Summery of fic: Reader/Jess Harper has already survived abuse and sexual assault by stepbrother Nate Millers, but the reward was a prison sentence for murder at Litchfield penitentiaryâŠ
What happens when you/Jess come face to face with Nateâs old colleagues and friends, Correctional Officers Steve Rogers and James âBuckyâ Barnes, who both seem set on making you pay for your mistakes. Will you be able to survive it all over again?
Pairing (kinda): Steve Rogers x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Reader, Nate Millers (OMC) x Reader
Words: 2656
Warnings: DARK AU, dubcon/noncon elements, Dark!Bucky, Dark!Steve, implied sexual acts, sexual acts, mention of murder, mentions of death, mentions of violence, mentions of NC/SA and death, mentions of blood
You have been warned.
Chapter 21
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Morning rolled around and their shift had ended. They had done what they usually did after a shift; theyâd made sure to leave their intercoms at the station, theyâd gone to the staffroom to get their things from their lockers and made sure to not leave anything in the lunchroom that wasnât supposed to be there. It was a typical morning in so many ways, yet everything was different. They were different.
Whenever they had come around to check the dorms during the night, you were asleep. Theyâd given you some time alone before they did a check, and it was not because of guilt, but once they did, you were fast asleep. It had surprised them at first, seeing Steve had pointed out that you never slept during the night, always sitting perched on your bed instead. But now you slept. Wasnât that strange after all, theyâd really put you through the wringer, so of course you needed to sleep. They really needed sleep too, and their own beds were calling out to them, even before they walked through the door.
Bucky walked in and went straight to the fridge to get them both a cold beer. They needed something to celebrate with, and something that might take the edge off before going to bed. Steve threw his jacket on the backrest of a kitchen chair, and walked into the living room with a loud sigh. He turned the tv on for some company, something they both did, which made their bill skyrocket but they didnât care. He sat down on the couch, leaning back heavily into the cushions, resting a foot on the coffee table. Bucky was right behind him, and mirrored his position right beside him, handing him a cold one.
âThanks,â Steve mumbled and took a swig of the smooth liquid.
They sat there, watching the tv screen without really seeing anything, both already having a private viewing of last night's events replaying in their minds. It was everything they had wanted, everything they had planned for and prepared for. Even your initial reaction to seeing Bucky standing there waiting in the laundry room. You figured it all out so quickly, it didnât take more than a look from him to let you know you were right.
The way you struggled and begged was all so perfect. It took a few tries to get you under control, to get you to learn your place and just let them use your body as they wished, and it was perfect. How they got to manhandle you, just like they wanted. How they got to hear you beg, just like they wanted. How they got to pin you down, just like they wanted. Everything was what they wanted. And you got what you deserved.
âThink sheâll even get up today?â Bucky asked into his bottle before a sip.
Steve did a half shrug.
âDoubt it. Sheâs probably gonna be bedridden for the entire day,â he said, ending with a slight chuckle, which Bucky joined in on.
âI doubt she can even walk,â Bucky said.
âSeemed to have trouble with that last night even,â Steve added.
Both smiled at the thought, quite proud to be the ones to achieve that staggering gait. Just like Steve, it wasnât the first time a lady had left Buckyâs bed with an awkward walk. The occasions were rare for such vigour, but certain nights called for a rougher handle than others.
Images flashed in the minds of the passed night, sounds echoed in their ears. And they werenât all really that pleasurable to remember. Sure, the amazing orgasm, their power and your helplessness were all fond memories, but it was somewhere along those last images where things started to turn a bit sour in memory. Questions started to appear. Questions they did not want to hear, nor answer.
âWe did the right thing, right?â Bucky asked after a few silent moments had ticked by.
Steve turned his head to his friend, finding an uncertain look plaguing his usually upbeat features. His face wasnât any better, he knew, so he forced it to change.
âOf course, we did,â he said. âSheâs deserved every bit of rough treatment weâve given her, and then some. Murdering Millers... She got off easy, you know that. And if the justice system canât punish murdering cunts, then we have to step up.â
Bucky let out a snicker, almost spilling the beer in his mouth, barely managing to swallow before speaking.
âSuch foul mouth, Stevie,â he said, earning an almost shameful look from Steve, if it werenât for the twitching smile.
âYour words. Jerk,â he shot back, no spite in the word whatsoever, before he clanked their bottles together and took a swig to finish his beer.
Steve inhaled deeply and rose to his feet with a loud sigh, putting down his now empty bottle on the table.
âIâm gonna take a shower,â he said and, again, pushed his way through Buckyâs raised leg without a second thought.
âYou do see me sitting here, right?â Bucky fired back, and threw one of the pillows from beside him after Steve, just grazing his leg before sliding onward on the floor.
Steve barked a laugh at Buckyâs annoyed face, and picked up the pillow and shucked it right back. He would have hit his face if Bucky didnât have catlike reflexes and dodged it.
âAsshole,â Bucky muttered under his breath through a smile as Steve went to turn a corner.
He heard the shower come on from inside the bathroom, the door a tinge ajar to let the steam out. Privacy was a luxury none of them had much care for, effectively beaten out of them from their time in the army. Now it was all open doors, disciplined wakeup calls and meticulous making of beds. And their closets were always neatly stacked with perfectly square shirts.
They were army men. Part of the US finest. Heroes. Theyâd gone to war to fight for their country, theyâd saved lives and risked their own in the process. They were heroes. But right now, sitting at home on his couch after just having forced himself on a young woman, Bucky didnât feel like a hero. Far from it. Yes, they had been right to do it, you had deserved the pain and the punishment for murdering a man and getting such a minimum sentence, but right now... When the buzz had worn off, and the rush had gone with it, he was left with nothing but the doubtful questions he had buried so deep prior to it all. And it didnât leave a heroic aftertaste at all.
Steve turned the knob to increase the chill of the steady stream falling from the showerhead above, leaning his hands heavily against the wall to let it cascade down his neck and broad back, the muscles tensing under the cold water. He stood there for several minutes, not moving, not showering. Just letting the water wash over him and clear out his mind. At least that was the goal, but the execution was not really turning out that great.
He could still feel your body. Could still feel his grip tightening around you, leaving bruises and making it hard for you to breath against him. He could still feel how you kicked back against him when Bucky had taken his shirt off, how you had upped your efforts to get away. He could still feel it. And the shame ate away at him.
It wasnât supposed to feel like this now. He was supposed to be calm and collected, joyous over the happy outcome. He was supposed to look back at this night and only remember the high of being completely in control, the heavenly feel of your pussy tightening around him, making him cum harder than he had for quite some time. But that ship had sailed, leaving just a heavy anchor behind, dragging him to the bottom.
When he couldnât hold back the shivers anymore, he switched the water to hot and routinely washed off, feeling the ache in his body and the desperate need for sleep. He wondered if Bucky felt the same. In all aspects. He knew his friend, he could read him like an open book, and vice versa, which made their friendship run so deep. And Steve could hear the doubt in his voice, hear the forced conviction whenever Steve himself had voiced his own concerns. Bucky felt the same, that much he was sure of. But neither wanted to say anything aloud, not wanting to open that door and let them both be consumed by it. And they both knew, deep down, that it was just a matter of time before their happy little bubble of unspoken words would burst.
O.o.O.o.O
Static hissing sounded through the dorm, screeching like an old angry cat, before CO Wilsonâs voice came through the speakers to go over the schedule for the chapel and giving a few encouraging words to start the day. The inmates started stirring, some early risers but most were just lying in a sleepy haze, not wanting to get up, annoyed by the loud and booming voice of the officer telling them they had work to attend.
You stayed asleep. You didnât wake up despite the commotion. The tiredness outran anything trying to chase it down and get you to open your eyes and feel the world of pain you were in. No, you wanted to stay asleep, needed to stay asleep. Some things would be worse once you did wake up, you knew that. Like the ache after a hard workout which gets progressively worse as time goes on, peaking a day later than expected. But some things would also have lessened, so you stayed asleep.
The hope of having a dreamless sleep was quickly shattered. Horrible images and memories haunted you wherever you turned in your subconscious, terrorising your body even through the foggy vail keeping you asleep. Images of the officers, their hands, their mouths, their shafts impaling you over and over, seeking completion and bliss from your body. Their words plagued you. Not so tough now, are ya? You only have yourself to blame. Lying, murdering cunt. Blood must have blood. ...time to shed yours. Your fault.
Images started blurring with memories of Nate. Memories of that night. Images and echoes of the past back to haunt you, even as you slept.
FLASHBACK/DREAM
âTold you.â
Nateâs voice was joyous, gleeful almost. He looked down at your shuddering form, sputtering out blood, trying to draw breath whilst clenching your belly to protect it. More blood pooled onto the floor, like someone had spilled a glass of crimson milk. Nate lifted a foot to tap the toe of his shoe in the liquid, drawing a line through it, covering his entire sole, but he didnât care. Every time he did, your eyes followed his movement wearily, expecting another kick maybe. He noticed you watching his boot, and he couldnât help but smile.
âA man canât help but have a little fun, now, can he?â
Your eyes shot up at him, finding him smirking down at you. He crouched down, making you recoil and involuntarily made your belly ache even more from the movement. He reached out a hand and grabbed you by your chin, keeping you in place. Keeping your eyes on him.
âAre you gonna be a good girl?â he asked mockingly, his fingers pinching into your skin.
You couldnât nod, his hold wouldnât let you. His fingers kept your mouth closed, so all you could do was moan weakly in response.
âUgh...â
It was enough to satisfy as an answer thankfully, because Nate smiled.
âSee Iâve been thinking about this little...â he said, letting go of you, rising to his feet and began to pace before you. â...pushing of limits for a while now. Every minute of it in fact. Every single thing that I wanna do to you.â
âMmph...â you whimpered as his eyes shot a harsh look down at you.
âSee how much you can take.â
He stopped in his tracks close by your head, biting his lip where he stood, almost calculating. He was always so expressive in his features. His face never told a lie unless he wanted it too. And his hands were keen, twitching around the handle of the knife.
âSee, Iâm gonna make this hurt. Itâs gonna hurt so bad, until your last... final... gasping breath.â
He turned on his heel away from you.
âPlease, Nate... You donât have to do this...ugh...â you begged, gasping as more blood flooded onto the floor, creeping further and further away.
Nate scoffed, his back still towards you, but he turned his head to look at you.
âOh, but I wanna. I want it so much it makes me hard.â
No. Not that too. You couldnât bear it! You didnât spare a look down to see if he was in fact speaking the truth because you knew he was. He never lied about that. He had never once showed you mercy when you begged him not to force himself on you. Usually you didnât even bother to put up a fight, knowing it was futile and he was going to get his way anyway, no matter what you did. And not fighting him was the only way to spare yourself the pain and harm.
âIâm gonna make you beg,â he went on, looking down at the blade. âBeg for your life. To spare it. Or to take it.â
Oh, god. This was it. He was going to kill you. He was actually going to end your life. Thoughts of ending your own life to be free of this torment had circled in your mind more than once, but you were never ready. You werenât ready to die. Not before, not now. You werenât ready for Nate to take your life, to claim himself the sole destroyer of your entire being. No, you couldnât die. Not now, not like this. Not now.
With a rush, Nate lunched himself at you, ready should you try to work yourself out of his grip. But what he wasnât ready for, was the slippery blood under his boot betraying his footing. He fell down to the floor with a loud thud, falling face first into the blood and losing grip of the knife. It rolled across the floor. To you.
He looked up. First at the knife, then you, noticing you eyeing the knife. He threw out a hand, trying to get it back quickly, but you were faster.
There was nothing in your mind but one lonely thought chanting over and over again, deafening you to the world. One thing that controlled your entire body, making you act on it to have its will be done. Donât die. Donât die. Donât die.
The knife was warm in your hand, the handle rough against your fingers. It contrasted beautifully with the softness of flesh and blood giving way to its silvery steel, soon coated in red. With every deep cut, the skin seemed to give away easier and easier.
If anyone were to ask you afterwards what was being said or heard during that moment, you wouldnât know. To you, it was all silent. You couldnât hear Nateâs gasps, or his groans, or his pleas, or even your own voice screaming stop. No. I donât wanna die. No. Stop, as the knife pierced his torso with each word. You couldnât hear anything but white noise fogging your ears and your mind, your vision going dark from the overflow of adrenaline in your system. You couldnât hear anything, you couldnât see anything, until all you could see was Nate. Dead. And the knife in your hands, covered in the same blood falling from the open wounds of his lifeless body.
Summery of fic: Reader/Jess Harper has already survived abuse and sexual assault by stepbrother Nate Millers, but the reward was a prison sentence for murder at Litchfield penitentiaryâŠ
What happens when you/Jess come face to face with Nateâs old colleagues and friends, Correctional Officers Steve Rogers and James âBuckyâ Barnes, who both seem set on making you pay for your mistakes. Will you be able to survive it all over again?
Pairing (kinda): Steve Rogers x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Reader, Nate Millers (OMC) x Reader
Words: 3959
Warnings: DARK AU, dubcon/noncon elements, Dark!Bucky, Dark!Steve, implied sexual acts, sexual acts, mention of murder, mentions of death, mentions of violence, mentions of NC/SA and death, mentions of blood
You have been warned.
Chapter 20
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Empty. Consumed. Hollow.
Stripped of worth. Filled with shame.
Worthless. Shameful.
Your fault.
Silent. The room was silent. No machines were running, no clothes were being folded. Silent. If not for the slow, steady dripping of a faucet leaking behind you, the room was silent.
A broken wrist. Cheek still stung from the hand that had struck it. Jaw ached from still being kept open, throat raw from weeping and screaming. Your neck hurt from digging fingers keeping you down against the wood where the tears had pooled, irritating your skin. It itched.
ââŠughâŠâ escaped, muffled by the socks still wedged in your mouth.
Your feet shifted, trying to find the floor and slowly ease down from the high table. Pain erupted through your core like internal barbwire tightening. Like fire. It burned. You were burning.
Fifteen minutes. That was a while ago now. Maybe it had even passed. Time could move so fast sometimes. And sometimes it just stood still. But not now. Now it wasnât still. Move. You have to move.
Your good hand, the dominant one, steadied you against the surface, pushing yourself off. The broken one slowly moved from behind your back to resting against your chest. Safe.
âAgh..â you groaned at the searing pain shooting up your arm.
You were shaking. Trembling. Despite it all, you reached up, carefully removing the socks from your mouth, tears spilling over as your jaw was forced slightly more open to do so. Your mouth was dry, your tongue sticking to the roof of it when you finally got to close it. Your lips were chapped. Your fault.
A flare of fire surged between your legs, and you fought to stay standing, leaning against the table.
âUgh!â
Tears. More tears fell, itching their way down your cheeks, scraping them raw. Could they just stop?
You looked down, shivering from the movement but you had to see. There was blood covering the inside of your thighs, spattered and dripped. Your thighs quivered from the strain of standing, pain surging through your body like a pulse. Move. You have to move.
You swiveled around to face the sink with the dripping faucet, leaning against the side for support. Breathe in. Breathe out. Every breath felt like lava as it rushed through your esophagus, screamed raw and wounded by unshed tears. Your fault.
Turning the tap was like trying to move a boulder. It hurt to move. You had no strength left. But the water slowly started to go from a dripping to a slow pour, enough to soak the socks preciously keeping your fight out of earshot. Traitorous socks. Socks which shouldnât have picked sides, but had. Your fault.
You fought to place a cold and wet sock against your vulva, the chill initially startling but easing the pain when not moved. You held it still for just a moment before drawing it back, only to see blood seeping further and further into the white along with the water. Clots of coagulated blood spotted it from where it had touched your folds. You folded it over and softly placed it back against your opening, slowly, gently moving it to clean off the blood with an unsteady hand. You rinsed the sock off best you could, the crimson turning a light blush, and hung it on the side of the sink before picking up the other one to wet it. You cleaned off the inside of your thighs all the way up to your vagina, then moving it behind you to clean off the back and your buttocks. It came back covered in red. Your fault.
The slow pour of the water couldnât clean the entirety of blood off, but did enough to only leave a blush of it left. The basket for stray dirty laundry was close enough you could simply toss the socks into it, but you knew you couldnât do that. Instead you had to shuffle over, fighting the pain with each step, to look down and try to find any panties stained with period blood. Thatâs a good thing about a womenâs prison; periods all year around. Thatâs a good cover. There were more than enough in the basket to claim the staining of socks. You placed them near and let go of the traitorous socks. Your fault.
Beside the basket lay maxi pads. They were used for cleaning, but their initial use was what you needed them for, knowing full and well the blood would not stop for some time. There were only a few ones left, so you didnât dare to take more than one. It would have to do.
With jerking motions, you bent down to grab your underwear and trousers to pull them back up, pain pulsating again.
âUghâŠâ you breathed painfully, as the pain spiked everywhere at once.
Your wrist, your vagina, your spine, everywhere they had grabbed. Everything hurt. Your fault.
You managed to get your pants back up and place the pad on your panties, but the graze of the material hurt against the rawness of your folds, like pressing down on a bruise. Despite the ties not being pulled, the elastic edge of your trousers pressed tightly against the forming bruises of your hips. It didnât feel that way before, but now it did. Your fault.
Above the sink was a metal tray, much like the one in SHU, acting like some sort of mirror. It was dirty, showing a distorted reflection but still, it mirrored what faced it. You didnât want to look but you knew you had to. You had been told to clean yourself up, and thatâs what you needed to do. So, you looked.
Your face wasnât too bad. You hadnât taken a beating so it wasnât too bad. It was still too early to really see anything, but there would be a slight bruise on your cheek and chin from the slap, you could tell from the redness. You knew it well, so⊠you could tell. Wet streaks had blushed the skin of your cheeks, your eyes were bloodshot from constant crying. There was a slight darkening to your throat but nothing that would bloom to any real bruising, but the same couldnât be said for you neck, which already showed the distinctive imprints of fingers, which would undoubtedly darken as time passed. Small spots of red and purple made with mouth and teeth accompanied them, littering your skin with possessive marks. The hoodie would cover that. It would. The hoodie would cover it.
You turned to get a look at your shoulder where more specks of red and purple grew. Marks made by wandering lips and curious teeth, and too hard a grip. A new shirt would cover that. One that didnât have a ripped and torn collar. Thankfully prison attire wasnât all that new or unused, so torn shirts with holes and whatnot wasnât anything anyone was concerned about if they found one in the laundry.
Slowly, so slowly you were barely sure the fabric was actually moving away from your body, you removed the shirt, careful not to upset your wrist as you tugged it off. Underneath, redness and the budding of bruises littered your body, written on your skin like a new story altogether. It was a stark contrast to the old ones already healed, but these would heal too. These would even fade from sight. But never from memory. Your fault.
Both wrists were turning a dark shade of blue, the broken one severally so, even blackening where the swelling was worst. There was the slightest distinction of nipping steel going around them, but that would fade quickly. You could see some scrapes from wandering hands and fingers on your chest from where both men had grabbed at you like kids at a fair trying to get the best toy from the lottery. They didnât need to. They were the only ones there. They didnât need to fight for the prize.
Gentle, prying fingers grazed the outlines of the word written on your abdomen, tracing it like the outlines of a drawing. It felt so true. It felt so real. Like it had predicted the future to come. Like a brand, or a scarlet letter.
Your fault.
There were thankfully a few clean, folded shirts on a nearby table, beckoning you over, luring you in with their protection from scrutiny. Their promise to keep what lay underneath safe. Though you would always know what was true underneath. What was being shamefully hidden.
Shameful.
Worthless.
Your fault.
ââŠaahâŠâ you grunted when the sleeve met your wounded wrist, slowly working it on and over enough to pull the entirety of the shirt on, and cover everything else.
It was like putting a band aid on a severed limb. It wouldnât hold anything in, or keep anything together, but you would be able to say âI patched it upâ. You patched it up. The wound would heal, the damaged would be fixed by a simple band aid. Because you patched it up.
With every step along the long and winding corridors, flares of fire burned in your core and up your spine. You tried to relieve the pressure with short, staggering steps, but everything still hurt. Everything still burned and ached and seared as you moved. Your fault. You were almost there. You passed through the gates, one, two, three and four before at last reaching the last hallway leading to your dorm.
O.o.O.o.O
The room of the bubble was as dark as the dorm, the lights set to the lowest setting, a comfortable light to work nights in. It didnât make the officers too sleepy, and it wasnât a straining contrast whenever they needed to leave and check the dorms.
They came in through the door from the hallway, Bucky going over to glance out into the dorm to make sure no one was up, as Steve shut the door behind him. They grabbed a chair each and sat down, both letting out exaggerated sighs which morphed into delighted and relieved laughter.
âHoly fucking shit,â Bucky said with both his hands over his mouth, looking over at Steve who sat leaned back, running both hands through his hair.
âYou could say that again,â he said, focusing on a spot on the floor.
They could hardly believe it was real, that theyâd finally done it. They had finally let themselves go, and done what they had wanted to do for so long, what theyâd dreamt about. And how glorious it had been, the rush of endorphins was still buzzing. The control, the power⊠It was so different to all the other times either one of them had had sex with a woman, even if they were always the ones calling the shots. This was something else entirely. Theyâd never felt so alive, so in the moment before. It was like every touch had been electric.
âIâm still coming down from the clouds,â Bucky said through a grin, rocking back and forth on his chair with a steady beat of his foot. âThat was⊠intense.â
Steve leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, drawing a deep breath through his nose.
âIntense doesnât even begin to cover it.â
A few moments ticked by, some in silence, some in the mild titter of amusement, and some tenser than either one was comfortable with. There were so many things left unspoken and undone. So many things they had expected to feel or do, but didnât, and some things they werenât prepared for. The ambiguity was the major one, which neither dared to say out loud, but their expressions and demeanor let them know they werenât alone in feeling it.
âThink Millers would be proud or just jealous?â Bucky asked, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.
Steve scoffed. âPretty sure jealousy would take first place, but who knows. At least she got what she deserved, right?â
Bucky moved his head in a slow nod, the action not really carrying the affirmative he was looking for.
âDamn right,â he said, but it didnât hold much assertion. âShould have removed her shirt before I cuffed her though. Never got a chance to really feel those tits,â he said with a snort, thinking back on his mistake.
âWell, all in hindsight,â Steve said. âWerenât really her tits I was after.â
He looked over at a grinning Bucky with a raised eyebrow, who slowly moved a hand through his hair.
âNeither was I, but seeing how good her pussy felt, I bet her tits would be fucking perfect too.â
Both men nodded, letting a moment or two pass just to reminisce. It was a huge, life-changing moment in their lives after all. And they werenât sure sitting there talking about it did it any justice.
âShe was so tight, wasnât she?â Steve said, slowly grinding his palms together. âLike a piece of pure fricking heaven. And I was second, I can only imagine how tight she was for you.â
Both men chuckled at the comment, recalling the warm cavern which theyâd both invaded not too long ago, feeling the phantom feel of it on their cocks, tightening like a vice around them.
âBest cherry Iâve ever popped,â Bucky said with a smile, earning one back.
âYou donât actually think it was her first time, do you?â Steve asked, a worried thought starting to form in his head.
Bucky scoffed halfheartedly. âNo, I donât. If Millers didnât get in there before we did, someone else sure did. A girl like that doesnât stay a virgin for long. But I got to pop her prison cherry, soâŠâ
Steve chuckled at the remark before Bucky joined in as well. That was one way of looking at it. There was a first time for everything, and someoneâs first time in prison sure does count.
The room was growing tense with an energy mixed between a high rush and haziness. Thoughts of Millers popped up in the back of their minds, and what happened to him, which justified their actions. They had done the right thing. Because a man was dead and you did not suffer enough for that, so they had seen to it that you did suffer, that you did get the punishment you so rightfully deserved. And they had certainly enjoyed themselves in the process.
Other thoughts started burrowing into those thoughts, questioning the real enjoyment of the sentence dealt. Small, indecisive emotions of wrong started pecking at the stronger feelings of right. They had gotten what they wanted, they had gotten to feel the power and control they wanted in their sexlives, to have complete authority over someone, to call the shots in every way. So, why did it feel, just a little, like theyâd made an error of judgement?
They heard the familiar sound of the heavy door to the dorm being opened through the wall, bringing them both back to the present. Their hearts started beating harder against their chests, the beat almost visible through their shirts. Bucky looked to the clock on the wall.
âShe listened,â he said smugly, noting that you were in fact on time.
âLesson apparently learned,â Steve said, and grazed his fingers along his jawline, intently watching the direction of the door for your arrival.
O.o.O.o.O
With every step it felt like you were stabbed through your pelvis, the pain erupting swift and fiercely, making it hard to stay quiet when all you wanted to do was moan and groan in pain to relieve it. The jagged movement of limping every time you took a step, sent shocks of fire through your wrist, adding to the already overwhelming pain. Your fault.
The door to the dorm was shut as always during the night, feeling heavier than ever when you leaned against it to open it, like trying to move a wall. Like Steve had been a wall behind you, not letting you go. No, donât think about it anymore. It was over. It was done with. Your fault.
You leaned heavier against the door to get it to open, and quietly shut it behind you to not wake anyone. You hoped desperately that everyone was still dead asleep, and not awake to see the mess of you. Not that any of them should care that somebody had hurt you, you deserved everything coming to you, like the snitch you were. And if it by chance had been dealt out by the hands of a guard, seeing the night was prime time for that sort of thing, theyâd probably make it seem like it was a consensual thing, that you got off on being hurt. That you had seized the opportunity to get roughed up by one or more of the handsome officers working the night.
You felt their eyes on you, you didnât even need to turn your head to know that the officers were intently watching every staggering step you took from behind the glass. The tears had stopped at least, that was a good thing. Not that it mattered if you cried or not. They didnât care if you cried.
Bucky noticed that the collar of your shirt was no longer torn, thinking you must have changed into a new one. He didnât tell you to do that. He hadnât even thought of it, but you obviously had. He was relieved to find that you had covered for his slipup, but the fact that you had even thought to change out of your torn clothes made him wonder how or why you even knew to do that. But he didnât say anything. He didnât linger on that thought. Nor did he linger on the fact that your face scrunched up in pain with every step forward, or that the steps you took were all short and hobbling. No, he lingered on the warmth of your pussy, the softness of your skin beneath his fingers. Or so he told himself.
Steve took in the state of your body, the way it staggered forward as you held your arm close to your chest in a comforting manner. You looked like you were in quite some pain, your cheeks were red from crying but there werenât any tears falling now. He hadnât expected the forced, short steps you took, clearly in discomfort. Wasnât the first time he had fucked a woman hard enough to leave her not being able to walk, or at least have trouble doing so, but this didnât look like that. This looked like something else. And usually it was the morning after that was troublesome. It was probably from taking two guys right after each other that had you limping down the hallway. And who could blame you?
Once your back was turned to them and you had almost reached the seclusion of your cube, you felt a rush of fire and a gush of blood coming from your vagina. You caught yourself with your hand against the side of someoneâs cube, stopping fully, leaning forward to ease the stretch of your abdomen.
ââŠughâŠâ came out, despite trying to keep quiet, but no one seemed to notice.
The officers noticed. How you stopped just a few feet away from your assigned cube, leaning against the wall with fingers digging in hard enough to white your knuckles. They shared a look. A look that read of guilt, of shame, of worry. But that was all covered by a forced chuckle from both.
âIt hurts to learn,â Steve said, tugging a corner of his mouth upward in a lopsided smile.
âSure does,â Bucky agreed, an idle hand running through his long hair, yet again. âI wouldnât mind teaching her some more.â
Steve gave a scoffing laugh. âMe neither. Wouldnât mind really making sure she learns her lesson. You can never get enough education,â he said, making them both laugh at the snide remark, slowly losing themselves in another scenario involving more lessons.
You wobbled your way into your cube, leaning heavily against the top of your locker. You looked over at Gina, but all you found was a sleeping form with its back to you as always. You had to look. There was no doubt in your mind that the blood had been enough to not soak into the pad, and you really didnât want or need to have bloodstains covering your pants. Sure, bloodstains werenât all that uncommon in an all-womenâs prison, but you didnât plan on getting out of bed for quite some time, and the cleaner the clothes, the better.
Keeping as quiet as you could with the strain, you slowly got your trousers down the curve of your hips enough to get a look at the damage. You had been right. There was blood brimming the edge of the pad, and it needed to be changed. You removed the used one, which had just started to not hurt where it touched your folds, and replaced it with a few new ones from the stock laying on your locker. They were a thicker kind than what you had found in the laundry, but you still double stacked them, and covered the back of your panties for good measure. There was always more blood that youâd expect after being⊠raped. Your fault.
You threw the used one in the lidded bin beside the locker, having wrapped it in a clean one to disguise the smell for as long as possible. At least blood from tearing didnât have that same distinct smell that period blood had. Slowly you dragged your pants back up, trying not to wiggle too much when every small movement sent spikes of pain through your core.
Carefully you wobbled over to your bed. It looked as inviting as a king with crispy white down sheets even in its simplicity. You sat down and immediately regretted it.
âAghâŠâ escaped you without warning as a stabbing pain surged up your spine, and you lifted yourself up a bit to relieve the pressure on your vulva. Your fault!
Gina stirred from the noise, but didnât seem to wake up or turn. You kept a keen eye out, moving down to lean more on your hip than anything, and lay down slowly on your side, your back snug to the wall in the feigned comforts of security. You kept your hurt wrist close to your body, holding it safely to you to keep it out of harmâs way as the tension slowly started to be relieved. Your fault. All of it was your fault.
The pain was very much apparent, and you knew it would be for some time. This wasnât the first time you had been forced with such violence. At least the officers didnât beat you to a pulp, so⊠silver lining? But everything down there still hurt like a raging inferno tearing through you. Your fault. Your muscles ached from the futile fight youâd put up, your skin was scraped from the table, both on your hips and abdomen as well as your cheek, which still hurt from the hand which had struck it. Your fault. The back of your neck was tense from their unrelenting grip, the muscles there almost cramping up when forced down. Your fault.
You watched the wall above Gina, where the bricks met neatly and firm. You watched it until time stopped, until it started moving backwards. Like sand through an hourglass, never ending. But there was nothing you could do. Nothing you could do to take it back. To take back everything you had ever done to the officers, to Nate, to yourself. If you could, youâd take it back. Youâd take it back.
Summery of fic: Reader/Jess Harper has already survived abuse and sexual assault by stepbrother Nate Millers, but the reward was a prison sentence for murder at Litchfield penitentiaryâŠ
What happens when you/Jess come face to face with Nateâs old colleagues and friends, Correctional Officers Steve Rogers and James âBuckyâ Barnes, who both seem set on making you pay for your mistakes. Will you be able to survive it all over again?
Pairing (kinda): Steve Rogers x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Reader, Nate Millers (OMC) x Reader
Words: 10027
Warnings: DARK AU, dubcon/noncon elements, Dark!Bucky, Dark!Steve, implied sexual acts, sexual acts, mention of murder, mentions of death, mentions of violence, mentions of NC/SA and death, mentions of blood
You have been warned.
All hell breaks loseâŠ
Chapter 19 (includes excplicit NC)
-
When they got to work, they made sure to keep their distance. It was more of a way of teasing themselves than an outright attempt to spook you, though that effect wasnât unenjoyable. Like a game of tag being played where only two players knew the game was afoot, and played by their own rules.
They chose the postings where they knew you wouldnât be, but from time to time they had to pass through the hallways, or guard the cafeteria where you were once again allowed to eat. The expression on your face when you saw them was enough to send sparks of desire through their bodies, going straight to their cocks as imagination ran wild. That doe eyed look of shock and fear fit so perfectly on your face, and that glint of tears starting to brim your eyes made them want to see them spill over in the most gorgeous cascading waterfall.
For you, the experience was quite different. For you, the smirks and grins along with those leering eyes that seemed to be sewn on the officersâ faces today, sent different sparks through you entirely. They seemed awfully cheery and bright, their stature prouder and taller than normal, which was saying a lot when it came to the two towering men, who only seemed to be getting bigger by the day. You should feel more at ease when meeting a cheerful smile or two from the officers, but it only made your stomach flip and twist like it was tying a knot on itself.
You kept out of their way all day and night, dread starting to fill you up at the realization of both men working the nightshift. That wasnât supposed to happen! They must be short on officers after the incident with Pornstache. You hadnât heard the whole story, seeing no one was actively talking to you, but youâd heard enough to understand that he wasnât coming to work his shift tonight. He must have done something really bad if he was suspended.
You peeked around every corner like a toddler playing hide and seek. But you didnât care how you looked, you just wanted to get to the bathroom and back without any interference. You managed to do so, feeling like you were imitating Gina with the way you scurried back to your bunk.
You changed into the sweats instead of the khaki uniform, the cotton softer and gentler during the night, but provided just the same amount of protection from gawking eyes. The dorm was hot after the sun had beat down on the roof of it the entire day, so you decided the white long-sleeved, cotton shirt would suffice, and left the hoodie on its shelf in your locker. You were left in your comfy sweatpants and only slightly stiff sweater, taking off the heavy boots to settle on your bed. This time you even lay down. On top of the covers, of course, for a swift getup should you need it. Plus, there hadnât been a count yet, so you were bound to get up at least once more.
Speak of the devil, officers Maxwell and Barnes came walking through the door, calling for everyoneâs attention.
âStand for count,â CO Maxwell bellowed, her voice surprisingly sharp. She must be tired already.
You followed the routine and stood outside your cube, not surprised when CO Fucky picked your side to count. His smile widened even more when he passed close to you, humming approvingly as he did. You cowered back, trying to get some space from the man, but knew better than to move away without an order to do so. Years of conditioning had left its marks. It was becoming ridiculous how easily these men made you fall back into your old tracks, falling back in line. Knowing your place, as it were. As long as that place kept you out of harmâs way, you were more than happy to stay there, no matter how ridiculous.
âThank you, ladies,â Maxwell said through a sigh as she headed out.
CO Barnes was moving slow behind her, turning his head back, zeroing in on you. You shivered as his mouth spread in a wide, bright smile.
âGoodnight,â he said as smooth as he possibly could, and could practically see the lump wedging itself into your throat. Good night indeed.
You hurried back into your cube and away from everyoneâs leering eyes after the COâs comment. Even though youâd seen the door shut behind the officer you couldnât be sure he wasnât going to be in the bubble at any second, and youâd rather keep out of his sight too.
The bed felt softer when you lay back down. Or maybe it was your body growing stiff like cement under the beaming sun on some highway that made it feel softer. Whichever it was, it made for a confusing combo. You felt more tired than you had before; matrass or rigor mortis working its way through your muscle and bones? You felt more uncomfortable than you had before; matrass or the slow tune of a swan song? Or maybe just the fear of the officers. Could be that. Yeah, it was probably that.
An hour passed before any of the COs came in for a check. This time it was Peeve. His boots sent echoes of steps along the small corridor between the cubes, his footing slow and unhurried. He shined his flashlight at you, he looked over at you, he smiled at you, but he didnât talk to you. But that didnât stop you from seizing up like a corpse where you lay on top of your bedding, eyes fixed on the dirty ceiling to avoid having to face the man. Every time he came in, he just looked at you, but didnât say a word.
The same with CO Barnes. He came in, flashlight tight in hand to make sure the beds were still occupied, smiled at you and walked back out again. Another merry-go-round, but this one seemed ominous. Not the kind where laughter and joy was what kept it running, it just ran until someone stopped it. And they didnât stop it.
3 am. 3 am on the dot and the whole dorm was asleep besides you. Snores were louder, mumbles were heard from the known sleep-talkers, and beds squeaked when someone turned, but everyone was asleep.
The door was opened, like it was every thirty minutes or so, nothing new. CO Rogers peeked his head in through the doorway, like he always did, nothing new. But this time he stopped. That was new. He even walked in, steps slow and quiet as to not wake anyone, coming up to you and shined his flashlight in your face. You scooted away as much as you could with one arm, the other coming up to block the light blinding you. Your heart was almost bursting in its cage of bones, trembles working their way through your entire body when Steve leaned down to whisper,
âYouâre needed in the laundry room, inmate. That washer hasnât been fixed.â
He straightened up but didnât move away. He stood there, flashlight beaming down brightly on you.
You let out a shallow breath, trying to find your words in such a low tone.
âB-but... itâs t-three oâclock in the m-morning...â
Your voice stammered and faltered as you looked up at the black shadow that was the officer behind the light. Surely someone else had fixed that machine by now, but you left that unspoken.
âLaundry needs to run in the morning,â he said, voice firm and ornery even through a whisper. âLetâs go.â
He took a minor step back, minor, to let you get up. Shivers and shakes sent loud warning bells as you slowly stood from the cot which had kept you safe for so long. Tension and strain in your muscles burned as you forced your body to move, the officer walking slowly behind you. This wasnât right. That machine must have been fixed already by someone else, and if not, they would have ordered you to fix it as soon as you got back. No, this wasnât about some machine.
This was something else.
The officerâs footsteps were a mocking contrast to your own soundless steps along the maze of corridors leading down to the laundry room. The floor was cold and dirty, blackening your white socks with each step. You clenched and unclenched your fists over and over, arms heavy where they hung down your sides, shoulders up and rigid. Your airways were tightening up with each shallow breath you forced yourself to take. This wasnât right. You knew enough to know that this wasnât right.
Steve moved you aside with a gentle push when you came up to the last gate before the laundry. Despite the mildness of the touch you still flinched. Gates that were kept open during the day to ease the flow of people coming and going were locked during the night to keep the inmates contained. You had passed three already, this was the fourth. Steve let you walk through, before following and locking it shut behind the both of you, like all the other ones prior.
He seemed nervous, you thought. Unsure, maybe? He kept looking around every corner, taking deep breaths and releasing them in loud sighs, and his fingers were fumbling with the keys as he put them back in the pocket of his trousers. Why was he nervous? You were fixing a machine. That was it, you were just fixing a machine. Right?
His demeanor changed when you reached the seclusion of the door to the laundry room, and he shoved you forcefully through.
âUh!â you gasped and stumbled, turning around to face the officer as he locked the door behind him.
His eyes grew darker, menacing, as they fixed on you. You took a short, stumbling step back out of instinct and Steve just started marching towards you.
âWhaââ
âWalk,â he ordered, grabbing your arm and pushed you forward, not caring whether you kept your balance or not. You did, but barely.
Goosebumps prickled your skin, the hairs at the back of your neck stood at attention. Your breathing came out in short puffs and you barely managed to draw enough air to keep you going. This wasnât right. This was definetly not right.
When you rounded the wall of machines splitting the room in half, successfully blocking the view and the way to the door, CO Barnes came into view and it all became clear as a summers day.
He was leaning against one of the many tables of the room, his arms crossed over his chest per usual, one foot resting over the other and a strand of his semi long hair had fallen over his forehead. He was smiling, smirking almost, white teeth bared in delight. Had the situation been different, he would look like a tall drink of water who any woman would be lucky to get even five minutes with, but this was a different situation entirely.
You stopped like a derailed train, gasping at the sight of the second officer awaiting your presence. This was it. You knew this all too well. You didnât want to admit it, you didnât want it to be true, but it was. This was it. No!
You tried to turn around, tried to get away and run, but only found the strong arms of officer Rogers expecting the attempt, who grabbed you and forced you back around.
âWhere do you think youâre goinâ, huh?â he mocked, tightening his grip around you even as you thrashed, trying to get out of his vicelike hold, his strong body keeping you pressed to him.
âNo, please,â you begged. âLet me go...â you voice betrayed you, turning into a puny sob.
The door was locked, as were the four gates leading back to the dorms, to people. You wouldnât get far should you make it out of here, and by the tightening of Steveâs grip, he wasnât going to let that happen. They had you cornered.
Your vision was swimming with tears at the futile attempts to get free, trying to pry his arms off you, but it was useless. Steve didnât seem to be bothered in the least with you trying to worm yourself out from his arms, kicking meekly at his legs as you started crying and whining.
âOkay,â he said sternly. âThatâs enough.â
With that, he all but threw you against one of the machines like you weighed nothing, like the struggle had been ridiculous in his mind. Which it evidently had been.
âAgh,â you gasped and grunted at the impact, fighting to stay upright even as the pain in your ribs came back, the crying not helping ease the pain.
This couldnât be happening. You couldnât be here, again. You couldnât be in this mess, in this chaos that only ever brought you pain. They had you caged in. Steve was blocking the only way out of the laundry room, at the ready should you try anything again. And Bucky kept your other flank covered. You were caged in. They had you caged in.
âPlease...â
You looked past Steve, to his side, debating whether or not to try and make another run for it anyway, despite the hollow hallways and locked gates, but he followed your gaze and thought.
âDonât even think about it,â he said, and you cowered, emitting another whimper as tears fell.
The first attempt didnât do you any good, only harm, so why would the second one be any different? You looked over at Bucky where he stood, scoffing at the remark Steve had made.
âYouâre not getting outta here before we say so, doll,â he said through a smile.
Another useless whimper escaped you at the notion, you didnât even try to stop it, your voice hiding away. This was all too familiar, and all too new. What were they going to do to you? How bad would this get before you got out? More tears fell down your cheeks as your jaw quivered. You didnât want to think about the horrors you were about to succumb to. Anything but that.
Bucky rose to his feet and unhooked the handcuffs from his belt. You shuddered at the sight, looking up at the man with teary, pleading eyes as he slowly walked up to you.
â...no...â you said and slowly shook your head, not caring about the sprinkler of tears falling to the floor.
Not cuffs, not defenseless!
âYes,â he countered, flipping the cuffs in his hand and smirking down at you.
You tried to back up, to move the damn machines, anything to get away. But he kept stalking towards you, cuffs at the ready. His eyes were set, determined to get what he wanted, but you werenât done trying to escape.
You took a swift step to the side to get away from the officer in front of you, only to get caught in the arms of the other one, again. Steveâs grip was yet again relentless, even as you started pounding your fists into his strong chest, digging your nails into his arms, whatever you could reach, while keeping your eyes on Bucky.
âNo, please! Let me go, please!â You begged and kicked and punched, but it was useless against his superior strength.
Steve scooped you up and against his chest, holding you there until you started to tire yourself out. He maneuvered you around like you were nothing more than a troublesome toddler having a temper tantrum. And thatâs when you saw it.
A taser.
Both men chuckled when you froze, pressing yourself back into Steve to keep the distance with the terrifying gadget in Buckyâs hand, the cuffs in his other hand long forgotten. Bucky pressed the button to start the crackling of electricity, making you flinch with each fit.
âNo! Please, no,â you begged, trying to get out of Steveâs unyielding hold, trying to get away, but they wouldnât let you.
âYou ready?â Bucky asked, but the question wasnât meant for you.
âAs ever,â Steve said, burrowing his fingers into your skin to keep you put.
Bucky buzzed the taser again just to see you recoil from it, before he held the button down and pressed it firmly into your abdomen.
âWaitââ
But it was too late.
All your muscles clenched. Your body stiffened like a board as the electric current coursed through every fiber of your being, the pain mind-numbing. You lost all control of your body, going rigid against Steve where he held you tight, and you were glad for it. Had he not, you would have been a boneless heap on the floor.
Bucky removed the taser and the pain instantly went away. Your body went lax, your mind still foggy, your breathing rapid to get air back into your lungs, to get the control of your muscles back.
âUgh... ngh...â
The officers seized the opportunity
âTurn her,â Bucky said, and Steve complied, turning you to the side to give Bucky better access to both arms, efficiently cuffing your hands behind your back in a tight hold.
You started coming back to, back to the present, feeling the sting of steel being tightened against your wrist. It was too late.
âNo, no, no, please!â
Sobs were shaking your body again like they never left, as you cried for them to stop, but they ignored your pleas. Bucky steadily worked the bands on, before Steve let him have you.
âPlease, stop, please!â
Bucky grabbed a harsh hold of your hair to end the useless struggle, and craned your head back against his shoulder.
âUgh!â
The position was all too familiar; the officerâs hand firmly in your hair, and the opening of a washing machine staring down at you, edges looking sharp like blades. Please, donât, not again. The wound on your forehead had almost healed.
âPlease? Is that what Nate said to you?â Bucky asked mockingly with a tight voice, and spun you both around only to let you go and have you crash into the wall on the far side of the room.
With no hands to catch yourself, your side hit the wall with a loud thud, bones and muscles aching at the impact, but at least it didnât break skin.
âUgh!â
You were breathing heavily, shallowly, lungs burning to draw even the slightest breath to try to calm yourself as the last traces of electricity were still leaving you. Everything hurt. Even the wet streaks on your cheeks were starting to itch and sting. More and more kept falling, but you couldnât even wipe them away.
Even though fear was the only thing coursing through your veins, even though everything you knew told you not to, you still raised your gaze and kept your eyes locked on the two men now blocking the only exit.
Both men watched you with their intentions reading clear in their eyes. Their fingers were twitching with the want and need to touch you, their blood running hot as it worked its way down to their cocks, getting harder by the second. Bucky shamelessly adjusted himself, easing the ache just a little, smirking when the action sent another wave of sobs coming from you.
Both Steve and Bucky took a few steps closer, adrenaline being fired through their bodies at the rush of control. This was it. They were doing it. Uncertainty hinted at the back of their minds, just a hint, but neither one listened to it. They didnât want to hear that right now. This was their time, they had waited for this moment, planned it, and they were going full steam ahead on what they wanted to do, what they had to do. No time for second-guessing.
Your throat burned from crying, but you couldnât stop. You couldnât stop the tremors going down your spine and weakening your knees, and you couldnât stop the useless tries to get out of the cold steel keeping your arms back and unable to protect you from their assault. If there was a god in heaven, now would be a good time for a rapture.
âPlease...â you sobbed as they closed in, more tears spilling from your eyes.
âQuiet,â Steve barked at you, making you flinch and whimper at the harshness of his voice, tears truly falling in that cascading waterfall they wanted so bad to see.
But it was nothing compared to the fear of when Bucky grabbed the nightstick from his belt and pointed it straight at your face with a smile. You shook uncontrollably when meeting his eyes. Eyes that were still as determined, eyes that were pleased at the fear shining in your own.
You shrunk back, eyes tightly shut to block out the world. You wanted to just crawl into a corner and never come out, never have to face them. They couldnât hurt you if you werenât here. You tried so hard not to be. What you thought would echo in your mind were begs and pleas, but the only thing you could hear, the only thing you could say came out like a prayer,
âThis isnât happening, this isnât happening, this isnât happening, thisâAh!â
You screamed when Bucky smashed the stick into the wall behind you, making you recoil again, sobs jarring your body.
âOh, this is happening, doll,â Bucky said roughly, letting the hard plastic roam your body, circling your breasts, poking at the soft flesh.
â...please...â came out through a sob as you tried to move away from his prodding, but he just pushed you back in place. âAh...â
âWhat?â Steve said in a feigned concerned voice when you met his steely blue eyes. âYou thought youâd just sail through your sentence? That youâd get out of murder scot-free?â
You leaned your head back to breathe, gaze jumping from one angry man to the other. Their jaws were set, Bucky even baring teeth when your eyes lingered too long. A hard smack stung your cheek as he backhanded you.
âUh!â you gasped at the impact, sniveling as you looked down on the floor.
Bucky poked you with the nightstick, forcing you back against the wall.
âPlease, I didnât m-mean to k-kill himâŠâ you pleaded, hating how small your voice sounded, chest hiccupping from your endless sobbing.
âNo, Iâm sure you didnât,â Steve said, voice still forced.
âYou just managed to kill a man almost twice your size out of carelessness, right?â Bucky asked, voice sarcastic and mocking. âJust an accident?â
âPlease, it was an a-accident, I s-swear.â
The shaking of your body was impossible to hide, the officers looking more heated by the second. You recalled how Steve had reacted the last time you tried to clear your case. He didnât have a staircase to push you down, but he did have fists and very strong arms, and the sting on your cheek was still very much present. But self-preservation wouldnât let you give up.
âHe-he was gonna kill m-me. PleaseâŠâ
You bowed your head to hide away, hide your shame and your guilt and your fear. Hide away from them.
âIâve heard enough,â Steve said and turned on his heel.
You were almost quick enough to let relief take over, breathing out in heavy gasps as you hoped Bucky would turn around and follow. That it was over. Bucky looked back at Steve with a smirk, keeping the stick close enough to graze you when he turned. To your despair, Steve only walked over to one of the tables with fresh laundry on them, and picked up a pair of folded socks. You knew where this was going.
âNo, no, no, please,â you begged as he came closer, steps as daunting as his expression. âPlease! Nââ
Steve forcibly grabbed a hold of your chin, digging his fingers into your cheeks and prying your mouth open to force the socks in to silence you. It efficiently stopped your begging, but worsened your crying as more tears wet your cheeks. The fabric was coarse against your tongue, the dryness choking.
âAah!â you cried through the gag, biting down on it, trying to eject it.
The sound didnât travel far but you just had to scream, had to let the fear out, praying this was all just some horrible dream.
But it wasnât a dream. The hands grabbing at you, Buckyâs hands, forcing your back against his chest were very real. You heard the loud clatter of the stick meeting the ground, before his hand came up and rested on your forehead to expose your throat, making it hard to swallow down the lump and wetness wedged there. The other hand squeezed your breast as he nipped and licked at the bared skin, pinching it between his teeth.
âOh, fuck,â he groaned into your neck.
You cried harder as his touches went from mere grazes to urgent handfuls of your skin, hard enough to leave bruises in their wake.
âPâease,â you managed through the gag, the sound muffled and distorted. âAah!â
You screamed and cried and wiggled in Buckyâs grip, but his grip was relentless. He held onto you, not letting you get out of his hands or do any harm to him or Steve. Not that you even could. Bucky was a whole head taller than you so even when you banged your head back, all you managed to hit was his chest or a shoulder. Whenever you twisted your body his hands just kneaded your breasts even more, the sensation painful and disgusting in his enjoyment.
Steve watched as you struggled and twisted in Buckyâs tight grip, your tits jiggling just enough to be enticing. He reached a callous hand out to feel you through the fabric of your shirt. He groaned at the pillow-y softness of it.
âLet me have her,â he said, taking a step closer and biting his lip as he watched you squirm, not sure which man frightened you more.
Your eyes were pools of water and fear, pupils blown wide as you tried to look back and up at Bucky when he chuckled, and leaned his head down to whisper in your ear, his teeth nipping at the shell of it.
âLooks like youâre Miss Popular tonight, doll.â
You squeezed your eyes shut and groaned loudly as Bucky handed you over to Steve like you were a new puppy to be held and loved. Like what they were showing you was affection. Your kicking and wiggling showed both men what you thought, but neither gave a damn.
âNgh..â
Steve reached his hand in through the collar of your slowly soaking shirt to paw at your breasts, seeing as your tied arms refrained them from lifting your shirt up, something you were mentally thanking whatever god would listen for showing you that mercy. His fingers grazed several scars, but he didnât reflect on it, too caught up with the warmth of your skin against his palms, and the steady quiver of your body against his.
âMmm,â he hummed approvingly at the feel, wanting more.
He reached down and into your trousers, pressing down with the whole of his hand on your mound, pushing you back against the evident bulge in his slacks.
âM-mmph,â you gurgled and shook your head feebly.
Not that, no! Anything but that! You could take the touches on your chest, the licking of your skin, whatever hell they wanted to rain down on you, but not that. Anything but that. Please, just⊠anythingâŠ
Steveâs fingers dug in deep enough to hurt, the heel of his hand pressing down as his fingers slid further through your folds. He drew a deep breath to scent your hair, and licked a stripe on your cheek to collect the salt slowly falling down it. More fell in their wake.
âI think she likes it,â Bucky slurred, his tongue coming out to wet his lower lip.
You hadnât forgotten about the other man watching you intently as Steve molested your body, even though youâd tried to go somewhere else in your head, but you just couldnât. It was all too much. They were everywhere, they surrounded you, smothered you in their presence.
Bucky slowly started undoing buttons on his shirt, glad to see your eyes snapping to him at the slow motion of his fingers going down.
âAgh!â
You shook your head more violently as his shirt came off entirely, and the muscle hidden underneath came into view. Steve moved his head away just in time to not get knocked into, and laughed at the renewed fire.
âFeisty little thing, huh?â he said as you kicked, almost comforted to see the fight in you, the fight they both knew you must have somewhere in you to be able to kill.
Bucky was sculpted like a Greek god. Strong, hard lines of muscle covered his abdomen and arms, the expanse of his chest wide and powerful. Long veins winding up the length of his arms, bulging wherever he moved as he slowly undid his belt and let it fall to the floor.
The rumble of Steveâs laughter jolted your body.
âYou like what you see, darlinâ?â he teased and ground his hand down harder into your vulva and squeezed your tit, and you began your futile struggle once more, crying harder by the second.
âMmgh⊠NoâŠâ
But Bucky just smiled proudly, slowly working open his fly. He knew he was the epiphany of a wet dream for many women, but he also knew the power his strong build exuded, and what damage he could do. And by the looks of it, so did you. Nate had been stronger than you, and greatly so, but these men were something else entirely.
âMmm! Agh!â
You screamed and cried the best you could through the gag in your mouth, and the officers just smiled down at you at your pathetic tries for freedom, for mercy.
âItâs okay, you can look,â Bucky assured you with a soft, tender voice, as if shame was what refrained you from blatantly gawking, but you just shut your eyes even harder.
You didnât want to look, you didnât want to see the man in front of you, the man who was getting ready to assault you. The man who was getting ready to hurt you in the most horrible way you could possibly imagine.
Every time it had happened with Nate you came that much closer to being broken, to being shattered into nothingness. It ate away at you, taking one piece each time. But it was always him. It was always bound to him. This wasnât. These men werenât an extension of Nate, this wasnât set in that world. You feared men because you saw Nate in them, you feared men because of what Nate had done to you, what other men could potentially do. But they never had. Not like this. Not in its own setting, in its own world. Not without Nate.
And that was a million times worse.
As Bucky took a step closer, you tried to move back, cuffs and all be damned, your sock-clad feet slipping futilely on the floor. The strong body behind you could might as well have been a wall, if it hadnât chuckled and forced you back to meet the assailant.
âNow, now, none of that,â Steve said and squeezed you harder in his arms, ending your struggle as you fought to just breathe, nostrils flaring to draw air.
âMmgh,â you grunted with pleading eyes, but you were ignored.
A hand wrapped around your throat, cutting off your air supply and forcing you to face the officer before you, terror screaming in your eyes at the sight. His eyes were dark and blown as they beamed down on you, brows knitted together to form a wicked scowl.
âThis is for Millers,â Bucky said, and drew his other fist back and hurled it right into your stomach, sending you reeling to the floor when Steve let go.
If the gag hadnât been in your mouth you would have thrown up from the force of the punch. Your lungs tried to expand, tried to get air but the wind was knocked out of you, the stretch of your back-bound arms not helping at all. You tried to cough, but the socks were making it impossible to do anything but grunt and groan in pain where you lay doubled over on the dirty floor.
Why? Why was this even happening? Why were they doing this to you? You didnât deserve it, you didnât! You were alive despite all of Nateâs doings, and this was the reward you got? Nate must have been godâs favourite child if he was getting his wishes fulfilled even when he himself wasnât there to enjoy them. He must have been a saint in a previous life if this was the redemption. It wasnât right.
None of it was right.
You were grabbed by your upper arms and panic immediately set in. No, you werenât going to let them do this. You werenât going to let them win. Not without one more fight.
You kicked a leg out, connecting with something solid but moveable, and by the sound of it; a person.
âFuck!â Bucky grunted as he moved his leg back to protect it from further assault.
You managed to roll over to your side and almost up on your knees when a harsh kick landed on your thigh and sent you right back down on the ground again, hard. You werenât sure which one of them had kicked you, but none of them seemed amused by the effort.
âNgh..â you squeaked at the pain spreading through your leg.
Bucky was on you again in a split second, adrenaline pumping through his veins, grabbing your hands and wrist and forcing you back on your stomach. You felt a searing pain shoot through your wrist as the bone was broken.
âAgh!â you grunted and screamed as more tears fell.
The pain wasnât lessened when you were hauled up and over a table, the cuffs digging into the hurt cartilage surrounding the break. Your hips were pressed into the wood, the table high enough that your feet were barely touching the floor. One hand moved to your neck, holding you down with a tight grip even as sobs shook your body violently, your cheek pressed down against the sticky wood. When Bucky got you under control again, his elaborate breathing started to slow down, but the rush of it all stayed.
âNot bad,â he praised, still breathing somewhat heavily.
The pain of your wrist was burning and searing whenever you were moved, hard hands shoving you into a position of subservience. The officer didnât seem to have noticed the damage he had done to your wrist, or maybe he just didnât care.
âStill got some fire in her,â Steve said from where he stood a few feet away.
He didnât make a move towards you, letting Bucky deal with you however he pleased. He slowly started undoing his own shirt, his muscled chest peeking out, sending you into a frenzy again, but it was short-lived when the cuffs tugged painfully on your wrist and the grip of your neck tensed, and you couldnât do anything but submit.
You closed your eyes and readied yourself for what was to come. Each breath came and went with a groan, as tears started to fall yet again. You hadnât even noticed their absence, but here they were again.
How was this possible? How was this happening all over again, how was this your reality? This wasnât supposed to happen ever againâŠ
Bucky groaned loudly as he reached up to tear the collar of your shirt enough to expose the warm skin on your shoulder, leaning down over you to press rough kisses to the soft flesh. He nipped and licked wherever he could reach, leaving marks and bruises easily hidden.
He reached a hand down, partially lifting the bottom of your shirt to get to the hem of your trousers, before roughly shoving them down your thighs to expose your ass.
âNgh!â
You cried out in alarm, renewing your struggles as your most private parts were exposed to the world, to the man making ready to use you. You screamed through the gag, but the sound was too muffled to be heard from anywhere but inside the room.
Cold metal grazed your folds before being removed, and the hiss of electricity sparked near your flesh.
The taser.
You stopped struggling, stopped moving as the chilly prods once again ghosted over the soft flesh, the threat silent but very much there.
âMmphâŠâ
Bucky chuckled when he moved it through the slit of your pussy, making your legs quake as he listened to the weak whimpering through the makeshift gag.
âNot so tough now, are ya?â he mocked, causing more tears and muffled pleads.
âPâease⊠NghâŠâ
Steve could feel his cock straining against the confines of his trousers, already aching and leaking precum against his boxers as he watched the show before him. He took a short step closer, his hands on the huge table as he leaned forward.
âYou only have yourself to blame for this, doll,â he said in a gravelly voice, meeting Buckyâs grin where he was boldly pawing all over your body, the taser smoothing over your skin, the threat to use it again apparent.
âDonât do the crime if you canât do the time, right?â Bucky said, and smacked your ass hard, causing you to scream yet again, and grabbed a handful of your hair to lift your head. âMaybe if you werenât such a lying, murdering cunt, we wouldnât be hollowing out your honey hole, now, would we, Stevie?â
âNo, we wouldnât,â Steve agreed and backed off a step again. âBut blood must have blood. Now itâs time for you to shed yours.â
âMnoâŠâ you sobbed and shook your head, the men just smiling at the response.
Bucky groaned in delight, releasing your tresses and letting you fall back down on the wood with a thump, the pain in your wrist becoming unbearable as it moved and twisted. His rough hands ventured the expanse of your uncovered flesh, slamming the taser down beside you on the table, a close reach should he want to use it. His fingers brushed over the edge of the long scar on your thigh, making you go stiff at the reminder of its birthday, but he didnât linger enough to regard it, too busy roaming the cheeks of your ass, delve into your warmth.
You thanked whatever god for the grace of your abdomen lying flat on the surface of the table, effectively keeping the worst of the worse safe. It didnât matter that its presence on your body could be your salvation, you were too fearful of it instead sparking ideas in the officersâ heads, that more would accompany it should they know of its existence.
You opened your eyes with a gurgling sob, looking back behind you in hopes of reassuring officer Barnes of his mistakes, only to find him fishing out a condom from his pocket.
âAgh! No, pâease! Mm-mph!â
Wet, gurgling screams and cries sounded in the room, but stayed there. You tried to move away, tried to kick him off the best you could with your pants bundled by your knees, but he ground his pelvis into your behind, and you froze when feeling the massive bulge pressing up against you bared ass. That was it. This was happening. And you couldnât do anything more to prevent it. So, you did the only things you knew to persevere; you completely succumbed to your fate.
He chuckled at your reaction, seeing the gears turning as you figured it all out.
âShh,â he said soothingly, and ripped the packet with his teeth. âYouâre only making things worse for yourself, doll. And we canât have you waking up the entire prison, now, can we?â
Steve chuckled at the remark from where he paced in front of the table, his uniform shirt discarded, his body tensing with each step. Tight muscles curved his arms, veins snaking up the length of them. His chest was wide and his waist was narrow, solid squares of abdominal muscles thinning down to under the edge of his trousers, to the obvious erection still contained. He was next.
Bucky pumped his cock in a few swift strokes, before making quick work of rolling the condom on. A moment of silence ticked by, Steve stopping in front of you as the officersâ eyes met. Both nodded, and Bucky started pushing in.
âNgh!â
The intrusion of his shaft burned your walls, tearing as he forced himself further in, claiming you completely. Bucky watched the tight stretch as he eased himself in deeper, captivated by how beautiful your body looked all flushed and shaking, seating his cock deeply inside it.
âHoly fuckâŠâ he grunted, before he finally, finally, sheathed himself inside your warmth.
âNngh!â you screamed, muffled by the gag still holding strong in your aching mouth.
You cried and hiccupped, fighting to draw breath and stay alive, surrounded by pain and agony. With every drag of his cock against your burning walls, shards of glass broke off. Tap. The mirror webbed completely, the frame fighting to keep the silvery mess contained. Thatâs how hard someone needed to tap on the glass. Now you knew. And you wished you didnât.
The tightness gripped him so deliciously, the pained throbbing sending pulses of pleasure through his entire body. Heâd never felt someone so tight, and heâd popped several girls' cherries.
He thrust hard and fast, setting a brutal pace, the table scraping the floor with the force of it. He was determined to make it hurt, to make you feel the pain he was dishing out. His fingers would leave imprints on your skin from the tight grip he held on your hips, not even bothering to hold you down as you could barely reach the floor for any purchase. His elaborate breathing was filling the room as he grunted and groaned, blending beautifully with your endless sobs and cries of pain, lost in the pleasure he was taking from you. You couldnât do anything besides lay there and let him use your body as he wished, as he pleased.
The pain was worse than you could remember. It been a long time since you struggled so much to not let your body be invaded, that you had almost forgotten how agonizing it was, how excruciating. You could feel the tears of your inner walls, and the slow trickle of blood seeping down your thighs and smoothing his entry with each thrust. The muscles burned around your opening, bones ached in your pelvis as he delved into you with such vigor you felt him in your belly.
It was like you had been impaled on his shaft, your spine aching as he moved in and out of your pussy, moaning in pleasure as he slowly worked his way towards the bliss he craved from your quaking body. With every jolt forward, pain spiked up your arm from the clear break nesting there.
Minutes passed.
Long, excruciating minutes of his onslaught before the slow movements turned into more determined ones, and the heavy breaths turned into louder grunts. His hands were tugging at your body to keep you meeting his thrusts, the sound of skin slapping too loud in the room, echoing in your mind. You were relieved to hear the familiar sound of white noise as pain surged through your entire body.
âOh, fuck,â Bucky grunted, grabbing your hair for more purchase, and you just closed your eyes and waited for it to be over.
Bucky could feel himself coming to the cusp of climax as he snapped his hips harshly forward, his fingers gripping bruises into your scalp and hip as he forced himself into you completely. Pleasure coursed through his entire system, numbing his mind and uncoiling the tension in the pit of his stomach.
âAh...â he groaned and pushed himself as far as he could inside your warm, clenching pussy, appreciating every single second of bliss.
The muffled hiccup of a solemn sob sounded through the gag, when he finally stilled inside you. He groaned loudly, his chest rising and falling in deep, rapid breaths, slowly milking the last drops of his orgasm, slowly coming down from his high, still sheathed inside you.
âGoddamn...â he swore through the jarring of a pleased laugh, and slowly started to withdraw, making sure to keep his fingers still tangled in your hair and keep you down, as you lay there, still, and crying, grateful for the ease of pain in his absence.
âFinally,â Steve rumbled, hurriedly walking up to the side of the table and replacing Buckyâs hand in your hair with his own, ready to take his turn on the joyride of pleasure.
âMngh...â you sobbed as the men traded places, the torture not ending.
You were alive.
It hurt enough to scream of your survival.
Your lungs drew air, your heart kept its steady, drumming beat. Physically, you were alive. But shards were breaking off, falling from the frame of your mind and working their way into that beating heart, coming close to severing it in half.
Tap.
Bucky moved away from you, breathing hard. He removed the blood covered condom, wrapping it in a piece of tissue for safekeeping until he could discard it at home. He wiped the remainder of the blood from his body, a pang of blame hitting him at the reminder of it not being period blood, but blood from tears. But an aftershock of pleasure removed that small sensation, and replaced it with pleasure instead, something he didnât mind lingering on.
Steve came to stand between your spread legs, eyeing the damage already done by his fellow officer. Your pussy was covered in crimson, fading out around your ass and thighs from where Buckyâs hips had spread it. The quivering of your thighs, and the anticipation rising in his own chest pushed down any care for the state of your body. You deserved this. They had every right to do this.
He had waited long enough to get his hands on you, to feel you wrapped around his cock and simply take what he was giving you, helpless and receptive. Steve didnât mind the longer wait of going second, liking the extra teasing of watching you getting fucked by Bucky, feeling his cock twitching and leaking at the anticipation.
His rough hands kneaded your ass, spreading your cheeks before slapping them both hard, earning a startled yelp and more tears to fall and seep into the socks in your mouth, already soaked by your saliva.
âUngh,â you sobbed at the sting, your entire body shaking and quivering from fear and pain.
âYouâre not going soft on me, are ya, Jessie?â Steve asked, his voice almost caring. Almost.
He picked up the taser from the table and zapped your bare thigh, getting the reaction he wanted; some fire.
âAgh!â you screamed through the gag as the burning current moved through you, stinging your leg and jolting your body.
Steve smiled at the wail you let out from a mere graze of the taser. The sounds you made were so beautiful, so enticing. It didnât take much to leave you crying and whimpering on the table, silently begging him not to zap you again.
âPâease... ahh...â
The meek sounds falling from you like prayers were heaven to their ears. Submission as it should be. This was what they had been waiting for, wanting, since Nate had popped the idea in their head, saying it out loud and sharing it. And you truly were the perfect girl.
Steve caressed your wet cheek and watched you recoil from his touch, whimpering. Looks like Bucky hadnât fucked all the fight out of you after all.
He raked his fingers over your ass-cheeks, leaving red welts, and smacked your ass for good measure.
âUgh!â Another sob, another plea. âPâease, nmo...â
Steve let out a chuckle at the measly request and slow shaking of your head, and grabbed the condom waiting in his pocket.
âOh, Jessie, Jessie,â he said, his voice becoming firmer, more impatient.
The sound of Steveâs zipper scraping down met your ears, fabric rustling quietly, and the familiar tear and crackle of the broken packet was heard behind you, and you couldnât hold back the scream.
âAah!â
Every bruise, every touch, every lingering trace of them manhandling you was let out in that scream. One last, pitiful scream to not let yourself give up, not break. But the wrecked sound of your raspy voice let you know that you were already broken.
Smack!
Bucky had grabbed his nightstick from the floor again and slammed it down hard, right in front of your face.
âUgh!â
You flinched back as much as you could, breathing hard, fearing the hard plastic would meet your face otherwise, and the spike of your wrist told you just how real the damaged they could do was. Bucky laughed at your reaction, before Steve told him off.
âHey! I didnât mess with her when you were fucking her, did I?â
Bucky just shrugged, and placed the stick back on the belt.
âSo get to it,â he said, straightening his arms to move his still open shirt back in place, and ran his fingers through his hair to set it all back in place.
This was it. Again. You prepared yourself for the sure pain to come, your walls already teared and aching, and by the feel of it, Steve was just as endowed as Bucky. You couldnât help but beg. Beg for him not to do this to you, not to wreck you more that you already were.
âSâeve, pâease-e...â
You sniffled and shook, hoping the officer would show mercy, that he would be humanized by the use of his name. But he wasnât. He was angered.
He snaked his arm around your torso, wrapping a massive hand around your throat and stifled a breath, lifting you up against his chest. Your wrist was caught painfully between the both of you, and you wailed once more.
âAgh-h!â
âWhat you say, inmate?â he demanded, his grip tightening around your airway.
Your entire body shuddered through a meek whine, fear taking over as you fought to draw breath.
ââm soâwy,â was heard. A weak impression of âIâm sorryâ, but he heard it, as you chanted it over and over, hoping he would listen. ââm so-soâwy, sir, a-ah...â
You didnât know what you were apologizing for. Saying his name? Begging? Killing Nate? For being back in this situation again, this time with two correctional officers holding all the power, and no way to get out? You were sorry for all of it. You were sorry you didnât stay down. You were sorry for grabbing that knife and plunging it into Nateâs chest instead of your own. You were sorry for everything. You were sorry. You were sorry.
Steve released his hold on your throat, moving it to the back of your neck and forcing you down, your cheek pressed hard into the wet wood where all your tears had pooled, yet to sink in.
âI bet youâre fucking sorry,â he said through gritted teeth.
Anger flared up at the pathetic excuse for killing a man, an excuse for them to show mercy. Not if he could help it.
He grazed his cock over your pussy, feeling the shiver run through you as your body was paralyzed with the fear of his intrusion. He moved his cock slowly, softly even, through your folds, gathering the blood that had seeped down as slick, his motions controlled and patient. But it was just a tease.
He positioned himself at your entry and pushed himself in to the hilt, bottoming out in one swift move.
âAa-aah! Ngh...â
The scream was wrenched from your burning, raw throat, the quiver of it barely making it past the gag keeping the sounds contained to the room. You screamed as he pulled back, almost all the way out, before ramming himself back in, setting a relentless, punishing pace. Wrecked moans and pitiful whimpers were wrung from you with every thrust of his hips, the burn of your skin agonizing where his pelvis met your bare ass.
âThis is your own fault, ya know,â he said, with a vigorously hard thrust into your tight pussy trying to push him out. âYour. Fault.â
He punctuated each word with a thrust forward, the screech of the table legs matching his pace.
ââm soâwy...â
Your fault.
It was your fault Bucky had forced his way into your body. It was your fault Steve had done the same. It was your fault that you were torn between your legs, that you were coating their cocks in blood. It was your fault you were here.
It was your fault.
You were sorry.
The pain came back like a raging fire between your legs, stabbing at your pelvis and spine. Your legs quivered where they fought for purchase against the table or the floor, anything to keep yourself grounded. The small break between the men only seemed to have worsened the pain of being penetrated so forcefully yet again, your walls tearing even more as you clenched around him, fighting the intrusion. But Steve was relentless in his punishment.
Steve dug his fingers into your neck even harder, a scream wrenched from your raw throat and the pressure undoubtedly leaving bruises, but he didnât care. He didnât care that you cried, he didnât care that your moans and groans where from pain and not from pleasure. He didnât care. Thatâs what he told himself. He didnât care.
Memories of their time with Nate flashed in Steveâs mind, hearing his voice and his laughter as he joked about Luscheckâs sad excuse for a motorcycle, all plastic parts. How his words slurred as he got more and more drunk. He remembered. So he didnât care.
His pelvis started losing its rhythm when he felt the familiar coil tightening in his lower abdomen, the muscles contracting powerfully as he kept up the movement, and slammed into your pussy over and over.
âOh... shit,â he cursed, leaning his head back as the pleasure erupted, storming through his body and sending sparks of pleasure through his veins.
â... ngh...â you mewled when he slowed his movements, keeping the strength of every drive in and out of your wrecked body, before he finally stilled inside you.
âOh, fuck...â he breathed, his hands pawing at whatever part of your body he could find.
He leaned over you, unintentionally pressing down on your broken wrist, to plant tender kisses on your shoulder and neck, your pained whimpers disregarded. He rested his forehead in your hair as he tried to calm his rapid breathing, scenting your hair with each inhale, storing it to memory.
Tap.
The mirror shattered.
The window broke.
Shards of glass fell down like glistening droplets of rain, breaking into irreparable smithereens. Like sparks and bursts of a firework over a night sky. Like glittering stars of a galaxy so warm and dark. Like confetti.
There was nothing left. Nothing else they could take from you. No damage left to be done. There was nothing but scars that would never heal. Nothing that time could ever erase. You were hollow.
Completely and utterly hollow.
You didnât move. You couldnât move. When Steve pulled himself out, when his hands left you, you didnât move. There was nothing left that you could do. So you did. Nothing. Your fault. You were sorry.
âAh, man,â Bucky said with a small titter from when he had been stood leaning against the side of a bench the entire time, watching you getting fucked into the table by his own best friend.
Steve raised an amused eyebrow at him, as he continued to clean himself up and tuck himself back inside his pants. He put the condom safely in his pocket in a piece of tissue, and zipped his pants back up. He let out an exasperated sigh, feeling his muscles relax.
âYou can say that again,â he chuckled and grabbed his uniform shirt from where he had discarded it and put it back on, rolling the sleeves up his strong, seaming forearms.
His heart was beating hard in his chest, his pulse raising enough to put a slight shake to his hands. His mind was empty, completely hazed, but so perfectly cleared. The kick it gave them both to finally succumb to their imagination, their fantasies.
Bucky felt the same. Even when theyâd talked about it and everything it would entail, nothing could have prepared him for the real deal, and the emotions that came with such domination. Complete power. Complete authority. The rush of having a woman beneath him so inferior, so submissive, she could do nothing but beg and plead and moan as he had his way with her.
Bucky pushed off the bench and walked up to you where you lay, unmoving if it werenât for the slow rise and fall of your chest, soft, almost inaudible rasps escaping you with each breath. He picked up the key to the cuffs from his pocket.
ââŠmmghâŠâ was heard behind the gag, a lonely tear falling into your hairline when he grabbed your wrists to free them, turning the key with a click.
A wave of pain surged through you when your wrist was released, melding with the rest of the pain already prominent everywhere else. If youâd had it in you, you would scream. But you didnât. It wouldnât change anything even if you did. There was nothing in you anymore.
Your fault.
You were sorry.
Steve finished rolling up his sleeves and buttoning up his shirt, looking over at you where you lay, motionless and unmoving, softly whimpering. He cleared his throat, slightly surprised at the lack of reaction from you.
âWeâll leave the gates unlocked until you get back,â he said reassuringly, turning to Bucky who nodded his head.
They didnât want to leave, but at the same time they needed some space to process everything that had happened. And they still had a job to do, despite both wanting nothing more than to take the rest of the night off and just reminisce, and enjoy the comforts of post orgasm bliss.
âClean yourself up, and donât leave a mess,â Bucky said. âWeâll come to check later to make sure that you do. You have fifteen minutes to get back in your dorm, inmate. You better be there when we check.â
Bucky knew he was distancing himself from you by not calling you by your name, or a nickname for that matter. He didnât know why, and he didnât want to know. It was what it was, plain and simple. Then again, maybe not so simple.
Steve turned on his heel with Bucky at his side, throwing one last glance back at you, as if to make sure you were okay. No, that was stupid. He didnât care whether you were okay or not, because he knew you werenât. He had even made sure of that. No, he looked back to take a mental picture and savor it for later. Nothing else.
Both men left, letting the door to the laundry fall shut behind them and leave you laying there. Alone. Broken and alone.
Summery of fic: Reader/Jess Harper has already survived abuse and sexual assault by stepbrother Nate Millers, but the reward was a prison sentence for murder at Litchfield penitentiaryâŠ
What happens when you/Jess come face to face with Nateâs old colleagues and friends, Correctional Officers Steve Rogers and James âBuckyâ Barnes, who both seem set on making you pay for your mistakes. Will you be able to survive it all over again?
Pairing (kinda): Steve Rogers x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Reader, Nate Millers (OMC) x Reader
Words: 3405
Warnings: DARK AU, dubcon/noncon elements, Dark!Bucky, Dark!Steve, implied sexual acts, sexual acts, mention of murder, mentions of death, mentions of violence, mentions of NC/SA and death, mentions of blood
You have been warned.
THE CALM BEFORE THE STORM
Chapter 18
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The officers had gone AWOL. Youâd kept an eye out for them all day and you hadnât seen either of them, and it was closing in on lights out. They had been in the bubble, looking pissed when seeing you, and now they were gone. This couldnât be good. This really couldnât be good. You were slightly eased by their absence because, well, they were absent, but it felt like the calm before the storm for some reason. You tried to shake the feeling, and focus on the threats that were present instead, but in the back of your mind, things were growing crazy with questions.
Everyone around was making ready for bed, but you hadnât moved from your perked position on the bed, unless you had to. You kept a keen eye out for any hunters trying to get to the rabbit, but none had come. There were still looks being shot your way, but the shooting ended at that. You hadnât even tried for dinner when the time came, pretty sure you werenât going to get any. Hope was still burning that the involuntary hunger strike would end soon, but you werenât about to press your luck on the first day back in gen pop.
Gina came walking in from a neighbouring cube, looking uncaring when spotting you.
âYouâre back?â she asked, probably out of courtesy more than anything else, and started digging out her toiletries from her locker.
âYeah,â you said. Kinda obvious, wasnât it?
âThat was short,â she said into her locker, her voice bouncing off the metallic walls.
âYeah, guess I got lucky.â
She stood up with her things in hand and grabbed her towel hanging from one of the hooks.
âSo Iâve heard,â she added, and walked out with a pep in her step, scurrying like only she could.
Wrong thing to say, Jess. Fricking foot-in-mouth disease. You really should choose your words more carefully. Youâd only just gotten back from the sunny vacation from down the hill, one piss-smelling traumatic experience richer, and already youâre adding fuel to the fire. Though, you suspected a lot of the inmates had been adding both fuel and gasoline and possibly a whole damn forest of logs to that fire in your absence. It must be burning like a witchâs stake by now. Now all they needed was the witch.
But CO Rogers was back on the dayshift so... thereâs that! Now you just had your fellow roommates to worry about stabbing you should you try and sleep. Your body felt heavy with stress, but the exhaustion was eased from getting several good nights, even days, down in the SHU. At least something good had come out of it. You hoped that the treatment officer Rogers had given you when cuffing you after he searched your cube had done something to ease back the rumours of any favours being done in either direction. But people usually only saw what they wanted to see.
Another count, then the lights were dimmed to the lowest setting, covering the whole dorm in a comfortable gloaming light for the night. Everyone quieted down. Silence lay steadily against the cold concrete, only soft snores and mumbles being heard from a corner here and there.
CO Bennett was on duty tonight, checking the dorms and counting sleeping heads. Whenever he passed you, he gave you a concerned look, a corner of his mouth twitching up to show his sympathy for the lack of sleep. He had seen the state of you when Peeve had brought you to the van after the tumble youâd taken down the stairs, even verbally uttering his concern to the fellow officer, who of course shut it down dismissively. By the look he gave you, he seemed to assume those injuries had been dealt by the hands of your fellow inmates, and also assumed it was the most likely reason for your still awake state.
The officer stopped not far from the doorway to your cube, looking around to see if any of the other inmates were listening before he whispered to you.
âTrouble sleeping?â His tone was kept light and inviting, not a string of intimidation in it.
The sound was still loud in the quiet room, quickening your heart rate just enough to feel it thumping in your chest. You looked over at the officer, noticing his insecure smile and bouncing gaze, not sure whether to look straight at you or around. But he made no move towards you, nor did he seem to be angered or upset.
âYes, sir,â you said in a hushed tone, looking down at the floor by your bed rather than keeping his gaze. It was never a good idea to tempt fate like that.
Bennett nodded to himself, fiddling with his belt to occupy the silence that fell between you.
âWell,â he said lowly. âHope you get some rest soon.â
The officer walked on with the steady clicking of his counter, before disappearing out into the hallway to check the other dorms. And on like that it went, like a merry-go-round; he came in, counted, looked at you with the tug of an apologetic smile, and walked out. He didnât speak to you again, and you had never moved an inch from where you were sat when he came around the next time. It was like an endless loop of uncertain tension where neither of you knew what to make of the other, so instead just opted for uncomfortable silence. It was going to be a long night.
And it was a long night. Every hour passed by so slowly it was a miracle the clocks didnât stop altogether. But when morning came and CO Bennett was replaced by CO Donaldson, another thorough, but more closed-off officer, time started ticking by. Inmates started stirring in their bunks, some hurrying off to the bathroom before it was occupied by everyone else.
You had already been, just after 5 am when inmates were allowed to leave their dorms. You had even dared a shower, surprise, surprise. Even though you had made quick work of it, you had made sure to wash your private parts extremely thoroughly, the ghosting trace of CO Peeveâs fingers still haunting your flesh. You wanted to be rid of every memory of his touches. Usually you let at least a day pass between showering, not wanting to see or feel the state of your body, but after an invasion like that, youâd rather live under a steady stream of boiling water and soap than pass up an opportunity to get clean.
Before the food line got too long, you thought youâd try your luck for something to eat. You kept a close eye out for both officer Peeve and Fucky, but they were still AWOL. Did they have the day off perhaps? The hairs at the back of your neck stood at attention, foreboding something else besides a âyesâ to that question. But you forced yourself to focus on the now, and the problems at hand. Like eating for example. Cross that bridge when you get to it.
When you got to the cafeteria Gina was there. She was standing behind the glass, serving, still not noticing you. Most of Redâs family were there, some worked in the kitchen along with her, but the others were sat at a table talking. Even Nicky had made an early appearance. You felt a pinch of sadness in your chest at the sight of her, laughing and joking with her friends. Her family. And you werenât there. You wanted to, you really did, but you also didnât want to get her, or anyone else, in trouble should the officers find out. That was a risk you were not willing to take. Collateral damage Nate had called it. Collateral damage to get what you want. Not if you could help it.
You walked up to the counter, a few inmates ahead of you and behind you, all waiting patiently for their turn. Gina raised her gaze, only to find you standing in front of her, with an apologetic and hopeful look painted across your face. She looked back down, scooping some extra eggs onto the tray, and held it out for you to take. She still didnât look at you, just waiting for you to take it and walk away. You gratefully took it, smiling dearly at her when you did, despite the slight twitch of pain to the cut on your cheek.
âThank you,â you said to her, but made sure Red heard you as well from where she stood overlooking the exchange.
She didnât look mad, or upset in anyway, but she also didnât look all buddy-buddy. She was a tough woman to read, but you remembered Nicky saying you werenât on bad terms with anyone in the family. You just hoped it had stayed that way even after those pesky rumours started going around.
You ate your breakfast in peace and quiet at your own table. No one sat down with you, which you were kind of grateful for anyway. It didnât ease the awareness of everyoneâs whereabouts, or the feeling of having everyoneâs eyes on you (with not so kind looks), but it did give you the space you needed. If someone got too close, goose bumps rose like an armour on your skin. You were on constant alert, which was tiresome as hell. And you severally doubted that the day would bring anything else but more hyperawareness and aching muscles, and a very sore butt from sitting like a perched hawk on that thin matrass. You could only hope the clocks kept on ticking.
O.o.O.o.O
The tv was loud in their shared living room, a rerun of the past Fridayâs football game on. Bucky sat reclined on the couch with nothing but a pair of sweatpants on, the hem darkened by the few droplets of water remaining after his shower, and resting a bare foot up against the coffee table before him. In his hand he held a cold light beer, trying to calm his nerves. Usually he never drank before work, light beer or no light beer, but today he really needed it.
Steve came walking in to the living room from the bathroom down the hall, freshly showered and with a towel around his waist, glistening droplets of water traveling down his toned chest and abdomen. Both had been to the gym earlier in the day, like always, despite neither having gotten that much sleep, but they really needed to keep busy. Unruly nerves tingled in them both, and nothing kept their minds as busy as a good session in the gym.
Steve walked up to one of the armchairs beside the table, effectively knocking Buckyâs leg down on purpose when he walked straight through. Bucky gave him an annoyed look, and put his foot back up on the table with a bit more force than needed.
âIâm sitting here!â
âSo I see,â Steve said and sat down with a loud sigh, taking a swig from his own bottle that Bucky had so kindly placed on the table for him, which he was kind of starting to regret.
Bucky rolled his eyes and tangled a hand into his still drying hair, letting it get stuck in the strands comfortably. He watched the screen, but paid no attention to the game being played, his mind elsewhere, lost deep in thought. Pleasant, happy thoughts.
Steve wasnât any better. Despite the few hours of actual sleep, harsh workout and almost half-hour long shower, he still couldnât get his mind to focus on anything other than his favourite inmate and impending night. His mind was reeling with emotion and thought, scenarios and fantasies blending together in a mishmash of reality.
They had talked it over so many times that it was slowly waring them both down if they didnât get to it soon. Fantasies were no longer enough for either of them. Their patience was wearing thin, the wants and must-haves becoming almost too much to bear. Butterflies raced like fighter jets in their bellies, adrenaline was ready to be expelled into their bloodstream. They were nervous, excited. And, oh, so ready.
âDid you jerk off?â Bucky asked out of the blue.
âBucky!â
Steve wiped his mouth clean of the beer that had barely made it into his mouth, looking horrified and embarrassed by the question. Bucky was never one to shy away, heâd give him that. Always straight to the point.
Bucky snickered into his bottle, and took a sip.
âWhat? Itâs a fair question,â he defended, noticing the rising blush of Steveâs cheeks. âSo, did ya?â
Steve gave him a look that would make anyone back the hell up if it was fired their way, but then it morphed into an even worse blush than the one prior, and he hid his face behind the bottle.
âThatâs a yes,â Bucky said triumphantly and chuckled.
âYouâre an asshole, you know that, right?â
Bucky just nodded with a wide grin on his face.
âYeah, I know,â he said. âThereâs no shame in it, Stevie. We all do it.â
Steve looked up at his friend, searching his face.
âYou did it, too,â he stated, not surprised when Bucky gave a short nod in affirmative.
âSure did. Had to let off some steam. It was either that, or go another round on the punching bag, and Iâm not sure my knuckles could take it.â
He looked down at his hands, noting the still red skin covering the area around his knuckles where he had hit the bag, no wrap to protect his hands. Which Steve had been quick to comment on, even in the gym.
âThatâs cause you donât wrap your hands,â he said, yet again. âIf you wrap your hands, you protect your hands. Itâs simple.â
âYeah, but there wasnât time for that,â Bucky said nonchalantly. âI saw the bag, and I just had to hit it. You know how it is when you get an idea into your head, and that idea has a face, and you would much rather punch that face, but that face is still behind bars at work where you are not, but the bag is right in front of you, and then thereâs no time to wrap your hands.â
Steve just smiled and nodded during Buckyâs whole rambling session, which ended with a loud grunting sigh when he leaned his head back.
âFuuuuck,â Bucky groaned and pinched his eyes. âWhat time is it, anyway?â
Time was moving so slow, too slow, for either menâs liking. They wanted to get to work, and the lack of sleep kept them both slightly agitated when time seemed to fuck with them on purpose. What made it all even worse was the fact that they had the late nightshift, which continued on into the morning, and didnât start until six.
âItâs 4,30,â Steve said when looking at the small clock sitting on the bookshelf beside his chair. âOr, 4,33 to be exact.â
An hour to go before they could leave for work without being suspiciously eager. Hell, they worked at a prison, no one was eager to voluntarily lock themselves behind bars. And even when they got to work it would be hours before anything good were to happen, so in reality, they were more comfortable right where they were. At home. Where time didnât go by.
âOkay, okay, okay,â Bucky said and leaned forward on his knees, his abs contracting at the slow movement, the burn of his muscles still prominent after the workout. âHow âbout a pitstop at Wendyâs on the way? Then we get to leave here, feel like weâre doin' somethin' and maybe get time to move its fucking ass, and we get to enjoy some delicious food.â
Bucky felt like a kid where he sat all tense and excited. Or like he was back in Iraq. Like he was back in the war, ready to face the enemy head on and blow shit up. Yeah, thatâs what he felt like. He looked over at Steve, who too looked like he used to when back in the desert lands. He was on high alert, eager and ready but still controlled. It was a thrilling feeling, and they didnât even need to risk their own lives in the process.
âSounds like a plan,â Steve said, and chugged back the last of his beer, as did Bucky.
Both got dressed in an eager haste, with fingers fumbling with belt buckles and buttons as they tried not to rush. It was hard though. Both knew what awaited them tonight, what new things they would get to experience, to dish out. They had mixed emotions about the whole ordeal, like a horror filled excitement pumping through their veins. Like when you take your driverâs test; one part is rambling on about everything that could go wrong, weighing the risk with the reward, while the other is too keen on the freedom and excitement to come that itâs blocks out any negativity and heighten the nerves, blending with the anxiety. Like war. Something they were both very familiar with.
Bucky stood by the door, flipping the car keys round and round in his hand as he patiently waited for Steve to get ready. His uniform was freshly washed, his shoes had undergone a scrub down and his black leather jacket was brand new. Overall, it was a good day. And it was about to be a very good night.
Steve came through the doorway from the living room, fixing the cuffs on his uniform before grabbing his favourite brown leather jacket from one of the hooks.
âYou ready?â Bucky asked with assertion, and stopped jingling the keys.
Steve drew a deep breath, only to let it out with a loud huff. He fixed the collar of his jacket, setting it in place and collected himself like the assertive correctional officer that he was. Like they both were.
âYes,â he said with a nod. âLetâs go.â
For once, Bucky drove. It was his idea to go to Wendyâs, and a damn good idea it was, so he drove. He drove to keep his hands busy, he drove to keep his attention on something besides you, and he drove slower than usual to get time to pass. It all worked. They were kept busy, time passed and they got to enjoy some good food.
Barbara at the diner, a middle-aged, brown-haired woman with freckles on her nose and crowâs-feet around her eyes, and who had taken quite the liking to the two handsome officers, treated them both to some of her freshly baked lemon meringue pie, free of charge. The young men were always so polite whenever they came in for a meal, or just for a coffee, and their bright smiles and handsome, rugged looks didnât hurt the eye. They deserved some pie.
âThank you, maâam,â Bucky said when he rose from his seat and picked up a twenty-dollar bill from his wallet and put it on the counter. âBut we really have to get going now.â
Barbara held up a hand and shushed him.
âYou donât need to do that, young man,â she said in her southern drawl and slid the money back towards him on the counter. âItâs on the house.â
Steve gave a soft chuckle as he too got up from his seat at the bar counter.
âReally, Barbara,â he said and gave her one of his kind smiles, the kind that would make a woman go weak at the knees. âWe do. You are too kind, and if you keep this up, youâre gonna have to roll us both out of here.â
âOh,â she said through a laugh, as a blush worked its way up her cheeks. âI donât see that happening anytime soon, officer. Now you just take your coffee to go, and Iâll see ya both some other time. Donât mind about the check. I got you covered, sugar.â
Both Bucky and Steve felt some heat rise at the kindness shown and said, politely bidding their goodbyes. And when Barbara turned her back for just a short second, Bucky made sure to slide the money back to her across the counter, before they both walked out and headed towards new, unfamiliar territory. These nightshifts just keep getting better and better.
Summery of fic: Reader/Jess Harper has already survived abuse and sexual assault by stepbrother Nate Millers, but the reward was a prison sentence for murder at Litchfield penitentiaryâŠ
What happens when you/Jess come face to face with Nateâs old colleagues and friends, Correctional Officers Steve Rogers and James âBuckyâ Barnes, who both seem set on making you pay for your mistakes. Will you be able to survive it all over again?
Pairing (kinda): Steve Rogers x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Reader, Nate Millers (OMC) x Reader
Words: 4727
Warnings: DARK AU, dubcon/noncon elements, Dark!Bucky, Dark!Steve, implied sexual acts, sexual acts, mention of murder, mentions of death, mentions of violence, mentions of NC/SA and death, mentions of blood
You have been warned.
Chapter 17
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The looks you received upon your return werenât exactly pleasant, to say the least. The few smiles you got held a darker undertone, gloating and feeding on your misfortune. More often than not they zeroed in on the cuts and bruises still on your face, healing quick enough to not throb and ache constantly, but apparently still gawk worthy.
You slid along the walls like a ghostly shadow, hoping to go unseen in the crowd of inmates. It was the weekend so no one had any work to go to, instead roaming the halls and rooms available like a late-night slumber party. Not only was it the weekend, and people had the day off, it was also visitation day. Names upon names were screeched through the static filled speakers, telling them they had a visitor waiting.
Your name wasnât called. It wasnât going to be called either. There was only one number on your approved call-list, and he wouldnât as much as pick up the phone should you try and call him, let alone set his foot in here should you add him to your visitation-list. Jared, Nateâs father.
To say things turned sour between the two of you after Nateâs death was an understatement. He was the first one you had called that night, after the ambulance. He had showed up just before they rolled out his sonâs body on a stretcher, dead. Killed. By you. He had held you for a moment, just for a brief moment you were allowed the fatherly love you hadnât felt since your own father died in Afghanistan when you were nine. You were safe and sound in his embrace, for just a moment. That was the last time you had seen him. He had stayed with Nateâs body, even as you were taken to hospital to tend to your own wounds by his sonâs hand. He had made his choice right then and there. No, Jared wasnât going to be visiting. He was too busy grieving, and blaming you for his sonâs death, which he was right to do. If only he could understand the circumstances.
Your mother not visiting hurt a tenfold worse than Jaredâs absence. It wasnât her fault though, you knew that. Logically, you knew that. You knew she didnât even feel the wrong of not visiting her only child in prison. But it didnât take away the pain of it. When it had all began, the hurt, the cuts, the bruises, she hadnât believed you. She didnât see the truth, hear the facts you so futilely gave. No one had believed you, but to hear your own mother calling you a liar was indescribable. It broke you. Then, suddenly, she stopped worrying at all, stopped seeing the signs or hearing the bells tolling louder each day. Bells meant for you, not her. And you were too deep in you own pit of fear, and pain, and abandonment to see. She deteriorated too quick for anyone to notice what was happening to her, slowly lost in her mind and memory. Now she no longer remembered you being born.
Alzheimerâs. It ate away at her memory, ate everything up like a starved parasite. Now there was nothing left of woman you knew, and loved. The woman you called âmomâ. She had no recollection of your existence, no idea she had a daughter who longed for her mother, plagued by reality. When you were hurt, your mother wasnât there. When you needed her to keep you safe, she wasnât there to hold you. When you were sent to prison for murder after barely surviving the attempt on your own life, she didnât even know you were hers to mourn over. She wasnât there to fight for her daughter. She wasnât there.
A selfish part of you wished she would have simply died in some freak accident instead of this. It was selfish of you to want to bury her, need to bury her like you were forced to bury the life you had with her. You knew it wasnât fair to think it, but that didnât stop the wishful thinking of having gotten to just let her go. It would be easier, less painful. For you. For her, there was no pain, there was no loss that she knew of or could feel consume her like a tidal wave. In her mind, she was happy, she was in love even. She had her life ahead of her, adventures to explore and dreams to live, and no concept of time to tell her the truth. Whereas you were left to pick up the shards of your life with hands cut off at the wrist. A life so painful, so shattered it was left in smithereens. Abandoned.
There was no one in your life. No mother, no father, no friends. Nate hadnât allowed for anyone to get close to you, not if he could help it, and he made sure that he could. Everyone had abandoned ship when sighting the iceberg that was isolation, set on a collision course that would put the Titanic to shame. You were ramming yourself right into that ice, full steam ahead. Where the first tear had ended up was hard to tell. Somewhere along the line you must have suffered a tear big enough to sink you to the bottom in a slow, silent descend, unaware of your own drowning. Somewhere along the line. Somewhere.
O.o.O.o.O
The B-dorm was loud and rowdy, Bucky could hear it even through the glass windows and closed door. The door behind him leading to the corridor was kept open to get some airflow in, since the D.O.C wasnât really prioritizing air-conditioning. Prison was just as bad for the guards as it was for the inmates. At least in humidity.
Bucky was sat leaning back in the creaky, worn-down chair, a crosswords puzzle in one hand and a pen in the other, casually flicking it between his teeth to add to the noise. Every once in a while, heâd glance up and out into the dorm, making sure things didnât get out of hand. Talking, laughing and joking around was allowed, and so far, nothing else was going on.
Steve came walking in through the door behind him, having been monitoring the hallways around the reception and arriving visitors for the past hour or so. Bucky made no impression of having heard him, but when Steve closed the door behind him to shut out the noise, he leaned his head back for a quick glance.
âOh, hey,â he said, getting back to his crossing of words and flicking of his pen.
Steve grabbed the free chair from underneath the table, having been scooted away for more room to move for a single officer. He sat down with a loud sigh, fingers interlocking behind his head to rest back against.
âI hate weekends,â he muttered.
Bucky gave a huffing snicker, too caught up in the puzzle to look up.
âYeah, theyâre loud,â he said, scribbling a new word down in 4 across.
Steve turned his head to peek at the magazine, not letting his hands down.
âHowâs it going?â he asked.
Bucky hummed. âEh, kinda easy, kinda boring. But it beats walking the hallways up and down till your feet wear down.â
He looked over at his friend with a grin, chuckling when meeting his tired expression. Steve couldnât even bother to try and be mad at the unfairness of fatigue. At least things happened in the corridors. Heâd handed out two shots already today. So what if his feet hurt a bit? It usually took a day or two to get back in the swing of things.
âAt least my ass wonât get flat from sitting on it all day,â Steve countered with a smirk, earning a smack of the magazine on his leg.
âMy ass isnât flat, letâs get that straight right now,â Bucky said in an, obviously, sarcastically offended tone. âI am bootylicious.â
Steve laughed, his torso jolting and jarring the tattered chair beneath him.
âYou donât skip leg day, Iâll give you that,â Steve said, stretching his arms above his head before bringing them down to lean forward with his elbows on his knees.
âThank you very much for noticing,â Bucky pushed, smiling coyly.
âYou are welcome.â Steve exaggerated his words, punctuating each one mockingly.
A comfortable silence fell between the men. Bucky had his nose in the puzzle, quickly working through it to get on to the next one. Steve sat peacefully next to him, glancing out across the dorm, watching it like it was some crazy reality show. He hadnât quite expected to see you in his line of vision.
âWell, lookie who we have here,â he said, dragging Buckyâs attention from his crossword to find you walking through the door, looking as skittish as he remembered.
You hadnât spotted the officers sitting in the bubble yet, mind too focused on the inmates in the room, who all quieted down at your arrival. Pretty much everyone gave you cold stares and mean looks. How welcoming.
âI didnât expect her to get out of SHU so early,â Bucky said, throwing his magazine and pen on the bench before him. âWhat was it, like three days?â
âFour,â Steve corrected. âNeither did I. I thought it was gonna be at least a couple of weeks before she was back up. Must be running low on cells, or something.â
You came further into view, your wet hair had dampened the fabric on your shoulders, and your unkempt strands tussled around your head. Bucky scoffed at the sight of it.
âShe must have showered,â he said through a laugh.
âWho can blame her? That place reeked.â
âYeah, and you pretty much fingered her.â
Steve smiled when thinking back on earlier that day, and how mortified you had been when Bucky started pissing all over your bed. The tingle of your softness on his fingers came back to memory like a postcard in the mail. He unconsciously smoothed his fingers over each other. Both thought theyâd had you cornered, not in any rush to visit you again while in lockdown. They had you away from the rest of the prison population, in private, where you were theirs to do with as they pleased, but now that plan was shot to shreds. Thankfully, for them, the SHU wasnât the only place where cameras didnât work.
âFuck, I thought we had plenty of time,â Bucky complained, running an irritated hand through his hair to set it back in place, after it had fallen forward.
âTake it easy, sheâs got plenty of years left,â Steve assured him, still prowling, waiting for you to look back.
âYeah, but opportunities are passing. Before we know it, weâve passed up too many of âem. Fuck! I had so many ideas.â
Bucky bit the side of his fist in annoyance, glaring at the back of your head. So many of his plans and ideas left unravelled. It wasnât fair. You deserved every bit of pain coming your way for what you had done.
âYou know,â he started, voice tight but calm. âA memory popped up in my phone last night. Of Millers.â
Steve looked over in surprise, waiting to hear more.
âIt was game night, the second one he was over for, I think. He had brought those grilled chicken wings from town, that Carlâs place, or whatever. It was just the three of us, a bucket of wings, few bottles of beer, you know, just hanging out. Made me miss him a little bit,â he confessed.
Steve looked away, taking it in. He missed Nate some times too. Not all the time, but on some occasions. He was a happy-go-lucky guy, and he brought wings for game night, even though they said he didnât have to bring anything. Sure, he made some snide comments from time to time, was a little too easy to anger for some people, but mostly he was just easy-going and a hard worker. Neither himself nor Bucky ever had a problem with him, though Steve could understand why some people might. But what he could never understand, was the reason you had to kill him. He wasnât that annoying.
âYeah,â Steve said after a while, still watching you intently. âMe too.â
Taking another unsure step into the dorm, you briefly turned your head to see what officer was in the bubble, more out of routine than actual apprehension, but you wished that you hadnât. Not only was it officer Barnes, but Rogers as well. Both men were watching you, and neither had a happy expression on their face. Their brows hung low, casting dark shadows over their eyes, and their jaws were clenched hard enough you could cut marble on the bone.
You averted your eyes in a flash, quickly walking away from their gazes and through the crowd of inmates to get to your cube, all but bolting to the bed. Your chest strained with every breath, tension high. You felt like you were a rabbit, and everyone else the hunter. There were no trees or rocks to hide behind, it was all open land and a spotlight hanging over your head. âHere I am, come get me!â. Almost had you missing the solidarity of SHU, if only it was safe from the guards, and you doubted anything was.
âFucking bitch!â Bucky spat out, slamming his fist down on the desk, jarring the pencil stand and knocking it over.
âLangââ Steve started.
âDonât say it! Donât give me that crap, Rogers. Youâre just as fucking angry as me, thereâs nothing wrong with letting it out.â
âYes, there is, when letting it out means cursing and shouting while in the workplace,â Steve pointed out, earning a deep exhale from Bucky trying to get his emotions in check. âI feel just as strongly about her as you doââ
âReally? Could have fooled me.â
Steve gave it a second, allowing Bucky some time to reign himself in. Bucky knew that Steve too felt angry, pissed off even, but that didnât mean he had to go off like Bucky did just to prove it. They had both shared ideas, plans, fantasies, about you and what they wanted to do, Steve included. Hell, heâd even been the one to bring it up most of the time. He had been more than vocal in his sharing, but there was a time and a place for it.
âI want her to suffer just as much as you do, Bucky,â Steve said firmly. âI too want her to pay for what she did to Millers, but letting my emotions run away with me isnât gonna accomplish that.â
âI know, I know,â Bucky said with a raise of his hand to stop Steveâs lecture. âIâm sorry, Stevie. Iâm just... I feel left out.â
Bucky looked down at his hands, leaning forward to slowly slide them over each other in slow, warming strokes. Steve furrowed his brow.
âWhat do you mean?â he asked softly, uneasy about potentially having hurt his friend in some unspoken way.
âYou know... You got to touch her, Steve. I mean, you had her completely at your mercy against that wall. And not only did you pretty much slap her ass, you grabbed her tits and put your hand down her fucking pants. You even described how her pussy felt, for fuckâs sake!â
Bucky sighed in relief at the release of the words, closing his eyes and breathed deeply. God, he wanted to be the one to touch you like that, the one who did the describing to Steve and feeling your softness on his own fingers, and not the one living through it vicariously. He should have seized his opportunity when he had you against that washing machine. You had been so helpless, practically begging him to.
Steve sighed to contain his snicker, knowing where this was coming from. He felt the tug at the corners of his mouth, begging to be let up.
âSounds like someone is a bit sexually frustrated,â he said with a lopsided smile.
Bucky looked over at him, initially annoyed by the comment, but when meeting his fellow officerâs familiar, sympathetic smile, he couldnât help the rising blush covering his cheeks. It wasnât untrue.
âShut up, punk,â Bucky said with a growing smile on his face. âIâm not some horny teenager who canât keep it in his pants.â
He said it more to ensure himself of that rather than Steve.
âOh, really,â Steve said baffled. âCould have fooled me with that tent you had in your pants just a few hours ago.â
Both men laughed, the mood lightening and clearing any negativity that was. Bucky felt better after airing some feelings out, even though he was pretty much laughed at. He knew Steve wasnât spiteful in his words, and that they did hold some truth to them, no matter how badly he wanted that to be very much untrue. Plus, Steve had just been as bad. But they were abruptly interrupted by officer Donaldsonâs voice coming through both their radios, the noise loud and echoey in the small room.
âWe have a code 13 in corridor D. I repeat; a code 13 in corridor D. Personnel needed to clear out the cafeteria and connecting rooms and corridors. Do you copy?â
Steve and Bucky looked at each other, both as baffled as the other by the message. Who had gotten themselves in such trouble? And got caught in the act most likely, by the sound of it.
Bucky was quick to reach for the com-radio sitting on his shoulder.
âBarnes here. Rogers and I copy. Do you need any assistance or are you covered?â
Both waited for an answer. There might very well be other officers already on scene, but if not, they were more than happy to assist. More correctly, both were curious to know what officer got themselves caught in the honey jar.
A static was heard through the radio, before CO Fisherâs soft voice was heard.
âUhm, Fisher here,â she started, clearly uncertain about what to say. âWe could use a few more officers here to... help with the inmates and... uh... escort officer Mendez from the perimeter.â
Mendez. Steve and Bucky shared a charged look with each other as they listened intently to Fisherâs words. They had talked about this very situation mere hours ago, and here it was now. Neither were particularly surprised to hear Mendezâs name in the situation, obviously, but the seriousness of the event sent sparks of adrenaline through their bodies.
This time, Steve reached for his radio first.
âRogers here. We copy. Proceeding with officer Barnes to corridor D, leaving B-dorm unattended.â
Code 13. That was sexual assault by an officer. Officer Mendez in this case. Both Steve and Bucky knew of his illegal distribution of drugs to several of the inmates, and how it was being paid for, but it still came as quite a shock to them both to actually hear the code being called. And kind of disappointed, if they were being honest. They had Mendez pegged for a guy who liked his job, comfortable in his position of power. They had thought he would be more careful than this. And to get caught in corridor D meant he was fucking someone in the broom closet. That was just plain stupid.
The inmates were mumbling accusing words and, most likely, made up details as both officers approached the corridor in which they were needed. CO Fisher was looking apologetically at an inmate, Dayanara Diaz by the looks of it, and indicating for her to follow her, to medical most likely. Diaz seemed quite calm, gratefully following Fisher to wherever they were heading.
Joe Caputo, the captain of the guards, was standing further down the hall, looking fuzzed in his brown suit. His hands were jumping from his hips to his face and what was left of his hair, only to go back down again. His gaze was snapping feverishly around the corridor, looking worried, and with good reason. Caputo nodded his head at the men when they came close.
âAh, gentlemen,â he said, his voice edgy. âIâve asked Donaldson and Wilson to remove officer Mendez from the building,â he said with a raise of his hand in the direction of the exiting doors.
They looked to the end of the hallway where Mendez was being escorted by said officers at his sides, their hands secured to his arms in a most likely faint grip. It was probably more for show for the admin than anything else, not many of the officers would ever blatantly embarrass a fellow officer in such a way if they didnât have to. Even in circumstances like this.
âI am forced to put Mendez on ice, as you might understand,â Caputo continued, to which both Steve and Bucky nodded apologetically. âIâm sorry, I know heâs a fellow officer, but...â he threw his hands up in ... âI caught him in the act, and the inmate is being taken to medical as we speak, I have no other choice. You understand that right?â
Joe was worried about offending any of the officers left to clean up the mess, and did not want to be caught on anyoneâs bad side. It was enough to deal with the chaos already created, he didnât need to bring any more of it to the warden.
âYes, sir,â Steve said as Bucky nodded along, letting Steve speak for both.
Caputo nodded. âGood, good. I, uh... I need you to calm things down with the surrounding inmates. Make sure they are ensured about this being an isolated incident and that we have removed the officer responsible for this... infraction. And, and please come see me in my office when you are done, Iâll be... Iâll be in my... office.â
âYes, sir,â Steve said, and started towards the cafeteria entry where most of the ogling inmates were stood.
âRight away,â Bucky said and headed for the rec room to start clearing inmates.
âGood, great, thank you,â Caputo said and hurried off looking hazed and... was that a blush?
Bucky gave a slight knock on the door to Mr. Caputoâs office. It was more of courtesy since both him and Steve had been asked to attend. Joe was standing by his desk with his reading glasses on, looking through the sea of papers mounded on his desk.
âAh, Barnes, Rogers,â he said, removing his glasses to keep his hands busy. âCome in, please.â
They did as asked, both planting their feet wide apart with their hands behind their backs, an act etched into them from years of military service. Caputo gave a slightly nervous scoff at the action.
âOh, please. At ease,â he said uncertainly as he waved a hand, and both men relaxed their arms. âI, uh... Mendez is going to be taking a little... temporary leave without pay. I canât fire his ass without the authorisation from Fig, and she is fighting me like a bloodthirsty vampire on this.â
Mr. Caputo slumped back down into his chair with a tight grip on the bridge of his nose, exhaling loudly and hard enough to ruffle some of the papers on his desk. Natalie Figueroa, the assistant warden, Caputoâs sworn enemy and a walking headache in human form. Even if that form was wearing tight skirts and high heels and looking fine as hell, she was still evil incarnate for trying to bury the story more than Mendez.
Caputo looked up, finding the officers waiting patiently for him to continue.
âSorry,â he went on. âThis isnât your problem, itâs mine.â
âWith all due respect, sir,â Bucky said. âBut if an officer is caught raping an inmate, itâs all of our problem.â
Caputo slowly nodded, a faint smile spreading his cheeks at the reassurance. The true intentions of Buckyâs words were left in the dark.
âYes, I suppose it is. And even more so when that officer was working the nightshift for the upcoming days.â
Steve understood where this was going, and decided to interrupt before Caputo could go on.
âSir, I just got back to the dayshift today,â he said, hearing the slight tension in his voice, despite trying his best. âI canât work tonight too.â
Caputo held up his palms and shook his head apologetically.
âOf course not, Rogers, of courseâ he said. âI wouldnât even ask. Weâll get a body in from down the hill to cover tonightâs shift, theyâre used to being short-staffed, theyâll survive. And apparently, they run a tighter ship than we do here,â he said under his breath, but knew the other men could hear him. âBut without Mendez here, I need someone to cover the upcoming nights. And apparently CO OâNeill had an emergency trip to Jersey he had to make and canât come either, so Iâm short two officers for three nights, starting tomorrow.â
He waited a second or two, but neither Barnes nor Rogers spoke up, both looking at him with expecting faces. If they were going to be working extra shifts, they would need to be wooed.
âYouâll be compensated, obviously,â Joe added. âAnd you get to leave right away to make up for the time difference.â
Steve turned to Bucky, greeted by a raised brow and a slight nod to his head in affirmative. Steve could pretty much see the wheels of Buckyâs brain turning and working their magic, new ideas popping up in his head when the SHU turned out to be a bust. Steve just had to trust it.
âOkay,â he said with a quick nod of his head.
âWeâll cover for âem,â Bucky added, to make sure they were all on the same page.
Caputo sighed in relief and leaned back against his headrest.
âThank you, thank you,â he said and stood, placing his glasses on his nose once again. âYouâre really saving my ass here.â
Bucky chuckled.
âGlad we could help.â
Bucky walked out the door with Steve on his tail, walking with a slight bounce in his step and a pride in his back. Steve wasnât quite as blatant about the whole ordeal, the jitters staying hidden until they were out of sight.
âYou do realize how lucky we are, right?â he asked when Bucky opened the door to the menâs room to talk in private.
âLuck has nothing to do with it,â Bucky said, crossing his arms over his chest and just waiting for Steve to start doubting. He was always overthinking things.
âOh, really? What, this is your doing somehow?â Steve asked cynically, mirroring Buckyâs stance from across the room.
Bucky snickered. âNo, but the universe is clearly on our side, on the side of justice. Think about it, Steve. The admin has their work cut out for them, weeks of damage control ahead, Caputo and Fig especially. The press is going to be on their asses whenever they step foot outside this prison, asking about Mendez. They have no time for minor infractions, and they are convinced the bad seed is out of the prison, and will assure the press of that too, therefore not batting an eye at any of the other officers. And then they just hand us the nightshift like a steak on a platter, which is even better than the SHU. Weâre doing this.â
Steve listened intently to the words coming out of his mouth, agreeing completely when hearing them out in the open. The lights were beaming down on one officer, and one officer only, and he had drawn enough attention to keep it for weeks to come. And the nights were the most private, the most secluded. Less officers, less inmates awake, less eyes overall. No wonder Bucky didnât hesitate to accept the offer, he had a sharp eye for opportunities. And he was not going to pass up another one.
Bucky bit his lip in the wait for Steve to agree, which he knew he would. He wasnât stupid, the smorgasbord was practically presenting itself and begging them to dig in, he wouldnât pass up a chance like this.
Steve met his eyes, a widening smile on his face, just as bright as Buckyâs. He was right. He was absolutely right.
Summery of fic: Reader/Jess Harper has already survived abuse and sexual assault by stepbrother Nate Millers, but the reward was a prison sentence for murder at Litchfield penitentiaryâŠ
What happens when you/Jess come face to face with Nateâs old colleagues and friends, Correctional Officers Steve Rogers and James âBuckyâ Barnes, who both seem set on making you pay for your mistakes. Will you be able to survive it all over again?
Pairing (kinda): Steve Rogers x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Reader, Nate Millers (OMC) x Reader
Words: 5973
Warnings: DARK AU, dubcon/noncon elements, Dark!Bucky, Dark!Steve, implied sexual acts, sexual acts, mention of murder, mentions of death, mentions of violence, mentions of NC/SA and death, mentions of blood
You have been warned.
Chapter 16
-
Pieces were falling. The mirror was breaking. The glass was shattering. You couldnât breathe. You couldnât think. You couldnât feel anything but his touch burning, seething on your skin, leaving invisible marks all over. You felt his fingers between your legs, the coarseness of his fingertips grazing your folds even through your underwear. He was still there. You could still feel him.
You fell to your knees with a crash of bones against the concrete, your body folding over with a sob. Hands gripped furtively at the ground for some kind of purchase, anything, just anything to save you from falling further into the tomb of pain and fear opening up beneath you. Tears wet the floor. Each drop landed with a loud crash as it splattered over the concrete, vibrating through the floor and into your fingers. Like tiny meteoroids quaking the earth. You could feel everything. It was all over. It consumed you.
The loudest scream youâd ever thought was possible, sounded through your cell, ricocheting off the walls, echoing down the hall and away. Away from you. You screamed through the white static buzzing in your head. You screamed until there was nothing left inside.
You slammed your fists down on the floor, over and over and over, feeling the skin break and blood staining the grey and spreading with the tears. Pain erupted through your hands whenever they met the ground, breaking the skin more and more, but you kept slamming, kept slapping the cement, to feel anything but him. Even nothing was better than the lingering stains of his touch, the echo of his words. You wanted to be so empty of emotion and thought that there was nothing left inside of you they could take away. But you could never make yourself so small, so insignificant, there wasnât a piece left for them to take. There was always something left they could carve away at.
Flashes of pain, memories of fear rippling through your mind like a slideshow of terror. Slide after slide of hurt and violation just going around in a circle. How it felt the first time Nate forced himself inside of you, breaking you, consuming you. How he had stretched your walls beyond capacity, drawing blood and tearing as he moved. How his fingers had left bruises on your body from their unforgiving grip when holding you down, as you thrashed and tried to get away, trying to get him to stop. And how he had groaned in pleasure, grunted his release inside your body, marking you in the most horrible of ways. Your pain was his pleasure. The sounds he had made were ringing in your ears like bells on a tower.
How you had managed to survive it was beyond you, but you doubted you could ever survive it again, even though youâd lived through it for years and years. Years of pain and torment, cuts and bruises and the never-ending blame of it all being your fault. That you deserved it. That you needed it. That you wanted it.
You had wanted him. Once. A very long time ago you had wanted him. You were young, and he was exciting and sweet. He cared for you like a good brother, like he was supposed to. He was so kind in the beginning, so charismatic. He could light up a room with a simple smile. Everyone who knew him wanted to be around him. He could draw a crowd like moths were drawn to a flame, his own warm, inviting light. He was intoxicating.
But when your time alone began to increase, he started to change. He started demanding more, ordering you around, threatening to hurt you and hurt you even more if you told anyone. His light went from warm and inviting to intimidating and scorching. Once it started there was no stopping it. There was no stopping the pain, or the fear. You got burned.
Somehow you always knew it was Nateâs doing. Even when it was his friends doing all the hurting, it was because he had told them to, invited them to it. They did what they did because he wanted them to. They wanted to keep him happy, cause he was just so nice when he was happy and got what he wanted. Even if that meant a world of pain for you.
But this was different. These officers werenât doing this because Nate had asked them to, or because he wanted them to. They did this for him. They did this to punish you, to make you pay for your mistakes. For killing him. They were blaming you, just like Nate had. No one else had ever blamed you for your pain, said that you deserved it, that you had it coming. No one had ever played with you like a cat with a mouse, working up an appetite, getting ready to consume you whole.
They were playing with you like a toy. Twisting and turning to find the right buttons to push and wind you up, only to let you go and watch as you walked yourself into a wall. There for their amusement. How far would they take their musings? Could it be left at this? This threatening of worse to come but in fact never would? Was it possible?
Tap, tap.
O.o.O.o.O
Jitters went through both their bodies. There was almost the sensation of butterflies in their stomachs, fluttering and flying around. It was more than any one of them had hoped for. Especially for Steve who had gotten his hands on you, had felt your body, your warmth on his fingers. They had barely made it through security and into the sanctuary of the bathroom without anyone seeing the state of them both, Lady Luck being very much on their side. The ride back up to camp had been tense, the air tight with words unspoken and restrained tension.
Steve clenched his hand, moving his fingers against his palm as he remembered the softness of your body, the velvety touch of your pussy through the fabric of your panties. It went straight to his cock. Shamelessly, he palmed himself through his slacks, pressing the heel of his hand down hard before adjusting himself. If only Bucky wasnât there in the bathroom with him, he might have actually taken a moment to relieve himself of all the pent-up energy. The lingering feel of your warmth was practically begging him to.
âFuck,â he grunted, fingers gripping the sink hard enough to turn his knuckles white with the pressure.
He closed his eyes and tried to calm himself, tried to will his body to cooperate. It wouldnât exactly be appropriate for an officer to walk around a womenâs prison with a boner from groping an inmate. He wasnât that kind of man, and certainly not that kind of guard. Really.
Bucky chuckled as he dried his hands for the third time after washing them yet again, just to occupy his hands more than anything, keeping them busy enough to not go straight down his pants.
âLanguage,â he teased.
That was usually Steveâs line for him, not the other way around.
Bucky sighed deeply, feeling his shoulder sag down in relaxation. The echo of your voice was sweet like summer rain on sun kissed skin. The corners of his mouth tugged upwards at the endless loop of your pleas for him not to piss on your bed. The pureness of it, the sweetness. Such a contrast to the act itself. He was proud of himself for that one.
Like Steve, he had trouble getting a hold on himself, the tightness of his trousers straining almost painfully against his hard cock. The men might have released some tension in an army tent surrounded by several other men, and might share a house where the walls were very thin indeed, but jerking off in a locked bathroom with just the two of them in it was a line neither wanted to cross. It was too close, too intimate.
âGod, I canât fucking get rid of it,â Bucky grunted, as he too leaned against the sink with a firmer grip than necessary, head hanging down between his shoulders, willing his body to listen to reason.
âI second that,â Steve said with a sigh.
âYou even got to touch her. Jerk.â
Steve scoffed with a grin, watching Bucky through the reflection in the mirror.
âJealous?â he asked with a shit-eating grin. Not as good as Buckyâs, but good enough.
âFuck yeah, are you kidding? First a pat-down and thenââ he closed his eyes and drew a harsh breath through his nose. ââFuck! You had your hand down her fucking pants, man.â He met Steveâs all too happy expression in the mirror. âWhat she feel like?â he asked, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.
Steve closed his eyes while exhaling with a puff of air. He shook his head.
âSo fucking good,â he huffed out. âSheâs so soft itâs like running your fingers through velvet. Even through the underwear I could feel it.â
âOh, yeah? Does she shave?â
âNo,â Steve said with a slight headshake.
âGod, I love when they donât shave it all off. I donât wanna be fuckinâ a toddler, you know?â he said with a raise of a brow at his friend, who reciprocated with a nod.
âI hear ya. Remember that redhead you used to bring around? The short one, with the 'molest-me-daddy'-voice? What the hell were you thinking there? She shaved everything.â
âShe didnât shave, she fucking lasered it off,â Bucky said with a hint of annoyance at the reminder. âYeah, I donât know. I must have been desperate or somethinâ.â
Bucky dragged a slow hand through his hair, setting it back in place from where it had fallen onto his face. He was growing it out, liking it longer ever since he got out of the army and he didnât have to keep it short anymore. Not too long though, the man-bun really wasnât his style.
âAll this talk about sex and velvety pussies isnât really helping me bring things back to sea-level, if you catch my drift?â Bucky asked with a smirk. âDoes it show?â
Steve didnât even need to glance down at his friends crotch to know that it was.
âYeah, it shows,â he said, standing up straight and pulling at his belt to test out the waters, so to speak. Still mount Everest.
Bucky chuckled. âMan, weâre like two horny teenagers trying to hide rock-hard boners in slacks,â he said through a laugh. âFuck!â
He reached down to adjust himself for the fourteenth time, the graze of the zipper sending sparks of pleasure right to his core. Seriously, he could come without even pulling himself out in the open. He really was a fucking teenager.
âJust think about something bad,â Steve said, trying to help both himself and his friend. âLike... cold feet, roadkill, pouring fucking bleach in your eyes, whatever turns you off.â
âWow, that got dark,â Bucky said with a chuckle. âSure you okay, Rogers?â
Steve laughed along, knowing that last one was a little weird. But desperate times called for desperate measures. Heâd think about eating kitty litter as long as it promised to get rid of his hard-on.
âJust get yourself under control, alright?â he said. âWe need to be in the rec room in like two minutes.â
Steve ran the tap to get the coldest possible water, and splashed some on his face and wrist, trying to cool down. Bucky did the same, opting for the only thing left he hadnât tried yet, that wasnât the best solution and what he really wanted to do; jerk off.
Neither said a thing, both simply waiting for the water to work its magic and quell the flames of desire. It worked. After several minutes of ice-cold water and the risk of frostbite on their hands and wrists, things settled in both body and mind.
âThank fucking god,â Bucky sighed in relief, tearing paper from the holder on the wall for both himself and Steve, chuckling as he did. âI thought I was gonna have to walk around hard all day.â
Steve laughed at the reality of it. It was a close call. He hadnât been so turned on in a long time, and poor Bucky had only gotten to watch.
âCome on,â he said and threw his damp tissue in the garbage. âWe gotta take over from Mendez and Wilson. Theyâre probably wondering where we are.â
The rec room was booming with inmates. It usually was after breakfast, nothing new. It was quite entertaining actually, kept the officers on their toes. A lot of things could transpire, but if it didnât there was still a great deal of entertainment provided. The Spanish girls were playing dominos, bickering in Español whenever they couldnât agree on the points. The black girls were doing their version of charades, Crazy Eyes, or Warren as her real name was, keeping time by the clock. And the white girls, the part of Redâs family that didnât work in the kitchen, were playing scrabble on their homemade board made from a cardboardbox Big Boo had found in the garbage.
âWell, well, look what the cat dragged in,â Mendez said when Steve and Bucky came walking in from the corridor.
Steve bowed his head down with a smile, coming up to stand at the entrance beside the man, Bucky not far behind.
âHow you doinâ?â Steve asked politely, planting his feet comforatably apart.
âCanât complain,â Mendez said. âNot a whole lot goinâ on, so canât say Iâm not relieved to leave it all in your capable hands, and go get me some fresh air.â
Mendez started walking out of the room, interrupted by Buckyâs voice.
âYou takinâ Wilson with you?â
All three looked over at CO Wilson who was standing on the other side of the room, overseeing a cardgame. How exciting.
âHell no, he ainât my partner. We donât all couple up like you guys,â Mendez said with a laughter that turned quite nervous when meeting the other officersâ eyes.
He cleared his throat to cover for his slipup. He didnât mean to ensinuate anything, but he knew the ice was wearing thin when it came to Barnes, and heâd rather keep them both on his good side.
âBesides,â he went on, ignoring his earlier comment. âHeâs on mailduty today, with Bell and OâNeill. They can have him. Hey, Wilson!â
Sam lifted his head at the call of his name, seeing the other officers standing by the door, Mendez clearly leaving and nodding his head for him to follw suit. He uncrossed his folded arms and started walking towards them. After his little encounter in the staffroom where Barnes had been on him like a fucking raging Pitbull, he had no intention of interacting with either men more than necessary. So he just nodded his head at them when passing.
âSam,â Steve said in acknowledgement as the other man left.
Bucky stayed silent, just sighing in annoyance.
âCalm down, Bucky. He didnât say anything,â Steve said calmly.
âThey say silence speaks louder than words,â Bucky countered, earning a lovable chuckle from Steve.
âYou just have to find a reason to argue with the guy? Come on, heâs probably still a little freaked-out from your outburst the other day.â
âWhat fucking outburst?â Steve just continued laughing at the tone of Buckyâs voice, clearly aggitated. âYou saying I have a temper?â
âOh, god, yes! Just look at you. He just walked past you and youâre getting all riled up.â
Bucky exhaled loudly, trying to force the annoyance out of his body.
âYeah, well, I wouldnât be if Iâd gotten to relieve a little tension before coming here. How the fuck are you so calm? You were just as fucking hard as I was just a minute ago.â
Steve bumped a shoulder into Buckyâs, getting a scolding look from the other man. Bucky looked at him annoyed.
âWhat?â
âKeep your voice down,â Steve said low through gritted teeth. âYou want the whole camp to know?â
âOh, please. Half of these inmates would probably cream their panties at the thought of us with raging hard-ons in the bathroom,â Bucky said matteroffactly.
âYeah, well, itâs not really the inmates Iâm worried about,â Steve said as he looked around the room to make sure no one was paying attention to their conversation.
Bucky raised his brows, looking at Steve like he was something out of a cartoon or something.
âPlease,â he said. âIf the administrationâs got their eyes on anyone, itâs Mendez. Okay? Weâre model fucking officers compared to that guy. They love that sadistic fuck, but if anything was to happen with an inmate, heâs suspect number one, I guarentee you that.â
Steve nodded, defeatedly. He knew Mendez wasnât up to code when it came to how he handled matters with the inmates. He knew he was dealing drugs, paid for in blowjobs most likely, but he wouldnât put it past him to go even furhter than that. He wasnât one to shy away from an opportunity if it presented itself. With Steve and Bucky it was different. It was personal. That made it different.
O.o.O.o.O
A loud rattling woke you with a fright where you lay face down on the floor. Your face almost stuck to the sticky surface where you must have passed out from sheer panic, or maybe exhaustion. The growing stench of urine gave you a bearing on your surroundings, the cold ground a harsh reminder of where you were. The more you breathed the more you recalled the incident with the officers, your face crunching up at the stench of testosterone, dens in the air.
Pain blossomed and spiked through your hands as you moved to a seated position. Stale blood covered the skin, creating cracks like a delta when you clenched your fingers. Your head felt fussy, heavy. Like it was filled with a gallon of water. A rush of gratefulness coursed through you at the sensation, as it blocked your thoughts enough to not let the panic set in straight away. Even a minute without it was heaven.
The red door was being pulled open, revealing another male guard. You moved to something like a crouch, anything to not leave yourself too exposed. The spark of pain gave a strong warning of needing to protect yourself. You couldnât take anything more being done to you, psychically or mentally.
The man wasnât that tall nor that big, but his persona still read somewhat of power. He stood in the doorway with cuffs ready in hand, looking down at you. He wasnât fazed by the state of you, clearly used to inmates getting into some weird shit when in solitary.
âShower time,â he said, before the messed-up bedding drew his attention. He furrowed his brows and sniffed the air, regretting it when the sharp odour hit his nose.
âOh, fuck!â He covered his face with the crease of his elbow, looking at you accusingly. âUse the fucking toilet, ya nasty,â he said, his voice muffled by his arm.
You followed his gaze over to the soaked matrass and blanket, the burn of tears prominent in your eyes at the sight, at the memory. How the new guard couldnât put two and two together and smell the clear indication of testosterone in the stench was mind-blowing. He was clearly accusing you of wetting the bed. Last time you checked your testosterone levels werenât high enough to cause that much of a reek.
âI didnâtââ you started, but stopped yourself.
âNo camerasâ. There were no cameras in the room, and no proof of it not being your doing. And you knew he wouldnât believe you if you claimed that two of his fellow officers had come in here to grope you and piss on your bed. He really didnât seem like the type of guard to believe an inmate over an officer, but he did look like the type to run and tell should you try to clear your case. Better to not say anything at all, than risk having Peeve and Fucky find out and do even worse.
âCome on, letâs go,â the officer urged, taking a step back not to stand in the stinking cell.
You shot up, ribs complaining at the sudden movement. You hissed, slowing your movements as you stood. There wasnât just the pain caused by bruises and scrapes, the floor was an unforgiving resting spot, and it seemed like every muscle in your body had turned to stone and strained uncomfortably when you tried to wake them.
âUhm... I donât need to shower,â you said, taking a step back, wanting to keep the distance as much as you could.
You had survived the looks, the touches and the threats of officers Rogers and Barnes. You body had already been invaded, violated in horrid ways, and couldnât withstand any more. Though the haunting brushes of Steveâs fingers over your skin and most private parts you wouldnât mind washing away. If it was even possible. They scorched their marks on you, holding on for dear life to keep you reminded of what could come to pass.
The officer first gave you a stern gaze, then looked over at the bed, and the mess of it. His eyes spoke volumes, clearly indicating that you did need to shower after making that mess. But he opted for the routine speech.
âInmates are required to shower at least two times a week, and today is shower day. Letâs go, Harper.â
You didnât want to go with him, not a man. You didnât want to hurt anymore.
âAre-arenât there any female COâs around? I-I have a right to a-a female officer in the shower.â
It was a daring move, arguing with a CO, but you really didnât want a male officer near you in such a vulnerable state, not if you could help it. The fight to persist was slowly dying out, and the salvation of cleanliness was luring you in. You wanted to wash. You wanted to be clean. As clean as can be anyway.
âNo, there arenât,â the officer said. âAnd even if there was, we are under no obligation to comply. This is solitary confinement, you take what you get. Donât make me come in there and drag your ass out.â
The man didnât look all too pleased with you, and you really didnât want to know what being dragged out of your cell felt like. With slow, shuffling steps you walked over to the officer, your aching knee arguing. He raised a questioning brow at the limp, but didnât ask. No one ever seemed to ask.
âHands together,â he said, and readied his cuffs.
You did what he said, grateful to have your hands cuffed in front of you and not behind. It allowed for some protection against assault should there be any. Though, this particular guard didnât seem all that violent. You just hoped it would stay that way even when your clothes came off. Did he know who you were? Did he know who Nate had been?
The unrelenting steel around your wrists dug in as you moved, and the flashback of it being officer Rogers hands cuffing you threatened to surface. The coarseness of his fingertips, all too gentle in their grazes, before turning demanding, hurtful, lusting.
You drew a shallow breath, releasing it shakily. Stay here, Jess. Heâll be gone soon. The water will cleanse you of his touch.
The showers were empty. There was only one inmate at a time, for safety reasons, so at least thereâs that. You had been handed a clean towel from a bin, and a new set of clothes and underwear from yet another male officer. Thankfully, he left it at handing things out, and didnât come with you to the showers. It was just you, and officer Barton.
CO Barton released your hands and told you to strip by the bench opposite the showers. He was standing just a few feet away with his arms crossed menacingly over his chest. He looked like he was in no mood to argue, but it wasnât as intimidating as Rogers or Barnes. You had to try.
âAre-are you gonna be watching me the entire time?â you asked, feeling tears sting your eyes.
Showering with an audience was torment enough, scars and marks on display, but to do it with a single male officer present was proving almost too much to handle.
âYep,â he said, not moving a muscle.
Your entire body went rigid and goose bumps rushed to cover every inch of your skin. You had to get naked. In front of a man. There was no part of you that wanted to let you do this, but you felt the impending doom of a temper lost draw nearer, and you opted for the only other option to not have panic set in right then and there; do it quick.
âCould... could you turn around at least? Please?â
Your voice was timid, clearly afraid, barely louder than a whisper in the night.
The officer sighed defeatedly, and turned to his side to only see you out of his peripheral vision. Tears began to fall freely, relief and gratitude soaring through you from the first and only kindness shown by a male guard.
Your fingers were stiff as the ones of a corpse when ridding of the clothes keeping the story underneath hidden from the world. Your body fought your mind the entire way, and your mind was more than willing to get on that train as well. But you had to do it. You had to persevere, dare to hope that the officer wouldnât harm you even though he could, the opportunity presenting itself like a flower opening up to a bee.
You kept your back turned to the officer, trying to protect the most shameful stories. Your back could tell its own story, but it wasnât the main attraction drawing attention at least. Wrapping yourself as much as you could in the coarse towel, you walked up to one of the cubicles, your underwear still on like always. There werenât any curtains, nothing to shield you from view, nothing to protect you. You looked back over at the officer, who was still standing with his side turned to you. You suspected he could still see quite a bit of the âstoriesâ that littered your body, but he made no comment on it. Just hang in there, little flower.
You hung the towel on the side of the stall, protecting your bare chest with your arms as much as you could. Soap and shampoo were already standing on a small shelf in the corner of the stall, beckoning you to hurry up and get on with it.
Never once did you turn around to neither confirm or deny that the officer had kept his eyes averted, or stayed where he was, just living on the hope that he did. You could almost feel the scars burn and seethe on your skin, like they were calling out for attention. âPlease look at usâ. âPlease acknowledge usâ. âPlease ask about usâ. Please donât.
Your skin reddened and blushed from the pressure of your fingers, eager to remove Steveâs invisible marks. Nails scratched hard where they could, leaving scrapes in their wake. The bruises, at first prominent and contrasting, now blended and faded with the tender redness caused by your own will. As your hand slipped beneath the hem of your underwear, a flash of memory hit like a lightning in your mind, quick and sudden. His fingers, his hand, his touch. You couldnât stop it. Everything came up.
You fell to your knees just as the first hurl worked its way up your throat and spewing its contents over the drain. The mush of whatever you had been eating got stuck in the cracks, before the water disintegrated it enough to let it pass. Your stomach contracted again, spitting out more bile, until nothing more came out, leaving you to dry heave till your oesophagus relaxed.
Officer Barton looked worriedly over at you. He couldnât see much, but he gathered what was happening by the sound. He didnât want to impose. You had asked him for privacy, and he had given as much as he was allowed, and any interference at this stage would probably do more harm than good. So, he left you to it. At least it was an easy clean-up.
If your body was weak and aching before, it was shaking worse than an aspen leaf now. Your legs had trouble supporting your weight as you stood, despite leaning on the wall to keep from falling. Tears hid in the steady stream falling from above, the salt quickly washed away before it stung the gash on your face.
Breathe in, breathe out. Youâre here, theyâre not. You focused on the splash of water showering over your skin, feeling the tracks left as they slithered down. Okay, one more try.
With a generous amount of soap coating your palm and fingers, you reached down again, this time with purpose. Steveâs grazes had been light at first, their tracing gentle to begin with, before he had gripped you harder. So, you kept you pressure consistent, right between the two, and managed to clean yourself thoroughly, every haunting trace of his fingers gone, washed away. You released the breath you had unconsciously been holding, the hot air coming out in a quick, shuddering huff.
Turning the water off with one hand, you hastily grabbed the towel in the other and covered yourself from view. Okay, you were clean, you were covered. Itâs done. Youâre done.
Careful as to not trip on the slippery tiles, you walked back to the bench to begin to dress in the new and fresh clothes waiting there. The relief of having clean clothes to wear couldnât be denied even if you tried, not after sitting on that awful floor, bloodstains all over and sleeping several hours in the old ones. Not after the... incident. The smell or urine had seeped into your hair, and the smell of the most basic shampoo was like a high-end perfume in comparison. Even the soap smelled like a garden of roses on your skin.
âWere you in an accident or something?â
The sound of the officerâs voice startled you. It was soft, and low. Like when youâre speaking to a frightened puppy who just made a mess on the carpet.
You knew what he wanted to hear, you knew what he was asking, and it wasnât why you had thrown up. You knew what he had seen. And you also knew that he didnât actually think that an accident had left all of those little marks here and there, and long, wide ones in other places. No one ever thought that after seeing so much of it. You knew he was prying for the story, but not wanting to be blunt. But you couldnât care less about what he wanted.
âYes,â you said, and pulled a new bra over the towel secured around you.
âWhen didâââ
âI donât want to talk about it,â you interrupted before he could ask. âIf thatâs okay?â you added softly.
âOkay,â he nodded. âThatâs fine.â
He turned his head away even more than before, not even spotting you in his peripheral vision anymore. With your back turned to him he knew you didnât see it, but he could give you the relief of not feeling his eyes on you when you made quick work of dressing.
The grass was greener on the other side. It was greener, cleaner and better. The glass didnât seem as broken. The mirror didnât seem as shattered. You didnât seem that close to falling apart. If it was a fleeting moment, then you would enjoy it. If it was just here, in the steaming shower room with fresh clothes and newly washed hair, then you would enjoy every second of it.
When you were safely tucked away in your new prison attire, long sleeved shirt warming you underneath the khaki shirt, you slowed down. You were covered, protected, and CO Barton hadnât moved from his spot in the doorway. He was fiddling with his cuffs, twirling them around his finger as he waited for you to be done.
âWeâll give you a new cell until we can get the other one cleaned,â he said when he placed the steel bands back on your wrists.
You met his eyes, finding the green softer than it had been when he was scolding you for supposedly peeing the bed.
âThank you,â you said, voice even and strong.
He smiled down at you, just a quick tug of his lips. It was more of a place marker than anything else. Something to show that he heard you.
On the way back to the holding cells, CO Barton keeping a comfortable grip on your upper arm as he led you back through the maze of corridors, you passed a new guard standing by the counter to what you gathered was the intake, a female guard. Hm, guess it was just resistance on Bartonâs part that led you to believe there were no female officers around. You couldn't find the will to be mad, the man had been kinder than youâd ever expect. A little disappointed perhaps, but you let that feeling drop away when Officer Barton stopped to talk to her.
âIâm moving Harper from B12 to B14. Sheâs... made a mess of the bed and it needs to be cleaned out.â
The woman, A. McCullough it read on her blue shirt, looked over at you as she grabbed a clipboard from the counter.
âWhat she do?â she asked, her voice smoky and rumbling, not at all what youâd imagine.
Her blonde hair was tied back in a neat bun, controlled, much like her personality youâd expect.
âThe bedding needs to be washed, and everything scrubbed clean,â Barton informed.
You looked down. Now both officers thought you had wet the bed, great. But CO McCullough didnât make a snide remark like you thought she might, too focused on the clipboard in her hands.
âSheâs here for contraband,â she read out, looking up at you. âWhat was the contraband, inmate?â she asked.
âA lighter,â you said.
There was no use in telling the truth of its presence, no one believed you anyway.
âHmm, doesnât seem that serious,â she said, and dropped the board back down with a slap on the counter. âWell, sheâs been here four days now, and weâre running low on cells. Think itâs time to let her back up to camp?â
What? Did you hear her correctly? Were they discussing your release back to gen pop? How green was this side? Was there a paradise lurking around a corner somewhere too?
âSure,â CO Barton said, his grip on your arm lessening profoundly. âCall camp and send for the van. Iâll bring Harper up to the parking lot. Letâs go, inmate.â
You gladly followed the officer through the Max facility back up to the where the van would soon show. Anything to get out of this hellhole. Had it only been four days? It seemed a lot longer to you, even though youâd, thankfully, slept through the most part. How you hadnât gone mad was beyond you, but the reality was that you hadnât. You werenât broken. Then it hit you. The reason for your restful nights and full stomach. The reason youâd thought SHU to be a blessing in disguise. Because of the absence of two people in particular. Officers Barnes and Rogers.
Summery of fic: Reader/Jess Harper has already survived abuse and sexual assault by stepbrother Nate Millers, but the reward was a prison sentence for murder at Litchfield penitentiaryâŠ
What happens when you/Jess come face to face with Nateâs old colleagues and friends, Correctional Officers Steve Rogers and James âBuckyâ Barnes, who both seem set on making you pay for your mistakes. Will you be able to survive it all over again?
Pairing (kinda): Steve Rogers x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Reader, Nate Millers (OMC) x Reader
Words: 4721
Warnings: DARK AU, dubcon/noncon elements, Dark!Bucky, Dark!Steve, implied sexual acts, sexual acts, mention of murder, mentions of death, mentions of violence, mentions of NC/SA and death, mentions of blood
You have been warned.
Chapter 15
-
The reflective metallic acting as a mirror above the sink showed an ill and distorted image. The cuts and scrapes where all cleaned now, leaving only sore scabs and reddening bruises prominent on your skin. There was just the scrape on your cheekbone accompanying the earlier cut on your face, but both a hip and a knee had taken some assault, the tiniest bit of blood had seeped through the skin and stained your clothes. Besides that, there were just more bruises here and there, your ribs having taken first prize in that department.
After yet another meltdown sitting huddled in the corner and crying, you were left feeling empty and restless. You hated that feeling. The feeling of being completely drained of thought and emotion, body heavy with exhaustion, yet there was an underlying itch to move.
But you couldnât. You couldnât do anything but choose between the sink, the bed or the corner. And your butt was favouring the bed above the floor when it came to resting places. You laid down on the thin, worn matrass, your body thankful in spite of the poor layer cushioning you from the metal. Your ribs and hip complained at the movement, forcing out hisses and grunts. But despite the pain of lying down, exhaustion overtook you. For the first time in a long time, you didnât have to worry about nightly visitors. You could rest. Finally. And for the first time in a long time, you didnât dream. Of anything.
You were awakened by the screech of the hatch on the door being opened, and a plastic tray being sent through.
âBreakfast,â a male guard said on the other side.
Wow, you must have slept for at least twelve hours. Maybe this whole SHU ordeal should be considered a vacation from camp? There was both sleep and food, which was not an option up the hill. Blessing in disguise? A loud, gut-wrenching scream was heard farther down the hall. Nope. Not a blessing.
You got up on weak and tired legs, your knee hurting even more after some rest, and gratefully grabbed the tray being handed to you. The hatch closed as soon as the tray was through, without another word from the CO. On it was a simple, lonely piece of bread with a simple, lonely slice of bologna on top. Nothing else. Except, of course, for a splotch of mould right in the middle. Great. Well, beggars canât be choosers.
You limped back to the bed and sat back down with your delicious food. You gave the sandwich a onceover before biting into it, and immediately regretted it. The plastic-y feel and the metallic taste told of an expiration date having come and gone several times over. Seriously? Was this even edible at this point? But with a few determined and open-mouthed bites, it was quelling your hunger nonetheless. At least it was food. The last thing youâd eaten was that deceitful Twix, luring you in with its chocolaty cover and crunchy caramel filling. Satanâs treat.
Your mind drifted to the officers, Steve and Bucky. Bucky, weird name. You gathered that it was a nickname, seeing there was a J stitched into all his shirts, but it was still weird. More like Fucky when the mood struck. And Peeve. Fucky and Peeve. Yeah, thatâs more suiting.
Why had they set you up with contraband? Was it just to put you in this hellhole and let your own mind run haywire and drive you insane, or was there something else? The SHU was a part of the Max-facility, and from what you understood, that was its own separate workplace. Which meant that Peeve and Fucky didnât spend their days down here, and therefore werenât around you whilst you were still locked up. Could you be so lucky? Everything prior to this vacation spoke against it. No, you were never lucky.
Dread started creeping up your spine, crashing through every vertebra and sending spears of fear into every corner of your body. Your hands clenched into fists, nails digging little half-moons into your palms and stiffening like they were submerged under icy water. You laid back down on your side with your knees pulled up towards your chest as high as they would go without causing even more pain, hoping to find the comfort you needed. But the matrass only mocked you. There was no comfort here. It was just cold, and hard, and lonely.
Spots started dancing around the room like glittering little stars, there just for you. Everything else blurred away into nothing, leaving only the growing stars creating a galaxy with only you in it. It was almost pretty, if darkness hadnât overtaken you so soon.
You woke only to eat, grateful for some kind of routine. You were too afraid to think about anything, fearing your own mind like a haunted house. So, you chose to sleep the time away for as long as you could, the earlier sleepless nights aided greatly in your mission. So far it worked. So far counting US capitals and European countries worked wonders to not only keep the ghosts locked away, but it was boring as hell and made you fall asleep before you could ever finish counting.
Your body was slowly healing as well, cuts scabbing over quickly, and bruises took on a new shade each day. Or maybe it was longer than that. Hard to tell. However long it took, you were grateful for the lessening pain, but you had no doubts in your mind that there was more to come.
O.o.O.o.O
âYou ready?â Steve asked.
He was standing by the door, ready to make his way out, just waiting for Bucky to get all of his things together from where they were littering the bench. They were going straight from the gym to get to work early, having some... business to attend to before starting their day.
Steveâs days off hadnât been all that restful. He wanted to get back to work and see the damaged done, and not having to guess and fantasize constantly. Heâd busied himself with several trips to the gym already, washing both the cars and bikes, and finally fixed the issue with the Wi-Fi. Anything to get time to pass.
âYeah, yeahâ Bucky said, and grabbed his water bottle and chucked it in the bag.
For Bucky, having to work and keep a leash on himself was harder than he had anticipated. He wanted to go down to SHU and just gloat, just see you sitting there all broken. He hadnât done it of course, but it was harder not to than heâd previously thought. The days had passed by so slowly, and not having Steve there to talk to or joke around with made the day feel like one long, last drop of syrup not wanting to leave the bottle. But here they both were now. Time to reap what theyâve sown.
They were both already in uniform, both getting several flirtatious glances from both men and women on their way out. It wasnât something new to either of them. They knew how well they filled out their uniform. Pants fitting snuggly in all the right places, shirts just tight enough to showcase the muscle that lay underneath, especially after a good workout. And the uniform itself did its part. But they made no move to flirt back, or otherwise show interest, other than smiling appreciatively back at them. They had other things in mind.
Steve got in the driverâs seat and started the car. Bucky rarely drove unless he called it, despite whose car they took. It was a habit left from their military days when Steve had been the designated driver for a good couple of months, always in charge of getting from point A to point B. He liked the control. Old habits die hard.
âHow do you think sheâs doing?â Bucky asked from where he sat comfortably leaned back in his seat, arm resting by the window.
Steve drew a deep breath, letting it out through his nose.
âI donât know,â he said. âItâs only been a few days but it could be enough to do some real damage, depends on what sheâs like with solitude. Some people arenât affected by it at all, some crumble from just a day or two.â
âI think sheâs crumbled,â Bucky said with a snort. âSheâs seemed ready to tuck tail so many times before this, Iâm surprised sheâs managed to hold out for so long.â A moment of silence passed between them, speaking loudly, but Bucky read it the way he wanted. âI guess some people just arenât meant for prison.â
âThen I guess some people shouldnât commit heinous crimes,â Steve said tensely, clearly aggravated at that thought of you.
Bucky nodded, feeling that same aggravation starting to course through his own veins the more he thought about it.
âDamn right.â
Neither men said anything for a few moments, both thinking back on their time with Nate. He hadnât been a close friend by any means, but he certainly didnât deserve to be murdered, and certainly not in such horrid ways. No one deserved to die like that. And no one deserved to get out of murdering someone. Let alone you.
âThink heâd want this?â Steve asked after a while, taking another turn on the winding road.
âMillers?â
âYeah. Think heâd want us to punish her?â
âI think heâd do the same for us,â Bucky said, and sat up straighter in his seat.
âThatâs not what Iâm asking. Iâm asking, would he want us to make her pay for what she did? For killing him?â
Bucky looked over at Steve, noticing the slightly firmer grip on the wheel and the tension set in his jaw. He was overthinking things. That was his overthinking-face.
âWouldnât you wanna know that the person responsible for your death was severally punished?â Bucky asked with some force. âThat the person who jabbed a fucking knife into your chest over and over until you bled out, got what they fucking deserved?â
Steve nodded his head slowly, as if to himself, with the raise of a brow as he did. Heâd want the person responsible to rot at the bottom of a fucking well, eating rats and maggots and drinking their blood to keep themselves alive, and never forget who put them there should someone end his life like that.
âYeah, I wouldâ he said, picturing you with the tail of a rat hanging out of the corner of your mouth.
âFuck yeah,â Bucky agreed, dragging stiff fingers over his jaw as he himself pictured his own idea of hell happening to you.
If Nate were here to see the spectacle for himself, heâd pat them on the back for their hard work, and buy them a round of beer as a thank you.
âPlus,â he added. âThe way he talked about her? He fucking knew that she needed to be shown her place, that she had it coming. I just think heâd wanna be the one to do it.â
Both men scoffed and chuckled at the picture forming in their heads of everything Nate said he would do to you, but most likely never got around to. The man could talk a good game. Heâd gotten them both all riled up and antsy, even when he was alive to tell his stories. It wasnât more than fitting that Bucky and Steve saw to it that it happened.
âThink he ever got around to it?â Steve asked with a grin.
âWhat?â
âFucking her,â Steve said with laughter lining his words.
Bucky snorted at the comment, before giving in to the chuckle tickling in his chest.
âOh, please,â he said sarcastically. âThat dude was all talk and no game. I bet it was all just for show after Luscheck called him a fag for hanging out with us. He never brought her up before that, so...â
Steve nodded along. Millers hadnât even mentioned you in passing before Luscheckâs comment about all three men being gay, which Millers had taken offense to, and quite a bit, going by his reaction. Luscheck hadnât muttered another word on the matter since.
âTrue,â Steve said. âBut the way he talked about her, you just knew he wanted to mess with her, in a lot of ways. Iâm telling ya, he was hot for her.â
âDonât blame him. Thereâs just something about her that makes me want to beat the shit out of her, and at the same time fuck her into oblivion.â
Both men laughed at the dilemma, agreeing to every word.
âI second that,â Steve said, just as they entered the parking lot to the Max facility.
O.o.O.o.O
Days passed without a living soul talking to you, beside a CO telling you what meal they were sending through. No one in the adjacent cells made a single sound meant for your ears, though you were left to endure their endless screaming.
Your mind was starting to fog over. Thoughts became heavy and unclear whenever you tried to follow them. Was time even passing? You werenât sure. It could be early, or the middle of the night, you had no way of knowing. They kept the lights on to confuse and daze the inmates. It worked. Oh, did it work.
Footsteps sounded out in the hallway. Wasnât anything new. Could be a guard, could be an inmate being transferred or cleaning the floor, could be a fucking ghost for all you cared. You didnât trust your ears anymore. You didnât trust anything anymore.
Then there it was. The familiar constriction of your chest. Like a weather forecaster telling of an upcoming storm with thunder and lightning and hail the size of golf balls. Like screaming sirens sounding throughout a pitch-black night. That you knew to trust. And then the door was pulled open.
âHuh,â you gasped.
You shot up to a sitting position, moving back with your knees up as a protective barrier. You ignored the ache firing through you at such a sudden movement, too preoccupied with the two smirking men standing in the doorway.
âHi, Jess,â officer Barnes said, taking the first step into the cell, Steve following close behind.
âGood morning,â he said.
Okay, it was morning. Of what day? That doesnât matter right now, focus! Why were they here? What did they want?
âI seem to have forgotten to... search you before bringing you down here,â Steve said. âWe canât have that, now, can we?â
You trembled. He was going to search you? Just a pat down, though, right? Only female COs were allowed to do the strip-searches. He canât do that!
âAgainst the wall, inmate,â Barnes said with a sideways nod to the wall beside him.
You didnât know what to do. Should you just go along with it and hope for the best, or do you fight? Could you fight? Where was the fire that let you argue with Grease Hair? You couldnât find it anywhere. It wasnât there anymore.
âNow, inmate,â Steve said firmly.
Okay, so option one. Rock, hard place, meet Jess. Sheâll be staying here for the rest of her life.
You stood up on unsteady feet, shuffling along towards the officers still standing in the doorway. Both men just followed your slow limping with their eyes, but didnât make a move, yet. They didnât say anything, wanting to hear the soft, low whining coming from you. Your cheeks went red when you realized that the sound you had heard was coming from you.
âHands against the wall,â Steve said when you were close enough, taking a large step to come up behind you.
You did as he ordered, the rough, filthy cement sticking to your palms and fingers. You felt him standing there, too close. His height overshadowed your shuddering body, submerging you in his authority. You didnât dare to look back at him, but you could almost feel him smirking where he stood behind you, completely in control.
Officer Barnes took another step into the cell, before dragging the door to a close. You gasped at the sound, your hands unintentionally falling from their place on the wall when you turned towards the door, as if you could make it out before it shut completely. But CO Rogers was quick to correct you.
âHands on the fucking wall,â he spat out, and shoved you back in place, forcing your hands back where they had been.
Steve gave Bucky a smile when hearing the helpless whine fall from your mouth, and Bucky returned it. Music to their ears. But to you, it was torture.
Tears were brimming your eyes, blurring everything you could see. Your shoulders were rigid in their set place, causing the tension to grow into a headache. Please, just let this be over.
Steve slowly started to run his hands over your shoulders and down your arms, pressure soft and easy, almost like he was caressing you. You trembled at the feeling, but Steve just smiled wider. His hands travelled down the length of your back, drawing several hisses from you when grazing your sore ribs, before coming down and checking the hem of your trousers with curious fingers. You couldnât stop the whimper before it escaped through your quivering jaw, releasing the tears from their confinement as well.
âShh,â Steve said calmly.
You hated it. You hated the feigned sound of comfort. He knew what he was doing, he knew what he was putting you through. And there wasnât a comforting fibre in his body, despite the reassuring sound he made to try and convince you otherwise.
He crouched down and circled the length of your legs, pressing down on your thighs and patting the area around your butt. You felt the jiggle he caused. You wanted to throw up, bile even rising up. But Steve and Bucky just had trouble containing their grins at the lovely sight.
His hands came back up as he stood, this time over your belly. You drew a shaky breath, holding it tight within you and prayed that he didnât move his fingers under the fabric. Anything but that. Please, anything but that. Thankfully, he didnât.
Instead his fingers moved up and searched the underside of your breasts, lingering longer than necessary, not leaving anything untouched. You couldnât contain the gasps and whimpers when the palms of his hands gripped you through your shirt, your knees threatening to buckle and send you to the floor. Your fingers curved into the wall, nails clawing at the dirt. Anything to keep upright, keep your hands where he had ordered them to be. Steve pressed you back hard into his chest, pain blossoming again throughout your ribcage. You scrunched your eyes up, trying to block him out, not let him invade your mind as he did your body. But more tears fell as he massaged your breasts in slow squeezes, humming approvingly as he did.
âSheâs clean,â he said at the shell of your ear, making you recoil at the sound.
âGood,â Bucky said when Steve moved back just enough to allow you to catch your breath, closing your eyes tightly to regain calm. âSince Steve didnât search you before bringing you down, you could have stashed something,â Bucky continued, looking around the small, cramped cell as he walked.
You turned your head, not daring to move anything else. What could they possibly be searching for? Both men knew that lighter hadn't been yours, they were the ones who had planted it, for crying out loud. And there wasn't exactly an overwhelming amount of possibilities to mess up your cell, if that was what they were going for. Both officers were looking at you expectantly, before turning to each other.
âMight have seized the opportunity,â Steve added. âBest to do a search, I think. Donât you, Buck?â
âSeems only safe, right?â
âYeah,â Steve said before turning to look at you again. âHands behind your back.â
He grabbed the handcuffs from his belt and opened them, preparing to cuff you. Again.
âWhat?â you asked with a tremor.
You didnât need to be cuffed for this. They never cuffed you when doing a sweep before, why did they need to do it now?
âItâs for our protection,â Steve explained, though you doubted the truth of his words. âCanât have a dangerous inmate on the loose with unlocked doors and defenceless officers just doing their job, now, can we? Especially not one with a record of hurting said officers,â he said and forcibly shoved your arms down and behind your back, securing them with the snugness of the cuffs.
âAh,â you grunted when he manoeuvred you around to stand with your back and arms against the wall, his hand still holding a firm grip on your shoulder, not letting you move an inch even if you tried.
Bucky started checking the room for contraband. Feeling around the toilet seat, the sink, the makeshift mirror, the vent, then lastly your bed. He flipped the matrass, almost folding it in half, and threw the shaken-out blanket on top, coming up empty. As expected.
âSeems clean to me,â he said, though his voice carried something wicked.
âYeah,â Steve agreed. âMaybe a little too clean, wouldnât you say, Buck?â
Steve moved closer to you, letting go of your shoulder and leaning his own against the wall, bringing his face down almost next to yours, smiling when you flinched. Bucky slowly nodded his head like he was mulling something over.
âHmm, what could we do about that?â he said in a very sarcastic tone. âOh, I have an idea.â
With that said, a wide smile spread across his face, white teeth showing in an ominous grin. Then his hands travelled down to his belt and started undoing the buckle. You froze, eyes fixed on the officer as he undid his trousers and took out his cock through the open fly, and started to pee all over your matrass and blanket.
âNo! No, no, no, pleaseââ you started, going to take a step forward but was stopped by Steve who shoved you back against the wall with a hard thud. âAh!â
âWhat you say, inmate?â he barked at you. âYou mouthing off to an officer? You wanna spend a few extra weeks in this shithole, huh? Or should I say pisshole?â
Both men laughed as more tears cascaded down your cheeks, stinging the healing wound with its salt. You turned your head away, not wanting to see the horrific invasion of the officer pissing all over your things, the smell already spreading in the confined space.
But Steve wouldnât have it. He grabbed a hold of your chin with one hand, forcing you to face them both.
âUh-uh,â he tutted. âYou donât get to look away, doll.â
âPlease,â you forced out through your clamped shut mouth, not caring how pathetic you looked when you begged.
You just wanted them to stop.
Bucky laughed, the sound briefly muffling the last splashes of urine hitting the plastic matrass and metal bedframe, before he shook himself off, and tucked himself back into his pants, smiling proudly at the wet bedding.
Steve watched your face intently, following the drops of tears flowing from your eyes and pooling onto his hand. He eased his grip on your chin, allowing you movement but still keeping you in place. You let out a shallow breath at the privilege to move your mouth. Though his fingers still burrowed into your skin, and painfully so.
âDid you know there are no cameras in this cell?â he asked. âHuh? Did you?â
You hadnât thought about it, but you hadnât spotted a camera anywhere when you came to think of it. A shudder ran through you at the thought. Oh, no.
âOnly a few of them work,â he continued, like he was telling you an interesting story. âAnd they put the long-timers in those cells. This one, the one youâre in, doesnât have any cameras. No oneâs watching.â
His free hand slowly caressed down your torso, from your throat to your trousers. And this time, he didnât stop. His fingers skilfully lifted the hem, playing with the fabric, grazing the, thankfully, unmarked skin.
You opened you mouth in a silent gasp, a scream fighting to emerge but never found its voice, your eyes blinking rapidly to shed the tears and leave room for new ones. Your breath was shaky as you fought for air, feeling the panic rising. Oh, god, no. Please, no. Please, not this. But Steve just smirked at you.
âWe could do so many things to you right here, and there would be no way of proving any of it. So, unless you wanna find out all the different ways we could make you squirmââ his hand slid down into your pants to grab your core through the thin material of your panties. ââyou better shut your mouth and be fucking grateful that pissing on your bed is all weâre gonna do. For now.â
And there it was. The anticipated threat. It lingered in the air with the words left unspoken, surrounding you in its invisible, unforgiving hold. Like a vice tightening around you, stealing the air from your lungs and blood from your veins. Leaving you as nothing more than an empty shell.
âDo I make myself clear, Jessie? Hmm?â
You swallowed. It didnât do anything to regain the control of your voice, just shuddering breaths passing through. Your mind was like a blaring alarm going off, not a sane thought could penetrate it. But then he closed his grip on your pussy, fingers slipping through your folds and feeling around the soft flesh that lie there.
âY-ye-yes, sir,â was whispered, hoping it was enough.
You wanted to beg, you wanted to plead, to reason with the men, but you didnât. You knew better than to tempt fate when that threat dangled in front of you. The threat you never wanted to hear again, the threat you knew was a promise of unforgiving pain.
Bucky walked up to the two of you, eyes shamelessly taking in every inch of your body, adding every curve, every strand of hair to memory. He bit his lip when he locked in on the hand still down your pants. He noticed the tremor of your body. Like a lonely leaf left on a branch. Beautiful.
Steve retracted his hands with a pleased smiling sigh, drawing a shaky breath from you when his touch finally left you. You closed your eyes. Defeated. Shamed.
Steve pulled you forward by the arm to get to the cuffs still locked safely in place. You would have stumbled, if not fallen completely to the floor, hadnât he held on to you, steadying you, before releasing the cuffs and left you to your own devices. Both men took a few steps back, giving you some much needed space. Though you made no attempt to move away from them. You couldnât even if you wanted to. Your body was gone. Completely gone. An empty vessel. There was nothing left. You just prayed for them to leave. Prayed for the screams around to be the biggest problem you had. You'd listen to the screaming for years if it would only undo what they had done.
Bucky dragged the heavy door open again, stepping out of the cell and leaving space for Steve to follow, both men sad to be leaving but they had work to do that didn't involve you. Steve slowly backed out, wanting to savour the last seconds in your presence like he was starved. Never once did you turn your head to look at any of them, tears flowing like a faucet turned on. They had, once again, chased you into a corner and watched you crumble with delight. That was as good a start to the day as any in their book.
âSee you around, Jess,â Steve said when he was through the door, a beaming smile painted on his face that wouldn't go away any time soon.
With a quick glance back at the bed he had messed up, Bucky smirked at you and said, âSleep tight.â
Summery of fic: Reader/Jess Harper has already survived abuse and sexual assault by stepbrother Nate Millers, but the reward was a prison sentence for murder at Litchfield penitentiaryâŠ
What happens when you/Jess come face to face with Nateâs old colleagues and friends, Correctional Officers Steve Rogers and James âBuckyâ Barnes, who both seem set on making you pay for your mistakes. Will you be able to survive it all over again?
Pairing (kinda): Steve Rogers x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Reader, Nate Millers (OMC) x Reader
Words: 2251
Warnings: DARK AU, dubcon/noncon elements, Dark!Bucky, Dark!Steve, implied sexual acts, sexual acts, mention of murder, mentions of death, mentions of violence, mentions of NC/SA and death
You have been warned.
Chapter 14
-
A box. A box with grimy walls and sticky floor. A 10 by 10-foot cement box with nothing more than a toilet with a sink and a bed. And a blanket. At least you had a blanket.
People were screaming in the adjacent cells, shouting obscenities and damning the guards for putting them in this hellhole. The lonely florescent light in the ceiling was flickering endlessly, zapping like it was killing bugs with each flit. Cold, bright and loud. Thatâs what SHU is like.
Hours must have passed since that solid red door was shut, locking in place behind you. The guards taking you down to your new very humble abode hadnât even commented on the cuts or bruises you had yet to clean, assuming you must have done something to deserve them. Maybe you had. Maybe you deserved everything that happened to you, and everything yet to come. After all, a man was dead at the hands of you. That couldnât be changed, no matter how much you wished that it could. And apparently the circumstances of his death were trivial in the scheme of things.
You sat huddled in the corner, holding your knees as tightly as the ache in your ribs would allow, your constant crying making it no easier to try and breathe. You couldnât find a single calm thought to grasp or hold onto for dear life, instead quickly drowning in the abyss of darkness of your own mind, haunted by the ghost that inhabited it.
FLASHBACK
âNo, n-no, please. Nate, please,â you begged, your voice carrying pain and fear as you gulped in air.
He was stalking towards you, savoring every sweet, innocent plea falling from your mouth. No matter how much he hurt you, you never stopped begging. Never stopped pleading for him to have mercy, to, just please, donât hurt you.
Sharp spikes of searing pain shot through your belly as you tried to move away from him, one hand firmly pressing down on the wound he had already caused. Warm blood was seeping through your fingers and slicking the floor beneath you, flowing out across the floorboards.
You moaned and cried. Even just the thought of any movement sent another sharp twang through your body.
Nate laughed, and kicked your leg to the side, drawing yet another whimper from you.
âOh, dear,â he mocked, a grin plastered on his lips as he looked down. âDoes it hurt?â
âMmmph,â was all that came out in a shuddering breath. He laughed at you.
âWhatâs the matter? Catâs got your tongue?â he said with a wink. âI think I can find a way to get you to speak. You might not like it, though.â
Nate took a step back, before hurling a hard foot right in your belly. Right at the blood.
âAgh!â you screamed, spitting blood as you fought to draw breath.
Mind-numbing pain blossomed in your abdomen, your ears ringing with the sound of white noise.
âPleaseâŠâ you wheezed, shaking and shuddering.
The pain was burning you up from the inside, like a raging inferno. A raging inferno burning everything it came to touch.
But again, Nate just laughed. Amused by the pain, your pain, and the noises you made.
âTold you.â
END OF FLASHBACK
No, please, donât go there. Not now. Not here. Not when thereâs no place to run to, nothing to keep your attention or distract you. You needed to derail the train before you rammed yourself straight into that wall of crippling agony that was far too familiar. You were left with no alternative, fearing the mental and emotional pain more than the one you would subject yourself to in order to escape the others.
You lowered a leg down to the ground with an echoing groan, the pain horribly familiar to the one of getting kicked in the stomach after just being stabbed. As if the memory itself wasnât bad enough, you just had to relive the physical pain as well, but it did what it was supposed to do, and grounded you in the now. The memory of Nate faded back into the blackness once more, when curious fingers caressed the sharp line of ribs underneath your shirt, testing what pressure they could take.
âUgh⊠hahâŠâ you rasped at the light touches.
Not a lot apparently. They must be mere millimeters from being broken.
Longing eyes watched the door in a silent pray for it to be opened again. To reveal salvation. To reveal anything. Anything but the dub grey or spotted metallic showering the room. At least there was the bright, sharp contrast of the door.
The red paint was flaked all over. Scratched. Flawed. The top was kept bright red, fading as it went down to the bottom where the underlying metal was bared, the upper part probably saved by its height. You couldnât reach it. You doubted many of the inmates could. Even if they did, they probably wouldnât hold the strength to scratch at the paint at that height.
There were inscriptions. Calls for help etched in the coating. Help. Save me. Kill me.
How long would it take for your mind to start spurring out ideas on how to save yourself? How to escape. A month? A week? A day perhaps? Thereâs no telling of just how dark your mind could get with so little. Itâs like tapping on a broken window, or a cracked mirror, just waiting for the pieces to shatter apart. How hard would someone have to tap for your pieces to shatter? How long?
Tap, tap.
O.o.O.o.O
The rev of a motorcycle engine roared outside the window of their shared house. Bucky was stood leaning against the kitchen sink with his bare back to the window, a bowl of bran flakes in his hands. He had just gotten up, and Steve had apparently just gotten home. They both had the day off. Well, Steve had worked for several hours already, but he wasnât due back to work for another couple of days, back on the dayshift again.
Steve parked his bike on the driveway next to Buckyâs and killed the engine. He didnât take his bike that often, neither did Bucky, but when the weather was nice and he didnât have to make a pitstop at Micky Dâs or the local Wendyâs, he seized the opportunity.
âMorninâ,â Bucky mumbled through a mouthful as Steve walked in to the kitchen, throwing his jacket on the back of the nearest chair.
âDidnât think youâd be up,â Steve said, and sat down at the round table with a loud sigh.
He hated nightshifts when you werenât there for him to tease and occupy his time with. It had been their fault that you werenât in fact in the dorm where he roamed the nights, but still. He could nonetheless complain that it wasnât any fun when you werenât there. Heâd had a taste of the thrills the shift could offer, but this? This plain, quiet, working in the dim lighting and trying to stay awake thing? That was just boring.
âYeah, well,â Bucky said and spooned in another mouthful. âRestless night. Couldnât get my mind off dear little Jessie, and what you might have gotten into bringing her down to SHU.â
Steve scoffed with a grin. Bucky waited a second before adding;
âCare to tell me? Does she look worse than when I last saw her?â Bucky asked with an equally wide smile.
âThat she does,â Steve said drawn out.
âOh, yeah? What you do?â
He shovelled another spoon into his mouth as he listened, curious to know what Steve had gotten up to.
Steve bit his lip, trying to contain his widening smile as he reminisced of your glorious downfall. Literally.
âShe might have taken a tumble down the stairs.â
Bucky burst into laughter, almost spitting the milk out of his mouth. He dried his mouth with the back of his hand, and set down the almost empty bowl on the counter beside him.
âNo shit! You didnât?â
âI did,â Steve said proudly.
Bucky clapped his hands together in an impressed applaud.
âYouâre worse than me, Steve.â
âNah, it was a spur of the moment kind of thing. She was pissing me off with her excuses and all that.â
Steve got up to open the fridge and grabbed the prepared shake waiting for him, drinking straight from the jug. With the door still open as he did, which annoyed Bucky who was just in his underwear still, and not liking the cool breeze sweeping across the room. Luckily for Steve, he shut it quick enough not to earn a remark.
âReally?â Bucky said. âStill donât know when to shut up, huh? Did you make her cry, too? âCause all I got was begging. Not that Iâm complaining, itâs so much hotter than I thought. Hearing her plead, and beg, and fucking whine like that. Fuck!â he exclaimed at the memory.
He hadnât anticipated how good it would feel to be so hands on and in control. He was in control of all the inmates all the time, sure, but it wasnât the same as it was with you. With you, there were no limits on what he could get up to, knowing Steve had his back and wanted the same things as he did; to get Nate some justice. With the other inmates there were more risks involved, and an honour code to uphold. With you, the risks were minimal, seeing no inmate was particular close to you (anymore), and most of them wanted nothing to do with you and frankly wouldnât give a ratâs ass if something were to happen to you. The plans were unravelling splendidly.
âOh, yeah? You shouldâve heard her weeping and begging when she was lying on the bottom of the stairs. Hands still cuffed, completely helpless. Talk about a whining mess,â Steve snorted where he stood resting an arm over the Philco fridge and drink in his free hand, hearing every sound you had made echoing in his head.
How helpless you had been, how scared. And the look on your face when realization hit that you couldnât do anything to stop him from doing what he wanted with you was beautiful in its sadness. No, not sadness. Submission. Nothing else.
Bucky scoffed at the remark and gratefully interrupted Steveâs thoughts, pouring himself a fresh cup of coffee from the pot, taking the first steaming sip. He knew Steve wouldnât want one so he didnât offer. He never drank coffee before bed, and it was his bedtime after all.
âWhat?â he said surprised. âStill handcuffed? Damn, Rogers. Youâre a meanie,â he said with a laugh into the cup.
âDonât worry, it was like five steps left,â Steve said, and chucked the now empty container into the sink for Bucky to deal with whenever he decided to do the dishes. âShe just did a nose-dive and landed awkwardly. All she got was a cut on her cheekbone, and probably some bruises here and there. Sheâll live.â
Steve walked out of the kitchen with Bucky on his tail and into his bedroom to get out of his work clothes, and maybe take a shower and get the stench of prison off. He unbuckled his belt and stripped of his shirt and the tee underneath, throwing them both in the bin to be washed.
Bucky leaned against the doorframe to Steveâs room. Privacy wasnât an issue in their house. There just wasnât any.
âHow do you think sheâll handle the SHU?â he asked and took a sip of the mug in his hand, equally unbothered by his friendâs upcoming nakedness as much as he was his own.
âDonât know,â Steve said, and tossed his socks in the bin with the other items, left with just his pants on, the belt buckle clanking as he moved. âShe seems... fragile. Might crack her.â
He didnât linger on the thought though, instead opting for a more joyous approach, and finding your discomfort enjoyable more than anything else.
Bucky nodded at the thought. You were indeed very reserved already. Then add a few days, if not weeks, in a cement box with almost constant yelling and screaming going on around. It might do a number on your head, which didnât seem like a foreign idea when it came to you.
He forced the thought away with a big gulp of hot coffee swimming in his mouth, drawing all the attention. All the while Steve stepped out of his pants, and made ready for the shower, and then the very tempting bed. He would only get a few hours of sleep if he was going to turn back his circadian rhythm, but he wanted them sooner rather than later.
âWell,â Bucky said, just as Steve made to pass him in the doorway. âIf the alone time doesnât crack her, we sure will.â
Steve snorted at the remark. They were both planning on grinding you down to the fucking bone, but Buckyâs confidence in the ordeal was amusing to say the least. The man could come up with the most ingenious ideas sometimes.
âOh, yeah? Got big plans to achieve that?â he asked, and opened the door to the bathroom.
âI have a few ideas,â Bucky said cheerfully with a wink, then turned towards his bedroom to get ready for the day.
âYou always do,â Steve agreed, before shutting the door to finally let the hot water wash away the last lingering doubts.
Summery of fic: Reader/Jess Harper has already survived abuse and sexual assault by stepbrother Nate Millers, but the reward was a prison sentence for murder at Litchfield penitentiaryâŠ
What happens when you/Jess come face to face with Nateâs old colleagues and friends, Correctional Officers Steve Rogers and James âBuckyâ Barnes, who both seem set on making you pay for your mistakes. Will you be able to survive it all over again?
Pairing (kinda): Steve Rogers x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Reader, Nate Millers (OMC) x Reader
Words: 4794
Warnings: DARK AU, dubcon/noncon elements, Dark!Bucky, Dark!Steve, implied sexual acts, sexual acts, mention of murder, mentions of death, mentions of violence, mentions of NC/SA and death
You have been warned.
Chapter 13
-
Blood splattered onto the porcelain, staining the cracked ivory with a blushing red. You rinsed the cut out in the sink in the somewhat quiet bathroom, dabbing it with damp pieces of paper to clean it. It stopped bleeding after a while, but the headache remained. The gash wasnât too wide, you wouldnât need stitches at least, so that was a relief. No way were you going to go down to medical for a small cut and a growing bruise, which was undoubtedly going to go through the entire Pride flag in colour before healing.
You met your reflection. Nothing you hadnât seen before, but still, the haunting look of pain in your eyes was always a tough pill to swallow. You hated seeing yourself like this; hurt, bruised and broken. âWe havenât even begunâ. His words echoed in your mind, occupying all the space, hollowing you of anything other than fear and pain. There was no room left for anything else, just the comfort of familiar darkness. You knew how to live in this, how to survive in the drowning flood of suffering. Youâd thought the death of your stepbrother had saved you from its swallowing depths, but now you were right back in it. Right. Fucking. In. It.
âLooks like someone got what was coming to them.â
Startled back into the present, you looked behind you through the reflection of the mirror and found Grease Hair looking at you from the doorway with a smirk, revealing her snaggly Gargamel teeth. You looked down, not wanting to be bothered, hearing how she snorted at your lack of response.
âWhat?â she said. âYou only talk to COs?â
She came up and put her toilet paper and whatnot by the sink, checking her own reflection. How the mirror didnât break was a mystery.
âI donât talk to COs,â you said.
It came out slightly aggressive but you couldnât care less.
She scoffed. âYeah, right. Like we all donât know how you let officer Rogers fuck you for treats. What? You some kind of pornstar or something?â
âWhat? No.â
âOh, so you just manage to get one of the most handsome guards to fuck you, and risking his own, just because youâre, what? So fuckable? Please.â
Anger flared up, you couldnât help it. You were almost vibrating with overrunning emotions, something was bound to surface. You turned to face her.
âLook, I donât know what kind of twisted stories everyoneâs been spreading about me, but I havenât had sex with, or sucked off, or let any of the guards finger me for shit. Iâm not that kind of girl, okay? Itâs all bullshit.â
It came out a little meek but the anger persevered through your tone at least. You werenât used to standing your ground, it never served you any good so you had very little practice in actually biting back.
Grease Hair turned her body towards you, amused by your outburst.
âSo what? Youâre a dyke?â
âAre those the options? Fuck a guard or an inmate? People can get through life, and prison, without the need to hump the first person they see, you know. Itâs called self-restraint, look it up. If you can read.â
You forcefully shut off the faucet, grabbed the remainder of the toilet roll, and turned to leave. She didnât say anything else, only snorting at your irate state, letting you storm out with what little power you had gained.
God, you hated being seen as a slut, or like the very haunting reminder on your body read; a whore. You werenât interested in any man, and would never let another man touch you in your life if you could help it. So to be ridiculed and shamed like that just pushed you one step too far.
It had felt good to let off some of the steam that had been building up underneath, but whether it was wise or not was still unclear. Maybe it wasnât the best idea to piss off other inmates when they already had plenty of âreasonâ so hate you, and you werenât the only two in the bathroom. But, like they say; in for a penny, in for a pound. It didnât matter that it hadnât been you who put that penny in the pot in the first place. Officer Rogers, Steve youâd learned, had gladly thrown that penny in there. Whether you wanted to or not, you were stuck in the game now. And like officer Barnes had so kindly pointed out; the inmates werenât your biggest problem.
O.o.O.o.O
âCanât I do it?â Bucky asked Steve with a gleam, as they patrolled the yard in the afternoon.
Bucky had been assigned to watch the yard along with CO Bennet since lunch, before Steve replaced him and joined his friend in the early afternoon, so he hadnât seen you since the morning. He had zero doubts of your attendance in the cafeteria though, not after his little reminder in the laundry room earlier. He relived the moment in his head over and over.
âThatâs not fair, and you know it,â Steve said.
Bucky shouldnât complain. Steve had yet to see you at all today, the only juicy thing heâd gotten was Bucky telling him every single detail of his own encounter with you. It made Steve feel like he should have been rougher with you last night, and not just given you a nudge. This was his time to get his hands dirty.
âYouâve already had your chance, now itâs my turn,â he said, earning what could only be described as a pout from Bucky.
âWhat? I thought we were gonna share. Not in a sharing mood, huh, Stevie?â
Bucky nudged his friend with his shoulder as they continued walking the perimeter, managing to get at least a huff of a smile out of the man.
âWe are sharing, but you grabbed a hell of a big piece already. I only pushed her, you drew blood. This is my time.â
Bucky laughed loudly. âSomeoneâs pouting. Alright, how âbout this? We both do the search, but you get to rough her up a bit? Come on, Steve. You know we have to hand her over, weâre not gonna see her for a while. And you had all night to mess with her, itâs not my fault you didnât do more. You canât shut me out on this.â
Steve contemplated what he said, knowing deep down that Bucky was right. It wasnât fair of him to try and hog you when it was the last chance to get to you for a while. Bucky was still working for a few days before Steve was coming back to the dayshift, and he had been nice enough to promise not to pay you a visit in the meantime.
âAlright, weâll see how it plays out,â Steve said after a while with a sigh. âBut I cuff her.â
Bucky grinned. Apparently not even having you all to himself during the entire night had quenched Steveâs thirst. He had the chance to mess with you all he wanted, it wasnât Buckyâs fault that he hadnât seized the opportunity. But he could give him this win. It was only fair.
âFair enough,â he said, knowing he might not even get the chance to mess up your bunk, but it was better to live off of hope than nothing at all. âGo easy on her though. Canât get too rough in front of the entire gen pop.â
Steve gave an irritated sigh. He hated when Bucky spoke to him like he was a child.
âI know, Buck. Iâm not gonna bash her head in right then and there. Iâm not you,â he added jokingly.
âIâm just saying, youâre built like a brickhouse. I know what you plan on doing, and the takedown alone could fucking shatter her.â
He couldnât finish the sentence without bursting into laughter. Steve no better, chuckling as he spoke.
âIf thatâs the case, the future does not look bright for our dear Jessabelle Jane Harper.â
O.o.O.o.O
A few hours were left until dinner, another meal you doubted you would get to enjoy, your stomach growling in agreement. And your commissary hadnât come in yet so you were left to endure. You spent the time like you always did; sitting on your bed with the hyperawareness of a ninja. Just without the whole ninja-y part. So, more like a scared little puppy ready to tuck tail and run should an altercation come your way.
Luckily, most inmates spent this quite nice day outside or in the common room playing music and having neck to neck scrabble battles, leaving the dorm as quiet as youâd expect it ever could be during the day. You leaned your head back against the wall and closed your eyes, eyelids heavy with exhaustion, your head throbbing like it had been stomped on by a horse. Or a hundred horses, hard to tell. Your ears were still vigilant but no one stepped foot inside your cube, thankfully. It provided some rest, but not nearly enough.
An hour or so passed before the inhabitants of the dorm came back in time for count, followed by officer Barnes and Rogers. Great. You suspected your cube would once again look like an earthquake had gotten to it.
You went to stand outside your cube as always, getting side-eyed by several of the inmates. Some, if not most, smiled when they saw the angry cut and bruise spreading across your forehead. In their mind you had gotten what you deserved, assumingly by some rouge inmate daring to step up in a corner somewhere, none suspecting it to be dealt by the hands of a guard. No, you got cozy with them, they had no reason to hurt you. If only that were true.
âStand for search,â officer Rogers said, his voice resonating through the room where he stood just by the bubble at the front of the dorm, officer Barnes at his side.
The inmates stood obediently where they should, waiting for the checks to be done so they could head over to the cafeteria for dinner.
âSearch time, ladiesâ officer Barnes said joyfully.
He stepped up to the first cube on the opposite side of you, looking at the inmates there. Only a few even bothered to look like they were even listening to what the officer was saying, having heard it all more than a few times already.
âThis is a mandatory bunk inspection. I need to thoroughly search your cubicle for contraband.â He then turned to speak to the rest of the room. âThat goes for all of you. Iâm not gonna repeat myself for every fucking cube. You know the drill.â
With that said, both COs started trashing and messing up the bunks like it was a demolition site where no rules applied, items and clothing flying all over the place. They spared no mind for the clean-up afterwards. Their mess, sure, just not their problem.
The clanking and banging made your head hurt even worse, making you cringe at every sound. You should have taken an aspirin or something, if you could find one. They sold them at commissary so... that didnât help. You were, once again, stuck between a rock and a hard place. Might as well take up residency.
CO Rogers stepped out from the cube next to yours, the inmates there going back inside to clean it up. He went over to you, eyeing the cut above your brow with a brow of his own raised in wonder. You figured he already knew who had put it there. The officers didnât seem to be late to share any news on you. He was most likely just impressed by it.
Officer Rogers didnât spare you a second look before he started demolishing your bunk. Clothes were torn from the hooks, your locker was emptied with a crash of everything scattering across the floor, your bedding turned upright. You looked away. You already knew the awaiting mess he would undoubtedly cause, you didnât need to see it done.
âWhat have we here?â you heard the officer say.
You looked back, finding him standing by the small windowsill where the toilet paper was kept, with a lighter in his hands. What? That wasnât yours! DidââDid he plant that?
âWhââThatâs notâââ you started to defend yourself, but the officer ignored you.
âHey, Bucky! Come here.â
Your head shot over to the approaching officer (apparently Barnesâ first name was Bucky, despite the J stitched on his shirt), a shiver running down your spine at the sight of his smirk. Shit! Shit, shit, shit.
âWhat you find?â he asked when he stepped into the cube, walking all over your pillow and kicking things around.
You payed close attention to their conversation.
âA lighter.â
âOh, shit,â Barnes said. âThatâs illegal contraband, isnât it, Steve?â he said mockingly.
âSure is,â Rogers said, handing it over to his fellow officer.
You didnât miss the way they smiled at each other, both knowing that it wasnât your lighter, and that you hadnât brought it in there in the first place. They were setting you up again. For what? Another shot? More hate from the inmates?
Officer Rogers looked over at you where you stood shaking like a leaf, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights when he met your gaze. Oh, how precious.
âHands behind your back, Harper,â he said, and started walking towards you.
âWhat? But... But I havenâtâââ Oh, how he hoped you would say that.
âGet down on the ground, inmate,â he said sternly, steps eating up the floor as he stalked towards you.
You couldnât help but take a flinching step back, fearing the anger radiating off of him. Your body was screaming for you to run. But he was faster than you.
Steve took one final step to reach you, and with a bruising grip on your upper arm, shoved you to the floor with more force than necessary. You managed to turn your head just in time to not let the already injured side connect with the floor, but you couldnât avoid the pain shooting through your body at the harsh impact, for the second time that day.
âUgh!â
The officer was on you before you could bat an eye, a hard knee burrowing into your back to keep you down as he removed the cuffs from his belt. He was surprisingly agile for his size, easily keeping you pinned beneath him.
âI said, hands behind your fucking back,â he barked, as he grabbed your hands to move them where he wanted, pulling and twisting despite you not struggling.
He made sure to purposely grip your wrists harder than he needed to, making your skin burn like his fingers were needles, as he tightened the cold steel more than enough to secure them.
The other inmates smiled and cheered quietly at the rough takedown, almost rejoicing as pained grunts left you when the officer manhandled you. You didn't acknowledge their joy, knowing their presence wouldn't change a thing in the officer's handling, as predicted.
âAh! Please, sir! Itâs not mine,â you pleaded, being ignored per usual.
Instead, he grabbed your shoulder with yet another bruising grip and hauled you up on your feet, roughly turning you towards the door, a firm hand leading you by the arm.
You spared the other officer, Bucky, a look, finding him ripping pages from the few books you had, raising an expecting eyebrow at you when he noticed you watching, almost daring you to speak up or complain. He smirked at the sight of you being pushed and shoved forward by Steve, enjoying the sweet sounds escaping your lips in pained grunts.
With his free hand, he grabbed the intercom resting on his shoulder and spoke into it.
âThis is Rogers, requesting backup for a search in B-dorm. Escorting inmate Harper to seg, confiscated contraband left with Barnes. Copy?â
What? Seg? As in segregated housing? As in solitary? No! No, no, no. This couldnât be happening. This isnât happening! You havenât done anything wrong, the officers knew that. Surely they canât treat you this way, they canât just lock you up in solitary confinement as a ruse. Right?
A voice came through the radio, affirming the call and added a âgood jobâ for measure. Yeah, the officer had done an awesome job...
Officer Rogers walked out of the dorm and left his partner with the remaining inmates until backup showed, leading you down the maze of corridors going god-knows-where. His grip was growing unforgiving at this point, fingers digging into your skin and muscles, undoubtedly leaving bruises in their wake.
âSir, please,â you begged. âPlease donât do this. Thatâs not my lighter, you know that.â He tugged your arm roughly at the mention. âAh!â
You whimpered and cried, his grip becoming too much to bear. The cuffs were digging into your skin, cutting off the circulation.
âIâm sure theyâll believe an inmate over an officer,â Steve said scornfully. âEspecially one with several shots already, proving her insubordinate attitude.â
You knew why they were doing it, why they were so set on punishing you. Though you didnât know what Nate had told them, or what details he had twisted to fit his story, you did know they believed it, without a doubt. Maybe if they knew the real truth theyâd think differently.
âPlease, I havenât done the things you think I have, youâve got it all wrong. You donât know what Nate did to me. You didnât know him!â
The officer stopped in the middle of the vacant stairs you had begun to descend, pushing you hard up against the wall. He was looming over you, a whole head taller. You tried pulling at your cuffs to raise your hands but they wouldnât budge. You were left feeling exposed and defenceless with nothing to shield your body from harm should he try to hurt you.
âTell me again how wrong I am, Harper,â he spat out in an tense voice, making you recoil as much as his strong hold would allow, which wasnât much.
You tried to find your words, but your tongue felt foreign in your mouth, sticking to the roof of it, catching on teeth. Your jaw trembled as you found your voice, barely more than a whisper, shaky and quivering, but better than silence. You knew it was stupid to push, but you had to try.
âI didnât mean to kill him, I swear. It was an accident.â Steve sighed, irritated at your lack of judgment. âHe hurt me, he tried toââ Ah!â
Not wanting to hear another word come out of your mouth, Steve pushed you down the rest of the remaining steps, watching you tumble and sag at the bottom. It wasnât a fall long or hard enough to do any real or lasting damage, he wasnât homicidal after all, he just wanted you to hurt. And with no chance of breaking your fall, he knew youâd be battered and bruised at the end of it.
Your body shuddered with sobs, whimpers and whines echoing through the stairwell as you cried. Your shoulder hurt, your ribs hurt, your hip, everything. And your head had been a soft, fluffy pillow before compared to now.
âUgh...â
Breathing hurt as you tried to get a knee underneath you and maybe be able to stand, but found that you couldnât raise it high enough without a sharp pang rushing up through your side. Your ribs had definitely taken a beating.
Steve beheld the sight before him, shamelessly basking in the whimpers and groans flying freely. His jaw ticked, his brows furrowed. God, how he hoped heâd drawn blood. He unhurriedly walked down the rest of the way and stepped over your timid frame, eyeing the snug cuffs keeping your hands tied together. He crouched down before you, resting his elbows on his knees. You slowly lifted your head with a pained whimper to look up at him, blood dripping from both the old cut, and a new one on the opposite cheek.
Steve exhaled slowly through his nose.
âTell me again how wrong I am.â
Tears streamed down your face as you crumpled under his gaze. You cried shamelessly, breath hissing at the strain. You reckoned at least a few ribs were cracked, if not broken.
How could this happen? How could you be in this mess? How could you be lying face first at the bottom of a staircase, with blood dripping from your face and bruises forming on your skin, again? Nate was dead! This wasnât supposed to ever happen again, this wasnât how it was supposed to go. You didnât deserve any of this. Did you?
Whenever you tried to defend yourself, they hurt you. Whenever you said nothing at all, they hurt you. It seemed no matter what you did, no matter what choices you made, trying to make the right one, they hurt you. If only they knew. If only they would listen.
Steve waited for a response, anything besides the pathetic cries and sobs coming from you, but none came. You just shook, trembled. Probably from both pain and fear. As you should.
âYeah, I didnât think so,â Steve said, and hauled you up.
He slammed you not so carefully against the wall to keep you on your feet, holding you there, your knees threatening to give out at any second should he let you go. You coughed and moaned, trying to find your breath again, but yet another hard slam to your back made it more difficult than finding a drink of water in the Sahara.
"Uh!"
You met the officerâs cold, steely eyes, finding them surprisingly patient. You looked down almost immediately, fearing that might change any second if you didnât.
Steve followed a trickle of blood slowly making its way from your cheek down your throat, staining the neck of the white undershirt you had on, fading to a soft crimson. He noticed the rapid flutter of your pulse at the side of your neck, beating like it was trying to burst free. He could almost hear your heartbeat drumming in your chest.
âNow,â he said, startling you. âAre we clear on the power dynamic here, or do I have to make myself even clearer?â
âPlease...â you begged weakly, sniffling, but you were rewarded with another shove into the wall. âUh!â
Steve bared his teeth, leaning in close. âDo I?â
âNo! No, Iâm sorry, Iâm sorry. Iâll do whatever you say, sir, just, please...â your voice broke, shattering like glass. âPlease, donât hurt me...â
Sobs shook your body again, tears like rain on your cheeks, hitting the floor as you lowered your head in a silent pray for the man to show mercy. You wanted nothing more than to cover your face and cry in the corner, but you couldnât. Instead you were trapped against the wall, held there by the same man who had just purposely pushed you down half a flight of stairs, just because he wanted to.
Steve observed your crying, cowering form, wanting so bad to get away, to get somewhere safe. Away from him. His fingers sunk deeper into your arms, drawing more gasps and whines from you.
âBut hurting you is half the fun,â he said as his smiled widened. âThe other half is watching you whimper, and whine, and beg for me not to. So you see, it makes no sense not to hurt you. If anything, I should hurt you even more.â
He moved back, just a little, enough to make you think he might take a swing at you, or shove you down the upcoming flight of stairs.
âNo! Please, no,â you begged.
Steve furrowed his brows in makeshift wonder.
âBut I thought you said youâd do anything?â
You didnât know what to say. Sure, you had said that, but you didnât want to give in. You didnât want to hurt anymore. But it was becoming evident that there was no stopping it, no stopping them from causing you pain. Not if they wanted to. And they did.
So you leaned your head back, practically offering your face as a canvas for him to paint with your own blood. You submitted.
He watched you close your eyes for a second, preparing yourself for the whatever might come next. He watched a solemn tear leave your eye and mingle with the trail of blood already running down your face, before slowly reopening your eyes again, only to turn them away.
Steve felt a tinge of sadness mixed with the joy of victory, or dominance perhaps, but he shoved that so far down he doubted he would ever feel it again. He had you cornered, right where he wanted. His to do what he pleases with. And that was enough. Just the triumphant glory of knowing he was the one to beat you into that corner. Now you could wallow in it.
You were shocked when instead of being punched, or kicked, or shoved, you were dragged away by the arm yet again, staggeringly descending the remainder of steps, relying just a little too much on Steve to keep you from falling. But you suspected that if he wanted you to fall, you would, no matter how steady your feet were.
You arrived at the back of the prison, a loading dock of some sort. A van was parked on the other side of one of the many fences, motor already running and inmate Morello sitting in the driverâs seat. There was another guard, officer Bennett, standing by the side door awaiting you. Steve walked you over with bigger steps than he knew you could comfortably follow.
Steve nodded his head at the other guard.
âBennett,â he said and halted, keeping you close to his side.
CO Bennett opened the van door, allowing Rogers to all but lift you up by your arm and shoving you in. You just managed to catch yourself from falling embarrassingly on your side. Morello gave you a worried look when you noticed her, but you looked away. Youâd had enough of people being on your case for one day. Thankfully, she didnât say anything. She just upped the volume on whatever station she was listening to, ignoring the tension.
âWhat happened?â Bennett asked, and motioned to his own face while nodding his head to the side at you.
âOh,â Steve said and flailed his hands like he couldnât believe your clumsiness. âShe took a nasty fall down the stairs. Donât worry, though. She wonât need a medic. She can just... wash off when she gets to the SHU.â
You blinked away tears. Not only at the reminder of where you were going, whatever kind of hellhole it might be, but at the clear disregard of your wellbeing. Your ribs hurt enough to tell-tale of at least cracks and bruising, your cheek was still seeping some blood, and your head hurt enough it made your ears ring. But no, sure, you didnât need medical. Though, even if the offer was to be on the table, you doubted you would accept it. Sometimes trying to heal injuries just resulted in more and worse injuries. No one liked a snitch, right?
"Sure she's not concussed?" Bennett asked, looking worringly at the wound on your forehead.
"She's fine, it's just a small scrape," Steve said, smiling tensly.
âIf you say so,â Bennett said, dragging the door to a close.
You looked at officer Rogers through the barred window, catching a glimpse of his smile, distorted through the glass. You swallowed down a clot of bloody saliva.
CO Bennet got in the van, closing his door without another word to his fellow officer, or another look back at you where you sat, still cuffed and no seatbelt on. Not like it mattered. A car crash sounded almost inviting at this point. You just hoped Morello would gain enough momentum to have you crash through the windshield and splatter like a bug on the pavement.
The van drove off and through the labyrinth of roads leading down the hill. You had no idea what awaited you. Would it be dark? Light? Cold and damp? Would you still be able to hear people talk, exist, even if there was a hundred feet of concrete separating you? Cuts and bruises werenât the worst thing imaginable. Pain, physical pain, you could handle. But the mental, emotional pain was unbearable when left to its own device. And you were about to be locked in a box, with no way of escaping yourself.
Summery of fic: Reader/Jess Harper has already survived abuse and sexual assault by stepbrother Nate Millers, but the reward was a prison sentence for murder at Litchfield penitentiaryâŠ
What happens when you/Jess come face to face with Nateâs old colleagues and friends, Correctional Officers Steve Rogers and James âBuckyâ Barnes, who both seem set on making you pay for your mistakes. Will you be able to survive it all over again?
Pairing (kinda): Steve Rogers x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Reader, Nate Millers (OMC) x Reader
Words: 4572
Warnings: DARK AU, dubcon/noncon elements, Dark!Bucky, Dark!Steve, implied sexual acts, sexual acts, mention of murder, mentions of death, mentions of violence, mentions of NC/SA and death
You have been warned.
Chapter 12
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The panic hadnât left your body, not really, but your tears had dried and your body was drained, so nothing else would come out. Once you could physically control your body again, and actually move your limbs, you had made your way back to the dorm and to your awaiting bed beckoning another sleepless night. Inmates had glared at you, shoulder-checked you once or twice in passing with a scoff to follow, but other than that you had been left alone. Your shoulder was starting to bruise though, but that was nothing new. You could handle pain, you could mask it and make it seem like it had never infested your body in the first place. You were good at that. Youâd done it before.
As you sat in your bunk, you couldnât help but feel everyoneâs eyes on you whenever they passed the doorway. You were too afraid to even lie back and get that much needed rest that you so desperately craved. Everyone seemed to be gunning for you. Threats of shivs, smothering, beatings or other torments seemed as real as ever. You no longer had the luxury (yes, luxury) of just having the officers to look out for. Now it was every single inmate in the prison as far as you knew. Gina still hadnât shown, but you doubted she would be kind minded towards you. She certainly didnât seem it in the cafeteria.
You had seen several prison shows and documentaries on tv, and knew more than you wanted about what could happen to a snitch, despite not even being one. The way these inmates could treat you was rough. And they could be surprisingly resourceful.
How could you prove your innocence to them? How do you prove that something didnât happen? It was hard enough when people saw only what they wanted to see, but even more so when it was all setup by the guards, set in place to keep you safe and protected. They wanted you to suffer, they wanted you to be scared. Well, they got what they wanted, because you were terrified.
âCount time!â was yelled from the door to the dorm, the voice familiar.
You drew a big, deep breath to prepare yourself. Officer Rogers.
You did what you knew to do; stood by the wall to your cube and waited to be counted. Your eyes were down the entire time. You didnât look at anyone, guard or inmate. Though you were painfully aware of every little movement close to you.
Steve spotted your hunched form standing obediently by the wall. You looked tired, drained. He couldnât help but smile to himself, just a little, before going about his duty of counting heads. When he closed in on you, he made sure to walk just a little slower, just a little closer.
The officer almost came to a stop before you. You suspected that he was looking down at you with some sort of twisted expression on his face, but you couldnât bring yourself to confirm it. Instead, you turned your head to the side, hoping he would just pass. He did, eventually, but his steps seemed awfully slow.
You felt several sets of eyes on you, staring at you, considering the officer seemed pretty interested in you when making the count. You just hoped no one would say anything, but of course not.
âMaybe you should pat her down.â
You didnât see who said it, but it sounded like and came from Triciaâs direction. The other inmates snickered at the comment, and Tricia herself raised a brow at you, smirking as she did. You just closed your eyes, willing that growing lump in your throat not to choke you, and waited to see what happened.Â
Officer Rogers stopped in his tracks, looking over at Tricia standing just a few feet from him. So it was her that said it.
âNeed help shutting that mouth?â he threatened.
She immediately averted her eyes.
âNo, sir,â she said, looking at the floor and scuffing her foot.
The officer walked on, ignoring her remark any further.
The officers checked their numbers at the door, and this time Rogers looked back over to you before leaving with a smile. His attention was very much unwanted, and he knew it. But he enjoyed your pain too much not to gloat.
You hurried back to your bunk, sitting on top of the blanket with your legs criss-crossed. Everyone else were getting ready for bed, but you had no desire to share the very secluded bathroom with other inmates at this point in time. Nor where you planning on getting any sleep so you could simply wait and go do your business when everyone else were gone. You were allowed in the bathroom until midnight, so you had a few hours.
Steve took his place in the CO bubble in the B-dorm, overlooking the room through the windows. He wished that you didnât reside on the side with the high divider, but hey, canât have everything here in life. Instead he patiently waited for the time when you would eventually take your turn to go to the bathroom, and unquestionably noticing him sitting there in the bubble, watching you. It made the hours spent just sitting there in solitude a lot more bearable.
Nightshifts werenât all that fun to begin with. There were only a few COs present, and only a few inmates awake, most of which were stuck with janitorial duty and spent their time cleaning the hallways and whatnot. It was real grunt work, and the D.O.C used it as a punishment for bad behaviour. Few inmates actually liked the cleaning crew, so most knew to keep in check, lest be stuck with mopping the corridors up and down all night.
Steve was in charge of the dorms and the connecting hallways during the night, which was the most stimulating of the options. CO Donaldson minded the intake and entryway, and CO Bell walked the perimeter and surrounding buildings. The areas were restricted during the night to help the COs keep an eye on the working inmates, so all Steve had to do was go about his normal rounds when the time came. Right now, it was a waiting game.
The dorm quieted down. You couldnât see anyone moving so you figured they had all gone to bed. Gina had come in late, not even sparing you a look when she did. Sheâd simply gone about her business and gone to bed, her back turned defiantly towards you.
You stood up from the bed and tiptoed your way to your locker, careful not to make too much noise and aggravate someone. You grabbed your toiletries and toilet paper and headed for the door. And there he was, just a layer of glass between you. He sat leaning back comfortably in his chair, gently biting his lip, with his eyes narrowed like he was stalking pray. Which, in some way, he was.
You stopped in your tracks, like mesmerized by the Adonis of a man looking at you like you were a meal to be consumed. The corner of his mouth twitched upwards. He was waiting for you. You didnât know what to do, it was like your body had lost all its bones and its ability to move. But slowly your feet started to shuffle past, only his eyes following you as you did.
It was worth it. That startled look on your face was worth every second of it. Steve chuckled lowly to himself where he sat, his chest vibrating against the back of his worn chair. He could see the wetness of your eyes forming, almost mirroring his own gleam, but without the clear joy that he felt. He just wanted to twist that knife as much as he could, no pun intended. Well, maybe a little intended.
Your footsteps echoed in the hallway like a haunting shadow following you. You turned around several times, expecting to see the officer following you, but he never came. There was the slightest risk that he would be checking the bathroom whilst you were in it, seeing no female COs were around and that was allowed, so you went about your business at lightning speed. He never showed.
Sadly, the same couldnât be said on the way back. You turned a corner and there he was. He was standing by the door to your dorm, feet planted shoulder width apart and strong hands resting just a little too close to the weapons secured on his belt. He spotted you and smiled. You only gulped in response. Your feet were carrying you closer by the second, no matter how much you wanted to fight it. Damn you, feet! Why must you work right now?
Steve gave you a smile of all teeth when you drew near. You tried to keep your eyes down, but you feared missing an incoming swing should you avert your eyes too much. It was hard to find a comfortable medium between ânot staringâ and âclosing your eyes for dear life and hope for the bestâ.
âLast one in?â Steve asked, causing you to flinch when he spoke out of nowhere.
You heard him snort at your reaction. You hated how easily he made you jump.
âY-yes, sir,â you said, figuring he was talking about the bathroom.
If the officers hadnât set you up with all the other inmates, youâd almost have him pegged as just being in a chatty mood. But this man never had any cordial intentions, that you had learned by now.
Steve watched you intently, still smiling down at your dodging figure where you stood all but rooted to the spot before him, eyes darting towards the door in a silent request. He hadnât said anything else, but your obedience never faltered it would seem. One remark, one demand and you were jumping like you were asked to, like a good little show horse.
âC-can Iâââ you started, but the question was left hanging in the air as he abruptly interrupted you.
âNo,â he said firmly, making you recoil another inch or so before scolding yourself for the slip.
So you stood there. Waiting. Waiting for the officer to look away from you, to get that stupid smile off his face and just let you pass. But he didnât. He just stood there, comfortably, beside you.
He kind of wanted to see how this would play out, how long you would stay standing there in silence before daring to ask again. He watched you squirm under his gaze, your eyes becoming wetter and glazing over whilst his own smile just spread wider and wider.
âGo on,â he said lightly, nodding his head towards the door.
You looked up at him, as if to reassure yourself that he had in fact granted you permission to leave, before a shaky hand reached for the doorknob. Every movement was slow and sluggish, as you willed your body to do what it was told; to get the fuck out of there while you had the chance.
As you went to step through, officer Rogers followed on your tail, staying close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off of him. You drew a shaky breath to steady yourself, but your feet were still moving slow, too slow. The officer took a big, rapid step into your space, his chest ramming into your back and almost sending you flying with the force of it. Â
âUgh!â
You caught yourself before you fell, tightly hugging the toiletries to your body to keep them from falling as well.
You heard him snicker behind your back, laughing at your fumbling.
âMove along, inmate,â he said and passed you to go back to the bubble, making sure his arm hit your shoulder painfully hard as he did.
You hissed at the harsh contact, and his time the items slipped from your hands and fell to the ground with a clatter. You knelt down quickly, as if trying to hush everything and not waking any of the sleeping inmates.
âShut the fuck up!â someone yelled.
âQuiet!â someone else spat out.
You looked up at the mountain of a man standing in front of you with his hands on his hips, and a ghosting smile on his lips. You blinked away tears threatening to fall from the bubbling anxiety in your chest, quickly picking up your things again and holding them safely to your chest in disorder and stood back up. The officer just watched you in silence, but his eyes spoke loudly of entertainment. He enjoyed watching you squirm under his gaze and presence, it was thrilling.
âBack in your bunk, inmate,â he said strictly. âInmates arenât allowed out of their bunks between midnight and 5 am. Thatâs a shot, Harper.â
What? But you werenâtââ Oh shoot. You looked up at the clock above the bubble and saw that it was now two minutes past midnight, and that you were, in fact, not allowed out of your bunk at this hour.
You swallowed the words of argument down, he knew damn good and well that he had intentionally made you late, and looked apologetically at the officer, as expected.
âYes, sir.â
This time he let you pass without any fuss. You went back to your bed, and he went back inside the bubble to keep watch before he once again had to go about his checks.
You tucked your things away in your locker again, and changed into the sweats youâd been given to get some relief from the stale khakis. You kept an ear out for any signs or tells of the officer coming back for a check, as you quickly changed and sat on the bed to await his next visit. Every time he came through, he just looked at you adoringly with a smile on his face, but nothing more. He just counted heads, made sure no one was out of their bed or out of bounds, and repeated. Never once did he say a word to you, never once did he linger like youâd thought. And never once did you relax.
The morning seemed to move in rapid speed within a slow-motion sequence. Whenever you thought you were ahead of time you were in fact slacking. And whenever you thought you were slacking, you were early. Everything passed in a haze of some kind. The sleepy kind, you gathered from your, you guessed it, lack of sleep. Being sleep deprived was its own kind of hell.
Officer Rogers had left sometime before breakfast, being replaced by CO Maxwell who went about the checks just before the sun rose. Sadly, it didnât leave you enough time to get any sleep before the radio started playing its slow tunes, and the other inmates began to stir. Instead you had gotten up, gotten cleaned up as best as the sink would allow and gone about your business before all the stalls were taken, which was a small window. You changed back into the not so inviting khakis, putting layer on layer before removing the first ones, and headed for the cafeteria, hoping to be early and maybe be given a tray of food this time. But alas, no such luck found you today. What found you was burning eyes and resting bitchfaces, telling you to âfuck offâ.
Officer Barnes wasnât guarding the cafeteria, so you skipped the sitting down and being humiliated part as well, opting for an early start in electrical instead.
Luscheck wasnât there yet, nor had you thought that he would be. Still, you grabbed your book and your lamp and began what work could be done without the tools locked away. Not much you would learn. But hey, it was better than being stared at in the cafeteria, risking food being thrown at you, or someone tripping you up. At least here you were alone. Alone with your thoughts that desperately scratched away at the inside of your mind, begging for attention. You knew better than to open that door. Not today, panic. Not today.
The door opened, and Luscheck was the first in, followed by a few inmates, none of which gave you the time of day, but just sat down at their assigned seats and waited for the day to start. Luscheck raised his brows when he saw you.
âYouâre early,â he stated.
Yeah, no shit, Sherlock. But you opted for something more polite.
âI was up,â you said instead..
âOkay,â he said drawn out, and walked up to you. âSince youâre so eager to work, you can go down to the laundry, thereâs a machine broken. Martha, Maddy, or whatever, I canât keep track of all the weird-ass names. Hereâs the workorder, take it with you.â
He handed you a piece of paper, then grabbed a utility belt from a hook on the wall and pushed it at you.
âW-what do I have to do?â you asked and took the belt with hesitant hands.
Electrical work wasnât your forte you had learned early on. He was basically asking you to climb Everest in flip-flops.
Luscheck sighed. âMake it not broken.â
You went down to the laundry, with the oversized belt hanging from your waist and the form in hand, silence greeting you when you got there. The inmates already there did not acknowledge your presence, and they had yet to start up any of the machines so it was dead like the grave. One inmate looked up at you, you recognized her as the girl who was standing behind Tricia when she got all up in your face. Youâd named her Grease Hair in your head. She gave you a dirty look and walked out, the other two following suit, making sure to bump into you when passing. Hard. Apparently, they didnât even want to be in the same room as you. You rubbed your shoulder to ease the pain. Well, no one was getting their laundry today, that much was certain. Because there was no way you would actually be able to fix a washing machine, and if they refused to work with you there? Well, tough luck to anyone needing a change of pants today.
You found the broken appliance, the control panel was hanging off of it so it was a no-brainer. You opened the instruction manual that was laying on top of it (handy), finding the right page after a few flicks. It made zero sense. It might as well have been Chinese for all you cared, there was nothing sane about any of the instructions. And you couldnât figure out if the machine was correctly earthed or not to save your life, which was the first thing on the checklist.
You decided to start checking wires instead, carefully, finding one not attached. Could that be it? You placed it where it looked like it belonged, and that did... nothing. Okay, problem not fixed.
You were too caught up in your own head to hear anyone come into the room. You didnât see or hear him, but you felt him, when you went to take a step back and finding that you couldnât. With a startled gasp, you turned around, coming face to face with officer Barnes, standing way too close for comfort. You gripped the opening of the washer behind you to keep yourself steady, almost tripping when you turned.
âMorning, Harper,â he said cheerily, smiling at you, arms crossed over his chest.
You swallowed the lump that seemed to have taken up residency in your throat, trying to calm your stuttering heart.
âG-good morning, sir,â you said, but it came out more like a question than anything else.
âCan I see your work form?â
âOh,â escaped you before you could stop it, swiftly shutting your mouth with a click to keep anything else from blurting out.
You reached for the piece of paper laying on the table closest where you had discarded it so you wouldnât lose it, and handed it to the officer. His eyes skimmed over it, seemingly reading absolutely every word written on there, and not just the parts written in pen. The silence was growing heavy, and you fidgety.
He put it back on the table, then crossing his arms again with a sigh.
âDo you know how to fix the machine?â he asked, sounding more annoyed now than cheery. You liked it better when he was cheery.
âUhm... no,â you said, bowing your head down with a frown. âNot really.â
âThen why did Luscheck send you?â
You cringed at the harshness of his tone, wanting to move away but couldnât because the stupid door of the machine was open and blocking your path.
âI-I donât know, I was the first one in soâââ
âYeah, well, maybe he should have sent someone who was actually competent.â
You kept your head down, not meeting his gaze. You knew you couldnât fix the dumb machine, but what did he expect? Was everyone an expert at their jobs around here? Like you were the only one not knowing how to do something.
The officer looked around the empty room, sighing.
âWhere is everyone?â he asked.
âThey left,â you said, voice low.
âWhy? Did you tell them to leave?â
He sounded almost angry with you, something you hated hearing. Nothing good ever came of a man being angry with you.
âNo, sir,â you said, voice still hushed. âT-they left when I came in. They didnât w-want to be around me, I guess.â
Bucky couldnât hold back the smile that was fighting to spread, smiling as he looked down at you, cowering, afraid. Weak.
âYeah, I bet,â he said laughingly.
You cringed at his tone again, not wanting to be reminded of the fact that it had been the officers to set everything in motion in the first place. The officer smiled, looking at you like he was searching for details he might have missed, almost like he was examining your face.
âI didnât see you in the cafeteria this morning.â
Oh, shit. Had he been there after all? Had he just come in late? Oh, no, not good.
âN-no, I-I... I went there, b-but...â You inhaled to calm yourself before speaking low. âTheyâre not letting me eat.â
You kept your eyes down, fingers fiddling with the hem of your shirt, hearing him snort at you.
âReally?â His voice was laced with amusement, before it turned serious again. âWell, still no reason to disobey a direct order, now, is it?â He bent his head down closer to you, invading your space. âDid I not tell you to come to the cafeteria no matter what?â
He waited as you searched for your words, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.
You didnât get the chance to finish arguing your case, interrupted as a searing pain shot through your head. The officer had grabbed a hold of your hair and slammed you face first against the opening of the washer with a loud thud.
You fell to your knees hard, hands instantly coming up to cradle your hurting head, and coming back stained with blood. You felt a cut right above your eyebrow where the sharp edge had pierced it in an almost perfect vertical line. You hissed and groaned where you sat hunched over, disoriented from the impact.
Bucky breathed heavily, drawing mouthfuls of air just to calm himself down again. Boy, had it felt good to finally hurt you. To see you on your knees, whimpering in pain. The adrenaline was rushing through him, heartbeat thrumming loudly in his ears. He grabbed you by the collar of the shirt to pull you up on your feet again, and slammed you up against the side of the machine. Blood trickled down from your brow to your cheek, your eye twitching in pain.
Whimpers and whines left you uncontrollably as you were manhandled, quickly grabbing a hold of his arms and hands to try and pry him off, but he wouldnât budge. It was like trying to move steel bars holding you in place. You stopped your efforts, submitting to pleas.
âPlease, no, please! I-Iâm sorry, Iâm sorry, pleaseâââ
âShut the fuck up!â he said harshly and slammed you back against the washer again,
He kept his voice somewhat down as to not draw attention from anyone who might be passing, but the anger was very much there. You were hidden behind the wall of machines, but still, it was better to be safe than sorry.
"I donât wanna hear another goddamn word out of you, do you understand?â
The question was rhetorical but you nodded frantically none the less, hoping to appease the man, not caring about the drops of blood splattering on the floor.
âWhen I tell you to do something you better fucking do it, no question! I donât care if any of the inmates give you shit about it. You better fucking fear us, âcause there is no way any of these inmates can do worse than me or Steve, you hear me?â
Again, you nodded, even though it was redundant in this situation. The man was clearly in a state of anger nothing could penetrate, pleas or replies alike.
Bucky snarled, drawing a tear from your eye as he did. His hands were almost cramping from their firm hold of your shirt, keeping you upright, but he couldnât find the will to let go. He felt your trembling, heard your teeth rattling from the quiver of your jaw.
âGood girl,â he said as you stayed compliant.
The cut above your eye drew his attention, and he nodded to it. The ugly snarl slowly morphed into a smirk.
âThatâs just the beginning of it, sweetheart. I can promise you that. Think weâve been hard on you? We havenât even begun.â
With that, he pushed off you, barely giving you a chance to catch yourself but you managed to stay upright.
"Ugh!"
Gasps were falling from your mouth uncontrollably, trying to calm yourself but finding it impossible still in his presence. You didnât dare to move. He hadnât told you that you could move.
The officer kept his sharp eyes set on you, just staring, not saying a word. You held his gaze for a moment, shuddering and shaking as you did, before realizing he was probably waiting for you to avert your eyes and... submit. So you did. He smiled triumphantly.
He started walking away from you, most likely busy with a primary engagement before detouring to the laundry to mess with you. But before he left, he turned back towards you, earning a flinch as you tried to gain some space, leaning against the washer for support. Your knees were threatening to give out at any moment, and you eagerly wanted to let them.
âAnd keep your mouth shut to Healy. You donât wanna make things even worse for yourself, do you?â
You shook your head violently, stopping as the pain spiked again.
âN-no, sir,â you let out in a breath.
Bucky smiled even wider, if that was possible. âAtta girl.â
With that, he finally turned the corner and walked out. It didn't even take a second for you to collapse into a sobbing heap on the floor, shaking and crying.
Summery of fic: Reader/Jess Harper has already survived abuse and sexual assault by stepbrother Nate Millers, but the reward was a prison sentence for murder at Litchfield penitentiaryâŠ
What happens when you/Jess come face to face with Nateâs old colleagues and friends, Correctional Officers Steve Rogers and James âBuckyâ Barnes, who both seem set on making you pay for your mistakes. Will you be able to survive it all over again?
Pairing (kinda): Steve Rogers x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Reader, Nate Millers (OMC) x Reader
Words: 2892
Warnings: DARK AU, dubcon/noncon elements, Dark!Bucky, Dark!Steve, implied sexual acts, sexual acts, mention of murder, mentions of death, mentions of violence, mentions of NC/SA and death
You have been warned.
Chapter 11
-
Looks. Dirty, hateful, searching looks. Around every corner, with every step you took, someone was there to give you a look. That I-know-what-you-did-look. But you didnât do any of it. Of course, that didnât seem to matter.
If your first day had you looking spooked, it was nothing compared to now. Your shoulders were up to your ears, your hands holding your elbows in a makeshift protection barrier from the outside. Every fibre of your being was on alert. Everyone was looking.
Some called you names. Slut, bitch, snitch. Anything they wanted based on whatever story they had heard. You had heard fragments of stories from people passing, not even realizing they were talking about you. Details here and there.
So far, you had âfucked officer Rogers in the broom closet for the prize of a Snickersâ (it had clearly been a Twix but whatever). You had also âlet officer Rogers piss on you in the showerâ (hence needing the nice smelling stuff which he so courteously gave). âOfficer Barnes had fingered you for any intel on...â what was her name? well, some inmate they allegedly wanted intel on. And you had apparently given it all to them. And letâs not forget about âblowing officer Luscheck in electricalâ for some unnamed reason. You had really gotten around in the few days youâd been locked up...
The prison was buzzing worse than a scourge of mosquitos on a barbeque night. It was like you had a spotlight on you wherever you turned. And the cafeteria was no exception. You were glad the prison held such a dense population, otherwise the cafeteria might have actually gone quiet at your arrival, like in the movies. But it didnât. People were chatting away, staring and nodding at you as they did. You suspected they were sharing even more stories of your ârompsâ.
You took your place in the food-line, keeping your distance from the inmates before you, hoping the ones behind you would show the same courtesy, which they did. No one wanted to be associated with a snitch and risk having all this shit come after them too.
Gina stood behind the glass counter, hairnet and apron on, looking you dead in the eye with disgust written across her face. She had heard the rumours. Your face however, was scrunched up in hurt and fear, yet she failed to acknowledge it.
âNext,â she said and handed the tray meant for you, to the inmate next in line.
Same with the following one. You looked to the other people standing behind the glass serving the food, but no one gave you the time of day, if it wasnât to mutely scold you.
You left the line without a tray, without food. You knew it was no point in arguing right then and there. If it didnât work in your cube with only Tricia and the few other inmates around, it definetly wouldnât work in a full cafeteria where volume was already a problem.
You remembered what CO Barnes had said about you coming to the cafeteria at all times, unless instructed not to. You didnât want to anger the man, so you searched for an empty seat, food tray or no food tray. You didnât want to give anyone any reason to hurt you.
No one allowed you to sit at their table. Whenever you got close to an empty seat, someone would come around and steal it. You were not wanted, that much was clear. You stood there in between the tables, lost and unsure. You didnât know where to go, or what to do, all you knew was that your body and mind were screaming for you to get the heck out of there as fast as humanly possible. But your experience told you otherwise. Follow the rules and you wonât get hurt. But at this moment, you had half a mind to let the guards rain hellfire on you, rather than stand there in the cafeteria like a prized heifer in front of all the other inmates.
The few eyes that werenât on you, were set on two officers in particular. Officer Barnes who was stood by the drink containers, watching the inmates as if he had no idea of what was causing such a fuss.
Officer Rogers paced between the tables in orderly fashion, keeping an eye out, but apparently he was oblivious of how gazes were shot his way. At least what he let show. The other officer, CO Wilson, a tall, black man with a goatee, was stood on the far side of the room overlooking the food-line, honest in truth, not noticing anything out of the ordinary, or the looks he got. The cafeteria was always buzzing, this was nothing new.
You looked over to CO Barnes where he stood, your eyes filled to the brim with tears that you begged wouldnât fall right then and there. The fear and anxiety were slowly breaking you, seeping through your pores. He slowly met your gaze, a sly smile forming, as bright as day. You trembled, fighting to keep a whimper in just from a look.
This is what they wanted; everyone had turned against you. You were on everyoneâs radar, everyone had it out for you in one way or another. And the officerâs response to the sight of you, only seemed to fuel any rumour of guards taking a liking to you.
Wolf whistles echoed through the room, startling you where you stood frozen in place in the middle of the cafeteria. But officer Barnes just smiled wider, chuckling lowly under his breath. You were so god damn easy.
Inmates were feigning moans and sex-noises at you, one even slapping your ass hard enough to hurt. You gasped and jumped from your spot with a squeal, making everyone shout and laugh at you.
âHey!â CO Wilson, who stood closest, yelled. âNo touching.â
The inmate in question, a shorthaired, tall, white woman, raised her eyebrows at him.
âWhat? You gotta be an officer to get a piece of that ass?â
The inmates laughed at her reply. You couldnât help it; the first tear left its confinement. To hell with the officers.
You hurried past the closest tables, tears blurring your eyes but you didnât care, you just wanted out of there. You failed to see the large chest coming up in front of you before it was too late, and you rammed straight into officer Rogers with an audible gasp at the impact. His hands were quick to come up and hold your upper arms, steadying you. But his grip wasnât light, and it left no room for argument, or attempts to back away from him. The inmates immediately started âooh-ingâ and âaah-ingâ at the sight.
âHey, hey, hey,â he said to you softly. âTake it easy.â
You shivered from his touch, which had now turned into pretend-sweet caresses in a feigned attempt to calm you, but it only made you shudder with unease. Everyone was watching the officer touch you, comforting you. More fuel.
âI-I-Iâm s-sorry, sir, I...â Your voice was pitched higher than youâd wanted to, stuttering all over the place.
You tried to step to the side, but the officer held on to you, keeping you in place. His grip was tight, making you feel even smaller than you already were. He knew he was holding on hard enough to hurt.
He shushed you, circling his thumbs on your shoulders. Everyone was still intently watching, boring holes in your back.
âItâs okay,â he said in his normal voice. âItâs okay, youâre not in trouble. You get out of here, and weâll take care of it.â
His voice was almost laced with honey from the smoothness of it, speaking loud enough so everyone could hear. You didnât want them to take care of anything, let alone have everyone hear him say that they were going to. But you did however want to take him up on the offer to go, sooner rather than later. If only he would let you go.
But before he did, he bent down to whisper closer to your ear so no one else could hear the words, but everyone could see the intimacy of it.
âTake that, you little tattletale.â
A broken whine fled past your lips at his crude words, your face scrunching up in an attempt to keep the sobbing down, just for a second longer.
Officer Rogers smiled dearly at your cowering, then let you go and sending you off to wherever you were running to, smiling as he watched you go.
You walked out of there as fast as you could, leaving the catcalling, name-calling and the array of food being thrown your way behind, hearing the guards telling the inmates off for messing up the place.
You knew you couldnât keep this in, you knew it all wanted to come out, and there was no stopping it. It was like a tornado warping through your body and mind, crushing and tearing as it went.
You ran through the halls, not caring if a guard saw you or gave you a shot for it, you just wanted out. Needed out. Your body slammed into the backdoor leading to the yard, the cold gust of wind out in the open making your body cramp up even more, the stiffness almost crippling. Your chest was aching with the strain to just breathe, your throat was burning from holding back tears. You just had to get away.
Once behind a shed far, far away from where everyone else was, you crumpled. Falling to your knees in the cold, damp grass, you hugged yourself, nails digging into the skin of your arms, scratching through the fabric of your shirt. Your entire body wrecked with sobs and desperate cries, your mouth open to draw mouthfuls of air into your lungs, only to wail them out again.
âFuck!â you screamed as loudly as your sore, burning throat would allow.
You fell to your side, gripping a handful of grass and ripping it from the soil, dirt working its way under your nails. Everything hurt.
How could this happen? How could any of this happen? It was a fucking Twix! Why had you taken it? Why had you done what he said? You wished you could go back, then youâd just walked away, consequences be damned. Whatever the officers did to you was nothing compared to having the entire prison population against you, hating you.
Everything came crumbling down, again. Every wall you had put up, every reassuring thought of making it out alive, unscathed, were gone. There was no way out, there was no way to hide from the pain. You were living in it. Right fucking in it. And no one knew the truth. No one would listen. You just wished someone would dare to listen.
O.o.O.o.O
âYou seemed pretty familiar with that new inmate at lunch, Rogers,â officer Sam Wilson said.
The guards, Barnes included, were in the staffroom for a quick break after dinner, and before Bucky was due to end his shift. Steve was leaning against the sink with a shaker in his hand, this time salty caramel.
âI was just teasing her, Sam. Relax,â he said to the man standing by his locker, digging through his bag.
Bucky, who sat leaning back, balancing his chair on two legs with his own shaker of salty caramel in hand, smiled at the mentioning of you.
âItâs just a bit of fun,â he added to Steveâs statement. âNo harm no foul, right? Besides, werenât all the inmates laughing?â
âThatâs not the point,â Sam said, somewhat annoyed.
Steve looked over at him, not too happy about his tone.
âWhatâs the big deal, Wilson?â he asked. âShe deserves a lot more than that considering what sheâs done.â
âWhat sheâs done?â Sam questioned and turned towards his fellow officer. âWe donât know what she has done. I saw the news stories, okay? I followed the trial. There was not enough evidence to decide whether or not it was self-defence or a homicide. She had the entire police force against her, persuading the judge of her guilt, for all we know.â
Bucky scoffed, dumfounded at the silly statement, setting his chair down on all four legs again and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees.
âThey didnât need to persuade shit, Wilson. Millers got stabbed seventeen fucking times. Itâs clear as fucking day that she did it and meant to do it. And if Millers were here to speak his part, Iâll bet you heâd agree.â
Bucky knew it was a snarky comment, but he didnât care. He was staring Wilson down, daring him to push.
âThatâs your opinion,â Sam said to Bucky, before turning back to Steve, who was still standing firm by the sink, ankles crossed over one another, looking as relaxed as ever. âAnd my opinion is that you shouldnât escalate shit with the inmates. It brings the rest of us nothing but trouble.â
Sam had half expected Steve to be the one to get agitated by that, but it was Bucky who stood from his chair and walked straight over to him, and placing both hands on his hips, effectively blocking Sam in between his body and the locker. Sam wasnât much smaller than Bucky, but he held little to no experience in combat, other than what was provided by the D.O.C. He knew better than to piss of an army man with ten years under his belt.
âWhat are you saying, huh?â Bucky asked. âThat weâre not good at our jobs?â
âBucky...â Steve said, but whether it was said in warning or in an attempt to calm the man, Sam was unsure of.
Never the less, Bucky ignored him.
âJust because youâre shit at your job, doesnât mean the rest of us are,â he continued, coming closer and closer to Samâs face, which was starting to falter. âJust because youâre afraid of inmates getting out of control from a fucking joke, doesnât mean we have to be. If youâd seen even half the shit weâve seen, you wouldnât get riled up from a joke in a fucking cafeteria. Alright? We can handle unruly inmates. They are federal inmates in a minimum-security unit, Wilson. Take it easy, alright? So just keep your mouth shut, and back. The fuck. Off.â
Bucky stayed where he was just a second or so longer, just to make sure Wilson got the point, before he eased back and sat back down in his chair, downing several huge gulps of his shake. He kept his eyes on Sam, who was looking somewhat apprehensive after the confrontation.
Steve, who had stood silently by during the whole ordeal, notice the tension in his friendâs shoulders from the altercation. He was like a bow being tightened, and whoever got hit with the arrow, would bleed for days.
âAlright,â Steve said, breaking the tension. âIf weâve all gotten that out of our system, we should all get back to work.â
Sam threw him a glance, a mix between grateful and uneasy.
âYeah,â he said anyway, looking over at Bucky and getting the full heat of his temper shining through his eyes.
He said no more, slammed his locker shut, and walked out of the room to start his rounds.
âFucking piece of shit,â Bucky muttered through gritted teeth under his breath once Sam had left.
He sighed heavily, looking up at Steve who was simply waiting for him to get a hold of himself again. Steve had seen every part of his friend, and knew the ins and outs of his entity. Heâd seen this side of him many times, and knew to take his time.
âBetter?â Steve asked when Buckyâs brows relaxed into his forehead again, lines smoothening out.
âYeah,â Bucky said with another sigh, and got up to lean heavily on the sink right next to Steve, rinsing the shaker out. âJust fed up with people talking shit. First Harper, then Healy, and now Wilson. Canât people just shut the fuck up for once?â
Steve chuckled at the comment, but he made sure to do it in an agreeing way, as to not set Bucky off again should he feel ridiculed.
âI hear ya, Buck,â he said. âBut you gotta admit, itâs kinda fun to watch things unravel. Donât you think?â
A second passed, then a puff of air fell from Buckyâs lips as they turned upwards in a smile.
âSee the way she crumbled?â he asked, and Steve nodded.
âYou should have heard the sound she made,â Steve said with a grunt. âLike a lost kitten. God, I canât wait to hear it again.â
Bucky scoffed. âOh, yeah? Any plans for tonight?â
Steve thought about it for a second, raising his eyebrows in contemplation.
âNah, might let her rest tonight.â
âYeah, like sheâs gonna get a secondâs rest with you hounding her and breathing down her neck.â
Steve faked a hurt look at his friend.
âWhen do I ever hound? Iâm a gentleman, Bucky.â
Bucky burst into laughter, mockingly forcing his voice higher than it usually was, earning a friendly punch to the arm.
âMight be missing the gentle part, though,â Bucky said with a knowing smile and a gleam in his eyes. âThin walls, my friend. Thin walls.â
Summery of fic: Reader/Jess Harper has already survived abuse and sexual assault by stepbrother Nate Millers, but the reward was a prison sentence for murder at Litchfield penitentiaryâŠ
What happens when you/Jess come face to face with Nateâs old colleagues and friends, Correctional Officers Steve Rogers and James âBuckyâ Barnes, who both seem set on making you pay for your mistakes. Will you be able to survive it all over again?
Pairing (kinda): Steve Rogers x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Reader, Nate Millers (OMC) x Reader
Words: 3645
Warnings: DARK AU, dubcon/noncon elements, Dark!Bucky, Dark!Steve, implied sexual acts, sexual acts, mention of murder, mentions of death, mentions of violence, mentions of NC/SA and death
You have been warned.
Chapter 10
-
Piles and piles of letters and mail covered the table of the mailroom. Papers and envelopes were scattered around, falling to the floor when the table was overcrowded. Bucky and Steve were put in charge of todayâs mail check. It was supposed to be done before lunch, but for some reason officers Bell and OâNeill hadnât done it, so it was left for the afternoon and some other available officers.
âThis is bullshit,â Bucky said with a sigh, throwing another approved letter in the pile.
âLanguage,â Steve said, also tossing a letter in the pile for permitted letters.
Bucky gave an aggravated sigh to show his annoyance at not only the letters, but Steve as well.
âYou know, weâre not in the army anymore. Youâre not my captain here. So you can shove it.â
He kept his composure for a quick second, before laughter rumbled through him, and his mouth strained in a wide grin. Steve couldnât help but join in, laughing along.
âCould have fooled me,â Steve said tenderly, reminiscing on their old glory days in the armed forces.
Theyâd had a few good runs, neither one of them too traumatized afterwards. War wasnât for everybody, but they seemed equipped enough to handle it, and they had. But they were glad it was over, both enjoying their days as correctional officers where the risk of getting killed had severely lessened. Especially in womenâs federal.
Bucky had already filled Steve in on his little talk with inmate Nichols, bringing him up to speed on everything before handing him the torch for the night. It was the routine now; anyone do or say anything involving or regarding their favourite inmate, they shared it, letting each other in on the current situation. Any planning or otherwise scheming fantasies were done at home, just to be on the safe side. Everything else was regular inmate observation, and included no risk in saying it out in the open. At least for the most part.
âGod, I hate checking the mail,â Bucky said with a grunt. âThereâs never anything interesting.â
âI second that,â Steve said after scanning over another letter. âIâm just hoping to find something for Harper.â
Bucky smiled, having had the same mission in mind.
âYeah, me too. But I doubt weâll find anything this soon. Itâs only been a couple of days.â
Healy came walking in to get his mail from the slot with his name on it, a cup of coffee already in hand. He noted the other officers looking like two sourpusses stuck with the grunt work.
âAh,â he said, and grabbed his mail and started flicking through it. âIf it isnât the boys in blue.â
Steve quirked an eyebrow.
âYou know, we were in the army, not the police force,â he said.
Healy threw a glance at them, before walking over, bringing both the cup and mail with him.
âYeah, well,â he said lightly. âYouâre in blue now, though, arenât ya?â
He took a sip of his coffee, coming to a halt at the front of the table.
Bucky simply forced a smile at the man, knowing how Healy worked. He didnât like to be contradicted, and always looked like a kicked puppy whenever someone put him in his place. His was all bark and no bite, but he still loved to bark at the bigger dogs.
âHowâs it coming along?â Healy asked, pointing at the mail with the pile of letters of his own.
Steve sighed, but smiled as politely as Bucky.
Steve had been offered the position as head of the guards after a few months of working at Litchfield, but turned it down since he wanted to be a foot soldier this time and not the man in charge. Plus, he had already earned the title of captain once. Had he taken it though, he would have been Healyâs superior. That perk he would not have minded, seeing the older man was as infuriating and ridiculous as they come.
âItâs coming,â he said. âSlow but steady.â
Healy nodded. âGood. Thatâs good.â
A few seconds passed of Healy just standing there silently as the other men kept on opening and reading letters for the inmates.
Bucky looked up at him.
âAnything else?â he asked, as respectfully as the growing aggravation would allow.
âNo, I, uh,â Healy said. âI just... wanted to let you know that an inmate wanted to file an official complaint about the two of you, but, uh... I took care of it.â
Both Steve and Bucky put their letters down a bit too forcefully on the table, and faced Healy, who was looking somewhat uneasy where he stood.
âWho?â Bucky asked.
âYeah,â Steve seconded. âAbout what?â
âOh, it was... Harper said something about harassment andâââ
âHarassment?â Steve interjected âWeâve been doing nothing but our job, I can assure you.â
âYeah, I told her that, believe me,â Healy said with a soft chuckle, getting somewhat nervous of the provoked tone of Steveâs voice. âSheâs just a bit spooked, is all. Prison canât be easy.â
âEspecially when youâve murdered one of the guards, I bet,â Bucky said, face as set as stone.
Healy nodded.
âYeah, well, that was... unfortunate.â
âUnfortunate?â Steve asked. âHealy, Millers is dead because of her.â
âWell, no matter the circumstances, sheâs under our care now,â Healy said, trying to bring it back to the subject and calm the situation. âI let her down easy. You know, let her know that youâre the good guys, that she has nothing to worry about. That sort of thing.â
Steve nodded slowly, taking the information in.
âGood,â he said. ââCause if Iâm honest, Iâve been kinda worried about her behaviour.â
He gave Bucky a knowing look. If someone was going to look suspicious in Healyâs eyes, it wasnât going to be them. You wanted to be tattletale? Well, three can play that game.
âYeah,â Bucky agreed. âSheâs been hanging around some bad people. I just hope she doesnât get in with the wrong crowd.â
Healy furrowed his brows together, setting his cup of coffee down on some letters and leaned his hands on the tabletop.
âWho?â he asked.
Steve and Bucky shared another look. Healyâs lesbian witch-hunt was infamous amongst the other guards, and he always took the bait, no matter how small.
âNichols,â Bucky said. âIâve seen them getting friendly at lunch. Not too friendly, of course. Or else I would have intervened, but... Enough to make me think something might be going on when weâre not looking. I think itâs worth keeping an eye on her.â
Healy mulled it over in his head. Of course. Thatâs why you were complaining about Rogers and Barnes harassing you. You were trying to get frisky with Nichols and they shut you down. No wonder you were harbouring some hard feelings for the men, wanting to get some distance from them.
âOh, well,â he started. âI guess that explains it. Good job, Barnes. And Rogers, of course,â he said with a nod to acknowledge the other man. âYou can never be too careful with all these lesbians running around. Theyâll sink their hooks into anyone, innocent or not.â
All men nodded in agreement. Although Bucky and Steve were just playing along.
âCan never be too careful,â Steve said. âWeâll keep an eye on Harper, Healy. Make sure she doesnât get in too much trouble. If anything should happen, weâll take care of it.â
Healy nodded with a smile, taking a calming sip of coffee, not caring about the stained circle left on the letters. He knew he had done right in defending his fellow officers against defamation from an inmate.
âThatâs good,â Healy said, still nodding. âIf you need me, you know where to find me.â
Both Bucky and Steve nodded, but said no more, letting Healy leave them in peace.
Well, that went well. Just not for you.
âSo,â Steve said. âLittle tattletale, isnât she?â
Bucky hummed loudly, trying to get the annoyance out of his voice. And failing miserably.
âI told her to keep her mouth shut. Guess she just had to go running to Healy. What do you wanna do, Steve?â Bucky asked and looked over at Steve, who was absentmindedly running his fingers over his jaw.
âI thought I wasnât your captain anymore?â he sassed back, earning a grin from Bucky.
âPunk. I was just askinâ. Think we should just lay low and see what happens when word gets out about your little sidepiece, huh? Your little bootycall?â he teased.
Neither men could keep a straight face at the nicknames, grinning wide like it was a competition. And the picture it painted in their minds weren't that hard to enjoy.
âYeah, she really fucking deserves it now, doesnât she? I wonder what she had to do to get a free candy bar, huh? Maybe she opens her mouth for more than just shit-talking? Snitching on everybody? Or maybe, during all those long nights, she gets lonely... and youâre there, looking all hot and bothered, and she just had to help a kind officer out, right? Maybe you got her in the CO bubble, on her knees, choking on that fat dick of yours for a piece of candy. What ya think? Am I getting close?â Bucky asked with a shit-eating grin that only he could muster.
They had speculated on what kind of tales and rumours the inmates would spread about you, hoping for something juicy, and not just suspected connections. Steve hoped he achieved that with his comment on your looks and whatnot. And twitter has nothing on prison when it comes to coverage, so the place should be buzzing already.
âYouâre an asshole, Buck,â Steve said, trying to sound authoritative, but the façade quickly crumbed into a grin yet again.
âOoh, now who's got the potty mouth?â Bucky countered. âAnd here I thought you were like Private fucking Benjamin, handing out treats and all? Doing favours? And they call me the nice one.â
âYeah, yeah. I can be niceââ Steve grabbed a letter from the pile and hit Bucky over the head with it. ââwhen I want to. And what the hell do you know about how big my dick is, anyway?â Steve asked, turning back to the still unread letters covering the table.
âHa!â Bucky exclaimed, setting his hair back in place. âYou forget how the army works already? You think a fella can keep his modesty in a room full of dudes, day in and day out, never being alone, never getting any privacy? Huh? Plus, did you forget we live together? Alright, Iâve seen your dick more times than I care to admit.â
Bucky threw an envelope teasingly at Steveâs head, convincing a strand of blond hair to leave its perfectly coiffed position as it passed.
Steve ducked and visibly blushed, his cheeks reddening like a boy caught with porn.
âYeah?â Steve said. âRight back at ya, pal. And you donât even try to hide it.â
Bucky chuckled at the comment, knowing how he was very much not a prude. Like he said, when being in the army you had little choice.
Bucky hummed smilingly, dropping the subject.
âAnyways, itâs not like we took this job because weâre so nice, now, did we?â
Steve returned the smile.
âI donât think âniceâ is the first word that pops up for anyone when describing either one of us, do you?â
âNo, no. That would be âbeefcakeâ,â Bucky said with a chuckle, earning a side-eye and a smirk from his friend. âI think thatâs what Luscheck said when we first got here. At least thatâs what he led with.â
Steve scoffed.
âAnd he called us gay.â
Bucky also let out a puff of air. Luscheck was one to talk with a comment like that.
âYeah, well,â he said. âMaybe heâs overcompensating, who knows. Besides, who can resist a nice, rugged beefcake of an army man?â Bucky said, giving Steve feign heart eyes, making him laugh, before he himself followed suit.
âNot Jess,â Steve said with sarcastically raised eyebrows, making Bucky laugh.
âEvidently.â
O.o.O.o.O
Great, so even your counsellor didnât believe you. This was just dandy! You were stuck in a prison where the guards where on your ass, trying to make your life even more of a living hell, inmates werenât allowed to be near you in any other way than proximity, and your counsellor told you that it was basically just your mind playing tricks on you, and that you were overreacting.
You were sitting on the bed in your bunk, feet resting on the frame, eating a Twix out of spite. Every bite was filled with rage, but the sweet taste of chocolate was comforting none the less. Too bad it was going too fast.
You were pissed at Mr. Healy for not even giving you the time of day, and you were honestly pissed at yourself for not leading with the bigger things. Maybe then he would have taken you seriously. But you severely doubted that.
The ache in your chest grew tighter, comforting chocolate be damned. It was so painful to be speaking the truth and not be believed. Even more so to be belittled, and almost shamed for your fears and concerns. It didnât seem to matter how much experience you had with it, the pain was never lessened when you, yet again, were silenced.
People were talking and laughing and messing around in the dorm, making it impossible to lay down and get some shuteye, even though you very much needed it. Plus, your mind wasnât really in a peaceful state so even if you could just take a time out of prison, you doubted it would be restful.
Dinner was coming up in an hour or so, and the plan had been to sleep until then, then come back to the bunk and sleep some more until lights-out. But, for now, just sitting on your bed would have to suffice. There wasnât much else to do, but bide your time.
âStand for count!â was shouted from a male guard entering the dorm.
You did as instructed, getting used to the rules and regiment of prison, and went to stand outside your cube along with all the other inmates.
It was officer Barnes and OâNeill, both checking a side each, Barnes unsurprisingly picking your side. You prepared yourself, expecting leering eyes, a snide smirk or at the very least just a simple up-down. But what you got was a stone-cold look of disdain shot down at you from a very superior height, as he held his head even higher when passing you. Jeez, both guards were towers of muscles compared to you. Made you wish you hadnât skipped gym so much in school. You couldnât help but cower back just a little in his company.
He passed with a click of the counter in his hand, making you jerk at the force of it. That earned you a lopsided smirk at least. Barnes walked on, passing to the other side of the dorm to continue his count in a much calmer manner. Both guards compared numbers before leaving. He didnât look at you again, which was weird compared to all the other times when both officers tended to stare blatantly at you without shame, company be damned.
âThank you, ladies,â officer OâNeill said with a kind smile, and followed officer Barnes out the door.
Strange, they usually lingered to throw another glance at you, but he didnât.
You went back to your bed and lay down to rest, seeing the dorm quieted down significantly after the guardsâ visit. Most of the other inmates would roam the halls or wait in the rec room until dinner was served, so the dorm would allow for some rest soon.
The look on officer Barnesâ face haunted you. It wouldnât have worried you as much, if you hadnât just talked to Healy about their behaviour. That weighing of the scales, on whether or not to tell Healy, may have tipped the wrong way in more ways than just not being taken seriously. Oh shit. This might come back to bite you in the ass with even sharper teeth than you had predicted.
You swallowed, hands coming up to lay on your stomach for comfort. Anything to calm down. It did little to help. What did they know? The officer had seemed more than a little ticked off during the count. What had Healy said to him? If anything?
A loud scoff was heard from just outside your cube, breaking your train of thought. You looked over, seeing two inmates nodding at you whilst talking amongst themselves. You couldnât hear what they where saying though, but their eyes were leering as much as the officerâs tended to.
You didnât recognize either of them in more than just passing, sharing a dorm and all. Both were blonde, lanky white girls. One had long cornrows and a very strange looking tattoo going down the length of her throat, the other one was paler looking, with long, greasy hair.
âEy, yo,â Cornrows said, calling your attention.
You rose up on your elbows from the bed.
âW-what, me?â you asked.
âYeah,â she said, taking a step closer to your cube. âIs it true you got free stuff from commissary?â
âUhm, yeah?â
You sat up even more on the bed, ready should she try anything. So far only the guards had shown any aggression towards you, but that could easily change.
âWho are you?â
She took yet another step closer.
âTricia Miller,â she said. âYo, we were just wondering what, uh...â she leaned on the wall, speaking in a somewhat hushed tone. âWhat you had to do?â
âWhat?â you asked, dumbfounded.
Tricia sighed, annoyed. âWhose dick did you suck to get free stuff? I gotta spell that shit out for you?â
Before you knew it, you were on your feet, eyes jumping all over the place like a lunatic, trying to makes sense of it all.
Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no. This was why officer Rogers had given you those things. This was what he wanted. What they wanted. Did people thinkââ?
âNo, I-I...â you started, but didnât know what to continue with.
You walked up to her, causing her to lean back at the speed of your movement. You leaned a hand on the wall, crowding her where she stood on the other side.
âI didnât do anything for that. He just... gave it to me.â
Tricia scoffed. âYeah, right. Iâm supposed to believe that? This is prison. Either youâre sucking his dick or fuckinâ him... or youâre selling us out.â She rose taller at the statement. âFor what? A fucking bottle of shampoo and a candy bar?â
âWhat? No, no, no. Itâs nothing like that,â you tried to convince her.
She scoffed at you again, taking a step closer and into your bunk.
âOh, no? Then why the fuck would a guard give you free shit?â
You didnât know what to say. You truly hadnât done anything to get free stuff, no matter what she thought. And you definitely werenât telling the guards anything about anyone.
She waited patiently for an answer, crossing her thin arms across her small chest, but still she managed to look menacing.
âI donât know, I swear! I havenât done anything to deserve any treats. M-maybe he was just being kind...?â
You held up your hands to show you were not interested in a fight of any kind.
She smiled mockingly at you.
âThatâs not how it works in prison, sweet cheeks. What the fuck did you tell him? You a fucking snitch?â
Oh, shit, this was bad.
âNo, no, no, Iâm not a snitch, I swear. I havenât said anything to them. I donât even have anything to say.â
âOh, really?â she asked sarcastically. âThen why the fuck do people say theyâve seen you talking to several of the guards? And now youâre getting free shit out of commissary? You think thatâs all just a coincident, huh?â
More inmates started to gather outside of your cube, watching intently at the scene unfolding. None of them looked concerned about you, more hesitant about the outcome of the snowballing argument. A tremble coursed through your body, tears were beginning to form behind your eyes as you tried to catch your breath and find a way out of this mess. His mess.
âPlease, I swear, I havenât said anything to any guard about anyone. And Iâm not messing around with any of them, I promise you that. I-I donât know why... This is all a setup. Please, you gotta believe me. I donât want any trouble.â
Of course, you knew why they were doing it, but mentioning anything about Nate at this moment might just escalate the situation even worse. You did not need to become even more of a target than you already were.
Several moments passed in silence from Tricia, though people behind were heard scoffing and sighing and mumbling amongst themselves. It seemed like no one believed you.
Tricia took a step closer, coming face to face with you. Her eyes were sharp, yours a watery mess. You wanted so bad to back away, to plead, to beg for them to believe you. Anything just to get out of this mile high pile of trouble.
âYou better watch your back, Harper,â she said, her voice clear-cut and left no room for argument. âIn here... no one likes a snitch. Or a daddyâs girl screwing around for treats and favours. You got eyes on you, Harper. Step out of line, and you bet your ass thereâs gonna be someone ready to beat it.â
She took a step back, easing off. But everyone around the cube stayed put. All eyes were on you.
Hello, my favorite author!đI'm your fan who used to write long texts to you!
I'm so glad to see you're back. You've been through a lot, and I hope you're doing better right now. I'm also struggling a lot with my depression currently, trying to survive only each day. I've lost my home in a very bad accident and had to move in with two other people. I lost my connection with my only family members as well, and financially, I can't even afford a simple cup of coffee. Anyway...this is not about me!! This is about YOU!!â€ïž
Seeing you posting almost every day made a smile to bloom on my face. I really really hope you do better and better every day. I can't wait to read your new chapters, but I don't insist or want you to be under any pressure. Whatever makes you feel better...I'll be supportive!!â€ïž
Take care!
Helloooo @captainpretty!!â€ïž
I know well who you are, I haven't forgotten you at all!
Thank you â€ïž Yeah, it's been tough and still is but I'm finally able to read, so I wanted to re-read the fic and I'm loving it so far! I'm on chapter 23 I think and I wanted to keep posting the chapters on here with some collages, and share it with you guys. I'm so sorry to hear about your situation! I don't even have words for what's going on in your life, I'm so sorry for you, I wish there was something I could do. Hang in there and take it day by day, even if some days it's just about getting through and waiting for tomorrow â€ïž
It makes me so happy to hear that, thank you so much! I'm not sure I'm able to write, my brain is still in survival mode and I'm going through a lot therapy wise and re-training my brain, but hopefully by the end of reading BMHB again, I'll get back to it. I really love the world, I love talking to you as my reader and I love Jess and her story, so here's hoping at least!
Thank you for being you, and thank you for writing me. Never hesitate to do that, I LOVE talking to you! â€ïž
Summery of fic: Reader/Jess Harper has already survived abuse and sexual assault by stepbrother Nate Millers, but the reward was a prison sentence for murder at Litchfield penitentiaryâŠ
What happens when you/Jess come face to face with Nateâs old colleagues and friends, Correctional Officers Steve Rogers and James âBuckyâ Barnes, who both seem set on making you pay for your mistakes. Will you be able to survive it all over again?
Pairing (kinda): Steve Rogers x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Reader, Nate Millers (OMC) x Reader
Words: 3270
Warnings: DARK AU, dubcon/noncon elements, Dark!Bucky, Dark!Steve, implied sexual acts, sexual acts, mention of murder, mentions of death, mentions of violence, mentions of NC/SA and death
You have been warned.
Chapter 9
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The line to commissary was long, but not long enough for your taste. Youâd wished and prayed for it to be so long that time would run out before you had a chance to reach the front. Some of the other girls had talked about that âriskâ, saying how COs loved to shut the candy store right in their faces. But apparently, that was not the case today.
You just rounded the corner enough to get a peek at officer Rogers standing inside the cubicle along with inmate Chang handing out the goods, overseeing the ordeal. His hands held a resting grip on his belt where he stood planted behind her, looking patient, simply watching out should anything take place. Though you doubted people actually tried to cause trouble around commissary, not wanting to risk it being shut down. It would be a lose-lose situation for everyone.
You kept your eyes down, focusing on the tiles on the floor or the boots of the inmates ahead of you. It was better than to have your gaze bop around all over the place just so you didnât have to look at him. You were there simply because he had told you to be. If it were up to you, you would be on the other side of the prison, hiding in a corner and licking your wounds or something.
Steve noticed you standing obediently in line, awaiting your turn. A smile painted his face at the sight. It really didnât take much to get you to follow orders like the good girl he knew you could be. Though honestly most inmates did as they were told, knowing the alternative was not favorable. But still, your obedience was extra enjoyable in his book.
âNext,â Chang said, sending the inmate before you along.
You took a step closer to the grating separating you and her, as well as the officer requesting your attendance. He stayed where he was, just watching the transaction like all the ones before.
You didnât really want to buy anything, shampoo the furthest thing from high priority. You wanted to save what money you had for when you actually needed something, and not use it to replace something given freely simply because a guard wanted your hair to smell a certain way.
âUhmâŠâ you started, looking about the stacked shelves behind the inmate, to see if anything sparked your interest.
Oh, you would have killed for a Pepsi or a Twix, and the salted chips looked pretty inviting too. And of course, there was the obvious option of ramen or some other canned food. Anything to get something that had actual flavor to it.
Steve noted your longing gazes at the sweet treats available, bypassing the more expensive stuff like headphones, or stationery things. He let out a small huff or air at the thought of you trying so hard to find anything else to buy, other than just what he told you to get.
âCould-could I please have a, uhm, bottle of shampoo?â you asked carefully. âAnd maybe, uhm, a Twix?â
Chang looked like a statue where she stood frozen, or maybe like a wax figurine. Though she had apparently noticed what was written on the paperclip board on the counter.
âNo credit for you,â she said with broken English. âTake seven day to process.â
You furrowed your brows together.
âOh⊠Oh,â you shot a quick gaze at officer Rogers standing to your right, who was looking on with a hint of a smile on his face. He was the one who told you to go to commissary after all. âI-I thoughtââ
âChecks are to be sent to the office in Iowa before imprisonment in order to get commissary,â the officer interrupted. âIt takes a couple of weeks to process everything.â
You nodded your head at him.
âYeah, I-I did that,â you said. âI sent the check there. So, so, I canât buy anything now?â You directed your question to both the inmate and officer inside the cubicle.
âHow it is,â Chang said.
Beside her, officer Rogers gave you a warm smile.
Steve took a step forward, walking behind Chang to the shelf with the hygiene products, and grabbed a bottle of ârose blossomâ shampoo. He held out the bottle through the hatch, having to bend down slightly to reach.
âWe can make an exception this time.â His voice was laced with charming allure, his mouth turned up in an inviting smile. âGet that hair smelling as good as you look.â
His smile spread wider, dimpling his cheeks.
You drew a shaky breath at the very suggesting comment, before your clammy hands reached for the bottle in his hand. You had thought he might hang on to it, or maybe pull it back behind the bars when you went to grab it, but he didnât. He let you take it from him, slowly bringing his hand back through.
You looked up at him, meeting his pleased gaze, and mimicked a smile.
âThank you, sir.â
âYouâre welcome, Harper. Oh,â he started, turning around, and took a Twix bar from the shelf and handed it to you. âMy treat,â he said with a wink.
You gulped, your brows twitching together at the sight, hesitantly taking his offering. Yet again, you knew the rules of gratitude.
âTh-thank you, sir,â you forced out. âThatâs very kind.â
When he didnât say anything back, but instead just smiled at you, you took the opportunity to walk away without fearing any wrath, letting the line keep moving. You held the items close to your body, as if they were to be taken from you at any second. Quick feet marched you right out of there, turning the closest corner just to get away.
Behind your back, Steve watched you hurrying away, biting his lip as he did. He made sure to even sound pleased at the sight of you walking away, sending a low, rumbling grunt your way.
Because even though you couldnât see it, didnât mean the other inmates surrounding the cubicle were as blind. And Steve was more than aware of how fast rumors spread around this place. It wouldnât take long for word to get out that you had a guard doing you favors and giving you treats. Something rarely done without getting anything in return.
Appreciative compliments, a coy smile, sweets. Those things were only given by a guard getting some appreciation himself. And the inmates knew that as well as he did.
This place alone would fuel the fire. All he had to do, was light the match. And watch you go up in flames.
Turning another corner on the route back to your bunk, you sighed deeply to ease the tension working its way up your spine. No matter what you did, you couldnât get the tightness of your muscles to ease up even a bit. Your body was constantly fighting the stress it was under. And officer Rogers toying with you wasnât exactly helping in that department.
You looked down at the Twix bar in your hand. Why had he done that? Why had he been nice to you, giving you free shampoo and extra treats? It didnât sit right with you. It didnât make any sense. Despite, of course, that he wanted your hair to smell like rose blossom. But it felt like there was some underlying reason for this drastic shift in demeanor as well. Whatever the reason, you did not trust the intentions.
Up ahead you spotted Nicky turning a corner, coming your way. You also noticed how she caught your eye briefly, before quickly looking away, keeping to her side of the hallway.
âHey, Nicky,â you said, walking up in front of her.
She stopped, but she was twisting and turning, like she was worried someone might see.
âHey, there, Baby Blues,â she said without meeting your eye.
You furrowed your brows together.
âIs⊠Is there something wrong?â
âNo, uh⊠no more than whatâs usually causing me stomachaches and the sweats in this place.â She threw you a glance and a smile, before turning serious. âBut, uh⊠you take care.â
She made to pass you and walk away, but you turned around to keep her attention.
âWa-wait! Nicky, whatââ you looked around to see if anyone was in earshot, but no one seemed to be paying attention to the two of you. ââwhatâs going on? Are you okay?â
She chuckled nervously in response, gripping her hair on and off. Now you were really worried.
âYeah, yeah, I-Iâm fine, kid. Alright? Iâm just being threatened and baited by your fucking admirer telling me theyâre gonna plant drugs on me, enticing me with my long-lost girlfriend Lady H, if I donât stay the fuck away from you. So, there! Thatâs whatâs going on. Enough? Huh?â
You gasped, not knowing what to say, or what words to use. You gathered that they might try to hurt Nicky, officer Barnes had made that perfectly clear, but you didnât think they had threatened her as well, and not in such horrid ways. A knot tightened in your stomach.
âNicky, I⊠Iâm so sorry. Please, you gotta know I never wanted this to happen, I never wanted you to get caught in the crossfire.â
She scoffed sadly, but hearing the hurt in your voice.
âYeah, well. Theyâre firing away soâŠâ
Shame flooded your mind. Everything was your fault. You should have kept your distance when you learned about Nate working at the prison. Then no one would have been hurt, or threatened. Least of all sweet Nicky. She had done nothing to deserve any of this, she was just being nice to you. But apparently that went against everything officerâs Rogers and Barnes had in mind for your stay. Of course, they saw reason enough to threaten her already.
Nicky sighed. âLook, if itâs any consolation, Iâm sorry youâre even in this shit to begin with, alright? But⊠I gotta look out for number one first, you know? And-and the rest of the family. Itâs⊠We got a good thing going here, and I-I canât risk this shit hitting the fan in their direction, you know?â
With tears stinging your eyes, you nodded. You understood where she was coming from, but you couldnât help but feel⊠you were fucked.
Without her company, or anyoneâs for that matter, you were utterly alone. No one to turn to, no one to confide in, or simply just be around to get time to pass. This was exactly what they wanted.
âYeah, I get it,â you said, forcing your mouth to turn somewhat upwards in a somewhat believable manner.
You did get it. Really. You just wished you didnât.
Nicky sighed again, taking a step closer to you.
âLook, kid. Iâm deeply fucking sorry for leaving you alone in the wilderness that is this prison. I-Itâs fucked up, you know? But hey, Iâm sure things will die down. You know, eventually. And youâre still in my good graces, as well as Redâs. So, when things do cool off, you know where to find me. Okay? And donât worry, theyâre gonna find some new toy whose chops they can bust, and, you know⊠let you off the hook. So you can swim with the big fishes, okay?â she said with a wide smile. âI mean, look at me. Am I a big fish or what? Ah?â
Nicky gave a reassuring chuckle, bumping your arm in the process.
You knew she was trying to lighten the mood, get the palpable tension to ease just a little as to not suffocate the both of you where you stood. She was scared. So were you. And you had every right to be.
A newfound respect for the officers had surfaced. Not that you had had any doubts of their abilities to screw up your stay here in the first place, but this had made that worry skyrocket. Like in the engines-were-running, smoke-was-rising and the-shuttle-was-ready-to-deploy-kind of way. There were so many things they could do that you hadnât thought of. And that said a lot, seeing that you werenât exactly a naĂŻve type of person to begin with.
Nicky quieted down, looking at you apologetically.
âIâll see you around, kid,â she said. âIâm sorry.â
She turned and walked away, leaving you standing in the hallway, with nothing but a bottle of shampoo and a Twix as company.
Lost in thought, you walked the hallways back towards the dorm, where solitude and much needed rest before the night awaited. It was nothing new to you, to have people abandoning ship like rats before the sinking. It wasnât like Nicky had been a real friend anyway, but with time you had hoped to get there. Still, her abandonment stung.
A sense of security had gone with her. You knew it had been false, but the make-believe of a safe and secure environment was better than nothing, which was what you had now.
Life on the outside had been both harder and easier in so many ways. There was the relief of hiding away behind locked doors, keeping a distance and simply following the rules in order not to get hurt more than necessary.
But then there was the loud, screaming reject of the people and world around you at any call for help, which was louder than the reject of the people in here. At least in here people were honest in their selfishness.
You had bravely tried to get help a few times, telling people of what was going on, but you were never believed. Right from the get-go, Nateâs version was believed over yours, even by your mom, or even his dad Jared who must have known what type of man his son was. But he always managed to lie and weasel his way out of everything like the charming snake that he was.
He had even made a show of fake apologizing for âwhatever he had done to make you feel the need to set him upâ, saying how sorry he was that you were feeling left out, but that it was no reason for hurting yourself. That had been the first warning bell for an approaching iceberg to be ignored. So, no. It was nothing new.
But you couldnât help but feel just a glimmer of hope somewhere in there. There must be something you could do, or someone you could tell. And like an apparition in a dark, foggy night, there he was; Mr. Healy.
He was sat by the desk in his office with the door ajar, typing something into the computer. He looked caught up in whatever it was that he was doing, not seeing you standing out there in the hallway like a planted statue.
The list of proâs and conâs emerged in your mind as quickly as the thought, weighing the risk with the reward. You decided to at least give it a try. He was their superior officer, after all.
You knocked gently on the wood of his door, beckoning his attention. He turned to you, tilting his head down to see over the reading glasses resting on his nose.
âHarper,â he said with an inviting hand telling you to step inside, setting his glasses to the side. âWhat can I do for you?â
You closed the door behind you, and sat down in one of the chairs facing the desk, items required resting in your lap.
âMr. Healy,â you started, nervously fidgeting the entire time. âI⊠Iâve come to inform you of some, uhm, poor behavior regarding some of your guards.â
âOkay.â
He didnât seem too bothered by your words, leaning back more in his chair as you went on.
âOkay. I know Iâve only been here a couple of days, but Iâve already been threatened and harassed by officers Rogers and Barnes. And officer Mendez! Though, heâs not really part of the bigger problem here, heâs just, kinda, playing along. M-my point is, Mr. Healy, that I donât feel safe around these guards. I have been given shots for things I did not do, I haveââ
âLet me stop you right there,â Healy interrupted. âIt seems like you are forgetting where you are, miss Harper. This is prison. This is not a luxury hotel. These guards are not here to be at your beck and call whenever you pleaseââ
âButâ-â you tried to intervene, but he just talked over you.
ââThey are here for your safety, to make sure that everything runs smoothly.â
âYes, Mr. Healy, I hear you. But this is harassment.â
He sighed. âOkay. You say you were given shots unfounded?â
âYes, sir.â
âSo you did in fact have your tag visible when CO Barnes gave you that shot?â
Your brows furrowed as you searched for the words.
âWell, no, butâ-â
âThen it wasnât unfounded, was it?â
Healy raised his brows at you, awaiting your answer, but all he got was a sigh in response. And a grunt.
âOkay, no, but there have been more infractions than that, sir,â you argued.
âOkay, like what?â he asked, leaning forward onto his desk.
âLast night, officer Rogers was watching me sleep. I woke up the second time he came in, and-and he told me that he was! And, he said that they would always be watching, andââ
âAs is his job, Harper.â
âYes, Mr. Healy, but it was the way he said it! And-and he also threatenedâ-â
âOkay, okay, I see where this is going,â Healy interrupted again, not letting you finish. âHarper, I get that being in prison is scary. Especially for you. We all know about what happened with officer Millers, and no, Iâm not judging in any way. I donât know what happened between the two of you, and itâs not my placeââ
âMr. Healy, please-ââ you pleaded, but once again was shut down.
âBut I get it, okay? You think the other guards hold some sort of grudge against you, but I can assure you⊠they are all professionals and can set aside their own personal feelings when on the job. And being in prison means being watched by the officers in charge of your safety and well-being. Nothing they have reported to me about you has had any hostile intentions, okay? So, if them simply doing their job is not satisfactory for you... I donât know what to tell you.â
You ground your teeth together, molars squeaking from the pressure. A deep sigh left you as you shook your head in disbelief.
It was useless! He wasnât listening to a word you were saying. He couldnât even keep quiet long enough for you to actually get to the worser parts of their treatment.
âI hear you, Mr. Healy,â you said in defeat. There was no point in even trying to hide the annoyance in your voice. âBut I just think, that me being here, in this prison, is not the safest thing for me right now. Isnât there any way of making it easier on everybody? Canât you transfer me to another prison?â
Healy chuckled at the question, leaning even closer to speak in, what he must have thought was a sweet, caring voice, but to you just sounded inferior.
âMiss Harper, this is not the Radisson, where you are dissatisfied with your room and you want another one. We do not transfer inmates on request, especially not under these circumstances, or with these lacking justifications. You are just gonna have to accept your situation, and do your time here at Litchfield.â
Summery of fic: Reader/Jess Harper has already survived abuse and sexual assault by stepbrother Nate Millers, but the reward was a prison sentence for murder at Litchfield penitentiaryâŠ
What happens when you/Jess come face to face with Nateâs old colleagues and friends, Correctional Officers Steve Rogers and James âBuckyâ Barnes, who both seem set on making you pay for your mistakes. Will you be able to survive it all over again?
Pairing (kinda): Steve Rogers x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Reader, Nate Millers (OMC) x Reader
Words: 3423
Warnings: DARK AU, dubcon/noncon elements, Dark!Bucky, Dark!Steve, implied sexual acts, sexual acts, mention of murder, mentions of death, mentions of violence, mentions of NC/SA and death
You have been warned.
Chapter 8
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Wind tousled your hair, blowing it in your face and whipping at your already tender skin. How much time had passed you didnât know, you just knew it was over. You were back in the present, back in the prison with its crumbling façade, shitty food and terrible, cruel COs. At least they werenât here. No one was. Everyone, well, most, were at their workstation at this time of day. And the ones without work spent most of their time in their rooms or dorms. The prison was as calm as it could be.
The prison was as calm as it could be. Right! That meant the bathroom would be the calmest of the day. This might be the best time to shower and wash without being seen.
You quickly rose to your feet, hopeful as ever, not caring if your khakis were stained or muddy from the ground. They would soon end up in laundry anyway, and youâd be clean and fresh in new clothes.
You rushed through somewhat vacant halls as fast as you could without running, heading straight to your bunk to get your things together; gathering towels, shower shoes, soap, laundry bag and new clothes in your arms like your life depended on it. Even on the way to the bathroom the halls remained almost empty. There were a few inmates here and there, and guards keeping an eye out where more than two inmates gathered.
Officer Barnes was nowhere to be seen, and you knew he was not allowed in the bathroom unless there was an emergency. Relief sagged your shoulders immensely at the thought. Instead you found the very kind officer Fisher guarding the hall. She gave you a shy but kind smile when she saw you. You werenât the only inmate to prefer privacy when showering it would seem by her look.
The B-dorm bathroom was completely empty when you arrived, but you doubted it would stay that way for long. There were more than two hundred inmates in the prison after all, and an empty room of any kind must be a rare sight.
You walked around the sinks to the showers, picking the stall furthers away from the door but still hidden behind the wall where the sinks were, not wanting someone catching a glimpse just from peeking around the corner.
You placed the new clothes on the bench in an organized display and stripped of your pants, your legs being the most spared part of your body. There was a long, white stripe going up your right thigh from when Nate had simply wanted to see how long you could keep from screaming. It hadnât taken long at all to render you a shrieking mess, but he had still finished the cut from just above your knee to the apex of your thigh. It had healed well enough, and could easily be explained away by any form of accident. It was what was hidden beneath your shirt that wasnât as easily explained.
You removed the hoodie and short sleeved khaki shirt, hanging them on a hook beside your pants neatly, to keep them separated from the clean ones. You were left in nothing but the grey, long sleeved shirt you had on underneath, and underwear. Even though it would only be women in here, you were never comfortable taking you panties off. How thin, worn, stretched fabric could make you feel less exposed was beyond you, but you held on to any lifeline keeping you from falling apart.
You hung the towel, a new sports bra and a new shirt on the side of the stall for quick access, and drew the curtains to cover you from sight. Listening one last time to make sure you were still alone in the room, you grabbed the hem of the shirt and pulled it over your head, bringing the bra along with it, and tossed them out to land where they may. Your free hand immediately went to cover the lower part of your abdomen from sight. Should anyone peek in and see anything, it would not beâŠthat.
Scars littered your body like falling confetti. Some short but wide, some long and thin, and some just looked like scratches not left alone to heal properly. And the youngest one still blushing where it had yet to heal.
But the thick, bold lines carved deep into your flesh, the masterpiece left so you would never ever forget what he had done to you that night so long ago⊠It couldnât be mistaken for anything other than the truth. There was no hiding behind some made-up story of an accident or surgery. Nothing could ever begin to explain it, other than the reason for its existence.
You remembered that night like it happened only a few hours ago. It was the night of your birthday. Both your mom and Nateâs dad had been out of town and would be for some weeks still to come. It had only been you and Nate, until he decided to bring some of his friends over for what he called a special birthday gift. Special indeedâŠ
What was supposed to be a good day, soon turned drastically different. Nate and his friends had no celebration in mind when they brought you down to the basement. Nate had already violented you many times before that, but that night was by far the worst night of you life. That night, they had all taken turns raping you, one followed after the other. It went on for hours. Slaps, punches, kicks, you would take it all over what they did to you. Over what Nate did to you.
When the others had left, Nate had said he had another gift in store for you. Something to remember this truly special night by. You were already immovable on the floor, beaten and bloodied, yet he had secured you there with rope and chain. He wanted you to feel just how helpless you were, and how in control he was.
Your tears had dried out long ago, there was nothing left to give. Every muscle burned and ached from the futile fight you had mustered, without anything other than added pain as the prize. You felt hollow. You felt cold. And then you had felt the sharp steel of a knife brushing against you skin.
At first it was simple grazes with it, leaving little marks here and there all over. Like confetti. Until he had sunk it deeper, into the soft flesh of your lower belly.
Screams left you without warning, echoing in the cold basement where you lay. You had begged and pleaded but he had been relentless. There was no stopping him, no reasoning with him to have mercy on your wounded body.
Oblivion had overtaken you when he grabbed the piece of sundered skin with his fingers, and torn it lose from its home. He was literally tearing the skin off your body, piece by agonizing piece. When you passed out, he stopped. No. He wanted you to feel every part of it. There was no escaping him, and there was no escaping the pain.
What had felt like hours, and maybe it had been, of searing pain coursing through you finally ended with a pleased sigh from Nate at the sight of you. âI never thought you had it in youâ, he had said when he put the knife down to admire his work. His masterpiece. Your ruin.
You had stayed there on the floor long after he had untied you and left himself. It felt like you had died, at least a part of you had. There was no going back after this. There was no healing and forgetting. There was only pain, and the scars to prove. It would never go away. There was no hiding the word carved into your skin;
WHORE.
It expanded from one side to the other, reaching from above your pelvis almost to your bellybutton. Your hand couldnât even cover the whole thing, but it was better protection than nothing. You were only fifteen at the time of its making, but you could still feel the drying blood on your skin. It still felt like mere hours ago.
You washed your hair as quickly as one hand would allow you to, not really bothering with any care for it. The soap bar roamed your body in a swift, deliberate skate, hurriedly washing what it found, bumping along every scar. Your hand dove underneath your soaked underwear to clean what lay hidden beneath. You hated touching yourself there, it caused nothing but pain, and brought more trouble than it was worth.
Turning off the water blindly behind you, you listened intently for any sign of someone sharing the room with you as you hugged the towel around you, breathing a loud sigh of relief at the touch. Covered. Safe.
You scrubbed your body almost raw in the haste of things, drying your hair enough so it wouldnât soak the shirt too much. Loud, thudding heartbeats filled your ears. You just wanted it all to be over, to get back into clothes and hide away in the sea of khaki.
With the towel wrapped around your waist to still cover the scars, you hurried to pull down the bra over your chest, followed by the shirt which was now spotted with dark grey dots where the water had accidentally hit it. Both items fought you the entire way, catching on still wet patches of skin.
You stepped out of the stall with careful steps like you were afraid of someone catching wind of your whereabouts if you dared make a sound. But you still couldnât hear anyone.
You made quick work of exchanging your wet panties with a dry pair, the fabric sticking to your skin as you dragged them up your thighs.
Too caught up in the difficult procedure of getting dressed when still mostly wet, you failed to either hear or see the woman standing calmly by the side of the wall. She could see you perfectly, but you first noticed her shadow.
A startled gasp left you at the sight. You clung to the towel which released its grip on your waist to fall limply into your hands, revealing a part of what you never wanted anyone to see. With clumsy fingers you tried to pull the shirt down before it was too late, but she had already seen enough.
It was an older black woman. Her hair was hidden beneath a floral headwrap, but you doubted it would be any other color than grey when it was free. She wasnât short per se, but she was shorter than you. You had seen her around, but never got her name.
Both of you stood in silence staring at each other. She looked calm and deliberating, you like a deer caught in headlights where you stood frozen. A full body tremble traveling through you as you let out the breath you didnât realize you had been holding.
You hoped she hadnât seen too much. The shirt must have surely covered it before the towel did. It was a sight you never wanted to see yourself, let alone risk the world getting an eyeful of it. The other scars you could live with, explain away, but not this.
âAre you all done in the shower?â she asked, her voice quite stern to the sound, though she looked as calm as water on a windless day.
She spoke with an accent, almost French-sounding, but not quite. She stared back at your doe eyes, awaiting a response than never seemed to surface. Your voice was caught in your throat.
âAre you deaf, girl?â she said, though the question wasnât malicious. âAre you done taking your shower? I would also like to shower, and I would like to shower alone.â
âUhâŠâ Great Jess, good response. Work, brain, work!
She rolled her eyes. âPlease, if you donât mind,â she said and motioned for the exit.
You looked down at your clothes scattered on the bench. You still had a few items to go, and youâd rather not do it in front of this scary, but seemingly kind, stranger.
âI-I⊠I just have to finish getting dressed,â you said. âThen Iâll leave.â
She raised her chin, but didnât say another word on the matter, and went back behind the dividing wall, giving you some much needed privacy.
You exhaled loudly and shakenly at her departure, hands already grabbing your trousers and socks and hoodie and forcing them on within a blink of an eye it would seem. All of a sudden, you were fully dressed and leaving, with everything used and wet safely inside the laundry bag for drop off. You felt her eyes on you as you passed.
As if a roadblock had been put up before your feet, you stopped in your tracks. Just a few more steps and you would be out of here. But the worry ate away at you.
You turned your head slightly, just enough to see her in your peripheral vision.
âWhat did you see?â
Your voice was shaking, and barely louder than a whisper. But she heard you.
âNothing if you donât want me to,â she said, looking at your back from the reflection in the mirror. âI can keep secrets.â
Hiding amongst the wet droplets already running down your face, a tear of relief fell down with them. She wouldnât say. Whatever it was she saw, sheâd keep it safe.
âThank you.â
You spared a sincere look back at her, earning an approving nod from the woman. The corners of your mouth tugged upwards in a small smile at her, before you remembered she wanted her alone time as well, so you left her in peace.
Still somewhat lost in thought, your feet led you towards corridor C where the laundry was, to drop of your wet, dirty clothes. It didnât matter how you got there, as long as you got there. And spiraling thoughts were hard to stop, although you couldnât quite make sure which direction the spiral was heading. Worry mixed with relief. Fear mixed with appreciation.
Either way, some kind of good karma had come your way to only let someone as prudent as whatever-her-name-was see that part of you. You just had to hope your gut was telling you the right thing about her. After all, kind people werenât abundant in your life so you had little practice.
The laundry bag was tight against your chest, water seeping through slightly to dampen what you were wearing, but you didnât care. Your eyes had fallen upon the officer coming towards you. Rogers.
The rugged blond smiled at you as he drew nearer your now frozen form. Your mouth felt like the Sahara Desert, dry as sand and not a droplet of water for miles. But your eyes didnât falter from his like they usually do. Instead they held his gleaming gaze as your eyelids shook in the strain not to blink or cry. Had he always been this big?
Steve slowed his steps when he came up to you. No eyes were on the two of you, the corridor still calm with hours away from dinnertime. Karma seemed to be on his side too.
He stopped in front of you, noticing your shaking jaw and tight grip on the bag of clothes in your hands. Oh, how he loved the effect he had on you. It didnât take more than his mere presence to have you trembling and itching to get away.
He leaned a shoulder against the wall, effectively blocking your way, and crossed his arms across a very wide chest. His stature, which blocked you from any view from behind him, dwarfing you in comparison.
âHi, Jess.â
The words poured out of his mouth like a silver-tongued devil. You let out a shaky, unsure breath, not knowing what to do.
Steve relished at the response, or lack thereof. He noted your wandering gaze jumping all over the place for any sign of help of escaping him, coming up empty in the narrow corridor, so you had to settle for his shoulder. Vacant halls werenât all that great now, were they?
He raised a hand, making you flinch at the movement before freezing, to rake his fingers through your wet hair, bringing his nose down to smell it. An audible gulp forced the lump down your throat at the proximity. Steve smiled at the sound, keeping his head in place and fingers still brushing through the strand of hair.
âMm,â he hummed in approval. âI bet it would smell even better if you had some real shampoo. We sell it at commissary, you know.â
His face was so close to yours, you could feel his breath ghost over your face when he spoke. You wanted nothing more than to cower back and shrink away from him, but you knew he would never let you do that. He might even find it reason enough for another shot. That seemed to be their forte; finding reasons wherever to file a simple report on bad behavior.
You had already failed to response to his greeting. You knew he was expecting some kind of answer to his statement.
âIâll remember that, sir,â you squeaked.
It surprised you how steady your voice was, but the force of it didnât allow for any faltering. You just wanted to get this over with and leave.
Steve smiled. Heâd never thought youâd be this sweet and polite from what he had heard. Going by what Nate had told him about you, you were a brat needing to be shown her place. Guess he had done a pretty good job with you during his time. But now, it was their turn.
His fingers grazed along your jawline. The touch was soft and sweet, but very much unwanted. You closed your eyes for a second, gathering strength to just survive this. He hadnât moved away from you at all once you opened them again. Though you kept your gaze set on his shoulder so you didnât have to see the smug look written across his face.
âMake sure you do,â he said. âIt opens in an hour, so Iâll expect to see you there then.â
Oh, no. You didnât want to consciously go near the man, your plan had been the exact opposite of that. But this was nothing short of a clear demand, you knew, and you had to head his command to avoid any further indiscretion.
You nodded in the short space you had in order not to physically bump your head into him.
âYes, sir.â
His smile widened.
âGood. Iâll see you there, Jessie.â
He pushed off the wall by his shoulder, and took a step to the side to allow you to walk by, but you had to go between him and the wall. And he made sure that space wasnât generous.
Yet another lump had wedged itself in your throat. You swallowed it down as you shot a worried look up at the towering officer. He didnât move a muscle, smile still apparent on his face as he looked back down at you.
With slow, careful steps you moved forward, anticipating an arm or shoulder blocking you, but it never came. He seemed content with letting you leave as you were, without any further ado.
You made yourself as small as you possibly could, and all but squeezed by between the officer and the wall, hugging your bag to your chest tighter than ever, before you were finally free on the other side.
You kept walking slow, burying the need and want to sprint out of there and into a corner, throwing a glance back at the man still watching you. His smile hadnât faltered, so you did the polite thing. You smiled back. Just a quick twitch of your lips to show gratitude, but nothing more.
Steve looked on as your rigid form relaxed with every step bringing you farther away from him. Even though the prison attire wasnât the most flattering, he didnât think your ass looked all that bad, the hurry and bounce of your step making it jut out in just the right way to be enticing.
He bit his lip and let out a low groan at the view, remembering the smell of your clean hair and freshly washed body. Maybe you were his type after all.
Summery of fic: Reader/Jess Harper has already survived abuse and sexual assault by stepbrother Nate Millers, but the reward was a prison sentence for murder at Litchfield penitentiaryâŠ
What happens when you/Jess come face to face with Nateâs old colleagues and friends, Correctional Officers Steve Rogers and James âBuckyâ Barnes, who both seem set on making you pay for your mistakes. Will you be able to survive it all over again?
Pairing (kinda): Steve Rogers x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Reader, Nate Millers (OMC) x Reader
Words: 2085
Warnings: DARK AU, dubcon/noncon elements, Dark!Bucky, Dark!Steve, implied sexual acts, sexual acts, mention of murder, mentions of death, mentions of violence, mentions of NC/SA and death
You have been warned.
Chapter 7
-
The work shop was louder in the afternoon. Whatever work had needed to be done around the prison had gotten done before lunch, and all the inmates were back working on whatever on-going project they had in the shop.
You still hadnât managed to get you lamp to work. But honestly, you hadnât really been trying that hard to fix it. The manual wasnât even in English, and youâd never had to rewire a lamp before so you had no experience to help you through it either. Electrical work overall really wasnât your forte.
Officer Luscheck was once again planted by his desk, slouched back in his chair looking half asleep. How could they let this man work with inmates? He paid no attention to what was going on. Someone could easily sneak up on him and he wouldnât even know before it was too late.
Wait. Why are you thinking like this? Luscheck was not the enemy, and you never want to hurt anybody. You never wanted to hurt anybody. You never wanted to hurt anybody.
FLASHBACK
Wet, sticky blood covered your hands when you drew back from the pool of it, pierced into your abdomen. Searing pain shot through you at the speed of your already racing pulse. You looked down. The crimson staining your body looked almost reminiscent of an intended pattern, a painting of blood against your skin, or something out of a Shakespeare poem.
Nateâs chuckle drew your attention back to him where he stood a few feet away, blood coloring his hand as he spun the guilty knife leisurely. His skin was covered in glistening sweat, his blond hair sticking to his forehead. Even when he went to wipe it with the back of his hand did it refused to let go.
âGod!â he exclaimed with a grunt. âI love the feeling of cold metal slicing through flesh. Donât you?â
Your pained moans and pants let him know the excitement was one-sided. Nate motioned the knife in the air like he was cutting you all over.
âItâs just⊠so pretty to see it carve through the skin, the-the blood bursting out like a broken dam finally set free, you know? Itâs so⊠freeing,â he laughed at the double of the word. âOh, man, Iâm getting hard just looking at it.â His voice calmed. âLetâs see some more, shall we?â
You tried to back up, blood slicked hands slipping on the floorboards in a feeble attempt to run away from the pain promised.
âNo, n-no, please. Nate, please,â you begged, your voice carrying pain and fear as you gulped in air.
You canât do this. Not again. You canât.
Not again.
Not again.
END OF FLASHBACK
No, no, no. Brain, stop doing that, stop bringing that night back! You never wanted to think about that night ever again. The night where everything came crashing down, where everything went so wrong. Deep breaths. Breathe in. Breathe out. Feel the world around you. Feel it beneath your fingers. Your right here. Right here.
âHey,â someone said.
You shrieked loudly, swirling around towards the voice calling out. It was a blonde woman, Chapman, who had called your attention. She looked at you worriedly.
âAre you okay?â she asked.
No, you were not okay. Your body was shaking from tension, your chest felt tight. You were not okay.
âYes,â you choked out. âYes, Iâm fine.â
Every breath came out jagged, forced.
âReally? âCause youâre crying. You do know youâre crying, right?â
What? When had you started crying?
You quickly dried your face, finding the evidence that you had in fact started crying. You wiped your cheeks with the back of your hands, then on your sleeves to make sure you got every salty drop off. This explained why your nose was feeling both runny and stuffy when you tried to breathe.
âOh, Iâm-Iâm sorry.â
You smiled apologetically at her, not knowing what else to do. She gently put her hand on your shoulder.
âHey, no, itâs okay, youâre⊠Look, youâre obviously upset. Why donât you go outside and get some fresh air? That might help.â
Your head started nodding all on its own it would seem, your hand still on your face wiping at nothing.
âYeah? Would you like me to come with you?â
She was nice, kind even, but at this moment you had no control over what might come out of your mouth or what was even going through your head, and you did not want to risk you mouth keeping up with your mind and spill any beans on⊠well, anything.
âNo. No, no, Iâm fine, really, thank you,â you said as you pushed past her, barely holding it all together.
The door slammed open harder than necessary, but you couldnât care less. You bolted out, pacing back and forth and all over, before ending up just around the corner of electrical. Your back hit the bricks with a sigh. Your knees gave out, and you slid down onto the cold grass.
Fingers got tangled in your hair, rubbing over your face, then back in the tresses again. You were full on sobbing at this point, but your mind was just completely blank. It was just your body going through the shocks of it all, and there was nothing you could do but ride it out.
Terror ran through your veins, out through your fingers now gripping your roots painfully, yet they refused to let go and give relief to your aching scalp. Tremors made way to tension. Suffocating sobs exchanged with loud gasps for air.
âPlease, stop, please, stop, please, stop, please, stop,â you chanted over and over, not really knowing what you were pleading for, just trying to regain your senses and seize control of your body again. It seemed without use. You just had to ride it out.
Thankfully, no one came out to check on you, and no one walked past where you sat hunched over on the ground. Luscheck being the slacker of a guard he was, was proving more helpful than anything at this point. Slowly, your body and mind started making sense again. You knew it would, but in the moment, nothing feels like itâs ever going to be okay ever again. No matter how logical you are, no matter how much you know it isnât happening in that moment, you canât rationalize your way out of an episode. You just couldnât. You knew. Youâd tried many times.
Some breaths came out gasps and wheezes, but your breathing was starting to level out. The streaks of tears started to dry and stale on your skin, pinching it like it was marble. You were all out of energy to even bother trying to dry them. So, you just sat there. And waited. Waited for it all to be over.
O.o.O.o.O
The prison chapel was empty, except for the curly haired hippie junkie laying by the edge of the raised stage, with one leg hanging off, and earbuds blaring whatever station came through clear from the radio. She was supposed to fix the mic on the stand, or so she claimed, but that kind of work could take hours, obviously, and she deserved a break.
The music was playing loud, loud enough to block out the noise of opening doors behind the seats, or the approaching footsteps that followed suit. Instead, she felt someone kick her hanging foot to get her attention. Her eyes opened with a start, landing on officer Barnes. She yanked the headphones off.
âThis room is for prayer,â he said, raising a brow at her lounging form.
âNever heard of it.â Nicky pulled up on her elbow, putting her leg up. âWhat can I do you for?â
Barnes widened his stand at her side.
âI see youâve taken in a stray.â
âA stray?â Nicky burrowed her brows together. âWhat? You-you mean Harper?â Bucky nodded his head to the side in affirmative. âOh, well, sh-sheâs not exactly taken in by any means. Red thinks sheâs more trouble than sheâs worth,â she scoffed.
âBut you disagree, right? You wanna take her under your wing, protect her from all the evils of this world. Maybe start a new family of your own, take her in as your daughter even. Playing house where youâre the mama, and laying the rules and all.â
âI have no fucking clue what youâre talking about, man.â
âLanguage,â Bucky spat. âYou want a shot, inmate?â
Nickyâs mouth turned to a thin line, holding back whatever remark might come shooting out. Which wasn't easy seeing as her sass tended to get the best of her, but she held it back.
âDidnât think so.â
Bucky picked up the radio laying at her side, pulling at it to tighten the cord of the headphones now resting around Nicholsâ neck. He leisurely toyed with it in his hands.
âWhat were you and Harper talking about?â he asked.
âAt lunch? Not much. I-I thought she had an admirer seeing how you kept eyeing her in the food line and all. Sh-she assured me that wasnât the case.â
âDid she, now?â
âYeah,â Nicky said almost cockily where she lay. âShe did.â
Bucky started winding the cord around his hand, closing the space between them with every loop. But Nicky didnât look too faced, despite the manâs clear advantage and towering height.
âWell,â he started. âSheâs not exactly alone in feeling eyeballed and harassed. All the new inmates tend to feel that way when they first come to prison. Perhaps itâs just her mind playing tricks on her.â
He tightened the cord, Nicky straining her neck to keep in place.
âYeah,â she said low. âPerhaps.â
Buckyâs eyes bore into hers.
âBut if notââ he continued. ââand whatever Harper thinks sheâs been experiencing, or thinks sheâs heard, does hold some truth to it⊠Where does that leave you?â
âI-I donât follow,â she stuttered.
âIâm just asking, all in jestâŠâ he held up both of his hands in a nonthreatening gesture. âWhat you planned on doing should anything happen to her.â
âWhy would anything happen to her?â
Bucky gave a hollow laugh, teeth bared more in threat than good spirit.
âWell⊠prison is a dangerous place, after all. Plenty of snares and snags that can get you. Getting caught up with the wrong people, gang violence, shanking, shitty healthcare, even simple food poisoning from eating that shit Red calls food. Drugs.â
Nickyâs eye twitched from the mention of her long-lost friend. Even after three years had passed, the smallest of mentions set of the need.
âIâm sure there are ways to score whatever it is you need in here,â he said in a suggesting tone.
She set her jaw, trying to keep it from jittering.
âIâm clean.â Her voice was laced with forced assertion. âAlright? I-I donât want nothing to do with that shit.â
Buckyâs face contorted in feigned concern.
âNo?â he asked softly, before he slowly started nodding his head like he was mulling something over, before smiling. âBetter hope it doesnât find you then, right?â
If anyone was to walk in at this moment, it would look like a friendly chat between an inmate and an officer, and not the scene it truly was; said officer threatening said inmate with planted contraband, enabling drug use, and an added sentence to go along with the ride down the hill. And those were some serious threats.
Bucky waited patiently for Nicky to respond. The radio was still held firmly in his hand, the cord still tight between them. He noted the flash of worry in her usually soft green eyes. She blinked rapidly.
âYeah,â she said, once she found her voice again. âBetter keep my distance.â
His smile spread, before giving her a quick wink.
âAtta girl.â
Bucky put the radio back down beside her, safe and sound, before he walked away, leaving Nichols to contemplate what had been said. Junkie or not, she was not a stupid girl, contrary to popular beliefs. He put his hands in his pockets as he climbed the steps back up to the entry doors. Before he stepped out, he turned his head back.
âBack to work inmate,â he called out loudly. âI donât wanna have to write you a shot.â
Nicky scrambled to her feet at his command, taking her radio with her. He never said she couldnât listen to music while she worked.
Even though she didnât look back at him again, he gave her a reassuring smile. Atta girl.
