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seikkoi · 11 months ago

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ꜱᴜɢᴀʀ | dom!tony stark x sugarbaby!reader ( ᴄʀɪᴍᴇ!ᴀᴜ )

ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ [1, 2, 4, 5] | ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴏɴ ᴀᴏ3

There was nothing that could keep Tony from having exactly what he wanted—and he deserved a little sweetness in his life. All he had to do was keep from ruining you in the process.

content/warnings: 18+ minors do not interact. non-canon, non-superhero au, sub/dom undertones, slight emotional/verbal manipulation, obsessive + possessive behavior, age gap (reader described as mid-twenties, t.s as mid-forties), mildly dubious consensual situations, explicit mentions of alcohol and drug use, generally not for the light of heart, rough sexual content, reader described as petite word count: 12k a/n: new year, new format. sorry for the delay! wrestled w this for a bit.

You believed him, obviously.

You drank in every malefic word. It’s only the easiest thing in the world to do. Any voice that suggests your wanton attachment was becoming self-destructive died without a fight. You tell yourself that’s impossible–that you couldn’t see your life without him anymore because it was obviously better with him.

Sure, maybe you had some suspicions about his work, and maybe he could be a tad austere demanding, but that was child’s play compared to anything in the past.

You let your body curl beside his, savoring every ounce of his cologne in the air. It’s unfamiliar, feeling his bare skin against yours, but you’re thankful for it. The sandman visits quickly this time, sending you sleep as a calloused hand strokes your cheek.

There’s a beautiful sight awaiting Tony when he wakes the next morning–you, all tangled in silk sheets, warm arms wrapped tight around his midriff.

Almost every hour it feels like he finds a new beauty in you, another reason you’ll stay on his mind every moment of the day. This time, he’s noticing how breath-taking you look asleep, peaceful and holding him like you’re scared he’ll disappear.

Your form is casked in a shy early morning light as he trails his fingers across exposed skin gently, watching the slow rise and fall of your breathing. Tony would pay just about anything for you to see what he saw (which was absolute, unwavering perfection, in case you were still unsure).

Eventually, the sun rises high enough to illuminate the faint, pale marks on your hip–and only part of him wishes he showed more restraint.

No matter how much he wanted to take things slow with you, bring you in little by little, he needed your trust–your loyalty–so much more. He’d never cared much for delicacy when it came to love or attraction, especially not after Pepper. After all the bullshit with her, he wanted every living thing to feel the same desolate anger that fused in his bones. Scorched earth seemed too gentle of a policy.

It’s easy to say the end of their relationship came the second he found out, that all his feelings faded into nothingness and no further harm was done. It’s easy to pretend like he’s always been this way–this sharp-edged, arrogant man who commands loyalty and respect. It’s infinitely more difficult to acknowledge that his love for Pepper went away more like a kidney stone than a dying light.

That hot-headed arrogance, the one that soared at your proclivity for mistrust, or hints of leaving, that had been around for ages. The arrogance and fear of losing what he valued most burrowed together, growing slowly over the years into an obsessive need for control. It had laid dormant, waiting for that strawberry blonde catalyst.

The faint patches on your skin gave him a sense of satisfaction–you were his, and he tried to know that that would never change now. He realizes all his calculated moves probably weren’t needed, that he could’ve been more of himself with you sooner. Tony’s anger let him run clean over any worries that you’d leave at the first signs of his true colors. He really wanted to be the kind of man that was all sugar and no spice, but someone ruined that for you a long time ago.

Certainly, it at least wasn’t what you needed. Tony knew what you didn’t, that you could have any man you wanted. You could have chosen some run-of-the-mill, 9-to-5 guy. One who buys you flowers once a month while you live your own boring life with a dead end job, but you chose him for a reason.

You didn’t need coddling, just a bit of control–direction. All the worry he had about the ink in his life staining you could go away. Sleeping beside him, you looked just as pure and innocent as ever, dreaming peacefully. Hiding his life from you is exactly what led to last night’s events anyway. He made a mental declaration to be less conservative with himself, to give you exactly what you claimed to want (him–entirely and unconditionally).

He feels bad for past-him, who had to wait all those months to hear you cry out his name, to feel how easily your body submitted to him. Truthfully, you weren’t resisting him enough to justify the tight hold he kept, but every movement of your body needed to be his doing.

Maybe he should have just ripped off the bandaid sooner. You didn’t need things as fickle as slowness and patience, you needed to know where you belong–right here beside him, blissful and wearing the marks of his obsession.

Every fiber in his being hated doing it, but Tony pulls out of your sleepened embrace. The sudden loss of your warmth is almost physically painful, but he manages to rise from the bed. Your face scrunches slightly, sheets dragging to accommodate your shifting frame.

He contemplates waking you, if anything just to make sure your thoughts aren’t still set on leaving him. Tony’s not a betting man, but he takes the look on your face after coming to his room as a positive sign. Besides, he doesn't like the idea of waking you this early when you need rest more than anything.

There’s money waiting to be made, but he won’t deprive himself of this phenomenal view to do it. A rosewood table identical to the one in your room is moved closer to the bedside, right where he can keep you in his line of sight.

That’s exactly where you find him when you wake, hours later–already dressed in a black polo and dark pants, peering over his laptop. It’s a heavy knock on the door that stirs you, causing Tony to swear when he sees your eyes open.

The papers scattered about the table are shoved into a folder as he checks his watch and swears again. You’re almost too groggy to process voices at the door, turning just in time to see a wooden box transferred into Tony’s hands before the door shuts as quickly as it opened.

An apology is already spewing when he turns to you.

“You’re fine, it’s fine,” you waved your hand, starting to sit up.

You swing your legs over the edge, yawning and trying to think the last bit of sleep away. You might’ve forgotten about last night for a tiny longer had you stayed down. You feel the tenderness of your body before seeing it. Tony notices the subtle twitch of your brow, waiting for your reaction to worsen as he tucks the box into a leather duffel on the floor.

“We should leave in a few hours.”

There’s a flatness in his tone that pulls a puzzled look from you. He puts more papers away, now not even sparing a glance your way. It’s not out of contempt, just the last remnants of fear about you leaving. He had nothing but confidence when you were asleep–obviously feeling safe and enamored enough to lie beside him.

Now though, Tony’s forced to think ahead in time, trying to plan responses to questions and arguments you haven’t even made.

Maybe all Pepper did was make him insecure. (He’d never admit such a thing, though)

“What was that about?” you asked gently, even though you were genuinely trying not to wonder.

“Just work.” He strides back around the bed, planting a kiss to your forehead.

You manage not to pry, or give much of a reaction at all, simply smiling and still trying to stretch the weariness from your body. Your quiet demeanor comes from your own internal battle about his mood, nothing more. Tony though, for all his talents, sadly isn’t a mind reader. What he is however, is sure it’s his own fault.

Tony lets out a huff when he remembers he decided to be less withholding. You’re confused until the wooden box is brought back out. The bed makes a depressing noise under Tony’s weight as he sits across from you.

He can’t stand the apprehensive look in your eye, and figures there’s no time like the present.

“You wanna ask what’s in the box, don’t you, doll?” He says smugly, tapping the container against your knee lightly.

Trick questions aren’t really his style, but you don’t think there’s a right answer.

Tony’s expectations seemed to grow more complex the longer you were with him, and right now, you’re not certain what’s expected of you. The last ten hours in your mind was a feature film, full of depressing internal monologue about how little you really knew about him.

You know you should trust Tony’s words over the whispers of others, but they’re hard to separate when both sources are drenched in ambiguity.

“Look, I,” he pauses to sigh heavily, looking away from you for a moment. “I was completely open with Pepper–full transparency, no secrets, the whole nine yards.”

Vulnerability in any form was without a doubt his least favorite thing, especially with this. It almost petrifies him that you’ll see him differently. Mostly because he doesn’t know what he’d do if you really did leave. Somewhere, swimming in back of his brain is the idea that you’ll pull the same stunt she did. That train of thought always leads him down dark roads he’d prefer to ignore.

“I guess I was a little too open because I woke up one day and suddenly everything’s gone to shit.”

Tony’s phone rings, and for the first time ever, you see it declined without a second glance

“I cannot have that happen with you. You can ask me anything, if you can promise me you won’t leave if you don’t like the answer. If you can’t do that, you should go.” he ends coldly, and it sends a shiver through your frame.

You wouldn’t–whether he told you the truth or not. So, naturally, you nod in agreement.

A visible wave of relief rushes through him with a sigh.

“Okay, go ahead, shoot.”

What Tony’s expecting is questions about his work, about Pepper, maybe about Steve. The preparation for those questions is immaculate, answer trees with presumed added points of inquiry. Instead, you ask something he feels moronic for not planning for sooner.

“What are we doing here? With us? And don’t say it’s up to me.” You don’t ask how you normally do, with a hint of snide or taste of anger. It just comes like a whisper.

Stark sucks at very, very few things, but this is certainly one of them. Words never seem to do him justice. How he feels, what he wants to say, and what he ends up saying, never quite align. Hence why he much prefers action to rhetoric (hence why last night didn’t end in the screaming matches you might be used to from others).

Tragically for Tony, you’ve got that damned candied look on your face again that he absolutely cannot stand disappointing, even if you don’t know it.

Still, he takes a beat too long to formulate a response, so you continue.

“I mean, what are you telling all these other people who think you’re still married?”

“I don’t owe anyone an explanation about my life, doll.” he says a touch too sternly, without meaning to.

He continues before your face can turn too sour, placing an apologetic hand atop yours and sighing.

“Truthfully? No one asks, it's–I think everyone’s able to put two and two together with Pepper gone. If they did, I’d say you were my girlfriend, maybe partner. But honestly, that feels a little inaccurate.”

“Inaccurate how?” you ask tentatively, hoping it wasn’t somehow less than that.

“Underwhelming.” Tony smiles and laughs a bit, making your face warm.

“Promise me that you won’t change your mind about me.” he continues exasperatedly, half joking.

For once, you can read the emotions on his face clearly–it’s obviously not a world of fun for him to say any of this, and you know it’s the closest you’re getting to an apology (and a direct answer).

“I won’t, I promise.”

You don’t fully comprehend the metaphorical contract you’ve just signed, more permanent than any marriage certificate in his eyes.

For your sake, Tony hopes you aren’t the type to break promises.

It’s early in the day once you return to New York, and while you managed to stay awake on the flight, your eyelids shut the moment Tony closes the car door.

You realize you must have nodded off when you open your eyes to the familiar cluttered horizon. As the buildings come into sharper focus, you also realize that the car is completely stationary right outside your apartment.

You shift in the leather seat, turning to see Tony tapping at his phone screen. A wide grin spreads as he catches your eye.

“How long have we been here?” you yawn.

“About an hour.” Tony mutters absently, brow furrowed at whatever his phone displayed.

“You could’ve woke me, you know.” You felt a teeny bit guilty for keeping him when he definitely had better things to do. You shake the soreness from your body, slipping your shoes back on your feet and gathering the items you had spread throughout the car.

“You looked tired,” he says dismissively, pocketing his phone and turning the car back on. “and I don’t mind.”

The apology you want to give is interrupted with the painful reminder that you still have a shift at the bar tonight. Tony watches the realization wash over you, laughing as you dramatically groan and toss your head back.

“What’s the matter?”

“Wish I could go back in time and tell Alicia hell no on closing tonight–”

“Uh-uh, nope, you’re not allowed to complain.” he interjects, shaking his head comically.

“Why not?” you laugh hesitantly, already guessing what the answer would be.

“Honey, it’s almost physically painful watching you waste your time there knowing I can take care of everything for you.”

Was this the first time Tony indirectly suggested you quit working? Not in the slightest. Lately, a week could hardly pass without even a small mention. In theory, it sounded lovely to you ( as someone who never planned on staying a bartender this long but had no other goals to stand on). Reality bore different fruit that told you independence was probably better.

So, as you’ve done before, that’s exactly what you tell him. You liked making your own money. It causes the billionaire to chuckle as if you’ve told the funniest story ever, making you feel like a paranoid freak.

“No one said anything about taking away your independence.” he chuckles, turning the key. “If making cocktails makes you happy, go for it, but I would at least make sure it’s a nicer location–with bottles worth drinking.”

“I don’t recall you having any issue drinking all those cheap cocktails.”

“I’d drink anything if you were the one serving them.”

You have to try hard not to swoon at his words, watching him leave the car and pop the trunk before you can say anything else. You follow before long, standing to the side as he moves your bags from the car to the sidewalk.

“It’s just hard–what I want to do isn’t really a money maker. People don’t get into art for the paycheck.”

He laughs again, and you’re starting to find it very infectious.

“Maybe I’ll single-handedly revive the field of patronage. Pay you to build whatever kind of gallery you want, if you let me keep a few.”

With a wink, the bags are carried by Tony to the front door, where he gives you a long, slow kiss that leaves your head spinning. Something leaves his lips about taking you to breakfast in a few days, but you’re too charmed to hear it.

All in all, you do end up working a lot less. Mostly because you don’t need to. Over the next month or two, Tony manages to persuade you to get what he wants. Okay, so it was less persuasion and more necessity.

Two weeks after your trip, your roommate gets a job offer out-of-state and moves out faster than you can make up the difference in tips. Originally, you weren’t going to mention it in the slightest. Plan A was to beg your landlord for more time, and plan B was to write a bad check and hope you had enough by the time he tried to cash it.

For weeks straight you worked non-stop doubles to try and close the gap. You were making progress, but steadily wearing yourself down to a dull nub. By the end of it, you were beyond burnt out and completely forgot that Tony knew nothing about it. You fucked up by inviting him over one night, not realizing that the sudden absence of half of everything inside would tip him off (that and the deep bags under your eyes).

Immediately, he asked how on earth you were still paying rent this month, and absolutely despised your answer. Tony had never been shy in telling you how wasted your talents were, and this night was no exception. Especially considering you hadn’t still made enough and planned on working another double tomorrow.

You had little energy or reason to argue with him about it.

Now, you assumed it was a one time thing, just to help you get re-stabilized, maybe find another roommate. Neither really panned out. Every hit on Craigslist gave serial murderer vibes, and tips were starting to trickle as summer ended. The following month, you walked down to the leasing office, last month’s check in hand, only to be told it was taken care of.

Do you think the bitchy lady at the front desk answered you when you asked how that was possible, or do you think she ignored you and called out next in line?

It’s the latter, leaving you forced to call Tony and find out from him. You wouldn’t let yourself trust him, so it’s only right he does it for you. Tony always gets what he wants one way or another after all, causing the same story to be told next month, and the following, and every month after for the foreseeable.

You can’t say he isn’t right, though. Less shifts just means more free time to do all the things you’ve put off for the last five years. And so, your life changes once more. All the paintings, books, and movies that sat abandoned finally get some well-deserved attention. You fall into a mellow routine: spending your mornings ahead of a new blank canvas and afternoons buried inside forgotten novels.

An odd shift is picked up here and there, the appropriate amount to stay on staff and keep some semblance of a normal routine, but not consume your life. You adapt surprisingly well, skipping that awkward stage of persistent guilt for having someone else handle your bills. It’s especially effortless when your now empty evenings are filled by Tony. It becomes easier to relax around him, oddly enough. You never thought that time would come, anticipating a lifetime of tiptoeing or a fiery end.

Funny, it feels like only yesterday when you were reeling at him buying a simple dress.

Between spending more time with Tony and less time working, you see more of what the city has to offer. The heightened level of status that dating Tony Stark brings unlocks a plethora of galleries, restaurants, and events you’d only dreamed of attending. Co-existing with the brazen personalities of the 1% could still be a pain, but now you know how to smile and pretend when it counts.

You even have the temerity to attend some alone. It’s much more fun with Tony, though. Your evenings almost always end inside your apartment, staying up and keeping Tony far later than you should. He rarely minds, often halfheartedly leaving to handle some issue or another. If your luck is high enough, no one needs Tony Stark, leaving him to occupy his time with his favorite person.

If you’re even luckier (or simply brave enough to ask) he’ll slide a taunting finger behind whatever teasing skirt or shorts you’ve chosen (specially to incite this reaction), whisper in your ear how perfect you taste and make your eyes roll. You’ve tried to reciprocate–an embarrassing number of times. Short of actually ripping his clothes off, you don’t know how else to get the message across.

Tony only takes your attempts as a sign that he’s succeeding at keeping your mind elsewhere.

During one of these late-nights, he’s working on doing just that when he notices you’re distracted for other reasons. He’s standing behind you in your dim bedroom, slowly working the zipper of your dress down as he trails the soft revealed skin with heavy kisses. Normally, you’d be panting, pressing against him trying for any bit of friction. Instead, he can see your tightly wound brows, the glossy flesh of your bottom lip jutting between two front teeth, thinking far too hard for how good this felt.

“Penny for your thoughts?” he hums lightly, turning you by your waist as the dark fabric pools at the floor.

Tony doesn’t still his lips at all, leaving tender marks down your neck and chest. The good news is it gets your breath choked and heavy just how he likes it. Unfortunately, your half-presence remains. He stops right before the airy lace of your bra begins, causing you to catch his eye.

“How come you’ve only taken me to the tower once?”

You don’t have a set event that prompted this question. The realization only dawned on you today. You’ve been dating one of the richest men on the planet for the better end of a year, and he’s taken you to his home a grand total of one time. Your brain is good at forgetting that night most days, but today you can’t shake it. It feels almost karmic to bring up bad memories, as if just speaking about it will bring it back into existence.

He laughs a bit when your issue proves so elementary.

“Seriously,” you stress, even though your voice wavers with the arousal he’s building. “We’ve been together all this time and I’ve never really seen where you live.”

“Promise you aren’t missing much.” Tony smiles, capturing your lips and guiding you backwards until your legs hit the edge of the bed.

“It’s only one of the largest companies in the world. Guess seeing the inside once is pretty lucky.” you sigh, feigning a dramatically sad tone.

You’re really trying to guilt him, making a purposeful effort not to soak into the heat of his touch. Hot hands snake up your thighs, thumbs brushing small circles into the inner skin. He dips below you as you sit, still humming his way up your legs with butterfly kisses.

“Might have been followed, couldn’t risk taking you home.” he mutters, preoccupied.

It’s not his fault you look too good to argue with right now (which you knew and were definitely using to your advantage). The dress you wore tonight might as well have been see-through– it hugged you like cellophane, and he made a mental note to buy you more in the same material.

While Tony’s busy leaving more hickeys on your thighs, a shiver runs through you. What would have happened had someone followed Tony’s car?

Your mind goes to work crafting all types of theories, and Tony recognizes the look plain as day. He stops with a stout sigh, leaning back on his heels. It pulls your attention back to him, looking down at him with uneasy eyes.

“You know I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.”

“I know.”

Even if you’re not entirely sure what you need protecting from.

“Good, now do me a favor and lie back.”

You do as you're told, of course, more than enthusiastically.

Balance is important after all, though. So, while Tony gets what he wants now (as he usually does), he indulges you as well.

You made an off-hand comment about never actually seeing a broadway show in person, despite living in New York for literal years. Tony finds any missed luxury in your life unacceptable and naturally drops a small fortune to orchestrate a private show. While buying out the theater was partially for the romance, it would have also been too much exposure for him otherwise.

Afterwards, he makes a very notable detour from your usual route home, pulling you away from your long ramble about how awe-striking the show was. Asking just gets you a cheeky smile and turns your attention towards the tower.

You get the full tour that you weren’t afforded the first time (given the circumstances). The lobby you recall, with its marble floors and high ceiling. It’s well in the evening, leaving the tower empty minus a few guards and late-night staff.

You regret never paying attention in science when Tony guides you through the labs and workshops.

As you pass through room after room, each unnerves you. Most things of the scientific nature are lost on you, but you’re certain the high amount vials and chemicals you see would floor even Einstein.

You can’t place why they unsettle you, looking so out of place and painfully high-tech in stereotypical white walls. It also doesn’t help that Tony spiels about the building and not what lies on the tables three feet away.

You swallow your questions, fearing that the answer to be even remotely similar to the one that drove Pepper away.

Tony mentions having dinner upstairs, to which you smile and follow him into an adjacent elevator before you can stress yourself out further.

The doors open to a penthouse apartment that you don’t remember walking through before (definitely too caught up in thinking you were about to be dumped over a drunken mistake). You obviously expected Tony to live in the same luxury he exudes, but the decor and imported wood reminded you just how wealthy he was. He leads you to his office, tucked behind a frosted glass door that you do remember from last time.

“This,” he starts, swiping a small card against the door’s thin black reader with a quiet beep, “is where the magic happens, but it is off-limits without my permission.”

You give an understanding nod when he turns back, although you wanted to laugh at how quickly he switched from sounding like a complete nerd to stony-faced. Tony leaves the door open once you enter, tucking the card back into the pockets of his slacks.

You are naturally more curious than most (for better or for worse), and make quick work walking around the vast space, eyeing each shelf, table, and weird gadget. A pair of soft couches mirror one another in the center of the room, surrounding a cluttered coffee table of notes and books. A whiteboard stands nearby, covered in what’s probably math but could pass for ancient Greek. Every inch of the walls is lined with something–be it awards and diplomas or more books with words you’re convinced are made up. It strikes you then that the office lacks any windows, and you wonder if that’s by design or sheer chance.

At the back wall shines various lights and screens, below it a thin, large clear desk where Tony sits. The desk holds more of the odd, transparent screens, which Tony closes with the swipe of his hand as you approach. A compliment of some capacity about the decor is brewing when you notice the picture frame sitting nearby. Two figures pose in front of a row of trees, one clearly Tony, and the other a young man, with dusty brown hair and pristine in dark blue graduation robes. Tony’s arm wraps around the younger, smiling bigger than you’ve ever seen. The young man holds a slender booklet and a matching smile.

Predicting this, he answers the question before you figure out how to ask it.

“That’s Harley–don’t start getting any ideas, he’s not Pepper’s.” he says, pulling you by the waist into his lap.

“Is he your nephew or something?” you question, resting your head against the velvety fabric of his shirt.

“Howard Stark was a man of one child, to his disappointment, so no. Harley’s a family friend.”

“You just run around befriending random college kids?” you joke, dangling your legs over the edge of the chair.

“If I’m feeling generous enough.”

In the corner of your eye, you see a figure appear across the room in the empty door frame. A tall, older man waits–hands clasped behind his back in black pants and pressed white button up.

“Mr. Stark, there’s a visitor for you.”

He speaks as quickly as he appears, with an unexpectedly posh accent. Tony taps your knee, and you leave his lap very begrudgingly and watch with even more unnecessary sorrow as he exits the room. A promise is given about returning soon, but you know better than to believe that.

A word is exchanged between the two that you can’t hear across the large office. When Tony’s figure leaves, the other man enters. You notice his blue eyes as he comes closer, deciding to take a seat on one of the couches.

“Mr. Stark has requested I quote–keep you from dying of boredom–in his absence.” he says, standing at the head of the couch across from you.

“Has he now?” you laugh lightly.

The thing they don’t tell you about rich boyfriends? It takes time to make all that money, keeping them busy and away from their easily bored girlfriends. So, you nod when the man smiles, making a permissive motion towards the seat.

“My name is Jarvis, I work for Mr. Stark.”

“Nice to meet you, I’m [y/n]”

“You need very little introduction, ma’am. Mr. Stark has talked a great deal about you over these last several months.” he laughs, crossing his legs.

“Really?” you ask. It’s not extremely surprising, you just assumed Tony was perpetually occupied talking about other things. He did make a good move though, Jarvis is much more pleasant company than he usually keeps.

“Indeed, he’s quite fond of you.”

You aren’t used to hearing this–from anyone really. Everyone you know has no idea Tony exists (for better or for worse) and everyone he knows seemingly despises you. It’s a breath of fresh air that does wonders for your insecurities about this whole relationship. Not a complete cure, but the start to some form of remedy..

“And what do you do for Tony?” you ask, not wanting to be rude and keep the conversation entirely on yourself.

He ponders this for a moment, giving you the impression he’s never had to explain this before.

“I assist Mr. Stark in his day-to-day activities, so that he may devote more energy towards the company.”

What was with this calculated nature everyone around him seemed to take on? Still, Jarvis appeared to be a beacon of kindness (the accent might be biasing you). It’s bright enough to tempt you to ask Jarvis what you were too hesitant to ask Tony, mostly out of trepidation over the answer.

“I have to admit I’m a pretty terrible girlfriend–I don’t even know what Tony does.” you sigh and pout slightly.

Naivete was an old trick you didn’t mind pulling out of the bag now and again.

Jarvis chuckles, an optimistic sign that your tactics are working.

“Stark Industries is a manufacturing and research company that specializes in pharmaceuticals and biotech.”

Now that line sounds more rehearsed. More accurately, it’s strikingly similar to the first line that pops up when anyone searches up Stark Industries.

“Doesn’t sound much to me like a merchant of death.”

You might have been better off forgetting Steve’s words, but it’s all you can think of when you picture what lives in the labs just below you. As much as you wanted to play out the rest of your life with Tony in blissful ignorance, you were constantly exposed to things that made you question if it really was bliss.

You expected maybe a twitch of the brow from Jarvis, the face trying to compensate for what the mind already knows. Instead, Jarvis’ mouth turns downward, cocking his head in confusion at the moniker.

“Where did you hear that?”

Before you can answer, Tony’s voice bounces down the hallway. In the next second, he’s back in the office, and Jarvis is standing. You’re disappointed (and shocked) that Tony didn’t take as long as usual, having to cut the conversation short.

The older man shoots you a curious glance as he leaves—an unspoken reassurance that he does indeed expect an answer at a later point.

“Everything okay, doll?”

Tony asks, because you're too busy thinking to mind your face, and it looks troubled. You shake it off though, smiling and taking the hand he holds out.

The two of you have that dinner, though the entire evening you catch weathered blue eyes watching you from afar.

Remember that thing about rich boyfriends and their busy jobs? Yeah, that becomes a pain quickly. You could handle the phone calls on dates or distracted answers while an email is answered no problem. But once Tony brought you to the tower, he didn’t see a reason to keep you away anymore. You happily started spending most of your nights there. You just didn’t fully process the implications of Tony living where you work. Most days he manages to spare an hour here and there, interrupted by phone calls and meetings. So, often you roam around, trying to not wonder just what your boyfriend has to do to earn all that money.

You pick up on a lot of little things about his life from pure close-hand observation. The Tony you know is sweet and passionate. Tony working is almost an entirely different breed. You thank god that you’re just dating him and not working for him. The sternness he tended to use with you wasn’t exclusive, but dialed to an eleven when he came to his work.

The most jarring, however, is the constant presence of armed guards at the Tower, even in Tony’s penthouse. You think back to every date so far, scanning memories for shady figures waiting by exposed exits. A few potentials stand out, but you can’t be certain your memories aren’t being falsified by present events.

One morning, you pass one of the men on your way to the kitchen. It’s an early morning, at least for you, coming down the stairs as he pours a cup of coffee. It strikes you, since they normally keep near the elevator and you’ve never seen them do anything except stand around.

The bald man nods towards you, and out of nothing more than courtesy and habit, you nod back. He retreats to his post without another word soon after.

Despite the early hour, Tony’s already risen before you and is likely tucked away somewhere working. Peace is a valued comfort, of course, but the tower gave you an overwhelming sense of emptiness without Tony around.

Any mess you leave is miraculously cleaned (you learn this is Jarvis’ doing), and most of the tower is off-limits for you. Still, you enjoy being relatively closer to Tony than you were most days, so hanging around isn’t too much of a burden.

That morning proves fruitful as well, as you get to speak to Jarvis again. That’s not to say you haven’t seen him. In fact, he’s almost always somewhere nearby. The issue being that it’s normally coupled by Tony or other parties. This time, he’s alone.

You’d entered the kitchen that morning in a determined search for caffeine, planning to spend your day shopping for something new to wear for a gala that’s a ways away. It’s a much calmer experience without crowds, so you got an early start.

Jarvis enters soon after the guard leaves, setting fresh kitchen towels onto the island.

“Morning, ma’am.” he says, opening a cabinet across from you.

You laugh lightly, finding it odd that a man old enough to be your father would waste such honorifics on you. You inform Jarvis of such, to which he gives a chuckle of his own.

“It’s simply out of respect and the nature of my work, nothing more.” he explains, delicately laying each towel in the small space.

“You don’t find it weird calling people younger than you sir and ma’am?”

It’s a pretty genuine question, having never been in such a role yourself. The cabinet is shut with a soft thud as Jarvis turns towards you.

“I do not.”

He goes for the recently emptied coffee cup beside you, refilling it before you can tell him that’s not necessary.

“Might I inquire to you about something?” he questions, handing you the warm mug.

You were expecting a continuation of your earlier conversation. You had prepared questions of your own, of course. Mostly about Steve, and definitely a few about Pepper. A nod of agreement leaves you as the warm liquid slides down your throat.

“Do you not find it–strange, romantically involving yourself with someone so much older than you?”

The raise of his brow tells you he is similarly being genuine. This floors you though. Ironically, that was one of your main reasons for rejecting Tony all those months ago. But lately? You barely even thought about it. You’d stopped paying attention to the odd snide comments and the occasional bizarre look. Really, the fact only comes back to you when Jarvis mentions it. Come to think of it, you can’t recall Tony ever bringing attention to it either.

“I don’t really notice the little jokes and weird looks anymore, so no, not at all.” you shrug, taking another sip.

“I mean no disrespect, simply curious.” he laments.

“None taken, don’t worry.”

“Might I also ask then,” he pauses, testing out the words in his mouth first and waiting for your approval. “–how your family’s temperament is towards Mr. Stark?”

“My parents died when I was really young, and they were both only childs, so I’m gonna say it’s pretty neutral.”

Jarvis goes a tinge red at this, immediately apologizing as if it was somehow his fault. You can’t help but laugh at the contrite attitude. He stops once he sees the grin on your face, breathing a sigh of relief that he hadn’t seriously offended you.

“You’re fine, really, I’m surprised Tony never mentioned it to you.”

“Mr. Stark is typically a private man, and I doubt he would share such information with anyone without your permission.”

“Yeah, that can be– annoying.” you sigh.

“I understand, naturally is,” Jarvis nods towards you, walking past you to exit before halting. “Employ a bit of patience, if you can. Mr. Stark’s stress is greatly alleviated with your continued presence.”

If his behavior now was relaxed, you didn’t want to imagine how he was prior.

That afternoon, you returned to the tower, spoils in tow (and paid for with Tony’s matte black card). Despite the time, there wasn’t a sign of Tony anywhere. Most of the lights were off when you entered, causing you to pull out your phone flashlight like some kind of horror movie. You made your way through the penthouse, flipping switches and checking rooms.

Kitchen, empty. Office, empty. Gym, empty.

Your voice bounced through the hall as you climbed the stairs, calling out Tony’s name. Disappointedly, you were only met by silence. Out of the last forty-eight hours, a grand sum of eight of them you shared with him. One out every six hours (and most of those you were asleep). The recurrent solitude made an evening in your own home suddenly sound much more favorable.

You traipse into the bedroom, tossing the gown that you were very excited to show Tony into one of the massive closets. The random handful of items you had scattered around the room are thrown into your bag. Some you leave in their place–you knew you wouldn’t be away long. A bright light shines in your face when you fumble with your phone, reminding you to turn it off. It also gives you the literal lightbulb idea to text Tony.

[ heading home for the night, call me when ur free ]

In the still quiet of the penthouse, a beep reverberates behind you. Puzzled, you turn, noticing the golden light trickling from under the bathroom door.

“Tony?” you call out again, crossing the room towards the door.

On the other side, water runs for a moment, followed by the click of the lock as the door opens.

“Hey, honey.” he drawls, walking out with a sniffle.

“You okay?” you ask tentatively. “It was like, pitch dark in here.”

He pulls you into a welcomed embrace, wrapping large arms around your body tightly.

“I’m fine, they’re just timed. Gotta be eco-friendly, right?”

Tony punctuates his sentence with a kiss on your forehead. You stay in his embrace as long as possible, resting your head against his chest. His heart thumps heavily, beating like a rabbit through the soft cotton of his shirt.

Eventually, the embrace has to end, mostly so that Tony can plead to you to stay another night. He promises that he’s yours for the evening, and given that this was what you preferred anyway, you oblige.

First though, Tony has a surprise. One that he swears will make the tower feel more comfortable for you. His surprises are typically rather ornate or sickeningly expensive. This one, however, is moderately less materialistic than usual.

Down the hall from the frosted door of Tony’s office is a room that you were initially told was off-limits. As you reach the end of the hall, Tony explains he needed just a little more time for some ‘finishing touches’.

Another keycard is produced from his pocket, swiping on a reader much similar to the one in his office. When it beeps in response, the card is planted firmly in your hands.

“Go ahead, check it out.” he grins, motioning towards the door.

Tentatively, you enter the previously inaccessible space. Once inside, your jaw nearly drops. It’s not a large space, but it takes a while for you to process everything within.

Shelves stand tall with various jars and tubes of paint, elegant brushes and canvases of every size. Tables sit near pristine walls, freshly painted and holding any medium you could possibly want. The walls are bare, save for the antique painting hanging by the window. You recognize it instantly, not believing your eyes at first. Tony doesn’t need to say it for you to know–this was all for you.

What Tony does feel the need to say is that if everything isn’t to your liking, he can have it changed in a day. He worries as you stand silent, not reacting in explosive joyful glee like he hoped.

“No, no, it’s perfect.” you swiftly add, turning to him beaming.

You’re still in awe as relief passes through him as your arms wrapped around him. Somehow, Tony always manages to redefine what you thought you deserved. There’s a painting worth half a million dollars sitting less than 10 feet away, and it was purchased just for you.

An impressive length, all for a simple smile. How the hell could you ever settle for anything less from anyone else?

Sure, you don’t realize this is a purposeful gift to encourage you to stay around the tower more, and the knowledge wouldn’t change anything anyway.

After you thank him excessively for the next ten minutes (to which Tony’s response can mostly be summed up as ‘has literally no one done anything nice for you? ever?’), the dress you bought earlier comes to mind. Tony thought you learned by now that he’d buy you the world if it was for sale, but indulges in your feverish gratitude for the time being.

You do the leading this time, back into the bedroom where he waits on the black duvet for you to change. It’s a magical feat that you manage to get it zipped up alone. Stubbornness also plays its own role.

When you reemerge, it’s Tony’s turn to be rendered speechless. A sleeveless auburn number wraps your body, cinching at your waist and following to the floor. Cut-outs show off your midriff, letting the cool air cover your skin. The high level of regality is new to you, but you weren’t risking the embarrassment of being underdressed a second time. It’s also Tony’s favorite color to see you in (which you totally didn’t know and totally weren’t exploiting for this very purpose).

“Well?” you start, give a small twirl. “What do you think?”

There was a worry that he might find it too much. Another thing you picked up on over the last few weeks was Tony’s subtle disdain for clothing he found tacky or too revealing. You hadn’t managed to hit that threshold so far, and knew it better to avoid.

“As amazing as you look, I think you need to take that off before I end up ripping it to pieces.” he responds, voice low and hungry.

Solace finds you, pleased that you didn’t make a wrong choice. It’s brief though, because a second glance at Tony reveals that while he liked the choice, (almost too much, really) he also wasn’t joking in the slightest.

A raise of an eyebrow says it all–don’t make me repeat myself.

So, under his fervent commands, you wind up pinned below him, dress long discarded on the plush carpeted floors as his fingers curl inside of you. A hand keeps your wrists pinned tightly above your head, keeping you at his mercy. If you could call his unrelenting fingers mercy.

You quickly grow more frustrated than ever at the barrier of clothing on his body. It’s always goddamned there, holding back the warmth you can feel radiating through. His restraint prevents you from taking the friction you need. You’re further burdened by the teeth grazing your neck, sucking slow and teasingly on your pulse point. All the man had to do most days to turn you into a needy mess was kiss you, but after so many busy days, this was sweet torture.

Tony knew it too. The increasing pitch in your whine was music to his ears. It’s not before it’s broken and whimpery, your excitement coating his fingers. Every movement was overwhelming, and yet still managed to leave you desperate for more.

“Please, Tony, fuck-” you plead, interrupted by your own moan when he curves his fingers again.

“Aw, do you need something, darling?” he whispers, moving away from your neck. “I know I taught you better than that–use your words, pretty girl.”

This isn't an uncommon taunt of his, loving the embarrassed shy look that crawls over your face each time. He’s pleasantly surprised tonight, however, as you just about had it enough to give in. The award for longest time to make someone wait under they verbally beg for you to fuck them goes to Anthony Edward Stark, with an impressive record of eight months.

Your brows furrow, trying to find your center again to speak with clarity and not falter under his gaze.

“Would you stop being an asshole and just fuck me, please?” you sighed exasperatedly.

Manners would be something to correct later. For now, Tony’s happy to focus on rewarding your needy pleas.

Your wrists are granted all too short reprieve, as he takes little time undressing, climbing back on top of you and attacking your neck with hard, bruising kisses. The hard member you’re used to having constrained by high-end slacks feels larger pressed bare against your folds–hot and heavy as he returns a hand to your wrists.

His free hand aligns him at your entrance, stopping when he notices your tightly shut eyes. Now that simply won’t do.

“Open those pretty eyes.”

It’s a short and breathy order, the tone earning your instant compliance. Tony’s eyes are dark above you, catching them only for a moment before he swiftly sinks into you (he’ll allow it this time).

There’s little resistance, as you were already a mess from earlier, but his thick member still stretches your walls. You cry out when he reaches the hilt, snapping his hips into you only to withdraw and fully sink back into you with the same speed.

Tony gains a new found appreciation for the philosophy behind a reward being sweeter the longer you wait. There’s nothing more delectable in the whole world right now than the fractured moans escaping you, despite your visible attempts to bite them back. As much as he wants to commit this coy little expression of yours to memory, he’s clearly not doing his job if you’re able to hold anything back.

The hands above you let go, gripping your hips instead to thrust deeper into you. It does just what he needs to do, listening to the sweet sounds of your whines as his cock reaches right where you needed to. All this time without h, combined with his fast and hard thrusts has moan after moan falling from your lips.

Tony can hardly contain himself either, high off the sticky mess you're making. Your neck is perfectly dotted with tender marks from his mouth, only driving his ecstasy further.

He knows he’s being more than rough, pounding into you relentlessly–you’re just taking him so well, your nails leaving tiny red crescents on his thighs. It drives him wild, possession does go both ways after all. Every erratic breath and tremble of your legs came from him. You were his–who begged for him and moaned his name.

The fast, rough pace pushes you to your peak not long after, and Tony recognizes the stuttery pitch of your voice.

“Go ahead, darling.” he whispers into your ear, voice soft and gentle despite how deep he was inside you.

Your legs wrap around his waist as your core swells with pressure, desperate for him to be impossibly closer than he was. It’s not long after your voice breaks altogether, falling into a slight plea as your walls tighten around him.

The feeling of you losing yourself around him sets off something entirely new in Tony. He’d never miss another chance to make you his like this. A deep groan echoes in the bedroom walls, unsteady hands holding your hips tighter.

He was absolutely nowhere near done with you.

Before you can catch your breath, it’s taken as he slams into you with renewed energy. A string of curses leave him when your back arches into him, straining against his hold.

Your body feels white-hot with pleasure. You were used to Tony pushing you into orgasm after orgasm, alternating between his mouth and fingers until you’re a pile of jelly below him. This was entirely different, hit that spongy spot inside of you over and over as your walls shutter. It leaves your whole form trembling, mind blanking each time he bottoms out.

“Shit, Tony, I can’t,” you whimper.

It’s a broken plea, already feeling your body go taunt a second time. Still, you hope for a bit of reprieve, just enough to bring your mind back to earth.

“You will for me, darling.” he groaned, voice heavy and breathless, bringing a hand to your hair and exposing your neck to his teeth for another assault. “I know you can take it.”

A shiver runs through you as his latches onto your neck, deciding you could stand to have more marks across your skin. You’re completely lost in the throbbing member splitting you apart, aimlessly grabbing at the soft sheets below you. He leans back, pulling your hips up to keep slamming to you, letting a hand wrap around your throat and press against the fresh mark left there.

“All mine, aren’t you?” Tony moans above you, close to his own peak. He just needs to feel your body to submit to him one more time.

The tender pain in your throat mixes deliciously next to the sweeping euphoria. You want to answer (mostly because you know he’s expecting one), but all your mind can zone into is how electrified your skin is.

“Aw, is my girl too fucked out to answer me already?” he taunts, even if the sight of you this blinded by pleasure nearly sends him over.

No one else could ever have you like this, he’d make sure of it. You were past shame over how his words left you, cruel or praiseful. Any utterances that made it known you were his turning your body into melting sugar.

Tony’s own hips stutter, bucking into you as your peak hits you again, your moan silenced by the tight hand around your throat. He’s close behind you, keeping his rhythm until the shake in your legs lessens.

He sinks into you, caressing your face and burying himself back into your neck. A long moan floods your ears, feeling him still inside of you and paints every inch of your walls white. Hot, heavy breaths cover your ear as he fills you, not withdrawing until he’s certain you’ve taken every drop.

You’re an exhausted pile of bones below him, leaving him feeling quite prideful. Stark on the other hand is oddly energetic. He disappears for a moment, returning after putting his boxers back on and grabbing a towel.

He lies beside you, watching the rise and fall of your chest. Soft praises and peppered kisses follow, trailing along your face and shoulders. He tells you over and over how perfect you did, though you're still barely present.

You’re focused on calming your breathing, so Tony’s praises fall onto distracted ears. You aren’t that distracted, though, as his next words ring through clear as day.

“I love you, doll, you know that?” It’s barely above a whisper, spoken between into the delicate skin of your collarbone.

You turn your head almost instantly, blinking rapidly because surely you didn’t hear that right. The words left him before he knew what he was saying, caught up in the swirl of post-coital bliss. In an unusually empathetic act of vulnerability, he stands by it. The declaration is repeated louder to your stunned face.

He’s not that vain that he expects an immediate reciprocation–though you eagerly give one anyway. That's all good and well, except he senses concern in your voice.

“That’s just how every guy wants to hear that, thank you.” Tony jokes, propping himself onto his elbow with a grin.

“That came out wrong, I just,” you chuckle softly, trailing off. “You are being genuine, right?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he asks matter-of-factly.

“I guess–be honest, you really don’t mind being with someone like twenty years younger than you?”

He throws his head back in laughter, and you use the little energy you have to swat at his shoulder.

“You’ve been talking to Jarvis, haven’t you?

“How the-what do you mean?” you fully turn on your side to face him, more puzzled than before. You also worried you somehow crossed a line discussing Tony with someone else in private.

“Don’t sweat it–Jarvis is more of an old friend than an employee, regardless of whatever the old bat says. He’s just overprotective.”

“And he was worried about us?”

“More about you, specifically, that you were some covert gold-digger playing the long game for a chance at the Stark inheritance. He didn’t believe that I had to damn near beg on my hands and knees for a simple dinner.” he says indignantly, and you have to roll your eyes.

“What if I was? You don’t know.”

“Please, no one trying to woo me for my money would start as many arguments with me as you do.”

“I do not start arguments, if anything you’re the one-” you start to defend yourself, then Stark raises an eyebrow and the sentence dies on your tongue. “Okay, point taken.”

Tony pulls your naked form towards him, your head resting on his chest as your body curls beside his. You’re more than spent, the sound of his heart still racing after all this time doesn’t process under the lure of sleep.

For now, you’re too in love to care.

When you wake, Tony’s absent from your side. This is not unusual in the slightest for any night you spend here, but it's barely four in the morning.

You scan the dark room momentarily before switching the bedside light on. Groggily (and on sore legs), you rise, tying a short robe around yourself. Thinking of yesterday, you actually check the bathroom this time to find it empty. You ventured out of the bedroom to an empty and pitch black hallway. Deja vu feels like an understatement.

You start to call out his name just like before, stopping once you see the light flowing from the kitchen downstairs. As you descend, Tony’s voice grows louder. His back comes into view once the final step is crossed, with another figure in front of him.

Tony swivels slowly when you enter, and you notice the person he’s speaking to is the same young man from the photo. You cross your arms over your body as best you can when you enter the space, suddenly feeling very underdressed for meeting a stranger.

“Sorry, did we wake you?” Tony asks apologetically, to which you shake your head and yawn.

“Harley, this is [y/n], [y/n], Harley.” he continues.

Harley holds a blue duffel in his right hand, giving you a curt wave with the other. Under the bright kitchen lights, however, he gets a better look at you. You don’t understand why in the moment, still half-asleep, but he makes an unsettled face at you before darting his sharp eyes back to Tony. After which Tony tells you he’ll be up in a moment and you return back to the warmth of the sheets without protest.

It’s not until you step into the bathroom later in the day that you figured out why he looked at you that way. A few tender marks still spotted the left side of your neck and the top of your chest. While not the best first impression, it sends a wave of excitement through you at the sight. A bit of concealer goes a long way after you shower.

Tony explains that Harley is just stopping by briefly, and that he’ll be leaving after dinner tonight as you get dressed. You obviously spend the entire day worried about it, convinced any further interaction with Harley will be painfully awkward and uncomfortable for you both.

Unfortunately, you end up wishing things were just awkward.

Jarvis prepares an excellent meal, and you make it through the first two courses with Harley’s eyes piercing you across the large dining table. It’s not constant, as he manages to dart away each time Tony speaks to him as if he never looked your way. Engaging in conversation becomes troublesome under his gaze (though it’s mostly just Tony asking Harley about some trip he took). You almost start to think you’re imagining it, wondering what the hell his issue could possibly be.

Thankfully, Tony has to excuse himself for a phone call, leaving the two of you alone.

The moment Tony’s out of earshot, Harley leans in, placing his elbows on the table and clasping his hands.

“Are you even old enough to drink?” he questions dramatically.

“Are you?”

��Funny.” he snorts, taking a bite of roast potatoes.

He stays quiet for a second as Jarvis clears away empty dishes from the table.

“That’s not a yes, though.” he hums in a high pitch.

“If it would get you to stop staring, I’m twenty-six.”

Harley hums in approval, sitting back in his chair.

“Was that really your problem? You know you could’ve just asked at literally any point in the last hour, or hell, asked Tony.”

“Oh, I did.” he scoffs, shrugging his shoulders.

Tony returns, taking his seat in the same breath that Harley wipes his mouth and stands.

“Well, I’ll leave you and your child bride to it.” he declares sarcastically, turning for the exit.

“Excuse me?”

Tony’s voice stops Harley in his tracks, rising and closing the distance to the young man. You heard worse, but based on the tightness in his jaw you can assume Tony hasn’t.

“Oh, come on. She’s not even four years older than me. What else would you like to call it?” Harley jests, laughing.

“You have a flight to catch, don’t you?” The edge in his tone shocks you, and cuts Harley’s laughter straight away.

He takes his leave without another comment, but he does give you another overdramatic wave on the way out. You tell Tony what passed between you two in his absence and ask what all that was about, but Tony just shakes his head and apologizes.

You’re not sure why–it hardly bothered you as much as it did him.

Later that night you overhear Tony on the phone. You presume it’s with Harley, hearing Tony mention something about ‘showing more respect’ and ‘minding your own business’. You hope it isn’t Harley–even though the kid was an ass, Tony speaks with a ferocity that unnerves you just as the eavesdropper.

Fall passes by without more pop-up visits from impolite guests.

While painting will always be one of your first true loves, even the strongest of loves can grow tiring. The technical term is typically referred to as a lack of inspiration. You can’t get a single image out of your brain and onto a canvas. It’s a well deserved burnout though, the rest of the studio space lined with finished paintings. A consistent month and half of work proved quite the endeavor. Most are simple plays with color, though there are a few you came to be very proud of.

Yeah, a break would probably do you some good.

There’s more than one traditional seat for you to choose from, all extremely lush and definitely better for your back. The floor works a lot better though, so you stand and stretch the soreness from your body. Would you learn your lesson and sit in the chair next time? Nope.

The evening was growing near, evident by the lemony sky. Your hyperfixation meant a lot more nights indoors, even on the sparse evenings Tony was free. All signs pointed towards taking advantage of what was likely one the last warm nights of the season.

You wasted little time changing out of your paint covered sweats, throwing on a simple blue skirt and white sweater.

On your way downstairs to his office, you spot Jarvis in the kitchen preparing a drink you presume is for Tony.

“Oh, I can take that to him.” you intercept him at the bottom, taking the cold glass in your hands.

“Very well.” he nods to you, taking in your dressed up state as you walk away, not expecting either of you to leave the tower that night. “Shall I have the car ready for you and Mr. Stark?”

“For me, definitely. Can’t promise anything about him.” you call back to him, increasing your volume as you head further into the hall.

You knock once you reach the glass door, waiting idly until you hear his voice call out come in. Tony doesn’t lift his head when you enter, scrawling away at something atop his desk. You hear him muttering to himself softly, shirt disheveled and unbuttoned.

You’re certainly not silent as you cross the space. Your heavy boots made a mild thud on the hardwood floor, surely loud enough to get the average person’s attention, you thought.

Nope, wrong.

He does know you’re there, however– the screens in front of him are switched off as you approach the desk, head never lifting from the papers.

You wait patiently beside his desk, setting the drink down the corner. His attention doesn’t yield for no less than five minutes after. When he does finally address you, it’s with tired eyes and gleams.

“My, my, my,” he whistles, guiding you over to straddle his lap. “What a fantastic surprise.”

Tony’s hands can never be idle more than a moment, already snaking them under your skirt to the supple skin of your backside. He’s much more interested in that than anything you say about leaving the tower. Who could blame him, really. Any red-blooded man would after hours of phone calls and calculations.

You twitch when he squeezes hungrily, sensitive from the same hands the night prior. He’d nearly forgotten, and the remainder is a good amusement.

“You know, I could get so much more work done with you just like this.” he hums, lifting your sweater to graze your stomach.

“You’re welcome to join me.” you point out, linking your arms around his neck.

“There’s nothing more I want, but I have a few more things to take care of here.”

You figured as much, of course. Knowing that answer was coming doesn’t make it any less disappointing. Conversely, seeing your smile falter for any reason is akin to a tragedy for Tony.

“How about this, it’s still early– you go out, have fun, I’ll pick you up for dinner later.” he concedes.

That fixes the problem, earning Tony a very satisfied kiss from you. It’s long and heavy, nearly enough to make him consider sending you out on shaky legs, but he resolves to bring that fantasy to life another time.

An hour or so drifts away as you take in the fresh autumn air, window-shopping from store to store. Close to when you're due to meet Tony, you stumble across something you can’t be sure is a really bright bar or a super dark restaurant. As you go for a better look through the towering windows, the doors beside you swing open.

You spot Steve first, getting a clear view of a reddened cut above his eye. You fail at turning away from the door in time. It was worth a shot, even if he was just five feet away.

“Oh, would you knock it off–I’m not gonna bother you.” he exclaims exasperatedly, a deep slur in his words (so that solves that mystery).

You give a half-hearted surrender with your arms, watching him head for the street corner. Mid-way, he stops, turning back unsteadily.

“You still with Stark?” he questions.

“What’s it to you?”” you scoff, rolling your eyes. This was what you wanted to avoid–annoying people and their annoying judgements.

“Just don’t tell him you saw me, okay. I don’t need more shit with him right now.”

Remarkably, Steve sounds genuine. Well, as genuine as a drunk man can sound. A grand opportunity presents itself. Someone with a lot more information than you needs something of you.

“Sure, okay.” you agree, watching a breath leave Steve. “If you can tell me what you meant at the party.”

Steve, having drunk every drop of Kentucky Bourbon on the block, happily obliged your question for the small price of not dealing with Stark.

If asked to make a list of all the things you guessed Tony was involved in, your brain would assume the best of the worst to ease its conscience. Steve’s answer is, tragically, nowhere on that list.

You wander around for a bit playing moral adjudicator in your mind. It’s a consuming task, and in your concentration you space completely on the fact that you were expected somewhere. In your bag, your phone buzzes to no answer, muffled in the city’s noisy ambience.

You have to see for yourself, which makes the tower your destination after you’ve calmed your nerves enough. It’s been ages since you’ve taken the subway anywhere, though you somehow manage to work through the busy platforms. You remember you live in the age of technology, deciding to rely on your phone for navigation.

Two missed calls and around five unanswered texts from the past half hour await you, all from Tony. You swear to yourself as the train car rocks, hurriedly typing a response.

[ where are you? ]

[ on the way back now. didn’t feel well. ]

Lying feels like swallowing a bitter seed. You know that ‘s not an answer. You know you’ll have to find some way to explain the missed calls later. Honestly, that might be the harder task than covering a lie. All you hoped was that New York traffic would play in your favor and you could make it back before him.

The luscious bells of victory are right in your sight as elevator dings! open. Your genius plan to check his office is foiled quickly, the black card reader blinking back at you tauntingly.

A moment passes where you question your own motivations. Why were you even bothering to let someone else get into your head again? You could ask him anything, so why lie to him when you chose to stay in the dark–

You all but fly up the stairs, striding through Tony’s bedroom and into the bathroom. It takes a while for you to find it, having to scour the numerous cabinets one by one. Your hands touch a rough leather pouch, right under the sink.

You open it tentatively, praying for Steve to be wrong, but your fingers find the small plastic baggie within, and your stomach flips when you know he was telling the truth.

You don’t have long to process it. The elevator sounds again from below

Shit.

You thought you had more time to craft a better excuse.

“What happened? Everything okay?”

His voice is stern even if his words are sweet, turning his body towards yours as you enter the kitchen. Your hands reach for a glass to fill with water, needing a distraction to ward off his gaze.

“Got a little dizzy, took the subway back.”

“You took the subway alone? This late?”

You can’t tell if he’s wrestling between concern and suspicion, or just pissed. Although, here would be where a normal person would remember that under a year ago you took the subway later than this five nights a week.

“Yeah, it’s fine. I’m just going to get some rest.” you smile weakly, swallowing the rest of your water and heading to walk past him.

Tony makes a quick step to the side to keep you there, looking down at you with pointed eyes. Despite the small heat in his eyes, a hand caresses your jaw, thumb stroking your cheek.

“Who were you with?” he asks slowly.

“No one.” you replied, keeping your voice light and confident.

Or so you thought. Tony’s fingers wrap the base of your nape, tilting your head slightly to see if you have the gall to lie to his face.

“Is there a reason you’re lying to me?”

“How long?

“How long what?” he scoffs, unyielding.

The tiny plastic you’ve been white-knuckling for the past few minutes is dangled inches from his face. That hardened jaw falters, shortly returning with a dry chuckle and sly smirk.

“How long have you been meeting Steve behind my back?”

part four coming soon

tag request: @those-late-night-feels

#seikkoiwrites #tony stark x reader #tony stark #tony stark fanfiction #tony stark smut #marvel fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #tw dubious consent #tw dubcon

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emberenchanted · 1 year ago

Text

For Keeps (3/3)

Pairing: Dark!Carol Danvers x Female Reader

Summary: Carol sees you. Carol wants you. Carol gets what she wants.

Series Warnings: extremely dubious consent, strap ons (r receiving), sex (oral, vaginal), anal fingering, Dom!Carol, orgasm denial, spanking, violence (not really towards reader), manipulation, forced relationship, rough sex

18+ ONLY

Link to Chapter 1

Link to Chapter 2

A/N: Ok party people, we've reached the end of this short tale. There really isn't much plot here, it's mostly smut 😅. This fic is my first time writing smut so hope it isn't terrible. Thanks to everyone who read, liked, commented, and reblogged! Let me know what you think about this chapter. I really appreciate the support and motivation.

Divider by @firefly-graphics

Chapter 3

When you wake up the next morning, it is to serious regret and a text from Carol telling you that she’d pick you up at 6:30pm that night. You make one last effort to get out of the date and text back that you aren’t feeling well. Carol responds and says that if you aren’t feeling well, she’ll just come over and take care of you until you’re better.

The response makes your stomach drop. You shudder to imagine how domineering Carol would be alone, in a private space that has a lock. She already forces every interaction into the outcome she desires in public. If she managed to get into your studio, you would be at her mercy, and after the way she’d finger fucked you against the alley wall before you could get a word in, you were sure you wouldn’t get her out of your apartment before she got what she wanted, which was most likely you in bed with her. You definitely weren’t ready for that yet, if you’d ever be. No, much better to go out.

Hours later, after considering the contents of your closet, you settle on a black knee length bodycon dress with long sleeves and chunky black boots. You style your hair into an updo, and add chunky gold hoop earrings; a bit of concealer (to cover the marks Carol had left on your neck the night before), and a swipe of lip gloss complete your look. You don’t want Carol to see where you live so you decide that you’ll head down to the bar around 6:25pm and meet her there. You’re already nervous, so when you’re ready by 6pm you decide to indulge in one glass of wine to settle your nerves. It definitely can’t hurt, right?

At 6:20pm, Carol walks up the steps to your apartment, which is right over the bar. If she’d known last night that her baby lived just upstairs, she could have dragged you there during her break and made your first time riding her fingers much more comfortable. Though to be fair, if she had known, you might not have made it back for the rest of your shift. Oh, well. That’s what she gets for not having complete information. She won’t let that happen again. Carol intends to find out all the important bits about her baby’s life tonight, so simple slip ups like that don’t happen anymore.

After spending her morning “talking” to some of the other business owners who have recently missed their monthly payments, Carol is feeling relaxed and eager. Situations where she got to flex her physical...skills always got her blood up, and she was ready to show her baby a great time. The concerning information Carol’d received from three of the people she visited could be handled tomorrow. Apparently, all of them had also been told there’d be a change in payment method and none of the dumb fucks had double checked before paying in cash at that bench. She needed to talk to Steve about how to move forward and he wasn’t an early riser. If things went according to plan, she wouldn’t make it back to the Avengers’ headquarters from her date until mid-morning tomorrow.

She bounds up the last two steps before quickly walking to your door. Carol knocks two times before taking a step back. When you open the door, Carol is absolutely thrilled. You look fucking delicious and Carol can’t wait to eat her little baby alive. Your soft breasts are perched high in a tight black v-neck dress, and the smooth expanse of skin from your neck to dressline is flawless. Whatever you'd applied made your skin gleam and shimmer in the light. It's all Carol can do to not hook her finger into the neckline of your dress and tug to see if your pretty little nipples shine in the same way. You look surprised to see her and Carol uses your temporary shock to crowd you, pressing her body to yours and lifting her hand to stroke your cheek gently. “You look incredible, baby,” Carol husks out, dropping a soft kiss on your shiny supple lips.

“Oh.” The little sound of surprise pops out of you before you can help it. When you take a step back, Carol takes that moment to step around and into your apartment.

Carol slowly takes in the small two room apartment. It was rather cramped and a bit dingy, but you obviously take good care of your belongings. Old bookcases line the walls and sink under the weight of fat, squat books. An obviously used green velvet couch takes up most of the open floor space and a TV on a chipped wood table stands across from the couch. But multiple small clusters of flowers in mason jars are perched on several surfaces, brightening the space. And in the kitchen, directly behind the couch, several bright prints and images are hung.

Carol was proud of you for making it on your own this far. She knew how many young girls struggled, but you had found a job and place to live in a new city without any family support or connections. Her baby was hard working and industrious. Thankfully, you wouldn't need to do that anymore. Carol would be taking care of all that for you soon enough. Carol was just happy that through your obvious struggles you'd remained innocent and pliable. Watching you stammer and flush when Carol gave you her full attention was exquisite and it made her eager to command that submissive spirit in the bedroom. You would be so fucking pretty whining and squirming under Carol in bed with a sore and tender ass.

After Carol had seen her fill of the apartment, she turned to face you once more. Stepping close, Carol slid a hand up and down your arm. “Your apartment is so cute, baby. I wish I’d known you lived so close. I would have come over sooner.”

You shudder at the thought. “Ready to head out?,” you ask hurriedly.

By the time Carol slips into the booth seat next to you at the restaurant, you’ve calmed just a bit. While she’s been just as handsy at the show and on the way there, she’s also been charming. Being with Carol was like being on a rollercoaster. The breakneck pace she pushes things along makes your stomach churn and drop, but it also makes you excited and breathless. As with a roller coaster you’re pretty sure you’ll make it off alive, but there’s always the chance that you’ll slip past the safety restraints and tumble to your end. It was exciting and scary. Carol was exciting and scary.

The restaurant Carol has chosen is quiet and dimly lit. Floor to ceiling brick walls enclosed several small tables situated around the room. A few booths were also tucked against the back wall creating private enclaves. Each table is topped with a burning white candle. After you’d both ordered, Carol begins asking about your life. Where you grew up, familial relationships, your past romantic partners, what you liked to do in your free time, your favorite places in the city (so far); everything was fair game. There was a part of you that wanted to hold back, not to divulge everything about yourself, but another little part of you was flattered. You’d never had someone so interested in hearing about you. Of course, Carol might not have had a completely altruistic motive, but she did seem genuinely interested. After finishing your main course, Carol’s hand gently touches your knee, pushing the fabric of your dress up your leg and swirling patterns into the ticklish skin there. It's hard to believe that this was the same woman who’d brutalized Mel. But, you try to remind yourself that it was.

Carol seems to be in a good mood, and she’d said at the beginning of your dinner that she wanted to know everything about you. That went both ways, right? You thought you should also be able to ask her about her life. If this was going to be a...relationship, there had to be some give and take.

You take a deep breath and ask, “Carol, can I ask you a question?”

She squeezes your knee, “Anything, baby.”

Your question comes out quietly. “Do you hurt people, like you hurt Mel, often?”

Carol turns her body to you, meeting your eyes and she takes a beat before answering. “You want to know more about my work?”

You nod.

“I fix problems,” she begins. “Almost any problem. I do that all over the country and all over the world. And there are different...methods for fixing problems. It’s my job to identify the most expeditious method for resolving any issue I’ve been hired to fix. People pay me a lot of money to do that well.” Her hand slides up your thigh and kneads. “What happened with Mel was unfortunate, and I’m so sorry if I scared you, but you'll get used to it.”

Your heart stutters in your chest. That was not what you were hoping to hear. And you definitely didn’t think you’d get used to it. You look into her eyes and see what looks like affection there as you brace yourself to ask another question. “Would you ever hurt me like that?”

She chuckles softly. “I would never hurt you in the same way that I hurt Mel.” The tightness in your chest releases just a bit. “But I do have certain expectations of you, baby, and I will enforce boundaries with and for you. But never that harshly.” she rushes to finish. Your heart continues to beat a rapid rhythm against your ribs as you take in her words. You’d known that Carol had certain proclivities after your previous interactions with her, but to hear it stated so plainly was something different. You simply didn't want that kind of relationship. One with rules and punishments. You are even more sure you'll have to find some way to end things with Carol before they go any further. At that moment, the waitress clears the table, sets down your dessert and heads back to the kitchen.

The hand gently stroking the inside of your thigh creeps up a bit higher, tickling delicate skin. You move to shift away from her, uncertain of how you're feeling at the moment and hoping for a bit of time to think. But as you begin to close your thighs, Carol gives the inside of your leg a sharp pinch. “One of those expectations is that you do as I request, and another is that you don’t move when I’m touching you--or about to touch you--unless I give you permission. Ok, baby?”

You nod slowly and Carol nods back at you. “Now why don’t you just lean back and relax, sweetheart? This will feel good. I promise.” Carol was blocking you inside the booth so you couldn’t get out without making a scene. You rest your back fully against the back of the bench and close your eyes.

“Look at me while I’m touching you,” Carol murmurs against your ear. You drop your head to the seat behind you and roll your head to face her, eyes fluttering at the sensations coursing through your body at her gentle stroking.

“Carol,” you sigh.

Another pinch. “Ma'am!,” you quickly correct. “Ma'am, we’re in public. Someone might see.”

“Don’t worry,” Carol purrs. “Nobody is going to see you. Nobody gets to see you like this but me, ok?”

You murmur affirmatively and give yourself over to the pleasure she’s inciting in you. Her slender fingers find your panty covered core and stroke over your damp slit. Her gentle caresses send fissures of pleasure shooting through you and you whimper softly. Carol hums approvingly. Her fingers pull your panties to one side and she slides one solitary finger inside your slick warmth to the second knuckle. Your body twists at the sensation, and you try to slide further down the bench to get her finger further inside you. Carol laughs gently as she thrusts her finger in and out. In and out. It’s not enough. “More, please, ma'am” you sigh breathily.

Carol chuckles.

“My baby needs a little more? Do you want to come?,” Carol queries.

You nod frantically. “Do you want to come here at the table or back at home?” Your mind races. You really don’t want to lose control at the restaurant despite Carol’s assurances that nobody will see you. But, you also don’t want her in your home. As you ponder, Carol pushes her finger deeper inside you and the slick sensation makes you gasp. “Home!”

Carol pulls her finger out before slipping it in her mouth to suck gently. “Hmm, delicious,” she intones. Carol stands up quickly and strides over to the waitress, credit card in hand as you try to gather yourself and your senses. She’s back before you know it, quickly packing up your dessert into small takeout containers, and grabbing your hand to drag you out the booth.

Just as you’d suspected, Carol was just as forceful in bed. She’d essentially dragged you to her apartment (or at least where she was staying while in the city), before pouncing on you. Her apartment was modern, but understated, largely empty of decoration. Her hands dragged, unzipped, and shifted until you were left in only your underwear.

She pushes you into her room and onto her large bed before climbing on top of you. Her lips meet yours and her tongue strokes the inside of your mouth sensuously. She sucks and nips sharply at your lips before slowly making her way down your jawline to your neck. As her lips travel to your clavicle, Carol slips one hand underneath you to press your back into an arch. Her other deftly unclasps your bra before tossing it aside. Her teeth gently scrape at your skin before moving to your nipples. Latching on, she gives you a hard suck, immediately laving the skin with her tongue with small strokes to soothe the now aching bud. She continues to suck on first one nipple, then the other until both are sore and puffy and you are whining and squirming underneath her. Seemingly inspired by your strained noises, her teeth continue worrying the taut bud of one breast as her fingers slip into your panties and begin to rub your clit.

She releases you with a soft, wet pop as her fingers continue exploring, first one, then two of her fingers pushing all the way into your tight hole and making you moan incoherently. “This little pussy is perfection, baby, I can’t wait to fuck you,” Carol rumbles, mouth still against your breast.

”Wait,” you bleat out.

Carol rises to her knees and smacks your pussy hard. “Ouch,” you shout.

"No, baby. I’m not waiting anymore. I was supposed to get to fuck you on our last date, but you stood me up. You've been teasing me long enough. Now get undressed and get on your hands and knees."

Carol pauses her words to cock her head and pin you with a hard gaze when she notices you aren't moving. "Now, baby," she says harshly while reaching over to give your thigh a hard pinch. You yelp at the blooming pain, then take a few deep breaths and resign yourself to what was about to happen. Your heart pounded in your chest at how fast, again, Carol was getting her way. You felt so overwhelmed and helpless that you couldn't stop the tears that filled your eyes and threatened to spill over your lower lids. Hands shaking, you removed your simple white lace underwear and began moving to your hands and knees.

Satisfied that you were following directions sufficiently (though you were still moving too slow in Carol's opinion, --something she would let slide tonight but would train out of you soon enough) Carol reaches over to open her bedside drawer and pulls out an intimidating strap on. Your movements pause as you catch sight of her maneuvering it onto her body, and your eyes widen in fear. It's as thick as your wrist, frighteningly long, and has a wicked curve. Thinking of that splitting you open makes you sob. But Carol is having none of it. With herself situated, she turns her attention back to you. She manhandles you into her desired position, ignoring your breathless pleas to pause for a moment.

Your eyes are glued in fear to her linen duvet as you feel the fat head of her huge cock run through your slippery folds, stopping to nudge at your clit before continuing back up to your hole. Carol rests her hands on the flare between your waist and hips, before tightening her grip and starting to push into you.

You moan pathetically as you feel the head of her cock pop into you. Even this first inch is a stretch and you know there's a lot more coming. Carol gives you no reprieve as she continues sliding into you, splitting you open at a slow but steady pace. Your cunt flutters frantically around the invading cock, trying desperately to create space where there previously was none. When you're sure you can't take any more, you begin to whine and try to move away. Carol tuts softly before giving your ass a sharp smack, and leans over to murmur in your ear. "I told you not to ever move away from me when I'm touching you." Her words send shivers down your spine.

With that, she tightens her grip on your hips, before lifting you and giving you a rough tug back, impaling you with the last few inches of her cock. You sob into the sheets at the pain coursing through you. Carol threads the fingers of one hand into your hair, yanking back to ensure you can no longer move away from her. "Gotta keep you nice and close, baby. " You shudder as Carol's free hand begins to explore your body while she gives you a few slow but deep experimental thrusts. Though you still haven't adjusted to the fullness of your cunt, Carol begins to increase the pace, drawing heat and an intense pleasure to your belly. Her touch is everywhere -- sliding over your shoulders, rubbing and twisting at your nipples until you sob, tickling down your back to rub over your ass, pinching your inner thighs before moving them apart, forcing your back into a deeper arch and making the heavy cock inside you slide that much deeper.

You're barely holding on. Carol is everywhere and there is only Carol. Since you'd met, Carol had been pushing every interaction and every conversation the way she wanted it to go. There was no room for disobedience, no room for hesitation at one of her many orders, and no room for negotiation. Everything has to be Carol's way, and you'd seen the potential consequences firsthand. That first night you'd seen the violence she'd casually doled out, and hadn't ever wanted that to be you. Now you were wishing for a few simple broken bones. This was so much more violating.

Her cock is rubbing against every inch of you, making you feel stretched to the limits. As much as this hurts, it brings an equal amount of pleasure. Your body hums at the intensity of Carol fucking you. Every nerve ending is alight and you can feel the beginning of that coil tightening in your gut. You feel sick, and scared. You're sick at your body's enthusiastic response to Carol's rough handling. You can hear the slick, wet noises you make each time she thrusts into your raw and battered pussy. But you're too scared of the immediate punishment to try to resist or adjust your body to make yourself a bit more comfortable. So just as you begin to let your mind wander from this place and try to relax into the pleasure and ignore the pain, Carol removes the hand that's been roaming your body. The sudden lack of sensation gets your attention.

She gives your hair another yank, twisting your head so you're awkwardly looking at her. She looks...depraved, but beautiful. Her piercing eyes take in every expression on your face and flick from the bouncing of your tits, to the cock disappearing inside of you and back to your face at a rapid pace. When a particularly rough thrust forces the curve of the cock into your g-spot and you part your lips to yowl at the ecstasy she shoves her pointer and middle fingers into your mouth and tells you to suck. You know better than to disobey. You suckle at her fingers as they rub over your tongue, reaching further back until they press into the back of your mouth. As you choke on the intrusion, and Carol continues to rub at your tongue as you gag, her eyes light up in glee, and you worry about the plans she might have for your mouth. You don't think you can take the hefty cock down your throat if Carol demanded it, but you know you'd have to try. You close your eyes for a moment, trying to escape the intensity of Carol's gaze and put that potential nightmare out of your mind, but Carol gives your hair a sharp tug before demanding you "look at me."

When you do, she finally-- blessedly-- pulls her fingers from your mouth. They're covered in your saliva and a small string of spit connects her fingers to your lips. She murmurs that she wishes she were close enough to lick the drop of saliva off your lips, and you can't help but be thankful she isn't. You don't think you can take much more of this. More of Carol everywhere.

But you've never been lucky, and just as you begin to relax again you feel a light stroking pressure at the opening of your tight puckered hole.

You start and your mind begins to race as you feel her spit slick finger begin to press into you, stretching your ass open in an insistent burn.

"You ever let anyone fuck you here?" Carol asks. You gather your wits about you before she has to repeat her question. "No, ma'am" you mutter out in a broken moan.

"Good," Carol responds. "I'm going to be the last person in this tight little pussy and the first and last in this little asshole." She sounds pleased. Despite knowing the uselessness of trying, you plead for her to stop, to give you a short break. She hushes you gently, more gentle than she had been, as her finger slips deeper into you and she murmurs "Both holes baby. Gotta get you used to this. I'm not going to fuck you here with my cock tonight but it's happening soon so we've gotta get you trained. Wouldn't want to hurt you."

Carol removes her hand from your hair and uses it to brace your hip in place as you wail and try to buck at the intrusion.

"Ah ah ah, baby. Hold still. One more,” she murmurs as she pushes in a second slender finger. “You can do it. There you go. All done. You don't move unless I tell you to, remember baby?" Your fingers scramble for purchase in Carol's sheets as you pant. You thought you'd been full before. You thought Carol had violated you as much as possible but you should have known she'd find another way to possess you. You cry into the sheets before feeling Carol smack your ass twice and dig her fingers into your hip making you yelp sharply.

"I asked you a question, baby. Answer me."

You sob out a miserable "yes, ma'am." Satisfied with your response, Carol begins to alternate thrusting into your ass and pussy, both pushing deeper into you than you thought possible. Your body quivers at the push and pull of her inside you and her free hand is back to roaming over your body. After twisting at your sore nipples her hand coasts over the soft skin of your belly to your slippery folds. She begins to rub gently at your clit. Light teasing touches that send you hurdling toward an orgasm but aren't quite enough to send you over the edge.

You hear Carol's smooth voice behind you "are you close, baby? I can feel you squeezing my fingers and can see that sweet little cunt of yours fluttering around my cock."

You nod, before remembering to answer affirmatively verbally. Desperate to ease just a bit of your discomfort, you shift forward a tiny bit, resting more heavily on your arms and slightly relieving the pressure of Carol's cock pressing against your cervix and the deep press of her fingers in your ass.

Carol didn't have to-- she could tell you were trying so hard to be a good girl for her--but this time she just wanted to. She smacked your already sore ass cheek hard three times for forgetting to answer her verbally. Carol knew she would enjoy seeing the bruises tomorrow as much she was enjoying putting them there tonight. Carol slips her free arm under your stomach and drags you back toward her, more than making up for any marginal ground you may have gained in your attempt to adjust and mounting you more firmly on her cock and fingers.

You whimper and stop moving, simply shuddering and moaning in time with Carol's thrusts.

Her fingers return to your clit, rubbing and pinching until your body is tight with tension, ready to snap and tumble into the orgasm she's been building you towards. Carol's fingers quicken their pace, drawing small tight circles over your bud as you feel your cunt tightening and the coil inside you snaps. Carol continues her thrusts, more forceful now to get past your quivering flesh. Your body shivers and shudders as the pleasure courses through you, made all the more intense by Carol's continued movements. She forces you right through this climax and violently into another. All the while you hear her voice saying how happy she is that you're together now, and that she can't wait to do this everyday.

You're overstimulated; sore and tired. Carol slows her thrusts before pulling her fingers and cock out of you. Your body sags in relief. She removes her strap and positions herself at the head of the bed. She grabs you from your prone position and pushes you down until your head rests between her legs. Hands weave back into your hair, and she pushes your face into her slippery wet cunt, telling you to lick. You're exhausted and horrified and scared, but you lick her gently- running your tongue up and down her slit, suckling at her clit as she moans. She grabs your head in both hands and continues to maneuver you as she pleases.

Later, after Carol comes on your tongue twice, you lay curled in her bed, shocked and softly crying. She returns from the bathroom and sits in bed beside you, stroking your hair and back. Though you know better than to question her, you simply can't process that this might be your new reality.

Occasionally Carol slips her fingers over your chest to rub and twist at your sore tits. After a while, she leans over to whisper in your ear. "You cry so pretty baby, but I only want to see you cry on my cock. So if you keep crying, I'll put you there."

A wave of horror runs through you as Carol gives you a gentle kiss on the cheek before sliding into bed behind you and tugging you close into the cocoon of her body. You wipe your tears on her pillow and pray for sleep to take you.

#dark fic #tw dark fic #dark carol danvers x female reader #dark carol danvers x reader #dark!carol danvers #tw smut #dark!carol #avengers smut #marvel fanfiction #marvel smut #carol danvers x female reader #carol danvers x reader #tw dubious consent #tw dubcon #for keeps series

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snowflakesnsundry · 10 months ago

Text

The Embrace of a Stranger: Part 1

Word Count: 5,961

Summary: There are rumors about the Beltane celebration in the Golden Palace. It’s said it’s an event where no one appears as they are-where people of all classes and ranks mingle without the burden of status-and where the air is filled with the smell of sweat and sex.

This is your first time in attendance, and Loki has sworn he would know you no matter who you looked like. You’re nervous, but you have to trust him- and hope the man who ends up burried deep inside you is the man you are hoping him to be.

Warnings: Story is Rated R, and contains elements of mistaken identity, dub-con, public sex, free use, and just general debauchery.

Author’s Notes: So this is that fic I mentioned earlier. This thing is over 15k words long so im breaking it into parts- largely because i want to do some further editing/polishing on it. Part 2 is now up on tumblr!

The stars, and twisting colors of the galaxy in which Asgard was nestled, shimmered against the ink black sky. Brighter than usual, you wondered if it was because the moon had gone dark-fallen into shadow as if closing her watchful eye.

With what was unfolding in the city below, you found it hard to blame her.

For weeks now soft, pastel banners had woven themselves across the rooftops in a colorful web. All across the city they hung from shop fronts, homes, and market stalls alike; even gracing the halls rof the palace, wrapped around pillars and dangling from arches alongside floral displays- undoubtably kept vibrant by the very same magics that preserved the gardens. It was clear that the Queen had put her all into preparing the event. But oh how you wished she wouldn’t…

You would only be able to stall for so much longer, but your fingers dug into the balustrade as you considered what must be going on down below. For a while now you had watched the silver trails of smoke lift from the rooftops and escape towards the sky; each fresh brush of night air bringing the scent of the feasts and flowers as music mingled with singing, shouting, and…

The later it gets, the worse it will get.

Beltane had always been a festival you avoided-for a litany of reasons- but you had at least enjoyed a tradition here and there; the maypoles and flower crowns; the lighthearted dancing and singing in a giddy welcoming of spring. But every tenth year the festival changed. You had seen it in the eyes of those around you; in the giggles that came from hidden corners as you passed, the constant -brazen- flirtation between not just the servants but the members of court. It was hard for you to tell why they even bothered.

None of you will recognize each other anyway.

Pressing your eyes closed you turned back into your quarters. The gown Lady Ragna has made for you lay draped across the bed you and Loki shared, it’s golden fabric shimmering in the firelight. For the first time it was something she had made without input from either of you-tradition, you were told. In fact, the thing had not even arrived until that morning, carefully packaged in black cloth so that not even the fidgety courier would know what lay inside.

There had been a breif argument between you and Loki earlier in the day. You had begged to see what she had sent for him-promising to show you what had been sent for you in exchange. It would be a way for you to recognize one another- something to temper the nerves that had you shaking from head to foot- but he had refused. He had smirked at you, promising he would be able to recognize you no matter what- that he would never let you attend this on your own.

If Loki left you alone, you would kill him yourself.

A trembling finger reached to trace the soft fabric of the gown. If you could call it a gown. It looked more to you like loosely joined strips of fabric. This was not to say it hadn’t been crafted with Ragna’s usual polish and care, but your nerves had long since got the better of you.

Every ten years-when this celebration occurred- the attendees of the Palace’s Beltane event were expected to all dress in a single color. What color that was shifted from year to year, rotating between the banner colors of the members of the royal family, landing this year on the Queen’s signature gold. Anonymity was the cornerstone upon which the event was built-it would not be what it was without it- and so uniformity of color was just one more level added to ensure no one could recognize who they walked among.

That, in and of itself, was a bit of a blessing-because you did not know how you could continue on if anyone saw you like… this.

You brushed your fingers across the gold band that would wrap around your neck. Etched with great care, twisting patterns wrapped around gems of yellow topaz that were sure to catch the light. Two chain links hung from it-about where you would expect your collar bone to be- a long strip of gold fabric hanging from each. Were you not so horrified that this was all there was to the top of your gown, you might have marveled at the cloth Ragna chose. You had worried what she would provide you might be a gaudy sort of metalic- the kind of fabric that would stick to your skin and chafe all through the night; but this? It was soft-cool to the touch- and pooled delicately in your hand.

Almost as if it were made up of a million tiny links of chain.

Though it glittered under the touch of firelight, it was subtle- gentle. You were equally glad for how cool it was to the touch; because if the rumors were true, the heat from entangled partygoers might boil you alive.

Cautiously you undressed, not daring to look in the mirror as you did so. The collar opened easily-a perfect fit around your neck- and you slipped the small latch that held it closed into place, praying it wouldn’t come undone.

When it had arived, you had been a bit offended Ragna had also sent along instructions; but as you held the strips of fabric in your hand you were incredibly grateful they were not just written, but illustrated.

Left strip to cover the right breast, right strip to cover the left breast.

The strips crossed one another right below the dip where your sternum met your clavicle, broadening just a bit to cradle each breast before tying togeather at your back. It was the sort of outfit beneath which you could wear no underthings- a major concern when you had first seen the gown- but you should have known a few enchantments could fix a myriad of problems.

Something to ask Loki about later.

To your releif each time you adjusted your chest, the fabric molded to it-holding it in place without any rigidity or discomfort. It made you wonder why she hadn’t made all your dresses this way.

Small comforts asside, you still had the skirt to face. It too was set with a gold band-engraved and set just as the collar had been. To your dismay, you realized was the wrong size to fit your waist- but just the right size to rest about your hips. The fabric here, at least, was more recognizable as a skirt- though the double slits on its front ran so high that the place where the fabric joined was hidden beneath the golden band. Just as cool and mailable as the first piece, it fell smooth over your backside; pooling about your ankles in a way that let you know the heels Ragna provided would be unavoidable. The strip of fabric that ran down your front was not nearly as wide as you had hoped; and just like the top, it left no place to hide underthings.

A few items had been provided as well- decoration for this ‘gown’- and whose instructions you were equally grateful for. A broach, carved from some honey yellow stone you could not name- had been shaped into a flower that bloomed up between the curve of your breasts. From its base hung a chain of gold that fell loosely over your exposed stomach- a second gemstone carved to look like a seed attatched to its end, weighting it to swing like a pendulum across your skin.

You were happy to learn that the heels you had been provided were remarkably comfortable-which left you with only one last task before you left for the night.

Upon your vanity sat a single glass bottle, filled to the top with a liquid that glowed a soft red in the darkness. Loki had taken his with him when he had departed- opting to prepare in an unoccupied guest chamber after deciding he could not trust you not to peek. You could still feel the kiss he had left upon your lips as he swore to you there was no reason to worry. He would find you; he would know you anywhere. Everything would be fine.

As you sat before the mirror you decided you wouldn’t look at your reflection until the potion had been downed. Perhaps then you would be less anxious about how you appeared. The taste was cloyingly sweet. Wrinkling your nose, you tried to swallow down any of the taste that lingered on your tongue, but you feared it would be quite some time before you were free of the taste.

In seconds you felt the heat spread across your body, the prickle of magic against your skin raising the hairs on your arm as it traveled through you. The sensation was not comfortable, but you had endured worse. With eyes pressed shut you waited until the sensation passed; only then lifting your eyes to the mirror.

Seeing someone elses’ face in place of your own was beyond jarring. You looked nothing like you had before-the potion changing everything from the features of your face to the curve of your hips. The person in the mirror was someone new- and oh was she lovely.

Your cheeks warmed as you ran your fingers through your hair. What was there before had changed into long waves of jet-black hair- a feature strikingly reminiscent of Loki. It sparked a glimmer of hope that this might make it that much easier for him to find you.

Something about the familiar strands made you want to style it with great care. It would make you later still, but in the back of your mind you almost hoped you could stall long enough to miss it entirely.

And yet…

As your fingers worked braids into your hair, your mind wandered. The festivities in the city could get quite… lewd; but if rumor was to be believed, it was nothing compared to what went on within the walls of the palace. How much rumors could be trusted, you couldn’t say, but if they could…

In your head you could hear it-the cries of pleasure and the strike of flesh against flesh rising high above the chatter in the corrination hall. Nobles, servants, and soldiers alike tangled in one another- never to know who they had spent their night in or on. A shiver ran down your spine, and you tried to ignore the way you found it not entirely unpleasant.

——

You hadn’t the faintest idea how long you stood at the end of the corridor, eyes trained on the door leading into the coronation hall in which the event would be held. You could hear it, feel it, smell it even from so far away. You could feel your pulse hammering across every inch of your body-anxiety fighting with the unexpected heat you felt building between your legs.

Perhaps that heat only made it worse.

The smell of wine, fruit, and sweetened bread mingled with the sharp tang of sweat and sex. From where you stood you already had felt the temperature rise; and though the singing and chatter within carried across the air, it was the cries of pleasure and unrestrained moans that stole the entirety of your focus.

This is what you get for arriving so late.

Any tame moments that might have eased you into the evening had long since passed-and you knew what waited for you inside.

You have to go in.

But your feet wouldn’t move.

Hovering, you could feel the eyes of the guards stationed at the door; and you wondered if they resented being chosen for this shift. Now and then a giggling couple would bump into them as they stumbled from the hall-slipping away to enjoy one another privately as opposed to publicly.

You swore beneath your breath. Why were you so nervous? It wasn’t as if you had never seen a nude body before, and you weren’t some untouched maiden- so why did your heart continue to hammer so?

As you shifted on your feet, you felt how slick it had become between your thighs.

It’s not fear you’re feeling…

You shook your head. You wouldn’t think of it; you wouldn’t pitty yourself or hover outside the door as the soldiers watched you standing there. You would enter with your head held high-find Loki- and get through the night unscathed.

You shoved down the little twinge in the back of your mind that felt something like disappointment.

Briefly you took comfort in the idea that, if there were soldiers on duty, their Captain would likely be similarly occupied. Of all the people you did not want to run into at a festival such as this, Baldur was at the very top of your list; but the idea of his absence made the room seem safer- so you grabbed hold of that little bit of courage and took your first step- just as you heard a voice speak up beside you.

“Finally found your courage, have you?” The abrupt interruption had you nearly leaping from your skin; you had to slap your hand across your mouth in order to stifle a scream.

Irritably you turned to the man who now stood beside you, faltering as you looked up into a pair of wild, glimmering eyes. He was tall, his long blonde hair hung about his shoulders, a few silken braids woven to frame his features and keep the strands out of his face. His eyes were a rich brown, and they shone as they reflected the glittering gold dancing in the firelight.

He did not hesitate as he placed a broad hand on your lower back, his fingers spreading delicately across your skin. His smile was soft-kind- as he ran his thumb over the curve at the base of your spine. “It can be quite intimidating-I nearly lost my nerve the first time I attended, but once you’re inside it’s not nearly as overwhelming as you might think.”

You stared at him, shocked by how casually familiar he was with you, and yet unable to shake the feeling of familiarity that he stirred.

He pulled you closer and you caught the faint scent of dust and steel.

Every bit of tension that had built up in you-every knot that had twisted its way into your muscles- unraveled in an instant; the fear you might never find him fully washed away. Your whole countenance brightened, and you sank into him as he pulled you close. He pressed his hips firmly against yours and you allowed your hands to settle about his waist.

A warm, ochre yellow, the wrap shirt he wore fit loosely- the V formed by the two sides of the shirt dipping nearly all the way down to his waist. He had bound it loosely, the knot of its band resting just above his hips. The pants he wore were just as loose as the top- shifting about him with his every move, and thin enough to make you painfully aware of what rested just beneath.

Almost on instinct your fingers crept to his bare chest, wandering freely across it as you lavished in his embrace. “I must admit, I do feel a bit uneasy entering alone,” a coy grin slipped across your features, “but if I could find someone to acompany me…”

His eyes flashed, and you felt him stiffen against your hips. He had begun to move his fingers slowly across the skin at the base of your spine, and you let out a soft sigh as you felt them journeying further down than up. “Well then, good Lady,” he said with a wry grin, “I would be delighted to serve as your companion and… entertainment for the evening.”

An electric current seemed to pulse across your skin. “How shameless,” you purred. “Were you any more eager I might think you have been out here waiting for me.”

Hunger burned behind his eyes sending another jolt through you. Despite the heat growing within you, his touch felt warm as he brushed his knuckles across your cheek. The hand at your back slipped lower, and you hummed gently as it slid over the curve of your ass. His scent consumed your senses as he leaned in, lips brushing against the curve of your ear. “Darling, I think you are exactly who I have been waiting for.”

Your breath wavered, fingers curing against his chest. Suddenly it seemed so obvious why he proclaimed he would be able to recognize you no matter what; everything about the man in your arms was so familiar. You recognized the way his fingers brushed your skin, the curve of his grin-even the cadence of his speech was familiar; and he had waited for you.

“Well then,” you whispered, breathless, “I would hate to see the efforts of such a charming creature go to waste.” His growl of approval only served to worsten the heat growing within you.

“Well then,” pulling back, he offered you his arm-as if just moments ago he hadn’t been pressed against you… “Tonight, you may call me Vidar; what might I call you?”

You tried to force down a smile so you might match the gentlemanly demeanor he had decided to adopt-at least, for now. Each invitation had come with a name- one different from your own that you would go by until the spell wore off at daybreak- and you had to dig through the back of your mind to find what had been written on your page.

“Sigrid.” You slipped your hand into the crook of his arm, unafraid to keep him close. ‘Vidar’s hand slipped atop yours, interlacing your fingers as he gripped you tight.

“Lady Sigrid,” he announced with a grin, “I promise you will not regret your choice. I will do everything in my power to ensure this is a night you will remember.”

—-

What lay beyond the doors was breathtaking in more ways than one. The event hall was already grand without a single bit of decoration, but what unfolded before your eyes went beyond the pale.

“Nines…” you muttered, holding a little tighter to your companions arm.

Before you sprawled a single, long table that boasted every sweet thing you could imagine. Wines, fruits, sweet breads and the like filled every possible space until its wooden surface was invisible to the eye. Were it not for the towering figureheads at each end you might have guessed it didn’t exist at all- and the remainder of the room would only lend credence to that.

Above your head was not a ceiling, but an intricate mosaic of blooming flowers arraigned to mimic the night sky. Trees grew, reaching up towards the fragrant sky with branches dotted by violet petals and leaves of emerald green. Beneath their canopies sat lavishly upholstered chase lounges, each one seemingly wide enough for at least two partygoers to occupy.

And occupy them they did.

Face burning you turned instead the veritable maze of gossamer curtains colored delicate pastel versions of the royal colors. You did not need to see within them to know what they were for.

You were pulled from your thoughts as the strands of Vidar’s hair brushed against your cheek. “Don’t take it in all at once,” he whispered, his breath hot as it wound around your ear. “We can explore one thing at a time-and if any of it catches your fancy…”

You squeezed his arm, turning to meet his eye -something that seemed to catch him just a bit off guard. “Thank you,” you replied, stifling a laugh as you leaned to press your forehead to his “I suppose if I never quite find the courage to enjoy you here,there will be plentywe can make up for back in your quarters.”

His breath shuddered as he pulled cautiously back. “Be careful what you say, girl; or I might find it quite difficult to keep myself restrained.

Fire coursed across your skin as you felt your eyes go wide. “P…Perhaps we start with a drink, then.”

Something wicked flashed in his eyes, the corner of his mouth curling upward into a downright predatory smile. “That, I believe, is the perfect place to start.”

Togeather you descended the few stairs that separated you from the golden crowd, plunging into sea of revelers and all the sensations that would come with it. Food and wine mingled with a delicate incense-no doubt selected to mask the scent of sex that hovered in the air; but it was to no avail. Those around you seemed to wander about in various states of undress, hands wandering freely between strangers that would never know eachother’s names.

“Do you have any preference with wine?”

You looked at Vidar with a frown. You were certain you had discussed it before- but then again, it had been months since you were free to drink when under the court’s watchful eye.

Perhaps he’s just forgotten.

“Something with some bitterness to it,” you said, “too sweet and it will make my stomach turn.”

“Ah, it would be a crime to put you out of commission so early in the night.”

You laughed as he kissed your hand, vanishing into the crowd as he sought a glass for you both.

Alone, the racing thoughts in your mind began to fade. The initial shock had worn away, and as you allowed your eyes to wander found yourself glazing over nude forms without a second thought. Couples beneath the trees seemed nothing of note, and there was an odd sort of freedom you doubted anything else could replicate. Without the burden of titles and names they were no one- but in the arms of a passing stranger they could spend a night at the center of their world; becoming a strangers everything.

And if you left it at that, the night might have progressed rather uneventfully; but what stood at the end of the maze of curtains was impossible to ignore.

There were large, upholstered platforms -somewhat reminiscent of a bed- stationed at regular intervals. By your estimation five individuals could lay comfortably upon it- so long as they were tall enough to make it there.

The legs were abnormally long, and you realized with a flutter in your stomach that they seemed to be about waist high. Pillows of a number of sizes and shapes were strewn about, likely to be used by whoever opted to… perform.

Golden fabric lay strewn across the stone floor -discarded by those who occupied a suprisingly large number of the beds. Though watching crowds obscured your vision, you could hear the cries of pain and pleasure shouted unhindered toward the sky. Your mouth suddenly felt incredibly dry.

You tried to tell yourself you weren’t curious about what was happening- that you didn’t need to see what elicited the cheers and lewdencouragement from those watching and waiting. Chewing at your lip you felt your breathing shift-becoming quick and shallow as something in your core began to burn. Between your legs you could feel the eager swell of your cunt despite your efforts to direct your attention elsewhere. Your hands fidgeted restlessly, and before you knew it your legs were carrying you toward the circle that had formed around one of the beds.

Several individuals lay stretched upon it, their bodies writhing with every touch and thrust their partners provided. They seemed to move from partner to partner like honeybees to flowers; slipping fingers, tongues, and cocks slick with cum in and out of whoever they pleased.

Who were they? How did they find themselves laying there?

Your mind placed you there atop the upholstery, Loki burried between your legs- his thrusts so desperate inside you that they would make the whole platform shake. You wanted the sting of his teeth against your skin, the cries of others in your ears, the heat of…

Your stomach flipped and you lost your nerve.

Quickly exiting the ring of spectators you felt the subtle urge to flee- or at the very least, move- but you reminded yourself that you did not want to get lost in the crowd. Restlessly you pulled at your fingers, wondering what might be taking him so long.

You could wait. You would be fine.

And still, your eyes were drawn to those waiting crowds.

It was as if you had drifted into a haze, the fog in your mind dulling the sounds and smells of the swarms around you until two observers stepped back from one of the circles-offering you a glimpse at what lay beyond.

The looks of pleasure upon their faces stirred something deep within you. It wasn’t just the expressions of those on display, either- it was the look of desire; of insatiable hunger painted across the faces of those who looked on. As the space closed you noted how many had their hands beneath their clothes, pleasuring themselves to the melodies of lust that continued to play.

Again, that heat within you stirred. Everything that lay before your eyes seemed to vanish in favor of the fantasy that played in your head. What would they do if it were you splayed out before them. Would they stroke themselves at the sight of your bare form? Would they revel in the way each touch-each forceful stroke of Loki’s cock- would make you sing? Would they want you for themselves? Would you let…

No. No no no you cannot…

But why, you wondered. There were none here to judge you, and not a one of them would know who you are. You could lay yourself at the mercy of every last soul in Asgard and come tomorrow, they would be none the wiser.

But if Loki doesn’t feel the same…

Even in the haze of your lust you were willing to accept he might not take kindly to watching those who were eager and willing as their touch explored every inch of you. Watching them sheathe themselves inside you. A shiver coursed down your spine, leaving you shaken as you tried not to watch on.

“I see something has drawn your eye.” You could hear the smirk in his tone. Low and gravely, his voice slipped across your consciousness, inflaming your desire even further. An involuntary whimper slipped free of your lips, your hand reaching back as you sank your fingers into his shoulder- desperate not to let your legs fail you.

“That bad, is it?”

Your grip tightened as he slid his fingers delicately over the exposed skin of your stomach-his touch so hot it burned against the midnight air. He wrapped himself firmly around you, his knee wedging between your legs before he sank his teeth into the curve of your neck. A strangled cry escaped you before your hand could clap down over your mouth.

“Lo… Vidar, I…”

“Before you say a word,” he growled, his hips rolling against your backside, “know I don’t want to hear the word ‘sorry’, nor do I want to hear you say ‘I can’t’ without providing me with good reason.”

You swallowed hard. “And what would qualify as a good reason?”

“I’m not cruel, girl,” he chuckled, “tell me honestly that you don’t want to- that it holds no interest to you- or that it would cause you undue pain.” As he spoke, a hand began to slip down past the golden band at your waist, his broad fingers inching asside the strip of fabric that shielded you from the world. “But be careful, good lady- because it will not take much to know you are lying.”

Cool midnight air drifted across your exposed cunt, Vidar’s fingers following close behind. All you could do was whimper-clinging to his arm as the heat of his hand reached down to cover all of you. “Go on then,” he growled, the heel of his hand beginning to press ever so slightly against your clit. “Tell me what it is you need. What it is you want.”

Oh no…

Your head was spinning now that you could feel his hands on you. Closing your eyes you sank into the pleasure stirring at your core-your mind devoid of any thought but his touch. “I don’t want you to be angry,” you whimpered between increasingly heavy breaths.

“And why would I be angry, my dear?”

You scoffed lightly, “I don’t quite know if you’re the type to… share.”

The sudden throb of his cock where it was pressed to your backside suggested otherwise.

When he withdrew his hand you whined in protest, but he took your hand-pulling you along before you could say much else.

The pulse already pounding in your ears became almost deafening as he pulled you towards one of the far beds- using his size to push through the large crowd until he pulled you through to the very front.

Your eyes went wide.

She looked exhausted. Her chest heaved, her fingers clambering for purchase on whatever they could find. Her hair was a tangled mess above her , every inch of her skin slick with sweat, saliva and cum. Between her legs stood a broad-shouldered man- his form bent over her, gripping her hips as he drove himself so violently inside her that each thrust caused the platform to shake.

And all the while, she sang. Cries of pleasure greeted every clap of his skin against hers, the expression on her face seemingly locked in a perminant state of bliss

It made your heart race, your face burn, your stomach flip and flutter in ways you did not quite know how to handle. When you tried to turn your eyes away you felt Vidar’s fingers dig into your cheeks and chin. His breath was in your ear as he forced your eyes back on the woman before you, writhing in pleasure. “Don’t look away- not until you’ve told me the truth.”

So long as your eyes were open, you knew you could not look nowhere else-and something about it let your body settle in and embrace the pooling heat between your thighs. When your legs began to falter, he wrapped his arm around your waist, holding you up as he pulled you tightly to him; a move that only seemed to make matters worse.

So to speak…

You could feel him- the swell of his cock pressed firmly against your back. You could feel the slight shudder that came with each exhaled breath, the heat radiating from his body. Once more you felt his knee wedge itself between your legs, parting you just enough for his fingers to explore.

Once more the front panel of your skirt was moved asside- but this time he lifted it fully, wrapping the cloth around your back before tucking it into the golden band about your hips. When his touch settled gently against your clit, you could see the curious eyes his gesture had drawn.

Without meaning to, you met the gaze of a pair of striking blue eyes. Bright and clear they seemed to stare so deeply into you that you may as well have been already rendered bare. Those eyes had once been locked on the woman before him, but now? Now they were locked on you.

As you squirmed, he held your gaze.

“So eager,” Vidar sighed, lavishing his tongue against the delicate skin of your neck. “But I wonder, is it just curiosity that has so… riled you? Or perhaps…” his finger lifted from your clit to settle as far back as he could reach on your folds. “Perhaps it is envy.”

Slowly he slipped his finger between your folds- already so slick that there was almost no resistance. You cried out in pleasure and agony as his finger dragged torturously slowly from back to front- warm and wet by the time it slid across your throbbing clit.

“Good lady?” You could hear his grin. “Is it really envy? Do you see the way he takes his pleasure from her-without anyhesitation?” You whimpered in reply. “Tell me then, in your own words… tell me how you want to be her.”

Eyes still locked straight ahead, your vision was filled by the scene before you. Vidar’s finger ran through your folds over and over as wild pleasure made your head spin. Table still shaking, you watched as the man burried inside her falter-his stroke losing its rhythm as his shoulders began to tighten.

Oh…

With each erratic thrust he chased his climax, his moans rising in harmony with hers as they both sought their high.

Tell me you want to be her…

Weight collapsing onto his elbows, you watched the man’s head fall to the mattress beside her - her hand rising to cradle the back of his head, her fingers twisting into his sweat-soaked hair. You couldn’t hear what they whispered, couldn’t see where he had pressed his lips into her skin- but as he pulled himself from inside her and stepped away, you could see what he had left behind.

A slow, thick ribbon of white dripped from her cunt to pool on the floor.

“Goodness,” Vidar teased, “for something like that…” he rolled his hips against yours, pressing you against his finger just enough to hint at the promise of slipping inside, but nothing more. “It takes more than one man to leave a mess like that.” His words settled inside your mind, thick and sweet as honey. “How many would you guess shes had? Five? Ten?”

“Vidar…” More eyes were upon you as you gasped his name. Hungry expressions watched and wondered if you too would soon be on display.

“I might guess a little closer to twenty. You might be too short to see, but from the looks of the floor? That is not the first time so much has slipped free.”

The sound you made was neither moan nor desperate cry- it was need, a primal, deep-seated desire that basked in the eyes trained upon you. Nails digging into the skin of Vidar’s arm, you hoped the words you were trying to force from your mouth came through as actualwords.

“I’ve struck a chord, haven’t I?” You nodded eagerly, grinding your hips into his hand- your body aching with the need to have something burried inside you. As the next guest stepped forward to claim the beauty splayed across the table, you felt something akin to… disappointment.

“Y..yes…”

“Then say it.” His finger rested motionless at your entrance, his fingers sliding from your chin to wrap tightly around your neck. “Tell me you want me to fuck you- that you want them to fuck you.” Your shaking legs began to fail you, only serving to tighten the grip around your neck as your falling weight sank his finger one knuckle deep inside you.

Nothing could have held back the moan that resonated in your chest. “Please… please- I need something inside me… someone inside me…” These words were ones you would have never expected to utter; not in a place like this. Not with so many eyes upon you. Yet your mind was so addled with desire that you spoke them through shaking breaths- unafraid and unashamed. “Fuck me… let them fuck me…please…”

There was no reason you could find not to. He seemed as aroused by the idea as you were and, when the sun rose over the city, the only ones who would know what had transpired would be you, and Loki.

Enjoy it.

It would be ten years before such a chance arose again

CONTINUE TO PART 2

#loki fanfic #loki reader insert #loki marvel #loki x y/n #loki x reader #loki fanfiction #loki x you #Smut #dubcon #not my usual stuff #baldur is the worst

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buckets-and-trees · 1 year ago

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Warm Shadows - Let All Light Go (2/4)

Collection: Warm Shadows Characters/Pairings: Alpha!Steve x f!Omega!Reader, existing Alpha!Bucky x f!Omega!Reader Word Count: 7.5k Summary: Now that he's claimed you, Captain Hydra takes you back to his new base of operations, his little omega bait for the Soldat. But the bond between an alpha and an omega is a powerful thing that shouldn't be trifled with. [sequel to When You Fall On Me Like Night]

Content Warnings: DARK, a/b/o dynamics, explicit smut, DUBIOUS CONSENT/omega heat, oral - female receiving, vaginal fingering, breast play, vaginal intercourse

Logistical Notes: We've got a dose of pride for @nickfowlerrr's Seven Deadly Sins + Seven Holy Virtues writing event. Now this second part is too late for the Horror Movie Hoe-a-thon, but I had most of it written before the challenge closed, and so I had plucked another dialogue prompt from her list, so I still want to give @witchywithwhiskey credit where it's due, and you'll find the prompt in bold and italics when it appears.

Additional Notes: I had no intention of making this three times as long as the original, but Steve had other plans. So many other plans. Thanks to @biteofcherry for letting me suss out a couple of the things I had questions on plot-wise. Title from Hozier's De Selby (Part 2).

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

Steve doesn’t smile anymore. He hasn’t smiled in weeks. And yet the frown on his face is more than the non-smile stoicism that had taken over his demeanor since the ambush outside of Turin. He exhales deeply, washing away the frown as he straps your limp body into the jump seat of the stealth jet. Unconscious and sedated, your head falls forward though your torso is held back by the chest harness of the safety belt. Steve angles your head back against the headrest because if you got a crick in your neck, it will be a problem he doesn’t want to hear you try and complain about later.

He had achieved his objective in coming to Wakanda. Though the operation had played out with slight differences from what he had anticipated, it had gone as close as he could have logically projected in almost every aspect. He knew Bucky. No. The Winter soldier, he corrects. And he knew you. As players in this piece of the plan, you had both been reliably predictable.

As a super soldier Steve knew the strengths, the weaknesses, the limitations, and what Barnes would be susceptible to. That’s why he had been so prepared in laying his trap and incapacitating the asset.

Overpowering you had been easy.

Claiming you had split a slow but building tremor to his system. It had changed what he’d intended to do.

A few hours later as he approaches the remote Hydra base, that disconcerting feeling in his brain that he is working to tamp down still smolders with something unsettled that makes him flick his eyes up to the mirror that allows the pilot to check the interior behind him to see that you’re still in the same state of sedation.

His new conditioning will help him to control this irritating itch.

After touching down and rolling into the hangar, Steve unbuckles you from the seat and slings your unconscious body over his shoulder. He doesn’t stop walking but proceeds to give his brief mission report to the ranking officer on base who was waiting to meet him at the base of the small jet’s cargo ramp as he exits. This man is not his handler but his liaison for the time being. He’s competent enough that Steve if rarely frustrated with him. The power dynamics are something Steve is constantly aware of. Hydra wants to know they are in control and yet learned with the Winter Soldier that an asset stripped of complete autonomy was more inflexible to work with – and impossible to pull back when he broke free. They don’t want to make the same mistake with him, but they give him no illusion over who his allegiance is to now. It’s not a leash, but an unmistakable tether that they will let him tenuously control as long as he ultimately complies.

It's why he has tolerable and private living quarters where he deposits you on top the large bed. He leaves a bottle of water next to you and then leaves. The door to his quarters is controlled by a fingerprint recognition, allowing Steve a fair amount of control over who can come in and out, and he has no intention of giving you access.

He goes to the mess to get food. No one approaches him while he eats. He collects two of the meal boxes that are ready to go – one marked for lunch, one marked for dinner – and brings them back for you.

You’re still asleep when he returns. He takes the time to order routine meal delivery to his quarters for you long term as well as a supply of standard issue clothes and laundry service. This base is a hub for research and development, so the standard of living is functional and minimalistic, which suits him fine, and that is all you will require as his omega.

It's mid afternoon before you finally wake, and he can sense the moment you resume consciousness – his heightened senses heard the change in your breathing, but there’s also an innate sense about it. He wasn’t expecting that.

He shifts slightly where he sits in a boxy armchair reading over some new intelligence reports on his tablet to watch you. You slowly sit up causing the water bottle he set on the mattress next to you to roll against your body, and you frown, then look around and see him almost immediately. Fear and anger show immediately in your face, exactly as he expected.

“Your food is on the counter,” he says flatly.

“I don’t want it.”

“You will,” he responds.

You look away from him, scan the single-room quarters, and then look down to the water bottle again. He hears your small sigh before you pick it up, unscrew the top to take a few sips, then close it and shift to one side of the bed and lay back down, curling up, facing away from him. There’s an east-facing window on that side of the room.

None of this behavior is unexpected, and it’s of no matter to him. He has you here, he’s keeping you here as long as necessary. You’re hurt, you will hold onto your pride at the offense for a long while yet, and he expects it. He’s not offended. It will wear away.

He has a few projects he planned to touch base with various research and development teams on the base, and so now that he knows you’re alert and fine, he has no problem resuming his operations and routines.

The single declaration over the food is all you say to him for the first few days.

Not that he is there much either. He has missions, projects, agendas – his own and Hydra’s, and certainly doesn’t exist to coddle his omega.

An omega, he reminds himself.

There is only one bed, and he doesn’t say one word about it to you. The first night when he returns, you are curled in on yourself on the edge of the bed much as you had been earlier when he left (though he notes you had eaten the roll from the dinner box, so you had moved at some point). He wordlessly changes into his sleepwear and slides beneath the sheets. He figures if it bothers you enough, you can choose to sleep on the small couch or the floor, but he isn’t going to give up the bed to accommodate you.

On the third day, you rise when he does. The small bathroom is the only private part of the living quarters, so he is closed off from you while he showers, but as he eats breakfast and finishes the rest of his morning routine, you sit in the armchair, legs curled up, and watch him with a cool storm in your eyes.

When he returns on the fourth night, you smell different. You wear the same clothes, but you’ve clearly showered, and you must have done what you could to clean your clothes in the sink because you're wearing them and not the base-issued garments. You’re already curled up on your side of the bed, still on top of the bedding, barefoot, but not sleeping yet.

Your state of unrest is burdening his thoughts. It’s an imposition he can’t have.

The way you bleed into his consciousness was the only thing he had stupidly forgotten to even account for in this maneuver to draw out the Soldat. Part of it was because he hadn’t been entirely sure he could successfully make the claiming bond – he knew he could get the bite, but it had been a gamble on whether it would work.

It had.

Though it hadn’t been like a clap of lightning but more like an invisible string threaded between the two of you. He had used it to manipulate the situation that night, but the reality of it had also shifted what his original plan for you had been.

Having never bonded with an omega, he had heard varying reports of how the connections could develop between an alpha and an omega. Some said it was strong enough to reach a degree of non-verbal communication, but this seemed to be developing as more of a constant, pressing awareness as the string wove further through him as the days passed, but an awareness that he was learning to read and decipher.

That cool storm that brewed in your eyes any of the few times you looked at him had to be tamed. He didn’t expect it to go away, but he could not have the rage brewing, growing, and pulsing from you to him. He can’t afford the distraction.

In an operations meeting one of the analysts sits down to the table with two unnecessary books in the stack of things they’ve brought with them, and he remembers that you loved to read.

He deposits a linen tote bag with a stack of books on your bedside table that night, returning after you’re already asleep.

He leaves for a mission across the globe before you wake the next morning.

When he returns three days later, it’s mid-afternoon, and he goes to his quarters after the mission debriefing. You’re sitting almost comfortably on the couch with one of the books. You still regard him with cold, guarded eyes, but you’re wearing the base-issued clothing. It’s plain, utilitarian, slate grey.

He remains with you the rest of the evening, the two of you eating dinner together at the small table in one corner of the room when meals are delivered. You don’t look at him, and he doesn’t watch you too much. He thought he had been focused on the mission. He thinks now the focus had come easily again because you were less angry, an icy ache rather than the rampant and enflamed rage that was only further agitated without anything to do.

The next day is unremarkable with this new development. You read, you wear different clothes from the base again, and he is back to his standard on-base routine, returning to his quarters after dinner but before dark. It’s the same the day after, and then the day after that. The only thing that changes at the end of one more day, is that once you’re settled to sleep and he slides into bed a quarter of an hour later, he’s about to drop off to sleep when he hears you take a deep breath.

His own heart stills. What are you about to do?

“Can I have normal clothes?” you ask softly.

One request could lead to another request, and another.

But if they’re as simple as this, easy enough to appease, he could say yes until he needs to refuse you something he’s not willing to entertain.

“I’ll see it done.”

“Oh,” your response is small, surprised.

“Now sleep,” he says, not a command.

Mid-morning he has a break between consultations, and he pulls one of the base caretakers aside and charges them with accommodating your request.

He returns to you before dinner that night. He simply finished his work earlier than usual that day, it’s nothing more than that. You’re in jeans and a lightweight crewneck sweatshirt. Eating dinner is another quiet affair, but the easiest it’s been out of the few times you’ve shared any meals in this place.

Over the next week he eats breakfast with you and most of his dinners. There’s a sadness that’s growing, but he is also melting the glacier of your guarded hostility.

While eating dinner one evening, you ask, “Where are we?”

“A Hydra research and development facility.”

You give it another moment, and then you press further, “And where’s this facility located?”

He looks up at you across the table and gives a dark, wry smirk. “Europe.” His tone is clipped. He can see you know that’s the end of the information he’s going to give you on the matter.

“How are your books?” he ventures after a few minutes. He had gone to the bookshop in the town to purchase a second stock of books for you earlier in the week.

“I appreciate them,” you answer. Without looking back up at him, you say, “The old you liked to read.”

He glowers at you, but he can see there’s almost a warmth in your eyes. It does something to him, so he drops his eyes back to his plate.

He stands abruptly and takes his plate to the counter by the sink, then he leaves. He won’t entertain that line of conversation with you. He paces through the facility for an hour before he returns. When he sees you seem to have been waiting for him, there’s a small warmth in his chest. You just nod at him, and he nods in return. No more words are exchanged between you that night.

When you both finally retire to bed, he doesn’t say a word or give any sign of reacting to you pulling the covers back on your side of the bed for the first time in this space and climbing into them, he simply does the same on his side. You still stay rigidly still and curled up, nearly on the edge of the mattress, but it’s more than he ever expected from you. The nights following, you maintain this step forward in proximity.

He notices your hand going to your bonding mark from Bucky over the following days, and it happens more and more frequently. He almost says something, but as he scrutinizes your actions, he sees you do it without seeming to think about it. It bothers him, but when he sees it’s not intentional, it’s not jealousy or rage that eats at him, it’s something else.

Because why hasn’t the Soldat come for you yet?

That was the object of the game, after all.

He was sure he hadn’t underestimated the Soldat’s skills or Bucky’s devotion to you. Bucky had, in fact, been spotted close enough in the region that the whole base had been on red alert for three days, certain the Winter Soldier would strike, but he hadn’t. Then the reports were he’d gone further north and left Italy altogether, so the alert had gone down from red to orange, and now sat at yellow - standard caution and operating procedures.

It was bothering him further because you were supposed to be Bucky’s beloved omega. How could he abandon you this long? Work so carelessly? Soldat should be desperate and raising hell at this point.

Because at this point?

It’s why Steve decides to embark on one more mission. He doesn’t tell you where he is going. He didn’t tell you even that he is going. He could already feel your unease growing, the questions and uncertainty. He doesn’t need his omega further agitated.

His mission is quick and successful.

As he returns, there is a sudden spike of fear and adrenaline when he is about an hour out from the base. It burns through his system, and he hasn’t felt any emotions overpower him this strongly in weeks and weeks, but after less than a minute it’s snuffs out almost as quickly as it had flared.

Twenty minutes from landing, a call buzzes in over his comms.

“Captain, our base has been attacked, but we are clear from intruders and in active recovery mode now,” his liaison’s voice relays.

“Intruders?” he growls.

“Full report forthcoming and will be ready by the time you arrive. You are cleared for landing but divert to the machine storage facility rather than our standard hangar, we’ve sustained damage there. End communication.”

Steve slams his fist against the arm rest of the seat – the place he knew could sustain the brunt of his impatience – and it breaks off, smashed away completely.

His landing approach gives him a view of the obvious devastation to the base, the entire northwest quadrant still in flames, but with crews working quickly to extinguish the fire.

His liaison is waiting in a truck to drive from the storage on the outskirts back to the main base.

“Twenty-two casualties, six injured, two hundred on evacuation disbursement orders. Only beta essential personnel and the damage control teams remain, prime essential personnel were evacuated as soon as the intruder was reported.”

Steve frowns. “Identity?”

“Confirmed as the Soldat.”

Steve nods. “You said intruders when you contacted me on approach.”

“We’ve since confirmed it was the Winter Soldier and only him.”

He nods again. That news wasn’t surprising. Had he known I would be gone? He was certainly cutting it close, waiting until almost the eleventh hour to come for his omega.

“Status of the omega?”

“We sedated and moved the omega to our facility outside of Geneva.”

Steve’s entire chest seizes in rage – not only moving his omega without consulting him, but to sedate her without any thought? It doesn’t matter that it’s standard protocol for prisoners, you’re his omega. However, every alarm in his head rings immediately that he can not show any ripple of emotion or he may very well never see his omega again. He won’t make the same mistake again – not for a third time.

“Geneva will be the next center of operations for current projects?” he asks.

“Correct. Early calculations project that this base can be functional again in four to five months, and we’ll evaluate whether projects will move back, or continue in Geneva and other bases in the region and clear the way for new initiatives here. We thought you would want to see evidence and damages yourself here first, which is why I didn’t redirect you once we had entered the first recovery stages after clearing all immediate threats, Captain.”

“The logical call,” he agrees.

Four and a half hours later, he touches down in Geneva, but it’s another two hours before he can escape all the protocol and regrouping strategy conversations. Within ten minutes after that, he’s in the new living quarters assigned to him on the Swiss base.

And there you are. Haphazardly deposited on the bed, but there all the same. He lets out a breath as he closes the door behind him. It locks automatically. He drops his pack on the couch and then makes his way to you. He rights your body, laying you fully across the bed and straightening your limbs. He removes your shoes and tucks a pillow beneath your head. He could smell you immediately on entering the quarters, but handling your body now confirms you’re dangerously close to breaking into your heat a day earlier than you were supposed to. He has no doubt it’s due to the distress of the day. That spike of fear and adrenaline he felt earlier had to have been you moments before you were sedated for transport.

He examines your neck, but sees no evidence of an injection, which leaves sedation by inhalation. In a situation where they needed efficiency and couldn’t chance a miscalculation of precision, it was the logical move. It also narrows things down to one of two compounds currently in use for inhaled sedation, which he appreciates.

Then he sees the bloom of a bruise forming already on your arm just above the elbow, and his brow furrows. He will review the footage and he will find out who did this to you.

Satisfied in general over your state �� even breathing and no other visible injuries – he turns his attention to the new living quarters. It’s still a studio set up, but moderately larger than the Turin facility. There he’d been assigned quarters for an individual, and this is clearly one of the units designed for Hydra personnel with a partner. A marked difference here is an area that is sectioned off as a study with a desk and a bookshelf. There are already some books there, but empty shelves that can be filled as well.

There’s a decently sized case on the table in the kitchenette area. Inside is a selection of personal effects transported here from Turin, likely collected after the initial evacuation of personnel, but delivered here in those first two hours while he was in the strategy meetings upon arrival. There are a few items of his clothing, a modest selection of the wardrobe he’d arranged for you, toiletries, and even your small accumulation of books.

He has just finished unpacking the case when he can sense you stirring on the bed. A moment later he feels the spike of unease and tension as you register the new surroundings, sitting up on the bed, but he’s already approaching you.

He can feel the diminution of your nerves when your eyes land on him, but he sees the initial wave of relief in your eyes that you also try and stamp away in an instant.

He sits cautiously but with no apology on the edge of the bed next to you.

“Where are we?”

“A new facility.”

Your eyes study him for a moment. He knows you’re assessing that his answer means he won’t give you details. “Still in Europe?”

He nods.

“How long since the former facility was compromised?” you ask.

He smirks. You were always intelligent – not that it would have been difficult to figure out, but he’s proud of how quickly your mind works.

You huff at his hesitation and roll your eyes. “If you think I’ll use the information to try and figure out where we might be, I don’t know where we started, so it won’t be of any use to me, I’m just hungry and want to know how much time I’ve lost.”

“It’s been somewhere between seven to eight hours.”

He reaches for his communications tablet and quickly orders a standard meal for each of you to be delivered as he hasn’t eaten much either.

“It was him, wasn’t it?” you break the silence again. “Bucky found me.”

He hadn’t planned to tell you, but he won’t lie to you. “Yes”

“He’ll find me again. He said that wherever I went, he would find me.”

“Oh, I know.” His stare is back on you. “That’s the entire point. I need the Soldat.”

The silence that builds between you two is full of anger on your side. There’s nothing else for him to explain, but he’s curious to see how long you’ll keep this moment stretching on before ending it or saying something else.

But it grows more and more uncomfortable, and you try not to fidget. You’ve never been one to fidget, and certainly not over these past few weeks at any point around him. Then he notices the beads of perspiration gathering on your brow.

“Your heat, Omega.”

“My heat, not yours.”

“Sure,” he laughs cruelly. He reaches out to touch your cheek, somewhat patronizingly.

“Don’t touch me!” you snarl and snap your jaws at him, causing him to withdraw his hand immediately. “I don’t need you.”

“Fine.” He stands and retreats, not because he fears you in the slightest, but because he won’t fight your petulance, not when he has better things he can do at least for now. “Face your heat alone, Omega.”

He leaves, hearing you let out another impatient huff just as the door closes behind him.

He leaves you in pursuit of one of the data analysis rooms. If you’re going to be difficult and refuse him, he can do better things with his time until you’re ready to bend and keen for him. Once there, he logs into the system and pulls up the footage from Turin. He watches every frame of the Winter Soldier’s attack on the facility. It was shown earlier when he was meeting with the Hydra officers in debriefing the attack, but now he can study it alone in its entirety, moving from camera to camera outside, and then through each hallway and room without commentary from anyone else, able to slow down and rewind each moment as he sees fit.

It’s masterful.

And he looks directly at cameras after many of the kills. Twenty-two casualties and only six injuries? That’s intentional. He knows the Soldat could have executed this more quietly, and that’s evident in how he exits when he realizes you’ve been moved. From that point, his exit strategy has him engaging with almost no one, but setting fires and explosions, leaving enough damage in his wake to send his message.

It’s effective.

Steve narrows the block of time from the incident on the base and watches additional footage from the same ten-minute period. It’s every frame of the footage related to your acquisition, sedation, and transport from the base. He is interested in discovering just how the Soldat knew when to retreat, and he leaves notes in his log and in addition to drafting and sending a memo with some of his theories and observations to his primary liaison and a few of the officers on the taskforce. But his primary objective was to figure out who handled you so roughly, and he does. They will be dealt with later. He can’t expose such a personally driven need to deal out punishment.

While he’s been gone he’s felt the tenor of your emotions tugging at him – not tugging insistently, and with how tightly you’ve tried to control and suppress your emotions over the past few weeks, this must mean you’re battling to keep things at bay, pushed beneath the surface. As soon as he enters, he clocks the spiking fluctuations of your hormones. Since returning with you from Wakanda, he’s read extensively over the heat cycles, and this situation gives all the signs that you’re vacillating precaiously between falling into either a standard heat or a dry heat. You’re trying to stave off the heat as long as possible, but it will come, and if you fight it too hard, it will be a dry heat, which will be physically and mentally painful for you and difficult for him to navigate with you. He needs to edge you carefully from that tipping point of the dry heat.

You’re sitting at the table, having polished off one of the meals already and eating the last bits of the other one. It looks like they were boxes with sandwiches, fruit, and vegetables. You’ve left the celery from both servings. He smirks, but he’s glad you’ve eaten. That’s a good sign.

In another attempt at normalcy, desperate to keep things at bay, you push the chair out across the table from you with your foot, nodding for him to sit. You try and engage him in completely normal lines of conversation. He knows what you’re doing. He’ll entertain it for at least a little while so he can assess more of your state and how he should handle it.

He’s more concerned with watching you than listening to what you’re saying. You stand to refill your cup with water, and he follows you to the sink. He reaches into the cupboard and gets a glass of his own, encroaching somewhat into your space very casually. It doesn’t put you on edge, so he eases even closer, as you continue to talk. He puts a hand on your shoulder and leans in to fill his cup with the tap. There’s a slight hitch in your breathing at his proximity. He pushes the teasing of his closeness even more, moving his hand down your arm and resting it on the counter next to yours.

“I know what you need, Omega,” he whispers against the shell of your ear.

He can feel you do everything you can to remain still.

But then you turn your head ever so slightly toward him. “The last time you touched me, you humiliated me.” Your voice is flat.

He doesn’t respond, but he also doesn’t move.

Finally, you ask, “What did they do to you?” your voice barely above a whisper.

The dangerous question comes out of nowhere, and the surge of emotion it evokes in him is immediate. He growls, whipping away, not even thinking before he slams his fists on the table. It splits in two clean pieces. He grabs one before it even falls to the floor and throws it against the wall, smashing it, splinters flying.

He turns back, advancing on you, and you’re already trembling. He doesn’t relent, forcing you up against the wall, caging you in. He pounds his fist into the wall right above your head, and you close your eyes, afraid to move. He can smell the fear in your scent now, but there can be no confusion here.

“No, Omega,” he speaks low, and his other hand moves lightning fast to grip your chin. He can feel your pulse racing beneath his fingers. “Look at me.” You open your eyes. “We aren’t doing that.”

He leaves a beat of silence between you.

“Do you understand?”

You nod.

He drops your chin, then grips the neck of your shirt and yanks, ripping the fabric down the front and jerking you forward, making you bump into his chest. He picks you up and hauls you across the room with a few furious strides to drop you onto one of the armchairs.

You right yourself in the seat as he steps back, but only an arm’s length away. He doesn’t have to use his alpha voice or say the words. He knows the look he gives you communicates his instruction: stay put, don’t move.

He slowly undresses, unfastening, unbuckling, unzipping. He places each article of his dark tactical suit in an orderly pile on the coffee table. It’s purposeful, this tactic. The onset of your heat is only a moment away. You’ve been doing everything in your power to stave it off. Part of him clocks this enormous show of strength and sees it for more than stubbornness, recognizing the discipline and power within you. But this has gone on long enough, he needs you to finally tumble over the edge, and he will push you if he must.

He watches you watching him as he reveals each expanse of naked flesh – arms and torso, legs, and finally his loins when he slips off his boxer briefs. He’s hard for you, of course he is, the pheromones have been flooding out of you, and he wasn’t tempted to touch you in Turin, but now it’s all he can think about. He wants your body supple and pliant, submissive beneath him. He stands above you, looming, imposing – he knows he is, and he wants you to feel that he can do this – and pumps his cock slowly with his own fist.

He does it a few more times, watching you watch him. He sees the small ripple of a shudder you can’t suppress when your breath hitches.

“Undress,” he commands.

Your jaw ticks up. He knows you don’t like it – he felt it the first time he gave you an alpha command, and he hasn’t again until this moment. You look down as you reach behind your back to unclasp your bra and slide it off, dropping it to the floor. You stubbornly refuse to meet his eye since he’s making you do this – he knows it. You hook your thumbs into your waistband, and you push your leggings and underwear down in a slight huff.

“Spread your legs,” he issues another command.

You do, still refusing to meet his eye. Part of it is the irritation over the commands, but he knows part of it is also the trepidation still pulsing through you. He doesn’t want to make this easy for you, but he doesn’t want you to suffer the agony of a dry heat where you’ll be agitated, devoid of slick, in pain, and distressed.

He sinks to his knees between your parted thighs, but now you can’t help but look at him staking his claim there so close to your exposed core. He can see you have a million questions in your eyes, it’s the most you’ve allowed him to glimpse of you – the real you – these past weeks.

He lowers his head, keeping his eyes on yours, and licks a slow, broad stripe from the side of your knee along the soft flesh of your inner thigh. He can feel you tense and hold your breath. And he stops inches from your warm cunt, pulling back and kneeling back on his heels.

You whimper.

He knows he has you now.

“Touch yourself, Omega,” he doles out the third command. He knows how he wants this to play out.

“Don’t make me,” you plead, but your hands are already slowly moving to your center.

“Do it,” he barks, and you flinch.

There’s a little bit of slick between your pussy lips, and he watches you trace a finger slowly over your folds, up and down. You drop your head down and to the side, refusing once more to look at him.

“Omega, have you ever experienced the pain of a dry heat?”

You huff.

“Is that what you want?”

“I want him!” you blurt, and you certainly must not have meant to say it out loud because your hands immediately fly to cover your mouth and your eyes flash to him in fear. And anger. Both are there.

He growls and surges forward to claim your clit between his lips, clamping his hands at the juncture of your thighs to keep your legs open. He sucks hard and flicks his tongue angrily over the little bundle of nerves, drawing a cry from you immediately. Your hands push at his head, but there’s no match for his strength, and he holds your pelvis firmly to his face.

“No, no, no,” you murmur, starting to cry.

He keeps up the furious sucking and flicking, and it’s less than a minute before he feels your whole body seize up, frozen as the first orgasm crashes down on you. Slick begins to seep out in abundance, and he hums in approval, but he doesn’t relent, only changes his tactics. He flattens his tongue and laps at your cunt, letting his tongue slip between your folds and into your hole every two or three licks. It’s less frenzied, but no less insistent, and he rips a second orgasm from you easily. He hums in approval as this time that blissful wave forces you to throw your head and shoulders back, and you land against the back of the armchair, clutching at the rim of it next to your head.

But he won’t relent yet.

He reaches up to cup one of your breasts in his hand, and you moan and push your chest forward for him, head still thrown back, and he imagines your eyes must be shut. He squeezes your breast, then tweaks your nipple, and your breath hitches. He presses his mouth back to your folds and works his lips over your puffy, engorged clit, working slowly this time. He draws his hand away from your breast, and then he slides the fingers that just tweaked your nipple into your tight heat. He pumps slowly, and your hand moves to the back of his head, applying insistent pressure there. He crooks the fingers and strokes along your front wall, and he knows he finds the spot of your undoing when your legs abruptly shift, the left lengthening out, and your right hitching up over his shoulder to press into his back. He doesn’t change a thing now, sucking, pressing. He knows you’re on your way, but he will not hasten this. He wants you to feel every drawn out moment of this – some but not enough of what you need.

Paying attention to every breath above him, every movement of your body, and especially the way your muscles start to squeeze around the fingers he has inside you, he stops just short of your third orgasm.

You whine in protest, but he pushes himself up to stand above you. He grabs your waist and hauls you easily with his preternatural strength up and over his shoulder. You claw at his back, but it’s only a few quick steps for him to be able to throw you down onto the bed.

Your fear from his outburst is long gone, and the face you turn up at him is angry, and you snarl, quickly kneeling up on the bed.

He grasps your chin in his slick-covered hand and looks into your face. “You will beg for me, and only then will I consider whether or not I will touch you again or let you suffer.”

He drops your chin and is already turning away, but you’re lightning fast in reaching for his wrist.

He stops and only inclines his head part of the way to look back at you.

“Take me,” you plead, voice stronger than he expected.

He furrows his brow.

“Please,” you implore.

He turns fully back to you. Perhaps he shouldn’t be as surprised as he is. You’d always been adaptable and clever, and rarely stubborn to your own detriment. You had been stubbornly trying to hold the heat at bay, dangerously so to tempt the dry heat, but he knows this is an extreme circumstance for you, and with the tide turned yet again, he was almost impressed that you had so quickly determined it was worth it to take what you needed.

“Then present,” he says simply.

You turn, moving up to the middle of the bed, but close to the headboard, and kneel on all fours.

He climbs up behind you.

You drop down to your elbows, subjecting yourself to him, omega to alpha.

He takes his cock in his hand and rubs the angry red tip up and down your slick folds. You whimper, and he sees the small shiver that runs down your spine. He sinks his thick length into your tight heat, and you both groan as he fills you for the first time. He doesn’t move once his hips are finally flush against your ass. He breathes in and out, in and out, and watches your measured breaths as well.

He did not know it would be like this.

He reaches forward, grips your shoulder, and pulls you up and back towards him. Your hands move to reach out to steady yourself on the headboard. He presses his fingers into that juncture at your neck where he claimed you, and you keen, throwing your head back. He leans forward and while his right hand stays anchored at your hip, his left strokes that bite again, then moves to hold the front of your neck as he leans down and forward over you. You look up at him, he looks down at you. “You’re fucking mine, Omega,” he growls, your eyes locked.

“Yes, Alpha.”

Then he feels you rock your hips back against his. He smooths his hand down your neck, then presses his lips to your forehead. “You’re mine,” he says again, imprinting the words against your skin.

Then he pulls back and thrusts into you. A few thrusts like that, but as you begin to keen for him, begging for more, he has to drop back and grip your hips with both hands to fuck you. You both come twice – once quickly, and once more very slowly – before you’re boneless beneath him, and he forces you down to the mattress, shifting you to your side and drawing you up against his chest. You whine, but he strokes your arm and promises he’ll give you more once you sleep.

While you sleep in his arms, sticky and sweaty, his mind goes to work.

It’s not long before you wake again, and you two truly fuck, carnal bleeding with a few moments that are too tender for either of you to acknowledge. But his stamina outmatches yours and he has you exhausted and sleeping again before long.

He’s never taken care of an omega in heat before, and it’s all-consuming, but he stays focused. When you’re awake, he plies your body with pleasure until you cry, keen, moan, scream aloud and silently, and it goes on and off again between sex and sleep all through the day. He’s prepared for your reluctance during the first high phase of the heat to eat or drink anything, but he slips you bits of fruit and nuts as he can, gets you to greedily gulp water only after he pushes it your way insistently. You want his cock, not hydration or nutrition.

A little before midnight the second night, you stretch and yawn waking from another of your short sleeps, and then you roll out of bed and pad to the bathroom. He’s been rooting through some of the cupboards, taking stock of what’s there, and he finishes quickly and follows you into the bathroom after he hears you flush the toilet and then turn on the showerhead. You’re slipping into the shower when he enters the bathroom, and he’s there in time for you to give the silent invitation for him to join you – the expectation, even.

You’re still in heat, but craving a shower lets him know you’ll have enough of your mind back for what needs to happen now.

Things are tenuous, but there’s no denying that this heat has changed things for both of you. He claimed you in Wakanda, but the two of you have bonded through the first thirty hours of this heat in ways neither of you thought possible.

He takes the lathered-up sponge you place in his hands, and he washes your body carefully. Then you take it back, soap it up again, and run it over his skin with the same kind of attention.

He washes your hair, you rinse away the suds, and then he pulls you flush against him. You take his hardening cock in your hand and pump shamelessly. He groans appreciatively, than pushes your back up against the tiles, moves your hands away, and pulls your leg up around his waist so he can enter you. You clutch at his shoulders for stability and moan. He buries his head into the crook of your neck, but he speaks just loud enough for you to hear, “This is the only place I’m sure no one will hear us, but they also need to have no reason to question what’s happening if they’re monitoring.” He moves his hips back and then pumps slowly into you again. “Do you understand?”

“Yes,” you moan, “more, Alpha.”

The corner of his mouth ticks up slightly, though he knows you can’t see it. He tongues his bite at your neck, and you whimper. He gives you another thrust, and you keen.

“I won’t have you anywhere near these Hydra personnel anymore. I don’t trust them.”

The surprised noise that escapes your throat is slightly distressed, and so he speeds up his thrusts a little. “My heat,” you whisper.

“The heat cycle is the only time no one expects me to be anywhere or respond to anyone unless there’s complete catastrophe, and I already reported the onset of your heat last night. They won’t disturb us for a few more days, and they will not expect us to attempt to leave our quarters let alone the facility. If we can manage to get out unnoticed, we will have enough of a head start on time to lose them completely.”

You remain quiet.

“Omega?”

“And go where?”

“You don’t need to know that.”

You push his face away from your neck and push at his chest. “I’m still nothing more than your bait?”

He growls and turns you around so your chest and face are pressed up against the wall.

“I’m still your alpha, and yes my end game is still to draw out the Soldat.”

“Why?”

“I need him.”

He nudges your legs apart and enters you from behind, and you groan as he fills you.

He pulls back, about to enter you again, but then you turn your head, and gasp, “Wait,” in a tone that’s different enough that he does, brow furrowing as he meets your eyes.

“Omega?”

“Tell me what happened to Sam, to you, and I promise I’ll go with you willingly.”

He didn’t think you knew Sam had been with him.

You reach for his head and urge him back to the cradle of your neck.

With more than your words and the gentle action, you’re also entreating him through the bond, he can feel it. It’s powerful. And so he tells you. It only takes him two sentences to tell you what you need to know. Tears stream down your face, and he fucks you then, the fucking he needs for him, not you, but you allow him to take.

go immediately to part three: Carving Through the Dark

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seikkoi · 1 year ago

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ꜱᴜɢᴀʀ | dom!tony stark x sugarbaby!reader ( ᴄʀɪᴍᴇ!ᴀᴜ )

ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴛᴡᴏ [1, 3, 4, 5] | ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴏɴ ᴀᴏ3

There was nothing that could keep Tony from having exactly what he wanted—and he deserved a little sweetness in his life. All he had to do was keep from ruining you in the process.

L.A ended up as sun-kissed and vibrant as rumored, teeming with that felt like three times the people as New York. The plane ride went over smoothly, despite your nerves, although you can’t help criticizing Tony for his carbon footprint. You’re fortunate that the planning aspect is entirely in his hands, from the flight to the hotel. You knew what time to get ready and your destination, and that kept miles of stress away.

Upon reaching the hotel, a grand stone structure adorned with decorative pillars, the potential arrangements for sleeping arrangements loomed over you. The forgotten vulnerability returned, and you walked beside Tony with uneasy legs, hoping your worry was unnecessary.

To your relief, your accommodations are separate. You’re given peace of mind, chastising yourself for thinking the worst as you make the ascent in the elevator. Tony passes you cursory looks, reassuring you and assuming your nerves were travel-related.

In the hallway, Tony excuses himself to attend to some last-minute problems, apologizing and disappearing into his room. You followed suit, groaning against your wooden door as it creaked shut.

No matter how happy you were with Tony, the same thoughts resurfaced time and time again. The whispers in your head that told you the facade would melt away- warning of impending implosion. The memories of the look on his face weeks ago that brought you nearly to tears. To spare yourself the rabbit hole thinking about it would send you in, you decided to sleep it away. The event wasn’t until tomorrow anyway, and your body ached for rest.

You don’t wake till the sun’s long gone, hearing Tony’s knock at your door. A sleepy greeting slips from lips, clad in pajama shorts and tank top. Time and exhaustion fast-tracked your comfort around him, to the point that you don’t think to change when you answer.

Even though you know he’s spent the night running computations and phone calls or whatever it is he does, he looks as refreshed as ever. His three piece suit diminished to just one in that time, leaving him in just a dark button-up and pants—the most unpolished version of Tony you've witnessed you’ve seen, an amusing sight that you commit to memory.

“Hey, sleeping beauty. What do you say to dinner?” His gaze seems to fall anywhere on your petite form but your face for a moment, leaning against the door frame.

“I think everything’s closed by now.” You yawn, already thinking about crawling back into bed. The rumble in your stomach could wait, right?

Behind Tony’s back emerges a shiny bottle of whiskey accompanied by a plastic take-out bag.

“Good thing Cafe Stark is open 24 hours.”

Eventually, you’ll have to build your resolve against his infectious smile, but when combined with the mouth-watering aroma wafting from the bag, the game feels rigged from the start.

You and Tony share a relatively silent meal for once, the small rosewood table in the corner of your room serving as a makeshift dining spot. Mostly because a thousand-year nap still sounded beneficial, speaking through heavy-lidded eyes. Tony, abnormally preoccupied, seldom sets his phone down for more than five minutes at a time. As usual, you don’t truly mind it. Without fail, though, that incessant voice comes back, telling you all sorts of theories.

At some point as you're gathering the empty boxes to toss in the trash, Tony hums in approval before abandoning his phone on the dresser. Before you can ask, the whiskey is brandished by Tony.

You can see past the sunny smile for a moment, catching a glint of worry on his face.

“Everything okay?” The short glasses you bring over make a sharp clink on the aged wood.

Dark amber liquid fills his glass, sliding down his throat in one go. He chuckles at your question, finding it your concern sweet.

“Don’t start worrying about me.” He halts the protest forming on your lips with a kiss, leaning across the table and taking your hands in his.

It’s a potent amnestic, and you forget about all the alarm bells ringing in your ears.

Drunken stories and laughter fill the room for the rest of the night. You both remark here and there that sleep would be wise, yet the hours tick on.

A lull of silence falls between you after Tony finishes roaring at a joke you make about your roommate’s parents. In the hotel’s dim glow, Tony’s eyes look golden. You get lost in them for a time, lying beside him on the cotton sheets.

A few strands of perfectly coiffed hair have fallen out of place, matching his recently wrinkled button-up. There’s never a time you aren’t totally smitten with him, but the whiskey twists into want easily.

“Mind if I ask you something?” Tony looks down at you, leaning back against the headboard with warm and amused eyes.

“Sure, shoot.”

Anything to keep him looking at you like that.

“Your parents, you never talk about them, why?”

Anything but that.

Truthfully, Tony already knew the answer. The first night after he ended up in the bar, he might have done a bit of a background check on you, mostly for his own safety. But also to see what leads a girl like you to a job like that. He wanted to hear it from you, though, and knew by now that nudging you in the right direction worked well enough.

“Not much to talk about really.” The bedsheet drags against your skin when you shift awkwardly. You’re used to this question, and the hate for it only grows with each recurrence.

“Is that so?” He mutters absently, reaching down to twist a strand of your hair between his fingers.

“They died when I was young. Car accident, not much of a story.” You break away from his heated gaze, choosing instead to lay your head against the pillows. At this point, you expect the usual pitiful platitudes people say, something along the lines of I’m so sorry or that’s awful .

“I get it. Mine too. Not that young, though.” Tony adds sympathetically, sliding down onto his side next to you. He’s close enough that you smell the whiskey on his breath, tickling your nose.

“How old were you?” You can’t stop yourself from asking, as Tony seldom shared details about his family. You knew the business he ran was his father’s, and his mother’s name, and that was pretty much it. Most things he seemed to keep private, but you hoped the whiskey would help get you somewhere.

“Twenty-one, while I was in college.” There doesn’t seem to be any hesitancy in his answer, so you feel confident enough to push your luck.

“What were they like?”

“Eh, my father was kind-of an ass, wasn’t much of a loss to the world.” He says it too nonchalantly, throwing you off. You attribute it to the empty bottle.

“I don’t know if I should say sorry or congrats.”

”Either works for me.” Tony laughs, resting an arm on your side. His thumb finds the small patch of exposed skin from your shirt riding up, grazing absentmindedly. It’s distracting as ever, pulling you away from the conversation to focus on his touch.

“At least I had other people, sounds like you’ve just been alone.” He breaks you out of the daydreams you're lost in.

“Wasn’t terrible.” you respond gently, fiddling with a button on his shirt.

“Still, you deserve better.” He watches your eyes drift to the small button, searching for his own resolve. It drove him nearly mad to see you in the exorbitant dresses he buys, but lately something about you dressed down, relaxed, nearly killed him. You look angelic next to him, staring through heavy eyes, clearly in your own little world.

“‘Think I’m doing just fine.” you laugh.

“Hm, maybe.”

He doesn’t disagree completely, but knew you were built for bigger things. A good chunk of his attraction came from knowing how hard you’d worked, a quality he recognized and respected.

Contrary to what news articles say, his intellect and success didn’t come naturally. It was deliberate, hard work to do what he did. Countless hours of studying, research, testing— all to try to mimic a fraction of what his father could do. Since he was a child, Tony was dead set on proving to his father that he could run Stark Industries.

Yet, Howard was never persuaded, and planned on leaving the corporation to one of his lead engineers.

In the end, it didn’t matter anyways. He died before he could sign the paperwork.

Tony saw that same drive and ambition in you, you just needed a little help. And he would make sure it was his.

“Maybe?” you feign offense. The warm hand gracing your side loops to the small of your back.

“Think you just need someone to take care of you.”

“I might be a little too old for that.”

“Not what I meant.”

That pulls you away from his shirt for a moment, meeting his eyes with raised eyebrows.

“What do you mean then?”

The meaning takes too long to dawn on you, and Tony’s resolve feels weaker than ever. Instead of answering you, he goes to kiss you, pulling you close with the hand on your back.

There’s no doubt in his mind that he shouldn’t do this, fearing an inability to be satisfied with just that. That voice is too quiet to pay any attention to, turning the kiss long and passionate. His teeth scrape against your lip, sighing into you when he feels your body relax.

For the first time, he doesn’t wait for your reaction, pushing you onto your back. You feel his hand tighten around your thigh, wrapping your leg to his waist. You’re a worked up mess beneath him soon enough, grabbing at his side to pull him closer. His large biceps rests on either side of your head, fingers entangled in your hair.

Shaky hands reach for the belt on his waist, only to cause Tony to pull away from you completely. He holds both your hands in his, equally dazed and panting. He appears lost in thought for a moment, and you start to worry you made the wrong move.

You don’t have to worry for long, as Tony moves to the end of the bed, pulling you with him and kneeling before you quickly. Hungry lips on your bare thighs leave your head light, fingers already hooked around your shorts.

“Tony, what are you-”

“Taking care of you.” he murmurs as they slip past your ankles.

The hungry gaze washes over your center, catching your breath in your throat. You don’t get the chance to respond—a heavy tongue gracing your folds. Tony moans at the taste of you, reverberating up your spine. He hates that he made himself wait for this—every sound from your mouth worsening the strain in his pants.

Your tensing legs are tossed haphazardly over his shoulders. You expected the same tenderness he always granted to you, but this is entirely different. He grips your hips rigidly, wrapping his lips around your clit and pulling you as close as he could.

His ears focus on each moan, how the pitch in your whines heightened when he sucks hard on the aching bundle of nerves. A large, flat hand across your stomach gets you to lie back, hands flying to the dark locks tickling your thighs.

He’s obviously making up for a perceived loss of time, increasing intensity with every swipe of his tongue, your arousal coating his mouth. It sends your body into overdrive, hands reaching for him, searching for any kind of reprieve.

Tony knows he’ll never get enough when your breath turns low and stuttery, fingers digging into the back of his nape and the hand bruising your hip. You lose sense of what sounds are coming from Tony and which are coming from the mess between your thighs, mixing into a symphony of ecstasy in your ears.

He unlocks a new melody, the addictive sound of your broken, pleading cries calling out his name. He wants to tell you how fucking incredible you sound, but that would require stopping and there’s no chance he was doing that.

You try to tell him to slow down, the arousal in your stomach building faster than you have time to process. It’s a wasted effort, having any attempts at forming full sentences ruined by the tongue lapping at your entrance.

You feel an approving moan shake through your core, thighs growing stickier. He could feel how close you were, hips shuddering in his grasp. He only grips harder in response, holding you still as you jerk against his tongue. Without warning, the tight bundle in your gut reaches its crest, and Tony gets lost in the river of filth that leaves your mouth.

You’re foolish for thinking he’d stop there, but instead his lips return to suck gently on your clit, moaning into you. Just when you think you might pass out from the overstimulation, he pulls away to grace your inner thigh with light kisses.

Tony reclines, captivated by the dazed look on your face and the soft panting of your lips.

You sit up to face him on unsteady arms, your hazy eyes revealing that there's only one thought on your mind— him , just how he needed it.

The earlier worries become ironically useless, as you sleep beside Tony that night.

The next evening’s celebration unfolds on a quiet street, a hidden gem thankfully only hosting around twenty or thirty people. The ambient lights of the quaint club aren’t dim enough for you to ignore how underdressed you are. Envisioning a more formal dinner, you dressed simply in flowy olive dress, while other attendees exuded glamor in fancy suits. Tony of course being no exception, donning a dark gray suit and black shirt. Tony seemed unphased by the music and dancing, walking in and greeting people without pause.

On this particular night, Tony has a singular mission — to keep you in his sight at all times. More accurately, to prevent you from engaging conversation with a select few individuals without his presence. It's not just about showcasing you; it's mostly protective, an attempt to mitigate the risks involved in intertwining you with this side of his life.

Nearly anything seemed worth having you by his side. It’s a good weakness to have, he thinks. He swears it’s because you make him a better person, and though you always laugh it off and tell him he was already great, it’s another thing that gnaws at the back of your mind.

You're introduced to several of the guests, some names vaguely familiar, others entirely new. Natasha Romanoff stands out, her presence seeming to be the most grounded in reality. It becomes apparent that she is another member in this new endeavor of Tony’s. When you ask what she does for a living, she responds with business, and nothing more. Worse, when you ask about the other members, Natasha shoots a cautionary glance at Tony and smoothly redirects the conversation, leaving a sour taste in your mouth.

For the most part afterwards, Tony’s mission is a success. He does his best to stay tethered to you, dodging boring conversation after boring conversation. Despite his vigilance, the forces of nature are ineffable, leading you to the bathroom after a few champagne shoots.

He’d only looked away for one second , he swears, but all it took was a moment to lose track of you.

Upon your exit from the restroom, you decide to get ahead of your hangover. You catch the bartender’s attention at the bar instead of finding Tony. As you wait for the glass of water, your eyes scan the room to find him. Instead, a tall rugged blonde man takes over your view, sliding into the seat next to you. You pay him little mind, still scanning for Tony. Piercing blue eyes won’t leave you though, even as you thank the bartender and continue to search for the billionaire.

“What’s a pretty young thing like you doing with an old bastard like Stark?”

His words stop you in place, turning on your heel.

“I’m sorry?”

The smirk on his face is cold, unnerving. You don’t recall meeting him earlier in the night, and you're certain you wouldn’t have forgotten. He shifts in the barstool, facing you as he sips from his glass before laughing dryly.

“Forgive me, you just don’t like the kind of girl Tony normally parades around. Unless merchants of death are your kind of thing. And you’re definitely not the escort type.”

“Excuse me?”

This only humors the man more, and worsens your thoughts.

“What,” he continues once he’s done laughing at the look on your face. “It’s a compliment, really. Tony’s girls normally overdo it with the makeup, it’s a dead giveaway—”

“No, what do you mean ‘merchant of death’?”

“Oh, come on, you—” he responds patronizingly, “Shoot, is this your first night? He might not have told you yet—”

“Told me what ?” You don’t have the energy to explain to this guy that you aren’t getting an hourly pay for this.

There’s too much fun in it for him to drag this out, even though he knows his time alone with you is both costly and limited. He makes the decision to laugh again and down the rest of his glass before answering you.

“Don’t tell me he picked a dumb one. At least Pepper had a brain between her ears?”

“Who’s Pepper?”

The stars are aligning perfectly for him.

“His wife?” he fakes a puzzled expression, making you feel oblivious for not knowing.

As you stand there shocked and confused, your eyes catch Tony walking steadfast towards the bar.

“See, they do this thing, ‘fight, cheat, threaten divorce, make up, repeat’ cycle. It’s amusing most of the time, just shocked to see someone like you in it.”

Across the room, Tony’s blood starts to boil.

He’d caught the look you gave him, a confusion-ridden disgust that he couldn’t place until he saw who you were with. He left whatever suit was yapping his ear off, pushing through the small, crowded space. He can’t do anything but curse himself for being so careless—unfortunately, he’s not fast enough, watching Steve’s mouth open like a floodgate.

“You’ve got to be kidding me, Rogers.” He speaks through gritted teeth, fists balled at his sides. He takes over the small space between you two, and over his shoulder you see the blonde man lean back in apparent satisfaction. There’s no point in asking what was said, Tony can guess well enough.

“ What ?” Steve responds, a dramatic shrug of the shoulders follows.

Steve's cold smirk adds insult to injury, leaving Tony torn between the desire to break Steve's jaw and the fear of you never seeing him the same.

The carefully, thoughtful plan he had for you is in disarray, thanks to Steve. You weren’t supposed to know about Pepper for another month, maximum. He planned on taking you to the gallery and telling you, but that chance was robbed from him.

It felt entirely unfair to him, having his dirty laundry thrown at you without any context. To prevent creating a bigger hole, though, he turns back to you. You’d spent the last minute wrapping your head around everything said. You felt almost physically sick, but mostly stupid for ignoring everything sooner. All that security you felt last night? Gone in a flash.

“You have to let me explain this—”

“I want to leave.”

Tony sighs, figuring it wasn’t the worst you could have said, but hates hearing the tone in your voice nonetheless. So, stubbornly and more than pissed, he leads you away from Rogers to the exit, and tries not to think about how you recoil away when his hand graces your back.

He tries speaking to you in the car, to no avail. You're too busy beating yourself up for being so stupid. You had fallen for it, the charm, the gifts, the mystery— it worked brilliantly and earned you nothing but hurt in the end. Just like you feared it would.

A second attempt in the elevator wins him no prizes either.

There’s a third attempt brewing when you reach your floor. You had barely looked at him, and each time it felt like being stabbed. You didn’t see a point in talking about anything, making a beeline for your door. You imagined yourself packing, leaving in the morning and never seeing him again. Go back to the life you were supposed to be living, not this fantasy with him.

It’s not a plan of action you accept happily, and either way you don’t get the chance. The expectant sound of your hotel room door shutting behind you never comes, stopped by Tony’s leather shoe in the wooden frame. There wasn’t a chance in hell he was letting you shut him out. He could read your face the entire way back, seeing your full intent to leave without another word.

“Just go away.” You want to sound angrier, but defeat is the only emotion you muster.

“You’re overreacting.” He declares, voice bouncing in the empty hall.

“Really? Am I?”

You’re shocked when the door is pushed open fully. The space you try to take back by stepping away is overtaken. Tony shuts the door behind him, harsh enough to make you jump a bit.

“You are.” Tony’s hands disappear into his gray suit pockets, looking down at your alarmed frame.

“And you’re married.” Another step back, only for Tony to step forward again.

“Do you see a ring on my finger, hm?”

“That’s not the fucking point.” One more step back, in vain. The feeling of being trapped screams at you, but doesn’t move your body. “What else have you lied about?”

“I have never lied to you.”

That seemed more believable than anything else. The small breadth of space you gain is taken once more. You don’t move again, knowing the wall wasn’t far behind you. It pissed you off even more to see his jaw clenched, staring at you as if you were having some tantrum and not rightfully upset.

“Then who’s Pepper? How many other women are you toying with like little playthings? You’re an arrogant, asshole, liar -” you spat, letting your anger surpass his own.

Tony moves closer, and you end up against the wall regardless of your efforts. You start to tell him off again, a rant cut short by a hand grasping your face, and another pining your wrist to the wall. Your heart quickens, squirming against him.

“You’re starting to offend me, honey.” he says lowly, the warmth of his breath spreading across your face. His dark eyes don’t leave you, and you have a sense this is worse than throwing a drink in someone’s face. He was growing tired of this recurrent debate from you. Many adjectives could be used to describe him—arrogant, hot-headed, selfish, but disloyal wasn’t one— and he considered it a disrespectful thing to insinuate.

“You,” he trails off, thumb shifting down to your throat. “—are the only one. Pepper and I have been done for a long time. Steve knows that.”

“Did she leave after she got tired of you sleeping around?”

‘ Did Steve care to mention how Pepper cheated first? How she threatened to sell me out if I left her? Of course not ’, Tony thinks.

More panicked, harsh words of doubt and inquiry leave you, but they’re quickly shushed by Tony. You know you shouldn’t but you feel a familiar guilt for the disapproval clouding his face. You don’t have the foresight to see that you were right for making them.

“You wanna call me a liar? What exactly have I been dishonest about, huh?” The question is clearly extremely rhetorical.

“If you were just some ‘ plaything ’ to me,” he mocks, the hands on the side of your face tightening, electrifying your skin—not enough to hurt, just enough to keep your eyes on him. “We wouldn’t be here, you should know that.”

“Then why keep it from me?”

You don’t even know how to ask what Steve meant by ‘merchant of death’, and honestly, you don’t think it’s worth making things worse. You hate that it’s this easy for him, hate the conflicting feelings—his touch melting your anger. It’s no help that you didn’t want any of it to be true anyway.

“If I decide you don’t need to know something, you don’t. Simple as that.”

In Tony’s mind, this was for your benefit in the long run, and he doesn’t see a need to explain that. You should just trust him, or atleast you did before Rogers’ opened his big fucking mouth. His anger is mostly placed with the blonde man, but he still expects better from you. He couldn’t have you believing others over him. You’d already expressed doubts about his loyalty before, and he spent a lot of time repairing that.

Leave it to Blondie to ruin it all.

To his dismay, you remain silent. He pictures the inner-workings of your mind, doubting everything he’s done to win your trust. The hand against your throat and arm keeping you in place might not be helping his case, but still they remain. He can’t fathom letting go, not if there’s even a slightest chance you’ll leave.

“That’s applied to almost everything in your life so far.” There’s fear in poking the proverbial bear, yet you do it anyway. There’s too many thoughts battling in your mind, causing the words to nearly catch in your throat.

“What is it you need to believe me—to know that you’re mine?” His voice shifts, remaining stern but turning heavier. He releases your arm, moving to grasp the green fabric at your side.

There was obvious disdain between Tony and the man at the bar, giving you deniability to add to his claims. You started to think it was more likely he knew which buttons to push, to put you at odds with each other. Maybe you were getting entangled in corporate politics you didn’t understand without Tony. This was your mistake, just like before.

The words overheat in your mind, warming your skin and wreaking havoc on your thoughts. Some tell you nothing would change it, that you wanted to give up on this. Others, louder, tell you anything would win you over, that you were looking for any reason not to. The mental gymnastics start anew, but end with the same conclusion.

You want to chastise yourself for how willfully you fell back into his eyes, angry and want-ridden. The confidence you had earlier about leaving becomes a difficult feat to manage, overtaken by every screaming aspect of you that urges you to stay. Tony didn’t know it then, but he got what he wanted regardless of the wrench thrown by Steve— you, right in the palm of his hand.

He expects a genuine answer, one you don’t have. So, in typical fashion, he decides for you.

Tony considers it your fault for what he’s about to do, staring back at him with doe-eyes and flushed skin. Plans are built to be changed anyways—and he clearly needed to send a stronger message.

Without warning, you’re pulled by shoulder the short distance from the wall to the nearby chaise, resting in front of a high mirror. You question Tony, to no reprieve, pushed forward onto your knees. In the reflection, you watch his arm snake around your body, returning a rough hand to your throat, bringing your back flush with his chest- his other hand tight on your hip.

“ Relax ,” he whispers against your ear, and chills run up your spine.

“Tony-” you start, trying to twist in your position to look back at him. It’s a useless effort, large arms easily keeping you place.

“Eyes up,” he instructs, and your attention is directed forwards, meeting his eyes in the reflection.

The olive dress is bunched to your waist, witnessing his hand teasingly graze along your thigh before disappearing under the cascading fabric. It stops there a moment, fingers dancing at the hem of your panties. Desire stirs in you with little prompting, Tony’s lips trailing down your neck nipping gently.

“Don’t you see what I see—how pretty you look, doll?” he stays locked onto you, holding you steady when you jerk against his hand folding behind your underwear. Soft fingers draw slow circles on your clit, pulling a gasp from your mouth. “—why would I need anyone else.”

It’s pure filth, watching your own body react to every movement in the shadowy room, every bite against your heated neck. Tony’s quiet declarations only dampen your mind.

“You’re perfect, ” His voice drops lower, increasing his pace as the hand on your neck grows firm. “—just for me.”

There’s static in the air, surrounding your limbs. The obscene picture in front of him sets every nerve on fire, watching your hands reach for his arm, watching you try so hard to not fall into the obscenity in your ear.

Gravity is indiscriminate, so you fall nonetheless. The heavy fingers tease your wet entrance, only to retract and circle your clit before returning for more. It’s all soft and light, barely as much as you need. You turn desperate before you know it, focused on the flex of his bicep in the mirror with every stroke.

Unfortunately for you, this wasn’t really about pleasure. This was about trust. He needed that, for you to know how consumed he was by you. He’s certain you can feel his hard member pressing into the back of your thighs, a heated, heavy reminder that you were all he wanted. You must know— based on the wetness pooling in his hand and your eyes centered on him.

“All mine .”

You cry out when a finger surpasses your entrance. You watch it be cut off by the hand at your throat, gripping harder to keep your noises at a minimum. There’s no resistance, wet and desperate enough to suck him in completely. The hand bruising your hip rocks you back onto his fingers.

All those questions you had, about Pepper, his work, Steve—they’re gone. Disintegrated in the same heat that coils your stomach. Moving away from Tony’s sickeningly slow ministrations isn’t an option, trapped between his body and his tight hold.

“I should put that rude little mouth to better use.” Tony whispers, free of any reason to hold himself back. You felt undervalued, fine. He’d see to it that’d never happen again. He’d let you hear just how badly he wanted you. He needed that same look in your eye from last night. The one that shined for him and only him.

He doesn’t take the stutter of your frame as a reason to slow down, only a reason to push you over the edge. The finger inside you is joined by a second, curving into you. The lace of panties is soaked through, a dark patch spreading to your thighs. You can’t focus on the mirror any longer, shutting your eyes tightly as you reach your peak—softly rushing through you as Tony’s praises flood into your ear.

He doesn’t let go—large arms wrapping around you until your breath returns to normal. You open your eyes to meet Tony’s lustful eyes reflected back to you.

“Still having doubts?”

Tony’s patience was completely run through, the short fuse sparked to unrepairable levels. Again, he thinks it’s mostly your fault. He had no issue treating you like gold, but he only thought it right that you at least trusted him.

You give a quick shake of the head, panting and watching the hands around you leave. You turn and sit in the chaise facing him, his jaw still clenched.

“Good.” he responds slowly. Eyes rake over you beneath him, with Tony imagining a hundred more ways to have you moaning his name. He finds the willpower not to act on them, instead turning for the door.

“You should rest.” He says before you can find the right words to say, door shutting behind him.

Sleeping proves difficult—thoughts overwhelmed with Tony being a room away. There’s also Pepper and Steve floating around your mind, though never for long. Before you can give way to thinking about it, you inevitably end up catching a glimpse of the mirror in the corner—and everything Tony said plays in vivid sound. Then, an unbearable warmth pools in between your thighs, causing your thoughts to be consumed by him again.

The frustrating cycle repeats for hours.

Finally, you decide you’ve had enough, leaving your suite and winding up in front of Tony’s door. He answers on the third tap of your fingers, clad in tight black briefs. You have enough clarity to keep your eyes from focusing on that, or the exposed sculpted chest.

“Can I come in?” You feel pathetic for the way you ask, but it’s worth it, because he steps aside for you to enter.

You walk across the large room, sitting on the end of the unmade bed. Tony stays in the middle of the room, arms crossed in front of his body, waiting.

“You said I don’t need to know everything but,” you start, only growing more anxious when Tony raises an impatient eyebrow. “Pepper, what happened there? Why have I never heard of her before? At least tell me that.”

Tony sighs, contemplating if the distrust in your eye is worth possibly pushing you away for good. You’d see through any bullshit he tried to sell, not that he would make something up anyway. But, it’s for that reason that he knows he won’t get away with telling a half truth. He decides to take it as a sign that you’re still here, in his room, and that you still didn’t leave.

“We were married, she cheated.” He decides to omit his own revenge cheating. He considered their relationship done at that point anyway, just took him too long to realize.

“So, you’re divorced?”

“Not exactly, it’s complicated.” He sighs again. “But we are not together—in any capacity.”

You want to ask what exactly is complicated about signing a piece of paper, but you leave well enough alone.

“Then why not tell me?”

“I wasn’t sure you’d stay if you knew. Couldn’t risk it.” It’s mostly true.

It comes out soft and heartfelt enough for you to believe it. Besides, so many parts of you didn’t want to be upset with him, for any reason. You didn’t have the will to end things, and you didn’t want to find it either. You stare at the floor, trying to process this new aspect of him. His shadow moves across the floor, coming before you to caress your face.

“You don’t need to worry, doll. “ Tony murmurs, trying to get that last little drop of doubt out of your mind. “You’ll always be mine, and I’ll always take care of you.”

part three

#mcu fanfiction #tony stark x reader #tony stark #avengers fanfiction #seikkoiwrites #tony stark smut #marvel fanfiction #tony stark x you #tw dubious consent #tw dubcon

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xblackreader · 1 year ago

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Don’t Run From Me - Chapter 10

Chapter Summary:

That sounded like the perfect life all of a sudden. How could that be? The reason she and W'kabi had not worked out was he wanted a housewife, a woman to greet him with a glass of wine and tend to his every need, while Okoye yearned for a life of purpose and duty. She couldn't even picture that life when she was with her ex-husband...

"You feel that way because he was half a man. Not nearly Alpha enough to take care of your needs and provide the way I can."

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emberenchanted · 1 year ago

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For Keeps (2/3)

Pairing: Dark!Carol Danvers x Female Reader

Summary: Carol sees you. Carol wants you. Carol gets what she wants.

Series Warnings: extremely dubious consent, strap ons (r receiving), sex (oral, vaginal), fingering, anal fingering, Dom!Carol, orgasm denial, spanking, violence (not really towards reader), manipulation, forced relationship, rough sex

18+ ONLY

Link to Chapter 1

Chapter 2

As you drag yourself up the stairs to your studio above the bar you reflect on whether living at home with your parents had really been that bad. This kind of thing didn’t happen where you were from and it had you thinking that perhaps it was time to revisit your long term plans. Coming back home after three months was kind of pitiful, but even that might be better than getting pulled into a world you have no business in. One filled with casual violence that made your stomach turn.

Especially since you were now dreading the inevitable phone call from Carol. You knew she would call and you knew you wouldn’t be able to say no to her. That was a dangerous road to start down. Better to nip it in the bud ASAP.

Calling an ambulance for Mel and closing down the bar mostly by yourself made for an extra late night and all you could think about was taking a hot shower (your meager attempt to wash the violence off of you and out of your mind) and climbing into bed. You wish you’d given yourself a glass of wine “on the house,” but after Carol’s display, it seemed like Mel really couldn’t spare the extra cash.

When you awake late the next morning it’s with a pounding headache and two missed calls from an unknown number. You also see a voicemail notification. Your mind quickly flashes over the events of the preceding night and you immediately wish you were still sleeping. For some reason you feel like you should be sitting up while you listen to Carol’s message, so you throw your legs over the edge of your sofa bed and drag yourself into an upright position.

As you suspected, the message was from Carol and she sounded like sin.

Beep. “Hey, baby. It’s me, Carol. I had such a good time with you last night, and I can’t wait to see you again. How about I pick you up tonight at 7pm for dinner and a show? Call me back with your address as soon as you get this. Ok, bye baby. Talk to you soon.”

You squeeze your eyes shut and press 7 to delete the message. You never should have given her your number. And you definitely couldn’t go out with her. She’d hurt Mel! In the three months since you’d moved to the city, Mel had been--well, not a friend exactly--but a stable acquaintance. He’d given you a job and a place to live, and only price gouged you a little. But the commute to work was unbeatable. You generally liked Mel and wanted him to be ok. Carol, or whoever she was representing, could have offered him some kind of payment plan. From what you could tell from his tearful blabbering while you waited for the ambulance, he’d made an honest mistake.

You also knew that while you might be telling yourself you were refusing to call Carol back out of some source of solidarity, the simple truth was that Carol scared you shitless. She also didn’t seem like someone who handled rejection well. And you aren’t interested in standing up to her and risking her undeniably brutal wrath. You don’t think that she would hurt you like she’d hurt Mel, but you also don’t think she’ll simply accept your answer and leave you be. So, to your bleary brain, ignoring the problem is the next best thing. You busy yourself with laundry and tidying your small apartment; your distractions work well until Carol’s next two calls at 5 and 6pm. She doesn’t leave any more voice messages and you hope that she got the message that you weren’t interested and that she would lose interest in you. You spend the evening with a bottle of cheap red wine and Netflix. You tumble into bed around 2 am and fall into a fitful sleep. When you wake up in the early afternoon the next day, 6 hours before your 7:30 pm shift at Mel’s, you nervously check your phone for more messages. To your relief, there are none.

Carol’s good mood fizzles in the 24 hours after meeting you. The morning after Mel’s Tavern she’d woken up in high spirits. After a quick 6 mile run, she’d showered, eaten a hearty breakfast, and started planning her date. She’d settled on a location for dinner, made reservations, and bought tickets to a popular live show. She’d called Y/N to tell her all about their night, then called again to leave a message. By 5pm, Carol was irritated, and by 6pm she was worried. She’d even driven by Mel’s around 6:30pm to see if you were working. If Carol had known your address, she wouldn’t have hesitated to drop by. By 7:30pm Carol was back in the gym, sparring just a bit too viciously with Natasha.

“Damn!,” Nat huffs out as Carol puts her on her ass for the fifth time that evening. She sits up while rubbing her side and looks at Carol through the red sheet of hair that has fallen over her face. “Did I happen to do something to you? Because, if so, you should know I’m very sorry. Can you please stop beating me up? ”

Carol sticks out her hand to help Natasha off the mat. “Sorry. I’m a little distracted today so I wasn’t really paying attention.”

Natasha, now standing, looks quizzically at Carol and then laughs, “I feel like I should be insulted.”

Carol smiles. “Never, Nat. You always give me a good fight." The next moment her smile turned sour. “I’m just frustrated and a bit pissed. I met this woman last night and she gave me her number, but then started avoiding me. She won’t answer her phone and stood me up for a date. That’s actually where I’m supposed to be now. But I know she likes me. I saw the way she looked at me and reacted when I touched her. But, she’s just too nervous to admit it.”

Carol rolls her eyes and throws her head back as she releases a frustrated grunt.

“Ok, woman troubles. Now that I can help with,” Nat chuckles. “If she’s too shy, then you need to be bold enough for the both of you. Don’t let her say no.”

“You know what Nat?,” Carol grins, “it’s like you read my mind.”

Carol strides into Mel’s Tavern at 9 pm the following night. She walks directly to the bar, ignoring everyone around her and heading straight to you.

As she approaches, your heart starts racing and the room feels much hotter than it had moments ago. She was just as breathtakingly beautiful as you remembered and your mind empties for just a moment. She didn’t look happy, but she also didn’t look like she was about to fling a knife into your heart or drive a fist into your face. That had to be a good sign, right?

“Hey, Carol,” you choke out quietly. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“No, Y/N. But I would very much like to speak with you.” Carol states calmly, hands braced against the edge of the bar and body leaning over the counter towards you. “Why don’t you take your break now?”

You gesture aimlessly to the few scattered patrons in the bar. For the second time in as many shifts nobody would look at you. They were all suspiciously interested in the glasses in front of them, even if those glasses were empty. You grit your teeth and say, “Someone might need me.”

Carol frowns, looks around and asks the room loudly, “Anybody here need anything?”

A chorus of “nos” come back to her.

Carol raises one of her perfectly arched eyebrows and beckons you over to her with a softly crooked finger.

You scoot to the section of the bar directly in front of Carol, cross your arms and look down. Carol reaches across the bar with her right hand and, taking your chin between her thumb and forefinger, pushes your head up until you meet her eyes directly.

Your brain races through excuses frantically. You knew it was a possibility she’d show up and you should have prepared better. Maybe you could say that things have been a little crazy in your life and you don’t have time to pursue anything... with anyone? Not just her? It was a pitiful excuse, but the best you could come up with.

Carol looks at you, head tilted slightly, brows furrowed, and eyes narrowed as her thumb gently strokes your face. Her expression could only be described as frustrated yet determined. “Baby,” Carol began slowly, “I’m confused. When I came in two nights ago, we had an instant connection. That doesn’t happen often, does it?”

Your head jerks quickly back and forth, signaling no.

“Ok, that's what I thought,” Carol continues. Her voice hardens slightly, as does the hand holding your face. You wince at the sudden pressure. “So why didn’t you call me back? Why did you make me call you four times with no response?”

Your head feels dizzy and your lips stay glued together. You're on the verge of a panic attack and all you could think of is getting her to let you go.

“Answer me, baby. Now,” Carol commands, as her grip on your chin tightens further.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. Your eyes squeeze shut and your upper body is leaned back as far as you can while your face is still being held by Carol.

Carol abruptly releases your face and you have to take a quick step and set your hand on the bar to rebalance your body.

Carol’s hand snakes out and grabs yours, holding it firmly so you can’t walk away. Her voice softens some, but still sounds slightly harsh .“Ok, I’ll forgive you this time. But don’t let it happen again.” From her back pocket she whips out a piece of paper and a pen. “Write down your address so I know where to pick you up tomorrow.”

Once Carol pockets your address, she reaches for your hand once more. “How much longer do you have on your break, baby? Let’s go outside.”

After walking you outside, Carol immediately presses you against the brick wall and pushes her lips against yours in a forceful kiss. Her tongue slips across the seam of your lips until you open to allow her entry into your mouth. She sets to exploring every bit of you, sucking your tongue into her mouth and nibbling on your lips until they are tender and you are breathless and dizzy. Then she’d promptly untucked your shirt, unbuttoned your jeans, and slid her hand down to your slippery folds. When you try to move away, her free hand tightens on your waist and shoves you back, making your back scrape against the wall.

“Mmmm, is all this for me?,” she murmurs, nuzzling your ear, as her fingers part you and begin gently rubbing from your clit to your slick opening. You squirm on Carol's fingers, and Carol slides her thumbnail over your sensitive clit harshly, making you yelp. “Did I tell you to move?”

“No,” you whisper.

“When we're together like this you call me Ma’am,” Carol growls. “No, who?”

”No, ma’am” you gasp out while trying desperately to stay still. She slides two fingers into you and your walls flutter furiously around Carol's fingers, searching for relief. “Sorry, ma’am.” It comes out as a whimper.

Carol pushes her fingers deeper up inside of you and you choke. Her free hand slides under your shirt, over your waist and ribs, before spreading and tightening under your breast, fingernails digging into the hollows between your ribs, scratching your soft flesh. Carol thumbs your taut nipple, and a moan bubbles up in your throat as you fight your every instinct in your attempt not to move. Her warm breath fans over your neck as she shifts your body flat against the wall, caging you in.

Carol pinches your nipple sharply as her fingers begin to push into you harder and faster. She focuses her thrusts, curling her fingers inside you to rub your spongy flesh until she hits that exquisite spot that makes you moan and shiver. The slick sound of her fingers pumping in and out of your pussy fills your ears. That and Carol’s murmuring are all you can hear. Her voice pitches you higher as she calls you her good girl, her sweet girl, her hot sticky tight little girl.

Your heart pounds in your chest as you feel the relentless rising in your core. You approach the edge of a wicked orgasm, and just as you feel yourself begin to teter over, Carol slides her fingers out of you and starts slipping them, in a whisper soft motion, over your clit, just barely brushing you. The abrupt emptiness has you whining sharply.

“No, no, no,” Carol whispers in your ear. She presses her body firmly against yours, “No coming for you. You were a bad girl. Do bad girls get orgasms?”

“No,” you gasp.

Carol pinches your clit sharply once before going back to her soothing motion, “No, who?”

“No, ma’am,” you whimper.

“Good girl. We’re going to do that a few more times while you apologize to me, ok? Hold on, baby.”

Feeling lost, you loop your arms around her neck and drop your head into the crook of her neck. Carol’s long slender fingers push roughly back inside of you, furiously rubbing you as you whine and squirm against the wall. Before long you hear yourself apologizing for not answering her calls, for worrying her, for standing her up.

She tortures you throughout your broken apologies, bringing you to the edge over and over only to force you back down.

Finally, finally, she must decide you’ve apologized enough, and she whispers in your ear as her fingers pick up again, “Shhh, now, I’m going to let you come baby. You’re being such a good girl and you apologized so nice. But don’t you ever ignore my calls again. No matter what.” Her voice hardens and her slippery fingers pinch at your clit gently--making you jump and yelp--before pushing them back inside you, “You understand me?”

Your brain is fuzzy and can’t seem to string together enough words to form a sentence. When you first saw Carol enter the bar you definitely didn’t intend for this to happen. You’d hope that you could somehow weasel out of a date with her without her getting mad. Things had obviously not gone according to plan. You must take too long to respond, because Carol’s free hand reaches to twist your clit harshly, making you howl.

“Answer me. Now.” The fingers inside you don’t stop.

The sharp pain from her twist radiates up your body, and temporarily mutes your rising orgasm. “Yes,” you sob pathetically. “Yes, I understand, ma’am.”

Carol uses the entirety of her body weight to push you up against the wall. Your back scrapes the wall as her fingers pick up speed and she coos softly in your ear. Her fingers push you violently over the edge, and you buck harshly between the wall and Carol's solid form. Carol’s fingers fuck you through your orgasm as she nuzzles your neck, licking and nipping at the tender skin there as you come down.

Carol watches as you readjust your clothes and wipe at the mist in your eyes before she walks you back into the bar. She drops a possessive kiss on your mouth before heading toward the door. At the last minute, she turns and looks you dead in the eye. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Right, baby?”

You look back at her and nod. “Yes, ma’am,” you whisper under your breath.

After dropping you back at work, Carol walks to her car with her lips curled into a smile. She is sure that she’s on the right track with her sweet, shy little baby. She's even hopeful that she might be able to trade in her unused tickets for show credit that she could use for her date tomorrow night with you.

Chapter 3

A/N: Thanks for reading and for any feedback you give. Please do let me know what you think so far. It's much appreciated. Also, I know need to work on my dividers.. haven't quite figured those out yet. Thanks for bearing with me.

#dark carol danvers x female reader #dark carol danvers x reader #dark!carol danvers #dark!carol #avengers smut #marvel reader insert #dark marvel au #marvel fic #dark! carol danvers #tw dark fic #carol danvers x female reader #carol danvers x reader #smut #tw dubious consent #tw dubcon #for keeps series

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growleryofaninkling · 1 year ago

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Pleasure Mark

((Hello, had this Attuma X Reader fic idea in my head for a while. Though I would put the first part out. MINORS: DNI. Smut is on the horizon. DUBCON.))

The sun approached the horizon. It had been a long day, longer than most. The labs of the River Tribe cannot compare to those in the heart of the country. Yet much that is used on the mainland is born of the research done in the laboratory you call home. Rivers are treacherous. They feed directly to the ocean, and as such biodiversity can flourish in such waters that could not be found in a strict salt or freshwater context.

“Careful with that meat, Y/N,” Adah chides, “Those specimens seem very fond of hippo.” Hoisting the bucket to the tank’s edge with a loud thud you huff, “You’re right. It’s almost as if I need your help.” “Nah,” she grins, “You got it.” Rolling your eyes playfully you slide on a long rubber glove, grabbing tongs you lift a chunk of flesh out of the bucket and into the tank below. With little time, the specimen circles the meat before ripping a considerable bite out of it. Tossing in the last few bits you climb down the ladder, watching the gory spectacle. “It never surprises me how fierce yet serene they can be. It’s quite humbling.” Adah glances over her shoulder, “Should I set up a playdate between you two?” “Only when my death wish becomes serious,” you chide, tossing the bloody glove near her desk. Visible disgust paints itself on her smooth features as she eyes you with annoyance. Before she can reply the sound of glass sliding shut echoes throughout the room.

In your quarters you flop on the bed. As if the day wasn’t long enough, enduring your lap partner’s microaggressions didn’t help matters. Your hand instinctively ghosts your neck, fingertips ghosting the thin fissures there. Without thinking you force a fingernail into one, opening up the organ to the air. Shuddering you pull your hand down. “I’m fixating,” you mumble. Few things helped you during these mental fits, one of them being a swim. Gathering yourself you slip on your Kimoyo beads, and secure a vibranium tipped knife to your hip. Brackish waters like river mouths carry many dangers, including Zambezi sharks. Satisfied everything you needed was in tow, you head towards the marina.

The lab was situated at the great river’s mouth, where the ocean fed into it. Looking out the sky was a deep medley of pink, tangerine and mauve. The wind blew carrying with it the crisp, salty brine of the sea. It’s dangerous to swim at these hours. Most aquatic predators become active at this time. But you felt safer than most, wading waist deep into the water. Crouching you splash a few handfuls of liquid over your neck. The slits gently open and close, readying themselves for the deluge soon to come. Inhaling your sink under the waves. The burning sensation in your lungs rings loudly, the pounding in your head thrums with little remorse. Clenching your eyes you focus on your breathing, counting between each exhale until the pain subsides. The dark spots dancing across your vision eases and you finally open your eyes.

Brilliant hues of blue and green convolace beneath the waves you floated in. The river’s silt stirred as a small school of striped fish scurried away, the vegetation was sparse here due to the brackish water, all you could see was moss covered branches the river claimed some time ago. The sunlight was quickly fading, in your hast you stretched out, pushing yourself through the estuary at a lazy speed. The blur of the river was bleeding out to the bright, clear blue of the ocean. In little time you cross the threshold, the salt now filling your gills leaving a peculiar taste in the back of your mouth. As you became accustomed to the brine a faint noise was building in the back of your mind. The salt wasn’t leveling out as it should, you swam further out, hoping to acclimate. But the taste wasn’t lessening as quickly as you would like. And that sound it only seemed to build. Just as you stop an object torpedoes past your waist. You follow the faint trail of bubbles to its origin and freeze. A figure draped in shadow was hovering just out of focus. It was massive, whatever it was, yet the tell-tale length of a cephalofoil was clear enough to send a chill down your spin. A primitive part of your brain kicked into gear and turned around. Hammerhead sharks were typically calm but like any wild animal they were unpredictable, and despite your curiosity about the object your body knew better. You dove down and kicked hard, fighting the current to return to the river’s mouth. Another object flew by, this time grazing your neck. Your gills split under the pressure and you release a water logged yell. The pain stalls all movement, clutching your neck, your eyes slam shut.

Let the pain pass.

Let it pass and go.

Your silent meditation stops, the feeling of something cold and sharp presses itself into your shoulder. Adrenaline surges as you prepare for the worse. The object pinches but doesn’t pierce. It guides you to the estuary bank, gentle yet assertive. Your palms touch land and you haul yourself out of the water and onto the sand bar. Gasping you cough up what little water remains in your lungs. Quickly you turn around and unsheathe the humble combat knife secured to your hip . The dim light of the dusk sky illuminated his towering frame, the light blue of his scar dappled skin covered the mass expanse of his chest. His features were obscured with some sort of, what was it, a breathing apparatus? Your eyes trail up and see the skeletal remains of a great hammerhead skull. Bast, he’s huge.

He takes a step forward, with no hesitation you lunge. He evades your attack with ease, turning to watch you with curious eyes. Crashing into the sand you clutch the wound on your neck, blood pooling out. Cinching your eyes for a moment you gasp, a calloused hand grabs your arm and pulls you up with no warning. He looks you up and down, more studious than anything, cool apathy plastered on what you could see of his obscured face. “Hm,” he reaches towards the trickle of blood running down your neck. Your vision blurred, the cut must be hindering the ability for your gills to close. Tentatively he removes your hand and examines the cut, your aquatic respiratory organ clear to see. Before he can touch it you turn and sink your teeth into his hand, biting as hard as your jaws could manage. In shock he drops you, glaring at the teeth marks indented into his flesh. He looks down at you and pulls your knife to him with his foot. “Aren’t you clever,” you mumble. He chuckles, crouching down to your level to retrieve the weapon. If he recognizes the material he doesn’t say. Tucking the knife into his armor you huff in exhaustion. Your gills were closing but not fast enough.

“I’ve never seen anyone like you before,” you sputter out, urging your tired legs to stand. The immense man strides over and uses the butte of his spear, pushing you back down. In one swift motion you stumble back onto the sand. In an instant the tip of his spear pressed into your clavicle. Your deep breaths push it roughly against your skin. His eyes were transfixed on the movement of his weapon slowly gliding up, across your neck, up to your chin. “I am ignoring the fact that you’ve somehow made it past our borders without alerting us,” he turns his head to the side, regarding you with cool detachment. Before you can utter another word he withdraws the spear and crouches down to your level. Being this close to him you could make out his features despite the mask. His gaze bores into you, fixing you to the spot. His hand reaches out, palm outstretched. “You…?” With a small sigh he grabs your arm, and wraps the other behind your back, and with one fluid motion he hoists you both up to your feet. You stand there, pressed against his chest. You were weighing your options. In the fog of your thoughts he speaks in a tongue you don’t recognise. Why couldn’t you think clearly? The towering stranger places one hand behind your neck and tips you back. Your eyes are wide with fright but your body refuses to obey any command you give it. Lifting one hand, he pulls free one of the nestled shark teeth that decorated his armor. His large palm steadies the back of your head, digits long enough to reach the outcropping of your cheeks. You hardly see the motion as he slices one shallow, precise slit on your bottom lip. Instinctively you blink as the sharp sting of freshly ripped skin impresses itself into your mind. The mental fog was heavy, dropping your eyelids, relaxing your body. Gently he sets you down and wasting no time he presses for the water, disappearing beneath the waves leaving you in a stupor on the sand.

Within a few minutes time you were able to hoist yourself back to the main shoreline. Now you stared at your reflection in the foggy mirror, steam from your too hot shower rolling out in thin clouds. The cut wasn’t very large, but you still dressed it. “Bast knows where that tooth has been,” you mummer, inspecting the clean wound. “It’ll heal,” you sigh, returning to your bedroom. You lay on your plush bed, utterly spent. Nothing about this day went as it should. Who do I tell about the stranger? Do I tell anyone at all…? This was precarious information given the crown princess Shuri was just abducted not a day ago. The details were sparse but the kingdom knew of her absence, it ultimately removed Okoye as general of the Dora Milaje, which was a fact no one could ignore. Ruminating your tongue runs along the cut. It was sensitive, and swollen to a small degree. Why cut me here of all places, why not kill me? Mind racing you gently bite down on the cut, making your body jolt. It was a peculiar sensation. Not entirely pleasurable, but…not without pleasure? In your mind’s eye you pictured him, resplendent and proud. Hell, downright cocky. Despite yourself, his scent lingered, a petrichor quality, like water on a warm stone. He was alluring, you had to admit. You had little to go on but his impression was cemented. An odd thing considering you didn’t know his name. The way he grabbed you…Bast, he was strong. Shaking your head you dim the lights. Rest. That is what I need. With a heavy sigh, slumber draped herself on your shoulders with relative ease.

The moon was low, casting long shadows on a sparsely furnished balcony. A warm, balmy gale scatters across the faint, waterlogged footprints leading to your room. In your bed you tossed, sweat on your brow, breath heavy with trepidation. An incessant knocking would not quiet itself in your head, beating on the inner walls of your dream, urging you to wake. Your heart was thumping rapidly in your chest, the sound was growing in tempo, increasing in volume.

Open.

Slightly, your head jolts, your cheek finds the calloused hand of the intruder.

Open your eyes, fierce one.

A faint moan escapes your throat, low and wanting.

No one says no to me. Open your eyes.

In an instant you attempt to bolt upright, breath and heartbeat seemingly caught in one tangled mass under your tongue. Gasping your gaze focuses on the figure above you. Tall. Proud. “Cocky,” you mutter. Before your mind could catch up a fist was well formed in your right hand, the azure man glances at it before you connect the punch to his masked cheek. His obsidian eyes rove from the point of contact to your face, mirth clearly glittering in the eyes. Your chest heaves with an exaggerated motion as you swallow your helplessness, drinking in the presence of this warrior. “What are you doing here?” you whisper out, fear catching your voice. The man offers nothing. He picks you up, and stays the foot you tried to connect with his temple. His eyes meet yours, hard and cold like glass. You were no match for him. It humbled and chilled your bloodlust all at once. Tears begin to form in your eyes as he hoists you up and walks you both to the edge of the balcony. You look out, the ocean not far away. “Breathe,” he muttered, placing his breathing mask on your face. You do so and close your eyes. Bast knows where you would end up.

When you awoke the gentle pitter-patter of water droplets echoed throughout the cave. Stirring you look around, a woven hammock held you in place. The fog now gone from your mind you sit up and take in your surroundings. The cave was well lit by virtue of the bioluminescent organisms that called the underwater grotto home. It would be far more wondrous if the circumstances were better. Standing up you see someone has left you fresh water and a bowl of fruit. A polite clearing of the throat turns your attention to its source, a woman, blue in hue with simple garb wrapped around her body. She nods in greeting before making her way to you, in her outstretched hands was a neat pile of clothing not different from her own. Turning she gestures down a narrow corridor, you tentatively follow her, eyes darting about for any threat. A small pool of steaming water comes into view. The woman gestures for you to get in but you stop. “Okay, this is awkward. What’s your name?” She blinks. “Your name? Like, your-” she interrupts you, “I understand…Nare’.” “I’m Y/N. It’s nice to meet you.” Nare’ nodded with a slight smile on her face. Gathering a basket she waded into the pool, skirt hiked around her thighs. “Is this a bath?” Nare’ gives a curt nod, “Oh, it’s fine I literally just had a show-” “It is ceremonial,” she gestures at you to enter the pool again. “Ceremonial to who, Nare’?” The woman merely blinks with annoyance. She clearly wasn’t fond of you using her name. Dropping the matter, you followed her to the center of the warm water. With no small amount of embarrassment on your part, Nare’ removes your sleep wear and begins scrubbing, taking care not to apply too much pressure. Overall it was done quicker than you expected. Well thank Bast for that. “Wait here,” she commands, leaving the way you both came, returning with the garments she brought. Looking at the clothing you raised an eyebrow, “Is this necessary?” Nare’ let out a small sigh, “Right, right Ceremonial purposes,” you air-quote. “You have quite the mouth,” she states, gathering your clothes to fold, “Considering your duties.” Moving to help dress you in the rust colored outfit you peer at her, “Duties?” Nare’ offers no further comment and resumes her task. Surprisingly the dress was comfortable, one shoulder left bare, the skirt stopped just at the ankle. Returning to the antechamber that you now viewed as your room, you sat down in the hammock nestled in the corner. Nare’ turned to silently take her leave. “Thank you,” you called out to her, offering a small smile. She stopped mid-stride for a moment, she looked over her shoulder and nodded curtly.

Now alone you had nothing but your thoughts. Air escaping your lungs you venture to the hammock and lay down, what in the hell were you going to do? Your beads were nowhere to be found, you had no weapons, hell you didn’t even have shoes. Your only boon was the fact that your little genetic gift allowed you to spend a few hours in the water without breeching for air, handy but you had to be miles down wherever you were in the ocean. The sound of water rippling bounces off the wall, snapping your head in its general direction. For a split second you didn’t recognise the person emerging from the water. Golden brown skin, long dark hair, a warm and dark gaze. To be frank, he was beautiful. Your breath hitched in your throat as you drank in the sight of him unmarred by the dry air’s effect on his body. Yet once he is completely free of the pool, his skin returns to the familiar azure tone. He stands, looking behind you before returning to your face. “You have not eaten.” “Not hungry.” He walks towards you, his expression pensive. You do not stop him from getting close, which he takes full advantage of. It nearly feels like a challenge, to back you into a corner like some frightened prey animal. He stops right before you, chest slowly rising and falling with his breath. The look in his eyes was positively disrespectful, you felt devoured by his gaze alone. One thick arm slides around your waist pulling you two closer still. His other hand reaches up to cup your chin but you catch his wrist, stalling all movement. “I don’t know where I am and you dare to touch me?” Flinging his hand away, “You’ve got some nerve. Whoever the hell you are.”

Oh.

That felt like a mistake.

A grin that reaches the corners of his eyes spreads itself across his features. His fingers dig into the flesh of your back, grip ironclad enough to signal that you weren’t moving. With his other hand, he clasps yours, positioning the digits to mirror his own. Placing your palm on his mask he presses down on your fingers in the correct manner to release the apparatus, water spilling out on you both. He let’s go, leaving the mask in your hand…to what? “I…don’t need this,” you confess, giving the mask back. He drops it and pulls you into the nearby pool he emerged from. Holding you near him he submerges you both, water rushing over your head in a blink. The headache starts and you cling to him without thought, reigning in the pulsing burn in your chest while your body adjusts to the abrupt change. He doesn’t move or disturb you, merely observes, anchoring you to his side. Slowly your fingers loosen their grip on his chest, your breathing evens out into a calm, smooth rhythm. Eyes open, you see him, really, truly see him. Underneath the dim light his hair was free to float in the current once more. Two large verdant jade plugs housed themselves in his earlobes. His nose had a noble curve, completing his face with rugged grace. As your eyes were transfixed on his form you felt a thumb brush along the seam of your lips, the calloused skin catching on the fresh wound he left there. Wincing slightly you turn your head, which he immediately corrects. “Attuma…that is my name.” You swallow thickly, his voice clear and low sent a wave of desire through you. It was a pity he didn’t speak more often. Pushing that idea aside, your voice finds itself, “Where am I, Attuma?” “At the boundary of Talocan.” Your brows furrow, this was not a place you ever heard of, “You’ll come to understand soon enough,” he offers, acknowledging your confused expression. Given the recent happenings in Wakanda you couldn’t help but wonder if this was the hidden threat your government was trying to conceal. “Am I in danger?” “Not at all,” “Then, why am I here?” His thumb ghosts the cut on your lip, then trails down to your neck, fingers gently caressing the gills housed there, “I have not met a surface dweller so similar to us. You intrigued me.” “So being intrigued justifies abduction?” you snort, try as you might the venom in your words seeped out. “You are different, but it must be difficult living with others who are not like yourself, “ “How would you know how others treat me, exactly?” “I do not. But I can imagine how you have challenged their preconceived notions of existence,” his hand falls from your neck. The words imprinted in your mind. Holding out his hand he gestures for you to return to his embrace to resurface. “I can swim just fine,” his arm returns to him, an expression of gentle humor resting on his brow. “As the lady wishes.” You both resurface and exit the pool without another word. Attuma attempts to gather his breathing mask but his action falls short. Small spots swirled in your vision as you tackled him, legs wrapped around his torso you both fell back on the ground. Attuma grabs you, securing your body to his. With a grunt he stands up, you helplessly clinging to him. You stare at him in shock. As your gills recede. “It is painful for you,” he says matter of fact. “Well, it’s not the most comfortable thing,” you chuckle. “I will ask next time. I have been rude, this is not my only infraction.” You regard him curiously, “I daresay it wouldn’t be,” you offer up the faintest of smiles. He was not without compassion, clearly. Abduction notwithstanding. “What are you called?” his voice cuts through the silence. Your eyes dart up and hold his gaze. The silence was enough for him, he nodded and turned to leave.

Swaying in the hammock your mind refused to quiet itself. What Attuma had said earlier was stuck in your mind. If Wakanda was to wage war with the underwater nation, then what belief system did we have that includes you as anything other than an enemy? No one else was born the way you were. To say life was made difficult from a social standpoint would be putting it mildly. Children can be cruel, and their parents are not always ready for change. Still, he had no right to just take you or anyone.

“Doesn’t he know my kind have endured enough of that,” you mumble. Staring at the ceiling of the cave it hits you that you have no idea what time it was…or how long you had been there. People might be worried…”Or they might be grateful I’m gone,” you muse to no one. Eventually the swaying lulls you into a fitful sleep.

#attuma #black panther wakanda forever #alex livinalli #x reader #x y/n smut #x you #talocan #marvel #fanfic #dubcon #mark

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six-demon-bag · 2 years ago

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Give yourself a helping hand

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Bucky Barnes

Series summary: Bucky is investigating a HYDRA base with the Howlies when he triggers a portal. He comes to stuck in a wall in the Winter Soldier’s room.

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Selfcest, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, Howlie!Bucky, Dubious Consent, Virgin Bucky Barnes, because i love corrupting him, Stuck in a Wall, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Discord: WinterBaron, Rough Sex, First Time, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Spit As Lube, Come as Lube

Word count: 2160

Link: Give yourself a helping hand

Excerpt:

The metal hand comes up and strokes along his face, plates shifting automatically as they pass over his skin. Bucky says his name again and the man looks mad at the noise and shoves his metal fingers into Bucky’s open mouth. Bucky can take a hint, no more talking. The fingers don’t leave his mouth.

#i continue my selfcest journey #so many variations to play with!!#buckycest #selfcest #dubcon #winter soldier #bucky barnes #howlie bucky barnes #marvel #pwp #ao3 #fic #fanfic #sixdemon fic #stuck in wall

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snowflakesnsundry · 10 months ago

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Gods help me… a good friend of mine has been catching up on my long fic, Until Dust. She joked that she wanted reader to hook up with Baldur and just cut the tension.

And my stupid little goblin brain went off.

It’s been two days and im 10k words in with a ways to go. Pray for me.

It’s a bit more… intense than some of my usual stuff, but im curious if yall would be interested in it? LMK.

#loki fanfic #loki reader insert #loki marvel #loki x y/n #loki x reader #loki fanfiction #loki x you #until dust #untildust #This is some indulgent stuff tbh #And different from my usual #It gets a little dubcon-y in some spots #So who knows

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fineprintedsunsets · 1 year ago

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𝕸𝖆𝖗𝖐 𝕺𝖋 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕷𝖆𝖒𝖇 | 𝖇.𝖇𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖊𝖘

Previous Part | Master-List Link | Bucky Barnes Master-List | Campfire Children Collection

Synopsis: The Wolf-Lamb Trial is over, and now it's time for revenge.

Word Count: 2.5k

!Trigger Warnings! - depicted death. murder. mentions of blood and violence. sex like a foot away from a dead body? smut. fingering. dirty talk. soft!bucky (he deserved it) hunting human beings. Just dark content all around.

“Come out and play, Little Rabbit.” The wolf's voice echoes throughout the castle, its gruff tone bouncing off pristine walls. “Come out, Come out wherever you are.”

“Bucky!” The wolf's ears turn up, hearing the sound of his lamb. He does not allow his panic to override him, and he launches forward, forgetting about his rabbit, he will get him later. You stand over something, a mangled and bloody mess of bones and skin. A knife dangles from your right palm, threatening to drop and shatter over the Wakandan Castle floor.

The wolf arrives at where you stand, all ready smelling the copper tang of spilled blood. He can't see your eyes, but he knows they are riddled with fear. “Oh, little lamb.” Bucky has time to switch out of his predatory state, it was something he had learned to control since the trial.

The Wolf And The Lamb Trial.

The trial that ultimately led to this person's death. He can see the king's bloody body, his nose is stained with blood, and his breaths no longer fill his lungs. You had killed him, The Wakandan King. You had slit his throat with a knife.

Your knees want to drop beneath you, and the only person keeping your cries from escaping you is Bucky, he places a soft hand on your shoulder, turning you to face him.

“Come here, sweetheart.” His metal hand pulls you to his arms, and when your front meets his own, you melt in his embrace. He runs three metal digits into your scalp, pressing your chin to rest on his shoulder. Bucky places a tender kiss on your forehead. He, however, focused on you he was, knew you had done something both good and bad.

“Shh…” Bucky tasks, silencing your sobs before they can begin. Your arms wrap around his muscled torso, feeling the way the fabric hugs at his waist, almost like a second skin. You're painfully aware of how much it turns you on, even if only a few inches away, a dead man lay no longer breathing, your feet practically coated in a pool of his own blood.

You should be disgusted with yourself, how much the worry has disintegrated, and a smile props on your features. You feel no regret for killing the king, in fact, you enjoyed it, and Bucky knows it too. His lips find your earlobe, biting the soft skin in a teasing manner. You squirm, feeling the heat rise in your stomach.

“Little lamb, you weren’t upset because you killed him, were you?”

You nod, focusing on the way his husky voice plays at your ear, and the way your thighs clench, feeling the heat shoot straight through your core, almost like shiver courses through your body during a snowstorm.

“You were upset because you thought I would be.”

You nod again, snuggling deep into Bucky’s shoulder, feeling his subtle brush the side of your face as his lips stay at your earlobe. “No, lamb. I could never be upset at you, you did what was right, he had it coming to him.”

You smile, proud of the way the wolf praises you, you lean into him, your hips against the hard bulge in his pants. Bucky feels it too, the heat in this room is getting unbearable.

“How about we celebrate, hmm?” Your eyebrows quirk as you pull away from him, looking into his blue eyes, the ones that had wrang so clearly among the midnight stars that one night a year ago.

“Help me catch my rabbit, and then you can get my fingers.” A surge of excitement roots throughout your veins, this would be the first time you've ever been on a hunt with the wolf, the predatory side of Bucky that he could now switch on and off. You had been so against the wolf hunting lambs, but the rabbits? The bad men, who put those lambs on his moor should be punished accordingly.

“Deal?”

“Deal.”

❖

The rabbit's feet quicken. He knows the wolf and his lamb are hunting him. The wolf signals to the lamb as they both jump into action, passing smiles as the fear of their recent prey lingers in the air.

“On the farm, ev’ry Friday!” The lamb starts to sing, giggling as she remembers the first time the wolf had taught her the toon. He had sung it in the woods, when he was under the Wakandan's leadership, when the wolf was forced to be malicious.

Now, the wolf no longer hunts lambs.

He hunts rabbits.

“On the farm, it’s rabbit pie day!” The voice echoes closer as the rabbit attempts to calm his breath. He knows his king is dead, it is something he has been trained to recognize. Panic arises in his body, he knows the Wakandan kingdom has fallen.

“So ev’ry Friday, that ever comes along.” The innocent girl he had been ordered to deliver to the wolf's moor, the girl he had left to be hunted was now the one hunting him. Her voice boomed throughout the castle, echoing throughout the blood-stained hallways.

“We get up early to sing this little song.” The rabbit's footsteps have halted as the wolf's own stop, looking around for any sign of the rabbit's wear about's. He twists and turns, his eyes lost in the Wakandan castle. He pulls the lamb to his side, whispering against her ear lobe, “Be careful, little lamb. We are on his turf.”

The lamb nods, but her innocent features stretch in a smirk. The wolf will have a hard time navigating the castle, this is where she will come in. Over the months they’ve been imprisoned, the days where they have been locked up and tested and trialed, the lamb has learned these lands.

“Run, Rabbit. Run, Rabbit!” The lamb's voice elicits an angelically like tone, stepping over bloody bodies the wolf had drained the life out of just hours earlier. The wolf did not feel regret for these rabbits like he did his lambs, these were bad men. They were the reason he was forced to hurt the lambs.

The rabbit's groans echo over a wall as he rushes into a room, slamming the door behind him. The wolf's eyes snap up to where the sound echoes from, their rabbit is on the second floor. He eyes his lamb, “Your time to shine, sweetheart.”

“Run! Run! Run!” The lamb dances toward the second floor, taking her time as she ascends the purple-colored stairs. Broken statues litter the hallways, and lifeless bodies plague the floor. This rabbit is the only one left of the Wakandan Royals.

The rabbit's breath is starting to catch up to him as he clutches his eyes tighter, lungs filling with air only to be taken away again. He can hear the lamb get closer, but he has lost sound for the wolf.

He had not known White Wolf until the Wolf-Lamb Trial. He had done business with the king, he was one of his kingsman. He picked up the lambs, delivered them on the hill, and picked them back up. He had never felt bad about it because the king had told him the families had been harboring criminals.

“Bang!” A loud knock on the door startled the rabbit, making him scuffle. His back stood pressed against an upturned bed, forcing him to stare straight forward, his back directed away from the door.

“Bang!” Another knock as the lamb's voice occupied his space, her footsteps no longer existent.

“Bang!” The rabbit does not need to turn around to know the lamb has busted open the door, leaving the wood hanging off its hinges.

“Oh, rabbit! Why do you hide?” The wolf's taunting voice subsides the lambs as the rabbit huffs. Both of his hunters are in this room, and surely they know of his occupants. The rabbit screws his eyes shut, as he slows his heartbeat down, hearing the breaths of both the wolf and the lamb coming closer.

“Wait!” The rabbit takes a leap of faith, jumping up from his hiding spot, and placing his dark hands in front of himself. He is met with the furious gazes of both the lamb and the wolf, knowing the cold stench of revenge sticks up just behind him.

The wolf smiles at him, knowing he has walked right to his death, hiding the bit of disappointment he feels from the lamb. He wanted to hunt this rabbit down to its last seconds, wanted to see the pain in its eyes as the wolf forced him to remember all of the lambs he delivered into the jaws of that monster.

The monster that was once him.

“I was just following orders, Mr. Barnes. Please.” His voice is tantalizing as he speaks to the wolf. As if he truly believes lowering his tone will make the wolf stare at him any less viscously.

“Lamb” The wolf starts, looking at his lamb with peripheral vision. He cannot help the proud smile that marks his face, she wants to do this for herself, and the wolf shall let her.

The rabbit's panic rises as the wolf stays behind, and the lamb presses forward, gripping a metal blade in her bloody palm. “What-” The rabbit shrieks as the lamb grips the blade and launches forward, driving it through his stomach. The pain overrides the shock as she pierces him, and drags the blade down and right, forming something the rabbit will never be able to see. He falls back behind the bed frame, spitting up blood from his mouth, followed by conspicuous noises as life drains from his eyes.

“A rabbit to the slaughter.”

If one would zoom in on the scene, to where the knife now rests in the rabbit's abdomen, one would see a letter carved into his bloody flesh. “L”

The mark of the lamb.

❖

“Well done,” Bucky states, the predatory side of him disappearing into his flesh. His bright smile makes your kiss your lips. You still stay in the Wakandan castle, not wanting to wait.

“Come here, baby. Need you, now.” Bucky's arms out stretch in an inviting gesture, and you follow, walking right into the jaws of the wolf. His lips are on your neck in an instant, the body of the rabbit floating in the distance as he pulls you against a nearby wall, the wallpaper hanging off in strands.

You gasp, feeling the heat surrounding your small frame. Bucky takes advantage of your parted lips, allowing his tongue to graze your lips, giving you full permission to decide what it is you want.

You let him in, letting his tongue explore your mouth, his lips capturing yours in a kiss so fiery, heat pools between your legs at just that sounds you to make together, Bucky pulls away with a groan.

You feel his fingers graze your collarbone, his words husky as his lips now find your earlobe. “You did a good job, little lamb. You want your reward?”

“Yes, Bucky. Please.” Your thighs pressed together and Bucky cannot hide his smirk. He loves what he does to you, he could groan as he feels the tightness in his pants, his cock begging to be in you again.

“I can’t fuck you, sweetheart. No matter how much I want to, can you settle for my fingers?” Bucky raises two metal digits, curling them in front of you in a crude manner, and you can’t help but yelp.

“Anything.”

“Ah” Bucky tsks, moving his metal fingers down your shirt, running them over your navel, loving the noises you let release when he squeezes the skin.

“You’ll take anything I give you, won’t you?” You nod, bucking your hips into his, needing to feel full, needing to have something inside you. The wall presses further into your back as Bucky's other hand comes up, cornering you.

The smell of blood is gone, and the rabbit who lay dead just behind the upturned bed is something you pay no attention to. Your breaths tangle as you pant, feeling Bucky’s metal digits slip into your pants, teasing them at your panties' waistline.

Your breaths pan out, looking into his eyes as his finger snakes downwards to cup your sex, groaning when he feels the slick that coats your slit. “Your wet, little lamb. All for me, hmm?” Bucky slips a single finger inside you as you wince, feeling the metal slide against your walls, filling you up only halfway.

You clench around it, hearing the noises of your arousal against his finger. “Doing so good, sweet girl. You okay? Think you can handle another one?”

You nod, bringing your hands up to tangle in Bucky’s dark strands, pulling against them as he pumps in and out, curling the digit each time, making moan illicit from your pretty mouth.

“Gonna fill you up, little lamb.” Bucky does just that, slipping another metal digit into your cunt so it can meet the other. Bucky brings your lips to his, closing his eyes to melt into your embrace, as he continues to pump his fingers in and out of you, keeping you standing and pinned to the wall.

“Bucky. Ahh. Fuck.” You moan, pulling at his hair, melting into his kiss and bucking your hips to meet his thrusting fingers, feeling every time they curl against your cervix.

He pulls back from your lips with a pop, feeling the heat radiate from your body, feeling your breath as you pant for him, fucking yourself on his fingers. Bucky laughs, “Feel good, lamb? ‘Want you to come all over my fingers, show me who they belong to.”

“Me, Buck.”

“I said show, lamb. Not tell.” His voice is deep, almost to that of a growl as he pumps into you, fucking his metal fingers in your tight cunt, hearing the noises you moan and the way your pussy clenches on his digits, not wanting to let them go.

“Good girl, keep bucking your hips, You’ll get there in no time.” Bucky kisses your temple, whispering small encouragements as he stops the thrusting, forcing you to find your own orgasm.

“Bucky, please.”

“This was supposed to be a reward.” You mutter, moving your body up and down, riding his fingers, getting yourself ever so closer to that beautiful pleasure only he can provide.

“It was little lamb, but seeing you take my fingers, ‘Fucking clenching so hard on them’. How could I not make you fuck yourself? Cum on your own, and then I will make it up to you.”

You're determined now as you huff, releasing an exasperated breath as Bucky keeps his fingers straight inside you, letting you ride them to orgasm.

“Good baby, almost there.” He whispers, his eyes seeing the way you bounce, he cannot see the way you take his fingers, due to those pesky pants, but he sure can feel it.

“Bucky!” You moan, your hips speeding their tempo, panting as you ride his fingers harder.

“That’s it-” He coaxes, “Come for me, pretty girl.” You let go on Bucky's digits as his thumb presses at your clit, working you through it, multiplying the waves of pleasure ten-fold.

“I love you, little lamb.”

“I love you so much.”

#marvel #masterlist #fanfic #oneshot #smut #fluff #buckbarnes #bucky barns fanfiction #bucky x reader #buckybarnessmut #bucky masterlist #bucky barnes #james bucky buchanan barnes #bucky fanfic #james buchanan barnes #hunter x prey #dubcon

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seikkoi · 1 year ago

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ꜱᴜɢᴀʀ | dom!tony stark x sugarbaby!reader ( ᴄʀɪᴍᴇ!ᴀᴜ )

ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏɴᴇ [2, 3] | ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴏɴ ᴀᴏ3

There was nothing that could keep Tony from having exactly what he wanted—and he deserved a little sweetness in his life. All he had to do was keep from ruining you in the process.

The reflection in the tall store mirror looks like a mirage—an almost tangible fantasy. It’s you—enough, your eyes, nose, skin and hair. But the fabric wrapped around your body, a breath-taking sanguine hue, it distorts your perception.

You stood in silence, captivated by your own self-reflection. A delicate diamond necklace adorned your neck, its shimmer accentuating the sparkle in your eyes. You touch it delicately, trying to make the woman in the mirror feel real.

In a fleeting moment, you try not to think about the price tag on either item. Below you, the dress slits at your right thigh, stopping perfectly just before your ankles. You typically abhor dresses, frustrated by how they sit on your hips or pull on your shoulders. Yet this one felt different, as was crafted just for you, hugging your short frame.

“Do you not like it?” Tony's firm voice interrupted your reverie, seated in a plush armchair nestled in the corner of the dressing area.

His own reflection caught your eye in the mirror. He too was impeccably dressed in expense— a midnight suit that mirrored the shadowy desire in his eyes. It was only then that you noticed the crimson tie around his neck, perfectly matched to your dress. A forgotten pit in your stomach sinks further at the realization.

You weren’t here exactly by choice. You’d met Tony a few weeks ago while bartending and since then, he hadn’t left you alone. Initially, he had left his phone number scrawled on a napkin, which you promptly ignored. Such advances from inebriated, lonesome men were all too familiar— their attempts at wooing the bartender often aimed at securing complimentary drinks or borne from relationship troubles that had led them to the bar in the first place.

They all normally moved on after one night, but not Tony.

Tony came back three nights in a row after, making pass after pass, calling you doll and honey through whiskey-tinted lips. You had been polite in declining him, partly because you had googled him after a $300 tip on the second night and realized who he was (some hot-shot CEO with a few legal issues you chose not to look into). But also because, against your better judgment, a small, insignificant part of you didn't want to decline. His appearance in the bar made your night infinitely more enjoyable. Funny enough, you’re certain his charisma was so enigmatic it spread the room and raised everyone’s mood.

Unlike your typical patrons, Tony possessed an undeniable allure, an allure that kept you talking and pouring drinks—well past closing time. Perhaps because your usual patrons didn't leave extravagant tips or wear thousand-dollar watches. More likely, was how easy it was to talk to him about anything . Local politics, the nature of friendship, European art- it didn’t matter.

On top of it all, there was no denying how attractive he was—towering over you with silk ties and shiny grins. Despite whatever attraction you held, you knew better than to get involved with him. Something told you he wasn’t worth the trouble, not to mention he was almost 20 years your senior.

Still, every night ended the same, with Tony insisting he take you on just one date. You’d give a kind smile, flip the sign to closed , and craft a polite but convoluted (and reluctant) excuse. This passive resistance only seemed to encourage him, possibly because he saw through you, recognizing that tiny part of you that longed to say yes.

Maybe it’s what gave him carte blanche to wait outside on the fourth night until you closed the bar—alone.

As you stepped into the cool night air, a sleek black car glided to a halt beside you. You thought nothing of it, locking the door behind you and starting your usual, albeit long, trek home. You glanced back at the sound of the passenger window rolling down, revealing Tony leaning over the center console, a playful smile on his face. Quieting the alarm bells in your head, you offered a curt wave and resumed your stride.

As you do, Tony calls out your name, gesturing you over. At the time, you hoped all he wanted to do was exchange some small talk or maybe he left something in the bar yesterday. You couldn't fathom why you obeyed, heading towards the open window instead of heading home. Just like now, Tony's true intentions were unknown. You convinced yourself that the worst he could do was ask you out again and make things awkward.

“Miss me?” he asks with that same flashy grin. His gaze roams over your simple jeans and t-shirt, heavy enough to make you feel exposed.

“Everything okay?” You choose to ignore his question to hopefully get to the reason he’s here after hours.

Under the parking lot’s harsh fluorescent lights, Tony's disappointment shines.

"Everything's fine," he replied in a sing-song tone, reaching across to open the passenger door. "Come on, let me give you a ride home."

The alarm bells grow louder, leaving you to stammer over your words.

“That’s generous, thank you, but I enjoy the walk.” A good lie holds a little truth to it, right?

Tony does a disapproving, almost condescending tsk , patting the empty leather seat.

“Now, what kind of guy would I be if I let a pretty girl like you walk home all alone?”

Despite the rhetorical nature of his question, you struggled to resist the urge to retort, to point out that allowing you to walk home alone would make him appear rather ordinary—a quality he clearly sought to avoid.

“Really, I’m fine, thank you.” You try to sound more assertive this time, but your voice still wavers under his gaze.

Tony continues to insist, using every persuasion tactic in the book. Your mind whirled with a flurry of thoughts and possibilities. After all, he was a familiar face, a regular patron who had never made you necessarily afraid (normally quite the opposite). And a highly respected businessman. Plus, eight hours of tending bar left your feet aching. You did like the solemnity of the long walk, but tonight you were dreading it a bit more than usual.

What was the worst that could happen?

So, you inevitably gave in, watching his smirk stretch into another toothy grin as you opened the passenger door. Tony’s cologne saturated the plush leather interior, filling every corner of your nostrils with bergamot. In the dim car, you grant him a meek smile.

“That’s my girl,”

There’s an edge in his words, suddenly forcing you to wonder if you were better off walking. You tell yourself he’s a handsome billionaire doing his charitable act for the week-nothing more.

Tony reaches for the gearshift, rolling your window up and muffling the sounds of the city.

“Let’s get you home.”

The worst turned out to be not so bad—still stunned by your own beauty in the mirror.

At first, you were nearly mortified when you noticed Tony’s route doesn’t quite follow the directions you gave. With a dry throat and skipping heart, you struggled to find the right words. Tony had remained unusually silent, not making witty quips or heavy-handed compliments. It worsened your unease. One he must have sensed, glancing over at you.

“Don’t worry,” he draws out, making yet another unknown turn. “I’m taking you home— just have a surprise for you first, dear.” he finishes, winking.

The vulnerability you knew you had—getting in this car alone with him—it swelled in your throat.

Now, you stared at that same throat, adorned with shimmering diamonds.

Tony’s surprise turned out to be a private fitting at some lavish boutique you never knew existed.

You tried to protest as the car pulled into the storefront, noticing a lack of light inside and still cautious about what he had planned. Tony simply gave you a stern shush, and pointed your attention back to the building. Then, to your astonishment, the windows filled with orange and white hue. Out of the ornate glass doors, a tall, blonde-haired woman peered, and a wave of fear suddenly ebbed away from your body, only to be replaced by a flood of bewildering confusion.

The blonde woman, whose name you can’t pronounce, devotes a half hour measuring every aspect of your body. She swatched an array of dark hues and fabrics against your skin, contorted and posed you in every conceivable manner. Despite the weird, yet so far, non-hazardous situation you were in, a cloud of confusion still clung to your thoughts, while Tony remained outside the dressing room.

Even still, you felt entirely too exposed, waiting anxiously. Your only recourse was to gaze at the marble ceiling, trying to figure out what the hell Tony was playing at. He wasn’t particularly eccentric all those nights at your bar, you figured he had to be more level-headed and reasonable than this.

The woman eventually reappeared, holding the tight red dress on a satin hanger.

Leading to your mesmerized trance, still engulfed in the mirage before you.

“Hey, talking to you there.”

Startled, you had forgotten he'd even asked you a question. Hell, you had forgotten he brought you here at all. Worse, you didn’t know what to say. The honest answer was an unequivocal yes – you adored the dress, but you knew alone it cost more than you ever made bartending, not to mention the necklace.

The pit in your stomach churned at the reminder of Tony’s presence. The beauty you saw in the mirror suddenly felt ill-gotten- like a bill you hadn’t paid. Technically, you were brought here against your will by a man who you, although reluctantly, rejected. An unforeseen product of his infectious smile and your polite demeanor.

You reluctantly turn slightly to face him, trying to find the words to get out of this without escalation. A shiver ran down your spine as his molten gaze traversed your form, causing your face to warm.

“I think you look stunning.” he says, gaze still fixed on your body. It wasn’t unusual for Tony to compliment you, as he often did at the bar regardless of whatever tired, stained state you were in. This time though, with the way he’s staring, it does something else to you.

“Thank you, but,” you trail off, stealing a quick glance back in the mirror. “I–It’s a bit out of my price range.”

Tony scoffs playfully, giving a dismissive wave as he rises from the armchair.

“It’s on me.” he declared, slow and deliberate as your nerves spike.

“Really, thank you, but I can’t accept this. I should be getting home.” you stammered, attempting to keep a level voice.

Your words tumbled out in a rush, but Tony continued, making your heartbeat escalate with each passing moment.

To your surprise, he stops his advance to sigh at your anxious form.

“ You are worth a million times that dress and more.”

You avert your eyes to the floor, left again without the right words to maneuver out of this awkward conversation and trying to ignore the heat on your skin.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you, doll.” Tony’s voice shifts to an unfamiliar tone, one that forces your head up.

“What’s with the whole ‘ uninterested ’ act?” he hums, resuming his walk towards you.

You stammer, trying to deny his accusation, knowing wholeheartedly he was right. Tony came to a stop in front of you, reaching out to caress your shoulder. As you instinctively recoil from his sudden touch, his calloused hand stiffened to hold you in place.

“I’m not acting .” you finally manage with a wavering voice valiantly ignoring the want and fear his touch stirred in you.

“Oh, is that so?” he taunts sourly, bringing his free hand to your waist. “Why’d you get in the car then? Why are you letting me touch you?”

You don’t have an excuse for that one, staring back at Tony in silence. You could try and hate his arrogance, but that hasn't worked so far, so no point trying now.

“Just take me home, okay?” you whisper, eyes flickering between Tony’s hand and his slightly parted lips.

He makes a face at your words, eyebrows scrunching and mouth turning into frown.

“You think I’d hurt you?” Tony sighs, offended. He releases your arm out of his grasp and steps back from you. Still, he maintains the closeness between you, still locked on your eyes.

Instantly, you feel terrible for assuming the worst. Sure, you didn’t exactly ask for any of this, and maybe he was persistent, but all he had done was give you a dress and a ride home. Tony had ample opportunity to do whatever he wanted, and you were fine. And nothing he’d said had been wrong . So what exactly were you worried about?

“No, no,” you quickly scramble, shaking your head. “I just—what do you want from me?”

Tony sighs again, this time deeply, shoving his hands into his suit pockets. “Told you—a date, that’s all.”

“Really? You’re really doing all this just to take me out?” You asked in confusion.

“You keep saying no even though I can tell you want to. ‘Figured you could use a little push.” He chuckles and a hand leaves his pockets to rake through his brown locks.

“I-I, why all this, really, come on-what are you playing at here?” You gesture to your outfit, still in disbelief.

“What can I say, I’m all about presentation and you deserve the best.” Tony grins, making his second attempt to stroke your cheek. This time, you let him, even if you're not sure why. Maybe persistence did work best on you.

Regardless, you roll your eyes at the honeyed words. You can tell by the look in his eyes that he’s still waiting for a yes , and you’re running out of logical reasons to decline. God knows the idea of a date with Tony Stark was something any other woman would jump at. So why not you?

“I work nights , Tony—”

“How much?” He cuts you off sharply, the hand on your face tenses ever so slightly.

“What, I don’t—”

“How much do you make in a night? Hourly, tips, everything—how much?”

You’re starting to think he enjoys confusing you. “I don’t know, it varies. Maybe $200 on a good night?”

With that, Tony turns back to the armchair his jacket rests on, and you have to ignore the way the loss of his touch makes you feel. He fiddles with the garment for a moment, rummaging through the pockets until he produces a thin leather wallet. As five crisp hundred dollar bills emerge, he struts back to you.

“Here, now you can call in tomorrow night.” He says matter-of-factly, holding out the bills.

You scoff at his audacity, feeling a bit offended at his demeanor. “I’m not some product you can just buy.”

“Oh, doll, don’t think so low of yourself,” he chuckles, “Your time is valuable, I’m just hoping this makes it easier for you to spend it with me.”

The paper is folded between his fingers, before he takes your hand and places them inside. When in doubt, fall back to basics. Money normally fixes most problems. You could have said any number and he would’ve made it happen. He was nothing short of infatuated with you- so no cost was too high.

“Fine.” You respond indignantly, staring at what’s easily half of your rent before glaring back up at him. If a date was all he wanted— fine . If he turned out to be a huge dick you’re expecting, you could leave and never speak to him again. You're certain he at least wouldn’t keep showing up at your workplace after.

“We’ll see how much longer you can keep up this act.” He smirks, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

Just as you're preparing to tell (lie) him again that you weren’t pretending, he walks back to the chair and takes a seat, pulling his phone from his pants pocket.

“Go ahead and change, I’ll have everything wrapped up for you to take home tonight. You can be ready by 7 tonight, yes?” Tony doesn’t look at you when he speaks, fingers typing away on the electronic screen.

He misses the eye roll you give walking back to the dressing room.

Sure enough, you make it home without any bodily injuries or traumatic experiences. Tony kisses your hand when you go to exit the car, dress and jewelry in tow. He reminds you to be ready on time tomorrow, and you enter your apartment feeling like you just walked out of a movie.

This felt entirely too insane. You found yourself more than lucky all those nights he flirted with you, but this took the cake.

It’s nearly 5 in the morning when you toss the dress onto your green couch. The half-finished canvas and paintbrushes in the corner of your living room go abandoned for another night. For some reason, you can’t bring yourself to do anything, replaying every detail in your head. Instead, you find yourself sat on the worn cushions, staring at the lilac bag, adorned with the boutique’s fancy name in silver lettering. Next to it, sits a smaller version, possessing a white box. You’re fixated on the bags, mentally picturing your reflection from earlier.

Contrary to what might Tony believe, you didn’t think of yourself as ‘low’, just maybe not genius-billionaire-playboy-philanthropist levels. Self-confidence wasn’t something you were lacking, but it wasn't in extreme surplus either. You didn’t know his type, but you figured odds are you weren’t it. You could imagine the kinds of girls Tony could get, with a lot less hassle, too. So, why you ?

Eventually, the sounds of your roommate waking fills the apartment, forcing you to realize it’s around 6:30 and your mind’s been taken over with purple and red hues for too long. You give a short good morning and abandon the couch for the comfort of your bedroom, deciding to save the shower for later and get some sort of rest.

You don’t answer when she asks about the bags, convinced you’ll wake up in a few hours and find this was all a weird dream.

The train rushing by your window wakes you before your alarm gets the chance, blaring its incessant tune throughout the small space. The afternoon sun diffuses through the sheer curtains, covering the room in golden light. It gives you a peaceful few minutes where you’re groggy enough to forget about Tony.

Then, the memories pour in.

The night plays back in resplendence. You don’t know he managed to get you to agree after all that. A tinge of excitement filled you alongside the dread.

You hoped last night for it to all turn out as fiction, but lo behold, the shiny bags sit atop your dresser like a bad omen. Poking out from your purse are the crisp bills. A cursory glance at your phone reveals two things— one, it’s almost 4 pm and two, a text from an unsaved number.

[ hope you didn’t forget. see u soon. ]

You wondered where on Earth he got your number.

As much as you hated feeling you owed him something, a part of you was glad you did. Although you didn’t plan on admitting it, you were into him. You were just convinced his behavior was too good to be true, a precursor to something worse. Plus it bugged you that it was apparently impossible for you to hide it from him.

Nonetheless, you rise from your bed, heading for the shower you skipped earlier and thinking of a response.

[ 9 pm right? ]

The bathroom door creaked as it opened, drowned out by the traffic on the street below.

[ are you this difficult with everyone? ]

Water spouts from the shower head as a dry chuckle echoes in the chamber at his response. You hadn’t actively dated in a while, but it was a common complaint. Normally they would say stubborn or strong-headed, but difficult worked too.

You work through several different waves of nerves and anticipation as the clock ticks down to 7. Your boss, ever an asshole, wasn’t thrilled about you calling off. It almost made you reconsider, tell Tony you couldn’t. Something told you he wouldn’t appreciate that, though, so you stood your ground with your boss instead of him and got the night off.

When the time came to slip the red dress on again, you felt off. At the store, the lighting and lavish background only added to your beauty. In the dim, run-down atmosphere of your apartment, you’re out of place, like a fraud. The browns and greens drown the shimmer on your neckline, reminding you that you had no business dating someone like Stark.

Your mind’s saving grace is the buzz of your phone, a text from the punctual Tony, arriving right at 6:58.

You expected the veil to be pulled from your eyes. Tony’s true nature, whatever that may be, would be revealed and all his charm would fade away. Clearly, something was wrong with him to go after some bartender, to go after you. The date would go sour, he would move on, and your life could continue as planned.

Instead, you end up having one of the best nights of your life.

The restaurant is indescribably out of your depth. It’s clearly a popular romantic site for A-listers, with mostly couples filling the warmly lit dining area. Everything seemed meticulously prearranged— the host leading you two towards a tucked away booth just at the sight of Tony. You're worried he’d be overly touchy and make you uncomfortable, but instead his hand rests against the small of your back as you navigate to your table.

He was nothing short of a perfect gentleman, pulling out your chair and pouring your wine. Conversation flowed just as it did at work, at least once you got your nerves out of the way. You learned a bit more about Stark Industries, even though he was clearly skipping some details for reasons you were too enamored to think about.

Occasionally during the dinner, people would come up and exchange a few words with Tony, and he always introduced you. There was something about the level of attention that just pulled you in. You had started to think you were overthinking this whole thing, that maybe something nice could come out of this. If wooing you was the goal, he was well on his way to success.

As the final bites of dessert lingered on your plate, a subtle disappointment crept in, acknowledging the inevitable conclusion of the evening. It had been an embarrassingly long time since you'd gone out for a night like this, and you wished you’d agreed sooner.

The idea of shedding the vibrant sanguine dress and returning to the routine of crafting dry martinis the next night sounded more dreadful than ever.

Yet, that’s exactly what you did.

When Tony drives back and walks you to your apartment door, you half-hope he’ll ask you on another date, and half-fear he’ll try and make a move. To your surprise and disappointment he does neither, opting instead to tell you what a wonderful time he had before departing.

You feel a bit foolish for expecting anything more, closing your door with a heavy sigh. Your roommate seems to read your emotions on your face, deciding it best not to ask why you were dressed like that.

The remaining hours of the night pass with you getting ready for bed and staving off sleep to not wake too early for work. Every so often, the urge overwhelms you to see if Tony texted. Teeth brushed— no text, shower—nothing, late night popcorn snack—nope. Every time you look, you grow more annoyed, feeling like some sort of teenage schoolgirl.

By the time your head hits the pillow, you’re close to desperation.

When you wake, it doesn’t take a few minutes for Tony to come to mind. He’s the first thing you think of. You groan in frustration when your notifications disappoint you again. Two texts from your roommate about her night out, a missed call from a friend, and a few emails, but no Tony.

You really do try to make it through the afternoon without thinking about him. You fail regardless, spending every second of the day consumed by bergamot and red. The one thing that keeps you from reaching out first is the certainty you’ll see him this evening. He’ll saunter in, order a single malt and overpay. The script unfolds in your mind—engaging conversations that span the night, and it’ll end with another pass made your way. This time, you won’t hesitate to say yes.

The hours at work tick by painfully as you wait for him to show up. For the first time, you’re doing terribly at work. Wrong servings are poured as your eyes bounce between the bar's entrance and the mocking hands of the clock.

Inevitably, you switch the sign to closed . A sliver of hope remains, hinged on the small chance he could appear outside as he did before. And still, he doesn’t.

Self-doubt starts to overtake you. Maybe you said the wrong thing, or did something abnormal that made him suddenly change course.

Once you're home, your resolve breaks, and you open the messages app in an act of desperation.

[ thanks again for the other night ]

As soon as you hit send, you’re convinced it’s single-handedly the stupidest text ever sent. Before you can think of what to add on to repair it, your phone buzzes.

[ not a problem ]

[ i had a good time, nice place ]

[ miss me already huh ]

[ who said anything about that? ]

[ thought you weren’t interested, but look whos texting me ]

[ yeah, to say thx ]

[ you said that when i dropped you off. gonna have to try harder doll ]

How did someone so arrogant manage to have you swooned?

[ fine. maybe i did. ]

[ see, was that so hard? ]

With a huff, you crawl into bed. You weren’t the romantic type by any measure. Your romantic philosophy entailed waiting for the right person to come into your life. Naturally, you assumed what everyone said was true—that’d you know the one when you saw it. In the case of Tony, it wasn't a lightning-strike love at first sight, but rather a rapid realization that there was an intangible something about him. Excluding the early worries over his intentions, he spread this sense of ease throughout you whenever he was around.

On Tony’s side, it was more akin to obsession at first sight. He’d had decades of escapades under his belt, all incomparable to you. A limited edition, one of a kind, breathtaking woman he knew he couldn’t let slip away.

You were a fresh breath of air in his world of tragedy. People in his sphere were usually tainted by it, but not you. You didn’t have some preconceived, inflated notion of him. He was happy to recognize the mutual attraction. Unfortunately for him, you being from outside of his world meant losing you if you found the wrong information at the wrong time.

He felt you deserved a life without the grime and troubles of everyone else. He just knew that’d only be possible with him . He just had to keep a few things from you for a little while. Long enough for you to be too committed to leave.

Tony learned at a young age that planning is the key to everything, so that’s precisely what he does.

The lack of interaction was a purposeful step on his part, only partially. There was little fun in biting back the urge to talk to you again, to kiss you goodbye at the door, but he knew it was the best method to have you hooked. Originally, he meant to visit the bar once more tonight, see if your face brightened up when he walked in. That plan is foiled by an unmovable meeting, which keeps him occupied until close. You just happened to beat him to the text.

For you, the date served as a testament that he wasn't some idealized, too-good-to-be-true fantasy. It wasn't a dream; it was a tangible reality and you found yourself unwilling to let it slip away. The initial worries had given way to what you prayed was something genuine.

[ so do u often take people on one date then ghost or is it just me? ]

[ doll, i don’t bore myself or waste my time with people i don’t enjoy. ]

[ i’m sure there’s better options for you ]

[ not better than you ]

[ hows that? ]

[ i’ll tell you if you agree to see me again ]

In the dark of your room, the message illuminates your face, stirring the anticipation in your gut. This is what you wanted, the perfect opportunity.

[ deal . ]

From then on, you and Tony find yourselves going out a few times each week. Whether it's another intimate dinner or museum, Tony consistently showers you in gifts—ranging from exquisite jewelry to coveted concert tickets. He makes jokes about making even more grandiose gestures, like moving you to a better neighborhood or getting you a car so you don’t have to walk home at night. Despite the overwhelming generosity, you can't help but feel weird at the unfamiliarity of it all, lamenting that they aren’t necessary (though you never admit how much you were beginning to love it).

Nonetheless, Tony remains steadfast in reassuring you, emphasizing that the smile on your face is worth any amount. There’s little doubt to this, given he hasn’t made a move beyond kissing your cheek a few times. You’d like to think someone with ill-intentions would move a bit faster.

His charismatic nature continues, enveloping you in a world of affection and companionship beyond your wildest expectations. He treats better than you could ever fathom, and asks for seldom in return. Stark handles every detail, every direction providing you with much needed mental relief.

The thing you’re most grateful for is the ease of it all. It’s easy to indulge in him, to agree to his few, but necessary stipulations ( don’t spend my money poorly , answer when I call , be honest with me , etc. etc.) They were much milder, and more enjoyable, than ones you had in past relationships. Your most recent ex? He’d ask for a photo of your timecard from work, paranoid you were sleeping around.

However, it takes a while for you to shake off the nagging suspicion that he’s just playing the long game. Your relationships had often ended in emotional horror for at least one side, and you dreaded a repeated end. Gradually, though, you feel more secure, even as he pulls you more and more out of your comfort zone.

Although it didn’t really help you understand where his money came from, he brought you along to company dinners and fundraisers. These outings, while a testament to the serious nature of his work, become less enjoyable for you. Mostly because Tony’s line of work seemingly employs nothing but the most annoying of the 1%.

He has a terrible habit for making you feel like (and dress you like) fine art. Yet, amid a room of stunning women with envious glares directed at you and Tony, you feel like second-rate trash, despite the arm draped on his meant to signify your belonging. It didn’t help that at the end of the day you and Tony never put a name to what you were, and you had no idea who he was with when you were apart.

It doesn’t harm the connection too much for you, but it does lead to your first argument after a blissful first month.

Truthfully, it’s mostly your fault. You’d gotten a bit more than jealous at some socialites' snide remarks about Tony being with someone so young and ‘rudimentary’, as she deemed. You blame the alcohol for tossing your drink in her face. Tony had warned you before about keeping positive appearances, but oh well. Vodka has a tendency to do nefarious things.

The entire car ride back, Tony gets a number of phone calls, leaving you the sinking feeling you’ve angered the wrong person. There’s something semi-terrifying on every inch of his face as he talks in terms you don’t understand. The calls don’t stop until long after you make it back to the tower. You’re seated on a leather couch in his office, anxiously preparing your explanation for what happened.

At the end of what he hopes is the last call, he turns to you. The look in his eye disintegrates whatever words you had mustered together.

“What were you thinking?” he asks harshly, but with a low tone as if he’s trying not to sound as pissed as he truly was.

“Tony, I didn’t think it would-”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, holding his hand up in a quieting manner. There’s a few beats of silence, where you’re wretched with guilt, not even knowing fully what you did wrong.

“My associates are not people to mess with, honey. You need to be able to control yourself. Your little show almost ruined a deal I’ve been working on for months.”

“My little show ? You didn’t hear what she was saying and how was I supposed to know-”

“That’s my mistake for expecting you to have thicker skin than that.” Tony reprimands, his eyes reflecting an anger that leaves a mixed feeling in your gut. .

“You’re right, next time a woman starts talking about how better off you’d be with someone else, I’ll go ahead and give them your number. God knows you live for the fucking attention.” you retort, tears of frustration burning in the back of your eyes as you stand to head for the elevator.

Tony moves from his spot in the middle of the room to cut you off, blocking your path out.

“If you’re gonna act like a jealous brat, at least have the guts to admit it. Don’t try and make it about me.” His voice keeps its edge, standing close enough to force you to look up to meet his eyes.

He’d never been so much as annoyed by you, and the anger in his dark irises was unbearable. Behind the darkness is something else, a heat that trails down your lips. Still, the sourness in the room is enough to make you repentant.

“I,” you sigh, averting his eyes to stare at your heels. “I’m sorry, okay?” Your voice is small and shameful under his gaze.

Tony’s hand meets the bottom of your chin, tugging your head back up.

“Look at me.” he says sternly, and you’re reminded of the boutique that feels lightyears in the past. The touch twists your shame cruelly into a tight knot.

At the sight of your watering eyes, his expression softens. A flared temper had been a life-long condition, but his last wish was letting it off on you. There was something about the way you underestimate your value to him, it makes him want to stop holding back—show you just how badly he needed you. He’d done a piss poor job of keeping you isolated from this side of his life, but it couldn’t be undone, and you needed to be able to handle it. And a sobering part of you knew you were overreacting, at least a little bit.

“You can never do something like this again, are we clear?”

You nod, taking a deep breath. A calloused thumb strokes your face, rendering every word he said null.

“That’s my girl.”

It reassured you that this had to be a one-off situation-a unique, heat of the moment event that caused everyone to act out of character, not just him.

In the morning, the full weight of his words hits you like a brick wall. You do a bit of mental gymnastics on yourself, flipping between blaming yourself for Tony’s reaction and blaming him for behavior. Ultimately, at the battle’s end, you let the blame reside with you.

The next few weeks are a return to your new normalcy, turning any thoughts of ending things unnecessary. Aside from that night, Tony’s allure didn't stop, and it became safe to say you were falling, rapidly. You texted and called nearly constantly whenever you weren’t together, not that Tony seemed to mind at all (it helped that he was never far from his phone). It was clear Tony did all he could to make your outings last longer, but eventually one of you (typically Tony) absolutely has to head home.

You’re left with a somber emptiness every time, waiting to see Tony to feel whole again. The level of care you were showered in was, well, addictive. There was enough to ignore the ambiguity surrounding whatever your relationship was, and what his life was like outside of you. Trust wasn’t exactly your strong suit, so an occasional strife happens whenever you think about it too long. It still tested his patience, and resolve, irately wishing you’d take him at his word just once.

Something poetic could be said about rose-colored glasses and red flags.

One spring night, the rain grows far beyond what Tony’s outdoor plans can accommodate. Not wanting to cancel, he moves the date to an art gallery. There’s no hiding your excitement, and Tony expected as much. He was saving this location for another time, but you sound far too happy on the phone to regret it.

Unsurprisingly, the night goes just as fantastic as any other with Tony. You loved art in nearly any form, and dreamed of creating pieces worthy of hanging in a gallery. This one though, is unlike any you’ve ever seen, a high-ceiling bright open space, with prices starting in the six figures.

They’re all worth the price to you, elaborate shapes and colors sitting in huge antique frames. Like any other night, he occasionally slips away for a phone call, or you’ll turn to see him typing away another email or memo. It’s not frequent enough to bother you, and either way you accept it as an occupational hazard of seeing someone like him. Besides, you were too busy enjoying the art to care.

Tonight though, you feel bold enough to dig into it.

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Tony pocket his phone for the fourth time in a half hour, striding back over to you with a grin. You were transfixed by the painting in front you, having stared at it for the last fifteen minutes. It was a mirage of playful colors, swirling and fading down to a dusky abyss. Two faint abstract shapes floated in the gradient, seemingly intertwined and bursting outwards. You’re certain Tony will give you grief for fawning over what probably looked like kindergarten work.

“I could just buy it for you, then you could stare at it all day.” he taunts once he’s in ear shot, looping his arm through yours.

You laugh back at him, resuming your slow stride through the rest of the quiet gallery.

“It’s like eight feet tall, no way it’s making it up my stairs in one piece.” you laugh, “You absolutely have to buy something for yourself, though. Something that, y’know, inspires you.” you say playfully, stopping to get a better look at another piece.

“You are the only muse I need.”

He plants a kiss on your forehead when you roll your eyes at his saccharinity, letting you slip away. You really were all the motivation he needed, especially if you kept wearing tight black skirts like the one you're wearing now. When you finally turn back to him, his hands are occupied again, typing away incessantly.

“What kind of company do you run that they can’t survive without you for a few hours?” you taunted playfully. You’d idly clicked your heels on the dark stone floor, studying the machinations of his face, trying to get a sense of what transpired in his head.

The phone is switched off in his hands, abandoned in his pocket before beaming at you.

“A very important one.” he drawls, circling the soft skin behind your exposed collarbone with his fingertips. The padded digits trail around in random shapes, inkling up your neck slowly.

“But I have recently taken on a new,” Tony pauses, still drawing northward to caress your face. “-endeavor, that’s requiring a lot of attention right now.”

“A new endeavor?” You really try to act interested, but his touch sends shivers down your back. A subtle graze on the soft corner of your mouth becomes the most sensual touch in the past two months (and you weren’t expecting it here of all places). You, permanently apprehensive of scaring him off, never made a move to progress things physically, no matter how much you thought about it.

He says something else your brain can’t be bothered to process, giving a final circle on your cheek before meeting your eyes. “But, my attention should be on you, honey.”

Your mouth is suddenly painfully dry, clearing your throat before responding with a forced laugh.

“You’re fine, I was just prying.”

Tony reassures you softly, “Nothing wrong with that.” giving you one of those toothy smiles that makes your head a bit light, especially with his closeness. “But only if you listen when I answer.”

You chuckle at being discovered, shaking your head slightly.

“Sorry, zoned out for a second.”

“Well, doll, you missed an invitation to Los Angeles, gonna have to pass that on to someone else I’m afraid.”

He shrugs his shoulders defeatedly when you scoff and swat his shoulder.

“Had you been listening , you would have heard that I’ve just been made partner in new company, and there’s supposedly a very nice celebration happening this weekend.”

It takes a beat for you to fully process the short time frame.

“So, you should definitely come.” The matter-of-fact tone he uses breaks your stunned state with a laugh.

“Unlike you I cannot just go to California for a weekend-”

“Aht!” He intercepts, smiling. “I recall two hours ago, a certain someone told me she was off Friday and Saturday, therefore, you can just go to L.A., this one weekend.”

Now, that was very true, and put you in quite the predicament, stammering at his growing smile until you finally found an excuse.

“I don’t have a valid ID.” you say proudly, crossing your arms.

“I have a private plane.” he responds pointedly.

“I’m terrified of airplanes.”

“That’s a lie.” he laughed, resting his hands on your hips. “What is the problem with taking a trip with me? Is it LA? Cause I can just ask for it to be moved—”

“No, no,” you gave a disheartened laugh and sighed, “It’s just, I don’t know, a lot?”

“California’s pretty normal these days-”

“Okay, okay. Just what is your end goal here? With all this?” The incessant question in the back of your head, which you hoped didn’t cause another instant implosion.

“What do you mean?” Unbeknownst to you, Tony knew precisely what you meant, from the countless conversations, and had a very concrete answer, but there was some enjoyment in stonewalling you.

“I mean you’re always trying to do insane things like trying to fly me across the country but you haven’t even so much as kissed me getting kind of confused-”

“Would kissing you get you to go to L.A. with me?” Tony cuts off your exasperated tangent, laughing softly.

You roll your eyes, bracing your arms by your side, preparing to walk away. Tony senses he might benefit from a moment of seriousness and stops you with a hand on your wrist and quick spoken apologies.

“Having you on my arm is more than enough for me, doll. If you want more, that’s up to you.” This was by no means new information to you. He’d given similar reassurances to you, none which seemed to ease you for long.

“So, answer the question, would that get you to go?” Tony pushes, leaning towards you.

“Probably.” You wish he didn’t have this effect on you so easily, but the words barely manage to register above a whisper.

For your admission, you're rewarded with the taste of bourbon on your lips as his hand abandons your arm to rest under your chin. His teeth graze the skin of your bottom lip, stubble tickling your chin. When he pulls away, he can’t help smirking at your dazed look. Really, Tony dreamed of doing a lot with you, but saw no need to rush. Especially since every light touch so far left you a flustered mess.

“We’ll leave early Friday morning, you can sleep on the plane, sound good?”

You don’t have a reason to protest anymore.

After Tony drops you off, he decides to get something for future you. The colorful painting finds a new home, wrapped in an empty room at the tower, shelves lined with blank canvases and paint.

ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴛᴡᴏ ʜᴇʀᴇ

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