Summary:Crushed between the expectations of society and your family, you catch the attention of an unwanted caller and life you never desired. (Regency AU)
Synopsis:Ransom and Charles are partner’s in crime but they’re looking for some pleasure after years of business. (Ransom Drysdale/Knives Out, Charles Blackwood/We Have Always Lived in the Castle)
Synopsis:when your father went away to serve in The Great War, you took over his side business in the shed. After the war, he struggles to recover from the damage of his trauma as an unexpected investor shows up at your door. (Thomas Shelby, Peaky Blinders)
I uh- read the nine chapters in one sitting and I honestly don’t know what to feel or think tbh.
*takes a deep breath*
OP HOW!??!?!?!WHAT THE FUCK !?!??! WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?!!?!?
Hhhhhhhhhhh
Now full disclosure this isn’t everyone’s cup of tea all reasons included so read the warnings if you wanna read but like…don’t be an asshole and don’t send hate to op
Instead of heaven and hell, when you die, you find yourself in a room with a six year old girl who invites you to join her tea party. It dawns on you, you’re her imaginary friend.
“Sit!” she beams, patting a small plastic stool around her table, the other chairs filled by stuffed animals. My mouth moves to speak, but nothing comes out. She beams up at me and I sigh, sitting awkwardly in the chair.
“My name is Princess Maegan.” She says, flicking curls over her shoulder. “This is Mr Fuzz.” She gestures to a stuffed bear on the chair to her right. It had brown fur with a green plaid bowtie and black glass orbs for eyes. “And Lady Pearls.” A purple hippo plush with a pearl necklace to her left.
I sat straight across from Maegan, taking her in her features. Light skin and blonde hair with green eyes. She wore a pink, poufy, princess dress with an exaggerated plastic crown and wand.
“My name is Adelaide,” I reply.
“Would you like some tea?” Maegan offers a plastic teapot to me. I nod and she pours imaginary tea into my plastic teacup. “Cream and sugar?” I nod again and she pours fake cream into the cup and sprinkles fake sugar into the cup. Maegan does the same for Mr Fuzz and Lady Pearls.
“I’m so happy you could all make my tea party especially in the absence of Sarah. Momma says she went on holidays but I don’t know why I’m not allowed to join her.” I blink. “Oh. Sarah is my twin sister. Momma and Papa said she’d be gone for a while, so they took her bed out of our room.”
Oh…
Oh.
“Sweetie.” A woman, a mirror image of Maegan if she was older, stepped into the room. She looked tired and had a swollen stomach. “Who are you talking to?”
“Adelaide!” Maegan replies. “She’s my new friend. Say ‘hi’ Momma.” Maegan’s mom’s eyes trail over to my chair, but the look she gives me is transparent like she couldn’t see me.
“Hello, Adelaide.” She turned back to Maegan. “Are you telling her about Sarah?”
“Yeah! I hope she’s having fun on her holiday.” Maegan’s mother hesitates, then sighs through her nose.
“Can I join you?”
Maegan smiled brightly and nods. Her mother sits on her knees on the floor between Maegan and Lady Pearls.
“Are we having tea?”
“Mhm!” Maegan says, pouring her mother a cup. “Momma. When is Sarah coming home?” Maegan asks. Her mother bit her lip and searches Maegan’s face for any sort of knowing or understanding of the situation. Maegan seemed genuinely curious.
“She… she won’t be coming back, Maegan.” Her mother says softly, a tear falling down her face. “She’s gone.” Maegan blinked, not understanding.
“What?”
“Hey.” Maegan and her mother didn’t seem to hear that. But I did. I turned to look at the person reflected in the glass of the back door. “Tell Maegan I said hi.” She says. I didn’t need to know who she was. I nodded as she faded out of focus and I turned back.
Maegan was crying now, she still didn’t seem to understand, it was just a reaction to her mother crying and hugging her close. “My baby’s gone.” Her mother cried. “She’s in a batter place now, I’m sure. But…” she sobbed into Maegan’s curls.
“Sarah says hi,” I say softly. “And that she loves you, even if she can’t be here with you anymore.” That seemed to officially set Maegan off, sobbing into her mother’s shirt.
“I miss her Momma.” Maegan cried.
“I know, baby. I know. I miss her too.” Her mother replied, tugging her fingers through Maegan’s hair.
I simply watch and drink my tea.
(This got a lot darker than I was planning my apologies)
tags:dark prisonguard!steve rogers, eventual hint of bucky x reader too, strong NONCON elements, oral sex (fingering), abuse of power/authority, eventual implications of manipulation
a/n: i did not intend for this mini-series to be a stucky x reader (i dont write for bucky), but i had to for the plot. omg ok so i dedicate this to @imdarkinme – my savior, my inspiration, my everything, my reason for writing dark fics. I LOVE YOU BABE. THIS ONE IS 4 U. NEVER GONNA STOP LOVING U (nd ur fics) <3
When your closest friend had called you one night stating that you were one of the most wanted persons in the city, you honestly thought of it as a prank. You could remember those moments so vividly. And honestly, you could just wish for a rewind in time as you never would have seen what was to come later on.
"I swear, your name is all over the newspapers–”
The worry in her voice was so strong. Natasha had awoken you and did not hesitate on blaring at you about the news she had just discovered, specifically about you.
“You’re actually fooling me by saying you still read those?” Your voice was still groggy as you tried to sit up straight to prevent yourself from falling asleep during mid-conversation.
“This isn’t a joke! I’m not trying to make you laugh I swear to god,” she asserts while consistently keeping the mood and tone of the conversation.
You cocked your head to the side, positioning your phone between your ear and shoulder. Your fingers were gently wiping circles around your eyes as your vision was still adjusting. For a moment you contemplated on switching on your lamp alongside, but eventually you did after realizing that your friend seemed to have no plans on ending the stunt she was pulling on you.
“Look I’m trying to be serious here–”
“I’m trying to get some sleep here, Nat.” Your tone came off a bit rude, cranky even, but both of you knew it was not intentional.
Hence, Natasha just disregards your tone off and continues, “I’m seeing your full name and even your picture in the paper, clear as day. There is not a doubt, that you’re the person they’re looking for.”
“Why would I be committing any crimes when I’ve been working in the coffee shop almost every weekdays to pay my rent for the least.” You scoffed, clearly not seeing any logical reason behind everything she had been telling you, “Hell, I’m struggling to put anything in my fridge but that doesn’t mean I’m willing to rob a bank or murder someone, okay?”
“God, I don’t know either, Y/N. I do believe you, I really do,” she calls out, “but what I do know is that the bureau is searching for your ass right now and we have to do something because they don’t seem to be easier to convince than me!”
There was a long pause afterwards. You were just so sleepy and out of a decent state of mind. You did not know how to react to it, probably not even comprehending any of what you just heard as there was not even a hint of horror or worry in your voice.
Merely, you just stared in front of you, glaring at the plain beige-colored wallpapers, with lips slightly agape and eyelids exceedingly droopy. If Natasha could only see your eyes looking completely exhausted right now, you were so sure that she would cut the act and leave you to finally get some sleep again.
Eventually, your friend spoke up again to break the wearisome conversation. “Sweetie, I’m so worried for you.”
“Are you crying? You’re very cute, you know that?” you say followed by a yawn. “Wish you did this prank tomorrow morning, I feel like you would’ve definitely gotten a better reaction from me. I’m sorry you didn’t get the reaction you were looking for tonight.”
“I’m not kidding, please, would you just listen to me.” Again, another loud sigh could be heard from her at the other end of the call, “God, if you search it up online I swear you’re going to find your name somewhere there. Don’t be so stubborn, I’m just looking out for you!”
“I’m too tired,” you honestly answered her. It must have been the lack of sleep, but the filter in your tone just was not enough to express enough sympathy to her. “Please I just need to get some sleep, Nat.”
“I’ll still be seeing you tomorrow, right?” Her voice broke a little, seeming as if she was on the edge of breaking down or crying. During that moment, you could applaud for how good of an acting she had been doing for you. Considerably, that might have been one of her best performances yet – or so you thought.
Nevertheless, you wanted to joke about her entire stunt, but you really were too tired to make something out of it.
The corner of your lips slightly curved into a soft smile. “I promise you’ll see me tomorrow. While you’re at it, you can tell me that you told me so if the Federal starts knocking at my door.”
You made that joke granting that you were not holding anything ahead of you. It was an innocent line that you thought could have gone better and lighten up the mood.
“Y/N, please, I–”
“Good night, Nat.” You could only stay awake for so long at this point. Your eyelids were sealed shut and you were seconds away from falling back against your soft mattress.
God that was stressful, though it could have gone worse and longer. How in the world did Natasha even think of that kind of prank on you or any of her other friends, you thought.
Dropping your phone beside and hearing a thump afterwards, you reach for the switch of your lamp. With one flip you were finally surrounded by the calming darkness again and left you to your peaceful slumber.
That was pretty much what you could recall before your entire world was turned upside down. Those were your moments before everything in your life had lead to a complete disaster. You honestly wished you could have done better, maybe even listened to Natasha.
You pondered what things could have turned out to be if you were not so sleepy and ignorant that night. Oh, could you honestly just pray that this was just a nightmare you still have not awoken from – dreading that you were still in that deep sleep you have been longing after that phone conversation with your best friend.
‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾༓･*˚⁺‧͙‧⁺˚*･༓☾༓･*˚⁺‧͙
And now, you were standing inside the courtroom with your useless lawyer beside you.
There were dozens of people behind where you sat. You could feel their strong and deadly gazes directing and stabbing you right into your back, but you could care less. The only thing that had you on the edge of your seat was the judge and the jury located in front of you as they were the ones who got to decide whether you plead guilty or not.
For days, you have discussed this and tried to reason out how completely innocent you were. You tried to gather witnesses as much as you could. But as a woman who was seen as nobody, it was pretty fucking hard and you were regretting to ever reject any interaction other people had offered with you for these past weeks.
You were framed. However, only you, and hopefully Natasha, knew that completely.
Even your relatives and former friends showed signs of doubt and it had honestly crushed your poor soul into more pieces. It fucking broke your heart. How could these people even think twice upon hearing that you have been subjected to robbery and assault?
Without any connections or enough funds, you were sure to go downhill from here. You were not given a proper lawyer with this case, feeling rigged as ever with the justice system of your country.
And sadly, from the looks of it, you seemed to be at boiling water. Every statement against you had been totally unreasonable and it was frustrating enough that you could not defend you and your dignity properly. You deserved so much more than what you were getting right now.
All you could do was close your eyes and suck in everything they have been throwing at you – the judge, juries, and for sure the media. Bastards.
Eventually, the moment everyone else had been waiting for had to arrive. You knew what was about to come from the judge’s mouth. Though, there was this tiny bit inside of you that pleaded for any turn of events, even so a miracle, to happen for the least.
There was a tear rolling down from your cheek as you looked down and stared at the wooden table. You kept both your hands intertwined and underneath it while trying to hide yourself from everything and everyone surrounding you.
You hear the judge strike the wooden gavel against the surface of the table three times, calling the attention of everyone as he was about to give out the order. Your heart beat raced rapidly as your fate was seconds away from being determined.
“The sentence for the citizen, Y/N Y/L/N, for the acts which are reproached to her is one year of imprisonment.” The declaration was widely straightforward, nothing more or less.
You could hear the gasps and other reactions of the audience. There was an amount of noise from the crowd, most of them calling out for your name as they seem to be wanting to throw questions at you, but you did not want to face any of them, especially the media.
Your hands were getting shaky and you were trying your best not to break down into tears. You released your interlaced fingers and made them into a fist, trying to bury your nails into the skin of your palms hoping that the pain would distract your from the sorrow you have yet to face.
There was nothing you could do as the final decision has been done.
Moreover, just as you thought you were slowly accepting the discriminatory ruling of the courtroom, your fear accelerated further while watching two guards emerge from the corner of the room. They were built like bodyguards, if not even more intimidating, as their expressions remained stoic.
They could have walked over to you within seconds, but during that moment you could honestly feel your entire world slow down. You just wanted to stop time, or rewind it even better, for the fear of what was awaiting for you.
Prison was not a place you had been expecting to be in a year ago. Hell, you never expected it even when your best friend told you two nights before. The Maldives or Bahamas would have been somewhere you were planning to go to rather. That was definitely in your bucket list.
Nonetheless, terror went through your system as those two guards had stood on either sides of you. They did not waste a second on grasping either of your arms also, them making sure you were secured and unable to make any movements as they proceeded to put your hands behind your back. The metal handcuffs were expected afterwards, feeling it tighten around your wrists prior to hearing it lock.
You barely could move your wrists apart for even the slightest millimeter.
Their hands slid between your body and your arms, tugging you to stand up and signaling you to follow them. Obviously, you did not want to cause any more of a scene unless you wanted to look more suspicious than you already were deemed to be.
“Follow us,” one of them instructed as they escorted you slowly out of your seat.
As you stood up and steadily made your way to the corner where they had emerged from earlier, you took one last look behind your back. You just wanted to see everyone making a fuss about your case, never mind whether it be positive or negative.
“I really didn’t do it,” you plead.
“I believe in your innocence, Y/N!” A familiar voice cried out.
It might have been a regretful action, but as you looked back, you immediately spotted Natasha just a few seats away from the front. Her newly dyed blonde hair stood out from you as she also wore a formal attire to your hearing. She had misery written all over her face and you could honestly feel her being remorseful.
That was pretty much the last thing you saw in the place that held you guilty and up for prison for crimes you were far from executing. You were not sure whether to be grateful or not with that memory.
Both doors closed behind you and before you knew it, you heading out of the building with dozens of people with microphones and cameras directly pointed at you.
None of them get to have any second of your time though. You could see as they tried to make their way to the edge of the aisle where the staff had given way for you to walk on. You were greeted with so many reporters that you felt so claustrophobic for that moment, even so close to fainting from the unfamiliar set up.
It was tragic to hear them calling you a criminal. Nothing else could replay in your mind than your name and that word being put next to each other. You could not imagine that happening even in your next lifetime.
“Get inside,” the man instructs as you have seemed to zone out despite all the attention you have been receiving. Your own thoughts have become more deadly that you were close to making it as a pathetic form of an escape. “Christ, we said get inside the car, lady.”
Finally you did, bending over modestly to be able to make your way inside the backseat of the police car. As you got inside, you spot the wired barrier between where you sat and the front area of the driver and passenger seats. It reeked of cigarettes inside and all you could think about was wanting to throw up.
You were still cuffed from behind and as you got to take a seat inside, one of the guards roughly slammed the car door. You bounced in your seat due to sudden shock and harshness over you, but you might as well need to get used to this kind of treatment.
You glanced at the window, seeing people still trying to make their way to get a good view of you. You could hear and see the flashes of cameras going on at you and all you could show now was a face of dejection, not sparing the moment to cry further.
No doubt your entire body and system were still ridden with fear. But with what you had just experienced in court, you were so doubtful anyone could help you or make the superiors change their mind on what they had sentenced you with.
It was repulsive and unfair to see people like that walk freely in their consciousness, in spite of them not being entirely sure if the person they have sent to prison was really at fault.
The sound of the car engine roaring as the cop has started it up interrupted you from your overwhelming thoughts. It was then that you had to accept that you were being transported to jail, a maximum facility to be exact – because somehow they found robbery to be more deadly than the others.
You saw the unfamiliar faces on your window swiftly pass from sight as the car drove away. God, this was terrifying.
‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾༓･*˚⁺‧͙‧⁺˚*･༓☾༓･*˚⁺‧͙
They made you change into those prisoner jumpsuits but instead of it being the typical color orange, it was in a very lighter shade of pink, even so being close to white. The color deemed so pure and innocent yet the place you were going to be held captive seemed the opposite of it.
The penitentiary did not look welcoming at all either. It had not reached even the least bit of your standards, expecting them to look like psychiatric hospitals since it was rumored to hold people who were convicted of serious crimes – not that you actually did so anyway.
Instead, it was grimy and disgusting. You were close to assuming they barely take care of the place at all.
You were helpless either way. There seemed to be no luck for you as another pair of guards were awaiting for you to finish changing your clothes. You were buttoning it up as you could hear their voices, “Hurry up, lady! The captain doesn’t like waiting for too long.” Making you panic even more, fumbling for your casual clothes that had dropped on the filthy tiled floor.
“S-sorry!” You mewled, still frightened about the flow of events.
Like always, they escorted you out, making sure to cuff both your wrists before positioning themselves on either sides of you. You could honestly just tear up again, realizing all too well now that they were treating you like one of the biggest criminals in town, when in fact, you could not even hurt a fly.
They guided you through a corridor, expecting to see cell jails with metal bars acting as a barrier. Alternatively, you were greeted with bulky gray metal doors that had a small sliding widow situated in the middle, which you assumed was for food only.
It was probably for the best, you could not imagine how scary the convicts looked behind those doors, or maybe they were also like you - incapable yet falsely incriminated.
A knee had kicked against the side of your leg, causing you to let out a short screech. “Jeez, could you walk any slower? Stop whining and zoning out.” The man’s voice echoed.
You unsteadily nodded, following the orders and focusing straight at your front. It was then after a few more resentful steps before the three of you took a turn, coming to face a wide door.
As you approached closer, you could discern the amount of dirt that had accumulated on it. It looked rusty and old, probably have not been improved nor modernized at all, which definitely gave off raw middle aged vibes with their prisons and such.
The guard unbolted the large latches at its side. He dragged it open all the while creating a strong high-pitch, horrifying sound which resonated throughout the hallway.
The first thing you had noticed was a man positioned in front of the room. He presented directly in front, looking comfortably seated while awaiting for your presence. There were at least three guards that stood surrounding him, each keeping their distance as they acted as a barricade. You supposed that the man in front was the captain they had been highly speaking of.
You stood at the threshold without even realizing that you were unable to move. The guards did not you so kindly this time, consequently feeling a strong hand over your shoulder and another one behind you. One of them practically shoved you in front, leaving you plummeting against the ground as your legs quivered still under fear.
Alongside, a commanding voice rang through your ears, stating to make your greetings with respect to their higher-up.
While your legs felt paralyzed, your head and mind were still intact. You were looking at the ground feeling shy to even gaze at the man who assuredly sat in front of you. The only thing you could get a glance on was his polished black shoes, looking very expensive and well taken care of.
Moreover, you saw the tip of his shoe extend right towards your face. Within a blink of an eye, you felt the leather under your chin, pressing against it and subtly tilting your head upwards to look up and finally face him.
The first few words you could make up were along the synonyms of beautiful. You had no words nor did you expect yourself to be engrossed by his looks.
Unlike the other guards who wore the typical uniform, he wore a more formal looking one. He had a white suit and black tie underneath. Along with it was his sleek black long-sleeved coat that was personalized with badges, stars, a name tag, a belt, and a rope at the side. All of those designs were silver in color which beautifully contrasted with the rest of his dark uniform.
His blond hair was neatly brushed back with a police hat faintly slanted and placed on top. His uniform was pressed precisely too, making him look perfect for the role he was reported to be. However, despite his attractive bodily aura, he kept a deadpanned expression which does not help upon calming your nerves.
So far you still felt like you were in deep trouble.
“3077,” he asserts. His voice was forceful without any hints of delay. “That’s what you’ll be called here.”
You were still a trembling mess, lips ajar over each other while staring with blank thoughts. You were unaware that you were staring at the man for a while already. He does not flinch or react either, merely dragging his shoe away from under your chin and moving towards the side of your cheek.
The side of his shoe repeatedly taps on your skin which catches your attention and interrupts another of your daydreaming sessions. “Answer, 3077!”
“Y-yes!” You whimpered under him.
“Good.” He vaguely nods,
“I’m Steve Grant Rogers, the chief security guard here,” He introduces himself while still having a foot in contact with your face, “Starting today, three o’clock in the afternoon, you will be my responsibility.
He continues on, using his foot to tug your face. Your upper body was leaning in front with hands still cuffed behind you and all you could do was listen, stare, and nod at him. “You must obey absolutely what I say until you earn your freedom, do you understand?”
Even the slightest pause was unacceptable for him, “Answer!”
“Yes!”
“I suppose you already know before they sent you here, but ever since the year 2030, this has become a maximum security prison…”
“And you’re the only woman among the rest of the prisoners here,” he explains. A subtle smirk turns onto the ends of his lips, but was not as obvious as he had intertwined hands covering his face.
A wave of surprise washes over you, the shock upon your face was evident as your jaw dropped. He does not give you a moment to react further. “I’ll start with the routine admission. Bring her with me,” he instructs to the same guards that escorted you earlier, both proudly standing alongside his throne.
Hands did not hesitate on carrying you up until you got your legs working again. You were walking behind Steve with guards still assisting you, and yet again you were being dragged into the many corners of the nauseating penitentiary.
“Where are they taking me?” You spoke with a low voice; however, none of them responded. They continued to walk with you, leaving the air utterly dead and silent.
They made their way to another room, Steve stopping in front of its door and then turning around. “I’ll take her from here. Go back with the rest and make sure Maximoff isn’t causing another ruckus in the cafeteria,” he instructs while his subordinates obediently apprehended along.
“Yes, sir.” They respond, immediately releasing their grip around your biceps and walking away after carrying out a salute.
Furthermore, Steve dragged you into the room after unlocking the door and switching the light on. You heard the jingling of keys behind you, even so feeling his figure unnervingly stop behind you. He stood too close, swearing that you could feel his body only inches away from your back, his breathing fawning over the top of your head.”Let’s start, shall we?”
Your wrists got to freely breath after hearing a click from the lock, somewhat surprising you as you were released from the metal handcuffs. Huh.
“Strip,” he boldly orders.
“E-excuse me?”
“You heard me,” he goes over, “Don’t make me repeat it. Take off your clothes.”
“I won’t do it!” Despite being terrified of him, you still wanted to keep even the least bit of your dignity left.
“A body search is mandatory in the penitentiary,” he warrants.
“Still!”
“I thought I told you that my orders were absolute, did I not?”
Though you tried to stay silent to prevent him from further infuriating, your mind had been wandering around with several questions.
Why was he doing this? Can this even be reported to the higher-ups?
The latter was far from likely, recalling that he had told you that he was the chief security guard in the place. Everything would be going through him and will be finalized by him, and him only.
“That’s it, 3077. Now strip.”
You hesitated. Your hands were shaky as your arms steadily moved to your front, pausing to undo each button starting from the collar and progressing down. You wanted to take an hour or so, probably even forever, but the man standing in front of you seemed to be generally impatient.
The look on his face was a combination of eagerness and attraction but your mind shifts it all into a repulsive imagine of emptiness.
Your white undershirt and undergarments remained as your baby pink jumpsuit fell to the ground. You stand shamefully, arms over each other trying to cover your chest. “Everything. Down. Now.” His voice getting more and more demanding as you provoked to stall every minute that went by.
Your chin was titled down, not wanting to show your self-consciousness to him. Your fingers gripped on the garter of your undershirt, pulling it over your head and feeling a short cold breeze over the skin of your stomach.
Chills were already across your skin, granting that you did not have a choice in any of this. This was your ticket to freedom – or so you could only dream for.
When your skin was completely exposed to him, you reached another level of shame you were not even aware of. You felt colder than before, trying to cover your breasts with the warmth of your hands. Still, you stared at the grimy floor, not wanting to see the man’s reaction as you knew it would just make your state of mind worse.
“A-Alright, is this enough for you?” A small scoff hidden between your tone.
“Hold on,” he says without minding your mockery, “Lie down there, your legs facing towards my direction.”
Your frowned even further, looking aside where he was pointing towards. His index was directed at a hospital bed at the side which did not have any railings at its side, merely having a metal footboard and headboard.
You walked towards there, one arm still covering the front of your breasts while the other acting as a support as you sat down first. Eventually you rest your back against the sheets along with the back of your head on the only pillow provided there. You followed as he told, sealing your thighs together though.
The beating of your heart increases rapidly knowing completely how this was going to go down.
From the corner of your eye you can see him raise his hand towards his mouth, tugging one of his gloves from a hand with the use of his teeth. He lets the fabric fall to the ground while walking closer towards the side of the bed where you lay down. This time, a smirk was obvious upon his face as he did not bother to hide it.
Steve’s hands descend over your body, making you tense up as you tried to keep your head straight and stare right at front. However, even if you attempted to avoid looking at him, you could not fight the feeling of his fingers stroking your upper body.
He started with your chest area, further descending down. All the while you had one thought in mind – one you felt disgusted to even have it cross your thoughts.
His fingers felt soft, like a feather. For a split second you wondered if he had done this before, moreover if he was used to doing such a flustering act.
“P-please don’t,” you mewl, “Stop.”
Your cries made the smirk on his face grow wider, only wanting to wipe it off from him but feeling completely powerless to do so. Instead of giving a second thought to what you were saying, he drags his hand between your lower abdomen.
Despite having your thighs glued together to prevent this very purpose from happening, the man merely parts them from one another. Just as you thought you had the strength to keep them shut, you felt entirely the opposite once he was actually touching your body already. The way your inner thighs quivered as he spreads them apart was already a sign of how weak you were against him.
“3077,” his throaty voice calls out. “What’s the matter with you? It’s just a simple body search.”
Regardless of his statement, his fingers began toying around the entrance of your cunt. Even so you could feel his thumb lightly press against your bud of nerves, drawing subtle circles around, as the rest of his fingers continued to encourage your body’s growing arousal.
Hell, he barely even inserted his fingers yet you were starting to get wet from the simple gestures of him touching you.
“Why are you reacting like that?” The smugness in his voice was clear.
“I- No!” Your voice was trembling as your body did too. The muscles at the back of your thighs tightened while sweat began to form from your forehead.
“You’re in prison, 3077,” Steve says, “the place where you’re going to pay for the crime you committed.”
After successfully rousing your body up, he smoothly inserts a finger inside your pussy, and for all that earning a sound which was caused from the wetness of your cunt. Both of you acknowledged how gladly your body welcomed him.
He began to thrust his fingers in and out of you, gaining several instinctive moans out from your lips. Your head felt warm and lightheaded. The worry in your eyes apparent and ardent.
He tsked. “Why are you getting these reactions?”
And then adding, “…I don’t want you to get me wrong.”
His rhetorical questions deemed useless for the situation nor provided comfort for you at all. You looked at him all the same yet it does not stop him from adding another finger.
Either way, Steve did not stop after it. His fingers continued to thrust deeper inside you, having your body bounce against his hand. You were a growing mess with hands finding their way to grasp onto the disheveled white sheets.
As much as you tried to bite down a moan, your mouth could not help but give in. Your gut felt as if they were tightening around him for every moment the tips of his fingers curl inside you. You yourself could feel how hot the temperature of your body increases as he boldly fingers you. “Ah… A-Ah… Ow… P-please … S-stop it…”
Amidst everything, however, there were voices coming from outside of the room. You did not notice them at first, being completely overwhelmed with the sensation of being pleasured. You were only aware of what was being said outside when Steve’s used his other hand to cover your mouth from moaning further. His palm pressed against your lips while you breathed through his fingers.
“Are you serious? I would love to fuck that woman!”
“If we behave would she might consider giving us a reward?”
“I bet she would be tight as fuck!”
“What are you talking about!”
“Fuckers! I told you that you can’t keep roaming around these halls.”
The voices eventually died down, seeming that it would have been inmates passing by from the corridors. Nonetheless, tears were already brimming from your eyes as you – uselessly – kept yourself together. “P-please..”
“N-No! Don’t d-do this to me,” you plead. Each moment lead to the build up of your orgasm, already feeling the knotting near your stomach and the clenching of your walls.
It was predictable for your part when Steve barely showed any hint of sympathy for your messy situation. He pursued your climax while maintaining an impassive expression. He wanted to see you crumble and he wanted to show how remorseless he can be either way.
It was useless to hold back. The man was going to get what he wanted and he did not need to say it.
You allowed yourself to let loose, creating an utter mess between your inner thighs and his hands. Your exposed cunt was throbbing alike your temples. Your chest was heavily heaving as your own sweat covered both your body and face.
Those were your last moments before succumbing to black out due to the chief security guard wearing you out.
‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾༓･*˚⁺‧͙‧⁺˚*･༓☾༓･*˚⁺‧͙
When your eyelids had fluttered open, the only thing you could make out of was the darkness in the room. You were laying on the bed, but you could instantly detect a blanket covering you. In addition, you were wearing your jumpsuit.
You took a deep breath and paused, recalling everything that you could remember and confusing it for a nightmare. Though whatever it could have been, you were just glad that the pain and throb in your head had ceased.
You had no choice but to sit up, discerning a feint light illuminating from behind a door. Looking around, you could still also notice a mirror, a sink, and a toilet at the side of the room. You assumed you must have finally been resting in your prison cell.
“Listen to me!” A loud voice came from the other side of the door.
“You have ten minutes to clean your room. After that, all of you must assemble in the hallway!”
Another wave of panic gets over you, but you quickly follow to what had been instructed. Since you did not have anything at hand all you figured that you have been resting all along, you merely fixed the sheets of your bed and fluffed your pillow. You fixed your jumpsuit too, flattening it down while making sure there were not any holes nor unbuttoned parts at the front.
When you made your way outside, you saw how fast the other inmates were as they had beat you to the corridors. Each of them were lined up, back facing their assigned prison cell as their front faced the hallway. There was a guard at the end of it too.
“List yourself up!” He starts.
Each inmate started to count, “One!” There voices loud and clear.
Despite that, your mind was clouded with the thought of what happened between you and Steve Rogers, acclaimed Chief Security Guard of the maximum facility.
Was it a all a nightmare? You could not even dare yourself to call it a dream.
“Twenty-eight!” The deep and guttural voice of an inmate calls from your right side.
“Twenty-nine!” You scream as you assumed you were next to him.
Out of nowhere, the other male inmates started to chuckle. It was probably for the obvious fact that you were a female and was completely distinctive among the rest of them.
Even if you have not done anything embarrassing in front of them so far, you surely felt like you were full of shame. You looked around and found every man’s gaze at you, staring at you like you were a prize at the end of the race.
Well, except for one.
You saw him just a few doors away from you. He had a few tattoos over both his arms – a red star being the most striking one compared to the rest of the designs.
The man seemed to have grown his dark hair, and his beard too. Your gaze at him fell longer compared to the rest and it was enough time before he got to feel your attention towards him. He kept a blank stare nonetheless as you were startled and looked away.
“Dude your arm fucking touched me!” Another one exclaims. He had silver hair and looked buffed alike the rest, his thick accent being the trait that stands out for him.
“Huh? You’re the one who ran into me, asshole!” The one he started an argument with now had a darker hair brushed into a mohawk. A sleeve tattoo was also present.
“Hey stop it, you two! If you keep this up, they’ll punish us all!” Again, another voice comes from behind and you did not bother to see how that man looked. He was smart though, that’s for sure.
Nevertheless, it did not stop the two from brawling further. With one swift move, the silver-haired guy already had raised his arm and purposely punched the man he was arguing with.
“Hell, all of us are in big trouble!”
Thankfully though, the man you were distracted from earlier had walked into their argument. He confidently stood between them and proceeded to pull them apart by the back of their jumpsuits. The two men looked surprised – even so slightly terrified – after seeing him caught up in between. “You two still want to fight?”
They did not answer him, merely looking away with a scoff on their faces and then lining back up at their spots in front of their cell doors.
Despite all of this, he still kept the blank expression just as you saw when he caught you staring right at him. No grins or smirk, whatsoever.
Hi, I’m not back right now, but it was just brought to my attention by my friend that dark!fic writers on here are getting some hate and I just want to say something. Just because you write something doesn’t, mean you are a bad person, just because you read something doesn’t, mean you are a bad person either. So many of the writers who I follow and who follow are some of the most amazing people in real life! I started reading dark!fics as a way to cope with what I went through, it was a form of therapy, was it an ideal way? No, but it helped me, deal with my trauma on my terms and honestly I owe a lot to the dark!fic writers. They did more for me than my first 3 therapist did, after the trauma I went through as a teen. Most stories here on tumblr are tagged with trigger warnings (tw’s:) letting you know what to be aware of helping you avoid a story so you don’t read it! As consumers of fanfiction its up to us to block our triggers, to read the descriptions the writers should be giving us (there are some who do not give descriptions, those stories I don’t even bother to read.) and decide if it’s even worth it. Don’t be attacking writers on tumblr, Wattpad, AO3, FF.net or anywhere you consume your content, telling them to off them self, that in itself is triggering and disgusting behavior.
Hey Writer! Keep writing and being your amazing self because I’m so thankful for you for supplying us readers with content, and writing inspiration!
Warnings: this fic includes noncon/rape, violence, Lloyd is a jerk. My tags are not exhaustive, proceed at your own risk.
This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Summary:Your life is inexplicably and irrevocably changed by a mysterious man.
Characters:Lloyd Hansen
Note: I tried to resist writing this stachehole but here we are and I’m gonna have one more part to this. (at least)
As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3
Love you all like Lord Farquaad loves unnecessary vowels. Take care.
The parking lot is desolate as you tuck your work lanyard in your purse and fish out your keys. You yawn as you near your beaten up Volvo, half concealed in the shadow of the singular working light pole. The streets are empty as eleven o’clock ticks by, another night wasted closing up the shop.
You unlock the car and pull open the door, dropping into the seat as you toss your bag in the passenger side. The door whines as you pull it shut and struggle to get your keys in the slot, feeling blindly in the darkness. You turn the engine and it groans before it putters obediently.
You pause as you gather the dregs of your energy. You rub your eyes and drag your fingers down your cheeks. The silence suddenly snaps as the back door opens and has you reaching for your glove box. A click, followed by the slam of the door, keeps your hand an inch from the latch.
“No,” the voice says decisively, the barrel of a gun catching the stray light from outside, “whatever you’re doing, stop.”
“My purse is in the seat, take it,” you put your hands up.
Small towns aren’t immune from crime, however, knives are more common than firearms, not that you’d prefer either. He rests the gun against the back of your seat as his figure looms closer.
“Your phone in there?” he asks.
“Yes,” you reply, breathily.
“Hand it over, slowly,” he snarls.
You keep your fingers open and wide, cautiously moving your arm and clutching the leather beg without looking. You lift it and he snatches it gruffly, plopping it in his lap.
“Good, put the car in gear,” he wiggles the gun.
“Wha– just take it and go–”
“Put your foot on the pedal or I can pull the trigger and take the car,” he warns as he angles the gun against your head, “the next time I have to repeat myself, well, I won’t.”
You nod and tremble as you bring your hand to the wheel and reach for the stick with your other. Carefully, you put it in drive and ease onto the pedal. You steer around the vacant lot to the exit. You stop and look both ways into the barren streets.
“Where do I go?”
“You got a place, we go there,” he orders as he sits back, “you drive the limit, no faster, no slower. No tricks.”
“Okay,” you say pliantly, “okay.”
He’s silent as you hear him shuffling around. You glance in the rearview as you drive out onto the street. A streetlight catches his features but you only get a quick glimpse; his eyes are caverned with darkness and you only get the sharp line of his jaw and the thick mustache over his lips.
You squint and focus on the road. You stop at the redlight. You grip the wheel, palms sweaty on the vinyl. You realise your breaths are shallow and stunted. You try to even them out as you shift in the seat.
You see a flash and peek back again. He has your phone but you can’t see much else. Focus. You’ll do yourself in if you crash.
“What are you doing?” you ask.
“Are you asking me questions?” he snaps as he continues to jostle around.
“Sorry, I–”
“Shut up and keep driving…” he finishes with your name, “hmm, someone’s looking for you. Gabe? Sounds like a loser.”
You don’t reply as you lean into the wheel. You check the street and hover your hand thoughtfully over the blinker; you could head to the precinct. He doesn’t know where you live.
“Don’t think about it,” he intones and snorts, “you think I don’t know where the station is? What are the odds you live next to it, sweetheart?”
You retract your hand and squeeze the wheel again, carrying on past the turn as the lights of the next plaza flicker over you. What are you doing? What can you do? Coward!
“Aw, sweetheart, take a breath,” he leans forward again, the gun against the other seat, “I don’t need you passing out behind the wheel.”
You exhale and he clicks his tongue as another bright glare edges your vision.
“Gabe just keeps on going, doesn’t he?” He scoffs, “and not one answer from you. You get into a tiff?”
You swallow and wipe your forehead with the back of your hand, “ex.”
“Ex?” he muses, “and he’s still hung up. You must be something special, huh?”
You shrug as you let habit guide the car. Your eyes are blurry with unspent tears and you desperately try to flick them away with your lashes. He laughs again and once more disappears into the shadows.
The grey building is dark as you pull into the lot, vines twisted around the eaves and across the roof. You shift into park and he tuts before you can wiggle the keys out.
“Give ‘em here, sweetheart,” he says.
You slide them from the slot and offer them over your shoulder. He takes them gruffly and lets himself out. He opens your door and points you out with the handgun.
“Come on,” he adjusts the thick strap of a bag, “inside.”
“I don’t have anything,” you insist as he swings the door shut, “only what’s in my purse–”
“I don’t need your pennies,” he grabs your arm and yanks you away from the car, “now, get moving.”
He shoves you ahead of him and you lead him to the side door. Your unit is just inside, the converted heritage home renovated to house more than it should. You stand back as he hold up the keys and you pick out the one for the apartment. He unlocks the door and kicks it open, nodding you inside.
“Light on,” he instructs.
You flick on the switch as he enters and twists the latch back into place. You cross your arms as you watch him. He’s tall, his hair shaved on the sides and combed back on top, a bushy mustache across his lip, and stormy blue eyes set in a steely scowl.
He pokes his tongue into his cheek and looks around your place. He puts his bag down and holsters his gun. He furrows his brows as he thinks. You flinch as he grabs you, spinning you around as he pulls your wrists together.
“I’m gonna have a look around,” he grabs a scarf from the overladen coat rack and winds it above your hands, tugging it until your hands throb, “I don’t need you trying anything funny so you sit,” he pushes you further into the apartment and turns you to sit in the armchair. He stands and holds a finger up, “stay,” he says to you like a dog, pointing at you, “stayyyy,” he smirks, “good girl.”
You lower your eyes, irritated by his tone, and sit back against your arms. He walks away and retrieves his bag from beside the door. He hooks it over his shoulder and paces the perimeter of the room, checking each socket and behind the television. He goes into the kitchen then comes back out, down the hall as you hear him in the bathroom then your bedroom.
He comes back out and drops his bag on the couch.
“Needs some rearranging but this’ll have to do for now,” he says.
“What do you mean?” you say, “what do you want?”
“A moment’s silence would be a good start,” he sneers.
He unzips his bag and slides out a laptop. He puts it on the arm of the couch and boots it, typing rapidly as he bends to read the screen. The light reflects in his eyes as he slides his finger over the touchpad. He moves it to the coffee table and sits, pulling out your phone as he connects it to the computer.
“What the– whoever you think I am–”
“You’re nobody, I know that,” he snaps, “which is perfect for me.”
He alternates between the laptop and your phone. You frown and shift in the chair.
“Can you untie me?” you say.
He glances up as he hits a key hard. He tilts his head as his mouth slants.
“Once we get some things straight,” he says, “you go anywhere near the police and I burn this place down. Preferably with you inside. I have a tracker on your phone so I will know every move you make. You buy a new phone, I’ll know,” he speaks as he reaches into his bag and pulls out your wallet, “I’m flagging every single card you have.”
You frown, confused.
“All I want from you really is this place,” he looks at the ceiling then the walls, “not for too long. I just need somewhere to keep low. Somewhere no one will look.”
“What– I–” you sputter.
“And I’ll even let you stay,” he taunts, “I mean, I did think about throwing you in the gutter but I’ll need someone to do the cooking, cleaning, all that shit.”
“Who are you?” you utter at last.
“You don’t want to know that,” he stands and nears you, “but you can call me Lloyd, sweetheart.” He pulls you forward by your shoulder and unknots the scarf, his fingers tickling your arm as he steps back and moves in front of you. He bends and puts his hands on the arm of the chair. He gets in your face as his eyes search yours, “you just keep living this shithole life and act like I’m not even here… unless I say otherwise, got it?”
You blink and lean back, away from him, “got it,” you croak.
“Great,” he pushes away from you and claps, “you got anything to eat around here?”
Lloyd, if that’s even his real name, takes over your life in a matter of minutes.
You resign yourself to the couch as he claims your bed for himself. It isn’t done without some presumed generosity. He says he’s more than willing to share and gets the reaction he expects. Another wordless grimace and surrender.
You pass by the kitchen as you carry extra bedding into the front room. His laptop is on the table amid a dozen different gadgets you couldn’t name. Whatever he’s doing, you prefer not to know. You can only hope he does it quickly and leaves you be.
He has his gun with him. You watched him place it on the nightstand. Not like you would know what to do with it anyway.
You spread a sheet over the cushions and toss the pillow down before throwing the quilt on top. You peek down the hall and shake your head. It’s surreal. Like a walking nightmare. In a town like this, it’s the last thing you expect. No where, no body, whatever he’s doing is way beyond you.
You turn and shimmy out of your work pants, the stiff black fabric dusty from kneeling on the floor to stock. You pull on the pair of sweats you snatched from your dresser and replace your button-up with a loose tee. You stretch and reach back to unhook your bra, pivoting to face the couch.
You squeak as you see him along your peripheral. How long was he there? You don’t think about it as you cross your arms. He’s still in his black polo, untucked from his pants as his belt dangles open.
“Your phone,” he offers it to you, “all cleared for action.”
You accept it from him as you avoid his gaze. You back away and sit on the couch as you cradle your cell.
“Better tell Gabe good night,” he teases, “don’t think he’ll sleep otherwise.”
You withhold as sigh as he snickers. He turns and reaches under the lamp shade, shutting it off and setting you into dark.
“Get some sleep, sweetheart, I start early and breakfast is the most important meal of the day,” he says before his footsteps fade back down the hall.
You unhook your bra and slip it out from under your shirt, then pull your legs up beneath the quilt. You settle onto your side and stare at the obscured forms of the furniture around the room. A slat of light streams in from down the hall, the bedroom door not fully closed. He’s listening and you know he’ll hear anything you do.
You wake up to the blaring of classical music. You snort and shove your head under your pillow. What in the lord’s name!
The pillow is snatched from your grasp and you push yourself up furiously. Your head is quaking from the cacophony. Lloyd throws the pillow across the room and snaps his fingers.
“I have neighbours!” you say.
“What’s that?” he yells, cupping his ear, “I can’t hear you over the music.”
“Jesus,” you get up and look around for the source of the noise. It’s coming from the kitchen.
You storm around the couch and through the door. A small but mighty speaker sits behind his laptop. You reach for it but find no switch, putting it back as you stomp around the table and hunch down to look at the screen. Suddenly, you’re taken off your feet as Lloyd wraps his arms around you and pulls you away from the computer.
“Hey, get off!” you grasp his wrists, “hey! Turn the damn music off!”
“Eden, lower volume forty percent,” he calls out and the music relents, receding to a hum. He spins you away from him and you hit the side of the counter. “Don’t touch my stuff.”
“I… I was only trying to turn the music down,” you argue, “I’ll get a noise complaint–”
“Not my problem,” he says nonchalantly, “rule one, hands off. Rule two, ask nice and you might just get what you want.”
You hold back a sneer and nod. You notice how he rests his hand on the gun holstered at his belt. You chew your lip and stare at him.
“I could go for some pancakes, sweetheart,” he says, “you slept in so late, my stomach’s growling.”
“Slept in,” you look at the clock on the stove, “it’s nine.”
“I usually eat before eight,” he remands, “you’re fucking up my whole thing here, sweetheart.” Make your own pancakes, you think. He laughs and wags his finger at you, “you brave enough to say it or you just gonna look at me like an angry kitten?”
Your nostrils flare and you turn to the counter. You open the cupboard as he steps closer, his warmth seeping through your cotton tee. He puts his hands on the laminate and his broad chest rests against you. His mustache tickles you as he lowers his voice.
“I expect an answer when I speak, sweetheart,” he rasps, “I like to know that I’ve been heard.”
You go rigid as you stare at the bags and boxes inside the cupboard. You shudder at his proximity and the razor edge of his timbre.
“I’m making pancakes,” you say sharply.
“Wonderful,” he pronounces darkly and shoves himself away, jostling you as he does, “I like blueberries. Oh, and a bit of icing sugar on top.”
“I don’t have blueberries,” you say over your shoulder.
“So go get some,” he strides to the table and sits, “your wallets back in your purse, just by the door.” You glance at him as he leans back and checks his watch, “you can make it to the store and back in, oh, fifteen minutes.”
You hesitate as you turn completely. He watches you smugly, a smirk beneath his bristly mustache.
“Better hurry, I don’t wanna go lookin’ for ya,” he says, “and trust me, you don’t want that either.”
Your morning is eaten up, quite literally, by Lloyd’s insistence on you waiting on him. Like a maid, like his mother. You make the damn pancakes but have none yourself before cleaning up his plate and the rest of your undone dishes.
His demands don’t end there. He wanted coffee, oh and it’s kinda dusty, and these floors need a good mopping. You tamp it all done all while wondering if it’s really preferable to him pulling that trigger.
It’s not often you feel that work is an escape. He’s so vile he makes you appreciate even the customers at the art store. You don’t mind them griping about the limited stock of black canvas or that the tubes of glue just aren’t big enough. You treasure your time free of that man’s presence.
You finish up your closing duties but are in no hurry to leave. You set the security system and lock the cage on your way out. You let out a long sigh that drains you of all your energy. You stop short as you stare at the empty lot. Where the hell is your car?
You run out into the middle of the lined tarmac and spin. Jesus, exactly what you need.
Your phone buzzes in your bag and you curse under your breath. You can’t deal with Gabe on top of this other shit. You dig around and pull out your phone, swiping to answer without looking.
“Look, if I have to tell you again, Gabe–”
“Hey, sweetheart,” Lloyd talks over you, “let’s calm down, I’m like five minutes away.”
“What?” you hiss and put the heel of your hand to your head, “you… have my car?”
“Found the spare keys and had to do some running around,” he replies, “look, I could just let you walk so why don’t you say, “thank you, Lloyd, I’ll be waiting”, and we can both end this night happy.”
You close your eyes and drop your arm. You grit through a clenched jaw, “thank you, Lloyd. I’ll be waiting.”
“Hmm,” he hums, “can I get it with a bit more feeling, sweetheart?”
You inhale sharply and he chuckles, like he does, “calm down, I’m playing with you. You make it too much fun. Now, I gotta go, it’s dangerous to chit chat and drive.”
The line dies and you stiffly lower the phone from your ear. You march back to the store front and sit on the curb. You really don’t know what to do. This man drives you fucking nuts and yet you’re too weak to do anything. Too scared. And what can you do, he has a fucking gun.
Maybe it’s a bluff and maybe you should call it. You wait a few more minutes, swinging back and forth between resolve and reluctance. You get up and cross the lot. You head down the sidewalk towards the intersection. It’s about ten minutes to the station.
You walk fast and glance behind you. The road is dark and quiet. You head down Thornhill and cut behind the public school. Just another block–
Tires screech around the corner and you stumble back from the street as the Volvo brakes in front of you. You nearly trip over your own feet as the door whines loudly and footsteps hammer on the concrete. Lloyd barrels towards you angrily and you try to swat him away as you yelp.
He grabs you by the throat and turns you against the car. You hit it hard as you fall off the curb and all your weight impacts against your shoulders. You writhe as you grip his wrist and his fingertips jab into the sides of your neck.
“Ow, fuck,” you gasp.
“I told you,” he shakes you, “I know where you are and what you’re thinking at all times. Don’t fuck around.”
His other hand comes up as he tightens his hold on you. Your toes dance above the ground as you claw at his knuckles and his thick bicep, slapping against his chest as you cough and wheeze. He rips you away from the car and flings you down onto the pavement as you suck in air.
He kicks your stomach so you sprawl and you heave painfully. Your head spins as you touch your throat and plant a foot on the sidewalk, trying to get your bearing. His sole lands on your chest and he stands over you, his barrel staring you down.
“I…” you cling to his shoes, “Lloyd, I’m so-rry, please–”
He cocks the gun and you close your eyes. A pit of silence forms in the air and you feel as if you’re falling. He pulls the trigger and a muffled gunshot whistles from the silenced tip. You whimper as tears prick.
Are you dead? You don’t feel dead.
He drags his foot from your chest and nudges you with his toe. You open your eyes and turn your head, a crater in the pavement next to you. An inch from your head.
“Get in the car,” he snarls as he hops off the curb, “now!”
You scramble to your feet, legs wobbly and weak, and steady yourself against the car. You pull open the door and lower yourself into the seat as he does the same. You stare at the dash, dazed and shaking. He holsters his gun and huffs as he leans back in the seat, one hand on the wheel as he shifts into drive.
“I just gave you your life,” he bristles, “you owe me, sweetheart.”
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, Infidelity, Dark!AU, Grey/Dark Avengers AU,
A/N: i can only hope y’all are as excited to read this next chapter as i am to share it with you. i’m so happy to be back in the Rattler-verse!! 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!
The makeup artist spritzes you with something, telling you to close your eyes just before the droplets make contact with your skin. You’ve never been much for makeup, and so when Tony asked if you’d like someone to “get you camera ready”, you’d said yes without a second thought. Now though, as she spun you in the chair and positioned you like a doll, you were beginning to regret it.
“Just stay still, yes?” She says sternly in her thick accent. “Spray need time to set.” She seems rather busy, flitting around the little room with the nervous energy of a hummingbird. “No touch face,” she warns, waggling a finger at you. “I be back.”
You count to ten before opening your eyes nervously, expecting to see Svetlana waiting with her arsenal of make-up brushes, but instead, you see Bucky. Leaned against the doorframe with his arms crossed, his eyes cloudy and unreadable.
“Oh,” you can’t help the sharp intake of breath as you raise your hand to your chest in surprise. “S-Sorry. I was expecting…” You trail off. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be.” He says. “I’m just first on guard duty.” The smile he gives you is unsure, like he doesn’t know whether it’s okay to make a joke or not. He reaches out a hand for you to shake, and you take it, noting the warmth and whir of machinery under your touch.
“Ah.” You tap your fingers against the arms of the chair you’re in, unsure of what to say. You don’t know if you should bring up that you remember him, remember what he did—he didn’t seem too comfortable with it in the hospital room, and you’re loathe to invite the dislike of one of the people tasked with your protection.
“I um, I just, God, sorry this is awkward. I wanted to say thank you. Um. For saving me. I’m going to say it, you know, out there, but I thought it might be more meaningful if you, um. Heard it from me personally first.”
It isn’t quite surprise that graces Bucky’s ; features, his eyebrows rising up his forehead. More like incredulity, like he hasn’t really ever been thankedbefore.
“You’re welcome.” He says after a moment, like he’s trying to figure out just how to respond. “I know Tony can be pushy.” He rolls his eyes, and it makes you laugh. “But thank you. For what you’re doing.”
You’re still not sure about it, and the thought of standing in front of the press is starting to make your hands clammy. A nervous laugh bubbles from your lips.
“I wouldn’t thank me yet. I’m not the best public speaker.” You fix Bucky with a wry smile. “There’s still time to find someone better, I think.”
“You’ll do fine, doll. Just… pretend they’re not there. Would it help if I stood in the audience?” He asks, a small smile on his full lips. “Make it like you’re talkin’ to me. Not them.” His suggestion brings a shy heat to your cheeks—that’s the kind of thing Pat would have suggested, if he’d been able to get the time off from the nursing home to make it, anyway.
“Yeah, actually. You’d do that? I thought you were just supposed to like, keep people from stabbing me, sort of thing,” You joked, and he laughed.
“I can do that from the audience, doll. Your guy’s got nothing to worry about.” He jerks his head towards the modest oval cut diamond on your left ring finger. “Already saved you once, figure I’ve got a pretty good track record.”
You laugh, and it surprises you because it’s actually real. You’d been worried they would all be like Tony, plastic and terrible and fake,but Bucky seemed… nice, despite his kind of checkeredpast. You’re about to say something else when Svetlana clears her throat behind him. Her foot taps impatiently against the expensive tile as she glares at him.
“Move, metal man. I finish her now.”
Bucky holds his hands up placatingly. “I’m goin’, I’m goin’. I’ll be right outside if you need me to,” he pantomimes a chokehold, and you stifle a giggle. He seems… relieved, like he’d been on guard—and you had to admit you had been too.
Maybe this won’t be so bad.
It wouldn’t be so terrible to come out of this with a friend—maybe one that would enjoy Patrick’s four hour Call of Duty sessions more than you did.
When Svetlana finishes your makeup, you’re sandwiched between her and Bucky all the way backstage. You swallow nervously at the sight of Tony Stark, locked in a particularly heated conversation with Nick Fury—who didn’t look happy.
“—options? Creating your own propaganda machine just the next logical step?”
“It’s not propaganda if it’s true. You know we can’t afford another Germany, not now—”
“Buck! And the guest of honor, I presume.” Steve Rogers steps directly into your field of vision, a hand outstretched for you to shake. “Nice to see you again.” You finagle your crutches until you can balance long enough to shake it firmly. His wife peeks out from behind him, and Steve wraps an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. “No need to be shy, sweetheart.”
You watch her give a strained smile. “Nice to meet you.” She’s heavily pregnant—likely about to pop any day now. You recall the news headlines from just months prior, the news footage of Captain America pulling his beloved wife from the firey wreckage of the accident.
I wouldn’t want to be here after that, either.
Steve presses an affectionate kiss into her hair. “I’m going to go find a place for this one to sit down. Shouldn’t be on her feet too much.”
“No, I shouldn’t,” she echoes softly, before giving you a genuine smile. “Good luck out there.” Her eyes flick to Steve and then back to you. “You’re in the snake pit, now.” You can’t ask her what she meant before Steve places a firm hand on her shoulder.
He steers her away, and you glance at Bucky. There’s a strange sort of… longingin his gaze as he watches them go, and you wonder if he has anyone to go home to. You only have a few seconds to ruminate on it, though, before Tony Stark’s wide grin is all you can see.
“Thank you for coming, thank you.” He looks genuinelypleased, at least. “I trust Sunshine here’s given you the rundown?” Tony jerks his thumb at Bucky, who simply glowers in his direction.
“Yeah. I go up there and utterly humiliate myself in front of the city and probably the whole world,” you mutter, wiping clammy palms against the dark blue fabric of your dress.
“You’ll do fine, kid. Can’t be harder than getting shot, right?” He claps you on the shoulder, and you swallow the urge to shove his hand away. You’re queasy enough as it is without the additional conflict.
Tony takes the stage before you do, and his solemn expression is reflected on the many screens all around the room. He’s used to press conferences, you can tell—he knows exactly where to look. It’s hard for you to concentrate on his introduction as you shift in your chair, waiting anxiously for him to pass the baton to you.
You wish Pat was here—he would know what to say, what to do to make these nerves nothing more than an unpleasant tingle in your chest. No, Pat is at work, again,and it’s yourfault. You clench your fists against your thigh, and try to take deep breaths. Slow, in through your nose and out through your mouth.
“You okay?” Even though his hand is made of metal, Bucky rests it lightly on your shoulder. “You need water, or something?” He looks up toward the stage, where you can see Tony’s back as he gesticulates, the same serious expression still painted onto his features. “Hate these things.”
“You do?”
“Yeah. I’m… well, you know.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Winter Soldier, and all.”
You nod your understanding. “No, I, um. I get it.” Bucky’s smile is small, but grateful.
“Say the word, and I’m your man in the crowd, doll.” He reminds you, just as Tony turns and gestures to you.
“It’s time,” he mouths the words at you, just in case his clear signals weren’t enough.
“Yes, please. Do that.” You huff out a breath as you situate your crutches under your arms and hobble over to the short set of steps. There’s a podium, and a little red stool beside it, which you gratefully sit on. There are so many people, cameras flashing—your heart thuds in your chest faster than an oncoming train.
And then you spot him. Close to the front, in the middle, his arms folded but there, and you breathe a sigh of relief. Thanks Bucky.
You’d missed Tony’s introduction entirely, but you don’t really need it—hands immediately begin popping up as you settle yourself on your seat, and hesitantly, you call on one of the first reporters you see.
“Yes?”
She stands a little taller, raising her microphone above the crowd. “In your own words, what happened on April 17th?”
“I, I, um—” You glanced down at Bucky and tried to remind yourself you were just talking to him. A casual conversation between friends. “I’m an art history student. Masters. So I am—I was,”you correct yourself, “at the Museum a lot. I think I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, because I was in the exhibit room Adrian Kettleton locked himself in when he came to make his demonstration.
I don’t know what happened before he started shooting. But when he did… everyone was on the ground. There was a lady there w-with kids,” your throat goes tight, and blindly, you grasp for the microphone. “S-sorry, I, um, I need a minute.” You turn away from the reporters, cover your face with your hands, and tryto breathe deep. What would Pat say?
“It’s okay, babe, take all the time you need.”
You wait until your heart is steady again before you lower your hands
“Kettleton opened fire, and he said this would all be over soon. That the cops would show up and that—” You choked back a sob—“only a few people would have to die.” You hadn’t even really talked about this with Pat, leaving it for the insurance-provided therapist to untangle. He shot two people before me while the police tried to talk him down, and…” Bucky nods encouragingly at you from the audience.
“Then the Avengers showed up. I… I had already been shot, but… I would be dead if they weren’t there.”
You’re not sure if you did what you were supposed to do, Bucky’s face is passive, and you can’t really look behind you to gauge Tony’s reaction. A man in the front raises his hand, and you point at him.
“So what you’re saying is, the police were ineffectual?”
You frown. “N-no, I didn’t say that, I said—”
“You said that the Avengers showed up. You’d already been shot, isn’t that right?”
You press your lips together into a frown. “Yes. Yes that’s right. But I’m notsaying the police were ineffectual. I’m saying that the Avengers saved my life.”
“I see.” You wonder how far he’ll run with that, how far they’ll allrun with it, but several more hands jump into the air, and your heart beats faster at the sight of them.
“Do you believe the shooting in Texas and the one in Shanghai are related?”
“Did you know Adrian Kettleton prior to the shooting? You both attended NYU, only a few years apart.”
“Your father shares some anti-hero sentiment, how does he feel about this?”
You’re dizzy as Tony helps you from the stage, camera flashes still seared into your retinas.
“You did good, kid. Real good.”
—
“It’s not that bad.” Patrick’s voice is wheedling through the bathroom door. You’d gotten home a few hours ago, and had been grateful to spend your evening binging the shows you’d missed with Patrick on his night off—
Until your phone began blowing up with clips of you,at the press junket. Different news stations had grabbed different parts, zeroing in on everything. Your speech, your movements, your hair, your clothes—
Rita: you seeing this?
Your little sister had attached a screenshot of a twitter thread, and you huff out a frustrated breath as you glare at it.
“It’s not you they’re publicly dissecting,” you moan. It’s not justyour friends and sister sending you things, it’s your socials—your twitter mentions are numbering in the tens of thousands, and your facebook friend requests look about the same. Your private instagram account has seven thousand follow requests, and you scroll through them all with your heart in your throat.
There are people calling you a liar, a con artist, claiming the Avengers were in on it, that they’d paid you to take a bullet. There were people claiming you’d never even been shot at all, which in and of itself was laughable. There were more, kinder folks, sending you well wishes, along with bots attempting to hawk you miracle remedies and diet teas.
A disaster.
“You know there’s someone claiming to be my third grade teacher?” You lament. “Which, if that really isMiss Hayes, makes me feel like shit because she called me a petulant little drama-queen.” Patrick sighs, and you can feel the weight of it through the door.
“One, I doubt that’s her because she would be like, ancient now, and probably not on twitter at all. And two—” The sound of the intercom buzzing cuts him off, ringing loudly through the apartment. You can practically hear the frown in Pat’s voice. “Who the hell…? I’ll be right back.” He clamors away from the door, and you get to your feet, brushing a few cat hairs from your leggings.
“Oh. I just, I guess we didn’t know you were coming. Starting tonight? Okay. Hold on, I’ll buzz you up.”
You poke your head out of the bathroom door in time to see Patrick unlocking the front door at the far end of the long hallway.
“You didn’t tell me you were supposed to have bodyguards,” he shout-whispers at you. “Your first shift is here. I think it’s all the press stuff.” You pad down the hallway to peek around Patrick, listening to the sound of heavy footfalls coming up the narrow stairs to your apartment.
Bucky’s chestnut hair comes into view first, and then his dark, steel blue eyes light on yours and he smiles.
“Hey, there, dollface.” Your face warms as Patrick’s grip tightens almost imperceptibly on your upper arm. “Sir.” He nods to your fiancé in greeting, and Pat relaxes a little.
“I thought I only needed someone, you know. During the speaking engagements,” you say, stepping aside to allow Bucky into the apartment. Patrick locks the door behind him, his face a bad mask of good-will. He isn’t happy about Bucky being here, but the both of you know he’d deposited Tony’s check yesterday—there was little he could do about it now other than ride it out.
“Some of those folks online are saying some pretty nasty things. Thought it might be a good idea for one of us to be close by in case anything happened.” He doesn’t step further inside than the foyer, like he’s trying to make it clear he knows he doesn’t belong. “I can stay out in the hall if it’s a bother.”
“No, of course not.” You know Patrick would have told him that was fine—male pride—but it isn’t, not for you. “You came to protect me, the least we can offer is the couch.”
You hobble around after Patrick, helping set up the couch for your unexpected guest. Bucky doesn’t intrude, toeing off his boots in the entry way and hanging his jacket on the hook while he waits.
“Thank you. I’ll just knock out here.” He lays down on the couch, folding his arms behind his head. You and Patrick retreat awkwardly into the bedroom, and he turns on a random show on Netflix to cover the sound of his whispered frustration.
“It’s just, you’d think they’d tell us something like that could be a possibility.” He runs a hand through his curly hair. “It’s just… It’s a little scary, I guess.”
“Hey, you’re the one who wanted me to go sign up for this,” you shoot back. Patrick relents, throwing his arms up and heaving an irritated sigh.
“I hate when you’re right.”
“You just hate that I think things all the way through,” you mutter, punching his arm. “Now help me into bed.” You giggle as he sweeps you up, depositing you onto the bed. You haven’t slept with Patrick since you’d been home from the hospital, and he hadn’t pushed, but tonight when he kisses you, there’s intentbehind it that you can feel. You sigh against his mouth, bringing your hand up to cup the side of his face.
There’s a dull thump and the sound of footfall— was the door always open a crack?— but living in a building this old means your life has a soundtrack of unexplainable noises, and so you dismiss it.
Pat is careful, his thrusts slow and shallow when he slides in, and you sink your teeth into your lip to hide your soft moan at his entry. He feels good, familiar inside of you, and he brings his thumb down to rub at your clit when he cums just before you can. You whine into your closed fist, your thighs trembling as your walls contract around his still hard cock. Pat makes a pleased noise low in his throat before he slides out of you, kissing the tip of your nose.
It feels like a walk of shame as you hobble to the bathroom to clean yourself up, but Bucky’s deep, steady breaths assure you of his slumber when you sneak back to bed. That’s ridiculous. I’m an engaged woman and this is my house.
You lay down next to Patrick, falling quickly into dreamless sleep.
Hazily, some hours later, you’re aware of the sound of his pager going off, and he shifts with a groan. You’re used to it, him being called in early for a shift, though you hate the loss of him. Your bed is warm and comfortable, even without Pat in it, and you fade softly in and out, time interrupted by the brief stretches of black behind your eyelids. Pat getting up—and then dressed—and then kissing you goodbye, his cologne tickling the insides of your nostrils.
“Bye babe,” he whispers, brushing his lips over the apple of your cheek. “Be back later.”
“Mmm,” is all you manage to mumble in response. Something clicks— the front door, maybe? You aren’t sure —and in the silence, you slip back into slumber. You’re dreaming of flying, and then— hands, rough, warm hands, no, one is cold, cold on your skin— you mumble sleepily.
“Pat?”
“Mmm,” he grunts from between your legs, his nose pushing up against the seam of your panties. He pushes up the hem of your t-shirt, and you feel the cool metal of his orderlies’s tags against your thigh before he moves them away, his lips dragging over the spot the’d just vacated. You’re so tired—the painkillers keep you woozy until at least mid-afternoon—your eyes are barely cooperating as Patrick attaches his lips to your clit through the thin cotton of your panties. His beard rasps against your thighs, burning against your skin deliciously.
You gasp, thighs tightening around his head. Two fingers edge beneath your panties, tugging them aside so that he can slide his tongue through your folds with an appreciative sigh. You drag a hand through his hair under the blanket, and Patrick chuckles huskily against your core.
“Feel good, sweetheart?”
His voice is off, somehow, too husky, too low, but the pressure of his fingers at your entrance pushes the thought from your head. The sweet burning stretch of them makes you keen, your hips bucking up toward his face. He doesn’t let up, and you squeal loudly as his teeth scrape against your sensitive clit, and he curls his fingers inside you.
“Go on and cum, sweetheart. S’alright.”
Youdo,your toes curling as tears leak out of the corners of your closed eyes. You whine as he wiggles his fingers inside your spasming cunt, drawing them out with an embarrassingly slick noise. There’s another sound, like he’s licking them clean, and he chuckles again.
“Sweet.”
—
You sit up in bed with a start, wincing at the pounding in your skull. The pain meds always make you feel hung over when you wake up, and today is no exception. A glance at the digital clock on the table tells you it’s after midday, and Pat’s side of the bed is long cold.
I must have slept through him leaving, again.
You slide out of bed, and your cheeks heat at the wetness between your thighs. You’d known Patrick missedsex, but you hadn’t thought he’d missed it that much. You couldn’t keep the little smile off of your face as you limped to the kitchen, and found Bucky seated at the table, a newspaper in hand.
“G’morning, sleepy head. Your honey left you some breakfast on the stove.” He jerked his head toward the plate on the bottom right burner. You lifted a corner of the paper towel, and saw he’d left you scrambled eggs, with a few slices of cheese on top. “He always leave so early?”
You popped the plate into the microwave, nodding.
“Yeah. They’re really short at the nursing home, so it happens a couple times a week. But if he left that early, he should be back—” Patrick’s key clicks in the door, and you laugh. “Right about now.”
You hear him kicking off his shoes in the entryway, before he pokes his head into the kitchen. “Oh, look, you’re up.”
“Blame the pills,” you grumble, grinning as he presses a kiss to your cheek. You run the backs of your knuckles over the smooth curve of his cheek, and you furrow your brow. “When did you shave?”
“This morning, before I left.” He cocks his head as you swallow thickly. “Why?”
Your eyes slide to Bucky, casually skimming the paper as he lifts a mug of coffee to his lips.
I am no longer maintaining taglists, my friends! Please follow @box-of-bones-library and turn on notifications to get updates about new fics, chapters, and drabbles! thank you!
Warnings: this fic includes noncon/rape, coercion, voyeurism, abuse of power, double penetration, cheating. My tags are not exhaustive, proceed at your own risk.
This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Summary:Your marriage is challenged by the wandering eye of the king. (Medieval AU)
Characters:Peter Parker, Tony Stark
Note: Okay, it’s actually 9k long so apologies but hope you’re ready for this one shot I was like oh it’s gonna be 4k and quick but I’m that bitch.
As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3
Love you all like Prince Charming loves mirrors. Take care.
The breeze is balmy as it blows through the leaves and rustles the skirts heaped around you. You kneel on the ground without a care for soiling your dress, the sweat dripping down from your hairline as your fingers are stained purple with the juice of berries. The queen dares to taste one as she laughs with the duchess, Wanda, and you add a handful to the basket you share with Lisbeth.
The way Peter manipulated her into performing for the king was so slick. It really shows how he’s all about himself. Now I need for bae to poison his ass so she can get that ye old midieval insurance.
Cuz ain’t no way he gon sell her body for a fucking job and get away with it.
And fuck Tony too! He needs to be a parliament meeting or with his wife, not in other women’s nookies.
I explained this to my seven-year-old cousin once when she expressed distaste over anyone possibly enjoying horror movies, and she understood perfectly, so adults have no excuse:
People read dark fiction for the same reason they ride roller coasters.
It’s a simulation of danger without anyone actually being under threat. It gets the brain worked up, releases a bunch of adrenaline into your system, you experience a whole rush of emotions and excitement and fear; but a safe kind of fear, where you know the danger isn’t real and there are dozens of measures in place to protect you. And then it’s over and you can get off the ride.
That doesn’t mean everyone is obligated to ride roller coasters. I, for example, am scared of heights, and most coasters are scary for me in a way that isn’tfun. The fear isn’t that I’ll die, the fear is of experiencing more of the ride and thus it’s not a safe fear, because it’s real and I have no control over it. As such, I don’t ride large roller coasters. But the fact that large coasters are not mentally or emotionally safe for me to ride doesn’t mean they should be illegal, or that there’s “something wrong” with anyone who enjoys them.
Similarly,sometimes accidents happen. Sometimes people have conditions they don’t know about until a coaster aggravates them in the worst possible way because they didn’t know to avoid it…and that’s no one’s fault. People have died or been injured in coaster accidents, and those accidents are pretty much always the result of human error, carelessness, laziness, or poor communication. It’s the responsibility of the amusement park to make sure that basic safety features are built-in and maintained–or at the very least (mangling the metaphor somewhat because this would obviously be illegal in real life) to make it clear that those features don’t exist! I feel like most people would avoid a ride clearly labelled “HAS NEVER HAD A SAFETY INSPECTION! NO RESTRAINT BARS! RIDE STAFF HAVE NOT BEEN TRAINED AND THERE ARE NO EMERGENCY SERVICES ON-SITE! OPEN FLAMES!” but if you click on a fic clearly labelled “author chose not to use warnings” you know the risks and they’ve met their obligation to warn you of them. And sometimes the people providing this content don’tperform that basic due diligence, and people get hurt as a result–but that’s on those specific bad actors, and doesn’t mean we ban all roller coasters. It also doesn’t mean every single ride operator on earth should be tarred with that brush, especially when they’ve openly spoken out against such practices! Furthermore, if you KNOW you have a heart condition and willingly get on a ride that says it is not safe for people with heart conditions, you cannot then blame the amusement park!
What makes roller coasters safe for me? Well, for one, the fact that I’m an adult now so my family has finally stopped trying to force me onto them. Pressure was a constant part of interacting with coasters for me for YEARS, and THAT fucked me up. There was “mild” teasing, frustration when I refused, anger if I changed my mind, and a lot of guilt-tripping about how it was my fault that they couldn’t go on the rides they wanted to because of me. That shit was not okay, and anyone trying to force someone to engage with content they don’t want to is obviously in the wrong.
The OTHER thing that helps me is content warnings the heroes who upload on-ride video of coasters I’m interested in trying. Knowing exactly what to expect–being able to see for myself all the drops so I can judge if they’ll be too much for me, and know in advance where they are so I can brace myself–can turn a ride that otherwise would have been a miserable and stressful experience that I chose not to subject myself to into a really good time. These are especially valuable, because what’s safe for ME is not automatically safe for everyone else. The only thing that makes a ride too much for me–my only hard limit–is extremely tall drops. I love inversions, fast twists and turns, I don’t mind rough coasters, it’s just drop height. But I’ve known people with medical conditions that made rough jolts dangerous, and plenty of people like tall drops but find tight turns and high speed overwhelming. Do I wish more coasters were designed to have the elements I enjoy without the ones I don’t? Yes, and not being able to find many frustrates me. But that doesn’t mean I expect everyone to have the same limits, or that I think people who design tall coasters with big drops and lots of airtime are malicious.
By this logic, actually, darkfic is muchsafer than roller coasters–once you’ve committed to a coaster you have to ride it out even if you change your mind. But the moment a dark fic or horror movie takes a turn you don’t like or becomes suddenly too real, you can turn it off and walk away.
And if you think enjoying roller coasters means someone will conclude that it’s okay to fling people off cliffs without their consent, then, well, in that case you’re just ungodly fucking stupid. Sorry you had to find out this way.
Have fun on those hypercoasters, you crazy bastards. Keep uploading ride videos for me.
You never could’ve expected a celebration to go so, so wrong. The land was foreign, too warm compared to the Cold Lands, and filled with horrible people. Horrible people that planned to sell you to the highest bidder — who, as you’d come to learn, was the ruler of the stupid seaside city. She was a beautiful empress, the high priestess and war general her consorts and evidently, your new masters. Human beings shouldn’t be given as gifts, much less called ‘pets’, and you found the ship that was your life sinking so much faster than you ever could’ve expected.
rating: M | 18+ chapters: at least 7, not sure chapter: 2/? relationship: dark!carol danvers x dark!natasha romanoff x dark!valkyrie x reader warnings: noncon&dubdon, pet play, degradation&humiliation, kidnapping, slavery, detailed warnings to be included per chapter; read more and CTRL+F to search ‘content warnings’ to skip to the more detailed tags at the bottom of the chapter.
note: hey guys, this story was inspired by @scarlettwlw who helped me come up with the idea! i’m technically back from hiatus. oh and im not doing tag lists anymore, if you want to be alerted when i post a fic you can follow me over on a03, same handle. enjoy!
It was the resolve in her eyes that made Carol wary. She wasn’t sure if Natasha recognized it or not, wasn’t sure if Natasha had ever felt the same kind of resignation and grit their kitten had settled into. Carol and Val had courted the redheaded priestess in the form of constant military barrages on her home city until their council had relented and traded the woman for peace, and Natasha’s reaction had been more along the lines of begrudging capitulation. She was fully aware the blonde and her General would’ve rained Hell on her home for as long as it took, would’ve murdered hundreds, and conceded despite her irritation.
You never could’ve expected a celebration to go so, so wrong. The land was foreign, too warm compared to the Cold Lands, and filled with horrible people. Horrible people that planned to sell you to the highest bidder — who, as you’d come to learn, was the ruler of the stupid seaside city. She was a beautiful empress, the high priestess and war general her consorts and evidently, your new masters. Human beings shouldn’t be given as gifts, much less called ‘pets’, and you found the ship that was your life sinking so much faster than you ever could’ve expected.
rating: M | 18+ chapters: at least 7, not sure chapter: 2/? relationship: dark!carol danvers x dark!natasha romanoff x dark!valkyrie x reader warnings: noncon&dubdon, pet play, degradation&humiliation, kidnapping, slavery, detailed warnings to be included per chapter; read more and CTRL+F to search ‘content warnings’ to skip to the more detailed tags at the bottom of the chapter.
note: hey guys, this story was inspired by @scarlettwlw who helped me come up with the idea! i’m technically back from hiatus. oh and im not doing tag lists anymore, if you want to be alerted when i post a fic you can follow me over on a03, same handle. enjoy!
It was the resolve in her eyes that made Carol wary. She wasn’t sure if Natasha recognized it or not, wasn’t sure if Natasha had ever felt the same kind of resignation and grit their kitten had settled into. Carol and Val had courted the redheaded priestess in the form of constant military barrages on her home city until their council had relented and traded the woman for peace, and Natasha’s reaction had been more along the lines of begrudging capitulation. She was fully aware the blonde and her General would’ve rained Hell on her home for as long as it took, would’ve murdered hundreds, and conceded despite her irritation.
You never could’ve expected a celebration to go so, so wrong. The land was foreign, too warm compared to the Cold Lands, and filled with horrible people. Horrible people that planned to sell you to the highest bidder — who, as you’d come to learn, was the ruler of the stupid seaside city. She was a beautiful empress, the high priestess and war general her consorts and evidently, your new masters. Human beings shouldn’t be given as gifts, much less called ‘pets’, and you found the ship that was your life sinking so much faster than you ever could’ve expected.
rating: M | 18+ chapters: at least 7, not sure chapter: 2/? relationship: dark!carol danvers x dark!natasha romanoff x dark!valkyrie x reader warnings: noncon&dubdon, pet play, degradation&humiliation, kidnapping, slavery, detailed warnings to be included per chapter; read more and CTRL+F to search ‘content warnings’ to skip to the more detailed tags at the bottom of the chapter.
note: hey guys, this story was inspired by @scarlettwlw who helped me come up with the idea! i’m technically back from hiatus. oh and im not doing tag lists anymore, if you want to be alerted when i post a fic you can follow me over on a03, same handle. enjoy!
It was the resolve in her eyes that made Carol wary. She wasn’t sure if Natasha recognized it or not, wasn’t sure if Natasha had ever felt the same kind of resignation and grit their kitten had settled into. Carol and Val had courted the redheaded priestess in the form of constant military barrages on her home city until their council had relented and traded the woman for peace, and Natasha’s reaction had been more along the lines of begrudging capitulation. She was fully aware the blonde and her General would’ve rained Hell on her home for as long as it took, would’ve murdered hundreds, and conceded despite her irritation.
Her full submission had been easy to gain— the Goddesses Natasha was devoted to were those of pleasure and riches, and they could provide those in spades, could easily prove themselves worthy of the priestess. They’d fucked the pretty redhead six ways to Sunday every day for weeks,offered her gifts that became more and more lavish as time went on. Natasha fell in line like a dream, taking on the role of Empress’s Consort with an almost uncanny skill.
Their kitten was several years younger than Natasha had been and yet somehow held herself with battle hardened fortitude despite her immaturity. She wasn’t acquiescent, she was enduring.There was a strength of will about her person, a disquieting sort of resilience that implied patience and tolerance and biding.
Those eyes flicked down to her injured leg, bound in sturdy bandages that would be traded for a splint in several days, and the nerve in her eyes only hardened. It was a break, or a fracture at the least, and she wouldn’t be going anywhere fast for the foreseeable future. Carol was somewhat surprised at the woman’s state—covered in bruises and lash marks and sporting a blackened, half closed eye, she looked nigh unsellable when you considered the state of her leg. The slavers must’ve been banking on how fucking lovely she was to drive her selling price up despite her deplorable state of health.
Washed and dried, the war paint gone from her face, she looked like a broken doll sitting in the middle of the bedroom. The state of her form had both herself and Natasha hesitating, if only slightly—fucking her into submission could potentially cause damage considering her already fragile state. There would need to be another method in bringing about her submission, if only for the next few weeks while she healed.
“Kitten’s more beat up than I anticipated,” Natasha voiced her thoughts with a small, considering hum. “Couldn’t see the bruises under the blood and powder back in the plaza. And with that ankle, she won’t be able to walk for months.”
“No, she certainly won’t,” Carol’s fingers tapped idly over her lower lip, the gears in her head beginning to turn in thought. “And she doesn’t speak our language, you’ll be the only one who can understand her.”
Those from the Cold Lands were notoriously private and they didn’t do business with outsiders. They were entirely independent, minus the raiding, and Carol just knewthey must’ve had more resources than they knew what to do with (personally, she also believed they had more warships than they knew what to do with, hence the constant fucking raiding). For them to share their language was as uncommon as them trading and the only reason Natasha could understand and speak it was because her Goddesses wanted her to.
“I can teach her,” Nat walked a circle around the sitting girl, smiling when she tensed at the predatory action.
But Carol’s brain had finally churned out an answer and she felt a slow smile cross her lips. “No, I don’t think she needs to learn. Kittens only need commands, after all.”
A light went on in the redhead’s eyes and Carol immediately held up a silencing hand. “Be a good girl and run down to the market, grab everything we’ll need. In the meantime, I’m going to start with some… simplecommands before Val gets home.”
“But—”
“Are you arguing with me, darling?” Blue eyes flickered over the redhead’s pale face, teeth flashing intimidatingly. “I need to work on training our pet, but I can take the time for a quick punishment if you want to push me.”
Nat shook her head immediately and Carol could see the way her pretty thighs pressed together under the shifting fabric of her skirt, instinctively trying to protect her delicate cunt from the threat of one of the blonde’s punishments.The redhead was quick to turn tail and run, figuratively speaking, only throwing a quick, baleful glance over her shoulder at the woman on the floor.
“Now, let’s see how fast you learn, precious,” the blonde cooed, watching Kitten tense as the attention locked on her gained several degrees of heat, and patted her thigh. “Come.”
The young woman obviously didn’t understand, a confused glance passing from the blonde’s hand to her face and back again. Carol cleared her throat and patted her thigh again, pointing at the floor in front of her feet for good measure.
“Come, Kitten.”
Still she didn’t move and Carol’s smile, already filled with teeth, became more sinister. It was exactly what she was expecting and definitely what she hoped for. The blonde walked forward, not giving their kitten time to retreat, and latched a hand around her throat. Immediately the young woman’s hands came up to ring hers and Carol was almost startled by the strength of her grasp—not strong enough to remove the hands on her neck, fortunately, but stronger than expected.
“You’re a dumb little cunt, aren’t you?” The tone she used transcended languages, so condescending that the girl on the floor shrunk back as much as she was able even as Carol shook her by the throat. “Let’s try this again.”
Carol let go abruptly enough that their kitten was disoriented and lost balance, nearly hitting the floor while the blonde took several measured steps backward and pointed at the floor in front of her again. “Come, Kitten.”
She looked around desperately this time, eyes locking on her injured leg for several seconds, flashing to the nearby furniture before she began trying to push herself to her feet from her position on her hip. The blonde groaned in disgust and immediately shoved her back onto the ground. The younger woman had to brace herself on both hands to avoid a second black eye.
“So fucking dumb,” Carol grabbed the back of her neck and forced her forehead to the ground, her lower body shifting until her bruised knees pressed into the mosaiced floor. “A kitten who needs to be taught how to walk? Stupid little pussy.”
With their kitten on her knees, face pressed against the floor, Carol took advantage of her unprotected ass and thighs. Wary of the already present bruises, the blonde rained hits down across the delicate flesh until half suffocated cries began to escape and the girl tried to squirm away, pretty legs parting as she tried to gain traction. The blonde used the shift to her advantage, laying open handed slaps over her exposed asshole and pussy.
“Now, this is how a kitten crawls,” Carol shoved three fingers deep into the young woman’s cunt, eliciting a high-pitched cry as she tried to press her thighs together to prevent further intrusion. Blue eyes lit with excitement and she lifted their kitten with the hand on the back of her neck, bringing the young woman back to her hands and knees. “Come.”
She tugged on their kitten’s neck, shoving her fingers to the hilt in her pussy to jolt her forward. The blonde continued, forcing the young woman to crawl forward several paces before she removed both hands and stood back. The kitten was teary eyed from the rough treatment, pretty face twisted with fear and humiliation that practically flooded the blonde’s cunt with desire.
“Come, kitten,” she pointed to the floor in front of her feet once more and immediately the young woman crawled on her hands and knees until her body occupied the correct space. “Good girl, kitten!”
Carol smiled at the way the young woman’s face twisted at the praise,looking disgusted and shamed. The resolve in her eyes was holding strong, resilient despite her mortification and Carol was almost proud of the kitten. The blonde continued moving away and forcing the girl to crawl to her several more times, until she was sure their kitten was keeping her injured leg raised properly.
“It’s not so much that you need to learn to come,” Carol enjoyed the small hint of frustration that showed on her face as the blonde continued to speak, the words meaning absolutely nothing. “But you need to learn that from now on you crawl because you’re just a little kitten. Just a little pussy,you understand? A pretty little pussy that belongsto us.”
Their kitten’s lower lip trembled just slightly as Carol moved towards the window, once again not understanding the words but easily able to read the tone.It was salacious and threatening and uncompromising; it was filled with promise. The blonde’s smile sharpened again as she lifted one leg and set it on the trunk beside her, shifting the airy layers of her dress until her wet cunt was visible.
“Come.”
With the intent so clear, their kitten was practically paralyzed with indecision and Carol could see it in her face; the determination to endure was at war with crippling humiliation and the need to fight back. Her lips twisted, eyebrows furrowing in frustration and helplessness. It was precious.
“Do you really want to see what happens when you disobey?” The blonde hummed derisively before gesturing the young woman forward again, generously giving her a second chance. “Come.”
Carol gave her several seconds before clicking her tongue and advancing forward, fast enough that the other woman couldn’t scramble back. She had their kitten prone on her back in a blink, whining in pain as her injured leg was jostled in the process—the blonde would have it reset before she allowed their pet to act out.
“Let’s get all those pesky thoughts out of your silly brain, Kitten,” she purred, smile salacious and frightening as she balanced on her knees over the other woman’s face. “You don’t make decisions, you follow fucking orders.”
A pleasured sigh escaped her as she lowered herself onto their kitten’s face, clit rubbing over the nip of her nose while her wet cunt settled over her mouth. Almost immediately the younger woman was kicking out with her good leg, arms wrapping around Carol’s thighs in an attempt to yank her away. The blonde’s head fell back, the desperate, minute shifts of their kitten’s head was rubbing just the right way in combination with the brutal grind of her hips. Her panic made her short of breath, she needed air.
Surprise had Carol’s eyes popping open, not that she’d realized she closed them, when their kitten actually managed to drag her hips back enough that she could catch several gasping breaths. Her lips and chin were dripping with the blonde’s arousal, pretty eyes wide and frightened. The slap that landed across her face made said eyes squeeze shut, their kitten crying out with pain when Carol cracked her hand against the other side of the young woman’s face right after.
“Hey! I decide when you breathe, you dumb pussy,” the blonde gave another pair of sharp slaps. “You don’t fucking move—”
She took advantage of their kitten’s mouth opening as she gasped for air, the burning pain in her cheeks making her heart pound and her brain plead for oxygen. Carol immediately flattened herself over the younger woman’s face, grinding her cunt against the slippery wet heat of her sweet mouth. A loud moan escaped the blonde, finding the perfect position before grinding her clit roughly into their kitten’s nose. Her hips moved with brutal fervor, completely ignoring the other woman’s struggling and cries—until she managed to turn her head again.
“Bad girl!” Carol shifted immediately to kneel above her again, slapping her into a daze before shuffling around to sit facing the opposite direction above her face. She positioned her pussy over her mouth again and settled down just as their kitten was starting to regain her senses.
The blonde used the change in position to pin the younger woman’s arms across her chest with one hand while the other reached between her flailing legs to rain painful slaps against her cunt. Her hips ground continuously into their kitten’s face all the while, chasing the pleasure until she could tell the other woman was getting close to passing out.
“Now you breathe,” the blonde murmured, raising her weight up enough that their kitten could wheeze for several long moments, entire body trembling from oxygen deprivation and fear while she choked on sobs. “Again.”
Carol was determined to find her orgasm while riding her pretty face. Their kitten heaved desperately just before the blonde could lower her weight again but was too weak to truly fight, going limp beneath her minus the fine tremors. The blonde’s hips moved with an assuredness that betrayed the frequency in which she participated in such an act—she knew exactly how far she could push and the goal was to fuck their kitten’s brain out. Feeling the struggles cease below her set Carol over the edge, grinding her orgasm out cruelly while their kitten floated in and out of consciousness.
“No thoughts in that pretty head now, are there?” She cooed, lifting herself up onto her knees and turning so she could look down into their kitten’s face. “Awh, not one. You don’t need to think, you just need to obey. Now, let’s try this again.”
The blonde tugged and manipulated their kitten back onto her knees while she herself stood up, leaving the young woman on all fours while she retreated back to the trunk. This time, Carol shucked her draped dress entirely and stood bare, one leg propped up to spread her cunt.
“Come.”
Immediately she shuffled forward on all fours, unsteadily and slowly but moving without hesitation, nonetheless. Carol’s smile was sharp enough to cut diamonds, all teeth and self-satisfaction as she watched their kitten come to a stop directly in front of her. She grabbed the back of the other woman’s head and forced her to look up, tugging until her face was practically pressed against her cunt once again.
“Clean up the mess you made,” Carol slipped her finger in their kitten’s mouth easily and tapped her tongue deliberately before directing her head once again. “Clean up, Kitten.”
The empress gave her a fair amount of time to try to parse out what was expected of her before the blonde forced her mouth open wide, and tapped her tongue with more force. “Stupid little pussy, you’ve got no higher thought, do you? Clean. Up.”
Her tongue poked out hesitantly and the blonde stroked her hand over the back of her head, pulling her closer. The young woman gave only the slightest hint of hesitation before carefully swiping her flattened tongue up Carol’s slit, jerking back slightly to see the blonde’s expression. Encouraged by the lack of anger or frustration their kitten, pretty eyes devoid of all intelligence still locked on the other woman’s face, carefully reattached her lips and tongue to her pussy.
“Ohh, you’ve eaten pussy before, haven’t you Kitten?” She moaned loudly, almost taken aback by how skillfultheir kitten was with her sweet mouth. “You gonna make me cum again? Yeah? Good girl.”
The blonde’s hands found purchase on the back of their kitten’s head, keeping her firmly pressed against her mound. She hadn’t planned to cum again, hadn’t intended to make the young woman eat her out so fervently but fuck,she was good and Carol didn’t want her going anywhere. Especially when the door silently opened and Val stepped in, eyebrows rising on her forehead in shock.
“Well, what in the world do we have here?”
content warnings: noncon fingering, oral, facesitting, suffocation, degradation, pet play, spanking (am i missing anything?)
![Title: All this and Heaven, Too [2]Pairing: Dark!Bucky Barnes x ReaderSummary: Caught in an anti-her](https://64.media.tumblr.com/0c175516abf542b49baf582427fa27b2/2eab12baf9d49dc3-96/s1280x1920/f5f32e663e155eb7f1d3f95dede68badf3748f5a.jpg "Title: All this and Heaven, Too [2]Pairing: Dark!Bucky Barnes x ReaderSummary: Caught in an anti-her")
