ive-made-so-many-mistakes

[ive-made-so-many-mistakes]

Nothing to be ashamed of, just establishing dominance

They're tearing up my street. I didn't realise I was picking my wedgie in front of a construction worker 😳

[ive-made-so-many-mistakes]

Kotenok

Warnings: non/dubcon, parental abuse, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Sergei Kravinoff (Kraven the Hunter)

Synopsis: you are taken away from your abusive father, but not saved.

Note:  this if for @honeybee-reads

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

The dull reverberation in your jaw makes your whole skull ache. You back away from your father as he reaches for you, his fingers grazing your blouse. His eyes bulge with rage as he takes your self-preservation as defiance.

“You just can’t get it through your head,” he snarls as he bears down on you.

“I’m sorry, father. I didn’t--”

He lunges and you screech, shielding yourself with your arms. He sends you crashing into the wall as he huffs. You look at him between your fingers, his fists balled up, his arms strained with tension.

“Please, father,” you beg.

He bends and grabs the front of your blouse, twisting the fabric tight around your neck. You close your eyes but the next punch doesn’t come. There’s a pounding on something else; the door.

He growls between his crooked teeth. You keep your hands up and wait. He opens and closes his hands.

“Open up,” a voice hollers through the door, hammering on the wood.

Your father spins and stomps down the hall. “What is the meaning of this? Who’s at my door?” The door shakes in the frame. You father opens it, unfazed, and puffs up his pudgy figure. “What do you want?”

He spits on the ground as two men stand before him. They look at each other then back to him, lips curving in amusement.

“You dare spit at The Hunter?” The man on the left scoffs.

“You are his punks? Ptah.” You father spits again.

The men laugh and step apart. Another man stands behind them. Calm. He steps forward smoothly. You can see only his shadow as you remain on the floor.

“And I am him,” the man says coolly. “So, do you spit at me?”

Your father grumbles and shakes his head. “What is it?”

The other man pauses before he answers. His calmness in the face of your father’s bluster is eerie. Not wanting to draw attention, you stay as you are. You don’t think they can see you from there.

“Oh, I am only minding my territory,” The Hunter replies. “I am told by several that there is a disturbance at this address.”

“It is my home. I shall do as I wish,” you father snarls.

The Hunter laughs. “Oh, you will do as I wish.”

“It is private. You hold no authority over my household.”

“Private? Then why broadcast it to half the neighbourhood?” The Hunter challenges.

Your father snorts. “Tell them to plug their ears or put their music on. They need to mind their own noses before they are cut off.”

“Stand aside.” The Hunter commands.

“Huh? No. This is my house!” You father barks.

“You will move. Whether I make you or not is what you decide,” The Hunter warns.

Your father is silent. The men outside his door are too. You stare. Please, father. He tilts his hand and steps to the side.

“Come on in then. Would you like to inspect my stove? Check that my shelves are dusted?” He grits.

That man, The Hunter, the one they call Kraven, in whispers, in warnings, stands calmly in the doorway. He smirks at your father. His eyes crawl around the entry way then pin point on you. His expression falls.

You twitch and put your hands on the floor. You drag them up the wall and get your feet flat. You push yourself up shakily. You sniff and the taste of iron stains your tongue.

“Mr. Kravinoff,” you put your chin down as you stare at the floor.

He strides down the hall toward you. You brace yourself on the wall as you quiver. He stops before you and sucks his tongue. His gaze blazes over you.

“This is your daughter?” He declares more than he asks.

“She is insolent. I am her father. I must discipline her.” Your father snaps.

You flinch as Kraven raises a hand. You hold your breath and look up beneath your lashes. Your eyes tinge.

“Quiet,” he orders your father. He shifts closer. “My father was the same. Cruel.” He whispers. “No more.”

He steps back on his heel. He turns and retraces his steps. You father chortles.

“See, it is a father’s place. A father’s right--”

It happens so fast you can only whimper and smother a wail with your palm. Kraven grabs your father by the throat and slams him back against the wall. His skull bounces and the younger man hurls him into the opposite wall.

Kraven catches the back of his head and beats it against the wall. You hear the bones of his nose and cheeks crunching as blood pours from his nostrils and mouth. You stagger forward and fall to your knees. You reach out as you babble senselessly.

The Hunter drops your father. The older man is a keep of wheezing spit and blood. You cannot tell if he is even conscious.

Kraven goes back to you. Before you can retract your arm, he has you by your wrist. He wrenches you up. You stumble onto your feet and snivel.

“I’m sorry.” You sniff. “I’m sorry, Mr. Kravinoff. It was me. I did not mean to anger my father. If I’d not, he wouldn’t have drawn you here.”

You heave as your breath turns shallow beneath your streaming tears. Your chest hurts as you struggle to get air in. He pulls you down the hall with him.

“Please, please, please,” you sob. “I didn’t mean to--”

“Quiet,” he growls and hurls you past him.

You stagger and nearly trip over your father’s body. Kraven clamps onto the back of your neck and you yelp. You step over your father as he marches you to the door.

“Please...” you quaver.

“I said hush.” He hisses.

You gulp and gag on your horror. He walks you out of the house, between the men who nearly beat down the door, and down the front walk. Through the wall of tears, you see the blur of your neighbours watching, you can hear them buzzing. They will continue to talk even when you are gone.

One of the men gets ahead of you and opens the rear car door. Kraven pushes you down and forces you inside. He follows, sitting beside you on the leather seat. You shake and mop your cheeks.

He is silent. He reaches across you and pulls the seat belt across you. He clicks it into place. He leaves his own undone as he sits back, feet set wide, and grips his thighs.

You choke on your fear as the other men sit in the front. The car pulls away and you look over to watch your world pass you by. It’s all your fault. What he did to your father. Whatever he means to do to you. You shouldn’t have cried out when your father hit you.

You sink down and cover your face. You hiccup and tremble as the motion of the car makes you dizzy. The man beside you clucks but does not say a word.

When at last you are still, he taps the button on the seat belt and it repels across your body. He grabs you by your arm and draws you out after him. You stumble out and fall against him. You whimper and stand straight.

“I’m sorry,” you rasp. “Please, Mr. Kravinoff, I’m so very sorry. It is my fault. My father...”

“Do not speak of the slug,” he sneers and drags you onward.

You look up at the large house before you. It’s surrounded by trimmed hedges and crested by a flowing fountain. Marble, gold, roses. It’s all so luxurious. It doesn’t look like the prison you expected.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you mutter.

He shushes you again. You can’t stop. You’re terrified. You saw what he did to your father. That’s worse than anything he ever did to you.

He takes you inside and across the immense entry way. The staircase splits in two. He brings you up the left side. Your legs shake as you get to the top and you trip. You land on your knees.

“I’m sorry,” you say louder.

He sighs and swiftly scoops you up. You shiver in his arms. Oh no. Oh no.

He carries you to a set of doors and stops. “Open it.”

You pout and look at the doors. You grab the handle and twist. He pushes through. You let go.

He approaches the spacious bed against the far wall. The bed posts are tall and hung with crimson satin. He sets you on the velvet bench at the foot of the frame. He backs up and looks you over. You shrink down and rock.

He goes back to the door and shuts it. You peek up. He’s still there. You wince.

“Mr. Kravinoff, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean--”

“I told you to stop,” he snarls as he faces you, his lip curling.

“I-- I’m sorry. I.... I...” you stand, wringing your hands. “I am so very sorry. It won’t happen again. I promise.”

You near him warily.

“Stay away from me,” he growls as he angles his head, keeping his eyes low.

“I won’t ever be bad again.” You plead.

“No, you must stay away,” he inhales deeply and takes a step back.

“Please... don’t hurt me--”

“I said--” He snaps his head up and seizes you. He covers your mouth with his hand as his other snakes around your head. You whimper. “Quiet.”

His breath rushes out as his eyes meet yours. You stand in silence as you can only stare back wide-eyed. His blue eyes flicker and you squeak against his knuckle as they flash gold, like some animal.

You grab onto his wrist in a panic. He snarls as his nostrils flair. You feel the tremour in him.

“I told you...” he walks you backward. “I tried...”

He keeps going until you feel the bench against your legs. He bares his teeth and snarls. He shoves you so you fall onto it, throwing your hands back to catch yourself. You pant fearfully as you look up at him.

He grabs the lapels of his jacket and pulls it back on his shoulders. He strips it off and flings it away. You bat your lashes as you watch in confusion.

He grips the front of his button up and tears it open, buttons scattering on the floor. You flinch and let out another squeak. He shed the layer, unveiling a torso full of muscle, hair, and ink. You gulp.

“Sorry...” you breathe.

He growls so deep. He moves like an animal, his shoulders rocking, his fingers furling and extending. He comes closer as he unbuckles his belt. He hushes you again.

Your tears evaporate but your fear does not. He shoves his pants down as you fold your legs up on the bench. He unlashes the laces of his shoes, muttering in frustration as he untangles himself from his pants.

You search the room for an escape. You know there isn’t one. There is no running from him.

You whine as he suddenly charges at you. You lean back, hitting the low footboard and lift yourself on your knees. You raise your palms helplessly.

“Please--” you croak as you look at him. Really look at him. He’s naked. Entirely.

He grabs your wrists and pushes your hands away gruffly. You whimper. He grabs your chin and you wince as your father’s blow throbs in your cheek.

He glares down at you and traces his thumb along your lip and down your chin. You gasp as he pulls away and shows you the crimson sheen on the pad of his thumb. He brings his hand to his mouth and sucks your blood off his calloused skin. Your lip trembles as a new well of horror floods you.

He purrs as he pops his thumb out of his mouth and rubs his fingers together. He gestures to the bed. You stare at him and shake your head.

He tilts his head and his lips curve. He grabs your arm and wrenches you off the bench. You stagger on your feet and collide with him. He keeps you close as he takes a deep breath, almost as if smelling you.

“Little kotenok, I don’t need to hurt you,” he drawls.

He brushes his hands up your arms and encircles your neck. You press your hands to his torso as you look up at him. You mouth a single word; ‘please’.

He grips your neck just tight enough to assure no struggle. He flicks his thumbs up to your jaw and a quiver rolls through him. His eyes dilate and consume you.

He reluctantly let's go and latches onto the collar of your blouse. He tears down the front, the three buttons at the top popping free and the fabric renting down to the hem. You jerk against his easy strength. He strips the sleeves down your arm with a rocky huff.

You shiver as he tickles your sides with his knuckles and hooks his thumbs under your skirt. He rips it down and lets it fall around your feet in a heap. You shield yourself with your arms instinctively. He tuts and shakes his head as he uncrossed your arms and tugs them straight.

You shudder and resign yourself to whatever he intends. You lower your eyes and stare at your toes. You hadn't even had time to put on shoes.

He snaps the straps on your bra, a flimsy thing with no lace or satin. Plain and cotton. The kind you pull on over your head.

He tears apart the seams of your panties and your legs buckle. You are completely exposed to him. Completely vulnerable. Like your father always said, you are weak.

He startled you as he runs his fingertips up your stomach. You swallow dryly. Your head spins as you focus on staying standing.

He cups your chest and you whimper softly. He rolls his thumbs around your nipples as they hardened. A coiling ripple fans over your chest. Your heart thumps against your ribs.

He angles his head, almost curiously, and drags his hands up to frame your face. He urges your chin up and makes you look at him. His eyes are glowing and gold. His smile deepens almost to a snarl. He is like an animal.

He urges you back. Once more, the bench touches the back of your knees. He doesn't speak but you know what he wants. You sit.

He hums. He's pleased. His fingers brush your lips as he lets you go.

He steps back as you try not to see below his stomach. Try not to notice that manly need rigid before him. You focus on the lines of muscle in his stomach, those etched in a vee along his pelvis, his chest, riding and falling, firm and woven with thick hair. His arms corded and thick, veins pumping under the skin.

He drops to his knees suddenly and you exclaim in surprise.

He grips your knees and forces them apart. Exposed you put your hand in front of your cunt. He growls and smacks it away. You recoils and pull your hand back.

He holds your legs open as he leans in slowly. You dare to look at him. His eyes cling between your legs as he bends forward. You watch him, paralysed, as his breath plumes across your folds and fan over your thighs.

You squeak as he pushes his nose against your lips, nuzzling into you with a growl. Your thighs twitch as you flatten your hands to the velvet cushion, fighting not to squirm. He tilts his head, dragging his nose up and down, rolling his head as he rubs his beard on your cunt.

You shake as the crawling sensation winds up your body. Your nerves are like fire, your blood is ice, as you can't look away from his lewd act. It's as if he's hungry; starving. The sight is horrifying yet hypnotic.

A coolness glides between your folds as he swipes his tongue between them. You yelp and bounce on the bench. He snarls and slides his hands up to your thighs, curling his fingers into your thighs to keep your still.

Your stomach clenches as his tongue flicks up, down, in circles, pinpointing on that little cluster of nerves. You moan and dig your nails into the velvet. Your breath puffs out as your eyes gloss. Whatever he's doing, you know you shouldn't let him. You surely shouldn't like it.

As he swirls his tongue around, you can't help but squirm. You bite down on your lip trying to hold in the mewls, blowing out through your nose. You close your eyes and hang your head as a storm brew in your pelvis, pulsing and twisting in on itself.

You tilt your hips without thinking and move your hands, leaning back as your eyes roll into your skull. He slips his hands under and around your thighs and pushes them against his face. He rocks his hold head as he laps you up, the sloppy noises forming a wild symphony with your breath.

A cascade crashes over you. Your voice breaks past your resistance and you spasms as the tension snaps. You whine and moan as you writhed through the intensity. You fall back and your shoulders hit the end board. You don't care. You can't even think.

He doesn't stop. He keeps going. Smearing your juices around his face as he buried himself deeper. He growls and nips at your thighs between tending. You quake as he quickly feeds into another swell of ecstasy. And another. And another.

When he finally stops, your limp and gasping for air. You try to close your legs but they won't obey. He stands above you. Your head lolls and you look at him dazed. His beard gleams and his eyes flash. You shake your head and lift your hand, trembling. No more.

Your arm falls. You know it's futile. Fighting never got you anything but worse. He grabs your arm before it hits the bench.

He yanks you up to your feet. Your legs buckle but he keeps you moving. He lets go and grabs your hips, tossing you onto the bed like it's nothing. Like you're nothing.

You splay on the lush duvet and heave. He's on you quick. He smothers your lips with his, staining you with your own scent and his.

His tongue invades your mouth as if he means to eat you while. There's a sweetness on him, tangy and delicate. He hums as he rocks his hips, rubbing his length against your thigh.

He snickers as he lifts himself on his elbows. He looks down at you and bites the tip of his tongue. His pupils are large and bottomless.

"Reach down, kotenok." He growls.

You flutter your lashes and pout.

"Be good for me and I will do the same," he drawls.

You slowly lift your arm and snake it down between your bodies.

"Take me in your hand," he orders.

You brush his tip and your lips make an o. Shakily, you wrap your fingers around his dick. He pumps into your grip and groans.

"Now, put me in."

Your eyes widen and your nose tingle. Your insides squeeze at the very thought. He rubs his nose against yours and whispers, "do not make me repeat myself."

You sniffle and nod. You shift as you angle him along your swollen lips. You twitch as you push him between your folds, searching blindly until he prods at your entrance. You cling to him, feeling his size, fearing it.

"I've never..." You protest.

He tuts and covers your mouth with his hand. He presses his forehead to yours and tilts his pelvis. He slips through your grasp and stretches you around his tip.

You whine into his palm. Your walls tense and your stomach knots. He wiggles a little deeper. Your eyes fleck with tears.

"Breathe, kotenok," he coaxes as he rocks slowly, pulling his tip out then pushing back in.

Your arm falls slack and hits the bed. He dips his hips down again, delving in further. Your toes curl and your bend your legs. You arch your back hoping to ease his intrusion. It does little bit let him in deeper.

He keeps a steady rhythm. Each thrust, a little more. Your tears streak down your temples as you clutch the duvet and gnash your teeth.

He pushes in to his limit and your back curls so deep it hurts. Your walls throb around him and your stomach feels full. The ache is so deep you cannot hold back your wail. You quake as he pets your cheek and hushes you.

"It'll be okay, kotenok. That is the hard part." He purrs as he strokes you, slowly inching out. "It will be better."

He rolls his hips and sinks back in. You cry out again. He does it over and over. You writhe and whine madly.

He raises himself onto his knees. He watches the joining of your bodies. He trails his hand down your torso and presses his thumb to your clit. You twitch. He chuckles and rolls around your bud.

You gasp as your walls ripple around him. You reach for him as the blend of sensations overwhelms you. He seats you away and keeps going.

He pumps into you harder as his thumb matches the tempo of his hips. His flesh claps on yours as his stomach clenches, the muscles taut under his skin, and he watches himself break you apart. He breathes through his nose in sharp snarls as he hammers into you.

You cry out as you cum again. The release is even more intense. It's as if he's sapping all your energy as you gush out around him he bites his lip and slows. You quiver as you slowly descend from the peak.

He runs his thumb up your pelvis, smearing your cum up to your tits. He tweaks your nipples and hums. He eases out of you, little by little, watching how you twitch.

You sigh. You're hollow without him. You puff and pant as you wipe your watery eyes.

He slaps your thigh and laughs. "We are not done, kotenok."

He grips your hip as he moves from between your legs. He flips you onto your stomach and just as quickly, kneels behind you. You gasp as he punched your bottom then slaps it. He spreads his hands over your cheeks and kneads. He pulls them apart then pushes them together.

He bends over you and nuzzles the back of your head. You breathe damply into the duvet, shivering in fear. His hand grazes your skin as he grips himself and pushes your legs wider with his knees.

He pets the back of your head kisses along your shoulder as he finds your entrance. He sinks into you little by little. You groan as once more he fills you up. Your insides cramp around him.

He thrusts slowly; deliberately. You keep your face buried as you can't contain your voice. He lifts himself and shifts his knees over your thighs. He pushes your legs together and straddles them as your walls are even snugger around him.

He pumps into you, his hands on your shoulders, pinning you as his snarls drag out to long drones. He pushes in until he can go no further and pulls out to his tip. Each time he slaps back in, you yipe.

The bed shakes as his tempo builds. He tuts into you, flesh slapping, fingers curling into your shoulder as he drags a hand down your spine. He gropes your ass as he ruts without restraint.

You bounce beneath him, sinking deeper into the bed with each thrust. You bend your arms over your head as if hiding from him and the reality of what's happening. You want it to stop. You're tired, you're worn, you're done. You can't take anymore.

But you will. There is no choice. As with any man, you can only hope they leave you breathing.

🫦

When the whirlwind stills, when at last The Hunter stops, you lay prone and senseless. Splayed over the bed, your breath is your only movement. Your flesh aches, your insides thrum, and your head flurries. You stay safe behind your eyelids. You know he's there but you cannot look at him.

The bed jostles with his weight. You smell his sweat before he touches you. He traces a single finger up your spine, sending another chill through you.

He brushes his hand up over your head and pets your hair. "Kotenok," he cooes and bends over you. He slides an arm beneath you and draws you up over his lap, laying your back against his front as he leans into the pillows. "How very sweet you are."

You are limp against him as he cradles you between his thick thighs. His arms hook around you and he pets the crease of your thigh and your stomach.

"My little pet. You will stay. I like playing with you," he kisses the top of your head and growls. "I like the taste of your blood.”

He bends over you and nuzzles the back of your head. You breat

[ive-made-so-many-mistakes]

The Duff Masterlist

COMPLETE

Part 1 ❀ Part 2 ❀ Part 3 ❀ Part 4 ❀ Part 5 ❀ Part 6 ❀ Part 7 ❀ Part 8 ❀ Part 9 ❀ Part 10 ❀ Part 11 ❀ Part 12 ❀ Part 13 ❀ Part 14 ❀ Part 15 ❀ Part 16 ❀ Part 17 ❀ Part 18

AU MASTERLIST

[ive-made-so-many-mistakes]

Carpe Noctem Masterlist

COMPLETED

Part 1 ♢ Part 2 ♢ Part 3 ♢ Part 4 ♢ Part 5 ♢ Part 6 ♢ Part 7 ♢ Part 8 ♢ Part 9 ♢ Part 10 ♢ Part 11 ♢ Part 12 ♢ Part 13 ♢ Part 14 ♢ Part 15 ♢ Part 16 ♢ Part 17 ♢ Part 18 ♢ Part 19 ♢ Part 20 ♢ Part 21 ♢ Part 22 ♢ Part 23 ♢ Part 24 ♢ Part 25 ♢ Part 26 ♢ Part 27 ♢ Part 28 ♢ Part 29 ♢ Part 30 ♢ Part 31 ♢ Part 32 ♢ Part 33 ♢ Part 34

AU MASTERLIST

[ive-made-so-many-mistakes]

WORTHY

kazan yamaoka 'the oni' x reader

5.7k words

nsfw

commissioned work

        A knife in your throat ripping down, down, down to your chest was the last thing you felt before you opened your eyes once more. You gasp, sitting up sharply, hands going to your neck and patting down to your chest as blood pounded in your eardrums. There's no open wound, just reddened spots that seem to sting like nothing you've ever felt before. You look up from your shaking hands to a campfire full of strangers whose faces you already distrusted.

        They looked too gaunt and grim to be people.

        You stumbled away from them, dirt and old ash from the campfire smearing across your leg.

        A girl comes forth from the small crowd of people, in a dirtied pink shirt with dark hair and soft eyes. You can't hear what she's saying with the ringing in your ears, but she settles you down onto a log. You saw the med-kit clenched tightly in her other hand and began to calm down just a little bit. Your hands still shook with every harsh breath as she slowly started to patch up the stinging line reaching down your throat to your chest. You hissed in pain, wincing as she applied the pressure needed to make the bandages stick correctly. 

        Finally, her words reach your ears as you turned to look at her.

        "The first scar always stay," she murmured to your softly as the others watched silently. "The others won't though. Don't worry." 

        "The others?" you manage to sputter out in disbelief. 

        At your outburst, the girl gave a meek shrug of her narrow shoulders. Rage filled you as you came to understand her indifference. You feel pathetic. Pathetic for not fighting harder against that man in the mask--more like a monster than anything else. You feel pathetic for not kicking harder, for not biting him or scratching him or doing something, anything. 

        Vigorously, you shook your head in denial, eyes squeezed shut for the sake of not tearing up.

        You scowled. "No. There won't be others," you said coldly. You glanced back up to the crowd of huddled survivors nearby the campfire. They wouldn't look at you in the eyes. Not one of them. "You all act like this is normal. It's not! Where the fuck are we? None of this is fucking okay!" 

        That seems to be enough to get one of the peoples' attentions. The one with the undercut and the eyebrow scar (David, you remember someone calling out to him and addressing him as that shortly before the masked man had taken you by the throat and murdered you) eventually turned to fix you with an equally cold glare. 

        A heavy, rough accented voice comes from him. "Listen new girl, you ain't any type of bloody fuckin' special. Word of advice? Get fucking used to it here because it's not gonna change anytime soon." 

        Stubbornly, you continued. "Can't we fight back?! Have you people even tried to fight back?!" 

        David snorts. "What are you? Bloody fucking dense? Fighting doesn't do shit here, darling. You wanna waste your time? You wanna waste everyone's time? Try to fight. Just try. You'll end up dead, again, and again, and again. And count your absolutely stupid fucking lucky stars that you died the way you did on your first time. It's nothing compared to how the others do it." 

        Hotly you snap back, "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" 

        He shrugs, wiping under his broken, crooked nose. "You got stabbed. Big deal. The others? They'll do worse to you, girly. They'll cleave you in half. Fucking rip your tongue out and bash your face in. You got off so easy you don't even-"

        "How can you act like being killed on ay is somehow better than being killed another way? You're still being fucking slaughtered like spring lambs! You're being slaughtered and all you can think of doing is playing with some stupid worthless electric fuckboxes?!" 

        An uncomfortable murmur spreads through the crowd of survivors. You see one or two of them start to distance themselves between you and David. You notice a girl with a fox-like face and a beanie watching, looking extremely entertained with the unrest you were causing. You turned to look back at David, who was busy dragging an open palm down his face exasperatedly. 

        "Darling. Let me explain something. Very, very simple to you. You do the gens. You leave. Instead of getting slashed open and bleeding out like some poor bastard. Like you seem to prefer doing judging by the way your last trial just went." 

        The girl in the pink shirt frowned. "It was her first trial, David, lay off a little. You didn't do so good either your first trial."

        "Yeah, you tried the same shit, David. Fighting back, I mean," said the girl with the beanie with a bit of a condescending smirk, a bit too antagonistically for your own taste. You hoped you'd never run a "trial" with her. She seemed the type to add gasoline to a bonfire for the fun of it all. 

        "Aw, fuck off, Claudette, you hide in fucking bushes-"

        "That's not the point," you step in quickly. "So you complete the generators. What then? You complete those generators, go through a stupid fucking door and leave. And then what do you do? You go right back to where you started. Running from some fucking asshole with a knife and praying to a god that doesn't exist here that you can just barely drag yourself out alive." You take a breath. "You're just fine with putting yourself through that forever? You don't want to even try?!"

        David looks as though his head is about to explode. "You think I haven't tried to fucking fight? If anyone knows, it's me, goddammit." He takes another breath, trying to calm himself. He fixes you with another cold glare. "You'll fucking learn soon enough what happens when you don't play this horrid little game right." 

        Disdain spreads clearly over your face. "This isn't some game! It's our lives! If everyone worked together, we might be able-" 

        David groaned, suddenly standing up off his log. "For the love of God, you better shut you bloody fucking annoying mouth before I do. Fucking twat." He spat at the ground and turned quickly, before storming off into the forest. You were only irritated that you hadn't done so first. You could have spent the time you did arguing exploring this place to try and figure out a way out of here. 

        Everything fell tensely quiet again, besides the slow crackle of the campfire. You sat silently, your arms tightly crossed over your chest while you scowled. The girl in the pink shirt--Claudette--gently touched your shoulder to get your attention. 

        "Don't mind him. It's just...things are the way they are here. And he's been here for a long time." 

        You shake her hand off your shoulder. Her indifference is almost as infuriating as David's attitude.

        "Bullshit. This is all bullshit," you fume, fingers kneading restlessly into your arm.

        Claudette shrugged again. "I don't blame you for being so angry. It's annoying when they mori you, huh?" 

        You fall silent for a long moment before fixing her with an intense stare. "Believe me. It won't be happening to me again. Not if I can help it." 

        A small murmur shifts through the group of ragged survivors. 

        The next trial, you unfortunately ended up coming in next to David. A familiar pounding in your head subsides as you glance over at him and inwardly groans. Immediately, he ignored you and snuck off in the opposite direction, through a patch of bamboo. You rolled your eyes with a soft huff, before pushing through another bunch of bamboo in the opposite direction. As you come through, the stalks shifting around you, you spot the girl at the fire that had a long, sullen face and dirty blonde hair. Her blue shirt made her stand particularly harshly against the muted colors of the dull grasses and cracking stone. 

        She looks up quickly at the sound of the bamboo. She looks about ready to run for it before you give her a half-hearted wave. She glances behind her, almost paranoid (or experienced) in nature, before creeping towards you, almost unbearably slow. 

        "You can work on a generator with me, if you want," she whispers. "It's better to do this with a friend than alone. There's nothing worse than being the final girl." 

        You shrugged off her suggestion. "I'm good. I'm gonna go find that motherfucker and fuck him up." 

        Her brow arches. "David?" she murmurs back, confused even as you began to follow alongside her. You don't plan on working on any generator with her, but it seems like she'd help you find the killer quickly. 

        You start to hear a faint heartbeat in your ear. Confused, you press your hand to your head, trying to make it go away as it grew louder and louder. It was starting to sound very similar to the pounding in your head before the man in the mask had grabbed you and slit you wide open like you were nothing.

        "Wha-" you begin before the girl shushes you.

        Quickly, she pulls you into another nearby path of bamboo, crouching down low. She seemed so confident in her actions that you automatically went to mimic her. It was like a brand new instinct to survive. You held your breath, partially out of a fear you didn't want to acknowledge, less you give it power over you. Your fear can't have power over you. These people have allowed their own to take over and paraylze them, but you wouldn't make their same fatal mistake. 

        When the heartbeat fades from your ears enough for you to hear your thoughts, you lean over towards her, fingertips pressed to the damp grass to keep your balance. "Not David," you eventually whispered back. "That motherfucker that killed me."

        She simply shook her head. "He's not here this time. It's some...thing else." She almost seems relieved, like she's familiar with whatever killed you and finds it way worse than whatever you're up against now. 

        "What?! Who?"

        The way this place worked was already incredibly confusing. But on top of the confusion, came frustration. Because how the fuck were you going to make that asshole with the knife pay now? 

        Her pale, bruised hand suddenly clasped over your mouth, cutting you off before you can have anymore outbursts. She shrank lower to the ground. Your hand went to her wrist as you lowered closer to the ground as well. Her knuckles whitened as her grip tightened and you winced at her fingernails digging into your skin. Her eyes are as wide as dinner plates as she peers out from between the dense bamboo stalks.

        A whisper leaves her, along with the light in her eyes.

        "The Oni." 

        You fell still as stone besides her when the behemoth of a man passes by the bamboo patch, his very footsteps shaking the earth as he walked. Your heartbeat was so loud in your ears that you could barely think and your breathing began to quicken. Is that a man at all? It looks monstrous. Monstrous but...powerful. Something to be admired. Something that made your very core twist, just a little bit. And not in fear. A fucked sense of attraction for a lack of better words. 

        Red mask and huge muscles stretching and contracting almost hypnotically under unnatural, scarred skin. Long white hair cutting through the air, following behind him like a lost spirit. Katana gripped tight in his hand.

        This was power. 

        You tear your eyes off his arms, glancing further downwards at his clawed hand. And the blade in it.

        That could be useful. 

        The beast of a man stops and his head rotates slowly. 

        It's like your very soul is being washed out as the black depths of the mask fix on the bamboo patch you're hidden in. And all you can think of in that moment, besides your shameful awe, is how you don't want the girl next to you to die.

        People here don't fight back right? So surely whatever this monster is wouldn't expect it if you tried it. All you had was the element of surprise on your head, but you knew that timer was quickly running out. If he made the first move, you were fucked. So you didn't intend on giving him the chance. With no full plan formed in your head, you shoved the girl closer to the ground to hide her better. She gasped as you tore her hand off your face and burst out of the bamboo, full speed. 

        Recklessly, you threw yourself at the beast--he doesn't even have the chance to react before you have both hands on the handle of the katana in his. The bamboo rustled behind you as the girl stumbled out of the opposite end. You ignore the automatic feeling of offense at her abandonment before reminding yourself that this is what you wanted. Still, his attention comes off of you to glance back at the bamboo, giving you the split second you needed to wrench the katana out of his clawed hands by the blade. The adrenaline pumping through you is enough to numb the pain as the blade slices through your palms. A sense of victory falls over you when you manage to pull the weapon from his massive hands. Quickly, like it's your first instinct, you shift the katana in your hand so that your bleeding palms are wrapped tight around the handle.

        God this feels good. 

        As long as that girl gets away from him and you can try to fight this monster, nothing else matters. Even if you can just cut him once, it'll all be worth it. Because if the other survivors see it, new blood spilled on top of centuries old battle scars, they'll realize these monsters, these killers aren't invincible. They aren't infallible. They can be hurt too. 

        You were new and it was almost egomaniacal to believe you're going to save these people and turn the tables. But maybe you could bring good change here. Lord knows you'd rather die again trying to pull this off than not even try to break this fucked up cycle. 

        You lunged at "The Oni" and your heart soars when the blade slices over the muscled arm he'd thrown up to shield himself. The end o the slash ends up hitting nothing but armor, but at least you'd cut into his inner arm just a little bit. You'd wished you'd gone for a more visible spot, like his heaving chest, but it was better than nothing at all. 

        He roared, and the ground seemed to shake beneath you once more.

        And not out of pain.

        Out of fury. 

        Your first mistake was holding still for just a moment. Just long enough for him to suddenly reach over his shoulder. Your second mistake was not noticing the kanabō strapped to his broad back before you'd ambushed him. The club hits you, hard, before you even have time to process what was happening. Even as you crumpled to the ground underneath the weight of the wood, letting out a scream of pain, the katana stayed clenched tightly in your hand. Through eyes half open with pain, you can see a streak of the Oni's blood mixed with your bloody handprints on the blade. 

        With ease, he tore the blade out of your grip when you tried feebly from the ground to slash at his legs with it again. You're fatigued with pure, throbbing pain like you've never felt before. On top of it all, your adrenaline seems to have run its course, and now your palms are starting to sting badly. The Oni stood back up to his full, terrifying stature. Slowly, he looks at the katana, turning it over to observe the blood glistening on it. Then he looks back down at you, then back at the katana all over again. He seems to glow with an unnatural energy from beyond this hell as his clawed finger traces along the blade, picking up your blood as it went. 

        Suddenly, the Oni lowered the katana and reached down to grab you by your clothes. As he lifted you up off the ground, you could hear the fabric of your shirt practically tearing off your body. He didn't seem to notice or care as he threw you with ease over his hulking shoulder. 

        You're barely able to cling onto consciousness as every step he took seemed to rattle your brain. Weakly, even as you hang from his shoulder, you spy the kanabō strapped snugly to his back. Your hand traces over the scarred flesh for the sake of stability and your fingers wrap around the blood stained club. The metal studs feel deceivingly soothing against your aching hand for a moment and you barely have the energy to reach over with your other hand and try to grab it off his back. After feeling the weight of it, you figured somehow getting ahold of it would just drag you off his back and to the ground and you wouldn't even be able to swing it.

        It's not like you to give up.

        It's also not like you to end up in a purgatory like hell where monsters hunt you down.

        But here you are and there's a first for everything isn't there? 

        The grass beneath his feet changes to overgrown, cracked stone as he ducks into a doorway and you feel it narrowly whiff overtop your head. You're glad it didn't hit because you definitely would have been knocked out if it did. Your eyes train dizzily on moth eaten carpets that might have been worthy of nobility a long, long time ago. You gasp as he grabs at the shredded back of your shirt and tosses you down onto creaking floorboards. 

        You glance to either side, taking note of the shrine at the wall, where the candles were all still lit. Creepy. You got ready to jump to your feet and bail. However, it seemed the Oni had a different plan for you, as he fell down to the floor on all floors, beast-like as usual in demeanor, caging you between his massive hands. His claws curled so violently they tore into the floorboards as a low growl sounded from him, practically vibrating in your own chest. You kick one leg up in an attempt to hit him in the stomach and wind him. Your foot only hit solid, unmoving muscle.

        Did he even feel that?!

         In response, his palm suddenly pressed down upon your throat, keeping you pinned against the floor as you struggled to breathe. Your hand went to clasp at his bicep in a pathetic attempt to push his hand off your neck. You realized very quickly as dark spots danced in your vision that he was trying to force you into submission. 

        "Get the fuck off me," you choked out through gritted teeth.

        He growled once more and you realized that you had no choice but to fall still. The longer you can cling to consciousness, the more of a chance you have of making it out of this place alive while being able to boast that some of the Oni's blood was on your hands. Unconsciousness right now felt like a death sentence. 

        At your sudden stillness, the Oni calmed as well. His head tilted slowly as he looked down at you through the dark holes in the mask. It's almost unnerving to gaze into the black, bottomless pits. It was even worse when his other hand began to tear what was left of your shirt off your body. You do your best to ignore the fire beginning to burn in your core at the feeling of his claws, capable of ripping your very heart out, simply traced gently along your skin. His finger spiraled down from your throat to your chest. With difficulty, you adjust your head the best you can, barely able to catch a glance at where the bandages were supposed to be on your chest. They're gone, and in their place is a large, rather ugly, harsh scar. 

        It's like he's...admiring it. 

        And you're not wrong. The Oni's head dipped to look closer. The scar reminds him of many of his own. Something that should have killed, but yet, he was still here, and here you were with your own scar, breathing and gasping beneath his open palm. If he's not mistaken, there's still fire in your eyes. He's seen the eyes of the others as he's sunk their broken, bleeding bodies upon hooks. Empty and dead and gaunt. Nothing worth admiring. His thumb brushes under your jawline. 

        You're fresh meat. Relatively untouched and still with enough fight for him to deem captivating. A strong, suitable candidate. Finally a woman worthy of him, he's decided. The others are fleeting and skittish and he's been determined not to let their cowardice poison his legacy. There is no ignoring his luck in your appearance in this realm even he finds disgusting and disgraceful. 

        Like he's finally being rewarded for his patience.

        He can feel the blood from your palms soaking into his skin. Powering him. Feeding him. And it's clear you don't even realize it as your hands wrap tighter, more desperately, at his wrist and forearm now. You were no longer trying to wrench him off, you were just trying to keep him from increasing the pressure on your throat anymore. 

        The hand that had been resting upon the scar upon the center of your chest suddenly moved downwards. Your jaw clenches tightly enough for him to feel the shift beneath your skin. Again, panic rushed into you as he tore at your pants, managing to drag the waistband down to your mid-thigh. Desperately, you lift a leg to try and kick him once more, but his hand reached down further to pin it to the floorboards. You cry out in pain at his strength, head spinning as you lay there, stunned. 

        You only realize his own waistband is sliding down when you hear the sound of the metal plate and rope dropping to the floor with a loud clang. It sends a shiver down your spine and you're confused to find that it's not one of nausea or fear...more anticipation than anything else. It's...unnatural and ungodly at best to feel some sort of connection to this monster. But it's not a feeling you can ignore as you watch him through narrowed eyes. It's even harder to ignore when his fingers traced down your thighs, making them quiver softly in pleasure. 

        It's far better than a knife in your throat, you've decided. 

        His claws, almost too gently for his nature, prod up higher, sliding beneath your panties. You hear what you first mistook as a growl, later realizing that it was a quiet groan, muffle by the mask. You're shaking beneath him and not entirely out of fear. You realized as the rough pad of his fingertip pressed up against you that he was feeling to see if you were wet enough to undoubtedly take him. It's not a shock to you. With his belt on the floor, you had no doubts to as where this was going. 

        The tireless, invasive strokes of his fingers was almost enough to get you there. The texture of his hands makes you gasp beneath them. Holding your breath, you let him part your legs. 

        It's partially out of spite.

        You don't want to die this round. In fact, you were hoping that you'd outlive David just to prove a point. There would be no greater pleasure than being better at playing this "horrid little game" than he was. You could just leave out the part where the killer fucked you right after you sliced his arm open. All that matters was that they knew you'd injured him, everything else was just minute details right?

        A soft growl of approval sounded from behind the mask when the Oni's finger slid with ease between your legs. Another shaky gasps leaves you as his claw just barely catches over your clit. With his hand on your throat still, there's no way for you to get a clear look at what's going on and all you can do is look up at the ceiling and wait anxiously for now. 

        His elbow jostles up against your leg slightly as his palm ran over his half-hard cock a few times, before he lined it up and suddenly rammed it deep into you with no warning. 

        You screamed out, your nails digging into the skin on his forearm. 

        The Oni spread your legs open wider to accommodate him better with his knee. His hips ground up against yours hard enough to leave bruises. You blink back the tears in your eyes as you swallow slightly and take a deep breath, trying to relax yourself enough to stretch easier around his cock. It's almost painful to lay there, pinned beneath him. You'd never taken anything this big before.

        But, hey, first time for everything. 

        Eventually, slowly, your body began to adjust. You began to adjust. The candles near the shrine flickered softly in harsh contrast to the roughness, the enraged mania of his inhuman pace. There's a sort of viciousness to the thrust of his hips that you've never experienced before. But it's new and fresh and practically mind blowing when you start to finally feel pleasure as his cock drags along the inside of you. You blinked back your tears from before with some difficulty as pleasure began to buzz at the very ends of your nerves.

        You weren't going to cry. You weren't going to show weakness.

        The Oni's hands, once pinned at either your throat and your thigh, stretched to reach under the small of your back and between your shoulders. He brought you closer, practically taking you a few inches off the aged, dusty floorboards. His hips slammed up against yours, at a differently angle in an attempt to press even deeper inside you. You don't doubt that he'll try to go farther even after this. With his hand off your neck you have a chance to peek down and feel your head swim when you see that he's not even halfway fit inside you. 

        You cry out once more, shout morphing into a long, high pitched moan as the head of his cock manages to hit the most sensitive spot inside you. You throw your arms up, around his muscled, powerful shoulders, fingers digging into his cold back. You bit into his shoulder, just to keep your sounds out of your ears. You doubted he actually care about the noise anyways. He tasted of iron--like that of blood. 

        The Oni continued on, even after you began to writhe beneath him, reaching a powerful orgasm that left you breathless and almost limp against him. He didn't seem to care. You begin to realize that he seems to only be interested in reaching his own climax. At the rate he was going, and the way he kept shuddering uncharacteristically against you, you figured it wouldn't take him much longer. 

        After you feel his cum warm your insides the first time, you think thats he's finished.

        Wrong once again.

        The Oni continued on as you clung desperately to him. Your moans manage to spill out from your mouth, even pressed against his flesh and the blood pounds in your ears as he brings you to several more climaxes before he even reaches his second. You're grateful he's lifted you slightly off the floorboards because there was no doubt you'd have splinters embedded inches deep in your back from how he would have dragged you across the floor with every thrust. 

        You gasp out shakily as more hot seed spills into you and you feel his cock throb against your walls. 

        He takes a breath before continuing and you cry out again, nerves practically fried from the overstimulation.

        Is he trying to breed me? 

        The thought hadn't crossed your mind until your brief moment of clarity after cumming yourself. 

        You want to hit yourself on the head for realizing that, strangely enough, you don't entirely mind. The warmth is welcome and you haven't been this...attended to in a very long time. At least not this well. Your pleasure obviously wasn't on his mind, but you still got it in the end. Again and again and again, almost as frequently as that addictive euphoria was crashing over his own nervous system. 

        By the time he was almost finished with you, you could practically feel his still hot seed dripping out of you. At least it lubricated him better than your own fluids were. You're barely able to get a breath in before the Oni's hand, somehow steady, even after a multitude of powerful orgasms, traced up your bare chest to pin your throat to floor once more. Staring up through starstruck, half-lidded eyes, once again trained on the ceiling, the head of his cock slams up against your cervix, making your toes curl and your core tighten even more.

        He howls out, and the walls seem to shake. The very foundation of this place seems to shake.

        As you laid there beneath him upon the floorboards, you could hear the sounds of generators powering to life. 

        Even though your head was spinning, you managed to have a coherent thought or two.

        Doesn't he care about the other survivors?

        However, the Oni seemed more intent on keeping his cock as far shoved into you as humanly possible--the limits of which he was definitely pushing, not even being able to fit himself all the way inside of you as much as he might have tried. You're too exhausted to push at his arm and free your neck, and simply lay there with your own palm pressed to the back of his hand, fingers tracing against the outline of his knuckles. 

        Slowly, almost too cautiously, he begins to pull out, shallow breaths pushing his chest in and out. You feel his thumb brush across your inner thigh and up against your entrance, gathering up any of his seed leaking out and pushing it back in. You let out a whining gasp as the rough pad of his thumb pushes into your pussy slightly, and your walls tighten around him. You're grateful that he keeps his claw from digging into your insides. 

        After what feels like forever, as the perspiration gathered at your forehead began to dry, the Oni's thumb slowly draws out from between your legs. 

        At the moment, you don't even have the energy to sit up. It's like he sucked it all out of you.

        The Oni, on the other hand, was up within moments. His hand lifted off your throat as he rose, but you didn't dare to move. Not that you could. To be honest, you were feeling faint all over again. Your head lolls to the side as you stare up, dazed, at the flickering candles of the shrine beside you. The sound of the metal plate lifting off the ground makes your head pound. All you hear is shifting fabric for a short while.

        Another generator powers to life. You're not sure what number generator it is, but there's a sense of tense urgency in the air. You have a feeling it's either the last one or the second to last one. 

        And then he's gone. 

        Faintly, in the fog of your own brain and the pounding of your heart, you can hear the screams of the other survivors in the trial. Eventually, you push yourself to sit up, shakily reaching for the waistband of your pants, still left hanging around your thighs. Ignoring the wetness between your legs, you pulled your pants back up over your hips and reach over, wincing to grab at what was left of your shirt, thrown carelessly onto the ground nearby. For the sake of your own modesty, you pressed it up to your bare chest with an open, shaking hand, head bowed as you continued to try and catch your breath. 

        You freeze as you hear a terrifying roar in the distance.

        You sit there for what feels like hours before you saw something move in the corner of your eye. Quickly, your head turned.

        "Hey," comes a familiar, hushed voice.

        Faintly, your blurry gaze fixes upon the girl in the blue shirt, sneaking in through a doorway. You sigh. You don't know if it's out of relief or disappointment. He left so suddenly things don't feel...finished. 

        The girl glanced around as she crept closer. "What happened?" she asked and you inhaled sharply.

        Thinking quickly, you decided to tell half of the truth. "He clubbed me." No denying that. There's bruises on your body to prove it and you're sure there's a broken rib or arm somewhere in there too. 

        Her eyebrows raise. "You must have made him really mad." She shook her head in sudden disbelief. "I can't believe he just left you there and didn't hook you...he killed David already. And Adam. Did you run him around or something?"

        "Uhhh...I certainly got him going, I guess. He left pretty quick." Once again another half-truth. 

        You don't know who Adam is, but you could only feel smug realizing that one way or another, you'd outlived David. Petty, but true. And you certainly hadn't played by his supposed game rules to do it. You didn't have to do much to hide the smugness on your face, knowing that the blonde would just think you were proud of supposedly running the Oni around in circles. She crouched down, reaching into her pocket to pull out a rather pathetic looking roll of bandages.

        "It's my last kit-"

        You waved her away. "It's okay. I think most of the damage is..." you winced. "Internal." Yeah. You definitely wouldn't be walking straight for awhile. 

        "The gates almost ready to open," she suddenly says, voice hushed again as she tucks the roll of bandages back into the pocket of her high waisted jeans. "We can run for it. We might make it if we go now and don't stop." 

        Before you have a chance to even respond, she starts to get up to her feet. You raise up an arm, allowing her to take it and pull it over her shoulders. Stumbling, you managed to get up to your feet and stay steady on them. Stubbornly, your other arm still clung to your chest, pressing the rags left of your shirt to your chest. 

        And with her, you ran.

[ive-made-so-many-mistakes]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐩𝐨𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐝𝐞𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𐙚⋆°｡⋆

a/n: welcome to my masterlist, if any of the links aren't working, drop me an ask or a message!

requests are open!

disclaimer: some of my works include nsfw themes / 18+ content, all my works have content warnings, and nsfw fics are labelled with a 'ᯓ★' so minors please do not interact, thank you!

last updated: 6th July 2025

cornelia street

ONE SHOTS

— your love is a secret, i’m hoping, dreaming, dying to keep

just one race ᯓ★ | biker!bucky barnes x fem!biker!reader (modern au) summary: two years ago, you fucked bucky and never called back. when he sees you again, he's not just racing for the win.

winning streak | hockey captain!bucky barnes x fem!reader (modern au) summary: the national title on the line. one last goal. and bucky doesn’t skate to the trophy — he runs to you.

no sudden moves ᯓ★ | new avenger!bucky x fem!reader summary: a mission had gone to hell, wounded and cornered, you and bucky hide in a shaft barely wide enough for one. it starts with a touch, and it ends with you coming undone in his hands.

private gallery ᯓ★ | new avenger!bucky x fem!reader summary: sexting while he’s on a mission seemed like a good idea, until bucky comes home early and fucks you like he’s been counting the days.

in too deep ᯓ★ | dom!new avenger!bucky barnes x fem!reader summary: you told bucky it was your ovulation week and he took that as a challenge. you really, really, should’ve kept your mouth shut. based on this request

what home feels like | new avenger!bucky barnes x fem!reader (5 + 1 trope) summary: the 5 times bucky thinks of proposing to you and the 1 time he does

soft hands, heavy heart ᯓ★ | inexperienced!new avenger!bucky x fem!reader summary: bucky wants you, but he just doesn’t know how to let himself have you. but you’ll spend every second showing him how it feels to be wanted.

daddy's best friend ᯓ★ | dbf!bucky x fem!reader (modern au) summary: your dad’s best friend has been avoiding your eyes all night, until he’s got you pinned against the laundry room door, hand up your thigh. it’s everything you shouldn’t want, but you always do.

little black dress ᯓ★ | new avenger!dom!bucky x fem!reader summary: you and bucky have always danced the line between desire and something more. but he never made his move, so you showed him exactly what it looked like when john does.

swipe right | grumpy!tfatws!bucky x fem!reader summary: sam thinks bucky needs to get back out there. he suggests tinder—and really, who better to ask for advice than you? things change when he asks what you're looking for.

under wraps ᯓ★ | new avenger!bucky x fem!reader summary: you and bucky have kept things secret for months, stolen glances, quiet hookups around the compound and well, the team finally catches on.

heavy lifting | new avenger!bucky x fem!reader (domestic au) summary: moving is hard, but teasing bucky about his knees and getting kissed breathless on the floor makes it all worth it.

the things we left behind ᯓ★ | new avenger!ex!bucky x widow!ex!reader (reader is female) summary: you haven't seen bucky in years. not since the night he left. the blip changed both of you, and nothing was ever the same after. now, val has you working together again. the job is dangerous, the tension is unbearable. and the feelings? still impossible to outrun.

all the little moments | new avenger!bucky x fem!reader summary: bucky tries to remember the moment he fell for you—but it wasn’t just one. it was every laugh, every late night, every quiet second beside you. and he finally realises, he’s been falling all along.

cradles and chaos | new avenger!bucky x pregnant!fem!reader summary: you wanted to surprise bucky with the news—you’re pregnant. the only problem? everyone else on the team found out first. cue the chaos.

the cat's out of the bag | new avenger!bucky x fem!reader summary: during a storm, you rescue a stray kitten and spend the next week trying to keep her hidden from your boyfriend.

off limits ᯓ★ | new avenger!bucky x fem!reader summary: at a high profile mission gala, bucky snaps when he sees another man's hands on you, jealousy boils over and he shows you exactly who you belong to

what's left behind ᯓ★ | new avenger!bucky x fem!reader summary: after finding out bucky’s leaving on another mission without telling you, everything falls apart. the argument is brutal, but that night, he comes back to hold you. just once more. maybe for the last time.

exit wounds ᯓ★ | new avenger!bucky x fem!reader summary: after you put yourself in danger once again during a mission, bucky finally snaps.

little rabbit ᯓ★ | new avenger!bucky x fem!reader summary: you wanted to play prey and bucky was more than happy to hunt.

earned it ᯓ★ | new avenger!bucky x fem!reader summary: during a mission, bucky corners you behind a supply shelf and slides his fingers between your thighs, all while your comms stay live.

right this time | new avenger!bucky x fem!reader summary: after a disappointing date, bucky decides to show you what a proper date should be like. based on this request

briefed and blown ᯓ★ | new avenger!bucky x fem!reader summary: you are on your knees for bucky, just before a mission briefing based on this request 

high for this ᯓ★ | new avenger!bucky x fem!reader summary: during a mission, you and bucky are exposed to a gas meant to strip away restraint. he resists, and well, you try. but when the heat fades, it’s not the mission that haunts you both, it’s what happened behind that door. based on this request!

lined up ᯓ★ | new avenger!bucky x fem!reader summary: bucky teaches you how to play pool. based on this request!

you deserve nice things too | new avenger!bucky x fem!reader summary: you decide to get your boyfriend a dyson airwrap, and teach him how to use it.

who did this to you? | new avenger!bucky x fem!reader summary: bucky notices the bruises before you ever say a word. as the truth unravels, he steps in—not just to protect you, he makes sure you're never hurt again. (tw: abuse)

eyes don't lie ᯓ★' | new avenger!bucky x fem!reader summary: you and bucky were trapped in a storm during mission, with one bed and so much tension. (really just lots of filthy sex guys)

all that's left ᯓ★ | fwb!bucky x fem!reader summary: you and bucky were never meant to be more than friends with benefits—until you say those three words. he walks out. then a mission traps you both in a sealed room, and suddenly, there’s no escaping the walls you both built.

ASKS

— i once was poison ivy, but now i'm your daisy

bucky being a gentleman in the streets and an absolute freak in the sheets | ᯓ★

bucky reacting to you asking to turn off the lights during sex | ᯓ★

DARK FICS

— i know he's crazy but he's the one i want

no one else ᯓ★ (non-con) | new avenger!dark!bucky barnes x fem!reader summary: you have a boyfriend, but bucky could care less. he waited, watched, let the fantasy of you rot until all that was left was his need and obsession.

where it truly lies ᯓ★ | ex!bucky barnes x fem!reader , steve rogers x cheating!fem!reader summary: you swore you were done with him, but every time steve touches you see bucky instead. one text drags you back to the motel, back to the lies, and steve will never know.

salvation never tasted this sweet ᯓ★ (dub-con) | priest!bucky x innocent!fem!reader summary: you came to confess your sins, but father james had no intention of granting you forgiveness

daddy's got a gun ᯓ★ (dub-con) | mob!bucky x fem!reader summary: you never meant to cross a man like bucky barnes, he is cold-blooded, ruthless, he always takes what he wants and no amount of fight can drown out the way you end up begging for more. based on this request!

SERIES

— i hope i never lose you, hope it never ends

bent and bruised ᯓ★ | new avenger!bucky x fem!ex-hydra!reader summary: you were built by HYDRA to please the soldier—then left for dead. years later, bucky sees your face again. but no amount of time can erase the way you once whispered his name through tears. (tw: dark themes) inspired by this request

for better or for worse ᯓ★ | new avenger!bucky x fem!reader summary: you and bucky are forced to play newlyweds at a luxury honeymoon resort. he’s controlling, you’re reckless, and now you’re sharing a bed. the problem? it’s getting harder to play pretend. and you’re not sure either of you will survive what comes next. (completed)

letters through time | 1940s!bucky x modern!fem!reader summary: you find a letter from 1944 hidden in the old brooklyn apartment you moved signed by one james buchanan barnes. you write back, he did too, and somehow, across decades, you both fall in love. (completed)

beneath the crown ᯓ★ | knight!bucky x princess!fem!reader summary: in a kingdom ruled by duty, you're a princess promised to a prince you don't love. sir james buchanan barnes is the knight sworn to protect you. but one touch turns into a secret affair, dangerous, all consuming and impossible to stop. and now, you'd risk everything just to be his. (on hiatus)

ONE SHOTS

— you are the best thing that's ever been mine

notes on napkins | steve rogers x barista!fem!reader summary: just a barista, a rainy café, and the quiet way steve leaves his heart behind—one napkin doodle at a time.

[ive-made-so-many-mistakes]

who did this to you? 𐙚 b.b

pairing: new avenger!bucky barnes x abused!fem!reader

warnings: mentions of abuse, domestic violence (not committed by bucky!) mentions of trauma, themes of fear and recovery (please read the warnings)

summary: bucky notices the bruises before you ever say a word. as the truth unravels, he steps in—not just to protect you, he makes sure you're never hurt again.

word count: 5.3k (i went a little overboard)

author's note: i have been wanting to write this for quite a while, and i'm glad i did. enjoy my loves, your feedback and thoughts are always appreciated!

It started small.

A shift in the way you smiled—no longer bright and easy, but tight-lipped and fleeting, like you were trying to convince yourself it still came naturally. A hesitation in your laughter, once the sweetest sound in the Watchtower’s echoing corridors, now muffled, forced, or absent altogether.

The others chalked it up to stress. Missions have been tense lately. The team didn’t exactly operate in peacetime.

But Bucky…Bucky saw more.

You were the team’s secretary. The one constant in a whirlwind of chaos. Efficient, organised, always one step ahead of everyone else. You had memorised every operative’s dietary needs before the kitchen staff had.

You knew how to read between lines of mission reports, handle fallouts with the media, and you were the only person Yelena trusted to refill her coffee exactly right. Your desk, tucked near the central hub, was where people came to decompress, vent, even smile.

You made things work. You made the team work.

You were the light that steadied them all.

But lately… that light had gone out.

Bucky noticed first. He always did. Watching people wasn’t just habit—it was an instinct. A soldier’s reflex, sharpened by a lifetime of reading danger in the twitch of a hand or the flicker of a glance.

He noticed how your shoulders curled inward like you were trying to disappear into yourself, or how your arms folded across your stomach, elbows tucked in tight as if they were armour.

You flinched when anyone passed too closely behind your chair. You stopped walking through the halls with your usual spring—started hugging the walls, choosing longer routes that avoided high-traffic zones.

When Yelena clapped a hand to your shoulder in greeting, a simple, affectionate gesture—your entire body jolted like you’d been hit. Not just startled. 

Terrified.

The room had gone quiet at that moment. Even Alexei paused, a half-eaten sandwich frozen in his hand. Ava had gone still beside the mission board, her eyes narrowing slightly.

You recovered too quickly. Smiled too fast. “Sorry, nerves,” you’d said, brushing it off, grabbing the nearest file and practically sprinting from the room. But Bucky had already seen too much.

And then the bruises.

They started subtly. Shadows beneath the cuff of your blouse that could be passed off as bad sleep, maybe a knock against a desk corner.

You were clumsy sometimes—everyone knew that. A walking hurricane in heels, Yelena liked to tease. You once tripped over your own shoelaces in front of Val, and no one had let you live it down for a week.

But these weren’t accidents.

There was a splotch of purple just visible beneath your collarbone, dark and irregular. Faint, yellowing fingerprints on your wrist that looked like they were trying to fade, but kept stubbornly coming back.

A raw, angry mark that peeked out from your hairline one morning, like someone had gripped your jaw too hard—someone tall enough, big enough to loom over you, strong enough to leave a handprint in their wake.

Bucky saw that one when you bent down to pick up a report you’d dropped. Your blouse’s collar dipped slightly, just enough to reveal a line of bruising that trailed from your neck toward your shoulder like a hand had wrapped around you and squeezed.

His hand clenched into a fist on instinct.

He didn’t say anything right away. He knew better. But he watched. Quietly, intensely. Not just because he cared, but because something inside him roared with the need to protect you, something deep and territorial and dangerous.

The same thing that made him stare holes into the security cameras when you left the compound for lunch, or that made him scan every incoming message with a new, sharpened edge.

He began checking your schedule.

Not overtly. Just… looking. Noting when you left the compound. Who signed you out. When you came back, and what your face looked like afterward.

You used to return from errands with little smiles and tiny stories—“The deli guy gave me an extra pickle today,” or “Some lady on the street said I had pretty earrings.” But lately, you came back quieter. Shoulders tighter. And you always avoided his eyes.

One afternoon, he asked you if you were okay.

You smiled—again, that damn smile. So polite, so practiced. 

“Yeah. Just tired. Thanks for asking Bucky”

But being tired didn’t leave marks on someone’s throat.

And when you walked away, Bucky watched you disappear down the hallway and felt something cold curl in his gut. Something he hadn’t felt in years.

He knew pain. He’d lived it. Breathed it. Worn it like a second skin. But there was something worse about watching you endure it.

Something far more dangerous.

And whoever had hurt you?

They’d just reminded him exactly what he was willing to protect.

Still, Bucky didn’t act rashly. He waited. Watched. Gathered more than just bruises and broken glances. He needed to be sure—of what you were dealing with, of who was doing this to you, of how to approach without sending you further into yourself.

The wrong move could make you shut down entirely. He knew trauma didn’t unravel with questions—it needed patience. 

Stillness. Safety.

So he waited until the Watchtower cleared out for the evening.

The others had trickled out one by one—Yelena dragging Alexei into a sparring match he didn’t ask for, Ava and John disappearing into the training room, Val locked in her office for a late-night debrief.

The corridors fell quiet, fluorescent lights humming low overhead. Bucky lingered near your office, watching the shadows stretch along the floor, the door slightly ajar with the warm glow of your desk lamp spilling out into the hall.

You were still there. Of course you were.

You always stay late now.

“Hey,” he said softly, stepping into your office once the others had gone.

You didn’t jump—but he saw the way your shoulders stiffened. How your fingers paused on the keyboard, curling slightly as if preparing for something.

Your eyes stayed locked on the screen for a moment too long, and when you did glance up, they were wide and glassy with that familiar, haunted look.

The one he recognised too well.

The one he used to see in the mirror.

“Can I talk to you?” His voice stayed quiet, gentle—like coaxing a wounded animal out of hiding. He stood just inside the door, hands in the pockets of his black jacket, posture non-threatening but steady. He wouldn’t crowd you. He wouldn’t touch you. But the one thing he wouldn’t do is walk away.

You swallowed, throat tight, and gave a small nod.

“Sure.”

But the word was fragile. Like it had been stitched together with effort.

He crossed the room slowly, pulling the door shut behind him—not all the way, just enough to give the illusion of privacy without making you feel trapped. Then he moved to the chair across from your desk and sat, leaving space between you. Letting you decide what came next.

You glanced back at your screen, like you were searching for a reason to stay distracted. Like if you just kept typing, none of this would be real. But your hands didn’t move.

He waited a beat, then spoke, low and careful. “I’ve been noticing some things.”

You didn’t answer.

“I don’t mean to scare you,” he added. “I just… I’m worried about you doll”

Your shoulders tensed again. That flinch. That tell. He saw it before you could mask it. And when your arms folded across your stomach, hiding your bruised wrist, he knew.

You were protecting yourself from more than just a conversation.

“I know something’s going on,” he said. “And I don’t need the details if you’re not ready. But I need you to know that… you don’t have to do this alone.”

Still, silence. But your eyes were starting to shine, tears gathering at the corners as you stared down at your keyboard like it held all the answers.

“You’ve been flinching at every touch,” he went on, his voice nearly breaking. “You don’t smile anymore. You avoid everyone like they’re gonna hurt you. And those bruises—”

“Don’t.” Your voice cracked as the word came out, sharp and desperate.

Bucky’s breath caught. But he didn’t move. “Okay,” he said immediately. “I won’t push. I swear.”

The silence that followed was thick—trembling between confession and collapse.

And then your lip quivered. You shook your head once. “I didn’t mean for anyone to notice,” you whispered, voice so soft it almost didn’t reach him. 

“I thought I could handle it.”

Bucky leaned forward, slowly, carefully. “You shouldn’t have to handle it.”

Your chin trembled. “I didn’t want to be a burden. Everyone’s got their shit. Missions. Scars. Who wants to hear about the secretary who made the mistake of falling for the wrong guy?”

His jaw clenched so tightly he thought he might crack a molar. “Who did this to you?”

You didn’t answer.

But your silence was answer enough.

His tone darkened, low and steady like steel cooled in ice. “Tell me who put their hands on you.”

You shook your head again, fast this time, panic blooming across your features. “Bucky—don’t. Please. It’ll just make it worse.”

He stood up, jaw rigid, fists clenched at his sides. The chair scraped quietly behind him, but he didn’t move toward you. Didn’t crowd. Just stood there, vibrating with barely contained rage.

But it wasn’t at you.

“I would never let anyone hurt you again,” he said, his voice rough now, fighting to stay gentle. “But you have to let me help.”

Your eyes met his cerulean irises then. And something inside you cracked.

Because he didn’t look at you with pity.

He looked at you like you mattered. Like your pain mattered. Like he saw you—really saw you—and it didn’t make him walk away.

And something about the way he said it, like a lifeline broke you.

You told him everything.

From the first time it happened, when your ex shoved you against a wall during an argument over a text message. To the second time, when he slapped you so hard your lip split open. The cycle became normal. You had started covering up bruises like second nature, lying to your friends, flinching at shadows.

Two nights ago, he’d come home drunk, angry. He dragged you by your hair into the bedroom, wrapped a hand too tight around your neck, and left purple thumbprints beneath your jaw.

You had to call in sick the next day. Told Val it was the flu. She didn’t question it.

Tears streamed silently down your cheeks, but Bucky never looked away. His face was tight with rage, his jaw clenched so hard you thought he might break a tooth. His metal hand had curled into a fist again, knuckles whitening where they met synthetic plating.

“I'm gonna kill him,” he said, barely above a whisper.

“No,” you croaked, your hand reaching to grip his wrist. “Just… just get me out of there.”

“You don’t have to ask,” he said.

He helped you out of the office, holding your arm with such care, like you might shatter if he used too much strength. He led you to his motorcycle, the matte black vehicle parked beside the Watchtower’s bay doors.

You hesitated. “I don’t—”

He handed you his helmet and said, “You’re safe with me.”

And you believed him.

The wind was sharp against your face, your arms clinging around his waist as he drove through the dusky streets toward your apartment. Your heart thundered the entire ride—not from fear of falling, but from the feeling of escape.

At your place, you let Bucky in and stood frozen in the doorway. Your keys shaking in your hands.

“Tell me what you need,” he said.

You walked numbly toward your bedroom and began pulling a small duffel from the closet. Bucky followed, surveying the apartment with quiet calculation.

The broken picture frame on the floor. The hole punched in the hallway drywall. The cracked phone screen beside your bed.

You gathered clothes, toiletries, your journal, a worn copy of Pride and Prejudice. Bucky packed in silence, folding your shirts neatly, rolling your socks with care.

When you turned to get your toothbrush, your hands were trembling too badly to hold it.

“I can’t…” you whispered, finally falling apart.

Bucky was there in an instant, arms wrapping around you, pulling you into the solid warmth of his chest.

“It’s over,” he murmured into your hair. “You’re not going back there. I won’t let you.”

You sobbed into his shoulder, your body wracked with grief and relief all at once. For the first time in years, you believed it. 

You were leaving.

Bucky had decided to take you to his apartment, given how late it was—and how you didn’t want the rest of the team knowing about any of this. You couldn’t bear their questions or the way they might look at you differently if they knew the truth. What you needed right now wasn’t a spotlight—it was safety.

And Bucky, somehow, had understood that without you ever having to say a word.

Tucked away in a quiet corner of Brooklyn, it felt like a sanctuary: minimalistic but lived-in, with dark wood furniture, shelves lined with old books, framed black-and-white photos, a few of them being Steve's, and soft lighting that bathed the space in warm, golden hues.

There were blankets folded over the back of his couch, plants that looked surprisingly healthy, and a record player in the corner with a small stack of vinyls beside it. The scent of sandalwood lingered in the air—warm, masculine, grounding.

“Bathroom’s through there,” Bucky said gently, “and the guest room’s yours for as long as you want it.”

You nodded, wiping your face with your sleeve.

He handed you a folded pile of clothes—one of his blue Henley shirts and a pair of grey boxer briefs that would sit loosely on your frame.

“You can sleep in these,” he said. “I’ll set up fresh towels, and if you need anything—anything—you come get me.”

You changed in the bathroom, staring at yourself in the mirror. The bruises on your neck looked even more vibrant in the soft light. You touched them lightly, then pulled Bucky’s shirt over your head. It was warm from his hands, and it smelled like cedar and something unmistakably him.

You sank into the bed that night with clean sheets, the window cracked open just enough to let in the cool night air. Bucky’s home felt quiet in a way yours never had. Not silent from tension—but peaceful. The kind of quiet that comes with safety.

You curled into the soft mattress, wrapped in a blanket that smelled faintly like him, and for the first time in two years, you slept without fear.

Safe. Protected. Free.

You woke up with a gasp.

The remnants of the nightmare clung to you like cobwebs—suffocating and sticky. Flashes of fists in the dark. That voice slithering in your ear, venomous and cruel. The oppressive weight on your chest, the cold dread of being trapped with no way out.

Your heart thundered, breath tearing in and out of your lungs like you were still running, still being chased. Your skin was damp with sweat, your hands shaking uncontrollably as you pushed the covers away and bolted upright in bed.

The room swam around you—familiar and unfamiliar all at once. Dimly lit by the glow of a streetlamp outside, walls painted in shadow. The silence rang too loud.

You couldn’t stay.

Before you even registered the movement, your bare feet found the cool hardwood floor, each step down the hallway echoing softly. You didn’t knock. You didn’t need to.

Bucky’s door was cracked open.

He was awake. Sitting at the edge of his bed, elbows braced on his knees, his metal hand cradling the back of his neck like it ached. He looked like he hadn’t slept at all. The soft light from the city cast silver lines across the sharp angles of his face, tracing the tension in his jaw, the furrow of his brow.

Your voice trembled, more breath than sound. “I had a nightmare.”

His head snapped up immediately, eyes locking onto yours. The shift was instant—soldier to protector. In two strides, he was in front of you.

“Hey,” he murmured, voice low and soothing. “You’re okay. I’m right here.”

His hands came to your shoulders—not forceful, just present. Anchoring. His touch was warm and steady, and it sent a tremor through you that wasn’t from fear this time, but release. Like your body finally allowed itself to feel how shaken you were.

Your lip quivered. “Can I stay?”

He nodded before you even finished the question. “Always.”

You didn’t hesitate. The bed welcomed you like a long-lost memory—soft sheets, a comforting dip in the mattress, the faint scent of his soap clinging to the pillow.

You curled into the center of it, small and tentative, feeling like a ghost of yourself. Like you might disappear if the shadows swallowed you up again.

Bucky moved with care. He didn’t rush. He pulled the blanket up over your trembling frame, tucking it gently around your shoulders. Then he slid into the bed behind you, close but not suffocating, the heat of him already beginning to thaw something frozen inside you.

His arm hovered behind you for a moment. He didn’t assume. Didn’t take. Just waited.

When you shifted ever so slightly—just enough for your back to press lightly against his chest, his arm came around you. A quiet, protective barrier. His metal fingers splayed carefully against your stomach, grounding you in the here and now.

You exhaled a shaky breath, your eyes slipping shut for the first time all night. The tension in your body began to unwind, thread by thread. His scent, clean and faintly earthy filled your nose, mingling with the sound of his heartbeat against your spine and the steady rhythm of his breathing.

And then he whispered it, his voice barely brushing your ear, soft and sure and steady.

“I’ve got you.”

The words sank into your skin like warmth, like truth. No promises he couldn’t keep. No hollow reassurances. Just a vow, solid and unspoken, in the way he held you like you were something worth protecting.

You blinked slowly, a tear slipping free and soaking silently into the pillow.

For the first time in as long as you could remember, you believed it.

You were safe.

Not because the nightmares were gone—but because Bucky was here when they came.

The morning sun filtered gently through the blinds of Bucky’s apartment, casting warm strips of gold across the hardwood floors.

For the first time in over a year, you hadn’t woken up with your heart pounding in fear. No yelling, no slamming doors. Just the subtle hum of city life beyond the window, and the distant sizzle of bacon in a skillet.

You padded out of the bedroom in Bucky’s oversized shirt and boxers, clutching the sleeves around your palms. The faint scent of him lingered in the fabric—cedar-wood, leather, and something warm, like late summer.

Bucky stood by the stove, his hair damp from a quick shower, grey T-shirt clinging to the breadth of his shoulders. When he heard your footsteps, he turned slightly and gave you a soft smile.

“Hey, sweetheart” he murmured, voice low and scratchy from sleep. “Hope you’re hungry.”

You nodded, grateful, eyes stinging. It was in the little things—the way he slid a cup of coffee toward you without asking how you liked it, because he already remembered. 

Later that day, the team found out.

Yelena had noticed first. She cornered Bucky in the Watchtower’s armoury after morning briefings. “What’s going on with (y/n)?” she demanded, arms crossed, eyes sharp. “She barely said five words. She jumped when Alexei dropped his water bottle. I know bruises when I see them.”

Bucky hesitated, jaw tightening. But when Yelena added, softer this time, “I care about her too,” he gave her the truth.

Word spread in a ripple. Quiet, but powerful. By the end of the day, the team was different.

It started with your phone. You were sorting through mission reports in the comms room when it buzzed beside you, and you flinched hard enough to drop a pen because without looking, you already knew who it was. Him.

John, usually, cocky caught the look on your face and immediately picked the phone up himself.

“Give me your passcode,” he said steadily.

You hesitated. “Why?”

“Because if this asshole’s still texting you, I’m blocking him. And if he’s tracking you, we’re disabling it right now.”

You blinked at him, lip trembling. John just held your gaze, patient. Protective.

“Okay,” you whispered.

Ten minutes later, your ex was blocked. His number, email—gone. John handed the phone back like it weighed nothing, but you knew it had been a thousand-pound chain.

Bob, quiet and sweet, began programming something on the side—a digital firewall. One you didn't even ask for, but he gave it to you anyway.

“If he tries anything online, you’ll be notified. But he won’t get through. I made sure of it.”

You could’ve cried.

Ava began walking with you more often. No words. Just always there—on your way to the labs, when you stopped by the kitchen, even when you headed out to grab lunch across the street.

“I know what it’s like,” she said one day while the two of you sat on a park bench eating sandwiches. “To feel hunted.”

You looked at her, stunned. Her face was unreadable, but her hand brushed yours for a moment, just enough to remind you that you weren’t alone.

Then there was Alexei. Loud, boisterous, intimidating. He walked into the common area one afternoon with three grocery bags in hand and plopped them dramatically onto the table.

“You like those little orange cracker fish?” he boomed showing you the goldfish crackers he had gotten. “I bought five bags. And some juice. Juice is important.”

You stared at him, stunned.

“I don’t—”

“Shush little one,” he said, winking. “You part of us. Thunderbolts always feed Thunderbolts.”

Your laugh broke out before you could stop it. It felt foreign. Strange. 

But real.

Alexei beamed like he’d won a medal.

Slowly but surely, the team wrapped you in something new. Something stronger than fear. Stronger than pain.

When you needed to go to the mall for more clothes—things that weren’t tainted with memories—Yelena and Bob went with you.

Yelena stuck close to your side, pretending to be indifferent but always scanning the crowd. Bob carried all the bags with a goofy grin. He even helped pick out a new hoodie. It was soft and warm and maroon.

“You should feel safe in your skin,” Yelena said simply, handing you a matching beanie. “Even if you’re still growing into it.”

Back at the Watchtower, life began to feel... lighter.

You started laughing again. At Alexei's terrible jokes, at Yelena’s savage sarcasm, at Bob’s quiet mutterings when tech didn’t work. Even John, in all his arrogance, could make you smile.

There was a movie night every Friday now and Bucky always sat next to you, sometimes with a pillow between you both to give space, other times with his shoulder a solid warmth at your side. You’d found yourself leaning into him more. Not because you had to. But because it felt right.

And he never pushed. Never demanded. Just let you exist next to him. Sometimes he’d hand you a blanket without saying a word. Sometimes he’d offer half his popcorn. Sometimes, his fingers would brush yours, warm and careful, and linger just a second longer than necessary.

You slept more. Ate more. Laughed more.

One day, Ava caught you humming in the hallway, arms full of supplies. She stopped in her tracks.

“What?” you asked.

“You’re glowing,” she said quietly.

You blinked. “I—I am?”

She gave a rare, small smile. “Like someone who remembers what sunlight feels like.”

One night, after Yelena dropped you off, you returned to the apartment Bucky always insisted was open to you. You let yourself in with the spare key. It was late, and he was half-asleep on the couch with a book in his lap. He stirred when you closed the door.

“You okay sweetheart?” he mumbled.

“Yeah,” you said.

He nodded, eyes drifting shut again.

You sat beside him, curling your legs up, and rested your head against his shoulder.

He didn’t move. Didn’t ask. Just reached for the blanket draped over the armrest and pulled it gently over you both.

It was the safest you’d ever felt.

It had started out as a good night.

One of those rare moments where the city lights felt warm rather than harsh, where laughter didn’t feel like something you had to fake.

The team had dragged you out—gently, persistently, lovingly.

“C’mon,” Yelena had said, slinging her arm over your shoulder. “Burgers, milkshakes, greasy fries. We deserve it. You deserve it.”

You hesitated. It had been a while since you went to any public diner. Too many memories. Too many shadows. Too much risk of seeing him.

But tonight? You nodded. Just once. Just enough.

The diner was loud with neon buzz and the clatter of plates, the kind of classic joint with red booths and checkered floors. Bucky slid into the booth beside you while Yelena and John sat across. Bob and Ava took the seats at the edge, Alexei immediately requesting the biggest burger they had.

Jokes flew easily. John was ranting about ketchup crimes. Yelena argued that mayonnaise was the superior condiment. Bob kept trying to order fries but the waitress only seemed to hear Alexei’s booming voice.

You were laughing. Honest, soft laughter that made your chest ache.

Then the door jingled. And just like that, the warmth bled from the room. Laughter dimmed. The sizzle of the grill and clatter of dishes became distant, muffled by the sudden roar of blood in your ears.

Bucky stilled beside you.

Your ex stood in the doorway, flanked by two men you didn’t recognise—thick-necked, sneering types with clenched fists and hooded eyes. But it was him you saw. Him, with that awful smirk, like nothing had changed.

Like he still owned the air you breathed.

Bucky noticed the way your body tensed, your fingers gripping the edge of the table. “Hey—”

Your ex’s eyes landed on you, and he stepped forward, raising his voice.

“Well, look who it is. Didn’t think you’d crawl this far downtown. Guess word spreads when you’re spreading your legs for every man in New York now, huh?”

The sound of the booth creaking was the only warning before Bucky stood.

Yelena’s fork clattered onto her plate.

John was on his feet in seconds, positioning himself directly between you and your ex.

“Take that back,” Bucky growled.

Your ex only sneered, moving closer. “What, you gonna fight me in front of your new playgroup? Cute. Didn’t think the Winter Soldier was into charity cases.”

You flinched.

Bucky didn’t.

“I know what you did to her,” Bucky said, low and lethal.

Your ex chuckled, but there was unease in his posture now. “What? You mean the bruises? Bitch liked it rough. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed.”

Yelena stood up behind John, her face carved in steel. “The next time you touch her,” she said flatly, “will be the last time you have hands.”

Your ex stepped forward as if to challenge, but John didn’t move an inch. “Try it,” he warned. “Give me a reason.”

You saw it—the twitch in your ex’s jaw, the way he coiled his fist. He swung at Bucky.

But Bucky didn’t just dodge. He caught the punch mid-air.

With his metal hand.

The crunch of bone was audible and a gasp ran through the diner.

Before anyone could react, Bucky gripped your ex by the front of his jacket, lifting him clean off the floor. The metal arm locked around his throat with frightening precision. The air stilled. Your ex's feet dangled.

“If you ever look at her again,” Bucky snarled, voice sharp and shaking with rage, “if you so much as breathe in her goddamn direction—I will rip your spine out and hang it from the Watchtower gates.”

His voice didn’t rise. It didn’t need to. It was full of restrained fury. Of violence barely held back. His eyes had darkened, steel-gray and burning.

Your ex gurgled, his hands clawing at Bucky’s grip.

“Do you understand me?”

A choked nod.

Bucky dropped him like trash.

Alexei stepped forward then, looming over the two henchmen. “You want to try luck?” he asked them casually. “I haven’t punch anything in weeks.”

The men looked at each other, then down at your ex, now coughing on the floor. They backed away.

“You’re not worth it,” one muttered, and the other practically dragged your ex toward the exit.

Your heart was thundering. Your breath short.

Bob slipped into the seat beside you. Ava stood near the door, eyes scanning the street for any lingering threat.

Bucky turned to you, jaw tight, shoulders still trembling with adrenaline. But when he looked at you, his expression softened immediately.

He crouched in front of you, hands open. “You okay?”

You nodded shakily, tears welling.

Yelena handed you a napkin. “He’s gone,” she said quietly. “He’s never coming near you again.”

John was still standing like a human shield, arms crossed.

And Bucky... Bucky cupped your cheek with his hand. It was warm, comforting, his thumb brushing away the tear that escaped.

“He doesn’t get to touch you. Not now. Not ever again.”

You leaned into him, trembling.

“I was so scared,” you whispered, barely audible.

Bucky pressed his forehead to yours. “I know, sweetheart. But it’s over. He can’t hurt you anymore. Not while I’m breathing.”

And for a moment, even in the shattered remains of what should have been a peaceful night, you were wrapped in a shield stronger than steel.

You had them.

You had him.

You were safe.

You didn’t speak on the way home.

No one made you.

Bucky drove, one hand on the wheel, the other occasionally brushing against your thigh—anchoring, grounding. The rest of the team took a second vehicle, giving you space. After what happened, you needed it.

You stared out the window, watching the neon blur into streaks of yellow and red, feeling like you were floating somewhere outside yourself. Somewhere between fear and relief.

The silence between you and Bucky wasn’t heavy—it was steady. Like the calm after a storm. Like quiet waves still curling back from the shore.

When he parked outside the compound, he turned to you slowly.

“Do you want to be alone?”

You shook your head.

He didn’t ask again. Just took your hand gently, led you through the compound, through the hallways, up the stairs. When you reached your room, he hesitated at the door.

“Can I stay?”

You nodded.

Inside, the room felt untouched by the chaos of earlier. Soft lamplight, a rumpled blanket on your bed. Familiar, safe.

You kicked your shoes off and sat on the edge of the bed, fingers twisting in your lap. Bucky crouched in front of you again, like at the diner, his hands resting on your knees.

“You’re not weak for being scared,” he said. “You know that, right?”

Your throat tightened. You nodded.

“But he’s never going to get to you again. I won’t let him. None of us will.”

You looked at him. The way his eyes held yours, soft but strong. The way his presence wrapped around you like armor. The way his touch was always careful, like you were something breakable but worth protecting.

And then you whispered, “I don’t know how to stop being afraid.”

Bucky leaned forward. Pressed his forehead gently to yours.

“You don’t have to. Not right away. But you’re not alone anymore. We’ll fight it together.”

You closed your eyes.

And when he climbed into bed beside you, when his arms wrapped around you and pulled you against the steady thump of his heart, you believed him.

Not because the fear was gone.

But because for the first time in so long, you weren’t carrying it alone.

He pressed a kiss to your temple. Whispered something you didn’t catch—but it didn’t matter.

It sounded like safety.

It felt like home.

a/n: this fic is one i hold close, because i have experienced abuse/dv in my previous relationship, and i had no idea how to leave, and writing this helped, a lot. i do hope that every person that is trapped in this cycle will find their bucky—someone who makes them feel safe and loved. i am grateful i found mine. if you're a victim or know someone who is struggling, please don't be afraid to seek for help. i promise it does get better once you leave. (google dv helpline, your country's hotline should appear)

[ive-made-so-many-mistakes]

That was beautiful as so sweet!

letters through time masterlist 𐙚 b.b

and if nothing else, just know this, i love you.

pairing: 1940s!bucky barnes x modern!fem!reader

summary: you find a letter from 1944 hidden in the old brooklyn apartment you moved signed by one james buchanan barnes. you write back, he did too, and somehow, across decades, you both fall in love.

warnings: mentions of war, grief, emotional themes, soft angst, implied trauma

a/n: hi my loves, i wrote this series a while ago and wasn’t sure if i’d ever share it, but here we are. it means a lot to me, probably because it’s one of the very first series i wrote and actually finished. i really hope you love it as much as i do. thank you for reading <3

series playlist

this series is completed 💓

chapter 1 (posted on: 27th may)

chapter 2 (posted on: 29th may)

chapter 3 (posted on: 31st may)

chapter 4 (posted on: 2nd june)

chapter 5 (epilogue) (posted on: 4th june)

[ive-made-so-many-mistakes]

Blurred Lines 9

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, power imbalance, 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: Your relationship with your boss takes an unpredictable turn.

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. 💖

You stir from your brief delve into unconsciousness. You yawn as the motion of the car threatens to lull you back under. You bring your hand up to rub your eye, an unfamiliar voice giving you a start. 

“Nicky, you know I got lots of space. Besides, you owe me.” 

You sit up as your eyes flick open. You look around, it’s only you and Nick. The touchscreen in the dash shows a call in progress. You sit back and relax. Nick glances over subtly before looking back to the road. 

“I wasn’t planning on it--” 

“I know you’re in the area,” the other man insists over the speaker. 

Nick sighs, “it’s not really...” he pauses. “Give me a minute.” 

He taps the mute icon and rests his hand on the shifter. He flutters his fingers in agitation, his other hand firmly gripping the wheel. He exhales as he keeps up with the rush of the highway. 

“Last night I called in a favour. Sort of. Wasn’t expecting to pay it back so soon but...” he sucks his teeth and drags his free hand up to the wheel. “Work, you know?” 

“Right, uh, where are we? I’m sure there’s a train or bus--” 

“Nicky! Hey! Answer me!” The man on the call interjects, ignored by the other. 

“Couple hours this way or that. Longer than it will take to get to his place,” he twists his hand around the wheel. “I know you weren’t planning on this but I don’t think you’ll lose your job over it.” 

You meet his gaze in the rearview as his cheek dimples. You nod. You don’t have much going on, do you? 

“I... guess it would be fine, sir. I wouldn’t want to get in the way of your job,” you say. 

He hums, “thanks, honey. You always take care of me.” He unmutes the call. “On my way.” 

Honey. He’s said it a few times. You suppose you shouldn’t think much of it. You do the same quite absent mindedly to cashiers and the like. 

“Keep me in the fucking lurch, why don’t ya--” The caller snarls. 

“See ya then.” Nick hangs up, not letting the man gripe further. 

You figure a brief detour isn’t too much. Considering he rushed all this way for your daughter, you can wait in the car while he deals with it. Those last few chapters can wait. 

“Sleep okay?” He asks. 

“Um, sure. Was I out long?” 

You shift and feel pressure on the edge of your nipple. You look down and try not to draw attention. You tug the jacket snugger and cover your chest as it threatens to spill out. 

“Bout an hour?” He shrugs. “Again, I’m sorry about this. In my line of work, you get a lot of pushy jerks.” 

“Oh, sure,” you nod and watch the traffic through the windshield. “The CIA, right?” 

“Yep,” he replies casually. “Trust me, it’s not as glamorous as it seems.” 

“Bloody,” you say. 

He tilts his head, “sometimes.” 

You’re quiet as you think. It makes a lot of sense. The bruises, the private calls, the nameless guests, and last night. You wonder what would have happened to Barber if you hadn’t stopped him... 

“I’ll try to make it a quick stop,” Nick intones. “Sorry in advance for this. Hansen is... a bit of a character.” 

“I’m sure I can handle it. Messes are my specialty after all,” you kid. 

“I don’t doubt it. I just don’t think you should have to. Not this guy,” he scoffs. 

🔹

Nick shuts off the engine and lets out a sonorous breath. You lean forward to look up at the house. Some fancy second or third property one might call a chateau to sound fancy. It reminds you of a novel you never finished. It was just a bit too silly for your tastes. 

“Nice house,” you remark, sensing Nick’s reticence. 

“He knows how to spend money,” he scoffs as he undoes his seat belt. 

“You should’ve let me take the train,” you gently unbuckle your belt and ease it gently back behind the seat. “I do hate to be in the way.” 

“Not your fault. He’s a stubborn—guy,” he shakes his head. “He gives you any trouble, just ignore him. Or tell me. I know how to deal with him. Hell, give him a smack if you feel like it.” 

“I’m sure it’ll be fine. I’ll make myself sparse,” you assure as you slip your feet into the heels, a twinge pinching in your arch. 

He makes a face and pulls the handle on his door. He pushes it out and climbs off the seat. You open your door and stifle a groan as your hip pangs. As nice as the car is, sitting for so long always settles right in that spot. 

You shut the door and the jacket hangs precariously from your shoulders. You look down and adjust your chest, trying to hide your cleavage under the deep vee as best you can. You lift your chin and tug the lapels together. You wince as you find Nick watching you. 

“Sorry, I’m not meaning to drag my feet,” you say. 

He shrugs. “We’ll just get this over with.” 

He comes around the hood and you meet him there. You walk in tandem up the steps, long slabs of stone arranged between a trickling grotto and trimmed hedges. You can’t help but try to tally up the expense of the decor, let alone the property tax on it all. 

The door opens before you can reach it. A man struts through and booms, “Nicky! ‘Bout time.” 

He charges toward your boss with arms open. Nick catches his hands and keeps him at bay with a growl. “Hansen.” 

“Oh, don’t play coy with me, Nicky,” the man snickers. 

“I’m here. Now what do you want?” Nick retorts. 

The man keeps laughing and rips his hands free. He glances over at you and his blue eyes flash. He sports shaved sides and longer strands combed back on top. His lip is dressed with a thick line of bristly fur to match the chest hair peeking out from under his satin shirt, only a few buttons to hold it closed. He’s not the sort you would associate with your boss. Nick has his moments but maintains a certain standard. 

“And who is this busty babe?” He approaches in a saunter. “Name’s Lloyd but you can call me ‘daddy’." 

“Hansen,” Nick grabs his upper arm before he can get to you. “Reel it in.” 

“Huh? Oh come on. You bring this--” 

“You better choose your next words wisely,” Nick shoves him back. 

“Holy balls,” the man, Lloyd, staggers back and catches his balance. “Fine, fine. I didn’t know you were with someone.” 

Nick scratches behind his ear in agitation as the tension weaves through the air. 

“I’m just his maid,” you explain. “You can just ignore me. He's giving me a ride home.” 

“Huh? You make your maids dress like that?” Lloyd snorts. 

“Been a night,” Nick shakes his head, hands on his hips. “Would you focus? What the hell did I drive all the way out here for?” 

“Alright, Nicky, chill,” Lloyd reaches and rubs Nick’s chest only to be swatted away. “I got a job for you.” 

Nick glances over at you. “Confidential,” he comments. 

“Right, I’ll find her a quiet place and we can discuss. Hey, baby cakes,” Lloyd turns to you, “you like wine?” 

“Oh, I’m fine. I can stay out here and watch the birds,” you offer. 

“Look, I’m a jackass but I’m not a bad host,” he offers his arm, almost gallantly. “I’m gonna get you in that den, all settled with a glass, and then I’ll sort out this grump ass.” 

Your lips twitch. He’s so absurd it’s almost amusing. He’s not the kind of person you’d ever want to be alone with but it’s rare that you ever see anyone fluster your boss. It’s quite the feat. 

You hook your arm through Lloyd’s and let him turn you around. He leads you inside. The interior is just as elaborate as the facade. There’s a sort of wildlife theme going on. Animal prints and polished wood. 

“My shoes,” you try to stop on the mat. 

“Eh, don’t worry about it. Nicky’s not the only guy with cleaners. Mine come early so I don’t gotta deal with them.” 

Cleaners? All the way out here? You don’t know you could be paid enough for that. 

“Just in here,” he points you through a set of open french doors with some exotic animal horns as handles. Please don’t be real. “Red or white? Sparkling?” 

“Really, I’m fine,” you insist. Nick sighs loudly. He’s getting impatient. You just want to sit. “If you don’t mind, I might just close my eyes until you two are done.” 

“Fine with me,” Lloyd unhooks his arm, dragging his touch down yours before he backs up. 

“Hansen,” Nick grits. 

“Oh Nicky, I’m coming,” Lloyd turns and shows his palm. “You are always so demanding. Dom energy.” 

You scrunch up your nose and Nick meets your eyes with exasperation. He’s usually more stoic. He must be as tired as you are. You offer a gentle smile then retreat. 

They head for the door as you sit on the edge of the couch, a silken blanket hangs over the back and pillows in zebra print are piled against the armrests. You lean into the corner and yawn. It’s a lost cozier than the car seat. 

🔹

“Hey,” the gentle squeeze on your shoulder brings you too.  

Your lashes flick open and you flinch as Nick looks down into your eyes. His irises are like hewn azure. You sit up with a gasp. 

“Sorry, sir, I must’ve...” you blink and look around. The large tall window panes are swathed in shades of black and blue, a speckle of lights shining through. “It’s late.” 

“Mm, well, he talks a lot,” Nick withdraws his hand from your shoulder and crosses his arms. “Look, I hate to do this to ya but I’m beat. Last night, driving all day, it wouldn’t be safe to go now.” 

“I could drive, sir,” you offer. 

“You’ve had as much sleep as me. No, don’t worry about it. Hansen, says we can have a room. Get ourselves sorted before we head off.” 

“Sure. Uh, that’s very generous of him,” you stand and grunt, rubbing your lower back as it tightens. 

“You okay?” 

“I’m great, Mr—Nick,” you catch yourself. “At my age, a few aches are nothing.” 

He stares at you. “You’re not that old.” 

You smile, “sir, you really don’t have to say that. I’m not upset. It’s a nice house.” You look around even as the heat of his gaze lingers on you. “I’ve had jobs where I’ve put up with worse.” 

“What’re you? Forty-five?” He wonders. 

You look at him and your cheeks pinch. “Anyone ever tell you not to ask a woman her age?” 

He smirks crookedly. “I know how old you are. I was trying to compliment you. Fifty-two. Not too bad.” 

You bite your tongue. He’s playing with you. Why? 

“Give it fifteen years then tell me how good it is,” you chide. 

He chuckles. “Fourteen, actually.” 

“Uh huh,” you grumble. 

There’s a lull. Long and roiling. You shift around on your heels. 

“Hungry?” He offers. “Hansen had the sense to offer us something.” 

“Now that you say it...” 

“Starving,” he says as he turns and ushers you across the room. “Better not be a protein shake or I might snap.” 

You hum in agreement. Your stomach is clenching. You walk beside him and stiffen as you feel his hand behind you, hovering along your lower back. His proximity is almost suffocating. You’re overthinking; it’s the lack of sleep and the change in routine. Surely. 

“Hansen,” he hollers as you come out into the hallway, “where’d ya go?” 

He stops and listens. The footfalls come a moment later and slap down the stairs. You look up to watch Hansen descend. You look away as soon as you see what he’s wearing; a cheetah-print speedo and slides. 

“I’m hopping in the hot tub. Food’s in the fridge. Labeled. Mabel has it all sorted,” he explains. “When you finish, you’re more than welcome to soak.” 

“I don’t think so,” Nick snips. 

“No swimsuit required,” Lloyd barters. 

“Just go.” Nick barks. 

Lloyd stomps down the last few stairs, “you know, Nicky, you always are such a gracious guest.” He continues past you, his slides slapping loudly. You shift as Nick lets out another irritated huff. 

“If I don’t eat or sleep soon, I’m going to kill him,” he mutters. 

[ive-made-so-many-mistakes]

To think I was gonna pass on this one because I’m not familiar with Nick. I should know by now it doesn’t matter if I know the characters, if you wrote it, I’ll love it 🥰🖤

Wanderlust 1

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 dubcon/noncon, kidnap, size difference/kink, and other possible triggers. 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: You go travelling to get some world experience but you don't get the one you're expecting.

Characters: Nick Fowler, Bucky Barnes (reader in 30s, short!)

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 <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

You’re not afraid of flying, just not a fan of travel. It would be nice to go out and do more but the reality of getting there often deters you. Not this time. You finally bit the bullet and bought the ticket. 

Thirty isn’t old. You know that but it feels like a good time to start doing things. Your twenties went fast in hindsight, even if they felt like a slog. Miserable, emotional, and near disastrous. 

You have your first steady job, bills aren’t tight enough to strangle you, and it’s about time you did something just for you. Everyone is obsessed with ‘self-care’. Are you finally on trend? 

You shuffle along with the slow trawl of passengers. You look for your seat by the number on your ticket, holding up your phone awkwardly to compare. Your compact suitcase hangs from your vice grip as you haul it along, the wheels hitting your heel. 

You stop as you find your assigned seat. Hm. Middle seat. Headphones on and you’ll be fine, you’re sure. You reach up to open the overhead, just barely able to pop it open. 

Your carryon threatens to slide off your arm. You ignore it and bend to grab your suitcase. You watched a bunch of tutorials on how not to overpack. As you grip it, your bag slips down your arm and you lift the suitcase overhead. You hit the edge and it bounces back, nearly landing on your head. 

You brace for impact. The weight lightens in your grasp. A man grunts as you look up and see a large hand hooked on your bag. A pinky ring shines back at you. 

“Careful,” he warns. “Here, let me get it.” 

He uses his other hand to push it up and slides it out of your grip into the compartment. You watch, embarrassed. You can try to do things yourself but you still end up in the way. 

“Thanks, uh, sorry.” You eke out. 

You turn and sidle into the row of seat. You cradle your carryon as you do. You sit and hug it as you wait for the man to pass. He doesn’t. He follows. 

“I’m in the window.” He points casually. 

“Oh? Uh... my bad.” You flatten yourself as he turns and he brushes against the seat in front of you to get past. Unlike you, he’s too big for the cramped coach row. 

He sighs as he sits down. He shifts around as he gets comfortable. He flips up the window cover and rolls his head so his neck cracks. He pushes his feet out as far as they can go. 

He must be a frequent flyer. He seems perfectly at ease. Meanwhile, you’re twenty steps ahead in your mind.  

You need the flight to land, then you need to get your bag back. You don’t expect getting it down to be any easier. Then you have get through the airport, show your passport, and fine a taxi. Then the hotel, unpack, review itinerary for tomorrow. 

The more you think about it, it doesn’t seem so fun. Sure, you’ll get to see all sorts of cool things, but that’s only if you don’t get lost. You wiggle your foot nervously and put your elbow on the armrest, only to hit that of your seat neighbour. You apologise and let your arm hang at your side. 

“No problem,” his silty tone tickles your ears. “You scared of flying?” 

“Huh?” You look at him and follow his own gaze to your foot. You still it. “No, just... travelling is stressful. I’ll try not to bother too much.” 

You put your hands on your knees, as if holding yourself still. 

“Isn’t it?” He chuckles. “Can’t make anything easy these days.” 

“Mhmm,” you nod. You’re not the greatest with strangers either. Thirty years old and you’re still just as clueless as you were a decade ago. 

“Nick,” he says.  

You flinch as you see something at the edge of your vision. He offers his hand. You stare at it before you shake it. You’ve never been one for the outdated gesture but you’re too meek to refuse it. 

You shake his hand and give your own name. He grins and you turn your head straight. He’s not a bad looking guy but you shouldn’t think about it. He’s older. You can just tell. Not just the crinkles beside his eyes or the light lines in his forehead, it’s his confidence. Maybe this trip can help you find your own. 

“Pretty,” he says. “What’s in New York?” 

You hesitate before you understand his question. You sniff and fidget. “I’m a tourist. Just wanna see some historical stuff. Brooklyn Bridge, an old jazz bar... “ 

“Huh. All alone?” He wonders. 

You open your mouth to answer then pause. “Meeting friends,” you utter cautiously. 

“Girls’ trip. Fun,” he says. “Business. Again. Always got me back and forth.” 

He leans on the armrest and pushes his shoulders back into the seat. His knee breaks the boundary of your seats, pressing against your own. You try not to pull away too obviously. 

The overhead snaps shut and startles you. Another man drops into the seat on your other side. He huffs as he sits. He’s as big as your other neighbour, maybe a bit thicker. 

Where Nick has short tidy hair and subtle shadow of stubble coming through, this man has a thick beard and hair to his shoulders, there's some silver woven into both. He looks agitated as his cheek ticks and a woman’s bag nearly hits him. He swats the D&G luggage out of his face and growls. 

Your foot begins to go again. You only realise as the man sighs again. You cross your ankles and shrink down. 

Another bag comes close to the aisle passengers face and he grits, “watch it.” 

Nick snickers. The man slowly turns his head, eyes drifting over darkly. You glance between them, then to the back of the seat ahead of you. 

“Wanna switch?” Nick offers. 

The other man puffs through his nose, “don’t bother.” 

“Well, let me know.” Nick says coolly. “We were just sharing out gripes about travelling. Fun, isn’t it?” 

The man in the aisle seat curls his lip, “I guess.” He curls a finger and pushes down with his thumb until his knuckle cracks. “You too on a honeymoon or something?” 

Nick laughs, you look at him in shock. 

“Just met. Solo riders.” Nick answers. You’ll let him do the talking. 

The other man clucks. Nick reaches across you. “Nick.” 

His hand is ignored. He retracts it with a soft scoff. Nick introduces you next. The other man exhales loudly. 

“Bucky,” he says. “Keep the lights off and the noise down.” 

He leans back, his arm thick enough that it fills more than the armrest. He pushes his shoulders wide and leans his head back. He closes his eyes and you flick your thumbs nervously. 

You unzip your bag and search for your headphones. The aisles empty out and the attendants begin their pre-flight routine. As the plane thrums, the safety presentation begins. You keep your headphones around your neck. 

You buckle in, Nick does too. Bucky does it without opening his eyes. You shift and wait for takeoff. 

“Wanna look out the window as we lift off?” Nick offers. “You can lean over me.” 

“All good.” You assure him. “Thanks. 

“I don’t mind,” he says. 

“Really, it’s fine.” 

A low rumble comes from your other side. You seal your lips and push the button on your headphones. You go to lift them over your ears. 

“You listen to music or podcasts?” Nick asks before you can put them on. 

You lower them down, keeping your hands on them. “Music.” You answer quietly, mindful of the man on your other side. 

“Oh? Let me guess, Olivia Rodrigo?” He suggests. 

You shrug and shake your head, “never heard of them.” 

He snorts, “really? Hm. You look young, I thought...” 

“Just old stuff,” you answer. “Patsy Cline and whatever... boring.” 

“Boring? I don’t think so,” he muses. “All those pop stars come off the conveyor belt these days. Nothing wrong with taste.” 

You give a sheepish smile and lift your headphones again. You put them on then turn forward. You scroll your phone for your ‘most played’ playlist. You tap shuffle and sit back. 

Nick sits calm and still. He doesn’t take out his phone or try to play around with the screen in front of him. He just watches the clouds as you reach cruising height. 

Bucky is still. By the measure of the breath, you think he’s sleeping. You wonder how as you every now and then you can hear the squeal of a toddler through your music. 

The snack cart comes by. None of you get anything; Bucky doesn’t stir at all. 

Your leg sways back and forth as the flight stretches on. You check the time over and over. You knee hits Bucky’s leg as your nerves bubble. You push your legs together and peek over at him. He opens one eye; you mouth ‘sorry’. 

You chew your lip. You bite down until it hurts. The hours unfurl torturously. This is what you hate. Spending all that money to sit in a seat, overcrowded and impatient. 

The seatbelt sign flips on again. You take off your headphones as the Captain announces landing over the PA. You put them away in your carry-on and wrap your arms around the bag. 

The plane touches down with a jolt. You squeak and Nick wraps his warm hand around your wrist. You glance at him. He’s just being nice. 

“I’m okay,” you insist. 

Once the wheels stop, the restless passengers begin to disembark. Bucky is up and off, shoving past those struggling to get their bags. He’s at the front without obstacle. 

Patiently, you stand and watch your fellow travellers. Nick looms behind you. You crane around to see him. 

“I’m just waiting,” you say. 

“No problem. I’m patient.” He waves you off. “So,” he grips the seat by you. He’s close enough you can smell his cologne. “Where are you staying? East side? Uptown?” 

“Um... I’m not sure exactly. I don’t really know the city.” 

“Big place,” he comments. “Transits not too bad though. Just don’t make eye contact.” 

You nod. You’re already nervous enough. You heard all the horror stories from your mother and the headlines. 

As the aisle clears, you step out and turn to open the overhead. Nick gets it first. He takes down your bag for you. You thank him. 

You turn down the aisle as he shuts the compartment. He travels light. Or he checked his luggage. He has nothing but himself. 

You wait through the tedious disembarking and exhale deeply as you get to the ramp. Inside the airport, you follow the tides to the gates. The people disburse as you find a quiet place to order a taxi. 

“Hey,” Nick startles you as he struts across the terminal. “You looking for a cab?” 

“Oh, uh...” you lower your phone as your data won’t respond and you can’t sign into the airport WiFi. “I was just...” 

“Come on. I’ll help you flag one down the old-fashioned way. Gonna need one myself.” He insists. 

“Oh, you don’t have to--” 

“Hey, it’s no worries. You’re gonna wanna snag one before the next arrival,” he grabs your bag and extends the handle. “Come on.” 

He rolls your bag behind him as he marches away. He’s helpful if not a bit forward. You scurry after him. 

“Uh, thanks. I appreciate it.” 

“You kidding me? This place is like a city of its own. Can be overwhelming. You said you hate travelling. If I can make it easier, eh, why not?” 

You come out through the automatic doors and he slows to scan the long line of taxis and the clogged traffic of those trying to leave.  

“I got a trick, come on,” he beckons you behind him and you follow. 

“I can take my bag,” you offer. 

“Don’t worry, honey,” he carries on. “Let’s find...”  

He raises his hand to hail one of the cabs into an empty space along the curb. You look up as his fingers move but stop before you can make out the signal. Strange. 

“There we go,” he proclaims. 

A black car pulls in and the trunk pops. You frown. That doesn’t look like a cab. He puts your bag in the back and shuts the lid. You stay on the pavement. 

“Um, Nick, I think--” You stare at the tinted windows. 

He nears and puts his hand on your arm. “Stop doing that,” he pushes his jacket open with his other hand and grips the gun holstered on his belt. “Get in.” 

[ive-made-so-many-mistakes]

Safe With Me 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, violence, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Steve Rogers

Summary: the Cap makes you his special mission.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You pump your arms, soles clapping down on the dimple pavement, breath chuffing from your chest. Your lungs burn, your head pounds, and your legs ache so much they’re shaking. Your toe catches in a crack and you stumble. 

You flail out to keep from crashing. He’s getting closer. He’s steadier, stealthier, and at this point, he’s just toying with you. 

Your feet pound down as you fight through the strain in your limbs. Your adrenaline is starting to dwindle, slaking off of you like sweat. You veer into an alley and hurtle forward. You can cut through, maybe lose him. 

Scraps of garbage scatter as you race by the stinking dumpster. The soft rumble of a car rolls by the far end of the alleyway. Your breath comes faster and shallower, you can’t go much further. 

You stop suddenly. It’s silent. Only your heart and breath fill the night air. You turn around. He’s... gone. Or wants you to think so. 

You look behind you then side to side. You could climb the fire escape. Not physically. You’re exhausted. As you stand there, you feel your energy fading. 

Schink! Pow! Chirk! 

The dark shape bounces off the brick wall, then the metal escape and once more off the wall before pinging back home. The shadow steps into the cone of the streetlight at the end of the alley. Tall, broad shoulders, unbending posture. 

The Captain walks forward. He’s calm. That’s even more startling than rage. You backpedal, feet tangling, and you collide with the bottom rung of the escape. You twirl away, staggering as you try to sprint away. You stumble and thrash your arms to keep from toppling. 

His footsteps keep coming. Closer, closer, closer. 

Thunk! 

You feel that one. Right across your shoulders. The edge of the shield leaves a burning line across your back.  

You’re hurled forward by the force and land on your chest, nose scraping the ground. You wheeze, the air knocked from you, and rock back and forth as you try to get a breath in. You claw at the pavement, pebbles poking into your palm. 

You heave in a breath at last. You whimper as you let it out. He steps over you, a foot on either side of your hips. He presses the shield against the back of your neck. 

“Some pressure and you’ll never run again. Not even walk.” He growls. 

Your breath crackles. You close your eyes as they sting. 

“I don’t... why?” You let your head rest on the ground. “Why... me?” 

He doesn’t answer. He lifts the shield and his soles drag on the ground. He flips you over to your back and you writhe. 

“You’re... supposed to... save...” you gulp out, vision bleary as the night furls like smoke around you. 

He chuckles and squats over you. He frames your face, petting your cheekbones with his thumbs. He hums and cooes as he gazes down at you. He’s draped in shadow. 

“I am saving you,” he lets your head rest. 

He stands up and steps over you. He watches you as he touches his ear. He clears his throat. 

“Cap to base. I need med.” He gives a set of coordinates as your breath whistles. 

He nods as he listens to the response in his earpiece. He sighs and walks around your body. He clicks his tongue. 

“I told you to stop several times.” He tuts. 

“Why...” 

He huffs again and waves you off. He puts his hands on his hips and stretches his neck with a groan. His toe taps. 

“They always take their damn time,” he snarls. “Sit tight, down there.” 

You have no choice. Your body is on fire. You curl a finger. You could move if you had any strength left. If you didn’t know he wouldn’t put you right back down. 

He stares at you and scoffs. “Good girl.” 

[ive-made-so-many-mistakes]

i was just wondering if you could possibly post more about lord d & his sons please? whenever you're feeling up to it and only if you want to though!!

I always want to talk about Lord Dimitrescu and his bad bad boys. I just went with some headcanons for them this time.

Alaric Dimitrescu is a very proud man of course and any rejection of his advances is an attack on his pride

Depending on his mood he will allow you to apologize

The apologies range from getting on your knees and begging for forgiveness to being locked in a cell in the dungeon for days with only the wailing of the servants to keep you company

He has an incredible singing voice and it can lull you to sleep (fun fact Lady D was a jazz singer in the 1930s)

As much as I love the fan art of him I think he would dress in a more 30s men's fashion than just a male version of Lady D's dress, something along these lines. He is a classy classy man and won't stand you messing up his clothes

If there is even a hint of your blood in the air the lord goes completely feral

Sure his son's and the servants are the only other people meant to be in the castle but that doesn't mean some ruffian hasn't snuck in and harmed you

Alaric will hunt you down with the scent and after he finds no danger he latches onto your cut and drinks

Through the decades he has learned self-control but something about your taste sets him off and if he doesn't distract himself with your body he'll drain you

You make sure to be extra careful from now on

Alaric is super into gender roles and expects you to fulfill the role of the perfect wife to an aristocrat

It doesn't matter to him if you are male or female you are going to be his perfect little wife

At first he expects you to play mother to his unruly sons

He even chastises you when he finds you cowering as Daniel tries to cut you "what kind of mother fears her own children?"

Alaric thinks long and hard about ways to get you to bond with his children

His first idea is for you to breast feed the boys, to try and get some material instinct to come out in you

But all he does is awake sexual urges in his son's and himself

Béla is the gentlest out of the sons, meaning he doesn't delight in harming you during sex

He just wants to feel close to you, his favorite position is missionary so he can be close

Béla also prefers to have sex with you in front of Alaric, wanting his father's approval in all things

He is the most open to a threesom

Daniel is much rougher than Béla though no where near as rough as Cecil

Bruises, bites and scratches are all he'll leave on you

Daniel likes to try and woo and seduce you

A secret romantic at heart he'll bring you gifts, family heirlooms, organs from servants and animals that wonder in, flowers he makes the other servants go outside to get

Cecil gets his main thrill through the hunt

He gets off on the terror in your eyes and he terrorizes you through the castle

He loves pinning you down and taking you from behind

Cecil particularly enjoys bullying you for getting off

If all 4 men fuck you at once your bones will be jelly for days

The sons compete for you attention but can never keep your mind off of Alaric for long

Since they all have super stamina from the calduo the sex can last hours if not days

It's only when you are about to pass out do they remember you need water and rest

Alaric is interested to see if it's possible for you to get pregnant from him

So he orders his sons to stop fucking you for months to run his little "experiment"

If you do end up getting pregnant and having a baby the son's first instinct is to eat it

But after they get the shit beat out of them they stop

[ive-made-so-many-mistakes]

𝕼𝖚𝖎𝖊𝖗𝖔 𝕿𝖚 𝕷𝖊𝖈𝖍𝖊 𝕮𝖆𝖑𝖎𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖊~

⚠️ READ THE TAGS: Please be aware these works contain content that the reader may feel uncomfortable with or otherwise triggered by (dark smut, rape/non-con elements, extremely dubious consent, bullying, etc.) ⚠️

ℍ𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕠𝕨𝕖𝕖𝕟

Halloween Smutfic Part 1 Art Michael Myers

Halloween Smutfic Part 2 Art Michael Myers

You've Seen The Butcher Michael Myers

Change Michael Myers

𝕁𝕠𝕪 ℝ𝕚𝕕𝕖

Joy Ride 2 Smut Art Rusty Nail

Drunk on You Rusty Nail

I Know What You Need Rusty Nail

Roll The Dice Rusty Nail

NSFW Alphabet Rusty Nail

𝕊𝕔𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕞

SCREAM SMUT Art Billy Loomis

𝕆𝕦𝕥𝕝𝕒𝕤𝕥

Outlast Whistleblower Smut Art Eddie Gluskin

𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝔹𝕠𝕪

Disfrutando Brahms Heelshire

Control and Abuse Me Art Brahms Heelshire

𝕊𝕚𝕝𝕖𝕟𝕥 ℍ𝕚𝕝𝕝

Empty Bliss Pyramid Head

ℝ𝕖𝕤𝕚𝕕𝕖𝕟𝕥 𝔼𝕧𝕚𝕝

Un Ratito Más Lord Dimitrescu

You Were Theirs First Lord Dimitrescu + Sons

Mine Lord Dimitrescu

𝔹ℕℍ𝔸/𝕄ℍ𝔸

"We got you a little something." All Might + Endeavor

𝔸𝕥𝕥𝕒𝕔𝕜 𝕠𝕟 𝕋𝕚𝕥𝕒𝕟

Attack On Titan Smut Bully!Eren Yeager

𝕁𝕠𝕁𝕠'𝕤 𝔹𝕚𝕫𝕫𝕒𝕣𝕖 𝔸𝕕𝕧𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕦𝕣𝕖

Rich $ex JJBA Characters

Obey Me Dio Brando

Do Not Deny Me Bruno Bucciarati

𝕁𝕦𝕛𝕦𝕥𝕤𝕦 𝕂𝕒𝕚𝕤𝕖𝕟

Big Dick Energy Toji Fushiguro

𝔻𝕖𝕞𝕠𝕟 𝕊𝕝𝕒𝕪𝕖𝕣

I See Through You Gyutaro

ℝ𝕖𝕔𝕠𝕣𝕕 𝕠𝕗 ℝ𝕒𝕘𝕟𝕒𝕣𝕠𝕜

Don't Be Shy Loki

𝔸𝕧𝕒𝕥𝕒𝕣

Vamos A Tener Sexo Rico Na'vi male

La Oportunidad Recom Miles Quaritch + Recom Lyle Wainfleet

𝕆𝕣𝕚𝕘𝕚𝕟𝕒𝕝 𝕎𝕠𝕣𝕜

Silence Underneath Male Yandere

Red Velvet Yandere Riot Police Officer

[ive-made-so-many-mistakes]

[ive-made-so-many-mistakes]

This girl has fire! Why do I hope she headbutts him so bad lmao???

Snake Eyes Masterlist

ONGOING

Part 1 ☾ Part 2 ☾ Part 3 ☾ Part 4 ☾ Part 5

AU MASTERLIST

[ive-made-so-many-mistakes]

This was delicious 🤤 is it wrong to hope they all get a little obsessed with the mom too? Because I definitely am. She’s freakin amazing and deserves all the best things too, she’s doing her best for her daughter in the worst circumstances 💔

Platonic Yandere Batfamily x

Child Girlscout Reader!!

'In world where you can be anything be kind......'

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 This is part 4!!

'Your beautiful, where did you get your looks from?'

'Thank you! I look just like my mommy.....'

Your cute smile and round eyes had Bruce matching your reaction.

What you said was very true though you did look exactly like your mother.

Well, a smaller version atleast.

You tilt your head up to look at him still holding the purring cat in your arms peacefully.

'Who do you look like?' You ask.

It was a simple ,innocent, question really. One that you probably didn't put much thought in to ask.

Truthfully, it hurt bruce more then you'd expect. He knew that if you had known it would've hurt him you wouldn't have asked.

So ,obviously, doesn't blame you.

Instead he keeps composer and replies with a soft smile.

'I suppose I get my looks from my father.'

Truthfully he didn't really know. After his parents death he tried forgetting what they looked like. It was easier that way.

But he'd have nightmares and their memories never did fade their faces just kind of blurred.

He stopped staring at their pictures and painting in the manor along time ago. He didn't even know if Alfred had ever taken them down. Or if their still hung up in their old room.

'My mama says I have my daddy's smile!'

Your voice drags bruce out of his tournamented thoughts and he's quick to compose himself.

He had seen you smile alot. It was almost like you smiled more then you didn't. But he never really thought you had gotten it from your father. Although your smile doesn't really replicate your mother's.

'Is that so?' Bruce replies with an almost forced smile. Bruce loved the idea of you looking like your mother.

He loved the image that he could paint in his head with it. You could pass as his daughter because you had more traits of your mother then you did of your biological dad.

So bruce could always lie and say you were biologically his. That lie didn't really make much sense to him anyway. Because to him you were already his.

You nod softly looking down at the black cat in your small arms.

Glancing back up Dick's quick to grab your attention.

'There's someone we'd like you to meet..." He says grasping your shoulders gently and leading you to the astonishing living room.

You however don't catch jason nudging bruce towards your mother as she looks out a window admiring the sky.

'Don't mess this one up.' Jason mutters in his ear before following you and Dick to the living room.

Sat on the unnecessary big couch is Cassandra Cain.

Softly letting the cat down on the floor you tug on dicks shirt motioning for him to come closer.

Dick almost smiles at your adorable antics as he hears your next words you whisper in his ears. 'Who is she?'

'Our sister.' Dick declares and jason leans against the wall watching the whole interaction from a distance.

'Oh....' Is all you mutter and for a moment the two oldest Wayne's think your disappointed in that fact until you speak agian.

'She looks really cool.'

'She is.' Tim states like it's a known fact. Dicks flinches at his brother unannounced presence having not heard him step into the room.

'Why don't you go speak to her?' Tim nudges you forward but your quick to run behind them instead.

Peaking your head out like a kitten that doesn't know if she should trust a human.

Cass giggles at your innocent behavior. The boys however look quite bewildered at the thought of you being scared of the only girl in the family.

You tilt your head from behind them watching as Cass giggles at your actions. Maybe she wasn't so scary....?

This time you actually move towards her without being nudged and she offers a soft smile silently begging you to come closer.

She pats the cushion beside her and you hesitatently take a seat.

Cass sends the boys a quick glance silently telling them to leave so she could have some time with you.

Their quick to do as she wishes despite their longing to stay.

'Your very pretty....' You mumble ,eyes cast down, small hands playing with the fabric of the lavish couch.

Cass doesn't speak but hums in delight at your kind words.

The boys had told her you were as sweet as candy ,but she hadn't believed anything but bitterness was reserved in gotham.

Until now.

She pondered for a moment not knowing what to say or do but your timid voice breaks the silence.

'You seem so..... cool.'

Cool? Is that what you thought of her? Is that why you had hesitated to meet her? Because you believed she was cool?

The young vigilantly had never been described as 'cool'. Cold? Yes. Quiet? Definitely.

But cool? Never.

It was a term that was often us as for her brothers not her. Yet, just by the sight of her you had deemed her....cool.

Maybe you were sweet. Like candy that'd rot your teeth ,but she'd gladly let her teeth rot just to have you. And that was made very clear to her in just these small minutes with you.

She didn't utter a word to you and somehow you didn't need her to.

You opened up to her on your own pace ,and she found it quite memorizing how quickly you considered her a friend.

Your smaller hands played with her larger calloused ones like you would with a toy.

But not harsh. No, you were soft. Gentle, as your fingers traced the lines in her palms like she was something to cherished.

'Can I be your friend?' Your quite voice sounds more like a prayer then a question.

It takes Cass atleast three awkward seconds before she's swiftly shaking her head yes. She'd never been asked to be a friend.

Truthfully, she never really cared for it either. But right now she does.

You smile, your naive eyes squinting at the ends. You giggle joyfully as if she'd just handed you a bag of candy.

'I'll be the best friend! I pinky promise!' You bable happily like a person who just won the lottery.

Cass's pinky wraps around your extended one ,carefully sealing the deal. It's safe to say she sees why everyone cherish's your happiness like a gem.

Because in a city full of monster's it seemed you truly were the only angel left.

And she'd gladly keep you safe even if you can't see it ,yet.

While you were being coddled and adored by your new found best friend your mother simply looked out the big windows of the manor.

Bruce's mind raced with ideas of how to approach her without seeming like a creep.

After all she did accuse him of trying to kidnap her daughter and she isn't half wrong.

He couldn't mess this up. He wouldn't ,but your mother was so diffrent then the women he's been with.

She wasn't spoiled or tainted. She wasn't a thief or a killer. She was a nurse.

A simple women with so much heart and love. But it seemed like that was only reserved for you.

That was it! He'd reach her through you!

'She seems happy...' Bruce says and he watches as she slightly flinches at his voice but she hides it well.

Your mother turns looking at you as you play and talk with Cass on the couch. Her eyes softening at the sight.

She hums her voice low and calm. Like the sight of you calmed her. It did.

'She's always happy," You mother comments taking a sip from her cup that's filled with some fancy juice.

'But she does look happier.' She continues calm her heart filled with a feeling of bliss at the view of you so happy.

Bruce smiles a rare sight even for his kids. He nods enjoying the sight of you being so compatible with his kids.

'She loves everyone.' Your mom mumbles her eyes still trained on you having an absolute wonderful time with Cassandra.

'Did she get that from you?' Bruce asks finally coming up with a decent question to strike a conversation.

Your mother smiles and ,agian, its because of the thought of you. She shakes her head her mind replaying the memories of you welcoming any stranger like it was your family.

'No, she inherited that from her father....'

'I see....' Bruce nods hands tight at the thought of you inheriting something that from another man.

'He used to be so.....diffrent back then.' Your mother says now turning her attention back on Bruce.

It was pretty clear what she meant by that but Bruce carries on not wanting the conversation to end.

'Diffrent how?' He voices softly, but your mother still feels distressed at the question.

She still answer's though.

'Happy, like her....'

She doesn't have to gesture to you for Bruce to know who she's talking about.

'What changed?' Bruce ask generally wanting to know. He'd first came to her to get to know you.

Yet, the more he talks with her and each picture she paints with her words ,Bruce finds himself digging bigger whole in his heart.

Big enough to make space for her in it.

'I ask myself that all the time..... One day he just...changed. changed into a man I had to let go.'

Her voice is quiet but it's stable ,something that she came to terms with long ago.

Bruce hums realizing that though she may always love the man she once knew that is not the man he is now.

And maybe he can be that man for her?

She smiles one that looks forced ,almost. Like it's something that's funny but it's not.

'In all of Gotham there's only one person that hopes he wakes up.'

'You?'

'No, I think he hurts more people alive then he would dead,' she pauses then points to you.

'He's that little girls world... She looks at him like he hung the stars.' She sighs almost defeated look I her gaze.

Bruce doesn't like the sound of that at all.

Bruce hums not really having the words to put his thoughts in the air nicely.

'She seems to love you alot too.' He finally says trying to soften the mood.

'She does.... But girls do tend to love their fathers more sometimes....even if their dads are the devil.' Your mother turns looking out the window agian.

But Bruce doesn't miss how she quickly wipes her eyes as a tear escapes. How awful is this man to make her cry?

'I stayed with him four more years before I finally left him.' She admits like something that she's ashamed about.

'What was the final straw?' Bruce doesn't even know if it's his place to ask but his mouth speaks before his mind has time to stop itself.

'When he got to her.' She sighs finally looking to where you are agian. It was pretty clear she prioritized your wellbeing over hers even if she didn't voice it.

It was known.

It strikes Bruce deep not knowing what she meant when it she said he gotten to you.

He had no idea what that man could have done to hurt you but even if he just poked you with his fingers Bruce was livid.

'You must love her alot.' He says trying to diminish his anger and focus on the hurt women infront of him.

'I love her more than anything.' She clarifies like she doesnt want Bruce to mistake it ,but he doubts anyone could.

'She's everything to me.'

'Your a good mother.' He says softly but his words are true. Anyone with two eyes can see just how good of a mother you are.

'She's a good kid. With her...it's easy.' She shrugs.

That may be true but even Bruce knows having a good kid doesn't just automatically make you a good mom like she is.

'You don't give yourself enough credit.' Bruce says and he doesn't miss how she doesn't meet his eyes anymore trying to hide her tears like their scars.

'There's still some things I'm not prepared for.' She says her eyes still on the dark clouds that fills the sky.

'Well a parent can never be prepared for everything-' he wants to add that he's batman and he's still not prepared for half the thing his kid's do but he doesn't.

Because he knows he can't. Even if he wishes he could.

Now if there was one person who'd love your bubbly personality more then Dick it would be Duke.

Because who likes living in a house full of angsty vilganty's? Not many and especially not the happy boy named Duke Thomas!

Cass had taken her eyes off of you for no longer then five seconds before looking back to where you were once seated to see that you were gone?!

Standing up quickly she hastily begins to look around for you!

From the living room to dining room to even the bathrooms that you'd have to walk all the way to the other side of the manor to get to!

She eventually had to get the others to help. Even though she truly didn't want to....

'What do you mean you lost her!' Dick all but shouts before Tim tries to calm him down.

'Don't yell! If her mom thinks we lost her she'll never trust us agian!'

'Do you idiots hear that or am I hallucinating?' Damian asks pointing to the ceiling. Who's room was above the living room? Oh right dukes....

And what was that sound? Blasting music and giggles? Yeah they know exactly where you are.....

Opening the young heros door they see you happily sitting on Dukes lap giggling as he describes what the lyrics of the sounds mean.

Leaving out some parts....to keep your innocent intact of course!

After watching enough and hearing your giggles through the door they finally decode to open it.

Duke immediately turns off the loud music his face blank almost confused to why they look so worried.

'Whats up?'

'Whats up? Whats up! We've been looking for her for five minutes only to find out your having a party.' Dick voices voice cracking from how shocked he is.

'Not to mention your teaching her demonic music ,Thomas.' Damian adds crossing his arms and shaking his head in disapproval.

'Yeah you'd know something about devil music huh ,demon?' Jason quips with a chuckle just to get under the small boys skin.

'First off don't fight infront of her,' Duke says pointing at damian and jason already sensing a fight about to start.

'Second, it's called being cultured. Gotta teach 'em young.' Duke shrug glancing back at your pouting face now unhappy that the music stopped.

'She likes it.' Duke comments smiling at you which brings your smile back.

'I do!' You smile innocently.

'She doesn't even know what the lyrics mean.' Tim utters gesturing at you.

'That's why I'm teaching her.' Duke answers like it's the most common thing in the universe.

Cass quickly goes over to grab your hand sighing as she leads you back to where she had you before one of her brothers ruined her peaceful moments.

'Hey you can't just take her all the time we want to play with her too!' Tim whines dramatically pouting.

Cass complete ignores his request as she continues leading you down the stairs cases.

'Where is my baby?'

'Huh?'

Your mother's eyes quickly dart around the spacious living room and kitchen not being able to see you.

'My baby, where is she?!' She panics not seeing you anywhere?

Bruce could tell the women was definitely about to have a heart attack just from you not being in her sight.

What bruce didn't notice was your mother already thinking of ways to kill this man if she didn't find you within five minutes.

'She's probably with my kids...she's fine.'

'Your kids? The ones that are all practically grown men?!' She says already moving to yell in the man's face.

She couldn't believe how stupid she was! How could she let her baby be alone with strangers!

You being the absolutely ridiculously cute Saint you are saw your mother's distresses state ,and new she was looking for you as you walked down the stairs case.

'I'm here mama! I'm here!' You shout letting go of Cassandra's hand to sprint full speed towards your worried mother.

'Oh my baby...I thought I lost you.' She sighs finally feeling like she can breathe agian as she cups your soft cheeks.

'Nuh uh ,mama, I'm right here!' You giggle as she smiles down at you.

Bruce on the other hand finally realizes that he was about to get murdered by your mother if Cass hadn't brought you back downstairs.

Alfred smiles seeing your mother being so affectionate with you remembering all the times Martha had been like that with Bruce in the past.

It had been along time since a mother's love filled the manors air and Alfred was happy to see how it was finally coming back.

'Dinners ready.' Alfred announces calmly as he gestures to the dining room.

Your mother's sighs at your pouting face because you already know what she's about to say.

'Don't give me that look...we've stayed long enough.'

'Your leaving?' Damian speaks up interrupting your mother's conversation with you.

'It's late we should really get going...' Your mother defends putting a hand on your shoulder ready to lead you out the big manor.

'Wed really like it if you stayed....please?' Dick protest and it was kinda hard to say no to a grown man that was pouting desperately.

Not to mention the other wayne children faces matched their older brother's.

Your mother sighs looking back at you an dshe knows she's lost when she hears your quiet plea.

'Please, mama?'

'Fine...we leave after dinner not a second later.'

All smiles in the manor reach their eyes as they hear her words.

'Well then let's go eat.' The old butler states as you walk over to him grabbing his hand with a smile as he leads you to the beautiful dining room..

Your mother sighs knowing she gave into your cuteness once agian.

'What am I gonna do with you..?' She mutters, watching as you happily skip to the dining room with Alfred, as he matches your skips with long strides.

She rubbed her face, her mind repeatedly saying 'it's just a simple dinner. Get in get out.'

The table was unusually quiet and your mother could tell straight away that this wasn't exactly normal for them as they all fiddled with their hands or their fingers.

Despite their best attempts at seeming normal all eyes did end up falling on you.

You happily spoke and ate not noticing the soft eyes all staring at you lovingly. Your mother did though ,and she was already mentally burying bodies.

You spoke softly your eyes on damian as he told you various facts about animals you didn't know.

And you threw in your two cents when you thought of something you had learned from Wild Krats.

Alfred saw your mother's focused eyes noticing she had caught on to everyone's adoring gaze and she didn't seem to happy about it.

'So you're a nurse correct?' Alfred calm spoken words break everyone put of their deep gaze including you.

'Yep my mommies the best nurse!'

Your mother smiles softly appreciating your kind-hearted words knowing you meant them.

'Yes, I am a nurse.' Your mother clarifies nodding at Alfred.

Alfred smiles at both your mother's profession and your mother-daughter relationship.

'Do you enjoy it?' Jason's ruff voice ask his fork digging into his food as he speaks.

Everyone wanted to ask that was clear by how they all perked up at the question.

The truth was they all new a thing or two about patching themselves up but nothing compared to what a nurse would know.

And they knew nurse helped people. They did too but sometimes they hurt more people then they helped sometimes. A nurse didn't.

A nurse just helped.

You mother takes a moment to think before answering the question.

'I love my job it... it does good.' She shrugs taking a sip of her drink before continuing.

'But it takes alot of time... takes me away from things that I love.' Your mother sighs setting down her cup.

Alfred smiles a rare sight that the Wayne's hardly ever see other then special occasions.

'Being a nurse or really anything in medical attention is a special profession.'

Your mother nods at Alfred kind words enjoying them greatly and appreciating them.

Though your mother barely knew the old man that kept these walls clean. She understood why you talked so highly of him.

The calm silence of dinner was abruptly interrupting by a ringing sound ,but it wasn't a phone.

No, it was your small pinky hello kitty watch that your mother paid about three dollars for.

It was your most prized possession.

As the small watch rang all eyes were on you as you quickly turned it off and ran to your mother's chair in a hurry.

'Mama your phone! Your phone!' You all but scream in a haste as your mother pulls out her phone almost embarrassed at how persistent you are to get her phone.

'Thanks mama!'

Your little legs run as fast as you can to the living room desperately wanting space.

All eyes now turn to your mother silently asking why you had wanted her phone so desperately.

Your mother sighs giving an awkward smile before answering everyone's silent question.

'Her dad calls her every day at this time. That's why she has an alarm set on her phone.'

Soft 'ohs' and hums of understanding reach her ears.

The table goes quiet almost like everyone's in silent agreement to try and hear what your talking about through the walls.

After about three minutes of concentrated silence your mother's voice breaks the silence.

'So I hear your a cop?' She ask her gaze pointed at dick.

He nods an almost shy smile on his face.

'Definitely an honorable profession.' She says her smile warm and dock can't help but smile too.

'What about you?' Your mother's hands tap the table softly but her gaze is on Jason now.

He hated that question. Because he didn't really have a way to respond to it. What was he supposed to say? He lived off of criminals money? No, that wouldn't do.

So he shrugs 'still trying to figure that out.'

Your mother hums soft smile never leaving her lips as she speaks and jason likes that. She isn't judging or looking at him like he's doing something wrong. She looks....understanding.

'You'll figure it out...'

And with how soft her words seemed they sounded...so true.

Maybe he could figure it.

'Ah, and I hear your quiet the genius.' She continues her arms on the table nothing but kind hearted tone in her voice as she looks at Tim.

Now Tim didn't know if you told her that or if she googled him but either way he wasn't going to miss the opportunity to be praised.

'I wouldn't say that I'm a genius...' He shrug trying not to be to cocky.

'I doubt anyone would.' Damian adds with a soft smirk. And while Tim looks annoyed and embarrassed Dick and Jason can't help but snicker..

Bruce however gives them a stern glare which doesn't help much but looking at your. Mother she doesn't look to happy about it so they immediately stop.

Your mother hums her voice carefully and light as she speaks to the youngest wayne.

'You must be Damian.'

'I am.' His voice comes out quiet almost shaky as if her slight glare has him shaken. Now that makes his older brother's want to laugh even more.

'My daughter described you as if you were an angel.' Her voice is tender but there's something behind it.

Like she's disappointed with what she's seeing and that makes Damian feel disappointed in himself.

His heads hung low as she speaks agian. But that disappointment is gone when your mother says her next words.

'You certainly look it. Your absolutely adorable. You must've gotten your looks from your mother.'

She jokes a soft laugh leaves her lips and the other join obviously not goings to miss the chance to diss Bruce.

Bruce laughs himself finding your mother's confidence admirable.

Your mother complements Dukes brightness and Cass for her confidently fiece demeanor.

Slowly the small talk becomes less forced and more familiar.

Like this is how it's supposed to be.

Bruce relivishes in the normalcy and so do the children all while your mother keeps a smile on everyone face.

The once big empty table now feels smaller not with space but with comfort. Like these no gaps missing. Well there is one but you shortly make your way back to the table.

You almost unnoticed by how loud everyone is talking. Cass's the first to see you, your eyes cast down not meeting her gaze. She frowns but decides not to say anything.

You don't sit back on your seat and you don't say anything either.

You just stand there and everyone allows you to thinking maybe you just want to stand.

That is till your mother speaks up noticing how oddly quiet your being.

"You okay, baby?"

You sniffle your eyes still to the ground. Your mother's smile drops and a frown quickly replaces it.

Then everyone sees it. A tear drop. One then two. Then they don't stop.

Your mother's quick to try and comfort you opening her arms to allow you to come to her. But you don't.

No, to her surprise you run right past her.

Her head whips so fast she could've gotten whiplash. Just to see you run straight into Bruce's arms.

Bruce? Bruce!

Everyone's surprised gut Bruce quickly composes himself and sets you in his lap as you cry your little heart out on his chest.

He looks at your mother clearly not knowing what to do. But your mother offers no help. Just as confused as he is but for a totally different reason obviously.

Why would you run to him instead of her?

He awkwardly pats your back and your mother soft voice speaks up.

"What's happened baby...?"

"He doesn't love me mama....."

Your voice is so small and so broken. It hurts everyone how your sobs continue and grow louder.

Your mother sighs your sad small voice breaking her heart. She leans back in her seat.

Everyone's jaw clenched how dare someone break your heart? And this young? Oh, they were gonna pay.

Your mother knows your dad was probably just drunk he probably didn't even mean to call, like he should've.

He probably said something he didn't mean but that doesn't mean anything to your broken heart right now.

Your sad sobs echos throughout the manor cruelly. A reminder of how distressed you truly are.

And despite the other kids efforts; twenty minutes later they still can't bring your glowing smile back.

You cling to bruce like a lifeline, your cries muffled by his expensive shirt that he doesn't mind you ruining with your tears ,and snotty sniffles.

Eventually the kids do give up and just watch as your cries slowly fade. Some watch with curiosity with why you picked Bruce others with jealousy.

Your mother on the other hand watches with neither. She knows exactly why you ran to Bruce and no one else. She understands why you ran to Bruce instead of her.

You wanted something that neither her or the wayne children could give you.

A father's comfort.

Sigh, maybe this would be a bit more difficult then just a simple ,innocent, dinner.

With the dreadful amount of crying you did one would've thought you would've wanted to go home.

But not you!

Somehow you had gotten your mother to stay for a movie. In the manors luxurious house movie theater.

Claiming it would be rude to leave damian on his birthday without watching a movie like you two always did on eachothers birthday.

Normally she would've said no. But she couldn't not when you had just finished crying and she knew that this was your way of trying to forget your father's hurtful words.

So with a sigh she said yes.

Your mother left the movie theater claiming she needed something to drink. Bruce took this opportunity to make the final move everyone was planing.

Securing a date.

What Bruce obviously doesn't know is that you don't try and make moves on a women who's little girl heart just broke.

'What. Did. You. Just. Say.'

Your mother's voice is colder then any blade he's ever been stabbed with and the menacing batman flinches.

He swallows then continues.

'I-I was just wondering if perhaps if you wanted to we could-'

SMACK!

Well, that didn't go to exactly to plan.

And that's pretty cleat with how Bruce's cheek is reddening from the impact of your mother hand.

You mother's glare looks meaner then Clark's when he's angry. Now Bruce knows he really messed up.

But....is it wrong to say he...might enjoy it?

That thought quickly disappears faster then it came with how fast your mother begins cussing him out.

'How fucking dare you! My baby looks up to you! And you just want to get in my fucking pants?!' She takes a pause a short and dramatic cruel pause before she continues.

Hands on her hips and her right palm slightly red from how hard she hit Bruce's face ,but by the look on her face she clearly doesn't regret it.

'I'm not one of your whores you can get a quick fuck out of. And my baby ain't no orphan who needs saving.'

She turns around like the wind itself better fear her fury.

'Fuck you! And your mother-fucking bitch mentality!'

She thinks he got to you just to get to her? Well that's not how it is at all! But Bruce can't say that he wants her just to get you or that'll definitely sound wrong.

So he stands there and watches with a red cheek as your mother pulls you out the manor leaving you no time to whine and complain before your out the door.

The rain is oaking your clothes but you still make a point to wave to everyone watching you through the window.

Your mother's old car drives off like she Dominic Toreto himself and when the cat finally come out their view Jason says the words everyone's been dying to ask.

'What the fuck did you do?'

Bruce sighs hands in his hips copying your mother earlier stance ,but instead of anger fueling his heart it's desire and love.

'Alfred get me the best lawyers in gotham.'

Alfred sighs a knowing look of defeated acceptance in his gaze.

'The adoption one or matrimonial one?'

Obviously Bruce's plan was going to need a bit more.....force.

'Both.'

Thanks for reading!!

Likes ,comments and reblogs are appreciated!!

Note: I do not encourage violence readers mother is just very protective of her baby.

Second note: I don't know why I picked that song in particular it just reminded me of reader and her dad relationship.

Taglist: @rovcarmen @yua-who @nervousalpacalady @jsprien213 @blue-flower-lady @ghost-0rch1d @vanilliona @vanessa-boo @cat-lover-over-9000 @itsmossy @nightstarblue @imhere2dosomething @hearts4mica @minny-ka @alishii @tsxukikami @its-simply-just-krys @maskedvoyance @theworldscalamity @kazuuhali @eyeless-kun @bbmgirll @jjoppees @justafank @ive-made-so-many-mistakes @iamapotatoe @asillysimp @whiteoakoak @leogf @sanchann @nisarelle @ratterpatter @venomsvl @sh4rk-k1d @reeyy0-2 @kneelforloki @sirlovel @moon0goddess @cruzerforce4256 @ironsaladwitch @gaychaoticraccoon @dubidumzy @ssak-i

[ive-made-so-many-mistakes]

Overtime Masterlist

Summary: your boss, Mr. Hansen, runs you ragged but you find solace in an unexpected friend.

Summary: In progress

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