Pairing: Steve Rogers x f!reader, bucky barnes x f!reader (possibly dark)
Summary: World has collapsed and Hydra took over with Steve Rogers as the head. He gave people everything except freedom. But your normal life is thrusted into chaos as you are taken to the pleasure district where politics, power struggle and survival lied beneath the glamor. Would be able to survive the ruthlessness of this new world or lead a life in the shadows.
Warnings: Kidnapping, prostitution, dark themes including dark love interests, 18+
A/N: I just couldn't help. This idea won't leave my mind. I hope you will like it, my writing skills are a little rusty as I am posting a fic after almost a year.
You jostled as the bus hit a bump, making you clutch your bag harder in an effort to balance yourself. Glancing out of the window, you squinted your eyes at the harsh sunlight, the summer season was slowly becoming into full force.
You pressed your hands to your burning cheeks, at least you didn't have to deal with the scorching heat in the winters, whoever said that summer was their favourite, they were lying. Working would be more difficult now.
You snapped your eyes down as women in black tactical gear made their way through the city, eyes sharp and observant for their new 'jewel'.
The bus gradually came to a halt as your office came into view. You smoothed down your ivory dress, paid your fare and stepped out, your heels crunching on the freshly made pavement. Your eyes fell on the women in black unform again making you crumpled your dress into your fist and trudged towards your office with your head down.
The tall trees bellowed in the gust of wind that were planted as road dividers. There was much more greenery now. There was no place left without. No ruckus or fights happened it public spaces. Everyone was quiet now, everyone followed the rules to the tee because they were aware of the examples.
So much had changed in the last five years, the snapped that brought people back destroyed the world again as the population skyrocketed, leading to starvation, homelessness, poverty and other various problems. The governments collapsed, not just few, but entire world collapsed and hydra took over.
Not the fascist hydra but a hydra captured and made by Steve Rogers. Who would have thought that the man preaching for freedom would morph into a ruthless dictator? Who would have thought that the Natasha who suffered so much as a woman would deal other women with the same faith? Who would have thought that the once tormented and brainwashed Bucky would become winter solider again by his own volition? But it happened.
People had everything they ever wanted, except freedom.
There was nothing other then hydra and its rule all over the world, nothing really changed for you though. You still went to work, still paid your bills, still supported your parents whenever they needed you. You now just had to steer clear of the black widows.
It was scary at first but you have made your peace with it. You didn't wear makeup, didn't wear nice clothes, didn't leave the house till it was absolutely necessary and overall lived in the shadows. You didn't want to lose your life.
You pushed open the glass door and sighed in relief when the cool AC air of the office hit your warm body. Skirt fluttering with each step as you neared your desk, you deposited your bag on the desk and sat down, bracing yourself for the long day.
"You're late?" Martha, the lady who sat beside you chided, though the concern was thinly veiled. She was a woman in her late 50s, on the brink of retirement. She was the mother hen of the office and why wouldn't she? She radiated warmth like sun on a chilly day.
"Yeah, the bus was late, a flat tire." You said with a smile as she handed you her signature tea.
"You should carpool with colleagues. I know owning a car is not good for safety but carpooling can do. I was so worried when you didn’t arrive on time." She suggested, adjusting her glasses.
Of course she was worried, anyone with an ounce of care for women would. But you heaved a sigh and shook my head. "Carpool with who? Female colleagues? That would just make us an easy target and male colleagues also don't make me feel comfortable. At least in a bus, there are many different people, making it difficult to manipulate or threaten them."
Her eyed softened as she regarded you, her green eyes amplified by her glasses. "Honey, you should get married."
Not again.
"Martha, it won't really make a difference. I have seen them capture married women." You argued. Blowing the tea and taking a sip.
"But that is significantly less compared to single women like you. They don't want used goods for their harem."
You grimaced at the ruthless objectively but she was correct. "I have no prospects. I don’t leave my house unless absolutely necessary." You murmured.
"Then you should go out and have prospects. It's dangerous out there, honey, especially for pretty girls like you." She fussed and turned on her laptop, prompting me to fo the same.
You chuckled at the praise and shook your head. "Thanks for the compliment Martha but I have been pretty invisible throughout my life, even when I didn't dress like a granny to avoid black widows."
"All I'm saying is that you need to be safe and being alone, without a man is very unsafe." She advised.
You sighed and gave a reluctant nod. "I'll try, now let's get to work our deadline is close." You said and turned to your laptop. Martha let out a surprised hum as if she had forgotten that she was at work.
You did your work diligently, reviewed files, took notes and worked on the impending project. As much as you liked technology, staring at the laptop screen for eight hours straight made your head pound and eyes water from fatigue and glare, you just wanted to go home and sleep now.
Thankfully, 10 to 12 hours shift were gone now as overtime was increased by the government and companies didn't want to pay for some extra work, they just increased the work load for the working hour instead.
Rubbing your tired eyes, you turned off the laptop and slung your bag on your shoulder on 6. p.m sharp. Walking out of the office, you waited for your bus to arrive. You hovering by the office guard to not be alone.
After waiting for 15 minutes, the distinct horn of the bus caught attention as you waved the guard goodbye and stepped inside the red double-decker bus and took a seat in a secluded area so that no one would try to strike up a conversation.
You stifled a yawn and jerked your head violently to keep yourself from falling asleep. You didn't want to miss your stop or wake up in an unknown room.
Your wrapped your arms around you suddenly, your eyes flitted around the bus and outside. Nothing. Your stomach churned and you shrunk in your seat. Was someone watching you?
You shook your head. No, you were just being paranoid. But the feeing just wouldn't go away so you pulled out your phone and earphone, jazz filling your eyes as you hummed to the lyrics.
The music made the bus ride home fleeting as only a few specks of sunshine was left on the horizon. You clicked the pause button on the current song and moved in front of the bus as your apartment neared.
You paid the due fare and and left the bus. You shuddered, heart beat quickening and breath shortening into huffs as the same feeling of being watched permeated through your body.
You didn't get the chance to process it or check your surroundings as a SUV pulled up, someone gripped your waist from behind. A scream tore out of your lungs as the prickling pain of a needle hit your neck.
The world blurred, dark dots swimming in front of you as you desperately tried to claw at your awareness but you were loosing the battle. Your eyes were shutting down, your body was going lax, and your mind was saying just to give up and to the drift into keep you wanted for so long. So, you did.
You were shoved inside the black SUV, door slamming shut as a nonchalant voice chirped before everything went raven.
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Warnings: not proofread, dark smut.., multiple rounds, PinV, spanking, Face-Fucking, hair pulling, light choking, degradation, forced positions, manhandaling, reader crying, obsession, borderline non-consensual themes. First time writing something like this, really longer than what I usually write so there will be a part 2!
It had started as a quiet evening at the Wayne Gala. The city lights glittered aginst your dress like tiny stars, but you weren't here for the accolades or the small talk. You wanted to escape- a moment alone.
For the first time, you weren’t sure if this arrangement—being Bruce Wayne’s wife—was truly a prison, or if it was something far worse.
The tension between you had always been a slow burn, but tonight it felt like a live wire, crackling in the air.
By the time you slipped away toward the study, hoping Alfred hadn't seen, the door clicked behind you, locking with a soft authority. He was there, dark silhouette in the dim light, eyes preadatory.
But Bruce noticed. He always noticed.
He was there, dark silhouette in the dim light, eyes preadatory.
He didn’t say a word as he approached, just that familiar, suffocating presence pressing down on you like the weight of the Gotham skyline itself.
"You humiliated me tonight," he said, voice calm but dangerous. "Slipping away from the gala like some ungrateful little wife. Do you think people didn't notice?"
“You think you can just walk around, live your life, and pretend none of this is mine, live in my house, wear my name, and still pretend you're not mine.” His voice was low, deliberate, and dangerous, each word dripping with ownership.
You swallowed, heart hammering, trapped between fear and something darker, more thrilling. You wanted to run, you wanted to hide. But some twisted part of you- dark and ashamed- wanted him more than anything.
You tried a nervous smile, a small excuse, but his hand was already around your throat, pressing you to the desk.
Bruce’s hand found the nape of your neck, tilting your head back, his thumb brushing over your pulse. Every touch, every subtle movement, was a claim, and you could feel it in your bones.
The heat pooling inside you was chaotic and desperate, a storm he had no intention of letting calm. With a firm grip at your waist, he pulled you closer, pressing you against him. The world outside—the city, the party, the expectations—faded into nothing. All that existed was the sound of your own ragged breathing and the dark, relentless control in his eyes.
“Good,” he whispered, his lips now at the hollow of your throat. “Because I don’t… do gentle. Not with you. Not ever.”
Your knees threatened to give out, but he caught you with ease. Every inch of him was in control, power, and dominance. Your body betraying you, craving the ownership, the danger, the dark devotion.
Hands slid under your clothes, but it wasn't tenderness. It was calculated, consuming, designed to break you down and pull every shiver, every gasp, ever whimper from you.
You were trapped, overwhelmed, addicted. Every touch burned, every command drove you higher into the haze of desire and fear.
"Tell me you want this," he growled, voice a low rumble in your ear. "Tell me you belong to me."
"I... I-" your words stumbled, but the truth burned hotter than shame. "I... want you."
"Good girl," he murmured, voice smooth and dangerous. "Because you are mine. Every inch. Every thought. And I will take everything, wether you fight me or not."
The line between fear and desire blurred until you couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. Every inch of him, every shadowed intention, promised both pain and release, and somewhere deep down, you knew you would surrender, completely, without hesitation.
The first strike of his hand against your ass was sharp, echoing, leaving you breathless. Then another. Harder. Each one blurred pain into heat until you legs trembled beneath you. Hid grip was iron, his presence all consuming, his voice dripping with contempt.
"Pathetic," he snarled. "Shaking for me already."
He shoved your legs apart, fingers sliding inside you without warning. The stretch as immediate, brutal. You whimpered, nails clawing at the desk as he pushed deeper, knuckles pressing, unyielding.
"You can take more," he murmured against your ear, teeth biting your neck. "You'll take everything I give you. Because that's what you're for."
The burn made you sob, tears spilling, but your body beytrayed you, clenching, wet, hungry for him. He laughed low in your ear, cruel and satisfied.
"Look at you," Bruce spat, yanking your hair back so your ruined reflection stared back at you in the window. "Crying like a little whore, but your body's begging for me. You think anyone else could handle you? No. Only me. Always me."
He pushed you until you sobbed, the pressure unbearable, yet soick heat betrayed you. His laugh was cruel, mocking.
He then bent you back over the desk and drove into you in one brutal thrust. You screamed, but his hand clamped around your mouth, muffling the sound. His rhythm was merciless- each thrust deep, hard, punishing, rattling the desk behind you.
"Say it," he demanded. "Say you're mine."
"I-I'm yours," you sobbed into his palm.
"Louder."
"I'm yours!"
"Good girl." He growled, hips snapping faster. His hand fisted in your hair, fragging you upright, your back arched painfully against his chest as he slammed into you over and over.
When your legs gave out, he didn't slow. He spun you onto your knees, cock shoving into your mouth before you could breathe. His grip tightened in your hair, forcing you down, using your throat ruthlessly. You gagged, tears spiling freely, spit dripping down your chin.
"Take it," He snarled. "Every inch. Gag on it. That's what this mouth is for."
He held you down until your vision blurred, then yanked you up, spit and tears smeared across your face. He kissed you then- rough, consuming, suffocating- before throwing you back on the desk.
This time, he spread your thighs wide, forcing himself inside again, deeper, harder, his pace brutal. One hand pinned your wrists above your head, the other pressing on your throat.
"You'll never escape me," Bruce whispered, voice a dark promise. "I'll ruin you until you can't remember life before me. Until you crave the pain. Until you understand you exist for me."
You shattered beneath him, body breaking, rebuilt only in his image. He didn't stop when you came undone, trembling, begging. He used you until you were sobbing, ruined, boneless beneath him- until you were sobbing, ruined, boneless beneath him- until your voice broke on his name and your body gave him everything he demanded.
He then pushed you against the wall, hands roaming, rough and percise, pinning you as if you couldn't escape even if you tried. Your knees buckled slightly under him, and he caught you effortlessly, holding you in place.
"Trying to run?" His voice was cruel now, teasing, possessive. "That's not going to end very well for you."
Your legs trembled, your body beytraying you with desire. He kissed you roughly, one hand traveling lower while the other gripped your hair. You gasped arching into him, and he smirked against your lips pulling back just enough to watch you struggle.
"Such a desperate little thing," he murmured. "Always trying to resist."
And yet when you tried to step back again, the pull of him was too strong. He held you firmly, eyes dark, lips hobering over yours as he whispered, "You're mine tonight."
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Pairing: Steve Rogers x f!reader, bucky barnes x f!reader (possibly dark)
Summary: World has collapsed and Hydra took over with Steve Rogers as the head. He gave people everything except freedom. But your normal life is thrusted into chaos as you are taken to the pleasure district where politics, power struggle and survival lied beneath the glamor. Would be able to survive the ruthlessness of this new world or lead a life in the shadows.
Warnings: Kidnapping, prostitution, dark themes including dark love interests, 18+
A/N: I just couldn't help. This idea won't leave my mind. I hope you will like it, my writing skills are a little rusty as I am posting a fic after almost a year.
You jostled as the bus hit a bump, making you clutch your bag harder in an effort to balance yourself. Glancing out of the window, you squinted your eyes at the harsh sunlight, the summer season was slowly becoming into full force.
You pressed your hands to your burning cheeks, at least you didn't have to deal with the scorching heat in the winters, whoever said that summer was their favourite, they were lying. Working would be more difficult now.
You snapped your eyes down as women in black tactical gear made their way through the city, eyes sharp and observant for their new 'jewel'.
The bus gradually came to a halt as your office came into view. You smoothed down your ivory dress, paid your fare and stepped out, your heels crunching on the freshly made pavement. Your eyes fell on the women in black unform again making you crumpled your dress into your fist and trudged towards your office with your head down.
The tall trees bellowed in the gust of wind that were planted as road dividers. There was much more greenery now. There was no place left without. No ruckus or fights happened it public spaces. Everyone was quiet now, everyone followed the rules to the tee because they were aware of the examples.
So much had changed in the last five years, the snapped that brought people back destroyed the world again as the population skyrocketed, leading to starvation, homelessness, poverty and other various problems. The governments collapsed, not just few, but entire world collapsed and hydra took over.
Not the fascist hydra but a hydra captured and made by Steve Rogers. Who would have thought that the man preaching for freedom would morph into a ruthless dictator? Who would have thought that the Natasha who suffered so much as a woman would deal other women with the same faith? Who would have thought that the once tormented and brainwashed Bucky would become winter solider again by his own volition? But it happened.
People had everything they ever wanted, except freedom.
There was nothing other then hydra and its rule all over the world, nothing really changed for you though. You still went to work, still paid your bills, still supported your parents whenever they needed you. You now just had to steer clear of the black widows.
It was scary at first but you have made your peace with it. You didn't wear makeup, didn't wear nice clothes, didn't leave the house till it was absolutely necessary and overall lived in the shadows. You didn't want to lose your life.
You pushed open the glass door and sighed in relief when the cool AC air of the office hit your warm body. Skirt fluttering with each step as you neared your desk, you deposited your bag on the desk and sat down, bracing yourself for the long day.
"You're late?" Martha, the lady who sat beside you chided, though the concern was thinly veiled. She was a woman in her late 50s, on the brink of retirement. She was the mother hen of the office and why wouldn't she? She radiated warmth like sun on a chilly day.
"Yeah, the bus was late, a flat tire." You said with a smile as she handed you her signature tea.
"You should carpool with colleagues. I know owning a car is not good for safety but carpooling can do. I was so worried when you didn’t arrive on time." She suggested, adjusting her glasses.
Of course she was worried, anyone with an ounce of care for women would. But you heaved a sigh and shook my head. "Carpool with who? Female colleagues? That would just make us an easy target and male colleagues also don't make me feel comfortable. At least in a bus, there are many different people, making it difficult to manipulate or threaten them."
Her eyed softened as she regarded you, her green eyes amplified by her glasses. "Honey, you should get married."
Not again.
"Martha, it won't really make a difference. I have seen them capture married women." You argued. Blowing the tea and taking a sip.
"But that is significantly less compared to single women like you. They don't want used goods for their harem."
You grimaced at the ruthless objectively but she was correct. "I have no prospects. I don’t leave my house unless absolutely necessary." You murmured.
"Then you should go out and have prospects. It's dangerous out there, honey, especially for pretty girls like you." She fussed and turned on her laptop, prompting me to fo the same.
You chuckled at the praise and shook your head. "Thanks for the compliment Martha but I have been pretty invisible throughout my life, even when I didn't dress like a granny to avoid black widows."
"All I'm saying is that you need to be safe and being alone, without a man is very unsafe." She advised.
You sighed and gave a reluctant nod. "I'll try, now let's get to work our deadline is close." You said and turned to your laptop. Martha let out a surprised hum as if she had forgotten that she was at work.
You did your work diligently, reviewed files, took notes and worked on the impending project. As much as you liked technology, staring at the laptop screen for eight hours straight made your head pound and eyes water from fatigue and glare, you just wanted to go home and sleep now.
Thankfully, 10 to 12 hours shift were gone now as overtime was increased by the government and companies didn't want to pay for some extra work, they just increased the work load for the working hour instead.
Rubbing your tired eyes, you turned off the laptop and slung your bag on your shoulder on 6. p.m sharp. Walking out of the office, you waited for your bus to arrive. You hovering by the office guard to not be alone.
After waiting for 15 minutes, the distinct horn of the bus caught attention as you waved the guard goodbye and stepped inside the red double-decker bus and took a seat in a secluded area so that no one would try to strike up a conversation.
You stifled a yawn and jerked your head violently to keep yourself from falling asleep. You didn't want to miss your stop or wake up in an unknown room.
Your wrapped your arms around you suddenly, your eyes flitted around the bus and outside. Nothing. Your stomach churned and you shrunk in your seat. Was someone watching you?
You shook your head. No, you were just being paranoid. But the feeing just wouldn't go away so you pulled out your phone and earphone, jazz filling your eyes as you hummed to the lyrics.
The music made the bus ride home fleeting as only a few specks of sunshine was left on the horizon. You clicked the pause button on the current song and moved in front of the bus as your apartment neared.
You paid the due fare and and left the bus. You shuddered, heart beat quickening and breath shortening into huffs as the same feeling of being watched permeated through your body.
You didn't get the chance to process it or check your surroundings as a SUV pulled up, someone gripped your waist from behind. A scream tore out of your lungs as the prickling pain of a needle hit your neck.
The world blurred, dark dots swimming in front of you as you desperately tried to claw at your awareness but you were loosing the battle. Your eyes were shutting down, your body was going lax, and your mind was saying just to give up and to the drift into keep you wanted for so long. So, you did.
You were shoved inside the black SUV, door slamming shut as a nonchalant voice chirped before everything went raven.
he doesn’t mean to fixate — but he does, almost daily, in the quiet in-between moments.
bruce will be reading reports, monitoring security feeds, running a silent operation across the city… and then his mind just drifts.
he’ll glance at you curled up on the couch, flipping through a book or brushing your hair back with one hand — and some invisible trigger pulls.
a thought forms: what would you look like, full of him, with your belly round like the moon and his little heir inside you?
oh god.
he can picture it too clearly: your face softer, fuller with a glow; his hand resting over your stomach like it belongs there.
and for a man who prides himself on control, that kind of fantasy scares the hell out of him — because he wants it.
he talks to alfred about it in the most bruce-wayne way possible: indirectly, but unmistakably suggestive.
one morning, he’s sipping black coffee in the kitchen while you’re still asleep upstairs, and he says, “you ever think this place is too quiet?”
alfred lifts an eyebrow. “you mean ‘quiet’ as in peaceful, or ‘quiet’ as in missing the sound of little feet running about and breaking priceless antiques?”
bruce won’t admit anything at first — he’ll just smirk and say something vague like, “hypothetically.”
but by the third conversation, alfred’s already chuckling behind his tea.
“if you want my opinion, master wayne, you’re not fooling anyone. not with the way you look at her when she’s holding that neighbor’s baby.”
he starts quietly adjusting things around the manor, like the idea has become less of a fantasy and more of a pending plan.
without even realizing it, he begins noting the safest rooms in the house, noise levels, stair railings.
he’ll catch himself researching security upgrades with childproofing in mind, all under the excuse of “renovation.”
alfred notices immediately. “are we preparing for a miniature vigilante, or is there something you’d like to confess, master wayne?”
and bruce just grunts. but the corner of his mouth lifts — just slightly.
his desire for legacy isn’t about ego, it’s about rewriting something broken, something he misses.
he’s painfully aware of what was taken from him. a family. a sense of innocence.
and if he ever lets himself imagine being a father, it isn’t with the cape, or the gadgets, or the weight of the cowl.
it’s a version of him that’s real in the morning — sleep-ruffled, quiet, watching you and a small version of you both tangled up on the sofa, alive, safe.
he doesn’t just want a child. he wants a future that feels untouched by crime scenes and vengeance.
but most of all, he wants to believe that you loving him enough to start that kind of life with him isn’t just a dream.
he’ll try to play it cool when he finally brings it up to you, but his voice gives him away.
he’ll say something like, “have you ever thought about having kids? not now, obviously. just…one day.”
and when you say yes — when you say you’ve maybe thought about it too — he’s quiet for a long time.
but that night, he sleeps with one arm around your waist, pulling you just slightly closer than usual, like he’s holding something priceless.
he’s already naming the future in his head. already imagining what it would feel like to hand them the world — just a little better than the one he inherited.
his desire starts bleeding into your intimacy.
bruce isn’t reckless. not usually. but lately, the thought of you — the possibility of leaving something inside you, of creating something permanent — lives just beneath his skin.
he kisses slower now. touches you with a careful sort of ownership, like he’s memorizing you before he changes you forever.
he’ll bury his face in your neck during those longer, quieter nights and whisper “you’d look beautiful pregnant.”
soft, almost bashful — not dirty, but devotional. like you’re something holy and he’s already praying.
his movements get slower — not to rush toward release, but to press the idea of it into you. his thrusts deeper, more relaxed, more painful almost, while his groans get guttural and his moans lower.
he never says he’s not using protection, but he doesn’t correct the situation either.
it’s intentional. quiet. calculated.
he never says the words, but there’s something about how still he gets when you look up at him and say “are you sure?”
and he’ll reply — breathless, firm — “yeah. i want all of it.”
he might not say he’s thinking about putting a child in you, but you can feel the weight of that want in every motion.
he doesn’t treat your body like a playground. he treats it like a legacy in motion.
sex.
he becomes hungrier in bed, not just with desire but with intention.
after he’s come down from patrols, bruised, raw, with gotham’s filth still on him — you’re the one softness he allows himself.
and yet, even then, there’s this primal weight behind every kiss, every thrust.
“you’d carry it so well,” he mutters into your skin one night, almost too low for you to hear.
he doesn’t elaborate. he doesn’t have to. and god, as nights pass, he can’t help but come inside each time, throwing his head back in ecstasy.
and unfortunately for alfred, wayne manor’s walls are too damn thin.
it starts with a closed door. but the soft noises grow louder. not vulgar, but intimate.
a creak of the mattress. two, three, now he can hear the springs begging for mercy. low groans. his voice, raspy and bitten off mid-syllable.
alfred walks by with a tray one night and pauses.
from behind the door, bruce’s voice, low and straine: “fuck- no, oh god- no, please move faster.”
a beat of silence. a breathless laugh from you.
alfred sighs deeply, sets the tray down quietly, and mutters, “well. that explains the increased grocery bill.”
he never jokes about it, but the intimacy turns gentle post-coital — almost boyish.
after, bruce doesn’t pull away like he used to. he’s quiet. holding you close. hand pressed low on your belly, like he’s willing something into being.
“should i buy a little batman costume? i saw a few at the mall.”
he’ll ask also, in a soft, speculative tone, “do you ever wonder what they’d look like? if we had one? a mini you? a mini me? a mini us?”
his voice is full of restraint — but underneath it, that hope is unmistakable. not romantic. animal. he presses his sweaty forehead against yours.
if you say yes, he relaxes. and you realize.
he wasn’t just fantasizing during sex. he was fantasizing about forever.
alfred starts knocking a little louder in the mornings — and a little more frequently.
the first time he hears it, he tries to politely pretend it’s the pipes.
the second time, he knocks on the bedroom door just a bit harder than necessary and says, “coffee’s ready — if you two are…finished rewriting the family line.”
bruce opens the door shirtless, sweaty, hair damp, that lazy post-coital calm still resting behind his eyes.
he doesn’t respond. alfred mutters, “well, i suppose that’s a ‘yes.’”
alfred starts putting prenatal vitamins in the cabinet “just in case.”
you gently ask him one morning, “alfred, why are there like…maternity teas in the pantry?”
he barely looks up from his crossword. “oh, no reason. just thought the house ought to be prepared, considering the late-night symphonies i’ve been treated to.”
you’re mid-sip of tea. you nearly choke.
in the distance, bruce’s heavy footsteps creak across the upper hall.
“and speak of the devil,” alfred adds flatly, “our maestro descends.”
alfred sometimes tells bruce to be quieter, and bruce absolutely pretends he doesn’t understand.
“sir, i’m not one to interfere in your personal endeavors, but the acoustics in this house are far too generous.”
bruce looks up from the security feed, sipping black coffee like a sinner after confession. “i’ll look into soundproofing the bedroom.”
“yes, or perhaps consider pacing yourself before someone files a noise complaint.”
bruce smirks. doesn’t deny it. he knows alfred is being sarcastic — but the comment secretly delights him.
he’s loud because he wants it to be known. because for once in his cold, compartmentalized existence, something real is blooming.
when alfred finally catches you both at breakfast, post-‘incident,’ he acts as if nothing is out of the ordinary.
you’re wrapped in one of bruce’s robes. your hair’s still mussed. bruce has a faint mark on his collarbone.
“eggs?” alfred offers neutrally.
“…yes please,” you murmur, half-embarrassed.
he serves them perfectly, of course. but just before leaving the room, he mutters dryly:
“if i may suggest a night off from the opera, master wayne. the house staff are beginning to speculate.”
bruce hums into his coffee, eyes fixed on you.
“i’ll take it under consideration.”
and when you do eventually get pregnant — alfred has absolutely earned the right to be smug about it.
“knew it,” he says under his breath when you confirm it. bruce raises an eyebrow.
“oh please, sir. a deaf man could’ve heard you two plotting this.”
but beneath the teasing — there’s fondness. there’s care.
he places the vitamins on the table a little more pointedly now. makes sure the orange juice is fresh and that there’s an extra diapers box in the bathroom at all times.
and when bruce starts accompanying you everywhere like your own personal bodyguard with a billion-dollar bank account?
“perhaps leave her room to breathe, sir,” alfred says. “after all, she’s carrying the future wayne empire, not an armed nuclear device.”
Remember when joining fandom as a younger person meant lurking for a bit and figuring out the vibe and etiquette instead of coming in on day one and calling people weirdos for liking weirdo shit in the weirdo factory.
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....A man who was tortured and brainwashed for decades... who was forced to kill people... should die to redeem himself for being tortured and brainwashed and forced to kill people...
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Summary: After you traded places with your sister, things don't get as expected. Then again, you're not sure what you expected.
Warnings: Insecure reader, Smut. Please let me know if I missed any!
A/N: Reader is plus sized, female. No other physical descriptors used.
Word Count: ~2.7k
Follow up to this story.
Ari wasted no time after the ceremony in getting you to the honeymoon suite. It's understandable you're not going to the reception, it was set up with your sister in mind.
Though he seems happy with the trade, he probably has less interest, if any, in showing you off. Becca, your sister, is the pretty one whose smiles brighten the room. You're the smart one who best helps the family behind the scenes, away from the eyes of others. Given how quickly Ari guided you to the limo after the wedding, he's likely thinking the same thing. He respects your spine and your brain, but your looks need to be kept in the shadows so you don't make him look bad.
Inside the limo, Ari's hands never left your body. The entire ride he was alternating between squeezing, kneading and caressing as his hands roamed. You figure he's either seriously pent up or seriously trying to work himself up so he can consummate the marriage as he's supposed to.
You're so nervous about that part. Sure, you've got some experience, but this is Ari Levinson. He's not known for being patient or gentle and the growls in your ear and his rough touches are further evidence of that. You know you're going to be sore afterwards and you're not sure he'll care.
Ari opens the door to your hotel suite and moves to pick you up but you back away too quickly.
"What are you doing?" you exclaim.
"I'm trying to carry my wife across the threshold," he growls, closing the distance between you.
"Look, I'm certain you're a very strong man," you start, "but I am a very heavy woman and I will not be accused of trying to kill you by breaking your back on the day of the wedding."
He grips the back of your head and smashes his lips to yours. Taken aback, your lips part as if to let out a gasp he and shoves his tongue into your mouth. It's by far the roughest, most demanding kiss you've ever experienced. It's overwhelming and your can feel your knees wobble a little.
Ari breaks the kiss, a look of smug satisfaction across his face. "There. You're too weak-kneed to walk and you need me to carry you."
"That's not f---"
Your protests are interrupted by Ari picking you up. Afraid of falling, you cling as tight to him as you're able.
"Only place I'm dropping you is on the bed," he promises. "So if you could let up on the collar, I'd appreciate it."
"Not until you put me down!" you argue.
"Then I guess I better hurry and get you to the bed," he teases.
Your heart drops when you realize what he's doing: he's showing you there's no overpowering him. That he's the one who's got the literal and metaphorical strength to keep you in your place. That has to be it, right? Your sister was easy to scare off, he wouldn't have had to show off like this for her. No. You're the one who challenged him, who didn't back down despite his obvious anger. You need to be shown who's in charge.
If he'd just ask you, you could've told him you know better than to question him. Well, aside from the contract. And just now with the carrying...Okay, maybe it is your own fault he needs to go through the demonstration of strength.
You feel Ari start to fall forward and you let out a frightened squeal only to find yourself landing on a very soft bed with a very heavy man on top of you. A very heavy man who is already kissing down your throat as one of his hands starts undoing the buttons on your jacket.
"Thought the pantsuit would make this easier," he huffs with a tinge of amusement. "Hope you're not too attached to this thing."
Putting his lips back against your skin, Ari pulls the lapel of your jacket so hard some of the buttons pop off. He smothers your protests with his mouth and pulls again, ridding your jacket of it's remaining buttons and revealing the white sleeveless cami you're wearing underneath.
Ari pushes up your shirt and bra, freeing your breasts. Growling in appreciation he roughly takes one nipple in his mouth. One hand kneads your breast while the other kneads your belly. If he's turned off by your extra cushion he makes no sign of it.
He must be really pent up, you think. It's not unheard of for men to not even jerk off a couple weeks before the wedding in the hopes of getting their wife pregnant quickly. That's probably all that's happening here. The sooner you give him an heir, the sooner he never has to touch you again.
"So deliciously soft," he moans as he starts alternating kisses and gentle bites down your front. You can't help the little squeaks and fidgets his mouth causes.
When he gets to the top of your pants he eagerly starts pulling them down with your panties. You raise your hips to help him and he smirks, calling you a good girl, and your face heats up even more.
Ari spreads your legs, giving him a good look at your already slick pussy.
"Fucking beautiful," he moans. You let out a dismissive huff without thinking and Ari's gaze snaps to meet yours. "What was that?"
A few thoughts spring to mind until you finally settle on being honest with the scary mob boss you've just married.
"We both know that no part of me is beautiful," you reply. "I've been told often enough that I'm too fat to be pretty. And you clearly agree given that you rushed us to the hotel instead of going to the reception. You don't want to be seen with me, I get it. I'm used to working behind the scenes anyways. Just don't lie to me about it."
Ari's expression darkens. This is the second time today you've seen that glare. It should be enough to have you scrambling to apologize, but you keep yourself from doing so. He's your husband. The least he can do is be honest with you.
"Sit up," he orders.
Clumsily you move yourself to the edge of the bed so you can sit up. If he wants to talk to you like an adult, you'll certainly comply. As soon as you're in position, Ari grips your chin and forces you to look up at him.
"Have I ever given you the impression that I'm a polite man? That I give a shit about social niceties?" he growls.
"No..."
"And have I ever been known for lying or backstabbing? For smiling in someone's face while planning their death?"
"N-no..."
"Then why the hell would I lie to you about your looks?"
You can feel your brain buffering as you try to answer him. It's true he's never been anything but brutally honest. But it's also true that you're not attractive. So how can he say that you're beautiful if he's not lying?
"I'm your wife?" you offer.
"And why would that make a difference?"
"To keep me happy...To keep me from being...from being a nuisance?"
Ari smirks and a chill runs down your spine. "I am a big believer in 'happy wife, happy life.' But I'm also not a man to change his ways for anyone. When I say you're beautiful, I mean it. And if anyone tells you you're not, you give me their name and I'll make an example of them."
You feel your lower lip quiver as you process his words. "But...but I'm not... The reception?"
Ari's smirk turns into a full smile. "The reception was a formality I decided not to observe so I could spend more time with my incredibly sexy, smart, fiery wife."
"I...I don't understand. You wanted my sister."
"Your parents picked her," he counters. "As happy as I was to see you walk the aisle, I'm not a man who likes being lied to. I'd heard your sister ran and needed to make sure you weren't trying to pull the wool over my eyes. That you weren't going to try to argue the wedding was off."
"That's why you agreed so quick?"
"Of course. I got myself a wife who can step up and look a killer in the eye without flinching. You're not someone I'm going to have to shield from my work. You're partner material. I can rely on you."
Tears drop from your eyes. Tears of confusion. Tears of hope.
"Now," Ari continues, "if you'll excuse me, I've got a beautiful woman naked in front of me and I aim to take advantage."
You still can't fight the little huff you let out, but you're able to accompany it with a smile and that seems to appease him.
Ari leans in close and growls, "I'm going to have to shut off that brain of yours so you can accept a compliment, aren't I?"
"Probably," you mumble, trying to lower your gaze.
"Best way to do that is to have you sit on my face," he winks as he starts removing his jacket.
"What? Absolutely not!" Ari pauses, eyebrows raised. "It's bad enough you set me up to break your back by carrying me," you explain."Now you want me to suffocate you?!"
"What I want is for you to soak my beard," he smirks, continuing to remove his clothes even as he maintains eye contact. "But I suppose there are other ways to do that. Now lay back and spread those legs for me."
Your breath hitches but you find yourself obeying. There's a renewed heat flaring up as you're hesitantly optimistic about what comes next. Laying back you hold your legs open, putting yourself on display for Ari.
"Good girl," he praises, voice low and gravely.
Removing his shirt, you get a good look at his muscly torso and let out a whimper. The tattoos, scars and chest hair can't hide his muscles.
"Like what you see, Beautiful?" he teases as he steps closer. You nod, unsure of your ability to keep your voice steady.
Ari kneels in front of you like a worshiper at the altar. "Make sure to use that melodious voice of yours to let me know when I'm going a good job."
"O-ok," you nod even as your breaths become shallow.
In a blink, Ari pulls you to the very edge of the bed and wraps your legs around his head. He nuzzles his face against your pussy, humming in delight, before tonguing your slit. When he hears your light gasp, Ari rubs your clit with his nose, smiling at the cute sounds you make. He quickly picks up speed and you can't hold back your moans, even if you wanted.
Ari's big hands start kneading your butt while pushing your pussy into his face as much as physically possible. He wants to absolutely devour you, and he will later. But for now he's going to study your reactions, learn your preferences, your sensitive spots. Ari wants to completely ruin you for all other men, to get you addicted to his touch. As much as wants to fuck you until you're dripping his cum from every hole, he needs to make sure you enjoy yourself.
Pleasure is quickly overtaking the fear and anxiety you've been experience all day. Ari clearly knows what he's doing and you're quickly reaching your peak. He's told you not to be quiet about your pleasure so let your appreciation be known, emphasized by riding his face as best you can.
"Ari..." you practically whimper as you grip the sheets. Ari adjusts himself so his mouth is on your clit and you start chanting his name, screaming it as his tongue pushes you over the edge. Groaning as your legs wrap tighter around his head, Ari finds himself appreciating the soft cushion as much as the muscle underneath.
But he's not done with you. Far from it. He lightens his touch as you come down from your orgasm, but he doesn't fully stop. When your legs relax a little, he eagerly readjusts so he can lap up your juices. His nose brushes your clit and you whimper, instinctively trying to pull away, but he isn't having it.
"I said I wanted my beard soaked, Beautiful," Ari growls, giving you a small glare. "And I get what I want."
"Y-y-yes, Ari."
One of Ari's fingers probes your core making you moan and his mouth returns to your pearl as he continues to study your reactions. He pulls a few more orgasms from you, each one causing your body to feel more and more like jelly. Your mind can't keep track of how of how long he's been worshiping your cunt. All you know is the push and pull of his pleasure inducing ministrations.
Ari revels in learning how responsive your body is, hearing your voice screaming his name, giving in to him.
When he can't hold back any longer, Ari stands and takes off the rest of his clothes. You take the time to catch your breath but your curiosity also has you lifting your head to get a look at your husband. Ari catches you looking and smirks as he frees his erection and sees your eyes widen.
"It's all for you, Beautiful," he declares, pumping himself a few times.
Kissing up your front, he moves to cage you underneath him. In addition to the tickles from his beard, you can feel the dampness of your juices that have soaked his beard. You didn't know you could get so wet! You whimper as his cock nudges your overly sensitive clit but Ari silences you with a passionate kiss. Tasting yourself on his tongue, feeling his weight, your hips start rolling as your pussy demands to be filled.
"So eager for me," Ari teases, making you wince in embarrassment.
"Ah, ah, ah," he chides, gripping your chin and moving you to face him. When you meet his eyes, his hand slides down to your neck, applying a small amount of pressure. "I want you eager. I want you to be a slut for my cock."
"Y-y-you always get w--what you want," you remember him saying before he melted your brain.
"Good girl," he growls as he angles himself in front of your core.
Ari gives in to his urges and sheaths himself in one stroke making you keen. His eyes never leave your face, memorizing how entrancing you look, how enthralling you sound. Giving you minimal time to adjust, he ruts into you, unable and unwilling to hold back. Especially as your nails dig into his back and you cry out.
"That's it, Beautiful," he coos, voice gravely. "You're taking me so well I'm gonna give you everything. Everything every day until you get it finally sinks in that I want you."
You can tell he's talking but you can't spare the brainpower to figure out what he's saying. The fullness is too much but somehow feels so damn good. The stretch of him burns with a toe curling blend of pleasure and pain. His weight, his growls, his demanding pace have you speeding towards another wave of pleasure. As you reach another crest, you scream his name.
You should be scared at how much pleasure Ari is able to give you. But he is also the first man you've been with to show such enthusiasm. He makes you crave more. More of his touch. More of his praise. More of him.
Ari cums with a roar and your pussy clenches around him. For a few moments he's dazed and he lets himself relax into your soft body, hands kneading you to ground himself.
"Knew you'd be good for me," he rasps. "So I better prove myself good for you. Let's get you some water and then I'll clean you up. Even though I'm just going to turn you into a mess again."
You chuckle softly underneath him and he purrs at the sensation before getting up to take care of you.
