in a similar manner. 
“I know I’m not your favorite person, right now…”
You looked away with a sigh, eyes on Peter’s food without really seeing it. 
“…but I am still your friend. I’ll always be your friend no matter how much you try to push for otherwise.”
“Peter isn’t good for you.”
You sharply inhaled, refusing to meet his eye. 
“I may not know the specifics, but I’m not an idiot-.”
His voice was hard as he interrupted you, and you looked at him. He looked angry and sad all in one, and you fought to hold his gaze. 
“At least have the decency not to lie to me.”
You scoffed at his words, turning away and reaching for Peter’s food. 
“Whatever you’re afraid of, I promise, you don’t have to be-.”
“I’m not afraid of anything,” you told him. “I just wish you’d mind the business that pays you, Steve. Quit calling me into meetings and trying to convince me to leave my boyfriend and stop trying to talk Wanda into invading my privacy.”
If Steve was surprised that you knew that he didn’t show it. He merely exhaled, and you glared at him. 
“I can only assume you haven’t told Peter that, because if you had, we wouldn’t be having this conversation,” was all he said. 
You sighed. 
“Whatever you’re concerned about, just let it go. Please,” you begged. 
“Why haven’t you told him?”
You didn’t answer him, moving to leave, but he blocked your path. 
“Move, Steve.”
“You could’ve said something. You still can… Why not?”
“Get out of my way!”
“You’re crying for help, and you don’t even realize it-.”
He swallowed his words as you elbowed your way past him, and he reached for you, the combination of actions causing food and glass to hit the floor. Tears of frustration kissed your eyes, and you lowered yourself to try and clean up the mess. Unfortunately, Steve had the same idea. 
He took your hand before you could touch any of the broken glass, and you kept your gaze on the floor. He called your name again, and you reluctantly met his gaze. His blue eyes had dimmed a bit, concern filling them. 
“Tell me how you got hurt. How you really got hurt-.”
“I already told you-.”
“And I don’t believe you. Not one bit,” he harshly whispered. 
“Well, that sounds like a personal problem, Steve.” 
“Why are you protecting him?” 
His voice grew, anger and frustration and confusion filling his tone as he glared at you. He seemed genuinely furious now, and you shook your head. 
“I’m not- that’s not what I’m doing. There’s nothing to protect, I-.”
You swallowed, shaking your head again. 
“I love him.”
Your gaze held his, and his jaw clenched, some of that anger leaving his gaze. 
“I love him more than anything, and you’re trying to ruin that. You’re trying to make our relationship something it isn’t. Try believing what I tell you instead of believing what you want to be true,” you whispered. 
Steve’s hand tightened on yours, and his other hand reached for your face. He studied you, and you noticed the way his frown deepened, eyes flashing with something unknown as his fingers grazed your cheek. That cheek. You jerked away, hand leaving his as you hurriedly stood, wanting him as far away from your face as possible. 
When you looked up, your eyes met Peter’s as he stood in the doorway. You didn’t miss how they had darkened. 
Your eyes widened as he turned away, and you ignored Steve’s calls as you hurried after him. He was already in his car by the time you reached the door, and you had no choice but to watch him drive away. Your heart sank, and you knew that your momentary bliss was over just as soon as it had started. 
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You were the only one in the compound when Peter finally returned. Wanda and Sam were due back tomorrow, and Steve, Bucky, and Nat had gone out. They’d tried to get you to go with them, minus Steve, but you kept declining. At least the blond was smart enough to know you didn’t want to be around him, right now. 
You sat up in bed when Peter walked through the door. He'd only been gone for most of the day, the moonlight bleeding through the window when he finally came back. You'd been anxious for his return, terrified of what would greet you. He barely spared you a glance, and your heart sank. 
You were on your knees on the bed, watching as he sat on the edge to take his shoes off. You moved closer, reaching out to touch his shoulder when he shrugged you off. Your lips parted, and even though you didn't want to, you found yourself growing upset with how childish he was being. 
“Please talk to me.”
“What is there to say?”
His voice was even, but you knew how well it could conceal the storm inside. You huffed. 
“Look, you saw me and Steve and got upset-.”
“Why would I be upset?”
He was looking at you over his shoulder now, eyes daring you to play into his game. You sighed, pursing your lips together. 
“It wasn't… That wasn't anything, Peter. We were just talking.”
“So, Wanda holds your hand and touches your face when she's talking to you? This is news to me…”
“Stop it,” you quietly begged. 
“Stop what? I'm just vocalizing what I saw. Repeating an observation,” he spat, standing. 
He left, and you were quick to follow. 
“Don't do that. You know that it wasn't anything, and yet-.”
“I know?” he wondered as he spun to face you. “I only know what I saw, and what I saw definitely contradicts what you're always telling me.”
“You're being an ass!”
“...and you're being a slut.”
His words had you gasping, rearing back in the kitchen as you glared at him. 
“What a pair we make, I guess,” he said with a shrug, face cold.
“Stop calling me that,” you whispered. 
“Well, then stop acting like it,” he replied. 
“You know that there isn't anyone else. You're it for me, and you know that. If you don't know that by now then I don't know what else I can do,” you cried. “Who else would put up with…?”
You trailed off, your words dying in the air as Peter tilted his head at you. You bit your lip as he took a step towards you. 
“Who else would put up with what?” 
“I only meant that…”
“What did you mean?” 
“Let's just forget about it.”
Your voice was barely above a whisper, and Peter heaved a sigh, pressing his hand onto the counter as he stared you down. 
“No, let's talk about this. You're clearly unhappy with me, and for some reason you think that makes it okay to go to Steve-.”
“I wasn't going to him!”
“You looked very comfortable from where I was standing so you obviously weren't running away either.” 
“You're being ridiculous!”
Peter sharply inhaled, a low laugh escaping him. 
“You know how much I hate that word…”
“...and you keep throwing it in my face, but you know how much I hate Steve too, and yet…”
“He's my friend!”
His eyes widened, a fury in them that you had never seen before. 
“And that's okay to you? After everything he's said and everything he's done and how I feel about him, you think that's okay? That that's any better?” 
You softly scoffed. 
“I thought you'd be happy to know I wasn't fucking him, but my mistake.”
Faintly, you registered a noise that you couldn't distinguish quite yet, but Peter's next words held all of your attention. 
“But we both know you want to.”
“Will you stop it?” 
“Admit it. Be honest for once,” he hissed as he crowded you in against the counter. 
You pushed at his chest, but he wouldn't budge. 
“You want to.”
“I don't,” you argued. 
“I keep finding the two of you in interesting positions for someone who claims she doesn't want him,” he said through clenched teeth. 
“Shut up, Peter!”
The tears that had been kissing your eyes finally spilled over, and he laughed at the sight. 
“You're not fooling anyone!”
“Stop it-!”
“Just admit it! I mean,” he shrugged with a mocking chuckle. “It's not going to change anything because I'd snap your neck before I ever let you leave me, but the least you can do is be honest.” 
You froze at his words, lips parted and eyes wide as you just stared at him. His brown eyes appeared almost black, and they glinted as he stared you down. Something in you broke. You didn't know what it was, but you felt it like the first time you'd been really hit in the gut during training. All of the air seemed to have left you, and more tears spilled over. 
You didn't know why you said it. No. That wasn't entirely true. You knew it would make Peter angry. You knew it would make him angrier than you'd ever seen him, but more importantly, it would hurt him. In all this time, no matter how much he had hurt you, you had never wanted to do the same. You had never wanted to hurt him as much as he hurt you. Until now…
“Maybe I do.”
He froze too, face falling as he registered your words, your voice hardly a whisper. You held his gaze, ignoring the way his eyes seemed to shift, flickering in a way that had your throat tightening. You swallowed. 
“Maybe I do want to fuck him. God knows what it would be like to have sex with someone who doesn't terrify me.” 
You knew it was coming. You knew it before you even finished talking. You had expected it with acceptance, so much so that when your head snapped to the side so harshly, you simply stared at the floor. Your ears rung and your lip stung and your vision blurred. You'd seen this coming, but what you hadn't seen was Peter's hands around your neck, your back pressing into the counter as he pressed his thumbs against your throat. 
Panicked, you hit at him, but it turned out to be futile because several things happened at once. 
Peter’s hands were on your neck, and then they weren't. He was gone, and your knees were on the floor as you struggled to catch your breath. You faintly noted that someone's hands were on you, a voice in your ear, but you simply squeezed your eyes shut. Your face was on fire, throat fairing no better, and you winced. 
Someone was calling your name. At least, that's what it sounded like. 
Your lip stung even more as you talked, and you reached up. You blinked at the blood on your fingers, and you finally looked up. The red hair was familiar, and it took you a moment to realize that you were looking at Nat. Her lips were moving. She was saying something. 
That ringing was still in your ears, and you pressed your hand to your right one, wincing. Nat pulled your hand away, her other hand hovering over your face, worry clouding her features. Her eyes were wide and almost panicked, something you were sure you had never seen before. All of the noise seemed to break through at once, and you gasped. 
“Y/N, look at me,” Nat said. 
You touched your lip again, and she grabbed that hand too. 
“Stop, don't touch it.”
She was here. You were so confused as to when she got here, and it took you another moment to realize she wasn't alone. You had been registering a commotion, but your brain hadn't been able to put the pieces together until you looked up. Your gaze rested over her shoulder despite Nat’s efforts to keep your eyes on her. 
You blinked, wondering if you were really seeing what you thought you were seeing. You shook your head again, briefly squeezing your eyes shut as if that would change the image before you. You moved to stand on shaky legs, and Nat kept her hands on you. 
“Nat,” you breathed, eyes finally processing what you were seeing. “Steve-.”
“It's okay. You're going to be okay,” she said, and you could tell she was trying to pull you away. 
You could faintly hear Bucky on the phone just outside of the kitchen, but that wasn't what held your attention. You tried to move past Nat, but she wasn't budging. You grabbed her hands, trying to get them off of you, but your grip was weak, still floored by the sight of Steve's hands around Peter's throat. 
“Stop him,” you murmured. “Steve…”
Your voice was low, and your eyes widened at the way they fought each other. You'd seen them training together, but this was different. This wasn't like training, at all. You felt like you were out in the field, watching one of your teammates fighting with an enemy, but it wasn't your teammate and some enemy. Some alien, some person hellbent on destroying earth. 
It was Steve and Peter. 
There was a hole in the wall from when Steve had narrowly missed Peter's head, the brunette returning the favor but much more successful, and your heart clenched. You moved towards them again, but Nat prevented you from doing so, and it was then that you realized she was allowing this to happen. Your wide eyes finally met hers. 
“Nat, stop them!”
You knew that if anyone could, she could. She didn't reply, her eyes glued to your face as she reached for it again. You slapped her hand away, and she looked at you in a way that you didn't like. In a way that you hated. 
Like you were some damsel in distress. 
You and her were the ones fighting now, wrestling with each other as you desperately tried to get to Peter. On some level, you knew that you should let this happen too. You knew that Peter had this coming, that Steve had every right to try and kill him, but that truth didn't stop your heart from clenching at the sight of blood just under your boyfriend's nose. At the sound of his grunts as Steve slammed him into the wall. 
Peter had hurt you. Terribly. He'd broken promises that he swore he would keep. He'd said things to you that had absolutely broken you, but it was between you and him. It had nothing to do with Steve or anyone else. You and Peter needed to deal with this yourselves. They just wouldn't understand. 
You'd gotten past Nat, but your momentary victory was cut short as arms circled around your waist, yanking you back and spinning you around. You pulled at his metal arm, but even before you tried to get free, you knew there was no point. Peter's choked cough reached your ears, and you looked over your shoulder, heart dropping. 
You partially twisted in his hold, a horrified gasp leaving you. Steve was straddling Peter, one hand on his throat while the other was fisted into his hair, slamming his head into the floor. You clawed at Bucky’s flesh hand. 
“Let me-Steve! Stop-!”
You cut yourself off, a harsh sob leaving you as his fist connected with the brunette's face. You dug your feet into the floor, and Bucky simply jerked you back, forcing you away from the scene. 
“Let me go! Bucky, let me go, he's killing him!” 
Once you said the words aloud, you realized how true they were. There was hardly any blue left in Steve's eyes, only an anger that had darkened them. He kept punching Peter over and over, and you wanted to throw up when you realized that he wasn't planning on stopping. 
“Steve, please!”
You knew he heard you...or maybe he didn't. He didn't look at all like himself, and he seemed intently focused on Peter and only Peter. You reached out to claw at the wall as they started to disappear from sight, trying to get to him, but Bucky had no intentions of letting you go. 
Your chest was heaving, and the roaring returned to your ears, drowning out the sound of your own screams. You could feel yourself losing your grip on consciousness, and you used all of your strength to fight it, but you could feel yourself slipping. This only made you cry harder because you didn't know what you would wake up to. Bucky let you go, and you fell into his arms just as your legs buckled. 
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Nothing Compares 2 U
Warnings: dubious consent; exhibitionism; cheating; forced to watch; oral; fucking; (reverse?) cuckolding; Ransom is a slimy asshole but we love him.
This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. It features Ransom Drysdale. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Synopsis: You find yourself growing apart from your husband but he has an idea of how to bring you back together.
Note: All I can do is point to the warnings above before you continue. This one was fun to write and as always I am excited to share.
Thanks to everyone for reading and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)
I really hope you enjoy. 💋
<3 As usual, I’d appreciate if you let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya.
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It was a shallow sleep. The kind where the worries you had when awake lingered and kept you restless. You could feel the darkness on the other side of your eyelids and hear the smooth hum of cars as they passed. Your dreamt, or rather your mind summoned the memory of your last texts to your husband.
‘I thought you were back tonight?’
‘Hi? Please let me know you’re safe.’
‘Ransom, you know I hate it when you ignore me like this.’
You gave up as the clock hit eleven and another early morning awaited you. You could deal with your errant husband after another long day at work. You would have as much energy then as you did in that moment. Another argument where you were met with a wall. 
Ransom didn’t talk things out. Either he got his way or you both suffered. You wondered a lot what you ever saw in him. You told yourself he hadn’t been like this before, that he changed after he put the ring on. That was hardly true. You were just better at believing his lies then. Better at lying to yourself.
You rolled over as you heard the front door below. Fully awake you sat up and rubbed your eyes. You contemplated pretending to sleep to avoid the confrontation. Let Ransom slink into bed as you kept your face hidden.
No, you couldn’t keep doing that. You couldn’t keep running away from the problems. You couldn’t just use your work as an excuse all the time. It all just bubbled up until it boiled over and you ended up yelling or living days with a cold shoulder.
You weren’t any better than Ransom. Talking wasn’t easy for you either. There was something missing. The night before he left, he wanted to fuck you. You knew it was only because he needed to get off, it had nothing to do with you. 
That was how it had been for months. He didn’t want the intimacy or the affection, he just got his rocks off and rolled over. He got what he needed and didn’t worry about the same for you. He made you feel so bad that you always just let him do what he wanted and laid in the hollow aftermath. You stopped caring about what you wanted, too.
You heard a giggle and stood. A female voice trilled and your heart seized. He wouldn’t dare. You always expected him to cheat, one day, but in your own house?
You took a breath and your lungs burned with anger. You stomped out of the room and to the top of the stairs. You glared down at Ransom as a woman in a bodycon dress hung off his arm. You cleared your throat and descended halfway as you crossed your arms.
“Ransom,” you sneered, “what the fuck are you doing?”
“Good, you’re awake,” he smirked as the woman quieted and looked over her shoulder at you, “this is Katrina.”
“Katrina?” you uttered, “what is going on? You really can’t be this fucking--”
“Shhh,” he hushed you as his fingers curled around her side, “it’s okay, honey, you have your part in this.”
“What? What are you talking about?”
“Trina,” his hand slipped down to grope her ass as she wobbled in her heels, “do me a favour…”
His voice trailed off to a whisper as he spoke in her ear and stood straight. He winked and tapped her ass. She laughed again and clung to his arm as she lifted her foot to pull off one heel and then the other. She stumbled as she turned to the stairs and she leaned on the railing as she climbed towards you.
You blocked her way as she neared you and kept your eyes on Ransom. “No, this is my house--”
“Honey, let her pass, we have some things to talk about before we join her,” your husband said coolly.
“No-- join her?” you scoffed.
“You will let her through or I will tear you down those stairs myself,” he warned stonily as he hung his jacket, “don’t test me.”
“Ransom, you get her out of--”
He was up the stairs in an instant. He pulled you down so you fell past Katrina and against him. She turned with wide-eyes to watch and he pointed to the top.
“Go,” he ordered, “I told you what to do.”
She batted her lashes and turned back. She went up the stairs as Ransom dragged you down and spun you against the wall. She disappeared down the hall as he pinned you with his arm.
“I’m just trying to fix things,” he snarled, “you could at least try too.”
“Fix? What on earth are you even talking about?” you grabbed his arm and he leaned heavier on you.
“I think you need a reminder of what you got,” he hissed, “don’t you? You don’t wanna fuck me, you can watch someone else fuck me.”
“I’m not doing this. You go ahead, fuck her, but I’m not staying here--” you pushed on his arm and he took you by the throat.
“You do what I say,” he growled, “or I will make you. Don’t think I won’t lay you down and fuck her on top of you.” He pushed away from your gruffly, “ now, we can’t keep her waiting.”
He gripped your wrist and twisted your arm behind you. He marched you up the stairs as your elbow strained and you whimpered. You tripped at the top and he caught you around the waist and held you against him.
“I’m doing this for us,” he said as he walked you down the hall, “I could leave but I don’t want that. I want you, babe, I’m just tryna make you want me again.”
“This isn’t--”
He covered your mouth and angled you through the doorway. Katrina was naked, her dress on the floor, and she sat atop the bed with her legs wide open.
“She’s not a hooker if that’s what you’re thinking,” he purred, “she’s my assistant… she’s been trying to fuck me for the last year and I thought I might as well take her up on the offer.” He tugged at the hem of your tee, “she’s open… to almost anything.”
“Ransom?” Katrina said curiously.
“It’s okay, sweetie, she’s just surprised,” he dropped his hand from your mouth, “she’s going to enjoy it, trust me.”
Ransom kicked the door closed and shoved you away from him.
“Honey, you go ahead and get undressed,” Ransom said, “and pull up that chair.”
You glanced at the chair by your vanity and back to him. He pulled his waffle knit sweater over his head and let it fall onto the heap of Katrina’s dress. You went for the door and Ransom caught you. He tutted as he kept his arm around you and dragged you with him as he grabbed the chair.
“Fine, the hard way it is,” he sighed.
He forced you down into the chair and pulled open the drawer of your vanity. He took a braided white belt and pulled your arms behind the chair. He tied your wrists tight and placed his hands on your shoulders as he bent over you. 
“Don’t you try closing your eyes,” he whispered in your ear, “‘cause I can make her squeal louder.”
He opened another drawer as he came around you. He revealed the vibe you hid behind your make-up bag and clicked it on. He pushed it beneath your crotch so it buzzed firmly against your panties.
“I told you, you’re gonna enjoy this,” he clicked until the toy slowly vibed more intensely only to slow, repeating the pattern again and again.
He backed away as you squirmed on the chair and it only jostled the toy more firmly between your folds. You held your breath as Ransom turned and swept his white undershirt off. He stripped each piece of clothing deliberately and when he was naked, he looked down at his erection proudly and wiggled his hips.
You lowered your head and he snapped his fingers.
“Babe, if you don’t watch now, you can watch tomorrow… or the next day, or as many times as it takes,” he taunted, “Don’t you love me? Don’t you want to see me happy?”
You gulped back tears and raised your head as anger and hurt lumped in your throat. You bit down on the inside of your cheeks and nodded. Your eyes blurred as you watched his muscular back. You remembered how much fun you used to have with him, how it was you in the bed eagerly waiting for his touch.
He put his knee on the mattress and Katrina went to him and touched his chest as she kissed him. He turned her so you could see her hungrily nipping at his lip and how he filled her mouth with his tongue. He urged her down onto her back and pulled her legs apart as he bent over her. 
You took a breath and held down your nauseated dismay. He dragged his lips down her cheek as he looked over at you and winked. The woman was too drunk to notice as she threw her arms up and arched her back.
He sat up and hugged her thighs and pulled her down the bed. She giggled as he climbed over her and she gasped as he straddled her head, stroking his cock as her planted his other hand on the mattress.
“This is what you wanted, huh sweetie?” he taunted as he pressed his tip to your lips, “fuck, I want it too.”
“Rans--” her babbled protest was smothered as he sank past her lips. 
Her hands grasped his hips as he pushed deeper and her body spasmed as she gagged. He ignored her struggles and slid down her throat until she kicked and his pelvis was flush to her mouth. He pulled back and she gulped in air before he impaled her again, her whimpers made you wince as you watched her nails dig into his pale skin.
“Ransom, you’re hurting her--” you uttered, the disbelief of what you were seeing and your concern for the girl set your head spinning.
“Nah, she likes it,” he fucked her face as he gripped the edge of the bed and thrust, “she takes it good, just not as good as you.”
“Please--” you begged and pulled at the belt around your wrists, the chair shaking as the toy lodge more firmly against your cunt.
“Mmm, take it,” he sped up and hammered into Katrina as she slapped at his thick arm and the bed bounced beneath her. He groaned through his teeth and stopped suddenly, pulling out of her as he cupped his balls and gasped, “god--”
He let out a long breath as he got off her and closed his eyes. His chest rose and fell rapidly as he rolled his shoulders. He let out a ‘whew’ between his lips and reached over to smack Katrina’s leg.
“Turn over, sweetie,” he purred as he got back up on his knees.
“Ransom,” she said airily, “I want to go--”
“Shut the fuck up,” he grabbed her shoulders as she sat up and flipped her, “you said you wanted me, right?”
“I don’t… know,” she murmured as he grabbed her hair and shoved her face into the bed. He brought up her ass with his other hand and slapped it so the sound reverberated around the room.
He glanced over at you and smirked, “you liking this, babe? Wishing it was you? Fuck, you remember those days we couldn’t get enough. Out on the overpass-”
“Please, stop,” you begged and hung your head.
“Look at me,” he snapped, “I want you to see what you’ve been denying me. I want you to feel exactly the way you make me feel.”
“Ransom,” you lifted your eyes as they turned glossy, “don’t--”
“Stay like this,” he turned his attention back to Katrina as he framed her hips, “you move and I’ll break your fucking fingers.”
Katrina turned her face out and you saw the horror as the deep tone of his voice cut through her. Ransom could be utterly terrifying when he wanted to. You never worried much about it as it was rarely aimed towards you. Here eyes met yours and she closed her eyes as the guilt pursed her lips.
“Mmmmm,” Ransom bent behind her and his nose tickled her as he kneaded her thighs, “I bet you taste sweet.”
She winced as his breath grazed over her and your chest squeezed as the toy once more made its ascent only to slow again. You held in a whine as the thrumming in your core gathered heat. You didn’t want to watch but you couldn’t look away, even without Ransom’s demands.
He buried his face between Katrina’s legs and she murmured as her fingers knotted around the duvet. Her lips puffed and bared her teeth as her feet arched. She leaned back into Ransom as he moved her head and lapped at her loudly, humming as his hands covered her ass.
You sniffed and pushed your legs together. The vibrations pulsed through you and you quickly pulled your thighs apart. You shifted but it only had your clit more firmly against the toy. You could feel Ransom’s tongue, the coolness, how he played with you, flicked and teased. You clamped your lips shut as your orgasm washed over with a wave of humiliation.
“Ransom, please…” you croaked, “stop--”
“That’s it,” he pulled back and looked at you, lips glistening, “hmmm, almost at the same time.”
He straightened up and poked two fingers into Katrina as she squeaked. He impaled her to his knuckles and pressed his thumb to your clit and shook his hand. She wailed as she reached under her weakly and lifted her head. Her legs shook as she came again and you felt the warmth spill down your cheeks.
“She’s gonna cum again,” he growled, “fuck, look at her.”
Katrina hid her face as she quivered and her cunt squelched around his fingers. He kept his hand on her cunt as he slipped out and spread her lips. He pushed her legs wider around his and lined himself up with her entrance. He lingered there and raised his hand to admire the juices that slicked his fingers. He looked at you again and poked them into the mouth and sucked them clean.
“Mmmm, not as sweet as you, babe,” he braced her hip, “nothing as good as you.”
He jerked his hips and Katrina cried out as he met his limit. She whined and tried to pull away. He pulled her back and she whimpered as her ass clapped against his pelvis.
“Trina, sweetie, this is what you’ve been begging for,” he snarled, “eyeing up a married man. Isn’t this what you wanted?”
He reared back and slammed into her again. She contorted as he rutted into her and you swallowed a sob as the buzzing stoked your core once more. You shouldn’t feel like this. Your husband, the man you loved, was fucking another woman and he didn’t seem to care about either of you.
“Ple-e-ease,” you stammered, “Ransom… I love you.”
“I know,” he gritted through his teeth, “that’s why I have to do-- this.”
He rutted into the girl hard and bent to hook his arm around her neck. He pulled her back as he kept his hips tilting furiously. He stared at you as his face strained with the effort of his fucking. Your toes curled as you batted away the tears with your lashes and shuddered. You were cumming again and it only inspired another flood to trickle along your nose and cheeks.
“That’s it, babe,” he goaded, “you like how I fuck her. You wish it was you, huh?”
You shook your head as he stilled Katrina, deep inside her as he moved around and turned to face you. He hung his legs over the edge of the bed and pulled her legs up so you could see her cunt as he filled her. He leaned his chin on her shoulder as she closed her eyes and grasped at his forearms.
He fucked her from below as he watched you squirm. Your lip trembled as the toy rattled noisily against the chair and you wiggled your hips. You panted as Ransom sped up and nuzzled Katrina’s hair, his blue eyes clung to you as your body wracked and you tried to resist the next climax.
“Should I come in her, babe?” he sneered, “her pussy isn’t half as nice as yours, is it? I don’t think she deserves it, do you?”
“N-n-nooooo,” you moaned, “please.”
“Oh, you want it?” he hammered into her even harder, “you want it all for you, huh?”
“Please--” you breathed and lifted your chin as you came again. You shook on the chair and the slapping of flesh stilled.
Dizzy, you looked back to the bed as Ransom shoved Katrina off of him and she covered her cunt as she folded her legs up. He stood and neared you, his cock bobbing before him as he wrapped his fingers around it. He grabbed your head as he stroked himself and pressed his tip to your lips.
“Open up, babe,” he growled.
“Open,” he squeezed your jaw, “only you, babe. It’s only for you.”
He pushed his tip between your lips as you exclaimed at his tight grip and worked his length furiously. His hand fell to your throat and he grunted as hot ribbons coated your mouth. He spasmed as he came in a salty flow and tore his hand away as grew overstimulated. You swallowed and nearly choked as your throat clenched.
“Fuck,” he sighed as he cradled your face and slipped from your mouth. He nudged your chin so you looked up at him and he bent to kiss you, even as his cum strung over your lips. He parted as he gazed down at you darkly, “love you, too, babe.”
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babblydrabbly · 2 days ago
Gentleman (Dark!Rick Flag x Reader)
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Pairing(s): Rick Flag x F!Reader
Characters: Rick Flag, Mention of Amanda Waller
Word Count: 1.5k+
Rating/Warning(s): Dark fic warning!!!, stalking, mentions of non-con stuff, female masturbation, voyeurism, language.
A/N: For this request. omg nonnie, rick and stalking. what have you done to me. Title is 100% ironic for obvious reasons.
Anonymous Asked: "Rick Flag prompt: Reader has been getting red flags that she might have a stalker, who leaves invasive letters/gifts for her behind and she’s getting more and more worried about her safety. Who better to confide in than our favorite reliable Colonel?"
It started with minuscule things. Things you wouldn't have noticed otherwise, had they not piled up; Your doormat askew in the hall. Your bathroom door open when you thought you had closed it before you left for work. Your mailbox down in the lobby missing letters you'd been expecting.
And then, one weekday, it's there. Waiting by your door, a bouquet of flowers sat propped for you when you get home. You glanced up and down the hall before picking it up, examining it carefully. There's no note, not even a business card. You tried to think who would have a reason to send you something so nice, but at the back of your mind you felt uneasy.
A ways away, another door opened and shut. And you looked up to see your neighbor Rick on his way out. He's got on his usual, nondescript work garb— A black windbreaker and baseball cap. He slipped past you with a nod, his eyes flitting down to the flowers in your arms. He slowed, arching a brow.
"Not Valentine's Day yet is it?" He joked warmly. You chuckled in return, a little embarrassed to be caught with the bouquet without occasion.
You shook you head. "No, I don't know what they're for actually."
He shrugged. Rick shot you another smile before heading down the hall, and you let yourself into your apartment to set the flowers down. You spent the evening wondering if you should put them in the vase or dump them in the trash. You decided trash the next morning, sweeping them into the bin before dumping it all down the hallway chute.
A week later, you find a note in your mail box. Not a flower kind of gal?
Rick opened his front door, looking surprised to see you. You'd knocked with urgency. You didn't want to worry your neighbor, but you did want a little neighborly advice.
"You said you worked in security, right?" You began when he let you into his apartment.
The man nodded, closing the door behind him. "I do."
It was technically true, on occasion. Rick Flag had a few covers over the years. His indefinite assignment with Waller had him sticking to the same one since he moved closer to Belle Reve.
"I was wondering if you had any pointers for..." You stood in his living room, wringing your hands together. A nervous tick, he'd noticed, something you often did waiting for the elevator or for a taxi outside the building. He found it endearing— the way you got caught up in your own head.
You tried to get your thoughts together. Tried not to sound so paranoid. "Well, I wanted to put a camera outside my door, maybe. The manager said it was alright. I just wanted to know if you knew a good kind to install."
Rick pretended to mull it over as he nodded thoughtfully. He poured you a glass of water, and you take it, grateful. "I can set you up with somethin' simple. Plenty of cameras hook up to your phone these days. You can keep an eye on your place while you're at work."
Your face lit up with a appreciative smile. It sends a warm jolt up Rick's spine.
He gets you set up in no time. You watched him kneel to install the camera/sensor in your doorway over the weekend, his fingers working deftly to secure it in place. He also got you a camera for your kitchen, pointing out into the living room and into your bedroom. You thanked him with a batch of fresh blueberry muffins you whipped together as he worked.
Rick took the plate with a smile that makes your heart stutter. You told him he can stop by more often— The two of you didn't have to keep exchanging favors just to chat.
"Yeah?" He said. "Maybe when I get back."
He has to head back to base for another task force mission. He hated leaving you on your own; But he felt better knowing now he could keep an eye on you.
The notes stop. And with the cameras, you feel better getting notifications whenever anyone knocked on your door.
You get home one day, exhausted. You make a beeline for the bathroom and rinse the day's sweat and grime off, elated that it was a Friday. As you wash the soap from your body, your touch lingers over your breasts, and you decide that when you get into bed you're going to relax and release the tension you've been feeling all week.
Rick is in his office when you turn your kitchen camera off. He copied the feed from your new equipment to his own phone; He likes to keep it on while he works at his desk, your pattering around your apartment like white noise.
He stops working and glances at his phone. With a few easy clicks, Rick is turning your camera back on, and now he knows why you've shut it off.
You felt odd about having something watching you as you went about your apartment. You always changed in the bathroom, so it had never occurred to you to cover or block the kitchen camera. But today you were on your bed, back pressed into the covers as you worked your hand between your legs. You arched off the bed as you felt the heat in your abdomen build.
You tried not to think about your neighbor as you massaged your fingers in and out of yourself, your slick folds making the slide so, so easy. Rick was polite, kind; The kind of gentleman you'd normally go for, if you wanted to break your cardinal rule about dating in your own apartment complex, that is. You feel a little guilty about imagining him between your thighs— Imagining him working his tongue in and out of you as you writhed on the bed.
Your back arches as you squeeze your eyes shut. You're in just your robe, still naked from your shower. It falls open to expose your breasts to the cool air of your bedroom, and you lift your free hand to palm at your nipple, making yourself gasp.
Rick's eyes are glue to his phone. You're perfectly centered within frame, your body distant from the camera but still visible. He shifts in his chair.
Didn't you have any idea what you do to him? Rick's cock twitches as he watches your legs fall open more. You slowly fuck your fingers into your cunt, your chest heaving— Rick glances at his office door to make sure it's locked. He doesn't move. Doesn't press a hand to his growing length even though the sight of you is driving him wild.
There's no sound on the camera. So Rick takes the liberty of imagining you're saying his name as you near your climax. He'd do anything to hear it in person; He's got half a mind to leave base early and drive back home well over the speed limit right now.
But it doesn't take you long to finish. You press your hand to your clit, feeling the friction as you fuck yourself on your fingers until you're finally pulled taut— You arch until your back is off the bed, your mouth falling open as you come. A soft yelp leaves your lips as you fuck yourself through it as best you can until you're shaking.
You fall back onto the bed in a daze, already wondering what you were going to cook up for dinner.
Rick enters the elevator to your building later that night. It's nearly twelve in the morning by the time he's on your floor. He passes your front door, the ring on your camera illuminating when his figure trips the sensor there. He doesn't expect you're still awake; But when you yank your door open, he's pleasantly surprised.
You're still in your robe from earlier, but now you've got a pajama set on underneath, the belt around you pulled closed and tight. He greets you with a tired smile, but when he sees your expression, he stops.
"[Y/n]? You alright?" He asks carefully.
You step into the hall. "Hey Rick, can I talk to you?"
Rick hopes your heart is racing like his is when you let him into your apartment. He stops his eyes from flickering over to your bedroom door, the memory of you laying there prone and euphoric still etched into his mind. He thought about you on the way home— How he would have fucked you two, three more times after that little orgasm you gave yourself just hours ago. You deserved more than a quick little evening. Much more.
You brushed your hair behind your ears worriedly as you paced in front of him. "Somethin' wrong, sweetheart?" He prods. He tests the nickname out, and he likes the way it rolls off his tongue when he's saying it directly to you. He closes the door behind him, careful to lock it without making a sound.
He sees you glance over at him, your cheeks flushing.
"I just um— Sorry, I don't want to sound paranoid or anything. I know you did a good job with the cameras. I was just wondering—" You took a breath, stopping by the counter. "Can someone hack into them? Like, turn them on without me knowing?"
Rick wants to commend you for your attention to detail. —That's why he loved you, wasn't it? How you took action, reached out for his help when you knew something had changed. Deep down, you knew you were being watched and looked after.
You're confused by his little smile, a shadow of a smirk that suddenly sets you on edge.
"The red light on the back. You saw it turn back on." He notes in his calm drawl.
"Yeah, I was reaching for something in the pantry behind it and I— How did you—?" You're cut off when Rick swiftly presses you back against to the edge of the counter, pinning you there with both hands resting on the marble surface. He revels in the way you shiver, how the small puff of your breath lands shakily on his face.
"You don't even know what you do to me, [y/n]." He whispers in your ear. You whimper as you feel the hot press of his lips ghosting the shell there, feel him inhale the scent of your shampooed hair deeply.
You don't even know what you do to me. It was one of the notes left for you. You had dropped the scrap of paper that had slipped itself under your door while you were away at work, horrified. You thought about keeping it— About bunching it up with the other notes as evidence for— For whoever it was that was harassing you like this. You feel your eyes well with tears.
You make another high, alarmed sound when Rick presses his body into yours. You feel the thick girth of him against your pelvis, already hard and waiting for you. Rick finally takes your face in his hands, making you look at him. You see the way his eyes are blown nearly black. His fingers tighten around your chin— He has to hold himself back, take a moment to look at you up close like this.
Rick licks at his lips faintly as he takes in your trembling face. His expression, a mix of adoration and predatory hunger, makes you reel away. He holds you there as he presses a bruising kiss onto your lips—swallows your attempt to cry out.
Rick brushes a thumb over your jawline tenderly. When he pulls away, he's smiling.
"I'm gonna take good care of you, darlin'."
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barnes-n-nobles · 20 hours ago
Attention (SMUT)
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Request: Smut. Bucky gets jealous of her for getting too close to his friend Steve. So he punishes her 🍆🤤
Sorry for the delay! Here it is and I hope you enjoy! Let me know what y’all think!
You and Bucky had been invited to Tony Starks birthday party tonight. In most cases you would have an outfit ready, but Bucky wanted to dress you today. You thought it was the cutest idea ever and you let him choose for you. He came out of your closet with a beautiful black dress , that had a slit on the side. He got you this as a gift during the first month that you guys started dating. You were saving it for a special occasion so you were a little shocked that he would bring it out for today’s birthday party. Your eyebrows slightly bunched together in confusion as Bucky laid it on your bed.
“Why that dress for today babe? It’s just Tony’s birthday, not the met gala” you chucked. Buckys metal hand traced the side of the dress and smiled at the thought of seeing your body in this sexy dress. “I just want to show off my beautiful girl. Plus, my tux is all black as well. You know how I love matching with you” he smiled as he went to place a soft kiss on your lips.
You nodded in agreement , taking the dress off the bed and walking into the bathroom to change. “I just hope this dress doesn’t get ruined like my last one…” you sighed smiling at the memory that started to form in your mind. “What do you mean, Doll?” Bucky asked curiously.
“One day, Steve and Thor got so drunk at Natashas party that they started having “cake wars” and I made the huge mistake of trying to take the cake away from them and Steve threw a handful of cake at me, while he was trying to get Thor. I was so mad because the dress I got for that day was super nice but I had to get rid of it…it was way too stained” you stated as you slid yourself into your dress.
Bucky rolled his eyes at the sound of Steves name leaving your lips. Him and Steve had some unspoken tension between them that always puzzled you. Little did you know, Steve wanted you for himself but Bucky moved way too fast and was able to cuff you up before Steve even thought about it. Bucky and him were inseparable but once they both realized they were after the same girl, they both got distant. Bucky loved his friend but he always got everything. The fame, love, praise, recognition. He wasn’t going to let him get you though, because you belonged to him. Only him.
“He better not start his shit or I’m going to fuck him up” he spat. “Bucky, you’re not an angel when you get drunk either you get pretty angry AND / OR get into fights with everyone. “ Bucky knew that he had to tame his demons when he was around you just because he didn’t want to scare you off, but it’s been getting harder and harder to control it as men had gotten a bit too brave around you. Bucky wasn’t the type of shy off when something made him mad.
~~~~Later that night~~~~
You and Bucky walked into Tonys home and it never failed to amaze you how beautiful his house was. You hope to one day share a home with Bucky. One where you could one day raise a family of pets and eventually even kids. He noticed you were busy thinking about something so he nudged you to bring you back from your daydreams. “What’s wrong Doll? You seem distracted.” asking with a little scrunch of his eyebrows. “Oh it’s nothing just thinking about this huge-“ You we’re cut off by a familiar voice. “Y/n, Bucky, so glad you guys could make it. You’re only like 1 Hr late but who’s keeping track.” You all chuckled and said happy birthday to Tony. “Come join us, the food just got served”. As you walked into his lavish dining area you said hi to everyone and sat down on the 2 remaining seats. Steve was on your right and Bucky on your left. He soon started to talk to Sam who’s was next to him. “Hey y/n…I haven’t seen you in a while. How’s it going?” Steve asked you giving you a quick hug. You thought that Bucky would have turned around or at least notice but he was too busy joking with Sam.
“Hey Steve it has been a while. Just going through life, you know.” You smiled warmly.
“I feel you. It’s so good to see you. Your little boyfriend likes to keep you all to himself huh?” He asked softly so that only you could hear him. You just smiled and shook your head side to side, not wanting to answer. Steve was always a flirt you thought, but in reality he liked to push your buttons to see your pretty little face flush. After dinner you all moved to Tonys living room, everyone consumed in their own conversations. Bucky was next to you the whole night , making sure you were having a good time as well. “I’m going to go upstairs real quick, Tony is needing a hand with one of his “toys”. I’ll be right back Doll” he said placing a kiss on your cheek. You nodded and decided to pick up your phone to check up on any notifications you had.
Steve gulped down his drink from across the room as he saw Bucky leave your side finally. He started to approach you as soon as he was out of sight. “All alone?” He asked looking down at your small frame. Your eyes snapped up to see Steve standing in front of you. “ For now, Bucky is out doing something “ you said looking in the direction that he walked “May I sit?” He asked with a smirk. You nodded and scooted over. You and Steve started having a nice conversation and got all caught up with eachothers lives. He brought you some drinks to loosen you up and they seemed to be working perfectly as you started to feel a bit more chill and relaxed. Steve laid his arm over the top of the couch and scooted closer to you, making your face turn hot but the closeness. Steve leans over close to your ear and whispered “You look absolutely stunning. Tell Bucky to bring you around me a little more, hun. I’m sure he’s the sharing type.” You knew he was getting a little too comfortable due to the drinks he’s been having but you tried not to make a big deal. “Steve, please.” you warned wanting him to know there was line he was approaching and that he hould not cross. “Please what y/n…. I never see you and I know for a fact it’s because of Bucky. I’m also your friend and I want to be around you and in your life. Don’t you want that?” You turned your face around to get a bit of separation. But then he used his thumb and index finger to turn your face towards him. “Well?”. You didn’t know what to say so you stayed silent just looking down. Steve was irritated and he let go. Standing up looking down at you. “When you make your own decisions, you know where to find me” he said turning around but then suddenly he bumped into a strong chest. Your eyes shot up and you were frozen.
There he was, his chest falling up and down in absolute anger. Looking straight into Steve’s eyes. “Get out of my face Buck.” Steve said in a low tone. Bucky didn’t say a word, his nose flaring and his chest rose and fell slowly with anger. His metal arm rapidly grabbed his throat. “DONT ever touch her again. I’ll fucking kill you” and with that he threw him across the room by his neck, hitting some tables and chairs as he fell to the ground. Everyone snapped their attention over to you guys a few gasps and screams erupting. You quickly stood up and got in front of Bucky, placing your hand on his bicep as if it would calm him down. “Please Bucky, stop...” you said looking over at Steve who was surrounded by people as they tried to help him up. Tony and Sam went over to you guys to make sure that Bucky wouldn’t escalate this any further. “Bucky, you need to control yourself. This isn’t the time nor place. “ Sam said turning to look at Steve who was now up and getting held back and talked to by Thor and Vision. “Jesus Christ Barnes, you could have at least given me some time to pull out my phone to record that.” Tony said making Bucky snap out of his trance and you could see a small smile starting to form. Sam rolled his eyes and shook his head. “But Sam said. Not the time and definitely not the place. Pepper is going to kill me. “ as he looked at the broken table. “Sorry Tony, we’re just going to head out. I promise we’ll pay for that” you stated pulling Bucky away.
As you guys were heading to the entrance of the house, Bucky quickly pulled you into a near by room and locked the door behind him. You almost got whiplash at how fast he got you in there. “what the fuck were you doing with Steve, why did you let him get that close to you.” His big broad frame towered over you. “I didnt...well.. I dont know he was just sitting there and he got so close, i felt so trapped I didnt know what to do. “ you explained not knowing what to say to not make him more mad. “you know i dont fucking like him, why would you even entertain him? Do I need to brainwash you to never speak to anyone else but me... Hmm?’‘ he said pinning you to a nearby wall and pressing his body up against you. You didnt know if the drinks finally got to you or what, but you were feeling all tingly inside. Absolutely loving Buckys dominance. “or do you just want some attention. Because ill give you all the attention in the world Doll...but you'll only get it from one else.” he whispered into your face.His lips brushing lightly over yours. You let out a little moan, his words going straight into your pussy. “I just need yours. You know that” you purred leaning in for a kiss. Bucky pulled away looking at your beautiful eyes, filling up with want and lust. “ Im going to show you that you only belong to me, and Ill make you crave only me and my attention. now turn over” he said giving you a quick kiss. 
You obediently turned and he started to slide your panties down. Buckys hands started to roam your body, his metal arm stopping at your clit. “I need you to be quiet for me Doll. Can you do that?” he said as his hard cock was grinding on your ass. “Yes, Sargent Barnes” you moaned as his fingers started to play with your clit. “Fuck...sucha good girl”. When he felt that you were wet enough he grabbed your hair and shoved you down onto a nearby dresser, earning a gasp from you. He pulled himself out and pulled up your dress, giving you a nice hard slap on your ass making you whine. “You had your fun with that imbecile “ he said as he aligned his throbbing cock at your entrance. “now its time for me to punish you like a whore for talking to him. “ and with that he rammed inside of you, letting out an animalistic growl at your tightness. Your moans ripped through your throat as he started to pump himself inside of you, with out much gentleness. His metal hand quickly went to your mouth, muffling your beautiful sounds. “Shh babygirl..cant let anybody else hear”. He thrusted into you hard and fast, making you see stars and your mewls restrained by his cold hand. Your wetness soon started to drip down your leg. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, feeling nothing but pure pleasure and bliss. Buckys arm went down to your neck and he pulled you up, making you arch your back. He leaned down looking at your fucked out face while he stuffed you full of his cock over and over again. He started to have a hot sloppy make out session with you, moaning into your mouth and you doing the same. Tongues interwoven into each other.
Bucky grunted your name, standing upright one more time. He grabbed your hips and started to fuck into you harder, his head snapping back as he was so close. “fuck im going to cum inside you Doll…Tell me who you belong to y/n..” he growled. “Y-you Bucky...only you Sergeant Barnes.” you moaned. Thats all it took for him to finally cum. His thrusts got sloppy as he spilled inside you. His cock twitching inside with each pause he took. He smiled as he pulled out, watching his cum spill down your leg. He pulled you up and gave you a passionate kiss. “dont worry Doll. We have much more to do at home. This was just a warm up, I’m going to give you orgasms after orgasms and you’re going to take it and enjoy it”
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mhysa-leesi · 2 days ago
𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒢𝓇𝑜𝓊𝓃𝒹𝓈𝓀𝑒𝑒𝓅𝑒𝓇 𝑀𝒾𝓃𝒾-𝒮𝑒𝓇𝒾𝑒𝓈
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𝒫𝒶𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈: Dark Groundskeeper!Bucky Barnes 𝓍 (femme) Agoraphobic!Reader 🌹.
𝒮𝑒𝓇𝒾𝑒𝓈 𝒮𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎: "Something is seriously wrong with your new groundskeeper."
𝒮𝓉𝒶𝓉𝓊𝓈: In Progress. (Check this post for updates!)
𝐿𝒶𝓈𝓉 𝒰𝓅𝒹𝒶𝓉𝑒𝒹: 9/26/2021 (5:23 PM, CDT)
𝒫𝒶𝓇𝓉𝓈: 4
𝒮𝑒𝓇𝒾𝑒𝓈 𝒯𝒲: (EVERY PART WILL HAVE THEIR OWN SPECIFIC WARNINGS❗) Non-Con, Smut, Loss of Virginity, Dom-Sub Themes, Blood Play, Stalking, Creepy Behaviors, Descriptions of Anxiety and Panic Attacks, Physical Violence, Descriptions of Blood, Descriptions of Character Death/Murder, and Strong Language. ⚠ VIEWER DISCRETION ADVISED. 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI‼
𝒩𝑜𝓉𝑒: This is my first real attempt at a series, so please be gentle with me. And also, feedback is always appreciated and welcomed! **ALL GRAMMATICAL MISTAKES ARE MY OWN.
𝒜𝒩: This story contains adult and dark themes, please do not proceed if you are under the age of 18 or if ANY of these warnings upset you! I am not responsible for your media consumption–you and only you are. If you'd like to join my permanent taglist to stay updated on new and upcoming fics, please fill out this Google Form. 𝒯𝒽𝒶𝓃𝓀 𝓎𝑜𝓊.
𝒜𝒩 𝒞𝑜𝓃𝓉.: If you or anyone you know has been a victim of sexual violence, please reach out for help. I do not condone ANY of the actions described in this story, this is merely a work of FICTION.
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‧͙⁺˚*・༓☾𝒯𝒶𝒷𝓁𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝒞𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓈:☽༓・*˚⁺‧͙
Part I
Part II
Part III
Part IV
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✧・゚: *✧・゚:*тαgℓιѕт*:・゚✧*:・゚✧: @kuranes-12, @syrenavenger, @thehuntresswolf, @kriegersimp, @haleyheart0197, @that-one-girl-who-simps, @xxmizzmariexx, @thenewmrscullen, @alexwinter, @supernaturalbaesduh, @lidivi, @hoosier-daddi
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lipstickstainedred · 11 hours ago
Honeymoon Suite
Pairing: demon!Bucky Barnes x Reader
Word Count: 4.6k
Warnings: smut/explicit sexual content (18+ only), explicit language, dark themes, noncon/dubcon, somnophilia (kind of), mentions of abuse, oral sex (f recieving), edging, orgasm denial, choking, unprotected sex (honestly a whole bunch of smut. You have been warned), horror/scary themes
A/N: This is my submission for the Spooktacular Smutfest Writing Challenge by the lovely @boxofbonesfic. This is my first time writing horror and it was definitely a challenge. This has inspired a series of demon one shots that I will be posting soon!
Prompt: “Are you scared?” “Yes.” “Good, you should be.”
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You entered the run down motel and quickly made way to the front desk. It was a small town so you figured this was the best place to settle down for the night.
“Can I get your cheapest room please?” You asked the demure middle aged woman seated at the front desk. She was watching you closely as you shook and fidgeted, tapping your hand against the desk. You were always fidgeting. Your hands, legs and feet would more often than not shake or move to release some of the tension and anxiety you felt trapped inside your body. It was a nervous tick, you weren’t sure when it had developed but it seemed the uncontrollable movement gave you relief.
“All of our regular rooms are filled up, Hun. Our only available room is the honeymoon suite.”
You heard the door behind you open and you quickly turned around, tightening your grip around the strap of the small duffle bag wrapped around your shoulder. Your tense shoulders relaxed when you realized it was only a couple of teenagers.
“That’s it?” You turned back around to face her.
“It’s Halloween night, hun. You clearly aren’t from around here.” She gave a short chuckle. She was right.
You had taken the bus, switching buses and changing directions every so often so that you hopefully wouldn’t be tracked. Traveling for hours, you had come across this small little town, it was as good a place as any to hunker down for the night.
“It’s a historic town. Lots of tourists and even locals believe the town has haunted attractions. Legend has it this very hotel is haunted. Halloween is our busiest night. People love the idea of staying somewhere scary.” She shrugged.
“I just need a room.” You shook your head, “I don’t care about all that haunted nonsense. How much more is the honeymoon suite?”
“It’s $50 more.”
You bit your lip nervously, shaking your head. You didn’t have a lot of money and getting the nicer room would take a significant chunk of the cash. You needed to be wise on how to spend what little you had. You weren’t sure when you would be safe and able to settle down.
“Please… I can’t afford that.” You begged her. Her eyes scanned over your disheveled form. It was obvious you were on edge. Your eyes kept darting to the door as if you expected someone to walk in at any moment. Wrapping your arms around yourself, you were trying to make yourself small, to hold yourself together as best you could. You could see the pity in her eyes as your frantic behavior seemed to click.
“Do you need help? Is someone after you?” She leaned in and quietly whispered.
“I just need a place to stay. Please. I can afford the regular rate.” You pleaded with her, glancing over your shoulder once more to look at the door before slipping a small wad of bills in her direction. She silently nodded, giving you the key to your room. You thanked her profusely before rushing to the elevator with your duffle bag still swung over your shoulder.
The old style elevator was surrounded by swirling and intricate wrought iron bars that made you question how long the motel had been there. You had never seen an antique elevator. You wondered how safe it could be. As if hearing your unspoken thoughts, the elevator jolted erratically as it began moving. It was slow and every floor it passed had it shaking and groaning. The noises it made did little to help your nerves.
You were happy when it finally settled on your floor. Stepping out into the hallway, you noticed the decor was exactly what would be expected of an old hotel. The carpet and wallpaper were outdated and grimy, no doubt from years without a good cleaning, but you didn’t care. It was a cheap place to sleep. A bed was a bed, afterall. You were too tired and stressed to complain, all you wanted was a place to rest for the night.
As you entered the room, a cooling shiver ran down your spine. It was probably just a draft, it was an older hotel, you thought.
The honeymoon suite was fairly big, with a large king size bed in the middle of the room. There was a small sitting area in the corner with a table that held an old style lamp and telephone. You threw your bag in one of the chairs before plopping yourself in the other.
You had arrived at the old and desolate inn with only the small duffel bag of personal items and the clothes on your back. Within the bag held what few articles of clothing you could pack and some cash that you had been saving up for over a year.
The only other personal effect you had was a small photograph that you had folded up in your back pocket. Pulling it from your pocket, you held the crinkled and worn photograph up to your face, looking at the people in the photo. The way the young couple smiled in the photo was such a stark contrast to their lives now. Tears welled in your eyes as you looked at your husband's face. How did it all go so wrong?
The photo of you two was taken 2 years ago on your honeymoon. You had been so immensely happy and naively in love back then. It wasn’t until a year later that things took a turn for the worse.
You wished that the first time he slapped you across the face you had run, but you had nowhere to go. You had moved away from all your family and friends to be with your husband. It was naive of you to leave everything behind to start a family, but you had. You hadn’t spoken to your family in years, cutting them all off to be with him. He was all you had.
Each fight you had ended with more bruises littered across your skin. But every time he would apologize profusely. He would say the sweetest of words until ultimately you forgave him. You always forgave him.
It wasn’t until you had landed in the hospital with a broken wrist that the realization hit you. You had to leave. You couldn’t keep playing this game until he hurt you again. It was only a matter of time before he eventually killed you.
You saved what little cash you could from your grocery trips. He was in control of the finances but a few dollars here and there didn’t raise any alarms. As soon as you had enough saved to leave, you ran. But you knew he would come after you, he wouldn’t just let you leave.
A stray tear fell onto the photograph. You wiped the tear away, looking at the happy couple one last time before tossing the photo on the table. It didn’t matter now. That happy couple didn’t exist anymore.
The lamp on the table began to flicker and you couldn’t help but remember the words of the woman at the front desk. Haunted, she had said. Outstretching your arm you lightly tapped the lamp, jostling it until it ceased flickering, giving off a steady stream of light. The hotel was not haunted, just cheap and in need of new bulbs.
Deciding you needed to get some sleep in order to leave as early as you could in the morning, you shut off the lamp. The moonlight through the window was the only thing illuminating the room as you crawled into the oversized bed. It felt strange to have such a large bed to yourself after years of sharing one. Your heart ached as you thought about all the nights you would likely spend alone now. Despite how scary that thought was, it was also freeing. The soft sounds of the night lulled you to sleep, eager to continue your journey to freedom in the morning.
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As you slowly drifted into consciousness a feeling of dread overwhelmed you. Unable to move, your chest tightened. Your chest was heavy as if a bookcase had fallen on you, crushing you beneath it. There was an eerie presence in the room that you couldn’t quite place.
The overwhelming pressure on your chest shifted. You felt as if you were suffocating and you were unable to move. Your eyes fluttered as fear coursed through you, charcoal black eyes met yours as you stared at the thing laying on top of you. It’s features looked human, almost like a man, but there was a dark essence surrounding him.
You have experienced this sensation before, only a few times in the past, but it was never pleasant. Sleep paralysis. Featuring what most people referred to as a sleep paralysis demon. However, you had never had such a vividly real demon before. It almost looked real, almost life-like.
Your eyes scanned over the large frame that caged you onto the bed. You tried to get a good look at the being but could only see so much with just the moonlight. His looming black eyes were surrounded by darkness, as if he was wearing makeup. Black smoke radiated off him in curling tendrils that tried to consume you. The pale dead look of his skin was deceiving, as you could feel the burning heat his body was emitting. However, despite the burn of his grip you strangely felt ice cold.
Every fibre of your being screamed at you to run. Move. Fight. Anything! But your brain and body were not in sync. You willed your body to move but you’re paralyzed, stuck in a cold dark limbo as the thing on top of you watches.
Fear coursed through your veins, as his fiery warm fingers danced over your skin until its smokey fingers curled around your throat like a necklace. You could feel the smoke lightly choking you, but his hands were merely hovering. His actual fingers were not making contact with your flesh. His long dark strands of hair brushed against your face. He was so close you could feel his breath against your lips.
Time stood still as he brought his other hand up to your face, gently caressing a finger over your lips. This touch, however, wasn’t from the smoke surrounding him. This was his real touch. You gasped at the intimate sensation, all of the hairs on your body standing on end. It was strange how such a seemingly simple touch felt so intense and meaningful.
He trailed his finger lightly down your body, gently caressing the curve of your breasts before landing at the apex of your sex. You couldn’t contain the gasp that escaped your lips as his hand slithered under your clothing and between your legs. His large fingers stroked your folds causing an involuntary shiver to run through you.
His fingers emit the same cold and burning sensation to your core as they did the rest of your body. When he pressed gently against your clit you can’t help the gasp that escapes your lips. The demon’s eyes grew darker as it rubbed your most sensitive spot in small tight circles.
You attempted to close your eyes but weren’t even afforded that luxury. You were forced to look into the monster's eyes as your climax began to form. His grip on your throat grew tighter, tinges of black spotting your vision. Your body shook. You were so close but just as you were about to fall over the edge into bliss, the stimulation stopped. A weak cry escaped your lips as your orgasm was viciously ripped away from you at the last second.
Just as your heart rate slowed down, your body stepping back from the ledge of pleasure, his fingers returned to their slow tortuous pace on your throbbing bud. All too quickly, your pleasure builds up again. Your orgasm is close from being denied previously. But once more, you are not allowed your release.
This teasing continued, causing you both pain and pleasure as your core fluttered, clenching around nothing as you were desperate to finish. He was relentless in his ministrations, bringing you right to the edge multiple times before harshly pulling you back. His touch was exploratory, as if trying to learn your body. You didn’t know how many times you had been on the brink of orgasm before you noticed the tears dripping down your cheeks.
He was playing you like a fine tuned piano and you couldn’t help the shame you felt. You were having a wet dream about a demon and clearly you were enjoying it. You were so clearly aroused, having not known such intense pleasure before.
After what felt like hours, you can feel the twitch in your fingertips as your brain slowly gained control over your body. Slowly, his hand on your sex was removed. The pressure on your chest lifted and the fingers that were wrapped around your neck disappeared. You watched warily as the tall, muscular man stood up and walked toward the end of your bed. His eyes never left yours. A shiver ran down your spine at the smirk that settled on his pink lips. You squeezed your eyes shut. You willed the paralysis to cease and the demon to disappear. When you finally opened your eyes the room was empty. The demon was gone and your body was able to move again.
Sitting up you sputtered, sucking in fast and greedy breaths as if you had been holding your breath the entire time. As you gulped in the oxygen your emotions crashed down on you. Placing your hand on your chest, all of your emotions felt amplified. The fear, panic, arousal, and confusion all bursting at the seams of your heart. Your heartbeat was still erratic. Your eyes scanned over the room as the pressure in your chest started to dissipate. The room was empty, no trace of the man or demon you had laying on top of you moments ago. Your hands ran over your body in search of anything amiss but everything felt normal, except the ache between your legs. You delved your fingers into your panties, finding exactly what you had expected. You were wet.
Frustrated, you placed your head in your hands feeling defeated. You had never had such a vivid sleep paralysis experience before. Granted, it hadn’t happened to you often, but the prior times felt more distant, more dream-like. This time had felt real. You could still smell his breath and feel his grip around your throat. You had felt the pleasure he was forcing onto you, only to be ripped away at the last second.
You weren’t completely sure what was real and what was not. Sleep paralysis had always been trippy but you had never had a sexual episode. This event was different from any previous ones. The only thing that made sense was it was your brain playing tricks on you. It must have been all the stress and anxiety you felt manifesting into your subconscious.
You were clearly in over your head leaving your abusive husband and the stress was getting to you. Deciding a hot shower might dissolve your fear, you sauntered into the connecting bathroom. The bathroom looked about as good as you could expect from a cheap hotel in the middle of nowhere.
It had a decently sized shower with a plain white curtain hanging from the rod, an old discolored toilet in the corner, and a double sink with a large mirror placed in front of it. The housekeeping had placed scratchy looking white towels and a robe folded on the sink counter, along with a couple of small bottles of shampoo and a generic bar of soap.
You slowly stripped your clothes from your body, watching yourself in the mirror. The woman looking back at you looked nothing like the woman you had been a few years ago. Your eyes were dull and had deep set dark circles under them. Your hair was thinner and your skin was crepey and lifeless.
The biggest difference was the bruises that littered your skin. You ran your fingers over your wrist, examining the dark purple bruise. You flinched when you pressed too hard, the bones had set but the skin was still sore to the touch.
A cold breeze fluttered across your naked body making you shiver. You quickly covered your breasts. You felt as though someone was watching you. You turned on the shower, waiting for the water to warm. Once the temperature was to your liking you hopped in. The steam and hot water helped soothe the aches and pains that were scattered across your body. It was soothing for your soul too. The anxiety and fear from your overactive subconscious quickly dissolved, melting down the drain.
You lathered the shampoo into your hair, closing your eyes as you did so. Behind your eyelids, you saw a flicker of movement, the lighting changing. You quickly opened your eyes. The shampoo stung as it ran into your half opened eyes. Your vision was blurry as you looked around frantically. A tall dark figure flickered in the corner of vision and for a moment you could have sworn it was the same figure that had held you down on the hotel bed. You frantically blinked, rubbed your eyes to remove the shampoo but as soon as your vision cleared the shadowy figure disappeared.
You had a sinking feeling in your gut. You weren’t crazy, you had seen something. It sounded insane but something was wrong. You could feel something wasn’t right.
The cold air nipped at your skin as you quickly got out of the shower, throwing on the robe. You haphazardly tie the robe around your waist as a horrid squeaking sound fills your ears. The noise, only created from the sound of fingers writing on a mirror. You felt sick to your stomach as you watched words start to form on the foggy mirror. Something was writing a message. You were frozen in fear as the single word was written. Mine.
That was all it took to have you bolting out of the bathroom, You almost slipped on the wet tile floor before slamming the door behind you. You needed to get out of here, fast. You didn’t bother changing out of the robe, you needed to get the hell out of this hotel. You grabbed your bag, frantically throwing your items into it before running into the hallway.
You weren’t sure what you were running from, but you felt it. You felt it’s presence and you knew deep down that something was following you. The walls felt as if they were closing in making you feel claustrophobic. You could see the shadows dancing along the walls, confirming your suspicions. Someone or something was after you.
The darkness nipped at your heels, taunting you as you ran. Cursing to yourself as you tripped over your own feet, your robe opening slightly. You didn’t have time to readjust, you needed to get out of here.
Once you arrived at the elevator you pushed the button repeatedly, praying for it to hurry up. The ding sounded and you felt relief when the doors closed behind you. As it began its descent toward the lobby, you leaned against the metal bars with a heavy sigh. Your heart rate begins to slow down, your breathing evening out.
Your relief was short lived as the elevator shook before coming to an abrupt stop. You stumbled, getting thrown against the wall at the sudden and forceful movement, your fear quickly returning. Your blood turned to ice as black smoke started pouring into the elevator. The dark smoke was thick in the air, so thick you could hardly see. But you saw the large smoky figure appear stalking toward you.
You backed into the corner, placing your hands out in front of you to shield yourself. You squeezed your eyes shut as tears formed, not wanting to see the monster in front of you. You felt the heat radiating off it’s body as it stopped right in front of you.
You blindly started swinging your hands attempting to inflict some damage on the being. Your wrists burned as he grabbed them to stop your assault. Hot tears streamed down your cheeks as sobs racked your body. You tried pulling your wrists away, cowering further into the corner of the elevator.
“Look at me.” A deep voice spoke. Its voice was surprisingly soft, smooth like butter. You shook your head, squeezing your eyes even tighter in fear.
“Open your eyes, Doll.” It lowly growled. You hated to admit it, you weren’t sure if it was fear but something about its tone compelled you to comply.
You opened your eyes slowly, blinking away your tears to stare at the monster before you. Only it wasn’t a monster, well it was, but it was also a man. The smoke surrounded him, radiating off his body. Those pitch black demonic eyes stared into your soul, just as they had earlier while tormenting you on your bed. Your mouth gaped as you took in his chiseled features. His muscular figure towered over you, making you feel small.
He leaned forward nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck before inhaling your scent.
“Are you scared?” He teased, nipping your ear.
“Yes.” You whispered.
“Good. You should be.” He chuckled, backing away with a smirk on his lips.
Before you can protest he tore at your robe until you were fully naked in front of him. You sharply inhaled when he brushes his fiery fingers over the bruises on display.
You wanted to fight back, to stop him from touching your body. But you felt paralyzed, just as you did earlier. Except this time, you aren’t sure if it’s real or just from fear. He dropped to his knees, his face now level with your hips. He lifted you leg up over his shoulder, lifting your rob and leaving your pussy on display. Your body finally decided to cooperate but only enough for you to grip the metal bars of the elevator. You held on desperately as he stared at your core with lust.
He delved his face into your aching heat and began to lick stripes up and down your folds. A porn worthy moan escaped you when his lips wrapped around you clit. The warmth of his lips on your most sensitive area had you arching your back, pushing yourself closer to him.
You were a mess as he moved lower, pushing his tongue into your hole. You preened under his touch, his hands burning into your hip and thigh as he held you up. He fucked you with his tongue, the familiar ember beginning to grow.
You wished you weren’t turned on. You wanted so badly to scream, to push him off of you. But you hadn’t realized how desperately horny you were until now. You knew why, but you didn’t want to admit it. Your earlier nightmare, hadn’t been a cut and dry case of sleep paralysis. It had been real.
Knowing you were close, he grabbed your other leg lifting it over his other shoulder. You were now completely hoisted up with his hands on your hips. Your knuckles turned white from your tightening grip as he returned his attention back to your bud. You were so close. You could feel the waves of pleasure rolling off of you and it was only a matter of time before you came.
The sick twisted man between your legs had decided to resume his previous game with you. He pulled his tongue away just as you were about to find release. You whined, grinding your hips to try and resume some friction. He chuckled at your neediness, causing you to feel the vibrations.
“Do you want to orgasm, Doll?” He looked up at you. His face was glistening with your arousal, you could feel your cheeks redden with embarrassment. You refused to answer him, too prideful to admit what you wanted. Needed.
If you had thought he was torturing you before, you were sorely mistaken. Your refusal only spurred him on further. He sucked and nipped at your overstimulated clit until you were a blubbering mess in his arms. You could barely form a coherent thought when he denied you again.
“Need you to say yes, doll” He mumbled against your thigh.
You couldn’t take it anymore. You didn’t care if it was wrong. You didn’t care that you were being sexually tormented by a demon in the elevator of some god forsaken hotel. You hadn’t been touched like this in months. And after being brought to the edge multiple times, your resolve had been worn.
“Please…” You began.
“Bucky” He said with a sinister grin.
“Please Bucky.” You begged, finally giving in.
“That’s all I needed to hear.” He growled, pulling you down to the floor with him.
You weren’t sure if you were just delirious and delusional at this point, but he was undressed and on top of your naked form in an instant. His large body wedged in between your legs as he dipped his head to your neck trailing kisses down to your breasts. His hands were all over you, leaving your skin on fire wherever he touched.
You felt his hard member against your inner thigh and you could tell he was huge. He rubbed himself against your folds gathering your slick. You had no time to second guess your decision, as he roughly thrust into you. He had done very little to prepare you for his large size, and you cried out at the intrusion. It felt as if he had ripped you open.
He gave you no time to adjust as he set a brutal pace. His hands roamed over your breast, pinching and tugging on your nipples. His lips left love bites all over your neck and chest, adding more purple bruises to your body. It was as if he was claiming, replacing the evidence of pain from your ex with evidence of his desire for you. All you could focus on was the sound of skin slapping and his occasional grunts.
Your brain was going haywire, your mind working overtime to decipher pain from pleasure. You felt heat everywhere he touched. The way his cock stroked you left your insides on fire. It was as if you were burning in hell. When he brought one hand down to circle your clit, you mewled. You dragged your nails down his back, trying to ground yourself as your orgasm hit. You saw stars as you finally reached your high.
“Fuck.” He muttered, picking up his pace. If he was close, he didn’t show it. Instead, he continued his pressure on your abused clit. You didn’t know if you could handle anymore sensation. But when he lifted one of your legs up over his shoulder, he reached a depth inside you that you didn’t think was possible. The pressure was intense, you thought you might faint.
You threw your head back with a scream. Your second orgasm was more intense than your first as it rolled over your body. You thighs were shaking as you felt his pace grow sloppy. Your core clenched around him as he spilled inside of you, milking all of his spend. His warm seed searing against your insides.
“You’re mine now, doll.” He chuckled darkly, keeping you pinned underneath him.
You screamed as the elevator began to free fall. You watched in horror as the dial telling you what floor you were on kept dropping until you passed the lobby, but you continued to fall into darkness. Your entire body was burning. You felt as if you had been set on fire, only this time, it wasn’t his touch. It was the air. In fact, the only thing that satiated and cooled the intense burning was Bucky. You clung onto him desperately. In that moment you realized, you belonged to him now.
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Shout outs: @mhysa-leesi @plaid-shirtsandvibranium-arms @christowhore
Tags: @blithecapricorn @marvelfansworld @ashpeace888@violetmoon74 @eralen @stupendouslovegardener @jevans2@sweetdreams25 @notafknbadger
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thanatosfic · 2 days ago
Compliance - Chapter 1
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Summary:  You’re just a history teacher trying to do your job after America is shaken to its core by a change in regime. Unfortunately, one single act of defiance puts you on Hydra’s Supreme Leader, Steve Rogers’ radar. The man who turned America into a fascist, dystopian hell. The man you despise with every fiber of your being.
Pairing: Hydra Supreme! Steve Rogers x Black! teacher! Reader
Warnings: Dark fic, Non-con, Kidnapping, Abuse, Isolation, Forced relationship, Obsessive and evil Steve, Dystopia
Rating: Explicit
Word count: 5k
A/N: Thanks to @sgt-seabass​ for the amazing banner she made for this. She’s super cool. I also posted this fic on ao3 as Thanatos. Steve is very dark and villainous in this... if it’s not your cuppa, DNI.
Index: Chapter 1, Chapter 2
This isn’t America, you think, as you drive past a giant billboard displaying "Trust authority. Reports traitors." in big, bold, white letters against pitch blackness. Your hands tighten around the steering wheel.
Or maybe it is. Maybe it’s been America all along and you let yourself forget. The letters melt and you shiver as a new message appears.
Compliance will be rewarded.
It’s been fifty six days since the beginning of the new regime.
Fifty six days since Steve Rogers - formerly known as Captain America, America's most beloved and trusted hero - announced to the country and the world that the United States is now fully under Hydra’s control. Chills run up your spine as you recall the moment he stepped onto a stage in Washington, right in front of the White House, wearing a black suit that looked uncomfortably similar to his former one, save the blood red symbol on his chest that broadcast his allegiance to the entire planet. 
The parking lot of the middle school where you’ve been teaching for five years is eerily quiet when you step out of your car. 
As usual, there’s an air of wariness and discipline as you strut down the halls of the school. One could almost be fooled into believing nothing has changed. Except everything has. The students’ backs are a little too straight. The teachers glance at each other with slight mistrust. 
You take a deep breath before entering the classroom.
"Hail Hydra!" the students clamor, raising their fists in the air.
Fifty six days and your heart still twinges painfully whenever you hear your students utter the words. Brows knitting, you go to your desk and open your briefcase. Your gaze wanders to the new regime’s version of the kids’ history books. The cover is bright and colorful, with pretty pictures, a deceitful front for the lies sprawled on the pages. You sigh.
As usual, you’re faced with a choice. And, as usual, it doesn’t take you very long to decide. 
You slam the briefcase shut and begin scribbling on the blackboard. 
"So, who can tell me how the Allies diverted the economy to win the war between 1942 and 1945?"
Julia, the top student in the class, raises her hand. You prompt her to speak with a head nod.
"The Allies didn’t win the war. Hydra did," she says, chewing on a pen with a confused frown. "It says so in our books, Miss." As if to prove her point, she flips the pages of the new book until she stops on one with a triumphant expression. You fight the urge to roll your eyes. She points at the page with emphasis, holding it up for you to see. You pinch the bridge of your nose, your mind buzzing with annoyance. 
"Well, Julia, you shouldn’t trust everything that’s in books," you snap. The girl looks peeved, as if you slapped her. The rest of the class stands at attention, the usual background whispers plummeting into quietness. 
A long sigh slips past your lips and it echoes in the classroom. You send a small, apologetic smile to Julia and cross your arms as you pace in front of your desk. 
"Records can be forged," you explain, peering at the slightly befuddled faces of your students. "Facts can be manipulated. Truth isn’t always what it seems. Especially when one wins a war, they can tell any truth they want and never be challenged."
Some of the students start glancing at their books suspiciously and others gape at you in astonishment. Julia blinks several times before slamming her book shut.
"Are you saying we can’t trust what’s in the books? That it’s all lies?" she screeches, her voice rising in panic. Low mumbles start to erupt as the students converse with each other. You shush them with your finger and a stern stare. They all fall back into silence. 
"I’m simply saying that you guys should always remain critical of what you see and hear in books, on tv and… everywhere else." Some of the students nod while others clearly struggle to wrap their mind around the concept. "Don’t turn off your brain. You all have been gifted with the ability to think for yourself. So...think."
 You are exhausted from the class and the barrel of questions your student had for you when you walk towards the teachers’ lounge room for a coffee break. You don’t get to enjoy your blessed fix of caffeine however because someone grabs your arm on the way. You swivel on your high heels. It’s the headmistress, Mrs Jenkins. You plaster on a smile that hurts your cheeks. 
"Everyone has to go to the assembly hall immediately," she informs. Her tone leaves no room for argument. The matter must be urgent. Your brow wrinkles as you wrench your arm away. Your boss has one hell of a grip.
"Hmm, may I know why?" you carefully inquire. The headmistress tosses you a disapproving glance. She doesn’t like her authority questioned. And oh, did you adore to find small, innocuous ways to do exactly that.
"The Supreme Leader is here for a surprise visit," she reveals. She makes no effort to conceal the pompous pride in her voice. A wave of panic surges in your chest. 
"In our school? W-Why?" Your smile is tense and your voice wobbles. 
Thoughts of the stack of forbidden readings hidden between wooden boards in your attic flood your brain. Worry gnaws at the edges of your brain for a few seconds before you shake it away. You live alone. You keep to yourself. You’re safe. 
Your colleague’s eyes narrow as she scrutinizes you. Unfazed, your expression remains unchanged.
"Are you questioning our grand leader?" she asks suddenly. You flinch. Suspicion is evident on her features. You shake your head with raised hands.
"N-No. Never," you chuckle. "I was simply wondering why The Supreme would grant us such an honor. That’s all." Her gaze zeroes in on you one more time and she stares you down for an unnervingly long time before giving up. Mrs Jenkins then brushes past you angrily, shoving you aside. You release a sound of relief as you see her disappear down the halls. Mourning your coffee, you take unenthusiastic steps towards the assembly hall.
 As it turns out, it genuinely is an impromptu visit. One school gets picked randomly every week to force the students and staff to sit through endless yammering about the tenets of Hydra and the benefits of utter compliance to the regime.
He gives the usual speech about bringing order, strength and unity to a torn nation, about striving for a better world, about working together for a common goal. You only half-listen, your face a careful mask of neutrality while your mind is reeling. It never sounds so bad on the surface, aspiring even. But once the layers are peeled, the truth peeks through with ease. And it’s as ugly as it gets. Inhumans dragged from their homes and separated from their families to be thrown in prison, their very existence considered a crime. Mutants forced to either take a cure or be hunted like animals. Citizens overpoliced. Millions of books burned and whole sections of the internet erased for "inciting dissent". Famously outspoken writers and activists marked as "dissidents" mysteriously vanishing. And, of course, there's the indoctrination everywhere, at every stage of life, including schools.
And then there’s that moment. The one you loathe the most. Even more than the fascist spiel that preceded. Everyone in the assembly collectively rises to their feet and says "Hail Hydra." Queasiness makes your stomach flip. Your tongue is as lead as you freeze up and shrink into yourself. Thankfully, you’re at the very back, so your silence most likely went unnoticed.
Everyone files out of the hall in a line, under the careful eye of the HYDRA soldiers. Under his eye. You intend to disappear in the throng when a deep voice erupts near you.
"Citizen." The timbre is so intense, your chest vibrates at the sound. Shivers shoot up your spine. Maybe he is talking to you. Maybe he isn’t. Either way, you elect to ignore the hail and keep walking. 
"Citizen," he says again. The tone’s harsher, sharp. Like razor blades. A firm, inescapable grip settles on your shoulder. Beads of sweat  bloom on your neck. "I am addressing you." You inhale a lungful of courage before slowly turning to face him.
It’s as if all the air has been sucked out of the room. You find it hard to move any muscle.
Steve Rogers, Supreme Leader of Hydra, has his icy blue orbs fixated on you. 
From up close you can see that his suit isn’t actually black like you believed, but a very dark blue. You stare at the red logo emblazoned on his chest long enough for the tentacles to start wiggling. Like on tv, he’s clean shaven and his blonde locks are slicked back neatly. 
"Apologies, Supreme Leader. I didn’t realize you were talking to me," you mechanically answer. 
He tilts his head, staring you down with unnerving focus. It takes a lot not to flinch under that gaze. 
"It seems you forgot to salute earlier," he observes. Your eyes widen as your heart starts thudding wildly in your chest. Despite his subtle wording, his smirk tells you he suspects this was no blunder on your part. You’re flabbergasted. How did he notice any of that, noticed you , a nobody in a sea of nobodies?
You clear your throat, pondering your words before speaking them out loud.
"I’m sorry. I got distracted, Supreme Leader." You bow your head in submission. "It won't happen again…" You close your eyes and take a tiny breath. You open them again, the symbol emblazoned on his broad chest greeting you. 'H-Hail Hydra!" you croak out. The words taste like sand in your mouth. It’s self preservation in its most basic form but regret still curls in your gut.
He approaches you and a woodsy scent starts to tickle your nose. 
"I’m not sure I heard. Why don’t you say it again?" His low baritone is laced with an obvious threat. Peering up at him, you try not to squirm. 
"Hail...Hy-dra." you repeat. It’s like a piece of you shrivels and dies every time. 
"Is it that hard for you to say it and mean it, citizen?" he whispers in your ear, his warm breath fanning your earlobe. You gulp down the lump stuck in your throat. His presence around you is suffocating. All your instincts scream at you to run.
"No, sir. Never," you insist. "I suppose, sir," you  add, batting your eyelashes, attempting to display innocence and naivety, " I’m just a little intimidated right now." That, at least, requires no pretending on your part. You are indeed properly terrified.
Steve chuckles, a deep grumble that reverberates in your chest.
"Oh, do I intimidate you, citizen?" he taunts, his gaze roaming over your form. A strange glint dances in his cerulean orbs. You don’t like it one bit.
"Yes, sir. A l-little," you stutter.
He studies you and his lips tug up in a cruel smirk.
"Say it again for me, will you?" It takes your mind a long minute to register his command. You shake your head and open your mouth, determined to pretend, determined to live. Nothing comes out, save a pathetic whimper.
This isn’t the time for performance anxiety.
Say it you idiot! 
You are about to will yourself into uttering the cursed words when he interrupts your panicked train of thoughts. 
"What is it you teach, citizen?" he suddenly asks. 
Dread twists your insides. Maybe you could lie about what you do here. No. It’d be too easy to figure out the truth and then you’d be in even more trouble than you already are.
Lies, truths… none seem like they would help at the moment.
"History," you mumble.
He hums, seeming to be lost in his thoughts for a moment. He treads in a circle around you, a predator stalking its prey. "Hm, such an important duty it is to be tasked with molding young minds with the right tenets and ideas." He stops in front of you, closer than before. His unwavering eyes are on you again and your pulse quickens. "To correct decades of lies and falsities." 
"Sir, please…" you beg. The onset of tears starts stinging your eyes.
Your pleading leaves him indifferent. 
"I’m not sure it is wise to entrust a sensitive asset such as yourself with a task of this magnitude."
You gasp. Your breath comes out in short puffs.
"Please. Apologies, sir. Hail Hydra... Hail Hydra!" you stammer with a trembling lip. 
Steve Rogers shakes his head. His smirk vanishes as his gaze turns steely. 
Your pleas are like glass shattering against rock. Completely useless. 
"Take her," he orders, moving past you as you’re suddenly grabbed by Hydra soldiers on both sides. 
You have no idea where you’ve been taken. The bumpy ride in a van had been a blur during which you fought a panic attack.
Then there were white halls. So many freaking white halls. And guards everywhere you looked.
You expected to be executed for your transgression. Not this.
Nothing prepared you for the blindingly white room without windows.
The unnerving quiet creeps on you, trapping you in your fears.
Bright lights and loud noises come and go.
You roll in a ball to try and escape them, except there is nowhere to hide. Each time your eyes flutter close longer than a few minutes, the commotion wakes you from your slumber.
They bring you food, bland, white food that you can only handle a few bites of before it turns your stomach. 
And there’s the being alone with your thoughts as they dim by the second.
You’ve never realized how nice it was to just have people around. Now you miss it terribly. Your heart aches for contact, any contact.
You don’t know how long you’re left in this room. Maybe hours. Maybe days.
Either way, time has become an abstract concept by the time the white door opens and Steve Rogers darkens it with his overwhelming presence.
You can’t help the relief that floods your being at finally seeing someone. Even if it tangles with the fierce hatred you have for that someone.
His eyes travel up and down your crumpled form and a hint of something you can’t define flashes across his gaze.
You know how pathetic a sight you must make. Dirty, delirious and defeated on the floor.
"If you’re gonna kill me, kill me," you squawk. You don’t have the strength to infuse your words with more bite, though you want to.
To your astonishment, the leader of Hydra approaches you and bends on one knee in front of you.
Your breath hitches when he brushes his knuckles against your cheek. You close your eyes despite yourself. His warm touch is a soothing balm against your cool skin.
“Now, now. What a tragic waste that would be, doll.” You scowl at the term of endearment. A snarky reply dies on your tongue. Your mouth is too dry to argue.
A yelp of surprise slips past your lips when he picks you up. 
It takes your drowsy mind some minutes to comprehend what is happening. Steve Rogers, Supreme Leader of Hydra, is carrying you bridal style through the corridors of the base. If you had anything left in your digestive tract, you’d probably puke. He’s strolling at a leisurely pace. Exhaustion makes you lean against him.
He peers down at you. 
“I like your name, it suits you," he says, sounding almost fond. You shudder when he whispers it. 
"When will I be interrogated?" You want to learn your fate as soon as possible.  
Steve ignores your question. 
"Don’t exert yourself," he admonishes. "You must properly rest if you’re going to recover." You blink in befuddlement. Properly rested for your execution? What kind of twisted psychopath is Steve Rogers exactly?
"I don’t understand." Tendrils of sleeplessness are blurring the edges of your brain. You yawn. 
"Sleep, doll. We will talk later."
And as much as it pains you, you follow his command as tiredness settles over your body.
You spring awake in an unfamiliar bed.
Everything feels wrong. The sheets and fluffy pillow are too soft. Even your clothes, you realize with horror, aren’t your own.The silk camisole and shorts you’re wearing are nothing like the baggy attire you usually wear in bed. It dawns on you that someone had to undress you while you were unconscious and your face warms. At least your underwear is the same.
Dim blue lights overhead cast a soft glow over the room. You glance around. You’re in a huge bedroom tastefully decorated in pale greys, teal and white hues.
You try to scramble off the bed in alarm, but strong arms wrap around you, restraining you. Your face bumps into a broad, hard chest. You peer up and meet a sharp, cerulean gaze.
"Hey doll, you’re alright. You’re safe,” Steve purrs, holding up your chin and sweeping his thumb across your cheek. Anger bursts through you like a volcano.
You push him off you by kicking both legs and feet like a wild woman. "Don’t touch me, you nazi prick!" you shout, crawling on your hands and knees away from him. There aren’t many places to get away so you leap to a far corner of the room and press your back against a wall. 
You glare daggers at Steve from across the room. He still sits on the bed, one eyebrow quirked.
Mirth dances in his gaze. 
“You know, sweetheart, that filthy mouth of yours…” He sends you a lopsided smirk. “We'll have to put it to better use one of these days.” Your cheeks burn at his innuendo.
“I don’t know what games you’re playing, sir...” you begin, twisting your hands nervously.
“Steve, you can call me Steve.” You wince. You have no desire to get familiar with this monster. He stands up slowly and every hair on your body stands on edge.
“Is this part of the torture?” you ask, your brows knitting together. “Like...the room.” Glancing down, you shudder as you reminisce about the sheer terror and loneliness of being in the room.
When you look up, Steve is right in front you, hands behind his back. You freeze.
“I needed to know what you were made of, babydoll.” He puts one hand near your head on the wall, towering over you. You flinch and your nose scrunches up. His woodsy smell hangs thick in the air. “This is why I showed you mercy.”
He searches your face, lifting up your chin with his other hand.
“Mercy?” you scoff, slapping his hand away. His jaw clenches, annoyance dancing in his orbs.
He then chuckles darkly.
“You’re alive, aren’t you? Despite your many capital offenses against the Supreme State of Hydra.” His warm breath tickles your face. "Fomenting disloyalty, spurring disobedience, concealment of forbidden texts, not to mention your blatant disregard for…"
You release a wry laugh, shaking your head.
"My offenses?" you snap. " What about yours?" You point your finger at his chest accusingly. "Your crimes against humanity." 
Steve’s eyes narrow. You don’t miss the vein bulging on his forehead and the barely contained trembling of his muscles. You try to shrink further into yourself and turn your head away.
"My crimes?" he seethes, gripping your face firmly to make you look at him. A storm’s brewing in his icy stare."I am bringing order and peace to a country that’s been plagued by corruption and decadence for centuries."
Your nostrils flare as you squint. 
"You are locking people up for being different," you counter. "Inhumans, mutants…"
Steve snickers, like you’re the one being ridiculous, unreasonable.
"Dangerous aliens and freaks that could hurt, that have hurt, honest, hard working Americans," he fervently argues. "Unemployment’s rate the lowest it’s been since the 50s. Crime too."
You put your palm on his chest, attempting to shove him away but he doesn’t budge this time. Dread sings in your veins. It hits you that you only escaped earlier because he allowed it. Your pulse picks up speed.
"But at what cost?" you retort. "Enforcing violence and bigotry, taking away all civil liberties and making everyone live in fear."
"You are a stubborn, naive little girl," he sneers. His belittling inflection sends a rush of heat to your face. You see red as your blood boils with blind, unbidden anger. 
"And you’re a fascist pig!" you bellow, your hand flying to slap him hard in the face. 
 You don’t fully grasp the enormity of what you’ve done until Steve’s jaw clenches and he whirls his head back to you. An aura of malevolence whips the air. The darkness of his gaze when it lands on you sends chills up your spine. Your eyes widen in fear as your quaking hands cover your mouth.
In a reckless stupid move, you let your ire consume you. You let yourself forget the direness of your current situation, trapped here with none other than the Supreme Leader of Hydra himself. A man who spared your life on a freakin whim from the looks of it. A man who very much looks like he might reconsider that decision at the moment.
You try to slither away but Steve's bigger, faster, stronger. 
You're laughably outmatched.
He grabs your shoulders and slams you into the wall. Your head spins from the impact. "Let me explain something to you, babydoll… because I think you’re a little confused about what’s happening." His deep baritone lowers dangerously. You shudder. "You are alive because of me, because I gracefully decided to spare you."
You hold your breath as time seems to stretch into infinity. 
"In other words, you are mine." The words sealing your fate melt with the deafening pounding of your own heart. His cerulean orbs roam over your form, lingering on every inch of exposed skin. It’s the first time he looks at you so openly. Your blood runs cold; it’s more than looking. There’s hunger in his gaze, the kind that threatens to swallow you whole. He runs his fingertips across your collarbone, seemingly mesmerized. You’ve stopped moving, terror pinning you in place. "Mind, body, soul and whatever else I wish to take." He wraps his strong fingers around your neck, both squeezing and caressing. "You belong to me, doll," he growls, his face so close to yours, you discern tiny flecks of green in his blue eyes. "And I think it’s time I show you what that means."
You’re suddenly pried off the wall and hauled off your feet. Steve tosses you across his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. You squeal and protest uselessly. 
There’s nothing gentle about the way he throws your body on the bed. You bounce on the soft sheets. 
"Steve...stop this, please," you beg, loathing how desperate you sound. "This is insane."
A cruel grin stretches his plump lips. "Oh, it’s Steve now, darling?" He tilts his head and his tongue sweeps across his lower lip as he leers at your heaving chest. "What happened to all the insults you hurled at me earlier?" he taunts. More singe your tongue but fear smothers the flames of your anger. 
He moves toward you with lithe movements that surprise you considering his size. Steve suddenly crowds you, his bulging arms and broad chest a cage you see no escape from. His potent musk befogs your senses. 
You gasp when his angular nose grazes your neck. His heated breath fans your skin as he inhales you deeply. "You’re so sensitive, doll," he chuckles. "Always on edge at every little touch." He punctuates his words by gripping your waist, pulling you to him further. Your breath hitches. He draws circles on your hips with his thumbs. "Has it been that long since someone touched you, hm?" You despise how smug, how pleased he sounds.
"It’s none of your business, Steve," you mumble weakly, bowing your head in shame. 
He angles your chin up, allowing you no respite. "That’s where you’re wrong, sweetheart." His low rumble causes your skin to prickle uncomfortably. "Everything about you is my business." He lowers his head until his lips brush against the exposed skin above your shorts. He peppers kisses on your stomach, drawing hisses from you when he lightly nibbles the skin. 
"You’re so soft, so perfect for me, babydoll," he praises. You almost let yourself relax but it doesn’t last. The supersoldier treads his fingers along the waistband of the silk shorts. You hold your breath. 
"I don’t want this, Steve," you plead again. Unshed tears adorn the corner of your eyes. 
You inhale sharply when your shorts are yanked down. Steve cups your crotch with his big hand. He rubs you with deliberately unhurried motions.
Lust darkens his hooded gaze as he drinks in every expression on your face. His focus is unsettling. The friction of the material against your folds is building into an unbearable itch. Your eyelids flutter closed as you bite into your lip to stifle any sound.
He lets out a derisive snort.
"It's funny how you keep fighting me when…" He pushes one finger further, almost fingering you through the thin layer of your underwear. A whimper slips past your lips. "You’re soaking wet right now, baby." Embarrassment climbs up your stomach, setting your cheeks on fire. You attempt to close your legs but Steve grips under your thighs to pry you open. Your core still burns from his torturous attentions.
You know he’s toying with you on purpose. Taking what he wants isn’t the punishment, making you feel like you want this, are asking for it, is. 
He scatters more feverish bites and kisses inside your thighs. He drags his teeth excruciatingly deep in one spot and you squawk, snapping your eyes open at the sudden pain.
You peer at his face, it’s twisted in a gleefully sadistic expression. 
He tugs at your panties until they rip. You squeal, your heart thundering in your chest. You rush to cover yourself with your hands in a panic. Steve grumbles his disapproval. He wrenches your wrists away in a grip so crushing, you feel your bones grinding against one another. You sense how close to shattering them he is. 
"I will break them if you do this again," he warns, fury bleeding in his tone. His stern gaze crystallizes your fear; you know he means it. "Do not hide from me, ever. Is it clear, doll?" He glares at you. 
At your silence, Steve growls in displeasure. You nod quickly in response as tears trail down your cheeks. He releases your throbbing wrists. 
You don’t dare moving when he tosses the remnants of your torn panties aside.
"You will learn to obey me," he explains, like he’s giving a lecture. He dives between your legs. He takes a long look at your cunt while licking his lips. Shame swallows you whole, making your flesh tremble.
"You will learn to fear me." He slowly laps at your slit, eliciting sensations that make what he did before tame in comparison. "But most importantly, babydoll, you will learn that you can never refuse me," he grumbles near your core, the vibrations making you gasp. 
He’s taking his time, making this a different kind of torture. You almost wish you were back in the white room because this… it’s too much. It makes your mind a jumbled mess of confusion, terror and - fuck - lust. 
He licks and sucks you meticulously, flicking his tongue over your bundle of nerves to drive you over the edge. You fist the sheets as your hips thrust forward. 
The little breaks he takes to tease you in between, when his hot breath tickles your sensitive areas, are somehow worse.
"I hate mu-" The bitter words dissolve on your tongue. Your thoughts are in disarray, lost in a haze of pleasure. He blows on your folds before tracing circles with his tongue on your clit. Desperate whines spill from your mouth.
The pressure mounts, rising to a pitch in your lower abdomen.
It doesn’t take much longer for you to come apart under his cruel mouth.
Your back arches as waves of delight hit you. You feel weightless as your vision blackens. It’s pure bliss and you ride the sensation with abandon, forgetting where you are and who you’re with.
You are a panting, sweaty mess when you fall backwards on the bed. Your bleary eyes catch Steve greedily tasting your juices. When he sees you watching, his mouth quirks in a lopsided smirk.
You look away, your forehead wrinkling. 
Now that the high is fading, the wet stickiness between your thighs feels all too real.
You start shaking, unable to stop yourself. Your cheeks are wet with fresh, hot tears.
Steve gingerly releases your thighs and draws your limp body to his. He wraps his huge arms around you, your back against his hard chest.
He’s still fully clothed in his tactical suit while you lay half bare in his tight embrace.
He gently wipes your tears with his fingers in a deceptively tender gesture. 
"Hey, It’s okay, sweetheart. You were wonderful," Steve coos, his hold on you firm. He presses light kisses on your shoulder.
You shiver as you notice something big and taut poke into your ass. Fright makes your breath shaky and uneven as you curl more into yourself. Steve rubs your arms to try to soothe you.
"Doll, nothing else needs to happen today… as long as you behave."
The warning hangs in the air like a dark cloud. Today? Despair sets in your bones as his meaning sinks in. You’re suddenly very weary.
Steve strokes your matted, tangled hair. "I know you’re a little upset so you can’t see it," he whispers against your ear, sliding his knuckles along your cheeks, catching more tears. "But this is for your own good."
If you had the strength, the resolve, you would slap him again.
"You need to learn to behave, babydoll." Steve buries his face in the crook of your neck. "But it’s okay, I’ll have plenty of time to teach you."
You feel his mouth stretch in a foreboding smile against your skin as your insides twitch dreadfully.
>> Chapter 2
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lunarisgleaming · a day ago
love song on a broken record (iv)
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fandom : jujutsu kaisen
pairing : gojo satoru x reader
rating : hard explicit
summary :
This… you packing everything up and walking out with your bag to the streets- it was all just a stunt.
You knew deep down inside, he knew it. He just didn’t say anything. Every time, he played along. A part of you wondered if he found it all entertaining. You wouldn’t be surprised.
He was sick in the head.
How ironic. The world depended on him to make things right. Yet all he did was break you.
the one where gojo satoru gets committed and it isn’t all sunshine and rainbows and happiness
disclaimer : this is a dark fic, depicting a borderline yandere satoru. reader herself has her handful of issues, which you will find out about as you read through. the dynamic of the relationship is toxic and not at all meant to be cute or sweet. for more details, I advise that you see here. warnings from here on out will be chapter specific.
warnings : cock sucking, reader's broken stream of consciousness, just the usual
a/n: i'm back! miss me? no? okay have this anyways lol a new chapter. It’s been a while but to make up for it, i’ll try to upload the next one real soon if this does well.  Share your thoughts and reblog if you liked this and think it was worth reading and have a nice day'
| part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven | part eight | part nine | part ten | part eleven | part twelve |
You couldn’t sleep if you tried so you laid on your side on the bed and admired him in the dark.
He was as beautiful as the day you first met him.
It was like a scene straight out of a romance novel. Your whole world had just fallen apart when he walked in and saved you from the rubble. The dazzling knight in shining armor that came to swoop you in just in time.
You watched him sleep and fantasized.
If the circumstances had been different, if it had been a little sunny, if you hadn’t accidently told your parents you wished they would just burn that same morning, if your life had had just a bit more happiness in it-
Would it have been a sweeter, lovelier love story? Where you met at the park or at a café instead of at a funeral after you unknowingly murdered your only family with just your words?
Regardless, you knew one thing wouldn’t change. Right from the start. The moment he stood with a large, comforting hand at your back and he smiled down at you beneath that umbrella. It was love at first sight for you.
You couldn’t say you knew about what it was like for him.
You knew little things. He liked sweets and watching eccentric DVD movies and branded clothes and he worked out a lot.
But for the most part he was a big mystery.
  What he did for a living. If he had a family of his own. Where he went when he disappeared. Did he have another place somewhere?
Why did he keep you around? Why you?
Sometimes you wondered maybe he was only with you for the sex.
He had an appetite for it. Was it a determining factor in a relationship for him?
But that seemed hard to believe.
With his looks and his frame and his appeal, he could get anyone he wanted in the world.
There was a charm to him that was compelling. Ethereal. With his sky blue eyes and his snow-white hair. Unreal. Like he came from a whole other world than the rest. Like he was another breed. The best kind of his own.
So unapproachable and almost farfetched, yet so beautiful with an enthralling allure.
The confident gait, the sure stance, the lofty smirk- it just worked. It was just all so convincing without him having to try.
People just flocked to him. A flurry of moth to irresistible, unearthly flame.
Yet he settled on you.
Plain, boring old you.
You were no fun.
You couldn’t last very long because even having your tits played with made you come. You weren’t very flexible so there weren’t many creative positions he could twist you into. You whined and cried and whimpered when he fucked you like an annoying little bitch.
It’s been over one year and you still couldn’t even suck him off properly.
Sometimes you wondered if he would ever get bored and leave.
That is until he reminded you like clockwork.
‘I’m never leaving you,’ He leaned over to kiss your lip with his eyes closed, lashes brushing your skin. Light and chaste. He must’ve felt you staring. When he pulled away he held your face and looked into your eyes. His gaze was unblinking. Piercing. Like he didn’t just come from sleeping. ‘I love you.’
There it was.
The massive pink elephant in the room that always went over your head.
How could anyone blame you? He was telling you this one moment and then he was manhandling you the next.
You lowered your gaze and stared at his collarbones.
They were attractive. Delicately curved and pale. You reached to trace them, compelled. Your fingers trailed down, barely touching, just grazing enough to elicit goose bumps on his skin. You touched the muscle of his firm chest, idly swirling your finger around one dusky nipple.
When your eyes flickered to his face again, you found him watching you closely. His eyes were a different kind of dark and depthless. Not the dull, distant type. His pupils were blown out with desire. He was horny.
You took this in with muted amusement, repeating the motion while you watched his expression.
He sat up, holding himself up with one muscular arm, the other remaining on your face. His thumb caressed your cheek absentmindedly. You could feel his breathe fan your face, deceptively steady and even. His hair fell over his eyes slightly but you could still see them as he peered down at you.
‘You want to go again?’ he asked you, a little glint of his own flickering in the swirl of his eyes. They were getting darker and darker as you stroked his nipple, his watchful gaze.
You eyes jumped to his crotch. There was a noticeable bulge there.
You shook your head no. But you kept the motion of your fingers going. His breathing stuttered when you gave a graze of your thumbnail.
His hand shot for your wrist. His long, thick fingers encircled your thin wrist easily, apprehending your motions. You watched him quietly. He brought your hand to his lips, brushing the tips across them.
They were soft and warm. He watched you closely beneath his fringe. Darkly.
‘If not,’ he said, biting down on your index finger lightly. ‘Then stop.’
You looked at him.
It sounded like a warning but you weren’t sure.
His cheeks were flushed. His chest falling and rising tellingly. There was a faint line of frustration between his fine brows.
Your stare was blank as you took him.
He looked dangerous. Intimidating. Murderous even.
But you were used to this.
This was how you saw him most times anyways.
Watching you wordlessly across the room when you sat at the window to watch people walk by. Looking down at you from under his nose with his fingers on your throat, asking you who you belong to. Looking up at you from in between your parted legs with his fingers wedged in the deepest part of you, reminding you you're his.
This was the real him.
You moved your hand but you didn’t take it back, settle into the sheets and give him your back.
You moved it down, down, down. Caressing his chin, touching the bob of his throat, grazing the muscle of his chest, stroking the ripped ridges of his abdomen. Your palm settled on the bulge at his crotch over his grey sweats.
You could hear him breathing heavy as you palmed him. His eyes closed and he rolled his hips into your warm hand. His hand on your face slid up in your hair, fingers clenching around the strands, and he husked your name alongside unholy profanities.
He was very hard. When you tugged his waist band down and reached in to retrieve him, he was thick and pulsing with heat, leaking profusely at the tip in your small fist.
Shifting to sit on your haunches, you leaned over and tucked your hair behind your ear before you took him in your mouth.
You massaged the parts of him you couldn’t take with your hand, rolling his heavy, hot balls between your fingers like marbles.
His hand lodged into your hair instantly and he began fucking your face.
You gagged, dripping a thick mix of saliva and cum down your chin.
It was sloppy. Wet. Messy.
A sad attempt like every other time you tried to blow him.
A final attempt to remind him that you weren’t the best out there.
You couldn’t be even if you tried.
And you really did. You liked to believe that you were at least good at being a ready hole for him to fuck.
But you gagged on his cock as he hit the back of your throat and choked on his cum when he spilled down the tight muscle. You felt faint in the head at the sensation, tear brimmed eyes drooping as you struggled to breath.
He pulled you off him by your hair with a string of saliva, tears and cum and brought you in for an open mouthed kiss before you could even wipe yourself with the back of your hand.
He devoured you with all he’s got, shoving his tongue down your throat. You just kept your mouth open for him, taking it. Your jaw ached and you felt so tired.
You could thank him for one thing if not for everything else.
Your eyes fell shut and you were dead to the world.
At least now you could sleep finally.
rihanna - love the way you lie part ii (ft eminem)
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sacrilegious-sadism · 2 days ago
Kinktober 2021
Hello all! I’m going to be writing Genshin characters for Kinktober this year, so here’s the works lined up!
*I tried not to pick any sadomasochism or noncon/dubcon based ones because those themes will be present in most if not all of these works.
Day 1: Knifeplay > Bennett
Day 2: Macro > Chongyun
Day 3: Medical Play > Il Dottore (Top)
Day 4: Incest > Xiao
Day 5: Double Penetration > Razor
Day 6: Free Use > Venti
Day 7: Tentacles > Albedo
Day 8: Somnophilia > Thoma
Day 9: Breathplay > Kaeya
Day 10: Daddy Kink > Xiao
Day 11: Stockings > Diluc
Day 12: Dacryphilia > Bennett
Day 13: Spanking > Kazuha
Day 14: Collaring > Childe
Day 15: Prostitution > Venti
Day 16: Fucking Machine > Kaeya
Day 17: Master/Slave > Scaramouche
Day 18: Pet Play > Gorou
Day 19: Hate Sex > Childe
Day 20: Creampie > Zhongli (Top)
Day 21: Exhibitionism > Chongyun
Day 22: Formal Wear > Zhongli (Top)
Day 23: Bath Sex > Diluc
Day 24: Masturbation > Thoma
Day 25: Bondage > Zhongli (Top)
Day 26: Lingerie > Albedo
Day 27: Public Sex > Bennett
Day 28: Crossdressing > Diluc
Day 29: Praise Kink > Albedo
Day 30: Stuck in a Wall > Bennett
Day 31: Drugging > Xiao
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nsfwsebbie · a month ago
tulsa jesus freak.
summary. | He’d never trade your innocent body for a can of gin. No, instead, he chooses to sing you like his favourite bible hymn.
warnings. | Non/dubcon, coercion, manipulation, gaslighting, smut, innocence kink, corruption kink, Daddy kink, dom/sub, manhandling, angst, virginity loss, unprotected vaginal sex, fingering (reader doesn’t come), dirty talk, praise kink, degradation, creampie kink, *religion, drinking (gin), safewording (but not really), dumbification, humiliation, mild sexism/misogyny, mentions of marriage, and more. 18+, MINORS DNI.
word count. | 9k.
pairings. | Dark!Lee Bodecker x Innocent!Reader.
author’s note. | since my birthday is coming up, here’s a gift from me to you! please don’t forget to reblog! if you take ANY inspiration from my fics (i’ll know, trust me) and you don’t give credit, you will be blocked and i’ll let others know. *the father is a preacher, there is no explicit mentions of religion, no blasphemy, or any disrespect. the sex occurs in the forest.
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White lace decorates your Mother’s gown, only the finest for the wife of Knockemstiff’s priest. You sit on the red leather chair, your knees bent and back hunched over. You peer out the window with your soft yet scarred hands in your lap, thinking of all the world’s possibilities. Instead of trying on dresses for the service on Sunday, you could be picking strawberries at the field, readying the berries for jam.
But your Mother is a woman who has needs along with wants, and she doesn’t like it when anything is in her way. You always bite your tongue when it comes to these things. You’ve found it best that keeping quiet and never voicing your opinion is better than saying one wrong thing and having almost every churchgoer in town show up at your doorstep with pitchforks and torches.
“I think the cream colour is more elegant than the white, don’t you think so, dearest?” she asks, and you turn your head. You look up at her and quickly fix your posture, not wanting to have your ear chewed out on this lovely Thursday afternoon. “Yes, Ma, it looks elegant,” you gracefully tell her, fuelling her ego just how she likes. You always add gasoline to the fire, and it leaves you with no friends.
You know barely anyone in this town. The occasional words exchanged with the shopkeepers and passersby only occur because of your Father’s exalted status. If only they knew that he isn’t as holy as he seems to be and would much rather worship a bottle of moonshine than anything else. “What are you gonna wear, sweetie?” she asks, still admiring herself in the mirror.
“Well, I just thought that I’d wear that dress Nana gave me for my sixteenth,” you admit to her, and she hums in approval. “Good, we can’t be blowing all our money on useless things,” she sighs in relief, and you’re almost tempted to point out her hypocrisy as the price tag on the dress would be enough to make your Nana have a heart attack. “Do we gotta cook for the service?” you ask her, wanting so desperately to be able to bake a pretty pie or candy some yams.
“No need for any cookin’ this time, sweets; we got people bringing their own food for us,” she reminds you, and you nod. Your eyes dart around the store, the room almost empty with only the two shopkeepers and two customers. Your gaze goes to the mannequins that stand by the windows. You can see the old bobby pins holding the back of the outfits together, and you stifle a giggle.
Even the prettiest seeming things aren’t perfect, and you find that to be so cliche. You haven’t even noticed that your Mother is trying to tighten the straps of her dress until the hushed whispers of the store grow quieter. You believe they’re judging you; they always do. “It’s quieter than that little library you always run off to; what’s goin’ on now?” your Mother grumbles, stepping down from the level that made her tower over you.
The most exciting things that occur in this small town known as Knockemstiff are the occasional murders that usually take place on the outskirts of the city. “Oh lordy, it’s the Sheriff!” your Mother squeals, and you furrow your eyebrows. “Sheriff?” you repeat, not really grasping the concept that there is a Sheriff here in Knockemstiff. “Yes, dearest, and we need to get on his good side!” your Mother exclaims, reaching for her red purse.
She hasn’t stopped wearing it since your Father allowed her to splurge on it a few months ago. Father never really allows splurges, only if your family benefits from it for a while. But he just had to let the unnecessary purchase happen, only because your Mother nearly had his hide because he forgot to do something for Valentine’s day. You tried to convince her that he was just busy, and he indeed was. But your words went unheard, and you swore to never speak on such a topic again.
“But–” you start before getting cut off. “No buts! We need him, dearest; we need to have a good connection with him,” your Mother explains quickly, and yet you’re still lost. These ‘affairs’ of your family and the higher-up townsfolk are always so confusing. Your Father is already powerful (though you loathe the way he abuses it), and yet he still wants his empire to grow.
“You doin’ alright there, Mrs. Preacher?” the Sheriff drawls, a toothpick between his lips and his hands on his slightly pudgy waist. You look away. Eye contact is embarrassing, and the Sheriff is so intimidating that even his presence is overwhelming from just a few feet away. You slowly scoot away from him, still seated in your chair. He reeks of sins and cigarettes, maybe even a hint of that moonshine your Father would drink.
The holster on his leather belt holds a pistol. It’s shiny and clean, with not one scratch or scuff on it. He calls your Mother ‘Mrs. Preacher’ with a hint of disgust in his voice. He’s no holy man. God gave up on him a while ago, and he doesn’t care. But he does care about the swindling election creeping up on the county, just a few mere months away. Blue pins with his name written in bold have found their way in your home and heck—even in your room as well.
“All’s well, Sheriff Bodecker. What brings you here? Can’t possibly be buyin’ a dress for yourself,'' your Mother smiles, and even Lee cracks a grin. “Florence wore my patience out years ago with this bullshit; I’m just doin’ my rounds, Mrs. Preacher. You got a problem with that?” he questions, tilting his head to the side. “No problems at all, Sheriff. Sorry if I offended you… This is my daughter!” she exclaims, pointing at you.
“What?” you mumble out loud, looking up at the two elders. “Oh, uh, hi,  Mister-Sheriff Bodecker-Sir,” you stammer nervously as he stares you down like a wolf. “G’day to you too, li’l girl,” he smirks, and you look down in embarrassment. Your Mother clicks her tongue in disappointment, and you just know that you’ll never hear the end of it. Lee’s eyes dart between the two of you, tension seems from the corners, and he can’t help but be confused.
Maybe the happy family scene is just an act…
“She’s just shy… My husband and I were wondering if you’d come to the service this Sunday. You don’t have to stay too long, but I'm sure it'll be very beneficial,” she reasons, with an emphasis on her last two words. Lee nods in understanding, and his eyes flicker back over to you. You’re still looking away, and he doesn’t mind it at all. Knowing how his powerful presence frightens people makes him feel drunk on happiness and ego.
He lets out a small chuckle. “Then I’ll be sure to be there. You got any room for a sinner?” he questions, hooking his thumbs into his belt. “Always,” your Mother gleams, clasping her hands together, almost in a prayer-like manner. “And I trust that your sweet li’l girl will be there too, right?” he asks, turning his head to face you. You sight up straighter at the mention and gulp nervously. “O- Of course, Mister-Sheriff-Bodecker-Sir,” you ramble out. Your Mother sighs in shame, but Lee simply smiles. “Just Sheriff Bodecker or Mr. Bodecker,” he corrects, and you nod.
“Okay, Mr. Bodecker.”
It’s Sunday. You like to assign colours to each day of the week on your little calendar. Monday is orange, Tuesday is yellow, Wednesday is blue, Thursday is green, Friday is purple, and Saturday is pink. But for you. Sunday is white. Maybe it’s the symbolism of the colour, or perhaps it’s because, on Sundays, you’re always forced to wear white. It’s not like you hate the colour; you just get tired of it.
The other girls in town wear different colours, even if most of the time it’s brown. Written in blue pen on the Sunday square is the time of the service. Your Father’s handwriting resembled a chicken scratch when he was younger, is what your Mother says to you constantly. Hers takes a while to decipher, but you’ve grown a skill out of reading it with ease. Your friends would envy your talent of being able to read cursive easily when you were younger, and thinking back, you miss them.
You don’t have friends, not yet and not here, at least. Sometimes, you like to be alone. It’s nice to be by yourself, it’s so very calm and relaxing. You wish you could have a dog, perhaps a Golden Retriever or a German Shepherd. But your Mother hates animals, and so does your Father. So you just use the company of your pillows for the time being. They don’t mind any amount of touch you place on them, and they don’t complain either.
When you were younger, you’d swear that your toys could talk. It was a slight improvement from your imaginary friend, who was named Bethel, but your Father still wasn’t pleased. He demanded you’d be sent to some boarding school to set you straight because at the time, kids your age had learned Santa isn’t real, and the tooth fairy is really just their parents. Your Mother had begged him not to, and you miss those times where she had a heart, and she had a soul.
When she was calloused and egoistical. But you can’t blame her; your Father has that type of sway with his words.
She calls out your name, harshly and her voice turns into a croak towards the end because of the strength she uses. “Are you ready? We have to go set up!” she questions, looking at the watch on her wrist. It’s a gold colour, but that doesn’t mean it’s made of gold or plated with it, either. All the gold jewellery is in the safe, as per your Father’s request. You look at yourself in the mirror, not liking the way the tag of your dress is poking into your skin. You’d try to cut it off, but the jagged edge would be just as annoying.
You reach as far as your arm can let you, and you fold it so that the corners don’t bother you. The skirt of the dress is a bit too long for your liking. It hangs a few centimetres beneath your knees, and it leaves your calves exposed. You’re not wearing your stockings because they have a rip in them, and you’re too nervous about borrowing a pair from your Mother. “Yes!” you yell back, grabbing your purse and your sweater.
You have a small snack in your bag, along with a few other necessities. The purpose of the sweater is to keep you warm because, for some odd reason, the church is always a frigid temperature. You follow your Mother to her car, and you buckle your seatbelt up before she speeds off. The car smells nice and clean; perhaps there’s a new air freshener. A green pine tree hangs on the mirror, and you fight the urge to grab it. “When we get there, you have to go to the forest,” she starts, and you furrow your eyebrows together.
You’re not too fond of the forest, only because of the alarming amount of dead raccoons you always find. “Why?” you question, looking out the window to see women and men of different ages and sizes walking in different directions. It’s Sunday, so most of them might be going to the park. You’ve always wanted to go there, but your Father never lets you. One day you’ll sneak out. You’re sure of it.
“Because we need twigs,” she bluntly answers, staring straight at the road ahead. “Why do you need twigs?” you ask, shifting your gaze from the outside world to her. “For a fire,” your Mother tells you. “Why do you need to light a fire? Fires are for camping and for cooking,” you press, letting your curiosity get the best of you. “Just stop asking questions. It’s annoying and quite frankly none of your business,” she snaps, and you fight the urge to roll your eyes.
Defensive as always. For what reason is beyond even you.
“Where’s your accent gone to? Hm? New York?” you sneer, noticing that her drawl is no longer laced between her semi-hurtful words. “Shut your mouth. I need to make a good impression. I need to stand out,” she informs you, and your face is downturned into a confused, frazzled frown. She makes no sense; one moment, she’s saying one thing, the next, she’s changing her tune. “I thought you said we gotta blend in,” you murmur loud enough for her to hear. “Yes, and things have changed since then. So you need to hide that pathetic accent, and you need to speak like somebody from the big city,” she demands, slightly raising her tone.
You nod, and you keep quiet the rest of the ride. It’s better to leave your Mother to stew than anything else.
There’s another car there, and you recognize it before your Mother can even park next to it. “The Sheriff…” you whisper, stepping out of the vehicle. Your feet hit the gravel and mix the small stones around as you wobble just a tiny bit. “Run along, now,” she orders, closing the trunk with a loud slam. “Don’t I have to greet the Sheriff and Dad?” you wonder out loud, and your Mother rolls her eyes.
“Go,” she eventually tells you, and you run as fast as your feet can go. You step inside, and your skin already pebbles up into goosebumps, but you don’t have the patience to put your sweater on. You see your Father and the Sheriff speaking to each other in low tones, both looking equally as stressed as your Mother. “Hi, Mr. Sheriff Bodecker-Sir,” you nervously say, catching both of their attentions. Lee flicks his dark eyes towards you, and his bitter mood turns sweet at the sight of your smile.
“Good morning, sweetie,” he greets, tilting his head upwards, and your Father grumbles some sort of nonsense. “Go do what your Mother told you, make sure they’re not flimsy and disgusting,” your Father instructs, and you nod your head. “Go do what?” Lee curiously asks, placing his hands on his hips and clenching his jaw. He catches the way you wring your hands together, and he knows you’re intimidated by him. “I have to go collect twigs for a fire,” you explain to him, and he nods.
“Why not branches?” he questions, shifting his posture just a little bit. He stands straighter, and his tummy juts out only a tiny bit more. “I can’t cut them,” you inform, and he nods his head again. “Let me help you out; you’ll need to collect plenty for a fire,” he offers, even though it’s not really an offer and more of a suggestion than anything else. He doesn’t leave any room for you to either accept him or reject him; he just walks past you and out the door.
You follow Lee like a lost puppy dog, trying to keep up with the long strides that quickly take him to the forest. “How old are you, sweetheart?” he asks, taking his baton out. He uses it to smack at the tree branches that interrupt his path, and you have to wait until they stop shaking to pass by them. You tell him your age, and you don’t ask for his in return because it’s not the proper thing to do. “I’m forty. I know you wanted to ask, so there ya’ go,” he meekly tells you, and you nod even though he can’t see you.
“Have you ever done this before?” Lee questions and you have to pause to think. “Well, both yes and no. I use to look around for twigs when I was younger, but I’ve never had them ask me to go find a plethora of them,” you explain to him, looking down at the ground. The grass and dirt of the forest are covered in many dried leaves. Some are crunchy, and some aren’t. You fight the urge to jump on most of them because you know it won’t leave a nice impression on Lee.
“‘Plethora,’ you’re pretty smart, aren’t ya?” he wonders out loud, quoting the word you used in an almost envious tone. You open your mouth to answer, but he beats you to it. “I get, you’re from the big city or whateva,’ and maybe that means shit to some people, but it doesn’t mean anything to me. Alright? Tell your Father and Mother that. They’re too dumb to realize it,” he snaps, clearly frustrated with other things that you don’t even want to know. You obviously won’t tell them those exact words; you’d rather face the wrath of the Sheriff than the wrath of your parents.
Some leaves are wet. Perhaps from some light showers that happened a day or two ago. They stick to the bottom and sides of your shoes, but you don’t care enough to take them off. “Where are you even from anyways? San Francisco?” he rudely interrogates, and suddenly you feel like you’ve committed some sort of crime. Maybe thievery, or perhaps arson. A kind of guilt that would usually accompany those crimes weighs on your chest, and you’re not sure why.
You haven’t done anything wrong; you’ve simply just followed orders that everyone keeps throwing at you.
You wonder if your parents have that guilt. Or maybe they’ve got it as a burden instead. But they walk with a jump in each step, and they do more work than you can ever fathom doing, so there can’t be anything holding them down. No conscience, no guilt, no luggage, nothing. You, on the other hand, drag your feet when you walk. You rarely ever skip down the sidewalk, and you don’t jump around either. Every morning you wake up with butterflies in your stomach.
But they aren’t the good kind, so maybe instead of butterflies, you have moths. And unlike your parents, you just can’t lie without feeling bad.
“We’re from Tulsa, Sir,” you inform him with a whisper in your tone and an awkward smile on your face. There aren’t anymore leaves on the ground, and you begin to search for twigs. You’re unsure if you’re going to find enough for a fire, but you’ll try your hardest either way. Besides, it’s better to have something than nothing, right? “Tulsa? Like in Oklahoma?” he double-backs, not sure if he heard you right. Lee never would’ve thought you and your family are from Tulsa, of all places.
It seems almost criminal for you not to be from a big city where everyone is constantly bustling. You’ve got a sort of simple glamour to you that is meant to be strutted on the streets of New York, not on the rough, broken-down roads of Knockemstiff or Tulsa. Your family certainly doesn’t act like they’re from Tulsa; perhaps they’ve forgotten where they’ve come from. Money does have the known side effect of amnesia, no?
“Yes, Sir,” you affirm, nodding your head and kicking at some stone to find more twigs. You have around six or seven in your hand so far, and Lee has none. His palms are sweaty and hot, but yours are cold and dry. The weather gets you like that sometimes, but the Sheriff just runs hot. “Never thought you’d be from Tulsa. You belong in that New York place that everyone is flocking to,” he jokes under his breath with intentions of letting you hear him. You catch his words, and you let out a giggle because everyone says the same as well.
Lee smiles, appreciating the way you know he’s lighthearted.
“You gotta get more than that. That ain’t gonna do shit,” Lee points out, even though he doesn’t make any movements or attempts to help you out. You’re tired, and all you want to do is go home and sleep for the rest of the day. “About how many should I collect?” you ask him because he’s older and he knows better. He’s worldly, and you’re sure he can lend you some wisdom and expertise. “O’er twenty for sure,” he estimates, squinting his eyes to look at the handful of sticks in your hand.
“You got any friends? Or are you a loner? What about a job? Do you go to university or college?” The Sheriff suddenly bombards you with questions, and you stutter as you try to understand what he wants from you. “No, I don’t have any friends. But I’m not a loner. I don’t have a job, and I graduated college,” you explain to him as you try to keep your feet steady against the bumpy ground. You sort through sticks to find some twigs, and you only end up drawing two from your search.
“Hm, well, I can be your friend if you want. Besides, your parents are going to be inviting me over these coming days, and I don’t want it to be awkward,” Lee offers, and your ears perk up as his words sink in. “Really? Oh, wow, thank you so much, Mr. Bodecker-Sheriff-Sir!” you exclaim to him, turning around and wrapping your arms around his squishy, soft stomach. The hug lasts for only a fleeting moment, just a few seconds. You pull away from him, and you’re smiling so very brightly that Lee just knows you lied to him when you said you’re not a loner.
“Just call me Lee, since we’re friends now,” he tells you, and you nod. “Okay, Lee.” His name feels weird as it rolls off your tongue. Too casual. You feel the need to refer to him by something that carries respect, not friendliness. But you brush off the weirdness of it, knowing that you’ll get used to it eventually. “Look, over there. There’s a bunch of twigs yonder,” Lee points out, nodding in the direction of a shed with two large trees on either side. You look over, not sure how he sees any twigs from so far.
“C’mon,” he urges, stepping in front of you. Lee walks ahead of you, and you quickly follow behind him. You’ve now got around eleven twigs in your head, and they’re all poking your skin in a not-so-very gentle manner. The shed has rust all over it, the silver turning into a copper-brown colour that looks hard to clean. You remember one time your Father made you clean an old, rusted pan that he found in the garage. It took you hours, and by the end of it, you were absolutely exhausted.
Lee leans forward just a bit, bending down and using the black baton to push off some leaves and broken sticks. “There,” he says, slapping the wand on the ground and standing back up. You hesitatingly pick up the few twigs he’s uncovered, and you have a handful and a half. Your bag is resting on your elbow, and your sweater is wrapped around your waist. You don’t want it to get dirty, which is why you aren’t wearing it. “Thanks, Lee, I really appreciate it,” you express, pressing your lips together to give him a kind smile.
Lee nonchalantly waves his baton, and you’re surprised at how laid back and calm of a person he is. You expected him to be strict, a stickler for the rules, and as someone who’d constantly hover over you while you do simple things. Just waiting for you to mess up so he can smoke you out for your mistake. “You move around a lot, don’t you, sweet thing?” he questions after a few wordless moments.
Not silent, wordless.
You can hear each others’ chests rising and falling, both of your mouths slightly parted as you pant just a tiny bit. The wind whistles, shaking a few leaves and makes them rustle. “Yeah, we only settle down for a few months before we’re going somewhere else. It’s tiring, you know? I feel like I can barely catch my breath or sit down for a few seconds. Always taping boxes, writing ‘fragile’ on them, packing my suitcases,” you voice, knowing you could never say these things to your parents unless you want to have them yell at you.
“Well, I’m really sorry about that…” Lee meekly tells you, not sure what else to say. “I- It’s alright, not like it’s your fault, heh. I just want to have a normal life, not one that’s constantly changing,” you murmur to him, wondering about how different things would be—how different you would be if your Father wasn’t forcing you to change locations all the time. Lee thinks nice and hard about a way to change the topic because he can just feel the awkwardness growing by the second.
“You didn’t buy yourself a dress from the store? For the service?” he questions, and you look at him. “Nope,” you shake your head while popping the ‘p.’ You turn your body as you continue to look for more twigs, aiming to add at least fifteen or twenty before you go back to where your parents are waiting. He sucks in a sharp breath, and he clicks his tongue in a disappointing manner. Your furrow your eyebrows. Did you say something wrong? “Such a shame, there was this black one with lace on it. It was on one of the mannequins in the window. It would’ve looked lovely on you,” he explains to you, and you know just which dress he’s talking about.
“Oh, yeah, I liked that one,” you reply, squinting your eyes as you continue on with your search. “Bet your Mother buys more things for herself than she does for you, right?” The Sheriff questions and you nearly choke on your saliva. “Uhm, no, that’s not the case at all, Lee,” you inform him, trying your best to lie. “I’d get you anything you want, you know? Because that’s what friends do.” Lee has a sort of wicked smile on his face, lopsided and bright.
He takes a step closer towards you, mashing some poor leaves beneath his leather shoes. They’ve got steel tips, too, just like your Father. “R- Really?” you ask, stepping backwards to preserve some form of personal space. “Mhm, friends do so many things for each other; to each other…” he whispers. His voice drops to a low tone, breathy and not at all harsh. It’s calming, so very calming. “I never knew that,” you shyly admit to him, no longer looking for twigs. You’ve forgotten about them, in all honesty.
“There’s this special thing that friends do when they first grow a bond, like the bond we have right now! Do you want to do it?” Lee asks, hopeful and starry-eyed. You let out a small gasp, not knowing what he’s talking about yet still wanting to do it. It seems like your parents will be staying in Knockemstiff for a while… So you might as well strengthen your newfound friendship with Lee as soon as possible, right?
You nod your head excitedly, nearly making yourself giggle. Lee smirks at your eagerness, knowing that you’re absolutely clueless about what he’s going to do to you. “What is it? Is it like a game?” you ask him, more curious than a cat. He doesn’t say anything. No, nothing at all. Instead, he drops his beloved baton on the forest’s floor, and he pushes you against the shed. Your back bumps up against the zinc, but you’re not hurt by his suddenness. “Just… Watch, and feel sweetheart,” Lee hums gleefully, and you’re just a tad hesitant.
But he’s your friend, and you need to trust him. So you release yourself from your own binds and just go with what he’s doing. Friends don’t harm each other… Right?
Two warm hands scrunch up the cloth of your dress, forming a pile of white polyester at your lower abdomen. Your crotch area is exposed, and goosebumps immediately find a home on your skin. “Hold that,” he orders, and you listen to him. His hands get replaced with yours, and Lee can feel his blood rushing down to his cock from being so close to touching your pussy. His nimble yet slightly chubby fingers hook into the waist of your cotton panties, and he slowly pulls them down.
You watch him as he lets your underwear fall at your ankles, and your cunt is exposed. He stares you directly in your eyes, only intimidating you and not comforting you at all. But despite your slowly growing discomfort (and slight fear as well), you remain as silent as a grave, and you don’t dare to say anything against what he’s doing.
Those same fingers of Lee’s have been stained with blood and dirt before. They’ve been stained with tears and whipped cream. They’ve been cut up and broken before. Now, they are soaked with your wetness as he lightly touches your folds. He’s not sure why you’re wet, but he likes to think that it’s all because of him. “You’re soaked, sweetie. Why’s that?” Lee questions, a sort of condescending tone lingering between his words.
“Uhm… I- I don’t know, Lee- Isn’t this, like, bad? Since it’s out of wedlock and all…” you nervously ask him, worried about all the things your parents have told you in your life. “Nope, because we’re friends, darling!” he cheers, a bright smile on his face. You let out a sigh of relief, your nerves no longer set on fire due to your unnecessary overthinking. “Just relax for me, and let me do what I need to do,” Lee urges, and you lean your head against the zinc behind you to calm down.
Lee traces his fingers up and down your lips, just barely grazing your swollen clit. He knows he shouldn’t waste any time because these days, it seems to fly quickly. His digits decide to leave your little button alone, and he brings them to your drooling hole. He also knows he shouldn’t take his precious time with every move, which is why he pushes his two fingers inside you without warning. You cry out loudly at the sudden pain that fills you. You feel like you’re being intruded by a rude passerby, perhaps one with eyes that can’t leave anything unseen.
“L- Lee, it hurts!” you whine to him, wondering if you’re being ripped in half. He says nothing, and he lowers himself onto the ground. His left knee rests against the pile of leaves, and he watches the way your pussy hugs his fingers tightly. He’s as stiff as a rock, if not more. He’d love to push you to your limits and even past them, too. Lee strokes your inner walls as he lets you get adjusted to him. With him, you’ll always be filled up with something.
“Does it still hurt, sweetheart?” the Sheriff mockingly asks, but you’re too oblivious to notice the way he taunts you and your weakness. “N- Not as much as before… It kind of feels good, like, tingly?” you describe to him as best as you can, and he just wants to fuck that innocence out of you as soon as possible. ”Aw, I’m glad you’re feeling it now. And plus, I’d much rather see you writing in pain in other ways,” he whispers under his breath. You don’t catch his words because you’re too busy trying to catch your breath.
Lee doesn’t think he’s a sadist; no, of course not. He just believes that you’d look so pretty crying for him to stop hurting you. The burning sensation has turned into something gratifying, and you wonder if Lee has magic laced between his wickedly clever words. Lee’s cock strains against his brown pants, and he has a feeling you’ll be the death of him. “This li’l cunt of yours is so tight, baby. I bet you’ve never touched it before, right? Well, I’ll be damned. I guess first come, first serve really does apply to everythin’,” he casually chatters, talking as though he isn’t knuckle-deep inside of you in the middle of a forest.
“I’d love to ruin this little hole a’ yours. You’d make me the happiest man alive if you let me,” he hums, pressing his lips together as your wetness soaks his hand. “What the fuck am I even sayin’? You don’t gotta give me permission or anything. This is my little pussy. And I’ll do whatever I want with it, even if it isn’t too holy,” he chuckles, and you nod in agreement because you’d trust him with your life, especially since he’s your friend.
Lee slowly begins to thrust his digits in and out of your virgin hole, admiring the squelching sounds and sheen that your arousal causes. Your breath hitches at the growing pleasure, and your hips buck towards him. “Already a slut for me, aren’t ya?” the Sheriff chortles, and you squeeze your hands into tight fists. The twigs poke into your soft skin, and you let out a hiss. You drop them right by his feet, and you look down to where they’ve fallen. Instead of your eyes meeting the ground, they cross with Lee’s, and you find yourself entranced.
You both gaze at each other longingly, and Lee pushes his fingers back into your pussy. Your jaw drops, and you let out a gasp at the lovely stimulation. The man beneath you curls his fingers, and he quickly finds that sweet spot. Your knees buckle, and you nearly give away. “That feels so good, doesn’t it, sweetie? I know it does, and it’ll feel even better in a few seconds,” Lee whispers, shallowly fucking his fingers into your pussy. He tries his hardest to multitask, but he can only really focus on the way you’re slowly turning into a slut just for him.
“Feels- Feels so good, Lee,” you whimper, gyrating your hips against his hand out of pure helplessness. You have no idea as to what you’re doing, but you let your body take control. “Call me ‘Daddy,’ okay?” he orders, and you nod. It’s a bit peculiar, but you’d do anything to make your friend happy. “Okay, Daddy,” you agree before you bite down on your bottom lip. The pads of his fingers stroke your walls and your g-spot roughly. Yet, his movements are still a bit slow as he has no plans to make you come just yet.
You’ve never experienced anything like this. You wonder if this is what heaven feels like because, damn, this pleasure must be from there. And if it’s a place on Earth, it must be wherever Lee goes. Maybe he hails from there. You’ve never met a man so nice like him. He’s the first to ever make you feel anything.
A certain pressure fills your stomach, and your skin lights on fire with a sort of sensitivity. Your legs twitch every now and then, and they nearly clamp down on Lee’s arm. He switches motions, from scissoring his digits to pushing them into you. You’re panting like a bitch in heat, and your cunt is soaking wet. You feel messy, but you don’t care. “Uhm, Daddy? Why does it feel so overwhelming?” you worryingly ask him as a knot in your stomach grows. You’re not sure what it is, and you try your hardest to pinpoint the feeling.
You feel like you need to use the bathroom, and the last thing you want to do is embarrass yourself in front of your new friends. And if you do, you know he’ll leave just like the rest of them. “That’s because of my fingers, baby. Don’t worry, okay? Just relax and let it happen,” the Sheriff reassures, even though you’re still uneasy about it. Something about it puts you off, and even though you want to try your hardest, you don’t want to risk anything. “I don’t think I can, Daddy… I’m really sorry!” you exclaim to him, worried that he’s upset with your words.
And he is. He’s so very upset with not only your words but with you as well.
Lee sighs heavily, with disappointment and a touch of sadness written on his features, too. “I’m really, really sorry!” you apologize once again, even though your words just can’t correctly grasp how distressed you are. He clicks his tongue, and he shakes his head. He feels a bit bad for you, but he also feels hurt that you won’t push your boundaries for him. You’re supposed to be his special one, and you’re supposed to do absolutely anything for him.
A harsh wind cuts through the silence, and Lee almost wants to ignore your pleas and continue to toy with you however he likes. But he’s not that cruel, and he’s not stupid, either. He knows if he messes up once, it’ll forever be engraved in your mind.
Suddenly, he pulls his fingers out of your pussy. He leaves you empty and gaping, and you miss the full feeling that you enjoyed. His hand is sticky with your juices, and the sight of your arousal on him makes him feral. “It’s okay, sweetie, I understand,” he softly tells you, and he even graces you with a charming smile. You wonder how he isn’t married, especially since Lee is so perfect.
Every woman in Knockemstiff either has no taste, or they’re just plain stupid.
“N- No, it’s not okay! Because I ruined it… Will it ruin our friendship? Oh, God, please don’t let that happen! Please, Lee- I mean, Daddy. I can’t lose you. You’re my only friend...” you beg him, only now realizing how grave your mistake is. You want to take back your words so badly, but you know that it’s too late for that. Tears sting your innocent eyes, and your throat aches as you feel a sob build up there. All it can take is one sentence before the waterworks start.
Lee realizes that he can simply just play you like a fiddle. Your naivety may be a curse for you, but it’s a gift for him. “Well, I can’t say for sure what it means for our future. Y’know, that was supposed to be a special moment! But you ruined it, sweetie,” he tells you with sadness on his tongue. Your face forms a frown, and you look away from him to try and push out your heavy emotions. “But, we can fix it,” he adds, and you flash your gaze towards him. “Really?” you ask in disbelief, hopeful that maybe your friendship won’t be going to waste.
“Yes, sweetie, we sure can fix it. You want that, don’t ya? Well, all you gotta do is let me use you how I please,” he briskly explains, and you immediately nod your head. Your heart soars, perhaps like one of the seagulls by the beach, and maybe you’re the happiest person in the whole wide world. “How do I do that, Lee? Sorry, Daddy. Please tell me, I don’t want to spoil anythin’ of ours anymore. Oh, and thank you for givin’ me another chance! I’m really grateful!” you ramble, your face bright even though you haven’t really acknowledged what you’re asking for.
Hearing you call him ‘Daddy” makes Lee want to sin over and over again, without asking for forgiveness from anyone at all. His pants and boxers are just too uncomfortable, and his cock is basically begging to be buried in your canal. Lee abruptly stands up, towering over you like the true monster he is. You gulp thickly, nervous, and just a tiny bit erratic. He moves a little closer to you, and his stomach touches yours. “Turn around and lift up your skirt,” he orders, with his eyes blown out into absolute darkness.
You nod, and you slowly do as he said. He watches you like a hawk, and he stares at your ass as it’s gradually uncovered. He’d love to spank you and play with your butt until you’re begging him to stop, but he knows he shouldn’t get too ahead of himself. Lee’s feet kick at your ankles gently, and he urges you to spread your legs further apart. You do exactly that, and you can feel chills running throughout your body. Patiently, of course, you wait for either his next move or demand. You’re not sure if you should say or do anything else, so you decide to keep quiet until he speaks.
Lee quietly drags his zipper down before he undoes his button and fiddles with his belt. He does it all as quickly as he can, with his chest heavy and face slightly flushed. The vein on his temple bulges out from his arousal, and Lee swears he can’t recall the last time he’s felt this way. He struggles just a little bit before finding the groove of his movements at last. His pants fall down his legs, and he lets his boxers join them, too. Lee’s cock bounces up, hard and leaking, and it slaps against his stomach.
One of his big hands grip the base of it, and he watches as a bead of pre-cum slowly rolls past his slit. He’s a raging red, perhaps almost purple colour. “Daddy?” you eventually call out, wondering if he’s okay. “I’m here, li’l baby, I’m here,” he reassures before taking a step closer towards you. “Hold onto the shed, and don’t make a sound unless it’s my name,” Lee commands, and you do exactly that. You splay your hands on the grey yet copper-coloured zinc, and you press your lips together until they form a thin line.
Lee guides the fat tip of his cock to your soaking wet pussy, and the foreign feeling of something so bulbous has you a bit nervous. He knows that if you saw his cock, you’d panic. He slowly pushes it inside you, watching as your cunt stretches around him. You hug him tightly, and Lee moans loudly. You’re biting down on your lip roughly, trying not to make any noises at all, but it’s hard. “Fuck, you’re so tight,” he groans, swiping his tongue against his bottom lip. You have no idea what he means, but you have a feeling it’s about something good.
“Just grippin’ me like a fuckin’ fist, hm?” he jokes, bucking his hips into you. His girthy, thick cock sheaths itself entirely inside your pussy, and you feel like you’re either going to burst or split in half. His groin rests against your ass, and Lee tosses his head back. Tears sting your eyes from this sudden pain that burns you without remorse. “D- Daddy…” you whimper out to him, scared that maybe something terrible will happen. “Shh, shut your stupid fuckin’ mouth, it’s okay. You’re okay, just keep quiet and let me fuck you,” he sneers, and you whisper out a quick apology.
You feel full, maybe a little too full for your liking. The kind of fullness that you lost moments before this, but just at a tenfold. “It’s too much, Daddy,” you finally cry out, and Lee quickly shuts you up by clamping a hand over your mouth. “Can’t fucking listen, can’t ya? Gonna have to fix that another day,” he grunts, fed up with your obstinate ways. He waits just a few more seconds, perhaps ten or twelve by his horrible counting, and he decides to just get on with taking what he wants.
He slowly pulls his cock out of your pussy, until just the tip is left inside you. The feeling is funny, but you quickly adjust to it. Suddenly, he thrusts into your cunt roughly, and he begins to fuck you. His other hand grips your waist tightly, and he knows that you’re going to have the prettiest bruises when he’s done with you. “Fuck,” he groans, and he watches as he slides in and out of you effortlessly. His cock is coated in your wetness, and he can’t wait until he’s covered in your cum. You’re wailing loudly behind his hand, except no tears are leaking from your eyes.
A mixture of pain and pleasure is what you’re feeling. “Good girl, good fucking girl. Take it, take my cock like the whore you are,” he spits, biting down on his wet bottom lip to keep himself from spewing even more profanities. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills both of your ears, but you’re just focusing on the way he feels so good inside you. It’s better than having his fingers inside you, so much better. The tip of his cock finds your sweet spot, and he pounds against it mercilessly. You clench down on him from the feeling, but you’re only really adding fuel to the hot fire that burns inside him.
“Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!” you moan, though your words are muffled, and he can barely hear you. His cock drives in and out of you quickly and harshly, just how he likes it. His paws hold you like you’re a toy, and he doesn’t care for the way you’re struggling to catch your breath. Each time his cock is shoved back into your sweet pussy, you feel like the wind is being knocked out of you. Drool leaks from your mouth, and it stains his palm like how your wetness stains his cock. “Best pussy I’ve ever fuckin’ had, I swear. Look atcha, eyes rollin’ back in yer head like you’re fuckin’ possessed or somethin’ like that,” Lee snickers, slowing down his thrusts.
His cock doesn’t pound into you as roughly as it should be, and your body is disappointed. You press your chest further against the shed, and you push your ass backwards. You try your hardest to get him to continue, and you’re not sure why, but you’re desperate. Lee lets out a wicked laugh, and he admires the way you’ve turned into his slut in the matter of half an hour. He shallowly plunges upwards, and he lets his cock kiss your g-spot so very lightly that it makes your legs quiver. “You want it so badly, don’t you? Bet your father would go insane if he knew about what I’m doing to you.
Both of your chests rise and fall, and you’re also glistening with sweat. Lee’s movements have ceased, and his lower body is still. “Look at us, just being the best of friends. Do you like this, baby? Well, I know you ain’t gotta answer because I can see how much you love my cock being inside this lovely pussy. It belongs to me now, okay? All of you belong to me. I'm gonna do something, and you better not complain or fight me. But you’re my good little girl, so I know you’ll listen to me,” Lee hums, and you sigh from behind the muzzle that is his hand.
The veins on his cock throb inside you, and you can feel it. You’re hugging him so nicely, just as snug as a sleeve. He removes his paw from your mouth, and you take a deep breath. “Nice, right? Now, I want you to make some pretty noises. Say my name as much as you can. I want to hear it all,” he requests gently, though it’s more like a demand. You nod your head obediently, and you’ve got a smile on your face. Lee fights the urge to pinch your cheeks because he just finds you to be oh so adorable.
The cutest he’s ever had in his hands (and on his cock).
He starts to use you like a ten-cent whore once again, only this time he’s more considerate of you than before. That strange tightening inside you comes back, and you’re nervous. The grip Lee has on you is brutal, absolutely brutal. It hurts so badly, but it’s not enough to wash out the lovely pleasure you’re feeling. You feel like fireworks are being set off on your each and every nerve—sparking up, flying off, and then exploding—and it’s hard to admit that you love the feeling just like how Lee loves his alcohol.
“You know how long I’ve wanted to do this? Ever since I saw you move in, I knew I had to turn you into my fuck toy. And look at yourself now, getting fucked outside of a church when you’re supposed to be a good li’l girl,” he whispers in your ear, and you let out a gasp. Your jaw falls slack, and with one specifically harsh thrust, your eyes fall back into your head. Lee laughs at this dumb look on your face, but his cheerfulness dies down as soon as you clench around his cock tightly.
A moan leaves his mouth, and it has you whimpering. “C- Could barely hold back anymore. Y’know, I had a nice plan, too? We was gonna go to some nice motel, one up by Brewer Heights or some overripe place like that. Maybe I would’ve taken you on a date, but I don’t think your parents would’ve been too fond of knowing that I’d be the first and last man to stuff this pussy full of cock and cum,” he chuckles, almost like some movie villain who is revealing their mastermind plan.
You don’t understand some of the things he’s saying, why wouldn’t your parents be fond of him?
Your eyebrows knit in confusion, and he marvels at how braindead you are. “Goddamn, baby. Really are going stupid ‘cause of my cock, aren’t ya? You’re definitely a keeper, never letting you out of my sights until I get a ring on that finger,” Lee ponders out loud, and your heart jumps at the thought of marrying him. Your Mother has always said it’s better to marry a friend rather than a foe or a stranger. Lee is your friend; he’s your best friend. It would work out well. You know it would. “W- Want that so badly, Daddy. I wanna be yours,” you hazily mumble to him.
“Well, I got a really nice way to make you mine,” Lee informs you, shallowly and sloppily thrusting his hips. He feels his balls tightening up, and he knows he’s just as close as you are. “I’m gonna fill you up with my cum; I’m going to stuff you full with it. And I’ll even watch it leak out too. Everybody will watch it leak from this messy pussy a’ yours,” he husks, and he begins to bring you closer to him. You meet him up at each thrust, and every part of your body is sensitive. “D- Daddy, it’s happening again! I- I don’t think I can do it,” you worryingly tell him, even though your pussy is desperately gripping onto his thick cock.
Lee ignores your words, and he continues to fuck you. Your moans grow louder and louder, making you sound like the slut you are. “Come for me, baby, come all over my cock. Do it, now,” he orders, and your body complies. Your pussy convulses around him, fluttering from pleasure, and you wail from the overwhelming sensation. “Daddy!” you cry out to him, and he hushes you as he hits his own climax. As your juices coat his cock, white ropes of cum shot from his tip and paint your walls. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he groans, resting his head against your slightly sticky shoulder.
He looks downwards, and Lee watches as your fluids mix with each other. His movements halt, and the Sheriff sighs with satisfaction. There’s a slight tinge of blood that colours his cock, but he pays no mind to it. He pulls his softening member out of you and quickly drags your panties up your legs. “Put yer skirt back down. You’re okay. You did a good job, baby. I’m proud of ya,” he admits with a meek smile on his face. “Heh, thank you, Daddy!” you cheer, even though you’re exhausted and in pain. He places himself back in his boxers, and he dresses back up.
You turn around, and lean against the shed that you’ve grown fond of. Lee hoops his belt back together, and he reaches into his pocket. You watch his carefully, feeling his cum leak out of your pussy. It stains your panties, and you squeeze your thighs together to stop it from dripping down to your legs. Lee pulls out a can of gin, and he unscrews the cap of it. He takes a swift swig from it, and you watch as he puckers his face up from the taste. His eyes catch yours, and he stares at you for a bit.
You give him a soft grin, and he squeezes his left hand into a fist. Lee pulls the container away from his mouth, and he disappointingly shakes his head. Before you can even ask him anything, he throws the gin to the side like it means nothing to him anymore. “Is everything okay?” you question, innocently tilting your head as if you didn’t just get your pussy pounded by him. “Yeah, just tryin’ to be holy or whatever it is,” he lies, before deciding to walk off without you. You quickly follow him, not knowing what else to do without him. You’re helpless, and you don’t choose him like how he chose you, you’ll be blown in the wind as you once were.
But you should know he’ll never trade your body for a can of gin. No, not when you’ve got him all over you.
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Spinning my head around
Previously: Oh, what a night, ‘Cause I remember, Never gonna be the same, Like a rolling bolt of thunder, Seemed so wrong, I got a funny feeling
Warnings: non-consent sex and rape; drugging, fingering, loss of virginity, creampie, blood, blowjob, violence/torture, oral, just Brock being overall awful, object insertion, cumplay, humiliation.
This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. It features Brock Rumlow. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Synopsis: Just when you think things can’t get worse, they do.
Note: I have attached relevant warnings and I wan’t to reiterate to those who have complained to please heed them. I know this is on the darker end of the spectrum.
Thanks to everyone for reading and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)
I really hope you enjoy. 💋
<3 As usual, I’d appreciate if you let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya.
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The job hunt is never easy but knowing that the years you spent flitting around the city from one resident home to the next came to nothing makes it harder. Freida wouldn't give you a reference although you manage to get one out of the admin at Mornington. Still, it isn’t good to not have a good word from a place you spent almost three years with.
It makes Brock's visits no less stressful. The hours hunched over scrolling through postings and sending out resumes puts a crick in your neck that adds to the tension already wracking your body. The first week and a half passes and it's all rejections or no response at all. Even from your sister who is now MIA since you asked for the 200 you lent her last month.
There's one invitation at the start of your third week of unemployment. You have a virtual interview for noon. It's short notice but you put on some makeup and nice clothes. Your nose is pretty much healed so you feel decent. 
You sit in front of your old laptop and pray it doesn't overheat. You sign on and the window buffers. The call begins and you do your best to hold a smile. It's a data entry job, you're sure you can get it. You're also sure you'll hate it.
"So, your job before, you worked as a recreational aide, why the sudden change?" The man, Caleb, asks.
"I really enjoyed it but I'm looking for something for the long term. Moving around the city was hard so staying in one place--"
There's a sudden hammering at the door and you freeze, stalk straight in your chair. You laugh nervously.
"Sorry, I--"
The banging comes again and Brock calls through, "sweetheart, open up!"
"I'm sorry, just excuse me a second," you mute the computer and get up to answer the door.
Brock pushes through as you turn the handle and you hit the wall with your back. You grab his arm and he spins at you in angry shock.
"What are you doing?" He snaps.
"I have an interview right now," you hiss, “please, just let me finish it. I need this job--"
"Shut up," he shoves you so your head hits the doorframe of the kitchen.
"Please, just wait for me in the bedroom, I'm almost done," you beg.
"Do you think you tell me what to do?" he snarls and slams the door. 
"No, no, I'm not--" he backhands you and you stumble away.
He marches in and drops the duffle in his other hand on the chair. He looks around and goes to the folding table where you've set up your computer. He flips a bird to the camera and snaps the laptop in half, tossing it on the floor.
"No!" You rush forward, "what the-- that's-- I need that. I needed that job."
"You shut the fuck up before I mess up your face again," he growls, "not that I mind fucking you from behind."
You sniff and try not to blubber as you bend to examine your destroyed computer. You had that since uni and it was more resilient than all the cheap phones you'd cracked over the years. You fall into the chair and cradle your head.
"Don't you understand?" You babble, "I'm gonna lose my apartment and everything I have. I know you don't care but I'm going to be on the street by next month."
"Well shit," he chuckles, "don't be so dramatic."
"You just broke my computer. That means I can't apply to job, I can't do interviews, I can't--"
"Calm down, sweetheart, you're getting on my nerves," he kicks the chair so you look up at him. He crosses his arms as he watches you, "fine, crash on my couch."
"What?" You frown.
"Yeah, why not? Won't have to hang around here. That bed's tiny anyway," he bites his thumb and pivots on his heel as he thinks, "you can bring one bag. I don't like clutter."
"Wh-- I don't wanna live with you," you pout.
"Well that's too fucking bad, isnt it?" He drops his arms and rubs the front of his pants, "but by all means, go live on the curb."
You frown and say nothing. He pushes down his zipper and pushes it apart.
"Sweetheart, that's a pretty nice offer," he says, "so why don't you say thank you?"
You realise he really doesn't care. He only knows it'll be easier to get to you if you're not living on the street. He just wants to get off and it doesn't matter how.
You get up and near him. He grabs your head and frames your chin as he tilts your head up and pulls you against him.
"Look at you all dolled up," he smears your lipstick with his thumb, "but you talk to me like that again and I'll break your fucking jaw." You bat your eyes and he lets you go roughly, "go on."
You close your eyes and get down on your knees. Your lashes flutter and you grab the front of his pants and watch your hands as you pull them down with his boxers. When did you become so numb? Not long ago, you would hardly be able to look at a naked man, now it was second nature.
You wrap your fingers around him and stroke him as you press your lips to his tip. You take him in your mouth an inch at a time. Halfway down his shaft, he grumples and shoves all the way down your throat as your hand slaps against his pelvis. 
"Don't fuck around," he warns as he grips your head between his large hands, threatening to crush your skull as he moves you along his length. 
Spit bubbles around your lips and your lipstick stains his flesh as the mascara stings your runny eyes. He ignores all struggles as he fucks your throat ragged. You feel his muscles tauten as you gag and he pulls out in a single motion.
He holds the back of your head and presses his tip to your cheek as he strokes himself with wild moans. His cum ribbons across your face hotly and he coaxes himself through his climax. He lets go and you fall back on the heels of your hand.
You reach up to wipe away the slimy mess and he snaps his fingers, "no." He points at you, "I'm going to cum over every inch of you and you're going to wear it proudly." He swipes his shirt off, "get those tits out. Now."
It was one thing to be at Brock's for the fleeting if torturous visits, it was another altogether to be stuck there. Your single bag of possessions reminded you of all you left behind. Sure, the furniture was used and much of your things were mindless clutter but it was something.
He was never very talkative and his directive was all of one sentence telling you to stay out of his room when he was gone. Then he handed you a list in his cramped writing, all caps, of chores to be done. He didn't have to explain, you knew.
You begin with the dishes. There are few and you don't mind having something to keep you busy. You hear Brock in the next room, the metallic click and slide as he cleans several guns with careful attention. 
You wipe the counters and rinse your hands. You take out the mop and start on the floor and as you care it back to the closet, Brock snaps his fingers. You look over at him as you close the door and step into the dining room. His apartment is big even if unwelcoming.
"My favourite," he holds up a long barrel handgun.
"It's nice," you say as you near the table.
"Oh, you know a lot about guns?" He scoffs.
"No," you admit.
He chuckles and taps the table with the muzzle, "bend over, sweetheart."
You don't hesitate even as your nerves flutter. Outwardly you obey but on the inside you feel as if you're spinning. He stands as you fold your arms under your chest and hang your head.
He presses his crotch to your ass as he reaches to unbutton your fly and pushes the fly open. He parts and grips the back of your pants, his fingers curling around your panties. He tugs them to your ankles as you wince.
His hand spreads across your neck and he leans his weight on you until you pull your arms out from beneath you and your chest is pressed to the table. He pins you there, the wood cool against your cheek as you shiver.
The metal nose of the gun pokes between your thighs and he urges your legs apart as far as they can go. You suck in your breath as he traces a line up one thigh and down the other. You tense as he brings the barrel against your cunt and rubs it between your folds.
"Mmm," he purrs as his hand slips back and he kneels behind you, his grasp at the small of your back, "a nice gun, huh?"
"Yes," you answer as you close your eyes, humiliation searing your skin.
"That's what you said, 'it's nice'," he mocks, "you know so much, don't you?"
You don't argue, you know that only makes it worse. You already said too much. "Yes," the singular symbol is the only answer he accepts.
"Hmmm," he wiggles the gun against your clit and you bite your lip, "I'm not disagreeing, it's very…" he pauses as he pulls the gun back and presses the barrel against your cunt, "nice."
He pushes until you stretch around the muzzle and he slips it into you decisively. He bottoms out at the grip. You clench around it and whimper. For as much as he's done, you've never felt so rotten and used.
He eases it out and shoves it back in. He fucks you with it as he gropes your ass with his free hand. You shudder and hide your face in your hands. He has you wet and wanting and your body's response makes you want to cry. You didn't want any of it yet your core lights at his touch.
"Taking it like a good girl," he takes the gun out as stands, "but you made fucking mess of my gun."
You shake your head as he places the gun down on the table and holds your hips as he pulls you back. You keep yourself up on your elbows. He fumbles behind you and you flinch as he presses against your cunt, filling you quickly as his pelvis hits your ass.
"Cleaning up like a good girl," he snarls as his zipper bites into you with each thrust, "sweet thing, taking your orders so good."
You huff and ball your hands as you stare at the rippled wood of the table as it knocks against the wall with each tilt of his hips. The rhythmic thump fills the air with his groans and your pained murmurs.
"Fuck," he growls and rams into as deep as he can. 
He quakes as he cums and you feel the warm flow inside of you. He sighs and stays inside of you a moment as your walls twitch. He slaps your ass and slides out as his cum spills down your thighs.
You hear his zipper and as you stand, he grabs your jeans and panties and tears the back up your legs. He nearly takes you off your feet and as he lets go, you turn to him as you feel the dampness pool in the cotton.
"Back to work," he snaps his fingers and points you away from him.
You turn without argument and go back to the kitchen. It gives you a moment to catch your breath, a moment for reality to sink in. This is your existence now, nothing more. It definitely isn't living.
You lay alone on the stiff leather couch. Your blanket and pillow do little against the cold that clings to the cushions. You can't get comfortable even with Brock gone, called away on another cryptic phone call.
It takes some time to get in a good position but after a day of cleaning and wired nerves, you're exhausted enough to fall asleep. You doze heavily and make it through the night floating in the last dregs of sleep as the click of the door awakens you.
You hear footsteps in the entryway, more than one pair, and the voices answer your drowsy questions. 
"Got pretty fuckin' close," Brock snarls, he's not happy, but when is he ever?
"Don't worry, I can handle Sam," Steve repliez, you don't expect him to be around.
Your lashes bat away as you yawn and listen paralysed to the conversation. The two don't seem to get along, more reluctant allies. You grasp the blanket and blink at the ceiling as you hear them come into the front room.
"He's stubborn but I can flip him," Steve insists.
Brock grumbles unconvinced.
"Don't," Steve warns, "he's better to us alive."
You hear footsteps approach and look up at Brock as he lurks behind the couch. He glares at you and snaps his fingers, "coffee."
Your eyes round and you hesitate a moment before your body reconnects to your mind. You kick away the blanket and sit up, suddenly aware how your shorts have ridden up in your sleep. You pull them straight and stand to quickly fold the quilt over the back of the couch.
"Morning, sunshine," Steve says with a smile.
"Coffee," Brock repeats impatiently. 
"Yes," you croak through your gristly throat.
You pass Steve as he allows little room for it and you sense his gaze as it scours you. Your tee shirt hangs loosely but cannot hide that you have no bra. You feel like an utter disaster. A pathetic creature scurrying at her master's demands.
"You mind if I have some too?" Steve asks, "since I'll be here a while."
"I don't care," Brock says and you hear his boots scrape the ground as the boxy leather chair squeaks under his weight. 
Lighter footsteps move around and load up the coffee maker. It's nicer than your old one and Brock buys a dark gourmet blend. His tastes surprise you sometimes as his attention to detail is concealed by his outward shows of apathy.
"So, living together?" Steve prompts.
"Don't you worry about her," Brock warns.
"I know you're not much for small talk but come on," Steve chides.
"I don't ask about who you're fucking," Brock rebuffs, "so why are you so concerned with her?"
"Concerned?" Steve laughs, "you seem more concerned than me."
"She's… crashing for a while," Brock says as you strain to hear past the grind, "nothing serious like all that."
You don't expect anything more than that and somehow the fact that he speaks of you as a burden makes you frown. You lose track of their conversation, more pointed words, double-edged but short.
You pour two mugs as the coffee finishes brewing and take them out to the men. You offer milk and sugar, only Steve accepts. You cross your arms and hover at the edge of the room as they drink.
"So," Steve looks over at you as he sits in the middle of the couch, "how are you? How's work been?"
"Fine, I--"
"Don't talk to her," Brock snaps, "you're not here to socialize. Let's get this shit over with."
Brock puts down his mug and takes out his phone. He puts it on the table and snaps his fingers.
"Get my bag," he orders.
You grab his leather bag and bring it to him. He smacks your ass before you can retreat and your eyes meet Steve's as you sidle away. His gaze wanders down your body and he lifts his brows before looking at Brock.
Brock takes out a tablet and unlocks it with his fingerprint. You see a green on black floorplan on the screen as you glance over.
"Go to the room," Brock says without taking his eyes from the tablet, "this is business."
"Yes," you say and skirt around the back of the couch.
"Good seeing ya," Steve calls after you but you don't reply. "She's… quiet. Good listener."
"What's with you and the girl? You don't have enough sluts wanting to get up on you, Cap?" Brock snarls. 
"I'm being nice," Steve says, "you could try it some time."
"I'm plenty nice to her," Brock snickers, "trust me, she doesn't mind what I do to her."
"Mmm," Steve hums uneasily, "thought you didn't wanna talk about her?"
"But you do, huh?" Brock challenges him as you hide behind the door but keep it from closing as you listen. "Are we here to work or did you want me to describe how tight her cunt is?"
"Jesus," Steve blew out a sigh, "you don't have to be so crude."
"Listen, Rogers, the golden boy act doesn't work on me, I'm the only one who knows what lies beneath that bullshit," Brock growls, "I saw you looking at her."
"Am I supposed to stare at the wall?" Steve snaps.
"Better than her ass," Brocks chirps, "now stop wasting my time."
Steve grumbles and you close the door, careful not to make a noise. You don't want to push it. You've heard enough to leave you restless. 
You wonder what Brock means about Steve. Maybe nothing at all but you just can't shake the prickly feeling along your neck. 
Brock is terrible but he is honest about it, yet Steve, there's something off about him, something you just can't place. All you know is that whatever business he's here to chat about with Brock is less than savoury and you're already in too deep. Better to not think, easier too.
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fuckandfluff · 2 months ago
Something Borrowed
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Pairing: dark!Bucky Barnes x innocent!reader
Word Count: 7.7k 😩 (approx 20 min read!)
Warnings: 18+, minors DNI! THIS IS A VERY DARK FIC. Please take our warnings seriously. The subject matter is very disturbing.. Dubcon, non-con, loss of virginity, kidnapping, slapping, choking, coercion, mental and emotional abuse, swearing, alcohol, unprotected vaginal sex, creampie, dacryphilia, blood play, drugging, degradation, brainwashing, oral (f receiving), fingering, male masturbation, spitting
A/N: This is the entry @sableseb and I are submitting for the @basementwiveswritingchallenge (found here). This was the most fun I’ve ever had writing a fic and I’m genuinely so glad to have her as my twisted sister through and through! It’s the longest thing we’ve written so buckle up 😉 - @fuckandfluff
Tay came to me with this challenge and I couldn’t possibly pass up the opportunity to collab. It just seemed right to partner up with her to create something darker. Our minds our genuinely one. It’s scary sometimes, and that’s what makes us a good team. I hope everyone enjoys this as much as we do.x - @sableseb
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Another summer has crept up on your little midwestern town, the nights growing longer as the Fourth of July grew closer. Your neighborhood association threw a block party the second Friday of every month as a way for new residents to get acquainted with the more established members of the community. That’s when you saw him: tall and muscular with chiseled features, a dusting of stubble across his sharp jaw, and a fluffy mop of chestnut locks, he was stunning.
He’d mentioned moving into your cul-de-sac just a few weeks prior, but you hadn’t noticed, too swept up in studying for end-of-semester exams. You’d assumed that a man as handsome as him surely had a family, but that assumption was wrong. Harmless neighborhood gossip had revealed that he was recently widowed, having moved here from Manhattan to escape the painful memories the city held.
You couldn’t begin to fathom what he’s been through, he held a look in his eyes that told a story of pure hurt and longing. Bucky Barnes is a mysterious man to say the least. He seems to keep to himself mostly. So seeing him there, mingling in the crowd and introducing himself amongst the community was a sight that struck a bit of bewilderment upon you.
His smile was bright, drawing people into his charming nature. You could see the women hanging onto every word that escaped those full lips. But those eyes gave him away each time. No matter how much he laughed, how much he flirted, how much he feel as though it’s just an act. An elaborate ruse to have people think he’s fine.
A toxic trait you’ve tried to work on is your inherent desire to fix broken things. And Bucky is clearly broken. One sunny afternoon, you pluck up the courage to pay him a visit with a basket of freshly baked scones in tow. His home is tucked at the end of the street, sitting quite a ways back on the property line. As you strut up the lengthy cobblestone walkway to his front door, you take in the ornate hedges framing the entire home and can’t help but think of how much privacy they must afford him. You arrive at his doorstep, knocking once, twice, before Bucky swings the large oak door open.
“Uh, hi y/n. Can I help you?” he inquired, awkwardly rubbing the nape of his neck with his calloused palm.
Those eyes - wow, had they always been that piercingly blue? Almost getting lost in them and nearly forgetting the reason for your visit, you stutter, “just wanted to bring you these!” You take a step forward and push the basket of baked goods between the two of you.
Bucky has never seen you this close up since he moved in. He always takes you in from afar, admiring the way you tend to your flowers, how you sit on your porch each morning with a cup of coffee just enjoying the coolness the morning air brings, playing with your nephews when they’d visit each weekend.
Now that you’re in his direct line of sight, he’s almost in tears. You’re gorgeous. Just like she was. You have her rounded eyes and wavy hair. The dainty hands you’re wringing together at the moment remind him of her soft touch, how her wedding ring formed around her slender finger just right. His heart clenches. Bucky loved his wife more than anything. She was his light. And now, after being engulfed in darkness for years, he stumbled upon you. You’re his hope and he’s not going to let this hope fade. He has to have you in his life.
“Would you care to come in?” Bucky’s voice is laced with a hope that you can’t deny.
“Of course,” you tell him, stomach erupting in butterflies. He’s wanting to be social with you.
As Bucky ushers you into his home, you can’t help but gawk at the countless photos adorning the walls in the narrow foyer; a wedding photo, random little snapshots of his wife looking like an absolute goddess, photos of the two of them with beaming grins plastered across their faces in front of the Eiffel Tower or some other romantic destination. You weren’t sure how long it had been since his wife had passed, but clearly the wounds must have still been fresh. All you want is to try and bring a little bit of joy to his life. It seems like he never leaves the house except to grab a load of groceries or fetch the mail. No one deserves to be this lonely.
“I didn’t mean to just invite myself over,” you shyly say, neatly tucking your ballerina flats on his doormat as he leads you to the living room, “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“No need to apologize, doll. Wasn’t up to much anyway. Can I get you a drink?” He gestures for you to take a seat on the leather sectional as he ventures into the adjoining kitchen.
“Sure yeah, um, dealer’s choice!” you reply, easing into the plush leather seat.
You watch him make his way to the kitchen before turning your attention back to his living room. It’s all man. Dark hardwood flooring, a gray couch set, a sleek fireplace with a flatscreen resting above it. Bucky’s got taste. You wish your house looked as neat and clutter-free as his.
You’re drawn back to the photographs furnishing the shelves and walls. He truly looked happy. As you study his deceased wife more, you start to notice something. She looks a lot like yourself in the majority of these pictures. You suddenly feel odd, like there’s a reason for your resemblance. But you don’t dwell on it for too much longer as Bucky makes his way over to you.
Handing you a crystal highball glass filled with what looks to be cola, his large hand briefly brushes against yours and you can’t help but feel a spark. You push these unsavory thoughts back down, because the objective today was to offer friendship to Bucky, nothing more. Now was not the time to let your self-indulgent thoughts get the best of you.
“Thanks! What’s in it?” As you take your first sip, a tiny droplet dribbles down from your bottom lip. Bucky wipes the liquid from your chin with his thumb, letting out a small laugh. You feel your face heat at the contact. He’s just being nice, you remind yourself.
“It's rum and Coke.. hope that’s alright. Had to special order the rum because you can only get it in Miami,” he responds, settling into the seat adjacent to you.
As you take a more generous drink, the taste that hits your tongue is super familiar: “Florida Mermaid? I thought I was the only person in the Midwest who knew what it family goes down every year to Destin and we always bring home a bottle.” What a total coincidence that he happened to know exactly what libation you loved.
That’s how the rest of your evening went, telling stories to one another. You both talked about your childhoods, your hobbies, your favorite movies. Bucky has to be the easiest man you’ve talked to. You would have never dreamed that your silent, brooding neighbor would be talking your ear off by telling you about himself. Neither of you bring up the elephant in the room, though. But it’s there. The foreboding question of, “what happened to your wife,” hangs heavy on your tongue, not daring to interrogate him on such a matter.
You glance up at the clock hanging on the wall. It’s almost midnight and you’re still drinking and chatting. “I really should get going. Thank you for the wonderful evening, Buck.”
Buck. He knows that nickname all too well from a woman that wasn’t you. From a woman he gave his whole heart to. Bucky can feel his cock start to harden as he imagines what it’d be like to have you whimper out his name just like she did while he’s between your legs.
“Anytime. I’ll walk you to the door.”
As you both say your goodbyes, Bucky’s left alone with images of you dancing through his mind. You’re so sweet he can practically taste you without even pressing his tongue against your warm flesh. He remembers the way your lip felt against his thumb, it was so soft and glistening from the drink.
Bucky sits back down on his couch and pulls his cock free from it’s confines. He slowly strokes himself to the thought of you on your knees for him, begging for his cum, begging him to fuck your throat. He needs to act fast, he doesn’t know how much more time he can take without you.
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Nearly two weeks have passed since your visit with Bucky and he hasn’t escaped your mind. There’s a connection between the two of you that you just can’t shake. Flashes of his thumb brushing against your lip invade your thoughts daily, craving to know what his lips would feel like crashing against yours. But you don’t want to pry or poke too much - he knows where to find you if he wants another drink or maybe something more.
He’s been making himself scarce lately. In fact, he’s so swept up in some new home renovation project that he’s abandoned his grocery trips altogether and instead opts for home delivery. The only time you see him now is when he’s busy working away in his driveway.
Each afternoon you sit out on your porch, unable to keep your eyes off his chiseled physique as it glistens with pearls of sweat. A man who can use his hands is the ultimate turn-on and you couldn’t help but let your mind wander: What would those hands look like wrapped around my throat like a necklace?
You’ve thought about dropping off a glass of freshly pressed lemonade to quench his thirst as he works away on the front drive shirtless, sanding down what looks like antique furniture each afternoon. Yet you haven’t gained the courage to make the first move. Though in your second year of college, you’re still a virgin - not by way of religious conviction, but because every guy on campus just seems gross. A man like Bucky has been married already, to a gorgeous woman, you might add. He wasn’t going to be interested in a sad little virgin like you.
You sit and stew with your own musings most nights, always thinking about your neighbor. Your feelings are so jumbled when it comes to Bucky that it’s impossible to flesh out your true thoughts. He’s handsome and sweet, sure. But, there’s something else to him, something dark looming behind the lingering touches and soft smiles.
Morning comes and Bucky’s constant hammering and sawing have come to a halt. His tools aren’t even sprawled out along the concrete anymore. It’s like he was never there to begin with. Your heart seizes in your chest, you miss seeing him in nothing but his tight jeans, miss how his biceps bulge when he lifted a plank of wood, and especially how his hair and chest would dampen from the perspiration. He became part of your morning routine and he vanished just as soon as he appeared.
Curiosity gets the better of you when Bucky doesn’t show up for the town’s annual cookout on the Fourth. It’s a staple in the community each July, something you always look forward to with great enthusiasm. You’d love to experience the glittering fireworks display with Bucky in the bed of his pick-up, even just as friends. As the sky flashes bright hues of red, white, and blue, you race over to Bucky’s house to see if he’ll catch the tail end with you.
Before you’re even able to knock, Bucky greets you at the threshold of the doorway. His hand cups the small of your back, escorting you into the home with a sense of urgency.
“Sorry, I can’t stand the sound of fireworks. She - it just reminds me of gunshots,” he bemoans, a look of utter despair etched across his features.
“Don’t apologize, Bucky. Makes total sense why you wouldn’t want to be out, they can get so obnoxious sometimes,” you sympathize with him, assuming he’s making reference to his wife and her tragic demise. Rather than inquiring further and picking at the wound, you instead try to bring some bubbliness to the conversation.
“Why don’t we just stay in and try to make the best of what’s left of the evening. I can even tell you more embarrassing childhood stories!”
A beaming grin washes across his gorgeous, stubble-laced face: “Absolutely...I wouldn’t want anything else. I think the night calls for another round of rum and Coke, hmm?”
Bucky can’t believe how perfectly everything is falling into place. He didn’t even need to use the handcuffs and chloroform he had purchased from the hardware and drugstore earlier in the week. As he drops the tiny pill into your cocktail, he almost feels bad about how easy this is.
You can’t help the excitement that takes over you as he hands you the drink he made to you. He’s a really good mixer, there’s no questioning that. Comfortable silence takes over as you sip at the liquid, already feeling a bit light. “So,” Bucky begins, “how about some more of those stories?”
You start to tell him more tales of your childhood days, how you were accident prone and sported braces for months. As the conversation continues, the words seem harder to get out. Your thoughts are overlapping, your speech is slurring, your eyelids and mouth feel heavy. Something isn’t right. Fear overtakes your body as it slowly becomes unmovable.
“Bucky. I don’t...feel too well,” you choke out.
“It’s okay, I got you. Just lay back, you don’t look so good.”
He’s on you in an instant. You feel his warm hands cup your face, keeping your drooping head up. You can’t focus on anything much longer, darkness envelops you and you slouch against Bucky.
He has you. After all this time, he has you in his arms. He feels how smooth your skin is, how your little puffs of air are hitting his neck. He wants nothing more than to take you here and now, but he wants your first time with him to be special. Bucky wants you to be aware of who makes your tight cunt weep.
Picking you up, he makes his way to the basement, whispering sweet nothings in your ear as he makes sure not to bump your head on anything. He’s worked so hard on everything for you. He needed everything in his basement to be perfect for his little wife. He watches each step carefully and makes it to the bottom.
Bucky gently places you down on the soft bed and starts to remove your clothing with ease. His breath hitches at your panty clad figure. Your breasts are on full display, nipples pebbling from being exposed to the air, your cotton underwear seems a size too small, accentuating your hips and mound.
He gathers his thoughts and pulls a floral sundress from the closet. This was her favorite one, he’s sure you’ll love it too. Bucky slips it on your sleeping form with no resistance. You look like a painting with your eyes closed, lips slightly parted and your hair splayed out. He leans in and places a kiss upon your forehead, letting his lips linger for a moment.
“Sleep well,” he whispers.
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Your head is throbbing, the feeling much like a bad hangover but somehow even more intense. As your eyes flutter open, you’re met with unfamiliar surroundings. Sitting up sharply, you survey the room, suddenly becoming disoriented. Had you drank too much and fallen asleep at Bucky’s? How mortifying.
The room you find yourself in is decorated beautifully, gorgeous antiques placed on every surface and an ornate painting of the Italian countryside hanging above the mantle. It reminds you of a fancy hotel suite, though you can’t help but notice the absence of windows.
Glancing down, you realize the clothes you came over in are not the clothes you’re currently wearing and a white gold band is wrapped around your left ring finger. You can hear the creaking of footsteps on the hardwood above you, quickly realizing you must be in his basement. If it was just a change of clothes he gave you, it would add up. But the ring?
You’ve seen the ornate dresser and sturdy bookshelves that are now scattered around the room before. They’re the recent projects he’s been tirelessly working on in the driveway day after day. You’re suddenly thinking back to all of those photos of his wife, the striking resemblance between you two. The dress you’re currently wearing is the same one in their Eiffel Tower snapshot. Your heart pounds in your chest as you begin to understand the dire situation you’re in.
In a mad dash to get upstairs, you race up the narrow staircase but are blocked at the top by Bucky.
“Not so fast, wifey. Where do you think you’re going?”
You back away from him slowly, careful not to miss a step as you make your way down. He follows with a scowl. At this moment, you realize how much bigger he actually is compared to you. Bucky is a mountain of a man, all broad shoulders and taut chest. His thighs are firm and hips narrow. All that mixed with the way he’s eyeing you? You’re terrified.
“Bucky, just let me go. I promise I won’t tell anyone. We can just pretend this never happened,” you rush out. You wish you sounded more calm, more collected, but hysteria is slowly starting to take over.
“Oh, doll. You’re not going anywhere. You’re my wife now.” His smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He’s still taking you in, need is building up inside him and he doesn’t know how much longer he can control himself.
“People will realize I’m missing, Bucky. They’ll come looking for me.”
Instead of striking worry in him, he just laughs. “Do you really think so little of me? I have everything taken care of. And you’ll make your appearances in town when I’ve trained you to need me, to obey me. I’m an easy man. But you don’t want to make me upset, sweetie.”
Tears form in the corners of your eyes and slowly pour down your cheeks. You have to get out of here. You work the band off your left hand and throw it at him: “I’m not your wife. You’re sick. You need help,” you spit.
Bucky’s blue eyes darken, clearly agitated at your deliberate disregard for the ring. He bends over to pluck the dainty gold band off the floor and yanks your wrist towards him aggressively.
“Trust me, sweetheart. It could be much worse for you,” he growls, jamming the ring back onto your finger, “if you don’t behave I have no problem keeping your corpse around instead.”
He slowly walks you backwards until your back hits the wall with a soft thud. His fingers forcefully lace with yours, his mouth hovering over the column of your throat. “Now it’s time to consummate this marriage with my pretty little bride. I’ll be gentle, I promise.”
“Bucky,” you plead, “please don’t do this.”
No matter how much you beg and bargain, nothing can change his mind. He’s set on you, struck even. You look so ethereal as he looks down upon you. Eyes are puffy, lips makes him hard. Bucky wants to ruin you, morph you into his dream wife. He’s already lost one and he’s not about to lose another.
He rocks into you, the feeling of his hardness pressing against your mound has you nauseous. But, the friction sends electricity creeping along your spine and whimpers falling past your mouth. You try to move your neck away from his onslaught of licks and sucks, but he doesn’t take too kindly to that as he harshly bites down on your heated skin.
“I want you to strip for me, doll,” he commands as his lips enclose around your ear, dragging it through his teeth.
As Bucky steps away from your body, he watches intently as you discard the sundress with shaky hands. He’ll never get tired of seeing your body, so soft and begging to be explored. Your arms fly to your chest to shield it from his heated gaze.
“You’re beautiful,” he rasps out. You feel your face warm at the compliment. You didn’t want this, but you can’t help the way his glances and words make you feel. No man has ever paid you the time of day. There’s a sense of loneliness that has taken over your heart. But, here’s Bucky, saying things you never thought a man like him would speak to you. It’s all so conflicting. Your mind is telling you how this is all so wrong, but he’s filling that lonely void.
He guides you to the king-sized bed that sits against the wall. You try to convince yourself that this will all be over soon, but you have a sinking feeling that this is just the beginning of a long time. You look up at him as he hovers over you, erection pressing firmly against your clothed core.
Nothing is said and nothing can be heard except for your low sobs as he slowly leans down to attach his lips to yours. When he realizes you’re not kissing him back, he pulls away and says, “If you don’t start showing more enthusiasm, I won’t be so nice.”
This time, you entertain the kiss. You really don’t want to experience his bad side if this is him being nice. His tongue finds yours as he licks inside the expanse of your mouth. You’re starting to feel light-headed from the lack of oxygen so when he finally parts from your swollen lips, you’re sucking in air rapidly.
Bucky trails his mouth along your neck once more before making his way down your chest, stomach, and thighs. He’s nibbling the soft flesh on the inside of your legs and his scruff is causing a slight burn. Your whines echo throughout the room which causes Bucky to rut against the bed. He’s loving the little noises he’s making slip past that pretty pout.
His hands move to grasp your underwear and suddenly, you're snapped out of the haze of fear, sadness, and...want? You jerk yourself away from his grasp, climbing up the rest against the headboard.
“What did I tell you?” he grits out, but before he can completely lose his temper you tell him in a soft voice, “I’ve never done anything like this...with anyone.”
Oh fuck. You’re a virgin? Bucky didn’t think it was humanly possible to be as turned on as he is right now, but his dick jumping at your words tells him it’s entirely possible. He can feel his heart soften a bit, he wants you to enjoy this, he wants to claim you.
“Hey, it’s okay. I’ll go slow. Okay?”
You don’t know why you're not putting up more of a fight with him, why you’re falling into his horrid trap with seamless ease. You don’t dwell on it as you slide back down the bed, head falling against the plush pillows and putting your legs on Bucky’s broad shoulders. He pulls your underwear off and he’s met with a sight that’ll be forever burned into his memory.
You’re wet, soaked even and he’s barely even touched you. Oh how he loves virgins. Always so sensitive, so easily attached. He can’t wait to plunge himself into you and see your face contort at the slight pain, to feel your tight walls gripping him, like your cunt is begging him to stay inside you forever.
“Have you ever touched yourself, baby?”
“I have.”
“Mmm,” he hums, “show me what you do.”
Your heart is pounding so hard that you can see your chest move and you can hear the blood rushing in your ears. You’ve never felt this type of embarrassment before. Knowing he won’t take ‘no’ for an answer, you place two fingers on your clit. Why are you this wet? You shouldn’t be turned on by all this and yet, you can practically feel yourself dripping onto the blankets below.
Bucky watches as you rub yourself in slow circles, your folds glistening in the light. He lets out a low groan, “Such a pretty sight. I’m going to help you out a bit, okay?”
Before you can ask him what he’s doing, you feel a finger breach your entrance. He just couldn’t help himself. He needs to feel you in his hands. Your back starts to arch as he pumps his index finger inside you at a languid pace. He’s not even paying attention to your lower half anymore, his sole focus is on your face.
Your eyes are squeezed tight with your brows knitted together. Little squeaks and gasps continuously bounce off the walls. He knows he’ll take you every day, every night. You’re just too addicting, especially since he’s the first to touch you and the only one who will ever touch you.
The pressure in your lower stomach is starting to build at a rapid pace. You feel him add another finger, stretching you out further. A moan gets caught in your throat, your fingers swirl faster against your swollen bud. But Bucky’s pace never slows or gains speed, he’s keeping the stroke of his hand long and drawn out. He’s making you fall apart. He wants to hear you ask for your release.
“Please, need you to move faster,” you gasp.
It’s music to his ears. Your wanton moans and pleas go straight to his aching groin. He knows you're close, he can feel the way your pussy clenches around his digits, he can feel your wetness slide down onto his palm. He has to have a taste, it’s killing him not licking into you.
You feel Bucky’s hand wrap around your wrist and pull your fingers from your clit. You let out a sound of discontent at the lost friction. Before you can beg for him to make you cum and end your misery, his fingers move in and out of you at a harsh cadence as his lips enclose around your bud.
You yelp at the contact. Never could you have imagined something like this. The sweet suction of his mouth has heat forming all across your body. You don’t seem to be in control of your own mind, he’s reduced it to thinking one thing and one thing only. To cum.
You can hear the obscene sounds coming from yourself as Bucky’s fingers slip in and out of you with ease. You grab two fistfuls of his cropped hair and keep his face in place. Bucky doesn’t mind it at all. He wants you to use him because that’s what he’s here for. He’s here for your pleasure and your heart. He wants you to give him everything.
Your hips seem to have a mind of their own as you practically hump his face. You grip his wrist and shove his fingers back inside you each time he tries to remove them. His face is covered in slick as he never lets up on the assault his tongue brings. Your thighs are trembling with each lick and suck.
“Taste so good, doll. Know you wanna cum. Let go for me.” He hums against your wet flesh, sending vibrations along your swollen cunt.
Blinding pleasure takes you over. Your body is suspended in the air as everything pulls taught and your eyes roll in the back of your head. Bucky doesn’t slow, he’s milking your orgasm for all it’s worth. You don’t know how long your body stays frozen, but when your back hits the mattress, you’re spent. It’s like he drained all your energy just from his mouth.
Your eyes shut as you try to even your breathing out. You’re delicate all over, it’s like he knows your body and how to make you feel these sensations. There’s almost too many of them at the same time. Your mind is fuzzy, filled with post-climax bliss.
Suddenly, the rustle of clothing grabs your attention. You open your eyes and look down. There, on his knees looming over you, is Bucky completely bare. He’s a big man, everywhere. You gulp at the sight, fearing he might not fit. You haven’t even taken so much as a finger until he helped himself to you. Even just his fingers were a stretch.
“Bucky, I can’t. I don’t want this. I-” His palm cuts off your rambling as he looms over your spent form.
“I don’t care what you want, baby. You’re here to please your husband. Don’t make this harder than it has to be,” he cooes. Without another word, you just nod your head in agreement. He’ll always get his way with you. You know he'll never let you be.
“Now, be a good girl and spread these legs nice and wide for me.”
You try to fight the tears you feel stinging your eyes as you do what he says. He dips his head to spit onto your pussy, rubbing it into your arousal with his cock. It looks almost painful how hard he is, an angry red tint takes over the head, veins appear along the shaft. His tip bumps your clit a few times causing you to jerk up towards the headboard.
“So sensitive,” he smirks. “Virgins always are. I’ll be gentle.”
You just hope he keeps his promise, you really don’t want to be ripped open with no remorse. Bucky lines himself up to your entrance. He starts slowly, sinking into you an inch before stilling and letting you adjust to his girth.
“You’re gonna have to relax, sweetie. You’re so fucking tight,” he grits through clenched teeth.
You feel like heaven to him and he isn’t even half way inside you. He slides in deeper once you’ve loosened a bit. You’re still a snug fit, so snug in fact that Bucky thinks this isn’t going to last as long as he hopes. He can feel the harsh throb of your walls against his shaft. Your arousal coats him completely and he feels some slide down to his balls. It’s nasty, it’s debauched, it’s something he plans to do every day.
He’s fully in you now and the burn isn’t necessarily unpleasant, but it’s not the greatest feeling. You thought your first time would be special, sharing your body with someone you love, with someone who loves you. Not this kidnapper, this borderline monster. At least he’s somewhat caring towards you, trying to make your first time as painless as possible. He has to have good in his heart somewhere. That gives you hope. Hope that he’ll end all of this soon.
Bucky just stares at you while you’re trying to accommodate his member. Taking in each feature you have, making sure to remember every little detail he can. “You’re so gorgeous…” he whispers. You don’t know what happens, but the tears break free and you’re sobbing almost hysterically. Are you crying from pain? Pleasure? Over the fact his words have a warmness erupting in your chest? You don’t know, you don’t think you’ll never really know.
Bucky thinks you cry so beautifully. But he knows you’re in a mental state of pain which causes his heart to twist. You’ll see soon enough he’s not the monster he knows you think he is. He kisses your cheeks, catching the tears that fall from your eyes with his lips. He takes the opportunity to start moving, drawing his hips back slowly before flushing them against yours once more.
“Even more so when you cry.”
His body completely envelopes yours as he strokes inside you. The air leaves your lungs as you feel the drag of his cock. He slips in and out with little to no trouble, more wet noises can be heard throughout the room. The pain is gone now and is replaced by pressure. It sends a heat through your body once more.
Bucky buries his head into your neck as his pace picks up a bit. He places kisses along your throat and you can hear him panting as his release grows closer. Your toes start to curl as his hand finds a breast and starts to tweak your nipple, causing you to arch against him. When he’s taking you apart like this, you’re putty in his hands.
“Know you said you didn’t want this,” he says in between thrusts, “but you’re drenched, your thighs are trembling, and you’re trying to bite back moans...just admit it, baby. You do want this. I can make this body beg for more. My pretty angel, I own you,” he whispers against your ear.
You don’t say anything, just small pants leave your lips. Bucky isn’t looking for a response, he knows his words ring true for you. As he cages you in, his thrusts start to grow sloppy. You’re just so damn tight and soft, it makes him wild. He reaches a hand between your bodies to find your clit.
When you feel his fast circles along your sensitive nerves, you know you’re a goner. You let out a wail as your legs wrap around his waist. Your hands fly to his back, leaving harsh indentions from your nails as you drag them down his toned muscles. Your orgasm is intense, you didn’t know cumming around something could feel so good, it’s like it never ends as white noise fills your ears and your body shakes.
Bucky cums right after you. Your constant clenching and pulsing had him on the edge already, but as soon as your nails dug into his back, he came with a groan that got muffled by your hair. He starts placing tiny kisses all over your face and neck, enjoying the feeling of having you under him.
You two lay like that for a long moment, just trying to gain composure. You feel him soften inside you as his cum starts to leak out from where you’re both still connected. He gently pulls himself out of you and you wince at the loss. You feel so empty and now that your high is starting to wear off, you feel used. More tears start to form.
“Hey,” Bucky calmly says, “you did so good. You’re perfect for me, y/n.”
You bite back your sobs as he removes the soiled blankets and wraps you in a fresh one from the closet. You watch as he dresses himself as if nothing about this is wrong. He comes over to you and places a kiss against your head.
“Get some rest. I’ll be back soon.”
As he makes his way up the stairs, you wait until the door shuts before you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. You’re numb. You don’t know what to feel. On one hand, you want to kick, scream, and fight. But on the other, you want him to love you, to not be a captive and instead be with him willingly.
Will you truly ever be free?
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The days begin to melt together, unsure if it’s been a week or a month since Bucky took you as his captive. It just makes your heart sick, especially because you know you’ve probably missed your nephew’s 6th birthday. You’ve definitely missed your end of semester exams. You’ve missed so many things.
The space he’s prepared for you is gorgeous and it makes you sick even admitting it. He lets you watch whatever TV programs you want and always offers to pass the time with you in whatever way you’d like. He’s fully stocked a bookshelf with your favorite authors, littered your room with your favorite beeswax candles, and even offers to make you cocktails with that rum you love so much. It becomes very clear very early on that he knows all of these things about you because he’s been stalking you.
But you take no interest in the things that previously brought you joy. Instead, you just spend your afternoons sobbing uncontrollably, something that begins to grate on Bucky’s nerves. He makes sure you spend your evenings on your back, sobbing in a different way.
Yet your resolve hasn’t been entirely shattered. You decide to make a plea to Bucky, hoping to appeal to his emotional side which you know must be buried in there somewhere. As he shuffles down the stairs to bring you your dinner, you make your pitch.
“Bucky I - I am so grateful for this set-up you’ve given me. But I need to go home, I need to get back to my life,” you beg, scanning his face for any inkling of a reaction.
“This is your home, doll. We’ve been over this.” He places the bowl of piping hot soup in front of you, gesturing for you to have a spoonful.
“Buck, please. Please. Your wife wouldn’t want this. You need to let me go.”
He softly wipes the falling tears from under your eyes but his demeanor is anything but soft. “That’s enough, I don’t want to hear you say anything more about this.” His words pack a fierce punch but you know that you have nothing to lose by pushing the issue more. He’s already stolen your innocence. He’s already kept you as his prisoner.
“If your wife could see this, she would be disgusted. Buck, you’re a great guy who misses his wife. But kidnapping me isn’t the answer.”
“Shut your whore fuckin’ mouth! Just shut it!” He spits, shoving you down onto the plush sofa with one brutal push, “I told you to stop but you can’t fucking listen, can you? You’re never going to be anything like her, you’re just pretty enough to keep my cock warm.”
With steadfast precision, he unbuckles his belt with one hand while clenching your throat with the other. In some cruel twist of fate, you’ve got your wish of knowing how it would feel for his hand to be your necklace. You gargle and gasp for air, legs flailing underneath you to try and wriggle free. You’ve never seen Bucky this angry, this vitriolic.
His hand relents on your neck, instead shifting to your cheek with a hard slap, “I was trying to be patient with you sweetheart but now you’ve really pissed me off.”
Unfortunately for you, all that clings to your figure is a skimpy nightgown, allowing him to flip the flimsy fabric up and gain immediate access. Without any care for your comfort, he rams his rock hard cock inside with one brutal thrust.
“God, you’re so much tighter when you’re scared.”
You knew fighting it wouldn’t be of any use, he was so much stronger and his arms had now pinned your delicate wrists above your head. Clenching your eyes shut in an attempt to distract yourself from his vicious assault, this made him even more agitated.
“Wanna see those scared little eyes while I fuck a lesson into you,” he growls, pushing the delicate skin on your eyelids up so they retreat back open.
Unlike every time he’s laid into you since your kidnapping, this time is markedly different. There is no care for your well-being, no regard for your pleasure. You know that this fuck is purely about asserting his power over you. The filthiest words and sounds escape his lips as he pushes himself deeper and deeper inside you.
Every time you think he’s close to coming, he cruelly pulls out to the tip. This pattern happens for the better part of an hour, Bucky wanting to keep your throbbing pussy on edge for as long as possible. He’s absolutely serious about the lesson he’s going to teach.
His nature is now fully animalistic as he snaps all the way up into your cervix. The pain never dulls down, it’s just a consistent searing in your cunt that radiates up to your abdomen. You yip, whine, scream as he bottoms out over and over again. Praying for it to end, you bite down on your bottom lip to deliberately draw blood. Any other sensation of pain is a welcome distraction from what your new husband is drilling into you.
Bucky’s mouth curls into a sadistic smile, dipping down to your bleeding lip and messily smearing the droplets across his thumb, only to ram it into your mouth. The metallic tang meets your tongue abruptly, making you want to gag at the taste.
Your abused cunt instinctively clenches around his cock, praying that if you milk it maybe he’ll lessen the violent tempo. This plan works because his pace begins to falter, his grunts growing closer and closer together as sweat drips from his forehead onto your neck and chest. He rocks into you once more, his throbbing member pumping your womb full of his hot spend.
“Don’t fuckin’ pull this shit again, bitch. Punishing you hurts me more than it hurts you,” he mutters, tucking himself back into his jeans.
He could mark your body, try to destroy what remaining fragments of hope you had left, but you’d never let Bucky break your spirit.
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Bucky, did in fact, break your spirit. Turns out, you hadn’t been as strong as you thought, not when every day he kept you full of him, kept you compliant in fear that he’d have another outburst. He’s been persistent, always making sure you’re around him and convincing you that you need him.
As you both lay in your bed, you have your head pressed against his bare chest, mindlessly drawing shapes across his taut skin. He spends the majority of his time down here with you. You’ve come to crave his presence, his touch, the way he makes you fall apart with ease while mindlessly chanting his name. Bucky always tells you how beautiful you are when you come undone for him, when you’re doing something so mundane. You now know he genuinely loves you and that he needs you to be happy. You never want him to be unhappy ever again.
When he isn’t fucking you into the mattress, you both watch tv, play boardgames, bake together. There’s a sense of normality now. It’s like you’re made for him, like all this was supposed to happen to bring your two souls together.
“I’ve been thinking,” his deep voice breaks you from your thoughts, “you’ve been so good for me...I think you deserve a day out. How’s that sound?”
Your heart momentarily stops. A day out? You haven’t been outside in so long, you miss the fresh air, the pretty blue of the sky, the rain on your skin...of course you want a day out. You desperately need it.
You raise up slightly to meet his gaze. “You mean it?”
“Every word.”
Your heart flutters as he smiles at you. You love when his eyes crinkle, he’s looked so at peace lately. You trace the lines of his smile and whisper, “You’ll be with me, right?” You can’t imagine being around people without him by your side.
“Each step of the way, doll.”
You kiss him then, deep and loving. It’s not rushed or hasty, it’s perfect. He’s perfect. You pull away and bite your lip. “Can we go now?” you ask. You can’t contain your excitement when the question leaves your lips.
Bucky pretends to ponder before answering, “go get dressed. Make sure to wear a jacket, it’s rainy!” He has to shout the last part because you’ve already sprinted to the closet. He smiles to himself, he loves seeing his doll happy. Happiness is a good look on you. He gets out of bed to go upstairs and dig through his own closet.
After finding warmer clothes, you sit on the little couch in the center of the room and eagerly await for him to come back down to retrieve you. You hear his footsteps descending and rush to the bottom of the staircase.
“I see you’re ready,” he smiles and places his hand in yours.
It feels odd not being in the basement. His home is practically the same as you remember it, all masculine decor and utterly him. You really don’t want to spend the rest of your days locked away in the basement anymore. You want to be equals with Bucky. You want to take part in his everyday life, not the life he’s created for you down there.
“Bucky,” you begin as he looks tentatively at you, “will you ever let me live up here with you?”
He can’t help the smile that breaks across his face. He’s beyond happy to hear that question. Now he fully knows you want him as much as he wants you. He hates keeping you locked up, but it was for your own good. He needed you to see how deep his love runs first.
“If today goes well, I’ll move you in up here tonight.”
You hug him tighter than you ever have before. You can’t wait to be a normal husband and wife and share a house, share hobbies, share his bedroom and every waking moment with him. Bucky has to pry you off him and lead you to the front door. Before you leave though, the pictures that were once hung are no longer. Although there is one photo hanging in a beautifully detailed frame; a picture of you and Bucky, sitting close together on the basement floor and smiling brightly at the camera.
You’re wearing that floral dress, the same one his wife wore in the Paris picture. Your heart flutters and a sense of pride takes over you. He’s not hung up on her anymore. Bucky Barnes is completely and fully yours. With one more look at the photo you grin and turn to follow your husband into the stormy, evening weather.
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boxofbonesfic · 2 months ago
Heyy, hope you're having a great day!
I just watched 'Animals' mv by maroon5 and was in my dark!Steve feels so...may I please request a serial killer dark!Steve stalking the reader, killing others & hiding it in his basement and seducing reader by acting like a nice golden boy 🙈👉👈
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Title: Judge, Jury
Pairing: Serial Killer!Steve x Reader
Rating: Explicit
Summary: Everything he’s done, he’s done for you.
Warnings: descriptions of violence (non-graphic), dubcon, stalking, mentions of past sexual assault/rape and trauma, mentions of past child-abuse, manipulation, dubcon, unprotected sex, overstimulation, obsessive behavior, possessive behavior, dead dove: do not eat for the love of god—
A/N: WHEW!!! so firstly, i loved this request, and i’m so sorry it took me so long to crank it out! this one’s clocking in at just under 9k words, so i hope it was worth the wait! i got OBSESSED with the idea of yandere!Steve trying to right all the wrongs in reader’s life, and, well… this is what came of it. PLEASE let me know if i’ve missed any warnings or tags! This is a work of FICTION, and it is Dark, so I assume once you’ve clicked through the link that you are comfortable with that. I do not give consent for my work to be copied, translated, or posted elsewhere, even if I am credited. This work is entirely mine, and unbeta’d, so read at your own risk! MINORS, DNI!!! 😘
“Shhh. Please, don’t make this harder than it has to be.” his voice is a whisper, barely audible underneath the clanging of the pipes, and the muffled whimpers making it through the gag. “You’re not asking anything new, you know.” he says, his eyes sad, almost sympathetic as he regards the middle aged woman cowering before him.
Her hands are tied to one of the rusty pipes behind her, and when she continues to whine, he grabs her face. “I said quiet.” she silences herself with a sniffle. “Thank you.” he leans away, resting his hands on his knees as he squats down. “You’re asking why you, right?” the knife in his hand moves easily between his fingers as he plays with it idly. “Why you’re here, what you did.” he cocks his head. “But you know what you did, don’t you Marilyn?”
Her eyes widen at the sound of her own name, and her struggles renew themselves. Steve presses the blade against her cheek, hard enough for blood to well along the blade. “You know what you did.” he looses the gag, knowing the moment he does the pleas will start. Steve doesn’t mind that so much—after all, he’s the one sending them to meet the God of their choice, he doesn’t mind acting as the priest to their confessor.
“P-please, I d-don’t know what you’re t-talking about,” she blubbers, and it makes the anger swell rapidly in his chest. He nicks her other cheek with the knife.
“Don’t lie to me, Marilyn.” he spits her name like a curse. “I know you remember.” He tilts her face up with the flat of the blade, wanting to see the recognition bloom in her eyes when he speaks your name. And it does. “You remember now?”
“I d-don’t, I d-d-didn’t—” she blubbers, and Steve knows by the guilty look on her face that she did, and she does. “P-please, Steve—”
“Oh, you remember me now, Mar?” he asks. “You remember how you took her from me?” he growls. “How you treated her?” he’s holding her throat now. “Foster home to foster home,” he growls, his grip tightening until she’s sputtering. “And every time she came home to you, the fucking men you never watched close enough? They got to her.” the curses slip from his lips unbidden, and Steve squeezes—and then regains control, releasing her. Marilyn coughs, and looks up at him fearfully.
“Don’t worry. I’ll jog your memory some more, we’ll remember it all together.”
The first time he sees you, he doesn’t really believe you’re the same girl he used to pick flowers for. You’ve grown up so much since he’s last seen you, and he knows you don’t recognize him either. He was so small then, so skinny and fragile, he knows you won’t reconcile that memory with the man who’s just happened to be at the coffee shop at exactly the same time as you for the past three weeks.
Or at least, that’s what he thinks.
“Steve?” your voice is tentative, questioning. His heart is pounding—you hadn’t noticed him before, your eyes glossing over him as though he was just part of the scenery. He’d been intending to come up to you soon, to re-introduce himself, but it seems like the wires have finally untangled, and you see the boy he used to be in the face of the man he is. “Steve, is that… is that you?”
He flicks his eyes up to yours, widening them in faux surprise. He says your name softly, slowly, like he’s drawing it up from the depths of his memories. You can’t know he’s been saying it every single day since you left, and thought of you just as often. “I can’t believe it’s you.” he says, allowing a small smile to grace his lips.
“I just moved back for work,” you reply, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I just, well I saw you, and I couldn’t believe it was you.” you gesture at him. “You’re huge!” you say, and he laughs. He doesn’t tell you that he had to get big, that he had to get strong—so he could find you. So he could protect you.
So he could hurt everyone who hurt you—and that was quite an extensive list.
“I couldn’t let Buck keep calling me punk forever,” he says, and pats the seat next to him. “Do you have a minute?” he asks, knowing that you do. It’s Tuesday—you always get a late start on Tuesdays.
“Totally.” the collar of your t-shirt slips down a little as you move to sit, and Steve sees the shiny flesh of your scar poking out from underneath it. He forces his face to remain neutral, but he can’t stop his fists from clenching angrily at the memory of it. You see his eyes dip, and your own follow their path, your hand coming up to lightly touch the skin before adjusting your shirt. “Still have it,” you joked, though your voice was strained, just a little.
Steve remembers that scar—and the man who gave it to you. His eyes go dark for a moment at the memory. I should have made her scream longer. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stare.”
“It’s okay. Not like you weren’t there, right?” you shrug, as though unaffected—but Steve knows you. Knows you better than you know yourself—knows you won’t use a curling iron anymore, not after that. He hears the ice clink in your glass as you lift it to your lips, and his eyes follow the delicate movement of your throat as you swallow. “But enough about all that. How are you? I…wow.” you gesture at him again, that sweet smile back on your face.
He loves that smile.
“Well, I went into the service, but you already know that.” he says sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck in a show of nervousness. “That toughened me up pretty quick.” It was only when he came back to find you gone, and Marilyn’s next foster-paycheck already set up in your room that he regretted ever signing up. “And now I do security work.” your eyes light up with interest.
“Wow. Like a bodyguard? That’s really cool, Steve.” you punch his arm lightly, the way you used to when he was six inches shorter than you, and ten pounds lighter, like the years hadn’t separated you at all. “I told you you’d have a cool job one day.” your mirth sparks his own, and he laughs with you.
“What about you?” he asks, though he already knows the answer.
“Well, you know I still paint,” you said, lifting up your hands. He could still see the paint staining the cuticles of your nails and the pads of your fingers. “But I’ve got a day-job at the Met, so not too shabby.” you reply, dusting off your shoulder jokingly as you giggle. “Sometimes they even let me see the art before it goes out to the exhibits.”
“And you said my job was cool.” his chest feels full to bursting, and he’s so happy he almost doesn’t remember how hollow he’s been without you. “I can’t believe it’s been eight years.” he wants to touch your hand, wants to feel your soft, warm skin under his palm, but he knows it’s too soon. It isn’t for him—he’s been thinking about this day for eight years—but it is for you. His hand twitches with the effort of not touching you, and you smile at him obliviously.
“Ditto. It feels like just last week I watched you get on that bus.” your coffee is long cold by now, but Steve can see you’re not thinking about that, you’re thinking about him, and it’s perfect because that’s all he wants. He grins at you, and makes a show of digging his wallet out of his jeans, holding up a finger. He opens it, and slides out the faded polaroid he’s kept there all these years. You gasp. “No way. You do not still have that.”
“Oh, I still have it.” he hands it to you, and watches your eyes get just a little glossy as your fingers trace the image gingerly. He’s seen the picture so many times, he doesn’t have to look at it to see it perfectly in his mind’s eye.
It’s you and Steve, in a cheesy photo booth at Coney Island, your cheeks blown out like a goldfish, and your eyes crossed as you make bunny ears behind Steve’s head. He hadn’t been ready for the picture, and the flash had caught him staring adoringly at you, his lips slightly parted. It was the same day he’d left—you’d dragged him on that long subway ride down to the beach, saying he needed good memories to take with him.
It’s his favorite picture.
You hand it back, your voice thick with the tears he knows you won’t shed. “I can’t believe you kept that.” you wipe at your eyes, before laughing. “That’s a shit picture of me.”
“It’s the best picture of you.”
You look as though you’re going to say something else, when your eyes stray to the clock behind his head. “Crap. I gotta go, I shouldn’t have stayed this long,” you lament, slapping your palm to your forehead. Steve wants you to stay, wants to spend all day with you like this, but he knows he can’t, not yet.  He’s been patient so long—he can wait just a little longer. He watches you dig your phone out of your pocket. “Give me your number so we can hang out again?” you ask, and he nods, tapping it in and saving it. You call his phone, waiting for it to ring and then ending it. “There, now you have mine too.”
You smile as you get up from the table, and Steve’s chest aches. “I can’t wait to see you.”
“It’ll be just like old times,” you say, waving at him as you head for the door.  It won’t be, though.
He won’t let it.
Steve loves the choked gasp of fear they always give when they wake to find themselves not at home. It’s always the same—people are so predictable, he knows that now. Paul peers up at him with the same terror that Marilyn did a month ago, and Steve relishes it.
He deserves to be afraid.
“I’m sorry you had to wake up like this,” Steve replies nonchalantly, because he really isn’t. “But I’m afraid this really couldn’t wait any longer. It’s already been years, so I figured it was time for you to pay the piper.” Paul was easy to track down, not like Marilyn, who moved three states over to continue her foster-mother racket. He’s stayed in exactly the same place, like he was just waiting for Steve to find him.
He says something, but it’s muffled by the gag. “Speak up.” Steve replies, tugging it down.
“What the fuck do you want?” he asks hoarsely, and Steve grins.
“That’s a good question, Paul. I want you to think.” he says, watching as the older man flinches uncomfortably as hot steam rattles the pipe he’s bound to. “I want you to think about what you did ten years ago.” his eyes widen, panicked.
“I didn’t do anything! I’m a good man, a good father—” Steve brings his heel down roughly on Paul’s knee, pressing hard until he hears a satisfying crack. Paul screams, his cries dying down to whimpers as Steve kneels in front of him. He’s brought props this time, purchased especially for Paul. He watches Paul’s eyes widen impossibly more and his chin begin to tremble as he removes the curling iron from its place on the table. “What—”
“Good men don’t do what you did, Paul.” he twirls the curling wand between his fingers. “Good men don’t do that to little girls.” he reaches behind Paul to plug in the iron, and then places it in his lap. “Good men don’t force themselves on teenage girls in the bathrooms of their own homes, Paul.”
“She wanted it—” Steve knows he’ll regret his lapse in control later, but he can’t stop his fist from connecting with Paul’s jaw, and he wonders how many bones he’ll break before he gets to the real punishment.
“She still has that scar.” Steve snarls, his hand tangling in Paul’s greasy hair as he forces him to look up at him. “Still fucking has it. Because you wouldn’t even let her unplug the goddamn thing.” Paul shifts uncomfortably, trying to dislodge the heating iron in his lap, but if Steve is good at anything it’s knots, and his struggles prove fruitless. Steam rises from his clothes, and then the smell of burnt cloth begins to permeate the room.
“Please, please, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’ll do anything—” his pleas devolve into screams as Steve stands up, dusting his knees off. “PLEASE!” Steve ignores him as he heads for the stairs.
“I’ll be back tomorrow. Let’s see if you’re more honest then.”
“Steve!” your voice soothing to his soul, like cool water on a hot day. He turns, schooling his expression into one of surprise. He turns, a smile already on his face. Seeing you in your work clothes makes his throat a little dry. You still looked like the young woman he remembered when you were wearing your casual clothes; shorts, a t-shirt—but in your form fitting pencil skirt, your blouse with just one button undone, and your hair swept into a knot on your head… It was making him think unsavory thoughts.
Like whether you would cry if he ripped the buttons on your blouse to palm the perfect tits he knew were underneath. Whether you’ll scream his name or sob it—he wants you to scream it. “You told me you worked at the museum, so I figured I should come take a look.” he replies with a bashful smile.
“Checking in on me, eh? Think I need a security detail?” you joke, and he nods.
“Of course. The pretty ones always do.” your eyes widen a bit at the compliment, and he watches you bite your lip the way you do when you’re embarrassed. “I was thinking maybe we could do some catching up when you got off?”
“Oh totally! I’m actually done here in like thirty minutes or so, if you don’t mind waiting…?” he watches you glance back at the info-desk worriedly, as though you’ll be penalized for leaving your post.
“Of course.” He’s so excited to see you, the time passes without him even feeling it. “Dinner?” Steve asks when he meets you back in the main lobby at closing time. “You must be hungry.”
“Starving, honestly.” you admit, holding your belly. “I didn’t get a lunch break today and I’m pretty sure my stomach has turned itself inside out.” Steve grins. “What about you?”
“Famished.” Most of the restaurants near the museum are fancy, with at least an hour wait for a table, something he already knows. “Why don’t we just hang out at my place? We could order takeout.” he suggests, knowing you still feel safe enough with him to go. The thought makes his chest clench, because it’s all he wants, all he’s ever wanted. Because he’s the only person you’re ever really safe with, the only one who can protect you.
“Okay, why not. Where d’you stay nowadays? I’m assuming you’re not staying in the ass end of Ridgeway anymore.” you say, laughing. It’s a joke, but it’s also a way of gathering information. He knows you want to know if he’s living close to the old neighborhood still, so you can steel yourself against the memories. Steve wishes he could take that pain from you—but it’s the one thing he can’t save you from.
So he just punishes the people that gave you the memories instead.
“No, no,” he laughs, shaking his head. “I’m in Bed-Stuy now.” he makes a show of checking his watch for the time. “There’s a good Thai place, and if we call now, it should be ready by the time we get there.” you grin at him, disbelief written plainly on your features. You can’t believe he still remembers your favorites.
“God, how do you still know me so well?” you ask, jiggling his arm playfully with your elbow as the both of you head for the train station.
“I never forgot you.” he says, watching your face contort as you try to reign in the surprise. He knows you don’t want to remember, but that you can’t forget either.
“I didn’t forget you, Steve.” you say softly, grabbing his hand. “You were the one who showed me I could… that I could leave.” he wants to shout that you should have waited for him, should have trusted that he would come back for you, that he was going to—but he doesn’t. He swallows the anger and the betrayal because he knows it isn’t your fault. You couldn’t have stayed in that hellhole, not without him there to protect you.
You’re back now, and that’s what’s important. He squeezes your hand reassuringly. “I know you didn’t.”
The train is crowded, which he doesn’t mind, because it forces you to stand close to him, letting him inhale the scent of your skin, which is different and still oh-so-familiar. He’s reminded of all the train rides he’s taken with you prior to this moment, how they led him, inexorably to the now, where he’s standing in front of you, so close to finally having you the way he needs. The way he deserves.
They way you both deserve.
He was right, the food is ready by the time you arrive, and he insists on carrying it, ignoring your protests. His heart pounds as he leads you up the stairs. You’re trailing behind him, looking up at the large brownstone with no small amount of awe.
“You… rent?” you ask tentatively, and he shakes his head.
“One good thing about the army, I at least got paid enough not to have to worry about housing when I got back.” he knows you’re too sensitive, too fragile to know just what he did while he was gone—all the blood on his hands—but he’d do it again, and gladly. Because he needed to do it, needed to learn how to take a man apart with his hands so he could do it to protect you. He doesn’t mind, because it’s for you. So that you can be safe.
You kick your shoes off in the entryway, and Steve heads for the kitchen, putting the food down. You poke your head into the kitchen. “Bathroom?”
“Down the hall, it’s the second…no, third door on your right.” Steve replies. It’s like a dream—you’re finally here, in his home. You’re finally back where you belong, and he’s…happy. For the first time in a long time. He’s known the pleasure of the hunt, the satisfaction of doing the right thing, but he hasn’t been happy. Not like this.
“Thanks. Smells amazing!” you reply when you return. You’ve opened up your blouse to reveal the tank top underneath, and he quickly admires the ripe, round curve of your breasts through it. God, he wants to touch—he won’t, he knows better, he can wait, he’s nothing if not patient—but he wants to. “Can I help with anything?”
“You can sit right there,” Steve replies, pointing to the seat across from his. “And you can watch me work.” he winks at you, and you laugh. I’ll never get tired of that sound. You curl and uncurl a lock of your hair around your finger. Steve dishes out the food, laying out the appetizers between you so you can share. “How’s work at the museum?”
“Good! I mean, it’s pretty boring, but good. I gave a couple of tours today, so that was fun, but the best part is honestly getting home to paint.” you reply. You sound like you’re admitting something, and there’s a flash of guilt in your eyes. Steve’s not sure why you feel it—you’re an artist, not a tour guide. You shrug, clacking your chopsticks together. “At least I make enough to live, you know. Inside the city.”
Steve is content to just… let you talk. He prods when it’s necessary, but you’re fine on your own. He’s already followed you back to your Alphabet City studio, sat on the fire escape while you slept and changed and painted.
He even knows what your face looks like when you cum.
In fact, that’s what he’s thinking about as you tell him about college. When he asks if you want some wine, he’s thinking about the way your toes curl and you keen like you’re crying. You bite your lip—the same as you do when you’re soaking that stupid plastic cock, a poor imitation if he’s ever seen one—and then nod.
“Why the hell not?”
He goes for the glasses, making sure to fill both of them up equally. You don’t know he can’t get drunk, you don’t know what they did to him to make him so big and strong for you, but that’s okay. You’ll feel safer if he drinks too, he knows that. So he does, pouring himself a refill every time he offers you one.
“And—hic—what about you?” you ask, covering your mouth cutely as you hiccough. “I’ve been rambling forever. Did you… did you like the army?” you ask, cocking your head sweetly at him from across the dinner table. Your eyes stray to the dog tags at his neck, and he pulls them out for you to see.
“It was hell at first,” he says, leaning in as though he’s making an admission of his own. “And… honestly, I’m surprised they even let me in. Maybe somebody saw how bad I wanted to protect the people I cared about.” he looks pointedly at you. You look away bashfully, but he knows his point is made.
“Is that why you went?” you ask a small smirk on your face as you waggle a finger at him. “Really?”
“I saw… I saw some horrible things while I was away.” Steve replies—and this, at least, is true. He volunteered for the experiments, volunteered for the missions, and he’s seen the worst in people. There are monsters, but the worst ones, he’s found, look just like everyone else. They smile, they go to work, they pay their taxes. “You have no idea.”
And then they go home and do unspeakable things.
The best thing he ever did was go into the army—because they gave him the power to fight them.
“I think you’re really brave, Steve.” you say after a moment, and he sighs, shaking his head. “No, you are.”
“More wine?” he asks, knowing your head has to be positively buzzing after the entire bottle. You shake your head, sighing.
“I probably shouldn’t. I’ve already had too much, and I still have to take the train,” you lament mournfully. Steve stops the slow grin from spreading across his face. “And I have to work tomorrow.” he makes a show of checking his watch, eyes widening.
“It’s already pretty late,” he says, shaking his head. “You could just stay here, I have a washer. I promise, no one will know the difference.” he winks at you, and you laugh. “Besides, I haven’t given you the tour yet.” you’re too drunk to question why he isn’t slurring, why his movements are so steady and sure as he clears the table. “I wouldn’t feel right letting you take the train all the way uptown by yourself.”
“I guess… I guess I could stay. It’s not like anyone’s waiting on me.” you shrug. “Lead the way.” Steve knows you won’t make it through even half of the house before you’re too drowsy to continue. He’s counting on it.
“Follow me.” you make it through the first floor easily, but by the time he’s leading you upstairs, your movements are sluggish, and even sloppier than before. You almost knock into the bannister, but Steve catches you. “Maybe we can do this another time, when we haven’t had a whole bottle of wine,” he chuckles, and you grin at him sheepishly.
“Usually I have a higher tolerance,” you mutter, leaning on him heavily. “Ugh, sorry.” he shakes his head at you, clucking his tongue.
“Don’t be. Let me get you a shirt to sleep in.” the thought of you wearing his clothes is enough to make his cock strain against his pants. “Let’s get you into bed.” he leads you not toward the guest bedroom, but his own, something he’s surprised you notice when he settles you on the edge of the bed.
“Steve, s’this your room? I don’t wanna put you out of your bed,” you whine, and he chuckles. You won’t.
“Shh, doll. I don’t have sheets on the other bed. This is fine.”
He tosses you an old t-shirt, and heads into the bathroom while you change. It’s only the illusion of privacy, but he watches with rapt attention through a crack in the door as you strip off your work clothes with clumsy fingers. He’s going to map every inch of your creamy skin with his fingers and tongue, going to know your body better than you know it.
So fuckin’ perfect.
It’s easier to stage the body than Steve thought it would be—Paul’s wife left him years before, and the sad little apartment he rents above the bodega on their old street is as good a place as any. Paul can’t just go missing, not like Marilyn. He’s an example, a gift.
And he has to make sure you see it.
He deposits Paul on the bathroom floor, dropping his body like a sack of grain. He leaves through the fire escape, and waits. That’s the hardest part, waiting. Steve is patient, he knows how to wait, but that doesn’t ease the agony, not until he flicks on the news almost a month later, grinning as his handiwork is finally recognized.
“The victim is an elderly man, Paul Mazzano, fifty eight, who was pronounced dead at the scene. Here, I have detective Ford to share some details.” The newscaster points the microphone towards a disgruntled looking cop with a handlebar mustache. Behind him, Steve watches people parade in and out of the apartment building, as onlookers murmur just off-frame.
“Uh, yes. Well. Neighbors reported a, um, a smell. And when the landlord investigated, he found Mr. Mazzano in the bathroom.” Steve knows they won’t describe the scene, not really. They won’t say that they found him draped over the sink, a hot curling iron pressed to his chest. “We have several leads on a suspect, but as of right now no one’s been taken into custody.”
They have no leads, of course, but he knows they can’t say that. He turns off the television, almost giddy. He doesn’t have to wait much longer for you to hear the news yourself, and when you call him, sniffling, he’s ready.
“S-Steve? I’m sorry. I didn’t… I didn’t know who else to call.” The two of you had been spending a fair amount of time together, and he’s pleased the fruits of his labor have paid off—it’s him you’ve called, not one of your other friends.
“What’s wrong? Are you alright?” he asks, knowing full well you’re not. He hears you take a deep breath.
“Somebody killed Paul.” your voice shakes as you speak. “And God, I don’t… I can’t… I don’t want to be alone. Can I come over?”
“Of course. Do you want me to pick you up?” he asks, and you sniffle.
“N-no. It’s alright, I’ll take the train.”
You only knock once before he’s at the door, tugging you into his arms as you sob. For a moment, Steve worries that you’re actually grieving as he helps you into the house. You’re still clinging to him when he seats both of you on the couch.
“It’s okay to be upset,” he says gently, stroking circles on your back as you cry. You look up at him with red-rimmed, watery eyes, and shake your head.
“I’m not sad,” you reply, roughly wiping at your eyes with the back of your hand. “I’m…I’m angry. I’m angry someone got there first. Jesus, isn’t that fucked up?” you laugh tonelessly as even more tears threaten to fall, welling up as you look up at him. “I wish it had been me.” Steve’s never felt closer to you than in this moment.
“It’s not fucked up.” he never would have let you, doesn’t want you to live with the blood on your hands the way he does, but it makes something hungry unfurl in him to hear you say it. “He’s a piece of shit who deserved to die for what he did to you, and it’s not fucked up to want justice.”
“You know what’s fucked up?” you hiccup. “I never told anybody. I never said a goddamn thing. I should have. And I never did.” you’re sobbing again, and Steve holds you tightly, pulling you into his lap. You curl against him, pressing your face into his chest as you cry yourself dry. You’re so small and vulnerable in his arms, Steve almost wishes he could bring Paul back and do it all over again, just for making you suffer.
“Well, now he can’t hurt anyone else.” Steve replies firmly. “He’s gone.” you lay there, sniffling against his chest until your breathing evens. “You can stay here today. I don’t think you should be alone,” he says, and you chuckle.
“Alone’s my middle name,” you joke, wiping at your runny nose and puffy eyes. “God, I bet I look awful.” You’re trying to lighten the mood, to distract from the real, heavy feelings he knows you’re shouldering. He wishes again that he could take this from you, that he could hold it for you the way he holds the weight of the justice he knows no one other than him can dispense.
“You look beautiful. Like you always do.” Steve replies, making sure to let his hand linger on your thigh. You’re vulnerable right now, easy to manipulate. He doesn’t feel bad about it, no—you need him, you just don’t know how much.  You mumble in response, shaking your head.
“I look like I got stung in the face by a bee. Probably several.” you dismiss him with a wave of your hand, and before he can preach patience to himself again, he grabs it, his eyes hard. Your breath hitches at the contact.
“You don’t know how perfect you are,” he says tightly, like he’s trying to force you to understand it. “How good.” you’re practically straddling his lap now, your expression anxious and unsure.
“Good people don’t celebrate someone’s death,” you mutter, shaking your head.
“Then don’t be good.” Steve replies, and your eyes flash up to his. Your lip trembles. “Good people watched him hurt you. Good people ignored you, let you slip through the cracks.” he brings a hand to your cheek, and your eyes widen a little at the gesture. “Don’t be good.” he repeats it as he brushes a thumb across your bottom lip. Your tongue follows the motion, and you pull back suddenly, as if he’d struck you instead.
He’s worried he’s gone too far as you scramble off of his lap, your pulse thundering. You glance up at him with worried eyes, and he sees it for just an instant—desire. “Sorry, I just, um—bathroom.” you say lamely, shuffling awkwardly out of the living room and leaving him alone. You’re alone and adrift with only Steve to anchor you, and he knows you’re fighting hard against letting him be more than a friend. But you’d come to him for comfort when the news broke about Paul, you let him hold your hand—you’d slept in his bed.
You just need another push in the right direction.
Steve waits patiently for you to return, and when you do, your eyes are still red and puffy, but your face is clean and dry. “Sorry for barging in on you like this,” you say, scuffing your foot against the floor. “Shitty way to spend your day, listening to me blubber about the past.”
“Nonsense. You’re always welcome here,” he replies, dismissing you with a wave. You’ve always been overly concerned with others to the point of neglecting yourself, and Steve just wants you to feel as valued as you make everyone else feel. “Did you call out of work today?” he asks, feigning curiosity. You won’t be going, not in the state you’re in, but Steve knows it’s easier to convince than to command.
“N-no, not yet.” you reply sheepishly, rubbing your puffy eyes as you sit back down next to him, careful to put an extra few inches of space between you. Steve closes it by widening his legs, scooting closer under the guise of being interested in what you have to say. “I wasn’t… I don’t know. I probably shouldn’t, right? It would be stupid to call out because some guy who was shitty to me died.”
Steve feels the rage flare up inside him at your callous dismissal of your own trauma. He knows it’s what you’ve learned to do, to shrink yourself, to minimize. He won’t allow it. “Shitty to you? He raped you.” Steve knows you avoid using that word like the plague, and you reel back violently as he says it. Tears gather again in your already wet eyes, and your lip trembles. He clenches his fists against his thigh and sinks his teeth into his lip. “And I couldn’t do anything.”
He remembers what it was like to just… watch as all of the people in your life failed you over and over. Ignoring the signs, ignoring the bruises, ignoring everything, pretending it wasn’t happening. Steve remembers you climbing up his fire escape, still shaking, the burn mark fresh on your flesh.
He’s never forgotten it.
“It’s not your fault.” you place a tentative hand on his shoulder, and then rest your head against him instead. Steve’s heart is threatening to pound out of his chest. “We… we were just kids, you know?”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have… I’m sorry.” he apologizes, shaking his head. “I just can’t… I can’t stand you being upset that he’s dead. Feeling bad that… you don’t feel bad.” he looks down at you, his gaze softening. “You’re too sweet for your own good.”
“Guess that means I should call out, then, huh?” you ask, and Steve chuckles.
“Yeah, I think so.” he knows you’re hurting now, that the scab on the wound of your childhood is open and bleeding. He hates that he had to do it, to make you see that he was your safety, your security, but you’re here now, so he knows it’s worked. “You hungry?” he asks, and you let out a disbelieving laugh.
“Why do you always take such good care of me, Steve?” you look up at him, doe eyed. “It’s… it’s like you never left.”
“Somebody’s got to, doll.” he drags his hand affectionately down your arm, reveling in the feel of your skin under his palm. “Somebody’s got to.”
He makes sure you call your boss to let him know you won’t be coming in, frowning at you sternly when you promise to make the hours up. You shouldn’t even be working at the museum, Steve thinks scathingly. It’s your work that should be gracing the walls. He watches you stow your phone before stretching across the couch, the hemline on your little shorts riding up to expose more of your smooth skin.
Steve’s so close to having you, so close to finally crossing the line between friends and more than friends, and he’s acutely aware of it as you recline next to him. “Maybe it’s dumb,” you say, looking up from the television to fix him with a nervous smile. “But I… I feel better being here.” you sound like you’re admitting something to him, like you’re confessing. “I always felt… safe with you. Even when we were little.”
Steve chuckles. “Even when you had to fight my bullies for me?” he asks, remembering trying to defend the two of you with nothing more than his skinny arms, his will, and a trash-can lid. You laugh too.
“Looks like you can beat up your own bullies now, though.” you patted his leg. “I don’t think you need me anymore.”
You have no idea, sweetheart. “Why wouldn’t I need you?” he asks, watching your eyes widen at his bluntness. You gape at him embarrassedly.
“I, well, I just meant—”
“I always needed you.” your whole body tenses at his words. The legs you’d platonically thrown over his own twitch as he places a heavy hand on your knee. “Even when I wasn’t here, I needed you.”
“I thought about you every day over there, you know?” he says softly, focusing intently on the patterns his fingers are drawing on your skin. Neither of you are paying attention to the soft droning of the television anymore.
“You… you did?”
“Every day.” he repeats, his blue eyes resting heavily on yours. “Why didn’t you wait for me?” he asks, his brow furrowing. “I told you I was coming back for you.” a choked sound leaves your throat, and you try to withdraw your legs, but Steve holds them there, his eyes on yours.
“I… I didn’t…” you drag your hands down your face. “I didn’t think you really would.” you admit, hugging yourself as you look away. Anger makes him see red for a moment, and he snarls.
“I promised.”
“Steve, I was seventeen. I didn’t… no one had ever kept a promise to me before. And I didn’t—fuck, this is hard. I didn’t think I was worth keeping. I didn’t want you to come back for me because you deserved more than to come back to… this.” you gesture at yourself. “I’m all fucked up, Steve.” you give him a watery smile.
“I wanted to come back to you.” he doesn’t remember pulling you into his lap, but you’re there, your breath puffing across his cheeks as he cups your face. “All I fuckin’ wanted was to come back to you.”
Your mouth is softer than he thought it would be, your lips more yielding; Steve is positively drowning in you—and he doesn’t want to come up for air. He drinks the tentative sigh you release into his mouth, his hands traveling feverishly up and down your sides. You pull away, gasping.
“Steve, Steve w-we should stop—” he’s not listening, leaving a trail of kisses from the corner of your mouth to your temple as he strokes your trembling thighs. “I—oh—!” his fingers skirt underneath the loose hem of your t-shirt, stroking the skin of your belly. The scent of you is addictive—he can smell the laundry detergent on your clothes, the lotion on your skin, but underneath it, his enhanced senses can pick up your true scent.
He runs his nose along your throat. “Smell so fuckin’ sweet, doll.” he can’t resist the urge to run his tongue along the same path, and your little hands fist in his shirt, tugging on it. “Still want me to stop?” he attaches his lips to your pulse point, his teeth worrying the flesh. Steve sits back to admire his handiwork, the purple and yellow bruise blooms like a flower on your skin.
“I…no,” you admit in a small voice, and that’s all it takes for him to drag your mouth back down to his. It feels like he’s dreaming—he’s dreamed this before, after all, so many times—but this is real, you’re really here and God he’s not fucking letting you go. He groans against your mouth at the first tentative grind of your hips.
“Waited so long,” he pants against your mouth, one hand finding it’s way to your back to undo your bra as the other steadies you on his lap. You’re mewling as he finds your nipple with his calloused fingers, twisting it. “Always loved you, you know that sweetheart?” Steve’s already hard, his cock throbbing  as he thinks of all the ways he finally gets to have you.
All his.
It’s a heady thought that makes him sink his teeth into the soft, supple skin at your collarbone, and you whine for him. It’s so delicious that he has to do it again. “Ow! That hurts, Steve!” you whimper, and he chuckles against your throat.
“Sorry, sweetheart. Got carried away.” it’s too much for now, he knows that, but eventually, Steve knows you’ll let him mark every inch of you. You’ll beg him for it. “God, just want you so bad.” he grips your hips harder, guiding you over the bulge in his pants. You moan softly at the pressure, and he looks up at you through his lashes. Your lips are parted, your eyes lidded. “Feel good?”
“Good. You deserve to feel good.” his thumb finds the button on your shorts. “I want you to feel better, sweetheart. You’ll let me, right?” he asks, his thumbs drawing heavy circles on her hips. He can’t stop—indulgence after indulgence; you’re hell on his self-control. It’s strange, now that he has you, the desire is almost worse, because now he has to keep you, he can’t go back to watching. Can’t.
You look a little unsure, so Steve helps you along, slipping your t-shirt up to take your nipple into his mouth. You let out a strangled moan, and nod. “Y-yes, Steve.” the words have barely left your mouth when he pushes your back down to the cushions, pulling hungrily at your shorts. He remembers the sounds you made when he watched you, and he hopes you’ll make them now.
Maybe even better ones.
He exhales a sharp breath at the sight of the white lacy—racy—scrap of fabric adorning your hips, his nostrils flaring. All the times he’s dreamed of this moment, wished for it, he never pictured you wearing white. It’s fucking perfect. It’s in that moment that Steve knows he’s going to ruin you. Ruin you for anyone other than him. He tears frantically at the lace, and the elastic snaps against your skin. “I’ll get you a new one,” he says hurriedly before attaching his mouth to your drenched folds.
He knows he’s not going to see it—maybe ever—but this is as close as he’s likely to get. You whimper and shake above him, your hips undulating against his face as he laps at your core. Your thighs are trembling, soft sounds falling from your lips as he circles your clit with his tongue. He’s relentless, his fingers circling the tight, clenching entrance of your cunt longingly. Steve knows you didn’t wait for him—but you’re so tight and soft inside that he can almost pretend you did.
“Dreamed about this,” he murmurs against your thigh as he thrusts a thick finger into you. You hiss, your hips bucking.
“Y-you did?”
He curls his finger inside your pussy and a loud, broken moan tears from your throat. “Every fucking night.” Steve adds a second finger to the first, scissoring you slowly open. “They tried to bring women in for us, but fuck all I could think about was you.” a wet gush answers his words, and Steve’s other hand finds it’s way back up to your breasts, testing their weight and marveling at their softness. “How I was gonna ask you to be my girl when I got home, how I was gonna take care of you.” You’re bucking and moaning, and Steve steadies your hip with his hand, looking up at your face from between your thighs. “How I was gonna save you.”
He licks his lips. “But you didn’t need me to save you, did you?”
“Steve, Steve please, fuck, oh—“
“Not like you need me now.” Steve stretches you around his fingers, laving his tongue against your clit with a long, wet lick, and then you’re coming apart. You soak his chin and the couch cushions beneath you, that wail that he knows so well escapes your throat as you shudder against him. He stares at you in awe,  drunk on the taste of you as he watches you shaking from the pleasure he’s given you. “Say it. Say you need me.” your eyes are bleary and wet from your orgasm when they meet his, and his hands tighten on your hips. “Say it.”
“I-I need you, Steve,” you don’t sound sure, but that’s alright—he’s got you now, and he has time to make sure you know exactly what you need. The words make him groan, tearing at the button on his jeans as he eagerly frees his cock. He’s taking advantage of your grief, he knows it and he’s planned it that way, but you’re moaning and writhing underneath him just like he’s always wanted, so it’s more than worth it.
He’s not like the others, he’s not going to leave you, not now, not ever. Steve rips his shirt over his head, a growl escaping him at the sight of the slick mess at the apex of your thighs. Your scent is bearing down on him with the intensity of a speeding semi, and he has to have you, he can’t stop, not even if you wanted him to. He settles over you, caging your head in with his arms as he stares down into your eyes. Steve drags his lips across your own as the head of his cock slides wetly through the folds of your cunt.
“Ste-eve,” you whine, panting against his mouth. “Fuck, I need, I need—”
“I know, baby.” he sheathes himself inside of you in one glorious thrust, the wet noise of his entry ringing in his ears. He groans loudly, watching as your eyes roll back and your mouth falls open. You’re so hot and wet and tight, he can’t not move. He knows he should give you time to adjust, time to get used to the sheer size of him, but his hips are pushing against you before he can grab for the reigns of his self control. “Fuck, sweetheart, you’re squeezin’ me so good,” he pants, pulling out until your cunt is sucking hungrily at the head of his cock before slamming all the way back in.
Every time he bottoms out inside you, a hoarse sob falls from your lips, and he presses his forehead to yours, breath puffing across your sweaty face. “Look at me.” your eyes flick open, and he growls as they meet his. “Good girl.” he knows he worked you open with his fingers, but you’re still squeezing him so fucking tight, wetness seeping out of you and soaking his thighs with every thrust. “My good girl.”
Your hands find purchase on his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as he lays into you. Your words have failed you, though Steve occasionally hears a please or even better, his own name among your pleasure addled babble. He rocks his hips into yours, peppering your face with lusty kisses.
“God, Steve, please, gonna cum, fuck!” you’re crying again, tears leaking down your hot cheeks. He licks their salty trails and groans, burying his face against your throat. “Fuck, fuck, fu-uck—”
“That’s it, sweetheart. Give it all to me.” your thighs dig into his sides as a keening cry leaves you, your back bowing up off of the couch cushions and pressing the softness of your breasts into his chest. You’re squeezing him so tight he almost can’t move, his cock trapped by the velvety wet walls of your cunt. He presses your thigh to your chest, opening you up deeper even as the aftershocks of cumming again roll through your body.
“Steve, Steve, Steve—” his name is on your lips like a prayer, and as his cock bottoms out inside you, he gasps.
“Taking me so good, sweetheart,” he leans back, mesmerized by the sight of your slick, puffy folds being spread open by the thick length of his cock. “Fuck, like this sweet pussy was made to fit my cock.” Steve knows he’s going to cum soon, and just the thought of finally filling you up is almost enough to make him bust as soon as it surfaces. He reaches between your bodies, his rough fingers rolling your clit between them.
“Ah! Fuck! Steve, Steve I can’t,” you’re sobbing hysterically, shaking your head and dragging your fingers down the sweaty, muscular planes of his chest. “I can’t again!” the sloppy, wet noise of your cunt is like music to him, and he groans. He knows you can, though, knows you can take it, knows you can give him one more before he lets himself follow you into sweet, blissful oblivion.
His touch is relentless. “Shh, pretty girl. One more. One more time, you can do it. It’s okay.” he’s not even really paying attention to the assurances that leave his lips as his head lolls back. God, he’d kill a million men just to do this.
Just to have you.
You scream as you cum again, and Steve feels his balls constrict as he falls over the edge immediately after. The slick evidence of your pleasure coats his cock and his thighs, and Steve holds you still as he empties himself into your pussy. He doesn’t release his hold on your hips until his cock stops jerking inside you, finally spent. You’re boneless as he pulls away from you, one leg tossed over the back of the couch, toes twitching. The sight of his cum dribbling down from the puffy, abused hole of your cunt makes his cock throb with the desire to repeat the activity.
Steve admires his handiwork, the bite marks littering your shoulders and throat, your messy hair, and the dazed, dreamy look in your eyes as you float slowly back to yourself. He kisses you again, and you wrap weak, trembling arms around his shoulders. He’s content to lay there with you reveling in the feel of your heartbeat under his ear. He’s reluctant to let you up when you wiggle impatiently underneath him, but he does, allowing you to scamper to the bathroom.
When you return, Steve sweeps you into his arms, carrying you up to the bedroom, where he deposits you, giggling, onto the silken sheets. “I’m not going to ask where you learned that,” you say, cuddling into his chest when he lays down beside you. His fingers trace shapes on your hips and he presses a kiss to your forehead.
“It’s me who should be asking that question,” he replies, grinning at you. His eyes flash as thoughts from earlier return to plague him. Not her first. He wasn’t angry about it then, but thinking of anyone seeing you the way he’s just seen you… it makes him want to rectify the situation as best he can. He can’t fault you, of course, it’s not your fault, but… “There aren’t any boyfriends I’ve got to worry about looking for me, right?” he jokes, though he knows there’s not anyone who could give him trouble, not really.
You scoff. “Please. The last relationship I had was like three years ago.” you wave off his concerns, and place a tentative kiss on the corner of his mouth. Steve returns it eagerly, but when he pulls away, there’s a darkness in his eyes that he can tell makes you nervous.
“Got a name for me, sweetheart?”
The end.
2K notes · View notes
mhysa-leesi · a day ago
𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒢𝓇𝑜𝓊𝓃𝒹𝓈𝓀𝑒𝑒𝓅𝑒𝓇 (Part I)
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𝒫𝒶𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈: Dark Groundskeeper!Bucky Barnes 𝓍 (femme) Agoraphobic!Reader 🌹.
𝒮𝑒𝓇𝒾𝑒𝓈 𝒮𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎: "Something is seriously wrong with your new groundskeeper."
𝒲𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒞𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉: 3,781
𝒯𝒲: Descriptions of Panic Attacks, Anxiety, Agoraphobia, and Death. ⚠ VIEWER DISCRETION ADVISED. 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI‼
𝒩𝑜𝓉𝑒: Here is our first part of the mini-series, yay! Nothing happens in this part, just some character introductory. Again, I'd appreciate any feedback! ❤ **ALL GRAMMATICAL MISTAKES ARE MY OWN.
𝒜𝒩: This story contains adult and dark themes, please do not proceed if you are under the age of 18 or if ANY of these warnings upset you! I am not responsible for your media consumption–you and only you are. If you'd like to join my permanent taglist to stay updated on new and upcoming fics, please fill out this Google Form. 𝒯𝒽𝒶𝓃𝓀 𝓎𝑜𝓊.
𝒜𝒩 𝒞𝑜𝓃𝓉.: If you or anyone you know has been a victim of sexual violence, please reach out for help. I do not condone ANY of the actions described in this story, this is merely a work of FICTION.
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The overcast sky had the color of dark, grey ash. And although it was only high noon, the world was already dark. The fog blurred every detail and the rain glittered under the pale and muted sunlight hidden beneath dark storm clouds. A withered maple leaf left its branch and fell to the ground; fluttering in the wind, its movements like that of a scarlet butterfly in flight. A cold wind blew in from the north and then it looked as though the leaves of autumn had all taken flight, flying far, far away from here.
You watched from the window as Natasha, your errand girl, arrived home. Her red-hair bright against the grey and foggy background. She was lovely, a beautiful woman with eyes like emeralds and skin like porcelain. She saw you and waved, and you sheepishly waved back. You watched the rain come down from the window before tiptoeing down the winding stairs and into the kitchen.
Natasha was there, unpacking today’s groceries as she hummed a quiet tune. She wore a peacock-blue basque that was embroidered in gold with whimsical creatures, and her skirt gathered like a ripple of blue satin with peacock feathers trailing in the back. Her eyes had been dusted with glittery purple, that complimented the green of her eyes, and her lips were an orange-coral. You watched from the doorway as she peeled and cut an orange, only moving when she offered you a slice. Juice dribbled down your chin as you bit into the sweet, tarty fruit.
“What does it taste like?” she asked you.
“It tastes like… Summer,” you said.
“Summer?” she quirked a perfectly arched brow, “That’s odd, it tastes like a regular orange to me.”
You smiled for the first time that morning, then. That was what you loved most about Natasha, her wit and eccentricity. You wished you were more like her.
She sucked the juice from her orange slice and turned to you, “I almost forgot, we have a new groundskeeper coming to the property today, Miss.”
“There still hasn’t been a word of Mister Barton?” you frowned.
“I’m afraid not, ma’am,”
“Perhaps we should wait? Just in case he returns to us. I’d hate for someone to take his place—”
“Ma’am,” she said firmly, “the garden is in desperate need of tending. Your mother wouldn’t approve of such an unkempt lawn.”
You hang your head in shame, “Yes, I suppose you’re right.”
There was a moment of comfortable silence between the two of you as Natasha finished unpacking the rest of her basket of groceries.
“Have you gone outside today, Miss?”
“Yes. I went out to the garden,” you quickly lied.
Natasha narrowed her eyes at you, piercing you with emerald daggers. She quickly ducked underneath the table and lifted your skirts to check your boots for mud, “You filthy little liar!”
“It’s been raining all morning,” you quickly defended, “I–I promise I’ll go out tomorrow.”
She snatched her umbrella from its stand and thrusted it into your hands, then. It was still wet with rain.
“We’ll go together,” she said matter-of-factly, “out to the garden to pick some flowers.”
You began to shake at the thought, but before you could protest, she had already linked your arm with hers and was leading you toward the garden doors.
“B–But it’s raining, Natasha,”
“We have an umbrella,” she smiled mischievously as she popped it open and led you outside, her hand holding yours.
Natasha laced her fingers through yours and turned them, so the rain pattered against your skin. She rubbed circles with her thumb, smoothing the raindrops into your skin. And with her gentle reassurance, you took a deep breath and reluctantly stepped out from underneath the terrace. With closed eyes, the only noise you could hear was the soft pattering of rain against the umbrella. You took another step, past the cloudberry bushes, and another, until you were standing fully on the lawn and under the raining sky.
“You must open your eyes, Miss,”
You took in another deep breath and forced your eyes to flutter open, blinking as you adjusted to the clouded sunlight. A veil of damp fog hung over the garden, giving the world a greyed cast, and you stumbled over every hidden stone and in every misty puddle as Natasha led you along. You came to the aged, stone dragon statue, then; and your heart started to quicken in your chest. This was the farthest you’ve ever been, always stopping at the sleeping dragon—never daring to cross him. One, two, three more steps and you’ve slayed the dragon.
You were happy about your new accomplishment, but as the rose-covered garden gates came into view, your mouth dried. Has it always been this far? You focused on your breathing, trying your damnedest to be brave and strong like Natasha, but you seemed to lose touch with yourself between each breath and each honeysuckle bloom you passed. Your legs began to shake, then, and you wanted nothing more than to hide under the blankets of your bed. Natasha picked a purple petaled clematis and placed it behind her ear, and with tense legs and tingling hands you inched forward toward a bed of fiery heleniums.
You felt yourself sway as you plucked the blossom from its stem, as if the ground was opening up to swallow you whole. And before you knew what was happening, you were on the ground, with the grey sky raining down on you. Your cheeks were wet, and you couldn’t tell if it was from the rain or your tears. How long you laid there, you didn’t know. But when you finally came to, you saw that the light of the moon had long poured into your bedroom.
On your nightstand sat your fiery helenium, you frowned as you looked at the lonely flower. If only you could’ve picked more, you thought. You drew the covers over your head and just laid in silence, listening to the sounds of the gentle rain that rhythmically tapped against your window. How you longed to be a woman who danced in the rain, instead of one who watches from their window. You shut your eyes and tried to make yourself fall back asleep, but the rain wouldn’t let you, so you sat up and rubbed the tiredness from your eyes.
You sat awake until the rain had stopped, and you were about to try to sleep again when you heard scratching from within the walls. You listened for a moment, and the scratching came again. You got out of bed, then, and went to look out the wet window. You froze as you saw a man. The silver glow of the moon illuminated the darkest shadows of his face, giving him a sinister look.
His face was pale white as he looked up at you, smiling a smile that seemed to be too wide for his face. He just stood there motionless, smiling. You needed to go and find Steve and tell him about this strange man. But you couldn’t move, your heart even seemed to stop beating as you continued to stare out into the night at the mysterious man. Suddenly, he waved up at you, and you shot out of your room as fast as your fatigued legs could take you.
You ran out into the dark corridor, pressing yourself against the cold wall as you calmed your racing heart. There, in the dark of the hallway, you heard the scratchings again, and they were louder this time. And for a moment, you forgot about the man standing outside your window as you tiptoed into the drawing room. But as soon as you stepped inside, they abruptly stopped. You looked around the room and your eyes landed on the ceiling as the faint scratchings started again.
Something moved in the corner of your eye, then. It was a shadow from outside, moving like an inky silhouette made of night. You watched as the black shape walked across the garden, its shadow long and ominous against the billowing curtains, and you followed nervously. It was the man, and he was walking around your house. You crept out of the drawing room and down the corridor, then ran down the winding staircase as soon as the coast was clear.
“Steve, there’s someone out in the garden!”
Steve looked up from his book, “Someone out in the garden? Are you sure?”
“Yes,” you hissed, “he was smiling and waving at me.”
Steve put down his book, then, “Are you sure you weren’t having another nightmare, Miss?”
“Steve, please,” you frowned, “j–just come and look. I’d feel better if you did.”
With his hand in yours, you tugged him along until you came to your bedroom window. You peeked through the curtains and shuddered as you saw him standing there… Waiting. Steve looked out through the rain-stained window. Your heart began to skip and quicken as you saw the serious expression on Steve’s face.
“Stay here, (Y/N),” he said.
He left the room before you could speak. You followed him, despite him telling you to stay put. Your heart thudded faster than ever as you crept down the stairs after him. Steve rarely ever called you by your name, and he only did so when he was truly serious. When you reached the bottom of the stairs you caught one last quick glimpse of his back as he disappeared out into the night.
“Steve?” you whispered. No response.
You inched closer to the open door and called out for him again, and still no answer. You rubbed your feet together nervously as a sense of foreboding slithered its way into your heart. You tried not to frown at the thought of something happening within the dark of night. “You’ll get wrinkles”, you heard Natasha’s chide in your head. When Steve reappeared in the open doorway, you jumped.
“Ma’am, this is Mister James Barnes, our new groundskeeper,” he introduced.
You looked past Steve and at the man behind him. Mister Barnes emerged from the darkness and stepped into the light that poured out into the night, but he never stepped foot inside. He stared at you so deeply you felt embarrassed and small, and didn’t know where to look. So, you just decided to stare back with narrowed, scrutinizing eyes. He broke his stare first as he smiled at you.
It was a strange smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. It was too wide, too… Forced. You didn’t smile back. Mister Barnes pushed his wettened hair back, it reached just below his stubbled jawline. He was dressed in shadows without a kiss of color to him.
“Evening, Miss (Y/LN),” he finally said.
You mentally reeled back upon hearing his voice, it didn’t match the coldness of his smile, “E–Evening, Mister Barnes.”
He offered you his hand, and you hesitantly accepted it. You flinched as he kissed your knuckles, he was as cold as ice, he felt more like a dead man than one who was living.
“Mister Barnes was my father, please, call me ‘Bucky’,” he smiled that cold smile again and you instinctively wrenched your hand from his.
Steve stepped out and took Bucky’s luggage, then. And before you could call Steve back, he was already leading in the direction toward his quarters. Bucky lingered just behind the doorway for a moment, just looking at you with an unreadable expression that made you uncomfortable. You couldn’t explain what you felt in that moment as his eyes seemed to look through you, just that you had the sudden impulse to hurry and hide away from him. Without a word or explanation, you closed the door with a frown.
You saw his silhouette against the closed curtains, and that seedling of foreboding you had felt earlier blossomed, spreading its black, ominous petals. He melted away into the night, finally, but you stayed frozen in your place until Steve returned.
“Send him away, Steve,” you said, “Please, something about him isn’t… Did you see his smile? I don’t trust him.”
Steve gently led you back toward your room with his warm hands on your shoulders, “We’re in desperate need of a groundskeeper, Miss.”
“Then we’ll find another. Please… Just send him away,” you begged, turning back to face him.
Steve looked at you apologetically, “You know I can’t do that, your mother has already hired him. It’s out of our control.”
You sat on your bed with your knees to your chest as Steve moved to close and lock your open windows. Alpine, a snow-white cat with sapphire eyes and a pink nose, jumped up onto the bed and curled next to you, purring as you scratched behind his ears. The bed sank under Steve’s weight as he sat beside you. You had to brace yourself not to fall against him. He took your hand in his, then; giving it a chaste and reassuring kiss to your knuckles.
“You think I’m crazy,” you murmured.
“I do not,” he said incredulously, “I just think that you’re nervous, he is a stranger after all.”
You huffed, “That’s not it, Steve. It’s not all because he’s a stranger, he’s… Oh, I–I don’t know. I can’t explain it.”
“He’s not Mister Barton?”
“Yes! Well—no, I–I mean… Christ, I don’t even know what I mean anymore,”
You fell backward onto your back and sighed as you stared up at your starry ceiling. And Steve did the same.
“He was so cold, Steve. Like a dead man,” you let out a shaky breath at the memory, “It was frightening.”
You were so close that you felt Steve’s heat, and you found yourself comforted by it. Your fingers were laced with his, ever so loosely. And your skin brushed against his with the softest of touches. He took your hand in his, then. Linking himself to you so naturally without a second thought.
“You don’t have to be afraid of anything when I’m around, (Y/N). I would never let anything happen to you,”
You chuckled and looked over at him. He was already looking at you, “Isn’t that your job, Mister Rogers?”
He laughed quietly and looked away to your painted constellations.
“Do you promise?” you asked in a small voice after a moment's silence.
“I promise you,”
“Cross your heart?”
“Cross my heart, doll,” he said.
You rested your head on his shoulder, then. And everything suddenly felt right again.
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It was early morning when you woke up. You were going to roll over and go back to sleep, when you sensed someone else in the room with you. Scared, you ran to the window and drew open the curtains, letting the early morning light pour into your bedroom. But no one was there. Just you and a waking Alpine.
Outside, the songbirds were chirruping happily. You dressed yourself in black. A beaded and embroidered bolero with a matching bodice, breeches that would send your mother to an early grave, and a pair of your late grandmother’s uncut ruby earrings. You looked nice for once, and you hoped the others would take notice. After your hiccup in the garden yesterday, you were in desperate need of a distraction, and a change of clothes already seemed to be working.
Everyone was sitting at the kitchen table. When you came into the kitchen, everyone turned and wished you good morning with smiles. You sat, and Wanda, your cook, brought you your breakfast. A bowl of porridge, fresh eggs, and sliced bacon from the market, and your favorite banana bread, with cinnamon and honey, from the bakery.
“Is Mister Barnes not joining us?” you asked.
“I’m afraid not,” Steve said, shaking his head, “Mister Barnes leaves for the docks at dawn.”
Natasha came into the room, then, with baroque vases of beautiful flowers. She placed pale pink tulips, marbled orchids, frilled peonies, dark purple carnations, and buttercups that looked like whipped cream around the house, so you could see the blossoms everywhere.
“I’ll just have to bring the garden to you,” that’s what she had said the first time she brought them to you.
You smiled as she tucked a white rose behind your ear and kissed your temple, they were your favorite.
“Doesn’t our mistress just look positively ravishing this morning, Steve?” asked Natasha.
Steve coughed as he choked on his tea, “Y–Yes.”
Your cheeks warmed, then.
“You’re blushing,” Natasha whispered in your ear. And your face grew even hotter.
You were about to retort when you heard the scratchings again. Everyone stopped what they were doing and listened. Then, you saw something move. It was a little shadow, and it scurried into the pantry. Alpine hissed and dove after it.
Alpine came out of the pantry a moment later and dropped the dead rat at your feet. He began to lick his paws clean, but paused, and listened to something that was unheard by your ears. Then Alpine went down into a low crouch and slowly stalked forward. Suddenly, he dashed out of the kitchen and up the winding staircase that led into the attic. And you stood to follow him.
You heard Natasha grumble about “That damn cat,” before you disappeared around the corner and up the stairs to the attic.
You stopped and called for Alpine, but you heard nothing. There was a musty and distinct smell of urine that came through the open doorway. You stepped into the dark and walked into the room uneasily until you felt the brass of an oil lamp. You lit the lamp and watched it flicker and light. The faint glow of flame casted a distorted silhouette of yourself that moved like a liquid shadow as you swept the room.
You heard a noise and saw something move within the darkness, then. It scurried silently across the floor and toward the farthest corner of the room. You held up the lamp and nearly screamed at what you saw…
Alpine was sitting in the center of the room, licking his whiskers and grooming his bloodstained fur. He was surrounded by dead, bloody rats.
A cold draft blew through the room, flickering the lamplight and casting strange shadows along the walls. You brightened the flame and looked around the attic. Hundreds of unblinking, beady, black eyes twinkled back at you. A loud gasp from behind made you jump and yelp and the rats scurried back into the walls. It was Wanda, and she was crossing herself and praying in hushed Sokovian.
“Rats are harbingers of doom, Miss,” she told you.
Doom? Something shifted, then. You could only describe the feeling as something mysterious and ominous… And it scared you.
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Twilight fell and the sky was painted a dark dusky blue and purple. Tiny stars twinkled in the sky above and the world became still and shadowy. Outside, the cricket’s song filled the night, and a veil of soft, silvery mist settled over the rose bushes. Wanda came to you, carrying a tray with a kettle of tea steaming on it, and a plate of leftover banana bread from this morning’s breakfast. She poured out your tea and added cubes of sugar and cream, just the way you liked it.
You watched the world from the comfort of the terrace as you helped Wanda bind bundles of thyme and rosemary with twine. She was picking mint under the full moonlight and humming an old Sokovian lullaby to herself. Her voice faded to the chirping crickets as she moved deeper into the garden.
You heard a sudden cry, and you stood from your seat to see Wanda trembling on her knees. Her basket of mint spilled out onto the damp grass beside her.
“Steve!” you called and he came running to you.
You pointed toward Wanda and he went to her, gently helping her to her feet. She was crying and her hands slightly shook as she wiped away her falling tears.
“What happened?” you asked as you followed them inside.
Steve just looked at you with sad eyes, “You should stay inside, Miss.”
“Why? What’s wrong?”
Wanda turned to you, then.
“I told you, Miss. Rats are harbingers of doom. And cats,” she sniffled, “are the worst of all.”
Your brows furrowed, “Wanda, what do you mean?”
She just shook her head and murmured, “I’m sorry”.
“Steve, what on earth is she talking about?”
His mouth opened and closed as he searched for the right words, but you never gave him the chance to find them.
You stepped out into the moonlight and counted your steps to the sleeping, stone dragon. You froze and you heard your heart shatter…
It was Alpine. He was dead. His snowy fur was red with blood… And there was so much blood.
He was just ahead of you, past the rose-covered gates and among the shrubs of mint and chamomile bushes. Your legs gave out from under you as you saw the too dark grass that pooled around his body. His blue eyes were cloudy and wide, lifelessly staring back at you. You didn’t move—you couldn’t. And you were too shocked to cry or scream, you were just… Still.
A curtain billowed by you as Steve draped a sheet over Alpine’s body. You watched as scarlet bled through the white, bleeding and blossoming like a macabre flower. You heard Steve talking to someone, and you finally looked away.
Bucky was paler under the silver glow of the moon, and his eyes seemed to gleam like an animal’s as he looked down at you. Steve lifted you to your feet and you found yourself clinging to him like a child. He hugged you, then. Holding you close to his beating heart, engulfing you in his warmth. And you swore you saw Bucky’s jaw tick.
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You watched from your window as Bucky covered Alpine’s shallow grave with white roses. He paused, then, as if he had sensed you watching, and turned to look up at you. Bucky’s lips slowly pulled back in a chilling smile, and you saw something hungry flash in his eyes that made you feel unsettled.
You saw Wanda’s light red hair appear, like a pale flame cutting through the misty veil of night. She placed a saucer of milk by the roses and you smiled, Alpine loved it when Wanda gave him milk.
Your smile dropped as you watched them talk. Bucky’s face was stony and shadowed with darkness, but Wanda seemed upset—scared. And even from the window, you could see how Bucky loomed over her. Her shadow was so small, and his… You froze.
He had no shadow.
You heard the scratchings again…
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✧・゚: *✧・゚:*тαgℓιѕт*:・゚✧*:・゚✧: @kuranes-12, @syrenavenger, @thehuntresswolf, @kriegersimp, @haleyheart0197, @that-one-girl-who-simps, @xxmizzmariexx, @thenewmrscullen, @alexwinter, @supernaturalbaesduh, @lidivi, @hoosier-daddi, @lou-la-lou
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lipstickstainedred · 11 hours ago
Demon Collection
Happy Kinktober lovelies! In the spirit of halloween I have decided to create a collection of demon/horror themed one shots with your favorite Marvel Characters.
If you like these please reblog, like, or leave feedback and comments!
Main Masterlist
♥ indicates smut
☾ indicated dark themes
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Honeymoon Suite - demon!Bucky x Reader ♥ ☾
Unknown title - demon!Steve x Reader ♥ ☾
Unknown title - Peter x succubus!Reader ♥ ☾
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thanatosfic · 2 days ago
Jitters - Chapter 4
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Summary: You're a particle physicist working your dream job at Stark Tower but Steve Rogers, that obnoxious bully, can't seem to leave you alone to do your job. He's just... always there. Watching. And you're confused as to why.
Pairing: Dark! Steve Rogers x Scientist! Reader with social anxiety
Warnings: Dark fic, Workplace harassment and bullying, Non-con
Rating: Explicit (for the series overall)
Word count: 3k
A/N: Thanks to @sgt-seabass​ for the amazing banner she made for this. She’s super cool. I also posted this fic on ao3 as Thanatos.
Index: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4
Your mouth shakes open in horror as the sounds rise from Steve’s phone. Warmth settles in your cheeks. Your pulse hastens. And Steve’s smirk broadens.
It can’t be. The lewd whimpers and needy moans fill the wide office space, drowning you in a river of shame. It’s your voice coming out of his phone. Calling out his name in feverish desperation.
If that were all. There’s a sickening squelch and the frantic echo of skin being fiercely… rubbed. Your stomach flips. If only you could rip your ears out so you wouldn’t have to listen. You’re livid, incapable of doing much else but trembling in your seat.
“Steve… Steve… I need you... to lay me down... take care of me...please.”
You blink in befuddlement, wondering when this even happened. As frantically as you rake your brain, you find no recollection of being in this… state. Horny and begging for the man you wish would get hit by an asteroid or run over several times by a truck.
Eyes round like saucers, you look from the director, who fixes you with a stern glare, to Steve, who exerts no effort to conceal his smugness.
Folding his arms, he casually says, “You sent me this recording late in the night.” You try to articulate your outrage but a pathetic squeak is the only sound your throat allows an exit to. Basking in the expression on your face, he continues, flipping to a different screen on his phone.
While you’re relieved the mortifying recording has been cut short, what follows isn’t much better. “That… paired with all the texts you sent me.” Steve reads the messages aloud, zooming on the letters so you and the director can see.
Her frown deepens. Dismay ripples through you.
It’s your number and the text bubbles underneath harbor filthy, bold invitations to do the kind of things you’d be caught dead fantasizing about, much less asking for so… brazenly.
Your heart thuds as he scrolls further and further up. The messages span back to over a month ago. Messages you’ve never sent, yet seem to come from your device. Goosebumps prickle your skin.
The director shakes her head as you sink into the chair, wishing the leather would swallow you whole.
Your anger, raw and boiling before, fades as it’s smothered by overbearing shame. It’s unfair and horrible and you wish you could speak up, but your rapid breathing tangles all the words attempting to climb up your throat.
“I-I…” you stammer. Your thoughts are a disjointed clutter, flames of embarrassment licking inside your chest. Your head throbs as your vision wobbles, darkening by the second. A high-pitched ringing deafens everything but your heartbeat. You can barely breathe. You know the signs too well. You’re on the brink of a panic attack. One you’d rather not experience in front of Steve.
“I-I’m sorry.”
You’re quick to get up, ignoring both him and the director as you scurry to the exit door. A bomb is ticking inside your brain and your veins fill with ice.
You almost trip over your own feet when you stride aimlessly through the halls, seeking to create as much distance between you and Steve Rogers as possible.
Tears of frustration well up in your eyes. You don’t know why the words got stuck in your throat, why you panicked and mumbled a rushed apology that never should have left your mouth. Stupid, stupid brain, always failing you at the worst of times.
The hurried click of your heels bouncing against the walls echoes your cowardice in your ears. You get odd glances from other employees that you try to ignore as best you can, ducking your head in embarrassment.
Chest lifting and falling erratically, you dash to a narrow hallway to find a dark corner near an unoccupied staircase. Shutting your eyes, you hunker down and put your hands on your ears. You lean against a wall, counting forward and backwards to steady your breathing. First uneven numbers, skipping over the even ones. Then even numbers, skipping over the uneven ones. You repeat the process until your lungs don't burn anymore.
Your throat still aches with desperation, all the unspilled words burning your tongue.
Once the fog has cleared, the horror of what transpired dawns on you in all its awful clarity. You’ve been a victim of Steve’s persistent goads and intimidation for weeks, yet he had the nerve to sit in that office and accuse you.
You rub your arms; chills slither up your back as you remember the recording. Steve has violated you in some way. An inkling in your gut has you convinced that he did. But you apologized. To him. Queasiness upsets your stomach at the thought.
He has evidence. You don’t understand how but he does.
This goes beyond harassment and bullying. This is a scheme, a ploy. Steve Rogers is playing chess with your life and you’re merely a pawn in his twisted game.
Well, best to leave the board before he makes his final move. Best to do it quietly too. Steve Rogers has a pesky tendency to always find a way to force your hand.
How shitty must your luck be. In this ludicrously gigantic building that houses thousands of employees, it's you that he had to pick. To torment. To toy with.
Standing up, you gear up to leave your little pocket of peace and suck in a lungful of calming air but your heart leaps as you try to go up the stairs. A towering figure darkens the staircase, obstructing the passage. His eyes gleam strangely in the dim remnants of sunlight spilling through the windows overhead. Mouth dry, you take a step backwards, all too aware of his broad body and withering stare.
The twist of his lips is as wicked as ever.
“Always in a rush to leave, sugar,” Steve taunts.
Your anger flares. Shaking, you ball up your fists.
“What did you do to me? That recording, it’’s...” Your throat closes up again.
Merriment bounces in his blue eyes; he's reveling in your unease.
He shrugs. “You gotta have to be more specific, doll.” He scratches his beard, his smile widening. “I’m not sure exactly what it is you’re asking…”
It’s a blatant lie. The knowing look he flaunts is more telling than any admission of guilt. The constant wondering eats at you, endlessly scratching inside your mind. There are blanks from last night, mysteries that need solving.
You frown. He crowds you as you take another step back. His musk penetrates your senses and your knees wobble, suddenly very weak.
“I…” you falter. You’re mad at him but, right now, you’re even madder at yourself. At your helplessness. You should be yelling at him, not cower like a deer caught in headlights.
Gnawing on your lip, you peer up, the question you want to ask scorching on your tongue.
“Oh.” A sinister chuckle rolls up his chest. Undressing you with his gaze, he says, “You wanna know if I fucked that tight little virgin pussy of yours, don’t you?” You shudder at his crudeness. He sweeps his tongue over his bottom lip suggestively. “That, sweetheart, is my little secret.”
You gasp, lip quivering as tears sting the back of your eyes.
Clutching the front of your shirt, you swallow the sob bubbling up your throat.
“Why do you keep doing this to me? What did I do to deserve this?”
Steve’s jaw squares and his shoulders roll back. He looks like he’s about to give a lecture, or deliver a deeply moving speech.
He does neither.
“Oh, sugar, I’m Captain America. I don’t need a reason.” He tilts his head, mocking you with his stare. You feel small and insignificant. “I do what I want. I take what I want. I have the freedom and liberty to do so.” Entitlement and arrogance drip from his tongue as he pronounces each word.
“As for what you did?” A lopsided grin, emphasized by his well-trimmed beard, graces his face. “Nothing, doll. I just love seeing you squirm.”
There’s something downright obscene about how he says that last part. Your skin prickles in discomfort. He’s under your skin and you can’t shake him off.
Screw playing nice. He isn’t… so why should you?
“I-I don’t have to bear with this. I’ll tell Dr Banner and…”
He chortles. You freeze in your spot. His eyebrows rise as his hands go to his hips.
“Sweetie, Bruce and I are old friends. We fought together, saw hell unleash on this earth together. You really think he’d believe your word over mine? I bet he can hardly remember what you look like, hiding in that lab of yours all the time.”
This makes you snap.
“Fucking asshole!”
Steve’s expression darkens. You flinch.
“Language, sweetheart.” He’s suddenly too close and you cringe when his knuckles graze your cheek. Your pulse races madly. Steve glances at your heaving chest, like he can hear it. “Hate to see such ugly words come out of such a lovely mouth.”
You retreat slowly; Steve’s hand is unmoving, still suspended in the air where he touched your face.
You swallow a thick lump before uttering weakly, “Director Fury expects me.”
He winks at you and your blood curdles.
“Guess I’ll see you around then, sugar.” His voice dips, low and sultry. “Real soon,” he says like it’s a promise.
You all but run away as he finally frees up enough space for you to cross past him.
Still, your back tingles with the ghost sensation of eyes following your every step.
Sarah_G: Hey, you okay? How did it go?
HiggsB_girl: Can’t talk rn. Headed to my boss’ office.
Sarah_G: Sorry, didn’t mean to bug you.
HiggsB_girl: No, no worries. It’s cool. I just… I can’t do this anymore. Ugh. I’ll tell you everything later.
Sarah_G: Sure. Good luck, girl ;)
Shifting in your seat, you peruse the files Director Fury’s given you with a critical, professional gaze. You were told it’s what they call an 0-8-4, an unidentified object of unknown origin. The event has occurred in Coroico, Bolivia, somewhere within the depths of the secluded forests high in the mountains. You flip through endless pages of reports that are of no relevance to you before finding the reason you're here. The strange energy readings. Brows knitting, you blink at the page. You remove your glasses and wipe them for good measure. You want to make sure you’re reading correctly.
Taking note of your expression, Fury says, “It’s not an erratum, doctor, I’m afraid.”
You tuck one of the curls that has strayed from your high bun behind your ear. You put your glasses back on your nose. The readings match that of tachyon particles… but those are steady fields. They aren’t decaying like they should. They’ve hung in the atmosphere for hours before blinking out of existence.
It’s not simply unusual… It’s extraordinary. This is exactly the kind of observable phenomenon that could spur a major breakthrough in your research. You gasp in awe.
“He did say it would catch your attention.” You bristle, your eyes snapping up to meet his mismatched gaze.
“He?” You slam the folder closed, doubtful of where this is going.
“Cap specifically requested you for this mission.” You nudge a false smile on your face, boiling inside. Of course he did.
“There are other science specialists…” You wiggle your fingers, nervous energy coursing through your limbs.
“None who are as familiar with tachyonic fields as you are,” he cuts you off. “Cap and I agree. You study them day in and day out, doctor.”
You exhale, your mind reeling with the information you’ve just received.
You’re tempted to go on the mission anyway, and simply request a different team leader, but last night and the subsequent morning have been the rude awakening you needed. It’s as if a bucket of ice has been poured on you.
You’re one set of underwear lighter and one smidgen smarter than the day before.
Steve Rogers will stop at nothing. Your request would somehow end up in the trash bin and Steve will show up in Bolivia with that shit-eating grin of his spread across his face. You can already see the scene playing in your head. And there’ll be more mind games and threats.
It’s time to use that supposedly big brain for something other than predictive algorithms and relativistic equations. Your dad did always say that you are sorely lacking in practical intelligence. Time to prove him wrong.
“This looks incredibly fascinating, sir, but I must refuse,” you say. Your heart sinks the minute the words leave your mouth.
Holding Director Fury’s stare proves more challenging than you thought. His battle-weary, effortlessly authoritarian aura reminds you of your father. Part of you hates the disappointment dwelling in his eye and itches to accept the offer anyway.
No. This mission’s bait for Steve Rogers to catch you in a trap.
He sighs.
“So let me get this straight, doctor. You’re our foremost expert on tachyonic fields - Even Banner vouches for you in that regard - and I’m offering you a chance to observe and study up close an unprecedented phenomenon that could expedite your research, make you the youngest pioneer in your field and keep us all safe in the process. I’m also sending my best soldier on the mission with you to sweeten the deal and make sure you’re safe and protected while doing your work. But you tell me you can’t go without providing a proper explanation as to why. Is there something I’m missing here, doctor?”
You purse your lips, pulling your hands to fold them neatly in your lap. His words weigh a ton on your shoulders; your chest threatens to burst from sheer pressure.
“Nothing. There are just things that… matter more to me right now, sir. I’d recommend Dr. Collins as a replacement. His grasp on the Higgs field is as good as anyone's. His alma mater’s the same as mine.”
Fury leans back in his chair, eying you in a way that makes it hard to stay still.
“We don’t need ‘anyone’. We need you, doctor.”
Abruptly, you get to your feet. Pushing your glasses on your nose, you clear your throat and pick up your satchel. This conversation has lasted long enough. Knowing yourself, you might end up caving in and engineering your own doom.
“I have my own reasons, that I don’t need to get into. You may... scare me, Director Fury, but there are things that scare me more. Now, have a good day, sir. I do believe, as the director of S.H.I.E.L.D., you are a busy man and don’t need to waste your whole morning on someone like me. Give Mr. Rogers my deepest apologies and my most sincere regards.”
You don’t give him the chance to respond as you leave the room in a haste.
It’s a glorious day to be outside. The sky is clear, dazzlingly blue and cloudless. The sun shines brightly, bathing everything in its golden glow. There’s a slight chill but your light jacket is more than enough to bear it.
The park, with all its greenery and children giggling and running in the grass, is a slice of heaven away from the grey, looming tower that has become the root of your restlessness and gloom.
You snap a few pictures of the fountain and trees, as you’ve never visited the park, despite the time you’ve spent in New York.
Anxiety still seeps under your skin. Flashes of this morning keep haunting you, of what may or may not have happened, of Steve cornering you in the hallways. But right now, you let yourself enjoy the soothing warmth of the sun.
Besides, you’ve come to a decision, one that somewhat lightens your spirit.
As much as it pains you, you need to hand in your resignation, preferably by email so you don’t need to face anyone, neither Steve Rogers, nor Dr Banner. You’ve already notified your lab assistant so she can start looking for a new job. You despise doing this out of the blue, since she has two children but you’ll wire her money from your own savings, if this is what it takes.
Your dream has slowly shifted into a nightmare.
It doesn’t matter how many LHCs Stark and Banner promise you, there’s no way you’ll continue your work in that new compound, not with him in the vicinity, breathing down your neck and terrorizing you.
You know it’s no small thing, backing out of such an important project at the last minute, and you already mourn the team of like-minded scientists you were supposed to work with. It’s going to take a while to get the funding you need to continue that kind of massively expensive work. You’re gonna have to start from scratch. Maybe you’ll have to settle for teaching gigs to tide you over for a few months before a new lab hires you.
This sucks. But your sanity hinges on uprooting your entire life.
All because of one selfish, cruel jerk.
You find a spot under a big and wide scarlet oak tree to sit and enjoy your lunch.
You’ve barely begun to unwrap your grilled chicken sandwich when a rapid gust of wind breezes past you. There’s a flicker of red, white and blue in the corner of your vision that vanishes before you can process what you’re glimpsing at. The trunk rattles and a flurry of red leaves float around you as a sharp thud erupts from above.
You whip your head up to spot a familiar round object buried in the wood a few inches above your head.
Your heart jumps, your mind freezing completely.
People are too excited by the appearance of Steve Rogers to ponder about the freaking vibranium shield that stuck itself in the tree behind you, narrowly missing your head.
Your breaths rush out short and erratic. The sandwich slips from your shaking hands to fall into your lap.
“Mom! Mom! That’s Captain America!” yells one kid, bouncing excitedly on his feet.
It must be true, that thing they say about not meeting your heroes.
Your eyes widen as you peer up at Steve. He’s approaching you at a leisurely pace.
Your head spins. From down here, he looks even taller, broader. You shrink against the tree.
Your chest clenches as he dislodges the shield, flecks of splintered wood flying to land on your shoulders. It’s buried deeply enough that there’s a slight recoil as he pulls it out. You shiver.
He crouches before you, beaming widely. He straps the shield back into place in a smooth motion. Your eyes are glued to the weapon.
“So you’re thinking of quitting, uh, sugar?” His tone’s both taunting and accusatory.
Confused, you blink. You only told one person, your lab assistant.
“How do you…” you stutter.
He cocks his head, your reaction seeming to amuse him.
“Thin walls. Supersoldier ears.”
You could deny it all but he’d see right through you. You decide to swallow your pulsing fear and give him a piece of your mind for once.
“Mr. Rogers, as you have made it impossible for me to work in a healthy environment here, I think it best if…” you start.
He shushes you with his finger, raising it in warning. You fall silent with a small frown.
His smile grows, rivaling the brightness of the sun.
“Oh, sugar…” He shakes his head. “It’s sweet you think you have any choice in the matter. This…” You gulp as he points between you and him. His mouth twists cruelly. “It’s over when I say it’s over.” He chuckles. “And I’m enjoying myself too much to let it end, doll.” Goosebumps bloom on your flesh as he cups your chin for a few seconds, pinning you with his blue stare, before he lets go. He rises to his full height and waves charmingly at two girls who keep stealing peeks at him from across the park. Bashful, they slap each other’s shoulders and wave back, tittering coyly.
You want to puke.
He suddenly bends to pick up the uneaten, forgotten lunch in your lap - laughing at your squeal of surprise - and bites into it with cheer.
His eyebrow arches as he hums in approval.
“Oh by the way,” he says, munching loudly. “You should check your phone. Bruce and Tony want to have a chat with you.”
You curse inwards. You can’t believe you naively thought he’d let you get away so easily.
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syntheticavenger · 2 months ago
Dark!Andy please😏😍🥰
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Summary | Laurie shares a secret about her husband that has implications for you.
Dark! Andy Barber x Female Reader
Warnings: 18+ ONLY. Straight up non-con, stalking, threats, blackmail, cheating (not on the Reader), non-con fingering, non-con unprotected sex, a mention of a spanking, language. PLEASE read the warnings. This is a dark drabble.
You loved your job. Only a month in and you felt like you'd found your calling. Working at the Children's Cottage was what you'd been looking for, helping those in need and it fulfilled that sense of duty that you'd been born with.
You have a fantastic boss in the form of Laurie Barber, who is so compassionate and warm with you, teaching you everything she knows, even bringing up your name for projects that you don't feel you're quite worthy for yet.
But everything has slowed to a halt since Laurie has been acting distant. She leaves a few hours early, telling you she's fine but you can see it in her eyes that she isn't. A few hours turns into a day off here and there and then a week off.
Until one day she confides in you, sitting across from her as she pops an aspirin in her mouth, that she thinks her husband is having an affair.
"I want to be transparent with you. You're my right hand, you know, that, right? We've been trying to make it work but he's still not talking to me. He says he isn't cheating but..." Laurie trails off, her eyes blinking away tears. "I know he is. He never leaves his phone out anymore. Doesn't make it home for dinner on time. I can't prove it but I know it. Does that make me crazy?"
You shake your head at her question. It doesn't make her crazy. It makes her concerned that her husband is acting different and you sympathize, trying to find the right words to say.
"I'm so sorry, Laurie," you begin, watching her nod as she wipes her tears with a tissue. "I don't know what to say but I'm here for you. Whatever you need."
"Ugh," Laurie sighs, covering her face. "I just want to know. If our marriage is over then it's over but I want to know the truth."
You both sit in silence for a moment until she straightens her shoulders, exhaling softly before she looks at her calendar.
"I have a meeting across town. Would you be okay locking up? I'm sorry, I know I keep asking so much of you. I promise tomorrow, I'll let you leave early."
"It's okay, I got it," you assure her, watching as she picks up her bag. "Be safe, Laurie. I'll see you tomorrow."
When she leaves, you observe her through the big office window, pulling away before she heads down the street. You feel for her as you close and lock her office, heading down to yours when you hear a door open.
You're surprised to find her husband, Andy, standing in the doorway and your loyalty to her makes you bristle at the sight of him.
"Mr. Barber," you greet him. "Can I help you?"
"As a matter of fact, you can," Andy tells you, closing the door. "I need to speak with you."
"About what?"
"It's better if we speak in your office. Please," Andy emphasizes.
You head down to your small office, watching him close the door behind him as he shrugs off his coat. You have no idea what he wants to speak to you about. You've barely said but a few words to him when he's been around and those sightings have always been brief.
"I wanted to confess something," Andy begins, leaning over your desk as you stare up at him.
"I know my wife confides in you. She talks about you all the time. You're her favorite subject."
"I don't... I don't know what you're talking about," you answer him meekly.
"She told you I'm cheating on her. Didn't she?"
"That's between you and your wife."
"Oh," Andy says with a dark chuckle. "So I am right."
You swallow at his reply, pushing your chair back. You need to go and you don't want to be caught up in his business.
"I haven't cheated," Andy continues. "Not yet. That's why I'm here. You were all I could think about. And I can't stop thinking about you."
"Please, Mr. Barber," you begin with a shake of your head. "Please leave."
"You live such a lonely existence," Andy taunts. "I watch you every night. You come home at the same time and you watch TV on the couch until you fall asleep. No friends from the sound of it. No social life. You aren't living. You're existing."
You lip trembles at his words.
"P-Please go," you try to demand, lifting from your chair as he laughs.
"Do you think I'm going to let you put me out? I'm one of the biggest donors of this place. Who do you think pulls the people in to fund this place? Me," Andy tells you. "Not Laurie, not the board of directors. I do it out of the goodness of my heart. But then you came along and I thought, well, I need a little good in my life."
"I'm leaving," you demand, trying to make your way to the door when he blocks it.
"Sweetheart, there's only one way you're leaving and that's after I have you over your desk."
"No," you snap, trying to move before he pulls you away from the door, sending you sprawling onto your desk as he pushes you down.
"No, please," you beg, tears pricking your eyes as you start to cry. "Mr. Barber, you can't."
"I can't? You are all I think about. I dream of you. Every waking minute all I see is you and I need you."
You let out a sob as he kicks your legs apart, still holding you down before your panties are pulled to the side. You suck in a breath at his fingers that graze your slit.
"Oh God, please don't," you whimper against the desk, trying to struggle before his fingers stroke your clit and you jerk at his hand down between your thighs.
"You're gonna like it," Andy promises darkly, pressing up against you. "Maybe not at first but you will. Gonna have you addicted to it when I'm done with you.”
His fingers breech your entrance and he hums.
“That didn’t take long, did it? Already wet.”
Your hands grip the desk when he plunges his fingers inside you, a cry escaping your throat. It shouldn’t feel good. This isn’t right. You know it isn’t right, even if your body doesn’t recognize it. You hang your head in shame as Andy scissors his fingers gently.
“Just opening you up for me,” he murmurs, hearing your soft sob. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.”
Your walls clamp down on his fingers when they go deeper inside and he groans at the sensation.
“I knew it,” Andy breathes against your shoulder. “You’re gonna be split open nice and proper.”
At the sound of his belt, you try to move again, your core aching when he removes his fingers before he levels a harsh slap against your ass and you whimper.
“Stay still,” he demands, pushing your dress up over your hips. “Be a good girl.”
The head of his cock nudges inside you and you gasp at the intrusion, his pace slow and steady until he bottoms out inside you. He’s big, your walls stretching as you try to breathe.
“Shit,” Andy groans. “Better than I imagined.”
You hiccup underneath him, his hands gripping your hips.
“You’re alright,” Andy continues. “Took me like I knew you would. Gonna have you begging me for it, I promise.”
Despite his brag, you shake your head, hating that when he moves, it feels good. You block him out, your body pressing against the desk harder with each thrust.
Eventually it becomes too much, Andy’s pants and groans amid the wet sounds of skin on skin and the bursts of pleasure as he slides back inside you hitting your spot just right that makes you moan.
“There we go,” Andy breathes. “Come on, sweetheart. Tell me what you want. You’re close, you’re squeezing me like a vice.”
You grit your teeth as he fucks you harder, breath leaving your lungs as you sob.
“P-Please,” you break down. “M-More.”
“What was that?” Andy asks darkly. “Speak up, I can’t hear you.”
“More, p-please!” you beg, your eyes shut in humiliation as you’ve fully surrendered your body to him.
“I’ll give you what you need,” Andy assures you, sliding in so deep that you suck in a noisy breath before you shatter around his cock. He follows suit minutes later and you can feel him fill you up as you lie flat against the desk.
“This looks even better on video,” Andy murmurs to himself as you turn your head to see him putting away his phone.
“What... d-did you film me?”
“I need insurance,” Andy reminds you, pulling out of you quickly before he pulls your panties back as your body slumps forward, your knees buckling. “You go to Laurie or anyone else and I have the video of you asking for it.”
Nausea overtakes you at his words and he pulls your dress back down, patting your ass gently.
“She thought I was cheating. Now you can tell her that I am. See you in a few days.”
1K notes · View notes
qyllenhaal · 17 days ago
Groupie Luv
Rockstar!Bucky x Reader. 3rd POV. Word Count: 10.4k.
Summary: Y/n wasn't sure how the night attending her first concert would go, but she certainly didn't expect to get her cherry picked by her favorite rockstar.
Warnings: AU! Set in the 70s. Dark themes (!!!), loss of virginity, innocence kink, reader lies about her age (but she is of age), age gap, religious undertones, power dynamics, alcohol mention and consumption, drug mention, smut: unprotected sex, creampie, degradation, use of the word “daddy”, pet names, ending is kind of fluffy though!
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The ID card in her head read "Date of birth: 04/30/1956" and her hometown was "New York, New York". The only thing faker than her ID is the worn-out fur coat she wears to shield her from the cold of the night.
Y/n had to do a lot of lying and convince her mother to let her stay a week with her cousin Barbie for Spring Break. Despite being her niece, Y/n's mother does not trust Barbie, and the truth is that she is justified in that. Barbie is a bad influence in the eyes of the family. She dropped out of college her Freshman year to travel throughout America with her new boyfriend who was older than her and touring with his band. She told the family that she wanted to "find herself" and that she wouldn't be back. The world of hurt and anger she caused Y/n's aunt rubbed off on Y/n's mother and her already strict parents decided their efforts weren't enough.
Barbie didn't make another appearance around the family until a year-and-a-half after dropping out of school. She had dropped the touring boyfriend, but now she was living in New York with a much older man. It didn't make the family anymore happier, but after thinking she was the dead body of a girl found in the woods out in Colorado that's been in the headlines, they kept their judgment of her life to themselves.
She caused all that drama, yet Y/n still looks up to her. She would brag to her high school friends about her cool cousin dating rockstars and traveling the world. Without many other girls in her extended family, it was easy for Y/n to want to emulate Barbie and treat her as if she was an older sister. Her life sounded fun, not dangerous like her mother would say. Barbie is living a fast life, but she is young, gorgeous, and not tied to the responsibilities of college studies. At the age of 26, she always has an adventurous story to tell Y/n when she finds time to phone her.
Y/n herself is too scared to ever try to live a life like Barbie's life. She is not fond of taking risks due to her strict upbringing, but that didn't stop her from fantasizing. A life where all she had to do was look pretty, wear pretty clothes, and be somewhat of a socialite sounded like a life of leisure. Every phone call Barbie was selling a dream to Y/n unbeknownst to her.
But, at the end of the day, Y/n is a good girl. She's attending the college of her parent's choice (one that is conveniently close to home) and majoring in what her father suggested. She doesn't break the rules, she doesn't lie, and she stays away from boys like she was told to do.
When Spring break began to approach, her cousin's phone call became more frequent. She was often too busy with school and her sorority duties to answer the phone when she was at home. But Barbie did end up catching Y/n one night and she was begging her little cousin to come and visit her.
"I want to show my little cousin New York," she slurred. Y/n was slightly uncomfortable that Barbie was calling her while drunk, but she didn't know what to say to her about it without sounding rude. "I can come home and come and get you! We can lie about where we're going."
"I don't know," Y/n kept her voice low in case her parents were close. As much as she fantasized about Barbie's lifestyle, actually living it would be a behemoth of a thing.
"C'mon Y/n!" She whined, "don't you want to get away from your parents for once in your life?"
"I-I...I just don't know, Barbie. What would we tell them? I don't think my mom really trusts you, no offense."
Barbie laughs down the line. She knows what her aunt and the rest of her family thinks of her and she just doesn't care. She's 26 and having too much fun to worry about her family's puritanical ways. The only thing she didn't want was for the family to turn her baby cousin against her. There is more to life than obeying your parent’s every demanding wish, and there is honestly no incentive if you do.
“Don’t worry. I’ll talk to her about it.”
“I still don’t know-“
“You don’t want to have fun with your favorite cousin? I think we’ll have so much fun,” Y/n can hear her pouting on the other side of the phone. She was so good at guilt tripping people that she just might be able to convince Y/n’s mother to let her visit for Spring Break, “besides, what’s that one band you love? They’re named after a fruit…is it Tangerine? No…it’s Cherry, right?” Barbie knows how to get to people, and she got to Y/n.
Y/n's mother does not let her listen to rock music or anything with guitars. She has to go to her friend Cindy's house if she wants to listen to anything that isn’t the gospel. They listened to Cindy’s brother's vinyl's from time to time. The very first time Cindy put on a record for her, it was a Pink Floyd LP, Y/n thought God was going to strike her down for disobeying her mother. Cindy thought she was a bit of a freak, but the two had known each other since 2nd grade and knew that Y/n was only that way because of her mother. Y/n’s parents didn’t know that Cindy’s parents had sort of turned into hippies. She was somehow miraculously able to keep it from them.
Y/n didn’t know what to make of the music Cindy showed her at first. It was loud and she sometimes couldn’t understand the lyrics. Around the 5th or 6th time of her going to Cindy’s house to listen to rock records, something clicked for her and Y/n was in love. The heavy drums, driving guitars, and the way these men dressed would give her mother a heart attack if she knew her daughter was listening to secular music.
She liked anything Cindy put on, but her favorite was Cherry. They were not as famous as the bands Cindy favored. Y/n found the record when digging through a pile of the records Cindy's brother left in the downstairs den. Y/n never fangirled over a band up until the moment she convinced Cindy to spin that album on the turntable. She became obsessed with the first seconds of the first track; it was love at first listen.
Once she listened to them, she began to see them everywhere. She wanted to believe it was a coincidence, but Cindy’s mom told them once that coincidences are really “signs from the universe.” Y/n didn’t know what she believed, but she could stop seeing the name “Cherry” everywhere. When the girls at school would pass around magazines to fawn over the shirtless rockstars, Y/n would tear out the pages with Cherry on them before anyone else could get their hands on it. She collected every page that had them or the lead singer James plastered on it, covered in a fur that cost more than her tuition.
James was her wet dream; a man with "no morals" like her mother would say. She did not know what she wanted in a man, but he drove her absolutely wild and her thoughts were wrought with fantasies of him. They called him “Bucky”, and when they played on the late night variety shows, the girls in the audience were all calling his name. He distracted her from her school work and she didn't even know him personally. Maybe it was the bad boy image that got her going. He was unlike any man she’s seen before, and she’s completely enamored by him and his flashy clothing. She had dreams about him and all ended with her waking up in a hot daze. She was in love with him, only knowing a few facts and details about him, but she felt so drawn to him. She doesn't like to lie, but she would lie even to her pastor for Bucky.
"This is what a real man looks like," one of her friends would coo. They would fawn over Bucky and Y/n would get jealous as if he was her man. In her mind, he was her man. None of the other girls in her sorority cared for him until Y/n started hanging up his photos in her dorm. She knows he’s good looking, but she doesn’t want to share him.
Now she has an opportunity to see him in the flesh. Y/n couldn’t believe that this was happening to her. Barbie is essentially handing this opportunity to her, but she’s still stuck in the grips of her parents. When she’s away at school she can do whatever she wants because she’s a few towns away.
“How are you going to convince my parents to let me visit you?”
Y/n always found Barbie to be sneaky, but teenage Barbie has nothing on adult Barbie. Her charisma is almost lethal and how she was able to convince the most religious woman on the east coast to let her 19 year-old go to New York City for Spring Break was mind-boggling. Y/n was still in disbelief even as her plane landed at JFK and Barbie and her boyfriend waited for her in the lobby.
She had landed in New York just three days before Cherry was set to play at The Bottom Line venue. Y/n was out of her home state for the first time, but she couldn't bring herself to care about sightseeing or eating a New York slice of a pizza for the first time, not when she was so close to seeing Cherry in person.
The days went slower than she liked but it did give her time to figure out what she was going to wear. Barbie offered her her closet of clothes. Y/n was shocked to see the amount of designer clothing she had. Halston and Thea Porter hung on hangers that also looked expensive. Y/n had questions about how Barbie was able to afford all of this. She didn't make the connection that Barbie's boyfriend, who was pushing 40 and has her living in a penthouse, is not her boyfriend, but more of a sugar daddy.
"Does it matter what I wear?"
"Of course it does! Don't you want a chance of getting picked out of the crowd?"
Y/n didn't understand what Barbie meant until the day came and she had to wait in line outside of the venue with everyone else dying to get inside. She thought the velvet dress, fur, and platform boots Cindy told her to wear was out of character for her. Her outfit was influenced by Barbie's wall — like Jane Birkin, Donna Summer, Stevie Nicks, and Bianca Jagger. Yet, she had the aura of Jackie Kennedy and it showed how she was nervous even in the way she carried herself. The platforms made her taller, but they also made her walk unsteady. She felt like a movie character, or like this was Halloween and she's in costume. She was out of place, yet she had one thing on her mind like every other girl in the crowd: catching the eye of Cherry's lead vocalist Bucky.
Y/n was almost eye to eye with the venue's bouncer as she stepped up to him. She handed him her ticket before he ripped a part of it off.
"ID," he demands rather rudely.
Y/n pulls the fake ID out of her bra and hands it to him. Barbie's advice of "staying calm" repeats in her head to make herself look less suspicious, but the bouncer still eyes her like he knows she's lying. He holds the plastic up to her face to compare the photo on the ID and the real life version. The photo was so obscure but if he were to stare at it then he'd know right away that it's not Y/n. However the make-up and red lipstick Barbie put on her lips made her look older.
"Alright, go in — Next!"
Y/n was relieved when he gave her access to the venue. When she heard the concert was age restricted, she was afraid that her whole trip was going to be ruined until Barbie produced a fake ID for her. Tonight she is 22-years-old.
Everyone packed themselves in the venue's main room like sardines in a can. Y/n was so hot in her fur coat, but she had nowhere to put it. People looked at her as if she was dying for attention because the other girls had discarded their coats to show off their revealing outfits. They must've found a coat room that Y/n missed when she was rushing to the pit. She remembers when she would judge the girls from high school whose lives revolved around boys, but here she is now dressed like a wannabe Penthouse model. The way her dress shows off her boobs just screams "take me backstage and fuck me!" Barbie said that it was a good thing while it left Y/n feeling unnerved.
She doesn't have much time to stay in her head because the opening act comes on the stage. She's never heard of them before, but their music is so loud she can barely enjoy it. The only concert she has been to was her church's annual Christmas concert. These Hymns were not to God, but to sex and drugs.
"Hey!" Y/n is surprised that she can hear the guy next to her over the music. He's a bit taller than her, but she still comes up to his chin thanks to her platforms. He's not deterred by the music as he continues and asks, "do you want a drink?" His eyes move from hers and straight to her breast once the words leave his mouth.
"Um, no thank you," she yells at him over the music. She's never drank before and she's too scared for her first time having alcohol to be at a rock concert.
Instead of politely saying goodbye to her, he scoffs and mutters, "bitch" before walking away. She's left standing there dumbfounded by his rudeness — no one has ever talked to her like that before.
No one in the crowd was polite. Y/n didn't expect everyone to stand still, but she also didn't expect to constantly be shoved by people trying to get closer. They were aggressive so she let them push past her in fear of getting hurt. She was completely out of place despite being dressed like every other girl in the room.
People were making out and the smell of smoke was thick in the air. She begins to wonder how long until Cherry comes on. She didn't care for this opening act at all. A few people are bobbing and swaying to the music they’re playing, but not many seem all enthused.
They were off in 15 minutes before the stage lights dimmed again. Y/n felt another push from the crowd, from people dying to get close. She’s almost overwhelmed by the atmosphere. Despite looking like she fits in, she sticks out like a sore thumb. She doesn’t understand that many of the girls in this room have traveled to attend multiple Cherry concerts just for the mere chance of having a taste of Bucky. They had their tits out and showed off their long legs despite the remnants of northern winter weather lingering in the air. She felt out of her element. That is until the house lights dimmed and the stage lights began to blare.
A collective gasp from the crowd followed by the first few screams when the band walks on the stage. Y/n didn’t think the room could get any louder until Bucky was the last one to saunter onto the stage.
Just like everyone else, she falls under his spell. His hair is longer from being on tour, making him look dreamier. He walks to the edge of the stage and just stands there as the crowd gets louder for him like he’s a walking god. Y/n is not exempt from screaming her lungs out either. She forgos all of her manners and reservations.
The first chords of the guitar rip through the venue and vibrate throughout her body. There are three other people on stage, but her eyes are trained on Bucky. He’s as charismatic as a televangelist, yet as gorgeous as a Hollywood actor. He gyrates his hips much to the excitement of the girls in the audience. He’s walking sex and his voice is like soft velvet. The little black and white TV at Cindy’s house did not do him justice. Y/n’s mother would call him filth, but he’s hot filth.
“How’s everyone doin’ tonight?”
He’s met with screams from the audience which makes him smirk.
Y/n recognized the opening riff to her favorite Cherry song. Her eyes lit up and her screams morph with the girl’s surrounding her. The song was clearly a fan favorite as everyone in the crowd began to move their bodies. Everyone was unintentionally grinding on each other. Y/n had no reservations about the bodies pressed up against her as she eyed Bucky who was walking towards the edge of the stage. The people on the rails reached out to him, dying for even the smallest touch. Y/n was too far away to be within reach of him, but she swears his eyes glance over her in the crowd. It’s not a coincidence because a few seconds later he catches her eyes and smirks when he sees the dumbfounded look on her face. It’s a moment that Y/n is going to write down in her diary for the next year or so. Her friends might not even believe her when she tells them, but she knows for a fact his eyes scanned over her.
The magic of the night is over quicker than Y/n wished. Cherry played their last song, and then they played an encore. Adrenaline was still coursing through Y/n’s veins and she didn’t want to leave the venue. She lingered in her spot for a little bit before realizing that half of the crowd had already left. It was time to call it a night since Barbie was probably back at the penthouse waiting for her. However, Y/n is stopped dead in her tracks by someone grabbing onto her coat.
“Hey you!”
Panic began to set in as the authoritative voice yelled at her. She remembers that the ID she used to get in was fake and figures she’s been found out. She’s sure she’s not the only one who used a fake ID to enter the venue but she sure does stick out with her fur coat. The man has a grip on her and she’s forced to turn around and face him. It was a bouncer, but it wasn’t the same one who let her in. She was slightly relieved, but still on edge from being grabbed so roughly.
“Come with me.”
Y/n has no choice but to walk with him. She’s almost stumbling over her platforms but she manages to keep herself upright. It doesn’t take long before she realizes that the bouncer is taking her backstage. She thought it was her lucky day, but she is yet to understand the implications of what this all means. Barbie had tried to give her a talk about this just in case something like this were to happen to her.
“W-Where are you taking me?” Y/n finally decides to ask when she walks past a few stage hands and girls who are dressed in a similar fashion as her.
He doesn’t say anything, just keeps walking until they reach the area he was told to take her. It was a large greenroom filled with women, alcohol, and drugs, but most importantly, the members of Cherry filled the room. Y/n’s eyes flashed over the lines of a powdery, white substance and prescription pill bottles. There was a musky smell in the room mixed with cigarette ash; everyone had something in their hand that they were smoking. Discarded beer bottles laid on the floor, especially around the couch that the bouncer stopped in front of.
“Is this the girl you wanted?”
On the couch, sandwiched between two blondes, was Bucky. One of the women was rubbing chest while the other had her face planted in his neck. They weren’t acting normal, Y/n thought to herself, they were seemingly out of it and running on auto-pilot. She was sort of concerned for them, but she couldn’t pull her eyes away from the rockstar that was staring right back at her.
“Yes it is,” he says matter-of-factly. He finishes up his cigarette and discards the butt on the floor. He stands up and he’s so damn tall. If it wasn’t for her platforms then Y/n would have to tilt her head to look up at him. The women who were all over him were pissed that he moved from his spot, but he didn’t care about them at all.
Bucky was trying really hard to break his habit of picking a girl out of the crowd and having security bring her to him once the show was over and done with. That’s why he attempted to surround himself with old hook-ups he knew were a sure bet. It was just too risky and the safe bets knew him well enough to satisfy him. But he has a sweet tooth he wants to satisfy tonight and the pretty thing in the crowd looked too damn sweet to pass up. He steps closer to her as he crushes his cigarette butt under one foot. He can smell the innocence on her like a cheap perfume — Bucky knows when a sweet girl is playing dress-up for the night.
The room is so hot, making Y/n sweat under fur. Being surrounded by so much going on that she can’t quite explain was making her nervous. Bucky could see it written all over her face that this is her first time being in an environment like this.
“Wanna step outside, sweetheart?”
The name had her melting and nodding her head. She follows him outside to the back where Cherry’s tour bus is parked in the back. The night air hits her and it’s the equivalent of jumping into a pool on a hot day. She was so cold earlier when she was waiting to get into the venue, but now she appreciates the cooler temperature.
“Can I see your ID?”
This was the last question Y/n expected him to ask, but she figures he just wants to be safe and be assured that she’s not under the age of 18. She hands him the fake ID and hopes that it works on him.
“Dolly. Pretty name,” he hands the ID back to her. Y/n thought she was in the clear until he places his hand on the other side of her head and his body is so close to hers that her back is to the wall. A scowl sits on his face and she worries that she’s fucked up. “Word of advice. Next time you get a fake ID, make sure there aren’t any typos. High schoolers aren’t my thing, sweetheart.”
“I’m not a high schooler!” Y/n says a bit too fast. Her heart is racing so fast, but she doesn’t want their time together to end even if she doesn’t know where this is going, “I’m in college…I’m 20.”
Bucky is hesitant to believe her. He doesn’t want to get caught up with someone who is lying about their age. However, he decides to take her word for her. He doesn’t think she looks that young, just unsuspecting. The whorish make-up she’s wearing can’t cover up the fact that she looks like Bambi. He finds it so damn cute.
“You wanna tell me your real name baby?”
“It’s Y/n,” she bats her lashes at him as he observes her face. His eyes landed on her lips, painted a vibrant red. The primal urges in him want to see it smeared all over her face. It’s been a long, long time since Bucky has such an innocent little thing right in front of him. He can only assume that she’s pure and untouched.
“Pretty name for a pretty girl. What are you doing out here with an old man like me? You probably have a little boyfriend at home, a girl as pretty as you.”
“I-I don’t-“
“C’mon now, don’t lie to me again,” this time he’s joking with her. Y/n is in a great state of disbelief that a rockstar is interested in her. He’s looking at her with hunger in his eyes which Y/n mistakes for adoration. The boys on her campus don’t find her cute, but a rockstar does. And not just any rockstar, but her favorite rockstar. Bucky knows what effect he’s having on her. He can feel her legs trembling as he presses himself up against her, her back hard against the wall, “do I make you nervous?”
Y/n stupidly nods her head. She should’ve said no, but she can’t lie to him, not when she’s staring into his blue eyes.
“I don’t want you to be nervous for me, pretty girl,” he tucks a loose piece of hair behind her ears. She almost looks like a cute puppy he wants to scoop up and keep as his. “You got me all riled up, teasing me looking all cute while I’m on stage.”
Y/n knew she wasn’t seeing things when his eyes flashed over her when she was in the crowd. She had to thank Barbie later because her cousin making her wear this ridiculous outfit is paying off.
“I couldn’t stop myself from getting hard,” he continued, “if I had my way, I would’ve brought you on stage and taken you in front of the entire audience. But, I don’t think you’re that kind of girl, and I’m right, aren’t I?”
No amount of make-up and perfume can cover up that she’s a virgin. She’s awkward and doesn’t wear sexiness that well. Bucky has dealt with his fair share of nervous girls who are fans of his. Y/n stumbles over every word every time Bucky asks her a question. She doesn’t even try to flirt or try to be sexy. She’s unlike those women that were just all over him 10 minutes ago, but he likes that. The same old thing gets stale when you have it over and over again. He needs something new, something sweet, to satisfy him.
“I bet you parents don’t even know you’re here,” he caresses her cheek with the back of his hand, “their sweet, little daughter who studies real, real hard in college so she can make something of herself. Bet they’d be shocked to find out she’s trying to get fucked by a nasty man like me. Is that what you want, princess? Want me to take you to into that bus and fuck the shit out of you?”
Y/n unintentionally whines, “yes.” His spell is complete and she’s completely enamored. She doesn’t care that she’s inexperienced or that she was saving herself for “someone special.” She’s grinding herself against Bucky like a bitch in heat and he’s enjoying every second of it. If he told her to jump, she’d ask him, “how how?” She wants him so bad and she wants to be wanted by him even more.
“Well, c’mon then,” he grabs her hand and leads her towards the tour bus. Her hand is soft in his calloused one. She’s sure he uses his hands to work hard, playing guitar and writing lyrics all day; she cannot wait to feel those rough hands on her body.
The mix of cigarettes and weed is even worse on the bus. The windows are all closed which makes it stuffy inside. It’s not silent though, as Y/n can hear moaning coming from the small room in the back. They walk past make-shift bunk beds and Y/n wonders just how safe it is to live on a tour bus. Surely they have fun in it though because there are discarded condoms on the floor. The moaning gets louder and Y/n is able to make out the words of a woman begging to be fucked harder. Her eyes widen when she hears the filth coming from the woman’s back. “That’s going to be us, sweetheart,” Bucky whispers into her ear. Y/n can almost faint from how hot she feels.
Bucky bangs on the door only to be met with someone yelling at him on the other side of the door. He bangs on it again and yells, “get out of my room!” It was no surprise that the lead singer got his own private room while his band mates and roadies slept on the shitty beds. Y/n, who would normally be turned off by rudeness, doesn’t care at all. She wants whoever is behind that door to leave so he can lay her down in the bed.
Out comes the drummer of Cherry with a brunette right behind him. She’s wearing a tight, black dress that she threw on haphazardly. Y/n avoids making eye contact with either of them as they pass her up. Bucky keeps a firm grip on her hand as they become the ones to occupy the room.
Y/n takes a second to look around his small room. It’s much nicer and cleaner than the rest of the tour bus. Some of Bucky’s clothes are hanging in a small closet; a few items that Y/n recognizes from his TV appearances hang in there.
“Come here little one.”
Bucky wraps his large arm around her waist and forces her close to his body. She gasps when she connects with his chest. His button up has a few buttons undone and she’s face to face with his bare chest. He looks so fine, like a man that can split her in half and she’ll say thank you afterward.
He pushes her down against the bed and Y/n looks up at him, waiting almost impatiently for his next move.
“Take that coat off baby. Don’t hide your body from me.”
He stands there like he has the ultimate authority over her because he knows he does. She peels the fur jacket off of her body to reveal her velvet dress. It’s tight on her pretty body and Bucky wants to see that go next.
“Take that off for me too, baby. I want to see how beautiful you look under all those clothes.”
Y/n cheeks grow hot. She’s hesitant to undress herself in front of him because she’s never undressed herself in front of a man before. Her body was to be concealed and protected like a sanctuary. She feels like a sinner with each article of clothing being pulled off of her body. Her stupid little brain doesn’t consider anything she’s been taught growing up; they’re replaced by Bucky and the way his hard gaze flutters over her body. She sits on his bed for him, completely nude, with a demure look in her eye. Bucky groaned at the sight of her virgin body. Her skin looked so soft, untouched by anyone in a nefarious way. Her nipples were hard from being out in the cold. After taking in her entire body, his eyes finally landed on her sweet cunt. He could barely see it because her legs were clamped shut, but he forced her open by using his foot to nudge her legs open. The leather of his shoes felt expensive as it rubbed against her ankle. She slowly parts her legs to reveal herself to him. Her virgin cunt is puffy and wet for him. Bucky has always had that effect on women; making them wet without even touching them yet.
“Don’t you look so darling for me,” he compliments. No matter how nervous she is, Bucky knows using sweet words is going to make her do anything he wants. She looks like sin despite being so sweet and innocent. Bucky swore off fucking random girls for the rest of his tour, but he’s never been more happier to be weak to temptation.
"You're not the first virgin I fucked, but it's been a while so bare with me if I'm not patient."
Bucky just wants to touch her. He wants to turn her around and pound into her while her ass ripples against his hips. The urge to be less than nice is taking over him. He will enjoy the pleasures of the flesh tonight.
"You've at least used that mouth before, right?" He began to take off his belt and unbuckle his bell bottoms. She shakes her head no in response to him. She's completely pure and untouched; Bucky cannot contain himself. "I'll show you what to do princess."
Y/n is afraid she won't be good at pleasing him. He's had so many women, much sexier and mature women, suck his cock and please him. She's heard classmates talk about giving their boyfriends' handjobs and blowjobs, but she's never even seen another man naked.
Bucky sits on the bed next to her and rubs her thigh. She cannot pull her eyes away from the bulge in his pants. He looks like he's big.
"Get down on your knees for me sweet girl."
Y/n kneels before him like she does when she prays to God. When she prays for what she wants most in life, she'd never think of asking for something like this.
"Fuck, you look so cute down there. Such a pretty little thing."
Bucky slightly lifts himself off the bed to pull his pants down and free his cock. He knew going commando would make his night better because his cock springs out with ease. Y/n is staring at his length with eyes so wide. He's so big she doesn't think he can fit in her hand let alone her mouth or pussy.
"Go 'head and touch it," he gently nudges. The softness in his voice gives her a false sense of security. She imagines that he's going to be so nice and sweet to her tender body tonight, he just needs to be warmed up.
Her hand moves slowly and she wraps her nimble fingers around his length. She shudders when she feels the weight of him in her palm. Her eyes shoot up at Bucky's face when he sighs at the light squeeze she gives him. It's just a small gesture, but his mind is already making her the star of his fantasies. He needs more from her or else he's going to explode. He wants to consume all of her, turn her from something sweet into something nasty by using all parts of her body for his pleasure. Once he's through with her tonight, she's his; she'll be absolutely ruined for anyone else. He's going to fuck her until she's dumb and can only say his name.
"Move your hand, baby."
Y/n obeys but her hand only moves up and down a little bit. His cock is dry and she wonders if it hurts him. He's grunting which she cannot tell is a good thing or not.
"Do you — do you want me to lick your cock Bucky?" She asks so sweetly.
He's a grown man, he should be able to control himself better, but he almost cums all over her face. The way she talks with such a soft, yet curious voice is going to kill him.
"Yea baby...go ahead and start licking my cock."
She sticks out her pink cock and the wet muscle connects with the underside of Bucky's cock. He shivers at the feeling of her wet tongue on his cock. She licks him again like she's a little kitten. Her tongue is weak against his cock, it feels good, but it's not enough.
"Lick me harder baby."
Y/n apples more pressure to his cock. She grabs the base of his cock to keep it still for herself. She's heard girls say their boyfriend's dick didn't taste good at all, but she likes how Bucky tastes. His flesh is a bit salty from being on stage an hour ago, but it's not bad at all. Every lick elicits a reaction from him that makes her feel all good inside. All she wants is to be wanted by her dream man, and she's proud of herself for getting him to moan. However, she can't help but compare herself to the hypothetical women in his past. She pushes herself a bit further to beat them in this imaginary competition. She licks all the way up to the tip before letting her tongue run over the very top. It's been days since he's cum, tour was killing him, and he cock was more sensitive than usual.
Bucky is waring with himself; he wants to keep watching her learn her way around a big cock, but a dark part of him wants to grab her head and fuck her face. Her make-up is still intact and he's keen on ruining it.
"Open that mouth," his voice is not as soft as he gives her the demand. She obeys him like the good girl she is and his cock is sliding into her mouth. She only has a few minutes to adjust before he's sawing his cock into her mouth. "That's it princess — relax your throat for me." That mouth of hers is so, so special. If her mouth feels like silk then he can only imagine what her untouched cunt feels like.
The tip of his cock hit the back of her throat and she gags on a cock for the first time in her life and she almost panics. "Uh-uh, it's okay baby, just relax that throat," he groans. Her mouth is too warm and wet for him to stop fucking her face. He'll take it slowly for now, but he won't be able to contain himself for much longer. Her tongue slides against the underside of his cock and purposely presses against it. The moan he lets out tells her that she's doing better than she thought she would. Bucky has a grip on her head that's getting tighter and tighter.
Bucky couldn't hold back as he fucked her velvet mouth. His cock was a wide fit in her mouth, causing Y/n's jaw to feel sore. He kept battering the back of her throat with his cock, making her gag harder than before. They were creating such a mess with her saliva clinging to her chin and falling down into globs on her tits.
Y/n can barely form a coherent thought. It was becoming harder to breath but Bucky was so lost in fucking her throat that he thought nothing of her groans; until she's tapping his thigh to let her breath. He pulls his hips back and she gasps for air. "Good little girl," he grits. A connecting string of spit begins from his cock and ends on her smeared lips. He's kind enough to give her ten seconds to collect herself before he's back to using the throat.
Bucky feels himself about to blow in her mouth. He doesn't want to waste his cum, although he would love to see her face and pretty tits painted with it. He only fucks her face for a few more minutes before pulling out altogether.
"On the bed girl."
Y/n was relieved that he was done with her throat. Her jaw was beginning to become sore. Bucky gets a good look at her face one she's spread out on his soft bed for him. The tears ruined her eye make-up and her red lips were smudged. The residue of her lipstick is covered on his cock which he quickly fists off. He loved using her throat, but it was time to turn his attention onto her.
"Look how pretty you sweet and innocent for me," he coos.
As he climbs over her, Y/n wonders how she got so lucky. Bucky looks so gorgeous on top of her, and he looks at her as if she's good enough to eat. She can taste the alcohol on his soft lips as he kisses her. She wants him to consume every inch of her. She wants to be corrupted and doesn't care if God is looking down on her with shame.
Bucky's hand holds onto her hips as he pins her down. She's not going anywhere but just being able to control her body is so fun for him. His lips trail away from her lips and to her jawline. He sucks and kisses at her skin until he's nipping at her sensitive neck. She sighs and wiggles her body against his. The skin is almost ticklish because it's never been dealt with in this manner. Someone kissing her skin is so foreign, but she's already addicted to how it feels to be kissed and touched by him.
"Pretty fucking tits," he murmurs to himself when he travels further down her body.
Bucky gropes her breast until he has to take a nipple into his mouth. She sighs, still holding back her moans in shyness, when his wet mouth connects with her nipples. Every part of her body is sensitive to his touch, but her nipples are incredibly hard that it almost hurts. He maintains his gaze on her face to watch her reaction as he sucks and paws at the flesh of her body. He switches from one nipple to the other, swirling his tongue around her sensitive bud. His tongue presses flatly against her nipple, only to spring back up when he pulls his mouth away.
"It's safe to assume that no one has eaten that sweet cunt of yours?"
The way he crassly puts it makes Y/n want to hide her face. She turns her head to the side, but Bucky grabs her jaw to make her face him again. He smirks when he sees the nervous look on her face. Of course no one has gone down on her, he knows that, but it's so much more fun to hear her say it herself.
"Answer me sweetheart."
" one has been down there before," she stammers.
It's her lucky day because the first man to go down on her is one that absolutely loves eating pussy. He loves feeling a woman squirm underneath him as he holds her hips down and devours her cunt. Y/n's puffy pussy is so enticing to him that he has to feast on her. And feast he will.
"Spread those legs a little wider for me baby. Let me make you feel good."
Y/n listens to him, but she's still unsure about him going down on her.
"Are you sure Bucky?"
"Am I sure about what?"
"Going down...there," she was so embarrassed that he made her say it out loud. Talking about sex makes her feel unsexy. She's also afraid he won't like how she tastes.
Bucky sits up and leans over her. Their noses are touching and his lips barely touch hers. "I've never been so sure baby," his words ghost across her lips.
Bucky sits back up on knees, a devilish smile playing on his face. He spreads Y/n's legs further apart. The sound of her wet folds separating as her legs part makes him feel feral. Even her cunt glistens in the little lighting they have. Y/n has never been so wet or turned on in her life. Bucky could slide right in if he wanted to. Instead he descends on her pussy for the taste he's been dying to get since he spotted her in the crowd.
His hands cup her ass and he brings her pussy up to his mouth. The first contact with his tongue on her pussy makes Y/n's mind melt.
"Buck — oh my god!" She couldn't hold back her cries of pleasure even if she wanted to.
That's what Bucky wants to hear from her. He wants to hear her call out his name like she's his desperate whore. Her little pussy is just as sweet as he expected.
In just a few seconds she's begging him for more. Bucky is loving every second of this. The way her hot flesh feels against his tongue and how she's falling apart at the seams just from him licking her folds. He hasn't shown her nothing yet in terms of pleasing her body, and yet the pretty, little virgin is crying out for him to keep devouring her precious pussy.
"It feels so good Bucky — ahh!"
Her moans are just as cute as her. Bucky hums into her pussy as his tongue dives between her folds. Every time he slides his tongue closer to her clit he gets a louder reaction. He knows the moment he attaches his mouth to it that it's going to drive her crazy; she's going to have her first orgasm on his tongue.
When his lips finally wrap around her clit, the most obscene moans escape Y/n's mouth. Bucky is so turned on by the sound of her cries that he ruts himself against the bed. He wants to fuck into her so bad already, but this pussy is just too good to pull his mouth away from. His whole body is heated as more of her arousal flows into his mouth. Her clit is so sensitive but that doesn't stop him from sucking harshly on the bud. Y/n begins to paw at his head in an attempt to push him away; she's utterly overwhelmed. But, Bucky just locks his arms around her thighs and keeps his mouth on her. The look in his eyes tells her to stop and let him do his job. Y/n tries, she desperately tries to control her body, but it just feels too good to stay still.
The cry of his name becomes so familiar on her tongue. She's still so nervous but she gives herself no choice but to surrender herself to him. Each moment they go further and further until Y/n is pushed to the edge of a new limit for herself. Her body feels light and heavy at the same time. She's nearly done for when a finger makes its way into her pussy, followed by a second. Bucky scissors his fingers out in her pussy to stretch her for him. She's so slick and wet, but he wants her to get accustomed to an intrusion in her little cunt. He massages her walls with the pads of his fingers. They clench around him before beginning to spasm. His fingers just push her closer to her first, and hardest orgasm of her life.
Y/n does not like to swear, but the situation warrants it as her body goes under. Her vision is obscured by patches of white in her eyes. She begins to babble as if she's cock drunk and she hasn't even gotten his cock yet. She underestimated how a mouth and two fingers could bring her to her knees metaphorically. If it wasn't for how broken her mind is, she'd be crying out 'I love you' over and over again.
Bucky pulls his fingers out and laps at her sweetness. He doesn't take too much time licking up her nectar because his cock is so hard and looking for its home. Her pussy is perfect for him
"I'm gonna fuck you until you cry," he groans as he sits up and grabs the base of his cock.
The head of his cock is aimed right at her pussy. It's so hard that it almost looks painful for him. She hates to kill his momentum, but she has to ask, "shouldn't we use a condom?" Her voice is weak from the orgasm that just wore her out. Even on autopilot her anxiousness gets the best of her.
Bucky pauses. He's a little annoyed by her question as he believes she should just go with what's happening.
"I wanna feel all of you baby — besides, I'm clean."
Bucky was not going to fuck that pussy with a condom. There is no way he was going to slide his thick cock into that virgin pussy without feeling for himself how wet and warm it is.
"Do you want me to fuck you or not princess?" His delivery is a bit harsh, but he uses it to assert his authority over her. She's not going to say no to her favorite rockstar he says he just wants to worship her body.
Y/n silences herself but nods her head. She's afraid, but she also doesn't want him to stop. When he says, "good girl," she knows that she's made the right decision.
He glides the head of his cock between her slippery folds. Every time he slides past her entrance, Y/n thinks he's going to slide in, but he continues to tease her. He douses his cock in her slick that just kept seeping out of her. She acts so hesitant yet this little pussy can't stop flowing for him.
"I really wanna fuck that pussy from behind and watch your ass smack against mine. But, I'll be a nice man and let you see my face while I pick your cherry."
Finally he places the head right at her slit and slowly begins to slide in. Every muscle in her body tenses up and she shoots right up.
"No, no — it's okay baby. Just relax for me, okay? Relax for Bucky."
His words only placate her a little bit. She lays back down for him but it's hard to relax completely when his big cock is nearly splitting her open. The air is plucked right from her and she can't even moan, let alone speak.
Bucky almost slides all of himself inside of her before pulling all the way out again. Y/n feels so empty at the loss of him. The next time he's pushing into her he moves a little more quicker. He can't take too much time or else he's going to explode inside of her without really getting to fuck her. Bucky has to calm himself down too so he doesn't blow his load. Her pussy is just so tight and inviting; definitely the snuggest cunt he's had in a while.
She winces as he pushes in deeper and deeper and Bucky begins to caress her skin; he wants to corrupt her, not hurt her.
"Shh, shh baby it's okay. Daddy's got you and that pretty pussy baby..."
His words of encouragement turn her on and make her feel a little bit better. The man who's posters are on the walk of her dorm is fucking her and talking to her sweetly. He's making her into a woman.
Bucky grabs her legs and places them on his shoulder. "Shit," he grunts when the new position gives him much deeper access. He can't believe he has so much patience when he really wants to tear her pussy up. He knows she can't handle it quite yet though.
"Ahh! It's so big, Bucky!" She whines. Her nails dig into his forearms from the pain as she tries to adjust to his size.
"A big cock for a big girl."
Bucky pauses for a second to take in the feeling of her silky walls. Y/n is grateful for the time he takes to admire how she feels because she needs this moment to adjust to him. He’s so big, nearly splitting her in half, but she doesn’t want this moment to end. There is no better person she could give her virginity to. Even if Bucky’s not necessarily as gentle as the first man she’d imagine to have sex with, nor is he someone’s she in a relationship with, but this is so much better than anything else she could have gotten.
“You have the wettest pussy on earth,” he fawns before he begins to move again.
Bucky works her up to a steady pace that is still careful of her delicate frame. Her nails in his skin sting but the pain goes straight to his cock. She doesn’t know just how much he likes it rough and how much restraint he’s actually showing. Once she gets used to him, he’s going to take the stress out on her perfect, untouched body. She’ll be his fuck doll for the night.
“How does it feel, baby? How does it feel to have my big dick inside of you?” Bucky lays his hand on her lower stomach, “can you feel me right here?”
His hand snakes down to rub light circles into her clit. He feels her thighs shivering against his sides. She’s so precious; he could do anything to her and she’d enjoy it, turning into a moaning mess in a second. There are tears in the corners of eyes that spill out once she forces her eyes shut. Her fingernails have exited his skin and settled for gripping at the sheets near her head. Bucky leans down to kiss between the valley of her breast. Her back arches into the air, his lips digging into her skin in the process. “So good…so, so good,” he whispers against her skin. His warm breath tickles her skin. She feels like she’s walking into the gates of heaven as his cock inside of her begins to feel good. It’s electrifying to be so filled by such a man. This feels like a dirty secret she should keep to her grave, but also something she should scream on top of the world’s largest mountain.
Bucky sits up again and cups her face. She’s still so pure even with his cock stuffed inside of her. His cock curves inside of her and rubs against her sweet spot, and he’s just seconds away from giving in and ruining her. His touch, the thickness of cock, should be imprinted on her mind for the rest of her life. She’ll think about him even when she’s married with children. God — Bucky wishes he can just scoop her up and take her with him, but a good girl like her would be ruined by his lifestyle. He likes how sinless she is, and he doesn’t want that to change.
“H-Harder,” she whispers.
Neither of them can believe the word that escapes from her mouth, but who is Bucky to deny her? His hips snap against hers and he fucks into her harder just like she asks. His cock is so heavy inside of her but the burn of the stretch is so delicious. She holds onto him for dear life again. She’s desperate to have another orgasm. It felt so good when she came on his tongue, and she wants to experience it again on his cock. Bucky can feel her tightening up and he’s threatening to spill his seed inside of her.
“C’mon sweetheart,” he rubs her clit harder now, “cum for me princess. Cum all over daddy’s big dick.”
Y/n groans at his demand. She’s so close to cumming for him and that’s all she wants to do. She wants to obey his every whim, no matter how taxing it is.
There are stars in her eyes as she begins to cum around his cock, just for him. Her voice is too weak for her to moan out loud for him, but her whimpers get him going. The warmth spreads throughout her body and she swears she’s seeing stars at this point.
A string of profanities escape his lips and he pulls out of her before she could fully ride out her hide. She whines at the empty feeling inside of her. Bucky was about to cum inside of her, but he wants to take her from behind now that he’s taken her once and made her cum. He doesn’t say anything as he moves her limp body around like she’s a rag doll. He places her on her stomach and then pulls her hips back and into the air. Her knees sink into the bed as she lays with her face down and ass up. Bucky is feeding his cock into her pussy within seconds. Her eyes widened at the new position giving him even more access to her poor pussy. She can feel his tip teasing her cervix. Bucky isn’t so keen on being nice and slow for her this time around. The squelching of her cunt and the slapping of their skin is loud and lascivious.
“Fuck baby — I’m gonna cum in this pussy,” he moans.
Y/n wasn’t on any sort of birth control, but she isn’t going to stop him. She knows it’s a risk, but she just hopes for the best because she needs his cock inside of her. Her morals are as shaky as the legs she’s laying on.
“Gonna let daddy cum in this pretty pussy?”
“Yes!” Her voice is muffled by the blankets on the bed, but he hears her loud and clear.
“Good girl — such a slut for me.”
Being called a slut shouldn’t be such a turn on, but it makes Y/n’s pussy even wetter. Her heat was more intoxicating than any alcohol he’s had tonight. The veins of his cock slide against her soft walls and he fits into her like a glove; her pussy is too good not to pound.
“Fuck princess I’m about to cum…’m bout to give you my big, fat load.”
All Y/n can do is whine. She grabs at the bed and squeezes onto the nearest blanket very tight. She’s going to cum again; she can feel it deep in her stomach.
Bucky was lost in a trance watching her ass bounce against him as his cock disappeared in her tight cunt. But he wasn’t dazed enough not to notice the small gesture of Y/n pushing her hips back against him. He can’t help but smirk at the fact that he turned this sweet virgin playing dress up into his slut. It makes his cock twitch inside of her and he’s finally about to cum. He can feel her getting close again too.
“Cum with me sweet girl — wanna cum with you.”
Y/n feels special hearing those words from him. He wasn’t a selfish man, he spoiled her pussy two times and he’s about to do it again for the third time tonight. His cock keeps spearing her open, reaching deep inside her tight canal. Her pussy gives him one good squeeze before she begins to milk. She can feel his cum spreading inside of her, causing her to gasp as it triggers her own orgasm. He comes to a halt as he bursts inside of her. His hand reaches down to rub her clit through her own orgasm and she begins to shiver under his touch.
“B-Bucky — my god,” her voice is broken and faint.
Y/n can barely keep her eyes open as she feels his cum filling her up inside. It’s so warm and feels like it’s spreading without her body.
Bucky doesn’t want to pull out; he wants to stay buried in that cunt forever. But, he’s dying to see his cum drip out of her. He pulls out of her slowly and watches a gush of white escape from her hole. “Fuck, that’s it baby,” he coos as more and more flows out. He didn’t realize that he had so much pent up inside of him until he saw it dripping out of her. He rubs the head of his cock through her folds before pushing his cream back in.
He’s utterly spent; that girl and her pussy wore him out. He collapses on the bed next to her and pulls her into his arms. Bucky really should be cleaning her up and sending her on her merry way, but he needs to feel someone’s touch tonight after that. It feels nice to cuddle with her although it’s not his most favorite thing to do with a hook-up. He sees it as something that’s too intimate, something lovers should do, but it is the least he can do after being the first man to use her body. But, Bucky also doesn’t want to admit that he enjoyed tonight a little bit more than usual.
“Rest up sweetheart. I’ll get you home tonight,” Bucky coos, his nose pressing into the hot skin on her cheek. Y/n nods absentmindedly. Her mind was totally consumed with being in the arms of her favorite rockstar who had now fucked his way into being her favorite person in the world.
Bucky lets her rest up before he’s cleaning up the mess between her legs. Most of it has dried up, but there are still remnants of the mix of their cum clinging to her inner thigh. He’s proud of his handiwork and looking at the pretty girl laying in his bed is further proof.
Y/n sits up and begins to search for her clothes. Bucky watches her every move. She can barely walk from the exhaustion and soreness that is now ravaging her body. He’s enamored by the sight of her, as if she’s the famous one. It’s so ridiculous how much his heart swells just watching her try to make herself look presentable again. She still looks so sweet and innocent even after getting her brains fucked out.
Bucky doesn’t know what compels him to say something stupid to the girl. He doesn’t make promises, because they are often broken, but he plans on keeping this one. He cups her face with his hands which forces her to stop and look at him. There are just as many stars in his eyes as there are hers.
“Next time you’re in New York, you call me. Or, wherever the hell you are, you call me and I’ll be there to fuck the shit out of you. Anytime, any place baby.
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