Dark!fic - Blog Posts

Forbidden Fruit |||

Warning: dark!criminal!Bucky Barnes x dark!cop!Steve Rogers x fem!reader, eventual non-con/dub-con, possessive/obsessive behavior, jealousy, gun violence, violence in general

Summary: After some time away, the town's golden boy is back to reclaim his title and his girl. Unfortunately for him, trouble has followed him home.

Word Count: 2.7k

series masterlist

Since you had come in late, you figured it was only fair to make up for the hours missed by helping close the diner. It was quiet compared to how business roared during the day, and sometimes you preferred it to your morning shifts just to get away from the usual. That wasn't to say you didn't like your regulars, but certain people did put a damper on things.

You had just checked out the last of your customers for the night. The young couple shuffled out of the booth, leaving behind a few bucks for a tip before heading out the door. "Thank you, guys. Come back and see us." They threw their hand up on their way out.

You moved around the counter to their table, tucking the few bucks away with the rest of your tips and cleaning up the mess. Nat took the opportunity to lock the door and turn off the glowing open sign before anyone else tried to walk in.

It was always good feeling locking up because you knew you didn't have to serve anymore customers.

You raked off the dishes with a fork into the floor before taking the back to the kitchen for Pietro to wash with the rest of the dishes.

"Good news. This is it." You assured. He thanked you kindly before taking the last of the dishes. You returned to the table afterwards.

You often wondered how Wanda and Pietro made it through their shifts without bickering. Especially for as long as you had known them, but you guessed being on two separate ends of the building helped too.

"Freedommmm." Nat threw her arms up, earning a laugh from you and Wanda.

She smiled in response before plopping down in the booth with Wanda to help her fold up some silverware. You wiped down the table and seats while listening to them create small talk.

You glanced out the window at the dark street. Home wasn't far from the diner, but considering it was dark, it only had the walk seem longer. Even having known the people in the town as long as you had, you were fond of the idea of walking home in night.

"No, Nat. Seriously you should have seen him, I don't know what came over him. I've never seen Steve like that." Wanda attempted to talk quietly even though you could still her. Maybe in a busy restaurant she might have went unheard.

You peaked over the booth you were cleaning at them. By the way Wanda leaned closer against the table, you could tell she was trying to keep you from hearing.

"So he just broke the glass out of nowhere? No one knows what set him off?" Nat muttered.

God, they were awful at whispering.

"If you ask me, I think Steve saw her with that new guy." Wanda stopped folding, nearly leaning over the table.

"You mean the one with the long hair? Wears the gloves?"

"That's the one." Wanda confirmed.

You rolled your eyes and finished wiping down the booth before you stood up. "You realize I can hear everything you're saying?" You pointed out.

Nat's eyes widen at your words and Wanda stumbled over her own. "Hey- I wasn't saying anything bad. I just know anything to do with him is a sore subject."

You walked around the counter again to wash your hands in the sink. You glanced at her as you dried your hands. "I don't care who you talk about. I can handle hearing about my ex." You assured. It was the truth, for the most part.

You moved over to the register, opening it to count down your drawer. You sat the till on the counter and shuffled through the money, counting in your head.

Nat spoke up from her seat. "I can't be the only one who thinks he's been a little different since that new guy came around."

"Oh no, I thought so too." Wanda admitted.

I paused counting. "Bucky?"

They both look at each other smirking slightly.

You rolled your eyes when you noticed. "You guys are awful." You mutter and shook your head. What number were you even on again? Oh, right. And you start back where you left off.

"I mean does it not seem that way to you?"

You sighed. You were never gonna get this done. "He's a customer. I haven't even been out with the guy. He gave me one ride to work, and that was only because I was on the side of the road."

"I offered to send the guys." Wanda reminded you.

"I would rather die."

They both burst out in laughter and you laughed a little yourself. Maybe it was a bit dramatic, but you were partly serious. You didn't want to give your ex the satisfaction of saving the day after he was to blame for many previous ruined ones. Like he was some hero or something.

"But seriously, I would rather walk than have to be in the same vehicle as him. I don't need his help." You admitted.

"Fair enough." Nat nodded while she proceeded to fold up some silverware. "Bucky is so cute though. I envy you. I'm gonna need to pop my own tire on the way to work and see if the hunk comes to my rescue."

Wanda laughed and you rolled your eyes. "Hey, now. Wait for a shift with Y/n before you do that. Ya know, just in case he doesn't come."

"Or do you think I should get under the hood? I'm just trying to figure out the best approach."

You set the cash aside, throwing a rag at Wanda and making them both laugh harder. "Seriously the worst."

--

"You sure it's not a problem? I can walk if it is. It's not big deal." You asked as you, Wanda, Nat, and Pietro exit the diner. You stopped for a moment to lock the door.

"You know it's not a problem." She assured. Nat and Pietro said their goodbyes before parting ways to their own cars, leaving you and Wanda on your own.

"I have tomorrow off, so I should have my car back then. Hopefully it won't cost me an arm and a leg." You said as you walked with her the rest of the way to her car.

"It's not a problem. You know I'd give you a ride any day." She looked over the roof of her car at you and unlocking the car.

You smile while reaching for the door, pausing when you hear a car pulling in over your shoulder.

"Is it not obvious we're closed?" You commented, glancing over at Wanda who stared behind you before giving you a look. You knew that look. It was one you had been all too familiar with lately and you sighed. You heard the car door open and shut behind you before you turned to confirm your suspicions.

"Wanda." Steve greeted Wanda with a smile before his eyes finally fell on you. This was currently new for him. He was stepping up his game from keeping an eye on you at the diner to stalking you out in the parking lot.

He didn't greet you though; only stared until you shifted awkwardly under his gaze. What could he want at this time of night? You were just trying to get home.

"Wanda," Steve finally broke the silence. "Do you mind if I talk to Y/n alone for a moment?"

He glanced at her over the roof and she looked at you for an answer. You gave a small nod before Wanda climbed into the car.

Steve didn't say anything, but you could tell he was searching for the words to say. You leaned back against the side of the car with your eyes on the pavement as you listened to the crickets.

"If I asked you a favor, would you listen?" He finally said.

You pulled your eyes to meet his. They were already staring at you, but you were almost positive they had been this whole time.

"What?"

"If asked you to do something for me, well for yourself really, would you listen to me?" He tried again.

You stare at him for a moment, watching him moving to lean beside you. So close if it wasn't for the inch between you, your arms would've been touching. "I'm sure I can guess what this is about."

"I wouldn't be saying this if I didn't think it was serious."

"I'm sure."

He didn't have to say anything for you to know where this conversation was going.

He shot you a look. "I just don't get a good feeling about this, Y/n. I can tell you guys are getting close, and if I'm being honest I don't think Bucky is a good person."

You knew that was coming, but who was he to tell you who you could befriend? "Do you know him?"

"No."

Because that makes perfect sense, right? "Have you talked to him before?"

"No." He answered again.

Your patience was starting to run thin already. Steve was the same guy who proposed to you, only to realize after some time this small town life would never be enough for him. Now here he was asking you to stay away from a man you hardly had anything to do with aside from serving him.

"I don't understand you." You shook your head in disbelief. "This is my job, Steve. He's a customer and I can't stop him from coming here just because you're unhappy. And here you are telling me about this feeling you have toward him, but you can't tell me a thing about him that makes him a bad person. Can you tell me how that makes sense?"

You moved off of the side of the car to face him.

He opened his mouth slightly, trying to figure out what to say. "I can't explain it. I really just need you to trust me." He looked down.

You stared at him in disbelief. "No."

His eyes shot up.

"I'm not going to just trust you, because I remember where that got me."

"I don't know how many times I can say I'm sorry. All I've done is apologize since I've been back. All I'm asking is this one simple thing. Just stay away from him. If all you do is serve him, I don't see why it would be so hard for someone else to take his table." Steve pushed off of the car, standing just a step away.

"So because he's new to town, that means he's dangerous? Oh Heavens, why is anyone serving him then?" You gasped dramatically, putting your hand on your chest.

He ran his finger through his dark blonde hair, pushing it off of his forehead in frustration, pacing slightly in front of you. "I am trying to protect you."

"I can take care of myself. I don't need you to protect me, Steve." You argued back. He had some nerve asking anything from you after everything he had put you through. You finally rolled your eyes, pushing past him to the car. Fuck him and fuck whatever he was feeling.

You paused when you opened the door. "You know what that feeling is, Steve? That's a realization. Not some bad vibe, it's the realization that Bucky is probably better than you'll ever be."

His jaw ticked in anger, watching you starting to get in the car. "I'm just doing my job."

You held onto the door, turning to look at him. "You want to do your job, go patrol and stop stalking me."

He wished he could explain how wrong you were. He wished he would tell you that the real reality of things was nowhere near your bullshit assumption. Bucky was dangerous, and he still is.

Steve stood in the parking lot even after Wanda was driving away.

Why did you always have to be so damn stubborn? He stared after the car until the lights disappeared over the hill.

His thoughts were interrupted by slow clapping and his hand shot up to rest on his gun, staring in the direction the sound was coming from until a shadow slowly moved from the dark.

"I've gotta say, you put on one hell of a show." Bucky chuckled while he lifted his hands for Steve to see them.

"What are you doing here?" Steve demanded, his hand slowly curling around the gun on his side.

"Moving on. Is that not what we agreed on?" Bucky responded innocently. " But ya know it doesn't look like you're doing much of that." He pointed out while he stepped one foot in front of the other.

Steve pulled his gun from the holster, pointing it right at Bucky but his smirk never lessened.

"Oh come on, Rogers. Is that any way to greet your partner?"

"Oh sorry. Go to hell. Is that better." He spat.

Bucky threw his head back with an amused laugh. " Funny, I thought I was already there. I mean the way you trash talked this town, I expected worse honestly. But I see why you came back." Steve narrowed his eyes. "The whole uniform, the fancy squad car, even a gun. This town must really take kindly to criminals." He gestures toward Steve.

He clenched his jaw. Just pull the trigger. He told himself. It would solve everyone's problems.

"Oh..." Bucky started to bring his hand to his mouth, acting surprised. "They don't know, do they?" He tilted his head.

Steve took the gun off of safety so Bucky knew he wasn't playing around. Nor was he going to feed into his bullshit. He stepped closer to Bucky, pointing the gun right at his head. At this point, he didn't care who saw if anyone did.

"Go on." Bucky encouraged. "Pull the trigger. We both know you can. Let's just hope you have the plan this time. This is a pretty public place, Steve. I mean between someone seeing, all the blood you're going to have to clean up, an explanation for my disappearance. How about my body, Stevie? How do you plan on getting rid of my body?"

Steve was gritting his teeth so hard he was amazed they weren't broken.

Just do it. Fuck! Just fucking do it.

No, he's right. You'll never get away with this. Not here.

"Do it!" Bucky raised his voice. He wished he could, but he couldn't. Like he wasn't already regretting every mistake he ever made after Y/n, but he was really regretting ever befriending Bucky. If he had been on his own, it wouldn't have took long for him to come back home. Everything would have fallen back into place and Y/n would have eventually forgive him for ever leaving. Steve slowly released the gun, putting it down. "Pussy."

He knew it would be in his best interest to keep his hands to himself regardless of how hard he wanted to punch Bucky, just to knock the fucking smile off of his face. And maybe if he was lucky break a couple of teeth. He slowly put his gun back in the holster.

"She makes you soft." Bucky realized. Steve lifted his head to look at Bucky. "That's her, isn't it? That girl you always talked about?"

"Bucky." He warned. "If you touch her, I- I swear to God-"

Bucky shrugged his shoulders. "We've shared before. What's the difference?"

Steve couldn't stop himself from grabbing Bucky by the collar of his jacket, bringing him nose to nose with him. "Stay away from her."

The corner of his lips turned up in a smirk.

"I'm so fucking serious. Don't lay a hand on her. This wasn't apart of the deal."

"Oh, fuck the deal, Rogers. You left me in the dirt while you alpha it up here playing the town's hero. If you think for a second they would have gave you that badge knowing you're a fucking murderer. If it wasn't for me, none of this would be possible for you. Don't you see that? That golden boy reputation gets you everything. But it doesn't get you her." Steve's fists were clenched around his collar, the corner of his lip twitching in anger.

"Bucky-"

"Shut the fuck up." He growled before shoving Steve off of him hard and causing Steve to stumble over his feet a little before regaining his balance. Steve felt defeated. All he wanted to do was get his life together and move on, but Bucky just had to follow him home. "Do yourself a favor and stay out of my way."

tag: @cynic-spirit @naniky @mrsbarnesx @mansaaay @caramelcandescence@candy3002 @onlyjamesbarnes @quethekillerqueen @siriusjohnpotter @empath-bunny @cjand10 @burnoutbo @galacticyearning @lou-la-lou @kvzctam @jevans2

Meet the Family Masterlist

Summary: Your boss needs a last-minute favour for the holidays.(petite!reader)

Status: In Progress

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

this was amazing 😫😫😫

like an act of god

warnings/tags: 18+, dark themes, DUBCON/NONCON, woc!reader, emperor!lucius, dark!lucius, possessive behavior, forced engagement, implied forced marriage, ignoring a lot of logistics for the sake of the plot so rip, these tags are not exhaustive

wc: 5.4k

summary: An emperor’s favor is no favor at all.

believe it or not this was a writing warm up 😗 next up is hopefully childhood friends to lovers but let’s see where the plot bunnies go 🙂‍↔️

please let me know your thoughts and happy reading!!!

This is the fourth time in a mere week the emperor has called you to his chambers.

The guard looks vaguely uncomfortable as he stands outside your room. The flickering flames cast shadows underneath his helmet, making the sympathetic curl of his lip all the more severe.

Ink smudges the paper as you place down your pen. The letter to your brother will have to wait it seems.

“My lady.” The guard dips his head as he motions for you to step ahead of him.

The strained smile on your face wavers as soon as his eyes are on the back of your head. It is tough to keep your back straight as you make the short trek to the emperor’s room. Too short one can say but you keep those words tucked under the roof of your mouth.

You are a favorite of his, garnering his favor through virtue of your family or so they say. Your status allows you many liberties but these constant calls have crossed the line of propriety and rumors you may not recover from have begun to spread.

It is a fool’s wish to hope his eyes may stray but you cling to it despite his doglike loyalty.

The man of the hour sits with his back turned and a glass of wine balanced on his lips. His head twists when he hears your quiet footsteps enter his domain, softening when he catches a glimpse of you.

Your stomach twists.

You do not miss how the servants scurry out of sight and out earshot when he turns his formidable gaze towards them. You wish you could grab onto the frail wrist of the girl nearest to you. Your fingers flex as she hurriedly walks past you.

“It is late,” you say when the room is cleared.

“It is,” he agrees, a small smile on his handsome face. “Sit.”

Movements stiff, you take the seat across from him. He’s stretched out on his seat, robes rucking upwards to expose the strength hidden beneath his royal garb. Scars pucker the meat of his legs and there are faint white lines crisscrossing the skin as if depicting a linear story.

You swallow.

You have heard the tales and have determined what is far-fetched and what is truth.

And Lucius is made up almost entirely of truths.

The moment you cross your legs, he is upright and leaned over the minuscule table separating the two of you. Rather than reach for the half-full bottle of wine, he aims for the water, sharing a secretive smirk with you.

Your attempt at mirroring his playfulness is weak. A vague nausea begins to brew in your gut and you fear even water may be too heavy for you.

“Whispers will begin to spread.”

Lucius pauses. His features harden before he forcibly relaxes his face. “I do not see why that matters,” he says. His smile dims and the jug of water in his hand is quickly abandoned.

Sweat dampens your palms. You smooth them over your dress, wincing as the fabric catches on your peeled skin. A few months in Rome and you still have not adjusted to the weather.

“Lucius.”

His name is unnatural and stiff on your tongue. You long to revert back to his formal title but he refuses the honorific.

“It matters because you must marry wisely,” you say gently. “You know this. Let us not waste our breaths on the obvious.”

“Is it obvious?” he parrots back.

His voice takes on a cool tone. He’s not quite combative but you sense you must tread carefully lest his ice be thinner than it looks. But your brother was not made General because your bloodline bowed at the first sign of danger.

You tip your chin up. “It will not do for your senators to suspect you are looking inwards rather than outwards for your alliances.”

It is quiet for a moment before Lucius huffs out a laugh. He shifts his weight, balancing an elbow on his thigh to better cup his chin. Amusement lightens the blues of his eyes. “And if I am?”

You are not nearly as oblivious as your reputation suggests nor are you as great an actress as you believe yourself to be. You know when it admit defeat. There is only one way this conversation will go after all.

But this understanding does not mean you have to go quietly.

“Then I recommend Decima,” you say dryly.

He nods slowly, hiding his mouth behind his palm for a heartbeat before fixing you with a blandly curious look. “The daughter of the richest man in Rome,” he drawls. “Clever.”

He pops a grape into his mouth and chews it thoughtfully. “But not as clever as marrying the sister of my most loyal general.”

No one refuses the emperor. Try as he may to be benevolent and fair and kind, his status means there are certain words he has not been accustomed to since his rise to power.

“I suppose not,” you say finally.

Tilting your head, you fix the way your dress hangs over your legs. His eyes follow the ripple of the fabric but you pretend not to notice how he searches beyond what he can see.

“Is that why you have called me to your chambers so often? To flaunt your cleverness?” you ask, a touch sharply.

Lucius can’t help his grin. He ducks his head and it’s such a genuine display of the boyishness your brother feared his emperor lost, your stomach rolls at the sight.

“Do I not seem to enjoy your company?" he asks with faux surprise.

To your surprise, he slides down onto the ground and shuffles forward until his hands rest upon your knees. The cloth is so thin it feels as if his bare hands are against you. You suck in a breath at the warmth pooling underneath his palms.

“What are you—get up!” you hiss, casting a furtive glance behind you.

He blinks up at you innocently. “I am apologizing for misleading my betrothed. I have done a disservice if you think I call for you for the sake of a ploy.”

“And you will be doing me further disservice if you think I will believe this to mean anything.”

He moves his hands upwards until they lay upon your thighs. His fingers dimple your skin as he squeezes you. “I do not do things I do not mean,” he says firmly.

You lean down, placing your hands over his. “You want a family,” you say.

The words are shards in your mouth. It is not a simple matter of children. Lucius wants a home. The losses that haunt him have made his longing a physical thing. And your stubborn devotion lead you across an ocean you had no business crossing. What is a greater showing of love than that?

“I want you,” he corrects softly.

You almost wish he’d tell you he loves you. That would take rationality out of this equation.

But he wants you.

How do you reason with someone who knows exactly what they’re doing?

-

It was not meant to go this way.

The new ruler of Rome should have been of no personal concern of yours. He existed as a potential threat to your homeland, a story to fear, but not as a real person in your mind.

This remained true until a letter found its way to your family’s home.

It was written in your brother’s familiar scrawl and voice. He regaled to your family how he found himself across the world, omitting the worst of his ordeal, while promising his present safety.

With palpable regret, Kahlil declared himself unable to leave Rome, not while she remained under such uncertainty. The new emperor, Lucius Verus, had earned his loyalty having freed him from the clutches of the tyrannical twins and pushing him towards a path of glory.

And you knew at once what you must do.

You had to leave.

You had to feel his heartbeat underneath your hands and see that his blood was the same shade as yours. You refused to move on with your life as it was only knowing your brother existed. You would never be at peace without confirming that mortality ran through his veins.

The journey was brutal. It veered into the territory of being something you could not handle but you had no other choice than to handle it. Days stretched into weeks and weeks stretched into months but soon, you were touching down onto Roman soil.

The months at sea had been beneficial however as the language, while unfriendly to your ears, was familiar enough for you to navigate your way to the city. Hope permeated the air of the reborn city and whispers echoed the streets about a new age of peace.

Frankly, you didn’t care.

You asked around for your brother, eyebrows grazing your hairline as you learned of his newfound fame amongst the people. It took less than a week for you to scrounge around for a way to informally meet the beloved general.

It was rather anticlimactic.

There were a handful of places the general frequented with his men and none were easily accessible. Luckily, the innkeeper’s daughter took a liking to you and directed you to whose pockets were light. And so, you found yourself ducking underneath a curtain and into a plume of opioid smoke.

Your nose wrinkled at the acidic scent but paid it no mind as you searched the back room. Feigning confusion as some soldiers called to you, you darted around as each man you ran into did not resemble the one you knew.

On the cusp of marching back to the inn and declaring Caelia a liar, you found him. He was leaning over the balcony, melancholy stretching across his side profile.

His name left you as a breath, carried away by the slight breeze. But somehow, he heard you.

Kahlil lifted his head, a painful sort of resignation weighing down his shoulders, until he made eye contact with you.

In a matter of seconds, he stood before you. And he was okay.

He hugged you. His arms, muscled beyond your imagination, crushed you against his chest but it was a welcome pain, cracking your chest open and burrowing straight into the fragile meat of your heart.

“You shouldn’t have come,” he muttered against your hair. The admonishment is nonexistent, more a reflex to say rather than something from the heart. “But I am glad to see you.”

You pushed against him. He allowed you to pull back just enough so you could look up at him, vision blurred from your tears.

He was nothing like you remembered and you mourned this. Scars decorated his skin and callouses roughened his hands. But it was him.

His smile was still slightly awkward and the shape of his brows framed his eyes as perfectly as they always did. The kindness you feared was taken from him in his years of fighting remained in the crinkles of his eyes and the softness of his features.

“I missed you,” you said, voice catching in your throat. A fresh set of tears burned at your waterline. “I am so sorry we could not find you.”

His expression crumpled and Kahlil shook his head. “There is no one to blame but those who took me,” he said firmly.

You shut your eyes, swallowing down the sob that threatened to break free at his forgiveness.

He wiped the stray tears dripping from your face, laughing as if he did not look as foolish as you did. “You are still a crybaby.”

You laughed, more a hiccup than anything.

Kahlil was kept from saying more when someone uttered his name from behind.

“Highness,” Kahlil said, standing tall.

He wiped your remaining tears and his own before turning the both of you towards the voice.

A handsome man stood in front of you. His hair was dark and his beard thick. His arms were corded with muscle, similar to your brother’s, but there was a predator type of strength lurking underneath the surface in which Kahlil lacked.

The title registered in your mind as you stared and with an embarrassed look towards Kahlil, you dropped your head in deference.

The man quickly dismissed the formality and motioned for you to lift your head.

“I am Lucius,” he introduced. His gaze flicked to your brother in question.

You gave him your name, voice raw from your tears. He asked you to repeat it and you did so, watching as he rounded his mouth over the syllables.

“My sister,” Kahlil interjected. “The one who thinks no consequence too severe to keep her from making reckless decisions.”

At this, he pinched your ear lobe.

“You talked about me?” you asked, blinking up at him. So many years had passed. It was a wonder he remembered any stories of you to tell.

“Yes,” Lucius said, drawing your attention back to him. He stared at you, an unreadable look in his too blue eyes. “Quite favorably too.”

He took in the circles staining your under eyes and how you clutched at your brother as if he were an apparition brought to life. Your hand ached with how tightly you held the fabric of Kahlil’s clothes between your fingers but you could not make yourself relax. You worried you would wake and find yourself back on the boat and under the throes of that fever once more if you let go.

“You traveled far.”

The observation managed to sound impressive off of Lucius’ tongue as if he found you admirable. It made you squirm.

Memories of the journey flashed through your mind, bringing forth echoes of the anxiety you suffered for months on end. But you shrugged as if it was easy. Because in a way, it was.

Kahlil was at the end of the journey. There was no easier path to take.

“And I would have gone further had it been necessary,” you said. “Luckily, it was not. I might have thrown up my stomach if I was stuck on that ship any longer.”

Kahlil made a face. “The waves are a punishment,” he said sympathetically.

“You must be tired,” Lucius said. He had not taken his eyes off of you. “Come.”

And that was how it began.

You had a few uninterrupted weeks with your brother before he departed in search of allies for Rome. Kahlil promised you a home wherever he was and Lucius was all too happy to uphold such a promise.

Your quarters were moved to be closer to Lucius’ in Kahlil’s absence. It did not take long before you replaced time spent with him with Lucius.

In the instances you were alone with him, you forgot he was the emperor. His smile was infectious and he had a clever wit about him that kept you on your toes. The stories sprung from his lips kept you enthralled and you found yourself prolonging these moments with him.

Charisma was a necessity for leaders and Lucius had it in abundance.

Slowly, he began encroaching into your space. A hand on your lower back, a brush his fingers against your waist, lingering hugs that involved him burying his face in the hollows of your throat.

He was too close too often.

People began to take notice and sly comments were whispered under breath.

Once the rumors circulated close enough for you to hear, you began to pull back. You ignored the informal requests to see him and found reasons to decline the formal requests to his chambers.

Lucius did not take well to your sudden reticence and the rumors worsened as his demand for you grew.

If you knew being friendly with Lucius would lead to this, you would have made your room a jail in Kahlil’s absence instead.

-

Lucius becomes bold in the days after your engagement is announced.

He pens a letter to your brother of the news. You sign it without reading it. Lucius purses his lips but sends the letter without much complaint.

You write your own letter, minimally mentioning the engagement, and praying Kahlil reads in between the lines and slows his journey back. As your father resided an ocean away, your brother will have to make do and you fear his loyalty for Lucius will override his love for you.

Congratulations are heartfelt and plentiful from the people and ring insincere from the upper echelon. But the pushback is minimal and so, Lucius gleefully goes forward with the wedding planning.

It will be a grand affair, one you know he does not care for in the slightest. If it not for the fact that it would be the greatest showing of ownership, you believe Lucius would have dragged you in front of seven witnesses to declare the union.

The first time he presses a kiss against your temple in front of the most gossipy of his senate, you nearly buck your head back into his nose. His hand rests against your side and he murmurs something against your skin, sealing whatever it is he has said with a gentle kiss.

The sound of your blood rushing is all that fills your ears so you do not know if Lucius requested something of you. It does not matter.

He has made his point.

His affection worsens after that.

The engagement permits him to seek you out as he wishes. His men roll their eyes lightheartedly when he stops what he’s saying to call you over during training. He is quick to leave meetings or lunches if he senses they have turned into leisure rather than productive discussion to make his way back to your quarters now that you rebuff his.

No matter where you are, he finds you.

In the rare moments you are left to your own devices, you find yourself with no friends nor hobbies to keep you occupied.

You notice men do not raise their heads when they see you. Any conversation you try to hold with one ends with excuses as to why they suddenly find themselves too busy to speak to you.

A guard follows you around the clock. You manage to wrangle his name out of him—Scipio—but it is for nothing as a fortnight later, you do not see him again. From then, you have a new guard every day.

The women, few and far between in the palace, are sweet. But it is clear whatever comes out of your mouth goes directly to Lucius’ ear. So you busy yourself with fictional hopes of your future and dabble in petty gossip when you find yourself in their presence.

It is suffocating.

“There you are.”

The corner of the garden you’ve taken a liking to darkens as Lucius blocks the sunlight seeping in through a window.

He’s angelic under the golden cast of the sun. A man more than worthy of his position.

“Ah, Highness,” you greet, offering him a nod.

There is a pinch between his brows.

“We are to be married,” he reminds you, crouching down. He runs a gentle hand through the flowers you are observing. “You are my equal.”

“But we are not husband and wife quite yet, Highness.”

His hand leaves the flowers to cup your cheek. He turns you to face him, thumb brushing against the softness of your lips. Unconsciously, you swipe your tongue over the trail of warmth left behind. A slightly salty taste permeates your mouth.

“You are my equal,” he repeats. “And I expect you to treat me as such.”

The skin around his eyes is dark. Exhaustion makes him look pallid. Your avoidance is the last thing he wishes to deal with, this you are sure, and it tugs at your heart to see him so tired.

“You should go to bed,” you say.

“Will you join me?” he asks.

You jerk back. His hands falls off your cheek.

Lucius laughs at the stunned look on your face. He moves closer into your space, looking down at you.

“You are annoying,” you say hotly. “And I am busy. Obviously.”

He hums. “With thinking of ways to delay our wedding, yes?”

“Please. I have better uses of my time.”

Besides, he has made it nigh impossible to find a loophole. An emperor’s word is law and he has used his to shackle you to him.

“So you do not conspire to find a way to break our engagement?” he surmises mildly.

A fissure of fear opens within you. Hadrian had promised you discretion but clearly, a bit of luck is needed to escape the ever watchful eye of Lucius. But you have not been informed of any ports closures and so, you choose to hold your cards tightly to your chest.

You twist a petal between your fingers. “How can I conspire when all I know are these walls,” you motion towards said walls, “And the people you install in my circle.”

He watches you for a too long moment, scrutinizing the unnatural stillness of your expression. “The sense you hope your brother will impart on me will not change anything,” he says eventually.

It takes considerable effort for you to not show any sort of relief at his warning. The more pleading your letters became, the more Lucius clung to your side so you had eased up in the past few weeks. It does not come as a surprise he is actively reading whatever it is you write.

“Is he a confidant in name only, then?” you retort.

“He loves me,” Lucius says instead. He’s softened, bearing the weight of a man who knows it takes only a word for blood to be spilled in his name and for it to be spilled gladly. “But he loves you more.”

Pursing his lips, he fingers a stem. He doesn’t flinch when a thorn splits his skin. A droplet of blood runs from his finger and drips into the soil.

“But he loves Rome more?” you guess, peeking at him from under your lashes.

He watches the blood continue to spill into the soil. Just when you think he won’t answer you, to give weight to the truth you fear more than anything, he says, “Kahlil thinks I am a good man.”

And that is a sentencing all on its own, you suppose.

-

The bath water practically scalds your skin as you sink into the tub.

It is refreshing in a way. The slight sting keeps your thoughts from straying.

Kahlil’s recent letter leaves you with no choice but to hasten your escape. Any ship will do for you need to leave before the week’s end if Kahlil’s timeline is to be trusted.

You allow yourself a few more minutes in the bath, a few more minutes to act as if you are as any other, before you drain the tub and dry off.

You exit the bathroom, towel tucked loosely around yourself. Smoothing the left over oil onto your lips, you pause when you notice a shape out of the corner of your eye.

Lucius lays atop your sheets.

A strangled scream leaves your throat and you’re throwing a candle at him before you recognize it is him in your bed and not some stranger come to make true of your worst nightmares. Though, this is not a much better sight.

He catches the candle with one hand and deposits it on the floor, eyes wide in bemusement.

You hitch the towel higher, fisted fabric at your throat as you take him in. He’s stretched out lazily, hair wet and skin shiny with cream. The sheet covers his lower half and you force your eyes to rip away from the dark trail of hair on his lower abdomen. For all intents and purposes, he looks ready for bed.

“I brought you a gift,” he says, sitting up. He gestures to the box on top of your vanity. “Come here. Let’s look at it together.”

While said lightly, this is clearly an order.

You stand, shifting your weight. You are hyper aware of how naked you are underneath this flimsy towel. “I need to change, Highness.”

Annoyance flickers across his face. “Come here.”

Shuffling to your vanity, you heft the box as best you can with one arm and make your way to Lucius. The second you are within arm’s reach, he shoots out his hand and wraps it around you. He drags you forward and forces you to sit nestled between his thighs.

His cock is a heavy weight at the base of your spine.

You immediately straighten up and try to scoot forward but he doesn’t allow for this. He settles the box on your legs and brackets you with his arms.

“Open it,” he murmurs against your ear, resting his chin atop your shoulder.

Your fingers shake as you pry open the lid. All you can focus on is how the room feels as if it ends and begins with Lucius.

When you get the box open, you don’t know what you are looking at. And then Lucius pushes a finger against the object until a set of familiar brown eyes stare back at you, unfeeling and condemning all at once.

You shove the box away from you, turning into Lucius before you can see Hadrian’s head roll onto the floor.

He allows the change in position, letting your weight guide him back down to the bed before he hooks an arm around you and reverses your position. The towel slips and he follows the line of your throat and downwards.

He brings his hand down to push away the towel pooling at your hips. Instinctively, you grab at his wrist, tears beginning to line your eyes.

Lucius stills.

“Did you think I would let you leave?” he wonders.

He sounds genuinely confused and somehow, that little slip of sincerity allows a frigid wave of fear to crash over you. Rationally, you know your skin to still be warm to the touch but you shiver, ice replacing the blood flowing in you.

“I thought you would find me more work than I am worth,” you say quietly. Your heart strains against your rib cage.

The corner of his mouth twitches. “Did you now?”

He easily breaks free of your hold and you can do nothing as he makes quick work of your towel. Lucius slowly runs his thumb along the inside of your thigh, leaving a trail of warmth.

“Lucius.” His name is torn from your throat, a plea wrapped up in a warning. “Don’t. We are not married yet.”

He laughs, dropping his head down until his forehead lies flat against your collarbone. His breath is hot against you, sending the chill inwards.

"But we will be,” Lucius promises easily. “And I will wait no longer.”

He’s kissing you before you can make an attempt at delaying what is seemingly the inevitable.

His lips are hard against yours, impatiently slipping his tongue into your mouth and finding purchase against your teeth. Lucius is uncharacteristically sloppy, betraying the desperation he’s kept so carefully hidden.

You put your hands against his chest and curl them into fists when pushing only results in him tightening his hold on you.

Recalling what the other women said about their first time, you push down your fear until it settles underneath the acceptance you forcibly yank over yourself like a veneer.

His fingers caress your soft, bare skin as he trails his hands up your thigh. The coarseness of his chest hair against your overly sensitive skin sends static skittering across your nerves.

You stifle a whine when he pulls away from you just enough to let you pant against his mouth. Your stomach gives a sickening lurch when there’s pressure between your bodies, a dull ache at the apex of your thighs.

He slips his finger into you inch by inch and tears wet your cheeks when he adds a second one. Experimentally, he stretches you out until you’re left with no choice but to let your legs fall open, inviting him in.

The longer he presses into you, the more you feel yourself relax, noting your loosening muscles as if happening from an outsider’s perspective. Wetness drips down his wrist, pooling in the crease of his elbow and he grins, eyes pointedly going down. You refuse to follow him.

“Not as shy as you like to come off, hm?” he murmurs, circling his thumb over you and drawing out a high pitched moan.

You bite your lip immediately, a harsh breath ricocheting in your chest. You try to stamp down the pleasure beginning to curl into a coil in your belly. It tightens when he digs his teeth into your fluttering pulse.

It is when you are on the brink of something that he eases up, slipping his fingers out and bringing them to his mouth. You almost clamp down on his hand when he pulls out but resist the urge by the skin of your teeth.

You shift, drawing your legs closer in the hopes of chasing that mounting high he’s taken from you. A dizzying sort of heat has set your blood aflame, akin to a fever.

You must be sick, you decide. It must be a sickness that has not yet been discovered that plagues you and leaves you feeling empty where Lucius does not touch you.

He cants his hips up, lining himself up. Your eyes widen when you feel him prod your entrance. The sheer size of him terrifies you because it won’t matter if he doesn’t fit as you hysterically believe he won’t.

He’ll find a way.

“Lucius, wait,” you hiccup, swallowing down the anxiety thrumming alongside your arousal.

He grinds himself between your thighs, slicking himself with you. He doesn’t bother acknowledging your mindless babble and instead, licks away a wayward tear on your cheek.

Lucius sinks in an inch, your name a wrecked sound. He sounds different from what you’re used to, strained and roughened around the edges.

“Please kiss me,” you beg, curling a hand around the base of his neck. His curls are wet, the space between them almost humid from the heat emanating from him.

His hips stutter and he braces himself against the mattress.

“Kiss you?” Lucius repeats hoarsely, peering down at you with his pupils blown wide with a haunting desire.

You nod weakly, urging his face closer. The stretch of him burns and while not entirely unpleasant, it makes your heart quicken and your belly flutter.

He sinks in deeper and catches your gasp in his mouth. You part your lips instantly as he bears down on you, pushing deeper and deeper until he’s seated inside you. Numbly, you wonder if you’ll ever be whole again, if Lucius has carved out a space in you only he can fill.

Lucius lets you adjust to him, running a soothing hand underneath your chest. He traces circles around your nipple and it’s a searing heat that takes the edge off.

He kisses you gently. It’s almost too sweet to bear but you respond in earnest, angling your hips upwards to give the okay. The discomfort has loosened into something you handle and the knot noosed around your heart untangles to leave a bloodied heap in its wake.

He thrusts into you as if to test your resolve. You whimper as pleasure seeps into your core. You break away from his greedy mouth and soothe yourself with pressing kisses against his strong jaw. You nip at the bone as you catch your literal and metaphorical breath. It’s hard to tell if it’s the lack of air or Lucius himself making you lightheaded.

The thread of restraint he’s meticulously maintained snaps at the strung out noise. Lucius fucks you hard and deep, perhaps a little deeper than intended if the guttural noise that leaves him is any indication.

The pleasure in your belly ratchets up and a strangled moan is gutted from you when his cock brushes against some part of you that sends sparks right up your spine.

Immediately, he’s thrusting into that spot over and over again and doesn’t stop until he stiffens with a groan.

He spills into you, cock twitching as you milk him for what he’s worth.

Your name is on the tip of his tongue and branded across his heart.

Lucius chants it, peppering kisses all over your face as he collapses carefully on top of you. Fatigue wears at you and you close your eyes, hating yourself for finding comfort in how he immediately presses a kiss against your swollen eyelids.

“I love you,” Lucius whispers.

It is the worst thing you have ever heard.

this fic is finished. there will never be a part 2. thanks!

A Special Place In Hell - OP81

DARK FIC 18+ - Minors DNI- if you don't like this or the warnings/themes make you uncomfortable. I can't stress this enough, DO NOT READ THIS

Summary: Oscar meets a darling of a girl, and he wants her. But there's a moral compass in the way, good thing it's not his moral compass otherwise he might actually be swayed.

READ THESE Themes/warnings: Smut (oral, anal, toys), dubcon (she does agree to it all but it's not exactly something she's happy about) headpushing, gaslighting, coercion, lying, corruption kink, major manipulation, some soft!Oscar at points (he doesn't hate her), mention of losing virginity

No part 2 requests please

Y/n might be a virgin holding onto that hymen till marriage. But Oscar would have to withhold a laugh and mask it with a smirk if anyone genuinely tried to convince him or even comment on the suggestion she's innocent because of that. If anything, her determination to save herself till marriage has made her more tainted for the man who takes her virginity than had she have given it away to the first man who tried.

She may have been before Oscar met her, but she's certainly not anymore.

Oscar may or may not marry the young woman one day. He's not sure yet. But he knew going into this that he wasn't waiting till marriage to get his dick wet in her.

Hence how right now he's starting his day receiving head from her and god does she have a talent with it.

Sure one day he fully intends to claim the prize without marrying her, but for now he'll settle for other options that she naively believes maintain her virginity. Only if you mean in the literal sense that her hymen remains in tact. But given the things she's let Oscar do to her, she's certainly not the innocent virgin any man will be fooled into thinking he's getting.

Oscar groans pushing her down on his length to reach the furthest depth of her throat, a place that he knows he is the only to ever have touched.

"You take me so well." Oscar grunts feeling her throat closing, struggling around his length and if he weren't so deep he knows it'd actually be gagging but he's pushed himself part the point of her being able to properly gag. It just feels like she's milking it from him and when his cum shoots down her throat, he holds her there. More than aware she's almost definitely beginning to panic from lack of air.

He holds her there till he really feels her trying to fight his hold, something she usually doesn't do. As soon as he moves her hand from holding her, she shoots back as she coughs and gasps for breath.

"Sorry, baby. I got carried away." Oscar states with no sympathy or genuine apology in his tone. Then he reaches back picking up his phone and sighing. "Shit, I'm late. Right...I want you to prep and plug-size up from last time."

Y/n looks up from where she's still catching her breath and leaving, she doesn't look overly eager about doing as Oscar is instructing. The idea of anal isn't something she's been a fan of since Oscar first suggested it.

"Y/n, you understand?" Oscar questions noticing her silence.

"Yeah. I'll clean up and meet you there." Y/n nods, her voice definitely feeling what is almost certain bruising to her throat from his brutal treatment.

It wouldn't be the first time she's lost her voice as a result of Oscar's dick. But he really isn't all that sorry for it, if anything it's a turn on. Further evidence of how much he can ruin her for any man after him.

Not that he'll stop till he's touched the places even she's yet to explore.

"Ok, I'll see you later." Oscar smiles leaning down and kissing her softly while she smiles lightly from the action.

-

Y/n tries not to wince as she walks through the paddock, she really hates the idea of anyone noticing.

By the time she gets to the McLaren unit. She smiles seeing Oscar with Mark but as soon as he spots her he excuses himself from the conversation.

"Hey, baby." Oscar smiles making her smile back and move towards him. "We're going on a track walk."

"Oh, I don't know if that's...just with what you asked for it's sort of uncomfortable to walk that much." Y/n admits making him look at her for a few beats.

"Come with me." Oscar instructs linking their hands and guiding her to his drivers room.

As soon as the door is closed she's spun and pressed into the surface with his hand pushing her dress up for access before she gasps, panicked when she feels his fingers at the flare of the plug, tugging it just enough that it's pulling against her as she tenses around it.

He leans in breath hitting her ear while she stares at her white-knuckled fist resting on the door, nails digging into her palms as she waits for him to finally pull it out.

"Stop tensing." Oscar whispers making her shiver ripple down her back. "I'm just making sure you put it in right. You didn't hurt yourself did you?"

"No."

"Then stop panicking. You're fine." Oscar sighs impatiently making her sigh as he drops her skirt down and moves over to his bathroom to wash his hand of the generous amount of lube she'd used.

"Sorry." Y/n mumbles turning around to face him again as she bites her lip a little.

"So you're coming out on the track walk." Oscar smiles the expression on his face telling her that she's not getting a choice in the matter. "Let's go."

"Yeah. Let's go." Y/n nods swallowing thickly before she looks at the man for a few minutes.

Y/n lets Oscar guide them both out of there and she walks out managing to make herself not look like she's quite so uncomfortable. It's really not a painful feeling but it's definitely not her first choice to be walking around with a butt plug in.

All because she wants to save her virginity for someone she marries.

-

Since y/n arrived pretty late in the day compared to Oscar and the track walk was one of the last things of the day. So it's no surprise that they take off pretty quickly too.

"All fours on the bed." Oscar smiles kissing a couple times just to make her more compliant. Not that she would actually refuse him but he doesn't like to be horrible to her and just treat her like shit, she's still human and his mum might not have raised him to treat her the way that he does. But equally, maybe he never expected to find the one woman on the planet who is so set on marrying as a virgin.

Y/n presses her chest down, trying to temper herself as she closes her eyes and just focuses on staying relaxed. It's what's going to get her through it.

She feels her dress be pushed up and since she wasn't wearing underwear this whole day. Oscar's fingers easily access the plug that's snuggly between her cheeks.

"Good girl." Oscar soothes pausing as his fingers tap the flat of the base before his fingers slide down to her pussy that is just dripping with need for attention. "You know it's not too late to change your mind. I’ll enjoy it either way, but you might enjoy it much more the other way.”

Truth be told Oscar wants both tonight. Now she's laid out right in front of him he absolutely will need to take any virginity she has.

"No. This is going to be good." Y/n states making Oscar hum as his fingers glide through the wetness that is increasing by the second.

"Good."

Y/n keeps her breath steady as she feels Oscar easy the plug out of her and his moan at the sight almost makes her jump, though not as much as the feeling of him dragging his finger up from her pussy to spread the wetness.

"Please use lube too." Y/n mutters out quickly and Oscar does comply, if only for his own comfort too.

He's somewhat hoping she doesn't enjoy this, if only to give him the better chance at taking her virginity which is the ultimate goal. It almost definitely of those "I want it because I can't have it" and once he has it, it'll mean nothing.

"Ready?" Oscar asks making her grunt a yes clearly gritting her teeth in a battle of keeping her body relaxed while she's actually completely stressed out.

Y/n does lurch forward feeling him press against her but his hands are quick to hold her in place, he at least wants the tip in before he's giving her a moment to adjust.

"O-Oscar, I don't know-"

"I'm in, you really want to me to stop now?" Oscar questions knowing he's being cruel in the way he's asking that and the tone he's using but the woman can't be serious. "Just let me get full in and give it a few minutes if it hurts, we stop."

He chooses his wording wisely, he's going to make sure it's not an option with it hurting as a reason to stop.

He continues sliding into her, the feeling of her ass wrapped around him is like nothing he's ever felt before and honestly, he might struggle to maintain the self control he needs to right now. It's better than he'd ever imagined. But somehow he maintains a steady push till his fully seated in her.

"Fuck, y/n. You feel incredible." Oscar states in a voice that so heavy with lust she almost doesn't recognise it.

Y/n on the other hand doesn't feel the appeal of this. It's not hurting but it's certainly not comfortable. Was saving her virginity where she has the chance of feeling even half as good as Oscar clearly feels in this moment really worth this?

Oscar's too caught up to ask if she's ready, he starts moving while she presses her face into the bed, trying to focus on the good. It's not comfortable, it's not like what she looked up about it slowing feeling good if you just try to go in with the right mindset. Lies.

The feeling of his balls hitting her pussy that is appreciate even just such minuscule attention.

"Y/n." Oscar moans and actually that makes her tighten in appreciation of the fact that even if she's definitely not enjoying this, he definitely is.

Oscar picks up the speed after a few minutes and she chokes on her breath, whimpering and gripping at the sheets as she can't stop herself tensing up. The tightness combine with the new speed unlocks a much more feral side which does leave a bit of a burn and actually it feels like the depth his hitting is really making her stomach flip. Oscar is by no means a small man in dick size and he's proving to want to prove that by touching parts of her that she could never reach.

The sounds are probably the worst part, Oscar doesn't seem bothered by the skin slapping but the wet noise is really making her grimace.

As he closes in on his climax, he continues slamming in and out of her then stopping with a final thrust that does make her wince with a sting before she feels a hot rush inside of her, the feel so unfamiliar and hot and stick but she can't decide if it's the worst feeling of it all or least of the worst. It does mean that he's done.

"Fuck. That was the best experience of my life." Oscar grunts spreading her cheeks before easing himself out, though honestly if he could live with the permanent feeling of her wrapped around him, he'd definitely do it.

Seeing his cum leak back out of her is definitely a sight worth remembering forever.

-

One time turned into multiple times, sometimes going two or three times a day and honestly y/n isn't finding anymore comfort or pleasure in it than the first time. Even if it is getting sort of easier.

She's wavering. She's losing the ability to say that her virginity is worth preserving. Oscar isn't stupid and he can see her wavering every time but he's going to enjoy his privilege while he's got it and if the day comes soon that she decides she'll let him finally just take her virgnity.

"You look like you're in deep thought." Oscar comments as they get back to his apartment and he steps up behind her kissing her neck, giving away his intentions.

"Yeah..." Y/n mumbles with a thick swallow. Breaking point tittering on the edge.

"Well I think you just need to relax." Aka he'll feel relaxed, she won't.

Unless...

"Oscar...I've been thinking." Y/n states questioning if she's really going do this. Throw her goal that she set herself as soon as she knew it sex was a thing.

"Yeah?"

To put it lightly, Oscar has somewhat been pushing her towards this decision, hoping that her breaking point would come soon.

"I think I want you to take my virginity." Y/n mumbles, and despite her wishing she wanted to take the words back as soon as they left her mouth. She definitely isn't feeling great about it.

"Really? You want me to?" Oscar asks in a faux surprise. "I thought you were waiting till marriage."

"Yeah I was but...I mean it was a stupid rule." Y/n shrugs before she turns around. "Will you do it?"

"Of course I will."

And he won't apologise for it later if she regrets it.

This is a hot take on threads. I almost got run off the site for it. Lol

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No one is forcing you to read fanfiction that upsets you. The back button is your friend.

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Monster March masterlist

Plot: After a nightmare that seems too real you turn to Bucky for help, signing a contract with him doesn’t look like a bad idea at the time.

For All Eternity

cecaelia!Bucky x mermaid!Reader (x prince!Tony)

moodboard by @brdom

note: reader is Steve and Peggy’s daughter so I guess there’s that implied physical appearance but feel free to ignore that part if it doesn’t suit you

Plot: They came from the stars and offered salvation, but nothing comes without a price…

The Chase

alien!Billy Russo x Reader

moodboard by@brdom

Plot: You've been betrayed and are about to die when a dark angel comes to your rescue...

Fallen

fallen angel!Darkling x angel!Reader

moodborad by @brdom

Plot: Steve, the leader of the centaurs has plans for you...

My Sweet Princess

centaur!Steve x amazon princess!Reader

(some Wanda x reader and Wanda x Steve)

moodborad by @brdom

Shattered Pieces

Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Genre: Romance. Smut in the future. Angst.

Warnings: None.

Summary: Bucky and Y/N were in love back in the 40s but Hydra took Bucky away from Y/N. Y/N tried to find him but HYDRA stopped her and she paid a price. Now all they knew was Bucky was dead, however they were wrong. Can she face the new Bucky, the infamous Winter Soldier?

This story takes place in Captain America The Winter Soldier.

This will be a short story. Sorry for any tyops. Likes and comments are welcomed in this house lol, stay safe my dudes!! 

Tag List is open!!!!!

Chapter 1

Y/N was at Steve's house for dinner, ''I missed this.'' he said finishing his plate. Y/N used to cook for Steve and Bucky back in the day, before all of this happened. ''You are welcom Cap.'' Together day washed the dishes in silence, bot of them wanted to speak but the heavy burden of years were holding them back. ''When will you tell me what happened to you?'' Finally Steve Rogers asked, it had been a year since they were reunited and Y/N kept avoiding the question. ''I'm gonna need a something strong for that.'' Y/N cleaned her hands, Steve had a bottle of whiskey, he poured a glass for her, ''I'm listening.'' he said with sad blue eyes. He already read the files on her, Nick Fury gave them to him but he wanted to hear the story from her. Y/N settled on the single couch, ''After you crashed into the ice and Bucky fell from the train Peggy and Howard found me.'' she took a sip from her drink, ''Howard said he was searching for you but the technology at the time wasn't sufficient. They were building SHIELD and asked if I wanted to help, after all I was the friend of Captain America and the girlfriend of Sergeant Barnes. Peggy said they didn't believe Bucky was dead, they couldn't find his body and feared HYDRA might kidnapped him. The possibility of him alive was enough for me, after 5 months of training in the SHIELD I got myself into HYDRA, it was desperate times, they lost a lot of staff members so they hired me. '' Steve was patiently listening his friend's stroy, ''At first I was the coffee girl but I did prove myself and became the secretary of a General, the General was friends with Dr. Arnim Zola, over the year I got close to him and helped him when needed. Long story short, they caught me while searching files on Bucky. All the files  said ''Died on heavy experiment.'' , they tortured me for any info but I played the dumb girl and they bought it. They used me for experiments, they were able to stop aging but I was under a lot of pain. I guess that wasn't enough for them because they gave me healing powers.'' she finished her drink, eyes clouded with sadness.

''How did you escape?'' Steve asked giving her the bottle, ''They knew I would try to do something so Dr. Zola put me on ice, years later I woke up, they said the technology was at it's high position and wanted to improve my healing powers. Soon SHIELD attacked the building and I escaped. I knew I had to find you when I saw your face on New York Museum, and here we are. Nick asked me to join SHIELD again but I refused.'' Her story was over, Steve was blaming himself ''I'm sorry I wasn't there to save you.'' Y/N gave him a warm smile, he was still the old Steve, a kid from Brooklyn. ''Don't feel that way, it wasn't your fault. My only regret in this world is having a fight with Bucky before he left and never came back.'' She remembered that night, after the dance they were walking on the empty street.

(flashback)

''James please, don't go.'' Y/N said looking at his ocean eyes, ''Stay with me.'' he gave her a kiss. ''You know I can't do that doll, I'm a Sergeant now.'' Her eyes got watery, ''Why did you joined the army in the first place?! Why didn't you ask me first? You are so selfish!'' she tried to push him but failed. ''I can't sit on my ass and wait the war end while there are men out there trying to protect us!'' He yelled back. ''We couk've run away together, but you ruined everything! I check my mailbox everyday for a letter from you or waiting your captain's ''My Condolences'' letter! I can't sleep at night knowing that you are always in danger!'' she was crying now. ''This is the life I choose Y/N! Is it really that hard for you to see that this is what I want?! You can be selfish too sometimes!'' This was their loudest argument, Y/N's neighbor opened her window and yelled at them; ''Take your fight to your bedroom kids!'' Bucky gave a long breath, ''Sorry Mrs. Cooper, goodnight.'' he said calmly. ''Can we just enjoy our last night? I know you missed me, I missed you to. We should do what Mrs. Cooper said.'' His voice was low now, his eyes clouded with lust, pupils dilated. ''Maybe your army friends can help you Sergeant! I bid you good night.'' Y/N walked fast to her door and shut it harshly, she could hear him behind it, ''Don't be like that doll, please. I love you.'' 

(flashback ends)

''I'm sorry it ended this way, but I'm here for you. You can join us whenever you feel ready.'' Steve was trying to get her involved with SHIELD again because he saw they way she fight and heal. She had a talent, ''It's too soon for me, I can't.'' she finished the bottle on her own, ''I better get going, oh thanks for the gift.'' Steve got her a gramofon and records from the 30s and 40s, ''Don't mention it, goodnight.'' 

She was overwhelmed with memories and emotions as she left his house, SHIELD was kind enough to give her a home with a garden, she had nice neighbors and a calm street. It was late when she arrived, for some reason she had this uneasy gut feeling, until she reached to her door she kept looking over her shoulder. ''No one is following you. Relax.'' She unlocked her door, walked inside. As she was closing it she thought she saw a tall man standing behind the tress. It was like shadow and vanished quickly, ''I should get some sleep.'' she thought but as usual she locked every door and window, put her revolver under her pillow. Thanks to all that talk with Steve she saw Bucky in her dream, it was technically a memory, a happy one; 

They were eating their ice cream and enjoying the sunset, Bucky pushed her hair and placed a wet kiss on her neck. ''You should enjoy the view Sergeant.'' Y/N said not looking at him, ''I am.'' he said smiling. A soft wind touched their young body, ''Marry me.'' Bucky said suddenly, it made Y/N look at him in shock, ''WHAT?!'' she said loud, ''Marry me. I know it might be too early but when I come back from the amry we can have the wedding and in the mean time you can think about it. Come on doll, wouldn't you want to be the wife of a Sergeant?'' Ella Fitxgerald's I've Got a Feeling I'm Falling song was playing from a car's radio at a distance. ''Yes! God Yes!'' She jumped on his lap and they started to kiss deeply, but soon Bucky vanished and she was left in the dark, ''Bucky! Come back, Bucky!'' she woke up screaming his name. 

She checked her environment, she was at home in her bed, she touched her cold gun under her sweat covered pillow. For months she had no dreams of him so she felt strange, the soure pain in her stomach was back, it was yearning.

        ꒰ 𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐔𝐒's works for 𝐏𝐄𝐃𝐑𝐎 𝐏𝐀𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐋'S CHARACTERS.    ꒰ main m. / characters list         ꒰ ꒱ PROMPTS ⒈ & ⒉ for requests /   ...   MY 'READERS' PALETTE   / ABOUT 𝐌𝐄  ... ꒱ "where art thou, why not uponeth me?..." | DARK CONTENT |

        ꒰ drabbles ꒱

₁ DO NOT BLAME THE WIND   ꒰ 𝓙 OEL 𝓜 ILLER -- ONESHOT ꒱

₂ CORIANDER UNDER THE FIG TREE   ꒰ 𝓜 ARCUS 𝓐 CACIUS ꒱

𝓓AVE 𝓨 ORK   ꒰ COMING SOON.... ꒱

𝓙AVIER 𝒫EÑA   ꒰ COMING SOON... ꒱

© THEHYDRAETHEREAL COPYRIGHTS. DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE OR REWRITE MY WORKS. INTERACT USING YOUR COMMON SENSE. THIS CONTENT IS TRIGGERING.

I say MINORS DO NOT INTERACT not because minors make me uncomfortable and not because I wouldn't want to interact with you as a minor. It's because I know my content is NOT suitable for you (it's not suitable even for some kinds of people over eighteen years of age). I know FROM EXPERIENCE, I started reading dark stuff even before I was 18 and it was HARMFUL for me, trust me, I KNOW. I don't want you to go through the same shit I went through because of that.

I am sure many of you (minors) read worse things, those popular smut novels and so, but here it is not the place for you. Please RESPECT YOURSELF AND PROTECT YOURSELF!

⁎✵࿔෴𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐌𝐄

My name is 𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐔𝐒, I'm European and I am a young soul. This is what you have to know about me:

𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐑(𝐒): Burgundy, Maroon, Scarlett, Navy Blue, Forest Green, Baby Blue, Baby Pink.

𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐊(𝐒): COFFEE. And Granita.

𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐌 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐈 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄: Ribbons and bows. Biceps. Vogue routines filmed by celebrities. Hailey Bieber. Water. Older men. Cats. Leopards. Dark clouds and storms. Nighttime. Early mornings and crisp air. Pines. Perfume. Mascara. Spicy chicken burgers. Wired earphones. Purses. Short skirts. Large shirts. Sunglasses. The moon and stars. Lacy underwear. Showers. Curly hair. Pinterest. Messages and asks (on tumblr). Gum. Mangoes. Pop Music. Polaroids.

𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐓𝐎𝐏𝐈𝐂𝐒: Feminism, history, geography, philosophy, phsychology, literature, poetry, mathematics.

𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐒: Chris Evans, Brad Pitt, Daniel Day-Lewis, Frank Grillo, Tom Hiddleston, Heath Ledger, Jodie Foster, Demi Moore, Jonathan Rhys Meyers, Natalie Portman, Aaron Taylor Johnson, Henry Cavill, Tom Hardy, Colin Farrell, Sebastian Stan, Angelina Jolie.

𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒: Rafe Cameron, Steve Rogers, William Wallace, Achilles, Brock Rumlow, Pietro Maximoff, Wanda Maximoff, Natasha Romanoff, Tony Stark, Thor Odinson, Loki Laufeyson, Sarah Cameron, Emperor Geta, Marcus Acacius, Andrew Barber, Ari Levinson, Curtis Everett, Nick Fowler, Lloyd Hansen, Steve Abnesti, August Walker, Walter Marshall, Cyrus Hanks, Benjamin Martin.

𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐌𝐒: 𝗠𝗔𝗥𝗩𝗘𝗟, Outer Banks, Pedro Pascal, Chris Evans, Lana del Rey, Chris Hemsworth.

𝐖𝐇𝐘 𝐈 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 ?: The darkened side of the human nature has always fascinated me, and I believe that by writing what I write, I will understand how it works even better so I decided to share with you what is blooming in my mind, to explore new points of view and to not just let my creativity die. Writing is also my coping mechanism.

𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐌𝐘 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊𝐒 𝐌𝐘 (𝐒𝐄𝐗𝐔𝐀𝐋) 𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐄𝐒 ?: No, actually, not at all. It is a response to the trauma and issues I have, I do not find what my characters do attractive. It is only for creative and fictional purposes. DO YOUR RESEARCH about this topic, it is not my bussines to explain how dark writers and readers' minds work.

𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐃𝐎𝐄𝐒 𝐈𝐓 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐀 𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓 ?: It depends. If I feel inspired by it, I will write it in one hour or one day. If the request doesn't really appeal to me, I will delay it and prioritize what inspires me. Some requests really inspire me, but I take more time with them, because I'm a perfectionist and I want them to turm out good.

𝐖𝐇𝐎 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 ?: If you are following me for a good amount of time now, you will know pretty well my love for @highonmarvel. I could write pharagraphs about her. Also, my Pedro side is dedicated to @pedrosyouknowwhat, her talent is brilliant. My mother, literally, is @rvfecamerons, she inspired me to write for Rafe. Her writing and talent is out-of-this-world.

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐈𝐒 𝐌𝐘 𝐎𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐎𝐍 𝐀𝐒𝐊𝐒 ?: OH, I LOVE asks. People really don't understand how important their support is, every single encouraging message or comment warm my heart and help me keep going.

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐈/𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐈 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐑𝐄𝐏𝐋𝐘 ?: You can ask me to talk about certain celebrities, about my fics, about a character, about life experiences, but I will definitely not reply to very intimate questions. Hate is also gross, just scroll and block me if you do not like what I say or write. Literally.

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐌𝐘 𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐀𝐋𝐁𝐔𝐌𝐒 ?: The Tortured Poets Department, Midnights, Born to Die, Lust for Life, Eternal Sunshine, Evermore, Folklore, Hit Me Hard and Soft.

𝐖𝐇𝐎 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐌𝐘 𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐒 ?: Lana del Rey, Taylor Swift, ABBA, Gracie Abrams, The Neighbourhood, Arctic Monkeys, Ariana Grande. THESE ARTISTS INSPIRE ME. IF YOU DO NOT HAVE RESECT FOR THEM, GO AHEAD AND BLOCK ME.

(𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐓) 𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐒: The Albatross, I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can), The boy is mine, Video Games, Cherry, Forever Young.

𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐈 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐃𝐎 𝐀 𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐀𝐋 ?: No.

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐈 𝐖𝐈𝐒𝐇 𝐓𝐎 𝐃𝐎/𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐄𝐕𝐄: Visit the world. Become an influencer. Kiss someone. Interview a celebrity. Move out of my town. Get a therapist. Record a music video. See the Grand Canyon. Buy a polaroid camera. Be Tumblr famous. Finish all my requests and series. A speech in public. Punch a man in the face.

THANK YOU ALL FOR 400 FOLLOWERS! This is my safe space and oh myyyy, you are all such an amaaaazing community and you support me so much i love you sm mwahh mwahhh thank youuu ♡♡♡

can i request kinda part two of frigtening new world please? it is soo good, the tense is >>

I will get to it, love, I promise. I have small hints and ideas, but elaboration of the plot from you would help a lot. However, I have many requests and WIPs I prioritize and want to finish first. But I WILL write a part two, hopefully asap.

p.s: thank you for your kind words, you have made my day, really! ♡

hii! i have a request please: dark steve rogers x reader where he is obsessed with her but she is bucky's gf (reader is clueless) steve kills bucky and forces reader to be in a rs with him. their friends notice how quick she got with bucky's bsf right after his death so they hate her for it but she can't say anything bc she's scared

I'VE DONE IT FOR LOVE

bucky's girlfriend.ᐟreader & dark.ᐟsteve rogers

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 1.9k words

MY CONTENT WARNINGS && MASTERLIST && NAVIGATION

MY INBOX OPENED FOR MORE REQUESTS

“I’m sorry for your loss, miss.”

You loathe this phrase with a burning passion. Everybody said it with void eyes that lacked any compassion or empathy. The most people gave away from their hearts was pity. 

Despite all these, you nodded politely and thankfully at the mayor, and watched him head towards Natasha, Pepper and Tony. 

You felt your eyes burn with tears again as your gaze turned to the cause of your agony: your fiancè’s —the love of your life—, your Bucky’s…coffin. 

The concept made your insides churn with terrified anguish, the acceptance simply not settling in your mind. 

The coffin was carved from plum tree wood, its surface a deep, bruised violet with streaks of dusky red—like veins beneath dying skin. The grain curled and twisted unnaturally, as if the tree had once grown in a place it shouldn't have, somewhere tainted. Bucky loved plums. Every thought about him drained a tiny bit of life out of your soul.

You remembered the day you were announced that the person you loved the most in this world was now no longer alive. 

If someone had told you before this would happen, you wouldn’t have believed them. You wouldn’t have believed that you would survive these lacerating, tormenting days. But apparently you did. 

However, the idea of everything just coming to an end for you, as well, did not sound bad. You wanted to die. And you gladly accepted the desire of your heart.

“Sweetheart”. The voice behind you slithered through your nerves and coiled in your belly like a serpent. His voice.

The man that you and Bucky trusted with your whole beings was the one that inflicted this absolute hell over your life. You loved Steve Rogers dearly. But apparently he “loved” you as well, and that acclaimed love burned like venom. 

You did not turn around. Your body felt planted deep in the soil, with iron roots that kept you still. His forearm snaked around your abdomen and the muscle felt unyielding, a flesh-forged shackle pressing into your bruised flesh, earning a small whimper from you. You screwed your eyes shut to stop the tears of dread from spilling.  

His lips attached themselves to the back of your jaw and traced all the way up your mastoid process, his hot breath and moist lips sending shivers down your spine.

“P-please…”, you whimpered at him, desperate fingers clawing at his arm, “...n-not here. Please.”

He growled against your skin and your despondent eyes darted towards Natasha and Sam. 

Oh… They could not help you. They didn’t know the actual truth.

Steve started moving and dragged your body along with his, just by Bucky’s casket. A sob erupted your throat as you were forced to stay there in front of it. 

His thumb caressed your cheek lazily, as your petrified eyes looked at the horrid thing that lay in front of you. 

Steve sighed, and you caught his broad chest tightening with the corner of your teary eye.

“I loved him, but good Lord…I couldn’t stand him having what I wanted, what I was supposed to have”. The lack of mercy in his tone scared you and his words were enough to have tears flowing down your chill-bitten cheeks again. His hand came up and wrapped itself around your jaw, pulling your face closer to his. He did exactly what you prayed he wouldn’t do. 

His lips pressed against yours, lacked any warmth or affection, and his teeth bit down on your lower lip in front of all your friends, family and people gathered at the funeral.

 The hot droplets fell from your eyes and wetted his face, as his tongue went past your swollen lips. He pushed his body against yours even harsher and your hand shot up to bare yourself on something. And that ‘something’ was your Bucky’s casket. You whined in Steve’s mouth when your fingertips came in contact with the frozy wooden surface, but his lips curled upon yours in a merciless smirk. He was enjoying the disrespectful act so much. Bile raised in your throat and blood was pumping so fast through your veins that, for a moment, you believed your temples would explode. 

“Let’s go home now.”, Steve decided when he finally released your mouth and your pleading eyes shot up into his immediately.

“N-no, please Steve, no…T-the funeral hasn’t even officially started”. Desperation clawed at your throat as you wrapped your wrists around his bicep and sobbed heartbreakingly. 

“Sweetheart, I was kind enough to even allow you to come here, was I not? Now…don’t make a scene, you really wouldn’t like what happens afterwards". The threat behind his words made you flinch, but you still didn’t let go of him. Your chest pressed to his in an attempt to beg him to let you witness Bucky’s last moments on earth. He didn’t do that. He never listened to your pleas, just as probably…he didn’t listen to his best friend’s when he pleaded for his life. 

Steve’s fingers caught your wrist and started to slowly walk you towards the car. 

“No. Steve, s-stop. What will they say? Steve, we haven’t even said goodbye, pl-please.”, you choked out as you were walking past the people you knew so well. Sam’s eyes caught yours, and the amount of hatred you saw in them made your gaze fall down in shame. 

“Behave.”, the Captain whispered in your ear and you swiftly shut your lips and followed him obediently. You knew what Steve was capable of and you surely didn’t want him to hurt others on your behalf. 

‘What a bitch, coming here and puttin’ up all that acting and fake tears, pretending she misses him and now she is leaving with his best friend and not even staying for the ceremony. How disgusting can some people be?’, you heard a couple of elderly women hiss as you approached the small groups of people. You wanted to yell and howl at everybody how your heart was shattered into millions of pieces and how you longed to just mourn your Bucky. You wondered, couldn’t they see your frightened features? Your dried tears? The small cuts on your cheekbones? 

No, all they could see was that another man was holding your hand, and it felt as if the word ‘WHORE’ was burnt in your skin with reddened iron. It was always the woman, never the man. It was never: "His best friend took his girlfriend”, but always: “His girlfriend moved on. With his best friend.”

With one last glance, you left your lover behind forever.

Steve and you arrived “home”, at the mansion that once produced you and Bucky only happiness. After years of savings, Bucky managed to buy it and that was like a symbol between the two of you and the beginning of a joyful life together.

Now, after Steve had taken it —he called it a “perfect gift” for the beginning of a relationship— it felt like the walls would constrict around you any day. 

The pictures of you and Bucky with your overjoyed faces were now only memories of the empty, saddened walls. You had them down, packed them up and wanted to take them with you to the small cabin your sister had in the mountains and heal there from the loss of your life. But fate had other things in store for you. 

Steve hauled you in the dorm that used to be yours and Bucky’s and you audibly gasped. You haven't been here since Bucky’s…death. Since your spitalization after you tried to finish off the pain in your heart.

“Wh-what are we doing here?”, you cried, now jerking away from him, breath sharp with fear. 

Steve’s nostrils flared as his fingers gripped around his hip bones. His tongue poked at the inside of his cheek and your shaky hand gripped the door knob tightly. 

In an instant, his eyes were on yours again and he pressed to you after a big step. You shrieked into yourself and your breath hitched. 

“I was good to you, patient, wasn’t I? Huh?”, he growled and you sniffled, nodding your head as tears sprung to your eyes again. “Answer me.”, Steve growled again and a ‘yes’ caught in your throat like a piece of glass. 

Steve’s right hand fisted itself in your hair and you groaned. You had the impression that, from Steve’s hands, Bucky’s blood was still dripping, and your breath was cut from your lungs.

“Le-let go, Steve! Pleaseee—”, you cried at him as he forced you towards the bed.

“No…”, you whispered, already knowing what he was willing to do. “NO! Steve, please…please, Steve, anywhere but here, not in h-his bed, please—”, you struggled to pry off his hands, hyperventilating. 

His ruthless fingers came forward and squeezed at your cheeks to stop your incoherent babbling.  

You, on the other hand, couldn’t stand this to happen on the bed you and Bucky were to share. You planted your feet on the polished, expensive floor, and tried to elbow at Steve's chest, ribs and stomach. 

Unexpectedly, he threw you in front of the bed with force, and you landed with a wail.

“You don’t tell me where I fuck you, when and how, understand? You are my wife now. Mine.”. His unfeeling words made you cry harder and your head was spinning so hard you could barely form out the objects in front of you. An unbearable ring was playing in your ears, blocking everything else but Steve’s words. 

“Wife? Y-you k-killed hi-him…”, you stuttered between sobs, fingernails gripping the plush carpet. “I fucking hate you! I ha-hate you, I f-fucking hate you, you psychopath—”, you screamed at him, the anguish tearing at your vocal chords.

Steve crouched next to your shaking body, and grabbed the nape of your neck, pushing your face down. You tried to hit at him, and when you did, he clobbered you and nextly you saw black dots dancing in your vision. 

“I can be very good to you, as I was all this time, but everythin’ can get really bad for you. So, close that pretty mouth and watch your tone and language because truuust me…”, he threatened in a sing-song voice, “...I can shut it for you and you won’t like that. There is nothing you can do about it. You are with me now, whether you like it or not.”

You flinched hard as his knuckles brushed the tear-soaked hair away from your bruised face. The sight of your glossy, widened eyes and your sigh-heavened chest rising in sorrow seemed to Steve the prettiest thing in the world. 

“I love you, and that’s why I'm asking you to be smart. I don’t want to pick a casket for my future wife too”. His words made you tremble even more, despite your struggle to stop. “I lost the man that was like a brother to me because of you. Now…don’t make me do to you somethin’ I’ll regret later, sweetheart.”

Was...was he blaming you for Bucky's death? Bucky's murder?

You simply nodded, what else were you supposed to do? You felt like your skull was on fire, as Captain's thumb played with your lower lip. His words were getting straight to your head.

He chuckled, as if shaking the previous threats off would make you forget about his dreadful being, and he started to tear off your sweatshirt. You didn’t fight him. There was no use in it. Then, he picked you up and sat you on the bed.

The mattress felt like nails pressed to your naked skin.

“Now—”, Steve groaned, pulling at your panties, making a sob choke you again, “—be a good girl for me…doll.” Steve never called you 'doll'. But he used to know someone who always called you that.

End.

✵⁎ TAGS: @highonmarvel ♡

HENRY CAVILL MASTERLIST .ᐟ⁎✵࿔๛

෴࿔ 𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐄 XXIII 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐓, 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐇 𝐈𝐒 𝐎𝐖𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐘 𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐊𝐄𝐑, 𝐃𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐘 𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐈𝐒 𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐘 𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 .ᐟ

MY INBOX IS THE PLACE WHERE WE WILL DISCUSS ABOUT THESE MEN OR WHERE YOU WILL SUGGEST AMD REQUEST CERTAIN WORKS WITH THEM. DON'T BE SHY, GO WILD BECAUSE THE 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐄𝐑 SOMETHING IS, THE HAPPIER I AM TO WRITE IT. (My ANON list)

IF YOU WANT TO REQUEST SOMETHING, BUT YOU DO NOT FEEL INSPIRED, YOU MAY USE MY CUSTOM MADE, BRAND NEW WHEEL OF INSPIRATION. OR JUST MY 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒.

YOU MAY VISIT THE OTHER DISTRICTS, AND BY THAT I MEAN MY OTHER CHARACTERS AND, MOST IMPORTANTLY, READ MY WARNINGS BEFORE INTERACTING WITH ME IN ANY WAY.

⁎✵࿔ NOTE THAT I AM NEW TO THIS FANDOM, BUT SO EAGER TO START MY JOURNEY WITH ANOTHER MARVELLOUS OLDER MAN. PLEASE, SHOW ME YOUR LOVE BY SUGGESTING ME WHAT TO WRITE OR JUST TALKING ABOUT THESE CHARACTERS. 𝐀𝐋𝐒𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐌𝐘 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐈𝐒 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊.

I love you all,

𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐔𝐒 ✵

⁎✵࿔๛ 𝐌𝐘 𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍 𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 (𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐍 𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐉𝐈𝐒)

🪼

✨🍄

... list still opened ♡

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐒 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐒 | 𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 | 𝐌𝐘 𝐈𝐍𝐁𝐎𝐗

Thinking about Steve Rogers and number 17 (we haven’t even started)

Including age gap, power dynamics, Dacryphilia, fear kink. Honestly thinking about a sickly sweet kidnapper!Steve who’s been stalking reader. “Don’t you think you’re one lucky girl, got Captain America desperate to use that pretty little cunt” and ohhhhh god. He tells reader how special she is, she was made for it, so she better start acting fuckin grateful. Prompt comes in the first time he’s gonna actually use her fully

~~ ✨🍄 for emoji signoff

BEWITCHINGLY FEARFUL

younger.ᐟcaptive reader && dark.ᐟsteve rogers with PROMPT (17)

DARK AND TRIGGERING CONTENT AHEAD, THESE ARE THE WARNINGS.

You crawled your shuddering body in the corner of the disgustingly narrow dorm he put you in a while ago. You didn’t even remember when he had brought you here, the time seemed to dilate and constrict, you didn’t know how long has gone since you were taken from your ordinary lifestyle. The room was barely kissed by a cold neon light from outside of it. The light refracted through a thin glass above the metal door and there was no other source of illumination. 

In an instant, the sound of metal howling—the door was much rusted and it sounded infernal every time it was unlocked—made you flinch and bury your lips in the back of your wrist to stop the fearful sobs from escaping. 

The unnatural coldness of the neon made your weakened, teary eyes scrunch in pain, but not for long. 

The light was tracing Steve Roger’s broad figure, and it made his shoulders and arms look impossibly titanic and all-consuming. Fear was the death of the mind—you knew it—but for you, it was different. Fear made you see grotesque and leviathanic things, it possessed you and your every sense. Or maybe—this was just the effect the man above you had and not your rational feeling.

When he crouched down next to you, the heart almost jumped from your chest. Acidic tears of hatred, anger and frighten ran down your cheeks as his fingers caressed the burning skin of them.  You didn’t pull away. You knew better.

“How’s my beautiful girl, hm?”, he started, a faint smug smirk planted on his face. 

You swallowed with difficulty, the insipidness of the spit running down your deserted throat and your eyes shot up and bore into his arctic blue ones.

He was Captain America. That one Captain America everyone talked about. He was supposed to protect the souls of his countrymen, not lock young and unwilling girls in the basements of his houses and force them to breathe moldy air in his nightmarish presence.  

You whined when his calloused, huge hand wrapped around your jaw and squeezed as he pulled your face closer to his. It hurted so much. “Tell me you want me too, sweetheart. Look how much I love you.”, he grunted, eyes sparkling with sickening hope as his free hand crept between the flesh of your thighs. You tried to close your legs as you pulled your face away roughly, before he even got the chance to plant his poisonous kisses all over it. 

Steve clenched his jaw tightly, and you saw the muscles in his knuckles tighten. Like a snap of a bone, his patience cracked and he slapped you across the face. You gritted your teeth as his arms, surprisingly tender, contrasting what he has just done, wrapped around your body. “Can’t you see what you’re doin’ to me?”, Steve asked—as if he forgot the act of violence he threw upon you seconds ago—, forcing your palm over his brutally rigid bulge. It made you feel even more dizzy and nauseous, its thickness scaring you to your core. “I love you, sweetheart, I love you so much. You’re so special.” His heartbeat patted loudly against your back. “N-no…”, you whimpered, trying to get out of his hold. But it was completely useless, strengthening serum was running through his veins and the determination he had in playing with your mind into believing he cared for you genuinely made your skin crawl.

 “Sweetheart, show a little gratitude. I saved you from the misery you lived in, and I’ll give you a future by my side, you’ll be the most gorgeous thing on my arm, you’ll have everything you would ever possibly want. Jus’ be good for me, ‘cause you won’t leave this place, so why not make it pleasurable for yourself?”. His hand reached for his jeans and the sound of the zip made you tense again and clench your thighs together in fear even harder. 

“I j-just wanna go home…”, you cracked, a sob tearing through you. 

Steve shook his head and then, he reached for your face again, his thumb rubbing the tears off. 

“F-fuck you…”, you spat, as realization just hit you again and brightened your mind into acknowledging who was holding you, as he pulled you over his thigh, making you staddle it in attempt of stopping your cries... “Don’t you think you’re one lucky girl, got Captain America so desperate to use your pretty little cunt…”, Steve grunted in your ear as he reached out to toy with the lace of your underwear, purposefully ignoring the way you cursed at him.

His words pulled the last string of obedience from you, and, as if you forgot the burn of his slap, you hit him right across the face. You were slowly but surely slipping into madness down there, because no fully sane person, chiefly in your position, wouldn't do that to the golden boy of America.

It did nothing to injure him. However, his gaze turned obsidian, void of any sympathy or human emotion. He inhaled, chest puffing and almost throwing you off his thigh. Your limbs went still as his stare pinned you in place. This was possibly your greatest mistake ever made. 

You expected to receive a slap — not a punch. It sent you right on the chill-soaked floorboards. Your trembling knuckles reached for the blood-covered cheekbone, agonizingly gently to wipe it off. The crimson substance was hot on your digits, warming their frozen state. 

Steve’s knee fell on your spine, as his merciless grasp tore your underwear off your hip bones. You whined, but the punch drained the life out of you, so you were very feeble and you could do nothing against it but whimper and plead.

If he cared for you, just as he has claimed...why wasn't he stopping when he saw you so vividly and indisputably horrified?

“I fuckin' love it when you're so scared f'me...”, he growled in your ear. Tears made your body convulse, his words giving you the answer to your unspoken question, as he was preparing his thick member to take what he wanted from you, silent screams wrecking your being. Your mind was shouting: 'Please, do not do this. Not now. Not ever.'

“C’mon, baby, don’t cry…we haven’t even started.”

⁎✵࿔๛ TAGS: @highonmarvel

The one and only thing you have to know about me:

What I write is to spread awareness and make my readers uncomfortable through and about the cruel and twisted nature of human beings, especially men.

I feel disgusted about the male characters I write for, I do not find them or their deeds hot, quite the opposite. If you don't agree with me, go ahead and unfollow. If you find what I write 'hot', then you misunderstood me and my purpose was not reached.

And to the other dark writers: you should not write your ideas under the concept of romanticism. I write dark fics to deal with my powerful emotions and my trauma, it's not my kink, not at all.

Fiction is to speak to other people about certain topics, fiction is not for personal enjoyment. That's my opinion, and, of course, you do absolutulely NOT have to agree with me.

what abt a dark best friend’s dad rafe x young reader where it’s noncon and rafe hurts reader

RIBBONS

best friend's daughter.ᐟ reader && dark.ᐟ rafe cameron

Rafe's pupils were blown out, so widely it looked almost inhuman. His grunts were filling the silence of the night, the sounds bumping in the expensive furniture and coming back with thrilling force directly in your ears.

Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes, as Rafe's length was pummeling into your tight channel. Elongated, bloody scratches adorned his sharp cheekbones, it was the first and last time of the night you managed to hurt Rafe Cameron. His palms were caressing your now-restrained, sore wrists.

"I had to have you, baby...", he hissed in your ear, accentuating the words with a particularly harsh thrust that made you gasp and whimper furtherly.

"And your family's gone for this month so we'll be spendin' a lotta time together, jus' you an' me". He forced his thick, ringed fingers past your swollen lips. They rested heavy and bitter on your tongue. "I'mma let you scratch my back instead next time, kitten.", he laughed in your terrified face as he rested his bruised cheek on your sweaty forehead.

Oh, gosh.

⋆⁎✽๛ 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒 --- for requests

෴ 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐑: This content is dark and very triggering. Minors and easily triggered people, do not interact. Your mental health matters. You are responsible for your own media consumption.

෴ 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: MY CONTENT IS DARK AND DARK ONLY. My requests are now OPENED. You can request as many fictions as you want, but you have to check out my CHARACTERS LIST and my WARNINGS first. IF YOU ARE ANON, USE AN EMOJI, SO WE CAN TALK MORE <3. Request via my INBOX. Please, also write a short summary of your ideas, do not just send in the number of the promp and the character. Thank you.

𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 I will use for these: Choking; chasing kink; Dacryphilia (tear kink); fear kink; dv + heavy violence; restraints; manhanding and others. Please choose a few in your request.

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒 2.0

"You flinch like that again in public, and I’ll give you a real reason to." (1)

"I don’t remember asking what you wanted, sweetheart." (2)

"You can cry if you want. Won’t change a damn thing." (3)

"That’s the problem with you. You never fucking listen." (4)

"Go ahead. Tell me no again." (5)

"You move, and I promise it’ll be worse." (6)

"I told you to sit down. Don’t make me say it twice." (7)

"You think I give a fuck if you’re scared?" (8)

"I liked you better when you knew your place." (9)

"You’re only still breathing because I let you." (10)

"See how quiet you can be after I slap you around?" (11)

"You can beg if you want. Doesn’t mean I’ll stop." (12)

"Do I look like a man who’s gonna change his mind?" (13)

"At least make yourself useful, baby." (14)

"You act like I haven’t done this before." (15)

"If you were strong enough to stop me, angel, you would have by now." (16)

"C'mon, baby, don't cry...we haven't even started." (17)

"I'll destroy your pretty face of yours if you do that again." (18)

"Come here. Now." (19)

"I'd suggest you returned because if I catch you...you won't like what I'll do to you." (20)

MY WARNINGS

✦ I will put the warnings ahead of each piece of fanfiction. Keep in mind that my work contains triggering elements such as nonconsensual sex; abusive relationships; sexual/mental/physical abuse; violence; harassment; sex trafficking; abduction; age gap; power dynamics and possible other dark themes. Proceed with caution. This blog is not for minors. You are responsible for your own media consumption.

WHAT I WRITE...

✶ I will only write female reader / I will only write dark content ✶ I will only write the elements written above in my warnings, nothing else, and for sure, nothing that includes underage relationships or gory elements, A/B/O dynamics or something that includes supranatural creatures such as vampires, werewolfs etc.

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©thehydraethereal 2025. My work might contain triggering elements. You are responsible for your media consumption. Do not translate or repost my work without my consent.

⁎✵⋆࿔ VENUS'S NAVIGATION

✵ 𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐔𝐒 / she/her | NINETEEN | DARK FICS FANATIC / "your love carved me open, and I bled burgundy." ๛༊ ASKBOX

CARNATIONS YOU HAD THOUGHT WERE ROSES...

REQUESTS: CLOSED | 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐍 𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍 𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐉𝐈𝐒

IMPORTANT LINKS: BLOG AND WRITING RULES \ ⁎✵࿔࿐ CHARACTERS LIST \ MY READERS

...THAT'S US

©THEHYDRAETHEREAL 2025. My work might contain triggering elements. You are responsible for your media consumption. Do not translate or repost my work without my consent.

༊ ⁎۵࿔࿐ MASTERPOST AND BLOG INSPIRED BY @highonmarvel

Story #29

The X-files fanfiction "We only heal together" 3/3

Read it on AO3

3.

When Mulder opens his eyes, the darkness instantly evolves into a hazy grayness. No snow or harsh blinding light. No screeching metal cabinets behind his back, no blinking fluorescent ceiling lamps, no whirl of snowflakes around. It’s not their office. 

His head feels heavy and Mulder draws a deep breath and takes a look around. He’s lying on the tiled floor in what looks like a spacious conference room. He can hear Scully’s ragged breathing somewhere close but not quite there. The pounding in his head is the pounding on the door. Slowly, he comes to the conclusion that what they have just experienced was no more than a hallucination. A dream of sorts. It’s sickening cruelty chilling him to the bone.

“Scully?” he croaks. There’s no answer.

Dizzy and confused from their ordeal, Mulder manages to roll on his back and spots Scully lying a few feet away from him in the fetal position. From where he is, it looks like she’s still imprisoned in their mutual delusion, her eyes darting beneath her tightly shut lids. She doesn’t seem to acknowledge his presence at all, and on unsteady legs Mulder rushes to her, almost crashing down onto the floor in his haste to get to Scully. Not sure whether it’s safe to wake her up, Mulder nonetheless cannot resist reaching out and brushing her shoulder tenderly. At his touch Scully jerks sharply and a weak moan falls from her lips. 

“Don’t,” she says in a small voice. Mesmerized and terrified at once, Mulder watches how the lashes of her closed eyes get wet, and when a single tear escapes and runs down her temple, he is overwhelmed with horror. A shocking, stomach-churning realization sinks in.

The pounding on the door becomes almost unbearable in its discordance and in a matter of seconds the noise turns into a thunderous racket. The door gives up under the assault of whoever stands behind, and a bunch of police officers along with paramedics burst unceremoniously into the room.  

What happens next happens so quickly that even hours later Mulder struggles to reconstruct the whole evening in detail. It comes in increments, and he knows next to nothing as to which are real and which are just figments of his imagination. 

Scully is put on a gurney and whisked away outside to the ambulance, he himself has to endure a disgustingly long and meticulous examination by a young paramedic. When it’s finally confirmed that he sustained no physical injuries and is free to go, he’s held by another officer to explain his involvement. Around him, the place is swiped for evidence. Mulder does his best to deliver his version of events, which feels pretty much like an after-sleep groggy recollection. The police disclose that there was an anonymous call about people being subjected to torture at the location. They have yet to determine the source of the call, but the Portaverros were arrested on the spot upon trying to flee their office. They are being taken to the station at the moment and the agents are welcome to pay a visit and interrogate the couple as soon as they want. Mulder advises the cops that it might be reasonable to separate the couple, and confirms they’ll drop by the police station first thing tomorrow morning.

At last, he ventures out of the building to look for his partner only to find Scully already waiting for him in a car. Not a word is said as Mulder starts the engine and heads off to Georgetown, anticipating how tedious their journey back home is going to be. The silence is uncomfortable and seems to scream even louder than the noise he heard at the crime scene, and it makes him shift anxiously in his seat. His partner’s head rests against the side window, her eyes closed. He can’t stand the thought that she might be pretending just to steer clear of him, so he chooses to believe Scully is dozing off, exhausted.

When Mulder pull the car up to the front of her apartment building, she wakes up only to notice that the car is double-parked and the engine is running, the key still in the ignition. Obviously, Mulder has no intention of inviting himself in. Carefully, as if not to touch him, Scully extends a hand under the steering wheel to turn and pull the key out. The engine dies and the silence stretches like a taut skin of a drum. Taking a moment to gather her thoughts and then measuring each word carefully, she says:

“Come inside, Mulder.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” his voice is a bone-tired whisper. 

“We’ll just talk.”

“Scully,” he stops her with an exasperated sigh.

“Mulder, please. We can’t just sweep it under the rug and hope it will sort itself out.”

In an attempt to catch his eyes, Scully cups his chin and turns it to meet her steady gaze. Mulder surrenders to her willingly, secretly elated that she has no trouble touching him. Not like in the Portaverro’s residence. It’s only a moment before he drags his eyes away again, his face contorted in pain. 

“Did I really do that?”she knows he’s talking about their shared nightmare, and logically she understands it wasn’t real but it hurts all the same. They will bring it to the surface and acknowledge the damage done. They will deal with that. There’s no way she's going to put her head in the sand and circumnavigate his question. Withdrawing her hand, she says calmly. 

“Not for real, no.”

“It felt real.”

“It did.”

The knuckles of his hands turn white from the power of his grip on the steering wheel. All of a sudden he’s a wild animal trapped in a cage, the quiet and limited space of a vehicle suffocating him. He wants to launch himself off the seat, pace around, circle the table, topple a chair, shove his hands in his pockets, put some distance between them, punch someone. He doesn’t do any of these things. Deep down in his heart of hearts, he knows that Scully is right, they have to talk it through. Stealing a quick glance at his partner, Mulder is relieved to see that her expression and posture are open. 

“What was your fear?” he finally asks.

“Betrayal,” that makes him jerk his head up and search for her eyes. 

“Remember that case we were working on in Braddock Heights? With the vhs tapes?” Scully continues. “At the time, I thought you were in cahoots with the cigarette-smoking bastard. I was terrified of being betrayed, most of all by you. I guess this time that fear manifested itself in the cruelest way possible.”

Her hands are slightly shaking and she hides them between her thighs, so Mulder wouldn't notice and poses the question back. 

“What was yours?” 

“Hurting you,” Mulder replies without preamble, raw emotion in this voice. His eyes burn, pain filling him up to the brim, threatening to spill over the edge. “I was afraid…” he drops his head, no longer able to endure her sea blue penetrating gaze. “I am afraid to end up doing something that will hurt you, Scully. I fucking hurt you all the time.”

“Mulder…”

“I do, Scully. You can’t assuage my guilt by saying it was your choice. I know what you're gonna say, it's always been your choice, and you stay by my side of your own volition. I know that! It doesn’t make me any less responsible for all the bad things that keep happening to you.” He’s looking at his upturned hands, fingers splayed wide until Scully’s small strong hand comes into his view and cradles his tanned and big one. The contrast is mesmerizingly beautiful. When she tugs on his arm and brings their intertwined fingers to her mouth, kissing each of his knuckles lovingly, his eyes cloud with tears. 

From the moment they were partnered, Mulder had the unshakable belief that Scully needed his protection. If he could… if she let him, he would put her into an inner pocket of his jacket to hide her from the perils of the outside world. As far as she was concerned, he was simply scared out of his wits. Mulder is well-aware that despite being a diminutive woman, seemingly fragile and vulnerable, Scully is stronger than anyone he knows. Stronger than himself. Her petite frame is no more than a facade. On more than one occasion, he bore witness to her easily overpowering her male counterparts. Hell, for the seven years they’ve been together she probably incapacitated more offenders than he had done in all his years in the FBI. Scully is his strong little partner, best friend, and staunchest ally. She’s the love of his life. 

“Mulder, listen to me. You are intransigent. Adamant. Moderately aggressive, dominant and assertive. Maybe even the most grandiose narcissist in the flesh I know. But aside from being all those things, you’re also kind, compassionate, empathetic, loving. And you are not a rapist. I trust you with my life, Mulder.”

Her soft breaths dance across the skin of his hand still pressed to her warm cheek, lips grazing lightly on his calloused fingers. 

“You’re my guiding light, Scully. My touchstone. I wouldn’t be sitting here now if not for you.” 

It feels like a moment of distilled creation. He might have chosen other words but their meaning echoes her own: they are not going to let it drive a wedge between them, leaving their lives in disarray and their souls emotionally crippled. As Scully’s hand reaches the door handle ready to get out of the vehicle, Mulder doesn’t hesitate to follow. 

We only heal together

Author: @642stories

For: @msrisallaround​

While investigating a seemingly simple and harmless case, Mulder and Scully find themselves in a situation when their reality is anything but real. 

Link Here

#XFDarkfic2022 11/17

Again

Summary: You live in a carefully constructed world with Bucky Barnes, unaware he’s been resetting your memories every time you try to leave him. Each time you begin to remember the truth, he gently erases it, cloaking control in affection. To you, it feels like love. To him, it is. (Yandere Bucky Barnes x reader)

Warnings/Disclaimer: Minors DNI. Dark Bucky Barnes, Memory loss, Gaslighting, Obsessive love, Hints of confinement, Yandere themes, etc.

Word Count: 2.9k+

A/N: Been a while since I’ve written something dark. Can you tell I love stories that have something to do with memories yet? You are responsible for the media you consume. Let me know if I should add something else to the warnings, tags, or anything else.

Main Masterlist

You weren’t really the kind of person who got involved with superheroes.

You worked quietly at a small publishing office in Brooklyn, mostly handling edits and scheduling for midlist fantasy writers. Your days were filled with manuscript notes, cheap coffee, and chasing deadlines. It was all comfortably mundane.

You weren’t the kind to chase chaos. You didn’t attend Stark-sponsored gala events or run towards falling buildings with a camera. The Avengers were just another headline, another source of distant awe that didn’t belong in your world.

Until him.

You met Bucky Barnes on a Tuesday morning in the rain. Your umbrella had fallen apart five minutes into your walk to work, and you’d ducked into a tiny, half-hidden café. He had held the door open for you; tall, quiet, gloved hands, and hood up.

You nodded your thanks. He nodded back. That was it.

The second time you saw him was two days later at the same café. He was at the same seat near the back window. You ordered your tea, and he was already nursing his coffee. You’d never seen him speak to the barista, but his drink always arrived without question. You wondered if he’d once lived in this neighborhood, before the metal arm, before the wars.

Weeks passed before you spoke again. It started small with quick glances, polite smiles, and silent nods that eventually turned into one-word greetings. Then one afternoon, as you sat reading a worn paperback in your usual seat, he asked what book it was.

You looked up, startled. His voice was gravel and velvet all at once. You told him the title, and he tilted his head, thoughtful.

“Used to read a lot,” He said. “Stopped for a while.”

You asked why to which he smiled faintly. “Memories. Some of ’em don’t belong to me.”

You didn’t comment on it considering his past.

After that, he started waiting for you.

Or maybe you started going there hoping he’d be there. You couldn’t tell when it changed. Your work days blurred together, but those moments with him became sharp, vivid pieces of color. You learned that he liked his coffee bitter and preferred home-cooked meals over fast food. He told you small things about himself: that he didn’t sleep well, that he liked jazz, that he used to have a sister. Never much more.

You never asked about the arm. You never needed to.

He started walking you home when it got dark. Just in case, he’d say, glancing at the sidewalk like it was dangerous. At first, he’d leave you at the corner of your street. Then at your building’s door. Then one evening, he followed you up.

Nothing happened that night. He didn’t even kiss you. But he looked around your apartment with that solemn, haunted stare, like he’d stepped into a dream he wasn’t sure he was allowed to have.

When you made him tea that night, he sat on your couch like he was afraid it would vanish if he blinked.

That was the beginning.

You didn’t fall for him in a rush of heat or fire. It was something quieter like water slipping under a door. He was gentle with you, more gentle than you'd imagined a man like him could be. He handled you like a secret. In some way, you liked that. It made you feel chosen.

He memorized you.

Your favorite foods, the way you liked your windows cracked just an inch at night, how your nose scrunched when you were skeptical. He’d brush your hair behind your ear absentmindedly, kiss your temple when you frowned at your laptop, run his thumb across your knuckles while you rambled about work.

When you finally asked if you were together, he simply nodded. “You’re mine,” he said, not possessively. Just… firmly. As if it had always been true.

You smiled. It felt warm and real after all.

As weeks passed, you didn’t realize how much of yourself was already unraveling.

You didn't notice that he always picked your meals before you had a chance. That when you asked about his past, his face turned to stone. That when you mentioned taking a weekend trip with friends, he flinched. Then the next day, every one of those friends mysteriously canceled.

You didn’t realize how often he said “You don’t need to remember that.”

Or that your own memories like how you met or how long you’d been dating started to feel soft, blurry, like a watercolor left out in the rain.

You didn’t question it then though because when you were with Bucky, you felt safe. And safety can be addicting, especially when you don’t know what’s missing.

But the truth was already whispering beneath your skin. And you were about to hear it for the first time.

Again.

You never noticed the changes at first.

They crept in like dust on a windowsill so subtle and quiet, you didn’t realize how much had shifted until it was far too late.

It began with a contact missing from your phone. You were trying to text your friend about a shared memory from childhood, a stupid inside joke involving a haunted amusement park, but her name was just… gone. Not grayed out. Not blocked. Gone. You assumed it was a glitch. You’d call her later.

But you didn’t. You couldn’t seem to remember the number. You opened your gallery to find the picture of the two of you at the beach with your arms around each other, her tongue out at the camera, wind in your hair yet the photo wasn’t there. Not in albums. Not in cloud storage. Not even in your deleted folder.

You frowned and chalked it up to a syncing error. You’d been so tired lately after all. Work had been relentless, your sleep scattered. It was probably your fault.

Besides, Bucky said you’d been overwhelmed.

“You’ve been stressed, doll,” He murmured that night, when he found you staring blankly at your phone. He slid into bed behind you, arms curling around your waist like a shield. “You’ve been forgetting things, yeah? That’s okay. I’m here now.”

His lips pressed to the back of your neck, soft and warm and grounding. “I’ve got you.”

And you believed him. Because Bucky didn’t lie. Because love was supposed to feel safe. Because it was easier than the other option: that something was wrong.

Then the dreams began.

Not nightmares in the traditional sense. They weren’t filled with monsters or screams. They didn’t leave you sobbing or breathless. They just felt wrong… familiar in a way that made your stomach twist.

In the dreams, you were in a room with white walls, too white. The sterile scent of alcohol and metal stung your nose. Your wrists were strapped to a gurney, a chill biting at your skin through the thin hospital gown. Machines beeped in the distance. Shadows moved behind frosted glass.

And you were crying.

Not screaming. Not pleading.

Just… crying. Quietly and exhausted like this had happened before.

Then a voice; male, calm, and clinical: “She’s starting to remember.”

Static buzzed through the dream, warping your hearing like water rushing through your ears.

And then, him.

Bucky.

But not your Bucky, not the gentle hands and tired smile that whispered “I’ve got you.” This Bucky stood behind the glass, unmoving, and half-shrouded in shadow. His face was unreadable and cold, tight-jawed with his blue eyes sharp with calculation. And something else beneath that: Guilt. Desire. Possession.

You always woke with your chest heaving, heart racing like a prey being hunted.

The dreams clung to your skin like fog. You couldn’t shake them, couldn’t forget the way your own voice had cracked in the dream: “Please, don’t do it again.”

You told Bucky about them one morning, curled on the couch with a blanket over your shoulders and your head pounding.

“They felt too real,” You explained, knuckles white around the mug he’d just handed you. “I… I don’t know. I was in some lab, or hospital maybe, and I was tied down, and someone said-“

You paused, trying to remember the exact words. They slipped through your mind like sand.

“‘She’s starting to remember.’”

Bucky froze. Just for a moment to the degree where you barely caught it. The tension in his jaw before it was gone, smoothed over by the version of him you trusted. He stepped closer, cupping your cheek in one calloused hand. His thumb brushed your temple, slow and steady.

“They’re just dreams,” He whispered. “You’re okay. I’m right here, remember? Nothing bad’s ever going to happen to you again.”

The pressure of his fingers lingered, gentle but firm. You leaned into it.

And you didn’t see the flicker of fear in his eyes. You didn’t notice how his hand trembled for just a second before he pulled it away.

Didn’t follow his gaze to the mirror where, behind the glass, a soft blue light blinked silently. A small device tucked into the frame, some HYDRA tech masked by a smear of dust. Unnoticeable unless you remembered it was there.

It hummed with quiet intent, its function cruel and simple: To monitor. To smooth the cracks. To start over.

Again.

-

The turning point finally came on the day you found the journal.

It was supposed to be a cleaning day.

Rain tapped gently against the windows. Bucky had gone out for groceries. He never let you go alone anymore, said it wasn’t safe. So you’d decided to reorganize the closet in your bedroom. It was cluttered, and you needed a distraction. Something to silence the weight of those dreams that had begun to come more often, vivid and fractured. Something to quiet the silence.

You were pulling out an old shoe box when your foot caught on the corner of the floorboard. It shifted under your weight with a soft, unnatural creak. Curious, you crouched and ran your fingers over the edge, pushing until the plank lifted just slightly enough to wedge your hand underneath.

There was something hidden beneath the wood. Wrapped in worn fabric, almost carefully. You pulled it free as your breath caught in your throat.

It was a journal. Black leather with no name on the cover. You didn’t remember buying it. You didn’t remember writing in it. But it was yours.

The handwriting was unmistakable. Slanted letters. Loopy e’s. The way you crossed your t’s too high. And inside…

Inside was your words: Unfiltered, unedited, and terrified.

He’s done something to me. Every time I leave, I wake up back in his bed. I think it’s him. I think it’s always been him. He smiles and tells me, “This is better. This is love.” Do not trust him. Do not trust him. You’ve done this before.

Your hands shook as you turned the pages. There were days recorded in scribbled fragments. Warnings. Notes written like you were trying to reach yourself across some invisible line.

You remembered none of them.

Not the time you described trying to run: “He caught me before I reached the door. Said he’d fix it. He always fixes it.”

Not the drawing of the device in the mirror. “It hums when I remember too much, blares out if I touch it.”

Not the shaky, final note: If you’re reading this, you still have a chance. Don’t let him see this. Don’t let him see you panic.

But it was too late.

Your breath hitched as you looked up. The walls of your apartment, the space you’d painted and decorated and thought you’d built with love, suddenly felt wrong. It was all too neat. Staged. The color schemes, the framed photos, the scent of lavender in the air, it was all… curated.

Like a set. Like a memory someone else had chosen for you.

And then you felt it. That presence. You turned, heart already racing.

Bucky stood in the doorway, grocery bag in one hand. His other hand was empty, fingers flexing once. Twice. His eyes weren’t on you.

They were on the open journal.

His expression didn’t twist in shock or confusion. He didn’t ask what it was. He didn’t even look surprised. He just stared at you for a moment, quiet, as if waiting to see which version of you he’d come home to.

And then, slowly, he set the bag down.

He stepped forward in a manner that wasn’t hurried, not frantic, just controlled. Measured, like a man who’d done this before.

“Doll,” He spoke softly, as if you were spooked. As if you’d simply read something silly. “That’s not what you think it is.”

Your mouth was dry as you stepped back, clutching the book.

“I wrote this,” You whispered. “I… I’ve done this before. Haven’t I?”

His jaw tightened. “You weren’t well. You didn’t understand what you needed.”

“I tried to leave.”

“And I couldn’t let you,” He said, eyes burning now but not with anger, rather something worse. Devotion. “You don’t remember how bad it was out there. You begged me to make it stop. You asked me to take it away.”

You backed into the wall.

“I don’t remember any of that.”

“I know,” He murmured. “That’s the point.”

He stepped closer. The air thickened.

“You were scared, and I saved you. Over and over again. I keep you safe, I give you peace. Isn’t that what you said you wanted?”

You shook your head. “No. I didn’t-“

“You did,” Bucky interrupted, “And even if you forgot, it doesn’t matter. I remember for both of us.”

Your chest was heaving as you took a step back. The journal slipped from your fingers and hit the floor between you. He picked it up carefully, smoothing the pages like an old wound.

Bucky watched you for a long moment, the journal still in his hands, the weight of your realization hovering between you both like smoke. You didn’t run, you couldn’t. Your body felt frozen in place, as if your mind already knew what was coming. Like it had before.

He approached slowly with no malice nor violence, just intention.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” He said gently. “You know that. I never have.”

Your breath hitched as he reached up. Not to strike, not to grab, but to brush your hair behind your ear. The gesture was intimate.

“But you always panic when it comes back. Always think you want out. And then you cry, and I have to watch you fall apart all over again.”

He moved slightly, lips brushing your temple.

“This is love, sweetheart. It’s just… not the kind you remember.”

That’s when he reached behind the mirror.

You didn’t struggle. Maybe part of you didn’t want to know the truth. Maybe part of you had been here before again and again, and each time ended in the same outcome: surrender wrapped in warmth and silence.

You heard the hum before you felt it. That low, soft frequency, like a lullaby trapped beneath your skin. Your vision blurred. The room warped slightly, as if you were seeing through water. Your knees gave out, and Bucky caught you easily, cradling your head to his chest.

“Sshhh. Just sleep,” He whispered into your hair. “I’ll keep you safe. I always do.”

-

The next morning, sunlight spilled across the room in pale golden stripes. The curtains swayed lazily with the breeze, and the air smelled like maple syrup and cinnamon. Somewhere in the distance, a record crackled softly with a melody playing something smooth and familiar.

You blinked up at the ceiling, your head foggy and strangely heavy. A dull ache pulsed just behind your eyes.

But your heart was quiet.

No fear. No dread. Just a lingering melancholy you couldn’t name, like missing a song you forgot you loved.

You sat up slowly, fingers curling into the sheets. The bed was warm and the room was tidy. On the nightstand sat a single framed photo of you and Bucky wrapped in a shared scarf, cheeks pink from the cold.

Something fluttered in your chest. You didn’t know why, but the sight made your throat tighten.

Then came his soft voice, full of that low, soothing rasp that always made your shoulders ease.

“Morning, doll.”

You looked up to find him standing in the doorway, wearing gray sweatpants and a soft black shirt with a spatula held in one hand and a dishtowel that rested over his shoulder. He smiled at you with such warmth, such relief, that it made your eyes sting.

“Smells good,” You mumbled, voice thick.

“Thought you could use something sweet.” He tilted his head. “You okay?”

You blinked at him, your eyes burning for some reason.

“Yeah. I think so. Just… a weird dream.”

His smile deepened, that tender practiced smile.

“Don’t worry,” He said. “I’m right here. I’ve got you.”

He always did.

And you’d never know how many times before: Never know about the journal that was burned in the fire pit. Never know how your phone only held five contacts, four of them fake. Never know how your reality was trimmed, polished, and maintained like a greenhouse.

Each morning reborn in the life Bucky made for you. Each memory rewritten not out of cruelty but love. Twisted, obsessive, relentless love.

And for now, this time, you were his again. Just as you were meant to be.