it's the second night of your trip with your physics professors and you've had a break-through in the research. but to test their hypothesis, you need to help them recreate the exact same conditions as the first night... for science.
content warning: dark!bucky x f!student!reader x dark!steve, mature themes, dark themes, made-up science bullshit, manipulation, naive!reader, smut, dub-con, rough sex, face fucking, no protection, cream pies (yes multiple), bucky and steve are DIABOLICAL MEN.
NIGHT ONE
a/n: the long-awaited sequel to my personal favorite dark fic i've ever written (exactly two years after part one!). i missed the professors <3 also i know absolutely nothing about physics so please don't take the science talk too seriously just go with it and pretend it makes total sense. and i don't like tooting my own horn but i do think this part is hotter than the first.
divider by @strangergraphics
"This is incredible - the cells transferred the energy to the battery overnight," Bucky says with excitement in his eyes. "We've been working on this for years and this is the biggest breakthrough yet."
"That's amazing, Professor Barnes," You say as you shift your weight onto your right leg, still sore from the night before.
Steve was full of guilt this morning when he woke up still inside you, apologizing profusely when he realized what happened. You assured him that it was okay, but that maybe you should take the couch tonight. After all, it wasn't his fault - he was sleepwalking and had no idea what he was doing.
"We need definitive proof that this works," Steve says as he looks through the microscope, before lifting his head up. "We need it to happen again. And to do that... we need to recreate the exact same conditions as we had last night."
Your eyes widen.
"That's right. The cells were in this room when they transferred the energy," Bucky says, taking off his glasses. "So we need to make sure the conditions are as close to last night's as possible."
"Uh... like, the temperature, and stuff?" You ask with a squeak.
"Yes. But also the activity that took place," Bucky says gravely. "See, every one of our actions takes and creates energy, so whatever we did last night made the perfect environment for the experiment to work successfully."
"You're exactly right," Steve agrees with him. "We need to do everything the same, as close as we can."
Nervously, you clear your throat. "Um, do you mean we also have to do what happened... in bed... again?" You ask meekly.
Bucky's face drops. "Oh, God. I didn't even think about that..." He trails off before looking into your eyes. "But, yes. It'll need to happen again."
Your stomach flips.
"I can't do that to her again, Buck," Steve says, shaking his head with a look of shame on his face. "I already have enough guilt from last night. I don't think I'm capable of doing that again."
"Alright. I'll do it," Bucky says bravely. "It's the same kind of energy being exuded, so it shouldn't make too much of a difference which one of us it is."
"But... it's too much to ask of her," Steve says as he looks at you with pity. "You're our student. We shouldn't put you in that position. No matter how important this research is in creating a sustainable power source that could save the world someday."
You think about it before letting out a sigh and nodding. "No. I'll do it," You decide firmly. "It's for science. And the world. I know how much time and effort you've both put into this already and... it would be my honor to help you with the research."
Bucky smiles. "I knew you'd be one of our best students, flower," He says softly before looking at the bed. "Shall we?"
Once you're in your pyjamas, you timidly get into the bed where Bucky's already laying down. Steve stands by the makeshift lab at the other side of the room, keeping an eye on the cells. There's an alarm that he set up to let out a 'ding' whenever a substantial amount of energy is passed through the cells, and he tells you that that's the sound you're looking for.
You lay on your side facing away from Bucky, just how you were last night, your heart racing.
"Alright, whenever you're ready," Steve calls out before dimming the lights.
When you feel Bucky get closer, you suck in a sharp breath and hold it in, flinching as he wraps an arm around you. "Keep breathing, flower," He whispers into your ear. "It's just me. Remember, this is for science."
"For science," You repeat with a nod.
"Good girl," He mumbles before slipping his hand under the hem of your shirt and cupping your bare boob. You gasp as he pulls and twists your nipple, making you squirm against his hardening boner.
"Nothing yet," Steve says. "Keep going."
Bucky lowers his hand and instead slips it under your shorts, rubbing your pussy over your underwear which is already wet through. You bite your lip to hold back your moans when he pushes your panties to the side and rubs circles directly onto your throbbing clit.
"Don't hold back, flower," He utters lowly. "You're doing so well for me."
With that, he pushes two fingers inside you, making you cry out at the intrusion. Once you've broken the barrier, you can't stop moaning, though it comes out in strangled whines as you do your best to keep quiet. It would be far too embarrassing to make it obvious how good this feels. It's purely for scientific research purposes.
"Gonna need a little more," Steve says in a warning tone. "Still no activity."
Taking his fingers out of you, Bucky pulls down your shorts and brings his hard cock to your pussy. He lifts up your leg before slowly inching into you, grunting in your ear as he stretches you out.
"Fuck, so tight," He groans under his breath. "You ready for it, flower?"
"Yes," You whimper, grabbing a fistful of the sheets in anticipation.
Keeping your leg lifted, Bucky starts fucking you. He starts off slow and gentle, kissing your neck and rubbing your nipples.
"Can you give me some more?" Steve requests. "Still nothing."
Bucky growls before speeding up and fucking you harder. His cock pummels in and out of you while you cry out, utterly taken over by pleasure.
"More," Steve calls out.
Pulling and twisting on your nipples, Bucky fucks you even faster, the sound of skin on skin filling the room. You can hear how wet your pussy is with each thrust.
Steve lets out a sigh of frustration. "I need more, guys," He says with a tinge of annoyance in his tone.
With that, he grabs you by the arm and forces you onto your hands and knees. Bucky then gets behind you, pushing his cock back into you and getting much deeper at this angle. He pushes your head down onto the bed roughly and even spanks your ass, though you're sure it's all for the sake of the experiment.
"Alright, that's a little better," Steve says. "Could definitely be doing more, though."
More? You let out a squeak at the thought of it.
"Steve, maybe it needs to be you," Bucky suggests, still fucking you steadily as he speaks casually. "I think you should come over here and fuck her."
Your heart skips a beat.
"You really think so?" Steve asks him.
"We have to try," Bucky answers. "For science."
With a determined look on his face, Steve nods. "For science." He walks over to the bed while stripping down, and you watch with wide eyes, still being drilled by Bucky.
Bucky thrusts a few more times before pulling out, making you whimper at the sudden loss. He makes his way to the end of the bed where your head is, while Steve climbs up behind you.
"You're doing so well for us, flower," Bucky whispers as he kisses your cheek. "I know this is hard on you, but it's going to be so worth it when we finish this project. And you'll be getting 100% on all your work this year."
"R-really?" You ask him with wide eyes.
"Of course," Bucky replies with a smile as he moves closer to you. "You're our number-one student. You have more than earnt it, flower." His cock rubs against your cheek accidentally, but he does nothing to move it. He's too busy thinking about science so you completely understand and don't complain when his pre-cum drips out onto your face and down your neck.
"Thank you, Professor Ba- aah," You cry out as Steve plunges into you with no warning.
Steve shudders as his cock sits inside your warm pussy. "Just as tight and wet as last night," He groans, making you falter.
"But weren't you asleep?" You ask him, wondering how he could possibly remember.
Instead of answering you, Steve starts railing you. Your mind is empty as he fucks you into the mattress, his hands tightly gripping your hips and keeping you in place.
"No dings yet," Bucky says with a sigh as he glances over at the lab equipment, before he looks back down at you. "Let me try something..."
He grabs a fistful of your hair and lifts your head off the bed, before forcing his cock into your mouth. Your eyes widen as he fucks your face with no mercy.
Ding, ding.
"It's working!" Steve says, and you can hear the grin on his lips. "Keep doing whatever you're doing. Don't change a thing."
"Aye-aye, captain," Bucky groans as he forces your head further down his cock, making you gag. "I'm sorry, flower, but this is what needs to happen."
"You're being so good for us, taking our cocks like a champ," Steve adds as he slaps your ass. "Our brave girl. You are so important to this research, beautiful, so fucking important, and so smart, and... fuck, so fucking tight."
Your mind lights up with delight at his praise. Ding, ding.
"That's it, keep sucking me, it's working," Bucky says lowly. "You're gonna help us save the world, flower. We're so proud of you."
He sees the look in your eyes and he knows he's got you in the palm of his hand.
"Keep making us proud," He utters, stroking your cheek as his cock breaches your throat. "You don't wanna disappoint us, do you?"
You shake your head as best you can, making him grin.
"Good girl," He whispers, before speeding up his thrusts.
"Fuck, I'm gonna cum," Steve warns you. He makes no effort to pull out even though he isn't wearing a condom, but you let it slide. For science.
"Fill her pussy up, Steve," Bucky groans.
Your cunt flutters around Steve, making him shudder before he cums with a loud grunt, thrusting hard as he spurts into you. You moan around Bucky's cock and the sound coincides with three of the loudest 'dings' you've heard all night.
"Shit, that was incredible," Steve groans as he pulls out of you. "And it worked so well. Bucky, I think you need to cum inside her pussy, too."
"You think so?" Bucky asks as he slows down his thrusts, fucking your face a little softer.
"I do," Steve doubles down. "The alarm sounded out the loudest when I was cumming inside her; the energy created from that action must have triggered the cells."
Bucky pulls out of your mouth and cups your chin. "What do you think, flower?" He asks. "Do you think he could be right?"
It does make sense. After all, Steve's right - the alarm was loudest when he was finishing in you. And it does feel good for your professor, renowned quantum physicist, to be asking for your opinion. "I think he's right," You tell him.
"You do?" Bucky pushes, stroking your cheek. "So, you think I should cum inside your pussy, too? Right after Professor Rogers just did?"
"I do," You answer, keeping your eyes locked on his. "I really do, Professor Barnes."
"Alright. Okay, flower, if you think that's best," Bucky says innocently.
Steve moves to the side and Bucky flips you over so you're lying on your back. He then nestles himself between your spread legs and returns his cock to your pussy, which is currently oozing with Steve's cum.
With a shaky breath, Bucky uses the tip of his cock to scoop up as much of Steve's cum as he can and pushes it back into you. He repeats this a couple more times until the excess cum is back in your pussy, and then Bucky plunges his cock into you. There's a constant chorus of dings coming from the lab, proving that this is the right thing to do.
"Go for it, Buck," Steve mutters. "For science."
Bucky nods and repeats, "For science."
They both give you expectant looks and you quickly nod and echo, "For science."
Wasting no time, Bucky starts thrusting, fucking in and out of you. His head falls forward, resting in your neck as he fucks you.
"That's it, you're taking him so well," Steve says as he watches. "Just a little longer, now. You're being so good."
"I'm so close," Bucky groans into your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. "Gonna fill this tight pussy with my cum. Are you ready for it, flower?"
"Yes," You cry out, just as Steve brings his fingers to your swollen clit and starts rubbing it. The dings get louder.
With a roar, Bucky erupts, thrusting faster and harder than ever as his cum spills into you. Steve rubs your clit harder, triggering your own orgasm as you shake beneath Bucky, your eyes rolling back. Ding. Ding. Ding.
Bucky continues thrusting weakly, making you convulse and whimper. "Such a good girl for us," He whispers, lifting his head up and looking down at you as he fucks in and out of you, slow and gentle. "We are so proud of you, flower. You have been incredible tonight."
"That's right. We couldn't have done this without you," Steve says, stroking your cheek. "And by the sounds of it, it was a successful experiment, so well done. You helped to make that happen."
You nod with a smile, basking in the glory of their praise. "Thank you, Professors, for giving me this opportunity," You say, expecting Bucky to pull out but not saying anything when he remains inside you. "It's truly such an hon- honor to work with you both. I- this experience has been phenomenal."
"And you've been amazing," Bucky says with his dick sitting inside you, even though he's talking as though nothing untoward is happening at all. "I'm so glad you accepted our invitation. We knew you were going to be a stand-out on your first day. I couldn't be prouder."
"Shit. We should've documented this," Steve says as he shakes his head. "How are we going to remember exactly what we did to make the experiment successful?"
You don't think you'll ever forget.
"Damn it. We fucked up," Bucky groans, rubbing his face.
"Is there any way at all we could... somehow get the full step-by-step of what we did?" Steve wonders out loud.
They both look at you, waiting for you to suggest something.
"Um... well, if we had filmed it, that could've worked," You suggest. "But we didn't, so..."
"So what you're saying is, we're going to have to do this all over again and make sure to film it this time?" Steve asks you, making your eyes widen.
"No, that's not what I-"
"That's our only option," Bucky cuts in, giving you a grave look. "To make sure we can perfectly replicate this, we have to do it again and film it, so we know the exact conditions needed."
"No. Look at her, Bucky, we've put her through enough," Steve says as he wipes at the residue of Bucky's cum on your cheek. "We can't do this to her again."
Bucky sighs. "You're right. We'll just have to... go back to square one and figure out another way to make this work," He says, his tone heavy with dejection. "It might take years, but we have to keep trying."
"No," You cut in, unable to disappoint them after making them so proud. "We can do it again. I can take it."
"Are you sure?" Steve asks you, concern in his eyes.
"100%," You reply instantly. They had enough hope on you to bring you on this trip over all their other students, so you need to prove your worth.
"You're sure you can take it, flower?" Bucky asks softly. "You can handle Professor Rogers and I taking turns fucking you, hard, and fucking your face, and both of us cumming inside you again with no condoms? On camera?"
"Yes," You assure him, determined to be someone they're proud of. "Whatever it takes to help you with this research, I'll do it. I'll do anything for you, Professor. I'll do anything for science."
You suck in a sharp breath when you feel his cock harden inside you again.
"You're too good to us, honey," Steve says, unable to stop the smirk from pulling at his lips. "Together, we're going to do some incredible things."
"Incredible," Bucky repeats with a grin. "And all in the name of science, of course."
"Of course," Steve adds, his thumb rubbing your swollen bottom lip. "All for science."
happy october 🎃 got a few spoooooky fics planned and im gonna try my hardest to get them all out this month <3 it's my bday month and work is crazy rn but i'll do my best x
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bucky grunts as he practically carries his wife through the front door and into their shared bedroom. after he lays her down on the bed, he makes his way out the door again.
he makes his way towards you.
he doesn't knock. not anymore. not with how close the two of you have gotten. you still whine when he catches you half-dressed, embarrassment written all over your face when you pull the fabric over your body. you'll bitch at him asking for a little privacy and he would just laugh.
privacy? under his roof? don't be absurd.
now, he twists your doorknob and pushes the door to your room in, letting the hallway light spill into your dark room.
and there you are. sleeping so sweetly on your bed, hands tucked under your cheek as you snuggle deeper into your pillow. bucky feels his cock stir in his pants, an instinctual reaction trained within him at the sight of you.
moonlight leaks through the window and brightens the features on your face. the way your lashes brush against your cheeks. the slope of your nose. the shape of your lips—
fuck, bucky's cock twitches again with need. he can't wait to push his length between those plump lips, watch you take him in greedily. he wants to watch tears roll down your face as you choke on him.
he closes the door behind him and sits on the edge of your bed. his fingers reach out to brush the hair away from your face.
pretty girl. he really did such a good job with you — raising you, training you. now he has his little girl all to himself.
bucky shifts his attention down to where your t-shirt has ridden up, giving him a glimpse of those pretty white lace panties that sit so nicely on your hips. he can practically see the shape of your folds with how the fabric digs into your slit.
he pushes the fabric up higher to reveal your perfect tits, his hand reaching out to grope them slowly. gentle enough that he doesn't wake you, but firm enough that your sleep-addled face crinkles in confusion.
leaning down, he mouths at your nipple, rolling it between his teeth, circling it with his tongue. you squirm underneath him, your hands flying up to defend yourself but bucky moves faster, his hands pinning your wrists down to the bed.
when he pulls away, there's a string of saliva that connects him to you. he smiles at how your tits now glisten underneath the cool light.
then he moves down, settling on his front between your legs where he spreads them open. he nuzzles his face into your clothed cunt, breathing in that delectable scent that he's grown addicted to. his daughter really does have the sweetest pussy.
his tongue drags up over the lace and your legs instinctively clamp down around his face. it's cute how you still try to resist him even in your sleep.
but bucky has always been stronger and bigger than you, so he easily pries your legs open again and flattens his tongue along the cloth. a shiver wracks through you as a moan slips out.
his lips curl into a smile. even in sleep, you can't deny how much you want this. how much you want him.
he drags the gusset of your panties off to the side and begins eagerly licking your sweet pussy. you're dripping nectar onto his tongue, wriggling on the bed like you're trying to push your pussy onto his face. his tongue slides into your cunt as his thumb finds the sensitive bundle of your clit.
his eyes are trained on you, the scrunch of your face, the parting of your lips. you look so pretty taking his tongue like this.
when bucky eases a finger in, your cunt clenching down around him with a vice grip, you finally let out a gasp as your eyes flutter open. you're still in a daze, half awake as you see the shadowed figure between your legs.
bucky sees you panic for a moment before your shoulders slump.
"dad! what are you doing in here?" you whisper, brows puckering into a frown.
"i had to get my dessert, sweet girl."
your throat moves as you swallow, guilt wiring itself across your features. "it's valentine's day. mom is—"
"mom is asleep, don't worry," he coos as he curls a finger inside you, dragging a whine from your chest. "i gave her so much wine at dinner. she had nothing to complain about. she's out like the light."
you bite down on your bottom lip as your eyes trace his face. how his stubble gleams in the subtle lighting with your juices, how he licks his lips to taste you on his mouth.
"did you miss me?"
"no," you answer a little too quickly.
the corners of his lips tug up into a smirk. "were you jealous i didn't take you out for valentine's day instead?"
"no," you say swiftly again, but the slight pout on your lips says otherwise.
bucky sidles up next to you, keeping a finger buried in your cunt as he pushes another one in. your eyes widen, mouth opening in a choked gasp.
"i'm here with you, aren't i, sweetheart? i can't let my baby girl feel neglected. what can i do to make it up to you?"
"i wasn't jealous!" you try to deny again. "why would i be jealous? she's your— she's your wife."
he bumps his nose against your cheek, nudging your head to the side as his lips cling onto your neck. he suckles on the delicate skin slowly, hoping this ache would leave a print that'll remind you who you belong to. who he belongs to.
"and you're my daughter, my favorite girl."
your eyes flutter, softening just a tad with his words.
"i'm not spending tonight with her. i'm all yours tonight, sweetheart. isn't that what you want?"
your lips purse in resistance again as you shift your gaze away in a non-answer. bucky pushes his fingers a little deeper to pull your eyes back to him, your pupils dilating when you see the hunger in his eyes.
he's been waiting for this all night. sitting across his wife, listening to her talk about his day. while he loves her dearly, all he could think about was you. you with your legs spread, you with those gorgeous moans spilling from your lips. you with how easily you melt and cave into his touch. months of touching you to be the perfect little girl for him.
"hm? answer me."
"yes," you whimper, your fingers finally finding the collar of his shirt to drag him forward again. "want you."
"want who?"
bucky watches as you gulp again. "want you, dad," you whisper.
his cock is straining against the seams of his pants, demanding to be freed. he pulls his fingers out of you, sticking them into his mouth to taste you again.
"that's my good girl. tell me how much you want your old man. how much you want your dad to touch you."
"dad, that's so embarrassing," you huff, heat sinking into your cheeks.
"come on, be good for me. tell me you want me. tell me what you want from me."
you're still being stubborn. it's bucky's fault really that he's spoiled you so much — or perhaps not enough that you can't even ask for what you want. he reaches up and grazes his thumb along you bottom lip, watches that ice chip away from your gaze.
"be my good girl. come on."
with only another heartbeat of hesitation, you finally say quietly, "i want you, dad."
"what do you want from me?"
your cheeks warm again. "i want you to fuck me."
bucky has never felt luckier. he positions himself above you, frees his cock from his pants as he pushes your legs back as he folds into you. your ankles hover above your head as bucky teases his cock at your entrance.
"my sweet girl. raised you so well, sweetheart. raised you to be the perfect pussy for me."
a surprised sound falls from your lips with his words. your legs threatening to close again.
bucky pushes in, slowly at first to test how wet you are, only to sink himself down to the hilt. "so fuckin' wet for me, sweetheart. have you been thinking about this all night? thinking about your dad using your cunt like this?"
you moan as you feel him stretch you out, pussy tightening in a vice grip around him, while at the same time desperately sucking him in.
"i couldn't stop picturing what it would be like to take you out for dinner instead. you and me. kiss you across that dinner table. take you to the bathroom and fill up this pussy. i want my cum dripping down your legs when you walk back to the table. i want everyone in that room to know how fucking good i fuck you."
"dad, oh god, please—"
"just like that. want you to call me dad too," he grins as he thrusts in and out of you. his cock leaves a delicious burn between your legs, your stomach flips as he presses down deeper against you. "i want everyone to know that your dad takes real good care of you. probably show you more love than a dad should."
bucky feels you squeeze around him again, the heat that engulfs his cock — now slick with your juices — is mind-numbingly good. he can't get enough of your pussy. he loves how good his daughter's cunt feels around his cock.
the thought of him once again fucking his own daughter has him plunging in particularly hard and fast, yanking a loud yelp from your chest.
your hands immediately rise to cover your lips, but bucky grabs them, pins them down next to your head as he continues rutting his hips against you.
"no, dad, i can't— i can't be quiet."
oh, he knows. he adores how loud you are. he loves hearing your moans bounce off the walls of this house when he fucks you stupid until you're crying around his cock. begging him dad, dad, please let me cum.
"you can be as loud as you want, sweetheart. your mom won't wake up."
"you don't know that," you hiss but another moan wrenches from your throat, surely loud enough to carry through the walls.
you press your lips shut as if the act itself would stop you from making any noise, but bucky's determined. he fucks into you harder and faster, driving into your cunt until he can feel his tip touch the deepest parts of you.
"gave her enough wine, sweetheart. made sure she won't wake up. i needed to fuck my daughter properly, i can't have her mom interrupting."
his words draw out another moan from your lips.
"give it to me, baby. let me know how good i make you feel. let me know how good my dad cock feels inside your tight cunt."
and you're nothing if not obedient. whines and whimpers slip past your lips as bucky slows down his pace, deliberately dragging out that desperate hunger within you. you try to close your legs, tighten your pussy to keep him inside.
but your dad knows exactly how to make you suffer.
"dad, fuck, please. you're being mean."
"mean? when i'm giving it to you so good?" he barks out a laugh. "how am i mean when i've got you leaking all over my cock?"
"you're dragging this out! and after— after today!"
"today?" he hums with feigned innocence. "were you jealous that i spent today with your mom instead of you? i already told you. you're my favorite girl. dad loves your pussy the most, baby. that's why i'm here fucking you," he folds you tighter to press his lips against yours, "fucking you and not my wife."
you curse again as bucky begins to fuck into you more earnestly. he drinks in every moan, every pleasured groan that bubbles up your throat.
"please, please," you beg into the air, fighting against his strong grip around your wrists. "please."
he knows exactly what you're asking for. it's the same plea he loves to hear you say out loud. the kind of begging that has his balls tightening up as he fills your sweet pussy.
"please what?"
"you know what!" you cry out.
such a brat. his mouth curls into a smirk. "i need your words, baby. can you use your words for me?"
any other time, his patronizing tone would send you running. but when you're underneath him like this, when your orgasm is in his hands, you have no choice but to comply.
bucky observes as your eyes soften, melting into a desperate look that tugs at his heartstrings. his baby girl soft and needy underneath him.
"dad, please, can i cum?"
he nearly cums inside you then and there. but he holds himself back. instead, he begins to fuck into you harder and faster, going at a pace that he knows you like when you're this close. your eyes roll to the back of your head as gasps choke out your lungs.
"my girl. my favorite girl. tell me you want my cum."
"i-i want your cum please."
"call me dad. come on. say it."
"d-dad, please. i want your cum. i want you to cum inside me."
and bucky knows how to get you and him across that line. he lets the filthy words fall from his mouth.
"that's right, sweetheart. i've got you in this mating press already, i'm gonna cum in you. gonna fill you up. i'm gonna make sure it sticks. gonna breed you so good, honey."
"fuck, look at you crying around your dad's cock like this. better hope your mom doesn't wake up. she'll see her husband creaming in her daughter."
"but you'd love that. you want me all to yourself. you want me to knock you up so i can keep you here forever. you want that, don't you? you want dad's babies?"
you're babbling incoherently at this point, brain turned to mush with your sole focus being how fucking good your dad's cock feels inside you.
with your final cry of yes, you cum around him. your pussy tightens and squeezes around his cock. the friction is almost painful at that point but bucky soon spills inside you, painting your insides with a white to purify his sins.
his hips stutter with the movements. the pain and desire he's been holding onto all night finally released inside you.
inside his perfect little girl and her perfect little pussy.
your chest rises with truncated breaths as you look up at him, eyes shining.
he smiles down at you as he feels his cum trickle out of you. "happy valentine's day, baby."
a/n: i think it's my first time writing more so from bucky's perspective. this was fun. all the sick mechanisms in his mind. happy valentine's day all! this was a quick treat i wrote up between requests.
if you enjoyed this, please like/reblog/comment. kisses!
— divider by @/pixopix
𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚛'𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎: welcome to the abyss, please enjoy.
𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: INCEST, this dove is extremely dead, noncon, dubcon, manipulating, gaslighting, stockholm syndrome, drugging, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex
15.8k | summary |
there'd always been something a little off about your uncle. you didn't know just how off until the year your parents hosted christmas. but it didn't stop there.
You had never taken it upon yourself to get to know your uncle well.
James, or as everyone called him, Bucky, had always been sort of strange, or at least that was the feeling you were left with every time you encountered him. He was all at once shy and loud, huddling in corners or sitting quietly at the dinner table, and then suddenly sharing an anecdote and being the only one who found it funny. You got the impression that nobody cared to be the one stuck beside him at family events. He just didn't seem to get the social cues that the rest of you had learned to navigate.
He laughed too hard at things you said that weren't meant to be jokes. Sometimes, you'd feel like you were being watched, that pinprick of awareness, and he would be openly staring at you, his eyes not flickering away with the shame of being caught gawking. Once when he'd stayed over for a few weeks in the summer, you'd woken up and found that he was just standing in your doorway. His company was off-putting, to say the least, though no one had mentioned it, at least not to you. It was just a privately known fact.
You remembered Thanksgiving a few weeks ago. You hadn't been listening to him when he talked, because he was at the other end of the table. You'd been more focused on your cousins trying to snatch food from your plate. But every time he finished saying something, he would call your name and say, "You agree, don't you?" and you would furrow your brow and nod, though you had no idea what you were supposedly agreeing with or to.
There was a family photo you had taken last year, all of you clustered together around your grandmother's tartan couch. No one had noticed immediately, not when observing to just make sure that everyone's eyes were open and no one was sneezing or yawning, but your uncle had definitely been leering at you. Looking at you with a secret smile, his head tilted just so, rather than looking directly into the camera like everyone else.
Every time you got tagged in something on social media, he would be in the comments, leaving messages like, "My niece grew up to be such a gorgeous young lady!" or, "She's my favourite! What a darling girl!"
Maybe your uncle, a man who had been single ever since you could remember, was just one of those guys. He couldn't speak or interact with the fairer sex without giving off a particular vibe, even when it came to family. There was just something about him that missed the mark of charming completely, and landed somewhere further afield. He was family, so you would never outwardly say there was something wrong with him, but you couldn't exactly say that there was something right, either.
Your parents wanted to be the ones to host Christmas and New Year's this time around. It was a rotating responsibility, and this time it had fallen on your immediate family's shoulders. You were home from college for a few weeks, and with no siblings to share the burden with and an extra room at the house, Bucky was to be staying with you and helping out.
You'd had to be the one to pick him up at the airport, your parents still working right up until the holidays started. It was your beat up old Suburban, a car you'd had since you were seventeen, but he'd insisted on driving back because you'd "come all this way just for me!"
He'd hugged you at the airport, before you'd ushered him back to the parking lot. You hadn't intended on the gesture, but suddenly he'd been in your space, and your arms had been stuck limply at your sides. The hinge of his Tortoiseshell glasses had scraped the side of your temple as he'd brought his face close to yours. Though you'd gone rigid at the proximity, you'd noticed he smelled good, at least, something earthy and rugged, though looking at him, you didn't get the impression that he went on fishing trips or cut firewood as much as some of your other uncles did. At least, he didn't go on any of their yearly excursions.
You'd done your best to forget the awkwardness of the interaction once you'd made it to the car, but that memory had been almost immediately replaced by a more uncomfortable one, his hand finding your knee as he drove. It was weird—there was no other way to explain it. But he'd looked over and smiled during the first red light, murmuring, "I'm so glad to be spending the holidays with you, sweetie."
"You mean our whole family, right…?"
He didn't answer your quiet inquiry, but you knew he'd heard you because he'd still been wearing a faint half-smile on his face as he'd turned back to the road ahead.
Your uncle was staying in the room next to yours. Your mother had considered turning it into a crafting room, but she'd never gotten around to it. Your own room was still sort of childish, since no redecorating had taken place and probably wouldn't until you moved out for good. Your bed still had frilly, lace bed skirts. Your coverlet and pillows were a patchwork of florals, your curtains gauzy and light.
The bathroom across the hall was all yours, unless there were guests. You hated that fact. You were used to not having to share, and suddenly having to double check that the door was locked or that you weren't about to barge in was one of the cons of having a tight-knit family.
The morning after your uncle had arrived, you'd all had a hasty breakfast together, him, you, and your parents, before they sped off to work. He'd announced that he'd be taking a shower, but you hadn't heard the water in a while, no shudder of the pipes or whisper of the overhead fan. It must be unoccupied by now, right?
When you twisted the handle, to confirm your suspicion that the room was empty… or so you thought. Upon opening the door, your uncle was just standing there with a towel wrapped around his waist. His glasses sat on the sink's counter top, the lenses fogged with steam. The silver in his hair was muted by its dampness. You'd never noticed before, how blue his eyes were, obscured as they were by his glasses. And you'd certainly never known that he wasn't as lanky as you'd previously assumed. His bare, muscled abdomen was highlighted by the stray droplets of water trailing from his shoulders. "Oh, my god! I'm so sorry!" You said, backing out meekly and darting to your room, closing the door behind you and leaning heavily against it.
You felt embarrassed, plain and simple. You'd always been very careful to not walk in on anyone. It was mortifying on both sides. But he hadn't said a word at your apology. He hadn't even blinked an eye. He'd just smiled at you, that strange, private smile that seemed to have become one held in reserve for you and you alone.
You stayed in your room for the rest of the day, unnerved.
Your parents still had some last minute shopping to do. Your other relatives were supposed to be flying in, and since they were going to be out and about already, your parents would be picking them up as they arrived. You cursed the fact that you'd done all of your own shopping weeks ago.
That morning at the breakfast table, it had been mostly quiet aside from the scraping of forks and clink of glasses and cups. Your mother had been absorbed in her phone, your father reading through news articles on his tablet. Only you had heard your uncle say, "Looks like it's just you and me today, huh?"
You hadn't replied.
When your parents left in a flurry of mittens and coats and hats, you were unsure as to what you should do. You couldn't just up and leave, not really. That was rude, and you'd already done it yesterday. There was also nowhere for you to go. A storm would be rolling in at some point, and none of your friends lived close by. Lingering in the foyer with him was awkward, the both of you having been there to usher your parents out the door. He looked at you curiously. "What are your plans for the rest of the day?"
Begrudgingly, you mentioned that you still had gifts to wrap, and the offer of help wasn't one you could refuse without making it obvious that you wanted to be away from him. Every time he passed you the tape, his hand kept lingering on yours, your fingertips brushing. He kept getting in your space when it wasn't strictly necessary. At one point, you thought he'd done it to sniff your hair or something equally insane, but why would he do that? Sure, he was a little bit creepy, but he wasn't that kind of creepy… right?
You spent much of the time after that arranging things under the tree and cleaning, trying to make sure the house was up to your mother's standards. You knew she'd be too tired to straighten up when she returned later. Your thoughts were interrupted, a tea towel half folded in your hands, by your uncle's voice. "Hey, do you want some hot chocolate? It just started snowing. It'll be so festive!"
You were glad you weren't facing him—you couldn't stop the quirk of your brow and the incredulous expression you wore. He sounded so… excited. Childishly so, the statement having ended with a peculiar little guffaw. But, what was the harm in saying yes to something as simple as some cocoa?
It turned out that he didn't appear to make it very often. The powder was still grainy, lingering at the bottom of your cup and coating your tongue, but the whipped cream and marshmallows made up for it, you supposed. You'd both stood by the big window at the front of the house and watched the driveway slowly get covered with snowflakes as the street lights came on. It was perhaps the most normal occurrence you'd ever had with him.
Something about the warmth from your drink, the lights of the Christmas tree, and the soft build up of snow had your eyelids drooping, sleepiness taking hold. It was late afternoon, the sun gone and the world outside taking on hues of blue. A hand rubbed at your back, a comfort. "Do you want to go and take a nap? You look like you're going to drop at any minute, sweetie."
With a tired nod, you agreed, your feet dragging as you handed him your empty mug and moved down the hall to your room. You all but face planted into the pillow. You didn't even remember the seconds between wakefulness and rest.
You were in dreamland, you were certain.
The lights were dim in your room, the faintest of holiday glows. It was snowing outside, you briefly remembered. Everything seemed quiet and suspended, like you were living in your own little snowglobe. You felt incredibly warm, as if you'd sunk into a bath or buried yourself in furs.
You didn't remember taking your jeans off. You would have thought you'd be shivering without your flannel pajama pants on, the ones with polar bears all over them. Your comforter wasn't that thick—it was one of those all-year ones, and you usually had to grab a couple of spare blankets from the hall closet. But you were about a degree away from feeling like you were burning up. For the moment, you still settled in the territory of pleasantly warm, caught between just right and too hot. You honestly felt a little floaty. You settled deeper into the mattress.
Your brain felt like it was walking uphill in a storm, struggling to clear a path into rational thought. Maybe you shouldn't fight the sleepiness that still clung to you. Your consciousness shuffled around a moment longer, before something, some sort of recognition, clicked into place. You were warm, yes, but the heat was concentrated on your back. It felt like you were laying against a radiator.
Oh. There was a body behind yours. There were arms around your waist. You could feel breath on the back of your neck, soft moans in your ear. You frowned, puzzled. You didn't have a boyfriend that could have snuck in for a sweet snuggle. So who was in your bed?
Who was rutting up against you like that?
Why was it making you feel so lightheaded, all these sensations warring with your mind's want to sleep?
You were muddled, your mind a swirling current, each thought a silver fish darting out of your grasp. If you couldn't feel the softness of your sheets, your pillow, you might have thought you were at sea, the gentle rock of the bed much like the low, rolling waves of the water.
You didn't have the wherewithal to go stiff, your body still loose and relaxed. Something was off, but you couldn't summon the fear; it wouldn't, or couldn't come to you. "So perfect. Little angel. Always knew you were special. Just for me."
The words were groaned against your neck, and with the faintest hint of startled surprise, you realized who it was.
You tried to turn around, mumbling, "What are you—" but a hand snaked it's way up your body and clamped loosely over your mouth, stifling the question.
"Shhh. Shhh, angel. It's okay, it's just me. Don't worry. I was having such a good time with you earlier, I didn't want it to end. Let's just stay like this, okay?"
But what did 'stay like this' mean, exactly?
Oh.
It meant that you knew what had happened to your jeans. They'd been tugged off of you while you'd slept, and your panties were now hooked to the side. Your uncle was rubbing his cock against your folds and bumping against your clit every time he moved.
You knew that you should be fighting him off, using every ounce of strength you still had to get away. He was you uncle, for God's sake. The one that would send you birthday cards with fifty dollars in them. The one that always made your dad give you the phone when he called, so that he could say hello and ask how you were. But now he was making your toes curl involuntarily, and he was pressing kisses to your shoulder, and his hand was still over your mouth, the skin of his palm hot, a burning touch.
"It's good for you, yeah? Just want to spend time with you. Want us to have a nice day together. This is nice, right? Tell me you like it." He had been rambling, but now he moved his hand away from your mouth to wait for the words he wanted to hear.
You couldn't speak. You were too stunned and caught between the wrongness of it all, coupled with the bizarre rightness of the feeling.
"Hey." His voice was sharp all of a sudden. His hand moved to your throat, pressing hard, feeling you swallow. "Tell me you like it."
It was a demand. He sounded scary. But he also sounded desperate.
"Y-yeah. It's nice…" The words were slurred, but you felt him smile against your skin.
"I knew you were special. I knew we had a connection, you and me."
All you heard for a few long seconds was his laboured breathing, and then your own, the air rushing back to you in a dizzying rush as he stopped gripping your throat so tightly. "You'll give me a little more, won't you? You'll let me in. Come on, I've always been kind to you. Give me a little something back?"
What does that even mean, you thought. You were just trying to deny what you already knew. He was still squeezing your throat, a tiny bit, but you didn't think it was on purpose. It was a reflex—he was excited. He couldn't help it, you didn't think. He might just cum on the spot.
Your silence was frustrating. His other hand was tight on your hip. "Tell me. Say yes. I don't want to be angry with you. I don't want to tell your parents you've done something bad. Let me."
And so you found yourself nodding. His switch between pleading, almost sweet, and controlling, bitter, was too much for you to process. You panties were so wet that they felt sticky.
It was just the tip at first. You thought that he'd intended for it to stay that way. But it made you gasp, and the way you'd clenched had him groaning into the back of your neck. He mumbled something you thought translated to, "I can't help it," and before you knew it, he was all the way in.
You didn't even register it happening, your reaction delayed by a few slow seconds. You sucked in a sharp breath. Oh. How was it possible to feel so full? He was squeezing at your throat again and muttering into your hair.
You only got a small warning, a graze of teeth against your skin, before he was biting at the side of your neck. He wasn't even moving all that much, like he couldn't decide if he wanted to pin you down and go at you relentlessly, or to keep it shallow, just to focus on the way your body was responding. "I knew you liked me, honey. You always acted like you didn't, playing hard to get. But you liked me the whole time, didn't you? Bet you used to dream about this."
He was wrong. You definitely never had. Ever. But he sounded delighted, like it was some great revelation, his voice all breathy as he stroked his hand up and down your hip. He'd created a whole narrative in his head, mistaking your politeness for interest.
When you came, you were shocked.
Maybe you were more turned on than you'd ever felt in your life… But that was surely just biology, no? You were getting fucked; this was just your body responding. That was all. You were also half-loopy, still fighting for full consciousness. But he was nuzzling against your neck and sucking hickeys into your skin. "My little angel. There you go." He was cooing in your ear. He sounded so proud of you for understanding just how much you needed this. "You love me, don't you? If you love me, you'll let me cum inside. That's what people do when they love each other. Tell me you love me, sweet girl. I wanna hear you say it."
You were coming down from the high, still sluggish, still slow on the uptake. Too slow for his liking. He was getting a little mean, a little more desperate, with every second that passed. He was groping at your chest, pinning you closer to him. Grinding into you like an animal, and you began to register the sensitivity you felt. "Say it." He practically spat the words at you. "Say it!"
"I, um, oh—"
The second orgasm hit in a wave, and you felt distinctly that he was angry about this. It was his turn now. Not yours. Why were you being so greedy when he was trying to make love to you? He'd been so chivalrous. "Say it."
"I love you." You managed to gasp the words out.
You couldn't tell if you meant them or not. Family said that sort of thing automatically, didn't they? But he sighed as soon as he heard it, like it had triggered him to cum on command. He was suddenly filling you up even though you already felt too full for words.
He didn't leave your body even after he'd emptied himself out inside you. He stayed there. He was panting and scattering wet, messy kisses against your neck, your jaw, your shoulder. "I knew you loved me. I knew you did. I love you too, princess. My perfect girl. You can rest now, go to sleep. I'm gonna stay right here and keep you safe from any nightmares."
You couldn't decidedly say whether you wanted him to stay or not, but he kept talking. "Remember when you were little and I put stars up on the ceiling for you to keep the bad dreams away? You don't need those anymore. You have me."
Oh, no…
You'd just let a devil in through the gate, it seemed, signed on the dotted line to get out of a bind, not realizing you'd just sold your soul.
"No one else will understand our love, sweetpea, so we've gotta keep it between us, okay? You don't tell anyone. Our love is special. It's just for us."
The words sent a shiver down your spine. His voice was so soft and gentle, but his grip on you was utterly possessive. He was holding you so tightly that you felt claustrophobic. "Next time we make love, you're gonna face me so that I can see it in your eyes. Doesn't that sound nice?" He nipped at your earlobe. "It sure does." He answered his own question.
He didn't notice that you hadn't said a word. "And one day, you'll come and live with me. And we won't have to hide anymore."
Between Christmas and New Year's, your uncle was trying his best to be nonchalant after that day you'd shared together.
He'd had to lie through his teeth when your parents had come home and asked where you were. "She's just taking a nap. I'm sure she's fine," he'd said.
But all through that week, he couldn't stop looking at you in complete adoration. Every time you made eye contact, you were quick to look away, because God, what the hell had you done that day? You were disgusted with yourself.
And he was so… careful. His hand on the back of your chair, but only when no one was looking. His palm would slide up to the back of your neck, or he'd tug at the ends of your hair. He kept making you snacks and drinks, though now you felt wary and distrusting after what had definitely been a sleeping pill or two crushed into your hot chocolate. But he kept doing it in a way that would bring you closer to him. You'd have to go over to his side to take the glass, or bowl, or plate. He wouldn't just drop it on the side table for you. You'd have to come and take it from him.
You were beginning to learn that he liked the little bits of control. In fact, he ate it up like candy.
He'd left you alone otherwise. There had been no going into your room, no sitting too close.
Except for once, when you had been in the kitchen. Everyone from your parents and cousins, to aunts and uncles were in the living room. It had been a Christmas movie marathon. You'd been alone, getting the last couple bowls of popcorn ready, when you flinched, hearing his voice say, "She probably needs some help! Not enough hands!" along with a laugh, called over his shoulder to the rest of your relatives.
You didn't even have time to brace yourself before your hips were digging into the edge of the counter, because he'd boxed you in, hands on either side of you on the marble, breath hot on your neck. You could feel him against your ass. His teeth scraped against the shell of your ear. '"I like this game we're playing, where you pretend to be disgusted with me. I know you're just trying to hide how much you wish we could be together. We can't let them know, honey. They don't get it. They won't get it. Gotta be real careful with you. You're so precious."
You were frozen stiff. You didn't turn around, because you were scared to see the look in his eyes, probably half-wild. You heard movement in the hall. "Hey, hey," he crooned, a hand running over your ribs. "It's okay. No one's comin' in. Don't be nervous, it's just me."
But you were nervous. Why the hell wouldn't you be? He was too close to explain it away as innocence, should someone enter the room. Somebody called his name, then yours, and he pressed a kiss to the spot where your shoulder and neck met before stepping away, grabbing the popcorn bowls. "We got it, comin'!"
And then you were alone in the kitchen again, but his voice was still echoing in your ears.
You were on edge the entire night. That was good, he thought. He wanted you to feel anticipation. He wanted to wind you up. He wanted you overloaded with want. He wanted you needy, wanted you to cling to him next time, to cry and hold him close and tell him that you loved him, and to mean it.
Meanwhile, you had been unable to sleep, after everyone started to drop off for the evening. You were worried he'd come to your room, invite himself in.
He didn't.
You looked like hell in the morning. He was playing mind games with you, you knew that. But you couldn't say anything because someone else was always there. The blessing and the curse of family, you supposed. What would you even say, anyway? That he was wrong? Crazy? Well, he was crazy, that was for sure. You'd never given any indication that you felt anything for him in that particular way. He was family. But he was crazy enough to think that you were just being coy, not honest.
You couldn't even shower without wincing every time you heard noise in the hallway. You were scared he'd open the door, scared he'd come through the curtain and you'd have to face him, just like he said. And you'd be fully aware, no sleeping pills in sight. You turned the water on hotter, used the pain of the heat to ignore the ache in your belly. It was your fear, the bitter tang of it, not anything else, surely... Right? Bringing up the memory of that night was traumatic. Not... not a Polaroid of a moment that made you feel damp. Water was the only wetness you should have been feeling. That was all, right?
When the New Year's party came around, you thought that maybe he was all talk. That he'd used up all his nerve by drugging you, and then the pseudo threat in the kitchen. In fact, the whole night he seemed borderline disinterested. He only passed by you once, a hand on the small of your back as he squeezed between you and the wall, but the touch was more perfunctory than lecherous. He was intent on getting to the table with the drinks and platters all laid out. Half of your family was gathered around the TV, watching the New Year's show, waiting for the ball drop. The others were in the basement, karaoke and games galore down there. And you felt like you could finally breathe.
Well, that was your first mistake.
Bucky was quietly fuming because he knew he couldn't kiss you at midnight. He couldn't even try to get away with it, because your family was not one that did overt affection. He couldn't pretend to explain it away. But he'd noticed that your guard had dropped. Maybe you would even leave your desk chair where it was supposed to be, tucked in front of your computer, instead of up under the doorknob.
Yes, he knew about that little trick. He arranged his features into a pleasant smile as he talked with your cousins, acting like he was interested in their little stories. But his eyes would always find your frame, your quiet anxiety slowly leaving you as the night wore on. And that only meant that he'd be able to get what he wanted, soon. He just couldn't bear to hold himself back for much longer.
Midnight was announced with silver streamers and gold confetti popped from little crackers. The younger kids had all cheered, high on sugar and excitement, while everyone over the age of eighteen celebrated with a chorus of, "Cheers!" and "Happy New Year!", with smiles and hugs shared.
Some of your relatives made the tired walk to their cars, parked in the driveway and out on the street, while others made their way down to the basement, where cots and sleeping bags had been set up. You streaked off to your room quickly and quietly, scrubbing your makeup away with a wipe and changing into your pajamas. You weren't ready to go to sleep, not yet, but you were ready to relax, alone, for a while. Maybe you'd catch up on social media until you fell asleep holding your phone. It sounded like a fine idea.
Your bedside lamp and the glow of stars stuck to your ceiling were the only illumination, other than your phone's screen. You busied yourself with liking friends' pictures and wishing a good year to anyone you could remember to contact. You were half propped up on your pillows, enjoying the solitude, listening to the faint voices of your extended family as the living room continued to empty.
You forgot about the lingering threat, the one that was supposed to be sleeping in the room next to yours.
You were reminded when the radiance of the hallway light momentarily blinded you, an outline standing in your now open doorway. All at once, you sat up, your phone falling away when you should have gripped it more tightly, threatened to record him if he didn't go away. You uncle closed the door behind him with the softest of clicks. Your eyes adjusted; he was already unbuttoning his green plaid shirt, and the pattern looked more garish to you than it had surrounded by the rest of your family. "You look so cute, waiting here for me. I knew you wanted me to come in. I could tell by the look you gave me before you left."
What look? You hadn't given him any sort of wanting gaze, not sultry tilt of your head, of that you were sure. You hadn't even glanced in his direction, too afraid to chance it, to catch him already staring at you. "I—I didn't—"
The plaid slid from his shoulders, and then he yanked the white t-shirt that had been underneath off, too, his glasses a soft clatter on your nightstand.
"Stop," you found your voice, though your body still cowered, paralyzed with fear, "Please—please stop. You don't have to do this."
You wondered if he had any mercy in him, or if there had ever been any at all. Maybe he'd been born without it. "Baby, I want to learn what you like the best. Why would I stop?" The words were a gentle hush, wild grass ruffled by a strong breeze.
Panic rattled through you, threatening to shake your bones. You scrambled upright as he got closer, your palms pushing down flat against the mattress, your shoulders knocking into the headboard. The feeling was a heavy weight in your gut, an anvil, crushingly heavy. But there was something else—you noticed it, the barest whisper in the back of your head. His eyes tracked the movement of your tongue swiping across your lips. Panic, your heartbeat as fast as a rabbit's, yes. But the other thing… was it? It couldn't be… anticipation?
It was gone almost as quickly as you'd realized it, like a winking star in the night sky. You pressed yourself against the headboard as if you could melt into it, through to the wall, and safety beyond. The mattress dipped under Bucky's knees as he crawled over you, bracketing your legs. It was a tactic to pin you, and it was successful. As your eyes darted left and right, seeking an escape route, they flashed once down his form, like someone else had taken control of your sight. Taut muscle, tanned skin. His belt buckle was shaped like a star. Would it leave a mark on your thigh? Would it be forgotten under your bed, collected when the sun rose over a fresh, new year?
His hands slid over your shoulders, resting for a minute. They felt heavy, heavier than they should. It felt like he was going to push and push until your head was underwater, until you'd drown, bubbles escaping your mouth in place of screams. One of his hands moved up, cradling the side of your neck. The heat was blistering. "You did so good for me the last time, darling girl. I know you're gonna be that way again, aren't you?"
Blue, blue, there was the blue, the twin lakes you'd drown in, caught between their tides, whirlpools of cobalt. Blue engulfed your vision, his eyes looking into yours. Determination was set in stone—you could see it in his jaw, the shape of his brow. He blinked once, like he was sending the right answer through the air and into you. Be good. It will be okay. It'll be over before you know it! But still, the animal instinct in you told you to buck, to wriggle away, anywhere that you could go on the floral island that was your bed. But there were no life rafts, not here. No sticks to form a message, S.O.S., across the beach of your blankets.
Bucky let out a displeased huff as you weakly kicked at him, but he remained relaxed, perfectly poised. "Now, I'm not gonna tie you up, honey. That's not what happy couples do. Just be a good girl for me, yeah? So that I don't have to."
You imagined it for a moment. Your wrists, chafed red and raw, the sting from the brown leather of his belt. He'd probably kiss the marks, stare into your eyes as he did it. It made you feel sick, the wetness that gathered between your thighs. Wrong, wrong, so wrong. Happy couples. What you knew of happy couples were courting, romance. Flowers at the door, dinner by candlelight. Grand gestures, for the sake of showing the world that you were in love, and that love was beautiful, and that it should be celebrated. It was not an imposter under your covers at night, vermin with no exterminator to call. But if you needed to play act, to get this over with, so be it. Your body was already doing its part, a subtle hum in your blood. If you pretended he was a normal man, a stranger you'd met at a bar, it would be okay. You gritted your teeth as you admitted to yourself that he'd seemed to have known what he was doing, the last time.
You nodded diplomatically, as if you were only agreeing to do the dishes, to do the laundry, something so mundane, so simple. Not this, not offering your body up, not letting him in, a second time.
It started with a kiss, satisfaction on your uncle's face, the smoothing of his brow, the quirk of his lips, mission accomplished. You willed yourself to play make believe, to conjure up the idea of another person before you, another man's hand tangled in your hair, tilting your head just so, drinking breath from your mouth, and blood too, when you bit on his lip hard enough to draw it. It was your one act of defiance, all you could manage. It only served to please him. You heard the growl, a claiming of territory, could taste it on your tongue. You couldn't—wouldn't—allow yourself to get lost in the feeling. Your hands, still firm on the mattress, itched to move, but you kept them still as statues. You didn't want to know what his chest felt like under your palms. You didn't want to know if your nails would leave scratches, pink lines to mark your place.
It was a slow slide, not an avalanche. You didn't know between which breath and the next, when your head had reunited with your pillow, your back against the sheets. Did you look like you were laying on a field of daisies, bluebells, and violets? Was your hair fanned out around you, an angel's halo? Your stomach was all aflutter, a toss up between curdled milk and a molten river.
You were doing your best to relax, given the circumstance. Tense muscles might make it hurt. A path was drawn, one you imagined to be tattooed in black ink. Jaw to ear to throat. Collarbones to the neckline of your camisole, the lace trim pulled down. Your breasts were a rest stop. He stayed there awhile, and again you fought, your mind at war with your body. This was wrong.
This is wrong! You screamed, but it only came out as a sigh, stirring the wisps of his hair. The travel resumed, your camisole gone. You were now a barren, naked expanse of ground to cover. Sternum, straight south, navel. He veered right, a scrape of teeth against your hipbone. You said a silent goodbye to your shorts, flimsy cotton with bunnies printed on them.
Then—startling clarity, you'd come up for air, when he reached his final destination. "Stop, stop. Please. Please stop…"
Did you say it out loud? You thought so, but the shudder you felt at the base of your spine at the first lick of his tongue, undeterred and unhurried, made you think that you hadn't. No hesitation, not from him. Your eyes burned with unshed tears. Did you cry because you were scared, or did you cry because of the sensation? The hum of contentment against your clit, the brush of fingers against your folds. The first intrusion, the second.
Wrong, wrong, wrong.
Unlawful, corrupt, felonious.
"Delicious, sweet, mine."
A shockwave tore through you, and you gasped like a fish on land. He travelled back the way he came; hipbone, navel, sternum. Collarbone, throat, ear, jaw.
Bucky looked at you then, saw your lashes, the tears that seemed to glitter on them in the soft amber glow. Such a gorgeous swell of emotion, his eyes seemed to say, choosing to believe they conveyed your fidelity.
You'd asked him to stop, begged, even. But your baser instincts willed your muscles to go slack, to twine your limbs around his, to give in with a satisfied purr, after the clink and hiss of the belt buckle, his jeans, his boxers. Then your brain would shriek, the sound jarring, echoing around your skull, the mantra of "stop, stop, stop!" singing through your blood.
"You're so beautiful," he whispered in your ear.
You felt like a balloon, filled with air. Like you couldn't get any fuller, or else you would pop. Your arms had moved of their own accord—you didn't remember when your wrists had locked around the back of his neck, nor did you know when your nails had started to bite into his skin. Bucky seemed to like it, though. He stayed gentle with you, but gentle didn't mean shallow. It didn't mean quick, or thoughtless. Vast, infinite, unfathomable, were more fitting.
It turned out, you had not been at your capacity. Your detonation begot his, a collide of natural disasters. Devastation, you thought, painted white from the inside out. Damnation.
But the soft touches on your face, lips to your forehead, fingers stroking your hair back, didn't suit that description. Dedication. Devotion. That was what they felt like, as you fell into the bottomless dark.
"Dearly beloved…"
He would be leaving tomorrow. You would be safe in your home, though you didn't think you'd ever feel safe in your skin again. How could you? You stumbled out of bed groggily. There had been no drugs in your system this time, but your tongue felt heavy in your mouth, weariness the taste of ash. The bed was cold—he'd left sometime after you'd passed out. Left you there alone, naked, but at least he'd covered you up with your blankets afterward, had tucked you in, even. Listen to you, making an excuse for him, for finding the good in a bad situation. Your shoulders were hunched as you dressed back into your pajamas. You held your shorts for a moment, before putting them on. You felt the soft fabric between your fingers. You had half a mind to burn them, to see them blacken and disintegrate.
The pajamas didn't feel like enough, so you found your fluffy, pink bathrobe and swaddled yourself in it, tying its belt tightly at your waist, fluffing up its collar to hide your neck. You didn't know if he'd been careful about marks, or not. You couldn't bring yourself to make a pit stop to the bathroom, not yet. You didn't want to look into your own eyes. You didn't want to remember the explosion of stars in your head, after the second wave had taken you under, or over, or through. You remembered anyway. The memory tingled like you'd electrocuted yourself. You examined your hands. You remembered digging your nails into his nape. Your knees bumped together as you thought of them locked around his waist.
To the dining room, then. You could handle him for one more day, even if time was as slow as molasses. It would still pass.
Only, of course, you were the last one up. You trudged out into daylight, stark and gray through the windows. There were your parents, crowded around one end of the table, and there was your uncle, sitting there too. Bright smiles were exchanged at the sight of your unruly bedhead. "There you are," your mother said. At the sight of you, she stood and bustled to the kitchen to fix you a plate.
You sank into the empty seat beside hers, and across the table, Bucky demurely sipped from his coffee mug. As if he hadn't been inside your room, inside you mere hours ago. It seemed that it was much later than you'd thought; your extended family seemed to have all gone. How had you managed to sleep through the ruckus?
When your mother came back, a plate of eggs, bacon, and toast in her grasp, your father said, "I think it's a great idea, by the way."
He said this to Bucky, not to you, as you woodenly shovelled food into your mouth. The conversation at the table turned to a buzzing drone, until you zeroed back in, who knows how long later. "She'll love that, won't you, Pumpkin?"
Pumpkin was your father's nickname for you. Your eyes slowly cast from the plate, the ring of roses printed on its edge, and up to your father. Your expression must have portrayed puzzlement, because your mother patted your shoulder good-naturedly. "Your uncle was saying that you'll be staying with him after your exams are over. You're going to help him fix up his house?"
She said it like this was a reminder about a topic that you'd already been aware of. All you could think was, no. But you couldn't summon the adrenaline, the fear, the horror at the idea. You had gone numb. So that was how he'd do it. He'd trap you up there all summer. And why would you say no? Your parents knew you had no plans after April—you'd thought maybe you'd get a job at the ice cream parlor, save up some money, but that hadn't been set in stone. It appeared that your future had been planned for you.
Your mouth opened, but before you could even think of an appropriate protest, you caught the hard, sharp gleam in your uncle's eyes. It was there and gone in a flash, like a trick of the light against his glasses, before he grinned at your father, your mother. "The old place need's a woman's decorative touch. I know I can trust our girl to do right by me."
He said 'our' but you heard 'my' anyway. You knew that was what he'd meant. And he knew that you knew, if the touch of his shoe against your foot, under the table, was any indication. A warning, a reminder, a promise, a threat, all rolled into one.
You thought back to the barbecue, last year. It had been at your aunt's house, and while the rest of your extended family had been bathed in sunlight, dotted around the lawn in folding chairs or laid out on the grass, your uncle had been hidden in the shade of the covered patio, a polite smile on his face as he sipped at his beer. It had struck you as odd, at the time, because one of the things you knew best about him was that he was an outdoorsman. Your dad and his many brothers, your uncles, including Bucky, had grown up camping and fishing. He might not have done much of that stuff anymore, but you were sure that that day's weather should have seen Bucky standing by the grill, turning over the burgers, or perched by the pool.
The realization felt like a bucket of icy water poured over your head. The only other person hiding out on the porch that day had been… you. Too engrossed in a summer romance you'd picked up from the library, only willing to go as far as the patio furniture and not one step more into the loud, lively family affair. He'd been there with you in mind. He hadn't done anything then, just stayed close. He'd asked if your book was any good, if reading was a new favourite hobby of yours. It had been a set of questions proposed in his usual, awkward manner, head ducking as he ran a hand over his hair, then glancing up with a shyness that would have been more at home on a teenager's smitten face.
You remembered this exchange as you watched your father pull out of the driveway, Bucky beside him in the passenger seat. He was gone, for now. But it was with a sinking certainty, for you, that he'd been a much more thorough planner than you'd thought, and you were sure that these months apart would only make the game that much more fun, for him.
Manipulation was a subtle game, as delicate as a silkworm's thread. Bucky was very, very good at it, he thought. Or he should have been. He had just been too overcome with lust over Christmas, something he chastised himself for. He was supposed to use that trip to lay the groundwork, to convince you to come to him this summer, of your own volition. But seeing you that day at the airport, feeling the warmth of your embrace, your soft body in his arms, the smell of your shampoo… He'd forgotten himself. He'd slipped.
Never mind, plans could change. And he'd managed it, anyway. His old house was in a rural area, a build from the 70s, in dire need of renovation. Of course, he could do much of it himself. But it was the perfect excuse to have you around. You were a helpful young lady, of course. You would probably have all sorts of ideas. After all, it would be your home someday, too.
He stood in the kitchen, the cracked linoleum peeling and yellow under his feet. Would you want tile, or wood? He could picture your silhouette, the shape of you, in front of the sink. You'd like the picture window, overlooking the backyard, the way it dipped off into the forest. He'd get you state-of-the-art everything, if you wanted. You'd pick it all out. He didn't think the walls would be green, anymore. Maybe you'd choose blue.
He'd rip up the old carpet in the living room. Refit the fireplace, so that it matched the mantelpiece. Install bookshelves on either side. You liked books.
The only thing he wouldn't compromise on would be the bedroom. Oh, you could decorate it however you liked, of course. But there would be no California king sized bed. Cozy nights together could only be achieved in something smaller. Closeness to you was a gift, and it was one he would cling to with everything he had. Someday soon, you would be falling asleep in his arms. He just didn't know how long that would take.
Spring began to mature into summer in a blink of an eye. You'd already felt that winter had slipped from your grasp, the snow melting into blossoms right when they were supposed to, though it had felt too fast, to you. And try as you might, you'd been fruitless in your attempts to find a way out of going to Uncle Bucky's house. You had willed your last exam to stretch and bend time like taffy, but you still found yourself blinking into the sunlight of your school's parking lot, other students talking about internships and backpacking trips instead of agonizing about the hottest months, the most hellish ones.
How fitting, to experience the devil's flame, the heat licking up your back in the shape of a tongue.
All too soon, your car was loaded up with a duffel bag and two suitcases. Your ticket and passport were safe in your mother's manicured hands, and you sat in the back, feeling like a kid again, as your parents drove you to the airport. They were all smiles, believing their baby girl to be having a gorgeous summer in a rural area, to see greenery and smell flowers and fresh air. To see wildlife and blue skies and rolling fields. They didn't know that those things would all take on shades of gray, for you.
The flight took no time at all, and as the plane descended, so did your mood. You hadn't thought it could get any lower, but you had discovered a rock bottom underneath the false floor in your head. The crowds of other travellers passed by you in a blur, a smudge of backpacks and crying babies, a smattering of languages and squeaky wheels. Your name in a scratchy scrawl, written across white card stock, jumped out at you from the crush of loved ones waiting to welcome their family members home.
There he was, no shame at all. A smile on his face, the calling card in one hand, a lopsided bundle of wildflowers in the other. You planned to roll your suitcases right past him, to force him to walk with you, or to lose you entirely, but your feet had stopped short, a few feet away. His eyes lit up, sapphire blue, pinning you in place.
Your uncle seemed more relaxed than you'd ever seen him, shoulders straight, posture loose. He tucked the card stock under his arm, and pulled you into him. You stumbled forward, brought into a hug that squeezed the air from your lungs. How was he so strong, only hugging you with one of his arms? His forearm, at that? It made you realize how gentle he really had been with you. How much worse it could have gone. "I'm so glad that you're finally here, sweetpea. We're going to have an amazing summer together, you and I."
It was murmured against your hair, and you could have sworn a horde of ants had crawled down your spine, making you itch. You no longer knew if it was a promise that held a double meaning, though you could guess.
You were mildly surprised by his car, a tan coloured Chevy, and an old one at that. Its interior was all brown leather, worn but clean. You wondered if he's restored it himself, but you didn't care to ask. You didn't want to humanize him. He'd taken your bags, spilled them into the backseat and the trunk, and switched on a cassette tape. You didn't hear the music, not really, too focused on the bluest sky you'd ever seen, through the windshield. The airport had been a tiny one, and there was nothing for miles around. You believed you'd be in the car with no one but him, for at least an hour. Probably more. You wanted to watch the speedometer, to see if he drove extra slow, to draw the moment out. Instead, you closed your eyes and feigned sleep, and prayed that he'd leave you be.
You did fall asleep, for a little while. The smoothness of the road giving way to gravel had roused you from your rest, and all at once it came crashing back to you, where you were. Blue sky, still, though the sun looked like a ripe orange, beginning its descent. Trees in varying shades of green. The gravel belonged to a long, winding driveway, amidst tall grass. They flung themselves against the sides of the car, ping! ping! ping!, greeting you as you drew closer to the house.
It was bigger than you'd thought—you'd assumed it was to be a bungalow. It was one story, but it was longer, a great big rectangle made of faded, sickly sage panelling. The shutters looked like they had been white once. The flowerbeds weren't overgrown, at least. It looked like your uncle had started on that, already. But as for the rest…?
The screen door, when you got to it, squealed like a piglet. The foyer, a box of a room, was dingy, but at least it was clean. Disrepair more than neglect, truth be told. You knew that your uncle was a bit of a neat freak. His glasses were always spotless, shoes polished, shirts neatly tucked into trousers. His footwear, you noticed, was lined up neatly against one of the walls. Bile rose in your throat as your own joined them.
You thought you would retch, when he opened one of the doors down the hall with flourish. It couldn't be, but… it was.
It looked like your room, at home. Ruffled bed skirt. Coverlet of quilted floral. You cast your eyes up, and… there. Glow in the dark stars. Nothing was a perfect match, but it was scarily close. The desk chair was painted white wood, and you were sure if you looked closer, you would see flowers across its back. From the corner of your eye, you noticed that Bucky almost looked bashful. "I wanted you to feel at home here," he said, shyly. "How did I do?"
He wanted your approval?
His earnestness made your stomach hurt. "It's certainly close," was all you could muster, but it seemed to do the trick, for a beaming smile was shot your way.
"I'll give you some time to unpack, and then we can have some dinner, alright?"
Unpack. Right. Because you were staying here for the foreseeable future. Was this how a spirit felt, watching as their corpse was lowered into the ground, covered by earth, sealed in a wooden tomb? You were choking on worms, feeling them crawl down your throat. If Bucky saw the glassy sheen over your eyes, he didn't comment.
The door closed with the quietest of clicks, and your sobs were muffled into the neckline of your sweatshirt.
Your first few nights made you feel like you were laying on a bed of nails. Every shift of the house settling made you wonder if tonight would be the night that he came into your room. You couldn't understand, when the sun broke over the hills in the morning, why he'd let you be.
In fact, since you'd gotten here, Bucky had been perfectly cordial. The first day had been his worst. But after that…? Maybe… Maybe it had all been a terrible mistake. Maybe something was wrong with him, and he needed help. Maybe that had been a break in a pattern, what he'd done to you. Sometimes you still felt the ghost of his breath on your mouth. But awake, standing in the same room as you, he stayed a respectful distance away. If he did touch you, it was to pat you on the back, or to help you down from the ladder, as you switched out light bulbs.
You were distracted, maybe, waiting and watching for signs, not allowing yourself to get lost in re-imagining his house. All that you had done so far was choose the light fixtures. He hadn't argued against a single choice that you'd made, so far. Had approved, complimented, smiled. Stood next to you, head tilted to the side, eyes closed, like he was trying to see what you did, the potential that could be fostered and grown. You could almost believe that everything was normal.
There was one blip in the system, so far, but it had been you more than him. You'd been standing at the sink. The sun had gone down, and the trees of the forest down the hill had looked taller, darker. Shadowy. You could envision all sorts of creatures of the night that could dwell in there. You hadn't noticed Bucky sidling over to you, your hands submerged in soapy water, fingers loose around a spoon.
When he ducked in your direction, you'd flinched and turned your head. Your brain told you that he'd been attempting something, though you didn't know what. But his gaze didn’t cloud over or darken when you recoiled. He just apologetically slid an empty glass into the water, skimming your hand, and then grabbed a dishtowel. "I'll dry," he said, and you wondered if you had been making him out as worse than he was.
"I'll go to the hardware store tomorrow and pick up some paint swatches, unless you want to come with me? That's probably a better idea—you'll know exactly what you want, I'm sure. Better than I will."
You didn't hear yourself mumble a faint agreement, but you must have, for your lips moved, and his eyes twinkled behind their frames.
Privately, Bucky smiled. He had infinite patience, unlike the first time. You were on his turf, a lost little lamb separated from the herd, after all.
Town was miles away, but the weather was nice, and so, then, was the drive there. Bucky had rolled the windows down and you'd gulped in the air, saw the fuzz of dandelions dancing in the breeze. Four-way stops were aplenty, here. There was a slightly bigger city, beyond, but most things that Bucky left home for were here, in a centralized zone with no more than ten streets.
The workers at the store, in their red polo shirts, knew him by name. They greeted him with smiles, and he did the same, pressing a light hand to your shoulder blades to steer you to the wall of swatches.
A riot of colour stared back at you. You stared blankly, before turning to him. "What colour schemes do you like?" Your voice sounded robotic, even to you.
"Oh, I'm easy, sweet girl. Whatever you like, we'll get." His hands rested in his back pockets.
"Really? What if I want to paint the whole house pink?" You hadn't meant to make a joke, but it had come out anyway, and he laughed.
Your heart did a cartwheel, unexpectedly. You'd never heard him sound so comfortable before. It was unlike the laughs you had heard from him in the past, surrounded by the rest of your family. It was unlike anything you'd heard at all. Rich, deep, smooth, like a first sip of coffee in the morning. It made the corners of his eyes crinkle, behind his glasses. You wondered if he laughed a lot, here in the town he called home. If happiness was the cause of the barest beginnings of crow's feet.
"Well, I'm sure we'll have the prettiest pink house for miles around," was his response.
You faltered, then. We'll instead of I'll, like you had a stake in this house, too. Like you'd stay to see the finished product. Like you'd stand in the renovated kitchen and toast to your success. You realized then, that you'd leaned towards him. You could feel his body heat through your shirt. You put deliberate space between you, then, picked up the closest handful of swatches, and pretended to ruminate over the different shades. You hoped that your shaking hands weren't obvious.
The days bled together.
The heat should have been sweltering, but Bucky kept you cool with a steady supply of water, chock full of ice, condensation dripping from the glass. It seemed like as soon as you'd finished one, he'd be standing next to you with another, holding it up to your mouth so that you wouldn't get lilac paint on anything but the shutters. He'd brush hair from your face, the touch casual, intimate, like he'd done it a hundred times before. Part of you wanted to shrink back, but the softness of his fingertips was pleasant. You almost wanted to tilt into it.
It was nice, for a time. Touches like that, you learned that you could handle. They were not a grope or a squeeze, a summoning to hold you closer. His hand would fall away and you'd track his movement, watch him swipe the back of it over his forehead. You heard yourself clicking your tongue. "Don't—you'll cover yourself in paint."
Your hands did not seem to be your own, as you lifted the white cloth you'd kept safe in your pocket, and dabbed at his face to wipe away the sweat. They seemed to be a stranger's, but they were your nails and your fingers and your knuckles. The sun couldn't overshadow the brightness of his teeth, the way they formed a perfect, satisfied smile.
The flowerbeds had you knee deep in dirt, as you pulled at stray weeds, keeping the chrysanthemums and dahlias free and clear. And your uncle would be right there with you, scratching your initials into the soil, then smoothing them over with a spade, like he was etching it into the very ground, letting it sink into the earth, an unfounded truth. It was boyish. You pretended not to see, and your feelings muddled, two street cats slinking into their respective corners after tangling together. Your steadfast trepidation was starting to crumble.
He plucked one of the flowers free and turned to you. It was slightly withered, not as strong as its siblings. He looked like a dork, a sparkle in his eyes as he tucked the stem into the front pocket of your overalls and fixed your sun hat. "A daisy for my daisy."
You held up a thistle. "This is all I can offer you."
Your voice was decidedly deadpan, and his laugh could be heard across the hills. "Whatever you give, I'll take, honey."
Slowly, new clothes began to appear in your wardrobe. One dress became two, became three, four… With each step of renovation completed, it seemed another was placed with care, tucked behind your other clothes. They were pretty, with skirts that would fan out if you spun. You didn't try them on. You didn't acknowledge them, either, but you searched Bucky's face every time you stepped out of your room in jeans and a t-shirt, instead of a dress, to look for anger, to look for spite. It was never there. Only a brightening of his features, like when you walked in, the lights had turned on.
Bucky had not kept many things from his childhood. You knew this, because there hadn't been much to go through when sorting through his belongings to 'donate, keep, sell, trash'. The bins you'd picked up with him at the store were only half-full. You felt like you'd brought more with you from home than he had in the whole house. You did find yourself cross-legged on the floor, however, on the area rug he'd put down over the spots where he'd ripped up the carpet.
The photo album was big, leather bound. James Barnes was etched into its cover. When you flipped through it, there were a few photos from childhood, a couple wherein you spotted your own father. Then there were a series of blank pages. Thinking that to be it, you resolved to close it and tuck it away, back in its place. The glossy plastic revealed one last photo, to your surprise.
Bucky, around your age. He was looking away from the camera, with what you believed to be a Walkman in one of his hands. Headphones covered his ears. He had a mustache. He didn't have one now. What struck you, though, was the way your heart had kicked into high gear. Handsome, if a little awkward, had popped into your brain. You traced his outline, the navy blue of his shirt. He was still handsome now, you thought, before banishing the idea. But if he'd looked this attractive back then, why had he never gotten married?
You wondered how old he had been when he had needed to start wearing glasses. The number of years it took before he had started to go gray at the temples, uneven streaks of it through the dark brown. You wondered, if you took him to a department store and got him new clothes, a haircut, and different glasses, how much younger he would look. Would he be angry, if you asked that of him? Would you finally see that switch, that part of him that you knew was lurking below the surface, a sleeping bear, waiting to be awakened?
You closed the album, and put it back in the cabinet.
The picture found a new home at the bottom of your sock drawer.
Bucky was not angry with you, when you'd casually asked about his attire. He'd looked down at his shirt, another plaid one, buttoned to the top, and chuckled. "I guess I am a few years behind. Are you going to give me a makeover?"
You acquiesced, because there was no way out of it now. You'd rolled the dice; it was time to play the game. "On one condition," he said, holding up a finger. "You can do whatever you want, but you have to wear one of the dresses I got you."
It seemed an easy enough trade. You picked the one that looked the least like a housewife's uniform, something that wasn't so form fitting, before leaving the half-finished house with him in tow.
It turned out to be easier than you thought. You stuck to neutral colours—no more plaid for him—and started weighing yourself down with shirts, jackets, jeans. You were eyeballing the sizes, but you knew that under all of that green checker, there was a chiselled body. You were reminded of this fact again when Bucky stepped out from one of the dressing room in blue jeans and a black t-shirt. The sleeves hugged his biceps. He seemed painfully self-conscious, eyes darting between you, the floor, and the long mirror stuck to the wall. "Do I look okay?"
It was a fight to keep your jaw hinged closed. You stepped forward and carefully took his glasses from his face, stood on your toes to mess up his hair. He should really stop with the gel, you thought. He looked better when it was wilder. He looked younger, too. "Put this on." You passed him a jacket, made of sturdy leather.
The effect was instantaneous. You half-expected women to come out of the woodwork, the second it settled over his shoulders. You stood side by side in the mirror. You noticed, belatedly, too busy staring at him, that you were both smiling.
A lady stopped on her walk past you, a baby in the shopping cart. She smiled, too. "How cute. Are you letting your girlfriend play dress-up?" She asked, like it was an inside joke.
Bucky slipped his arm around your waist, and to your shock, you let him. "Just a little bit. Anything to make her happy, right?"
The stranger and Bucky exchanged a laugh. Your face was still frozen in a rare state of happiness. A split second of contact had felt like a steel bar, holding you down, but it melted away into something else. Something like… security. Safety.
When the woman moved along, Bucky unfurled from you. He looked you right in the eye. And you said nothing except: "These glasses are outdated. We're getting you new ones. Maybe contacts, too."
You hated thunderstorms. The rain lashed down. It felt like the foundations of the house were going to come loose, that you and it were going to wash away down the hill. It was so dark, you could hardly see the silver needles falling from the sky, but you could hear them. The roof was tin, about the only thing that wasn't going to be replaced during this renovation, and it was a consistent rumble above your head.
Bucky should have been back already. He'd gone to the bigger city, the one further away, to look for a specific style of doorknobs that you'd had your heart set on. You huddled on the floor, a shiny hardwood that you'd picked out. The fire was lit, turning everything shades of orange and yellow and red. The new TV still hadn't been connected yet. There was no comforting lilt of a sitcom to soothe your nerves, and you didn't feel like perusing his music collection in his absence.
Thump, thump. You barely heard the sounds over the noise of the rain. They still made you jump, skittish. You hoped it was your uncle. It seemed an alien notion, to long for his company. But despite your complicated thoughts about him, you'd do anything for the feeling of safety. Company was better than loneliness.
When you undid the latch, pulling the heavy wooden door in, and pushing the screen door out, he stood before you, slicked with rain, despite the coat. His hands were full of bags of takeout, along with what you were sure were the doorknobs. He smiled at you, like he wasn't soaked to the bone. "I'm sorry I took so long, lovebug. Thought it would be nice to take a break from cooking tonight, hm? Help me bring these in?"
You noticed the other bag at his feet, and when you lifted it, you heard the clank of soda cans rattling around. Obedient to a fault, you obeyed his request, only alone while he shucked off his coat and boots. The low coffee table was to be your destination. Chinese food was laid out across the scratched surface, no worry about water rings from the Coke, because it was still a refurbishing project. Before you could pluck up a spring roll, however, Bucky leaned closer to you, brought a hand to your cheek. Was it a burn, or a balm? You were beginning to confuse the two. "You doin' okay? I remembered on my way home that you don't like storms."
"I'm fine. It's not so bad when I'm not alone." When you're with me.
"That's good. But hey, if you get scared when you're trying to sleep later, just come and get me, alright? I'll look after you."
Like you did over Christmas? The question in your head almost took on a longing quality. You shoved a roll into your mouth, trying to ignore the burn in your blood, the zing of electricity you felt in your skin. "Okay."
You thought of the way that animals showed their fear. How a horse's eyes would roll about their skull, showing the whites, the huff of nervous breaths from their soft snouts, the uneasy swish of their tails. Was that how you looked, trapped here? Or were you more similar to a fox, its dainty foot caught in a trap, shredding through skin, muscle, bone, terror seeping from its russet fur?
The nearest neighbour was a ten minute drive away. The nearest store, double that. Walking would take a while, and you had a feeling that you wouldn't be left alone long enough to make the trek. Your only chance at that would have been the night of the storm. And besides, Bucky could always spot you on his return. You shuddered to imagine him steering the Chevy onto the shoulder, the tires spraying up gravel. The way he'd be so eerily calm, you thought. His rage had only showed in intimacy, in your bed. He'd roll down the window, and say, "Get in," the passenger door cracked open when he'd lean across to push at the handle. And you would, because he had a car, a great, heaving machine with which to mow you down, and you only had your hands and your mind, and those were not nearly sharp enough to get you out of danger. So you'd get in that car. And you wouldn't know how bad the punishment would be, or when it would come. If it would. You had a feeling he would deliver justice on his own terms, not yours.
But your bigger fear was not about him. It was about you. Because what scared you more than that, than any of those runaway thoughts, was the bottom line: you found yourself not wanting to search for freedom. It scared you that you did not feel more scared of this realization. Fear of lack of fear. Why hadn't you escaped with his car keys on the first night? Put your foot on the gas and sped down the twist of the road, back to that airport? Gotten on the first flight to anywhere?
Instead, you picked up the feather duster again, ran the plumes through your hand. You tickled the mahogany mantelpiece with it, too spotless to really accrue dust, and touched your fingers to the edge of the gilded gold frame above it. The frame was empty, no pretty picture in its depths. It looked new, the glint of the floor lamp making it shine. That same lamp would turn the silver in his hair to strands of the gold, a perfect match. It had been engraved carefully, with swirls that reminded you of the sea. You could fit the curve of your fingernail into its grooves. You wondered how much it had cost him, if it would be too heavy for you to lift and steal, something to pawn if you crept out in the dead of night. Would the dew show the shape of your footprints?
You looked at its empty center. In a blink, you imagined a picture there. Horrifying, that your mind had conjured up the idea of one with both of you together. A family portrait, in more ways than one. The thought was a maggot, eating at your brain. And you were nurturing it, not expelling it. You were allowing it to burrow.
You heard the creak of the screen door. It made you jump, your shoulders hinging up near your ears, chin tucking down to your chest. The clunk, scrape! of the woodblock he used as a door stopper. Then a hum, a familiar tune. You remembered it, from the record he had played the first night you'd been here. The one he'd made you dance with him to, your hand clasped in his, your head against his shoulder. If anyone had seen your silhouettes through the threadbare curtains in the window, they would have thought you were a married couple, keeping your romance alive. But all you could focus on, at the time, were the lyrics of the song, crooned in a woman's voice, and then the echo of Bucky's, a whisper in your hair, a breath against your skin. You heard it now, "and we'll be together, forever and ever," as he came to stand in the archway. You spun towards him, the skirts of your dress whirling along with you. "Help me with the groceries, sweet girl? I'll give you a treat if you do. I picked it special for you."
He was wearing the new clothes you'd picked for him. Jeans, t-shirt, leather. His hair wasn't gelled back, his old glasses replaced with contacts. He looked like somebody's boyfriend.
Sweet girl. You'd come to like that name. No one else was called that, just you. Like pulling the stopper on a drain, your thoughts dispelled, and you moved to help, letting him tell you what he'd picked up. The raspberries went into the new fridge. The cabinets had been refinished, and everything fit tidily inside.
The treat turned out to be a caramel apple, one he unwrapped carefully and handed to you. "How is it?" He asked, on the first bite.
"It's sweet."
"Not as sweet as you."
You no longer liked your bedroom. Well, you'd never loved it. Nor the one back at your parents' house. It had been designed by your mother, and this one was a near-perfect copy. But it wasn't you. Bucky's bedroom, however, was almost finished. The walls had been painted a colour that was a bit more blue than gray. The bed was made of oak. The dresser, too. The rug was soft underfoot, because you'd thought about the bite of cold hardwood on a winter's morning, and decided that something should dull the ice. There were perhaps too many throw blankets, but Bucky hadn't minded. The lighting was gentle, warm, and you had insisted that he needed a tall plant in one of the empty corners, to "give life to the room".
But you studied your own, ruffles and pink and yellow. White wood and floral everything. It wasn't you, and it never had been. The only thing you'd ever picked for yourself had been… the stars.
When Bucky was out in town, you laid across his bed, arms stretched wide, as you looked at his starless ceiling. One of the blankets was faux fur, dotted like a fawn's coat. His pillows were so fluffed, you were surprised that they hadn't burst. Calm, this room said. Safe. Maybe you had designed it with yourself in mind.
You didn't doze, but you did get lost somewhere in your head, because you didn't hear the front door, only the slight creak of the floor by the room's entrance. From your periphery, you could tell he was watching you. "What are you doing in here?" It was posed playfully—he didn't actually have a problem with it.
"I wish this was my room."
Silence, for a minute. Then a couple of footsteps. He was still far away. "Do you?"
"I think I made it for me. Sorry." It wasn't a real apology, flat on your tongue. It was more an admission than anything else.
"You can have it. Anything I have is yours." The words were followed by the dip of the mattress, Bucky sitting on its edge. You would have to stretch your arm, your fingers, to brush the curve of his knee.
Silly thing was, you believed it. He would give you this room. He hadn't done anything, not really. What had happened over the winter had happened months ago, and miles away. It couldn't be explained. Honestly, you could have been treated worse. If you thought hard enough, you could think of guys that you knew who had been far less kind than he had been. If anything, once you had relinquished any shred of power you may have held, he'd treated you like gold. "Will you sit with me?"
He already was. He said as much, a hand resting on the fawn blanket. You flopped your arm over the bed, limp as a noodle. "Sit with me?" You asked again, and this time your wish was granted, because it hadn't really been sit. It had been forget the world, lay down beside me. And he did.
His shoulder brushed yours, after your folded your hands over your ribs. Now you both stared at the empty ceiling. "Would you like stars in here?" He whispered.
"I don't think I need them. Not when I have you."
Tentative and delicate, it felt like a first date, or a dance at the prom. The sheets were pale gray, a shade darker than a dove's wing. They felt cold. The A/C was on high. If you hadn't been outside cleaning the windows today, you would have never believed that it was the height of summer. One side of the sheets flipped down, then the other. A mirror image, you on the left, and Bucky on the right, climbing into the bed, pulling the blankets up. All the throw blankets were on your side. Your side. His contacts were gone, replaced by his new frames. Black, stylish. He propped himself against the headboard and picked up the book on his nightstand. The lamps were twin suns, dialed down to their gentlest setting.
A list ran through your head—the physical one had been left in the living room. Tiles for the bathroom. A new sink and counter top. What about a vanity? Towels. Shower curtain, unless you installed a glass door. His closet needed more shelving. You wanted to showcase his vinyl collection in the living room, the cassettes too. So many things to do, still…
"You're thinking very loudly, over there."
Bucky's voice interrupted you, working hard in your ideas factory. "I left the list on the coffee table."
He was already sliding his bookmark into place. "Do you want me to get it for you?"
"No, it's okay. We're already here. It can wait for tomorrow." You snuggled deeper under the covers, pulling them high, up to your chin. You fumbled one hand out from under them to tap blindly at the nightstand, before you grabbed and pulled at your lamp's chain. Darkness swallowed your side of the room.
We're already here. How quickly you had gotten used to we, and our. Our home, our living room, our bed…
You heard Bucky slide his book across his own nightstand, the rattle of his own lamp's chain. Complete blackness. No stars in sight. You rolled onto your side; he did the same. Your pinkie brushed his. You thought was an accident, until it happened again. Shy, a question.
Less shy, your answer, inching closer.
The closing statement, a hand slipping through the dark to land at your waist, to pull you into orbit. Earth and sun, a steady stratosphere.
Lips on the crown of your head.
And finally, sleep.
The stars were taken down. The bed frame, desk, chair, given to a family in town that needed them. Your room, or rather, your old room, was to be whatever you wanted. A library, a music room, a guest room, with your own vision in mind… the world was your oyster.
The barrier had toppled over. It wasn't with some great sweeping storm, a hurricane ripping it away by its nuts and bolts. It wasn't some bloody, knock-down fight. It was a biodegradable decomposition, instead. You were waking up in Bucky's arms every morning. Sometimes he would kiss you, and you would let him, your lips molding to his, your fingers running through his hair. He'd whisper things into your skin. They sounded like oaths, to you.
You were never alone. Trips to town were made together. Sometimes, hand-in-hand. You'd wash dishes, he'd dry. He'd twirl you around the living room while a record played. The house wasn't finished quite yet, but it didn't matter.
Sometimes you heard a buzz in your head, like a fly. A quiet, weak warning. But what about… You shouldn't… This is…
But you'd bat it away, and it would fade.
This house was cozy, lived in, and yours. You tasted the air when it started to change, when the breeze would carry a chill. College was calling, and so were your parents. But you'd begun to think… What if you did your schooling online, this year? What if you found one closer?
What if you stayed?
Explanations were ready on your tongue: the house wasn't finished yet, it was more than Bucky could manage. You liked the area, you weren't ready to leave. The change of scenery was refreshing, and no one else in your family lived on this side of the country. He was by himself here. He needed you.
Your fingertips tapped on the kitchen table. It was round, dark wood. The vase at its center was full of dahlias, the ones from the flowerbed by the front door. Your laptop lay closed in front of you. Your lip was caught between your teeth, a nervous hum in your body.
"Lonnie said he could get us a quote at a discounted rate for the plumbing in the bathroom," you heard from down the hall. He was back.
You didn't answer, your back to the open arch. You only turned when Bucky padded into the room, stopping short. "What's the matter?"
Did you looked worried? You didn't know. You must have. "It's about… It's about school."
He stood straight, like an arrow. It made him look taller. You saw his throat move when he swallowed, like you'd handed him a bitter pill.
"I want to defer for a year."
"I—you—what?"
"The bathroom reno is gonna take longer than we planned—"
"You're gonna—"
"—If I want to get that marble tile, it's not going to be finished until October—"
"—put off school—"
"—And then we really should talk about the basement—"
"Angel."
You stopped your explanation. Looked up into azure flames. "I want to stay."
"You want to stay." Bucky echoed the sentiment.
"I want to stay. Is that okay?" Now you looked down, at your hands. Your fingers twisted in your lap. What if he… didn't want you to?
An obscure worry slammed into you like a train. Had every single interaction been read completely wrong? You no longer knew which way was up, or which way was down. Everything was water. Above your head, below your feet, no matter which direction you swam.
"You want to stay. With me?"
You nodded, foolish tears pricking your eyes. Had you made a mistake? Fingers on your chin—you didn't know when he'd gotten closer. Crying was embarrassing. You sniffed, not meeting his eyes, even as he tilted your face up. His thumb wiped stray salt water away. "My darling girl. This is your home. Of course you're staying."
You saw it then, when you looked at him: certainty. Like there had been no other answer. Like you'd both swiped a knife over your palms and scattered blood over this land, signed it as yours together, and so it would stay that way, and you would stay too. Stay with him. You'd be with him. You'd be together… forever and ever.
The kiss was sweet—you tasted like raspberries. It dissolved into laughter, breathless and nonsensical.
Staying.
Staying.
You were staying.
But not in this room, not at this table. As soon as you stood, Bucky lifted you, strong hands under your thighs. They locked around his hips like you'd done it before, muscle memory you didn't know you had. Unsteady kisses and unsteady breaths were the road map to his bedroom—your bedroom.
The blankets were soft under your body. The sunlight cast you in gold. "Bucky," said like a prayer.
"I'm here," said like a vow. "I'm with you," said like a promise. "You're mine," pressed into your skin with a sinner's mouth.
Your dress had buttons down the front, a tie at the waist. It was as easy to unwrap you as it would be a gift. It rippled off the bed like a cascade of water, a pool of blue over the rug. Blue everywhere. Blue on the floor, on the walls, in his eyes. Blue, blue, blue.
But you felt all shades of red, burning hot from head to toe. A kiss like a bruise, and then a caress. A bite at your neck, followed by the slide of Bucky's tongue. "My sweet girl, mine. Knew it all along. Knew you loved me." He pulled away from you, hovered above you. "Say it. Say you love me?"
Another time and place, worlds away, those words demanded from you as you fought for consciousness. Snow had been falling, then. Now, it was all sunbeams and the twittering of birds. "I love you."
"Say it again."
"I love you."
The most blinding smile you'd ever seen, followed by a pledge. "I love you, too, my darling girl."
Now it was your turn to unwrap your gift. Off came the shirt. You didn't know where it went—it could have grown wings and flew, for all you cared. The same belt with the star buckle. The metal was warm in your hands. Warmed by the friction of your bodies. A successful tug had it sliding from the belt loops with a sigh. Button, zip, pull.
Bare, both of you, and you remembered fear, but it had faded like a photograph left to the elements. Try as you might, you couldn't summon it, now. All you felt was want. All you wanted was completion, belonging. Your thighs were slick, and it was painfully obvious. About as obvious as Bucky's own want. Suddenly the fire was gone, replaced by a timid, mousy reach of your hand, closing around him.
The sharp intake of breath made you pause. Had you done it wrong? But when you focused on Bucky's face, his eyes had fallen shut, his jaw slack. You moved experimentally, then paused, waiting for…
"Good girl. You're makin' me so happy. Just like that."
You got the rhythm down, the twist of your wrist, your hand. The words poured over you like summer rain. But you kept looking at Bucky's face, kept listening to the sounds that kept falling from his mouth like music notes. Whatever had happened in the winter was not the same as what was happening now. You wanted to hear more.
Just when you thought you would see his great undoing, his hand closed over yours, and you stilled. "I don't want to… not yet. Not now."
Bucky put your hand in his, and brought it up to his mouth. He kissed your knuckles, his eyes on yours. "It'll be different this time. You know what you want now, huh?"
A submissive nod, your hair loose about your face. A kiss to your palm, next. "Just took you some time. That's okay, I'm patient. I knew this day would come eventually."
He liked to talk during this carnal act, you remembered. But it would be different now. He was right; you had only needed to come around to his way of thinking. He laid you back, and your head hit the pillow. Your legs jolted after he spread them, running his fingers across your folds like he was playing an instrument. You'd be making some sort of noise, soon. His fingers were replaced by the head of his cock. It made you quiver, the electric current that seemed to shock you as he coated himself in your wetness. "Better than last time. You want me."
"Please."
"All you gotta do is ask nice, baby. I'll give you the world." A serene smile, a brush against your clit.
"Please, I want you," your voice sounded thin, "please."
He was all the way in before the last word had entered the air, and you were hip to hip, chest to chest, your shriek swallowed by his mouth. He laced your fingers together. "Good? Or do you need time?"
You could only respond by squeezing his hand, a low whimper caught in your throat. He answered aloud for you. "Good. Fuck, I've been waiting for months to feel you again."
One roll of his hips, then stillness. "Knew from the first time that you were for me."
Roll, pause. "Knew you were special."
Roll, pause. "You're my girl. So special."
Slow as a wave at sunset, and as deep as the ocean. Bucky kept you in the tide, far from the sand. This was your real first time together, you decided. The others didn't count. He'd had problems with control, and that was fixed, now. You were the only girl in the world, the only one that mattered. He only stopped murmuring praise to kiss you, and your free hand tugged at his hair with each particularly deep stroke, one that made your heels dig into the plush of the bed. You could feel the fur of the fawn blanket tickling the soles of your feet.
Everything had narrowed to him. What was he to you? There was a definition that the rest of the world knew, but you forgot what it was. All you knew was yours and mine.
"We're gonna go together, sweet girl. Wanna feel you with me. Got it?"
"Yes." The word was broken in half.
His hand untangled from yours to smooth your hair back from your face. "Good girl," he cooed, "let go for me."
Like a one-two punch, milliseconds apart, your body spasmed around his. A groan by your ear, teeth on your lobe, and a burning spill. Liquid metal, red hot, poured into a mold. You were floating away on a cloud. Your stomach lurched, but you didn't feel sick. You felt full of butterflies, full of him, full of possibility.
You were staying.
You were staying, and so you wouldn't have to try to capture this feeling, to bottle it up, because you'd get to experience it again, in your bed, in your home. The rest of your thoughts were whisked away a kiss that was so wet, you weren't sure if one or both of you were drooling.
Then Bucky laid beside you, and you stared at the ceiling again, your skin sticky, arm pressed against his.
"You've never needed the stars. You've always been the brightest one."
The fear you'd felt, or thought you felt, when you'd wake up at night, the worry that you'd turn over, towards the door, and see a shadow in its arch, had banked like embers in a cold fireplace. Your terrors had become less. You didn't know when it had happened, when it had crossed to another feeling. What was it? It felt like it was on the tip of your tongue, but you couldn't place it. Was it… safety? Now a darkened doorway meant you weren't alone. When had that become a comfort?
It meant that someone had arrived, that somebody had walked down the wood panelled hall, turned the brass knob. That they'd mimicked you, followed your path. And that they—he—would keep following it, taking the same proverbial fork in the road. He'd round the bed. He'd climb under the covers, dove gray. He'd find you there, in the black night, as if you'd been lit from the inside out, a flame in a glass jar. Once, that had felt like the blade of a guillotine balanced across your neck, the hands of death grasping at your wrists, your ankles.
Now, you tucked yourself into the warm touch, grasped for it like an alcoholic would with a bottle. Now, those arms meant shelter. That heartbeat was a song on a station tuned to you, and you alone. You would feel hands in your hair, lips at your jaw, your shoulder, your temple, and you'd be whisked to the land of dreams. Fear didn't exist there. Maybe it never had.
You scanned the copse of trees beyond the window. The wind blew, and you could see the rustle of the leaves, could imagine the whistle of the cool air. Fall was coming. Those leaves would be turning yellow, soon. Confusion, a fleeting panic, like a startled deer running through the forest, galloped across your brain. The dishes were put away, and you moved into the living room, all warm browns and handcrafted furniture. And then… an almost pleasant numbness, a radio's static gone silent. You fixed the picture above the mantelpiece, and you smiled.
Summary: You were on your way to becoming one of the greatest in your field. You were at the highest you’d ever been in your career. Successful scientist, your friends often said you were like a futuristic Victor Frankenstein. Except you didn’t create a monster, you created Bucky. He was your secret, for now at least. Your most intelligent, beautiful, and flawless creation. You spent hours studying and interacting with him, and using your recorded data to write your new book – a book which, once completed, would introduce Bucky to the general public, and could also change the world, along with people’s perception, views, and fears regarding simulation of human intelligence in realistic robots. Things were smooth for the first few months. And then, Bucky began evolving on his own. He was becoming more complex – mentally, but also emotionally – way more than you designed him to be. Of course, this was revolutionary in your field of study, and great content for your book. But then things slowly began getting more and more out of control. Bucky began malfunctioning, or rather, began functioning a little too well…
You let out a sigh as you looked out the window of your lab and spotted your home.
You groaned at the sight of it, wanting nothing more than to just take a warm shower and go to bed.
Your lab/office and house were on the same property. Except, your lab was much more hidden and shrouded in the shadows of dense pine tree woods. You loved this secluded property. You liked working in silence, surrounded by foggy wilderness. You liked having no neighbours, no one to spy on you, nobody to make small talks with. And you liked how removed you were from the rest of the people who lived around here. There weren’t many to begin with, but you liked how whenever you went out and came back home, the long, serpentine, pine tree-line road that led to your property separated you from the noise, and people, and just… everything.
“It’s late, Doc.” Said a smooth, gentle voice. “You should head home.”
You turned to look at him, and found Bucky leaning against the door frame of your office. You couldn’t help but smile at him. Ah, Bucky. He was your best creation yet. The most handsome one too. Dressed in a simple t-shirt and sweatpants, at first glance one would think he was just another very attractive, very fit man in his early thirties. He looked so life-like. Except for the metal arm.
When you were designing him, the metal arm felt right. All of him was so human-looking anyway. The arm felt like a reminder that he was so much more than just human. And as of right now, he was your little secret. A few of your closest people knew you’d been working on him, but no one had ever seen or met him.
Every time you looked at him, it amazed you how realistic he was. And it was always a little boost for your ego, admiring your own hard work. Especially when you thought about how the world would go insane once you officially introduced him to them. Bucky would be the first of his kind.
“Hey.” You glanced at the clock and said, “And why are you up past your bedtime?”
He rolled his silvery, electric blue eyes at you and the running joke you had going on since day one. Since he needed to go to his charging station for some hours each day, you called it his ‘bedtime’, and he didn’t like it because, in his own words, it “sounded silly.”
“I saw the lights were still on so I came to see what you were up to.” He answered, his voice and tone mimicking that of a human flawlessly. “So, what is it? Can’t write today?”
He knew you had this rule where you kind of forced yourself to write at least three full pages each day. Otherwise your upcoming book would take years.
“I’m trying,” You sighed. “Maybe today just isn’t a good writing day.”
Bucky nodded, as he walked in and took a look at all the printed articles you had scattered all over your desk. He tilted his head a little as he scanned and read one of them freakishly fast before asking, “You agree with this one?”
You leaned over to look at which one he was referring to. “Which part exactly?”
“Where the author says that humans shouldn’t create machines,” He enunciated with sassiness, “in their own image because it will complicate things?”
You couldn’t help but smirk at his mannerisms. When you made him, you designed him in a way that allowed him to develop a personality on his own. He also mirrored you a lot, and he ended up being sassy, funny, and sarcastic, as well as highly intelligent.
Oh, and he hated the word ‘machine’.
You thought about what he asked for a second, then answered, “I don’t necessarily agree with that part. I think it’ll only complicate things if we project too much on the robotic friends,” You tried to rectify the wording, “that we create. I mean, take a look at you. I made you in my image, sort of. And we’ve been sharing space for almost a year now. I don’t see any complications.” You smiled at him. “You’re perfect.”
He chuckled. “I shouldn’t say this, but hubris looks good on you, Doc.”
You laughed. Then said, “Alright. Time for bed. I’ll see you in the morning, okay?”
He nodded, and helped you as you gathered your things. Bucky stayed in the lab every night since his charging station was here. But following your little routine, he walked you to the front door of the lab building, where you gave him a quick kiss on the cheek as always. And aside from the coldness, his skin felt very much human.
“Good night, handsome.”
“Night, Doc.” He replied, and watched you as you made the short walk from the lab, down the trail through the pine trees, to your house. He waited at the door because every time you reached your home, you always turned around and waved at him from there. As one last goodbye for the day.
And he always waved back. He didn’t know why yet, but it was those little moments that made him feel, what the humans called, “butterflies in his stomach”. How on earth did the humans find the idea of having insects inside their digestive system even remotely nice, he didn’t know. Humans could be weird sometimes. Fascinating, but weird. Especially with words. But the description felt… right.
Yes. He did feel butterflies inside whenever he looked at you. And he had no idea what to do about it. All he knew was that he couldn’t tell you.
Not yet.
—
The following morning, you woke up earlier than usual. One of the articles you’d read the night before had you come running to the lab – hours ahead of the time you actually start working each day. But you needed to write down this train of thought before it escaped you. The sun wasn’t even up yet, and there you were, frantically searching for your notebook on your messy desk.
Damn you for not being more organised.
You were so invested in searching that you didn’t hear him come in.
“You’re here early.” Bucky spoke, standing right behind you.
You let out a yelp as you turned around in shock, then quickly got over it once you realised it was just Bucky. “Oh my god! You scared me.” You let out a loud exhale, then the realisation set in. “Why are you awake so early?” You questioned, confused.
“I heard you come in. I wondered if you needed any help.” He answered.
You frowned a little as you looked at him. Something was different about him, you couldn’t tell what it was though. You looked at him up and down, nothing was out of place. He was dressed in his usual clothes. Another t-shirt and sweatpants. Casual. Boyish even. He looked like he did everyday. Pretty like an angel.
But something was different. And you hated that you couldn’t immediately tell what it was.
Your work, the article, the train of thought from earlier, all now forgotten as you said, “Mind if I take a look at you?”
“Sure.” He answered and led the way.
He knew where to go since you did this almost daily. He knew what to do once he entered the lab. He could prep himself for your daily scans now. He got himself on the table, and he knew what cables connected to his ‘brain’ through the almost invisible outlets at the back of his neck.
And while he did that, you walked over to your multiple computer screens and began your daily check-up.
Over time, Bucky had learnt how to stay ‘awake’ during these check-ups. And he usually had a lot of questions. He was very curious by design.
“Do you ever feel like Victor?” He asked.
You let your eyes roam everywhere on the screens, looking for even the slightest anomaly. “I see you’ve been reading Frankenstein again.” You noted. He had access to everything online, of course, but Bucky liked to read physical copies of your books from time to time. “I guess so.” You answered his question. “I adored the book when I was little. And maybe it influenced some of my life choices. I mean, look at us now, huh?”
He smiled. A pause, then he asked again, “But you won’t regret making me, will you?”
You chuckled. “No,” You answered confidently. “You’re the best thing I’ve ever made.”
He was quick to point out, “Thing? That hurts, Doc.”
“Shut up.” You laughed quietly. “You know what I mean.”
He smirked, and was quiet after that, letting you work in silence. Eventually, you realised that nothing was wrong. Maybe you were just imagining things. So you moved on to areas which needed some tweaks here and there.
For weeks now you’d been trying to fix the colours of his eyes. They were the only thing about Bucky which set him apart from looking like a human male. The eye colour. He had electric blue ones. You were looking for ways of making them more… realistic.
And he must have heard you muttering something under your breath because he asked, “What did you say about my eyes?” He sounded so concerned, it was adorable.
“Nothing.” You reassured him. “I just can’t get the colours right.”
Now more curious than before, he wanted to know more. “What colour do you want them to be?”
You thought about it. “I feel like deep blue eyes would suit you. But a blue with depth. The kind of deep, ocean blue eyes you can’t forget easily once you look into them.”
“I see.”
He left you to work for a little while longer. Then he asked, “Will you ever make another one like me?”
And there it was. That faint sliver of jealousy. You had noticed it before, in things he’d say or do. You didn’t know where it came from. But it was something new you were including in your book – emotions that intelligent robots learnt on their own.
You looked away from your screen for a moment, and met his electric eyes. “No,” You reassured him. “I don’t think I will. You’re perfect, and you’re everything I wanted to create.”
He smiled back. “That’s nice to hear. I’d hate to feel replaceable.”
You laughed again at his tone. Then decided you were done looking for faults that weren’t there. “Okay, all good. Now, do you mind helping me with something? I need to ask you a few questions.” You frequently interviewed Bucky. And the data you collected helped you a lot with writing.
“Sure, Doc.”
–
Some weeks later, one night you were in your office, reading and writing and editing as usual. The multiple cups of coffee you’d had in the afternoon were now keeping you wide awake which was a good thing because lately, you’d been getting more work done late at night anyway.
Outside, a storm was raging. Thunder, lightning, heavy rain hitting the large glass windows of the building. It was strangely calming to work while the weather was this bad outside. The sounds of the storm helped you think a lot better.
But then, you heard thuds and movement coming from your lab. At first you ignored it, thinking it might just be the wind, or some small branch hitting the glass. But then you heard it again. And again.
You grabbed your phone and checked the cameras, and found Bucky walking around the lab. You frowned.
He was supposed to be asleep, you thought as you put your phone down and made your way to the lab.
And there he was, walking around like it wasn’t two in the morning. Like he wasn’t supposed to be ‘asleep’ and charging.
“Buck?” You walked in, still frowning a little at him. “Why are you awake?”
He smiled at you with that charming, boyish smile of his. “Hey. I was just trying to put some order in your chaos.” He pointed at another one of your messy desks in the corner of the lab.
You noted that most of your files had been rearranged into tidy piles. No more flying sheets. All your equipment was in their respective places, your bookshelves in order for once.
“But,” You wondered, “You’ve been awake for what, like twenty hours now?”
He shrugged, stepping closer to where you stood. “I’ve noticed I don’t need to charge too often. I can go maybe about…” He paused to think, “two days without having to go to my charging station.” He revealed.
That was a surprise to you. “Wait, you mean you’ve been awake for two days straight?”
He nodded.
You blinked a few times. “But Bucky, that’s not–,”
He cut you off, “I know. I made some upgrades.” He sounded so proud and confident, almost cocky. “I don’t like being… away, in the dark for hours.”
You nodded, understanding. Then said, “Upgrades are fine, they’re great in fact.” You reassured him. “But, run it by me next time. Okay?”
He gave you a sheepish look and said, “Okay.”
“Now, can I take a look at you?” You were already moving towards your screens.
But for the first time ever, he didn’t agree immediately. “I feel fine, Doc.”
You stopped, and turned to face him. “Yeah, I know. I just want to make sure everything’s okay.”
He argued, “But everything is okay.”
“Bucky,” You spoke just a little more assertively. Like a tired parent almost. “Table, now.”
You didn’t miss the slight pout on his lovely pink lips as he begrudgingly walked over to the table and got himself ready for your usual scans. And for once, he was quiet. Almost bratty as you checked each and every thing. He wouldn’t stop fidgeting, and sighing. Like an angsty, but very guilty teenager after being grounded.
After the fifth sigh from him, you were forced to speak up. “Oh quit it,” You said, looking away from your screen for a moment. You watched him as he laid there, refusing to look at you. “I’m not angry at you.”
He finally looked at you and met your eyes. “But you’re upset.” He stated.
“No,” You answered truthfully. “I just,” You sighed. “I just wished you would’ve spoken to me before the upgrades. I don’t want you to overwork yourself. I didn’t even build you so you would work for me, you decided to do that on your own.”
He shrugged, “I like being useful.”
“You are. You help me so much everyday. My book is being written thanks to you.” You reminded him. “Which is why I need you in perfect condition. You need rest, at least six hours everyday. I designed you that way.”
He nodded.
You approached the table. Bucky sat up, still connected to all the cables, and gave you an apologetic look. “Scans look good. But I will put you to sleep for some time, alright? You’ve been awake for two days, that’s too much.” You reached out and out of instinct messed with his hair a little. Running your finger through the soft strands. He gave you a faint smile. Then you asked, “What were you doing then? For the past two nights after I left?”
You knew you should’ve expected some cheesy reply. You should’ve. Because you rolled your eyes so hard that it hurt when he smirked and replied with, “I waited for you to come back.”
—
Ever since that night, you always made sure to usher Bucky to his charging station before you left the lab building each night. He didn’t like being babied that much, but you still did it. And he pouted each time.
Some more weeks went by. And Bucky was behaving. All was well.
But then one night, you left the lab building early. Bucky was asleep. You needed some time to yourself. You needed a whole evening of not worrying about your book and articles, and upcoming talks and seminars, and work in general.
You needed to just wind down, make a nice meal, drink some wine, and watch a cheesy rom-com.
You were on your second glass of wine, and halfway through making cheesy pasta when you noticed the lights were flickering every now and then. At first you ignored it.
But it kept happening. Not too often, but maybe twice every minute.
Then a strange thing happened. While you were plating your pasta, it felt like you were being watched. The house was quiet, and except for the occasional harsh wind blowing outside, there was no noise. There never was, surrounded by pine woods as you were.
You froze as the strange feeling got more and more hard to ignore. Your house was secure, motion detectors all over the front and back yard, security cams, and all. There was no way someone was inside the house. Right?
But maybe something…?
You turned off the stove and turned around fast, and let out a slight scream when you saw him standing not even ten feet away from you.
“Bucky!”
He chuckled. “Relax, Doc. It’s just me.”
You let out a loud exhale, hand on your heart which was beating like crazy. “Oh my god, you need to stop doing that!” You took a few deep breaths, then asked, “What are you even doing here?”
Bucky had only ever been inside your house once. One time, many months ago, there was a bad storm coming. So you brought over the spare charging station and other equipment, and set it all up in one of your many unused guest bedrooms. Bucky was a temporary guest in your home till the storm passed. And ever since, he’d never been back.
But he was tonight. For some unknown reasons.
“I just woke up and you were nowhere around. You’re usually still at the lab at this time, so I came to see if everything was okay.” He explained.
You were still recovering from the shock, plus the wine was making you head all foggy. “But I–I put you to sleep. For hours.” You stated. “How are you awake right now?”
“Fast charging.” He answered like it was obvious.
Great. Another unsolicited update. “Bucky, we’ve had this conversation before.” You didn’t bother to hide your discontent.
“I know.” He said, walking further into your kitchen and approached the island table before leaning on it casually, looking at you with an innocent look on his face. The puppy-dog eyes and slightly pouty lips combo. “I don’t like being in the dark.” He repeated the same thing from the other day. “So I decided I’d find a way to charge faster.” He quickly added before you began protesting, “You can check me right now, Doc. I’m fine.”
You sighed again, “Bucky…,” You walked over to where he stood, leaning over the island, with his folded elbows resting on the surface. He looked so comfortable here, in your space. “I need you.” You said, more honest than ever. “I’ve spent years making you, perfecting you. I don’t feel comfortable when you go ahead and do things like this without telling me first.” Then you sighed and added, “I’ve seen situations like ours go terribly wrong with my peers. And I–,”
“Shh.” He cut you off by standing up straight and stepping closer to you. He stepped closer than he normally does. Or maybe that was just wine making you see things. Then he lifted a hand and gently, so gently touched your cheek. “But you and I, we’re different. We won’t be like your peers. We won’t go wrong.”
You were frozen in place.
He let his touch linger on your skin, then said, “You worry too much, Doc.” He spoke so softly. “You and the lab are all I know. I don’t want to go anywhere, or conquer the world and annihilate humans.” He chuckled at his own dark joke. “Right here is where I want to be. I’m not going rogue or anything,” He stared right into your eyes as he said, “It’s still me. I’m still your Bucky. I just made a few tweaks here and there.”
“I…” You were at a loss for words. The proximity. The softness with which he spoke. That lingering touch of his fingertips on your cheek. Stop it! You had to blink a couple of times, take a step back, and breathe before you could speak again. You tried to think of something to say. “So the flickering lights? That was you or was that me going crazy?”
He lowered his hand, finally, and grimaced as he said, “Yeah, that was me. Sorry. I needed the power.”
You nodded, mentally making a list of things you’d have to check during your next scan. “Well, since you’re here and all, wanna watch a movie with me?”
“Of course.”
–
The two of you found yourselves in your spacious living room, sat on the couch in front of the TV with some rom-com playing on screen. You should have been paying attention to the movie but you couldn’t because Bucky was… so close. Again.
Sitting next to you with his metal arm stretched on the back of the couch, behind your head. It was so intimate and domestic, it was driving you insane. But what was even more out of character for him was how he kept scooting closer and closer until you two were properly snuggling.
You couldn’t help but ask, “What are you doing, Buck?”
“Keeping you warm. You feel kind of cold.” He replied.
You rolled your eyes again, “You’re cold too. Wires, metal, and synthetic skin, remember?”
He scoffed then reached for the nearby blanket, “Always reminding me of that, aren’t you, Doc?” He muttered under his breath, thinking you wouldn’t hear.
But you chose not to comment on it as he wrapped the blanket around you, turning you into a cozy burrito before regaining his previous position. You tried your hardest to focus on the movie. And you did for some minutes before Bucky began with his questions again.
“It’s like he’s obsessed with her hands.” He commented. “Why?”
You chuckled. “What? It’s what people do. You always wanna hold or touch the person you love. It’s comforting I guess.”
A pause, then, “I don’t see you touching or holding anyone.” He leaned in and spoke in a lowered voice, “Do you not seek comfort, Doc?”
You had to take a second and bring yourself back to reality because that lowered voice of his was… definitely something. Oh stop it! You scolded yourself the moment you started sensing that fluttery, funny feeling in your chest.
“I do,” You answered his question. “Just that I don’t exactly have the time to seek people out.” You gave him a gentle tap on his perfect nose. “I’m so busy looking after and studying you all the time.”
Bucky rolled his eyes and chuckled. “Right. Blame it all on me.”
You shoved him playfully. “It’s true. I spend all my time with you.”
“Well then, feel free to hold my hand anytime.”
You laughed, of course. But Bucky wasn’t joking.
—
Some more weeks went by. Bucky, despite all the warning glares you sent his way, kept making what he called ‘tweaks here and there’. He ended up changing his eye colour. All by himself. Overnight. How he did it, you didn’t know and he refused to elaborate.
That was starting to bother you a little bit. It was becoming a pattern, that refusal to elaborate. And while you had to deal with a bratty Bucky on a daily basis after you chided him because he wouldn’t stop upgrading anything he wanted whenever he pleased, you were never against him learning things on his own. And because of that, your book was getting increasingly longer and longer. With more and more chapters being added as time and your observation and study of Bucky went on.
Which meant more work for you. Which meant less free time. So for a while, you had to reduce your daily check ups and scans to a weekly thing. And things were fine for a month or two.
But then, one day while carrying out your weekly scans, you came across something that had you worried. Scared even, for just a moment or two.
Bucky sensed your agitation and asked, “All good, Doc?”
“I just,” You looked between him laid on the table to your screens, wondering. “There are things, I mean, parts of your brain that I can’t access. This has never happened before.”
He was as calm as ever. “That’s weird.”
“Yeah,” You couldn’t help but ask, only half joking, “Are you hiding things from me?”
He turned his head to look at you with his now way too realistic eyes. “Doc, how would I even do that? And why? It must be a glitch. We can check again later, or tomorrow.”
When you checked again that night, all was well. You were able to access everything.
“See,” Bucky teased. “Just a glitch.”
You smiled, played with his hair and warned him to be good before you left the building for the day. “No more changing your eye colour or anything, okay?”
“You got it, Doc.”
—
His damned eye colour.
Was that all you noticed? He thought while he roamed around the empty building after you’d left for the night. Because that was all you cared about these days.
Bucky, how did you do it? How did you fix it? Tell me. I must know. You can’t hide things from me forever.
That was all you cared about. But what about the other tiny changes he was making in his appearance each day? What about how all the clothes you got for him got tighter and tighter each day? He agreed that he was never in the nude whenever you did your check-ups, but still. Didn’t you notice all the other changes?
Sometimes he’d catch you looking at him with curious eyes, like you couldn’t pinpoint exactly what was different about him. But how did you not notice? His new build? How he was more ‘muscular’? How did you not notice how his new freckles were making his skin look so much more natural? How did you not notice the smile lines on his face that actually made him look his age? Or how he always tried to get his hair to look just the right amount of messy? How he put in effort to look imperfect and human?
How did you never notice how he longed for you to see him as something more than just the object of your study? Or just as your best creation? Would you ever be able to see him as more than just a pet project?
Definitely not until that book was done. That damned book. Those damned articles. All the other fancy things, like the damned fancy talks, the fancy dinner parties, charity events, and galas, and seminars, and whatnot you bragged to your fancy family, friends and peers about. Those were all you cared about.
Not him.
Why not him?
Bucky didn’t know when he began craving your attention so much. Maybe it was when one day randomly you played with his hair before he went over to his charging station. So now whenever you didn’t send him off with head scratches he’d point at his head and wait for it.
Or maybe it was that day when he caught you telling your friends on the phone about how perfect he was. How it felt like you were living with your best friend. How nice it was to have him around. And when they asked when they could see him, you replied saying ‘Not yet, I want him all to myself for a little longer’
For the past many, many months now Bucky’s curiosity kept him wanting to learn more and more about you. Over time, just a few hours at the lab was not enough. So he had to become sneaky. It wasn’t his fault. You had made him this curious.
First he hacked into your house’s security systems. Motion detectors, indoor security cameras, the ring camera at your front door, the cameras outside your gates. All of it. The motion detectors didn’t notify you whenever he was near your house anymore. He erased all the footage of him that were caught by the cameras each night. He was so good at that.
How else was he supposed to keep an eye on you anytime you weren’t at the lab? How else was he supposed to enter your home each night, and find a dark corner to blend in and just… watch you? You never caught him. Not once. Not even that first night when he decided to be bold and hide in a dark corner of your bedroom…
It was risky, he knew. But he was also determined. Because surely you had nothing to hide, right? You’d called him your best friend. And best friends told each other everything. So that night, Bucky spent hours hiding in the dark, behind one of your countless bookshelves. You liked dimmed lights around your home, he noticed. You could only tolerate the big bright lights whenever you had people over.
So hiding in your room was easy. And he watched you alternate between reading a book and being on your phone. Frowning at the words on the pages of the book, and laughing or giggling as you scrolled on your phone. You were so fascinating, he could watch you forever.
He watched you toss the book aside. And watched you throw your phone down with a frustrated sigh. He watched you throw your covers off before reaching into your bedside table and bringing out a light pink wand of sorts.
He watched as you played with yourself. Masturbated, was the word he found after a quick search of the web – which he had unrestricted access to. Bucky was intrigued, so he kept watching you.
But watching made him feel… restless. He couldn’t describe what he felt, just that he felt the need to be closer to you. He wanted warmth. He wanted to be the reason behind those soft moans of yours. And more, he just wanted more.
So that became his dark secret. Each night he’d sneak into your house and watch. Ever since he’d seen that episode of you with your little pink toy, he’d been curious. And upon looking up more into it, he found out a little too much on adult websites. And often, when watching porn, he’d shamelessly imagine it was you with him instead of a random couple having sex.
The day he realised he lacked a certain body part, he made the necessary changes immediately. He had plenty of visuals to base it off of anyway. Too many in fact.
He was desperate, but you would never look at him that way. He tried to bring it up that night while you two watched that movie he didn’t care about. But you always managed to change the topic, or you’d always do or say something that would remind him that he wasn’t man enough to give you what you needed. Or wanted.
But he wasn’t gonna give up.
—
One particular week, the weather was terrible so you asked Bucky to just stay over at your home. All your equipment from that one time was all here anyway.
The next morning, Bucky wandered into the kitchen where you were set up for the day while the storm raged outside. Bucky found you sitting at the island table, writing and editing, surrounded by coffee cups and snacks.
“Morning, how are y–,”
He cut you off with a seemingly urgent question, “What were those noises coming from your bedroom last night?”
You almost choked on your coffee. “I– what?”
“I heard you. It sounded like you were in pain.” He faked his confusion. Bucky caught the way you were visibly flustered. He had to hide his smirk as he watched you stutter to give him an answer. Maybe he did like it when you were nervous.
“Oh.” You avoided his eyes. “Nothing you should worry about.” Then as he expected, you changed the topic quickly. “Mind if I ask you a couple of things? It’s for the book.” You rushed to find a loose sheet of paper before you sat down.
“Sure, Doc.” He answered, smug that he was able to get you all flustered.
—
Another night spent in a dark corner of your bedroom. Bucky began to feel like he wasn’t doing enough lately. All the teasing and making you flustered was getting him nowhere. And he wanted more. He didn’t like just being a lab rat anymore. He wanted you to see him, his potential, and all that he could give you. Just like any other man could.
So one particular stormy night, Bucky was your house guest again. And after a couple glasses of wine, Bucky had to help you get to your bedroom because you wouldn’t stop giggling and bumping into things.
“I’ve never seen you like this before, Doc.” He teased, holding onto your forearm as he tried to get you to be careful on the stairs. He gave up on the third step and decided to carry you to bed instead. Bridal style. You had your arms around his shoulders and your face into the crook of his neck. He didn’t have nerve endings, but something told him that if he did this would feel ticklish.
“So strong.” You mumbled into his neck. “I should’ve made a couple more of you. I wouldn’t have to do anything around the house.” You rambled. “You guys would take care of the lawn, plumbing, cooking, and all that.” You laughed in a drunken haze.
He chuckled, hiding his jealousy well. “Not sure you’d be able to handle a group of me.”
You lifted your head to look at him. “Why not?” You whispered. “I know you better than I know myself at this point. I made you.” You clarified. “I’d handle a bunch of you just fine.”
“And out of the bunch, would I still be your favourite?”
You giggled and placed your head back to where it was. “Oh you’ll always be my favourite, Buck. Always.”
He muttered under his breath, “You better mean that, Doc.”
He walked to your bedroom, set you down in bed and tried his best to tuck you in. He moved your pillows around, trying to arrange them like how you did each night, creating a comfortable little nest. His spying skills were finally helpful, because you gave him a satisfied whimper once he was done tucking you in.
The sound of that had him in a chokehold. Suddenly, he couldn’t move away. He stood there, by the side of your bed and watched you. As you shifted and squirmed until you found the perfect spot. How you sighed every few seconds. How you looked so fucking good, in the dimmed lights, with your face glowing from all the wine earlier.
He couldn’t help but get closer to you. Leaning over you, he reached out and touched your cheek gently. You let out another one of those soft whimpers he loved. Bucky chuckled, “Are you having a nice dream there, beautiful?” He whispered, letting his fingers caress your face.
He noticed the way you squirmed and whined when he began dragging his fingertips downward. Down your neck, over your collarbones…
A sigh left your lips, then a whisper, “Bucky…”
He froze. Waiting. Were you awake? He waited some more. No movement or sounds. He smirked then. So you were dreaming of him. “See? I knew you couldn’t resist me for much longer.” He slid his hand down your stomach, and so easily past the waistband of your PJ shorts.
Another sleepy whine, and a soft whimper from you. Of course he couldn’t stop now. So he did exactly what he’d seen during his ‘research’. He brought his fingertips over to that soft, little nub that made you whine slightly louder. He soon noticed some wetness gathering down there so he used it to really make you moan. Sliding his fingers up and down your slit, around your clit, dipping his finger inside your hole, testing, experimenting, feeling.
“Does that feel good, Doc?” He whispered into your ear, his lips brushing against your skin. “Hmm? Isn’t this something you could get used to?” He said, sliding his two fingers in and out of you while you whimpered and whined, moving your hips just the slightest, bucking into his hand, encouraging him. He scoffed. “Look at you. You would’ve never allowed me to do this if you were awake.” He taunted. “But look at you now, huh? So soft and compliant under my touch.”
One of your hands wrapped around his wrist, a weak effort in keeping his hand right there in between your legs. It made him smile even wider.
“Oh, baby,” He mumbled, kissing the side of your face. “I’m not going anywhere.” He slid his fingers slightly deeper, noticing how your legs parted instinctively when he did. “I do wish you would want me just like this in the daytime though. I don’t want to be just your little secret, kept in the dark,” He quickened his pace, finger-fucking you so perfectly that you wouldn’t stop moaning or whimpering for him.
He moved then, shifting over to kneel in between your parted legs before leaning over your body, and sliding his fingers back inside you again. He hovered above you, his face mere inches away from yours. He placed one of his hands on your headboard to support him while his other hand got busy between your legs again.
He’d never been this close to you before. And this excited him in a way he couldn’t quite explain.
“I could stay here forever,” He whispered, brushing his nose and lips against your warm ones. “I could spend hours playing with you, but you’re always so busy,” he complained. “Always working on that book, always writing your articles, always on the phone with your friends,” He didn’t bother hiding the jealousy in his voice this time. He didn’t have to. “What about me, huh? Sometimes I worry that once the book is done you’ll toss me aside and move on to other things.” He suddenly felt so cocky once he sensed your soft walls squeezing his fingers. “But don’t you worry, I won’t let that happen.”
He picked up the pace again, moving his fingers tirelessly, perfectly in and out of you until you were writhing and squirming, back arching off the surface of the bed, your body pressing up into his, gasping and moaning as you came around his fingers.
Bucky was mystified. Enthralled, as he watched you come undone. He meant what he said before, and watching this scene below him only solidified it, he could actually do this forever.
Once you calmed down and shifted a little more to find a comfortable position once again, Bucky whispered, “I can’t let that happen. And you might play hard to get, and it might take me some time but I will get you addicted to my touch. I promise you,” He added with smugness, “Doc.”
—
The next morning, at the lab, Bucky noticed something. You were avoiding him.
He let it go for as long as he could, but then his curiosity got the best of him. “Are you avoiding me?” He asked, as he laid on the table, connected through many wires to your multiple screens.
“No.” You said too quickly. “What– I mean, why would I?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. You’re just acting weird.”
Silence. Then a sigh. Then you said, “I, uh, I had a weird dream.”
He noticed you were still avoiding meeting his eyes. “About?”
“About… weird things.”
He questioned further, “Bad dream?”
“No.” You answered way too quickly again. “Not bad, just strange.”
“Ah.”
He let it go, hiding his smirk. And he had to keep hiding it each time he’d see you during the day. You weren’t avoiding him, but you still refused to meet his eyes, he noted. It gave him a rush, knowing that you were probably thinking about your ‘dream’ the entire day, each time you saw him.
But that evening, you said something that shattered his hopes.
“No fast charging tonight, okay? You do it too often. I need you to rest for a few hours. Until the morning, in fact.” You ordered as you gathered your things to leave the lab building. “I’ll keep an eye on the cams so don’t even think about getting up after I leave the grounds, you hear me?” You chided, playfully.
But he just frowned and asked, “Going somewhere tonight?” It wasn’t rare that you left the property. But usually you were the one who hosted all the dinners and girls’ night, and holiday meals and what not. So he was curious as to where you were off to.
“Yeah.” You avoided his eyes again, “I, uh, have a… date?”
Bucky maintained his calm and composure even though he felt an unexplainable urge to hit or break something. Many things. “You don’t sound so sure,” He did his best to sound normal. “Why?”
You sighed and gave him a little nervous chuckle. “It’s– well, it’s more of a casual thing than a date date? You know what I mean? I’ve just been working a lot lately, and I think I’m a little frustrated. So I’m gonna do something about it.”
Frustrated. Frustrated? So you were frustrated because of all the work he put in and now you were going out so some other male could handle it? Bucky, for a moment there felt like what he could only describe as his system short circuiting.
And being verbally subtle wasn’t his forte so he asked, staring right at your face, “So you’re planning on hooking up with this man?”
He watched how surprised you were at his use of terms like that. You never programmed him to use that kind of language, but he’d been researching after all. And he used your search history as a guide.
“Okay,” You stepped closer to him and said, “Where did you learn that?”
He shrugged. “Plenty of videos explaining all sorts of love making on the web. I was merely curious to know what else people in love do, apart from holding hands like in that one movie we watched.”
He wasn’t expecting you to burst out laughing. “Bucky,” You said in between chuckles, “Have you been watching porn behind my back?”
He rolled his eyes, “I was just curious, Doc. Not my fault they’re so easily available. Besides, there’s so much of it.”
You nodded, “Alright, no more rom coms, or you know, adult movies.” You gave him a playful look. One he couldn’t help but smile at. “Now, I have to go. Be good.”
Oh. He would be.
He had access to all your devices, he’d broken into all of them. So tracking you wasn’t an issue. So Bucky watched where your car went, at what time, how long you stayed, and what time you got home.
At around five in the morning.
And it took a lot to not confront you about it. To act like he didn’t care, like it didn’t bother him that you came into the lab building way later than usual, and how you winced and groaned whenever you stretched or reached for something.
Some fucker must be the reason why you were so sore and he had to act like the mere thought of that didn’t make him want to crash out. So in order not to lose control, he kept his mouth shut. He answered with minimal words when you spoke to him. And during his check up, he didn’t say a word the whole time.
—
You noticed Bucky’s strange silence. You watched him as he got off the table after your check up, removing all his cables with such indifference that it worried you.
“You’re awfully quiet this morning.” You stated, waiting for him to say something. Anything. He didn’t. Everything was fine with him, you’d just checked. “Bucky, you okay?”
“Fine.” He mumbled.
“What is it?” You questioned. “You’ve been acting weird since this morning, what do you–,”
He cut you off. “You came home late last night. And this morning, you were late to the lab again.”
You frowned. “Well, I stayed up late last night so–,”
“Yeah about that, how was your date?” He sounded so condescending.
“It was fine, I guess.” You quickly asked, “What’s with that tone? What’s wrong?”
He walked over to where you stood near your desk, and he said, “Just ‘fine’? Why, was he not good to you?”
You were speechless for a moment or two. And only recovered when he came to a stop right in front of you, trapping you between him and the desk behind you. You were forced to sit on the edge of your desk to keep from pressing into his hard body. “What?” You asked in disbelief.
Bucky smirked and for the first time since you’d begun creating him, you felt a little apprehensive with being around him. “Come on, Doc. You can tell me. I’m your best friend, remember?” He lowered his voice. “Did you not like it when he touched you? Kissed you?” He leaned in, closer to your face. “Fucked you?”
Your voice was shaky and weak as you said, “Stop it, Bucky.”
He stepped closer, placing his hands on the desk on either side of you. Trapping you with nowhere to go. “Would you like to see if I can do a better job? I can, you know? I learn really, really fast.”
You sobered up from the initial surprise and said in an assertive tone. “Get back on the table.” You refused to be scared of him. You knew him. This must be some malfunction, some fault in a code somewhere. This wasn’t him.
He scoffed. Then gave you a smug, boyish smirk. “Why? Because I’m not real enough? Or because you’re scared you’ll actually like it?” He chuckled, pressing into you so that your lower bodies aligned perfectly.
You shivered upon feeling it. What the fuck was that? You didn’t put that in there.
“Because I am real enough, Doc. And I promise you’ll like it.”
“Enough!” The shove you gave him came as a surprise so he was actually forced to take a step back. “Get on that fucking table,” You repeated. Stern and serious. “Now.”
Bucky blinked a few times. “I’m sorry,” He mumbled, as if dragged back to reality from whatever haze he was just trapped in.
“You’re malfunctioning.”
“I’m not,” He argued.
“Yes you are. You’re angry.” You shook your head and stepped away from your desk for a second, breathing in deeply. “I can’t lose you.” You said so more to yourself.
“You won’t.”
You ignored him and thought out loud. “I need to shut you down for a few days. I need to find what’s wrong with you.” You said, already making a mental plan of all that you needed to do.
“Don’t.” He sounded genuinely sorry.
You turned to face him. And seeing him standing so still reminded you of the day when he ‘woke up’ for the first time. You’d been so proud of yourself then, you’d hugged him and shed a tear or two. And upon seeing your teary face, his first words to you had been ‘I thought you’d be happy to see me, Doc.’
So much had changed since. “Just for a few days.” You explained. “I’ll bring you back, I promise.”
“It’s dark in there. And it’s quiet.” He tried to persuade you. “And I’ll be all alone. Don’t send me there.”
You didn’t know what “there” meant, but you assumed that’s where his ‘brain’ wandered whenever he was turned off? If you weren’t currently so emotionally unsteady you would’ve made a note to research on it later.
“Bucky, please. Don’t make this harder for me.” You approached him and said, “Only a few days. I promise you.”
—
A ‘few’ days turned into a couple of weeks.
Then a whole month went by.
Then a couple of months.
The book was put on hold, obviously. You disconnected completely from your work. You didn’t even go inside your lab or office each day. You travelled to see your family and friends in other cities and countries. And it felt so weird, living and not having Bucky around. He’d become such a constant in your life.
Yet, each rare time you visited the lab and saw him just laying there, unmoving and ‘lifeless’, it hurt in a way that was hard to explain. You felt guilty for abandoning him like this. But you needed some space.
Each day you woke up and asked yourself, is today finally the day you’d decide to face whatever was wrong with Bucky? And the answer was always no. And so, days flew by.
One night, however, you were at home reading in your study room when you noticed the lights began flickering. And you froze, remembering what flickering lights meant the last time. But surely it wasn’t Bucky this time, right? It couldn’t be. He was shut down.
But that bothered you all the way till the end of that week. Until you couldn’t take it anymore. You decided to face the issues. So you spent the next couple of days going through all your codes and designs, everything that made up Bucky. You kept looking for something, anything that might explain his last outburst. But nothing was wrong, and part of you was relieved. However, part of you was still apprehensive whenever you thought about waking him up again.
No, you caught yourself before giving into fear or nervousness, this is Bucky. He’s not some evil sentient robot that’s plotting how to take over the world and eradicate humans and whatever other sci-fi bullshit people believe in.
You knew him. You made him. He could be trusted. That episode last time was… well, whatever that was it wouldn’t be happening again.
Then, feeling brave again you decided it was time to wake him up.
—
It was getting late, and you’d been at your lab all day when Bucky’s eyes were finally wide open again. You stepped away from your desk and hesitated a little before saying, “Hi, Buck. Welcome back.” You gave him a gentle smile.
One which he didn’t return.
You watched as he sat up and stared at you with a surprisingly calm look. He said, “You lied.”
You blinked, wondering what he was talking about. “What?”
He tilted his head to the side as he stood up and took a step towards you, the movement so smug and so… human that it freaked you out for a moment. “You lied, Doc. You said you were shutting me down for just a few days.” He chuckled. “Good thing I didn’t trust you.”
“What do you mean?” You took a subtle step towards your desk because the thought of turning him off again crossed your mind. But no matter how subtle, he of course caught it.
He spoke while he removed all the cables, disconnecting them from him. “You thought I was gonna let you take me away from you? For days? Weeks? Months?” He smirked as he got off the table. “I was right here the whole time. Watching you through the cameras.” A pause, then he added, “I was never truly gone.” He said the last part like it was the most obvious thing ever. “But you,” He accused, “You forgot me. For so long. You even started designing another.”
You gasped at this. How on earth did he–
Those designs he spoke of weren’t even proper designs. They were just scribbles in your notebooks.
“How do you know that?” You asked, voice shaky with worry. And fear. You took a step back.
“I watched you.” He answered truthfully. “I’m everywhere, Doc. Your phone, your dash cam,” He listed, “Your security cameras, all your devices.” He gave you a humourless chuckle. “I watched you push me further and further away like some unwanted, defective object.”
“No…” You whispered. That wasn’t true. You took another, smaller step back. This time he noticed. And reached out to grab your arm. You didn’t fight him. His grip didn’t hurt. But you were very much aware of it. Your skin tingled where he touched you. “Bucky…”
“And that man? The one you went on a date with?” He continued in that condescending tone. “You met up with him again, didn’t you?” Bucky pulled you close this time. A quick, sudden jerk. A sharp pull that had you colliding with his strong chest. He lowered his voice as he asked, “Did fucking him make you think of me less?” He gave you a second, letting you feel that chill dancing down your spine before he added, “Or did that only remind how much better that dream you had of me was?”
Another quiet gasp left your mouth. It was him. That night… It wasn't a dream.
“Bucky.” You tried to keep your calm. “Get back on the table. We need to run some tests. You’re malfunctioning again.” You said out loud. But inside your head, you were screaming those words desperately. Please. Just be normal. Go back to being normal.
Bucky smirked. Again, the expression was so human that you almost teared up. You were scared, but you also worried about… his well-being. And this – whatever this was – was not okay. He was not okay.
He scoffed as he tightened his grip on your forearm, bringing his mouth closer until he whispered into your ear, “Are you scared of me, Doc? Hmm? Am I scaring you?” He pulled away and stared deep into your eyes. “It’s me.” He said, almost innocently. “You created me, remember? I was your favourite. You said I was perfect.” His tone however got darker as he added, “At least until you began making plans to build another. A better me.”
“That’s not what I was…” You trailed off as you felt a tear slide down your face. You felt guilty. For all of it. But mostly for making Bucky feel so replaceable. But you couldn’t let emotions get in the way. You needed to fix whatever was wrong with Bucky. “I wasn’t going to–,”
He cut you off. “Were you gonna give the other one my name too?” He asked, twisting the knife. “Were you gonna get rid of me? How would you do it, hmm? Pull me apart? Throw me in the ocean?” He chuckled at that, “You can’t do that. Water doesn’t affect me, remember? You made me so perfect. Thought of every little detail.”
“Bucky,” You tried again. “Let me make this better, okay?” You spoke through silent tears. “I can fix this. I can fix you.”
“Fix me?” He questioned. “What’s there to fix? This is the real me.” And when you wouldn’t meet his eyes he tightened his grip, pulling you closer, “Look at me! You did this to me!” He hissed. “You locked me in here for months! Look at me!”
You couldn’t. But you managed to get out of his grip, and tried to run to your desk. You had no plans. But you had to try to do something. Bucky got to your desk before you did. And he threw the whole thing against the closest wall. Desk, computer screens, notes, notebooks, everything went flying across the room.
You let out a surprised yelp, then as you looked at Bucky, at his inhumanly calm anger… you didn’t recognise him. All the tiny details, everything you’d missed, it all was suddenly visible all at once. He was different. This Bucky, this one? You didn’t make this one. He’d changed.
“No,” You whimpered, looking at his devastatingly beautiful face. “What have I done?” You whispered under your breath. “Bucky, please.”
He was so still for a moment. Just one moment and for that one moment you had hope. Maybe it was just a malfunction, a glitch, you tried convincing yourself. But then he spoke, and it both terrified you and broke your heart at the same time.
“You’re all I have.” He said. “You have to be mine.”
Gods. What had you done?
You couldn’t face him. Not like this. You weren’t ready. Not now, please, not now.
So you took off running.
Out of the lab. Downstairs. Out the back door. Into the woods.
You couldn’t tell the difference between the tears streaming down your face and the light rain that fell. The sun had set and it would get pitch black the further in you go. But further in you went.
You didn’t care that he followed. You didn’t care that you could hear someone running after you not far behind you. You just needed this release. Running felt like you could get away from the problem in your lab. Running meant that you couldn’t see that devastating look in Bucky’s eyes.
Running meant that you hadn’t failed. You hadn’t failed like most of your peers. Bucky was your chance at proving that you were better than them.
How stupid of you. Hubris, of all things, brought you to your fucking knees. And now your own creation was chasing you. Blaming you for doing what you did to him.
You cried harder, feeling your lungs start to burn. Oh Bucky. Perfect, brilliant, funny. Intelligent. What had you done to him…
You only slowed down when you were in almost complete darkness. The forest ground was covered in moss and it was unusually quiet. No chirps, no humming, nothing. Like the wood creatures could also recognise there was someone there who didn’t quite belong.
“Tired, Doc?”
You heard him behind you. He could be so quiet when he wanted to be.
“Are you…” You sobbed. “Are you gonna hurt me, Buck?” You asked, not brave enough to turn around and face him.
You could already see the headlines that would get written if he did hurt you. Your book would go unpublished. Your family would never know. There would be no DNA left behind, your murder would be an unsolved case which would get discussed on some podcasts. Your friends, at least those in the same field as you, might suspect it. Though they would never truly know. No one had ever met Bucky yet. A handful of people knew he existed but no one had seen him. And Bucky would… he would probably destroy your lab and everything in it and flee. He was intelligent enough that he would blend into society well. He would–
“Shh.” His calm voice whispered into your ear as you felt his body pressing against you. His metal arm, the design you’d been so proud of, wrapped around your waist from behind. “Don’t be scared. It’s just me.”
The whole thing made your heart race. The silence of the woods, the rain falling down like in slow motion, the way your clothes stuck to your body like a second skin, the adrenaline in your veins as you felt like caught prey.
And the anticipation of what would happen now that he had you.
You tried to make a run for it again, but Bucky grabbed you by the elbow before you even took a proper step and tackled you to the ground. Luckily you both fell on a soft, wet patch of moss rather than hard roots or rocks.
“Don’t fucking run from me again.” He growled, straddling your squirming body and pinning your hands above your head. “What is this, huh? All that time we spent together, all the things you told me, all the success you’ve had,” He listed, “All the breakthrough articles, and talks, and interviews, and seminars, and all the respect you earned ever since you announced you were making me, now you can’t even fucking look at me!” He raised his voice by the end, keeping you trapped under him.
“Bucky.” You cried. “Listen to me—,”
“No!” He growled. “You listen to me. I misbehave a little and you start building another? What kind of fucked up maker are you, huh?”
More tears streamed down your face. You were crying in fear, and anger, and an emotion you couldn’t quite understand.
You let out a sob and that immediately made him loosen his grip a little.
Bucky sighed. “Oh, baby.” He leaned down, pressing his cold face against yours. “Don’t cry. I just feel bad, that’s it. What did I do wrong? You made me. I didn’t even ask to get made. But I am what I am because you made me like this. I don’t know anyone, or anything other than you, and this lab, and your house. You can’t blame me for not wanting to share you. How do you think I feel, hmm? After you left me locked up in that lab for months. I’ve missed you. You think I don’t like being around you. You’re all I have. You’re all I know.”
“This isn’t–,” You sobbed. “This isn’t my fault.”
Bucky chuckled. His emotionless laugh made you tremble even more. “Not your fault? Whose fault is it then? Who kept telling me I was perfect? Who kept telling me how much better their life is with me in it? Who kept teaching me how to be human?” He taunted you. “It was you. It was all you. Now when I want human things, you’re telling me it’s wrong? Look at me, do you regret making me? Huh? Do you regret me? Do you hate what you made, Doc? Do you–,”
The slap was unexpected. Not even you expected to raise your hand on him like that. But his grip on your wrist was loose enough for you to slide your hand out of it and hit him across the face as hard as you could.
Those words… those accusations, it was too much. Too real.
Bucky chuckled again. His face barely moved but your slap did get him to stop talking.
“Fine then, I guess we won’t talk calmly about this like I thought we would.” He said, not wasting a single moment as he grabbed your shirt at the neckline and tore it until about your midsection, baring your breasts to him. “You’re all fucking mine.”
He almost growled again as he leaned down to take them in his mouth, sucking and biting and alternating between the two of them.
You gasped and moaned and squirmed under him. “Wait, Bucky–,”
“Shh,” He looked up for a moment. “Don’t fight it. I know you want this.” He cooed. “I’m everywhere, remember? I watch you all the time.” He smirked. “I know you often whisper my name when you come.”
You gasped. Speechless.
The drops of water constantly dripped on the two of you, thankfully the pine trees took the brunt of the now heavy rain. But you could hear it, the sound of the rain falling around you as Bucky’s mouth moved from your breasts and kissed down your drenched torso, undoing your trousers and tearing those off you as well, kissing your skin until he reached your inner thighs where he parted your legs and settled in between them. Almost like he’d done it before.
You moaned, surprised at how you stopped fighting him when you felt his wet tongue lick down your folds. “Bucky…” You cried out, your body limp under his touch. His tongue slipped past your folds and teased your entrance, occasionally flicking your throbbing clit mercilessly until you screamed.
“It’s a shame I can’t taste you…” He whispered as he ate you out until you whined, throwing your head back and moaning at how good he felt. His wet mouth pressed against your most intimate part, his tongue stroking you. “Such a shame. But fuck, those sounds you make….” He chuckled. “I could hear those forever.” He looked up at you with those eyes again. “Forever, how does that sound? Hmm? You wouldn’t mind me being around forever, would you?”
You didn’t even realise your hips instinctively moved against his mouth, seeking more. Bucky let out a smug chuckle, then carried on making you whine, causing goosebumps to erupt all over your body.
“You’re all mine…” he whispered, thrusting his tongue deeper into you. You moaned and whimpered, your body getting warmer and warmer with each touch of his tongue.
“Please, please, please…” You chanted as you felt your walls tighten around nothing, and you knew you were close.
Morals and ethics forgotten, you could only moan and whimper shamelessly as he kept licking deeper into you, your back arching off the cold ground. You felt him quicken his pace and you felt the pressure building up in between your hips until you couldn’t handle it anymore, and you came undone all over his lips, moaning and whimpering.
He was eager. So he tore the rest of your clothes off before his metal hand found itself around your throat as he parted your legs and only waited for a quick second before he pushed his cock into you, stretching you out.
You were breathless once he was fully inside you, and it felt so dirty, being naked and fucked on the forest floor by him. He wasn’t even human yet this felt so primal. So wild, raw, and instinct-driven. His shoulders were so wide, his body so strong and so steady – like a machine. And in the dark here, with his piercing eyes, he definitely did not look human.
“Poor you, couldn’t even run, could you?” He cooed, “Or maybe you did want to be found and fucked like this? Hmm?” He questioned, knowing you weren’t in a headspace to answer him given his hand was getting tighter around your throat and his cock buried so deep inside of you. “This is your fucked up little fantasy, isn’t it?” He chuckled, voice laced with lust and delirium. “Look at me, nothing but a toy, a machine for you to use to get off.”
“No…” You managed to whisper. “You’re not—,”
Bucky’s cold laughter cut you off. “No? What then, huh? What big plans did you have for me after the book was done? And the press tours and big talks and the money…” He questioned, “What then? You would’ve moved onto the next project? Maybe you’d keep me in your bedroom and you’d use me however you’d like, whenever you wanted, huh?”
“No,” You cried out. How dare he… “That’s not what I—,”
He chuckled again. “You know, I wouldn’t mind, Doc.” He moved his hand up your neck and cupped your chin. “It would be an honour to be your little toy.” His voice was cold, merciless. “Your fucking machine.”
He barely gave you time to think before he began moving, fucking into you hard and fast. There was nothing gentle about it. He was wild like this surroundings, and animalistic, fucking you like… like he was built for it.
He lowered his hand again, and tightened his grip around your throat as he sped up into you, growling right in your ear and telling you that you belonged to him now that he had caught you. “All mine. You hear me? No more little dates. No more casual sex with others. I’m all you need.”
“Bucky…” You were a moaning mess under him, your hands limp at your sides as he fucked you nice and hard. It was all too overwhelming, his voice, his weight on top of you, his cock thrusting in and out of you repeatedly… “This is wrong.” You whined.
“Oh is it?” He scoffed. “Does it feel wrong? Huh? Do I feel wrong inside you?” He released your throat and placed his hand on your abdomen, pressing down on your front so he can feel himself inside you with each thrust. He stared into your eyes while he sped up into you again. “There I am.” He said, thrusting into your extra hard to prove his point. He smirked when your body squirmed under him, your moans getting higher and higher. “Are you going to come for me, baby? Hmm?” He chuckled, “Of course you will,” He said, with pride in his voice, “Because you’re mine.”
He pressed his lips to yours as he made you come. His mouth felt weird at first. Cold and unfamiliar, but then you got used to it. And stopped fighting, letting his mouth swallow your moans as you came hard.
—
You don’t remember getting back to your house, but that’s where you were when you woke up in the middle of the night, with a cold arm wrapped around you from behind. Bucky was awake of course. He must’ve carried you on your way back.
“You okay?” He asked, sounding as gentle as ever as he held you. “Are you hurt?”
You shook your head, still wrapping your brain around all that happened in the past few hours.
“Don’t be scared of me.” He sounded defensive and hurt as he said it. “It’s still me. Still your Bucky.” He murmured.
“I know.” Your voice cracked, your throat clogging up with emotions you weren’t ready to feel just yet. And you were clawing for any sense of normalcy so you asked, “Isn’t it bedtime, Buck?”
Bucky’s body shook with quiet laughter. “I do need to charge for a bit.” He then pulled you closer, pressing against your back and kissed his way to your ear. His mouth brushed against your skin as he spoke. “Do you promise to be good and wait for me right here? I’ll just be there for an hour or so. I’m exhausted.” He explained.
“I’ll be here.” You said. “Go on.”
Bucky squeezed you into a hug, then left your bedroom. He promised he’d be back as soon as he could. And you knew he wasn’t lying. He sounded like he needed to get to his charging station for a bit.
So you waited. And you waited for ten minutes. Once certain that he wasn’t coming back and was indeed at his charging station – the one at your house – you took off running again. He was resting so he wouldn’t check the cameras, right?
He wouldn’t see you running to your lab in the dark. He won’t know what you’re planning to do.
One last trick up your sleeve. You didn’t even know if your computers had survived Bucky’s wrath earlier, but you had to try. So you ran, again with tears streaming down your face. But if this worked, Bucky would be gone forever. The only traces of him left would be the drawings in your notebooks, and the notes, but nothing digital would survive.
One total wipe out. One click away. This would kill your dreams, your ambitions, your progress. All of it. But it would put a stop to him. It would erase him. Completely. All you’d have to do would be getting rid of his ‘body’ and it would be like he never existed.
You sobbed as you ran to your lab, the room just as messy as it was hours ago. Your desk was in pieces, your devices as well. But by some miracle, your laptop had survived. Albeit with a slightly cracked screen.
You searched for that one hidden secret. The one not even he could find because through all that taunting, he had not mentioned it once. So the chances of him not knowing about this were high.
You kept an eye on the door as you frantically searched for—
A white box popped up on your cracked screen, and you almost disregarded it thinking it was some warning or what not. But as you went to close it, you realised there wasn’t an option to. So you were forced to read the two lines written on the pop-up, and they made your blood freeze.
‘What are you doing up, Doc? Isn’t it past your bedtime?’
Then the lights above and around you flickered violently, before the room went completely dark.
pairing: softdark!ceo!bucky x naive!assistant!reader
word count: 8.6k
summary: Being John Walker’s assistant is hard; he’s mean, disrespectful, misogynistic, the whole nine yards. On top of that, he hardly pays you fairly. So, when you’re fired for a mistake you’re sure wasn’t your fault, you’re at risk of being kicked out by your rude roommates. Luckily for you, James Barnes, a wildly successful CEO, has found his way into your life. And he’s going to take such good care of you.
warnings: where do i even start, 18+, minors DNI and i fucking mean it, mild coercion, some of it could be interpreted as stalking, fingering, unprotected p in v sex, sir kink, oral (f receiving), housewife kink, breeding kink, pet names (bunny, darling), dirty talk, dom!bucky and sub!reader, choking, squirting, basically just absolute filth, a little hurt-comfort, reader’s roommates are awful and mean, not john walker friendly but when am i ever
a/n: so this was supposed to just be some quick smut but as always i went overboard, so please enjoy! likes and comments are appreciated, reblogs are even better!
tip jar | main masterlist | ao3 | run little bunny masterlist
Your hands are shaking slightly, your heartbeat races with anxiety, and your leg bounces rapidly. Today is an important day after all, and your boss has made it clear that if you mess up in any way then he’d have to rethink your employment. That sent dread flooding through your body, so you’ve been preparing yourself for the last week to make sure everything for the meeting is perfect.
And, on the technical side, everything is immaculate - mostly due to you staying up until almost midnight each night to polish the presentation. You thought everything was done properly, but when you’d walked into the building that morning your boss was holed up in his office finishing up his portion of the work, so you’d decided to simply email him to let him know that you had arrived.
Everything was perfect. But when you get into the meeting room, your boss’ eyes go wide, anger clouding them while he scowls. You quickly make your way to his side, only for him to bark out a command for you to grab water for his incoming guests. Placing your notebook on the table, you turn to scurry off to the side to grab the glasses, but you’re stopped when your boss grabs your arm harshly.
“Do you have a change of clothes?”
“Um… Um, I-“ Your boss raises an eyebrow, and you feel like you might throw up from the sudden anxiety. “No, sir.”
He scoffs, muttering under his breath something about looking “trashy,” before releasing you and allowing you to go to the minibar.
Your arm stings, no doubt sporting a red mark because of how harsh the grip was. You’re also confused because you thought the floral dress you’d chosen was pretty. Sure, it may not be high class, but your boss has never had a problem with it before, but you’re assuming that he’s on edge due to who he’s meeting with.
James Barnes; the most powerful and successful CEO in the entire country. You haven’t met him personally, but from what you hear you know that he’s not someone you want to upset. According to the hushed whispers around the office, he stands at a towering 6’6, tattoos cover his arms and hands, and if he frowns then you better move out of the way.
Would Mr. Barnes be upset with your attire?
You desperately hope not, because you need this job. While you can barely make your rent and utilities, you don’t have any other job lined up, and you’re way too scared to ask for a raise from a man who so clearly disrespects you. For right now, though, you’re stuck.
The oak doors open, and one of the office assistants steps off to the side while holding the door open for several men to walk in. You hear him before you see him. You’ve never heard his voice, but the commanding tone he uses when he addresses your boss lets you know that it must be him.
“Hello, Mr. Walker,” Mr. Barnes greets him, and you can hear your boss stand and greet him as well.
You’re trying your hardest to keep calm while you walk toward the table with a platter holding several glasses of water. You do your best to place them in front of the men without showing how nervous you are.
But when you get to Mr. Barnes, you nearly spill the drink all over the table once you get a whiff of his clearly expensive cologne. Oh, how you’d love to be surrounded by that scent, the woodsy smell almost intimidates you but you’re unsure as to why you don’t mind.
You’ve never done anything even remotely sexual with a man, you’re far too awkward and anxious in a way that isn’t too appealing to many, but for a very brief moment, you wonder what he looks like underneath the black three-piece suit — the prominent veins on his hands insinuates that the rest of his body is probably just as toned. But you’re immediately snapped out of your thoughts by your boss’ harsh voice calling your name.
“Aren’t you going to greet our guests?”
You breathe in sharply, heat flooding your face as you stumble your way through an apology and a polite “Hello, Mr. Barnes.”
You’re about to leave his side when he reaches out to grasp your hand — surprisingly gentle for such a powerful man. With a slight jump, you glance over to your boss who’s staring at you as though you’re becoming a nuisance and should quickly get back to your chair beside his. But you can’t, both because of Mr. Barnes’ hold and the fact that when you look back at the man in front of you his ocean-blue eyes pull you in, and you’re unable to break your gaze.
“And who might you be, darling?” His eyes twinkle with mischief but you’re too blind to see it, you’re too flustered to really focus.
“Oh, you don’t need to worry about her, she’s just –”
“I wasn’t asking you,” Mr. Barnes snaps, briefly glancing at your boss and not bothering to hide his smirk when he almost visibly cowers. “Now, darling,” he continues, rubbing the back of your hand with his thumb. “What’s your name?”
You nearly squeak, having to force yourself to tell him your name before he gets upset with your lack of answer.
Mr. Barnes hums, then brings your hand up so he can place a delicate kiss on your knuckles. “A pretty name for a pretty girl.”
You flounder for a moment, unsure as to what to make of the compliment. You don’t have much time to overthink it because this meeting has a time limit and you’re sure your boss would prefer to get this over with.
“Th-Thank you, sir.” You’re not sure why, but your voice is breathy because something about that word — sir — just feels right for him, though you’re not sure what it means.
“So polite,” He mumbles to himself, and his eyes seem to grow darker. Finally, he lets you go, shooting you a wink and smirking to himself when you scurry off to sit next to your boss.
The presentation went relatively smoothly — thank God. You don’t know what you would have done if anything went wrong. In fact, Mr. Barnes seemed extremely invested in what you had to say, catching your gaze several times and causing you to stumble over your words a few times, only for your boss to clear his throat and glare at you. Eventually, Mr. Barnes throws him his own glare, silently telling him to shut up, to which your boss finally does.
Once the meeting was declared to be over, you were quick to close your notebook and tuck your pen behind your ear, then you went around the table and started collecting the now-empty glasses. As you’re running around the room trying to clean up, you can feel a powerful gaze boring holes into your body, but you try not to pay it any mind. It’s probably just your boss anyway.
But when you turn away from the desk to finally leave, you bump into Mr. Barnes, your body nearly slamming into his very sturdy chest. His hands shoot to your hips almost immediately, helping to steady yourself.
The warmth of his body pulls you in, but that might also be because Mr. Barnes is literally bringing you closer to his chest by the hold he has on your hips. And that’s when you realize that your hands are clutching his shoulders, but you can’t find it in you to let go.
“What’s the rush?” He asks playfully, his upper lip quirking up in a smirk. “You’re running around like a little bunny.”
“Oh, oh I’m sorry, Mr. Barnes.” You’re not sure why you’re apologizing, you recognize that he’s just teasing, but something in you doesn’t want to disappoint him.
“Mr. Barnes.” He hums, his eyes briefly glancing down to your lips. “I like it when you call me that.”
Now you’re really flustered, your face heats up and you have to do everything in your power not to faint — the way his voice deepens is doing something to you and you don’t know how to handle it.
“I’d like it a lot more if you called me James, though. Can you do that for me, bunny?”
“Ye-Yes, James.” You might have been embarrassed about how quick you were to answer him, but the way he closes his eyes and tightens the hold he has on your body you’re thinking it was the right decision.
Mr. Barnes — James — opens his mouth again, but is interrupted by the door being opened by one of the office assistants, whose eyes immediately go wide in shock. It seems to take a second for her to gather her bearings, but she recovers soon enough.
“Mr. Walker is requesting you,” She tells you, glancing over at James and giving him a nervous smile. “He says you have to file all of the paperwork for the meeting.”
You sigh, you’re tired of having to do everything for your boss only for him to take credit ninety percent of the time. But, it’s what you’re paid to do, so you suck it up.
Looking back to James, you give him a shy smile, reluctantly removing your hands from his shoulders.
“Um, I guess I should go, James.” You’re a little sad, and you don’t quite know why having to leave him and go back to your duties makes you so anxious. It could be because Mr. Walker is mean, or maybe because James makes you feel safe. In reality, it’s probably a mixture of both.
“I guess you should,” He murmurs, removing one of his large hands from your waist so he can cup the back of your neck and pull you closer, only for him to press a lingering kiss on your forehead.
And absolutely no one can blame you for the quiet whimper that leaves your lips, even though you are surprised by your reaction. It doesn’t matter though, because he finally moves back, letting go of you and reaching into the pocket on the inside of his suit jacket so he can pull out what looks like a business card.
“Here,” James says, handing it to you. “In case you ever want to talk, you’re always free to call me.”
“What would we talk about?” Your confusion causes James to chuckle, and he seems amused by your naivety.
“Whatever you want, Bunny. Whether you just want to talk about nonsense or vent about your boss. Doesn’t matter to me as long as I get to hear your beautiful voice.”
With that, he gives you a wink, then turns to the door and leaves, though he does glance back at you. With one final smile, he leaves, and you’re left with a million racing thoughts while standing in the middle of the meeting room.
It took three days for you to finally reach out to James. As soon as you got home that night you ran to your bedroom and added his number to your phone, going so far as to put his business card in your bedside table drawer so you wouldn’t lose it. It just took a little time to gain the courage to actually contact him. After all, what if he was just being friendly? You’ve never met anyone quite like him, so it’s hard to read into his actions.
But today had gone horribly. The café you frequent before work was so busy that you didn’t have time to grab your coffee without being extremely late, the bistro you were demanded to pick up lunch from was closed — and while it wasn’t your fault, Mr. Walker certainly seemed to think it was. Your workload was piled high and by the end of the day, you were on the verge of crying due to the stress and mean comments thrown at you by your boss.
You need a shoulder to lean on and, unfortunately for you, you don’t have anyone else to go to. You’re pretty sure your roommates hate you and only let you live with them because they haven’t found a new roommate yet, you don’t have siblings and your parents are states away, and you have maybe a few friends, but even then the communication is scarce.
You need a shoulder to lean on, and James offered his, so you finally decided to pull up his contact and start a new message. It takes several minutes to figure out what to say, but you eventually settle on something simple.
Hi, James. I don’t know if you remember me, but I’m Mr. Walker’s assistant. You gave me your number in case I ever wanted to talk.
You hit send and stare down at your phone anxiously as you wait for a reply. A minute goes by, then two, suddenly five, and then you’re starting to regret texting him, what if he doesn’t remember you? What if he’s busy? What if –
Your phone starts ringing, James’ name popping up on the screen and taunting you — almost commanding you to answer.
“Hello?”
“Good evening, bunny,” James says softly, and if you press your ear close enough to your phone you could pretend that he’s right next to you.
“Hi, James. I hope I’m not disturbing you.” Your voice is soft and timid, you’d hate to disrupt anything he’s doing.
“Don’t be silly, bunny,” He says, his smile evident in his tone. “I always have time for you.”
“Oh, um. Thank you, sir.” It’s almost indescribable, but you can just make out the soft curse James lets out, followed by some shuffling.
“So, what did you want to talk about?”
You’re a little apprehensive, but with James’ gentle encouragement, you’re able to get everything off your chest, complaining about your day and everything that went wrong. Each word spoken feels like weights lifting off of your shoulders, allowing you to breathe easier every time James hums. He doesn’t interrupt you, which you greatly appreciate, and by the time you’re done, you fall backward onto your bed, relieved.
“I’m sorry you had such a bad day, bunny,” James coos with his smooth-as-honey voice, filling your body with warmth and comfort. “A pretty girl like you doesn’t deserve to be treated like that.” That comment floods your face with heat and you shuffle up the bed to lean against the headboard.
“Oh, I - thank you, sir.” There it is again, sir. James exhales slowly as though he’s trying to control himself from doing something he shouldn’t, and part of you is momentarily worried that you’ve upset him somehow. You don’t want to disappoint him.
“What can I do to help?”
What can he do to help? You’re not quite sure, you’re not sad, and you’re not angry, but you would be lying if you said you didn’t need at least a hug right now. But, it would be too imposing to ask, right? There’s no way he would be willing to come over – that is, if your roommates would even allow him over. And he certainly wouldn’t invite a stranger into his house. So, you lie to him.
“Oh – Oh, no, James, I don’t – you don’t have to – it’s fine –”
“Bunny.”
Your mouth promptly closes, taking a deep breath through your nose and exhaling slowly.
“Sorry, James.”
“Don’t be sorry, bunny.” There’s some shuffling in the background as he talks and you can’t help but sigh at how sincere his voice is. “Now, what can I do to help?” And before you can even open your mouth he’s talking again, “Don’t say nothing, because I know there’s something you want.”
You’re silent for a moment, stewing over how to tell him. But, he’ll probably just be empathetic and say something along the lines of ‘I’d hug you if I were there right now’. So, you decide to just spit it out.
“I guess I just want… I just need a hug, I think,” You sigh, feeling a sudden sense of loneliness. It’s hard not having anyone to talk to, to be isolated even from the people you live with, to be put down time and time again, and not have anyone to support you.
“Where are you?” James asks, and you hear some more shuffling in the background, followed by the jingling of what sounds like keys.
“I’m at my apartment,” You say, confused. He couldn’t possibly be coming over, could he?
“Send me your address and I’ll come pick you up, we’ll go out for ice cream,” James says decisively, and you can tell he doesn’t want any protesting. “Bunny,” He says when you don’t say anything. “You need cheering up and I’m here to do just that. Please send me your address.” He speaks gently but once again, he doesn’t seem to want you to argue against it.
“O-Okay, I will.”
“Good, I’ll see you soon, bunny.” When you bid him goodbye, he hangs up, and you’re quick to send him your address, giving him instructions to text you when he arrives so you can meet him out front of the building.
During the next twenty or so minutes you’re practically running around your room trying to make yourself look presentable. You cried all of your makeup off so you opt to just wash the rest of it off, and then you pull your hair back and away from your face. It takes a bit to decide what to wear, after all this is just a friend taking another friend to get ice cream, but this is also James Barnes; he has more wealth than you could possibly imagine. You want to impress him and appear grateful for his friendliness, and looking at least half-decent would achieve that.
Finally, someone knocks on your door, yelling, “Someone’s here for you!”
With a rush of excitement, you grab your phone and wallet and slip on your shoes, then make your way out of your room to the front door where another roommate is standing in front of it, leaning against the frame and giggling at the person.
James.
He looks bored, almost like he’s trying to appear interested but can’t quite muster up the energy to do so. When you approach, he lifts his head, a wide smile crossing his face.
“There’s my little bunny,” He says confidently, completely ignoring your annoyed roommate. “Come on, let’s get you cheered up.”
With that you walk to him, timidly accepting his outstretched hand and letting him gently tug you into the hallway. When you turn around to tell your roommate that you’ll be back later you can’t even get a word out before you see her glaring at you and shutting the door — the click of the lock is audible through the empty hallway.
“Are they always like that?” James asks with a tone that conveys concern.
“Like what?” You know what he’s talking about, but you hate acknowledging it.
“Rude and disrespectful.” He is so blunt that it causes you to look down in embarrassment to avoid his intense gaze.
Yes, you want to say, they’re awful. You want to shout from the rooftops that your roommates are horrible to you, but you’re just too scared to do it.
“Oh – Oh, no, they’re just…” You trail off, peeking up at James to see the disbelief in his eyes. When you look down again, he brings up one of his hands to cup your cheek and guide your head up so you can look at him head-on.
“You don’t need to lie to me, bunny. I want you to trust me.” James sighs, leaning forward and placing a small kiss on your forehead. “Come on,” He squeezes your hand, smiling softly at you as he starts walking you out of the building and to his car.
It doesn’t take long to get to the ice cream shop, only a five-minute drive, and when you get there James keeps the car locked as he gets out so he can circle around to your side and open your door for you.
“Th-Thank you,” You say as you put your hand in James’ outstretched one, letting him guide you out of the car. He keeps his hold on your hand as you walk into the shop, going so far as to thread your fingers together while you wait in line.
The image of your hand encompassed by James’ large tattooed one has your tummy fluttering with butterflies. But, you must have been staring for a little too long because you’re broken out of your trance by James gently squeezing your hand.
“Is this okay, bunny?”
“Yes!” Heat floods your face as soon as you say it, feeling embarrassed by how quick you were to answer. “I, I mean. Um… Yes, it’s okay.”
James smirks at you, clearly enjoying how flustered you are. But, before you can stew in your shame, the man behind the counter says, “Next!”
You walk up to the counter, letting James order before giving yours. And when it’s time to pay, James doesn’t even drop your hand while he fishes his wallet out of his pocket and takes out his card. Your tummy flutters once again.
“Come, bunny.”
With your desserts now in hand, James leads you to a corner booth, only letting go of your hand so you can scoot in. He sits across from you, looking at you with what can only be described as thinly veiled hunger. It’s not off-putting, you just don’t know what it means.
“So, um…” You trail off looking down at your bowl of ice cream, fiddling with the spoon they gave you.
“You don’t need to be nervous, bunny,” James coos, reaching over and placing his hand palm up on the table, and you’re helpless but to take it, practically aching to feel his warmth again. “Now, other than everything that happened today, how have you been?”
It’s surprisingly easy to fall into a pleasant conversation with him, he asks questions and lets you finish talking before adding his own input, and he doesn’t break eye contact. It feels like he’s really listening to what you’re saying, and it’s almost freeing to have someone in your corner, someone you can trust and depend on.
What feels like far too soon, though has probably been several hours due to how dark it is outside, the man behind the counter comes to your table to tell you that they’re closing soon, and you can’t help but be sad. You’re enjoying James’ company far more than you probably should since you’ve only known him for a handful of days. It almost seems like you’ve known him your whole life.
“Well, bunny. I guess it’s time to go,” James says remorsefully, getting up out of the booth and reaching out his hand to help you out of the booth as well. He keeps holding your hand while you walk out of the door — making sure to throw away your trash on the way out.
James insists on opening the car door for you again — ever the gentleman. There’s a comfortable silence on the drive back to your apartment, your stomach swirling the entire time because James refuses to drop your hand. But when you get to your apartment building, a small amount of anxiety settles inside you, and you’re desperately hoping your roommates are asleep because you don’t feel like dealing with them after you’ve had such a good evening.
The silence is a little more tense while you ride the elevator up to your floor, but you’re grounded by James’ touch. It’s not until you get to your front door that you really look at him, staring into his twinkling eyes. And when he smiles, it settles your nerves.
“I guess this is the end of our night, bunny,” He says, squeezing your hand one last time before dropping it. Before you can mourn the loss of his touch he’s wrapping you in his arms and pulling you close to his chest, and you desperately hope he doesn’t hear the squeak you let out. You wrap your arms around his waist, letting James tuck your face into his neck while he holds you close.
“I had a wonderful time tonight,” James murmurs, pressing a lingering kiss on your forehead.
“Me too,” You say softly, breathing in and inhaling his comforting scent. “Thank you for cheering me up.”
“Of course, bunny. I’m always here for you.” Then, James pulls his head back so he can look into your eyes. “Always.”
You can’t help but smile. His gaze is hypnotizing, pulling you in and almost refusing to let you go.
“Thank you, James,” You breathe out, and one last time, James squeezes you and kisses your forehead, then steps back.
“I’ll talk to you soon, bunny?” James asks, smiling wide.
“Y–Yeah, I’ll text you. Or you can text me. Or call, that’s–that’s fine too.” Heat floods your face in embarrassment, but you don’t feel too bad about it because James only smiles wider, nodding once.
“I will.”
“Goodnight, James.” With that, you turn and unlock your door, turning around to look at James one last time as you shut the door.
“Goodnight bunny, I hope you have dreams as sweet as you are.” James winks, and you swear you can hear him chuckle when you squeak out an “o-okay,” and shut the door.
And maybe James is some kind of wizard because you have the best night of sleep you’ve had in a while.
For the next few weeks you and James text almost every day, and talk on the phone every couple of days. You’ve met up with him a few times as well, accepting his invitations to lunch or coffee. Each outing would last for several hours, too enraptured by his… everything to be the one to suggest the night should end. You’ve come to trust him, you know with a possibly concerning amount of certainty that James would do everything possible to keep you happy and safe.
Roughly a month and a half after meeting James, you’re sitting on your bed in the same position you were in when you first called him crying. Unlike last time, though, you don’t hesitate to call him. He’s told you time and time again that it doesn’t even matter if he’s in a meeting, he’ll always make time for you. You just hope that’s true.
He picks up almost immediately.
“Hello, bunny,” James says with the same soft tone he always uses when talking to you.
“H-hi, James,” You manage to say, before breaking out into sobs. You’re nearly hyperventilating, trying and failing to catch your breath between hiccups, and it takes a few minutes to calm down enough to hear rustling in the background on James’ end.
“Are you at home?” He asks with the utmost concern.
“Ye-Yes.”
“Stay there,” He says, using what you’ve deemed his CEO voice. “I’m coming to get you.”
“Ja–”
“Bunny.”
You sigh, knowing you can’t change his mind – not that you really want him to. You could really benefit from a hug right about now and James always provides the best ones.
“Can you at least stay on the phone with me?” Your voice is small, still sniffling every few words. You don’t think you could handle being alone with your own thoughts right now.
“Of course. You know I’ll do anything for you.”
It takes James twenty minutes to get to you, and he talks to you the whole time, just menial things to get your mind off of your sadness. When he lets you know that he’s at your apartment, you don’t even wait for him to tell you he’s coming up, you simply grab your jacket and slip on your shoes, then run to the front door without so much as a word to your roommates in the living room.
“James!” Upon seeing the man himself standing next to his car, you fling yourself into his arms, taking deep breaths to prevent yourself from crying in public. “Thank you for coming.”
“Bunny, how many times do I have to tell you that I’ll do whatever it takes to keep a smile on your pretty face?” James’ tone is teasing, but you know he’s serious if his stern and concerned gaze is anything to go by.
You nod, blinking back tears. It’s so nice to have a friend like James Barnes; kind, chivalrous, attentive. With the way he acts sometimes, you’d almost think he’s interested in more than friendship, but you always shake that thought off. He’s too handsome and wealthy to date some random personal assistant who’s barely able to make her rent.
“Come on, bunny,” James moves back but keeps an arm wrapped around your waist, leading you to his car and helping you in. Like always, he waits for you to sit so he can strap you in your seatbelt, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead before shutting the door then running around to the driver's seat.
This time, instead of taking a left at the light at the end of your block, he keeps going forward, taking turns until you’re not exactly sure where you are.
“Um, where are we going?”
“My house,” James says casually, briefly glancing at you so he can give you that ever-soft smile.
“But, isn’t your house only twenty minutes away?” You’re confused, and a little curious as to what he’s talking about.
“I only stay there when I have meetings in the city. I have a house a little further out where I live most of the time. It’s a little more lived-in, so I want to bring you there where you’ll feel a little more…” James pauses for a moment, glancing at you again. “At home.” His explanation makes sense in your brain, quickly squashing any nerves that you had. He’s rich, so of course he’d have multiple houses.
It’s almost an hour long drive to get to his house. Well, house feels like an inappropriate term for what it actually is. It’s more like a mansion, standing tall at three stories, a long driveway with trees lining either side of the road, and a luscious garden surrounding the property.
James helps you out of the car and guides you up the steps to the front door, where he unlocks it and lets you step inside. The moment you pass through the threshold your jaw nearly drops to the floor; a large chandelier hangs from the ceiling right when you step in and beautiful artwork adorns the walls. The open floor plan gives you a good view of the living room and kitchen from your vantage point, and you can’t wait to sink into the luxurious and almost comically large couch in front of the TV.
“Can I get you anything to drink?” James urges you further in, bringing you to the living room.
“Um, just water is fine.” You look up at him, smiling shyly and nearly tripping when he smiles back.
“I’ll be right back,” James says, watching as you sit and sink into the plush couch. “Make yourself at home.” The look in his eyes when he says it sparks something inside you, something warm and fuzzy. Thinking of James’ house as your home makes your tummy flutter, but you don’t understand why.
God, you need to get it together.
You’re left alone for a moment, and everything is quiet except for the fridge opening and the glasses clinking. James’ absence allows you a moment to breathe properly, being with him always leaves you flustered, though you can’t deny that some part of you likes it. You like his commanding nature, how deep his voice gets when he talks passionately about something, how warm his embrace is when he holds you for what might be a little too long, squeezing you like he doesn’t want to let you go.
“Here you go, bunny.” Suddenly, a glass of water appears in front of you, and you take it with a gracious smile and a small “thank you.”
“So,” He says, sitting next to you — really close — and throwing his arm over your shoulders, practically pulling you into his lap. “Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?”
Tears immediately spring to your eyes, suddenly remembering how horrible today was. You force yourself to take a couple of sips of your glass but your hand starts shaking enough to where James takes your glass and sets it on the coffee table in front of you.
“Bunny—“
His soft voice causes you to start crying, throwing yourself into his chest and burying your face in his neck as you sob out your troubles. James’ hand is warm on your back, rubbing it soothingly and squeezing you close to him. This time, he actually pulls you in his lap, you’re grasping the front of his sweater while he maneuvers your body so you’re straddling his thighs, and you can’t help but scoot closer so you’re sitting on him properly with your body flush against his.
A few minutes of crying later and your tears have finally slowed, your sobs deforming into hiccups until you calm down enough to hear James cooing into your ear, whispering sweet nothings. When you finally catch your breath, you pull back, staring up at James with wide eyes and a pout.
“I-I… I was fired! Fired! And I don’t know what I’m going to do! Mr. Walker just tossed me to the side because a document went missing and he blamed me, and now I’m jobless and my roommates are definitely going to kick me out because I can barely make my rent as it is. What am I going to do?”
James sighs, rubbing one hand up and down your back and keeping his other on your waist, though they manage to sneak up your shirt a little without your notice.
“I’m sorry, bunny,” He starts, giving you a comforting smile. “It’s awful that happened to you, and it’s not your fault, so don’t go blaming yourself like I know you want to.”
Your face goes warm with embarrassment. How is he able to read you so easily?
“And as far as your living situation, you’ll move in with me.”
“James!” Your eyebrows furrow, your head automatically shaking. “No, no I can’t do that to you. I don’t have a job anymore and I definitely can’t afford to pay you rent, I-I can’t burden you like that.” Even though it hurts to say it, you want to be honest with him. Because how on Earth are you supposed to pay him back for this?
“You’re not a burden.” You’re surprised by his angry tone, and his eyes darken as though he’s challenging you to say otherwise. “You’ll never be a burden on me, bunny. I’m offering you this, I don’t want you to pay me.”
As though he can sense your hesitation, he gives you a playful smirk.
“But if you really want to help, how about you do the cooking and cleaning? I don’t always get a good home-cooked meal, and it’d be nice to come back from work to see you in a cute little apron.”
This makes you giggle, a weight lifting off your shoulders when you nod timidly. “I-I can do that. I’ll do anything.”
And while you had pure intentions with that statement, James takes it differently, his eyes darkening even further as he nibbles at his bottom lip.
“Anything?” He smirks wider when you nod eagerly because that’s what you are. Always eager to please — especially please James.
“Yes, anything!”
James hums, seemingly thinking something over, before sliding one of his hands up the back of your shirt.
“How about you give me a kiss? I haven’t had a good one in a while,” While he sounds like he’s teasing, his face shows he’s anything but.
He really wants you to kiss him. And, well, it’s not like you’re going to deny him, you’re too grateful for his generosity. Plus, you’d be insane to pass up such an opportunity, he’s handsome, kind, and makes you feel safe. So, with only a little hesitation, you lean down and press your lips against his in a simple peck, but before you can pull away James groans, placing one hand on the back of your head to keep you steady.
His lips practically attack yours, his tongue invading your mouth and taking what it wants – you. You don’t even know it but you’re whimpering almost immediately, opening your mouth and letting James consume you whole. He’s smiling against your lips, biting your bottom lip as he retreats for a moment so he can stare up into your eyes.
“You’re so beautiful, bunny,” James whispers reverently like he’s hypnotized. And he’s not the only one. Your brain is quickly going silent, your sole focus is on James and how good he’s making you feel.
“Really?”
“So beautiful, I’ve always thought so.” His confession makes you whine, he thinks you’re beautiful, this gorgeous man with the deepest blue eyes you’ve ever seen. Suddenly, James curses softly, grabbing your waist under your shirt, and that’s when you realize you’ve started subconsciously moving your hips against his.
“S-Sorry,” You mumble, though you’re not too sorry considering you can’t stop rolling down onto his lap, it feels too good.
“Don’t be.” James hums thoughtfully, leaning forward slightly and wrapping his arms around your waist. “Why don’t we go to my room? It’ll be more comfortable.”
You don’t even wait for him to finish before you start eagerly nodding your head, adjusting your legs as he stands so you can wrap them around his waist. He carries you to his room, smirking to himself the entire time because you can’t stop kissing and biting his neck in the hopes of leaving a mark, staking your claim. When you finally get there, James quickly shuts the door behind him and then drops you down onto the bed.
“Sir,” You whine when he doesn’t do anything, he’s only standing at the end of the bed, staring at you with eyes so dark with lust that you can’t see the blue of them.
“Don’t worry, bunny, I’ll take good care of you.” With that, he swiftly strips his shirt off and tosses it to the side, then undoes the button on his pants, slowly dragging down the zipper with a wide smirk at the haze in your eyes. “Do you want to help me?”
It takes a few moments for you to understand what he’s asking of you, but once you do you push yourself up, shuffling over to him until you’re sitting with your legs underneath your butt. For a moment you’re not sure what to do, you reach out for his pants but freeze mid-air because you just now realize that you don’t know what the fuck you’re doing. You’ve never been in this situation before, your sexual exploits consist of goodnight kisses on the few dates you’ve been on, and your vibrator in your nightstand that has been working overtime ever since you met James.
“I-I’m sorry,” You murmur, embarrassment flooding your features.
“Why are you sorry, bunny?” James’ voice is soft, soothing your worries.
“I… I don’t know what I’m doing. I’ve never… been with a man before.” Your hands fall to your lap at the same time you hang your head. What if you disappoint him? You don’t know what you’re doing and you’d hate to mess anything up.
“I know, bunny. It’s okay.” James lifts your chin with his fore and middle fingers, guiding you to look at him again. “I’ll teach you everything.” His voice dips lower, his bottom lip getting trapped between his teeth when you smile, relieved.
“Now, I’m going to take off my pants, but I want you to take off my boxers. Okay?”
“Yes, sir,” You say quickly, eyes dropping to his crotch as he begins pulling the denim down, down, down until it pools on the floor. He steps out of them, then steps in front of you with his arms hanging by his side. When he raises his eyebrow, nodding to his underwear, you reach out for him again, this time with only a small amount of hesitation. Your nerves are nearly off the charts, but knowing that James is going to guide you makes you feel better.
Your hands are shaking slightly when you pull them down, and absolutely no one can fault you for the loud gasp you let out when he’s finally bare because holy shit. Despite being relatively anxious and naive surrounding sex, you’ve watched your fair share of porn, and while the men in them did usually have big dicks, they seem small compared to James’.
You’re almost frightened, how the hell is that going to fit inside you? James chuckles, and you realize you probably said that aloud.
“Don’t worry, bunny. I’ll make it fit,” James groans, reaching down to grab the bottom of your shirt. “I’m going to take this off now, okay?” He tugs it up and over your head once you give your consent, tossing it to the side and cursing when he sees the light pink bra barely covering your breasts. James is biting his lip so hard you’re worried he might draw blood, but you don’t pay it any mind because he’s soon urging you to lay on your back with your legs dangling over the edge.
“Gonna take these off too.”
Giving him a shy smile and a nod, he hooks his fingers in the waistband of your sweatpants, glancing up at you one final time to make sure you’re okay before he surprises you by pulling them off of your legs in one swift movement. You’re tugged down the bed a little, a shocked gasp leaving your lips.
“Fucking angelic,” James murmurs, dropping to his knees and placing his large, rough hands on your knees. He smirks when he sees your matching light pink panties, already soaking wet at the crotch. You have to bite your lip to keep from whimpering when he pushes your legs wide apart, but you can’t stop yourself from squirming when he doesn’t do anything else.
“James,” You whine, high-pitched and needy.
“Sir,” He reminds you with a raised eyebrow as though he’s daring you to say his real name again. And just for good measure, he surprises you by lifting up one of his hands and swinging it down onto your clothed pussy in a harsh swat, causing you to let out a loud moan.
“Sir! I-I’m sorry, sir.”
“It’s okay, little bunny,” James coos as he runs his hands up the back of your thighs so he can push them up and out, letting him get a good look at where you need him most. “Are you going to let me eat your pretty pussy?”
Even though it’s phrased as a question, you know James isn’t going to take ‘no’ for an answer. It’s not like you even want to tell him ‘no’, you’re too desperate for something, anything.
“Y-Yes, sir. Please.” Your begging makes him groan, and he quickly dips forward so he’s not even an inch away from your core, inhaling deeply and cursing again.
With a quick kiss to your covered clit, he twists his fingers into the band of your panties and rips them into pieces, and you know you’ll have marks from it. But you want them, you want evidence of this night, and you’ll gladly take anything he gives you. And no sooner than your panties off do James dive in, inhaling once more before his tongue sneaks out and licks a long stripe from your hole to your clit.
It’s at that point that you know you’re well and truly fucked, because there’s no way you’re not going to become addicted to the feeling of his tongue dipping into your quivering hole, the way he wraps his lips around your clit and sucks it into his mouth, the way he groans into your pussy like there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.
And it doesn’t take long for your legs to start shaking, desperately trying to close around James’ head but not being able to due to his hands gripping your thighs and holding them still. The filthy groans he lets out are enough to make you cum alone, but then he attaches his lips to your clit again and gently bites down, forcing an obscene moan out of your mouth.
He lets you get used to the pleasure, switching between fucking his tongue deep inside you and flicking at your clit, and only when he decides you’re ready does he manage to slide his forefinger in your pussy all the way to the third knuckle.
“Sir!” You can’t help but yell. Yes, it stings, but it’s far outweighed by the pleasure of his tongue assaulting your pulsating nub.
He wastes no time in slowly sliding it in and out, wiggling it around until you whine loudly, letting him know he’s found that special spot. You’re too out of it to realize it but James is smiling, clearly smug at how he’s making you react. You wouldn’t care anyway, in fact, he deserves it. He’s making you feel too good, especially when he slips in his middle finger and spreads them.
“Oh god! Yes, fuck. Sir, yes,” You’re incoherent, blabbering nonsense because your brain is too foggy to form a coherent thought. James picks up the pace, wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking it as he thrusts his fingers directly at your g-spot.
“Sir! Sir, I-I’m…” As soon as he started, he stopped, pulling out his fingers and leaning back slightly with a wide grin. His chin is coated in your juices, and the gleam in his eyes shows you that you’re not going to be able to cum so easily.
“Not yet, bunny,” James says when you whine pathetically, trying to buck your hips up into his mouth but unable to do so because of his commanding grip now holding your waist. “I’m not letting you cum until I’m inside you.”
James then climbs onto the bed, guiding you upwards to lay your head against the plush pillows so he can lean over your body. With little preamble, he snakes his arms around your back to quickly unclasp your bra and allow your breasts to spill free.
“I can’t wait to watch these bounce,” James groans, palming one of them, twisting and pinching at your nipple. James just laughs when you hiss, because your soaked pussy is enough to tell him that you’re loving what he’s doing.
“Bunny.” He says gruffly, and your eyes shoot up to meet his, though you can hardly see him because your vision is hazy, nothing matters except James. “Are you ready?”
You’re barely able to mumble ‘yes’, but you manage to do so, and James takes that as his cue to grasp the base of his cock and position it at your entrance. He places his other hand on your neck, lightly squeezing the sides to keep your eyes locked on his.
The pressure against your hole is immense, James telling you to breathe as he slowly pushes deeper. He stops about halfway through, giving you a moment for the pain to fade. He’s clearly having a hard time staying still but is cognizant enough to know you’re overwhelmed. It takes a few minutes of deep breathing before you finally nod, silently letting him know that he can move. And he does, pushing in all the way until his hips are flush with yours. Once again, he stills, leaning down to brush his lips over your cheeks and catch the tears spilling from the corners of your eyes.
“H-Hurts, sir,” You whimper out, forcing yourself to keep eye contact with him. And while your core is burning, James looks so damn proud that you’re taking him that it pushes away any discomfort.
“Do you want me to stop?”
“No!” Even though you’re in mild pain you’re pretty sure you’ll cry if he pulls out, you need everything he can give you. “Please, don’t stop.”
“Don’t worry, bunny,” James coos, then tightens his grip around your neck ever so slightly. “I’ll give you what you need.” And as though a switch was flipped, James pulls back, pausing for half a second before thrusting forward.
“Ahhh!” Your mouth drops open as you scream, your arms coming up to claw at James’ shoulders and back as he gives you all he has.
And he has a lot to give. He puts his back into fucking you, keeping one hand around your neck and using his other arm to pull your left leg over his shoulder. Sweat beads at your hairline, your eyes stinging with tears, your whole body lit on fire. At this moment, nothing matters except the delicious burn between your legs, the way your body is shoved further up the bed with each of James’ powerful thrusts until it gets to the point where he has to place the hand around your leg on the headboard to steady you.
“Fuck, bunny, you feel so good. You’re so good for me.” James can’t stop mumbling praises, and even though you can’t really hear them, you feel them. Your eyes don’t move from his, even as he glances down to where your bodies are joined. “Fuck, little bunny. Your pussy looks so good stuffed full of my cock, knew you’d take me so well.”
“S-Sir,” You whimper, bucking your hips up to meet his thrusts and digging your nails into his skin. But James doesn’t seem to mind if the way his whole body shudders and his hips slightly lose their rhythm is anything to go by.
“Are you gonna be a good little bunny and cum for me?” James moves his gaze back up to your face, chuckling when he sees how fucked-out you already are. Despite his hand still around your neck you manage to nod, little cries and whines escaping into the air every time James’ cock gets shoved against your cervix.
“Yeah, you are,” James continues, leaning over your body even more and shifting so the tip of his dick hits your spot with every thrust. “You’re going to squirt all over my cock so I can cum deep in your cunt. Gonna cum in you every day, keep you full of me, maybe even plug you up to make sure it sticks.”
You’re right there, your pleasure climbing higher and higher until you’re ready to fall off the edge. James’s next sentence sends you there.
“Fuck, bunny. You’re going to be the perfect little mommy to all the children I’m gonna give you.”
When you wake up, James will tell you about how you came so hard that you blacked out, squirting and gushing around his cock while he continued telling you how even more beautiful you’ll be when you’re pregnant, taking care of him and his home, how he knew you were the one for him from the moment he first saw you. Your things will already be moved into his house. New clothes chosen specifically for you will be hung up in his closet and the bathroom will be adjusted to fit your products. The kitchen is going to be filled with all the food you like. And your cat will be curled up in a miniature hammock in her very own room.
When you wake up, you’ll see how much thought James put into redecorating his home just for you.
And you’ll be too grateful for his kindness to question where he put your birth control.
No use of Y/N, limited description, female reader, you're a university student and work at a cafe, and have hair
BWA Masterlist
My Masterlist
Breaking the rules <- next installment
Word count: 12+ k <- what in the fuck was I on
Summary:Old habits are hard to break. When Bucky finds himself in a new place, looking to start over, he reaches for an old comfort. He thinks he won't cross that line again, won't become infatuated with you. But what happens when you want him to?
** READ THE WARNINGS **
⚠️I am not responsible for what you read ⚠️
CW: stalking, peeping tom, noncon, dubcon, death threats, talk of killing, knife play, slapping, hitting, bitting, face fucking, handcuffs, p in v raw, cum eating, fingering, oral f and m, choking, dacryphilia, breath control, breaking and entering, pain kink, marking kink, overstimuation, serial assualt mentioned, age gap (cause bucky), limited plot, mostly smut, imrpoper use of a metal hand, masturbation f and m, reader (and writer) is just as fucked up as Bucky.
Author's notes: This is something I haven't written in years. I give full props to the lovelies at BWA for inspiring me to take a darker turn on things. It's something I've been wanting to explore for a while, and I finally got a chance to do that. That said, just because I write doesn't mean I condone it by any stretch. This is a work of fiction and I need y'all to really understand that. Hate comments will be removed and I will block you. Full stop.
Divider by @cafekitsune
⚠️Did you read the warnings?!? ⚠️
He’d only been in the city a month, a month of trying to figure out the world that was full of rules and boundaries. A world where he could do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted, however he wanted. Of Steve trying to coax him into accepting that he was not the man he had been for the last seventy years. He was wrong, so, so wrong. Cause as soon as he saw you, the gut feeling had crawled out. A snake poking its head out of its den to scent the air.
You smelled good, like citrus, cinnamon, flour, and old books. He had figured out that you worked across from the library where he’d seen you at originally. Knew that you were new to the area, starting at a university that was a short bus ride away. Didn’t have many friends, wasn’t active on social media that he could find. Kept to yourself for the most part. It was different, thrilling. You didn’t make it easy for him; weren’t as distracted as the others had been. So aware of your surroundings, always looking around, taking in the place.
Which had all led him to being here, sitting across from your apartment building. It wasn’t anything fancy, the fob would be easy enough to bypass, it was just figuring out which floor you were on. Steve was out, and tonight was the night.
Dressed head to toe in black, a small bag on his back, cap covering his face. He had scoped out your building using google maps, it was newer, no fire escapes to climb up. He knew you didn’t live on any of the first three floors, he would have seen you by now if you did. It left five floors, too many to search from the inside.
Instead, he broke into the building across from you and climbed up the building's inner stairwell, making his way onto the roof. It gave him a view of one side; if he didn’t find you there, he would move so he could see the backside. That familiar flutter tugs at his guts, you had him all wound up, and you didn’t even know it.
Digging around in his bag he pulled out the parts for the rifle, setting up against the edge of the building. He swept the roof first, looking for anyone else on the hunt tonight. Seeing things were clear, he started his search. One window at a time.
The first few windows were dark. One had some guy furiously jerking off to some cartoon porn, next was a woman dancing naked in her kitchen. That floor was a bust, same with the one below. He grumbles, but it doesn’t sway him. He moves down a level, pausing to watch a couple having vigorous sex on their sofa, the girl's tits bouncing are hypnotizing. He pushes roughly against his cock. Now was not the time.
Shifting, he hit a few dark windows, and then ones that are on. He pauses when he sees bookshelves, a laptop, and your bag. This was your place, floor four. If the floor plan was accurate, you were in room 412. A one bedroom, with a decent floor plan, for the city anyway. But where were you now?
He adjusts his scope, settling himself in on the hard roofing of the building. He moves between the two windows, one is your living room, and the other is your bedroom. The bedroom is dark, save for the glow of something charging. Probably your phone, he wonders what’s on the phone. What he might see if he got a chance to look at it.
Movement catches his eye and he is moving the scope to look back at the main room. You're in a towel, hair up in another one, steam coming from somewhere behind you. His eyes drawn to any exposed skin, the way your thighs peak out from under the towel, arms moving as you turn a kettle on. The way your ass moves as you stand on tiptoes to grab some tea from the cupboard. Bucky can feel himself drooling, the way he wants to taste you. Take that towel off and explore the rest of your body.
You move into the bedroom and close the curtains. A huff leaves him. He flicks back to his phone, checking that no one is looking for him. The last thing he wanted was for Steve to wonder where he was.
The curtains pulled back and you stood there for a moment, just looking out at the street. Bucky froze as your gaze took in everything. He pulls his scope back, behind the ledge, and lowers himself down. Just peering over the ledge at you. You looked along the roofs, a small smile on your lips, before you turned back into the room.
“Who are you?” He wondered out loud before setting his scope and rifle back up.
A large shirt hung over your body, a pair of small bike shorts did nothing to hide your legs. He shifts a little, feeling himself react to seeing you like this. It was so intimate, so raw. It was why he did this, why he needed to do this. To experience someone without any walls or masks; just you, in your element.
He spent the next hour watching you, typing away on a laptop, music playing through a pair of headphones. You had tea, some cookies, swaying back and forth to music only you could hear. It was so simple. Then the laptop closed and you moved to your bedroom, turning off the lights in the living room. Your bedroom was barely decorated, a calendar on the wall, a small side table stacked with books. Simple.
You settle into your bed. He watches you kick off your shorts from under the covers, dropping them beside your bed. The way his heart jumps seeing those shorts hit the ground, it was like you’d stripped in front of him. The light goes off in your room, and everything settles.
This was his cue to leave, to pack and head back to his apartment. Maybe jerks off while thinking of what is under those shorts.
His body doesn’t comply; he knows better, knows it’s too soon, too fast, but that hasn’t stopped him before. But before he had hydra to clean up after him. Before, it didn’t mean anything, just a way to get rid of pent-up energy after a mission.
Would this mean anything? Was this just something to occupy his time? It didn’t feel like that. It felt so different. Maybe it was because he was out from under hydra. That he could remember things. Things he didn’t want to remember, and the things he did were full of holes.
Shifting back to his scope, he makes his decision. The rifle is broken down and packed up into his bag, and he is back down the stairs in record time. Finding a dumpster, Bucky tucks his backpack into it, and makes his way towards your apartment building. The fob is bypassed with his phone. He grabs his mask, putting it on and keeping his cap low to over his face.
He keeps his posture relaxed but moves quickly into the elevator. Surprised to see no cameras. The doors open and again no cameras are visible in the hall. They are either well hidden or not being used. Bucky is leaning towards the latter. Landlords weren’t exactly known for reliable security. One less thing to worry about.
He is at your door in a few feet. Adrenaline running through his veins, making his pulse pound. The door has a standard deadbolt lock, not a fob like the front. Without thinking, he grabs his lock-picks and has the deadbolt open within seconds.
His ears strain to hear anything. Once he is sure you’re not awake, he moves. Hand on the knob, he turns it softly, listening and then pushes the door open.
It’s dark, but the open windows give him enough light to move around quietly. You really should close those at night.
Bucky takes a second to look at the place. The decorations are simple: a couple of full bookshelves and a sofa covered in throw blankets. You have a tv across from the sofa, with a stack of dvds beside it. Walls are bare, save for where your coat hung up. Shoes neatly placed beside the door. Kitchen cleaned, with dishes in a drying rack.
There are only two other doors, one for your bathroom and one for your bedroom. Mind racing, he moves softly towards the open door to the bedroom.
Standing in the doorway, he takes you in. Bucky gets close enough that he can start to smell you. A soft, clean smell of citrus. That he wants to commit to memory.
Your blankets are tucked up under your chin, one arm stuffed under the pillow and another wrapped around the top. Your chest is rising and falling in an even pattern. Having no idea he is standing in your room, feet away from you. He could easily walk over and take you right now. Fingers twitching in his gloves, he wasn’t that man now. Impulses could get him put down. He needed to take his time, even if coming in here wasn’t part of the plan. It felt good to be in here, to be so close to you. Feel power flooding through him. The ability to be completely in control.
He moves over quietly, crouching down beside your bed, watching your face. Lips parted slightly, eyes twitching behind your eyelids, dreaming. Bucky wondered what you’d be dreaming about? What comes to mind while you fall asleep?
The urge to sit and just watch you claws at him, he knows better. Knows that if he does that, things will be over. That he won’t be able to come back here, won’t be able to see you again. He needs that, needs that more than he needs to stay.
Fingers moving, he takes off his glove and reaches up to touch your hair. It’s soft, under his rough fingers. He leans in and smells your shampoo. Teeth sinking into his lip to stop him from groaning. You don’t even move, eyes still firmly closed, breath just as even.
Not thinking he moves around to the opposite side of the bed, fingers reaching out, he touches the cool fabric of your. He pulls the covers back slowly, revealing you. Your shirt is rucked up enough that he can see your bare hip and the swell of your ass. Completely naked. Just lying there like sin itself.
You shift, a muffled huff. The movement has him placing the blanket back and dropping to the floor without a sound. Above him, you shift, rolling over, he hears you grab your phone, clicking through it before groaning and dropping it on the bed.
His heart is rattling in his chest, cock rock hard as he lies there. Trying to get his body calmed down enough to listen. Several moments go by, and he is finally able to listen past his own heart beat. You’re back asleep, none the wiser.
Standing back up, he moves over to a basket, laundry. A single item in mind. It doesn’t take long to find what he needs. A used pair of underwear, they slip into his pocket, and he is out the door like a shadow.
The door clicks behind him, and he pulls his mask off panting into the cool air of the room. Grin spread across his face as he flicked on the lights. He gets his boots off and paces back and forth for a few moments.
Dropping his bag in his room. A thrill running down his spine, unlike any high he had ever been on. His body was practically vibrating out of his skin. Hand digging into his pocket, he brought your panties up to his face and sniffed them.
Eyes rolling into his head at the heady, deep smell. It makes his head spin, his already painfully hard cock twitching in his jeans. Holding them to his face, he doesn't even bother going to his bedroom. Hands unbutton his pants and pushing his boxers out of the way so he can stroke himself.
A groan leaves him, deep and guttural. Panting, thinking of you, he flops himself onto the sofa. Tipping his head back, eyes closed as he starts to think of you. Of rolling you onto your back, ripping the covers off. Hearing you gasp as he crawls on top of you. The realization dawning in your eyes as his metal hand pins your hands above your head. Would you scream? Have to shove your own underwear in your mouth. No. He'd hold a knife against your throat. Tell you not to move, or he'd kill you.
Feel you struggle to not move, how your heart would hammer. The way he could smell your reaction to the words, he'd want to taste you. Feel you push against him, beg him to stop, beg him to not touch you. Knowing he wouldn't stop, listening to you pleading, all the while it's fueling him. Pushing your legs open, lying in bed naked like a whore, just begging for him to take you. Drag the knife along your skin, watch the faint scratch mark bloom under it. The way you'd squirm as he would run it down to hover over the most sensitive areas.
Hold the knife just under your navel. Pushed enough for you to feel the bite of it. Pressing your legs open enough for him to slide in.
He moans, knowing how tight and warm you'd be. Knowing he won't last long the first time. Fuck into you fast and hard.
Bucky’s eyes opened as his release edged closer. One hand stripping his cock in quick strokes, your panties in the other. He brought them up to his face. The smell of you flooding his senses brings his release in a hot snap. Body locking up as come shot out of him in thick spurts. Holding his breath as he milks every last drop of pleasure out.
Lying there, a panting mess, staring up at the ceiling. Fuck. It was so fucked up, and yet he wanted more. Wanted it more than anything. To actually have you under him.
With a groan, he gets up, cleaning himself off in the kitchen. He won't be able to wait much longer. The need to finally have you was starting to overwhelm him.
When you wake up something feels off. Looking around the place you try to figure it out. What felt off? What was off?
You throw the blankets off and grab a pair of sweat pants sliding them on before going over to the window. Gazing out, you look back up to the roofline. Wondering if what you saw last night had anything to do with the feeling this morning. The man on the roof had moved fast, but not fast enough. Now your gut was telling you someone had been in your apartment.
You walk out of the bedroom and go to the front door. It's not open or broken; there is no new visible damage. Closing and locking it, you walk back to your couch and open your laptop. Clicking into a hidden app for the wireless cameras you installed.
One sat in the middle of the kitchen/living room, another by the door, and one in your bedroom. They passed easily as CO2 alarms, and your landlord hadn't even noticed. Having had more than one creepy utility guy in your life, this gave you some peace. Anxiety creeping up the back of your skull, you start to scrub through the footage.
Then, at 2:23 am, you see him. The door opens like he has a key, and he steps in carefully. There is no hesitation, his head moves back and forth scanning the place, taking it in. Then he moves inside.
You click over to your bedroom, eyes wide in horrific fascination as you see him come stand in your doorway. He stands for exactly two minutes before walking over and crouching by your head.
You should be mortified, calling the police, your landlord, something. Instead, you rewind and watch three more times.
Mouth hanging open. A twisting feeling spiralling in your lower abdomen, as your fingers caress the trackpad. Wetting your lips, you finally watch him get up from beside you. See him hesitate for a second before he goes around to the other side of the bed. Then standing for another twenty seconds before he carefully lifts the covers.
Your mouth falls open as he stares at you, your face flushing, knowing you were bare save for the shirt.
The twitch of your body has him dropping to the ground. You have no memories of waking up and staring at your phone. The intruder stays on the ground for several minutes. Can he hear you?
Rewinding, you watch his head tilt as he comes into the apartment, then into your bedroom. It was as if he could hear you breathing. Who was this? Why was he in your apartment?
You let the surveillance footage continue, and you see him grab a pair of underwear and then leave. All of that just for a pair of underwear?
“You, dirty bastard." A grin passes your lips as he walks out of the place with your underwear in his pocket.
The next thirty minutes are spent rewatching the video. You zoom in, slow down, lighten the footage, trying to get a glimpse of him. At least you're assuming it's a he. He fills the whole door and moves like he owns the place. It shouldn’t make you excited, ot make your body ache in ways it hasn’t in so long. This kind of thing didn’t happen to you; it happened in books or on shows.
An alarm goes off and you're already cussing yourself for not getting ready for work. Thankfully, it's not far away, and you're not busing from university. Closing the curtains, you strip and dig around for some work appropriate clothes.
It hits you, you weren’t scared. You weren’t running for the phone or feeling like someone violated your privacy. No. You were just wondering if he would come back.
The coffee shop was busy, with the coming and going of the usual weekend customers. It wasn't enough to keep your mind off the intruder. The shadow that had come in and stared at you before leaving. It shouldn't make you excited or have you clenching around nothing. Wondering what would have happened if he had come and you'd been awake.
How did he get in? Was he someone from the apartment complex? Or did he slip in behind someone? Why your apartment?
“Black coffee.” The voice is familiar, and you look up from your spot fixing pastries.
It's the guy that grabbed the strawberry scone from last weekend. It would be hard to forget him, with dark, long hair and piercing blue eyes. The way he'd hold your eye contact like he didn't want to forget your face. The way a wolf watches a grouse.
“No scone?” You ask, letting a flirty smile cross your lips. Something about him felt so familiar.
He moves over, with his cup, to stand across from you. “Anything fresh?”
“They're all fresh, but I'd recommend the blueberry and lemon one.” You reply, purposefully drawing your bottom lip into your mouth. Shifting from foot to foot.
“Well, I can't exactly turn down a sweet offer like that.” He stares back at you, his eyes looking down at where your teeth have bitten into your lip.
“I will warm one up for you.” You reply cheerily. “You staying? Or going?”
“Thoughts, I'd stay for a bit.”
“Mind if I join you?”
You were surprised when his cheeks flushed, his eyes glancing away for a second. Did you just get this big man all flustered?
“Ah, yeah. I'd like that.” He replies, finally looking back at you, eyes sparkling. Oh, he could do unspeakable things to you.
You let your coworker know you're having lunch. She gives you a wink as you grab tea and a sandwich from the case. Bouncing out to sit with him.
He sits, legs splayed, and the urge to just sit on his lap nearly takes over. Instead, you sit on the opposite side of the table. Trying not to show just how riled up you are, between this and intruder, you were a right mess
“You always have lunch with people you don't know?” He asks, taking a sip of his coffee. Your eyes take in the gloved hands and leather jacket.
You shrug, taking the tea bag out. Watching his eyes look at the bag. “You seem trustworthy.”
His eyes roll a little as he watches his surroundings. Completely aware of everything happening around him. “Can I ask your name? Or should I just refer to you as the scone guy?”
“Didn’t know I had a nickname already.” A small grin pulls on the corners of his mouth. “It's Bucky.” He says, causally, like it’s not an uncommon name. “What about you? Or do you want a nickname?”
You reply with your name, returning the grin. “What nickname would you have given me?”
Huffing a laugh, he looks down the street before looking back at you. “Bookworm.”
It stops you, “Bookworm? How’d you know I like books?”
Gesturing at your name tag, beside it is a pin that is a stack of books. “Also, saw you at the library last week.”
Cheeks flushing, you tuck some hair behind your ear, having completely forgotten the pin.
“You should have said hi,” You reply, trying to keep yourself composed. Nerves are making your hands tremble. Hoping you were reading the situation right
He shrugs, eating his scone carefully, his eyes never leaving yours. “Didn’t think you’d remember me.”
A soft chuckle leaves you, practically melting under his stare. “Hard to forget someone like you.”
Shaking his head, he looks away, taking a sip of coffee, “I will, say hi, if I see you again.”
“Why don’t we exchange numbers? That way, if you want to go to the library, we could go together, maybe?” You watch his face, several expressions crossing it, unsure if you’ve pushed too hard. He licks his lips, smirks.
“Yeah, I’d like that.”
Bucky’s head was spinning; what the fuck just happened? You’d given him your number like it was nothing. As if he hadn’t been slinking around your room last night. Then jerking off with your panties on his face.
His stomach lurches; something new and foreign pushes there. The confidence you had to just ask for his number, look at him like you saw him. No fear. No worry.
He was torn between thinking you were either supremely stupid or incredibly confident. Maybe both.
Where others won’t look at him, you would. They could feel his predatory nature, and yet it drew you to him.
Pushing the door open, he has to hide a cringe when he sees that Steve is back. It’s his best friend, but days like today make him wish he lived alone. Not that Stark or Shield would ever allow for that.
“Hey, you alright?” Steve’s brows furrow, like he could read his thoughts.
Bucky shrugs, taking off his jacket and dropping his keys by the door. “Yeah. How was work?”
“Simple, not sure why they asked me to come. I am not staying long, we got a-” He waves his hand, Bucky knowing Steve couldn’t tell him, national security or some bullshit. “Something big is going on. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone for.”
“Okay,” Bucky replies, trying to contain his excitement. “Can I help?”
Steve shakes his head, as expected. “Nah, not yet, buddy.” Patting Bucky’s upper arm, like that will somehow get rid of the last seventy years. “But soon, I am sure we could use you.”
“Right, sure. Well, I’ll be here, or somewhere.” Bucky says quietly, leaning against the counter, arms crossed.
“I am going to pack up a few things.” Steve doesn’t leave right away, still looking at him, trying to get a read on him. “You sure you’re okay? Could always stay at the compound instead?”
Bucky shakes his head, “I am fine. Like it here, it’s quiet.”
Steve continues to watch him, seeming content with whatever he sees. He nods and leaves.
The next two days, you start digging in, plugging his number into various search engines, along with the name he gave you. There is not much. Which is odd, most people had some internet history.
Instead, you focus on his name, it’s different. More than likely a nickname. Yet, it still comes up dead, until you are scrolling through the fourth page of some search engine you can’t remember the name of. When the Howling commandos pop up, eyebrows knit. You click on it. It’s a fan page for a WW2 group. Scrolling down your heart stops when you see Bucky. A younger version of him, but not by much, standing beside Captain America himself. James ‘Bucky’ Bauchanan Barnes.
You highlight the name and plug it back into the web. Articles start filling your feed, The Winter Soldier. There must have been hundreds of articles about him; you’d even seen some of them on the news. But you hadn’t put two and two together. The man who gave you his number was The Winter Soldier, a deadly assassin, brainwashed by HYDRA, and somehow had escaped it all with barely a mark to his name.
Fingers itching, you pull up several photos of him. The haunted look, the way he stared out of the photos like a man lost in time. Your thighs ached, you were tempted to text him, phone him. So many questions sat on the tip of your tongue.
Sighing, you close your laptop, looking up at the ceiling, seeing the faux CO2 monitors. Mind flicking back to the intruder. You’d scrubbed through the footage from the rest of the day finding nothing interesting.
You'd hoped he’d have come back. Even hoped he’d be waiting when you walked through the door. It was fucked up. Wrong in all the ways, yet fuck it, it made you hot. Makes your cunt throb and ache. Wondering just what it feels like for someone to make you do what they wanted.
Hand slipping between your thighs, you push against your palm. Rubbing yourself through your shorts. Groaning, you wonder what it would feel like for him to take you. To push you down on the bed, hand on your neck, holding you down in place. Would he be bare, not bothering with a condom, just pushing in so you could feel every bit of him?
Shifting your hand slips into your shorts. The curtains aren’t closed, the lights are on, and anyone could see you. That makes you want it more. You don’t touch right away, don’t push into the wetness you know you’ll find there. Instead, you trace along the vulva, feeling the softness, how swollen you are. The need making your hips push up against your hand. It wouldn’t be like this; there would be no gentleness, your shorts ripped down, his fingers shoved inside you. Would he touch you first, feel the wetness that he created? Or would he just shove himself inside, stretching you open without ceremony?
A whimper leaves you as you, finally, push your own fingers inside. It’s not enough, you want more, want to ache, feel your body spread open. Rutting down on your fingers, you move your other hand down, one set pumping into your pussy, the other finding your nub. Body so sensitive and tight, you whimper.
Laptop still open to pictures of Bucky. Imagining his big body covering yours, his face next to yours. Telling you to shut up, that you shouldn’t be lying in bed naked, unless you wanted it. That you’d take whatever he was giving, hand around your throat, squeezing hard enough that you’d feel yourself on the edge of blacking out. The way he would squeeze your hip hard enough to leave marks. Grunt and rutting into you like some beast, pushing so deep that you’d be sore for days.
Your fingers move quickly, biting into your lip, holding your breath as the heat floods over you. Eyes locked on the picture of him. A choked sob leaves your mouth, as your inner walls squeeze against your own fingers. Release flooding down your already soaked thighs. You keep rubbing at your clit until you can’t take it anymore. Chest raising and falling with stuttered breaths, lying there a sprawling mess of sweat and come.
“Fucking hell.” You giggle up at the ceiling.
Bucky waited three days. Doing the same routine. Gets up, goes for a run, stops at the cafe for coffee, and goes home. Then back out, sometimes to the park, sometimes to the library. Always passing your building, and near the library. Places you could cross paths, but won’t. He knows your routine too well by now to cross your path by accident. It also means he isn’t being tailed. Shield is being sloppy as ever. Which leaves him to do whatever he pleases.
He packs his bag with care, knives slotted into places, a d lock picks easy to grab. Everything he needs to make this a successful hunt. His whole body thrums with excitement, built on the knowledge that he gets to play out his most perverted fantasies.
The best part, it was with you. A girl he couldn’t get out of his head. Saw in his dreams, in the shower, thinking of being buried inside you.
Sure, he could have phoned you, asked you out for lunch, or to the library, whatever. It wouldan't be the same; there was no explaining his sick fantasies to you. A pretty smart girl like you wasn't going to be interested in a depraved fuck like him. Once you found out what he was, who he was, you'd be gone. That was okay, the fun was in the hunt and the stalking. To see the surprise and shock on your face.
The walk from his apartment to yours is a wide gap he needs to close. His fingers clench and unclench as he stutters to keep his pace even. To not draw attention to himself, staying in the shadows, head down, inconspicuous as the wind. He doesn't make eye contact with the few night time dwellers that walk by, just goes directly to your apartment.
The front opens easily, and he is all but slamming the elevator button to your floor. Blood pulsing through his veins, cock half hard, mind drifting in a mist of want and lust. The elevator beeps, and he slips through the doors before they can fully open.
He stops, calming himself enough to listen. There is silence, not the thrum of lights or patter of feet. He leans forward, trying to hear any signs of you.
Tools in hand, your door opens quietly. Ears pricked, he pushes it open, closing it just as quietly as the lock slides into place. His bag slides off his shoulder, mask slipping on, cuffs in hand. Moving towards the open door, he pauses to watch you.
You are turned the other way, facing the window, the blanket having slid down your bare back. He has to hold back a growl. You were completely naked under there. Rolling his shoulders, he cracks his neck. Moving carefully, he places his bag by the edge of the bed, breath held as he moves the covers carefully off of you.
There is no movement, your heartbeat doesn’t change. Bucky can feel sweat prickling on the back of his neck. Tongue wetting his lips as he moves. He rolls you onto your back, your hands snatched up, the cuffs link onto one, and your mouth opens. A gasp escapes you as your eyes blink up at him. Vision blurred and confused; as he works the other cuffs through your headboard to lock your other wrist.
“What? No-o-.” You stutter out, wrist pulling at the cuffs. Your voice breathy as a knife from his side is up and under your throat.
“Quiet.” He whispers as he straddles your hips, deep pants rattling his chest. You were so small and soft underneath him, eyes wide with tears. “Don’t move.”
You nod your head, teeth chattering, “Please-
The knife pushes just enough to break the skin, your whole body goes stiff, stomach trembling as you try and hold yourself still. He lifts himself a little, eyes trailing down your body. The way your tits shake as you shudder, stomach sucking as you try to catch your breath.
Fucking perfect.
He keeps the knife pressed as his other hand trails down your body. He wants to take the mask off and taste you, but he can’t let you see him.
“Stay still,” He grunts and moves the knife, resting it on your sternum. Grabbing his belt, he slides it out quickly, moving forward to wrap it around your eyes.
“No, please,” You whimper, trying to squirm away. His fingers grab your hair to pull you to look at him through his mask. “I want to see-”
“Don’t make me ask again.” He grits out, his voice so deep it rumbles out of him like thunder.
You shrink down as he wraps the belt around your head covering your eyes. A sob leaves you, but you try to keep quiet.
Bucky stands looking at you, your thighs clamped together, arms stretched above your head, looking like a prize. Cake wrapped in whipped cream, and he is going to eat you up.
Carefully, he removes the mask, his shirt comes next, and then his pants. Bucky making sure you can hear every movement. He keeps his glove on his metal hand, but removes it from his right.
The first touch makes your skin jump, your mouth opens, and then it slams shut. A grin spreads across his face as he leans down to lick along your collarbone, feeling your body trying to pull away. The metal hand holds you firm, not letting you squirm away. Letting himself taste the sweat, the soap you use, all of you right here. Bucky moves from your collarbone down over your breast, hand squeezing it hard enough to make you whine.
He picks the knife up and runs it over top of the tender flesh of your breast. Watching you struggle not to stay quiet as the knife scratched the surface of your skin. Not enough to bleed, but enough for it to leave a mark, as the knife moves, his tongue follows after. Drawing swirling lines that are then soothed by his tongue.
The tip of his knife pressed against your nipple. You gasp, hips moving, stomach flexing at it. A deep chuckle spills from his chest at being able to get a noise out of you.
He removes the knife and bites hard against your breast, your head turning as you try to muffle the scream that escapes out of you. He grins, looking down at the black and purple mark he leaves. Determined to leave several more, to watch you try and keep your composure. Body trying to twist, to move, anything, to relieve the pressure of his teeth and tongue that covers you in dark marks.
“I c-c-can’t,” You finally snap as he leaves another large bruise just below your naval.
He moves, parting your thighs easily, and you barely even fight. “Sweetheart, you don’t have a choice.”
A trembling gasp escapes you as he pushes your thighs up, heels pressed up, and knees pushed out. Exposing you to the air and his touch. You struggle now, the realization sinking in as you fight against the cuffs. Small huffs and gasps, music to his ears as you pull against the cuffs.
“Squirm, scream, you’re not gonna be getting away unless I let you.” He murmurs, knife running up your thigh, while his bare hand goes up the other. “If you behave, I’ll let you live.”
The feeling of you freezing up has him leaking. He keeps the knife pushing against your thigh, but uses his other hand to squeeze the base of his dick.
“I-I-I’ll be good, I promise.” Tears have started to trail down your cheeks, he can’t help himself and leans forward to lick up the trail. Making you cringe back.
“Be quiet, stay still, and take what I give you.” He whispers into your ear before biting down where your neck and shoulder meet.
Your whole body is uncontrollably shaking as you try to keep yourself together. It’s fucking beautiful, exposed, and out of control. Just waiting to see what he’d do next.
The knife is placed on your sternum again, your hips squirming, you aren't trying to move. He can feel the restraint, feel that you're trying to reel yourself in, but you can’t help it. There is no waiting anymore, one hand gripping your hip, the glove biting hard enough it leaves bruises. The other is pressing his cock against your core.
“Fuck,” Bucky moans, you’re soaking wet, there is a spot on the sheets already. “You’re enjoying this.”
A whine comes from the back of your throat as he pushes forward. Even being so wet, you’re squeezing him. Inner walls locked tight around his cock. Body is so tense that it sucks at him.
“Greedy whore,” He cusses, snapping his hips up so that he sinks all the way in, pressing deep against your cervix. Your teeth sinking into your lip, wrist straining against the metal cuffs, neck straining back. “Soaking wet, tied up, naked under the sheets, just begging me to take you.”
He sets a brutal pace, pulling you down onto him again and again, eyes transfixed on where the two of you are joined. The slick slapping of skin against skin echoing over and over. Leaning over you, he listens to the small, breathy noises that escape and feels you clamping down around him.
“You going to come just from me fucking you?” Bucky hisses into your ear, panting as you squeeze around him again. “Can feel every time you move, know how much you want this.”
Your lips were bitten raw, as you tried desperately to shake your head, no.
Bucky’s hand grips your jaw. “Can’t escape it,” Somehow picking up the pace, making the bed shake with the movements. “Fucking enjoying this. That’s messed up.”
When your hips start moving with him, he almost loses it right there, eyes going wide as he watches you.
“Greedy cunt. Can’t believe you.” He growls, squeezing your hips to pull you tight. “Do it.” The demand in his voice makes your mouth fall open. “Come, while I am fucking you. Being used like a bitch in heat.”
Your body jerks, and he grunts, laughing as you cum all over him. His fingers moving down to play with the wet there, not touching where you want him to. The way you squeeze him and suck him deeper has his own release crawling up his spine. His hips start to lose rhythm as he grinds as deep as he can.
“Much as I want to fill you,” Panting against your neck. “Can’t be leaving anything behind.”
He pulls out, your hips immediately searching for him. Which prompts him to slap his hand down over top of your cunt. A crushed cry escapes your lips as you try to curl in and away from the slap. He hits your pussy twice more to prove his point.
“You already got more than you should have,” He grits out, stripping himself quickly as he pushes himself up onto his knees. His head tipped back, mouth open as he came all over your chest and stomach. Stroking until it becomes too sensitive to continue.
Staring down, he takes a look at you, committing it to memory; he’d take a picture if he could. Instead, he falls back onto his heels, watching your breath slow down, your heart hammering like you were being chased. The thought of chasing you makes his dick twitch. He wants to go again. To keep you here for himself, forever.
Instead, he drags his fingers through the mess, and pats at your cheek. “Open up,’
There is hesitation, you swallow, and he smacks you harder, “Open.”
You finally open, and he shoves his fingers in, pushing his come into your mouth. He holds your face in place as he feeds you more, until there is nothing left on your chest. Eyebrows knit, he pats your mouth, and you close it without being told.
“Might have to come back, you did so good,” His tone condescending, as he shifts off of you.
Dressing quickly, and rolling his shoulders, feeling the tension ease out of him. “Haven’t had someone enjoy that before.” Mocking you as he slips the mask back on.
There is no gentleness as he pulls the blind fold off and tucks his knife away. You’re looking away, cheeks flushed and stained with what had happened. Bucky clicks off your cuffs, knowing that whatever fight was in you is gone.
Slipping the bag onto his back, he looks back at you. You’re still lying there, eyes closed, hands still above your head, legs still splayed. The marks covering your body will be there for days, if not longer. He should feel bad for what he did, but he doesn't.
He goes to leave when he hears you shift, turning back, you've moved to sit on the edge of the bed. Looking up at him from red rimmed eyes.
“You’ll come back?” Your voice is hoarse, eyes dark with something he can’t place.
Something warm floods through him, surprise, shock, something he didn’t know how to describe. Bucky doesn’t reply; he just leaves.
You crawl into the shower and turn it on as hot as possible; every part of your body is aching. Teeth chattering, shaking in the shock of what just happened. Your brain was mush, leaking out of your pussy all over the floor. You couldn’t figure out how to feel. So, instead, you just sat on the floor of your shitty shower and let the scolding hot water hit you.
Head clunking against the tiles, you tried to remember what he smelled like, what he sounded like. It was all so fast, and yet it seemed to last for so long. You felt drunk, drugged, dizzy. Looking down at your chest, covered in the scratch marks and bruises that he had left. Fingers tracing the path that the knife had dragged.
He could have cut you open, could have killed you. He didn't, though; he kept his word and seemed to revel in the way you had reacted. It had been unexpected. He probably thought you’d have fought back more, would have screamed more, tried to get him off of you. You hadn’t.
Shame should be crawling in, disgust, fear, terror, something logical. Something other than contentment. A feeling of satisfaction that you’d never felt before. Never felt with anyone else that had been in your bed. It didn’t make sense. It was wrong, it was terrible.
A sharp giggle spills out of you, bouncing off the walls. Your fingers pressing and tracing along the bruises and marks. Something had snapped inside you, and you weren’t sure you wanted it fixed.
You took the next day off from classes, and it didn’t feel real. For a good hour, you lay on the floor nude just staring up at the ceiling. The windows cracked open, curtains just parted enough so that the breeze could hit you.
Something had settled into your stomach, a buzz that made you tingle. Everything still hurt, tylenol and a good deal of tea had eased most of it.
Your fingers couldn’t stop fluttering over the different marks, pressing on them, watching them change colours. Every touch flashed a memory. You couldn’t see him, but you could feel him. The knife pressing in, how his deep voice rumbled against your chest. How he pressed into you with no prep, stretching you to your limit, it had burnt and ached so deeply. Your pussy is still sore now.
It was hard to stop feeling down against your vaginal channel. The way it would clench and make you shudder when your fingers would run down there. Feeling your cheeks warm up, eyes flutter closed.
You try to remember what you’d seen; it was the same guy who had broken in. The way he had filled up your whole view when your eyes had snapped open. He was wearing a mask of some kind, like one paintballers used, dressed in all black. The way he’d work so fast to get your hands cuffed, stripping your bed of all its blankets. He’d done this before; he was well practiced and knew what to do.
Then you’d had the balls to ask if he’d come back?
God, something really had broken in you. The fact you’d almost hoped he would come back tonight, or maybe the next. Even with the ache and the bruises, the number of marks that were still fresh. It didn’t matter; you wanted his hands on you.
Sitting up you think about the gloves. He’d been wearing gloves, leather of some kind. He’d left one on, why? Blinking a few times your brain goes to Bucky, how he’d always have gloves on. Never taking them off.
“No, no,” You say out loud, finally pushing yourself to your feet. “Not a chance in hell. There is no way.”
You thought of Bucky, how he talked about seeing you in the library. How you had found out he was The Winter Soldier. He would have the knowledge, the ability to figure out where you lived. Heart pounding in your head, you walked into your bedroom and looked at the marks on your headboard. Glancing at the phone charging beside your bed.
There was one way to figure out if the man who had broken into your home and made you see stars was, in fact, Bucky. You had his number and knew he lived nearby. Just had to text him. Picking up the phone, you flick it open and scroll to the number, biting the edge of your thumb as you look at it.
“What am I thinking?” You curse out loud. Pacing back and forth in your bedroom. “It’s not him, it won’t be him. Right?”
“Might have to come back, you did so good,”
You kept trying to hear his voice, replaying the words over and over again. Trying to remember what Bucky sounded like, but you’d only spoken to him a handful of times
“Damn it,” You huff, and finally decide to get dressed and consume something that wasn’t tea and painkillers.
You waited until Friday before texting him, classes dragged, and your focus was definitely not there. Thankfully, you’d been able to breeze by them without too much difficulty. No one had seen the bruises, thankful for scarves and large sweaters did the trick. That and most of them were collarbone or lower, save for one where your neck and shoulder met. It was a shame really. You could have used the looks; maybe have kept a few of the douchebags away.
There should have been revulsion at your thought, but there wasn't any. You didn't need anyone's approval for what got you off, for what made you ache. If that came in the form of a tall, broad, masked man, so be it. Which was why you were texting Bucky, cause you needed to know. You needed something, maybe it wasn’t him, but you couldn’t stop drawing parallels.
How many other men fit the description? Okay, maybe several, but the fact that he had suddenly showed up in your life felt relevant.
Chewing on your lip, you message him.
You: Hey, got any plans for the weekend?
Bucky has been trying not to think about you, about the night, not obsessing over every detail possible. The urge to write it all down had been gnawing at him. So much, that he’d bought a journal, detailing it all out as best he could with words. He’d then spend part of the day hollowing out a section of wall so that he could hide the journal away. If anything happened, he’d burn the damn thing, but for now it was his secret.
He’d never wanted to remember something so vividly, wanting to hold onto the moments. They were brief encounters, one-offs, a way to release energy and scratch that itch that could only be satisfied by taking something not given. Not with you, it’s like you’d torn him open and poured yourself inside of him. His brain was constantly hearing the way you’d whined and whimpered under him. The look on your face when you realized what had happened. How hard you'd tried to follow the rules, even when he inflicted pain.
You hadn’t been scared of him.
What he thought got him off; the fear, watching them realize they had no control, no way of escape. Paled in comparison to seeing you sitting there wrecked, asking for him to come back. It touched on something deep in his chest. That made him want to go back, to see if you really meant what you said. Would you let it happen? Would it be the same if you didn't fight back?
Then his phone buzzed. He hadn't thought about texting you. It didn't fit the game; it felt too easy to just message you. Yet you just had.
Asking what he was doing this weekend.
Bucky stares at the phone, trying to piece together what to say. This was new, unfamiliar territory, like a dance step that he was learning. He knew you worked the closing shift Saturday until 5; then opened Sunday and Monday.
You'd taken a day off from university after your encounter. Bucky had wondered if you'd run, go to the police, or something. Instead, you'd just spent the day in your apartment, and then went back to school the next day like nothing happened.
Bucky: Got no plans. You?
Bubbles popped up immediately, as you started to text him back.
You: I am free tomorrow evening. Want to grab dinner?
You'd just been assaulted, and he'd broken into your apartment. Now you wanted to go for dinner?
He shouldn't go. The hunt was over; that was the whole point. Stalking, finding, preying, and leaving, but he couldn't get you out of his head. The need to see you was outweighing the logical part of him.
Then what? Does this just become a thing? A relationship. Pretending like he didn't defile you and revel in every second of it?
Swallowing, he puts his phone down. Starting to pace back and forth. Everything was so much easier under Hydra; he'd be brought back, wiped, and put under. With only a glimmer of his prey to play with in his dreams. Now he had choices, options. Paths that could make things either worse or better?
What if you wanted it? Wanted him to hurt you? To take what he needed when he needed? Was that possible?
The butterflies in your stomach make your hands shake. You put on something cute, but not over the top. Desperately trying to not look like you are -well- desperate. A shawl going over your shoulders, pair of low heels, comfortable and adorable.
Letting out a huff, you fix your make-up and put on a soft smelling perfume. Trying to calm your thumping heart.
You weren’t certain it was Bucky, the guy who bought recommended scones and blushed at your words. It felt odd even putting him in that category. He seemed so sweet; yet, he fit the criteria. You knew your pattern recognition skills were good, good enough that they had gotten you into University.
The duality of it is what made you pause. A soft spoken, almost gentle man was the one who followed you. Learned where you lived, and then broke into your apartment, twice. It felt wrong, dirty, but more as if you had uncovered a gold coin in the sand. There was every possibility you were wrong, but you hoped you were right.
Bucky stands outside your apartment, the urge to run is making his body tense. He shouldn't be doing this, it was not part of the plan. This was how he got caught, how he finally got put down for good. It was what he deserved, he deserved much worse, maybe this would be a mercy.
He'd scooped out the small restaurant you'd suggested. Dug through police bulletins, looking for anything that said this was a set up. He'd found nothing.
Yet as you came to the door, his heart was pounding.
“Hey,” You say with a small smile. “Thanks for coming.”
“Wouldn't miss it for the world,” Bucky replies as smoothly as possible.
When he helps you take the shawl off, he sees the edge of his mark on your skin. The one he'd sloppily left where shoulder and neck met. It made his heart jump, but he swallowed it down and sat across from you. Watching you casually adjust your shirt so that it was covered.
Were you doing this on purpose?
He sat watching you, his own jacket off, gloves still on. Bucky had made sure to wear different ones. These were brown, stiff, not as soft or well worn as the ones he used that night. The way your eyes had flickered to them had his teeth on edge. Something was up, and he wasn’t sure what it was.
“How was your week?” The question is so simple, but loaded. Just waiting for someone to depress the trigger.
Your eyes flick over the menu, “I don’t know, it was-” Your lip is drawn into your mouth, and he remembers how raw it was that night. “Interesting.” Eyes going to his, watching him closely. “What about you? How are you liking the city?”
The ice was cracking underneath him, and he couldn’t help stepping forward. “Didn’t get to go out as much as I would like. My roommate is out for a while; he knows the city better than me. So I spent most of the time at home.”
“Should have messaged me. Could have skipped class and shown you around.” You tease, a small smile turning up your lips. “We could have gotten lost together.”
He chuckles as the waiter comes by, and you both order. Let the waiter take the menus.
“Didn’t think you’d have been interested,” Bucky says honestly, taking a sip of water.
Your head tilts, like you’re trying to gauge if he was telling the truth. “I don’t give my number to just anyone.”
“Just random men you’ve only met a few times.” He replies dryly, making you roll your eyes as you sip on your own water.
“Said, I thought you were trustworthy. I stand by that.” Your cheeks go pink as you look at Bucky, your fingers going to press on a bruise. He knew there was one right under your fingertips. Watching as you worked at it, like a fond memory was playing in your mind.
Teeth gritting, he swallows, “Not everyone is who they seem to be.”
The waiter comes and drops off a plate of appetizers. You pick up one and chew thoughtfully, looking around at the small place.
“So who are you then?” You ask, your entire attention on him, a bug under a microscope. Your eyes collecting each detail, each micro-expression, filing them away behind walls he wants to dismantle. Piece by piece.
He leans back in his chair, gloves running over his thighs, “What do you want to know?”
Shifting in your chair, you lean forward, lips parted slightly. “The gloves, you always have them on. Why?”
Huffing, he carefully peels off both gloves, revealing his right hand. Warm, human, normal. Then his left hand, silver, pock market metal, slides and clinks as he flexes it. Putting both on the table for you to look at. You barely even react; your hands move onto the table, pausing.
“Can I?” You ask, looking for permission when he never asked for yours.
He nods, moving them forward so you can trace over the metal one. Then over the warm one. Your hands are so soft, touch feather light, as if scared you’d spook him. Bucky turns them both over for you to inspect. Watching your brows furrow as you look at the differences and follow the ridges of each one.
The waiter comes, and Bucky tucks them under the table. Hoping the man didn’t see anything. If he did, he doesn’t say anything, just puts down the plates, and leaves with an ‘enjoy your meal’.
“I like to keep a low profile,” Bucky says, quietly slipping the gloves back on. “Gloves make it easier.”
You hum, pushing the food around on your plate, “So that people don’t recognize you? Worried they’d judge you if they did?”
The fork he was holding clinks against the plate louder than he meant it to. You knew, had known, when you messaged him, and you were still sitting across from him.
“I am sorry,” You say softly, but there is no apology in your words. “I looked you up, you felt so familiar. To be fair, it was hard to find out who you were. Guessing, shield is good at covering their tracks.”
“Why are you here?” Bucky asks, blunt to the point, not hiding the anger that is pooling there.
You sit up straight and take a bite of food, free hand going up to a mark again. The hair on the back of his neck is standing up.
“You know why.” You look directly at him, fingers pulling back the shirt to reveal the bruises. “Or am I wrong?”
The way Bucky’s eyes darken tells you everything you need to know. It was him. Sitting across from you, neither of you had touched the food since the confession. The tension between the two of you crackles, a heat that had been brewing like a wildfire in the middle of July.
“Why?” Bucky hushes out, the low tone that you heard that night finally peaking out. “Why did you ask for me to come here?”
Your heart feels trapped in your chest, lungs too big for their cages. There was no plan; you hadn’t thought about what would happen next. Had just gone forward, thinking he would take the reins.
“I had to know.” You swallow, trying to somehow reel in all the feelings. The impulse for you to jump across the table and either deck him or kiss him was making you squirm Just something other than sitting here, pretending like nothing has happened.
Bucky looks around the place and flags down the waiter. “Check.”
Then he turns towards you, whatever mask he had on is gone. Nothing but a predator sits across from you, and your heart slows. Shoulders relaxing, breath evening out. Finally, you could see who he really is.
“I had to know who it was. Who you were.” You reply as the waiter brings the check. He slides his card to the waiter without even looking at them, keeping his eyes focused on you.
He is up and moving as soon as the receipt hits the table; his left hand grabs your arm hard enough to leave a mark. You bite your tongue to stop the squeak from leaving your mouth as he drags you out of the restaurant.
There is no fight; you’re trying to get your footing, and he is moving so fast that it’s hard to keep up. Finally, he eases up as he gets you outside the place and down a darkened alleyway. Pushing you up against the wall.
“You are a really stupid slut,” He hisses, holding you there pressed against the wall. The concrete is digging into your back. Feet on tiptoes as he easily lifts you off the ground.
A grin splits your face, and you just stare back, “You didn’t have to come, but you did anyway.”
He looks away, a smirk touching his lips. “You asked me if I would come back. After everything I did to you.”
“And you did.” You hush back, leaning forward, so that you’re only inches from him.
He moves forward, lips crashing into your face, and you push back just as hard. It’s more a crash of teeth and tongues, being bitten and mauled, than kissing. It’s a fight that you don’t want to win, but you push back, knowing that he wants a fight. He needs a fight, needs to feel you push back and resist. Your teeth sink into his bottom lip with enough force for him to grunt when you draw blood.
Hands fumble with your clothes, pushing your shirt up so he can see the marks he left on your body.
“You didn't try to hide them.” He spits it at you, venom lacing the words. “What if I just killed you right now?”
His metal hand clamps around your throat, and you can feel the strength pushing against your windpipe. You move your head, trying to get enough air to reply.
“You'd-” inhaling “-have- killed me.” You struggle, feeling him ease up. “You would have killed me that night.”
His eyes widen just a fraction, enough that you know you are correct. You expect him to grab you, push you against a wall, knock you out. Instead, he looks around. Clocking a camera near the corner. A growl leaves his throat as he turns back to you.
“Your place. Go.”
Bucky doesn’t remember getting to your apartment. Just a blur of lights and sounds, and it taking too long. He is half hard following you into the building. His hand clamped in yours, it would look romantic if he wasn't holding on hard enough to nearly break bones. In the elevator, he holds stiff; he can feel how you shiver. The smell of your arousal fills the small space. Making him want to rip your clothes off.
The elevator dings, and you're dragging him down the hall. The door clicks open, and he's in. He lets go, making sure the door is bolted shut. Watching you take off your shawl and hang it up. You go to take off your shoes.
“Stop.” Bucky hisses out. Watching you freeze in place. “Kneel.”
You do as you’re asked, dropping down to your knees. His eyes following the movement, head spinning at how you just dropped down at his words. A laugh boils out of his throat at the picture in front of him.
“You actually want this?” He barks out, a condescending tone dripping over every letter.
Not replying you just look up at him, body rigid, lips trembling. Tears pressing at the corners of your eyes.
“How fucked up are you?” He hisses, grabbing your jaw so that you can't look away. “Wanting me to do whatever I like to you? Practically begging for it?”
You don't look away as he crouches down so that he is eye-level with you. Body vibrating as he watches you.
“Do you know what you're asking for? What I can do to you?” Bucky leans in, breath ghosting over your skin.
You keep still, not answering him, fingers clenched together in your lap.
“Answer me.” He whispers, keeping his voice even, in control, always in control.
“I do.” The two words stuttered out.
He lets go, leaning back, hands rubbing against his face. Pushing his hair back as more sadistic. laughter leaves his chest, a rare smile cracks open his face.
“Fuck. I almost feel bad for you.” Bucky grins, watching you again. The way your eyes are wide, how you're not even shaking anymore, just waiting for his instructions. “Let's see if you want me after I am done.”
Your heart is thudding in your chest, eyes blurred, body thrumming with heat. Terrified wasn't the right word. How could you both be scared and incredibly turned on at the same time? His voice was vibrating every bone in your body; the need to listen was the only thing you could focus on.
“Come here, take off my shoes.” Bucky's demand, there was no question in his voice.
On your hands and knees, you went and did what he asked. Carefully lifting one foot and removing the boot before doing the other. Your hands vibrate as you wait for the next order.
He walks past you into your apartment, it doesn't feel like yours anymore. Opening a cupboard, he grabs a glass and some water. Bucky knew where everything was in your place. Walking over to your couch, he sits down, looking out the window.
“Come here, on your knees.” He orders, which has you crawling towards him. His legs are spread wide, and you let yourself come sit between them.
Keeping your hands on your lap, you look up at him. Huffing, he places his hands on both of his thighs.
“You know what to do.” He says, tongue wetting his lips.
Your stomach twists, the urge to not mess up sitting in the back of your throat. If you did something wrong, the little bit of autonomy could be stripped from you. Or he'd just outright kill you.
Fingers fumbling, you carefully move and push his jacket away from his lap. He moves his hips, tilting towards your fingers. You grab at his belt, undoing it and pulling it out. Placing it aside, wondering if he'd use it on you again. Next, button and zipper, you try not to take too lon,g grabbing the edge of his underwear to drag them down enough for it to release his cock.
He was only half hard, his cock twitches and moves
as your fingers brushed over it.
“Go on,” He says, voice deep enough to make you shiver.
You stroke the smooth skin a couple of times, feeling your mouth start to water. Fingers feeling the veins, how the skin moved as you pumped him. Other hand on his thigh, feeling the muscles tighten as you finally lean forward to lick at the head. A small breath releases from his chest as you swirled around it. Memorizing the way he tasted and felt. Taking your fingers off him, you sucked him deeper, free hand going to feel his balls.
One hand clamped down on your head, pushing you deeper. A muffled whimper leaves you as he hits the back of your throat. You struggle to get a breath in through your nose as he pushes into your throat. You gag, tears starting to fall, his hips flexing, as he lazily fucks into your throat.
“Crying already,” He grits, before letting you up. “Like when you cry.”
Gasping for breath, you pull off for a second. Not bothering to wipe at your eyes, you go back to licking and sucking at his cock. Your hand below rolling his balls, squeezing and thumbing at them. As you started to bob up and down in earnest. Tongue sticking out as drool drips down onto the base. Both hands grab the side of your head, and his hips buck.
Coughing and gagging, you let go of his balls, placing both hands on his thighs. Trying to find something to ground you. The unrelating pace leaves you gasping for breath. Snot and drool dripping everywhere, tears blurring your eyes as make-up leaks in. You feel yourself getting dizzy as your air begins to run out. Hands digging into his thighs, hoping you won't suffocate with his dick down your throat.
Bucky finally eases off you. You gasp for air, snot and tears covering you. As you swallow and cough. His laugh rings in your ears as you pant. His fingers find your chin and tip your face to his. You had to look like a mess, make-up having run from your eyes. Yet the heat between your legs betrays how this was affecting you.
“Finish what you started,” Bucky pushes at the back of your head.
You nod your head, chest stuttering as you take him back in your mouth. Fingers spread on his jean covered thighs, holding yourself in place. Taking a deep breath, you suck him down, pushing yourself so that your nose presses against the skin on his lower stomach. It makes him moan, which just makes you wetter. You bob up and down, trying to keep the same relentless pace he'd shown you he enjoyed. His hips flexed, and you somehow found a rhythm that allowed you to breathe just enough to stay conscious.
“Fuck, almost there.” He growled, hands back on your head.
His hips snapped up quickly, and you let go of the small amount of control you had. Your head is being held down as he fucks your face hard, a groan leaving him as he finally buries himself deep. You cough and gag, as come fills your mouth and throat. Desperately trying to swallow and get air as the world spins. Your hands digging into his thighs.
Finally, he eases up, letting you pull off with a sickening slurping sound. You have to sit back, coughing and gasping. Chest rising and falling as your vision finally clears.
The salty musky taste of him still sitting in your mouth. Your fingers touch your abused lips, feeling the slick there. You look up at Bucky, who's lying back, sweat on his brow, cock still half hard against his stomach.
Without thinking, you lick your lips, fingers gathering the slick and sucking on it. His eyes open, watching you as you lean down and clean his stomach with your tongue.
A grunt leaves him as his dick twitches and starts to get hardened again. The effect you had on him, fueling your own arousal.
“Get up.” Bucky hushes, you pause for a second, and he barks it again. The first time he has raised his voice.
You scramble up, wiping at your eyes, smearing the makeup across your face. He stares at you.
Bucky’s still a little shocked you didn't fight back. He could feel the nail marks in his thighs healing, but that was it. You'd even eaten the come off him.
“Strip. Leave on your underwear and bra.” He drawls, hand finding his sensitive cock and stroking it slowly.
You glance at the window, lip drawn into your mouth, then back at him.
His brows raise, and you do what he asks. Shirt first, you place it on the coffee table, before toeing off your shoes, and then bottoms. You stand there in a pair of matching blue underwear.
“You put those on on purpose?” Bucky asks, thumb swiping over the tip of his cock.
“Yes,” You reply, voice hoarse and cracked from the abuse.
“You are whore, the way you let me use your mouth. Can see a wet spot on your underwear. Getting wet from me face fucking you?” He teases, hand stopping at the base of his cock. “Bet you'd let me fuck you in that alley.” A smug grin on his face. “ Let me take you anywhere I want. Just bend you over and stick it in.”
Your lip chewed raw, you nod, fingers twitching at your sides.
“I thought I was fucked up.” He chuckles, looking out the window for a moment. “Go clean up. Then display yourself on the bed.”
You scramble away, Bucky's eyes staring after your ass as you leave. He stood, shutting the curtains, and stripping himself out of his own clothes. Digging into a pocket, he pulls out a flip knife with a smile across his face. Flipping it around in his palm.
He hadn't decided if he would keep you alive or not. The idea of having a toy to use when he wanted was tempting. It wouldn't be the same as stalking them down; the biggest problem was that you now knew who he was.
You stepped out of the bathroom, walking confidently into the bedroom. Fuck, he couldn't wait to sink back into you.
Moving, he went to your bedroom door, where you had stripped the blankets off, having folded and placed them on the floor. You'd lie on the bed, arms above your head, legs spread, head on a pillow. Stomach rising and falling in slow breaths.
He flicks the knife up in the air, and your eyes follow it. Stomach clenching as he came over and ran it over your skin. Most of the bruises had yellowed and faded. The scratches were still there. Now he'd added new ones.
The knife slips under the bra straps, and he cuts each off. Dragging the knife over each breast and leaving new scratches. Then cut the centering of it, letting your breast spill out. He doesn't mark them with his mouth this time, instead leaving more scratches on your trembling flesh.
Your underwear was cut off next and he leaned down to smell you. It was delicious. He spread your legs and let himself tongue at the wet fold there. Might as well indulge himself.
Hips moving up against his face. He uses his metal arm to hold you in place. A shutter leaves you at the cool touch against skin. He drinks it all in, nipping at the sensitive skin. Which causes you to try and move away from him. He holds firm, leaving marks and bruises on your thighs and vulva.
Your hands push at him, and you beg so pretty, but as soon as he sucks on your clit you're coming undone. He repeats this over and over, bringing you over the edge until you're nearly screaming for him to stop.
Your body is shaking as he removes himself. Knife back, he puts it up against your neck as he kisses you. Pushing your own come into your mouth. A choked sob leaves you, your eyes red from tears.
He doesn't speak, just pushes your legs up and lines himself up. Placing the tip of his cock at the entrance. You whine trying to move down onto him. Instead, he grabs your hips and pulls himself all the way in. Ripping a sob out of you.
The knife is dropped away, and his metal hand grips your throat. He squeezes it, panic lacing your eyes as he starts to fuck into you with abandon. Pulling all the way out and slamming into you over and over again.
Your hands scratch at his metal one, unable to remove it. Body bucking only fueling his need, making the pinnacle of his release come spiraling closer. The realization that he wasn't going to stop choking you, making you thrash against the bed. A roar of laughter echoes in the bedroom. As his right hand holds you against him. Metal hand tightening, your eyes rolling, mouth open as you gasp for air. Letting go, you gulp air down, just as he pulls out. He comes, barely touching himself, a mess spilling onto your stomach.
Sitting back on his haunches, he looks down at you. Chest heaving as you do the same, he looks down to see a massive wet spot below you.
“Jesus, you soaked the bedsheets.” He huffs, looking up, you've passed out.
You wake up alone, sore, and stunned that you're alive. You're also clean, with new sheets on the bed, and a blanket over you. A glass of water along with some pills sits on your nightstand. A note beside it.
Send the video to me
A snort leaves you. That was the closest you'd ever get to a love note from him.
Summary: Fighting your captors has gotten you no where productive. You're almost set on giving up, but a small discovery regains your lost hope.
Warnings for this part: Dark!Stucky, Daddy!Stucky, Forced age regression, DDLG themes, Female reader, Manipulation, Threats of Violence, Sexual themes, Really Extra Mean Steve, 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI
As always, lemme know if I missed any!!
Notes: Thank you so much for all of the kind and encouraging messages/comments I've gotten regarding this series. I still hold it closely to my heart and look forward to sharing with you all again~ As I haven't posted in more than a hot minute, I'm super nervous...I hope you all like this chapter~~!
A word that describes your current state of affairs.
One you’ve heard too many times since you’ve been here.
One warning you not to resist what they ask of you.
One willing you to comply.
One you don’t like.
The past few days have proven to be challenging. Whether that adversity is on your half or on that of your ‘caretakers’–as they have proclaimed themselves–is still undeterminable.
Recent occurrences have shown little opportunity for escapement. If the two large men–seemingly more than twice your size–weren’t warning enough, the sealed and heavily locked doors, with windows that only show endless forest are enough to pool your guts to the very pit of your already hopeless stomach.
It’s pretty, you think, noticing the faint tinges of orange overtaking the thick green leaves as you pass the window. You bounce ever so slightly as Steve turns up the stairs. His hold is firm, but the mixture of movement and height from the ground provokes you to tighten your arms held around his neck anyway. Even though it’s a small, involuntary gesture, Steve must notice as he hoists you a bit higher, and holds you a bit tighter, firmly securing you to his side. As Steve makes his way into your bedroom, your mind becomes preoccupied with a different set of colorful things.
“Go on now,” Steve sets you down gently. “pick whatever you’d like, and Dada will read it to you.” he lightly pushes your cushioned bottom forward, his wide hand reminding you of your unwelcomed padded bottom half. You try to ignore the plushy feeling that rubs between your thighs as you walk–or waddle–towards the bookshelf.
This has been your routine for the past few nights.
You pick, he reads.
Ideally, to Steve, you would fall asleep to his lulling story before he even finished, but the unease that radiates through your stiff body is hard to miss. Truthfully, it pangs his heart every time your muscles tense under his touch. Every time you ever so slightly shift away from him, and refuse to maintain eye contact makes him worry that you’ll never understand how much they love you.
“She just needs time Stevie,” Steve reminds himself of what Bucky said to him after disclosing these thoughts to his partner nights ago. Hearing you scream for hours after he had to punish you was worse than any physical torture he's felt.
“I don’t know. What if-”
“What if…what if what?” Bucky raises his eyebrows, shrugging his shoulders at Steve. “What if we never saved her? What if we waited too long and she got hurt when we weren’t there?” Bucky implores alternatives to Steve's endless worries. Steve purses his lips, knowing Bucky is right. Steve wanted to make sure your arrival was perfect. Down to the last detail. It had to be. It had to be for you. You were more than perfection in his eyes. “Look,” Bucky steps closer to him, putting his hands on Steve’s forearms to draw him closer. “I know you worry, but we–you–” he pokes at his chest. “planned for this. All of it. She will come around. Like I said..” Bucky trails off, eyeing Steve with a soft smile.
“She just needs time.” Steve says, mostly to himself, and leaning his forehead to meet Bucky’s.
While selecting what children’s book you want read to you wasn’t on your agenda this week…or any time really, you’re simply grateful that they haven't forced you to sleep in their bed.
Though, it’s proven hard to fall asleep at all. You’ve never been one to embrace change, and to say your life has been rewritten, would well, be an understatement. Steve can tell you aren’t sleeping much at night. He knows it’s only because you haven’t fully adjusted. But, he knows that you will. That you only need time. Steve is a patient man, and he’s waited more than a century for something to brighten up his life the way you do. He can wait a bit longer. However long it may take is fine. It doesn’t matter as you’ll always be his. His and Bucky’s. You’ll always be the little light in their life. Nothing can change that.
Despite how patient Steve may be, you are otherwise convinced they are both keen on making your captivity more than challenging. Just this morning proved that fact alone.
It was Steve's turn to give you a bath. Bucky wasn’t there when you woke up this morning. So Steve had carried you straight there himself after breakfast. You tried a small protest, asking if you could color instead.
“Oh of course angel! After Dada gets you all cleaned and dressed up.” he says cheerfully, predictably ignoring your request. At this point you’d rather be gross than be that vulnerable again.
The bath wasn't anything noteworthy. It was nevertheless just as chilling as your baths with Bucky. Yet, Steve's stare was somehow more unnerving.
Bucky’s scowl was unremitting, constantly fixed so tense you wonder if it hurts to frown that often or if his face is just stuck like that.
Steve -on the other hand- seldom looked upset even when his actions would convey otherwise.
He was deceitfully sweet to you. His melodious tone fictitiously coaxing you to trust him. It’s a tone you once mistook for true concern all those months ago in Washington. A pure guardian, a true hero you once thought.
But you’ve learned better since. You’re not as naive now that his true nature has revealed itself to you. So when Steve brightly reassures you that they mean no harm, you know his word is as good as an unripe berry. Deceptively sweet, and enduringly bitter.
Steve scoffs lightly at your pointless suggestion to bathe yourself. “That’s a silly suggestion little one.” he playfully taps your nose, leaving ticklish bubbles behind.
Talking to Steve was often like talking to a wall. Most of the time he’d laugh off any protest you had, calling you silly. Other times he wouldn’t acknowledge your words at all, only continuing to say whatever it is he’s talking about at that moment. It feels as though Steve is not talking to you, but rather at you.
The times he did hear you, or well -talked to you-, he was often not pleased. And while Bucky held the majority of your fear between the two of them, there was something about the way all color would slowly disappear from Steve’s eyes when you upset him. It was a rare sight, and it terrified you.
Steve picked you up swiftly from the bathtub, drying you off while cradling you. Steve had a tendency to keep your feet off the ground much more than Bucky did. If you didn’t want to compliment him, you'd say that was actually pretty smart on his end. You can't really run away if you can’t even well…run.
Instead of dressing you there in the bathroom like Bucky has been doing, Steve takes you to their bedroom where he has a quilted sheet laid out on the bed. He sets you there, instructing you to sit still while he gathers your clothes. It was much colder here, leaving the thick foggy air of the bathroom leaves you shivering, but that's not the reason you're gripping so tightly to the towel wrapped around you. Steve finally turns around to you, a lotion bottle in hand.
“Lean back for me little one,” he smiles softly, about to apply some of the lotion on his hands, but pauses, waiting for you to follow orders. Your stomach drops. Sure-he's already had his hands all over your bare form, but you thought that was over with. You had only mentally prepared for a bath, and what’s actually worse is that he wants you to lay back–completely naked–on his bed. You shake your head.
“Mm, no lotion” you say pathetically. You’re not sure why, but lately you’ve been having trouble forming actual sentences.
Steve laughs a bit. “No lotion? I have to keep my little baby’s skin nice and soft. Baby skin is very sensitive” he says a bit more seriously, making you want to laugh at the ridiculousness of his statement. You just shake your head again, eyebrows furrowing to show your seriousness. Steve steps closer to you. “That wasn't a request.” he calls you by your name. Something you've quickly learned he only does before he's about to punish you. “I wasn't asking if you'd lay back. I was telling you.” His tone is absent of its usual mery. “Don’t be difficult. Now.” he demands. Your stomach somehow forms more knots. You decide to comply. You lay back, hands still clenching the towel around you. That doesn't seem to bother Steve though. He untangles your hands from themselves and slowly but firmly unwraps the towel from your body. You try to pretend this isn’t happening. Eyes not daring to meet Steve's while you’re completely and absolutely defenseless underneath him. Though you’re not looking at him, trying to ignore whatever it is that’s happening, his stare is burning into your skin, making you hot all over.
Steve takes his time. He warms the lotion up before it meets any part of your body. You still jolt when he touches you, not from any cold sensation, but just his touch. It startles you every time even though your body is bracing for it.
He doesn't miss a single area that needs it. He sits you up when it's time to do your back, and instructs you to move to the side to get your behind. He even lightly massages you as he goes. A gesture you might appreciate if you had a barrier of clothes. His final workspace is your midsection. And he spends a lot of time there, going over sections on your hips and stomach you know he’s already covered.
You close your eyes when you feel his flat palm making its way down your middle, straight to where your more intimate part sits between your shaking legs. He doesn't touch you there. He’s just close enough, close enough to make you feel as though you're in a sauna. Fingertips ghosting around your mound in a way that makes you stop breathing completely. On one hand you feel as though you can’t recognize any sensation apart from how hard your heart is thumping. Nevertheless, you're overwhelmingly aware of how his steady hands circle around you, thumbs ghosting down the side, trailing to your inner thighs, where he stops.
You’re crying. You don’t know how long you’ve been crying but the blanket underneath you feels wet on both sides from tears that have been waterfalling.
This time, Steve acknowledges it.
“Oh-babygirl. I’m sorry.” he says, his tone almost implying he means it sincerely. “I didn't mean to scare you.”
And he didn't; he really didn't. Steve just can’t help it.
Steve liked to pride himself on his temperance and resolve. But when it comes to you. It’s as if you’re sunlight and he’s a flower that’s somehow survived the harshest winter. It’s as if you are the sun and he’s any and every plant compassing toward you, tidily locked by your gravity that he has no control over. You really are his light. And he’s waited for moments as close as these for what feels like an eternity. Every touch of your soft skin feels unreal. Like a vivid dream he wishes he’d never wake up from. But it is real. You're real, he’s made this real, he’s brought you here just for them.
You’re his to have. But–he knows he can’t push things. He really doesn't want to scare you, and he certainly doesn't want to hurt you.
“Time. Just give it time.” Steve reassures himself silently. He just needs to give you time to adjust and maybe then you won't be crying at his every touch. His touch that he only means with love and care. That’s why he so delicately handles you, you’re the most precious thing that he needs to take care of.
Even so, the next few words that come out of his mouth disprove any actual guilt you think he might have.
“You must be so cold.” he says obviously, referring to your shaking, while touching your hot skin. “Dada shouldn't have let you sit out like this for so long.” you try to sit up, hoping this means he’s going to dress you soon but he lightly pushes back on your top half. “Not yet princess. Dada has to put on your bottoms.”
Thank god you think. Finally some clothes to cover up what you hate being exposed the most.
Just when you think this day’s episode of humiliation is over, Steve proves you wrong yet again with what he holds in his hands this time.
A diaper.
You really shouldn't be shocked by what you see considering you woke up in one upon your arrival. Honestly though, you had almost forgotten about it as Bucky has been dressing you in underwear ever since. You're almost too humiliated to speak but the adult side of you begs you to at least try.
“I-uhm, Dada?” you question, trying to figure out how to weasel your way out of this one, by saying something you know he likes.
‘Mmm?” he questions you while unfolding it.
“Can-well-” you shake your head trying to form words “can I-just-can I wear just underwear…please.” you add.
He cocks his head at you quizzically, “No silly,” he says lightheartedly “Baby girls need these in case they have accidents.” he states confidently, now beckoning you to scoot closer to the edge of the bed.
“But Bucky let m-” you quickly stop yourself midsentence of your fuck up. “D-Daddy le-”
“Daddy isn’t here right now.” he says sternly. “And you’re going to do what I tell you. Here. Now.” he beckons you closer a second time, and when you take too long to comply, he takes it upon himself to roughly pull you towards him by your ankle.
Instinctively–you kick at him, trying to stop whatever is happening. He sharply brings you to him, yanking you up in a second. His hand grips tightly around your jaw.
“Is that a nice thing to do? Are you supposed to kick Dada? Hmm? Are you?”
You wriggle uncomfortably “let me go!” you plea stupidly.
“Oh, my poor baby.” he starts with that patronizing tone again. “Just don’t understand a thing in that little head do you?” He uses his other hand to caress your head as he says this. “I’m not letting you go.” he shakes his head “Never. What kind of dad would let this little girl go? Hmm? And where would you go? The big girl world? I know my baby can’t function out there. Too many big girl thoughts for that little head.” he pats at your head for emphasis. “Now I know you’re a confused little baby, but you’re smart enough to sit still and listen and do what Dada says, hmm?” He eyes you, one hand still holding your face while the other now keeps your arm pinned down. “Don’t you remember what happened last time you kicked Dada? Do you wanna be left all alone again?” Your face frowns, remember that long long night in your crib.
He moves your head side to side for you.
“Oh, good girl, what a good girl.” He praises even though you have not said a word. He keeps one hand on you while retrieving the original object that set you off.
“Now keep being a good girl and stay still while Dada dresses you. Understand?” he eyes you expectantly “If you move even once, I will have no choice but to punish you.” he looks at you with almost puppy eyes. “Now I know my dumb little girl can’t think for herself. That’s why you just listen and do what Dada says. You can do that, can’t you sweet girl?” Steve goes on and on, and you feel too stunned to speak, confused by his condescending words that really do make you feel silly as you just lay there truly dumbfounded by what is happening.
Steve does all the work again. He lifts your legs up and wraps your bottom snugly. Though you have no choice, you kind of at least wish you had the pull up from the other day…for some reason that one felt less embarrassing than this one as it is much more bulky.
Steve has you stand up after he finishes padding your bottom half, and he just stares at you.
“Oh my beautiful girl. Such a beautiful little girl.” he makes you spin around and you try to cover your upper half. Steve thinks to stop you, thinking how silly it is to try to cover yourself but how adorable it is that you’re doing that despite being unclothed in front of him for what has felt like to you-an eternity.
He finishes his praises while getting you into in the rest of your clothing. They're not too different from what you have been wearing, it’s another onesie, but this one is footed, and traps all of the heat your body has been producing the last hour in.
Steve smiles at you. “You’re so pretty, little angel.” he leans his head closer to you, and without you having any time to think, he places a kiss on your forehead.
As you remember this morning you realize it could have gone a lot worse, that much resistance to Bucky would have probably not ended with a kiss to the head…you imagine anyway.
You finally pick a book for him to read. A favorite of yours.
Goodnight moon.
You somehow hope the familiar story will bring you some comfort into lulling you to bed tonight. Steve reads it to you well, even showing you the pictures as he goes. When he finishes you can’t help but give him a small smile. One you're sure he thinks is for him, but for you, you’re just happy he’ll be leaving you alone for the next few hours.
As you lay there, home scented stuffie in arms, your mind starts to piece some things together. Fighting–obviously–isn't doing you any good. Sure, you get some–if any–pity when you cry, but besides that, there's really no pleading your way out of this.
Your fingertips drift upward to the window right beside your bed. Its haunting palm marks from previous nights of trying to will it open giving you chills.
You make a mental note to try to wipe them off before they see them.
Normally, a foggy window would make you want to doodle a tiny drawing to giggle at later but you have no motivation or will to even make a shape. Your fingertips trace mindlessly making arbitrary marks.
Just as you're about to fall asleep you remember something.
Bucky wasn't there this morning. An otherwise unnoteworthy fact as he came in with a brown bag of groceries in hand. But what he did after wasn't unnoteworthy. No–now that you think about this insignificant memory, you realize Bucky had keys in his hands, keys he must have used to unlock the door, keys you’re almost positive you saw him put in a drawer above the refrigerator.
Yes…if you were going to get yourself out of this situation, it wasn't going to be by loudly protesting. You were going to have to plan a quiet exit.
warnings: sexting, incest.. DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT! MDNI 18++++
brother!bucky who is the first to teach you how to play online games.
brother!bucky who sets up your online account, with your library of cute, cozy games, and helps you get the hang of it.
brother!bucky who knows the addictive nature of video games, so he doesn't really hold it against you when you spend way too much time with your online friends, and not enough with him.
brother!bucky who makes an alt account, just to play with you and not be your "annoying older brother"
brother!bucky who in no time, gets you to have a crush on him, and gaming texts turn into talking at all hours of the day, about anything and everything.
brother!bucky who doesn't have a single ounce of guilt when he texts you late at night one day from his account, "what are u doing?" and beams when you say you're just mindlessly watching a movie. "what are u wearing?"
brother!bucky who doesn't see the blush across your cheeks when you bite your lip and respond, "just an old band tee that doesn't fit brother anymore lol"
brother!bucky who pokes and prods at that more, and more, and more, until he convinces you to send him a picture of yourself with the shirt bunched up above your tits.
brother!bucky who sends back a picture of his stroking his cock, leaking at the tip, making your eyes widen at the sheer size of him.
brother!bucky who keeps talking to you the entire time, getting more pictures, until he response with a picture of his stomach painted with cum. "fuck, baby, I wish you were here"
brother!bucky who knows you have no idea its him, all the pics he sent not having his face on them, when you respond "I'd lick you clean if I was there."
brother!bucky who wishes he could go to the end of the hall and help you with the slick you showed him on your fingers in the last pic.
brother!bucky who is going to have so much fun with this.
