They want to hang out with you- it does not end well for you.
CW: Fear and Sexual assault/Noncon (Be warned!)
Lately, you were what one would describe as a puppet on strings. It had been a complete week now, and ever since that last…encounter.
You began to eat again and accept whatever sustenance they had stuffed down your throat. You were even allowed to wear clothes again after the whole 'choking' incident. Albeit it was just your pajamas, which consisted of an oversized shirt and patterned long pants, you weren't going to complain too much. You suppose Caleb felt more remorseful about the whole thing than his initial reaction gave you an impression of.
Besides eating, you were also cooperative in other ways. You stopped making a fuss about them taking you to the bathroom and answered questions the two would ask passively, even if your responses were stilted. You even stopped pulling at your wrists and trying to scream when they took your gag out to feed you or have a (one-sided) conversation.
At first, every act of compliance felt like swallowing a broken glass, but it got easier- much to your dismay.
You felt Zion unlock your handcuffs. You blinked at him in bewilderment and stayed lying down as if you were still stuck.
He sighed and grabbed you by the arm rather harshly. "What are you all stiff for?" He jerked you into sitting up. "I said follow me-"
"Wha- ah-" You were lost for words, stumbling out of bed as he dragged you out of the room. "Where-Ow, Zion," You tried to keep up with him as he practically dragged you out of the room. "Where are we going?" You asked him fearfully.
"Bathroom," he responded straight. And just like that, you were hurried into the shared bathroom. "You need to take a shower; it's been a week, and we have plans tonight. Your clothes are out, and there's a towel for you. When you're ready, come to the living room." He went to close the door and leave before pausing and squinting at you. "Don't do anything stupid."
You stood there, confusion morphing into panic long after he left you alone. While they had given you more freedom with the bathroom activities- i.e., at least uncuffing you and letting you do your shit yourself- this-this had actually been the first time you were left completely alone and free- Free enough to walk out yourself…
Your heart pumped so erratically you could hear it in your ear. You grew sweaty as you stood there frozen, staring at the door. You counted in your head to 30. Should you run? You could scream; he took the gag out. Did he seriously leave you alone?
You hadn't even realized how quick and rapid your breaths were until your hand basically ghosted over the doorknob.
Run. You need to run.
What if he were out there? Where was Caleb? Was he here…?
Your mind was screaming at you, but you couldn't pull yourself to open the door. You honestly were too scared to fail your potential escape attempt and see the consequences of getting on Zion's bad side, especially if Caleb wasn't here to stop it.
You stepped away and, to your own embarrassment, decided to just follow along for now. It had been so long since you showered, too, you were starting to feel icky.
And so you stripped and went ahead and showered for the first time in what felt like forever.
You got out after about half an hour, dried yourself, and threw on the plain T-shirt and basketball shorts on the side. You stood and stared at the bathroom door. Could you just…walk out? You stared at it uneasily but luckily- or unluckily- you heard a knock.
"Hey, I'm coming in, so you better be dressed-" Caleb bellowed out. He gave you no time to react before opening the door. You just stood there stunned as he smiled down at you. "Good job, Squirt." He smiled proudly at your form before coming close and throwing an arm around you. "I'm glad you didn't lock the door or try to run off- I half expected you to if I'm being honest." He laughed to himself, making you cringe. Should you have, the way he rubbed it in made your skin crawl. You knew it was probably him trying to crack a joke to ease tension like usual, but you found it rather cruel considering your current situation- even for him.
"You make it sound like you wanted me to." You glared at him, unable to hold back your compounding venom. He awkwardly smiled at the accusation. "No, well, I didn't mean that in a bad way." He dragged you out of the bathroom, arm still slung around you. "Never mind that; come, Zion and me got a little thing set up for us tonight."
You raised an eyebrow at that but involuntarily followed.
The moment you two stepped into the living room, you felt a cramping feeling in your stomach.
The TV was on, Netflix pulled up on some action movie you vaguely mentioned wanting to watch before this. The couch was draped in cozy blankets, and the coffee table was pulled closer; It held drinks.
It was quite a familiar setup.
You stared in disbelief before looking at Caleb. "Is this…movie night?" You asked. You guys used to have movie nights at least once or twice a week when you were all home at once. You enjoyed it, even when the chosen movie was shit or mid- it just used to be fun to hang out and dog on movies with the two.
Caleb spread his arms out dramatically as if presenting the scene in front of you. "Yep- Surprise!" He sauntered further in as you stayed frozen in your spot. "It's been a while, and we figured we might as well do it considering Netflix released that movie you were interested in." He beamed a smile at you, but you continued to stare…quietly.
The silence stretched as you started to feel nauseous. "…You're kidding."
He noticeably clammed up a bit at your reaction, but before he could respond, Zion did.
"No." You turned your attention to his form coming in from the kitchen, two plates in hand.
Caleb rushed over to help him, taking one of his plate of his hand and setting it on the table. "And you can't refuse." He stated matter-of-factly.
His audacity irritated you. "Why…"
Zion rested the other plate with a sigh. "Because we miss you." You flinched as if you were burned, but he continued. "Specifically hanging out with you. We don't want to keep you locked up on my bed all day- that's not what this was all for."
You audibly scoffed- unable to hold your tongue this time. "Then you should just let me go! I'm here against my will, and now you want me to just sit and watch a movie with you two as if everything is ok!" You just couldn't believe their audacity! As if you wanted to grow distant from them- hate them even! They were the ones basically torturing you day from day- unwilling to give up this hostage situation just because they didn't 'want to lose you'. It was a nightmare- A sick joke you hoped they would give up on, but instead they seemed to compound more and more on despite your growing disgust and impatience at their behavior.
Zion moved toward you at lightning speed before his imposing form stood before you. "Yeah, because it's either this or you go back to my room for another week, gagged and chained. Is that what you want?" His expression remained neutral as he gave the cruel remark. You felt yourself flinch back under his oppressive glare. You scolded yourself internally for faltering so easily in your brave front. You hated how much you feared Zion more and more ever since he choked you out.
Caleb, thankfully, quickly came between you two. "Hey, hey, you guys can't seem to get along at all lately." He shook his head. "That's why we need this. To break the ice and all." He looked to you. "Just go along with us- trust me, you'll enjoy yourself. Plus it's nice to be able to move around like this, right?" His smile didn't reach his eyes. "I don't like keeping you chained all day, especially since you've been good- But if you try anything now..." he trailed off.
You stared at him, biting your lower lip. For once, you wished you were bigger. You wished you were stronger- even more defiant, but you weren't. If you were, you would throw a punch at them and try to kick their ass while making your escape, but instead...like always, you were privy to just going with their whims...Especially since you didn't want them to hurt you anymore than they have or could- You weren't quite there yet to be brave enough to do anything against the two fitter males.
So you nodded.
"Fine..."
Caleb brightened at your reluctant agreement and hugged you tightly. "Great!" You squirmed immediately in his hold, your hands coming up to push at his chest. He only hugged you for a moment before pulling away, both hands on each shoulder so he could look at you. "Sorry, just got excited."
He pulled you along to the couch before you could say a peep. He sat you down beside him as he grabbed the remote. You felt a presence sit on your other side, and a plate of chicken parm and rice was placed into your hands. You looked to Zion.
"You made the right choice there." he smiled in a way that gave you shivers. You could only nod and start to stuff your face with food.
Caleb played the movie after everyone got situated with their plates. For a while, nobody spoke. You felt claustrophobic being sat so closely between the two on the couch. It felt like they were purposefully trying to get as close to you as possible. Their shoulders were so close to you that you could feel their heat bouncing onto your bare skin as you ate. You attempted to focus deeply on the television in front of you to abate your growing anxieties; their closeness was getting to you. You could barely tell if the mush in your mouth was even good with how nervous you were.
"So how are we all feeling?" Caleb asked.
You nearly choke; his sudden question took you off guard more than it should've. That question was clearly more targeted toward you than Zion. It was a truly stupid question to ask. Even Zion audibly groaned, earning a glare from Caleb.
"I don't..." You put your half-empty plate down on the coffee table. "Why would you even ask that?" Your shaky voice gave away how offended that question was to you. 'How are you feeling?'??? How were you supposed to feel in this fucked up situation other than scared shitless and confused? You kept your stare on the TV as you spoke, so you didn't know what their expressions were in that moment- And that was on purpose- You didn't even want to acknowledge them at all if possible.
"Because...I just wanted to know where we all were?" His cheery tone faltered slightly. " I mean, especially with the movie, but also in ...general?"
You let out a short, strained laugh. It was void of any goodwill, audacious in its tone. "Well.... how do you think I'm feeling?" Caleb didn't respond, and Zion didn't make a single peep. You felt like prey being watched by two predators, but you did everything in your power to avoid facing them. You were afraid it would stop you in your tracks.
You continued, emboldened by their silence.
"Why hasn't anyone come looking for me too?" Your breathing sped up. "I've been here for what- a week- almost two?" It was getting hard to keep track of time after being inside for so long with little to no devices.
"You said you dealt with it the last time I asked, but what the fuck does that even mean?"
Neither answered. It added to your fidgeting, and you finally turned to
"Well? Say something, damn it!"
It was Zion who sighed and broke their silence. "It's not something for you to worry about. Why do you always gotta bring shit up when we're trying to do something nice?" He made a 'tch' noise with his mouth as if fed up with you.
"The fuck?"You looked to him with a sneer. He clearly looked annoyed, like you were a pet caught pissing on the carpet. "If you want to do something nice for me, how about you let me go! Seriously, how long are you two planning to keep this up? Don't you think you've done enough-fucking creeps!"
Zion grasped you by the forearm rather tightly, making you wince. His face was deadly serious. "Don't fucking raise your voice at me. Caleb won't do it, but I don't mind stripping you down again and tying you to my bed."
You scoffed nervously. This situation was really stringing you up so much that words just kept falling out of your mouth. You knew you were digging your grave, but now you were really pissed off. " I bet you'd like that the most- fucking freak. You think I haven't noticed you leering at me- Actually, you're the catalyst in the first place, considering you've been taking perv shots of me and making a photo shrine to get off to me from." You spat those words as if they were venom at Zion. Although it was dark in the room, you could see Zion's ears flush a deep red as he glared down at you and tightened his grip. You must've really hit a weak spot there.
You could hear the movie playing in the background, and distinctly, an explosion went off.
You both glared at each other, neither saying a thing. It was Caleb who grabbed you gently by the shoulder, laughing nervously. "Okay. okay. It's movie night, why are we fighting right now?"
You turned your head to glance at him. "Didn't you ask 'how we were all feeling' earlier? I'm just letting you know now."
"I know, I did ask- Admittedly, I am regretting it now...But let's not go into this now; I just want us to have one chill night without biting each other's dicks off."
Zion let go of your forearm and crossed his. "Said so eloquently as always." He was clearly still pissed, but not enough to pursue this argument with you.
You almost wanted to continue, but the throbbing of your forearm made you double-think yourself.
"Whatever," you muttered tiredly. You'd lost your appetite to even continue eating, so instead you shuffled uncomfortably on the couch, sinking into it as deep as you could go, and turned your attention back to the TV. You hoped neither would try to start another friendly conversation with you so that you could at least use this time to drown out their presence.
You all settled back into a now even more uneasy silence.
You hated to admit it, but as the dull movie continued, you felt your exhaustion grow. Maybe it was the stress stringing you up, especially being in between these two, but you found it hard to keep yourself awake.
You tried to stay conscious, but every time you willed your eyes open, you felt yourself lose focus eventually enough for them to involuntarily try to close. You kept trying to catch yourself at the last minute every time, but the repetition was clearly wearing you down.
Again and again....
Before you finally faded away, you could vaguely feel a blanket get thrown over your body from Zion's side and Caleb laughing at something.
The first thing you noticed when you woke up was the sound of muffled voices. Your eyes were shut as you crinkled your face at the sounds of ragged breathing and rustling.
You turned slightly on the bed.
Bed? Weren't you all watching a movie on the couch earlier?
You heard a familiar chuckle from beside you before it got muffled by a wet sound. Slowly you opened your eyes, your sleepiness ebbing off you as you became more aware of your surroundings.
It was dark, but not completely as the moonlight filtered out through the curtains. It was enough light for you to make out to familiar silhouettes. You squinted at them, your mind not fully taking in what you were seeing at first but then you did.
"Hey- aren't you being too rough- mm" Caleb groaned as Zion nipped him on the neck. "I'm still pissed at you for earlier," Zion admitted, his hands gripped Caleb by the waist. The two justled a bit as Zion thrusted his hips upwards. Caleb made a shrill noise as he leaned into Zion impossibly more, arms wrapped tightly around his neck.
Oh...Caleb was on Zion's lap facing him and below...
Your eyes trailed down to where the covers lay around their pelvis. Caleb jutted his ass downward where a distinct sloshing noise was made. You felt your face turn red and your heart beat so fast you feared it would burst through your chest.
They were fucking. On the bed you were sleeping on. Right in front of you.
You didn't know why it didn't click in your head that these two were an actual couple when they revealed it to you. Yeah sure, they were affectionate toward each other in more ways than usual since revealing it, but it hadn't quite settled with you completely considering how fucked your current situation was.
But now here they were, in front of you, fucking each other rather passionately.
"Zion, s-slower. You'll wake up, Squirt." Caleb moaned as he kissed Zion's cheek. The action made Zion laugh in an erotic way that made your ears burn. "Oh please, he sleeps like the dead. How many times have we done this already?"
They've fucked in front of you while you were sleeping. You tried to keep yourself from squirming as you squeezed your eyes tightly.
You can't let them know you're awake, anything but that you realized. Your hands felt sticky from the cold sweat that stuck to them. You felt way more conscious of the fact that they had a crush on you now. Your face heated up ever more impossibly from horror.
You tried to focus on slowing your breathing to continue pretending to sleep.
The bed shifted, and you heard Caleb moan, but this time way closer than before. It took everything in you to try to keep your eyes shut, but you couldn't help cautiously opening one to see what happened.
Zion had Caleb lie down, chest to bed, while he thrusted faster in him. Zion's hand was the only part of him visible to you from this angle, and you watched as it grasped Caleb's hair as if to anchor him in place. Caleb's face was scrunched up and sweaty in your direction- luckily, his eyes were closed in bliss, so he couldn't see the way your eyes blew open.
Squelch squelch.
The obscene noises echoed loudly in the room, and you hated the tingly feeling that began to build in your stomach. Why was this turning you on! It was disgusting, voyeuristic!
You hated them for putting you in this fucked up situation. You wanted to disappear in that moment if you could. You cursed them over and over in your head despite how you tried to hold your squirming as you rubbed your legs together.
And it only seem to get worse as you heard Zion chuckle.
"You suck at pretending to sleep, you know." Your stomach dropped. You didn't dare to move as you felt Zion grab you by the shirt collar, flip you on your back, and drag you closer to him and Caleb. His sweaty yet intimidating stare pierced you from above in a way that made you feel exposed down to your very being. Caleb gasped from beside you-way too close to your ear, mind you.
"What the heck- How long were you awake?!" There was a flustered tinge to his voice, but nauseating enough- you didn't miss the excitement in it.
"L-let me go-" You slapped the hand holding your collar away and sat up quickly- Your back hitting the headboard. The pain of your back hitting it almost grounded you in the moment- at least enough for you to really take in your surroundings....this wasn't Zion's room. It took you only half a second to realize that this time, you had been dragged into Caleb's. It was much cleaner in here, however, but you could tell from all the movie posters plastered everywhere.
"What the fuck-" Your voice cracked. your hands gripped you blanket, as if using it as a shield from the two as you brought it close to your body. You hoped it shielded the way your body shook but you had a feeling it wasn't very effective.
"What-what the fuck is wrong with you guys?!" You stuttered out instant insults to them because what else could you do? You had just caught your fucking captors fucking next to your passed out body. This was an insanely humiliating and new level of assault you didn't think even they would cross. "Fucking freaks..." You whispered hoarsely, breaths coming out erratic and uneven in exasperation. You hated how small it sounded coming from your trembling lips. "You're both fucking sick- sick-!"
Zion scoffed lowly, interrupting your mild panic attack. "Funny, weren't you the one peeping on us?" You felt even more flustered at his accusation.
"P-peeping-!?" Your brain stuttered at his accusation. "I- I was not- I did not-"
"I know the exact moment you woke up. You were watching, eyes basically glued on us- you didn't even try to turn away." He smiled eerily as he said it so matter-of-factly.
How...How dare he! As if you wanted to wake up in the middle of these assholes fucking next to you. As if you were getting in the middle of their private time! Your face burned. Your mouth opened to deny it but closed just as quickly- nothing but ragged, frustrated breaths escaped you. You were so mad and offended that it felt like your entire being was rebooting in real time.
"Fuck you!" You snarled at him in an almost guttural way. "Just fuck you- you fucking freak!" You couldn't contain your anger as you threw yourself at him to punch him. You hadn't even come close as Caleb grasped your waist, his face practically snuggled into your side.
"Hey- hey, calm down - At least let us just explain ourselves." You flushed ever impossibly more at the feeling of his body smothered against yours and immediately tried to push him off; one hand shot out to grasp his hair. He was like a boulder, unmoving no matter how frantically you struggled. "Get the fuck off me-" You tugged rather harshly, causing the male to make a hoarse, unfamiliar noise. You stopped rigidly at it.
It wasn't a yelp of pain or surprise- no- it was something low and guttural that vibrated into your side where he was pressed far too closely into you. You were so surprised at the noise and the feeling of him shuddering that your hand loosened from his braids.
Wha- what?
Had he just moaned?
You looked over to see Zion hadn't pulled out of Caleb and instead started to thrust into him again. Caleb jerked into you, face flushed out into your side as he grunted involuntarily. You felt sweaty at the uncomfortable contact.
"Z-Zi!" Caleb eeked out in an erotic way. You struggled in the hold, but Caleb was not letting off. You weren't sure if his hold was intentional or if he had just held on to you for some semblance of purchase but pushing at him proved to be ineffective.
S-stop-" you cried out. They were moving too fast; Caleb jerking into you made the fuzzy feeling in your nether regions build up in a traitorous way. You didn't want to be here- you wanted him to let you go. "C-Caleb- let me go-" you begged pathetically. He moaned in return from a particularly hard thrust from Zion. "Sorry- sorry-" He apologized and hugged you closer- purposefully. "Just-just let me hold you- please-?" He pleaded with you in a way that shot a coldness through your veins.
He wasn't going to let you go- He was even pulling you closer to the two-!
You looked to Zi pleadingly- desperately- eyes watery from how overwhelmed this was making you. "Zion- stop- please-"
Zi stared at you in a heated way before leaning over toward you. You couldn't even move away, being kept in place by Caleb, as his forehead pressed against yours- a bated breath huffing on your face, a moan escaping his lips as the squelching noise between them ramped up. "It's fine- You're fine-" he assured you in a rushed way. "We're not doing anything bad to you-"
He wasn't going to stop either. You stared at him wide-eyed- too wired into what was occurring in front of you- on you.
You hated this you hated this you hated this-
But despite you repeating that fervent chant in your head-
"Squirt- Are you hard?" Caleb chuckled, interrupting your inner denial from the current hard-on that was barely constricted by your loose shorts. You hiccuped as you felt Caleb slither one of his hands to the outside of your pants- the positioning awkward despite how enthusiastic he sounded. You shrieked as he started to grind his hand on it in an up-and-down motion. You felt a strange mix of mortification and arousal, feeling him work at your boner through your shorts.
"Caleb-" You gasped. You attempted to tell him to stop- to not touch you, but before anything else could leave your mouth, you felt Zion close the gap between you two- his mouth engulfing yours in a passionate kiss. You tried to scream, but it was muted by Zion stuffing his wet tongue down your throat. His thrusting in Caleb became faster- almost brutal from how loud the slaps resounded in your ears. You attempted to push your tongue against his to stop him from exploring your mouth more, but he took it as an invite to slither his own around yours in a rather passionate fight.
" Does it feel good, squirt? I hope it does- I can go faster-" he slipped his hand into your briefs to touch it directly. A moan ripped its way out of you and into Zion's mouth as you felt Caleb's hand grip your cock and jerk it off fervently. He teased the tip with his thumb now and then, the feeling causing you to buck into his hold involuntarily.
You eventually started to become overstimulated as your own moans started to mix with Zion's and Caleb's.
You didn't want this- You hated this-!
But despite that, the moment Zion pulled away from the kiss, your hands shot up to grip his shoulders for any loose stability - loud and confused groans escaping your lips as you got lost in the pleasure building in your spine to its limits. "No-! No no no-" You begged out to any of them, but it didn't stop the orgasm that slammed into you unmercilessly.
You seized up, your briefs feeling wet as you ejaculated from Caleb's erotic touch. Shivers overtook your body as you breathed out loudly and erratically. "Ahhh- haa-!"
"You're good- you're so good~" Caleb moaned out as he pumped you through the intensity of your cumming session. "It's ok baby- You're doing so well." He pressed a kiss onto the side of your stomach where your shirt rose enough for him to kiss the bare skin.
They didn't give you time to recover, however, as you felt yourself pulled down into a lying position once more, back to the bed. Above you, Caleb smothered himself into your neck, arms wrapped around you and above him- Zion, who held his hips up.
Zion began to thrust almost animalistically into Caleb now, one hand shooting over to yank Caleb's hair, causing him to moan horrifically loudly. "Cumming, I'm going to cum too Zi-!" He cried out into your ear- You stared at the scene, still as stone as you felt yourself start to become grounded after such an intense orgasm. The more you became cognizant, the stronger the feeling of dread started to take over you.
Zion himself nodded and moaned just as loudly. "It's fine- cum for me- Go on- I'm cumming too," he reassured Caleb. And just like that, they both seized up. Zion groaned and shook over Caleb, eyes closed tight as if he was too overwhelmed to look at the picture in front of him. As you watched him, you felt something wet shoot on your leg- hot and sticky as guttural noises of 'i love yous' and babble fell from Caleb's lips and onto your neck. You could feel him drool onto you as well, your neck sticky from your sweat and his spit in a disgusting mixture before he completely collapsed his whole weight onto you.
You said nothing- none you did at first. You watched blurrily as Zion slipped out of Caleb and got up. You didn't even continue to watch him as your breathing began to pick up erratically once more- the weight of what just happened wracking through you.
You felt Caleb peck kisses at your cheek, one hand coming to cradle your other and caress it. "Hey- hey- don't cry~ You're okay-" Caleb cooed at you as he wiped the tears you hadn't realized were falling from your face. You sniffed and lay there, unable to control the sobs that started to overtake you. You felt Caleb sit you up, hug you into his chest, and pat you on your back. You felt pathetic for crying and even more for reaching out to him for comfort, smothering your face into his bare chest as if he hadn't just molested you with perverse glee less than a minute ago.
The bed dipped slightly, a sigh escaping Zion, who rejoined you two. "What a crybaby…" Despite his jab, you felt him start to remove your dirtied shorts and briefs. A cold wipe came between your legs to wipe up Caleb's and your cum that coated your thighs and your cock. Caleb patted your head and murmured reassurances as if to placate you, as Zion touched you in an almost clinical way- far from the intent of his previous depraved actions. You felt new clothing replace your previous bottoms after he had finished his 'cleaning'. Once he situated the new briefs on you, you felt him pull you into his lap, your back now to his chest and a cup placed to your mouth.
"Open." You heard him murmur. You did, your head too scrambled to do anything but obey. Smooth and cool water tipped into your mouth, which you greedily gulped up. You hadn't noticed just how parched you were until you drank down the refreshing liquid. Zion eventually let up on his feeding after feeling assured you were taken care of. He made a hum noise and kissed the crown of your head. "Good boy," he praised you.
You sniffed in response. You felt so weak…so tired.
"Hehe, so cute~" Caleb innocently kissed you on the lips. "You were really cute, Squirt~" He paused and looked to Zion before leaning in, out of your sight, to kiss Zion deeply. The kiss was so loud and passionate that it made you squirm- especially considering you were trapped in between these two. Eventually the two broke apart, both panting before Caleb spoke up. "You were cute too~. You must've been really turned on, huh? You came earlier than usual," Caleb teased cheekily.
Zion chuckled in response. "Well…" He interlocked his fingers into yours in an uncomfortably romantic way. "How could I not? Seeing you two under me…It was almost too much- I think I could even go for a round two, but…" He pulled you down to lie with him on the bed and hugged you close. "I know we probably shouldn't push it…We should all sleep for now."
Caleb laughed and lied down as well, his body facing yours as he kissed your forehead. "Good idea- you must be tired, Squirt- go ahead and sleep."
Your eyes felt heavy as their body heat surrounded you. You wished you could've pushed them away, scratch at their faces, scream-!
But you were tired. You didn't want to even think anymore. So you closed your eyes…And your breathing slowed…
Yandere Roommates x male reader Part 2
<<Pt1 Pt3>>
Summary:
You've been locked up for a few days and Zion is the first to hit his limit.
CW: Choking/Asphyxiation and depictions of abuse and fear.
The next morning went as well as the two could expect from you. What they had hoped was that you'd be more pliant and rested for them to let you out so they could talk.
Instead, the moment they removed your gag as you awoke to them bringing you breakfast, you screamed profanities and kicked at the plate of pancakes Caleb had made for you. Zion had to wrestle a new gag into your mouth (he had been prepared for this), hold your legs down, and wait for you to calm down or tire yourself out.
The latter occurred as you huffed and puffed, exhausted after 20 minutes of struggling. Your wrists now red and the skin broken from all your pulling.
Caleb crossed his arms at the sight. "That went well," he stated sarcastically after cleaning up the mess and helping Zion wrap your wound.
This cycle continued for the next 2 days. The two would visit you after work, usually in the pms, and try to coax you into eating or talking, but you would either ignore them or fight till you got exhausted. You figured maybe eventually the landlord/neighbors or your work would notice you being absent, but Caleb laughed when you screamed at him about that.
"Nah, don't worry your head about that. Zion already had that covered." The admission scared you into silence once more- Caleb almost regretted telling you that, and Zion scolded him when he came home for being a loudmouth.
It was for sure the 3rd day when Zion came in holding food. He was still in his work clothes and held a Chinese bag.
He walked over and sat on his desk chair, which the two had left beside the bed.
"You're going to eat today." He said simply. He looked almost irritated as he did. It was actually understandable too, as you'd been refusing to eat- your own stubbornness had made you refuse to eat until they freed you, despite how painfully hungry and weak you had been since you first refused to eat.
You glared at him as intensely as you could, but the action made him snort, which he quickly tried to cover with a neutral expression. You caught that, however, and now you were even more empowered in your stubbornness to not eat whatever this fucker offered you.
He reached over after setting the Chinese bag on his side drawer to take the gag out. "Do not scream- I know your throat is dry."
You hated that he was right. You'd been refusing water too, so all the screaming you did really took a toll on your vocals…When the gag came off, you remained silent and just glared at him.
"Do you need to use the bathroom or anything first?" You flushed at the question. You didn't need to use the bathroom too much but…the routine for you to do so was humiliating. Caleb or Zion- Usually Zion- would uncuff you from the bed frame, recuff your wrists behind your back, then drag you to the toilet and…help you with cleaning up after doing your business. It was Zion who helped you first when it happened, and you couldn't help sobbing at the mortifying act. Zion tried to soothe you when you became hysterical about it, but that seemed to only worsen things…
You shook your head. "M'fine…" You luckily really didn't have to go…Caleb had already done so this morning before heading to work, much to your dismay and relief.
Zion only nodded. He moved to grab a container of what looked to be lo mein and orange chicken from the bag. He stabbed the chicken with a plastic fork and maneuvered it to your mouth. "Open. It's your favorite."
You looked at the tantalizing meat. Usually, Zion would chide Caleb and you for relying so much on takeout, but now he was coaxing you with it. It was obvious how desperate he was for you to eat if he was waving greasy Chinese food in your face…
Despite the temptation and your stomach grumbling, you slowly shook your head, refusing to fall for this.
Zion stared at you with that look again. It was one he'd been giving you lately since you've been chained to his bed. His face unmoving in a fixed predatory glare, like a wild animal stalking its morsel. It made you nervous and you had to do everything in your power not to flinch and squirm under his gaze when he shot it at you.
At first, he stayed quiet…It took only a minute for him to finally snort once more. "Why…?"
You stared at him wordlessly. You used this time to think over for the umpteenth time how cold it was with you all almost nude- only a blanket at night to shield you from the freeze. You ironically almost wished the a/c would break again so you could be saved from the bitterness of Zion's room.
A hand grasped your jaw tightly and forced you to contort your face toward Zion in a painful hold. He was so close that you could feel his breath on your face as he stared piercingly at you. "Don't fucking ignore me." He squeezed. "I get your anger, but what's the plan here? You think I'm just going to sit here wordlessly while you fucking starve yourself on my bed? How does that even help your situation? What- is this some fucked up suicide attempt to get back at me and Caleb?"
The accusation made you irate. How dare he- As if you were the one who is putting them through strife when he's the victim. You grit your teeth. "I'll eat when I'm fucking across the country from you fucking assholes." You spit out crudely.
Zion glared at you before closing his eyes. He took a moment to breathe in through his nose and out through his mouth. The action made it seem like he was just trying to calm himself down, as he did it at least three more times. Finally, he opened them calmly and looked at you
"Okay."
He suddenly moved the hand gripping your jaw around your throat tenderly. "I'm really sorry for this, but you have to eat." He brought his other hand to your throat as well after tossing the fork back into the container and climbed onto the bed over you.
For a moment, you couldn't understand what he was doing. Then your airflow was slowly cut off as he tightened and tightened-
Your eyes widened.
You're choking.
He was choking you.
Panic wracked you at the realization, and you began to kick and twist in your restraints.
You spluttered for air, your body shaking and twisting erratically to free yourself, but not succeeding at all. Every instinct in you screamed to do something- Breathe- But you were physically unable to with how firmly he held you in place.
His expression as he committed the act was too calm, almost detached to a frightening degree.
A strangled, wet sound ripped through you as you shook. Your own pulse thundered into your head as your eyes began to crawl up your skull.
Your vision was closing in as drool dribbled out of your mouth. Thoughts muddled and mixed as tears fell sideways on your face.
Was he really going to kill you? You were dying- He was going to kill you over this.
Just as the darkness threatened to swallow you-
-you felt him let go all at once.
You coughed violently at the sudden rush of air that filled your lungs. You sucked it in greedily, a broken sob racking through you as you tried to stabilize your trembling. Your that ached as you struggled to find your breath and keep it- eyes screwed shut as if to focus on the feeling.
Then you felt his hand on your cheek.
And you slowly opened your eyes to look at him, still over your form.
He took a moment to swipe his thumb over one of your eyes- the act smearing your tears in an attempt to sweep them away"I don't want to hurt you but…" His thumb trailed down back to your cheek to make small circles on the skin.
"If you refuse or don't finish this plate, I will." He pinched your cheek lightly, causing you to flinch before pulling his hand away. "Now open your goddamn mouth."
You shook and stared at him cautiously. You knew he wasn't joking…Zion always meant his words when he talked in that serious, authoritative tone- like a dad disciplining his misbehaving kid to correct their actions. "Squirt," He said, calling you. His hand moved down to sit against your adam's apple. It held no pressure- it was just a warning.
One you knew now to heed.
You slowly but hesitantly opened your mouth, and for the first time in a while, Zion gave you a relieved smile. He picked up the forgotten fork once more, picked up a chicken, and pushed the piece into your mouth.
It tasted good, much to your dismay. You chewed slowly as if to savor it and swallowed it. Your stomach grumbled in response to the first pieces of food you had in a while. Tears streamed down your cheeks more silently, but Zion ignored them, instead choosing to dig up some lo mein to feed you next.
The next few bites came in silence.
You began to hate yourself for complying, but you feared being choked out again for not following Zion on this. It didn't make every bite feel any less like a surrender, however.
Zion didn't say a thing. He didn't make a snide comment about you listening or gloat at your misery- he just smiled warmly as he fed you. You focused on the fork feeding you while trying not to cry harder than you already were.
The methodical session felt like it'd last forever, but to your relief, the bedroom door opened.
Caleb stepped inside with an exasperated whine. "Wahhh- work was so long today- My boss had me work overtime-" He froze suddenly as he saw you eating and broke out in a grin. He moved over quickly like an excited child.
"You're eating! Holy shit- you really had me scared you were actually trying to starve yourself-" He paused as he really took in the sight of you.
His eyes darted to your wet, tear-covered face and the blooming red welt around your neck, his smile falling from his face to one of almost horror. His eyes landed on Zion, who just sat there innocently.
"What did you do?"
Zion didn't answer as he set the empty container down. "I got him to eat."
You noticed one of Caleb's eyes wince. "That's not what I asked."
Zion stayed quiet, making Caleb sigh, exasperated. "Jesus Christ," he laughed out humorlessly.
The tension in the room thickened fast.
Caleb grabbed the Chinese bag and grabbed Zion by the arm. "Get up. We have to talk." Caleb's jaw tightened. "Now."
Zion sighed and got up. "Fine." They both left you there in your stupor.
You could hear mutterings outside your room. You tried to listen in, but it was all indiscernible- you couldn't make out what they were saying at all.
Just their cadence was perceptible.
Caleb's voice rose in an uncharacteristically crude way- Zion answered, lower and sharper-
Then silence for a few moments. You assumed they were done talking before-
Crash!
You flinched as you heard something heavy hit the floor.
Then another thud.
You could hear them continue to talk, but the argument seemed to move farther and farther away….Had they gone somewhere else…?
It felt like forever before they finally came back. You believe it was at least an hour they had mysteriously disappeared for.
Zion stepped in first. His face held the same neutrality as it always did, but now his left cheek was decorated with a brand-new ugly red bruise. Your eyes trailed his body to see that not only that, but a new bite mark was present in the juncture of his Adam's apple- you noted how gnarly it was.
Caleb appeared behind the giant, pushing him toward your bed by his shoulder.
"Haha…sorry about that, Squirt." Caleb offered you an excessively bright smile while scratching the back of his head. "You know how Zion can be, but he clearly went too far this time…"
You cringed, his smile didn't reach his eyes…He was clearly pissed off, but…not at you?
Caleb slapped Zion on the back. " You shouldn't do unnecessary shit like that without talking to me at least." You zeroed in on that. Did that mean it would've been ok if he talked to Caleb first and they both agreed on that method then…You didn't want to even open that Pandora's box yet.
Caleb continued. "You should apologize now."
Zion rolled his eyes as if wanting to argue but held his tongue. "Sorry, I'll try to refrain from doing that in the future." He bit out reluctantly.
"Look at that! Our big ole Zion can apologize when he does an objectively wrong thing." Caleb swooned with a smile and kissed his bruised cheek. You squirmed at seeing the affectionate action while Zion groaned- you unfortunately didn't miss the slight blush that came to his cheek as he looked away.
Caleb slowly looked your way expectantly. "Now go ahead and accept his apology."
"H-huh?" you ecked, taken off guard by the request.
Caleb only offered a patient smile before laughing.
"I mean, he apologized. And he really was just worried for you, considering your little hunger strike…It's only right you accept his apology."
This… felt familiar. Your mind wandered to when you guys were much younger.
Zion used to be even less eloquent with his bluntness when you were younger. You remember a particular time when you were all maybe 12? You had been playing a game of ball and bat with Zion. Usually, you'd play it with Caleb, but he had been busy doing his chores. He did say he'd come later, but you were impatient, so you instead dragged the studying and reluctant Zion out to the field.
He was being particularly annoyed with your whining as he half heartedly played. You think he said something about this being a waste of time, which made you sneer.
"I didn't even want to play with you! Caleb was supposed to be here-! You waved your bat around as you said it with a bratty groan.
You shut your eyes in annoyance at that, but before hearing a familiar cheer.
"Hey guys!"
Your eyes opened wide and turned to see that, out by the field's gate, stood Caleb smiling brightly. He raced over, his hand waving at you two. You brightened at the action and smiled over at him, "Caleb!"
You turned your full attention to him, happy to see your friend, and unfortunately unaware of the object racing toward you.
THUNK!
A splitting pain overtook you at the side of your temple as you cried out.
You distinctly remembered the way Caleb's smile faltered as you fell over.
…
Your vision blurred momentarily, and when you reopened your eyes, you saw the blue sky above you- Caleb's worried face popping over it. He looked as if he was crying…You didn't even know how long you'd been out. When you sat up, he hugged you quite harshly.
"Wah-" he sobbed. "I thought you died!" Your head felt wet as you touched it. The ball managed to nick you, but there was mostly just a small cut from what you felt. It hurt so much, though; the lingering pain was disorienting.
"Idiot…" Zion spoke up with a scoff. Your eyes pulled away from Caleb's back to look at Zion, who glared down at you, his figure shadowing you in a mildly menacing way. Your throat felt parched as he drank your form in with disgust. "That's why you should be paying attention instead of getting distracted." He chided you. Your eyes widened, and your blood pressure rose. How could he blame you for his actions…?
"Maybe next time you'll actually stay focused on what's in front of you." You cried at that, not only because of the growing headache you had but because of how cruel his words were. You ran off home after that and ignored him for a whole two weeks. You swore you wouldn't be his friend anymore if he didn't at least apologize and avoided him. At first, he got annoyed at you and tried to drag you around, but you were stubborn. The first time he tried to grab your wrist to get your attention, you shook him off harshly, and you told him you hated him.
He just made his face up and left you.
It only took the first two days of this cycle before he decided to ignore you as well.
Poor Caleb was distraught at you two fighting. He agreed with you that Zion should apologize, but that the kid was just too stubborn. Every time he tried to put you two together, it was just awkward silence; you both were not backing down at all.
One day, as you walked home from school, Caleb called out to you. "Come with me-!" he had said with a genuine smile on his face for the first time in a while. He looked disheveled, like he had fought and had dragged you to the play area behind the school. Inside the cubby under the slide sat Zion.
He had also looked ragged, a tear in his eye as he glared at you two. Caleb pushed you inside and looked at Zion. "Say it," he demanded. You didn't see his face, but his tone was a little uncharacteristically scary.
Zion scoffed and took your hand. His face flushed in embarrassment. "I'm sorry for throwing the ball at you." He squeezed your hand. "I was just being petty because you dragged me out…Please don't hate me." He looked at you, his face made up in a remorseful way. "I missed you," He admitted sheepishly.
You blinked. You did want an apology, but you weren't used to such a heavy reflection at this age, so you stared at him. It was Caleb who broke the awkward atmosphere by hugging you from behind and pushing you into a forced sandwich with him and Zion. "Make up already- I missed you guys!" He said with a whine. "We've missed at least two episodes of Power Rangers, and if I miss another, I will blow up!" You and Zion snorted at that after a moment, before full-on laughing at Caleb's complaining. "Ok, I forgive you." You looked at Zion with a huge grin." Only cause somebody's gotta binge shows with Caleb~" You laughed before pulling the giant into an affectionate hug.
He tensed, his hand held up in an awkward way before slowly hugging you back rather tightly.
You guys did fight over things periodically as you grew up, but that was probably the last time you ever considered unfriending the boy.
Albeit until more recently…
Caleb crowded your vision. "Are you going to accept it?"
"Oh, uh…" You felt a shiver go through you, and you nodded.
Your gaze turned to Zion, who waited patiently."Sorry…I forgive you." You bit out sheepishly. You didn't feel like experiencing the consequences of not forgiving Zion, given how exhausted you were.
It was subtle, but you didn't miss the way the tension in Zion's shoulders seemed to relax slightly.
Caleb sighed dramatically in relief. "Good, you guys fighting really gets my anxiety going." He pets your head. " I want us all to get along. Just like before, even after we figure out what we're going to do."
You could only nod at his insinuation.
You clearly needed some sort of plan if you wanted to get the fuck out of here.
You stole a fan from your roommate and discover something you wish you hadn't about them. You try to tell your other roommate but you'll come to regret both decisions.
CW: Minor violence, depictions of stalking and assault. Nothing sexual happens in this first here except for a depiction of forced stripping and some innuendos.
You sigh loudly and sank deeper into the couch.
The apartment was so unbearably hot.
Of all days for the air conditioner in this stupid apartment to conk out it was today- on your one day off. When you checked with management earlier, you were told building maintenance wasn't scheduled until friday to fix it , which meant several more days of this hellish heat.
Half-dressed and miserable, you stared blankly at the television while sweat clung to your skin.
Your hair stuck to your face, tickling you in an annoying way.
You brushed it away for the hundredth time and groaned.
"I'm going to die- this is it-I'm dying like this" you complained dramatically to yourself.
Suddenly your mind wandered as your gaze drifted toward the hallway.
Your roommates and best friends, Zion and Caleb must have a fan or something you could cool off with.
Actually- you could've sworn you saw one of those full length oscillating tower fans in specifically Zion's room the couple of times you barged in to bother him for funsies. You got up to your feet already making your way to Zion's room first.
You'd apologize later for breaching his privacy but you needed that fan.
You enter Zion's room cautiously. It was clean and very organized looking- expected from Zion.
Every item sat in its designated place. The bed was neatly made, the desk organized, and not a single article of clothing littered the floor.
He was a pretty neurotic at times about keeping things tidy and doing things the 'right way' (which most of the time was his way) and his room fit that theme.
You peer around curiously until your eyes landed on it-
"My savior!" you swooned as if finding an oasis.
It sat in the corner of the room by the computer desk. Your eyes lit up as you strolled over to grab the fan-
"Don't mind if I do~" you say cheekily to yourself and reached to snatch it. Before you do, you stop as your eyes land on something curious.
In the bottom corner of the wall, the light blue wallpaper peeled back quite a bit. It wasn't anything crazy but it felt odd considering how ocd Zion was...
You wondered if the humidity in the apartment caused the tacked on wallpaper to roll back like that...
You stared at the peel, noticing a dark edge beneath it. It looked strange?
'What the heck is that' you wondered absent mindedly. You crouched down to get a better look and without second thought peeled the faux wallpaper back even more -
You stopped jankingly at the sight and gasped.
There were photographs...all of you?
You didn't know if the heat had fully gone to your head and you were imagining seeing photos of yourself but...it was unmistakable.
From what you could see, photos of you was scattered underneath. Some with you with Zion and Caleb, others of you outside, sleeping, at work...
You stumbled back shocked and shot up straight while peering down at them. Why did Zion even have this?...Was it all photos of you behind this wallpaper...It covered all four walls of the room so possibly not...Your mind raced.
You shakily bent back down to try to fully layer down the wallpaper so it wouldn't peel back and grabbed the fan.
Nope- no-
You were way too hot to unpack this right now- You were just going to take the fan and cool down. You could figure out what exactly this meant when you cooled down. With that thought you made your way to your room, fan in hand.
_______________________________________________________________
Despite being cooler now, the fan blowing in your direction as you laid in bed for hours now- You still couldn't wrap your head around it.
Why would Zion have photos of you...It was frankly creepy but thinking that way about Zion felt...wrong.
Zion was your friend, one of your best. You'd known him and Caleb since they were literal toddlers for god's sake. He was always there for you when you had needed him whether it was financial or emotional- hell- It was Zion who suggested you move in with him and Caleb when you had dropped out of university and couldn't go back home...
Even now, you were basically bumming off the two considering you didn't make as much as they did and could add so little to bills and rent despite Zion reassuring you it was ok.
You buried your face into your hands. "Zion...what the fuck" you muttered aloud in disbelief. As you said that, your room door swung open loudly- you jumped up, eyes wide.
"Holy shit! It's fucking hot as hell dude- You weren't kidding when you texted in chat earlier about how bad it was." The black male bolstered loudly as he smiled wide, his beaded box braids jumping at his animated movements.
He had two grocery bags that hung from both sides of his arms as he strolled in. His soft brown eyes widened as he made eye contact with the fan. "Ah!" he pointed at the fan. "Ain't that Zion's? Didja ask before you took that~? You know he gets weird when we mess with his shit before asking." he cackled loudly as if catching you in some devious act.
You winced in realization. "...Shit- actually I forgot to even text him I did."
Caleb was right. Zion absolutely hated when the two messed with his items or entered his room without asking...You were just in a rush for any sort of relief and instead discovered something fucked up...You wondered if Zion would notice what you found...He was just so observant, what if he did and confronted you...
Before you could delve further into your spiral, a sharp coldness touch the back of your neck. You yelped and nearly launched yourself off your bed at the touch "Ah!"
Caleb burst out laughing and you quickly glared up at him to catch his cheeky smile.
"Haha sorry- sorry-You just had a funny look on your face, I couldn't help it" he wheezed and dropped the mystery object into your hands- A haagen-dazs.
Your face softened as you unwrapped the ice cream, bringing it to your mouth. "Thanks"
You felt Caleb's hand touch your hair in a familiar petting way before sitting on the bed next to you "No problem, I figured we needed something to improve our survival odds in this heat."
You took a bite, the creaminess of the bar washing away a lot of his anxieties... "So good~ I could seriously die right now."
"Lmao, I think that would defeat the purpose of me buying these." Caleb snorted as he unwrapped his own bar and started chomping away. They sat quietly for a second just enjoying their sweets. You finished first under 2 minutes.
"Ahhhh, that really hit the spot. I could eat at least 2- no- 3 more of these!" you flung yourself back blissfully on the bed, arms out freely.
Caleb chuckled. "If you finish the whole box before Zion gets any, he'll for sure kill you. Especially on top of the fan thievery." Caleb took a final chomp of his icecream and licked at the remaining stick.
"Actually, maybe if you put the fan back now- he won't even notice. He doesn't even come back for another hour or two?"
You shrugged awkwardly at the mention of Zion, smile dropping from your face momentarily "Haha...maybe?" Unfortunately for him, your lack of enthusiasm at the mention of Zion didn't go pass Caleb who watched your face as he made the comment.
"What's wrong?" he asked plainly, his expression shifted into a questioning one. You stiffened while passively sitting back up and twiddling the icecream stick in your hand.
"Nothing" You said with a smile that felt way to strained on your face.
"Liar, you're doing that face scrunchy thing you do when something is bothering you."
You sighed. "My face does not scrunch when something is bothering me..."
Caleb snorted. "Yeah. It does. Now spill it. What's got you all soured? Is it the a/c?"
"...No-well- yes but..." You felt fidgety at the thought of telling Caleb about the wallpaper thing in Zion's room....But maybe you should. You didn't want to ignore this and maybe Caleb could do...something?
"I found something in Zion's room..."
Caleb immediately perked up.
"Oh my God."
His eyes widened before giving a giddy look "Its his secret porn stash isn't it-!"
"No!" You chastised him as your face grew hot. "You're so unserious!"
Caleb giggled innocently " Okay, okay- I'm serious now- What'd you find?"
"It was uh..." your voice trailed quietly. This was so oddly embarrassing you realized but you ripped the bandage off."He had pictures of me...like under his wallpaper."
You looked at Caleb whose amusement slowly vanished from his face into a mute one.
You both stayed quiet for a moment as if processing this information together before Caleb spoke up once more. His expression seem serious now in a way you weren't used to.
"What kind of pictures were they?"
You swallowed."Uh, like...just pictures of me doing stuff outside or sleeping...Kinda creepy ones...they looked like they were taken when I wasn't aware...?" You admitted solemnly
"I don't know, I left kinda quickly when I saw them...There seem to be more as I kept peeling the wallpaper back though..."
"Shit Zion..." Caleb muttered to himself, jaw tightening, before speaking to you again. "How do you feel about it?"
Your chest began to hurt at the question. It hit you harder than you expected it too despite trying to decompartmentalize that the entire time"I..." you sniffed. "I'm just scared of what this means for our friendship...Does this mean Zion likes me...? I just never..." you trailed off, a tear falling from your eye that you quickly wiped away.
You didn't want your relationship to change, any of theirs. You loved Zion but you couldn't reciprocate whatever feelings Zion held for you. You wanted to just keep being friends.
Caleb immediately pulled you into a hug and pat you on the back reassuringly. "It's ok...It's going to be okay." You clung to Caleb and buried your face into his shoulder.
For a moment, some of your fears anxieties began to ease up.
"Listen..." Caleb whispered soothingly. "Don't mention the wallpaper or the fan to him...I'll put it back for now...I'll also talk to him...maybe after the ac is fixed friday so we can figure this out when things aren't chaotic and our brains aren't fried from the heat." You nodded into his shoulder.
That honestly sounded reasonable...
Caleb acted like a goof and sometimes even asshole most of the time but in rare occasions like this, he really knew how to make you feel better.
"Thank you." you sniffed out, the action making Caleb laugh.
"Anything for you."
_____________________________________________________________
It'd been a few days since that talk you had with Caleb. Ofcourse, Zion had found out about the fan being moved and interrogated Caleb and you but Caleb took the fall and got the verbal beating for entering his room without asking (something you were grateful for).
Since then, everything had been too normal. Zion and Caleb would discuss about games or shows or life- the usual talks and jokes really- while including you but you just couldn't get your nerves in check.
Everytime Zion had tried to interact with you, you felt tense.
Every time Zion smiled at you, you remembered the photographs.
Every time Zion looked at you, you wondered if there were more hidden somewhere other than the under the wallpaper.
Did he also take things from your room? You felt hyper aware now of things you were definitely missing lately.
It kept you up at night. The brunette with his piercing hazels was basically burned into the side of your brain 24/7. You didn't know if the heat really had lobotomize you with how paranoid you began to be of your supposed best friend.
By the time friday came and passed with the ac being fixed, your nerves were shot. You didn't even ask Caleb if he had gotten around talking to Zion yet with how casual he had been acting. It made you feel slimy for cringing when they would joke and laugh with eachother so carefree per usual...especially with how uncomfortable you had grown around Zion in comparison.
It felt like as each day passed, being around Zion became a little harder.
It was saturday night when you entered the apartment. It was oddly...quiet.
Usually, even before opening the door, you could hear something. Caleb laughing at some stupid video. Zion complaining about Caleb leaving dishes in the sink or leaving his clothes on the bathroom floor for the umpteenth time. The television droning in the background while the two tussled on the couch over their differences.
Tonight there was nothing.
Just silence.
You frowned as you closed the door. Wouldn't they be home by now you wondered?
As if answering your exactly thoughts, a loud crash echoed through the apartment.
The sudden sound made you jump, heart beating as your anxiety immediately shot up. "What the-?!" You raced to the kitchen to see what had cause the shattering noise.
Your hands reached the handle but before you could go inside, Caleb opened the door making both him and you flinch in surprised.
"Oh, I thought I heard the door open." He panted, his face flushed and his clothes somewhat...messy? As if he had threw them on in a rush.
"Are you okay? You look...flustered." You asked awkwardly making Caleb laugh.
"I'm fine- actually this is a good time to sort this out-" He grabbed you enthusiastically from the wrist and dragged you into the kitchen before you could answer.
Inside, Zion had a broom and dustbin in his hands and swept up the cause of the noise- a glass cup. You sighed in relief at how minor your anxiety was but didn't immediately calm down as you also noticed Zion's own flushed state.
"Ah sorry, I dropped my cup by accident. I hope the sound didn't scare you" he said smoothly with a neutral expression.
You only nodded, his eyes downward. "Were you..." You looked to Caleb curiously. "Were you guys fighting or something? Why do you look all disheveled?"
Caleb laughed at the accusation. "Nah- nothing violent like that. Don't worry about that-" Before you could further press him, Caleb pushed you onto a chair.
"Ok, lets all chat~" he said enthused while taking a seat.
Your stomach sank.
Across from you, Zion finished cleaning up the broken glass before washing and drying his hands.
Then he sat down.
No one spoke.
The setup felt almost comedic.
It must've looked like some sort of couple's therapy session with how tense everyone was.
Caleb sat between the two of you, glancing back and forth as though waiting for either of you to start.
While you avoided looking Zion's way, instead amusing yourself with the shine of the table, Zion didn't seem to have a similar disposition.
You could feel his stare piercing you, unbothered. Ever since you became paranoid of Zion, you couldn't help the goosebumps that would blossom on your skin when Zion looked your way now.
It's not like Zion was behaving different, he was always watchful but now that trait that endeared you made you uncomfortable.
The silence dragged on before Caleb sighed dramatically. "Okay this is becoming painful."
You flinched at Caleb's straightforwardness and looked at him with a glare. "You said you'd talk to him for me." You muttered Caleb's way.
"I did, that's why we're here to talk about it together." He beamed a sunny smile at you that irked you. This is not what you'd meant when he offered to help alleviate the situation....
Before you could argue, Zion finally spoke.
"Hey." The action made you finally look at him properly. He looked calm as ever. "You've been avoiding me."
"..."The accusation made your brain short circuit. You had been. Of course you had- But why did he make it sound like as if he wasn't the cause...Maybe you were overthinking his words...? He always did have trouble with conveying things....
You opened your mouth to respond but didn't say a peep. You didn't know what to say to that.
Caleb coughed as if signaling something - the subtle interruption seemed to cause Zion slightly lose his composure before straightening himself again. His expression shifted slightly to a more apologetic one.
"I'm sorry, I meant-" He breathed out a sigh and folded his hands on the table. "I know you found the photos. And that it makes you uncomfortable."
Casual. The way he said it was too casual. As if all he did was ate the last pieces of cereal and put the box back instead of throwing it out or left the bathroom pipe running...He came off as too casual about it.
"Yeah, it does actually" You agreed. " I've been waiting for an explanation on why you would have those....Why would you hide photos of me behind your wallpaper...How'd you obtain some of those...Is that all you have of me..."the confession started to pour out as if a dam broke.
"I've been so scared and confused for almost a week with those thoughts running in my head that I can barely even look at you...I hate it, I don't want to be scared of you but I am." Tears threaten to build in your eyes but you try to hold back.
"I'm sorry." Zion said more remorseful. "I hadn't meant for you to find out like this."
"And how exactly did you want me to find out?"
"...Preferably not ever concerning the photos but my feelings...I'd like to have confess under better circumstances." he confessed stiffly.
You freezed at that. You felt like you had just been stabbed in the neck with the pain the seized you in that moment.
"Zion...I can't. You're my best friend...we can't" You covered your face with your hands as the words spilled inadequately from your mouth. You felt tongue-tied.
Zion went quiet at that and silence fell once again.
"Why?" Caleb spoke up.
"...Why?" You paused and uncovered your face to look at Caleb. "Why what?"
"Why can't you reciprocate his feelings?" You jumped back in your chair as if you had just been physically burned. You looked at Caleb, waiting for him to laugh and say that was a bad joke but he looked dead serious.
"Why would you even ask me that...You of all people should know the answer to that!" you felt betrayed in that moment from Caleb's insensitivity.
You could hear the buzz of the ac unit grow louder. It worked now yet you felt your skin start to get sticky from how sweaty you were becoming. Your mind hazy.
After how many times this week you cried in Caleb's shoulder when they were alone because of how fucked this whole thing was...For him to say that ....
Caleb slowly smiled and reached for your hand "You love us."
...?
His fingers intertwined in yours gently "We've been together for almost 20+ years and been through so much together. We both love you and you love us...You told us that you couldn't live without us so what if the relationship slightly changes?"
...
You snatched the hand Caleb held softly away and nursed it with your opposite. You shook as you stared at him but the male kept a smile on his face. He pushed back his own box braids behind his ear and the beads jingled lightly.
"Shit, this is going horrible isn't it?" he laughed out as if trying to clear the atmosphere.
"I told you we should've planned this out better. You insisted on an honest conversation." Zion said flatly.
Caleb scoffed in a mean sort of way. "Yeah well, I also told you to take that shit down because it was creepy but someone didn't want to listen to reason."
Zion shot him a glare as if telling him to shut up and Caleb slapped a hand over his mouth as if realizing what he did. "Oops" he eked out.
You zoned in on that and shot him a slow gaze as your stomach seem to sink ever impossibly more at these revelations. "...Did you...You knew didn't you...about those photos..." You laughed once, it sounded hollow. "That's why you acted all normal all week and even now..."
Caleb winced.
"Okay- see- When you say it like that..."
"You knew the whole time and yet-!" Your voice raised louder.
The realization crashed over you all at once.
That's why he'd acted so normal.
Why he'd never seemed shocked after the initial conversation you guys had.
Why he'd spent the entire week reassuring you instead of sharing your concern.
Because none of it had been news to him. This fucker knew the entire time!
Caleb looked over to Zion as if asking for help. "This keeps on getting worse!"
"It's because you can't keep your mouth shut." Zion replied exasperated.
Caleb didn't confirm it but that was enough to convince you.
"S-so what? Were you helping him? Do you...you like me too?"
Caleb crossed his arms into 'X's' "Wait wait wait! Let me be clear, I did not help him do that world's creepiest photo scrap- our loveable Zion is just a freak with it! As for liking you..." He softened a bit and scratched the back of his head. "Well I think you already know...."
Zion stepped on Caleb's feet making him yelp. "You can stop talking now."
"Duly noted..."
Zion sighed as if frustrated and rubbed the bridge of his nose for a moment before resting his hands on the table again. "Listen to me, squirt" he used your old childhood nickname. "I understand this might be distressing."
"Distressing?" You laughed. "My friend admitted to fucking having a photo shrine of me and the other friend I told already fucking knew and just let me cry about it to him for a week. And now you're both saying you like me on top of that!" The words sounded ridiculous spoken aloud- you almost couldn't believe it despite your slow acceptance of this irrefutable fact.
"That's true." Zion nodded. "We should've conducted this better"
You scoffed but he continued.
"...To be honest I do agree with Caleb however."
"You do?" Caleb asked surprised.
"Yes...I do. Listen... there's nothing wrong with changing what we title our relationship...In fact, since everything is out now..." Zion grabbed Caleb's hand and squeezed it. "We already have started doing so."
You watched as Caleb's face flushed, eyes widening into saucers.
"Wah...that's seriously so smooth~. What a heart stopper!" he squealed.
"Shut up" Zion groaned. "Do you lack the ability to read the mood?"
"You guys...Are dating? S-since when?" You spluttered confused interrupting whatever flirting the two had just done in front of you.
"Since we first moved in together."
"T-that was like 4 years ago! I barely moved in a year ago and your telling me you guys kept that from me!" You slammed your hand on the table and pointed an incredulous finger at Zion.
"We didn't want to startle you...And we figured if we came out dating , the likely hood of you reciprocating our feelings together would falter."
"We were going to have one of us eventually confess and then slowly introduce the other so it wouldn't be awkward" Caleb blurted out with a laugh. "Boy that one didn't come to fruition though..."
You thought it over...But your mind couldn't wrap around it...Your best friends, the people you trusted the most in the world, were going behind your back not only invading your boundaries but also lying and conspiring to your face. The thought of it all made you nauseous...
You couldn't stay here.
You had to go.
"I'm leaving" You got up from your chair suddenly. " I can't stay here. I need to go" you said mostly to reassure yourself. It was all too much, you didn't want to continue this conversation but before you could start to make your way to the exit of the kitchen, Caleb grabbed your wrist once more.
"Squirt~ Don't be like that! We're still talking-" The use of your childhood nickname made you squirm.
You ripped your hand away from Caleb once more and backed away from him in disgust.
He seemed shock at first and paused... but then an almost painted on smile crawled onto his face. "I was going to let it go the first time... " His voice was too light as he spoke. "But you're kinda hurting my feelings now."
You didn't know what overtook you in that moment but you felt pure unadulterated fear that you didn't think your best friends of all people could provoke from you. You turned to run but once you did, a pair of arms wrapped around your waist and held you close.
You heard an airy laugh blow on the crown of your head and you were held into a bruising grip. "Woah, you tried to run again." Caleb called over to Zion. "Your room or mine?"
Zion sighed. "Bring him to mine, I figured something like this would happen."
Terror fully flooded your veins.
You struggled in Caleb's grip. "Stop! Let ME GO-!" A strong hand clamped over your mouth. "Sorry, I'm sorry- It's just if you scream, you'll alert the neighbors dude. Its the middle of the night, people are sleeping and all that." He sounded genuinely apologetic despite his callous words.
He carried you to Zion's room, Zion enroute . It was humiliating that your struggling didn't deter Caleb and as they walked into Zion's room. You, in a last ditch effort, decided to chomp down harshly around Caleb's palm.
"Yowch!" he yelped and dropped you with a thud.
You landed on your knees and scrambled to your feet to run past Caleb but unfortunately for you Zion blocked the way. "You're making this harder than it has to be , Squirt..." You never had qualms with how tall Zion was but tilting your head up to see him staring down at you made you feel like a prey animal. It was like his figure dwarfing your own scared the shit out of you and before you could dodge you he pounced.
With little to no mercy, Zion snatched you by the hair , pulling at your scalp so you would be forced to follow. Pain blossomed across your scalp as you cried and was dragged backwards. You scratched and screamed at him but he didn't let off.
Eventually he threw you onto his bed.
As you bounced on the mattress beneath you, you curled up defensively, tears already falling and sticking to your face. Zion slowly descended on your trembling form and started to strip you.
"S-stop! D-don't Zi!"Your pleas dissolved into sobs as you pushed at him but the male just insistently pulled your clothes off until you were in nothing but your boxers.
He used your own shirt to tie a knot around your head to gag you and as if to add icing on top of it, he grabbed your hands and pinned them over your head .
All you heard in the next second as you fought him was clinking and something metallic being clicked around both your wrists. You looked up in surprise.
Zion who tutored you when you were younger.
Who held your hand on rollercoasters.
Who bends down to tie your shoes for you.
Who let you cry on his shoulder when you dropped out of university and let you live with him practically for free.
-That Zion.
Had just dragged you by the hair, thrown you onto his bed , stripped you nude, and chained you in place.
You slowly looked at him- Really looked at him.
You wish he was remorseless, that the actions he did would reveal that he was some sadistic monster faking his caring side but instead...you saw him soften, a solemn look on his face as Zion wiped the tears off your face tenderly with both his hands.
"I'm so sorry for that. I had no intentions of making that hurt...I just needed to make sure you were secured." He cupped your cheeks tenderly, smoothing his thumbs in circles over your skin.
You just stared at him absolutely harrowed, muffled whines trying to escape from the damp makeshift gag but failing.
"Damn he bit me kinda good lmao..." Caleb came over and showed Zion his palm with your bite indentation...You shouldn't have held back you realized...You should've fully committed and made him bleed but some part of you didn't want to really hurt him...
Zion rolled his eyes and backed off you, his legs still on either side of your waist but his weight no longer weighing on you fully. "You'll be fine."
"So rough..." Caleb reached over and pat you on the head in that way that used to soothe you when you were upset or annoyed. It instead now felt grimy feeling his fingers massage your scalp. "Did you have to toss him around like that- You even stripped him down to his undies, pervert~" Caleb whistled. His fingers moving through your hair made you sick to your stomach but you could only push away from him so much.
"I only did that as it was necessary to keeping him here." Zion's tone was maddeningly practical. "Besides, it'd be uncomfortable for him to stay in his work clothes the whole time..."
"Sure~ Sure~" Caleb sounded unconvinced but continued. "So what do we do now?"
Zion seem to ponder for a moment before looking back down at you. "I think he needs time...We'll keep him in my room for tonight and we can talk again in the morning when tensions are lowered. Might have to keep him for few days to monitor him but eventually...I'm sure he'll hear us out and come to his senses."
You hated the sound of that. You wondered if all of this could've been avoided in the first place if you had just asked before entering his room.
They do say ignorance is bliss afterall.
pairing: Dark!NHL!Garrett Graham x Figure Skater!Reader
synopsis: After a devastating injury ends your figure skating career, you’re left searching for anything that makes you feel like yourself again. Garrett Graham gives you exactly that, until you realize the person putting you back together might be the same person you can’t escape.
warnings: dark!older!garrett, dom/sub dynamic, degradation, humiliation, possessiveness, overprotectiveness, controlling relationship dynamic, power imbalance, praise/approval dynamic, fake dating trope, depressed!reader, dub/con, heavy topics 18+ PLEASE READ AT YOUR OWN RISK
word count: 6.9k
off campus masterlist
The meeting was supposed to start ten minutes ago. You tapped your leg nervously as if that would will your agent into opening her office door.
You were starting to wish that she had just dropped you from the sports agency through email instead of making you show up in person.
But you understood why she hadn't.
You’d signed with Emily at Frozen Edge Sports when you were only eighteen years old, and she’d become too much of a friend to end your relationship the easy way. It would just hurt less if you didn’t have to see the pity in her eyes up close.
You’d been skating since you were five years old. Your father pushed you into it, but at a certain point, you’d become the one putting pressure on yourself. It never occurred to you for all those years, but you’d given up your entire childhood for one thing.
You’d won your first U.S. championship at eleven years old. The best day of your entire life was not qualifying for this year’s Olympics, but when you won Bronze at the World Junior Figure Skating Championships when you were fifteen years old.
You'd nearly killed yourself that season. You begged your parents to homeschool you so you could spend more hours at the rink, and you even turned down Stephan Greenwoon, the heartthrob of Arlington Catholic's Cougars hockey team—when he asked you to be his date to junior prom.
It had all been for nothing because at the young age of twenty-two, you were officially a has-been.
That’s what four torn ligaments in your right knee can do to a bright future.
Despite the surgeries and the intensive physical therapy, your light continued to dim. Although you eased back into practicing again, you just couldn’t seem to land the jumps that helped you qualify in the first place. Your sponsors were kind and waited a few months before they broke their contracts.
Unfortunately, you weren’t making Emily, the main person keeping your career afloat, any more money.
Your own money would run out soon, and your parents' help only went so far in a city as expensive as Boston. You'd thought about putting your bachelor's degree in Communications to use, a degree you had no passion for and no idea what to do with. Your Olympics-destined best friend, Anna, was kind and paying more than her fair share of rent right now to help you out. She was waiting for you to snap out of your funk, and honestly, you hoped something would change too.
The nearby elevator dinged, and you avoided eye contact with whoever was stepping out. As the person walked past you, you were hit with the smell of expensive cologne. He approached the secretary's desk, and your eyes lifted as the deep timbre of his voice reached your ears. “Hey, I have a ten a.m. appointment with David and Emily.”
“Of course. I’ll let them know you’re here, Mr. Graham.”
Your brows raised at that. His eyes turned towards you just as the confusion spread across your face. His face was familiar, chiseled, and sculpted by dark curls. A duffel bag with the Bruins’ logo hung at his side, as if he’d just arrived from practice.
That didn’t make sense. You had a ten o’clock appointment with Emily. And it was about twelve minutes past that time.
“Hey.” His smile stretches at the sight of you, and your heart pounds as you realize he’s walking up to you. “You must be Y/N. I’m Garrett.”
Garrett Graham. The Bruins' rookie center. All six feet of him.
It takes too long for you to realize he’s holding his hand out to you. He appears professional, composed, and nothing like his reputation. You stand, smoothing down your gray athleisure set, and you politely shake his hand, “Uh, hi. Yeah, that’s me.”
“I’m a big fan,” He admits, still managing to sound cool and not like a fan at all. “I watched your routine at the U.S. Championships. The one where you skated to that Lana Del Rey song. It was insane.”
Your lips part in shock. You’re not sure how long it’s been since someone gave you a compliment that wasn’t covered in layers of condescension.
"You watched figure skating?"
"I watched you."
He laughed before the words could become awkward.
"I mean, I don't know much about the sport, but that routine was incredible. I was sorry to hear about your injury.”
“Yeah…”
“You back on the ice yet?”
“Oh, um,” The dreaded question. You keep your face from falling and smile sheepishly, awkwardly, “A little bit. Not too much. Still can’t put much weight on my right knee, but I’ve still been trying to support the other girls while they train.”
You’d been cleared to start training lightly, but your knee had another thing to say. You couldn't even count how many times you wiped out the last time you were on the ice.
He gives you a look that’s more empathetic than you expect: “Well, that fucking sucks.”
“Yeah,” You agree, “It does.”
Your agent's door opens seconds later, and Emily appears, waving the two of you into her office. “Do you know what’s going on?” You ask Garrett as he walks beside you. Why in the world is Garrett Graham joining in on your final meeting with your agent?
“Uhm,” He presses his lips together as he decides to think over his words carefully, “I think it’s better if you hear it from Emily.”
What the fuck is going on?
The two of you join Emily and David, who you learn is Garrett’s agent. It becomes pretty clear as the mundane introductions occur that you’re the only one who has no idea why all four of you are meeting.
Every time she opens her mouth, you expect her to finally explain.
She never does.
David is the one who eventually decides to stop pretending.
David, an old white man whose look is so corporate it actually frightens you, is the one who decides to cut to the chase. He’s balding, overweight, and he stands in contrast to Emily, who’s tall, blonde, and a former Olympic swimmer.
“We’d like to arrange a mutually beneficial relationship between the two of you."
Your heart drops to your stomach.
"We’re all aware that your injury, Ms. Y/L/N, is likely going to prevent you from competing in the Olympics. That means many of the sponsorship opportunities previously arranged for you are no longer guaranteed. Millions of dollars in potential earnings are now at risk."
You sit completely still.
"Talent and good character, which you still have, are important to our agency. But relevance is also a factor in this industry. By establishing a romantic relationship with Mr. Graham, we believe you’ll be able to maintain public interest and preserve some of the opportunities that may otherwise disappear.”
The room goes silent, your heart fully stops beating in your chest, and you have to force yourself to take a breath.
Is this a worse fate than being fired?
Being told that you're no longer valuable?
Knowing the only way you’ll have a career is if you become a rookie hockey player’s girlfriend for clout?
“Emily," You force your voice from your throat. "What is he talking about?”
“I think this is the best option for you, Y/N."
Shame floods your features as your body goes rigid. Your hand instinctively drops to your right knee, your fingers tracing the scar there, pressing against the place where the pain still lingers even though your injury has technically healed.
“I want the best for you. I’m trying to find a way for you to maintain your lifestyle, your fans, and your financial security while you figure out what comes next.”
Garrett chimes in when another silence settles over the room, “I don’t mean to be rude. This sounds great and all. I’m just not sure what I’m getting out of all of this.”
“Credibility,” Emily answers, eyes flicking between the two of you. “You have two different reputations. Y/N, you’re recognizable, poised, and charitable. You’re a good girl. And Garrett…”
She looks back at him.
"You’re talented, but you’re also seen as cocky. Hot-headed. The new rookie with something to prove."
"You think she balances me out?"
Garrett nods, as if he’s truly considering this. “You’re not serious?”
He looks over.
“What?” He lifts his hands slightly, confused. “You’re not considering this?”
He had everything to gain. Your life was slipping through your hands as the days passed.
Emily continues, eyes focused on you, as if she were desperate for you to understand her point of view. “There are a lot of details for us to work out. There’s absolutely no rush. We can start by setting up a few chance meetings and events where you can be photographed together. We’ll see how social media responds, and that’ll help guide our next moves.”
Feeling suffocated, you stand up. You were mentally prepared to be let go; you weren't prepared for this.
“For four years, you've told me to protect my image. To protect my brand. To make sure no one else controlled my career. And now you’re telling me all that I’m good for is being someone else’s girlfriend.”
“I’m trying to help, Y/N,” Emily says, more dejected than before.
“This isn’t personal; this is business,” David adds.
You can’t help but scoff, and you take a final look at Emily now that she’s dragged the two of them into your business. “I trusted you.” Your voice cracked despite your best efforts.
“Wait–” Garrett turns in his chair to face you, and no matter how kind he seems, you’re too embarrassed to face him.
“This actually has nothing to do with you.”
Anna: Hey, how’d it go?
You decided not to reply rather than explain to your friend that you had cried your eyes out in a single stall bathroom and were now trying to collect yourself and get the hell out of this building.
God, you looked horrible. You dabbed a cold towel under your eyes, wiping away your smudged mascara. Despite reapplying your lip gloss and letting your hair down, you still found yourself frightened by your own appearance.
You made your way out of the lobby bathroom, out the revolving doors, and onto the busy sidewalk. Looking down at your phone again, you realize your rideshare is still eight minutes away.
Then—
“Y/N!”
“Are you retiring?”
A group of photographers and a reporter suddenly surrounds you. You stumble backwards as the reporter forces a microphone into your face.
“Is it true you’re not going to the Olympics?”
“Were you released today?”
You freeze.
No, no, no.
Flashing lights start to blind you. Your whispered “please stop” and your “no comment” are drowned out by the camera shutters.
“Have you accepted you’ll never compete again?”
A large camera nearly knocks you to the ground.
A deep engine rumbles from the street, cutting through the chaos, and you catch a glance at a black car that skids to a stop in front of the sidewalk. A car door opens and Garrett appears. He doesn't hesitate, rounding the front of his Jeep and shoving his way in between you and the mob.
“Back the fuck up!”
His voice cuts through the noise, command sharp enough to make them hesitate.
He grabs hold of your waist, pulling you against his body, an act that would typically freak you out, but for some reason, you find yourself clinging to him. Your fingers curl into the fabric of his sweatshirt. He lifts you off your feet, not on purpose, but because he’s so much bigger and stronger than you that his attempt to shield you from the crowd accidentally pulls you onto your toes.
“Garrett, are you guys dating?”
“How did you two meet?”
“Did the agency arrange this?”
He opens the passenger door and lifts you inside, the door slamming behind you. You cover your face with your hands as the flashing continues, now directed inside the car, and Garrett slides back into the driver's seat.
“Fucking hell,” He curses as he speeds off, engine roaring, the vibrations rolling through you. “They should’ve never let you walk out of there by yourself.”
Knees pulled to your chest, you hiccup as tears fall again. You’re grateful you’ve already cried off the rest of your mascara.
“Are you okay?” You shake your head, too emotionally tired to hold up any sort of shield. Garrett rests one hand casually on the steering wheel and the other on the middle console. “Fucking assholes.”
You rest your arm next to his, your skin brushing against the fabric of his black sweatshirt. The noise seems to quiet around you, your heart's pounding starts to slow, and you feel the desire to hold onto him again.
You don't know why you feel safer.
You don't even know him.
Fingers grazing against his, Garrett decides to close the gap between you, interlacing his fingers with yours.
He releases a deep breath, glancing over you before he says. “That was shitty, I know. I honestly thought Emily had already mentioned that whole plan to you. I’m sure it caught you off guard.”
“Were you going to agree just because you feel bad for me?”
Garret doesn't flinch, although the words come out sharper than you intended.
“I was going to agree because I wanted to get to know you.”
You stare at him. His jaw tightens as he focuses on the traffic ahead.
“You wanted to get to know an athlete with no career left?”
“Honestly?" He says. "I think you’re just lost, Y/N.”
You blink. “What? You don’t …” Your lips part to argue, and then he squeezes your hand, and that seems to keep your emotions from escalating. His touch grounds you. “What do you mean?”
“You’re trying to solve a problem that doesn’t have an answer just yet. And when a possible solution was presented to you, you immediately shot it down. I don’t know. Maybe you’ve gotten comfortable feeling … broken.”
You were broken. Your body did not work the way it used to. As someone so tuned to her own body, that fact was evident.
“Maybe you don’t want to take control of your own life…” You didn’t appreciate the introspection into your personal problems, and yet, his words made too much sense. “I mean, I totally get spending so long in complete control of your career, your mind, your body. It would make sense that you’d want a break from that.”
He strokes his thumb over your hand.
“I do,” You say automatically, solemnly, “I want control. People look up to me. My friends are counting on me.”
Garrett hums, nodding his head, and by the way his attention stays on the road, you can tell he doesn’t believe you.
And somehow, that bothers you more because you’re not sure you believe yourself either.
“It’d be wrong to let them down. Let myself down.”
“Seems like you don’t have much control over that, you know, if you can’t skate.”
His words sting.
“How would you feel if you couldn’t play anymore?”
You expect him to pause; he doesn’t, his answer is immediate. “It would probably suck for a while.”
“That’s it?”
“What? It’s a job; it’s not my entire existence.”
“Well, it’s different for you.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah, I qualified for the Olympics.”
“That’s fair.” Garrett agrees, which surprises you. “Are you hungry?”
He’s not what you expected, at all. Because some small, desperate part of you wants to stay in this car. Wants to keep holding his hand and let him decide what happens next.
You barely know Garrett Graham.
But somehow, impossibly, he already sees right through you.
Garrett ends up buying you a hamburger and fries, something you hadn’t eaten since you started training for the Olympics, and you enjoy it in the passenger seat of his car. The two of you sit in your apartment building’s parking garage. Your moments of silence aren’t uncomfortable, and you attempt not to be thrown off by how comfortable he already feels around you. He offers to walk you up to your place, but the thought of him seeing your depression room after all of this chivalry makes you want to spiral again.
Although he looks disappointed, he takes no for an answer. Not before he gives you his number.
You don’t leave him with a clear answer on how you feel about the “fake dating” relationship, and you don’t mention it to Anna either. Honestly, you convince yourself that meeting Garrett Graham was a part of some strange dream you had and that you could go back to wallowing in despair.
Except the internet doesn't let you forget.
It only takes a day for the video of you and Garrett saving you from the paparazzi to go viral on the internet. You’re sure this is the relevance that Emily had insisted Garrett would be able to give you. Millions of views and thousands of comments on a single TikTok. You still weren’t sure about being famous for something other than figure skating.
That weekend, you hear from Garrett for the first time, hours after he wins his game against the Florida Panthers.
Garrett: What are you doing tonight?
You: Why do you ask?
Garrett: Because I want you to come out with me.
Your eyebrows furrow.
You: Out with you where?
Garrett: Did you injure your sense of adventure as well?
You sit up from your bed, pushing away your laptop playing Dirty Dancing, and stare down at your phone, incredulous.
You: What is wrong with you?
Garrett: What’s wrong is I haven’t seen you all week.
You: You’re not my boyfriend.
Garrett: I’m starting to understand why you don’t have one.
You: Fuck off.
You should’ve known he was an asshole. A stupid, smug, handsome asshole. Frustrated, you bring a pillow to your face and scream. Screw him for interrupting your self-care night all to yourself. Anna was in New York prepping for being on the Drew Barrymore show next week. This was your personal time. What right did he have to question your sense of adventure?
His rude comments throw you so off kilter, you can no longer enjoy your movie. You rise from your bed, oversized t-shirt falling against your upper thigh, and start to pace across your room. You should say something else, something clever, but you find yourself coming up short when trying to craft a reply.
A knock at the door interrupts your thoughts.
Hesitantly, you leave your room, padding across the living room of your high-rise two-bedroom apartment and slowly approach the door. Another knock, this one much louder, makes you jump. You see a head of dark, curly hair when you peek through the peephole.
“What the fuck?” You whisper.
Another knock. “Open the door, Y/N. I can hear you.”
You curse again. The second it opens, Garrett steps inside like he belongs there, leaving you stumbling backward.
“How did you get here so fast?”
He’s clad in a dark bomber jacket, expensive chain, and dark sneakers. Effortless confidence. “Oh, yeah, I forgot to mention I live in the apartment building across the street.”
You stare at him.
“Whatever, you have to leave!” You exclaim as he walks further into your place. It’s modern in style and has pink accents everywhere, Anna's and your favorite color. He ignores you completely, turning to the right, toward your open doorway, and he enters your room, completely determined. “Garrett!”
He seems to ignore the complete disarray that your room is in and heads straight to your closet.
“I’ll call the police!”
You follow behind him, horrified.
He chuckles at that. “Sure, go ahead.” He looks you over then, at your lack of pants and messily strewn hair. A faint smirk appears. “Love the outfit, princess, but you’re not going out like that.”
“I’m not going out at all.” Knowing you weren’t bold enough to call the police on him, you huff and take a seat at the edge of the bed.
“Uh huh.” Garrett goes through all your drawers before he picks out a silver, sparkling mini-skirt and black, thigh-high boots. “Bingo. Put these on.”
Both items you hadn’t worn since your accident. With the weight you’ve gained from not working out, you’re not even sure you’ll fit into the skirt. “Absolutely not. I can’t even walk in those things anymore.”
“You can hold onto me–”
“No, Garrett.”
“Don’t be a fucking brat, Y/N.”
That sends the air straight out of your lungs.
“I’m not–”
“You are,” Garrett drops the boots at your feet, and you jump. “I told you to put them on.”
He stares down at your flustered face, not in a challenge, but because he was giving you one option. Back down. You bit down on your tongue, hard, your chest rising up and down as you struggled to breathe. He said so much and nothing at all in the intensity of his gaze. An unspoken threat hung heavy in the air. Did you want to find out what he’d do if you didn’t obey?
Carefully, you bent down and grabbed hold of the left boot, pushing your feet into the shoe before pulling the black leather fabric all the way up to your knee. To your surprise, they still fit over your calves.
“There you go.” His voice is quieter now.
You bite down on your tongue harder, eyes focused on his feet, as his voice caresses over you. You do the same with the right foot, this time your hands lingering for an uncomfortable amount of time on your right knee.
“Good girl.”
The praise makes your breath catch.
And you hate how much you notice it.
“Now, take off those granny panties.”
“I don’t want to.” Your voice is small, unrecognizable.
“I didn’t ask what you wanted.”
“It’s either no panties or these.” He holds out a pair of black, lacy panties. Those were a part of a gift that Anna had gotten you when you turned twenty-one. No one had ever seen you in them. “I’ll let you decide that.”
You stand, wobbling, like you did the first time you got back on the ice. Garrett grabs you by your hips to steady you. For a moment, you get stuck in his gaze, and the hungry way he’s staring at you. “Panties, princess.”
He’s so insistent. It’s overwhelming. And it’s not like you to listen to a man. Or anyone, for a matter. You’re independent. You make your own decisions. You’re anything but that, now, as you reach down to slide off your boyshorts. He holds onto you as you step out of them. He kneels then, and you hold onto his shoulders as you step into the black lacy pair of underwear.
“Garrett!” You yelp when he grabs you by your bottom, pressing his nose into the fabric that’s now wrapped tightly against your center. He inhales deeply, and you feel that warmth spreading to your core. He pushes you back onto the bed then, and you land with a bounce. “What–what are you doing?”
“What am I doing? I know I want you on my arm tonight, but I’m debating if I should fill your cunt before we leave or end the night inside of you.” Garrett strips off his jacket before he lifts your thighs as he settles between them. You’re speechless when he presses his lips to yours. He wastes no time exploring you, parting your lips, and sticking his tongue in your mouth. When he pulls away, allowing you to get a breath, he’s made up his mind. “Both work, actually. Both sound good.”
“Garrett,” You whine.
"What? Tell me what's wrong. You don't like it when I touch you?"
"I hate it." In a swift movement, he forcefully pins your hands above your head. "Garrett!"
"Then why are you grinding against me?"
Fuck. You tilt your head back in frustration.
“I had a feeling about you. I knew you were a dirty little princess,” Garrett grunts against your skin. His jeans are tight enough for you to already feel how hard he is, and he wastes no time creating friction between you. “All pent up.”
“Fuck, I wanna taste all of you.”
“Garrett–”
“Warm you up, yeah?”
You whine louder, unrecognizable to yourself.
“Oh no, you don’t want that? Want me to make it hurt?”
“Please.” Tears sting your eyes. How did he know exactly what you needed to feel? That you liked the pain. That you wanted to feel worthless. That you needed someone else to finally tell you what to do.
“Dirty fucking princess. I’m gonna have so much fun with you.”
It burned between your legs. Garrett had kept his word. Made it hurt. And you’d finished while he rocked his hips, deep inside of you, his thumb rubbing circles into your sensitive bud.
He’d dragged you to the club along with his teammates and worn what he had done to you like a badge of honor, all night. As soon as you got used to walking in the heels again, the vodka shots, unfortunately, made it harder again.
A party for other athletes is actually the last place you’d usually want to be—athletes who have successful careers and are close to winning another playoff. You’ve managed to go six months without being in a room like this, and Anna had been begging you to integrate yourself back into the world. Except, you hadn’t been sure this was even your world anymore.
Tonight, you hoped your thigh-high black boots and sparkling mini-skirt would give you an heir of confidence and nonverbally say I’m totally fine, totally sexy, and I can live without figure skating.
The nightclub was decked out in black, gold, and white in celebration of the Bruins’ win tonight. There were packs of puck bunnies who’d paired their thigh-high boots with the jerseys of their favorite players.
You didn’t wonder long if you belonged here because being on Garrett’s arm made it so the sea of people parted everywhere the two of you walked. People only had kind things to say when they greeted him, which meant you got less of the back-handed compliments you were getting used to.
No mentions of “Oh my God. I used to love you!” or “You were so good last year!” Garrett, somehow, was making you feel less like you were “talented” in the past tense and more like you could exist without any of those labels. He gave you a taste of what it would be like to be Garrett's girl.
When you started to leave your body, feeling like a million eyes were on you, Garrett grabbed your chin and forced your eyes onto his. “Look at me. No one’s gonna hurt you.” Except me, his eyes seemed to say. “I’ll handle it”
You try to relax and to use all that poise and sensuality you’d learned from skating and channel it into dancing with Garrett.
After the two of you have danced hard enough to leave you covered in a layer of sweat, Garrett guides you over to the bar.
“You’re glad you came, aren’t you?”
You’re not sure glad is the way you would describe it.
“You didn’t really give me a choice.”
“You didn’t want me to.” He says smoothly before he orders you a Vodka Red Bull. As you wait for the bartender to mix your drink, he leans down to speak into your ear, “Hey, so, a few of the guys and their girls are going to Vegas tonight.”
“Oh,” You lean up to say, “That sounds fun.”
“Good." Garrett smiles. “We’re going too.”
You shake your head quickly. “Absolutely not. Vegas? Tonight? It’s already almost midnight!”
“You can sleep through the flight.”
Concern fills your eyes but Garrett turns his focus on grabbing your drink and forcing it into your hands. “I’m not prepared to fly. And you don’t have plane tickets, do you?”
“Drink that.”
“Garrett–”
“Don’t be rude. I just paid twenty bucks for that. Drink it.”
His tone is stern, and you can feel the seriousness even over the pounding EDM music. Again, there’s no challenge in his eyes.
He doesn’t have to raise his voice.
He doesn’t have to argue.
He just looks at you like he already knows you’ll listen.
The worst part is that he's been right the entire night.
You take a sip, instantly cringing at how strong it is. Garrett isn’t satisfied when you flash your eyes up at hiim. A non-verbal command. More. Taking a breath, you take a longer sip.
"There you go."
"You're annoying."
"Maybe."
He smiles again, white teeth flashing, and you're starting to understand why all of Boston has become obsessed with him.
“You got somewhere to be tomorrow, princess?” Your teeth bite at your straw, slightly frustrated and mostly buzzed.
"No."
“That’s what I thought.”
After midnight, when you’re in the car with Garrett, you realize that Garrett didn’t have a single drink tonight. Meanwhile, your head was spinning, mini-skirt riding up and knee high boots that were now pooling around your ankles.
The last time you were in Vegas was for a competition years ago. You’d done your fair share of partying in the early days of college but ever since you locked in for the Olympics, you hadn’t done any heavy drinking. Which meant you’d become much more of a lightweight than you remembered.
“I can’t go through TSA like this,” you mumble, sinking into the passenger seat.
An old rock song plays quietly through the speakers.
“I’ll get arrested.”
Garrett glances over.
“No TSA where we’re going, baby.”
“What?” You moan, “I thought we were getting on a plane.”
“A private plane.”
You gasp, “No freaking way. You have a plane.”
“I don’t have a plane, princess. I have friends who have a plane.”
“I have to text Anna.”
“I’ll text her for you when we get on the plane.”
“Fuck,” You felt like you were talking in slow motion. “This has been the weirdest night of my life. I can’t believe I fucked Garrett Graham.
A pause.
"Me."
Your eyes start to close.
"America’s sweetheart.”
You don’t see the smile that crosses his face.
You’re asleep before the car even reaches the runway.
The bed you wake up in is soft but obviously not yours. The room is blurry when you first open your eyes, the sun peeking in through a nearby window, a loud hum immediately flooding your ears. The sound is deep and constant.
A plane.
You swore you dreamt that part of the night. There’s no way you agreed to go with Garrett all the way to Vegas. Then again, you were completely sober when you let him inside of you.
Running your fingers over your skin, you realize the only piece of clothing you’re still wearing are your underwar. As the panic continues to sink in, the bed dips beside you, and heavy arm wrapping around you. A shirtless, sleeping Garrett, settles beside you, his hips pressing into your bottom.
“Garrett,” You whisper, your heart racing in your chest. He moans in response, hands reaching to grab a handful of your breast. “Can you wake up?”
“What?” He asks gruffly, annoyed.
“Why am I naked?”
“What?” He asks again, half asleep, “I undressed you. You were wasted last night.”
“But you didn’t …” Your voice trails off as the question hangs in the air.
“Of course not..”
“Oh…okay.”
He presses a soft, unexpected kiss to your shoulder and your worries melt … slightly. “Disappointed?”
“Of course not.”
“Okay,” He says, unbelieving. He continues to grab your breast, placing kissess along your shoulder and the back of your neck. He’s hard, erection straining against his briefs, and pressing into your ass.
“I think I’ve lost my mind,” You think out loud.
Garrett hums, strong fingers trailing down your stomach and towards your center, “Doesn’t help that you’re touch starved.” This observation makes you want to roll your eyes, “You’re so responsive.”
You breath out, holding in your moans, “Are we landing soon?”
“There's time, don’t worry.”
Garrett presses you into the bed, stomach and the side of your head against the sheets. He positions himself at your entrance moments later.
"So needy."
He slips inside of you like last night, knowing you’re wet but not wet enough to take all of him.
He holds the back of your neck tightly, pressing your face further into the mattress as he roughly grabs the flesh of your bottom. He spanks you as he takes you deeper. It hurts, but that's what you like the most, and from this angle, he can watch as your face contorts in pleasure.
“I think I’ll take you everywhere with me.”
He spanks you so hard it’ll surely leave bruises. The feeling makes you grit your teeth, but you don't ask him to stop. You don't want him to.
“My little stress reliever.”
“I can use you however I want, right?”
His words, the shame, the friction against the bed- it quickly sends you tumbling over the edge. Your body shakes as you squeeze him tighter. His hips stutter. “Fuck.”
“You like that.”
“This is what you’re good for, princess. Making me feel good.”
His goal is not your pleasure. It just so happens that his taking what he needs from you is what feels best.
“Oh my -- Garrett!”
It’s his name on your lips that brings him to his own end. He pins you tighter to the bed, another reminder of where you belong.
Beneath him.
It’s eye-opening, the relief, and how much you like the feeling.
You think you would want to feel this way all the time, if that were even possible.
For now, though, surrendering to him feels easier than fighting to hold yourself together.
Two days later, you pace inside the luxurious hotel suite, the lights of the Las Vegas strip shining through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
“It’s just a bikini, Y/N,” Anna’s voice comes through your phone. You stare down at your screen and see her camera propped up in front of her as she wipes off her makeup from the day. You're three hours ahead of her, your night just beginning as hers is coming to an end.
She's wrong.
It’s actually the opposite of a bikini.
It’s a piece of clothing that Garrett Graham has picked out for you and expects you to wear to a huge pool party tonight.
It’s unforgiving of your scars or your changing body.
“You’re allowed to have fun, you know?”
“I know that.”
“Do you? Because you’ve spontaneously decided to go to Las Vegas with Garrett Graham and wearing a bikini in public is where you’re drawing the line.”
“You know, you’re not helping, you’re supposed to tell me that I’m being crazy. That I’m fucking up my entire life.”
“Fucking up your life? Girl, do you know how many girls would kill to be in your position?”
You sigh, frustrated.
“I can’t do this, Anna.”
“You can.”
“Can’t!”
“Fine, you’ve never listened to me. Maybe he can convince you, though.”
You scoff at that. “What does that mean?”
“It means that, for some reason, Garrett Graham is the only person who’s been able to get to you since all of this happened. I just have a feeling that I’m gonna wake up in the morning to some paparazzi photos of you looking gorgeous in that bikini and having the time of your life.”
Anna ends up being right because everyone, like Garrett, seemed to know you better than you did yourself.
It doesn’t take any convincing for Garrett to get you into a red bikini. All he has to do is tell you to put it on. You give in instantly.
He leaves you no room to feel insecure with him. There’s no way you can’t feel gorgeous because Garrett doesn’t go longer than five minutes without his tongue down your throat.
You shower that night together, after the pool party, and Garrett takes his time carefully dragging the soapy washcloth across your skin.
“Plane leaves tomorrow morning.”
“Okay.”
“You’ve been a very good girl for me this weekend.”
You knew what it meant. You kept close to him no matter what party or event he wanted to take you to. When he wanted to be inside of you, you let him bend you over.
“Uhm.” You force yourself to take a deep breath. “Thank you.”
“You think you deserve a reward?”
Was the free vacation and a dozen orgasms not enough of a reward?
You turn to face him, eyes blinking up at him nervously, warm water beating against your back. “I don’t know.”
“I think you do.” He grabs hold of your chin with one hand. With the other, he reaches behind you to turn off the water. “I want to spank you.”
A sharp inhale. “Is that …is that not a punishment?”
“Not for you.”
The steam escapes the glass shower as Garrett leads you back into the bathroom. He takes his time drying your hair and your skin, paying attention to every curve of your body. You notice the way his fingers hover over your scar. When you flinch away, he grabs your leg tighter, a reminder to stay in place. To not run away from him.
Pleasure or pain, whatever he decided to give you.
You had to take it.
You wanted to.
It was getting harder and harder to hide how desperate you were.
“I’m tired.”
“So you don’t want your reward?”
Garrett stands, wrapping a towel around his waist, dark hair still dripping onto the skin of sculpted chest.
You bite down on your lip, afraid to tell him no. He looks you over closely.
“Fine. Go to sleep if you’re tired.”
He turns away from you, walking over to one of the Jack and Jill sinks.
“I feel sore too. From earlier.”
Garrett hums, ignoring you, and although he’s had his tongue in your mouth all night, you start to feel upset that he’s turned his attention from you.
He wants you to beg now. Beg for him to hurt you.
You haven’t moved yet, twiddling your fingers, and Garrett hasn’t said another word.
“Is this how you treat all your girlfriends?”
Garrett sighs, drying his hair in the mirror, “Just you.”
“Why?”
“Because you’ll let me. And you like it.”
“I don’t,” You argue. “Okay, sure, it’s fun in the bedroom. But all the time? If we …if we started dating like our agents suggested, this is how you would treat me?”
“Is that what you want? To date me?”
“No,” You answer too quickly, “I don’t know. Not if this is how it’s gonna be.”
Garrett turns, tossing his towel to the side, before he stalks over to you.
“You’re full of shit.”
“I’m serious–”
“Get on your knees.”
“Garrett, it’s not gonna work. I’m not playing …I don’t want to play your game anymore.”
“Get on your knees, princess.” His voice vibrates through you. The peaks of your chest rise as he stares down at your naked body.
“Please stop–”
“On your knees, baby. You want to be my good girl, I know you do.”
You lower yourself down gently, your eyes traveling down his legs before they land on the tile floor.
"Show me how good you are."
“Crawl to the bed.”
Your knees ache almost as bad as your warm center.
Garrett follows behind you as you slowly, surely taking in the sight of your bare bottom, as you make your way across the tile and then onto the carpet of the bedroom. The room is straight out of a porno. A king-sized bed, red-felt headboard, and a mirror that hangs on the ceiling directly above the bed. Red velvet curtains partially cover the view of the Vegas city life, and the sound of the city- honking cars and nightlife roars on in the background.
Garrett grabs you and lifts you onto the mattress like you weigh nothing.
“Face on the bed. Ass up.”
Your body moves before your mind can tell it what to do.
Much to your disappointment, seconds pass, and you realize Garrett has left the room. You hear shuffling in the kitchen, and you frown. You keep your position perfectly, which is the sickest part. Minutes later, Garrett returns with a glass of water in hand.
“Do you like when I tell you what to do, Y/N?”
“Yes…”
“Yes, Garrett.” He corrects you.
“Yes, Garrett.” You parrot back.
"Then don't complicate things. Let me give you what you need."
He sets down the glass of water on his bedside table before he disappears into the bathroom. Again, you don’t move.
Tears sting your eyes, the embarrassment settling deep. He returns, now wearing a pair of black Calvin Klein underwear.
The bed dips as Garrett gets into the bed, pulling the covers over his body. He waits another long minute before he says, “C’mere.”
Hesitant, you lift your head. His tired eyes burn into yours. He pats the spot beside him, and you crawl slowly, like a dog, until you’re beside him. He lifts the covers so you can slide your body next to you. You sniffle, wiping your tears, as you lay your head on his chest.
“I’m sorry.” You apologize, not forgetting to add, “Garrett.”
“I know, baby, you're just overwhelmed. Let’s go to sleep.”
Summary: a new neighbour moves in and changes everything.
Character: Frank Castle
Warnings: dubcon, noncon, NSFW. This is a dark drabble like most of my stuff so take this as your warning to stop reading.
Part of the Trailer Park AU
Please leave a comment and reblog. Or send an anon ask! Always happy to hear from y'all. ♥️❤️
“Better not forget nothing this time.” Your grandma huffs as she shifts, grimacing at the fraying straps of the lawn chair.
You don’t argue. You didn’t forget, you told her, they were sold out. You crinkle the paper in your hand, alongside a single twenty dollar bill. There will be a dollar thirty eight in change as long as you buy exactly what she wrote down. She’ll be sure to tally up the coins herself when you get back.
“I got the list.” You assure her.
“By all means, drag your feet.” She snorts.
“I’m going. Won’t be long.” You say.
You head for the door with a reusable bag around your elbow. You pull the door shut behind you until the clasp clicks loudly. You tuck your handful into your jeans skirt pocket, the hem just above your ankles.
“Headed out early, huh?” Frank sits on his steps, a coffee cup in his hands. It looks tiny in his grip; two fingers and thumb to keep it steady.
“Mmhmm. Groceries.” You murmur as you descend the stairs.
“Oh yeah? Got that on my agenda too. Want a ride into town?” He looks into his mug then dumps the dregs of the coffee.
“Um, no, it’s okay. I always walk.”
“Only makes sense. Goin’ in the same direction. Which store you hit up?” He stands and sets the cup on the barbeque.
“I can go…”
“Ah now, let me do ya the favour,” he insists. “Let me just grab my keys, sugar.” He climbs the steps and flicks open the screen door. He reaches inside and swipes up his keys with a jingle. He pulls the interior door shut behind him and locks it.
“It’s… nice of you. Thank you.”
“Nothin’,” he says as he waves you toward his truck.
He opens the passenger door and waits. You grab the inside and the edge of the seat. You haul yourself up as his hand grazes your side and hip. “Don’t wanna fall.”
“Thanks,” you slide into the seat and fold the empty bag on your lap.
“Don’t forget to buckle up.” He claps your thighs softly. “This thing’s got a kick.”
He shuts the door and you pull down the seatbelt. You click it in as he rounds the hood and swings back the driver’s door. He climbs in and snaps the door shut. He shoves his keys in the ignition and turns the engine so it rumbles to life.
“Ah, can’t forget,” he sits back and straps himself in.
He grips the ridge steering wheel with one hand and cranks the manual stick with the other. The truck jerks between gears and he reverses off his lot. You shrink into yourself as you clutch the reusable shopping bag.
“So, where we shopping?” He asks.
You chew your lip. “Lucky’s.” The store is named for its stock; the dent and irregular packaging not good enough for the other stores, but sold at a decent discount.
“I drove past it on my way in.” He drives through the park slowly. “Quiet town. Not like the city.”
You glance over at him. It must be boring here to him. It’s boring to you.
“New York boy,” he chuckles. “Wouldn’t go back if you dragged me.”
You nod. “Oh.”
“Eh, y’know. No one ever likes where they grew up.”
You shrug. “I… guess.”
He inhales and turns onto the dirt road just outside the park. “So, you been with grandma how long?”
You wiggle your foot. You trace your thumb along the seam of your bag. “Since… Since I was thirteen…” You answer.
“If you don’t wanna talk about it… I’m only curious.”
“No, it’s… no one asks… I guess.” You clear your throat as the engine roars. “Sorry if I’m… quiet.” You gulp. “My dad dropped me off. Didn’t come back. He had a girlfriend and I don’t think she liked me.”
“Hmm. Now that’s just cruel, isn’t it?” He tuts. “Well, you know, parents are…messy. Mine tried their best but they weren’t the problem.”
He pumps the pedals as he smoothly switches gears and flies down the country road. You watch the trees and brush blur by. Fields of overgrown grass and weeds lean in the breeze.
“I don’t think about it. I just try to help.” You say. “Grandma… I get it. She didn’t want another kid around. Doesn’t really matter.”
“Does it not or do you think I don’t care, sugar?” He asks as he slows, approaching the edge of the town centre.
“Just doesn’t,” you insist.
“Sure, sure,” he accepts evenly.
He finds his way to the bargain grocer. He comes around your side of the truck before you can get the door open. He holds your arm as you get down. You’re happy for it, not realising until your feet hit the pavement hard how high it was.
You cross the parking lot together. You feel self-conscious as locals pass by and stare at Frank. Newcomers are always noticed. You aren’t.
You unfold your list as you get inside and Frank grabs a cart. You pace beside him as he stops to knock on a cantaloupe. “When I was in the sh— field, we barely got fresh fruit. It was always dehydrated or pureed and sealed in tubes.” He trades the melon for one that sounds better. “I appreciate the little things now. Fresh melon, sunny days, friendly neighbours.”
“Oh, yeah…” you babble.
As you peruse the baskets of produce, you notice an older lady, Caroline, staring over the grapefruit. Your face goes hot and you quickly look down at the pears. Does she think you and Frank… you could laugh. That’s a silly idea.
“Don’t ya need some fruit?” Frank asks as he picks out several plums and puts them in a paper bag.
“It’s not on the list.” You look down. It’s all non-perishables aside from the bread.
He leans over and you try to hide the paper. Too late. He pinches the corner and reads the roster of items, with the prices and exact sizes and brands beside them.
“Isn’t much.” He says.
You tug it away. “It’s fine.”
“Here, let me get ya some cherries. It’s the season.”
“You don’t– you shouldn’t.”
“I wanna.” He says as he grabs a bag. “‘Less you don’t like them.”
You’re quiet. You look around. “You just feel sorry for me.”
“What you say?” He grits.
“I like cherries,” you relent.
He puts them in the cart. “I don’t feel sorry for ya.” He says. “I just think you deserve some nice things. Something to enjoy.” He grabs the cart handle. “Cause you know what goes good with cherries? Them little shortcakes and whipped cream.”
Summary: a new neighbour moves in and changes everything.
Character: Frank Castle
Warnings: dubcon, noncon, NSFW. This is a dark drabble like most of my stuff so take this as your warning to stop reading.
Part of the Trailer Park AU
Please leave a comment and reblog. Or send an anon ask! Always happy to hear from y'all. ♥️❤️
“There y’are, Magdaline,” Frank claps off his hands as he finishes transferring the last bunch of pansies.
“Wow. A neanderthal can use tools,” your grandma harangues smugly.
“Ah, ya know, I figured it out,” Frank’s tone is cool. “Almost looks like a real lady lives her and not some old witch.”
Your grandma scoffs. She’s quiet for a moment as she moves her crochet hooks. “Smart ass.” She mutters.
Frank shrugs. “Well, I should let you ladies enjoy the evening. I gotta go clean up.”
“So does she. Look at her nails. Dirt all under em, paint all over her.” Your grandma chides. “Grown and all but still actin’ like a damn child.”
You cringe and hide your hands behind you, gripping your wrist tight. “Uh… thank you, Frank.”
“Anytime.” He assures.
“Ya mean it? Get this girl outta my hair?” Your grandma cackles. “Godsend.”
You chew your lip and smile tightly. “Ha, your funny, gran.”
Frank’s thick brow tweaks just a little. “Ya, well, I've taken up enough of your time today.” He gives a salute.
He turns and stalks back to his trailer. His back and arms muscles bulge with each subtle swing of his arms. You clutch your wrist even tighter and turn to your grandma. “I like the boxes, don't you?”
“Man's got too much time. That's what happens when all you're good for is the service.” She clucks. “My second husband was a Navy prick. The one before you were around. Limp fish, that one.” She spits and reaches her arm out. “Come on, help me off my damn ass.”
You grab her head and get her up. She shoves her crochet into your chest and a needle pokes your neck, the hook scratching you good. She growls and shuffles around the chair and inside.
“Could use some tea.” She grits.
You follow her in and out her crochet on the table. You flip on the electric kettle and hurry out to get her chair. It folds around your finger and you grunt. You haul it inside as your grandmother coughs.
“You sure are slow. Bet you let that man do all the work.” She sneers.
“No, I… helped.” You push her lawn chair until it locks again. You grab her pillow and throw blanket as she drops into it, the frame creaking.
“Sure. You don't really have a concept of help.” She groans and leans back.
You go to the kitchen and wait on the water. You learned long ago not to argue. She wasn't always wrong, was she?
You make her tea how she likes, with the last of the milk. You sit at your desk and yawn over your half-shaped frame. You want it to be a sparrow but it's taking a lot of work.
You're too tired to do more than sort through your gathered supplies. You're like a crow, out searching for shiny things. Your grandmother slurps and picks up her latest crime novel.
After a while, you relent and lay down on the folding couch where you sleep. She keeps her lamp on and reads well into the night, even after you change into your pajamas. You drift off into dreams painted the same yellow as the day’s sunlight.
You hear Frank’s timbre but can’t make out his words. Almost as if he’s not saying anything at all but just making noises. You can see his shadow, then his thick hands, his forearms lined with tendons and veins that strain with the tension of his grip. You don’t know what he’s holding onto but you feel a tingle in your stomach.
You wake, disoriented and thirsty as heck. It's from all that time in the sun. You grab a glass of water as your grandmother gives a start and picks up her book again. You go outside, afraid to disturb her.
You sit with your glass of water on the front steps. It's quiet. The way it gets when everyone's asleep. You can see a raccoon creeping across another lot.
You sip slowly, the scratch on your throat fading. The evening is balmy as the day's heat clings on stubbornly. You set the glass down and cup your chin, elbows on your knees.
“Crazy… always have been…” the grizzly grumble startles you. “Old man…”
You glance over and see the shadow near Frank's step. It's him. You can tell by his silhouette alone. He's running his hands through his hair, his back to you as he rambles to himself. It reminds you of your dream and the quivery sensation.
“Gotta be nice.” His voice rolls like distant thunder.
He paces back and forth. You can't help but wonder if he means your grandma. She can be a bit out there and she's not the nicest.
He stops again. He turns and you swear he’s looking right at you. He doesn’t seem to notice you as he drags his hands over his beard. He shifts on his feet and groans. He rubs his neck and tilts his head to crack it.
He huffs and retreats inside. You sit in the silence and stare at his trailer. His window opens but he doesn’t look out. It just lets out the soft amber glow of the light within.
You wait a few minutes before you go back inside. You rinse your glass and lay down. Your grandma sighs. “Why didn't ya tell me it was so late, girl?”
She gets to and throws the book so it hits the edge of the table and falls. You flinch and listen to her stomp to her room. When you do bother to mention the time, she retorts dryly that she can still read a clock.
You close your eyes. Nothing you do will make her happy. You never expect it to but if there’s nothing to complain about, she might forget you’re around. And if she does that, life would be a lot easier.
Warning: power imbalance, dark content, obsession, and all around sexiness.
Summary: your boss is a hard man to please. (actor!bucky, assistant reader)
I always see this gif and wanna write something so here we go.
Hi! Please please please reblog and leave some feedback if you read! I love you 💕
"That was good." Peter sighs in relief as he steps off the sound stage. "Right? Good?"
"Oh yeah, buddy. A real charmer when you want to be." Bucky slaps his back, hard. Peter's eyes widen as he stumbles just a step.
"Just followed your lead," peter chuckles nervously.
"Sounds like a drink earned." Bucky stays. "On me. I know this place. It's where I talked Fowler into giving me this role."
"Really? I auditioned twelve times." Peter says.
"It was all just a formality. I know what kinda scotch he likes." Bucky shrugs.
You don't recall this but to be honest, a lot of your time with Bucky is a blur now. You'll be all too happy to forget them. You pull out your phone.
"Well, I'll leave you two to it then." You say. "I gotta get stuff together for tomorrow. And sleep."
"You're not coming?" Peter asks.
"Um, no. Doesn't sound like business. You two have a good time."
"Bummer," Peter pouts. You realise, he might be intimidated by Bucky but you're over being a buffer. Besides, you know Bucky doesn't actually want to have drinks with the clueless heart throb.
"She's a busy lady, isn't she?" Bucky scoffs. "Boys' night. You still gotta tell me about this special lady of yours."
"Alright, have a good one. Your hotel key is in your pocket, right?" You say.
"Got it," Peter assures as he pays around, panicked until he feels the card in his back pocket.
"Bright and early," Bucky chirps and smacks Peter's arm. Hard. "I'll get him back nice and safe. Have a good night, sweetie."
You hesitate at that pet name. Peter glanced over at Bucky curiously. You give a wave and turn on your heel. Any longer with the jerk and you might throw yourself in a canal.
🎞️
The buzz sinks into your subconscious. It's a recurring nightmare for you. Your phone is always vibrating in your dreams, a haunting constant in your waking hours.
It doesn't stop. Your eyes roll open and you groan as you push the sheet away from your waist. It's humid even as a soft breeze flows through the open window.
You reach for your phone. It's one in the morning and Peter is calling. He's usually in bed by now unless there's an after party.
You answer but not before you realise it's a video call. The shine of your phone limbs your sleepy face in the lower corner as youre'rmet with Peter giggling then gagging as he bends over. You hear his puke spew onto the Venice cobble stones.
"Damn, sweetie, looks like you should come get your boy." Bucky snickers off camera. "Can't quite handle his Grappa."
You stifle a yawn and sit up dizzily. "What did you do?" Your voice is crisp in your throat.
"We were just having a good time. When's the last time you did?" He taunts. "Woah, kid, don't fall."
Bucky's hand comes into frame and grabs Peter's arm before he can tip head first into the stone work.
"Bucky, he's... Messed up."
"You'd know about messing a guy up, wouldn't you?" He snarls.
You sigh and push off the bed. "I'm on my way."
He clucks. "Jeez, sweetie, I don't remember you being so worried for me."
You shake your head as you put your phone down to aim at the ceiling. "Where are you?"
"Really, when did you ever give such a shit about me?"
"Bucky, please--"
"You fucking quit. Coward." He growls.
"I remember well helping your drunk ass to bed the last night I suffered working for you." You snap. "It's over. Just... Leave me alone and tell me where the hell you are."
He's quiet. You pull on a loose midi dress and swipe up your phone. "Bucky, where--"
You see Peter sitting on the ground, head hanging. "I'm so... Drunk." He hiccups.
"Wanna know something?" Bucky flips the camera and stares you down through the phone. "I wasn't fucking drunk." His blue eyes bore through the lens. "I was giving you your grand opportunity."
"What are you even talking about? Just tell me where to find you--"
"You coulda been under me, doll. You still could be. Let me tell you, it's a hell of a lot better than this bullshit. Baby sitting this human disaster," he turns the phone and snorts. "All you had to do was look after me and my needs. You know, there's women all over who'd love one night in my goddamn bed."
"Just tell me where you are," you beg.
He sighs and faces the camera again. "All I wanted was to feel you."
You sniff. You flip around your apps. There. You can see Peter's location. It was his idea since he was so bad at giving directions.
"I'm on my way.”
You hang up and snatch up your purse. You clasp the strap between your hand as you hurry through the slanted hallways. You race down the steep stairs and out into the tepid night.
The only way across the canal are the smaller boats meant for couples on romantic outings. You pay the fare to get across and climb up onto the cobbles. You follow the dot on the app. By the time you get to them, Peter’s laying on the edge of a fountain, his phone beside him. Alone.
Bucky just left him like this? What the fuck?
You got to Peter and turn his face up. His lashes flutter. You scoop a palmful of water from the fountain and splash it over him as you call his name. His eyes open and he yelps.
“I love youuuuu.” He slurs then sits up, wobbling. “Oh… it’s you.”
“Peter, are you okay?” You hold onto his arm.
“Huh?”
“Where’s Bucky?” You ask.
“Huh?” He echoes again.
“Peter…” You huff. You pick up his phone and put it in your purse. “Can you walk?”
“Can I… did something happen to my legs?” He gasps.
“No, you’re drunk. Peter–”
“I… I can try.” He babbles and his head starts to droop.
“No, no.” You grab his arm and stand, tugging him. “Let’s go.”
He manages to stand, leaning on you as he can’t quite lift his head all the way. You angle him around and make slow staggering progress to the canal. You catch another ride, this one swaying with Peter’s inebriated tilts, and you struggle to get him up on the other side.
You get to his hotel and the stairs have you out of breath and ready to give up. You move slowly down the hall and get him inside his room. You put him on his stomach across the bed and put the bin next to it. You place his phone on the night stand.
“Peter,” you rub his shoulder. “I’m gonna get you some water, okay?”
You stand up and back away, watching him as he gurgles senselessly. You turn at the door and all at once, you're snagged around the back of your neck, a hand across your mouth. Bucky smirks at you as he hushes you through his teeth.
“Looks like the boy dropped his room key… I was just coming to return it.” He growls. “So… how are you gonna thank me, doll?”
You work at a nursing home in Manchester. It’s a quiet job, but you enjoy it, even if you’re just an administrator. One day, one of your residents gets a visit from a 6”2, masked, military man who bulldozes his way into your life.
Simon Riley isn't exactly what you'd call boyfriend material.
masterlist ❤️ ao3
tags: angst, fluff, referenced/implied sa (not graphic), violence, past trauma, elderly character in a care home, explicit sexual content, bdsm elements, female reader, reader has a deceased father, readers step dad is a pervert, Simon's brother is a dick, military inaccuracies, cod lore inaccuracies, dark fic
part 1/3, word count: 10.6k
part 2
part 3
“Don’t stare. That’s Mrs. Riley’s son. He won’t appreciate it.”
Your mouth was open as he walked through the entrance doors and into the reception area of the care home.
He was over 6 foot, the top of his head nearly brushing the lintel as he entered. He was as broad as he was tall, wearing tan cargo trousers, boots laced tight and uniform, and a black crewcut t shirt that showed every muscle on his torso. His biceps were large, easily the size of your head, and his left arm had a full sleeve of black tattoos. He was also wearing a black cap, with the peak facing forward, and a black surgical mask, the type you hadn’t seen on a civilian since the pandemic days. The cap was pulled low over his eyes, so you could barely make out an inch of his face.
“That’s her son?” You asked, turning to your line manager, Julia, who seemed far more interested in her chart than the militant, mysterious man who had just walked into reception. “The ‘sweet boy who looks after me ever so well’?” You quoted Mrs. Riley directly, from the conversation you’d had with her just this morning.
Mrs. Riley had moved into the care home you worked at as an administrator less than a week ago. She had no end-of-life ailments, she was just a sweet old lady who needed more care around the house than could be provided by her children. She was quiet, but also kind, and she spoke non-stop of her son, her sweet Simon, who would be visiting her any day now. You’d expected a kindly, baby-faced young man, not the hard muscled hulk of a man who was clenching his fists and surveying the reception area like he expected assassins to jump out from behind the magazine racks.
“He might be sweet.” Nicole, a young care assistant, leant over the reception desk to join in on your conversation, her eyes glued to your new arrival. “He’s hot, that’s for sure.”
“So sweet he put his mum in a care home.” Julia reminded you both, with raised eyebrows.
“He’s military.” You said. “Must be away a lot, right? Maybe there was no other choice. He’s paying for it all, apparently.”
You blinked when both of the girls stared at you.
“What?” You asked.
“How do you know he’s in the military?”
“Oh.” You blushed a little. “His bootlaces. My dad served in Afghanistan before he died.”
“No wonder you’re still single if you’re looking at his laces.”
“Nicole! You can’t say – Oh shit, he’s coming over.”
“Haha, bye!”
Julia and Nicole suddenly disappeared from the reception desk and you fought off the urge to curse them as you saw that the scary looking man was indeed walking over to you. He stopped in front of the desk, looming over it, and you. You peered up at him looking down on you, eyes shadowed under the cap and above the mask. They were brown, and hooded in a sort of resigned boredom. You felt like you were standing at the bottom of a mountain and looking up at the peak.
“Are you still allowing visitors, ma’am? I’m later than I was expecting to be.”
His accent was gruff, cockney, low and muffled incrementally by the mask he wore. It wasn’t out of place to wear a mask in a care home, and it was easy to believe that he was just being cautious, but everything from his attire to his guarded, boxy stance and the cagey look in his eyes told you he did not want to be looked at.
“Oh.” You were caught off guard by such a polite question from someone who looked like they could snap you like a dry twig – who looked like they did snap people like dry twigs on a regular basis.
You glanced at the clock. 3.40pm.
“There’s still 20 minutes left.” You opened the sign in book and pushed it across the desk with a pen. “Could you sign in here, please?”
He took the pen and you noticed that he was wearing gloves. Black gloves with skeletal hands printed on them, mimicking where the bones would be under his flesh.
He wrote his name down in the next available box. Simon Riley. Your eyes travelled over his arms while he did. They were thick with muscle, his tattoo sleeve was made up of skulls and guns, his biceps were vascular. The sound of the book being pushed back across the desk made you blink and look up. He was staring at you, his brown eyes hard as flint, and clearly unimpressed that he’d caught you staring.
“Uh, thanks.” You blushed, looking down at the book. He’d written 3.41pm as the sign in time and left the sign out time blank. Feeling guilty, you wrote 4pm down in the sign out box.
“There. You signed out at 4pm. You can stay as long as you like.”
His eyes wavered.
“Thanks.” It was a short, gruff remark and you knew that you weren’t forgiven for your misstep, but you could also tell that he hadn’t been expecting the generous action.
He walked from the desk without another word and through the second set of doors to the resident’s rooms like he’d been there before. Every single person in the reception stared at him until he disappeared and he didn’t acknowledge any of them. Maybe they were too short for him to see.
The next time you saw him was a little after 5pm. The reception was largely empty now, but even so, he was hard to miss – tall and built and intimidating. You glanced up on instinct and were surprised to find his eyes on you. He didn’t drop the eye contact, giving you a curt nod before he left through the double doors.
You blushed furiously, a result of that burning gaze.
…
He came back two days later.
You hadn’t expected it at all, bent down behind the reception desk to retrieve a file for Nicole, before straightening up and nearly jumping out of your skin when you saw the imposing figure of Simon Riley standing in front of the desk, unnaturally still like a statue. He was wearing jeans this time, and a black hoodie that was zipped up all the way, the hood pulled up over his head. He was still wearing the same black surgical mask and black skeletal gloves. You could see a tuft of blond hair peaking out from under his hood. The sight of his forehead gave you more of an indication of his age. He looked younger than you’d initially suspected. He looked different from the last time you’d seen him, too, if only for the fact that he was chuckling quietly.
“Scare you?” He asked rhetorically. The timbre of his voice struck you all over again. Gravelly. Deep. Like he’d been punched in the throat and never recovered.
“Yeah, sorry.” You shook your head, trying to not blush again and probably failing spectacularly. “Didn’t even hear you.”
He chuckled again, but this time to himself, like he was enjoying a quiet joke that you weren’t in on.
“Visiting mum?” You asked, putting Nicole’s file to the side and reaching for the sign in book.
“No, I’m here for the jelly.”
“It’s good jelly, understandable.” You joked, picking up on his sarcastic remark.
His eyes narrowed at your response, not in a nasty way, but rather like he was sizing you up.
He wrote his name down in the book and pushed it back to you.
“What do I call you?” He asked, inclining his head down to the book as you closed it and put it away.
It felt like you told him your name under duress. Did he even realise how intimidating his eyes were? How intense? Maybe they weren’t, maybe it was just particularly striking because you couldn’t see the rest of his face. You burned with the question of why he wore the mask. He was a big guy, and very attractive in a terrifying sort of way. You supposed his size and his razor straight confidence spoke to your cavewoman instincts, but then his guarded attitude and attire spoke to your gut instincts, and neither one of them could figure out what was more important.
You couldn’t imagine he was ugly, though, his eyes were too nice for him to be ugly.
He nodded in acknowledgment of your name before he took off for the resident’s rooms. You were so distracted by him that you nearly jumped again when the next person asked for your help, and you could even see them this time.
The third time you saw Simon Riley was outside of the entrance, on your way inside.
You were running late to your shift – your stupid bus hadn’t turned up and forced you to use a later service – clutching your bag, your coat and your water bottle and succeeding in tripping over your own feet in your haste to get inside.
“Easy.” It was a gruff voice in your ear and a firm hand gripping your upper arm and keeping you still as your water bottle tumbled out of your grip, rolled across the concrete ground and hit the brick wall of the building.
you recognised that coarse accent immediately and looked up to see Simon peering down at you curiously. He wasn’t wearing his hoodie this time, probably with it being a relatively warm day in drizzly Manchester. His shirt was crewcut, simple, black, and his surgical mask and cap were covering most of his face and head, the hand gripping your arm was gloved. Those damn skeletal gloves. Your eyes tracked the ink staining his skin as you looked at his tattoo sleeve, and it was only under the natural light that you really noticed the scars littering his flesh. Some of them were puckered marks and others were long, thin lines, pale white and pink and red, depending on how old and how big and how deep they were.
He released your arm and you blinked. He was unwaveringly still. You hoped he hadn’t noticed you staring at the scars on his arm, but you doubted that you’d gotten away with it. He seemed to notice everything, even now, his eyes were tracking your every movement.
This was the first time you’d been next to Simon without a desk between you and it made him so much bigger now. He was broad, he was eclipsing the sun in the sky behind him as he towered over you. You could smell him now. Soap. Deodorant. Something tangy you couldn’t quite put your finger on.
“Thank you.” You said. He grunted and looked away from you and it was like the spell was over and your brain could finally focus on something else other than endless brown pools.
You spotted your water bottle by the wall and began to rearrange your bag and your coat to give yourself a free hand. You heard boots on concrete and watched as Simon walked a few steps and picked your bottle up. It looked tiny in his hand. He didn’t hand it back to you, instead he walked to the entrance doors and stood in front of them, letting his weight trigger the sensors that opened them.
“After you.” He said, inclining his head inside, his eyes still focused on you, like you were the only thing in the world.
“Oh, thank you.” You hurried forward, pink-cheeked, and he watched you pass him and trailed behind you.
Julia stared at you as you approached the desk, so did a few others, but Simon was only looking at you as he held his hand out. You took your bottle back.
“Thank you.” You said again, not even realising that you were repeating yourself. You just couldn’t relax around him. He was too big; his gaze was too intense. His aura was off, somehow. Different to anyone you’d ever met before. It was something that made him…dangerous? You weren’t sure. Not safe. That was more accurate.
“Got the book?” He asked gruffly.
Julia passed it to you, and you tried not to look flustered as you opened it. Simon wrote his name and the time in, left the pen on the desk, nodded at you, and then disappeared through the doors and down the hall. Simon Riley was enemy number one to lingering, apparently.
“He gives me the creeps.” Julia said, inciting a murmur of agreement from your surrounding colleagues.
You walked around the desk silently. You hung up your coat and put your bag down under your chair.
“Why does he cover his face?” Someone murmured.
“Probably dental, knowing this country.” A man replied.
“Or he’s on the run from the police.” A particularly salacious suggestion. “Can you imagine?”
“Why would he be on the run from the police?”
“Fucking size of him. Looks like he’d attack anyone who got too close.”
“He’s got cruel eyes. Only part of him you can see.”
“Should we even be leaving him alone with Mrs. Riley?”
You put your water bottle down on the desk far harder than necessary. Everyone stopped talking and stared at you. You were staring at the bottle, where the metal had scuffed where it had rolled across the concrete.
“Alright, love?” Julia asked kindly. “I was worried about you when you didn’t clock in.”
“Yeah.” You said blankly. “Sorry. Bus was late.”
…
The paramedics swarmed in down the corridor and you got yourself out of the way, watching a little helplessly as Nicole hurried past you and followed them.
You went back to the reception desk, still trying to look through the doors and down the corridor like it might give you any answers.
“What’s happened?” Julia asked, coming out of the back office.
“Mrs. Riley fell.” You explained. “She got out of bed to use the bathroom and tumbled.”
“Is she okay?” Julia looked concerned.
“I don’t know.” You admitted. “I hope so.”
It was a little over an hour later when Nicole came to the desk, the paramedics filing out behind her and leaving the care home.
“Is everything okay?” You asked.
Nicole nodded before she spoke.
“Yeah, she’s fine. Nothing is broken, thank god. The paramedics looked at her heart and her blood pressure, and they don’t think she needs to go to the hospital, we just have to monitor her for the next twelve hours to make sure.”
You nodded, relieved it wasn’t more serious. She was a tough girl, Mrs. Riley, it must have run in the family.
“We should call-“
“Already have.” Nicole interjected. “He’s on his way.”
“Right, good.”
“Listen, I’ve got to check on the other residents. Sally phoned in sick and Joe got called to another home last minute. I don’t suppose you could sit with her for a little bit? I know it’s not your job, but…”
“It’s fine.” You assured her immediately. “Go, I’ll sit in as long as I need to.”
She gave you a grateful smile before leaving the reception. You headed through the doors and to Mrs. Riley’s room, knocking gently.
“Mrs. Riley?” You called softly, opening the door and closing it gently behind you. “I heard you had a little fall.”
Mrs. Riley looked fine to you, if a little drawn out and tired. She was in her 70’s, her blonde hair greyed, and she smiled when she saw you.
“Oh, hello, my darling. Yes, it’s all a big fuss over nothing.”
“It wasn’t a fuss, they were keeping you safe.” You smiled as you perched on a chair beside her bed. Her skin crinkled around her brown eyes as she laughed.
“Don’t tell me they’ve asked you to babysit me, darling. You’ve got important work to do.”
“I certainly have.” You agreed. “I’ve got to spend time with you. I thought I could sneak in here and we could watch a few episodes of All Creatures Great and Small."
Mrs. Riley’s eyes lit up at the mention of her favourite show. You sat with her for the best part of an hour while Mrs. Riley ate strawberry jelly from her food tray and you were both discussing what good marriage material Siegfried would make when the door opened and Simon stormed in. He was wearing a black hoodie, but he looked soaked through. You weren’t surprised, with the rain lashing down on the windows.
His eyes looked wild, concerned, before narrowing into slits as he walked straight past you and knelt down by the bed.
“Oh, my sweet Simon.” Mrs. Riley cooed, taking his face in her hands and pulling his hood down. He had short, blond hair. You looked away immediately, feeling as though you weren’t allowed to see. “You didn’t need to come all the way here.”
“Of course I did.” Simon’s voice cracked and your head whipped to them both, surprised by it. He was holding his mother’s wrists where she was holding his cheeks. His eyes were wide and open when he looked at her. “You scared me.”
“Silly boy.” She wiped rainwater from his eyes with her thumbs. “Sweet boy. Everything is fine.”
His eyes fluttered closed and your expression softened. It was like watching an entirely different person. That strange feeling that you’d gotten before, of danger and apprehension, it all melted away when you saw him like this, knelt and seeking comfort, a boy with his mum.
“I’m sorry I didn’t get here sooner.” He sounded infinitely more relaxed, his eyes still closed. “I was…”
“It’s okay. I know you’re busy. Your work is important.” She said. “I’ve been looked after.”
Mrs. Riley smiled at you, and Simon opened his eyes and looked at you, too. You swallowed, shuffling from one foot to the other. Simon’s burning gaze was one thing, but this open expression made you feel uncomfortable. Not because you didn’t like it, but because you knew you were intruding on something intimate and private and not meant for you.
“I’ll leave you to it.” You said quickly. “I’ll just be at the desk if you need anything.”
Simon turned his attention back to his mother and you shut the door and went back to the reception desk. You could hear your colleagues murmuring and you had a pretty good idea what they were talking about.
“Don’t any of you have any work to do?” You snapped. You earned yourself a few glares, and a few more surprised looks, but they slunk off and left you alone regardless.
The rain got heavier and heavier as the evening went on, so did the wind, until it felt like the building was swaying from side to side. When you clocked out, it was a little after midnight, and you were exhausted. You hated this late shift, the only one you did a week, because it was a little bit too close to the last bus of the night for your liking.
You collected your stuff and grimaced at the lashing rain as you pulled your coat hood up and walked outside. You were soaked within minutes, and halfway across the car park when you pulled your phone out, shielded it from the rain with your hand and pulled up your travel app. You groaned loudly.
“What’s wrong?”
You whirled around in the middle of the carpark. Simon was stood there, half-illuminated by a streetlight casting an orange glow down on the vicinity. If you thought he looked intimidating normally, in the rain at midnight was a different story.
“I didn’t know you were still here.” You said. He’d crept up on you again.
“Mum finally went to sleep.” He said, spitting rainwater from his surgical mask with every movement of his lips. “She made me watch a show about a goat. Or a vicar. I couldn’t figure it out.”
You laughed, losing the fight with the wind and letting your coat hood blow down, soaking your hair to your scalp.
“Why are you standing in the rain?” He asked you.
“My last bus got cancelled.” You said. “Severe weather alert.”
He might have grunted; it might have been the wind. “I’ll give you a lift.”
You blinked in surprise. He didn’t seem to be joking. Maybe you should have been more apprehensive of such an offer, maybe you might have been before, but after seeing him with his mother, you knew you didn’t have anything to fear.
“Are you sure? You don’t have to.”
“It’s pissing down.” He grunted, fishing his car keys from his pocket. Lights flashed on something big and black a few spaces down from where you were standing. “Get in.”
You didn’t argue any further. You opened the passenger door and climbed in. It was dry inside the car and you shuddered from the chill of the rain as Simon got into the driver’s side. The screen on the dash came to life, connecting to his phone as he put his seatbelt on. You could have sworn the word Ghost flashed up on the screen before he reached across and thumbed a plastic button with his gloved finger. You made a little noise of surprise and appreciation as warm air started to fill the car. You were soaked to the bone, your clothes sticking uncomfortably to you. You peeled your coat off and stuck your hands out in front of the warm jets of air.
“Thank you.” You said.
“You say that a lot.” Simon made no move to remove his wet hoodie or wet mask. He did peel a sodden glove off of one hand with the other one and brought it up to the screen, calling up a sat nav with his bare fingertips. His hand was normal. A man’s hand. He had long fingers and scars on his knuckles from years of flesh splitting with every punch thrown.
“Where am I going?” He asked, inclining his head to you.
You rattled off your address without even thinking about it, forgetting for a moment that this man was a complete stranger, and not just a stranger, but a stranger you were fairly sure was a soldier, which meant he’d probably killed people before.
Simon drove out of the car park and you watched the little pulsing light on his sat nav as it pointed in the direction of your flat with more intensity than you’d meant to. You didn’t know what else to do with your face.
“I’m not kidnapping you.” He said gruffly, as if reading your mind. “There are easier ways to do it than this.”
“Like what?” You asked with a quirked eyebrow.
“Chloroform, plastic bag, good old-fashioned choking. No need to waste time on sweet talking.” He glanced over to you.
You shivered, and not because you were scared.
“This is sweet talking?” You laughed.
“It worked on you.” He quipped.
You shook your head with a resigned laugh, rubbing your forehead and scowling at how wet your face was. You must have looked a state.
“Should I be worried you know so much about kidnapping?”
He chuckled, eyes back on the road ahead. “You’ve got a good sense of humour for a drowned rat.” He flicked on the indicator and turned down another road. The headlights illuminated the roads in front of you. “I’ve met my match.”
“Crack a lot of jokes, do you?”
“Sometimes, when duty calls.”
You looked over at him. He was concentrating on the road, his one gloved hand and his one bare hand gliding over the steering wheel.
“You’re in the army?” You ventured.
His eyes snapped to you, and you looked at the road ahead, your cheeks burning.
“How’d you figure that out?” He asked.
You shrugged, suddenly feeling a little embarrassed. “Dad was. You seem the type.”
He was silent for a long moment, and then: “I’m a Lieutenant.”
You nodded at the road, pleased that your intuition had been correct.
The conversation lapsed into silence after that, with neither of you really knowing what to say.
“Thanks,” Simon said finally. “For looking after mum.”
“Oh.” You fiddled with your fingers. “No problem. She’s lovely.”
It went quiet again, and soon after, Simon busied himself with slowing down to a crawl on your street, looking for your flat number. You opened your mouth to say that anywhere here was fine, but it only took him a moment to identify the building and pull up on the side of the road, right next to the front door.
“Safe and sound.” He said, looking at you. As soon as the car stopped moving, the rain began lashing even louder against the metal frame. It served to offset the comparative silence inside.
You gathered your sopping wet coat in your hands and thought about apologising for getting his passenger seat wet, but just the thought of the derisive look he’d give you stopped you. “Thanks, Simon.”
“Hmm.” He made a low noise, like he wasn’t expecting to hear his name. “Phone.” He said.
“What?” You asked.
“Your phone, give it to me.”
You passed your phone over with a bemused look on your face, wondering briefly if he was going to check it for bugs or something, but instead he just tapped the screen a few times and passed it back to you.
“My number.” He explained. “In case you get stranded again.”
You felt like it was a bizarre thank you gesture for sitting in with his mother, like some mafia-esque loyalty, and you were so confused by it that you forgot to realise that Simon had just given you his number.
“T-“
“Don’t say it.”
You pursed your lips, fighting off a smile.
Simon was looking you up and down, and you thought he was going to tell you something, before he apparently decided against it, looking back at the dashboard instead.
“Go on, get inside before you catch a cold.”
You hoped he’d never heard the way the people at the nursing home spoke about him. You also had no idea why that thought popped into your head at this moment.
“Yes, sir.” You smirked at him, opening the car door and hoping out. “Getting inside, sir.”
Simon shook his head, and then he laughed. “You’re a fucking nightmare, girl.” He said, and it might have been the first time you’d heard such warmth in his voice.
You gave him a stupid smile before you shut the door. You watched him drive away before you let yourself into your flat. You wanted to grimace at the wet clothes clinging to you, or scowl at how tired you were, but you didn’t.
You just smiled.
…
The days passed, and you didn’t see Simon again.
He didn’t come into the care home at all and you briefly wondered if he was actively avoiding your shift schedule, maybe regretting giving you his number, until Nicole lamented that she hadn’t seen the hot army man in a few days.
You supposed it was a little odd, he didn’t usually leave it this long between his visits, but then you didn’t really know him at all and this could have been completely normal behaviour. You didn’t look up every time the entrance doors opened, you certainly didn’t scan the car park every time you walked across it, and you definitely didn’t check his contact in your phone to see if he’d messaged you and the notification hadn’t popped up. What you did admit to doing was appreciate that you were acting like a schoolgirl, and that it needed to stop.
Luckily, the perfect distraction was right on the horizon. It was your mother’s 60th birthday party at the weekend and she’d invited you and other family and friends to a garden party at your childhood home. The forecast was for sun.
You went to the shops after work, buying her an expensive perfume she favoured, and a box of her favourite chocolates. You picked a card that was purple, with a teddy bear on the front holding a love heart that said, ‘I love you, mum!’ on it in gold print. You thought about all of the older women at the care home that spoke incessantly of their children who you’d never seen visit, and your chest constricted a little. You loved your mum, she was the only parent you had left, and you were only just realising how much you were neglecting your precious time together.
Saturday came around quickly. It was indeed as sunny outside as the forecast had predicted and you put on a cute sundress with yellow flowers and a little bit of makeup before you made your way to your childhood home. It wasn’t far from where you lived now.
You said hello to your mum and gave her her gifts. She hugged you before you went into the garden. There was a gazebo up over a table full of ice buckets, prosecco and finger food. A fair few of your relatives were already ploughing through the prosecco, judging by the raucous laughter you could hear.
“Hey there, gorgeous.” Your stepdad flung his arm around your shoulder and pulled you against his side.
“Oh, hi Clive.” You said, trying to hide your uncomfortable wince as he stroked his thumb over your bare upper arm. Your mum had married Clive a few years ago. You were happy for her, that she wasn’t alone anymore and she had someone to look after her, but you’d never exactly gotten on. He’d always lingered around you, and you didn’t like it.
Finally, he released you and you side-stepped away, nearly jumping when your mum offered you a glass of chilled prosecco, which you took and sipped quickly.
It didn’t take long for a gaggle of aunts and cousins to surround you, asking you questions about work and probing questions about your personal life because, of course, being unmarried and childless at your age was the hot topic of discussion at any event.
“Are you seeing anyone?” Your auntie asked you, and everyone in the immediate vicinity stared at you like your answer would hold the secrets of the universe.
“No, no, not at the minute.”
“There must be someone you like. Are there any nice men at that care home you work at?”
You blushed. “None under the age of 70.”
The tirade of questions began again, about how you couldn’t wait around forever to get married and how the biological clock was ticking, and Clive putting his hand on your shoulder made you jump.
“Come on, why don’t you help me check on the chicken, sweetheart?” He gave you a toothy smile and a knowing wink.
“Yeah, okay.” Goosepimples erupted on your flesh but then he dropped your shoulder and the pair of you went into the kitchen. You sipped your drink as he opened the oven and checked on the chicken roasting inside. It smelt pretty good, actually.
“Thank you for saving me.” You rolled your eyes at the absurdity of it.
“It’s okay.” He grinned. “Those vultures should know better. You’ll find someone when the time is right, there’s no point rushing it.” He lent against the counter, crossing his arms, and looked you up and down. You suddenly regretted the yellow sundress you were wearing, wishing instead for trousers and a hoodie. “You’ve grown up into a beautiful young woman, you won’t have any trouble finding a man.”
“Thanks.” You forced a smile, trying to relax. You were sure he didn’t realise how creepy he actually came across, especially when he was married to your mother. Some people were just overly friendly, right?
“Just being honest, sweetheart. You’ll attract any man looking like that.” He smirked, toothy and wide. “And not for nothing, but your tits look great in that dress.”
It was either like the planet slowing down to a stop or having ice cold water thrown on top of you, you couldn’t quite tell. Your stepdad was still grinning that lechery grin at you, chuckling at his joke. You weren’t laughing.
“Come on, let’s go back outside before anyone wonders what we’re up to.” He waggled his eyebrows at you. You started to walk outside of the kitchen like an automaton, like your feet were made of lead. You felt him walking behind you, and then you felt his hand trailing down your back. You nearly snapped the neck of your prosecco glass.
He left you alone in the garden, finding a group of your uncles to talk to, and you just stood there for a moment, wondering what the fuck you were supposed to do. Did you tell your mum? Were you overreacting? Would she be mad at you for ruining her birthday?
Your heart was thumping in your chest. You felt like you were going to be sick. After an age, you made a decision. You had to get out of there or your prosecco was going to make a reappearance. You needed to go home and then find the biggest jumper you owned and cover up forever.
“Mum.” You said. Both your mum and Clive looked up at you. He was draped over her. His eyes tracked down your chest. You held your glass strategically.
“Yes, love?” She beamed at you. You felt like the world’s biggest arsehole. Why couldn’t you just let it go?
“Um, I’m really sorry but I’m going to have to go, my last bus leaves in half an hour.” A total lie, they were running every half hour until midnight, but you couldn’t think of any other way of leaving without inevitably having to explain why.
“Oh, love.” Your mum’s face dropped.
“It’s alright.” Clive said, hugging your mum closer to his side. “I’ll drop you back whenever you want, you can stay as long as you like.”
“Oh, that’s kind.” Your mum’s face brightened up. “Isn’t that kind, sweetheart? You can stay for food. I don’t see you enough as it is.”
“Yeah, sounds great.” You forced a smile. There was no way of getting out of this now, and now you had to sit in a car with him, to where you lived, to where you lived alone.
You hovered by the drinks table, necking prosecco’s and wondering what the hell you were meant to do.
You were sure Clive would never try anything, but you sure as hell didn’t want to put it to chance. How were you meant to escape? How were you meant to convince that prick to leave you alone? You weren’t scary or intimidating.
You got your phone out and blamed it entirely on the alcohol when you pulled up Simon’s number. You stared at it for a long time. Did you really want to do this? Would he even come? Why did you want him to? You hadn’t seen him in nearly two weeks, what if he’d forgotten all about you.
He’d given you this number in case you got stranded again. He wanted you to contact him if you needed help.
The image of Simon’s brown eyes flashed across your mind, that burning look he always gave you. You were sure he’d hurt people, but not you, he’d look after you.
You dialed before you could talk yourself out of it, knowing that he wouldn’t answer.
He answered on the second ring.
“Hello?” That coarse accent. The greeting was barked.
“Simon.” You whispered into the receiver. “It’s me.”
There was a beat of silence, just a beat.
“What’s happened?”
“Can you come and get me please?” You really blamed the alcohol, you knew you’d start crying if he said no.
“Where are you?”
You were surprised, relieved, excited. You rattled off your mum’s address quickly.
“I’m on the way. Are you safe?”
It struck you as an odd question, a prepared question.
“Yeah, yes, I’m fine.”
“Don’t move.”
The line went dead but you didn’t put your phone down for a moment. You knew Simon never lingered, but was his haste because of that, or because of how quickly he was grabbing his car keys and heading out? His only hesitancy was to make sure you weren’t in so much danger he had time to reach you. You bit your lip and tried not to cry in front of everyone.
You had no idea where Simon was coming from, nor any idea when he’d get to you, so you composed yourself in the bathroom, grabbed another glass of prosecco – your fifth? – and made conversation with one of your cousins. She’d just had a baby, so you didn’t have to do any of the talking.
The party, getting louder and louder with more alcohol consumed, suddenly hushed to whispers and you turned to look.
The crowd parted like the red sea as Simon walked across the garden purposefully. His gloved fists were clenched, he was wearing khaki cargo trousers, black boots polished to a gleam and a dark top hiked up over his wide forearms, showing off a hint of muscle and ink beneath. He wasn’t wearing a mask, or a cap or a hood, instead he had a balaclava pulled over his face, with a skeletal jaw printed over the front of his mouth. His eyes were the only part of his face that was visible, blackened with war paint, narrowed and furious. He’d never looked more menacing than he did in that moment.
Every member of your family fell silent and shrank back, but you didn’t, the relief you felt was almost palpable.
He stopped in front of you, his eyes raking over you, taking in your dress and your drink, and you imagined he had a few questions about why you’d dragged him here.
“Are you ready to go?” He asked, although his voice left no room for argument.
You nodded immediately, putting your drink down. “Yes, please.”
“Love, who is this?” Your mum asked, giving you a puzzled look, and then giving Simon a horrified one.
Simon didn’t react, he didn’t move, he didn’t stop glaring and he didn’t release his fists.
“A friend, mum.” You said, the prosecco helped the words come easier to your mouth. “He offered to pick me up.”
“Wait, hold on a minute,” Clive moved in front of you, between you and Simon, puffing his chest out. “You’re not going anywhere with this man. He looks dangerous.”
Everyone was staring at you, erupting into whispers, some of them were even pointing. Not exactly the sneaky exit you’d been planning.
Simon’s eyes moved from you to your stepdad, narrowing as they did, like he had a sixth sense for picking up on exactly what the danger was. A sense, or years of experience.
“Sorry to drag her away,” Simon turned to your mother, relaxing his voice a little. “It’s a work thing, I’m afraid, it’s important.”
“Yeah, sorry mum, I’ve got to run.”
Your mum nodded, even though she looked confused and concerned. Clive shook his head, prodding Simon right in the chest.
“Listen here, mate, you can’t come onto my property and accost my daughter. I’ll call…”
Simon looked down slowly, lowering his shoulders to really peer right into Clive’s face, emphasizing the height difference between them.
“Try me, old man.” He growled. “I’ve put better men in the ground for less.”
It wasn’t even his threat that twisted your stomach, it was the growl in his voice. He was speaking a language your pussy understood and responded to with a clench.
Clive’s mouth opened and closed like a fish. Your mum looked startled. You gave her a hug.
“It’s fine, mum, I promise. He’s a friend. From work.”
Your mum nodded a little plainly, stroking your back as she hugged you. “Okay, my love, thank you for coming. I’ll see you soon?”
“Yeah, I’ll call you. Love you. Happy birthday.”
You gave Clive a blank look as you passed him, heading back into the house. You didn’t hear Simon follow you, but you knew he was, looming over you like a shadow.
When you got into his car, you watched in silence as he got into the driver’s side. He didn’t speak to you, he just peeled away from the house far quicker than you were expecting, throwing you around in the seat. The prosecco sloshed unhappily in your belly.
You peeked at him. He was glaring at the road ahead. He looked so furious that you half-expected him to throw you from the car while it was still moving.
“Thank you for coming.” You said, your voice small.
“What happened?” He barked, as if your remark had broken whatever was stopping him from talking.
You pursed your lips, suddenly embarrassed, and trying to find the words to explain yourself, to ask his forgiveness for dragging him there, for your overreaction and for wasting his time.
“It’s okay.” He assured you, his voice forcibly softer. It broke the tension like a hammer on granite. “You’re safe now.”
Your eyes welled up and he glanced over at you. His brown eyes weren’t angry, they were concerned. It knocked the air out of your lungs.
“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. Here.” He clicked a button somewhere on the steering wheel and his dash screen started playing something quietly.
“I love Sleep Token.” You sniffed.
You heard him chuckle. You wanted to ask him so many questions, but you figured you owed him a few answers first.
“It was my stepdad.” You said quietly, chewing on your lip.
“The shrimp?”
A laugh erupted from you. Hearing that, and seeing how much bigger Simon was compared to him, made him look a lot less scary in your eyes. It relaxed you.
“You don’t have to explain arsehole dads to me.” He grunted, then ironically: “What did he do?”
“He, uh…”
Simon glanced at you again, noticing the way that you were hesitating. “Yeah?” He encouraged gently.
You didn’t know if he was actively choosing to be gentle with you, or if he wanted to be, but regardless, it made you feel safe with him.
You wiped your nose with the back of your hand. “He’s just a creep. He said something gross and…I don’t know, I didn’t feel safe.”
“What did he say?”
Your eyes hit the foot well. “He said my tits look good in this dress.”
Simon’s gloved hands tightened on the steering wheel.
“You shouldn’t have told me where he lives.” He said, his voice dangerously low.
“Why not?” You asked.
“Because I’ll kill him.”
It sent a shiver down your spine, because you knew he meant it. You weren’t even thinking about what an insane thing that was to say, you were thinking about someone going to those lengths to defend your honour. Your cheeks burned.
Simon pulled up on the side of the road outside of your flat – without putting your address in the sat nav, you noticed – and you didn’t know what to say.
It was silent, and awkward, for a few moments, until: “You look lovely.” Simon said, still looking extraordinarily pissed off. “Don’t let an arsehole make you feel bad for that.”
You blushed even harder, looking down at your dress. “Thank you.”
“Go on, get inside. Sleep that drink off.”
“You can come in, if you like.”
“That’s not a good idea.”
“Just for a bit.” You entreated. “He knows where I live and…” It wasn’t a complete lie. You were worried about Clive driving over in a fit of rage, but mostly you didn’t want to watch Simon drive away from you, not again, not yet.
“Fine, for a little bit.” He acquiesced, his tone suggesting he hated the idea.
You felt a little embarrassed opening the door to your flat, praying it was relatively clean and you didn’t have any errant pairs of underwear lying around. Simon trailed in behind you, standing in the hallway and looking very out of place, not sure what to do with his big body. It made you smile.
“Tea?” You offered.
“Yeah,” he relaxed a bit. “Thanks.”
“Sugar?” You asked, showing him to the kitchen.
“No,” he huffed, like it was funny. “I’m sweet enough.”
…
Simon rolled his balaclava under his nose to drink his tea, giving you your first view of his mouth. He was clean shaven, his lips looked soft, his teeth straight. You could see the beginnings of a scar on his top lip, denting it, pulling it up slightly, but the black fabric hid the rest of it from view.
You were curled up on the other end of the sofa, a pair of pj bottoms on under your sundress.
You focused on your own tea.
“Never seen the balaclava before.” You mused out loud.
There was a beat of silence.
“Wasn’t expecting to see civilians today.” He didn’t say anything else on the topic. Right. Army. Lieutenant. That explained his militant attire. You suddenly realised you might have pulled him from work.
“Oh my god, were you at a base or something? I’m so sorry.”
He shook his head. “It’s fine. I landed about an hour before you called. I was just doing paperwork before I went home myself.”
“Landed?” You asked, eyebrows raised. “Like a deployment?”
“Yeah, 10-day stretch.” He explained. He didn’t question your knowledge on the military; he remembered what you’d said about your father. “Fucking knackered to tell you the truth.” Your face betrayed that your brain was working overtime, and he chuckled and took pity on you. “I’m in the S.A.S.”
“Oh!” You suddenly understood so many things, and even less at the same time. So, Simon was scary – scary, then. “It might be pointless of me to ask where you’ve been, then.”
“Maybe a little.”
He hadn’t been avoiding you, then, he’d been god knows where doing god knows what. You wondered how many people he’d killed on his mission, how many people had tried to kill him, how many times he’d nearly died. You didn’t like the knot that thought created in your stomach.
“Why don’t you stay here tonight?” You said. “And don’t just say no. It’s the least I can do to thank you for today. You got me out of a tight spot.”
Simon actually looked a little relieved that he didn’t have to drive anymore today. “Thank you.” He said quietly. “Your mum didn’t look too happy to see me.”
You snorted. “You’re a single man with a working penis. I bet she was fucking thrilled.”
Simon’s head snapped to you and you froze.
“Oh, no. I just… before you came, they were saying about…me being single and…forget I said it. You might not be single. You might not have a…”
Simon smirked and you fell silent, not sure what to say.
“I’m single.” He assured you. “And it works just fine.”
You barely managed to stop blushing when you gave Simon blankets and closed your bedroom door. You put on a clean pj top and crawled into bed, but your heart was hammering as you stared up at the ceiling.
Simon was right on the other side of the wall, probably taking off his mask to sleep, maybe even slipping his cargo trousers off.
You rolled over and wrapped the duvet around yourself, trying to clear your mind and sleep.
Both were impossible.
…
You had about a thousand missed calls from your mum and from Clive, but you didn’t answer them, not yet. You were far too happy with your life at the moment, and you really had no idea why. Your relationship with your stepdad was irreparably damaged, at least from where you were standing, and your entire family had seen you walk off with a masked brute, after vehemently denying having a boyfriend. And the masked brute in question was a semi-acquaintance from your place of work who seemed to feel so sorry for you that he’d started basically babysitting you.
You didn’t care about any of that. Simon had come and saved you, perhaps in a very loose sense of the word, but he still had. He’d spent ten days abroad doing classified and almost certainly highly dangerous work and instead of going home and resting, he’d come to your aid with no questions asked. Well, one question. Are you safe?
Simon had left before you’d woken up the next morning, leaving your blankets and pillows folded up on the sofa far neater than you’d ever managed. Those military corners. You didn’t mind that he'd left. He’d just gotten back from deployment. The idea that you’d given him a place to rest, just for a few hours, made you feel warm and fuzzy inside.
The truth was that you liked him, more than you should have done. He might have been closed off and mysterious, but he made you feel warm and safe whenever you were around him, like no one could hurt you, like no one would ever hurt you again.
You found yourself daydreaming about him wrapping his strong arms around you and holding you tight, how warm and safe he’d feel, how you’d burrow in him and never come out again.
The excitement in your gut was nearly overwhelming when you clocked in. You put all your stuff away and stared at the entrance doors. You could have vibrated to the moon with how anxious and excited you were to see him again.
Nicole lent on the desk with her elbows and smirked at you. “Your boyfriend is here.”
“He isn’t my…” You lowered your voice, trying not to gather the attention of anyone around you. You imagined Simon hearing her say that, and the look he would give you. He wouldn’t be embarrassed or pleased, he’d probably be pissed off, or at best, crack some sort of dry joke about it. The cold, closed off soldier was a flirt, even if he did try to hide it. “Is he?”
“Yeah, he’s in with his mum. He brought someone along, this time.”
“Really?” You wondered who someone like Simon would bring to visit his ailing mother. Your brain immediately went to a wife, but then you remembered him saying that he was single the other night. You chewed your lip. Ex-wife, perhaps? Your stomach churned with jealousy.
In any case, you didn’t bother him in his visiting time. Instead you focused on getting your own work done: signing people in, filing paperwork, getting various requisitions signed and sent off, all that thrilling stuff, while keeping half an eye on the clock for the end of visiting time, which was dragging ever nearer.
You wondered exactly what you’d say to him when you saw him. Would you talk about the other night? Would he want to acknowledge that he’d spent the night on your couch, would he want to know what happened with your family?
You turned a corner in the corridor, heading to the kitchen for some much needed coffee, but stopped immediately by the corner when you saw Simon’s back, broad and covered with his hoodie, his hood pulled up, and talking gruffly to a man lent against the opposite wall. This must have been the friend he’d brought along. He looked older than Simon did, with dark, slightly shaggy hair, stubble on his jaw, dressed in jeans and a jacket and slumping against the wall. The two of them had similar features and similar builds, and yet looked like two entirely contrasting individuals.
“It’s a good place.” Simon was saying defensively, keeping his voice intentionally low. “The people are nice. She likes it here.”
“You put our mother in a fucking home, you wanker.”
You saw Simon’s gloved fists clench.
“What choice did I have? I could get called out at any minute and be gone for days. I might not come back.”
“She could have lived with me, arsehole.”
“No, she couldn’t.” Simon growled.
“Why not?” His brother’s eyes narrowed. “What are you saying?”
“You’re a drunk, sorry, piece of shit.” Simon stalked forward, towering over his brother. You could only see the back of his hoodie, but you could imagine how terrifying his usually so lovely brown eyes must have looked. “You’d be in prison if your ex-wife wasn’t too fucking scared to talk to the police.”
“I can visit my own mum whenever I like.”
“Once a month, under my supervision, that’s the deal, and that’s only because I don’t want her to know anything. She’s been through enough without knowing you’re just like him.”
Simon’s brother looked away from him, and saw you stood there, half hidden around the corner.
“Hi.” He called out. “Sorry, love, didn’t see you there. Ignore us.”
Simon’s back straightened and he turned. The minute he saw you, his eyes hardened to flint. You were half-expecting to see the skull balaclava again, but the surgical mask was back. The narrowed, furious glare he was giving you made you feel like the other day at the party and on your couch hadn’t even happened.
“Sorry,” you fiddled with your jumper sleeve. You’d heard a lot of things that you weren’t supposed to have heard, and Simon knew you’d heard them. “I didn’t mean to interrupt, I was just heading to, uh…”
The shaggy haired man stepped aside, clearing a path for you in the corridor.
“Tommy Riley.” He introduced himself, holding out his hand. “This scary arsehole is my brother, Simon.”
You walked forward uneasily, you could feel Simon’s eyes still boring into you, and shook Tommy’s hand. Simon glared at the contact, like it was offensive for him to see it. His fists were tightly clenched.
“We already know each other.” He barked possessively.
“Oh, you do?” Tommy raised his eyebrows and then he grinned. It was toothy and cruel; it reminded you of Clive. “You sure mum is the only reason you’re hanging around here so much?”
The situation was so uncomfortable you didn’t know whether you wanted to laugh nervously or run away. Tommy was looking at you like you were a piece of meat, what did Simon just say about his ex-wife? Simon was giving you goosebumps, and not in a good way. You felt like he was going to lash out and knock his brother out any second. He hadn’t seemed so angry up until not, not until you’d showed up.
“I didn’t mean…” You tried.
“You should go.” Simon wasn’t looking at you, he was looking at Tommy, as if daring him to move or speak, but he was talking to you. His order was barked, like a lieutenant to his soldiers.
“Yeah, of course.” You squeaked. Your wavering eyes looked at him, waiting for him to tell you he’d come and find you later, or even just give you a nod goodbye as he was custom to do, but he didn’t look at you, he didn’t say anything, and you just turned around and left.
You didn’t go to the kitchen, because that would mean you would have had to walk back down this corridor again and coffee was now the last thing on your mind. You went back to the desk, sat down in your seat and stared blankly at your paperwork, trying to process everything you’d just heard.
It was hard to think of anything except the way that Simon had dismissed you, like you’d never exchanged more than two words with each other.
He wasn’t meant to hurt you.
You weren’t very productive for the rest of your shift, but you did do as much as you possibly could do in the back office, so you didn’t have to see Tommy again when he eventually left, and so you didn’t have to see Simon dismiss you again like you didn’t even exist.
…
Your mum looked like she’d been crying.
You looked at her worriedly as she wrapped her hands around her coffee and took a sip. The coffee shop you were in was relatively quiet, but you wished for some privacy. You didn’t think you could go to her house at the moment though, not after the garden party on her birthday. You still hadn’t spoken to either of them about it, and honestly, you didn’t plan to, either.
“What’s happened?” You asked softly.
“Clive moved out.” She sniffed. “We had a row after the party. He got drunk after you left and kept hitting on your aunts and your cousins, he made a lot of people very uncomfortable.”
“Oh.” You felt guilty for not saying anything at the time. Maybe if you had, you might have saved your young cousins some pain, but then you could never know if you’d have even been believed or not. “I’m sorry, mum.”
“It’s okay.” She gave you an unconvincing smile. “I told him to. I said I needed some time to think. Things haven’t been great between us for a while.”
“You never told me.” You frowned.
She shrugged and you didn’t press her. You knew she felt weird about dating other men when your dad never came back from Afghanistan, like you’d be upset with her for moving on, or something. You weren’t at all, you just wished she hadn’t picked such a creep to move on with.
“I support you,” you reached over and took her hand. “You’re strong, and beautiful, and you can do so much better.”
“Thank you,” she sniffed again, but she smiled this time.
“I’m so sorry,” you repeated, lost in your own thoughts for a moment. “I’ve been so caught up with myself lately, I…I’ll make more time for you.”
“You don’t have to do that, love. I know you’re busy.”
“I want to. All I do all day is see people cherish the time they’ve got with their family. Why don’t we go out for dinner on Saturday night, just us? Might be a bit too early to go on the pull but it might cheer you up.”
Your mum chuckled and then her eyes lit up like you’d just reminded her of something.
“So, who was that man?”
“Oh, god.” You groaned, covering your face with your hands.
“He was the biggest man I’ve ever seen! Clive was going on and on about what a weirdo he was and I was like, you’ve clearly never seen a soldier before…”
You put your hands down and saw your mum babbling on. “He’s from work.” You finally explained. “Seriously. His mum is one of the residents. He’s been visiting her.”
“Ah.”
You didn’t want to talk about this, but it was distracting your mum from her pain so you bit your tongue.
“Are you seeing each other?”
You remembered the day in the corridor. Simon’s argument with his brother, the way he’d gotten so angry when he’d seen you standing there, the way he’d told you to go away, and how you hadn’t seen him since. Your stomach tightened painfully.
“No. It’s not like that.”
“He was so hot.” Your mum whispered across the table to you. “Did you see his biceps?” She mimicked the size of them with her hands, and you went bright red, hiding in your hands again.
“Mum!” You groaned.
…
You left the care home at the end of your shift. The sun was low in the sky, it was dusk, the air was chilly and autumnal.
He was just standing there, beside the cluster of trees next to the car park, looking like a statue and watching you.
You walked over to him, unsure what to expect, cuddling yourself from the cold as you stopped in front of him. You half-expected him to tell you to get in his car, but he didn’t, he didn’t say anything. His arms were crossed, his hood was up, and he was watching you with critical eyes. He was wearing his skull-print balaclava today, which you knew meant that he hadn’t planned on coming.
“Hi.” You said lamely.
“I shouldn’t have come.” Simon responded immediately, confirming your thoughts.
“Why did you?” You asked.
“I wanted to see you.”
You didn’t know what to say, not after the day in the corridor, which he didn’t look like he was planning on talking about.
“Why?” You asked again, a little guardedly.
His eyes wavered, like he was doubting his decision.
“I leave tonight.” He said instead, sounding robotic. “Could be weeks.”
You could only imagine what deployment in the S.A.S entailed, which meant you knew what he was really saying. I might never come back. I might never see you again.
“Oh.” You felt your eyes collecting moisture. You didn’t know why. Maybe something about your dad, maybe because you liked Simon more than you should. Maybe because, even if he didn’t feel anything for you, which he most probably didn’t, you still didn’t want him to go.
“Don’t miss me.” His eyes hardened in their usual defiant, cold stare. “We can’t be anything.”
“I know that.” Still, your chest tightened. Still, you had to wipe your eyes to stop them from betraying you.
A gentle patter hit the concrete under you both, drizzle soaking your clothes to your body. The rain became a wall between you.
“I have to go.” He said, his coarse voice carrying over to you.
“Okay.” You said stupidly. The rain dripping down your face probably disguised your tears.
Simon stepped forward, closing the space between you and reaching up, swiping a gloved finger across your cheek.
“None of that.” He said softly.
You were too close to each other. Your hands found his chest and just rested there, pressing your face against his sternum.
You felt fingers under your chin, and then you were looking up at his slackened brown eyes. You kissed eachother through the fabric of his mask. It was coarse, and wet, and your hand left his chest and pushed under the black fabric until you felt his carotid artery pulsing under your fingertips.
Simon growled quietly and yanked the mask the rest of the way up, resting the bunched up black fabric on the bridge of his nose, just as he’d done the other night sitting on your couch.
Your hand touched his jaw, and the skin-on-skin contact felt electric. His brows furrowed in need and he pushed his head against your hand, like a big cat, and then his lips were on yours.
Simon made a noise low in his throat while you whimpered, his hands gripped your hips and pulled you against his front as his lips moved against yours insistently. It was raining harder now, but neither of you seemed to care.
He pulled back far too soon, his mouth parted slightly, his wavering eyes watching you.
You trembled against him, your head fogged, your body sluggish and unresponsive.
“I don’t…” You murmured pathetically. You couldn’t even finish your sentence. I don’t want you to go. I don’t want you to die. I don’t want you to leave me. “I can’t…”
Simon looked worried, and careful, but not regretful. Neither were you, even though you were still crying, and even if it would make everything hurt that much worse in the end.
He pulled you closer to him, until you could feel the fabric of his mask and the softness of his skin again.
“Close your eyes.” He breathed against your cheek.
Your eyes slid shut. You felt his hands move from your hips. You felt the cool air against your front when he moved back.
Summary: After nearly a year of mystery presents, your gift giver finally reveals himself to be none other then the outlaw Billy-the-kid.
Warnings: Mentions of violence, nonco/dunco, SA, religious doctrine, unhealthy behaviours, out of character, Dead dove do not eat.
Word count: 4437
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
part 5
The light streaming from the open window was torture for your head.You had never felt this sick in your life. Your fathers moods now no wonder.
Shame floods you. What man would take you now? Would it matter that it was not your choice? That bill is your husband?
Billy. How could he do this to you? He wasn’t that sort of man, or at least you thought.
“How dare you” with a single hit billy sprung awake, twisting his body towards his attacker. He reaches for his gun in reflex, pointing it, ready and loaded.
You could only stare at the gun pointed straight between your eyes.
”What are you doing?” He scolds you, drawing his gun back. With the safety back on, he throws the gun on the nightstand and reaches for his pants on the floor.
“You shouldn’t wake men up like that. Is something wrong?”.
The ball in your throat tightened as your tears fell.
“How could you- how could you do that to me?” You choke.
He spins back around with his pants now done up, and crawls back on the bed over to you.
Billy reaches for your face, looking over you
”Are you hurt?”, he asks softly.
You shove his hands off you, clutching tightly at the sheet pulled to your chest.
“I am ruined.
“You are far from ruined” he retorts.
Billy continues with his clothes, ignoring your anguish.
“Billy” you call to him, “do you know what you have done?”
He sighs, pulling on his last boot before answering.
“I’ve slept with my wife. You’ve slept with your husband”, he stands walking over to the window and opening the shutters.
“The sun still rose” he mocked.
He shuts the windows again, blocking the majority of light. You are grateful for it in your naked state. You were too high up for the people below to see but one personal wrongly placed may get more then they bargained for.
“How could you do that to me” you accuse.
“You didn’t seem to mind” he scoffs.
You gasp as it he said it. His face retorted in guilt, wishing he could take it back.
Billy take a steps towards you but you hunker back into the bed. Determined not to let him touch you again.
He halts. Withdrawing his outstretched hands.
“I am sorry. I should be a little bit more considerate of my wife's trouble. It’s school girl guilt, that’s all. You didn’t do anything wrong”.
“No, I didn’t” you state in a hard tone.
He eyes the bathtub in the room, moving swiftly to it as he spoke.
“You’re a wife now. You have to learn to expect this sort of thing”.
The water rushing from the tap drowns him out to where you strain to hear his words.
“I know you didn’t have a Ma to teach you these things and I’ll try to help where I can but you have to stop fighting me every step of the way”.
Your tongue felt heavy in your mouth. Even if you knew what to say to him, you doubt you could get your tongue to yield.
Instead you cry, big, loud, fresh sobs.
How would you explain this to your father? What of your future?
Billy jumps up from the tub, rushing over to sit in front of you in the bed. You kept the sheet pressed tight against you as he brushes your hair back trying to catch your eyes.
“Please, please don’t cry. You had sex, you’re not dead”
“I wish I was” you sob.
“No, you don’t mean that” he consoles. His fingers comb in a soothing fashion against the side of your head.
“It was a big night. You just need a bath and something to eat” he determined, “hop in. I”ll go get you something to eat”
“Billy, I hate you”, you declare.
He reaches for his shirt on the floor, avoiding eye contact with you as he dresses.
”Well I love you”, he says softly.
“I’ll be back” he promises in quiet voice. He leaves the room quickly and you hear the sound of a lock behind him.
You continue to cry on the bed. All you could picture was your fathers anger. His disappointment at his whore daughter. You would die of shame before you could be saved.
After a while your tears run dry and you sat there helplessly until you could muster the energy to enter into the tub. The hot water almost ran over the top before you reached it.
You soak in it while you wait for Billy to return. The gold on your finger mocks you. You slip the ring off your finger, hurling it across the room where it lands with a dull thud.
Slipping down into the water, you allow yourself to sink to the bottom. If you were braver you would have drowned yourself but when your lungs began to burn you rose to the surface despite your wishes.
Billy was still not back despite it being a near half hour since he left. For a second you wondered if his guilt got the better of him and he left town. But you knew he wouldn’t, not your billy.
So you wait for his return that marks forty minutes since his departure.
When he does return he has food and flowers, as if he could gift his way out of trouble.
With his hat off his head, he extends the flowers out to you. A pretty bunch of different coloured wildflowers.
“Y/n, I am really sorry. You just seemed so nervous, I thought it might help but it wasn’t right for me to do. I lied to you and I deceived you and- and I am truly sorry”.
You throw the flowers to the ground when they are handed to you, reaching for the bakery packet instead.
“You don’t have to forgive me now” he states picking the flowers up, “I understand if you need the day”.
“I want to go home” you tell him again.
Billy sighs, “Not this again. I told you once we get the bounty, we can go wherever you want”.
“Home” you yell at him, “I want to go home”.
He shushes you with a finger to his lips, eyeing the door he came in from.
“You’re just angry. It will pass. All married couples fight”.
“Billy, you arent listening to me”.
“If you think you are leaving this marriage, you are wrong. We are bound for life now. You may not like it but we are.”
You sit on the bed and hang your head in your hands. No more tears come but the rage remained.
Billy kneels on the floor in front of you, rising himself so he was at the same height as you.
“I am sorry”, he says once more.
His hands wrap around your wrists, pulling them gently from your face where he greets them with a kiss.
His eyes try to find the gold on your finger but find it bare instead.
“Where’s your ring?”, he demands.
You tug your wrist from his hold, pointing to the far wall.
Billy releases your wrists moving over to find your ring.
“Now that ain’t funny”, he scolds. He finds it next to the tables leg and brings it back you like a dog playing fetch.
“Be angry but don’t be stupid”, he places the ring back on your finger, sliding it to the very base, “We are married now, Y/n. I own you”, he says softly and without intent to scare you, “You own me. We’re one”.
You look at the gold on your finger. A symbol of a married woman. A owed woman.
You bury your face again out of shame
”Hey” Billy calls gently, “hey now, come on”,
He tugs your hands down again, placing the bakery packet into the open space.
“Have something to eat. You’ll feel better”.
He stands tall, placing a gentle hand to the side of your head as he departs to the table and pours a cup of water.
You take it from him when he offers, downing it with great thirst.
“If you’re not in too much pain, we can go to town. Get you some gloves and supplies for the road”.
”I am not in any pain”, you admit to him between a bite of your bread.
He smiles smugly at this. As if it somehow absolved him of his crime and proved him right.
“That’s good” he drawls, “real good”.
You throw the half finished bread on the table, standing up so he wasn’t looming over you as you spoke.
“I should write to my father. To let him know I am okay”.
”No”, Billy’s answer was cold, harsh and final.
“He will have the sheriff looking everywhere for us. We should tell him we are married so they will call off the search. He will be worried”.
”I will write to him” Billy offers.
You scoff at him, “You think he will believe you?”
”I don’t care what he believes. I’ll write for you. Because it would please my wife’’.
”It would please me if I wrote to him” you state.
Billy sighs, placing his hands on his hips in defeat. He gives a small nod
”If you find it too much, I will finish it for you”, he offers.
You move past him to gather your shoes from the floor to place them on your feet.
“I am not as weak as you think I am” you tell him.
“I don’t think that”, he refutes, surprised at your accusation.
He reaches out to touch you but you jump away from before his hand could land on your skin.
“Don’t” you warn him.
He holds his hand up and out in surrender.
“Okay” he says softly.
You walk past him to the door, not stopping as he locks up. He quickly catches up to you on the stairs, placing his hand on the small of your back as you descend.
“I have some gloves on hold for you at the store. Wasn’t sure they’d fit”, he tells you as you cross the foyer into the sunlight.
“I also need some bullets. The journey to Aratula is only a day but Buddy will need some more feed, and we should stock up”.
He leads you to a pale yellow store that reads ‘Hugo convenience’ in red letters.
”Can you think of anything else?” He asks you. The door jingles as he holds it open for you.
”Back again young man” the shopkeeper greets. He was a greying man, dressed in tailored black with circular glasses.
“Yes, sir” Billy returns as he follows you in, “back for those gloves. This is my wife y/n”.
Bile rose in your throat but you shook the mans hand when he extended it.
“Pleasure Mrs”, the older man greets, “‘your husband here has been pacing my shop all morning trying to find you the perfect gloves”.
You grace him with a thin smile before turning to a sheepish Billy next to you.
“They need only keep my hands warm”, you state.
“That they will do” exclaims the shopkeeper, rounding the counter and reaching for the stored item.
They were black leather with fur lining. Too extravagant for a woman of your standing.
”My husband seems to think we are rich”, you pester, “simple wool will do me fine”.
The reference to husband invigorated Billy who stood taller, closer and spoke with more authority.
“We’ll take them, sir” he addressed the shopkeeper, “ three rounds of 22’s as well and horse feed if you’ve got it”.
The Shopkeeper smiles at Billy, sliding the gloves across the counter to you.
“Young love. You should enjoy it little miss”, he told you, “one day you’ll have to fight him for a new dress”.
The man busies himself finding the correct ammunition. His back was turned to his locked shelves as he waded through his stock.
“Horse feed is around back. My shop boy will help you” the older man spoke, placing the ammunition on the counter.
He goes to ring up the items on his till. As his finger strikes the final button, you speak up.
”And we’ll take that gold pin” you point to it underneath the glass. Shaped as a horse shoe and marketed as luck with three small indents on either side where the tiny Diamonds sat.
”Since my husband is feeling so generous”, you remark.
The man looks to Billy for permission, who nods back in agreement.
“That too” he agrees, “It’s our honeymoon”, he adds bashfully.
”oh well” the man coo’s reaching for the pin, “may every day that you wear it remind you of his love”.
You scowl as the pin is handed to you. You can’t place it on yourself. Your fingers wouldn’t move from the thin pin.
The man said a number and Billy paid without too much thought before thanking the man and leading you back out the shop.
”Do I at least get a kiss for it?” He teases, taking off his hat so he could bend down for a kiss.
His lips meet yours gently before you can confirm your answer. Billy takes the pin from your hands, fastens it to the breast of your dress for you.
You don’t know why you asked for it? To spend his money? For the delusion of luck? You supposed it reminded you of him. The cowboy and the horseshoe. You wonder if you will keep it after everything is said and done.
“I love you” he promises, “I’ll take care of you. Make you happy”.
”Great job so far”, you scold.
You push past him, leading the way to the back for the horse feed. You greet the young boy working and state your purpose.
Billy takes the feed and you lead him on to the stables.
He is gentle with his horse. Affectionate even. He spoke to it kindly like it was an old friend. Took great care in its comfort.
Billy wouldn't be a bad husband to a different girl. One who could live the life of an outlaw. That was not you. You wanted a man gentle, meek. Someone you never had to worry about raising a hand to you.
Billy smiles at you as you stare at him. You quickly call on him to come. The day was wasting and supplies still needed to be brought.
The larger supply shop was busier than the convenience store. People bustled around. You looked for men who appeared to be moving on. Men who brought things like beef jerky and canned goods. Men who were leaving quickly.
You follow Billy around while he picks up all he needs. Matches, bandages, lamp oil. Your eyes never stop scanning the room. You seemed out of luck until you heard an older gentleman talking with one of the shopkeepers.
He was leaving for Scottsville. That was close to Westfield. Close to home. You tried to keep your excitement down. The man moved on to look at rope. You had to talk to him. Beg him for help.
“I am just going to have a look at the fruit. Some fresh food would be nice”, you tell Billy.
“Okay, darling. Stay where I can see you”, Billy commands.
You nod at him with a sly smile before quickly moving across to your target.
“Don’t look. Keep facing forward” you command the older man as you pretend to inspect an apple.
“Excuse me?” the man asks, turning towards you.
“No, no! Stay forward. He cant see us talkin” you scold.
The man does as he is told, turning back to the wall.
“Who can’t Miss?”.
“Sir, I need your help. I’ve been kidnapped. You need to take me back home to Westfeild. It’s close to Scottsvile”.
The man turns to you once more before snapping back forward.
“How did you know I was planning on Scottsvile?”.
‘God sent you to me, sir. Please, once we reach Westvile there will be a reward for my return”.
You place three apples in a sack, before inspecting a forth.
“Please, sir, please” you beg.
“Where is he? We should tell the sheriff. See him hang”.
“it’ s Billy-the-kid’, you admit.
The name turns the man towards you once more. He looked pale, and panicked. You regret mentioning the name but there wasn’t a shoot out Billy wouldnt win.
“God sent you to me, sir. Please I need your help”.
The man looks around the room, his eyes scanning for Billy. Once found they go back to the ropes in a dazed stare.
“My god, it is him”, he mutters.
“He cant know. We just need to disappear. Please, Sir. All I am asking is for you to be waiting outside of the hotel at 6am tomorrow. Nothing else. All I need is lift home”.
The man contemplates your request. You hold your breath until he finally responds.
“6am tomorrow’ he agrees, “I’ll be there”.
“Thank you, sir. Thank you”, you whisper.
You turn quickly, walking back to Billy with a fake smile.
“Got the apples?” he questions softly, taking them from you to hold, “Were you talking to that man?”.
“Yeah,” you say, he had already seen, “I reminded him of his daughter. He asked if I was with anyone, I said you”.
Billy smiles, bending down to kiss you.
The older man drops his supplies, rushing out the door. You hoped he wouldn’t get cold feet.
______________________________
Tomorrow, Billy confirmed you would make your way to Aratula.
You sat on the bed, twisting the gold ring around on your finger. How would Westfield react to you once you returned? Would you be held liable for Billy's sins?
”Honey?” He called, throwing the damp cloth on the table, “you haven’t said a word since dinner. You feeling alright?”
“What do you want me to say?” You ask him.
Billy shrugs in return, “Anything. I want you to tell me anything. Whatever is bothering you”.
”You know what’s wrong Billy. Being ignorant to the fact won’t change anything”.
He sighs, walking over to where you sat, and kneeling down next to you.
“You haven’t tried. Marriage takes two to work”.
He gathers your hand in his, bringing them up for a kiss.
“You shouldn’t have forced me. That wasn’t right”, you tell him.
“I know, I am sorry. But we are meant to be together. I know we are. From the first second I saw you, I knew. I can be the man you want me to be, just give me a chance. Once we get the bounty, we can start fresh. We can have a proper wedding if you want it”.
You rip your hands free from him, lying on your back away from him.
“I am tired”, you tell him, “turn off the lamp”.
He does as you request. The room darkens as he continues to ready himself for bed. He had already bathed and was dressed down but his gun need cleaning.
He takes it over by candle light to the table before breaking it apart. You watch him as he cleans his gun. It was almost like a second part of him. His hands moved so confidentiality around the parts. He almost didnt need the light, he knew what he was doing and he did it well. All his focus went into it. He quickly finishes his favoriate gun, clicking all parts back togeather before moving on to his second gun for the same process.
He disasembles, cleans and clears in a matter of minutes. He reloads it, with a flick of his wrist the chamber locks back into place and he points the gun out in aim. You see him; Billy-the-kid. Lit by candle light. A shiver runs down your spine.
He places the gun on the table, and blows out the candle before joining you in bed. He nestles up to the back of you, spooning himself against you and begins to kiss your neck.
“Don’t” you tell him.
“We’re married now”, he reminds you, forcing you to your back by pushing on your shoulder,
“This is what married couples do”, he declares, placing a kiss against your neck, “They practice”.
He scoops your shoulder up by sliding his hands under and raising you up to him. His face remains buried in your neck as he places deep, longing kisses against the skin.
“Billy, please” you beg him. You feel his fingers claw at the fabric of your nightgown as he simmers it down your body. You make no move to stop him with his gun freshly loaded at the table side.
“I love you” he states breathlessly between kisses.
Your core heats up from the contact. When he dips his finger into you, you knew he was going to find you shamefully wet. You feel his smile against your skin before he distances himself to prepare. The sheath is slipped over his cock which gave you comfort that at least you would not get pregnant.
“Ready?” He asks softly.
You don’t answer but your hips shift in preparation.
He inserts himself slow into you. Never forcing past your walls but allows you to open up to him in your own accord.
A groan escapes you as he fills your hole. The pressure of his weight on top of you engulfs whatever was left of your bodily anatomy.
“Let me know if you need me to slow down” he offers before he begins to thrust at a comfortable pace.
The rhythm annoyed you. It was enough to tease. A nice, comfortable slow pace but not enough to satisfy. You huff out dissatisfied beneath him. You couldn’t stop him, the least he could do was give you back the feeling last night.
Billy kisses your cheek before bringing his head back up to gaze at you under the moonlight searching for any discomfort or sign he was hurting you.
“You alright? Feel good?” He asks. In a misinterpreted effort to please you, he slows his pace further. Painfully slowly does his rock his hips into you. The strokes of pleasure too far in between.
Your hands latch on to his biceps, fingernails digging into the skin.
”Faster” you demand, wiggling your hips in annoyance.
“Faster?” He scoffs. He obliges, picking up to a quick pace. You hook your leg over his waist to stop yourself from being jostled away.
”What happened to ‘please billy?” He teases, slowing down away to a point where he was always inside you but his thrust halted and he was just dragging himself inch by inch down and up.
”Please billy” you whine under a different guise. You could feel the shame in your heart as you begged him to continue with your own rape. But your lust heated your skin, and lit your nerves on fire. You wanted to come in order to get rid of this uncomfortable wanting feeling between your legs.
“Say I want you Billy” he commands, “I love you Billy”.
You swallow the lump in your throat but still the words would not form. You shake your head no against the mattress. It was one thing for your body to betray you. You would retain your voice.
When he pulls out, it leaves you with a cold, damp feeling between your legs. The experience was unpleasant. A man’s warmth was nothing like you had ever experienced before.
“Damn you woman”, he scolds.
Billy flips you onto your stomach, grabbing your hips into position and spreads your thighs open. He inserts himself back in. His warmth fills your leaking pussy in the new position. His pace is more brutal than before. He takes more control, not allowing you to adjust to take any pressure off.
“More stubborn than a mule’, he criticizes, “you’re lucky I want you so god damn much otherwise I would put you away wet”.
You can’t move under his weight. The position pins you into the mattress. You claw at the blankets beneath you, groaning into them as he pounds into you.
“Say it. Please say it’ he grunts,
You babble something into the mattress, you weren’t sure what it was but it satisfied Billy enough.
“My little wife, my darling girl”, he grunts, “mine, all mine for eternity. Knew it was you. Knew it had to be you. You knew it too. Just too damn stubborn”
You feel yourself tighten around him. He feels it too you surmised from his next word.
“Y/n, don’t come. Not until I tell you”, he commands,”I ain’t stopping until I get my fill that’s my right as a husband”.
Inexperienced, you had no idea how to stop your body. Your mind had no control over it.
“Ugh” he sighs as he feels you pulsing. You tried to crawl up, away from him as his work became over stimulating.
His hands clasp over your wrists, forcing them back against your lower back to keep you still.
The heat and salty smell settle between the comfortable numbness you felt.
He continues without sound above you. Focusing on his only task while you lay spent against him.
A loud, deep groan precedents his release. Your eyes squeeze shut as he rolls onto the mattress next to you, taking off his stealth in the process.
His hands move you, repositioning you on his chest where he could enclose you tight against his bare skin.
Here you felt the shame cascading around you. You had given into your lust. No one would have any sympathy for you when you returned home. Would your father return you back to Billy? Would Billy remain the same or turn into something meaner once he had you back?
You think about the man that will be waiting for you tomorrow, would he be able to smell the sex on you?
You cover your face with your hands in shame, the metal of your ring pressing into the side of your head.
Billy’s finger drags up and down your spine in a smoothing manner while you spiral quietly. His hand landed possessively against the back of your neck as you wiggle but it was only to pull yourself closer, needing some form of comfort in your despair. Seeing no threat, he moves to rest his hand against the side of your head, lolling his own head to rest on top of yours.
He drifts peacefully off to sleep while you lay next to him, waiting for the sun to rise.
The echo of the slammed door still seemed to hang in the room, pressing against the walls with a weight that made every breath feel heavier.
No one moved.
No one seemed willing to be the first to speak.
Jungkook rubbed the back of his neck, his expression full of regret.
"...I made everything worse, didn't I?"
A small sigh escaped Hoseok.
"A little."
"I was only trying to help."
"We know," Jimin said gently.
The room fell quiet again.
Y/N stared at the floor, replaying the argument in her mind. She hadn't expected him to react like that. She had expected anger. Not... hurt.
For the first time since she had met him, she had seen him lose control. Not the quiet, calculated irritation he usually hid behind calm words. Not the patient persistence that had always made it impossible to tell what he was truly thinking.
This had been different. His voice had risen. His composure had cracked. And for a brief moment... He had looked less like the man who always had an answer for everything... And more like someone trying not to lose something that mattered to him.
The realization unsettled her far more than she wanted to admit.
Jimin quietly walked over to the table, grabbed a bottle of water and offered it to her.
"Here."
She accepted it with a small nod.
"Thank you."
The cool water steadied her trembling hands as she took a few slow sips.
Around her, the members exchanged uncertain glances. No one knew what to say. They had seen Yoongi angry before. Annoyed. Frustrated. But never like this. Never loud. Never so openly emotional.
No one tried to defend him.
No one blamed her either.
They simply let the silence settle until it became bearable again.
After a long moment, she lowered the bottle.
Taehyung broke the silence.
"...For what it's worth..."
Everyone looked at him.
"Yoongi hyung wasn't lying."
His voice was quiet, careful.
"Haerin has been trying to get his attention for months."
He shrugged lightly.
"I don't think he's ever noticed."
Taehyung's words settled over the room. No one responded.
Y/N lowered her gaze to her hands. She wasn't sure whether hearing that made her feel better... Or worse.
The silence stretched once more.
"…Can I ask something?" Jungkook's quiet voice broke it.
Everyone turned toward him. He shifted awkwardly, his brows drawn together.
"I just…" He hesitated. "I don't really understand."
Y/N lifted her gaze to meet his.
"...Why were you two even fighting?"
Jimin closed his eyes.
"Jungkook..."
"I mean..." He scratched the back of his neck. "You already said yes to marrying him."
Another pause.
"And..."
He looked at Y/N with complete sincerity.
"...Wasn't Yoongi hyung your bias?"
No one spoke.
"So..."
He tilted his head.
"...Isn't marrying your bias every ARMY's dream?"
The silence that followed was deafening.
"Yah!" Before Jungkook could even blink, Jin smacked the back of his head.
"Ow!" Jungkook winced, immediately bringing a hand up to the sore spot as he looked at Jin in bewilderment. "Hyung!"
"You idiot," Jin muttered. "What kind of question is that?"
"Could you not be so painfully oblivious for five seconds?" Hoseok looked equally horrified.
Jimin let out a long sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"Seriously... what is wrong with you?"
Even Taehyung stared at him in disbelief.
"Just… leave the room."
Jungkook's eyes widened as he looked around at the members' reactions.
"What? I... didn't mean it like that." Realization slowly dawned on his face. His shoulders dropped.
"He didn't mean any harm." Namjoon finally spoke.
"…But that's exactly why words matter." His gaze settled on Jungkook.
"...I'm sorry." Jungkook's gaze shifted back to Y/N. "I really didn't mean to upset you."
The apology hung awkwardly in the air.
No one expected her to answer.
For a long moment, she simply looked at him.
Then the corners of her lips lifted into the faintest, most humorless smile.
"…I guess you're right."
Her voice was barely above a whisper.
"At one point..." A sad smile crossed her lips. "...it was my dream too."
The smile disappeared almost as quickly as it had come.
"I just never imagined what it would cost."
The words settled heavily over the room. No one had anything left to say.
After a moment, Y/N stood.
"I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I just... need a minute."
"Of course," Jin answered immediately as he got to his feet.
"I'll show you where the bathroom is."
She hesitated for only a second before nodding.
"Thank you."
Without another thought, she followed Jin down the quiet corridor.
Neither of them spoke much.
Jin walked at an easy pace, making sure she stayed beside him without making her feel rushed.
When they reached the restroom, he stopped outside the door.
"I'll wait here."
"...You don't have to."
"I know."
He smiled kindly.
"But Yoongi would have my head if I let you get lost."
For the first time since arriving at the studio, she let out the faintest laugh.
"I suppose he would."
Inside, she splashed cold water onto her face before staring at her reflection in the mirror. The woman looking back at her seemed just as confused as she felt.
She had come here expecting an ordinary visit. Instead, she had started one of the biggest arguments she'd ever had with Yoongi.
And somehow...
Jungkook's words refused to leave her alone.
Isn't marrying your bias every ARMY's dream?
Months ago...
She probably would have laughed and answered yes without a second thought.
Back then, seeing Yoongi in person had felt impossible.
Spending time with him had been a fantasy.
Sharing meals.
Hearing him say her name.
Watching movies together.
Falling asleep in the same house.
They had been impossible dreams...
Until they weren't.
Her chest tightened.
The cruelest part wasn't that Jungkook had been wrong.
It was that he had unknowingly reminded her of the life she had once imagined...
And how completely it had been twisted into something she no longer recognized.
Closing her eyes, she inhaled slowly. Then exhaled. One breath. Then another.
Eventually, she felt steady enough to leave.
Jin was still waiting exactly where she had left him.
"Feeling a little better?" he asked.
"A little."
"Good."
They began walking back together.
When Jin pushed open the studio door, she stopped.
The room was empty. The sofa. The desk. The scattered notebooks. Everything was exactly as they had left it.
Except the others were gone.
"They must've stepped out," Jin murmured.
She looked around briefly before walking over to the desk and picking up her bag.
A second later, footsteps echoed from the hallway.
Yoongi appeared in the doorway. His expression was calm once more.
If someone had walked in at that exact moment, they would never have guessed what had happened only minutes earlier.
His eyes found her first.
Then Jin.
For a brief moment, relief flickered across his face before it disappeared just as quickly.
No one mentioned the argument. No one mentioned Haerin. No one mentioned the tears or the shouting. It was as though all of them had silently agreed to leave it behind for now.
Yoongi reached for his jacket draped over the back of the chair before looking at her.
"We are leaving."
She simply nodded.
Without another word, she followed him out of the studio, her bag resting against her shoulder.
Completely unaware that something inside it hadn't been there before.
⸻⸻⸻⸻ ☽ ◯ ☾ ⸻⸻⸻⸻
The drive back to the mansion passed in complete silence.
Neither of them spoke.
The argument still hung between them, filling the space inside the car more heavily than words ever could.
She kept her eyes fixed on the passing scenery outside the window.
Yoongi kept both hands on the steering wheel.
When the familiar iron gates came into view, the strange sense of freedom she had felt that morning disappeared almost instantly.
The gates opened. The car rolled inside. Then closed behind them once again. The sound echoed louder than she remembered.
Back inside the mansion, neither of them acknowledged what had happened at the studio.
No apologies. No explanations. No attempts to continue the conversation.
She quietly walked upstairs.
The bedroom welcomed her with the same silence it always had. She closed the door behind her. Then slowly placed her bag on the bed.
For a long moment, she simply stared at it.
Something about today refused to leave her mind.
The studio. Haerin. The argument. Yoongi raising his voice. Taehyung's words...
...For what it's worth... Yoongi hyung wasn't lying.
Then Jungkook's words... And Yoongi again... His emotional state...
She had never imagined she would see that side of him.
With a quiet sigh, she unzipped her bag. As she emptied its contents onto the desk, something slipped free.
A neatly folded piece of paper.
Her heartbeat stopped.
No...
It couldn't be.
With trembling hands, she unfolded it.
Her eyes immediately searched for the handwriting.
It was the same.
The same careful letters.
The same person.
She began to read.
I know today was difficult.
I'm sorry I had to risk leaving another note, but I wasn't sure when I'd get another chance.
As I promised, I'll help you.
But I'm asking for one thing in return.
Promise me you won't expose my hyung.
Promise me no harm will come to him.
If you can do that, I'll help you get out of Korea before the wedding.
If we don't get a chance to talk, wear something purple the next time we meet as a sign that you agree.
Keep pretending. Keep waiting.
When the time is right, I'll contact you again.
She read the note again. Her eyes lingered on a single word.
Hyung.
Her breathing hitched.
She had read right past it the first time. Now it was all she could see.
My Hyung.
Not Yoongi.
Whoever had written the note addressed Yoongi as hyung. Older brother.
Which meant… someone younger than him.
Well... that eliminated Jin.
Her thoughts immediately drifted back to the studio.
She slowly lowered the note onto the bed.
Her mind replayed every moment after the argument.
Leaving her bag on the desk.
Following Jin into the hallway.
Returning to an empty studio.
Someone had stayed behind. Or someone had come back.
She pictured every face.
Jungkook.
Taehyung.
Jimin.
Hoseok.
Namjoon...
No, it couldn't be Namjoon. Not after that conversation.
One of them had risked everything to slip a folded piece of paper into her bag while everyone else was distracted.
Her grip tightened around the note.
This wasn't a prank. It wasn't a cruel game.
Whoever was doing this had already taken enormous risks, twice.
And he was willing to take even more.
For her.
A determination she hadn't felt in months settled quietly inside her.
I'll figure out who you are.
No matter how long it took.
No matter how carefully she had to play along.
She would find him.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Thank you so much for reading! 💜
I know this chapter was a bit shorter than usual, but I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless. And here's a little innocent confession... 😄 Jin smacking Jungkook over the head was inspired by that iconic BTS live on Namjoon's brand-new sofa where Jin flips Jungkook right over the couch. 😂
Every time I watch that clip, it makes me laugh, so I had to pay tribute to it somehow.
𝑳𝑶𝑽𝑬 𝑨𝑻 𝑭𝑰𝑹𝑺𝑻 𝑩𝑰𝑻𝑬 James “Bucky” Barnes has haunted the world for seven hundred years, cold, heartless and buried since the plague stole his last love. Until you, all warm sunlight and trouble, slammed into his night and woke the monster. Now he’s obsessed. Starving for your scent, your sleep, your soul.
vampire!bucky barnes x fem!reader
word count : 28,5k
warnings 18+ : no use of y/n, somnophilia, oral sex (f recieving), unprotected sex, forced turning, imprisonment against the reader’s will, dddne, graphic violence & gore, brutal murders, dismemberment, skull-crushing, throat-ripping, blood-draining, extreme rough sex (dw there’s soft scenes too), bone-breaking, bruising, bleeding, pain mixed with pleasure during sex, breaking and entering, theft of intimate items, constant surveillance, stalking & obsession, graphic biting, forced blood-drinking, blood-sharing memories, heavy blood kink, murder of the reader’s ex and other men, trauma flashbacks (plague death, war violence), suicidal ideation from bucky, heavy angst and toxic obsessive “love”
author’s note : my BIGGEST thank you goes to the loveliest anon who dropped a vampire!bucky request in my inbox 🫶💞 I’m literally a huge vampire nerd so this + my fave fictional man?? you KNOW I couldn’t keep it a tiny drabble… little heads up before you read… IT’S DARK..... so pls pls read the warnings first and then enjoyyy <33 (and I might be open to writing a pt.2 sooo lmk if you’d want that 👀)
Before the world burned with plague and death, James Buchanan Barnes was the most dangerously handsome bastard in all of plague-shadowed London. At twenty-four, he stood tall and broad-shouldered, with striking steel-blue eyes that could disarm a woman with a single glance, a sharp jawline and an easy, crooked smirk that promised both sin and salvation in the same breath.
His dark hair was tousled from brawls and eager fingers, his body toned hard from years as a mercenary, lean muscle, old battle scars and a swagger so confident it turned heads in every tavern, alehouse and alley from Southwark to Cheapside.
He knew exactly what he was. And he used it without a shred of shame or mercy.
Cocky to the marrow of his bones, sharp-tongued and arrogant as Lucifer himself, Bucky lived as though the world owed him pleasure, coin and willing flesh. By day he sold his sword to the highest bidder. By night he sold his body to any woman bold enough to meet his gaze. Tavern wenches with loud laughs and rough hands, blushing noble daughters sneaking out after curfew, widowed merchants’ wives starved for a man’s touch and painted whores in the stews, he fucked them all. Often two or three in the same night, sometimes all at once.
He never stayed till morning. Never asked their surnames. Never cared.
One humid summer night in a crowded Southwark tavern, he had a fiery red-haired barmaid bent over a stack of ale barrels out back. Her skirts were rucked up around her waist and he was pounding into her so hard the barrels creaked and shifted beneath them. He gripped her hips with calloused hands, lips brushing her ear as he growled low and filthy,
“That’s it, ye greedy little slut… take every thick inch of my cock. Moan louder, lass- let the whole fucking street hear how well I’m ruining this tight, dripping cunt of yers.”
She came with a shaking cry, knees buckling. Bucky laughed darkly, low and wicked and pulled out only to spin her around and shove her to her knees in the dirt.
“Open that pretty mouth,” he ordered, fisting his thick cock. “I’m going to spend down yer throat like the good little cocksucker ye are.”
She obeyed eagerly and he fucked her mouth until he spilled with a satisfied groan.
Two nights later, he found himself in a lavish merchant’s townhouse with twin noble daughters whose father was away on business. The sisters knelt before him in their fine shifts, taking turns sucking his cock while he sat like a king upon their father’s velvet chair. He tangled his fingers in their soft hair, voice low and dripping with filth:
“Look at you two proper little ladies… choking on a lowly mercenary’s cock like common whores in the stews. Share it nicely now- lick my balls while yer sister swallows me down. Good girls. I’m going to fuck both yer tight cunts senseless until ye can’t walk straight on the morrow.”
He took them one after the other on their father’s fine bed, then together, whispering the most depraved things between deep thrusts:
“Does it feel good, feeling yer sister’s slick all over my cock while I’m buried inside ye? Ye like being fucked like cheap sluts, don’t ye?”
The girls moaned and begged for more, and Bucky gave it to them until they were trembling and spent.
Later that same month, he fucked a widowed countess in her own marriage bed, her late husband’s portrait glaring down at them from the wall while he railed her hard from behind. He slapped her ass sharply, leaving a red handprint, and snarled against her ear,
“Bet that cold old bastard never fucked ye like this, did he? Say it, my lady- tell me how much better my thick cock feels stretching this neglected, dripping noble cunt of yers.”
“Better,” she gasped, pushing back against him shamelessly. “So much better- please, harder!”
He laughed, dark and triumphant, and gave her exactly what she begged for.
He never asked. He simply took, with that devastating smirk, those piercing steel-blue eyes and that rough, velvet voice dripping pure sin. Women dropped to their knees the second he crooked a finger and flashed that wicked grin. Word of him spread through the taverns and great houses alike: if you wanted a night you’d never forget, you sought out James Barnes.
To him, life was cheap and fleeting, especially with the dark rumors of a terrible sickness creeping ever closer from the continent. So why not wring every last drop of pleasure from it while he still could? Death was for the weak, the unlucky, the overly cautious. James Buchanan Barnes was none of those things. He felt invincible, already half-immortal in his own mind, a king of fleeting nights and stolen pleasures.
Until the night the plague finally found him in that filthy alley behind the tavern.
James had just finished with a laughing barmaid behind the tavern, still tucking his cock back into his breeches with that signature cocky smirk when the nightmare lunged out of the shadows.
The man was a nobleman once, fine clothes now stained and torn but the plague had rotted him from the inside. Black buboes swelled grotesquely on his neck and groin, his skin slick with fever-sweat and pus. His eyes, however, burned with something far worse than the pestilence. They were mad. Hungry. And his mouth was open, revealing long, sharp fangs glistening with saliva and fresh blood.
Bucky tried to fight.
Even half-drunk and sated, the young mercenary was no easy prey. He swung a heavy fist and caught the creature square in the jaw with a solid crack.
“Get the fuck off me, ye sick bastard!” he snarled, terror spiking through the haze of ale.
The nobleman’s strength was unnatural. He slammed Bucky against the slimy brick wall of the alley with bone-jarring force. The stench of death, decay and rotting flesh filled Bucky’s lungs, making him gag. He kicked wildly, cursed, and clawed at the creature’s rotting face, drawing blood and pus beneath his nails.
“Unhand me, you foul whoreson!”
But the dying vampire was too far gone. With a guttural, inhuman hiss, he struck.
Fangs sank deep into Bucky’s throat.
The pain was immediate and blinding.
James screamed, a raw broken sound that echoed off the narrow alley walls. It felt as though liquid fire had been poured straight into his veins. Every nerve in his body ignited at once. His back arched violently as the venom spread like acid through muscle and bone. He dropped to his knees in the filth and shit of the alley, clawing desperately at his own neck. Hot blood poured between his fingers, soaking his tunic.
“What… what the fuck have ye done to me?!” he gasped, voice cracking with raw terror. “Get off- get off me, ye devil!”
The nobleman collapsed beside him with a grotesque, satisfied smile still twisting his rotting face, finally dead.
Bucky’s vision blurred and doubled. His gums burned as though someone had shoved hot coals into his mouth. New fangs pushed through with agonizing slowness, splitting the flesh, flooding his mouth with the metallic taste of his own blood. His eyes felt like they were boiling in his skull, bloodshot crimson, pupils blown wide with unbearable pain. Every heartbeat slammed against his ribs like a war drum, each one slower, heavier, more labored than the last.
He vomited bile and blood onto the filthy cobblestones, curling into a tight ball as wave after wave of excruciating pain ripped him apart from the inside out. Nothing in his life, no sword wound, no tavern brawl, no brutal fuck had ever come close to this torment.
“I’m dying,” he gasped between screams. “Christ save me… I’m dying…”
Then his heart stopped.
For one terrifying, endless moment there was only silence.
And then a new, monstrous strength flooded his limbs.
The pain crested like a breaking wave and shattered. The fire in his veins cooled into something cold, sharp, and impossibly clear. His senses exploded. He could hear rats skittering through the gutters three streets away. He could smell the fear-sweat and ale on every patron still inside the tavern. He could taste the copper of his own blood like the finest wine he’d ever stolen.
James Buchanan Barnes rose slowly from the filth of the alley a different man.
No longer the cocky mortal who believed himself invincible.
Now he was invincible.
The arrogance did not vanish overnight. It simply twisted into something far colder, darker and infinitely more dangerous. A ravenous hunger gnawed at his insides like a living beast. He staggered out of the alley on unsteady legs, eyes glowing faintly red in the darkness, new fangs aching in his gums. The whole world smelled of blood and opportunity.
For the next three centuries he drifted across Europe like a handsome plague all his own, still devastatingly beautiful, now paired with an immortal predator’s lethal grace. He took lovers by the dozen and left ruin in his wake.
He fucked them hard and mercilessly.
In silk-draped beds of French chateaus, he would take haughty countesses from behind while their husbands slept in the next room. He’d grip their hips hard enough to bruise, pounding into them until they sobbed with pleasure, then sink his fangs into their offered throats as they came. Many begged for it, baring their necks willingly, whispering “Take me, my lord… drink” as he drained them just enough to leave them dizzy and addicted.
In moonlit forests of Germany, he seduced witches who offered their wrists and throats in dark rituals. He’d fuck them against ancient trees or on moss-covered altars, their bare breasts bouncing with every brutal thrust while they chanted his name like a god. He drank from them mid-climax, their blood mixing with their screams of ecstasy as he filled their cunts with his spend.
In the secret royal chambers of Spain and Italy, queens and duchesses summoned him under cover of night. They offered their royal throats like sacred gifts, spreading their legs and begging the beautiful monster to ruin them. He would fuck them on their own thrones or royal beds, merciless and unrelenting, leaving bite marks that they would hide beneath high collars and jewels for weeks.
Even peasant girls in haylofts and smoky inns were not spared. They offered themselves eagerly, wrists, throats, thighs, drawn to his dangerous beauty like moths to flame. He took them roughly against barn walls or on piles of straw, growling filthy promises in their ears as he drove into them:
“That’s it, lass… bare that pretty throat for me. Let me drink while I fuck this tight cunt raw.”
He was never gentle. He fucked like the predator he had become, deep, brutal and possessive. Many women left his bed limping, marked and forever changed, craving the bite of the beautiful devil who had ruined them for mortal men.
And when the hunger demanded more than just sex, he fed.
He drank from wrists held out like offerings, from elegant throats bared in candlelight, from soft inner thighs spread wide beneath him. He never killed them, not unless they deserved it. He left them alive, dazed and addicted, whispering his name in their dreams for years afterward.
Then he vanished before dawn.
No attachments. No feelings. No mercy.
Just blood and pleasure.
He moved from city to city, country to country, leaving a trail of broken hearts, bitten throats and ruined reputations in his wake.
Until the second wave of plague swept through London in 1665… and brought him Dolores.
It was a rain-soaked evening when James first met Dolores.
He was walking the narrow, muddy streets of Cheapside, hood pulled low against the downpour, when a young woman hurried around the corner with a heavy basket of herbs clutched to her chest. She collided directly with him.
She stumbled, nearly dropping her basket. He caught her elbow with gentle, steady hands.
“Forgive me, mistress,” he murmured, voice low and rough. “I was not watching where I-”
Their eyes met.
And she knew.
She saw the faint red glow in his eyes, the unnatural stillness of his body, the way the rain seemed to slide off him differently. She smelled the old death that clung to him like a shadow. Most mortals would have screamed or run.
Dolores only smiled, soft, unafraid, almost tender.
“You’re him,” she whispered, so quietly only he could hear. “The one the shadows speak of. The immortal with the devil’s hunger.”
James froze. For the first time in centuries, he was the one caught off guard.
“And yet ye do not run,” he said, voice low and dangerous, eyes narrowing. “Most women throw themselves at me for the thrill of the monster. They bare their throats and beg to be ruined. Why do you not scream?”
She looked up at him with calm, intelligent eyes, rain dripping from her lashes.
“Because I see more than the monster,” she replied softly. “I see a man who is tired. Lonely. Carrying centuries of sorrow in those beautiful eyes. Tell me, stranger… does the hunger ever let you rest?”
James stared at her, stunned into silence. No one had ever spoken to him like this.
That night, after she invited him into the back room of her father’s apothecary shop under the pretense of selling him a tonic, she offered him something far more precious.
“I know what you are,” she said softly, standing close enough that he could hear her steady heartbeat. “And I am not afraid. If you wish to drink… you may. But only if it brings me pleasure, not pain. I want to know what it feels like to be wanted by something eternal.”
James stared at her, stunned. No one had ever offered themselves to him like this, without fear or mindless lust.
“Dolores,” he breathed, tasting the name like a prayer. “Are you certain? I am no gentle lover. I have ruined women far braver than you.”
She cupped his face with gentle hands, thumbs brushing his cheekbones. “Then be gentle with me, my James. Show me the man behind the hunger. Kiss me first.”
He kissed her slowly, reverently, as if she were the most fragile thing in existence. When she moaned softly into his mouth, he deepened the kiss, tongue sliding against hers while his hands explored her body with aching care.
That same night, in the small room above the shop with rain pattering against the window, he took her virginity.
He laid her down on the narrow bed like she was made of Venetian glass. He kissed every inch of her, slow worshipful kisses down her throat, across her collarbones, over the soft swell of her breasts. When he reached the apex of her thighs, he worshipped her with his mouth until she was trembling and whimpering.
“Easy, my sweet Dot,” he murmured against her slick folds, voice low and tender. “Breathe for me. Let me make it good for you. I want to hear every sound you make.”
He licked her slowly, reverently, sucking gently on her clit until she came with a soft cry, fingers tangled in his hair.
When he finally pushed inside her, he did it so slowly, so carefully, whispering sweet, filthy praises the entire time.
“That’s it, love… breathe. You feel so perfect. So warm and tight around my cock. Such a brave, beautiful girl, taking me so well. Does it hurt?”
“A little,” she gasped, legs wrapping around him. “But don’t stop. I want all of you, James. Please.”
He moved with aching gentleness, rocking into her in slow, deep strokes, one hand cradling her face while the other stroked between her legs.
“You’re doing so well,” he whispered against her lips. “My perfect Dot. Look at you, opening up for a monster like me. I’ve never felt anything like this. Never wanted anyone the way I want you.”
As she neared her peak, he kissed her throat and asked softly, “May I taste you, love? It will feel like pleasure… I swear it on whatever soul I have left.”
“Yes,” she breathed, tilting her head. “Take what you need. I want to feel you.”
He sank his fangs gently into her throat at the exact moment she came. She cried out in ecstasy, not pain, as his venom flooded her veins with liquid pleasure. He drank only a little, just enough to bind her to him while she clenched around his cock, sobbing his name.
“My James… oh God, James… it feels… so good…”
For the first time in three hundred years, the cold, womanizing predator fell in love. Real, terrifying, all-consuming love. Dot became his anchor, his light in an endless night. She made the hunger feel like home. They moved into a small cottage on the edge of the city, hidden behind overgrown gardens. He watched her work by lamplight, head bent over dried herbs and for stolen months he felt almost human again.
He was gentle with her in ways he had never been with anyone. He would fuck her slow and deep on their modest bed, whispering filthy devotion between tender kisses:
“My sweet Dot… so tight, so perfect for me. Look how beautifully you take my cock. I’d burn kingdoms for this cunt, for you.”
She would moan his name like a prayer, fingers buried in his hair, gasping “My James… my James…” as she came apart beneath him, safe in the arms of the monster who had chosen to be gentle for her.
But the plague found her anyway.
It started with a mild fever and a small swelling under her arm. Bucky begged her to stay inside. She insisted on helping the sick in the city “I cannot sit idle while people die, James.” Within days she was burning with fever, black buboes blooming across her neck and groin, coughing up blood.
He took her to the only hospital-like place that would accept plague victims, a filthy overcrowded pesthouse run by overworked physicians and nuns. The air reeked of vinegar, smoke, and rotting flesh. They bled her, applied useless poultices, and prayed over her while she grew weaker. Bucky waited outside in the shadows like an animal, listening to her faint cries through the walls.
When the doctors finally told him there was nothing more they could do “She is in God’s hands now” he snapped. He stole her from the pesthouse that same night, carrying her home in his arms while she shivered and whimpered.
“I’ve got you, Dot. I’m not letting them touch you again.”
Back in their cottage, he took matters into his own hands. Desperate and terrified, he forced his ancient vampire blood down her throat by the cupful. He reopened the bites on his wrists again and again, mixing his blood with herbal tonics she once made, performing every forbidden rite he had learned across three centuries. He even tried to turn her prematurely, sinking his fangs into her throat while she was still semi-conscious, pumping venom and blood into her failing body in a frantic attempt to save her.
It only made everything worse.
His powerful blood clashed violently with the plague already devouring her. The buboes swelled larger and burst. Her fever spiked into delirium. She screamed in agony as her body tore itself apart from the inside, convulsing so hard she bit through her own lip. The vampire venom accelerated the plague’s destruction, turning her gentle decline into a nightmare of pain.
In her final hours she was barely lucid. Bucky climbed into bed with her, cradling her burning body against his chest, rocking her as she gasped for air.
“Stay with me, Dot… please, my love. I can’t do this without you.”
Her eyes fluttered open one last time, bloodshot, fading but full of love. She reached up with a trembling, fever-hot hand and cupped his tear-streaked face.
“My James…” she breathed, voice cracking like glass. “I love you… even the monster. Don’t… don’t blame yourself.”
Then she screamed.
A horrible, soul-shattering scream as another wave of pain ripped through her. She clawed at her own chest and neck, eyes wide with terror and agony, whispering his name like a broken litany until her voice failed. Bucky held her through every convulsion, sobbing blood tears into her sweat-soaked hair, begging, praying, cursing God and himself.
She died just before dawn, limp and cold in the arms of the immortal who had tried everything and only hastened her suffering.
The silence afterward was worse than any scream.
Completely shattered, Bucky remained on the bed where they had been lying together.
Dot was still in his arms, limp and cold against his chest, exactly where she had drawn her last painful breath. He held her tighter, rocking her gently as if that could somehow bring her back. The silence in the small cottage was deafening, broken only by the distant rumble of plague carts outside and the crackling of the dying fire in the hearth.
Tears of blood streamed down his face as he pressed his lips to her forehead one final time.
“I’m sorry, my love,” he whispered, voice hoarse and broken. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t save you. Forgive me, Dot… forgive your monster.”
With trembling hands, he gently laid her back against the pillows, arranging her hair and pulling the quilt up to her chin like she was only sleeping.
Then he rose.
He moved through the cottage like a man in a nightmare, pouring oil from every lamp and bottle he could find. He soaked the floorboards, the rugs, the curtains, the herbs and dried flowers she had so lovingly collected. He drenched the wooden beams and the table where she used to mix tonics.
When the entire home was saturated in oil, he returned to the bed.
He stood over her for a long moment, memorizing her peaceful face one last time. Then he struck the match.
The flames roared to life with terrifying speed, greedy and hungry, racing across the floor and climbing the walls. Bucky stayed right there beside the bed as the fire reached them, the heat blistering his immortal skin. He watched the flames lick at the quilt, at her hair, at the body of the only woman who had ever truly loved him.
He didn’t move.
He stood in the flames’ glow, the inferno painting the small cottage in violent orange and red, until the roof began to collapse and the entire structure became nothing but a roaring pyre.
The last remnants of the man he used to be, the cocky mercenary, the arrogant lover, the creature who still believed he could be redeemed, died with her in that fire.
When the cottage finally collapsed in on itself with a thunderous crash, Bucky walked out of the burning ruins and into the night.
He never looked back.
After Dolores burned, Bucky wandered the world like a ghost for nearly two hundred and fifty years, feeding in the slums of Paris, hunting through the fog of Victorian London, drifting across continents with no purpose except to dull the ache in his chest.
Then the wars found him.
In 1914, when the world descended into madness, he enlisted under a false name and threw himself into the trenches of World War I. He fought like a shadow, slipping through No Man’s Land at night, ripping out German throats with his bare fangs while artillery shells screamed overhead. The mud, the blood, the endless screams… they felt like penance. He told himself the carnage was justice for every innocent life he’d taken, for failing Dot. He rarely fed on soldiers, only the cruelest officers and rapists among the ranks. The rest of the time he simply endured, letting bullets tear through him, healing slowly, welcoming the pain.
When the war ended in 1918, the emptiness followed him back across the Atlantic.
He moved to Brooklyn in the early 1920s.
New York felt different, loud, restless, alive in a way Europe no longer was. Brooklyn, with its brick row houses, bustling docks and working-class grit, reminded him faintly of the London he once knew. He bought an old warehouse near the waterfront under yet another alias and made it his lair. For a few quiet decades he tried to disappear into the rhythm of the city: working nights on the docks, boxing in smoky gyms, fucking nameless women in speakeasies just to feel something close to warmth.
But peace never lasted.
World War II dragged him back in.
By 1942 he was operating as a covert Allied operative, a ghost soldier who could walk through enemy lines and leave nothing but corpses. In the brutal winter of 1944, during the Battle of the Bulge in the Ardennes Forest, everything shattered. A German artillery shell landed too close. The explosion tore his left arm clean off at the shoulder in a spray of blood and bone. Vampire healing tried desperately to close the wound but the shrapnel was too deep, the damage too severe. He lay bleeding in the snow for hours before a secret HYDRA-linked unit found him.
They dragged him to a makeshift lab hidden in the frozen woods. There, while he was half-conscious and roaring in agony, they fused a prototype metal prosthetic to the raw stump, cold steel wired directly into his immortal nervous system. The pain was worse than the turning in that London alley. He screamed until his voice gave out as they bolted the arm into place.
When he finally woke, the arm was part of him, unbreakable, unnaturally strong and freezing to the touch. A permanent scar on the body that had once made women drop to their knees.
After the war ended in 1945, Bucky vanished again.
He returned to Brooklyn, the only place that still felt halfway like home. He kept the same warehouse, later converting it into a hidden penthouse high above the city as the decades passed. The metal arm stayed hidden beneath long sleeves and gloves. He fed only on the worst of humanity, mobsters, rapists, corrupt politicians and fucked to forget, never staying longer than one night.
As the years went on, the world changed… and so did the way people fucked.
In the roaring 1920s, flappers threw themselves at him in smoky speakeasies, lipstick-stained mouths whispering filthy promises while they rode him in dark corners. In the 1950s and 60s, women grew bolder, secretaries, housewives, beatnik girls who wanted danger. They offered their throats and wrists in motel rooms, begging him to bite while they came on his cock. By the 1970s and 80s, the sexual revolution turned everything dirtier. Women took him home and asked him to choke them, slap them, fuck them until they cried, sometimes filthier than he had ever been in his mortal days.
He gave them what they wanted. He fucked them hard and merciless in alleyways, penthouse suites and the backs of cars. He drank from them while they screamed in pleasure, leaving bite marks they would hide under turtlenecks and makeup. But it was never love. Never connection. Just bodies and blood to numb the emptiness.
He was the shift.
Many, many years ago, people fucked mostly for love, for marriage, for heirs. Now they fucked for fun, for thrill, for the sheer dirty pleasure of it and Bucky became their favorite sin. They threw themselves at the tall, silent man with the metal arm and the dangerous eyes, never knowing they were offering themselves to something ancient and monstrous.
Yet no matter how many women he took, how many throats he drank from, how many nights he spent buried in warm, willing bodies… the loneliness never left.
Four hundred more years of numbness stretched ahead of him.
A ghost with fangs, a metal arm that never truly felt like his own, and a heart that hadn’t truly beaten since Dolores died screaming his name.
Until one rainy night in 2026, outside a quiet Brooklyn library, a warm-blooded girl with a sunlight smile literally crashed into him… and everything changed.
You’re running on fumes, a broke stubborn waitress working chaotic double shifts at a loud hipster café by day and a quiet night-shift librarian at an old branch library by night. Your Gothic literature thesis is the only thing that still excites you: tragic monsters, obsessive love and beautiful creatures of the night that always end up destroying what they crave most. You laugh at how dramatic it all sounds.
It’s a brutal, pouring rainy night when fate decides to be cruel.
You’re leaving the library well past midnight, arms overloaded with books and thesis notes, your cheap umbrella doing almost nothing against the downpour. Head down, coffee in hand, you hurry down the slick stone steps and slam directly into a solid wall of muscle.
Your coffee cup flies out of your hand, splashing across his dark coat. Your umbrella spins wildly into the street. You stumble backward, nearly slipping on the wet pavement.
“Shit- I’m so sorry!” you blurt, face burning with embarrassment. “I wasn’t watching where I was going, I-”
Before you can finish, a large, surprisingly gentle hand catches your elbow, steadying you with effortless strength.
“Easy there, doll,” a low, rough voice murmurs, laced with an old-fashioned accent that doesn’t belong in modern Brooklyn. “You alright? That was my fault. Should’ve been paying better attention.”
You finally look up.
Holy fuck.
He’s stunning. Tall, broad-shouldered, with steel-blue eyes that seem to cut straight through you, sharp jawline and dark hair dripping from the rain. Danger rolls off him in waves, but his touch is careful, almost reverent.
He releases your elbow only to bend down and retrieve your soaked umbrella from the gutter, shaking the water off before handing it back to you.
You’re still flustered. “No, really, it was me. I’m such a klutz when I’m tired. Here- let me get you some napkins or something-”
He’s already shrugging off his long, clearly expensive black coat. Before you can protest, he drapes it over your shoulders. It’s warm from his body and smells like aged leather, rain and something darkly rich, like old wine and copper.
Your eyes go wide in panic.
“Wait- no, no, no! I can’t take this!” You immediately start shrugging it off. “This looks really expensive. How am I supposed to give it back to you? I don’t even know your name. I can’t just walk off with your coat like some weirdo-”
He places a gentle but firm hand on your shoulder, stopping you from removing it. His eyes soften, the corner of his mouth twitching into the faintest crooked smirk.
“Keep it,” he says, voice low and smooth. “You’re soaked to the bone, doll. You’ll catch your death walking home like that. I insist.”
“But it’s yours,” you insist, cheeks burning hotter. “What if I ruin it? Or lose it? Seriously, I feel terrible. At least let me get your number or something so I can return it properly-”
He shakes his head, that ghost of a smirk deepening. “It’s just a coat. I have others. You, on the other hand, look like you’ve had a long night. Keep it. Wear it home. I’ll survive.”
You clutch the coat tighter despite yourself, the fabric heavy and comforting against the chill. No one in this city is ever this… chivalrous. Guys your age would’ve already grumbled and walked away. This man is looking at you like your comfort actually matters to him.
“You’re really sure?” you ask softly, still hesitant.
“Positive,” he replies, eyes never leaving yours. “Besides… it looks better on you anyway.”
Your stomach flips. The way he says it, quiet, sincere, a little rough, makes heat creep up your neck.
You manage a flustered, stubborn little smile. “Thank you… really. Most people in this city would’ve just cursed me out and kept walking. You’re… surprisingly nice.”
Something flickers across his face, pain, surprise, hunger but it’s gone in a heartbeat. He hasn’t been called nice in over four hundred years. He hasn’t been looked at like a person since Dolores whispered “my James” with her last breath.
“You stay safe getting home,” he says quietly, almost like a command wrapped in velvet. “And maybe… watch your step next time, doll.”
You nod, cheeks still warm. “Yeah… I will. Goodnight.”
You give him one last awkward little wave and start walking, his coat wrapped around you like a shield against the rain. You can feel his eyes on your back the entire way down the block.
Bucky stands motionless in the downpour, fists clenched at his sides, metal arm whirring quietly under his Henley. Your scent, warm vanilla, rain and that sweet, pulsing blood underneath has already burrowed into his lungs like a drug. His fangs throb painfully behind his lips. He has to fight every instinct not to follow you right now and drag you into the nearest alley.
He waits until you’ve turned the corner.
Then he moves.
Silent as death, he follows you home.
Every step. Every turn. Close enough to protect you from anyone who might look at you too long. Far enough that you never notice the shadow trailing behind you.
By the time you reach your apartment building, he’s already memorized which window is yours.
He stands across the street in the rain, eyes glowing faintly red in the dark, heart dead for centuries cracking wide open with dangerous, all-consuming obsession.
He already knows one simple truth:
He’s never letting you go.
Bucky waited in the shadows across the street like a predator who had already decided his prey belonged to him.
He stood motionless in the pouring rain for nearly two hours, eyes fixed on your apartment window on the third floor. When the last light finally clicked off at 2:47 am, something dark and hungry uncoiled inside his chest.
But he didn’t move right away.
Instead, he stayed where he was, hidden in the darkness between two buildings and watched.
You had left the curtains open.
Through the rain-streaked glass, he saw you clearly. You were still wearing his long black coat. You shrugged it off your shoulders and held it up to your face, pressing your nose into the collar. Your eyes closed as you breathed in deeply, then again, slower, savoring his scent. A soft, almost dreamy expression crossed your face.
Bucky’s fangs throbbed. His cock hardened instantly.
You muttered to yourself, voice quiet but perfectly clear to his enhanced hearing:
“God… why does this smell so good?”
Bucky’s lips curled into a dark, predatory smile. He murmured under his breath, voice low and rough with dark amusement,
“People really don’t close their curtains anymore, do they? They have no idea who could be watching them…”
You laughed softly at yourself, shaking your head, then started changing. You peeled off your damp clothes, letting them drop to the floor without a care. For a moment you stood there in just your panties, stretching, completely unaware of the ancient predator standing in the rain across the street, staring at every inch of your body with black, starving eyes.
Bucky’s metal hand clenched at his side, plates whirring. Drool slipped from the corner of his mouth. He watched the way your breasts moved when you raised your arms, the curve of your hips, the soft sway of your ass as you turned. His breathing grew ragged.
“Beautiful,” he whispered to the night. “So fucking beautiful… and so unaware.”
Only when you finally pulled on an oversized t-shirt and climbed into bed, turning off the last light, did he move.
Silent as death, Bucky crossed the street, climbed the stairs to your building’s front entrance, and picked the cheap lock on your apartment door in less than eight seconds. He slipped inside like smoke, closed the door behind him, and locked it again with the same unnatural precision, so perfectly that no one would ever know he’d been there.
The apartment was small, cluttered and alive with you.
Your scent was everywhere, warm vanilla lotion, faint coffee from your shift, the sweet copper undertone of your blood pulsing just beneath your skin. It filled the cramped space like perfume made specifically to torment him.
Bucky’s boots were silent on the worn hardwood as he walked through your living room. Books and thesis notes were scattered across the coffee table. A half-empty mug of tea sat cold beside them. A worn blanket was crumpled on the couch. The mess should have annoyed the centuries-old soldier in him… but it only made the obsession sink deeper. This was your chaos. Your life. Your little mortal world he was about to invade.
His gaze fell on the open notebook lying on top of the pile. Your neat handwriting filled the page, underlined and circled in places:
Vampires in Gothic Literature
Eternal life vs. eternal loneliness?
Do they feel love or only hunger?
Real or metaphor for forbidden desire? Witches – power, seduction, danger… real?
Bucky read the notes slowly, a low, dark chuckle rumbling in his chest. The sound was soft, almost affectionate, but laced with something ancient and dangerous.
“Only if you knew, doll,” he whispered to the empty room, the corners of his mouth twitching into a predatory smirk. “Only if you knew.”
He lingered there for a moment longer, tracing one finger over your handwriting, before continuing toward the bedroom.
Your bedroom door was ajar.
He pushed it open slowly, the hinges giving a tiny protesting creak that made him freeze. You didn’t stir.
There you were.
Curled up in bed under a messy pile of blankets, wearing nothing but an oversized t-shirt and a pair of soft cotton panties. Your breathing was deep and even, lips slightly parted, one leg kicked out from under the covers. So vulnerable. So warm.
Bucky’s fangs throbbed. His metal hand flexed at his side, plates whirring quietly.
He stepped closer.
Your scent was strongest here, concentrated, intimate, intoxicating. He could hear every heartbeat, every soft inhale and exhale. His cock hardened instantly, thick and aching against the front of his jeans. He hadn’t felt this kind of raw, physical need in decades.
On the floor near the foot of your bed lay a pair of discarded black lace panties, the ones you’d clearly worn earlier that day. Slightly damp from the rain and your long shift. The scent rolling off them made his mouth flood with venom.
He crouched down, metal fingers hovering just above the delicate fabric. The urge to snatch them was almost painful. He wanted to press them to his face, inhale you until he drowned in it. He wanted to wrap them around his cock the second he got home and fuck his fist while imagining burying himself inside you.
But he stopped.
His hand trembled. The metal plates clicked softly.
“Not yet,” he whispered to himself, voice barely a breath. “Don’t scare her. Not yet.”
With a low, tortured growl, he forced himself to stand. He backed away from the panties like they were burning him.
He allowed himself one last indulgence.
He leaned over your sleeping form, careful not to touch you and breathed you in deeply, dragging your scent into his lungs like a dying man taking his final breath. His lips hovered an inch above your neck, right where your pulse fluttered so invitingly. He could hear the blood rushing beneath your skin. His cock throbbed harder, leaking against his thigh.
He stayed there for a long minute, eyes closed, fangs fully extended, fighting every instinct screaming at him to bite, to claim, to take.
Finally, with a ragged exhale, he pulled back.
On his way out, he noticed his coat draped over the back of your couch where you must have taken it off before bed. The fabric still carried traces of both your scent and his. For a moment he considered taking it back… but he left it exactly where it was.
He didn’t want to take anything from you tonight.
Not yet.
By the time he reached his penthouse, he was shaking with raw, barely contained need.
The second the door shut, Bucky shoved his jeans down, freed his painfully hard cock and stroked himself with brutal, desperate strokes. He buried his face in the collar of his shirt, the one that still carried the faintest trace of your scent from when he’d stood so close to you and fucked his fist like a man possessed.
He came hard within minutes, spilling over his hand with a broken, guttural groan.
Even after the release, the hunger didn’t fade.
It only grew sharper.
He didn’t even know your name yet.
And he already knew he’d be back tomorrow night.
And the night after that.
Until simply watching you sleep was no longer enough.
The next morning, Bucky was already waiting in the shadows outside your building when you left just after 6:30 am, yawning, hair messy, clutching a travel mug of cheap instant coffee.
He followed you at a distance, ten blocks through the waking city, never close enough for you to notice. He memorized every little habit: the way you adjusted your bag strap, how you checked your phone at stoplights, the slight slump in your shoulders from exhaustion. When you finally stopped in front of a small, cozy café called “The Midnight Brew,” he lingered across the street for nearly forty minutes, watching through the large windows as you tied on your black apron and started your shift.
Only when the morning rush began to build did he cross the street and step inside.
The bell above the door jingled. You looked up from behind the counter and your breath hitched.
It was him.
Bucky chose the small table by the window, the one with the perfect view of you. A few minutes later you approached, notepad in hand, trying (and failing) to look professional.
“Hi… you again,” you said, a shy, surprised smile tugging at your lips. “Didn’t expect to see you so soon. What can I get started for you today?”
Bucky looked up slowly, his steel-blue eyes dragging over your face like he wanted to commit every detail to memory. His gaze flicked briefly to your name tag.
“That’s a beautiful name,” he murmured, voice low and rough with that old-fashioned accent. “Suits you perfectly.”
Your cheeks instantly burned hot. You weren’t used to compliments delivered like that, slow, sincere and a little dangerous.
“Th-thank you,” you stammered, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “That’s… really sweet of you to say. Um, what would you like?”
“Black coffee. No sugar,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “And whatever your favorite pastry is this morning. Surprise me, doll. I trust your taste.”
You nodded quickly, scribbling on your pad to hide how flustered you felt. “One black coffee and a chocolate croissant coming right up.”
When you returned with his order, your fingers brushed against his right hand as you set the mug down. His skin was cool, almost unnaturally so, and the brief contact sent a shiver racing up your arm. You couldn’t help but notice that his left hand remained gloved in black leather, resting quietly on the table, the same glove he’d worn outside. You wondered about it for a split second but said nothing, simply offering him a small smile instead.
“Here you go,” you said softly, still pink-cheeked. “The croissant is still warm. Let me know if you need a refill or anything else.”
You hesitated for a second, then added, “Oh- I actually brought your coat with me. It’s hanging on the rack in the back. I was going to take it to the dry cleaners on my break because it got soaked last night. I can drop it off at the library tonight if you want, or… I don’t know, maybe you could pick it up later?”
Bucky’s eyes darkened, something possessive flickering behind them. He shook his head slowly.
“Keep it,” he said, voice low and firm but gentle. “It looks better on you than it ever did on me. I have more coats than I know what to do with. I insist.”
“But it’s such a nice coat,” you protested, cheeks burning hotter. “I’d feel terrible if something happened to it. At least let me get it cleaned for you-”
“No arguments, doll,” he interrupted, the faintest crooked smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Wear it when you need it. Stay warm. That’s all I want from you right now.”
You blinked, completely thrown by how gently but stubbornly he was refusing. No guy had ever spoken to you like this.
“…Okay,” you said softly, biting your lip. “If you’re really sure. Thank you again. Seriously. Most people wouldn’t have even offered their coat in that rain.”
Bucky’s gaze softened for just a moment. “Most people aren’t me.”
You gave him a shy little smile and hurried back to the counter, heart racing. For the rest of your shift you could feel his eyes on you, steady, dark and unwavering. He barely touched the coffee or the croissant. He just watched you move behind the counter like you were the only thing worth looking at in the entire world.
When the rush finally slowed, he stood up, left a very generous tip folded neatly under the mug, and paused at the counter on his way out.
“See you soon,” he murmured, saying your name like it was something sacred and secret. “Have a good rest of your shift, doll. Don’t work too hard.”
You could only manage a flustered nod, cheeks still warm long after he’d walked out the door.
That night, when he picked the lock on your front door and slipped silently into your apartment while you slept, he stood over your bed for a long time, breathing you in.
He leaned down, lips hovering just above the soft skin of your neck and whispered your name into the darkness like a vow.
It sounded like both a prayer… and a promise.
Over the next several nights, Bucky’s restraint completely shattered.
He came back every few nights, slipping through your front door like a ghost, locking it behind him with that soft, familiar click. At first he only watched you sleep. But the hunger quickly grew teeth.
The third night he touched you.
He leaned over your bed, cool lips pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses down the side of your throat. He nipped at your skin, fangs grazing but never breaking it, sucking lightly until you whimpered in your sleep.
“Fuck… such a pretty neck,” he growled quietly against your pulse. “Bet you’d look so good with my marks all over it.”
He pushed your nightshirt up, exposing your breasts and buried his face between them with a low, filthy groan. His tongue dragged over your nipples in slow, wet circles before he sucked one into his mouth, moaning like he was tasting something divine.
“So fucking sweet… these tits are perfect, doll. Made for my mouth.”
His metal hand ghosted over your hips, fingertips barely brushing your skin as he fought not to grip hard enough to bruise. You arched unconsciously toward him, thighs pressing together.
The fourth night he went lower.
He eased your panties down your legs and spread your thighs wide, kneeling between them like he was worshipping at an altar. He dragged his tongue through your soaked folds in one long, obscene lick and groaned deeply.
“Jesus Christ… your pussy is dripping for me even when you’re asleep,” he rasped, voice thick with lust. “Such a needy little cunt. You taste so fucking good, baby. I could eat this pretty pussy for hours.”
He licked you like a man starved, slow, filthy strokes of his tongue circling your clit before pushing inside you, fucking you with it. He sucked on your swollen clit with wet, obscene sounds, metal fingers gently holding your thighs open.
“That’s it… grind against my tongue even in your sleep like a good little slut,” he murmured against your slick flesh. “This pussy belongs to me now. You hear me? Mine.”
You came hard on his tongue, thighs shaking, a broken moan slipping from your lips. He licked you through every pulse, drinking down every drop like it was sacred.
The visits only got dirtier.
Night after night he returned. He’d bury his face between your thighs for what felt like hours, tongue-fucking you, sucking your clit, growling filthy praise against your soaked cunt.
“Fuck, you’re so wet… creaming all over my tongue like you were made for this. That’s my girl. Let me taste how much you need me.”
Sometimes he’d slide two cool fingers inside you while sucking on your clit, curling them just right, whispering, “Tight little pussy sucking my fingers in even when you’re dreaming. Gonna ruin this cunt one day. Gonna fill you up and make you scream my name for real.”
You always woke drenched in sweat, thighs slick and trembling, panties pushed to the side or completely off. Fragments of sensation haunted you, cold tongue licking deep, a rough voice groaning filthy things, the faint scent of old leather and blood on your skin. You told yourself they were just extremely vivid, filthy dreams caused by stress and loneliness.
Your body knew the truth.
Every morning you woke up aching and empty, clit throbbing, sheets ruined. And every few nights the dreams returned, darker, wetter, more intense.
Bucky, meanwhile, was unraveling.
He left your apartment every time with your taste coating his tongue and his cock so hard it hurt. Back in his penthouse he would stroke himself raw, snarling your name as he came but it was never enough.
He needed to hear you moan his name for real.
He needed to sink his fangs into your thigh while buried balls-deep inside you.
And he was getting dangerously close to losing the last shred of control he had left.
A few days later, the universe seemed determined to keep pushing you together.
You were halfway through your post-shift grocery run, still wearing Bucky’s oversized black coat because the autumn air had turned crisp. It swallowed your frame, the hem brushing your thighs and you secretly loved how warm and safe it made you feel. Your basket was overloaded with pasta, fresh vegetables, a cheap bottle of red wine, and a pint of ice cream you were definitely stress-eating later.
You turned the corner into the pasta aisle and walked straight into a solid wall of muscle.
“Oh- I’m so sorry!” you gasped, nearly dropping your basket.
Gentle but strong hands immediately steadied you, catching your elbows with careful precision so you wouldn’t fall.
“Easy there, doll,” a low, familiar voice murmured. “You alright? That was my fault. Should’ve been paying better attention.”
You looked up and your heart skipped hard.
It was him, the mysterious, devastatingly handsome man from the rainy night and the café. He was wearing a red Henley under a leather jacket, his metal hand tucked discreetly into his pocket like always. His steel-blue eyes softened the second they met yours.
You blushed instantly. “I swear I’m not this clumsy all the time. I was trying to decide between spaghetti and linguine like my life depended on it.”
Bucky’s mouth curved into that faint, crooked smile that made your stomach flutter. His gaze drifted down, noticing you were still wearing his coat.
“Looks far better on you than it ever did on me,” he said softly, almost reverent. “I’m glad you kept it.”
Before you could respond, he smoothly took the heavy basket from your hands as if it weighed nothing.
“Please, allow me,” he said, already heading toward the checkout. “A lady shouldn’t have to carry all this herself.”
You tried to protest. “You really don’t have to-”
“I insist,” he replied gently but firmly, that old-world chivalry radiating off him. He held the basket in one arm and used the other to open the door for an elderly woman leaving the store, nodding politely to her. “After you, ma’am.”
You watched him, completely charmed and a little dazed. No guy your age ever acted like this.
At checkout, he politely waited while you paid, then immediately took all the bags before you could reach for them. Outside, he positioned himself on the street side of the sidewalk, shielding you from traffic like it was the most natural thing in the world.
The walk back to your apartment was short but felt electric. He carried every bag effortlessly, making easy conversation the whole way.
“Long shift today?” he asked, glancing at you with genuine concern.
“Yeah… double again. I’m exhausted but the thesis won’t write itself.”
“You work too hard,” he said quietly. “A girl like you deserves to be taken care of sometimes.”
When you reached your building, he didn’t hesitate.
“Mind if I help you up with these?” he asked, voice warm and sincere. “I’d feel better knowing they made it safely upstairs.”
You nodded, cheeks warm. “Yeah… sure. That would be really nice, actually. Thank you.”
You let him follow you up the narrow stairs to your third-floor apartment. Bucky carried all the bags effortlessly in one arm, walking just behind you like a perfect gentleman.
Inside your small, cluttered apartment, he set the bags on the counter and looked around with quiet appreciation, taking in the fairy lights, the overflowing bookshelves, and the half-dead plants on the windowsill.
“It’s lovely in here,” he said sincerely, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “Warm. Lived-in. Feels like a real home.”
He rolled up the sleeve on his right arm and started helping you unpack without being asked, putting milk and eggs in the fridge, pasta in the cupboard, vegetables in the crisper, moving with surprising familiarity and care.
You noticed immediately that he only rolled up one sleeve. The left arm stayed fully covered, the black leather glove still firmly in place.
You tilted your head, curious. “Why do you keep that glove on? And you only rolled up one sleeve.”
Bucky paused for half a second, then gave a small, easy smile.
“Poor circulation,” he said smoothly. “Old injury from years ago. The left arm gets cold easily, especially in weather like this, so I keep it covered. Doctor’s orders.”
You nodded, accepting the answer. “That makes sense. Must be annoying, especially in winter.”
“Sometimes,” he replied, voice gentle. “But I’m used to it now. Doesn’t slow me down much.”
When everything was put away, you leaned against the counter, suddenly feeling chatty and comfortable in his presence.
“I still don’t even know your name…” you said with a shy smile.
He gave you a small, almost shy smile of his own and rubbed the back of his neck.
“James Buchanan Barnes,” he said. “But everyone just calls me Bucky.”
“Bucky,” you repeated, liking the way it sounded. “Nice to finally meet you properly, Bucky.”
“The pleasure’s all mine, doll.”
You kept talking, gesturing with your hands. “So… what do you do, Bucky? You seem like you have your life pretty together. Do you work around here?”
He chuckled softly, leaning on the opposite counter. “I do some consulting work. Private security, mostly. Nothing too exciting.”
“Private security at your age?” You raised an eyebrow, smiling. “How old are you, anyway?”
Bucky’s eyes sparkled with quiet amusement. “Twenty-four.”
You blinked. “Wait, really? You seem… older. Not in a bad way! Just… more mature. Like you’ve seen some stuff.”
He gave a low, self-deprecating laugh. “I’ve been told that before. Guess I grew up fast.”
You kept talking, comfortable now. “I’m twenty-three. Still feel like a kid half the time. Working two jobs, trying to finish my thesis on Gothic literature. Vampires, monsters, tragic love stories… the usual dramatic stuff.” You laughed lightly. “Do you believe any of that is real? Like, vampires and witches and all that? Or is it just fun fiction?”
Bucky’s gaze sharpened for a fraction of a second before he smiled. “I think there’s more to the world than most people realize,” he said carefully. “Some legends have roots in truth. What do you think?”
“I go back and forth,” you admitted, leaning closer. “Sometimes I think vampires are just metaphors for forbidden desire or immortality anxiety. Other times… I don’t know. The idea of someone living for centuries, watching everyone they love die… that feels too real. Too sad.”
Bucky’s expression softened, something pained flickering behind his eyes. “It is sad,” he murmured. “Very sad.”
You kept going, excited to talk about your thesis. “Exactly! And witches- the way they’re portrayed as powerful but dangerous. Do you have any favorite books or movies about that stuff?”
He listened with genuine interest, answering carefully and making up plausible details while keeping his ancient truth hidden. He asked you questions in return, drawing you out, letting you talk about your terrible boss at the café, your fear of never finishing your degree and how overwhelmed you felt sometimes.
“Do you have Instagram or anything?” you asked, then quickly added with an awkward little laugh, “I’m not trying to stalk you, don’t worry. Just… if you maybe wanted to hang out sometime, or so I could reach out?”
Bucky let out a low, self-deprecating chuckle. “I’m afraid I’m terribly old-fashioned. No social media at all. But I do have a phone number.”
You raised an eyebrow, a playful but suspicious smile tugging at your lips. “No social media? At twenty-four? That’s… suspicious. Are you secretly a spy or something?”
He laughed, the sound warm and genuine. “Nothing that exciting, I promise. Just prefer real life over screens.”
You saved his number and sent him a quick text. When his phone buzzed, his smile deepened.
“There,” you said, grinning. “Now you can’t vanish on me.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he murmured, eyes dark and intense for just a moment before he softened again. “You get some rest now. You’ve earned it.”
He walked to the door, then paused and turned back.
“Goodnight, doll,” he said softly. “Lock the door behind me.”
You nodded, cheeks warm. “Goodnight, Bucky.”
He waited outside until he heard the lock click, then disappeared down the hallway with a small, satisfied smile.
But the second he was out of sight, his expression darkened with raw hunger.
Hearing you say his name in that sweet voice had nearly made him snap.
The gentleman act was becoming harder to maintain… and the monster beneath it was growing impatient.
Bucky’s obsession had grown teeth.
After the night he helped you with your groceries something inside him finally snapped. Knowing your name wasn’t enough. Hearing you laugh wasn’t enough. Standing so close to you and still not being able to claim you wasn’t enough.
He needed pieces of you. Tangible. Permanent. His.
So the stealing began.
The first time was the night after the grocery store. While you slept, he moved through your apartment like a shadow. He took your favorite perfume from the dresser, the one that smelled like warm vanilla and something sweet and uniquely you. He sprayed a little on his wrist before slipping the bottle into his coat.
Two nights later, he took the soft cream-colored scarf you’d been wearing the rainy night you first met him. It still carried the faint scent of rain, coffee and you. He buried his face in it the second he got home and didn’t let go for nearly an hour.
The nights had become his sanctuary and his torment.
For the first time, Bucky began invading your dreams like an incubus, silent, hungry, and unstoppable. He would wait until you fell into deep sleep in your own apartment, then slip into your mind with the ease of centuries of practice. You never remembered the full details in the morning, only waking with damp thighs, aching nipples, and a strange, lingering bite of exhaustion.
In the dream he appeared behind you, naked, massive, his metal arm cold against your fevered skin as he pinned you down in a bed that wasn’t quite yours. His fangs grazed your throat while his thick cock rubbed between your slick folds, teasing, never quite entering.
“Shhh, doll,” he whispered into your sleeping mind, voice low and velvet-dark. “Just a taste. I need you so fucking badly.”
He started with your wrist. In the dream he lifted your arm, licked a slow, reverent stripe over your pulse, then sank his fangs in deep. The pull was slow and obscene, wet sucking sounds filling the dream as he drank in long, greedy swallows. Your dream-self moaned and writhed, hips grinding against nothing while he fed.
When he was done, he sealed the punctures with long, filthy licks of his tongue, savoring the last drops. Then he moved lower.
He spread your thighs wide in the dreamscape, burying his face between them like a starving man. His tongue dragged up your inner thigh before his fangs pierced the soft flesh there too. Hot blood flooded his mouth, richer, headier, while his nose pressed against your dripping cunt, inhaling the scent of your arousal. He drank deeply, groaning against your skin, cock leaking steadily onto the dream sheets.
“Fuck… your blood tastes like sin,” he growled into your thigh. “Sweeter when you’re wet for me.”
He sealed that bite too, licking lazily over the twin holes, his cool saliva tingling as it closed the wounds. Only then did he allow himself to grind his massive cock against your soaked pussy, never pushing inside, just rutting until your dream-body came with a broken cry. He spilled across your thighs in thick ropes, marking you even in sleep, then vanished before you could wake.
You always woke up with faint, fading marks on your wrist and inner thigh that you blamed on restless sleep.
But the real collection had only just begun.
Then came the panties.
He started small. The black lace pair he’d seen on your floor the very first night, the sexy ones you wore when you wanted to feel powerful and desired. He took them while you showered, pressing the crotch to his face the second he was back in his penthouse. The scent of your pussy was still faintly there, musky and sweet. He inhaled so deeply his fangs throbbed.
A few nights later he stole the soft silk ones from your laundry basket, still slightly damp. He sucked the fabric into his mouth, tasting the faint traces of your arousal and detergent, groaning like a beast as he fisted his aching cock.
But what truly broke something inside him were the cute ones.
He found them one night while you slept, an entire drawer of soft cotton panties with little embroidered days of the week. Innocent. Everyday. Mortal. The kind of thing that made his ancient, dead heart twist with dark fondness and cruel hunger.
He picked up the pair marked “Thursday” and ran his thumb over the tiny lettering, a low, predatory chuckle rumbling in his chest.
“Mortals,” he whispered into the dark of your bedroom, voice rough with twisted amusement. “Still pretending time matters. Still marking your little days like you won’t eventually be mine forever. How fucking endearing.”
He stole the Wednesday pair that night, along with the Thursday ones for good measure.
His obsession only grew darker.
He discovered the small trash can in your bathroom. Inside were a few used tampons wrapped in toilet paper. The metallic, coppery scent of your period blood hit him like pure heroin. Centuries of memories flooded him, women on their cycles spreading their thighs for him, begging him to drink while their cunts were heaviest, bloodiest, most potent.
He stood there in your bathroom for a long minute, breathing deeply, cock straining painfully against his pants.
“Even your waste calls to me,” he murmured reverently, almost lovingly. “Your blood… every drop of it belongs to me.”
He took one of the wrapped tampons, brought it back to his penthouse, and spent hours with it pressed to his nose and mouth while he stroked himself raw.
Every few nights he added something new to his growing collection: a hair tie with strands of your hair still caught in it, the half-used lip balm from your bag that still carried the faint taste of your mouth, a well-worn hoodie that smelled like your shampoo, your sweat, and the warmth of your skin. More panties, both the slutty lace ones that made his cock leak and the innocent cotton ones with their childish little days.
He kept them all in a locked drawer in his penthouse like a sacred, filthy shrine.
When the emptiness clawed at him too viciously, when Dolores’s screams echoed too loudly in his skull, he would sit alone in the dark, open the drawer, and surround himself with you. He’d press your stolen panties to his face, inhaling the scent of your cunt like oxygen. Sometimes he wrapped the Thursday pair around his thick, leaking cock and fucked his fist with slow, filthy strokes, groaning your name like a broken prayer.
“Fuck… smell so good,” he rasped into the cotton, voice wrecked and desperate. “This little mortal pussy is going to be mine. I’m going to drink from it while you’re bleeding. I’m going to fuck it until you scream. Until you beg.”
Other nights he pressed the blood-stained cotton directly to his mouth and nose, sucking on the fabric while he jerked himself brutally, imagining it was your bloody cunt riding his face. Thick ropes of cum would splatter across his abs and chest as he came with a guttural snarl, over and over, until the drawer was sticky with his spend and the scent of you was mixed with his own.
“You’re already mine,” he whispered hoarsely into the silk and cotton, fangs fully extended, eyes glowing crimson in the dark. “Every pair. Every drop of blood. Every dream. Every breath you take. All fucking mine. Even if you don’t know it yet… you will. Soon.”
He was patient.
He was starving.
And the monster inside him was done waiting.
You, meanwhile, were spiraling.
At first you thought you were simply losing your mind from exhaustion and stress. The perfume? Maybe you’d moved it and forgotten. The scarf? You probably left it at the library. But when your favorite pair of silk panties vanished from the laundry basket and then the soft cotton ones with the little embroidered days of the week started disappearing too, real unease settled deep in your stomach.
Then more things disappeared.
A hoodie you loved. Your favorite lip balm. A hair clip you’d worn the day Bucky helped with your groceries. Even one of your thesis notebooks went missing for two days before mysteriously reappearing on your nightstand.
You tore your apartment apart looking for them. You started keeping a paranoid little list on your phone. You even wondered if you had a stalker… or if the stress was finally making you crack.
Then one evening you came home from a brutally long double shift at the café, feet aching, hair smelling like coffee and grease. You flipped on the light in your bedroom and froze.
His coat was still hanging on the back of your bedroom door where you’d left it days ago.
But something was different.
A single, perfect red rose was tucked neatly into the breast pocket.
No note. No card. No explanation.
Just one flawless, blood-red bloom with a long, elegant stem and sharp thorns that caught the lamplight like tiny blades. The rose was impossibly perfect, not a single petal out of place, fresh dew still clinging to the edges like droplets of blood.
Your heart slammed against your ribs so hard it hurt.
You stood frozen in the doorway, grocery bag slipping from your fingers onto the floor. The faint scent of the rose mixed with the lingering smell of old leather from the coat, creating something intoxicating and terrifying all at once.
You knew.
You knew it was him.
Bucky.
The gentleman who had carried all your groceries without being asked. The man who opened doors, insisted you keep his coat, and looked at you like you were the only person in the world who mattered. The one with the old-fashioned manners, the low velvet voice and those intense steel-blue eyes that seemed to see straight through you, into places you hadn’t let anyone see in years.
He had been in your apartment again.
He had taken things.
And now… he was leaving gifts in his own coat, the one still hanging in your room like a claim.
You walked over on shaky legs and carefully pulled the rose from the pocket. A thorn pricked your thumb. A tiny bead of blood welled up instantly. You stared at it, then brought the rose to your nose and inhaled. The scent was rich, sweet, and heavy.
Your mind raced.
How long has he been coming in here? How many nights has he stood beside my bed while I slept? What else has he taken? What has he seen while I was unconscious?
Part of you was terrified. The logical, rational part screamed that this was insane. Dangerous. That you should change the locks right now, call the police, run as far as you could.
But another part, darker, quieter and growing louder every day, felt a rush of shameful heat low in your belly. The thought of him moving silently through your space, touching your things, watching you sleep… it made your thighs press together.
You sat down heavily on the edge of your bed, still holding the rose, and whispered into the quiet apartment:
“…Bucky?”
The silence that answered felt alive.
Like he was still there.
Watching.
Waiting.
The game had truly begun.
And neither of you were ready for how deep, how dark and how consuming it would become.
You couldn’t take it anymore.
It was 2:13 am and you were sitting on the edge of your bed in the dark, phone clutched so tightly in your shaking hands that your knuckles had gone white. Another thing had vanished today, your favorite silver necklace. But that wasn’t what broke you. It was the rose tucked into the pocket of his coat. The pattern. The way everything pointed straight to him.
Your thumb hovered over his contact for a long, trembling minute. Part of you wanted to throw the phone across the room and change the locks. Another part, the terrified, exhausted, furious part, needed answers. You pressed call.
It rang only once before he picked up.
“Hey” His voice was low, smooth, perfectly calm. “Is everything okay? It’s late.”
You didn’t even try to sound normal. Your voice came out raw, trembling with a volatile mix of terror, fury, and betrayal.
“It’s you,” you said, barely above a whisper at first, then louder. “Don’t you dare lie to me, Bucky. The perfume, the scarf, my panties, the necklace, it’s all you. You’ve been in my apartment. You’ve been watching me sleep. You left that fucking rose in your own coat. I know it’s you.”
Silence stretched on the other end.
On the fire escape right outside your bedroom window, Bucky stood completely still in the pouring rain, glowing red eyes fixed on you through the gap in the curtains. His metal hand tightened on the railing, slowly denting the metal.
He tried anyway.
“Baby, slow down,” he said, voice dripping with concern. “You sound really scared. Maybe you’re just stressed from work and your thesis. You’ve been so tired lately. I would never-”
“Stop.” Your voice cracked, but it was sharp with raw fury. Tears burned in your eyes as you stood up from the bed, pacing. “Don’t you dare lie to me right now. I’m terrified, Bucky. I’ve been checking my locks ten times a night. I wake up feeling like someone’s been touching me. And it’s you. You’ve been breaking into my home. Stealing my fucking underwear. What the hell is wrong with you?!”
Bucky’s jaw clenched hard. Drool slipped from the corner of his mouth as he watched you curl tighter into yourself on the bed, tears streaming down your face. His free hand flexed at his side, metal plates whirring.
“I was trying to protect you,” he said, voice low and careful, almost pleading. “I just wanted to be close to you. I’ve been alone for so long and you-”
“Close to me?” you snapped, voice rising in a hysterical, broken laugh that sounded more like a sob. “You’ve been sneaking into my room while I sleep! That’s not protecting me, that’s stalking me! I trusted you. You carried my groceries. You were sweet and gentle and now I find out you’ve been stealing my panties and watching me change? What kind of sick fuck does that?!”
Bucky’s red eyes flashed brighter. His metal fingers dug into the windowsill, cracking the frame with a quiet groan.
“I know it looks bad,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady but you could hear the strain. “But I’m not going to hurt you. I could never hurt you. I just… I need you. I’ve been alone for so long and you’re the only thing that makes me feel alive again. Please, doll. Let me explain-”
“Explain what?” you shouted, no longer caring if your neighbors heard. Fresh tears spilled down your cheeks. “How you’ve been breaking in? How you left a rose like some twisted gift? I’m scared to even close my eyes now because I don’t know if you’re standing there watching me!”
You were crying hard now, terrified and furious and completely overwhelmed. Your voice cracked as you whispered the last part.
“I thought you were different… I thought you were safe.”
Bucky pressed his forehead against the cold glass, breathing heavily, fangs fully extended. For a long moment he was silent. When he spoke again, his voice was raw, almost broken, with very little hope left in it.
“I’m sorry,” he said, the words cracking. “I’m so fucking sorry. I know I’m messed up. I know I went too far. But I can’t stop. I won’t lose you. I won’t. Please… just come to my penthouse tomorrow night. Let me explain everything in person. No more lies. No more hiding. I’ll tell you everything. Just… please don’t shut me out. I need to see you. I need to make this right.”
His voice dropped, almost desperate.
“I know I don’t deserve it… but please. Tomorrow at 8. My penthouse. I’ll send a car. If you still want nothing to do with me after that, I’ll leave you alone. I swear it.”
You were silent for a long, heavy moment, shaking with fear and anger.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” you hissed, voice rising again. “You want me to come to your place? After everything you just admitted? After you’ve been breaking into my home and stealing from me? You have the nerve to ask me to walk into your penthouse like it’s some normal date? Are you out of your fucking mind?!”
Bucky’s breath hitched on the other end. His voice was quieter now, almost pleading, with almost no hope left.
“I know how it sounds,” he said, the words heavy. “I know I don’t deserve your trust. But I can’t explain this over the phone. I need you to see me. To see that I’m not going to hurt you. Please, doll… just one chance. I’m begging you. Tomorrow at 8. I’ll send a car. If you walk out after I explain, I won’t stop you. I swear on whatever’s left of me.”
You were silent for a long, heavy moment, shaking with fear and anger.
“…Fine,” you finally whispered, voice trembling. “Tomorrow at 8. But if you lie to me again, Bucky, I’m done. I mean it.”
“Thank you,” he breathed, relief and dark hunger mixing in his tone. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Get some sleep, doll. I’ll be thinking about you.”
You hung up without another word.
Bucky stayed on the fire escape for a long moment, staring at your shaking form through the window. Rain mixed with the blood tears sliding down his face.
He whispered into the night, voice dark and possessive:
“You don’t have to be scared of me, doll. I’ll make sure of that… one way or another.”
He vanished into the shadows, already planning exactly what he would say and what he would do when you came to him tomorrow.
The next day, Bucky moved through the city like a man on a mission.
He hadn’t slept. He doesn’t anymore.
Vampires don’t need sleep the way humans do. The closest he ever came was a kind of cold, motionless trance but even that had abandoned him since you entered his life. Instead, he had spent the entire night on the rooftop of his penthouse, standing motionless in the wind and rain, staring out at the glittering lights of Brooklyn below. Your terrified, furious voice played on repeat in his head like a broken record.
The way you had cried.
The way you had called him a sick fuck.
The way you had still agreed to come tonight even if it was only because you were angry and scared.
Every word cut deeper than the last.
He was going to tell you everything.
No more lies. No more half-truths. Tonight, in his penthouse, he would confess what he really was. And he was going to make it as… human as possible. As normal as a seven-hundred-year-old vampire could manage.
So he went grocery shopping.
He walked into the upscale organic market near the waterfront in the late afternoon, black coat on, sunglasses hiding his eyes, metal arm tucked into his sleeve. The fluorescent lights felt too bright, the chatter of normal people too loud. But he pushed a cart through the aisles with focused determination.
He started with breakfast ingredients for tomorrow, just in case you stayed. Eggs, fresh herbs, thick-cut bacon, ripe avocados, sourdough bread. Then he moved to dinner. He wanted something comforting, something that said “I care.” He picked out ingredients for homemade lasagna, fresh pasta sheets, rich tomato sauce, ground beef, ricotta, mozzarella and basil. He added things for a salad and garlic bread.
His mind kept drifting to you as he shopped.
She’s coming tonight. She’s terrified of me. She has every right to be.
He stopped in the baking aisle and stared at the rows of flour, sugar, chocolate and vanilla. He remembered you mentioning once that you loved chocolate cake when you were stressed. So he grabbed everything he needed, dark cocoa powder, heavy cream, eggs, butter and added a bottle of expensive vanilla extract.
An older woman beside him smiled kindly as she reached for a bag of sugar.
“Baking for someone special?” she asked.
Bucky gave her a small, tired smile. “Yeah… something like that.”
He hoped you would still want anything from him after tonight.
By the time he got back to the penthouse, his arms were full of bags. He spent the next several hours in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up. He prepped the lasagna, made the chocolate cake from scratch, even baked fresh bread. The entire penthouse filled with warm, comforting smells, tomato sauce simmering, cake baking, garlic and herbs.
As he worked, he practiced what he would say.
“I’m a vampire.” “I’ve been watching you sleep.” “I stole your things because I’m obsessed with you.” “I would kill for you.” “I want to turn you so I never lose you.”
Every version sounded insane. Every version made him feel sick with fear that you would finally run.
He set the dining table beautifully, candles, wine, flowers. He even picked out soft music. When everything was ready, he stood in the middle of the kitchen, staring at the feast he had made, and whispered to the empty room:
“Please don’t leave me, doll. Please… just listen.”
He checked the clock.
8:00 pm was approaching.
And for the first time in centuries, the ancient predator felt genuinely nervous.
He was about to confess everything.
And he had no idea if you would still be his when the night was over.
You arrived at his penthouse at exactly 8:00 pm, fury burning hotter than fear. The car he sent had been silent and luxurious but you spent the entire ride clenching your fists, rehearsing every accusation. When the private elevator doors opened directly into his home, you stepped out with your chin high, jaw tight, eyes blazing.
Bucky stood near the floor-to-ceiling windows, the glittering city sprawled behind him like a dark jewel. The lights were low, candles flickering on the dining table. He looked almost… human. Nervous. Shoulders tense, hands shoved into his pockets.
You stopped a few feet away, arms crossed tightly.
“Start talking,” you snapped, voice trembling with rage. “No more ‘protecting me’ bullshit. I want the truth. All of it. Right now.”
Bucky swallowed hard. “I… I don’t know where to begin.”
“Begin with why you’ve been lying to me.”
He took a slow step closer, then stopped when you flinched. “I’m not who you think I am. Not… not completely.”
Your heart hammered. Something in his voice, the raw edge, the hesitation made the air feel heavier. “Bucky. What are you?”
For a long moment, he just stared at you. Then his shoulders slumped.
“I’m not human,” he said, voice low and rough, almost a growl. “Not anymore. Not for a very long time.”
The lights in the penthouse seemed to dim further. A chill crawled up your spine.
“What the hell does that mean?” you whispered.
His eyes, those beautiful blue eyes you’d trusted, began to change. The color bled away from the edges inward, flooding with a violent, glowing red. Not just red. Blood-red. Like twin embers pulled straight from hell, pulsing with unnatural hunger.
You stumbled back a step. “Bucky-”
His lips parted. There was a soft, wet click as his canines elongated into fangs, long, razor-sharp, gleaming under the candlelight. They looked strong enough to tear through flesh without effort. A low, involuntary growl rumbled in his chest, deep and animalistic.
You pressed a hand to your mouth, breath shallow. “Oh my God…”
He slowly raised his left hand. The plates of the metal arm shifted with a mechanical whirr-click-grind, like a machine waking up. The steel caught the red glow from his eyes, reflecting it back in cold, deadly shards.
“Bucky, what are you?” You asked again, fear finally overtaking the anger.
He took one more step forward, voice dropping into something ancient and broken. “This is what I am.”
The full transformation hit like a nightmare unfolding in real time. His skin seemed to pale further, veins standing out dark beneath it. The red in his eyes brightened, casting eerie shadows across his face. Those fangs, fully extended now, made his mouth look wrong, predatory. When he spoke again, his voice was layered with something inhuman, a resonance that vibrated in your bones.
“A vampire,” he said. “Turned in 1349 during the Black Death. I died in an alley with a nobleman’s teeth in my throat… and I woke up like this.”
You backed up until your legs hit the edge of the couch. “No. No, that’s not- this isn’t real.”
He rolled up his sleeve with deliberate slowness, revealing the brutal fusion where metal met scarred flesh. The seam looked raw, like it had been cauterized with fire and rage. The arm flexed, plates shifting with a menacing hum.
You stared, heart slamming against your ribs. “The glove… the circulation story…”
“All lies,” he admitted, voice raw. “I didn’t want you to see the monster. I thought if I could be James for a little while longer, you might not run screaming.”
He reached out slowly but you jerked away.
“Does it hurt?” you whispered, despite everything.
“Every day.” His red eyes never left yours. “It’s not mine. They tore the real one off and bolted this thing onto me while I was screaming. HYDRA made sure I felt every second of it.”
Silence stretched, thick and suffocating. Only the distant city hum and the frantic beat of your own heart filled the room.
Bucky’s shoulders shook as he continued, the words pouring out like he’d held them back for centuries. “I was arrogant. Handsome. Thought the world was mine. Then the plague came and a dying man made me eternal. I’ve spent nearly seven hundred years alone. Fucking. Feeding. Leaving bodies behind before dawn because nothing ever filled the emptiness.”
His voice cracked completely. Blood-red tears slid down his cheeks, actual blood, dark and glistening.
“Until Dolores. Dot. She called me ‘my James.’ She knew what I was and still loved me. When the plague took her in 1665, I tried to turn her. Forced my blood down her throat while she was still breathing. She screamed my name as she died in my arms. I burned the cottage with her body inside because I couldn’t bear to look at what I’d done.”
He dropped to his knees right there on the marble floor, arms wrapping around your waist like you were his last anchor.
“I’ve carried her screams for four hundred years,” he choked out against your stomach, blood tears soaking your shirt. “The wars. The mud. The explosion that took my arm. Waking up with this thing fused to me, roaring while they wiped my mind over and over. I came back to Brooklyn. Fed only on the worst people so I wouldn’t have to feel. Until that rainy night outside the library… when you smiled at me like I wasn’t damned.”
You stood frozen, sobbing, one hand hovering over his dark hair.
He looked up at you, eyes glowing like fresh blood, fangs fully bared, metal arm clenched so hard the plates screamed in protest. “I’ve been breaking into your apartment. Stealing your things. Tasting you while you slept. Listening to your heartbeat and praying I wouldn’t ruin you too.”
You shook your head, tears streaming. “You… you drank from me? While I was sleeping? You touched me, took my things like some kind of sick collector-”
“I know,” he whispered brokenly. “I’m a monster. A killer. I understand if you run. I won’t stop you. But please… I’m so fucking tired of being alone. You’re the only light I’ve had in centuries. Don’t take it away.”
The penthouse was silent except for your ragged breathing and his quiet, desperate sobs against you.
You were terrified.
You were furious.
You stood there, trembling, with Bucky’s arms locked around your waist and his face pressed against your stomach. The glow of his red eyes lit the floor beneath you like dying embers. His fangs were still fully extended, brushing against the fabric every time he breathed.
Your hand finally lowered. Fingers sank into his dark hair.
“I should run,” you whispered, voice cracking. “Any sane person would.”
Bucky’s shoulders tensed, waiting for the blow.
“But I’m still here,” you continued, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “I’m terrified… but I’m not leaving. Not tonight. Not yet. You’re a monster, Bucky. A real one. But you’re my monster. And I hate how much that matters to me right now.”
A broken sound escaped him, half sob, half relief. He tightened his hold for one heartbeat, then slowly loosened it, as if afraid you’d vanish.
“Thank you,” he breathed against you. “God, thank you.”
He stayed on his knees a moment longer, forehead pressed to your hip like a penitent at confession. When he finally rose, the red in his eyes had dimmed slightly but the fangs still peeked past his lips and the metal arm still hummed with tension. He looked raw. Exposed. Almost boyish in his uncertainty.
Bucky rubbed the back of his neck, a shy human gesture that felt strangely out of place on a centuries-old vampire.
“I… prepared dinner for you,” he said softly, a faint flush coloring his pale cheeks. “I’ve been cooking since the afternoon. I wanted tonight to feel… normal. Before everything else.”
You blinked, surprised, still wiping tears from your face. “You cooked? For me?”
He gave a small, almost shy nod. “I haven’t cooked for anyone in… a very long time. I wanted it to be perfect.”
He led you further into the penthouse with gentle care, one hand hovering near the small of your back without quite touching. The long dining table was set beautifully for one, fine china, crystal glasses, silverware polished to a mirror shine. Tall candles flickered in elegant holders, casting warm golden light across the room. A bottle of deep red wine breathed in a decanter. Soft, old jazz played from hidden speakers, something slow and smoky from the 1940s.
You could see into the open kitchen: chopping boards with fresh herb scraps, a pot that had clearly been simmering for hours, an empty wine bottle he must have used in the sauce.
Bucky pulled out your chair like a gentleman from another century, then sat across from you. He didn’t touch his own plate.
The feast was incredible.
Bucky had clearly poured hours into it. A rich homemade minestrone soup steamed gently in a beautiful ceramic bowl, loaded with fresh vegetables and herbs. Next to it sat a generous serving of creamy garlic pasta with fresh basil and shaved parmesan. There was a perfectly roasted vegetable medley glistening with olive oil and sea salt, a beautifully seared steak with rosemary and garlic butter and a large tray of homemade lasagna, layers of tender pasta, rich meat sauce, creamy ricotta, and melted mozzarella that still bubbled from the oven. A basket of warm, golden garlic bread sat beside it, the aroma of butter and roasted garlic filling the air.
On a side table waited three different desserts: tiramisu dusted with cocoa, dark chocolate cake layered with silky ganache and fresh berries with whipped cream and mint.
You took your first bite of the pasta and actually moaned. “Bucky… this is amazing. When did you even have time to do all this?”
He watched you eat with quiet intensity, a small smile playing at his lips despite the fangs. “I’ve had a lot of time to learn things over the centuries. Cooking was one way I tried to feel… human. I started preparing everything this morning. I needed to do something with my hands or I was going to lose my mind waiting for you to say yes.”
You ate slowly, studying him the entire time, the way candlelight danced across his pale skin, the subtle shift of metal plates under his sleeve, the faint red glow still lingering at the edges of his eyes. The silence finally became too much.
“Bucky… why aren’t you eating anything?” you asked gently.
He gave a low, tired chuckle and leaned back in his chair, eyes soft but shadowed.
“I can eat human food, doll. Some of us do it at galas or restaurants to blend in. But it tastes like ash in my mouth. No real flavor. No nourishment. Most of us vomit it up later, or it just sits heavy and makes us sick. If we rely on it too long, we get weak… malnourished.” His voice dropped, dark and intimate. “Nothing, nothing, compares to blood. Especially yours.”
You swallowed hard, heart racing, but took another slow bite of the pasta anyway. The rich garlic and herbs still tasted divine to you, even if they were nothing to him. Curiosity was slowly winning the war against your nerves. “So the garlic in this pasta… it’s really fine?”
He smiled faintly, fangs glinting in the candlelight. “Old folklore. Garlic doesn’t hurt us. It just smells strong. Some of us find it unpleasant, like it stings our nose but it won’t kill me. I actually like cooking with it. Reminds me of simpler times.”
You nodded, chewing thoughtfully. “Can you see yourself in mirrors?”
He let out a soft laugh. “Yes. Always have. The whole ‘no reflection’ thing was invented by Bram Stoker as a narrative device to show vampires lacked a soul. I still shave the old-fashioned way every evening.”
“What about sunlight?” you pressed, leaning forward. “Do you sparkle or burst into flames like in the movies?”
Bucky let out a genuine laugh, the sound low and warm, cutting through the heavy tension in the room. “No sparkling. That one always makes me laugh. I can go out in daylight- it just weakens me. The older I get, the more it burns if I stay out too long. Like a bad sunburn that never quite heals. That’s why I prefer evening dates. Sunsets are my limit on a good day.”
You kept going, emboldened by his patience. “Holy water? Crosses? What about stakes?”
“Holy water feels like a mild burn on the skin, like touching a hot pan for half a second. Crosses do nothing- never have.” He shrugged. “As for stakes… that whole ‘wooden stake through the heart kills us’ idea is mostly modern invention. In the old folklore they were just used to pin us down or immobilize us so we couldn’t rise from the grave. To actually finish one of us off, you’d need to behead or burn the body.”
He tapped his chest with a wry smile. “A stake would hurt like hell and slow me down, but I heal too fast. You’d have to be quicker than me and almost nothing is.”
You set your fork down, studying his face, the way the red glow in his eyes pulsed softly with every answer. “When do your fangs come out? Just when you’re hungry?”
Bucky’s eyes darkened, the crimson flaring brighter for a heartbeat. “They come out when I’m hungry. When I’m angry.” His voice dropped into a rough growl that sent heat and fear twisting low in your belly. “And when I’m aroused. They’ve been out since you walked into the penthouse. Looking at you does that to me. Every damn time.”
Your breath caught. Heat flooded your cheeks. “So right now… they’re because of me?”
“Partly,” he admitted, voice rough with honesty. “Mostly. You walk in a room and my body reacts before my brain catches up.”
You bit your lip, fighting the strange flutter in your chest. “Do you… shape-shift? Like into bats or wolves or anything?”
He tilted his head, a small, dangerously charming smirk playing on his lips. “Some of the very old ones can. Bats, rats, owls, foxes, even wolves. I never learned how. Never needed to. I prefer this form. This body.” His metal fingers flexed slowly on the tablecloth. “It’s served me well for seven hundred years. Strong. Fast. Familiar.”
You nodded slowly, processing everything. “What about needing an invitation to enter a home? Is that why you waited for me to open the door sometimes?”
Bucky’s smirk faded into something darker, almost predatory. His red eyes gleamed with dark amusement.
“That one used to be real,” he said, voice low. “A long time ago. But we figured it out centuries back. Vampires invented welcome mats. Cute little loophole. Put one outside your door and boom you’ve technically invited every vampire in the world inside. Most people have them now without even realizing what they’re doing.”
He leaned forward slightly, watching your face.
“I never actually needed an invitation. I only picked your lock those first few times out of habit… and because I wanted to hear you invite me in yourself. I wanted to watch that sweet, trusting smile when you opened the door for me. I wanted you to choose to let me in.”
A deep chill ran down your spine. The candle flames suddenly felt tiny and useless against the growing shadows in the room.
“So you could just… walk in whenever?” you asked quietly, voice barely above a whisper.
“Anytime,” he said, eyes locked on yours, unblinking. “Day or night. Rain or shine. Whether you’re awake, asleep, or in the shower. I never have to wait outside again unless you explicitly tell me to leave. And even then…”
He let the sentence hang, the implication heavy in the air.
You swallowed hard, heart hammering.
Bucky’s voice dropped even lower, almost intimate.
“I’d probably still watch from the street… just to make sure you’re safe.”
You tried to push past the shiver of fear. “What about resting in a coffin with soil from your grave? Is any of that real?”
Bucky’s expression turned almost nostalgic, though there was a hint of darkness in his eyes.
“Mostly myth,” he said. “I don’t need a coffin. I don’t actually need to sleep at all- vampires don’t. The body doesn’t require rest the way a human one does. But some of us do sleep in soil from their homeland. It… grounds us. Keeps the centuries from driving them completely insane. I haven’t done that in a long time. The last time was right after the war, when everything hurt too much.”
The questions kept coming, almost like you couldn’t stop them. “Are all vampires pale and beautiful like you? Or is that just in books?”
Bucky gave a dark, low chuckle that vibrated through his chest.
“In the oldest stories, we were bloated, ruddy, purple corpses. Disgusting, swollen things that crawled out of graves smelling of rot, mindless demons driven by pure bestial instinct. No charm, no seduction, just mindless hunger.”
He smiled, his red eyes gleaming with something hungry and possessive. “But after the change… it’s different. The venom rewrites you. Makes you younger. More beautiful. More magnetic.”
“You get this pull, an almost supernatural allure that draws people in. Makes them want to get closer. Makes them easy to seduce… easy to drain dry without them even realizing what’s happening until it’s too late.”
He leaned forward slightly, voice velvet and smoke. “When I turn you, you won’t just be immortal. You’ll be… irresistible. Skin flawless. Body perfected. A face and presence that makes mortals ache to be near you. To offer themselves. To bare their throats without understanding why. That’s how we survive. Not just by strength- but by beauty. By hunger wrapped in seduction.”
You swallowed hard, a shiver racing down your spine at how casually he spoke about turning you. Like it was something he had already decided in his mind. “You keep saying ‘when,’” you whispered. “Not ‘if.’”
Bucky noticed your unease immediately. He reached across the table and gently took your hand, metal fingers cool but careful against your skin.
“You don’t have to worry your pretty head about it right now, doll,” he murmured, voice softening into that velvet tone that always made your stomach flutter. “I’m not going to rush you. I’m not going to force anything. When- if- it happens, it’ll be when you’re ready. I just… I can’t stand the thought of watching you grow old and die while I stay like this. I’ve buried too many people I cared about. I don’t want you to be one of them.”
He lifted your hand to his lips and pressed a slow, reverent kiss to your knuckles, fangs lightly grazing your skin in a promise that made your pulse jump wildly.
“You’re already perfect to me,” he whispered against your fingers. “Human or not.”
You stared at him across the flickering candles, heart racing with a dizzying mixture of fear, fascination, lingering anger, and something far deeper. The jazz still played softly. The feast was slowly cooling on your plate. And the vampire who had just answered every terrifying question with surprising patience was still holding your hand like it was the most precious thing in his long, dark life.
“This is… a lot to take in,” you said finally, voice barely above a whisper.
Bucky’s red eyes softened. “I know. Take all the time you need. Ask me anything. I’ll answer every question, no matter how dark. And I understand if it’s too much. If you want to run, I won’t stop you.”
You didn’t run.
Instead, you reached across the table and gently touched his metal hand.
“I’m still here,” you whispered, fingers tracing the cool plates. “I won’t run.”
Bucky turned his hand over instantly, metal fingers carefully closing around yours like he was afraid you’d disappear. His glowing red eyes searched your face, raw and uncertain.
“There’s one more thing,” he said, voice dropping even lower, almost ashamed. “Sometimes… I can slip into dreams. Like an incubus. I’ve done it to you. Many times. I’ve made you dream filthy things while you slept. Made you feel my hands spreading you open, my mouth on your cunt, my cock buried so deep you were sobbing my name. You’d wake up soaked, thighs slick, aching so badly you had to touch yourself… and you thought it was just your imagination.”
Your breath hitched sharply. Heat flooded your face and lower, a sudden throb between your legs. “You… did that?”
Bucky’s eyes burned brighter, pupils blown wide. “Every night I couldn’t stay away. Even when I tried to stop myself. I’d stand in the corner of your room, hard as steel and push into your mind just to hear you moan for me in your sleep. I’m sorry. I know how fucked up that is.”
The silence between you crackled, thick, electric, heavy with fear, shame, and dark, undeniable desire. Your pulse thundered in your ears. You didn’t pull your hand away.
The tension finally snapped.
You stood up slowly, chair scraping against the floor. Bucky rose to meet you, chest heaving. The first kiss was slow and reverent, his hands cradling your face like you were made of glass. But hunger took over fast. The kiss turned deep, desperate, tongues sliding, teeth clashing. You moaned into his mouth and he answered with a broken growl that vibrated straight to your core.
He pulled back suddenly, breathing hard, fangs fully extended and gleaming. A thin string of saliva still connected his lower lip to your skin. He looked feral. Starving. Devastatingly beautiful.
You stared, heart pounding with something far beyond fear now. Curiosity and lust burned hotter. You reached up, cupped his jaw, thumb brushing the sharp line of his cheekbone. “Open for me, Bucky.”
His glowing red eyes flickered with surprise, but he obeyed instantly. Lips parting, he showed you the full, lethal length of his fangs. A low, needy growl rumbled in his chest, submissive and desperate, like he was offering himself up for your inspection.
You traced one fang slowly with your thumb, feeling the razor edge without cutting yourself. “Does it hurt when they come out?”
“Just a dull ache,” he murmured, voice gravel-rough and trembling. “Like an old wound. But right now… fuck, doll, it feels good. Because it’s you touching them.” His tongue flicked out helplessly. Thick drool slipped from the corner of his mouth, sliding down his chin as he fought the urge to bite.
You leaned in, eyes locked on his and dragged your tongue slowly up the length of one fang. The metallic tang mixed with his dark, cold taste, addictive and intoxicating. Bucky groaned deep in his throat, the sound broken and filthy. His metal hand tightened on your waist, hard enough to bruise, hips jerking forward involuntarily against you.
“Fuck… you’re gonna kill me,” he rasped, drooling openly now. Saliva dripped onto your chest as he watched you explore him with wide, submissive eyes. “No one’s ever… touched them like that. No one’s ever been brave enough.”
“Does drinking hurt?” you asked, still licking and teasing the sharp point, sucking gently at the tip.
“Only if I want it to.” His voice cracked into something dangerous and wrecked. “I can make it burn like fire… or feel like the best orgasm you’ve ever had. I’ve learned control over centuries. But with you-” He shuddered hard when you sucked harder. “-I don’t know how long it’ll last. Please… doll…”
You smiled, wicked and curious and took the entire tip of his fang into your mouth, sucking softly. Bucky snarled, the sound purely submissive and lifted you off the ground like you weighed nothing. Clothes were torn away in a frantic blur, your shirt ripped down the middle, his pants shoved down just enough. He carried you to the bedroom, metal arm cool and unyielding against your bare back and laid you on the bed with surprising gentleness.
But the second your back hit the mattress, the hunger consumed him.
He worshipped you for what felt like hours. Mouth everywhere. He sucked dark, claiming bruises into your breasts, fangs grazing your nipples until you arched and whimpered. He licked long, messy stripes down your stomach, drooling shamelessly over your skin, leaving shiny, cooling trails. When he finally shoved your thighs apart and settled between them, his red eyes burned up at you with raw need.
“I’ve tasted you before,” he confessed, voice thick with shame and lust, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your inner thigh. “While you slept. Just little sips from your wrist or your thigh. Never enough to hurt you. Never while you were awake, watching me like this.” He groaned, hips grinding helplessly against the sheets. “I’m sorry… but I couldn’t stop. You taste like fucking heaven.”
His tongue dragged slowly through your folds, and the broken, desperate sound he made was almost worshipful. “Let me make it up to you, doll. Please. Let me show you how good I can make it feel when you’re awake.”
Before you could answer, he buried his face in your cunt. No teasing. He devoured you, filthy, wet, obscene sounds filling the room as his tongue fucked deep inside you, curling, thrusting. His drool mixed with your slick, dripping down his chin, soaking the sheets. Two thick fingers joined his tongue while his thumb rubbed tight circles on your clit. You came the first time with a broken cry, thighs clamping around his head. He didn’t stop. He sucked your clit between his lips and growled, the vibration sending you over again almost immediately, sobbing his name.
Only then did he crawl up your body, cock heavy and leaking against your thigh. He was massive, thick, flushed dark, the head already glistening with precum and your own slick. You reached down with a shaky hand and stroked him, spreading the mess along his length.
“Bucky… you’re so fucking big,” you whimpered, eyes wide with a mix of awe and nerves.
“I know, baby,” he groaned, pressing his forehead to yours, breathing ragged and hot against your lips. “Gonna go slow at first. Breathe for me. I’ve got you. Tell me if it hurts, okay? I need to hear you.”
He pushed in inch by inch, stretching you open until you felt impossibly full. The burn was intense but perfect, bordering on too much. When he bottomed out, he stayed there, hips twitching, drooling onto your neck as he fought for control.
“Fuck… you’re so tight,” he rasped, voice wrecked. “So warm and wet for me. Taking every inch like you were made for this cock. How does it feel, doll? Does it hurt?”
“A little,” you gasped, nails digging into his shoulders. “It’s so much… but it feels good. Don’t stop.”
He stayed buried deep, rolling his hips in slow, careful circles, letting you adjust. “Good girl. Breathe. I’ve got you. If it gets too much, you tell me. Promise me.”
“I promise,” you whispered, legs wrapping tighter around him.
Then he started moving, deep, slow rolls of his hips at first, letting you feel every ridge and vein dragging inside you. The headboard creaked under his metal grip. Soon the pace turned punishing, hips snapping hard, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing obscenely through the room. He fucked you like he’d been starving for you for decades.
“Mine,” he snarled against your throat, fangs scraping your skin. “Say it.”
“I’m yours- fuck, Bucky, I’m yours!”
Your orgasm was building fast, walls fluttering around his cock. Bucky suddenly slowed, pulling almost all the way out before sliding back in deep. His glowing red eyes locked onto yours, intense and pleading.
“Drink from me,” he rasped, slicing his wrist open with a fang. Dark, ancient blood welled up instantly. “Just a little. It’ll make everything feel better. So much better. Trust me, doll. You’ll feel like you’re flying.”
You hesitated, breath shaky. “Bucky… I don’t know if-”
“Please,” he whispered, pressing his bleeding wrist closer to your lips, voice desperate and feral. “It won’t hurt you. It’ll heighten everything. Every thrust. Every touch. Every single nerve in your body. You’ll come harder than you ever have. Let me give this to you, baby. Let me make you feel good.”
The raw need in his voice, combined with the way he was still buried so deep inside you, made you cave. You parted your lips and let him press his wrist to your mouth.
The first taste was overwhelming, rich, metallic, and strangely sweet, like dark spiced wine laced with raw power. His blood flooded your tongue and burned down your throat. Almost immediately, fire spread through your veins. Pleasure exploded tenfold. Every nerve lit up like live wires. The stretch of his cock inside you suddenly felt impossibly better, every ridge dragging against sensitive spots you didn’t even know existed.
“Oh my God-” you gasped, eyes rolling back, a broken moan tearing from your throat.
Bucky groaned loudly, hips snapping forward harder. “That’s it… good girl. Feel me now. Feel how deep I am. How full you are. Does it still hurt, doll? Tell me.”
“No- fuck, it feels… incredible,” you sobbed, legs shaking around him. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”
He fucked you through it without mercy, eyes glowing brighter, drooling onto your chest as he watched you fall apart.
“Fuck, look at you,” he growled, voice wrecked with feral hunger. “Drinking my blood and creaming all over my cock like a perfect little slut. So fucking perfect. So mine. You okay, baby? Not lightheaded?”
“I’m… I’m good,” you gasped, tears of overwhelming pleasure streaming down your face. “It’s so much- I feel like I’m burning up in the best way.”
He kept feeding you small sips as he pounded into you, each swallow making the pleasure spiral higher and higher until you were sobbing, shaking, coming again and again. The room spun. Your body felt like it was on fire in the best possible way, every thrust, every drag of his cock, every brush of his skin against yours amplified into pure bliss.
“Does it still feel good?” he panted, voice rough and concerned even as he fucked you like a beast. “Talk to me, doll. Tell me you’re okay.”
“Yes- yes, Bucky, I’m okay- don’t stop, please-”
He shifted higher, mouth trailing wet, open kisses up your leg until he reached your calf. Without warning, his fangs sank deep into the soft, sensitive flesh there, right below the knee, where the muscle was firm but yielding. The sharp, burning pain exploded through you, mixing violently with the overwhelming pleasure still pulsing from his blood in your veins.
The combined sensation sent you over the edge one final time, his fangs buried deep in your calf while his thick cock slammed into you with brutal, relentless strokes. You screamed, raw and broken, vision whiting out as your walls clenched violently around him. His hot, endless pulses of cum flooded you at the exact same moment, thick ropes painting your insides until it squirted out around his pistoning shaft with every thrust, slick and obscene. The wet, filthy sound of it echoed through the room, wet squelching, skin slapping, your mixed fluids soaking the sheets beneath you.
“Fuck- take it all, doll,” Bucky growled against your neck, voice ragged and possessive, his metal fingers digging bruises into your hip while his flesh hand fisted your hair. “Gonna fill this greedy little cunt until it’s dripping for days. You’re mine now. Every drop of blood, every fucking inch of this perfect body- mine.”
He kept rutting through his orgasm, hips snapping harder, chasing the last spasms of your climax until your thighs shook uncontrollably. The bedframe groaned in protest under the force, wood creaking dangerously with every punishing thrust. You were a mess, sweat-slick, cum-stuffed, blood trickling from the fresh bite marks on your neck and calf where he’d feasted earlier. The metallic tang of your blood still coated his tongue as he licked greedily at the wound.
Then it happened.
One particularly savage thrust, his cock slamming so deep you swore you felt him in your guts, made the entire bed collapse. The wooden slats snapped with a loud crack, the mattress dropping hard onto the box spring. You both jolted, still locked together.
“Oh fuck!” you gasped, eyes wide, a breathless laugh already bubbling up.
Bucky froze mid-thrust, cock still buried to the hilt inside your fluttering pussy, his glowing eyes blinking in confusion. “What the- did we just…?”
The absurdity hit you both at once. You burst into giggles, the sound bright and giddy even as his cum continued to leak out around where you were joined. Bucky’s serious, post-orgasm face cracked, and he let out a low, rumbling laugh that vibrated through his chest into yours.
“Shit, doll,” he chuckled, forehead dropping to yours, still half-hard and twitching inside you. “Broke the damn bed. Guess I don’t know my own strength when I’m buried in this tight, sloppy heaven.”
You grinned up at him, running your fingers through his messy hair, feeling the coolness of his skin, vampire cool, never quite warm like a human’s. “Mmm, worth it. You fucked me so hard I’m gonna feel you for a week. My vampire super-soldier broke the bed railing me like a damn animal. Kinda hot.”
He smirked, fangs still partially extended, glistening with your blood. “Animal, huh? Careful what you ask for.” He gave one lazy, deep roll of his hips, pushing his cum deeper, making you whimper. “Still hard for you. Could go again right here on the broken wreckage.”
You laughed softer this time, cupping his face. “Later, Buck. I’m wrecked. But… you’re not gonna sleep, are you?”
Bucky’s expression softened. He carefully pulled out with a wet sound, a gush of his spend following, dripping down your ass onto the ruined sheets. He sealed the bite on your neck first, slow, reverent licks of his tongue, warm and soothing, the healing properties in his saliva already knitting the skin. Then he moved lower, spreading your thighs wide to lap gently at the bite on your inner thigh, tasting the mix of your blood and his cum with a low, appreciative groan.
“Fuck, look at this pretty, used cunt,” he murmured filthily between licks. “All swollen and leaking my load. So damn perfect.” He pressed a tender kiss right over your clit before crawling back up.
He didn’t lie down beside you like a human would. Instead, he sat up against the tilted headboard of the collapsed bed, metal arm pulling you effortlessly into his lap so you were draped over his chest. His fingers, both flesh and metal, traced lazy, soothing patterns along your spine, your ass, the backs of your thighs.
“I don’t need sleep, baby,” he said quietly, voice low and intimate in the dark. “Haven’t in decades. I’ll stay right here, watching over you. Listening to that beautiful heartbeat. After everything… I can’t risk losing you too.”
You nuzzled into his neck, kissing the old scars there. “You’re not gonna lose me, Bucky. I’m yours. I chose this, chose you. The biting, the blood, the way you fuck me stupid… all of it. I’m not going anywhere.” Your hand slid down his abs, giving his still-hard cock a lazy stroke. “Even if you do break every bed we own.”
He let out a soft, relieved laugh, pressing kisses to your temple, your eyelids, your swollen lips. “Good girl. My perfect doll. I’ll buy a reinforced steel frame tomorrow. Maybe bolt it to the damn floor.” His voice dropped, more serious, thumb brushing your jaw. “You’re safe with me. I swear it. I’ll burn the world before I let anything touch you. You’re my light now. My reason.”
You smiled sleepily, body heavy and sated, the buzz of his blood in your veins making everything warm and floaty. “Mmm. Love you, my vampire. Even if you’re a creepy non-sleeper who stares at me all night.”
“Creepy, huh?” He nipped your ear playfully, then soothed it with his tongue. “Keep talking like that and I’ll spread these thighs again and make you scream my name until sunrise.”
“Promises, promises…” you mumbled, already drifting.
Bucky held you tighter, one hand possessively cupping your cum-filled pussy, the other stroking your hair. He stayed awake all night like that, cock half-hard against your thigh, silent blood-tinged tears slipping down his cheeks onto the pillow, heart aching with a love so fierce it terrified him. Your heartbeat was steady and strong against his chest, the last pure thing left in his long, violent existence.
And he’d protect it with every undead fiber of his being.
You woke slowly, blinking against the soft morning light filtering through the curtains, your body deliciously sore and heavy with the afterglow of being thoroughly claimed. The first thing you noticed was the chaos surrounding you.
The bed was completely destroyed, slats snapped clean in half, the mattress tilted at a ridiculous angle on the broken box spring and white down feathers absolutely everywhere. They drifted lazily through the air like snow, clung to your sticky skin, tangled in your messy hair and dusted the dried streaks of cum and blood that painted your thighs and stomach. Feathers stuck to the dark bite marks on your neck and breasts, nestled in the crease of your ass and even floated gently off the ruined sheets every time you shifted.
The bed was empty. Or so you thought.
“Bucky?” you murmured, voice raspy from screaming his name half the night. A faint flutter of panic mixed with the warm throb between your legs.
Before you could sit up, the most sinful, decadent sensation hit you, a warm wet tongue dragging with deliberate, unhurried laziness up the soft, sensitive skin of your inner thigh. Each long, slow stroke pressed firmly against a fresh, throbbing bite mark, the one Bucky had left deep in the throes of last night’s passion. The feeling was possessive, almost worshipful, like he was savoring every drop of you.
A shiver raced through your body and a soft, breathy moan escaped your lips. You looked down to find Bucky right there between your spread thighs, his massive metal arm draped heavily over your hip to keep you pinned open for him. His mouth was latched onto that tender wound, tongue working in slow, reverent circles as he licked it closed, sealing it with his cool venom while tasting the last faint traces of your blood. The sting mixed with pleasure in a way that made your core clench emptily, still aching and leaking from how brutally he’d fucked you hours earlier.
He must have been waiting for you to stir.
When he felt you tense, he lifted his head just enough to look up at you through hooded crimson eyes that glowed with hunger and raw devotion. His lips were shiny, slick and stained vivid crimson with your blood. Feathers clung to his dark hair and broad shoulders like some filthy, fallen angel.
“Good morning, my sweet girl,” he rumbled, voice gravelly and thick. “Found you leaking all over the wreckage. Couldn’t resist cleaning up my mess. You taste even better in the morning- soft, warm and dripping with me.”
You let out a shaky laugh, glancing around at the feather explosion and broken wood. “We really destroyed everything, didn’t we? Feathers in my ass, feathers in my hair… I look like I got attacked by a pillow factory after the world’s hardest fuck.”
Bucky chuckled darkly, dragging his tongue slowly up your slit, collecting the creamy mix of his dried cum and your fresh arousal. “Mmm. Worth every splinter and every damn feather. I woke up hard as fuck just from smelling how soaked you still are. Been down here licking you for ten minutes, waiting for those pretty eyes to open.”
Heat flooded your cheeks. “Bucky… thank you. For last night. For letting me drink from you. It felt… God, it felt incredible. Like every nerve in my body was on fire and singing at the same time. I don’t know how to repay you for something so intimate.”
He crawled up your body with predatory grace, feathers shifting around you both, until he hovered over you. Then he kissed you deeply, hungrily, tongue sliding into your mouth so you could taste the copper of your own blood mixed with his cool sweetness and the filthy evidence of your combined releases.
“You never have to repay me, sweetheart,” he whispered against your lips, brushing feathers from your flushed face with gentle metal fingers. “I’d drain every drop I have into you if it made you feel even half that good. Your pleasure is everything to me. You’re everything to me. Don’t ever thank me like you owe me. You’re my girl. My heart. I’d burn the world down just to keep you warm and safe in my arms.”
You smiled shyly up at him, that bashful look that always made his ancient chest tighten. “I still feel lucky. Every single time you choose me.”
Bucky groaned and pressed lingering kisses to your forehead, eyelids and the tip of your nose. “Stay right here in this ruined bed, baby. Don’t move. I’m gonna make you breakfast- you need fuel after I took so much blood and fucked you raw.”
You watched him leave the room completely naked, that perfect sculpted ass and broad back on full display, long angry red scratches running down his shoulders and spine, some deep enough to have drawn thin trails of dried blood. Guilt twisted in your stomach.
When he returned balancing a tray loaded with food, you sat up quickly, clutching the sheet.
“Bucky… your back,” you whispered, voice thick with remorse as he set the tray down on the tilted mattress. “I did that? Oh God, I’m so sorry, Buck. I got so lost in it, scratching and begging like a wild animal-”
He climbed onto the broken bed without hesitation and pulled you straight into his lap, sheet and all, so your back rested against his solid chest. His thick cock, already half-hard again, nestled hot and heavy against your ass. The scratches looked even more vicious up close.
“Shh, none of that,” he murmured, kissing your temple, then your ear. “I fucking love these marks. Every single one. Means my perfect girl lost control while I was balls-deep, pounding that tight cunt and flooding you with cum. Means I made you feel so good you turned feral. You wear my bites and bruises like jewelry… I’ll wear your scratches like badges of honor. That’s how it should be between us, doll.”
You still looked guilty, so he gently tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet those glowing red eyes. “Eat, baby. Before it gets cold. I made all your favorites.”
The tray held fluffy scrambled eggs with fresh herbs, crispy bacon, sliced strawberries and melon, buttered toast and cold orange juice. You relaxed back against his chest as he picked up the fork and began feeding you slow, careful bites, one hand continuously stroking through your feather-dusted hair while the other rested possessively on your stomach, thumb tracing lazy circles over your skin.
Every few bites he’d lean down and kiss your shoulder, your neck, the dark claiming bite marks he’d left. His fingers traced the vivid bruises on your hips and inner thighs with open, filthy pride.
“Look at you,” he murmured hotly against your ear, voice dropping into that low, dirty register. “All covered in my marks like a goddamn masterpiece. These pretty thighs bruised purple from my hands spreading you open while I railed you. This sweet little pussy still puffy, sore, and leaking my cum from how many times I filled you. And these gorgeous tits…” He cupped one gently, thumb brushing the bite right above your nipple. “Marked up so anyone who sees you knows exactly who owns this body. My perfect, filthy girl. So soft and sweet when you thank me for my blood… but you turn into a desperate little cockslut when I’m stretching this cunt open, scratching my back bloody and begging me to breed you deeper.”
You whimpered around a bite of toast, cheeks burning but you pressed back against his hardening cock. “Bucky… you’re making me wet again just talking like that. I can feel you getting hard against my ass.”
He chuckled darkly, the sound vibrating through his chest into yours. “Good. That’s what I want. I love how sincere you are, doll- blushing and thanking me even after I’ve had you screaming and creaming all over my cock half the night. It makes the monster in me want to wrap you up and protect you forever… and it also makes me want to bend you over these broken slats and fuck you raw again until you’re crying and begging for another load.”
You turned your head, kissing his jaw tenderly. “I love you. All of you- the monster, the man, the way you take care of me even after you ruin me and break the bed.”
His arms tightened around you, metal and flesh, and he buried his face in your neck with a low, possessive growl. “I love you more than I’ve ever loved anything in centuries, sweetheart. You’re mine. Every moan, every drop of blood, every scratch on my back… it’s all mine. Now finish your breakfast so I can lay you down in all these feathers and lick that pretty pussy until you’re shaking and soaking my face. Then I’ll feed you more. And if you keep thanking me so sweetly, I’ll let you drink from me again while I’m buried so deep inside you that you feel me for days.”
The monster was wide awake, completely, dangerously obsessed and he had never been happier.
The honeymoon phase didn’t last long.
What started as stolen kisses in the library stacks after closing quickly spiraled into something darker, more addictive and far more dangerous. You and Bucky fell into a secret rhythm that consumed both of you. You’d sneak out of your apartment at all hours, heart hammering and meet him in shadowed alleys, on empty rooftops, or in the back of his blacked-out SUV where he’d fuck you until you couldn’t walk straight. Some nights he’d show up at your door unannounced, eyes already black and take you right there against the wall before you could even say hello.
You started wearing high collars, scarves, and heavy concealer everywhere. Fresh bite marks bloomed on your neck, your breasts, the soft insides of your thighs. Some nights he bit you in three different places just because he couldn’t stop tasting you.
“You’re mine now,” he’d growl against your skin, licking the wounds closed with slow, possessive drags of his tongue while drool slipped from his fangs. “No one else gets to see these marks. No one else gets to touch what belongs to me.”
You lied to your friends. You lied to your coworkers. You told yourself you could handle the monster you were falling for.
But Bucky was losing control.
His obsession turned feral.
Your creepy ex Lance, the one who still drunk-texted you at 2 am calling you a worthless bitch for leaving him, was found dead in his apartment four days later. The news called it a “brutal animal attack.” Throat torn out. Body almost completely drained of blood. No forced entry. No fingerprints.
You stared at the graphic photos on your phone until your vision blurred.
Then there was that jerk from the café from two weeks ago, the one who wouldn’t stop cat-calling you, who grabbed your ass when you walked past and whispered what he’d do to you if he got you alone. He was found in the alley behind the cafe the next night. Same story. Throat ripped open. Drained dry.
You knew.
You knew it was Bucky.
When he showed up at your apartment that night, soaked from the rain, you were waiting for him. The printed news articles were spread across your kitchen table like evidence at a crime scene.
The second he stepped through the door, you shoved the papers into his chest.
“What the fuck did you do?!” Your voice cracked with fury and terror. “Lance is dead, Bucky. That asshole from the café is dead. Their throats were torn out. Was that you? Look me in the eyes and tell me it wasn’t you.”
Bucky didn’t even glance at the articles. His eyes were already pitch black, fangs partially extended, a thin string of clear drool slipping from the corner of his mouth as he stared at you like a starving wolf.
“I took care of them,” he said, voice low and rough. “They touched what’s mine. They scared you. They don’t get to keep breathing after that.”
You backed up until you hit the kitchen counter, chest heaving.
“You’re killing people, Bucky. Innocent people-”
“They weren’t innocent,” he snarled, stepping closer. More drool slid down his chin. “Lance sent you death threats. Pictures of you sleeping. The other one had videos on his phone, following you home, jerking off to you. I smelled what they wanted to do to you. I saw it.”
Tears burned in your eyes. Your hands were shaking.
“You can’t just murder people because they looked at me the wrong way! This isn’t protection, this is insanity!”
Bucky’s metal hand slammed into the cabinet beside your head, splintering the wood. He was breathing hard, drooling openly now, fangs fully extended and glistening.
“I would burn this entire fucking city to the ground for you,” he growled, voice breaking. “I already lost the only woman I ever loved. I watched her die screaming my name while I tried to save her. I won’t lose you too. I won’t. I can’t.”
The silence that followed was deafening.
You should have screamed. You should have run.
Instead, you grabbed the front of his wet shirt with both hands and yanked him into a brutal, angry kiss.
He tasted like rain and blood and desperation. He groaned into your mouth, lifting you onto the counter in one motion and shoving your legs apart. His hands were shaking as he ripped your panties aside.
You were horrified.
You were dripping wet.
That night you rode him on your couch like you were trying to punish both of you, nails raking bloody lines down his chest while he drooled against your neck, fangs scraping your skin without breaking it. Every thrust was punishing and worshipful at the same time.
Afterward, when you were both panting and spent, you curled into his lap on the couch, still shaking from the intensity of it all. Your body ached. Your mind was a storm of fear and twisted desire.
Bucky buried his face in your hair, arms wrapped around you like iron bands, so tight it almost hurt to breathe. His chest heaved against your back. You could feel his drool, warm and slick, sliding down the side of your neck from his slightly parted lips. His fangs were still partially extended, brushing your skin with every ragged breath.
His voice was barely a whisper, raw with shame and something much darker.
“I’ve thought about it, you know,” he confessed against your throat, lips moving wetly over your pulse. “Turning you. Against your will.”
You froze in his lap, every muscle locking up.
He kept going, voice cracking painfully, like the words were being ripped out of him.
“I fantasize about it almost every night,” he whispered, the confession trembling. “Holding you down while you fight me. Pinning you with my metal arm so you can’t move no matter how hard you scream. Draining you until you’re weak and crying and begging me to stop… then forcing my blood down your throat while I’m still buried balls-deep inside you. Fucking you through the change until your heart stops and you wake up screaming with new fangs in your mouth.”
A broken, wet sob tore out of him. Drool and blood tears mixed on your shoulder as he pressed closer, almost rocking you.
“I imagine the way you’d hate me at first. The way you’d scream my name in terror while your body burns and breaks and reforms. But I’d keep going. I’d hold you through it. Because then you’d be mine. Forever. Safe. Eternal. You’d never grow old and die like Dot did. You’d never leave me. Even if you hated me for eternity… at least you’d be here. With me.”
His voice dropped into something truly terrifying, low, trembling, unhinged.
“Some nights when you’re sleeping in my arms, bleeding from my bites… I hold my wrist right against your mouth. I pry your lips open with my fingers and imagine forcing it down your throat while you’re still unconscious. I want it so fucking bad it physically hurts me to stop myself. My hands shake. I drool just thinking about it. I have to leave the room sometimes because I’m scared I’ll actually do it.”
You sat there in his lap, silent tears running down your face, heart hammering so hard it hurt. His drool was sliding down your collarbone. His blood tears soaked into you. You could feel his cock twitching against your thigh, still half-hard, like even confessing this horror turned him on.
You didn’t know if you were holding a man anymore…
…or the monster who was slowly going to destroy you.
Bucky’s arms tightened even more, almost crushing you against his chest. His voice cracked into a broken, childlike whimper.
“I’m so fucking scared I’m going to do it one day. I’m scared I won’t be able to stop myself. I’m scared I’ll wake up one morning and you’ll be like me… and you’ll never forgive me.”
He pressed his face harder into your neck, fangs scraping your skin, drooling openly now as fresh blood tears fell.
“But God… I want it. I want it so much.”
You sat there in the dark, trembling in the arms of the vampire who had just admitted he fantasized about violating you in the worst possible way and you still wrapped your arms around him.
You still held on tighter.
And that terrified you more than anything else.
Because deep down, some sick, addicted part of you wasn’t sure you would stop him if he tried.
The sickness came on fast. Too fast.
It started with a scratchy throat and a mild fever you brushed off, just stress from your thesis and late shifts at the café. By the second night in Bucky’s penthouse, you were shaking apart. Violent chills slammed through your body even as sweat soaked the sheets. Your lungs felt heavy, like they were filling with wet concrete. Every cough ripped through you like shards of glass scraping your throat raw. You couldn’t keep anything down.
Bucky watched it all with growing horror, red eyes wide and unblinking.
He turned his sleek, modern bedroom into a nightmare sickroom overnight. Humidifier hissing like a dying animal. Stolen IV bags hanging from a makeshift stand. Bottles of antibiotics he didn’t trust. Ancient herbal poultices that smelled like rot and grave dirt. Cold cloths. Thermometers. Nothing helped. Your fever climbed past 104. Your breathing turned wet and rattling, like drowning on dry land.
On the third night, you were barely conscious, convulsing in his arms as another coughing fit tore through you.
“James…” you rasped, voice barely more than a broken whisper, tears streaming down your fever-flushed face. “Please… take me to a hospital. I need real doctors. Tests. Medicine. I’m scared- I’m so fucking scared. I feel like I’m dying.”
His eyes flashed blood-red, fangs fully extended, drool slipping from the corner of his mouth in thick strings.
“No.” The word came out like a growl from the pit of hell. “No hospitals. They’re butcher shops. They’ll pump you full of poison, poke you with needles and watch you rot under those lights while they pray to a god that doesn’t give a shit. I watched it happen for centuries. I held Dot while she screamed in one of those places. I won’t lose you the same way.”
You tried to push him away, but your arms were limp and useless. “Bucky, please- I’m begging you. I’m terrified. I don’t want to die here like this. Let me go. Let me call someone.”
He didn’t budge. The metal arm wrapped around you like iron bands, cool and merciless, as he carried you back to the bedroom despite your weak struggles. You slapped at his chest, sobbing, screaming hoarsely.
“I’m scared! Bucky, don’t do this- you’re scaring me! Please, I can’t breathe!”
The heavy click of the bedroom door locking from the outside echoed like a coffin lid slamming shut.
You were trapped.
Hours blurred into days. The fever spiked so high the room started to warp. Shadows crawled across the ceiling like living things, reaching for you with clawed hands. You heard Dot’s screams, a woman you’d never met, mixed with your own wet, gurgling coughs. Sometimes you saw her face rotting in the corner, black buboes bursting, whispering that Bucky’s blood had killed her too.
Bucky never left your side for long. He sat like a gargoyle on the edge of the bed, eyes permanently black, blood tears carving constant red tracks down his face. Drool dripped from his fangs onto the sheets as hunger and terror twisted him into something truly monstrous.
He murmured hoarsely, pressing icy cloths to your burning skin. His voice cracked with raw desperation. “Stay with me, doll. Please. I can’t watch you burn like she did. I can’t bury another woman I love.”
When your breathing grew too shallow and your pulse fluttered like a dying bird, he made the choice.
He sliced his wrist open with a fang, dark, ancient blood welling up and forced it against your cracked lips.
“Drink,” he begged, voice shattered and desperate. “Drink for me, baby. Please. I won’t let you die.”
The blood burned like liquid fire down your throat, healing and poisoning at once. It dragged you back from the edge for a few hours but the fever only raged hotter. Your body rejected it in violent chills and vomiting.
So Bucky started hunting.
He locked you in with cameras watching your every shallow, rattling breath, then disappeared into the night like the predator he was. You woke once to the sound of the door and saw him covered in blood that wasn’t his, splattered across his shirt, matted in his hair. He carried thermoses of warm stolen blood, mixing it with his own before forcing it down your throat.
The penthouse began to reek of copper, decay, and terror.
When you finally clawed back enough strength to be lucid, you were still weak, still burning but fury gave you fire.
The second he walked back in with another thermos, blood still dripping from his chin, you slapped him hard across the face with everything you had left.
“You locked me in here!” you screamed, voice raw and cracking. “You imprisoned me like a fucking animal! I begged you, Bucky- I begged on my knees and you said no! I’m terrified of you right now. What the hell are you becoming?!”
Bucky dropped to his knees instantly, metal arm wrapping around your waist like a vice as he pressed his forehead to your stomach. Blood tears soaked through your thin shirt.
“I know,” he choked out, voice wrecked. “I’m a monster. I watched Dot die screaming because my blood poisoned her during the plague. She begged me to let her go and I held her down instead. I can’t- I won’t- do the same with you. Not you. Please don’t make me bury you too.”
You sobbed, fists pounding weakly against his shoulders. “This isn’t love, it’s control! You’re killing me slowly. I’m so scared of what you’ll do next. What if your blood makes me worse? What if I never leave this room alive?”
“I’m scared too,” he whispered, looking up at you with those terrifying black-red eyes, drool and blood mixing on his chin. “I’m so fucking terrified of losing you that I’d rather you hate me forever than watch you slip away.”
You yanked him up by his bloody shirt, tears streaming down your face.
He didn’t give you time to think.
“I need to be inside you,” he rasped, voice desperate and feral. “Right now. My blood, my cock- it will make you feel better. It will heal you. Let me fuck you. Let me fill you. I can make this okay. I can make you okay.”
You shoved at his chest hard, fury and terror giving you strength you didn’t know you had.
“No!” you cried, voice cracking. “Are you insane?! I’m sick, I’m scared and you want to fuck me?! I’m not some toy you can use to feel better about yourself! Get off me!”
Bucky’s hands tightened on your hips, eyes wild.
“Please,” he begged, voice breaking even as his cock pressed insistently against you. “Just let me in. Let me make you feel good. My blood is already in you. Let me finish it. Let me heal you the only way I know how.”
You slapped him hard across the face, the sound echoing in the locked room.
“I said no!” you screamed, tears pouring down your cheeks. “I’m terrified of you right now! You locked me in here like a prisoner, you fed me blood, you’re acting like a fucking animal- and you think sex is going to fix this?! Get the hell off me!”
Bucky froze.
For a long, terrible moment he just stared at you, red eyes wide, fangs out, drool and blood tears streaking his face. Then something in him shattered.
He dropped to his knees again, metal arm wrapping around your waist as he pressed his forehead to your stomach, sobbing openly.
“I’m sorry,” he choked out, voice completely broken. “I’m so fucking sorry. I know I’m a monster. I know I’m scaring you. I just… I can’t watch you die. I can’t do it again. Please don’t hate me. Please.”
You stood there shaking, still furious, still terrified, but the raw pain in his voice cracked something inside you. You sank down slowly, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as he trembled against you.
The fight dissolved into quiet, broken sobs from both of you.
He held you like you were the only thing keeping him sane, blood tears soaking your shirt, drool and fear mixing on your skin.
The city lights flickered outside the soundproof windows.
Inside, the air was thick with blood, sickness, terror, and the heavy weight of a love that might destroy you both.
And you still curled into his chest, listening to the dead heart that beat only for you… wondering how much longer you had before the monster inside him finally won.
The next night, after the fever finally broke and the blood-stained sheets had been burned, Bucky carried you to the roof of his penthouse.
The city sprawled beneath you like a glittering sea of lights, cold wind whipping across the concrete rooftop. He sat on the wide ledge with you curled in his lap, your back against his chest, his metal arm wrapped securely around your waist. For a long time, neither of you spoke. The silence was heavy, weighted down by everything that had happened in that locked room.
“I’m still pissed at you,” you said quietly, staring out at the city. Your voice was hoarse but steady. “You apologized, but it doesn’t just erase it. You tried to force yourself on me when I was weak and scared. That shit stays with me, Bucky.”
“I know,” he murmured, lips brushing the top of your head. His voice was rough with guilt. “And I’ll keep being sorry for the rest of your life if that’s what it takes. I hate what I did. I hate that I became that version of myself with you. I was terrified… but that’s no excuse. I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry I scared you. I’m sorry I made you feel like a thing instead of the only person I have left.”
You stayed tense in his arms, anger still simmering under your skin even as you leaned back against him. “Good. You should feel like shit about it.”
He exhaled shakily. “I do. Every second.” After a long pause, he continued, softer. “I want you to understand why I lose control like that. Not just hear the stories. I want you to feel them. All the years. All the deaths. All the reasons I’m so fucking broken that I’d rather force you to live than watch you die.”
You turned in his arms to look at him. His red eyes were haunted, vulnerable in a way that made your chest ache despite your lingering fury.
“How?” you asked.
Bucky pressed his wrist to his own mouth and bit down hard. Dark, potent blood welled up immediately, thick and gleaming under the city lights. He offered it to you, eyes glowing faintly red.
“Drink,” he whispered. “And I’ll show you everything. Please.”
You hesitated but finally brought his bleeding wrist to your lips. The taste exploded across your tongue: copper, power, and centuries of him. The world tilted violently.
Suddenly you were there.
Mud. Endless, sucking mud.
1917 - The Western Front
The stench hit you like a physical blow, rotting flesh, human shit, wet wool, gunpowder, and death. Freezing rain poured down in sheets. Artillery shells screamed overhead and detonated so close your teeth rattled. You felt Bucky’s constant, gnawing hunger like it was tearing through your own gut. He hadn’t fed properly in weeks. You moved like a shadow with him between the trenches, ripping out throats of German scouts under cover of night, drinking just enough to stay sane while the screams of dying men tore at what remained of his soul.
“I hated it,” his real voice murmured against your ear on the rooftop as the memory swallowed you. “But the screams reminded me I could still feel something.”
The loneliness was suffocating. Thousands of men all around, laughing, cursing, praying and he was completely, utterly alone. No one could ever know the monster wearing a soldier’s uniform.
The vision shifted with brutal force.
December 1944 - The Ardennes Forest
Bitter, freezing snow. Gunfire cracking through the trees like whips.
Then the shell.
White-hot agony ripped through your body as shrapnel tore his left arm clean off at the shoulder. You screamed with him, feeling the bone shatter, muscle rip, hot blood spray across white snow. He dropped to his knees in the freezing slush, roaring in pain while his vampire healing failed to close the massive wound.
HYDRA came next.
Straps biting into skin. Cold metal table. Blinding lights. You felt every bolt and wire as they fused the prototype metal arm directly into the raw, bleeding stump. The pain was apocalyptic. You thrashed in Bucky’s lap on the rooftop, whimpering.
“I begged them to let me die,” he whispered, arms tightening around you. “They wouldn’t let me.”
Decades of numbness followed. The metal arm never felt like part of him, just a constant, heavy reminder that even eternity could be mutilated. That even a monster could be broken beyond repair.
The blood-sharing deepened, flooding you with centuries of crushing loneliness in relentless flashes:
Nameless women fucked in candlelit rooms across Europe, then left before dawn because none of them were her.
Standing alone on a cliff in 1803, staring at the crashing ocean, wondering if he should just walk into the sunrise and end it.
Returning year after year to the ashes of that cottage in 1665, sitting among the ruins on the anniversary of Dolores’s screaming death, whispering apologies to the wind.
Feeding on killers in dark 1970s Brooklyn alleys, then returning to an empty penthouse to stare at the wall for days, sometimes weeks, with nothing but silence and ghosts for company.
Wave after wave of isolation crashed over you. Seven hundred years of it. You felt every agonizing second.
When the blood-sharing finally ended, you were sobbing violently in his arms on the rooftop, clutching his shirt like he might vanish. Bucky was crying too, silent blood tears tracking down his face.
“I’m not her,” you whispered fiercely through your tears, cupping his wet cheeks. “I’m not Dolores. I’m not going to die screaming in your arms. I’m choosing you, Bucky. Scars. Metal arm. Fangs. Murders. All the darkness. I see the monster and I’m still here. I’m still choosing you.”
He made a broken, wrecked sound and crushed you against his chest, burying his face in your neck.
“I don’t deserve you,” he choked out. “Especially not after what I did in that room. I keep waiting for you to realize that and run. Every single night I wait for it.”
You pulled back just enough to kiss him, slow, deep, tasting salt and blood and centuries of pain.
“I’m still pissed at you,” you whispered against his lips. “That doesn’t go away overnight. But I’m not running. Even when I’m terrified. Even when you scare the shit out of me. I’m staying.”
Bucky kissed you harder, almost desperately, metal arm holding you so tight it almost hurt. When he finally pulled back, his red eyes were softer than you’d ever seen them.
“You have no idea what you just did,” he murmured, voice wrecked. “You just gave a dead man a reason to keep existing.”
You stayed on the rooftop until dawn threatened the sky, wrapped in each other, the weight of seven hundred years of loneliness finally shared between two hearts, one living, one long dead.
But the darkness wasn’t done with either of you.
Not yet.
The hunters had been watching for weeks.
A group of ex-military contractors turned self-proclaimed “paranormal investigators,” they chased high-paying bounties and conspiracy forums. They’d heard the fragmented stories for months: an ancient vampire with a metal arm operating in Brooklyn, leaving bodies drained and throats torn out in back alleys. Most of them laughed at the vampire part, they figured it was some enhanced super-soldier gone rogue, maybe a Winter Soldier copycat. But the bounty was massive and the rumors were consistent enough to make them curious.
They’d been tailing both of you. Taking photos. Noting patterns.
And when they saw their opportunity: you, still pale and weak from the illness, walking alone to the corner store in broad daylight, they took it.
A black van screeched up beside you. Two men in tactical gear grabbed you before you could scream. A chemical-soaked rag clamped brutally over your mouth and nose. The world spun violently, then went black.
You woke up zip-tied to a cold metal chair in the middle of an abandoned warehouse on the edge of Brooklyn. The air smelled of rust, mildew, and old oil. Your head throbbed. Your wrists burned where the plastic ties cut into your skin. Six armed men stood around you in a loose circle, rifles held loosely, smirking like this was just another job.
The leader, a bearded man with a scarred face and cold eyes crouched in front of you, tilting his head.
“Well, well. Look who’s awake.” He grinned. “If your boyfriend really is some immortal bloodsucker, he’ll come running. If not…” He shrugged. “We’ll still get paid for the freak with the metal arm. Either way, jackpot.”
One of the others laughed, chewing gum loudly. “You really believe that vampire shit? Probably just some juiced-up psycho with a fancy prosthetic. We’ll put him down like any other target.”
Another poked your shoulder with the barrel of his rifle. “Bet she’s just some poor girl he’s been mind-controlling. Pathetic.”
You spat at the leader’s boots, voice hoarse but defiant. “You have no idea what you’re fucking with. Let me go. Now.”
The leader only chuckled darkly. “We’ll find out soon enough, sweetheart. Sit tight.”
Bucky felt it the instant they grabbed you.
The blood bond, the one he had strengthened every time he drank from you, every time he fed you his own blood, snapped taut like a live wire in his chest. Your fear. Your pain. Your confusion. It hit him so hard he dropped the glass of blood he’d been holding. It shattered across the penthouse floor.
His vision went red.
A roar tore out of him, raw, ancient, inhuman, shaking the windows and rattling the walls.
Then the monster took over completely.
He stormed the warehouse alone like judgment day.
The moment the steel doors exploded inward off their hinges, the hunters opened fire. Bullets ripped into his chest, his shoulders, his stomach, his thighs. Blood sprayed from the wounds but he kept walking forward through the hail of gunfire, eyes glowing bright blood-red, fangs fully extended, metal arm whirring violently as the plates shifted and spun.
In front of you, he became something from hell.
The first hunter raised his rifle. Bucky grabbed his arm, ripped it clean off at the shoulder with a wet, tearing sound, and beat the screaming man to death with his own severed limb. Bone crunched. Blood fountained. The man’s screams turned into wet gurgles until his skull caved in with a sickening crack.
The second tried to run. Bucky caught him by the waist, metal fingers sinking deep into flesh, and tore him in half at the torso with raw strength. The spine snapped like dry wood. Intestines spilled across the concrete in a steaming pile. The man’s dying screams echoed horribly as his upper body twitched on the ground.
The third got close enough to fire point-blank into Bucky’s face. Bucky crushed his skull in his metal fist while the man was still screaming, bone fragments and brain matter exploding between the vibrating plates with a wet, disgusting crunch. Blood and gore splattered across your lap and chest.
The fourth and fifth tried to flank him. Bucky moved like death itself, tearing one’s throat out with his teeth, ripping the other’s spine out through his back in a fountain of blood.
The last hunter dropped his gun, stumbling backward, piss staining the front of his pants.
“It wasn’t real- we didn’t think- please God, we didn’t know he was actually a fucking vampire-!”
Bucky grabbed him by the throat, lifted him a foot off the ground, and tore his throat out with his fangs in one savage bite. Arterial blood sprayed across the room like a broken hose as the man convulsed and died.
Then silence.
Only the sound of dripping blood, your ragged breathing, and the wet squelch of Bucky’s boots in the carnage remained.
Bucky stood in the middle of the slaughter, covered head to toe in blood and gore, chest heaving, fangs still fully extended, eyes glowing like twin hellfires. For a moment he looked every inch the ancient monster he was.
Then he saw you.
The monster shattered.
Bucky dropped to his knees in the pool of blood and viscera, crawling to you with shaking hands, fangs still fully extended, red eyes wild. The metal arm moved with terrifying gentleness as he reached for you first, slicing through the zip-ties with one careful claw so they fell away from your raw, bruised wrists.
“Doll- fuck, let me see you,” he rasped, voice cracking. His hands immediately started checking you, sliding over your body with desperate care. He turned your wrists gently, thumbs brushing the deep purple bruises left by the plastic ties. He ran his palms down your arms, your ribs, your thighs, searching for wounds, broken bones, blood that wasn’t from the slaughter around you.
“They hurt you?” His voice was hoarse, almost whimpering. “Tell me where. Did they touch you? Did they- fuck, I’ll kill them again if they-”
Only the angry red imprints from the zip-ties marred your skin. No cuts. No bites. No worse damage. Relief and guilt crashed over him at once.
“I’m sorry,” he choked out, pressing his forehead to your stomach, trembling violently. “I’m so fucking sorry you had to see that. But they touched you. They took you from me. I couldn’t- I can’t lose you. I can’t do it again.”
He was covered head to toe in someone else’s blood and brains, gore streaking his face, fangs out, blood tears mixing with the carnage dripping down his cheeks. His massive frame shook as he knelt in the slaughter, clinging to you like you were the only thing keeping him from falling apart completely.
You were shaking too, sobbing quietly, your clothes and skin soaked in warm, sticky blood that wasn’t yours. The metallic stench was overwhelming. The screams still rang in your ears.
You should have been terrified. You should have been screaming.
Instead, that dark, addicted part of you reached for him anyway.
You grabbed his bloody face with both hands, fingers sliding through the gore, and yanked him up into a desperate, blood-slick kiss.
Bucky groaned into your mouth like a wounded animal, raw, broken, relieved. The coppery taste of death coated both your tongues as he kissed you back with centuries of fear and feral love. His metal arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you tighter against his blood-soaked chest while his flesh hand cradled the back of your head.
When you finally broke the kiss, foreheads pressed together, breaths mingling in the carnage, you whispered shakily against his gore-stained lips:
“…Take me home, Bucky. Please. Just take me home. I don’t want to be here anymore. I just want you to take me home.”
He nodded frantically, blood tears still falling. “Yeah. Yeah, doll. Home. I’ve got you.”
He lifted you into his arms with ease, cradling you like something precious and fragile among the slaughter. Your head tucked against his neck as he carried you out of the warehouse, boots squelching through puddles of blood, leaving nothing but corpses and the heavy, metallic stench of death behind.
You clung to him the entire way, still trembling, still terrified, but refusing to let go.
The monster had won tonight.
And you were still his.
You woke up every day for three weeks telling yourself this was love.
Bucky had moved you into his penthouse the night after the warehouse massacre. No discussion. He simply carried your exhausted body through the elevator, locked it down with a code only his fingerprints could activate and whispered against your ear in that low, dangerous growl, “You’re never leaving me again, doll. Never.”
Your old life was gone. Your apartment, your friends, your thesis notes, they all gathered dust while your clothes now hung neatly beside his in the massive walk-in closet. Every night you slept naked in his silk sheets, the fabric permanently scented with blood, sex and the faint metallic tang of his ancient hunger. He fed you from his wrist, fucked you until you screamed, then held you like you were the only fragile thing left in his centuries-long existence.
You told yourself you were safe. Cherished. Loved.
Tonight, that comforting lie finally burned to ash.
The hunger had been eating him alive for hours.
You were on your back in the middle of his massive bed, legs locked tight around his waist as he fucked you with those deep, claiming strokes you’d grown addicted to. At first it felt fucking perfect, his thick cock stretching your dripping cunt wide open, dragging against that sweet spot with every brutal thrust, metal fingers bruising your hips while his mouth sucked dark, possessive marks across your tits.
“Fuck, baby… this tight little cunt is creaming all over me,” he growled against your neck, voice thick and raw. “Hear how fucking sloppy and wet you sound? Sucking my cock in like you were made for it. My perfect filthy girl.”
You moaned, nails raking down his back. “Harder, Bucky- please, I need you to ruin me-”
He gave it to you.
Then the flashback hit like a goddamn freight train.
You sitting on that filthy warehouse floor. Limp. Pale as death. Almost gone forever. Your head lolled weakly to the side, skin ghostly white, lips colorless, eyes half-lidded and unfocused. You looked so fragile, so close to slipping away that the sight nearly brought Bucky to his knees.
His control fucking snapped.
His hips slammed forward with terrifying force. The wet slap of skin turned savage, punishing. Pleasure twisted into sharp, stabbing pain that tore through your core like broken glass.
“Bucky- wait! Fuck- too hard!” you cried, voice already cracking. “Slow down, baby, please- shit, it hurts!”
He didn’t hear you. His eyes were wild, glowing crimson, fangs fully extended as thick ropes of drool poured from his mouth onto your bouncing tits. He pounded into you like a rabid, starving beast, driven by centuries of hunger and the primal fear of losing you again.
“Mine,” he snarled, the word vicious and broken, vibrating with pure desperation. “This fucking pussy is mine. You’re never leaving this bed. Never leaving this goddamn penthouse. I’ll fuck you raw every single night until you can’t even crawl away from me, you hear me? I won’t let death take you. I won’t let anything take you.”
Each savage thrust jolted your whole body. His metal arm crushed your hip with a sickening crack. Bone splintered. White-hot agony exploded through your pelvis like fire. You screamed, back arching violently.
“Bucky- stop! Fuck, my hip! It’s breaking- please, baby, please stop! I’m begging you! It hurts so fucking bad!”
He only fucked you harder, lost in the nightmare, hips snapping forward with inhuman power. Another vicious snap and your left wrist, pinned above your head, shattered with an audible pop. The pain was blinding, nauseating, shooting up your arm like lightning. You screamed until your voice broke, tears pouring down your face as you thrashed helplessly beneath him.
“Jesus Christ- Bucky, my wrist! Stop, please! It hurts so fucking bad- I can’t take it! Slow down, I’m scared! Please see me, baby, I’m right here- don’t break me!”
“Look at you,” he panted, drool dripping onto your lips and chin, his breath hot and ragged against your skin. “Taking my cock like such a good little slut. So fucking greedy for me even when you’re ruined. Gonna fill this sloppy cunt up until you’re dripping. Gonna keep you leaking my cum for days, baby. You’re never getting away from me. Never.”
Your ribs cracked on the next brutal thrust, one, two, three, sharp nauseating crunches that stole your breath completely. Blood bubbled up your throat and trickled from the corner of your mouth in dark rivulets. Your body went terrifyingly limp, only weak, wet gasps leaving you as he kept rutting into your destroyed hole like a desperate, starving animal.
“I almost watched you die once,” he growled, voice cracking between raw hunger and bone-deep horror. “Felt your heart slowing in my arms while you burned up with that fucking sickness. You were slipping away from me, right here in this bed. Never. Never again.”
His hips snapped harder, driving deep into you with every word.
“I will keep you here. Fill you. Bind you. You will never leave this penthouse. You will be my eternal companion… my blood, my breath, my only reason to keep walking through this damned night. I’ll drink from you every night until the hunger in me is quiet. I’ll hold you while you tremble and beg, and I will never let you go. You’re mine, my wife, my meal, my everything.”
You could barely speak now, only weak, broken cries leaving you between gasps. “James… please… it hurts… everything’s breaking inside me… I’m so scared… don’t let me die like this… please see me… I love you, just stop-”
He froze only when he felt how deathly still you had become, your body no longer fighting, just a fragile, ruined thing in his grasp, blood leaking from you in steady streams.
Reality crashed over him like ice water.
“No… no, no, NO! FUCK NO!” The roar that tore from his throat was inhuman, shaking the windows and rattling the walls until the glass trembled. He ripped himself out of you with a horrified shout, a flood of blood and slick gushing from your ruined cunt onto the silk sheets. He gathered your shattered body against his chest, rocking you violently as thick, black blood-tears poured down his face in rivers.
“I did it again- I fucking killed you!” he screamed, voice cracking into something ancient and monstrous. His metal fist smashed the headboard repeatedly, wood exploding into splinters, plaster raining down around you both. “I broke my baby- my perfect sweet girl- I crushed you like a goddamn animal! How the fuck could I do this to you?! After everything, after I swore I’d protect you, I still fucking destroy you! I’m a monster!”
In his panic he tried desperately to fix it.
He lowered his head and dragged his cool tongue frantically over the mangled ruin of your hip. Long, desperate licks, reverent, almost worshipful just like he did every dawn to the bite marks on your thighs. His cool venom should have sealed the wounds, should have soothed and healed. But the damage was catastrophic. Shattered bone jutted through torn flesh like jagged ivory knives. Blood poured freely. His tongue only lapped desperately at the crimson flow, mixing his saliva with your lifeblood, yet the wounds refused to close.
“Fuck- why isn’t it working?!” he sobbed, voice raw and cracking. “Heal, damn you- heal! Come on, baby, please heal.” He moved to your shattered wrist, licking over the crushed bones and swollen purple skin with frantic tenderness, fangs carefully retracted. “Heal, my love. My venom has always healed you before. Come back to me. Don’t leave me in this emptiness again. I can’t- I can’t survive without you. Please, don’t die on me!”
It didn’t work. Your ribs stayed caved in. Your insides were ruptured. Blood kept leaking from your mouth and between your legs. He traced every injury with guilty, starving strokes of his tongue, pressing wet, bloody kisses to your mangled hip, your ruined wrist, your trembling lips.
“I’m so fucking sorry- shit, I’m so fucking sorry, doll,” he choked out, rocking you harder against his chest, his entire body trembling with guilt and fear. “I tried- god, I tried everything. My tongue, my venom, my soul- nothing works when the monster in me takes over. I’m a horror. A starving, desperate horror who destroys the only thing he loves. Forgive me… please forgive me.”
Guilt, hunger and obsessive fear twisted violently inside him until his madness crystallized in an instant.
He slashed his own wrist open with a razor-sharp fang. Dark, ancient blood, thick and burning, gushed from the wound. He cradled your head with both hands, pressing your slack mouth desperately against the gash.
“Drink,” he begged, voice broken and trembling with terror. “Fucking drink, baby. Become mine forever. I cannot watch you die. I will not bury you. Take it. Let me damn you if it means keeping you by my side through all the endless nights. Don’t leave me alone again- I’m so scared without you. So goddamn hungry for you. Please… please don’t go. I need you more than I’ve ever needed anything.”
He held your head tighter, forcing the potent blood past your lips. Your body latched on instinctively, sucking with weak, greedy pulls even at the edge of death. The change ignited like liquid hellfire in your veins.
Your broken bones snapped and realigned with excruciating force, each crack wrenching agonized whimpers and jerks from your throat against his wrist. Your organs burned and rewrote themselves in waves of molten pain. Your heart stuttered violently… then stopped completely. The agony was worse than death, pure, liquid fire searing through every vein, every nerve, every inch of your soul as the vampire venom rewrote you from the inside out.
All the while Bucky kept himself buried deep inside your twitching, blood-slick heat. He rocked slowly through your torment, whispering hoarse, broken promises between every shallow, desperate thrust.
“I’m sorry, my everything… but you belong to me now. Eternally. I will hold you through every dark night. I will drink from you while you cry out my name. You will never grow old. Never slip away from me again. I love you too much- too desperately- to let death have you. Forgive me for what I’ve done… even if you hate me forever. This pussy, this body, this soul- it’s all mine now. Forever.”
Your eyes flew open.
Crimson. Glowing. Filled with an ancient, bottomless hunger.
New fangs pushed through your bleeding gums in sharp, painful bursts. You tore your mouth from his wrist, dark blood streaking down your chin and onto your chest, and stared up at him with pure, ravenous starvation.
“Bucky…” Your voice was hoarse, ruined, but dripping with dark, insatiable need. “I’m so fucking thirsty.”
requested by anon : Hi, I love your stories. If you're getting requests, I'd really like to read about vampire!Bucky. The reader would be a normal girl and he a very old vampire who becomes obsessed with her. It has a very dark vibe, but he feels VERY strongly.😭😭
Pairing: Dark (FBI) Benjamin "Dex" Poindexter x (female) Reader
▶ Dead Dove Do Not Eat. This is a yandere/dark work and it may contain triggering content so please READ THE WARNINGS before. Do not read if minor.
More at Masterlist
SUMMARY: Dex believes you to be the key to solve his problems. You think he has serious mental issues. Unfortunately that doesn’t prevent you from being held captive in his apartment.
AN: Around 11k, not entirely satisfied with it but here it goes. It would mean the world to me if you guys could just take a moment to reblog and leave a comment - if you liked reading this. Feedback is very much appreciated. Enjoy 🤗
--
The first thing Dex notices when he opens the door is how quiet the apartment is.
The whole space is immersed in silence - or as silent as living in a city like New York can be, traffic sounds muffled down by the windows and the distant cry of a baby a few doors down the hall.
But the apartment itself is quiet.
That’s a good sign, he thinks as he carefully sets his work bag in its respective place by the door and neatly sets the keys in the wall hook. That’s a good sign, he thinks as he makes his way to the bedroom and yet his skin prickles with anxiety.
With a hand hovering just over the knob, Dex hesitates.
His heart accelerates, thrumming against his ribcage as if attempting to escape. The buzzing in his head overwhelms him and Dex stumbles a step back, trying really hard to push away the thoughts that threaten to swallow him whole.
Breathe in and breathe out.
Closing his eyes, Dex works on his breathing, focusing on the slow exhale of air, mimicking the breathing exercise doctor Mercer taught him. He can do this. He’s dealt with much worse. He can do this.
He can do this.
With a twist of the knob, Dex lets himself inside the bedroom.
The small room is enveloped in absolute darkness, the curtains tightly closed just like he left them this morning before leaving for work - the last thing he needs right now is for curious neighbours from across the building to peep into his apartment.
His knee bumps hard against the leg of the bed and Dex lets out a small curse, now moving with more careful steps in the darkness. It takes nearly ten seconds for him to finally get to the bedside table. He flickers open the small lamp and as soon as his eyes adapt to the yellow brightness of the light, Dex turns his attention towards the small figure curled upon the bed’s edge and just like that, everything gets better. It works like magic every time.
The moment his eyes land on you, his mind calms down, the buzzing dissolving away into a serene quietness.
You’re deep into slumber, closed eyes and features softened by sleep. Dex watches you with something that borders admiration, watching you sleep as always has been precious to him.
Despite the dampness that clings to your eyelashes, proof of the tears you must’ve shed a few hours or a few minutes ago, there’s a serene expression in your face. A gentle peace that has been lacking for the past few days.
Dex hesitates for a brief moment before he crouches down and brushes the hair away from your cheek.
His touch receives no reaction - no terrified flinch, no scared grimace - and Dex feels lighter, both in soul and body. With the back of his fingers, Dex gently strokes your cheek, feeling the soft skin under his stiff touch. A soft smile slowly creeps up to his lips and for a minuscule moment, his mind flees at how nice it would be if things were always like this, unrushed and peaceful.
Dex wants this moment to last forever.
But of course, all good things must end - particularly soon when he is involved. So distracted marveling at the softness of your cheek, Dex is caught off guard when he realizes that your eyes are wide open, fear quickly pooling in them.
Fuck!
He immediately snatches his hand away and stands up.
“You were sleeping. I was just… the hair on your face.” he blurts out, as if whatever excuse is gonna magically erase the fact that you just woke up with his hands all over you. Great. Now in addition to kidnapper, you’re also gonna think he’s a pervert.
Just what he needed right now.
You look away from him mid-sentence and squirm, wincing a moment later when you’re pulled back by the cuffs latched onto your feet.
Right, he almost forgot about them. Dex takes that as his cue to remove the bindings keeping you in bed.
“Here, let me just- ”
He reaches over, carefully as to avoid touching you too much, and begins to loosen up the cuffs keeping your feet chained to the bed and the belt from around your wrists. Your wrists are left indented and the skin irritated by the belt that was tightly clasped around them.
You don’t move for a few moments, body too numb and weak from the countless hours you spend in bed with close to zero mobility, bound and chained to make sure you’re not running to the door the moment you get a chance.
Dex watches you wince before pulling at the cloth tied around your head, a weak substitute for a gag; just a precaution in case you remember to start hollering for help while he’s away at work.
With a snail’s pace, you move to sit at the edge of the bed, breathing heavily as Dex expectantly stands to the side like a shadow.
Dex opens his mouth to say something, maybe ask a stupid question ‘are you alright?’ but before he can even get a word out, you’re standing up with unsteady feet and limping your way to the en-suite bathroom without so much as glancing at him.
His feet follow you on instinct, but the door that slams hard on its hinges stops him from going any further. The lock aggressively clicks into place, a repulsive sound that echoes in his head like a gunshot.
Dex has to take a deep breath to ease up the impulse of putting his fist through the door.
–
Your stomach growls as you eat the pizza slice.
It’s still warm, laced with extra cheese and tasting absolutely divine - although your opinion may be biased on the last part. Anything would taste delicious after a fast of nearly eight hours.
Dex - that’s what he called himself although you’re not too sure if you believe him - clearly isn’t prepared for the logistics that holding someone hostage involves because if he were, you wouldn’t be left to rot in bed the entire day without so much as a drop of water while he goes to work. For the past three days, you’ve been surviving solely on breakfast and dinner, without any snacks or lunch throughout the day.
The arrangement sucks, always leaving you with a mouth drier than the desert and with a stomach ache that doesn’t fully go away even after finally eating.
Dex tries not to make it obvious that he’s looking at you, while chewing his own slice.
Seated right next to you on the small dinner table, he’s much closer than you'd prefer, his arm nearly touching yours every time he moves. The living room’s light shines on his face in a particular way, revealing the small patches of silver on the sides of his short brown hair, and the sharp angles of his face. There’s a small dimple in his chin and he’s clean shaved. Albeit tired, he looks… normal.
A normal-looking guy, living in a normal apartment with a normal life. But looks are often deceiving, aren’t they?
It’s not hard to understand that he has issues. Serious ones, the type that could easily secure him a place in a psychiatric facility - the assumption supported by the drawer full of meds you found in the bathroom cabinet the first night.
In all honesty, you have a hard time understanding him. But so far Dex hasn’t done anything remotely weird to make you feel like you’re about to get jumped at and you’re grateful for that. He’s been polite enough to let you use the bathroom unsupervised and his eyes never linger towards where they shouldn’t. His hand hasn’t been raised against you and no explicit threats have been hissed your way. It’s almost like you’re roommates, of sorts.
But the positive aspects don’t outweigh the negative ones nor do they alter the fact that he has kidnapped you and is currently holding you hostage.
He lies as well because you have serious doubts about him being an FBI agent, like he said that one time. The badge that is usually perched on his belt could very much be a fake and the gun on the holster an illegal one.
You distractedly glance at him and for a moment, your eyes meet.
You regret the eye contact as soon as it happens because Dex immediately takes that as a sign to strike a conversation.
“How’s the pizza?” he eagerly asks, “It’s the same one you always ask for.” He’s right, it is the same pizza with the exact same ingredients you tend to order for yourself on a regular basis.
While this shouldn’t shock you, considering Dex has reluctantly admitted to following you around for weeks, you still can’t shake off how creepy it is for him to know the exact specifications of the food you find comfort in eating.
What else does he know about you that he shouldn’t know? What else has he seen about you that he shouldn’t have?
Your stomach answers for you, letting out an absurdly loud groan.
“It’s fine.” your voice comes out hoarse and weird, not a surprise given this is the first time in the whole day you’re using it.
When you grab the glass of water in front of you, his hazel eyes flit over to your wrists and the marks engraved into the skin from how deep his belt dug in, the skin itchy and red.
“I’m sorry ‘bout that.” Dex lowers his head, “Didn’t mean to tie them so hard. I’ll… I’m gonna find something better for your hands.”
“Or maybe you could just not use them.”
Your voice is low, barely above a whisper but Dex catches them anyways. He shifts in the seat, a wrinkle settling in between his brows.
“Maybe one day. In the future.” he says.
“Why not now?” you press him. “You don’t trust me?”
“I do.”
He doesn’t.
You know he doesn’t. Both of you know that. And he’s right not to because you’re bolting out of the door the moment you get a decent chance.
“I do. I trust you.” he repeats, this time with more conviction. He leans closer to you and you do your best not to push yourself off the chair and walk away. “I trust you more than you know.”
“But not enough to let me out of the bindings, right.”
He swallows hard, shaking his head. “It’s complicated.”
“Right.” you sigh, tearing your eyes away from him and back to the food.
Dex sighs your name, slumping back on the chair. “I know this might be hard to believe in but this isn’t what I want either. It’s really not. I don’t want to keep you all cooped up like you’re a prisoner. You’re not one, anyways.”
He rubs his face with one hand, jaw set tightly. Your eyes notice the thickness of his arm, the subtle but defined muscle stretching underneath the shirt. An FBI agent, he said, a former army soldier too.
“I just can’t take risks right now. Not until… we figure things out. I know this arrangement, if we can call it that, isn’t the most beneficial for you. But I need you. I need your help.”
You freeze, hand stopping mid-air with the remainder of the pizza slice.
“My help?”
Dex nods, nudging his chair closer. His cheek ticks for a moment as he gathers his thoughts.
“Yeah, I… how can I put this.” he breathes in deeply. One of his hands reaches forward, nervously fidgeting with the edge of the table.
“I’ve seen the way you are around people. You feed the homeless. Help blind people cross the street. Bake cookies for your elderly neighbour.” his own lips curl into a smile at that, “You’re kind to people even if you don’t have to be. You listen to them and show them compassion. That’s… that’s something I really need in my life.”
The confusion you feel has your thoughts scattering all over your mind. He thinks you’re kind. How is that enough reason to kidnap someone?
“I don’t understand…” you say, brows raised.
Dex presses his lips together, rolling his shoulders tensely. “Being kind, compassionate like you are… it doesn’t come easy to me. Never has, not even back when I was a kid. So I do the second best thing and try to pretend it. It’s what I’ve been doing my whole life, pretend like I care about the good and the bad and hide who I really am.”
You hesitate, before asking. “And who is that? Who you really are.”
His fingers still and when Dex answers, it’s with a shadow obscuring his face, his eyes focused on some distant point beyond the wall.
“Someone who has killed before.”
Your blood runs cold. Maybe you had a suspicion that there was something deeply wrong with him, but for him to admit it loudly is a whole new thing.
“It’s part of why I joined the bureau and the army before that.” he reveals, with a cold voice and a hardness in his face. “I get to kill without feeling bad for it. It’s part of the job now, strictly professional and nothing personal about it but it fulfills more than what duty calls for. It scratches that itch that never really goes away.”
You swallow dryly, the knot in your throat refusing to go down.
The fear and shock that flood you are hard to push down but you quickly mask them when Dex glances back at you. He visibly swallows, slightly shaking his head.
“I’m sorry.” he apologizes, “I know this isn’t what you want to hear right now. But I promise that you’re safe. I’m not going to hurt you, I would never do that to you.”
Right. His words fail to reassure you after what he has just revealed, but you pretend otherwise. Maybe if Dex thinks you believe him then his guard will be lowered.
“I’m aware that it’s wrong, I know that. But I just… I can’t help it, sometimes.” he swallows, fingers twitching. “I’m trying to do better. Trying to steer into the right path. That’s why I need you, I need your help.”
“Me?” you mumble, completely lost.
Dex doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he stares, focusing on you with an intensity that makes your skin prickle.
“I do better when there’s a North Star to guide me.”
–
A small, muffled sniff comes from inside the room, bed gently creaking as you adjust yourself. With an arm half-bent beneath his head, Dex stares at the ceiling. It’s nearly midnight and he has an early day tomorrow but sleep evades him.
The couch is stiff under him, much too short to comfortably accommodate all of him but Dex doesn’t complain, he’s slept in much worse places before.
Compared to sleeping on the hard floor, no pillow or blankets, stones and dirt digging into his back with the obnoxious snoring of fellow army soldiers ringing in his ears, this is far from unpleasant. Especially with you sleeping just around the corner.
The apartment is small enough that the couch sits just outside the bedroom and with the door wide open, Dex can hear the sound of your breathing. You’re awake, he gets that from the way your breathing keeps changing every now and then, the soft clink of the metal cuff on your feet as you shift once in a while, trying to get comfortable.
His mind is calm now, no incessant buzzing or relentless thoughts.
It keeps drifting towards you instead. Details cling to him such as the way you smelled like him when you came out of the shower, having used what he owns - his soap, his shampoo, his moisturizer, his lotion. Even his clothes. With wet hair and dressed in his clothes, you looked like a dream.
He tried to not ogle much at the freshly moisturized, shiny skin of your legs; tried not to let his hands wander too much when closing the cuff around your ankle and securing the other end to the bed’s metal structure.
The small scowl on your face didn’t go unnoticed by him and part of him gets it. Sleeping cuffed to the bed can’t be easy and you deserve to be treated like a princess, not like a prisoner but Dex’s hands are tied for the moment being.
Giving you too much freedom when things are still slowly building between you two can be dangerous. He wishes things weren’t this way but right now he can’t afford to give you that amount of leeway.
In theory Dex knows that what he’s doing is bad. Really bad.
He has full conscience that this is far from healthy .
That what he’s doing falls on the exact opposite side of the spectrum of what he and doctor Mercer agreed he should do to keep him in the straight, narrow path and that if she were alive today, she’d be horrified at what he’s done. Kidnapping his North Star.
That sure would make her reconsider everything about him. Holding onto a good person isn’t the same as making one hostage and definitely not what she had suggested, not even in the slightest, before passing away.
If doctor Mercer was here, she’d be disappointed beyond measure and she’d force Dex to release you, to let you return back into your life.
He supposes it’s a good thing that she’s dead. Because Dex isn’t sure he could give you up without a fight. You mean so much to him, more than you could ever know and enough for him to refuse allowing you the chance to just walk away like he means nothing.
Everyone in his life - every single person - has abandoned him. Left him to fend for himself in the dark solitude of his mind, of the buzzing thoughts that plague him day and night. Dex refuses to let you do the same.
You’re good, kind and sweet. You’re the missing piece of the puzzle, the solution to his problems. You’re gonna help him get back on the right track, even if you aren’t sure about him.
You didn’t lash out at him after everything he revealed during dinner. You didn’t scream or call him a monster or push him away. No, you just sat there and patiently listened to him. Tried to understand him. Told him that you’d try to help him.
He smiles, hope fluttering in his chest.
So long as he has you, everything will be alright.
–
Your stomach lets out a soft growl.
Judging from the bright sunlight filtered out by the closed curtains and from how badly the pit in your stomach is starting to feel, it’s around lunch time. Not that it matters, you won’t be getting any food even if you want to. Not in your current position.
You let out a sigh and move your head around, trying to find a better position.
By the end of week, you’ll be surprised if the bed doesn’t show a permanent dent shaped to your body given it’s where the majority of your days and nights are spent.
Dex did follow through with his word and found some handcuffs this morning to use around your wrists instead of the circulation-cutting belt. The cuffs are nicer, looser than the belt, but still offering little to no opportunity to evade them.
The more you think about it, the more helpless you feel. You have no plan, debunking each and every one given their potential of failure but mostly due to fear. Every time you begin to craft an escape plan, hesitation has you faltering.
So far Dex has been nothing less than an exemplary kidnapper… what happens if you get caught trying to escape? The words from the other night are still bouncing around in your head, unwilling to let you forget who he truly is.
Will he hurt you, or do worse, if you get caught - maybe as a lesson, maybe as a punishment or maybe because he wants to. You don’t want to find out what Dex can do and with your life on the thin line, reckless actions are what you can’t afford to do.
Every single night, after Dex removes the chains, your body aches to act on the most basic survival instinct. Run. To lunge forward and reach for the door, to run down the hall and scream as loudly as you can.
Every night you fight against that impulse, nails digging into the palm of your hands every time Dex turns his back on you and the opportunity presents itself right there for you to seize.
Every night you have to control yourself, eyes flickering towards the door and adrenaline running through your veins.
Think positive, is what you tell yourself.
A little hopeful voice whispers into your ear that maybe luck will be on your side and maybe you won’t have to do anything at all and that before you know it, the police will break down the apartment’s door and rescue you.
That’s one of the nice, comforting fantasies that keeps you entertained for a good amount of your days; distracted from the miserable turn your life has taken.
The exhaustion you feel on a mental level adds up to the physical one. The tension accumulating in your body is hard to shake off, shoulders burning up at the uncomfortable position that allows your wrists to stay chained to the bed’s headboard. And you absolutely despise the sharp needling that occurs in your legs when you finally get to stand up. Ugh.
Dex thinks you’re his North Star, someone kind enough to help him get into the right path. You genuinely don’t believe in it.
How are you supposed to help him? How can you possibly help him be a good person? For all you know, he might be lying to you, using some half-baked lie to get you to lower your guard. Maybe it’s a side-effect from the medicine he takes.
You don’t know, you genuinely don’t know.
Closing your eyes, you inhale deeply. The music reaches the end and the announcer takes over, something about good weather these days.
Another song begins shortly after, some energetic tune you don't recognize.
It was a nice gesture from Dex to leave the radio on. To keep company, he had said. And indeed it does keep you company although the radio station he tuned in keeps repeating the exact same playlist of old songs over and over again. But beggars can’t be choosers and you’re glad to at least have something to dull the static silence of your days.
*knock*
The sound startles you.
For a moment you freeze, heart accelerating in your chest.
You try listening in despite the interference of the radio that is still going on, the song playing on a low volume making it hard to listen properly. For the next few seconds nothing happens and your brain nearly convinces you to believe the door knock to be a product of your imagination.
And then it happens again.
Subtle and hard to listen to, but it’s definitely there.
Without wasting another second, you scream as loudly as you can with the gag cloth around your mouth. Despite being laced with desperation, your voice comes out muffled down, the gag absorbing much of the sound and tears of frustration begin to build in your eyes.
The cuffs securing your hands and feet rattle when you tug at them as aggressively as you possibly can with the hope that the clanking of metal can attract the attention of whoever is outside the apartment.
Despite your best efforts, nothing happens.
There’s no more knocking on the door, no booming voice asking ‘is everything alright?’.
Nothing.
After excruciatingly long minutes, exhaustion wins and you give up, teary eyed and devastated.
–
“Can I help? I don’t mind washing them.” you offer, eyeing the plates and silverware pilling on the sink.
Dinner is over and now it’s that weird time window where Dex handles chores while you just lurk around the apartment without any real purpose. Back in your apartment, this would be the time for you to pick the next day’s outfit and prepare your work bag while listening to your favorite podcast.
Here you don’t have any chores or obligations. No dishes to wash, no clothes to iron, no meal prep.
There’s nothing for you to do other than walk around in circles around the apartment and pretend you’re not counting the minutes until it’s bedtime and the cuffs are back on.
“It’s okay. I got this.” Dex turns you down, rolling the sleeves of his white shirt up to his elbows and turning the faucet on.
Your shoulders slump in the slightest as you awkwardly stand by the counter, watching the meticulous way in which Dex scrubs and re-scrubs every piece.
You were half-hoping to take advantage of a distraction moment to sneak away a knife. Or a fork. Anything sharp enough to be used as a weapon although to use under what circumstances, you’re not yet sure. You’re not sure of anything.
Your nerves are rattling you on the inside tonight, the memory of the door knocking still lingering in your mind. Dex hasn’t mentioned anything about neighbours and you’re not stupid enough to bring it up.
You don’t know what to do. All the ideas your brain conjures feel… risky. You can’t stop feeling scared, like one wrong move and you’re gonna mess everything up. If you attempt to escape, only to fail…
Dex has blood on his hands, more out of pleasure than for his alleged job. Despite his promise, what guarantee is there that his hands won’t ever become stained with your blood?
You nearly wince when Dex speaks, pulling you out of your thoughts.
“Are you okay?” he asks, shutting off the faucet and drying his hands before turning towards you. “You look a little… I don’t know. Is something wrong?”
Yes. Everything. Everything is wrong and it’s all his fault.
Dex considers you with a little wrinkle between his brows. “Is it your wrists? I saw you touching them earlier. I can get something for them, if they are bothering you.”
You shake your head slowly. And then speak without meaning to, the words just slipping out of your mouth before you have the good sense of keeping them to yourself.
“I need my phone.”
You can tell the words takes Dex by surprise from the way he tenses up, shoulders straightening up.
“Why don’t you sit down on the couch?” he stiffly suggests and then turns his back on you, opening and closing the kitchen drawers practically without looking at them too much. “I’ll make some of that tea you like so much.”
“I need to call my parents, Dex. They must be worried about me.”
“They know you’re fine. I already texted them on your behalf." Dex says, bumping against an open drawer with a hiss. “Said you’d be cutting back on phone time.”
A small incredulous sound escapes from your throat.
“They won’t believe that.” you argue, crossing your arms. “We talk over the phone every week, sometimes even videocall. Please, Dex, just one phone call. I promise I won’t say or do anything suspicious. Please?”
Dex closes a drawer with enough force to rattle its contents.
“We can talk about that later.”
“Dex, c’mon, one call. Five minutes, on speaker. Please, it’s all I ask for.”
“Later.”
“Dex, please, just one-”
The knock on the door interrupts your argument.
Both of you snap your heads towards the door and something twists inside you at the sound of voices in the hallway. But before you can even consider getting a word out of your mouth Dex moves with a speed so impressive that it startles you, cornering you against the counter with his palm firmly pressed against your lips.
“Not a word.” he whispers, brown eyes focused on you intently. “Please.”
It’s suffocating to have him so close, body nearly molded to yours and trapping you against the counter, his breath fawning over your face and you can see every short, light-brown hair from his five o’clock shadow.
It’s only when you give a small nod that Dex finally looks away and turns his face to the door when another knock resonates and a chirpy female voice speaks. “Hello, Jehovah witnesses here. If we could just have a moment of your time…”
“Yeah, thanks but I’m not interested.”
You glance at the door, eyes drawn to it like a moth to flame and heart thrumming at the fact that there are people on the other side of the door. People that might call the police if a commotion is heard…
Almost as if tuned in to your mind, Dex glances at you and his remaining hand reaches for you with fingers slithering around your forearm, holding onto you firmly.
“Oh, but sir, if you could open the door it would only take-”
“Not interested.” Dex loudly repeats, losing the polite tone from just moments ago. “Now get lost before I call the cops on you.”
Seconds drag by but the hand clamped over your mouth only slackens when the disappointed voices dim down into distance, footsteps scampering away from the apartment.
Only when the coast is clear does Dex fully remove his hands from you, fingers brushing against your lips one last time and you let out a shaky exhale.
“Thank you.” Dex blurts, stepping aside and finally putting some space between you and you can see that the tips of his ears are blazing red. “For not….y’know. Making a scene.”
You nod, but can’t shake the nagging feeling in your chest that maybe you wasted an opportunity that might not appear again.
–
It’s late when Dex comes back home the next night.
That alone is enough to set alarms ringing in your head as Dex is never late. Punctuality is a trait of his, always adhering to consistnt routines and schedules.
It gets worse when you notice the heavy expression Dex wears, lips pressed into a tense line as he greets you. Something is off in the way he moves, tense limbs and a stiff spine. He tries to hide it, but the recoil that runs down his body when he bends down to release your cuffs and then again when he slams the radio’s off button reveals it.
You slowly sit on the bed, rubbing your sore wrists and watching him storm into the bathroom. The sound of water running travels through the ajar door, but it's the pained hiss that catches your attention.
After a moment of pulling yourself together, you stand up and take small steps to the bathroom, supporting yourself using the wall as your legs slowly recover from a whole day of inactivity.
Another distressed sound reaches your ears and you hesitate only for a brief second before pushing the door open.
“Dex.” you call him, “Are you okay?”
He’s hunched over the bathroom sink, palms pressed against the small vanity and face hanging low between his shoulders.
You can’t avoid the concern that prickles you when he turns around, face pale and dewy, looking more like a ghost than a human. Is he sick?
“I’m fine.” Dex grits out and palms a hand through his face with a rough motion, cheeks hollowing as he exhales sharply. “Just give me a second.”
His face twists as he holds back a wince and this time his hand flies to press against his torso. You gasp when you catch sight of his ruined white shirt, horrified at the way the left side of the material is soaked in bright crimson.
“Dex, you’re bleeding!”
“I’m okay, it’s nothing.” Dex rushes to say, one hand trying to hide the shirt with his coat but you’re faster than him and pull it away to get a clear view.
“It doesn’t look like that.” you remark. “Let me see it.”
“You don’t have to, I told I’m-”
“Yes, you keep saying that. Just let me see, please.”
Dex sighs at the stubbornness you show but thankfully relents under the pressure, removing his coat and shirt while you attempt to help him.
When the shirt comes off of his body you freeze. There’s an injury on the side of his stomach, the skin torn and raw, blood trickling out of the wound.
Dex curses when he looks down and then glances at you.
“It was work.” he explains, “FBI had a raid today and this guy had a gun. The bullet grazed me for a second. I’m fine, really, I’ll put some bandages on and get dinner started.” Dex tries to step aside but you get in his way.
“Forget dinner, what you need is to go to a hospital.”
His answer comes quickly as lightning. “No.”
“Dex.” you cross your arms, incredulous.
“I’m fine.”
“You got shot at, you definitely aren’t fine. That looks like it needs stitches.”
“I’ll survive.”
You shake your head, biting your lip. Maybe later when you’re back to being cuffed to the bed and spending your days rooting in bed you’ll regret this, but right now the humanity inside you refuses to let this go.
“Let me help you.” you propose, “You don’t wanna see a doctor, fine. Let me do it instead. I once did a first-aid workshop for work, I know the basics. I can help.”
Dex looks at you, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand and not looking entirely convinced with your suggestion. You sniff, glancing at the blood that now trails down to his waist, staining the top of his pants. God, you’ve never liked the sight of blood.
“The other night you told me you watched me help people. You also said that I’m here because you need me and my help. My kindness, right?” you start, taking a step towards him with the back of your neck burning as Dex holds on to every word you say like it’s the gospel.
“Then don’t shut me out now, Dex. You’re not alone in this. Let me help you, okay? Let me show you kindness. Let me take care of that wound. Please.”
You watch Dex gulp, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows like it’s the hardest thing in the world. You know the words hit the right spot when at last he nods with a small, shaky movement of his head. “Okay…”
The next forty minutes are spent in mental agony of blood smearing and dripping everywhere - and you mean absolutely everywhere: your hands, your clothes, the counter, the floor - as you do your best cleaning the gunshot wound and then having to steady yourself while holding a sterilized needle in your trembling fingers to sew up the split skin back together as Dex guides you through it, with his medical training from back at Quantico.
He is surprisingly calm as you sew him up at the best of your abilities, gripping the counter so hard his knuckles become pale, exhaling through clenched teeth.
It’s only when you’re patting down a bandage over the stitches that it dawns on you how close you are to Dex, on your knees with face nearly pressed up against his bare torso.
The realization of the position’s intimacy suddenly has your heart racing and when you glance up, you find yourself to be the center of Dex’s attention.
He doesn’t look away when your eyes meet and his intense stare is penetrating enough to have shivers run down your spine and you freeze when his hand reaches for your cheek, thumb gently rubbing against your cheekbone.
“Thank you.”
–
You’re folding one of Dex’s shirts when he speaks.
“I bought some brownies, the ones with the caramel filling. From that bakery you like so much.”
Spinning your face around, you glance at Dex, hiding your confusion with a smile. “Oh, thanks, Dex. That’s… really sweet.”
The corner of his lips curl into a smile as he looks at you, stirring the pot of pasta that is meant to be your lunch without breaking eye contact. “Yeah, I know how much you like those things.”
The silence hangs awkwardly in the air when you turn around, focusing back on the small mountain of warm clothes fresh from the dryer waiting for their turn.
It’s a nice distraction from the boredom of having nothing to do, simple enough for you to handle and harmless enough for Dex to trust you with. That’s part of why you like the weekends so much. With Dex around the apartment the entire day, except when he’s running errands, you get to stay free of the cuffs and the bed.
Even if he’s looming and hovering over you at all times, like he’s unable to let you out of his sight at the risk of losing you in the minuscule apartment.
As the days morph into weeks, things have started to change and you’re not sure if you like the shift.
Something changed that night you patched up Dex, though you can’t exactly put your finger on it. Since then, you’ve lost count of how many occasions you’ve catched him staring at you, when you’re drying the dishes or helping him vacuum the apartment. His eyes often find you even while he’s doing chores around the house, fingers finding excuses to brush against you and it’s beginning to bother you.
The lingering touches, the fixated gaze, the nice gestures, it’s all starting to make you uneasy. Despite how much you attempt to brush it off, you can’t avoid feeling a romantic undertone in his demeanour.
You wonder how truthful were his words when he said he needed your guidance and how much of that was a lie. And while maybe Dex has forgotten the nature of your relationship, you haven’t. Not for one second.
You know all about Stockholm syndrome and you have zero intention of falling for that bullshit.
It’s only after lunch is over, when Dex takes out the small paper bag of brownies from the fridge and brings them over to the table, that you remember them.
He takes out one of the pieces, chocolate sprinkled on top, and offers it to you. “Wanna do the honors?”
You stare at it.
“Maybe later. I’m full right now.” you lie.
“C’mon, one small bite.” Dex insists, but you shake your head. You really don’t feel like playing into whatever fantasy he has.
“Really I’m-”
“One bite.”
Dex opts to ignore your excuses and the chocolate delicacy is insistently pressed against your mouth, leaving you no choice other than to part your lips and begrudgingly take a small bite from the brownie.
Only then does Dex pull his hand away, watching you chew on the food. A dimple appears in his cheek, his eyes dropping to follow the movements of your lips.
Before you can wipe your mouth clean, his fingers brush against your lips, pulling away a dark crumb left behind. A knot curls tighter in your stomach when he pops his fingers into his mouth, tasting your leftover crumb with a hum.
“Tastes delicious.” he nods, shoving the rest of the brownie into his mouth. “Knew you had good taste.”
You force out a smile. “Thank you.”
“Maybe next time we can try making these at home.” he suggests and your hands clench at the word he uses. Home. This isn’t your home. “Homemade is always better and you’ve always been good at baking, I’d love to try something of yours.”
“Yeah, sure. Whenever you want.” Maybe by then you’ll find some laxatives to slip into the food.
You grab your glass and gulp down the water. Dex folds the paper bag with the brownies inside and stops you from grabbing your plate, taking it in his hands. His fingers brush against yours.
“s‘okay, I got this.”
“Thanks.”
Dex smiles. “Anything for you.”
–
There’s a rotten feeling taking root in Dex’s mind.
He sets the paper sheet on the table in front of you before claiming the seat next to you. Your fingers immediately hold onto the paper, lip pulled between your teeth as you consider the words that are probably memorized by now. He insisted on practicing for an entire hour before finally pulling your phone from his pocket but even with your insistent promises, insecurity still gnaws at his mind.
“Just stick to the script.” Dex repeats for the fourth time in less than a minute, “Stay calm, don’t say anything you normally wouldn’t say. And if they ask-”
“I’m just taking a break from technology. Yes, I know. We’ve been over this.” there’s a slight edge in your voice and that has Dex jittering his leg in an anxious bounce.
“Okay.” he nods, dragging the moment for as long as he can. “Let’s get this over with then.”
Dex unlocks your phone and goes through your contacts, absolutely despising the long list of friends and family he has to scroll through til he gets to your mom’s number.
The tense grip Dex has on your phone grows tighter by the second as the call rings.
He’s not happy about this.
If he could have it his way, your phone would be hammered down and its pieces scattered in the bottom of a garbage dumpster. But that would undoubtedly cause you distress and Dex doesn’t want to see you upset. Especially after everything you’ve done for him. Not just the fact that you patched him up that other night or that you haven’t tried to escape in all these days you’ve been a ‘guest’ in his home, but your presence alone is enough to give him a sense of peace that usually escapes him.
You keep him sane. You make him be better. With you around, he feels less… lonely. He’s not alone anymore, you said so the other day, didn’t you. He’s got you now and you fill the void inside him with your warmth and kindness. You’ve been so kind and good and sweet and no one’s ever been like that to him.
So he supposes that after everything you’ve done for him, a short two-minute phone call with your parents following a pre-prepared script is a small gesture of gratitude he can give you.
But that doesn’t mean his nerves aren’t burning him on the inside, an intrusive thought telling him to just crush the phone with his bare hands, throw that piece of shit through the window before someone answers on the other side of the line and be done with all of this. You don’t need to talk to your parents, you don’t need to talk to anyone other than him-
He stops himself before he gets too worked up. He can’t do that. He can’t be cruel to you, not after giving you hope. You’d be beyond disappointed and upset and then you’d definitely hate him for giving you false hope.
Dex wants to do better for you and that starts with this.
But that doesn’t stop a frown from twisting his features, something ugly threatens to come out of his chest as he watches the genuine smile growing on your face at the sound of your mother’s voice.
“Mom! Yeah, I’m doing fine. Just busy and….”
Dex tenses up, fingers picking at the material of his pants, listening intently to every word that you say.
You don’t steep out of line, don’t say anything remotely suspicious or let your voice waver. You’re a good actress and don’t crumble under the pressure, which comes handy for this moment.
Dex trusts you, but that doesn’t mean you can’t be tempted into taking your chances. You’re only human, same as he is.
The numbers on the screen keep on increasing and Dex impatiently waits until it marks exactly two minutes and then signals you. That’s your cue to finish up the call.
Your shoulders slump and annoyance fills your face but you oblige.
“...tell dad I love him. I have to go now, mom. Love you too-”
Dex thumbs the red across the screen and finishes the call as soon as you’re done with your goodbyes. The chair scrapes the floor as you get up on your feet and storm off to the bedroom, the bathroom door slamming shut a second later.
Dex waits exactly one minute before he retraces your steps, making a small detour to turn off your phone and place it inside the safe in his closet.
His knuckles rasp against the bathroom door and he doesn’t wait for an answer before pushing the door open. He freezes at the sight of you leaning against the counter with watery eyes and you sniff, quickly cleaning your cheeks.
“Hey. Everything alright?”
“Uh uh. I just miss them, is all.” you justify your reaction with a weak smile that doesn’t reach your eyes.
“I’m sorry. That sounds… hard. Really hard.”
Dex reaches for you and you move away, the smile fainting away from your face.
“I just need a minute alone, Dex.”
“If you wanna talk about this-”
“I said I need a minute.” your voice rises and Dex frowns at that. You’ve never used that tone with him before.
He slowly walks out of the bathroom, the door shutting behind him with a harsh sound. He walks back to the living room like he’s in a trance. Pulling out a chair, he stiffly sits on the table with his hands crossed in front of him.
Two minutes.
Two fucking minutes.
That’s all it took for someone else to steal your attention away from him and that’s all because of him. It’s his fault. He allows you a taste of freedom, offers you a good deed and now you’re pulling away. You’re shutting him out. Like he’s nothing. Like he means nothing to you. His hands clench at the unbearable thought.
Things were finally starting to work out between you two and now this happens. He tries to be good, for once, and this is what he gets.
It’s his fault. It’s all his fault. Isn’t it always?
He always messes up and maybe that’s why no one ever stays around him, because he’s never enough for anyone. Everything about him is broken, unfixable and fucked up beyond repair.
He’s a fuck up.
Time passes. Seconds, minutes. Maybe hours, he’s not sure.
It feels like an eternity later when he’s pulled out of the buzzing that had taken over his mind with a gentle tapping on his shoulder.
It’s you, standing with eyes dried up and an apologetic expression. Dex stands up so fast he nearly knocks into you and his hand flies to your forearm to keep you from tumbling.
“Shit, sorry.”
“No, it’s… I’m the one who has to apologize.” you sigh, lips pressed together. “I’m sorry about earlier, I didn’t mean to sound… ungrateful or something like that.”
The pressure in Dex’s chest eases up, like a heavy weight has been lifted from him. “You don’t have to apologize.” he forgives you right away because how can he not when you’re looking up to him with those pretty eyes of yours, giving him all of your undivided attention. “I could never be mad at you, I mean you… you’ve done so much for me. You’re very special to me, I don’t think you realize just how much.”
He notices the way you squirm and how your eyes flit down to the grip Dex has yet to let go off, but he makes no move to remove his hand. If anything his fingers tighten around your arm, pulling you closer.
“Dex…”
“You’re the most important person in my life.”
Your eyes widen when he brings his other hand up to your face, cupping your cheek in his hand.
You nervously gulp and he can’t help but glance at your parted lips, slightly glowy from the lip balm he bought you a few days before you could ask for it. Same brand, same flavor you always used.
“All this time you’ve been so good to me, no one’s ever been this kind to me before. You make it all better and you don’t even have to try.” he leans closer, a heartfelt smile breaking through. “You make this apartment feel like the home I never had and you make me so damn happy. My whole life, there was something missing and now it finally feels like I found that missing piece.”
“You mean the world to me. And I…. I love you.” he abruptly confesses and your eyes start getting teary again. Happy tears.
Dex captures your lips with his and suddenly everything clicks into place, everything makes sense. You belong together. You’re every thought that consumes his mind, you’re everything he can feel, everything he can touch.
Pretty and so damn delicate in his arms, you’re all he needs.
Not just his North Star, but you also own his heart, his mind, his body, his everything.
You’re his.
–
“Sweetheart?”
The knock on the door startles you.
Not even five minutes in the bathroom and Dex is already acting like you’ve been apart for hours. God, he has given the word clingy a whole different meaning after everything that went down the other night.
He’s been breathing down your neck ever since he kissed you and now you’re stuck playing along with his fantasy, acting as though you share his feelings and love him back.
Your suspicions were right all along. Dex is a liar.
The whole moral compass dilemma, the North Star thing, the keeping him on the right track, it was all one big lie and you’re so stupid because you should’ve seen that from the beginning.
It feels like one of those insane dreams that have you waking up in the morning, feeling more exhausted than rested, where logic doesn’t exist and nothing makes sense. How the hell did you even end up in this situation, playing house with your kidnapper?
It’s only been three days since that happened and you still can’t wrap your mind around Dex’s confession and everything it involves.
You need a way out. Immediately. How many days until his hormones dictate him to do more?
While his newly proclaimed affection has granted you some benefits - you don’t need your hands cuffed to the bed anymore, which has been a relief for your chaffed wrists and sore shoulders - it doesn’t go without a few sacrifices on your behalf. For now, Dex is settling with kisses that don’t go beyond pecking on the lips and clumsy hugs, but how long until he decides that’s not enough?
The way he hesitates every night around the bed, kissing you goodnight with eyes fleeting to the spot next to you. How his hands sweep the entire expanse of your back and then back up when he hugs you. You’re not stupid, you know how men are and what they want and in the present moment, you are very much stuck with one.
Dex is a ticking bomb and you’re at risk of being collateral damage.
The knob rattling has you holding back a sigh. Still, you take your sweet time in washing your hands and drying them. Why must you hurry when you have to be around Dex all day?
When you finally come out, Dex has his back to you while standing by the window, phone to his ear and speaking in hushes.
“... I’m off duty today, I told you. No, I can’t-” he hisses, hand on his hip as he looks outside. “Damnit, Ray, fine. Just drop the files and I’ll take a look at them. You know my apartment block, I’ll meet you downstairs.”
You wait until he’s finished with the call before making a show out of closing the bathroom door with an audible click. Dex immediately swirls around, shoving his phone in the back pocket of his pants and away from your sight, irritation vanishing from his face.
You barely get one step in his direction before he beats you to it, rushing across the room to meet you and you have to physically hold back a wince when his hands reach for you and he leans forward to peck at your lips.
He’s getting a lot more comfortable around you than you are with him, touching and kissing you and frankly, you’re not certain if he genuinely enjoys the affection or if he’s just reminding you that you’re still stuck playing house with him.
“You okay?” he asks, “You spent a lot of time in there. Was getting worried.”
His comment brushes you in the wrong way.
Dex’s attention to details sometimes borders on obsessive vigilance and the way he notices every detail about you, no matter how small and insignificant, feels like a violation of your privacy. Sure, the apartment is small and crowded, but you get the feeling Dex specifically monitors every action you take and finds satisfaction in doing so. Maybe control issues.
“My head is feeling a little heavy, actually.” you lie, figuring you can dodge Dex for the better part of the afternoon. “Think I might lay down for a while.”
The price you pay for such a small lie involves enduring with tremendous patience as Dex fusses and hovers over you as he gets you in bed, arranging and rearranging the blanket several times and having to refuse his offer of painkillers at least six times.
His hand caresses your head and it’s only when you close your eyes and pretend to fall asleep that he finally leaves you be, with a soft ‘rest well’ and a kiss to your forehead before quietly slipping out of the bedroom. At least he doesn’t put the cuff around your feet, a small comfort. The door doesn’t close all the way and so, you listen to the quiet clinking of glasses and metal as he works around the kitchen, drying them off as he always does after lunch.
Minutes are slow to pass and you nearly doze off until the chiming of a phone brings you back to consciousness.
“... yeah, I’m coming downstairs. Wait up.” Dex irritatedly hisses. The apartment door opens and keys clank before the door slams shut.
Your ears twitch at the complete silence that submerges the apartment and it takes you a solid moment to understand that Dex stepped outside the apartment.
With your heart pounding in your ribcage, you push yourself off the bed and hesitantly peek into the living room.
He’s not there or in the kitchen.
He actually left the apartment without cuffing you.
You can’t believe it. An incredulous chuckle escapes you, but it quickly dies down when you run for the door only to find it locked from the outside. That’s not good, you need to leave now. Time is running out because Dex surely won’t be gone for long, you heard him on the phone.
The emergency stairs are the only option left so you sprint towards them, knocking your elbow against the wall in your haste.
You waste precious time fumbling with the complicated lock but eventually manage to figure out how to open the living room window and push it all the way up, wincing when scraping your knees in the sill while getting out. Ouch. You’re so rusty you can’t even move straight.
The cold wind blowing strongly has you freezing the moment you find yourself outside for the first time in weeks, goosebumps erupting all over your body as your lungs fill out with fresh air and you nearly tear up at the freedom of the moment, after so long of being held up in the four walls of Dex’s grim apartment, it feels surreal to be outside.
The sound of the door shutting has your head snapping backwards, heart sinking. No, no, no.
Dex is back inside, keys dangling as he locks the door.
Shit. You didn’t even hear the door opening. He hasn’t noticed you yet so maybe you can still… Your attempt to sneak down the stairs fails massively when the metal plate sharply creaks under your weight as soon as your bare feet touch the step.
The moment processes like a slow motion frame of a movie and you watch with horror as Dex’s head snaps to the side, alerted by the sound as he takes notice of the open window and realizes that you’re standing on the emergency stairs like a deer caught in the headlights, instead of laying down in the bed he tucked you in, recovering from a headache.
The files in his hand carelessly drop to the floor, same as his keys, and the change in his expression is immediate and terrifying and it makes your blood run cold.
He holds out one hand, taking one cautiously slow step towards the window.
“It’s chilly outside, sweetheart, gonna catch a cold if you stay there.” he says with a normalcy that both confuses and scares you. “Why don’t you come back inside? It’s warmer here. C’mon.”
You don’t reply nor take your eyes off him, your grip over the handrail being the only thing keeping you steady.
You don’t run just yet, not just because Dex will easily catch up to you the moment you make a break for it, more because you’re scared down to your core. This whole situation is a ticking bomb and you’re just stalling - for what, you have no idea.
Dex repeats your name like a warning, eyes narrowing when you go down one step and then another.
“Please. Just come back inside. Trust me, you don’t wanna do this, alright?” he pleads with a deep exhale, features twisting when you ignore him and his words in favor of descending one more step. “Come back and I promise we can just forget about this, act like it never happened. I promise, okay?”
Dex mirrors your movements, stepping forward just as slowly to keep you from evading his vision.
You don’t dare turn your back on him, terrified, but there’s no way you can reach the street if you keep this slow, hesitant rhythm.
“Dex, please.” you gulp, blinking away tears that insist on clogging your eyes. Your voice wavers and you sniff. “I just wanna go home.”
“You are home, damnit.” Dex snaps. “This is our home, you and me, we belong together. Can’t you see that?” his jaw tightens, same as his hands. “After everything we’ve been through and you’re still… you still wanna abandon me. Just like everyone else. Yeah, well, I’m not letting you.”
The steel determination in his voice, the dangerous glint in his eyes is enough for your hands to turn clammy and sticky and you warily take another step down, heart thrumming in your chest when your foot nearly skips down that step.
“Sweetheart. Not another step.” he growls, “Think this through, okay? You’re not leaving, we both know that. So, you can make things easier for both of us and come back inside on your own or we can do this the hard way, which none of us is gonna like. It’s your choice.”
His words may appear honest, but you know the truth behind them.
None of this was ever your choice. You didn’t choose this, didn’t choose him, didn’t choose to be his North Star or play whatever farce he’s been throwing at your eyes the whole time and yet here you are, forced to confront a situation you never imagined yourself in.
You’ve never really had a choice when it comes to Dex.
All you know is that you can’t go back in there, living a mad man’s fantasy, caged in an apartment especially now that you’ve broken his delusions. Before your mind can fully process it, your legs make the decision for you.
You spin around and take off down the stairs, feet slapping against the metal stairs as the muscles in your legs strain to keep up with the adrenaline that curses through your veins.
There’s clamour behind you, heavy steps resonating through the metal structure at an impressive speed and Dex shouts something you can’t quite understand but you don’t dare glance behind.
The ground floor street gets closer the faster you run and there’s a hint of hope flourishing in your chest at the possibility of actually being able to reach freedom-
Something small collides against your back, harshly and with such a strength that it sends you tumbling forward, pain exploding in your vision when your forehead slams against the metal railing.
You crash and cry out when your knees land on the metal, one of your kneecaps ruthlessly bumping against one of the steps. There’s an agonizing hammering in your head and you go limp. Darkness takes over your mind but not before the dizzy, distant realization of being scooped up by firm arms.
–
"Fuck!"
A frightened sob escapes you as the tears overflow from your eyes and you push your knees to your chest and hide your face in the small space, though you find little comfort in the motion especially with the awkward stretch of the only hand cuffed Dex apparently remembered to cuff.
The painkillers somewhat helped with the pain that is splitting your head in two and the sharp throb in your left knee, but they do little to numb the blood-curdling fear that Dex’s erratic behavior is provoking in you.
Ever since you woke up, a while ago, it's been like this.
There’s a trail of destruction in the bedroom, the contents of the bedside table scattered through the floor, broken and mutilated and you try not to stare at the fist-shaped holes decorating the wall.
The deafening sound of plates and glasses shattering against the kitchen floor makes you flinch, an animalistic holler following soon.
You don’t think Dex is upset. More like absolutely furious and livid and right now, you just want the floor to swallow you whole and make you disappear. There’s nothing you can do except to hope and pray his focus doesn’t turn towards you, even if you are the reason behind his violent crash out.
You listen to him ravish and destroy the apartment for for what it feels like an eternity, objects violently crashing on the floor and his shouting bouncing off the walls until it progressively dwindles down. And then it finally ends.
The silence feels oppressively quiet, in contrast to the loud destruction from moments ago, but it doesn’t make you feel any safer. Not that you’ve ever felt safe in this place.
The quietness feels dangerous in its own way but your energy drains quickly, exhaustion settling in after the events of the day. You close your eyes, intending only to rest for a few minutes if the pain allows you to do so.
When you groggily blink your eyes open, you’re disoriented to find the entire room swarmed by the darkness of the night.
Only the small bedside lamp casts a dim, yellow light to the room and you nearly jump with fright at the tall figure looming by the bed’s edge.
It’s Dex, looking beyond miserable, messy up hair and red-rimmed eyes. He’s staring directly at you, vintage-looking headphones covering his ears as his unsettling focus remains on you, dark eyes clinging to you obsessively.
He looks somewhat calmer, despite appearing as pale as a ghost and the heavy breathing that shakes his bare chest and you only now do you notice how he’s only wearing his black shorts, his skin dewy with sweat.
Your eyes meet and Dex pulls the headphones away, throwing them onto the table. Weariness begins to grow in you when he climbs to the bed and reaches for you, your cuffs jingling as you try to back away from him.
“Dex, I’m so sorry, please-”
His lips crash against your with a vigor that sends him toppling you and you cry out when his weight presses you down, crushing you against the bed and putting awful pressure over your aching knee as your left leg gets trapped between his legs.
Your hand, the only one who isn’t cuffed to the bed, flies to his chest and pushes against the humid skin but to no avail, Dex has always been stronger than what he looks like. His hands cradle your head with a tight hold, strong fingers framing your face and it worsens the pain in your skull until it feels like your head is gonna implode.
His kiss is forceful, his mouth pressing painfully hard to the point you can’t breathe, muffling down every sob and wail of yours.
Something hard pokes your thigh and you dig your nails into his arm when Dex groans and presses harder against your leg till you can’t even move it away. Bile rises in your throat when he begins to move, humping your thigh with a pace that quickly becomes frantic enough to have the bed creaking.
There’s little you can do except to just shut your eyes and let your hand limply fall to the bed, knowing in your conscience that you’ll never be able to wash off the humiliation and disgust of this moment.
Dex breaks the kiss, hovering over you as his mouth sucks desperate kisses over every inch of your tear-streaked face.
“s’okay, sweetheart, I forgive you.” he breathlessly growls into your skin, teeth grazing your cheek.
Dampness soaks through the thin fabric of his shorts and onto your leg as he moves faster, your leg having gone numb at this point. “I forgive you. Cause I love you and I know you love me back. Need me just as much as I need you.”
And when Dex finally reaches his peak, with an obscenely loud grunt by your ear, with his whole body collapsed on top of yours, with the wetness of his cum staining your thigh, it dawns on you that you’ll never truly escape him.
s: You slip into a world where androids rule the Earth and humans have fled to the moon. Despite your constant requests to go home, you have a feeling the androids aren’t too keen on helping you.
cw: SMUT, rape/non-con, yandere oc x reader, dddne, captivity, isekai, dark content ahead, piv, author chose not to put warnings
wc: 8k
co-written with @envy-of-the-apple ♥ read on ao3 here
(reminder to put your age in your bio/pinned before you follow me or I will block you)
[NieR masterlist]
[prev]
Sometimes, you thought about home.
Not this place, the cage you were forced to stoop inside. You thought about the home you suddenly lost the day you entered this world. You thought about the people you left behind. You thought about your family. Your friends. You thought about the life you had, the blooming future that waited just out of reach.
And suddenly, it was all gone. You were just here.
You wondered if they missed you. You wondered whether they were looking for you. You wondered how they’d react if they found out this was your life.
Stuck in a tower, helpless, alone, trapped.
Not trapped, Neir assured you multiple times. You were free to do whatever you wanted. If you wanted, you could roam around the pretty gardens, enjoy the fountains, and go back to pretending everything was fine.
You didn’t want to, so you stayed here.
Your sham of a wedding happened weeks ago, but you still remembered every horrific detail. The ceremony was burned into your mind. Every time you closed your eyes, you could still picture Neir ripping off your flimsy dress and imprinting himself into your very being.
While you wallowed in misery, your dear husband glowed
You’d never seen him so elated. After the wedding, you were forced to sleep in his bed, forced to watch him grow happier and happier each passing morning. The gleam in his eye grew brighter and brighter. He devoured your light so he would remain in heavenly bliss.
You thought you would have preferred it if he had devoured you, instead. His eyes were like the sun on your bare skin, filled with primal heat.
No, he’d rather conserve you–taste you.
“Sometimes, I feel like I’m dreaming.” He told you as his cock relentlessly pummeled into your tight pussy. His voice was tight and strained as his thrusts grew jagged and stiff.
You arched your back as he continued to take you within his arms. Your walls squeezed and bore down on him as he continued to thrust deeper and deeper inside your sopping hole. So far, you’d cum three times. Neir hadn’t even cum once.
It’s a thing he liked to do when he got you alone like this, in his bed, writhing on his cock. He wanted to make your body twitch and spasm and dance to his own desire. Just another loss of control from you and another gain for him.
You thought that was his main goal. Perhaps his endgame isn’t just to have you, it’s to control you. He wanted your voice whenever he willed it. He wanted your body to move as he said. He wanted your eyes to look only where he guided. It’s the only explanation you had for his behavior.
Another sharp thrust of his cock. A hand slipped down to circle your clit as your moans got louder and louder, fully escaping your reluctant lips. His head dropped down to your neck, licking at the sweat that built on your skin, groaning when he swallowed it down. You felt his teeth right at your skin, as though he debated biting down, finishing you off completely.
He never did it. Of course, he wouldn’t.
“Sometimes, I think I’ll open my eyes, and you won’t be there anymore.” He laughed, like the entire idea is preposterous, but you could feel his hands tighten on your bare waist, as though even thinking of you disappearing was unbearable.
“The thought of not being able to be with you, to serve you.” Neir shook his head, shifting his hips to plow even deeper inside of you, watching as you arched towards him with a satisfied look on his face. “It sounds like a fate worse than death.”
Die, then.
The words refused to leave your lips; you were too preoccupied with stifling the noises that would indicate how good he was making you feel. Not that it would matter if you said those words or not. To Neir, anything you did or said, no matter a curse or a compliment, would be a blessing.
You could see the truth of it etched in his eyes–the way he stared at you as you slowly drew closer to orgasm.
This wasn’t love.
This wasn’t obsession.
This was utter devotion.
“And sometimes, it feels unfair. I shouldn’t be the only one to serve you.” You froze at his words. He ignored you, adjusting your legs to settle further in between your thighs.
“You should be served by others as our Savior of Humanity needs to.” He rose up, turning to the door like he was about to call the other androids that were likely lurking just behind the wood–the ones who had been listening to every gagged moan and mewl you’d been making for hours.
In a panic, you reached up to slap a hand over his mouth before he could call out to them. In that same moment, your orgasm crested up your spine, completely washing over your battered body. Your vision turned white as your eyes rolled back in pure pleasure.
When you came to, something warm leaked out of your pussy as his cum slipped out of you drop by drop. He always did that. He always gave your pussy more than you could hold.
Neir didn’t pull out, letting his cock sit and settle into your hole. He took your hand that was still on his mouth, giving a chaste kiss right on your wrist.
“You want me all to yourself?” He wondered out loud, and you hated him, you hated him, but there was something so utterly heartwrenching as he stared down at your exhausted figure. His eyes were soft and filled with so much sickening love that it made you want to cry.
He reached down to trace your cheeks, your lips. Synthetic fingers coveted warm human skin.
“Such an honor, my Queen, my God.” He leaned down to kiss you. “I’ll serve you until the end of time.”
~
Sometimes, when you had had enough of the castle and your captor, you’d travel to the outskirts of the castle, right where the forest bloomed. In the Android Kingdom, greenery was always halted and controlled. Only a certain type of tree grew, and even then, they were cut and shaped into a very specific manner. Flowers were allowed but only in short moderation. Any weeds were immediately removed, and the roots were destroyed. Nothing of true nature grew in the Android Kingdom.
But here, where the android King had no control, nature bloomed and blossomed.
Grass erupted right underneath your feet. The trees were dark and heavy and loomed above you. Flowers of all colors and petals were in abundance. It was wild and free and fresh and bright.
This place was the closest you’d ever felt to home. So utterly human.
You were never left to your own devices. Another android had to accompany you. Most of the time, it was Neir. You hated it when he came along. He never touched a single petal or a blade of grass, yet it felt as if he polluted the area with his mere presence. He just watched as you closed your eyes just to feel the sun on your skin. It’s all he ever did. Watch and watch and watch. You resented him and his creepy staring.
The lesser evil were your bodyguards.
“Isn’t it such a beautiful day?” 73H gushed as she skipped a few paces ahead of you. “The sun shines so perfectly on your skin, your highness!”
You managed a smile at her odd compliment. Compared to the other guards, 73H was the most tolerable. She wasn’t as serious as 18D, often tending to get distracted by one thing or another. Unlike 5G, she wasn’t filled with amused apathy every time she looked at you. Just like the rest of the androids, she was purposefully invasive and extremely devoted, but it oddly felt unintentional. 73H reminded you of a puppy who hadn’t learned the word no. She felt harmless compared to the others. It might just be her design. You knew she was a machine, but she looked so young and youthful. If she were human, she might have only been in her late teens.
Secretly, you considered her your favorite. Though, you’d never say it out loud. God knows how she or the other androids would handle that type of favoritism–no matter how slight it may be.
You stopped by a tree, enjoying the shade cooling down your skin. You sat by the roots of the tree, feeling the grass underneath you. It was so nice out here. You could easily fall asleep, lulled by the soft breeze brushing past your face.
73H clambered next to you. She hovered around you like an excited child until you blinked up at her.
A cluster of flowers sat on her outstretched hand.
“A crown for my Queen.” She declared. “The flowers suit you well.”
Wordlessly, you accepted her token and let her place the flower crown on your head. It ruffled slightly in the breeze.
You looked at her as she squealed and gushed how perfect it looked on you. Her skin was porcelain smooth, no acne or scar in sight. Her hair was perfectly styled as it always was, she never had to deal with hair routines or a repetitive skin-care regimen. She never had to eat. She never had to drink.
She truly was humanity’s successor in every single way imaginable.
“Can I ask you something?” You wondered.
She nodded, always eager to please.
“Why do you like me so much?” You asked. “Is it only because I’m the only human alive? I just don’t get what’s so great about me to be this...” You try to find a less offensive word than obsessed. “Commited.”
Compared to her, you weren’t anything special. Being a living being was a curse in many ways. Unlike her, you needed to eat and drink and sleep if you wanted to wake up healthily the next day. In your eyes, she was more impressive than you.
She didn’t respond. You glanced up to find her nearly in tears.
“Please don’t say that.” Her voice was heartbreakingly soft. “Why would you say that?”
She sank to her knees in front of you. Instinctively, you reached out to balance her, finding her shoulders. Despite the hurt in her eyes, your touch gave her comfort. She covered your hand with her own.
“All androids are made to serve humanity. It’s our sole purpose.” She admitted. “But since there were no humans, we focused on preserving what remained of humanity: the buildings, the clothing, the language, the culture.”
You looked past her towards the android city. You understood it for what it was now–a cheap replica of the real thing.
“I’ve been operational for nearly 86 years, and yet I only felt like I was alive once I met you and was able to serve you.” 73H laughed, her voice was oddly wet. “Being able to fulfill my purpose through you has been incredible to feel…and I can only thank you for that.”
“The rest of us feel that way, too. Including the androids you haven’t met yet. Just knowing you exist is life-changing for us.”
You looked down at her hands holding yours. Your hands were scarred and filled with imperfections, yet 73H held them like they were gold itself.
Perhaps to her, these hands were worth far more than gold.
You squeezed her hands so slightly–the only depth of understanding you could ever have. You would never truly understand what it would be like to fulfill a purpose you were designed for. Unlike androids, humans were not made for a purpose. Humans were made to find purpose. Perhaps that’s the true reason why androids coveted you so much. You were not bound by code and logic. You were the randomness of blood vessels and nerves and cells all bundled together. You were free.
Her eyes were too intense. You couldn’t bring yourself to stare at her anymore.
“I’m thirsty.” You looked away. “Would you mind grabbing me a drink?”
She pulled back, ever-so eager to comply.
“Of course!” She hesitated. “I’m not supposed to leave you alone. I’ll call another guard to keep you safe until I get back.”
“I–I like spending time with you alone.” You rushed out.
She froze, like she hadn’t heard you correctly.
“You do?” She asked.
You nodded. “The other guards might hinder that, they might want to stay even after you return.” You tilted your head with a sheepish grin. “Just be quick.”
She quickly agreed. You watched as she ran off. Her movements looked a little dazed. It was a bit cute.
You watched until 73H was nothing but a speck.
Then, you ran.
You knew it was pointless. You could not help but take the chance. You ran away from the castle, feeling the tall grass brush at your bare knees and calves as your captive home disappeared into the horizon. Wind flew against your face as the smell of flowers grew stronger and stronger.
You’d be caught in mere hours. Maybe in a mere seconds. You ran anyway. Perhaps that’s another human trait you had yet to shake off–clinging onto the smallest rope of hope, no matter how delicate the thread looks.
Your frantic sprint turned into a light jog, then a jostled walk. Then, you could not walk at all.
You collapsed onto the grass, feeling the damp soil through your dress. It would probably stain. Not that you cared.
“That was quite the distance.” Neir’s voice came.
You didn’t turn in his direction. You laid on the grass, hearing his footsteps stride up to you. He stood there, still as a statue as you continued to ignore him.
“How far did you get, this time?” He wondered out loud. “A little more than a mile? Very impressive. We should celebrate.”
You flipped him off. It did nothing. His laughter sounded like bells. You wondered if he enjoyed following after you, tracking your scent like a bloodhound.
The sky was beautiful. Outside of the android city, you saw so much color. Miles and miles above you, the sky was bright and blue, with just the tiny streaks of clouds. The shine of the sun made you squint as you continued to look up.
“Is what 73H said true?” You asked after a beat of agonizing silence. “About all androids fulfilling their purpose through humanity. Does every android feel that way?”
You didn’t shift away when he sat next to you, but you weren’t happy about it. You frowned at the way his shoulder ever so slightly brushed against yours. Another way he wanted to mark you.
“The first time I saw you, wasn’t through my own eyes, but through hers.” Neir said and you thought about the cameras littered throughout the castle. If he could see through them, how could he not see through his own constituents?
“I felt what she felt, as well as what I felt.” His voice was soft and gentle. “To this day, I’m not sure if I can explain what happened to us, but it felt like I could see color for the first time in the hundreds of years since I opened my eyes.”
He smiled down on you. You thought it was the most genuine expression you’d ever seen on his face. He reached out for your hands. For the first time in a while, you didn’t pull away.
“It was the same for every other android–that’s what you are for us.”
He was beautiful. No matter how much you hated his touch, you couldn’t deny his beauty. A breeze ruffled his soft white hair. His brilliant blue eyes crinkled ever so slightly the more he looked at you. Love, you saw it in his face, his eyes, his everything.
“I fulfill your purpose, right?” You asked. “Serving me fulfills your existence.”
“Loving you and devoting myself to you is everything I possibly need.” He answered, that same rawness still in his voice.
You looked at your hands, still interlocked with his. His fingers were soft, but oddly solid, like wood covered with a thin layer of silicone. His hands were warm, but artificially. Unrealistically warm.
You smiled at him. It was sharp enough to cut glass.
“Do you want to know my theory?” You asked. “I don’t think you’re doing this out of devotion, I think you’re doing this because you want to be me.”
He stiffened. You snatched away your hands.
“I think you’re jealous because of my humanity. You wish you could gain just an inkling of what I am naturally. I think deep down you utterly despise me because I’m alive and you will never experience actually being alive, no matter how many sensors and cameras you shove into your ass.”
Neir quietly watched as you stood up, because you were human and it was human to look down on beings who were lower than you.
“You can try to pretend and claim you’re doing this out of devotion or maybe even love, but we both know the real reason.” A laugh bubbled out of your lips, verging on hysteria. “Humans do that too. We pretend we’re doing something out of the goodness of our hearts, but really we’re doing it because we’re selfish.”
It was the first time you’ve seen him behave so robotically. He wasn’t smiling. Any expression on his face had melted away long ago. Creator and creation stared at each other.
You’d never heard yourself sound so vindictive and cruel before. You reveled in it.
“Congrats on becoming human.” You sneered. “You fit right in.”
You lost the moment you spoke those words. You knew it by the way he smiled.
“A shame.” He clicked his tongue. “And we were having such a nice day.”
There was a whisper of footsteps right behind you. You didn’t bother to look in their direction.
“My wife is a bit tired.” Neir addressed the guards pleasantly. “Escort the Queen back to the castle.”
“Yes, my King.” 18D said, and you rolled your eyes.
You said nothing as 18D led you back to the castle. You could still feel Neir’s eyes on you. Or perhaps, he was looking through 18D’s eyes. Regardless, the intention was clear. You weren’t going to get away with what you said.
What was he going to do to you? Lock you up again? Fuck you into the mattress like he does every night? You were so beyond caring.
It wasn’t until days later that he revealed there were other ways to keep you in line.
You had noticed 73H’s absence for a while now. The only guards you saw these days were 18D and 5G. Out of the androids, you liked 73H the most. Sometimes, her bluntness and eagerness made you laugh.
Your latest rendezvous probably put her in a heap of trouble. You remembered the last time you ran away during 5G’s watch. The latter was put on cleaning duty for letting you out of her sight. When 73H came back, you’d apologize.
She hadn’t come back. After the fifth day of her absence, you finally decide to confront the topic.
“What about this one?” 34DE shoved a bright green dress in your face. Her bright red curls bounced as she moved.
You winced at the color. It was borderline painful to look at. Let her down gently, trying to spare her feelings.
“Maybe something a bit more muted?” You wondered.
34PO frowned, but she agreed. “Okay. A soft pink, maybe?”
It probably was the best you’d get. “Sure.”
She pulled out a pastel dress, soft and delicate and silky. Both girls squealed as it was hung up, admiring your future dress. They were in a good mood today. You rarely let them dress you, so they’d get extra excited anytime you let them pick out your clothes.
The dress looked fragile, like it’d be easy to tear off. You supposed that was the point.
You cleared your throat, gathering their attention.
“Have either of you seen 73H, recently? It’s been awhile since we saw each other."
They exchanged glances. 34PO cocked her head in confusion.
“73H was decommissioned a while ago.”
You smiled because you didn’t understand what she said. It felt like pulling teeth.
“What?” It was odd. Your voice didn’t sound like it’s coming from you. It sounded far away.
“She should have been dismantled a long time ago.” 34DE huffed, fiddling with your dress. “She was so reckless, hardly considered a guard with how ditzy she is. They should have–”
Your legs couldn’t hold yourself up anymore. You collapsed. The two androids instantly surrounded you, patting at your face and hands as they desperately urged you to be okay. You could barely hear them. Their voices were muted, like they were speaking to you underwater. You could barely breathe.
“She’s–she’s decommissioned?” It felt wrong on your tongue. Such a cold word. “What does that even mean? Is she dead?”
34DE pat at your shoulders. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to unsettle you.” She hurriedly told you. “Please, don’t worry about my words, I was just–” You grabbed onto her shoulders.
“Is she dead?” You repeated your words.
She gave a smile. It almost looked sympathetic.
“What a silly question. How can something be dead when they were never alive to begin with?”
Her words slapped you across the face. You almost felt a welt bloom across your cheek. They felt familiar. They were similar to the words you threw at Neir all those days ago.
Your tears were wet and stuck to your face, rolling down your cheeks. Breathing felt like an impossible task as you heaved and heaved on the floor.
You didn’t know why you were even crying. 73H wasn’t anything close to a friend. She was yet another obsessed android hellbent on keeping you in a soulless castle.
And yet, you cried for her.
34PO rubbed your back. Her voice was singed with empathy.
“I’m so sorry, your majesty. I had no idea you were so fond of her.” A hand drifted down, wiping away at your cheek. “But you must know that it’s a great honor to have a human cry for an android. I’m sure she would be overjoyed to have that.”
She spoke those words like the obsession they had over you was supposed to make you feel better. It did not.
34DE took her place on your other side.
“I’m sure you’ll see parts of her in the future.”
Your sob got caught in your throat.
“What?” You asked, voice heavy and hoarse.
34DE nodded, pleased that her voice caught your attention. “Androids are known to take parts from previously operational ones. Perhaps you’ll see an android with 73H’s hair or eyes.”
You stared at her as your tears dried up. Only pure horror remained as she continued to talk.
“Her hair…?” You whispered.
34PO nodded cheerfully, oblivious to your horror. “Yes! We take all sorts of things from decommissioned androids! If you miss this android I would be more than happy to wear her face plate so you can see her everyday—“
“Stop.” Your voice barely carried any strength. They were quiet.
“Please, please, stop talking.”
They exchanged glances.
“Of course, your majesty.” They responded.
You let them put on that pink pastel dress without any complaints. You let them pick out your shoes. You let them style you to their preferences. You were too tired to argue.
This is what Neir meant all those days ago when he looked at you with the softest smile. The pain, the guilt, the emptiness festering in your belly barely gave you room to breathe. He didn’t touch you for acting up and saying all those sharp words, no, he made somebody else you cared for pay for them instead.
Because you did care for these girls, on some level. You cared for 34DE and 34PO. You cared for 18D despite how stoic and resolute she was. You also cared about 5G and her lax personality.
He made you care for them. He made you talk to them and laugh with them. Even if you refused to call them your friends or anything close to allies, you still wanted to see them alive.
You could continue to keep them alive. It was all up to you.
In the end, you were wrong about Neir. He wasn’t anything close to human. That was all you. You were soft and filled with emotion and empathy that made you putty in his hands, free to manipulate you in any way he wished.
It was his final play, and he’d won.
You didn't move until the two girls left your room. Slowly, you walked over to the mirror, your steps light and airy. Your reflection stared back at you. You smiled. The other you smiled too.
It didn’t reach your eyes. Maybe things were better that way.
—
It happened on a day as simple as any other. Boring. Innocuous.
Another day in paradise.
Empty smiles and placid agreements, placating suggestions, all in favor of avoiding another… loss, so to speak.
The twins had been right. You saw 73H again. Another H model had taken her eyes, her hands.
You threw up afterwards, and refused to come out of your room for days.
Since then, you tended to keep your chin up, but gaze down, avoiding looking at anyone’s face too closely. You didn’t know if the twins telling you that another could take from 73H’s… remains was better than not knowing. Maybe, if you didn’t know, you’d chalk up seeing her hair in the distance as some coincidence, or your imagination playing tricks on you.
You tried not to think about her, or what led to her decommissioning. No matter how you sliced it, you were ultimately the catalyst, the final straw. 34DE called her ditzy, said she should have been decommissioned long before you arrived, but still. It didn’t make it any easier to swallow, knowing the issues had been racking up, predating your appearance in this world, this Kingdom.
But you tried; tried not to focus on it, or let it filter into your thoughts.
It did, anyway.
Her existence, once so bright and bubbly and infectious, tainted everything. Everywhere you looked, you saw remnants of her, and the guilt ate you alive.
She was there, in someone else’s smile. Her lips pulled back into a wide grin on the wrong face.
Her laugh was there, bursting free from the wrong body. Her voice, her ghost, everywhere and nowhere at once.
And you suffered. You missed her terribly, and felt torn about missing her. She wasn’t anybody to you, and yet, you were devastated by her loss. Of all the androids you’d met, she was the most free, the most… human, you supposed.
The others pretended she never existed.
You asked 5G about her. 5G didn’t say anything; she just stared at you until you got uncomfortable and told her to forget it. 18D wasn’t any better. 34PO and 34DE tried to assure you that it was bound to happen. They compared it to human death.
“Eventually, an android has to be decommissioned. The cost of maintenance and repair outweighs their worth as a whole, so they get dismantled, and their good parts can be reused in androids that are still useful.”
They urged you to forget about her. You couldn’t. She was everywhere, everywhere.
In the garden, too, where you sat now, staring blankly out into space.
This particular spot had a fancy, pristine fence and gate that could be opened. It was a bit off the main street outside the castle, but close enough that you could people-watch. (Android-watch? Whatever.)
They were all the same to you, the ones you hadn’t met yet. They had the same gait, walked at the same speed. Some carried things—tools, equipment, belongings—while others went about their day as is.
But—
There was one that was… different. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it. Where others walked, she seemed to strut. The general populace wore black, plain uniforms, or outfits that varied more in design than color, offering little to spark interest or intrigue. Hers wasn’t much more colorful, but it was unique; a white top, a short tie, a ruffled skirt. Glasses perched on the bridge of her nose.
You recognized her the moment your eyes met hers; green orbs wide and sparkling, unblinking.
Accord.
The— the android designed to find those that slipped between the cracks of reality, fell into worlds they didn’t belong to.
You never thought you’d see her. You gave up hope weeks, months ago. A perfect record nicked by the one she wasn’t able to locate and bring back. Almost perfect. A success rate so high that one measly, unimportant soul wouldn’t mar her reputation.
The moment she spotted you, her entire demeanor changed. She rushed through the open gate, terribly alive compared to the others. You could feel her own form of adrenaline radiating off of her, bouncing into you as she stopped suddenly in front of you, nearly slipping on the damp grass underfoot. Unlike the others, who were only allowed to touch you with the King’s explicit permission, she grabbed your hands, holding them to her chest.
You thought you’d spend the rest of your life in this wretched plane of existence, yet here she was, holding you like you were salvation itself.
“I found you,” she breathed out, as amazed as you. Her hands moved, touching your arms, your shoulders, your cheeks, as if ensuring you were real, alive. “I found you. I finally found you.”
“Accord…?” You whispered, disbelieving.
This had to be some trick, some cruel punishment set out by Nier. As if destroying, killing, 73H wasn’t enough, he had to go the extra mile of deceiving you again, too. Giving you false hope, where your real hope had long decayed and rotted away, back in that auditorium with that empty screen.
“Yes, yes,” she reassured, and you wondered how Nier managed to recreate her so faithfully. As far as you were aware, Accord never existed in this world, and you never told him anything about her beyond her purpose. Even so, she was pulling you into a hug, tight, unbearably so. “I’m so sorry. I– I’ve been looking for you, I promise. I’m so sorry it took so long.”
Slowly, reluctantly, you returned the hug. It was nice to pretend, at least, if only for a moment. A reprieve. Like a good dream in a sea of nightmares.
“Let’s go home,” she murmured, and you huffed a humorless laugh.
“Yeah, okay,” you replied, playing along.
Maybe Nier saw how down you were after he had 73H dismantled. You knew he saw through your fake joviality, the forced smiles you kept, the foreign sweetness and willingness to do as he wished, if only to prevent more needless deaths. So, this was a little pick-me-up. Oddly nice, all things considered. Maybe your hopelessness was softening him.
A pleasant thought, if nothing else. Having a kind husband in this hellhole would be a bonus.
“Close your eyes,” Accord said, and you obliged, resting your chin on her shoulder.
If you tried hard enough, you could almost convince yourself she was a real person. Almost.
How long would the ploy go for, though? Eventually, she had to pull back, reveal it was a lie—
Something was wrong.
Your body felt… wrong. Oscillating between heavy and light, too light, too heavy. Against Accord’s orders, you opened your eyes, confused and a little terrified.
Her body—your body—was fading. In and out, it shifted between physical and ethereal, material and spiritual. You, too, were cycling through the same process, growing fainter with each pulse. The transition startled you, and you tried to jump out of her arms, afraid, but she only held tighter.
A commotion was stirring on the streets, those who saw what was happening raising the alarm. Their shouts rang louder and louder, drawing the attention of others nearby, who yelled to alert the King.
He was already there, though.
At the end of the garden, you saw him.
Nier stared, just as shocked as you.
For one brief moment, you were still present enough in this plane to see his expression—surprise, alarm, distress.
Fear.
It made him look so painfully human, so real.
He broke into a sprint across the field, racing to reach you in time, to stop Accord from stealing you away from him. His hand stretched, fingers grazing your upper arm, impossibly close to closing around it to yank you away and save you.
Then, you were gone, too far gone to see much more than the speck of him, still in that garden, watching with the same dawning realization as you that this was actually happening.
You were going home.
Instinct had you squeezing your eyes shut again and holding onto Accord tighter, unsure of what was going on.
You didn’t know what you were expecting would happen when you passed through the veil.
What sensation you’d experience, how fast or slow the transition would be, how it would feel to be dragged through time and space and dimension to be brought back where you belonged.
You’d read interviews, but each account was different. Every person went through something unique to them when they went through Accord’s interdimensional passageways. For you, it was warm; a blistering heat that encompassed you, swaddling you in an embrace that reminded you of your mother, too hot and not enough. Too tight and too loose and everything and nothing. Comfort. Safety. Horror. Danger.
The nausea was an unwanted and unwelcome side effect.
Minutes or hours or seconds or days, however long the trip lasted, it plagued you. From start to finish, an eternity gone in the blink of an eye, your stomach twisted in on itself, trying to turn inside out.
For one brief, aching moment, you found yourself envious of androids, who couldn’t feel nausea. Didn’t need to.
Accord was mumbling countless apologies to you, a neverending stream of broken pleas for forgiveness.
Then, it was over. As quick as it began, it ended.
Cautiously, you peeked an eye open, vision blurred by subsiding dizziness and sticky lashes.
The room you were in was a blanched sort of white, harsh, but all too familiar. Your anxiety spiked, a breath caught in your throat.
The castle, you were still in the castle, she just brought you back to the–
The door burst open, and several people rushed in. Real people, humans, human fucking beings.
Multiple doctors surrounded you, prying you from Accord’s arms. They asked you questions, things you struggled to answer. The havoc and confusion led you to just nod and hum when spoken to, or shake your head, or shrug, relying on subconscious action more than properly processing what they were saying.
They checked you over from head to toe, pressed gloved fingers into your skin, stuck a thermometer under your tongue. You felt more like a lab rat than a patient.
Despite the pit of despair Nier kept you in, he was diligent in maintaining your health. He fed you well, made you spend time outside to breathe in fresh air and absorb some sun, whatever was available in the eternal sunset of the Kingdom.
You were perfectly healthy.
You kind of wished you were at death’s doorstep, instead.
The doctors cleared you. Then, you had to sit in front of suits, talking to them, answering more questions you just… didn’t have answers for. Where were you, what did you do, what year were you in, how did you survive so long. It never fucking ended.
You were so, so tired.
The fatigue pulled you down, weighed on your shoulders. It made your head ache, your head thick as cotton while your thoughts were thin, spilling between your fingers. You didn’t have the strength to cup your hands to try and catch them anymore. You simply watched as they poured away, swirling through a drain.
The suits eventually realized that getting anything useful from you was a futile endeavor. In your current state, there was little you could offer, and none of it was what they wanted. They promised more interviews soon. Said they needed to know every detail of your ‘trip’ for archival purposes. Everything was vital to knowing what could have caused Accord to ‘malfunction’. Something kept you locked away for… however long.
Your head pulsed. You wondered what time it was. If Nier would have had you in bed by now.
Accord was the one to escort you home. She said she felt a sort of obligation, a duty to ensure you were safe after having failed to protect you for as long as she did. A trip entirely unknown to you until you came up on your street, entered your apartment building, familiar and not. She had a new key printed for you, too, given yours had been left behind when you fell into that other world.
It sat on the little dish you had on the table by the hallway as you entered and dropped it there, mocking you.
The hall reeked of dust and abandonment. The lingering scent of whatever you last cooked, the smell of you and a lived-in home, were gone. Faded from the walls without you there to maintain them.
The door at the end of the hall was open. It was your room, your actual room, the one you fell asleep in so long ago, and never woke up in again.
Everything was here. All your trinkets and belongings, your clothes hanging in a half-open closet, your undone bed, not made because you were never there to make it. A thin sheen of dust coated your desk and chair, the top of your dresser. It left a faint must, the distinct scent of something untouched for too long.
You truly were gone. It wasn’t just some fucked up, impossibly long nightmare.
Slowly, Accord guided you to sit on the edge of your bed. You were grateful, given how shaky your legs were. You doubted they’d be able to support you much longer.
Once more, Accord checked you over—your face, your heart, your hands, your legs. She knelt in front of you, her green eyes creased with worry. More human than Nier ever could be.
“I’m sorry,” she said, a broken record. “I’m so sorry it took so long. I— I never stopped looking.”
You believed her. Her sincerity was real, unlike what you had grown used to seeing in Nier and his subordinates.
At least 18D never faked sincerity. She didn’t fake much of anything, really, always a stern, blank slate.
You hated that you were still fucking thinking about them.
“It’s okay now,” Accord assured you. “I… I have to go. You’ll be okay?”
What else could you be now, anyway?
You were home.
Even if it felt wrong, misplaced. Like everything had been moved by an inch while you had stepped out for a minute.
“Yeah,” you replied.
You supposed lying to this android was no different than lying to the ones you left in that other world.
Accord departed with one more request for forgiveness. You waved her off, told her it was fine. It wasn’t, not in the slightest, but she didn’t have to know that. She looked just as distressed and relieved as you felt. Home at last, a place you thought had been burned to ash in the wake of Accord’s absence.
You were here, though. Home.
It didn’t feel like home. It didn’t feel normal.
None of it did; the routines you used to have, the steps you took when you showered, or washed your face, or got ready for bed. You were a ghost, walking in the steps of someone who used to be here before you arrived, before you existed. You did everything she did, changed the sheets like she did, faced the wall like she did, and stared at that one spot that never went away, no matter how hard it was scrubbed.
But you weren’t her. Not anymore.
And it ate at you.
It was a different kind of loneliness than what you experienced in the Kingdom. There, you had nobody like you. Surrounded but utterly alone.
Here, you truly had nobody. Just you and these four empty walls, this apartment that was too big and too small all at once. Things that you knew belonged to you, but weren’t yours. The blanket you bought six years ago, whose edges were frayed. The shirt you got from the thrift store. The books with bent spines and dog-eared pages on your shelf.
All of it belonged to the girl that was before. The girl that died when you woke up in a world 14,000 years in the future, if not more.
You were a wanderer, now. A transient being, neither here nor there.
You couldn’t sleep on the bed, afraid you’d wake up in that world again, and maybe Accord wouldn’t find you this time. Afraid that this was the nightmare. You’d wake up, and Nier would be there, stroking your head and uttering reassurances that that would never happen.
So you slept on the couch, swaddled in your blanket, staring blankly at your TV as it droned on and you didn’t pay attention, caught up in thoughts and memories and feelings you couldn’t decipher.
The Agency moved you into a new apartment after some time. Too many people knocking on your door, too many reporters wanting to interview the One That Was Nearly Lost. Disturbed the neighbors. Disturbed you.
You still slept on the couch. A new mattress awaited you, a new frame, new sheets.
You didn’t go into the bedroom.
You stopped leaving the apartment after you were swarmed by paparazzi when you went to buy groceries. Now you had everything delivered under a pseudonym, just in case.
You kept the curtains drawn over your windows, bought heavier-duty ones that completely blocked out the light, as well as any prying eyes trying to get a peek of you. Not that anyone knew where you lived, Accord and the Agency assured you of that.
You were a special case, after all. Everyone was found after a day maximum, Accord’s record was spotless.
It took her six months to find you.
Half a year.
In that world, time was meaningless. You had no way of knowing how much had passed. You stopped trying after a while.
Knowing the truth didn’t make it any easier to swallow.
The few friends you had before you got sucked into another dimension either lost interest in you sometime after your disappearance, or shortly after your return, when your mood sank deeper under the waves with each passing day. People online only spoke to you because they wanted to know your story, what you went through. Some even said they were jealous—what they wouldn’t do to have a king so devoted to them, he’d make them his queen.
You told them it wasn’t good, that it wasn’t some fairytale.
They called you an ungrateful bitch.
You stopped popping up in chatrooms. Stopped talking to anyone at all. Stopped replying to the Agency.
Most days, you stayed on the couch, bundled up in a hoodie and sweats under two or three layers of blankets, yet you could never seem to get warm enough. You’d gotten used to sleeping in Nier’s bed, beside him. The sun never fully set in that plane, so Nier made a schedule for you, one he stuck to strictly, and made you stick to, too. 14 hours of “day time”, 10 hours of “night time”. You had a bedtime, too, though you had no idea how he knew when exactly said bedtime would come around. Maybe an internal clock or something.
His body was warm. Artificial, yes, but warm nonetheless. When he allowed you to sleep, he always insisted on holding you, keeping you tucked under his chin with his arms looped around you.
The various cuddle pillows you tried could never replicate the feeling. They now lived in the back of your closet, on the floor, where you’d angrily thrown each one after they failed to provide the comfort that you hated needing, wanting.
If you weren’t on your phone, scrolling mindlessly and absorbing nothing, you were on your computer, doing the same. If you left the living room, it was only to go to the bathroom, or the kitchen to get something to eat to shut up the rumbling in your stomach.
You just… didn’t do anything anymore.
You weren’t living. You wouldn’t call this surviving.
Existing, and nothing more. Nobody more.
Sometimes, you wondered if it would have been better if you stayed there, with Nier. At least, back then, you were alive. Breathing, functioning. Fueled by anger and hatred and desperation, maybe, but alive.
Not a ghost, a shadow.
It rarely rained over there.
It was pouring today.
You found that on days like this, you tended to compare your world with that one. You had a solar and lunar cycle; they didn’t. You had predictable rain; they didn’t. You had streets swarming with people, humans; they didn’t. Not really. Not the same.
For the first time in… a while, you’d decided to stand out on the balcony.
You’d never been out on it, not since moving in. It was empty, no decorations or seating. The rest of your apartment was similarly bare. The only room properly furnished to some level was the living room, maybe the bathroom with its basic necessities. The mattress in your bedroom was untouched, new sheets still folded at the foot; the open kitchen counter had no bar stools behind it, no dining table nearby. The hooks by the front door bore no coats or jackets; those had been strewn around haphazardly.
It was only you on the balcony, watching the rain fall down in sheets, the wind flicking a few drops your way now and again.
You passively observed the street below. You weren’t too high up, the fourth level. Far enough to tempt you to jump off the railing some days, but too close that the risk of surviving deterred you. It gave you a good view of the people, though.
Cars raced by, their headlights cutting through the rainfall. Umbrellas strutted to and from buildings and around corners. The neon reds and greens of a nearby intersection refracted off raindrops, mirrored on the soaked asphalt. Petrichor filled your lungs, your sinuses, familiar and not at the same time.
The bus parked in front of a stop across the street hissed to life as it finished dropping off and picking up passengers. It waited patiently to merge back onto the road, yellow blinker flicking on and off until a spot opened up for it to pass into.
As it drove off, you stared down at the bus stop it departed from. Acrylic panels and steel bars created a tiny, pathetic shelter, half open to the elements anyway. Someone had left a bag on its bench. An umbrella was leaned up against a wall on the inside of it.
Beside it, there was a man, his own umbrella spread out, its pole resting on his shoulder.
White hair stood starkly against the dark nylon, some strands clumped together and tipped with water.
Blue eyes, piercing as a clear midday in summer, peered up, unmoving, not needing to search for something they already found.
His stance was loose, relaxed, but his expression was carefully blank. No frown or smile or sneer. No emotions to give away what he felt beneath, whether it be rage and indignation, or immense relief and joy.
He gave nothing away, but you knew what he was thinking all the same, this dance you learned ages ago. Relief, slow and shameful and sticky, spread like molasses through your insides—you still knew the steps to his eternal waltz.
His head tilted minutely, only a tiny shift to one side, neither of you looking away from one another.
Then, so small and far away that you nearly missed it, his lips quirked up at the corners.
His mouth moved, words unspoken but heard all the same, rattling in your mind, the voice of a man you could never forget, no matter how hard you tried.
Found you.
divider by cafekitsune ♥
(reminder to put your age in your bio/pinned before you follow me or I will block you)
[NieR masterlist]
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thank you so so much for reading!!! <3 <3 we hope you enjoyed the fic! it's been so lovely to see everyone's excitement and thoughts, your love is contagious <3
fun fact, Poly wanted to change the name of this fic (we were between names) to inhuman[e] as a joke and didn't even realize they stumbled upon literally the most perfect fucking name ever. inhuman, inhumane, and inhuman[e] replicating the ending names from NieR: Automata. I'm still reeling over it
You resist, yet your soul obeys 🌾 chapter 3: Mules and moments in the dark
Female!reader x Nikolai (main), reader x Nikolai x tf!141, poly!141. wc: 4.1k ish.
<-last chapter -🌾- next chapter ->
tags: religious themes - christianity, religious trauma, church going, daddy kink, modesty, discussion of religions, virginity, virginity kink, sex, sex before marriage, falling in love, homophobia and biphobia, polyamory, smut, spanking, dom sub, group sex, farming, (author didn’t grow up on a farm), family issues, jealousy, shame, growing up, sadness, horses, mean-ish Nikolai, kinda arranged marriage, masturbating, age gap, more maybe added.
A/N: uh. idk. it happened. Consider supporting my coffee addiction on Kofi <3
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Embarrassment still filled your body from being caught with Nikolai by Johnny but you tried your best to hide it.
You were one of the good girls, your mother used to say, pure and right. Long skirts, bible studies, always behaving… almost.
You weren’t a kid forced into a way of living anymore. Sure, you had to follow some of their rules until you moved out again, but you didn’t believe in their god just because they were adults anymore. Even if some of the teachings about morals and values still creeped along your edges, you weren’t the same as when you were a kid.
Mere seconds ago you had almost kissed Nikolai.
You took one look at the female Mule called Star and instantly fell in love. She was big but an absolute sweetheart, half of one of her ears missing which had happened at the former home. But she was so trustful, happily taking the treats that Johnny gave you, out of your palm.
The two donkeys were loud and happy, just like they should be. They clearly favored Johnny, pushing at him for attention, which was adorable - the scot cooing at them and scratching them as long as they wanted.
“He read several books on donkeys before he rescued them,” Nikolai softly told you as you watched Johnny scratch the two animals at the same time, “Even took several courses to make sure he knew how to handle Bella and Stella.”
“They’re adorable,” you answered, never taking your eyes off the trio, one of the donkey’s trying to open Johnny’s pocket to get to the small bag of treats he kept there,"especially around Johnny.”
“They also like Simon - we can’t really figure out why. He doesn’t particularly like them.” Even though you hadn’t met Simon yet, you found the idea cute and it made you giggle. The idea of a veteran somehow stuck with two donkeys who loved him? It was sweet.
It had been over four years since you had ridden in general, if not a little more. After Mary died, the giant shire horse taking her last breath with her head resting in your lap, the idea of getting another horse had been unrealistic to you. You wouldn’t be home enough. But as you helped get Star ready, it was like the love of it came back to you. The scent wasn’t the same, but there was a familiarity in tacking her up.
Star was gentle as she followed, barely needing any direction, dutifully following you, Nikolai and Soap.
You had borrowed one of their helmets, reminding yourself to bring your own old one next time.
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You had felt younger the moment you settled in the saddle, a somehow ridiculous thought given you weren’t old, but you still felt it. Like the wonders of being a kid with a connection to an animal did to you.
Riding her was like coming home almost; she was the sweetest ever, happy to follow your instructions and when Johnny offered you to go to the bigger field so you could try to gallop for a bit, you barely let him finish before agreeing.
It was truly like being younger again. The many hours you spent riding as a kid and teenager, always smelling of horse according to your friends in school.
Star whinnied with delight, nuzzling into your hands afterwards, demanding more pets while you talked to Johnny and Nikolai, helping get her cleaned up afterwards.
“This is Kyle,” Nikolai introduced the handsome black man that grinned at you and offered you his hand. As you shook it, you wondered if they all were so fucking pretty and what the odds of several hot people living together were. Maybe it had been a requirement to join their team.
“Well, hello there, lass,” Kyle crooned, smile turning charming, wagging his eyebrows, “aren’t ya a sight for sore eyes.”
Your toes curled in shyness and all you could manage was a small giggle, feeling your face go warm before Nikolai let out a small grunt.
“Back off, shchenok,” Nikolai warned and the sudden spike of jealousy from Nikolai certainly didn’t help the way you felt, as the russian continued, “you have chores to do, da?”
“Aww, don’t be like that, Nik,” Kyle answered, sending you a wink, “and nope, I don’t, all done for the day.”
“Stop botherin’ ‘em,” the sudden voice made you jump and turn around - only to look up. A guy with a surgical black facemask watched you like you were a prey for a moment. Then, despite being unable to see his face, you could see he smiled; the way his cheeks moved, the way small crows feet appeared next to his eyes, “Guessin’ you're the famous youngest daughter of the Clarke’s, eh?”
“Yup,” you agreed, shaking the light haired man’s big, scarred hand that was missing a finger, “Though I wouldn’t call myself famous exactly - bit much, innit?”
The guy shrugged. Even though he was wearing the surgical mask, he looked fucking hot. Maybe it was just a requirement back when they all joined.
“not a lot happenin’ around here,” he pointed out, “I’m Simon. Guess ya’ figured that out.”
“Yeah,” you answered, giving him a smile, “My mother has mentioned ya’ too.”
Kyle snickered loudly behind you and you grinned as you saw Simon roll his eyes.
Eating with them just came… natural. It was fun and simple, but you enjoyed spending time with all of them much more than you had expected. A nice bloody break from your parents.
You pretended not to see Price kiss Simon quickly in the kitchen - and Johnny giving Kyle’s asscheek a squeeze.
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“Don’t hide from me, little one,” Nikolai crooned, a fun dark tone to his voice that definitely shouldn’t make your legs feel this weak, “you think you can hide from a proper soldier, hm?”
You snickered, sticking your head out from behind the tree, looking straight at him as you answered,
“Johnny said ya’ were more of a pilot.”
A deep grumble left him and he almost looked like an annoyed bear, muttering something in Russian that you didn’t understand. However there was a glint in his eyes, something you didn’t have the time to understand before he let out a “I’ll show ya’ pilot.”
A second later he was dashing for you and almost like an excited child, you let out a shriek, moving yourself to avoid him.
It had been years since you had played tag - you couldn’t even remember when. You weaved back and forth between the plum trees, laughing so hard it almost hurt.
When he finally caught you - and you had a feeling that he was being slow on purpose- the tension felt like an elastic stretched to its furthest. Pressed ever so slightly against a tree, your hand holding onto the front of his jacket, the other his sleeve, you didn’t say anything.
He whispered your name softly, reaching up to touch your chin. Your chest was moving up and down as you tried to catch your breath, unable to look away from his eyes.
The kiss was short and soft; pressed against your lips like a promise neither of you knew what meant. You weren’t sure it mattered anyways, because holy shit, Nikolai had just kissed you. Your mind was screaming, a soft sound leaving you instead of any proper words. Fuck, you wanted to kiss him again, it was too short, too proper - you wanted more, you wanted…
“Let’s get you home, dorogaya,” he muttered then and you weren’t sure if you wanted to scream or cry at his words.
“M’kay” you answered instead, his smile warm before he leant forward and gave you another short, too short, kiss. Another rush of sparks went through you, fireworks going off and your heart beat a tad too fast, almost skipping a beat now and again.
“Before it gets too cold and your parents think I am being improper.”
You snorted.
“Please,” you grunted as the two of you began to walk, “they would forgive you - they adore you.”
He chuckled.
“We better behave. They have told me enough about their god already.”
You snickered, walking close to him, the urge to intertwine your fingers with his almost overwhelming.
As the two of you emerged from the trees, you knew for a fact that the two of you were being watched; your parents were no doubt trying to pretend not to be watching like hawks inside, but you refused to look over at them. From Nikolai’s amused smile, you figured you weren’t wrong.
“Thank you for today,” you said softly, “it was really nice.”
“Da, it was,” he agreed and you tried to push away the memory of his hands on you, pressing you against the hay, “you sleep well, milaya.”
“You too.”
“I want to kiss you good night,” he whispered, voice barely audible, “but I fear your father will hunt me with his pitchfork.”
You actually laughed, out loud. Then you dared to lean forward to give him a hug.
“See you, Nikolai.”
“See you, dorogaya.”
“Well?” you barely managed to close the door behind you, the light of the small hallway turning on, your parents not even hiding any longer, your mother looking at you with excited eyes, “how did it go? You were gone for a long time?”
“Bit bold of him to give you a hug, innit?” your father asked, puffing his chest up a little, as if he was going to give Nikolai a stern talk, making you roll his eyes, “you didn’t do anything else, did you?”
“Oh hush, hon, you hugged me on our second date,” your mother cut in again, fucking hell, none of them trying to give you a moment to answer, “besides Nikolai is a proper gentleman, he would never do that.”
Oh, if they only knew.
“For fucks sa– sorry - I mean, nothing happened. I asked for a hug.”
Your mother looked upset with your cursing for a moment but beamed when you said you asked for it.
“Well, you were gone for hours - what did you do? You weren’t alone all of the time, were you?”
You rolled your eyes at your father again.
“No, we weren’t, relax,” you answered, “I spend a lot of the time with their animals - oh, they have a mule! Star, just like your dog! She is absolutely adorable, a proper dream to ride, I tell you–”
You saw the exact moment your parents stopped listening, trying to cut in and ask more questions, but you just kept telling them about the farm and the animals, about the donkeys and how they adored Johnny, about how fast Star was
When you finally finished gushing about the animals about twenty minutes later, they didn’t have any other questions, leaving you alone - which meant you had time to text Beatrice and tell her everything.
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You were busy most of the following day, helping your parents around the farm, since you felt like you had to, given how they were letting you stay home for free. Besides, you enjoyed it, though you wondered if you needed to convince them to get a helper or two eventually, so they wouldn’t be all alone.
Your own Star, the old border collie sweetheart, was dutifully following you all day, laying down and watching you work, like the good boy he was. Tail wagging slowly, sleeping as you cleaned and fixed stuff that took a little longer.
You made sure to pet his greying muzzle and pat his belly often, sneaking him a bit more treats than you were probably supposed to. Your own little guardian dog, watching over you and protecting you from the mundane things.
Though you enjoyed the work, you couldn’t stop thinking about the men next door. Every single one of them but in particular Nikolai. The fact that you were doing exactly what your parents wanted was annoying but at the same time, you didn’t really care at this point.
They didn’t want you to mess around the way you did, after all. Kissing and touching was way too sinful for their hearts to bear.
It all culminated that night.
It was late. Waaaay too late for you to be awake, to the point where it was nearing being too early. But… Fuck.
You had had an insane dream. A very dirty, wet one, that made your toes curl and breathing fasten a little. Even before your hand reached for your panties, you already knew you were wet.
Touching yourself while living with your parents wasn’t exactly on your top ten favorite things to do, but bloody hell, you were only a human. You slowly slid two fingers between your lips, smearing the wetness of your pussy around a little, teasing yourself.
The dream was graphic. So graphic you felt sinful even thinking about it, but you didn’t know how you were supposed to stop doing so.
Nikolai between your legs, body exposed, cock filling you up; you hadn’t even had sex with another person yet but oh you could imagine. You wished you hadn’t thrown out your vibrator before moving home, but your mother would no doubt have found it at some point and that wasn’t a situation you wanted to experience.
Fingers had to do it. Nikolai fucking you - maybe it was on a bed, maybe on a table or the floor, it didn’t matter; his voice dripping with lust, calling you his petnames and grunting your name, big hands on your soft hips. One hand on his chest, the other around his neck, whining into his skin, your legs around him. Sirupy words make your mind feel dumb, pleasure and need too much, whimpering his name.
As if that wasn’t bad enough, as if it wasn’t sinful enough, having sex before marriage, then there was the fact you weren’t alone.
The fact that they were all watching. Price, Johnny, Kyle, Simon; all touching themselves and each other, sometimes touching you and Nikolai too, praising you and moaning loudly.
You bit down on your other hand as you came on two fingers.
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Going to church the next day didn’t exactly help with your shame over what you had dreamed and done.
Not that you had done it willingly. Most of the morning had been a fight and it wasn’t until your mother threw the overly modest dress and threatened to throw you out that you joined. You felt unable to meet the priest’s eyes but forced himself as he greeted you, welcoming you back.
Lamb returning to its flock.
Please. They would throw you out on your arse and elbows if they could hear even half of your thoughts.
Psalms and sermons. The eyes not only of the people around you but of the statues and paintings inside the church as well. Old childhood friends you hadn’t spoken with in years sending you a small smile, others fully ignoring you.
The sight of Jesus on the cross. Was he staring at you? it felt like he was.
You felt slightly nauseous the entire time.
Memories of sermons that had frightened you as a kid, made you afraid to do anything improper even if you didn’t mean to, words that had made you feel like your existence was wrong. Never good enough, always close. Maybe you should just have become a nun.
Escaping your childhood home had also been escaping this. Growing from it, finding yourself. Becoming someone who didn’t fear everything they said in the church, who lived a life the best she could.
You didn’t judge your parents for believing it. When you were younger you thought them being religious made them bad people. Now, older and not constantly frustrated with them, you realised it was because they needed it.
They found safety in it. It didn’t mean you agreed.
Leaving church was a relief.
It was windy as you walked with the dogs afterwards, the trees whispering as they swayed above you. Star was closest and you made sure not to walk too quickly, Gabby and Saint rushing back and forth, eagerly running after the tennis ball you threw.
How the fuck were you getting through this whole thing without going insane?
Your parents, the farm, the neighbours. A life in the city was still the dream.
It was what you wanted, you wanted the city that never slept, the possibilities, the humans… didn’t you?
Didn’t you?
You didn’t want to be a housewife like your mother wanted you to; didn’t want to spend your life raising kids and making food. You wanted to do something with your life. It didn’t even have to be something wild, it didn’t need to be world changing. Just something so you felt useful, so you felt like you had a proper routine and wasn’t depended on someone else.
But leaving for London again meant you needed money.
As you once again threw the ball for Gabby and Saint, sneaking Star a treat while they were busy, you remembered your mother when you came back home.
“Look at what it got you, sweetheart,” your mother shut in, shaking her head, “thank the lord you’re back - he got you, hun.”
You let out a snort at the memory. Star touched your hand with his wet snout.
Money. Always the issue, wasn’t it?
You felt slightly nauseous again as you concluded it meant that if you were unable to find something online, you needed to find one in a nearby town.
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Walking towards their farm felt scarily natural already, even though you hadn’t been invited.
You watched the buildings coming closer. Simon was on the roof of the barn, Johnny next to him.
The kiss caught you slightly off guard. Nothing wrong with it, bit hot even, but you had also very much seen Simon kissing Price the other night. Johnny touching Kyle.
Well well, wasn’t that interesting?
The memories of your wet dream made your face feel warm.
“Hello, little one.”
You jumped, the memories of naked bodies disappearing as you spun around.
Nikolai was closer than you expected, hands in his pockets.
“Nikolai.” His name came out of your mouth in a surprised whisper.
“Tsk tsk - crossing property lines again, milaya,” he crooned, stepping even closer, his words making you giggle, “here to steal more plums?”
“Not today,” you answered teasingly, making him grin.
“No?” he asked, his eyes following the tip of your tongue as you slowly licked your lips.
“No,” you promised, “maybe tomorrow.”
A soft chuckle left him. You kept thinking about the kisses - about his lips, the warmth of his body, him pressing you against the hay, then against the tree, the dream about all of them. The way you still wanted it despite the church’s words of purity. You wanted to drag your hands along the stubble on his cheeks and chin, push the rouge stray of hair behind his ear –
“I have secret to show,” Nikolai pulled you from your, well, very improper thoughts with his gentle words, “Or, ah, not my secret exactly.”
The secret, which apparently was not his secret, turned out to be a horse.
“Holy fuck,” you said at the sight of it, staring at the big stallion that was currently being brushed by Johnny, who was grinning proudly. Simon was resting against one of the stalls, watching you and Nikolai as you arrived.
You weren’t dressed to ride today, at least not “properly” since you were wearing a skirt, but it didn’t matter.
“Ain’t he bonnie?” Johnny asked, pride clear in his voice, “a rescue too - he dinnae like Simon.”
“Prick,” Simon muttered at the horse, though he didn’t sound serious about it.
“Hello there, pretty boy,” you greeted the horse, making sure he could see you as you moved to pet him. He looked a little sceptical, but the moment Johnny gave you a treat, he seemed much more interested in you.
“Was nae supposed tae get another,” Johnny explained a little absentmindedly, making sure the horse was comfortable with the brushing, “but, ach, Ah saw ‘is pictures and he looked proper sad, didn’t he, Nikolai?”
“Da,” Nikolai agreed behind you, resting next to Simon, leaning against the stall, “but we could not stop you. Not really.”
You snickered.
“What’s his name?”
“Bo.”
“... What?”
“Et’s just Bo. He reacts tae it, so Ah figured it would be rude to change.”
Bo, as the massive horse was apparently called, let out a little snickering sound, before nuzzling into your palm, no doubt trying to find another treat.
“That’s cute,” you finally said, even though the name wasn’t what you had expected a big horse like this to be called. As Bo figured out you didn’t have any more treats, he looked away, turning his head to expectantly look at Johnny.
“Price loves ‘im,” Johnny continued, giving Bo a soft pat and another treat, “Drove me ‘nd everything to pick ‘im up.”
“You threatened to leave us,” Simon dryly pointed out and Johnny waved dismissively at him, as if that wasn’t an important part of the reason.
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The darkness was slowly taking over, cuddling the sun into its sleep; it left a chill wind curling in between the trees, kissing your hair, while the walk from their place to your parents’ was covered in warm, orange tones. The birds sang around you, calling out for each other.
The sound of your footsteps had been joined by Nikolai’s a little while ago.
Let me walk you home, milaya.
You had to google whatever the fuck that nickname meant but you had been too distracted by the spark in your body to deny him. Fuck being a strong independent woman when he could join you for a walk home - didn’t make you less of a woman after all.
You had flipped Kyle off as he had winked at you when Nikolai had said that, since he had a too smug smile on his lips.
“Nikolai?” You didn’t look away from the fence that slowly came closer and closer. His jacket was around your shoulders, keeping you warm. A proper gentleman, like your parents would coo about, it was someone like him you would need.
“Da?”
“You want to stay here, right?” You didn’t know why you felt like it was now you needed to know, you already knew the answer but… you still needed him to say it.
Nikolai stopped. You did too, looking at him, an uncertainty in your stomach you didn’t like. You knew what he was going to say, knew that his life was here, knew that the team was here. You wanted to ask about the others too, wanted to know if they were all together… if he was together with them. But right now it wasn’t the most important part, that would be something to worry about later. If he was going to say what he was going to say, well… then there was no reason for you to know. For you to get attached.
You hated it, hated that you made him look at you with hesitation in his eyes. This had been another lovely day, you hadn’t felt like an intruder. You had fun, even when helping them, you… You felt welcome. But this wasn’t London. This wasn’t somewhere you could easily study down the road, this wasn’t room mates and late nights fish’n’ chips, this wasn’t tourists and museums, small cafes and beautiful buildings.
Walking home, even if the two of you weren’t close to your parents’ place yet, reminded you that you didn’t want this. That you wanted to leave. That you still had those dreams.
“Yes,” he finally answered, something in his eyes almost sounding sad, “I do want to stay here.”
Yeah. You had expected it yet it still hurt like fucking hell to hear.
Nikolai reached for you but instead you slid off his jacket and gave it to him instead. Neither of you said anything for a few seconds and you looked away.
“I don’t think you should walk me home, Nikolai.”
A soft sound left him. You dared to look over at him. The big man who had caught you stealing an unripe plum not too long ago looked upset… almost… sad.
“Why, milaya?” his voice wasn’t loud as he asked but he took a step closer and… you took one back.
“Because I want to kiss you again,” you whispered shamefully, fidgeting with your skirt, “I just… I’ll walk on my own. Thank you for today, Nikolai.”
You turned before you could stop yourself, ignoring the russian as he called out your name, crawling over the fence while you pretended you weren’t crying, forcing yourself not to look back at him.
warnings: nsfw, 18+, minors dni, dub-con, choking, slapping, spitting, oral sex (m rec), overstimulation, degradation, unprotected sex, rough sex, creampie, bucky manhandling you, lots of filthiness (please read the warnings)
summary: you never meant to cross a man like bucky barnes, he is cold-blooded, ruthless, he always takes what he wants and no amount of fight can drown out the way you end up begging for more.
based on this request!
word count: 2.2k
a/n: hi! so this fic is unhinged and its probably an excuse for me to write explicit smut. it may not be for everyone, so please read the warnings! thank you and stay safe guys!
You didn’t see his men coming.
One second, you were walking back from the corner store with your hoodie pulled up and headphones tucked in. The next, the world turned black—hands over your mouth, your limbs yanked, twisted, a sharp sting to your neck and then absolutely nothing.
Now, you're here.
Laid out like some broken thing on black silk sheets in a room too luxurious for a prison, the mattress is soft and the air smells faintly like leather and tobacco. There are no bars on the windows—just thick glass and silence.
And him.
Bucky Barnes.
The name you'd only ever heard whispered, the kind of man your mother warned you about, dangerous, merciless. The type who didn’t just ruin lives—he erased them.
The Mob King of New York, ruthless killer and collector.
And now, your captor, standing in the shadows like he owned the world, watching you with those cold, unreadable steel blue eyes, as if he already knew exactly how and when, you'd break.
You don’t get it, do you?” His voice drips from the shadows at the foot of the bed, a low, rumbling threat that coils around your spine. His sleeves are rolled to the elbow, one of his arms littered with black ink—tattoos that lick upward like fire and sin, the other cold, gleaming black and gold. They hadn’t been lying about his arm. He doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t need to.
“You belong to me now.”
Your breath catches and you flinch when he takes a step closer, the floorboards creaking under his boots. He notices, of course he does.
It only makes him smile, slow and sharp like a predator’s grin that promises nothing but ruin.
“Fucking gorgeous when you’re scared,” Bucky murmurs, running his tongue along the seam of his teeth like he’s savouring the moment. “Don’t look away, sweetheart. You’re gonna learn what happens when you disobey.”
The room feels smaller with each second. It was warm, suffocating, cloaked in shadows that flicker from the low amber light. You back up on the mattress, limbs trembling, but it’s no use. Bucky reaches for your ankle, and with deliberate slowness, drags you toward him. The silk sheets slide beneath your skin, your oversized hoodie riding up your thighs, panties exposed to the chill and to his hungry gaze.
You writhe with reflexive panic, but that only makes him grin.
“Still got some fight in you?” he muses, tilting his head. “Good. Breaking you will be so much more fun.”
The slap comes out of nowhere, his palm cracks across your face, hot and mean. You gasp, stunned, pain blooming like fire under your skin. But Bucky doesn’t let you recover. A strong hand grips your throat, firm, not enough to choke but enough to silence. His thumb presses under your chin, tilting your head so you face him.
“You look real pretty with my mark on your face,” he growls. “Slap you again, you’ll probably cum.”
“Fuck you,” you bite, voice cracking. Your tears betray you, slipping down hot and shameful.
He chuckles, low and dangerous.
Then he spits—right onto your tongue.
You gag on instinct, trying to turn your head, but his metal hand grips your hair tight, keeping you in place.
“That’s more like it,” he snarls, tightening his grip. “Open that pretty mouth, doll. Let me see what else you’re good for.”
The sound of his belt unbuckling slices through the air. Panic sets your blood racing. You try to squirm away, but he’s faster. His metal fingers curl into your hair, dragging you up until your neck arches painfully. You’re forced to look up at him—towering, hard, cock heavy and leaking as he fists it in one hand.
“I’ll make you beg for it,” he promises, voice like gravel wrapped in silk.
You shake your head violently, desperate, nails digging into his thighs in a last-ditch effort to shove him away but it only earns you another slap, harder than before. The sting rings in your ears, your skin screaming where his palm landed.
“You think I haven’t broken girls tougher than you?” he breathes, leaning closer, his breath hot against your lips. “But you, fuck, princess, you’re gonna be perfect.”
His fingers squeeze your cheeks until your lips part. You don’t mean to open your mouth, but your body gives in under pressure.
Bucky takes the invitation and he doesn’t ease in.
His cock fills your mouth in one brutal thrust, the thick head slamming against the back of your throat, choking you instantly. You gag around him, reflexive and helpless, eyes going wide as your body jerks. Your scratch at his hips, instinct, defiance, but it only makes him groan, a low, guttural sound that rumbles from his chest like thunder.
“That’s it, fuckin’ choke on it,” he pants, the praise laced with cruelty. His hips roll forward, shallow and deliberate, feeding you more with each thrust. “Good girl. Such a good fuckin’ girl when you stop thinking.”
You can’t breathe, hell you can’t even think. The stretch is brutal, your jaw aches already, and he’s not stopping. His cock is thick, heavy, sliding deeper every time, turning your throat into his own personal toy, your tears fall freely now, your lashes soaked, spit slipping past the corners of your lips, trailing down your chin. He watches every second of it—eyes dark and ravenous as he fucks your mouth like it’s nothing more than a means to get off.
“You were made for this,” he growls, metal fingers fisting tighter in your hair. “Made for me.”
Then suddenly, he yanks back, cock dragging wetly from your mouth. You collapse forward, gasping, coughing, strings of saliva still connecting you to him. Your throat feels ruined, your lips swollen, your chest heaving as you suck in air like you’ve surfaced from drowning. Spit drips from your chin to the sheets below, and still—you can taste him.
Hot, bitter and lingering.
“There she is,” he murmurs, voice mockingly sweet as he strokes a thumb across your wet cheek. “Didn’t expect to get owned tonight, huh?”
You glare up at him through tear-blurred lashes, the taste of him thick and awful on your tongue. Your voice comes out hoarse, broken. “You won’t get away with this,” you rasp.
“Oh, doll,” he breathes, leaning in close. His tongue drags slowly along the curve of your throat, savouring your shiver. “I already did.”
He smiles then, slow, dangerous almost as if he’s enjoying your unraveling.
And when he licks his lips, eyes locked on your swollen mouth, you know he’s not nearly done with you.
Bucky flips you over with terrifying ease, a single hand curling in the back of your hoodie like you're weightless. He rips it off in one violent motion, fabric tearing under the force, discarded somewhere across the room. Your panties don’t even stand a chance, his metal hand grabs and shreds them in two, the ruined lace tossed aside like it never mattered.
You try to twist away, but it’s useless. He’s already there, gripping your hips like he owns them, spreading your legs with a casual shove of his knee. The cool air hits your slick folds, and you flinch, a fresh wave of shame crashing over you. Your body’s betrayed you, soaked through, dripping for the man who just threw you around like a ragdoll.
“So fuckin’ wet already,” he groans, dragging two thick fingers through your arousal, spreading it messily over your folds. “Fought me like hell, but this cunt?” He swipes over your clit and watches you twitch. “It’s beggin’ for me. You feel that?”
“No,” you whisper, trembling. You don’t want to feel it, the burn, the need, but your body shivers under his touch, thighs twitching when his fingers sink inside you with a cruel, slow thrust.
“That’s biology, princess,” he growls near your ear, fingers curling deep and just right. “Your body knows what it needs. And it’s me.”
You sob, the sound cracking from your throat, raw and real. His other hand wraps around your neck from behind, dragging you upright until your back slams against his solid chest. You can feel the ridges of his dog tags against your spine, his cock heavy and hot, grinding against your ass as he finger-fucks you in slow, devastating circles.
“I could make you cum like this,” he murmurs, mouth brushing your ear, “with just these fingers. Could have you trembling and soaked, beggin’ me to fill you.”
He doesn’t stop. He keeps working you, just right, circling, pressing, sliding inside you like he knows your body better than you do. And maybe he does. Because your thighs are shaking, your head lolling back on his shoulder as that humiliating pressure builds.
“But I won’t,” he whispers darkly. “Not yet. Not until you beg.”
You won’t. You swear you won’t. But when your hips buck against his hand, chasing more, when that soft, needy moan slips out before you can bite it back, his mouth curls into a grin against your skin.
“There it is,” he purrs. “That sweet, filthy little sound I’ve been waiting for.”
And then he stops.
Just like that, fingers gone, heat gone. Your cunt clenches at nothing, throbbing and aching with need, and the whine that escapes your lips is pitiful and humiliating.
“No,” you gasp, hips rocking desperately. “No, don’t stop-”
“No?” he mocks, hand gripping your jaw, turning your face so close to his you can taste his breath. “You want more, sweetheart?”
You're silent, too ashamed, too wrecked to answer, but your body says it all.
His palm cracks hard against your soaked pussy, and you scream.
“Use your fuckin’ words.”
“…Please,” you whisper, voice shaking.
He groans, dragging the head of his cock through your folds, soaking it in your slick, teasing your entrance until your whole body trembles.
“Please what?”
“…Please… fuck me.”
Bucky’s growl is low, vicious and primal.
“There she is. My good little slut.”
Then he slams into you, no warning, no mercy. His cock drives deep in one savage thrust, splitting you open around him. The scream that rips from your throat is ragged and raw, muffled by the sheets as your arms give out. His hips smack against your ass, loud and obscene, and then he’s moving, brutal and relentless.
“Fuck,” he grunts, grabbing a fistful of your hair and yanking your head back. “Tight little hole. Fuckin’ made for me.”
You sob into the mattress, your body caught between unbearable pain and something dark, twisted, devastatingly good. Your pussy stretches around him, gripping him tight, sucking him in with every thrust. And Bucky feels it, hell he’s fucking you like he’s claiming you, destroying you, owning every inch of your ruined body.
“You feel that?” he pants against your ear, voice hoarse. “Feel how your cunt clings to me? You like it. Filthy little slut, your body knows who owns it now.”
You want to deny it. God, you try. But the moans won’t stop, spilling from your lips like confessions. And your body was shaking, clenching and needy.
“You’re close,” he growls, burying himself deeper. “Gonna cum on my cock like the fuckin’ whore you swore you weren’t?”
“No don’t-” you choke, but the orgasm is building fast, cruel and unforgiving.
Then his fingers are there again, working your clit, rubbing in tight, merciless circles and the pressure breaks.
It hits you like a fucking freight train, your body seizes, your walls clench around him, and your scream is pure, brutal surrender. You cum hard, soaking him as you collapse beneath him.
“That’s it,” he snarls, fucking you through it. “Fucking cum for me, slut.”
But he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t even slow. He keeps driving into you, deeper, rougher, pushing you past the edge until your moans turn to wrecked sobs.
“Too much, please it’s too much-” you cry, voice gone and tears welling up in your eyes, unsure of just how much more you could take.
“No,” Bucky growls, hand tightening on your throat. “You’ll take it. You’re mine.”
His hips slam into you like a battering ram, over and over, and the sounds wet, brutal and carnal, fill the room. He’s panting now, groaning above you as he ruts into you like an animal.
“Bet you’ll be thankin’ me by the end of the week,” he hisses, every thrust sharp and punishing. “You’ll crawl into my lap, beggin’ for it like a good little cockdrunk slut.”
You can’t answer, you can’t breathe, all you know is the sharp ache where he stretches you, the burn in your thighs, the unbearable heat coiling in your belly again.
Then with one final thrust, Bucky slams deep and stills, groaning loud and wrecked as he spills inside you, cock twitching, his cum spilling hot and thick.
His hand tightens just enough on your throat to make you see stars as he holds you there, buried deep, until he’s drained and shaking.
And when Bucky finally pulls out, slow and deliberate, his cum oozes from your swollen, overstimulated pussy, hot and shameful between your legs.
He leans in, lips brushing your ear.
“Mine now,” he whispers.
And you know he’s right.
Your body trembles, used and ruined, his cum leaking from your sore pussy, trickling down your thighs.
He lets you fall, and you collapse onto the sheets, face-down, broken and sobbing.
And then, his lips brush your temple, gentle and almost loving.
“You did so good for me, doll,” he murmurs, voice like velvet. “So fuckin’ good.”
You shiver, swallowing hard.
“You’ll see,” Bucky whispers. “You’ll love me by the end.”
And the worst part?
Some broken part of you believes he’s right.
a/n: hi! i hope you liked it! if you did, please drop a comment or a reblog, i would really appreciate it!
No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.
Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)
Characters: Geralt of Rivia
Note: hey hey.
As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.
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Before you get too far, Bryce appears from the shadows. You don't know if he was listening or if he's only stumbled on you but it hardly matters. He offers only a sullen look, too meek to mention the tension that stands between you. He left you first to King Geralt, then Lord Vesemir; he's more their ally than your own. But what can a maid expect?
"I am to return to the queen's service," you state matter-of-fact.
"So I've been informed," he says grimly. "Perhaps you might quell her restlessness."
You stop along the corridor as your surroundings grow familiar. You’re halt and sway as the soldier scuffs to a stop a few steps ahead of you. He turns to face you as you unclasp the cloak from around your shoulders. You drag it away from your form.
“Sir, will you hold this for me,” you fold it over your arm and offer it to him, “I shouldn’t require it during my work.”
He looks at it and takes it with a frown. He pets the soft fur around the neck as you catch a peek of the wolf’s badge sewn into the lining. You lift your head and look past him.
“I will make sure it is not lost,” he promises.
Your dread mounts with each step. You’re weighed down by the last day and all that’s come to light. You cannot shake the shackles newly clasped around your wrists and the links only draw tighter and tighter. For now, the danger has calmed but it will not dissipate entirely. There is only doom ahead, even if now, it remains obscure.
You will have no safety, not even in the familiar; not even in your duty. How can you keep on in serving when you are at the same deceiving?
Jazlene, once Lady, now Queen, has rarely been easy to calm. You've come to expect her virulent behaviour, never once forsaking her the habits inherited from her mother. Now, you fear her fiery emotions and what wrath she may rain upon you should your betrayal be discovered. It almost seems wiser to confess and be done with it all, yet your fear restrains your guilt.
As you come upon the queen's chamber doors, you give pause, as does the soldier at your side. You share a curious look between you. There are no guards at her door.
"Gods, I beg, do not tell me she has escaped once more," Bryce mutters.
You step ahead of him and go to the door. You turn your ear to it and lean in, dragging your palms along the wood. You ball your hand and rap upon it, certain you hear some sound from within. There is scuffling and the queen's trite voice. She is within.
You peer back over your shoulder at your escort as he squints. The door opens from within and you spin back. It's that orange-haired guard; Gilles. It’s odd and the noise that escapes Bryce’s throat says as much.
“Queen having another tantrum?” The soldier behind you scoffs.
“Eh, she is your queen too,” Gilles accuses, “it is treason to mock your liege.”
“Mocking? No, merely the truth,” Bryce chirps, “let the maid in. She’ll do better work of serving our admirable queen, eh? Tend to her lady needs with a softer hand.”
Gilles grabs your arm and shoves you through the door, “do not worry her--”
“Eh!” You feel another tug and you’re turned back as Bryce tears the guard away from you, “unhand her. She is but a maid. If you need feel big, you might go squash insects in the stables, yea?”
“Be wary of crossing me, king’s pet,” Gilles pushes away the other soldier, “I do not fear any old man, no matter his name.”
“Young twerp like you, I’ve known many,” Bryce stands unflinching, “my name comes from tossing fools like you in the dirt. Don’t think the years have taken that much.”
“The maid is a maid, as you say. She hardly needs a guard herself,” the carrot-headed man rebukes.
“And you hardly need the witness, eh,” the soldier sneers and chortles, “heed your own warning, man, you dance in a pit of snakes.”
“I am the snake,” Gilles makes himself as big as he can but pales against the taller soldier.
Bryce pokes his tongue in his cheek and smirks. He doesn’t reply, instead looking past the younger man, “maid, attend your duty and I’ll attend my own.”
“Sir Bryce,” you utter tremulously.
“Don’t worry for me,” he assures as his gaze returns to the man before him. “I’ve sworn never to draw steel against a man of the crown, and I shan’t, so long as the man in question does not offer doubt to that title. We are allies,” he slaps Gilles’ arm, his other hand on his pommel, “aren’t we, loyal guard?”
Gilles’ gauntlet flinches towards his own sword but does not finish its path. He raises his chin and backs up against the wall.
“In the name of the king and the queen,” the guard proclaims.
Bryce’s eyes linger on the man and he shoos you with a flick of his fingers, “go on, maid. You needn’t worry for the matters of men.”
You quickly flit inside, your heart fraught and your veins flooding with ice. That look in the soldier’s eyes worries you. He is a man of war and the mere scent of conflict seems to enliven him. Certainly, you know, if the guard gives the merest of reasons, there will be blood.
Jazlene is within, abed beneath layers of fur. She lays with a hand against her forehead in a constant state of dismay. The door closes behind you and she sighs.
“I called for a bath ages ago!” She decries, “if I must be imprisoned in this horrid place, I will at least be warm!”
The mention of a bath disarms you. You waver on your feet before you can reclaim your wits. You ignore the memories stirring in the base of your skull. The king’s heat creeps up your back as the sensation of his touch tickles in your sides. You could sob for the way your chest rents.
“Your highness, I will fetch the water,” you acquiesce in a brittle voice.
“Oh, and where have you been?” She bawls, “here I am, with child and miserable and cold, and you are off, a maid, without a care? Abandoning her queen, as my very husband does the same?”
You lower your chin at the mention of the king, “my apologies, I was bid to... other duties.”
The lie is like poison in your mouth. You could gag at your own deceit. You keep your head low. You wish she would rise and pinch or lash or kick you.
“All I wanted was wine,” she babbles at the canopy as she throws her hands up, “and company. He will not allow my own father to see me. He chased him out like some stray dog. The only family I have close and he keeps us apart. I want to play cards and I have no one to win against.” She thumps her fists down on the mattress and kicks her foot, “how can a queen have no power?”
She sits up, her eyes fiery as her curls puff out wildly from her head. Her eyes are sparkling from her tears and pretty features twisted. The blankets fall away from her torso. She mops her face with the sleeves of her gown; they are wrinkled and her bodice is crooked.
“And that Lord Ves... whoever he is, he is a nasty old troll,” she blusters, “I hate him. I hate them all, these winter pests. These animals. Beasts!” She snarls, “how can they live like this? I swear, when we reach the king’s castle, this will not go on. I must have my court. I am a queen and I should be crowned!”
She sneers and shakes her head, closing her eyes as she presses her long fingers to her nose, “why are you just standing there?” She hisses. “I want a bath!”
She pushes the blankets off of her and like a storm, she blows out of bed and towards you. You flinch but do not shield herself. She grabs your shoulders and shakes you. She shoves you away from her and you stagger.
“I will fetch the wat--”
You cannot finish your words as she strikes you across the cheek. You taste blood. The punishment you longed for is not so freeing as you expect. The sear across your face cannot assuage the flames of your guilt.
“Go before I knock your teeth from your stupid head,” she snarls.
You retreat and pull the door inward, letting yourself out. Gilles remains and does not look or comment at you. You rush away, your mouth pooling with blood. You swallow it down as you get to the kitchens, a pair of servants in gray working in the light of the stove.
“Water,” you murmur as you rub your jaw, “please, can I have a pot to boil?”
A woman, slender and silent, moves to fetch the large vessel. She hands it to you and you thank her. She clings to the other handle.
“You will need help,” she declares.
“Yes, thank you,” you flutter your lashes as the sting sticks in your skin.
You know her. She is the same who welcomed in the king’s party to the castle. She helps you carry the pot down a corridor. You feel cold creeping through the air and your teeth chatter. She doesn’t react to the chill and leads you out a door into the frigid outdoors. She stops at a cistern pump and angles the pot beneath it.
She takes a small mallet from next to the spout and beats the lever until it dips, ice falling away from it. She pumps without a word as you watch. You offer to take over but she shakes her head. You linger close by, feeling useless.
“Lift,” she orders as she stills the pump and you grab the handle as she takes the other. You carry the pot together back into the castle.
The act reminds you of another time. The night you and Merinda carried water to the king’s chamber in Debray. The woman across from you is a stranger and as cold as the winds. You raise the vessel over the flames and leave it to boil.
She turns to you and nods, “hard work serving strong men. Best us maids work as one.”
Her words are kind though her tone remains as hard as iron. Your cheeks tense and your lips tremble, “yes, thank you, miss.”
“Same as you,” she dismisses the title you give her, “let me know when it steams.”
You agree and turn to face the pot as it sits above a brazier. You are comforted in knowing that not all is changed in the Hinterlands. That camaraderie among servants has not frozen over like everything else.
As you carry up the first pot of steaming water, the servant offers a name. Ezme. You return your own before you reach the queen’s chamber. You make several trips up and down, between the boil, and fill the large tub nearly to the brim, adding a pot of cool water to mellow the heat.
Ezme leaves with the empty pot as you remain to attend the queen’s bath. As Gilles pulls the door shut, you notice how his eyes search past you. You turn and go to Jazlene as she tugs at her dress. You help unlace the piece of her gown, then her corset, and lift her shift over her head.
She lowers herself into the tub, her dark skin flawless and her figure still as sculpted and firm as ever. She must be early in her state as she has yet to show the effect of her condition. She reclines with her arms over the lip of the wooden tub.
“And what do you suppose the king is about?” She speaks with her eyes closed, frightening you as you stand quietly by the wall. “Hm? Why does he keep my people from me? Not only my father, but those other summer nobles who have accompanied us?”
You don’t speak or move. It’s best to act as if you aren’t there. She speaks to herself; for herself.
“First, he forbade my mother to come. Kept her from seeing me conceive her first grandchild,” she sneers, "and now he has banned my father from my chambers. All because he thought to provide me with a bottle of wine.”
She is back to that. The wine. She is childish in how she latches onto that one grievance and will not let it go.
“Because he would defend his daughter,” she snivels, “well, who else will keep me company as my husband remains errant? Oh, how bound he is to his kingliness. Oh, the hero he is. He has brought his wintry misery to the summer people and cursed us all to his wretched ways.”
You stare at the floor, scalded by the dangerous inference of her complaints. She treads close to those things even a queen should not voice. She might be unhappy but she cannot be so unwise. It is like the game with the dice; she does not think of the turns to come, only what she holds in the moment.
“He must plot against us. It’s what we all believe,” she sits up the water swishing around her.
You try not to react, especially as the king’s command returns to you. ‘...you will watch and you will listen...’
“He has baited us all into his lands, into his snare, and he means to close it on us. He must,” she puts her hands up as if what she says is only the truth. Without a doubt, she must be right, “he speaks of uniting us and yet he means to extinguish us. He will do away with the summer’s blood and invade our lands as he always meant to.” She scoffs and drags her fingertip over the water’s surface, “he gives to all the same empty vows he gave me...”
Silence, the sort where you can hear your own heart beating. You hold your breath. She needs to stop speaking. You want to stop hearing.
“We are not as foolish as he thinks. We will be ready,” she smirks and tilts her head, “and he would not hurt his own prince, would he?” She plunges her hand under the water and rubs her stomach. “Even he cannot deprive his people of their future.”
She hums and the water swishes around her as she lays back again. She snickers and sighs. You tuck your chin down and clutch your hands tightly. In this war of winter and summer, of king and queen, of husband and wife, you will surely be lost.
pairing: new avenger!dark!bucky barnes x fem!reader (non-con)
warnings: nsfw, 18+, minors dni, non-con sex, forced oral (f and m rec), forced deepthroating, orgasm during assault, creampie without consent, size kink, physical restraint, verbal degradation, coercion, emotional manipulation, fear responses, delusional obsession, absolutely no consent throughout (please read all the warnings)
summary: you have a boyfriend, but bucky could care less. he waited, watched, let the fantasy of you rot until all that was left was his need and obsession.
word count: 4.1k
author's note: hi my loves! i took a break from writing dark fics, and i'm finally back with them! this fic consists of non-consensual sex, everything's in the warnings, please read them first! thank you for stopping by, love you guys and stay safe out there! 💌
It always started with you.
Always.
Your face. Your laugh. The scent of your shampoo drifting down the hallway when you passed him, but it didn't matter. What mattered was that it lingered, stuck to his lungs like smoke.
And it always ended the same way, him alone in the dark, jaw clenched, cock in hand, your name bitten into the curve of his tongue like a sin he wasn’t ready to repent for.
You didn’t know what you did to him. Maybe that was the worst part. The sweet, casual devastation of it.
The way you flitted around the compound like a fucking angel, smiling at everyone, throwing out kindness like it cost absolutely nothing. You moved with the easy, blameless confidence of someone who had no idea they were being watched.
Worshipped.
Studied.
Every time you called him “Bucky,” you were wrapping a noose around his neck and pulling it tighter—and hell, you didn’t even realise.
He could handle the smiles, fuck, he could even stomach the soft laughs, the way you bumped his arm in the hallway like you were allowed to touch him, like you didn’t understand what that touch did to him.
What he couldn’t handle… was the other guy.
The one you dressed up for.
Tonight you wore black. A silky little thing that looked painted on, hugging your curves like it had been tailored just for him to rip off. The neckline dipped low, too low, and the hem barely reached your thighs. It moved when you walked, swaying like it knew exactly what it was doing to him.
And the heels—fuck—the heels clicked against the floor with every step, each sound a god damn warning bell in his skull.
Danger, danger, danger.
He would’ve dropped to his fucking knees and kissed them if you let him.
But you didn’t let him.
Instead, you let him.
That boyfriend, that placeholder.
That soft, safe, civilian little fuck who didn’t know the first thing about what you needed. Didn’t know what it meant when your hands trembled, didn’t see how your pupils dilated just a fraction every time Bucky entered the room. Didn’t notice that your body responded to him.
Not your boyfriend. Him.
Bucky knew what to do with you, he’d dreamed it a hundred times.
A thousand.
No—he’d planned it. Every scenario. Every sound. Every twitch of your hips as he forced them apart. Fingers buried in your hair, tears on your cheeks, thighs shaking around his face. His cock, thick, heavy, yours, slamming into you from behind while you sobbed his name into the pillow like a prayer turned sacrilege.
You’d fight. Of course you would. You’d cry. Say no.
But your body would betray you.
He knew it would.
That was the part he thought about the most.
The moment where your “no” would melt into a “please.” The way your voice would break. The moment you realised—no one would ever fuck you the way he could.
You would beg for it, not with words. Never with words. You wore temptation like a crown and never even noticed who you were ruling.
He tried to be good. Fuck, he tried.
He left gifts. Dropped as many hints as he could. Brought you coffee when you looked tired, memorised the way your eyes lit up at stupid little things like that advertisement about adopting abandoned puppies. He laughed at your jokes and waited for you to look at him the way he looked at you.
But you didn’t.
You were blind. Blind and soft and so goddamn ignorant of the way you made him ache.
Until tonight.
Because tonight… Bucky wasn’t waiting anymore.
He was going to show you.
Bucky let himself into your room exactly forty minutes after you left. Picked the lock with practiced ease and entered without hesitation. Sat on the edge of your bed like he belonged there.
The shadows welcomed him. The silence swallowed the sound of his breath. He stared at your pillow like it was something sacred. Inhaled your scent. Let his fingers curl around your blanket like they were already touching you.
And then he waited.
He waited for the sound of heels on the floor. For the delicate click of your key sliding into the lock of your room. And when the door opened, when you pushed into the room with a breathless little sigh, humming under your breath, drunk on cheap wine and a forgettable man—he felt it.
That hunger. That rage. That need.
You didn’t scream when you saw him.
You should have.
You just smiled, sleepy, unbothered. That same stupid sweet smile that used to make his chest burn before it made his cock twitch.
“Hey, Buck,” you said, your voice warm and airy. “What’s up?”
Still glowing. Lipstick smeared at the corners of your mouth. Perfume clinging to your throat like a lover’s kiss. Hair mussed from hands that didn’t belong to him.
His vision tinted red.
He didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Just watched you reach for your earrings, humming like he wasn’t in the room, like he wasn’t staring at you like prey.
Your back was turned.
Your neck was bared.
He wondered if your boyfriend had marked you. He hoped not.
Because that was his job.
You turned to face him then. And something in your expression shifted.
“…Is everything okay?”
“No,” Bucky said, standing. “Not really.”
He moved slowly. Controlled. Like something that had waited years to pounce.
“I’ve been thinking about you,” he said. His voice was soft. Careful.
You blinked. “Bucky—”
“I mean really thinking, sweetheart, every night. For weeks.”
You stepped back. Just one step. Subtle. But he noticed.
“We’ve talked about this,” you said carefully. “You know I—”
“Have a boyfriend,” he finished.
He chuckled. A hollow, bitter sound.
“Yeah. I know.”
He crossed the distance between you in two long strides. His shadow swallowed yours.
“You think he makes you happy?” he asked, voice quiet. Dangerous. “You think he even knows how to touch you?”
Your lips parted. “Please don’t—”
“Does he know how wet you get when someone puts their hand on your throat?”
The air stopped moving.
“Does he know how you clench your thighs together when I walk past you in the gym?”
You inhaled sharply.
And something inside him snapped.
“You wore that little black dress for him?” he whispered, his fingers brushing your bare thigh. “Or was it for me?”
“Stop it,” you breathed, shrinking back.
But it was too late.
He grabbed you—fast, brutal. Vibranium hand clamped around your wrist, dragging you forward, slamming you against the wall.
You gasped, the impact jarring.
He loomed over you, chest heaving, pupils blown wide. You could smell him—leather and sweat and heat.
“Let me ask you something,” he said, his voice low and rough, almost amused. “Has your boyfriend ever filled this little pussy up ‘til you cried?”
“Bucky, stop—”
“Ever made you come with his mouth while you begged him to stop and keep going all at once?”
Tears welled in your eyes, but he wasn’t done.
“Ever pinned you down,” he murmured, voice dipping lower, “and fucked you so good you couldn’t walk the next day?”
You shook your head.
Not no.
Just fear, shock, and disbelief.
“Thought so,” he muttered. His hand tightened on your wrist. “You’ve been walking around here like you don’t belong to someone. Like this body isn’t mine.”
Your breath hitched.
“I tried being patient,” he said, almost to himself. “I really did. But you keep wearing things like that. Keep smiling at me like you don’t know. You keep fucking pretending.”
He smiled then.
Sharp. Crooked. Hungry.
“Tonight, I’m going to give you exactly what you’ve been asking for.”
Your lips parted.
To beg. To scream. To say no.
But he kissed you first.
And it didn’t matter anymore.
You didn’t make it to the door.
Bucky dragged you backward, one hand still locked around your wrist while the other slid up your thigh—rough, possessive, not fumbling but practiced. Confident. Like he’d touched you a thousand times in his head and knew exactly how and where to hurt you best.
You struggled and he laughed.
“You’re so soft when you squirm,” he muttered, spinning you in his grip and slamming you back into the wall.
The picture frame above your bed rattled. Your hands clawed at him, trying to shove him back, but he just grabbed both wrists and pinned them above your head with his vibranium hand. The other curled beneath your jaw, thumb dragging over your lips.
“You think that little boyfriend of yours would fight for you like this?” he whispered, tongue flicking against his teeth. “Think he’d bleed for you? Kill for you? You know I would.”
His mouth found your neck. You gasped as he bit down—not gentle. No. Hard. Bruising. Like he wanted to leave proof behind, like he wanted your skin to remember him.
“Bucky—please,” you breathed, trembling.
“Shh,” he said, grinning. “We’re past talking now, princess.”
And then he dropped to his knees.
It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t worship. It was hunger. Obsession. Something primal he’d been starving down for too long. You kicked at him—once, twice—until he grabbed your thighs and threw you backward onto the bed.
The world spun, the mattress dipped. And before you could scream, he was between your legs like a man possessed.
“Don’t fight me,” he said softly. “You’ll love this part.”
He yanked your dress up to your hips. Cold air kissed the tops of your thighs. And then—
“Fuck,” Bucky rasped, voice dark with lust. “Look at you.”
Your panties were soaked through. A fragile wisp of black lace that did nothing to hide the heat between your legs.
Bucky’s pupils blew wide.
“You wore these for him?” he asked, voice mocking. “These cheap little things?”
He hooked a finger through the fabric and ripped. The sound echoed like a gunshot in the room. Torn lace fluttered to the floor.
You sobbed, curling away from him, but his arms caged you in. Knees pinning your thighs open. Shoulders wedged between them. His face so close you could feel the heat of his breath fan over your exposed cunt.
“Look at this pretty pussy,” he whispered. “So wet for me already.”
“It’s not—Bucky, don’t—”
“Liar,” he growled, and then—
He devoured you.
Tongue hot, thick, rough as it dragged up the full length of your slit. His nose pressed deep into your folds, inhaling like your scent was a drug he needed to stay alive.
He moaned into your cunt, mouth working in wet, messy circles that made your hips jerk against your will.
Your fists beat weakly at his shoulders. He didn’t care. Didn’t stop.
He ate you like a man starved, tongue stroking deep, wide, purposeful. His lips closed over your clit and sucked, pulling the sound right out of your throat.
A loud, shattering gasp you didn’t mean to make.
“Oh, baby…” he laughed darkly. “You didn’t know you needed this, did you?”
“Please—” you sobbed. “Stop—don’t—”
But your body betrayed you, your hips rocked into his face. Your thighs trembled. And when his vibranium hand pinned your stomach flat to the bed, holding you still, you whimpered.
That was all the permission he needed.
“Yeah,” he growled. “That’s it. Let me hear it. Let me hear what he’s never earned.”
He fucked you with his tongue, fingers digging into your thighs so tight you knew they’d bruise. Your vision blurred, your spine arched. You were crying and gasping and wet in a way you couldn’t stop, couldn’t control, and he knew it.
“Practically begging me to fuck you,” he rasped, voice soaked in triumph.
And then it hit.
The orgasm slammed through you like a fucking car crash. Your body convulsed, mouth open in a soundless cry as wave after wave shattered through your core, your clit throbbing against his lips as he sucked every last tremor out of you with vicious, greedy delight.
You didn’t mean to cum.
You didn’t want to.
But you did.
Hard.
Your thighs shook violently, your eyes flooded. And Bucky moaned into you like your pleasure was his oxygen.
When he finally pulled back, his mouth was glistening.
“I knew you’d taste good,” he said, licking your slick from his lips. “Fucking knew it.”
You curled into yourself, shaking, broken. Eyes wide and wet and ruined.
He didn’t care.
Because now, he was standing. Unbuckling his belt. And pulling out the one thing you were never meant to see.
His cock.
It was thick. Heavy. Veined. Leaking at the tip. Too big to be real. The kind of size you only ever joked about. The kind that hurt.
You stared.
He smiled.
“You gonna cry about it?” he asked, stroking the length slowly, watching your expression twist. “Or are you gonna open that pretty little mouth and say thank you?”
You tried to crawl away, he grabbed your hair and dragged you forward.
You didn’t want to look at it. Didn’t want to see the way his hand curled around that monstrous length—slow, possessive strokes like he was showing off, like he knew the size alone would scare you.
And it did. It fucking did.
Thick. Hard. Veins raised and pulsing under flushed skin, the tip angry and red, already leaking for you. Too big, too much and your heart sank when you realised he was stroking it with practiced ease, already imagining how deep he’d stuff it down your throat.
“Bucky…” Your voice was barely a whisper.
He grabbed your hair and forced your eyes back up to his. “Open your mouth.”
You shook your head, trembling. “Please, don’t make me—”
His grip tightened. “You came for me. I tasted it. Don’t play innocent now, baby.”
You whimpered as he pushed your face down, his cock dragging across your cheek, smearing precum across your flushed skin like a mark of ownership.
“You’re mine,” he said softly. “All those nights I lay in bed thinking about this pretty little mouth… All those fucking times you laughed at my jokes like I couldn’t see through it. Like I wasn’t good enough.”
He pressed the swollen head of his cock to your lips. “I am good enough princess, I’m the only one who deserves you.”
You tried to turn away. He didn’t let you. He forced your mouth open, sliding the tip past your lips.
Salty. Warm. Violent.
“Come on, sweetheart,” he rasped. “Don’t be shy.”
You gagged immediately as the thick weight of him pushed deeper. Your throat clenched, but he didn’t stop.
His hips rolled forward slowly, deliberately, dragging his cock deeper inch by inch like he wanted to feel every tear slipping from your eyes as your mouth stretched around him.
His hand cradled the back of your head, holding you in place as your jaw ached, your throat spasmed, and saliva spilled from the corners of your lips.
“There you go,” he groaned, head falling back. “Just like that, princess. This mouth was fucking made for me.”
You choked, pulling at his wrist, but he was unmovable.
“Look at you,” he murmured, gaze dropping back to yours. “Crying so pretty for my cock.”
He rocked his hips again. Deeper. Rougher. You gagged, coughed, nose pressing into the base of him as your throat convulsed helplessly around the intrusion.
“Fuck, yes,” he hissed. “That tight throat. You feel that? Feel how deep you’re taking me?”
You could barely breathe. Your lungs screamed.
He pulled back—just enough to let you gasp—and then shoved back in with a grunt that made your whole body flinch. Your lips were slick with spit and precum, chin dripping, hair tangled in his fist like reins.
“I could fuck your throat for hours,” he growled, voice wrecked. “Could keep you down there all night if I wanted. You’ll take it and you’ll learn. Your little boyfriend won't recognise you when I’m done.”
He gave one last brutal thrust, burying himself to the hilt, and you let out a broken, strangled sob.
He held you there. Trembling, gagging.
Then finally—finally—he pulled out.
You collapsed onto your hands, coughing and choking, spit dripping from your mouth to the sheets.
But it wasn’t over.
It was never going to be over.
Because now he was grabbing your waist, flipping you onto your stomach like a ragdoll, dragging you to the edge of the bed.
“Bucky—please, I can’t—”
“You will.”
He yanked your hips up, spread your legs.
You weren’t even sure when he’d fully undressed you—but now your ass was bare, your thighs trembling, your cunt wet and swollen and exposed to the cold air. You tried to twist away. His hand came down hard on your ass.
SMACK.
You cried out.
“I said,” he gritted, lining the thick head of his cock up to your entrance, “you’re mine.”
He pushed.
Your breath caught. You felt the pressure first—terrifying, splitting pressure—then the pain. Stretching.
Too much.
“It’s not gonna fit,” you sobbed, voice high, panicked. “Bucky—it’s too big—”
He grabbed your jaw, forcing your head back toward him.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he whispered, eyes burning. “I’ll make it fit just fine.”
And then he slammed into you.
You screamed.
The force of it knocked the air from your lungs. The burn was unbearable, your walls stretched to accommodate him and failed. Every inch of him was violent, forcing you wider, deeper than you’d ever been taken before.
“Fuck,” Bucky groaned, hips grinding against your ass. “So tight. So fucking tight.”
You were crying again, face pressed into the sheets, hands clutching the blanket like it might save you, stop the way your body was being pulled apart from the inside.
But he didn’t slow down.
He fucked you with brutal thrusts, each one harder than the last. You sobbed into the pillow. Your thighs shook. But his grip only tightened. One hand on your hip, the other on the back of your neck, pinning you down like prey.
“You like this,” he hissed. “Your cunt’s gripping me like a fucking vice.”
You hated him, fuck, you hated him.
Most of all, you hated the way your body betrayed you.
Because somewhere in the pain, the burning, the shame—you started to moan.
And he heard it.
“That’s it,” he groaned. “I knew you could take it. Knew you’d fucking love it once I broke you in.”
His pace turned punishing, skin slapping skin. Sweat beading down his temple as he fucked into you with mindless need.
You felt it—your climax, that horrible, traitorous heat building between your legs again. You tried to resist it, bite it back, choke it down.
But it came anyway.
You clenched around him, spasming, crying out as your body convulsed on his cock, the pleasure so sharp it almost felt like pain.
“Oh, baby,” Bucky moaned, voice raw. “You wanna cum for me again?”
You were sobbing. “Please, no more—”
But then he bent low, lips against your ear, and whispered,
“I’m gonna cum inside you.”
You stiffened.
“No—Bucky—don’t—please—”
“I’m gonna fill this perfect little pussy up,” he gritted, driving into you even harder. “Stuff you full. You want it, don’t you?”
“No—”
“Say it.”
You shook your head.
“Fucking say it.”
His hand gripped your throat.
And in the weakest, most broken voice you’d ever heard from yourself, you whispered,
“…fill me up. Please.”
He groaned, deep and ragged, and came with a violent thrust that made your legs buckle. Hot, pulsing ropes filled you as his body trembled over yours, cock twitching, breath ragged, forehead pressed to your back.
“You’re mine now,” he murmured, voice low and content. “Every inch of you. Every hole. Every fucking drop.”
You didn’t move. Couldn’t move.
He stayed inside you. Stayed buried deep. And when he finally pulled out, thick warmth spilled down your thighs and soaked the sheets.
You didn’t move for a long time. You couldn’t.
Your body was frozen in the wreckage—legs parted, cunt throbbing, slick dripping down your inner thighs and soaking into the sheets beneath you. The air clung to your skin like sweat and salt, thick with the scent of sex and sweat.
Your limbs shook, your spine refused to obey. Nerves shot and frayed, lungs still working to remember how to breathe. Everything ached, your jaw, your throat, your pussy. Even your ribs, stretched from sobbing, from screaming.
Because it wasn’t over. You knew that even before you heard it. Before the mattress dipped under his weight. Before you felt his fingers brush your cheek with that awful, twisted tenderness that made your stomach roll like bile.
Not rough this time. Not greedy. Just… soft. Gentle.
That was worse.
“Shh, sweetheart,” Bucky murmured, voice low again. Quiet. Almost sweet. Almost like he cared. Like he hadn’t just ripped you in half and made you beg for it.
“You did so good for me.”
You flinched.
He only hummed, casual and pleased, and leaned closer—mouth warm against your skin as he pressed a kiss to the corner of your lips, like he had the right. Like it was his. Like he hadn’t just stolen it from you.
You jerked your head away. Disgust pulsed through you like electricity. But it didn’t matter.
His hand followed.
Fingers curled around your jaw, firm but not cruel. Not now. He guided your face back to his with the ease of a man who’d done it before—who planned to do it again.
His thumb dragged across your tear-streaked cheek, slow and soothing, like he was calming a frightened pet.
“I know you’re scared,” he whispered, lips ghosting against your temple now. “It’s okay. You don’t have to be. Not anymore.”
You tried to speak. You didn’t even know what you would’ve said..
“I’ve got you now.” Another kiss, this time to your hairline. Gentle. Sickening. “No one’s ever gonna touch you again. Not him. Not anyone.”
He laid down behind you, chest pressing to your spine, his arm draping possessively over your middle.
You felt his cock, still half-hard, still sticky from the mess he left inside you, settle against your ass. His breathing slowed as he sank into the warmth of your body like he was slipping into a dream.
Like this was home.
Like this was what he’d earned.
“I should’ve done this sooner,” he murmured, voice thick with something you didn’t want to name. “All that time I wasted… trying to be gentle. Trying to wait.”
His hand slid lower, fingers brushing over the curve of your stomach, dipping toward where your thighs were still wet.
You tensed instinctively.
“I didn’t want to scare you,” he continued, far too calm for someone who had just broken you. “Didn’t want to hurt you.”
His fingers moved slower now, tracing the edge of your hip like he was thinking. Calculating.
“But you like it, don’t you, baby?”
You sobbed softly, silently. Pillow soaked. Every breath a betrayal, every second a reminder that you were still here. Still under him. Still his.
“That little pussy of yours didn’t lie,” he chuckled darkly, “Gripped my cock like you fucking needed it.”
You turned your face away again.
He followed.
Kissed the slope of your shoulder. Your neck. Breathed you in like you were something sacred, something his, something he owned now.
“Your boyfriend would’ve never given you that,” he murmured. “Would’ve never taken care of you the way I will.”
He rolled your limp body further into his. One leg slung over yours, pinning you completely. Caged. Trapped.
His hand twisted into your hair and tugged gently, like he wanted you to listen, like you hadn’t already heard too much.
“You don’t need to ask permission anymore,” he whispered, breath hot against your skin. “You don’t have to say no. You’re mine now and I take what’s mine.”
You shook your head. Weakly. Broken. “Please… don’t…”
He smiled.
You felt it against your skin, warm and cruel.
“I’m going to keep you, you know.”
Your stomach turned.
“You won’t have to pretend anymore. No more dates. No more makeup. No more tight little dresses for other men.” His voice dropped, words curling into your ear like a threat. “You only dress like that for me now.”
You cried harder.
He didn’t care.
His fingers drifted lower again, between your thighs. Slid through the slick mess still leaking from you. The mess he put there. The mess he made.
“God,” he groaned, almost reverent. “You’re so full, look at this. Look what I did to you.”
You tried to close your legs. He didn’t let you.
“I’ll fuck it into you again in the morning,” he whispered, voice already thick with sleep. “Until you can’t remember his name.”
You froze.
He kissed your shoulder one last time.
Lingering. Possessive.
And then he closed his eyes.
Like this was love.
Like this was normal.
Like this was only the beginning.
And he had no intention of ever letting you go.
a/n: this fic was a blast to write, it probably includes everything from my wildest imagination. i hope you enjoyed it and if you did, please leave a comment or a reblog, it helps motivate me! 🥰
