#dark!marvel

Your face. Your laugh. The scent of your shampoo drifting down the hallway when you passed him, but it didn't matter. What mattered was that it lingered, stuck to his lungs like smoke. 

And it always ended the same way, him alone in the dark, jaw clenched, cock in hand, your name bitten into the curve of his tongue like a sin he wasn’t ready to repent for.

You didn’t know what you did to him. Maybe that was the worst part. The sweet, casual devastation of it. 

The way you flitted around the compound like a fucking angel, smiling at everyone, throwing out kindness like it cost absolutely nothing. You moved with the easy, blameless confidence of someone who had no idea they were being watched.

Worshipped. Studied. 

Every time you called him “Bucky,” you were wrapping a noose around his neck and pulling it tighter—and hell, you didn’t even realise.

He could handle the smiles, fuck, he could even stomach the soft laughs, the way you bumped his arm in the hallway like you were allowed to touch him, like you didn’t understand what that touch did to him. 

What he couldn’t handle… was the other guy. The one you dressed up for.

Tonight you wore black. A silky little thing that looked painted on, hugging your curves like it had been tailored just for him to rip off. The neckline dipped low, too low, and the hem barely reached your thighs. It moved when you walked, swaying like it knew exactly what it was doing to him. 

And the heels—fuck—the heels clicked against the floor with every step, each sound a god damn warning bell in his skull. 

Danger, danger, danger.

He would’ve dropped to his fucking knees and kissed them if you let him.

But you didn’t let him.

Instead, you let him. That boyfriend, that placeholder.

That soft, safe, civilian little fuck who didn’t know the first thing about what you needed. Didn’t know what it meant when your hands trembled, didn’t see how your pupils dilated just a fraction every time Bucky entered the room. Didn’t notice that your body responded to him.

Not your boyfriend. Him.

Bucky knew what to do with you, he’d dreamed it a hundred times. 

A thousand. 

No—he’d planned it. Every scenario. Every sound. Every twitch of your hips as he forced them apart. Fingers buried in your hair, tears on your cheeks, thighs shaking around his face. His cock, thick, heavy, yours, slamming into you from behind while you sobbed his name into the pillow like a prayer turned sacrilege.

You’d fight. Of course you would. You’d cry. Say no. 

But your body would betray you. He knew it would.

That was the part he thought about the most. 

The moment where your “no” would melt into a “please.” The way your voice would break. The moment you realised—no one would ever fuck you the way he could.

You would beg for it, not with words. Never with words. You wore temptation like a crown and never even noticed who you were ruling.

He tried to be good. Fuck, he tried.

He left gifts. Dropped as many hints as he could. Brought you coffee when you looked tired, memorised the way your eyes lit up at stupid little things like that advertisement about adopting abandoned puppies. He laughed at your jokes and waited for you to look at him the way he looked at you.

But you didn’t.

You were blind. Blind and soft and so goddamn ignorant of the way you made him ache.

Until tonight.

Because tonight… Bucky wasn’t waiting anymore.

He was going to show you.

Bucky let himself into your room exactly forty minutes after you left. Picked the lock with practiced ease and entered without hesitation. Sat on the edge of your bed like he belonged there. 

The shadows welcomed him. The silence swallowed the sound of his breath. He stared at your pillow like it was something sacred. Inhaled your scent. Let his fingers curl around your blanket like they were already touching you.

And then he waited.

He waited for the sound of heels on the floor. For the delicate click of your key sliding into the lock of your room. And when the door opened, when you pushed into the room with a breathless little sigh, humming under your breath, drunk on cheap wine and a forgettable man—he felt it.

That hunger. That rage. That need.

You didn’t scream when you saw him.

You should have.

You just smiled, sleepy, unbothered. That same stupid sweet smile that used to make his chest burn before it made his cock twitch.

“Hey, Buck,” you said, your voice warm and airy. “What’s up?”

Still glowing. Lipstick smeared at the corners of your mouth. Perfume clinging to your throat like a lover’s kiss. Hair mussed from hands that didn’t belong to him.

His vision tinted red.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Just watched you reach for your earrings, humming like he wasn’t in the room, like he wasn’t staring at you like prey.

Your back was turned. Your neck was bared.

He wondered if your boyfriend had marked you. He hoped not.

Because that was his job.

You turned to face him then. And something in your expression shifted.

“…Is everything okay?”

“No,” Bucky said, standing. “Not really.”

He moved slowly. Controlled. Like something that had waited years to pounce.

“I’ve been thinking about you,” he said. His voice was soft. Careful.

You blinked. “Bucky—”

“I mean really thinking, sweetheart, every night. For weeks.”

You stepped back. Just one step. Subtle. But he noticed.

“We’ve talked about this,” you said carefully. “You know I—”

“Have a boyfriend,” he finished.

He chuckled. A hollow, bitter sound.

“Yeah. I know.”

He crossed the distance between you in two long strides. His shadow swallowed yours.

“You think he makes you happy?” he asked, voice quiet. Dangerous. “You think he even knows how to touch you?”

Your lips parted. “Please don’t—”

“Does he know how wet you get when someone puts their hand on your throat?”

The air stopped moving.

“Does he know how you clench your thighs together when I walk past you in the gym?”

You inhaled sharply. And something inside him snapped.

“You wore that little black dress for him?” he whispered, his fingers brushing your bare thigh. “Or was it for me?”

“Stop it,” you breathed, shrinking back.

But it was too late.

He grabbed you—fast, brutal. Vibranium hand clamped around your wrist, dragging you forward, slamming you against the wall.

You gasped, the impact jarring.

He loomed over you, chest heaving, pupils blown wide. You could smell him—leather and sweat and heat. 

“Let me ask you something,” he said, his voice low and rough, almost amused. “Has your boyfriend ever filled this little pussy up ‘til you cried?”

“Bucky, stop—”

“Ever made you come with his mouth while you begged him to stop and keep going all at once?”

Tears welled in your eyes, but he wasn’t done.

“Ever pinned you down,” he murmured, voice dipping lower, “and fucked you so good you couldn’t walk the next day?”

You shook your head.

Not no.

Just fear, shock, and disbelief.

“Thought so,” he muttered. His hand tightened on your wrist. “You’ve been walking around here like you don’t belong to someone. Like this body isn’t mine.”

Your breath hitched.

“I tried being patient,” he said, almost to himself. “I really did. But you keep wearing things like that. Keep smiling at me like you don’t know. You keep fucking pretending.”

He smiled then. Sharp. Crooked. Hungry.

“Tonight, I’m going to give you exactly what you’ve been asking for.”

Your lips parted. To beg. To scream. To say no.

But he kissed you first.

And it didn’t matter anymore.

You didn’t make it to the door.

Bucky dragged you backward, one hand still locked around your wrist while the other slid up your thigh—rough, possessive, not fumbling but practiced. Confident. Like he’d touched you a thousand times in his head and knew exactly how and where to hurt you best.

You struggled and he laughed.

“You’re so soft when you squirm,” he muttered, spinning you in his grip and slamming you back into the wall. 

The picture frame above your bed rattled. Your hands clawed at him, trying to shove him back, but he just grabbed both wrists and pinned them above your head with his vibranium hand. The other curled beneath your jaw, thumb dragging over your lips.

“You think that little boyfriend of yours would fight for you like this?” he whispered, tongue flicking against his teeth. “Think he’d bleed for you? Kill for you? You know I would.”

His mouth found your neck. You gasped as he bit down—not gentle. No. Hard. Bruising. Like he wanted to leave proof behind, like he wanted your skin to remember him.

“Bucky—please,” you breathed, trembling.

“Shh,” he said, grinning. “We’re past talking now, princess.”

And then he dropped to his knees.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t worship. It was hunger. Obsession. Something primal he’d been starving down for too long. You kicked at him—once, twice—until he grabbed your thighs and threw you backward onto the bed. 

The world spun, the mattress dipped. And before you could scream, he was between your legs like a man possessed.

“Don’t fight me,” he said softly. “You’ll love this part.”

He yanked your dress up to your hips. Cold air kissed the tops of your thighs. And then—

“Fuck,” Bucky rasped, voice dark with lust. “Look at you.”

Your panties were soaked through. A fragile wisp of black lace that did nothing to hide the heat between your legs. 

Bucky’s pupils blew wide.

“You wore these for him?” he asked, voice mocking. “These cheap little things?”

He hooked a finger through the fabric and ripped. The sound echoed like a gunshot in the room. Torn lace fluttered to the floor. 

You sobbed, curling away from him, but his arms caged you in. Knees pinning your thighs open. Shoulders wedged between them. His face so close you could feel the heat of his breath fan over your exposed cunt.

“Look at this pretty pussy,” he whispered. “So wet for me already.”

“It’s not—Bucky, don’t—”

“Liar,” he growled, and then—

He devoured you.

Tongue hot, thick, rough as it dragged up the full length of your slit. His nose pressed deep into your folds, inhaling like your scent was a drug he needed to stay alive.

He moaned into your cunt, mouth working in wet, messy circles that made your hips jerk against your will.

Your fists beat weakly at his shoulders. He didn’t care. Didn’t stop.

He ate you like a man starved, tongue stroking deep, wide, purposeful. His lips closed over your clit and sucked, pulling the sound right out of your throat. 

A loud, shattering gasp you didn’t mean to make.

“Oh, baby…” he laughed darkly. “You didn’t know you needed this, did you?”

“Please—” you sobbed. “Stop—don’t—”

But your body betrayed you, your hips rocked into his face. Your thighs trembled. And when his vibranium hand pinned your stomach flat to the bed, holding you still, you whimpered.

That was all the permission he needed.

“Yeah,” he growled. “That’s it. Let me hear it. Let me hear what he’s never earned.”

He fucked you with his tongue, fingers digging into your thighs so tight you knew they’d bruise. Your vision blurred, your spine arched. You were crying and gasping and wet in a way you couldn’t stop, couldn’t control, and he knew it.

“Practically begging me to fuck you,” he rasped, voice soaked in triumph.

And then it hit.

The orgasm slammed through you like a fucking car crash. Your body convulsed, mouth open in a soundless cry as wave after wave shattered through your core, your clit throbbing against his lips as he sucked every last tremor out of you with vicious, greedy delight.

You didn’t mean to cum. You didn’t want to.

But you did.

Hard.

Your thighs shook violently, your eyes flooded. And Bucky moaned into you like your pleasure was his oxygen.

When he finally pulled back, his mouth was glistening.

“I knew you’d taste good,” he said, licking your slick from his lips. “Fucking knew it.”

You curled into yourself, shaking, broken. Eyes wide and wet and ruined.

He didn’t care.

Because now, he was standing. Unbuckling his belt. And pulling out the one thing you were never meant to see.

His cock.

It was thick. Heavy. Veined. Leaking at the tip. Too big to be real. The kind of size you only ever joked about. The kind that hurt.

You stared. He smiled.

“You gonna cry about it?” he asked, stroking the length slowly, watching your expression twist. “Or are you gonna open that pretty little mouth and say thank you?”

You tried to crawl away, he grabbed your hair and dragged you forward.

You didn’t want to look at it. Didn’t want to see the way his hand curled around that monstrous length—slow, possessive strokes like he was showing off, like he knew the size alone would scare you. 

And it did. It fucking did.

Thick. Hard. Veins raised and pulsing under flushed skin, the tip angry and red, already leaking for you. Too big, too much and your heart sank when you realised he was stroking it with practiced ease, already imagining how deep he’d stuff it down your throat.

“Bucky…” Your voice was barely a whisper.

He grabbed your hair and forced your eyes back up to his. “Open your mouth.”

You shook your head, trembling. “Please, don’t make me—”

His grip tightened. “You came for me. I tasted it. Don’t play innocent now, baby.”

You whimpered as he pushed your face down, his cock dragging across your cheek, smearing precum across your flushed skin like a mark of ownership.

“You’re mine,” he said softly. “All those nights I lay in bed thinking about this pretty little mouth… All those fucking times you laughed at my jokes like I couldn’t see through it. Like I wasn’t good enough.”

He pressed the swollen head of his cock to your lips. “I am good enough princess, I’m the only one who deserves you.”

You tried to turn away. He didn’t let you. He forced your mouth open, sliding the tip past your lips. 

Salty. Warm. Violent.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he rasped. “Don’t be shy.”

You gagged immediately as the thick weight of him pushed deeper. Your throat clenched, but he didn’t stop.

His hips rolled forward slowly, deliberately, dragging his cock deeper inch by inch like he wanted to feel every tear slipping from your eyes as your mouth stretched around him.

His hand cradled the back of your head, holding you in place as your jaw ached, your throat spasmed, and saliva spilled from the corners of your lips.

“There you go,” he groaned, head falling back. “Just like that, princess. This mouth was fucking made for me.”

You choked, pulling at his wrist, but he was unmovable.

“Look at you,” he murmured, gaze dropping back to yours. “Crying so pretty for my cock.”

He rocked his hips again. Deeper. Rougher. You gagged, coughed, nose pressing into the base of him as your throat convulsed helplessly around the intrusion.

“Fuck, yes,” he hissed. “That tight throat. You feel that? Feel how deep you’re taking me?”

You could barely breathe. Your lungs screamed.

He pulled back—just enough to let you gasp—and then shoved back in with a grunt that made your whole body flinch. Your lips were slick with spit and precum, chin dripping, hair tangled in his fist like reins.

“I could fuck your throat for hours,” he growled, voice wrecked. “Could keep you down there all night if I wanted. You’ll take it and you’ll learn. Your little boyfriend won't recognise you when I’m done.”

He gave one last brutal thrust, burying himself to the hilt, and you let out a broken, strangled sob.

He held you there. Trembling, gagging. 

Then finally—finally—he pulled out.

You collapsed onto your hands, coughing and choking, spit dripping from your mouth to the sheets.

But it wasn’t over.

It was never going to be over.

Because now he was grabbing your waist, flipping you onto your stomach like a ragdoll, dragging you to the edge of the bed.

“Bucky—please, I can’t—”

“You will.”

He yanked your hips up, spread your legs.

You weren’t even sure when he’d fully undressed you—but now your ass was bare, your thighs trembling, your cunt wet and swollen and exposed to the cold air. You tried to twist away. His hand came down hard on your ass.

SMACK.

You cried out.

“I said,” he gritted, lining the thick head of his cock up to your entrance, “you’re mine.”

He pushed.

Your breath caught. You felt the pressure first—terrifying, splitting pressure—then the pain. Stretching.

Too much.

“It’s not gonna fit,” you sobbed, voice high, panicked. “Bucky—it’s too big—”

He grabbed your jaw, forcing your head back toward him.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he whispered, eyes burning. “I’ll make it fit just fine.”

And then he slammed into you.

You screamed.

The force of it knocked the air from your lungs. The burn was unbearable, your walls stretched to accommodate him and failed. Every inch of him was violent, forcing you wider, deeper than you’d ever been taken before.

“Fuck,” Bucky groaned, hips grinding against your ass. “So tight. So fucking tight.”

You were crying again, face pressed into the sheets, hands clutching the blanket like it might save you, stop the way your body was being pulled apart from the inside.

But he didn’t slow down.

He fucked you with brutal thrusts, each one harder than the last. You sobbed into the pillow. Your thighs shook. But his grip only tightened. One hand on your hip, the other on the back of your neck, pinning you down like prey.

“You like this,” he hissed. “Your cunt’s gripping me like a fucking vice.”

You hated him, fuck, you hated him. Most of all, you hated the way your body betrayed you.

Because somewhere in the pain, the burning, the shame—you started to moan.

And he heard it.

“That’s it,” he groaned. “I knew you could take it. Knew you’d fucking love it once I broke you in.”

His pace turned punishing, skin slapping skin. Sweat beading down his temple as he fucked into you with mindless need.

You felt it—your climax, that horrible, traitorous heat building between your legs again. You tried to resist it, bite it back, choke it down.

But it came anyway.

You clenched around him, spasming, crying out as your body convulsed on his cock, the pleasure so sharp it almost felt like pain.

“Oh, baby,” Bucky moaned, voice raw. “You wanna cum for me again?”

You were sobbing. “Please, no more—”

But then he bent low, lips against your ear, and whispered, 

“I’m gonna cum inside you.”

You stiffened.

“No—Bucky—don’t—please—”

“I’m gonna fill this perfect little pussy up,” he gritted, driving into you even harder. “Stuff you full. You want it, don’t you?”

“No—”

“Say it.”

You shook your head.

“Fucking say it.”

His hand gripped your throat.

And in the weakest, most broken voice you’d ever heard from yourself, you whispered, 

“…fill me up. Please.”

He groaned, deep and ragged, and came with a violent thrust that made your legs buckle. Hot, pulsing ropes filled you as his body trembled over yours, cock twitching, breath ragged, forehead pressed to your back.

“You’re mine now,” he murmured, voice low and content. “Every inch of you. Every hole. Every fucking drop.”

You didn’t move. Couldn’t move.

He stayed inside you. Stayed buried deep. And when he finally pulled out, thick warmth spilled down your thighs and soaked the sheets.

You didn’t move for a long time. You couldn’t.

Your body was frozen in the wreckage—legs parted, cunt throbbing, slick dripping down your inner thighs and soaking into the sheets beneath you. The air clung to your skin like sweat and salt, thick with the scent of sex and sweat. 

Your limbs shook, your spine refused to obey. Nerves shot and frayed, lungs still working to remember how to breathe. Everything ached, your jaw, your throat, your pussy. Even your ribs, stretched from sobbing, from screaming. 

Because it wasn’t over. You knew that even before you heard it. Before the mattress dipped under his weight. Before you felt his fingers brush your cheek with that awful, twisted tenderness that made your stomach roll like bile. 

Not rough this time. Not greedy. Just… soft. Gentle.

That was worse.

“Shh, sweetheart,” Bucky murmured, voice low again. Quiet. Almost sweet. Almost like he cared. Like he hadn’t just ripped you in half and made you beg for it. 

“You did so good for me.”

You flinched.

He only hummed, casual and pleased, and leaned closer—mouth warm against your skin as he pressed a kiss to the corner of your lips, like he had the right. Like it was his. Like he hadn’t just stolen it from you.

You jerked your head away. Disgust pulsed through you like electricity. But it didn’t matter.

His hand followed.

Fingers curled around your jaw, firm but not cruel. Not now. He guided your face back to his with the ease of a man who’d done it before—who planned to do it again.

His thumb dragged across your tear-streaked cheek, slow and soothing, like he was calming a frightened pet.

“I know you’re scared,” he whispered, lips ghosting against your temple now. “It’s okay. You don’t have to be. Not anymore.”

You tried to speak. You didn’t even know what you would’ve said..

“I’ve got you now.” Another kiss, this time to your hairline. Gentle. Sickening. “No one’s ever gonna touch you again. Not him. Not anyone.”

He laid down behind you, chest pressing to your spine, his arm draping possessively over your middle.

You felt his cock, still half-hard, still sticky from the mess he left inside you, settle against your ass. His breathing slowed as he sank into the warmth of your body like he was slipping into a dream.

Like this was home. Like this was what he’d earned.

“I should’ve done this sooner,” he murmured, voice thick with something you didn’t want to name. “All that time I wasted… trying to be gentle. Trying to wait.”

His hand slid lower, fingers brushing over the curve of your stomach, dipping toward where your thighs were still wet. 

You tensed instinctively.

“I didn’t want to scare you,” he continued, far too calm for someone who had just broken you. “Didn’t want to hurt you.”

His fingers moved slower now, tracing the edge of your hip like he was thinking. Calculating. 

“But you like it, don’t you, baby?”

You sobbed softly, silently. Pillow soaked. Every breath a betrayal, every second a reminder that you were still here. Still under him. Still his.

“That little pussy of yours didn’t lie,” he chuckled darkly, “Gripped my cock like you fucking needed it.”

You turned your face away again.

He followed.

Kissed the slope of your shoulder. Your neck. Breathed you in like you were something sacred, something his, something he owned now.

“Your boyfriend would’ve never given you that,” he murmured. “Would’ve never taken care of you the way I will.”

He rolled your limp body further into his. One leg slung over yours, pinning you completely. Caged. Trapped. 

His hand twisted into your hair and tugged gently, like he wanted you to listen, like you hadn’t already heard too much.

“You don’t need to ask permission anymore,” he whispered, breath hot against your skin. “You don’t have to say no. You’re mine now and I take what’s mine.”

You shook your head. Weakly. Broken. “Please… don’t…”

He smiled. You felt it against your skin, warm and cruel.

“I’m going to keep you, you know.”

Your stomach turned.

“You won’t have to pretend anymore. No more dates. No more makeup. No more tight little dresses for other men.” His voice dropped, words curling into your ear like a threat. “You only dress like that for me now.”

You cried harder. He didn’t care.

His fingers drifted lower again, between your thighs. Slid through the slick mess still leaking from you. The mess he put there. The mess he made.

“God,” he groaned, almost reverent. “You’re so full, look at this. Look what I did to you.”

You tried to close your legs. He didn’t let you.

“I’ll fuck it into you again in the morning,” he whispered, voice already thick with sleep. “Until you can’t remember his name.”

You froze.

He kissed your shoulder one last time. Lingering. Possessive.

And then he closed his eyes.

Like this was love. Like this was normal. Like this was only the beginning.

And he had no intention of ever letting you go.

a/n: this fic was a blast to write, it probably includes everything from my wildest imagination. i hope you enjoyed it and if you did, please leave a comment or a reblog, it helps motivate me! 🥰

“Too much…y/n- baby,” Wanda panted helplessly. Despite the words she was hardly able to speak, her legs tightened their hold on you whilst you pushed your newest toy deeper. The Sokovian whined as her back arched off of her King sized bed and her fingers clawed into your back. 

  You grinned, gazing down at the beautiful view you had created. “All that power yet you can’t take a few extra inches,” you remarked. “And there I thought this poor neglected pussy would be desperate for it after being left alone for so long,” you continued, drawing your hips back only to thrust in further. She was so close to taking it all, she just needed some extra encouragement. 

  “Please,” she uttered, eyes connecting with your own the way they always did. She was so influenced with lust she was practically at your mercy, so you filled her to the brim with a grunt. “Fuck!” Wanda hissed, nerves ablaze. You felt her slick against your thighs when your pelvises pressed together and acknowledged the signal she was ready. 

  You fucked Wanda like it was the last time you’d do it, because that was always in question. She had an unpredictable life and her marriage was even more so. As though the absence of planning wasn’t challenging enough, the fact that Wanda was married to the world’s best spy (and assassin) was constantly looming over you. 

  “I bet she never makes you feel this way,” you said, watching Wanda’s blissed features as she moaned breathlessly. She looked insatiable when you had her like that, cheeks flushed, hair messed, pupils blown. All from your actions. “You like when I fuck you with this big cock?” You questioned with a smirk, as though you couldn’t hear how wet she was. 

  “I love it,” she cried out, mind frayed. “So good.” She just couldn't help herself. Neither could you. 

  “Better than her?” She met your cocky grin with a mere flash of hesitation before the carefree smile returned. 

  “So competitive,” a voice behind you mused. Your recognition was instant and you didn’t even turn around when you made to scramble out of the bed. You didn’t get the chance. With a distressed whine, Wanda’s magic entangled with your frame and pulled you flush against her until the strap was buried to the hilt once more. 

  “Wanda,” you gasped, unsure if she had heard her wife come in. “Let go,” you hissed as you heard the widow’s boots thud across the floor. Wanda didn’t oblige and instead began to move your hips for you to resume her pleasure. 

  “Stop that,” Natasha demanded and you stilled, unable to escape. “She was just saying how I could never make you feel this way, so by all means, let her go ahead,” she told her wife, gliding her cold fingertips over your hips and pushed you down. You registered Wanda’s hitch at the action. 

  “Please, I-” you tried but the spy wasn’t interested. 

  “Shut the fuck up.” You knew better than to argue with the Russian, especially once she rounded the bed to kiss her wife tenderly. 

  “Welcome home,” Wanda greeted, still very flushed to her wife’s amusement. You eyed the pair warrily, your heart hammering against your chest so hard you felt your ribs bruise. It almost stopped short when Natasha’s glaze turned cold and locked in on you. 

  “Fuck her,” she ordered. You didn’t dare object but had to tear your eyes away as you dutifully began to thrust into the woman beneath you. You focused on Wanda’s sweet noises of pleasure in an attempt to forget your fear, but it was difficult with Natasha’s stalking behind you again. 

  “So you’re the one who’s been fucking my wife while I was saving the world,” she commented casually. “Such a big strap on you too,” Natasha continued as she watched the soaked toy leave Wanda’s pussy only to be driven back in. “Does it make you feel tough to use this on her? How would you feel if I used this nasty cock on you?” You felt Wanda clench around you at her words. 

  “I’m sorry!” You tried again, imagining all of the different weapons that she could be carrying on her. 

  “You’re sorry you were caught,” she corrected. “If you make my wife cum I might consider letting you leave here with all of your limbs,” she considered, delivering a hard smack to your ass. You jolted forwards and heard Wanda cry out, falling into the rhythm Natasha pushed you into in a desperate attempt to please them both. It wasn’t hard, you had fucked Wanda countless times before, but you momentarily regretting bringing such a large toy to use under pressure. Still, it didn’t seem to be an issue for the Sokovian who gasped into your shoulder, peering at her wife with a knowing glint. Unknowingly to you, Natasha winked back with the same smirk she had stripped you of. 

  “ты хорошо себя чувствуешь, дорогая?” You frowned at the Russian’s words, knowing they were directed at Wanda but still feeling like you should know what they say. 

  “Wha-” you turned to question Natasha only to be met with the barrel of her handgun pointed at your head. You instantly cowered away but knew that even if you had tried to leap out of the bed again, it was pointless against the assassin. 

  “так хорошо!” Wanda answered, entirely unphased by the weapon she happened to be in the firing range of. Natasha hummed, seemingly pleased with her partner’s response.

  “I’m not gonna hurt you,” she told you pitifully. “As long as you do what you came here to do.” You figured there wasn’t much point protesting any longer, so you turned back to the woman beneath you and tried to pin all of your focus on her as you usually wouldn't without prompt. Even with a gun pointed at your head, you couldn’t stop admiring how much Wanda looked like some tainted angel that had succumbed to her desires. 

  “Don’t stop,” she called to you. She was breathless, desperate and despite her partner’s looming presence, entirely under your influence. You fucked Wanda relentlessly, just the way you knew she went crazy for until it became hard for you not to grow smug at the sounds you were drawing from her infront of her wife. Soon, the gun became a lingering thought and Wanda returned to the forefront of your mind as she had a habit of doing. 

  “I’m gonna cum,” she announced as your hips slapped against her own. You felt the tension in the room rise accordingly but didn’t let it affect you as you drove your fake cock into Wanda’s pussy harder. 

  “That’s it, fuck,” you encouraged, feeling the harness rub against you with every thrust that Wanda tried to meet. She dug her nails into your back as she came, soaking the toy that she clung to with such might that you had a challenge fucking her through her high. You rocked your hips against her as you coaxed her through her orgasm and felt yourself become impossibly wetter. Her slick was running down both your thighs and you wanted nothing more than to throw the harness off and rub your cunt against her ruined one. Perhaps you might have if it weren’t for the eyes on the both of you. 

  You grinned down at Wanda, your arrogance gradually making its way back until Natasha cut it short by dragging the harness off from your waist, as though she could read your mind. For a moment, you really did wonder if she was going to have you do what you were thinking of, until you noticed her tightening the harness to her own hips with practised ease. Somehow, seeing it on the widow made the strap look bigger. 

  You snapped your head back to Wanda when she began to shuffle herself out from under you and up towards the headboard that she rested against with heavy eyes. You made to follow until the barrel of the gun was pressed into the centre of your back and you were forced back down into the mattress with a grunt. 

  “You think we’re done?” Natasha scoffed. “What do you think, detka?” You peered up at Wanda with wide eyes only to see her fingers had returned to the space between her legs that was still red and leaking. The mischievous glint in her eyes was one you didn’t trust one bit. Your instincts were right. 

  “Make her take it,” the Sokovian husked. 

  “как скажешь,” Natasha replied simply, tossing the unnecessary gun to the side so that she could place both hands on you waist and lift your ass into the air. 

  “Wait,” you tried, knowing how large the toy was and how tight the fit would be. It was rare that you were on the receiving end so you were sure you weren’t ready for such a toy. At least you had worked Wanda up to it. Her wife didn’t seem to care because barely a second passed until you felt the head nudge at your exposed pussy. You could show your fear as much as you wanted, but you all heard the sound of the toy against your wetness. You whined into the bed, accepting you were made. 

  “I bet you wanted this from the start,” Natasha mused, pushing the toy past your reluctant entrance. You held the sheets in a death grip and cried out into the mattress at the immediate stretch. “You just need to be put in your place. Made to feel like the bitch you are,” she spat, pushing inch after inch into your dripping pussy without any consideration. 

  “Please!” You wailed inaudibly, needing a moment to adjust to the intrusion. Apparently you hadn’t earned that yet, because Natasha forced the rest of the toy in with a low groan that was overshadowed by your pleas of protest. It felt like you were being split apart, walls stretched to accommodate the cock you had such a thrill using just minutes prior. Needless to say, that power had been stripped. 

  “What happened, tough guy? Is it too much?” The Russian laughed. You registered Wanda’s breathy moans picking up again. “Too bad.” She drew her hips back only to slam them back into you along with every inch of the toy. You whined, high in your throat, and tried to close your legs but Natasha held them firmly apart. “No, no. Take it all. It’s only fair,” she pointed out, slamming herself against you. 

  The pain was prominent and stubborn, enhanced with every sharp thrust into your cunt that was soaked beyond belief, and you were powerless against it. Your slick only served to allow Natasha to fuck you as hard as she wished as your walls obediently parted for her to reach your depths in ways you had never felt. With that, the pleasure was finally able to peek through the haze of pain. 

  “Such a fucking whore letting me use you like this,” Natasha hissed but you hardly registered her over your burning sensations. She grabbed ahold of your hair and hauled your head up enough for your neck to ache and forced you to stare at her blissed out wife who sat pleasuring herself at your defeat. “You like being turned into a brainless fucktoy?” She asked. You didn’t respond as you looked at Wanda, knowing it would counteract with everything you had ever uttered to her but the harsh slap to your ass rid you of that final secret. 

  “Yes,” you whimpered. At the confession, Wanda fingered herself harder though it was clearly nothing compared to what her wife had you subject to. 

  Natasha’s thrusts were harsh, deliberately pushing as far inside you as she possibly could each time to make you bask in how large the toy was and how much it filled you up. You were stretched out perfectly around the toy, reshaped to take it as much as Natasha pleased. She was cruel, etching the words of ‘slut’ and ‘dumb’ into your mind as she ruined you in every sense of the word. 

  “I know you’re getting close, you’re clenching around me like a desperate bitch in heat,” Natasha told you, feuling Wanda’s arousal. 

  “Make her cum, make her know how good it feels,” the Sokovian called. Natasha huffed.

  “You’re lucky she’s here,” she muttered, clearly having planned on leaving you hanging despite the ruthlessness of the way she pounded into you. 

  Your moans grew along with Wanda’s and a matter of moments later, you were cumming around the unforgiving cock as hard as she had, pushing your own face into the bed to avoid meeting her eye in your moment of complete helplessness. You pushed back against Natasha as you came, desperate to have as much of her inside of you to cling to as your mind went blank. Your chest heaved and the world went quiet as your orgasm rushed through you. It was so much. Too much, all at once. 

. . .

You meekly sit atop your husband, Steve Rogers' lap as he feeds himself and you the dinner you meticulously prepared for him as he cares greatly for detail and perfection. 

The older man hums with each bite, one large paw caressing your back from over the thin -nearly sheer- material of one of the many dresses that make up the entirety of your wardrobe. 

“Absolutely delicious, baby, good job” he has been praising you with each bite and so you cannot help but smile at the compliments, your smaller body resting against his as you gently comb his hair with your fingers.

This is good.

Him being pleased is good.

“Thank you, my heart” you kiss his cheek that he had shaved just this morning when you were on your knees getting rid of his morning wood. He usually does that at night but you chose to wear a certain dress yesterday that caused for you to remain trapped in bed from the moment he got home till the both of you woke up tangled and sticky.

“See?” Now his fingers silkily glide up the length of your spine, past its dents that appear on your nape and towards your scalp that holds no barriers between your skins. “Wasn't I right?” Steve's fingertips flex all over your shiny head that he keeps empty from any hurdle between yourself and him. “Didn't it make things all better for us, hm?” Your tongue grows heavy and you feel it beginning to swell.

But you must not speak your mind.

For you are not allowed to have one.

“Yes, hubby, you were” you feel him stroke the bald crown of your head and the feeling of his coarse skin rubbing your soft and moisturized one sends shivers down your spine. 

His dark but relaxed blue eyes watch you, outwardly friendly but secretly inspecting you closely for the tiniest slip up. “Just too stupid to see it back then, weren't you?”

You nod nervously, offering him a smile as you avert your gaze from his, choosing to awkwardly play with his dress shirt instead. “Yes, hubby, I was.” Before you look up momentarily. He hates it when you don't look at him while speaking. “Thank you for teaching me better.” 

“And what did I teach you?” You bite your tongue, his words scalding your ears. 

Of course, he wants you to say it.

It is a routine that he likes to do every night. 

“That you are always right because you know better.” You resist the urge to cringe from how he suddenly gives you a burst of praise head rubs. 

It is a trap, meant to set you off.

He knows you don't like his hand rubbing your bald head like you're some kind of an animal and he still does it.

You've made the mistake of fighting back one too many times in the past.

But now you know it never fares well for you.

So better to just obey.

“Yeah?” His eyes begin to dance all over your form in that lewd fashion of theirs. “And how did I teach you that?” This is nothing new, and yet your heart drops.

“You taught me by…” Your face becomes hot from the embarrassment and humiliation. “B- By…” Fuck.

Even after all this time, it's no easier to do it. 

“By?” You can feel his sick arousal poke into the back of your thigh. He shifts to readjust himself. “Know what, honey?” He actually has the gall to sound friendly like he's doing you a favor out of the goodness of his heart. “I'll help your little mind out by giving you a hint.” You cannot hold his gaze anymore. So you drop your eyes and train them on his collars as you whimper into his cheek from how he hugs you closer with the arm he has draped around you. He loves proximity. “It had something to do with a machine and a cute head” his long fingers caress your scalp in circular motions.

Your heart is erratic against his chest. “H–” the whimper you let out is shaky and pathetic. Your expression falters into one of pain but you recover just as fast. At least on the outside. “T- Taught me by shaving my head.”

Steve's smirk is one of pride. “Oh? And what setting did I shave it on? Did I leave anything behind or did you become a complete cueball?” 

Tears sting your eyes from the sensitivity and helplessness as you feel your throat tighten even more. “N- No, hubby. Nothing was left. You shaved it all off…” Closing your eyes momentarily is the only way you can let out your next words. “Until I was a cueball.”

“And why was that, huh, baby?” Now he speaks to you like you're a child. 

He does that when he is horny. 

The realization makes your stomach twist.

“B- Because you warned me many times but—” your voice breaks and you softly sob into his cheek all of a sudden because the memories overwhelm you. “I didn't l- listen and my hair kept getting in the food I would prepare for you.” He somberly cooes and lowers your head forwards in a submissive position to caress the links of your spine.

“Oh, honey. Is that what happened?” Though Steve rests his cheek atop your bald head that he keeps shiny with scented oils and feigns sadness his bulge is too stiff against your tender skin for his little act to hold any weight. 

“Yes, hubby.” Your tears fall on your lap. 

“And how did it happen, huh, darling?” He loves the helplessness of your situation. That has got to be it. “Can you tell me?”

You nod and swallow the bile in your throat. Denial is not an option. “The scary razor went all over my head, hubby” you make yourself sound like a baby because that's what he likes. “Like buzz buzz buzz~” you try to mimic the sound and gesture as you run a pretend trimmer over your naked scalp. 

“Aw, it was scary for your little baby self, was it?” You timidly nod, pouting a little. “That's because you're so small and easily scared, aren't you?” He presses kisses all over your head and pinches your cheek. 

“Yes, hubby.” 

“Aw, my poor girl” he cups your face and lets his thumb trace the shape of your mouth. “I get it, you’re just a baby” he cannot but kiss you deeply before speaking again. 

“But it was necessary, wasn't it? And it worked” it is typical of him to seek validation for his unhinged actions from you, probably helps him sleep easier and pumps his pompousness further. “No more hair in the food.” He smiles and forces you to look at him by tipping your head back.

“No more hair in the food.” You echo him like the hollow doll he has made of you.

“Awww” he chuckles at the dejection in your voice. “Cheer up, silly. You look just as perfect as the first moment I laid my eyes on you” his lips repeatedly peck yours for a few moments. Then he continues. “I am the only one whose opinion matters for you and I think you're the most gorgeous thing alive” he scoops you up in his arms before standing up and you give him a smile like you're supposed to. He leans in to capture it in his own. “The cueball only makes you sexier and more nude for me. So it's a win all around” you whimper into the words he utters against your mouth. “C'mon, hubby will make you feel all better.” He whispers before carrying you to the bedroom. It is impossible not to be aware of your devastation and that is why he offers compensation the way he does. “Yeah?”

All you can do is nod defeatedly.

. . .

The sleeping bags, extra blankets, and the two jackets wrapped around you weren’t enough to keep you warm enough to fall asleep. You’d never be able to fall asleep when the sound of your teeth chattering together vibrated your head.

A recon search, a pointless one at that given that you found no new information, left you and your infamous partner Steve Rogers stranded in a blizzard that the forecast claimed wouldn’t be arriving until the morning that started to come as you tried to leave your mission base. This was barely a mission, it shouldn’t have even needed two people to do let alone with Captain America. But in your stint of working with Steve you knew that he believed in safety in numbers and to never send someone alone.

Leave no soldier behind

It was a three mile trek back to the jet but regardless of how far it was, each step was pointless when you could barely see in front of you. Steve had even gone through the lengths of wrapping a rope from your wrist to his to keep you from getting separated. There was no way you could make it there, you might’ve made it a mile total and yet it felt like you’d been walking for days.

“We need to get shelter,” Steve yelled over the wind that screamed like a banshee. “We passed by that abandoned house twenty minutes back there’s no way we can make it to the jet or fly home right now. We’ll have to wait till morning.”

You didn’t argue, only giving a nod, as you followed him turning back towards the mansion, glad that the walk back followed the current of the wind making the hike less unbearable without the wind beating against your face.

Despite how creepy it was that abandoned mansion was your saving grace. White sheets cast over the furniture all the furniture, dust accumulated over everything, it was likely some rich person’s summer home currently unoccupied for the winter.

In the living room past the foyer and dining room, the bare fireplace felt like a gift sent. Steve was quick to start a fire as you pushed two sheet-covered couches as close as possible to the fireplace without becoming a hazard.

The mansion surely had to have had an overabundance of bedrooms but you hadn’t bothered to explore more than needed. Just enough to make sure you were the only ones here. But those bedrooms might not have a fireplace and you’d end up having to share a bed in order not to split up.

Although the fire probably saved your life you still felt like you were in a morgue with the shivers that raked through you.

You’d love to fawn over the architecture but right now that was the last thing you could think of.

Thanks to the scientists that made your favorite lab rat, Steve always ran hot, the fire was all he needed and you didn’t try to protest when he gave you his coat.

“Out of all the places I’ve used as a safe house,” he quipped, breaking the loud silence of the crackling fire and wind whistling against the windows. “This one is definitely the fanciest.”

You chuckled to yourself remembering that one time you, him, Nat, and Bucky all arrived at a safe house that looked like it had a tornado run through it.

“Couch may be uncomfortable but still the best thing I’ve used to sleep on during one of these trips.” You added. You both kept the sheet cover over the couches, their aged antique condition made you wonder how long they’d been abandoned and it’d probably be better than changing if the couch was home to some creepy crawlers.

“How much longer are you gonna be shaking like a leaf over there until you just come over here and lay with me?”

You’d thought about it before you had even started the fire but there’s no way you could’ve asked him.

The team took humor in your relationship or lack thereof. The tension wasn’t blind to you, it felt like a classic rom-com will-they/won’t-they trope but you wouldn’t wanna chance ruining the dynamic of the friendship you did have. So you had to pretend like seeing a super soldier fawn over you with heart eyes didn’t make you blush. At this point you were pretty sure that the two of you being the only ones sent on this trip was the team trying to set you up, they weren’t as patient nor forgiving as the two of you and your silent agreement.

“I’m fine, I don't know what you’re talking about.” You shook your head, too stubborn to admit defeat.

“Get over here or I’m gonna take my jacket back.” He playfully threatened causing you to huff and painfully leave the heat of your cocoon and shuffle over to his couch the marble tiling too cold on your feet.

As you began to realign the blankets for your new arrangement you were distracted by the muscular man taking his long sleeve shirt off. “The fastest way to stay warm is skin to skin.”

You couldn’t help but audibly laugh at him. “I’m not getting naked, but nice try.”

“C’mon, don’t you wanna stay warm?” He smiled as you tucked yourself next to him, the couch not being very wide so you had no choice but to lay tightly pressed against him. “If there’s anyone who knows what it’s like to be frozen, it’s me.”

You tried to muffle your giggle. “If I wasn’t so cold I’d hit you.”

Steve readjusted his position around you, spooning you to rest your head against his muscular arm as a makeshift pillow. “Better not hear a word of this from anyone else, the teasing will never stop.”

“My lips are sealed, angel.”

You hoped the chill that ran down your spine as his deep husky voice calling you angel in your ear passed off as just being a symptom of the cold. Angel was new, maybe he was getting a fever and starting to become delirious.

His smell was so hypnotizing. No fancy colognes, after being occupied on a mission all day, just Steve. Thankfully you hadn’t sweat much on the trip or else you wouldn’t let him touch you with a ten-foot pole.

The sound of the crackling fireplace and Steve’s fast heartbeat with his breath brushing past your ear you tried to hide the girlish glee you felt. You didn’t do relationships, you were too busy, and the fewer connections you had the less someone could use against you. But the affection Steve was giving was enough to break any stubborn spell and melt into him. You were so touch-starved just him holding you was better than sex but you hadn’t had that in quite a while either.

You swore to yourself no matter how horny you got you would never fuck your coworkers. It’s not like a normal job where you can just resign when things get too awkward. You didn’t have an HR to go to if details of your affair started whispering through the locker rooms.

You fell asleep so quickly in his arms, your body became so instantly exhausted once you were warm enough to stop shivering. You hadn’t fully registered the fact Steve had begun pulling your shirt up. “Steve?” You grumbled. “M’ not getting naked.”

“You don’t have to,” he corrected. “Pulling your shirt up to your stomach so you can at least get some skin to skin even if it’s just your waist. I’d never do something to you that you didn’t like.”

“Fine,” you grumbled, snuggling back into him. You would surely kick yourself in a few days when you realize how close you were to being curled up next to a naked super soldier waiting out a snowstorm beside a crackling fireplace in an extremely romantic trope scenario.

Sleep quickly consumed you like an oncoming wave on an unsuspecting swimmer. A deep warmth buried within you and at the brief moment you had before falling asleep the idea of giving it his charms and crush felt worth any future repercussions. Captain or not, Steve would always take care of you.

———

“Steve?” You whimpered, a jolting forced you awake. His fast breathing, heavy with desire brushed along your ear and it took you a moment to realize what was happening. You didn’t need to look to know what was happening.

Your arms flew back at him, trying to push away from him as fast as you could and force yourself from the couch but he was fast to wrap his thick arms around you keeping you anchored against him.

Your snow pants were shimmied to your knees with your top leg forced to raise high and around his hip. Your shirt and jackets had been pulled up past your breasts and your bra yanked down. As his top arm forced you against him his hand from his arm below you groped your breasts.

“I’m sorry angel,” he whined through gritted teeth as you felt what had to be the tip of his cock poke at your entrance. “I wasn’t planning on doing this I swear.”

“Let me go!” You screamed trying to wrestle out his hold despite knowing it was a fight you’d never win but he tangled his legs around you forcing them to stay open. This wasn’t happening, not with him.

“I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry.”

A breath escaped your lungs as he forced his cock inside you. “Steve…” You cried in utter disbelief.

“I’m so sorry Angel.” His voice was drenched in guilt that you felt no empathy for. “I’ve just loved you so much for so long I couldn’t take it anymore.”

“Please stop!” You begged. “I won’t say anything!”

His hand left your breasts and clapped over your mouth, your cries filling him with too much guilt that he couldn’t stand hearing you in the pain he was causing. He couldn’t stand you asking him to stop when he’s wanted this for so long. It wasn’t a part of the fantasy that kept him up at night.

“I didn’t want our first time to be like this.” The arm he had wrapped around your waist locking you to him had maneuvered its way to between your thighs desperate to caress and rub your clit. “You just kept wiggling against my cock in your sleep and-and I was only gonna make myself cum but then you were so close and I pulled down your pants just enough to look at you and then I co-couldn’t stop myself.”

You wrestled in his arms trying to get free, your sobs still audible over his makeshift gag. “Please stop fighting,” he begged. “Just wanna make you feel good as your pussy is making me feel. Just let me do this, I promise I’ll make it feel good if you just let me.”

You didn’t want to stop fighting, you wanted free, but even if you did where would you go? You were at least a mile and a half away from the jet and he’d catch you before you could even make it out the front door. And even if you got out, got away, made it to the jet, survived flying home, what was the point when no one would believe you? You aren’t even sure you could believe yourself this was happening.

“Just let me rub your pussy and make you cum. I’ve watched you do it to yourself so many times I know how you like it.”

You screamed against his hand. There was no horror movie as scary as his confessions.

“You’re starting to get wet it won’t hurt much longer, you’re being so good for me. You’re my good girl.”

The shock had overridden the pain that you hadn’t even fully realized until now. You’d surely be sore and bleeding for days after this but you hadn’t started to feel it until the abrupt confessions had pulled you from your adrenaline-filled trance.

“I needed you, I’ve wanted you for so long I just didn’t know how to tell you.”

Steve fucked into you harder and harder each thrust nearly throwing you off the couch if he didn’t have a hold on you, the base skidding slightly across the tile.

A shameful moan vibrated against his hand as his fingers caught onto a rhythm that was enough to drive you crazy.

“Atta girl, your little cunt needed this. You need me to take care of you and I always will. I’ll never let you go.”

Beaten moans and heavy breathing ricochet off his hand until he finally let go and you gasped for air. “You like my cock, angel? I know you do, I can feel you squeezing me so tight, you wanted me to do this to you, didn’t you?”

Violently shaking your head and biting your lip to keep a pleasure-soaked cry from leaving you. “I’m gonna fill you up, you have no clue how much I cum I’m gonna flood your tight cunt and get you pregnant.”

“Steve don’t!” That was the only thing you could get yourself to say. “Please don’t, please.”

“Don’t make me silence you again.” He scolded as his thrusts became more forceful. “Don’t you wanna make me a daddy? You wanna be the lucky woman who gets to carry Captain America’s children.”

Pleading cries quickly dissolved on your tongue as his touch became too powerful and brought you to the edge.

“That’s it, angel.” He grunted you could feel his cock twitch deep in you. “Need to feel you cum, wanna hear it n’ feel it.”

“Fuck…” you gasped as you shamefully met your hips back into his forcing his fingers to rub harder how you needed until you finally came squeezing him involuntarily.

“Fuck, I’m gonna…” Steve breathily whimpered as his hips jackhammered into you until he abruptly stopped and let out a growling grunt.

It took only a moment later you felt his cum drip out of you and down your thighs and his groin. He really wasn’t being dramatic when he said he came so much.

Steve stayed burrowed inside you, his cock twitching as it softened within you. “You were so good, I’m sorry it had to be like that, I promise when we get back I’m gonna take you on a real date and I’ll make up for it. You are my Angel, I’m so happy we’re finally together.”

———

A/N: damn this foul of me lmao. I could see maybe having a part two to this but it depends on how y’all feel ab it I just don’t want it to feel redundant to the ‘fake happy post dark fic’ endings that we’ve all see and I’ve written before.

Taglist is open for any character! Pls either DM me or send an ask to be added bc if not I probably won’t see it any other way.

The glow of the moon reflects off the nearby buildings as Natasha crouches on the side of the rooftop Yelena was on. She stares down into the building where room 3B would be. For a moment she doesn't move. She doesn’t move or breathe or blink, yet somehow her heart is racing. 

“You’re very quiet, sestra,” Yelena observes, coming to sit on the ledge next to Natasha. 

“Just thinking,” Natasha whispers.

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

Natasha exhales, watching the smoke of her breath dissipate into the air. 

“What went wrong?” Yelena takes out her earpiece. Natasha doesn’t want to speak yet, but she knows her sister won’t stop until she gets an answer.

“I told you, insufficient information, apparently he’s smart enough not to leave illegal files in his office.” She runs her hands through her hair, the red of it gleaming with the sunset. 

“Sure, but you’ve broken into the Kremlin, there's no way some resident doctor outsmarted you.” 

Natasha’s jaw tightens. “Yeah, well, it happens.”

“Not to you, sestra.” Yelena sighs, knowing Natasha wouldn’t respond anymore, so she drops it. 

Natasha turns to the access door to make her way off the rooftop.

---- 

The ride to the safehouse was tense. No words were spoken, but the heat of the failed mission lingered heavily throughout the car. Natasha’s fingers tap an uneven rhythm on the steering wheel.

Yelena sits in the passenger seat staring at Natasha’s profile as if she were solving an equation. Still, she says nothing.

“Typically, when you stare at someone, you do it subtly,” Natasha says sarcastically. 

“I’m not typical, and neither are you.”

Natasha smiles faintly. “You could at least pretend.”

“I’ll figure you out, sestra.”

“Mhm.”

Out the window, the hospital lights fade behind her, and she catches herself glancing in her rearview one last time before forcing herself to focus on the road. The static on the radio was almost taunting her. 

----

Back at the safehouse, Natasha immediately heads up to the shower. The water hisses on as she starts to undress. She removes her hair tie before massaging her scalp with her fingertips.

Steam rolls upwards, fogging the edges of her reflection in the mirror until she looks like someone she doesn’t know. Someone softer. Someone slower.

She steps into the shower, the water that is supposed to relax her instead makes her think back to the hospital. All she can think about is the way you smiled at her despite the fact you were struggling. The way her heart raced just from looking into that room. 

She tips her head back into the water, forcing herself to breathe steadily. This isn’t new. And that's the problem.

When she finally steps out, she wraps a towel around herself. Swiping the back of her hand across the mirror only reveals tired eyes and that familiar flicker she refuses to name. 

“Damnit,” she mutters under her breath.

----

Natasha pads down the hall with a towel around her shoulders. The safehouse is dark except for a dim light she left on. Yelena is asleep on the couch, one arm draped over her face. Natasha moves softly, as though her heartbeat might wake her. 

She heads immediately to the kitchen. 

Opens the fridge.

The cool air feels grounding as she practically sticks her head in. 

She grabs a bottle of vodka before heading over to the table. The cap twists off with ease, and she takes a swig, exhaling slowly as the familiar burn warms her throat. 

“Here's to hoping I’ll fall fast asleep tonight.” She whispers to herself, almost like a ritual. 

Natasha turns on her laptop. She tries to tell herself she's doing mission reports and nothing more.  The blue glow hits her face like a wave. 

Of course she lied. 

Before even thinking about it, she types what she remembers.

3B

20 Years Old

Cardiac Monitoring

Chronic Arrhythmia 

Her fingers hover, some sane part of her screaming to stop.

The other parts screamed louder. Just one look. 

She hits enter.

Files she knows she shouldn’t be looking at flicker across the screen. They have nothing to do with her mission and nothing to do with her target.

Just you. 

In and out of the hospital. Frequent collapses. Episode triggered by stress and overwork. A pattern. A vulnerability.

Her chest tightens. Not with pity, no this is something else. Something recognizable.

She shuts the laptop as though it would erase everything she's feeling. The sound of the slam wakes Yelena. 

“You’re brooding over there, stop brooding, it's too loud.”  Yelena’s voice comes out deep with sleep. 

Natasha forces a smile. “Go back to sleep.”

“I will as long as you keep that brooding over there.” She turns over before falling back to sleep.

Natasha lets out a sigh of relief, reaching for the vodka again. She takes a big swig before taking it with her to the bedroom. Throwing herself onto the old spring mattress, she lets out a deep breath.

After staring at the ceiling for a while, she flips over to turn the light out.

You’d taken the opportunity to look him over as well and Steve smirked when he caught you. Instead of turning all shy, you simply cocked an eyebrow and put a hand on your hip. “You were looking, too,” you sassed but there was no venom in the words. Yeah, you were pretty much perfect.

“Steve Rogers,” he finally found his voice to say. “I’m your neighbor.” He gestured to his apartment door. “You looked like you could use a hand.”

You introduced yourself and gestured toward your open door. “It’s just bedding. You can put it anywhere.”

You smiled wide when he turned back to you after setting the box down in the living room with a stack of others. “Thank you.”

“It’s no problem. Really.”

His gaze narrowed as a twig of a man stepped up behind you and placed a hand on your waist. He let the bag he was carrying drop to the floor. “Who’s this, babe?” the intruder asked.

Steve kept the smile on his face despite his rising anger at the hand on your waist.

“This is Steve Rogers. He’s my neighbor,” you introduced. “Steve, this is my boyfriend David.”

Oh no. This just wouldn’t do at all.

How it’s going:

Steve headed into his building and took the stairs two at a time. As he reached his floor, he slipped the phone in his hand back into his pocket. You were stepping out of your door just as he reached his apartment. His gaze ran over the tight jeans and sleeveless top you’d picked for your date. You were stunning as always.

You pulled out your phone and read something before you just deflated. Steve furrowed his brow. “Everything okay, sweetheart?”

You spun to face him and he spotted the sheen of tears in yours eyes. His scowl deepened. He didn’t want you to cry. You weren’t supposed to cry. “Hey, it’s okay,” he assured you. “Talk to me.”

“You want to come in for a coffee?” you asked with a sigh.

“Weren’t you heading out?”

You lifted your phone to show him. “Canceled.” With that you stepped back into your apartment, leaving your door open for him to follow. So, he did.

He sat at the table as he had many times before and followed you with his gaze as you shuffled around your kitchen and made his coffee just the way he liked it. You placed the mug in front of him before sliding into the seat beside him with your own. He studied you as he sipped his coffee.

After a moment you sighed. “Is something wrong with me?”

His brows shot up and he nearly choked in surprise. “Of course not. Why would you even think that?”

You thumped your mug down on the table before gesturing in irritation. “What else am I supposed to think, Steve? Every guy I date ends up being a complete asshole, ghosts me completely or breaks up with me, usually via text. I am the common denominator in all those relationships.”

Steve leaned back in his seat and shook his head. “The only thing that proves is you’ve got shit taste in men, sweetheart.”

“Thanks, Steve.” Your voice was laced with laughter and a trace of irritation.

“I’m serious. You’re always way out of their league, anyway.”

You ducked your head in that shy way you had when he’d said something that embarrassed you. It made him smile.

“Take that guy you were dating when you moved in here,” he prompted.

“David?” you questioned with a furrowed brow.

Steve waved his hand through the air in dismissal. The interloper’s name was unimportant. “He was smaller than you. There’s no way he could protect you if the situation called for it. That’s goes for most of them actually.”

“That’s not exactly one of the items on my checklist of things I look for in a guy.”

He scoffed. “It should be, sweetheart. You need someone that can take care of you. Provide for you.” He clenched his teeth and felt the muscles in along his jaw twitch. He needed to calm down before he snapped at you. It wasn’t your fault you undervalued yourself. You’d been trained by others for years that you were just like everyone else and that couldn’t be further from the truth. You were special. Perfect. And you should be treated as such.

You were silent for a long time and Steve didn’t push for conversation. He wanted you to think about what he’d said to you. To realize that he was right and that he was just the man to do that for you. His eyes were glued to the coffee cup he turned back and forth between his palms. Every now and then, he’d dart a glance at you from the corner of his eye.

“So,” you started, breaking the silence, “you think I should date someone like you.”

His gaze jerked in your direction but you kept yours pinned to the table. Finally, he cleared his throat. “No. I don’t think you should date someone like me. I think you should date me.”

Your eyes widened as your brows lifted. Surely it wasn’t that much of a surprise to hear him admit he likes you.

“But…” Your voice dropped to little more than a whisper before you continued. “You can’t mean that. You could have anyone. Why would you want me?”

God, you were so fucking clueless sometimes. “Why would I want anyone else when I have you?” He picked up one of your hands and pressed his lips to palm. And then you were ducking that head again. “Go out with me tomorrow. Dinner. Drinks.”

You seemed to be debating something with yourself before you nodded once and gave him a wide grin. “Yes. I’d love to go out with you.”

He grinned and hopped to his feet. “Fantastic. As much as I’d love to stay here with you all night, I have some things to do this evening. But I’ll see you tomorrow at six.”

You stood to walk to the door with him. “It’s a date, Mr. Rogers.”

He pulled you into a hug and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Perfect.”

Steve waited until he heard the locks engage on your door before heading back to his own place. His steps felt light knowing that all his hard work had paid off. He locked himself in his apartment and grabbed a beer from the fridge. He popped the top from the bottle and took a long swallow as he stepped into the living room. His eyes trailed over the wall of screens. One played the news, the rest each displayed a room your apartment. All live feeds from the cameras he’d strategically placed in the month after you moved in.

At the moment you were in your kitchen, bent over while you examined the contents of your fridge. Your ass swaying as you danced. Curious, he walked over and pressed a button to turn on the sound. He grinned as your favorite song flooded his apartment. You were so fucking perfect.

He voiced his thoughts as he continued to keep watch over you. “She doubted herself. Like she was to blame for any of you assholes being so far beneath her. Still, I feel as if I should punish you for your part in her feeling that way.” Steve pulled his gaze from your image to glance at the far corner of the room. Your would-be date for the evening was slumped in the shadows, his head hanging at an awkward angle. Eyes wide open. Skin cold and pale. “Oh. That’s right. I did.”

Your date had only laughed when you stared at him blankly, asking him to explain his joke again, and the rational part of you was sure he didn’t mean any harm, the rational part of you was sure it was lighthearted—he was a nice guy—but still you felt that familiar sting in your eyes at the response.

Even when you brought the night to a close, you refused a ride home from him, denying it so harshly he was stuck at the table for a bit when you stormed out, hot tears staining your cheeks, and you didn’t see him leave—maybe he was still inside and talking up another girl who didn’t take every little thing so personally.

“You sad, pretty girl?”

You startle at the voice and snap your head up to follow the sound, leading your eyes to a tall man wearing a leather jacket, leaning against the wall of the next building over to the restaurant you had stomped out of. He cards a hand through his hair and steps forward, and instinctively you step back, feeling an air of danger about him, darker than just a mugger in the night.

You wipe away the last of your tears and sniffle softly before quickly bring your focus back to the street, mentally pleading for your driver to pull up, too scared to fish your phone back out of your bag to check how far he is, and clutching your purse tighter.

He groans, “Please, sweetheart, I’m talkin’ to you.”

“No,” you reply, quietly, not making a move to look back up at his captivating blue eyes, a slight fear that if you look back at him, you’ll never be able to look away again. Or he’ll be the last thing you see. “I’m not.”

“You sure, princess?” He takes another step towards you, and this time you can’t muster up the courage to move away, frozen still. “Looked like you were cryin’.”

You grow irritated not with him but more with yourself, for somehow having shown such weakness to a man in the shadows—but how could you have known?

“I wasn’t,” you lie, finding yourself holding back tears again, begging any higher power out of the dozens believed to help you out just this one time and have your driver pull around the corner. The streets are empty and quiet, the only two people in the world you and him, and the only noise his painstakingly slow footsteps towards you, and your rapidly beating heart. “I wasn’t,” you repeat again, predicting you would sound more confident, but your voice cracks, and you wince at the sound of his sigh in response.

“Aw, don’t cry...” You gasp as he suddenly pulls you flush against his chest, caging your body to his with his right arm pressing into your lower back and his left gently gripping your chin, forcing you to look up at him. A smile spreads across his gorgeous face as your tears well up. You want to look to the sky to stop drops from falling, but you can’t, not because of his light grip, but because of that sadistic glint in his eyes, absolutely fascinating you.

A drop spills from an eye, and he tilts his head, watching it roll down your cheek. Your eyes glisten with tears and his glisten with delight, relishing in each drop that rolls down your cheek, as you can do nothing but stare up helplessly at him, paralysed by fear.

He leans down and presses a light kiss on your cheek, one you might have found loving if given to you by someone close.

“You’re so pretty,” he remarks, bringing his other hand up to cup your face, unconcerned with keeping you near, knowing you can’t move if you tried. He rubs calloused thumbs across your cheeks, wiping the tears away as he admires your features. “So pretty, doll,” he murmurs, gaze roaming your face until they land on your terrified eyes, and he smiles again.

“What, never learned how to take a compliment, princess?”

You blink up him, starting to tremble very slightly, your mouth slightly agape. He raises an eyebrow at you, and you manage a meek, “Thank you…”

“Bucky,” he mumbles.

“Thank you, Bucky,” you repeat, just wanting him to let you go, at this point completely disinterested with where your driver is, just him to leave you alone.

“Now, won’t you tell a nice guy like me why you’re cryin’? Did someone hurt you?”

You shake your head weakly, willing yourself to just stop fucking crying.

“Don’t lie to me,” he grips your face slightly firmer, not hard, but enough to make you understand his determination. “Did some guy make you cry, angel?” he asks, gently.

Despite your better judgement, you nod; maybe that is the best judgement, to just respond the way he wants so he might just leave you alone. No, your compliance is only seeming to spur him on, as shown by a pity frown taking shape on his face, and you can’t quite place if he’s mocking you or trying to seem more empathetic in some weird way.

“No, a sweet girl like you?” He places a kiss on your forehead. “You’re precious, angel.”

You shift uncomfortably, unable read the situation, unable to tell if he’s just fucking with you or if he feels bad. And you don’t have to, because just as he pulls away to look at you, you hear tyres against gravel, a car pulling around the corner, snapping you out of your… trance, and whipping your head to see a white corolla.

“Stay beautiful, doll,” Bucky says, and he slips into the shadows before you can grasp it. Cold air rushes against your cheeks—you hadn’t realised his hands were relatively warm—making you feel more exposed. For good measure, you quickly wipe away tears before hoping into the car with a smile to your driver.

Your date texts you the next morning, apologises for upsetting you—even though he doesn’t know how—and asks for a redo, or a second date, kinda, he puts it. With a clear mind, you do feel bad for being so dramatic and overly sensitive last night, and thinking back on it, a little rude with how short you were being with him when all he did was laugh lightly, it wasn’t malicious. He was a nice guy. You’re still shaken from the previous night, but maybe a casual date will relax you.

You agree, and he immediately responds, suggesting another restaurant for that evening.

You feel very pretty in your dress as you enter the restaurant and sit at table. You had arrived only 10 minutes late, so maybe you should just give him more time to show up. You didn’t want to order, but the waitress seemed to be getting impatient, and so you ordered something light and ate alone. An hour and he still isn't here. Your plate is cleared away, barely anything touched, and a few teardrops splashed at the edges.

You’re sniffling in the corridor of your apartment as you fumble with your keys and stumble in, trying not to completely break down as you kick off your shoes and head straight for your bedroom, thinking that you could escape some crying if you just fell asleep.

You’re sobbing quietly as you enter, pushing the door behind you, not even caring that it didn’t really close, ready to flop onto bed.

“You sad, pretty girl?”

You gasp and spin to the sound of that familiar voice, the same words being spoken in the same tone as the previous night.

Bucky pushes the door and this time it clicks shut. He looks up at you, and his blue eyes catch the moonlight in a soft yet sinister manner, causing you to stumble back. You can barely see him through the tears blurring your vision and the dark room.

“Bucky?” you whisper, unnecessarily, seeing as of fucking course it’s Bucky.

He bends his head back slightly with a smile. “I love the way you say my name, doll. Can you say it again for me?”

You take a few steps back, heart racing faster than you ever thought it could, and let out a quiet shriek as your heel hits the foot of your bed and your fall back onto it. Bucky is hovering over you in a flash, one hand propping him up and his right slipping under your dress to rub soothing circles on your thigh.

“Did he stand you up?” He leans down, lips between your ear and neck. “He doesn’t like you, princess.”

You try not to let out a sound, but you can’t stop a choked sob from escaping, and he smiles against your neck. You turn your head away, but he stays near, his voice hovering just above your ear. “He doesn’t like you, and he can’t take care of you, sweetheart, he can’t.”

Despite your efforts, another choked gasp escapes you, and you squeeze your eyes shut, hoping he’ll just go away.

“You’re shaking,” he notes, changing his circular motions from clockwise to anti. “Are you scared, doll? Am I scaring you?”

“Yes!” you gasp as he kisses your neck.

“No…” he replies against your skin, faux-disbelief coating his tone. “But I won’t hurt you, angel; he will.”

He lies down next to you and brings his left hand up to stroke your face. “It’s okay, you can cry,” he coaxes, and you do, breath escaping your lungs in short gasps as tears fall and he wipes them away, kissing your neck and still rubbing circles on your thigh. “You can cry…”

His thumb slides to your inner thigh and you squirm, but he quickly stops you by harshly gripping your thigh. Once he’s sure you won’t twist again, he runs his finger up and down your inner thigh with a sigh.

“You’ll learn to love this, doll, but for now… you can cry…” He shifts downward and pulls your dress up. “A sweet girl like you’s gotta taste sweet too.”

✪

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Read more: Bucky Barnes Masterlist