when-all-the-world-is-asleep

[when-all-the-world-is-asleep]

Chris Evans as Ransom Drysdale in Knives Out, 2019

[when-all-the-world-is-asleep]

SEBASTIAN STAN as STEVE KEMP in FRESH (2022) • Wardrobe Appreciation

[when-all-the-world-is-asleep]

Oh shit... delulu girlie who's gonna be the future Mrs. Barnes

Bucky!fangirl gets a bit too close for comfort?

[when-all-the-world-is-asleep]

Accidentally invading his personal space?

Bucky!fangirl gets a bit too close for comfort?

[when-all-the-world-is-asleep]

it's already humiliating when you get into new media, take one look at a character, and know that one's gonna be living in your head indefinitely, but it's absolutely nothing compared to looking at a character and thinking eh i don't think i'd ever have strong feelings about that one he's kinda boring and then he sits quietly in the back of your brain poking idly at synapses and thoughts every once in a while until one day you wake up and realise oh. oh fuck. category 5 blorbo moment, how the ever loving fuck did this happen to me

[when-all-the-world-is-asleep]

Goddamn, this was so sexy! Curtis is an intense man and he was not going to be denied his girl 🫠

Ransom can go fuck himself if he tries to ruin our job... which would just gives Curtis an excuse to keep us closer.

To Those Who Wait 5

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as non/dubcon, virginity loss, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

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

Summary: You are tired of being the safe one so you decide to pay for some excitement.

Characters: escort!Ransom Drysdale, Curtis Everett

Note: this is almost 5k and took me a long while. Enjoy.

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

Love you all like Tony loves himself. Take care. 💖

You awake with a start. You lurch but can't pull away from the warmth around you. You blink and gurgle through the dregs of drowsiness. Curtis clings to you as his breathing rises and falls slowly. You touch his chest and try again. 

He groans and tightens his hold on you. You're stuck between him and the back of the couch. You drag your hand up and tickle his neck. 

"Hey, I gotta get up," you say. 

"Why?" He gristles without opening his eyes. 

"I gotta... gotta pee," you say shyly. 

"Mmph, hold it," he grumbles. 

You tut, "or maybe I can stain this nice cozy couch." 

"Don't be dramatic," he squeezes you and puts you on top of him. "You wanna get wet," his lashes flick open, "I can help with that." 

"Curt," you narrow your eyes. "I'm not making excuses-- Argh, oh god, yup," you wince, "I'm definitely thirty." 

He chuckles and runs his hand down your side, "hips? Back?" He slips his hand around your ass, "something else getting stiff?" 

"I didn't take you for a morning person," you tease. 

"I'm not, but I'll let you wake me up," he eyes you hungrily. 

"Please," you push on his chest and he lets you lift yourself, only to catch your thighs as you straddle him. 

"Mm, I like this," he purrs as he trails up to your hips. You squeak as your bladder pulses. 

"I'm not kidding," you grab his large hands. 

"Ugh, fine, you're lucky you're cute," he lets you go and stretches his arms above him. His chest strains the tee shirt across it as he does. 

You get off and quickly spin, scurrying away to the bathroom as the urgency tingles across your pelvis. You close yourself in the bathroom and take your time, pushing past the tight resistance of holding it too long. The night before hazes through your mind.  

Pizza, movies, and snuggling. You're getting used to that last part. You don't even remember falling asleep. Usually you lay awake for hours before you manage to doze off. 

You rinse your face before you come out. You smell coffee. You hear him moving around in the kitchen. Instinctively, you check to see where your phone is. Right there on the end table where you left it. 

You go into the kitchen as he yawns and rubs his eyes. You stand in the doorway, leaning on the frame as he rolls his shoulders and cracks his neck. He turns and puts his hand on the counter. 

"Well, you don't work Saturdays do you?" He asks. 

You shake your head, "not anymore." 

"So that means you're free?" 

His smirk makes you smile. You shrug. 

"Well, I have lots to catch up on. Laundry, groceries... sleeping. Late night." 

"Not late enough," he winks. 

You look away. You would love to have tried but you're still a bit unsettled by Hugh. And ashamed. You're just not ready for that. 

"So no hatchet-throwing?" He quickly redirects.  

"Hmm, I'm tempted," you say. 

He's quiet as he turns to open the cupboard. He takes out a plain black mug, then another, a similar shade but the handle is a tail; like a cat. 

"Reminded me of you," he says. 

Your cheeks tinge, "oh, dark things make you think of me?" 

He scoffs, "cute things." 

You cross your arms and look at the floor. 

"Curtis, thanks uh--" 

"I really don't think you should go back. Today." He says bluntly. "It's not even been twenty-four hours since the creep showed up. At your work," he looks at you with a dire tweak in his brow. "As your boyfriend, I can't let you." 

You reach to scratch your nose, "sure, uh, that's... nice of you to worry--" 

"You got his vibe, didn't you? Something wrong with him. From what you've told me, he showed you as much--" 

You put your hands to your neck and blow out, "I don't want to think about that." 

"Trust me, I don't either," he turns to grab the carafe from the coffee machine. "So why don't we go out? Make a day of it." He pours the coffee and peeks over at you. "I missed you." 

Your chest throbs. Yeah. You did ditch him out of nowhere. It's not like you don't feel the same, 

"Me too." 

His cheek dimples. 

"Alright then. All you gotta do is let me treat my girl right," he offers you a cup. 

"Sure, not trying is exactly what I'm good at," you kid. 

He squints and you give a sheepish look. 

"Try being nice to yourself at least," he steps closer and kisses your forehead, "you know I don't like that." 

"I'm joking--" 

"Not very funny though," he says. He steps back and slurps down the coffee. "Ugh, let me just wake up a bit here."  

"Yeah, think I need to," you inhale the aroma. It soothes your achy head. 

You shuffle out of the kitchen and wander over to your phone. It's a compulsion at this point. You taste the coffee and hum as you hit the side button on your phone. 

"Mm, what kinda coffee is this? It's really..." your voice drifts off.  

There's a message. You tap it with your thumb. It's not WhatsApp this time. You've never got a DM on Insta. You only signed up for some raffle thing. It's fifteen seconds. Fifteen seconds of your regret sent from a shell account. Below, it read; 'think your boss would be impressed?' 

The little checkmark turns colourful as you stare at the image. Shoot. He knows you've seen. 

"It's really what?" Curtis asks as he strides in from the kitchen. 

"Huh?" You blink and look up at him. 

"Doesn't that thing make your eyes hurt so early?" He chides. 

"Um..." you hit the side button to hide the screen. He knows as much as needs to, and he's done more than he should. "Habit. Vivica always dogpiles me with memes." 

"Hm, well, wanna make a deal?" He drawls. 

You look at him, tweaked by the timbre in his voice. There's irritation just beneath the surface. 

"I'm gonna take you out today and we're gonna leave our phones at home." 

You guiltily set the cell back on the table, "sure. That's a good idea." 

You bring your hand back up to cradle the mug and sip. 

"Cool," he says. "Figure, we can focus on catching up." 

"Right," you agree. Is he expecting a different response? 

"Great," he inhales and hovers his cup in front of his lips. "What were you saying about the coffee?" 

"Oh, it's really good." 

"I have a trick," he grins. "Stick around long enough and I'll show you." 

You smile and look down. "Awesome." 

☕

You make a brief pit stop at your apartment to grab some clothes. Curtis waits outside as the rumble of his motorcycle echoes his patience. You change into fresh clothes and grab a spare set and few necessities before you go. Not more than can fit in his saddle bags. 

Back on the road, you cling to him. The smell of leather melds with his sweat and whatever fragrance he wears. Oaky. 

You lean into him as he revs up and speeds along the country roads and backways. You recognize the twisted elm tree in the middle of a field and the rickety fence with fading white paint and splintering posts. He rolls in towards the same farmhouse and antiquated barn. He drops his feet onto the ground as he comes to a stop. The roaring engine quiets and your ears ring. 

You get off first and undo the strap of the helmet. Your legs still thrum from the rumble of the engine. He kicks down the stand and climbs off. 

"Whose place is this?" You ask. 

He shrugs, "a buddy." 

"Sure is a nice buddy, letting you take over." 

"He's busy a lot." 

"Not working on his farm?" You wonder. 

"Waiting for the reaping," he takes your helmet and hangs both on the handlebars. "None of your friends have a super cool farm?" 

"Nah, Vivica is a city girl and the rest are... well." 

He snorts, "how the heck did you end up with them?" 

"I ask myself the same thing. More so, how they ended up with me." 

He tuts as his cheek ticks. The humour drains slowly from his features. He waves you down the same path as last time. 

"Come on, let's try to have a good day. The sun's out here trying," he girds. 

You walk ahead of him. You stare at the ground. You don't mean to be a downer. Self-deprecation has always been a shield. It's better to say the obvious first before someone else points it out. 

He clears his throat as you clear the house. You lift your head and stop short. He collides with your back, his hands settling on your hips. 

The picnic table is draped in a white tablecloth, a bouquet is arranged perfectly in a basket, the handle wrapped in ribbon, and a picnic basket sits next to it. You put your hands on Curtis', shocked at the display. He squeezes and urges you forward. 

"So what do you think? You hungry?" He asks. "Can't have you throwing axes on an empty stomach. Otherwise, I might get cut." 

"You... How did you?" You utter. 

"My buddy helped. Obviously," he walks you to the table. "I'm calling in all my favours." 

"It's really..." you step away from his grasp. "Sweet." 

"Huh, you don't sound that impressed," he says as he goes to the end of the table and grabs the lighter off the top. He takes one of the candles in a jar and lights it. 

"I am... no one..." you sit on the bench as you nearly deflate. You're flattered and happy and everything but it also feels so bittersweet. "No one's ever done anything like this for me before." 

"Well," he puts down the second candle and sets the lighter beside it. He steps up to lower himself onto the bench beside you. "I'm not no one," he touches your back and you smile. Your chest is all tight. 

"Curt," you tilt your chin down then look at him, flicking your lashes over your burning eyes. "You're..." Too good for me. Too sweet. Too everything.  

You don't say any of it. You just pull him close and kiss him. You smother his lips with yours as he purrs. His hand crawls up your back and he locks you in his embrace. You never want to let him go. 

🪓

Curtis nuzzles along your jaw and nips at your skin. You shiver and curl your fingers along his shoulder blade. Your breath clouds around you hotly, sweat beading over your hairline and nape. Your eyes flick open and fixate on the wall. 

He growls as he cradles your head and nudges your chin up, kissing along your throat as you quiver. Your heart flips and your stomach turns. It’s all so nice. Too nice. Too much! 

You push on his side and whine his name, “Curtis, Curtis. Please, stop. Stop, stop.” 

He exhales and lifts himself to look down at you. His brows stitch in concern. You look away from him in guilt. What’s wrong with you? 

“I can’t-- I--” you sputter. “You don’t want me. You can’t. How could you?” 

He leans in and drags his nose along your cheek. “Of course I want you, babe. How could I not, hmm?” He kisses your cheek and makes a trail down to your mouth. His lips brush yours and he hums again, “won’t you let me show you how much I want you?” He nibbles your lower lip and tugs on it softly. He lets it go and rocks against you. “Can’t you feel how much I need you?” 

You can, even as he still wears the black jeans he took you out in, your own still taut across your hips. The scent of pollen and sweat cling to both of you. The day hazes behind you, the late afternoon dimming between the grey curtains. 

You rub his chest, “I...” your eyes rove around the room. The poster of a classic Boris Karloff horror, another of a 90s cult classic. You don’t think another man will ever be so perfect. That they’ll ever be interested in you. Not like Curtis. “I want you too.” 

“Baby,” he grinds his pelvis into yours. 

You squirm and slip your hand up to your shoulder, dodging another kiss. 

“I want... to...” you say, curling your fingers. “But, er...” your cheeks set alight as your eyes dart back and forth. You swallow tightly. “Do you... have protection?” 

He chuckles, a rocky crackle in his throat. He presses his lips to your forehead and pushes off you. The bed bounces with his movement. You watch him as he goes to the tall black dress. He broad shoulders stretch out his black tee. 

“Course,” he says. “I’ve been ready for you, baby.” 

He comes back to you and places the small gold and black square on the night stand. He stands at the side of the bed rolls up his tee shirt. He strips it off and reveals his hair-trimmed torso. He keeps his head tidy and short but the rest of him is untamed. The dark fur laces over deeply etched muscle. 

You push yourself up reach behind your neck. He drops his tee and moves to stop you. He clucks. 

“Ah, I’m in no rush,” he pulls your arm down. “I wanna enjoy this. I want you to.” He sits on the edge of the bed. “You let me do everything.” 

He slips his hand up behind your head and draws you into another kiss. Gentle at first, growing hungrier as his tongue invades and his fingers bend against your skull. He inhales you, almost rocking you as he drinks you in. You hook your arm around his neck and he pushes you onto your back. 

He grabs your other hand, twining his fingers with yours, and holds it above the pillow as he devours you. His growls flood your throat and his heat swathes around you. His fingertips caress your scalp and he parts with a sigh. 

He sits up and looks you up and down. He drags his hand away from your hair and strokes your cheek and chin. You glance away shyly. He frames your jaw and turns your head straight, his thumb toying with your lower lip. 

“You are gorgeous, you know that?” He purrs. 

You can’t speak. Your chest is racked, as if there are chains wrapped around your ribs. You smile, cheeks flushing, body surging with fire. 

He traces down your neck, his roughened touch raising bumps on your skin. He lingers on the vee of your tee shirt, his eyes following the path of his hand. He glosses over the cotton down to the hem. Your muscles tense as he tickles along your lower stomach. 

He hooks his thumb under the fabric and tugs it up slowly. You curl up and lift your arms as he peels off the shirt. You lay back, shallow breaths swelling in your chest as your chest bulges in your plain bra. You peek down. 

“Sorry, I didn’t have anything... prettier.” 

“Perfect,” he rasps and bends to kiss along the top of your chest, just beneath your collar bone. His nose drags with his lips and leaves a trail down to cleavage. He shifts and brings his hand to cup one tit as he burrows his face between them. 

You gasp and brush the back of his head with your palm. His breath sends tendrils of ice through you. The new sensations are scary but you don’t want him to stop. This is the right way. This is how you should have done it... 

He follows the edge of your bra to the strap and slips it down your shoulder. He does the same with the other and slides his hands beneath you. You arch your back as he unhooks your bra. You shiver and your hand falls to his firm shoulder. You squeeze the muscle, hypnotised by his Adonis form. 

“Wow,” you eke out. 

He raises himself, just a bit, and drags away your bra. You squeak and cover yourself instinctively as your tits fall free. You giggle as he looks down at you. His grey-blue eyes are darker, hotter. 

“Wow?” He echoes coyly. 

“You... um... sorry, I just...” 

“Wow, you,” he growls. 

He pulls your wrists apart and frees your chest. He pins your hands to the bed and bends over you again. His strength is overwhelming but alluring. You don’t want to escape him. He bows and nibbles at the soft flesh, teasing with his teeth and tongue, taking your nipple between his lips with a hum. 

His timbre flows through you and you whine again. Your spine curves and your toes curl. His tongue flicks around the hard pebble and pressure builds as he sucks. You writhe and moan. 

He takes his time tending to you, moving across your chest with a smear of saliva. Snarling as he tastes you, toys with you, tantalizes you. He pinches just enough for you to squeal and he snickers in delight. You squirm as your walls clench. 

“Curt,” you murmur. 

“Patience, baby, I got it,” he lets go of your wrists and turns to kiss down your stomach. You twitch and try to cover it. He pushes your hand away. “Mmm.” He bites into you, “why you hiding?” 

“I’m not... I just--” 

He spreads his large hand across your stomach and squeezes. He delights in the pillow of your middle, doting on it as he inches closer and closer to the top of your jeans. He trails his hand over the acid wash and down your thigh. 

His nose grazes over your waistline and he bites down on the denim. He tugs with his teeth until the button pops open. You gasp again. You’re not nervous like you were before. Not afraid. You just want to stop thinking about that. 

He flutters up to the top of your jeans and slips his fingers beneath. He pulls them down, little by little, easing you out of them, following the line of your legs. He untangles them from your ankles and hurls them carelessly away from the bed. 

He gets to his knees and pushes yours apart. Your stomach flips. You look down at your panties and cover your chest again. He’s fixated on them as well. 

He lowers himself to his stomach and nuzzles the cotton. You wince and he looks up at you. His brows arch as he inhales your, nestling into you as he pushes his nose against your cunt. Your thighs twitch.  

He pushes his arms wide under your legs and bends to graze along the bottom of your ass. He guides your thighs over his shoulders and tilts his head down. His long lashes flick and he rolls his head as he burrows into you. 

He growls and kneads your thighs, pushing them against his head. He teases you, his tongue wetting the fabric as he plays with you through them. You slap your hands against the bed and clasp onto the dark coverlet. Your feet arch and your calves strain. 

His hand crawls away from thigh and dips beneath you. He tugs aside your panties and flicks his tongue lightly over your folds. You moan and lift your hip. He keeps his fingers hooked around the cotton and plunges his cool tongue into your heat. You whine at the swirling sensation that unfurls through you. 

He spreads his tongue wide and drags it up. He hums and slides back down. He drinks you in, pressing his nose into you, smearing your slickness over his face. He snarls and circles your clit cloyingly. You shiver and squeak, reaching for the back of his head. 

You push him down. He doesn’t resist. He seals his lips around your clit and you whimper. He sucks and flicks his tongue; swirling, up and down, side to side, pinpointing ever nerve to your core. 

You heave and bring your other hand down to grip his head, your hips bucking as your stomach ties in knots and your spine goes rigid. You hiss through your teeth, eyes rolling back, legs bending, feet pushing into the mattress. You lift your pelvis as you urge him, writhing in time with him. 

You squeal as the sudden release has your muscles tingle and spasming. You fall back and shake as you cum. He laps it up, growling and groaning as he drinks you in. He doesn’t stop until your breathlessly babbling. 

He lifts his head and smacks his lips. He sits up as your legs splay limply around him. He sits on his knees and grips your panties. He snaps them at the seam and pushes the elastic up your stomach. You gasp and look down at the ruin. 

He delves between your lips with his fingers. He rubs you with two, down to your entrance and back again. He repeats the motion as you groan and gasp. He teases you, pausing to roll around your clit, then slipping back to your entrance. 

He turns his hand and pushes against you. His eyes meet yours as he dips a finger into you. You squeak as he glides in to his knuckle. He drags his finger out slowly and adds a second, once more diving in deep. He presses the heel of his hand to your clit. 

He keeps his hand between your legs and moves to bend over you, keeping himself up on his elbow. He kisses you as he rocks his hand. You groan into his mouth, the sweet flavour on his tongue staining your own. Is that what you taste like? 

He keeps his hand tilting and your thighs clench around it. You latch onto his wrist, moving your hips as you feel the same swell building within. You turn your head and choke on a whimper. You cum again, you insides twitching and clinging to him. 

“That good?” He grits in your ear. You hum and nod. 

“Curtis...” 

He slips his hand free and drags his wet fingers up your body. He brings them to your chin and forces your head straight. He rests his forehead on yours. 

“Baby?” 

“I... please...” 

“You sure?” He asks. 

“I’m sure.” You wisp. 

He inhales and kisses you. He parts and gets up, jostling you and the bed. He stands by the side of the bed. His stomach tenses as he undoes his fly. You can see him in his jeans, ready to burst. You push your thighs together. You did that? 

He pushes his jeans down and groans at the friction of denim and cotton. He steps out of them and pulls the elastic of his boxers out, guiding them down his thighs as his dick bobs before him. You blink and stare at him. He’s big; thick. His veins bulge under his skin and his tip weeps with glistening anticipation. 

He takes the condom and tears open the package. He grunts as he puts the rubber against his tip. His hips recoil and he grips the base of his dick as he rolls the condom on. He hisses as he does. 

“You alright?” You ask. 

“Yeah, baby, just... been waiting,” he says. 

He lowers himself onto the bed, laying on his side. You don’t know what to do. You expected him to get between your legs, to have you on your back like Hugh did. Maybe even face down. 

He caresses you from neck to pelvis and up again. You watch his hand as you tremble. You touch his fingers then follow the length of his arm. You turn onto your side to face him. 

You pet the hair along his chest and spread your fingers to feel his muscle. You bite your lip. You watch his muscles contract as you stroke his stomach. You brush again his tip and he twitches. 

You gently wrap your fingers around him. He groans. You pump him slowly. He curls his fingers into your side. He kisses your hairline. You grip him tighter and do it again. 

“Can’t...” he growls into your hair. 

He slides his hand past your ass to your thigh. He guides your leg over his hip and shifts closer. He bends his leg under your to hold it up and reaches behind you. He uses his fingers to guide his tip to your entrance. He pauses as you look up at him. 

He adjusts his shoulders and slides an arm beneath you. He draws you even closer. He touches your nose with his then presses another kiss to your lips. He snarls as he stretches you around his tip. 

You curl an arm around him, hooking your leg around his, and welcome him in. He shakes as he rocks carefully, easing in and out with each inch. You whine and pull away from his lips, tilting your head back. Your voice unravels as he gets deeper and deeper. 

He plunges in as deep as he can and pulls out slowly. You quiver and squeeze him tight. You look him in the eye and sigh. 

“Curtis,” you say. “I need you to fuck me.” 

He growls and his pupils grow. He pushes you onto your back, bringing himself over you. You keep your leg hook over him. He dips in again, holding himself at his limit, even deeper than before. You squirm and latch onto his bicep, squeezing the thick muscle as he bends it beneath your head. 

“This what you want?” He gives a long torturous thrust. “Like this?” 

“More.” You gasp. 

“More?” He snaps his hips but pulls out slow again. 

“Faster,” you demand. 

“Mmm,” he hums, “baby, I told you, I wanna enjoy you.” 

“Harder,” you bring your other hand to his neck, curling it behind. “Please, just fuck me.” 

“Faster?” He speeds up just a little. “Harder?” He ruts so you sink into the mattress just a little. 

“Mhmm,” you moan. 

“Okay,” his rhythm stays as it is. 

“More!” Your nails dig into his bicep. 

“You got all of me baby,” his hips rock steady. 

“No, more,” you beg. 

“More?” He look down between your bodies. You follow his gaze, just a glimpse of him and you. 

“Fuck me!” You yelp. “Please.” 

“I’m fucking you, baby,” he smirks and bows to kiss your throat. 

“Curt--” You squeak as he jolts you but doesn’t speed up. 

“Mm, I just... I want you around me forever,” he growls into your neck. 

“Please--” 

He growls as he keeps his tempo. You writhe desperately. Pleading as he keeps nipping and pecking over your neck and shoulders. In, out, in out. Just enough to bring you to the edge but not over. 

He hooks his other arm beneath you and all once, lifts himself up. He sits on his heels as he put you in his lap. He fills you up as you catch yourself against his chest. He smothers your mouth with his. 

He rolls his hips. You twitch and whine. He does it again. Again. Again. You feel him speeding up. You cling to him, tongues wrestling, breath mingling, bodies intertwined. You move in tandem with him, working towards that thrum pulsing inside of you. 

You pull your lips from his and lean your head on his, moaning in his ear. 

“Oh, Curt, I’m-- I’m--” 

You orgasm and squeal, clawing at his back as you do. He snickers as he keeps on. You twitch and tremble as your clit burns against his pelvis. 

He reaches to untangle your arms from around his neck. He eases you back so you hang off him. He moves your hips with one hand, the other on your shoulder as he watches himself fuck you from below. Your head lolls back as you clasp onto his shoulders to keep from falling off. 

“Fuck, baby, fuck--” He rasps as his pace turns frantic. He pounds against you, flesh clapping, breath chugging, fingers dipping into your flesh. “Ah-ah-ah.” 

He rams up into you, several times before quaking and slowing, whining as he cums. He shudders and stills you, letting you down onto your back. You huff in unison, staring at each other as the afterglow blooms around you. His shoulders drop as you lay limp on the mattress, him still inside. 

He looks down and pets your thighs. You spasm and catch his hands. 

“You got me,” he says as he meets your eye again. “Baby, I’m yours.” 

Your lashes flutter. You don’t know what to say. 

“Baby?” 

You look at him. What? 

“You’re mine, aren’t ya?” 

You flinch then nod. His eyes narrow. 

“Say it.” 

You hesitate and swallow. 

“Curt--” 

He snaps his hips and you squeal. 

“I--” you croak. “I’m yours.” 

He grins and snickers as he falls forward, pinning you beneath him. He thrusts lazily as you squirm. “Damn right.” 

[when-all-the-world-is-asleep]

Sebastian Stan as Bucky Barnes Thunderbolts* (2025) | Dir. Jake Schreier

[when-all-the-world-is-asleep]

Aspen, these two were a very fun pair together and as dark as it was... I can't deny, I'd be willing to be their good girl.

Unholy Errand

Characters/Pairings: Lloyd Hansen x female!Reader, God the Bounty Hunter x female!Reader, Ransom Drysdale Word Count: 4k Summary: You're caught in the crosshairs when a hit goes out for your boss.

Content/Warnings: explicit smut: non-consent and dubious consent, cuckolding, bondage, knife play, dacryphilia, oral (m and f receiving), cumplay, spitting, facial/marking, groping, spanking, clothed males naked female, coarse language; mild but irreverent use of religious terminology/themes (we’ve got a bounty hunter who refers to himself as God – we’re not committing hard to the bit, but we are using the bit); use of pet names + no y/n; kidnapping

Notes: I was happily working on some other lovely things last weekend, and then Sunday afternoon, totally unprovoked, a rogue muse crept up and whispered, "Lloyd and God..." and my brain broke, and I told @navybrat817 and she immediately enabled/encouraged the sprouting of this fic (and helped identify exactly who these two would be after). I thought this might be fifteen hundred words... and then it hit 2k, and then 3k, and they still weren't done with poor Reader, so...

Additional Notes: First time writing Lloyd, God, or Ransom in any capacity. This is also straight up the filthiest thing I've gone all in on. Is it the filthiest thing that exists on the internet? Of course not, but my filthiest and READ THE TAGS. This is NOT your standard Aspen fic. But was this a bit of a riot to write? Yep. It had a chokehold on me all week, and I stayed up far too late to finish it off tonight because... if I didn't, life would've prevented me finishing for a couple more days, and I've been too eager to push this out.

The clearing of his throat is what pulls your attention. You look up from your desk, taking in long legs in impossibly tight white slacks showing too much ankle, and a torso clad in a black turtleneck and blazer. A thick mustache lives above his smirk. He was too silent entering the offices, and he knows it, seems to revel in unsettling you. “Lloyd Hansen, the six o’clock appointment.”

“Yes, if you’ll follow me right this way,” you proffer politely, and move smoothly out of your chair, leading him to the door of your boss’s office. You give a short knock and open the door, announcing, “Lloyd Hansen, sir,” as you briefly step inside, holding the door open for the man.

He’s still smirking as he passes by, and then you sweep back out, but not before hearing Lloyd whistle and say, “Fancy shit you got yourself in this office, Ran,” as you close the door on them.

You sigh as you sit back down at your desk. Lloyd is your boss’s last meeting of the night, and he had seemed more than perturbed when he said to go ahead and accept the last-minute request Lloyd had made for the appointment. While this is the meeting of the day, Mr. Drysdale had made it clear he was staying late, which means you are also staying late, so you pull out the file of menus you keep in your desk and begin mulling over where to order dinner from tonight.

There’s a succession of loud thuds on the other side of the wall, and you only hesitate for a second before rushing into the office.

You stop dead, a small cry escaping your lips as you watch Lloyd wrestling Ransom to the ground.

“You may be sorry you disturbed us, sweetie, but since you’re here, be a good girl and close and lock that door so we don’t get interrupted by anyone else.”

You hesitate, staring in horror at the display before you: books knocked off the shelves, everything that’s usually so immaculately placed askew on the desk, a lamp overturned, Ransom Drysdale on the floor of his office with Lloyd Hansen’s knee pressed into his back and both arms pulled taught behind him while Lloyd binds his wrists together with the Hermes ascot scarf ripped from Ransom’s own neck.

Lloyd clucks his tongue. “Lock the door or I start cutting his fingers off. Barnes and Rogers only said they want your boss alive; they didn’t say how much of him still needs to be intact.”

“Do it,” Ransom grunts, turning his head away from you, clearly embarrassed at his predicament.

You turn and slowly close the door. You know there are still people working at Blood Like Wine tonight, and while it’s not likely that any of them will be passing through this wing after normal business hours, it’s probably safer that they stay out than accidentally stumble into whatever this dangerous mess is evolving into. You wished you had suppressed your own urge to investigate.

When you turn back around, Lloyd is unbuckling his belt as he continues to kneel against Ransoms back. He pulls it out, uses it to gag Ransom, giving it an additional tug after already pulling it tightly, and fastens it off.

“There, that’s just about perfect.”

“What are-?” You venture to ask, but he abruptly cuts you off.

“No one asked you to talk, sweetie, now come away from that door.”

You only take two reluctant steps towards them when there’s a scraping of wood that draws everyone’s attention to the opposite side of the room.

A piece of the floor is slowly being lifted from below, pushed out of the way, and then another man pops up from out of the floor. He hefts himself out of the hole in the floor and then drops a duffel bag on the floor, the heavy sound of muffled metal hinting at the equipment he’s brought with him.

“Oh, good, you’ve already done some of my work for me,” the tall, dark-haired man appraises the situation he’s just stepped into.

“Who the fuck are you, and where’d you come from?”

“Clearly you watched me ascend from a trapdoor in the floor.” He stalks over to stand in front of the large mahogany desk and sits back on the edge. “You didn’t think Harlan Thrombey - noted mystery author - wouldn’t have a publishing house full of trapdoors and secret passageways?”

“Didn’t need to, walked right in the front door. Still waiting to find out who you are.”

“God the Bounty Hunter.”

“Ooh,” Lloyd cocks his head, and another one of his smirks returns, “I can’t say I hate the audacity. Very bold. But there are a lot of gods and only one Lloyd Hansen.

“Now we’re clearly both here because of the hit put out for this prick, but since there are two of them and two of us, why don’t you make yourself useful, God, and tie up this little Margaret while I get Ransom nice and comfortable here.”

“With pleasure,” God says, and beckons you over to him.

The way he fixes you with his gaze is so intense you can’t to resist his silent command. He stands when you’re just a foot or two away, puts a ringer under your chin to tilt your head up, and looks down into your face. You don’t dare look away, nor do you want to, for some reason.

After another moment, he lets your chin drop, and God begins to circle you, looking you up and down. You hold very still. “You don’t need to be tied up, do you? You like to behave, to be praised.”

Lloyd lets out a loud, longsuffering sigh. “Fine, it can be more fun when they’re tied up, but I’m not picky as long as I get what I want.” Then his tone changes, directing his next words at you. “Understand, sweetie?”

You nod.

“Good.” With that, Lloyd pushes his knee roughly into Ransom’s back, drawing a painful groan from the bound man, before standing and hauling Ransom up with him. He shoves Ransom down to sit on the couch that faces the desk in the small entertaining area of Ransom’s office. “Now Relax, let me pour myself a drink. No reason we can’t enjoy ourselves for a few minutes, for old time’s sake.”

While Lloyd pours some bourbon, God steps right up behind you, close enough that you can feel the heat of him. He moves your hair off your shoulder, and leans close to whisper in your ear, “You be very good, and I’ll make you my angel.” You can’t help but shiver - it’s the heat of his breath at your neck and the promised threat - and you know he notices your reaction, because there’s a soft, dark chuckle before he presses a hot kiss to the base of your neck. His hand comes around to your front, toying with the edge of your open collar, and then he lightly draws his index finger along your clavicle and then up the other side of your neck. You don’t realize you’re holding your breath until you gasp when his other hand quickly pushes a small piece of metal right below your ear.

“And what’s that?” Lloyd asks, not missing the tagging.

“A little incentive for obedience,” God answers. “Fifty-thousand volts when fully unleashed.”

There’s a non-electrically generated jolt in your stomach, but it’s not pure fear, it’s tinged with a little adrenaline as well.

“Huh. To each his own. Now down to business, Ran.”

God steps back and then leans on the edge of the desk again. He pulls you to stand between his legs, your back up against his chest, and his hands settle on your shoulders. Standing against him like this has your hips aligned with his, and you have no doubt it’s setting the stage for his intentions, even if it seems harmless enough now. It mimics a familiarity between partners that is both soothing and unsettling.

Across the room, Lloyd takes a seat on the other side of the couch from Ransom, drink in one hand, and draping his arm casually along the back of the couch. “It was quite a convenient circumstance that even had me nearby to make this social call Ransom. Couldn’t be happier that I’d get to drop in on you for something like this. Ransom and I both went to Yale, you know,” he tosses this part across the room to you and God. “Even ended up in the same fraternity. But he was a senior, I was a freshman. Didn’t spare me the time of day except for the hazing, right?”

His focus shifts back to Ransom, who only gives Lloyd a cold stare, unmoving, clearly not wanting to give Lloyd the satisfaction of any emotional reactions.

God’s hands shift from your shoulders and begin to stroke up and down your arms.

“Why am I boring us all with the backstory though? Old college buddies is pretty typical. You know what’s not typical? Barnes and Rogers putting a bounty out for someone. They’ve got their own guys, and you’re not hard to find.”

The hands move from your arms to your waist, moving up and down your ribs, and still Lloyd keeps talking.

“So, either you’re too important and they wanted the closest person available to pick you up and make a rush delivery to their door, or you’re not important enough for them to want to dispatch any of their own men to deal with you. Outsourcing because you’re still an inconvenience to them, and they can’t let you go unpunished.

Strong hands on your hips.

“Maybe you can prove to be useful tonight, sweetie. How long have you worked for Ranny here?”

You don’t know if you should be surprised that he’s turned his attention to you for questioning, but you do your best to keep your mind focused as you answer him. “I’ve worked for Mr. Drysdale for – oh –” God starts rubbing circles over your hipbones, applying more pressure and pushing you back against a very prominent erection “– a little over seven months.”

“Mr. Drysdale, eh?” Lloyd’s perennial smirk grows, and he tilts his head, tsking again. “You don’t have to pretend like you’re not assisting him after hours, I told you we were in the same frat, so I know what this bastard gets up to.”

Your mouth drops open a little, and Lloyd looks from you to Ransom, whose cold stare has turned into an unmistakable glare.

“Oho! So, she does only assist you professionally?” Lloyd laughs, seemingly out of genuine amusement. “You really are useless, Ranny.”

God is still relentless in touching you, exploring over and even under the clothing, one of his hands sliding down your leg to slip under your skirt to skim up your thigh, and the other stroking just under your breasts, calculated touches to evoke responses but not yet to take or give any more satisfaction.

Both strangers are demanding your attention, and you’re almost evenly divided between Lloyd’s words and God’s actions.

“She probably would’ve slept with you the first two weeks on the job, but now she’s gotta know you’re an insufferable prick.”

Would you have? You don’t think either statement is true. You were never drawn in by Ransom, and since working for him, you’ve only been focused on doing your job well, getting a good paycheck, and going home. Ransom wasn’t particularly demanding compared to other executives, and so you had only wanted him to continue to respect and rely on your assistance so he’d find you indispensable and raise your salary regularly.

God finally speaks again. “We should let the man see what he’ll never have.”

Lloyd sits back in the chair. “I’m not opposed.”

Your face burned. There was no question what he meant, and you did not want Ransom to see you on display, but Lloyd is intimidating and God is intoxicating, so you can do no more than comply as God unzips your skirt and pushes it to the floor.

Next he turns you around and works on the buttons of your shirt, in no hurry, putting your ass on display for Lloyd and Ransom while torturing you with more of the heated, intense eye contact that makes you nearly forget to breathe.

You’re only warned that Lloyd’s behind you when God looks over your shoulder, and you turn your head, but before you can fully face him, his hand has come down against your ass with enough force that you fall against God’s chest. He spanks you again, harder, and you whimper in God’s arms, your head falling against his shoulder with the sting and shock and humiliation.

Then, in another quick turn of events, Lloyd grasps the waistband of your panties with one hand, and you briefly feel the chill of metal against your skin as he slips a knife under the fabric and then slashes them away with two strokes and throws the fabric on the desk.

“Move, God, I want her up on the desk.”

God stands again, and he pulls your shirt off your shoulders as he moves away.

Lloyd could unclasp your bra, but of course Lloyd uses the knife to slice through the band.

“Drop it,” he instructs.

With a deep, steadying breath, you do as he says.

“Turn and sit up on the desk for us.”

You’ve taken hundreds of orders from this office, completing tasks you enjoyed and hated, this can be just another of those.

“Open those thighs for us all to see, sweetie.”

You close your eyes. You know what they will see, and the shame burns in your stomach.

Lloyd taps the flat part of his knife just above your knee. “Now.”

You bite your lip and look at the ground as you spread your legs. Lloyd presses the edge of the knife to the flesh of your inner thigh, forcing you to spread even wider if you don’t want him to cut into you.

Lloyd brings his knife to your chin to tilt your face up to look at him as he traces your wet folds with two fingers. The smirk is gone, replaced by a wicked grin. “Nice and slick for us.”

“God’s handiwork,” the other man is quick to note.

“Sure. A nice little sacrificial offering. Now, Ransom, since you’ve never had a taste, seems a shame not to give you a sample,” Lloyd says.

Ransom shifts and begins to stand, but Lloyd turns abruptly and points at him with the knife. “Stay there, you dumb fuck.”

Ransom sits back again.

“And don’t you dare look away.” He looks to God. “Shoot him if he does.”

God pulls a gun from behind his back that he must have had tucked into his waistband. You watch as he moves to the other side of the room and stands behind Ransom. He plants his gun at the base of Ransom’s skull, then locks eyes with you again. It’s clear he doesn’t want take his eyes off you if he’s going to have to ensure Ransom doesn’t either. Something in your chest stirs under his rapt attention.

Lloyd demands your attention again as he grips your hips and pulls you to the edge of the mahogany desk. He slaps your pussy, drawing a sharp cry from you, then drops down to delve between your thighs. He gives your clit a vicious nip, and you bit back another yelp. His tongue plunders into your cunt, licking and sucking, and your hands are moving to grasp his skull to anchor yourself, but he’s already pulling away. As he stands, he yanks you off the desk, and strides across the room, dragging you with him.

He spits directly in Ransom’s face – a combination of Lloyd’s saliva and your slick that he’s not able to do anything but let drip down his face. Your mouth is agape, truly shocked. Ransom’s entire body radiates rage and embarrassment.

“That’s all you’ll be getting from her, Drysdale.”

Then Lloyd’s shoves you to your knees, putting you on display in profile to the other men. He undoes the zipper of his pants, releasing his cock, no underwear to fuss about.

“Open up,” he demands, and you comply, unwilling to provoke this demon who clearly doesn’t play by any rules.

He slips the angry red tip of his cock into your mouth. “Be good,” he warns. You give a small nod, closing your mouth around him. With one hand, he grips your head and begins to thrust in and out of your mouth. You and gag, and your eyes close as you try to focus very hard on breathing through your nose. He’s hitting the back of your throat with each brutal thrust, and the tears spill quickly down your face.

“Eyes on me,” he grunts, and you force them open and look up at him, knowing what he wants to see. He groans in approval. “You are a pretty little trinket, prettier when you cry.”

Then he abruptly pulls you off his dick and grips you by the chin and turns your head for Ransom and God. “Fucking look at her, swollen lips, gasping for breath, desperate.”

Just as quickly he slots his dick back in your mouth, this time gripping your head with both hands and he fucks your face with abandon. Fast. Hard. Your whimpers turn into sobs, and your hands come up to brace and grasp desperately at his thighs. “You can still take it,” Lloyd growls, undeterred, and you’re powerless to stop him. The tears are not just running but flooding down your cheeks. It’s too much now, and you can’t get enough air, and vision is going black. Finally he throws you off and away from him, and turns to aim his cock at Ransom, shooting his load over his face and shoulders, letting out a hiss that turns into a hum.

You’re hunched over and you wretch – blessedly only once – bracing your hands on the floor, and you gulp and heave, lungs fraught for the necessary oxygen.

Lloyd is talking again. The voice registers, but not the words.

And there are warm hands on you again. One rubbing small circles at the base of your spine, the other pushing your hair out of your face and coaxing you to look up at him.

With enough soothing, God has you breathing evenly again, and you’re still crying a little, but he helps you up onto the couch and sits next to you, very close, and he tucks a hand under your chin and lifts your face up, then he licks your left cheek, then the right, lapping up the tears. You hiccup, not sure how to react. Then he merely strokes your cheek, and the fingers trail down your neck, down your chest, down, down…

“Boring,” Lloyd announces.

You look up at him for a moment, but then God’s questing fingers reach the point he really wants to concentrate his might on, plunging into your wet cunt, and your eyes flutter closed.

“I’m eager to be done here,” Lloyd continues while God continues pumping his digits in and out of you. “We don’t need any more dumbasses showing up for this fool.”

“Agreed,” God says, casually as if he’s not beginning to pull you apart softly but surely. “You take him. I’ll keep her. There’s room for her in the trunk next to the cargo.”

“Fine, I wasn’t fussed about the goods anyway, I only took this job for the satisfaction of humiliating Drysdale, and that’s already exceeded my expectations. I’m sure Barnes and Rogers will give you enough for the recovered inventory even without him, and I’ll do you a solid and not mention the little side piece you’ll be keeping for yourself.”

God moves you off the couch, coaxing you to lean over the coffee table and kneels behind you. “Good.”

You moan as God slowly pushes his hard length inside your cunt.

There’s a thud next to you, and you turn to see a pile of Ransom hit the floor a few feet away.

“I assume you’ve got a way to move this man through down in that passage?” Lloyd asks, dragging the unconscious figure across the floor by his feet.

“Mhmm,” he responds, more intent on the movement of his hips against yours, slowly pistonning in and out of your tight heat.

“Good. This was fun enough, but let’s not do this again.”

God pulls your head up roughly to look at Lloyd just as he’s about to drop into the floor. “Say goodbye to Lloyd, Angel.”

You’re barely able to make the, “Bye,” tumble out of your lips, you’re so full of this man behind you, and his sudden roughness taking you by surprise.

Lloyd chuckles, then disappears.

God lets you drop back down, leaning on your elbows.

“I thought he’d never stop talking,” God murmurs.

It’s bitter, but a laugh actually falls from your lips, but you still can’t form words.

“There’s other things I’d rather do with you around than talk.”

He adjusts his angle from behind you. It allows him to plunge more of his cock into your slick channel, and you groan, but then after only a few thrusts, he pauses, balls deep inside you.

“You took what he gave you, but I think you don’t want me to stop, do you?”

You’re breathless. You can’t speak. You don’t want to speak?

He places his right hand, palm flat, at the base of your spine and presses it slowly up your back, his middle finger trailing up the ridge of your vertebrae, and you can feel the metal of his ring draw a line along your skin.

“You were very good.”

He rocks his hips against you, and you whimper.

“I said I would make you mine if you were good.”

Another rocking. He moves his hand from the nape of your neck around to grip it fully, and he pulls you back up against his chest, and you’re gasping for air for a moment, both hands coming up to clutch at his arm.

He lowers his voice and delivers his next words right into your ear. “You want to be mine, don’t you?”

Your pussy clenches around him, and he presses a kiss against your throat, and you feel the smile of his lips against your skin.

His other hand moves down across your hip, to your vee, and his deft fingers stroke your throbbing clit. He doesn’t move his cock, but he does move those fingers expertly, drawing tight little circles that wind you up to the top until you’re flung off the edge and into pure pleasure.

Coming down from your first orgasm, you sink against him. As your breathing returns to normal, the hand on your neck remains like an anchor, but his other hand moves up to tilt your chin to the side and up to meet his lips. The kiss claims you, and you part your lips for him, just as you’ve parted your legs for him – willingly.

“That was one, but I want a trinity to secure your devotion here tonight. I’m going to fuck you dumb, dress you, and then you’re going to walk out of here like a sweet little angel and get in my car. Then I’ll let you choose. You can sit up front and keep my cock warm or you can crawl in the back of the trunk. Your choice.”

How are we?

I'm ruined.

Restore my health with your lovely reblogs, commentary, comments...

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CHRIS EVANS | Instagram Stories

[when-all-the-world-is-asleep]

Bucky being a congressman is so funny to me... no way that job was going to last

[when-all-the-world-is-asleep]

Captain America: Brave New World (2025) Dir. Julius Onah

[when-all-the-world-is-asleep]

[when-all-the-world-is-asleep]

Why can I see Malyshka and Bee having closet ROOMS instead of regular closets bc Bucky buys so much

Bee's closet is so big that Mr. Tato has his own section for all his costumes.

And she can walk around her mama's closet every day and still find new items. (Bee also likes to go "shopping" in there).

Malyshka started with a massive walk in closet but Bucky quickly upgraded it when he realized they're wasn't going to be enough for room for everything he wanted to buy her. He hadn't even proposed at that point. But he knew what her life was going to be like with him and he planned accordingly.

Now she has an entire room dedicated to her outfits. It has multiple full length mirrors, a display case for her jewelry, a gorgeous built in floor to ceiling showcase for her shoes, rotating racks for her clothes.

It's luxurious and extravagant and Bucky wouldn't let her have anything less.

[when-all-the-world-is-asleep]

[when-all-the-world-is-asleep]

I just want to bundle up Thistle and keep her safe/far away from Cole... I know he's going to take advantage of her mental state. He'll claim it's love, but we all know the truth :( At this point, I just hope he won't be mean to her.

In Bloom 6

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, allusions to trauma, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

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

Summary: After wasting much of your youth in a toxic situation, things are starting to look up. That’s until you meet a certain flower seller.

Characters: Cole Turner, short!reader

Note: My sweet pathetic man.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You clasp your hands in your lap as the car radio buzzes. You’re thankful for the noise as you don’t have much to say. Uncle Morris is nice, always helpful, but you just don’t know what to say. It doesn’t bode well for the day ahead. He’s just driving you to the farm, then you’ll face the real challenge. 

You watch the fields pass. Horses shake flies away with their long manes, cows chew on grass, and crops sway in the wind. It’s peaceful; pastoral as one of your books might describe it. It’s much nicer than staring at the same fading and peeling walls every minute of every day. 

Uncle Morris turns the car and slows the wheels. He squints up at the farmhouse then taps his phone, mounted on the dashboard. He grumbles. 

“Think I got your aunt’s instructions right,” he says. 

“This looks like it,” you assure him. You recognise the painted decoration hung on one of the pillars; a sheep in a crown of flowers. Adorable in an absurd sort of way. 

“Hm, alright. You got everything, kiddo?” He asks. 

He still calls you that despite your age. You suppose he still remembers that quiet little girl who used to hide behind her hands. You probably haven’t changed that much. You still feel just as terrified. 

“Yes, thank you,” you say as you undo your seat belt. 

“Anytime,” he chimes. “I’ll be back in the afternoon to get you. Your aunt’s got one of her club meetings after work.” 

“Okay,” you nod and open the door. 

You get out and step back. You wave at him as he reverses and veers around. He drives off and you take a breath. You grip the handles of your lunch bag. Aunt Beverly bought it for you; purple checkers on white. She also got you a new pair of gardening gloves with sunflowers on them. You brought those in case. 

“Hey,” Cole’s voice startles you as you stare after the rolling speck of your uncle’s car. 

You face him and give another tiny wave. He smiles. He’s always so happy. 

“You’re early,” he says. 

“I...am?” You croak. 

“No worries, better early than late,” he comes down the steps of the porch. “What’s that?” 

He points to your hand. You lift your hand slightly. “My lunch.” 

“Oh. You didn’t have to do all that. Ma left some food in the fridge for us,” he says. 

“Um, sorry.” 

“You don’t have to be sorry,” he says.  

“Okay. I’m sorry. I mean--” you stammer, the sweat trickling down your nape.  

At the market, it was you and Cole and all those strangers. Now it’s really just you and him. You wish Aunt Beverly was here. She always knows what to say. 

“You want some coffee or something before we get started?” He offers. 

You shake your head. 

“Tea?” 

“No thank you.” 

“Well, it gets really hot so we’ll get you some water.” He gestures you closer. “Let’s go put that in the fridge.” 

You near him and he waits until you’re up the steps and next to him before he moves. He wears a short-sleeved flannel shirt, unbuttoned to show his ribbed white tank beneath. He turns and opens the door, holding it for you as you enter. You stop inside and he nearly bowls you over. He touches your hip as he slips around. 

“Oop, almost knocked you over,” he says. 

You blanch and put your hand where his had been. He’s not bothered. He didn’t mean to. You shouldn’t be. 

“Here, let me take that,” he says. 

You nod. 

“Everything okay?” He asks you give him the bag. 

You look up the staircase, “don’t wanna wake your mom or anyone.” 

“Oh, she’s gone. Out of town. Went up to see her sister. Dad too.” 

You don’t say anything even as the panic surges through you. The thought, the reality, of being out here all by yourself with just him, in the middle of nowhere... Cole hasn’t hurt you. He’s helped you. You need to stop being so... you. You need to get over it. 

You look down as he goes down to the kitchen. You stay on the mat. You rub the back of your hand where the scar is. The fridge liner sucks as it opens and closes then a drawer slides out. His footfalls thump again and he appears. 

There’s something in his hand as he approaches. He holds out the baby blue cloth. 

“Thought you could use this. Tie it around your head. For the sweat,” he explains. 

“Oh, thank you.” 

“It’s simple work,” he points you back out the door. “I’m sure you know how to plant.” 

“Uh huh.” 

“And prune?” 

“Sure.” 

“I’ll have to show you what to look out for. The rot and all that,” he follows out across the porch. You feel heat along your lower back, like he might touch you again. 

“Right,” you go down the steps. It comforts you when he talks about the flowers. That’s something you know about. 

Like last time, he takes you to the greenhouse. The sun gleams off the glass panels. He opens the door and you enter the stolid building. You tie the bandana around your head, knotting it tight. 

He leads you down the table near the right wall and he stops you by a table of jars. 

“These things always sell well. The novelty of it.” He reaches for a mason jar already filled with dirt and a cluster of petunias. “I try to do a little of each. The bee balm sells well since it attracts humming birds.” He turns the jar. “Tie a ribbon around the top...” he touches the little bow there. “You can use twine too.” 

You nod. You’re not sure you’ll be very good at that part.  

“People like stuff they can reuse, you know?” 

You frown as you fixate on the tidy bow. You lean forward to examine the tails, exactly the same length as each other. You can try. 

“Here, I’ll show you how,” he says. He takes an empty jar. “Jar, fill it with soil, pick your flower.” He works with certainty, “transfer.” He delicately moves the periwinkle over and packs the dirt with his fingertips. His hands are much bigger than yours but precise. “The ribbon... sometimes it’s easier to do that first.” 

He bends down and narrows his sights at the ribbon as he weaves it around and expertly loops it into itself. The bow is just as perfect as the first. You hold back another grimace. 

“Um... okay.” 

“You do one,” he dusts of his hands. “Come on, you can do it.” 

You look at the table, then him, and back to the table. You slowly drag over and empty jar. You add a little soil, like he did, then choose some marigolds. You do your best to pack down the dirt; not to tight. You focus on the work, trying not to think too much about him watching you. 

You get to the last part. The ribbon. You fumble it then manage to get it around the short neck. You struggle to loop it and when you finally do get it to catch, the bow is lopsided and twisted. You step back and throw your hands up. 

“I... I can’t--” 

“It’s okay. It takes practice,” he assures you. “You can try again.” 

You shake your head. 

“I can’t.” 

“It’s really not a big deal.” 

“Can you do it? I can plant them and... you could do the bows.” 

He gives a thoughtful hum, “that works for me.” 

You move closer to the table. You take another jar. He bends to fix the ribbon you contorted. The simple task of rehoming the flowers is easy. It makes being here a little less jarring. 

You hand off the second jar and start a third. The swear streams on your neck and the bandana dampens with your scalp. The humidity inside the greenhouse is made worse by that without. 

You keep a tempo. You pass on the jars, he decorates them with a ribbon and a tag. You wonder how he does all this by himself.  

He backs up and you glance over curiously. He unbuttons his flannel shirt and strips it off. The white tank clings to his sweaty skin. You can almost see the fabric. You avert your gaze, trying not to notice how your own tee shirt sticks.  

He comes back to the table. Your eyes stray again. This time you notice his bicep and how thick it is. He must be strong. Very strong. 

Thinking about it, your hands begin to shake. The thought is not only scary but forbidden. You shouldn’t think about what he looks like. 

A jar slips from your grasp towards the edge of the table. You try to save it but can’t, too flustered to do more but help it in its ruin. It smashes on the ground before your feet and the dirt and petals explode across the floor. 

You back up and bring your hands to your mouth. They smell like soil and pollen. You bat your lashes as Cole straightens and looks at you. You whimper. 

“I’m so sorry. So so sorry.” 

“Hey, it’s okay, sweetie. Are you--” 

“No, I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” you babble and push your shoulders up as you tuck your chin down. You put out a hand. “I didn’t mean to break it. Please.” 

“Woah, it’s alright. I’m not mad.” He says. 

You suck in a breath and let it out with a shudder. Your eyes sting but you keep the tears inside. You put your hands to your cheeks. Your heartbeat pounds behind your ears. 

“You’re-- not?” You ask. 

“No,” he half-laughs. “Accidents happen. Oh gosh, you know how many of these things I’ve broken?” 

He bends and picks up the bigger shards. “You should back up though. I don’t want you getting cut, okay?” 

“No, I can help,” you squat down and grab for the glass. The slice makes you hiss and recoil. 

“Hey,” Cole says again. “Oh my god,” he drops the glass carefully cradled in his hands. “Oh no, you’re cut.” 

You look down at your hand. There’s a gash across your palm. Your brain buzzes and your skin tingle. You’re no stranger to the sight of blood. Not your own, at least. 

He grabs your hand and reaches for his shirt. He wraps it around to stymie the flow as you whine. He’s touching you. He’s touching you and it hurts. But it’s not his fault. You cut yourself. 

“Ow,” you gasp as he squeezes. 

“I’m sorry,” he tugs you away from the table. “It’s pretty bad. We gotta get it cleaned up.” 

“Oh, uh... oh.” You sputter dumbly, dizzy as muffled voices nip in your head. 

“Are you squeamish? You gonna faint?” He asks with concern as he reaches the door and feels behind him for the handle. 

“N-no,” you wisp. 

He drags you outside and turns you toward the house. He keeps a hold of your hand and his other arm hooks over your shoulders. He marches you up toward the farmhouse. Your legs are stiff and your steps heavy. 

You blink and suddenly your inside. Your vision speckles and clears. It’s like you just lost minutes. You watch him lift the wadded dishtowel and check your hand. 

“Nothing I can’t fix,” he says. “But I’m a bit iffy with blood myself. Still, watched Ma fix me up a few times.” 

“Cole,” you garble. “I’m very sorry.” 

“Please, stop. Don't be sorry.” He says and takes your other hand. “I need you to keep pressure on this while I get the first aid kit.” He clings to you, squeezing until you do the same. “Can you do that for me?” 

You nod. He huffs. 

“Alright, I’ll be right back, alright?” 

He grips your shoulders and you flinch. You just dip your chin down again and again. Your hand barely hurts as the sensation of his touch singes across your skin. The fire spreads and consumes you even as he lets go. 

You lower your head and sink on the stool. You already messed this up. Aunt Bev is going to be so mad. Is she finally going to see what you really are? 

[when-all-the-world-is-asleep]

“Just another slut.” 

Yeah, Thor and Loki both remain my least favorites in this particular AU. They've got a little bit of power here and it went right to their stupid heads. She only took you because you forced yourself on her, you stupid ape!

The Detour 8

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

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

Characters: Thor

Summary: You find yourself stranded in a small village.

Part of the Backwoods AU

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

The world is kept obscure by the sleep mask. You squirm and growl as large hands keep your wrists pinned to the bed. The mattress bounces as Thor rolls his hips. You can feel him bobbing above you. Is he naked? 

"Get off!" 

"Shhhh, I'm merely here to help you relax. You are much too wound tight for a vacation," he growls. "Mmm, tight, I'm certain." 

"Disgusting. Get the... Get off--" 

"Trying," he snickers and pulls your hands away from the bed.  

You struggle with him but he's much too strong. As you're trapped under him, his size is made even more obvious. He puts your hand against his rigid erection and forces your fingers around it. You growl and squeeze until he yelps. 

"Ah! You minx!" He rips your hands away and chortles again. You might be buzzed but he's drunk.  

"You heathen. Get away--" 

He pulls your hands above your head and locks them in one of his. With his other, he covers your mouth. He hushes you again as he bends over you. The stink of alcohol roils off of him. You try to turn your face away. 

"Since I saw you, I knew this is what you need," he snarls and nuzzles your nose. "A woman neglected is bound to be as tight as a screw," 

You try to bite his palm but can't. You wriggle and yank at your arms. There's no give. Your effort only serves to make you feel even weaker. 

"Mmm, but you keep yourself well," he shifts, the bed with him."You wouldn't do so if you didn't want some one to admire you." 

You gurgle into his hand as he smothers your protests. You want to scream, not just from terror, but frustration; revolt. He is nothing but a cretin with an overinflated ego. 

He slips his hand down and grips your throat. You turn your head, trying to deter him. It’s futile. You are swathed in doom and denial. You know what’s happening yet you don’t want to accept it. 

He leans on your neck as he releases your hands. You latch onto his forearm and twist your hands around, trying to chafe him. His fingers only curl tighter and you croak. You kick your feet as your head throbs. 

You slap his bicep and gnash your teeth. You sink your nails into his muscle. These backwoods scoundrels are nothing but animals. 

He lifts himself and pushes his knee between both of yours. You writhe and drag your manicure down his arm. He grunts and jerks you so the bed bounces below you. He puts his other leg down and tugs up your nightgown. 

“Mm,” he pets your thigh, “look at that.” He traces along your trimmed hair. “Nice and ready for me.” 

You twitch helplessly. He turns his hand and pushes his fingers between your folds. He strokes up then down, tracing your entrance with his fingertips. You force a breath out past his unbreakable grip. 

He tickles your thigh and you spasm again. He chuckles. “You city women... you all want the same thing. You think you’re the first I’ve had?” He taunts. 

You snarl and reach up, clawing at him but unable to reach more than his chest. You scratch him and yet, he is too drunk and intent to relent. He frames your cunt with his long fingers. 

“The way I’m going to break you,” he growls. “You won’t be strutting out of here in those heels.” He jostles you as he moves closer. His legs splay yours wide and you cough, sucking in air through your crushed throat. 

He pulls his hand back and guides his tip along your flesh. He delves between your lips, rubbing himself there, pressing against your entrance. He chuckles as you grunt. 

“Oh, I want to hear you.” 

He lets go of your throat and braces your shoulders instead. He holds you down and bows his head to watch himself impale you. Your insides threaten to split around him as he rams in without patience. 

Your snarl peaks to a shriek as your walls set alight. He rumbles and slides back, snapping his hips and forcing another howl from you. You slap his stomach and sneer. 

“Bastard,” you hiss 

He chuckles as he keeps going. He moves his hand to your chest, keeping you pinned, and his other tugs down the straps of your nightgown. He fondles your tits as he tilts into you, pulling back until only his tip touches you, only to slam until your body lurches. 

You reach up and press your hand to the headboard to keep from hitting it. Your lashes catch against the sleep mask. You arch your back as your spin thrums with each thrust. 

“Mm, I was right about you,” he rasps. “You are tight.” 

“You... are... repuls---sive.” you shudder and swipe your hand blindly at him. 

“And yet you take me so well,” he bends over you, his stomach flush to yours as he swathes his body over yours. 

He moves only his hips as he continues to fuck you. His breath clouds against your neck and he grunts and groans. The bed shakes as his tempo builds. You touch his sides and grit your teeth. 

His voice grows louder and you feel the tension in him. Your mouth is salty with bile, your skin crawling. You tense in realisation. 

“Don’t you--” 

“Ahh, ah,” he bends his arm and stretches his hand over your forehead, holding you in place and as he slams into you. “I-- I—I--” 

He quakes and wet heat explodes inside of you. The slickness of his fucking echoes around you and you try to flatten yourself into the mattress. You could evaporate into oblivion. 

“You--” you choke. 

He shudders and slows, little by little, fucking until you feel him trickling out. You bare your teeth. 

“I couldn’t help myself,” he murmurs as he makes no move to get off of you. “You’ve milked me dry.” 

“You are atrocious.” 

“Mmm, and yet you took me so well,” he snickers. “Just another slut.” 

[when-all-the-world-is-asleep]

Well, I don't feel sorry for Clark--he was going to sexually assault the reader, so he deserved to get his shit fucked up. Of course, my heart is breaking for our sweet girl... she's going through so much and because she's vulnerable, she's more likely to accept his attention. Which annoys me because that'll make Bucky happy!

Also while I do not trust any of them, I do find it cute that Thor is protective of us. It's always good to see "friendships" (since he supports Bucky being a weirdo!) alongside romance.

Hold You Tight: Part 23

Pairing: Club Owner!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Fic Summary: The owner of The 107th wants you to be his girl whether you like it or not.

Part 22 | Series Masterlist | Part 24

Chapter Word Count: Over 5.8k

Chapter Summary: Bucky wants answers from Clark.

Chapter Warnings: Heavy violence, torture, blood, talk of assault, threats, obsession, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?), Bucky's POV, more warnings to come.

A/N: More Hold You Tight. Thank you again for sticking with me, and this is our first chapter from Bucky's POV! This is a heavy chapter, so proceed with caution. Bucky edit by the beautiful @nixakimbo . ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @whisperlullaby but any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @firefly-in-darkness . Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky Barnes wasn't a good man. He figured that out a long time ago. He believed he had good qualities deep down thanks to his mom, but they didn't surface a lot in his line of work or way of life. They couldn’t, otherwise he would’ve been eaten alive. So he took a page out of his dad’s book, as much as he would never admit it, and made sure he was on top in his world. He thrived as a king, even though he had no queen to share his life with.

Until you came along.

He sighed, gazing at a photo of you on his phone. He brushed his finger along the screen, his heart aching from how beautiful you were. Loving you should've been a weakness, but it made him feel invincible. You were so wonderfully different from the people he surrounded himself with- unafraid to call him out on his bullshit, leading with kindness, and too pure for the world he lived in. He knew that, but he was too selfish to let you go because you brought light back into his life.

He had to be careful not to snuff it out.

“Buck?” Steve asked.

Bucky stared at your photo for a few seconds longer. “Hmm?”

“You ready?”

Looking down the hall at his office door, his heart clenched. He logically knew you were safe and sound with Natasha, but he wanted to rush back to you and not let you out of his sight. He wanted to hold you, comfort you, let you know that-

“Buck?” Steve gently asked.

Turning away, he shook his head. He’d have you back in his arms soon enough, and he had business to take care of. “Yeah.” He smirked and tucked his phone away. “I think we let our guest squirm long enough.”

His blood boiled with each step he took, anger etched in his features as he descended to the club basement. It was an area that only select staff and men had access to, the ones he had introduced you to. He’d never bring you down there. You’d already have enough nightmares thanks to everything that had happened and he didn’t want to give you one more.

The men scattered around the room stood silently as he made it to the last step. The tension was thick enough to choke on, most of them likely wondering who Clark was and why he was worth the trouble of shutting down the club for the night. No one asked though. No one breathed a word.

“Gentlemen,” he smiled, his eyes sweeping across the room. “Before I introduce the guest of honor for the evening, I’m sure I don’t have to remind you that whatever happens down here stays down here.”

He shrugged his jacket off as he noted a few nods and grunts of acknowledgement. Trust wasn’t easy. Neither was loyalty. He had no reason to doubt anyone in this room though, and there was no reason to threaten any of them.

“Good. Hal, would you mind pouring me a drink?” he asked as if he had all the time in the world. He hadn’t acknowledged Clark yet who was tied to a chair in the middle of the room. “Jake?”

“Y-Yeah. I’m here,” he said, taking a step forward.

Bucky had to smile. Curtis and Ari stood beside Jake, almost like they were protecting him, but he didn’t need protection. Jake was strong in his own right, and one of the smartest men he knew. He was a valuable asset, even if he didn’t always agree with his methods.

“You get that file I asked about?” Bucky took the glass from Hal while Jake nodded quickly. “Why don’t you tell everyone about him before we bring him out here?”

Jake pushed his glasses up. “M… Me?”

“Yeah, you,” he answered, casually sipping his whiskey.

“Sure.” The former military Captain retrieved a small tablet from his bag and swiped a few times. “The guy tied up in the closet is Kal, renamed Clark Joseph Kent after he was adopted by Jonathan and Martha Kent. Only child, and grew up on a farm in Kansas. Been in and out of therapy for anger management.” That may have explained part of why he snapped. “He moved to Metropolis years ago and worked for The Daily Planet. Moved here over a year ago to work for The Tribune.”

Thor chuckled, taking a sip from his own tumbler. “What is this? Did Kent try to write a scathing article about you? I thought everyone at The Tribune was on our payroll.”

Bucky understood why Thor thought that. Just about everyone in the room had done something worthy of attracting the wrong sort of attention, which they always made sure got buried. “Not this one, and we’ll get to why he’s here,” Bucky said, motioning for Jake to continue.

Jake cleared his throat. “He was recently discussing moving to Gotham to work for The Gotham Gazette. Bruce Wayne even wrote him a letter of recommendation before he was hired.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. Everyone knew who Bruce Wayne was. Rich, brilliant, basically Tony Stark without the ego. Clark wasn’t kidding when he said he had a powerful friend, but he had been leaning toward Zemo being that friend.

Was Clark planning to drag you to Gotham? The thought of another man trying to take you out of the city made him want to commit violence. And he would soon enough.

“Did you find anything on a woman named Lois?” Bucky asked. You told Bucky that he had recently split with his girlfriend, and you also asked to find out what happened to her. If anyone could find out anything, Jake could, and Bucky didn’t want to let you down.

Jake swiped twice. “Yeah. Lois Lane. Moved here with Clark and also a journalist, but she wasn’t working for The Tribune and she stopped going to work about a month ago. Emailed her resignation notice to her boss. Didn’t even go in to get her stuff.” He looked around the room. “I don’t… I don’t think anyone has really seen her.”

Bucky’s stomach sank a bit. He didn’t know Lois, but he knew it would break your heart if something happened to her. “You still in contact with Pooch and Cougar?” Jake nodded. The men weren't necessarily on his payroll, but they were loyal to Jake. “Send them to Clark’s place. Find out anything you can, and find her.”

“As fascinating as this all sounds, what does this have to do with any of us?” Nick asked, looking as bored as he sounded.

“Well, Clark has also been spotted talking with Helmut Zemo,” Jake said, his face a bit pale under Bucky���s stare. “But I don’t know why. I’m sorry.”

Bucky took another sip. So, Clark had been speaking with Zemo. And Zemo was either smart enough not to leave a paper trail, or he spoke with Clark in areas where Jake couldn’t hack nearby cameras. No matter. He’d find out why soon enough. “Good work, Jake.”

“You shut down the club and brought us down here for a guy who was spotted speaking with Zemo? That doesn’t make any sense,” Sam said.

“No, it doesn’t.” Bucky made sure to look at every single one of them before he stated, “The reason he’s here is because he put his hands on my Kotyonok, and you know what that means.”

Bucky briefly closed his eyes, your screams still echoing in his mind. He wasn’t a man who scared easily, but what happened tonight scared him. He could’ve lost you, and you could’ve lost a part of yourself if they had been minutes later. The worst part was that he hadn’t seen it coming, not completely. He knew what to expect from certain players and had to protect you, but he hadn’t anticipated someone like Clark. Someone who wasn’t in the normal circle of enemies.

It nearly cost him, and he would make him pay.

The atmosphere shifted immediately, and Steve had to pull Thor back when he took a step forward. “Unhand me, Rogers,” he gritted.

“She’s not your woman,” Steve reminded him, not letting him go just yet. “And since she isn’t your woman, you don’t get to decide who gets first blood.”

Thor took a deep breath. “My apologies, Barnes.”

“Nothing to apologize for. I appreciate that you’re protective of my girl,” he said sincerely. You needed protection, even if you didn’t want it from them. “Ari, Jax, put him in the middle of the room. I want to talk before we punish him.”

As much as he wanted to make Clark hurt, he did need some answers first.

Jax and Ari didn’t have to be told twice, dragging a tied up Clark out of the dark closet. He had a bag covering his head, but there were no marks or wounds, save for the ones he received in your apartment. His shoes and socks had been removed, too, and his blood would stain the tarp beneath him soon enough.

Nodding to the men, they shoved Clark unceremoniously to the floor before Jax pulled the bag off. Clark’s face was screwed up in fury, his blue eyes blazing as they darted around the room, but his words were muffled by the gag. Part of Bucky hoped he fought. It would make things more interesting.

Looking at the prick in front of him, he told himself that this was all for you. All for the woman who occupied his every waking thought. It didn't matter what he looked at or who was speaking to him, his mind found a way to tie anything and everything back to you. And it wasn't just his mind. Oh, no. Sight, touch, hearing, taste, smell, you ensnared his senses.

Nothing and no one had control over Bucky Barnes except for you.

“Kal or Clark or whatever the fuck your name is, welcome to the basement of The 107th!” Bucky smiled, deliberately slow clapping. “Do you like it? Soundproof walls so your screams aren’t heard upstairs and a tarp underneath you so you don’t get blood on my floor.”

Clark paled slightly, but it didn’t lessen the anger in his eyes.

“Now before my men and I have some fun with you, and it will be fun for us, I have a few questions to ask,” he explained, giving him a dark smile and pushing a button on the far right wall. It opened up to reveal a range of weapons, each one more deadly than the last. “If you don’t answer or if I think you’re lying, I’ll start by cutting off a toe. Is that understood?”

He motioned for Ari to remove the gag. “Go fuck yourself,” Clark growled.

Bucky sighed and ran his finger along some of the weapons. “So many options. What should I choose first?”

“The blowtorch could be fun,” Nick smirked when Clark squirmed. “Though the smell of burning flesh isn't.”

“You could start with the pliers.” Thor elbowed Sam with a chuckle. “Though I prefer a hammer.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Yes, Thor, we all know how much you love using hammers to hurt people.”

“You're really going to skip your signature weapon?” Steve asked. The men all knew how fond he was of knives.

Bucky hummed and picked a sharp and sleek blade after careful consideration. “Curtis, since you were the one who got to my girl’s apartment first, I think it’s only fair that you get the first punch.”

Curtis didn’t hesitate to march forward and grab Clark by the hair. The fury in Clark’s eyes paled in comparison to Curtis’s. “You would’ve raped her if we hadn’t gotten there in time, you piece of shit,” he snarled, his fist connecting with Clark’s mouth.

“He what?!” Thor shouted. Steve and Sam both had to hold him back this time.

Bucky felt the same surge of anger. He pushed your limits, but he wouldn’t force himself on you. He wasn’t that kind of monster.

“Stand down, Thor. You’ll get your hits in,” he promised, needing to keep himself in check so he didn’t just outright kill Clark. “First question- Why did you go after my girl?”

To go after you was to go after him, and he took it personally.

Clark spit blood on the tarp. “Your girl? You mean the girl you forced to be by your side?” he laughed, grating on Bucky’s nerves. “Oh, I know all about that. She’s a kind and good person, so you either forced her to be with you or lied to her since she wouldn’t be yours willingly if she knew who you were.”

His nostrils flared. He wanted to believe you were with him because you wanted to be his girl, but he knew the truth. If he hadn’t forced your hand… “Hold him,” he ordered, stepping forward with the knife.

Clark struggled in Ari and Jax’s hold. “I went after her because I wanted her, okay? She’s nice and she needed me to save her from you!” he shouted, his eyes wide when Bucky gripped his ankle. “I answered your question!”

“Save her? Were you planning on taking her to Gotham?” he asked, the blade nicking his big toe.

Clark hissed. “Yes! She’s a florist, she can do that anywhere.”

“If you knew my girl the way I do, you’d know this place is her home and she wouldn’t want to go to Gotham,” he said. Gotham would never be your home. Nowhere else would.

“She would’ve accepted it eventually because needs me.” No, you didn’t. “He said so.”

“Who?” he pressed. “Who said so?”

Clark hesitated before the blade dug in again. “Helmut Zemo!”

Bucky froze. “Why would Zemo tell you that, and how do you know him?” He didn’t want to believe Zemo was stupid enough to set this up, but he’d fight if he wanted a war.

“He approached me, okay? Said he knew I stopped into the flower shop to see her, and alluded to the fact that a dangerous man recently trapped her into a relationship.” Bucky’s jaw clenched. “He said if she stayed with you it would ruin her, but someone like me could be a hero and help her.”

Clark was no hero. “Do you work for him?” Bucky asked. Was he on his payroll?

“No. Zemo and I talked some more, but I don’t work for him. I’m just a journalist.”

Bucky scoffed, but he believed him. Zemo could stir the pot when he wanted to and feed into anyone’s ego. He knew just what to say to Clark to light a fire under him. “But he told you to help her, and how did you do that? You stalked, scared, and attacked her.” He pointed the blade at Clark’s face, wanting to slice his skin off and carve out his eyes. The irony also wasn’t lost on him that he had stalked and scared you, he was more than aware of that. “You’re a monster.”

“No, I’m not,” Clark said through his teeth.

“Yes, you are because you pretend that you’re a nice guy, but you’re a piece of shit just like the rest of us. You said you wanted to help her, but it was all about you. And you couldn’t accept the fact that she rejected you and your help, and you snapped,” he said. He was a wolf in sheep’s clothing, and Zemo encouraged him to go after you. He wanted to gut him for that. “Were you planning to get her out of the city tonight?”

“Yes. We knew she was going to the winery and I thought it was the perfect opportunity, but I also thought she would’ve been a bit more… docile when she came back.” Clark shifted uncomfortably. “I told the driver to slip something in her drink if he had to, but he either didn’t or she didn’t drink it because she was too alert.”

Bucky’s fingers twitched, but he didn’t hit him. You had asked about your poor friends, and your suspicions seemed to be correct. He was thankful you weren’t drugged, otherwise tonight would’ve been much worse. “The driver, did you pay him? Promise him anything?”

“That was all Zemo. I’m not made of money,” Clark answered easily.

It made sense. Zemo paid the driver to take off, which gave Clark the opportunity to ambush you. Steve would have to hold Bucky back when he got his hands on Zemo. “Where’s he now?” he asked Nick. He wanted the driver brought to the club.

Nick nodded to another door. “Second closet. Nice and cozy.”

“I’ll be sure he knows you sold him out before I put a bullet between his eyes,” he promised Clark. Anyone who couldn’t stay loyal had no business breathing. Anyone who set you up to get hurt or worse didn't have a place in his world.

A bitter laugh came out. “I guess killing’s easy for a guy who murdered his own flesh and blood.”

“My own flesh and blood?” he asked, holding up a hand when Steve stepped forward. “No, no. I want to hear what he has to say.”

“Your dad. You murdered him. Hid your tracks pretty well, but I know what you did,” Clark smirked, but Bucky didn’t flinch. What happened to you scared him, but this prick didn’t scare him in the least. “I have quite a few articles ready to go about you, your dad, and some of your other indiscretions. You may be rich and powerful, but you can't buy off everyone.”

Bucky laughed this time. Stories never made it to the pages, his men made sure of that. “Yeah. I killed my father. So what?” he said nonchalantly. “I did the world a favor by getting rid of that piece of shit.”

He should've killed his dad a long time ago for what he did to his mom. And if your parents ever hurt you again, he wouldn't hesitate to ruin their lives. It was the least he could do for you.

That was how much he loved you.

Fear flashed across Clark’s face at his indifference. If it was so easy for him to kill a member of his family, it wouldn’t be any skin off his back to kill anyone else. “You-”

“And your plan was to��� what? Get my girl out of the city, and you’d release articles about me? The Tribune works for me, and you know they’d never release them, which you probably hate.” He tilted his head. “But The Gotham Gazette doesn’t work for me.”

Clark’s mouth fell open. “How the hell did-”

“This is starting to make a little more sense,” he said, twirling the knife in his hand as he smiled at Steve. “He gets my girl to Gotham where he thinks I have no jurisdiction since it’s Bruce Wayne’s territory and he’s a friend of his. But to make sure I really don’t step foot in the city, he releases articles about me claiming that I killed my dad along with some other indiscretions that’ll spread like wildfire so that I’m either arrested or confined to my city. Makes sense, doesn't it?”

“Yeah, it does,” Steve replied, crossing his arms.

“Is that right? Am I on the right track?” he asked Clark, who squared his shoulders and didn’t answer. Losing his patience, he made good on his word and brought the knife down on his big toe. The scream of pain only fueled his fire.

Clark screamed and made the mistake of looking at his foot, quickly turning his head away to dry heave. Bucky hoped he got sick. Hoped he choked on it. “You son of a bitch!” he yelled.

“Son of a bitch? My mother was a fucking saint. My girl saved her, and what did you do to my girl?! You put your hands on her. You hurt her!” he roared and brought the knife down again, blood splattering on the tarp. None of the men looked phased by his anger or the violence. “Everyone I’ve killed was a monster and I’m glad they’re dead, but what’s your excuse, huh? Why did you kill Lois? Did she see you for what you really are?”

Clark tried to breathe evenly through the pain. “I didn’t… I didn’t kill her! I just wanted to teach her a lesson for trying to leave me,” he replied. What the hell was wrong with this man? He hoped Pooch and Cougar got some answers. “Same with ‘your’ girl. If she had just grabbed that coffee with me, I could’ve explained, but she just had to fight.”

Bucky was proud that you fought and called out to him for help when you needed it. And he knew you would’ve never gone with Clark if he told you the truth, not even for a chance to escape him. “You know, I almost want to thank you.”

“What?” Clark’s brows pinched.

“I dreamt of so many ways to bring her closer to me, and thanks to you she’s in my home where she belongs even sooner than I planned. You handed her to me on a silver platter, and we’re going to be so happy together,” he smiled.

In the beginning, Bucky debated staging something where he got to be your hero, but he ultimately decided against it. There were too many elements that would’ve been out of his control. Not to mention, the thought of another man putting their hands on you made him see red, and it would’ve frightened you.

He still chose to frighten you instead of courting you correctly. Deep down he knew if he had approached you like a normal person that there would be a chance you’d decide to leave him when you realized what kind of man he was. He couldn’t have that, so he deliberately scared you. Power and control was what worked in his world, and trapping you with fear and subtle threats against loved ones made you join his side.

Now that you were in his home where you belonged, it would be a reset of sorts. He’d pick up the pieces that Clark and Zemo broke, as well as the damage he’d done himself. He’d also have to earn your love and keep it. He would because he was a determined man and there was no one else for him.

“You really are a sick-”

“I get why you wanted her, I really do,” Bucky continued. You were an angel on earth, a woman who could disarm the strongest man with a mere smile, beautiful with a loving heart, someone who deserved the entire world. “And you see, I scare her, I know I do, but you?” He pointed the knife at him again. “Your actions terrified her, and you pushed her right to me. She doesn’t want to see you ever again. She doesn’t even want to remember that you exist.”

Clark’s shoulders slumped. Was he losing his will to fight? “Just let her go. Let me go, and I'll make sure the stories stay buried.”

“You think you're in any sort of position to threaten me?” he asked. Clark was nothing, and he could see Jake out of the corner of his eye working his magic. Wherever those pending articles were, he’d find them and get rid of them for good. “And I’m never letting her go. She’s mine.”

Clark’s lip raised in a snarl. “I think that if the public were to get wind of your escapades, ‘your girl’ would be even less safe than she already is,” he said. Bucky didn’t want to agree with that because he did want you safe. “You don't want that, do you?”

“And now you're threatening my woman? Knowing that releasing those articles could potentially put her in danger?” Maybe he should cut his tongue out. “You may know things about me, but you must really not have done your research if you think I’d let you bring her harm again.”

“I've done more than enough research! Your dad isn't the only man you've killed, you said it yourself, and those victims have friends and family who would love to hurt your loved ones in return,” he snapped, starting to sweat. “You can't keep her safe forever.”

“You hurt her. You threw her to the ground and put his fucking hand around her throat,” he growled. Zemo may have fueled the flames for Clark, but something still wasn’t quite right. “At any point when Zemo spoke with you, did he tell you to put a hand on her or tell you why he hates me?”

Zemo hated Bucky because of what happened to his wife and son, though Bucky hadn’t been the one to kill them or order their deaths. If he gave Clark an order to physically harm you, it would be his death sentence because that was a line no one could come back from. He knew that. Was he that eager to die?

“No. He never said why he hated you and he didn’t tell me to hurt her,” he admitted, with regret on his face for the first time that evening. “In fact, he told me I should be very careful with her because she was innocent and important to you.”

Bucky stared into his eyes. The fucker was actually telling the truth. Jake mentioned he had been in and out of therapy for anger management. Your rejection must’ve overridden Zemo’s warning in his head. Zemo still had a price to pay though. But how?

“She isn’t just important to me. She’s my whole world.” Bucky’s metal hand curled, having to stop himself from stabbing the fucker in the heart. “And you almost took her from me,” he growled.

“I didn’t want to hurt her,” Clark whispered, but he did and he couldn’t take it back.

Clark's words infuriated Bucky, his fist connecting with his jaw. He wanted him to suffer until his dying breath for what he did to you. He wanted to send a message to Zemo and anyone else who thought they could harm what was his and get away with it. “Gentlemen, I want you to pay close attention to this audio,” he announced, pushing himself to his feet and pulling out his phone. “There will be a quiz after,” he added sarcastically.

Clark winced when your scream rang out from the device. “Bucky, help! Help me, please!”

It took everything in Bucky not to crush his phone as the audio continued, bile rising to his throat. Hearing your raw fear, being attacked in a place that you made your own, was something that would haunt him until his dying breath. And as he looked around the room, carefully taking in the furious and shocked expressions of his men, he knew they were thinking of their own partners or future spouses and how they’d react if someone did to them what Clark dared to do to you.

The only sound in the room when the audio stopped was Clark’s heavy breathing. He was the pig presented for slaughter, and he knew it. Good.

“How many times did Kotyonok say my name?” Bucky asked his men, his voice calmer than he expected.

“Three times, boss,” Raymond answered right away.

Bucky snapped his fingers. “That’s right, Ray. Three times. So, Clark, I’ll be taking three of your fingers as payment.” Clark thrashed, but his strength was no match compared to Jax and Ari. “And I’ll make sure every bone in your other hand is shattered since you tried to choke her.”

“Y-You-”

“We should castrate you, too, because I agree with Curtis. You would've raped her if we hadn't shown up in time.” He stomped hard on Clark's crotch, and smirked when all that came out was a breathless scream. The thought of another man inside you was enough to piss him off, but someone trying to take you by force? He wouldn't let that go. “We’ll cut your pathetic dick off, too.”

“No!” Clark wheezed, his eyes almost bulging out of his head. It was impressive that he could still talk. “You can’t do that!”

Bucky’s chilling laughter echoed in the room. “I’m James Buchanan Barnes and this is my city, so I can do whatever the fuck I want,” he boasted. Clark couldn’t touch him or escape. “And you fucked with my woman, so I’m going to torture you and enjoy every second of it.”

“You can’t-”

“I won’t kill you tonight, no, but I’m going to make you suffer before I kill you. I’m going to make you suffer for hurting my girl, for making her cry, for breaking the trinkets in her apartment, everything.” He ignored Clark’s shouts and pointed at Steve. “As my best friend and one of the guys who helped tonight, you get the next hit once I cut his fingers off, followed by Raymond.” He heard Thor huff from where he stood. “Followed by Thor.”

“I want to be the one to break his hand,” Thor said before he smirked. “With my hammer.”

“Done.” Bucky gestured to the rest of the men. “You can decide the order after that, but don't kill him. I want him to beg for death by the time we’re done with him.”

And it didn't matter if Clark begged for his life because he’d never leave this basement alive.

“You don’t deserve her!” Clark spat.

Bucky’s heart twisted when he pictured your face, how you flinched at this touch, your tears from everything you went through since he came into your life. “No, I don’t,” he agreed. At least, he didn’t deserve you yet. He had a lot of making up to do when it came to you, but he had all the time in the world since he wasn’t letting you go. You possessed him body, mind, heart, and soul, and he would weave the strings of fate as tight as he could to keep you. “But neither do you.”

His hand shot out and wrapped around Clark’s throat. “Stop,” he gasped, unable to move with Ari and Jax holding him firm.

“You didn't stop, and I can't forgive that. No amount of begging, money, anything will spare you. And when I go home tonight, I’ll wipe away her tears, and kiss her sweet lips, and I’ll slowly put her back together and make good on that promise that she’ll forget you existed,” he smiled, squeezing harder. “I hope when you take your last breath that you imagine her calling out my name, and you die knowing that she’s going to live a long and happy life by my side as my wife.”

Something inside of Bucky shut down when he released his throat and cut off the first finger, feeling numb to the cries of pain as Clark tried to yank his hand away. He hadn't felt a thing when he killed his dad, and he refused to feel remorse for Clark’s suffering. His fingers brought you harm, so he was more than happy to get rid of them.

He glanced at his men by the time he finished removing the third. Steve and Thor saw you as a sister, someone to care for. Ray had a soft spot for you whether he would admit it or not. Jax and Hal harmlessly flirted with you. Nick took any slight against a friend's partner as a slight against himself. The rest of the men knew what you meant to him.

And he wanted them to destroy anything that brought you pain.

“He touched what belongs to me. Hurt him for hurting her,” he ordered, his voice devoid of any emotion as he let them go to work.

Steve kicked Clark square in the face, his nose crunching under the heavy force. Bucky didn't smile, didn't blink. Every drop of blood, every scream, every punch and kick and blow was justified. Thor was right when he said you were the queen of The 107th, and he and his men protected and defended their queen. And none of them showed Clark any mercy.

This is all for you, Kotyonok.

Clark’s cries and screams diminished to whimpers and ragged breaths. His handsome face was hardly recognizable anymore, and he was somehow still conscious. That made Bucky happy. He hoped he felt every ounce of pain.

“Pooch and Cougar may have found Lois! She isn't in good shape, but she’s alive!” Jake called out. He was the only one who hadn't gotten a hit on Clark, but that was okay. He was doing what he had to do. “And those stories won't get released. I made sure of it.”

Bucky didn't react. Instead, he stared at the blood soaking the tarp and thought about buying you flowers. With petals as soft as your skin that smelled just as sweet. That would put a smile on your face, right? He just wanted to make you smile.

And he wanted you to wear his mother's ring. Not the gaudy ring his dad gave her. No, you’d wear his mom's family ring, a timeless and beautiful heirloom passed down from generation to generation. And he’d make love to you after he proposed. He’d make sure you knew how much he loved you.

“Buck?” Steve asked when he didn't say anything to Jake. “Do you want Clark put back in the closet?”

“String him up. Keep it warm enough down here so he doesn't freeze. I’ll decide when he dies.” Bucky’s eyes were still cold when he looked at his best friend. “If Lois really is alive, we’ll make sure she gets the best medical treatment and assure her that Clark will never go near her again.”

That's what you would want for Lois because you were a good person.

“The driver?” Steve asked, nodding to another door.

“I’ll deal with him later.”

Steve nodded. “And what about Zemo?”

“We find him and make him talk,” he said. They couldn't kill him without causing ripples throughout the city, so they had to tread carefully.

“No need to look far, boss,” Ray said, pushing his glasses up. “Yelena followed him and he’s just outside of the club. He hasn't left his vehicle.”

Bucky exchanged a look with Steve before he took a gun from the wall. He couldn't kill Zemo, but he’d defend himself if he had to. “Let’s invite him in and give him a proper welcome.”

Fury filled him all over again knowing you were upstairs, but he wouldn’t let Zemo get to you. He wouldn’t let you down this time. And when he was done dealing with that problem, he’d bring you home, hold you tight, and whisper in your ear how much he loved you when you fell asleep.

Because you were his happy ending, and no one would take that away from him.

Whew! You still with me lovelies? How will the talk with Zemo go? How long before Bucky kills Clark? And I have to say, as fun as Bucky's POV was, I miss Kotyonok! Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

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