⚠Content Warning⚠ This blog contains dark adult content, including noncon. Do not read or interact unless you are 18+ — I'm Lark, 27. Avid fanfiction reader and prospective writer. Mostly Marvel. Elusive but always lurking. Very shy, but I promise I'm nice, so message me anytime.
Your vacation with your friends at a Swiss chalet is disrupted by your fateful encounter with two strangers.
CW: This is a dark fic and may contain elements such as non-con, dub-con and other disturbing elements down the line.
Series Masterlist || Stucky Masterlist
You let your fingers roam over the frosty glass, drawing mindless patterns. Your gaze wanders outside the windows. White mountains blur in the distance, their peaks kissing the cloudline. Trees heavy with snow line the path to the little Swiss village sprawled below.
It’s like a postcard.
You never imagined you’d ever find yourself in a place like this. You grew up poor, with few means. You never traveled. You’ve only ever known your small town, then the state college you picked for convenience. This is surreal.
And it wouldn’t be possible without your friend’s father being close friends with the owner of the hotel. You blow a breath that hazes the peaceful scenery behind the glass.
You can’t imagine what that is like, getting a free stay in a foreign country thanks to knowing the right people. That isn’t and will never be your life.
An elated purr nearby tugs your focus.
"Whew, I really needed that. This semester kicked my ass," Sabri chirps as she lets herself fall backwards on the queen sized bed she claimed on arrival. The mattress bounces with her weight. She stretches and closes her eyes in relief.
"And then rush week struck the final blow," Ashley adds, eyes rising from her phone.
Sabri lifts her head and beams at Ashley.
"Yes but at least we both got in."
They giggle and high five.
You remain silent, giving a taut smile. You also partook in rush week but got rejected. Sabri and Ashley tried to cheer you up then.
You can never truly know why.
They are beyond selective.
It’s silly.
You know better. Your unbelonging stood out amongst the other girls. Ashley was born to this, a legacy. Sabri could pretend her way in; she can fit in anywhere.
You…were simply out of place. As you are everywhere. Always on the outside looking in.
Ashley joins you on your bed, her features downturned in an apologetic frown. The fact they can’t bask in their success because of you saddens you. You’re a killjoy, as usual.
"Sorry we won’t room with you next year," she mumbles, rubbing your arm. Her lips pull up in a soft smile. "We’ll still be friends though."
Sabri rushes to your other side, her contrite expression mirroring Ashley’s. She squeezes your shoulder.
"Yeah, we promise," she says.
You look between the two of them. They’ve been good friends to you.
It hasn’t been easy, socializing. It’s just one of those myriad of things you’re awful at. You’re standoffish and you have no idea how to carry a conservation. You have no idea how to be one of those perky, positive people everyone likes to be around, the interesting people, the ones who always have something to say, a story to tell. You never know what to say. You have no stories.
Silence and loneliness are familiar. Other people are…complicated. A mystery you never managed to solve.
Still, Ash and Sabri gave you a chance when you became roommates. They could have easily ignored you; you wouldn’t have blamed them. But they didn’t. Instead, they took you under their wing, hung out with you, forced you out of your safety bubble.
You’re thankful for that.
You had a great year. You met new people. You attended parties. You tried new things. None of this would have been possible without Ash and Sabri. If it weren’t for them, this would have been another lonely year.
But while your friendship with them’s been amazing, it was also born from convenience. Circumstances nudged your unlikely bond with them. You just don’t run in the same spheres. You don’t harbor the same goals. Your personalities are night and day.
So now that they’ll be moving into the Kappa house together…you doubt things will be the same. In fact you know they won’t be despite their staunch promises. Over time, you’ll grow apart. The status quo will return.
It’s a reality you are coming to terms with even if you don’t voice it.
A feeble chuckle bubbles up your throat. You place your hands on both of their shoulders.
"It’s okay. I don’t want you guys to feel guilty. Just have fun without me, okay?" you chime.
Ashley acquiesces, her bright smile slipping back onto her face.
"You’re right, none of that depressing talk," she exclaims, bolting upwards. She raises her arms cheerfully. "We’re in Switzerland, guys. How awesome is that?"
Sabri bounces excitedly, clapping her hands as she carries on, "We can visit the village, go to the spa, go skiing-"
Wincing, you interrupt her.
"I’ve never skied before. I don’t think I can."
"You can’t know if you don’t try. We can hit the blue slopes first," Ash offers.
You scowl from ignorance.
"The blue slopes, what is that?"
"The… less hard ones," Ash diplomatically supplies.
Sabri rolls her eyes and folds her arms.
"You mean the ones for little kids. Ugh, boring," she laments. You chew on your lip, guilt crawling along the pit of your stomach. The last thing you want is to ruin their fun. It’s why you hesitated to go on the trip, but Ash insisted you should go as a trio and refused to leave you behind.
Sabri sighs, an apology creeping on her face as she looks at you. "Sorry, but I came here to ski for real." She jumps and giggles. "Maybe even try snowboarding. Unlike Ash, I can’t afford to go places like these all the time."
You smile at her, nodding understandingly. Sabri pats your shoulder, encouraging as she says, "I’m sure you’ll find things to do whenever we go skiing. You’re so good at finding things to do on your own. I always admired that about you."
It’s true; you can’t argue with that. Before them, you were mostly on your own. You’ve learnt to entertain yourself. "Then we can get together for other activities, lunch and stuff," she promises.
"That sounds great. I’m sure I’ll manage," you concede, though your heart sinks a little. You peeked at the website before going and you hoped to spend time together doing things that wouldn’t risk you injuring yourself. You wanted to go on a sleigh ride and possibly trekking. Exploring the little village and all its little stores sounded lovely as well.
But Sabri is a thrill-seeker, always has been. You suppose your ideas will be too dull for her. If possible, you want to dodge conflict. This might be your last vacation with your friends. You twine your hands, burying your disappointment. "It’s like you said. I don’t mind being alone."
"Cool. Then, it’s settled." She whirls to Ashley, arching her brow. "See? I told you she wouldn’t mind."
Her comment makes your forehead wrinkle. You wonder when they talked about you and what else was said. Paranoia lurks at the edge of your mind before you catch yourself.
Ash and Sabri are your friends. They wouldn’t gossip about you behind your back…at least you think so.
You know your brain has the pesky tendency to wander, creating false narratives from subtle interactions. The time you spent on your own may be the culprit. So much of it went by watching people. You’ve learnt things aren’t always as they seem. It’s why you find it hard to trust people.
But you can trust Ash and Sabri. They’ve been nothing but nice to you.
You repeat the words to yourself, again and again, until your doubts dissipate.
You rise from the bed. Ashley glances at her watch before heading for the door.
"We should go downstairs for breakfast. They open Piste C in an hour. We want to get there before it’s crowded."
She and Sabri trade a knowing look, nodding at each other. You ignore the sense of exclusion digging into your chest from that tiny exchange. The whole trip won’t be like this, you convince yourself.
As they leave the room, you trail behind them at a languid pace. They’re already chatting animatedly about skiing and other things you know nothing about.
Again, you’re reminded how out of place you are. A burden Ash and Sabri lug around out of compassion.
You follow your friend at the table they choose. It’s a table for four and they sit next to each other on one side while you plop into the seat on the other. You steal a peek at your surroundings. A few people are having breakfast as well, mostly families from your assessment. You note a little boy pouting at his fruit bowl as his mother fusses over him.
Sabri and Ash are still wrapped in conversation and you fidget. Hunger sizzles your insides. You haven’t eaten since before the drive here. Your friends seem less interested in eating and you don’t want to disturb them.
None of them spare you a glance as you get up.
Ash and Sabri are thin, very thin. Movie star thin.
You amble to one of the long tables brimming with food on the far right of the wide room. You grab a plate and hesitate before the spread.
The French pastries beckon you, your mouth watering at their sight, but you freeze.
You know you need to watch your weight a bit more. Sabri made a throwaway comment about your stomach during rush week when you struggled during the race around campus. It was a joke. You can take a joke, but it nipped at your self-esteem a little.
You’re…very far from that.
"Looks pretty good, doesn’t it?"
The deep voice erupting from beside you startles you. Your head turns to the stranger. Your gaze lingers on a brown stubble framing a square jawline, lengthy chestnut locks grazing broad shoulders before meeting a sharp, cobalt stare.
Your feet bounce as you look away, focus drifting back to your empty plate.
"I-I guess," you mutter, disarmed by the stranger’s unsettling attention. For reasons unknown, facing him stirs your unease.
He bends closer and his masculine scent tickles your nose.
"Something wrong?" he whispers.
Teeth sink into your bottom lip as you frown.
"I probably shouldn’t," you confess, maybe more to yourself than him. It was supposed to be one of your new year’s resolutions anyways. Drop those extra pounds.
He surprises you by scoffing, "Says who?"
You watch him with wide eyes. Is this stranger mocking you?
"The scale," you reply, like it’s obvious.
He snorts, shaking his head. The stranger then astonishes you further as he scoops two of the French pastries expertly, the ones glazed with chocolate frosting you’ve been hungrily eying. He slides them onto your plate as you gape.
"Life’s too short to deprive yourself of little pleasures," he says, close enough for his breath to warm your earshell. Your cheeks heat.
"I’d rather not…" you protest.
"Come on," he insists, pushing the plate back into your hands when you try to discard it to the side. His voice lowers, like he’s sharing a secret. "Besides, whoever told you otherwise lied. You look great."
Your heart drums, his proximity and scent overwhelming you.
The warmth vanishes and you can breathe. You inhale deeply as he allows you space, his gaze veering to your table.
"Friends?" he inquires.
You nod. "Yeah."
He hums and gives a slow nod. When his blue gaze dives into yours again, his lips are curved in a lopsided smile.
"Guess I’ll see you around, doll," he says.
"Hm, maybe."
He tilts his head at your answer, his smile growing, which confuses you. But before you can wonder what that’s about, he strolls away.
You file the peculiar encounter in a corner of your brain and walk back to your friends’ table.
You don’t miss Sabri’s critical glance towards your plate, but it fades quickly and she beams at you.
"Who was that?"
There’s eagerness in her tone.
You shrug. "I don’t know."
"He’s so hot," Sabri gasps, staring at the man’s back as he leaves.
Ash chortles, nudging her shoulder.
"Sabri, you have a boyfriend," she chides.
"Fiancé," you specify.
Sabri squints at you. It lasts a second but it makes you wish you kept your mouth shut. You now realize how judgemental that sounded. That was stupid.
"Right," Sabri curtly says.
You change the subject, trying to sound upbeat as you utter, "You guys should grab something to eat." You slice a tiny piece of cake with your fork, no small amount of guilt dancing inside you as you bring the food to your mouth.
The chocolate melts on your tongue, sinfully delicious. Maybe the stranger was right. Little pleasures shouldn’t be wasted. After all, you only live once and all that.
You face Sabri’s scowl as your mouth curves upward. "You don’t want to pass out on a slope or something."
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The mouthwatering scent of fresh pies fills the kitchen. In a dozen minutes the crust should be just about perfect. It’s a family recipe you know well by now, passed down from your grandmother. You hum a quiet tune, dicing vegetables on the counter with the ease of habit.
Outside, the sun is bright and warm. A pleasant breeze slips through the window panes. It’s a beautiful day and you intend to bask in every peaceful moment.
The doorbell rings.
Your brows draw together as you interrupt your task.
You’re not expecting anyone. Who could it be?
Realization then hits you.
Joy blooms on your features. He must be early.
You can hardly quell your excitement. He wasn’t due to return for a couple more days.
In your current state, you can only waddle to the front door, your heavy belly impeding your desire to rush to it. You pause as you almost reach it, grimacing as you feel a kick. A laugh peals from your lips.
"It’s okay, you’ll meet him soon," you whisper wistfully as you stroke your swollen belly.
You open the door and confusion wrinkles your face.
The man before you is a stranger. But the stern set of his brow and the golden medals adorning his chest rise alarm bells in your head.
The man is older, highly decorated. People like him don’t stop by for courtesy visits. Dread nestles in the pit of your stomach.
You shake your head, staggering backwards.
He gives you a look overflowing with pity. Your gaze drifts to his gloved hand and the letter folded in it.
Your heart drops. A lamp is knocked over in your frenzy.
The man becomes a smudge in your tear-streaked vision.
He tries to approach you but you retreat. As his lulling voice turns to white noise in your ears, the world collapses around you.
A weight crawls over the blanket and you groan at the sudden pressure on your chest.
"Mom," a small, high-pitched voice calls to you.
A familiar head of curls grazes your collarbone. You yawn, your eyes fluttering open. The blinding sunlight seeping through the curtain makes you squint. You groan as the groggy remnants of the early morning ebb away. You stir between the sheets.
Your eyes crinkle fondly as they land on the small form sprawled over you, tiny fists clutching the blanket.
"Mom, I’m hungry," Will complains, nudging you awake further by pressing his palms against your face.
You blink and glance at the alarm clock at your bedside. You slept right through the alarm. You're supposed to drive Will to school and go open the store.
You sit upright abruptly.
"Shi…cheese," you hastily correct yourself, cursing in your head instead. "We’re gonna be late."
Will giggles, his blue eyes twinkling with mirth.
"You were gonna say a bad word, mom."
You sigh. It's not the first time a "bad word" slips out and it won’t be the last. Hazards of being a single parent with a lot on your plate.
You snort and ruffle his hair.
"No, I wasn’t," you lie.
"You were," Will cheekily retaliates.
You huff and shove the blanket away.
After a long minute of staring at each other, you tackle your son.
The little boy howls in laughter as you tickle his belly.
"No, I wasn’t," you articulate as he curls into a ball to avoid the onslaught of tickles.
His joyful smile chases away some of the gloom. Thankfully, Will was a baby when it occurred. The tragedy never touched him. At least not directly.
You know one day he will understand and feel that loss in his own way, but right now he's small and happy. Unburdened in that way children are when everything about the world is a mystery and life is one big game.
You want to protect that innocence for as long as you can.
Will's out of breath when you wrap your arms around him and plant a kiss on his forehead.
"Let’s have breakfast, okay?" you whisper.
"Okay," he chimes.
He crawls off the bed and starts racing to the kitchen. You sigh, your shoulders sagging.
Your hand spreads to the empty side of the bed.
Wrong place, wrong time.
The chilling echo drives a shiver through your spine.
You take a deep breath. The dogtags in the frame on the night table blow a fresh wind of bravery into you. It's okay. You'll be okay.
But, most importantly…Will is okay.
You can get through today; you can get through tomorrow.
Rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, you rise from bed.
The house is silent save the chirping of birds outside and the distant purr of someone’s lawn being mowed.
You stroll to the kitchen and fire up the stove, grabbing a pan from the cabinet above the sink.
Will's already sitting on a stool in front of the table, his legs kicking the air excitedly.
As you prepare breakfast for your son, the nightmare replays in your head. Your fingers quake as you flip the pancakes. Your chest aches, sorrow scalding the pit of your stomach.
It’s like it just happened.
The horror of that day has carved a permanent hole inside you.
Today's even worse. It's the anniversary of the day the news got to you… and the eve of your son’s birthday.
A gaping wound bleeding fresh hurt, one that never sealed itself shut.
Still, you beam at Will and stow away the grief.
Tomorrow is Will's day.
He’ll be turning six and you have to make the day as special as possible, create beautiful memories for him to look back on with fondness.
You arrange a few pancakes on a plate and place it before him.
You toss him a disapproval glare as he goes wild on the maple syrup, nearly drowning his pancakes in a pool of sweetness.
Will bows his head sheepishly, wilting under your stare.
He sets the bottle of syrup away before digging in.
You then smile and lean forward, elbows resting on the table. You relish the sight of him swallowing each bite enthusiastically.
"Tomorrow’s your birthday. Are you excited?"
He gives a frantic nod, his eyes glimmering. Your smile grows.
Making him happy requires so little effort. Despite unfortunate events, you wound up so lucky. And while there are hurdles and hardships involved in raising him on your own, you wouldn’t trade being a mom for anything else.
You reach over the table and cup his face.
"Now let's get you ready for school."
You rush through getting you and Will ready, tossing together last minute sandwiches you pair with a juice box and shove into his backpack. It's not the best lunch you prepared but you didn't hear the end of it the one time you gave him anything store-bought.
You know the other PTA moms already deplore so much about your life choices. Your singlehood. How much you work. The activities you sign up or don't sign up your kid for.
Every aspect of your life is subject of perpetual scrutiny.
You don't need to be found guilty of yet another crime in their eyes.
You wrap a red woolen scarf around your son’s neck that swallows the bottom of his face. Will tugs at it as a little frown contorts his features.
"Mom, it’s too much," he complains.
"You’re not catching a cold again on my watch, young man," you insist, tucking the scarf back into place as he fumbles and pulls it loose.
The memory of him getting sick two weeks ago is still fresh in your mind. You were so worried, you stayed awake most nights to keep his fever down.
Will pouts and lets you fuss over him.
A pang strikes your heart as you gaze at your son’s face. As usual, it’s bittersweet. When you look at him, you don’t just see your precious child, but the eerie likeness with a ghost that has haunted you for six years.
"Come on, we’re gonna be late."
You both rush to the garage and dive inside the car. Your son laughs at the hasty way you start the car and impatiently drum your fingers on the dashboard while the garage door opens.
At least one of you is amused.
As you maneuver the car across the tarmac, your attention is drawn to the house next door.
Your forehead scrunches.
The "For Sale" sign that used to adorn the front yard is gone. Instead, you spot a moving van.
Your breath falters as you catch a glimpse of a broad back and brown hair that evoke a vague sense of familiarity.
As you watch behind the glass of your car window, the stranger stops in his tracks. He shifts the heavy-looking box in his arms.
You freeze as he turns, his gaze instantly locking with yours.
The air stumbles in your lungs.
The sight of his black plated arm barely registers as you drown in ocean orbs. Even from afar, they pull you in.
You don’t realize you’re staring until your son’s voice plucks you out of the trance.
"Mom?"
You gasp, ducking your head towards the driving wheel as you return to reality, to yourself.
Right…
It comes back to you now, the hazy recollection rising back to the surface. A new neighbor is due to move in this week.
One of the PTA moms mentioned it at the last meeting. These discussions over school matters always veer to idle gossip. You must have spaced out, and filed it away along with the rest of their trite prattle.
You shake your head, your brows squeezing together. You glance back at Will to check his seatbelt is fastened properly.
You turn the key in the ignition.
So what if you forgot? This isn't important. Besides, you doubt your path will cross with the stranger very often.
Still you can’t erase the peculiar sense of deja vu. You draw a long breath.
The silver dangling from his neck and stark blue eyes are likely to blame for that.
As soon as you drop off Will, you find yourself ambushed in front of the school gates, a familiar sharp gaze finding yours.
You cross your arms stiffly, a false smile wrestling its way onto your lips. Or a grimace potentially. You’re not sure.
She waves at you. You wave back.
Shit.
It’s entirely too late to pretend you didn’t see her now.
In fact, she’s already strutting your way with long-legged strides, a perfect smile quirking up her crimson lips.
Her white Prada boots click decisively over the pavement.
As she reaches you, she flips her golden mane over her shoulder.
"Hey," she chimes, her voice almost high enough to shatter glass.
"Tatum, hi," you politely greet.
"It’s been so long." You swallow the urge to reply 'not long enough'. "I missed you. You can't just disappear, honey. You gotta check in."
She places her hands over your arms, displaying her pearly white teeth when she beams at you.
"So Will’s birthday is tomorrow, right? Jackson and Joy are very excited to attend."
The edges of your smile strain.
Oh, Jackson and Joy. If you could, you’d have kept the creepy twins fifty feet away from your son at all times. It’s still unclear what happened on that one playdate they had with Will. Accounts of that day widely differ. All you know is your son ended up with gum in his hair and it took shaving it all off for it to come out. You don’t want a repeat of that "little incident" as Tatum endearingly refers to it.
"Will's very excited that all the kids from his class will be there," you utter diplomatically. You've learnt to understand how things work around here. It’s Tatum’s show. She calls the shots, she gives the cues and, if someone isn't willing to play their part, she has no problem recasting them completely.
She squeezes your arm.
"You know, I could have helped. "
You grip the handle of your bag. Tatum already has full control of the PTA which she rules with an iron fist. You'd like your life to stay off-limits.
"I’ve got it," you tersely defend.
She slants her head sideways, her pitch patronizing as she says, "Yes, but we all know how much you have on your plate, honey."
Translation: We don’t think you’re a good mother .
Coldness lurks in your tone. "Like I said…I’ve got it."
She purses her mouth.
"Oh, do you though? You poor thing. You look so tired."
You decide you’ve had your fill of Tatum for the day. Besides, you’re late enough to open the store.
"Thanks, Tatum. Always a pleasure to run into you." As you begin to turn away, she halts your departure.
"Also, I meant to ask you," she hedges. Her tone dips to a secretive whisper. "That new neighbor of yours, the hot one…"
"I hadn’t noticed," you deflect.
She insists, "I’m just saying. No one saw a wife or kid-"
You reign in your sigh before it spills. "I’m late to open the store."
At least it's a legitimate excuse.
"It’s been six years, honey. You deserve to move on."
You give another contrived smile as your fingers curl around your car keys.
"Have a nice day, Tatum," you chirp, dashing away before she can frazzle your patience further.
You jam the key into the lock, fumbling with the door in your frustration. As soon as you’re inside, you flip the 'OPEN' sign.
Your own lateness grates at your nerves.
Your mind whirls with the day’s impending labor. Inventory isn’t done and you need to refill the shelves. Multiple orders need to be placed. Glass containers and soy wax sticks will soon be out of stock. You need to have a talk with one of your vendors to renegotiate prices.
Usually, you navigate taking care of your son and managing the store quite well, but Will caught the flu two weeks ago and you had to close the store.
Now you’re behind on a dizzying amount of tasks.
You grab your apron with the name of your shop stenciled on the front from beside the counter and secure it on your frame. You then sit on the stool behind the cash register and open your laptop.
Monday mornings are often dreadfully slow but the snail-like pacing works in your favor today.
It’s only been a few minutes of silence before the wind chimes hooked above the door jingle.
You lift your head, surprised a customer would appear this soon.
You’re even more astonished once you realize the person darkening the doorstep is somewhat familiar.
A professional smile slips onto your lips.
He steps into your store, his gaze darting about curiously. Nervousness speckles across your back as you remember the awkwardness from earlier.
You straighten your sleeves and approach him.
"Hi, can I help you with anything?"
"Hi," he says, his mouth curving in a small smile. "I’m just looking for…things for my house."
Exploiting your proximity to him, you let your gaze roam over him.
You gauge his sculpted features and the thick muscles pulling his shirt and leather jacket tight. You also note the scruffy beard that does little to diminish his looks…the opposite in fact.
Even at a distance, you figured. But it’s even more obvious as he stands close enough for his crisp pine scent to coat your senses.
It pains you to admit it…but Tatum was right.
The stranger is smoking hot.
The knowledge is stashed somewhere in your mind.
It leaves you largely unfazed; men haven’t held your attention for a long time. Mostly you harbor some embarrassment for gawking at him the way you did earlier.
You trail behind him as he wanders through shelves, his attention drifting from one item to the next. It’s hard to pinpoint what he wants exactly.
"Well, if you tell me what kind of things I might be able to help."
He laughs softly, a warm sound that echoes through your chest.
"Right." He stops at one particular shelf, his head tilting sideways. "Maybe picture frames, small ones."
You nod and gather two frames from a shelf, each made in a different material. You go into your sales pitch, trying not to fidget as you meet his unsettling irises. "Well, we have wicker or wooden ones, bronze, silver…"
He cuts you off with a wide grin. "I’m sorry. This is so awkward." He scratches his neck, waving his metal hand in the air awkwardly. "I just moved in." He pauses, licking his lips as he searches your face. Your heart leaps. "In the house right next to yours," he adds.
You put the frames back into place carefully. When you look back at him, his eyes are still on you, unfaltering. Thorns prick the base of your spine. You shake off the sensation and drum up a cordial smile. "I know. I…saw you this morning."
His expression lights up, the corners of his eyes crinkling.
"So you remember me. I wasn’t sure."
"You’re pretty hard to miss."
"I’m Bucky."
You ogle the hand he outstretches towards you for a long time before accepting it. Relief dawns on his features when you do.
The warmth of his fingers sneaks inside your own skin as he holds your hand and gently shakes it.
"Nice to meet you, Bucky."
You give your own name and Bucky says it twice, more to himself than you, as if testing the weight of it on his tongue.
The touch lingers and you untangle your hand from his.
A slight frown blooms on his forehead.
"I only wanted to make sure I didn’t make a bad impression."
Dumbstruck, you blink.
"Why would you think that?"
"It’s just the way you looked at me."
"I’m so sorry. It’s…oh well, this is hard to explain."
Sparks of interest flare in his smoky orbs.
"What is?"
Your chest grows heavier. Your smile fades as your attention falls to the floor.
You fiddle with the hem of your apron as you confess, "You just remind me of someone I used to know, that’s all." A wistful whisper leaves your lips. "Mostly the eyes." You try to smile, wishing it's genuine. It’s not Bucky’s fault your mind stubbornly clings to bittersweet memories. "I’m sorry for staring."
His own expression is unreadable, his eyes flickering away briefly and misting over before landing back onto your face.
He gives you a soft half-smile and says, "It’s okay. You can stare at me anytime."
Your pulse picks up speed, the drumming of your heart getting louder and louder the longer Bucky looks at you.
"Hm, is there anything I can help you with?" you mumble, clearing your throat and focusing on a nearby row of colorful pencils.
It beats swaying adrift in a dismaying sea of blue.
"How much is that?" he inquires, reaching over your head.
He shows you a scented candle with a petrichor scent. You’re constantly ordering more of these because they sell like hot cakes.
"It’s 8.99," you stammer.
He also plucks one of the bronze frames from the shelves. He follows you as you get behind the counter. Tremulous fingers open the cash register and scan the articles.
You feel the weight of his attention as you put everything in a reusable bag. When he hands you the bill, his fingers tarry alongside yours.
"Keep the change." His deep voice rumbles, knocking over your desire to argue. "See you around, neighbor."
Even long after he leaves, his presence remains with you in a strange way. You brush it off, or pretend to at least, busying yourself as if you didn’t feel a slight, unsettling shift in your brittle balance.
I do not have a taglist but you can follow @straytales to keep up with my updates.
You’ve been especially gloomy as of late and your friends hate that you won’t tell them why.
CW: Dub-con/Non-con, Smut, Self-loathing, Self deprecation, Depression, very negative self talk and thoughts. If those things bug you, do not read.
Words: 6k
A/N: @chemtrails-club ’s dark stucky + snowball fight + secrets request for my sleepover. It accidentally got long and quite bleak, sorry.
Small and insignificant.
It’s how you feel as you drink in the words, as those words sink right to your heart.
I’m sorry. I think you’re great but I just think it’s not gonna work out.
Tears flow beneath your hand and drench your pillow. You sniffle and curl under the blankets, letting the softness of the sheets swallow your woes.
Your cellphone slips from between your fingers. Earlier this year, you’d have tossed it at a wall in your wrath. But now, you’re too defeated to care. What is the point? Why break things when you’re already broken enough inside? Too broken to date. Too broken to be loved.
Maybe even…too broken to exist.
You grab your pillow and squeeze it against your chest. The cotton is damp with your tears. Phantom pains stab at your chest as you bask in despair.
You know how pathetic it is. Every relationship ends the same, withering before it can blossom.
Today’s just the last straw, the final nail in the coffin of your flimsy hopes.
The hours drift away in a sea of gloom.
The night is restless.
Between your sobs and tears, you barely sleep a wink. You awake with puffy eyes, your lids heavy and sticky from wailing all night long. The morning light assails your eyes and you groan.
You rise, dull and hollow, absently meandering through your apartment.
The coffee machine is started and you shuffle through the various cabinets mindlessly. The shallow pit in your stomach is of little significance but you just want to keep busy.
You go through the motions, both deeply in your head yet so far outside it. The snowflakes swirling outside the windows draw your focus. You admire the white blanket cloaking the city, shivering, loneliness carving a blistering weight inside you more than ever before.
The sizzling sensation of hot coffee pouring over your hand jerks you back to reality.
"Shit," you hiss, searching for a rag to wipe the mess. You turn on the faucet at full pressure, letting cold water pelt your burnt hand.
Stupid. Always distracted, always in your head. Lost in stupid dreams as the world flies you by, everyone moving on, leading beautiful lives while yours remains stagnant.
Fresh tears flood your sight. You bury your face in your palms. Is it what you deserve? You’re not that great after all. Not that pretty. Not that smart. Tragically banal in every way.
No wonder you never rose the ranks in S.H.I.E.L.D., chained to your desk, condemned to pore over tedious reports instead of being on the field.
No wonder your dating life is a string of failures.
The buzzing of your phone startles you.
You gulp in an ample breath, eyes fluttering shut. You wipe the tears and rub your eyes. Several steadying seconds later, you pick up.
"Hey, dove, we haven’t seen you in weeks." The concern in Steve Rogers’ gravelly voice resonates through the phone. "Bucky and I are worried."
A long sigh leaves you, your fingers skimming the handle of your half-empty coffee cup.
You didn’t expect him to call. You didn’t expect anyone to, really.
You’ve kept your temporary leave from work quiet. No one knows how bad things are, how far and deep you’ve spiraled. If anyone even cares.
Besides, this is Steve Rogers.
He must have better, more important things to do than calling you.
You never understood your friendship with Bucky and Steve. It’s been unlikely, defying logic.
They are heroes and you’re a mere analyst at S.H.I.E.L.D.
It’s in fact how you met them.
You helped them on a few missions, providing intel and putting together reports they needed. In truth, you simply did your job.
Still, they were very appreciative, always praising you more than anyone else ever did. Your work usually goes completely unnoticed so their gratitude and kindness were more than welcome.
After that, they’d show up more and more often, even outside of missions. Out of the blue, they’d chat you up, even at your desk or in the break room when they had no reason to.
They were everywhere.
So, while you have a hard time letting anyone in, you let them in. They even helped you train for the field agent exam as they knew how much you wanted to pass.
…and they consoled you when you failed.
They’ve been here since, cheering you up whenever yet another disappointment inevitably worms its way into your life.
"I’m sorry. I haven’t been feeling well," you confess.
"What’s wrong?" Steve asks.
Your lips tighten. The end of the year should be a joyful time. You don’t want to spoil Bucky and Steve’s holidays with your pitiful issues.
"I’d rather not talk about it."
"Sometimes talking about things helps," he insists.
"Not with this."
Silence stretches between you two, lasting a while before Steve speaks again.
"We’re here for you, you know," he assures, sincerity oozing from his smooth timbre.
"I…thank you, Steve. I appreciate it."
"How about you spend time with us this afternoon?"
His enthusiastic inflection makes you frown. You can pretend on the phone. It’s easy. You type or say the right thing, toss on a guise of contentment. But in person, with Steve and Bucky staring at you in that unnerving, all-seeing way they do…you’re not sure how long you can keep up any sort of charade.
"I don’t know if I can."
"I think you should," he utters sternly. His inflection drops, a light threat lurking into his bass. "Unless…you want us to come over here and drag you out ourselves."
You unleash a weary exhale. You know Steve well enough to know it’s no jest. Maybe it’s the hero in him.
He can’t watch you drown without wanting to try and save you, pluck you from the waves swallowing you in their unruly tides and carry you back to safe shores.
How very Steve Rogers of him.
Your lips purse in acceptance.
"I’ll be there in an hour," you grumble, shoulders sagging. "Just tell me where to meet you guys."
You can hear his triumphant grin from your end of the line.
The park is near empty. Brittle tree branches slump to the ground, heavy with snow, dead leaves scattered at their feet. Everywhere your gaze rests, it finds a pristine white blanket over the grass, glittering under the morning sun. The rays spill through the cover of the trees, softly caressing your skin. Crunchy steps lead you forth as you admire your surroundings. You spot children playing nearby, building snowmen and laughing. You envy their innocence, their effortless joy.
"Attagirl."
The cool fresh air and dazzling setting do little to lift your dour spirits.
Bucky and Steve wave at you from near the frozen fountain at the center of the park.
Hands shoved in the pockets of your winter coat, you nod at them as the ghost of a smile spreads on your lips.
"Hey, beautiful. You look good," Bucky greets warmly. His bright smile peeks through the wintry clouds his breath creates.
His combat boots leave footsteps in the snow as he approaches you.
"No need to lie for my sake, Barnes," you quip. You did your best to conceal the evidence of hours of crying, but their eyes are sharp, often noticing more than you’d like. It's why you dreaded coming in the first place.
Bucky slants his head, worry etched in his stormy orbs. His brows furrow.
"Well…" He hesitates before surmising, "You look like you haven’t slept much." You fidget beneath his stare. "Something wrong?"
Your mouth clamps shut.
Words bump inside your head, sentences building and breaking. Nothing seems right to say. Too little or too much. Besides, as you ponder your answer, tears are already prodding the back of your eyes. You’re on the cusp of weeping again, the last thing you wish for, especially in front of them.
Before the tears can spill, your face is slammed by an icy ball.
You gasp in astonishment, rubbing your frostbitten cheek as your gaze connects with Steve’s mischievous glare.
"Hey! What the hell, Steve?" you shriek.
He’s hunched over in the snowy grass, already forming another snowball. A grin tilts his plump mouth as he shrugs.
"You said you didn’t want to talk," he defends.
Jaw hanging slack, you peer between him and Bucky. The same playfulness adorns their handsome faces.
You huff and shake your head. "Unbelievable," you scoff. You crouch down and start digging into the snow, shaping a ball of your own.
"I’m gonna get you both," you say, tossing a snowball at Steve with all your strength. He laughs when it hits his chest. Your lips curl in victory but there’s no time to revel in it, a sudden assault on your back making you stagger forward. You turn to Bucky. His cheeky smile rivals Steve’s.
You’re quick to gather more snow to ready your next attack.
Laughter swells in the park as more snowballs are tossed around, most of yours being easily dodged by the supersoldiers.
But it doesn’t matter.
Because for a few hours, the dusky clouds clear away, allowing sunlight to shine upon you. And sadness yields to carefree, childish fun.
"You shouldn’t be alone right now."
A wrinkle settles on your brow as you shift in the backseat, your attention drawing away from the snowfall on the other side of the window.
"I appreciate the concern, Steve, but I’m okay," you mumble, smiling weakly. You suppress a sigh. As soon as the snowball fight ended, the pangs returned, the ever-present heaviness in your chest making itself known. It’s not just the wretched state of your romantic life.
It’s life itself. It’s agony.
You trundle through it, hopeless. Hollow. Aimless. With each day, you wilt a bit more, less and less attached to being here than the one before it.
"You know you have us right? Whatever you need," Steve avows.
His earnest blue eyes cross yours in the rearview mirror. You look down at your lap, fiddling with your fingers.
You acquiesce. "Sure."
Bucky reaches out to you from the passenger seat. You stare at his large hand draping over yours. "We mean it, beautiful," he says, his fingers curling around yours.
An exhale quakes out of your lips, words hovering on your tongue. You nod again. Bucky’s hand only parts from yours when your apartment building comes into sight.
You’re thankful when they drop you off. Their concern is almost stifling.
Steve opens the door for you and you consciously try to muster your most genuine smile for them.
You climb up the front steps and wave goodbye.
"Happy holidays, guys. Thanks for today…really."
As you fumble with your keys and rush into the building, their tireless focus drills into your spine. You ignore it as best you can.
No one should have to bear with you at the moment.
They’re better off enjoying their holidays far away from you. Still, you are grateful for the brief respite.
It was nice to not think for some time. To forget. To just be.
The following days are spent in silence, both reflective and hellish.
Most of the time, you’re in bed, unmotivated to do much else. You know it’s not right, or healthy. You should keep busy. You should find something to do.
Fleeting attempts to read or knit fizzle out, your mind too foggy to focus on one simple task. Words blur into nonsense on the page. The scarf you try to make ends up a heap of formless wool.
Your phone is as silent as you are, not a single relative seeming to recall your existence.
As you lie in bed, you come to a decision. Your finger’s decisive as the dating app is deleted without a second thought.
What good has that done you? You’re either left on read or they come up with some lame excuse.
You’re tired.
You just want to sleep the days away until you have to return to work. Part of you misses the mindless, tedious tasks. At least they kept the somber thoughts at bay.
Your gloomy quiet is shattered by the distinct ringing of your front door. You unfurl from your sheets with no enthusiasm, dragging your blanket across the floor as you lumber to the entrance.
Your brows knit when you catch a glimpse of familiar gray orbs through the peephole. Temptation to pretend you’re not here sizzles your insides. Your hand rests on the door. Maybe if you wait long enough, he will go away.
Your plan crumbles quickly.
"I know you’re in here, beautiful. I can hear you breathing."
Bucky’s sudden voice sends your pulse in a wild race. Heaving out a deep sigh, you undo each lock and open the door.
"Bucky," you greet flatly.
A subtle crease mars his forehead as he peers at your blanketed frame. Still, a lopsided smile curves his pink lips.
"Hey, beautiful."
"I’m not in the mood for guests," you blurt out, trying to close the door.
He nudges it open with ease, stepping inside at the same time.
False hurt drapes over his features. Bucky’s metal hand spreads over his chest.
"Ouch. Didn’t know you could be this mean, beautiful. I’m hurt."
Biting your lip, you catch yourself. You weren’t truly thinking. The words just poured out.
"Sorry. How are you?" you tonelessly inquire. You move to the counter, starting the coffee machine. "Do you want some coffee?"
He shakes his head and leans against the kitchen island. You pivot, giving him your full attention.
His fingers drum by the stack of due bills you let pile up this month. He gets nearer, his lids dropping as his gaze falls on you. "I’m okay. I came to bring you somewhere special," he reveals, his hands finding your shoulders. Even through the thickness of the blanket, the warmth of his flesh hand seeps through.
You frown in confusion.
"A special place…what do you mean?"
His knuckles sweep over your cheek, his smile broadening.
"It’s a surprise."
Frustration scrunches your features.
"I hate secrets, Bucky. Just tell me."
He doesn’t budge, tugging at your blanket until it topples to the floor. You shudder at the abrupt rush of cool air on your skin.
"You’ll see when you get there."
He twines his fingers with yours and begins to drag you towards the front door. Once there, he hunkers down before you and pulls at your slippers, swapping them for the boots by the umbrella stand.
You resist as he collects your coat from the rack and attempts to put it on you.
"I’d rather stay here then," you protest, folding your arms over your chest defensively.
Bucky’s tone gets deeper and harsher, his voice teetering on a growl.
"No. There’s been enough of that," he rumbles, jostling your arms open to wrap the coat around you.
"Bucky…"
His gaze softens as he grips your chin, angling your head towards his face. "Come on. Humor me, just once."
You inhale a wide breath, your chin trembling as you get lost in Bucky’s determined orbs.
It’s not like you have anywhere to be. What’s the harm anyway?
"Okay," you concede.
Bucky sighs in relief and frees your face. You allow him to take your hand and pull you outside. Completely dazed, you watch him lock up your apartment and shove the keys in his pocket.
He tucks you against his side while escorting you outside.
Freezy winds brush over your face as you blow out a foggy breath.
You’re unsurprised to find Steve’s car in the front and, of course, Steve himself with his hands on the steering wheel as Bucky urges you to the back of the car then sits in the passenger seat.
"Hey, dove."
"Steve."
You plop into the backseat and cross your arms over your chest. It might be childish but you just want this over with.
Whatever this surprise is, it won’t change anything, fix anything.
Truth is there’ll always be a thread of loneliness running through your being.
But, as Bucky requested, you’ll humor them. For a little while at least.
Steve turns, his gaze raking over you.
"Seatbelt," he says, authority dripping from his tone.
"Yes sir," you snicker, clicking your seatbelt into place.
"Let’s play some music," Steve suggests. "Do you have a preference, dove?"
Your shoulders rise and slump dismissively.
"Anything’s fine. Just…something upbeat I guess," you mutter, sagging backwards.
Your attention veers outside the window as Steve’s car roars awake. As your mind drifts away, buildings pass you by, a rapid blur through your bleary vision.
Ella Fitzgerald’s celestial vocals fill the car as your gaze rises to the same blue skies she croons about.
The frosty, fresh scent of pines invigorates your senses as you step out of the car.
You soak in the sight of the snow-dusted trees around the house, noting every picturesque detail.
Like the bright blue sky above, bereft of skyscrapers grazing its expanse. Birdsong is the only sound shattering the silence amidst the secluded area.
You have no words.
You can only stare at your surroundings with a dumbfounded expression.
His hand splayed over the small of your back, Bucky walks you towards the gigantic house that sits in the middle of the idyllic setting.
Bewildered, you let him. It isn’t what you expected at all. This is so far beyond whatever you could have imagined.
Maybe if you pinch yourself hard enough, you’ll wake up. Maybe it’s all a dream.
"What’s that place?" you ask Steve.
A gentle smile tugs his lips.
"Every year, Bucky and I rent this townhouse to get away from the city’s commotion and enjoy the holidays in peace." Pride glints in his blue orbs. "We’re in the process of acquiring it actually. It’s a perfect place to start a family, don’t you think?"
Silence drags out for an extended stretch of time before you realize he’s awaiting your answer. They both are, you come to understand, noting the odd sparkle in their gaze.
"Sure," you admit. "It’s gorgeous."
Steve’s large hand glides over the back of your neck, a sudden gesture that surprises you. "I’m really glad you like it, dove," he whispers.
The closer you get to the front of the massive place, the more your chest swells. Before you can put a stop to it, unshed tears spring beneath your lashes.
Bucky immediately cups your face, that same concerned frown from before creasing his forehead.
"What's wrong, beautiful?" he inquires gently.
"I…"
Your sentence trails off, a lone tear trailing down your cheek. He wipes it as you draw a trembling breath.
As you remain quiet, his metal hand wanders the slope of your neck, squeezing just a little.
"Come on. No more keeping it all to yourself. Tell us."
Your lip shudders. "It’s nice but I-I don’t want to intrude. I’d rather not be a burden…"
Bucky’s thumbs caress your cool cheeks as his scowl accentuates.
"Hey, you’re not a burden," he assures. "You’re not intruding. We want you here, okay?"
You give a frail nod.
Steve seizes your hand, rubbing the inside of your palm. "We really do," he asserts. He pulls you along as you swallow a sob. "Come on, let me show you your room."
You let Steve steer you inside, Bucky following closely behind.
The inside of the house is even more vertiginous. High glass windows allow the sunlight to freely spill inside.
The warm tones and simple design radiate coziness.
It’s a proper home.
The colors even remind you of your own apartment. Though the palatial space makes your head spin a little.
You’re still lingering in a daze as you end up in a tastefully decorated room with a bed twice the size of yours in it.
No objection spills from your lips as Steve removes your coat and Bucky does the same with your boots, leaving you in just your PJs and socks.
Your gaze wanders over the pretty furniture, your fingers ghosting over the plush duvet. You sit at the edge of the bed, your brows crumpling. You blink and scratch your arm, a realization piercing through the fog.
"I haven’t brought anything with me, Steve," you mumble. The thought of packing never flitted across your mind, Bucky’s astounding appearance in the early morning eclipsing everything else.
"It’s okay. We thought of everything," Steve informs. "Bathroom’s fully furnished. The closet too."
"All the clothes are your size, don’t worry," Bucky supplies. Your frown deepens. It’s considerate, you suppose, though a strange chill tickles your spine. You shrug it off, crawling over the gigantic bed to lie on your side.
You’re too spent to give this much thought. The journey here exhausted you.
Bucky tucks you in, lifting the blanket and laying it over you gently.
Steve bends to drop a chaste kiss on your forehead. Bucky repeats the action on your cheek.
"We’ll come get you when dinner is ready," Bucky announces. He strokes your cheek, a benevolent expression etched on his features.
Their tracks halt near the room’s exit as you call out to them.
"Guys."
"Yes, dove?"
"Thank you." You squirm between the sheets as they peer at you intensely.
"Of course," Steve says.
You bury yourself deeper in the sheets, spotting the vague familiarity of the patterns on the bedding.
"It’s funny. This looks like a blanket I have at home."
Steve smiles mysteriously, like he knows something you don’t.
Bucky flicks a switch and the shutters slowly come down, the light in the room dwindling. "Rest, beautiful. You’ll need your strength."
Their muffled steps peter out until nothing but quiet darkness surrounds you.
Soft strokes on your cheek guide you back to consciousness. You stir between the sheets, eyes fluttering open.
You awake to Steve gazing down at you fondly, his hand cupping your cheek.
"You looked so tired so we didn’t want to wake you up," he whispers. "We set some food aside for you."
"That’s nice," you say, sitting upright. You lie your head against the headboard. Air sits heavily in your chest when you inhale.
Why are you still so exhausted when you just woke up?
Why is everything so dark when it’s still bright outside?
Another tearful tide bubbles in your throat but you quell it through sheer willpower. You sniff and wipe your nose.
You don’t want to cry in front of Steve…again.
You huddle against the pillow, pulling your knees to your chest.
Steve scowls.
He grips your ankle and his thumb traces soothing lines into your skin. You feel his warmth through the thin fabric of your pajamas.
"Did something happen…outside the usual?" Your mouth wobbles. He seizes your chin, tilting it towards him."I know you have good times too. I’d love to see that gorgeous smile again." His deep timbre lowers. "You can always talk to me, you know that, dove, about anything."
You shake your head, your forehead wrinkling. Where to even begin? The boat on the brink of sinking your life and mind perpetually are? The hopelessness? The loneliness? It’s all in disarray and you don’t know.
You don’t know anything anymore.
Your voice comes out a pathetic croak. "There’s no way you’d understand, Steve."
He cocks his head, his handsome face scrunching in puzzlement.
"Why?"
You chuckle wryly as a spark of curiosity blooms in Steve’s cerulean eyes.
"Everyone loves you. Everyone. You’re Captain America. You’re Steve Rogers." A cheerless smile curves your lips. "Steve, you don’t know what it’s like to…" You pause, choking on a sob. Tears swell and, this time, you’re unable to curb their flow. The fragile dam around your feelings implodes. "It’s like everything I say, everything I do…" You shake your head as your chest heaves with stuttered wails. "It’s never right. I’m too much. Or not enough. It’s like I’m wrong. Broken." Your words subside into a shaky whisper. "I don’t want to be special," you confess between tearful gasps. "I just want to be loved, even if it’s just one person. Just one…that’d be enough."
Heavy quietness follows your admission. Guilt blooms within you. Again, you allowed too much to spill and, this time, dragged someone else down your doleful depths.
You should have kept your feelings cloistered, safe inside yourself as usual.
Always so fucking stupid.
"I’m sorry," you blurt out apologetically.
Steve shocks you when he leans over you and kisses away your tears.
His mouth then travels to your own, stunning you even more.
Salt and anguish coat the dizzying kiss. Steve hums, holding your chin as his tongue tangles with yours.
You gawk at him as he releases you, his forehead resting on yours. His thumbs press into your wet cheeks. "Don’t be. You’re not broken, dove."
Another voice erupts from across the room.
"And you are loved."
Your eyes snap up to meet Bucky’s.
"I don’t understand," you say, faint confusion fluttering in your tone.
Bucky snorts.
"You don’t understand? Should we make it more obvious then?" His gaze locks with Steve’s.
As if on cue, the latter pulls your back against his chest. Steve traps you against him, his thick arm snaking around your waist. He tucks you into his lap.
Your cheeks flare as the hardness in his crotch brushes against your ass.
A chill shoots up your spine as Bucky sinks to his knees before you.
His large hand skims over the inside of your thighs. Air freezes in your lungs.
He languishes there a while, pressing his digits into your flesh as goosebumps rise under his touch.
Your heart misses a beat as he yanks down your pants, exposing your panties to him.
A gasp hitches through your throat when two of his fingers latch to your core. He rubs your clit through the material. You keen, twitching in Steve’s embrace.
"Please…" you utter weakly, pants chopping your breath as Bucky’s fingers delve into your cunt.
The friction sends ripples of delight through your center.
"This is what you need, dove," Steve rasps, his warm breath ghosting over your shoulder. "To feel how much we love you."
Bucky tugs at your panties, a hint of wickedness dangling at the edge of his smirk.
He licks his lips. You linger in horrifying wait as the fabric dents your thighs. They rip with a loud tear, Bucky destroying them nonchalantly with a flick of his fingers.
Both his hands keep you open with ease. He buries his face between your thighs.
"Such a pretty little pussy," Bucky lauds, adoration dripping from his lustful timbre. Hunger dances in his slate orbs as he admires your damp folds.
He drags his tongue over your slit.
You whimper and shake your head, tears skipping over your quivering cheeks.
He takes his time exploring you, parting your walls with his fingers while savoring your essence with his tongue.
His grunts rock through your core, reverberating through your whole body. Warm tingles bloom across your flesh.
Breathless pleas falter on your tongue as Bucky’s tongue swirls over your swollen bud. Your toes curl against the floor.
Steve fondles you, husky praises falling into your ear. He sneaks under your shirt and tweaks your nipples between his fingers.
Bliss engulfs you twice in quick succession, your arousal raining over Bucky’s tongue.
You go boneless as electricity pulsates through your spine, your eyes rolling backwards. A lewd purr rolls up Bucky’s chest as he greedily drinks your juices.
You sag against Steve’s chest.
Through the nebulous afterglow, you feel yourself being moved and laid over the sheets. Slowly, you find your breath again.
You hear the rustle of clothes as they hit the floor.
Panic coils in your gut.
Steve hauls you back onto the bed when you try to scramble off it. His naked frame wraps around yours as you sob against his solid chest.
"Shh, it’s gonna be okay, dove," he coos against your scalp. "We just want to make you feel good."
Fear paralyzes you. Terror impedes your speech.
You can only shake as they grope you, their restless hands feeling everywhere at once.
Coldness pelts your skin when your shirt is removed. Your body’s shifted, your hips lifted. You’re plunked over Steve’s taut abs. His hard length and swollen balls chafe against your drenched core.
His large hands rove over your hips. He moves you across his lap to line your entrance with the glistening head of his cock.
Bucky plants tender pecks across your back, encouraging you as Steve stretches your cunt. Despite how wet you are, he’s huge inside you, every inch of him achingly pushing your walls to their limits.
Hot tears stream down your face.
A sigh of relief drops from Steve’s mouth once his cock has found the hilt of you, your walls fitting snugly around his length.
"God, you’re so tight, dove. S’like heaven," Steve hums hoarsely, his thick lashes fluttering over his cheekbones.
You’ve barely adjusted to the pressure inside you before another adds to it. A strangled exhale slips through your lips.
Your eyes bulge as Bucky’s fingers prod at your other hole, pushing a slick substance past your tight ring of muscles.
You moan sharply.
Steve begins pummeling your core as thick fingers stretch your tight hole. Your hands curl into the sheets. You pant, your head hanging forward.
The air rushes in your lungs when Bucky slams into you from the back.
They start moving inside you in tandem, their feral grunt coalescing with your distressed cries.
The lewd clapping of flesh along flesh fills the room. The bed quakes, rattling across the floor as if it might break from the force of their thrusts.
You grow lightheaded, overwhelmed with the sensation of being so full.
Pathetic whimpers drag through your throat as you bear with both your holes being roughly pounded.
"So good for us, beautiful," Bucky rasps as he nips your shoulder.
After a while, pain and pleasure become so intimately tangled, you can’t tell one apart from the other. They hit spots deep inside you that turn you into a whimpering, quivering mess. They leave bruising trails on your skin, marking you as theirs with bites and kisses.
The unsought sensations drag you under until everything fades… everything but them. Their heat encasing you. Their cocks nestled far inside you. Until their writhing bodies against yours is the only thing remaining in your thoughts.
You rouse with a wrongness sitting inside you. It digs at your chest and scalds the pit of your stomach.
Trembling eyes travel to the window. You stifle a gasp. Twinkling stars pepper the vast expanse of the night sky outside.
At first, you struggle to recall where you are. But as you get a glimpse of your nakedness and the similar states of the broad, warm bodies at your side…memories assault your brain all at once.
Your blood turns to ice.
You remember everything.
Your features screw in discomfort when you begin to rise. Pain pulses through your entire body, the one in your lower parts especially sharp.
You toss a wary glance at your supersoldier "friends"...if they’re even still that to you.
You’re unsure what to call them now. Too many boundaries broken in a single night. Too many acts that can never be undone.
Their eyes are shut. Your shoulders slump in relief.
Gingerly, you tiptoe out of bed and stumble through the door. You try your best to be as quiet as you can. You grab the first dress and sandals you find in the closet, deciding they will do for now.
You need to leave, get far far away from here.
Defeat sags your shoulders while you hunt for your keys. Your blind combing through every cabinet and drawer in the living room yields no result.
As your gaze darts about, your stomach plummets. The size of the house is akin to a castle. Your keys could be anywhere. It could take hours, which you don’t have.
"What are you doing?"
Bucky’s voice startles you. You pivot hastily, your eyes growing. The sudden motion causes you to lurch back, the soreness in your limbs awaking.
You shudder as you gauge his half-naked form in just his boxers. Ruffled brown locks hang around his face, irrefutable evidence of the night before.
Your stomach wrenches uncomfortably.
Avoiding his blazing stare, you give a curt answer.
"Looking for my keys. I need to go home."
Your attempt to head to another room is curbed by his large hand clasping around your wrist.
His big blue eyes and soft smile beckon you.
"Hey relax, beautiful. Why don’t you come back to bed-"
You pull your hand away with a scowl. "No. I need to think, Bucky. This was… this was all too much." You grip the side of your head, whirling in alarm. "Where’s my phone? Oh god, I left my phone…"
A concerned expression covers Bucky’s features.
"You need to calm down," he says, trying to reach for you again, his fingers outstretched towards you.
Maintaining a few feet between you and him, you fall backwards. The hurt on his features at your reaction is plain, and you wonder how he has the nerve to feel that way after last night.
"Don’t tell me what to do," you shriek. You pause and gulp in a deep breath. You address him with a pleading look. "Can you just give me my keys, Bucky, please?"
All the emotions vanish on his face in a second, his gray orbs becoming steel as he considers you harshly.
"No."
You huff out a sharp exhale, your mouth dropping in shock. A tightness settles in your chest.
"Bucky, please, you have to-" you insist.
"Dove, you’re being hysterical," Steve’s smooth baritone interrupts.
Your chest clenches at his appearance. You stare at his shamefully naked form in ire.
Even in this state, the set of his jaw is stern and the slant of his shoulders oozes command.
Still, you yell at him, betrayal sizzling the back of your throat as you speak. "Hysterical? I-I told you to stop and...you didn’t."
Steve rushes to you, snatching your wrists before you can flee.
"You needed to feel something, something else." He grips your jaw, forcing your attention back to him when you try to look away. "And you did, didn’t you? Something good."
A sinister chill courses through your spine, the certainty brimming in his voice astounding you.
"Take me home, Steve," you quaver.
He sighs, cocking his head. Not an ounce of regret graces his features.
His hand glides over the side of your face in a twisted show of affection.
"Like Bucky told you, we can’t do that," he whispers.
A humorless laugh parts from your lips.
"What? You can’t be serious. This isn’t funny, guys."
Steve and Bucky trade a cryptic glance before the latter utters matter-of-factly, "This isn’t a joke." Bucky edges closer, contrition adorning his handsome face. "We can’t trust you to take care of yourself right now."
Your body moves on its own before a proper plan has materialized in your head.
Suddenly, you’re in the kitchen, remembering your training as you grab two sharp kitchen knives from the counter and toss one at Bucky’s face.
He catches it in his metal hand with ease.
As Steve approaches, you lunge at him and swing the blade in well-aimed slashes that somehow never hit home, as he dodges every attempt.
You grow desperate.
He humors you for a while before seizing your wrists, frustration blooming in his cornflower depths. You whine as your bones grind together in his bruising hold. The knife clatters to the ground.
"Come on, dove. You of all people know I can do this all day," he states, his voice irritatingly serene.
You crumble to tears in his arms, nearly toppling to the floor but he catches you, swaddling you against his chest as if you were a child.
Reassuring words reach your ears as soothing circles are pressed into your back. "You’re okay," Steve murmurs repetitively.
There’s a surge of warmth behind you as another firm body drapes over you. You sob between the two of them, their strong arms wrapping around you.
Bucky’s silky tone caresses your shoulder. "It’ll just be an adjustment for a little while," he says. He drops a languid kiss atop your head, inhaling your scent while his hands roam over your sides. "And I promise you, beautiful, you’ll thank us one day."
I do not have a taglist but you can follow @straytales to keep up with my updates.
You see the man again, trying to act casual in his ball cap but there's nothing casual about the way he watches you. Or how he's been following you since you left work.
Can you get away?
ON READ
♡ Stalker! Bucky Barnes x Reader ♡
Your casual online flirtations veer to a twisted turn.
CW: Non-con, phone sex, implied kidnapping
Words: 2k
Bucky Masterlist || 2022 Masterlist
The glow of the screen is the only light in your dim bedroom. Shadows shroud you as you lie on your side, snug in the sheets. You don’t see yourself climbing out of bed anytime. The apartment is chilly, the cheap heating system encased in the walls radiating feeble warmth.
Tension engulfs you as you linger in frustrating wait.
He’s not replied yet.
It’s been five minutes but they stretch into an infinity amidst your impatience.
Your breath snags as the notification pops at the top of your screen. You rush to open the app, fingers trembling.
The words your eyes fall on elicits a flood of warmth in your chest.
Bucky17: Sorry for the wait, doll. Still figuring out this online chatting thing.
You type quickly, elation coursing through your veins.
DaisyM: It’s okay.
Bucky17: How’s your day been?
DaisyM: Pretty good. Yours?
Bucky17: All I thought about all day is you.
This gives you pause. It’s been weeks since you started talking to him. You were lonely and wanted a friend…maybe even craved for more. You have…ways to entertain yourself, but they are a desolate substitute for the warmth of human interaction.
It’s why you bounce with excitement whenever Bucky messages you. But lately his texts have gotten steamier. It’s clear he wants much more than what you’re shyly giving. He’s been asking for pics, videos even.
You distract him every time. You’re not ready for more than idle texts teetering on flirtation.
So far he’s withstood the push and pull. You’ve enjoyed teasing him, the attention frankly flattering…but you’re not willing to take it further for now. Possibly not ever.
It’s just a temporary fix.
Soon, you’ll get bored and move on. Him too probably.
You type a cheeky message, light reflecting on your face as you smile down at your phone.
DaisyM: Stop pulling my leg.
Bucky17: I’m not. You’re all I think about. Every hour of every day.
Your brows knit. A little creepy. Still, you elect to ignore the unease slithering through your spine, switching topics.
DaisyM: Is Bucky really your name?
Bucky17: Yes.
DaisyM: How do I know you’re telling the truth?
Instead of a reply, a picture of a metal necklace appears in the chat. You blink at the dogtags spelling 'James Buchanan Barnes' in astonishment. You wouldn’t have pegged him as a military man.
Then again, a few pictures and texts cannot fully encapsulate everything someone is.
DaisyM: I can’t believe you served.
Bucky 17: There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me, doll.
Bucky17: But I’d love to tell you more.
Bucky17: Maybe we could meet.
As you peruse the quick succession of messages, your teeth sink into your lip. Apprehension twists your stomach.
Meeting Bucky in person? The very notion drains the blood from your head, making your heart pump a bit faster. Online, everything’s so much easier. You can pretend. Omit the unglamorous details of your life. Only show the parts of yourself you feel comfortable. Be someone else.
Someone cooler, better, prettier.
A stark contrast to the dreadfully dull girl you in fact are, average in every way a person can be.
DaisyM: I’m not sure yet, Bucky.
Bucky17: Why not? We talked a bunch of times.
DaisyM: It’s not the same. I’m not ready.
Bucky17: When will you be?
Bucky17: At least, show me something.
Anxiously, you swallow. The acute awareness of what he’s once again asking sears your insides.
Bucky17: Just a glimpse. I’m losing my mind here.
A knowing sigh rolls off your tongue. You resign yourself to the fact that maybe the conversation’s at a standstill.
You’re about to crawl beneath your blanket and call it a night when your phone screen dims, the screen changing.
You gasp. It’s a video call from Bucky.
That’s a first.
Panic obstructs your airways. Bolting up into a sitting position, you grip your phone tightly. You take a deep breath. The soft buzzing is drowned out by the clamorous drumming of your heart.
Quivering fingertips hover on the touchscreen. You breathe in. And out.
It takes you a while to decide.
But finally, you do.
Your heart’s in your throat when you tap the bright green phone icon, accepting the call.
As you take in the sight that greets you, you freeze, eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets.
"Do you see what you’re doing to me?" Bucky’s deep, raspy voice erupts from the speaker.
Your mouth dries.
Your gaze is glued to the screen, incapable of darting away from his large metal hand rubbing up and down his thick, erect cock.
The image fills your entire screen, providing a detailed view of the veins streaking across his shaft and the weeping, scarlet head he nudges with his thumb. The metal stands out against his taut flesh. You find yourself wondering how it must feel for him. Is it cool to the touch? Rough perhaps? The little stutters in his breath make you curious. Your core clenches as you audibly inhale.
Lost in staring, you jolt when he utters lewdly,
"I bet you’re soaking wet right now, doll."
You shudder. Heat nestles in your cheeks. You feel like glass, wretchedly transparent.
"No," you feebly respond.
"Hm, Liar," Bucky purrs. He groans, fisting his cock harder. You bite your lip, mesmerized by the sight despite your qualms. "Come on, doll. I’m dying here."
The urgency in his tone, the desperate need, sparks something buried deep within you. Desired. Wanted. You’ve never felt that way before.
It’s thrilling. So you succumb.
Carefully you place the phone at a low angle, propping it up on a catalog. As you steady your uneven breaths, you smooth out the sheets.
Your stomach is in knots as you settle on your bed comfortably, ensuring your lower body faces the screen, that your face is still hidden.
Bucky encourages you to go on. "Please, doll. I just wanna see how pretty you're down there." His timbre is hoarse with lust.
Slowly, you open your legs. Hesitation withers as Bucky’s praises embolden you. Your hand creeps down, shoving your panties to the side and exploring gingerly. Bucky’s gravelly voice is entranced as you begin to part your folds for him, delving inside with one bashful finger.
"Fuck. You look so tight, doll."
You bask in the comfort that the muted light protects you from his hunger. In the darkness of your room, you’re safe.
So you let your fingers wander, digging and twisting inside you, sweeping over spots that have you wiggle against your sheets.
The thrill of being watched and your own neediness take over.
Your filthy whimpers and the wet squelching of your cunt coalesce with Bucky’s ferocious grunts, forming a lewd song that swells in your room.
"I’m about to explode," he snarls, pumping his cock. He comes on his own hand with a throaty sigh. The thick white ropes spilling between his fingers, dripping down his softening length, hypnotize you.
You lick your lips as you spread your arousal over your aching clit. You press against that tangle of sensitive nerves, mouth parting as you keep sinking into your weeping cunt.
You bring yourself to completion with the warped, sinful echo of Bucky’s voice in the phone nudging you.
Carefully, you turn off the camera and collapse on your bed. The aftershock of bliss still hazes around you. Tingles nip at your skin and you tremble on the sheets, shallow pants leaving your mouth. Your arm folds above your head.
His voice pierces through the unruly storm of your thoughts.
"That was amazing." He sounds as breathless as you do.
He doesn’t stop there, continuing with a lower tone, rife with craving, "It’d be even better if I could touch you, feel you around me. Bet you’d fit like a glove around me, doll."
Your head spins, your heart missing a beat. It’s getting too real.
"I-I have to go," you stammer.
Fumbling with your phone, you abruptly end the call.
Bucky17: Daisy?
Bucky17: Daisy?
Bucky17: Answer me now.
I’m going to find you and make you mine.
You fling the phone away like it caught fire and burnt you. It noisily clatters across the floor. Your chest throbs, disjointed breaths rushing through your lungs. Shaking, you huddle under your blanket. Thoughts jump around your mind and your nerves thrum in horror.
This was a mistake. Of course it was.
The words rob you of sleep that night but as time wears on, the threat loses its potency. You get on with your life. Your profile and the app are deleted that very same night.
Bucky becomes an afterthought. An unwise quest for thrill. A cautionary tale you file somewhere in the very back of your brain. You remind yourself that you’re safe, shielded by anonymity and miles of distance.
You resume your routine.
Work has your full focus now. Tasks and assignments piled up while you let your mind drift in a fantasy. You need to return to the tedium of reality.
It’s another day such as this when you walk outside after a long work day, shivering in your coat. Eyes rise to the pale sun and gray sky. Tepid autumn winds have yielded to the frosty haze of winter, a cold that seeps into your very bones. Snow swirls around you, crunching and melting beneath your boots. You wrap your scarf more tightly around your neck.
It’s when the feeling blooms, rising at your nape and spreading through your spine. You pivot, blinking at your surroundings in confusion.
Then… you finally notice.
Your eyes grow.
Even from afar, the stranger’s gaze is intense, branding your skin with heat amidst the cool winter air. You flinch backwards. The cap casts shadows across his face, baring you from seeing it clearly at this distance. His broad frame hovers ominously by a newstand, but the crumpled magazine in his fist holds none of his focus.
Instead, it’s entirely on you.
Swallowing thickly, you turn and walk away. The subway station isn’t that far. Who knows, this all might be in your head, paranoia inspired by your most recent online mishap. Your teeth chatter, your feet tangling as you hasten your pace.
Just a few steps and you’ll be lost amidst other commuters. A stranger amongst strangers. Saved by anonymity once again.
A sigh of relief almost escapes your throat, but it’s replaced by a high-pitched yelp as you’re grabbed from behind and dragged into an empty alleyway. Your screams are stifled by the stranger’s hand. You squirm in his embrace but his strength crushes your bones.
Unceremoniously, you’re slammed against a bricked wall, the sturdy hand latched around your throat silencing you. Your features scrunch as your back howls in pain.
The stranger’s deep breaths fan hotly over your face, forming white fog that floats in the air. His voice rises in a feral rumble, hardly human.
"I promised I’d find you…my sweet little daisy." You sputter out weak exhales as his fingers squeeze around your neck. "If that’s even your name."
Your heart lurches as you take in the metal arm currently attached to your throat and the clenching jaw beneath his cap. But most of all, bright blue eyes burning like hot coals. Eyes you recognize all too well from pictures.
"Bucky?" you croak, eyes widening.
"You disappeared," he accuses, ire and desperation mingling in his tone.
His hold on you eases just enough to allow you to speak between wheezy breaths.
"I’m sorry. I-I just got scared."
His cheek twitches as he shakes you. You grow dizzy, bile traveling up your throat.
"Scared? I wanted to be good for you." His voice breaks as sadness flickers in his cobalt orbs. "I was good…patient."
"Please…" Tears prick your eyes. Your fingers claw at his arm uselessly. Helplessness blares inside you.
He sighs, nuzzling his face in the crook of your neck as you shudder in fright against him.
"No more games," he tonelessly announces. Emotion fades from his face, cold focus settling over his features. You gasp as he suddenly lets go of your neck and traps you against his broad chest. You flail but his steel arms encase you.
And as he presses a soft cloth against your mouth, you go limp.
The cloying scent engulfs your mind in vertigo, blurring the world around you. You sag against Bucky.
His last words dwindle, a frail echo above the chasm you find yourself sinking into.
"I’m gonna teach you what being a tease gets you, doll."
I do not have a taglist anymore. Follow and turn up notifs for my sideblog @straytales to know when I post something new.
Warnings: this contains noncon and rape, some violence, and mentions of pregnancy.
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.
Character: dark!Tormund Gianstbane x mute!reader
Synopsis: It’s easy to be prey when you can’t scream for help.
Note: This is an entry for @sweeterthanthis and @cockslut-padalecki’s love (to challenge) yourself challenge. I’ve not gotten a chance to write Tormund so here’s a short shot at it.
Thanks to everyone for reading and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)
I really hope you enjoy. 💋
<3 As usual, I’d appreciate if you let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya <3
❄️
Fires burn in the crisp night, licking at the frozen air and sending willowy smoke up to the stars. The voices of at least a hundred wildings rise with the scent of ash and swallow the icy plains. Several hordes meet in a single place for the solstice feast, a few of which you’ve never encountered before.
Kinktober Day 3 ♦️ Cockwarming ♦️ Kinktober Masterlist
Vampire! Andy Barber x Secretary! Reader
Your work yet another late night at Mr. Barber’s office.
CW: Non-con, biting, blood drinking, smut
Words: 1.3k
It’s a regular night working late at Mr. Barber’s office. It’s not a rare occurrence at his nightly practice. You don’t mind it. It's double the pay and half the hours, for simple work that doesn’t exert you extensively. With your tendency to easily tire throughout the day, you couldn’t have asked for a better job, and a better boss.
Still, after a long evening of going through case briefs and depositions, you are eager to go home and soak your stiff limbs into a warm, scented bath.
As usual, you make sure everything’s in order before you leave. When you rise from your desk, you’re a bit surprised that Andy beckons you to his office with two sharp knocks on the glass.
You straighten your pencil skirt and drop your handbag on your desk.
A professional smile decorates your lips as you enter.
"Mr. Barber, do you need something else before I go?"
Sharp cobalt eyes travel up and down your frame, eliciting a tickle of unease on the side of your neck. You discard it. Maybe with someone else, you’d be concerned, but Andy’s never been inappropriate towards you.
"Always so diligent, aren’t you, honey?"
The deep baritone sends warm ripples through your skin as you try not to react to the pet name. Andy has his quirks and pays you well enough to ignore them. Still, your tone is a bit clipped as you straighten your spine.
"I like to think so."
"I want you to tell me about the Williamson case."
"Oh, I can send over an email-"
"I’d rather hear it directly from your mouth. Sit."
Giving a nod, you stride to the chair on the other side of his desk but his stern timbre halts your motions. "Not there, here is better."
You go still, anxiety coiling in your gut. Your mouth parts as he eases back in the chair, undoing his belt while opening his legs, freeing a space between his thighs. Strong, taut muscles poke beneath the expensive material of his tailor made suit.
"That doesn’t seem…appropriate," you reply, the smile on your lips trembling a little.
His expression is soft, inviting. His eyes mesmerize you as his honeyed bass pierces your defenses.
"Why sit on a chair when you’ll be more comfortable here?" His hands go up and down his thick thighs, a tease dancing along his plump mouth.
Your thoughts liquefy as you drown in his irresistible thrall. You mindlessly move towards him, the eager click of your heels filling the office. What were you thinking before? You don’t know; it’s all a hazy, befuddling mess. Only Andy’s silky, luring tone remains.
"You’re right, sir. It does make sense."
He guides your hips as you sit on his lap.
His beard scratches your skin when he nuzzles your shoulder, humming low in his throat, "I missed your sweet scent." He kisses his way up your neck, one hand reaching up to cup your breast while the other massages your hip. Your lids quake shut. "So tell me about the case," he rasps, the deep vibrations of his voice making you shudder as they seep through your flesh.
A feeble stammer drops from your lips. Details are hard to remember but you try.
Your thoughts dissolve completely when a sharpness breaches the soft skin of your neck. You whine. Your mouth wobbles as Andy’s teeth sink into you. He holds your jaw with his large hand to keep your neck exposed. His loud slurps mingle with his moans.
Pain scrunches your features at first, but then tingles of pleasure course through you. You sag against his muscular chest. Andy takes a long gulp of your blood, tongue swirling over your skin to lap up stray droplets of your life elixir. His thumb flicks your pebbled nipple through your shirt and you whimper.
"You should stop eating those crappy takeout dinners," he grumbles. "It makes your blood sour, honey."
"Yes, sir."
The order is filed somewhere in your brain, buried in the recesses of your subconscious for later. Eat clean. Please Mr. Barber.
A hardness stirs to life under your ass and your breath stumbles. He’s thick and throbbing beneath you. Your chest pricks but you don’t resist as his wide hands sweep along your sides, bunching the pencil skirt around your waist. Andy’s fingers knead your ass cheeks as he purrs.
"I see your body remembers me, honey, even if you don’t."
Your stomach knots as the sound of him undoing his pants reaches your ears. He slides your panties to the side and lifts your hips. The thick head of his cock nudges your slick lips apart. Your mouth opens in a quiet scream as he stretches you open. He pushes in a little and sharp pain shoots through your body. Your ass hovers on his thighs as you grip the edge of the desk.
Andy’s sugary tone caresses your eardrums.
"Let it happen, honey. Just sit on my lap."
Heeding his order, you let your cunt sheathe his veiny length completely. Trembles ripple through you when he bottoms out, reaching the hilt of you. You head lolls backwards on Andy's shoulder as you squirm. Your aching walls strain to welcome his girth.
Your teeth bury in your bottom lip, a breathless moan floating from your tongue.
"That tight pussy. I can never get enough of it… or you, honey," Andy thrums, leaning back in the chair with you against him. His teeth nip your shoulder, pecking the area before ripping the flesh with his fangs. A high-pitched cry tears from your throat. Pain makes your tight ring of muscles squeeze wetly around him. Your boss groans.
Andy’s feathery lashes rest against his cheek bones as he savors you. His hand sneaks below your shirt, pinching your tits under your bra.
"Could stay inside you forever, honey," he says, his arms tightening around you. Cool fingers trek downwards, drifting over your swollen clit.
Steamy air fogs around you as your hips undulate over Andy’s muscular thighs. He nudges your button, pressing and squeezing until you’re a weeping mess over his cock.
"Come for me, honey," Andy mutters feverishly, his sharp teeth grazing your earshell.
Your walls convulse as you come undone. Your arousal drips over his length as you pant.
It lasts a while, Andy playing your body while keeping you on his lap, alternating between hard bites and soft kisses.
You lose track of time.
He licks a bloody stripe up your neck before cooing,
"Outstanding work as usual, honey."
The world shifts around you, Andy’s office blurring out of view as his deep, hypnotizing voice engulfs you.
"You are tired because you work too hard for your own good. You only remember falling asleep at your desk." Your cheek falls against a cool surface. The rustle of clothes faintly registers as hands sweep all over your skin. Andy’s lips whisper against your scalp. "You will go home, eat a nice, healthy meal, and get a good amount of sleep before the next evening." He pauses then chimes, "I have more fun planned for us tomorrow, honey."
You blink as you awake.
Your head’s spinning and your limbs are heavy. Tingles bounce all over you. It’s not unpleasant, but strange.
You stagger as you rise from your chair, collecting your things to head home. Outside, night is fading over the city, surrendering to dawn’s first light. Your eyes flick to Andy’s office. His chair is empty.
You rub your face, a long yawn escaping.
Your walk to the elevator is slow. Excessively weary, you struggle to remain on your feet.
A sigh falls from your lips.
You must have fallen asleep at your desk again. You do work too hard for your own good.
I do not have a taglist anymore. Follow and turn up notifs for my sideblog @straytales to know when I post something new.
Title: Seduce & Destroy (Part Eight)
Summary: A mother is desperate to save her daughter from being married off to the Master of the Town or worse, sold to the brothel for her father to be able to afford drink and rent when he is failing at bringing in money for the household. The mother finds a witch deep in the ancient woods willing to take a sharp cost to bestow safety on the daughter. If it truly ends up as safety… that is yet to be seen.
Pairing: Dark!Thranduil x Fem!Human Reader
Words: 2,132
Warnings (more may be added): Non-con, magical manipulation, mental abuse
Part Seven || Masterpost (mobile) || Fanfic masterpost
Oooo I'm excited for the party. It feels like the party that was mentioned in the prologue, where y/n slips away to the barrels in the river. I just live for Thranduil catching y/n being naughty 🤭
you know what’s fucking insane? Making dark content creators revive their trauma just to explain to you why they write what they write; making dark content creators feel guilty about writing about problematic tropes as if they agree with it; making dark content creators a victim of your self-righteous, self-congratulatory anger just because you actively engage in content you’re not fond of instead of ignoring it. please log off
Warnings: non-con, dub-con, smut, explicit sexual content, explicit descriptions of violence, explicit descriptions of blood, vaginal sex, anal fingering, oral (female recieving), unprotected sex (wrap before use, guys), creampie, choking, praise kink, felching, Steve’s unrelenting (and hot as hell woof)
Word count: 5,6k
Summary: On a regular, unsuspecting night, a bloodied stranger falls into your apartment. As you help him clean his wounds, you find yourself at his mercy, struggling against his strength, his intentions, and your own, secret want.
A/N: Your media consumption is your own responsibility, but I advise you to not engage if the contents of the warnings trigger you. Not beta-read, we die like men. My work is not to be distributed outside my blog.
I say this is soft!dark!Steve Rogers since it has heavy non-con and dub-con vibes in the beginning, but Steve isn’t as physically forceful as I’ve written him before. Head the warning, darlings. Take care<3
This is a sort-of prequel to To give you what you need, so go give that a read if you like this one<3 Reblogs, likes and comments are amazing<33
It was late. Too late. Fuck.
Well it was only about one in the morning, and you had the day off tomorrow, so it wasn’t a problem, really. But you were planning on getting up early to catch the sunrise out on the hill, so you brushed your teeth and your hair rather rushed in order to get to bed as quickly as possible.
You were just about to turn the lights off in the hallway before slipping into your bedroom, when a quiet sound came from your front door. A knock, you realized with a flash of nerves as you glanced at the clock again. Oh no, that could not be good.
You wanted to ignore it, but a second later, it came again, louder this time, a fist hard against the wood. You jumped at the sudden force of it. You didn’t know anyone who’d come banging on your door this late. Not without messaging first. Maybe not even then would they bang loud enough on your door for your neighbor to hear it.
A weird sense of embarrassment filled you as you wondered what your neighbor might think of the noise coming from your door. Your feet carried you over to stop the noise before you’d thought it through, and you unlocked and cracked the door slightly open.
