#soft!dark!bucky

He’s coming over tonight, and as a little treat, you decided to get some lingerie. You’re admittedly a little nervous about it—before Bucky, you never would have definitively classified yourself as ‘sexy,’ and always felt a little awkward with exhibitionism, but you’re feeling pretty good about this. 

For your first set, you certainly went with an ambitious choice: you picked white lace because Bucky often calls you an angel, over and over, he’ll say it like a prayer. When he’s in you so deep you can’t do anything more than whimper and scratch your nails down his back, his pathetic voice reaches you through his pants and whines: “God, this… fuck, this is fucking heaven—” he breaks off to let out a strangled, broken moan that makes you let out a curse of your own and clench tighter around him, which only increases his whimpering and makes him double his efforts, dragging his thick length in and out of you like it’s the only thing he knows how to do “—You’re— fuck! — You… You’re my own… own personal fucking angel, baby. God, you must be an angel, this has to be heaven—” And you never know how he manages to go on and on when his voice is strained, his muscles taught with the effort of not coming within the first few minutes of being inside of you. You can’t remember a time when he hasn’t made you come at least twice before he dared focus on himself, never sliding in before you’ve come on his tongue and/or his fingers.

You pull on the bra and stun yourself with how bold it is, though maybe you just don’t know all that much about lingerie. It barely contains your breasts and consists mostly of thin mesh leaving little covered except beautiful lace trim running around the cups. When the bell sounds, you jump up and rush to the front door. Bucky is coming over for what is supposed to be just dropping off some books you left at his place, but once you saw the white lace set in the store earlier that day, everything changed. 

With a deep breath, you open the door, posed casually but a little provocatively, with posture that makes your breasts a little higher and one hip raised.

“Hi, honey, I…” he trails off and you can practically see his mouth run dry. You have to suppress a smirk as his blue eyes scan you from down to up until they meet yours, and you swear you watch his pupils dilate in real time. But it’s you offering an innocent smile that sends him over the edge.

In a flash, he’s dropped the tote bag he was holding and is instead using that hand to grasp at your cheek, caging your face against his with one hand while the other desperately slides up and down your side before snaking around to your lower back and pulling you so your chest is to his, kicking the door shut behind him. He’s relentless; once his lips smash onto yours, you know it’s over, and the little game you had planned was spinning out of your control. But still, you try to have a little fun with it. 

When you finally manage to break away from the kiss, its absence making Bucky whine, you let out a breathless chuckle. “Well, hello to you, too.”

His gaze rakes over your form again, up and down, and when his eyes meet yours again, he can’t even speak. He looks like he can’t even breathe, chest stuttering and eyes watering with the restraint it takes him not to pounce on you.

“What is it?” you ask, sweetly, pouting up at him and tilting your head to the side. When he doesn’t respond, you slide your hand over his shoulder, making him jump, and round so you can grip the back of his neck and pull him closer to you. “Words, Bucky. Use your words.”

That seems to snap him out of his silence, but definitely not out of whatever trance you’ve brought him into. He swallows thickly, and when he finally gets his voice to work again, it’s hoarse and raspy, and even still, he can hardly string a sentence together: “You— Fuck, baby, you gotta let me— I need to—” But his rambling is broken off by the soft rake of your fingers through his hair, which makes him shudder and his knees threaten to buckle.

He tries to kiss you again but you step back with a raised eyebrow, and when he realises you’re not letting his words go unspoken, he matches you step for step, still letting out moans of “I need to— Please let me— God, you look—” until he’s got you up against the wall. When you think the fun’s over, he drops to his knees in front of you and inhales your scent deeply. His arms clasp around your thighs, squeezing them together so harshly it would nearly hurt if it didn’t feel so good. He closes his eyes and dips his head, letting out a shaky breath and trying to regain his composure. When he looks up at you, his eyes are big and wet and it’s making it hard for you to hold out.

“Baby,” he whines, and presses himself against you with a moan which makes you gasp. If he had it in him, he might have made a playfully snide comment about how he’s not the only one so desperate, but you’ve never seen him like this. He’s completely out of it, he’s on the verge of weeping at your feet. “I— ohhhh…” he groans and squeezes you harder. “Let me worship you. Use me, baby, tell me what to do and I’ll do it, you’ve just— you’ve got to let me taste you, I can’t take it—”

“Bucky, honey—” you begin but are interrupted by his strangled moan. “Fuck!” you startle and need to lean against the wall for support. “Don’t… don’t make that sound.”

You know he’s really gone when that earns not even a smirk from him. “You’re an angel,” he continues, “Oh, god, you’re a fucking angel, you’re my religion.” He pauses from his prayers to press wet kisses over your thighs, breathless as he pants against your soft skin, “Let me— I’ll do anything you want, fuck, I’ll let you do anything you want, whatever, just— just please!” You can feel his tears drop onto your skin and reach your hand down to tilt his chin up. 

“Poor darling…” you coo sympathetically at him, bottom lip puffed out and eyebrows pulled into a show of concern. “You need something from me?” You swear you’ve never been like this, but this desperation is sort of bringing out a little bit of a sadist in you. Bucky just helplessly stares up at you with red eyes, and with the way you’re getting a little desperate yourself, you don’t have it in you to draw out your teasing any longer. “That’s alright, honey. I know what you need.” When you lean down to kiss him—softly, intimately, tenderly and slowly—the broken whimper he lets slip past his lips and onto yours lets you know neither of you can hold out any longer. 

Suddenly impatient, you grip his shirt collar and tug him to stand, immediately crashing his lips onto yours and walking your bodies to your bedroom where he all but crashes on top of you as you fall to the bed, saved at the last minute by sticking his hands out on either side of you, but his arms are wobbly, his entire body is trembling like you’ve never seen before. And just as you’re about to ask him if he’s okay, he dives to suck on your right nipple through the mesh of your bra. You gasp and slide your fingers into his brown hair, sputtering out, “B— Bucky—” and that makes him stop. 

He removes his lips and presses his forehead into your chest, looking down. Suddenly, instead of that whiny pleading, his voice is now deep and dark. “Don’t say my name like that, or I’m really gonna fucking lose it.”

You bite your lip to hide a smile, but it doesn’t work. Deciding to see just how far you can take this, you raise the pitch of your voice, turning to being the beggar now. “Bucky,” you moan, breathlessly. 

That’s his undoing. 

His head snaps up and he lowers himself to kiss you deeply again, one hand twisting at your nipple while he grinds himself down onto you for some relief of his own. He’s so hard it’s genuinely painful and makes him let out a sob when you slide your hand down to run your palm over his clothed crotch. 

When he breaks the kiss, you think he’s pulling up for air (because lord knows you need it) but he instead dives straight for your nipple and tears the mesh fabric away with his fucking teeth, letting your tit spill out. You gasp at the display but your disbelief is immediately swallowed by intense pleasure as Bucky sucks just right, causing you to throw your head back and arch up further into his mouth. He finally slides a hand between your legs and pushes two thick fingers inside of you, making you let out an earth shattering cry and grip onto the back of his neck tighter. He responds to your moan with a groan of his own and speeds up his work. He’s too far gone to hear you breathlessly moan about how you’re on the verge of coming, and so is slightly surprised when he suddenly feels you clench around his finger. Swirling his tongue around your nipple, he moves to add a thumb to your clit but you’ve already come undone underneath him, your body sensitive to aftershocks as evidenced by your yelp when the pad of his thumb connects with your button. 

He wants to look up at your flushed face but knows he can’t or he’ll really lose the minute amount of self control he’s barely holding onto right now, and so instead, he slips off the bed and onto his knees, quickly pulling your legs to rest over his shoulders without any hesitation. He hears you suck in a deep breath like you’re about to say something but the words die on your tongue, overtaken by the torturous moan that escapes you when his greedy mouth attaches itself to your weeping and over-sensitive cunt. Your thighs lock around his head making him brace his cold metal hand over your warm belly to keep you from squirming at his filthy ministrations. 

You don’t know how long he’s got you there, you lost count after your fourth orgasm which he rode out just as he did every other despite your wriggling and protests and the tears streaming down your face. When he finally looks up, it hits you that there’s something deeper going on. 

“But I haven’t even fucked you yet, angel, god!” He groans and presses himself into the mattress, letting out a whimper. “Please let me—”

You want to say no but you’re lightheaded and dizzy and you can’t get your brain to form the thoughts, let alone get your mouth to say the words. You’re groaning while he’s undressing and before you know it he’s ripped your panties off of you and pressed his tip against your entrance. He nearly fucking falls forward when his leaky cock only lightly nudges your folds. “F— fuck! Oh! Baby, angel, I— I need to— I’ll fucking die if I don’t, I’m so serious, babe, I’ve gotta— I’ve gotta—” He chokes on air, cutting off his words as he slides into you, bottoming out almost immediately due to your earlier slick still coating your walls (and his face). When you wrap your legs around his waist and squeeze him even tighter, he’s one million percent sure he’s never been closer to God than he is at this moment. 

Through the haze, he finally makes out a sound, a voice — You’re sobbing beneath him, and your hands are weakly pushing at his shoulders, trying to get him to relent. You’re saying something about it being too much or too big or something but he can’t focus on a word you’re saying over how good you fucking feel, and he tells you: “Baby, I— I can’t hear a word you’re fuckin’ saying, I— Shit! I just— I can’t—” Both of you have tears streaming down your faces; you’re overstimulated and want him to stop but he’s only just getting started. It’s never going to be enough now. And as much as he hates to say it, you’re kind of ruining the moment.

“Mmm, just sh— shut up with that, okay?” He presses a hand against your mouth and uses the other to pin your free hand to the bed. “You fucking knew you were driving me crazy, you knew what you were doing, so you’re not a fucking victim, alright?” He accentuates that with a harsh thrust that has you arching your back and letting out a scream muffled by his hand. “I was wrong, baby. You aren’t an angel, you’re a fucking devil sent here to destroy me, but, god, I’d still do anything for you, do anything to be inside you, to taste you, fucking hell, you can burn me to ashes if you just let me fucking have you!”

✪

Thank you for reading! Likes, comments and reblogs are unbelieveably appreciated.

Read more here: Bucky Barnes Masterlist

If you liked this, try Polaroids.

You take his advice, shutting your eyes and trying your best to relax - but then you feel Steve's hand cup your breast. You suck in a gasp, your eyes flying wide open.

"Professor Barnes," You call out to Bucky, who's still standing by the couch.

"What's wrong?" He asks you, taking a step closer.

"He.... he's touching my... chest," You manage to spurt out, cringing inwardly.

Bucky tuts, slowly walking over to you. "I'm sorry about him, but you must stay calm," He tells you firmly. "You can't wake up a sleepwalker."

Steve's fingers start rubbing and pulling at your nipple, making you freeze up. "He... Professor Barnes, please stop him!" You beg him desperately.

"Shh," Bucky whispers soothingly, coming closer to where you lay. His glasses rest lowly on his nose, the pipe in his mouth letting out smoke. "Be brave, flower. It can be incredibly dangerous to wake someone while they're sleepwalking."

"I - this isn't sleepwalking," You whisper, holding back your whimpers while Steve paws at your tits.

"Ah, but it is," Bucky retorts. "Sleepwalkers don't only get up and trot around in the night. I've heard some cases where they cook and eat an entire meal while asleep, and one man even drove all the way to work. It's a dynamic ailment, flower, please be patient with him. I'm sorry, I didn't know Steve's sleepwalking could manifest in a sexual manner, but I'm sure he'll stop soon."

You bite down on your lip and hope he's right. Carefully, you try to move Steve's hands off your breasts, but he only squeezes them harder, making you squirm. Suddenly he pulls up your shirt, exposing your breasts to the cold air - and worse, to Bucky's eyes.

"Professor," You shudder, bringing your hands up to cover your chest.

"Just relax," Bucky says lowly, his eyes dark. "It'll be over soon."

Steve pins your left shoulder down firmly before moving his head down. You aren't sure what he's doing until you feel his lips wrap around your nipple. A whimper leaves your mouth as he sucks on your tit, conflicting feelings coursing through you. Though you're terrified and embarrassed, you also feel pangs of pleasure shooting through you like electricity.

"Remain calm, flower," Bucky utters soothingly. "Let him continue and he'll stop on his own accord. We cannot wake him."

You're slightly frustrated at his words - surely a professor forcing his way on a student, whether consciously or not, is more important than whatever danger to Steve you would be posing by waking him up? You try to push him off you, but even in slumber, he's much too strong and heavy for you to try and fight against him.

Steve's hand suddenly pushes past the hemline of your shorts and bypasses your panties. You almost squeal as his fingers plunge into you with no warning, three digits stretching your entrance. The ease with which he's able to slide in, the juices which coat his fingers, leave you incredibly ashamed.

"Professor Barnes," You cry lowly between shaky breaths. "It - he's hurting me."

"Shh, shh, shh," Bucky hushes you as he places a comforting hand on your shoulder. "I'm sorry about this, honey, I really am, but there's nothing I can do. Try and close your eyes, think about something else."

You squeeze your eyes shut but no pleasant thoughts can distract you from Steve fucking you with his fingers. He curls and scissors them inside you, making your stomach flip. The sound of his fingers sloshing in and out of your wet cunt fill the room, and you're utterly humiliated.

Small whines and moans rush past your lips uncontrollably as Steve fingers you faster, his mouth still latched onto your hard nipple. You wince, trying not to let the pleasure take over, determined to remain professional.

"You're doing so well, flower," Bucky says as he looks your body up and down, watching as Steve violates you. "Being such a good girl, so calm."

"Please, Sir," You whimper, shaking your head. "Make him stop."

"I'm sure it won't be much longer, now," Bucky assures you, biting on his smoke pipe. "That's it, flower, stay nice and relaxed."

Your heart is beating out of your chest and it only beats harder when you feel Steve's hard cock resting against your bare thigh. Before you can move away from him, he pulls his fingers out of you and rips apart your shorts, panties and all. Your body is frozen in shock as he shoves you onto your side with a gruff grunt, and before you get the chance to realize what's about to happen and brace yourself for it, Steve pushes his entire cock into your cunt.

"Oh, my God!" You can't help but cry loudly. Hoping it's enough to wake him, you feel a sense of relief as he stops moving. There are a few moments of silence and just as you look up and meet Bucky's eyes with your tear-filled ones, Steve begins to roughly fuck you.

His hips snap against yours over and over as he mercilessly probes you with his thick cock. You could swear it feels like you're being torn apart, every inch of your skin on fire as you tightly grip onto the sheets.

"Just stay calm," Bucky says casually as he strokes your hair, watching Steve fuck you like an animal. "That's a good girl, just take it."

"Please," You whimper, crying with every hard thrust he serves you. It makes you feel even worse when the pain begins to make room for pleasure, as though you're just as animalistic and depraved as Steve's unconscious alter ego.

The springs in the mattress squeak beneath you as Steve fucks you harder and the headboard repeatedly smacks against the wall with a heavy thump. He lets out low grunts and growls into your ear, his hands keeping you pinned to the bed. A part of you doesn't believe that he's genuinely sleepwalking when you see the look in his eyes - but you remember what Bucky said. Some people can cook meals and drive cars while sleepwalking - it is so crazy to think someone could have sex while sleepwalking?

Still, though, you refuse to let Bucky know that a part of you is finding the sordid encounter enjoyable. While pleasure envelopes you and cascades down your spine, you keep on a strong face in hopes that it'll convince Bucky you can remain professional even in the most difficult and absurd situations.

"That's it, flower, you're being so good," Bucky mumbles, gently stroking your cheek. "It's almost over, I promise. Just a little longer. You're taking this all so well, being so good for us. We knew you would be."

His words confuse you for a second - did they know this was going to happen? But you shake away those thoughts. There's no way they would have let you come if they knew this was possible, you must have misunderstood him.

Steve's thrusts become quicker and harder as he fucks you into the mattress. Your legs shake and you can't believe how close you are to climaxing. You try to hold it back, refusing to orgasm in front of your professors, but when Steve suddenly begins rubbing harsh circles onto your clit while pulling and twisting your nipple, you know you have no control. With a loud cry, you cum onto his cock, your cunt squeezing around his pulsating shaft.

"That's it, good girl," Bucky mumbles, stroking your slacked jaw as your eyes roll back and your body trembles and shakes.

Steve thrusts a few more times before he cums with a grunt, filling you with his seed. You gasp at the feeling, his warm cum coating your insides, his twitching cock beating against your walls.

"You did so well," Bucky says, his own cock hard and leaking precum, threatening to burst through his pants. "You've been such a good girl tonight."

All you can let out is a weak whimper.

Bucky gives you a soft smile. "Now, get some sleep," He tells you firmly before making his way to the bathroom.

You breathe heavily, trying to process the events of the night, equally as ashamed as you are exhausted. A few moments pass and you wait for Steve to pull out and return to his side of the bed, but he remains where he is with his cock inside you, heavy arm around your body, soft snores leaving his mouth.

You try to push him off you but he only grips you tighter and even thrusts his softening cock in and out of you a few times, scaring you into remaining perfectly still for the rest of the night.

masterlist

NIGHT TWO >

buy me a kofi <3

Although lately something’s been… off. You can’t escape the feeling of being watched, followed. There’s no proof, only an instinct, one that makes you scan your surroundings every so often no matter where you are and what you’re doing. It’s been setting you on edge for weeks, doing double-takes when walking along the sidewalk thinking you saw someone staring, constantly checking your rear-view mirror because you swore this car has been trailing behind you for several miles.

And the worst part is that no one believes you. You’d tried telling your friends, all of whom said you were being paranoid, you’re just exaggerating, projecting. You asked the security guards at your apartment building if they’d seen anything weird and they rolled their eyes at you. It makes you frustrated, especially since it’s been getting worse, and going to the police isn’t an option. If your friends don’t believe you, why would they?

It’s happening now, you realize, your head snapping up and your gaze leaning to the right. But nothing is there, just like always. Nothing is ever there, only the voice in the back of your head yelling at you that you’re not safe. It takes a few moments for you to shake the feeling away, but it only lasts for maybe ten minutes. Eventually, you decide to give up on reading for the day, packing up your things as quickly and quietly as possible to get out without being seen.

It’s only when you’re at the front door that you realize you didn’t bring your umbrella. You’d gotten to the library before it started raining and had foregone watching the news this morning so you didn’t even know it would rain. But you still have that lingering anxiety, so it only takes a few seconds before you decide to brave the rain and make the two-minute walk to your apartment.

With your bag slung over your shoulder, you quickly dash out the front door, speed walking to your place with your head hung low. And, luckily, it doesn’t take long to get to the building, being quick to rush up the stairs and unlock your door to get out of your soaking wet clothes. 

 ____________

It’s wrong, so wrong. Logically, Bucky knows that, knows that his actions aren’t normal. Some people would call him toxic, a creep, a stalker. And they’re all right, Bucky is very cognizant of his actions and thoughts.

He knows, he just doesn’t care.

You see, Bucky Barnes has been through a lot, has endured pure and utter pain for decades, has lost everything and everyone that matters to him. Bucky has never had anything to call his own, has never had anything that’s solely for him and no one else. Even now as he’s in recovery, as he’s finally gotten full control of his mind, as he’s seeing a therapist once a week, none of it fills that void.

Sure, he has a decent-sized apartment, though he has to admit that it’s pretty bare. He has one chair in his living room, one set of cutlery, a few select shirts, and the other bare necessities to live. He doesn’t really know how to decorate, doesn’t feel the need to considering it’s just him.

Bucky’s learning, though. He has a corkboard on his bedroom wall with pictures of different room layouts and complimenting wall colors pinned to it. He got a new computer, three to be exact, standing on a desk underneath said board. He even has a forty-inch tv mounted on the wall across from his bed. 

Bucky’s at his desk now, sitting in his chair as he transfers all the photos he took today from his camera to the computer. It took him quite a while to figure out how to do that, and it took even longer to learn how to use photoshop. But, like the decorating, he’s learning.

But as soon as the last picture is uploaded, his phone rings with a special tone, one that alerts him whenever your front door is opened.

Bucky sits up straight, grabs his phone, and races to the bed where he quickly grabs his remote from his bedside table. Settling in, he rests his back against the headboard and lets his legs splay out in front of him. He then turns on his TV, switching from regular cable to the screen that shows all angles of the cameras he placed in your apartment.

It’s almost as though he’s a dog hearing Ivan Pavlov ringing the bell with how his cock involuntarily twitches to life upon seeing you, clothes soaked and acting as a second skin. You’re wearing a dark blue shirt though, so he can’t see through it enough to get a glimpse of what’s underneath, but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t seen it before.

He’s seen all of you.

And right now he sees you rushing into your room and to your dresser as you peel off your shirt, dropping it to the ground. You open your drawers and pull out a new set of clothes; skimpy shorts and his favorite tank top that leaves little to the imagination.

Bucky’s cock twitches again when you start pulling down your jeans, pre-cum already starting to form as you wiggle your hips in an attempt to peel the soaked denim off of your legs. When you finally manage to take them off, you throw those on the ground as well, and Bucky would be upset with how messy you are if there weren’t more important matters at hand.

Quickly, he switches to the camera in your bathroom, all forty inches of his TV showing him an extremely clear view of you taking off your bra and panties, panties that he’s aching to steal, to smell, to really soak in your essence. But, since he doesn’t have them, he uses his next best option: the panties in the top drawer of his bedside table that he snatched from your hamper a few days ago.

Bucky lifts them to his nose and, thankfully, they still smell of you, they smell of heaven, and Bucky makes quick work of shoving his sweatpants down far enough to get his dick out, already fully hard at the sight of you stepping into the shower. Bucky then switches to the camera he placed in your shower head.

And there you are, naked and utterly beautiful, gorgeous, breathtaking, like the only thing Bucky wants to look at for the rest of eternity. He’s been awestruck by your beauty since he first met you. Well, met is a strong word, it’s more like he saw you sitting and reading in the window of the library you always go to as he was passing by. For all Bucky knows you hadn’t even seen him.

Still, he’d known you were the one for him from the first time his gaze landed on you.

Bucky can hear your relieved sigh over the spray of the water, his hand holding your panties wrap around his cock as you close your eyes and tilt your head back, giving him a very good view of the water cascading down your breasts. Bucky’s tongue peeks out and swipes along his bottom lip before pulling it between his teeth, letting out a low groan and pumping his cock faster. This specific pair is smooth satin, making it for an easy glide up and down, a twist of his wrist every so often.

It doesn’t take long for his stomach to start tightening, his breathing to become faster and his thighs to tense as he tries to hold back his orgasm. It never takes long when it comes to you. Before you, he thought he liked sex enough, it was as pleasurable as most people say it is. Now, though, he hasn’t even had you and he’s already addicted.

Bucky lets out a low groan, a soft “fuck” falling from his lips as you start running your soapy loofa across your chest and arms. More pre-cum builds and spills over the tip of his cock as he strokes it faster, squeezing at the base of it several times to try and ward off his impending orgasm. The cold metal of Bucky’s left-hand travels down his stomach, fingers creeping under his cock and taking hold of his balls. In unison, Bucky tugs at his cock as he rolls and squeezes his sac, his breaths coming out even faster when you move the loofa to your legs, running it on the insides of your thighs.

“Oh, my angel…” Bucky whines softly, eyes honing in on the way you rub your skin in small circles, every nerve in his being lighting on fire as he focuses on really feeling how soft your panties are around his dick. He wishes it were your pussy, and is imagining it is now as he gets closer and closer to coming. His mind floods with visions of you; laying on your back and naked in his bed ready to take him, or your face pressed into the pillows and ass high in the air with your fingers clenching the sheets. His favorite one, the one that can make him cum just by thinking about it; you, round and swollen with his baby - babies. Because Bucky isn’t going to stop at one, oh no. He’s going to give you baby after baby until your shared house never knows even a second of silence.

And as the image of your naked and pregnant body lying on his bed flashes through his mind, Bucky’s thighs tense, his teeth dig into his lower lip, and he continues stroking his cock at an inhuman speed as cum spurts out from the tip of his dick. And, dear god, he can’t help how much cum there is, always so much - just for you. His eyes roll to the back of his head, only taking his hand away when his dick starts getting a little too sensitive.

Bucky comes to a few moments later, and when his eyes wander back to the TV he sees you washing your hair, eyes closed, and head tipped back. As Bucky’s breathing evens out, his mind goes a little hazy, eyes unable to tear themselves away from you for the rest of your shower - and after, when you’re drying off and changing into clean clothes.

His mind doesn’t snap out of its trance until you turn your lights off and get into bed. When you do, he grabs the remote and switches the camera to the one he placed in the stuffed bear you keep on your bed, making sure to turn on the night vision mode.

Bucky then gets ready for bed, which merely consists of him stripping his clothes and washing his hands, then folding your underwear and placing them back in his dresser.

And when he falls asleep, he does so with the TV on, the way the camera is angled allows him to see you as his mind falls into slumber. He clutches a heated body pillow with your perfume sprayed on it and puts headphones that are connected to the audio sensor in the camera in the teddy bear in his ears. And it lets him imagine that you’re actually in bed with him, lets him pretend he’s holding you and can hear your soft snores in person.

He sleeps peacefully through the night.

____________

It’s another ordinary Saturday, the Brooklyn sky clear of clouds and showcasing the sun at full capacity. It’s unseasonably warm considering it’s well into fall, so you decide to wear a simple sweater and shorts to the market. Even though your outfit may be simple, your makeup is done perfectly and your hair pulled back from your face, and the perfume you sprayed is no doubt going to reel your date in.

Because you’re going on a date today. Johnathan was a friend of a coworker, you’d met him when he came into your cafê and started chatting mindlessly with Sara. You thought he was handsome, and apparently he found you attractive as well - because, according to Sara, he asked if you were single when you left the counter to go help a customer.

She’d given him your number that day and you’ve been talking with him every day ever since. Finally, after a week and a half of texting and calling, your schedules aligned perfectly so he could take you to the farmer’s market just a little bit outside of the city.

He offered to pick you up, but completely understood when you said you’d rather meet him there, the unspoken “just in case because I don’t know if you’re a murderer” hanging in the air. But, again, he hadn’t minded.

On your way to the date you began to develop a weird feeling in the pit of your stomach, once again feeling like you’re being watched. You look in your rearview mirror, but find nothing, of course you don’t. You never do.

But it’s when you actually get to the market that legitimate anxiety settles in. Getting out of your car, you look around to find Johnathan - but also to see if you can find anybody suspicious. You’re gazing to the left, eyes frantically roaming the crowd, and jump nearly five feet in the air when someone taps your arms.

You have to physically refrain from screaming, only to sigh in relief when you see it’s Johnathan, a huge smile on his face and a wicker basket in his hand.

“Sorry for startling you,” He laughs, causing you to laugh as well, desperately trying to shake off the feelings of being watched.

“N-No, it’s fine.” You smile back at him, then nod to the empty basket. “What’s that for?”

“Well,” He starts, his smile turning sheepish. “You said you needed more fruits and spices for your thanksgiving pies and I figured this market would be good to get them at.”

After a second of silence, Johnathan speaks again. “And don’t worry about buying them yourself, I’m here to treat you. Just pick what you want and it’s yours.”

You can’t help the wide smile that plasters itself across your face because, genuinely, you don’t even know if a single potential partner has been this kind, especially so early on into the first date.

So, with a small ‘thank you’, you take his outstretched hand and let him lead you toward the entrance.

And it’s probably the best first date you’ve ever had, and not just because Johnathan has insisted on buying everything, not even letting the thought of paying yourself cross your mind. It’s fun, walking up and down the stalls, and even going to the pumpkin patch at the back to pick miniature pumpkins to decorate your apartment with.

It should’ve been the most fun you’ve had in months, but it’s hard to fully focus and stay in the moment when the feeling of someone’s eyes on you grows higher and higher as the day turns into night and it’s time to leave.

Johnathan holds your hand the entire day, or wraps his arm around you every once in a while to keep you close when you’re walking through a crowd. He’s holding your hand as he walks you back to your car, and the entire time you can’t help but search the parking lot for any signs of danger, becoming more cognizant of your surroundings as the sky grows darker.

“Today was fun,” Johnathan says, pulling you away from your thoughts. You both stop next to your car, turning to face each other.

“It was,” You say, dropping your date’s hand so you can fiddle with your fingers nervously. “Could we, um…”

“Yeah?” He asks, prompting you to continue when you pause.

“Could we do this again?” That question brings out a bright smile on the man’s face, his eyes lighting up.

“Yeah, yeah I’d love to!” Then, he coughs, clearing his throat and cooling himself. “I-I mean, yeah. That’d be nice.” His response makes you giggle, and you nod along in agreement.

You both go silent, though it’s not an awkward one. But after a moment of quiet, Johnathan speaks up again.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Yes!” And you don’t have time to be embarrassed about how enthusiastic your response was because the man is immediately leaning down and pressing a soft kiss to your lips, one you deepen while your hands come up to grasp his biceps to steady yourself. It takes a good minute for you two to break apart, both of you giggling. 

“I guess I should get home,” you say regretfully, and Johnathan also looks kind of sad when he nods.

“Text me when you get there?”

You nod, then whisper back, “you too,” before he kisses your cheek. With a final smile and nod of his head, heads to his car.

And Johnathan’s absence is quickly filled with anxiety, your head snapping to the right at hearing footsteps approaching you. But, just like every other time, there’s nothing except a family passing by. It takes no time at all for you to get into your car and speed out of the parking lot, not wanting to waste anymore time out in the dark.

And when you do get home and send your ‘got home safe <3’ text, you get ready for bed. All the while periodically checking to see if he texted back.

You’d gotten back to your apartment around nine, but by the time you’re turning in for the night around eleven he still hasn’t texted back. So, you resign yourself to waiting until tomorrow morning to see if he texts because he could have just got caught in traffic.

The next morning comes with still no text.

____________

It’s about a week later when Bucky wasn’t able to follow you around for the day, he ended up having to go to the tower for some work on his arm. But he’d checked the cameras before he left, watching as you changed into your outfit and left before he got ready to leave as well.

But Bucky gets back to his apartment around noon. And even though the only thing on his mind is getting to his room so he can get back to online shopping for things he needs for his cabin he notices something is wrong right away. There’s no noise, but the light in his kitchen is on when he’s positive he turned it off before he left. Plus, his hyper-sensitive ears pick up a heartbeat, and not his own.

Bucky is immediately on high alert, and he quickly and quietly grabs the knife he keeps tucked in his pants as he follows the heartbeat to his room. And when he opens the door, he lets out a soft curse and tucks the blade away.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Steve?” Bucky snaps at him, and he knows his harsh tone isn’t warranted, but Bucky hasn’t invited Steve to his apartment since he fell in love with you, and for good reason.

Steve turns to Bucky, though he stays standing by his corkboard, a concerned look on the blonde man’s face.

“Bucky…” Steve pauses, glancing at his friend and then back to the wall next to him. “What is all this?” He reaches forward tentatively, only stopping when Bucky damn near shouts at him.

“Don’t!” And Steve can tell Bucky already feels guilty for raising his voice, because he adds “please,” in a softer tone. So, Steve pulls his hand away, though his eyes continue to roam around the entire room, staring at what must be at least seventy pictures of you pinned to Bucky’s walls, nearly fully covering them.

“Steve, what are you doing here?” Bucky asks again, eyes cast downward as soon as his friend looks at him so he doesn’t have to see the no doubt concerned look on Steve’s face.

“You’ve been off, Buck. We’ve been best friends our whole lives, I know all of your tells. In the past four months we’ve hung out maybe five times, not including when we see each other at the tower every once in a while. You’re always canceling plans, making excuses for why you can’t go out, or why I can’t come over,” Steve pauses, his gaze traveling to the desk to look at a large framed and very poorly photoshopped picture of you and Bucky.

“Now I see why.”

Bucky sighs, then trudges forward to sit on the edge of his bed next to his bedside table. He looks over at another framed photo of you that he took from your Instagram - a close-up of your face, eyes scrunched close, and mouth split in a wide grin, and it’s clear that you’re laughing - happy. The sun in the background adds a beautiful solar flare effect, bringing out the absolute beauty you hold.

“Steve, you have to understand…” Bucky sighs again, looking up at his friend with desperate, pleading eyes. “You know better than anyone about what I’ve been through, all the pain I’ve suffered. I don’t have clear memories from… before. All I can remember is pain, and having no control over my own mind, let alone my life. I love you Stevie, I really do. But, even though you found me, even though I’m no longer him, I haven’t found true happiness. In anything. Marissa, my therapist, suggested I needed to go out and dabble in different hobbies until I could find something that would give me even a little bit of joy. I like hanging out with you and Natasha, sometimes Sam, but it just wasn’t enough.”

Bucky looks back over at the picture, delicately picking it up and focusing on your joyful expression - one he so desperately wants to be the cause of.

“But then I saw her. It was about four months ago; I’d actually been walking back from your place and saw her sitting in the window of the library a few blocks over. She’d been curled up with a book in her lap and was drinking out of a mug, not wearing anything fancy, but I remember thinking she was the most beautiful person I had ever and would ever meet. I remember stopping, being frozen in place as I just watched her read. I remember thinking about Marissa telling me to find something purely for me, something I could call my own, something that would make me happy.”

Steve hums, walking from the desk to stand a few feet in front of Bucky with his arms folded across his chest, something Bucky sees when he looks back up at his friend.

“She’s my happiness, Steve. I haven’t actually talked to her, but she’s the one for me, I just know it.”

Both men are quiet for a long, tense moment, with Steve mulling over Bucky’s words while the latter is worried beyond belief his friend will somehow keep him from pursuing you. Thankfully, it doesn’t seem like that will happen.

“Buck…” Steve trails off, sighing. “I mean, you’re right, I can’t deny that you’ve been through hell, that you deserve happiness and love. But, don’t you think this is a little… creepy? Like, why can’t you just go talk to her?”

Bucky immediately shakes his head, his heartbeat picking up slightly at the mere thought of actually talking to you. He doesn’t think he’s ready to make a complete fool of himself by trying to talk to an angel like you.

“I-I can’t, Stevie. It’s not that simple. I can’t just… I can’t just approach the woman I’m in love with. I’d just be awkward and shy and I probably wouldn’t even be able to say more than a few words to her. No one wants someone who can’t even be out in public for more than a few hours at a time, let alone someone who can’t even talk.”

Steve makes a small, pained noise, his eyebrows furrowed. But when Bucky doesn’t continue, the blonde man moves forward and sits precariously on the edge of the bed next to his friend. Steve then slowly lifts his hand, palm up, to the picture Bucky is holding, glancing at him for permission to take the frame. When Bucky nods, Steve takes it. It’s quiet for a moment as Steve ponders, then hums softly.

“She’s pretty.”

And Bucky knows he doesn’t mean anything by it, doesn’t have any want or intention to take you from him, but he can’t help but get jealous. Though he tries to hide it by forcing a smile.

“She really is.” Another pause, a deep breath. “I have a… plan, though.”

Steve hums again, looking up from the picture and handing it back. “Which is?”

“You see, even before I met her I was looking to move out of the city, there’s too much noise, it’s too busy, just too much. I found some land in upstate New York, it’s a quiet, woodsy area, with no neighbors for at least three miles. And when I saw her I knew I needed to go through with it. So I bought the property and I’ve been building the cabin myself, I just need a few more weeks to finish it and then I can bring her there with me.”

With another longing gaze at the picture, he blinks rapidly to get rid of the moisture in his eyes, joy filling his entire body at the thought of you finally being his and his alone. “It’ll just be us,” he whispers. 

“Okay,” Steve starts, chewing on his lip for a moment. “So, if you can’t even talk to her, how are you going to convince her to move into a house in the middle of the woods with you?”

“I’m not…” Bucky trails off nervously, his left leg now bouncing with anxiety.

“Buck, please don’t tell me you plan on kidna-”

Bucky cuts him off by standing up abruptly.

“It’s not kidnapping if she’s supposed to be with me anyway! She’s mine, Steve. Mine! She might not like it at first, but - but she will eventually. She’ll love me like I deserve, and we’ll be happy together.” It sounds more like he’s trying to convince himself than Steve, something Steve picks up on.

“Bucky, I don’t know about this.”

Bucky’s damn near close to shouting, a sudden undeserved anger coursing through his veins at his mind jumping to conclusions by assuming his friend is trying to stop him. But Bucky is determined, and he has no problem cutting off ties if anyone stands in the way of the life he craves.

“Please, Steve, you have to understand! She’s the only thing I’m certain of in life, I… I need her.”

“Okay,” Steve says after a few very tense minutes, nodding along to Bucky’s words. Because, truthfully, Steve would rather this be the problem than Bucky slipping back into a major depressive state. Bucky does deserve happiness and love and anything else his heart could ever desire. And if he wants you, then goddamnit Steve isn’t going to stand in the way.

“Okay?” Bucky asks nervously, fiddling with his fingers.

“Yeah, Buck. I don’t really… agree with all of this, but if this is what you think you need, then okay. You’re my best friend, I’d do anything for you. So if this is what you want then I’ll help in any way I can.”

A wide smile plasters itself across Bucky’s face, his eyes lighting up. If Steve is offering his help, who is Bucky to deny him?

“Thanks, Stevie.”

____________

One month later everything has seemingly gone downhill.

Things would go missing in your apartment one by one, something you actually hadn’t noticed until one day you were cleaning and found several articles of clothing gone. Chalking it up to getting them lost in transit to the several trips to the laundry room in the basement of the apartment complex, you try to shrug it off.

It doesn’t totally work.

Then, the feeling of being watched only got worse. You’ll be walking down the street to the café you work at and feel the instinct to walk faster, but it doesn’t stop there. Some days you have to restrain yourself from staring out of the window in a vain attempt to catch the stranger you’re absolutely positive is following you.

You’d also asked Sara if Johnathan was okay, to which she responded with a sympathetic smile as she told you he decided he wasn’t interested anymore and decided to go back to Pennsylvania to spend an indeterminate amount of time with his family.

To make it even worse, a few days ago you’d gone to meet with a therapist for the first time, hoping they could ease your anxieties. He, in fact, made them worse by accusing you of overreacting, of being another stereotypical woman freaking out over nothing. ‘It’s probably just your hormones acting up’ is what he said, utterly pissing you off, and it took everything in you to not scream at him for being, rather bluntly, sexist. You didn’t want to give him a reason to prove his point. 

Well, it got even worse today. You’d woken up around ten in the morning, giving you about an hour and a half to slowly get ready and get to work. Except, it looks like you don’t have a job for the time being, because when you checked your phone right after you woke up you saw a text from your boss.

There was a fire last night, the building burnt to the ground. Everyone is safe, but we can’t work until it’s fixed.

Well, fuck. It’s nearly impossible to find another job right now, let alone quickly, so tears immediately spring to your eyes. What the fuck are you going to do?

Cry, first of all. You can’t help it, so much has happened these last five or so months and all of your negative emotions come pouring out as you lay back in bed and turn so you’re in a fetal position clutching a pillow. And your crying doesn’t cease for an indeterminate amount of time.

As your crying tapers off to short whimpers you hear your bedroom door creak. You want to disregard the sound, figuring - hoping - it was because the air conditioning just kicked on. Though you know you’re foolish for thinking so, something deep in your bones knowing that something is seriously wrong.

With your heartbeat quickly picking up and your anxiety spiking it’s nearly impossible to hear the door creak again, but you hear it nonetheless. But by the time you decide to turn around and see what it is, something - someone - falls on top of you, a piece of cloth soaked in some kind of chemical is pressed against your mouth and nose, and you’re forced over to lay on your front as the stranger straddles your hips to keep you pinned to the bed.

It doesn’t take long for your world to fade to black.

____________

A door slamming shut wakes you from your slumber, your eyes flying open and your body sitting upright as you enter fight-or-flight mode, preparing for whoever is coming. You curl in on yourself, pressing yourself into the metal bed frame your wrists are chained to.

You’ve been here for two weeks, maybe. Actually, you’re not too sure, you haven’t seen the sun in a while, nor have you seen your captor. Once a day the door at the top of the stairs of this dingy basement will open and someone will come down to give you food, but not before turning off the light so you can’t see who it is.

The lights stay on this time. And the person is walking down the stairs with abnormally heavy footsteps, letting you know that they want you to know they’re coming. When the person does finally come downstairs, you gasp, your eyes furrowing in confusion.

It’s the therapist you met with a few weeks ago, the one who told you that you were being irrational for thinking you were being followed. The wicked smirk underneath his beard mixed with the dark look in his eyes reek of malice, of no good intentions. His blond hair is pushed back, only a few strands framing his face.

“You… You’re-”

“Your therapist? Yeah,” He stalks forward, stopping at the end of your small bed. “Technically, though, I’m not a therapist. I’m not a doctor of any kind.”

His smirk widens as he says, “I’m Steve Rogers.”

Your eyes widen comically, your mouth hanging open in disbelief. Because this is impossible, just absolutely impossible that Captain America himself has kidnapped you. This… It just doesn’t make sense, especially since the man in question doesn’t seem super concerned with you, clearly. This is the first time - well, technically second - that you’ve ever seen him yet his demeanor screams indifference.

“Wh-where am I?” You ask frantically, tugging on your restraints in a vain attempt to break free, though you know full well you won’t be able to get out of them considering you’ve been trying ever since you got here. “What am I doing here?”

Steve laughs, bending down and squatting so he’s eye-level with you.

“Where you are is of no concern to you, sweetheart.” He says the name condescendingly, teasing you for your confusion. “As to why you’re here… Well, that’s a story for later. Right now we’re going to go upstairs so you can shower.”

Your body tenses when he pulls a key from his pocket and leans over you. Though, surprisingly, he doesn’t harm you, he only unlocks the chains and drops them to the side of the bed. However, he grips both of your wrists in one of his large hands and holds them in place as he leans back and looks you in the eye. Holding up a large knife in his other hand, he gently taps the tip of the blade against your temple.

“If you try anything, anything, I have no problem teaching you a lesson.”

Your stomach drops, and though every fiber of your being is screaming at you to fight back, to kick and punch him with all your might, to grab the knife and stab him, the logical part of your brain knows you wouldn’t win. He’s a super-soldier, could literally break your neck with one of his hands, and his threat makes your anxiety spike, so you slowly nod. Fear rises in your body when Steve raises his eyebrows, gritting his teeth in frustration.

Clearly, he’s waiting for a verbal response.

“O-okay,” You whisper, trying to maintain eye contact, but you can’t help but look away due to how intense his gaze is.

Steve nods with finality, yanking on your arms and causing you to trip over the thin blanket as you’re pulled from your bed. Since you haven’t walked in several days - other than shuffling to the toilet just a few feet from your bed - your legs are a little numb and sore, almost fumbling around like a baby deer.

It’s a chore walking up the stairs, but when you do get to the bathroom, Steve’s laid out clean clothes for you on the bathroom counter - clothes that look surprisingly familiar to some that you own, and a towel is right outside the shower. You’re extremely uneasy as Steve instructs you to undress and get in the shower, though he turns around so he’s unable to see. You feel like crying, everything you feared was right, you were right all along, and you can’t help but feel ire towards everyone who downplayed it.

“Hurry up,” Steve demands when he realizes you’re simply standing under the spray, clicking his tongue to the roof of his mouth in annoyance.

So, instead of crying, you decide to speed through showering, turning off the water after five minutes. It’s very awkward when you get out, always keeping your eyes on him to make sure he doesn’t turn around as you dry off and get changed.

“O-okay, I’m done.”

Steve hums, turning and grabbing your arm so he can pull you down a hallway, the whole way he’s carrying his knife in a very visible manner. When you turn a corner, it’s into a room with very little furniture, only a large TV and a simple wooden chair right in front of it with a small coffee table in between the two.

“What is this?”

“Will you fucking stop asking questions?” He snaps, yanking you further into the room. He takes you over to the chair, pushes you down into it, and quickly straps your forearms to the arms of the chair. He does the same to your ankles - securing them to the legs of the chair.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” You retort, somehow mustering up a confidence you’re sure is about to dissipate with whatever is about to happen. “I guess I’ll just go along with you kidnapping me.”

You can’t see him but you’re sure he’s rolling his eyes, and your sudden confidence causes you to wiggle frantically in the chair, tugging at your straps in an attempt to break them, though the straps only seem to dig into your skin. Steve huffs then turns on the TV, pulling a chair out from the side of the room and setting it next to yours. As he sits, he places folders on the table, staring into your eyes with an unsettling gaze.

“Listen, I’m not the one that wants you, I’m merely here to get you… prepared for who I’m gifting you to.” Steve smirks as he says it, picking up a folder and opening it before placing it in your lap.

In the folder is a picture of a man with shoulder-length brown hair, beautifully piercing blue eyes, and stubble covering his jaw, the upper part of his body that’s visible shows you that he’s wearing a tight red henley with just the faintest hint of some sort of black metal where his left arm would be. In any other circumstance you might have found him attractive, he might have been someone you’d pursue. But knowing that he’s probably the one who had you taken just makes you want to meet him so you can stab him.

“That’s Bucky,” Steve says, interrupting your thoughts. “He’s my best friend, has been for my whole life. We’ve always had each other's backs, I’d do anything for him, I’d give him anything he wants or needs.” He speaks fondly of this ‘Bucky’ person, and your eyebrows furrow because you’ve heard that name before. You’re not sure where, but you know it.

“And what he wants,” He continues, pulling out the knife and tapping the pointed tip of it against your knee. “Is you.”

“Fuck you,” You hiss, immediately tensing when the knife digs into your skin. It’s not hard enough to pierce it but it gives you just enough pain to get you to stop talking.

Steve ignores your cursing, simply taking the file from your lap and placing it on the coffee table. He starts pulling more pictures out of other folders, spreading them out until the entire table is covered in pictures of this man.

Your stomach drops immediately, some pictures are of him in an army uniform when he was younger, and some are of him and Steve, though it’s cropped to show mainly this ‘Bucky’ person. But what makes you tense is several pictures of the man strapped to a chair with what looks like metal securing his arms to the arms of the chair, some contraption around his head. He has something in his mouth, and his face and neck are tense to suggest he’s trying to scream - presumably from pain.

“Wh-What is this?”

Steve sighs, nearly unable to look at the pictures himself.

“This is Bucky, but you may know him as the Winter Soldier.”

Gasping, your eyes widen in fear. You’ve read the articles, you’ve heard the stories, you’ve just never seen his actual face. Even though the government pardoned him, the general public doesn’t have the most positive view of him. You, yourself, didn’t really have an opinion of him, if the government said he was better then you took them at their word.

Clearly, you were wrong.

“You see, I wasn’t initially on board with this whole thing, I thought it was a little obsessive and toxic. But, he loves you, I can see it every time he talks about you, I see his eyes light up whenever he even looks at a picture of you. And, quite frankly, the longer this went on I knew he needed to have you. And I’d go to the ends of the earth for him.”

Steve seems to think for a moment before he speaks again. “He’s been watching you for a while, knows your routine, knows how to break into your apartment unseen. However, he’s been assigned to an extended mission, so he’s tasked me with watching you and updating him on everything you do. He doesn’t know I’ve already taken you, I’ve been lying to him these past couple of weeks, but it’s for the greater good.”

He pauses, smirking when he notices you’re frozen, trying to take all of this in.

“As you can see,” Steve continues, picking up one of the more gruesome pictures, “He’s been through a lot. He’s endured pain and torture no man should ever go through, he’s never been in control of anything. His life, his actions, his own mind. And now, through therapy and time, he’s finally gotten to the point where he’s ready to take his life back. And it starts with you.”

With that, Steve sets the picture down and stands, grabbing a remote next to the TV and turning it on.

“No. Fuck no, fuck you,” You suddenly snap at him, anger rising, but it doesn’t seem to outweigh the fear coursing through your veins. You’re trying to fight the dread, though.

Steve rolls his eyes, then pulls a cloth out of his back pocket as he walks over to you.

“Since you don’t know how to shut up, maybe this will work.” With a smirk, he grabs your face and forces your mouth open, quickly shoving the towel in to stifle your noises.

Then he turns back to the TV, blocking your view of what he’s doing. After a few moments, he moves to stand behind you, placing both of his large hands on your shoulders.

“We have about two months before he comes back, which is when I’ll… gift you to him. So, in an attempt to get you on board with this whole thing before that, I think it’s best if I show you these tapes so you can truly understand what he’s been through. And maybe this will help you see that he does deserve happiness and love, and that you will be that for him.”

With that, he clicks a button on the remote, and the large screen displays Bucky, once again strapped to a chair in the middle of what looks like a glorified warehouse. Then, Steve puts noise-canceling headphones over your ears, fiddling with the sound so it’s just loud enough that it’s impossible to even think about anything, but not so loud as to damage your eardrums.

You don’t notice Steve leaving the room, all you know is that as the door closes Bucky’s screams start echoing through the headphones. Your eyes squeeze shut, desperately trying to tune it out, the truly agonizing sounds he’s making are shaking you to your core and causing you to want to vomit.

But it’s no use, you can’t hear anything but the people around him saying words in what you assume is Russian and Bucky’s pained groans. And as you listen, only one thought passes through your mind.

Why me?

____________

This goes on for weeks. Twice a week you’re allowed to go upstairs to shower, though Steve stays in the bathroom with you to ensure you don’t try anything. Then he’ll take you to that room, strap you down, and force you to listen to Bucky’s cries, force you to read the files on him during his time as the Soldier, force you to sit still and endure this for hours at a time with tears constantly streaming down your face.

At first, you felt anger and ire towards the man holding you captive. And while you want to fight him with all your might, you know you wouldn’t win, especially since he’s shown you his quite extensive collection of weaponry. It terrifies you, rightfully so considering Steve has been nothing but awful to you.

And at this point, despite every fiber of your being screaming at you to do something to at least try and escape, you really can’t help but feel sympathy for Bucky. He’s a victim, you’ve come to realize—a victim of horrendous crimes at the hands of some of the most depraved people to ever exist.

It’s confusing and frustrating beyond belief. Yes, you’ve concluded that he does deserve a good life, but that doesn’t mean you want to be a part of it. However, a small part of you does feel inclined to believe Steve when he talks about how wonderful his friend is, how caring he is, and how much he loves you.

Of course, the ‘love’ part of that statement isn’t actually correct, it’s fallen beyond that into obsession, delusion, and downright insanity. Steve doesn’t seem to care about that though. In fact, at this point, he seems to encourage it. The perfect hero the outside world sees is all a facade, because the longer you’ve been here the more you’ve seen of his true nature, one he doesn’t even seem to know the extent of.

You’re allowed upstairs today, Steve is unusually quiet as he drags you up to the bathroom. But when you’re done showering, instead of making you get dressed he turns slightly so he can hand you a razor while still looking away from your naked body. With a shaky hand, you slowly reach out and take it, your eyebrows furrowing.

“What’s this for?”

“To shave.” Even though you can’t see his face, you’re pretty sure Steve’s rolling his eyes. When he hears that you don’t move, Steve reaches into his pocket to pull out a knife, not too big but just big enough to scare you into getting with the program. “Hurry up.”

“O-Okay,” You mumble, getting back into the shower. You’re confused as to where he’s expecting you to shave, so you start with the basics; your underarms and legs. Through the fogged glass of the shower door, you see Steve lazily twirling the knife, clicking his tongue to the roof of his mouth.

You’re extremely confused as to why you’re being made to do this, though a small part of you has a suspicion. It’s hard to tell how long you’ve been here, it feels like months, though that may be caused by the fact that you’re seldom allowed out of that deadly quiet and dark basement unless it’s to shower or watch those videos. Most of the time you’re left to yourself, simply waiting in the dark.

You’re careful to not cut yourself but the anxiety of what Steve would do if you weren’t quick forced you to rush.

As though Steve can tell you’re done, he makes sure to add, “Everywhere.”

Oh God, you think with tears in your eyes. I am meeting him today.

It’s awkward, extremely so, and you try your hardest to forget that Steve is in the room while you shave the rest of your body. That takes a few tedious minutes, something Steve seems to be aware of because he’s not rushing you through that part.

After finishing, it takes a few moments of deep breathing before you gain the courage to step out of the shower and take the towel next to it. And, as usual, it doesn’t take long for you to dry off, though you notice the lack of clothes on the counter.

What you do see is what looks like a light pink teddy-style lingerie set. The body is a see-through fabric yet the lace-covered cups, thankfully, cover your breasts. Very small panties rest next to it, so small you wonder how they can even be called underwear.

When Steve turns to look at you, you quickly wrap the towel around your body, vibrating with anxiety and dread. He nods to the set, then says, “I’ll be on the other side of this door, if you don’t come out in two minutes I’ll come and get you myself.” However, his dark tone and evil smirk let you know that he actually means he’ll forcefully drag you out.

As soon as the door closes and you’re alone, you pick up the thin underwear and slowly slide it up your legs, then you pull the teddy over your head and adjust it so the cups cover your breasts and the rest flows around your body, thankfully covering the underwear by just a few inches. It’s still see-through, so there is very little that’s left to the imagination.

And as you’re standing in the bathroom, you finally look at yourself in the mirror, but you don’t see your reflection. Someone else is staring back, someone with sunken eyes, no life to them at all. This body is thinner than you remember, though lack of proper food will do that to a person.

The person you’re staring at isn’t you, it may resemble you, but it’s not you. Although, who are you anymore? You’ve been alone with this man for months with no connection to the outside world, you haven’t had any positive human contact in what feels like forever, and your withered physical state seeps into your mental state.

You’re so tired. Sleep never comes easily, but even without that everything is just too much and overwhelming and all you want to do is curl into a ball on the floor and sob and try to forget that you’re being held captive, that you’ll probably never see your friends and family again.

A harsh knock on the door snaps you out of your daze. With one final look in the mirror, you turn and go to the door so you can open it and see Steve standing there with his arms crossed over his chest. You have the strong urge to cross your own arms to try and hide from his piercing gaze, but you don’t want to upset him any further by doing so. Quickly, Steve pulls out a blindfold from his pocket, his stare is a silent command to not move.

You’re shaking now, trying hard to stay still as he adjusts the blindfold over your head. Next, you feel a soft fabric wrap around your shoulders, and Steve moves your arms so he can slip what you assume to be a robe around your body. This, at least, you’re grateful for.

With that, Steve takes your arm in his grasp, pulling you along, though mindful of the fact that you can’t see.

“Come on, we don’t want to be late.”

____________

‘Come to the cabin’

That’s the text Steve sent that Bucky received right as he stepped off the quinjet. Curiosity rises, and his eyebrows furrow, and he types out a quick response as he walks towards Tony’s lab.

‘Why?’

‘Just do it’

Bucky huffs, texting back that he will after he gets his arm checked out. And now, knowing that Steve probably has something waiting for him back at the cabin he built, it seems to take forever for Tony to quit tinkering with the wires in his arm. His leg was bouncing the entire time, simply glaring at Tony any time he asked “What’s wrong tin-man?” But, finally, the work is done about an hour later and Bucky is quick to grab his bag and head down to his motorcycle.

It’s a couple hours drive from the tower to get to the cabin, and after he drives through the entrance of the land he purchased the roads get a little rockier, and Bucky curses softly every time his motorcycle wobbles slightly. It takes entirely too long for him to actually reach the house, and the entire ride over had him on edge, his natural anxiety peaking with every unanswered text he sends Steve.

Finally, finally, he gets there, parking his bike next to Steve’s car and taking note of its emptiness. Something seems off, and Bucky has to fight the urge to take out his gun, Steve’s here after all, nothing is going to happen.

Still, something is going on.

Bucky enters the cabin cautiously, silent footsteps traveling down the front hall to the living room where Steve stands, tall and proud and smiling wide.

“Hey, Buck,” Steve says, the joy in his voice clear as day.

“Hey, Steve. What’s going on?” Bucky sets his bag down on the couch, looking around to see if anything is out of place. He’d finished decorating before he left for the mission, planning on taking you soon after he came back. But when his friend doesn’t answer, Bucky’s heart starts speeding up with anxiety.

“Steve?”

“Just…” Steve stops, unable to wipe the smile off his face. “Just come with me.”

With that, Steve starts towards the hall, ignoring Bucky’s questioning gaze. With no other choice, Bucky follows down the hall to his bedroom, where his friend stands in front of the closed door.

“I have a… welcome home present for you.”

Once again, Bucky’s eyebrows furrow because Steve has never given him a random gift before. Well, he likes to get Bucky little trinkets if he’s off on missions, but he’s never been this excited for a gift.

“Okay…” Bucky draws out the last syllable, walking forward with slow and cautious steps until he can step past his friend. With a deep breath and a questioning look to Steve, Bucky opens the door, his eyes automatically drawn to his bed.

“Steve…” Tears fill his eyes immediately, and if he wasn’t a super-soldier he’d think he was having a heart attack with how fast his heart is beating, how borderline painful the tightness in his chest is.

“Do you like it?”

Bucky ignores the question, simply walking forward until he reaches the side of the bed, sitting on the edge precariously. His hand reaches out, scared that this is a dream and he’ll wake up soon. He couldn’t take it if this was a dream, it’s too real to be a dream.

Because you’re finally here. Lying on his bed in a beautiful silk robe wrapped around your body, each of your arms and legs tied to the bedposts of the canopy bed. Bucky feels like fainting, like collapsing to the ground in tears.

“Steve,” Bucky chokes out, looking back at his friend who also has happy tears in his eyes. “How?”

“After you left for the mission, I just knew this was the perfect time. I lied to you about where she was, and I’m sorry for that, but I wanted to make sure I had time to get her ready.” Steve steps forward, placing his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I told you I’d do anything for you, Buck.”

Bucky starts actually crying then. Oh how lucky he is to be surrounded by love, by his girl and his best friend who wants him to be happy. Steve squeezes his shoulder, letting Bucky lean into his stomach and cry for a minute. When the crying tapers off, Bucky manages to lean back so he can look Steve in the eyes.

“Thank you, Stevie. I mean it,” Bucky hiccups, wiping away his tears before looking back at you. You’re blindfolded with a cloth in your mouth, preventing you from seeing what’s going on, and unable to protest this whole thing.

“I’ll go now. You go enjoy your present.”

With that, Steve turns and leaves, giving his friend one last smile before it’s just you and Bucky.

“Angel,” Bucky whispers softly, his fingers brushing against your cheek. He strokes his thumb against your cheekbone, staring intensely yet lovingly at your quivering form. Slowly, he brings both of his hands up so he can untie the blindfold and throw it to the side. Your eyes blink open, immediately squinting at the harsh light. Something which Bucky seems to notice.

It’s scary, almost, how Bucky can seem to read your emotions because he rushes over to the light switch and dims them, letting your eyes adjust properly. He walks back over to the bed, deciding to lay down on his side next to your body, propping himself on his elbow so he can run his other hand over your covered stomach.

A muffled whine causes him to stop, his eyes looking up at you with a concerned gaze.

“What’s wrong, angel?” But then his eyes widen, seeming to realize that you can’t speak. He does something surprising, at least to you. He actually takes the gag out of your mouth, throwing it to the side as well. “Is that better?”

He asks so softly, so warmly, that it confuses you greatly. You’d heard about how much Bucky ‘loves’ you, but you didn’t realize exactly how far it went until now that you’re witnessing it for yourself. For a moment you’re not quite sure what to do. Do you beg him to let you go? Do you lash out at him? Do you cry?

You want to do all three, but you can’t. Your voice is caught in the back of your throat, you’ve gone mute, not even a whimper escaping your lips. There’s really nothing you’re able to do other than stare directly into Bucky’s eyes, still filled with tears of what must be joy.

“My angel?” He asks with a concerned tone, eyebrows furrowing. “Are you okay? Does anything hurt?”

Again, confusion. But you haven’t spent more than a few minutes with him so you’re not quite sure how he’ll physically react if you do anything like you did with Steve. You decide to play it safe.

“My… My wrists hurt.” Your voice comes out smaller than intended, and you have to force yourself to keep eye contact with Bucky as his eyes widen again.

“Oh, shit,” Buckyy curses to himself, quickly shuffling onto his knees. “Don’t worry, baby.” Another surprise comes when he willingly and without much thought starts untying the rope binding your arms. And though your wrists are now freed, your ankles are still tied. On instinct, you shift your right leg, slightly tugging on the rope.

Bucky sees this too, though he hesitates for a second. Should he untie your legs? Bucky likes to think you wouldn’t run, but, realistically, he knows this is all new for you. Ultimately he decides to only free one ankle. Once he does so he starts rubbing and massaging the slight burn the rope left on your foot.

Bucky’s frowning now.

Leaning down, he presses a delicate kiss to the area, then he straightens up again. Bucky resumes his position next to you, though, this time, he rearranges you both so you’re lying in between his legs with your back pressed to his chest. For a moment, everything seems frighteningly normal, with Bucky pressing kisses to your temple and cheek as he starts soothing your wrists.

Your heartbeat is speeding up, and you’re so frozen with fear and confusion that you can’t do much else but let this all happen. Until, eventually, you’re able to find your voice.

“Um. I - Wha-”

“Oh, angel,” Bucky cuts you off with a coo. “I know you must be so confused, and I’ll explain everything, I promise.”

With care, Bucky moves your arms so he can hold both of your wrists in one of his hands. With his free hand he leans over to grab the picture frame on his nightstand, and brings it up so you can see it. And it brings tears to your eyes, one of concern for not just your physical safety but Bucky’s mental state.

Because it’s a picture of the two of you, horribly photoshopped to make it look like it would be a normal picture a couple in love would take. And this serves as a reminder of all the trauma he’s been through, and that maybe this is his way of coping.

A sick and twisted way of coping.

“I’m not too good with technology, as you can see,” Bucky huffs out a little laugh, pressing another kiss to your cheek. “But we don’t have any pictures together yet, so, until we could take some, this is the best I could do.”

Still unable to really say anything, you let out a cautious hum and let him continue.

“Looking at this picture, at all of the pictures I’ve taken over the last several months… it’s what helps me get through the day. Looking at you, knowing that one day you’d be mine, it’s that that keeps me sane. Knowing that I’ll get to love you for the rest of our lives is what makes all the pain I’ve endured worth it.”

“Why me?” It’s the first thought that crosses your mind at the moment, one you need to know the answer to.

“Oh, my angel,” Bucky coos again, placing the picture back down on the table so he can wrap both of his arms around your body, cuddling you close to his chest. “Why not you? You’re so beautiful, so kind, so innocent and sweet. I knew it from the moment I first saw you in that little library, curled up on that couch with a book in your hands. You were so focused on reading that you didn’t even realize I’d been staring at you for several minutes.”

Bucky chuckles again, squeezing you tighter to his chest until you let out a noise of pain. He immediately loosens his hold, murmuring an apology with his lips pressed against your temple. After a moment of tense silence, Bucky speaks again.

“Are you hungry?” That question receives a ‘yes’ in the form of your stomach grumbling. The man behind you laughs, then shuffles out from under you.

“Okay, darling, I’ll go get some food. You just lay here and look beautiful,” Bucky leans over you, gazing down at you with such intense devotion. “Beautiful,” he mutters to himself, almost as if he’s unaware he’s even speaking. With no warning, he leans his head down, and you’re narrowly able to dodge his kiss by turning your head.

Bucky sighs dejectedly, clearly not happy with that decision. You can feel the bedsheet next to you twist as he grips the sheets in frustration, and your heart rate spikes again in fear of what he might do.

He doesn’t do anything, merely moves off of your body and gives you one final longing look before heading off to fetch food.

As soon as he’s out of the room you’re sitting upright, hands immediately going to the rope and trying desperately to untie it. But it’s no use, of course it’s not, because Steve’s too smart to make the binds loose enough to even wiggle your foot out of the loop.

It takes no more than five minutes for Bucky to come back, returning with a bowl of soup and a glass you’re hoping is just water. Upon hearing his arrival, you resume your original position, hoping that Bucky won’t notice the fact that you were desperately tearing at the ropes.

He doesn’t seem to because he just moves you both into position - your back to his chest. When you try to take a sip of the water, Bucky gently swats your hand away, taking charge by being the one to hold the glass to your lips, the one who feeds you your soup, the one that holds you tight to his chest as though this is all normal.

And as you’re eating, so many emotions are running through your body. Fear and confusion are the more prominent ones. Though, you’re so exhausted that part of you doesn’t appear to care.

So, for the time being, you let this happen, let yourself be held and hand-fed by the man holding you captive.

____________

Six months. Or has it been seven? Hell, a year? You’re not too sure. Due to your… situation, you haven’t been allowed outside, nor are you allowed to watch the news. The only true concept of time you have are the clocks littered throughout the house.

There’s nothing good about any of this, but at least Bucky has been nothing but kind to you. He treats you with care, gives you soft kisses in the morning, and leaves you little love notes in random places he knows you’ll see. He’s infuriatingly perfect, and you so desperately want to forget that you didn’t come here of your own free will, that you’ve been forced away from your family and friends and normal life. Because if you’d met him naturally you’re sure you would have loved him, you would have cherished the way he dotes over and so clearly adores you. It’s the life you’ve always wished for.

That wish was granted in the form of being held captive by a man who is so clearly in mental distress. His obsession with you almost makes you feel sick, like if anything happened to you he’d mentally break, and that scares you. It’s frightening because you don’t want anything to happen to him. Sure, you’re not in love with him and you’re still on slightly guard, but you know what he’s been through. You know all the pain he’s endured, all the torture and torment.

He deserves happiness, and you’re getting kind of scared of what will happen to him if anything happens to you.

Fuck, you think, what’s happening to me?

You’re not too sure exactly what day it is, but Bucky has been giddy ever since you both woke up. He let you sleep in, cuddling you close for a good thirty minutes and giving you absentminded kisses every once in a while before he decided to get up and make breakfast.

When he leaves the sane part of you forces you to quickly glance around the room in an attempt to find a way out. You know you won’t though, all the doors in the house are locked and there’s only one window in this room that’s made of bulletproof glass that’s bolted shut - something you found out when you desperately tried opening it when you first got here.

You’d been here for about two weeks, walking on eggshells around Bucky in an effort to not upset him. Sure, he seems to be the opposite of Steve in his actions, but you’re still unsure of how he’d truly be if you acted out - his metal arm is a major factor in that anxiety.

At the time Bucky was in the kitchen setting things up for your first ‘date’ and had been researching different recipes for the last week to make this meal perfect. He placed candles on the table and had glasses of your favorite wine set up, red rose petals littering the cloth-covered table.

He went back to the room when he heard loud thumps, and when he did get there he saw you banging on the window - rather aggressively. Tears filled your eyes as you whimpered sadly, unable to break the glass.

“What are you doing?” Bucky asks with a confused tone.

You whip around, eyes widened in fear because surely this would get you into major trouble. Now the tears in your eyes aren’t out of despair, they’re out of fear. What is he going to do to you? Hopefully nothing worse than Steve’s already done, but there’s no way for you to know.

“Are you… trying to leave?” What’s weird is that he sounds sad, heartbroken really. Like he can’t believe that you’d want to leave when he’s shown that he can provide for you.

You’re unable to find your words, so you simply back up until your back hits a wall, and your arms come up to your chest as you cower away from him. Your eyes betray you by glancing back to the window. 

“No, you - you can’t leave me!” Bucky’s voice raises, now almost angry - though you’re not too sure if it’s directed completely at you.

But then your eyes glance past Bucky toward the door, assessing the situation and making a quick determination on whether you could push past him and run out of the room.

“No. No, don’t you dare leave me!” He begs loudly, taking three large steps forward until he’s right in front of your shivering form. “Not like this, I - I just… I just got you.” One of his hands comes up to gently hold one of your wrists, his other hand moving to caress your cheek, though you can’t help but flinch when his hand gets closer.

“I-I’m sorry,” You whimper, clenching your eyes shut to avoid looking at the absolute despair evident on Bucky’s face. “I - I didn’t… I was just… I-” You can’t find many words, you’re just hoping your begging will prevent this from escalating.

“Please don’t hurt me.”

Bucky sniffles, causing you to peek an eye open. And Bucky, well, he looks concerned, confused, hurt. Tears are falling down his cheeks as he shakes his head, eyebrows furrowing.

“What are you talking about?” He asks, bringing your wrist up so he can place a kiss on your palm. “I would never hurt you. I don’t… I don’t know what Steve said or did but I - I promise! I won’t hurt you, ever. Just…”

At your wide eyes and worried gaze Bucky falls to his knees, placing his forehead against your stomach and wrapping both of his arms around your waist to prevent you from moving.

“Just don’t leave me.”

You felt so guilty that you hadn’t tried again since.

You sighed, rolling over and laying on your back. Looking to your right, your gaze lands on a framed photo of you sleeping on Bucky’s chest from a few months ago. While there are plenty of pictures of you and him scattered throughout the cabin, this one is Bucky’s favorite. Because this was on your supposed three-month anniversary.

Bucky had woken up early that morning, fully intending to start the special day by making you breakfast. However, he knew from the moment his eyes opened that it would be nearly impossible to physically move for a while. Your body was almost completely lying on top of his, pinning him to the bed with your face tucked into his neck. Of course, he could easily move you without even waking you, but he just couldn’t bring himself to leave his version of paradise.

Your thoughts are interrupted by a soft whistle, the noise getting louder the closer Bucky gets to your room. Sitting up, you look to the door and see him entering with a tray filled with coffee, orange juice, pancakes, and your favorite assortment of fruits. The single red rose in a small vase is the cherry on top.

Fuck him for being perfect.

Bucky sets the tray down on the table next to his side of the bed then crawls under the covers again, pulling you to sit sideways on his lap.

“Good morning, my angel,” He mumbles as he presses small kisses to your cheek. You force a smile, though you can’t deny that part of it is real. It feels good to be loved and cherished, and you’re trying so hard to remind yourself that this isn’t that, this isn’t where you’re meant to be.

But Bucky is good at making you forget that part.

“Um, what’s all this for?” You ask timidly, your eyes glancing from the food to Bucky, whose eyes soften with sympathy.

“You didn’t know? It’s our anniversary!” His smile brightens, his arms tightening his hold around your body to hug you closer to his chest. “Six months ago, Steve gave me the best gift I’ve ever received.”

Six months? Time sure flies when you have no perception of it.

“Oh,” You whisper, fiddling with your fingers. “I-I’m sorry, I must have forgotten.”

Bucky shakes his head, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he says, “It’s okay, darling.”

“But I didn’t get you a gift,” You say remorsefully, glancing around the room as though you’ll find anything.

“Oh, no. No baby, you don’t have to get me anything. You being here is more than enough for me.” Bucky’s smile widens, placing a hand on the back of your neck so he can angle your head in just the right position that he can lean down and press his lips against yours. It’s soft, gentle, just like how Bucky treats you.

When he leans back he rests his forehead on yours, letting your lips brush against each other.

“I love you, angel,” He murmurs, not wanting to ruin the serenity of the moment.

And you have to try so hard not to tense, because those words always make you remember that you’ve been kidnapped and taken to some house in the middle of nowhere. It reminds you that this man is deeply disturbed, that he needs more help than he probably thinks if he thinks that this is true love.

But you smile anyway, trying to not let it waver when you reply with, “I love you too, Bucky.” And Bucky looks like he’s about to cry, just like every other time you tell him you love him.

There’s a few moments of silence, tears of joy in Bucky’s eyes while yours are filled with tears of exhaustion. You’re tired. So fucking tired of pretending. But for the time being, you’re just going to let yourself be held, you’re just going to let go of all of your negative emotions and melt into the moment.

“Angel?” When Bucky pauses, you hum in curiosity.

Your body had grown use to the uncomfortable positions Bucky had managed to bend you in.

Your legs on his shoulders, practically bent in half as he pounded into you. Teeth gritted and muscles tense from the exertion as your hands fumbled to find something to hold onto, gasped out moans tearing from your burning lungs as his hands found yours. Fingers lacing together before he pinned them to the mattress.

“Gonna make a family. Make my little cockslut a momma-“ he panted, beads of sweat formed at his hairline and skin flush as you whined in response. “Full you till your dripping and round- we’d make perfect babies.”

His words weren’t fully registering in your pleasure drunk mind, likely another empty promise that you couldn’t bother to argue with. Not when he was pressing so deep and fucking into the perfect spot that had your thighs quivering, thick cock splitting you open.

Your lips dry from the heaving breaths as you tried to wet them, voice hoarse from the hours he’d had you like this. Holding off on the swirling at his base to have his pleasure in bringing you to a breaking point. One where you’d beg him to stop but still cling onto him and mewl like he was your lifeline. A twisted feeling growing in him at the thought of keeping you full of him- of seeing you round with his child.

Likely one of the reasons he went harder- faster.

You hadn’t thought it possible, your legs being dropped to a more comfortable position on his waist as he gripped your cheeks in metal fingers. Your mouth opening instinctively as he pursed his lips, gathering saliva before spitting it in your mouth and smothering your lips with his in a sloppy kiss. Teeth clanking together from the punishing thrusts as his hips rutted yours.

“My pretty little slut will always be that- mine.” A sick smile curled his lips, goosebumps lining his skin when your shaky hands found their way up his chest and to his long hair. Fingers tangling in it as you blubbered incoherent words, a shift in his hips tensing your body and making your hands tug the sweat dampened strands.

A pleased chuckled mixed with a deep moan rumbled from his chest as you pulled hard in reaction to the feeling rippling through your body, tingles running down his spine from the feeling.

“There ya go, finally getting the hang of it.” He strained from the angle of his head being pulled back. The column of his neck looking as if it was begging to be marked up as you pulled him down to you, latching your lips to his pulse point and sucking harshly on the skin. His vulgar sounds vibrating against your mouth as his warm right hand slipped between your slick bodies to toy with your clit. Your back arching painfully at the overwhelming feeling.

“Gonna fuck a baby into this pretty cunt. Then you’ll always be mine. My permanent little fuck toy.” Bucky grunted, pressing sloppy circles to the overworked nub. His thrusts losing their rhythm. “Whose cock is this?”

Your mumbles were inaudible over the salacious sounds of skin slapping and the wet squelch of your cunt mixed with his deep moans and grunts. His lips brushing over yours before he surged his hips forward, thick tip ramming into a spot that had you seeing stars and his hand going up to grope at your chest. “Answer me.”

“Mine- mine, all mine-“ you cried out, words slurring together from the seemingly permanent fog that had settled over your mind.

“Prove it, claim it.”

“I can’t- I can’t- Bucky, please-“ you pleaded, your fingers slipping down to dig your nails into the skin of his back. The stinging sensation only egging him on as another guttural moan poured from his plump lips.

“Yes, you can. You want that family? Lock me in and take what’s yours.” He demanded, jaw clenched tight and pace faltering.

Your ankles hooked together at the base of his back, heels digging into the spot to pull him impossibly deeper as your frantically rocked your hips against him.

“There ya go, greedy pussy is milking me.” Bucky grunted, head dipping down to bite a mark to your shoulder as his cock twitched in your velvety walls.

Your countless orgasm tore through you like a wild fire. Stealing the breath from your lungs and making your body convulse, walls spasming around his thick cock as your vision whited out for a moment. His guttural moan barely heard over the roaring in your ears as hot spurts of his spend filled you.

Your body was wore out when he slipped from between your shaking thighs. A weak whine pulling from your throat when you felt his middle and ring finger against your cunt, pressing the seed that had seeped from you back into your spasming walls.

“Bucky-“ you started, heavy metal hand pressing just above your pelvic bone to hold your hips down as he fucked his fingers into you. Your overstimulated cunt already clenching around the digits and body fully reacting to the shocks of pleasure.

“You’re gonna make the best momma- give me another and you can go to bed.”

————

Her husband was turning into some sticky sweet, attentive, doting partner completely out of nowhere. And it was setting her off, ringing all sorts of panic alarms, when really he was trying to make amends. Was their affair finally over? Was he onto her and hers? She didn’t know what to make of his abrupt metamorphesis, and he was so willing to put in the work to fix their marriage that she was starting to feel pretty guilty about her attachment to Bucky. So she started to put him on the back burner, which Bucky really, really didn’t like. Yeah he’s the side piece but she never really treated him like one. But what was she supposed to do? Her husband was all of a sudden talking about date nights and vacations and renewing their vows! Fuuuuck, she mentally screamed everyday. Any time Bucky called looking for her. She didn’t expect that one day she’d have to choose between them. If anything, she thought maybe her husband would leave her and be none the wiser, or that she’d have her fun with Bucky until the spark fizzled out.

That spark though was never fading, flickering nothing. No, the spark between she and Bucky was a roaring, steadfast flame that took them both by complete surprise. Their attraction to one another. She couldn’t deny her feelings, and Bucky was showing more and more each day that he wouldn’t waste another second denying his. He was changing so much before her eyes. So warm and happy, glowing when they were together. Growing all soft, sneak slipping plans of a future she had no intentions of. But the more she’d stare deeply into his smitten eyes, the more she could potentially see herself with him. And that was a big problem. Not what was supposed to happen. But she can’t help but swoon when he calls her his angel, and there was something about being in his space that gave her a sense of comfort. Didn’t know how else to explain it. All she knew was that she felt damn good with Bucky, in every way, and she knew she didn’t have to go back to her husband. She just wasn’t ready to blow her life up yet. Not for him…

Deep down, she knew leaving him was never going to be easy. After their first night together? But for whatever reason, she thought telling Bucky what it was wouldn’t be as bad as telling her husband. So she decided that it’d have to be him that would have to go. He was never supposed to be serious anyway, right? Just a revenge fuck that’s gone on way too long. So dumping him shouldn’t feel like someone was cutting her heart out of her chest. She wanted to stand firm in her decision, but the gut wrenching pain in her stomach made her wither. Bitch you got this; those encouraging words only made her even more upset. How was she going to do this…

Bucky had been summoning her for over a week now, so she knew she was already going in with her chin down, eyes to the floor, unable to explain why it’d been so long since they’d seen each other. To add, “I’m staying with my cheating husband,” on top of that?! She could barely swallow, her stomach in absolute knots and her knees trembled. Leaning her weak body up against the door, she took a big deep breath, pressed her keycard against the knob but could barely push the door open. But before she could try, it was abruptly jerked open and she fell into their suite with a surprised gasp.

Catching her, Bucky shouts, “Angel?! What the fuck?!” He furrowed his worried brow as he held her up, cupping her chin to look in her downcast gaze but she quickly pushed herself away. He called after her, “Are you okay? The fuck is goin on?!”

She couldn’t take his shouting, crumbling into the couch with a sad sigh. “Bucky, c’mon…”

“No you fuckin c’mon.” He barked as he paced across the room. “Where the fuck have you been?!”

Her braids curtain her clammy face as she cradled her forehead, still too sick to look at him. “You know it’s complicated…” she mumbled to the floor, unable to speak any louder or open her mouth any wider because she just might throw up if she did.

“What?” He didn’t quite catch that but she didn’t repeat herself, just kept her head down, took slow deep breaths. Bucky could see her shaking, could tell something was really wrong and was worried, but he way more mad than concerned. Throwing the coffee table out of his way, he squat down before her, hoping that’d gain her attention. And still nothing. Bucky frustratingly smacked his lips. “Angel…” He barely waited a minute for a reaction, and when she still wouldn’t budge, he snatched her up by her jaw and made her. She didn’t gasp or flinch or anything. Just glanced down at him with this pained look in her dull eyes. That’s when he knew…

“Bucky…” her voice quaked, and his heart ripped. But instead of dropping his hand in shock, his fingertips dug into her burning skin. He glared, squaring his chiseled jaw. She can’t be serious.

“No.”

She bit her pouty bottom lip to keep it from shaking, gulped burning bile back down her throat. “We—we have to…”

Bucky violently shook his head, clawed her quivering jaw. “No the fuck we don’t.”

She’d gone so numb his painful grip didn’t inflict her, too numb to cry as his heart broke right before her teary eyes. To see his light fade absolutely gutted her. He’d reverted back to the cold ruthless man he was before, and it was all her fault.

“Bucky…I’m-I’m sorry—”

He didn’t want to hear that shit, snatching his hand away as he pushed himself up off the floor, her back into the couch with an annoyed scoff. She stifled back a sob, covering her achy mouth with the palm of her sweaty hand. Bucky stomped back and forth across the floor, silently fuming, fisting his hair since he couldn’t punch/shoot/stab someone. How was this happening? How could she do this? He had never felt this kind of pain before and he’s been stabbed, shot, tortured…none of that could prepare him for this; it enraged him, confused him, made him want to scream. He wanted to cry, beg, lock her in there with him. She…she can’t leave him like this. Not when he…he was…falling…for her…

Somewhat coming to her senses, she cleared away her emotions enough to admit, “things have changed Bucky. And…and I can’t be with you anymore...”

Her chin dipped in shame. It was so hard for her to watch Bucky freak out, pace to and fro from the corner of her weepy eye, afraid of what’ll happen next. He was a pretty dangerous man after all, let’s not forget, so no telling what else he’ll do. She didn’t want to hurt him like this but…this was for the best. They could go back to their normal lives, be each other’s distant memory. It was fun while it lasted. They simply weren’t meant to be. Those were the words she kept telling herself to keep her grounded in a reality with no Bucky. They were failing…as much as his heart was breaking so was hers…

Just as she opened her mouth to lie some more, Bucky lashed out, “remember,” aggressively took her by her shoulders with an intense glare, “remember I fuckin told you not to fuck with me. Told you I play for fuckin keeps angel.”

She sucked in her fat bottom lip to keep herself from breaking. “I—I know Bucky, but…it was a promise I couldn’t keep. I-I lie-lied to fuck you, to use you...you were nothing but some good dick…”

Bucky chuffed, appalled that she would pull that after everything. They were more than just a good fuck. They were more than what this affair had set out for. He knew she knew that, so why was she doing this? His sad eyes scanned her somber face.

“Why are you doing this to me…”

“Bucky please,” she whimpered, heaved a shaky breath, “he’s my husband…he wants to try…”

“This is fuckin bullshit!” His grip weakened as he choked down his sadness with hard gulps, staring intensely into her bloodshot eyes. “Do I need to go handle this motherfucker?! Huh?!” She solemnly shook her head. Maybe once…but not anymore. “Then what the fuck?!” His voice broke beneath his weak sigh.

She huffed a sad breath, unsure of what else to do or say. She was fuckin losing her mind. Bucky’s spiraling out too, maniacally devising several plans to keep her in his strong hands that tremble amongst her sunken shoulders. He couldn’t take his teary eyes off her, visibly regretful of her drastic decision. She didn’t have to be with him. She didn’t have to bow down to such a pathetic fuckin man. She was his, that’s a promise he meant to keep, no matter what happened. At first, it was a small obsession, he couldn’t fathom the idea of some asshole inside her. But as time progressed, and her secret unfolded, he realized she was a necessity. She was changing him and Bucky didn’t hate it. He felt lighter, tender, a warm light in his dark life. Bucky cherished her, wanted to do everything in his power to protect her. So she couldn’t leave him. No she couldn’t…Bucky tightly gripped her arms, slowly drew her in to his solemn gaze.

“You know you can never really leave me right? I’ll always be watching you, always near angel. Fuckin waiting for my moment. You said you were mine, so you fuckin belong to me! Not him!” He snapped as he shook her stiff body.

“I belong to no one Bucky.” She blinked to fight back her tears. She wished that was true.

“Oh whatever,” he tut, “Whatever you need to tell yourself angel…” Bucky released her with a smack of his lips, pushing himself away once again. It hurt to be near hear, to see her lie to his face with those dead eyes. He growled, balled up his fists. “Oh my fuckin god I hate you. I hate you for…for making me feel this way about you. For leaving me when you know damn well you don’t want to. For pretending that you don’t want to be with me.”

“I’m not,” she took a minute, nearly gagging on the words as they came to her, “I’m not pretending…”

Bucky cut that shit short. “Oh…oh angel,” his head shook, “stop fuckin lying to me. You wanna see how I deal with people who lie to me? Huh?”

She smacked her lips. “Bucky, if you wanna hurt me then…” Do it, she shrugged, fuck she deserved it, but he won’t. He couldn’t. No matter how bad he might’ve wanted to. His knuckles white and veins bulging he was itching to place his frustration on anyone, anything. She couldn’t take seeing him ache anymore. She had to get out of there so she could begin the grieving process.

Standing on her feeble legs, she called out to his broad tense back, “Bucky…please, just let me go…”

Slowly, he curiously looked back over his shoulder as if she was crazy for sayin that. Didn’t she hear what he just fuckin said? There was no letting go, no fuckin turning back. A promise made is a fuckin promise kept. Besides, she was too perfect to let go, too beautiful and strong and sweet. Bucky turned as he took her in one last time, tempted to spill his feelings but what would be the point. She made her pussy ass decision. Even all sullen, tears brimming her puffy eyelids, she was his angel, all he wanted. His shiny loafers quickly carried him over, and suddenly, she was wrapped up in his needy embrace, kissing him back just as hard as he was kissing her. Yanking and tugging the back of shirts, hair, as their tongues furiously swirled around in their connected mouths, whimpering and whining behind their swollen lips. Roughly pressed and grinding into each other, Bucky was tempted to rip her clothes off and fuck the shit out of her to remind her who that pussy belonged to. He could never have this again, might as well make it count, but poor Bucky couldn’t get past how much it hurt to even hold her close. How was he going to forget the way she tastes? So much of her was imprinted into his being. He broke their kiss with a sharp quiet hiss, a wince of his wrinkled eyes.

“Look what you’ve done to me…” Bucky murmured against her pouty lips as he gently caressed the sides of her neck, trying to convince himself could do what she wanted but no... Resting his forehead against hers he firmly vowed to her, “this is far from over. Hear me? I will come for you baby. I don’t give a flying fuck. Enjoy your marriage while you can because I swear to fuckin god, when I’m ready, I’m fuckin coming for you. And you will be mine, ingerul meu, forever.”

A frightful chill ran down her spine as one lonely tear finally fell down her enflamed skin. “Bucky…please...” she sniffled. She couldn’t hold back anymore. Feeling him let go pushed her over the edge.

He dismissed her tears with a flicker of his fingers. “Nah, fuck that. You know you want to be with me, but you wanna be a good woman, a good wife. So go ahead angel, I’ll give you some time to act like that’s what you want. Until one day, it’ll dawn on you that you made the biggest mistake of your life. And you’ll be thinking about me, wondering how you can get me back, then like magic, I’ll be at your house, telling you to come home. Mark my words angel. You won’t get far…”

“Honey, are you okay?”

Coming out of her trance, she glanced up at her husband standing over her, wine bottle in hand. “Huh?”

“You chugged that glass down pretty quickly. Are you okay?”

She looked back at the empty glass fixed between her fingers and slowly nodded, holding it up for him to refill. She was barely present, still back in their hotel room, listening to Bucky reprimand her for being so gullible, envisioning his ugly scowl as she absentmindedly gulped down bitter red wine. Had no appetite, so the wine filled her empty belly, her empty heart. Her husband prattled on about his day, completely oblivious to her spaced out gaze. Her heart still aching in her chest. I’m fuckin coming for you…mark my words…his twisted words played on repeat. Part of her hoped to never see him again, but another part of her couldn’t wait for the day he keeps his fucked up promise. She missed him already, and couldn’t wait to see him again. Thinking back on their last kiss made her clench her thighs under the table. Even if it was months way into the future…she’ll be ready…

Curiously squinting at her lost in her thoughts, her husband slowly chewed his food and asked,