#noncon use of illicit drugs

[faofinn]

No. 23 Aftermath of Failure (Alt Prompt 2)

@whumptober-archive

Part 1 | Part 2

Finn had been dragged from the building, somewhere between conscious and not. Each movement sent a jolt of pain throughout his entire body, threatening to pull him under and keep him there. A rough hand gripped his chin, tilting his face to look at him. 

"Maybe now you've learned your lesson not to meddle? Or maybe it's too late for you."

He groaned, trying to pull his face from his grasp. Blood coated his lips, and the movement set him coughing, fresh specks coating his tongue. His top was soaked through, his stab vest having been discarded in the scuffle. They were in an alleyway Finn didn't recognise, cars occasionally speeding past the end. Finn's chin was grabbed again, the man that had shot him grinning in his face.

"Tell you what, I'll make things easier for you." He leered, nodding to one of his men. "We'll make this look like a deal gone wrong, eh? And y'know, I'll make sure you don't bother us again. I'll stop the idiot of a brother of yours, too, I doubt he'll do much when he's so overcome by grief at killing his little brother."

Finn frowned, the man's words taking what felt like forever to fall into place. There was a sharp scratch in his arm, and he frowned, confused. Rough hands rummaged through his pockets, planting baggies on his person, realisation dawned on him, at their plan, and he shook his head.

"You'll regret this."

They dropped him to the ground, laughing as he cried out. "Oh, I don't think so. It's not like you're going to be causing us any problems." They teased. "Night night."

Finn was no stranger to sedation, and the spinning that had started to settle in more obvious. They'd drugged him, planted drugs on him to make it look like it was all his fault. He was bleeding too much, too, he knew that, all alone in the drizzling rain. They'd taken his comms as they'd left, his phone smashed somewhere beyond repair. He couldn't make it to his feet to get closer to the entrance to the alley, he knew that, and the hope that he'd be rescued was dwindling fast. He managed to drag himself slightly more towards it, desperation overtaking the pain. He left a trail of blood as he moved, the shot to his femur still pissing blood, his abdomen gently pouring. His arm gave out, and he hit the ground with a groan. People continued their daily lives as he was losing his, but his shouts were apparently falling on deaf ears. 

Fao hated the waiting, all too aware Finn was bleeding out by himself, cold and afraid. He knew it was stupid, but he knew Fred and Hars wouldn't make it in time. 

"Ambulance, is the patient breathing?"

"I'm not with him. He's been shot twice. They've left him in the alley. I don't even know if he's alive. You need to help him."

"I'm sorry, can you repeat that?"

Fao gave the location. "He should be down that street. He's got no allergies, but he's epileptic, had a TBI when he was younger. I was on the phone with him and he walked in on something he shouldn't have, he said they had a gun and then I heard him scream and the shot. Please, I need you to believe me. He needs help, please. He's called Finn. He's my little brother. You've got to help him. "

There was something to his words that had the handler believe him, sending out multiple armed police and ambulances. As she pried, Fao knew he was on borrowed time. He gave a stupid excuse, made sure they were actually sending help for Finn, and hung up. He trawled back through the cctv, trying desperately to find him. He deleted what he could, removing as much of it that incriminated Finn without deleting all the evidence. 

He could finally hear sirens on the cameras, desperately clicking through to find where they were. It felt like an eternity, but there was finally someone there, finally someone helping Finn. 

A member of the public had called the police too, concerned for the bloody man's welfare. It backed Fao's call up, all nearby police and ambulance resources dispatched. 

Finn was barely hanging on as the first police arrived. He gave a groan as they applied pressure, but couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer. There was a needle by him, the baggies obvious as they moved him. They put them aside, tagged as evidence and not about to hurt any of them, and continued treating Finn. 

They called for more backup, recognising how unwell the young man was. Hems were requested too, before the ambulance had even arrived, begging the kid to just hold on. 

Fao hated every minute, not knowing how his brother was, knowing he wouldn’t be coming back to the basement. It was completely out of his control. Harrison and Fred were going to get there and he was going to be gone, and they were going to kill him.

[ilovetoxicfictionalmen]

ELECTRIC STORM

KINKTOBER DAY 20 - MARVEL AU WITH VICTOR VON DOOM

Pairing.| Cillian!Victor Von Doom x storm!fem!reader

Summary.| Victor has great plans for you, that's why you're locked up in his home in Lavertia.

Warnings.| Dubcon, noncon, abduction, probable stockholm syndrome, forced infidelity, restraints, p in v.

Word count.| 2.9k

Notes.| I was too hyped up that Cillian would be announced as Doom. So happy kinktober my lovely people.

The breaths that left your lips were shallow. It felt exhausting to keep your eyes even open, your hands rubbed over the metal rings on your wrists, the small green lights teased you. In a frustrated act, you tugged on the metal again, pointless as usual. 

The large double hung windows taunted you, freedom was right there. Sure, you could break the window, but you were three stories up, no clear access to a ledge in sight. Without your powers, you’d fall to your death, you felt so weak, so vulnerable, defenseless. Your hands tugged on the shirt you wore, his cologne coated in the fabric continued to pester you. 

As you stared aimlessing into the wide green estate in the midst of Lavertia, your eyes widened as you saw a car appear in sight. It grew larger as it flew down the gravel driveway, your chest expanded with alarm, your captor had finally returned. You jumped to your feet, eyes bounced around the lavish old fashioned bedroom. There was nothing in sight to use in offense, a mere book would do nothing. 

After some time, the sounds of heavy, slow footsteps appeared, you panicked and scanned your eyes from the bed to the closet, you chose the closet. The door quietly shut as you balled yourself up in the corner, you slowed your breathing. 

To anguish you, the door creaked open loudly, your heart pounded like you were on illicit drugs, mind raced in every single direction. But on the outside, you remained calm, content, controlled. The sounds of thumping on the great vibrations, his shadow grew larger underneath the cracks. 

“My dear… How amusing of you to hide, are we playing a game of cat and mouse?” he toyed, but his voice sounded different this time, he sounded mechanical. 

The natural light shined on you as he stood there, tall and proud in another expensive dark suit freshly pressed. Your eyes widened as you looked up at him, an iron mask covered his face. It was intimidating, the shape of the metal, his blue eyes continued to beam into your soul. His salt and pepper hair poked out from behind. You gulped harshly as you covered your bare legs, you could just feel his eyes linger over your soft skin. 

“Do you like my mask?” he chuckled. 

It was hard to pinpoint his exact reaction when you didn’t reply. But he always hated it when you ignored him, even the slightest when you replay your memories in the laboratory. His arm extended out, hand pointed out to you. You scoffed in disgust and looked away from him immaturely. 

“I offered you my hand many years ago, to which you rudely declined, you’d be asinine to decline again” he almost spat out. 

Underneath the mask, his expression soured at the memory of asking you to be his. Surrendering, you reached out for him, he lifted you to your feet. He tutted at you as he inspected the red marks around your wrists. Slowly, you’re guided into the middle of the room, you feel like you’re walking on eggshells, your eyes peel at the open exit. You were always more athletic than him, the arrogance bubbled in your blood. The hatred for him pushed you to the edge. 

When you yanked your hand free, Victor mentally rolled his eyes, you dashed to the door. With a clench of his fist, he shot his hand towards the ground. The metal around your wrists pulled you to the floor, your knees scraped on the carpet. You huffed out in defeat, Victor stood behind you with his hands on his hips. 

“Come here” he commanded. 

Slumping your shoulders forward, you rose to your feet and approached him with your head down stubbornly. His hands connected around your back as he looked down to you, almost in pity. Eventually, you looked up at him, your eyes were always beautiful when they glistered in the light. The mask was making you anxious, he felt monstrous, what happened to the man you once knew? 

Slowly, you reached up to his mask and pulled it off, surprisingly he allowed it. The mask thudded on the carpet. His bright eyes glared down at you. That sharp jawline of his could almost cut something. Your eyes fixed onto his small scar across his chin. He hissed instantly and turned his face to the side. It took you a moment to even realize how close the two of you were, your fronts pressed together, his breathing fanned over your skin, hands locked around your back. 

“Victor…” you mumbled out, your hands wrapped around his forearms as you tried to gently tug his paws away from you. 

“I still need you…” Victor confessed softly. “Your powers would be a great benefit to me, to my plans. I don’t want to force you into anything, but I will if I must” he continued on. 

You snarled at his comment, he holds you hostage and somehow believes that you’d give into him? He seemed to be acting stupidly now. In an act of anger, you shoved him off of you, he chuckled lightly as he stepped back towards you. You took another step back just as quick. 

“Reed will find me!” You proclaimed. 

His face scrunched at that comment, Richards. You all believed him to be dead after your unsuccessful mission. Correction, you left him for dead in outer space. There was no search mission for him, no what if thought. He knew that Richard hoped the blast had annihilated him. But you should never wish bad upon someone, because now Victor has evolved into an unstoppable force. 

“How would you react if I told you that I’ve already killed him?” Victor grinned as he backed you up into a corner. 

“I’d call you a liar” you huffed, he was inches away from you. 

“Well, I suppose that idea will just have to play on your mind”  Victor smiled smugly as he tapped your forehead. 

Your body slumped against the wall, you were vulnerable, right where he wanted you. As his soft fingertips rested under your chin, he tilted your head up to him. For longer than needed, you stare into one another's eyes. He only wanted to anger you, get your flame blazing for his own personal enjoyment. 

“I was always so fond of you” Victor brought up, his eyes blink slowly. 

You think back to when you were his assistant. Fond was an understatement, he was struck by your beauty, intelligence, kindness, your complete aura. Now, he didn’t believe in destiny, but it felt like you were formulated to be with one another. Victor always gave you subtle hints, which you always flirted back with. To say that you took advantage of his kindness was undeniable. He took you to the most lavish venues and events that any girl would dream of. But never did he kiss you, because you were both professional, and he was a gentleman. So, when the announcement of your relationship with Richard came to light, Victor could kill. 

“There was a time where I’d do almost anything for you, my dear” he sighed, his lips drawn closer to yours. His digits slowly stroked your heated cheeks, he could feel your body tremble, hear your heart race. “Play your cards wisely, and I still might worship you” he hinted with a mischief grin, his lips tormenting yours as they lightly brushed against one another. 

The friction sparked over your nerves, you blinked hard as you felt your stomach twist blissfully. No, you loved Reed. This was all due to psychological factors, he had held you here for weeks, you depended on him completely with these stupid cuffs around your wrists. This was all another manipulation tactic of his.  

“I don’t want you” you answered, emotionlessly. “I love Reed” you shot viciously. 

“Richards is dead, my dear” Victor exhaled, a small look of pity. 

“You’re lying” you muttered, your palms pressed against his chest but he remained still. 

“Okay, you’re right, I am lying” Victor avowed swiftly. 

You blinked at his easy submission. This was a rumbling cloud over your mind, he was toying with you, reverse psychology. But then that would be too easy, fuck, you felt your thighs squeeze together as he devoured you with his eyes. 

“Enough” you whined softly. 

Victor exhaled and snaked his arms around you, he inhaled your scent mixed with his, he wanted to eat you alive. You whimpered out, his touch felt too warm, too comforting, you wanted to mold your body against his. Where had your dignity vanished? You just wished you could disappear right now. 

He kissed your collarbone, you grumbled out, your palms on his shoulders but you didn’t seem to try to push him off. The trail of kisses softly climbed up to your neck. 

“Why did you never give us a chance?” Victor whispered as he kissed your neck. 

You bit onto your lips, grateful that he couldn’t see you. His kisses traveled up to your jawline, you felt his hands rub over your shoulders, you exhaled softly. 

“Because I never wanted you” you answered, your voice dripping with deception. Victor’s grin at you was threatening, you felt your shoulders cower. 

Of course you always had a crush on him, he was your mentor, you spent so much time together. But Victor was drenched in pride, arrogance and ego. He was a perfectionist, it was so draining being around him. He made you feel like an idiot, ruined your esteem and broke your happiness at times. He didn’t care about you, he never did, he desired the idea of you. 

“Your body is telling me something different” Victor laughed, his eyes low. 

You looked down at your hips flexed forward, rubbing against his hips in a pathetic needy manner. You cursed underneath your breath. When you hinge your hips back, Victor forced them back against his growing erection. You whimpered out as Victor kissed the corner of your lips.

“Can I kiss you?” Victor asked gently. 

“No” you said firmly. 

“I won’t tell anyone” he assured. 

“Let me go Victor” you whimpered. 

“Stop playing hard to get, I can bend you in whatever position I wish” he winked.

That comment was empathized by your arms involuntarily raising, you hissed at the movements of the cuffs, they rested right around his neck. Have you seriously given up this easily? But then yet again, how else were you meant to react, he could do whatever he wanted with you. You oughta be grateful that he is asking you for permission. 

You voluntarily tilted your head up, his palm rested behind your neck as he nuzzled the tip of his nose against yours. The kiss was jolting, all of your nerves sparked up as his tongue slithered into your warm mouth. You tightened your hold around him as his silver tongue explored every inch of your moistness. Victor would pull back every once in a while, desiring to admire your pure beauty. 

“I want to fuck you” Victor pronounced, his voice full of lust, eyes dripping of desire. 

“No” you choked, images of Reed flashed behind your eyelids. 

Victor exhaled as he stroked your flustered cheek. You gasped as he pressed the sides of your faces together, his mouth rested by your ear. 

“You’re not in a position of power, my dear” he whispered. 

Your eyes swelled up, face tensed and throat tightened. It was true, you had no moves to make, he had already won the game. It was either surrender or be ruined. 

“Tell me he’s not dead” you whispered, eyes closed as you tried to steady your breathing. 

Victor was quiet, his fingers massaging your scalp as he stared aimlessly at the wall. 

“He isn’t dead, perfectly healthy actually, still searching the ends of the earth for you” he obeyed your request. 

It was like two identical copies of a painting, you could never tell the difference between truth and deception. Letting it all go, you breathed out, your neck craned back as you looked him in the eyes. You pressed your lips against his, his hands slipped to your hips as he guided you both to the bed. 

“Victor…” you whispered as he laid you on the bed. “And Johnny?” you blinked back your tears. 

“Still as irritating as ever” he assured. 

The shirt rode to your hips, your thighs pressed together as you stared at him in a teasing manner. Victor stared emotionlessly as he slid off his jacket and slowly unbuttoned his shirt. He’d waited for felt like an eternity for this moment, he wasn’t going to rush anything. You gulped at how defined his chest was, even though he was older, he still kept himself in shape. 

As he mounted you, your legs wrapped around his waist, your skin rubbed against the texture of his pants. Purposely, he unbuttoned your shirt at a slow pace, the grin grew with each section of skin coming into sight. He kneaded your breasts gently through your cream bra, he hummed to himself as you moaned softly. 

“Such a perfect body” Victor complimented as he helped you slip off your shirt. 

You rolled your eyes, yet couldn’t help but to feel a wave of validation, that phrase, coming from all people, you were sure if it was a lie he’d have a soured expression from it. Victor kissed your flesh, you almost thought you could finally fall into a blissful sleep, his touch was that soothing. Yet every time you felt your eyelids grow heavy, he’d touch you in an electrifying way that would snap open your eyes. 

You were certain his fingertips had little sparks of electricity shooting deep into your canal. As you moaned out shamefully, his digits pumped into your sweet tunnel, his mouth hung open as he watched you whimper in pleasure underneath him. Right when you were ready to explode into sorring flames, his fingers withdrew from your dripping hole. 

Victor grunted out as he undid his fly, you gulped as he pulled out his throbbing cock. He stroked himself a couple of times as he stood on his knees and shuffled his clothes down. When he was completely bare, he crawled over you and lined himself up. 

You winced as he pushed the tip of it, his cock was as hard as steel. He gave you a reassuring kiss as he continued to fill you. As your legs squeezed his waist, Victor grunted by your ear. Every new inch of his rod sent a blissful shock through your throbbing walls. 

“Fuck, we really are designed for each other…” Victor groaned out as his balls finally rested against your entrance. 

“No we’re not” you choked out. 

The fullness inside of you tormented you. But his words were right, you felt like your canal was made precisely for his cock, his girth stretched your walls at the perfect extent, his tip seemed to delight your spongy spot in ways you didn’t know were possible. This was too much, he was too fucking good and he hadn’t even tried to fuck you good, he was going to have you desperate for his cock in no time.

“Just hurry up” you huffed out. 

“Not having fun?” Victor cocked a brow at you, his hips snapped into you. 

“I’m! I’m giving myself to you! Just hurry up before I scream!” you threatened, agitation washing over you. You were so pissed with yourself, your body had betrayed you. 

“Oh yes, you will be screaming a lot, I promise you that” Victor grinned as his pace quickened, you moaned out sharply as his length sparked through your bundle of nerves. 

“Get off me Victor!” you demanded, the last inch of dignity you had left in you refused to die off.

As you tried to shove him off of you, Victor's eyes snapped up and your wrists flung above your head. You screamed, a mixture of frustration, hatred and ecstasy echoed throughout the room. You squirmed your body around, but he held your thighs, his nails dug into your skin as he pistoned his hips against you. 

“I’m gonna have you begging me to stop, gonna fuck your cunt until you pass out from euphoric exhaustion! You’ll fall asleep, dreaming of me still inside of you” Victor assured, his jaw clenched as his dark hair sweated. 

Your eyes rolled back, his game was out of this world. This felt like an electric storm of sexual satisfaction, your mind was melting to mush. Quickly, you gave up your defense as you slumped into the bed. As Victor’s thrusts turned vicious, your climax carelessly walked across the tightrope above sexual indulgence. A vein was popping out of his forward, his mind completely focused on making you orgasm painfully. All of the metal items in the room began to shake, it felt like your world was falling apart. 

You cried out in pure pleasure as your (first of many) climax rolled over your body, every inch of you trembled as the vibrations coursed through you. You swore you felt a storm erupt under your skin. Victor groaned out as your slippery walls pulsed around him, he was almost certain he’d finish too. He didn’t even give you a break, he continued to snap his cock in and out of you as you brokenly begged for mercy. 

“Don’t worry, I have great plans for us my dear! I strongly believe your whole perspective on our future will change after this” Victor smiled devilishly at you as his fingers rubbed over your clit.

[lesinquietes]

DJ!Reader, spinning hot dance beats at the club, surveying the sea of people bobbing to her jams, and catching the eye of Dealer!Dabi 😎 this shit gets real dark real fast

⚠️ mdni. abuse of power. abusive behaviour. dark au. drugging. drug use. forced prostitution. manipulation. misogyny. noncon. objectification. rimming (m. receiving), yandere.

—

🔥 By the time Let Me Love U starts playing, you spot him — hood up, scarred and tatted skin on his hands, dealing acid tabs and coke to the partiers. You aren’t new to the club scene, nor are you stupid to the fact that this genre of music attracts illicit substances. You fuck with weed and maybe some mushrooms now and then, but nothing harder than that. DMT is out; acid, too. And coke is a hard no. If you ever took any of that in your youth, those days are long gone. Perhaps you’re a rare breed. Most other DJs take whatever they can get their hands on, especially the shit that keeps your mood up. So when Dabi offers you a little yellow pill for free, so you can try his new merch, you’re not shocked that he pegged you for the type. His pretty cerulean eyes widen when you decline his offer, and he makes a comment about your set being better when he’s high. Before he saunters off to compel another customer, he glances you up and down, making sure to smirk when he’s finished. He wants to degrade you. His fragile ego propels him to minimize you so that rejection sensitivity doesn’t choke him out. By the time Let Me Love U stops playing, you’ve realized he’s going to be a fucking problem.

🔥 He returns to your gig the following weekend, at a completely different club. As soon as he enters, you lock eyes. Teen Scene bumps in the background. There aren’t many people on the dance floor yet. You try to ignore his presence, but he’s intent on addressing you. He switches up his approach this time. He calls you doll. He says you’re real cute under the lights. Blue hues bring out your irises, and red beams make your lips pop. He thinks any man would be lucky to dance with you. You ask him what he’s dealing tonight m. He tells you it’s none of your goddamn business if you’re going to waste his time.

🔥 You don’t see him for a few weekends. For a while, you think you’ve finally lost him. Perhaps he got arrested in a bust. Then, he reappears. You’re scratching ten in a lounge atmosphere. He enters the space in his usual garb, and miraculously, clears the door staff. He must have bribed them with some of his product. He spends time with a few clientele, exchanging goods for coin, before approaching you again. He asks you what you e been up to these past few weeks, that he had the cops on his ass so he couldn’t come check on you. His words send a shiver through your torso. Check on you. Why would he feel the urge to do that? You barely know each other. You tell him that you wish he had stayed away — you mean it — and his facial expression hardens. There’s a minuscule crease in his forehead for a moment; then, the skin returns to normal. He calls you a cunt and wanders off to sell the rest of his stash.

🔥 He disappears for a long time after that. You make the mistake of letting your guard down. You’re at a lively club, dressed up because you’re hosting a private event for a friend. You know a few people, though admittedly, not many. You stick to DJing until you’ve had enough to drink. Then, you’ll be comfortable enough to mingle. You get distracted by a friend and leave your drink at the bar for a few seconds. When you get back, you carry it to your equipment and keep bringing the beats. Skin is setting a steamy, romantic mood. You watch the audience sway with their partners, or bop with their entourage. You don’t know when you start to feel groggy. Fortunately, someone is there to stabilize you. He smells of burnt wood and some kind of aftershave. No one notices him escorting you out of the venue. They only observe your disappearance when the track ends, and nothing else comes on. It’s okay, though. You text everyone who would be worried about you that you made it home safe… at least, someone does.

🔥 You wake up to a sticky sensation between your thighs. At first, you think you’ve wet yourself. Upon closer inspection, you realize it’s semen. Your eyes widen and you whimper in utter horror. What the fuck happened last night? You don’t remember a thing. The last thing you recall is talking to your friend before grabbing your drink at the bar. Your heart sinks. Someone drugged your drink; that has to be what happened. They brought you home and fucked you, but they didn’t stay because they knew what they did was wrong. As Sleepwalker ghosts into your alert ears, from the radio he left on, only one possible culprit comes to mind. Dabi. And your fear is confirmed when you check your phone. There’s messages from a number you don’t have saved. During the process, he sent you images of you in vulnerable positions. One is a picture of his cock stretching your poor pussy wide open. Your daze face is in clear view. His threat is clear: don’t tell anyone. So, you don’t. You just use all your savings to buy plan B, break your lease to move all the way across town, stop DJing, and change your phone number. Oh, and you don’t leave the house for a while. Isolation is your best friend.

🔥 You’re a fool. You make the mistake of thinking, for a second time, that you’re safe. You’re not; you can never be when he’s around. Lurking in the shadows, obsessed with torturing you for god knows why, he’s relentless with his assault on you. You attempt to get back into DJing, after scoping out a few clubs and trying to see if Dabi frequents them. You didn’t see evidence that he does. You register under a different alias and change your appearance a bit, still rightfully cautious. The first weekend, nothing happens. The second weekend goes by without a hitch. The third weekend is when you run into problems. You’re vibing out to Cookie Chips when he finds you. It’s pure reflex when your hand rises and your drink splashes all over his face. You want to laugh at the surprise that washes over him. There’s nothing to giggle about when he threatens to pull the footage and press assault charges against you. He knows the owner of this place — a crusty motherfucker who goes by Giran — and he’s happy to use his powers to fuck you over… unless you leave with him right now. You understand that you have no choice when he pulls out his burner phone and flicks through all his contacts. Giran flashes across the screen. You have to go with him.

🔥 Dabi thinks of you as his prize. He’s been selling substances for years, ever since he dropped out of college to spite his father, but he’s never seen something he’s wanted more. He liked your tracks. He liked your style. He just wishes you could’ve made things easier for yourself. Why go through the hassle of denying him? You know he always gets what he wants, don’t you? He’s not like the average drug dealer, just like you’re not like the average DJ. He’s going to have so much fun with you. He doesn’t waste any time once he takes you home. He tears off your clothes, despite your clawing and other forms of protest. He slams you down on the floor and ravages you right there. His soft grunts and pants are all the music you hear while he gets off inside you. He growls that you’re his, and that your career as a DJ is over. You belong to him. He’ll do as he pleases with you, and if you know what’s good for you and your loved ones, you’ll let him. He promises not to go too hard on you — if you’re good. And you make a pledge to yourself, in that moment, to be good. You can’t take this treatment, this terror, this violation anymore. Your mind feels like it’s splitting in two. You close your eyes and let the madness take over. The hope that one day, you may get through this, is hanging just barely out of your reach; and yet, you continue to grasp for it.

🔥 Dabi has to put in more work to break you. He ties you up in one of the toilet stalls at Giran’s club and lets some of his customers fuck you when they’re horny as fuck off stimulants — with a condom, of course. And certainly not the grimy ones. You’re meant to be his girl at the end of the day, and he wants to make sure he can still enjoy going raw in that pussy. Tomura is a great example. Small cock. Eager to cum. Busts a load in less than two minutes. Big spender, that guy. $250 a pop because you’re not a cheap slut; he doesn’t do cheap sluts. Eventually, he pierces your labia, clit, and nipples to give himself extra pleasure as he’s railing you. He’s starting to think you like it, too, judging by how much you seem to be squeezing him these days. Maybe it’s because you want him to stop selling you to strangers. Well, you’re on the right track to convincing him you’re better than an expensive whore.

🔥 You finally prove your worth when you do everything he asks you to do. The sky’s the limit. You’ll do any one of his requests. He demanded that you suck his cock, clean his balls, and lick around his hole to get him in the mood. You dove into your tasks effortlessly, only stopping at his ask. You’re perfect enough for him to keep all to himself. He knew he could tame the fiery spirit of yours. There’s a brain dead expression on your face, now. He doesn’t hate it. In fact, it suits you. He dresses you like the bimbo you’ve become, see through shirts and short skirts that ride up when you move. What does he care if your goods are on display for others? He’s always by your side; nothing will happen to his precious little trophy with him around.

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖Make it Stick: Pt. 2 The Princess

Rating: Explicit

Chapter Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Bucky x ofc x Steve

Word Count: 4331

Tags: dark!fic, mob/mafia au, mob!Bucky, mob!Steve, dubcon/noncon, sexual coercion, half-sibling incest, m/f/m, non-con drug use, mentions of torture (non graphic), double penetration, forced tattooing, forced orgasms, enemies to lovers

Summary: When his babygirl—his sweet pea, little one, puppy ... half-sister—is recaptured after her latest attempt at running away, Bucky makes a power play in front of the entire Bratva to remind her exactly who she belongs to.

Dark and smutty content below the break. Consume responsibly. Bucky and Lena’s relationship was partly inspired by that cuckoo half-sibling couple in The Crow 😅

Wait! I haven't read part 1 yet!

Brighton Beach has always belonged to the Mob.

Decades ago, it’d been the Odessa Ukrainians who reigned supreme, but Bucky’s father was a weak man, and once he’d died and Bucky had taken over leadership of the Rusă-Română Bratva at nineteen, things had changed.

In the ensuing eighteen years, he’s not only seen to it that his faction rises to the top, he’s also been ruthless enough to ensure that their dominance is never challenged, his position as the Dragon of Hydra firmly cemented.

The Dragon’s Den is one of many businesses under his direct control. It’s a popular club in its own right, located on a busy strip of similar nightlife lining the two hundred block of Neptune Ave., and acting as the unofficial epicenter of Hydra operations.

Extra bouncers have been placed outside tonight to weed out the undesirables, but even with the modified guest list due to the night’s more … illicit activities, it’s still as packed as ever. The downstairs is filled with bodies, booze, and music in no time.

At first glance, it really could be any other night, but look a little further, and the incongruencies are readily apparent. Bucky’s had everything set up in the back, a space no more than ten feet by ten. It’s just a corner, not some stage or grandiose point of focus. It’s not like they have the lights all trained on them or anything dramatic like that. Viewing isn’t mandatory by any means. … But what he’s doing is also right there for anyone who wants to look over and see. And he’s under no illusion that every single soul present doesn't know what’s going on—either because they’re watching it, or because they’re making sure to pointedly not watch it. Tongues have been wagging ever since they'd tied up Gleb and dragged Lena out.

He starts with Gleb, putting all his “tools” within view of the poor bastard but not using much more than his fists and his words. He gets a gut punch in, breaks a finger or two. Kid stuff. Bucky’s never been overly enthusiastic about torture, but you don’t hold control over any faction of organized crime if you can’t at least make yourself comfortable with it. Bucky can appreciate it for what it is, and for the nastier stuff he’s got his specialists. Besides, sheer terror and anticipation can be just as crucial to putting on a good show as anything else. Gleb’s been a crying, sniveling mess since three minutes in, so Bucky’s halfway disgusted and halfway satisfied. Mostly, he’s just discouraged that his little one has been letting such a weak man stick his prick in her. Ugh.

He takes his time, stepping away to have a drink or to chat with someone every once in a while. Bucky usually enjoys his Friday nights lounging and socializing amongst his friends and associates, after all, and he’s not about to sacrifice his entire evening to Gleb.

The Den is Bucky’s home away from home. He even has private quarters above—an amenity he’s taken frequent advantage of after many a night spent overindulging. In his youth, when he’d been new to power and Polina had been nothing but an irrelevant child of his father’s second wife, the luxury accommodations had hosted Bucky’s escapades with dozens of the most beautiful women that Brooklyn had to offer.

But that lifestyle changed once Lena came of age eight years later.

Bucky hasn’t touched another woman—hasn’t wanted to touch another woman—in the decade since, his obsessive love for her often resisted but always returned, despite her token protests. It’s an open secret, considered fodder for gossip amongst the wives. Bucky doesn’t see why anybody should be shocked. He’s always wanted things that he knows are off limits. His little one included.

She’s finally back, and Bucky is more thrilled at that than he is about anything else. Of course Gleb’s betrayal can’t go unaddressed, but Bucky’s working him over more out of obligation than any true recreational interest. He’s got him tied to a pipe. The man is panting and breathing open-mouthed at this point, some of his blood on the plastic sheeting from the fist he’d taken to the nose to start off their evening together. He’s sweating through his undershirt like a pig.

Bucky himself has been naked from the waist up ever since Natasha returned to deliver the requested transfer sheet and blithely remarked that he was “seeping” through his shirt. Normally, aftercare would see her slathering him in ointment and taping bandages over the raw skin, but Nat’s pissed at him and she’s not offering, and he’s pissed at her for being pissed at him, so he’s not asking. He just chucks the shirt when it becomes a lost cause to the blood, plasma and sweat. Whatever. It's hot in here, anyways. And he knows Lena is looking her fill whenever he turns back on her to go focus on Gleb, which is even more satisfying.

It’s because of her that he hasn’t done anything too gruesome. As a rule, Bucky usually leaves the worst of his torturing to those who have a better taste for it (the widows). And while he fully intends to make Gleb hurt before he’s given his very own pair of cement shoes, Bucky still doesn’t want to do anything too traumatizing in front of his main audience.

He walks back over to where Steve has her. He’s been holding her still against his chest, Bucky’s own tie looped around her neck and gripped in Steve’s fist behind her back, his other hand wrapped around her waist to keep her still as she plays her part in the demonstration.

Bucky stands mere inches in front of her and sips his drink, letting his eyes rake over her form. “You haven’t been eating enough, sweet pea. We’ll have to fatten you back up.”

Her lip curls. “You’re such a fucking pervert.”

“Takes one to know one.” He leers at her even longer for the snark, letting his free hand trail lightly along the curve of one silk-covered breast. She’s small. Barefoot like this she barely comes up to his chin. But she’s got a fat ass and a bitty waist that’ve always made Bucky want to do bad things to her, even when they were younger. Lena is blonde like her mother had been, with pale skin and other Nordic traits that set her apart from the darker hues and Slavic features that most of Bucky’s family sport.

How could he ever have been expected to keep his hands off of something so tempting?

She’s beautifully disheveled right now: hair fallen loose from however she had it up before Belova tranqued her and Pietro stuffed her on a jet, body barely kept decent in some slip of a dress that Steve’s put her in, tears already making her mascara run in grey-black tracks down her cheeks. Bucky’s always had a kink for watching pretty girls cry. “You should smile,” he tells her, mocking her by sticking his lip out in a pout. “People’ll think you aren’t having fun. This is your party, after all.”

“What are we celebrating?” she says, her effort at sass somewhat hindered by the waver in her voice. She’s not as brave as she wants him to think she is, but the front she insists on putting up makes Bucky’s heart twinge in fondness. His stubborn puppy.

“We’re celebrating your glorious and long-awaited homecoming, of course,” he coos. “All these nice folks? They showed up just to welcome you back.” He leans in to kiss her cheek, lingering there to whisper right against her skin, “And I missed you too, sweet pea. You got no idea how much.” He feels her shiver before she hisses at him, like a cat. He pulls back and gives her an assessing frown. “You’re so uptight,” he scolds. “Never did know how to let go and have a good time. I’ve always had to help you relax, haven’t I?”

Her pale skin colors beautifully. It takes her a moment to recover, but when she does she tries to hit him where it hurts, simpering a snotty little, “Oh, I don’t know. I was having a pretty good time on your yacht.”

Anger sweeps through Bucky, white hot and thrilling. Little Polina Barnes thinks she’s good at pissing him off. She is, but she’s got no idea how much her brattiness turns him on, too. If she did, she might think twice about opening her smart mouth (and Bucky can’t have that, he’d be so bored). Aside from her new penchant for leaving the flipping country, he’s always kind of enjoyed the thrill of hunting her down and dragging her naughty butt home.

But Belize is taking it too far. His yacht is taking it too far. And letting another man touch her is way beyond too fucking far. Bucky needs to reel his Little one in.

He sets the rim of his glass to her lips, tutting when she only glares up at him. “Don’t be that way, Lena. C’mon, have some. I want to see you loosen up a little.” She just presses her lips tighter together, and Bucky feels his cock thicken in his pants as he imagines using it to pry that prissy mouth wide open. He gives her a knowing smile. “No? Hm.” He finishes off the drink himself and sets it aside. He grabs her face and thumbs roughly over her lower lip, smearing the matte red of her lipstick down onto her chin. “Have it your way, Puppy. Steven?” he says, not looking at the man holding her still. “You’ve got our party favors?”

“In my left pocket,” Steve says, not reaching for them himself because he’s holding Lena’s waist and the tie wrapped around her throat. He’s not choking her, but the pressure on her neck has another effect. Bucky knows a few dirty secrets about his Little one that he’s sure she wishes he didn’t, namely that having a firm grip around her neck gets her wet. Bucky smirks and keeps his eyes on hers as he takes the liberty of reaching around her body and slipping his hand into Steve’s pocket. His fingers find the small shapes and close around them.

“Here we go,” he murmurs, pulling his hand back and holding the items up for Lena to see, chuckling when her face goes slack in shock. Her cheeks darken in a fierce blush and she starts tugging against Steve’s hold with renewed effort. It gets her nowhere of course, and Bucky and Steve share a brief amused look from over her shoulder. Bucky steps closer and pins her between them, hands stroking over her shoulders. “You didn’t think I brought you here just to watch Gleb get his, did you sweetheart? Oh, no.” He shakes his head slowly. “Mm mn. You’re gonna get yours, too.” He puts his lips to her ear and looks in Steve’s eyes while he whispers, “How long do you think before you’re cumming in front of all these people?”

Her struggles intensify, and she tries to head butt Steve behind her, but of course she’s too short for it. She huffs when his grip only tightens and she runs out of steam. “Ugh!”

“Don’t fight it,” Steve tells her, and she sneers back at him.

“Still playing the loyal dog, Steven?”

“Eh, I prefer attack dog. But sure.” He winks at Bucky and bares his teeth in a fake snarl. Bucky laughs. He really does love Steve.

“Ugh! Lemme go, you pathetic dumbass!”

“Hey. Don’t you be mean to Steve. He’s only doing his job.” Bucky puts the smallest of the three party favors in his mouth, letting it sit on his tongue and gripping Lena’s jaw hard to force her to open up for him. He shoves his tongue in, delivering the pill against her will and moaning theatrically to make her even more outraged. He holds her mouth shut after, pinching her nose until she finally capitulates and swallows. Only then does he allow her to have air, tutting in mock sympathy as she regains her breath. “What’s the matter, puppy? What’s got you so worked up, hm? I know it’s not whatshisface back there. Is it just being back home?” He cradles her face and murmurs tenderly, “Did you really think I wouldn’t find you?”

Her face crumples and she sobs a little, the sound hardly audible in the room's loudness, but Bucky couldn’t possibly miss it when he’s this tuned in to her. He kisses her again, this time very gently, letting their lips rest together for a moment afterwards; and he can feel the way she has to fight the urge to lean into it, to seek more. She absolutely despises him, but she has an enduring need for him as well, and she’s never been very good at hiding it.

“Tell me you missed me,” he breathes, his own desire winning out over the game for just a moment. “Please. What’s it gonna hurt to admit it?

“I hate you.”

“Mm. I know, Love, I know.” He brushes his lips against hers. “But you missed me all the same. Missed this.” He lets his hand trail down between her legs, working up underneath the silk of her slip. She whimpers and begs tearfully,

“No! Bucky, don’t.”

"Don't?" His fingers trail over the seam of her panties and he hums knowingly. "Your fancy panties are getting wet, Sweetheart. Did you wear these for me, or for your loverboy back there?"

“People will see!” she hisses.

“So? Let them see. You think anyone's going to step forward and stop me? Hm? Think somebody in this room is going to tell their дракон that he can’t touch what’s his? Because it’s what? Indecent?” He chuckles, thoroughly enjoying her humiliation. “Mm mn. You know that’s not happening, Princess.”

“Don’t. Please. Just … not here. Take me upstairs.”

For a second, Bucky actually pulls back to look at her face. But then he sees what it is she’s uncomfortable about, her pained expression flicking over to Gleb’s bound form behind them. Bucky feels jealous rage shoot through him. He’s always been meaner when he’s jealous. “You don’t want him to see?” he grits, then forces himself to soften his tone. “Oh, no no no. You can’t hide it anymore, puppy. Not from him or anyone else. I know what you like,” he reminds, cruel and quiet. “You know just how well I know.”

He’d bugged her devices starting when she was fifteen. He knows every dirty thing she’s ever watched, from the time she first learned how to touch herself. And his Little one knows this because he’s told her. It’d been the most satisfying moment of his life, when he’d told her that he felt the same way and watched the shock and mortification bloom on her face. That was the day he’d finally made her his—though he’d forced her to admit every single one of her filthy little fantasies out loud before he laid her down and took her virginity.

“I know how you like to feel owned,” he whispers in her ear, thrilling at the hitches it elicits in her breathing. “How you like to feel watched while powerful men touch you. What better way to satisfy those urges than by being taken by the Dragon, right in front of all his men?”

“Please don’t. You can’t.”

“What can’t I do?” he purrs, and she cries softly,

“You can’t, please. Because they know …”

“They know what?” he coaxes, wanting her to say it. He peeks up and looks at Steve from over her shoulder. “Know that you’re my sister?” he whispers. Steve’s eyes darken and Bucky's mouth curls. “Well, that shouldn’t bother you either, puppy. You and I both know your affinity for all those naughty step-sibling videos.” She whines miserably and he hushes her. “Aw, don’t be embarrassed. It’s actually a really popular genre. Number … seven, on Pornhub?” He kisses her cheek. “Right up there with M/F/M threesomes.”

Adorably, her breath catches and she stiffens against Steve’s body, now even more aware of his hulking form behind her.

Bucky hums, pleased. “There’s no need to be ashamed.” He peels her panties to the side and slips the tip of one finger along her lips. She’s not exactly soaked, but she’s not completely dry, either. “Of course, actual brother-sister incest isn’t quite as popular, but we know there’s a niche market for everything, don’t we?” Lena makes an outraged little sound that goes straight to his dick. He leans back enough to watch her expression as he holds up the second of the party favors for her to see. It’s white and thin, less than two inches long, and shaped like an itty bitty torpedo. “Something else to help you loosen up,” he tells her gleefully. “Do you want to take a guess where this one goes?”

She makes an adorable ‘meep’ of a sound and clamps her legs closed over his hand. “Don’t.”

He laughs. “Aw, good guess, little sis’, but not quite.”

“Step-sister,” she corrects shakily. “Bucky ...”

He smiles as he tries to read her, confused and tentative at first, but then growing into something devious. “Oh, I see. You’re honestly embarrassed about that? That people know we grew up together, shared the same house? Mmm." He licks his lips. "That’s not all we shared.”

"Stop it."

He watches her, thrilling in a huge surge of lust mixed with something dark and nasty. “Wow,” he astounds, goading her. “Oh boy. Just think what you’d do if they all knew the truth.”

“Bucky please.”

“Steve knows, you know. I told him forever ago.” He watches her eyes go wide and her body stiffen against Steve’s.

“You … you told …”

“Oh, don’t worry, sweet pea. He thinks it’s hot, too.” Lena looks honestly too shocked for words, and Bucky leans down to give her an absolutely filthy kiss, slipping his tongue into her mouth and holding her jaw there for it while, between her legs, he drags the suppository through her moist folds. She squeaks, and he pulls back. He lets her see him handing it to Steve. “Will you do the honors, pal?”

“What?” Lena breathes, lost. The sweet, dumb thing.

Steve keeps hold of the tie wrapped around her neck, but he has to let go of her waist to get at her. Bucky’s able to grab her just as she starts to try and fight it. “Ah ah ah, hold still,” he coos, yanking her wrists down at her sides in an iron grip. He steps even closer, squeezing her between his body and Steve's to subdue her wiggling, pressing his thigh forward between her legs. She freezes when her fighting just puts more pressure on her clit, and Bucky hums, pleased. “Good. Be a good girl now, Lena. We don’t want this to hurt.”

She goes straight back to struggling, and Steve shoots him a peeved look from over her shoulder. Bucky growls and sticks his face in her hair, warning lowly, “You know: there’s a syringe of morphine waiting in the wings for your boy back there.” Lena stills again, and he hums, “That’s right. Now, if you want him to actually get it before I let the widows have at him, then you’d better stop fighting and take what’s coming to you.” She sobs at the corner he’s got her backed into, but she doesn’t go back to fighting them. Bucky keeps her in his firm grip so that Steve can get to work behind her. “And you were wrong, puppy: It doesn’t go in your pussy.”

It’s too late for her to react. By the time her eyes widen in realization, Steve’s hand is already at her backside.

Bucky grinds his thigh forward as her pupils expand from the feeling, the bundle of aphrodisiacs summarily pushed up inside her tight little pucker. “You keep that in, now,” he warns. “You should start feeling it in the next few minutes, then I’ll give you your real consequence.”

She sobs quietly. “I hate you.”

“Old hat, baby.” He steps away from her, leaving Steve to keep her in place. The promise of lessening Gleb’s upcoming pain seems to be motivating her to behave. Bucky walks back over to the pole where he's got the sad sack tied up. Just to scare the crap out of him, he spends a moment tracing all the different tools that’ve been laid out for their use.

“Please,” Gleb begs.

“Shshsh,” Bucky coos, stepping close and cradling his face, intimate. “You fucked my baby sister,” he says. “What did you think was going to happen when I got a hold of you, hm?” Gleb trembles in his bindings and Bucky reaches for the pliers—a classic. Gleb’s eyes all but bug out of his head. “Colectăm mereu,” Bucky purrs in Romanian, reminding him who he’s dealing with. “You stole from the Bratva, son. Now you have to pay the price.”

“Please. I-I’ll do anything!”

He punches him in the gut, then grabs him by the hair and hisses in his face, “You already did everything! Took what belonged to me. Not very smart.”

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

He punches him again. "I sure hope that pussy was worth it.” He smiles while Gleb is trying to regain his breath. “Eh, it probably was. I should know.” Gleb squints in disbelief, and Bucky feels another perverse thrill shoot through him. “What?" he laughs. "Don’t look at me like that. I thought you knew. She didn’t tell you she likes to fuck her brother?”

Gleb’s face screws up. “Stepbrother.”

“You know, I’m getting real tired of that misconception,” Bucky drawls, turning back around to get a look at his Little one’s face. Her head is tipped back against Steve’s shoulder, the drugs working into her system by now. Bucky grins. “I told you I’d get you to loosen up, didn’t I? Big brother knows how to make you relax.” He tosses the pliers aside and saunters slowly back over to her. "I just told Gleb about us,” he says. “But I think it’s about time we make a more public announcement, don’t you, sweet pea?”

Her eyes widen. “Bucky, no.”

He grins wolfishly and spins around. He calls out to get everyone’s attention, and in a few seconds everything has quieted, the room eerily devoid of chatter despite the continuing pulse of the club’s music. Bucky goes over to the bar and demands something to toast with, and a flute of champagne is produced with shocking speed. He turns back to the room. “Thank you all for coming out tonight to help me welcome our beloved Polina back home!”

Some people clap, perhaps expecting some long, heartfelt speech. But Bucky cuts to the chase and says, “I’m sure you all know about she and I.” He waits, amused and sipping the champagne. When the crowd shifts nervously, he waves his hand at them and scoffs. “I mean that’s common knowledge, right? Everybody’s tongues were wagging when my father dumped my mother to marry his whore.”

He gestures back to where Steve is holding Lena, supporting her increasingly drugged little body. “Sweet little Polina was only a few years old, back then. And my dad’s infidelity wasn’t her fault." He shrugs. "So I inherited a bratty little sister. I guess the fact that we were still both kids makes the whole thing even juicer, huh? I know you all talk about it: 'The Dragon likes to fuck his own step-sister'. How scandalous.”

He laughs and walks back over to Lena. He caresses her face, leaning in to give her a dirty kiss with plenty of tongue. The crowd murmurs louder. Bucky pulls back and looks out at the room. “The Bratva wives love a good scandal. Don’t you, ladies?” A few of the wives in the crowd look flustered at being called out. Bucky salutes them with his champagne glass. “Well you’re in for a real treat, my dears. Because little Lena back here isn’t just my step-sister. Oh no.”

(Bucky’s always liked putting on a show, so he’s unfazed when making the actual announcement makes his cock harden further in his pants.)

“You see, dear old Dad was fucking around with his pretty shlyukha for a few years before he finally married her, and you know he even knocked her up.” The room goes absolutely silent, and Bucky feels a sick thrill go through him. “That’s right,” he croons, looking back over his shoulder at the stricken expression on his Little one’s face. “This sweet pea isn’t just my step-sibling: she’s my father’s daughter.”

It takes a surprisingly short amount of time before the crowd goes back to chattering, everybody staring wide eyed—some with disgust, others with excitement over this incredible new thing they have to be outraged over. Bucky shouts at the bartender to hand out champagne to anyone who wants it. He toasts the room. “To Polina!” Only a few dozen people raise their glasses and murmur in response, too shocked to know what to do in light of this revelation. Bucky really doesn’t give a crap. This is just a display of his power, just another way to show them—and her—that he can do whatever the fuck he wants and nobody is going to do a thing to stop him. The room slowly returns to the bustle of before, and Bucky returns to stand in front of his girl. “See puppy?” he taunts, lifting the champagne flute to her mouth. “I told you nobody would care.”

It’s a lie. Everybody cares, of course. But his point has been made. He watches as she willingly drinks the champagne. “Good girl,” he praises, setting the empty glass aside. He cups Lena’s face and gives her a tender kiss. “Now, why don’t we give them a show, huh?”

“Bucky,” she whispers, a plea.

But he can see her body relaxing into Steve’s hold despite her mortification, the drugs softening her up just like Bucky’s been waiting for. He pulls the remaining party favor from his pocket and holds it up for her to see. “Don’t worry,” he coos. “Your punishment isn’t going to hurt nearly as bad as Gleb’s.”

He turns the base of the tiny pocket vibrator on and starts it buzzing. “Now, let’s get you really begging, why don’t we?”

Part 3

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