#buckybarnesplumwhore wrote this

[widowsofchaos]

Cabin Fever, i

summary: A mysterious drifter waltz into your homey life, asking for help. He seems kind, and generous. But what if he’s more than he lets on? pairing: dark!stucky x black!fem!reader warnings: Stockholm syndrome, eerie prophetic signs, kidnapping, dub-non con smut. Bearded lumberjack Stucky (a warning itself, woof.) a/n: A submission for @imanuglywombat & @nellblazer ‘s Lumberjack Challenge. Reading @darkficsyouneveraskedfor ‘s submission motivated me to flesh out this idea I’ve had for the longest. P.s. Thanks to Roo for helping me with the title. You always come up with the best titles! Also, thank you for beta!!  I love you more than anything.<3 ao3 // series masterlist do not repost my works

The sky was a murky canvas of clouded cinereal hue, shrouding the sleepy town in an aura of dreary yet comforting gloom.

Nestled in the secluded Canadian woodlands, tucked miles away from bustling cities, acres of breath-taking crisp landscapes; dense back-country for stylites, eremites, aging harvesters, rural families, naturalists -- retired veterans who seek a life of peace from raging wars in foreign lands, and politics.

A location that is often skimmed over on maps, too small but not entirely invisible to the passerby’s eye. A lone route that directs to major cities, and a dingy welcome sign are the only inklings to this inhabited territory.

A gritty hamlet --- a diamond in the rough. A pale tree rooted at the heart of the town. Streets built around it, proudly stood high, and mighty for centuries -- like a looming deity over generations; a reminder for aging residents of their mortality. A natural order surpassing their own existence.

The inevitable is merely out of mortal’s control.

Cadence of gruff murmuring fishermen loading nets full of fresh floundering fish, sluicing chilled water beats, and cradles against the boats floating near the coastal shore, high-pitched giggles of children dashing down the streets; youngsters who just got dismissed from school.

Howlin’ is a dive-bar on the main road --- a commune for burly beasts of men --- fisherman, mechanics, lumbers, less than a handful of deputies, and former militants; the livelihoods that are the veins of this tiny county.

Manitou is the only remnant of the town’s origins, named by the Aboriginal Canadian founders of this whistle-stop.

It’s an inn now for curious city folks, sparse tourists who parade with fake smiles, clicking cameras, and over-joyful admiration for “discovering this new little world.”

Local residents internally praise the heavens, sniffing tourists is a blue-moon occurrence.

This town was a device, a lurring hole of placid ease -- a festpool -- everyone has a past. A rabbit-hole to escape, and be free.

A gentle fury, stirring anxiously underneath his cavity, twisting around his heart. Brows indented, a menacing twist.

Nose flared wide like a furious bull, one palm perched tightly on the steering wheel, and the other clutching the map -- beyond wrinkled with fold lines.

A man of tradition -- too stubborn to install a modern GPS to help navigate his travels; or even get with the times.

Sweat now beads at his brows, a slight sheen now glistens on his bald dome, wiping his forehead by the back of his palm -- deep rich umber, or how his daughter jokingly dubs him ‘a milk dud’.

Nick Fury never admits it, but the memory of that affectionate tease eases him, a small smile curling at his mouth. It helps him relax in distressing times.

Murmuring low ‘fucks’ and ‘shit’ as shifty eyes scan over the map once more. Blues lines, and red printed letterings of route numbers, city lines -- unfamiliar directions of a country he has no ties. Red ink arrows scribbled around the unknown forest region.

This planned one-man trip is already hay-wire. All his traveling preparations have been once pristine, but now turned disoriented.

Faded Chevy truck --- chipped turquoise --- in dire need of a paint-job. A sigh of relief escapes Nick as he’s driving languidly towards a silva shielded entrance pathway.

The low static of the radio fluctuated into white noise, and low murmurs of out-of-the-way stations. Driving into this town, down the road passing by bars, the pier --- observing the walks of life passing by.

His calloused fingers dive into his backpack that was slumped in the passenger seat, fiddling through the contents for the tattered box of smokes; as he drives for the haven of a hostel.

A few days on the road was weighing down on his shoulders, his spine curving and achingly hunched over. Stewing in his aviator jacket, the luke-warm heat weighing on his bones.

Quizzical faces distort, glancing at the car, just a few curious glimpses at the foreign traveler. Flickering the zippo in his hands, the silver adorned with scratches -- a souvenir back from Vietnam, the only inklings of one of his fallen brothers. A wasteland of memories he doesn’t want to indulge.

Driving through the seemingly quiet streets, driving around the curb, a red brick building peers at the distance; motorbikes parked out front, a dismal aura. Murky fluttering yellow tubing “Howlin’ Boys” hangs high, and proud.

Parched throat, Nick wets his bottom lip -- he could use a drink. Just one, maybe. If his kid was here, she would scold him until her face turns blue for noon drinking; her absence is not rubbing him right. Loneliness seeping deep in his marrow, his companion during stress was always the sauce.

With swift precision, Nick serves a bit to park on the bar’s curb. Stretching his limbs a bit, a wail of satisfaction slips from his lips, trailing into a yawn.

Groaning with the back of his palms rubbing his eyes a bit, he retrieved his cigarettes. Caging just the cherry tip between his canines, with a flick of his thumb, the lid pops open, and a quick spark of flame ignites.

Inhaling deeply as nicotine surges through his lungs, hollow cheeks puff out, white smoke emits from his nose. The leaden sky clears, a vibrant surge of sun beams -- mindless eyes scan the bar, Nick notices a butterfly with wings painted with inky black and bright sunshine yellow.

Fluttering flight of its dainty flaps as it descends in the air, a placid smile curls at his lips as the cigarette dangles.

A peaceful fleet towards his truck --- it was an unforgiving flash, a hasty dash, a blur of nyx feathers violently hit against his vehicle. A shrill of a squawk jolts Nick, flinching back in his seat.

The blue paint of his hood now grated with claw marks. A couple of black feathers, and torn fragments of a butterfly wing trail behind on the crime scene.

Shouting ‘what the fuck?’ Dropping his burning smoke, collapsing on his denim, the heat burning through his skin creating a small burnt hole. Growling colorful profanities under his breath. Hurried hands smudging the ash off of him, a quick glance up, and he flinches.

Beyond in the distance, his vision clearing up a bit, there’s a glaring figure. Nick gulps, clearing in his perspective, startled as panic rises in his cavity -- a feminie figure standing a few feet away from the car.

Staring, glaring --- leering at him.

Nick peers behind his driver seat, twisting his head over his shoulder, out his window to catch if she’s gawking at anyone else but him. Slowly he steadies himself in his seat, facing back ahead of him, hues of greenery burning holes in his skull.

A woman, small yet stands with her chin out, with a maturity visage that graces her oval face. In her small frame, she embodies an essence of daunting, and yet tempting.

With burnished fiery tresses wisping in the wind, half-covering her cheeks, adding to the frightening allure --- a dark crimson jacket, that amples her milky breasts. The leather burns bright under the sunlight, there was a stretch of the jacket, a few buttons open --- a small bump.

Narrowing green eyes as if she’s piercing through his soul. Her trimmed brow arching, eerily ever so slowly cocking her head as if there was some glimmer of familiarity in her eyes --- as if she was privy to something he wasn’t.

Tightly wrapping around her slender legs was a little girl, her doe eyes too unwavering, and intense. Pouty cherub cheeks ensnared in wild chocolate curls, heart-shaped lips, and precious slope of a button-nose.

Clinging onto the woman’s hand, chubby fingers interlocked with slender spidery ones.

Nick's breath hitches in his throat, as the unknown woman’s lips move --- a frightful sight, her brows furrowed, a hungry curl of a smirk --- as if she was spewing an ancient hex under her breath.

Nick swore it’s as if she was condemning his entire blood-line --- from the graves of his ancestors to the unborn wombs of future descendants.

How ghastly the sun shining warps the greenery in her pupils. For a moment, he could’ve sworn her eyes revamped into a hellish maroon --- Nick harshly rubs his eyes with the heel of his hands for a moment. His tired lids refusing to steer away, his head light in a daze --- he just can’t stop staring.

Sharp pain punches in his ear, hissing, and wincing; white-noise pitching higher and higher. His brain felt as if a million wasps were urticating's within his skull by the tips of their stingers, penetrating through cartilage and bone.

Nick’s head hits against his car seat, banging mercilessly --- anything for the pain to stop. Praying to God, almighty to make it end. He couldn’t move, his limbs were numb yet forced to be still; frozen in his seat.

Gripping on the steering wheel, till the melanin of his knuckles shades straining white. Nick’s eyes peel open, more trails of sweat perspire, drenching down his dome. The pain vanishes as if the hellish migraine never engulfed him. A broken crack of a sigh leaves him.

Deja vu bewilders him, confused as if that was a day-dream or simply reality?

A blur, but a sour taste dawdles on his heavy tongue.

She was still there, but her lips stopped roving. The stare down ensues, but was interrupted by a slurring shout, a disheveled man was thrashed by the feet out the door of the bar; distracting Nick.

A drunk now cradled himself on the pavement, blubbering incoherent slurs. Man-handled by a man of similar dark complexion, who now shouted for the drunk to scram; hunching over, slanted squinted eyes.

Nick tore his gaze from the display, compelling his eyes to focus back. Turning his head to face the odd stranger once more --- but she was gone.

Disappearing without a trace, as if she was never there to begin with, a mere shadow. Hurriedly Nick snatched the keys out of the ignition, ungracefully dumping the keys in the pocket of his trench coat.

A flick of his wrist on taking his bag, and slinging it on his shoulder, he got out of the car. Stretching his limbs, Nick pats his chest by his open palm. A poor attempt at alleviating his beating heart. Not even an hour in this town, and weird shit is getting to him.

Nick inspected the hood, fingertips tracing the horrid skid marks, whispering ‘mother-fucker’. Four sloppy jagged lines, unable to miss. He groaned, his head lolling back, with a heavy sigh.

Waving off feathers, his thumb straining against the inside of his sleeve to wipe clean of tiny blood spots. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Nick’s arm limped, and dully slapped the meat of his thigh in defeat.

Turning his head to face the bar establishment, contemplating if it was a good idea to drink right now. He can’t afford it, bad timing --- no, it’s not a drink he wants. ‘Just ask for a nearby motel. That’s all I need. All I need.’ Nick muses to himself, a self-reminder; chastising tone.

Nick treks up to the bar, impressed by the parked Harleys that twinkle and shine underneath the mellow sun, parked in a row at the lot.

The autumn breeze appeases against his moist skin, caressing the nape of his neck, but the chilling air only adds to the shimmer down the crevices of his spine.

Still a bit jittery from those piercing daggers. Damn that bitch --- he’s not the type of man to be spooked. Nerves of cold-steel, trained, and built to handle any obstacle thrown at him.

His breath was easing slower now, air flowing easier too. Nick rubs his face by the cup of his palm, scowling --- to get a fucking grip, man.

Nick’s calloused fingers hook onto the silver metal handle, the front-door is painted black, but chipping at the edges --- worn out from changing elements of weather.

A quick haul of the door, Nick enters with a plods that is both placid and tenacious. Rugged habitués densely survey this stranger waltz in with a purpose, a natural aptitude to command the space he inhabits.

Few grunts, and hmmpfs in response, but it trails back into silence --- shifty eyes observing. The establishment has a wafting scent of ale, and a bit of sandal-wood. Waves of musky dew fogs his airways. The walls were wooden, and seemed a bit worn over time.

“May I help you?” A gruff timbre lingers beside Nick, turning his gaze over his left shoulder. Steady eyes trail over the bar counter, sinking in it’s dull color schemes, brown woodening that glistens with fresh polish --- he can smell the lemon pledge --- steady stools, and the wall organized with rows of tame bottles of spirits to the most rugged of firewater.

Leisure pose, Nick’s steps now tepid, his shoulder roll and shift under the subtle leather of his trench-coat. An attempt to ease his nerves; a tick in his neck, as a sense of a hot gaze radiates upon his body.

Seated by the corner is a red-head, smoldering green hues, and a dirty blonde male tucked to her side donning a rich lavender long-sleeved shirt, hovering over her as a loyal dog; but her pose is strong, brows furrowed --- she doesn’t need a guard to protect her.

A wave of heat beats upon his back, the leather of his jacket now weighs heavier --- the skin of his dome tingles.

As if his coat is his only sense of armor, a lone man in an unknown land. The tall-tale of his intuition on high-alert, his sense activated from the odd encounter that occurred outside with that weird creature of a woman.

“Yeah --- I just came in to ask for directions.” Nick twirls his feet by the soles with a repose, a friendly smile, his eyes falling upon a dark-skinned man, the very man who throttled the sloppy drunk out the establishment.

A clean-cut man, a neatly trimmed goatee, smooth skin, and toned. The grey cotton of his shirt strains just a bit against his biceps, as he cleans the inside of a glass with a white rag --- his stare unwavering.

“Alright, where to?” There was a quick pause, a flicker of a smirk, a cocky down tilt of his head. “If ya’ gonna ask which way is to Toronto, or Ontario --- don’t bother, ya’ way far past it.”

A teasing snicker, as if an inside joke Nick couldn’t catch nor privy to. A cautious smile falters just a bit upon Nick’s face, a chuckle through his nose, tucking his chin to his chest, eyes casted down.

“Nah, just back-packing, really. Got any good spots around in Canada to enjoy?” Nick’s fingers rap playfully on the bar counter, an ease in his tone, graceful movement, as if an olive branch of friendliness. A soft smile twitches at the corners of the man’s face, almost as if kind.

“My name’s Sam.” Sam places the cleaned glass mug gingerly on the bar top, tucking his chin to chest, “And to answer your question, yes.” His lips carve a somber smile, peering through his lashes, gesturing to an empty stool by a nod of his head.

Nick mutters a ‘thanks’ under his breath, his palm grips the withered counter, leaning down on the stool --- plush emerald green seats.

“There’s a few spots nearby, but not much,” Sam leans his hands on the bar, arms out-stretched, as his spine reclines outwards, his head tilts back with a sigh, deep in thought as he stares at the wall adjacent, “There’s --- uh, Dawson City, a bit small, but not too small. It’s beautiful, you’ll like it.”

He shrugs playfully, “Also, Prince Edward Island ---” Sam snickers, his head hangs low, shoulders shake with laughter, “Now, that’s small, about seventy-four locals, but when it’s summer, tourists flood.” His eyes rolled exasperatedly, with a curl of the lip, baring his teeth.

Nick hums a chuckle, “Sounds good, thank you. Dawson City is perfect.” Fingertips rap against the wood, as his eyes glimpse at the wall beyond him, a hitch of energy chills his skin --- an odd feeling warms his chest, bitter-sweet twinge heavy on his tongue, jagged memories cling to the tail-end of his mind.

Nick’s eyes catch displays of hung medals --- military earned. Each medal tells a story of honor, hung behind a sheen glass plated next to the wall of liquor, one in particular catches his eye, a blue silk ribbon, with thirteen gold stars, a gold medal of an engraved star, with the emboldened name, Wilson.

“Air-force, huh? Great metals.” His voice an air of praise, but his eyes sheen a bit, as if another story could be told.

“Yeah --- retired pararescue airman. You?” A placid, but tired smile, Sam’s head cocks to the side, admiring his honor, but his eyes fall downcast, pursing his lips --- as if he knows something.

“Me?” Nick’s brow arches, quizzly. Taken back, assuming to be a lucky guess, but an itch, a voice at the back of his head screams at him, an instinct that perhaps this stranger is more clever than he lets on.

“I can sniff out a soldier a mile away.” Sam chuckles, his eyes unwavering.

“How so?” Nick challenges with a curled smirk, enjoying this little game, his head tilted back. “It’s the mannerisms. How you talk ---” Sam trails off, shrugs nonchalantly, “you walk with a certain stride. You’re not a bullshitter, you remind me of my old man.” The tension that once occupied the space has now fizzled into ease, but a guard is still up --- testing each other out.

“Good eye. I’m a retired Colonel.” Nick’s lips stretch into a placid smile, his chest is a bit warm, but his tongue is heavy upon the words. A Colonel --- it seems to be a lifetime ago. Sam’s eyes widened, impressed --- thoroughly so.

A low whistle blows through his puckered lips, “What brings you here to this small town?” Curiosity shifts in the air, but the walls still stand guarded.

“Just searching for some peace. Backpacking in a different country was always a goal for me.” Nick groans a bit, as the heels of his palms lean against the counter, earning a small whine of the wood; one of his hands rub against the arch of his spine.

“Ah, do you seem like the rugged type to be one with nature.” Nick breathes through his nose, a chuckle, peculiar how this man can read him --- he didn’t know if it was obnoxious, or amusing; Nick wasn’t sure yet.

Murps, and nimble pitter-patters thump against the counter, an orange feline jumps on top of the bar, its shoulders flex with a stride, as if it owns the space.

An orange tabby strolls with sleepy ears. Its tail twirls with a curve, saunters with grace --- sharp soft eyes pours into his, as it nears Nick’s direction.

Sam’s fingers fondles the cat, toying with its tail in the cup of his palm, earning a small bite, and a meow --- its small furry dome rubbing against his inner wrist, as it tilts its head back, a string of meows.

Nick coos, fiddling his fingers playfully towards the cat, cautiously snaking to it --- it pauses, arching its paw, analyzing his hand --- as if processing his scent, it’s pink nose sniffs.

Airy kisses thrown at the cat, in hopes to lure it, to caress it --- reminds Nick of his late cat. It freezes, eyes now dilate to daggers, inky blackness engulf its pupils, growling low at the throat.

“Goose.” Sam warns, narrowing his eyes, “Be nice.” patting the cat’s behind, as if scolding a child.

A blur --- a quick dizzying epoch of time, as if movements ceased only for a second --- Nick jolted back, nearly stumbling over the stool, as he shields his right eye.

Steadying his footing, Nick crosses his arms on the wood, furrowing his brows, his eyes hissing at the crude creature, as Sam firmly pins the animal down by the palms, as it snarls --- the paws curling.

Hoarse chuckles emit from the corner tables --- a redheaded woman, and a mean mugging blonde man huddling together at a booth, nursing over their drinks. “Shut it, thing one and two.” Sam snarks, but a grin shimmies itself at the corner of his mouth; his fingers squeeze the cat in quick jolts.

A loud bang alerts, and echoes throughout the bar --- not even flinching, Nick simply turns over his shoulder, the back door was carelessly thrashed against the wall.

Waltzing through was a woman --- her blonde hair cut short, coiffed to the side, throwing kisses to the seething cat.

“Stop.” She says, as her fingers curl under the slope of the cat’s under belly, kissing her ears; cradling her against her chest. “Sorry about Goose, she’s just a little shit.” Goose meows crankily, the strings of murps sounded as if it was talking back --- like a bratty child.

“S’alright,” Nick waves it off, a force chuckle, “Cats are picky on who they trust --- I’m just a stranger in her space.” A smile, the atmosphere eases, as the blonde laughs, Carol approaches closer, Goose still pinned to her chest by the slope of her arm.

“I’m Carol.” Her hand out-stretches, kindly, “I’m Nick.” A sturdy hand-shake, a fleeting thought crosses Nick’s mind, Is she …? Her palm is strong. Carol’s gait has a certain stride, he’s seen women like her before in boot-camp a few years ago, when he did a favor for a past commarde on training recruits.

Tough tomboys, where a handful enjoys the company of women.

Carol asks questions to Nick, curious about this new face surfacing in this tiny town, chatting up on how it’s not tourist season; with Nick informing her that he’s just traveling for some alone time.

The air doesn’t feel right, the hairs on the nape of Nick’s neck rise, goosebumps pimple on his arms, the sensitive skin skims, and ticklish against the cotton stitching under his jacket sleeve. His sixth sense is itching.

“So, you said Dawson City, right?” It’s time to leave, no space in his schedule to linger about; Nick remains relaxed, but his grogginess is weighing him more now. He has gathered the overall energy of this place --- he doesn’t like it.

“Right, so there’s a back road --- kinda a second entrance to the town’s road, uh,” he pauses, his voice lingers into silence.

Sam looks around, eyes darting behind the bar where note-pads, and coasters are, patting his pockets, fingertips digging; he finds a pen, “Hold on, I’m going to draw you the directions.”

Sam treks to the end of the bar, where multiple maps stacked for patrons, “It’s a bit hard to explain since there aren't really many route signs for this back-way,” he shakes his head, uncapping the blue pen, “It doesn’t help that a lot of Canadian maps still haven’t really printed this place yet either.”

Sam began scribbling with precise arrows, chatting about turns, and how this direction is a faster trail to Dawson City, to a quiet highway, no stops.

Nick sat in high-alert, his institution is high-wired; he can sense eyes are all on him, from his peripheral vision, he can see the red-head, and dirty-blonde mugging him, narrowing eyes.

With just a tiny cock of his head, he turns to his left, seeing another two pairs of eyes gawking at him.

It’s as if a fish out of water, his fingers flex against the wood, preparing himself if someone is feeling antsy, his knuckles thirsty for a brawl -- it doesn’t faze him, it’s just fucking weird. But town hicks have always been weird in their own colors, he grew up in a sleepy town in the south.

But no one doesn’t do anything, don’t even make a move; but their eyes are the loudest.

“Be careful driving down that path. Don’t linger around, just drive straight through.” Sam casually suggested, his lids narrowing a bit. “You’re gonna be passing by owned land. The owners are a bit -- weary of travelers near their area.” A bit of amused caution was entangled in his words. Despite his humorless laugh, his eyes gleam with sternness.

“Why? Are they packing?” Nick gestures jokingly with his fingers of a shooting gun, trying to ease the rising tension. “You can say that. Just be careful.” Once a gap-toothed grin now forms into a tight straight line, his lush lips disappearing; dark hues now shadowed under a tense brow.

A queer shiver runs down the arch of Nick’s back, but he maintains his pose composure; under a passive gaze. “Uh --- sure. I’ll keep an eye out.” He tapped his fingers against the sticky bar counter playfully, glimpsing at Goose, who’s low hissing --- baring little tips of fangs. Paws itching for her missed target.

“Sorry again about her. She’s a cranky little shit to everybody.” Carol smirks, her slim fingers caress the feline’s spine, the orange fur spills through her roving fingers.

Dirty blonde strands kiss her lashes, as her eyes lower down to his boots back to his face --- he wasn’t sure if he was sizing him, or just simply curious.

Curious eyes, curious questions … curious people.

A stretching tension creeps up, he doesn’t even need to speak; the air is thick, the energy emitting from every soul is strong; it’s not an unwelcoming synergy, but they don’t want him here any longer than he needs to be.

Nick nodded his head in a curt goodbye, with a polite smile. That familiar eerie sense sheds off of him as second skin, as he sinks back to himself --- quiet, and reserved.

Itching to leave, his feet lead him to the aging black door, faint whispering ascend behind him --- he compulsively urges himself to turn around, but he won’t.

The curious murmuring drags on his coat-tails, but he refuses to fall for it.

---

The sky is unforgivingly bright.

The sun blares upon him, shielding his eyes by his open-palm, shadowing out the blinding sunshine; it seems brighter than when he went inside the bar. Groaning under his breath, already feeling the musty sensation of sweat smearing on his forehead.

Nick shuffles his shoulder, trying to wiggle the leather jacket off of him, as he treks to his car; mentally memorizing the little road turn to that little inn, to just settle in for the night.

The arch of his spine still aches from the long drive, keys jingling in his palm, as one arm was still caught in his sleeve, and the other is free with the car keys.

A wispy flash of silky inky black, splotches of navy blue and orange dew ---- butterfly wings flutter and dance with a tame frolic, landing on the bridge of his nose causing Nick to go cross-eyed.

A bloom of peace surges at the chest, a small smile curls; within the second moment of placidity, the butterfly flies, and twirls around his dome.

It made a bee-line to a meter that stood next to his car, but it didn’t move … it just looked at him. Nick squints his eyes, tilting his head in confusion, unconsciously he steps forward, and the butterfly flies just an inch above the meter, then right back down.

It awaits.

Another step, the wings edge just a bit.

Another step, another flutter.

His feet begin walking slowly, and the butterfly takes flight; it twirls mindlessly, as if enjoying the soft breeze against it’s little body.

Swings to the left, to the right --- as Nick loses himself into a haze, as he just follows the butterfly. His feet on auto-pilot --- what felt like stretched minutes, was really only five; his shoes scuff against the pavement as the butterfly just aimed up in the air.

His eyes trail after the butterfly, its wings open, and close tenderly as it sits upon a sign --- just a few seconds of just gawking at this butterfly; then it flies away. Deep rich brown eyes regard his surroundings, and vision clear now, a sign proudly towers over him.

Scarlet.

A little shop swaddled within the string of stores, it has an earthy energy --- black framing over the glass window, with little painting art of stars, and a small brown dog with spikey fur, signed in the corner with the blue and red initials: B+T.

Nick hesitates just a bit, but he gains his composure, pressing the heel of his palm against the handle, his fingers gripping; a moment.

He awaits, his brain is befuddled, but his psyche zeros back to reality. Nick tugs the door open, with a gust of air fans against his face.

His body weaves through the door --- it was a cute store with bookshelves, racks of clothing, and many shelves of artifacts; accompanied with green-teal walls.

Nick halts at his feet, tilting his head to the side, hanging upon the green-teal wall is a sign offering timed services of tarot and tea leaves readings, spellwork constellations, and mediumship; it doesn’t faze him.

‘Who would buy this?’ Not trying to be crude, but Nick can’t fully grasp superstition, and religions that involve praying to a desk littered with rocks, and candles; cards can’t simply define fate, nor interpret it.

‘It’s plastic cards, for Christ-sake.’

Frankincense is light upon his senses as it drapes upon the shop, claws of creatures decorate the shelves, boxed tarot cards, oils, crystals --- ambling by customers thrifting clothes, and inspecting the many mystical objects, as if it’s normal.

Miscellaneous collections of books are stacked upon book-shelves --- varying from demonology, herbal medicine, candle magick, folk magick originating from different cultures, on ritualistic runes, to books detailing occults, to myths and lore, poetry, fantasy, cookbooks, and many more.

A necklace catches Nick’s eye, it’s a familiar one.

“I make them myself.” Nick jolts in surprise, shoulders hunched, a silky accent lingers behind him.

The accent is familiar, perhaps Russian --- definitely European. Nick turns on his feet, his polite smile drops a little --- it was that eerie woman from earlier. The very one with those piercing eyes that stared his soul down from his car.

But, he doesn’t bring it up, his eyes trails down to her midriff, and his assumptions from earlier are confirmed … pregnant; there’s no need to stress her out with an argument, but he remains on high-alert. A polite smile against the bearded jaw, in a way, offers a silent olive branch, “This is your shop?” He asks.

“Yes,” her eyes are inquisitive, “my very own business. Quite proud of it.” The way her hues are so intense, stands close, but in an arms-reach, her mannerisms, her speech.

Nick is no stranger to different personalities, she’s ... calculatingly --- she remembers who he is.

“Hmm.” Nick hums to himself, a sound that’s a mix of amusement, and quaint, but it comes off as a murmur, disinterest.

“What?” She chuckles, but with an arched brow. Nick catches her expression, quickly his hands are raised to his chest, shaking his head, “Oh, nothing, it’s just different.”

“By how this town looks, you would think people here wouldn’t be so --- accepting.”

“You would be surprised how many customers I have.” Ode to her truth, customers ranging from different ages, mostly indigenous; but she makes good earnings.

Granted, of course, there are people who whisper hawdy gossip about her, and her family that are evil witches, but she keeps it all in stride.

One time, a child innocently said to her in the supermarket, with an excited pointed finger, that her family is like the Addams family.

“My husband is the bread-winner, but he always encourages me to go for anything I’m passionate about. He even helped fund my shop.” Her cheeks redden to plump cherries, tucking her head to the crock of her shoulder, cupping her belly.

A smile stretched just a bit, it was adorable how she gushed to herself, she looks like a happily married woman; his eyes focus on her left hand, clearly now seeing her wedding ring.

Nick remembers his wife … ex-wife.

“My name is Wanda,” her pristine manicured hand reaches out for him, as one palm remains on her ample bump.

He engulfs her hand, his bigger than hers; dainty, but firm. Before he could reply with his name, she cut him off, “Are you interested in anything you see?” Wanda’s hands lift in air, gesturing to the jewelry beyond the display case.

Nick hums, rubbing his chin with his fingers, there was a particular necklace that stood out; an opal gem encrusted in a golden chain.

The multicolored gemstone has soft iridescence streaks of baby-blue, neon green, and splotches of yellow beating against a dewy red sheen --- as if capturing a tiny warm galaxy, milky, and silky.

Timidly tapping against the glass, “This one.” Nick breathes, his breathing is silently getting heavier, his throat strains as he swallows. “What a beautiful choice, I love opals.” Wanda gleams.

“Yeah,” a soft delay, a tight-lipped smile, “--- so do I.” His heart hammers a little, despite the violence in his mind.

“It’s also one of the prettiest birthstones,” Wanda murmurs as she swirls around the glass counter, with delicate care, her slim fingers plucking the gold necklace from the onyx velvet cushion.

Nick nods, but he looks away, just stares through the painted window pane.

---

Paid in full with the wrinkled bills in his wallet, Wanda lays the necklace in a white box, wrapping it up in a silk teal ribbon; in a finished touch, puts the purchased gift in a small black plastic bag.

Hovering it over to him, Wanda’s open hands lean into the counter, entering his arms-length space, “While you’re here, would you like a reading?”

Nick shakes his head ‘no’, as the bag hangs limp on his wrist, “No thank you.”

“Or maybe, speak to a loved one ---” Her words trail off, as if gesturing to him, trying to lure him in. Her fingers in a lax fist, under her chin, her eyes wide with wonder, and fervent curiosity; but there was an inkling of mischief in her smile.

“Ya’ know, speak to the dead.” Her eyebrows oscillated in merriment, as if enjoying his confusion; as if she was onto something he wasn’t.

“The dead?” Nick repeats in question, “You can speak to the dead?” Uncomfortable with the conversation shifting.

“Yes, all psychics can.” Wanda walks from the counter, taking small steps not to overstimulate herself, as she comes near him, fixing the tousled clothes on the rack, her back to him.

“Psychic?” Nick’s prominent brow arches, his nose flares comically, as he tries to strain his thick lips from laughing. It’s as if she upends him, taking a mental step back.

“In a way, yes. Clairvoyant is the proper term.” Wanda glances over her shoulder with a smile, passionate --- proudly, as she twirls, but her smile wavers into a defensive frown.

“I’m sorry to laugh, but this is all very hard for me to understand.” Nick chuckles, cupping his mouth by his fisted palm, trying to quill his laughter.

Never one for the myths --- or ignorant superstitions, as a man who grew up in a southern household --- he's had enough nutty folks in his life.

Wanda narrows her eyes, tilts her head, “Sometimes there’s things in life we can’t fully grasp. I’ve seen your face before but we never met --- till now.” She said matter-of-factly. Irate by his skepticism, her words sucker-punch him back to reality; his chuckles snuffed into silence.

As Wanda breathes a dry-snicker, lop-sided smile, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.

Wanda waddles closer to him now, cornering him, Nick’s hands rise up to his chest, a gesture of defense --- but how can he defend himself against a pregnant woman? Shove her gently to the nearest seat?

Her eyes are in slits, as if her eyes are hissing at him --- her lips pucker for a second, in amusement.

“The crows will sing their songs, and the dirt will cleanse itself.” Her eyes soften, dainty slim fingers near his face, a natural reflex, he flinches, his eyes become frightened like a child’s.

Wanda’s fingertips flutter over his patch, she hums, “Hmm --- you see life, but not its entirety. Sometimes the bigger picture is not all it seems.”

A pregnant pause.

Her feline eyes, her wan face contorts mischievously --- it’s as if she’s savoring his unsettled state. “Goodbye, Nick.” Her accent slithers from her heart-shaped lips, breathy giggles emit from her throat, her lips slipped shut, walking backwards, as her hands rub on her swollen belly as a crystal ball.

Nick’s head balks from Wanda’s hand, nearly swatting her arm away, his feet stumble, nearly contorting his ankle, murmuring under his breath, ‘Crazy bitch.’ Spitting furiously, as his hand pushes the glass door, too harshly as it whines at the hinges --- striking back in place with an obnoxious crude smack.

Stomps heavy, the hard concrete beats against his feet, his open-palms slaps against his bald head; snarling in boiling frustration, jerking his knees up, trampling as he curses everything under the sun ---- if his daughter was here, she would be trying to hug him, her face squished against the arch of his spine, whispers of trying to quill his bristling temper.

He stiffens --- it’s as time stills itself, white noise rings louder, tiny pins and needles stab and lodge his ear-drums, he winces, nearly staggering to his knees.

His eyes widened owlishly --- he never told her his name.

---

It’s raining tonight.

Heavy droplets of rain soak the window-pane, showering the glass --- the sky is inky, but the dense clouds carpet the sky, weeping over the little town.

The static of the television illuminates throughout the dense darkness, the motel room is engulfed in the mouth of darkness; as a slumped figure sits hunched over, at the edge of the mattress.

His head slumps low, chin to chest, staring blankly into the carpeting, his broad shoulders tense.

Bare chest illumes to a blinding shade of ticonderoga taupe --- a lean cigarette hangs from his lips, as his calloused fingers toys with the lighter, with precision his fingertips clanks the steel lid open, igniting the flame --- to then snuff it with a sharp clank, twirling between his fidgety fingers.

Sleep clings to his eyes, drooping, one eye closes before the other unevenly; his broad nose flares as his mind slowly fries into stinging migraine --- silent screams, mossy bits of grass scatter in chunks from deafening explosions, rancid stench of flesh, and gunpowder haunts him at the dead of nights.

Nick’s hands tremble, his eye-lid twitches, he’s tired --- so damn tired. In nights like this, he thinks of his daughter, as a little girl, she would crawl into his bed, ask for a bedtime story, or ask him to sing; he would tell her jokingly, he sings like a toad, but she wouldn’t care, ‘you’re the prettiest toad, daddy’.

His eyes get water-logged --- inhaling deeply back a wet sniffle, his nose flaring; swallowing harshly, thickly.

Nick went to bed that night --- his chest heaving, swallowed sobs that crack, and strains his esophagus; the outline of his quivering figure trembles under the covers.

---

Faint whispers wisp within the darkness, deafening --- but inaudible. Floating in the mouth of caliginosity, body weight light, limbs flailing ceasingly.

The voices grate against his ear-drums, his eyes shut closed in a wince. His chest stings with hot white pain, as if a knife splits open the flesh underneath the cartilage of his cavity; Nick screams in agony, above his breast-bone, as bloodied wan fingertips slither through the torn seams of skin, a wrist cranks itself through as a punch.

The wrist twirls against the flesh walls of his chest, it’s fingers crocking, it’s index finger gesturing Nick, beckoning him. It arches itself more out, thrashing it, wiggling as a white worm, gripping his throat. Suffocating him, tears flood his eyes, soaking his cheeks --- whimpering under his breath, ‘I’m sorry.’

Over and over again.

A stream of light shines beyond his eyes, nearly blinding him.

Nick opens his eyes again, and the pain no longer cripples his body. He’s back at the inn, seated in the love seat of his room --- glued to it, he can’t move. Sunshine gleams into the window, curtains peeled open.

A feminine figure is seated at his bed, legs crisscrossed; facing him.

A crow at her feet, it’s claws indenting in the mattress. Fear grips his heart at the sight of this woman --- her face is smeared --- smoothed, yet features distorted. Nick’s head slant, and her head follows suit --- copying his movement.

Shivering can be heard, the bird shakes, it’s feathers shuffling, as if the animal is going to combust.

“Where am I?” Nick probes, the crow halts. “A place where it’s always sad.” The crow speaks, it’s voice deep, but it’s voice is askew, as if it speaks backwards.

“Some of your friends are already here.” Wings raise in a stance, showing each individual feather.

“Who are you?” Nick asks, his fingers digging into his kneecaps, his eyes never leaving the faceless woman.

“I feel like I know her, but sometimes my arms bend back.”

“Where we’re from, the birds sing a pretty song. And there’s always music in the air.” The crow speaks once more, his feathers flutter, and shuffle as his wings shudder in every direction.

“She’s the one you seek for.” The crow’s small head tilts, the slope of its neck jerks, retched coughs, as moist soil that smells of the earth yaks itself out.

It’s shiny onyx beak snorts, as it chokes --- the crow’s tiny body convulses, it’s caw wails are hoarse.

Her jaw is mawed, unlocking as it hangs, her teeth grimy, her breathing deeper, but her chest is puffing, as if winding up a doll, tugging on the string of it’s back.

A blood-curdling screech, raw, ripping through her throat --- the veins of her neck bulge against the skin.

Nick cups his ears, but it doesn’t help --- he can still hear it.

A brown eye snapped open ---- his body became frigid, yet his bones melted into the mattress, the broad bridge of nose nuzzled against the lush pillow; stick sweat stains the pillow sheet, damp splotches out-line the shape of his skull.

A bluish, grey ambience blankets over the room --- he feels like he’s floating, his soul descends, his breathing is getting heavier, huffing.

Eyes blurring as a fogged mirror, nose sniffling, her wrists are bent, tucked under her chin; a trickle of blood slips from her bottom lip, staining her teeth cherry-red, spilling over the jut of her chin.

Her mouth stops shaking, in a flashed second, the blood vanishes --- her voice is small, but distorted, as if speaking backwards. “There’s something wrong with the sky.”

A shrill cry of a bird awakens him --- it’s morning.

#buckybarnesplumwhore wrote this #stucky x reader #dark stucky x reader #dark stucky #dark stucky smut #stucky x reader baby #dark marvel #lumberjack bucky barnes #lumberjack steve rogers #nomad stee rogers #nomad steve rogers x reader #nomad bucky barnes #lumberjack stucky #cabin fever series

[johnkrrasinski]

𝐦𝐲 𝐝𝐫𝐮𝐠 𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲

full masterlist / commission open / support my work

Pairings: bucky barnes x female!reader

Word count: 1,507

Warning: SMUT!! (18+), use of toys, handcuffs, vibrators, mild bondage.

Summary: written for @celestialbarnes' 4k writing challenge with the prompt 'handcuffs'. congrats raachel! you deserve it love ♡. bucky came home from a mission and found a toy in your drawer that kept you satisfied while he was away. he decided to take advantage of it.

a/n: it's been awhile since i wrote a filthy one shot. enjoy! please leave a like, comment and reblog! :)

You stood in the middle of the room, anticipating his return. “Stay here and don’t move,” he whispered in your left ear, awakening the chills that ran down your spine. You only nodded in response and obeyed him. Your thoughts were racing, eager to find out what he had in store for you. Bucky had always had a way to keep things exciting in the bedroom, but this time, he took it to another level and you didn’t know whether you should be nervous or thrilled. (Thrilled, you were mostly thrilled.)

Since you began dating him, you learned that Bucky could be intense and passionate in making love. He tended to be more dominant, but he always had his limits and he’d never let himself hurt you. Until one night, you were reading an erotic novel while he was away on a mission and you needed something to relieve yourself, so you utilized that buzzing toy you kept in your drawer but never had the chance to play with (why would you when you have the sexiest and most generous lover?) and lost yourself in the fantasy of you and Bucky doing the scenario that the two characters were doing in that page.

Bucky found that toy a few days later once he came home and he was looking for his key and he had you pinned on the mattress that night for three hours. The next day, you and he were cuddling on the couch only in your underwear and you nervously told him about a fantasy you had while he was gone. Bucky was initially ambivalent about it, but the more he thought about it and the more you assured him that you were okay with it, that you wanted it, the more interested he was in the idea.

So here you were, staring at the wall, bare and cold from the air conditioner of the room, waiting in the dark, the only thing that illuminated your view was the city lights and the moon from the window. You were worried that Bucky changed his mind but Bucky was a man of his words and he was willing to try new things with you. Including- no, no, especially sexual activities.

You heard his footsteps from behind you and you couldn’t help but tingle from his presence. You wanted to turn your head to look at him but you didn’t want to disobey him. He stopped in front of you, his darkened eyes looked into yours as he took one of your hands and locked something around it. You looked down and saw that a pair of old prisoner handcuffs hung from both of your wrists now.

Bucky slightly pushed you back until the back of your legs hit the bottom of the bed, and he brought your hands up so he could attach the chains of the handcuffs to the wooden rod that was part of the bedframe. Once the chains were securely attached, Bucky stared into your eyes and kissed you deeply, his mouth devouring yours, tangling both of your tongues.

He backed away to admire the work of art in front of him, exposed and vulnerable just for him. His heart swelled with pride to know that only he could touch and see you this way. Bucky walked closer to you again and he pulled down the one last item that was still clothing your body and it was the black lace thong you bought a month ago at Victoria’s Secret.

Your legs stepped out of the thong once it hits the floor and Bucky brought it to his nose, inhaling your scent that intoxicated him. Watching him smell your underwear made you breathless, it was so lewd yes so fucking sexy. Bucky put it in the pocket of his sweatpants, then he reached for something on the bed and it was the vibrator that led to this moment. You were flustered and your eyes dilated, you truly never expected Bucky to ever use it on you.

You could see the smirk on his face at your reaction, oh how you wanted to wipe that smug sneer off his face but it only turns you on even more. The hold this man had on you…

Bucky turned on the magic wand and the sound of buzzing made you dizzy. He pressed it to your clit, making you whimper at the way it stimulates your cunt. He pushed it further into you and moved it up and down in your vagina, making you squirm. You tried to shut your legs but he slapped your butt, not too hard but just enough to alert you. “I didn’t tell you to close them,” he warned.

You could only mewl in response, you closed your eyes and let him toy your arousal as your thighs began to shake. He dialled up the speed, bringing you closer to the edge. “Look at you, I’ve barely even touched you yet you’re already a shaking mess,” he chuckled. “Now I understand why you love this thing. Seems like I can make you wet without even laying a finger on you, huh?”

“Oh, fuck, Bucky please…”

“Are you close, baby?” he sultrily whispered in your ear as he trailed kisses from your jaw, down to your neck, making you gasp. “Does my baby wanna cum already?”

“Yes, I’m so close, Buck…” you pathetically whined.

He chuckled, then he dialled up the speed to maximum and his other flesh hand made its way into your hair, grabbing it and pulling it back, allowing him to have easier access into your throat. He bit your sensitive spot, leaving a small bruise there as you cried out from your orgasm. The vibrator was still buzzing between your legs as you began to come down from your high, then Bucky turned it off and threw it on the bed.

“Now it’s my turn to make you cum,” he stripped himself out of the sweatpants and his boxer and kicked them aside on the floor. His thick cock sprung free, glistening with pre-cum that always made you want to wrap your lips around it. He stroked his cock a few times and then kissed you slovenly, leaving you breathless once again. He didn’t waste any time in hosting your thighs and wrapped them around his waist.

He used your wetness as lube to make it easier for him to slide in. When he was slick enough from your juices, Bucky lined his cock to your entrance, then he pushed inside until he was fully sheathed by your walls. He groaned in your ear, giving you time to adjust to his size. Bucky started with a slow pace, moving his hips back and forth in shallow thrusts. Once your moans grew louder, Bucky grabbed a fistful of your hair and kissed you as he fucked you harder.

“Baby, you feel so fucking good around me,” you wailed as his cock brushed your sweet spot, causing your head to spin. You looked down to see where your bodies were connected, watching the way his cock disappeared in and out of you. You could feel the bulge in your stomach, making the knot in your abdomen tight. His metal arm that was on your hip made its way to your front, finding your clit and he rubbed it in circles furiously, making you clench around him.

Bucky groaned as he kept dominating your mouth and you could feel your heartbeat pounded against your ribcage, unable to think of anything else but him. Your thighs shook and your toes curled, the echoes of your cries were music to his ears. A few more hard pounds, and you felt your climax approaching, making you feel hazy. “Cum for me, baby, c’mon,” his voice, his touch and his cock drove you off the edge, the tightening coil in your stomach shattered as you screamed in pleasure, your orgasm hits you like waves of ecstasy, making you see stars.

Bucky snapped his hips vigorously and then he followed you to a place of euphoria, spilling himself deep in your womb, painting your walls in white. You both panted as he was still buried in you, Bucky kissed you once again to calm you down but this time, it was soft and sensual, instead of dominating. Once you began to regain composure from the aftershocks of pleasure, Bucky retreated himself out of you and he unchained the cuffs from the wooden bar and unlocked them off you.

“Are you okay?” he huskily questioned as he held you close to his chest, kissing your temple.

“More than okay.” you smiled, weary yet satisfied. Feeling safe in the arms of your lover who was glistening from sweat as you were. The warmth of his body soothed you.

“Let’s clean you up, hm?”

“Yeah, but afterwards… Maybe some tacos? That really drained me but now I’m famished,” you looked up at him, smiling contently at the man who just made you writhe.

“Sure. Anything for you, baby doll.”

tagging some of my favorite writers; @celestialbarnes @jobean12-blog @buckyblues @starsvck @sebstan-simp @saiyanprincessswanie @extremelyblackandwhite @cjsinkythoughts @baezen @balenciagabucky @onceuponabarnes @notborkybarnes @bucksbestgirl @badassbuchanan @wannabeschyulersister @golden-barnes @buckys-black-dress @buckybarnesplumwhore @chris-butt @fairytaleseb

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes au #dom!bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes drabble #sebastian stan smut #sebastian stan one shot #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan drabble #sebastian stan fluff #sebastian stan fanfic #sebastian stan x reader #dom!sebastian stan #dom!seb #sebastian stan #celestialbarnes’s 4k writing challenge

[buckyownsmylife]

fic compilation - tony stark x reader

Alright, y’all. I’m doing this for my own organization but I thought it would come in handy for you too. If you have a specific kink or character you’d like to see me compile a list of every fic I can find about them, please let me know and I’ll eventually get around to it. For now, here are some fics featuring tony stark as the main character, which I’ll keep updating every monday, per my posting schedule.

Check out my other fic compilations

Last updated: 17.05.2021 - new additions are in bold

Billion Dollar Man, by @angelicthor - featuring sugar daddy!Tony, non-superhero AU, and smut

Hopesick, by @astxrwar - featuring soulmate AU, sex scenes and mental health conditions.

Press Coverage/Less Coverage, by @astxrwar - featuring suggestive dialogue, Justin Hammer and some swearing.

Poor Little Rich Boy, by @buckybarnesplumwhore - featuring yandere behavior, violence and gore. 

I Love You, by @buckyssoldat - featuring death, injuries, and sadness

Baby Boy, by @canumoveurseatup-no - featuring smut, sub!Tony, and pegging

Teddy Bear, by @canumoveurseatup-no​ - featuring dd/lg dynamics, fluff, and age regression

The Art of Intimacy, by @canumoveurseatup-no - featuring smut, crying during sex and body worship.

Little Girls Like You, by @canumoveurseatup-no - featuring smut, daddy kink, and degradation

Luxury of Loving You, by @canumoveurseatup-no - featuring college!au, angst, black!reader.

“Protocol” My Ass!!!, by @canumoveurseatup-no - featuring angst, racial profiling, and slurs.

The Favourite, by @dreamslikeaheartbeat - featuring dark!Tony, allusions to noncon, and stalking.

Keeping Secrets, by @fandomsandxfiles-writes - featuring fluff, secret relationships and make-outs

I’m your ch-ch-ch-cherry bomb, by @geekygee01 - featuring striptease, grumpy!Tony and horny!reader.

My Little Girl, by @gotnofucks - featuring dark!Tony, royal AU and noncon

Wide Awake, by @imhereforbvcky - featuring ex!Tony, swearing and shenanigans.

Come to Daddy, by @ironlady1993 - featuring dark!Tony, noncon and blackmail.

Daddy’s Love, by @ironlady1993 - featuring dark!Tony, stepdad!Tony and noncon.

Daddy’s Pet, by @ironlady1993 - featuring dark!Tony, pet names and displeased!Tony

Daddy’s Trap, by @ironlady1993 - featuring sugar daddy!Tony, dark!Tony and noncon.

Dark Soulmates, by @ironlady1993 - featuring soulmates AU, noncon and kidnapping.

Golden Cage, by @ironlady1993 - featuring dark!Tony, noncon and kidnapping.

Like a Good Girl, by @ironlady1993 - featuring dark!Tony, dark!Steve and abuse of authority.

Mine to fuck, by @ironlady1993 - featuring smut, noncon and use of titles.

The Big Three, by @ironlady1993 - featuring dark!Thor, dark!Steve and dark!Tony 

The Devil Inside, by @ironlady1993 - featuring dark!Steve, dark!Tony and noncon

The Hunt, by @ironlady1993 - featuring dark!Tony, A/B/O dynamics and Royal AU.

Trapped in a Foreign World, by @ironlady1993 - featuring Superior!Tony, Hydra!Steve Rogers and noncon.

Trapped in the Tower, by @ironlady1993 - featuring dark!Tony, sex slave!reader and noncon.

P.S. I love you, by @ladyeliot - featuring character death, fluff and sadness.

Help From a Friend, by @marvelsbanner​ - featuring suggestive language, innuendos, and dr!reader

blurb, by @marvelsswansong - featuring fake dating, mean high school friends and protective!Tony

changerooms, by @milaonthemoon - featuring age gap, smut and a knowing Natasha

Aftercare, by @mostly-marvel-musings - featuring aftercare (duh), smut and overstimulation.

First time, by @mostly-marvel-musings - featuring smut, love confessions and reassurance.

I married a sex addict, by @mostly-marvel-musings - featuring wedding night, smut and drabbles.

Make up, by @mostly-marvel-musings - featuring smut, jealous!reader and ex-lovers sex.

Mirror, by @mostly-marvel-musings - featuring mirror sex, horny!Tony, and a kind of exhibitionism kink.

Personal Problem, by @mostly-marvel-musings - featuring silent treatment, and smut, and workplace sexual endeavors.

Setting a score, by @mostly-marvel-musings - featuring smut, jealous!Reader and kind of dom!Reader too.

Skeaky, by @mostly-marvel-musings - featuring insatiable!Tony, smut and quickies.

Stubborn, by @mostly-marvel-musings - featuring fights, smut, and angry sex.

We Were on a Break, by @mostly-marvel-musings - featuring angst, fluff and swearing

Iron, by @navybrat817 - featuring kidnapping, threats of non-con, and dark!Tony

So proud of you, by @sherrybaby14 - featuring poly!relationship, Steve and threesomes.

Secret, by @sinner-as-saint - featuring Steve Rogers, age gap and threesomes.

Pocketful of Posies, by @strawberrysoup - featuring A/B/O dynamics, noncon and all of the avengers.

Clumsy, by @wadedickpool - featuring clumsy!Reader, sex pollen and therefore, SMUT

Daughter!Reader

Sunshine, by @bigballofstress - featuring songfic, angst, and loving!Tony

Footsteps, by @canumoveurseatup-no - featuring angst, fluff, and mentions of medication

Ready, by @canumoveurseatup-no​ - featuring angst, trigger warnings, and depression

Everything’s not fine, by @lfzyfx - featuring angst, fights and post-infinity war.

Never Again, by @lfzyfx - featuring angst, Thanos and character death.

Sister!Reader

The Protection Pact, by @steves-on-a-plane - featuring protective!Tony, dangerous missions, and sibling rivalry.

If you know of a fic that features Tony Stark x Reader and that isn’t here, please feel free to send it my way! And if any of the links here becomes broken, please let me know.

If you’re one of the writers featured here and you want to change the little summary I wrote, just send me a DM with the three characteristics you’d like to be acknowledged in the listed fic!

#fic compilations #fic compilation #tony stark x reader #tony stark reader #tony stark reader insert #tony stark reader imagine #tony stark imagine #tony stark imagines #tony stark smut #tony stark fluff #tony stark angst #tony stark fanfiction

[sunflowersteves]

gentle kiss || s.r.

summary || you and steve spend your valentine’s day morning in a peaceful manner.  

author’s note || i just randomly thought of this and wrote it lmao. i hope you all. enjoy :)

warnings || none, fluff

masterlist

You woke up with a smile, eyes fluttering and mouth wide open to yawn. Birds chirped right outside your window, and the leaves blew across the glass. Everything was peaceful and tranquil. These types of days were always your absolute favorite.

You turn your head to the side as you feel a pair of plump lips press up against your neck. Steve’s strong arms wrapped your waist and pulled you closer to his warm body. He takes in a deep sigh, one that filled butterflies in his stomach because he couldn’t be happier than to spend these moments with you.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, honey.”

You grinned, “Happy Valentine’s day, Captain.” His lips moved up to your jaw, making sure that he’s taking his sweet time in kissing your beautiful skin. You giggled at his beard hair, tickling your cheeks, and his own laughter bubbling up against his chest.

“I love you.” Your heart swelled at his words, your eyes immediately flicking towards his own. His cheeks were covered in a slight red blush and a dashing smile that rested on his lips. 

All you could think about was how lucky you were to have him right by your side. Steve was yours, and he was the best person you could ever have as your lover. He was sweet and kind and made you laugh until your stomach hurt.

“I love you too, Steve.”

You smiled, wide. His heart fluttered on the spot at the pure look of adoration that lifted on your face. You looked in love, you looked peaceful and happy, and it was all directed towards him.

Now, it was you that started pressing kisses to his cheeks, his nose, his chin, and his forehead. Anywhere where you could show your love for the man in front of you, you gave to him. He was your light in the tunnel of darkness, and you never wanted to let go.

The sounds of laughter filled the room, his legs entangling in yours as he turns to hover over you.

“Enough of the teasing, baby.”

The kiss was sweet but hard and passionate. His tongue rolled over your bottom lip as his lips swallowed yours over and over again. He let out a sound as your arms wrapped around his neck, your fingers tugging on his soft hair. His nose bumped up against your cheek, making everything he touched feel tingly.

Much to your dismay, he pulled away. His forehead tilted and laid his against yours. His smile was wide, teeth full showing as he stared into your wide eyes. Sometimes, you couldn’t believe that Steve was right here by your side, giving you the love and adoration you deserve. He was like a dream.

“Make me breakfast?” Your lips turned up into a pout as you tried your hardest to beg your way into Steve making your favorite pancakes. His lips curled into a smile that hovered over your skin before placing more kisses in the curve of your shoulder. 

“Anything for you, my sunshine.”

~~

marvel: @harrysthiccthighss​ @fandomsandxfiles​ @rebekahdawkins​ @purselover2​ @laic2299 @iwanttobekilledtwice @tinylumpiaa​ @met4no1a​ @writingletterstothefire​ @t3a-bag​ @stuckysavedmylive​ @gudenuph​

steve: @harrysthiccthighss​ @haloxmendes​ @marvelous-capsicle​ @purselover2​ @doozywoozy​ @laic2299 @tinylumpiaa​ @met4no1a​ @writingletterstothefire​ @t3a-bag​ @gudenuph​

permanent: @captainchrisstan​ @angstysebfan​ @teenagereadersciencenerd​ @rebekahdawkins​ @hailmary-yramliah​ @buckybarnesplumwhore​ @stardust-galaxies​ @wiccanmetallicrose​ @keithseabrook27​ @hereforthesunrise​ @lxdyred​ @ironbabey​

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #captain america #captain america x reader #captain america x you #captain america x y/n #Steve Rogers #steve rogers fanfiction #valentines day #marvel #marvel fanfiction #marvel fandom #Chris Evans #chris evans x reader #chris evans characters

[bugsbucky]

Bucky’s Baby In Your Belly (Part 2)

Dad!Bucky x mum!reader

Summary: Bucky became emotional when he felt his little girl move around in your belly for the first time. There’s no stopping him now that she’s finally here in the world.

Warnings: fluff, super soft dad Bucky

Word Count: 470

Authors Notes: This drabble was requested by anon and is a part 2 to the prompt I wrote yesterday for @the-ss-horniest-book-club​ this is really fluffy and sappy :)

Part One

Bucky’s eyes welled up to the point he couldn’t see his hand in front of his face. He held his newborn baby daughter in his arms. Her tiny wrinkled fingers wrapped around his larger one. Her soft coos and gurgling filled his ears as you took a much needed sleep after a really long delivery process.

“Hi! I’m your daddy and I’m gonna protect you from all the evil in the world.” Bucky sniffles as he blinked his tears away and failed. The hot droplets trailed down his cheeks.

“Rule number one: there will be absolutely no boys in your life until you’re an old woman.” You smiled in your sleep listening to him talk to her. You kept your eyes closed because you knew they needed this bond more than anything. “Rule number two: don’t ever listen to anything Uncle Sam tells you. He knows nothing alright?” He chuckled wetly.

You peeped one eye open and your heart almost gave out. He was smiling lovingly down at her as she had a smile on her face. Your perfect little family.

“You’re so precious. I love you so much. Both me and your mother love you so much and we’re so glad to have you here with us.” His large finger stroked her chubby cheek.

“Bucky.” You croaked, sitting up in the hospital bed. His head snapped towards you and he grinned. Carefully standing up, he moved towards the bed where he laid her in your arms and shuffled on the side of the bed. His arm wrapped around your shoulder and you rested your head against his shoulder.

“She’s perfect Y/N. Look what we made doll.”

“I love you.” You whispered and looked up at Bucky. You were exhausted.

“I love you too.” He smiled with more tears running down his cheeks. He dipped his head and pressed a long kiss to your lips. The door to your room opened suddenly interrupting your moment. You put your finger on your lips to shush them as they crowded around you and dropping bags of gifts, cards and balloons on the other side of your room.

“She gets her good looks from Y/N. Don’t know what she inherited from Barnes.” Sam teased playfully punching Bucky’s shoulder.

“Don’t know what she inherited from Barnes.” Bucky mimicked, earning breathy laughs from around the room.

“Do you guys have a name yet?” Natasha asked running her finger across your baby’s forehead.

You looked up at Bucky and stared into his bright blue eyes. Everything flashed back to you, his life being stolen away and he never said goodbye to his ma. He loved her dearly and knew he wished she could have been here to meet her granddaughter.

“Winnie.” You spoke quietly. Bucky gasped next to you and more tears filtered from his eyes.

Taglist: @jobean12-blog​ @marvelgirl7​ @godofplumsandthunder​ @hawksmagnolia​ @deanthedemon​ @emilylyoness​ @buckybarnesplumwhore​ @sarge-barnes-sir​ @crushedbyhyperbole​ @this-kitten-is-smitten​ @kitkatd7​ @jamesbarnesappreciationclub​ @littleredstarfish​ @buckys-henley​ @tuiccim​ @eurynome827 @mystoragehatesme @starspangledseb

#bucky barnes #dad au #dad!bucky #dad!au #bucky fic #bucky x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes imagines #bucky barns x reader #bucky imagine #bucky fluff #hbc prompts #hbc drunk drabbles #bucky's baby in your belly part 2 #bucky barns imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x y/n #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x pregnant!reader #writing prompts #bucky barnes prompts

[et-lesailes]

the bodyguard | pt. 1

series masterlist

pairing: dark!curtis everett x reader

word count: 800

chapter summary: curtis decides he’s had enough of your bratty attitude.

themes: smut (in next part), manipulation, degradation

taglist: @tanyam93, @bval-1, @wonderwinchester, @patzammit, @rohaintahquil, @deidrashouseofpain, @sammyslonglostshoe, @jadedhillon, @bohemian-barbie, @whysparker,  @sebabestianstan101, @lille-kattunge, @teller258316, @peach-acid, @allsortsofinterests, @xoxabs88xox, @heyiamthatbitch, @cptn-sgrogers, @heyyouwiththeassbutt, @bangtan-serendipity, @troublermalik, @beardburnsupersoldiers, @bookish-shristi, @kind-sober-fullydressed,  @gingerninjaprincess16, @straightforwardly,  @denisemarieangelina,  @frencchfries, @xlanawriter, @littlemoistcarrot, @pottxrwolff, @arianatheangelworld, @southerngracela, @nsfwsebbie, @rororo06, @savemesteeb, @raveviolet, @hurricanerinwrites, @captainamerica-is-bae, @shaddixlife, @tessa-bl, @marvelouspottering, @pppsssyyyccchhhiiiccc, @thegetawaywriter, @dwights-new-plague, @rynabarnesrogers, @fckdeusername​,  @doloreschanal, @ssworldofsw, @la-cey, @buckybarnesplumwhore, @hevans-angel​, @chuckbass-love​, @stardust-galaxies​, @smyfmj​

notes: these parts are shorter than actual one-shot length and more drabble sized, but i wrote this a little while ago and thought some of you curtis fans would like it! graphic creds go to the talented @allthefandomstogether​, thank you so much!

“Curtis! Curtis! Where’s my lunch, I’m starving over here!”

Curtis grits his teeth and clenches his fists, calling back with blatant annoyance, “How the fuck am I supposed to know? Do I look like the chef to you? Just sit down and wait for it like a normal person.” 

The doors to your private cart suddenly slide open as you step out, glaring at him with fiery eyes. “Is that any way to talk to Wilford’s granddaughter, Curtis?” The tail sectioner simply rolls his eyes, turning away from you and staring intently at the door to the next cart, hoping for his own sanity that the delivery person will be here soon with your food. Hell, he’d just go get it himself to get some peace and quiet for once, but that’s not listed in his job description. 

When Mason came to the tail section demanding someone act as a bodyguard for Wilford’s rather rebellious and feisty granddaughter, Curtis immediately volunteered. He figured it would be the perfect chance to eavesdrop and obtain information, maybe even start the revolution from the front section itself. How hard could babysitting be?

Now, he knows better. It’s been roughly one week since he’s started working for Wilford and he’s exhausted. You certainly keep him on his toes with your incessant commands, your love for partying, and your tendency to attempt to sneak away from his watchful eyes. Wilford has made it clear he wants his only grandchild to be fit to run the train one day, and so Curtis is in charge of making sure you start acting more like a strategic leader and less like a wild delinquent. 

“Go get it.” You suddenly command, and Curtis blinks. “No. I’m not your slave, I’m just supposed to keep an eye on you because you insist on acting like a child.” He retorts, narrowing his blue eyes as he returns his gaze to you. “Now stop being an entitled little bitch and go back to your cart. You know that Wilford doesn’t want you out of your quarters at night, not since you got yourself hammered and almost broke a damn window.” 

You scoff, looking at him in shock- but quite honestly, you’re not as offended as you’re letting on. You love pushing Curtis’ buttons. You love when he reprimands you, when he puts you in your place (or at least tries to). No one you know has the audacity to talk to you the way he does, and for some reason, that only makes it even more attractive. You wonder what it will take for him to finally snap.

“Fine. I’ll just go check myself.” You start to push past him to walk towards the gate, but his hand immediately reaches out to grab your arm. Hard. “You’re not going anywhere,” he growls, a more dangerous look in his crystal hues. “Your goddamn food is coming, stop being such a brat.”

“Ow! Let go of me! I want it now.” You snap, but you’re doing it on purpose. You can see it in his eyes. He’s sick and tired of your attitude, and you feel a little hotter just thinking about what he’s going to do about it. Curtis rolls his eyes, shoving you back towards the gate of your own cart. “Get back in there. Now!”

You look at him for a few moments before suddenly shaking your head. “Yeah, right. You don’t give me orders.” You move to walk past him again, about to giggle to yourself- but when he suddenly grabs you and jerks you back with a strength nearly knocking you off your feet entirely, you can only gasp instead. “Do you really want to piss me off?” His voice sounds furious, and his crystal hues are darker from anger. You widen your eyes staring up at him, suddenly a little more nervous now- but of course, your stubbornness doesn’t let you give in so easily. “You’re hurting me, Curtis, let go!”

“No. Fuck that,” he growls, suddenly scooping you up and slinging you over his shoulder. “I’m going to have to find another way to get it through your fucking head that I’m in charge here!” You squeal as he carries you back to your private cart, his hand reaching out to slam the button that closes the doors. “Curtis! Curtis, wh-what are you… put me down, Curtis, what are you doing?!” 

“Teaching you a goddamn lesson, because apparently no one else on this train will,” he hisses, practically throwing you onto the bed and making you cry out in surprise. He starts stripping, taking off the nice clothes Wilford’s gotten him as a reward for volunteering to work for him. “By the time I’m done with you, you’re never going to talk back to me again.” 

#curtis everett x reader #curtis everett smut #curtis everett fic #curtis everett imagine #curtis everett fanfiction

[donutloverxo]

I’m not sure if you read ScarletWidow smut, but I was wondering if you recall a smut one that was sorta non-con, where Nat and Wanda lured reader into their bed one night when she was drunk then the next morning they made her have sex with them again. In the end they impregnated her with Bucky and Steve’s sperm so it was a dark fic with non-con and just generally very crazy and dirty. I can’t remember the name and who wrote it and it’s been driving me crazy 😫😫😫

No I haven't read this one. Which is a shame because it sounds amazing!

Does anyone know it?

Edit - it's Ill wind by @buckybarnesplumwhore

Tagging @malloryharris and @hevans-angel cause they were interested.

#berry answers #wanda x reader #natasha romanov x reader #scarletwidow #darkfic

[widowsofchaos]

cloud nine

summary: herbs, and love with your favorite Captain. pairing: sam wilson x black!reader ao3  warnings: smidge of smut, and recreational drug usage. a/n: i just love weed, and Sam Wilson, ya honor --- what else is new? :-) just a small Sam piece. no beta, all mistakes are my own. for @canumoveurseatup-no cause weed and sam sounds like heaven. do not repost my works!

Serenity used to come in small doses, but was always taken by the palms lovingly.

Nowadays, life is tame, ceased, and comforting washes over in waves; the Earth now repopulated back to normal --- or at least, somewhat of a global normalcy.

When the dust cleared, a returning face you swore you never see again, it was as if a revelation. How easy the ones you love can be snatched away from you, one moment they're here, and the next second, they’re gone forever --- as quick as a blink of an eye.

So --- you tried to find the calm, just here --- far away from civilization, surrounded by the fruits of nature, basking in the gift bestowed by Pepper, a quiet private island owned by Tony --- the memory of him makes you wheeze at the cavity, swallowing back a sob in your tight throat, sniffing back the pain.

The luxurious cabin stood alone within the lush trees, basking in the solitude. The crisp fragrance of fresh rain wafts, and wisps through the balcony, transparent curtains flowing graciously with the cooling wind. Bare breasted, sitting crisscrossed upon the opening --- the scent of herbal tickles your nostrils; speaking of the fruits of nature …

The tell-tale flicker of a grinder quirks the corner of plump lips, eyes still peacefully shut, shoulders shake silently, and subtle.

‘I bet it’s not even noon yet.’

“Hmmm-mmmh.” A low hum at the throat, the ol’ familiar tremor of a hum of a teasing know-it-all, his head cocks to the side, his dome gliding against the silk pillow, facing you as those pretty lashes flutter open, revealing those infamous rich umber hues, “It’s eight in the morning, shouldn’t you be eating breakfast first.”

A toothy smile splits from ear to ear, that adorable gap-tooth gleaming, a lax finger pointing at the wall clock --- well, would you look at that? It is eight am.

“This is my appetizer.” Wild curls springing, thick waves cascade down to your breasts, coy eyes wink over your shoulder, snickering.

Surrounding your crossed legs, feet tucked underneath underthighs, was a tray with bamboo wrappers, and littered with crumbs of weed. Between her fingers was a purple grinder, twisting from side to side, the satisfying crunch of herbs, and the sublime scent; a therapeutic ritual.

A hearty chuckle falls from his lips, shaking his head.

“Want one, southern boy?” A teasing twist of the grinder between two fingers, tempting.

“Baby --- you know damn well, I want one.” Cheeky smirk. His elbows bent into the mattress, leaning upward as the blanket fell from his bare chest; molded and calling for your tongue to lick. “Coming right up, Cap.” Bee-stung lips pucker an airy kiss, and a wink.

Meticulous fingers weave and twirl two perfect joints, as a particular birdy freshened up in the bathroom, cleansing himself from weary sleep. Cleaning the tray by the swipe of your back hand, the crumbs trailing out the balcony window, as you put two joints, and a zippo down as if presenting a dish.

Footfalls echo nearby, alerting you that Sam is finished --- a blur of a man, lazily plopping down on the bed, comfortably crashes in the heap of feathery blankets; satisfied groans muffled. Giggling at his silliness, nimble legs carry you to the bed. Crawling on your knees, slithering, your free hand groping a handful of that firm ass.

“Bon Appetit, Mr. Wilson.” A faux, sultry French accent --- a damn good one, but then again, you were a spy cut from the cloth of incredible espionage --- also, Sam always loses his damn mind whenever you speak in that accent; especially when you spew such filth in the language.

A muffled moan emits from the blanket, as your bent fingertips hold, and balances the tray; Sam rolls on his side, an intrigued hum.

Sam clicks his tongue, with a pouty smirk; your nose playfully flares, as your lips form into a grin.

“What?” You snicker at his grinning silence.

“What? No French maid outfit?” He plucks a joint from the tray, with a teetering smile, his teeth holding back his laughter.

“Awh, baby --- just wait till our honeymoon.”

His smile falls, as another unabashed moan echoes throughout the silence.

---

Desperate lips kiss upon the terrain of his chest, heads light, and fuzzy teetering into cloud nine; the world passes in a ceasing blur. Bodily senses heightened, worldly stresses dulled, and muted from two souls hid away in a paradise.

Skin against skin felt heavenly sensual, wetness echoes, slick mound grinds down on his cock --- slow strokes, Sam’s chest heaves, riding upon him, fingers digging into his flesh.

Open-palms melt into his chest, leaning upward, spine arching as your ass jiggles; thighs split open, with Sam withering underneath your bodice. His hands grip tightly into your hips, guiding you as you grind onto him --- deliciously back and forth. Hissing through his teeth, head tilting back against the pillow, “Fuck --- right there, baby.” His fingers trickle up, caressing the nape of your back, tickling your crack.

“Oh --- just like that?” An airy tone, cheeky, as you roll your hips, mimicking a C shape with your cunt; as his cock hits that spongy g-spot --- the ridges of his veins gliding against the velvety cavern walls send a jolt within him.

A broken grunt escapes Sam, sputtering, “Dammit, fucking love it.” A spur of an animalistic urge, tightly holding your waist still, Sam’s hips crash into yours; bouncing as he pistols his cock within you.

A shriek bubbles at the throat, moans choppy, broken, matching the jerking motion; Sam took the zippo that rested beside his head, slowing down his hips. With the hand, fingers pinch a half-burnt joint, nearly a stub. Nip it between his lips, as he sparks the flame, as he rests inside of you.

Inhaling deeply, a small trick from his college years, as the fat white smoke flows perfectly from his lips to his nose; inhaling what he calls ‘God’s own fruit’. Another puff, but he held the smoke within his cheeks, as one of his hands cups the nape of your neck, bringing you down for your lips to meet him.

Instinctively, your lips part, feathery against his, blowing the smoke into you --- as if one was the other’s essence. Tongues flicker against each other, fluttering, and moist. The tangy after-taste of weed tickles the back of each other’s throats.

Once more speeding up, Sam chases his release, knowing you were close as well; hunched over with Sam cradling your neck in both hands, nose to nose. Wet cheeks clap against his waist, as his balls slap against your puckering rim.

An explosion of estcasy. Sync moans, quivering thighs, and ragged breaths. The haze of being high adds to the flavor of lust, as if floating in air. Lax limbs interlock, holding each other with hooded eyes. It was a moment’s peace, it was nice basking in silence. Content in your own bubble.

A bulb light in your head, a mischievous smirk curls at the corner of your lips.

“I got a pretty bong in my luggage. Can’t let it collect dust now.”

‘Jesus woman --- by the end of the day, we’ll be in another realm.’ Sam muses to himself.

“Let’s do it.”

#buckybarnesplumwhore wrote this #Sam wilson x reader #sam wilson x black!reader #Sam wilson smut #Sam wilson fluff #Sam wilson fanfic #marvel fanfic #black reader insert

[canumoveurseatup-no]

colors pt.1

summary: a series of describing colors without using its name.

word count: 747 (mini drabble/ poem type beat)

pairings: bucky x black!reader

warnings: cheating, alluding to domestic abuse, baby angst, small mention of drug

A/N: i know this was not in the list but i started writing and i was on a roll. so enjoy!

--------

It’s the color of a searing kiss to shut you up during an argument. 

You and Bucky were so different but loved the idea of being together. You loved the thought of each other. You were passionate about your relationship but you were just another warm body to him.

You argued night after night, sometimes about the most trivial things like not being able to hear each other on the phone to the important things like not respecting boundaries. 

It’s the way you bite your lip in anger to keep your tears at bay. It’s the screaming matches, the spit flying from your mouths, trying not to trip over your words.

You hate fighting. The bass in his voice was terrifying.

“Why aren’t you listening to me?,” you held your hands up, begging for him to actually hear you. But Bucky lived in his own world.

“What is there to listen to?!,” 

The color of fear washing over your face. You’re doing anything to make him listen but he refuses.

So he kisses you in hopes you’ll forget, and you do. For the moment anyway.

It’s the warmth of teeth clashing, tongues tangled, heated moans in the dark as your heart swells. He was so good at “apologizing”. Sex was his apology. It wasn’t healthy. 

It’s the color of you holding on tight in hopes it will get better.

But it doesn’t.

It’s the color of another argument ensuing, tears falling on the floor, wet eyelashes and sore eyes.

It’s “I love you! I hate you! I need you!,” adding tears to top it off.

He built you palaces out of his words. Constructing them so beautifully, knowing what you wanted to hear to tie you up in a knot.

It’s a big flag that waves before your eyes that you choose to ignore.

Maybe if you ignored it enough, it’d go away. Bucky was a good man and you believed in giving chances. People can change. 

But Bucky doesn’t.

The lies started to flow in more. You made any logical reason to push it out of your mind any chance you got. Bucky couldn’t hurt you, Bucky wouldn’t hurt you.

It’s the thought where you’d rather put your hand on a burning stove top than be hurt by him. 

But he was hurting you, he was. You just refused to ignore it. You wanted your happy ending. He was your happy ending, right? 

It’s a film covering your sight and clouding your judgment as you scream and break things in a fit. The arguments began to happen more frequently. 

It’s the feeling of your raw throat as you shouted above each other. It’s the warmth of his hand meeting your cheek and a gasp so loud it pulls the sound from the room. Your ears are ringing and you two are still.

It’s “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to! Don’t leave!,” his puppy dog eyes reeled you in and made you feel guilty. You loved him and he loved you. He told you any chance he could, but it was only after wounding you with his words or... now his hands.

It’s the pang in the pit of your stomach when you come back from work and see the petals scattered on the floor. He peppered your skin with kisses, massaged knots from your muscles, you two fornicated all night until you believed things were back to normal. As normal as things can get with you two.

It’s his words “I apologize, I’ll be better,” without meaning a damn thing. 

It’s gaslighting you. You run circles around your mind, trying to figure out what you did.

It’s your eyes when you get high to forget, to try and forgive. But forgiving him was getting heard as goggles that skewed your vision were beginning to become less foggy. 

It’s the ache in your chest when you see him grab another woman’s waist... after he said he was “out with the boys”

It’s missing his touch after not experiencing it for months... but finding an empty condom wrapper that’s not yours.

It’s the water beating down on your and burning your skin as you hide in the shower to cry. When you finally pull yourself together, you tell yourself you deserve better.

You deserve your happy ending. But it’s not with him.

It’s the liberation that burns within you like fresh hot embers on a summer night as you wipe your hands clean and finally say,

“I’m done,”

---------------

this was something random i literally wrote down at work today. Hope it was a little nice, even if it’s super short.

Likes, Reblogs and Comments are always appreciated!!

ags- @blackreaders-assemble @mbaku-babygirl @vozit @yournonlocalpoc @babybubastis @mokacoconut @spideys-wife @crawlingnightmares @warmchick @here-for-your-bullshit @chonisberonica @valynsia @veryhellshdia @xye-weirdo @disaster-rose @purplledumplings @hisxblackxqueen​ @freddiedijon​ @persephones24​ @dumbchick​  @pastelastronomy24​  @baphomet-wears-gucci​ @buckybarnesplumwhore​ @snazzyjazzy6​ @valkryienymph​ @mariahthelioness29​ @taylortheeshowpony​  @micki-smiles​ @valentinevirgo​ @retroxvailles​ @tonyssuit​ @buckyandsebastian​ 

#black reader #black mcu imagines #avengers x black!reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x black!reader #mcu drabble #mcu drabbles #mcu blurbs #marvel drabble #marvel blurb #avengers blurb #avengers drabble #bucky barnes blurb #bucky barnes drabble #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction

[empyreanwritings]

Writer Ask Game

i was tagged by the lovely @bucky-the-thigh-slayer cause we love a good exposing of my life 😌💞

What's your preferred time to write?

I usually write at work, so night time! I'm a big night owl, so I'm most productive then.

Do you have some sort of ritual you do when you write?

I get a good cry out first and just try my best (I'm kidding...sort of lol). I really don't do anything special tbh

What's your preferred place to write? At your desk or on your couch/bed?

I prefer to write at a desk. My age says 23, my bones say 70

Do you listen to anything while writing? Music, different ambiance videos? Or do you need silence?

I need silence. I get distracted way too easily, but if I need to get hyped up, I'll listen to songs before!

Do you need snacks while writing, or drinks? If so, what?

I prefer tea but usually nothing 😌

Story Planning 1: In a notebook first or in a doc?

Notebook first! Since I write at work, it's just easier to write it all down and copy it onto a doc later

Story Planning 2: For a longer story, possible place and character names first, or plot first?

When I wrote A Weapon No More, I knew I wanted to write specifically X-23 as a character. I usually have an idea (like Vamp!Sam) and run with whatever comes to mind. For longer stories, it's usually plot first.

Do you make inspiration boards?

Nope! I make moodboards after a story is written.

How do you handle being interrupted?

I'm actually used to being interrupted bc of work, so I don't mind it. I can easily fall back into writing when I need to.

How many drafts do you usually need? Or do you write it immediately and just edit little bits to fix it?

Sooooo, I write like 3 different versions of the same fic bc I'm trash and like to see which one I like best THEN I edit it. It's why I take so long to post a fic sometimes, unless it's random inspo

Tagging: @marvelsdc22 @imnotasuperhero @buckybarnesplumwhore @sinfulwlw & anyone else who wants to!

#tag game

[your-persephone-writes]

wip tag!

I was tagged by the ray of sunshine that is @heli0s-writes (tysm 💙) to post the last line I wrote and tag as many people as there are in the sentence.

An orange rolls slowly on the wooden kitchen floor, strawberries bleed on the counter.

I’m tagging @yikeswtfmate @nacho-bucky @buckybarnesplumwhore @bucky-the-thigh-slayer and @ anyone who wants to play :)

#tag game

[widowsofchaos]

Could you do the prompt #60?

❝ mine

summary: Wanda isn’t too fond with how close a certain Captain is to you. pairing: Wanda Maximoff x black!reader warnings: fluff, jealous Wanda, a smidge of jealousy, and smut. Filthy use of the Slovakian language. Palm kissing aka my weakness. ao3 // requested from this prompt list a/n: Wanda is my wife, your honor. Hope I did my lover justice. Carol Danvers cameo. requested prompt 60: “Pay attention to me.” 2k words. Sorry for this late request, writer’s block is a menace. No beta, all mistakes are my own. do not repost my works

It was late into the night, and Wanda’s spirits were more alive --- and enraged.

Anxiety and adrenaline bleeds through her witchy fingers, sparks zap dully at the tips, clutching her cup of liquor tightly.

Downs a hefty sip, a hiss, her lips snarling as the firewater trickles and burns down her throat --- Samogon, or how you cheekily teased, “Mother Russia’s own moonshine. Ruthless just like her children --- I mean look at Natalia, she puts vodka in her cereal.” A tiny smirk curls at her lips, your faint laugh lulls her in the memory.

A familiar giggle catches her ears once more --- melodic, soothes her ears, but Wanda scowls, knowing exactly what’s making you laugh. Her knuckles strain white, gawking over her shoulder, peeking eyes glow dangerously crimson red.

The party is amidst bustling with drunk melding bodies, great food, endless playlist of music --- ever so luxurious --- as every party Stark throws; regardless it being a private party among friends.

Across from the bar, near the lounge couches, you seated with your silhouette legs crossed, your head tilted back, tipsy giggles slipping from your lips; seated next to you was a certain Captain.

Oh no --- not Captain America, he was busy cuddling with his lovers, how he slurs lovingly ‘my Bucky, my Sammy.’ Steve and Bucky two fingers deep in Asgardian Ale, with Sam edging deep in whiskey. All three sharing kisses in the far corner, ready to sneak back to their room for late night loving.

Shamelessly undressing you with her eyes was Captain Danvers herself, her arm slung over your shoulders, deep in casual conversation with you. Simple maxi dress, adorning your hips, softly encasing your figure, low cut that amples your breasts --- and Carol was eating it up.

To the outsider’s eye, it would be seen as friendly banter, tipsy chuckles -- but Wanda knew better. Her eyes flicker to her wedding ring --- sparkling red --- the same one that twinkles on your marital finger.

She clicks her tongue --- Wanda indeed knows better. The friendship between Carol and yourself is fairly a new one, naturally gravitating towards Carol, how curious and intrigued you get to meet another inhuman besides Wanda and yourself.

No surprise how natural conversation flows between the Captain and yourself --- everyone you meet gravitates to you like a magnet, treating one as if they were an old friend.

You look delicious --- as always. Beauty that makes anyone double-glance, delicate yet intimidating. That glow, you carry a shine, an essence, a force of nature, but it’s so much more. Beneath the surface, radiates comfort, you can break any stoic façade with that wattage smile. Wanda and yourself match, a perfect yin-yang, one and the same, and Wanda loves it.

Both of you can feel it, see it, taste it.

Clever fingers, clever lips, clever tongue. Clever small hands carving Wanda’s hardened façade, in the quiet, warm and intense moments in time, where Wanda can be vulnerable, finally shed waterfalls over her losses, let her rant and rage without judging eyes --- where she can lay her heart in your hands, and she knew, you handle with care.

Because you know her, understand her. Able to simmer her down, know where her emotions stem from the deepest crevices of her spirit.

The endless drinks were nice, but Wanda rather be with you, somewhere else. She rather prefers to be in your shared quarters, with the babies, eating sugar snaps, and watching tv. A cozy night-in, and finally would tuck Billy and Tommy in their cribs; sneak away to bed, caress and cradle each other till succumbing in deep slumber.

But --- you convinced Wanda, thinking tonight’s party was a good reprieve, to relax with friends, and drink till merry, without the stresses of motherhood. Now, she battles another stress, another grievance.

Green-eyed monster rearing its head --- jealousy.

‘She’s full of shit.’ A sultry Slovakian spite lingers in your mind --- only in your mind, a sharp side-eye, you glance to see Wanda, nursing her drink --- halting your pinched fingers from twirling your flute.

Slightly puckering your lips, restraining a grin splitting from ear to ear, you coyly titled your head at Carol, who was complimenting the tattoo that adorns your shoulder-blade. How slyly Carol’s fingertips trace the tatted lines, feigning curiosity.

‘Her hands all over you, fucking kurva.’

‘Pay attention to me.’

A dull clank of a glass against the counter could be heard. A breathy chuckles escapes from your nose, as you can feel Wanda’s eyes burning holes in the back of your skull, and no doubt, dying to literally burn holes in Carol’s blonde dome. “I think I’m gonna hit the hay, my head feels light.” A polite excuse without offending Carol from your erupt leave.

“Awh, already? It’s not even late, grandma.” Carol teases, as she presses the rim of her beer against her lips --- her fifth one tonight --- tangy flavor of Budweiser weighing on her tongue, fueling her mischief. “Who are you calling grandma, I wasn’t the one born in the sixties.” A few strings of chuckles, you graciously depart from Carol, as she wiggles her slender fingers goodbye.

Waltzing to the bar, your hips swaying, placing the flute on the counter; sitting next to a stewing witch. Elegantly perching your elbows on the marbled bar, your nails flicker delicately as your wrists bent against your chest, coyly swinging gently on the bar stool. Slyly peeking from the corner of your eye, you catch Wanda staring at you.

Tenderly covering her glass with your palm, tugging it out of Wanda’s palm, and gliding it away. “Let’s go to bed.” You slither, eyes glassy --- the champagne bubbling light in your head, skin tingling and aching for Wanda’s touch; your eyes rover over her figure, curves snug in a velvet maxi dress.

Auburn hair coils in slick waves, draped over her smooth shoulders. Leaning in, you can smell the liquor wafting from her slick lips, Wanda tsks, cheekily leaning towards you; her fingers sought out to your thigh, gripping the flesh.

Lips now hairs away, “Oh --- now I exist?” Wanda sneers, sultry, her accent weaving out in a hiss. “Don’t be like that.” You tsk, smoothly gliding off the stool, your fingers sliding against Wanda’s open palm, interlocking softly. Wanda murmurs, be like what? As she pouts, gazing at your heart-shaped lips.

“Now, is my wife going to bed with me or is she going to hex the Captain?” The pad of your thumb caressing Wanda’s finger, trying to tame the witch. “I prefer hexing her, and then ravishing you on the glass table for her to see --- želá si, aby ochutnala vašu kundu, vašu šťavnatú ako sladkú broskyňu.”

Filthily whispering in her native tongue, her fingers curving, and bending graciously as carmine magic emits. The warmth of her breath beats against your cupid-bow, ever so close to your lips; tantalizing, more intoxicating than any ale in all the realms.

Wanda pulls away, earning a whine from you, she hushes your lips by the tip of her oval nail, “Behave till we get back to our room.” With no other word, Wanda snags your wrist in her grip, dragging you out of the party into the dark hallway.

Scattering feet wander through the compound halls, only clicks of heels echo and pierce through the silence. Dancing shadows linger on the walls, breathy moans, wet lips. Wanda’s palm glides and grips the curve of your neck, pinning you against the wall --- just a mere inches away from your apartment door. “I can’t wait any longer.” Wanda growls low in her throat, her antsy hands.

Slithering fingers slip under the hem of your bunched up dress, feathery fingers chilled at the tips from the glassed liquor caress the skin of your inner thigh. Earning a silky hiss through your teeth, as Wanda’s lips parts open upon yours as if breathing in your essence; as her fingers dove beneath the fabric of your thong. Soaking her left handed fingers between your velvety lips, your fingers cling onto Wanda’s hips, sneakily massaging her soft ass through the smooth fabric, bundling up her cheeks. Groping, and squishing.

“Do you feel it?” Wanda asks, dripping with lust, a dull spark zaps at your clit, jolting you with a whimper, teasingly Wanda left your throbbing clit to toy with your clenching hole, but she doesn’t slip inside you. Yearning for her to touch you more, plunge and curl to the point of delirious pleasure. Delightful swell swirls in your heart, a flicker in Wanda’s eyes --- something you couldn’t quite pin.

All she can see is Carol’s hands touching you, touching what is hers, Carol’s slithering eyes roaming your breasts, and curves. It wasn’t your fault, no --- you were just being a good friend, engaging in conversation --- but she felt abandoned. As if Carol swooped you away, like a thief in the night. Stealing a treasure that didn’t belong to her nor deserve it.

You’re her wife --- you are hers, just as she is yours.

“I need to feel all of you.” A mess of words, gasping breaths, as Wanda happily snuck her two fingers inside your spongy walls, fluttering, and quivering thighs. Thrusting with no hesitation, your hips crash against the palm of her hand, tangling tight as a tether, curling fingers beckoning in a salacious curve. Pulling you close, her fingers digging in your hip-bone, breasts to breasts, melting against the wall, kissing you, your mouth, your cheeks, the slope of your nose --- delicately pecking your shut lids.

The palm that cradled your hip, traveled the terrain of your waist, and glided upon the arch of your spine, traveled between the shoulder blades, her touch eliciting sensitivity on her bare flesh, and cupping the nape of your neck. Fondling your neck, as her lips never wavered from your face, remaining as she continued her shower of kisses, as she fucked your cunt with vigor --- unrelenting, your wetness echoing with unabashed squelching.

A wet spot formed the dead center of Wanda’s panties --- just the sounds of you can make her cum on the spot. Sticky against her peach-fuzz, your legs sliding against hers, as her fingers continue with no interruption. Wanda’s wet panties stick to the skin of your thigh, humping with desperation, the sensation of syrupy cotton and heated bare skin nearly drove Wanda to the brink of endless bliss.

“She can’t have you ---” Wanda groans, her pupils almost rolling to the back of her skull, as the lips of her cunt split and ride even harder against your knee. Nearly gliding down the wall pavement, clinging onto each other in a loving embrace, “---she can never have you.” Wanda whispers in the shell of your ear, her teeth graces sharply the line of your jaw, her tongue licks a wet glide, sucking and nibbling on your pulse-point, marking her territory.

As one palm cups Wanda’s ass, guiding her as she unravels on your thigh, a hand leaves to her shoulder blade, your fingers flicker with her straps, pulling it over Wanda’s shoulders, and with a frenzied impulse, tug the fabric down --- Wanda’s milky breast spills out, still swollen with breast milk.

Pink areolas hardened by the cool air, your moist tongue peaks from your lips, and the tip flickers against the dripping nipple. Leaning your head down on Wanda’s chest, suckling greedily --- nearly her whole tit was engulfed in your mouth, sloppily slurping.

A shriek nearly bubbles at Wanda’s throat, cradling your head in her arm tenderly, kissing your temple, her nose inhaling your scent --- always emanate a tender scent of crushed roses; as your chin drips with milk. “Mine, you’re mine.” Wanda wispily moans, as you drank from her tit, saliva coating the corners of your mouth. Moaning at the taste on your tongue, satisfying your carnal palate --- the vibration sending a shimmer up the crevices of Wanda’s spine.

Sweat beads at your brow, as sweat drenches Wanda’s baby hairs clinging onto her temple, mouthing ‘love me, love me’, her fingers pulling the threads of silk from the jewel between your legs, now drenched. Two gardens watering, the petals of tulips bloom. Your thigh now slippery, grinding her clit hard, slow thrusts --- riding out, edging herself; refusing to cum without you.

As if you were a fragile china doll, shakily Wanda’s spidery fingers brush against heated skin, sweeping the arch of your neck, dancing down on smooth brown shoulders, downward to the line of your fore-arm.

Leisurely slowing down her fingers that rested inside your moist caravan, sinuous fingers kiss the skin and daintily hold your wrist, pulling away from her bum. Lifting, and lightly twisting upward to bare your exposed wrist; you halt, hesitantly your eyes peer up at Wanda. Cheeks dewey, and dusted pink.

Lips part from Wanda’s sodden breast, a string of saliva connects from your bottom lip; as if time ceased still, bringing your wrist to her lips, her eyes never leaving yours. A breath hitches in your throat, open mouthed kisses trail up, lovingly your fingers cup her soft cheek, her lips plush at the cusp of your palm. Wanda’s eyes are two moons, hauntingly beautiful, makes your spirit want to create a temple in blind faith in the name of love, yearning to worship; the waves of love coils off of each other.

Hot breath is a hymn, cascades against your hand, slow and soft kisses --- a tingle at your fingers. A simple gesture yet holds no bounds of adoration, deeply into each other eyes. Wanda’s fingers lock with yours, her wet lips part against the pad of your thumb, her teeth nip, her tongue lick ever so faintly; sucking the finger between her lips.

Erotically Wanda’s hips began its tirade once more, her soaked fingers flourish inside you with no mercy --- she knows, oh she knows. You’re close, oh so close, close, close to the edge --- you know Wanda’s close too, by the way her breath pitches ever so higher; just dying to fall over in Wanda’s arms, fevered. Bury inside each other, this unspoken waltz, not needing to verbalize --- it’s there, not always having to be feverish hot fucking, but it can be passionate, desperate, and warm.

To dive deep inside each other, crawl under the skin, and rest there as a love nest.

Foreheads touch, nose to nose, eyes fall into the depths of each other, a mess of entangled limbs --- a splash of kaleidoscope bursts before your eyes, mouths smashing to dull the shrills; cumming hard on Wanda’s fingers dragging it out, as her fingers dragged out, agonizingly so.

A sheen of wetness crashes and coats your thigh as a balm --- witnessing the motion embody each of your faces with each ripple of your orgasms. Memorizing every expression, any twitch, lips shaped in Os, never tearing your eyes away from each other, because you both wanted to --- such beauty.

The smell of Wanda is intoxicating, makes you dizzy, love-drunk, and adored. Resting your bodies on each other, raspy giggles flow, face leaning on face, caressing cheek to cheek, as Wanda nestles her hands on your face. A daze of happiness, the stresses of a green-foaming monster now a faded memory, cuddling each other in a tight hug, just airy laughs muffled in your chests. Just leaning against the wall, full length of your bodies pressed, braced as if being one.

A faint cry of the twins breaks the haze, ever so sync the boys wail for their mothers --- just like clockwork, it must be 2 am; time to feed the hungry bellies of your babies, just like their mama feasted on their mother. Slipping back into reality, fixing each other’s disheveled clothes back to somewhat back to being decent. Frizzy hairs springs in all directions, sheens of sweat now coat your skins, but a sense of relief drapes upon you two.

As Wanda leans her hand on the wall, resting your head on her stretched arm, head tilted as you soothe Wanda’s cheek, watching her, the greenery of her irises shine bright at your glassy brown orbs, as if a fire that can’t be smothered.

Making the butterflies erupt in her chest, making Wanda feel seen in so many ways that she never had before. En pointe, standing tall to kiss Wanda’s lips, light and sweet, resting your head in the crock of her shoulder. Lashes flutter as Wanda holds you to her bodice, with your heart swelling, you whisper to her.

“I will never leave you. Wherever you go, I’ll follow.”

#buckybarnesplumwhore wrote this #wanda maximoff x reader smut #wanda maximoff fluff #marvel fanfic #marvel wlw #wlw fanfic #wlw smut #Billy Maximoff #Tommy Maximoff #Carol Danvers #Wanda Maximoff x woc!reader #wanda maximoff x black!reader

[widowsofchaos]

trembling in my arms

summary: a love that even the ancients cry for. pairing: knight!Hope Van Dyne x princess!black!reader ao3 // medieval au warnings: smut (scissoring, intense kissing) a smidge angst, asshole parents, mentions of arranged marriages. a/n: 3k words. this was inspired by @imanuglywombat​ ‘s little scenario of Knight Hope from this amazing artist, @petite-madame . It got me feeling things, so I just had to write a small piece of it. <3 title is from this poem, This Dream by Aphra Behn. no beta, all mistakes are my own. Do not repost my works!

Gentle footfalls dash against the stoned flooring, slithering within the shadows. Lit torches illuminate the halls with a dewy yellowish flourish --- lovingly held between your slender fingers was a small platter from the kitchens.

A sweet baked strawberry tart. The brisk night air that breezes through the ceiling high windows strokes your curls, nipping at your toes --- the moon rises in the matins hour, every soul in the castle slumbers.

Out from your bed chambers, tip-toeing past mother’s and father’s chambers, down to the kitchens, through the narrow spiral stairs and pebbled-walk to the gardens --- familiar path, same destination, yet your heart flutters as if it’s the very first time all over again.

Brushed curls bounce as your footfalls pick up hastily, light tip-toes skid against soft pebbles, and grass.

The gardens were massive, flourished with flowers, hedges that contort into a maze that centers around a tiny getaway of benches, and tea tables.

Two directions flow through the maze --- to the centerpiece of the gardens and a narrow path way to the stables.

The path stretches with wet grass that intermixes and soon only dried hay --- as a flash to the stables where the stallions rest, the barn is secluded at night-fall, and one can say cozy.

Slipping through wooden doors, with a silent flicker of your fingertips unlatched the locks, slithering through --- quieter than a mouse.

The barn is a little hamlet away from nosy eyes, just on the edge of the royal castle’s walls, away from royal guards sworn on loyalty --- even would rat on the young princess to their Majesties.

A flicker of dewy vermillion glows through the barn, a glow that illuminates against the wooden walls, walking on the tips of your toes, playfully maneuvering around the massive hay stacked, twirling happily.

Lips pucker whistling, a signal only shared between two souls --- soft crunch of hay emits from the corner, a shadow lingers behind stacks of golden herbage.

Your heart flutters against your breast-bone, your chest inhales deeply, your feet fidgeting against the ground, akin to a horse patting their hooves against the earth’s grass --- impatient for her, for her taste.

“Her royal highness.” Hope bows just a bit, with her fore-arm tucked against her chest, short strands of dark chocolate clings to her cheeks, pink lips splits into a wicked grin.

Translucent white gown flows at her feet, arching higher at her thigh, bunched in her fist, as if hinting.

“Lady Dyne, what a delight.” Licking your teeth, tongue heavy with yearning, as you gawk at Hope slowly relieving herself --- with boldness to present herself shamelessly.

She walks closer now, able to feel her radiating heat fan against your bodice; it makes you fidget under your gown. Cocking her head to the side, she notices how the meat of your thighs shake, rubbing against each other --- Hope creeps closer now.

Hope’s fingers pluck a fresh strawberry slice from the tart,  “Tis for me, my highness?” Suckling her fingertips between her lips, with soft leisure chews, her palate savoring the sweetness.

“A gift for you,” you spoke breathlessly, your lashes fluttering, as you stare at her wet faded pink fingers, “a warrior deserves a well-deserved treat.” You gasp, as Hope continues her assault of her fingertips, the tip of her tongue flickers.

Swallowing harshly, as your bodice cannot control the shivers of lust.

Hope moans at the flavor, “Thank you, my Highness.”

“My, my, your highness, you seem flushed.” Hope snickers, as she swallowed the last pieces of fruit, “Do I make you flush?” She asks, her eyes glimmer with joy, enjoying how she can make you melt with just her gaze.

“Me? Nay, a --- princess never --” you stutter over your words, as Hope nears you, leisurely steps, so close you can feel her breath fan your face.

Nose to nose, lips hairs away, hearts beat so hard the blood could burst --- Hope’s finger traces your jawline, graces the slope to the chin, with ease, tantalizing slow, as if luring you into the lion’s den; guiding you closer to her parted mouth.

“Kiss me.” A low whine emits from you, as Hope’s tongue slithers out, licks your timid tongue, savoring the taste of strawberry that coats her tongue.

Pink muscles flitter against each other, a ballet, wet --- it becomes desperate. Hope’s warm tongue licks the roof of your mouth, tracing your teeth.

---

The lace strings of your nightgown unravel between her fingers --- pulling the knots, as the flaps of cotton white leisurely fall open against your breasts.

Smooth umber skin glows a bronze sheen under burning flame-light, soft flesh under her grazing fingertips; oval nails scratching dully against the skin.

Teeth bite on your lower lip, restraining a squeal --- as you laid upon the hay, limbs stretched out, ‘an angel’ Hope muses to herself.

Waves of curls, and flickering flame engulf your head as a faded corona --- her lips shower over your breasts, as her fingers twirl around the strings, tugging by the curled fingers, as it falls over your shoulders.

It didn’t take long for Hope to whisk you deeper into the spacious barn, leading you up the latter, hiding out on the upper level of the mew.

A blanket, and a few candles awaited you both. Half-eaten plate of tart lays nearby, as Hope plucks a slice of fruit between her pearly canines.

Hope lays herself upon your bodice, tilting your head to catch the peeking strawberry; breaking it in half by your teeth, as lips gently graze each other --- as if teasing, prolonging.

Slick soaks a wet spot on your cotton garments, damp tuft of hair clings to the fabric --- sticky, and yearning. Hope kisses the corner of your mouth tenderly, a path of gentle lips against your cheek, to the curve of your jaw --- suckling harshly, nibbling from her canines.

Breathy moans emit from your mouth, nearly choking on your gasps, as Hope’s open wet kisses travel down to the slope of your throat.

The base of your bare throat blooms with faint amethyst under her loving lips, the tip of her tongue flickers against your raw flesh; gasp moans from Hope’s parted mouth, as she tastes you.

Hope’s slender fingers sneaks through under the cotton, groping your breasts; fingernails scratching softly against your flesh, your nipples erect under the heels of her palms.

Her hands grazing against your areolas makes you quiver, your body shivers. Whimpering, melting into a warm sensation, as Hope continues to kiss your skin.

Hope whispers your name, “Sweet princess of alle women fairest to behold.” Her warm breath beats against your throat, affection --- passionate love floods to your eyes, salty and heavy; peels off of your skin.

Lashes become damp, as your eyes close gingerly, as your eyes glass over with an idyllic sheen, if you would to die now, you would happily go in her arms.

---

Her bare leg drapes over yours, as two bodies unisonly come together, arms encircle around midriffs --- hugging each other tightly, both scenting the crooks of your necks.

Hope kisses the base of your throat, as you nibble her shoulder with a wet-open kiss.

Mound against mound, velvety lips split against lips, throbbing clits grinding; hips crashing, quivering.

Hope’s fingers cradle your tailbone, sneakily arching lower, as she guides you upon her. Flesh moist, dewey sheen of sweat shimmers by the flames.

Sepia, and honey skin melt, heavy pants swallowed by kisses. Hope’s fingers glide against the arch of your spine, to the smooth terrain of your shoulder-blades; soft as petals your fingertips skim over her skin.

Tracing her shoulders, your fingers bent against your palm --- fingers just stroking.

Venus belts clenching as hips thrust more harder now, tufts of hair soaked in juices; toes curling as ecstasy coils in waves upon limbs.

Juices watering your cunts, dull cadence of wetness. Almost there, the pit of your bellies ignites, thumping, jumping --- it’s coming down, the rain of pleasure.

Heavy pants, belly to belly gliding, a need to be under each other’s skin, the tickle of hay under your bums; as crickets chirp outside. Intermixing with your moans, Hope nibbles on the crock of your shoulder, her flat tongue licks.

Grabbing the nape of Hope’s neck, kindly gripping, as your hips become erratic, hers too.

Fingers finding solace in her tresses. It’s a sloppy dance now, as you both chase the high. No words are needed, the silence is placid, an understanding of one another.

In haze, crashing down, biting down on each other’s shoulders, stifling roarous moans; the meat of your thigh quivers and shakes.

Hope nearly sobs, a mixture of a wail and sigh of relief. Breathy.

Floating, it’s blissful. Chest heaving, backs arching, regaining air back into your lungs, clinging onto each other --- as if you both let go, you’ll fall apart entirely.

This is bliss.

---

Melting white wax trickles to the near end of the golden wick, your fingers pad against the wood, in search of a spare that you hoped still was hidden away, fingertips tickle against firm wax, a tired smile curls.

You snag a spare candle from under a patch of hay, a few were hidden in a few spots that Hope had stashed away for nights like these.

Igniting the candle with the flame of the dying candle, replacing the stubbed wax, you wiggle back into Hope’s warm arms; your back meets her bare chest.

Fingers intertwined, just watching the flickering flame. Hope hums low, kisses your cheek, snuggling you close to her.

Placid glow of happiness floats above you both as a cloak, Hope’s fingers caress against yours --- interweaving.

Nights as these are what you seek for, days filled with dread, regressing boredom deep in your chest, musing around the castle with loyalists on your coat-tails --- oppressive parents who hover every single step you take.

Mousey princess who every-one fawns over, expectations of perfectionism --- your tutor’s tedious lessons over the years to be a proper lady, to get wedded, and continue the legacy of your family’s name.

As a man of another kingdom reigns over your family’s dynasty as king one day.

It was tiring, no space to be yourself, to be seen, but not really heard; it’s when you’re in Hope’s arms where you’re truly happy, a solace to be yourself.

You can recall the fateful day you first saw Hope --- how your heart skipped a beat, once you caught a glimpse of the victorious knight.

A knight tournament hosted by your father, opportunities for fighters to display their skills, at first you were a bit bored, twirling the waves of your curls between your fingertips. As your unfocused gaze watched over the tourney.

Blooded teeth grin at you, leaking as a welt --- a flirtatious grin, her eyes gleaming with mischief, staring right into yours.

Skin ignites with glee, to have such beautiful eyes fall on your body, Hope undresses you with her eyes, in-front of royals, and spectators.

Lady Hope Dyne, the only daughter of Ser Hank Pym, one of the advisors in the king’s council, a respected master and teacher of quadrivium.

A divine creature she is, flowing dark chocolate hair, pink lips, honey-tan skin, yet her cheeks were redden as raspberries.

Days filled with lingering eyes, knuckles grazing, flirtatious quips --- all boiled down to Hope's taking the bold move, cornering you in the desolate hall.

She caught you sneaking around the training grounds, her fingers curled, and stroked your cheek, her warm breath engulfed your space.

Her breathing was labored, sweat clung to her forehead, as she finished practicing with the men.

Towering over, palm leans against the wall, her arm out-stretched, as that shit-eating grin winked at you. “Little princess wanders around like a lamb.

Tell me my sweet lamb,” Hope whispers, her fingertip trains your mouth, soft as a petal, tickles your cupid-bow. “Did you enjoy witnessing the lions fight?”

Speechless, you were stunted, words are caught in the web of your throat, Hope hums, the pad of her thumb drags against your bottom lip.

The risk, the thrill of cradling the puddle of the royal princess --- the king would have her head on a stake, but those doe-eyes of yours struck Hope.

Lips nudge against yours, inhaling your gasp, her tongue peeks out, luring yours. Pink wet tongues lick, Hope sucks on your tongue; to go back to devour your mouth.

The darkness of the hall swallows you both, away from curious eyes --- she was your first kiss.

What was once a thrilling fling, became a forbidden affair.

But now, dread weighs on your heart even more; marriage. Marriage was an insignificant passing discussion from when you were a mere child, but it wasn’t fleshed out before ---- until a few days ago.

During a calm supper, your father boosted with glee in his chair, with animated hands, that you were to be wed before winter.

With pride, he stated the name of your soon-to-be husband, ready to ship you off to a kingdom that lived across the sea; food nearly spurted in vomit chunks from your throat.

For days, harboring it inside of you, every-time your eyes meet Hope’s, it hurts.

Swallow down the bile, whenever in stolen moments her lips lay upon yours. Days of dancing around each other --- a usual routine to hide away from suspicious eyes.

To finally, Hope left a note in your chambers whilst on her watch out route in the halls.

‘Tonight, the barn. - H.’

But, now you must tell her --- soon the Odinson family will arrive on your land in a month’s time, preparations are in tow.

You don’t want to ruin the moment, but --- you need to let her know, secrets don’t exist between you both.

A shallow swallow, a stretch of silence. “Father plans to wed me off.” Hope’s head lifts hastily, her eyes zero on you, a gasp catches in her throat.

“He has already found me a husband. I --” Your voice dies in the air, as Hope scuffs, hiding her face by her tousled hair, hiding her emotions.

A needed moment to let it sink in, the inevitable is here --- the princess needs a husband, a tradition to send off young maidens for the sake of alliances, a trade off.

It was going to happen --- it was always going to happen.

“If it must be done, then so be it.” Hope whimpers, but her face struggles between stern, and painful. Her hand leans against the flooring, facing away from you, as she stares at the wall; batting her lashes from the sting of tears.

“No!” You hiss, nose scrunching, “It shall not be what it is!” You cling to Hope’s arms, tugging her down, bare breasts to breasts.

Hope kisses your forehead, “Tis the same fate for myself.” Hope spoke against your hair-line, gliding back to her side, legs intertwined.

“Your father prefers to marry you off to Ser Scott Lang! More akin to a jester than a knight.” Hope pinches your bare ass cheek, muttering a ‘behave’ under her breath.

You pout, eyes glance away from hers, she was right, but your jealousy rears.

“You princesses, always so bratty.” Hope teases, eyes half-hooded, with a smirk. “Tis not bratty!” you click your tongue, your cheeks puffing as a chipmunk --- lips pouty, with your eyes shadowed by furrowing brows, your arms cross against your chest.

Hope snickers, bowing closer, her lips meets between the crease of your eyebrows, calming you down.

“I cannot provide for you.” Defeat floods to Hope’s eyes, teary-eyed, her palm strokes your face, you shake your head in denial, not accepting that the life you yearn for each other cannot become a reality.

“I have an aunt out in France, she can provide shelter --- a life for the both of us.” Grabbing Hope’s hand, turning your head, lips kiss the heel of her palm, as you tenderly hold her wrist.

“We have our duties. I swore an oath, and you’ll be queen someday.” Optimism laces her tone, but it wavers at the mere thought of you wed to another.

‘Queen? A joke.’ you muse --- your thoughts, and ideas will be snuffed by your future betrothed over your family’s land, you will live under his thumb, a submissive bride.

Hope perches her head on the crock of her shoulder, leaning on her elbow, her eyes are glassy --- the flickering fire mirroring in the shine of her wet scerlas to a granite.

You shake your head, your limp curls heave against your plump cheek.

“What man would want a princess with no virtue?” You snark, crossing your arms against your bare chest once more to halt the tremble in your hands, bouncing your head against the hay in frustration.

“Your flower may have already been watered, but it is not torn.” Hope’s slender fingers tenderly caress your mound through the thin blanket, soft nails graze the tuft of hair --- a ticklish jolt that sends a chill up the arch of your spine.

You moan, your head falls back, but you remain in silence, the jut of your chin wobbles. Hope hides her face in your neck, rubbing cheek to cheek, to pacify her breaking heart.

“What’s his name?” Hope spoke in a hush, voice muffled by your thick hair, you remained silent for a stalled moment, dully biting your bottom lip, face soft and still.

“Prince Loki, the youngest to the Odinson throne.” Your voice pierces through the silence with a tender breath, eyes burning holes through the roof.

“I heard he’s a naughty one.” Hope murmurs with a smile, a failed attempt to lighten the tension. Earning a groan from you, your head blops on the thick hay, turning your head; Hope’s loose strands tickle the tip of your nose.

Hope’s fingers stroke the arch of your jawline, as you mumble to yourself, ‘not fair’ under your breath, toying with her hair ends.

Hope sighs, “My father would rather have a dead daughter, than one who holds love for a woman. The Dyne name cannot die.” Hope’s fingers cup your chin, making you look into her eyes --- she’s crying.

Your thumb catches a lone tear; you sniffle back a sob, your palms hug her cheeks.

Droplets of tears cascade against your face, showering you in her sorrow, suffocating you in her arms, not daring to let you go, fearing if she does, you’ll slip away.

Quiet sobs span through night-fall, seeking each other, comforted by the warmth of thick hay, and bodily heat.

Forehead against forehead, nose to nose, breathing each other in. Curling into the fetal position, as your bodies hug each other.

As the full moon hangs high in the sky, you whisper words of love in the shell of her ear, lulling a teary-eyed Hope to sleep, as your thumb fondles her scalp.

“Flesh of my flesh, my soul weeps for thy. My moon and stars, half of my soul. Before birth, tis tied to thy. When the sun rises in the west, and sets in the east, I will follow thy wherever you go. To Heaven’s clouds, to earth’s soil.”

---

Dawn breaks.

The sun rises above the horizon, the twinkling sunshine paints the grassy land --- the trees are bristling in the morning wind, birds in their nests chirp their songs.

The horses are murmuring in their stables, still slumbering, not a soul yet to arise in the castle.

All but one.

Soft fingers fondle your cheek, tenderly tracing your cupid-bow, and your sleepy pouty lips. Your lips twitch, puffing up a bit. Hope leans down, kissing your eye-lids, savoring every inch of you.

“I would do anything for you, you do know that, don’t you?” Hope whispers, taking a pause, letting your sleeping state sink in.

A strained smile, her eyes are puffy, and red from long hours of crying. “We share everything. We’ll see the world together, I promise to love you forever.” Hope cradles her cheek against yours, as she sniffles quietly.

A promise. An oath of honor --- to protect her highness, perhaps it could work. The two of you together, riding on Hope’s stallion into the sunset, a few jewels, and gold coins stashed.

Where to? To France? Would your aunt take you both in, not to tattle to her sister Queen of where her daughter ran off to --- who she ran off with.

Yearning coils in Hope’s heart, the more she day-dreams, the more she desires it, plotting a strategy to leave.

Another glance at your sweet face, how the glow of the sun casts upon your brown skin --- as shimmering bronze.

That’s the final nail in the coffin --- it must be done, only pain will prevail if neither of you do any action for your lives together.

It will be done.

“I love you.”

#buckybarnesplumwhore wrote this #Hope Van Dyne x reader #Hope Van Dyne x black!reader #knight!Hope Van Dyne #Princess!reader #medieval au #wlw #wlw smut #marvel smut

[widowsofchaos]

Red Light

summary: Even a bad man can have his weaknesses. Pairing: soft!dark!Lee Bodecker x black!reader ao3 warnings: Stockholm syndrome, murder, infidelity, past dub non-con(rape), sex work, domestic abuse, mention of racism, the use of the word ‘colored’. (heed these warnings). a/n: this differs from the Devil All The Time. Sandy, and Lee are still alive. title by @darkficsyouneveraskedfor​ . do not repost my works.

White Cow Diner, 1965

The sign hangs high near the diner, piped day-glo red glass tubing shaped as a cow --- on a six-foot pole. It emits a low, dulcet hum hovering the incoming vehicle, bright headlights turn off as the sheriff’s car parks on the diner’s lot.

A gruff groan lingers in the air, as the driver’s door swings open; the soles of his feet a bit sore, scratching at his soft plump belly.

Groggily rubs his eye by the heel of his palm, a yawn stretches from his pink lips, bones aching for his bed. A long day, and yet instead of finishing off the day with a night’s rest, he has to shovel through knee-high shit with Leroy.

Trekking towards the diner, weary eyes glance up at the glass windows, a glimmer of rich brown hair peeks through the shine of the window --- a pitter-patter of his heart flutters.

An excited step to his walk now, but grogginess still settles like a weight on him.

The hung bell rings against the swing of the door, alerting staff of his presence, stiffening his pose upright despite the ache at his tailbone.

Leisurely, but firm steps, the leather soles dully squeaks against the grimy flooring, nearing the familiar booth that is clouded by cigarette smoke.

“My boy, my boy.” A gruff voice perks up, not even turning around to see who’s daring to come near him, cause he already knows; Leroy has been waiting.

“Leroy.” Lee acknowledges curtly, gripping the empty steel chair that awaited across the booth table, a flicker of falling cigarette ash catches his eye. Peering through his lashes, Lee’s heart races, thumping against his chest.

Time comes slow now, tenderly, and sweet, blushing pink at his plump cheeks.

A shiny crimson lips curls into a tiny grin, the cherry stained end of the smoke perked between slender fingers, bronze skin glimmers under the cafe bulbs; coiled curls bounce at the shoulders.

Adorning soft onyx cocktail dress that clung to bare shoulders, stretches around her venus belt --- the lace heaves against the bounce of perky breasts.

Slyly Lee pinches his wedding band between his fingertips, whisking it off his finger, and pocketing it --- away from her sight. The bubbled world Lee created with you, the makeshift walls of safety wielded by illicit secrecy, and an unexpected bond.

Seated in a huff, as Leroy feast upon his plate, cutlery clanking softly against the ceramic plate, “Sit,” gesturing to the empty seat across the table the tip of the knife, “This won’t take long.”

Lee with a silent huff walks, discreetly watching you through his lashes, his back glides against the red leather seat, making sure that he sits in a perfect alignment of your seat, near the glass window.

Small tip of your pink tongue peeks through your lip teasingly, as the cigarette gracefully burns slowly between your fingertips.

“Sheriff.” Voice dripping sweet honey, inviting. He greets you back with a charming lull of your name, he undresses you with those steel menacing eyes, salivating at the mouth at the sight of your perky tits, how beautiful your smooth umber curls bounce at the chest.

“My boy, have you handled your sister already?” He spoke between bites. Not bothering to acknowledge Lee, keeping his eyes glued on his food, as the silver knife cut through the tender meat, slathering it with mashed potatoes.

Leroy grunts ungraciously, biting down a disgusted snarl at the barbaric groan as the fork hits Leroy’s mouth. Leroy’s uncouth table manners can be revolting; he often mulls on how you could handle this pig for all these years.

Lee grunts low under his breath, ‘my boy’ Lee nearly snarls, his canines nibble on his bottom lip from curling in a snark. My boy, demeaning him in such nonchalance, nose looking down, his thumb crushing Lee.

“Yeah ---” Lee straightens himself, his broad shoulders stiffens at sharp pain mariets up his spine from the tailbone, tension digs its claws in him, and bearing Leroy riding on his ass these days just fueling his aches.

“I sorted it out.” A waitress came by handing down a chilled glass of water for Lee, he mutters a ‘thanks’ with a weak smile.

A soft tickle fondles against his leg alerts him, and he nearly purrs in his throat, pausing down a gulp, as his calloused fingers grip tighter on the cup.

Polished toes kicked off your heels, caressing the curve of his leg, tantalizing as it trickled down to the slope of his ankle, sneakily wandering underneath the hem of his pants. Lee knows what you’re doing, it’s your way of comforting him --- displays of affection always in secret.

Pacifying him, lulling him, reminding him that it’s okay, he’s okay --- where he can melt just in her hands, where he can shed his skin, either taking his bruising touch tearing your body, consuming your soul and body, or where you can flux the troubles from his body.

He swears that only in your arms, he can feel he can be clean, his flesh free from the stains of his sins.

It wasn’t always like this though …

“Leroy! Phone for you!” Bobo gruffly shouts from across the diner, seated at the counter, waving the black rotary clutched in his meaty palm.

Leroy grunts, dully clanking the utensils on the plate, snorting indigently, he grips a handful of your thigh in his hand, a firm squeeze, “I’ll be back, baby.”

He leans to the side, body gliding for his lips on your shoulder, his mustache tickling your bare skin, nibbling --- skin crawling, but a lip-tight smile is all you give him.

Bile nearly rises in Lee’s mouth, at the gross display of affection --- Leroy can’t provide affection, only acts of possession.

Silence fell upon you both --- nowhere near tense, comfortable. Finally in a space, where it’s safe for his eyes to fall on you, gawking, admiring.

Hooded cat eyes flutter at him, as two fingers bring the cigarette to your lips, inhaling deeply as the nicotine coats your lungs; never taking your eyes off of him. Cerulean eyes peer over the rim of glass, gulping down his thirst.

“How are you, Sheriff?” Gasper smoke blows gently through your lips, umber oculus slowly gazes up and down on his body, his belly strains against his uniform, your tongue licks as if the cat got the cream, sneaking a glance at the golden band on his left palm, puckering your lips in displeasure.

Titling your head to the side, mischief fueling the jealousy. “How’s the wife?” A faux chirp in your tone, poking at him, flicking the torn that lodges in his side that he calls a wife.

Lee rolls his eyes, with a scoff, and a sarcastic smirk. Cocking his head to the side, shaking his head as if trying to wipe out any memory of his wife. “A bore.”

His nose flares hungrily, the blue in his eyes flashes steely, an arch of his eyebrow, enjoying this little game you do, coy, and bashful.

You click your tongue, shrugs, “That’s too bad,” stubbing out the burnt end of your cig on your plate, flickering your fingertips from any ash remnants.

“Little misses don't put out?” Laxly crossing your arms against your breasts, leaning back against the seat in amusement, “She doesn’t purr for you, Sheriff?” You whisper breathlessly, enticing him.

Your foot slithers from his pants, dancing it’s way up his leg, seeking out what you’ve been dying to taste for the last few days.

Painstakingly long three days, caught up to the neck with work, swamped with Leroy’s bullshit, and a wife back home who doesn’t appreciate him.

Lee growls under his breath, his breathing getting labored as your foot toys with the meat of his thigh, and tickles for his zipper.

He cradles the curve of your bare heel in his palm, as the tips of your toes massage his clothed groin; toying with his zipper, relishing in the sensation of thin cloth layering from boxers to pants to hardening girth.

Lee bears his teeth down on his lip, gnawing and stifling a throaty groan. Lee sneaks a glance at your carmine nails, and every fiber of his being just wants to kiss the tips of your toes. How the shine of red glints underneath the lit bulbs ever so tantalizing --- he muses to himself that you indeed have the cutest toes.

“No, she doesn’t purr, doesn’t even touch me, to scratch me.”  Lee hisses through his teeth, continuing to fondle you under the table.

“Oh --- poor Sheriff, you must be so lonely.” Mewling as you lean forward graciously, giving Lee a nice view of your plunging neckline.

The pad of his thumb caresses small circular rubs on your top-foot, and his calloused fingers glide against the smooth terrain of your ankle --- back and forth Lee strokes your skin as your feet massage him.

Shamelessly, as Lee fondles you underneath the table, he undresses you with his eyes. Lee’s crystalline hues darken, his brows shadowing so menacingly vuglar, a quick flick of his brow --- ever so cocky, so smug.

“Ever so lonely.” His voice lowers an octave, inviting, and husky.

You clench your thighs together, rubbing, trying to gain some friction, to subdue the flood in your panties; the white silk pair, Lee’s absolute favorite.

Lee salviates akin to a rabid dog every-time to see your umber skin against the snowy undies. How slippery the silk glissade against your sticky tuft of hair, a subtle role of the hips.

Unrelenting, you spread your toes a bit to dig more down on his cock, you feel him harden in his entire thick girth underneath the curve of your foot.

Pulsating veins against cotton, your bee-stung lips pucker in satisfaction at Lee’s resolve nearly crumbling at the seams. He grips at your foot, a stern warning. You snicker under your breath at how his chubby cheeks puff out as Lee huffed --- like a precious pufferfish.

“Meow.”

A breathy whisper, you arch your knee upwards, leaning more weight on his cock, Lee looks as if he’s going to implode. Leroy’s gruff voice nears accompanied by a slamming phone, heavy footfalls is your cue to stop, removing your foot off of Lee, despite his protest.

“Goddamn,” Leroy slumps down on his seat, cranking his neck, as your body turns frigid, stiff beside him; Lee discreetly fixes himself under the table.

“Back to your sister, I better not hear some shit again about your sister whoring herself.” Leroy resumed his meal, not even regarding Lee, nor his feelings, just blatantly called his sister a whore --- he wasn’t concerned about Sandy’s prostituting herself, he just didn’t want it in public’s ears.

Bile rose in your throat, “Now Leroy, I wouldn’t call her that. Everyone has to eat, even I used to ---” He glanced over his shoulder, throwing daggers at your skull, your voice trails into silence.

Leroy hums in satisfaction at the act of submission, his stare is unnerving, unwavering, “I know she’s your friend, but,” he leans closer, eyes now into narrow slits, you swallow harshly, leaning away from him, “the men are talking.”

You nod just once, eyes casted down, as Lee’s fists clenched tightly under the table, ready to sock him in the mouth.

Leisure chews, Leroy reluctantly looks away, laxly pointing at you with his jagged knife over his shoulder, “Women, always got something to say.” He breathes a chuckle, glances at Lee, who’s entire body is pained, keeps it all in stride with a crooked smile.

You knew, and Lee knew, for that little outburst, you will meet the end of Leroy’s hand --- for speaking out against him.

Polished fingers fiddle and tug anxiously against your lap, clenching your jaw, attempting to control your breathing --- morbid images of just grabbing the meat-stained knife and stabbing it into his jugular, spurts of ichor spills from the gash, spilling, and painting over your fingers; painting the white fabric maroon.

Lee forces a small snicker, muttering, “Yeah, women are always a bit chatty.” Leroy grunts low in agreement. A quick glance your way, you can see through his lashes, his eyes are soft and apologetic, and you knew he had to play his part, and so did you.

A pinching pain boils at the nape of your neck, opting for a smoke, you dig into your bag, in search of your Camels.

The pad of your thumb swiftly flicks the zippo, the flame ignites with a satisfying click. “In no time, you’ll be elected again. Like these hicks know any better.” Leroy jabs once more, as Lee’s fist coils into fists at his thighs.

Knuckles crack dully, his fingernails digging crescent moon cuts into his palms.

You stare out into the window, mindlessly staring at Lee’s car, thinking to yourself that you wish you can go home with Lee tonight.

---

Leaning against the hood of Leroy’s car, on your second smoke, waiting on Leroy to finish up in the cafe; another call from his illicit dealings.

One arm tucked under your other, as you nurse your smoke between your fingers, the vaporized nicotine lingers in the air --- resting near your lips.

Water-logged eyes stare into nothingness, slipping into mindless day-dream; a small reprieve from Leroy’s claws.

Distant footfalls step over gravel nears, you knew who it was --- a small smile curls. Tilting your head a bit, peering through your lashes, Lee waltz towards you, palms tucked in his pockets --- the moonlight melts into streaks of his leather jacket, his eyes are like glimmering crystals.

Lee plucks the camel from your fingers, pinched between his thumb and index; between his lips, he inhales it deeply, flooding his lungs with nicotine, his eyes never left yours.

Shyly, you smile, hiding a little behind your shoulder --- that smoldering minx is subdued, she’s tired -- it’s just you.

Smoke fogs from his nostrils, “Bunny,” his voice soft, a whisper, throwing the cig on the floor, snuffing it with his shoe, as he towers over you.

Weak hands bent against your tummy, as your arms unravel from each other, your bum glides smoothly against the car, lured by his body heat.

Lee checks over his shoulder quickly, making sure through the open windows that Leroy was still distracted.

Lee’s arms open, his leather jacket is open, he pulls you by the waist,

He was never like this.

Lee never felt tenderness towards another woman. Jagged, battered --- gruff man who was birthed into violence, and poverty.

Molded by the absence of a father --- who left lingering stains of pain, a sordid town that devours its residents --- a black hole.

For years, he only sought out to take care of himself, developed into a man by hardship, violence, by his bad deeds in the vain of survival, a rebellious mouthy baby sister who won’t admit it, but always looks up to him for guidance --- filth teaches filth.

With you --- you handle his aggressiveness with care, an energy that matches with his --- emotionally and physically. A spit-fire, that can spat, and fight; yet touch him with tenderness.

No, he was never like this.

This odd passion blossomed violently --- with gnawing teeth, and filthy palms.

A inky night, the only witnesses was God and the bare full moon --- it was months ago, a night when Lee was feeling lonely, seeking hollow companionship.

Driving in his cruiser that night, with only one destination on his mind --- it should’ve been home, but it wasn’t. His wife's plain face should have flashed before his eyes --- but she didn’t.

The Tecumseh bar.

A saloon for degenerates and loners --- a backroom with young girls, or as Leroy likes to call them, his little cheap chippies.

Work has been strenuous, his back aching even more, idiot deputies --- his mouth yearns for a drink, just one drink; and if he can’t have any liquor, there’s only two options that can satiate him: candy, and pussy.

With a harsh streak of the wheels, Lee parked his car in the lot --- on edge, and with a tent forming at his trousers. Menacing brow twitches, as he treks with a hasty step, the clicks of his shoes against the cement --- barrels through the bar, catching sight of his reflection in the massive mirror-backed mahogany bar.

The dingy glass blurs his vision for a moment, sneaking a glance at the bar, he saw his sister cleaning the wooden counter.

He whistles at her, with a curt call of her name, catching her attention, with a quick glance, blonde bangs kisses her lashes; her palm halts, and grips the wet rag, she rolls her eyes.

“Hiya big brother ---” a curling smirk, “aren’t you supposed to be home?” Sandy resumes to cleaning the bar, maintaining her eye-contact. With his hands at his hips, Lee struts closer to the bar, chin high.

Sandy sucks her teeth, “Nuh-huh, no drinking. I had enough of Jane riding my ass, and you gotta drive home.” A harsh wag of her finger, scolding him.

Dismissing her warning, Sandy strains the rag between her hands, swatting the damp cloth at his arm, with a low ‘get’ under her breath.

Flinching his arms away, as if he’s a dog, earning a growl from Lee. Bickering since childhood, she loves to poke, and tease at him --- but, the mere thought of Lee getting into harm’s way sends a frightening jolt to her heart.

“You know why I’m here.” Lee huskily spoke, thick, and desperate; angling his chin.

Sandy sighs, “Of course, you’re here for that.” She shakes her head dejectedly at him, pointing at the backroom across the bar, “Some girls are still here, but most of em’ has gone home.” Sandy clicks her tongue at him, as he hastily speeds off. “And if Jane asks, I never saw you!”

“Love you too, baby sis’.” Without even turning around, Lee waves her over his shoulder, as he makes a bee-line to the private rooms.

A burly bodyguard stands guard at the door, his arms crossed against his chest, his dark hair cascade against his eyes, his prominent stubbled jaw clenches, glaring down on Lee, looking his nose down on him --- but he holds his tongue, letting Lee walk by, knowing that Leroy would have his ass.

Lee is an asset for Leroy --- touch that pawn, and he’ll hand his ass on a plate.

A smug smirk curls on Lee’s plump cheeks, as he proudly waltzes through the entrance, slithering through the curtain. With a smug gait, Lee treks down the dim narrow hall --- a glow of fushia beams overhead in a fleeting corona upon him.

A clean hallway, Lee has been here many times before, to the point of muscle memory,

Door after door, through some doors he can hear breathy girlish moans, and grunts --- his fingers fiddled as he tried to find an open one, his cock impatiently growing harder by the second, fueled by the filthy cadence.

Lee’s feet halt, twirl on his soles, standing directly in-front of one door --- painted a soft hue of magenta, he has seen this one before, but usually during his prior visits, a pretty dame would tug him in her room, with sweet hollow promises of a good night.

The significance of the door slowly creeps into his mind with realization, it was known this was the only door Leroy would venture to. Lee asked one time, his tone filled with mirf, and amusement, he was with one of the girls in her room --- can’t recall her name.

A bit dim-witted, but she was nice. ‘The only one.’ she spoke with a giggle. Saying that she was the first one, that she holds a special part in Leroy’s rotted heart.

‘What’s so special? Just another cunt on his garter belt.’

He leans in, the shell of his ear against the wooding --- nothing. Just silence, his knuckles rap against the door --- silence. A few seconds, and he hears soft steps near the door, he could’ve sworn he heard a despondent sigh.

A click of the knob, the door swings to reveal one of the most beautiful women he has ever seen --- an aura of mystique, yet an air of innocence, soft bodice, lips donning a baby pink.

A silk robe drapes over your legs, low cut cleavage revealing plump breasts, your knee slipping from the silk cut.

“Hello there.” There’s a glimmer of surprise in your eye, but you play it off.

You weren’t sultry as Bettie Page in those stag reels, nor ethereal like Marsha Hunt --- but there’s something. Natural beauty that enraptured him. Lee clears his throat, as his oceanic hues drink your body; you grab his arm, and gently pull inside the room.

There was a velvet lavender love-seat that glows under the lit lamp, the wallpaper was a soft hue of faded pink, and a massive bed of satin sheets --- the bedding looked creamy against the lighting. Stepping backwards, your kind hands tug on his arms, leading him to the bed.

“So --- what’s the Sheriff doing knockin’ on my door?”

“Curiosity.” A soft shrug.

You hum low, your eyes are alluring, lashes ever so gently flutter, as you lean back on your elbows.

“Curious cat wants the cream.” You titter with a breathy giggle, tilting your head. Lee’s thumbs loop through his belt, fingertips grazing for the hook.

Ready to fuck, balls tensing at the sight of you, as your thighs rub against each other, one leg sweeps over the other.

With haste, Lee begins to unbuckle his belt, it flops on the floor with a dull thump --- you interrupted, you pinch his zipper with your fingertips, popping his pant buttons.

Slithering palms inside the trousers, groping his hardening cock, “Oh, big boy.” Your eyes widen up at him.

A cocky smirk, Lee’s chest puffs up, as you stroke his ego. But your palm was going too slow, Lee grabs you by the throat, making you wheeze, “I like it rough.”

Scratching at his wrist, “Now suck me off.” Yanking you down by his grip, you fall off the bed, kneeling eye-level by his crotch.

Your breath becomes a bit ragged by his harsh touch, speechless to say anything.

“Go on,” he grips just a little tighter, “it ain’t gonna suck itself.” Eyes teary, you utter a weak okay. His cock swelled, curving slightly, slowly parting your lips more; he takes this as his cue.

With no warning, he plunges his cock in your mouth, hitting your throat; gagging sloppily on him, he groans at the tight sensation.

Cum pools from your bottom lip, coating your chin shiny, your open palms hit the meat of his thighs; trying to heave off your mouth, to alleviate breath into your lungs. But he’s not having it --- smack.

Stunning you, Lee’s hips halt, “Don’t move.” His fingers sought, and bruised the curve of your jawline. “If you do that again, I’m gonna pin you down, and fuck ya’ mouth.”

Smack --- another one assaulting your other cheek, “I said do you understand?” His voice lowers huskily, menacingly, you nodded as the hot pain spread through the flesh, nestling to your jaw and throat.

How his true colors appeared within seconds, it nearly gave you whiplash; he’s no different from the other men you entertain.

Rough, mean, and bullish. Enjoys the manhandling of defenseless women --- especially women who have no choice but to bend over backwards for the unholy dollar; to keep a roof over their heads.

Lee kept assaulting your mouth, debauched groans emit from his lips, as his fingers that were curled around the makeshift ponytail of your hair; guiding your mouth over him.

His balls slap against your shiny chin, a shudder of disgust coils at the back of your throat. A frustrated snarl emitted from Lee.

His fingers grip your hair at the roots, pulling your head back, “I’m not gonna cum in ya’ mouth, that pussy is callin’ my name.” Harshly guiding you by his iron grip, Lee throttled you to the bed.

Fear bubbling at the throat, you tried to crawl away, but Lee’s palm caught your ankle, tugging you back into place.

A swat on your ass earning scorching heat to engulf your ass cheek, that trickled to your tailbone. “Stay still.” He growls, his calloused hands grope, and mangle your body, wrinkling the bed-sheets; another slap that echoes. His real colors were showing, the charming mask began to fall, and all you saw was dark lust.

Lee stripped himself from the last few articles of clothing, his shirt falling over his arms, and his hands grasping the meat of your thighs; wrapping the legs around his torso. He groans, as the flesh of his cock rubs against your damp tuft of hair.

“So wet, you like it.” Shamelessly his cock slides through your wet puffy lips, and even as your mind is screaming that he’s a pig, but your body betrays you.

“Damn sweetheart.” Lee purrs, nudging his hips, as his cock glides through your lips. Without any hesitation, Lee positions himself, plunging his girth deeply inside. A throaty moan, murmuring ‘so tight’, full to the hilt, your thighs quiver at the fullness.

Your fingers dig into his chest, trying to push him off of you, crying for him to stop,

“You’re a whore, ain’t this what you like?” He snarls, his nose grazes the skin of your cheek, his teeth scrape at your lip, “Huh? Ain’t that right? Don’t you want my money?”

Those hurtful words are familiar, years of abuse thrown in your face, money thrown at your face as if you were scum; but to hear it every time stung like a knife lodged in your heart.

Weeping at the painful stretch of your cunt, a wicked grin forms on Lee’s face, but he was irate at your cries; you felt fingers snag at the hem of your panties, stretching and tugging the fabric. Cotton burning against your hip, the panties that clung to the crook of your mound now being torn off of you.

Yelping an ‘ow’, as the underwear was ripped into strung limply, Lee grunts, shoving it inside your mouth; gagging your sobs. “That’ll shut you up.” Lee fucks you with such filthy enthusiasm, the bed’s headboard bangs against the wall --- he gets a kick out of this, to fuck Leroy’s special lady, who only takes high-paying customers.

A swell of his ego sends him into overdrive, to see you teary-eyed with your underwear stuffed in the cave of your mouth.

You felt dizzy from the conflicting sensations, as his weight settled upon you, his arms encircled around your head, his fingers curled into your splayed curls.

How he pounded into you, pinching pleasure at your hips, body melting into the mattress by the pressure of his body; nowhere to go, nowhere to hide, vulnerable underneath him.

Bare breasts heave with a tender motion, squished under his cotton clad chest.

Fingernails digging into his back --- there was something that sparked inside of you at the fact that he was still partially dressed, and you were completely nude; as if emphasizing that you’re a whore, his whore.

Groaning in the shell of your ear that he’s close, whispering that he’s going to cum inside you. The squelching of your wetness, his balls slapping against your jiggling ass echoes against the walls; it felt so wrong to savor this feeling, a shudder licks up your spine as your cunt milks him, tingling dewy skin prickling at his touch.

You gaze up at him, his brows furrowed in concentration, and pleasure, nose scrunching up, as his cheeks are warm as peaches; his chest huffing.

Your breathing becomes airy, snuffling against the lace against your tongue, high-pitched as that coil deep in the pit of your tummy begins to swirl tightly.

The soles of your feet twirl at his tailbone, chasing the high --- and finally get rid of him, but then, you felt his hands slide against the bed sheets, trailing downward to your bum.

His fingernails scratching the skin, earning a hiss from you, heaving your leg by his palm --- striking a smack, and another, and another. His palm cracking upon your cheek, tears flood at your eyes, he’s so heavy handed.

Low groans rumble at his throat, as his palm bruises you, and little splits of skin began to tear. A squeak of discomfort, but Lee enjoys it all, fucking you and smacking you.

Harsh thrusts cease, so hard that it jolts your body, bruising your crevice; curling fingernails dig into his arms. Shuffling your hips, trying to ease the crash of his body. Lee rolls to his side with a breathy huff, slowly seething himself from your cunt, your inner thighs burning; crawling away.

Lee’s arm catches the arch of your spine, pulling you to himself, humming happily. His hand travels the terrain of your tailbone to ass, fingers digging into the sore skin.

Lee’s fingernails scratch around the welts, the flushed bare ass-cheek stings, as his fingertips fiddle with the garter belt strings.

Sharply scraping the skin, his open-palm caress against the hot skin, trailing down to your soaked cunt. “Such a pretty pussy.” His thick fingers delve inside your wet folds, fondling, “I’m going to enjoy you for a while, darlin’.”

You shuddered, your eyes fluttered closed, head fell limp against the meat of his thigh --- having a perverted sheriff on your back, chasing after you is the last thing you needed.

Futile attempts to hide away from him, leaving early from the bar, but he always found you, cornering you with his filthy palms, and dirty intoxicating words.

He kept coming around, sniffing like a blood-hound for you --- only ever asking for you, almost every night, he was at Tecumseh -- or nights where he’ll whisk you away, taking you apart in the backseat of his cruiser.

Even his sister asked you what his deal was, but what could you say? Sandy crudely complimented one time, that you probably have a magical cunt.

He’s rough, mean, and perverted --- but, with time, you melted into his touch, you took his sexual bearings, begging for more. He spoiled you the best way he knew, with small gifts of jewelry, and praises of your body. It was odd for him to soften over time, but he liked that you can handle his rough edges.

He now knows you deserve better, but you just won’t go; maybe because you pitied him.

Or maybe, this type of affection is all you knew.

“I’m going to spend the night at my old place tomorrow night. I told Leroy I’m gonna sleep over at Sandy’s ---” nuzzling your nose against his, red lips sweetly stretch, “I’ll cook you some food, baby. Give ya’ massage,” your fingers release the bundled fabric, glide against the terrain of his chest to belly, groping his cock, Lee groans at your words, caressing his cheek against hers, yearning to just melt against you.

You held him like an infant in need of swaddling.

As Lee finds solace in the crock of your throat, his arms tight around your waist, chest to chest, your arms clinging and crossed around his neck.

Kissing the slope of his throat, leaving smeared lipstick marks in its wake; the need to mark him, scenting him with your skin, your perfume penetrates his skin, down to the follicles --- so she can smell your essence on him.

Make her stay up at night --- even at random moments at home, catch a whiff of you, to feel how deep you linger in his life --- wondering who he’s with, who he thinks of at night, who he dreams of.

Faded lipstick shades your lips as soft raspberry, spread fingers soothing his shoulder-blades, as you hug him, getting lost in his arms.

Greedy, selfish --- this love, it’s not the sweetest, nor a fairytale, but it’s yours. Past the point of sympathy, you crave to have him to yourself, only yourself --- nor his wife, or Leroy can change your heart.

Please God, let me keep this little life to myself.

---

The gravel of the asphalt crunch under tires, alerting the presence of the sheriff’s cruiser --- parking outside the apartment complex with a swift but silent stop. It was ten minutes left of the late hour that was tipping into 9 o’ clock p.m.

A breathy sigh escapes from Lee’s lips, that weens into a grunt low in his throat as he stretches out of his vehicle. His back aches, his mind heavy and his stomach grumbling; Lee just wants to wine down with a hot meal, a cold one, and --- you.

God --- he misses you.

If any nosy neighbor would peep out their windows --- unwanted whispering and intruding questions would circulate as wild-fire throughout the tiny town --- from Meade to Knockemstiff.

What’s the sheriff --- a married man --- doing here at a lone complex late at night? Shouldn’t he be at home with his wife? What is he looking for? Who is he looking for?

A small white lie to Jane that he was working late down at the station.

Nimble fingers flicker against the curtain, peeking a glance to see Lee lock his car, and trek his way towards the stairs that divided the building into two flights up.

Nearing boots against steel stairs motivates you to resume finishing your cooking --- a nice juicy pot roast, roasted vegetables in seasoned broth, mashed potatoes, and garlic bread.

Keys jingle slightly as Lee digs his jacket pocket, the subtle leather shifts as his finger fiddle with his keychain, an assortment of passkeys --- as Lee inserts the key into the lock, he can already smell supper.

Swift unlock, he enters --- it feels like a home, welcoming --- it’s home.

Lee unzips his jacket, shaking it off as the sole of his foot nudges the door closed. Throws his keys into the ceramic key bowl, unclasping his belt off his waist; Lee gets comfortable.

Loosening his tie, clasping the collar off his neck with a few buttons open; with a slump to the couch, he began untying his laces.

A small complex space with not much furniture, but it’s cozy. A small cable tv, sunflower yellow wallpaper, worn read novels stacked upon each other in a book shelf, shiny wooden flooring, a stack of records, a sleek velvet onyx couch --- the kitchen had a cottage decor to it, the structure of the apartment is similar to his sister’s place, but prettier, cleaner.

Along with a coffee table decorated with crystal glass jars filled to the brim with chocolate and cherry tootsie rolls, along with peppermints and various assortments of chocolates.

Next to the candies, was an ashtray, a few art magazines, and books on repair tools, and gardening.

Lee loves how well-read you are, at times, whenever you stumble over a hefty word in the newspaper, or a sapient magazine article, your brows would crease deeply, furrowing with frustration --- frustrated with your lack of understanding. Tears would sheen over, and you would thrash it.

He thought you were so different --- open-minded, suave.

At first, it was a habit, you kept candy around for a particular john you once had, he at times would bring his kid over, sit him down in-front of the small cheap tv at a good volume, and munch on candy, as he took you apart in your locked bedroom --- you were broke, and sixteen years young at the time; you thought candy would mend the sin of having a child around that.

Now, you keep sugar around for Lee whenever his insatiable sweet tooth starts kicking.

Lee licks his lips, as he quietly opens the jar, to take two tootsies, eyeing the entrance to the kitchen, making sure you don’t catch him red-handed.

As he tries to unwrap one, the crinkle of the wrapper echos. “Don’t you dare ruin your supper, Lee.” Your voice lingers from the kitchen, tsking him.

“C’mon, bunny,” he whines, “Just one.” His fingers maneuver to drop one tootsie back into the jar, palming one.

Unwrapping the wrapper, Lee pops it in his mouth --- a better alternative to liquor. Soft footfalls come from the kitchen, revealing yourself --- and Lee nearly explodes.

Donning a baby blue negligee, translucent to see your bare breasts, the fabric softly fondles your tummy --- the tuft of hair winks back at him, shamelessly.

He can see your whole bodice --- what a way to greet a man. With gentle steps, you tip-toe towards Lee who is frozen stiff, his eyes never leaving yours.

Your hair is now straightened, brushed down in waves, cascading over your right eye perfectly --- akin to Veronica Lake.

You purr at Lee, rolling your tongue as a feline, crawling over him, your legs split open over his thighs. He groans huskily, he can feel your plush mound rubbing slowly over his crotch; expertly your hips roll over him.

“Why have that ---” your mouth breathes over his, having him shaking, wanton, at your mercy, “when you can have this?” Guiding his hand from his side, to your vee, as your other palm strokes his scalp.

Lee nibbles gently the jut of your chin, moaning, “Sweet as a peach.” His fingers grope a bit rougher, a handful of your mound; Lee’s fingers glides between the lips, the sensation of silk, and the heat of his fingertips sends you into a frenzy.

You glide with a slippery slide, your nightie rides a bit above your skin, revealing your bare ass, Lee’s fingers sneak a smack, fingertips grope a handful of your asscheeks.

Unbuckling his pants, with a vigor, tugging the belt open, a hasty unzip; your palm digs in his boxers, gripping his girthy cock.

Mouth watering cock, tongue yearning heavy in your mouth --- the pink tongue begging to taste him.

Stroking him with both hands, as your mouth devours him, the tip of his cock hits your throat.

Lee savors your choked gags, brown orbs glossy with tears, staring into his eyes --- it’s intense, those blue eyes --- bluer than the pacific ocean, crashing with thunderous steel.

Gargling on his soaked cock, your teeth grazing the ridges of veins sending a shiver up his spine; you kept bobbing your head, shoving his girthy dick, the tip of his weeping cock hitting the back of your throat.

Your nose nuzzles against his pudgy belly, cum bubbles at the corner of your mouth, dripping the jut of your chin; your fingernails scrape against his pubic hair, enticing him further. His nerves are on fire, his moans are unabashed now, shamelessly.

He glances down at you, your eyes are unabashed yet a sense of coy innocence, lips split open on his cock; Lee’s eyes roll to the back of his skull, groaning, mouth ajar.

---

Lee eats his dinner with vigor, and hasn't had a decent meal all day --- Jane didn’t even bother to pack him lunch; he had coffee at the station, and a plain sandwich from the diner down the street.

The tender meat is so soft in his mouth, the juicy seasoning melts against his tongue.

He hums, “Mmh, baby. You did so good.” You bite your bottom lip in glee, happy to feed him, make him feel good; a glint in your eye, deep in thought.

You enjoy your dinner, quite proud of yourself --- the hand-me-down cookbooks did you justice. Lee’s and yours legs are intertwined under the table, ankles curled, stroking the arch of your foot against his ankle.

Knife, and fork in each hand, dainty you cut into your food, “I found this really cute cook book in a thrift store way back, came in handy.” Lee hums in satisfied agreement, mouthful of roast, and vegetables; a nod of his head.

“And then later you get some desert …” You spoke in a hush, Lee’s eyes gaze back at you, widened, with a goofy but wolfish grin; your fingertips circled around your nipple.

---

Sweaty bodies melted against each other, as his cock sits nestled inside you; your inner thighs cradling him, as your cheek is squished against his chest. Lee’s fingers are fiddling, weaving inside your hair, baby-hairs damp against your moist forehead.

The living world breathes outside the makeshift walls of the suffocating scent of sex, the shivers of his name as a hymn chants --- but it all stays from his mind, buried inside of you happily.

The blanket clings just under the slope of your bum, as Lee’s happy trail tickles your navel, making you giggle under your breath; your body shuffling a little, earns a chuckle from Lee. “What’s so funny, bunny?” Lee’s voice is hoarse, and husky.

“I just love how your belly tickles me.” Lazily, you kiss his breast-bone, slow, wet kisses. Nuzzling your nose against his skin, satisfied that he smells of you, and you smell of him. Bleary eyes clear as you rest your head on him once more, to see your clock.

A quarter to midnight.

A weak sigh left your lips, “I have to phone him soon.” A pregnant pause, stagnant silence, you can feel the waves of tension coil off of Lee’s body; can feel his muscles tense just a bit from it’s post-cotius glow. “You know how he is, Lee.”

“Yeah.” He murmurs, biting back a strained snarl of his lip, his eyes focusing on the ceiling.

You lift yourself off of him by the joint of your elbow, legs scramble, his cock sends a shiver up your spine;  his warmth lingers off of your bodice, already missing his body.

Fingers stretch, and reach for the phone, but a soft grip at your wrist halts you. You glance at Lee, to see his eyes are shadowing under his brow, deep in thought.

“You don’t have to.”

“I have to, if I don’t, he’ll go straight to Sandy’s, demanding ---”

“I’ll take care of you.” Lee’s palm sought out the nape of your neck, his eyes on you, “You already do, baby.” You spoke in a hush, not trusting your voice to crack, “No, I mean take you away from him. All he does is hurt you.”

“There’s no escape from him. I’ve tried before, and he found me. I can’t escap--” You spoke through sniffles, slipping into hysterics, not wanting to talk about the horrors throughout the years you endured with Leroy. Lee snuffs your cries with his lips.

“I’ll take care of you, I promise.” Lee spoke in a whisper, his warm breath fans over your cupid-bow, pants light, but his chest is heavy. A watery smile, forlorn eyes gaze at him with adoration, “It’s all rot --- I’m rotten.” Two fingers hover, and point above your breastbone.

“Not to me. Not if it’s you.” Lee kisses your cupid-bow, kisses your nose, kisses your wet lips; nearly choking on your gasp, nerves getting frazzled.

Can he really save you? He has a reputation, a career to protect --- a wife. The whole nine yards, a beautiful house, the white picket fence --- sooner or later, probably he will think of having a liter of his own.

In the society you live in, a woman of color, and a white man can’t enjoy a life together; but if it’s been working so far, can it last? A small prayer each night, pleading with God to keep him, that maybe you found the one; and that hopefully Lee feels the same way.

A moment, deep in thought --- maybe.

“You do anything for me, baby?”

Hope, the light of hope craves itself inside you; buzzing thoughts take flight in your mind. A soft thrust on his cock jolts Lee, moaning, a blissful one.

Lee growls, pulling you to him, his fingers at your neck, swallowing your soft moans; those pink lips, biting down your bottom lip.

Lee’s massive paws glide down the terrain of the body, finding solace at your hips, the supple skin.

“Yes,” he grunts, at the sharp tight clench of your cunt on his cock, “Anything you want.” His fingers digging into your hips, the flesh blooming lavender, but you love the sting --- it’s euphoric.

“You promise?” you ask once more breathlessly, breathing hard to gain gust of air, as your nerves fizzle within your skin.

“I promise.” His hips jerk upward, as his belly bounces, your fingernails scratch a path down his hairy chest, to his navel, pawing at him like a cat. Almost there, the coil is unraveling, gasping breathlessly.

“Would you kill for me?”

Lee breathes a ‘what?’, blue eyes half-lidded, he’s trapped in a haze, as your cunt clenches harder, your hips rides him hard, sharper.

Thrusting upon him, as a horse, your back arches, and hips quiver as you impulsively fuck him harder, harder, tighter. Lee’s head hits the pillow with a thrash, his moans deep, rich and wanton --- breathy as he gasps for air, eyes wound shut as his cum spurts, and spills inside of you.

Painting your walls, Lee howls as a wolf baying to the moon, your fingernails scratch against his chest; Lee grunts, strings of throaty gasps, his mouth hangs with bliss. Bee-stung lips kiss the corner of his mouth, inhaling deeply.

Perhaps, he can save you.

---

The sun beams upon the small town, and a flock of birds take flight from the trees with their unison chirps --- the dreary town filled with hicks that now awaken in their homes.

The drive back to Leroy’s was calm, idyllic even. A sense of hope twirls upon your corona --- your fingers grip against the leather wheel, nearly chafing the skin.

Silent understanding, thoughts almost fleshed out, dancing around it. Shaking your head, a way to clear your mind of buzzing thoughts, so much bee-lining for a singular thought, yet grasping it. A smile forms, you bite down at your bottom lip in glee --- maybe it’s time.

You quietly park the car in-front of Leroy’s home, snuffing the ignition; with a flick of your wrist, you take the keys. Fixing any wrinkles in your skirt, stepping out of the car, with your purse hanging over your shoulder.

With your hip, you close the car door, humming a tune to yourself, carelessly jingling the keys in your palm, your fingers fiddling the front-door keys.

With a timid insertion of the keys, slowly unlocking to not disturb a sleeping Leroy upstairs; Leroy is brutish when he’s groggy on small hours of sleep.

Toeing off your flats, and putting your keys in the bowl.

A step to your feet now, almost bouncing at the toes; refreshed, and bushy-tailed from a morning shower with Lee, and him splitting your legs open, having you for breakfast on the counter-top.

Making yourself comfortable, walking through the entranceway from the kitchen to the dining room, dropping your purse onto the dinner table.

Digging into the bag in search of smoke, but a creak against the wooden flooring, wincing as you gaze up at the ceiling. He’s awake? You think to yourself, you turn to look at the clock, it was 6 a.m. The morning sun hasn’t fully set high yet, still splotches of navy blue paint the sky.

Shy footfalls, your stocking clad feet walk to the staircase, shaky hands grip the landing; internally practicing your greeting for Leroy. ‘Good morning, Leroy. How are you? Want me to make breakfast? Or we can stay in bed together, I missed you.’

As you mull to yourself, Leroy’s voice is muffled, sounds a little irritated --- you sigh, you’re going to have to work hard to make him happy; that includes your body. You grip the knob, and twisting it, as you practice a smile, remembering for it to reach your eyes.

An exhale to calm your nerves, then a deep inhale, and a smile.

“Leroy, you’re awake. I missed you ---” Your voice pierces through the silence, as you open the door; your words linger into silence, your faux smile drops. Your heart drops and crashes to the darkest pit of your stomach.

Seated at the love-seat is Leroy, with his legs stretched, and crossed, leaning back comfortably --- with a familiar journal in his hand.

The brown leather binding is a personal item in your life, where all your secrets, and grievances are written down --- split open by his fingers, is your diary.

Exposed as a nerve, blood runs chills in your veins, your chest feels tight --- if you were to let go of the door knob, you would probably fall apart into the floor.

“Interesting read here, baby.” Leroy bites, his eyes following you as you finally regain strength to move, you step far away from him; your hands search against the wall. Your throat constricts, hard to swallow, nearing Leroy, but keeping your distance.

“What? No good morning?” Leroy shrugs mockingly, your diary cracked open still in his hand, his fingers firmly gripping against the binding. A devilish grin curls, his dull-white teeth resembling fangs under his crooked lip.

“What’s wrong, baby? Cat got ya’ tongue?” Tilting his head, his eyes boring into yours, just waiting for you to crack at the seams.

“Let me read my favorite part.” Leroy spits.

Frozen in fear, utterly speechless, you just couldn’t form the words.

Leroy hums low in his throat, his eyes leaving yours with a seething pace, moving the diary near his face once more --- his brown eyes roving over the written sentences.

“Every-night, my skin crawls in repulsion just laying next to him. I hate him,” Leroy pauses, his lips twisting in a snarl, the word hate sits on his tongue as acid, his eyes peer over the rim of the journal’s worn spine.

“To feel him inside me, it feels like Hell. His fat, blubber belly pinning me down on the mattress, thrusting like an animal. I just lay there like a rag doll, as he fucks me. I stare at the ceiling, thinking of anywhere but here.” Leroy’s hoarse voice getting deeper, spitting each spoken word, his fingertips turning white from his grasp.

You wring your fingers in your grip, tightly; palms becoming clammy. The pit of your stomach sinking, caving inside itself. “As a child, he was all I had, even adored him. Promising me a life away from the streets. Now --- I'd rather be back sleeping in abandoned cold houses, then sleep with him.” Leroy snorts behind the journal, humorlessly chuckling --- as if he couldn’t believe it.

“Please stop.” You plea, water-logged eyes stinging red, leaning on foot to foot; Leroy smirks, as if savoring your antsy state, fully aware of how scared shitless you are.

“Please, Leroy let me explain ---” You step forward, but stop in your tracks, when he snaps his fingers loudly, “Why?” He shouts, grating your ears, making you flinch, his nose flaring, “It’s just getting good!”

He jabs his index finger on the page, “But look, we’re at my favorite part!” Shuffling in his chair, he laughs menacingly, he speaks more loudly, projecting as in each word would stab you deep in the chest.

“Sometimes, I think Leroy whoring me out became a good thing after-all. I did have some johns who were sweet to me, gave me gifts, and called me pretty.” His hand shakes in anger, “Never had anyone called me pretty. Leroy calls me pretty, but he does it after being mean to me, or whenever he wants to fuck.” Leroy sneers an awh under his breath, his shoulders jolts in a snort.

A pregnant pause, a searing moment of silence, as Leroy gnaws at his lip furiously.

“Lee Bodecker.” Leroy hisses the name, his breathing deepens, his chest heaving erratically.

Your eye twitches, feet stiff in paralyzing fear. “Lee treats me with love. Before, I couldn’t stand him, how he touched me. Took control over me. He’s dominant, and a little mean, but over time, the way he is makes me tingle. Took over my life like a daddy. For the first time, I feel happy.”

You trekked backwards, fingers raw from tugging, and rubbing too hard, fisting your hands; nails creating dent craters in your palms. Tailbone meets vanity, the heels of your palms lean against the vanity.

“He talks about how he hates his marriage, his boring wife, that he wants to marry me. But, he can’t.” Leroy hums knowingly, as if asking an sarcastic, ‘And why is that?’.

“The world won’t allow a white man, and black woman to marry. I get stares every-time I walk out into town, mean evil stares. Most of my johns can’t stand colored people, but love to use my body.”

“But money is money, right baby?” Leroy probes, taking a reprieve from your humiliation, you inhale a shaky breath, your entire bodice trembling.

Leroy resumes back, “Lee takes care of me, plans to take me away from Leroy, and this filthy life. I have a few thousand dollars saved in small bills ---” You shudder a cry, eyes wound shut, as tears cascade down your cheeks. Leroy grins with malice to see you breakdown.

“One day, I’ll be free of Leroy. Not today, but someday. And if I don’t succeed, if Lee doesn’t help me, I’ll just kill myself. I don’t want to live the rest of my days as a whore.” Leroy snaps the diary shut by his palm, casually frowns, patting the diary against his chest mindlessly, as he mulls over his thoughts. Staring you down, with the meanest brow.

“What do you think is gonna happen? Huh? What, you think he’s gonna leave his wife for you?” His voice rises in a shout, causing you to flinch. “Become the sheriff’s new wife?”

He thrashes the diary onto the flooring, with such hate glimmering in his hissing eyes, “Do you really think he’s gonna ruin his reputation for a colored harlot? He’s gonna use ya’ till that pussy is all worn out.”

You hiss a strained cry, swallowing the sob down, turning your face away from him. You will not let him see you weep, he savors your tears, your sorrow. You turn away from him, blocking his view of your wet face, fingertips rubbing away smears of droplets through the vanity mirror.

He hums mockingly, “Then what will ya do? Ya gonna come running back home to daddy. Just like ya did when you were just a girl.” Leroy treks closer to you, feeling his body heat beat against your back.

He hugs you from behind, engulfing his hairy fore-arms around your midriff, “I remember when you were just that scrawny girl in the streets, only fifteen, doe-eyed dumb ---” he kisses your temple, “So innocent.”

“Now that I made you a woman, you wanna defy me.” Grabbing your chin tightly in the cup of his palm, “Biting the hand that feeds you.” He shook your face between the crook of his fingers, intimidating you as the tip of nose nuzzles against yours, his warm breath reeked of alcohol, suffocating you.

Cheeks squished making your lips pucker in his hand, he slurs, his voice deepens, “It seems that I have to remind ya’ of your place. Who ya’ belong to.” Time blurs as a flash, the flesh of your cheek stings hot white pain, inflaming.

He smacked you so hard, your head is crooked to the side, blood stains your teeth, rich red as ripe cherries.

Sniveling, nose clogging with snot, as tears gloss your vision, as the hook of his arm wrapped around your midriff too tightly, pinning your bodice against his.

Forcefully, Leroy grips your face harshly, crashing his lips against yours; his tongue slithers inside your mouth, licking the cages of your canines. The metallic ichor coats his tongue, the pink muscle invades you.

“You’ll be forgiven, baby. But you will break it off with him, cause if ya’ don’t,” Leroy hisses, the nape of your spine aches dully as he crushes you more, making you whine.

“I’ll fucking kill him.” Leroy bites the jut of your chin with his crooked mouth, making your skin cringe.

A stretched day that bleeds into the evening filled with the cadence of your screams; wails so bloodcurdlingly it grates Leroy’s ears, knuckles hit flesh, lavender bruises burst against sepia skin. Sobs so intense the angels in heaven above winced, and wept.

A familiar sight they’ve cried to before.

---

It’s been days.

Days of radio silence, not a call from you, not a word. Lee keeps driving by your old apartment complex during his routine checks, in case he bumps into you. Nothing.

If he did, he would just corner you, demand to know what’s wrong? What’s changed? Why don't you love him anymore? He will go insane, literally rip apart anyone in his path --- he would rip your heart out if he could, for his heart is breaking.

He’s going mad, more snappy at work --- all his deputies scram at the sight of him, his wife can’t stomach his attitude, passively aggressively ignoring him.

The only person he can confide in is his baby sister; Sandy herself hasn’t heard anything from you either, usually you both phone each other every day, chatting the phone bill up or Sandy visiting you at your old apartment to drink, and for her to get away from Carl.

Muscle memory guides his finger on the rotary holes to each number, as his other palm grips the phone with a death grip against his ear.

Ring after ring taunts him, as he awaits --- for no answer. A moment, he just pauses as the dial tone --- staring into space, the rings fading into the distance.

The white noise dulls, a knock at his office door, his mind is back to reality; his nose flares, growling as he slams the phone back on the hook.

Lee snarls, leaning back on his chair, the back of it creaks as the wheels glide against the flooring.

The shadow figure winces beyond the door’s tinted window, able to hear the sheriff --- sweating at the brow to be the end of the Sheriff’s spiteful bark.

Lee pushes his chair by the palms at the desk, interwoven his fingers at his belly, inhaling deeply to settle his nerves.

“Come in!” Lee snarks, softly banging his head against the headrest of his wheeled chair, a hesitating unlock of the knob --- slowly turns, the door creaks open, revealing one of the rookie deputies.

His youthful face is not deterred by the worry lines of his brows, crisp uniform, shiny fingernails, calloused free palms --- a chip off the ol’ block.

Lee envies him, envies him for his youth, for his slim stoned body, for his doe-eyed perspective of the world; Lee’s eyes glances down to his protruding belly that stretches against his button-up.

Your voice lulls in his mind, telling him how you love his belly, but now self-hatred whirls as serpents in his gut.

‘Liar. Filthy whore liar.’

“Sheriff?” The rookie perks up at the door, his voice wavers with nervousness, “What?” Lee bites, his eyes menacingly under his brow.

“A woman is here to see you,” Lee’s lips part in a silent gasp, his throat clenches in anticipation --- were you finally here to see him? “She says she’s your sister.”

His eyes lower in disappointment, his heart aches, slumping back into his chair, but Lee gestures for the rookie to let his sister in by his fingers. Hastily nodding, the deputy closes the door, leaving to fetch a waiting Sandy.

Lee groans, leaning his head against the chair, closing his eyes gingerly. Where are you? Why won’t you talk to him? He loves you --- yet now, he feels alone all over again.

A click of the tongue, “My, my big brother,” Lee opens one eye, to see his sister leaning against the closed door, arms crossed against her chest. He closes his eye once more, drowning in despair.

Sandy sighs, her teasing nature dissipates as she watches her brother --- the only male figure she truly loves fall apart.

“Lee,” She pushes herself off the door, taking a seat beyond his desk, “There’s something I have to tell you.” Wringing her fingers, Lee hums low as he bounces himself on the chair, she speaks your name, her eyes boring into him. Lee stills himself, his eyes split open.

“I know you love her, more than you ever cared for Jane.” Sandy felt a pang of guilt, for knowing of her brother’s liaisons over the years, but they were just women who he enjoyed for a night --- he has changed, never over another woman has he been so strung over.

Lee clenches his jaw, as the shine of his wedding band mocks him, cracking his fingers, “Yeah, well …” Lee trails off, chin to chest.

“I’m worried, Lee.” Sandy wrings her fingers, shifting in her seat, “She calls me, all I hear is crying, and then she hangs up.” Lee’s brows furrows, his eyes glance to his sister, “She called me two nights ago, and I heard Leroy in the background, yelling for her to get off.”

“I saw him the next day, and asked for her, and he said, ‘All you need to be concerned about is getting my money.'" Sandy scoffs under her breath, as she rolls her eyes, looking away from her brother’s intense stare.

“I told you to stay away from that fat son of a bitch!” Lee growls, pointing his finger at her, kneeling over in his chair, as he bangs his fist on the desk.

“Lee!” Sandy hushes him, swatting her hands at him; her head turning side-ways at his office door, hoping none of his deputies heard.

“And that piece of shit husband of yours ain’t no better.” Lee snarls, but his tone lowers, rubbing his chin in frustration. Lee doesn’t even refer to Carl as his brother-in-law, there’s something about him that rubs Lee the wrong way, maybe Lee is getting stricter being the law, or maybe he knows when somebody is no good --- Lord knows Lee isn’t any good.

Sandy’s lashes blinks, a glimmer in her eyes --- something he can’t really grasp on, something he’s not privy to, her lips parted as if there’s something she wants to say at the mere mention of her husband.

Sandy remains silent.

A hush falls over them, his eyes soften, Lee sighs, tucking his head, between his arms that rest on the mahogany desk.

“Sandy, she doesn’t want me. She hasn’t called me or seen me in a week.” Lee falls quiet, his fingers curling in anger, but it’s sad anger; his palms clench because he can’t control this situation. What can he do? This isn’t like you, to just disappear on him.

“Horse shit.” Sandy crosses her arms, “She loves you.” Lee just slumps on his desk, his face meeting the files on the table.

She leans over, her arms on the desk, as she takes her brother’s hands into hers, Lee fingertips toys with Sandy’s chipped teal fingernails.

“It’s Leroy. Whatever happened, he’s done something.” Nuzzling her nose on his, a little act when they were younger, just rub each other’s noses like bunnies.

“She wouldn’t call me cryin’ and then hang up.”

Wet blue eyes blink back at Sandy, a thought hits his brain, his eyes dart around nervously, “You think he found out?” Sandy’s eyes widen owlishly, just the idea of Leroy discovering that this prized possession has been fooling around behind his back with the town’s sheriff --- the very sheriff that Leroy ‘helps’ with his election, and reputation.

“Dear God, I hope not.”

---

Stormy steel eyes gawk at the house, the dull white paint chipping at the edges --- parked from a distance, obscured by trees, staring through the window shield. Eyes burning into the house, his knuckles turn white due to his tight grip on the wheel.

Rubbing his gripping fingers, trying to ground himself --- Sandy’s words dwindle in his mind, battering inside his skull. Waiting, just waiting. Gathering the inner strength not to bust through the house, and beat Leroy’s ass to a pulp.

The slope of his nose scrunches in frustration, cracks his palm against the wheel, twisting his wrist to check his watch --- it’s noon, Leroy should be out by now. Snatching the keys out of the ignition, storming out of the vehicle. A dull slam of the car door, as he stomps to the door.

Knocking his clenched fist on the door --- a pause, no answer. Knocking more harshly now, not stopping now as strings of knocks batter against the door.

Biting your bottom lip, knees tucked to your chest, holding onto your sore bruised legs, rocking back and forth on the couch, anxiously glancing up at the ceiling --- after a few seconds of knocks bleeding into harsh impatience.

Feet dash you to the door, fearing that Lee’s knocks will awaken Leroy, but Leroy’s a heavy sleeper.

Hast fingers unlock the door, hearing the locks turning, Lee pauses on his knocking, his fist hovering over the wood; your forehead meets the door, your eye closes, as the other is swollen shut, and breathes in.

Hesitantly your fingers grip the door knob, twisting it slowly, just a crack to reveal your good eye --- seeing Lee huffing, and puffing, waiting for you.

“Go away, Lee.”

“Why? Huh?” His hand leans against the door, preventing you from closing it, his cheeks are reddened, “Sandy is worried about you.” Lee tries to push his way inside but you hold the door with all your strength.

“Sandy ain’t got nothing to worry about, I’m fine.” You hiss, eyes downcast, but Lee gasps to see underneath your good eye was a little bruised.

Your wet red rimmed eyes silently scream for help, lip trembling, “I don’t love you, Lee. I just used you.” As those words burn your tongue as acid, Lee’s face wrinkles with hurt, but his wet eyes widen as your hand out-stretches you to Lee, trembling, but you flinch away when he tries to grasp you.

Lee sees your knuckles are bruised, splotches of lavender, and deep red cuts. Lee’s nose flares, his shoulders hunched, breathing heavily, as he looks up at you, to see a lone tear fall down your bloated cheek.

“That fucker hurt you,” his voice wavers, he takes a pause to breathe. “Bunny…” Lee tries to touch your swollen sensitive cheek, causing you to wince away, hiding away behind the door frame.

You step further from the door, exposing yourself more, revealing your eye that’s so swollen it was shut, and your upper lip swelled as a balloon.

Lee steps closer, another step with an edge, as his fingers grasp for your cheek. Cupping your chin, Lee’s breathing heavily, “I’ll kill him.” He hisses. You shuffle your feet ansty, as you move away from the shield of the door.

A question hangs at your tongue, begging to be released, to be spoken into existence. You tear your gaze away from Lee’s intense hues, as your body fidget a little.

“Would you do anything for me?” You whisper, the pad of your thumb rubs against his palm, staring at your hands, honey melting with umber; Lee lifts your fingers to his lip, placing it over his heart. Lee cups your face, the warmth of his palms soothes your sensitive cheeks.

Your eyes soaked to the red brim --- even when you cry, you’re still so beautiful, Leroy muses; as your fingers massage over his breast-bone, kissing your heart-shaped lips gently.

Soft nimble kisses over your lips.

----

It’s been quiet.

The past few days move by as molasses --- you tip-toe around Leroy, as if walking on eggshells, behaving to appease the beast. Letting him ravage over your body, grunting over your body, as you fake orgasms --- appraising him for fucking you ‘so good’.

It was hitting noon --- your body was drained, boneless on the mattress. Leroy has been rougher than usual, biting and groping, your eye is still swollen, but not completely shut anymore.

Your upper lip was still puffy, and pinkish, how you lick your dry lips looks like a sniveling toddler --- pouty.

Bare breasted, your hands laid against your torso, lazily in bed, staring into silence. Fingers snap in your peripheral, snapping you back to reality. “Hey,” Leroy chuckles, his brow arches teasingly, “Don’t go falling asleep on me, you’ve been like a slug lately.”

He smiles brightly at your disheveled form, savoring the damage he has done;

You breathe a small laugh, your eyes slowly gaze up, peering up at Leroy through your lashes, “I’m just comfortable.” Limp wrist against your chest, your fingers tug softly the blanket over your breasts; disgusted with how he ogles your chest --- as a young girl, you felt pretty, when he had a full head of hair, and had a youthful mature charm.

Now you detest his existence.

“I’m gonna take a phone call real quick, Bobo’s makin’ breakfast for us.” Leroy gently taps your arched knee that tented the blanket, a small stroke of his thumb. You force a quick smile, as you glide more under the covers.

The room was dim --- just enough to feel cozy, but not enough to fall asleep on him. There’s an indescribable spark in your chest, you can’t think of a word to perfectly describe it; your brows furrow at the stunted lack of knowledge.

The lack of sopsthication pangs you, you felt dumb --- not enough. Leroy being the only source of a teacher who taught you how to read higher than a fifth grader, but yet it’s not enough. Wait, there’s a word ...

Caving your bottom lip by the teeth, a mirthful smile hidden by your fingers, as you huddled, and hid in the covers --- something is going to happen, just a sense, a feeling.

But it goes away --- hushed conversations over the past days but nothing fleshed out.

Leroy grunts over the receiver, engrossed by whoever is on the other end --- a hearty chuckle, his body bounces a little.

A sound near the staircase alerts you, a very dull pop --- but it could’ve been mistaken by the old wooding of the house. You turn your head to Leroy, but he’s far too gone in conversation to pay attention.

Cautious footfalls near the doorway, freezing you in spot, a small grin slowly grows; but you calmly itch near the edge of the bed.

Leroy is lost in his own world, chewing the caller’s ear off --- from the corner of your eye blue eyes catch your brown ones, a slip from the bed, the wink of polished onyx steel makes you breathless.

A Cheshire grin ---- it’s time.

Leroy laughs, “Yeah, you too.” Hanging up, straightens his back. Soft creaks of the door grabs his attention, thinking it’s you finally getting out of bed. Leroy turns his body around, with a small smile, that quickly fades into a frown.

Lee stands proudly at the entrance, with his arm looped around your waist, his fingers cradling the meat of your thigh; as you cling to him as a safety line.

His gun is aimed at Leroy, a gun ready to pop. Your head tucked under his chin, your leg curves a little around Lee’s pant clad leg, raising your head up, even with two bruised eyes --- a death glare, but a wicked satisfied grin.

Leroy grunts, his eyes falling on the both of you, clicks his tongue, “Huh.” Not a tone of defeat, but a reply of acceptance. It is what it is --- an air of you got him, right off guard.

A beat of silence --- the stillness bleeds into a stand-off.

“Pussy ain’t worth it, son.” He spits, but his voice is low, trying to ease the tension in the air, but no amount of discussion will lower Lee’s gun.

Leroy rolls his eyes, bushy brows dented, chest huffing in frustration, “She’s using you. That’s what she does --- latch on any man.”

Lee hisses a low scuff, but his aim remains undeterred.

“On any man who makes her feel good for just a moment --- she bats her eyelashes, and promises you the best night of your life. Trust me, I taught her well ---” He halts, as Lee flicks the safety off, cocking the pistol. A defeated tilt of his head, “--- maybe I taught her too well.”

Lee remains in silence, his finger curled with intent on the trigger, his grip tightens, your palm lays over his heart, you can feel it rapidly beat against the cavity. Not a word.

Bang.

It’s loud, earning a wince from you, clinging tightly to Lee.

Leroy groans, slumps over like a slug, coughing spurts of blood, as his body collapses onto the floor; shaky fingers hover over the bullet wound.

A bullet lodged in his stomach, his blood paints his white under shirt --- as Leroy slowly succumbs to his last breath, you quietly walk towards him.

One last look at him --- to see the light in his eyes dim to nothing. Leroy curls his head, looking at you, as ichor coats his mustache, his hooded eyes stare into yours.

Slow wheezing breaths, your eyes are wet, watching the first man to ever show ‘affection’ to you as a child, who trained you, molded you into the woman you are now slowly leaving this earth.

Another dragged wheeze, gurgling, Leroy’s fingers curl around your ankle, stroking you as he fades. Your eye twitches, as Leroy struggles. A cough, a low rasp, and then a gurgle that flows into silence; his fingers slumps, and falls from your ankle.

You inhale, swallow thickly as you step away from him, as the blood flows from underneath him, nearly touching your toes; sniffling. Slowly you turn your face to Lee’s, but he’s already looking at you, with a silent question in his eyes.

You flick the tip of his nose with yours, your tongue slowly glides through your lips --- licking his lip. Your body is vibrating, your hands against his belly rising to his chest; gracefully tugging on the zipper of his leather jacket.

Steadily the zipper rolls down between the pinch of your fingers, revealing his blue button shirt. The zipper unclips, the flaps of his leather jacket weaves open. The warmth of his body radiates off of him, encasing your palms, as you touch him.

Your hands sweep lovingly inside the jacket, groping his belly; Lee catches the hint and helps you take off his jacket.

Shrugging it off of his shoulders, his nose flaring, his eyes intensely watching you. The jacket slumps on the floor with a dull thump.

The air is tense, silently watching each other’s movements.

Breathless, your brain is slowing down now, processing reality --- Leroy is gone. Your eyes trail over to his slumped body, years worth of eroding pain, bending over backwards for Leroy, and many other surly filthy men.

No more whoring yourself out, no more strange men fetishizing over you, no more being walked over --- seen as nothing but sex toy. You can finally be someone --- be somebody.

I’m free --- I’m fucking free.

Grabbing the nape of Lee’s neck, you pull him down, crashing your lips on his. Smushing open lips, teeth crashing, tongues dancing --- it’s passionate, adrenaline fueling.

Separating yourself, Lee whines low, but you shush him by your finger on his pouty lips. Gingerly shuffling your bare feet backwards, your knees hit the bed.

Knees bent forward, softly falling on the mattress; presenting yourself for Lee as a gift. You spread your legs wide, your palm slither in your panties, fingers splitting your plump lips; your essence glistening.

Lee growls, his pupils blown black, as he watches you touch yourself. Rolling your fingertips against your throbbing clit, as you smirk at Lee’s panting figure.

It’s delicious, as if sinking your teeth, savoring the taste of a thrill, life is changing now. A fresh start of a new chapter. The bars of your prison cell are now dismantled, you can leave now.

Unclasping the buttons of his blue shirt, as he crawls over your body, his palms indenting into the mattress; as his palms cages you in his embrace. Noses graze, slowly savoring each other --- it feels anew, uncharted waters of emotions, a new chapter.

You just witnessed Lee murder a man --- the very man who was the only stable pillar in your life. In Lee’s mind, you hold his fate, even if people wouldn’t believe you --- still.

You have damning evidence to expose him for his corruption, but you don’t run, you stay here with him.

The soft cotton slips from his arms, his skin is warm, and flushed, as he kisses your cupid bow, and a little one at your nose, back to your lips. The kiss becomes too much so fast, greedy hands claw at one another; in a clumsy dance.

Lee’s head lowers to your chest, a wet trail of kisses, to the valley of your breasts. Your fingers sought out his hair, turning it into a mess.

As Lee suckles your breast, the bed of his tongue soaks the nipple, moaning, as you shiver in the cave of his mouth.

Unbuckling himself, sloppily tugging his pants by the loop of his thumbs, it falls to his thighs --- just enough space to free his swollen cock.

His fingers snag your panties to the side, impatiently as a ravaging mad man, his cock sweeps through your folds; a delicious glide.

Bucking his hips, Lee thrusts inside you, you yelp, your head tilting back. A husky moan emits from Lee’s lips.

Your cunt weeps on his cock, soaking him to the balls, as his open palm lays on your chest, folding you down; pinning you, as the sheen of sweat gleams under the dim streaks of sunlight peering through the curtains. So wrecked, so open --- glassy eyes blown and desperate.

Tears flood at the brim, as you sink low, collapsing in pieces, as he thrusts; tender heat wrapped around him, it drives him insane.

Jesus --- he needs to take a breath. The sight of Lee kneeling over you, his pants bundled at mid-way of his thighs, as his shirt was scrunched, and wrinkled to his torso, with just a few buttons latched.

Biting his lip, the obscene slap of skin, chasing the glory of bliss; a bloom of love inside his chest at the wrecked sight of you, melting into the mattress.

The glimpse of Leroy’s body jolts you back to reality, a breath catches in your throat, fingernails digging into Lee’s bicep; wincing. Hiding your face into his chest, wrapping your legs around his waist firmly, as he fucks you harder.

It guides you back to your haven, a grim reminder of your newfound freedom, at what costs it took. A sense of spite sneaks up, your hips crash forward to Lee’s, a vulgar display before Leroy’s dead eyes.

Nearing the edge, your fingers grip his firm ass, hinting for him to go faster, to give you all that he’s got.

You yearn to be sore for days, aided by him --- to feel the sting whenever you sit.

Where you go, he follows --- nearing the edge of ecstasy, airy pants pitch higher, the meat of your thigh shudders.

Precious blues tempt to flutter to the back of his skull, but he doesn’t want to look away. He wants to see you drift into a frenzy, sharing this moment, sealing your fate together.

You pulse, and quiver under Lee, as he groans hoarsely, painting your velvety walls creamy white.

He rocks slowly to a halt, as his shaven cheek strokes yours, nuzzling his face in the crock of your neck, inhaling your scent; shuddering in your embrace.

Basking in this glow, a placid happy bubble, in your own little world; where nothing is wrong, anything you two did wasn’t wrong.

A little piece of violence to pay for peace, Lee rolls to his side with a sensitive groan, with his arms tugging you along; earning a muffled giggle from you. The swoop of your leg over his waist, his lips kissing your hairline.

The world stills, as reality slowly dwindles back, but you feel safe. For the first time, you feel content --- a calmness settles at the horizon of your mind.

As Leroy’s corpse grows cold on the floor.

---

Lee sweetly holds your hand in his, as you both walk down the stairs; at the end of the staircase, Lee adjusts his buckle, fixing his zipper.

In comfortable silence, Lee and you walk to the kitchen --- a gasp catches in your throat at the sight of Bobo, lifeless on the floor.

A bullet hole lodged at the back of his skull, as blood trickled down his dome, pooling to the floor; suffocating his face. Lee circles his arms around your waist, cradling your back against his chest, holding you down.

Poor Bobo --- he was kind enough, slow at times, but he was good; but if he was left to live, he would have blown the whistle on Lee, and yourself for killing Leroy. Lee would lose everything, and you would be sent to the chopping block without any court trial in your favor.

Standing over Bobo’s body is surreal, gone.

Lee’s thumb caresses your swollen lip, a sting by the pressure but it fades, and the touch comforts you. Tearing your eyes away from the lifeless body, lashes flutter; you look up to Lee’s blue gems shine with hope.

The pad of his thumb traces your mouth, fondling your cupid bow, trailing down your lips.

Parting your lips to suckle his thumb, your wet tongue twirls around his finger, with a breathy moan. Lee’s forehead meets yours, inhaling deeply as he’s breathing in your essence. His thumb trails down your lip, you kiss it lovingly.

“Ready?” He asks, his eyes gazed at yours, you nodded. He didn’t need to elaborate, the setting had to be set up just right, evidence guided by the town’s sheriff. No one will know, the truth will be cloaked, only shared by Lee, and yourself.

Lee repeated the details for you to remember to alert the police, to not touch anything --- to blame your injuries on ‘burglars’, as he snatched money stuffed in the safe that was hidden in the bedroom’s closet; as well as thrashing the house, validating the alibi.

He held your neck in his hand, with a serious glint in his steel eyes, reminding you of his love, and that he will always protect you, and that everything will be okay, sealing your fate with a kiss to your forehead.

This tiny town will never know --- from Meade to Knockemstiff.

Knockemstiff.

A hotbed of immorality, a fest-pool of locals who are residents and prisoners --- a gritty homespun manifesting the ignorance and brutality of man.

A double-edged sword wielded for the worst caliber. Tales of lives that are sordid --- lingering stains on the soul.

The life you share with Lee is sordid --- it’s beginnings are illicit, but maybe the silver linings can spark a light in the darkness.

#buckybarnesplumwhore wrote this #the devil all the time #Officer Lee Bodecker x reader #sebastian stan character #dark fic #dark lee bodecker #dub non con #black reader insert #dark!sheriff lee bodecker x fem!reader #hoedecker club

[widowsofchaos]

Cabin Fever - Masterlist (Ongoing)*

summary: A mysterious drifter waltz into your homey life, asking for help. He seems kind, and generous. But what if he’s more than he lets on?

pairing: dark!Stucky x black!Reader

warnings: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat: Prophetic dreams, kidnapping, dub-non con, smut (f/m/m), slight body horror, stockholm syndrome, murder. Bearded lumberjack Steve and Bucky (a warning itself, WOOF.)

a/n: Submission for @imanuglywombat & @nellblazer ‘s Lumberjack Challenge. Title by @darkficsyouneveraskedfor <3

ao3 // Lumberjack Au

i. Cabin Fever

#Cabin Fever masterlist #buckybarnesplumwhore wrote this #dark stucky x reader #stucky x reader

[widowsofchaos]

🥺imagine fighting over blankets at night and who gets to be one of the middle spoons with steggy x stucky🥺 omg you have given me this new obsession how dare u

Battle Of The Blankets

summary: So a Captain, a Sergeant, and two agents get into bed ... pairings: steggy x stucky x stark!black!reader (adopted) ao3 a/n: yesss, feel this obsession! I’ll happily feed it, muahaha. shameless fluff, and sassy crankiness. enjoy, darling. no beta, all mistakes are my own. do not repost my works.

It has become more of a cheeky jab among the compound --- a running joke that sometimes four particular sleeping bodies can be quite hectic at night.

It first spawned one night when the bed frame broke in the midst of intense fucking; but how can anyone be surprised with two super soldiers, and an agent pumped to the brim with inhuman serum?

Well --- not everyone partakes in the jokes. After the charade of the dismantled bed frame, skin crawling in disgust, with no ounce of hesitation, Tony shouted, “Don’t break my sister!” It only fueled the embarrassing jokes even more.

Tony has never been the same since then.

It also brought forth the realization that a new mattress was very much needed --- a wider one with therapeutic padding.

It’s a blessing, really. To share a bond of four spirits that feeds their being for the end of their days --- carrying them all even through the darkest of times, the nightmares, grief, and bristling trauma; as all of you huddled tight in each other’s arms.

Under the moonlight of restless nights, feathery kisses, and soft caresses, laying boneless on a plush mattress. Akin to an anchor to the thunderous sea, you ground each other here --- despite the strife of pain.

But now there’s a new battle among the horizon, it’s been brewing for quite some time, and not one for the faint of heart --- filled with crankiness, and weariness. Surviving World War II, the Arctic ice, Hydra, Ultron, and even Thanos --- yet nothing prepared them for this.

The battle of the blankets. It’s becoming more of an occurrence, grumpy murmurs in the middle of the night, tugging on the blankets, limbs toppled over limbs --- limbs hanging over the bed at times. At times, some nights there are whines to be spooned --- after missions that didn’t end all too well, all four of you just wanna be cradled like babies, so there are times where everyone takes turns to be spooned.

Naturally, the girls are the middle spoons, with the boys holding them tightly from behind, or how Peggy and yourself are laying on top of the Bucky’s and Steve’s warm chests. Both of you love the feeling of their chest hairs caressing against your sleepy puffy cheeks, to feel their fingers laxly curl against your scalps.

“Can you pass me my body pillow, baby?”

“Of course, your other lover.” Bucky growls under his breath, irate at your constant need for that annoying fucking pillow --- dog-tired to the bone --- he loves you; for truly he does, he would do anything for you, you’re his baby. If you asked him to, he would sock the devil’s teeth clean through the skull with his metal fist.

But for fucks sake, he detests that fucking pillow.

He needs to feel you at night, but instead he feels Steve, Peggy, half of you, and half of stitched cotton.

“What was that, Bun-Bun?” Snuggled dead center of the bed, engulfed in the white massive blanket like the princess you are. Bleary doe-eyes, and your smile beams at him, it was goofy but it’s so damn cute, he just couldn’t resist --- and damn you, you know he can’t.

“Nothin’ doll. I’ll get it.” Bucky huffs, brow twitching a bit, shoulders slumped but graces it all with a smile. “Bucky --- don’t you dare, love.” A melodic timbre sings-songs from the bathroom, causing you to suck your teeth with a pout.

“Noooo…” You whine, head tilted back dramatically. You were exhausted --- it’s been a long fucking day, dammit --- and now was being denied your extra support for your back.

Hefty footfalls loom near the entranceway, leaning against the door, a puff of eucalyptus infiltrates the air --- in all his glory, America’s sweetheart freshly showered, and has the gall to snicker at the brat that is his wife.

“That,” Steve tuts as he points directly at the pillow that was resting innocently on the nearby armchair, “ --- thing has become another body in bed. It’s too crowded.” Steve narrows his eyes at you playfully, as you whimper jutting your lip out --- trying to sway Steve, but alas, you just receive a waggish finger.

“Stevie, it’s so fluffy.” You pout with a jutted plump lip, sweet moon eyes furrowed under a pitiful brow. “Am I not fluffy enough for you, doll?” Bucky’s husky voice whisks in your ear, sending a shiver down the arch of your spine, so breathy and inviting. Bucky slithers his warm body under the covers, slivering his biceps around your body, as his lips kiss behind your ear --- it tickles you to the point where your thigh quivers in a tingle.

Ah --- the sweet spot, always works.

You mewl in Bucky’s arms, sinking into the blankets, successfully taking your mind off of the damned forsaken body pillow. As Bucky snuffles his nose in your hair, and between wispy kisses behind your ear, Steve couldn’t help but feel a tad bit --- dare he say it, jealous.

Never jealous over who gets who’s attention --- never. This is an equally affectionate marriage. Steve may not express in such manner to the public eye, always stoic but not too much, the pinnacle of liberty, strong-willed.

He’s always felt like he had to pick himself up ever since he was a bird-boned boy a lifetime ago; a facade that manifested into a coping mechanism --- that he doesn’t need to be babied.

But yet --- he craves it desperately.

Without any thought, Steve crawls inside the bed, earning happy squeals from Bucky and yourself. Taking a spot in the middle before Peggy gets to bed.

Nibbling your tit through your black nightie, lace against his warm tongue, and sneaking a nice handful of Bucky’s toned ass-cheek, “Stevie…” A low lustful growl slips from Bucky; love-bites, and kissing cheeky fingers. Suckling Steve’s thumb in his mouth, Bucky grazes his finger against Steve’s palm that cradled his cheek.

Squeals, and husky chuckles emitted from the lair of blankets, as Peggy finishes up for the night; now leaving the bathroom with a smug smirk. Shiny curls pinned, fresh faced, and bones aching, ready to dive in the love-nest.

Silk white nightie that melted against her milky perky breasts, it made all three of you salivate at the mouth. “I thought you three were too tired?” Peggy’s accent silky as her night-gown, as she pads her way to the bed, graceful hips swaying. “Meow.” You tease, batting your lashes, and snickers as Steve and Bucky ensue tickling you.

Peggy sneaks under the covers, humming low in her throat, “Cheeky kitten.” Her full-wattage smile beaming at you.

Extending your hands out at her, fingers pinching the air, ‘gimmie’ ‘gimmie’. Cuddling all together now, perhaps tonight will be peaceful, instead of silly bickering on who wants which spot, or who wants more blankets.

‘And thank the bloody heavens, no more of that body pillow.’ Peggy muses to herself, happily wriggling under Steve’s inviting arms.

---

So much for wishful thinking.

Alarm clock beams red, 3:34 am. Squirming feet kicks the blanket off, it limply hangs over the edge; too over-heated by the three heaters that are your husbands, and wife.

A grumpy mumble, your cheek squished against Bucky’s bicep, thigh arched upon Steve’s waist and it extended over Peggy’s leg. Peggy’s legs intermixed in your legs, and her ankles interlocked with Bucky’s. Your leg that was stretched downward, toes mindlessly tickling, and fondling Steve’s. Steve’s cheek smashed against the pillow with Peggy laying on-top of him.

So much movement, tussling, and turning occurs during the night, especially with sixteen limbs.

“Give… me the… b-blanket.” Peggy’s sleepily demands, eyes still shut, and button nose scrunched. “Too … hot.” You whisper, punctuating each word. Peggy’s hand flops around to get a better grip of the blanket, tugging it over her shoulder.

A whine rolls in your throat, needing to cool down your moist skin, your fidgety leg shaking a bit. Within seconds, a chill sensation surges through your body, cold fingers glide over the terrain of your waist, slides underneath the nightie, travels the glide of your tummy to the cups of your breasts.

A sigh of relief flows through your lips as Bucky somnolently caresses you, lulling you back to sleep as his arm instinctively pulls your body into his, molding two bodies into one; the cold metal satiating you.

Steve drowsily pulled the blanket over Peggy, although there was a tug of Bucky’s foot trying to get some more as well. Finally after a silly tug of war, at the perfect position, there was enough blanket to satisfy the big babies, crawling even more closer to one another.

‘Note to self: buy more blankets in the morning.’ Steve muses to himself, languidly repressing a chuckle, as he dozes off to sleep.

There are aliens, robots, and sorcerers --- ‘wizards without hats’ Sam claims --- but there could never be big enough blankets for two super soldiers, and two agents.

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