Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.
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
Summary: your casual arrangement turns a bit too serious.
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 ❤️
You step out silently. You glare at Bucky. He smirks with a mug in his hands. He offers it and you shove it away. He lets it fall to the floor.
He raises his chin defiantly as you step up to stare him down.
"Too late," you echo his previous words.
"Doll?" He tilts his head.
"Too fucking late!?" You shove him. He doesn't flinch. "What the fuck did you do?"
"Think you figured it out. You are so smart," he taunts.
"Why?" You grab onto the robe and snarl. "Why the fuck-- this could ruin my life. I... I need to call the clinic--"
"You need to calm down," he says evenly.
"Bucky, this isn't up to you--"
"It's mine so... yeah I'd say it is."
"No, no, it's not for sure. I need a test. At least--"
"You don't. I can hear it. So you're... six weeks or so."
You blink. He can't be right but you know he is. Your period has been off but you were so busy and-- you let go of him and frame your forehead with your hands.
You turn and pace in the small space of the hallway. "Bucky. I can't-- I don't want a baby."
"Should be thought of that before--"
You drop your hands and rear on him. "Before you fucking poked holes in the condoms? I'm on the pill. This can't be happening."
"Did I not mention the serum has some side effects..."
"Fuck off."
"It's true. I can't even take Advil. Doesn't do a thing. Serums interferes." He shrugs.
You slap his shoulders. He's shrugging. Over this?
He catches your wrists. "You wanna stop doing that."
"Fuck off."
"Doll, that's not how you speak to me.'
"You're an asshole. You-- you tricked me. You really think that if I wanted a child I would choose you?" You sneer. "You are fucked in the head. It was never more than fun. Or so I thought." You tug on your arms. "Why would anyone want to reproduce with a goddamn murderer?"
Suddenly, you're swung around. You hit the side of the chair and collapse to the floor. It's a measured force. He knows what he's doing.
You look up as he stomps over to you. He stands tall, hands on his hips. He scoffs and bends until he's right in your face.
"Well this murderer isn't fucking asking."
He grabs you by the neck and drags you away from the chair. You flail as he forces you into your back. He kneels between your legs, his knee pinching your thigh against the floor.
He pins you by your neck and reaches under you. He peels your pants off easily and whips them away. He moves closer, splaying you around him.
He snaps the seam of your panties with an effortless tug. He leans into your throat and grips his length. He presses his tip to your clit and drags it down. He prods along your entrance as he glares at you.
"Don't worry. I won't hurt our baby," he thrusts and you shriek in agony.
You grab his biceps and dig your nails in. Your tongue lolls out as you fight for breath. He pulls back and snaps back in again.
You twitch and gnash your teeth. You hiss as he keeps going, each rut meaner than the last. He crushes you into the hardwood, his thumb pushing behind your jaw as he grunts and growls.
You run your hands up to his neck but can't reach. You slap his chest as he keeps going. Your eyes roll back and your arms fall. You're too weak.
You should have seen this coming. It was so risky and exciting to fuck this man. This avenger. This assassin. This killer who can end you with a backhand or a hole in a condom.
When he's done, he climbs off you like it's nothing. You don't move or make a noise. He strips off the robe, now hanging open, and throws it on the floor as he stalks away.
"You should clean up that coffee before it stains," he says as a cup clinks.
You turn onto your side and shudder. You get up stiffly, leaning on your arm as you rub your neck and cough. You crawl to the bathroom, around the puddle, and rip down the towel from the bar. You stop it up, the edges of your vision speckling with shock.
You're numb as you wad up the towel and use the wall to stand. You stumble into the bedroom and dump it i the hamper. You look down at the trickle down your leg.
You shuffle and sit on the bed, letting his cum leak out of you. You listen to him in the next room. He's being as loud as he can. You know it's intentional.
You can't leave if you tried. No phone, no strength, nothing. I mean who would believe you. He's changed. He's reformed. And you're nobody.
All that work and this is what you get. This is why you focused on your career and you threw it away for a thrill. Stupid fucking bitch.
