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darkmasterlistyouneveraskedfor · 7 days ago

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Peter is perfect to take our mind of that dusty old man. Mom can't do much BC Bucky went straight over the edge. He makes me tingly in many ways.

Cool for the Summer 8

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, power dynamics, cheating, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter 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: After finishing your degree, you return home only to find things aren’t as you left them.

Characters: Bucky Barnes

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. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

“Honey,” your mom calls from the first foor.

Your heart flips again. You get up and fix your panties. You put your shorts back on and wince as the seam brushes against the wet cotton. You cringe. You should change before...

“Hey, you ready for your date?” She’s coming up the stairs. Shoot.

You take a breath and hurry to the door. You feel like if she comes in your room, she’ll know. You brace yourself as you open the door. You could just break into pieces. You betrayed her and you’re going to lie straight to her face.

As you come out, she’s at the top of the stairs. You try to smile. It doesn’t bloom as Bucky comes up behind her.

“Bucky said you found a dress. Can I see it?”

“Oh, I just... I just put it away.” You utter.

He steps up next to her and puts his arm across her shoulders. “You’re going to wanna get the full picture, Lauren. We’ll see it tonight once she’s all dolled up, huh?”

“Yeah, I guess...” you mother hums in disappointment. “You know me, I just can’t wait.”

“Trust me, I know,” he purrs.

He squeezes her shoulders as she looks at him. He leans in and kisses her. Your stomach churns. After what he just did... You want to vomit.

“Um, I have to... er... find some stuff for tonight,” you back up into your door.

“Sure, honey,” your mom turns to Bucky and pets his chest. “Oh, it’s so exciting.”

Bucky smirks at her as she brushes by him and heads back downstairs. His eyes flick up to you and he licks his lips. His cheek dimples.

“Hey, Laur, I’ll make you that coffee,” he calls down before he follows her, visibly adjusting his waistband.

You shake your head and back pedal through your bedroom door. You shut it and nearly fall over. You spin around and search the room. It’s not yours. None of it. He changed everything. He tainted it all.

You go to the vanity and sit. You squeak as your shocked by the sensitivity in your pelvis. You’re all swollen and still wet. You put your elbows on the table and cradle your head. You can’t cry or you won’t be able to stop.

💙

When you’re certain your mom and Bucky are distracted, you shower. You can’t wash away the horror or self-hatred, but you try. You get out and sneak back down the hall. You take your time in your room. Not out of any real anticipation; only reluctance.

Your anxiety is a cluster of contradictions. You want to get out of the house, get away from Bucky, from own mistakes; yet, you’re not entirely sold on going out with a stranger. He might be closer to your age but who’s to say he’s any better than Bucky.

This is why you avoid boys. Or men. Whatever. They always confused you. You never really caught their attention and now that you have, you want to just go back to being invisible.

You stare into the makeup case. It’s got soft walls and a zipper. Inside are all the pencils, glosses, and palettes your mom gifted you through the years. None of them open. Brushes too. Mascara.

You sift through it, trying to solve the riddle. No, you don’t need the shimmery pigments or the deep reds. Just simple.

A knock at the door makes you jump. The makeup case falls off your lap. You hiss and stand up, kneeling down to gather it all up.

“Honey?” Your mom calls through.

You cough. You can’t speak. The door handle turns. Too late.

“Hey, it’s uh.... getting close,” she peeks inside. “I was checking in. Thought maybe... maybe I could help you get ready.”

You shove a handful into the case and nod. “Okay. I was just...”

“Oh, sweetie, you don’t need much,” she crosses the room and takes the case from you. “You’re so young and pretty.” She puts it on the vanity table. “Come on. Sit.”

You get up and sit on the stool. She searches through the case.

“Did you moisturize at all?” She asks. You nod. “Good.” She holds up a tube. “You don’t need full cover.” She tosses the tube. “Hmm, some eyeliner. Oh, do you want shadow?”

You shake your head. “Just liner. I don’t want too much.”

“Alright, sweetie,” he takes out several pencils and rolls them between her fingers. “Black is classic. Oh this one has glitter.”

“That sounds pretty,” you say weakly.

She directs you to close your eyes and tilt your head back. She pulls your lid taut and gently begins plying the soft tip. You don’t move.

“You’re nervous,” she says.

“Yes,” you answer. It’s not a lie. Your nerves are rotting your guts.

“Don’t be. Peter is so nice. He’s going to love you. Oh, you’ll have so much fun.” She preens. “Open.” You flick your lashes up and look at her. She steps back and considers you. “You have the prettiest eyes.”

Your throat locks up. You want badly to cry. Not just for what happened. You want to cry to your mom and tell her how scared you are. You can’t. It would only hurt her.

“A tint of blush stick. Nothing dramatic,” she caps the liner.

“Sure,” you wisp.

You twiddle your thumbs and watch her sort through the makeup. All you can do is let it all happen. The makeup, the date, Bucky. None of it is your choice.

💙

“Oh sweetie,” your mother gasps as you come down the stairs, carrying the clunky platform heels. “You look... you look like a woman!”

She puts her hands together over her chest. Bucky stands beside her. His eyes cling to you as the corner of his mouth curves.

“Doesn’t she?” You mother nudges him.

His voice rumbles through his chest before he speaks. “Sure does. All grown up.”

“Wow,” your mom fans herself. “My little girl.”

She reaches for you as you get to the bottom. She touches the scalloped edges of lace along your shoulders.

“So sophisticated,” she praises.

“Thanks, er.... thanks.” That’s all you can muster.

You sway awkwardly then sidle past her. She moves so you have to go between her and Bucky. You fell his warmth swathe over you. You sit on the bench to get the shoes on.

“I know you are going to have so much fun!” Your mother claps. “And me and Bucky will too.”

“Uh huh,” Bucky hums. “Kid free. Can’t complain.”

You nod. Each breath is like shards of glass. You focus on the small task of buckle the slender strap around your ankle.

There’s a flash of headlights then a car door shutting. Ugh. You sit up in dread. You can’t move. You listen to the steps come up the front stairs.

Bucky opens the door before they can knock. He moves his hand to grip the edge of the door higher up. He leans on it as he pulls it back.

“You must be Peter.” He offers his other hand.

“Hi, sir,” the younger man answers and reaches through to shake Bucky’s hand. You can’t see any more than his arm. “I think I’m here for your daughter.”

“Ha, not my daughter,” Bucky chuckles, “come on in.”

He nearly yanks the young man over the threshold. As he lets him go and turns, he sends you a sharp look. It’s a warning. Remember what he said; give nothing.

You stand up.

“Peter,” your mother chimes. “You’re right on time.”

“Early. Made sure of it,” Peter says. His eyes skim over to you. His cheeks redden. “You must be...”

You say your name first. “Yeah, uh...”

“Nice to meet you,” he says as he tugs at his tie. The dark paisley compliments the purplish grey shirt beneath. His dark slacks are tailored well. “So uh... ready to go?”

“You two, get out of here,” Bucky chortles. “I’m sure you don’t need to stick around with the old folk.”

“Uh, yeah,” you murmur. “Sure.”

“Great,” Peter stands back. “Come on. I got us a reservation.”

“Alright uh...” you look around. “Bye, mom.”

You wind the long strap of your purse around your elbow as you clunk towards the door.

“Bye, sweetie.” Your mother sings.

“Yeah, bye, sweetie,” Bucky drawls.

“Bye,” you mutter without looking back.

You step outside and the air is like ice on your roiling skin. Peter bids goodbye behind you. “I’ll have her home by midnight.”

He shuts the door and you exhale. You stand at the edge of the porch, hugging your purse. You feel so stupid. He’s probably only doing this to be nice.

“You don’t have to--”

You begin.

“Those shoes aren’t going to work,” Peter interjects.

You look at him, stunned. “Huh?”

“Yeah, definitely not.” He looks at your feet. “I got my gym shoes in the trunk. You can borrow them. Might be a bit big for you.”

“What do you mean?” You frown.

He grins. “You ever been go-karting?” He asks.

You tilt your head then shake it. “No.”

“Perfect,” he offers his arms. “Let’s get going.”

💙

You’re almost relieved at the change of plans. You weren’t exactly looking forward to sitting in a fancy restaurant, cosplaying as an adult who knows anything about dating. Or anything at all.

Peter pulls up to the track, twenty minutes past town limits, and shifts into park. You look over at him as he clicks free the seat belt. He smiles back through the shadows.

“Excited?” He asks.

You nod. “Kind of.”

“Look, I know. It’s awkward as hell. Blind dates are made for cringe.” He chuckles. “So let’s just have fun.” He pulls his door handle. “See if you can keep up.”

He gets out and hurries around to your side. He opens the door for you. You thank him. He tells you to stay.

You sit sideways in the seat as he hurries around to the trunk. He gives you a fresh pair of gym socks and the borrowed shoes. You tie them extra tight as he takes off his tie. You peer up at him.

“Thanks,” he says. “For coming. I know it must be strange.” He helps you out of the car by your hand. “Your mom set you up alot?”

He swings the door shut. You shake your head.

“Nope,” you turn to walk with him towards the track. “First time.”

“And that guy... your step-dad?"

“Mom’s boyfriend,” you gulp. “He’s... I just met him.”

“Yikes,” he hisses. “That must be agony. My aunt dated this guy once and I walked in on him with no pants on. Not one of my fondest memories.”

“Ew.” You recoil. He laughs.

“Sorry, trauma dumping already,” he laughs. “Well, he seems like a real hard ass. I don’t envy you.”

“Yeah... he’s... scary.” You seal your lips as the last word slips out.

“Well, forget about him,” he pats your shoulder. “We’re here for fun.” He stops at the booth at the front of the place with the prices laid out over the windows. “I win, I buy you a cheeseburger. You win, I buy you a double cheeseburger.”

You take a moment before you giggle. He’s nice. He’s funny. And you don’t feel like you’re suffocating.

“And fries,” you insist.

“Full combo with a milkshake,” he proclaims as he steps up to the window to pay.

💙

You grip the wheel tight. You don’t drive. You never have. The closest you got was one of the red and yellow fisher price toy cars when you were about five years old. That’s more of a Flinstones type deal.

You press your foot down as the go-kart thrums and zips around. You feel powerful. In control.

You steer around the curve smoothly, veering around an aggressive driver behind you. They pass you, nearly knocking your front.

You squeeze as the helmet dampens the noise of the motors. You search for Peter. He’s in the one with the red and blue banner. You lost him a lap ago.

Thunk! The force nearly spins you out. You twist the wheel one way then the other to correct yourself. The driver in the cart with the white banner hollers something as they pass. Your adrenaline spikes as you get yourself going again.

You get back up to speed. It’s fun but your fellow drivers are a bit careless. You try to stay on the outside. It puts you behind everyone else but that’s okay. Then another jarring impact sends your head forward and your helmet cracks off the top of the steering wheel. You careen out and bounce of the wall.

You take your feet off the pedals and let the cart roll to a stop as you cling to the wheel. When you’re still, you’re facing backwards. You’re breathless but okay.

A worker waves a flag as they emerge from behind the wall. They approach as you stay as you are. Another cart pulls over and stops behind you. A red and blue banner hangs from the top bar.

“Stay in there,” the worker barks at both of you. “Stay where you are.”

He comes over and bends to look into the cart. You smile sheepishly but he can’t see through the helmet. Just your eyes.

“You okay?” He yells over the ripping motors.

You give a thumbs up, your hand visibly shaking.

“Woah, woah, you need to get that guy off the track,” Peter hollers as he appears.

“Sir, I told you to stay in the cart. It’s dangerous out here--”

“He did it on purpose. I saw it.” Peter argues.

“Sir, get back in your cart,” the worker barks.

“You need to get him out--”

“You. You’re out. Ejected.” The worker snaps. “Both of you.” He turns and waves his flag, flicking it three times in a signal.

Peter bends to see into the cart and shrugs, “I'm sorry.”

“It’s okay!” You yell back. You laugh and shake your head. “I never been kicked out of anywhere.” You roll your shoulders. “It’s fun. I feel dangerous.”

He laughs. “I didn’t take you for a rebel.”

“Sir,” the work jabs his shoulder as three others appear at the edge of the track. “Let’s go.”

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