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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 year

Text

Quick Study

Masterlist

Warnings: this fic includes dark content including rape/noncon, coercion, and other potential triggering elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Steve introduces you to a friend. (plus sized reader)

Characters: Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes

A note on reader characters:

For clarity, each reader will have a defined nickname when appearing in any installment not their own. This is Tweed. This installment takes place at the end of first semester, closer to Tweed’s original chapter.

This is my Week 2 entry for @the-slumberparty .

Note: I didn’t expect this to become an actualy part at all but here we are.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3

Love you all like Donkey love Waffles. Take care. 💖

You barely see your dorm room anymore. Steve keeps you close, to the point of chafing. It’s the little moments like these where you find your solace. A fleeting hour to catch up on coursework and crack open your neglected textbooks.

First semester was a mess. Your midterms are the only marks keeping you above water and you were struggling to keep up with your finals. He doesn’t seem to care either. He only treats your studying as competition, another reason for you not to pay attention to him.

His low snores assure you of your reprieve. They drift down from the loft as you quietly flip the pages, taking note of dates, key events, and their consequences. History isn’t about when, but why and how.

What do you know? You lean back and hold your head. You’re a fucking mess. You can’t do this. It’s either Steve or school, exactly what he’s said a billion times. No, you can’t give up. You made one mistake, you can’t let it ruin everything.

That mistake snorts and you hold your breath as you listen tenuously. Another keel of snores lends you a sigh of relief. You’re not ready for more.

You sit forward and rest your elbows on the desk. You rub your eyes and hold back a helpless sob. Maybe you can catch up the next time you see Flora and the others. Your only comfort, one which adds to his wariness. Everything you do is wrong if it doesn’t center around him.

Your eyes wet but the tears don’t have a chance to flow over. A gentle knock rolls through the silence and you daub away the glimmer. You sniff and sit up. Was that real? It comes again, heavier, harder.

You scramble to your feet. You don’t want him to wake up yet. Whoever is here needs to go away. You scurry down to the door and peek through the peephole. You recognise Steve’s friend, Bucky, but you’ve never met him. You’ve only ever seen the top of his head as you were sworn to hide in the loft.

He raises his hand and your heart clenches. No, don’t knock again. You quickly slide the lock back and twist the handle. You crack open the door and hiss through, “shhh.”

His hand hovers a moment before he rests it against the door frame, his other framing his hip. His lips part in surprise as he takes in the sliver of your appearance through the tight space. You look him up and down. Almost as big as Steve, eyes just as blue if not bluer, and square jaw that could cut glass.

“Oh, hello,” he smirks. You don’t like that.

“He’s asleep,” you try to push the door shut but he catches it, his hand flat on the wood, “please, you have to go.”

“You must be Tweedy bird,” he leans into the door and you battle with him to keep it in place. He’s too strong and you stagger back as he bulls his way through, “we finally meet.”

“Um…” you poke your tongue out along your lower lip nervously, “maybe… uh, I’ll go wake Steve, I guess.”

You turn away but are curtailed by his hand on your arm. He drags you back and angles you against the wall, penning you in as he faces you. He tilts his head as he slowly reaches to tickle your cheek. You wince and shy away.

“Now I know why he’s been hiding you from me,” he purrs, “aren’t you a precious little thing?” You gulp and his eyes fall to the bob of your throat. His fingers trail down as he touches it, “let him sleep, baby, let’s get to know each other,” he presses his thumb firmly along your neck, “you got any…” his fingers walk along the collar of the tee, Steve’s. “Coffee?”

You stare, stunned. He toys with the cotton and winks as he pulls away. He rolls his shoulders as he unzips his jacket, a fleece lined flannel. You watch him nervously.

“Come on, baby, you’re not a rude girl, are you?” He sits on the wooden bench and unlaces his boots, “I don’t like rude girls and I know Steve doesn’t either.”

You flick your eyes down guiltily, “I’m sorry–”

“I take my coffee black,” he interrupts, “dark roast, if you got it.”

“Erm, okay, uh, yes,” you sidle along the wall, bracing it to keep your legs from crumpling entirely.

You teeter by the desk and go into the kitchen. You do your best to keep quiet as you light the burner and move the heavy kettle over it. Steve doesn’t have a machine, he prefers the press. You chew your thumb as you turn and lean against the counter.

“Oh, birdy,” Bucky’s voice floats through, “you’re not hiding from me, are you?”

You push away from the walnut and sweep to the door. You peer into the front room as Bucky stands by the desk, dragging a finger along the pages of your notebook. He clicks his tongue as he squints down at the blue ink.

“History,” he muses, “Rogers said you were a smart bee.”

“I… I do my best,” you cross the room and flip the textbook shut.

You go to swipe up the notebook but he latches on and keeps you from pulling away. You look him in the face, startled. You notice the grey uniform he wears, his last name across the patch sewn along the chest. The tips of his dark hair graze along the collar and frame his chiseled features, giving him a wolfish resemblance.

“I see a lot of smart girls, but they never see me,” he sneers, “think they’re too good for a guy like me.”

“I– I’m sorry,” you let go of the notebook, “I only… wanted to clean up.”

“I don’t mind a mess,” he grins, “kinda my job.” He opens your notebook and browses the pages nonchalantly, “you’re not one of them, are you, Tweedy bird? You’re not a snob, are you? A bitch?”

You blink and fold your hands together. Your heart flutters as your veins surge with a cool floe. He’s scarier than Steve, at least you know what Steve expects.

“The coffee,” you suggest.

“No point watching water boil,” he closes the notebook and drops it carelessly, “no, Tweedy, I can tell. You’re a sweet one. Steve only likes the sweet ones.”

Your eyes list away and your lip trembles. You don’t know what to say or do. He steps around the desk and you flinch. He comes up and grabs your chin, looming over you as he snickers.

“Look at me,” he demands. You obey, eyes wide. His mouth slants in amusement, “I bet you look exactly like this when he’s deep–”

“Buck,” Steve’s gristly voice rumbles through the apartment.

You look up as Steve scowls down from the loft, rubbing his sleepy eyes. Bucky lets go and raises an open hand to wave upwards. He turns to face the other man.

“There you are. Tweedy was just getting me settled,” he says, “weren’t you, baby?”

Steve growls and leans on the low railing, “don’t scare her.”

“Oh, is that why you kept her from me?” Bucky challenges as Steve disappears into the darkness. “I think she likes me, don’t you, Tweedy?”

You listen to the creak of the stairs as Steve descends and he comes into view around the corner, stretching his arms behind him as his chest is bare above a pair of hastily pulled on joggers. He grumbles and approaches Bucky, smacking his shoulder with his knuckles.

“I mean it,” Steve warns, “what are you doing here?”

“Old pal can’t stop in?” Bucky frightens you as he brushes his fingertips up your arm, “you always were so selfish–”

“Tweed,” Steve intones as you hear the low rattle, “water’s boiling.”

“Um, okay,” you flit away from Bucky, gratefully taking the excuse.

You go into the kitchen and focus on measuring the ground into the press. Your hands shake as you hear the low tones of the men, some of their words obscured by their careful volume;

‘...call first..’

‘...no fun..’

You finish setting the coffee to steep and linger in the kitchen. You pace, tapping your fingers on the countertop and toying with the magnets on the fridge as you watch the clock. You want to go hide and call Flora. She always knows what to say. Or even Cookie, she’s always up to something, always baking something new.

“Tweed,” Steve calls, “coffee.”

You lurch and jump into action. The aroma affirms the readiness as it swirls in the air. You take two mugs and pour them carefully. A touch of milk in Steve’s and Bucky’s untouched. You grab the cups and shuffle to the doorway.

The men sit, Steve on the sofa, arm against the side, and Bucky in the square armchair. You set their mugs on coasters on the handcrafted coffee table, the wood rippled with wavy lines. You step back and rub your hands together.

You near Steve but he stops you from sitting down, his hand on your hip as he squeezes. His hand crawls down and he taps your ass. He nudges you and points to Bucky.

“Go, sit with him,” he coaxes.

“What–”

“You’re not gonna be rude to my friend, are you?” He challenges, “Buck’s a good guy. I’ve known him forever.”

“No, I… I’m sorry,” you tuck your chin down and go to Bucky. You stare at his chest perilously, “where do–”

“Here, baby,” he leans forward and grabs your wrist, leading you around before pulling you down into his lap, “best seat in the room.”

You look at Steve, wide-eyed and nervous. He cups his chin as he watches you, biting his pinking as he thinks. Bucky’s hand grazes up your side before descending once more to your hip.

“Sweetie,” Steve drops his hand, “I was your first, right?”

You blanch and shake your head as you look down at your twiddling fingers. You feel the heat radiating from Bucky, met with the fiery scald across your cheeks.

“Don’t be shy, sweetie, I’m just… you know, a girl can’t know what she wants if she’s never known any different.”

You still your hands, twining your fingers together as a shiver creeps up your spine. You hug yourself and stare at your knees.

“Please, Steve, I don’t–”

“You don’t want to have some fun, Tweedy bird?” Bucky’s hand crawls up your back, another quake rolling through you, “that’s too bad. I can be a nice guy,” his hand rises to your neck, “but I don’t like snobby little girls who think they’re too good for me.”

He pinches and you squeal, reaching to his fingers as you look to Steve for help. He watches calmly as he bends forward to take his coffee. You squirm as you grasp Bucky’s hand and try to peel away his grip.

“You don’t think you’re too good for Bucky, do you, honey? He’s my friend?”

“I– n-no,” you eke out, “I just… I barely know h–”

“You barely knew me and you fucked me on our first date,” he grins, “you don’t gotta play innocent.”

“Steve, please,” you whimper, “I’m scared–”

“You don’t gotta scared, sweetie,” Steve sips and puts his cup down, “I’m gonna be right here.”

You squeak as Bucky’s other hand kneads your thigh. He prods at the crease where your legs touch. He pushes his fingers between them, scratching you as you wriggle. You bat your lashes and whine out Steve's name.

"No, sweetie, not me," he coos, "be good for Bucky."

Bucky’s fingers press along the thin panties, the ones Steve chose, satin and skimpy. You whimper again as he tickles you through the smooth fabric, a tingle blooming as he finds your tender bud. You bite your tongue and murmur, tensing against his touch.

"Ease up, baby," he hums as he plays with you, "you gotta let yourself feel good."

He leans forward and bows his head, kissing your shoulder as he buries his hand between your thighs. He searches blindly, pushing aside the fabric as he delves into your naked folds.

You gasp as he rubs you slowly, his gaze searing into you as he watches you squirm, lips brushing along your jaw as you shudder. You look at the wall, too humiliated to face Steve. Bucky's fingers wiggle as he gets closer to your entrance and you flinch as he prods you harshly. He slips his fingertips inside and you clench around his calloused digits.

A shaky exhale rattles you and you reach to clutch the top of your shirt. You squeeze your eyes shut and suck in your lower lip as he slides deeper. You murmur as he dip further and further, the radiating pain sparking to your hip bones. He curls his fingers and rocks his hand steadily, jerking your body with his impatient and gruff motion.

"Relax, sweetie," Steve chirps, "isn't he being so good to you, huh?" He stands, his shadow darkening your eyelids, "tell me she's not fucking tight."

"She's gripping me good," Bucky snarls and nips your neck, "baby, I feel you gettin' wet, you don't gotta pretend for me. I know you want it."

You shake your head and a tickle whispers along your chin. You flick your lashes up at Steve as he turns your head and guides you up, Bucky's hand falling from your cunt and round your thighs. Steve guides you around as the other man pulls down your panties. A zipper cuts through the baited silence of your dread.

Steve helps ease you down into Bucky's lap, his hardness grazing along your ass he trails it down to your cunt. You grip the arms of the chair as you try to resist, babbling, "please, no, Steve--"

"Quiet, sweetie, you love me don't you?"

You stare as tremulous tears bobble in your eyes. You only fear Steve Rogers, you could never love him. He urges you down as Bucky stretches you from below. You hiss as you gulp down air, collapsing back into him as he sinks to his base.

You exclaim and throw your head back, heaving as your walls twitch around him. You arch your back as you try to ease the pressure throbbing in your core, the way he threatens to split you in two.

"Sweetie," Steve cradles your cheeks in his large hands, "see? You can do it."

Bucky frames your hips and rocks you slowly, your ass scratching against the rough polyester of his uniform. You groan as he uses you, just like Steve does. You push your hands down to his thighs as you contort to his desires. He brings a hand to your neck, fingers curving to the shape of your throat as he works you against him. Faster and faster, as the fiery burns becomes a scouring slickness.

You don't want him, you don't want this, but your body reacts, just like it does with Steve.

"That's it," Steve's hand travels down the front of your shirt and he feels along your pelvis. He toys with your clit as Bucky keeps the rhythm, "I want you to cum for him, okay? Can you do that?"

You gnash your teeth as your beads roll down your cheek and you struggle to choke down a breath. You whine as your forced down, Bucky holding you in place as he thrusts from below. He tilts into your furiously, shaking the chair as Steve's fingertips fumble with your bud.

You puff as your legs bend around Bucky's and you quiver with the sudden ascension. You vibrate as your orgasm crests and spills over, a tiding peaking and crashing over you.

"Good girl, I knew you could do it," Steve praises, "I can see your cum on him," he slides his hand down and frames your cunt with his fingers, Bucky's length gliding between his knuckles, "where do you want him to cum?"

You sputter, confused as your head lolls over Bucky's hand. You stick your tongue out, speechless as you try to catch your breath. Steve clucks and nudges the hand from your neck. He lifts you as Bucky's hand fall down your back and he gives a wanting groan.

You slip off Bucky and stumble on your weak legs. Steve spins you and shoves your shoulders until you drop to your knees.Steve takes your skull in his hands and forces his thumb over your lower lip, "open up, sweetie."

Bucky strokes himself as he sits forward, grunting at the friction. He snarls as he pumps himself and reaches to pull you closer. He puts his tip to Steve's thumb as he tenses. You shut your eyes, mortified as you're trapped between them.

The sudden spurt makes you wince in Steve's grasp and ribbons lace around your lips and across your tongue, errant strings up your cheeks and forehead. The rumble of his climax ripples through the air and sizzles to low, long breaths. He falls back, spent, as Steve releases you.

You dare to peek over as Bucky keeps his hand over his dick and Steve steps around you as he tugs at the elastic of his joggers.

"My turn, sweetie," he grabs your arm, hauling you to your feet, "you'll always be my good girl first, huh?"

#steve rogers #bucky barnes #dark steve rogers #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #campus au #au #marvel #mcu #captain america #avengers #winter soldier

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 years

Text

Messy

Masterlist

Warnings: this fic includes dark content including rape/noncon, violence, and other potential triggering elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your classmate has a concerning secret but you might not want to know it. (plus sized reader)

Characters: Bucky Barnes

A note on reader characters:

For clarity, each reader will have a defined nickname when appearing in any installment not their own. This is Foxy. This fic also features Tweed.

Note: Class is in session.

Love you all like Donkey love Waffles. Take care. 💖

Professor Odinson’s booming voice ends the lesson, his usual ‘keep out of trouble’ sending the students to buzz. The shuffling of papers, snapping of laptops, the taps of fingertips on screens underline the voices all around. Friday night classes always have that sort of effect; an anticipation of the after that hardly lends to a studious session before.

You’re barely awake yourself, having spent much of the lesson scrolling on your phone and fighting to keep your eyes open. You’re shit at taking notes anyway. You have people for that.

You yawn and stand-up, rereading the text from Pom Pom, a girl on your floor. Another party.

You slide your bag onto your shoulder. Whether or not you want to join in, you’ll likely be kept awake by the rager. You could use a drink or too. Who knows, there might be cuter boys, or girls, than last time. You send a party emoji and tuck away your phone as you head down the aisle.

You pause near the front. You recognise the errant piece of jewelry dangling from the armrest of a seat. You glance over at the professor as he smiles down at one of his many fawning fan girls. To be fair, you can’t blame them. He’s not bad on the eyes, or the fantasies.

You swipe up the small golden bracelet and thumb the little sunflower emblem, flipping it over to look at the engraving on the other side. SR. Curious. You know who it belongs to but the initials don’t match.

Enlivened by the discovery, you hike up your bag and hurry out the doors. You might be able to catch Tweed before she heads back to her own dorm. Or maybe, she’ll be headed to the library again. She’s always bogged down in her books, you find, even when surrounded by her ragtag group of friends. You suppose the pages help ease her incessant nerves that lead her fingers to twiddle and her leg to shake.

She’s nice enough. You try not to judge her. Quiet and a bit anxious but college does that to people. People who care, at least. As long as you pull a C-average, your dad won’t make you come home. And, you muse as you coil the bracelet around your fingers, you can get Tweed’s notes to copy and maintain your acceptable GPA.

You follow the stragglers in the hallway, you don’t see her. She does tend to be the first one in and the first out. Maybe next week, you shrug as you slow down, nearing the corner as the repeatedly open and close of the door along the next corridor sends gusts of chilly wind around you.

You turn to follow the chatter of your peers but hesitate. You look back as you hear voices, not of the students ahead of you, but someone else. You sigh, it’s none of your business, but then Tweed’s frantic tone keeps you from ignoring it. Great.

You huff and eye the bracelet. Convenient.

You follow the hushed tones to the other side of the lecture hall, keeping your steps light as you try to hear above the bustle to your back. You peek around the painted cement and find Tweed against the wall, cowering as a man with a broom, in a gray overall, looms over you.

“What are you doing sneaking around?...” his voice gristles but you can’t make out his next words as he leans in. She squirms, her bag by her feet as she presses herself to the wall, “...Steve won’t be happy…”

“Sorry, I was only–”

“Hey,” you step out, your holler bouncing down the hall, “leave her alone.”

They both still, frozen in a tableau, as if you might not see them if they stay still. Tweed glances over first, then the man, slowly, stiffly as his jaw tics. His dark hair is drawn back into a bun, his uniform betraying his job. One of the janitors cleaning up after careless co-eds.

“None of your business,” he growls as his grip tightens on the broomstick.

“Uh, it kinda is, bro. Some creepy old janitor creeping on a young girl? I’d say it’s all my business,” you stomp forward, “especially when she’s my friend.”

Tweed’s eyes round and she shakes her head as if to say, don’t. The man squints, his lip curling, as he squares his shoulders. You don’t flinch, you know he’s trying to intimidate you.

“Your friend? And who are you?” He snarls.

“Pfft, who are you, dude?” You retort, “what are you, forty? Leave her alone and go back to cleaning Dorito crumbs.”

“You’ve got quite the mouth on you, don’t you?” He scoffs.

“You only wish,” you roll your eyes as you come close and hold out your hand to Tweed, beckoning her with a small wave, “come on. We’re late for the party.”

“Party?” She squeaks.

“Duh, I told you,” you lie smoothly, “grab your bag, let’s go. We still have to get ready.”

The man bites down, his jaw ticking as he watches you. He slowly looks over at Tweed and she wilts. She bends cautiously and grabs the strap of her bag, sidling towards you as she keeps her eye on him. You step forward and place your arm behind her like a barrier as she passes. He doesn’t move but his glare follows her.

“You’re such a creep, you know that? She’s nineteen–”

“And?”

“She’s not interested in some old man,” you spit, “so fuck off. I see you again and–”

“And you’ll what?” He steps closer, “I didn’t do anything. We were talking and like I said, it’s none of your business.”

“Bucky, please,” Tweed begs from behind you, “don’t hurt her.”

“He’s not going to hurt me,” you sniff, “has he hurt you?”

You peek back over your shoulder, keeping between them. She shakes her head and gulps. You’re not convinced.

“We were just talking,” she lies weakly.

“You kids are all the same,” the janitor, Bucky she called him, backs away and drags the bristles of the broom over the floor, “always fucking around–”

“Kids, yeah, remember that, bro. Get a fucking hobby, loser,” you spin and grab Tweed’s arm, adrenaline trembling through you, “come on, I got some new lipstick I want you to try.”

You drag her away, your grasp on her wrist tightening as you follow the path back to the front doors. You come out into the winter winds, your scarf lashing with the gales, and she whimpers as she tries to wriggle away.

“I’m–” you stop and let go of her, realising how tightly you were squeezing her, “sorry. Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she rubs her sleeve, “I’m fine. You shouldn’t have done that though.”

“Why not? That guy was a total freak.”

“You don’t know him.”

“And you do?”

She shrugs and shakes her head. She continues down the steps and you hurry after her.

“Wait, how do you know that idiot?”

“I don’t,” she murmurs.

“You must–”

“Why do you care? Why were you even there?” She asks.

“I was looking for you,” you lift the bracelet and she stops, blinking at the golden gleam beneath the glow of the tall light poles, “you left this in the classroom.”

“Oh, thanks, I…” she holds her hand out, “thank you.”

“No problem,” you put it in her palm, “so SR… who’s that?”

She blanches and quickly tries to play it off, “I don’t know what you mean.”

“It’s on the bracelet and–” You peer back at the shadow of the history building, “who’s Steve?”

She doesn’t say anything. The slips the bracelet back on her wrist and scurries on. You keep up.

“Wait, wait, you know, I wasn’t just talking shit, you’re coming to my party.”

“Party? Why?” She utters.

“Because I want you to,” you say, “because you need to unwind. Especially with some goon like that following you around. You need someone around to scare him away and I have no problem telling him to fuck off a second time.”

“No, I should go–”

“Back to Steve?” You prompt.

She winces and clasps the strap of her bag, “please–”

“Fine, I won’t mention him again but you’re coming to my party, alright? It will be fun.”

She hangs her head, “okay.”

You almost feel bad but you can’t just let her go. Not knowing that creepy janitor could be waiting for you to do just that or whoever this Steve character is may be just as close. Besides, she seems to need it. She’s wound tight like a spring, she would do to let go, even if just for a night.

📕

Tweed looks troubled as you hand her the red solo cup. She’s amusing. She seems afraid of everything but at the same time, it’s concerning. There’s obviously something going on but she won’t tell you.

Still, she does seem lighter since she got there. After you lent her your bubblegum pink dress and painted her lips in a similar shade, she grew a little less sheepish. Though she kept asking why she’s there, why you want her there. As if there isn’t any reason she should be wanted.

“Vodka,” you tell her, “with fruit punch. Shouldn’t be too strong.”

“Oh, thanks,” she smiles and takes a sniff, “I don’t drink too much. Or… at all.”

“Uh, I could get you just juice,” you offer, “I guess I should’ve asked.”

The music shakes the walls, flowing down the shared hallways and through the open doors of each dorm, students flitting back and forth, shouting, dancing, and all sorts of mischief.

“No, no, it’s fine, I…” she stops and takes a drink, wincing at the taste. She forces a smile.

“What?” You ask and take a drink of your own.

“I always wondered what it was like to be normal,” she calls over the music.

“Normal?” You blow a raspberry dramatically, “that is not me, okay? I am a mess.”

“Well, you know what I mean, parties and… all that.”

“Trust me, these things are not all they’re made out to be. Fun, sure, but you ever had to clean up a mystery puddle? Is it puke? Is it alcohol? Who knows?”

She laughs and you do too. It’s the first time she’s smiled for real. It quickly dies and she takes another drink.

“I do have friends, you know,” she offers up, “in case you think–”

“Yeah, well, I wanna be your friend too,” you insist, “you know, I don’t think you’re just some loser. You shouldn’t think that about yourself, either.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” she grumbles.

“Why is it easy for me?” You wonder dryly.

She looks at you, her eyes run up and down, and she gives a vague wave, “look at you.”

“Ah, yes, fake nails, fake hair colour, what else is fake?” You tisk, “you think I have anything figured out?”

“You seem like you do,” she says.

“Do I? What about you, little miss smarty pants? My dad would gag if I got your grades.”

She purses her lips and peers into her cup, “you’re a lot braver than me, though.”

“Am I?” You chuckle, “babe, trust me, I am not brave. I just don’t think very much.”

She seems about to laugh but is interrupted by a sudden banging. It gets louder as voices pause and questions are thrown out across the hallways.

“Campus PD!” The shout comes from the other side of the front door, “open up.”

“Shit!” You take Tweed’s cup from her before she can react and you dump both down the sink in the corner of your room. She watches you, confused as the music cuts and you hear others hurrying around, the banging getting louder and louder. “Here.”

You take your robe and hand it to Tweed, “put this on.”

You drop it before she gets a hold of it and close your room door. You snap your fingers at her to hurry as you wipe off your make-up and give her a wipe from the box. You point her to the bed and dig in your dresser, pulling out a large sweater and hide your dress beneath it.

You kick off your shoes and take your laptop to the bed as you climb in next to her. You hear Campus Patrol in the hallway, asking their questions as you open the computer and boot it up. Tweed stares at the door.

“When they knock, I’ll answer,” you whisper, “as far as they know, we’re having a movie night.”

“Are we in trouble?” She whimpers.

“I am,” you cringe dramatically, “I kinda know those guys. Well, we all do, but they don’t like me.”

“Oh, why?”

You give her a look, brow arched and mouth crooked, “you’ve met me. You saw how great I am at making friends.”

She stares, clueless.

“That Bucky dude or whatever. Yeah, I’m not great with authority. Doesn’t help that they’re a bunch of pricks.” As if on cue, there’s a hammering at the door. You click on the Netflix icon and slide the computer into her lap. “Turn something on.”

You get up and bat your lashes, trying to put on a show of tiredness. You stick your tongue out at Tweed as you go to the door and open it, just an inch. Officer Castle’s hand slaps the wood, the tension shaking between the two of you as you fight to keep it in place.

“Campus PD,” he announces, “we got a noise complaint.”

“Oh, did you, officer?” You pout, “well, we’re just having a movie night, we don’t know about all that.”

“Cut the shit, brat,” Officer Russo interjects, “open the door.”

“It’s open,” you smirk, “as you can see, me and my friend are trying to catch up on that new series. You know the one where all those people in the 1700s are fucking–”

“If that’s all you’re doing, you won’t mind letting us have a look around,” Russo rebuffs.

“But I do mind, Officer, I’m barely dressed, it’s late and we both had late classes–”

Castle sucks his teeth and you meet his dark eyes. He gives a pointed look to your loose sweatshirt, “you two cuddling?” He suggests lewdly.

“Getting cozy,” you confirm bluntly, “she’s not into boys though, so if you don’t mind, we were almost past the Netflix part and about to do the chill part–”

“Didn’t take you for the type,” Russo comments with a snicker.

“What would you know of girls?” You snap back, “now, please, I had nothing to do with whatever was going on out there. You can see that from out here. Don’t think I won’t go to the board again about you idiots.”

“You watch yourself, girly,” Castle warns and drags his hand away from the door, “one of these days, you’ll slip up.”

“Not today,” you push on the door, “have a good night, officers.”

You shove the door shut and turn the lock. You let out a breath as you turn back to Tweed.

“Fucking swine,” you puff as you cross to the bed and get back in, “we may as well watch something–”

You stop as she stares at her phone. She’s paralysed as her thumbs hover over the keyboard. She barely notices you beside her as the laptop slips down her legs. You read the last bubble in the conversation. ‘Your in trouble, sweetie. Big trouble.’ At the top of the chat is the name, Steve.

“Tell him you’re busy,” you reach for her phone, “you have friends and this jerk, whoever he is, needs to get a life–”

“No, no,” she squeals and snatches the cell back, “you can’t.” She holds it to her chest as she shakes, “you don’t know him, okay? If you make him mad–”

“If I make him mad, what? What will he do?” You insist. She looks down and doesn’t answer. “Will he hurt you?”

She shakes her head, “no, he doesn’t… hurt me. He takes care of me.”

“Doesn’t seem like it to me,” you sneer.

“Well, he does!” She whines, “okay? And you… you don’t know. You’re going to get me in trouble. You already did.”

You frown and cross your arms, “so? What does it matter then? If you’re already in trouble, it doesn’t matter if you stay the night. Give him time to cool down.”

“I can’t, I should go,” she pushes herself away from the pillows.

“No, you shouldn’t,” you catch her arm, “tell him we’re studying.”

“He knows about the party,” she sniffles.

“So what? Then tell him the party’s still raging. You’re in college, you should enjoy it.”

“I don’t know–”

“I’m not letting you go,” you say, “it’s late and friends don’t just let friends go off in the dark alone. So you’re staying. To keep you safe, got it?”

She blinks at you, eyes shiny, and her cheeks dimple. She nods and turns her face down as she pulls the phone away from the robe and types. You can’t help but watch her keystrokes.

‘It’s late. Safer to stay. We’re going to sleep. See you tomorrow.’

She exhales and locks the phone. She holds it out to you and hugs herself, “please, don’t give it back to me. Not until the morning.”

You take the phone gently and put it on the little shelf by the side of the bed, “oh, trust me, you’ll have to fight me for it.”

📕

In the chaos of the night, you forget to ask Tweed to borrow her notes. You do however get her number and after a few days and as many unanswered texts, you get a response. She agrees to let you copy her notes and tells you to meet her down at the Student Center.

She’s there with three other girls. You’ve seen her with one before, Flora. The other two, Muse and Cookie, greet you with smiles as Tweed invites you to sit. She’s just as quiet with them as she is with anyone else.

You settle in as she searches for last week’s lecture and slides her notebook next to yours. You search for a pen to no end and Cookie offers one from her bag. You thank her but she doesn’t respond as she looks around, almost as if she’s expecting someone.

“So, you’re in history like Tweed?” Muse asks as she leaves a streak of graphite on her blouse from her stained fingers.

“Uh, yeah, history minor, sociology major. I don’t really care about either.”

“Oh?” Flora raises her brows as Cookie turns to stare at the table.

“Yeah, I mean, I didn’t wanna do college. My dad made me come here. Says if I can get a degree, he’ll give me money to start my business.”

“Business?” Cookie sits up, “I’m… I was going to open a bakery.”

“Yeah? That’s cool. I sew, you know, just a hobby, really, but I’d like to sell and resell clothing,” you explain, “it’s just a thought. I’ll probably still have to ride a desk at some office.”

“Vintage?” Muse asks as she fixes her over large cateye glasses.

“Like those,” you point to the spectacles on her nose.

She smiles, “uh huh.”

You tap the pen as the table falls back into silence. After a few lines, you get restless and declare that you’re off to get a coffee. You offer to grab some for the others but they already have unfinished cups.

As you near the low set of steps that lead to the cafeteria, a clack sounds and you nearly trip over the mop that crosses your path. You take a step back and face the janitor, the same as the night barely a week ago. You roll your eyes and put your hands on your hips.

“You again,” you snip.

“Floors wet, go around,” he insists.

“I can manage,” you try to step around him and he moves his whole body in front of you.

You stop. He’s barely six foot but well-built. His dark hair is coiled behind his head in a low bun, as stubble darkens his sharp jawline, giving a sinister edge to his glare.

“Is this what you get off on? Scaring young girls? I’m not surprised, must be boring shining the floors beneath the feet of those actually doing something with their lives.”

“Mouthy little bitch,” he snorts, “I see your type everyday. Think you’re too good to breathe the same air. Think you just need someone to choke it out of you.”

Your brows twitch in surprise, “oh, so you’re that kind of creep.”

“Oh, don’t think you’re so special. A mouth that nasty is only good for one thing and I don’t like nasty girls.”

“Get out of my way,” you scowl and step around him.

Once more, the mop juts out and this time you sprawl across the wet floor as it tangles in your ankles. You catch yourself on your elbows and hiss. He dips the sponge back into the bucket and squeezes it out as he tuts.

“I told you, wet floor,” he snickers, “you should really watch where you’re going, little girl.”

You push yourself up to your knees and look over at him as he goes back to his work. You stand and cradle your throbbing elbow as you face him.

“Whoever your friend is, Steve or whatever his bland ass name is,” you say, the mention drawing his attention, “tell him to leave Tweed alone. She’s not into him.”

He shakes his head, “and how would you know that?”

“It’s not that hard to tell,” you say, “you too. Leave her alone.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” the mop squeaks across the floor, “maybe you should take your own advice.”

You tilt your head at him and cross your arms, “meaning?”

“Stay away from Tweed,” he retorts.

He grins at the mop as he pushes it back and forth, eyes flicking up to meet yours. As bright as his blue irises are, there’s a light missing in him. You grimace and back away, turning to return to the table, forgetting your quest for a cup of coffee. That encounter is enough to wake you up.

📕

“I’m sorry, not tonight,” Tweed says as you walk out of Professor Odinson’s class, “really, I can’t.”

“Is it him?” You ask.

She’s quiet. You haven’t brought him up since that night in your dorm like you promised, but you’re not stupid. Lately, she’s always got an excuse. The one day you met up with Flora and the rest only for Muse not to show at all. No explanation, not even when you texted later.

“Please,” she says.

“You’re terrified of him so why do you–”

“You don’t know how I feel,” she snaps, “okay?”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry–”

“Why are you even bugging me? So you can get my notes?”

“Tweed,” you breathe, “that’s not it. You know that. I’m sorry. I just worry–”

“You should worry about yourself. There’s nothing you can do.”

“Doesn’t mean I won’t worry and you don’t know that. I could help. Point me at this guy and I’ll give him a piece of my mind.”

“You can help me by leaving it alone. If you got hurt–”

“Me? Oh come on.”

She frowns. You turn your hands up and relent, “alright, I’ll see you some other time I guess.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologise to me,” you sigh, “I’ll be just fine. I got hawaiian punch, smirnoff, and a new docuseries to keep me company.”

“I’ll text,” she promises.

“Alright, make sure that you do,” you say as you push open the big door of the history building, “and be safe.”

“I will,” she says.

You stay at the top of the steps as she flits off. You watch her but before she can disappear entirely, you scramble down and follow her. She’s quick but you manage to keep up. She walks beneath the long light poles along the path as you keep to the darker edge, far enough back that she can’t see you. You set your feet down lightly between the patches of snow.

You stop again, once more about to let her go. You shouldn’t do it. It’s too far. It’s nosy. She asked you to leave it alone but you just can’t help yourself. You need to know who he is. Steve, this shadowy tyrant. Who is he? What does he have to do with that weirdo janitor?

She gets to the edge of campus and looks up and down the street. The glow of her phone is white around her as she types and you watch from behind the barren hedges. A car pulls up and she steps off the curb as she pockets her phone. She gets in and you rush forward.

Too late. The car drives off before you can get there. You swear and kick the pavement with your wedged heel. Well, what would you have done if you had caught them?

“I thought I told you,” the voice crawls out of the darkness, tickling your spine as you slowly turn to face the silhouette standing behind you, only feet away.

“Fuck off, dude,” you spin, ready to walk away.

“You just won’t leave it,” Bucky steps closer and you barely evade him as you stride past his reach, “leave the girl alone.”

“You!” You turn on him, “what does it matter to you? She’s with that creep, whoever he is. What’s wrong? You jealous?”

“Jealous? Of what? She’s sweet, she doesn’t say no–”

“Ew,” you shove him as he gets to close, “you’re disgusting, you know that?”

“And you’re too nosy for your own good,” he growls as he catches your wrists, “if you had just kept out of it–”

“Get off!” You rip your hands away from him and stumble back, “don’t touch me, you fucking asshole.”

He laughs as you continue your retreat, walking backwards as you’re too afraid to look away from him, “I’ll give you a head start.”

“What are you–”

He lunges at you and you barely avoid him, your ankle bending dangerously in your high boot. You hiss and right yourself, his advance steady as you edge back on your heels.

“You won’t get far but you should run,” he taunts, “for me, baby. I like a chase.”

“Fucking creep,” you turn and stomp away, “leave me the fuck alone–” He grabs at your wrist again and you bat him off, turning to push him a second time, “fucking stop!”

“I’ll count to ten, how about that?” He intones, “ten,” he raises his hand and puts a finger down, “nine,” he takes another step forward, “eight–”

You stare at him, “seven,” your heart hitches, “six,” you twist on your heel without a thought and fall into a jog, footsteps echoing around the empty campus. “Five,” his countdown continues as you follow the winding path, a few windows overhead still let but barely casting lightly on the stonework, “four,” you stagger again as your boot catches in a crack, “three,” you go faster, chest thumping as disbelief ebbs in place of horror, “two,” you see the tall pillar ahead, the one with the button on it labeled ‘press for assistance’, “one.”

You race forward, almost to the pillar. You reach out, hand hovering over the large button, only to be hauled back by the back of your coat. You cry out as you’re tossed across the ground, hitting your ass and elbows, barely able to keep your head off the pavement.

“Not fast enough, baby,” Bucky stands over you, “wearing those pretty things,” he kicks the heel of your boot, “stupid little girl.”

You pant and push yourself up. You teeter as you set your feet, inching away from him as he watches. His face is shrouded in darkness but you feel the smug certainty in his stance, limned in the yellow light from the poles above.

“You fucking… freak,” you huff out as you spin and take off once more.

You make it only a few steps before you’re once more flying forward. You collide with a bench along the border of the path, your stomach hitting the cold iron frame. He follows and grips the back of your neck as you try to lift yourself off. He urges you back down, your soles scuffing against the ground.

“I always thought it was eerie out here after dark… watching all the young girls. It’s funny how they speed up, looking over there shoulders every few steps, like they’re going to see it coming.”

“Get–”

“Shhhhh,” he hushes you as he wraps a hand around your mouth, “I just like to scare them. Watch as they push that button, they cry, but nothing ever happens. PD comes, listens to their little sob story, and walks ‘em home. Sometimes, PD don’t even turn up. I can’t blame them with all these dramatic little bitches.”

You bite his palm and he rips his hand away, rapping his knuckles against the back of your skull.

“You wanna scream? Go ahead,” he snarls and drags his hand down your shoulder, following the line of your back and snaking around your side. He gropes you through your jacket, tugging up the long tails, “they won’t get here soon enough if someone does hear you.”

You flail and whine as you grasp at the slats of the bench, the thin iron bearing into your stomach as it crushes the air from you. Your feet bounce off the stonework as you reach back to claw at his unyielding hold on your neck.

He slips his hand beneath your jacket and curls his fingers around the top of your jeans. He tears them down as you yelp. He kicks your feet apart, leaning his weight on your nape until you whimper. He pushes the denim lower, bunching it at your thighs with your panties as his fingers swipe up along your ass.

He dips along your folds, wiggling his fingers along your cunt, poking and prodding harshly as you squirm. You plant your hand and push back, stomping blindly until you hit his toe. He grunts and recoils to smack your head again.

He lurches you away from the bench and throws you to the ground. You exclaim as you land on a sharp pieces of ice, your palms burning against the mixture of gravel and snow. He steps over you, falling down to straddle your ass. He pins you beneath him, placing his hand at the centre of your back as he keeps you flat.

“Fuck off!” You reach back blindly, trying to claw him as you writhe.

“Stubborn little bitch,” he growls as his weight centers in the heel of his hand and he shifts his hip, his zipper cutting through the air, “I warned you.”

You slap the ground, pushing your toes down as you try to shake him off you. He’s strong, much stronger than you, but you can’t stop. You won’t. Even as your teeth chatter and you feel the warmth of his hard tip against your thigh, you won’t stop.

He guides himself down between your legs, poking you painfully as he searches for your entrance. Dry and clenched, he grunts as he prods you, stretching you around him agonizingly. He snarls and swears at the strain of his intrusion.

“Fucking tight bitch,” he jerks his hips and you spasm as he slides halfway in, “you fucking need this.”

“You’re– a— monster,” you pant out as the humiliation and pain scalds your flesh.

His hands crawl up to your shoulders, holding you down as he snaps his pelvis again, this time impaling you completely. You shriek and grasp his fingers, trying to bend them back as he thrusts again. You grit your teeth and groan as you helplessly wriggle beneath him.

He rolls his hips, pulling back only to slam back in, each time just as jolting as the last. You drop your head, still squeezing his fingers as he fucks you, crushing you into the pavement as he straddles you from above. The cold ground scrapes the bare flesh of your thigh and burns into you, leaving you shaking and shivering at his mercy.

He grunts and growls as he moves his hand to the back of your skull, his other framing your hip as he ruts, chasing his demented release. You squeeze your eyes shut and bite your tongue. Let it end.

It seems to go on forever as you wait for him to finish. His guttural groans and your pathetic murmurs are punctuated by the noise of flesh, slapping harder and faster by the second. You ball your hands to fist and your body tenses and your walls clench around him. He snarls and he slides his hand down to slap your ass.

“Fuck, you don’t make anything easy,” he rasps, “shit.”

He tilts into you, pushing himself as deep as he can as he twitches. He gives several long strokes as he bends over you. He pets the back of your head as he quakes, his cum filling you like acid, burning at your insides. You shudder and push your face against the cold ground as bile rises in your throat.

He’s still for another moment before he slides out of you. He huffs and stands, zipping up his pants as he snickers and nudges you with his foot. You lift your hips and pull up your pants, keeping your face hidden.

“Go on, press that button,” he says as he steps over you, “I’ll be long gone before they get here.”

You roll over as his footsteps crunch across the ground. You sit up and wince as you watch his shadow fade into those all around. The shock cracks at last and you plunge into the depths of terror, alone and cold in the dark.

#bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #campus au #au #mcu #marvel #winter soldier #captain america #messy

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