#dark!mcu

[itgetsdarksometimes35]

But At What Cost?

Warnings: This chapter: Thoughts of suicide, non con, physical abuse, miscarriage; the series: non-con, dub-con, depression, forced marriage, angst, forced pregnancy, 18+

Word count: 2,925

Pairings: Dark!Bucky Barnes / Reader

Summary: Reader is the youngest girl in her family. After being sold to Bucky Barnes, and forced to have his child, she and her sisters look for a way to escape.

~ indicates time change

- indicates a POV change

A/N: Holy shit, I have not updated in 4 years... Life has been so busy with moving, having a child, and starting my new business but I am so incredibly happy to be back! I would get that writing itch but would never scratch it, until now. I plan to post weekly for a long as I can stand it. I also hope to participate in challenges and NANOWRIMO next year, so hopefully this year can be a warm up to where I used to be. Anyway, enough rambling. Let's get into the third and FINAL part to my most popular series, Small Price to Pay. Enjoy!

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Three months. That’s how long it’d been since you and your sisters had escaped your Hellhole of a life. That’s also how far along you were in your pregnancy. You weren’t showing yet, but all your sisters and nephews and nieces knew. Nobody allowed you to stand too long without offering you a chair, and you were exempt from all household chores, to your dismay. The one thing you begged to let them allow you to do was shop on your day and take care of the young children.

Today was your day to leave to get groceries. This time was always extremely stressful for you and your sisters, none of you knew what lay beyond the door. There was no way to know if today was the day that you would all have to separate. More stress was in the air due to your pregnancy. 

Lucille wrote the list of supplies before handing it to you, smiling. “Okay, here’s everything we need. Do I need to remind you not to talk to strangers?” She lifts an eyebrow, her lips turning into a smirk as you slap her arm playfully. 

“Don’t worry, mom, I promise I won’t.” She laughed at you before hugging you close. You all always did this, just in case it’d be your last time together. 

Anne was next to hug you. “Stay safe, baby sis.” You hugged her tight, calming your nerves as you smelled her candy perfume.

 You went on to hug Vienna and she rubbed your belly. “No matter what happens, just know baby boy will keep you safe.” You smiled at your sister.

“You’re so sure it’s a boy?” Vienna nodded.

“Positive. I predicted all my kids’ gender correctly, what makes you any different?” She lifted your hand from your belly, replacing it with yours. You’d always wanted a girl, but deep in your heart you felt it was another boy too. You’d never admit this to your sister, you’d never hear the end of it.

“Your witchcraft doesn’t work on me, devil woman!” you joked, causing all your sisters and you to laugh. You savored that moment, how you felt and the way you all sounded at peace. No doubt none of you had felt that way in a long time. A piece of you knew it all was temporary, soon you’d all go back to worrying. Was that shadow or a person following them? Was that stranger living near us before or did they just move in? What do we know about them?

You were pulled from your thoughts when Anne clapped her hands. “Well, on your way. You want to get there and back before rush hour.”

~

You shopped the aisles of the American store, looking for your last items. As you're pushing the cart you hit something. No someone. You looked up shocked and immediately apologized upon seeing a woman with white hair. Her hand travels down to her protruding belly protectively, and your eyes get wide.

“I am so sorry, Ms, here let me help you.” You rush to the woman’s side as she tries to bend down to pick up her dropped items. She stands back up as you bend to get her items before handing them to her.

“Don’t worry about it, I should really look where I’m going. I don’t have a giant sign on me.” She chuckles at her joke, and you just nod your head. You couldn’t help but feel you knew her, but shook your head. That’s impossible. You knew no women except your sisters and nieces.

“Well, I’m sorry again. Have a good day, ma’am.”

“Wait!” You look back at the woman when you turned to leave her to her business. “I’m sorry to bother you, but could you help me with my groceries home? I live just down the road in Kilven’s road, I was going to ask a grocer to help me but they’re all men. I don’t feel comfortable with that, I’d rather have a woman. If you can’t I completely understand, just thought I’d try anyway.”

You considered the woman for a minute. Kilven’s road was next to yours, it would be an extra 5 minutes max to help this pregnant woman. You understood her wariness to ask a male to help her home. Besides, you did hit her with your cart.

“Sure, let me just check out and I’ll be happy to help you out.”

The woman smiled at this. “Really? That’s great, thank you so much! My name’s Nat by the way.”

~

You and Nat talked the short walk to her house, she had just moved there a year prior to be with her German boyfriend-turn-husband of 6 years. You  nodded your head as she told you stories, you kept your life story vague. You had just moved there yourself, but that’s all you offered.

“Do you have any kids?” You opened your mouth to speak before closing it again, unsure how to answer. You wanted to trust Nat, but you were still getting a weird feeling around her. “I’m sorry, that’s very rude of me. Don’t answer that.”

“It’s okay.” You smile at the woman as you readjust the bags on your shoulders. One held Nat’s items and the others yours. You both shopped light to your luck. You continued to walk in a bit of silence until the woman pointed to her house. 

“Here I am.” You followed her up the steps as she took out her keys. “Would you like to come in? My husband baked a mean German chocolate cake.” She took her bag from your shoulder, and you smiled at her generosity. 

“No, thank you, but I should really be getting home if I want a headstart on dinner.” The woman nodded at your response.

“Of course, of course. Thank you again for your help, get home safe, dear.”

You thanked the woman as you waved goodbye and stepped away down the steps. You hurried off the road with your bag and to your own, never looking back. Little did you know the woman was following you the entire time. 

~

When you got to your house, you took out your keys swiftly before putting them in the lock. You opened the door, looked out and saw nobody there, then locked it behind you.

“I’m home!” You walked to the kitchen, noticing the eerie silence. That’s weird. “Hello?” You walked up the stairs, still not hearing one child. Did they leave? They didn’t call you. When you reached your room you gasped at what you saw. 

“James?” Your husband smiled back at you as your sisters sat in the small room’s corner. James had a gun pointing at the bathroom where you heard small whimpering sounds, no doubt the children were in there. 

“Hey, Baby, miss me?” You gulped.

“James, please. Let my sisters and their children go. I’ll go with you peacefully, just don’t hurt them.” James shook his head.

“Can’t do that, Doll. These women have husbands who are worried sick about them and their kids. Would it be right to just let them kidnap their children and disappear halfway across the world with them?”

You looked to your sisters as tears fell from their eyes. This was all your fault. You should’ve never stayed with them, you and Bucky should’ve found your own place to escape to. You should’ve known James would find a way to you.

“James, please. Don’t do this.” Just then the door downstairs bursted open. You all, except Bucky, jumped at the sound. Fast steps made their way up the stairs, and then Nat appeared in the room’s doorway. Only this time she had no belly.

“Natasha, perfect timing.”

Natasha?

Suddenly you remembered. How could you be so stupid? The woman before you with her own gun was the woman you met at your wedding. She talked to James about moving to Germany to live a life on the downlow. Back then she had red hair.

She sauntered into the room, smirking at you, before aiming the gun at the same door James just was. “Their husbands are on their way here. They should be getting off the plane in about 5 minutes and they’ll be here to get children and wives back in no more than 30 minutes. I’ll keep these lovely ladies company until then.” Your sisters’ eyes widened at her words, and you started crying. 

James smiled and lowered his gun before walking to the bathroom. “Good.” He opened the door and your nieces and nephews started crying. Your heart broke for the pain you were causing. James walked from the room with your son in his arms. “I have everything I need, so I think I’ll take my wife and son and head out.”

Your son calmed down his cries when he was in his daddy’s arms, snuggling closer to him and laying his head beneath his chin to suck on his thumb. 

Natasha turned her attention to you, still keeping the gun pointed at the door. “Look at what you caused. Your son could have grown up without a father. Is that what you want?” She raised her voice at you causing you to jump a little. You shook your head, closing your eyes as more tears poured from them.

“It’s okay, Nat, all that matters is we’re all back together. Isn’t that right, honey?”

“T-that’s right,” you whispered, not wanting to speak the venomous words. James walked over to you before grabbing your arms in a tight grip. 

“Happy you agree, let’s go home. Now.” The last word was growled in your ear, causing you to stiffen again. You opened your eyes to see your sisters again. They smiled weakly at you.

“I’m so sorry,” you sobbed out. James pulled you from the room then the house. A car came to pick you up as you traveled back to the Hell you had tried so hard to crawl away from.

~

When you got back home, James beat you. Bad. You cried and screamed at him to forgive you. Punches flew at you from every side. Your eyes threatened to swell shut from his blows and your lips were purple and bruised. You tried to tell him about the child you were pregnant with, but he couldn’t hear you through his rage. When you were down he kicked your stomach and you cried out in immense pain. He just grabbed your face and kissed you roughly.

James then picks you up from the ground before pushing you down on the bed. “Take off your clothes,” he demands, leaving no room for negotiation. Your mind was still foggy from what had just happened that James had forced on you the minute you both walked through the door and he handed Bucky to a maid you had never seen before. “Now, Doll, don’t make me repeat myself. I’m already pissed.” His nostrils flared as he spoke. 

With shaky hands, you steadily reached for the white button up you had been wearing. You discarded the fabric to the floor, revealing to James your white lacy bra. His pupils dilated as he watched on, his chest rising and falling with deep breaths. Next was your skirt, and then you were left with just her matching underwear set. You looked up at James with doe eyes, waiting for your next order. Just like the obedient little girl James had made you. 

“Keep going,” was his only command as he reached to pull off his white dress shirt that hugged his muscles just right. He palmed his growing hard on, the outline very prominent in his black dress pants. The size made your eyes water with more tears. You knew he wouldn’t be gentle. No matter how many times James fucked you, you were still just as terrified as the first time, nearly crying every time he’d stuff it into your tiny cunt. 

James reached behind you aggressively to undo your bra and let it fall to the floor along with your other clothing. Your boobs bounced from being free, and you slowly slid your panties down next. 

You were looking to the floor as you untangled the lacy fabric from your legs, but looked up when you heard a chuckle. You met James’ eyes as his face was turned up in a smirk. 

“Such a fucking tease,” he tsked, “You just want me to destroy that tiny little pussy of yours, don’t you?” You kept eye contact with him as you nodded her head.

“Yes, sir.” 

James leaned down in front of you, grabbing her face and pulling you roughly forward to his lips. He squeezed your jaw so you would open to him, wanting nothing more than to assert dominance with his tongue. 

James’ kisses were never loving, just hungry. He moaned into your mouth as his tongue explored; all the while you sat back with submission, allowing your master to take full control of what’s his. After what felt like minutes, James finally pulled away, pushing you back even more and causing you to whimper at the force. The fight in you dying forever ago.

James unhooked his belt as you held his gaze, dropping eye contact was a rule that you had learned not to break. Once her clothes were off, they had officially begun; after that she wasn’t allowed to look away from him. 

“Turn around. You’re going to learn not to disobey me one way or another.”

“Yes sir.”

“Did you really think you could escape me?” You started to cry again.

“I’m sorry.” 

“No, not yet you’re not. But you will. Look at me.” You turned around and your eyes widened. James’ left arm was replaced with that of a metal one. “You wanna know how I got this?” He tossed a cast that was in the shape and color of his arm that you were used to to the floor. “I was a prisoner of war in World War 2. I was used as a war machine long after the war ended. I’m an ex-supersoldier, Baby. Did you really think you could escape me?” James was starting to raise his voice as you started to cry again. 

He spanked your ass with his robotic arm and you lurched forward at the force. James continued spanking your bare ass until you were so raw you could barely feel it anymore. Your stomach cramped so bad and you screamed at the sudden pain, clutching it and falling to the bed weakly. 

“Get up, I’m not done with you.” But you couldn’t move. You could just stay in the fetal position as your body convulsed in the worst pain you could only relate to birth. Then you felt a liquid escape from your vagina. Your eyes squeezed shut as you begged the pain to leave you soon.

“Y-you’re bleeding. Are you okay?” James’ words barely reached your ears as you suddenly felt nauseous. You couldn’t move as your stomach emptied it’s contents on the bed. Then you saw black.

~

James had beat you so bad you had a miscarriage. When you woke up, you were in a hospital bed. A nurse was checking your vitals when she noticed you were awake. She greeted you, asking how you were feeling, before informing you of the terrible news. She asked to confirm what your husband had told them, that you had fallen down stairs and that explained your bruises and swollen eyes. You said yes.

After that day you were forever broken. You never stepped out of line with James, and you became the wife he had always wanted. No more did you dream of an escape, nor what the future held. You didn’t care.

James was never the same, either. After the incident, he was doting. Always saying he loves you, buying you expensive presents daily with flowers of different kinds. He tried to set you up so you could see your sisters more often, and he even let you leave the house. But you wanted none of it. You took the gifts with not so much of a smile, you rejected to see your sisters, and you chose to only leave the house when food was needed. You only bought Bucky clothes online, not being able to stand being in a child store. 

When Bucky’s 4th birthday rolls around, 3 years later, he is eager to start preschool. He didn’t remember his aunts or his cousins, and he was closer to his father than ever before, shying away from you as you grew colder and colder to both of the relationships you had in your life. It was him who dropped him off to school as you stayed home with a maid to take care of you and your needs. You were currently pregnant with a girl. James said you’d name Dahlia, Dolly for short. She’d be your perfect rainbow baby, he said, a real Doll. 

When Bucky came back home he showed you a card he had made for James at school, insisting it go on the fridge. You obeyed, hanging it there with a magnet that made Bucky happily skip away. 

The card showed Bucky and James hugging, not a sight of you or the child in your womb. You were a waste of space, a visitor in the home you’d created. A hollow shell of who you used to be. You thought about your suicide. It seemed easy, too easy. It’s a small price to pay for freedom, but at what cost? 

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Taglist: @jtargaryen18​ @coconutqueen21​ @collette04​ @nsfwsebbie​ 

[darkreverist]

𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬, 𝐜𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐚 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ‧₊˚✩彡

‧₊˚✩彡. all of my stories will contain dark and adult themes. by hitting "keep reading," you consent to being subjected to potentially triggering themes. 18+ content. minors, dni. viewer discretion is advised. you have been warned.

‧₊˚✩彡. i do not own this character. all rights reserved to marvel and disney.

𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒔𝒐𝒐𝒏…

‧₊˚✩彡. bitter honey.

‧₊˚✩彡. the tale of sleeping beauty.

𝓁𝒶𝓈𝓉 𝓊𝓅𝒹𝒶𝓉ℯ𝒹: 5/2/2024

© i do not give my consent for any of my works to be copied and pasted, translated, or posted on any other site. darkreverist 2024.

[trainer-from-unova]

[sergeantbuckybarnes]

OKAY BUT GIVE ME DARK HAIR SENTRY OVER BLONDE SENTRY EVERYDAY

[oscengrim]

Been reading more on a03 and I've just not felt too great. Here something to show I haven't forgotten to keep giving recommendations.

𝕄𝕣𝕤. 𝔸𝕝𝕝-𝔸𝕞𝕖𝕣𝕚𝕔𝕒𝕟

Pairing: Dark!Steve Rogers 𝒳 (femme) Reader ⭐.

Summary: “Steve Rogers deserves nothing less than an All-American Apple Pie Life, with his Miss America. And he’ll stop at nothing to have it.” 

Word Count: 3,472 

TW‼: Drugging, Kidnapping, Non-Con, Smut, Minor Stockholm Syndrome, Minor Misogynistic Themes, and 1940′s Housewife Themes. 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI‼

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. 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. 

Keep reading

[pleasantlycrazyworld]

What's Left of Me is Yours

Bucky Barnes x Reader (Established Relationship)

Warnings: stalking (non-graphic but escalating), emotional distress, possessiveness, dark Bucky, reference to past Winter Soldier conditioning, implied violence, breakdowns, morally gray themes, reader called baby and is referred as his girl once

Summary: You didn’t want Bucky to know about the stalking. Not just because you were scared but because you knew what it could cost him. What it would pull out of him. But the second he finds out someone’s been watching you… he gives you a truth that chills you deeper than the fear ever could.

You didn’t mean for him to find out. You knew what it would do to him.

You’d worked so hard to hide the anxiety--the notes left under your door; the photos sent from an untraceable number. The feeling of being watched even while brushing your teeth. You didn’t want to be a burden. Didn’t want him to slip.

Because Bucky doesn’t just protect.

Bucky destroys.

So you lied.

For weeks, you lied.

Until tonight.

Until you stepped into your apartment and found the photo on your bed. A picture of you walking to the corner store. Alone. Vulnerable.

Scrawled across the bottom in smudged ink:

“You're even prettier up close.”

Your knees gave out. You don’t remember calling him. But you must’ve, because when you look up, Bucky is crouched in front of you, hands shaking, eyes like ice cracked wide open.

Now Bucky’s been hunted before. He knows the look of prey. And from the way your shoulders twitch. The way your head turns just a bit too often on crowded streets. The phone gripped like a weapon you’ll never use. He knows you’re being someone's prey because he’s seen it in the mirror. That quiet fear. The dread that stalks you even when you’re not being followed.

“Baby,” he whispers. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Your lip trembles. “I-I didn’t want it to be serious, didn't want you to worry. I didn’t want you to go back to… that...that place.” That place. The part of him you never name. But he’s already there. He rises to his feet. Paces once. Twice. Then stops, fists clenched at his sides.

“I need you to understand something,” he says. Voice low. Controlled. Terrifying. “If someone’s watching you, if someone thinks they can follow you, threaten you, touch you. I will find them. I am looking for them. And when I do—” His voice drops to a whisper. “There’s no line I won’t cross.”

Your heart pounds in your throat. “Bucky—”

He turns to you. Not frantic. Not angry. Just… honest.

“I would become him again. Happily,” he says. “I would be the Winter Soldier all over again if that’s what it takes. If that’s what keeps you safe. If that's what keeps you happy and out of harm, I would tear the trigger words out of the earth and let them take me if it meant you’d never be afraid again.”

You stare at him, stunned. Frozen.

“I’d choose it, baby,” he breathes, stepping forward, pressing his forehead to yours. “I’d lock away everything good left in me, every bit of peace I’ve clawed back, and become the weapon they made me if it meant you’d sleep through one night, if you could go to the store without looking over your shoulder.”

You don’t notice the tears flowing until you hear your voice crack. “You can’t say that.”

“I mean it,” he says. “And I know how fucked up that sounds. But you’re everything. You’re all the good I have. I’d do anything to keep you safe. Even if I’d have to be a monster again. You are mine; nothing can hurt you.”

You collapse into him, fists twisting in his shirt, sobbing into his chest.

And he just holds you. Quiet. Fierce.

“Whoever he is,” Bucky says darkly, “he’s already dead. He just doesn’t know it yet.”

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

He didn't sleep that night. You don’t notice, he holds you through the dark like always. But the second your breathing slows, and your body goes limp against his, he gets up. Silently, smoothly. Like he was never human to begin with. 

By morning, he has your stalker’s name.

By noon, he knows all his habits, knows where he works, where he goes after work, knows where he lives, hell Bucky now knew where his mother lives.

By evening, Bucky has stood close enough to smell his cologne and imagine how his windpipe would feel like with his metal hand wrapped around it. How it would feel between a metal thumb and forefinger.

But he doesn’t touch him. Not yet. Predators don’t just pounce. They plan. And Bucky had lots of plans for his newest prey.

You don’t notice anything right away, not until the texts stop. Then you realize there were no more gifts. No more photos. No more notes. For the first time in months, you felt your shoulders relax, and your lungs fill with air once again.

However, somewhere in the city, there was a man who was hardly breathing. A man with a bruised throat, a few broken ribs and a lot of broken fingers. That man was told two promises, his body cringed into itself hearing the eerily calm, eerily quiet tone that the soldier that just finished torturing him contained. "If I ever find out that you are scaring my girl again...I will be the last thing you ever see. Honestly if you ever breath near her let alone look in her direction again no one will be able to find what's left of you."

Bucky left the man in a random back alley; he wiped blood off of his knuckles as he walked home to you. A smile creeped onto his face knowing he is keeping you safe once again.

He walks into the apartment and finds it dark and still, the only noise coming from the air conditioner in the window. Bucky eased his way through the small home; he kept himself quiet assuming you were asleep. Once he ends up wrapping himself around you like a barrier, he kisses your head and whispers:

“I’ll never let Hydra take me again. But if it’s for you, fuck baby… I’ll go willingly.”

What he misses is the small smile you fight back from hearing his vow. You know it should terrify you...and it does but it also saves you all at once.

If you like my work please let me know! Reblogging, commenting and liking are huge and easy ways to let me know you're enjoying my work and it keeps me motivated to post way more!!! Request are open <3

Tagging:

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@awesompawsum

[buckysleftbicep]

no one else 𐙚 b.b

pairing: new avenger!dark!bucky barnes x fem!reader (non-con)

warnings: nsfw, 18+, minors dni, non-con sex, forced oral (f and m rec), forced deepthroating, orgasm during assault, creampie without consent, size kink, physical restraint, verbal degradation, coercion, emotional manipulation, fear responses, delusional obsession, absolutely no consent throughout (please read all the warnings)

summary: you have a boyfriend, but bucky could care less. he waited, watched, let the fantasy of you rot until all that was left was his need and obsession.

word count: 4.1k

author's note: hi my loves! i took a break from writing dark fics, and i'm finally back with them! this fic consists of non-consensual sex, everything's in the warnings, please read them first! thank you for stopping by, love you guys and stay safe out there! 💌

It always started with you. Always.

Your face. Your laugh. The scent of your shampoo drifting down the hallway when you passed him, but it didn't matter. What mattered was that it lingered, stuck to his lungs like smoke. 

And it always ended the same way, him alone in the dark, jaw clenched, cock in hand, your name bitten into the curve of his tongue like a sin he wasn’t ready to repent for.

You didn’t know what you did to him. Maybe that was the worst part. The sweet, casual devastation of it. 

The way you flitted around the compound like a fucking angel, smiling at everyone, throwing out kindness like it cost absolutely nothing. You moved with the easy, blameless confidence of someone who had no idea they were being watched.

Worshipped. Studied. 

Every time you called him “Bucky,” you were wrapping a noose around his neck and pulling it tighter—and hell, you didn’t even realise.

He could handle the smiles, fuck, he could even stomach the soft laughs, the way you bumped his arm in the hallway like you were allowed to touch him, like you didn’t understand what that touch did to him. 

What he couldn’t handle… was the other guy. The one you dressed up for.

Tonight you wore black. A silky little thing that looked painted on, hugging your curves like it had been tailored just for him to rip off. The neckline dipped low, too low, and the hem barely reached your thighs. It moved when you walked, swaying like it knew exactly what it was doing to him. 

And the heels—fuck—the heels clicked against the floor with every step, each sound a god damn warning bell in his skull. 

Danger, danger, danger.

He would’ve dropped to his fucking knees and kissed them if you let him.

But you didn’t let him.

Instead, you let him. That boyfriend, that placeholder.

That soft, safe, civilian little fuck who didn’t know the first thing about what you needed. Didn’t know what it meant when your hands trembled, didn’t see how your pupils dilated just a fraction every time Bucky entered the room. Didn’t notice that your body responded to him.

Not your boyfriend. Him.

Bucky knew what to do with you, he’d dreamed it a hundred times. 

A thousand. 

No—he’d planned it. Every scenario. Every sound. Every twitch of your hips as he forced them apart. Fingers buried in your hair, tears on your cheeks, thighs shaking around his face. His cock, thick, heavy, yours, slamming into you from behind while you sobbed his name into the pillow like a prayer turned sacrilege.

You’d fight. Of course you would. You’d cry. Say no. 

But your body would betray you. He knew it would.

That was the part he thought about the most. 

The moment where your “no” would melt into a “please.” The way your voice would break. The moment you realised—no one would ever fuck you the way he could.

You would beg for it, not with words. Never with words. You wore temptation like a crown and never even noticed who you were ruling.

He tried to be good. Fuck, he tried.

He left gifts. Dropped as many hints as he could. Brought you coffee when you looked tired, memorised the way your eyes lit up at stupid little things like that advertisement about adopting abandoned puppies. He laughed at your jokes and waited for you to look at him the way he looked at you.

But you didn’t.

You were blind. Blind and soft and so goddamn ignorant of the way you made him ache.

Until tonight.

Because tonight… Bucky wasn’t waiting anymore.

He was going to show you.

Bucky let himself into your room exactly forty minutes after you left. Picked the lock with practiced ease and entered without hesitation. Sat on the edge of your bed like he belonged there. 

The shadows welcomed him. The silence swallowed the sound of his breath. He stared at your pillow like it was something sacred. Inhaled your scent. Let his fingers curl around your blanket like they were already touching you.

And then he waited.

He waited for the sound of heels on the floor. For the delicate click of your key sliding into the lock of your room. And when the door opened, when you pushed into the room with a breathless little sigh, humming under your breath, drunk on cheap wine and a forgettable man—he felt it.

That hunger. That rage. That need.

You didn’t scream when you saw him.

You should have.

You just smiled, sleepy, unbothered. That same stupid sweet smile that used to make his chest burn before it made his cock twitch.

“Hey, Buck,” you said, your voice warm and airy. “What’s up?”

Still glowing. Lipstick smeared at the corners of your mouth. Perfume clinging to your throat like a lover’s kiss. Hair mussed from hands that didn’t belong to him.

His vision tinted red.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Just watched you reach for your earrings, humming like he wasn’t in the room, like he wasn’t staring at you like prey.

Your back was turned. Your neck was bared.

He wondered if your boyfriend had marked you. He hoped not.

Because that was his job.

You turned to face him then. And something in your expression shifted.

“…Is everything okay?”

“No,” Bucky said, standing. “Not really.”

He moved slowly. Controlled. Like something that had waited years to pounce.

“I’ve been thinking about you,” he said. His voice was soft. Careful.

You blinked. “Bucky—”

“I mean really thinking, sweetheart, every night. For weeks.”

You stepped back. Just one step. Subtle. But he noticed.

“We’ve talked about this,” you said carefully. “You know I—”

“Have a boyfriend,” he finished.

He chuckled. A hollow, bitter sound.

“Yeah. I know.”

He crossed the distance between you in two long strides. His shadow swallowed yours.

“You think he makes you happy?” he asked, voice quiet. Dangerous. “You think he even knows how to touch you?”

Your lips parted. “Please don’t—”

“Does he know how wet you get when someone puts their hand on your throat?”

The air stopped moving.

“Does he know how you clench your thighs together when I walk past you in the gym?”

You inhaled sharply. And something inside him snapped.

“You wore that little black dress for him?” he whispered, his fingers brushing your bare thigh. “Or was it for me?”

“Stop it,” you breathed, shrinking back.

But it was too late.

He grabbed you—fast, brutal. Vibranium hand clamped around your wrist, dragging you forward, slamming you against the wall.

You gasped, the impact jarring.

He loomed over you, chest heaving, pupils blown wide. You could smell him—leather and sweat and heat. 

“Let me ask you something,” he said, his voice low and rough, almost amused. “Has your boyfriend ever filled this little pussy up ‘til you cried?”

“Bucky, stop—”

“Ever made you come with his mouth while you begged him to stop and keep going all at once?”

Tears welled in your eyes, but he wasn’t done.

“Ever pinned you down,” he murmured, voice dipping lower, “and fucked you so good you couldn’t walk the next day?”

You shook your head.

Not no.

Just fear, shock, and disbelief.

“Thought so,” he muttered. His hand tightened on your wrist. “You’ve been walking around here like you don’t belong to someone. Like this body isn’t mine.”

Your breath hitched.

“I tried being patient,” he said, almost to himself. “I really did. But you keep wearing things like that. Keep smiling at me like you don’t know. You keep fucking pretending.”

He smiled then. Sharp. Crooked. Hungry.

“Tonight, I’m going to give you exactly what you’ve been asking for.”

Your lips parted. To beg. To scream. To say no.

But he kissed you first.

And it didn’t matter anymore.

You didn’t make it to the door.

Bucky dragged you backward, one hand still locked around your wrist while the other slid up your thigh—rough, possessive, not fumbling but practiced. Confident. Like he’d touched you a thousand times in his head and knew exactly how and where to hurt you best.

You struggled and he laughed.

“You’re so soft when you squirm,” he muttered, spinning you in his grip and slamming you back into the wall. 

The picture frame above your bed rattled. Your hands clawed at him, trying to shove him back, but he just grabbed both wrists and pinned them above your head with his vibranium hand. The other curled beneath your jaw, thumb dragging over your lips.

“You think that little boyfriend of yours would fight for you like this?” he whispered, tongue flicking against his teeth. “Think he’d bleed for you? Kill for you? You know I would.”

His mouth found your neck. You gasped as he bit down—not gentle. No. Hard. Bruising. Like he wanted to leave proof behind, like he wanted your skin to remember him.

“Bucky—please,” you breathed, trembling.

“Shh,” he said, grinning. “We’re past talking now, princess.”

And then he dropped to his knees.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t worship. It was hunger. Obsession. Something primal he’d been starving down for too long. You kicked at him—once, twice—until he grabbed your thighs and threw you backward onto the bed. 

The world spun, the mattress dipped. And before you could scream, he was between your legs like a man possessed.

“Don’t fight me,” he said softly. “You’ll love this part.”

He yanked your dress up to your hips. Cold air kissed the tops of your thighs. And then—

“Fuck,” Bucky rasped, voice dark with lust. “Look at you.”

Your panties were soaked through. A fragile wisp of black lace that did nothing to hide the heat between your legs. 

Bucky’s pupils blew wide.

“You wore these for him?” he asked, voice mocking. “These cheap little things?”

He hooked a finger through the fabric and ripped. The sound echoed like a gunshot in the room. Torn lace fluttered to the floor. 

You sobbed, curling away from him, but his arms caged you in. Knees pinning your thighs open. Shoulders wedged between them. His face so close you could feel the heat of his breath fan over your exposed cunt.

“Look at this pretty pussy,” he whispered. “So wet for me already.”

“It’s not—Bucky, don’t—”

“Liar,” he growled, and then—

He devoured you.

Tongue hot, thick, rough as it dragged up the full length of your slit. His nose pressed deep into your folds, inhaling like your scent was a drug he needed to stay alive.

He moaned into your cunt, mouth working in wet, messy circles that made your hips jerk against your will.

Your fists beat weakly at his shoulders. He didn’t care. Didn’t stop.

He ate you like a man starved, tongue stroking deep, wide, purposeful. His lips closed over your clit and sucked, pulling the sound right out of your throat. 

A loud, shattering gasp you didn’t mean to make.

“Oh, baby…” he laughed darkly. “You didn’t know you needed this, did you?”

“Please—” you sobbed. “Stop—don’t—”

But your body betrayed you, your hips rocked into his face. Your thighs trembled. And when his vibranium hand pinned your stomach flat to the bed, holding you still, you whimpered.

That was all the permission he needed.

“Yeah,” he growled. “That’s it. Let me hear it. Let me hear what he’s never earned.”

He fucked you with his tongue, fingers digging into your thighs so tight you knew they’d bruise. Your vision blurred, your spine arched. You were crying and gasping and wet in a way you couldn’t stop, couldn’t control, and he knew it.

“Practically begging me to fuck you,” he rasped, voice soaked in triumph.

And then it hit.

The orgasm slammed through you like a fucking car crash. Your body convulsed, mouth open in a soundless cry as wave after wave shattered through your core, your clit throbbing against his lips as he sucked every last tremor out of you with vicious, greedy delight.

You didn’t mean to cum. You didn’t want to.

But you did.

Hard.

Your thighs shook violently, your eyes flooded. And Bucky moaned into you like your pleasure was his oxygen.

When he finally pulled back, his mouth was glistening.

“I knew you’d taste good,” he said, licking your slick from his lips. “Fucking knew it.”

You curled into yourself, shaking, broken. Eyes wide and wet and ruined.

He didn’t care.

Because now, he was standing. Unbuckling his belt. And pulling out the one thing you were never meant to see.

His cock.

It was thick. Heavy. Veined. Leaking at the tip. Too big to be real. The kind of size you only ever joked about. The kind that hurt.

You stared. He smiled.

“You gonna cry about it?” he asked, stroking the length slowly, watching your expression twist. “Or are you gonna open that pretty little mouth and say thank you?”

You tried to crawl away, he grabbed your hair and dragged you forward.

You didn’t want to look at it. Didn’t want to see the way his hand curled around that monstrous length—slow, possessive strokes like he was showing off, like he knew the size alone would scare you. 

And it did. It fucking did.

Thick. Hard. Veins raised and pulsing under flushed skin, the tip angry and red, already leaking for you. Too big, too much and your heart sank when you realised he was stroking it with practiced ease, already imagining how deep he’d stuff it down your throat.

“Bucky…” Your voice was barely a whisper.

He grabbed your hair and forced your eyes back up to his. “Open your mouth.”

You shook your head, trembling. “Please, don’t make me—”

His grip tightened. “You came for me. I tasted it. Don’t play innocent now, baby.”

You whimpered as he pushed your face down, his cock dragging across your cheek, smearing precum across your flushed skin like a mark of ownership.

“You’re mine,” he said softly. “All those nights I lay in bed thinking about this pretty little mouth… All those fucking times you laughed at my jokes like I couldn’t see through it. Like I wasn’t good enough.”

He pressed the swollen head of his cock to your lips. “I am good enough princess, I’m the only one who deserves you.”

You tried to turn away. He didn’t let you. He forced your mouth open, sliding the tip past your lips. 

Salty. Warm. Violent.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he rasped. “Don’t be shy.”

You gagged immediately as the thick weight of him pushed deeper. Your throat clenched, but he didn’t stop.

His hips rolled forward slowly, deliberately, dragging his cock deeper inch by inch like he wanted to feel every tear slipping from your eyes as your mouth stretched around him.

His hand cradled the back of your head, holding you in place as your jaw ached, your throat spasmed, and saliva spilled from the corners of your lips.

“There you go,” he groaned, head falling back. “Just like that, princess. This mouth was fucking made for me.”

You choked, pulling at his wrist, but he was unmovable.

“Look at you,” he murmured, gaze dropping back to yours. “Crying so pretty for my cock.”

He rocked his hips again. Deeper. Rougher. You gagged, coughed, nose pressing into the base of him as your throat convulsed helplessly around the intrusion.

“Fuck, yes,” he hissed. “That tight throat. You feel that? Feel how deep you’re taking me?”

You could barely breathe. Your lungs screamed.

He pulled back—just enough to let you gasp—and then shoved back in with a grunt that made your whole body flinch. Your lips were slick with spit and precum, chin dripping, hair tangled in his fist like reins.

“I could fuck your throat for hours,” he growled, voice wrecked. “Could keep you down there all night if I wanted. You’ll take it and you’ll learn. Your little boyfriend won't recognise you when I’m done.”

He gave one last brutal thrust, burying himself to the hilt, and you let out a broken, strangled sob.

He held you there. Trembling, gagging. 

Then finally—finally—he pulled out.

You collapsed onto your hands, coughing and choking, spit dripping from your mouth to the sheets.

But it wasn’t over.

It was never going to be over.

Because now he was grabbing your waist, flipping you onto your stomach like a ragdoll, dragging you to the edge of the bed.

“Bucky—please, I can’t—”

“You will.”

He yanked your hips up, spread your legs.

You weren’t even sure when he’d fully undressed you—but now your ass was bare, your thighs trembling, your cunt wet and swollen and exposed to the cold air. You tried to twist away. His hand came down hard on your ass.

SMACK.

You cried out.

“I said,” he gritted, lining the thick head of his cock up to your entrance, “you’re mine.”

He pushed.

Your breath caught. You felt the pressure first—terrifying, splitting pressure—then the pain. Stretching.

Too much.

“It’s not gonna fit,” you sobbed, voice high, panicked. “Bucky—it’s too big—”

He grabbed your jaw, forcing your head back toward him.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he whispered, eyes burning. “I’ll make it fit just fine.”

And then he slammed into you.

You screamed.

The force of it knocked the air from your lungs. The burn was unbearable, your walls stretched to accommodate him and failed. Every inch of him was violent, forcing you wider, deeper than you’d ever been taken before.

“Fuck,” Bucky groaned, hips grinding against your ass. “So tight. So fucking tight.”

You were crying again, face pressed into the sheets, hands clutching the blanket like it might save you, stop the way your body was being pulled apart from the inside.

But he didn’t slow down.

He fucked you with brutal thrusts, each one harder than the last. You sobbed into the pillow. Your thighs shook. But his grip only tightened. One hand on your hip, the other on the back of your neck, pinning you down like prey.

“You like this,” he hissed. “Your cunt’s gripping me like a fucking vice.”

You hated him, fuck, you hated him. Most of all, you hated the way your body betrayed you.

Because somewhere in the pain, the burning, the shame—you started to moan.

And he heard it.

“That’s it,” he groaned. “I knew you could take it. Knew you’d fucking love it once I broke you in.”

His pace turned punishing, skin slapping skin. Sweat beading down his temple as he fucked into you with mindless need.

You felt it—your climax, that horrible, traitorous heat building between your legs again. You tried to resist it, bite it back, choke it down.

But it came anyway.

You clenched around him, spasming, crying out as your body convulsed on his cock, the pleasure so sharp it almost felt like pain.

“Oh, baby,” Bucky moaned, voice raw. “You wanna cum for me again?”

You were sobbing. “Please, no more—”

But then he bent low, lips against your ear, and whispered, 

“I’m gonna cum inside you.”

You stiffened.

“No—Bucky—don’t—please—”

“I’m gonna fill this perfect little pussy up,” he gritted, driving into you even harder. “Stuff you full. You want it, don’t you?”

“No—”

“Say it.”

You shook your head.

“Fucking say it.”

His hand gripped your throat.

And in the weakest, most broken voice you’d ever heard from yourself, you whispered, 

“…fill me up. Please.”

He groaned, deep and ragged, and came with a violent thrust that made your legs buckle. Hot, pulsing ropes filled you as his body trembled over yours, cock twitching, breath ragged, forehead pressed to your back.

“You’re mine now,” he murmured, voice low and content. “Every inch of you. Every hole. Every fucking drop.”

You didn’t move. Couldn’t move.

He stayed inside you. Stayed buried deep. And when he finally pulled out, thick warmth spilled down your thighs and soaked the sheets.

You didn’t move for a long time. You couldn’t.

Your body was frozen in the wreckage—legs parted, cunt throbbing, slick dripping down your inner thighs and soaking into the sheets beneath you. The air clung to your skin like sweat and salt, thick with the scent of sex and sweat. 

Your limbs shook, your spine refused to obey. Nerves shot and frayed, lungs still working to remember how to breathe. Everything ached, your jaw, your throat, your pussy. Even your ribs, stretched from sobbing, from screaming. 

Because it wasn’t over. You knew that even before you heard it. Before the mattress dipped under his weight. Before you felt his fingers brush your cheek with that awful, twisted tenderness that made your stomach roll like bile. 

Not rough this time. Not greedy. Just… soft. Gentle.

That was worse.

“Shh, sweetheart,” Bucky murmured, voice low again. Quiet. Almost sweet. Almost like he cared. Like he hadn’t just ripped you in half and made you beg for it. 

“You did so good for me.”

You flinched.

He only hummed, casual and pleased, and leaned closer—mouth warm against your skin as he pressed a kiss to the corner of your lips, like he had the right. Like it was his. Like he hadn’t just stolen it from you.

You jerked your head away. Disgust pulsed through you like electricity. But it didn’t matter.

His hand followed.

Fingers curled around your jaw, firm but not cruel. Not now. He guided your face back to his with the ease of a man who’d done it before—who planned to do it again.

His thumb dragged across your tear-streaked cheek, slow and soothing, like he was calming a frightened pet.

“I know you’re scared,” he whispered, lips ghosting against your temple now. “It’s okay. You don’t have to be. Not anymore.”

You tried to speak. You didn’t even know what you would’ve said..

“I’ve got you now.” Another kiss, this time to your hairline. Gentle. Sickening. “No one’s ever gonna touch you again. Not him. Not anyone.”

He laid down behind you, chest pressing to your spine, his arm draping possessively over your middle.

You felt his cock, still half-hard, still sticky from the mess he left inside you, settle against your ass. His breathing slowed as he sank into the warmth of your body like he was slipping into a dream.

Like this was home. Like this was what he’d earned.

“I should’ve done this sooner,” he murmured, voice thick with something you didn’t want to name. “All that time I wasted… trying to be gentle. Trying to wait.”

His hand slid lower, fingers brushing over the curve of your stomach, dipping toward where your thighs were still wet. 

You tensed instinctively.

“I didn’t want to scare you,” he continued, far too calm for someone who had just broken you. “Didn’t want to hurt you.”

His fingers moved slower now, tracing the edge of your hip like he was thinking. Calculating. 

“But you like it, don’t you, baby?”

You sobbed softly, silently. Pillow soaked. Every breath a betrayal, every second a reminder that you were still here. Still under him. Still his.

“That little pussy of yours didn’t lie,” he chuckled darkly, “Gripped my cock like you fucking needed it.”

You turned your face away again.

He followed.

Kissed the slope of your shoulder. Your neck. Breathed you in like you were something sacred, something his, something he owned now.

“Your boyfriend would’ve never given you that,” he murmured. “Would’ve never taken care of you the way I will.”

He rolled your limp body further into his. One leg slung over yours, pinning you completely. Caged. Trapped. 

His hand twisted into your hair and tugged gently, like he wanted you to listen, like you hadn’t already heard too much.

“You don’t need to ask permission anymore,” he whispered, breath hot against your skin. “You don’t have to say no. You’re mine now and I take what’s mine.”

You shook your head. Weakly. Broken. “Please… don’t…”

He smiled. You felt it against your skin, warm and cruel.

“I’m going to keep you, you know.”

Your stomach turned.

“You won’t have to pretend anymore. No more dates. No more makeup. No more tight little dresses for other men.” His voice dropped, words curling into your ear like a threat. “You only dress like that for me now.”

You cried harder. He didn’t care.

His fingers drifted lower again, between your thighs. Slid through the slick mess still leaking from you. The mess he put there. The mess he made.

“God,” he groaned, almost reverent. “You’re so full, look at this. Look what I did to you.”

You tried to close your legs. He didn’t let you.

“I’ll fuck it into you again in the morning,” he whispered, voice already thick with sleep. “Until you can’t remember his name.”

You froze.

He kissed your shoulder one last time. Lingering. Possessive.

And then he closed his eyes.

Like this was love. Like this was normal. Like this was only the beginning.

And he had no intention of ever letting you go.

a/n: this fic was a blast to write, it probably includes everything from my wildest imagination. i hope you enjoyed it and if you did, please leave a comment or a reblog, it helps motivate me! 🥰

[hexbaiting]

“Some years ago my brother was banished from Asgard, and sent to Earth. And when he came back he was different. Changed somehow. I thought it was weakness. I mocked him. Said he’d gone soft.” - LOKI 2x04 HEART OF THE TVA

[w4ndal0ver]

Good Wives Always Know (Wanda x Agatha x Reader)

[minors don't interact, 18+]

pairing: daddy!agatha x mommy!wanda x sub!reader

summary: You didn’t really know what you were expecting when Agatha and Wanda found out you were casually seeing them both at the same time, but you didn’t think it would end up like this. 

content warnings: daddy!agatha, mommy!wanda, humiliation, degradation, praise, choking, breath play, nipple play, vibrator use, strap use, spanking, double penetration, strap sucking, power imbalance, bondage, oral sex, fingering, anal sex, spitting, probably more but read at your own discretion! <3 

 word count: 7k

Good Wives Always Know (Wanda x Agatha x Reader)

You tugged against the restraints tied harshly around your wrists, your face flushed as you were sat naked, wrists tied to either side of the headboard of your bed, the two women looking over you dressed completely. You couldn’t believe you’d been caught, you didn’t expect them to ever find out that you were simultaneously seeing them both. While you’d never confirmed exclusivity to either woman, with the dynamic you shared with both individually it was probably expected. 

“Oh honey, you really thought you could keep this little game going forever? Did you honestly believe we wouldn’t find out.” Wanda coos, perching to the left side of you, smiling in her sickeningly sweet way, her fingers brushing over your burning cheek. 

“Of course she thought that.” Agatha laughs, her chuckle a menacing contrast to Wanda’s calming demeanor. “Look at her Wanda, this little slut probably thought she was being clever.” You whined at the pet name, but your cheeks flushing scarlet as Wanda’s eyes opened wider at the contrast in how your other woman speaks to you, a stark difference to the dynamic you shared with her. 

“I just don’t understand how you found the time baby. Keeping up with me and Agatha.” Wanda spoke, her voice deceptively soft as her head tilts to meet your shamed gaze. “That’s quite the schedule. 

“Time? Oh, please.” Agatha cut in again, neither woman allowing you to speak, “She was probably slipping out of my bed and straight into yours, isn’t that right pet?” With that question she grasps your chin, pulling your face towards hers, her lips pursed as you glares down at you, her hand forcing you to nod in response to her question. You didn’t dare speak, you didn’t even know what to say. 

“Now, now, let's not scare her too much. She’s not used to being called out, are you, sweet girl?” Wanda protests, her hand falling onto your thigh and giving you an encouraging squeeze. The combination of both women was turning your brain completely fuzzy as you felt yourself slipping into a submissive role that was being torn between both dynamics. 

“Sweet? There's nothing sweet about her.” Agatha spits, releasing you from her grip, slapping you hard across the face, the noise alone drawing an elicit moan from your lips before you allow your head to drop, your hair falling across your face. “She’s a dirty little whore who thought she could have it all. Look at her now, squirming like the pathetic mess she is.”

“Let’s not be too hard on her, Agatha.” Wanda pouts, her fingers stroking through your sweat sodden hair. “She’s just inexperienced.”

“Inexperienced?” Agatha scoffs, the rage on her cheeks growing, “She’s been playing this game for ages. We’re just the ones to catch her.” This time, Agatha's hand found its way around your throat, squeezing the sides of your neck at your lack of response to any of their questions, even if they hadn’t given you the time to respond. 

“I’m sorry.” You squeak, gasping on the words that get caught in your restricted throat. 

“Sorry? You’re not sorry, you like playing games, don’t you slut?” Her grip returns harsher and you whine against the palm of her hand, your hips involuntarily bucking upwards. 

“I didn’t-” You struggle breathlessly, trying to respond but you’re unable to underneath the brunettes pressure against your throat. 

“Shh, sweet thing, let Agatha have her fun.” Wanda cuts you off, her voice soothing but taunting at the same time. “She’s just upset because you’ve been so naughty. She only wants to teach you how to behave.” 

A wicked grin spreads across Agatha’s face as she loosens her grip and you splutter at the sudden rush of air. She doesn’t let you go completely, enough to let you catch your breath but still hold you captive against the mattress. “Oh, I’m not done yet. But don’t worry pet, you’ll learn. You’re going to beg us to teach you more by the time we’re through.” Her voice drips with disdain as she lets her other hand trace down your body, stopping just above your waist. 

You feel your skin begin to heat up with both fear and desire, your words unable to contain themselves. “I don’t want to, please, don’t-” You start to squirm under her grip, feeling trapped but exhilarated, your hands tugging harder against the restraints. 

“Stop pretending. You want this and don’t you dare act innocent now when you’ve been sneaking behind our backs.” Agatha’s voice rises in anger again, eyes darkening with jealousy as she looks at Wanda, the soft glow of the redhead's eyes beaming down on you doing nothing but spurring her on. 

“I didn’t mean to, I just wanted you both, I didn’t know-” Your words begin to trail off as you realise how desperate you sound with both women on either side of you, both with their hands on different parts of your body. 

Wanda smiles at the admission, her fingers caressing your face as she leans back just slightly to give Agatha more space. “Oh baby, we know. You just don’t know how to pick one, do you.” Her voice was laced with sweet mockery now, your cheeks glowing pink as her tone began to change, a switch up that you were all too well acquaintanced with. “But now, you’ll learn what happens when you can’t choose. You belong to us, whether you like it or not.”

Agatha's lips curl into a smirk as she leans in, bringing her face close to yours, her voice a sharp whisper, “You don’t get to play both sides anymore, you’re ours now, and we’ll make sure you know exactly what that means.” You whine at her words, her hand inching closer to where you needed her, the exchanges between the two women had made you more desperate than you could ever imagine, arousal dripping down the lengths of your inner thighs. 

“Do you understand sweetheart?” Wanda asks carefully, her fingers brushing your goosebumped skin, the pads of her fingertips edging towards your aching nipples. 

“Yes Mommy.” You reply, your lips rolling against each other as Agatha smirks down at you, her fingers pressing down into your pubic bone, hard enough to leave white marks into your skin. 

“How cute, you’ve got your Mommy and your Daddy.” Agatha smirks, not knowing Wanda’s title to you until your shamed admission through glossy eyes as you can’t pick someone to focus on. “Now your Mommy has been telling me some things about you and how much of a greedy slut you are with her, hm?” Even Wanda squirmed slightly at Agatha’s words, but you, you were a whimpering mess underneath them both. 

“I don’t, I’m not-” You exclaim, batting your eyelashes at Wanda who didn’t give you any soft and calming looks back. 

“You’ve never touched her have you?” Agatha states, two fingers reaching down to stroke the length of your cunt, spreading you apart and gathering your arousal onto her fingers. You shake your head, both you and Wanda knowing that their dynamic was different to yours and Agathas. “But that's what she’s good for Wanda, she's such a good little fucktoy when she wants to be, I use her all the time you should try her.” 

With her words, the pressure of her fingertips grew stronger, planting lazy circles against your clit, being spoken about like you’re not there, not getting the attention that you want was driving you insane. You tried everything to snap them back to you, lifting your hips, trying to get the friction that you desperately craved, but Agatha was good at ignoring you. 

“You’re going to show your Mommy how good that tongue of yours is.” Agatha orders, casually removing her hand from between your legs despite your whines of protest, untying the restraints that had held you captive. As soon as you’d been let free, her hand grabbed a fistful of your hair, shoving you onto your knees. 

As Wanda stood, she unbuckled her belt, removed her trousers and her laced underwear, positioning herself in front of your hung face, her legs open and you were practically drooling at the sight of her opened up in front of you, her arousal reflecting the light. 

“Go on honey, I give you permission.” Wanda spoke calmly, watching as Agatha positioned herself behind you, unknowingly to you. You couldn’t care what Agatha was doing as the permission to touch her was the only thing you could focus on. You didn’t know what Wanda liked, but you just performed what Agatha had taught you when you first met, your tongue licking wide strokes up and down the length of her pussy, groaning at the taste of her. 

Just as you started to drive circles into Wanda’s clit with the tip of your tongue, you felt Agatha’s hand collide harshly with your ass, an unexpected moan forced its way through your lips, vibrating conveniently against Wanda’s cunt. 

“You’ve been seeing your Mommy for ten weeks behind Daddy’s back, so you’re getting ten.” Agatha announces, delivering another quick spank to the other cheek. You moaned again, this time you were joined with a high pitched groan from Wanda, who had fallen back on her arms, her hips lifting to meet where your tongue was circling lightly against your clit. 

“Oh baby you’re making Mommy feel so good.” Wanda gasped as your circles got harder and tighter. Agatha delivered two more spanks to you and you groan increasingly louder with each one and the redhead’s hands fall into the locks of your hair, forcing your face closer to her arousal. You started to suck against her clit, your rhythm being put off once again by another spank. 

“You make Mommy sound so pretty with that whore mouth of yours.” Agatha comments and even Wanda whines at the remark, her cheeks flushed and her neck strained as show throws her head back in pure ecstasy. “Look at your Mommy when you make her cum.” She forces your head up, your tongue remaining firmly against Wanda’s clit, the redhead trembling in front of you as Agatha smacks your ass another three times in quick succession was enough to make you fall apart in between them both. 

You could feel Wanda shaking around you, her thighs clenching harder around your face as Agatha spanked you for the penultimate time. Wanda’s chest rose as you sucked against her clit, grazing your teeth over her nub and that was all she needed, she came tumbling over the edge with a pornographic moan, her hands still buried in your hair as she continued to grind against your tongue as she worked herself through her orgasm. 

Just as you leaned away from her, Agatha slapped your ass harder than she ever had before you and groaned in pain, trying to scurry away from her, but she had a tight grip on your thighs, keeping you in place. 

“God your Daddy was right, you are incredible with your tongue.” Wanda praises, changing her position so she’s lying next to you, her hands caressing the red marks left by Agatha. You pout at the redhead, knowing that you could get yourself out of this punishment if you kept acting sweet and innocent, but Agatha would never fall for it. You were right, of course. 

Agatha flips you onto your back, laying you down harshly against the matress. “Don’t give into her Wanda, she wanted our attention and now she’s got it so let’s see how much she can take.” You watch as Agatha reaches for her wand, handing it over to Wanda and you feel your body squirm as your mind flicks to the countless times Wanda has punished you with this toy, edging you over and over until you’re a pathetic mess begging her to let you come. 

“Come on sweetheart, you know you have to be punished so take it like a good girl.” Wanda beams, her smile calming you as Agatha pries open your legs, holding one so you can’t escape from what was about to happen. You hear the vibrations before you feel them, the anticipation making your body tremble as the brunettes' nails dug harshly into your upper thigh. 

Wanda moves the vibrator an inch so it's pressed lightly up against your clit and you whine so desperately to the pleasure that was coursing through your body. You were already so desperate, your arousal leaking and smothering your thighs from being spanked so harshly, your clit pulsating against the vibrations as Wanda pressed the head of the toy harder against you. 

Agatha started to play with your hardened nipples, she was never gentle with you. Her nails were scratching against your nubs, her fingers rolling them harshly. The addition of Agatha’s harsh pulls and twists against your breasts and the increasing vibrations pulsating through your cunt was bringing you unashamedly close to the edge as your thighs begin to tremble, Agatha slaps your erect nipple, making you gasp and try not to tumble over the edge. Before you could even think about it, Wanda removed the vibrator from you, her familiar mockingly sad pout looming over you as Agatha continued to play with your nipples. 

Wanda gives you a few seconds to reset before placing the vibrator back against your clit as your hips buck subconsciously to meet the toy. “Do you like being the center of attention? Having both of us watching your every move?” Wanda asks, her voice slick with a sweet mockery of your current state as you nod so hard you almost pass out.

“Oh she loves it. Look at her.” Agatha jeers, leaning down to bite your right nipple, drawing a high pitched squeal from your throat, “She’s practically begging for more.” 

You felt yourself getting close again, but before you could get there Wanda removed the vibrator once more. You were frustrated, your cheeks flushed, your forehead slick with sweat. You start whining but Agatha grasps your mouth with her flat palm, forcing your whines to be muffled by her strop grip as Wanda places the vibrator against you again. 

You get close embarrassingly fast, not being given enough time to recover. You start trembling and moaning against Agatha’s hand, but before you are given any sort of release the vibrator is removed from you again. Wanda can’t help but laugh at your body sprawled across the mattress, Agatha’s fingers still pulling at your nipples. 

“Please Mommy, I can’t, I need to come, please.” You beg, knowing that it usually worked with Wanda, tactfully choosing not to address Agatha because you know what the answer would be. 

“Okay sweetheart, this time you can come for Mommy okay.” You nod enthusiastically, opening your legs up wider and you can hear Agatha scoff in disbelief at how easily Wanda had caved from one line of pathetic begging. You felt the vibrator again, this time your body relaxed into it, allowing the pleasure to take over your body. You were a stuttering mess, your body squirming despite both womens harsh grips on your skin in an attempt to keep you still. 

This time when you get close, you let your body take over and the orgasm rips fiercely through your body, your muscles contorting from the relief of frustration. Just as Wanda went to turn the vibrator off, Agatha grabs if from Wanda, finding the dial and turning it up to the maximum speed and pressing it hard against your sensitive clit. 

“No way, Daddy is not letting you get off that easy.” Agatha smirks as you do everything you can to get away from the strength of the toy that was being pressed so harshly against you it was painful. Your legs start thrashing against the bed, but Agatha doesn’t stop, she just laughs at your struggle. 

“Please forgive me Daddy, I can’t” You whine desperately, tears forming in your eyes as another painful orgasm rushed through your body against your will, but she still doesn’t give in, she keeps her strong grip on the vibrator, not allowing you to escape from her. 

“You know the word if you can’t do it.” Agatha says, waiting impatiently for a safeword to come out of your mouth, but as she expected, she was met with radio silence, “Yeah thats what I thought you fucking whore, take it like the little slut you are for Daddy.” Agatha laughs as she pushes even harder and you scream in desperation as you feel another orgasm getting dangerously close to your sensitive cunt, you weren’t even sure if you could manage another one. 

Wanda started to draw circles into your skin, her instincts kicking in when she sees a tear stream down your face. She goes to wipe it from your cheek, but Agatha stops her with her spare hand. “Look at how pathetic she looks when she cries, she’s so easy to break.” Agatha says as more tears stream down your cheeks. Wanda manages to brush a few away from your cheek much to Agatha’s distaste. 

“I’ve never seen her like this before, she looks so helpless.” Wanda comments as your body shakes underneath the vibrator, the pain and pleasure combining too much and you’re so overstimulated you can’t help but let the tears fall. 

“Helpless? No doll, she’s nothing more than our slutty little toy and she’s ours to break, look at her, it's pathetic.” With that, she spits at you, her saliva mixing with your tears on your face. This time you’re met with Wanda looking down at you, a satisfied hum leaving her throat as she finally sees what Agatha means. You were done for, if Agatha could convert Wanda so easily, you didn’t know if you’d ever get out of it. 

“I can’t do it Daddy, I’m so close I can’t do it again.” You whine in desperation as another orgasm tried to break you, but you were holding it back so you didn’t have to feel the sensitivity afterwards again. 

“God you’re so pathetic.” Agatha growls, turning the vibrator off and you can breathe again, your aching cunt dripping down onto the bed sheets. You’re barely given a moment to recover before Agatha is unbuckling her belt and forcing you up onto your knees. “It’s a shame, I was going to fuck you after one more orgasm.” Agatha laughed, motioning towards your favourite purple strap that was waiting for you, already attached to the harness. 

“No wait Daddy, Please I’ll do it, I’m sorry.” You whine, you knew this was Agatha messing with your head but your fuzzy state of mind couldn’t see past it, the only thing you knew how to do was beg, even if they called you pathetic. She ignored your attempts, holding her belt between her hands before buckling it back around your hands as she tugged them behind your back, tightening it so you couldn’t move them. You winced at the stretch, but you got no sympathy in return. 

“No its okay sweetheart, you can watch while Mommy gets fucked by Daddy instead of you.” Wanda coos and you could have almost combusted on the spot. You try to move, but your hands behind your back put you off balance and you realise your fate as Agatha slips herself into the harness, lubing it up as Wanda arches her back on the mattress. You couldn’t even whine anymore, your silence was astronomical as you watched the scene play out in front of you. 

Agatha isn’t rough with Wanda, she treats her with respect, knowing the redhead deserved it. “Agatha, no teasing.” Wanda demands as she feels the head of the strap rubbing against her pussy, and Agatha immediately complies, pushing the length of the cock inside of her and relishing in the pornographic sounds that erupted from the redhead's mouth. Wanda’s fingernails dug into the bedsheets, gripping fistfuls of the duvet underneath her as she felt Agatha’s hips begin to thrust gently into her. 

“Fuck you’re so tight for me,” Agatha groans, finding the strength to double her efforts and thrust harder into the redhead, feeling how desperate she was for her. “Makes a change fucking someone who isn’t a pathetic fucktoy.” Agatha shoots her words at you as she squirm against the mattress, your knees begin to ache and your shoulders pulling backwards at un uncomforting level. “You like watching Daddy fuck Mommy huh?” Agatha asks you and Wanda’s blissed out face turns to look at you writhing in your restraints.

“Let me see how wet you are, open those legs for Mommy.” Wanda manages to get out in a fairly casual manner considering Agatha is basically pounding into her now, her hands on her waist, forcing her back onto her cock to meet her thrusts. You do as she says, the wet patch forming underneath you a good enough indicator of how much this was turning you on. 

At the sight of you, to Wanda’s delight, Agatha got rougher with her thrusts, her hand snaking round her body to circle her clit with the tips of two of her fingers. That was all it took, Wanda came crashing around the brunette's cock, her moans unashamedly loud and Agatha looks fairly satisfied with both of your reactions. Before she had a chance to pull out, Wanda lifted her body up with Agatha’s cock still buried inside of her, turning her head to place a kiss against her lips. 

That was only the beginning as the brunette reciprocated, grabbing the back of her neck and tracing her tongue against the surface of Wanda’s, both of them moaning into each other's mouths as Wanda grinded against the base of the strap. That turned you on more than watching them have sex, the way they moulded together in a fierce fight of dominance. Your desperate whines pull them away from each other, both their eyes falling on you. 

To your disappointment, Agatha shimmied her way out of her harness, leaving her wearing her shirt and laced underwear, a small damp patch revealing itself to you and you were ready to give Agatha everything you know she needed. The brunette watched as you licked your lips at the sight of her dampened underwear and she stripped them from her cunt, throwing them to the side before guiding you onto your front, your hands still restrained behind your back. 

“You’re going to make Daddy come as a thank you from me sweetheart.” Wanda said, tucking your hair behind your ear, as Agatha leaned backwards, her legs spread as the redhead helped you into position. She undoes the belt, allowing you to lean on your elbows as you kiss Agatha’s clit, her arousal seeping into your lips. She didn’t like it when you rushed, and you knew how desperate she was for it and how you’d be more likely to get what you want if you please her. 

“Put that mouth to good use slut.” Agatha growls through her desperation, scratching her nails through your hair and digging into your scalp to keep your face in position as you lick swirls through her folds. Unlike Wanda, Agatha rarely made a sound, she just went silent, her eyes always remaining on you through hooded eyes, giving you no satisfaction for making her cum. 

“While you make your Daddy feel good, we’re going to show her what we like to do together when you’re really desperate.” Wanda breathes into your ear, her body slick against yours, biting your earlobe before grabbing your ass and your eyes widened as your tongue worked hard against Agatha’s wet cunt. “Because I can feel how desperate you are.” Wanda smirked, two fingers reaching for your entrance, swiping at your dripping arousal before sucking her fingers into her mouth to taste your desperation plain and simple. 

She starts to push her fingers towards your entrance, before she stops, gathering enough arousal between her fingertips before allowing one of them to graze the rim of your second hole and you groan into Agatha’s pussy, the vibrations making her legs twitch. “You want me in here, don't you love.” Wanda teased, pressing lightly against your asshole, something which you’d never let Agatha do. You nod, your tongue beginning large circles around Agatha’s clit, still remaining slow and composed against her cunt, knowing better than to speed up without instruction.

“I wanna show Daddy.” You say, lifting up to take a breath, but you were immediately forced back down by Agatha’s quick hands and your tongue knows to continue before your brain can tell you to. 

You could feel Wanda shifting her weight behind you before palming the soft skin of your ass a few times before spreading it. The sound which left your mouth and reverberated off of Agatha’s cunt as Wanda pressed her tongue against your asshole was bordering on humiliating. You pussy clenched around nothing, aching at the way she teased your rim. 

Wanda hummed against your skin before pulling back to rub a slick finger against it. “You take it so well, don’t you? You like getting your ass fucked by Mommy?”

The flush she brought to your cheeks had you squirming, but your tongue remained present on Agatha’s clit, the tug she had on your hair made you speed up just a fraction, the tremble in her thighs spurring you on. 

Wanda reached round your body to circle your clit in order to distract you from the way her fingertip dipped inside. She was efficient with it, working it deeper and deeper until you could feel her knuckle against your skin. Your pussy tightened with every gentle thrust as she worked, dripping down to where her other hand slid across your clit. 

By the time she lined a second finger alongside the first, Agatha was letting out the prettiest little grunts. You watched for a while, enjoying the rock of her hips and the wet noises your tongue made against her heat. You groaned desperately when you felt Wanda’s second finger stretching deep inside of you. 

She was working hard to stretch you out, knowing what would be coming next, but you didn’t. Before you could even question why Wanda was preparing you up, Agatha’s chest was rising and falling at a rapid pace and her hands in your hair gripped tightly and you knew she was close. You continued the exact rhythm you’d found with your tongue and within a few seconds Agatha’s thighs were trembling before trapping your head between her legs while you sent her over the edge with a few breathy moans, your head transfixed into face as Wanda stretched you out with her two fingers. 

As soon as Agatha recovered, Wanda gently pulled out of you and before you could protest at the emptiness, the brunette pulled you onto her body, colliding her lips with yours so she could taste herself on your tongue.

“Are you ready to make it up to us like the dirty little whore you are?” Agatha pulled away and whispered into your ear. You nodded desperately and before you could move yourself, Agatha grabbed a fistfull of your hair and forced you onto the floor on your already sore knees. You grunted at the pain, but you received nothing as you watched both women put on harnesses, Agatha's purple one a lot bigger than Wanda’s pale pink dildo.

You sat and waited in anticipation, falling against the heels of your feet, your hands remaining on your thighs. Both women, strapped up, sit themselves next to each other at the foot of the bed, looking down at you on your knees. 

“She’s got so much potential, doesn’t she?” Wanda said and your face flushed pink at the praise, your eyes meeting Wanda’s and you were met with the kind gentle face you were used to. 

“Potential?” Agatha scoffed, “Sure, if you mean as a toy for us to use.” Your face flushed a darker red, changing your gaze to meet Agatha’s unforgiving smirk. “Come on slut , you know what to do.” Agatha smiled, looking down at her cock, waiting for you to clasp your lips around it. 

So you do exactly that, taking just the head into your mouth, licking around the top as if she could actually feel it before bobbing your head down further to take as much of her in as you could. Once you’d adjusted, she grabbed your hair, pushing you further down the shaft until you choked and spluttered against the strap. She lets you up for air, before Wanda guides your face towards her cock, gently forcing you to do the same thing on her. You oblige, not once closing your mouth as the two women take turns in having your lips around their cocks.

“Oh you poor thing,” Wanda cooed as tears began to stream down your face as you spluttered around her dildo for the second time, before Agatha grabs you and forces her cock into your mouth with a harsh thrust. The ache in your core growing and growing. “You needed two of us to take charge and put you in your place, didn’t you.” Despite Agatha's cock sliding further down your throat you manage to nod at Wanda's words. 

“And this is your place, desperately sucking on Mommy and Daddy’s cocks before we fuck you with them.” Agatha jeers and the words make you choke and they stop. You sit against your heels again, a mixture of saliva and tears running down your face as you look up at both of them who just look so unbelievably satisfied with themselves. They’d almost broken you. 

You get pulled back up onto the bed, forced onto your front so your head is buried in the pillows that had fallen out of place into the middle of the bed. Wanda shifted behind you, swinging a leg over your own and steadying herself with a hand against your back. Agatha walks around the side of the bed, sitting against the end, right next to where your head was lying. 

Slick fingers pressed into your asshole again, Wanda was relatively careful, checking with you over and over that you could take her fingers with relative ease before the blunt head of her toy pressed against your rim. 

“Don’t be shy.” Wanda encouraged, looking at how your face was being pushed into the pillows. 

“Daddy wants to see your face when she fills up your ass.” Agatha snarked from above and as much as you rolled your eyes, there was no getting away from it as two fingers pressed under your chin and she forced you to look directly into her eyes. 

The slightest increase against your asshole and you were fighting Agatha’s grip, not able to keep eye contact, but she was firm on you looking at her as Wanda’s hand groped at your asscheek, spreading you even wider so she could see you stretch around the tip of her cock. 

Wanda pressed deeper, but not by much. Her hands wrapped around your hips, caressing the skin while her cock rocked gently. 

“More please Mommy.” You grunt, pressing your ass back to heighten the intensity. You met Agatha’s smirk and with a few more gentle rocks you whined at the feeling of her hips pressed against your ass, the way her strap stretched around you, and the clench of your empty pussy. There was a temptation to bury your face into the pillows, but you’d never seen Agatha’s eyes light up the way they were right now. 

“Tell Daddy how much you like it when Mommy fucks you like this.” Wanda gasps, wrapping her hands around your hips, working her cock steadily until there was no stretch to speak of, just the rhythmic shift of her. 

“I love it when Mommy fucks me like this.” You stutter through breathy moans, but there was a reason Agatha had started moving towards you and you knew what was coming. 

You were aware of how your cunt was dripping onto the sheets, your spread knees meaning it had no stimulation whatsoever as Wanda fucked your other hole. Agatha kneed her way closer, “Look at you, this is the sluttiest I’ve ever seen you.” 

You whine as you let their hands coax you up until you are sandwiched between them. Your back arched, pressing your bare chest against Agatha as she pushed the pillows out of the way. One hand held her shoulder, the other reaching back to feel Wanda's strong grip on your hip as she kept her gentle rhythm. 

“You’re dripping you fucking whore.” Agatha sneered, teasing your opening with her fingers. Her grin was wolfish and unforgiving.

“Daddy.” You panted.

Her fingers pulled back to circle over your drowned clit, just the slick slip of her skin against yours was driving you insane. She was drinking in the desperate buck of your hips as the head of her cock brushed past your folds as Wanda kept a tight grip of you as she fucked your ass. 

“Please Daddy, I wanna be full, I want both of you inside of me-” 

Before you can finish begging, Agatha guides her strap into your entrance and your eyes roll to the back of your head, your skull resting back on Wanda’s shoulder as Agatha works her way inside of you, both of them finding the same rhythm with each other. 

“You’re so lucky to have both of us, you know that right?” Wanda pants as she watches in awe at the way your body trembled as both women thrust inside of you at the same time.

“Fuck yes.” You gasped.

You could barely breathe, you could’ve cried at the sensation. Not fast or aimed enough to be pleasurable, but deep enough to make you crave them both. Every shift of Agatha’s cock inside of you was a reminder of the other one. 

“You act like a whore you get treated like a whore, is that why you did this?” Agatha asks, leaning down between thrusts to lick at your nipples teasingly while her hand dipped between your legs and kindly circled your clit. You nod, earning you a swift sharp thrust into your pussy making you whine in pleasure as they sped up their adjoined rhythm. “You’re nothing but our filthy whore, this is what you deserve, this is what you were made for, having all your holes filled like this.” 

“I’m so full.” You whined, feeling the low thrum of an orgasm approaching, but every time you felt it you couldn’t chase it because of a different sensation on your body. 

“Not full enough.” Agatha growled into your skin, her fingers tracing your lips before you allowed her in, your tongue immediately sucking at her fingers. “My god, you’re so fucking dirty.” She breathed, looking at the way your body was crumbling under the pressure. Agatha held your hips and started bucking up harder into you and you keened at the rough treatment, but once Wanda matched the relentless pace, the feeling had your eyes squeezed shut. 

“You let us do whatever we want to you. Good little girl.” Wanda praised as you kept getting louder and louder, no longer caring what you sounded like. They were both working in and out, but once Agatha’s fingers found your clit again and rubbed tight pressured circles against it, you felt your body untense as the pain subsided and all you could feel was an intense amount of pleasure. But it was too much, there was no way you would ever catch up to the orgasm that kept building and fading.

“We’re not going to stop. You can be a good whore and come on our cocks now, or you can take it for another hour, we can do this all day.” Agatha spat, getting impatient with your disobedience, but Wanda traced love hearts on your back and the combination of the two relaxed you. 

“Breathe, just take it honey.” Wanda whispered, and it took a second for your brain to kick into gear again, to fight the fuzziness that was stopping your orgasm. 

“Oh fuck Mommy I’m-” You gasped, “Daddy please can I-” 

“Oh I know.” You could hear the smile on Wanda’s face. 

“You better come like a filthy little whore all over our cocks,” Agatha ordered, rocking you up and down until your brain went blank and the sheer height of it took over. “Now.” 

You felt like you were there forever, eyes squeezed shut, nails dug into both womens arms. After a few more thrusts and circles of your clit, it all crashed down. Burning hot pleasure ripped up your spine in controllable waves, the heat between your legs spreading everywhere. They didn’t pull out until you were jerking violently, painfully aware of how tight you were clenched around you. 

They gave you a minute before warning you that they were pulling out and you fell against the mattress in a pathetic sweat, your body shaking as the two women took off their harnesses and sat enveloping you between them.

Agatha was the first to get you water, her harsher techniques meaning her aftercare was incredibly important to her. She helped you sip it slowly while Wanda cradled you in her arms. 

“You know we’re thankful you were two timing us, right?” Agatha laughed, kissing your sodden forehead, brushing your wet hair from your face. 

“So wait, I don't have to choose?” You say in a thankful shock, leaning into both women. 

“Haven’t we just proved you can have both of us.” Wanda said, her head cocked to the side and her eyebrow raised as the flush of your cheeks. 

“Like we said, you’re ours now.” Agatha smirked, twirling your hair around her fingers. “Come on let's get you cleaned up.”

“Give me a minute, I don’t think I can walk.”

[midtones-brighter]

SEBASTIAN STAN as BUCKY BARNES

Captain America: The First Avenger (2011) dir. Joe Johnston

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Day of Days

Warnings: non/dubcon, public sexual acts, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: biker!Steve Rogers

Based on this ask": "Scary biker!Steve with a surprisingly soft touch who gifts himself you for his birthday 🥴🫠" from @stargazingfangirl18

Note: HAPPY BIRTHDAY, STEVERINO. I know this is late but I didn't get to start it when I planned to due to some terrible circumstances.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

The bell on the shop door jingles. You crane to see the new customer as Arlene steps up to the counter. The owner hovers her hands over the edge as she freezes in surprise. You can only see the back of her head but you can tell how she gapes. 

You look past her again. The man is tall, bearded, and stoic. His expression is both cryptic yet deters approach. In the small sewing shop, his leather vest has him out-of-place. 

Arlene coughs before she can get her words out. She drops her hands behind the counter and wrings them. She’s a kind woman, in her late fifties, but she’s quiet. She keeps to her sewing mostly and barks at those who come in with gossip to keep it to themselves. 

“Sir,” she greets the man as he strides evenly across the shop. Three whole steps. Most of the space is shelves of watches and yards, and mannequins for display. “How might I help you today?” 

Her voice is wobbly, betraying her fear. You frown. She’s quiet but never afraid. At times, she’s even stern. When it comes to work, she’ll never shy away from telling you to redo a stitch. 

The man considers her. His eyes scan around and snag on you. It’s too late to feign ignorance. You can’t just turn around and go back to sorting spools. 

“Her.” He points. 

“Sir?” Arlene sniffs. 

“She can help me,” he insists. 

Arlene glances over at you. She nods as her lips tug down. She backs away from the counter and nears you. She touches your arm, an unusual gesture for her. 

“Do whatever he says, honey.” 

The tender epithet further tweaks your uncertainty. Who is this man? Why is she so afraid? 

She turns to flatten herself against the shelves to let you pass. You sidle by and approach the man. Her anxiety has your brewing with a whirlwind. 

“Hello, sir,” you greet him. 

“Steve,” he insists. You nod and repeat his name. He glances once more at Arlene. “She doesn’t need help.” 

You peek over as Arlene flinches. Her eyes flick between you and the man as her face lines with concern. Her lips open and the lower one quivers. She shuts her mouth and nods. She turns and goes into the backroom. 

What the heck is going on? 

You face the man again. His dark blond hair is thick. The tails at the back flip out a little and his beard is grown long, curling around the shape of his jaw. His eyes are a bold blue and his thick brows add to his stern look. His nose is long and defined, complimenting his chiseled features.  

He shrugs and slips his vest down his arms. You watch him. He strips the vest off entirely and lays it on the counter. His scent tickles your nose as it clings to the leather. 

“Fix it.” He demands. 

You lower your eyes slowly to the vest. You lean in and reach for it warily. You peek at him, thinking he might snatch it back. He just stares at you. Your forehead speckles with heat. 

You focus on the vest and touch the seams at the shoulder. You cautiously examine every inch. On the back, a large emblem is imprinted on the leather. You touch the flaking decal. A print that was never going to last on the fabric. There’s only a bit of blue and red around the rings that incase an entirely black star. 

You step back and look under the counter. You reach beneath and he shifts. “What are you doing?” 

You pause and look up at him. You blink. “Getting my notebook so I can make notes.” 

He dips his chin and his forehead lines. You take your notebook and flip through to a blank page. You grab a pencil and start your notes. 

He sighs, “it’s only this.” He taps the emblem. 

“Oh, sure,” you scribble that down. “The patch here,” you extend the chest of the vest, “the thread is loose here. It will come off soon.” You gentle touch the collar, “may I turn it over?” 

He shrugs and and waves his hand derisively. You turn over the vest. As you expect, the lining shows its use. “I can redo the lining. I could show you some options.” You point across to the rolls of fabric. “As for the back, it might be best to go with an embroidery pattern rather than a print. We don’t do prints.” 

He puts his hands on the counter, fingers curled, tattoos above each knuckle. On his middle finger, you see the pommel of a sword, the blade extended down his finger but hidden in his fist. Your neck tingles hotly. Is he one of them? 

“How much are you gonna rob me for to do that?” He snips. 

“Mostly your time,” you answer thinly. “It takes time but I can do it.” You turn the vest again and feel along the remnants of the print. “One moment, please.” 

You look up at him. His eyes are unreadable. He tilts his head. 

You grab your pencil and bend over your notebook. You do your best to recreate what you can make out of the emblem. When you finish, you stand and show him the page. 

“Does that look correct?” 

He nods. 

“Alright, I can do that,” you assure him and set the pencil down. You frame the old print with your hands, “this is a good size?” 

He dips his chin again.  

Before you can retract your hand to make another note, he grabs it. You squeak and tug only once. He pulls your hand closer and with his other, extends your thumb. It’s swollen and poked up from your stubbornness. You forget your thimble often. 

“Looks painful,” he says. 

“My fault,” you assure him.  

His strength has you trapped. His hands are much large than yours, rough too. He lets you go and grips his hips as he blows out another breath through his nose. 

“How long?” He asks. 

“Not today, but when’s best for you, sir?” 

He considers you. Silently. You dare to look up and meet his blue irises. You still cannot read him. 

“July 4th. I need it then.” 

“I can have it done on the third. We’re closed for the 4th, sir.” 

He tuts. 

“The 4th.” He repeats, adding your name on the end. You nearly gasp at that before you remember your name tag pinned to your blouse. 

You hesitate. “Okay, I can meet you out front with it.” 

His eyes drift down and back up. He reaches up to his chest then stops himself. He grabs the vest and slides his hand into the lining. He slips free his wallet and unfolds it. He takes out several bills and holds them out. 

“That enough?” 

You look at them and pluck only three. “I’ll get you change.” 

“Keep it,” he grits. 

“Sir.”  

You fold up the money in your hand. He spins on his heel and marches to the door. You wait for him to turn back. Your heart is racing, you don’t know why. He leaves without another word or look. 

You stand in silence. You can’t move. You look down at the vest slowly then the money in your hand. 

“Honey...” Arlene’s voice startles you, her appearance more so as she emerges from the backroom with fright in her eyes. “Are you okay?” 

You face her and hold out the money. “He just needs an alteration.” 

She nears and takes the bills. Her cheeks are dimpled with chagrin. “Alright then, you do that for him. I’ll take on the rest of your tasks.” 

“Arlene, I can--” 

“No, you must do it right,” she says. “Be sure you do.” 

⭐

There’s a parade on the main street. You can hear it even from there. Three blocks down to the east.  

You wait outside the sewing shop as promised. You have a hanger with a garment bag draped over it. You have it hook over your fingers as you cross your arms and sway anxiously. 

A rumble cuts through the distant din of the celebrations. You turn and watch the motorcycle and its rider roll down the avenue. It steers toward the curb before you and you back up. You nearly collide with the brick wall behind you. 

You realise then it’s that man. Steve. He plants his feet and shuts off the roaring engine. He kicks the stand down and reaches for the strap of his helmet. He takes it off, his hair mussed and slightly shiny with his sweat. 

He climbs off the motorcycle and faces you. He hangs his helmet from the handlebar. He steps over the curb and approaches you. You make yourself move away from the wall. 

You hold up the hanger dumbly. You can’t speak. His arms are bare. He wears a navy shirt without sleeves, a small vee cut into the round neckline, a silver chain peeking out over a hint of his chest hair. His jeans are dark and worn out to fading, and his leather boots are studded with flat silver studs. 

He hooks two fingers in the top of the garment bag and tugs. You wince. 

“What’s this?” He growls. 

You gulp and fumble to unzip the bag. You nearly drop it all as you reach inside and struggle to free his vest. You slide it free. It’s heavy in just one hand. Real leather, you know. You were careful in your work. 

He takes it and you stare. He holds it up and examines the liner first, then the patches. You fixed more than one. He turns it and brings it closer to his face to check the emblem. He drapes it on his forearm and feels the thread; rich royal red and a bold blue, ivory too. 

He clicks his tongue. His eyes meet yours and he stands up straight. You feel smaller as he does. He puts the vest on. 

“Good work,” he praises. 

“Thanks, sir.” You fold the garment bag over the hanger. You peer up and down the street. “Well... happy 4th!” 

You teeter, ready to go. He stares at you. Or is he glaring? It’s hard to tell. His silence is as sweltering as the sun. 

“It’s my birthday.” He says. 

“Oh...happy birthday.” 

His gaze stays on you. Like an animal in a trap, you just stare back. He moves towards you suddenly. You swallow a squeak and lean back on your heels. He snatches the garment bag and the hanger. He marches down to the metal trash bin and stuffs it inside. 

“I-- sir?” 

“Can’t ride with all that,” he struts back toward you. 

You blink, confused. You watch him. 

He goes to his bike and grabs his helmet. He offers it to you. You look at it, then him. 

His mouth slants. He flips the helmet over and puts it on your head. His thumb brushes your chin as he secures the strap in the buckle. You stare at the crook of his neck. What’s happening? 

The same scent that wafted from his vest stains the helmet. It’s all you can smell. He backs up and taps the helmet lightly with his knuckles. 

He’s smirking at you. You shiver at the crack in his mask. That can’t be good. 

He turns and straddles the motorcycle. He looks over at you expectantly. You push your shoulders up. 

“Get on,” he demands. 

Your feet are stuck to the pavement. You were going to head down to the parade. Maybe by some funnel cake and slushie before you go hide at home. 

He watches you. You lift one foot, then the other. Your legs are heavy. Your mind screams ‘run’ but your body is bound up in terror. 

He kicks up the stands and straightens the motorcycle. He keeps it steady as you approach. You look at him then the seat behind him. 

“Grab onto my shoulder,” he commands. 

You obey. You use him to haul yourself up. You barely keep your skirt from flying up and flashing the neighbourhood... if anyone were there to see. They're all at the parade. 

You sit stiffly behind him. 

“Get close and hold on,” he demands over his shoulder. “You’ll fall off.” 

You carefully slide closer to him. You put your hands on his sides. He scoffs. He grabs your hands and pulls your arms around them, placing your palms on his stomach. You’re flush to him as he squeezes your fingers. 

You stay like that, turning your head so the helmet touches his back. He twists the throttle to kickstart the engine and you close your eyes. He steers the bike as he walks it away from the curb, then sets off down the street with a tear of diesel. 

You don’t know what scares you more; the motorcycle or the man. 

⭐

The bar looks old. The blend of wood and brick suggests a foundation built at least two centuries ago. The dimples in the pavement outside lend to its antiquity. You take it all in as Steve leads you up to the door. 

There’s a man in leather leaning against the wall, puffing on a thick cigar. He puffs out a cloud of grey and Steve swats him away. “Do that somewhere else.” 

The man quickly moves away, holding in his next exhale until he’s well away. Steve opens the door and nudges your lower back. You wince and stagger ahead. What are you doing here? 

The interior matches the exterior. Almost to a farcical degree. An old bar with leather trim and a man with a braided goatee behind it. All sorts of characters line the stools as they shout their orders, chatter incessantly at their companions, or drink grimly from a tall pint. 

A pool table clacks and a jukebox drones. Shelves of tinted bottles and portraits of a bygone error line the walls. The lighting is dim so that it all feels smoky. 

You glance back at the door. Steve snakes his arm around you and curls his fingers around your hip. You put your hand on his and squirm. 

“What--” you bite down on your question. 

“Don’t want to have my birthday drink alone.” He says plainly. 

He walks you across the bar. As he does, you notice the looks in his direction and how those who get in his path are just as quickly out of it. They know who he is and you are only getting the gist. He must be dangerous. 

He takes you to a table in the corner. A cushioned bench lines the corner of the wall. He points you in and quickly follows. He stretches his arm across the seat above you. You twiddle your thumbs and glance around. People pretend not to look but do. 

“Um...” you whittle away in the silence. “Do you like your vest?” 

He snorts. He bends his arm and touches your cap sleeve. A white blouse, simple, and a floral skirt with a bit of flare above your knees. You must stick out sorely among the denim and leather. 

“I like this,” he diverts. “Pretty.” 

“Thank you, sir.” 

“Steve,” he insists. 

“Steve,” you utter and cower as a man approaches the tables. 

“Usual for me,” Steve says to the man. “And something sweet for her.” 

The man nods and just as quickly stalks away. You shrink down even further. This must be some sort of game to him. 

“I like the vest,” he says at last. “I can see all that care you put into it.” He reaches to take your hand. He brushes your swollen thumb with his. “Blood, sweat, and all.” 

You stare at your hand in his. He brings it closer and kisses your soft skin. He purrs. You shake and he chuckles as he lowers your hand to rest on his thigh. 

“Can’t be alone on my birthday, can I?” 

You shake your head. He hums again and pulls you closer. The man returns with the drinks. A short, wide glass for Steve with black liquor; something red in a tall glass for you. The man ducks down and retreats. 

He lifts his glass and raises it. He hovers it. You take the other glass then slowly it clicks it. You clink it against his. 

“Happy birthday,” you murmur. 

“So far,” he drawls before he takes a swig. 

⭐

As soon as you reach the bottom of your glass, another appears. Three? Four? You’re not so sure. 

The alcohol softens the hard edges of the bar, and your anxiety. Still, you can’t help but be unsettled by the man at your side. His arm on your shoulders as he keeps you close like a possession. 

“Sweet enough for you?” He slides the drink closer. 

You shake your head sit back, your head pressing into his arm. “I think I need water.” 

He chuckles and lifts the glass. He brings it close to your lips. You seal them for just a moment then put them to the glass. He tips it and you drink. Half or so before he relents. 

You cover your mouth as a bubble works it way up to your throat. You exhale through the gas and cough.  

“Please, no more,” you beg. “I’m dizzy.” 

He puts the drink down and rubs your arm with his other hand. “You don’t wanna celebrate with me, sweetheart?” 

“I... am. I just...” you blink heavily. “I can’t...” you touch your forehead. “Oof.” 

“It’s okay, sweetheart, I got you,” he rubs your thigh and you flinch. You slap your hand down on his and tense. “Gonna be okay. So long as you’re with me.” 

You look up at him as his fingertips caress you through your skirt. You squirm and latch onto his thick fingers. Your head wobbles. 

“What?” You babble. 

“You know what these other men would do if you weren’t on my arm?” He growls as his nose presses to your cheekbone. “I won’t let them get their paws on you.” 

“Huh?” You utter. 

“Trust me, sweetheart, okay?” 

“I don’t... understand.” 

“Shh,” his hand slips from beneath yours. “You just be a good girl, alright, and give me my birthday present.” 

His fingers dance down your skirt to the hem. He delves below and tickles up your thigh. You wiggle and push on his forearm. You squeeze your legs together. 

“Steve?” You squeak. 

“You’re gonna wanna be quiet unless you want an audience, sweetheart,” he coaxes as he pets your upper thigh. “Now open up.” 

“Why-what--” 

He pushes his fingers between your thighs until it hurts. You grip his arm tight as your eyes sting. Your legs shake as fear courses through you. The tension lets out as you’re drained of all courage and strength. 

He shoves his hand between your legs as they slacken. You hold your breath as he pushes his fingers along the front of your cotton panties. His arm curls around your neck as he presses his lips to your temple and snarl. 

He rubs you through the fabric. As the friction builds, the cotton clings to your wet folds. He pushes your panties between your lips as the heat of his touch burns through. You hiccup and your head lolls into him. 

He brings his arm up to hug your head, petting your hair with his fingers. 

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he traces along the edge of your panties. “Be good for the birthday boy.” 

He pulls your panties to the side and his fingers glide up and down your folds. He teases you as you squirm. He flicks your clit and you spasm, choking on a whimper. He rolls his fingertips around as you writhe. 

You bat your lashes. There are shadows around you but you can’t see their eyes. You hope they’re not looking. You close your eyes and hide. From them, from him. 

He drags his fingers up and down, spreading your shame across your cunt. He angles his hand down and prods at your entrance. He dips a finger into you, wiggling as he slowly pushes deeper and deeper. 

He cradles your head in his large hand and exhales into your hair as he plays with you. He pulls his finger out and adds a second. He dives into you until the heel of his hand is against your clit. 

You bite your lip as your eyes roll back. Your head stirs in delirious delight as he plucks at your nerves. He rocks his hand as your thighs clench around him and you arch your back. He lets your head fall back and he kisses your throat. 

You moan as you fall into his embrace, too drunk to resist. His rhythm shakes your entire body on the bench as it quickens. You heave out breaths as you cover the back of his hand with your palm, urging him on mindlessly. 

“I want my gift, sweetheart. You gonna cum?” He rasps into you ear. “Go on and cum for the birthday boy.” 

You dig your nails into his hand and your hips buck. You quiver and push your head into his other hand as your orgasm bursts from your core. A ripple swells and spills from you, gushing out around his fingers. 

He purrs and chuckles against your cheek. 

“Mm, happy birthday to me, huh, sweetheart?” 

[sergeantbarnessdoll]

omg i need a dark bucky fic but one where accidentally reader without knowing utters one of the code/trigger words to activate the winter soldier. maybe some smut then angst then aftercare? idk

Don’t Say It Again » Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier

Pairings: Beefy/Boyfriend!Bucky Barnes x Girlfriend!Reader

Summary: You accidentally say one of the trigger words that activates the Winter Soldier without knowing it and Bucky makes it very clear to you that you should never speak of any of those words.

Warnings: Darkish, Smut (18+), Angst, Fluff ending, language, darkish!Bucky, dirty talk, kissing, hickeys, unprotected sex, rough sex, praise kink, size kink, Sergeant kink, metal arm kink, choking, degradation, aftercare, pet names

A/N: Thank you for the request, nonnie🩵

A/N #2: This is my first time writing something dark. My apologies if it doesn’t meet the standards of dark fics. Just know I’m trying and please don’t judge the way I write dark fics.

Written on my phone. My apologies for any mistakes.

Header made by @buckyys-babydoll / divider made by me

GIF IS NOT MINE! Gif credit goes to the creator.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!🔞

Bucky was in the living room, relaxing and reading a book while you were scrolling through your phone next to him. You had a blanket draped over your lap. You shivered a bit when you felt a chill in the apartment. You threw the blanket off of you and put your phone on the coffee table.

“I’m going to turn up the furnace a bit.” You say softly, walking over to the thermostat.

Bucky’s head shot up when you said furnace. He bookmarked the page he’s on in the book he’s reading and shut it, tossing it onto the coffee table. He stood up from the couch and made his way to you.

“What the hell did you just say?” Bucky asks, standing closely behind you.

You yelped at your boyfriend’s sudden presence. You turned around to see Bucky standing behind you. You looked up at him due to the height difference between you and him.

“I was just saying I was going to turn up the furnace a bit.” You say softly.

Bucky grabbed your arm, leading you to the bedroom. He closed and locked the door behind him. His right hand grasped your jaw, squishing your cheeks to get you to look him in his eyes. His blue eyes are now dark.

“You’re gonna learn why you shouldn’t be saying that word.” He says darkly.

You nodded, feeling submissive. His hand let go of your jaw. He brought his metal hand up to your neck, rubbing his fingers across your collarbones before wrapping his hand around your throat and squeezed it. Not enough to cut off your airway or hurt you. Just enough to choke you with a soft firm grip. Bucky yanked you towards him and kissed you roughly. You moaned against his lips.

You could sense Bucky was mad about something, but you couldn’t figure out was he was mad about. He gets rough and aggressive when he’s pissed off about something. Sometimes he gets rough and aggressive during sex, which you don’t mind, because Bucky takes very good care of you afterwards.

“Take your fucking clothes off before I rip them off.” Bucky mutters lowly.

You nodded as he took his metal hand away from your throat. Instead of risking angering your boyfriend even more, you stripped your clothes off as fast as you could and left yourself completely naked in front of him.

“Bed, now.” He demands.

You quickly got on the bed, laying on your back and propped yourself up on your elbows. Bucky didn’t waste any time stripping himself of his clothes. His cock is hard and leaking with precum. He forcefully spread your legs so he could settle himself in between them. Bucky put his right hand on the middle of your chest and pushed you back against the bed so you were propped up on your elbows anymore.

Bucky lewdly spit on your pussy before rubbing it in with his cock, smearing it with your slick and his precum. A soft moan fell from your lips. Without warning, Bucky slid his whole cock in your pussy. A small whimper fell from your lips at the stretch from his cock.

“Quit your fucking whining. You’re fine.” He says.

Bucky wrapped his metal hand around your throat again when he started thrusting. His thrusts are rough and fast. You wrapped your hand around his metal wrist for something to hold onto. He swatted your hand away with his right hand.

“Hands above your head.” He orders.

You rose your arms above your head, resting them on the pillow around your head. Bucky put his right hand around both of your wrists, holding them together. You glanced up and tried wiggling your wrists out of his grip just to see how tight his grip is.

“Stop fucking moving.” He says.

You stopped wiggling your wrists and listened to him. You stared up at Bucky, seeing that his blue eyes are now lust filled. You were too focused on Bucky fucking you that you didn’t realize he was talking. Please was quickly taking over you that you couldn’t tell if he was talking out loud to himself or talking to you.

“Out of all words, you had to say one of those words.” Bucky said, referring to the trigger words that turns him into the Winter Soldier. “Were you trying to turn me into him?” He asks.

You shook your head frantically, but that wasn’t enough for Bucky.

“Use your big girl words.” He almost growls, slight tightening his grip on your throat with his metal hand.

“I’m- I’m not trying to turn you in- into him!” You stuttered and moaned.

“Then why did you say it?” He asks, pulling your head up towards him so your face was close to his.

“I-I don’t know!” You whimpered.

Bucky scoffed like you were lying. You knew the word furnace was one of the words that turns him into the Winter Soldier, but you swear that wasn’t your intention. You just weren’t thinking about the trigger words when you said it.

“Are you gonna be a good girl and not say it again?” He asks.

“Yes!” You squeaked out.

Bucky looked in your eyes to make sure you weren’t lying. He then loosened his grip on your throat with his metal hand. His metal hand held your throat loosely as he fucked you.

His thrusts sped up, fucking you at a brutal pace. You were loving it. Even though you’re most likely going to be sore afterwards, it’s totally worth it. You could feel your orgasm building up the faster Bucky fucked you. You weren’t sure how much longer you were going to last at this pace.

“Bucky, I’m-” You were cut off when Bucky’s metal hand gave your throat a squeeze.

“You gonna cum, doll face?” Bucky asks.

You nodded your head yes.

“That’s too fucking bad.” He said in a mocking voice. “You’re not cumming till I do, understand?” He says.

You gave him a nod. That wasn’t good enough for Bucky. He gave your throat another squeeze.

“Use your big girl words.” He says.

“Yes.” You finally say.

“Yes, what?” He asks.

“Yes Sergeant.” You say submissively.

“Good girl.” He praises.

You whimpered softly, not sure how much longer you can hold on. It’s not as long as you thought, because Bucky’s orgasm was building up as well.

“Sarge, please!” You whined.

“Hold it.” Bucky pants.

Bucky came after a few more thrusts, fucking his cum in you.

“Cum.” He says.

Your orgasm was so intense that your legs began to tremble as you came, moaning his name loudly. Bucky fucked you through your orgasm. His thrusts came to a stop after a short moment. He collapsed on top of you, being careful to not accidentally crush you. Both of you were panting.

“Are you ok?” Bucky asks after a few minutes.

“Yes.” You answered.

Bucky sat upright and pulled out of you, his cum leaking out of your pussy. He went to the bathroom to run a bath for the both of you. He came back to the bedroom and picked you up bridal style and carried you to the bathroom, helping you get in the bathtub since your legs feel like jelly at the moment. He got in the bathtub and sat down behind you. You leaned into his touch.

“Are you mad at me for saying one of those words?” You asked.

“I was, but I’m not anymore.” Bucky answers.

“I’m sorry.” You apologized.

“You don’t have to apologize, babydoll. Just don’t say it again.” He says softly, kissing your lips softly.

-Bucky’s Doll

[trainer-from-unova]

[mjolnirswriststrap]

Dumb Viking Thor

Thor x maid!Reader, Steve x maid!Reader

Summary: Deep grunts filled the bathroom. Cleaning supplies strewn all over the floor. Your life flashed before your eyes when the stall door jerked open, on your knees scrubbing the toilet is how he found you. “Mr. Odinson.” You say, jumping up.

Warnings: PLEASE CONSUME AT YOUR OWN RISK! Explicit ‼️ 18+ Material, Noncon, Rough Sex, Rape themes, Female receiving pen, Anal, subtle cream pie.

Word Count: 2,039 Masterlist

You meticulously mixed chemicals, being sure not to create mustard gas. Your first week working as a cleaner for Stark Industries left you with zero training. The lead janitor was too occupied with her own doings to teach you how to properly clean certain things. It took you double to time to clean the bathrooms, your coworkers knew it, so when you’d disappear for hours, they never questioned it.

You’d been in the men’s bathroom for almost an hour already. The bristles of the brush scrubbed the tile around the toilet, the sound being the only thing heard in the enclosed space. That and your deep breathing, exhaustion filling you after a long day of work, coupled with the ever growing redness on your sore knees. Your shoulders burned from scrubbing, and you were so focused on just finishing so you could clock out; finally go home.

You never heard anyone enter the bathroom, you were too focused. You only noticed you were no longer alone when the door to the stall gets pushed open. You jump up, not out of fear but by being startled. When you eject yourself from your kneeled position, you spin in place, turning to face whoever stumbled upon you. You’re relieved to see Thor Odinson, standing there with a calculating look.

“Mr. Odinson, forgive me, I will be finished in a second.” You say, assuming he wouldn’t want a woman in the men’s restroom while he uses it. Offering a smile out of curtesy, you hold it for a second too long, even after you don’t see any amusement appear on his face. You clear your throat, quickly returning to scrubbing the stall. One hand held the disinfectant while your other held the brush. You tried rushing, feeling his growing presence behind you.

“Just gotta wipe it down now, sir.” You give him reassurance that you’d be gone in a second. But that second never comes. You move to step around him, reaching for your cleaning cart that held the microfiber cleaning cloths. You’re too focused on hurrying and getting out that you don’t take note of how silent the gods being. How observant he is, watching every move you make.

Your hands were full, you couldn’t defend yourself. In an instant they were empty, the brush clattering to the floor. The spray bottle cracking upon impact, bleach spilling all over the floor in a growing puddle. Your hands were now pressed to the mirror of the sink vanity. Your cheek pressed there too, your eyes searched behind you for Thor, seeing the look on his face finally told you what you needed to know. He wasn’t even here, this is primal, instinctual, animalistic.

“Mr. Odinson, you know this isn’t allowed.” You try to calmly remind him. You were no fool, you knew the strength he held, you knew he was a god. You knew your position, you were nobody, a maid at best. You should be thinking of every reason to be grateful for this, instead you’re gasping for air as he presses it out of you, his body weight leaning on your from behind.

Thor doesn’t respond, he knows what he’s doing, whether or not it’s wrong is up for debate. What else was he supposed to do? He saw a woman on her knees and felt like he needed to do something about it. You’re just a maid, no one would even know, he is the god of thunder and a king, any woman is his if he wishes. He couldn’t even recall how many maids and ladies in waiting on Asgard who carried his bastard children.

To Thor, he was doing the right thing. Using the resources provided to him. And how rude would he be if he disregarded Starks resources. That’s why he doesn’t rip your uniform, he pushes it up around your hips, being sure to pull your tights down in one swift movement.

Your hands stayed planted on the mirror you had shined less than an hour ago. You don’t know why, but you knew better than to fight back, you knew better than to move. In any other position maybe you’d be flattered he’d took an interest in you; but this was…less than personal, it was just him getting his rocks off. You don’t doubt if it had been Rose or Serenity; the same sequence of events would’ve occurred.

You hear the sound of leather and metal clasps rustling behind you, and you close your eyes, numbing yourself for what’s about to happen. You thought you could do it, go limp, deaf, blind to what’s happening to you; the second the thick tip of his cock slid past the barrier your thighs created, you were dropping your hands from the mirror, reaching behind you to brace yourself.

You don’t understand that it’s an impossible feat. You could never brace for the searing pain that blossoms between your legs. You couldn’t even breathe, you were dry, but he didn’t seem to care, pushing past that barrier too. You felt your sensitive skin stretch around him, but when the relentlessness of him trying to shove himself to the hilt comes, you feel yourself tearing.

When you feel the tuft of hair at the base of his cock brush against your ass you know he’s bottomed out. You can’t feel it, after the first tear; your lower body clocked out. Only when his big hands wrap around your love handles, you can feel how gentle his hands are. No matter the pain he was inflicting, it was like he knew his hands would break your bones, bruise your skin.

He’s even has the curtesy to let you have some semblance of adjusting to him. You wanna laugh, but you can’t, the timeline of events only happening in less than two minutes. Your brain isn’t processing and comprehending what’s happening. Your brain was turning into complete mush, you were trying to convince yourself of two things; you didn’t want this, and you desperately wanted it. You were confused.

The confusion only intensifying when he leans down and brushed the hair from your shoulder, whispering behind your ear. “Good little maid.”. That shouldn’t have had the effect that it did, but here you were, pushing your body back slightly at the praise. Like you were doing something right by not protesting. You were good for not fighting back. Deserving because of your meekness.

He groaned when he felt you push back against him, knowing it meant you wanted it, even if you didn’t say it. But in the end, he didn’t really care what you thought, you were doing your job. Your duty.

He doesn’t notice the fog on the mirror from your shallow breaths, or the fact that you’re wet has mixed with blood from being torn. He just starts pumping in and out of you at a rhythmic pace. You wish you could feel it, but your body is still fighting to some degree, refusing to let you or him relish in this moment.

His pace picks up, causing you to raise yourself on your tiptoes, giving him as much access as he needs, making it easier for him to slam back into you every time he torturously pulls out to admire how you swallow him, the pink folds wrapping around him perfectly, like a set of lips, sucking him in.

He had been relatively silent, little grunts and that tiny comment of praise earlier, so it shocks you when he lets out a high pitched whine. “Fuck, stay just like that.” He exclaims, feeling the building tension in his balls come to an eruption. He mercilessly claps his stomach into your ass cheeks, the slapping sound echoing off the walls, and that’s it for you, finally giving up whatever you were holding onto.

Your pussy gushes over him, and you let out a strangled wail, “Please.” You beg, you knew your hole was obliterated, ruined, stretched and full, the only thing that could benefit you now was if you got to cum too. You heard him chuckle behind you. Actually laugh at your plea. As if you had no room to even speak and this was all his doing, for his pleasure.

Tears finally fill your eyes, but not for your situation, it’s over cumming. Your desperation becoming too much, you start rocking on your tiptoes, finding a friction that pleasured you so you could make yourself cum. Thor doesn’t seem to mind, glad you’re finally participating. He’s too close to care truly, the new found tightness of your walls desperately clenching down on him, was rushing him towards his undoing.

You’re no where near close when you hear the bathroom door swing open, cutting through the thick air and letting a cold wind sweep through the tiled room, the tears and sweat on your face drying instantly. You can’t even look who it is, the shame of being caught not finding you.

Thor of course carries no shame for what he’s doing, he does register the person, and their bewildered look, laughing again but not stopping his movement. “What the fuck are you doing?” You hear an angry Brooklyn accent. Your vision wasn’t completely there as you roll your head to face the door, your eyes finding Steve Rogers standing there, his shoulders rising and falling as his breath picks up.

You could just make out the confusion, the disgust, the shame on the Captains face as he looks at the cleaning supplies strewn around the floor, lifting his boot to see that he’d stepped in the spilled bleach. He places it back down and lets out a scoff or a huff, you were too delirious to tell.

“I am taking advantage of what’s been provided. You’re the one being disrespectful.” Thor says with no humor in his voice. He had slowed his movement, standing behind you pressed fully into you. With the captains invasion, your senses are slowly coming back, the feeling returning to your lower body. A burning sensation is slowly building, the tiny rips in your skin drawing attention from your pain receptors.

“Please…” You mutter again, but for a different reason, it was for mercy, mercy that maybe you’d be saved from this by Steve. But as your eyes watch his hand find the door handle, pushing it closed behind him, any ounce of hope you had in Steve was gone. He was slowly turning into that silent shark Thor was when he found you cleaning.

“Move.” Is the only command you hear from Steve before Thors slipping out of you. You could’ve crumbled to the floor the second he released you, but a new set on hands found your hips, raising you back up on your tiptoes. “Shhh, you’re doing such a good job.” Steve praises and you can’t comprehend what he’s doing till he’s pushing into your other hole, filling your ass up. He was much smaller than the inhuman god, but it didn’t take away from the soul wrenching feeling of him ass fucking you.

You were screaming, the pain Steve was inflicting completely different than what Thor had done. He didn’t take long to spill inside of you, if you weren’t in such a vulnerable position, you could’ve laughed at him for how short he lasted, you expected more from him. But he’s probably never done anything like this before, the taboo of it causing him to lose control, the explosion coming from how dirty it made him feel.

When he slid out of you with a grotesque wet sound you almost let out a sigh of relief. Your body meeting the sink as he lets your hips down. The almost sigh is caught in your throat when you hear him say the words “Now you can finish.” to Thor. He buckles up his jeans and leaves the bathroom, not coming to your rescue at all, he didn’t even give you a second glance. You can only hear Thor’s amused hum as he comes back behind you, not relenting on you. If only you cleaned faster, then maybe Rose or Serenity would’ve noticed how long you’ve been cleaning the men’s restroom, maybe they would’ve come to your aid.

[buckysleftbicep]

salvation never tasted this sweet 𐙚 b.b

pairing: priest!bucky barnes x innocent!fem!reader

warnings: nsfw, 18+, minors dni, dark themes, lowkey dub-con, religious themes, corruption kink, power imbalance, oral sex (m and f receiving), semi-public sex (confessional booth), unprotected sex, creampie (please read the warnings, you're responsible for your media consumption)

summary: you came to confess your sins, but father james had no intention of granting you forgiveness.

word count: 3.1k

author's note: honestly, i think i'm the one that needs help after writing this. enjoy and please leave a comment or a reblog, it would help a lot, thank you sweethearts!

The church was empty this late in the evening, except for the soft creak of pews settling and the dim flicker of candlelight that bathed the altar in a golden haze. The quiet wrapped around you like a heavy cloak, sacred and suffocating all at once, the incense still lingering faintly in the air, it was sweet and spiced, mixing with the scent of old wood and stone. It was familiar, holy and terrifying.

You stood just inside the wide double doors, clutching your little notebook of sins to your chest like it could shield you from what you were about to do. Your fingers trembled and your knees ached from how long you’d knelt at home, debating whether or not to come. How long you’d avoided the confessional booth.

Avoided him.

But tonight, something inside you was unraveling. A knot in your stomach that wouldn’t untangle. Something thick and aching behind your ribs, desire, guilt, longing, all braided together until you couldn’t tell one from the other.

You didn’t know where else to go. So you came here.

Your footsteps echoed softly down the center aisle as you walked on quietly, head bowed, lips moving in silent, desperate prayers. Prayers that you hoped would cleanse you or save you. Make you feel whole again.

You didn’t see him at first.

But he always knew when you were near.

He was already waiting, just as he always did. Behind the screen in the confessional, cloaked in shadow, still and silent like a statue. Father James. His presence alone commanded the air, made the small space feel smaller, tighter. You could just make out the shape of him through the delicate lattice of the screen—the slope of his broad shoulders, the stillness of his hands, the slow, deliberate rise and fall of his chest.

His silhouette was half-swallowed by the darkness of the booth, the edge of his sharp jaw caught in the weak, flickering glow of the single lamp above him. You couldn’t see his eyes, not really. But you felt them. Felt the weight of them as they followed every one of your movements, slow and meticulous, as though memorising you.

His voice, when it came, was deep and deliberate, smooth as velvet, yet marked with something older, something unshakably steady. Each word rolled out with the patient rhythm of a grandfather clock, as if time itself bent to him. It was familiar, comforting and safe.

But beneath that calm, beneath the cadence you’d grown so used to, there was something else. A strain. A tension, carefully buried but not quite hidden. It curled around his words like smoke—something that made your breath catch in your throat, your skin prickle tight, your pulse flutter faster than it should

“Come in, little dove,” he murmured. His words curled around your spine, delicate and dark. “Let’s unburden your soul.”

Your heart beat faster.

You opened the small door and slipped into the booth. It shut behind you with a dull, weighty thunk, final and inescapable. The enclosed space smelled of incense and candle wax and something else. Something faint but unmistakably male, leather and spice, skin warmed by heat and hours of penance.

Something you’d come to associate only with him.

You sat stiffly, back straight, hands pressed into the soft, worn leather of your notebook as it trembled in your lap. You could hear your own heartbeat. Hear the rustle of his robe on the other side of the screen as he shifted slightly, quiet but present.

You swallowed. Your voice barely came out.

“Forgive me, Father,” you whispered, “for I have sinned.”

The words echoed back at you like a death knell, like a bell tolling over some part of you that would never be untouched again.

He didn’t respond at first. Just breathed slowly. Deeply. Waiting.

“Tell me,” he said finally, voice so soft it made your knees weak. “What’s weighing so heavily on your conscience?”

Your lips parted. But nothing came out. You were choking on it. On shame. On arousal, on the thick, guilty longing you hadn’t been able to exorcise from your body, no matter how hard you prayed. It clung to you like incense smoke, sweet, suffocating and impossible to wash clean. Every time you closed your eyes, it was him you saw.

“I… I’ve had thoughts,” you confessed, shame curling like smoke in your chest, thick and acrid. “Thoughts that aren’t pure. About someone I shouldn’t.” Your voice faltered on the last word, barely above a whisper—like speaking it aloud might damn you faster.

Your fingers clenched the hem of your skirt, knuckles white, as if you could hold yourself together just a moment longer.

A pause. The air thickened. The silence between you stretched until it felt unbearable.

Then a soft shift, the quiet, deliberate movement of cloth and weight. The sound of his hand brushing against the wooden divider.

“I see,” he said slowly, his voice dipping into something low and velvet-rich, like the hush of midnight against your skin. Each word was deliberate, drawn out with a kind of sinful patience that made your pulse stutter.

“And what kind of thoughts were these, little one?”

There was no judgment in his tone, only curiosity. Thick and warm, like honey sliding over something forbidden. The kind of voice meant to coax secrets from trembling lips. The kind that made you want to confess everything.

You hesitated. Your entire body was burning. It was one thing to think it. Another to say it. To let it hang in the air between you where it couldn’t be taken back.

“I… dreamt of being touched. Of being kissed. I think about him when I’m alone. In bed.” You were whispering now, voice barely audible.

He exhaled, slow and steady. Controlled.

“And in these moments…” His voice dropped lower, the edges roughening like gravel beneath silk. Darker. The confessional seemed to shrink around you, the shadows pulling tighter as if leaning in to listen. “Did you touch yourself?”

He said it like a prayer and a sin all at once—slow, deliberate, each syllable thick with something that twisted in your stomach.

Your breath caught in your throat. The shame was suffocating. But there was no point in lying. Not to him. Not here.

“Yes,” you breathed. “But I didn’t mean to.”

“Of course not,” he said, almost tenderly. “Sin creeps in when we’re weakest, when we’re vulnerable. You’re not alone in that.”

You looked up instinctively, eyes drawn to the divider. You couldn’t see him fully, just a vague outline, the suggestion of his shoulders, the faint tilt of his head — but it was enough.

More than enough.

The low glow from the booth's lamp cast shifting shadows across the lattice, dancing over the silhouette of his frame like temptation made visible. And still, you felt him. Felt the weight of his gaze through the screen, heavy and unwavering, like it could see straight through skin and bone to the little thoughts buried in your chest.

Something you couldn’t stop craving.

His voice came again, low and coaxing.

"Who is it you dream about, little lamb?"

Your heart stopped. You could barely hear anything over the rush of blood in your ears.

You knew — the second you said it — the words would change everything. That you couldn’t take them back. That the confessional would become something else entirely.

But it was too late to lie.

“You,” you whispered.

The silence that followed was absolute.

You could feel it — his stillness. The way the air shifted, went taut, like a bowstring pulled to its breaking point. Like every muscle in his body had locked tight, coiled with something restrained.

Father James didn’t move, didn't speak, and in that silence, thick and pulsing, your heartbeat thundered in your chest like a warning.

For a long moment, you thought maybe you’d gone too far. That this was it—the confession that broke whatever fragile thread had bound you in innocence. Maybe this was the final straw. The sin he couldn’t forgive. The one that would turn his voice cold, his presence distant, and left you alone in the dark with your shame.

But then—a sound. Barely audible.

A breath.

Not shocked. Not scandalised.

Hungry.

“I tried not to,” you whispered, needing to fill the silence, needing him to know it hadn’t been on purpose. “I swear. I prayed. I did everything. But I kept seeing your hands… your mouth… the way you say my name—"

He shifted again. The screen creaked faintly beneath his weight.

His voice, when it came, was different now. Rougher. Velvet torn to shreds.

“And what do I do to you in these dreams, sweetheart?” he asked, slow and deliberate.

Your thighs pressed together instinctively.

“Everything,” you admitted. “You… touch me. Kiss me. Take me. Like I belong to you.”

You heard it then — the soft sound of something snapping. Maybe a thread of restraint or perhaps the last shred of virtue between you. And just like that, the confessional stopped being a sanctuary and became a temptation neither of you could escape. The silence between you was alive — pulsing, throbbing, choking on unsaid things.

And then, he moved.

The creak of the confessional door startled you. It wasn’t yours — it was his. The soft sweep of his robe, the thud of heavy boots against the stone floor. Your breath caught when you felt him, felt him moving around the side. He wasn’t supposed to come into your side of the booth. He never did.

The door opened slowly, reverently, and then he was there—Father James. Or as he was always known, Bucky. Tall, imposing, the candlelight kissing the sharp lines of his face. His cassock hung heavy on his frame, the deep black clinging to the breadth of his chest, the curve of his arms.

His gloves were gone. And his eyes—those cerulean depths darkened now with something far more primal—raked over you like a judgment. Or maybe a prayer. They were heavy with hunger, burning with a quiet, restrained desperation that made your breath catch.

There was nothing soft in his gaze, nothing holy, just fire and possession. Like he was carving you into memory. Like he already knew every inch of your body and was daring you to deny it.

You scrambled to your feet, notebook clutched against your chest, but you didn’t run. You couldn’t. Not now. Not with the way he was looking at you—like you were the sin itself.

And he was the man sent to taste it.

“Put it down,” he said softly, nodding to the notebook.

Your fingers loosened instantly and it fell to the floor with a quiet thump.

He stepped inside, closing the door behind him. You were trapped. The two of you barely fit in the confessional together—your back brushing the wall, his broad chest towering in front of you. His voice, when it came, was low, measured and dangerous.

“Say it again.”

You blinked up at him. “What?”

“What you said in there. About what I do to you in your dreams.”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Heat burned across your cheeks. “I… I said you touch me.”

His gaze darkened. “Where?”

You whimpered. “My thighs. My breasts. My—”

“Your cunt?” he finished for you, voice a velvet sin. “Do I make you cum, little dove?”

You nodded.

“Do I use my fingers?” He leaned closer, breath hot. “My tongue? My cock?”

You inhaled sharply. The air was gone. “All of it,” you whispered.

His jaw clenched. A muscle ticked there. Like he was holding back a flood. He reached out slowly, deliberately, fingers brushing beneath your chin.

“And how do you ask for it?” he murmured. “In those filthy little dreams of yours. Do you beg me, sweetheart?”

“Yes,” you whispered, trembling. “I beg.”

That was all it took.

He surged forward, hand gripping the back of your head as his mouth crashed to yours, not gentle or slow, but consuming. Father James kissed like a man starved. Like he’d waited years for this moment. And you let him.

You gave in like a sinner at the altar, clutching his cassock, mouth opening for him like it was meant to. He tasted like wine. Like ash. Like damnation.

When he pulled back, he was breathing hard. So were you. His thumb dragged across your lower lip, smearing spit and devotion together.

“On your knees,” he said quietly.

You blinked, heart thundering. “What?”

“You came here to confess, didn’t you?” His tone was calm. Too calm. “So confess properly. On your knees, little lamb.”

Your legs folded without thought. You sank to the floor between his boots, skirt pooling around your thighs. The wood was cold beneath your knees, but you didn’t care.

Not when his body towered above you, dark and powerful, his hands loosening the buttons of his cassock. Your breath caught as he parted the fabric, revealing dark trousers beneath, strained with the thick, visible press of his cock.

And god help you, you licked your lips.

“Look at you,” he said, voice husky now. “On your knees for your priest. What would they say, hmm? What would the parish think if they saw how desperate you are to suck sin straight from the source?”

Your cheeks burned. “I’d never— I mean, I didn’t know it would be like this, I—”

“Oh, you knew,” he growled, reaching down to fist your hair. “You came here with that sweet little skirt and trembling thighs, knowing I’d be the one to ruin you.”

You whined as he guided your mouth forward. You could smell him, warm skin, heady arousal, a musk that made your head spin.

“Open,” he ordered.

You obeyed.

His cock slid past your lips slowly, thick and heavy on your tongue. You moaned. He hissed. His hand tightened in your hair.

“Jesus,” he muttered. “Fuck. That mouth…”

He was too big. You gagged slightly, but he didn’t pull away. Just held your head in place, thumb caressing your cheek as your lips stretched around him.

“You can take it,” he said darkly. “You want to take it. Don’t you, little lamb".

You nodded, eyes wide, watering.

He rocked his hips forward—shallow at first—then deeper. You gasped as he hit the back of your throat, but he only groaned in approval.

“That’s it,” he rasped. “Confess with your mouth. Take it like a good girl.”

Tears spilled from your eyes as he began to fuck your throat. Slowly, cruelly. The sounds were obscene, wet, slick and gasping. Your nails dug into your thighs as your jaw stretched wide, spit pooling at the corners of your mouth.

“Is this what you prayed for?” he growled, fucking deeper. “To be on your knees with your priest’s cock down your throat?”

You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move. But he felt it—the whimper you gave when he said it.

And he laughed, dark and low. “Sick little lamb,” he murmured. “You came in here to be saved… and now look at you. Crying around my cock like it’s holy.”

You moaned, broken and eager. He was right. You wanted more.

When he finally pulled back, you gasped for air, coughing, tears streaking your cheeks. Spit glistened down your chin. But you looked up at him like he was god. Like he could take the ache away if he just let you worship long enough.

He stroked your hair gently. Then he cupped your jaw, tilting your face toward him.

“You want more?”

“Yes,” you gasped. “Please—”

“Stand up.”

Your legs shook, but you rose.

He turned you gently, until your back hit the wooden wall of the booth. His hands swept down your body slowly, until they reached your thighs. He pushed your skirt up and groaned when he saw the wet spot on your panties.

“Fucking soaked,” he muttered. “Knew you’d be wet for me. Bet you’ve been leaking for days thinking about this.”

You whimpered as he dragged the fabric down, baring you completely.

Then he dropped to his knees.

“Bucky—” you gasped.

“Not Bucky,” he growled. “Father.”

You didn’t have time to answer — his mouth was on you, tongue plunging between your folds like he’d waited a lifetime to taste you. You cried out, hands gripping his hair. He groaned into your cunt like it was a sacred offering, tongue circling your clit before dipping lower, devouring you like a man possessed.

“F-Father—!”

“That’s it,” he murmured, voice muffled against your heat. “Cry for me. Cum for me. Cum on your priest’s mouth.”

You shattered, trembling, gasping, your cry cracking in the hush of the confessional like a confession too loud to swallow. Your body slumped against the wooden wall, spent and shaking, but he didn’t stop. He held you there, mouth still working you through it, tongue insatiable as he licked you clean, drinking every last drop like it was sacred.

When he stood again, his mouth was wet, jaw slick with your arousal.

He unzipped his trousers fully, pulling his cock out, hard, flushed, dripping.

“Turn around,” he ordered.

You did. Pressed your hands against the wall, skirt bunched around your waist, trembling.

He lined himself up and paused—just for a breath.

Then he thrust inside you.

You cry out, he was huge, stretching you wide, filling you to the hilt. His hand clamped over your mouth as he began to fuck you—slow at first, then harder, the confessional rocked with each thrust. Your cries were muffled as tears spilled down your cheeks.

“Taking me so well,” he growled, panting. “So tight. So perfect. Like you were made for me.”

You nodded desperately. The words filled you with shame and unbearable pleasure.

“You’ll never be clean again, little lamb,” he whispered, dragging his lips along your ear. “You’re mine now.”

You came again—body clenching, muscles seizing—and he felt it.

“Oh fuck, yes,” he groaned. “Cum for me. Cum on your priest’s cock.”

You sobbed against his hand, and he fucked you through it, relentless and possessive.

When he came, it was with a broken growl against your neck, hot seed spilling inside you as his hips stuttered. He held you there, pressed together, shaking from release.

The silence returned. But it was different now. It was charged and consecrated.

He pulled out slowly. Turned you to face him again. You were a mess flushed, teary and ruined. And still Father James looked at you like you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

He cupped your cheek gently, thumb brushing away a tear.

“You did so well,” he whispered.

Your breath trembled. “What now?” you asked softly.

His smile was slow, dangerous. The kind of smile that made promises in the dark.

“Now,” he murmured, tucking your hair behind your ear, “you come back tomorrow.”

[writerslittlelibrary]

I will be your family

masterlist ao3 profile

summary: growing up on the streets had never been easy, but when you steal the wrong person’s wallet, your life changes forever…

pairing: Mob!Natasha x child reader

warnings: none, just pure fluff

genre: fluff, angst

words: 1763

a/n: something abnormal is going on cause I’ve written three fics this week and I am planning on writing more. the apocalypse is near…

this one is posted on ao3 at the same time, so if you prefer to read on ao3 click this link

You do not have my permission to repost, copy or translate my work

 |——————————— ⴵ ———————————|

When your parents died, you were only six, and it didn’t take long before you realised you would have to resort to stealing to survive. Foster care never came to pick you up, with how over full they have been since a virus three years ago. 

Many adults succumbed to the virus, and with that many children were left an orphan. 

The government took in who they could, but a large percentage of the orphans were left on the street, you included. 

You started stealing two years ago. You were against it at first, but when you got so sick from being hungry, you stole a cinnamon bun from a bakery. It was the best piece of food you had ever eaten. 

Soon, you moved up from stealing food. You learned swiping wallets wasn’t that difficult with people being distracted by their smartphones.

Stealing was easy, and while you still slept under a bridge, you did so with a full tummy. 

Now you were eight, and you spotted your best target yet.

You were sitting at a table in the mall, munching on a sandwich while scouting the best potential targets. So far, a red-headed woman caught your eye. She was on her own, and when she pulled out her wallet she was absolutely loaded. 

Seriously, who carries around that much cash? She was basically asking to get robbed.

To make it easier for you, she literally put her wallet in her back pocket. Like, be for real lady, you’re about to get robbed by an eight year old and it’s your own fault. 

You finish your sandwich quickly, abandoning the wrapper at the table while starting to follow the red haired lady around. She doesn’t stop at any of the other stores, just the one jewelry store you spotted her in. Maybe she was picking up a nice pair of earrings. 

Had you been older, or perhaps been able to follow the news, you’d known who you were following, and you’d known about the bodyguards she always had with her. 

Unfortunately, you hadn’t, and when you swipe her wallet, all you can do is yelp at the strong hand that encircles your entire upper arm. 

“Hands off,” a gruff voice commands. 

Startled, you drop the wallet, staring up at the man with tears in your eyes. You’ve never been caught before. What the fuck do you do now?

You turn your head to look at the red haired lady, seeing her now staring down at you with intrigue, rather than anger. 

“Do you have any idea what you’re doing?!” the man asks meanly, his voice rough and commanding. It makes you quiver. You don’t think you’ve ever been this scared. 

“James, be gentle,” the red haired woman commands, and immediately the man loosens his grip on your arm. He doesn’t let go, however. 

The woman crouches down, now just a little lower than your eye level. You were never a tall child. 

“What’s your name?” she asks. 

You shake, tears now falling from your eyes and staining your cheeks. The woman reaches out her hand, gently running her hand along your cheek before using her thumb to wipe your tears away. 

“It’s quite alright, darling, there there. Why did you try to steal, hm?”

You can’t find it in yourself to respond, scared of what the consequences might be. Will she call the police? Will you go to prison for all the stealing you have done so far? 

The man holding you gives you a light shake. “Answer.”

“James,” the red haired lady immediately scolds. 

The man, ‘James’, lets go of your arm completely now, grunting some response to the lady who has now gently taken your hand. She’s started stroking the back of your hand with her thumb. 

“It’s alright, sweetheart,” the lady says. “Why don’t you tell me where your parents are?” 

You sniffle, stuttering slightly when you try to speak. 

“Dead…”

The expression of the woman turns glum. Then, she pushes that expression away, putting a pleasant smile on her face. 

“Well, we can’t have you returning to the children under the bridge now, can we? How about you come with me, and I will make sure you have a nice warm bed for tonight?”

You look at her confused. “You’re not going to call the police?”

The woman laughs. 

“Oh, no, darling. Let’s just say I’m a bit more important than the police around these parts. I can personally decide over your punishment for trying to steal, and right now that ‘punishment’ consists of a warm meal and a warm bed.”

“Why?” you ask her, voice shaky and confused as to why this woman whom you tried to steal from would want to help you. 

“Because you are quite a clever child. Had James here not caught you, I wouldn’t have noticed.” The woman reaches her hand towards your face again, gently pushing some hair behind your ear. 

“Not many people manage to sneak up on me, and an even smaller percentage manages to steal from me without me noticing. You are a very special child, my darling.” 

The stand from her crouching position, gently taking a hold of your hand and guiding you out of the mall, towards the parking lot. It’s only now you notice that large group of guys in suits that follow her. 

She leads you towards an expensive looking, black suv, opening the door for you and helping you step in. 

She climbs in after you, sitting next to you while James takes the passenger's seat. Another man in a suit takes the driver's seat. 

“Are you famous?” you then ask.

The woman looks amused, a small chuckle escaping her mouth. 

“You could say so, yes, although I am not famous in the sense you’re thinking of. I’m not a movie star, nor a famous singer.” 

“What are you then?”

“I am a business woman,” the lady says, straightening her jacket. 

“A business woman? Are business women considered famous?” you ask. The woman nods.

“Oh yes, I do so much important business, I’ve grown quite the name for myself,” she says, before she smiles kindly. 

“But those are not the things you should be concerning yourself with. How about you tell me your name now?” 

You nod, telling her your name to which she responds with her own. 

Natasha. 

After about an hour, you arrive at a very large, high building. The car drives into a garage under the building, and when it comes to a stop one of the men in suits opens the door for you and Natasha. 

Natasha helps you step out of the car, and she leads you towards the elevator. 

You stare at the buttons hopefully, not wanting to ask yet also not wanting to let this opportunity pass you by.

You don’t know if Natasha is a psychic, but after the day you’ve had you might argue that she is. She doesn’t even need for you to utter a single word before she’s motioning her head towards the buttons. 

“PH,” she says, and you’re quick to press the button that reads ‘PH’. 

What it stands for you don’t know. 

Once upstairs, Natasha leads you into what you assume is her kitchen, where an old lady is already cooking.

“Do you have any allergies?” Natasha asks, to which you shake your head. 

Natasha pulls out a chair for you, helping you climb onto the high stool before sitting in the one opposite from you.

“Do you live here alone?” you ask after a moment of silence. 

Natasha nods. “It’s quite big to be living alone, I agree. Perhaps you could help me fill up the space.”

“How?” you ask. Natasha smiles.

“Well, what do you like to play with? Do you have any favourite toys?” 

You look down at your hands, picking your skin while you fidget anxiously.

“I don’t have any toys…”

Natasha smiles again, and when you look at her, you feel… safe…

“We’ll fill it up with all the toys you want. Perhaps we’ll start with a nice drawing set. What do you think about that? Perhaps some nice crayons?” 

At the mention of crayons, your head perks up. You’ve always liked drawing. 

“We’ll talk about it tomorrow,” Natasha promises. 

------------------------------

You’ve been with Natasha for a few weeks, and you’ve never been happier. Settling into a routine with her was rather easy. Natasha was very clear and direct, which you thrived on. The structure she provided you was something you never knew you needed. 

She did get you those crayons she promised, and you were currently laying on the carpet in the living room, drawing a beautiful picture for Natasha. 

You were drawing the two of you, holding hands, and you even added a big red heart in between the two of you. 

Granted, they were only stick figures, but you hadn’t had a lot of practice in your life. You’d improve, Natasha promised. 

After debating it for a few minutes, you grabbed the yellow crayon and added a crown to Natasha’s stick figure. You very quickly learned Natasha was basically the queen of the underworld, and funnily enough, that didn’t bother you. 

She provided you safety when no one else did.

She gave you a warm bed, hot meals every night, and most importantly, love. 

You finished your drawing, standing up from your spot on the floor in favour of going to Natasha’s office. She’s probably busy, like she always is, but she’s assured you that she doesn’t mind when you interrupt her. 

You knock on her door anyway, and when you hear her call out you push the door open. 

Natasha immediately closes her laptop, smiling while she pushes her chair back, patting her lap in invitation. 

You’re quick to rush over, scrambling to sit in her lap and enjoying the kisses you receive on your head. Natasha holds you tightly, the warm, strong embrace of a mother. 

“What do you have there?” she asks when she spots the paper in your hand.

Shyly, you hand her the drawing, studying her face while she observes it.

“Oh Malyshka,” she sighs happily, “this is wonderful. Truly an outstanding job you’ve done. Is this me?” 

You nod, laying your head on her shoulder.

“You have a crown because you’re a queen,” you explain. 

Natasha smiles, kissing you cheeks and forehead a million times.

“I love it, you’ve done a wonderful job. I will make sure to hang it somewhere where it can be admired every single day.”

You smile, kissing her cheek. 

“Thank you mama.”

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