Part Two in a series of Pete’s Place regular one-shots.
main masterlist | meet the regulars
✧.* ೃ⁀➷ pairing: Bucky Barnes x female!reader.
word count: 604 | series rating: explicit. ༊*·˚
warnings: service kink, prostitution (kinda), rough sex, bucky like’s being called Sargent apparently. Hints of spanking, throat fucking.
this is a dark au. minors are not welcome here.
The girls had warned you, over and over. Bucky Barnes doesn’t do dances, and you had stupidly agreed to meet him under the condition that it was just a dance. The girls had also warned you of his particular want. Money was hastily shoved into your hands before he pointed around the apartment, the whole place in disarray.
“Strip, and clean it,” Bucky ordered while retrieving a beer from a case and swiftly sitting down, propping his feet on the coffee table and switching on the TV.
“I thought it was coming here for a dance?”
“So dance while you clean,” Bucky scoffed, as if the question was pointless to ask.
You quickly got to work. Stripping off your strappy dress and locating cleaning supplies, whirling around the apartment to just get out of there as quickly as you could. You shook your head at yourself, cursing yourself for not listening to the advice of your more seasoned and experienced friends. You shoved clothes into the laundry machine, and threw another load into the dryer before moving onto the living area where Bucky’s hand found its way up your inner thigh, the side of a rough finger nudging the seam between your legs.
You tapped his hand away and turned towards him with a raised brow and crossed arms.
“What?” Bucky snorted as he took a sip of his beer, a sly smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “M’just lookin’, Sugar.”
“You look with your eyes, Sargent Barnes.”
Yeah, okay, you were pushing it a little, but only a little, but he swore to you that coming over was just for a dance, so why not screw with him a little bit? No harm, right?
It was just supposed to be a dance.
Nothing more.
But, you still quickly found yourself crying his name on his apartment floor.
“Such a fuckin’ mess,” Bucky spat down at you, hand gripping your throat as he drove into you. “Fuckin’ dripping on my floor, needy little whore.”
“Ohh, fuck,” You moaned, letting your head fall back against the weathered carpet.
Bruises that you would have to try and explain away were blooming on your hips and thighs, red handprints were littered across the meat of your ass and the back of your thighs, spit was dried on your chin and cheeks with a dull ache in your throat from all but swallowing his cock.
You arched up into him, the carpet biting into your ass and scraping your shoulder blades as Bucky pulled you down against his thrusts, eyes heavy-lidded and long strands sticking to his forehead. He was gorgeous; tormented and devastatingly gorgeous.
“What’cha lookin’ at, Sugar? Hmm?” Bucky’s voice was laced with a playful torment, low and breathy which made your cheeks burn up.
“You.” It was simply stated, your voice overtaken by pure want.
“Yeah?” Bucky asked, honeyed and drawn out the same way he slowed his thrusts, which made you reach out to run your hands over his. “You like me, Sugar?”
“Mmm-hmm,” You moaned out with a nod, a sound you didn’t know you were capable of making, and then let out a sharp gasp as Bucky damn-near impossibly upped the pace; the sharp slapping sound of his thighs meeting the backs of yours echoed around your moans. “Fuck, fuck.”
“Gonna show you how much I like you, Sugar. Might keep you, take you out that filthy place, hmm? Stay under me instead, right fuckin’ here. Keep you right here until all you can think about is me, until everything you are becomes mine. You’d keep me happy, wouldn’t you, Sugar?”
yandere/dark!Bucky Barnes x reader: You’ve forged a close relationship with Bucky. Unbeknownst to you, your meeting was a lot more calculated than you realize.
He looked back on his memories as the Winter Soldier not through a fog, not as a spectral observer, but as an active participant. He remembered things clearly. It was all so painfully clear, as if it had just happened yesterday.
He remembered them. Your family.
Of course he remembered them.
They weren’t his targets to begin with. They were guests of his targets, neighbors—friends who just so happened to stop by during his mission. Their untimely end was the definition of wrong place, wrong time.
Years passed. Things changed. Bucky became himself again, but he wasn’t quite himself.
Not anymore.
He began to do research on the lives he took.
And then, he found you.
And, as part of his efforts to make amends, he followed you.
At twenty eight, you’d been alone for quite some time.
You were only twenty one when Bucky had killed your parents. You attended your college graduation alone, spent the holidays alone, did most everything alone. You had no siblings, no living relatives, and only a small handful of friends. In times of crisis, you had virtually no one.
You were alike in that way, and as Bucky would come to find, in so many others.
You were a quiet person. You came to work and went home. You liked to read, write, and go for runs until you were breathing like you were about to die. You had a cat, fluffy and white, named Alpine. Judging by the lights from your bedroom window, you liked to stay up late. Or maybe you just had trouble sleeping. Either way, he was pleasantly surprised to find that you were very similar creatures.
He hadn’t intended on breaking into your apartment that first time, nor the time after that. It just sort of…happened.
Strange as it was, Bucky would come to find that it was easy to form an attachment to someone you observed every day. Easy to love them, even. He had grown particularly fond of you, and particularly protective over you, too.
He just had to find a way to insert himself into your life.
And one day, opportunity did, in fact, come knocking.
🌙
You were in desperate need of a roommate.
Your desperation wasn’t born from financial woes, or a true desire for company.
No.
Over the course of the past year, you just couldn’t shake it—the feeling that you were being watched. Your friends thought you were crazy, and maybe you were, but you couldn’t help but feel like something was off. It wasn’t unusual for you to hear footsteps behind you while out on your runs, or to see shadows in your apartment at night. You needed someone else around, if anything, just to make you feel a tiny bit safer.
And so, you posted an ad.
You received a response within a matter of minutes.
yandere/dark!bucky barnes x reader: You meet, fall in love with, and break things off with a time traveler from the 40’s, armed with Stark Tech, capable of traveling to alternate universes. He’s not exactly great at handling rejection.
warnings: kidnapping, implied violence, 18+ only.
The house had belonged to Bucky for years now.
The room was quiet, all but for some oldies music and the crackle of the fireplace. Despite its size, the library was always the epitome of cozy. It was once one of your favorite places in the world. You would spend hours there, curled up on the couch with—and sometimes without—Bucky, listening to his ancient record player, napping, reading the day away.
No matter what was going on in your life, when you were in that library, all felt right in the world. But as you began to slowly open your eyes, groggy and sick, it was clear that things had changed. Your body felt heavy and strange as you sat up, cradling your head in your hands. A dim light cascaded from the fireplace, and even that made you wince. You breathed in through your teeth as you clamped your eyes shut. You slowly opened them again, attempting to adjust to the light. Your head ached.
The noise startled you, making you sit up straight.
“I’m sorry.”
You turned and there he was, handsome as ever. He studied you carefully as you shifted around in your seat. He was quiet for a few moments as he stared you down, which shouldn’t have felt as uncomfortable as it did. You had experienced a great many silences from your ex-boyfriend during your time together, so this was nothing unusual.
But something felt different this time.
Something was off.
You hadn’t seen him in months.
“Bucky?” you croaked. You didn’t sound like you. Your voice was harsh and gravelly, the kind of voice that came to fruition when you hadn’t slept well, or had slept way too much. Just how long had you been out for? And where were you before you fell asleep? “My head…it hurts.”
He cringed at your words. “I know. I’m sorry,” he said earnestly. Nervously, like he feared your reaction. “I tried not to hurt you too badly, doll. I really tried. But I had to get you here somehow. You wouldn’t have come willingly.”
You barely even registered his words. You were too focused on the blurriness of your vision. Even through the fog, you could see that he was dressed formally, strangely so. Vintage.
“Are you…are you going somewhere?” you asked, squinting at him.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he said, walking closer towards you. He kneeled down on the floor in front of you, reaching forward to hold your hands in his. You looked at him in utter confusion. You hadn’t seen him in months, and now here you were in his house. What was happening? “And neither are you.”
His words snapped you out of your daze, sending a chill down your spine. The little hairs on the back of your neck stood on end. You looked at him for a second, at his dark hair, slicked back perfectly. He never did his hair like that. You studied the wrinkles in his forehead, the blue of his eyes. And then you had a look around the room. Everything in Bucky’s house looked newer, somehow.
Newer and older at the same time.
Unlike the house you were used to, the wallpaper looked flawless. The upholstery was in pristine condition, the bookcases freshly painted, the floor unscuffed. The tv was nowhere to be found. And the record player, that ancient record player, looked brand new. A pit began to form in your stomach. Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong.
Bucky’s eyes were wide. Afraid. In spite of his stature, he was afraid of a lot of things. You learned that early on in your relationship.
“Bucky, where are we?”
He reached forward and brushed your hair away from your eyes. He thought about it for a few seconds, then spoke. “You know where we are.”
You could very faintly hear the sound of voices nearby. Your gaze shifted towards a nearby bookcase. On one of the shelves sat an old radio. A very old radio. You had never seen it before.
“Bucky…” you repeated. Bucky turned to look at where your line of sight was, noticing the radio. He turned back towards you and ran his knuckles across your jawline.
“I missed you so much. I…I’ve missed a lot of things. The last few months of our relationship were hard on me. You were so distracted with work, and your friends, and your life and I just…”
Your eyes began to tear up, hands shaking. You knew about Bucky’s time traveling, universe bending adventures. It was a piece of his life you had never been a part of. You also knew he came from the 1940’s.
“You can focus on what’s important now,” he pleaded with you, as if trying to convince you everything was alright. “It’s simpler here, in this world.”
“Oh, Bucky. No…”
“It’ll be better for you here, doll,” he said, holding your face in his hands. “I promise.”
yandere Bucky Barnes x reader: Bucky likes to think of himself as your boyfriend, and as your boyfriend, he just wants you to be happy.
warnings: kidnapping, stockholm syndrome, obsessive behavior 18+ only.
🥀
The roses sat on the countertop, untouched.
He had left them there for you hours ago. You didn’t stop to admire them. You didn’t bother to trim the stems or put them in a vase. You hadn’t even given them a second glance. You just sat there silently, curled up in a ball on the couch beneath a pile of blankets, eyes still puffy from crying.
Bucky sighed as he walked through the door, quickly noticing the flowers still lying on the counter. “Doll, come on. I’m trying my best here.”
You didn’t doubt it. He wanted you to like him, to love him. He did, in fact, try his best. In turn, his expectations were high. Even given your current set of circumstances, he somehow expected the world from you. You weren’t sure when it happened (not anymore; you had lost track of time), or why, or how. Bucky never struck you as bad, much less capable of something like this. You had barely even known that he liked you. You came up with a handful of memories, all of which felt completely benign in the moment. A smile here, a kind word there.
Nothing to indicate that this would happen.
Nothing to indicate that he would abduct you and hide you away from the world—your world.
The door locked automatically behind him.
Click, click.
He was quiet as he set to work, unwrapping the roses from their plastic packaging. He trimmed the stems without much effort, opting to place them in a tall glass pitcher. He slipped his jacket off and took off his baseball cap, placing it backwards on your head. You rolled your eyes as he leaned down and kissed your forehead. Once, twice, three times, four.
“Bucky, stop.”
“What?” he chuckled.
He placed both his hands on your ears, leaning in and kissing your cheeks, the tip of your nose, your mouth. “Why don’t you get up?” he asked. “Have something to eat.”
You shrugged. “I’m not hungry.”
He curled up next to you and wrapped his arms around you, tilting you onto your side. You groaned. He sighed again. “You’re so stubborn.”
He locked his arms around yours, making you hold your arms close to your chest—surrounding you. You took a deep breath and shut your eyes. It was very clear: You weren’t getting out of this, not this time. His lips descended to your neck, leaving a small trail of kisses down to your shoulder. You felt warm. Content. Safe, almost.
You had missed him.
And for a split second, without a second thought, you extended your neck, turning your head to the side—as if to invite him in.
He let out a little gasp from the back of his throat, pausing for a moment. His eyes widened as he looked at you. You stared up at him in shock—you, too, were shocked by what you just did. You then squinted your eyes shut, curling in on yourself. You could practically hear the smile in his voice as he leaned back down to kiss you.
“Such a sweetheart,” he said, pressing his lips to your neck. Smug. “Such a sweetheart.”
Warnings- Blood, murder, fainting, violence, sexual stuff, NSFW.
.
.
.
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The body hits the floor with a sickening finality.
For one endless second, the only sound inside the house is ragged breathing.
He remains on one knee beside the man he has just killed, his fist still wrapped around the blood-slick handle of the knife. Crimson stains his knuckles and drips steadily onto the warped wooden floor beneath him.
Then he looks up.
A few inches away from him, bathed in the pale blue light spilling through the lone uncovered window, stands Y/N.
She looks impossibly small against the darkness, frozen where she is, her wide eyes locked on him. The thin straps of her top rest flimsily against her shoulders, and her chest rises and falls with quick, uneven breaths as shock roots her to the spot.
He looks up at her eyes.
His expression is impossible to read, jaw set into hardness.
Slowly, he rises to his feet. She whimpers.
Every measured step he takes toward her echoes through the empty house.
Y/N instinctively backs away immediately. Her body is trembling like a jackhammer.
He stalks forward till the backs of her legs collide with the old wooden table, leaving her nowhere else to go.
He stops an inch from her.
A bloodstained hand wraps around her bare waist, pulling her into his hard chest. Marking her soft skin. Her pure, innocent skin.
He likes that thought.
Like a predator marking his prey.
Her eyes grow even wider. He didn't know eyes could be this huge.
The silence between them carries the weight of everything that almost happened.
He lowers his lips on hers, tentatively at first.
Then the hunger overpowers him.
"I told you you are too innocent for your own god, cub," he whispers between his attempts to devour her alive, his voice rough with exhaustion, desire and affection.
Behind them, the lifeless body on the floor is a grim reminder of how narrowly disaster was avoided.
Only half an hour earlier, the man now lying dead had cornered her inside the abandoned house, his hands closing around her untainted body, laughing pathetically at her attempts to fight back. He had bitten the soft skin on her chest, his attempt to mark her as his, his fingers inside her the worst pain she could imagine.
The mark still remains. He notes this with grim acknowledgement.
His fingers wrap in her soft curls, another clutching painfully hard on the skin of her waist. She has melted into his arms, nearly faint from the evening's excitement. The blue light paints one side of his face while the other disappears into shadow.
For the first time since arriving, the fury fades from his features, replaced by quiet concern.
"Are you hurt?"
Y/N slowly shakes her head. He kisses her again. Perhaps it's the frequent cut off of air supply, or perhaps the overall trauma, that her body finally shuts down and she collapses against him. Softly, just like everything else about her.
The knife slips from his hand and clatters onto the floor.
He picks her up in his arms, looking down admiringly at the contrast in the cupboard glass in front of him- the tiny body clad in white, against his blood-soaked black.
The distant hum of the city filters through broken windows and the night swallows the echoes of violence.
Warning: age gap, gaslighting, manipulation, dark elements….
My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.
Character: Bucky Barnes (short!reader)
Summary: You meet a man who makes you realise your life isn’t exactly what you thought. Based on this.
As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️
Your nerves are fried. You can’t stop squirming. Your mind is racing. You retrace every word, every single thing you did that day. Oh why can’t Kirstie just tell you what you’re doing wrong?
You can feel your manager’s derision roiling off of her. It pools in your stomach like bile and boils. Self-awareness tempers your every thought, your every move. You’re doing it wrong, you just know it!
If you lose this job, your parents will be so disappointed. So will you. You just want to do well but how can you when no one tells you what you’re missing?
And she didn’t like the skirt. Of course she didn’t. It’s juvenile. Cherry blossoms? It must make you seem like even more of a child. You’ll ask your sister if she has something you can borrow for tomorrow; if you get home before she’s asleep.
You frown as you get off the subway and run to the second platform. You heard the last train depart and the sign assures your worst fear; ‘departed 2 mins ago’. Great!
None of this is working out and you can’t help but blame yourself. Grow a backbone. Ask Kirstie if you can skip lunch so you can leave early. It’s not like she lets you go on break anyway.
You pout and look around. You’ll find somewhere to tuck into your book until the next train comes. Or maybe you can find a different connection. You could probably take a train to a midway point then switch over… or a bus. That would take a bit longer but still better than the late train.
“Too bad,” Bucky’s voice startles you before you can find a bench.
You turn to him and wipe away your chagrin. “Oh, hi. You’re back.”
“And you missed your train.”
“Um, yeah. I… I’ll get the next one.” The glumness sticks in your voice despite your efforts.
“Not too fun after a hard day’s work.” He clucks. “You thinking of moving closer? Or to the city?”
“Hm. Maybe. But it’ll be a while before I can afford to. If ever.” You shrug.
“Right. Makes sense.” He accepts. “Well, I guess the important thing is you’re trying. Got a good job. You show up.”
“Hm, doesn’t feel good enough…” you mumble then sniff and shake your head. “I… It doesn’t matter. It’s whatever.”
He looks you over and his cheek dimples as he thinks. “Something bringing you down? Or someone?”
You scoff. “It’s really not your problem. Or a problem at all. I know you must have bigger things to worry about.”
“I’ll make it my problem.” He insists. “What’s up?”
Your phone jitters before you can deflect him again. You reach for it and smile sheepishly. “Sorry, one sec.”
You check the notification. By the first few words of your mom’s text, you know it’s not good. You’ll deal with that later.
“Is that the problem?” He points to your phone as you put it back in your pocket.
You rock and look away. “It’s just… me. That’s all.”
“I know you’re not a liar but you shouldn’t do that. Keep all that inside and you'll boil over.” He girds. He subtly motions you over to the bench. He waits for you to sit before doing the same. “So, who's texting up a storm? Boy troubles?”
You scoff. Then snort. You roll your eyes and stare across the platform.
“My mom. She's just… very concerned, I guess. I've barely been working a week and… I don't know.” You pout.
“You said you live with her?”
You nod. “Her and dad. And my sister.”
“Can get a bit stir crazy when you're all crowded in.” He says as he leans his elbows on his knees, trying to look you in the face. “Trust me. I've been stacked in steamers like a sardine with a hundred other soldiers, shared a foxhole with men who can't stop kicking my shins…”
“You're right. It could be worse,” you drop your shoulders.
“That's not what I'm saying. I'm… empathising.” He leans over and pushes on your arm with his.
“Yeah, well…” you trail off and shake your head again, trying to shed your self-pity.
You look down as your phone lights up again. It's your mom. She's calling.
“Sorry. Excuse me.”
You wiggle your phone awkwardly then stand. You traipse away from Bucky and answer the call. You keep your back to him and brace yourself.
“Are you on the train?” She asks. “I'm on Life 360. It says you're at the station.”
“I… I missed it.” You admit.
“Again?”
“Mom, I'll get the garbage out–”
“You're not going to get very far if you can't be on time. I sure hope you're not this late for work every morning–”
“No. It's just the way home–”
“You need to figure it out. You need to start pulling your own weight around here. Maybe help with dinner and no one's going to wait till nine to eat.” She snips.
“I know. I'm sorry–”
“The least you can do is lend a hand. Me and your dad have been very lenient. We let you stay here and study.” She tuts.
“I'm working on it, mom.” You insist.
“One day you'll realise the world isn't going to wait on you.” She huffs. “I'll see you when you get home. If I'm awake.”
She hangs up before you can say anything else. No matter what, you're always wrong. You got a diploma. Not enough. You got a job. Not enough.
You put your phone in your pocket and sigh. You drag your hands down your cheeks and sink down. Your name startles you as Bucky nears, gently touching your sleeve.
“Everything okay?” He asks. Again.
“It's fine. My mom is just… disappointed.” Again.
“Ah. Well, you know, trains are never on time. Always too early or too late.” He chuckles. “But you'll get where you're going.”
You nod and sway.
“Don't let me keep you. Please. I'll just wait until the next–”
“Maybe I wanna be here.” He interjects. “Maybe I got nothing better to do.”
“Uh huh.” You sniff. “You don't have to lie.”
“I'm not.” He nudges your arm playfully. “How about another meatball sub?”
“I should stay… wait for the train.”
“You got at least two hours. Get a small sandwich…” he coaxes.
You chew your lip as you look at him. “Why are you being so nice?”
He arches a brow and his cheeks dimple. “I see. My reputation precedes me.”
You laugh and shake your head. “No, it's just… I don't know.”
“Got you,” he softly swipes a fingertip along your chin.
“What?” Your eyes widen and your face falls.
“You smiled.” He preens.
“Oh…uh.” You smile again, this time you can't hold it back. “Yeah…”
“Come on. You had a long day. You needa eat.” He says.
You exhale. “Twist my arm.”
“I don’t wanna, but if I have to…” he winks.
“Maybe I’ll try something else though. How’s the teriyaki?” You ask.
“Never tried it but you got me intrigued,” he grins.
🚃
The chicken is good. You're contentedly full when you finish the half-sub. Bucky has a much bigger appetite than yours.
He wipes his metal fingertips with a napkin and pulls his glove back on. He flinches and feels around his jacket hanging on the back of his chair. He swipes his tongue behind his lips and gives a tight smile.
“Sorry,” he pulls out his phone. “Ugh, work. Hold tight.”
He gets up and crosses the shop. He puts the phone to his ear as he pushes through the door. “Update?”
The door jingles shut behind him and you watch him through the windows. His jaw is squared and his forehead rippled as he listens intently. He rubs the stubble along his chin and nods. His lips move but you can’t make out the words. You shouldn’t try. It’s none of your business.
You look down and crumple up the wrapper in front of you. The teriyaki lingers on your tongue. You chew the inside of your cheek as you mull over the train ride still ahead of you. You just want to lay down and sleep but each night, you seem to get less and less.
The bell chimes again. Bucky clears his throat as he approaches and picks up his jacket. “All done?” He asks.
“Uh huh.” You push your chair back and stand. He holds out his hand. You hesitate.
“Garbage.” He curls and opens his fingers as he swipes up his own with his other hand.
“Oh, uh, thanks.” You hand over the wrapper.
He goes to dump it in the trash as you gather up your bag and jacket. You follow him to the door and he holds it open for you. You pass through as he stays close.
You start down the street and he shifts around you as another pedestrian marches down the other direction. He inserts himself between you and the other lane of foot traffic, penning you against the building faces. He growls at the passerby with the dragging gait.
You catch a yawn in your hands then press your palms together. You drop your arms as you twine your fingers through each other and trod along. He stays close as the streetlights flick on one by one.
“So, you work at a condo place? You move anything yet?”
“Um, no. Krista signs the leases. I’m still training.”
“That’s always the awkward part but everyone’s gotta do it. When I signed up for basic training, I nearly drowned in some mud.” He chortles.
“Really?”
“Well, sure. You’re not crawling through sh– muck every day. Well, not until you sign up for it.”
“Yeah, I guess.” You nod glumly.
“Eh, sorry, I don’t mean to bring down the mood. Tell me about one of your princesses.” He prompts as you reach the entrance of the subway.
“Well… I don’t know…”
“Tell me about a happy princess.”
“Hm. Those aren’t real.” You frown. “I like the tragic ones, mostly. Queens, too.”
“Fine, tell me about one of them.”
“Hm. Well, there’s a really sad one. Sophia Dorothea. She was married to George I but cheated on him. She was exiled, not even allowed to see her kids. But each time she heard they were in the same city, she’d dress up in case she was allowed to visit… that never happened.” You hum. “Yeah, not very happy.”
“History tends to repeat itself, at least in that sense. Good with the bad and all.” He agrees.
“Yeah, but I guess… there’s happier ones I could read about. Maybe.”
“Maybe,” he agrees lightly. “In my day, not to sound like an old man, there was Wallis Simpson. That was a big scandal.”
“Oh yeah! Yeah. She’s the one Edward stepped down for.”
“That’s the one. Must be a special woman if she’s worth all that. Any man should be as lucky.” He scoffs.
“I guess.” You utter as you weave through the station.
You reach the platform and check the time on your phone. It’ll be another hour at least. Bucky jostles you slightly. “Uh oh.”
You look up and blink. You follow his gaze to the departures screen. The late train is highlighted in red. ‘Technical Issues - Cancelled’. Your mouth falls open.
“Huh? How can… how can they cancel it?” You babble.
“I have no idea. That’s odd.” He says and shifts his weight in his shoes.
“How… what…” you can’t get the dozen questions out of your brain as they all jumble together.
“Well, that’s too bad.” He clucks. “I don’t think you’ll be making it home tonight.”
“I know,” you hook your hands around your neck anxiously. “But… what am I going to do?”
“Woah, doll. All good. Why don’t you crash at my place?” He asks.
You look at him and furrow your brow. “What?”
“Sure. It’s not too far and you won’t bother me. Be easier for you to get to work too.”
“But… but…” you look around helplessly. What other choice do you have?
“I got laundry in my place. You can toss your clothes in.” He offers. “Come on, we can make it work.”
No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.
Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, virginity loss, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk. POSSIBLE SPOILERS FOR DOING TIME.
This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Summary: your new neighbour brings intrigue and a bit of danger.
Characters: ex-con!Bucky Barnes (silverfox)
As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.
I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖
Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.
A car waits for you outside the motel. Sleek, black, vintage. Bucky jingles the keys as his other hand rests on your lower back. He takes you to the passenger side and opens the door.
"Is... This yours?" You ask as you admire the decals.
"It is now. I figured we'd need something more practical... Just til we can find you a ride of your own." He nudges you then brushes his fingertips down your arm. He takes your hand as you turn and he helps you into the seat. "You all in?"
He grips the top of the door as he lets you go. You wiggle in the seat and pull your elbows to your waist. You nod and he shuts the door.
Maybe you're going to breakfast? He looks nice; almost unlike himself in his tailored jacket. There's a thread at the back of your mind fraying but you're too afraid to tug it. It's not that.
He gets in the driver seat. His bike is still in the lot. You try not to think too much; it's not making anything better.
He starts the engine and settles in. You buckle the seat belt and measure your breaths. It's okay. You're going to be okay, right?
He puts one hand on your knee as he steers with his other. You stare out the window at the unfamiliar backroads. You don't know this area but you think he's headed away from town.
You hide your hand behind your thigh and fidget with the hem of your skirt. Your chest is churning. It all feels so ritualistic. You've listened to podcasts about serial killers who dressed up their victims or lured them in on false pretenses. But Bucky isn't that, right? They wouldn't just let someone like that free, would they?
You shiver as your nerves threaten to boil over. His hand crawls up your thigh and he purrs.
"Excited?" He asks.
You echo him in confusion.
"To be together. You missed me, didn't you? That's what you said last night." He intones as his fingertips knead your soft flesh.
"Yes," you put your hand on his and squirm. "I'm ticklish."
"Oh, I know it," he growls. "You like it, baby. The way you get all jittery when I bite right there..." he pushes into the cushion inside your leg and you squeal. He shifts his hand and wiggles his hand further up. "And here."
You squeak again and cling to his fingers. Your legs tremble as he finds your most tender spots. What makes you shake more is his strength and how easily he can ignore your resistance.
You gulp and look out the window. "So... Where are we going?"
"I told you, doll, it's a surprise. But you'll like it." He pets the inside of your thigh. "What's important is we're together, huh?"
"Mhm," you hum nervously. His vagueness makes you want to scream.
"You know, a man like me, being inside so long, dealing with criminals, and I was so afraid of you." He snorts. "I was afraid you were too good for me. That you'd just... Leave me." He sighs. "But it's like you said, you're my good girl."
Another chill blows through you. This one from head to toe. The sort that has your brain on fire.
He clucks in content as the wind barrels around the car. Your eardrums are buzzing. It's like the world has shrunk down to just that space. You and Bucky in that car.
You let your eyes drift up to the sky. When the engine slows and the axel turns, you bring yourself back to earth. You're plummeting down but haven't hit the ground yet.
Bucky shifts into park and kills the engine. You lean forward as you take in the large building before you. The red paint on the wood has peeled away in wide strips and the roof peaks high above the foundation. It's so plain and unassuming but to you, it's a fortress.
You see another car. A white model similar to the one Bucky drives. But you don't see any people.
Bucky gets out. You can't move. You can't make yourself go inside as you notice the bell in the tower, right above the pointed roof. It can't be. It just can't.
He opens the door and waits. You don't react. He grabs your hand and tugs you until you do. You shakily turn in the seat and let him pull you to your feet.
He guides you over the gravel and shuts the door behind you. He hooks his arm through yours and marches you up to the doors. He opens the right one without hesitation.
As you enter, there's two men just inside; both in suits. One is around your age with reddish brown hair, another about ten or so years younger than your escort, with black hair and a permanent smirk.
"Sam," Bucky greets the latter man. "Parker," he doesn't even glance at the other.
"Steve is here. He's with the father."
"Figured. He's always early." Bucky tuts as you shift in your heels. You press your palms to the white dress.
"And the lucky lady." The one he called Sam grins at you. "You're too gorgeous for him, sweetheart. You should run."
I should, you agree internally. But you know better. Bucky showed you what he's capable; really, only a little of what you know he could do. You try to smile but can't. You look down.
"Nervous," Sam chuckles. "Well, I guess we should get on. We been waiting on you for long enough."
"Sure," Bucky shrugs. "We're here."
The two men go ahead of you through the archway behind them. As you follow, you take in the full breadth of the room full of pews. At the front, there's a stained glass window glimmering with sunlight behind and altar. There you see two men and another woman; she's also in white.
She looks nervous too. A blonde man stands at her side. His hair is streaked with silver, his blazer is white with black lapels, his pants match the latter. Bucky's attire is all black.
The other man where's all black with a flash of white at the collar. There's a sash around his shoulders and a cross at his neck. What kind of church is this?
"Hold up." The other man say before you can continue down the aisle.
The shorter man, Parker, offers you a bunch of flowers. You frown but take them, thanking him quietly. Sam pins a rose to Bucky's jacket then turns to slide a headband attached to a veil over your hair. Your legs buckle. No...
Bucky smiles at you. "Come on, doll."
He turns you up the aisle and forces you ahead. Your steps scuff on the floor as you can barely keep from collapsing. The closer you get, the heavier your feet are.
He stops you at the front. The other woman is adorned in a veil as well and handed a bouquet of her own. She stares at the petals and turns them in her hands.
The other man turns to Bucky. He lets you go to hug him, slapping his back with a laugh. "Nice to see you out." Bucky says.
"You too, pal." The other man replies as they part.
"Hey, doll," Bucky waves you closer. "This is Steve."
"Sweetheart," Steve beckons his woman forward. "Bucky. I told you about him."
"Hi," the other woman says. "Nice to meet you."
She's braver than you as you can barely get out a 'hi'. The father waits patiently and the two men look at him, then each other.
"Ready?" Steve asks.
"Never been more ready," Bucky assures and turns back to you.
He takes your hands in his as he faces you. You teeter and as you lean dangerously forward, his hands graze your arms and he holds you up. Your lashes flutter up at him as you sink into his oceanic eyes. You know what this is and you know you're not Julia Roberts. There will be no runaway bride today.
"We have our witnesses, our grooms, our brides," the priest begins. "Let us begin."
👙
Bucky's lips press to yours. His warmth is like fire. It melts away the ice around you. His tongue barges into your mouth as his large hand cradles your head. He devours you shamelessly.
Someone clears there throat. "Buck, it's still a church," Sam chortles as he steps forward to rap his knuckles across his arm.
Bucky draws away as his hand slips around to your cheek and his other comes up to frame the other. He licks his lips. "Can you blame a man? After I was away so long?"
"Can't say I do," Steve agrees.
You peek over your shoulder as he wraps his arm around his own bride and kisses her cheek. Her lip gloss is smeared around her mouth as she stares dopily. He squeezes her side as he pauses to thank the priest. It's only then, you notice the neck tattoos above the holy collar.
"We came here to witness a wedding not your depravity," Sam cackles.
"Yeah, Jesus," Parker agrees then blanches at the priest. "Sorry, father."
"The Lord forgives," the cleric replies. "Blessed be your unions."
"So...we gonna eat or what? I'm starving." Sam slaps his stomach.
"Me too," Bucky growls into your temple.
"Hmph. Keep it together, bud," Sam chides. "I made that reservation like you said."
"Yeah, yeah," Bucky slings his arm over your shoulder. "Let's go."
"Sweetheart," Steve purrs and takes his woman by her hand. He leads her down the aisle first. You can barely keep it together as you walk next to Bucky.
You come out into the sunlight and shield your eyes. It's sweltering, almost blinding. The world around you is overwhelming. You just want it to go away.
Steve takes the other woman to the white car as the other men disappear around the other side of the church. You stop short and dig your heels into the gravel. Everyone and everything just needs to stop.
Bucky chuckles as he draws back to you. "What's going on, doll?"
You blink at him. Your mouth is dry and your eyes are stinging from the sun's glare. Or maybe that's fear.
"Ah, don't worry, I got you." He scoops you up in his arms and you yelp in surprise. He hikes you up and turns back, striding proudly to the car. "Your carriage awaits you, my queen."
"Bucky..." You whittle out weakly. "Bucky, what... What did you do?"
He stops by the car and tilts his head. "I told you, doll. Today is just the beginning--"
"Bucky..." Your voice cracks and you wriggle in his grasp. "Bucky... Please. I..."
You're what? Afraid? Stupid? You didn't mean it? You just said what the priest told you to?
You can't tell him any of that. You can't even put to words evryrhting that you feel. Everything that scares you. That he is what scares you most.
"You go on," Bucky calls over the top of the car. "We'll catch up."
Car doors open and close, other voices waft and fade out. Bucky bends his knees next to the car. "Open it."
You stare at him, pleading. Say it's a joke. Say he's just trying to scare you. This is too fast. After he dragged it all out, how can he just flip it on you like this?
"Bucky... That wasn't real, was it?"
He laughs again and it fizzles out to a growl.
"Doll, you know I don't play. Now open the damn door." His smile fades.
You obey. You grab the handle and he angles you so you can pull the back door open. He steps around it and bends to put you inside.
"Move." He taps your knee as he grips the top of the car.
Your lip quivers and you shimmy over the seat. He slides in next to you and shuts the door. He sighs and tugs on his belt buckle.
"You know I won't be able to get through out wedding dinner without an appetizer," he drawls.
You stare at him. He looks back at you as he opens his fly and pulls himself out. His eyes fall to your chest.
"Take those out and hop on." He demands.
You hug your stomach and pout. You quaver his name one last time. He growls and his jaw juts out.
"You just swore to the lord that you're mine. Don't be messing with me." He reaches over and yanks on your dress. "And don't go spoiling the happiest damn day of our lives."
You put your hand on his and look down. You bat away the glaze in your eyes as the air flows out of you. You nod and lean forward, reaching awkwardly for your zipper.
He lets go of the front of the dress and helps tug down the tap. You let the fabric fall down your shoulders with the last of your strength. Your chest spills out and he groans.
You turn and put a hand on his chest. You get up on your knees and hook one over him, straddling him. The last month closes around you like his fist. It was all so fast, so sudden. And it was all your fault.
You didn't listen to him or sense. You chased your own desperation and now you're bound by it. All you wanted was to lose your virginity, but now you've lost yourself.
Warning: age gap, gaslighting, manipulation, dark elements….
My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.
Character: Bucky Barnes (short!reader)
Summary: You meet a man who makes you realise your life isn't exactly what you thought. Based on this.
As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️
Your first day. Your first job. Even your first train ride alone. Your few memories of the commute are with your sister, your mom, or both.
It’s not that you’ve never done anything on your own. You completed a two year diploma in business administration and that was all your own work. Long days, sleepless nights, bled over repetitive assignments and bland procedures.
This is just your first dive out into the real world. Outside of school. Now, you won’t have a teacher telling you what to do, you’ll have a boss to be a lot less nicer in how they do it. Maybe even one that isn’t afraid to tell you when you mess up.
That makes you most nervous. It was hard enough to get your scant resume picked up, but now you have something to fail at. Everything you’ve ever done has only been because you know you’d feel worse for not, or for doing poorly at it.
It’s not like you were the head of your class. You sat firmly just above average. You were never going to the ivy leagues but maybe a secretary certificate, as your dad so kindly called it, wasn’t exactly your ceiling. How do you know what that is though? You couldn’t admit to anyone that you only chose that because it seemed easy and you have no idea what else to do.
You’re not passionate about work. Nothing you would be capable of has any degree of creativity. You just have to accept that you’re one of those people who just gets through life. You ride the middle. Safe but steady.
You check your smart watch. The purple and green leopard print stands out egregiously from under your borrowed grey jacket. Your mom insisted it was more professional than the fluffy lilac fleece you love so much. She’s probably right.
What wouldn’t be professional is being late! You hurry down the corridors, searching for the right number, the right departure. Your sister’s leather bag bounces on your hip as you clasp the straps against your shoulder. Your heavy water bottle thunks against you.
You scramble out into the platform, your phone held up as your guiding beacon as you squint at the text of your ticket. You think this is it.
Your cell nearly falls out of your hand as you collide with another passenger. You let out a squeak and look up. You retreat on your heels and apologise to the man. He turns slowly as he sighs and looks you up and down.
His expression is vague but his blue eyes are bold and bright. He tilts his head slightly as he sniffs. His throat bobs.
“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” you chant over and over. You’ve heard horror stories of the subway. “I– I wasn’t looking and… I’m lost.”
“Lost,” he repeats and nods to your phone.
“Oh, er…” You show him your ticket. He looks like he knows where he’s going. “I’m trying to get to work.”
He hums and nods his head as he reads, leaning in slightly to see the text. There’s something familiar about him. You give him a quick once over. It’s a bit crisp out but not cold enough to need gloves. Still, he has a pair of leather ones on with his light canvas jacket.
“This is it,” he points to the train grinding down the tracks from the tunnel. “Good luck catching that connection back home.” He mutters. “Far way to come for work.”
“Uh, thanks, er, sir.”
He turns away and you glance down at your phone. There’s a new message. It must’ve popped up while he was reading your ticket. It’s your mom; ‘good luck with your first day. Looking forward to hearing about it!’
You know she’s just trying to be encouraging but it feels like a warning. You better not screw this up. After all, she lent you a nice jacket, and a blouse; oh, and she put in a good word for you. Her word and she has worked so hard.
You blow out between your lips, trying to ward off the anxiety curdling in your chest. You follow the crowd onto the train car but can’t find a seat. It’s crowded. You look for something to hold onto. You’r too far away from the upright poles and you can’t reach the ones overhead.
The doors slide shut and you panic. You’re going to fall over once this thing starts moving. You spin and search, looking for any path to somewhere less treacherous.
The train jolts and you stumble. Someone catches your arm before you can fall into a stranger’s chest. The man from the platform guides you by your elbow and slides his hand down your arm. He puts your hand on the bar, beneath his, and squeezes.
“Hold on.” He growls.
“Sorry, I couldn’t–” You gulp down your excuse.
You stand facing him, hugging your bag with your free arm, as you sway with the motion of the tracks. He stares above you. You chew your lip and look around at the crowded car. You’re sweating.
Something presses to your back and there’s a pinch on the back of your jacket. The man reaches over your shoulder and shoves the rider behind you. He growls.
“Watch it.” He warns. The man behind you grumbles but the tug on your jacket stops.
You feel so lost and stupid. This man is so certain. Well, maybe if you were big like him, you would be too.
“I’m sorry, sir. I’m just… it’s my first ride alone. My first day at work.” You explain. You cringe. “I’m sure you don’t care.”
He looks down at you and his forehead creases. Slowly, his expression smooths. The train grinds to its first stop and the motion has you leaning so far in you hit his chest. He steadies you again, his firm hold locked around your upper arm.
“We all start somewhere.” He says. “Excited?”
His tone doesn’t suggest true interest. He’s humouring you; like one of your uncles. You shrug.
“No. Nervous.” You confess. “I haven’t told anyone that. But I am.”
“That’s alright. Means you care.” He says as he lets you go and uses his arm to shield you from another passenger squeezing by.
“I guess I do. I just don’t want to let anyone down.”
“Let who down?” He asks.
You hesitate to answer. You guess it’s alright to tell him the truth. He’s a stranger. He’ll forget you once you get to your stop.
“My parents. I… I still live with them and… I’m all done with school so… I guess I feel like if this doesn’t work, they’ll be stuck with me forever.” You say.
“Oh. Is that what they say?”
“No, not exactly say it…” you sigh. “But I feel it. I think. I don’t know.”
“What about for you? What do you want?” He asks.
You look up at him and shake your head. You smile weakly. “I wish I knew. I’m trying to figure it out.”
He nods. “Me too.”
He glances around then his eyes settle on you again. He brings up his gloved hand. “Bucky.” He introduces himself.
“Oh, um,” you shake his hand awkwardly and introduce yourself.
The bag slips down to your elbow, nearly dragging you down. He catches it and lifts it back onto your shoulder. He shifts closer and gives it a pat before he drops his hand.
“Your stop’s coming up.” He says. “I’ll get you to the door.”
“Oh,” you crane to see over your shoulder but see only bodies. “Thanks.”
“No problem.” He drawls. “You’re gonna have a great first day. I’m just making sure you get there.”
