All In 7
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Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, power imbalance, low self esteem, 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: you meet a mysterious man on a night out with your sister. (petite!reader)
based on the winning option for this poll
Characters: casino owner!Bucky Barnes
Note: another week...
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. 💖
When Bucky leaves, you feel less than relief. It’s easier to breathe without him around but your heart continues to race. You don’t move until you see him drive away. You steel yourself with the manufactured lie before you go back inside.
As you do, you’re surprised to find Roxie beside your mom, both of them close to the front window. You sigh. Were they watching? You guess you can be thankful Bucky hadn’t done more than talk.
Your mom faces you with a sheepish grin, “so... did you get it?”
You look between her and your sister. Roxie has her phone in hand and an arch in her eyebrow, “I’d die for a boss like that.”
“I...” you glance the screen before she can hide it. Oh. She had a picture of him pulled up on Google. So, they both know exactly who he is.
“He must be really hands on if he came all the way down here to offer you a job,” Roxie tilts her head.
“That’s the sign of a good boss,” your mom insists.
“Really, I think his eyes were the kicker. So blue.”
“Rox,” your mom nudges her. “A man like him, he’s got line ups, I’m sure. Besides, she’s too young for him.”
“Well, I’m older,” Roxie smirks, “maybe she can get me a job too.”
“Er, uh,” you wring your hands, “I should start dinner.”
“You didn’t say if you go the job,” Roxie challenges.
“Yeah,” you utter softly, “I got a job. Just cleaning.”
“Hey, it’s better than nothing,” you mom assures as she comes to you. She puts her hands on your shoulders, “I’m so proud of you.”
“Mom,” you try not to look pained as you return her smile, “it’s nothing. Really. A cleaner.”
“We all gotta start somewhere.”
“Yeah,” Roxie scoffs, “most of us a lot sooner.”
“Oh, don’t be such a downer,” your mom lets you go to spin on your sister, “don’t rain on her parade.”
“Whatever. I’d rather hand out flyers than clean toilets,” she rolls her eyes.
You purse your lips and shy away. You feel worse that they believe you so easily and why wouldn’t they? No one would think that someone like you would merit such a preposterous offer from a man like Bucky. You still can’t really believe it.
Maybe it’s just some twisted hallucination. You could wake up tomorrow and be just like you were before. You never thought you would long for that but now, being alone, being the loser, that feels safe. Being noticed, being someone, that’s terrifying.
🃏
You take your time making dinner, a brief escape from reality. The distraction keeps you busy enough that your chest stops thrumming, yet your nerves are still spastic. You’re not very hungry once it’s done but you make yourself eat.
Roxie heads off for work shortly after you gather up the dirty dishes and your mom goes to change into her pajamas. She startles you as you scour the pan you used to bake the chicken. You splash yourself and hiss.
“Sorry, hon, I was just coming to check on you,” she leans against the counter, “you’re nervous, aren’t you?”
You shrug, to fraught to answer.
“You get restless, I can tell. You do everything just to keep from fidgeting,” she says, “it’s going to be okay. You’ll be just fine and you’ll see, it’ll be nice to have your own money.”
“I know, mom,” you murmur, turning your face down to the sink, “it’s not that I don’t want to work, I just... I guess it’s the change that freaks me out.”
“Change is good, even if it’s scary,” she says. “You’ll see.”
“Mm,” you hum and try not to shatter, “I just want to help out.”
“Hon, you worry about yourself. Please--”
“No, I owe you.”
“Owe me? I’m your mother. I just wish I could give you more,” she smiles and squeezes your arm. “If you’re not some busy working girl, we’ll celebrate on my day off.”
“Sure,” you accept grimly.
She leaves you and you’re silent as you finish up the dishes. You put them away and wipe the counters. When you finish, you shut off the lights. You say good night from the doorway and retreat into your room. Tomorrow. That’s all he said. That’s the only detail you go before he strolled off.
You grab your phone and fall back on your bed. All you want is to lose yourself in a fic or a discussion board or even just scrolling mindlessly. You can’t. It’s like he’s taking over everything. There it is, that little icon you rarely see, a new message.
You pull down the menu and stare at the preview. Two hours ago. You’re surprised he didn’t show up to check why you hadn’t answered. Again. You will at least need to send something before the night is over.
‘Hey doll. I’ll send a car tomorrow morning at nine. Just bring yourself.’
You shudder and stare at the blue bubble around the text. Oof. Nine? That’s early for you. You suppose it’s about time you break that bad habit.
‘Sorry. I was making dinner. Nine is good. Thank you.’
You hit send and put your phone down. You slide your laptop across the bed and open it up. You’ll watch something. That old BBC drama you found on the free streaming service has been pretty interesting, but you think you only have one episode left. That’s good, you can’t be up all night.
Your phone buzzes. Shoot. Alright. You can do this. You have to get to it. You swipe up your phone again, surprised to find it’s still shaking.
Oh no. He’s calling!
You panic and nearly hit decline before you manage to drag your thumb the other way. You put the phone to your ear, unable to muster even a squeak. What do you say?
“Hey, doll,” Bucky’s voice drawls from the speaker, “hope I didn’t interrupt dinner.”
“No, er, we’re done.”
“Ah, and are you alone?”
You frown, “yes?”
“Good, good. Isn’t that sweet of you, cooking dinner for your family. That’s what I like about you. You take care of those you love.”
You gulp. You don’t know what to say.
“What was for dinner?” He asks as you hear a soft rustle.
“Um, chicken and potatoes,” you answer bluntly. It’s an easy question.
“You’re not busy or something?” He wonders.
“Uh uh,” you shake your head even though he can’t see, “I’m just... in bed.”
“Early night, huh?” He asks.
“I guess, I was going to watch a show.”
“Right, right,” he clicks his tongue as something taps followed by other indiscernible movements, “you in your pajamas? Bet those are cute?”
“Not... yet,” you croak.
“Mmm,” he purrs, “I just got out of the shower.”
“You... did?”
“Getting ready for tomorrow,” he explains, “gotta admit, I’m a bit impatient. You’ll see that about me, doll. When I want something, it’s hard to wait.”
“Uh, oh...” you stutter out.
“For you, I can,” he vows, “doll, do me a favour.”
“A favour?” You echo thinly.
“Mmm, yeah, I want you to get in your pajamas and send me a picture. Just to tide me over,” he coaxes.
“A picture?” You open your eyes wide and gape at the wall.
“Sure, just a taste. I wanna know what I should imagine next to me when I lay down.”
“What?” You squeak, shocked by his insinuation. Imagining you?!
“I can’t help myself. It’s lonely here.”
“I...” you pick at your lower lip, “one sec. I... I gotta...”
You put the phone on the bed and push yourself off the mattress. You trip on your own feet and hope he can’t hear you stumbling around. Your pajamas are kind of silly. You don’t really have any sexy ones. Maybe if he sees them, he’ll change his mind.
The only matching pair you have have snoopy on the top and a large check bottom on the pants. You fish them out and change. It’s okay. He can’t see you at that moment. Still, it feels like he is watching you. Just as his presence has lurked around you all day.
You go back to your phone and fumble around, “sorry, I... just... figuring out the camera.”
You hear his timbre but can’t make out his words from the small speaker. You open the camera app and flip the camera. You move around, trying to take the pic, and lean the phone on the top of your dress. You angle it and mutter to yourself as you struggle to set the timer.
You take several pictures before you’re not entirely discontent. You look awkward in all of them. The pants, like all your pants, are too long and gather around your feet. You don’t know how to pose either. Quite frankly, you look frightened in every single one.
“Alright, I think...” you babble and find your way into the conversation and choose the least egregious frame. You hesitate and close your eyes as you push your thumb down on the arrow.
You bring the phone back to your ear, “are you still there?”
“Always, doll,” he assures and once more, the phone shifts around noisily. “Mm, Snoopy? I like it. More of a Woodstock myself but... Mm mm mm, you look good.” He pauses as you wriggle and your cheeks burn hotly. “Sexy.”
“No,” you burst out without thinking.
“No? You don’t think I’m telling the truth?”
“I didn’t... say so, it’s... just pajamas,” you sniff, “sorry, I didn’t mean to argue.”
“Doll, relax. Thing about you, you don’t even have to try.”
You don’t reply. You have no idea what to say or even if you should believe him. You saw the picture, you look in the mirror every day, you know what you are. It still feels like some weird game.
“Here, gimme a sec,” he says from his end.
More rustling and the noise of a digital shutter. Your phone vibes shortly and you pull it away from your cheek. You squint at the screen as it lights up and an image buffers in the conversation.
“Huh, uh, it’s not loading. My phone is--” you nearly swallow your tongue and gasp.
Oh gosh. It’s a picture of him in almost nothing. Just a towel. His long hair is damp and pushed back and his dark beard contrasts his bright blue eyes as he aims the lens of his phone at himself in the mirror. His stomach is ridged with muscle, his chest trimmed with hair that trails down, and the towel hangs low, giving a generous hint of his pelvis. The vee above the fabric feels overly salacious.
“Doll?” You hear the low tone of his voice and make yourself look away. You raise the phone again to your ear. “Everything okay? You got really quiet.”
“I...”
“You like what you see?” He asks coyly.
You put your hand to your forehead, your flesh is fiery. It’s so much so fast. Just that morning, you’d convinced yourself you would never see or talk to him again. And now he’s sending you pictures like that and... flirting with you?
“Yes,” you eke out then cover your mouth. He snickers and you clear your throat before you peel your hand away, “sorry, I mean... you’re... you... you must work out.”
“Doll, you’re too adorable,” he says.
You don’t say a word. You’re mortified. He knew you saw that. He knows you’ve seen him like that. He sent it!
It’s all too much. You’re lightheaded. You rub your chin and shiver.
“I should... sleep.”
“Mm, me too,” he says, “hopefully I dream of you.”
You giggle nervously, “really?”
“Sure, doll. All I can do is dream. Until tomorrow,” he sighs, “and what about you? You gonna dream about me?”
You squeak and stammer, “I... I... I...”
He laughs again, “you really are so cute in those pajamas.”
“Please,” you blurt out, “delete it.”
“Now, why would I do that?” He challenges.
“I don’t... know.”
“I love it,” he insists, “you’re not deleting mine, are you?”
“N-no, no, I’ll keep it.”
“Hm, good,” he intones, “it’s all for you so don’t you go showing me off to all your friends.”
It’s your turn to laugh. “Promise, I won’t.” If only he knew you don’t have any friends to show.
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