World of Marvel Fics

The compliment goes straight to your gut, warmth spreading to your core as you clench your thighs tightly and hope to god he doesn't notice. But he does. He notices everything, apparently. That's why you're in this predicament. 

"I'm not-," you stutter, feeling your cheeks heat up at his praise-like condescension, "I'm not doe-eyed. It's just a stupid crush. I didn't mean any of it." 

Lee clicks his tongue against his teeth with a smile, calloused palm gliding up towards your kneecap. You're frozen beneath his touch. You should move. You know you should move and tell him to get out. Threaten to call your mom and tell her that her husband is making a move on you. 

You don't.

You couldn't, even if you wanted to. 

"Oh, you didn't mean it? Tell me," he pauses, sidling closer up the bed until he's seated next to your thighs, "what exactly were you writin' when I knocked on your door?"

Steve never wants to hurt you. You're his delicate flower - so opposite to him in every single way. With how tiny, dainty, soft-spoken and innocent you are. It awakens something in him - he wants to keep you safe, protect you, take care of you.

Which is why it surprises him how much he's turned on by the image of you beneath him, crying in pain as he tries to coax his big dick into you.

"It's... It's so big, Steve." You weep, and he knows you feel ashamed, disappointed in yourself for not being able to take him. But he can't possibly blame you - he knows he's a lot bigger than average, and he's been through this with other girls he's fucked. It's always a tight fit - but none of those other girls have been as innocent and lovely as you.

"It's okay, princess. I know you can take it." Steve encourages you softly, trying to ease his dick into your tight, wet pussy. God, you're so slick, it's almost like you're weeping down there. And he's trying so hard to focus on your comfort, but your tight warmth is so deliciously inviting, so fucking tempting. "C'mon, baby. Just relax."

"I-I'm trying. I p-promise I'm trying!" You hiccup, looking up at him with bright, wet eyes. He's got you caged between the bed and his body, pinned down by his sheer size advantage over you - not to mention his power. Your tiny hands are clutching against his biceps and you're breathing hard, so obviously scared of how big he is compared to you.

"You're so beautiful, baby. So fucking perfect for daddy," Steve says to you softly, hoping maybe a bit of praise and dirty talk might get you to focus on anything apart from the pain. "You're gonna take daddy's dick like a good girl, aren't you? It's gonna feel so fucking good when I'm inside you, baby. Don't you want that?"

His dick is barely half way into you by this point, and Steve doesn't want to admit it but he doesn't know how much longer he can take this. You're so fucking perfect in every way, it's agonising to be so gentle, so slow, so coaxing. And one look down at your tear-stained face and it only gets him harder.

You're shaking your head, the burn of being stretched out by his sheer girth making you dig your nails deep into his skin. "N-No, Steve! D-Daddy, I don't think I can... OH! OH FUCK!"

And okay, so Steve doesn't completely mean to lose his patience. He doesn't mean to forget all about how big he is for you, how tiny and tight you are. He doesn't mean to snap his hips sharply, and with one hard thrust, completely impale you with his huge cock. He doesn't mean to make you scream bloody murder. He doesn't mean any of it - but it just feels so fucking good.

"Shh, shh, baby, it's okay." He says through gritted teeth, grabbing both your wrists in one of his hands and pinning you in place as you writhe desperately underneath him, your body instinctively trying to get away from him. But there's no escape - he's too big, too strong as he holds you down. "It's okay, princess. Just be a good girl and take it."

"P-Please, it hurts! Hurts so much! You're too big!" You cry, feeling like your body is being ripped in half by him.

"You can take it, princess, you can take it." Steve repeats, most of his focus is on how fucking good it feels to finally be inside you, how velvety soft and tight you are, practically constricting around his dick, squeezing him so tight and good like no other pussy has ever before.

"S-Steve..." You're so dainty and small in his eyes, like a perfect, fuckable little doll. You sound faint, like you're about to pass out from his sheer size and force of his dick - and the pleasure too, considering how you squeeze around him. And a small part of Steve is wondering why he won't stop: You're hurting her, Steve. Pull out. Slow down.

But he can't.

"I can't stop, baby. Your pussy feels too fucking good," He practically growls, increasing his pace, getting into this almost frenzied state because shit, this is the best pussy he's ever had and he can't believe he's waited this long to fuck you. He almost loses it all over again when he glances down to see the shape of his dick protruding at the bottom of your tummy. Fuck. He knows you won't be able to walk for a while after this.

He reaches down to roughly brush the tears from your cheeks. "Don't worry, baby, I'll make it up to you. I promise daddy will make it up to you."

He has all night to stretch you out. And that's exactly what he intends to do.

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His attraction to her had been sudden and consuming. Her face had knocked him flat and he had caught the dimples in her flesh as she scanned the fruit section at the Natural Foods Market. The elegant line of her neck. The unmarked skin. He’d lingered on the swell of her sweet-giving tissue that sat in all the right places.

She could be acting. She could be in shock. No. He didn’t think so. She played it too well.

“Let’s talk about fear. Let’s talk about your lack of it.”

Her doe-eyed expression flutters up at him like an obedient pet - a glass doll - a rare piece of cattle. No! A prized piece and shouldn’t prizes be kept - be cherished and nailed down to show off. He didn’t want to share her, which is why they were even having dinner. The candlelight. The thousands and thousands of dollars of meat he was showering her with. The air swells of nineties rock because he’d memorized her Spotify and wanted to play something she’d enjoy.

“What would fear do?” she replies bluntly. “What would fear do, but hinder me?”

They were talking in patterns. Repeating phrases. The circle lights embedded in his ceiling streams down upon her like a spotlight. He’d made her wear that bow - that prim pink confection at the crown of her head.

“Hinder you?”

She bites her lip - spearing her fork into a green bean. “I wanted to be clear-headed here. I wanted to be able to understand you.”

She was billboard beautiful. Glossy. A myriad of colors. Or was she simply beautiful to him? Could she really be plain? No. No. He didn’t think so. She was hydrated. Moisturized. Bare. Organic. Sweetgreen fed. Oat-milk creamers. Yellowtail sashimi. Almond butter. Blueberries. Collagen peptides. She was good at taking care of herself. He could barely find a mark on her as he’d worshiped her in her white linen bed.

He’d tasted her cunt - lapped at the soft folds - curling the tip of his tongue inside the clenching hole of her sex so that he could really get the vintage. He’d even eaten her ass - forcing her onto her hands and knees as he wedged his face between her cheeks and tried her there. She’d sobbed through every orgasm - grinding back into the sharp line of his nose and his giving mouth.

He didn’t do that - not normally - not with anyone else. But she was utterly attractive to him and she spoke like her words were tangled in bubble wrap. They fell like drops of rain on long grass.

“So - what do you do, Steve?”

“What do you like?”

“How do you want me?”

“Oh - Steve - right there. Shit - you do that so well.”

“Baby - baby - oh my god -”

They had palpable chemistry and he enjoyed fucking her. A lot. He had even felt sad the second the jig was up - the moment he had to drug her and chain her and confess. She’d taken it all in stride. Her brow furrowing as she followed everything he had said, understanding what he meant.

She had looked adorable. Lush. He had almost regretted it.

She smiles demurely at him now as he brings her the next dish. “How’s your leg?” He didn’t want to ask - didn’t want to remind her that he had cut a piece off of her body. But he thought it had to be done. Get it all out in the open. They could joke about it now and maybe he’d have her watch him eat that slab of gorgeous flesh. The transference of her to him. He wants to possess her - have her inhabit him. Your body and blood. He’d treat it with the same sanctity of religion - of ritual. It was love - it was true -

“Better,” she replies as she studies her plate. There’s no anger - not even a sliver of disgust at what he’d done to her. Perfect.

Dinner goes on and he finds himself desperate to touch her. He wants to kiss her - plunge his cock into that molten slick heat as she arches beneath him. He wants her digging her nails into the muscles of his back - scratching down his ribs.

“It must be hard,” she observes - scanning the large table - the spacious sunken living room. “It must be lonely to do this here - all by yourself.”

Fuck - she gets him. She really does.

“To not have someone here - with you - sharing in your passion.”

“Well,” He leans forward - tone conspiratorial. “You’d be surprised at the kind people who also enjoy this. Very few, of course. But - all insanely powerful. The one percent of the one percent.”

She grins - meeting him halfway - her knees knock against his own. He can smell the perfume he’d given her - a whiff of roses. She raises an eyebrow - her expression mischievous. “Could you tell me?”

“No!” He chuckles as he grabs his wine glass and swirls the mulberry liquid in a tight circle. He wants to press his fingers to her clit and do it with that same rapid, stiff pace - get her all juicy so that he could just glide inside her. “They’re my clients.”

She shakes her head - still smiling. “I think you will,” she teases. “I think I know how to get what I want.”

He frowns. “I’m not that easy.”

But he is. He is for her.

***

She does what she does without any grace. She does it in a way that her partners would probably go green over. Her plan was a bit unorthodox, but whatever. She doesn’t care. C’est la vie and all that.

She lets Steve (Brendan) fuck her down on his cock.

She rides him slow - hips sliding over his thighs as the skirt of her dress rasps and crinkles against their bare skin. She lifts herself up as he braces his feet and follows - impaling her - spearing her apart. There is the muffled wet slap of his body making contact with her own. His fingertips will leave bruises with how viciously he’s clinging to her.

He’d bedded her easily. She’d gone without complaint. They’d danced to three of his synthesized love songs as he beamed down at her with that buttery warmth. His smoothness clashed with the manic crack in his coiffed veneer. His eyes were too black - glassy and bright. A unhinged twinkle. He was beautiful until he wasn’t - until he grit his teeth or the muscle in his jaw popped. Okay - he was still handsome then, but her standards were skewed.

“Feel so good,” he growls as his thumb finds her clit - as he presses down while snapping up and piercing a very pleasurable place inside her core.

He avoids the bandages along her thigh. He doesn’t know that her flesh is already growing back - that it will heal - that she could be an endless piece of meat for him if he would like.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs and she curls her lips into a radiant smile that makes him shudder. He picks up his pace - the slick sounds of him entering her echoing in his boring bedroom. She supposes that this little hobby of his makes him at least slightly more interesting. Her mind had wandered on their first date - had drifted off as he joked about his cursing nieces and boob jobs. She’d wrapped her tongue around the olive from her martini. She’d focused on wiggling the pimento out of it. He’d been lying - his stories carefully picked and chosen to endear her to him. His jokes. His self-deprecation.

“You’re so fucking boring,” she wants to say as she rides him harder - to a gallop. She shoves him onto his back - muscles tightening up around the unforgiving length of his dick. “Patrick Bateman isn’t a personality,” she’d finish with, but doesn’t.

His fervent blue eyes widen at the force behind her push. She smiles again - teeth white and sparkly. She briefly wonders if he knows - if he’s tapped into that animal instinct - that hearty hypothalamus hopefully screaming at him to realize that she isn’t so succulent - so soft and cream-sweet.

Not yet though. Not yet. Make him happy - safe.

She needs to change course because it isn’t time.

“Fuck,” she moans loudly as she grabs fistfuls of her tits and continues to grind down on his lap. Her dress has fallen around them - covering where he’s sinking into her. She’s disturbingly wet - a fact that makes something buzz behind her nose. She buries it deep where she can dissect it later if she ever does.

“You’re so big, baby,” she whimpers - expression crumpling like she’s in pain. She can’t remember what name he even wants to go by - Brendan - Steve -

She falls forward - bracing her palms on either side of his head. She circles her pelvis - feels him buck and twitch inside her - cock thickening and swelling as it drags through the channel of her sex. She clamps down on him - strangles him with enough force to make him choke. The carpet is burning her knees. The mood lighting drips over his golden skin - his wanting expression.

“You gonna cum?” she murmurs - nudging her nose along his cheekbone. He smells good like musk and aftershave and really expensive cologne. She’s so used to guys who think their sweat is sufficient - who rely on ivory soap and two-in-one shampoo and the odor that Kevlar leaves.

“Yeah, gorgeous,” he groans. She twists her hips again and he grunts - his hands flying to her thighs to keep her steady. It’s a push and pull. A fuck or be fucked.

She’s waiting. He’s late.

She probably shouldn’t have screwed him again, but she wanted him vulnerable and begging. She drops her head to kiss his jaw and he tries to get to her mouth. “Please,” he whines and she has to stop herself from rolling her eyes. She leans forward and his other hand finds the back of her head - he yanks her down - forcing their lips together in a messy, wet collision. She can taste the fat on his tongue - the stink from those carefully prepared dishes with their basil puree and garlic foam and fucking breast meat.

He kisses her frantically- fucks her by way of her mouth. His tongue matches the pace of his cock driving into her over and over again.

He palms the back of her scalp roughly. She scrapes her teeth across his lower lip - drawing a bit of blood. He hisses - grunts. She sucks the plump tissue lewdly while making eye contact. That gets him. He jerks beneath her - a low, rattling sound from his chest. She savors the burst of copper in her mouth. He thought she’d never tasted flesh before, but he didn’t know that she had tasted blood all the damn time. That it was a pitfall of her job. Things could get messy and often did.

He breathes her name in between rutting. He slaps her ass.

Your art is ugly - she wants to say.

This house. Your carefully constructed visage. Your very palpable loneliness. Pathetic, Stevie.

And yet she was fucking him. She peeks up at the glass door and her reflection gleams back at her. That bright pink bow sits prim and perky in her hair. Her face is dramatically screwed up in pleasure. Her mouth is parted around a perpetual moan. Overkill. He’s late.

“Gonna come,” he pants - hips chasing hers - cock punching into her so hard that it almost hurts.

“Good boy,” she coaxes and oh his features ripple and spark with satisfaction and lust and awe.

I’ll make him fall for me.

You shouldn’t. You don’t need to.

No. He’s easy to read. This kind of stuff is my specialty.

It’s dangerous.

Is it? I mean…really?

It was a honey pot mission. She just kept feeding him the honey. Big spoonfuls. She’s being a little too nice.

She thinks he’s a poser - dolling up all that meat with gourmet shit. Blackberries. Aioli. Chickpeas. Tarragon. Sweet potato fucking gnocchi. What’s the point of that? If you’re gonna go hard then go fucking hard.

She’ll show him - her handsome Ken-doll psycho. She’ll show him how he really should be.

She feels him go rigid - his chest heaving as he stares up at her. His cock spits deep - warmth blooming through the cradle of her pelvis. He’s still thrusting - rocking up into her - getting the very last gasps of her pussy that’s shivering with its own climax.

She leans forward - her face molded into yearning and he reaches up - pleased with himself - pleased with her - soft and yielding and bare. She gently moves his head aside before latching her mouth to his throat - her tongue tickles the skin and he laughs. She bites down. She bites down very fucking hard.

He doesn't scream - it’s more like a loud vibration from his windpipe. His hands are furiously pushing at her and she sinks her teeth deeper. His skin and meat are silky and tender and there is the hot rush of arterial spray that fills her mouth. It’s a bit salty.

She wrenches her head away and takes a chunk of him with her. She spits it over his gorgeous brown hair. She wonders if it’ll piss him off to waste it. His mouth is opening and closing like a fish as purple-red spreads beneath his head. It’s staining his rugs - the pristine geometric vibe to his home.

She cocks her head and licks her lips. The rush of iron - like licking a battery or a pipe or a penny. Ew. She’s sticky with him. He’s still inside her, too - deflating as she throbs around his softening dick. It’s a little fucked up.

Okay - it’s a lot fucked up.

He reaches for her as he slowly dies. His fingers curl - come hither - and she goes even though she doesn’t understand why. There’s a darkness they share, she supposes. He may have tapped into it just enough that she noticed - just enough that she willingly fucked him again. So what? So what if she basically climaxed from ripping out his throat? Violence was a piece of her - a main food group in her make-up. Blame all the shit she underwent in the labs. Blame her very sad, broken childhood.

Oh Steve - she thinks - we could have had something.

She sighs before swiftly climbing off of him. She feels a rush of spend between her thighs as his cock falls out of her. She’s achy there - a brush raw. She smooths her dress down before inexplicably crouching over him to fix his pants.

Don’t look at me like that. I just didn’t want to stare at your naked cock, Steve (Brendan).

She jumps as an enormous figure crashes through the sliding glass door. The sound thunders through the room - explodes. The man’s silver arm glints - his dark makeup running rivers under his mask and smearing into his stubble.

Bucky.

“I thought your whole thing was stealthiness?” she deadpans - toeing at Steve’s blood-drenched hair. His eyes stare up at her blankly - the whites like eggshells. His handsome face frozen in a startled expression as if he couldn’t quite believe that she had hurt him.

I did like you a bit, you stupid creep.

“He had steel fucking doors!” Bucky explains as he flicks glass off his shoulder. “The whole place was on lockdown.”

“Who has steel doors and then a wall of glass?”

“You can’t break the glass easily.” Bucky lifts a small black circular object. “I had to use this tool Shuri made to splinter it..”

“Which you then proceeded to crash through?”

“Thought I’d make an entrance.”

She purses her lips. “Doesn’t matter anymore.”

There’s a long silence between them until Bucky inhales sharply - like he’d just registered her appearance. There was blood in her hair - all down her chin. He marches over to her - kicking Steve’s limp head away. Something cracks. He’s gentle as he cups her cheeks - his metal palm cold and shocking against her feverish skin. He tilts her skull, searching for injury.

“Did he hurt you?”

There’s the muted pain in her leg. It’s just a chunk. It’s growing back. Bucky will inevitably find out, but she doesn’t need him scowling about her getting maimed for the next five hours. It’s part of the job.

“I’m fine,” she reassures him. “I got the list.” She gestures to the thick folder on the coffee table.

It had taken a bit to get that out of Steve. She’d just rubbed herself all over him and plied him with wine. She devoured the dishes he set in front of her - shutting her eyes as she swallowed with obnoxious hums of approval. Her stomach turns over at the memory.

“Good,” He touches her temple lightly - his ice-blue eyes searching hers. “I still wish you’d just let me beat it out of him.” He glances down at the corpse - his lips curling in disgust.

They’d been removing different Hydra cells across the globe. Picking the leaders off one by one. They’d discovered that a top agent of Hydra had been a member of an underground society that specialized in human meat. It didn’t take too long to track the source and it took even less time for her to catch his interest.

She had fucked him more than once. Did she regret it? No. It was the job. Kind of. Would Bucky care? Yeah, probably, but he’d never say shit. Nat would find it inventive. Sam would stop her at the mention of “women flesh” and “human meat trafficking”. Rogers definitely would flip. She couldn’t wait to watch him read her report after this and try and stammer through all the gory, vulgar details.

She raises her shoulders before dropping them. “It is what it is.”

He narrows his eyes - looking closer as his gaze darts between her mouth and Steve’s neck. Christ - it took him long enough.

“Did you - did you rip his throat out?”

“With my teeth,” she quips as she wipes the back of her hand over her lips - her chin. She feels hot - her veins pumping and swelling under her skin. Her nerves are on fire. Her pussy throbs between her legs, which she intends to blame on adrenaline. Not the murder - not the primal bite she took out of the man she was still fucking - still getting off on.

Bucky blinks at her - a touch horrified before he attempts to tamp it down. It’s sort of adorable. ‘We should call clean up in - then get on the jet,” He grabs her wrist and tugs her away from dead Steve (Brendan).

Au Revoir, lover. We could have had it all.

But she’s already forgetting him. He’s already slipping her mind - blending into all of the other colorful memories of all the terrible terrible things she’s done.

She leans against Bucky’s shoulder - cheek sliding against the creases in the Vibranium. They’re not together together, but she wouldn’t mind if he wanted to fuck tonight. She’s still twitching with arousal - burning up from the inside. They screw three times a week anyway. Post-mission stress relief.

He threads his fingers through hers, reassuring her that he isn’t totally creeped out that she killed a man with her teeth.

“Can we get food?” She squeezes his hand - flesh sliding against metal. “I’m suddenly starving.”

The playlist Sam put on at the beginning of the night has yet to end. Cheerful Christmas songs that truly don’t match the feel of this room play at a loud volume. You can feel the low hums of Michael Buble in your heart if you just hold your breath and keep quiet for long enough. It’s sick, really.

Bandages litter the floor, and you know that if you were in the outdoors, Mother Nature would scold you like the figure in your life always does. But you are not outdoors so you can’t really worry. One of the said bandages is around your knee. It’s soaked with blood and has yet to give way. If you bend your knee too quickly, your skin might rip, and Bucky has used almost all the tools.

Bottles of antiseptics and other liquids that can clean wounds are on the table. One more drink, and you might accidentally grab one for the countdown shots Helmut has been pushing you to do. It’s hard to say no to a man like him. So manipulative, so stubborn, yet so much fun to be around.

“Let me get you a refill,” Sam says, grunting as he pulls himself off the floor. You don’t realize he’s talking to you until he takes your glass out of your hands. You’ve barely touched the alcohol in it out of sheer fear of the hangover you’ll get in the morning. It’s improper to start a new year hovering over a ceramic bowl. Not unless you’re a-okay after hurling and a Tylenol.

“You’re slacking,” Bucky notes after saying your name. His words end as if he’s asking a question. What does he mean? “Hmm?” you hum, turning your head to face him. He’s closer than you expected. “You’re still on your first drink,” he adds, and you slowly nod your head. Is this some sort of competition? God, you hope it isn’t. You’ll come in last place as you always do.

“I know. I’m not really feeling well,” you admit to him, and Sam hands you your glass. You look down into it, and it shifts from the movements of your shaky grip. It’s an amber colour but not the same shade as whiskey. It’s also got a purple hue, one that wasn’t there before. “Really? On New Year’s Eve?” Bucky questions, taken aback by your statement.

You shake your head and pull down your skirt. It hasn’t ridden up at all, but you just need something else to focus on. Make yourself look busy, and they’ll leave you alone, your mother would say. And she was right. They’d leave you alone, but they’d always come back until you no longer have anywhere else to shove your hands. “Wow, must be… nice to have an excuse. Y’know, your body telling you when it’s enough,” Bucky mutters before bringing his glass up to his mouth.

It’s admittance—honesty. He drinks as much as his stomach can hold, and he envies your self-control because he has absolutely none. Doctor Gray always says that people don’t envy the things that are impossible for them. No, he says they envy the things they’ve tried for but given up on.

“Zemo should take lessons from you!” Sam jokes after a while, taking note of the silence that makes everyone in the room uncomfortable except for you. “What’s that supposed to mean?” The man mentioned questions. Defensiveness—fright. Doctor Gray says that it’s normal to be defensive, but you can always tell when it’s out of fear or hurt.

“You know what it means. Any chance you get, you have a drink,” Bucky points out, and Helmut scoffs. In perfection, he downs the rest of his whiskey, and the other men grin at each other. You continue to stare down into your cup, and you can’t help but think about what Doctor Gray would say in this situation. He’s like that voice in your head that always tells you what’s right from wrong.

Would he be proud of you for finally being with others? Would he ask Helmut how he feels about Sam’s comment? Would he question why Bucky is gripping the glass so loosely yet so securely?

“You’re so… quiet,” Sam points out, turning to you. You cross your legs quickly, and you surprisingly don’t hiss in pain. The skin of your wound is pulling apart, you know it. A child is what you now are, sitting with your fit under your thighs. Criss-cross-apple-sauce. “Sorry, I just don’t have anything good to say,” you meekly tell him, and he casually waves his hand.

“Don’t apologize,” he insists before looking down at your drink. Your eyes follow his gaze, and you gulp thickly. “Uhm, yeah, I don’t think I can do it. I’m really sorry, I feel so bad,” you whisper to him. “That’s okay! It was the last in the bottle. Hey, Buck, take the drink from her,” Sam calls, and you watch as the glass leaves your grasp.

Your head rises as you look up at the man who was called. Bucky finishes the drink in one sip, and you feel bad. Your stomach hurts, a pain worse than whatever you’re feeling in your leg. Doctor Gray would tell you that it’s only temporary and to just breathe through it—that it would end real soon. But you’re not that strong, and you never will live up to the person he sees you as.

Lurching forward just a bit, your hand rests on your tummy. “Do you want something non-alcoholic to drink?” Helmut questions, leaning towards you from his seat on the couch. You’re the only one on the floor, even though there are plenty of seats that have yet to be taken up. “Uh, no, thank you, I’m fine,” you assure, pressing your lips together awkwardly.

“We can’t just drink all night, y’know,” Bucky sighs, and you hate the way he’s changed topics so quickly. It’s not as if you want it to linger on you, but you’d rather have beats between each new sentence. You can only come up with so many phrases that’ll shut things down. Doctor Gray would say you’re trying to push others away from your life.

You tried to convince him that it’s just because you’re not a talker, but he believed otherwise. You hate that—the way he tells you you’re one thing, but you’re really another.

“What do you want to do? Go stare at strangers in the dark?” Helmut sneers, and Bucky rolls his eyes. It could be painful, or it could be hurtful. You’ll never know. Does Bucky stare at strangers in the dark? “I don't stare at strangers in the dark,” he snaps, a bit too defensive for a joke.

“Oh, right! You do it in the light because you like to see everything,” Sam interjects, and you can tell he’s fooling around because his tone is light and airy. “Yeah, yeah,” he brushes off, seeming as though a nerve has been hit and soothed immediately. “Јебени кретен,” Helmut grumbles under his breath, and he adjusts himself in his seat.

“You sure you don’t want anything?” Bucky asks, and the attention shifts to you again. You shake your head, once again shutting down the conversation. Doctor Gray once sent you an email full of blue links. They were long, and all directed you to Youtube. The one he recommended the most was at the top, and you recall saving it to your ‘Watch Later.’

HOW TO BE SOCIAL - HOW TO NEVER RUN OUT OF THINGS TO SAY.

“Once again, you’re so quiet,” Sam points out, and his words are followed by a small bout of laughter. “Were you a chatterbox before?” Helmut teasingly questions, and he stands up. That purple coat of his—overly extravagant—trails behind him. He must feel like a king while wearing it, no? “Uh-uh,” you shake your head, remembering the way your parents would always wonder if a bad thing has happened to you or not.

“She’s so quiet…” your mother would whisper to your grandmother, “it’s like she doesn’t even exist,”

You wish that was the truth because then there’d be nobody bothering you.

“She’s just nervous. Give her a break,” Bucky pushes in, and you ask yourself why he’d say that. Can he see the way your hands shake? The way your gaze is cast upon every inanimate object? “Some warming up will do the trick,” Helmut then adds, sounding wise, but you know it’s just because he’s older and he once had a family. “A game?” Sam questions.

Once again, these big burly men are talking about you like you aren’t even there.

“Sure,” Bucky shrugs, and he sips on his beer. The glass bottle is a deep brown, and it has a blue label wrapped around it. In white slanted font, the name Bud Light is written. You once befriended a woman who turned her face at those drinks, claiming that real men only have whiskey, but you inwardly disagreed.

She ended up marrying one of those Wallstreet trust fund sons, and you never heard a word from her bright red lips ever again.

“You down for a game, doll?” Bucky questions, and they all stare at you. Impatiently, they wait for a response. Their eyes burn holes into your bruised up skin, and the heat of it is like pressure. You’ve known this all your life—you’re too used to it.

It was felt when a classmate waved a box of cigarettes in front of your face a few years ago. It was felt when your cousin pushed you towards the blue water. And it was felt when your boyfriend of three years shoved a dress you didn’t like into your chest.

“O- Okay,” you whisper loud enough for the super soldier to catch. They all smile, and a small circle is formed. You look up to see Helmut sitting across from you with his back braced against the table. The bottles of antiseptic are now opened, an action done by Bucky. Why? Doesn’t he know that this criminal might be planning to throw it all in your eyes and then run off?

Maybe he doesn’t want to run off, and perhaps he isn’t a criminal or a bad man at all.

You lock eyes with the Sokovian, and he’s got this dark look in his pupils. It’s unsettling, but you’ve seen it before. Doctor Gray has told you before that when people are attracted to someone, they look at them differently. You didn’t realize what he was talking about until a few days later when you went to a bar to find your missing cat. The bartender held onto her for you.

Helmut calls your name. “Truth or dare?” he questions, and his hands splay against his thighs. “This isn’t high school,” Sam rolls his eyes, and he’s sitting on your left. He leans against the couch just like you do, except he slouches far more. “Two truths and a lie?” Bucky asks, and this time, Helmut grimaces. “Charades?” Sam offers, a bit eager. Bucky shakes his head.

“...What about spin the bottle?” Sam grins after a few seconds. The look on his face is wicked—mischievous. The other two men in the room contort their faces as they ponder whether the idea of playing a game in all was a good one. “I’m just kidding,” Sam interrupts, and Helmut lets out a breathless chuckle. You can tell that Captain America, next to you, gets along well with the vigilante in front of you both.

Better than he does with the White Wolf.

“What do you think, мали заробљеник?” Helmut asks you, and your stomach drops. мали заробљеник, it’s all he’s been calling you since he’s met you. You have no idea what it means, but every time he says it, Bucky and Sam both smile slyly. “Uhm, I’m fine with anything…” you sheepishly tell them, and your head rolls just a bit.

“Good, we can’t have someone like you telling us what to do,” Bucky cackles, and the bad memories come flooding back. These men aren’t the heroes you need—they’re the villains you’ve been trying to run from. You look up at the super-soldier with tears in your eyes. “Still don’t get why they’d take you… You can barely handle a drink, doll. How could you ever handle a battlefield?” he questions in a condescending tone,

“Don’t be mean, James. Poor thing is probably just trying to have fun, and here you are, ruining it all,” Helmut interrupts, and oh God, it’s happening again. They’re talking about you like you’re not there. “I have an idea…” Sam hauntingly says, and you don’t think it’ll be a good one. “Go on,” Bucky entices, and you cringe at his poor acting skills.

They’ve spoken about this before. It’s all been planned out—they’re organized, unlike the men that were left of SHIELD and tried to form a new evil.

“We should play seven minutes in heaven,” Sam proposes, and he excitedly waits for what Helmut and Bucky have to say. “Perfect! But I want to add a twist,” Helmut tells him in a hushed tone. Sam leans forward, but you hug your legs to your chest. They can’t save you this time, you know it, not when they’re all wounded and battered.

“Our little… victim, here, doesn’t get to choose at all,” the Baron snickers, and your stomach drops. “Ah, that’s exactly what I was thinking!” Sam exclaims, and Bucky’s face has a bright smile painted on it. They all look at each other wickedly, and you think to yourself that they may just be worse than the men who stole you from your home and never returned you.

“Have you ever played seven minutes in heaven?” Sam questions, and you rest your chin in the groove between your two knees. “N- No… Why are you guys d- doing this to me?” you whisper loud enough for the heroes next to you to hear. “Shhh… You don’t get to ask us those questions. Stay in your place,” Sam warns, and your bottom lip wobbles. You fight the waterworks, though.

Doctor Gray once told you to always let your frustrations out—whenever you feel any emotion, let it out.

But you just can’t. Not now, at least. “Since you’re not going to choose,” Bucky starts, acting as if you ever had a choice. “We’ll… Take this knife and spin it,” he explains, pulling a knife out of his pocket. He flips it open, and there’s a woosh when it happens. The harmful metal is carved with a funky design.

“Did you steal that from one of the bodyguards?” Sam questions, noticing the familiarity of the weapon. Bucky nods as he places it in the centre. The point is directed at you, and it wobbles just the tiniest bit. “It’s nice, so I took it,” he briefly clarifies, leaving out the part where he had to yank it from someone’s body beforehand.

“Do you want to spin it, мали заробљеник?” Helmut asks, and you quickly shake your head. “Good,” he chuckles, and you dig your short nails into your skin. They used to have length, but now they’re all broken and flimsy. “Take a deep breath, relax,” Sam laughs, noticing the way you’re tensing up. He doesn’t care whether you have a panic attack or not; he just wants to bully you even more.

You inhale deeply, and the burning smell of antiseptic fills your nostrils. You ignore the way your lungs falter just the slightest, preferring not to remember the way Helmut had his arm wrapped around your neck when you tried to make a run for it. You’re quick, but he’s even faster. An exhale that’s more than quiet leaves your body, and they all coo at you.

“So obedient…” Bucky notes, even though he’s already gotten a small taste of your listening skills. The stolen first aid kit that hails from a small convenience store can attest to his words. If only it could speak. “Not sure if I should say we’re lucky or unlucky. I like breaking them,” he sinisterly follows up, and if you had anything other than blood in your mouth, you’d probably swallow your saliva.

“He’s kidding,” Helmut quickly adds, but his facial expressions say otherwise. “Let’s just get on with the game. Where are we going to do this? I can’t fit in that closet,” Sam questions, and his foes share a similarity with him. “Yeah, and even if we could, it’s not that fun. We’ll do it right here,” Bucky concludes, and Helmut raises his eyebrows in an amusing manner.

“What are you, James? A pervert?” the Sokovian questions, and Sam chuckles. “I mean, it makes sense,” the Captain murmurs, and you wonder if there are any instances to back up his words. Bucky kisses his teeth, and he rolls his eyes. “Please, neither of you can act like you’re holier than thou,” he says before taking a sip of his beer. “Can we get on with the game?” Sam eventually huffs out, and you’re at a crossroads.

On one hand, you’d prefer if these disgusting men continued to banter stupidity. But on the other, you just want them to hurry up and get it over with.

“Who wants to start?” Sam questions, waiting for an answer. “I will,” Helmut says, and he crawls a little closer to the knife that points at you. The burning smell of antiseptic has now turned into something you’re used to. You continue to take deep yet quiet breaths in order to calm yourself down. And it works, but it’s not enough to reassure you everything is okay.

“Ready, мали заробљеник?” he questions, and they all look at you. They don’t wait for your answer, though. “Of course you are. You have no choice. Remember that,” Sam whispers, and the bitter reminder makes you want to cry. But you always want to cry at every little thing—the slight raise of voice from someone older than you, the unravelling string on a sweater, the impatience of your peers.

You’re so easy to push to the edge, and maybe that’s why you make such a lovely victim.

The knife spins for quite a few seconds, turning into a two-coloured blur that you wish would never stop moving. But because you’re not the luckiest person on this Earth, it stops rotating and lands on Helmut. Bile wants to rise into your mouth, but it never happens. Your stomach drops, and you wonder if the Highest power hates you. “Oh… Lucky me…” Helmut hums in a light tone, and the other men laugh.

“Please…” you whimper, but they either can’t hear you or are ignoring you. “Мали заточеник… I don’t know whether I should hurt you or… Actually, I just really want to hurt you. But I won’t hurt you too badly,” he cackles, and you shake your head. Not just in refusal but also in disbelief. “Please, Helmut…” you plea, and your expression hints that you’re trying to bargain.

“Shh… Don’t worry, Мали заточеник, I’ll still make you feel good. Now, do I have to come and collect my prize, or are you going to come here and be a good girl?” the Baron questions, and before you can even decide, he moves forwards. Helmut grabs you roughly and pulls you towards where he’s sitting. Your injured legs drag against the rough ground, and your wounds split open for the second time tonight.

You’re placed in his lap like you’re a plaything with no feelings. “C’mon, get comfortable,” he urges, manhandling your body and its limbs until they’re held back by his. Your legs are separated, and you just can’t quite close them due to his thick thighs keeping them open. Your hands are held in your lap, and his knuckles have turned white from his tight grip.

“You’re not going to put up a fight?” Bucky questions in shock, remembering how you pounded against his chest and bit his arm. “Because she’s a good girl. Right, Мали заточеник?” Helmut questions, and you sheepishly nod your head. “Don’t be nervous, remember what he said? He’s not going to hurt you too much,” Sam reminds, and you nod your head. Still, you remain just as frightened as you were a few moments ago.

“C’mon, take those deep breaths. Make them really deep, okay?” Sam pushes, and you have no choice but to listen. Your chest expands to its limit, and you can no longer smell the burning scent. It's odd, so very strange. The bottles are right behind you, yet all you can make out is the liquor on Helmut’s tongue and a sweet yet bitter scent that wafts in the air.

That smell fades into nothingness as you continue to breathe in and out to calm yourself down. And for a few moments, it actually helps. But as you look up and lock eyes with Sam, that anxiety seeps back into your pores. He’s got this darkness in his eyes that is much worse than anything you’ve ever seen. He shares that evil with Bucky and Helmut.

You don’t know how long it’s been, but in your assuming ten months of turning into a shell of patheticness, you haven’t faced anyone with such depravity.

A sudden dizziness takes you the same way those soldiers did. With surprise and with utter brutality. “There you go…” Helmut whispers in your ears, and tingles are sent throughout your body. Shouldn’t they be shivers? You’re so confused. You can feel Helmut moving around behind you, and he brings the opaque brown bottle right under your nose.

That sweet yet bitter scent is stronger than ever, and you wonder where the cleanser has gone. “What a naive little thing… Did you not worry for one second as to why your cuts didn’t burn as much as they should’ve?” Helmut questions, but your brain is so muddled that you cannot connect the dots that are being presented to you.

“This isn’t the antiseptic, Мали заточеник,” Helmut clarifies, and he waves the bottle in front of you from one side to the other. “Because Sharon is just so kind to us, she gave us some connections,” Sam interjects, wanting so desperately to rip the bandaid off and steal you all for himself.

“And those guys did us a little favour and sent this sort of aphrodisiac… The thing is, you’re the only one here that gets affected by it,” he further adds, and as if on cue with his words, a heat takes over your skin. “We were so very blessed with something that doesn’t let the pollen affect us,” he concludes, and Helmut holds you closer to him.

Through the fabric of the dress they’ve stuffed you in, you can feel the Baron’s hard cock press against your ass. It’s not the only thing you can sense, though. Slick drools out of your hole, and it stains your panties without relent. Your wetness just doesn’t seem to stop, and neither do those tingles. Your poor little clit throbs, and you have the greatest urge to touch it in any way, shape, or form.

“And you know what the best part about this is? Even though you don’t want it now, you’re gonna be begging us to fuck you until you’re sobbing,” Bucky tells you in that Brooklyn accent of his. “Or maybe she does want this. You seem like a little slut,” Sam intones, and Bucky’s smile is crooked. His last few words go straight to your core, and you find yourself clenching around nothing.

Your face twists up, and you don’t even try to hide your disgust. Disgust for yourself and disgust at these men.

A hand—large, calloused, and warm—trails itself down to the middle of your legs. Helmut teasingly brushes over your right breast as he inches closer and closer to your apex. “Please stop, Sir,” you beg as nicely as you can through your gritted teeth. They might as well break under the immense pressure you’re applying. “Oh, I like that quite a bit, мали заробљеник,” Helmut whispers in your ear.

Your mind, even though it’s all broken, zeroes in on his voice. The other heroes that should be known as villains have disappeared, but not entirely. You twist your head and look up at Helmut, who smiles down at you. His hand rests right under your belly button, almost as if he’s waiting for you to snap and provoke him yourself.

“What do you like, Zemo?” Sam questions, curious to see where the Baron is going to take this.

Helmut still focuses on you, and his lips part so that he can speak once more. “I love it when you call me ‘Sir,’ and when you beg so sweetly,” he tells you, and your nipples pebble up from his low baritone. You’re so sensitive, so needy, and so fucking desperate for relief. A shaky breath leaves your parted lips, and you might as well be drooling with the way you look.

“Poor little thing…” Helmut mumbles audible enough for you to hear, pulling up the skirt of your dress. Your mind screams out to you louder than ever to close your legs, but your body doesn’t listen. Instead, they do the opposite of your brain’s command. Your legs part further, and Sam chuckles. “Already, baby? Zemo is right. You really are a poor little thing,” he says, and you let out a whimper as his humiliating words make your clit throb.

Thumbs hook onto your soaked-through underwear. You know the unnecessarily thin red cloth has turned a few shades darker, and you can feel it stick to your folds. Bucky stares at your core in awe, admiring the way your cunt is outlined by your wet panties. “You’re so wet, doll… Is that all for us?” Bucky asks, and before his question even sinks in, Helmut’s right hand forcefully nods your head.

They make you feel stupid—as if you’re not even a person with feelings. They throw you around, hurt you, and say terrible things about you without a care in the world.

“What’s got you so wet, мали заробљеник? I didn’t think you liked it when we were mean… But, hey, maybe I was wrong,” Helmut cooes, and your face fights your instincts to twist up in disgust. You so desperately want to yell at him—at them all—and tell them that it’s all their fault. What you’re feeling has nothing to do with you. It’s all their fault… Right?

The Baron slowly pulls down your underwear until the cloth is at your feet. He pulls it past your ankles, and he tosses it to Sam, whose hands are open and begging for the soaked panties. You don’t bother to look and watch what heinous act he does with it, but the sounds of his overly-dragged-out sniffs have you aware, whether you like it or not.

“So sweet. Too bad I’m not patient enough to have a taste of that cunt,” Sam chuckles, and he tosses the cloth in Bucky’s direction. The once upon a time-Sergeant mimics Sam’s actions, and your body burns with humiliation. Cool air hits your pussy, but you don’t shiver. No, instead, you lay limp against Helmut’s body.

“Well, even if you don’t want to eat her out, you can still have her pussy. What do you say, Captain? I was planning on taking our plaything’s ass instead,” Helmut discusses, and his last few words elicit a wild reaction from you. He braces himself for flailing arms or loud screaming, but nothing of the sort arrives. No, instead, you let out a small whimper and even more slick gushes out of your pussy.

Wetness drips down to the puckered hole that Helmut has already decided to claim. He might as well write his name on your lower cheeks with the way he’s so eager. “Dirty, dirty little thing. Such a fucking slut. You want to get fucked up the ass, don’t you? Hm? Oh, you’re practically drooling for it,” he chuckles, and so do Sam and Bucky.

And he’s right. He’s so fucking right. You’re so desperate that you’ll take anything—even a cock up the ass. You can feel a little bit of your saliva on the corner of the mouth, and you can also feel the way your holes clench with each sinful thought that passes through your mind. Helmut’s hand reaches further downwards, and he completely ignores your aching core.

“Please, Sir… It hurts…” you beg through your quiet yet slowly building pants. “What hurts, мали заробљеник?” Helmut questions, but he already knows the answer. “M- My…” you stutter, feeling so ashamed to even be talking to him about your most intimate parts. “Your poor little pussy? Aw, it’s okay, слутти баби, it won’t be the only thing hurting in a few seconds,” he assures, and suddenly, Sam is sitting in front of you.

“I’ll fill up your pussy soon, baby, don’t worry. Zemo here just needs a little help with his wants,” Sam whispers, and Bucky sits next to him. Helmut’s hand goes back to your wet pussy, and his almost feather-light touch sends shivers down your spine. His middle finger pushes its way through your soaked lips, and wetness coats him like no tomorrow.

You let out a loud moan, and they all laugh at your sudden openness. “Oh… Feels so good,” you slur, not even caring that these men are holding you against your will. “Yeah? You’re so sensitive, doll. Can’t wait to see how dumb you turn when you get a cock stuffed in this pussy,” Bucky chuckles, and you buck your hips against Helmut’s finger. The Sokovian tuts and the Captain kisses his teeth a few times.

“God, one moment you’re begging us to leave you alone, but the next, you’re turning into our slut. Careful, baby, you might give us whiplash with the way you’re changing,” Sam jokes, and you can feel his hands on the backs of your thighs. He pushes at your legs until they’re touching your chest and can’t go anymore. You whimper at the dull pain, but it soon washes away as the tip of Helmut’s finger dances over your clit.

“Have you ever been fucked in the ass?” Helmut asks with a sort of impatience laced in his tone of voice. He’s so blunt, so careless—he’s so different from you. You shake your head, and it slowly spins while that finger draws small circles on your swollen pearl. Your wetness seeps out of you in copious amounts, and it’s even coated your tightest of holes. Pathetic moans leave your mouth, and you wonder where your silence has disappeared to.

“Really! Oh, you’re such a treat. I bet you’ve always wanted to, though. Yeah, little sluts like you love thinking about getting fucked up the ass. Dirty whore,” Helmut spits, and his touch leaves your pussy. A strangled whine leaves your mouth, and the sound sends blood rushing straight to everyone’s cocks. They groan, and you squeeze your eyes shut in embarrassment.

That tiny voice in your head tells you to put up a fight, but your body is more stubborn than ever.

Helmut’s finger moves downwards, and it prods at your puckered hole. You jump in the grasps of both him and the Captain, and Bucky laughs. “Wait, Sir-,” you start, but Sam quickly hushes you. “C’mon, be a good girl for us, and we’ll make you feel so nice,” he bargains as he gently replaces Helmut’s finger on your pussy with his own. The pleasure—even though it’s mild—has you dizzy.

One man slowly works and teases your ass, as the other wastes no time collecting any amount of slick. “How long did the guy say it would last?” Sam questions Bucky. “Uhm, one dose lasts for five hours… We used three doses, so she’ll be like this for around fifteen hours. Why?” Bucky asks, turning his head to look at his commander and, most of the time, friend.

“I like our little captive like this. All dumb and slutty,” Sam admits, and he unknowingly voices the inner thoughts of everyone else. Except for you, of course.

“Hurts,” you mumble through your pants. You sound like a bitch in heat, but you struggle to find it in you to care. “Aw, well, that’s too bad,” Helmut mocks, and you frown at his rudeness. Your pussy clenches around nothing but air, and Bucky groans at the sight. “Fucking whore,” he grumbles, and he just can’t wait to get his hands on you.

Slowly, Helmut pushes the tip of his finger into your tight ring of muscle. You cry out in both pain and pleasure, but the aching suddenly stops. He pulls his finger out, and Sam’s hand moves away from your pussy. It’s as if they’re in some well-rehearsed and perfectly coordinated dance. Their timings match up, and you have no choice but to deal with it.

You’re suddenly being lifted up by Bucky, who locks eyes with you for those brief seconds of shock. His orbs are dark, and maybe if you had a magnifying glass on hand, you would be able to see the dissipating mercy in them.

You’re tossed onto the carpeted ground as if you’re nothing but a plaything. Those cuts from before sting, but the pain leaves quickly as Helmut lays underneath your body. Clothing is being pulled off of you and turned into shreds of cloth that can only replace the jobs of rags now. Unlike you, the soldier, Captain, and Baron remain fully dressed.

Cold air blows against your skin and your already hard nipples ache for some form of friction against them. Your stomach is against Helmut's, and you can sense someone kneeling behind you. Bucky stands in front of you, and he stares you down like you’re his injured prey that he’s been chasing for far too long.

Zippers are pulled down loudly, and your wetness drips onto the cloth of Helmut’s pants. Sam’s lips attach themselves to your neck, and he presses a light kiss. It’s so sweet that he might as well not be your captor. But as he bares his teeth and sinks them down into your skin to mark you up, the harsh truth hits you worse than those evil men ever did.

The Captain’s tongue licks over his marks as he sucks on your sticky skin. And even though it’s not much, you toss your head back and sigh in relief. You’ll take anything at this point, as long as that ache can go away. “You’re going to be such a mess on our cocks, слутти баби,” Helmut chuckles, and he finally manages to pull his cock out of its confines.

Bucky and Sam do the same, and their sizes have you wordless. Bucky is long and veiny, Sam is thick and well-endowed, and Helmut is the best of both worlds. You look up to see pre-cum dripping from the Sergeant’s tip, and you just know it’s the exact same for the other men.

The tip of Helmut’s cock drags through your folds, and you let out a loud moan before falling on top of his chest. You’re so sensitive; it almost hurts. “Pl- Please,” you whimper, even though you don’t really know what you’re pleading for. “Fuck,” Sam grunts behind you, and he leans forward.

As Helmut’s cock remains on your throbbing clit, Sam’s member collects as much slick as he can before going back to your puckered hole. In sync, their heads line up to your entrances. “Please, what, baby? Tell us what you need,” Sam teases, and you find yourself frowning in both pleasure and frustration. Though it was already apparent, it’s now clear as day that these men just want to be mean to you.

“Oh, God. Please fuck me, please!” you plead, and you can hear both your future and past selves yelling at you. But you don’t care; not right now, at least. “You gotta do it properly,” Bucky grunts, and he sits next to Helmut. Your face is squished onto Helmut’s shoulder, and the sight of Bucky’s cock is right beside you.

“Please fuck my ass, Captain, a- and please fuck my pussy, Sir. Please, I need it so badly,” you whimper, and Sam sighs in satisfaction. “Good girl,” the Captain praises, and he pushes into you first. Unable to control your noises any longer, you let out a wail of pain. He practically splits you in two with his thick cock, and your vision starts to darken slightly.

“Fuck, Zemo, d- do it,” Sam orders through gritted teeth, marvelling at your tightness. In one smooth thrust of his hips, Helmut sheathes his entire length into your pussy. “Oh, fuck!” you squeal as your eyes roll back into your head. Your jaw slacks open in shock, and you find the pain in your ass turning into pleasure and numbness and the two men impaling you continue to force their cocks into you.

“Open wider,” Bucky demands, and at first, you’re confused. Your eyebrows knit together before the Sergeant clenches his jaw out of impatience and anger. “Dumb slut… I said to open your mouth wider. Do it, or else I’m going to hurt you. And not in a nice way,” he grumbles, and you immediately follow his orders.

Sam and Helmut finally bottom out inside you—the Baron first, the Captain second. Your holes are stretched beyond belief, and the pain of it turns to something you know you’ll be craving in the near future, with and without the pollen. They’re so deep inside you, it almost makes you want to pass out.

Or maybe it’s the lack of oxygen from Bucky’s cock. The tip of it slides down your throat until the majority of his member is being sucked by your mouth. You try your best, but his size makes it challenging to do a good job. Every man who stuffs one of your holes full lets out a moan.

“You just might turn out to be my best fuck yet, baby,” Sam whispers in your ear, and he lays onto your back just a bit. He wears a grey turtleneck, and it’s already stained with your droplets of sweat. “Too much…” you garble around Bucky’s cock, feeling as though you’re about to burst. Everyone ignores you even though they understand you, but you’re not surprised.

Helmut begins to move first, slowly yet roughly pushing and pulling his hips. You let out a wail that sends vibrations to Bucky, and he swears in a sneer. The Baron’s cock nudges against your g-spot once he thrusts back into you, and it’s more than you think you can handle. You want to shake your head and beg them to stop, but you simply cannot.

“You’re so wet, мала курва. And it’s all for us, isn’t it? Dirty little thing,” Helmut husks next to your ear, and before you can even form an answer, Sam pulls his cock out of your ass until just his head remains inside. Your eyelids flutter at the feeling, and suddenly, your Captain shoves his cock back into your ass. “Fuck, yeah,” he pants, and he forms a pattern with Helmut.

As Helmut pushes into your cunt, Sam drags his cock out of your tightest hole. You let out moans that simply sound like pornographic nonsense. With each thrust of their cock, you feel as though you’re already at the edge. The pleasure is so good yet so overwhelming. But your desperate body takes it all because of your greedy neediness.

Thickness strokes your inner walls that are just so damn wet and sensitive. At this angle, they feel as though they’re right in your guts. “S- So good,” you babble, dragging out the ‘o’ in the word ‘so.’ You feel like those pornstars you used to watch every now and then—except with less self-respect than they have. You, the one who’s letting your captors fuck you, and you don’t even try to fight them.

“You take their cocks like a good fucking whore. Are you gonna take mine that well, too?’ Bucky questions, and even though you don’t answer him, he still starts to use your mouth. His hips buck forwards and backwards slowly at first, and you gag with each movement of his.

Your pussy and ass both clamp down on Sam’s and Helmut’s cocks. “Fucking hell,” Sam mutters, struggling to keep a fast pace with your tightness. Helmut doesn’t face the same problem, though. Copious amounts of slick act as lube for him, and he moves his cock in and out of you at a fast pace.

Jolts of pleasure shoot through your veins and every other passage in your body. It’s truly euphoric, and you’ve never felt anything like this before. Bucky’s balls slap against your chin as he fucks your face roughly. You let him do all the work for you, as you’re too blissed out to function properly.

“Good little slut. Letting us fuck you without a worry, yeah? We’re going to have so much fun with you,” Helmut spits loud enough for you to hear through the sounds of skin-on-skin, loud moans, squelching, and so much more. Your clit throbs at his words, and he fucks you even more vigorously. The pathetic cries that leave your mouth grow louder and louder, and they only motivate the men to use you.

Bucky pulls his cock out of your mouth, and you take a large gasp for air. Saliva coats your lips and chin, and it has now soaked the carpet as well. It’s not the only thing the Sergeant has taken notice of, though. The way your weak fingers grip onto Helmut’s shoulders and the way you’re trying to fuck yourself on the two cocks that are impaling you is something he knows all too well.

“Are you going to come already, slut?” he questions, and his hand strokes your cheek. “Uh-huh,” you nod, and your body jolts as you can feel yourself being brought closer to your release. You focus on that feeling that just grows more intense with each pant that leaves someone’s mouth. Most are yours.

All of a sudden, your head jerks to the side and stinging along with prickling burns against your skin. It’s just as bad as frostbite, if not more. You whip your head to look at Bucky—the man who just slapped you. “Say it properly,” he orders, and you wonder why he isn’t jerking himself off since he clearly gets off on this shit.

“I- I’m going to come, Sergeant,” you whimper, and you don’t care if it’s pathetic or not. You just need to relieve yourself from this terrible feeling. “Good girl. Do it, come on their cocks,” he demands with a rough voice, one that leaves no room for any ifs, ands, or buts. Your body has succumbed to whatever higher power these means are, and it listens like an obedient little bitch.

Your back arches, and you unintentionally give Sam a better angle for him to fuck you through your orgasm. You let out a loud cry that ends in a sob. The elastic band that’s been tightening non-stop finally snaps, and your eyes roll back into your head. “Oh, fuck!” you wail, your cunt and ass both clamping down on Sam’s and Helmut’s cocks. It’s more intense than anything you’ve ever felt before.

Your juices coat their cocks, and it stains their clothing. “That’s so fucking hot,” Bucky whispers in awe, though Sam smirks in an egotistical sense. He thrusts into your ass far slower than the quick pace Helmut is going at. “Shit, look at you. Coming around our cocks like the good little slut you are,” Sam chuckles, and he punctuates his sentence with one harsh thrust.

“Too much,” you whimper, and small streams of liquid gush out every now and then. “Shut up,” Helmut orders through a hiss, struggling to have accurate thrusts. “Gladly,” Bucky sighs, and he doesn’t even have to tell you to open your mouth for him to slide his cock into it. You’ve already done so. “Little slut. You already know your place, don’t you? Yeah, you do. Just here to take our cocks and make us feel good,” he husks, and he pushes his cock past your lips.

His tip hits the back of your throat as Helmut’s nudges against your sweet spot. “You learned quickly; it’s so fucking pathetic. It’s like you were just waiting for us to stuff our cocks into your holes. I bet we didn’t even need the pollen. You would’ve been so willing. Isn’t that right, baby?” Sam questions and his hands grope your ass. You don’t answer him because you’re too busy bucking your hips and trying not to pass out from your lack of oxygen.

A strong hand comes down on the soft flesh of your butt, spanking you roughly but just once. “Answer me. Answer your Captain,” Sam demands, and your nose almost nuzzles against Bucky’s skin. He’s too big, though. “Uh-huh,” you jumble around the Sergeant’s cock. Once the phrase leaves your mouth. Bucky snaps his hips back and forth to chase his own orgasm while yours nears already.

You don’t warn them—you can’t warn them. Spit guides Bucky’s cock smoothly while your wetness from before still aids Sam. Your pearl of nerves throbs, and your pussy flutters with pleasure. “Are you going to come again, мала кучко?” Helmut questions, and because he’s just so fucking cruel, he slows his thrusts down. They’ve become more shallow, but Sam keeps going.

“C’mon, slut. Come all over our cocks,” Helmut urges, and your vision nearly goes dark as you come for the second time. It’s almost painful, given that your first orgasm happened mere seconds ago. Your moans are swallowed by Bucky’s cock that thrusts into your mouth. As you soak their cocks once more, you find yourself still not feeling better. The thought of spending hours upon hours with your captors fucking you fills your mind.

You’re not bothered by the idea at all, and that scares the shit out of you.

No, instead, your walls are hugging the Captain and the Baron even tighter now that you’re thinking of them fucking you endlessly. It makes your orgasm so much more intense, and you’re afraid you’ll pass out right here, right now. “Love it when you squirt, baby. Can’t wait to have you all to myself; I’ll make you clean up your mess,” Sam grunts out, and he knows you love the idea with the way your back is arching.

“Fuck, I don’t think I can handle it any longer,” Helmut confesses, and your legs are now shaking with how overstimulated you are. It hurts every time they move, even the slightest bit. “It’s okay, Zemo. Remember, we have a long way to go, so don’t hold back,” Bucky encourages through his grunts. You gag around his cock repeatedly, and your tongue can feel the veins on its underside.

“Fucking hell, мали заробљеник. You’re squeezing my cock so tightly. Aw, i- is it because you want my cum? Hm? Desperate little thing, that’s what you are. I’ll give you all of my cum, baby. I’ll fill you up until you’re spilling everywhere,” he whispers in your ear as he sloppily thrusts into you. His words have you leaking, and you simply cannot wait until you’re being filled to the brim with cum.

What the fuck have they done to you?

“Our little slut. Just made for us to fuck and dump our cum into,” Helmut mutters, and his hips suddenly still. His cock is buried deep inside you, all the way to the hilt. You’re sure that if he wasn’t too busy focusing on his own orgasm, his tip would painfully touch your cervix. “Oh, јебати.” The Baron turns his head as his eyes squeeze shut. Ropes of cum paint your abused yet still-aching inner walls.

He fulfills his promise, and you know he’s truly a man of his word. Some of that white stickiness leaks past his cock and stains your inner thighs, but neither of you care. “Just a cumdump for us,” Helmut reminds you, but you’re too busy focusing on the feeling of his seed inside of you. Slowly, Helmut slips his cock out of your wet pussy, and his action causes a slight wet sound.

Before you can even collect yourself, Sam is pushing you against Helmut’s chest and fucking into your ass quickly. His back-and-forth movements are tell-tale of one thing and one thing only; he’s about to come, too. The empty feeling in your pussy is foreign, and it bothers you. You desperately want to be filled up again—you need to be filled up again.

“You want me to feel up this tight ass of yours, baby? Yeah? Fuck, I can’t wait to see my cum drip out of this tight hole. You’re going to love me for it; you’ll be begging me to keep going after that, too. Dirty whore,” Sam spits, and the hand on your lower back grips your skin harshly. Searing hot pressure in your stomach builds up once again. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he curses in a string of profanities, and the Captain roughly thrusts into you as his orgasm washes over him.

Bucky pulls out of your mouth, and you gasp for air as another release rips through you. “Captain!” you squeal, and your toes curl as you come for the third time in the span of twenty-something minutes. As your pussy contracts around nothing but cum, Sam spills inside of you. Those white ribbons that coat your insides are addictive; all of these men are addictive.

“Good little slut,” Sam sighs, and his words are bittersweet. His cock remains locked inside of you, unlike Helmut’s. It’s a tight fit in your ass, so most of his cum leaks out and mixes with the other juices that have been dripping on your skin. “Are you ready, Barnes? Or are you having a bit of trouble?” Helmut almost-mockingly questions, and you look up at the man you’ve nearly forgotten about. Nearly.

“Fuck off,” the brooding man grumbles, and you watch as his flesh hand slides up and down his hard member. Pre-cum drips at the slit, and the rest of it is shining with your saliva. “Remember what you’re supposed to do, doll? Yeah? Forget about it. You don’t deserve to taste my come. Close your eyes,” Bucky commands, and after frowning a bit, you do as he says.

“You mean ‘fuck doll,’ right?” Sam questions with a chuckle, staring at the point where you and he are connected. “Fuck, yeah. Stupid fuck doll. Nothing but cock on your mind,” the Sergeant grunts, and even though the circumstances are terrible, you know he’s right. “Shit,” he curses, and his cum shoots from his aching tip.

Each droplet hits different parts of your face; some of your cheeks, some on your lips, and even some right near your eyes.

“Best orgasm I’ve ever had, I swear,” Bucky admits, and he continues to jerk himself off until nothing’s left. When you’re suddenly missing the sensation of his cum landing on your face, you slowly open your tired eyes. “Look at you, fucking smiling like a true slut. We’re going to wipe it off your face at the end, sweetie,” Sam chuckles, and his threat frightens you just a little bit.

“Or maybe you’ll be even more dopey afterwards. Whores like you will take anything we give you,” Bucky jokes, but with the way he’s been talking about you beforehand, he’s so fucking right. You nod your head, and you’re no longer thinking with your brain. No, not anymore. Now, you’re thinking with your holes instead. “Anything?” Helmut questions before reaching into his pocket.

His fingers graze your thigh, and he pulls a marker out of his pants. It’s black, and you know it’s good quality—you used to eye it every time you went to the crafts store. The Baron takes the cap off of the marker, and he grabs your face between his index and thumb. The inked tip touches your cheek, and he’s writing something on your face. You’re too out of it to figure out what word it is.

“...There we go,” he chuckles, and on the other cheek, he finishes the word. “‘Whore,’” Bucky reads out loud. The ‘W’ and ‘H’ are written on your right cheek, whereas the ‘R’ and the ‘E’ are written on your left cheek. Your mouth represents the ‘O’, and once the realization hits you, you’re filled with shame and disgust. That voice in your mind—still as quiet as ever—hurls insults at you.