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#dark fanfiction
buppybucky · an hour ago
Idk if you take request but if you do then maybe a one bed trope thing with bucky and he gets morning wood and you wake up like what is that and he's like it's the morning and he's not embarrassed and then sex and fluff pls thanks ❤️
morning wood
PAIRINGS! avengers!bucky x avengers!f!reader
SUMMARY! in which bucky is too tired to be embarrassed of his morning wood.
WARNINGS! unprotected sex, 18+ minors dni, pet names (candy), one sided feelings, sleepy sex kinda, cocky bucky, fingering, oral (f)
A/N! i’m sorry for not making it clear but i am taking requests! currently, i have no works but if i do then my requests would be slightly delayed!
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“i am not working with that disgusting man child!” the loud voice rang through the small room. bucky looked up at the girl with a smirk. “c’mon, it’ll be fun! great bonding time.” he teased.
you rolled your eyes and sat in the seat, crossing your arms with a huff. “well, it’s either that or you resign.” tony said, pulling out the letter of resignation. you pulled the pen from his desk and started to write.
“it’s not that bad!” bucky yelled, grabbing the pen and throwing it away. you looked at him and scowled. “okay, well, there’s a motel booked, you two better enjoy.” tony smirked as he walked out.
that night, you had finished packing your bag and you were ready to go. “hi candy.” bucky’s voice sounded through your room. you sighed and turned to him. “what?” you asked.
bucky shrugged and walked towards your bed. “was bored, knew i could annoy you.” bucky smirked, laying back and watching you pack your small bag. “well, you can’t, i have stuff to do.” you said.
you walked into the bathroom and took off your shirt. “shower? i’ll join.” bucky teased, making you scoff and lock your bathroom door.
after your shower, bucky was still in your room so you had to change in the bathroom. you walked out and brushed through your wet hair. “y’look so good right now.” bucky bit his lip.
you scoffed and rolled your eyes, grabbing your skincare and starting it. “wanna do some f’me too, candy?” bucky stood up, sitting next to you. you put some moisturiser on your fingers and slapped his cheek.
bucky sighed and rubbed it in before getting up. “i’d be nice, girlie, we’re going t’be together for a while.” he spat before walking out of the room. you smirked and went back to your skincare.
the next day was completely hectic, you wouldn’t recommend it to absolutely anyone. you and bucky made it to the motel, and to make matters worse, someone thought that the signing under stark was a joke.
it was deleted and now there was only one room with one bed, one single bed. “it’s fine, he can sleep on the floor, bucky pay.” you said, wanting to sit down immediately.
bucky paid and got the key, bringing you to the room. you took the shower first, knowing that if you sat down you wouldn’t get up again. you walked out, seeing bucky wrapping up his wounds.
he went into shower and you took over with wrapping up the small wounds scattered all over you. bucky quickly came out, wrapped in only a towel around his waist.
you looked up at him before looking back at the bed. “y’know you were supposed to use the towels as a blanket.” you spoke as you jumped back, getting under the blanket.
bucky rolled his eyes and changed into his pyjamas. “i can’t sleep on the floor without a blanket.” bucky said, standing next to the bed. you shrugged and opened your phone.
“there’s a lot of space in the bed, are they sure it’s a single?” bucky asked, looking around you. you sighed and move over, opening up the covers. bucky smiled and got in, making himself comfortable.
you sighed and turned off your phone, as well as the small lamp beside the bed. “bucky i’m falling off the fucking bed.” you groaned, your ass cheek literally falling from the bed.
bucky lifted you up, now you were almost sitting on him. “night, candy.” bucky smirked, placing his head into your neck. you sighed and tried to fall asleep.
you were rudely woken up a few hours later by bucky’s leg falling over your own legs and something poking your lower back. “bucky.” you said, hitting his hip. he groaned.
you did it again, and again, and again, until finally, he lifted his head. “what the fuck is poking me?” you asked, looking back at him. “huh? oh, it’s my dick.” he mumbled, putting his head back.
“your dick?” you asked. he nodded and pulled your into his chest. “yeah, it’ll go down later, j’come back to sleep.” he whispered, kissing your shoulder. you jerked your shoulder, hitting him in the nose.
he groaned and moved back quickly. “fuck!” he yelled, holding the bridge of his nose. “don’t kiss me.” you said, shaking your head and going back to your original position.
you tried to deny it, but you felt a certain shock through your body when bucky kissed your shoulder. bucky got out of the bed to clean his, now bloody, nose.
bucky got back into bed, and pulled you close into him. “it’s the least y’can fuckin’ do.” he said, pulling you into him, the feeling of his boner against him made your panties dampen.
“i know you’re wet, can smell ya.” bucky mumbled, moving your hair away and kissing your neck. you whined and pushed him off. “c’mon candy, we’re both horny, might as well relieve some pressure.”
you moved your hand from him and let him continue to kiss your neck. “fine, but in this position i don’t want to look at you.” you mumbled. bucky nodded and pulled down your pants.
he pulled down your panties before slapping your ass. “i’ve fuckin’ dreamed of this moment since i met ya.” he whispered in your ear. you bit your lip and looked down at his hand on your waist.
he pulled down his pants and boxers before sliding his tip through your slit. you gasped quietly and gripped his hand. bucky smirked and slid into you.
you moaned and your hand on his hand tightened. “there y’go.” he groaned, slowly sliding in and out of you. you whined and wiggled your hips.
bucky but his lip and pressed his thumb into your ass. “y’feel s’fuckin’ good, candy.” bucky grumbled as he continued at his painfully slow pace. you slapped his hip and whined.
“faster, harder, anything.” you complained, gripping at his naked hip. bucky complied and thrusted faster, the sound of their skin slapping was slightly muted by the sheets.
bucky whined and lifted you up. “candy, i’m gettin’ no where in this position, let’s change, hm?” he mumbled. you nodded and sat on his lap, turning around the face him.
“gonna look at me, candy?” he teased, gripping your hips. you sighed and rolled your eyes, sliding onto him. “shut up bucky, i’m using you for your dick.” you moaned.
you felt bucky’s tip bounce off all the right angles, hitting your sweet spot. “fuck! oh god!” your legs squeezed around his waist, crying out in pleasure. “ya look s’fuckin’ good takin’ my cock like a good girl.”
you rolled your eyes to the back of your head as you felt the knot in your stomach fall onto the verge of snapping. “oh my god i’m gonna cum.” you moaned, gripping his shoulders.
your nails dug into his skin and left crescent shapes as you released all over him. your body curled up and you fell back. bucky pulled out and finished on your lower stomach.
instead of getting back into bed, bucky bent over and rubbed your clit, sliding a finger inside you. “what are you doing?” you asked, looking down at him. he shrugged and started pumping his fingers in and out.
you moaned and arched your back. “i wanna see if this pretty cunt can squirt.” he moved his fingers from your clit, connecting his lips instead. your eyes were sat at the back of your head.
bucky pulled his fingers out and soon replaced it with his tongue. “bucky.” you dragged out in a whine. bucky smirked and pulled away, sliding his fingers inside you again.
“c’mon, candy, squirt for me.” he moaned, continuing to suck on your clit. you felt an unfamiliar knot form in your lower stomach. “fuck, fuck, fuck!” you moaned out.
bucky curled his fingers and practically assaulted your sweet spot. “holy fuck!” you yelped, feeling yourself come loose. you squirted all over bucky’s face, making him moan quietly.
“that’s it, candy.” he smirked as he pulled away, cleaning you up with his tongue. you tried to regain your breath as bucky went to clean his face.
bucky came back and sat down in front of you. “so, still hate me?” he asked, helping you with your pants. you sat up and nodded. “yup, night buck.” you said as you crawled back into bed.
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trashv1n · 2 hours ago
I know it’s a lot easier said than done, but please remember that if someone is suddenly acting differently than usually and their tone is different, but you know you haven’t done anything wrong aka it just came out of the blue: it has likely nothing to do with you. And it can still affect you, but it doesn’t mean you did anything wrong. Sometimes it’s mixed signals or reading each other wrong, sometimes someone has a bad day and something something else have happened and they take it out on you (without meaning to). A lot fewer things than we think, have something to do with something we did, especially when their behaviour came out of the blue. Take a deep breath. It’s okay. 🌸
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aluminescent · 3 hours ago
Blackout // Chapter 17 Preview
Spencer rolled to wakefulness upon registering the squeeze of his shoulder. Moments passed and he sucked in a slow, deep breath.
This was the most well-rested he’d felt in months.
Rather sore that it took being abducted—again—for this to be the case.
He may have slept longer if not for that tactile hallucination. He sighed out, resigned to begin counting or thinking again, which, in truth—he liked brainwork. On his own terms, though.
But then a sensation curled on his shoulder again, and he scrambled, sat up, crushed his back against the corner. His chin tilted down. The heavy chain at his ankle pulled away from him and he tugged his leg back toward himself, bending it and his other to his chest. A hand patted at his knee and twitched the chain again to beckon him forward.
“What do you want?” he whispered, hearing his muffled voice whiff through his head. It clicked a moment later, and he shrank further back with his hand covering his mouth, remembering that he shouldn’t have spoken.
The hand patted the side of his restrained ankle and jerked the chain. He lowered his leg. A pat was better than a punch or a slap, but it did little to slow the drumming of his heart. Hesitating for just a moment more, he moved forward until he was sitting at the edge of the bed with his feet planted to the ground. Compliance. That last jerk had been insistent.
There was a pressure against his knee and a hand upon his shoulder. He tilted his face to the hand in alarm. It then dragged down his sleeved arm—Oh, god.—past his restraints, and clasped his hand.
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jelliedfox · 5 hours ago
Why are my dreams more creative than me?
It created this self insert Lostbelt-like Grail War where My consciousness got to travel back in time and possesses my younger self to rewrite my life. Meaning—correct my past mistakes, focus more on my schoolwork than caring about making friends and embarrassing myself (to which now I realize I would never truly get along with any of those people), not staying with my father or in that abusive relationship. My Servant was chosen based on who I imagined most, to look over me while I did this. It was Diarmuid Lancer, of course Lmao
And then, to keep the life I’d remade my for self, and for Diarmuid—as he and I became the utmost of best friends—I’d have to fight in a Holy Grail War against the other six people who had the same opportunity for whosever changes to become reality. For Diarmuid (or the winning servant) to remain, all magic removed from the world and be human, and not a matter of fiction.
So, majority of the choices in life I’d made weren’t in the dream, just pieces of my 8 year old self with this Heroic Spirit Diarmuid ua Duibhne (who looked human) following me around (mostly in spirit form at this point) and being one of the only people I could talk to since while I was a kid—my consciousness was that of 28 year old me lol Diarmuid was all talking about how he didn’t want what Nasu created for him to be his reality and how he’d hoped for a true, mortal life to experience what it really was like to live once that future came.
Hearing that: dream me was like naw you ain’t gonna wait until the grail war for that shit, when I’m older, you’ll be my best friend and we’ll do some of that living that we both need
And then it’s already fast forwarding to that and 20 year old me and Diarmuid are legit the best of friends, as my life is what I’d always imagined and he’s having fun despite himself. Terrified of when I’d hit the current point of my life and the war would truly commence and my life would be at risk. I of course was more worried he wouldn’t get to keep what happiness he’d made and return to being just a character in Fate.
Then there are pieces of the holy Grail War and I have all the powers of all the characters I’ve made combined against some really terrifying other Master Servant combinations.
And then I woke up, having no idea if we won or not but hope we did because damn, Lancer and my perfect life lol
But like, THAT WAS AWESOME. Who wants to write that fanfic with me? Lmaoooo
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aminathescorpio · 6 hours ago
Fic Claim - Love that Blinds
My entry for the @lcdrarry​ fest! (also my first time participating in a fest)
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Title: Love that Blinds Author: aminathescorpio Prompt: Self-prompt Word Count/Art Medium: 7245 Rating: Explicit Warnings: Brief graphic descriptions of violence, dubious consent, gaslighting Summary: When Draco Malfoy gets accepted to work as a psychiatrist in Azkaban Asylum, he finds himself caught in a complicated relationship with none other than Azkaban's most infamous resident: Harry Potter.
Read it here 
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giorno-plays-piano · 7 hours ago
Heavy in Your Arms Part 2
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Pairing: warlock!Bucky Barnes x Reader
Warnings: yandere-ish Bucky, slight dubcon and forced marriage, obsession.
Words: 2000.
Summary: A wife of a powerful warlock, you uncover his dark secret that forces you to doubt your own sanity.
Part 1
You thought you forgot how to breathe for a second. Love spell? Did he cast a love spell on you to make you marry him?
"Its strength amuses me, but, considering the ingredients used, the effects should be powerful enough to last until my death."
You realized you were shaking when you flipped the page, observing strange symbols and magic circles. Not, it couldn’t be. He couldn't caste a spell on you, could he? There was no need in it because his kindness was enough to draw you to him. Or was it? Did you feel what you feel simply because of the spell? Was there no real love?
As you heard the sound of the bells, you remembered about that poor old man who was certainly tired to wait for you, and the next second you were flying towards the stairs, teary-eyed at the thought nothing about your relationship was true. How could it be? How could James do this to you? Was he so madly in love he couldn't stand a thought you would refuse his advances?
When you came down and entered the cottage where you were taking customers, you apologized to the man sincerely, handing him the bat's wings and a pot of fairy dust. Thankfully, he wasn't angry, thanking you for that magic tea that seemed to ease his backpain, and soon he left, leaving you alone with your thoughts.
Weren't you too quick to accuse your husband? You didn't even read on whom he casted that spell. What if it were for a client? He was often employed by the nobles for various reasons, and while love spells were quite unusual for him, maybe James decided to help some wealthy duke make his young bride fell in love with him. In the end, you had never been madly in love with your husband, and he mentioned the love spell was incredibly strong.
You needed to get back to the Tower and read the journal till the end to learn the truth. James would never hurt you, right? Even a warlock wouldn't cast a spell on his own wife.
Hurrying back to the Tower, your breath heavy as you climbed the stairs in your ridiculously huge dress, you entered the room where your husband kept the supplies and picked up the journal you left laying on the floor. Flipping through the pages, you found the first mention of the love spell and began reading again.
"I am certain nothing else will work, and the spell needs to be done. I have finished gathering the ingredients, although a unicorn's tear was hard to find. I will complete the magic circle tonight."
Unicorn's tear? Weren't unicorns just a product of human imagination?
The text on the next page was written with a shaky hand - you could barely read it, and your eyes hurt.
"It hit me like a wall of water. I struggle to breathe. It works. It works so well."
You stared at the page and then rubbed your eyes, unsure you were understanding what James meant. Why did he struggle to breathe? You didn't remember such a spell that could affect a mage who used it instead of the one on whom it was casted. Besides, how did he know the spell worked? It wasn't until James courted you started developing feelings for him. Maybe the spell was really intended for someone else, not you.
"I have cried from all these feelings that make the world spin. I don't remember ever doing that before. I'm so happy I want to scream for everyone to hear me. I'm so, so happy."
Crying from happiness? No, it wasn't about James Barnes. Certainly not! What on Earth should happen to make him do this? Sure, he softened up after marrying you, but he still was a fierce warlock making people shiver as he passed by. What spell could make him so happy he started crying involuntarily?
Love spell could certainly do that.
No, no, what a stupid thought, James would never put himself under a love spell. Yes, you knew he was notorious for his magic experiments, and when he was young, he experimented even on himself, but, surely, he had long stopped doing it. Besides, what was the point? If he wanted to merely observe the power of the spell, he could easily cast it on anyone else and see what happened.
"I have barely slept. In the end, I have to put a glamour spell to look decent - I'm going to meet her today, and I don't want her to be scared of me. I'm going to visit her father's store, he sells some herbs."
You dropped the journal to the ground again as if it were cursed. That day James Buchanan Barnes was visiting the store of your father, looking forward to catch a glimpse of you. He casted that spell to make himself fall in love with you. That was why he changed so suddenly, leaving people to wonder what had happened to the warlock who didn't care about anyone or anything except his research. That was why he grew so fond of you for no reason. He didn't love you for who you were. He loved you because the spell made him to.
Hoping to find something that would prove you wrong, you picked up the journal and started reading feverishly, praying to see something like, "Haha, I've fooled you, silly! Don't go reading other people's private journals!"
"I am excited to feel this pain somewhere inside my chest where my heart should be, supposedly, but it's a great relief when it doesn't ache as much - seeing her again truly helped. It's like I was reborn. Finally, I feel what other people feel. I can't express how happy and grateful I am."
"It has been a week. The love spell works perfectly. Its strength amuses me, but, considering the ingredients used, the effects should be powerful enough to last until my death. My love doesn't suspect a thing, so it must mean I behave like a normal human being. It's a relief. "
"I know it is considered unacceptable to keep touching a woman unless she is your wife, but I can't help myself. It brings me a great pleasure to just brush my hand against hers or secretly touch her hair. As of now, she doesn't seem to mind. I hope to get a lock of her hair to keep it in my pendant."
Your tears landed directly on the paper, blurring the ink, but you no longer cared if James found out about you reading his journal. Oh, all those sweet moments you treasured so much - all of them being forced, fake, not genuine. You could swear you saw nothing but affection in his eyes, and yet it was just a love spell. The only man who was interested in you to the point of offering you his hand in marriage had always been under a spell.
Caking your dress in dirt and dust, you simply curled up on the floor, putting your arms around your knees. It was all a lie. Nothing about his feelings was true. Why did he do this? Why picking you up as a target? It wasn't like he was pressured to get married by the king. There was no reason to do something so... wicked.
It was written in capital letters in the middle of an empty page. It was the day when you accepted his proposal, the day you thought was the happiest in your life. You remembered the expression James wore when you said the words he desperately wanted to hear, and you wailed at that excruciating pain in your chest as if something were crushing your ribcage and whatever was inside it. Was he lying to you that day too? Was even that expression of pure fondness fake?
Of course it was. A powerful magic could do anything, couldn't it? Carefully implanting those feelings towards someone he had never cared about, the spell did what the warlock wanted it to - made him lovesick.
"Casting a love spell was the best decision I have ever taken in my life so far. I have never felt so alive. I knew there was something alarming in detesting humans, any humans, and I am glad I am no longer detesting her. It is a miracle. Before I would feel disgusted at her touch, but now it brings me nothing but pleasure. I found myself wanting to embrace her, have her put her head on my shoulder or take me by the hand."
There was something so utterly unnatural you felt you might vomit on the floor. Oh, all those nights you spent with him, thinking he enjoyed your touches and words of love you whispered - in truth, without a spell he would be disgusted, he admitted it himself. You disgusted him as much as any other human. You would never be able to even brush your fingers against his if it weren't the spell.
Why, why, why did he do this?
"Working in the Tower becomes more and more unbearable since she isn't close. It's like an itch that I can't get rid of, always having thoughts abour her in the back of my mind. It's a bit inconvenient, but I wouldn't have it any other way. I will just move somewhere close to her. Maybe I can rearrange that barn close to the Orangery where she spends so much time."
"It has been three months since our marriage. I cannot explain my feelings with words. My life finally has a meaning other than just a research with no end purpose. It seems I can now better understand people around me thanks to developing so many feelings of my own. It has been a true blessing. Finally, I can say I am a human being too."
That was it, right? That last sentence about being human. You could feel it in your bones it was the true reason behind your husband's actions. He never felt human enough, not developing feelings towards other people like anyone else would. That was why the townsfolk called him a piece of ice, unable to hold his gaze for more than a couple of seconds. It was the ugly truth behind that perfect picture of a man who couldn't open himself to others because of his hardships. It's wasn't that he simply couldn't do it - he had no need to confide in anyone. James was empty like a cracked pot.
Of course, he chose you for no particular reason except that you were kind, understanding, and supporting. You wouldn't make his life difficult. You were a perfect target to play his loving wife if he showed you enough affection. Besides, you were just a commoner, you wouldn't reject his advances like a noble woman could.
James Buchanan Barnes was nothing like the kind-hearted, gentle, and affectionate man you imagined your husband to be. He was a selfish piece of shit who used you like he used his artifacts and magic supplies in his research. If magic were gone, he wouldn't spare you another glance.
No, you couldn't possibly stay a wife to this heartless bastard. Even if you didn't have many suitors, you didn’t deserve to be used so cruelly in just one of the warlock's experiments. What was going to happen if he wanted to undo the spell? He'd threw you out in the cold without a second thought when you would become older, much less attractive and having nothing of your own, absolutely unable to marry again and forced to scrub the floors for the rest of your life because your father wasn't going to take back a daughter who was already married.
No, no, you couldn't stay. You had to run. You had to save whatever was left of your life to rebuild it again before the warlock ruined everything.
Tags: @finleyjayne​​ @alexakeyloveloki​​ ​@helenaeisenhower​​ @villanellevi​​ @hurricanerin​​ @inlovewiththefictionalcharacters @chris-evans-indian-fanfic​​ @navegandoaciegas​​ @rosalynshields​​ @brattycherubwrites @sllooney​​ @angrythingstarlight​​ @lookiamtrying​​ @buckysbunny​​ @soleil-dor​​ @stargazingfangirl18​​ @dillybuggg​​ @literate-lamb​​ @cosicas-cuquis​​ @sarge-barnes-sir​​ @buckybarnesplumwhore​​ @jaysayey​​ @megzdoodle​​ @gotnofucks​​ @lux-ravenwolf​​ @ximebebx​​ @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123​​ @sourpatchspinster​​ @iheartsebandchris​
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Light and Dark | Part 25
Summary: Your sweetheart boyfriend, James Potter, can’t seem to hide his feelings for a certain beautiful redhead - who’s not you. Meanwhile, there’s a strange Slytherin boy, Cyrille Lestrange, famed even among purebloods for his lineage and inheritance, whose silver eyes somehow seem to always find you. [Multi-Post Story] [James Potter x Reader] [Cyrille Lestrange x Reader] [Warning: Story Contains Explicit Smut.] [Warning: Rough Sex: Bondage, Light Spanking.] [Warning: Dom-Sub Dynamic.] I want to say explicitly that this is fantasy. Any harassing and/or non-consensual behavior is totally unacceptable in reality. And of course, in reality, loving someone should not translate into taking unpleasurable/unwanted pain from that person, or anyone else. *Finally, please do not repost or copy my work without my permission. Thank You!
❦ Click Here for Light and Dark Home Page (All Chapter Links) ❦
                                                   ❧ Epilogue
A man stood outside an apartment, nervously lifting his hand to knock. He’d been going back and forth about whether to knock or not for a while now. But then, another desperate moan sounded out, all whimpering and full of adoration for whoever was doing that for her.
The man sighed. These neighbors, he thought. They’ve been at this for a while now. I can’t get any work done with their endless… er… whatever they’re doing. Finally, he knocked.
There was no reply. The woman’s moans only got louder and louder until she finally cut off. A man’s growls sounded out, and the woman let out endless broken whimpers, mewing pathetically, almost sobbing.
The man standing outside the door knocked harder. There was no reply, but inside the room, he heard the woman cry out, as she was taken yet again.
“For fuck’s sake.” The man, losing all patience, finally shouted, “Hey! You in there!”
There was a pause.
Then, the front door was yanked open. A tall man, sweat dripping from his forehead and his long silver hair running down his cut, naked torso, wearing an expression of complete fury at being interrupted, growled menacingly, “What? What do you want?”
“Er – could you – could you keep the noise down?” the man asked. Then, he paused. Behind the man’s shoulder, he could see a woman with her arms up, tied helplessly up against the headboard of the bed. She was entirely tied up in silk ribbons. She was gasping for breath, tears in her eyes, body shivering against her binds, and the insides of her long legs were drenched with… The man swallowed hard.
“Fine. We’ll keep it down,” the silver-haired young man snapped. “Now, don’t you dare bother me again. I’m busy.” With that, the door slammed shut.
A moment later, the bed creaked, and the man’s voice rang out tantalizingly, “You heard him, didn’t you, princess? You have to keep quiet.”
There was a loud slap of a large hand laying down a print on the woman’s ass, and a whining whimper sounded out from her. “B-But I c-can’t… Can’t keep q-quiet… When you’ve – you’ve -”
“When I what? I dare you to finish that sentence, princess.”
She let out a choked sob. “You’ve made me cum too many times already! I c-can’t keep quiet when you keep m-making me cum, Cy!”
The man laughed and said, “Oh, angel. It’s not my fault you have such a sweet little pussy, begging to be taken over and over again, and it’s not my fault your cum is so delicious. You know, I haven’t even given you my cock yet -”
At this, the woman whimpered and moaned again.
“If you can’t take it, say your safe word.”
“N-No,” the woman replied stubbornly. “Don’t w-wanna…”
“Then you’ll cum again.”
“But C-Cy -!”
“You keep holding onto your pride, princess, and keep those pretty little legs open for me, and we’ll see how many more times you can cum for me.” Slap. “I said, open those legs.”
A pause.
“Mmm, good girl. Yes, good fucking girl. You feel how wet you are? Dripping all over my fingers. Did you even know you could be this wet? And I’ll tell you another rule I have for you, princess – the wetter you get, the more fingers you have to take.”
Then – “Ah! C-Cy! Ah, ah, ah!”
Outside, the man slapped his hands over his ears and hurriedly walked away. He made plans in his head to buy soundproof wall padding for the next day.
*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *
It was the day after you’d gotten married and sure enough, neither your nor Cyrille could take time off for a honeymoon. But you sat there, thinking that he had somehow managed to still make your engagement feel very special, so you thought of how you might make an impromptu honeymoon of sorts, all without leaving your apartment. Finally, you went out and shopped around, buying this and that. Then, coming home, you dressed yourself in an outfit made completely of ribbon, running up your body and covering you between your thighs and over your breasts. Then, you slipped into a fluffy tulle dress you’d bought, and spread rose petals onto the bed and then, you stuck a tag on yourself saying, “Unwrap me,” and waited for your husband to come home.
 *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *
When Cyrille came home that day, he paused at the doorway, wondering what the puff of fabric was on the bed. Then, coming in, he saw you peeking out of it.
“Angel?” he said wonderingly. “What in the world are you wearing? I thought you were a Pygmy Puff for a second there.”
“It’s a dress,” you replied. “Now, you can’t laugh at me, Cyrille, okay?”
“Okay…” Cyrille’s brow arched in total confusion as he walked over to you. He noticed the rose petals spread over the bed and he saw how nicely done up you looked. “Angel, what is this?”
You pointed to the piece of paper in your hair. Cyrille reached over and flipped it over. It read “Unwrap me.”
Cyrille hesitated. Then, he slowly started to reach for your dress, to slip it over your head. But you grasped his hand, stopping him, and warned, “Don’t laugh.”
Cyrille nodded. He took off your dress and the fluffy piece of tulle fell to the floor. And there you were, sitting on the bed in rose petals, wearing only your ribbon lingerie - that is, dark purple silk ribbons crossed over your body strategically to cover your breasts and pussy, though not by very much, and then wrapped around your entire body, framing you in purple silk. It was held together by tying the silk into a little bow on the small of your back.
You blushed as you saw Cyrille’s eyes run up and down your body, taking in the way you were wrapped in ribbons for him.
“Well…?” you murmured.
Cyrille burst out laughing. He laughed so hard he fell to his knees besides the bed and he cried.
You reached over and hit him on the shoulder. “You said you wouldn’t laugh!”
“Oh Merlin,” Cyrille said, wiping his eyes. “Oh, angel, you are so adorable.”
You snorted and crossed your arms. “Fine. Then, I’ll change back -”
You made to get off the bed, but Cyrille leapt to his feet in a flash and hugged you tightly around your waist.
“Excuse me, Mrs., where are you going?” he whispered in your ear.
“Away,” you grumbled.
“Mm, I don’t think so. If you’re my present, I get to enjoy you,” Cyrille told you, sitting down on the bed with you sitting in his lap. “Presents don’t run away.”
“This one might,” you shot back.
“Well, in that case…” Cyrille suddenly reached around you and tied the ribbons at your wrists together in a tight knot, faster than you could believe. Then, he pulled you up with him and before you could blink, he had slipped the knot between your wrists over the little knob coming out of the middle of the headboard. As you had a four-poster headboard with a railing that went quite high up on the wall, it was tall enough that you were forced onto your tiptoes.
“Cyrille!” you cried out, surprised. “What are you -?” You tried to tug the knot back over the headboard, but to no avail. You were simply too short. “How did you even think of this so fast?” you griped.
Cyrille was already on his knees on the bed. He looked up at you with his glinting silver eyes, and with a most pleased smirk on his face, he confessed, “It’s not the first time I’ve thought of how to use this headboard… I simply never told you. I didn’t think you’d give me such a perfect opportunity to use it…”
“I’m a fool,” you groaned. “Trust me to walk right into your traps.”
“I do think that you have a bit of a naïve streak, my queen,” Cyrille murmured, pressing kisses all over your thighs. His hands snuck up the back of your legs and grasped your ass, holding you in place as his lips crept closer and closer to the bit of ribbon covering you right between your legs. “You were so defiant when we first had our little negotiations on the top of the Astronomy Tower that one night, and now, look at you – married to a Lestrange and now tied up to a headboard…”
Cyrille ran his tongue up the inside of your leg, remembering the intense electricity the two of you had felt sparking between you without ever touching. And now, to have you like this… His cock twitched.
“Hmpfh,” you said, irritated. “What was I thinking, dressing up in ribbons for you?”
Cyrille stood up at this. Pressing his body to yours hard enough that your back and the back of your legs were pinned down against the headboard, Cyrille gripped the back of your neck in his hand, crushing his curls against your neck.
“I rather like you in this, princess. It’s perfect to fuck you in,” he said, and his voice was low and grumbling, almost a growl. Then, he yanked your face up, using his thumb to roughly push your chin up, and he kissed you hard enough to make your lips start to puff up a little.
You whimpered a little. “Ah…”
“What?” Cyrille whispered to you harshly. “What are you whimpering for, princess? Tell me.”
Cyrille smirked. “You’re learning. Good girl.” Cyrille’s other hand was dragging down your body, pressing hard against your breasts and your curves and your little tummy before finding the strip of silk ribbon between your thighs. “I reward my smart submissives.” He started to rub you hard.
“Ah- Mm, mm,” you moaned into your kiss.
Cyrille finally stopped kissing you, though he kept his face right above yours, gazing down at you, for your head was pushed back from how hard he was kissing you. You both were slightly breathless already. You opened your eyes to see a fierce look in Cyrille’s eyes. He was going to appreciate his little present, you realized, and fucking take you. You swallowed a little. Cyrille felt you swallow, feeling your throat moving against his thumb on your throat, and he smirked at you, knowing that you had just realized how he was going to ruin you in this little outfit of yours.
Still, he played along with you for just a moment, pretending. He put his thumb on your mouth, then pressed down on your lower lip, making you part your lips. He whispered to you adoringly, “I’d like to be rough with you today, but you’re so fucking cute today.”
“Suh… So only thoft sex today?” you asked, trying to speak clearly with Cyrille pressing down on your lip.
“Mmm, I don’t think so,” Cyrille said, smirking at you. With his other hand, he grasped your ass before slapping it lightly. “We’ll mix it up. But… to start with…”
*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *
Thirty minutes later, you were dying. Your arms were straining from being tied up for so long. Cyrille was still on his knees, mouth pressed greedily to your pussy, making you cum non-stop. Previously, you had at least been on your tiptoes, taking some of the weight off of your tied wrists and raised arms, but now that you were lifting your legs up a little as you came, with your thighs quivering uncontrollably, you were exhausted. Cyrille was helping a little to hold you up, his hands up and pressing against your ass hard as he made you stay against his mouth, but your entire body was already sore from being so stretched out for him.
“C-Cy!” you gasped out between clenched teeth. “You – you said j-just to s-start – uhn! It’s b-been t-thirty minutes.”
“Yes,” Cyrille murmured, “and we’ve just started. Is that a problem?”
“Cy,” you whimpered, “I can’t cum anymore, please…”
“You can, angel, I know it,” he told you, palming your ass hard to get you back to his mouth. He tongued your soaking wet folds expertly again, causing your head to fall back as you let out a stream of moans.
Neither of you heard the first knock, or the second, but the angry shout from outside of “Hey! You in there!” caught both your attention. Cyrille paused. Then, he murmured, “Just ignore it,” and went back to eating you out.
“Cy,” you breathed out softly, stopping Cyrille from giving you yet another orgasm on his mouth. “S-someone’s at the door… We should get it.”
Cyrille groaned. He ripped himself away from you and the bed and made his way to the door in a few, quick strides. He yanked open the door and you heard him growl, “What?”
He and the man at the door seemed to trade words, but you hardly heard it, your mind was ringing. You stared down at yourself, seeing your body still all tied up in ribbons and your thighs and legs dripping with cum. Oh God, you thought to yourself, I came so much. No wonder I’m exhausted.
The door slammed shut and Cyrille came back to you.
“Who was that?” you asked, blinking tiredly.
“Our neighbor,” Cyrille replied.
“Oh, why did he come over?” you wondered.
“You heard him, didn’t you, princess?” Cyrille asked you.
You shook your head.
“You have to keep quiet,” Cyrille explained. Then, he slapped your ass hard, eliciting a whimper from you.
“B-But,” you protested. “I c-can’t… Can’t keep q-quiet… When you’ve – you’ve -”
“When I what? I dare you to finish that sentence, princess.”
Without meaning to, you let out a choked sob, letting your injustice be known. “You’ve made me cum too many times already! I c-can’t keep quiet when you keep m-making me cum, Cy!”
Cyrille laughed. “Oh, angel. It’s not my fault you have such a sweet little pussy, begging to be taken over and over again, and it’s not my fault your cum is so delicious. You know, I haven’t even given you my cock yet -”
You whimpered and moaned again, both excited and a bit fearful of his words. He means to make me take his cock? After all this? Oh God, can my body keep up?
“If you can’t take it, say your safe word,” Cyrille reminded you.
“N-No,” you at once. “Don’t w-wanna…”
“Then you’ll cum again,” Cyrille said matter-of-factly.
“But C-Cy -!”
“You keep holding onto your pride, princess, and keep those pretty little legs open for me, and we’ll see how many more times you can cum for me.”
“Oh…” You breathed out quietly.
Your legs had fallen together as Cyrille had been at the door, so now, he gave you a hard slap that made you jolt as he ordered, “I said, open those legs.”
You bleated out a feeble moan as you had to coax your exhausted thighs apart by using your abs, making your tummy burn.
Cyrille, seeing how tired you were, made sure to praise you. “Mmm, good girl. Yes, good fucking girl. You feel how wet you are? Dripping all over my fingers. Did you even know you could be this wet?”
You shook your head. No, you thought to yourself, no, I didn’t know.
“And I’ll tell you another rule I have for you, princess – the wetter I get, the more fingers you have to take.”
Cyrille thrust three fingers into you now – he’d brought you to orgasm with just his mouth five times, then twice with one finger and his tongue, then once with just two fingers, then twice again with two fingers and his mouth…
“Ah!” A desperate cry that you didn’t know you were capable of making ripped out of your throat. “C-Cy! Ah, ah, ah!”
You mewled and protested, but Cyrille was already busy giving you his fingers. Wet squelching sounds rang out in the room. Your hips bucked in the air. You threw your head back and with your eyes shut, sweat dripping off of your face, cheeks nearly crimson from the heat you felt overwhelming your body, and your hair tumbling down your back, you moaned. Cyrille looked up at you. With the way you were tied up, arms up over your head, and now, with your head fallen back, Cyrille could see your beautiful breasts, all perky and sweet, and pressed together as you unconsciously arched your back as much as you could whilst hanging in mid-air.
Fuck, angel is by far the best submissive I’ve ever had. Just look at her, Cyrille though hungrily. Mmm, she needs to cum again. She needs to. Right on my fingers. Right in my mouth.
While Cyrille kept fingering you intensely, he wrapped his other arm around your ass and continued to greedily eat you out, rubbing his tongue hard on your clit as he finger fucked you to yet another orgasm – your eleventh one.
“Ah! Ah, ah, ah!” Your gasps were scraping out of your throat, so very desperate – either to cum or to pass out, you weren’t sure anymore. But Cyrille’s fingers were so unforgiving, and his tongue was equally unrelenting, pushing over and over again at your clit and pussyhole simultaneously, daring you to cum again…
“Uhn!” With a loud, heavy moan, you suddenly yanked up both your legs clean off the mattress – it was a wonder the headboard of the bed didn’t just snap – and you came hard with your legs drawn up in the air, squirting messily all over the bed and over Cyrille’s face.
“Fuck,” Cyrille growled, watching you come completely undone before him.
You were sobbing loudly with your head thrown back as cum kept squirting out of you, more cum than you’d ever given before. Your fingers had found your ribbons (that your wrists were tied in) and you held onto them for all you were worth as you kept cumming and cumming.
Cyrille appreciated the view very much, looking up at your gorgeous, stretched-out body, all toned and tight, while cum squirted out from your beautiful pussy. But he could see your thighs trembling all over, and your abs were strained, as were your arms, and he saw the way you clutched onto the ribbons above your head, searching desperately for any semblance of support. You hadn’t used your safeword yet, but Cyrille reached up and untied you anyways.
You fell forward onto the bed, totally exhausted. Your legs twitched. Eyes shut, you panted hard, splayed out on the bed. Your body was tingling all over, especially your arms and pussy, to the point that you had no real sense of physicality at that moment. You simply felt like your body was composed purely of nerves – every sensation was heightened, but also careening so quickly into overstimulation. You fuzzily recognized the electricity as electricity belonging to Cyrille. You’d always felt this way around him, even back when you couldn’t remember him because even without laying a finger on you, he could make you shiver before him.
Cyrille laid down on the bed, positioning himself lower on the bed than you, and he gently split your legs apart. He reached under you with one hand and put his hand warmly against your tummy and then, with his tongue, he lapped at your pussy gently. You let out a harsh breath and jolted slightly against him, causing Cyrille’s hand to slip down from your tummy back to your clit. Unable to help himself, what had started as a gentle lapping at you to calm you down quickly became your twelfth orgasm.
“Hah…ah…ah! Ah!” You suddenly jerked sideways onto the bed, catching Cyrille’s head between your thighs. You squeezed his head between your thighs.
“Mmm,” Cyrille’s muffled moan sent sweet hums right to your core. You reached down and grabbed his hair hard.
“Cy -!” you gasped out. Arching your back hard, you came again. Cyrille groaned appreciatively, loving that you had your thighs pressed against the sides of his face, pressing your pussy hard against his mouth as you came, and that your little hands had found his hair to hold onto, which you sweetly tugged at, as you came again for him.
Trembling, your hand finally fell away weakly from his hair and your thighs fell apart.
You were on your back now, panting for all you were worth as stars blinked out before your vision. Without realizing it, you started to hold your breath instead of breathing out to try to gain back a semblance of control over your body.
Cyrille gently laid down next to you and very softly cradled your head in his hand. “Breathe, angel,” he reminded you.
You struggled a little, realizing now that you were, in fact, holding your breath.
“Breathe,” Cyrille whispered again.
You nodded softly.
“Good girl,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.
Cyrille then pushed himself up onto his side and slowly began to kiss you all over your body, not to push you towards another climax, but to bring you back down to earth with him, to give you back a sense of grounding. He gently sucked at your breasts, using both of his hands to cup them as he leaned down and kissed them and bit softly at you nipples. Then, steadily pressing his hands down your sides, he kissed you all over your tummy.
“Mm…” You finally started to breathe normally again. You tiredly reached down and touched Cyrille’s hair with your hands, stroking his hair slowly and lovingly.
Feeling your touch, Cyrille came back up to you, slowly resting his body on top of yours to make your body feel safe and warm.
“Kisses?” he asked you, asking for your permission.
You nodded quickly and puckered your lips out at once.
He smiled. “All right, princess,” he murmured, and leaning down, he pressed his lips gently on yours.
But as he shifted on top of you a little, and you naturally opened your thighs to let his waist sink down on top of you, you felt how hard he was. His cock was straining at the front of his trousers. It was a wonder the zipper hadn’t burst yet.
Without really thinking about it, you hugged Cyrille and then shifted yourself underneath him ever so slightly, brushing your bare pussy up against the front of his pants.
“Uhn,” Cyrille breathed out. “Angel, that doesn’t – doesn’t help. I’m trying to calm you down, you know.”
“Hm… too bad,” you whispered. Biting down on his lower lip playfully in your kiss, you started to rock against him harder, moving your little hips up and down against him.
“Angel, don’t p-push it,” Cyrille stuttered out. You could feel his fingers starting to dig into the softness of your hips.
“Do you want to be inside me?” you asked teasingly. You leaned forward, lifting your head, and nipped at his ear. “Seeing me cumming endlessly, tasting me… Does that make you want me?”
Cyrille’s moan turned into a growl. “Angel…”
“Well,” you whispered, “too bad.”
You suddenly slid out from under him, moving fast – but Cyrille was faster. He grabbed your waist and wrapping his arms around your shoulders, he pinned you back down on the bed, knocking the breath out of you.
He growled deep in your ear, “Don’t lie to me, princess. You want my cock in your little hole, don’t you? You want me inside of you just as much as I want you.”
Of course I do, you thought to yourself. But you playfully shook your head, just to get him all riled up. “Nope,” you threw back at him, “I dressed up for you for nothing. Just wanted to tease you a little, you know?”
“Princess,” he warned you.
Though you giggled a little, you also felt your tummy lurch at his warning voice. Responding subconsciously to his dominance, you found yourself gripping the sheets on either side of you. His chest was pressed flush to your back and you could feel exactly how sculpted he was, not to mention, his arms were so tight around your shoulders that it almost hurt.
“Princess, you’ll take my cock,” he growled.
You smiled cheekily, knowing what was coming, as you threw back at him, “Make me.”
That was it. Keeping one hand across your shoulders to keep you pinned down, Cyrille suddenly spanked you harshly three times.
Slap! “Nngh...!” You clenched your teeth.
Slap! Despite yourself, your mouth fell open. “Ah!”
Slap! “A-Ah!” You cried out, feeling the stinging feeling increase on your plush ass. 
Your legs were flailing a little behind you, in the air, but ignoring this, Cyrille simply reached down and pushed your thighs apart impatiently. Then, he roughly yanked your ribbon lingerie (which had slipped back over you) to the side and he guided himself to you. Finding your tight little pussy waiting for his cock, Cyrille thrust. Hard.
“Ah!” Your eyes flashed open and before you knew it, you’d pressed your face against the sheets and were biting the silk sheets while crying out. “O-Oh my G-God…” you stuttered out.
“Mmm, fuck!” Cyrille spat out harshly as he immediately moved his hips into you, pushing you deep into the mattress as he rammed his cock into your tight cunt. He held his breath for a minute, but then he groaned, unable to help himself. “Uhn… shit.”
“Cy…” you whimpered.
“You’re so fucking tight, princess,” Cyrille managed to tell you through gritted teeth.
“You’re s-so deep,” you moaned out. “Oh G-God… Mmm…” You shivered all over underneath him, causing him to squeeze you harder in his arms. When his hips thrust forward, yours sank into the mattress, and his cock was now buried deep in your pussy.
Cyrille pressed his lips against your bare shoulder and moaned. His squeezing you tighter dragged your head up a little, and the sheets came with you for a moment, as you had them clenched tightly between your teeth.
“Oh…” A high-pitched whimper left you, and the sheets finally fell out of your mouth. “You’re a-already hitting u-up against – uhn – m-me,” you whispered. “C-Cy… ah…”
“Yes, I can feel you, princess,” Cyrille moaned back. “You get so incredibly tight right at the end. It makes me want to fuck you as hard as I can, push up against your tightest spot every single time.” He thrust again as he spoke, hitting up against your cervix.
You whimpered. “Cy, no, it’s g-gonna hurt.”
“All right, I won’t,” Cyrille told you quickly, “I’m never going to hurt you, angel. But I just – fuck, you make me feel so good.”
“I do?” you murmured back.
“Yes. You know you do. Mmm.” Cyrille thrust again, taking your tight little pussy as his – all his.
You wanted to giggle at how into this he was, but you couldn’t do anything except moan because of the intense feeling of pressure stretching out your pussy and pressing all the way up into the deepest part of you. And as he moved his hips back and forth into you, the friction of his cock taking you, with all of the ridges and veins of his cock sliding up and down, tugging at your sensitive walls, took up all your mental space. Pleasure, pleasure, pleasure, your body and mind chanted to you as you felt Cyrille giving you his cock, moving deep inside of you and sending shivers up your spine.
“Uh…” you breathed out. You may have been teasing Cyrille only a few minutes ago, but now, you’d do anything just to have him keep fucking you. Your thighs shifted underneath him a little as the tension pushing at your pussy and all the way up to your tummy made it almost unbearable.
Yes, unbearable, you thought hazily, as Cyrille kept fucking moans out of you – “uhn, uhn, uhn - !” – unbearable to be so tightly held and so deeply fucked. Unbearable to be so loved. And I love taking him like this inside of me, too. It feels so good, to feel him taking me as his woman.
The way Cyrille was holding you so tightly against him, forcing you to arch your back so that he could tuck his face against your neck and shoulder, made it hard for you to breathe deeply. Besides that, he was fucking you so hard you could barely catch any breath at all. Cyrille’s hips and thighs kept slamming against yours. Each one of your inhales were cut off by his sharp thrusts, as he was determinedly pushing the breath right out of your body with every thrust.
Cyrille was starting to build up a faster rhythm, too, pumping into you at a very deliberate and quick pace.
Immediately, your pussy walls tightened in response to the increase in friction pushing at your walls. “Ah!” you cried out, shutting your eyes. “Ah, ah, ah!”
Cyrille cursed again. “Fuck, I can feel your little cunt spasming all over my cock already. You’re so sensitive, princess. So fucking sensitive and delicate…”
You whimpered.
“You can’t take anything, can you?” Cyrille moaned. “It’s hard enough for you to take my cock, to feel me forcing my cock to fit all the way inside this tight little pussy, hm? For me to do more, to take you as hard and rough as I want, to give you a real pounding – well, that would ruin you, wouldn’t it, angel?”
You didn’t mean to nod, but with Cyrille holding you up, with his arm around your shoulders, your head lolled back and forth, and you ended up nodding hazily as you mumbled through your moans, “Y-yes… ah, r-ruin me, ah, ah, ah…!”
“I don’t think you could – uhn - could take it, angel. Do… Do you?” Cyrille panted, his dominant aura cracking because of how good you felt to him, how well your little cunt was taking his cock, and how precious you felt in his arms. His teasing you in this moment was just a cover-up, a cover-up because he was actually not too far from cumming already. He’d never wanted to cum this fast before. But your tight little hole, quivering all over him and milking his cock for all it was worth, was proving to be a true challenge of self-restraint.
Still tucked underneath him, Cyrille heard you mumble to yourself, “T-take it… Take – it – uhn!”
Cyrille groaned. “You don’t even know what you want, princess. You don’t even know…” But inwardly, he was thinking to himself, Fuck, it’s me who doesn’t know how the hell I’m going to keep from cumming in her. He was moaning in his head, Oh, princess, you don’t even know how sweet your tight little cunt is to me. I could have you all day and night long. I want nothing more than to just fill you up with my cum, have you overflowing with me in your pussy, even your little tummy, your mouth, your ass… I’d cum in you as deep and hard as I could. I’d make sure we had the child we so want…
Cyrille groaned deeply again, still thrusting as hard as he could into your sex. By now, your thighs and ass had turned bright red from Cyrille’s thighs and hips slamming into you repeatedly.
Our child… The thought lingered in Cyrille’s head as he fucked you long and hard. He wanted to hear you talk about how much you loved him, how much you wanted this life with him. He wanted to hear you tell him about how you loved him and only him.
So, Cyrille tried to tease you through his pants and moans, saying to you, “You don’t even care that it’s me that’s fucking you, do you? So long as there’s a long hard cock in your pussy…”
“N-No!” you protested at once. “Not t-true. Ah!” You mumbled something incoherently as your moans overtook you before you finished, “You, Cy…”
“Me?” Cyrille panted out.
“Y-yeah. You… only – ah – you…”
“Fuck, I’ll have to reward… mmm, fuck, you’re wet…” Cyrille suddenly cut off, distracted.
But you looked up at him hazily, turning your head over your shoulder as best as you could, as you asked him blearily, “R-Reward?”
“Yes, reward you for saying that, angel,” Cyrille finished.
You hummed happily for a second, though that sweet noise was quickly cut off by a far harsher gasp from you as he made you take his cock again.
“You want your reward?” Cyrille asked you, whispering low in your ear.
“Yes, giv- ah, fuck, s-so deep! – uhn, g-gimme, please,” you moaned, words slurring together now. Your head, too, lolled forward, though you were still kept up by Cyrille’s arm holding you up, his arm acting like a bar across your chest and shoulders.
“Do you… Do you deserve it, princess?” Cyrille asked, pushing his cock relentlessly through your ever tightening folds. You were close, he could feel it, and so was he.
“Y-Yeah,” you mumbled. “D-Deserve, because g-good girl… Uhn…”
“Beg for it.” Cyrille’s cruel whisper slithered into your head, which was appropriate, as the way he was fucking you so hard, ramming right into your cervix, and making your thighs and ass take a bit of a pounding too, was enough to make the large blue tattoo of the serpent on Cyrille’s back ripple too, almost as though it had come alive and was slithering over his back.
You merely whimpered, feeling the burning in your pussy get tighter as your pussy walls clenched at his words. The way he used his authority, mmm, it made you shiver. Serpent prince, you remembered, and a dominant. I’d never have imagined myself being with someone like him, and yet, as of today, we are married – wonderfully married.
“Words, princess,” Cyrille ordered, and then, his other hand (the one not holding you up) slithered down, wrapping around your left hip and slipping in between your body and the mattress. He began to massage your little pussy as he continued to pound into you from behind. He loved this position, being able to feel both your ass against him and your pussy so tight between your legs, gripping at the entire length of his cock, from tip to balls, as he rammed himself inside of you.
“A-Ah!” you gasped out loudly, head jerking back up as the shock of your clit being pleasured even as Cyrille continued to slam his long, hard cock into your tight little cunt over and over again sent multiple little electric jolts through you. You were starting to tingle all over your body once again, but this time, it felt even more intense because, in contrast to Cyrille’s mouth and fingers, his cock violated you far more deeply and far more brutally.  
“Come on, Mrs.,” Cyrille teased you. “I want to hear my wife begging for her little reward, and then I’ll give it you…”
Wife… The very thought made you blush all over and shiver with pleasure. But there was a dual and parallel need in your body right now and that was the fact that… you needed release. You needed it more than anything. So, you willingly acquiesced to Cyrille, whimpering in the most pitiful little voice, “Yes, p-please. Give it t-to me, give it to your w-wife, p-please. Oh, p-please.”
Cyrille kissed the side of your neck. “You make the prettiest little sounds, my queen.”
“Fine,” he whispered to you, “you can have your reward.”
Cyrille suddenly let you fall forward on the bed. He sat up and pressing both of his hands hard on the small of your back, anchoring you to the bed right where he wanted you, he rammed his cock between your legs as hard as he could, pounding you into a mental state of shock and complete pleasure.
“Ah, ah, ah, ah!” You moaned out. “Ah!”
You instinctively tried to hold onto something, but your hands, still bound together by ribbon, couldn’t manage to hold onto the thin sheets underneath you.
Cyrille looked down to see you shivering in the ribbons you were wearing. The ribbons were tight around your breasts and slightly loose around your waist, and the silk ribbons quivering against your creamy, blushing skin was such a beautiful sight to Cyrille.
What was more, the little bow just above your ass, where the ribbon came together and held the outfit together, was flouncing in the air, bouncing up and down, because of how hard Cyrille was fucking you. Cyrille rather admired that pretty little ribbon jumping in the air with each thrust. But you were feeling completely overwhelmed by the rough pounding between your thighs, pushing you to cum again – and have the most intense orgasm yet – and being unable to take that tension out on anything, you cried out loudly. Tears splashed down your cheeks onto your sheets as your moans kept cascading to a desperate crescendo. “Ah, ah, ah - !”
Cyrille glanced down to see your tight pussy hole and your puffy pink lips spreading open every time his cock moved in and out of your ass. His cock was spreading your lovely wetness all over your pussy.
“Uhn, God, you’re getting so wet, princess,” Cyrille moaned, leaning forward a little to pin you down harder as you were starting to squirm under him. He reached under you and pulled at the strips of ribbons running down over your breasts. Sliding them to the sides, under your shoulders instead of on your breasts, your breasts bounced free, and Cyrille grasped them in both of hands as he fucked you from behind.
“All sloppy and wet, fuck,” Cyrille groaned. “I fucking adore your little body, princess.”
When you felt Cyrille grasp your breasts, you moaned in total bliss. Even though pleasure was coursing through your body mainly because of the way his cock was ramming into you, sending shockwave after shockwave of jolting pleasure all down your little tummy and all over your body, Cyrille’s beautiful hands touching you always, always made you melt.
And you melted now, playing right into his hands, pushing your breasts gently into his palms and then arching your back a little to lift your ass a bit higher into the air, to let him take you deeper.
“Fuck, look at you. I love you like this. I love -” Cyrille cut off for a few seconds as a huff of air left him because even though he was the one thrusting into you, your tight little pussy was working him too, working his cock and squeezing it all over, as though begging him to cum in you right fucking now, but Cyrille wouldn’t cum yet because he wanted to have your little pussy all to himself a little longer  “- how wet you get for me, my angel. It shows me how much you want my cock, how ready for me you are, and how your pussy is desperate for my cock – only my cock.”
“C-Cy!” Your desperate cry punctuated his dirty talk.
“Yes, say my name, princess. Say the name of the man you belong to. Tell me who gets to take this little pussy.”
“Cy!” you gasped out.
“Yes, princess, no one else gets to see you like this, fucked out of your senses, or to feel you so dripping wet before you’ve even properly cum on my cock.” Cyrille groaned and leaning forward on top of you, half-collapsing onto you, he bit your shoulder hard as he growled, “Mmm that’s why, my angel, my precious little thing, I’m going to make you cum again” – thrust – “Ah”!
“And again” – thrust – “A-Ah!”
“And again” – thrust - “Cy!” you sobbed again, writhing underneath him, but your hips were so tightly pinned down that all you could do you moan and bite at the sheets as he took you and took you and took you.
F-Fuck, I c-can’t believe how hard he’s pounding i-into me! My p-pussy can’t take this for much l-longer, you moaned in your head.
“‘M so c-close!” you burst out, crying. “Ah! P-Please!”
Cyrille brought his hand back up and shoved two fingers into your mouth. You immediately latched onto them, sucking them hard.
Cyrille smirked. “You – uhn - You love having my fingers in your mouth, don’t you, my sweet little wife?” he asked, amused.
You just nodded, mind completely preoccupied with the wave threatening to burst in your tummy and your pussy – needing to cum!
“Suck on them when you cum,” he whispered demandingly. “You can’t open your mouth when you cum. You have to suck on my finger, princess. Understand?”
“M-mm- kay! Ah!” you mumbled around his fingers, as he continued to ram his cock inside of your wet, tight pussy.
“Cum,” Cyrille ordered you, and this time, when he thrust inside of you, he remained balls-deep inside of you, the tip of his cock slamming into your center – and staying there.
You shook underneath him. “A-Ah…! Ah… C-Cy…!”
“That’s right. Good girl. Now, cum,” Cyrille whispered, as he saw you starting to disintegrate completely. “And keep sucking my fingers, just like that.”
“Ah- Mmpfh! Mmm! Mmm! Mmmmm!” His fingers shoved in your mouth, you found yourself unable to moan openly, but sucking hard on his fingers obediently, you came all over your husband’s cock. Cream coated his entire cock, still inside of you, before dripping all over the sheets underneath you. Your clit was covered in cream. You shivered for a solid ten seconds, creaming all over him and yourself.
“Oh fuck, look at you cumming. What a good girl. What a good fucking girl you are for me, princess. My girl – yes, mine, mine, mine…”
Cyrille finally slid his fingers out of your mouth. You made to take a deep breath to get air into your lungs, but he immediately yanked your face up and turning your head, he kissed you hard on the mouth. Cyrille felt tears drip onto his fingers holding your chin, as you were crying from overstimulation. Your body was still quivering a little.
Cyrille moaned softly. “Angel, are you all right?”
You nodded weakly. “O-Oh, Cy…” you mumbled against his lips. You shut your eyes tightly, still seeing stars. “Hah… Ah…”
“Angel, I’m going to have to take you just a bit longer to cum. Is that okay?” he asked you.
You nodded again.
“You want that?” Cyrille asked you, gently stroking your cheek with the back of his finger.
“Y-Yes,” you managed to say out loud. “W-want.”
“Yeah? You want me to cum? “M-Mhm…”
“How bad do you want it?” Cyrille asked, slipping back into teasing you now that he knew you were okay.
“S-so bad,” you mumbled, still panting hard.
“More than anything?”
“Yes… M-More than a-anything…” you moaned, thinking about him cumming for you. “Please, c-cum for your l-little girl. For me… Please…”
“All right. Lay back down,” Cyrille told you. “I’ll try to cum quickly. I can tell how spent you are, princess.”
“I’m.. ‘kay,” you mumbled, but you laid your head back down. Cyrille also reached down and untied the ribbon around your wrists.
“You still remember your safe word?” Cyrille asked you.
You nodded and bleated out tiredly, “Raven.”
“Okay. Good.” Then, taking a deep breath, Cyrille pushed his cock back inside of you, and a fresh wave of cream, now pushed out of your pussy, dripped out of you. As Cyrille began to fuck you again, the cream dripping down his cock, gathered at the rim of your pussy hole, making you all white and pretty between your thighs.
“Uhn,” Cyrille groaned out. “Still tight, fuck.”
“Ah…” Reaching up, you finally got to grip the sheets as you were fucked. You tried to call him “husband,” thinking it’d make him feel good, because you flowed with happiness when he called you “wife,” but, unable to get out the full word “husband,” you mumbled, “H-Hus.. Hubby…”
“What did you call me?” Cyrille asked you, amused.
“You’re my… husband,” you said, shutting your eyes to focus and speak more clearly.
Cyrille smiled, glowing when you called him that. “Yes, I am.” He pressed a long kiss between your shoulder blades. “I am your husband. Are you happy with that?”
“Mhm,” you hummed, nodding.
Cyrille leaned over you and gripped your hands in his easily, and he grasped onto your small fists tightly with his own larger hands as his cock worked your sore little pussy again.
You moaned pitifully. You were so sore… Your pussy twitched, exhausted from how many times you’d cum and how roughly you’d been taken today.
“C-Cum, please,” you moaned. “Cum for me, Cy…” You cut off and pressed your face against the sheets as you unintentionally let out a quick sob.
“Sh, don’t cry, angel, I’m almost there,” Cyrille reassured you quickly. He really did try to cum faster for you, but in doing so, he had to work your little body quite hard under his.
“A-Ah…!” Your weary voice sounded out again, so lovely and exhausted, as you took your sweetheart, your first love, and now your husband, inside of yourself again.
Cyrille shut his eyes and squeezed your little hands tighter in his own. He was shifting back and forth on his knees as he thrust inside of you. Fuck, I’m close, he groaned. But he tried to keep reassuring you and praising you as he used your sore, tight little cunt to cum. He mumbled out, “G-Good girl, taking me so – uhn – so deep, angel. Letting me stretch you… out. Ah, fuck. You’re s-such a good girl for me, aren’t you?”
You nodded hazily, fucked out beyond all thought, mindlessly agreeing to anything Cyrille was saying.
And he was the same with you, he had no clue what was coming out of his mouth anymore. All he knew was that you were his girl, to love and protect, and your soft little body was made to be loved, and God, he’d give anything to cum in you right now, to mark you inside as his, all his – but no, pull out, pull out! Cyrille let out a high, soft moan as he pulled out his cock. At once, he came all over your ass and thighs and back, drenching you in his cum…
You gasped when you felt his cum get everywhere on you, from your bright pink ass to your flushed thighs to that little arch in your back that Cyrille loved to see so much when he was fucking you… You wished he’d cum right in your sore, wet little pussy, all dripping with cream. You knew the warmth and slickness of his cum could have soothed your aching walls. Yes, I could have used all of that cum to soothe my pussy, you thought regretfully. But you knew it was for the best. For now.
Cyrille fell onto the bed besides you, eyes shut and panting hard. “Fuck,” he breathed out harshly. “I can’t believe how well you took me…”
He shifted onto his side to look at you. You were lying face-front on the mattress, but your head was turned to the side to look at Cyrille. You blinked tiredly, but adoringly, up at him.
“Course I did,” you replied to him, your voice soft and hushed after such an intense session of making love. “I’m your girl, after all.”
Cyrille smiled warmly at you. He reached over and wrapping one arm around your waist, he slid you over to him. He kissed your forehead before nuzzling your nose with his.
“Did you enjoy your honeymoon?” you asked him, mumbling a little. “Were you satisfied with your present today?”
“Oh, angel,” Cyrille breathed out, speaking in the same, quiet tone as you. “If you’re my present, I’m satisfied for life.”
Your lips lifted in a smile. “I love you, Cy,” you whispered. “So much.”
Cyrille hugged you to him tighter, though he was careful with you, as he responded, “I love you, too, angel.”
You looked up at him, and you saw silver stars dancing in his beautiful eyes, and a strange golden light flashing brilliantly, too, in waves – rather like: “Aurora lights,” you whispered.
“Hm? What’s that, angel?”
“Your eyes… When you’re happy, I can see your happiness in your eyes, all glimmering and beautiful like the Northern lights,” you explained.
Cyrille gave you a funny look, as though he wasn’t sure what to make of that. But, seeing your beautiful face and your cheeks still flushed from making love with him, he whispered, “Well, if that’s true, I have to tell you, angel, that you have roses blooming on your cheeks…”
You blushed and smiled, making his statement even truer. You pushed yourself forward a little, rolling onto your side and closer to Cyrille and then, pressing your face into his bare chest, you kissed his chest softly as you whispered, “Thank you, Cy, for everything. And we still have so much life to live, don’t we?”
And you did. 
*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *
Years later, after you and Cyrille had managed to move into a house together, you found yourself pacing back and forth, your feet plodding across the soft carpet nervously. You were going to wear out a pathway across the carpet in front of your and Cyrille’s bedroom door before you’d even lived here properly. 
But you didn’t know how to tell him the news. You just didn’t know. Your heart was thudding so hard in your chest, it was physically painful. 
Eleven o’clock became midnight became one o’clock... 
You sank to your knees and clutched your head in your hands. How do I tell him? 
No, you told yourself, don’t be a coward now. 
You pushed yourself back up. You’d just gotten up from the floor when suddenly, the bedroom door opened. “Angel, what’s going on? Why aren’t you coming to bed?”
You stared up at your husband with a close to deer-in-headlights look. “Cy...” You squeezed out his name in a tiny voice that you barely managed to wrench out from your constricted lungs. 
“What? What is it?” Recognizing that you were using your nickname for him, Cyrille was immediately there for you. 
“Are you hurt?” Cyrille asked you, pressing his hand to your face and gently forcing you to look up at him so he could examine your face.
You shook your head and as you did, a tear fell from your face, swinging off of your eyelashes and immediately lost to space, landing in the soft carpet somewhere. 
“Then what...?”
You reached up and taking his hand in yours, you placed a fervent kiss to his palm before you slowly, and with trembling hands, guided his hand to your stomach. 
Cyrille paused. “Does your stomach hurt?”
You shook your head. Taking a deep, teary breath, you whispered, “Cyrille...”
Cyrille froze. It hit him what else this could mean, the only other possible thing it could mean. “Angel, are you -?”
“Yes!” You burst into tears and threw your arms around him. 
Cyrille was still in shock. He stumbled backwards slightly until his back hit the wall of the hallway behind him. 
You sobbed into his neck as you squeezed his shoulders as hard as you could. “Cy, we’re going to have a baby!”
Slowly, Cyrille blinked back to life. “You’re... You’re pregnant?” he whispered in a voice of total disbelief. Can I let myself believe it? Can this be real life? Cyrille thought, dazed with the prospect of unbelievable happiness.
He felt you nod your head up and down against his neck.
“We’re going to have... a child...” Cyrille breathed out, dizzy. 
Still keeping your arms tight around his neck, you pulled back just enough to look up at him. Your tear-stained face had never been so beautiful than when you told Cyrille in a hushed, precious voice, “You’re going to be a father, and I’m going to be a mother. We’re going to have a baby together.”
In that moment, Cyrille forgot how to blink and how to breathe altogether. His mind had literally jammed. What was more, he felt like a star had just exploded in his heart. You saw him staring into space in shock, with tears of happiness streaming down his face. 
You pressed your palms tenderly against his cheeks and, kissing his tears away, you told him, “We’re going to have a child, Cy. Our child.” 
Upon hearing those last two words that you spoke - “our child” - Cyrille broke. Breaking down in tears, he wrapped you in his arms and hugged you tight, though he was careful not to put any pressure on your stomach. 
“Angel,” he whispered in a voice fervent enough to be a prayer, “we’re going to be parents?” 
“Yes,” you told him, nodding your head at him. “Yes, we are.”
“I’m going to be a father and you’re - you’re going to be a mother?” Cyrille still couldn’t believe it.
Your beautiful face split into a smile as you nodded again. Your put your head on his chest and leaned into him, and he held you to him again.
“Angel,” Cyrille repeated, his voice conveying the overwhelming emotion he was feeling right now, “I - I can’t believe it. I can’t - We’re going to have a family? Our family?” 
“Yes!” you replied again, crying with happiness at seeing how utterly joyful Cyrille was at the news. 
Finally, the words started to truly mean something in Cyrille’s mind. Cyrille looked down at you and seeing you pressed up against him, hugging him so tightly with your little arms while you looked at him with bright, shiny eyes, and the most gorgeous smile he’d ever seen, Cyrille suddenly realized what it all meant - both the happiness and the responsibility. 
“I promise you,” Cyrille whispered fiercely to you, “I promise to be a good husband and a good father. I swear, Angel, I’ll do everything I can to be there for you and for our child.”
“I know, Cy,” you whispered back, knowing how much this meant to him. “Thank you.” 
After a moment, Cyrille sank to the floor and he carefully hugged you right at your waist, right where he imagined your beautiful child to be. “We love you,” he whispered, feeling foolish but unable to help his feelings - namely, the love that was pouring out of his heart. He pressed a gentle kiss on your stomach. “We love you so much already.”
“Yes, we do,” you agreed, softly rubbing your stomach with your hand. 
When Cyrille stood back up, he looked down at you, still in awe. He murmured, “A family, Angel. That’s what we’ll be. A family.” 
He took your hand and squeezed it hard in his. “Are you all right, angel?”
“I am now. I’m so relieved,” you replied honestly. “I didn’t how to tell you.”
“Is that why you were pacing outside of our bedroom?”
You nodded. “I was scared of how you might react.”
“Oh, angel...” Cyrille immediately pulled you into his arms. “How could I be anything but entirely happy and grateful?”
“You mean it?” you asked him.
“Of course, my love.” He looked into your eyes. “And what about you, my angel? How are you feeling?” He frowned a little as he added quickly, “That was the first thing I should have asked you. I’m sorry.”
You shook your head, telling him that he didn’t need to be sorry at all. Then, you confessed, a little breathlessly, “I’m happy, Cy. I’m really, really happy. I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy before in my life, and I’ve known nothing but happiness since we’ve been together.”
Cyrille gave you a most loving and tender kiss on your forehead. “You look it,” he told you. “You look happy. You’re always beautiful, but you look absolutely radiant tonight, angel.” 
It was some time later that the two of you finally headed to bed. It was you who guided Cyrille to bed, as he still seemed totally starstruck. As you led him towards the bed, he kept whispering under his breath, “I’m going to be a father.”
Finally, you both laid down under the covers. But at once, you and Cyrille turned your heads to look at each other. 
“Angel,” Cyrille whispered, “are you scared? I think I’m... terrified.”
“Me, too,” you admitted. 
Cyrille nodded. 
But a moment later, you both shared smiles with each other. (It was as though you were saying to each other: This is terrifying because we want it so bad, but we’ll be all right, you and me. Look at all we’ve been through already. Look at all we’ve overcome to get here. So, we can do this if we’re together, and we are, and we will be.) You couldn’t help it. You were both so happy and so hopeful. After all, you had always wished for, but never truly believed, that this day would come. And now, at long last, it had.
“Cy,” you told him, “this is all I ever wanted. This life with you.” 
And this time, it was Cyrille who returned a loving, “Me, too.” 
Finally, the two of you attempted to get some sleep. You were lying together in an oft-assumed position, with his hand on your stomach, and you holding his hand. But though you must have slept together like this at least a hundred times by now, tonight it held a special meaning, an altogether newfound meaning. Tonight, the two of you discovered all over again what it meant to hope and to love something so deeply that your own sense of self was reborn all over again.
*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *
As it was, you and Cyrille eventually had not one, but two, children: First, a son named Regulus Cyrille Lestrange, and then, a few years later, a daughter named Emily Rose Lestrange. 
You and Cyrille took your two little ones to the park one summer afternoon. You sat down on the grass, putting down a small basket filled with snacks. Sitting down and gathering your knees in your arms, you watched lovingly as Cyrille, with Emily sitting on his shoulders and holding Regulus’ hand, walked through the garden in the park. When Emily fell in love with a bunch of pretty yellow flowers, Cyrille kneeled down and, letting Regulus hold his wand, he put his large hand over his son’s small hand, and they waved the wand together to create a beautiful flower crown for Emily. She outright squealed with happiness when she saw it and rushed to put it on her head. 
You smiled to yourself. Cyrille used to worry so much - and still does, in fact - about not being a loving enough father, but look at him now. 
Then, once she’d done a few spins with it on, she pointed over to you. Cyrille waved his wand again, creating another flower crown. Clutching it in her hand, Emily raced back towards you. In her excitement, she nearly tripped. You raced forward and just barely managed to catch your daughter.
“Emily!” you chided. “Be careful.”
“But - Wanted to give you this!” Emily told you, grinning at you and holding out the flower crown.
You helplessly smiled back at her, your scolding expression dropping right off. Kneeling down, you let her put it on your head.
“So pretty,” Emily told you, beaming. Then, she raced off again, only to tackle her older brother to the grass in a bounding leap.
“She’s got so much energy.” Cyrille had come over to you, letting the kids play on their own for a little while. He lay down on the grass besides you and let out a breath.
“Are you tired out already?” you asked your husband, smiling at him.
“Em definitely got all that energy from you, not me,” Cyrille replied.
You watched her now, tugging Regulus along to inspect the purple flowers now. Regulus seemed confused, but pleased, and he trotted along dutifully with his little sister.
“I think Regulus got his patience from you,” you told Cyrille warmly. “He’s such a calm child.”
Cyrille smiled. “That feels like a compliment to me. He’s already a better person than I ever was.”
“Well, that’s how it should be. Don’t you think?” you asked. As you watched Emily insist on putting purple flowers in Regulus’ hair, your heart felt so full, and yet, there was a strain of sadness there, too. You murmured, “When I look at Em and Reg, I realize that I should have been a better daughter.”
Cyrille looked up at you. “What do you mean, my love?”
“I’m not saying that I should have played into the whole pureblood nonsense,” you explained. “I just never realized how much joy children can bring into your lives when they’re affectionate. But I wasn’t affectionate with my mother. I should have let her tame my hair. I should have worn her earrings when she gave them to me, and told her how much I appreciated them. Maybe then she wouldn’t have felt so trapped. Maybe all she needed to feel free was for someone to show her some affection…”
Cyrille was quiet for a long moment, understanding how much this all meant to you.
You let out a hushed breath, slowly finding your way back to yourself in your heart, but letting yourself feel your melancholy, as it deserved to be felt. When you were younger, when you were the daughter, you thought that overcoming your mother’s shortcomings meant entirely rejecting her. Now, you were beginning to realize that perhaps it lay in understanding her.
“Speaking of your mother,” Cyrille said, sitting up to look at you, “there’s something that I’ve been holding onto for a while now. And, you know, I’ve always known that you would be a great mother, and now that I’ve seen you with our children, I know that you are. So, in honor of that…”
Cyrille reached into his pocket and pulled out a pair of gold and amethyst earrings, with the metal shaped elegantly and abstractly into panthers.
Your eyes widened. “Cyrille, you had these with you this whole time?”
Cyrille nodded. “I carried them around the way you wore my raven pendant.”
He turned to you and he spoke warmly, “You asked me to keep them safe for you until you felt that you could wear them and be your mother’s daughter without falling into becoming her altogether.”
You nodded, remembering asking that of Cyrille in the carriage during the Yule Ball.
Cyrille’s eyes traced the flower crown on your head, placed there by your daughter, and he smiled softly for a moment. Then, he gazed into your eyes and asked you solemnly, “Do you feel ready?”
Am I ready? You thought of everything that you had gone through – getting your memories back, fighting to become a respected Auror, marrying and building a life, piece by piece, with Cyrille, and you realized that it had all taken you here, to this spot in the flower-filled park on a warm summer’s evening. Tears sprung to your eyes. You blinked them back. The sounds of your children laughing filled the air, carried back to you and Cyrille by the breeze. Hearing their voices, you were able to respond honestly, “Yes.”
Cyrille tenderly clasped the earrings onto your ears. “You look beautiful.” Then, he put his hand on your face and kissed you gently on the lips before murmuring proudly, “Mine.”
Smiling, you put your hands on his shoulders and gazing into his face, your eyes traced that silver line, that soft scar, over his eye for a moment. Then, you leaned forward to give him a soft and sweet kiss before murmuring back adoringly, “Mine.”
Just then, Emmeline’s delighted squeal and Regulus’ astonished gasp sounded out. Breaking apart, you both turned to see flower petals dancing upwards from Regulus’ palms, forming a tiny and soft hurricane of flowers in his cupped hands.
Both your and Cyrille’s jaws dropped open. Your son had just discovered magic for himself!
The two of you leapt to your feet and started to run towards your son. As you did, Cyrille reached out and grasped your hand in his. You and Cyrille raced towards your son and your daughter, ever so hopeful that, together, you could build a better world for your children to grow up in.
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neondragonwolf · 13 hours ago
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general-luce · 17 hours ago
101 pages in Word later -- I knew the fanfic would be long, but I did not let myself actually realize the fanfic would be long. It’s not even halfway done and this is a trilogy, fuck me. 
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little-lily-w · 19 hours ago
Breaking Purity ch. 59
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Ch. 59: Jealousy 
Words: 1.5k 
Warnings: smut, dubcon, sadism
A/N: appreciate the time and effort I put into this novel?invite me a ♥ Kofi ♥  
you can read the chapter here 
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mercurysflame · 20 hours ago
Tomione Oneshot
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giorno-plays-piano · 22 hours ago
Heavy in Your Arms Part 1
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Pairing: warlock!Bucky Barnes x Reader
Warnings: yandere-ish Bucky, slight dubcon and forced marriage, obsession.
Words: 1492.
Summary: A wife of a powerful warlock, you uncover his dark secret that forces you to doubt your own sanity.
"I promise I'll be done quickly." his lips gently touched your cheek, and you giggled at the feeling of his three day beard brushing against your face. "We shall have a dinner under the oak tree tonight."
The mighty oak tree as old as time stood proudly in the field in front of a castle: it was a place where James Buchanan Barnes had proposed to you a year ago, and since then it became your favorite spot where you constantly had picnics, held dinners, or simply sat beneath it, talking. You weren't surprised he wanted to spend time together there again.
"Of course." you leaned closer for a kiss, carefully fixing the clasp on his black travel cloak. "Do not spend too much time looking at other women, alright?"
"Are you jealous? Really?" he burst out laughing, shaking his head before he kissed you again and then stood back, finally getting on his horse. "I will be back soon. Do not miss me too much."
"I certainly shall!"
It had been a year since your life changed drastically: you becoming a wife of warlock James Barnes was beyond your imagination, and yet you accepted his proposal of marriage after he started courting you. It was unbelievable - he had never seemed interested in women. Actually, he wasn't even interested in people, aside from his scary black magic studies that involved humans. He had been well-known in town for being ruthless, cold, and unpleasant man to deal with. It was truly a miracle one day he changed so drastically.
Well, it was love behind most miracles, wasn’t it? They said love was the most powerful force in the universe, and, of course, even a mighty warlock wasn’t immune to it.
It started when one day he simply entered the store of your father and bought all the herbs he could see, paying so generously for something he could easily get by himself - being a warlock, he had lots of various supplies for casting spells and brewing potions. He was clearly showing he was favoring your family, choosing your little store over dozens of others. But why? Of course, you knew him just like most townspeople did, yet everybody tried to stay away from James Barnes, a man who could easily cast a curse and make your flesh rot with just a couple of magic words.
You remembered the way he looked at you when you were packing all those herbs and powders: you had never ever seen the warlock looking at anyone with such an expression. It was... strange. As if he were really, really found of you all of a sudden, despite the fact he had already seen you on many occasions but never spared you another glance unless it was absolutely necessary. Did something change? Did you change? Naturally, your father tried convincing you that you grew even more beautiful, making the warlock fall in love with you, but you still had doubts.
It's not like you had many suitors to begin with. How come a man of his status became attracted to you?
Soon James Barnes was openly searching for you when you were taking a stroll in the public gardens, going to the market on town square or simply walking the streets. He was magically appearing everywhere you went. You would find it scary on any other occasion, but he had been so uncharacteristically courteous and gallant you grew to enjoy his presence.
Well, maybe the rumors of his foul temper weren't true. Nobody had been close to the warlock since he preferred to keep people away; it's not like anybody knew the true him. What if behind that gloomy façade was a troubled but kind man?
The more you discovered about him, the more you grew to like the warlock. He had been deviously clever, experienced in combat, knowing more about witchcraft than anyone you knew, and yet you felt like you could trust him with your life - you had never met anyone who treated you so kindly in your entire life. It wasn't surprising after a month of courtship he asked you to marry him.
Of course, you said yes.
You came down to your senses when you heard the bells ringing: somebody was at your door, probably somebody from the town, hoping to ask for an advice or buy some healing ointment. After you got married, James taught you about magic, mostly to mend things - and people, too. Now you could brew potions and make spells yourself, and townsfolk was calling you the Mistress of Black Tower. You found it too pretentious - especially since James kept the Tower where he conducted his experiments locked at all times - but it was much better than the Mistress of Nothing.
"Please, come in." you smiled at an elderly man you knew well, opening the door for him, and he timidly stepped inside. "What can I do for you?"
"Good day, m'lady." he bowed his bald head, paying his respects. "I came for bat's wings just like we have discussed."
Oh, of course. You had completely forgotten about it! You promised to get him two pairs of bat's wings for his rheumatism: they were a key ingredient in his treatment.
"Could you wait a little, please? I will fetch them myself. My husband keeps them in the Tower, and only I have the keys." Smiling apologetically, you offered an old man a seat and drew a symbol in the air, making the teapot and cups jump as if they were alive: the tea was getting ready with a convenient spell James taught you.
Watching the man looking at the cup flying into his hand, you smiled and hurried towards the Tower. This place had always been surrounded by rumors since it was where the warlock practiced his witchcraft, mostly black magic. Naturally, James knew and used not only it, but it had been his greatest obsession for years, making him unwanted in most associations of magicians. Over the years, the use of black magic had stained the stone the Tower was built of, and the Tower became black.
Funny, you thought, now he didn’t seem to spend as much time there as during first months of your marriage. In fact, you barely remembered him going inside for conducting any experiments. Now James only came to the Tower to fetch something as most of his magic supplies and artifacts were there.
Huffing and puffing, you climbed upstairs, hoping there were some bat’s wings left. You had completely forgotten to get new ones.
There should be some over here, you thought as you climbed the ladder, coughing and promising yourself to clean up those old shelves even if James was going to protest: it was nearly impossible to find anything there! The layers of dust were so thick it was hard to breathe.
Oh, there they were! You were lucky enough to find the last two pairs. They were certainly old, and while they would still do for a treatment, that poor man would have to spend more time making it. You definitely had to give him a little jar of fairy’s dust as an apology.
Suddenly, as the ladder squeaked beneath you, you felt you were falling and tried to climb the shelves in an attempt to stay still. Of course, it didn’t work out well, and books and pots fell down with you. Oh, it hurt! Groaning and rubbing your bum, you got on your knees, realizing you were lucky you weren’t struck by ancient folios. Thank goodness, the wings were safe, too.
You had to quickly put everything back before James came back and saw this chaos. He wouldn’t be happy to learn you fell down because you were too careless.
Picking up books and pots, you let out a breath of relief: nothing was damaged. As you read the books’ titles, trying to remember in what order they lay, you spotted a leather-bound journal with nothing written on it. What was it? You quickly dropped whatever you were holding and grabbed the journal instead, spotting James’ handwriting on the first page.
Oh. It was his personal book of witchcraft. A journal where he wrote about all his findings. You bit down on your lower lip, knowing it was unlikely your husband wanted you to read it. You thought he had hidden it in some secret place, away from prying eyes, but he simply put it on a shelf in the Tower. Did it mean you could read it? He gave you the keys himself, allowing you to enter the Tower as often as you wanted.
Knowing the old man was still waiting for you, you quickly opened it, determined to see just a few pages, and immediately skipped those where you spotted some scary bloody ritual. When you opened the next few pages, it was a sentence written on top that caught you off guard.
“The love spell works perfectly.”
Part 2
Tags: @finleyjayne​ @alexakeyloveloki​ ​@helenaeisenhower​ @villanellevi​ @hurricanerin​ @inlovewiththefictionalcharacters @chris-evans-indian-fanfic​ @navegandoaciegas​ @rosalynshields​ @brattycherubwrites @sllooney​ @angrythingstarlight​ @lookiamtrying​ @buckysbunny​ @soleil-dor​ @stargazingfangirl18​ @dillybuggg​ @literate-lamb​ @cosicas-cuquis​ @sarge-barnes-sir​ @buckybarnesplumwhore​ @jaysayey​ @megzdoodle​ @gotnofucks​ @lux-ravenwolf​ @ximebebx​ @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123​ @sourpatchspinster​ @iheartsebandchris​
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iced-blood · 22 hours ago
Shadows in the Mirror.
 And lo, I have arrived, stumbling out of my bathtub to shame mankind or something, with a piece that’s been on my mind for a long time.
Dark Side of Dimensions has a lot of devotees, and that’s well and good. It’s a beautiful film and it gave us a lot to chew on. But it also had its fair share of controversies.
This bit of speculation from me isn’t so much a response to the movie as it is a response to a couple of those controversies. Specifically the ending, and what it means for the Kaibas.
And Atem.
And how it measures up to other things we’ve seen in this story’s canon over the years.
I’m not saying that this is something anybody has to read. If you don’t want to hear from someone who wasn’t particularly fond of Dark Side’s story — specifically Seto’s arc — I don’t blame you.
But I stand by what I’ve said here. It’s as true to form and character as I know how to make it.
So if that interests you, pull up a chair.
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On the day of Atem’s rebirth, not everyone was happy about it.
Nobody was surprised that Mokuba was angry when Atem dragged his brother back to the realm of the living in a halo of fire and a chorus of angels. Not really. Of course he was angry. Why wouldn’t he be?
When Atem materialized in a flash of white light, he immediately bowed low at the waist before the young Kaiba. “I am terribly sorry, young one. I never would have expected your brother to go this far. Rest assured I have made it clear that Kaiba is not welcome in my court until his proper time comes.”
They expected Mokuba to look relieved. Or sad, maybe. Maybe he would offer a quiet little “Thanks” and glare sullenly at his brother. All those things made sense.
But since when had a Kaiba ever made sense? He did none of those things.
“You didn’t expect Niisama to go this far,” the boy said again, his voice as flat and dead as a cadaver. “Either you’re lying to me or you haven’t paid attention to my brother a single day in your life. Un-life. Death. Whatever the fuck you have. Are you kidding me? You’re going to come in here like a prophesied messiah just to judge him again?”
Atem blinked. Stared. Stayed silent.
“Don’t you dare look me in the eye and tell me where my brother isn’t welcome, you self-righteous son of a bitch,” Mokuba seethed. “He wasn’t the one who swept in here and gave anyone hope for the first time in their entire life only to hang them out to dry. He wasn’t the one who reached into someone’s brain and shattered it. He wasn’t the one who listened to a friend bare their heart and soul to him and then laugh at them for it. He wasn’t the one who promised friendship and love and acceptance and then fucking died.”
“Mokuba-kun, I don’t —” Yugi began.
Mokuba whirled. “Shut up,” he snarled. “You people are no better. Fuck you. Sit down and shut up for once in your lives — I’m not done.”
“Mokuba,” Seto said, more softly than he’d ever said anything. “Don’t do this. Direct your anger where it’s deserved. I shouldn’t have —”
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Seto stumbled back as though his brother had struck him.
Mokuba jabbed a finger at the ancient king, practically frothing. “You don’t get to lecture my brother on ditching people to go plunge headfirst into the fucking afterlife! You don’t get to welcome my brother anywhere! You’re no more a king than you were a friend! You think I’m angry? You’re fucking right I’m angry! But I know why Niisama did what he did! I know him better than anyone! Do you think I’m stupid?! You think I don’t know how much he wants to die?! I knew he was suicidal before he did! Don’t come simpering back here acting like a hero when you’re the reason all this shit happened in the first place!”
“Mokuba,” Seto said, more firmly. “That’s enough.”
“It isn’t!” Mokuba clenched his teeth. “Just because you love him doesn’t mean I do!”
Something changed in Atem’s face. The surprise, the confusion, the defensiveness, all evaporated. He closed his eyes. Drew in a breath. Let it out.
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He lowered himself to his knees and bent his head down so low that his forehead nearly touched the floor. “I am at your mercy,” said he, without emotion. “I would hear your truth, if you would offer it.”
Mokuba watched the king-turned-ghost-turned-target for a long moment, then something cracked somewhere behind his jaw. “Do you remember that man’s island?” No one had to ask for clarification. “Do you remember his player killers?”
Atem sat back on his heels. “I do.”
“One of them defeated Mai Kujaku. Do you remember that?”
“I do.”
“Do you remember what you did, when that happened?”
“... I played against the Player Killer of Darkness.”
The savagery on Mokuba’s face looked so familiar that it almost belonged there. “How could you do such a thing? Risk your life? For star chips?”
Téa went stiff but didn’t speak.
Mokuba tilted his head, raising his eyebrows. “But there was more to it than that, wasn’t there? You weren’t just risking your life for a game. Were you? It wasn’t just for kicks, was it? You had a noble reason to do what you did, didn’t you?”
Atem licked at his lips, then chuckled without humor. “When you ask it that way, it strips much of any justification I might offer.”
“You put your friend’s life in danger — because you were already dead — for the sake of Mai Kujaku’s honor. So that she could stay on the island and fulfill her goal there. A grown adult, who didn’t want you to do it. But you did it anyway.”
Atem nodded. “I did.”
“But how long did it take before you let your lackies lay into my brother? For putting his own life, and only his own life, at risk. For me.” He eyed Téa for the first time. “Or should I have died? Mm? Would that have been better? Can’t negotiate with terrorists, can we? It’s not like you know anyone who was pressured into playing that man’s sick games for the sake of a loved one. It’s not like you think it’s heroic to put your life on the line for something like that. Human life is more important than games, isn’t it? Do I have that lesson right?”
When Téa didn’t answer, the young Kaiba put his attention back onto Atem.
“The both of you are the same man. You’re reckless, self-loathing warrior kings who need to feed your egos on the battlefield so you can feel like your lives are worth a damn. You both lash out at people who remind you of your own fears, your own failures, and you both project a sense of iron will and superiority to keep yourselves from having to look too hard at the truth.” He pointed again, looking like a holy judge at the gates of Heaven. “But you’re the one who acts like he’s doing everyone a fucking favor when he does it.”
Mokuba straightened his blazer and turned his back to them all, pointedly letting the heels of his shoes clack against the floor as he walked away.
“Did my brother leave without knowing if he’d ever be back? Yes. Did he damn near kill himself trying to find you, which would have made me an orphan for the third time? Yes. Did it hurt? Yes. But he’s my brother. He’s family. After everything he’s shouldered for me, after all the times he’s had to take a whip for me, after all the times he’s stood in the line of fire for me, hasn’t he earned a little selfishness? For once? So spare me your assurances, King of Games. I didn’t ask for your help.”
Mokuba slammed the door behind him.
It echoed in the air like a thunderclap.
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Your Honor. The defense rests.
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cherienymphe · 23 hours ago
Goosebumps (Bucky Barnes x Reader)
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WARNINGS: NON-CON, alluded to Non-con, alluded to dub-con, alluded to abusive relationships, manipulation, roofie use, infidelity, violence (attempted drowning), brief side of Steve x reader 
! By proceeding you are acknowledging that you are over 18 and are consenting to the content below the cut !
➥ {page breaks done by @whimsicalrogers​}
summary: Living with your roommate was a dream come true...until she met Bucky.
Living with a roommate at your age seemed so silly. You were a college graduate, considering going for your Master’s even, and a roommate just seemed so juvenile. It didn’t matter to you how fun Friends made it look. It just didn’t appeal to you. 
Then you met her. 
She liked to go by “B”. That was what she had told you when you met for coffee at a nearby cafe, an attempt to feel each other out if only just to put your mind at ease. You were desperate to lighten some of the weight on your shoulders, she was no different, so it was unspoken that even if you didn’t really care for each other, desperate times called for desperate measures. 
“All of my friends just call me B,” she’d said with a shrug, sipping on a Frappuccino that had way more milk than coffee. “I have a horrid name.”
You had chuckled, feeling a bit more relaxed at her light personality. 
“It’s good that you’re so enthusiastic about this. I was prepared to cohabitate with a stranger for the better part of a year,” you’d honestly replied. 
She waved her hand. 
“That sounds so depressing. I figure if we’re going to be sharing a living space, we might as well make the most of it and at least attempt to be friends.” 
You nodded, liking her reasoning and outlook, and as it turns out, she was right. B was really easy to get along with. She was clean and responsible and respectful about your space. She put things back where she found them, she wasn’t loud throughout all hours of the night, and she even brought out a side of you that you didn’t know existed. Living with B was a dream come true…
Until she met Bucky. 
The strawberry blonde was far from a lonely girl, her bedroom no stranger to the occasional guest. You didn’t judge. After all, you’d had your fair share of hookups here and there too, and that was exactly what Bucky was at first. A hookup. 
You had stumbled into the kitchen in the middle of the night, throat dry and stomach protesting as you went in search of something to eat. The microwave light was on, casting a low glow over the otherwise dark room, and you hadn’t been able to bite back your sharp yelp at the shadowy figure standing in the corner of the room. 
Light flooded the kitchen, and you blinked. 
“You got some lungs on you.”
You had stared at the strange man in shock. He was leaning against the counter, nursing a glass of alcohol. Your alcohol, you had thought with narrowed eyes. He was half dressed, grey sweats hanging dangerously low on his hips, the bands of muscle that was his chest and arms on display. 
“ are?” you had eventually asked after clearing your throat. 
He didn’t respond right away, opting instead to drag his deep blue gaze over you...slowly and in a way that made you uncomfortable. You suddenly felt very naked in your oversized t-shirt even though it came past your knees. You crossed your arms over your chest, taking a step back, and the stranger smirked. 
“You must be the roommate,” he said, eyes meeting yours again. “B told me she had one.” 
You nodded at that, having already surmised that this was B’s fling for the night. He still had yet to tell you his name, and if you didn’t know any better, his smirk grew, lips curling in a way that you didn’t like. 
“I’m Bucky,” he’d finally introduced, sticking his hand out. 
You reluctantly shook it, snatching your hand away when his index finger brushed along the inside of your wrist. He hummed, and you quietly told him your name, turning away to peer inside the fridge. You could feel his gaze boring into your back, and you fought to ignore it. 
“Is B asleep?” you asked after a while. 
He chuckled, and the sound of it made your skin prick. It sounded humorous, but in a way that made you feel like there was a joke you weren’t in on. 
“She was practically passed out before we even got in the door.” 
You swore you had never turned around so fast in your life. The fridge clicked shut behind you as you stared at him, eyes stricken and brows furrowed. Your heart dropped to your stomach as you took a step towards him. 
“Excuse me?”
He pursed his lips, like he was trying to fight back a smile, and he suddenly chuckled. 
“I was exaggerating. A little dark humor…”
You didn’t respond, finding no humor in the situation, and he scoffed. You watched as he brought the glass to his lips, his blue eyes focused on you as he took a sip. 
“Don’t worry, doll. It was perfectly consensual,” he told you. 
There was something in his gaze that gave you pause, a certain gleam that caused a shudder to travel down your spine. There was a part of you that didn’t believe him, a part of you that wanted to accuse him of something dark and serious. However, a larger part of you called you silly. After all, what could you do besides ask B tomorrow what had really happened? 
Breaking the gaze, you glanced away, swallowing with a nod. You suddenly had no appetite, and you left the kitchen empty handed, leaving him there to nurse his drink alone. You had been tempted to tell him to reimburse you, but you were sure you’d never see him again so what did it really matter? On the rare occasion that you ran into any of her hookups, you never saw them again. This unnervingly attractive blue-eyed stranger with his dark gaze and secretive smiles would be no different. 
So imagine your shock to find him on your couch a week later. 
You had actually dropped your purse in surprise, the clatter drawing his attention from his phone. You swallowed, hurriedly picking it up and clutching it to you, face falling as your eyes met his. You straightened, the silence bordering on uncomfortable as you frowned at him. 
He slowly leaned back into the couch, throwing an ankle onto his knee as he spread his arms along the back of the white pleather. In the natural lighting that came from the evening sun, you took the time to really study him. Study this man who put you so on edge. 
His dark hair was short, far from a buzz cut, but just lengthy enough to be styled. He had sharp features, light facial hair on his face surrounding his pink lips. Said lips were curved upwards just a tad, a small smirk on them as he eyed you. He was dressed nicely, you noted, a dark t-shirt paired with equally dark slacks. It was topped off with a black blazer. He lounged on the couch you bought like he lived here, and distaste filled your mouth. 
Your mind whirled just as he spoke. 
“Hey,” he simply said, but the single word seemed to hold a myriad of meanings. 
You didn’t respond, simply turning away from him so dismissively you swore you heard him scoff. You made your way to B’s room, the two of you so close now that it was nothing of you to just walk in. She had just slipped a bright red dress on, the relieved reflection of her face meeting yours through the mirror. 
“Thank God you’re here! Can you zip me up?”
You shut the door behind you and did as she asked. 
“You’re seeing that guy again?”
She seemed distracted, and it took her a minute to register your words. 
“Hmm? Bucky? Oh yeah. He’s sexy, isn’t he?”
“...I guess…”
You personally would’ve used other words to describe him. 
“You’ve met him before, right? Last week after I finally crashed…”
That morning after, she had assured you that they both had been wasted and she’d been more than eager to have sex with him. However, from what you could remember, he’d seemed as sober as a saint as he stood in your kitchen. 
“Yeah, I just...I didn’t think you’d see him again.” 
“I know right?”
You watched as she flurried around the room, putting on an anklet here, blotting her lips there. 
“You know I’m far from a relationship kind of girl, but there’s something about him. He’s so different from the other guys I see.”
You didn’t know how to respond to that, so you simply hummed. She finally grabbed her clutch, shaking out her hair one last time before finally seeming satisfied. She grinned at you. 
“We’re kind of doing things backwards but wish me luck!”
You turned to watch her as she exited her room, Bucky rising as she neared. You didn’t hear the words being exchanged, but he had a bright grin on his face as he looked her over, saying something that made her giggle. He leaned in to kiss her cheek, and his eyes met yours as he did so. They weren’t so bright now, smile fading. Your eyes narrowed at the way he seemed to hold her upper arm, and you could do nothing more but stare as he led her out, B departing with a wave over her shoulder. 
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You grimaced as you exited your bathroom, a familiar and unwelcome noise greeting you at 3 in the morning. Even through two walls, you could hear B’s labored breathing and Bucky’s deep grunts. Disgust filled you for more than one reason. 
When you had run into Bucky that night, you thought it was going to be another one night stand. When he’d showed up in your living room a week later, B eagerly preparing for a date, you thought a fling at most. Lasting a few weeks tops. Yet, here you were, over a year later and Bucky was still a constant presence in your lives. 
“We’re getting kind of serious,” B had told you just before going on the fifth date in a row with him. 
You didn’t think she meant it at the time. You had been in denial, unable to accept what was actually happening and your feelings regarding it. By the time their 8 month anniversary came around, you had no choice but to come to terms with the fact that Bucky wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. 
He started frequenting the apartment a lot more. He was there when you woke up and was there when you went to bed. He was on the couch, B in his lap when you came home from work. Sometimes he was even in the kitchen when you ventured from your room late at night, your way of avoiding him only proving to do the opposite. He was always just...there, and it drove you up the wall. 
“Let me guess, he’s an ass?” a coworker had asked one day. 
“No, not...not really I guess.”
Your reply wasn’t convincing, but it was the truth. He was never outwardly rude. Truth be told, you didn’t interact with him much to even accurately say. 
“Does he smell? I had a boyfriend once who, turns out, wasn’t properly wiping his butt,” another coworker had chimed in. 
“No, God no.” 
“Does he treat her like shit?”
“Is he messy?” 
“Don’t tell me he still thinks racist jokes are funny?”
Questions like these were always thrown at you, and every time you gave the same answer. 
“No, nothing like that at all.”
And every time you would get the same response. 
“So what exactly is the problem?”
And the answer would be right there on the tip of your tongue, begging for release. It was just there below the surface, but you swallowed it down each and every time, too far in denial about your feelings. Until one day, it had tumbled out without your consent. 
“I hate him.”
Your coworkers had looked at you in shock, and you understood why. You said it with so much conviction, so dramatically that you’d think Bucky had ran over your cat and then danced on her grave. You had practically spat the answer out, lips trembling and goosebumps erupting over your flesh at the thought of the dark haired man. 
You had finally admitted it. 
You’d finally accepted what you had so long been denying. You hated Bucky Barnes, and maybe hate was such a strong word to use, but how else would you categorize it? How else would you explain the way your heart fell into your stomach every time he came around? The nausea that swirled in your gut with so much as a glance from him? The way his very presence seemed to evoke such a strong physical reaction from you that you were sure you were going to be sick? 
“...why?” they had asked, confusion coloring their features, and what else could you do but shrug? 
Because the truth was that…
“I don’t know.” 
“You don’t know?” 
“Look, I know how it sounds, okay? I know that, but...he’s not good for her. I don’t know how I know that, but I just do. There’s just something not right about him.” 
It sounded so silly when you said it out loud, and even your coworkers frowned, but their gazes grew sympathetic with one look at your face. Even if you seemingly had no good reason to do so, it was clear as day that your feelings about him were genuine. You hated him, and a small part of you that you had been trying to ignore, whispered something else in your ear. Something that you had never even wanted to think. 
On some small scale, you were afraid of him. 
“Have you told her?”
You scoffed. 
“...and what would I say when she asks why? The same thing I just told you? She’d laugh in my face and with good reason.”
B was smitten. She was the happiest you had ever seen her, and it was almost enough to make you do some soul searching. After all, someone who was supposedly awful couldn’t possibly make her that happy, right? Clearly, she saw a part of him that you didn’t, and how could she not? She spent so much time with him while you avoided him like the plague. 
But it wasn’t like you hadn’t tried to give him a chance, because you most certainly had. You had tried so hard to like him, to see what she saw, and part of you did. He had hypnotic blue eyes, an enviable bone structure, and baby pink lips that would draw in just about any woman. It didn’t hurt that he had the kind of body you’d only see on perfectly casted tv show heartthrobs, but the illusion always gave way to something more. 
You could only see the way those deep blues perfectly hid what he was really thinking, making you wonder if B even really knew him at all. Sometimes they’d flash with something so dark it froze you, but it would be gone just as quickly, and you’d wonder to yourself if you imagined it. When you thought about those pink lips, you only thought of his secretive smiles and mocking smirks, like he was always in on some joke that you weren’t privy to. That perfect body that would make any woman swoon, that should make you swoon, only gave way to thoughts about how easy it must be for him to hurt someone. To hold someone down and do anything he wanted to them. 
You could only think about what kind of disturbing things such a pretty package could hide. 
The more you thought about it, the crazier you sounded, you decided. You knew how you sounded, knew that you had no legitimate reason to hate this man, to be so afraid of him. That was what you kept telling yourself, but as you stepped into your house that evening, suspicious eyes meeting his, you knew that you weren’t wrong. He smirked at you as he neared you, and it was that look right there. 
That gleam in his eye was the cause of all of your problems. 
There was something predatory in his gaze whenever his eyes landed on you. They glinted with a dangerous mirth and curiosity and something borderline disturbing that you just couldn’t put your finger on. He’d tilt his head at you, like he was doing now, and he’d run his eyes over you in a way that made you feel so incredibly vulnerable. It was almost like he was sizing you up every time he looked at you. For didn’t know. 
“B went to get takeout. You like Chinese right?” 
“Uh...yeah,” you said, moving past him. “...but I’m actually not that hungry. I think I’m gonna just turn in early.”
You could feel his gaze on you, practically feel his feet almost catching onto yours as he followed you into the kitchen. He was leaning against the doorway as you put your empty lunch container in the sink. The silence was awkward, suffocating, but they always were with you two. 
God, you couldn’t wait until they broke up. 
“You say that just about every night.”
His tone came off accusatory, and you turned to frown at him. 
“Well, I get up early almost every morning. I can’t exactly afford to be a night owl,” you replied. 
Now it was your tone that was accusatory. You didn’t know what Bucky did for a living, but he was always able to spoil B with the most lavish gifts, take her on trips you could only dream about, and drive her around in his expensive car. The mystery surrounding how he was able to afford such a lifestyle only served to further unnerve you. 
If you didn’t know any better, you’d say that Bucky picked up on your tone. His jaw ticked, eyes narrowing just a tad as he studied you. Uncomfortable with his very presence, and having nothing more to say, you wished him a good night before slipping past him. 
You both knew it wasn’t genuine. 
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For the first time in over a year, you finally felt like you weren’t crazy. God it felt so good to be right, but how unfortunate it was that you were. In the grand scheme of things, it wasn’t even much, not nearly as bad as it could’ve been, but the simultaneous satisfaction and anger and disappointment that tore through you as you stared at Bucky couldn’t be ignored. 
You realized that some part of you wanted to be wrong. For B’s sake. 
It was a rare night out for you. B had talked you into putting on some skimpy outfit with glossy lips and done up hair before dragging you outside into the awaiting nightlife. You had thought that it was going to be just the two of you. You should’ve clocked it when she told you that you wouldn’t need your car keys. 
Bucky and his fancy car had awaited you both downstairs. He was dressed as impeccably as always, B practically jumping into his awaiting arms as he caught her with a deep kiss. You had looked away, anger and annoyance simmering inside of you as you realized this night would not go as planned. 
You were reluctant to do so as B instructed you to “hop in” into his convertible. She was making herself comfortable in the passenger seat, and you had eyed the car with a grimace while fingering your short dress. Before you had time to figure out how to maneuver yourself into the backseat, warm and unfamiliar hands were on your waist. 
You had jerked at his touch, stomach turning violently as he pulled you against him, forcing your back to his chest. Before you had time to voice your displeasure, he was lifting you. Just a tad, only enough to sit you on the car, and you were quick to swing your legs inside, sliding out of his tight grip, shuddering when his fingers brushed over you as you did so. 
You glared up at him, but he was already making his way to the driver’s seat. B, either oblivious or unconcerned with the whole thing, was reapplying her lipstick in the mirror. The rational part of your brain told you that he had only helped you into the car. You’d needed it, after all, but the part that absolutely detested this man disagreed. 
Was it just you, or had he taken a deep breath as he pulled you against him? Surely you imagined the way his fingers seemed to almost knead into your sides as he briefly held you. Or the way they lingered when you rushed to get out of his hold. You were imagining things. For your own sanity, you told yourself you were imagining things. 
But you weren’t imagining this. 
The three of you found yourselves inside of the 4th club of the night. You’d gotten separated from them somehow, but it was of no concern. You were away from Bucky and that was all that mattered. But then you had wanted to find B, and you couldn’t. The flashing lights and crowds of swaying bodies made it hard to do so, so you’d texted her. Then called her. And then FaceTimed her. 
You’d gotten no response to all three, and you’d started to worry. However, you told yourself that she was with Bucky so clearly she was alright. Somehow, that knowledge did little to reassure you, but you at least figured that he wouldn’t let anything happen to her. 
But you were wrong. 
She wasn’t with Bucky, because Bucky was here, in front of you, chatting up some leggy brunette. 
You had come up short, brows furrowed and lips parting as you watched the way he leaned a hand against the wall, partially caging the other woman in. She didn’t seem to mind, grinning up at him with a look in her eyes that you knew all too well. The worst part was that Bucky was looking at her the same way. Your heart stuttered as he stepped closer, a smirk on his lips as his other hand came up to brush over her shoulder. 
An anger like no other filled you, and you marched towards them. You had wanted to be right. You had wanted to be right so badly, but not like this. You didn’t want to be right at the sake of your friend’s feelings, in the worst way possible. 
You had grabbed his arm so harshly it was a wonder he didn’t stumble. He seemed momentarily shocked, even a little annoyed at the interruption, but his features evened out as his eyes landed on you. As if it was ‘oh, just you’. In fact, his smirk returned at the sight of you, and you wanted to punch it right off of his pretty face. 
“I can’t find B. Help me look for her.”
Your tone was harsh, accusatory and venomous as you glared at him. His own eyes narrowed at you, lip twitching just a tad as he ran his eyes over you. 
“Who’s B?” the mystery woman asked, and you were all too eager to answer before he did. 
“His girlfriend,” you spat at her. 
She seemed a bit taken aback, eyebrows raising in mild surprise, but it was clear that she wasn’t all that shocked. You wondered if she could also see right through him. Maybe you weren’t crazy, after all. Maybe everyone could...everyone but B. 
You didn’t give the two a chance to say goodbye, tugging on his arm with a sneer. He easily followed, allowing you to do so, and you swore you heard him chuckle. You were startled as he suddenly flicked his arm, hand closing around your wrist as he yanked you. Hard enough to send you falling into his chest. 
You were quick to press your free hand against him, desperate to get away when the other wrapped around your upper arm, fingers digging into the skin. You winced, cringing away as he leaned in, blue eyes appearing so much darker in the low lighting. 
“What’s the rush?”
Your frown deepened, disgust and fear battling it out inside of you as you ripped yourself away from him. You almost stumbled, righting yourself. 
“What’s the rush? The rush is that B, your girlfriend, could be drunk or in danger right now. Maybe both. That’s the rush,” you spat at him, hurriedly turning away. 
You didn’t need to look back to know he was there. You could feel the heat of his gaze. It was silent between you two, but you hardly noticed. You were too preoccupied with finding B and replaying what you’d just saw. You hadn’t liked Bucky since the first day you met, and you hadn’t been able to give a reason for it...until now. 
You found B at the bar, nursing a fruity drink as she laughed with some people you didn’t recognize. Her eyes widened as they met yours, her grin widening as well as she waved you over. You wanted to tell her what you saw, you wanted to shove it in her face and say ‘see! This man is all kinds of scum’. You wanted Bucky gone once and for all. 
But then she looked over your shoulder, and her grin shifted. It was softer, eyes sparkling as they landed on Bucky, and suddenly she wasn’t reaching for you anymore, but instead him, and your heart sank. It twisted as you watched her pull him into a kiss, drunkenly asking where he’d been, a dopey smile on her face and he gave her some story about running into an old friend. 
You doubted that woman’s name was Steve. 
B merely hummed, kissing him again before trailing her lips over his jaw. B was a horny drunk, always had been, and you knew that you’d be calling it a night very soon. As her head lolled against his chest, drunk murmurings leaving her lips, Bucky turned so that his eyes met yours. 
There was that gleam again, full of mirth as he stared you down. His lips twitched, as if fighting back a smile, and he raised one dark eyebrow at you, blue eyes almost daring you to do what you both knew you wanted to do. You swallowed, throat incredibly thick all of a sudden as you watched the way he ran his fingers through her hair, eyes never leaving yours as he pressed his lips to the top of her head. 
You balled your hands into fists, looking away, and you refused to look at him for the rest of the night. 
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“Come on, Y/N! You’re seriously going to pass this up?” 
B’s voice was disbelieving, and her face matched her tone. Her brows were furrowed, nose scrunched as she skeptically eyed you. You merely shrugged, flicking through the channels in front of you. 
“I’m just not up for it,” you told her. 
She scoffed. 
“The trip is two months from now. How can you decide that now?” 
You briefly closed your eyes, releasing a sigh as you avoided her own. 
“I just don’t wanna go, okay?”
She was quiet for a while, and you almost regretted your tone until she spoke. 
“Is this about Bucky?” her voice was soft...and sad. 
Your eyes flitted to hers, a little too fast, and you shook your head. 
“No, of course-.”
“Please don’t insult my intelligence,” she exhaled, and you shrank in on yourself. 
It was quiet for a while, the only noise being that of the TV. 
“Look...I know you aren’t crazy about him, okay? You try your best to hide it but…,” she trailed off. 
You suddenly felt guilty as she sadly eyed you, and she shifted closer to you on the couch. 
“He’s a great guy, Y/N. Really…”
“No, he’s not-.”
You suddenly cut yourself off, looking away with a frown. You had been stewing over what you saw for weeks, contemplating the right thing to do. Should you tell her and risk your friendship? Or should you not, and risk both her feelings and your friendship? 
“No, say what you were going to say.”
Her voice was hard now, an edge in there, and you sighed again. You finally looked at her again, and swallowed at the way she frowned at you, waiting for you to continue. 
“Do you remember when we all went out weeks ago?” 
Her frown deepened, no doubt trying to sift through her drunken haze before nodding. 
“I went to go find Bucky because I couldn’t get a hold of you, and I was getting worried. Naturally, I thought you’d be with him...but you weren’t. Someone else was…” 
You saw the way her brown eyes flashed, and she sharply inhaled. 
“Okay…,” she dragged it out, urging you to continue. 
You suddenly felt unsure. 
“He… Look, maybe it was just a harmless conversation, but that’s certainly not how it looked.” 
She sat back in the chair, blinking at you. 
“...and how did it look?”
“It was clear he was flirting with this girl, okay? Leaning over her, touching her…”
You trailed off as B stood, crossing her arms over her chest as she faced you. She scoffed. 
“You’re acting like this because of a conversation?” 
You knew that you weren’t giving her much, and you briefly touched your forehead. 
“You didn’t see them, okay? I did, and I know what I saw.” 
“So what are you saying?” 
Her tone was accusatory, eyes hardening as she waited for you to say what had been on your tongue for over a year. 
“I’m saying that Bucky isn’t good for you. He’s not a good guy,” you told her, standing now too. 
“And how would you know that? Never mind the fact that you don’t know him at all,  despite the fact that we’ve been dating for over a year, but you wouldn’t know a good guy if he smacked you in the face.”
“You don’t know anything about men outside of how to fuck them when you want to let off some steam. You don’t do relationships. You’re just like I was so forgive me if I’m not going to take relationship advice from you,” she continued. 
“You can insult me all you like but it doesn’t change the fact that your boyfriend is not who you think he is,” you fired back. 
“Oh, but somehow he’s who you think he is? Why do you think you know him better than me?” 
“Because I’m not blinded by his dick!” 
She reared back as if you had slapped her, and you almost felt bad, but your desperation won. You needed her to see Bucky for what he really was, and at this point, you didn’t care if you had to hurt her feelings to do it. She softly scoffed, briefly glancing away before quietly chuckling to herself.  
“I have to wonder what this is really about…”
Her words confused you, and you frowned as her eyes bore into yours. 
“...maybe this has more to do with a little green eyed monster than anything else.”
Now it was your turn to scoff. 
“You can’t be serious.”
She simply shrugged, staring at you like she was waiting for you to admit it. 
“You think I want your boyfriend? You think I’m that desperate for someone like him-?”
She looked insulted, and you pressed your lips together. Her lips trembled, and your heart sank as tears filled her eyes. 
“I’m sorry that we can’t all be miss independent like you. I’m not you, Y/N. I’m not going to sit here and pretend like I don’t want a boyfriend and affection and someone to hold me at night, because I do, and Bucky gives me all of that and more.”
“B,” you sighed. 
“You have treated him like some sort of leper since he first came into this house. I have pretended to ignore it for as long as I can. Until you get over whatever narrative you’ve made up in your head, and at least attempt to be nice to him, we have nothing more to discuss.” 
You flinched as she slammed her room door shut behind her, leaving you alone and conflicted in the living room. 
It was later in the night when you heard Bucky come in, and sometimes you forgot that she’d given him a key. Forgotten, chosen to ignore, did it really matter? It wasn’t long before you heard them, and you swallowed down the bile that threatened to rise. 
You forced yourself into your shower, determined to wash away the stress of today. When you came out, you were disappointed to find that you could still hear them, and you had just gotten dressed when a change in their voices caught your attention. You paused. 
It sounded like they were arguing. It was hushed, but you recognized the tones and rushed speech all the same. You neared your door, cracking it just a tad, and the true nature of what was going on reached your ears. 
B’s voice sounded strained, shaky even, and Bucky sounded angry. Aggressive. You frowned, taking a step into the hallway as your heart hammered in your chest. You heard a thud then you heard her cry out and then you heard the springs of the bed. 
You didn’t even know what you were doing, only that you wanted whatever you thought was happening to stop. You frantically banged on her door, breath shaky, and you heard silence on the other side. Your fist was still in the air when B swung the door open. She was wearing Bucky’s shirt, hair in disarray, and you briefly glanced behind her, but you couldn’t see into the darkness. 
“What is it?” she sounded out of breath, voice cold, but shaky nonetheless. 
“I… Is everything okay? I thought I heard…”
You couldn’t finish your sentence, and she scoffed at you. 
“You thought you heard what?”
“I just… It sounded like you hurt yourself,” you lied, and she rolled her eyes. 
You noticed that they were red and glossy as she moved to close the door. 
“Goodnight, Y/N.” 
You stared at her door for a while, heart heavy before eventually making your way back to your room. Sleep didn’t find you much, and you spent most of the night tossing and turning. It was early in the morning, the sun still yet to rise when you just gave up. With a soft sigh, you made your way to the kitchen in search of some coffee. 
You were in the process of reaching for a mug when a figure out of the corner of your eye had you flinching. You eyed Bucky as he leaned against the door jamb, and you cursed as you almost dropped your mug. A towel was wrapped around his waist, upper body bare and still damp, a stray droplet or two sinking into the white material at his hip. 
“Didn’t see you there,” you murmured, closing the cabinet and turning away. 
He didn’t respond, and you focused on ignoring him altogether. It was hard to do when he just opted for simply staring at you. You could feel the heat of his gaze searing into your back, and you flinched when you heard him come closer. When you turned around, he was practically on top of you, arms folded over his chest, and you stumbled away, your hip hitting the counter. 
Bucky stared at you as he leaned against the other side, wet hair pushed away from his face. He didn’t say anything, preferring to gaze at you in a way that made you feel oh so naked. He tilted his head at you, pressing one hand into the counter as he stared you down, a glint in his eye that sent a rush of fear through you. 
You started to ask him what the hell he wanted, but then decided that you weren’t going to entertain him. You were just about to head back to your room when he spoke. 
“You don’t like you?”
Your eyes widened a bit at his boldness, and you wondered if B had told him what you said. You immediately wrote off the thought, knowing that wasn’t like her. You cleared your throat, fingers dancing along your mug as you briefly eyed it. 
“I don’t know you,” was your simple reply. 
He hummed at that, visage unreadable. 
“And you don’t find that strange? I’ve been dating your friend for what? Over a year now, and we’re still practically strangers?” 
You didn’t know what to say, so you shrugged, giving a weak and halfhearted apology. Bucky simply narrowed his eyes at you, and you were tempted to do the same, recalling what you’d heard earlier in the evening. Dwelling on what you thought you’d heard would make your stomach churn, and you were suddenly reminded of the first night you’d met him. 
You turned to leave him in the kitchen by himself when he spoke again. 
“Keep this up, and you just might lose her for good.”
His words had you spinning around, eyes wide and lips parting. The corner of his own lips curved upwards, and Bucky took a step towards you. Then another. And another. You found yourself unable to move beneath his slowly darkening gaze. 
“I would hate for you to end up all alone…”
His words had you gasping, and you leaned away as he leaned in, his fingers reaching out to graze the wall beside your hip. He stared you down, his body heat clinging onto you as his other hand reached up to dance along the collar of your shirt. You were reminded of his state of undress, and you squirmed to get away from him, but he suddenly pressed his fingers into your hip, painfully, and you winced. 
“This world is so crazy now,” he whispered, nose brushing against yours. “The most horrible things tend to happen to women who are all alone.”
The mug in your hand fell to the floor with a crash as you shoved him away from you. You didn’t even pay it any mind, thoughts a jumbled mess as you fought to process what he’d said. You watched as he tsk’d before grabbing the drying cloth, kneeling down to clean your mess. He rested an arm on his knee, blue gaze meeting yours as he looked up at you. 
“You really should be more careful.”
For some reason, you didn’t think he was talking about your coffee, and you hurriedly stumbled away from him. Your legs were weak, hands trembling as you rushed to your room, shutting the door behind you before locking it without hesitation. 
Bucky Barnes wasn’t who B thought he was, but you were starting to realize that he wasn’t who you thought he was either. 
He was something worse. 
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“I’m so happy you changed your mind,” B sincerely told you. 
You returned her smile with one of your own, even if it was a little strained. It only took a week after your argument for you both to cave and start apologizing, meaning far too much to each other to wreck this friendship over her boyfriend. It took maybe another week or so for things to get back to how they were between you as if nothing had even happened. 
“He’s my boyfriend, not yours, don’t have to like him,” she had sighed one day. “Just...don’t try and make me agree with you about him and I won’t do the same.” 
It seemed like a fair proposal, and even though you wanted to argue against it so badly, you didn’t. You had to choose your battles, and as much as you hated to admit it, Bucky was right. If you kept this up, you might lose her for good, and there was no telling what would happen to her. 
Bucky wasn’t just a sleazy and unfaithful boyfriend, but you now thought that he was genuinely dangerous. You couldn’t leave B alone with a guy like that. The thought turned your stomach, and it’s why when she brought it up again, you agreed to go on the trip with her and Bucky. She was your friend, and you had to protect her. 
She sat your suitcase on your bed as you took in the impressive suite. 
“So, Bucky and I are right next door,” she pointed to her left. “...and…”
You frowned, skeptically eyeing her as she grinned and pointed to her right. 
“Steve is on your other side.”
“Yeah, you’ve heard me mention Bucky’s friend before,” she sheepishly said. 
“Yeah, mention. As in, in passing. You never mentioned anything about setting me up with him because we both know that’s what this is,” you complained, your semi good mood ruined. 
“Oh come on, Y/N. I just didn’t think you’d want to feel like a third wheel. Steve is cute and funny and nice. We both know you can do a lot with that,” she replied, wiggling her eyebrows. 
You simply sighed, resigning yourself to your fate. After all, you were already here and it wasn’t like you had much choice to do anything else. B left you with a pat on the shoulder and a giggle. 
Hours later, you were reluctant to admit that she was right. Steve was very cute and a seemingly perfect gentleman. He held the door open for you, and pulled out your chair, and complimented you until you felt heat rise to your cheeks. B seemed to be very pleased with her matchmaking skills while Bucky simply watched the two of you with a cool gaze. 
You thought that maybe he was curious to see how well his best friend operated, a guy thing you surmised, but throughout the majority of the trip, you could feel his heavy stare beating down on you and Steve. Anytime B brought up activities that would force the four of you to pair off, Bucky was quick to shut it down. Anytime you found yourself isolated with Steve, merely talking, nothing more, Bucky was there, leading his friend away with some excuse of checking out a cool shop or helping him find his favorite swim trunks. 
“Those two are like Thing 1 and Thing 2,” B had told you one afternoon as you both sat in the jacuzzi. 
The indoor pool was huge, impressive even, but you couldn’t swim and B was more than happy to lounge in the small pool of ripples. 
“If I had made us share a room and made them share a room, I fear those two wouldn’t have minded, at all,” she chuckled. 
You merely hummed, finding no humor in her justification of why Bucky just seemed to always be there. 
“ two hookup yet?” 
You splashed her, and she laughed. 
“How can I? We’re hardly ever alone for more than five minutes,” you told her. 
“So you do want to…”
She trailed off with a grin, and you rolled your eyes. 
“I mean, he is cute and so sweet. I figure I might as well make the best of it,” you replied with a shrug. 
She laughed again, leaning back. 
“Don’t worry. I’ll keep Bucky busy so you can get busy.”
You scrunched your nose up at her wording, but you were excited nonetheless. With everything going on with Bucky and B and the way you hated the man and his relationship with your friend, you could use a distraction. You were wound up tighter than a Jack in the Box toy, and Steve had made it more than clear that he was into you. 
It was later that night when B did exactly what she said she would. Alcohol was coursing through all of your systems, but B was drunker than all of you combined. Ever the horny drunk, it wasn’t long before she found her way into Bucky’s lap, and it took even less time for him to reluctantly pull her to her feet. 
“We’d better call it a night,” he said, holding her to him as he eyed you and Steve lounging on the pool chairs. 
The glow from the pool lights casted a blue hue over the large room, and the way it hit Bucky’s face had you shifting uncomfortably. Was it you or was he glaring at you? Steve took another swig of his beer, waving his friend off. 
“You guys go on ahead. B looks like she’s seconds away from pouncing on you,” Steve chuckled. 
“I am,” the blonde said with a pout, playfully glaring at Bucky. 
The dark-haired man merely pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek, eyeing you both again before nodding. 
“Don’t forget to finish off these drinks. Might as well get our money’s worth,” he said over his shoulder as they both left. 
You and Steve were more than happy to do just that, and it wasn’t long before you found his lips on yours, his hand pressing into the small of your back as you hooked a leg over his waist. You hadn’t realized how long it had been, and you mewled against the blond’s mouth as he ground himself into you. 
This was exactly what you needed. You needed to forget how much of a creep your roommate’s boyfriend was and how much he terrified you. You needed to forget his predatory gaze and harsh touch. You needed to forget how much you hated him, how much you just wanted him to go away already. You needed to forget that the only reason you were even on this trip was to protect B. From what? You still weren’t sure. You needed…
To throw up. 
You pulled away from Steve as a bout of nausea hit you. You pressed your hand to your mouth, swallowing it down, and Steve’s hand was there at your back. 
“Woah, woah. You okay?”
You started to tell him yes, that you only needed a moment, rushing to stand when the room suddenly spun. Steve’s worried voice filled your ears as he caught you, and your legs shook. Confusion tore through you, recalling that you hadn’t had that much to drink to be this drunk. 
“Okay, I think you’d better call it a night too,” Steve advised, guiding you out of the pool. 
You shook your head, prepared to tell him that you were fine and still wanted to have sex. How could you not? The man was built like something out of your dreams. However, ever the gentleman, Steve simply hushed you, telling you that he was taking you back to your room. Your words came out slurred anyway, and that only made your confusion grow. 
You hadn’t drank that much...had you?
Steve had a harder time getting you to your room than he thought. You kept trying to drag him back to his, insisting that you were fine, but some rational part of you knew that you were not. Your words were too jumbled, eyes too unfocused, and you could barely stand. 
Something wasn’t right. 
The voice sounded far away, but there was a familiarity to it that had you cringing. 
“Hey, she… I don’t know. One minute she was fine, and then it just seemed to hit her all at once. I can’t… Not while she’s like this.” 
Part of you loved how gentlemanly Steve was being. Another part of you hated it, hating it even more how he talked about you like you weren’t there. You heard Bucky sigh, and you frowned. 
“Go on to bed, man. I’ll make sure she gets in her room,” you heard him say. 
You wanted to protest, but all that escaped was a few mumbles. You could feel a new set of hands on you, the old ones leaving, and a door clicked shut just as the room spun again. You shifted, your whole perspective shifting with you, and when you peeled your eyes open again, the ceiling stared down at you. 
That was the last thing you remembered. 
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When you woke up, it was well into the evening of the next day and you were alone. This was shocking to you for two reasons. Not only had you never slept that long in your life, even with the worst of hangovers, but you distinctly remembered being determined to have sex with Steve. 
And while it certainly seemed like you did, bottom half sore and protesting, bikini top askew, he was nowhere to be found. He didn’t seem like that type, and as you glanced around, it didn’t seem like he’d ever been in here, at all. You winced as you sat up, wincing even more as you moved across the bed. 
Your legs ached, like you’d just run a marathon and every time you moved, your core protested. You winced as you moved into the bathroom and was relieved to find nothing out of the ordinary. Maybe you just had a rough night. After all, it wouldn’t be the first time you’d taken a drunken tumble. You’d have to ask B what happened. 
As you peeled off your bathing suit, preparing to step into the shower, you couldn’t help but to frown at yourself in the mirror. You ran your eyes over your frame, convinced that something just Unable to figure out what it was, you shook your head and stepped under the spray of water. 
Your body felt better the more it stayed under the hot water. The heat and steam really did wonders for your aching frame, but as you brushed the complimentary white wash cloth between your legs, you jumped at the pain that shot through you. When you pulled it away, your heart dropped at the blood you saw there. Your period was regular, always had been, so you knew it wasn’t that. Even if you wanted to believe that, and you so desperately did, the ache in your core suggested otherwise. 
It wasn’t a lot of blood, just enough to worry you, and you were quick to finish up your shower and get dressed. It wasn’t hard to find them. They were lounging by the outside pool, laughing with each other under the shade of an umbrella. 
“Well, look who decided to join us! How’d you sleep, Sleeping Beauty?”
B’s voice was teasing, and you threw her a strained smile. It was clear she thought you’d finally had sex with Steve, if her teasing smile was anything to go by, and you shakily returned it. 
“Like a baby,” you replied, eyes finding Steve’s. 
You didn’t miss the way Bucky had turned his head. He was wearing shades, but you felt like he was looking straight into you. 
“Steve, can I talk to you for a minute?”
He raised his eyebrows, a little surprised, but eager to nonetheless. 
“Of course.”
He rose, following you as you walked away, B’s voice fading as she prattled to Bucky about something or another. 
“Did we…?”
You spoke as soon as you were somewhat secluded, trailing off as you eyed him, crossing your arms over your chest. He understood what you were getting at, and his eyes widened, shaking his head. 
“Oh, no. God, no,” he chuckled. “You were so out of it last night it just… I wouldn’t have felt right.”
He was telling the truth. That much you could tell, and your frown only deepened. You accepted his words with a nod and a sigh. 
“...but it certainly wasn’t without lack of trying on your part. I was trying to be a gentleman, but you just weren’t having it,” he laughed to himself. “Don’t worry though. Bucky made sure you got back to your room.”
His words froze you, your body going numb as you snapped your head towards his. 
“Yeah, well, you were really drunk, you know. He must have heard us and came to see if everything was alright. He let me go to bed while he took you back to your room. You got there safely, right?” 
You could only dumbly nod at him, and Steve grinned, placing his hand on your upper back as he guided you back to B and Bucky. Laughter filled your ears as he joined in on the conversation, but you could only shakily sit, staring ahead of you with a frown. 
No way. 
Your heart was racing, threatening to leap from your chest, and your palms had grown sweaty. You were having an internal war. That rational part of your brain, the same part that had been arguing against your feelings about Bucky since day one was screaming at you. It was telling you that you were being silly, reading too much into this, trying to latch onto any reason to hate this man. To justify your feelings. 
However, a bigger part was whispering to get out. It was the same part that created the nausea whenever he was near. It was the same part that told you he was scum long before you saw him with that girl that night. It was the same part that told you he was bad for B, even convincing you that he had hurt her. It was the same part that made your skin prick whenever his unnerving gaze found its way onto now. 
You glanced up to find B laughing with Steve about something. Bucky was on her other side, his arm lazily thrown over her shoulder, and while he seemed to be listening to what they were saying, you couldn’t shake the feeling that his blue eyes were trained on you behind those dark shades. You swallowed, and just then, the corner of his mouth curved upwards into a mocking smirk. 
There it was again. You felt like there was some joke here that you weren’t in on, and you shuddered. Unable to stomach being here anymore, you slipped away with the excuse of needing to use the bathroom. You didn’t return. Instead, you spent the rest of the evening sitting in the chair in your hotel room, knees pulled to your chest as you simply stared at your bed. You frowned at it, as if trying to will it to tell you the truth. To ease your fears...or confirm them. 
You couldn’t stomach the thought of sleeping there, and it was late into the night when you made your way to the pool. You didn’t get in obviously, but you sat on the side, feet and lower legs beneath the water as you stared into the clear blue. 
There had to be some other explanation. There had to be something more rational, something that was easier to swallow, but you just couldn’t shake what your gut was telling you. You blinked back tears as you stared into the water, and you felt like you were going insane. Footsteps got your attention, and you looked up...only for your face to fall. 
You hurriedly stood as Bucky came into the room, the door closing behind him. There was that mocking smirk again, and you crossed your arms over your chest, glaring at him with so much venom, it was a wonder he didn’t flinch. But why would he? Men like him hardly feared anything. 
You spoke before he had a chance to, the words tumbling out of your mouth before you realized it. 
“What did you do to me?”
He didn’t seem taken aback or offended at all by what you said. Instead, he simply stared at you, one dark eyebrow lifting as he waited for you to elaborate. You licked your lips, taking a deep breath. 
“Steve said that you were the one to make sure I got to my room safely last night. I don’t remember anything, and when I woke up…”
You trailed off, unable to voice what you really wanted to say. His lips twitched, and you wanted to hit him. 
“When you woke up...what…?”
“You did something to me,” you accused him. 
“Prove it,” he spat. 
You blinked back tears, tears of frustration and anger and sadness all rolled into one. 
“Don’t- do not do that! Do not make it seem as if I’m crazy, like I don’t know what I’m talking about. I see right through you, you know. I know what you really are and what you’re really like, and I know that you did something-.”
“What did I do?”
He’d moved towards you so suddenly that you had stumbled back, almost tripping over your feet just to get away from him. You warily eyed the pool as you took another step back, and Bucky didn’t stop until his chest grazed yours. His hands were folded behind his back as he looked down his nose at you, slowly dragging his gaze from your face all the way down to your toes and back again. 
“Go on,” he encouraged, a lecherous grin on his lips and a mocking glint in his blue eyes. “Tell me what I did.”
Your breathing was shallow, chest heaving as you stared at him with wide eyes. He tilted his head at you, looking at you like you were some misbehaving child. 
“Come on, Y/N,” he dragged your name out, the first time you’d ever heard him say it, the sound making your blood run cold. “Tell me what I did to you.” 
His voice was low, heavy, almost like he was begging you, and you shook your head, taking another step back, but he followed. 
“Let me guess… You think I carried you into your room and locked the door behind me. At this point, you would’ve been unconscious, so I had to put you on your bed…”
His words made your skin crawl, and it was obvious as to why, but something else in his tone wrapped around your neck like a noose, and your stomach twisted. 
“Do you think I...admired your prone form, none the wiser to what was going through my head? What I planned to do? You probably think I crawled over you huh? Trailing my fingers and lips over your damp skin-.”
“Or maybe you think I went beyond that. Maybe I hooked my finger into your bikini bottoms, pulling them to the side before leaning down to get a taste of you. Perhaps, I forced a finger inside of you, followed by another and another-.”
“I would have to stretch you out for what I planned to do. After all, I’d want you to take my cock so well.”
There were tears streaming down your face now, and Bucky smiled at you, teasing and secretive as he takes another step towards you. 
“...and maybe you do. Maybe you stretch for me just right, sucking me in and twitching in your sleep until-.”
Your hand stung from the force behind the slap, but you didn’t care. You could hardly breathe, looking at him with wide and tearful eyes. He didn’t seem all that fazed by it, merely adjusting his jaw as his eyes met yours again. He shrugged before chuckling to himself. 
“Maybe that’s what you think happened.” 
“You were right,” you suddenly said, and he looked at you curiously. “I don’t like you. I never did. In fact, I hate you.” 
He simply hummed at that. 
“I know the kind of person you really are. You’re only going to hurt her. You know it, and I know it, but somehow you have got her twisted around your toxic little finger, and she won’t listen to a word I say.”
His eyes flashed, and you glared at him. 
“The day will come where she sees you for what you really are, and I’ll be more than happy to help her set all of your things on fire. Maybe you with them,” you threatened. 
Bucky simply straightened to his full height, gazing at you with a look you couldn’t place. He fully took you in, seeming to size you up before softly laughing to himself. His hand was suddenly on you, and you were falling into the pool. 
Your scream was swallowed by the water, and thankfully your hands caught onto the side as you fell in. You struggled to get a grip, fighting to pull yourself up when his hand was there on the top of your head, pushing you back down. You flailed, losing your grip, and you furiously fought as you drifted to the bottom. 
Water filled your lungs, and your eyes burned. From tears or the chlorine, you didn’t know. You could tell that the water was disturbed, and against your better judgment, you fought against the hands that grabbed you. Bucky pulled you to the surface with him, holding you against him as he swam to the edge. Your coughs were ugly, struggling to get water out and air in as he pinned you between him and the wall. 
“I’m the only thing holding you up, doll, so I’d be careful about how I proceed if I were you,” he murmured. 
It took you a minute to realize what was happening, but you jerked in his hold as his fingers brushed over your folds. You hadn’t even felt him slip them past your bottoms. You flailed your legs, pushing against the wall, but he only closed in more, forcing a finger inside of you as his lips met your neck. 
“Relax,” he purred, adding another before curling them inside of your walls. 
You were frantic, panicking as you fought to get away from him. You didn’t care if you drowned. His lips were at your ear, shushing you as he continued to move his fingers, grinding against you and forcing you to perfectly move over the hardening heat you felt below you. 
Part of you was in shock, unable to scream as the reality of the situation, of what he was, truly dawned on you. You were just so focused on getting away, digging your nails into his arms, kicking your feet, pushing against him. However, you finally let out a sharp scream when his hand pulled away from you, pulling at your bottoms instead. You felt him fumbling behind you, and then you felt it. Warm and hard and poking at your folds. 
The water splashed as you flailed, and Bucky shushed you, pressing a hand to your mouth while the other slid the tip of him along your entrance. You were screaming against his hand, tears collecting there as you struggled to get from between him and the wall. Just when you felt the tip of him slip inside, just when you thought you were going to vomit all over this pool, he suddenly froze. 
You didn’t understand what was happening, but all of a sudden, he righted himself and you, and proceeded to push you up and out of the pool. Just as B strode inside. You were trembling as you landed on the floor, eyes wide and blurry as you struggled to stand. 
“Oh my God! Y/N, did you fall in?” her worried voice reached you, and Bucky answered before you could. 
“Yeah, she slipped,” he said, pulling himself out behind you. “She’s alright though.” 
B had just reached you as you turned and shoved him back into the water. You heard her exclaim, but you paid it no mind as you furiously grabbed your towel and your shoes, hurrying out of the room. 
You could hear her hurried steps behind you. You could hear her calling your name, worry and confusion coloring her tone. You flew inside of your room as soon as you reached it, slamming the door open. You didn’t bother to close it properly as you headed straight for your suitcase. 
“Y/N, what the hell?” 
B had followed you inside, shutting the door behind her. 
“What the fuck is your problem? Why did you do that? He kind of just saved your life.”
“No, he didn’t,” you spat at her so viciously that she actually reared back. 
As some of her anger dissipated, she finally seemed to focus on what you were doing. B’s face fell, eyes dimming as she swallowed. 
“What are you doing?” 
“What does it look like? I’m leaving.”
“What? Why?”
“Because your boyfriend is a creep!”
Her eyes widened, and she blinked. You could see a frown forming, could see the anger that was brewing behind her eyes, and you continued. 
“Don’t even start with me, B. He’s dangerous and disgusting and I want nothing to do with him,” you sneered, throwing the rest of your things into your suitcase. 
“What…? What happened?”
Her voice was small, weak and confused and sad, and you almost took pity on her. You almost stopped packing and decided to stay, but then you remembered the feel of his fingers inside of you, the way he almost forced himself inside of you. You recalled the way he held you down below the water and his harsh breath in your ear. 
You shook your head, looking at her. 
“If I told you, you wouldn’t even believe me, so what’s the point?”
She started to protest, and you cut her off. 
“I’m leaving, B. I’m taking the first flight out of here and that’s that.” 
You didn’t say anything more, neither did she, and she knew that when your mind was made up about something, that was the end of it. You could tell that she wanted to say something else, and part of you did too, but you were at the end of your rope. Bucky had gotten what he wanted. He’d broken you, and you didn’t have the heart to tell her that you’d be packing up your things as soon as you got home. 
You kept it to yourself and only sighed as she closed the door behind her on her way out.
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You looked up from your place on the floor as B lingered in the doorway. Your eyes met hers, and while the silence was short, it was no less awkward and tense. It had been that way for weeks...ever since the trip. 
She had come home days after you did, a number of things on her tongue no doubt, when she had stopped short at the sight of you in the kitchen, putting your mugs and other dishes into a box. She hadn’t said anything, neither did you, but you winced all the same when she stomped away, her door slamming shut behind her. 
The two of you hadn’t really talked since then, and you hadn’t seen Bucky since that night in the pool. You kept to your room mostly, only really leaving for work when you knew they both were either asleep or gone. A cloud hung over your once lively apartment now, and there was only one person to blame. 
The thought of Bucky made you ill. Literally. The first night you had been back, you had thought back to the pool, and before you knew it, your head was in the toilet. You had never cried so hard in your life, and it only just hit you then how close he’d been to… You shook those thoughts away, blinking at B as she shuffled on her feet. 
“Hey, um… So my aunt kind of had a stroke…”
Your heart sank, worry filling you. 
“Is she…?”
“She’s fine,” she nodded. “My mom though...she’s trying to put up a front, but I know that she’s really worried. I figured I’d head up there for a few days.” 
You didn’t really know what else to say, and B sighed. 
“Please, don’t go,” she whispered. 
“B,” you huffed, feeling everything start to bubble up inside of you. 
The anger, the irritation, the fear, the disgust. You hated Bucky. You hated him so much and you were so angry and disgusted with him, but a part of you, a part of you that you didn’t want to acknowledge...was angry with B too. Why couldn’t she listen to you? Why couldn’t she just open her eyes and see him for what he was? Why? Why was she so…? 
“Is it really that serious? Can’t you just-?”
“Yes, it is that serious, B!”
She seemed shocked by your anger, and you couldn’t swallow it down anymore. 
“He is not a good guy. I’ve told you that more than once, but I’m done! I don’t feel safe around him-.”
“It’s Bucky-!”
“Don’t do that!”
Your voice was so loud it echoed throughout the apartment. B looked stricken, and you felt your eyes watering as you huffed. You were standing now, arms folded over your chest as you glared at her. 
“Do not do that. My feelings are my own, and they’re valid. You can’t dismiss what I feel and what I’ve experienced for myself just because you like the way his dick feels.”
She looked like she wanted to say something, face twisting, but you continued. 
“I went on that trip for you. I have stuck around and put up with him for you...because you’re my friend and I just want you to be okay, but…”
You swallowed, glancing away. 
“I can’t help someone who doesn’t want to be helped. Especially at the expense of my own safety.” 
Your voice was quiet...tired. Defeated. 
“Is that what you want? You want me to stick around knowing I don’t feel safe as long as he’s around? That I don’t feel comfortable in my own house? Is that really what you want?”
She eventually shook her head, face sullen and lips pressed together. It was a shame, really, that the two of you had ended up here. B had been right that day in the cafe. She had easily become one of your closest friends, and now she was letting some pretty face cloud her of what was standing right in front of her. 
“For your sake, I hope he does become someone better than who he is now...but I can’t stick around to find out,” you whispered, and she called your name, but you ignored her. “Have a good trip. I mean that and...I hope your aunt gets better.” 
You didn’t say anything more, turning to finish packing, and eventually, you heard her leave.
You spent the rest of the day packing, crashing on your bed well into the night. You didn’t sleep much, tossing and turning, harshly pulled from sleep every time you remembered the feel of firm and searching hands on your body. Eventually, you gave up altogether and pulled yourself from your bed to start the process all over again.
Sometimes you had to stop and wonder if you were going about this in the right way. B was your should want to protect her...but at what point do you finally put your own safety over hers? Especially when she flat out refused to even just see the danger? You considered telling her what happened so many times. It was always there on the tip of your tongue whenever the house was a tad too quiet, the ocean of silence between you two just a little too tense. You wanted to tell her that her boyfriend was a predator, an attempted rapist...maybe even just a rapist.
The words that he’d said to you at the pool were on a constant loop in your mind. He’d said them in a way that suggested he was joking, a demented sense of humor, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that he hadn’t been. It reminded you of that first night you’d met him, when he’d ‘joked’ about B being unconscious before she even hit the door. Back then, something in you had told you that he wasn’t joking, but B had eased your worries. She’d confirmed that he was, but who was here to confirm it now?
God, what if you really had stared your rapist in the face as he recounted what he did to you? Even he wasn’t that depraved...was he? You were sure that you would drive yourself insane thinking about it, and so, like you had done for weeks, you pushed the thoughts away. You still had clothes to wash and dry, not wanting to when you drove home. Your mom had been worried to hear you ask to come home for a while until you found a new place, the change so sudden, but you assured her that everything was fine.
You and B shared a hamper in the laundry room, and you sighed. You figured it was petty to only wash your own. After all, you weren’t actually mad at B...just frustrated. When the load was done, and the dryer finally chimed, and you took them out and separated them. She had way more than you, and her clothes warmed your body as you carried them to her room. Dumping them on the bed, you proceeded to fold them, placing each article next to her pillow so that she wouldn’t miss them.
Out of nowhere, your body shuddered, body hair standing on end as goosebumps broke out over your arm. The a/c had just kicked in, and you were grateful because you were starting to get a little warm. When you folded her last shirt, a picture frame on her nightstand caught your attention. You quietly approached it, looking down at the familiar photo with a soft sigh. You both had taken it during a weekend trip to the beach. It seemed like a lifetime ago, and dismissing the memory, you turned around.
You froze, blood turning to ice as your eyes met familiar blue ones. He was leaning against the doorway, face unreadable as he stared at you, and you thought to yourself that you hadn’t even heard him come in. Your eyes fell to the set of keys in his hand as he swung them back and forth, as if mocking you. Disgust rolled inside of you, and you avoided his eye as you made to move past him.
Bucky took a step to the side, blocking your path, and you glared up at him with wide eyes. You hadn’t seen him since that night, you’d had no plans to, and yet here he was, forcing his presence on you again. You had thought that he was going with B. You had hoped…
“This is all your fault, you know,” he murmured, finally speaking.
You couldn’t prevent your face from twisting, brows furrowing and eyes narrowing as you shook your head at him.
“Excuse me?”
He took a step forward, forcing you back, and your heart skipped a beat, remembering the last time you were alone with him.
“I only stuck around because of you…”
His voice was low, and deep, and you blinked. Confusion and apprehension tore through you, his words not making any sense. He pursed his lips, looking around the room with a hum.
“B is...she’s great and all, but it was never supposed to be anything more than a nice fuck. A sweet release for the night…”
His words made your jaw clench, and you had half a mind to choke him for how he spoke about your friend. He continued before you could.
“...but then…”
His voice rose, tone taking on a mirthful lilt as he dragged out the last word.
“...I ran into you,” he quietly said, tilting his head at you. “...and you were just so protective over this woman who meant nothing to me.”
Your lips parted, opening and closing as you fought to understand anything.
“You knew what I did that night.”
His eyes were locked onto yours, and you halted, feeling like a bucket of ice water had been dropped onto you. The truth was now staring you dead in the face, and your lip curled as he confirmed what you had long suspected.
“You knew what I did to her, even after I had convinced you otherwise...even after she did, some part of you always suspected.”
“You unimaginable-.”
“But the real treat was that you had been willing to fight me because of it. Oh, I don't think I’d ever seen anyone round on me that fast before,” he purred, taking another step towards you, eyes gleaming. “You were prepared to kick my ass.”
“I knew it,” you shakily spat.
“You wouldn’t have won, of course,” he offhandedly commented. “I would’ve had you on your back in no time.”
You swung at him, blinded by an unfamiliar hot fury. He caught your wrist, hand tight on you, and you winced. He yanked you closer, breathing you in as he ran his eyes over you. He forced you back, and you dug your feet into the floor, fighting to get out of his grip.
“I started to take you right then and there. It would’ve been easy, like breathing, but something in you made me want to play the long game. I wanted to torture you...slowly…”
“Let go of me,” you screamed, your other hand connecting with his jaw.
It barely affected him, and he snatched your other wrist with ease.
“It was a good run, the most fun I’d had in years. You never let up, not once, and there were a few times where I genuinely worried you’d just stab me in my sleep and be done with it,” he hummed, forcing you back.
You jerked against him, trying in vain to pull your wrists out of his hands, but it was no use. His hold was locked, preventing you from getting away, and you felt your breathing pick up. All of the humor and teasing and secretive smiles were suddenly gone. His face fell, and he roughly shoved you away from him. You bounced on B’s bed, hurrying to sit up, but he was standing over you, shoving you back down again.
You hit against him as his hands landed on your t-shirt, tearing at the fabric, and you grabbed his hands, bending his fingers. Bucky hissed, ripping a hand away before placing it on your throat, and you painfully gasped. He pressed himself against you, a smirk crawling onto his lips as he brushed his nose along your own.
“I told you...I’d have you on your back in no time,” he whispered.
You couldn’t speak, throat tight and chest burning. He suddenly paused, tilting his head as his smirk grew. He glanced away before his eyes found yours again, something swirling there that created a sinking feeling in your gut.
“I almost forgot,” he started, sucking in a breath. “I already did.”
His words paralyzed you, and you halted all movement, staring up at him in horror. Your lips trembled, eyes watering as the truth about that night was thrown into your face. He looked more than pleased with himself, and you couldn’t hold back the sob that escaped you.
“You’ll have to forgive me,” he murmured, reaching up with his other hand to trail a finger down the side of your face. “I just couldn’t help myself. I figured I was owed just a small taste of my prize.”
Your struggle was anew before he even finished, harsh choking sounds escaping you as you fought against him. He was undeterred.
“I got you right where I want you, and no one is around to stop me. Now, I don’t have to drug you to fuck you,” he growled, leaning in, and you maneuvered your legs between his. “Now, you’re mine, and I’m going to spread these legs just like I did that night.”
He exclaimed when you brought your legs up, and you painfully gasped, vision blurring as air rushed back into your lungs. You rolled and shakily moved away from him, desperate to get away when his hand wrapped around your ankle. He yanked on it, forcing you to collapse, and you screamed as he crawled over you, quickly muffling the sound by pressing your face into the bed.
You struggled to breathe, you struggled to move, you struggled to get away. He held you in place with a hand on the back of your head, and while you frantically tried to get it off, not suffocating being your first priority, he was occupied with ripping what was left of your shirt off of you. Your sweatpants soon followed, and your hot tears soaked the bed as his hand found its way between your legs. He made a sound of disappointment at the dryness that met him there.
You squealed into the mattress as his fingers dipped between your legs again, wet this time, and your nails scraped along the bedding as he forced them inside of you. He groaned as he thrust them inside of you, massaging your walls and forcing your body to prepare for him. It was getting harder and harder to breathe, and part of you suspected that this was how you’d die. At the hands of this monster who had slithered his way into your lives.
Relief filled you when he let your head go, and you lifted it, sucking in air with difficulty. Your relief was short lived, a yelp tumbling from your lips as the head of his cock broke past your folds, quickly followed by the rest, and a pained whine escaped you as his hips connected with you at last. Bucky released a shuddering breath above you, hands dancing down your sides as he hummed, burying his face in the crook of your neck while you sobbed beneath him.
“Just as tight as I remembered,” he murmured.
You didn’t have time to cringe at his words. The palms of his hand pressed into the mattress on either side of your head, holding himself up as he began to thrust into you. The bed shook under the force of his thrusts, and your chest heaved with every choked sob that left you. Bucky paid you no mind, too blissfully engrossed with the way you clenched around him.
You tried to push yourself up, but every snap of his hips had you falling back down. You tried to crawl away, but he only followed, his unrelenting cock seeking you out. You could hardly hear anything over the sound of your own sobs, but you could do nothing to shut out the sound of Bucky’s deep grunts. You couldn’t ignore the sound of his skin slapping against yours as he fucked you.
“Please, please,” you cried, not above begging him to let you go.
Eventually, he got fed up with your attempts, forcing his knees between your thighs. He spread them, making you cry out, and he pressed his hands into the small of your back. He moaned at the new angle, and you shuddered, feeling every inch of him now.
The tears never stopped, and you simply hung your head, nails scraping along the bedding as you silently pleaded for him to stop. You just wanted this to be over. You wanted this to be over, and you wanted to be far away from him. He spread your legs even more, forcing a noise of protest out of you at the feel of the strain, and fresh tears escaped as you felt his lips on your shoulder. Then they moved to your neck, his deep breaths filling your ear.
“You were well worth the wait,” he murmured.
His words stroked that anger inside of you, and you brought your head back, satisfaction blooming when it connected with his face. He only chuckled in response, and you gasped when he pulled out of you. You were quick to move, attempting to fling yourself off of the bed, but his hands on your hips prevented you from doing so. He flipped you over, and your tearful eyes fell onto him.
His dark hair was in disarray, muscles shifting as he forced you into whatever position he deemed fit. You fought against him as he pushed your knees towards you, but the position he forced you into made it difficult to do so. He settled himself over you, his chest pressed against your bent legs, making your knees touch your chest, and you had no choice but to accept the way he slid inside of you.
Your walls protested, hands hitting against the bed, another sob climbing out of your throat when he closed his hand over your mouth. He slammed himself against you, balls brushing against your skin with every thrust. His other hand pressed your wrist into the bed, and you felt like you were surrounded by him. All you could feel, hear, and smell was him. The way he stretched you was bordering on painful, and you just wanted to be anywhere but here.
You lost track of how long he fucked you, face sticky and dry from your tears, throat raw from screaming. No one could hear you, Bucky’s hand making sure of that, but you felt you owed it to yourself to try. Anytime you even looked like you were drifting off, mind determined to get as far away from this scene as possible, Bucky would give a particularly hard thrust, forcing you back to the present, and the tears would start all over again.
When you heard his breath hitch, you knew that the end was near. Both relief and fear filled you because what then? What awaited you when this was over? How could you even try to move on from this? Bucky shifted again, letting your legs fall around him, letting go of your hand. He seemed to anticipate that you were still going to fight, and as you reached for him, he snatched both of your wrists up in his free hand, holding them against your stomach as he chased his high. He seemed to be holding himself off, and for the life of you, you couldn’t figure out why. 
Until he let go of your mouth, hand drifting to where he slid into you.
“No,” you cried out, moving to break free only to jerk when he rubbed his thumb over you.
You gasped, legs kicking around him, determined to stop him. You couldn’t let him take this from you either, you couldn’t let him force you to enjoy this, but he seemed bent on doing just that.
“Come on, doll. Don’t fight it,” he purred.
“Stop, stop,” you screamed, fighting against that tightening in your gut. “Stop-!”
“Oh, there she is. That’s it…”
You had clenched around him, walls involuntarily fluttering as he all but threw you towards the edge.
“Stop, please-.”
Your voice hitched, something snapping within you as your mouth parted, no sound coming out. You could hear Bucky swear over that roaring in your ear as you spasmed beneath him.
“Fuck, that’s it. Milk me, doll. Look at you,” he breathed.
You faintly noted a warmth filling you, coating your walls as he came inside of you, a satisfied sigh escaping him as you continued to flutter around him. You cried as you came down from your high, and Bucky’s hand found your face. You wouldn’t look at him. You were too terrified, and you just wanted him to go away so you’d never have to see him again.
“Your mom has a nice place…”
Your stomach dropped, and you looked at him with wide eyes. He pressed his other hand into the mattress beside your head, holding himself over you. You were too frozen with fear and horror to notice that he’d even let you go. A hungry smile curved along his lips, and he dragged his eyes over your naked and sweaty form.
“...I’m glad Steve just bought the one across the street.”
He leaned in, lips brushing along your ear.
“It makes it easy to come see you while you look for a place of your own. I look forward to the house tour.”
tags: @mcudarklibrary​   @xoxabs88xox @harryspet @readermia @opheliadawnwalker3 @nickyl316h @captainchrisstan @sebabestianstan101 @villanellevi @lokislastlove @notyourtypicalrose @coconutqueen21 @hurricanerin @trinittyy @hyoyeoniie @cocoamoonmalfoy @mandiiblanche @gotnofucks @oneoftheprettynerds @doozywoozy @sapphirescrolls @threeminutesoflife @searchforanotherway @melli0112 @buckybarnesplumwhore​ 
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mimiplaysgames · 23 hours ago
Terraqua Week Day 3 (Heartbeat)
Summary: Sometimes the duty of a being a protector can break apart the links that keep them together. Can you hear a heartbeat when you’re asleep? || Word Count: 4,362
Read on AO3
A/N: For @terraquaweek !! This fic references Raya and the Last Dragon (2021). I try to stay vague but!! spoilers for that movie if you haven’t seen it!! It’s available now for all Disney+ subs, and maybe there’s plenty of avenues to watch it if you can. ;) I’ve been posting heart-warming tearjerkers for a bit now, but this is going back to my really old, suspenseful, angsty stuff. A huge departure so far. I hope you like ;-;
Listen (chains)
A very cynical man (and, I guess, correct, in his own way) once said that hearts are bound by chains. 
Keyblade wielders tend to visualize our bonds as threads, what we weave together. Something easily cut, easily mended, easily flexible. I prefer the chains, though. They’re stronger. They last if you nurture them from rusting. The biggest plus is that they’re heavy. If for some reason Aqua sinks to the Darkness, I will sink with her, and I’m fine with that.
I think the reason why I choose chains is because I can’t let anyone cut between us ever again.
Aqua and I are traveling through the country-side. The closest creek is several meters away, and Aqua protects us with a shield of rivers just in case we’re blind-sighted. 
Kumandra is a treacherous world—I’ve never seen anything like it. If it keeps going like this, it will fall. We’re here to stop that. 
“Stars,” Aqua gasps. 
We pass by a group of stone statues—two parents and two children by the look of it. They used to breathe and speak, and were probably out here enjoying a picnic. Now they’re solid rock, holding their hands up in solemn prayer as though they’re cupping rain. We’ve passed by hundreds: single persons doing errands, small gatherings enjoying each other’s company, whole villages. They’ll stay this way for the rest of time unless someone intervenes. 
The Druun—what they call the Darkness here—trap the soul of everyone they merely touch into stone. That’s the entire point of their existence. It’s disgusting.
There are only three things the Druun cannot withstand—dragon magic, the Light from our Keyblades, and water.
Every time Aqua has tried, she fails. She tries again, waving her hand to slice streams out of her rivers and let it rain on these poor people. It doesn’t bring them back to life.
“They’re not in pain,” I say softly, though it’s not a proper consolation. 
“Unless we stop the fate of this world, this is a whole family gone,” she says, looking at the children.
I don’t know what else to say. ‘At least they’re not grieving each other’ would be a terrible choice. I touch the father’s shoulder and I close my eyes. His heart thrums but it’s muffled, as though buried under dirt.
“Here,” I say, splaying her hand on the same shoulder and layering mine on top of hers. “Do you hear it?” I can hear her heart right now, loud and elevated. I listen to it every night when she’s in my arms.
She sighs and closes her eyes. “Barely.”
“It’s really soft and slow, like he’s sleeping. They’re all like that, dreaming away.” I hold her by the sway of her back. “They’re going to be fine. We’ll help them.”
Aqua stays quiet to listen to his heartbeat for a moment longer. “I think I’ll go and find Raya. I shouldn’t have left her.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“No, I think you should continue to Fang.”
Ah, the centuries-old war between the tribes of Fang and of Heart, Princess Raya’s original home, now an empty haven. As Keyblade wielders, we’re not supposed to get involved in the politics of the worlds we visit, but in this case, I don’t see any other choice. The whole reason we were traveling to Fang was to plead with Princess Namaari—there’s no getting through to her mother.
All we truly need are these two princesses to be allies. 
“What about you?”
Aqua smirks, letting go of the statue and wrapping her robe tighter around herself. “I am better at water magic than you.”
“I can’t argue with that.” It’s daunting, the thought of separating from her at a time like this, especially knowing she’ll be traveling alone. It’s safer in Fang, a stronghold with a tall palace built at the peak of a steppe, protected by canals they’ve dug to keep the Druun out.
She hears the hesitation in my voice. “I’ll stay close to the rivers.”
“You stay safe.” My voice quivers. I erase the image of Aqua as a statue with her hands praying for water. It plagues my mind anyway. If we weren’t Keyblade wielders, then I’d always know she’d be safe. Then again, I wouldn’t have met her to begin with.
I worry too much when I know she can take care of herself. I never used to be that way, but I’ve never been the same since the Keyblade War. Most times, I don’t have a choice. Duty is duty, and we have to trust we’ll come home in one piece.
Never mind that every time we leave for a mission, there’s always that possibility it’s the last time we’ll see it.
Aqua stands on her toes and kisses me, holding me by the chin. Her rivers wrap closer to us, gushing ribbons to a package. “I’ll stay with you until we get to Fang,” she whispers. “Don’t worry, it will only be a few days.” 
I can hear it in her voice, in her heart. She’s worried, too. 
I can’t find Princess Namaari anywhere in Fang. Not in the palace courtroom, not eating with the soldiers in the kitchen, not with the schoolchildren, not on the grounds, enjoying the sun. I walk to the stables—if I can call them stables. They’re not for horses or Chocobos, they’re for cats. Large panthers for cats, more specifically. 
On my way, I look out past the mountains, searching for signs of Aqua and Raya approaching with their friends. I’ve been checking daily. I’m tempted to check in on her, to listen for her heartbeat miles away, but Aqua wouldn’t appreciate it if she finds out. 
Fang’s stables are equipped with soft, thick beds and human-sized fur toys that dangle from the ceiling.  
Namaari sits by herself, solemnly nudging a panther’s ear and eliciting a deep purr.
“Do you ever worry,” I say, taking the dad-joke route, “about anyone calling you a lonely, crazy cat lady?”
She scoffs. It’s a good start. “They’re more reliable than people sometimes.”
One look at Namaari and you’d never think that she holds such insecurity and confusion inside. She’s broad, with strong biceps and the posture of a warrior, always dressed ready for combat, her short hair swept over and shaved on one side, adorned with a large earring to show her economic status. She looks so much like her mother. 
“I’m guessing ‘people’ are bugging you out more than usual.” I take a seat at a cat bed across from her. 
Namaari rolls onto her back, tucking one knee in and propping up on an elbow. I mimic her, and she rolls her eyes. I appreciate that.
She holds a trinket in her fist. “I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do, Master Terra.”
She purses her lips. “Raya sent me this.” She opens her hand. In it is a silver pendant of a dragon, something I think Namaari would wear. “She wants to talk.”
We all want them to talk. They remind me of Aqua and myself sometimes. 
I shrug and give her a cocky smirk. “Then talk to her.”
Namaari snaps her fist closed. “She’ll want me to bring our piece of the Dragon Gem.”
Interesting how she says ‘our piece.’ The Dragon Gem was protected by Heart for centuries. All the tribes of Kumandra had been fighting over its possession. It was only six years ago that they each took a piece of it—but breaking it was what freed the Druun in the first place. Now they’re here, their world about to break at the seams.
“Maybe it would help to give Raya the benefit of the doubt.”
“But she’s been stealing all the other pieces.” Namaari wipes her face. “The Gem gave Heart its prosperity for centuries, and Heart kept it for themselves. Ever since we took a piece of it, we’ve been able to grow. We can eat rice. We can have cleaner water, tend to the flowers, keep our people living longer and more healthy, expand now that we’re running out of space. I don’t understand why we’re being punished for wanting better lives.”
My eyes fall to the floor. Next to me, a cat is stretching, pushing my ankle out of the way. “Are we talking about the Druun here, or Raya? I don’t think Raya is punishing you.”
She sighs. “That’s what I don’t understand. Why does providing for our people fit for the apocalypse? We didn’t ask for this.” She waves to a window to the outside, where I’m sure Druun are hovering in the mountain.
“Your people don’t deserve punishment.” But acting on fear of others yields terrible results. I would know.
“This is going to sound terrible, but sometimes I wonder if humans should even be allowed to live. We’re always fighting.”
That sounds very much like something Xehanort would say, but I don’t blame her. Stopping the Keyblade War from destroying everything doesn’t end conflict and malice. It doesn’t chase the Darkness away, it doesn’t heal pain. With the way this world has been deteriorating, I’m sure the idea of starting over for a new world is attractive.
Especially with the way Namaari studies that pendant. Guilt and nostalgia blended into one. It’s all too familiar.
“But there’s love there, too,” I remind her. “And it sounds like you want to fix things.”
Namaari blinks back tears, leaning on her knees. “I saw a dragon the other day,” she whispers reverently as though she has seen the heavens. “With Raya. Mother dismissed me and ordered me to capture it, but I don’t think she understands what it’s supposed to mean, and I don’t know where to start. A dragon. It would save us all... I just want to do right by my people.”
I lean forward, patting her on the shoulder. “Years ago, I betrayed Aqua’s trust in me. I made stupid choices and I put my family in danger. We were taken advantage of, cast away for no one to find. I was weak, and my best friends drowned with me for a long, long time. Aqua especially. She paid the price for saving me.” 
She bites her lip. “Aren’t you and Master Aqua married or something?”
I snort. “We are now.”
“No offense, but if what you say is true, then why would Master Aqua choose to marry you?”
I pause, sitting straight. It’s a fair question, one I’ve asked myself most nights when she’s sleeping on my shoulder. It’s now that I notice I’ve slept in bed for the last few nights alone. The first night is always the hardest. The third even harder when you realize it’s going to continue on.
“She’s known me forever, so that helps, I guess. But it took a lot of conversations, a lot of remembering who we really are. We didn’t want to continue where we left off but we didn’t want to start over, either. Finding that balance was difficult, but you do get a lot of beautiful accidents along the way…” I smile to myself, remembering the messy, drunk kiss we shared in the kitchen at three in the morning. “I think she knows that I can make terrible mistakes and she can trust me anyway. I can’t pretend to understand why she forgave me, but I can accept it.” 
Namaari nods, once again looking at the pendant. 
I say, “Is there a way you can send a message that Raya would recognize?”
Namaari scoffs, the smallest bite of a grimace icing her face. “I could ignite a firecracker.” 
“That’s a way to get someone’s attention.” I stand up.
“The military will notice.”
I smirk. “Let’s show it to some kids. We’ll say they were playing around with it. No harm, no foul.”
Namaari warms up to a chuckle, but it’s on a chokehold, as if the worry won’t let her. “You’re mischievous for a Master.”
As a Keybearer that wields the Darkness, that’s a compliment. “I prefer ‘open-minded.’ What’s going to happen after?”
“She’ll understand. She’ll come.”
“And the dragon?”
Namaari stands tall. She stiffens. 
“Aqua and I will leave you two alone,” I say. “I think it’s important you have the space to talk.”
It takes several moments for her to nod. Part of me hopes it will be alright. Part of me remembers the day when Aqua confronted me about the Master’s death, in the Keyblade Graveyard years ago, before the fall, when we both knew deep down that we’d end up fighting each other. 
I didn’t want to face it then. 
The dragon is dead.
“It was an accident,” Namaari tells me with a shaky voice. We’re running as fast as we can, on our way to the throne room. 
Fang is crumbling. All the water has drained with the dragon’s death, and the portion of the Gem that Namaari carries with her is turning dim. There’s nothing left to protect us. Namaari orders her soldiers to protect civilians, but we both know how futile that really is.
“I know you didn’t,” I say, taking a moment to give her shoulder a gentle squeeze so she feels how much I mean it. 
Out the window, I see Druun invading Fang, storms of dust and ash swallowing people. Within each of them, a purple light thrums, as if Darkness itself has beating hearts. I’ve seen worlds where the heart speaks, worlds where its people are aware of them. Some stars are born from nebulas, from which the Light blesses them. Some burst from black holes, like punctures, aligned more with the Darkness—though that’s no fault, that’s a balance.
This world must be a puncture, the dragons its faded stardust. A stampede of people running for their lives suddenly freeze to pray for water when the storms pass over them. A whole school of statues gather together in the playground. A mother holding up one hand, for the other is holding her baby.
My chest pounds, as though a wrecking ball has crashed into it, dragging me down to the floor with its colossal weight. I collapse. 
“Master Terra, what’s wrong?” She tries to hold me up, but I’m too heavy. 
It’s hard to breathe, it’s cold. Aqua.
“Don’t be scared,” I tell her with hoarse breath. 
“What are you—”
“Do you trust me?”
“Yes. I do.”
“Come,” I command. From my skin, the Darkness radiates, tendrils of smoke pooling together until my least favorite but most trusted companion appears. The Guardian, with its empty chest and ripped bandages. I’ve never found a way to let it go, it doesn’t have a home without me.
Namaari throws back in fear, crawling away. 
“Find her,” I tell the Guardian. “Protect her.”
The Guardian says nothing but it follows my orders, my heart tied to it like a cobweb that stretches as it flies away. I listen for the heartbeat. 
“What was that?” Namaari demands. “It looks like—”
“I know what it looks like.” I struggle to get on my own two feet. My body is stiff. I need to see Aqua. “But don’t worry. You’re not in danger from it.”
Namaari hesitates but she takes my arm around her shoulder. “Let me help you.”
We outmaneuver a stone pillar as it collapses. People scream and there’s so much dust that I can’t see what’s stalking us. Namaari’s piece of the Dragon Gem protects us for now. The Druun can’t stand to be near it. 
We reach the throne room. A statue of her mother stands on the dais, hands cupped together.
“Namaari,” I call softly as she stares. Condolences aren’t enough. 
Hushed, hurried footsteps approach from behind us. I turn my head but Namaari doesn’t move.
It’s Raya, her soft clothes caked with dust. Her long hair is let loose, kept off her face by two braids. She’s tall, her round face soft and warm. I know she never has ill intentions, but I think she’s harder to reach out to. She’s holding one piece of the Dragon Gem. There’s no reason for her to come here except for Namaari, most likely to avenge the dragon. 
I get flashbacks, confrontations and guilt in a desert of Keyblades. Tell me Terra, how does that honor our Master’s memory?
Raya is alone.
“Where is Aqua?” I ask.
Namaari finally turns and glares. 
Raya stammers. “S-She’s helping people outside.”
My heart stops.
Namaari growls and lets go of me, unsheathing her long daggers and throwing herself at Raya, who defends herself with a sword.
“Stop it,” I call, chasing after them. Their blades strike and echo, Namaari pounding away in brutal jabs and Raya holding her weapon like a barrier. Raya swings her sword and it stretches into a whip, plucking a dagger out of Namaari’s grip. Namaari dives forward and punches Raya in the gut with the hilt of her other dagger. “Stop it!” 
It’s too loud in here. Rubble the size of boulders crumble into the halls. It blocks people from coming inside and taking shelter, but stone won’t stop the Druun from coming in.
I hear it—a panicked heartbeat, not asleep. Like a song to lull me to sleep, I imagine the Guardian catching her and carrying her to safety. Thank the stars.
“Stay with her,” I say and the Guardian obeys. 
Knowing that Aqua’s okay, I charge towards the girls, yanking Raya’s arm and moving her out of the way of Namaari’s attack.
“This isn’t the time,” I say, but I recognize those faces. Loss and hopelessness in Namaari, vigor and focus in Raya’s, all at the tip of the end of their world. They remind me so much of Aqua and myself. “We need to escape.”
A yell shrieks from outside the palace. Raya recognizes it. 
The rubble behind me shakes. Out of it bursts a storm of Druun. Near them, I can feel the wind chill get colder.
Namaari grunts, shielding me with her piece of the Dragon Gem before I could summon my Keyblade. The Druun screech and fade away. Raya is gone.
I grit my teeth. “I need to find Aqua,” I tell Namaari.
“I’ll help you.”
Outside, we pass by statues, half of them soldiers. I see Raya’s friends, each with small pieces of the Dragon Gem, like they’re ferries carrying and leading people out of the city, lighting their way. The dust is dense, the earth dry, the sky a pale yellow as though it will never rain on this desert again. 
I see a head of blue hair running across the palace square. Aqua has her Keyblade ready in one hand, the other crumpled and stuck to her body, cast in stone. The Guardian follows close behind her, like a parasol. Her river shields are drying up. 
“Terra,” she gasps when I take her in my arms. Her heartbeat thumps like it could collapse if she ran it too much. I’m so relieved, my chest lifting as though the weight has been dropped, leaving a sore spot where it pulled for minutes that felt like hours. I inspect her stone arm. It’s anchored to her ribs, cold to the touch like a neglected fossil. “I summoned a barrier,” she explains.
I don’t say I felt it happen. I don’t say I was worried. I say everything by the way I kiss her hair. She doesn’t have to be strong when she’s in my arms. 
“Master Terra!”
I know before I see. I throw Aqua off of me and she tumbles backward into Namaari’s arms. That’s all the time I’m given. 
“Take care of her,” I ask Namaari. It gets cold and dark, like walking barefoot in the snow in the middle of the night. I can’t fight the sleep that washes over me. A key unlocks the shackles, so my chains don’t force her to sink with me. 
Terra cups his hands like he’s asking for water, but he does not hang his head in respect to the stars. He holds it up high, like he’s searching for them.
Aqua stutters in her tears. There’s no time to cry about it when so many hundreds of people are in danger, despite that’s all she wants to do. Her arm is heavy, its stiffness so severe that her shoulder aches in pain. Namaari holds her up by the good arm, whispering condolences and promises to protect her, but condolences and promises serve nothing right now. Aqua never wants to experience another night alone in bed. She doesn’t want to cave into the void growing in her chest, as though a piece of her heart has collapsed, the gravity chipping away as it pulls and continues to pull. Aqua holds onto the fraying threads, afraid of what will happen if she lets go.
She rushes to Terra’s statue, planting her good hand and her ear onto the chest. She can’t hear a heartbeat, the surface hard and cold like she’s embracing a boulder. 
There isn’t time for this either. Aqua will have to trust that he’s alright, that his heart still beats, even when the Guardian moans and fades away.
“Raya!” Aqua calls in spite of Namaari’s hesitation. Druun charge at them, and Aqua slaps them with water magic before Namaari has a chance to use her fading piece of the Dragon Gem.
“Master Aqua!” Namaari points.
Raya and her friends are falling, the cobblestone collapsing under their feet.
“Let’s go,” Aqua says. No questions asked, no refusals accepted.
Aqua and Namaari fall into the pit. When they land, Aqua stabs the ground with her Keyblade, casting a wide barrier that spreads far and throws the Druun away. It flickers. 
Raya has traveled all of Kumandra with a sorrowed group of followers. Children, a widower, each one with memories of people they have lost and still remember. None of them fighters or warriors but taking the mantle anyway. They’ve survived because Raya has trusted them with pieces of the Dragon Gem. 
At the sight of Namaari, the others protest.
Raya grips onto Aqua’s wrist. “What do we do?”
“Remember what I told you,” Aqua says. The Druun can smell them, gathering around them like hurricanes about to merge. There’s no water to hold them back except for Aqua’s flickering magic and the fading Dragon Gem pieces, but those are finite sources. Aqua is tired, the stone arm sucking her mana away. “You can’t mimic the same mistakes I’ve made.”
Raya nods, still unable to look Namaari in the eye. She’s sensitive, a woman who built a mile of walls just to protect herself. Deep down, Raya feels guilty about the dragon’s death—if only, if only, if only she hadn’t reacted the way she did.
“You said if there was one thing you wished you could change, it was believing the worst in Terra,” Raya says, reciting Aqua’s words.
Aqua sighs. She’s so tired. The void in her chest stills, a quiet she realizes she doesn’t want to live with. Terra has never called his ability to feel hearts a gift, but right now, Aqua envies him. How soothing would it be if she could hear the steady beat of his heart, exactly like when he sleeps under her? 
If Terra is sleeping now, then he is alone. 
Soon enough, Ven will get worried that they haven’t come back home and will come to look for them. 
“You know what you have to do,” Aqua whispers.
Raya throws her arms around Aqua’s shoulder, the softest sob peeping out of her lips. Then she turns to face Namaari. 
Trust. A hard thing to give away, even at the brink of the end of the world. Aqua lets go of the water and lets the stars take a gamble at fate. She can’t hear him, but she trusts that what Terra said about the sleep is true.
My eyes clench together at the fall of water dripping into them. I blink at my hands. It’s raining, cool pricks on my skin. The first thing I notice is how green the grass is, and when I look up, there are dragons dancing in the sky. People laugh and cry, mothers hug their children, lovers embrace as if they haven’t seen each other in years, soldiers pat themselves on the back and leave to find their families. 
Aqua calls my name, running to me, colliding into my chest and knocking me onto the ground. She kisses me in front of all these people and I squeeze her tight. My Aqua is alright. She splays her hand and shoves her ear onto my chest, measuring my heartbeat.
“You’re soft,” she says.
“That’s not true, my pecs are well-sculpted.”
She jabs at my bicep with a large bright grin that she normally reserves when we’re alone. “Look at them,” Aqua says, nodding off to the palace walls.
Raya takes Namaari’s hands and helps her up. Small smiles for peace tokens, an end to the war, maybe a long-standing bond from now on. Namaari sees me and waves. 
“I fell asleep,” I say, my head clear. I don’t remember any dreams, as if I lost all awareness that I exist. From the way Aqua is trembling, her memory of me is what hurt her the most. 
This is the farthest world I’ve ever been to, located in the outermost sphere that houses the Land of Departure, on the border where the rest of space is black. A part of me knows that all of Kumandra is raining right now, a blessing from the stars that blink so far away. 
“Well then, good morning.” Aqua smiles and kisses me again.
I am buoyed, as if her body is my ship, and I’m taking her to the sky with me. The ball and chain is a cost, and the freedom it buys is of the rarest and most expensive kind— 
—at least for now, while we’re celebrating our meager victories. In the next world we visit, when I start to worry, it will become heavy again. I’m okay with carrying the weight. I’m not okay with worrying about when our luck will change. I just want her to come home with me every time we leave together. 
My heart beats hard on my chest and hers beats in rhythm with mine.
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punemy-spotted · a day ago
The Price You Pay Chapter 6: Escape Clause
Pairing: Mob!Steve Rogers x Reader; Senator!Andy Barber x Reader
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con elements, Dub-Con, Dark!Fic, Abuse of Legal System, Murder, Character Death (minor, possibly major), Love Triangle, Political AU, Mafia AU, Workplace Sexual Harassment, Abuse Mentions, Possessive/Obsessive Characters, Other Chapter-Specific Warnings May Apply, Possible Dead Dove: Would Not Eat
Chapter Warnings: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat; Angst-lite; Funeral Preparation; Blood Mention; Death; Some Esoteric References to Suicide; References to Hunting; Anxiety; Reader is Potentially having a Sustained Panic Attack
Chapter Summary: Be not afraid of Salvation, but let its hand lead you from the dark
Chapter 1; Chapter 2; Chapter 3; Chapter 4; Chapter 5
Notes: I don’t even know if anything actually happened in this chapter or if Reader is just trapped in panic but this… this happened.
Thank you all for reading and commenting! As always, feedback is greatly appreciated, even if you’re yelling at me.
Not beta-read, these sins belong to me and me alone.
All of my work is 18+ Only, Minors DO NOT INTERACT. I do not consent to my work being posted anywhere besides Tumblr or Ao3 and I post my work there myself. Do not copy, translate, or repost any of my content.
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You stayed.
You stayed and now you wake, draped in crisp white cotton and listening to the sound of Andy Barber’s voice drifting from his hotel office, smoke and honey just a wall away. You wake and you remember.
You remember his request, you remember his lips, you remember the way they curved around the sound of your name while you stayed in his arms for just a moment more, so drawn to the safety of him.
You remember Andy Barber offering you one of his shirts, There’s no way you’re sleeping in a suit, Sunshine, and don’t lie to me and tell me you did that when we were campaigning, remember the way you laughed and tried to lie anyway.
I’m taking advantage of you, Sunshine, he told you last night and yet last night you stayed in his bed and he refused to listen to you protest as the living room couch became where he laid his head.
You should get up.
You should get up, you should start your own day, let Andy continue his, push through the rest of what needs to be done and yet…
Yet nothing feels quite as comfortable as this bed and nothing is quite as warm as these sheets and you’ve never felt quite as safe in this room, far from your sanctuary or the sturdy cage of Steve Rogers’s arms.
The door to the room opens and there he is.
Morning, Sunshine, and you can’t see his face but you can hear the smile in his greeting, playful and warm and you feel yourself smiling right back, pushing away the barrier of cloud-white cotton and taking in the sight of him dressed for the day while you…
The Congressional Baseball Game commemorative t-shirt is soft. The same bright blue color of his eyes. And drapes over you like an invitation the moment he properly catches sight of you in it.
He stays in the doorway, a little stiffer than before.
Good morning, Senator, and do you notice the way he swallows at the sound of his title in your voice, or the way his eyes flash dark for a moment? Do you notice, or do you pretend you don’t? Do you traverse the space between what was and what is and bridge the gap to what might be?
Sleep alright? He’s cautious, watching a deer in the woods ready to bolt and don’t you know he’s unarmed? He just wants to patch your wounds, let you run free and safe and know sanctuary is the shape of his smile.
You’re starting to understand.
Yeah. I did, actually. Thank you, I —
Sunshine, if you act like you’re imposing, I’m going to lose it.
He’s smiling too good-naturedly for that to be a threat, walking towards you too slowly for you to remember to run. The backs of his fingers on your cheek are too soft, too comfortable, and you are too safe.
It can’t last.
I should get back.
You can see his brow furrow, smile fading, eyes darkening. A huff of disapproval and the hand at your cheek holds your shoulder a little tighter, You don’t have to do this, I can —
He doesn’t make you shout, not the way Steve does, just fixing you with a searching look instead. Help him understand.
You can’t, is the thing. You can’t and you know it so instead you look up at him and into those warm eyes and you just shake your head, I have to. At least let him know I’m taking time off — that’s professional courtesy, right?
Andy Barber doesn’t usually roll his eyes — he’s a Senator, he’s too professional for that sort of thing, too stiff, too stern — but he knows lies when he sees them and he’s eying you like you might be trying to get one over on him.
It’s not entirely wrong.
His hand holds your cheek in one warm palm and you have to resist the temptation to nuzzle right into it while he looks down at you, Stay until the memorial service.
You know I can’t do that.
You said you’d take time off. Do it — bereavement leave, for all I care, just stay. I need you, Sunshine.
He needs you, he says, and he can’t know the reasons why but it freezes you cold.
Why does he always have to do this? Sound like salvation, smoke and honey and freedom, a shield from all the things you were and cannot be again, clawing at you to drag you back down. You’re drowning in it, your indecision and your fears. Trust one more man to get you out of the mire you’ve trapped yourself in and risk never surfacing again, or struggle against the tide until the end of time, until you finally exhaust yourself and it’s all over?
It’s the same ending, either way, isn’t it?
He can’t be the next safe thing — there is no safety, there was never any, not for you — but you want him to be. You need him to be.
I’ll come with you to the service, you promise, trying to find the middle ground. Everything feels so… so much, all of a sudden, and you’re not enjoying the bubbling anxiety threatening to ruin everything all over again.
Press it down. Tense your jaw and press it down, don’t let him know, he’s done enough.
I’ll come with you to the service, but I mean. I need to get back, right? You’re teasing, keeping it light, trying to see him smile instead of that sharp-eyed concern on his face all over again, I can’t exactly show up to a memorial service in one of your shirts.
You could, you really could, he taunts instead, because of course he does.
You’re used to hunters, used to the hungry look in their eyes, the wandering hands, the searching glances and maybe you shouldn’t be so used to this, the way he steps just that much closer, the way his fingers curl against your hip, the way he looks like he might be able to make himself one with you the moment his lips connect with yours what’s that joke in Othello, the beast with two backs?
He’s not quite beastly, though.
Andy Barber kisses like an invitation, as it turns out. He kisses with one hand to your cheek and the other wrapped around your waist. He kisses with a hunger, lips soft on yours, asking for your surrender and you give it, you wrap your arms around his waist you press yourself right into him and maybe you are one in this moment, in the moment before he pulls back, the barest bit. I want to do this right, spoken soft against your lips, an apology and a confession, I should do this right.
But still, his mouth barely leaves yours. Another kiss instead, lingering, while the hand at your waist slips lower and you should stop him, should tell him this isn’t doing it right, should tell him the truth and see if he’ll do better than the men who’ve come before but…
You don’t.
The ringing of his phone, however, does that for you. You may choose him, you may choose the buzzing heat on your skin, the warmth of his smile and the comfortable softness of his hold on you but his work calls first.
It’s a relief, really, when he pulls back, flashes you something apologetic and nervous, lets you step away and feel your senses returning to you and not him, remembering who you are and what you’ve done and something sickly coils inside of you when you remember.
You’re grateful he doesn’t see.
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The discomfort doesn’t fade when he has a staffer drop you off at your apartment, discreet and careful, no one needs to know. You’re wrapped in a hotel-branded robe and still wearing his shirt, I’ll take it back when we get to Boston, Sunshine, still wrapped in the comfortable embrace of his cologne, still thinking about the things he promised you.
The promises you’re sure you’ll break, eventually.
You check your phone and Steve’s called once already and you’re tempted to let him call again and again, just to see if he’ll storm up to your apartment too but the fire in your veins demanding confrontation is…
Not dimming.
It’s something else, something roiling, writhing cold and dark inside of you, a guilt and revelation all at once and don’t forget what you’ve done.
Liar liar liar traitor traitor traitor coward coward coward.
You want to believe him. You want to believe him more than anything, want to believe he’ll actually be the one to take you out of this place, to keep you from the precipice and the open window that feels more and more like your only out and as you try to wash the blood from your hands you wonder just what steps you’ll need to learn to keep dancing this time.
Always to another man’s tune, Sunshine.
I want to do this right, he told you, I should do this right, he told you and you believe him but the things you want to do and should do are rarely ever the things that you do actually do, are they? You wanted to save yourself from men like Steve Rogers by walking into Steve Rogers’s own arms so who is Andy Barber to you if not the same?
He is the devil you don’t know, but his hands are warm and his smile is sweeter and he is safe. He is promises and concerns and warm beds alone because he wouldn’t want to imply, he is want and worry and the press of lips to your forehead just like he gave before you left his hotel room surrounded by staffers and saved from the rare curious eye.
You need this.
You need this and you can’t let anything — not your guilt, not your morals such as they are, not him — stop you. You need this and you need to escape and if this is the hand you’re being offered then you might as well take it.
Steve Rogers shows up somewhere halfway through packing.
A bold move, and not the one you’d encourage, but who are you to tell the King of New York how he should travel and with whom? The sickness returns the moment his presence casts its shadow over your apartment, entering with ease and acting as if the copy of your keys he made without your knowledge is nothing for you to protest about.
Counsel, he always sounds about halfway between mocking and hurt these days and you wonder if he’s still the same man who spent nearly a month and a half promising you he’d have you begging for him eventually. You, most definitely, are not.
Captain, and another dress is tucked away, just in case, Can I help you?
… Going somewhere, Counsel? He spits the word this time, a curse, a consolidation of all his hatred, a twist of the knife but it’s you wielding it this time, when you wrap your best black pumps in plastic and tuck them into your day-bag for the time you’ll spend sinking into soft dirt and grass next to the grave of a man you asked to die.
I have a funeral to attend, and you turn around and you pretend he isn’t there when you slip past and pretend you have to consider which black dress you’ll wear and what rings will look best on your fingers when you do.
He holds your arm and holds you back and when you are turned around to look into his eyes they are glittering with something you might call hate and when you swallow the venomous bile that threatens to spill from you in your defense, those eyes sharpen into cold rage, You’re going with him.
Are you jealous? It’s a challenge, while you carefully peel his fingers off your arm, glancing down to see if you’ll need a longer sleeve to cover a bruise and, He knew the deceased.
So you’re going. With the friend of the man you asked me to kill, beca—
Correction, Captain, I’m going with my friend and former mentor, to the funeral of a Judge who died tragically of a heart attack, because you wouldn’t have anything to do with his death, would you?
It’s sickly, saccharine and cloying at your throat, words pouring from you like you practiced them all your life, the smile on your lips hiding the fangs you want to sink into his throat, tear him apart, leave him in the shreds he does you, over and over again.
You’re not innocent. That’s not been your game for years, remember? This life never left room for it, never left you a chance to play coy, never gave you anything but bruises on your body and soul and now you can see just how deep they go, right down to the core of you and so can he, as blood covers the sobbing thing in the center and this is what you made me becomes less of a chant and more of a scream and no that will not be your throat making that noise, not this time not here not now not this time.
You didn’t ask for time off.
I don’t need to, and I won’t. Going to fire me, Captain?
Oh please do, you almost ask him, please fire me, see what that does for you. Do it however you want, set me in the ground, let me go to rot, I dare you to see if I won’t haunt you.
I might, he almost tells you right back, I might, I might break you here and now, I might leave nothing behind for your pretty Senator to find and what would you do then, but be mine all mine.
We had a deal, he says instead.
You broke it first, you remind.
I need to make sure he’s dead.
I gave you the obituary —
You’ve lied to me plenty already. I’m going.
His eyes are storm-dark and abyssal, dragging you down deeper and deeper until you burn yourself in the trenches of his hate and he hisses something low and incomprehensible under his breath.
You’re staying right here, you little bi—
She’s coming with me.
It’s a reversal. Andy Barber stands in the doorway with his hands in his pockets and his eyes trained on the both of you, alone and not alone all at once and you know he’s capable of calling the sound and the fury upon this apartment if Steve Rogers doesn’t leave and thankfully Steve Rogers knows the same.
How much did he hear, do you think, sweetness?
The cross over your threshold is a warning.
A standoff, even, when Steve turns and the apartment thrums with thinly-veiled violence, warning you again that you are… not safe. This is not safety, this is wolves arguing over a carcass and you are not as dead as they think but you’re not about to give them one more reason to tear at you.
Say that one more time, Steve plucks the string, watching the wire start to unravel, both of them walking that fine line before one kills the other.
She’s coming with me, Rogers, they’re going to be at this forever, neither one willing to strike the other and you refuse to bounce between them so this is it. Make your choice. Who do you need?
The hell she is, she—
I am, you interject with a cooler voice than you ever expected to come out of you, Three days. Tomorrow and the weekend.
And then back. Back to your cage of glass and steel, your soaring views of the city and the threat of flying on clipped wings. And all it cost you was everything you had.
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If he’s hurt you, just say the words.
That’s the unspoken request, the unspoken fear, the unspoken worry and Andy Barber squeezes your hand, sitting across from you at a too-fancy-for-its-food-quality hotel restaurant, waiting for the waiter to bring his wine while you toy with a steeping bag of peppermint tea.
He brings out the worst in you. Not Andy, no, not warm-eyed worry and gentle fingers, not smoke-and-honey on your senses, not promises to do this right. You should want those things, you should want the way he makes you feel light, the way he draws your smile, the boldness of his fingers at your cheek and the fire under your skin warmsinstead of burns. No. Him though, Steve Rogers, who won your submission when you refused to grant it to anyone, who sank you to your knees and turned you into a plaything, who haunts your memories even when you are faced with the ideaof salvation.
How are you feeling, Sunshine?
Like Hell, like he’s going to drag me back, like if I show up at that grave-site tomorrow hands will reach up from the coffin and pull me down and he’ll win he’ll win he’ll win. Can’t say that. Can’t tell him you’re scared, can’t say the truth, can’t be sure.
Fine, I’m fine, just… you know. Funerals. You know he knows. You never mention it, the tragedy of the before, the things that led him here, that led you to him, but it’s a fine shelter to hide in, the trauma of the dead.
Like Hell. Used to tell Alex I wouldn’t even attend his after…
After the one he never wanted.
You squeeze his hand back this time, both of you still dancing around the truth and pressing your thumbs into the bruises all at once. You don’t have to do this, Andy.
I owe him that much, you know I do.
Don’t tell him, Sunshine. Don’t tell don’t tell don’t don’t don’t.
You nod.
You nod and you smile and you squeeze his hand again before the waiter arrives and you try not to pay attention to the buzz of your phone on the table, Steve Rogers reminding you the discussion isn’t over.
It never is.
Drink your tea. Stay calm.
Stay with me tonight. Andy breaks the silence again and you nearly drop the mug.
I’ll put a staffer in your room to make it look occupied, but I don’t want you alone.
You don’t have to do that, I’ll be fine.
Sunshine, I want to. You’re dealing with the Syndicate and I saw the way he looks at you. If he shows up…
He doesn’t need to say it. You’re a deer on the run and the sights are aimed, fixed on you in the woods. Run run run, don’t let him find you.
You swallow, hard, burying the sick guilt beneath another sip of tea, settling. He’s right. He has to be right, and you… you want to believe it’s concern, want to believe it’s care want to believe it’s all honest and not the memory of fingers sliding along the column of your throat, not the pressure of arms around your waist, not a hold on you and a claim you can never escape.
You want to believe him.
You make your choice.
And in the hotel room, with its two queen beds, you let Andy Barber hold you close. Safe. For once. For now.
104 notes · View notes
boxofbonesfic · a day ago
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your request are open say
Can i please request a dark meet cute with Steve or Bucky? They meet the reader when she has a flat tire and is having a really bad day
Title: Plus One
Pairing: Dark!Steve x Reader
Summary: You didn’t even want to go to your sister’s wedding anyway.
Warnings: Yandere!Steve, Obsessive behavior, stalking, dubcon/noncon, threats, drugging, semi public fooling around, mean and manipulative Steve, unprotected sex
A/N: you asked for dark so… i went dark, lmfao. i really enjoyed writing this one, lol. please let me know what you think in the comments and reblogs, and as always, thanks for reading!!
This is a work of FICTION, and there will be ADULT themes and content included therein, so I assume once you’ve clicked through the link that you are comfortable with that. This is a DARK fic. I do not give consent for my work to be copied, translated, or posted elsewhere, even if I am credited. This work is entirely mine, and unbeta’d, so read at your own risk! MINORS, DNI! 😘
You didn’t even want to go. 
 If you’d had it your way, this Saturday would have been spent in blissful, drunken isolation as you whined to your best friend over skype—again—about the absolute nerve of your sister getting engaged to your ex, all while lamenting how much time you’d spent on him in the first place. But now, the dreaded weekend was upon you, and your parents pleading had finally swayed you into reluctantly accepting Kat’s invitation. 
 Please join us in celebrating the union of Keegan and Katherine-Joy, July 15th, 20xx. 
 Yours had of course contained an extra letter, where your sister painstakingly detailed she and your ex-boyfriend’s whirlwind romance, how she didn’t want to hurt you, how she had the courage to try and be happy—all while leaving out, of course how she’d fucked him in your bed the night you’d broken up. 
 “You can’t spend the rest of your life getting drunk and being mad at your sister.”  Your mother’s stern voice over the receiver suddenly seemed more ironic than ever—if you’d stayed drunk and mad at KJ, then you wouldn’t be squatting in the grass beside the blown out remains of your front right tire. 
 Suddenly I miss margarita mornings. 
 You stood, wiping a bead of sweat from your forehead. I dunno, mom. Getting drunk and being mad at K are starting to sound pretty fucking good right now. It was hot—way too hot for upstate New York, even in summer. The air was thicker than chowder, and it made the back of your shirt stick uncomfortably to your skin as you looked up and down the desolate road. You were just forty-five tantalizing minutes from your destination at the fancy ski-lodge Kat had picked for her wedding, so you supposed it was only fitting for the universe to take another potshot at you while you were down. 
 You got back into the car, slamming the door harder than necessary as you growled loudly in frustration. I guess it was too much to fucking ask for a painless trip. There wasn’t anyone you could call that wasn’t already at the lodge getting ready—and your mother wouldn’t abandon her mother-of-the-bride duties for her least favorite child. 
 You were stuck.
 You glared at the invitation on your dash hatefully, blaming it for all of your current misfortune. After all, if Katherine had never fucked Keegan, you wouldn’t be sitting here, three and a half days before your sister’s wedding, missing the open bar at the bachelorette party. You thumped your head against the steering wheel. 
 Some vacation this was turning out to be. A perfunctory car trouble text was sent to both your parents and your sister, and your mother replied with an angry frowny face, and the lofty promise of “we’ll see if someone can come get you after the pictures are done.” 
 It was still hot, but the cicadas were beginning to sing, meaning night would soon be falling. The sky had only barely started darkening, the clear and brilliant blue only just beginning to darken to deep purple when you heard it. 
 A car. 
 You scrambled out of the driver’s seat and stood on the side of the little road, peering up and down both ways. “Thank fuck. Or god. Whoever, really.” You muttered under your breath as you finally caught sight of the vehicle. It was big—almost too big for the road, and it looked…armored? 
 Did mom call the military?
 It approached quickly, and for a moment you feared the road simply wasn’t large enough for the pumped up SUV to pass your little beat up corolla, even if it was pulled off to the side. You saw it slow, and pull up just behind you. The roar of the engine went silent, and the driver’s side door opened. A man stepped out, brushing a hand through his blond hair as he peered at you over the open door. 
 “Car trouble?” He asked, and you swallowed thickly. No. No fucking way. 
 You weren’t always the fastest on the uptake, nor were you always adept at keeping up with current events, but you knew Captain-fucking-America when you saw him. You knew your mouth was hanging open, and you snapped it shut audibly. 
 “Y-yeah. Yes. My, uh… my tire…” You pointed dumbly. You saw him hop down to the ground, before stretching a little as the passenger door opened. A woman stepped out, her dark hair pulled back into a tight ponytail. “Blew out.” You finished lamely. The same handsome face you’d seen in papers and magazines and on the news now turned to look at you with genuine sympathy.
 “How long have you been stuck out here?” He asked, leaning down to inspect the remains of your tire. “It’s not exactly the busiest stretch of road.” The woman cleared her throat before you could answer. 
 “You were heading up to the lodge?” She asked, her tone not cold, but impersonal. “It can be hard for the smaller cars.” You nodded, embarrassed. You’d heard that from your mother, of course, but you’d been through more than enough winters with your sedan, why would a dirt road be the catalyst that defeated it? 
 “Yeah. My sister’s getting married up there in two days.” You muttered. “You wouldn’t happen to have a… spare, would you?” You asked reluctantly, but she shook her head. 
 “No, but we can drop you off.” She looked over at Captain America. “Steve, we should get going. We’re expected to report back in an hour.” She spoke as though she was reminding him of something important, but his gaze never wavered from you. 
 “Perfect.” He said with a smile that made you feel a little giddy when he flashed it at you. “Just enough time to drop you off at the lodge. Right, Maria?” He helped you get everything you needed out of the car before loading your bags into the back of the SUV. He was extra careful with the dress bag containing the extremely expensive gown you’d been bullied into buying for the occasion. 
 “Thank you so much,” You mumbled, embarrassed. “Did, um. Are you here because my mom called you?” You regretted the stupid question as soon as it left your mouth, and the deep, rumbling laugh that bubbled from his chest made you look down at your feet. 
 “There’s a base nearby,” He replied, rubbing the back of his neck apologetically. “But, if I’d been told a pretty girl like you was in need of assistance, I’d be first in line to help.” Your cheeks heated and you stuttered out more thanks before speeding into the car with Maria. He’s just being nice. Don’t be stupid. 
 Steve got back into the driver’s seat, buckling in. “Sorry to be a burden,” You apologized from the back seat. 
 “No problem.” Steve answers quickly. He pulls off into the road, and you watch your car quickly fade into the coming night. “You were out there all day?”
 You scoffed, unable to keep the anger from your voice. “Yeah. Well, a good few hours anyway.” 
 “I thought you said your sister was getting married nearby?” Maria asked, turning to look at you. You nodded.
 “Oh she is. I don’t think rescue sister figured particularly high on her list of pre-wedding activities.” You swallowed thickly. You hadn’t meant for it to come out so bitter and jaded, but there was no help for it now. Steve looked at you apologetically in the rearview, his eyes lingering longer than they probably should have, given he was driving. 
 “I’m sorry to hear that.” He looked genuinely upset for you, and it felt both sweet and invasive when he continued questioning you. His tone was casual, and Maria never raised any alarm, so you couldn’t be sure if you were really being interrogated, or if you were just feeling touchy from your terrible day. Six of one half dozen of the other, probably. “It doesn’t sound much like you’re looking forward to the wedding. Never fun attending one of these things alone, either.” 
 “No,” You agreed. “Not really.” You could see the lights from the lodge up ahead, and as the big, black SUV started up the elegantly manicured road leading to the entrance, you were glad your fifteen year old car hadn’t had to be judged by the snobby concierge that greeted you, remarking on your lateness. 
 “Let me help.” Steve unbuckled his seatbelt, and walked around to the back of the car, removing your bags before you or the now starstruck concierge could do it. “It was nice to meet you…” He trailed off, and your face heated as you realized you’d never told him your name. He grinned at you when you said it, repeating it back to you as though tasting it on his tongue. “Very nice to meet you.” He held out his hand, and you moved to shake it—but instead, he brought it to his lips, brushing his thumb softly over your knuckles. 
 “B-bye.” You stammered, watching him climb back into the car. A breath you didn’t know you were holding forced its way out of your lungs and you sagged, suddenly tired. You were shown to your room, which was admittedly nicer than you’d been expecting. As you shoved your suitcase to the side and moved to hang up your dress, a frantic knock came at the door. You opened it, and your mother forced her way inside, wrapping her arms around your shoulders. 
 “Oh, my baby!” She cried dramatically, and you rolled your eyes as she sniffled into your shoulder. “I was so worried!” Not worried enough to come get me, though. You moved aside to allow her into the room, and she sat down on your bed, fixing you with a calculating look. “Are you okay?”
 “I’m fine, mom.” You sighed, doing your best to reign in the attitude. A fight was the last thing you needed. “I’m just tired. It’s been a long and frustrating day.” 
 Your mother sighed dramatically. “I’ll say. You were sorely missed at the bachelorette party, you know. Your sister’s having a lunch tomorrow, so now that you’re here, at least you’ll be able to come to that.” You knew this voice, the ‘I’m not going to say it, but I’m disappointed’ voice. You were long past being an adult now, and it frustrated you to no end to continue hearing it. 
 “Sorry my tire blew out,” You replied sarcastically. “Next time I’ll try to have it happen at your convenience.” The venom spilled from your lips without your permission, and you saw your mother’s eyes narrow as she frowned at you. 
 “Don’t be like that. No one likes a rude girl, honey.” She left the rest of her usual criticism unsaid. You would have been grateful for it, but you could still hear it ringing in your ears in the silence anyway. It’s why you’re still single. You looked away. Don’t fucking remind me. “Your cousin was in the lobby, and she said the Captain America dropped you off, but I told her it had to be a look-alike, because no way does my daughter know Captain America and I don’t know about it.” There it is. This visit of course had a dual purpose, both for her to check on you, and to validate the rumor that appeared to be quickly spreading through the hotel. 
 “I don’t know him.” You retorted, shaking your head. You began pulling your toiletries out of your suitcase, and laying them on the bed. “Apparently there’s some base nearby or something. Saw I’d broken down and stopped to help.” 
 “That’s amazingI Oh, was he nice?” She asked, digging for every detail she could manage. You didn’t mention his imposing presence, or the way his eyes always seemed to be on you no matter where you sat. When you finally herded your mother out of your room, you were happy to finally lay down in the cool, air conditioning in silence. 
 I hope the rest of the weekend goes better than this. 
 The lunch your sister had planned was a far more elaborate affair than you had patience for, as it turned out. She’d always been a little…bougie, but this wedding was already becoming a nightmare. You’d been sent back upstairs to redress in something more “in keeping” with the theme before you’d even set foot in the dining room, and when you did, you found you weren’t allowed to actually eat anything. 
 “I’m in hell.” You muttered to yourself, smiling fakely at the photographers as you held up a tiny plate with a tiny cucumber sandwich on it that you longed to stuff down your throat. “I’m actually in hell.” You’d been smiling and posing for the last hour, with Katherine promising everyone every fifteen minutes that it would be “done suuuper soon”. 
 “Okay, I think we have enough shots.” Katherine announced with a loud clap of her hands. “We’ve got time for a quick snack, and then off to the garden for some more shots!” You peered around the room at the gaggle of hungry, tired women all doing their best to hide their discomfort, sucking it up for Kat’s big day. 
 What a load of bullshit. You crammed three tiny sandwiches into your mouth, and washed it down with lukewarm tea before heading for the bar. If you were going to be forced to smile, it would certainly be easier to do it with a drink in your hand. 
 “Rum and coke please.” you’d just taken a sip when you coughed and sputtered in surprise at the sound of your name. You turned, dabbing gently at the alcohol dotting your lips with a cocktail napkin. 
 Steve Rogers was standing behind you, clad in a suit. An extremely well fitting suit that seemed to emphasize the muscles you’d been trying not to think about since he’d helped you the day before. But what was he doing here? And—Good God—were those flowers? You stared up at him, your eyes wide as you tried to formulate the proper response to seeing an Avenger, not once but twice in as many days. 
 “Hi.” was what your befuddled brain decided to send down to your mouth. His handsome smile grows wider. “You…you’re here.” 
 “I thought maybe you could use the company.” he rubs the back of his neck in that sweet, nervous way you recognize from his interviews. “No fun going to a wedding alone.” he repeated his words from the day before, and you felt an uncomfortable weight settle over you. Your discomfort hadn’t been an invitation for him, though he’d certainly taken it that way. 
 Stop it. He’s being nice, and you’re being cynical. You looked down at the flowers in his hands. “Are those for Kat?” You asked, peering around his broad shoulders to read the room. Your sister was staring, open mouthed as she pointed and whispered at you. Either Steve didn’t hear the murmur traveling through the crowd, or he simply didn’t care as he shook his head.
 “No, doll. They’re for you. Figured it made up for me showing up unannounced and all.” he winked at you before pressing the bouquet into your arms. “You like it?” 
 “Of-of course. Thank you,” You stammered. “I just, I wasn’t… I wasn’t really, um, prepared for this.” You’re still in the middle of trying to sort out how exactly to reject his non-offer—more of a statement than anything—when your sister clears her throat behind the two of you. 
 Steve looks down at her over his shoulder, the smile fading from his blue eyes but not his face. “You must be the bride.” Katherine preened under his attention, batting her eyelashes and giggling. 
 “Ohmygosh, Captain.” She gushed, and you rolled your eyes, downing another sip of your drink. “I had no idea you would be here!” She glares at you accusingly. “I thought my big sister was going stag, she didn’t tell me she’d be bringing the Captain America as your date! Gosh, I didn’t even know you two ran in the same circles!” You swallow thickly, your brows furrowing at the hidden insults peppered throughout Kat’s cutesy introduction. “Will you be staying?” 
 Steve’s eyes swung back over to you, and you swore they traveled hungrily down your exposed neckline. “Yes. Well, provided there’s room, of course. I don’t want to be a bother.” 
 You watched Katherine’s eyes slither between the two of you as a little smirk appeared on her perfectly made up lips. “Oh. You’re not going to be staying together in the suite?” She cocked her head. Oh God. Can’t you get married before you start trying to snipe anyone who’s interested in me? You thought bitterly, before shaking your head inwardly. Steve wasn’t interested in you, was he? He was just being nice, he had to be. 
 Anything else would be too weird. 
 Steve looked at you, his eyebrows rising. “Is that okay?” you were eager for the moment to be over, so you nodded, swallowing the rest of your drink and placing the glass onto the bartop with an audible clack. 
 “Y-yeah. Completely.” 
 “Oh wonderful!” Kat agreed with false enthusiasm. “I’m sure no one will notice he’s not in any of the pictures before today, right?”
 “Jesus, Kat. How many pictures do we need?” You groused. “I mean, I’m sure it’s fine. I’ll see you in the garden.” you finally released the breath you held. Steve chuckled. 
 “Is she…always like that?” He asked, and you rolled your eyes. 
 “I think I’m going to need another drink,” you said sourly. “I can’t… I can’t believe you’re here,” you admitted, leaning against the bar. “I’m sure there’s someone, somewhere who needs super-hero-ing.” 
 He laughed. “I thought you could use the assistance.” He replied earnestly. “And… I hate seeing pretty girls upset.” You signaled to the bartender for another drink, your cheeks hot from his compliment. He was so… intense in person, his observant gaze following your every movement. “You should take it easy on those,” he said disapprovingly as the man placed your glass down on the bar. “They sneak up on you.” He lifted the glass, sniffing it. “I remember rum,” He said a little wistfully, before handing it off to you. 
 “Not a drinker?” you asked, and he shook his head. 
 “More by chance than choice,” he said. “I can’t get drunk, but sometimes I like the taste.”
 He snuck an arm around your waist as you filed outside into the garden, your drink in hand. Kat was busily staging everyone and directing the photographers, so you had a few minutes to down it, leaving your empty glass on a small table over to the side. You spotted your mother, most likely busily gossiping and she waved to you enthusiastically. You squinted, and you could see her mouthing “don’t screw this up” as she gestured between you and Steve. You swallowed an angry growl before turning away from her. There’s nothing to screw up.
 “Okay sis, your turn!” Kat sang, motioning for you to come closer. It looked like she was having each of the bridesmaids—of which you were notably not one—taking pictures with their dates. You knew your mother had probably pressured her into including you, a sacrifice she hadn’t needed to make, seeing as how this wedding was the last place you wanted to be. Steve followed behind you, making polite conversation, his hand warm and steady on your back. A bead of sweat rolled down your face, and you wiped it away. 
 Kat positioned you in front of one of the many manicured hedges, directing you to look up at Steve. “You know, natural,” She said in that lightly mocking voice. “Like you care about each other.” Steve tugged you closer to him, and you stumbled forward against his chest. “That’s good.” The sun was beating down on you, and your vision swam with blue—first the clear, cloudless sky, and then Steve’s eyes as they bore into yours. You were dizzy, holding onto him for support rather than pageantry.
 His hand was just above the swell of your ass, skirting the edge between decency and impropriety, but your muddled brain chalked it up to size. He already had a good foot on you, and his hands were massive, he didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, right? His arms were so big, and they were all that was holding you up as your sweaty palm clung to his shoulder.
 “A little more this way,” You could hear Kat’s voice as though she was far away, and you licked your dry lips, your body moving jerkily as Steve positioned you the way he was directed. “Great!” The hand above your ass moved brazenly down to cup it, massaging you through the dress. Your head snapped away from his chest, a scandalized gasp leaving your lips. The world tilted suddenly, and you found yourself holding onto Steve for dear life. He bent his head, his lips and nose brushing affectionately over your forehead, but the words that left his mouth were anything but. 
 “You don’t want to ruin your sister’s wedding, do you doll?” your back was pressed against the hedge, his roaming hand conveniently out of sight as the other cupped your chin. “Smile, doll.” He reminded you, your shocked expression open as you stared disbelievingly up at him. This wasn’t happening. Captain America was a sweet, caring, helpful man. 
 Not a weirdo who felt people up in public, right? Your thoughts were sluggish and almost incomprehensible as you tried to sort through them. It was like sifting sand. You felt drunk—but you couldn’t be, could you? You had notoriously high tolerance, and two little, watered down drinks from Kat’s stupid luncheon wouldn’t make you feel like you’d been out partying like a college kid, would they? “Smile.” Steve repeated softly, his hand slipping underneath the hem of your dress. You plastered a fake, uncomfortable smile onto your features, shifting minutely to try and stop him. 
 A useless effort. His fingers slid easily over the curve of your ass, plucking at the thong you wore before traveling lower. You made a small, displeased noise in your throat, and Steve chuckled. “Shhh, doll.” He whispered lowly against the shell of your ear. His tongue darted out to trace it quickly, and you jerked in his arms, almost falling as your vision swam. “Starstruck, doll? Don’t worry, I’ve got you.” your tongue felt like cotton in your mouth, and the words wouldn’t come to you through the muddy soup of your mind. 
 “N-no,” you murmured sluggishly, and his fingers parted the cheeks of your ass to skirt over your puckered hole. He hmmed quietly in response, kissing your cheek when the photographer told him to. You felt him smile against your skin as he found you damp, the entrance of your cunt sucking at his fingers shamefully. You shouldn’t have been so wet, but it was like your body wasn’t yours anymore 
 “No,” he whispered mockingly, circling it with a finger. You felt weak and feverish, and when you looked up at the sky, the clouds melted and ran together like liquid, swirling in the sky. You pushed away from Steve with strength you didn’t know you had, stumbling off of the little podium and down onto the grass. You could hear people calling your name—your sister, your mother. 
 “Are you okay? Is she alright?” Your mother’s panicked voice was too shrill in your ears, and dazedly you stared up at the swirling sky. Kat’s voice sounded far away, but you still heard her enraged whisper:
 “She’s probably drunk already.” 
 You laughed deliriously.
 Steve’s face swam into your field of vision, and all you could see was his terrifyingly charming smile. “I’ll take her back to the room, make sure she’s okay.” no one seemed to hear your murmured “no” as he swept you into his arms. 
 Stupid wedding.
 When you woke again, you were back in the cool darkness of your room, your head still throbbing like you had a hangover. You could see the sky, tinged pink just outside of your window, meaning you’d been out for hours. You sat up hurriedly, groaning when the room tilted and spun. You held your head in your hands, moaning. 
 “Feeling better?” the sound of Steve’s voice made you blanch, your eyes searching the room wildly. He was half hidden in the dark, sitting in the armchair just across from the bed. His hands were folded neatly in his lap, his eyes intent on you. You still felt groggy and sluggish, and every movement felt like it took every ounce of your will to complete. “I think I may have given you too much, sweetheart, I’m sorry.” he stood from the chair, and you whimpered, pushing back against the headboard. 
 “Y-you drugged me,” you said accusingly, raising a shaking finger at him. “No, stay-stay away!” you cried, dragging yourself across the mattress. You were expecting to feel your legs tangle in the dress you’d been wearing, but when you looked down, you were dressed only in the monogrammed robe provided by the lodge. “Where are my clothes?” Steve sat on the edge of the bed, clucking his tongue at you. 
 “See, this is your problem, sweetheart.” he spoke as though you’d said nothing, ignoring your words in favor of his own. “So wily. I like it though.” He grabbed your wrist, pulling you into his lap easily, despite your weak struggles. “You need structure.” He spread your thighs across his own, and you whimpered as the slick heat at the apex of your thighs pressed against the half-hard length of him through his dress slacks. 
 “You c-can’t just—”
 “I can do whatever I want, sweetheart.” he grasped your chin between two fingers, forcing you to look up at him. You knew your eyes were wet with angry tears, and he groaned at the sight of them, rolling his hips into yours. “Don’t look at me like that, doll, I might just have to keep you.” 
 “I’ll scream.” you threatened, trying unsuccessfully to pull yourself from his vise-like grip. “I’ll tell everyone—”
 “And who will they believe?” his voice was deceptively soft and sweet. “Who’s going to believe the word of a drunk, jealous girl who invited me here?” He ran his index finger down your cheek, swirling it through your tears before popping it into his mouth, groaning. 
 “I didn’t!” 
 “That’s not what everyone else thinks.” his other hand plucked at the tie on your robe, pulling it apart easily. “They all think you wanted me here. And you were so wet for me in the garden, doll.” your face heated at the memory. You didn’t want that. And you didn’t want this. “Just think. The one thing your sister will never have.” the cool air made your nipples pebbled and taut, and Steve wasted no time running an appreciative thumb across them. “So pretty.” he breathed. 
 “W-what? I don’t—” you couldn’t believe what you were hearing. How could this be the same man you’d watched put his own life on the line again and again for people just like you? You couldn’t reconcile it, and Steve didn’t give you any time to try. 
 “The choice is yours, sweetheart.” his lips brushed across your cheek, and he peppered small, light kisses down your jawline. “I’m going to fuck you either way.” His tongue left a burning trail down your throat that made your traitorous pussy clench needily. “You don’t want your whole family knowing you threw yourself at Captain America all sauced up, do you? God, and the news.” Your lip trembled. 
 “Fuck you.” 
 “Oh doll. I’m going to.” still cupping your face with one strong hand, he kept his eyes locked on yours as the other slid between your breasts and down your stomach. You whined and tried to pull away, knowing he would find—“Wet? And here I thought you didn’t like me, sweetheart.” He slipped a knowing finger through your folds, groaning when you keened as he circled your clit. 
 “It’s the drugs.” you spat, avoiding the smirk on his face as you focused your gaze over his shoulder. He chuckled, pinching your throbbing nub between rough fingers. You cried out, your hips bucking against his hand. It had to be. 
 “Look at me, sweet pea.” he commanded you gently, but you continued resolutely staring at the wall. “Don’t make me ask again.” his grip on your face tightened, and you sniffled, before reluctantly dragging your eyes up to his. “Don’t be a brat, sweetheart. No one likes a rude girl.” he spat your mother’s words back at you, and your stomach curled in response. 
 “What, are you tapping my phone?” you snap, glaring at him hatefully. He drags his fingers through your sopping folds as he shakes his head. 
 “Easier just to bug your suitcase, doll.” he kissed your cheek again, and you tried to turn your head away as he moved to find your lips, but you were too weak. You hated how soft his kiss was, tempting your lips open with gentle passes of his tongue and teeth. You whimpered into his mouth and he drank it greedily, sucking on your tongue and swallowing every sound you made. You tried to hold in the moan that rose in your throat when he plunged two thick fingers into you, but he chucked against your lips and you knew he’d heard it anyway. “Come on. Let me hear it.” 
 He pulled away, scissoring two fingers inside of you and you moaned again, unable to swallow it a second time. “S-stop—”
 “You don’t want me to stop. You want to cum all over my fingers and my cock, because if you don’t, I’m going to tell your family and the world that you’re an alcoholic slut who can’t keep her legs closed to save her fucking life.” He used that same caring, kind tone you knew so well to deliver the threat and you shuddered. You hated the tears that gathered in your eyes at his words, and the way he punctuated it with a hard thrust of his fingers into you that made a gurgle escape your throat and your eyes roll in your head. “Say it.” 
 “I—I—” you tried to stammer out a response, but he cut you off mockingly. 
 “What’s wrong, sweet pea? That smart mouth all out of things to say? Maybe I should find a better use for it.” 
 “I want to…I want to cum on your fingers and your cock.” you muttered defeatedly. Steve curled his fingers inside of you and you sputtered, sinking your teeth into your lower lip to keep from crying out. 
 “What was that? I didn’t hear you.” 
 “I want to cum on your fingers and your cock!” you wailed as his thumb pressed down hard on your clit. You didn’t want to, but it didn’t seem to matter what you wanted, because you were going to anyway. Your toes curled as you began panting, your head falling back as you stared sightlessly at the ceiling. “Nnngh, fuck—”
 “That’s it, sweet pea. Can’t wait to feel you squeeze my cock with this tight pussy.” you were seizing around him violently, your voice bouncing off the walls. He flicked his thumb against your clit two, three more times before you sobbed, tears leaking down your cheeks as you came. Shame flooded you as you coated his fingers with the evidence of your release. You could feel it coating your thighs and soaking into the fabric of his pants beneath you. Your fingers dug into his shoulders, through his dress shirt, your body still convulsing as you whimpered. “Shit, doll. You’re fucking soaking me.” He sounded impressed with himself. 
 You hated the boneless pleasure that continued to wash over you as you slumped forward against Steve’s chest, and the soft circles his hand made on your back. “Why are you doing this?” You mumbled, feeling the outline of his cock slide against you through his pants. He laid your still twitching body on the bed, his eyes traveling hungrily over every inch of your flesh. 
 “I wanted you.” was the only explanation he offered before tearing impatiently at the collar of his shirt, buttons pinging off of the walls and furniture as they flew in all directions. “Tell me the truth doll—and I’ll know if you don’t—anybody ever made that pretty pussy cum like that before?” you shook your head resolutely, but the slow grin that spread across his handsome face told you he knew your truth anyway, without you telling him a thing. You watched his hand slip below the waistband of his pants, his eyes going lidded as he stroked himself. You hated the greedy clench of your pussy at the sight of the fat, reddened tip protruding lewdly from the elastic of his briefs—which disappeared as quickly as the rest of his clothes had. “That’s okay, sweet pea. I’ll make an honest woman of you, yet.” 
 He stroked his length lazily, swiping his thumb through the thick droplet of precum gathered at the tip. “Say aah, sweetheart.” he tugged you up by your wrist, pulling you up to your knees. You swallowed thickly, your lip trembling as the throbbing head of his cock bumped against your cheek, leaving a sticky trail in its wake. Reluctantly, you opened your mouth, your tongue darting out to taste his skin. Steve’s hips bucked. “That’s it. Fuck.” you ran your tongue down the veiny side, your hand coming up to test the weight of his swollen balls in your palm. You briefly thought about biting down, but you immediately force it away—he could break you with a flick of his finger. 
 You laved the other side of his cock with your tongue and wet kisses, before sucking the tip into your mouth. He groaned, his hands framing your face as he thrust shallowly into the wet warmth of your mouth. You tried to relax your throat, but it was hard. He was so big and thick, your jaw was already aching from the stretch. He released a ragged groan, holding your mouth open as he slid his cock down your throat. You tried to gasp, sputtering around his length as spit leaked from the corners of your mouth. “Love this sweet mouth, doll,” he praised you, stroking the bulge of his cock through the flesh of your throat with deceptively gentle fingers. 
 Your vision began graying out at the edges, the tiny gasps of oxygen you could manage around his throbbing length doing nothing to alleviate the burning in your lungs. He thrust again, bringing your nose flush with the wiry blond hair at the base of his cock. Tears trailed down your cheeks, and he groaned at the sight of them before finally pulling himself from between your lips. You gasped for air, coughing and choking as he threw you back against the pillows. 
 “You’re a fast learner, sweet pea. I like it.” he growled at you, fisting his cock in one hand. He spread your thighs easily with one hand, looking up at you sternly when you tried to fight him. “Good girl.” He filled your vision, covering your body with his own as he lined the weeping tip of his cock up with your embarrassingly wet entrance. “All this for me, doll? I’m flattered.” He slid himself through your folds, enjoying the slick wet noise as he pushed against you. 
 “I-it’s the drugs!” You cried stubbornly, shaking your head. “Y-you did something to me.” 
 He chuckled darkly, leaning down to brush his lips against yours. Steve licked a hot, wet trail down to your throat, where he sank his teeth into your flesh as you whimpered. “You want to know a secret, sweetheart?” he worried the skin between his teeth, releasing it with a wet pop. You knew you would bruise. “They wore off hours ago.” He thrust into you without giving you time to process his words, and your shriek of protest turned into a cry of pleasure. Even the sting of his entry felt too good, and stars burst behind your eyes. 
 Steve rocked up into you steadily, hooking your leg around his waist so he could fill you even more deeply. Every thrust left you keening and breathless, the head of his cock pushing deliciously against your cervix. Your hips arched up into him without your permission, your own wetness adding to the cacophony of sound filling the room. 
 “So fucking tight,” he growled, his fingers digging hard into your hip. You tried to hold onto the anger and the shame he made you feel, but it was swept away in the tide of pleasure he’d sparked at your core. Your pussy clenched tightly around him, your moans filling the air as he bottomed out inside of you over and over again.
 “Fuck, fuck, S-Steve—!” 
 “I know doll,” he panted, hips snapping rhythmically against yours. “So fucking good, right?” he threw his head back, moaning and cursing. “Gonna have to keep you. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” his hands left your hips, one pinning your arms above your head, and the other tracing your trembling mouth as he rutted into you with abandon. “Make you my girl.”
 He hit something inside you that made you scream raggedly, writhing underneath him. He gave you no quarter, and every time you tried to scoot away, he punished you with deep, rough thrusts that made you gasp as you stared sightlessly through him with tears running down your cheeks. The sight of them seemed to spur him on, and you felt him throb inside you. “Ah—ahn—” he wouldn’t let you close your mouth, nor bite your lip to hide the sounds you were making. 
 “Never pictured you for a cry-baby,” he choked the words out as he continued wringing pleasure from your shaking form. “My girl, crying because it’s so fucking good.” you wanted to deny it but you couldn’t, not with evidence to the contrary leaking out around his thrusting cock. You felt like your insides were melting, hot pleasure sparking at every nerve ending. You hated how desperate he made you feel, how he made you want to come apart all over the thick cock buried in your aching pussy. “Tell me you’re my girl and I’ll let you cum, sweetness.” 
 “N-n-no!” he thrust two fingers into your mouth, spreading them wide as you continued to try and protest around them. 
 “Only good girls get to cum, sweetheart. You want to be good for me, don’t you?” his words were punctuated by his own fractured moans. He trailed his wet fingers down your jawline and chest, squeezing your breasts with a rough hand before the pad of his thumb found your clit again. Your hips bucked as you cried out breathlessly, and he chuckled. “I see how bad you want it, doll.” His lips were on yours again, teeth pulling at your lips and tongue. “Are you? Are you my girl?”
 “Yes!” you sobbed, your thighs quaking around his pistoning hips. “Yes, yes, yes—” and then you were cumming, white hot bliss washing over you until you drowned in it. You were floating, your limbs unresponsive as Steve fucked into you harder, releasing your wrists to grasp both of your hips. He pulled you against him roughly, forcing the length of his cock into your spasming cunt. It was so overwhelming it was almost pain, and when he came with a roar, you heard a splintering crack as the headboard broke in his grip. 
 Your pussy was flooded with wet heat, soothing the aching of your walls as Steve panted above you, his blue eyes fever bright. You watched as he pulled out of you slowly, his eyes locked onto your swollen and abused cunt. Your face heated with embarrassment as you felt his cum begin to dribble out of you, pooling between your thighs and under your ass. Slowly, like he was hypnotized, Steve dragged a finger through the combination of both of your releases, pushing it back inside of you. He brought the finger to your mouth, and you opened your lips after he fixed you with a harsh glare. 
 You swirled your tongue around his index finger, cleaning it. 
 “Good girl, doll.” 
 It’s over now. It’s done. Your body sagged with relief as he rose from the bed, stretching. You watched him gather his clothing, hugging your knees to your chest. He’ll leave now. He’ll leave and I’ll never have to see him again. Your hopeful thoughts withered and died, however, when you watched him pull an entirely fresh suit out of your closet, one that certainly hadn’t been there the day before. 
 “What… what are you doing?” you asked in a small voice. He turned to wink at you. 
 “What do you mean, sweet pea? I’d hate to miss the rehearsal dinner.” 
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darkomenszine · a day ago
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Due to extenuating circumstances, the release of the zine will be moving from June 21st to June 28th. 
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funnyexel · a day ago
100 Years of Age
Logan x Reader (Oneshot)
A/n : I’ve recently have had an OBSESSION with Logan from the X-men franchise. Thus, this short fanfic. Usually my fanfics would end in a little spice (kiss, smut...etc.) but this time it’ll be a fluff ending. Please bare with me, this is my first fluff story so if it sucks that's the reason. Also, sorry if the title doesn’t really make sense. I tried to make it nostalgic in a way. Enjoy my lovely’s <3
“How could you?” Hot tears glided down your face. “How could you!?” There your parents stood before you as you got yanked away in chains. “HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME!?!” Your last words as the truck doors closed. You were being taken and it was all their fault. Full on balling on the truck floor, the soldiers watched. A 14- year old getting taken away with their parents consent...that’s got to be a first. 
The truck was a one-way ticket to hell but how could you have known? They gave you away to some unknown cause to save their own asses. You spent years there, being tested on.
“She has the right DNA. We’ll be one step closer to evolution.”
The first few months were horrible. Being tested on for the Elemental Project, being alone in a foreign area, resenting your parents and being a child in all. On a certain dreadful day, an experiment worked on you. That day was your 15th birthday. They did four major experiments and preps over and over and over again. At this point, you weren’t upset anymore. Your parents are living their lives now. They may or may not be regretting their decision but its out of your hands. You’ve come to terms with this, after months of denying it.
“how are you feeling?” She quietly walks into your cell, trying not to disturb you as you were watching tv. You were sitting against the wall, hands in your lap as your eyes staying glued to the tv. “fine.” Your voice strained and quiet. She hums to your word. You’ve become a woman of little words, only speaking when comfortable and necessary. This woman was nice to you. You welcomed her into your small bubble...sometimes.
She placed a glass of water in front of you, without looking the water arose out the glass and separated itself into these words. “Today is my 15th birthday.” They subsided back into the glass, which you proceeded to pick up and drink out of. She and others were amazed, astonished. This isn’t the end. They still had much to do. You may not have mastered the first element but you’ve grasped it and that’s all they needed to know, before starting the next tests.
The tests were excruciating and brutal. The elements were manifesting backwards. Water, Earth, Air and Fire. Each element took an amount of lives. They told you to control it...they told you to fix yourself. But you could not. You did not control the elements. They only took a liking to you and allowed you to have them, nothing more nothing less. 
But they don’t understand, their thoughts clouded by war and hate. You got put into war before as a ‘learning activity’. Yes. A fantastic idea to put a 20-year old in The American Civil War.
You were cold. Very cold. They made you clothes to fit the elements but the clothes were not very war worthy attire. “She’ll burn her clothes off, if she wears that.” The woman says to the general in charge. “I better see something, Ms. Bailey.” The general says before glancing at you then taking his leave. She turns to you with a little smile. “Be mindful of people around you.” You nod your head to her. You weren’t scared given you were put into a war. You were didn’t know. You didn’t know what the feeling was called but you were feeling it.
“Bring her here!” Ms. Bailey and you follow the soldier. “You can’t come on the field.” He stated to her. She gave you one final look before turning away. He motioned you to follow. The sounds of gun shots flooded your ears and the smell of gun powder filled your nose. “Stay close.” He said, not ever laying a finger on you. It was almost nightfall, they knew this’ll be the best time for you to come out. You stayed with him and two other men. 
They were conversing a few feet away, also keeping an eye on you. A young boy was coughing, around the age of 16. You crouched in front of him and rested a hand on his shoulder. Doing a faint hand motion you cleared the air he was breathing. “T-thank you.” You smiled to him but the smile faded as the soldier called out to you. “Come, we’ve got the ‘go’ from the general.” The field was painted in blood and bodies. 
“Can’t handle it?” One of the other soldiers teased. You scoffed at him, the sound barely being audible. “We need you to take an enemy and bring them back here.” The soldier says to you, motioning the two men not to follow you out. You sighed and nodded at him. Walking to the middle of the battlefield, you dipped down to the ground. Your fingertips lightly touching it. “I will not control you.” The ground began to rumble as big chunks of dirt and rock get pulled out. Carefully, you aimed each one at their big guns and incoming soldiers. 
With ease you walked to their men. Their guns were inefficient, due to you setting the gun powder in the guns ablaze. Finally, you found someone that looked like they knew a lot, motioning your hand to the sky. Particles of water parted from the clouds and engulfed the victims body, knocking them out momentarily and carrying them with you. You quickly got escorted back to the base.
“Great, we have the enemy. HOW ARE WE GOING TO GET INFORMATION FROM A DEAD MAN!?!” You flinched at the yelling general. There the man laid on a nursing bed, dripping wet. A gust of wind passes by to dry him then you put your hand over his mouth. Taking the liquid out his lungs. An array of coughs alerted one of the nurses. “alive.” You spoke, looking the general in the eyes. Ms. Bailey took you to the tent for a rest. “You did good today.” She smiled handing you sleeping clothes. You took the clothes and changed, now sitting on the floor, no movement what so ever. 
You often did this when the elements were uneasy and they were always uneasy. “Sorry, no visitors.” You look over your shoulder and see one of the men you were on the field with. Getting to your feet, you walk and stand next to Bailey. She nods to you and walks further into the tent, keeping a watchful eye. “Hi, I’m Logan.” He sticks a hand out for you to shake. You hide your hands behind your back, denying his request. He retracts his hand at your reaction. “y/n” You whisper to him. “Okay, that’s all, she needs to rest.” Bailey closes the tent as you wave goodbye to him. 
Those memories became distant, vivid as you went back to the dreadful place. Time passed very slowly there. You never knew why but it did and it was awful. “This is ground breaking! Absolutely ground breaking! Now that we’ve got her to adapt to all the elements we’ll be able to make an army.” That day felt different. Stumped on the why but it felt different. Later on you found out why. You’ll never ever forget it. It was your most happiest day you’ve lived. The freedom. The life that filled your soul and the genuine happiness that accompanied your aura. But nature had different plans for you. 
Nature had weird ways of caring for you. It liked you. It had better plans for you. Plans that would not involve this era in anyway what so ever. You were hesitant at first but your character is familiar to its weird ways. Thus, leading you to comply. “wait. everyone quiet.” Voices were creeping into your hearing, slowly becoming louder. “She’s waking up.” Your eyelids flutter open. It felt as if you were worked to the bone, took an elevating nap then woke up refreshed. You were in a cocoon like capsule, made by water and other bits of nature. The cocoon discarded itself, evaporated and moving itself into the ongoing water cycle. 
Your body slumped a bit, a little surprised squeak as you stood straight. Seeing people in weird gear and other gadgets around the room. Eyes big and observing everything. “Hi.” You looked at the man before you. Your eyes instinctively trailing to the flat screen. It’s a television. ‘How the world has evolved.’ You thought looking back to the man, mouth open but no words flow out. So you decide to respond with a small wave. Your calmness got interrupted as you saw a gadget that resembled a gun. “the war is still present?” You speak in a low tone and sigh. “The war?” He shakes his head. 
“How old is she?” Someone utters in the background. You shrug to their question. “1863?” You look the man in the eyes. Pure shock fills his soul. “It’s the 2000’s.” You feel a force pull you out the establishment. Into a forest. ‘The 2000’s? What would you want me to do in the 2000’s?’ You question in your head as you run. To no destination in particular but to get away from those people. You ended up in a bar. It was one of the things you could recognize...everything was so different. As soon as you stepped foot into the bar, all eyes were on you. Stares full of disgust, lust and confusion. 
You walked to the counter and stood at the end of the tall table. “Miss, are you lost?” You nod to the nicely dressed lady. She converses with her peers as you look over to the television. ‘Mutant Rights? Mutant? What’s a Mutant?’ This is so new. It was a lot happening at once. A high pitched whistle, stung your ear. “Hey, cutie.” Looking to him unbothered, you point to him and a gust of wind pushes him away. Not enough to knock him down or anything serious like that but enough to get him out your personal space. He looks at you like he’s seen a ghost. “m-m-m-m-m-m” 
He kept stuttering, you cock your head to the side in amazement but puzzlement. “Yeah, she’s a mutant. Run along, boy.” The woman exclaims and pulls you into a back room. “You seem like a wonderful girl but men will take advantage of you.” She says handing you a soft fabric. “what’s this?” You ask, opening the folded clothing. “A hoodie? Have you not- you know what never mind.” She leaves the room. Pulling the fabric over your head. “A hoodie.” You fiddle with the cup like piece. “I’m a mutant?” You look at the full length mirror. ‘I see why she said I’ll be taken advantage of.’ 
You dust off the skin tight shorts and knock out rocks out your minimalistic flat shoes. “where do mutants go?” You walk out the door and ask the girl. She finishes serving someone a drink before answering. “here.” She hands you a pamphlet. ‘Xavier Institute’ You study the interestingly folded paper then look to her. “thank you.” You smile and walk out the bar. ‘Now to find this Institute.’ At those words many images and places flood your mind, until one image matched the pamphlet. You could hear children giggling and happily cheering. The images fade away and you know exactly where you’re going. 
Putting the paper in the hoodie pocket, you begin to walk in the direction of the school. “ouch.” A small pebble hit you in the leg. Sighing, you stand still. The ground beneath you begins to rumble, carving a circle large enough for you to stand on. It slowly ripped itself out the ground bringing you in the air. Putting your hands out, you began to get your balance as you fixed your stance. It seemed like your seeing the world in a different light. The trees were so vibrant and beautiful as you were gliding on the rock. The sun was rising, its the most beautiful thing you’ve seen in your life. You couldn’t help but smile. 
In no time, the school came into your view. The rock pile that was holding you up, broke apart into little rocks as you were lowered to the ground. Walking through the gates, you looked around for others. It didn’t seem like anyone was out yet, but lights were on in the inside. Placing two knocks on the door, you stood and waited for someone to answer. A woman with white hair answers the door. Before she could let out a simple question, you stop her with your own. “what year is it?” Her face scrunches up with confusion at your odd question. “2006? Come inside.” 
She pats you on the shoulder as a welcoming jester. You hesitate before stepping into the abnormally big school. “logan?” You lock eyes with the recognizable man. “Do you know each other?” The white haired woman asks you. Breaking away from the eye contact, you frantically shake your head and back into the door. Logan kept looking at you, in confusion. “I- um. I might be at the w-wrong place.” Mist begins to fill the space you occupied, giving you a chance to leave. Time running short as footsteps echo behind you. Having no time to run off the property, you run into the woods that’s to the left of the school. 
“I-I...I don’t want to go back.” You cried out as they grabbed you from behind, roughly sitting you down. “You know me?” He asked. You responded with a hum, still being a little shaken up. “you and I met at war. it was only once.” You looked up to him. “Why’d you run?” He asked as you got up to your feet. “when I escaped my project. there had been many more trying to recreate it. I thought it was still going on.” He lead the way back to the school. “I was apart of a solo weapon x program. It- it wasn’t #1 priority but it was still important.” They brought you into an office and began to ask questions, which you answered. 
“So how old are you exactly?” Storm asks. “I don’t know.” Logan asked a few questions here and there but he stayed quiet most the time. Storm gave you an vacant room after the long introduction. You got familiar with the room before going out to the yard, you observed some students and meditated. It seemed like everything was calm. It was odd non-the-less but very nice. “Hello.” A child no older than 11 greets you. “hello.” You give a small smile to him. “What’s your name?” He asks, you look up to a small group of students a good ways away. “Y/n.” You say looking back to him. 
“Look at what I can do, Y/n.” He says a bit excited. Pulling a weed from the ground, he holds it between his thumb and index finger, slowly it turns to a flower. “That’s very similar to what I can do.” You smile to the innocent boy. “Can I see?” He asks in a cutesy pure tone. “Sure.” You point to some moving rocks. They bonded together and came rolling to you. It was a medium sized ball of pebbles and rocks. Clasping your hands together then breaking them apart, water separated from the rocks. The rocks now rolling back to their places. The water splits into two and glides around, almost dancing with each other. 
Soon enough it came down to you. “Wow.” The boy says, studying the water. You then open your right palm, heat gathering in it and creating fire. Now you had fire in one hand and water in the other. The two elements began to fight with each other. Trying to put the other out. Finally, you put the fire out and disperse the water. A gust of wind swishes through is hair, roughing it up a bit. Standing up, you give him a smile. You see Logan in the corner of your eye. “bye, flower boy.” He gives you a smile and you approach Logan. “You didn’t answer my question properly earlier.” He slows and matches your pace. 
“I- I see. I had a failed attempt before. I thought I found refuge but I was horribly mistaken.” You looked away from him for a moment. “a distant memory is all it is now.” You give him a small friendly smile. “How can you not be upset?” He stops his actions and turns around to you. You stop too. “Upset? Why would I be upset?” He studies your answer for some time. “I’m not upset. How could I be? When all those people who experimented on me, are surely dead. While I am here, in a new era. Alive, well and hasn’t aged a day.” Your lips curve slightly but drop into a noticeable frown.
You wanted to open up a bit more to him but you felt you weren’t ready to talk about it. “You look upset.” His statement hinting at a tease. “Not upset. Just..sad.” Not picking up his light-hearted statement. You part ways as Logan gets called by Storm. Giving him a small wave, you go to your room. During the start of your months at the Institute, you did some strength training. “Colossus and Kitty, will spar with you.” It was soon clear to everyone that you are fairly powerful. Continuing your stay at the school with studying, you had to learn about the 21st century somehow. You found a new passion for reading while doing so. Romance books in particular.
“What romance book are you reading tonight?” You hide your smile as your head lifts from the book. “I’m actually reading a crime book.” He sits in a chair close to you. “What brings you here?” You bookmark your page and set the book down. He let out a heavy sigh. “Nightmares?” You whisper and he nods to you. He does a jester to you, returning the question. “visions of my parents.” You lean back, rubbing your forehead. “I need a cigar.” He exclaims under his breath. “do you ever think about it?” His eyes lock on yours. “do you ever just think about why we were chosen?” You try to maintain eye contact with him. “stupidity and..” He points to himself then you. “sacrifice.” 
You break your eye contact with him. “I’m sure it wasn’t stupidity in your case. At least you had a choice.” He stays silent wanting to hear more about you. Logan was very hesitant about letting people in since Jean. But he couldn’t help the fact that he wanted to learn more about you. You knew him in the past and besides that you were an interesting person to him. “My parents...they gave me to the program. They didn’t even know what it was, all they needed to know was that it was going to save themselves if they gave away their child.” He reached over to you, giving you a reassuring pat on the shoulder. 
“I don’t even remember much of my childhood. They told me it was garbage in my mind that I didn’t need.” You leaned into his touch slightly. “Some people say they want to forget their family. They don’t mean it. Do they?” A few tears escape your eyes. “because this feels like hell.” You quickly wipe the tears away. Logan walked with you to the sleeping quarters. You can’t stay up all night. The walk was silent but you two did walk pretty close together. “goodnight.” You smiled to him as you opened your door. “I’m sorry for dumping that all on you tonight. You don’t have to remember.” You nervously chuckle. He shakes his head.
“It’s..okay.” Hesitation in his voice. “If you need someone to talk too, I’ll- you can talk to me.” You can tell he struggled to find the right words but you appreciated it more than any other person would. Giving him a heartfelt smile. You gripped the door knob and looked over your shoulder. “Thank You, Logan.”
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daydreaming-effy · a day ago
I'm not a fanfiction reader so maybe I just don't get it but the fact that people write fanfiction about real people makes me uncomfortable. And shipping real people is just....icky? Like, I'd be so freaked out if I found out people wrote fanfiction about me and I would think a lot of people would feel the same
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