#dark bucky smut
Title: All this and Heaven, Too [3]
Pairing: Dark!Bucky Barnes x Reader
Summary: Caught in an anti-hero demonstration, you become an unwilling participant in a political game of tug of war. Tony Stark wants you to be the new poster child for his pro-Avengers rhetoric, Nick Fury wants you to fade into the background, and Bucky Barnes… wants something else from you entirely.
Warnings: Near Death Experience, Noncon, Stalking, Manipulation, Kidnapping, Smut, Breeding. Blackmail, Infidelity, Dark!AU, Grey/Dark Avengers AU, Dead dove Do not eat
A/N: um. i think you all could see the signs that things were about to go from zero to sixty with the ending of the last chapter, but just in case you didn’t, here’s your warning. updated the warnings a bit to reflect the content from here on out! bottom divider by @firefly-graphics!
The work below is my own, and is unbeta’d and unedited. I do not consent for it to be translated and or posted elsewhere by anyone but myself. Minors, DNI!
Bucky leaves shortly after Patrick gets back, and you can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong, very wrong, for the rest of the day. While you shower, as you go through the stretches the physical therapist taught you, as you run loving fingers through Pat’s hair. The wrongness won’t abate, won’t leave you alone.
The Black Widow arrives a few hours later, and declines your hesitant offer to come inside. No thank you, she’d said with a tart smile. I’m better from outside. Patrick is just grateful to have the apartment back, spreading out on the couch and surfing channels aimlessly. You, on the other hand, can’t stop turning over this morning’s events in your head, gnawing at it like a dog with a bone.
The cold hand, the beard, the voice that wasn’t Pat’s—
Your stomach fills with lead.
Youknow what the truth is, but you can barely even think it. It doesn’t make sense, for one, that Bucky would sneak into your room and do that.He’s half a celebrity, and while you buy about half of the populace running away screaming, you know the other half would walk readily right into his bed. There was no need to dally with you.
So why did he?
Why did he pretend to be Patrick, slither between your thighs and—
You clench them shut, your stomach lurching with shame as your cunt pulses at the memory. It isn’t your fault it felt good, you know that, but the shame eats away at you anyway. And Pat—you don’t know how he’d react to the knowledge, and you don’t want to find out. You clench your fists under the knitted blanket Patrick’s mother had given the two of you at your engagement party last year.
You don’t know when you’ll see Bucky next and your stomach flops nervously at the thought of being alone with him after what happened. He’d seemed so nice before, if a little stoic; you don’t understand the shift, can’t make sense of it.
And it certainly doesn’t help that you’re essentially house-bound, unable to drive your car without the go-ahead from Doctor Bradford. You feel trapped, like you’re just waiting for the predator to circle round again, to take another meaty bite out of you.
And what a bite he’d taken.
You can’t find it in yourself to leave your bubble of alternating self-deprecation and loathing for Bucky’s transgression, you’re surprised when Patrick starts getting ready for his night shift. It’s with grim resignation that you watch him step into his nurse’s shoes—the ones you’d teased him about more than once—and pin his tag on his shirt, right onto the pocket, like always.
“Babe? You good? You’ve been quiet all day.” Patrick is shrugging into his scrubs, and his voice rouses you from your anxiety driven fugue. “I can call off if you want.” On one hand, you do, you really do—you want Pat to stay, to help you confront Bucky for what he did to you—
But the larger part of you, the part that echoes with your father’s drilled-in shame, doesn’t even want Patrick to know. You don’t want him thinking of you as damaged goods, the woman who couldn’t even recognize her own fiancé’s voice. His mother already hated you, and you were loathe to give her more reason to mistrust you.
No, better for you to handle this on your own. For once you were glad for the insistent beeping of his pager as they contacted him again—rushing him in, putting a pin back into the grenade of this line of discussion.
“I’m good. Sorry, I’m just tired. I think it’s the pills.” You offer him a watery smile. “You go.” He does, with one last, almost mistrustful look at you over his shoulder.
“Call if you need anything, okay?”
“Okay.”
—
You twiddle your thumbs in the emptiness of your apartment, wondering what you’ll say, what you’ll do when Bucky shows up for guard duty, so much so that when Natasha raps on your door with her knuckles, you almost throw up from nerves.
“I’m headed out,” she says as you pull the door open. “Steve’ll be here shortly, if he’s not here already.” It sends a cool wave of relief through you to know it won’t be Bucky you see next, and you nod gratefully.
“How long, um, do you think we’ll have to do all this?” You ask, steadying yourself against the door. “The whole, um. Bodyguard thing.”
“Probably until the press dies down. Another couple of weeks, at most. We already got a few pings just from presence at the junket.” Her voice is confident, assured. It makes you want to trust her confidence. She turns to leave, but stops, hesitating. “Here, take my number. Just in case. And only for emergencies, understand?” She replies sternly, and you nod quickly.
“Thanks.”
You hobble back to the living room, and begin your best attempt at tidying up with only the use of one hand, a crutch held under the other. When the buzzer rings, you answer with confidence, pressing the intercom button.
“Yes?”
“Hey. It’s me. Can you buzz me in?”
“Oh, Steve. Sure.” You move to press the door button, and the familiar buzz sounds through the speaker. You wait patiently by the door for Steve to get there, tugging open the door as his footfalls approach the landing.
“Hiya, doll.” Bucky grins at you as he rounds the corner. No.You gape at him, unable to speak as you sputter. “Surprised to see me? Steve had something come up, something with the baby—”
You slam the door, sliding the deadbolt across it with trembling fingers. It’s instinct more than anything, but you’re glad for it when his body thuds against the door only a second or two later.
“You need to leave, Bucky,” you say shakily. “Get out of here!”
“Doll, what? Why? Something wrong?” It makes your stomach roll to hear him ask so genuinely, all while the feeling of his hands on your body burns in your memory. He raps on the door hard, and you can hear his heavy breath.
“You… you have to go, Bucky. I know what you did this morning, okay? I… I fucking know!”
There’s silence from the other side of the door, and then a heavy sigh.
“Goddammit.”There’s another knock. “Sweetheart, open the door and let’s talk about it. Come on. Let’s be adults about this.”
There’s a casual kind of coolness in his tone that makes you both angry and terrified, like he’d forseen this outcome—
Planned for it.
“No. You need to leave. You need to leave, a-and I’m going to tell Tony what you did—” This time, it isn’t Bucky’s voice that interrupts you—it’s your own.
“God!”
“What? What is that?”
“F-fuck, I—”
Your face heats as you realize what he’s doing. He’s playing something, a recording—
A recording of this morning.
Before you can think about it, consider what you’re doing, your hands are flying to the locks, practically tearing off the deadbolt.
“Stop, it, shut that off—” The door slams inward, and it narrowly misses pulping you against the wall you as you scramble away. You hit the floor with an oof, your crutches clattering to the ground beside you. “Bucky…”
He tosses you the phone as he steps over the threshold, closing the door behind him. He makes sure to set the lockandthe deadbolt, turning to grin at you over his shoulder.
“For interruptions.” Bucky squats down in front of you, and motions down at the phone in your lap. “Oh, that’s my favorite part.” You don’t want to look down, but it’s like you can’t stop yourself, your eyes drifting to the screen. You watch yourself writhing on your bed, one thick, flesh hand, one metal, holding your thighs apart while Bucky feasts on you.
You toss the phone away as if it’s burned you.
“Why would you do that?” You murmur, hot angry tears gathering in your eyes. He sighs, running a hand through his thick hair.
“I’m sorry, doll. I am. I…” He hesitates, before shrugging, like there’s no point in keeping it from you now. “I thought those pills’d have you under for a little longer.” The apologetic smile he gives you is chilling, instead of relatable. “I just couldn’t wait anymore. I’m not patient, you know?”
“What? What are you—”
“I saved your life.” He states the irrefutable fact with a completely straight face. “Didn’t I?” Bucky reaches forward to brush a lock of hair out of your face, and you go completely rigid at the motion. “You know, there’s some cultures that believe if you save a life, you own it. You know that, doll?”
All of the anger goes out of you at once—and is replaced by ice cold terror.
“I asked you a question sweetheart, please answer me.”
It’s night impossible to swallow the ball of panic in your throat but you manage, somehow.
“Y-yes. I kn-know that.”
“Thank you. In ancient Rome, a savior was regarded as a sort of… second father. But that’s not really what I want. Unless,” Bucky grins cheekily down at you, “you’re into that sort of thing.”
You don’t laugh, and he sighs. “Look, I like you. You’re sweet. And… I can protect you. Patrick can barely keep your heads above water,” he scoffs, shaking his head. “I can’t believe that’s what passes for a man these days.”
The urge to defend your fiancé is tamped down easily by your fear—you know what this man can do.
“I understand it might take some… time. For you to come around. So, I’m prepared to offer you a deal.”
“A deal?” You echo him hoarsely, attempting to blink back tears and failing. “What deal?”
“Well, I’m not going to post your film debut online for the world to see,” he holds up the phone, wiggling it for emphasis. “But I expect certain…allowances in return.” You don’t miss the way his eyes sweep down your body. This time, you can’t hold your tongue.
“What? No! I’m not touching you, I—”
“I get this is new for you doll, and while I’m a… modern man in a lot of ways, I’m not going to tolerate disrespect just because I’m sweet on you.” His eyes go hard. “I could have let you bleed out on the museum floor, after all.” Your breath hitches and time seems to slow as he leans in closer. His large hand is warm on your thigh through your thin leggings.
“Iown you, doll. And depending on which way I spin our beautiful first moment, I can bring down this whole house of cards you’ve built for yourself. This?” He gestures around at your apartment, but you get his larger meaning, “Only lasts as long as I say it does.” He squeezes your thigh, and then reaches up to caress your cheek like a lover, like he hadn’t just delivered a terrifying threat. “So I wouldn’t piss me off. Understand?”
You take a few seconds longer than he’d like to answer, and his lips press into a frown.
“Y-yes, Bucky,” you manage to squeak out around the other words in your throat. “I understand.”
“Good. Let’s get you up, doll. That doesn’t look comfortable at all.” He helps you to your feet with a patience that rivals Pat’s, and you swallow the futile scream that builds when he fixes you with that soft, gentle smile. “Let’s go pick out a movie, or something. We’ve got all night.”
—
Bucky is stifling.
He won’t give you a moment’s peace; standing practically hip to hip with you in the kitchen as you microwave the popcorn, standing over your shoulder as you return texts from your sister that you’d been ignoring—like he was trying to tacitly remind you of his imagined claim on your body, on your soul.
But what did it matter, imagined or not, if he had the power to enforce it?
The last thing you want is for Patrick to see that video, to see the absolute worst of you—for the world to see it. It doesn’t matter now that you’d been an unwilling participant, and if not unwilling then certainly unknowing—no one will believe it, not when they watch you writhing under his touch.
You barely do.
You sit stiffly, holding onto the popcorn in a white-knuckled grip. His metal arm falls around you, and he squeezes you affectionately.
“See?” He says, nuzzling against your throat. Your own breath hitches—both because it’s strangely natural,like the affection is real, and because you’re disgusted with yourself for considering whatever twisted thing he’d built up in his own head as valid for even a second. “Doesn’t have to be so bad.”
What choice do I have?
Until you can get help, tell someone—anyone—you’re stuck, completely at his mercy. You hadn’t been able to understand his breach of trust, not until he’d explained himself, and everything had clicked into place with horrible clarity. His overt overprotectiveness, the way he’d begun methodically inserting himself into your life. Even now, he traces patterns on the exposed skin of your arm, the cool metal leaving goosebumps in its wake.
“Feel like you’re too far away, doll,” he drawls, and reluctantly you look up at him. He pats the thickest part of his thigh with a heavy hand. “Want you right here, close to me.” Your stomach lurches at his request. Sitting next to him is the most you can manage, you don’t want anything else. The movie drones on in the background as you stare at one another, and you know you don’t have long before Bucky’s patience runs out.
“I-I—” You can’t swallow the lump in your throat so you try to speak around it. “Bucky, I don’t—”
“You’re nervous. I get that,” he cuts you off, running his hands up and down your sides in smooth gentle movements, like he’s trying to calm a panicked animal. You suppose you are—you’re terrified, your heart pounding as Bucky’s fingers sink into the meat of your hips. You let out a shrill squeak as he lifts you, settling you across his thigh.
“But you don’t have to be, not with me.” Hot tears, indignant tears, well in your eyes, and you try not to let them fall. Bucky’s breath is hot against the back of your neck. “I’m going to take good care of you.” You know his promise is supposed to inspire confidence, but the only thing you feel is the slow creep of dread, sinking into everything.
This is really happening.
You want to wake up from this, but there isno waking from it—Bucky’s hands are warm as they massage you through the thin fabric of your leggings, his pleased sighs ringing in your ear as he familiarizes himself with your body. There’s no relaxing either, your body taut as a tightrope perched on his knee. To any onlooker, you know this looks like a date-night—a movie, snacks, two people cuddled close—but the pounding of your heart, the tremor in your hands, you can’t hide those. Someone onscreen laughs, and Bucky chuckles too, the sound vibrating against your back.
“You feel tense, sweetheart,” He murmurs, and you wince as he drags his lips down the exposed skin at your shoulder until he meets cloth. “I can help.” His hungry hands come to rest on your thighs, his thumbs massaging circles into the taut muscle. You try to snap your thighs shut, wiggle off of his lap, but Bucky is stronger than you are—by far. It doesn’t even seem like it taxes him in the least to keep you seated as he locks an arm around your belly, anchoring you to him.
“Shh, shh,” he smooths his other hand over your hair. “You’ll feel so much better, doll, I know it.” Fresh horror blooms in you as he strokes along your inner thigh with light fingers, mumbling his appreciation for you in a low, reverent voice.
“So soft…” You can feel the thick length of his cock pressing up between the cheeks of your ass, and you choke on your horrified gasp. “See how hard you got me, sweetheart? S’all for you.” Your mouth opens, and you inhale a breath to scream—
Bucky’s metal hand closes around your throat, squeezing just hard enough to limit your air.
“Oh, baby. I wouldn’t.” His other hand doesn’t stop moving, stroking the skin of your belly under your t-shirt. “You think I won’t fuck you if your neighbors come watch?” The blood curdles in your veins at his frankness. “I don’t mind if the whole world watches you cum on my face, sweetheart—and believe me, it’s a pretty sight. In fact, I think that might make this a whole lot easier, don’t you? If everyone knows, then—”
“Please,” you croak, tugging ineffectually at his arm. He releases his hold on your throat, and you gasp and cough as the air floods back into your lungs. You don’t want Patrick to know, to see. Without Pat, you’d be alone, adrift in the world. He’d made you feel like you could do more than just be your father’s replacement for your mother, to take care of him until he was six feet in the ground. Like you owed it to her memory to be something—like you owed it to yourself.
Bucky could have everything else—but he can’t have that.
He kisses the skin at the back of your throat, his beard rasping against your skin.
“Let’s not make this difficult, doll. Either way you play this, I get what I’m owed.”
“No one’s owed anything,” you croak, wriggling in his lap. Bucky stills you with a smart tap to your thigh. “That’s not how the world works.”
“Oh?” He says, as if he’s amused by your reasoning, amused enough to let your sass slide. “I’ll remember that when folks come to collect. Funny,” he hums as his fingers dip beneath the waistband of your leggings, playing at the skin beneath them before he tugs them harshly down. “how no one’s owed, but someone always come to collect.” There’s a low laugh as he grazes the skin of your vulva.
“No panties, doll? And I thought you weren’t expecting me.” He parts your lips with two fingers, and you’re as embarrassed as he is pleased when he finds your folds damp. You huff through your clenched teeth as Bucky slowly circles your clit with one finger while he grinds his cock against you. You’re overwhelmed with him—the woodsy scent of his cologne in your nostrils, his hands on you, in you. It’s enough to make your head spin.
Which it does, unwitting pleasure winding up your spine as you stare dizzily at the ceiling. You try everything; shutting your eyes to try and keep him out, picturing Patrick, trying to remember the vows you were still drafting up for the wedding—but none of it works. Bucky’s face swims in the darkness behind your closed eyes as his fingers dance over your bud, and his breath in your ear wipes clean the memory of your future promises.
The noise as his fingers slide in and out of you, aided by your body’s own slick is deafening. You hate your own muted moans as Bucky’s teeth drag along your shoulder blade, uncaring of whether he leaves a mark or not. The sound of his zipper lowering makes you choke back a sob, and you gasp softly at the feel of his bare cock against your ass.
“I saw, you know,” he grunts as he ruts against you. “Fucking pathetic, couldn’t even let you get off first.” Bucky lets out a low, guttural laugh when your pussy clenches around him, fresh wetness coating his fingers. “Mmm, feels good, doesn’t it, doll?” You clench around him. “Real man would have taken care of you—that’s why I had to step in and do it.” Bucky doesn’t let up, and you whine and writhe against him.
Your orgasm hits you like a train and you arch against his knee, your cunt throbbing as your release coats his fingers thick and sticky. You can feel Bucky moving against you, your pleasure—your shame—leaking back to coat his cock. Limp and wrung out from the force of it, you shudder. Maybe it’s cruel irony that Pat had never made you feel quite like this, that this man who you you undeniably hate can play your body like a fine instrument.
His hands rise to cup your breasts, flicking at your nipples through your bralette. “If I didn’t want to be in your pussy so bad, I’d give this sweet ass of yours a try,” Bucky says as his the head of his cock slides lewdly against your puckered entrance. You push ineffectively at his metal hand as he lifts your hips, positioning his cock underneath your twitching cunt.
“Bucky, Bucky no—”
“Stopwhining, doll,” his words end in a sigh as his cock begins to press up into you, pushing against the tightness of your entrance until it pops inside. He groans, huffing out an appreciative breath. “You’re like velvet inside, you know that?” He’s so thick, it’s like there’s not enough room inside of you for all of him, but he pushes in anyway.
You squeak as he fills you, his jeans rubbing uncomfortably against your bare thighs. Bucky kneads your hip with one hand and rocks against you slow, but even his short thrusts steal the air from your lungs. Even the sting of his cock stretching you open winds with the pleasure eating away at every conscious thought that manages to break through the static in your brain.
“God, you’re fuckin’ perfect, sweetheart,” he underscores the complement with another muffled curse. “Could stay in you all goddamned day.” He doesn’t fuck you like Pat does, with quiet efficiency, mindful of how long he’s taking—Bucky fucks you like it’s all he wants to do. His strokes are slow, leisurely, and you sob at the slow drag of him against your walls.
Bucky bounces you on his lap, and your breath gurgles in your throat. “F-full…” You don’t even realize you’ve spoken until Bucky’s black-honey laugh meets your ear.
“Feels good, doesn’t it, doll?” He kneads your breasts with one greedy hand while the other tugs your legs apart, splaying you open lewdly across his thighs. Bucky sinks in with a loud squelch that makes you keen. Distantly, you’re aware of the slapping of flesh, the squeal of the springs in you and Pat’s ancient couch as Bucky lays into you with languid heavy thrusts.
“Nice, fat cock digging you out—tell me baby, that miserable excuse for a man ever make you feel this good?” When you don’t answer immediately, Bucky’s hips snap into yours hard, the head of his cock punching against your cervix. You wail, babbling.
“N-no, no Bucky!” You wish that the guilt that flares up in you at your forced honesty is enough to quell the tide of pleasure cresting over you. You hate him—but your body still responds. “Oh, oh God—”
Pleasure sears the synapses in your brain, fireworks exploding behind your unseeing eyes as you gape up at your ceiling. Bucky fucks you through it, abandoning his slow, deep pace for quick, sharp thrusts.
“Fuck, m’gonna fill you up, doll, want you leakin’ with me for days—”He growls low in his throat, strained breaths puffing against your ear as sticky warmth floods you, his cock jerking against your walls. The both of you sit there, panting as you try to piece everything back together.
Bucky strokes the side of your face, before pressing a kiss into your hair.
“See, doll?” He says with a dry laugh. “Not so bad.”
To be continued…
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