#yandere stucky

[blughxreader]

Platonic Yandere! Steve and Bucky are ALMOST awesome dads because they're constantly bragging on you. They think you're the most interesting person to talk to, they find you effortlessly funny, they love listening to you talk about your special interests, they stare at your art/writing/picture for hours.

They embody the "I LOVE MY WIFE AND KIDS" vibe and are always going "I wish I was home rn :("

They'd be hard pressed to show their colleagues anything about you, in fear of rousing their interest in you, so they're just like "my kid is cooler than yours. no I will not prove it."

THEN when they get home, you come face-to-face with two traumatized soldiers who think children find safety in rules and traditional values.

Your father's word is law, chores are essential to developing skills, privacy is for secretive people only, internet poisons your mind etc etc

Steve's like "I know it sucks being without the internet after having it your whole life, but people were happier when we grew up. There's something to be said about a good book and some music."

And Bucky goes, "Don't look so down. How about we watch a new movie before bed as a treat? We can make popcorn and pile up together. :)"

and you're like "DOES MY FAMILY KNOW IM ALIVE?"

[ametrictonofaudacity]

Yan!dad platonic Stucky w/ a telekinetic reader? They can move small stuff with their mind!!

Absolutely!!

Steve and Bucky would definitely be an interesting couple to have as dads, much less yandere dads lmao

Warnings: kidnapping, reader has trust issues and is a former expirement,restraints , gaslighting and themes of obsession. Steve is also an ASSHOLE in this

The window had been screwed shut. Not an impossible obstacle to get past, you were far more than capable of getting rid of some measly screws, but it did complicate things. Both of your captors routinely checked the state of your room, but Bucky was far more discerning when it came to things that could possibly aid your escape. You would have to get it out tonight.

You stare at the screws, and slowly, begin to unscrew them. They had been stripped, probably deliberately, so there was no possible way you could do it with a tool. And, thankfully, you had been smart enough to keep your powers hidden. They didn’t help you in a fight, so keeping any tool that could aid your escape hidden was important.

The four screws drop to the floor, and you kneel, scooping them up and tucking them into your pocket. You can’t hear anything, nothing that would let you know that your captors were getting closer, but that didn’t mean anything. Steve was pretty quiet, but Bucky was as silent as the wind, and the door of your room was well oiled.

You sigh in relief, and then tense when you hear a door close. Someone was home.

The screws in your pocket are a damning weight. You quickly take them out, knowing that both Steve and Bucky would notice them, and lunge under the covers, pulling the blanket up around your shoulders. You had the habit of napping during the day anyways, so they shouldn’t be too suspicious.

The door clicks open, and the only sound is the air that’s displaced by the door.

Your heart drops. Steve wasn’t nearly that quiet.

You turn over, pretending to blink sleep out of your eyes, and Bucky -who insisted you call him Dad, which even if you had to out loud, you refused to in the privacy of your mind- gives you a small smile, long hair brushing his shoulders when he sighs.

“Taking a nap during the day again, kid? Thought Steve already got after you for that.” It’s a relaxed chuckle, and he buries a hand in your hair, gently playing with the strands. It had gotten longer in the months since you’d been home. So long you would have to cut it when you finally managed to escape.

“S’not much else to do around here.” You grumble, and he huffs a laugh, shaking his head.

“You stop trying to sneak out and maybe we can talk to Steve about un-grounding you. Might even get your phone back.” You nearly shoot up in excitement, eyes wide as you prop yourself up on your pillows.

“For real?!” You blurt, and grin, eyes wide. That was an opportunity to escape, to get away and go home, and you refused to let that slip away.

“Don’t get too excited. You’ve got a while before we activate it, but we can put some games on there, give you something to do while you wait for us to get home. I know you get pretty damn bored waiting for us. Bored enough you tear up your room.”

It’s teasing. A gentle jibe at every time you’d torn up your sheets, broken your window, torn apart your cell disguised as a room.

That doesn’t stop you from tensing. It doesn’t stop the panic, the adrenaline, doesn’t stop you from nearly throwing yourself away from him. You had gotten better at hiding your reactions, sure, but not good enough to fool Bucky.

His hand draws back, and when you look at his face, it’s downturned into a sharp frown. You swallow around the lump in your throat.

“Whatever you did, fess up, and I won’t tell Steve, kid.”

You weigh your options. Bucky was the better of the two, regarding punishments. Steve made your life hell when he was mad. He would be cold days after your punishment was over, if he thought you weren’t in enough trouble. Which was often, given that Bucky often talked him down from the more extreme punishments.

You glance at the window, sigh, and then reach into your pocket, taking out the screws. Bucky would find them anyways, and tear apart your room to find them if he had too. You rather liked the few possessions you were allowed.

“I was gonna sneak out the window. His the screws.” You mutter, and it’s his metal hand that takes the screws out of your hand.

“These were in your pocket?” He asks carefully, turning each screw over carefully. It makes your heart thump in your chest anxiously, because even though he had never been physical with you, you were more than aware how much damage a simple screw could do in his hands.

He did more with less when he rescued you from the facility.

You nod, and he frowns, glancing at the window.

He closes his fingers over the handful of screws, and squeezes, and you cringe at the sound of rending metal. You knew he was strong, of course you did, but seeing him so casually display that strength was a harsh reminder of your place as a captive.

You can’t tell if he means for it to be.

“We’ll replace those later tonight. Come on, Steve needs to know about this.”

Your heart leaps into your chest, and you shake your head, to which he frowns.

“Kid, you tried to sneak out again. And if you weren’t sneaking out, than you were hiding a weapon, and you know the rules. Nothing you can use as a weapon.”

“What am I gonna be able to do with a screw?! Y’all are super soldiers.”

Your bitter mutter is met with a hard glare, and you duck your head, wincing. Not only had you managed to piss Bucky off, you had managed to do it so spectacularly he might not defend you against Steve, now.

“Can’t we just not tell him? He’s still mad at me for last time.” You mutter, and Bucky sighs, crossing his arms.

“He should be. You’ve tried this nearly fifteen times by now. Now up, we’re telling him.”

“Telling me what?”

You freeze, and your heart drops to your stomach, before you look up. Steve is standing in the door way, leaning against it casually, and his frame is so massive that it completely fills the doorway, making escape impossible.

You feel your eyes fill with tears. You can’t think, not with both of them here like this, glaring at you, sharp and dangerous. You can’t do anything but duck your head into your knees and try to do anything but think about how terribly this was about to go.

“You can tell him or I can, kid. He needs to know.” Bucky’s voice is almost gentle, and you cringe, before you clear your throat. He definitely saw you crying.

“I was.. trying to sneak out again. I unscrewed the window, and hid the screws.” You remind yourself sharply not to say escape. Escape implied you had been kidnapped, even though you had, and it would only upset Bucky enough that it made Steve mad. It would only make things worse.

“Why did you hide the screws?” You cringe, because Steve’s voice is cold, sending shivers down your spine. It makes you want to curl up under your covers and never come out.

“I thought B-Dad was going to see them. I didn’t want to get in trouble.” You choke out, and wipe at your face as discreetly as you could. You didn’t want to be accused of being manipulative, and with how mad Steve was at the moment, he just might.

“Look at me.” He demands, and you look up. Your face is teary, and red, and he sighs, dragging a hand down his face.

“We can’t keep doing this. We can’t watch you, all the time, it’s just not possible, you know that. We need to be able to trust you not to run off every opportunity you get. There are people looking for you, who want to hurt you, we can’t risk you getting hurt.” He lectures, and you keep your eyes trained on him, lip trembling. You hated when Steve did this. Acted like he was doing you such a favor for kidnapping you.

“Is it really so hard, kid? Just stop trying to sneak out.” And there came Bucky, with his soft touches and gentleness. You had thought, based on their pasts, that Bucky would be the harsh one. The one to fear. You had been wrong.

“Apparently.” Steve’s voice is sharp, and when he steps toward you, you try not to tense up as he crosses the room. “You’re sleeping in the living room tonight, get your bedding.”

You blink. This was new.

You gather up your blanket, and pillows, and when one falls out of your grasp Steve catches it, before ushering you out of the room.

There’s a mattress in there already and you freeze, glancing from Steve to Bucky in confusion.

“We knew you tampered with the window the second you did. Your Dad was just giving you a chance to come clean. Be glad you did.” Steve says, taking your bedding and beginning to make the bed. “Since we can’t trust you to behave, you’ll be sleeping out in the living room with us. I’ve tried everything else, and since that hasn’t worked, you’ve forced us to do this.”

“Forced you?” Your voice cracks, and there’s an ugly nasty mess of emotions in your chest that you can’t make sense of.

“What other option do we have? Lock you in a closet while we’re gone? No. From now on, me or your Dad will be at your side until we feel we can trust you. We’ve already gotten it arranged so that we can do this for as long as we need to. If we aren’t here, you’ll be in bed.” Steve shoves the mattress besides the couch, and your stomach drops when you see the gleaming loop it was attached to.

“Pops, I don’t- please don’t, you don’t need to do this.” You beg, and your eyes are fixed on the silver chain, which was attached to the table. You were willing to bet it was bolted down, too.

“Dad, please don’t let him do this. I can’t be chained up, please. I’ll behave, I’ll be good, I’ll stop trying to sneak out, I promise.” Your confusion had vanished, replaced by tears and begging, and finally, Steve softens, hard blue eyes turning gentle.

“I know you don’t think it’s fair. But until we think we can trust you, that’s how it’s going to be.” He murmurs, and when he reaches for you, you don’t even fight, instead clinging to his chest. If you could do something, anything, to avoid this, than you would.

“Pops, please, you can, I’ll be good. I won’t run away anymore just don’t chain me up, please.” You beg, and he wraps his arms around you, holding you close. You are by no means small, but he towers over you, and you feel horribly fragile being held like this by the man who had kidnapped you.

“It’s only for when me and Buck are gone. It’ll be over before you know it, I promise.” He murmurs, and you sob, shaking your head. He sighs, and another pair of arms circles around both of you, one arm colder than the other.

“It’ll be over before you know it, kiddo. Just hang in there.” Bucky murmurs, and your muffled sob is lost in their embrace.

You wish they had never rescued you. At least in the facility they hadn’t pretended to be your friend. They hadn’t pretended that their cruelty was a kindness.

“We’ll get through this, kiddo.” Bucky murmurs, and presses a kiss to the top of your head, gentle in the way only he seemed able to manage. You cry, clinging on to him and Steve, and your tears are brushed away from your face, and you can’t tell who’s doing it but you wish they would stop.

“This will all be over once you learn your lesson, promise.” Steve kisses your forehead once, gently. “I know it’s hard, especially after what they did to you, but once this is over you’ll finally stop trying to sneak out.”

You don’t tell Steve that’s what you were afraid of. You don’t tell Steve anything, instead staring up at him mutely with teary eyes.

By the time you finally are able to think, there are two sleeping bodies beside you, wrapped around you like you are a small child. They shield you, warmth radiating into your bones, and even though you fight it, eventually exhaustion drags you into a fitful sleep.

You don’t dream, but waking up is it’s own nightmare, and you are grateful.

[untitled-writer-013]

How would yanderes Peter Parker and Stucky(poly) react to reader’s boss yelling at them but reader is too shy and sad to do anything about it and doesn’t dare to go against her boss. And he also misbehaves with her too, reader is at a fix and doesn’t know what to do and she’s miserable and cries sometimes as well

Yandere!Stucky x Fem!Reader, Yandere!Peter Parker x Fem!Reader,

Bonus Character: Yandere!Loki Laufeyson x Fem!Reader (Abusive Boss HCs)

warning(s): yandere themes (but you knew that :3), mentions of verbal, physical, and slightly sexual abuse, abusive workplace, helpless reader, mentions of violence, mentions of murder, protective yanderes, asshole boss

Steve and Bucky had confessed their feelings for (Y/n), and they were pleasantly surprised when she said she felt the same way.

They supported her with everything that she wanted to do, including working a job. They had talked about it, and they only wanted her to promise to not overwork herself.

They were happy to see (Y/n) was happy that she could have a job, so they always assumed that she was happy with working and only praised her for doing such a wonderful job every day.

Sadly, that wasn’t how it was for her when she went to work. She worked from home if she could, but her boss was very stubborn so she found herself walking into the office building yet again, a slight sinking feeling in her stomach.

Her boss had a cheeky smirk on his face, giving her shoulder a good squeeze as she forced a smile on her face, wishing him a good morning. She managed to get him to eventually let her go to her desk, sighing as he followed and pestered her about her job and tasks for the day.

“Sir, I really can’t focus on my work when you’re trying to talk to me.” (Y/n) stated, resisting the strong urge to roll her eyes as she looked up at him, calmly telling him to leave her alone.

He glared at her, looking to see if her coworkers were around before he gripped her arm tightly, making her yelp as she stared up at him. “You think your ‘boyfriends’ can protect you? I don’t see them anywhere here. So fix that attitude, or I’ll do it for you.” He growled out, making (Y/n) shake as she fell silent, terrified as he let her go and walked away.

(Y/n) tried her best to return to her work, the incident still plaguing her mind even as she left to return home. Steve and Bucky always made sure to give (Y/n) a warm welcome home, with Bucky fixing all of them dinner while Steve looked for a tv show they could all binge together.

(Y/n) pushed herself to remain strong, she didn’t want to give her boss a reaction that she knew he wanted. That, and she didn’t want Steve or Bucky to get in trouble because of her. She returned home, letting herself forget about work as her boyfriends welcomed her home with warm food and her favorite show on.

This was how (Y/n) dealt with her boss’ antics as the week wore on, wondering when he would finally take the hint that she wasn’t interested in him. It wasn’t until one day that (Y/n) would find out just how far her boss was willing to go.

(Y/n) had been called into his office, begrudgingly making her way there as she wondered which lecture she’d have to listen to. She stepped into his office, shutting the door behind her before she felt someone wrap an arm around her waist and clamp a hand on her mouth. She struggled against him, not willing to let him overpower her as she tried to reach for the door, yelping when he yanked her to the floor. 

She knew that this time was different, this time, he was really going to hurt her. Her eyes widened as she quickly pressed a button hidden on the back of her necklace, alerting not only the police, but her boyfriends that she was in danger. She hoped the gift would actually work, meanwhile she tried to buy herself time by kicking at him and backing up from him. He had quite a big office, and no one was outside to overhear what was going on, so she knew she had to fight back as much as she could.

Steve and Bucky were shocked to receive an alert from (Y/n), having received her location and a message that she was in danger. They both rushed to her place of work, wondering what was going on as they pushed past the New York crowd. They didn’t waste any time as they made their way through the building, looking to see where she could be as their worry grew.

(Y/n) could hear her boyfriends reach the floor they were on, her eyes widening as she let out a scream, alerting them to where she was. Her boss glared at her, slapping her as he pinned her down on the floor, straddling her as his eyes filled with anger. 

Steve and Bucky ran to the door they heard (Y/n)’s scream come from, kicking it open as they spotted (Y/n), being pinned underneath her boss. The two super soldiers saw red, Bucky being the one to force the man off of (Y/n) while Steve swooped in to pick her up, gently reassuring her while Bucky held the man up by his throat, the cold metal making her boss cringe as he struggled.

Steve resisted the urge in joining Bucky, focused on getting their darling home. He held her bridal style to his chest, letting Bucky do what he pleased as he left the two men alone, making sure to not let (Y/n) hear the pleas and screams for mercy.

Bucky arrived home late, making sure that everything had been taken care of with the help of Tony before he cleaned himself up, going into his shared bedroom, where he spotted his two lovers asleep. He smiled gently, glad they had been there to save her as he climbed into bed, promising to himself that they would always protect (Y/n) as he felt her hold onto his arm.

Peter had always adored his beloved (Y/n), and wanted her to be as happy as she could be. When she had practically pleaded with him to let her have her own job, he couldn’t help but cave in, knowing how much she loved the job she was applying for. He celebrated when (Y/n) told him that she had been accepted, making sure to fix something extra special for dinner.

(Y/n) was over the moon to get her dream job, not knowing her excitement would soon be crushed by her boss. At first, she didn’t pay him any mind. She knew that she was the newest employee there, so she thought that maybe he was testing to see if she could handle it. She continued to hold her head high for a few months, until she realized he was serious.

(Y/n) had worked too hard to get this job, and she wasn’t going to let this asshole ruin it for her, so she gritted her teeth and continued working, making sure her lovely boyfriend wouldn’t worry about her. She pursued through the hurtful comments he would make, how uncomfortably close he’d get while she was working, and eventually it became exhausting.

She hesitantly left her boyfriend in their bed, getting ready for the day as she made sure she had everything she needed for work, leaving a note for Peter before she left. As usual, her boss picked on her, pointing out invisible flaws in her work before he told her to meet him in his office.

(Y/n) frowned, letting out a sigh as she made sure to save her essay before she stood, expecting to get a bit berated before he would leave her alone. She stepped into his office, looking up at him only to see that he was taking off his tie, her fear only worsening when he began to unbutton his shirt. She refused to watch this, running out of his office, wondering where the hell her co-workers had gone as she ran to the women’s bathroom, locking herself inside while she called Peter, shaking as she heard someone banging on the door.

Peter answered the call, smiling as he asked her what she needed, only for his smile to drop as he heard her panicked breaths, listening as she begged for him to come get her. He didn’t hesitate, getting suited up before he made his way to her place of work, not wanting to keep his darling waiting.

(Y/n) cried as she heard her boss yank and pull on the door, freezing in fear when she heard him begin to mess with his keys, knowing he’d be able to get in as she begged for Peter to get there soon. She waited with bated breath, listening as everything had gone silent, wondering how long it had been before she heard the door open. She let out a sob, too scared to see who it was as the person gently cupped her face.

She was surprised, looking up to see it was Peter, her beloved Peter. She let out a relieved sob, holding onto him as he gently rubbed her back, reassuring her that she was safe with him as he brought her home, making sure he wore his mask before swinging to their home. He made sure she would never get hurt again, his heart warming as he felt her cling onto him.

Loki was elated when he had learned that his beloved (Y/n) felt the same way for him. He promised her that he would make her happy, and when he heard her talking about getting a job, he supported her. He helped her find a job that he believed she would enjoy, making sure it wasn’t too far from their shared home. Loki had a few second doubts, wondering if he was willing to have her away from him, but he knew it was worth it when (Y/n)’s face lit up, telling him she had gotten the job as she pressed a kiss to his lips.

Ever since then, (Y/n) made sure to make her wonderful boyfriend proud, making sure she put in her all at work, but made sure she didn’t overwork herself. (Y/n) wouldn’t notice the flirtations from her boss at first, mostly just assuming he was just a friendly guy. It wasn’t until he placed a hand around her waist that she had confidently told him that she was taken, making sure she made him let go of her before she left, wanting to return to something more important.

As the days dragged on, her boss seemed to leave her alone, making snide remarks under his breath, leaving before she could make out what he had said. It didn’t bother her, mostly glad that he seemed to finally take the hint. She was working, just like she usually was, going over the presentation she had made and was making adjustments, making sure that it looked professional and the information was accurate. As (Y/n) was working, she was notified by an intern that her boss wanted to see her in his office, making her let out a gentle sigh before she thanked the intern, watching as she left to join her co-workers at the party they were throwing downstairs.

(Y/n) had opted out of the party, wanting to finish her work so she could spend time with Loki once she got home. She came to a stopping point before she made her way to the office, not worrying about what would happen since all she saw was a man with a deflated ego. (Y/n) opened the door to the office, noticing that the chair that her boss would sit in was turned around from her. She was slightly confused, stepping inside and closing the door, wondering if he knew she was there. As she walked up to the desk, she felt someone wrap their arm around her throat, making her gasp as she began to struggle, fighting and kicking with all of her strength, trying to yell curses at him as he tried to choke her out.

(Y/n) was determined to not let him overpower her, biting him as hard as she could on his arm as he let out a yell, throwing her off of him and making her crash against the wall. She felt her head pound as she became dizzy, her nose bleeding as she tried to get away from him, kicking at him when he tried to grab her ankle. The struggle was interrupted by Loki, (Y/n)’s lunch in hand since she had forgotten it at home. Everyone seemed to freeze, Loki’s eyes immediately spotting her bloody nose and the bruises forming around her throat. He then turned his attention to her boss, letting her lunch fall from his hand before he lunged at him, pinning her boss to the ground as he began to beat him.

(Y/n) would normally be freaked out, but she was so grateful that he had arrived just in time, hiding her face as he heard him curse at her boss, beating him to a pulp before she gently tugged his arm, telling him he had done enough. Loki looked down at her boss, realizing that he had passed out a while ago. He let out a sigh, standing before he turned to (Y/n), helping clean up her bloody nose before he pressed a kiss to her cheek, wiping away her tears. 

“Shh, you’re safe with me, my love. Let’s go home, we can do whatever you’d like.” Loki stated, smiling gently as he took her by the hand, letting the police take care of the man as they left, giving her hand a squeeze as he looked down at her. Perhaps now she would stay with him, after all he had warned her before that people would try to hurt her, and this had only proved his point. 

~fin~

author’s note: these boys will never let you get mistreated, you deserve so much better! don’t worry though, they’ll do anything just to keep you safe, even if that means breaking a bone or three! <33

[ppatricia34me]

I've been thinking of making An AU story based on my story Cabin Fever: https://www.tumblr.com/ppatricia34me/711973681751048192/cabin-fever-gif-made-by-me-this-is-my?source=share

[giorno-plays-piano]

No Apologies

Pairing: orc!Bucky Barnes x reader x orc!Steve Rogers

Warnings: noncon, kidnapping, forced marriage, breeding, magic tattoo, double penetration, my usual orc filth, bad dirty talk.

Words: 2.6k

Summary: Strange, you thought, nervously biting your already hurting lips as you watched them giving you a simple massage, their callous thumbs gently drawing circles on your skin. You'd never thought they would prostrate themselves before a human woman they abducted and married against her will.

P.S. Ok, it was not me who wrote it, it was a horny spirit possessing my body yesterday 👀

__________

"Fucking finally!" A huge dark-haired orc twice bigger than any man exclamed, inadvertently making you jump as you stared at him and his friend.

These two barbarians were the ones who captured you and brought you to the orcs' caves where other human women abducted recently were held - before they were forcefully married to those who kidnapped them, that is, just like you were a couple of hours before.

"Did you mark her with a tattoo?"

The orc behind you smirked, proudly gesturing to your naked crotch with a faintly glowing heart - a magic emblem of sorts, an orc's claim to demonstrate you were a monster whore, a wife of an orc. Or of the two of them, like in your case.

"You're scaring her," the other male said gently, his hand on his friend's shoulder as he eyed you up, humming with satisfaction when you tried to stop your tears, humiliated and afraid, completely naked in front of him. "Thank you for preparing her, brother. We'll take it from here."

The orc behind your back let out a sound close to a bark - he was probably laughing - before finally taking his hands off you and marching back to the main cave where the girls were held before they were given to their respective husbands. A couple of hours before you were presented to your personal orc bastards, you were scrubbed clean, marked with a crotch tattoo, and fed a few sickeningly sweet fruits for your first mating night, as orcs called it. Although, technically, tattoo was binding you to your orcs, the ceremony was considered official once they both filled you with their seed, your kidnappers informed you kindly. It was in your best interest, they said, since if your husbands wouldn't fill your baby room, other orcs could make their claim and take you for themselves. All you had to do was to spread your pretty legs and get a good fuck, they smirked, making your nauseous as you clenched your fists, your arms bound behind your back from the moment you were captured.

Well, you couldn't imagine sleeping with these two brutes with their cocks the size of your arm and staying alive.

"It's gonna be alright," the fair-haired orc smiled at you, gesturing to their bed - a pretty fancy bed for crude creatures like them - and stepping closer to you as if he meant no offense, and you wed him willingly. "We won't hurt you."

"Sure," you whispered as you watched the dark-haired orc licking his tusks as he stared directly at your naked chest. It was cruel of them to pretend to be kind, but they were orcs. Cruel was what they were. "You gonna tear me apart, and I will die."

"What? No, no!" The orc protested immediately as you took a step back, shivering, your arms aching from the rope. "We will prepare you properly before doing anything. It won't hurt, I swear!"

Yes, sure. As if they cared about your well-being, dragging you here like a sac, not listening to you wailing while you plead for your life until your throat started to hurt.

The other male narrowed his eyes at you, visibly irritated, before advancing at you and holding you by the arm. You flinched, your eyes on the ground not to provoke him further. You'd probably die if he decided to punch you. "You humans think anyone different from you is a monster, but, unlike you, we never marry a woman to abuse her. You'll be fine, stop trembling like a mouse."

The hot touch of his rough, work-weary hand only made you shake harder. They were two scary, scary creatures, and you could do nothing to protect yourself, naked and bound, alone in the caves full of orcs who treated you like a child's toy. Nothing good was gonna happen to you here. It was bad enough to be kidnapped, but kidnapped by monsters...

You didn't even feel it when tears welled up in the corners of your eyes. Again.

"Please don't hurt me," you mumbled, afraid to raise your eyes to your captors, your knees trembling.

The orcs looked at each other silently, and the blonde one shook his head, sending his friend a sad smile. The other one softened his grasp on your arm then, gently guiding you to the bed with his other hand caressing your back. "We won't, little girl. I promise, it won't hurt at all."

He waited until you landed on the bed with an anxious look on your face and gestured to the several little bottles on a nightstand you haven't seen before, the other orc opening one of them and pouring some sort of oil on his hand. "Look, all of this is to make you feel better. We'll oil you well before doing anything, and magic will help. It won't hurt even a second. It's your mating night, it's for your and our pleasure."

He nodded to his friend who eagerly spread the thick herbal substance between his huge palms, and the man landed on his knee, taking your feet and massaging the oil into the skin. For a second you shivered, expecting something weird to happen, but you felt nothing except warmth slowly spreading beneath orc's fingers. It was... alright. He wasn't beating you into submission, at least.

"See? We'll put it all over your body, and you'll feel fantastic," the fair-haired male sent you a reassuring smile, pouring the oil directly on your skin, massaging it into your feet and going up as you stared at him, dumbfounded. He was really giving you a massage, an orc who kidnapped you and forced you to marry him just a couple of hours before. "Bucky, help me, please."

You stared at them, unsure, when they both put themselves of their knees in front of you, each taking your foot in their hands and slowly rubbing in the oil. It was still scary to let those huge men, almost complete strangers, touch you, but at least they weren't actively trying to rape or punch you. Strange, you thought, nervously biting your already hurting lips as you watched them giving you a simple massage, their callous thumbs gently drawing circles on your skin. You'd never thought they would prostrate themselves before a human woman they abducted and married against her will. Why were they doing it? Why bother about what you felt? They clearly didn't care for your consent before, so why?

The more oil they used, the less cold you felt, you came to realize as orcs rubbed your unbound hands and shoulders with care, their breathing deep, calm as if they weren't aroused by your naked body. You could almost believe them if you didn't see their cocks bulging beneath the fabric of their pants. Instantly panicking, you raised your eyes to the ceiling to avoid looking there, and they softly rubbed your wrists where it hurt the most from the ropes.

No, they said they wouldn't abuse you. Surely, there was no reason to lie to you? They could have already taken what they wanted, there was no need to coax you into mating with them. It would still feel good for them even if they tore you apart. Instead, they kept spreading this strange magical essence, making sure you were all covered in it, their hands travelling to your shoulders and stomach as they kept rubbing your skin glistening from oil.

It almost felt nice, especially Bucky's arms on your belly. All of a sudden the dark-haired orc you were so scared of turned out to be really affectionate with you, his hands massaging your tummy tenderly but not going lower as he stood on his knees in between your thighs, his friend sitting on the bed behind your back, his fingers softly rubbing below your shoulder blades. It felt good. Serene. The orcs seemed almost disarming now. Was it the magic of the oil? It must have been. But weren't you supposed to feel hot by now? You thought the oil definitely contained some form of an aphrodisiac, considering they were going to bed you, anyway. But you just felt calm and nice, and it didn't make you want to jump on their cocks.

"I thought you'd put something arousing in there," you admitted as Bucky put his hands on your hips, and the other orc, Steve, chuckled. "So that I'd do it with you."

"We don't need any sex potions to arouse you. This oil is to make you relax. Doesn't it feel nice now?" he whispered into your ear gently, his hands cupping your breasts. "You'll be soft and warm, that's all you need to feel pleasure. Now please spread your thighs for Bucky, he has to put this oil inside you, and you won't feel pain at all when we bed you."

Letting your body relax and lean on Steve's chest for support, you slowly spread your legs for Bucky, and he generously poured magic oil onto his palm before covering your crotch with it, his thick fingers rubbing your lower lips and your clit as you exhaled loudly, turning your eyes to the ceiling. It was better now. Maybe you hadn't wed them willingly, but they treated you far better than you expected. Now you believed they weren't going to tear you apart, and you let out a sigh of relief, tears finally falling down your cheeks before Bucky gently wiped them away, his fingers caressing your face as you stared at his soft, warm expression.

Your breasts were already slick with oil, too, but Steve was still massaging them, pressing his thumbs in your nipples, rubbing them in between his thick fingers so that they became puffy and started to itch. Soon it felt really good when he pinched and tugged them a little, leaving nice little kisses behind your ear.

When Bucky slipped his fingers inside your already leaking pussy, you were kissing Steve then who stuck his longue, thick tongue down your throat. It took just a little fingering till you cummed nicely, Bucky's hand slick with your juices as you moaned, your lower belly pleasantly hot. You cummed two more times once your orcs started eating your holes out, their lovely tongues reaching every right place as you orgasmed with your legs spread wide, your knees trembling. Yes, it felt really nice now when Bucky's tongue pressed that spongy spot inside you, and you cummed on his face.

When you let out a moan again, Bucky left a loving kiss on your crotch tattoo gleaming softly in the dark. "That's a good girl. See, told you it would feel nice."

You caressed his thick, coarse dark hair absent-mindedly, "It's because you didn't put your horse cocks in me. They're too huge."

You heard Steve snickering as he hugged you from behind, his pulsing member rubbing your lower back. "Horse cocks, baby? That's a very nice thing to say."

Bucky smiled at that, his fingers on your aching clit, "Don't worry, the oil is working. Now we can breed your cunt, and you'll feel real good, kitten. I bet you'd ride me first thing tomorrow morning."

"Doubtful," you murmured before Steve turned your face to him and made you open your mouth, his tongue licking yours as his cockhead teased the tight ring of your muscles, slowly penetrating your ass.

Bucky was getting as much impatient, his monstrous cock sliding with ease in your pussy while you let out a sigh: it felt so good, just as they said it would. They were warm and strong and gentle, and even their cocks felt right once they started moving in one rhythm, stretching your holes. Your pussy had been tiny for Bucky's member thick as your arm, but now when his cockhead kissed your cervix, you just cummed a little, your pussy spasming and clenching around a nice, thick cock. Having Steve fuck your ass was even more bizarre idea, and yet it didn't hurt either. On the contrary, when his cock was rubbing against Bucky's, separated just by the back wall of your vagina, you orgasmed again with your eyes rolling inside your skull.

Fuck, that was it. You needed to mate. You wanted your holes full of orcs' seed to consummate your marriage and have them fucking you whenever you wanted. Wouldn't it be nice? It'd be so lovely if you could just stroke their cocks whenever you felt like fucking, and they'd sandwiched you between their bodies like now. You imagined walking up to Bucky and just getting your panties down, showing off your aching pussy to have him hammer his cock in you immediately. Or perhaps complaining to Steve that your empty cunt hurt, and you needed his thick, fat cum to feel better. Surely, it would be lovely to have them constantly use their cocks to please you.

You were cumming your brains out. You couldn't even count how many times you orgasmed already, the orcs changing angles and poses to have you on cloud 9. They were talking to you - Steve said something about the restriction to cum in your mouth unless you got knocked up, but Bucky assured him you were getting pregnant real soon - but you couldn't say much with your brain switched off. Now you could only think with your pussy. Sure, why not get pregnant with little orclings? Your orc husbands said they'd keep fucking you, anyway. They'd be so proud of you with your tattoo getting bigger, showing you were knocked up with orcs' seed, a sweet little slut with monster babies in your belly. Your orc husbands would fuck you as much as you wanted them if that happened, they promised to you as your pussy started spasming again, the tip of Bucky's cock kissing your cervix.

"I think it's time," Steve licked his lips, slowly taking his cock our of your ass while you moaned in protest. "Shhhh, baby. We have something special for you."

The other orc smirked, pulling out his member, too, his tip rubbing your drenched lower lips until Steve's cock joined him. You opened your eyes right away.

"It can't be," you said, your voice hoarse as you stared Steve in the face. "You're joking."

"No, baby, you're ready to take us both," he murmured, squeezing your perky nipples as his cockhead penetrated your cunt, Bucky's member entering your poor leaking hole at the same time, stretching it enourmously. "We have to end the mating ceremony like that, fucking you in one hole. Look how good you're taking us."

You stared with horror at your bulging belly, their cocks stretching you so much it looked like you were already pregnant. Shit, why did it feel so good to have them in your cunt together? These too monstrous, barbaric cocks pounding your sweet human pussy, soiling it with their dirty cum, forcing you to bear them babies... Could you ask them to do it more? To have their cocks in you every day? Bucky said something about you riding him tomorrow, right? You could do that. You could milk his horse cock till he emptied his balls in you. And you could suck Steve off real good, regardless of the taboo. You were definitely gonna get knocked up today, why waiting when you could give him a great blowjob with your tight throat?

Shit, two monster cocks abusing your cervix felt so fucking good.

Yeah, you were gonna make babies with them. You were gonna let your orcs have you where they wanted you if you got to command them to fuck you whenever you wanted to.

"A nice creampie for you, baby, for being so good to us," Bucky murmured into your lips, kissing you as your belly grew bigger with his and Steve's seed filling your baby room. "Look, your tattoo is already glowing. Congratulations on becoming an orc mama, you sweet slut."

____________

Tags: @finleyjayne @alexakeyloveloki   ​@helenaeisenhower @villanellevi @inlovewiththefictionalcharacters @navegandoaciegas @rosalynshields @sllooney @angrythingstarlight @lookiamtrying @buckysbunny @soleil-dor @dillybuggg @literate-lamb @cosicas-cuquis @sarge-barnes-sir @buckybarnesplumwhore @jaysayey @megzdoodle @gotnofucks @lux-ravenwolf @biiskuitx @stupendouslovegardener @melodierin @yeolliedokai @what-is-your-wish @lou-la-lou @gachawipes133 @eralen @eclecticpatrolroadlawyer

[p3sephone]

No way out. (Dark! Steve Rogers)

Summary: you are a worker in the Stark Tower, only aiming to grow your career and keep your life simple. Actually, you were the kind of person who admired the avengers but from afar but Steve Rogers didn’t have the same plan once he started talking with you. 

Serie warnings: this is a serie so there are going to be many specific warnings that will be given throught all the chapters. This is a dark! Steve Rogers x reader, dark! Bucky Barnes x reader serie. This serie is DARK, so expect heavy themes such as non-con, unwanted touches and all that. If you do not feel comfortable with this or if you’re a minor, do not read and block this account. 

Chapter 1 warnings: feeling uncomfortable. 

Word count: 1,5k. 

Note: this is my first serie ever and it was inspired by this one shot here. Reblogs, comments and likes are always welcome and well appreciated! <3 

┆ ° ♡ • ➵ ✩ ◛ °

You were nervous, looking at the building in front of you. You could hear the voice inside your head grin and tell you that you would never make it. You weren't able to hold a person's attention for more than 5 seconds, imagine doing a work of this caliber. You were a professional looking for a job and you expected a somewhat mediocre or at least moderate job. You didn't expect your candidacy sent to Stark Tower to be seriously accepted. The salary was just perfect, more than adequate for you living alone in a small apartment. You could have bought several things and not worried about not being able to make ends meet, but could you have made it through the first day of work? Or rather, every day? You sighed looking at the smartwatch on your wrist, deciding you had to go inside. It certainly couldn't stop time and you couldn't be late on your first day. With a decisive, albeit fake step, you headed towards the large building. You saw people at the exit mingling and getting less and less as you went, until you showed your e-pass to enter. You entered without problems and looked around: a classic building, yes, but by Stark. And it looked good. You inhaled through your nose trying not to show your nervousness, on the contrary, forcing a small smile on your face. You had to make an effort to at least look happy and satisfied with this new job. Everything had already been explained to you in advance by email, you even had an interview to ensure that no confidential information ever came out of your mouth. You had turned your nose slightly up at this: your job was simple and those files weren't really that secret, what could they worry about? But of course it wasn't your business and you certainly didn't have a say about it. You went to the third floor, take the right. Your office was there: there were no new colleagues to talk to, just a coffee machine on the ground floor and your office waiting for you with a great view outside. It was tiny but perfectly adequate for your job. You smiled slightly, placing your briefcase on the desk and taking a few seconds to admire the place. You found it minimal, perfect. You loved simple things. You heard little noises at the door, so you briefly composed yourself as you turned around. "Can I help you?" the question came out almost spontaneously, so much so that you had not taken into consideration the person in front of you. Steve Rogers. He was one of the avengers, you knew him and were grateful for his work. You knew the story of him, you had seen the videos. 

He was the perfect hero and soldier, but heroes weren't really your thing. Maybe you were wrong, but you felt gratitude, yes, but not as much gratitude as felt by the many inhabitants of New York and other cities. You were okay, the avengers were too and did their job while you did yours, and it didn't seem like a really bad thing. You wanted to leave things as they were and had made it clear right away that you didn't want to be involved in any kind of danger. "Well no, actually I just wanted to say hello. I saw you outside... you looked very nervous." he giggled nervously, putting his hand to his hair as if to fix it.

 As if he had something out of place. You suppressed a little twitch in the eye of nervousness, annoyed that someone had seen you. You hated being seen that way, not because there was something wrong, but because all your life they made you believe it was wrong and now... you just got used to it. You put the most fake smile on your face and then you shake your head. "I was actually nervous, but only for the amount of work. I'm really happy to be here and for the welcome, thank you very much." you have denied how much he may have understood of your nervousness, making your voice silky and gentle. You had to behave like this with the public, you knew that. You could see that he was not at all convinced of your answer, almost as if he knew you were lying. You didn't care, after all your work wasn't in contact with the avengers. And to be honest, you could admit that deep down you were scared of men with abilities like Steve Rogers or others. You loved simplicity, they weren't simple, they were anything but. You were hoping that the golden soldier of America might give up and leave you alone to do your job, but he didn't. Instead, he decided to go further into your office, crossing the threshold of the door and frowning around. "Tony should do something about these offices. They're so bare." he frowned, then paused on you with a small smile. "I really hope you brought something to decorate them with. It’d mean, you know, that you will stay here a long time. Nice to have company." he tried to make you comfortable, but he only got the opposite. You frowned completely this time, dropping the mask and pointing out your confusion. "Company? There are a lot of people in this building." you commented with a nervous laugh, not understanding what his point was. You never thought in your entire life that you could say that, but Steve managed to make you deeply uncomfortable, as well as that overwhelming body. Normally it is thought that the bigger a man is, the more he can offer protection and safety, right? For you it was the other way around. It was as if you were afraid of it, deep down, but you didn't want to admit it. So when he approached you further with a little smile and a frown you pretended to be fine, stopping the urge to play with your nails or look away. He tilted his head slightly, giggling, shaking his head. "The third floor is almost completely empty. It's a new sector, Stark needed a few professionals and they have all already been distributed. Your office is very close to the rooms of us avengers, but in this corridor you are almost alone. Most of the rooms are archives. Weren't you informed? " his tone was almost mocking, you almost found that he wanted to discredit you. Or maybe it was your paranoia that spoke. You nearly choked on your own saliva upon receiving and processing that information, but you couldn't go back now. You had to get used to it. So you did what came naturally to you: pretend to laugh in situations of profound discomfort. "I think I missed it in the email sent, but thanks for the information, now I know why there were very few people here." you offered one of your best smiles, looking first at his blue eyes and then at the door, as if to indicate that he should go. He smiled back at you in the best possible way, almost seemed to commit himself. But he didn't get your message. You then cleared your throat, heading over to your desk and opening your briefcase. A photo of you came out but you didn't worry about it at that moment, thinking of sitting gracefully in your armchair. It was only time to turn around, that only after you surprised the infamous Steve Rogers with your photo in hand. Without thinking twice, you took it from his hands, holding it tight to your chest. Only when you saw his shocked expression on him did you realize your mistake: you lost control. You then cleared your throat, looking down embarrassed. "Sorry, it's just that important but I wasn’t-" You didn't really know what to say, there was no real excuse. The truth was that you were right and he didn't have the right to take your things, but could you really start your first day like that? Fortunately, his gallantry preceded him. "No really, I'm sorry! It was my fault, I shouldn't have... I just saw it and you, it was really beautiful. The view too." he giggled nervously, backing away. He felt deeply uncomfortable, like you. There was an awkward silence, followed by a brief "see you later" and his footsteps farther and farther away from him. You thought Steve Rogers was a great soldier, a good avenger but you didn't think he was capable of making you so uncomfortable. You didn't think about it, shaking your head and getting to work. You didn't have the time or the will to think. You knew you weren't nice and didn't need to believe otherwise, and above all you knew you weren't in that building to make friends or get acquainted. You loved the simplicity of your work, you would not have allowed someone to ruin it even just by entering your mind for a bad impression.

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"The Taste of You"

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes

Tags: Fresh AU, dark rom-com, dark!Bucky, pre-serum Steve, cannibalism, kidnapping, yandere/basement wife, meet cute-ish, gay sex n' stuff, dub-con

Summary: Just when he's given up on ever finding Mr. Right, Steve meets the - seemingly - perfect guy at the grocery store.

A dark, cute, funny, fucked up, and very tasty love story.

A.N.: It's not as murdery as it sounds 😅 But, as per usual: minors DNI. It's a Fresh AU. "If you can't handle the cannibalism, get out of the kitchen"--or something like that

1. Specialty Ingredients

Steve watches, mouth literally hanging open, as it happens again: his date is stomping away, mad.

He just called Steve a scrawny, cock-teasing twink for making out a little on the sidewalk, but then declining to go back to his place to hook up. The guy pressed the issue and Steve got frustrated and told him tersely that he wasn't interested because they just met, okay? That went over like a lead balloon.

Steve scowls as the jerk disappears around the corner at the end of the block. “Well fuck you too,” he mutters, feeling put out—and okay, a little hurt, too. He’s not a cocktease. He’s not scrawny.

Well, maybe that second one is kind of true, but Steve hates how guys will act like they’re into his small stature when they think he’s a sure thing, but then get all derogatory and mean about it once he tries to tell them he’s looking for more than a hookup and wants to take it slow—and not even hetero people slow; gay guy slow, which is super fast in comparison! Steve just wants to get to know a guy for once before sleeping with him. Is that really so bad?

He huffs and turns around, walking dejectedly back to his car. Another handsome asshole, another hope dashed, another pathetic date. He really does have the worst luck, and he’s getting plain sick of it. He checks his phone before he drives away.

Clint: Well???

Steve sighs. He types back a reply to his friend

Steve: another dud

Clint: dude …

Steve rolls his eyes and chucks the phone onto the passenger seat. He turns the key in the ignition, the radio coming on to an old eighties love ballad that just worsens his sense of dejection. “Fucking figures,” he mutters, putting the car into drive.

He leaves the song playing though, because sometimes wallowing is called for.

The next morning, Steve wakes up in a glum mood. He tries to focus on his work for most of the day, rather than his horrible luck with dating, but as he paints the hours away he winds up pouting about it anyhow. He sinks further and further into a depressing pit of self-pity and despair.

Clint texts him, asking if he wants to go out and sing karaoke or something, and Steve knows he’s just trying to cheer him up and all, but he really can’t stand the thought of being cheerful right now.

Steve hates gay guys, he thinks, stomping over to the crappy small sink in his crappy small apartment’s kitchen. He runs the water and rinses off his brushes with a vengeance they don’t deserve. Gay guys suck. Steve hates how shallow they all are, how vapid and self-centered. All they want is to go clubbing and fuck around and that’s it. None of them want a real relationship, and they think Steve is boring for wanting to have a meaningful conversation instead of suck their dicks right away. He gets grumpier about it the more he thinks, and he even has the thought that at least if he were straight he could find someone with feelings, a desire for genuine connection. “Gay guys suck,” he mutters to his poor, abused paint brushes.

Nevermind that Steve himself is incontrovertibly homosexual and has no choice in the matter of what his dating pool consists of. After all: ‘Haters gonna hate, players gonna play’. “Gaays gonna gay, gay, gay, gay, gay.” Steve sings the tune under his breath. He just hates it, hates it all. He’s sick and tired of playing the game.

He sends Natalie a nastily self-deprecating text:

Steve: Know any of your girlfriends who might want to date a faggot?

It’s not nice, and he knows she won’t like him using that word in that context.

Natalie Potential Rich!! Buyer: another douche huh?

He sighs and texts back an apology with a huggy emoji.

Steve: Sorry 🤗 Just frustrated. All the good ones are taken and I’m not interested in the skanks who’re left over.

Natalie responds with the “Give that man a Snickers” Diva-meme, which makes Steve realize that he is, in fact, hungry. He needs to get something to eat. He needs to focus on himself for a change. Maybe it’s finally time to stop looking for Mr. Right and just enjoy Steve Rogers. Maybe he should join a gym, start a new hobby, anything to fill up his time with himself rather than another person. 

He goes into the kitchen, thinking that he’ll make something yummy and binge watch a new series off his Netflix list, but scowls at the barren interior that greets him when he opens the fridge door. Nothing good to eat. “Fuck,” he mutters. He’s got to go to the grocery store now before he can sit down with a meal and relax.

And it’s raining outside, too. Just his fucking luck.

His phone ‘pings’ and he looks over at where he’d set it on the counter. The screen is lit up with a new notification from Grindr:

Henry super liked you!

He picks up the phone and opens the app. Henry’s profile pic is only from the neck down, showing off his abs. Steve rolls his eyes. The next picture is his lower half, a pair of tighty-whities stretched over his erection making it lewd, but still within the app’s no dick pic rules. The third pic is of his bare ass in a jockstrap.

Steve spends a second more than he intends appreciating the guy’s backside, but then he growls and jabs his finger at the screen to reject the guy. He’s fucking fed up with this entire thing! On a sudden, right-feeling whim, he exits the app and holds his finger down on the screen until all the icons start wiggling with their little x’s. He quickly proceeds to delete Grindr, Scruff, and Hornet from his phone.

He’s fucking done with dating. He’s giving up. Steve is just not meant to find Mr. Right. Not this year, anyway. He feels lighter after deleting the apps, and he slides his unburdened phone into his pocket with a sense of accomplishment and a shiny new idea: He’s not going to date for a whole year. He’s going to make this The Year of Steve.

Fuck yeah.

He goes to the hall closet to grab his umbrella and rain boots.

The walk to FreshMart is only four blocks from his apartment, but he still arrives at the grocery store a little damp from the gusting rain. He shakes off his umbrella by the door, grabs a basket, and directs himself towards the produce aisle. He’s added fingerling potatoes and some asparagus spears to his basket, and has just started perusing the meat section when he hears a man’s voice say, 

“Hey, have you ever had this?”

Steve looks over. The guy is holding up a package of bloody red … something. Steve blinks. “Um …”

The stranger twists his lips and shakes his head, looking at the meat. “It’s venison. I thought I’d freak my sister out with something a little different.”

“Your sister?” Steve asks, feeling very odd at being asked his opinion in the middle of the meat department. He looks between the package of raw meat and the stranger—He’s unusually handsome, tall and strong-jawed, brown hair styled in an effortlessly flattering cut. Steve licks his lips nervously. “Um, isn’t that like, deer meat?” He takes a step closer to peer down at the label. “Huh.” He didn’t know regular grocery stores sold that kind of thing. “That’s … exotic,” he says, for lack of a better word.

The stranger chuckles. “Yeah, well. I actually don’t eat animals, so …” he shrugs. “But her and her husband and kids are total carnivores. Thought I’d bring something other than my usual bottle of wine.”

“Oh.” Steve peers up at the man, trying to figure him out. The man smiles sheepishly and Steve winds up smiling, charmed, if somewhat baffled. He looks the man in the eyes and is taken by how pretty they are, how intense. Damn he’s good looking. “Well I, ah, couldn’t tell you what it tastes like. I’ve never had it.” He makes a face. “Like I said, it’s exotic.”

“Oh I love to cook with exotic ingredients. I’m kind of an amateur cuisinier. Or at least I try to be.”

“Oh. Right.” Steve gestures to the blood package. “But you ah … you don’t cook only vegetarian stuff?”

The man grins (and shoot, he’s got an unfairly attractive smile, too). “I guess I just like to satisfy other people’s appetites,” he says, lips parted enticingly. And then his tongue darts out in this totally casual, should-be-illegal sort of way. “I take it you’re a meat eater,” he says knowingly.

Is that a double entendre? Steve thinks it might be a double entendre. Yes! he wants to scream. Yes! He is 1000% a meat eater. He gulps as the guy’s eyes flick down and back up his body in a heated onceover, and Steve may not always be the brightest bulb in the box, but he can tell when he’s being considered. Is this guy really flirting with him? Here? In the freaking grocery store? Is that even a real thing that happens, anymore? Steve flushes and pulls his shopping basket up higher in front of himself, like a shield. “I–I see,” he stammers. “Well �� um … yeah.” God, he’s hopeless.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Venison’ll probably be … different.” He nods at the stranger, awkward and aware that the other man isn’t moving away. “Well. Good luck.” He turns and vacantly peruses the meats, pretending that he’s more invested in searching out the perfect porkchop than he really is. He hears the guy’s footsteps moving away.

“Fuck it,” the man says, and turns right back around. He takes a deep breath. “I like your boots.”

“What?”

The guy nods downwards. “Your rain boots. They’re really cute.”

Steve looks down at his feet. His rubber boots are pink and printed with the golden girls’ faces. He looks back up at the stranger, stunned. No straight guy on planet Earth would ever say such a thing. “Um. Thanks.”

The guy holds out his hand, friendly, like he’s not aware he’s acting weird as shit. “I’m James.”

Steve probably stares too long at the offered hand, before he hurries to shove the handles of his shopping basket up onto his one arm so that he can take the guy’s—James’—hand and shake it. It’s pleasantly large over his own hand. “Steve.”

James smiles. He’s arrestingly handsome when he doesn’t smile and Steve feels like an even weaker creature when he does. “Sorry,” James says, looking down shyly. “I uh, I don’t usually do this.”

“Do what?” Steve asks, keenly aware that he may just be about to be propositioned. He winces at the idea of having to turn down another good-looking jerk.

James tilts his head. “Would you …” He hesitates, eyes flicking up and over as a woman passes them. She turns and goes down the soda aisle. He looks back to Steve, distracted. “I was gonna be crazy and ask for your number,” he says, flushing. Steve doesn’t even get a chance to say anything before James is scrubbing his hand over his embarrassed face. “Fuck, I’m sorry. You’re probably not even—” He looks back to the soda aisle where the woman had gone. “Sorry,” he mumbles again, and starts to walk away. “Human disaster in the meat aisle. Just ignore me, please.”

“Wait!” Steve blurts. James turns back around. “Why do you want my number? Were you gonna ask me out? Like on a date?” He uses the word purposefully.

“Well, yeah.” James looks apologetic. “Sorry. I know it’s weird.”

It is weird. But Steve is kind of charmed by the guy’s odd methods. He promptly pushes away his resolution of The Year of Steve. “James,” he says, taking a step closer. “Um, you can. Have my number.” He peeks up at him shyly. “If you want.”

James' happy-surprised-enthused smile is the best one yet. They exchange numbers.

Clint: Wait, wat do you mean, the grocery store??

Steve: he came over and just started talking to me.

Clint: … that’s weird, man. That’s shady.

Steve: actually it was kind of cute. Kind of idk old fashioned.

Clint: Kind of weird. Whats his Insta?

Steve doesn’t hear from James for almost three days. He alternates between finding it refreshing, and being disappointed. Maybe Clint’s right. Maybe the guy was just a weirdo.

Then, on the third day, Steve is leaving from his morning shift at Michaels when he hears his phone ‘ping’ with a notification. When he sees the name “Weird Meat Guy” on the screen, his face splits in a grin.

Weird Meat Guy: Been thinking about you since the other day.

Happy butterflies come to life in Steve’s stomach at the flirtatious tone of the text. His first instinct is to force himself to ignore it for at least thirty minutes, so that he doesn’t seem overeager. But then he thinks, fuck it, just like James had said in the grocery store before turning right back around to ask him out.

Steve types a reply.

Steve: hey stranger. Yeah I was wondering how that venison worked out for you. 😂What’s it taste like?

Weird Meat Guy: I don’t eat animals, not even for my sister’s Sunday dinners. But she said it was fine. Not as good as regular old cow, though🐄🥩

Steve: not surprising.

There’s a bit of a pause where he can see James is typing and deleting and typing again. Then,

Weird Meat Guy: Do you want to go out tonight? We could grab drinks or something?

Steve bites his lip, bad memories of “casual” meetups and “just grabbing drinks” dates and what they’ve always led to, in the past.

Steve: let’s go out to eat. At a restaurant or something. A real date.

James texts back almost immediately, and his answer makes Steve beam like a fool.

Weird Meat Guy: Hell yeah. What’s your favorite kind of food?

Steve can’t help it; he has a good-verging-on-great feeling about this guy. He tries to tuck away his expectations that this time it’ll be different. He can still do The Year of Steve if or when this goes wrong. He’ll just try this one last time though. Just once more before he swears off being a “meat eater” for the year.

He tells James that he really likes Italian food, and the next thing he knows, James is sending him the link to a really nice and expensive Italian place in Brooklyn. Steve thrills at James' enthusiasm, and grimaces at the three dollar signs that Google has lined up beside the restaurant’s name.

He tells James okay, figures he’ll just tighten up his budget a bit for a few weeks after.

James meets him inside the restaurant, at the bar. He’s already got a drink in his hand. “It’s an old fashioned,” he tells him sheepishly. “Sorry to start without you.”

“No, it’s fine.”

“I just get a little nervous when I ask a cute guy out to dinner.”

Steve freezes, but then his mouth twitches. “Oh,” he says. “You, ah … you think I’m cute, huh?”

James grins and winks at him in a way that is devastating and should-not-be-allowed. “Yeah. I sure do.”

Steve is charmed.

The hostess seats them in a dark and cozy booth in the back of the restaurant. Steve settles in and looks around, impressed. “This is a really nice place,” he says, genuinely meaning it but also kind of anxious to open his menu and get a look at whatever prices garnered a $$$ on Google.

“Yeah it’s one of my favorites.” James is grinning at him from across the table. “I was so glad you picked Italian, cause then I knew I had the perfect place to bring you.”

Bring you. Steve looks down and tries not to smile too obviously at the words. “I like it so far,” he says, peeking up coyly at James so that he knows Steve doesn’t just mean the restaurant.

James seems to get it, if his expression is anything to go by.

They open their menus and Steve’s stomach drops at the forty dollar appetizers. Shit. He wishes he’d found a way to mention to James that he’s kind of a starving artist.

“Do you like mushrooms?” James asks, oblivious to Steve’s internal panic. He’s looking across the table at him with eager eyes. “They’ve got the best stuffed mushrooms I’ve ever had. I think they put crack in ‘em.”

Steve laughs despite himself, then decides ‘fuck it’ once again, and closes his menu with a nod. “Sure,” he says. “Let’s do it.” He’ll live frugally for a month if he has to.

James orders them the appetizer and an entire bottle of wine that he knows by its specific name and year. All Steve makes out is the “‘94 ” part of it, and his heart rate picks up. He’s about to really worry about how the hell much a place like this is going to charge for an entire bottle of wine that’s older than he is, but then when the server delivers it and pours for them, James shoots him a wink and tells him, “S’my treat.”

Oh. Steve’s heart flutters as much at the gentlemanly gesture as it does at the possibility that maybe James will pay for the whole meal. A guy can dream.

The mushrooms arrive and Steve gushes to James about how he was right: they are amazing. They get to talking, covering the standard ‘first date’ questions, and it’s stupid and awkward like it always is; but also it isn’t, because James seems to laugh about the awkwardness of it, too. And that makes it kind of fun.

James is thirty-seven to Steve’s twenty-seven (Daddy kink: activated). He has a place in Manhattan but his sister lives in Brooklyn, which is why he was shopping at the FreshMart in Steve’s neck of the woods the other day. He’s got one parent still living, grew up with a loving family but “pretty poor” in Jersey. He hasn’t been in a relationship or even been on a date in “a really long time.” He wants to travel more but he lets his work consume him too much. He doesn’t eat animals.

He’s also really good at making the whole first-date interrogation-phase go smoothly. It’s fun with him, Steve realizes, not awful and strained like it usually would be. Their conversation just seems to flow naturally and easily, both of them smiling almost continually as they chat and joke.

Steve is utterly charmed.

“Okay,” James says, as he pops another mushroom into his mouth and then talks around it. “I’ll do another boring one: what do you do for work?”

Steve gulps and delays answering by taking a sip of the wine—a red that downright tastes expensive. “Um, well my passion is my art. It’s what I went to school for.” He tucks his lips in and shrugs. “But, ya know, ‘starving artists,’ and all that. So I work part time at Michaels, too.”

James doesn’t look like he’s thinking that Steve’s a stereotype or a loser or anything like that. “That’s awesome!” he says, sounding like he genuinely means it. “What kind of art? Or like, what medium do you work with?”

Steve blinks. Nobody ever asks him good questions like this, like they actually care and want to dig deeper into who he really is. “Um, mostly acrylics. Some watercolors and pencil-charcoal sketching,” he says, flustering at the way that James pays such close attention to his answers. “I like to mix it up sometimes, but mostly it’s those three.” He shrugs. “I sell online. I have one really loyal patron—she keeps me afloat. S’nothing that special.”

“Sounds like you know your stuff,” James counters, not letting him insist on his own mediocrity. “If you went to school for it and all, then you must be pretty good. Don’t you have to, like, audition for art school?”

Steve blushes and looks away. “Well. Yeah.”

“And I bet you get all your supplies cheap with the side gig, huh?”

Steve stares at him. “Yeah,” he says, impressed. “Employee discount.”

James nods sagely, as if he’s ever had to worry in his life about the utility of an employee discount. He might’ve grown up poor, but he’s clearly well-off now. Steve can tell that the suit he’s wearing is a custom tailored deal, and the wine he’s ordered for the table has a bouquet of oak and dollar bills. “I think it’s really brave of you,” he’s telling Steve, looking like he admires him or something ridiculous like that. “That you’re following a passion like that? That you can just …” he makes a shaping gesture over the table with his hands, “make something with your own two hands and then sell it? That’s incredible.”

The more James talks, the more Steve gets his hopes up that he might actually be A Really Great Guy™️. Steve can hardly stand to take all the compliments, so he turns the question back around on James: “What about you? What do you do for work?”

James hesitates. “... I’m a surgeon.”

Steve’s eyes go wide and his mouth drops open, making him look like A Gold Digger™️, probably. He closes his mouth. “Oh. Wow, that’s … that’s neat. Medical school, then, huh?”

James smiles through a wince, as if being a freaking doctor is no big deal. “Yeah. It was rough for a few years, but I got through it. I’m in a good place now. It’s pretty smooth sailing.”

“So do you work at like a hospital or something?”

“Not exactly.” He stares at him for a long moment, then suddenly says, “Gosh, I’m just really attracted to you, Steve.” Steve blinks, taken-aback. He reaches for a hurried sip of his wine and tries to think of a response to the weird shift in conversation. “Sorry,” James hurries. “I just felt like I had to say it.” He gives Steve a tender look rather than a lecherous one, which is a welcome change from the usual script. “I think I might really like you.”

Steve flusters and averts his eyes to the tabletop, peeking back up at James a few times. The guy is totally focused on him. It’s intimidating, but not in a bad way. “Yeah,” Steve eventually manages to murmur. “Yeah I think you might be nice.”

James teases him about the ‘nice’, and they fall into easy banter again as they finish the mushrooms and open up their menus to choose their entrees. Steve’s once again fixated on the prices, and he immediately starts trying to see if there’s anything under sixty dollars …

“By the way,” James says casually, not looking up from where he’s reading his menu. “I know this place is fucking ridiculous: I got it covered.”

He says it all easy and nonchalant, like it’s no big deal that he’s treating Steve to what’s probably a three hundred dollar dinner, and Steve once again feels like he’s on a date with a hero, a real gentleman. “Kay,” he says smally, feeling delighted and hopeful as heck on the inside. 

He orders a seafood linguini, and James gets a spinach and cheese tortellini dish. “This is so good,” Steve practically moans around a mouthful of his food. 

James makes a noise of agreement, stuffing another tortellini shell in his mouth. “Mmph.”

“So you really don’t eat any meat?” Steve winds up asking. “Like, not even fish or chicken or anything?” Where does he get his protein? James looks like he keeps in good shape …

James chuckles. “Nope. Haven’t touched the stuff for … gosh, almost fifteen years.”

“Wow.” Steve spears up another shrimp from his pasta and wonders if it offends James. “So like, is it an ethical thing or just …”

“No, no. I just kind of had this epiphany one day—while I was tenderizing a thigh, mind you—that all the things I was eating were living creatures, that we’re animals just like they are.” He makes a thoughtful face as he considers it. “It’s not a moral viewpoint so much as it is a …” he trails off and his eyes return to Steve with an apologetic shrug. “I dunno. My viewpoint shifted that day. Couldn’t shift it back. I’ve tried so many other things now, animal meat just doesn’t taste the same anymore.”

“I can respect that.” Steve wiggles his fork that’s speared with a juicy scallop. “As long as you don’t mind this.” 

“No, no way. Don’t you remember where we met?”

Steve snickers. “Oh yeah, how could I forget. What was it you said? You like to ‘satisfy other people’s appetites’?” He chances a flirty look across the table. “Wasn’t that how you put it?”

James chews, smirking, and he winks at Steve again. Goddamn. “Yeah,” he says lowly. “Yeah. I sure do.”

On the sidewalk outside the restaurant they stand close together, bundled in their jackets. Neither one of them seems to want to leave. “Thanks again,” Steve says. “For dinner. It was really nice.”

“My pleasure.” James takes a step closer, so that they’re almost toe to toe. “I was so excited to go out with you,” he says. He brings a hand up and traces the side of Steve’s face with the backs of his fingers, not looking at Steve’s eyes but rather where he’s touching his cheek. “You’re different,” he murmurs. "And I knew it the moment I met you."

Wow, what a fucking intense thing to say. Steve … doesn’t hate it. “I am?” he whispers, watching his breath swirl on the air between their faces.

“Mmhm. I can tell.” 

Steve shivers and fights the urge to press into James’ touch on his cheek. It feels unduly intimate, and they’re already so close. “I was excited for tonight, too,” he confides. “I’ve had a lot of bad luck with dating. Was getting sick of trying, to be honest.”

“But?” James asks softly, and Steve looks up at him, for once feeling open and honest enough to just admit,

“But I didn’t meet you on some app. And you liked my stupid Golden Girls boots.” James chuckles and Steve looks up, taking in his face up close: the dimple in his chin, the creases of age that’ve barely begun to collect at the corners of his eyes, that one tiny patch of grey in his beard. It makes him all the more insufferably handsome. “And you’re charming,” he whispers. “So there’s that.”

James smiles softly. “Aw, shucks.”

“I think you’re a really nice guy, James. I’d like to see you again.”

James' smile widens hopefully. “Yeah?” he says, leaning even closer.

“Yeah. I think, well … I just think …”

“What?” James touches his face again, this time palming his cheek. “Tell me.”

“Oh, it’s nothin’.” Steve finally lets his eyes slip closed, enjoying the feeling of James’ hand on his skin, the cologne he gets a whiff of when they’re standing this close. “You smell nice.”

“Thank you. Still haven’t told me what you were gonna say.”

Steve smiles sadly. “Oh, I’m just getting my hopes up about you, is all.” He’s still got his eyes closed when James kisses him. He inhales sharply through his nose, surprised. But he doesn’t pull away, and they just … keep kissing.

Eventually James cups his face with both hands and Steve moans, because the way James is kissing him feels so natural and good. He feels like he can taste James' good intentions as they make out softly, right there on the sidewalk.

When they part they’re both panting a little, heavy-lidded eyes flicking over one another, gauging, desire tinged with uncertainty. “That was …” James breathes.

“Yeah,” Steve says, and they both stare at each other for another long moment, before Steve says, “Fuck it,” and surges in to grab James by his jacket and kiss him again, this time harder. James whimpers needily into his mouth, and heat shoots through Steve’s belly at hearing it, arousal flaring to life faster than he can handle. Suddenly his pants feel a little tight, and he wants James so badly he can hardly stand it. “Oh man,” he groans, pulling away from the kiss, grimacing at himself for what he’s about to say. “I really, really never do this,” he promises against James' lips. “But … Do you want to go back to my place?”

James' eyes widen. “Yeah,” he breathes. “Fuck. Yeah, okay.”

They kiss eagerly one more time and then hurry off, giddy, hands clasped, and headed in the direction where James says he’s parked his car.

Masterlist

🍵Consider tipping your friendly neighborhood starving artist smut author!

✍🏻Commissions: reach out via Tumblr DM or contact here

[thefiery-phoenix]

YANDERES STUCKY (STEVE AND BUCKY) HEADCANONS

They'd most likely meet you if you were in the past with them, or an Avenger or even just a random civilian they once saved

Most yanderes often find it rather difficult to share but both of them get along really well with each other since they're pals so, they'll share you with each other, after all, sharing IS caring. And for YOU, that'll make it even more harder for you to escape from them

I can see both of them taking turns stalking you and claiming it to be 'keeping an eye on you to make sure you're safe'. Yeeaahhh.... I don't really buy that

If you're an Avenger like them you can't be one anymore since they don't want you risking your life and putting in danger. And if you're a civilian living without their protection, what if someone hurts you or does something to you? So, with the best interests in their hearts for you, and after all, they being your best friends, they only want what's best for you. And they know that the best thing for you is to be with them. FORVER

They'll collect everything about you, finding about your interests and stuff like that. They'll most likely kidnap you after 2 months or so but don't worry, they'll make sure you're happy with them and stock up on all your favorite things. HECK, they'll even have Natasha to help them plan their 'bringing you home' thing. Maybe even Clint as well

They'll constantly hold you every night and cuddle with you, telling you how precious and wonderful you are to them. Both of them really love cuddle sessions with you and it's best if you just go along with the flow since Steve might not be too nice unlike Bucky

Bucky generally never hands out the punishments since he doesn't like punishments. If you act up with Steve on the other hand, he literally won't hesitate to spank you and you'll really be needing some cream once he's done with his way of punishing you. But aftercare with them will be cuddles and they'll tell you not to act up. Bucky will try telling Steve to go easier on you and he'll cut you some slack

You won't be able to escape from these 2 anytime soon since they must've destroyed all sorts of escape routes and they even baby proofed the house so you don't accidentally hurt yourself or something

They're both super soldiers which makes them the PERFECT team , obsessive, possessive and overprotective of you. Not to mention kinda delusional too so... good luck trying to escape from them

[foxgloveprincess]

Another Taste Of Devouring Rush

Pairing: Pagan Gods Stucky x Female Reader [First Person Narrator]

Word Count: 8.8K

Summary: Growing up in a brothel, you’ve known and prepared for the fate that awaits you. But your madam’s scheme is looking for the highest bidder, and two potential bidders have caught your eye—though you’ve never seen their faces.

Warnings: Dark (Soft Dark Stucky), Medieval(ish) AU (Historical Inaccuracy because it’s a fictional setting), Polytheistic/Pagan Beliefs, Mythology, Yandere Behavior, Obsession, Possessiveness, Manipulation, Dubious Consent, Smut (Foreplay, Vaginal Penetration, Unprotected Sex, Loss of Virginity), Forced Escorting/Companionship/Prostitution, Virginity Auction/Bidding on Virginity, Innocence Kink (sorta), Minor Character Death, Abuse/Violence, Blood/Gore. All characters depicted/discussed as SWers are over the age of 18. Minors do not interact (18+).

A/N: This is in the same universe as A Little Touch of Heavenly Light. Though I think it’s perhaps darker than Tony’s tale. Not just Steve and Bucky, but also the reader’s circumstances make this one a bit of a doozy. Anyone who gets the Man of La Mancha nod, you’re my new favorite person. 

I love feedback, so go ahead and reblog if you want. No permission given to copy, translate, rewrite or post my work, at all. I cross-post to my own AO3 account. Seeing this anywhere else means it’s been stolen/plagiarized.

Title from “Breath of Life” by Florence + the Machine

This is not Beta’d, so all mistakes are my own.

Enjoy!

Please DO NOT click ‘Keep Reading’ if you are not 18+ years of age or unwilling to read/consume dark content, thank you!

I was born in a ditch, left naked and alone to die. Too cold to even cry out for my mother. A mother who abandoned me. 

Another woman, named Aida, wandering through the cold streets deep in the night, stumbled across me and carried my fragile, near-frozen body to her abode. Tucked close to her breast, beating warm and welcoming. 

The sign for The Broken Beast has always hung crooked over its doorway, welcoming customers to a small establishment of the world’s oldest profession. Not the most ideal situation for a growing girl. But no one ever touched me. Not the patrons, not the prostitutes. Not unless they wanted Aida’s wrath to rain down upon them like the tide of the Gods’ Blood. And it has been all I’ve ever known.

“You’re special, my jewel,” she says, brushing away my worries with the strands of my hair that stick to my forehead. “Only when you are ripe shall you be plucked.” 

And every day I wait, learning from the women and men of the brothel—my siblings in trade. Etiquette, composure, seduction, sensuality. Blossoming and utilizing my developing talents to become appealing—the perfect fantasy. For I know, one day, that is my fate. 

Yet every dawn, when their weary legs carry their heavy hearts to the small temple at the edge of the city and they bow before Ari the God of Pleasure and Passion, I weave my way toward others. The Righteous Captain and his companion, The Freed Soldier. 

Of course, they remain silent. What use would two gods have for a future wretch. It soothes my soul, though, surrounded by their offerings. Gorgeous works of art and ornamented trinkets. No spark of envy in my heart, but a longing for that beauty. True beauty, when my world constructs it from fantasy more fragile than a butterfly’s silken wing. 

I bow before them, my head resting against my hands, prayers muttered on syllables barely a whisper. My heart clenches in my chest and tears prick at my eyes. Hope a withering thing in my chest. Anticipating the day my precarious peace will shatter. 

Shuffling feet alert me to an approach. Skye, her kind eyes gazing upon my prostrated form with pity. Not much older than I, but a mistress to many lonely souls. Still she remains soft, the closest person to a friend I have.

“Let’s go home,” she beckons with an outstretched hand. 

I accept, as I must.

“You come closer every day, my jewel,” Aida declares, the flimsy material of her curtains obstructing her view of the street below.

My shoulders slump, sinking into my chair as my spirit droops within.

Swallowing around the lump in my throat, I conceal my distress with a pristine,“Of course, ma’am.”

“How are your lessons?” she asks, turning her eyes to pierce through me. Locked on every movement with an exacting precision. Never in my life have I been able to hide from her scrutiny.

“They teach me well,” I reply, folding my hands in my lap and shifting upon the cushion of the chair, sitting straight. I clear my throat of despair, biting back the temptation keen to voice my deepest desires and greatest fears. My ankles cross behind the chair’s leg, uncomfortable no matter how I settle. I feel it, deep in me. The question rises from within my gut, and before I can halt its progress I ask, “Shall I be presented upon the dais tonight?”

Aida scoffs, a fond smile tilting her lips. “Oh, my gem.” She stands and saunters toward me, lifting my chin with a gentle finger. “You shall be the most prized whore in all of the Nine Kingdoms.” She pats my cheek and returns to sit behind the sturdy mahogany of her desk. A ledger falls open before her, pages filled with names and sums. Her voice stills like water after it ripples, tone clear and dispassionate. “You shall begin to entertain tonight. But only the one who desires you most will have the chance to gaze upon you and enjoy your deflowering.”

I clamp my lips together, a distressed noise stuck in my throat. My gaze drops to my lap and my fidgeting fingers before I glance back up. Aida’s quill scratches more names into her book, waiting. She knows me too well.

“There are others, far more beautiful than I. My features bear nothing exquisite,” I insist with a gesture toward myself, heart pleading for my freedom toward the only mother I have ever known. Yet, as well as she knows me, she never seems to hear. “Should any new courtesan not do just as well?”

Regretful eyes meet mine. “Oh, my jewel, you are far more precious.” Her hands fold together and prop her chin atop her desk. She sighs. “Your innocence is far more potent in attraction than any fine face. And it shall win us a grand sum.” She stands and leans forward on her palms. “You shall be my crowning glory.”

The tears well along my waterline, blinked away and choked down. I nod. Anguish creeps along my spine, grasping at my heart and squeezing until my breath hitches.

“Of course, ma’am.” With my final word, I stand, bowing my head and retreating from her stifling expectation.

Descending the steps to the vast main room with its bar and many tables, my steps grow heavy, bile churning in my gut at the thought of strutting across this floor and seducing patrons for Aida’s purse. 

Melinda greets me from her stool with a stoic nod. She tips back her drink and shifts silently in her seat. Though she says nothing, barely acknowledges me, her eyes flicker with the briefest glimpse of sympathy. It’s enough to draw me closer, settling beside her and dropping my head to the smooth, well-worn wood. Her presence—the slightest sense of her understanding—washes over me like the flames of a cozy fire in the dead of winter.

A bottle of aqua vitae clinks on the bar before my eyes, Melinda’s hand wrapped around it’s neck. She pours me a small glass, watching as I stare wide-eyed at the spirit. 

“Don’t let them have more than they need.” The caution in Melinda’s voice startles me, the quiet woman not one to often offer advice. “Keep something for yourself. Your rage, your humor, your joy—keep something and tuck it away.” 

“Thank you,” I whisper as I straighten to meet her gaze, gratitude lacing every word. My throat grows tight with emotion, tears pricking at the back of my eyes.

She says nothing more, grabs her bottle of mead, and swaggers away. Chin held high, shoulders straight, yet burdened by the many years of her trade.

I remain at the bar, staring into the cup before me and the rippling drink within. It’s never touched my lips before, but I’ve heard of the acrid burn, the numbness. Too many girls getting lost in drink before entertaining their suitors. The dangers and temptations. Delicate fingers trace the rim, a debate rampant and inconclusive whirring through my mind. In the end, I push it away. Deserting the bar for the solace of my shared room. 

The day passes in distraction. Evening draws nigh. The sun dipping toward the horizon. As the others leave for the bar downstairs, to get to work and earn their keep, I begin the transformation. Style my hair. Rouge my cheeks. Dress in my finest rags. 

Voices swell below, raucous laughter and tittering giggles of delight. A farce. But one that brings coin and keeps customers returning again and again. My lungs expand on a deep breath and I stand without another look in the mirror.

“No,” Aida chastises from the doorway with only a glimpse of me, her frustration leaking from her pores. “This shan’t do.” Her fingers pluck in disgust at my cheeks. A sneer contorts her lip, hands grabbing at my chin.

A cloth wipes rough against my cheeks and her hands peel away the unsatisfactory outfit. She insists I wash again and presents a fine garment of crystal blue—pure, almost holy in its shade. Her foot taps as I scramble to appease her, turning once I am finished and awaiting her approval. 

Her face remains a careful mask, though preferable to the disgust of before. She reaches out her hand. “Come.”

I nod and follow, navigating the hallways of the brothel until we reach a room empty of occupant, but not of purpose. This place, once used for boarding, looks nothing like the barren chamber of the rooms where we sleep. Cushions in lush textiles line the floors. Colorful lamps swing overhead, flickering their flames. Swaths of fabric drape over once bare walls. A table rests before a long, translucent purple curtain partitioning the room. 

Aida draws me over and places me behind it. “You shall sit here,” she instructs, waiting to continue until I find my place. Raised upon a platform to survey the room before me. “Entertain your guests and who knows? One may desire to keep you.” She smiles, no warmth to her eyes, but a greed that consumes her. One with which I am well acquainted. It strikes me with her every glance in my direction.

“Yes, ma’am,” I whisper. 

She hums and spins on her heel, exiting with a click of the latch on the door.

Many pass over the threshold throughout the night, curious eyes seeking the Beast’s jewel. Some leave after a glimpse of the gossamer barrier. Others stay longer, sitting before me for a moment of my time. Ever demure in tone and bearing, I entertain them—ask of their stories and charm them as I’ve been taught.

It is not until the late hours of the night, when a kind older man departs with promises of a return, do I receive my final callers. 

Two figures enter. Strutting into the room with all the air of royalty. They sit like kings across the cushions, sprawling in a display of regal leisure. 

“My lords,” I greet, my chin dipping toward my chest, a gesture of deference still visible through the barrier. 

They do not speak for a moment. The silence elongating until I shift in my position and contemplate how I should continue to address them.

“What’s your name?” one asks, pleasant and genuine curiosity lacing his rich baritone. 

Whether he expects a pseudonym or the truth, I answer with my name on a stuttered breath, struck by his gaiety and left intrigued. 

“Your age?” he inquires.

Again, I answer with the truth, counting the years of my life. Older than the youngest who sell themselves here, well into womanhood and past the hopefulness of youth. The perfect age, Aida once said, to know better, yet not know at all. 

He hums. His companion remains silent. The companion’s head tilts, and I shift once more. Despite the gossamer partition fixed between us, his eyes bore through me. I swallow and match his stare, waiting.  

“Tell me of your tastes,” the first continues. And my gaze drifts from the silent figure.

“Tastes, my lord?” I question, not quite grasping his meaning. “Do you wish to speak of certain proclivities? Or—”

“Your favorites,” he intones, voice warm and soft with a tinge of amusement rife on his tongue. It’s sweet and disarming. I pause, contemplating the correct answer when he prompts, “Just the truth will suffice. Tell me of the foods you enjoy. The colors that catch your eye. The songs to which you long to dance.”

“I,” The words cuts off as my mind scrambles for the truth—too many thoughts whirling like a windstorm in my mind. I focus on the response most easily given. “My palate may not be as well traveled as some, sir, but I enjoy the sweet buns from the bakery down by the temple.”

“You enjoy sweets, then? All the better,” he jests with the confirmation of my reluctant nod, “for now I know a weakness. I must use it to my advantage.”

A laugh—a spontaneous thing, unpracticed and genuine—bursts from me. My lips spread in a smile. 

“And you, sir? What are your weaknesses?” I inquire, with an honest interest lurking behind my words. Never have I felt the necessity of knowing potential paramours in such a way, but something within my belly yearns for it now. 

“He’s bullheaded, and always pursues heavenly creatures without relent,” the companion speaks for the first time. 

His voice, soft and smoky, wraps around me and dizzies my head. My eyes trace his obscured form, and I breathe a laugh again. The delighted sound accompanied by them both. 

The rest of our night, we spend in each other’s company, exchanging pleasantries and small tidbits of favor until Aida shatters our peace to escort the potential bidders out.

Disappointment sits heavy in my gut, but I wait for my madam’s return. She sweeps into the room and brushes the curtain away, a twinkle of triumph in her eyes. My lips part on a question. Yet it goes unanswered, guided as I am to my rooms to sleep and prepare for the rigors of the next evening. 

Many more visit the second night. More the third. But each night, I wait. Bated breath and hopes high, anticipating the the arrival of the two lords who begin to occupy my every waking thought. 

Each night, always the last, they return, enlivening me with their attention and gentle affections. They grow bolder, sneaking closer toward the curtain. Prodding at the boundary between us.

“Why deep purple, little blossom?” one asks, soft voice reaching me. His fingers skim the fabric, catching on the tips and tugging until it flutters. “I have seen many don the color here. Is it the brand of your establishment?”

I swallow, leaning away from his unconscious lure. So close to them, so thin a barrier between us. The impulse tickles my spine and bids my fingers move—but I resist.

“My lord,” I explain with caution, “surely you know, in these lands, purple is the mark of a whore.” 

Silence stretches.

Broken by a growl—an almost inhuman sound, accompanying a cutting assertion, “You are not a whore.” 

I swallow, a spike of fear flickering at the base of my skull at the strict remonstrance. Lips parting, my mind scrambles for an apt response. Working through stunned and fluttering thoughts, I reply, “I am not, as of yet, my lord.” My head bows, unwilling to peek at their figures behind the delicate material. Heat warms my cheeks. “But I might be yours.” 

A sharp inhale meets my ears. 

The door bursts open, Aida ready for her nightly routine. The men stand, unmoving for a moment as they attempt to peer at my visage. To no avail as the curtain remains in place, not a shift or quiver.

No, the only quake comes from my blood, thrumming through my veins in an intoxicating rush. I wait, as I always do, for their reaction—just one more word from either of their lips. My fingers sink into the cushion beneath me, threatening to rip the cloth and expose the feathers and fluff beneath. But they remain as silent as me.

In incremental movements, I begin to stand. My legs untuck from under me, lifting me up. A shaking hand reaches forward. Fingers brush the fabric and begin to grip. Though my reason rebels against the instinct, every fiber in my being wishes to gaze upon their faces. To trace their features and drink in their presence without any impediment.

“My lords, if you would follow me,” Aida insists. Her tone breaks me from my thrall, barbed and biting—her ire roiling behind a composed guise.

When she returns, her nails dig into my arms, grip tight and painful. There is no gentleness in her treatment that night. Only a threat and a lesson learned.

Journeying with the others the next morning, I find the temple on an empty stomach, coaxed to deliver the first of my offerings to the God of Pleasure.

Everything within me revolts at his feet, bowing my head and refusing to utter my prayer. But I offer a coin from my meager purse before weaving my way toward beauty.

It feels right, supplicating myself to the patron of lost souls. The Freed Soldier looking upon my fatigued frame with indifference. 

“I cannot go on,” I lament at his feet, unable to glance at the altar of the Righteous Captain, knowing too well how conflicting my position is to his virtue. Only the Soldier may be my confessor this morning. “This venture, it taints me—spreading like a stain until it will cover every part of me.” Beneath my skirts, I loose a tiny sachet from around my thigh—a few aromatic herbs, a shard of iridescent glass, and a speckled pebble encased inside. “Please, I beg you. I will be loyal all my days.” Tears drip down my cheeks, and splash across the tiled floor. “Help me,” I whisper from quivering lips.

There is no answer. 

The night falls, as it must, and I return to my shrouded position. The faces blur in their familiarity from behind my curtain. Voices returning from the nights previous. Aida keeps new, curious gazes away—culling the interest pool to those wealthy enough to bid for my innocence. 

The older man returns from the first night, his voice jovial. Though he doesn’t tell me it, his name sits scrawled on a piece of parchment resting under Aida’s arm, along with the others who vie for my attentions. 

They’ve started to sit closer, their curiosity feeding a need to discern my appearance. But none catch a glimpse—none that I wish to catch a glimpse.

Except for them. 

Only one comes that night. His companion absent from his side. My heart sinks, distraught and cycling through notions of my failure before he speaks.

“I hope you will forgive me,” the man excuses, sitting before the curtain, pressing probing fingers across the translucent cloth. “I wished for a moment of your time, alone.”

My throat clears, mind searching for the words to express my curiosity and sate my incompetence with answers. “Then your friend has no need of my services?”

“No, no,” he rushes to reassure, “business calls him away this night. Though he should return tomorrow, neither of us wished to lose an opportunity to see you.”

Relief floods through my veins, a grin stretching my lips. “I suppose that will do.”

“Be assured, my sweet, we shall only ever have you together.” 

Heat rushes to my cheeks. His implications and passion striking me to my core. His figure leans closer to the drape, so close I might perceive his features if it were more sheer. Even still, his proximity ensnares my senses, scenting the faintest hint of sage on his clothes, the brush of his breath. My heartbeat thumps in my ears.

“You shall be my sweet, shan’t you?” he questions no louder than a whisper.

Before my thoughts can form coherence, my lips murmur, “yes,” without pause, fervor rife in the declaration.

“Then I have something for you.”

He turns away, hands procuring a bag tied to his belt. He offers it out. Just on the other side of the curtain but no further. I reach for it, charades of anonymity and mystery cursed to the riverbed.

The curtain parts around my arm, fingers grasping at the pouch. A hand locks around my wrist, lips descending for a tantalizing caress. I gasp. 

The man smooths his fingertips over my skin. Such tenderness, reverence in the gesture. And I sit still, unable to break the sanctity of the moment until he releases me with a final kiss to my knuckles. 

I swallow, a lump forming in my throat, impeding any sentiment I might utter. My eyes flick away from the shadow of his face, locking onto my gift and untying the ties. Pulse fluttering beneath my skin, every fiber of my being grasps for composure. 

Peeking into the linen bag, my fingers pluck out a small, dark shard which melts in my touch.

“Eat it,” he encourages, eager and insistent. “It’s called chocolate.”

I hesitate, wondering at the food, trying to discern its flavor without a taste. Yet chocolate is not something with which I am familiar. But the shard finds its way to my mouth, melting as it did between my fingers. It coats my palate with sweet bitterness. A sound of delight trills in my throat, looking to the man who offered such a fine gift.

“Thank you,” I whisper, still struggling to form words and lost in the pleasures of the treat, and even a simple offering of gratitude feels ill-equipped to convey my appreciation.

“Steve.”

“What?” I ask in confusion, glancing toward the pouch now resting in my lap and back to the gossamer.

“Steve,” he repeats, a patience to his voice, “it’s my name.”

“Steve.” It repeats on my tongue, sweeter than the chocolate still lingering. “A pleasure to know your name, my lord.” A smile pulls at the corners of my lips. An ache growing within my chest—inexplicable yet all-consuming. Akin to tenderness, affection. Accompanied by a pang, worse than those of a growing body. Knowing he and his companion are still but one of many who might win my innocence. Possibility and probability and favor warring against our fates that may not align.

But I disregard it. Allowing my own indulgence, engaging Steve in conversation and gaiety—as if I were not hiding behind a veil, and he were any man I might meet on the street. 

And the next night, they return together. My endearment to them growing even more incisive. Heavy as a boulder within my chest and piercing through me. Yet I have been taught well. A charming air shielding my true feelings from them, just as my face remains concealed.

“What think you of your other suitors?” 

The jubilance of my laughter ceases. Stunned by the man’s inquiry. Steve turns to face his companion, fidgeting in his seat. My eyelids blink, batting away bewilderment.

“They are of no concern, my lord,” I rush to say, stumbling over the words. Dread slithers down my spine, colder than winter’s frost. “You may be my only master, should you wish it.”

“And what would be the price of that?” he growls.

“James,” Steve reprimands, cautioning his companion and introducing me to him for the first time. 

Though my throat dries and my nerves pluck with discomfort, I reply, “I will never set the price, my lord. It is not one I wish to collect from you.”

Silence settles between the three of us. Long moments spent with our own thoughts. A chair creaks. A cup clinks. My breath stays within my chest, refusing to escape my lungs.

“Do you wish to be ours?” James asks, an edge to his words that I cannot define nor fathom.

“More than any other,” I reply.

“No matter the price,” Steve intones, question woven with an intensity much like his companion’s.

“Yes, my lord.”

It is the last thing I say to them. Their bodies rising as one and exiting the room. A strong, determined steeliness lining their shoulders and regimenting their gait.

Aida barges into my room, expression a blazing inferno of rage. Her nails sink into my arms, dragging me from my bed and shoving me against the floor. 

“You think to trick me, to make a fool of my endeavors?” she questions, tone sharp and pointed. 

My chin ducks, unaware of my slight against her. Trying to puzzle together whatever infraction I have committed. 

She tilts my gaze up, fingers squishing my cheeks and nails biting at my skin. “I own you,” she seethes. “Until the breath leaves my lungs and my soul fords the Gods’ Blood, you are mine and no one else’s.” She pushes me away and I yelp, head smacking against the frame of Skye’s cot. “Play your games with your suitors, my gem,” she spits, “but do not think you may challenge me.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I whisper, still lost and perplexed by her sudden wrath. But unwilling to provoke it further.

“Now,” she straightens, smoothing her hands over her bodice and turning her gaze from me. Yet still it sends a shiver down my spine. “You shall pray with your sisters and brothers at the temple. And come the evening, you shall see no more of those two lords who think themselves your keepers.”

I swallow hard, nodding and waiting to gather myself until her steps retreat down the hall. Head dizzy, I stumble to my feet and brush away the tears lining my eyes. For I know of whom Aida speaks. No two other men had sought me so ardently than James and Steve. I sniff away the distress and smooth my dress. Leaving my sorrow tucked away in the empty room.

My steps tread heavy toward the temple. My knees aching before Ari. Sorrow clings to me like a shroud and I cannot remember the words of my prayers before his feet.

I stay with my siblings at the temple, too forlorn to find my way to any other god to plead my case. Aida has spoken. As the madam of the brothel, her word equates to law and I cannot defy her. I cannot even fathom any strength to try.

Skye wraps her arm around me, guiding me back toward the temple door. Passing by a priestess with a half-veiled face, my steps falter. Her hand stretches before my waist, blocking my exit. 

“You so often find your way to this temple,” she states, her voice smooth and deep. A curl of shocking red hair falling to brush her cheek. Feline eyes scrupulous as they survey my frozen form.

My throat dries, a spark of fear curdling in my belly. “Yes,” I reply on a stuttered breath.

“You do not seek out your gods today,” she presses, gaze narrowed. 

Skye’s hold tightens upon my arm, a firm tug urging me away. But even she knows the respect owed to those in service of the gods. I release myself from her grasp and turn more fully to the priestess, whose emerald eyes shine with some divine knowledge.

“You know our station, sister,” Skye replies for me, biting even as her gentle hands reach for my waist. “Our prayers are sent to Ari in the morning light.”

“Yet her prayers are not yours,” the priestess refutes, turning her attention away from the woman at my side. 

I swallow, lips parted on some protestation that does not come. 

The priestess’s hands enfold mine, a small object placed in my palm. Voice soft, she whispers, “I have seen this appear upon their altar only when your prayers are the most sincere. Yet you have never noticed that it is yours.” With no further explanation, she bows her head and spins on her heel, returning to other duties of the temple and leaving me stunned with the weight of such a holy gift in my hand. 

“Come,” Skye urges, wrapping her guiding arm around me again. Her eyes trail after the priestess, confused and wary. 

My hand drops to my side. The points of the trinket prick at my palm, but every notion in my head knows without doubt that this precious thing must be protected. That Aida must never know it has come into my possession. It slips beneath my pillow, a ten-pointed star strung upon a smooth string. Out of sight and safe and mine.

The evening looms closer with the passing of hours, my heart heavy in my chest. For I know, with Aida’s supervision, I won’t see Steve or James again. 

As the sun descends on the horizon, despite my disappointment, I carry myself with charm and poise. Hoping to endear myself toward one of my few other suitors. For I must. My life hangs in the balance of their favor. 

“So, my dear,” the older gentleman inquires, “what shall I bring you?”

Swallowing down my dry throat, I reply with words fit to choke me, “Just yourself, my lord. I only wish for you.” The falsehoods are bitter on my tongue, forced. And I cannot help but compare them with the truths often spoken with my two favorites, the ones forbidden to me. 

Instead, I am left to please strangers, to lure the rich and bait them with innocence and false fidelity. It drains me each night. The first passing with no sign of Steve and James. The second falling with little hope. 

Until a crash sounds from outside my room. A cacophonous racket that sends me jumping in my seat. It startles my suitor as well—a younger man pleased by strokes to his ego and unconcerned with truth. 

“What in the Land Beyond is happening out there?” he huffs, standing from his place and stomping toward the door. 

Only to be forced back as it bursts open and another figure storms inside. He calls my name, his rough voice a boon, lifting my spirits—James. 

I stand, stepping toward the gossamer partition and wait for his approach. My tongue ties in my mouth, unable to exclaim in curiosity or astonishment, simply gazing at his form through the curtain. Sounds from without reach my ears, more crashes—broken cups and chairs. A ruckus that must have stemmed from him.

“You entertain them still?” he questions, hushed and incredulous. Reaching through the barrier between us, his touch wraps around my wrist. With a gentle tug, he attempts to draw me forward—an attempt I reluctantly resist. “You need not. Come.” He urges me forward again.

“My madam forbids it, sir,” I protest, voice quiet as a mouse yet as loud as I can make it. I do not budge from my spot before my pedestal, nerves a flurry of fear and confusion fluttering within my chest. 

He pauses, grip pulsing around my wrist with a stern strength. “You wish to stay here with them?” James spits the words with contempt, releasing me as if I scalded him. 

My lips part on a confirmation I cannot voice, silenced by an inability to form the proper words on my tongue. Tears prick at my eyes, dripping in cool rivulets down my cheeks. 

He huffs a scornful bark of a laugh, shaking his head and turning toward my evening’s patron. “You think you may have her?” he questions, tense shoulders held like a threat, feet stalking forward. “You will not.”

“Wait!” I cry, hiccuping a sob in distress. My hands grip the curtain, threatening to tear it from its hanging. “Please, James. Don’t—”

Another figure fills the doorway, just as broad and strong. He steps inside and closes the door behind him. 

“Are we ready?” Steve asks, his voice sure and soothing. 

“She will not come,” James replies, turning his attention back toward me and approaching on ominous steps. “Yet.” He whispers the word, almost against my lips through the thin barrier between us. 

His head tilts. A moment of calm passes, our breaths shared. But striking out in an instant, his hand wraps around my nape and drags me forward until his lips crash against mine. 

The fabric remains between us, but I taste his ardent desire in his touch and kiss, shaking me to my core. His heat burns me, tantalizing and tempestuous. And just as suddenly as he had ravished my senses, he releases me.

“You have promised yourself to us, lost little blossom, do not forget,” he murmurs against my lips before stepping back toward his companion.

They both leave through the door without a glance back. And I am left stunned. Lifting gentle fingers to trace my lips, my knees weaken beneath me and I fall upon my cushioned seat. 

Dazed, I continue my duties of the night, inattentive and lost to contemplation. Of Steve and James’ reappearance and urgency—of the hunger in James’ kiss. Ill-defined figures pass before the curtain, shadows forming the men left in my cadre of callers. Even in my dreams, hand tucked under my pillow and clinging to the star, I cannot bid my thoughts settle. Instead, it replays in my mind over and over. The press of James’ lips. His hand on my skin. His heat. The piercing of Steve’s gaze. His soft voice. His calm in the midst of chaos. Fantasies weaving together, leaving me in fits of sleep and waking with a gnawing need. 

It is the first time my prayers ring sincere as I bow before Ari—beseeching his lenience, desire threatening to overwhelm and consume me. 

Sitting before his feet, morning light soft against my skin, I prostrate myself, bending low and touching my forehead to the cool stone floor.

“Ravenous One, God of Passion and Pleasure, patron to lovers and the fallen, grant me clarity, I beg.” I speak through the dryness of my throat, spine pricking with awareness, knowing the bodies lined beside me might overhear my whispered plea. Yet I persevere knowing I can neither abide nor endure my heart beating for two men I shall never have. “Give me strength to fulfill my duty, to obey my madam, to forget those I—” Words threaten to fall from my lips, perched precariously on my tongue—words of love and affection I cannot entertain. I finish the thought, swallowing down those tempting utterances which wish to be spoken, “to forget those I fear I cannot.” My voice cracks, as fragile as my state of mind, searching for mercy—from my desires, from the gods, from myself. I lick my dry lips and stumble over the rest. “So I may serve you in all ways, a loyal and ready supplicant to indulgence. And may the Gods’ Blood flow forever and ever.” 

The candles before the god’s feet flicker. A soft draft brushing against them. I sigh and stand, patting my hands against my skirts and placing my offering upon the altar. A strip of luxurious fabric taken from my cushion wrapped around a small flask of Melinda’s best mead. 

Staring up at my new patron god, tears sting my eyes. A soul-deep acceptance settling within me. His fiery eyes gaze down at me, unseeing and unsympathetic.  

Preparing for the night brings me to the partitioned room, shrouded in secret and ready to beguile. 

An hour passes. Aida’s presence stifling in the close quarters. We wait in silence, yet my madam cannot stay still. Her irritation and uncertainty growing with each passing second. Her shoulders tense. Her fingers pressing to her cheeks and kneading the flesh there. She casts glances toward me over her shoulder, staring at the door with a glare. 

“What have you done?” she grits out between clenched teeth. Though she doesn’t turn, she waits for my answer.

“Nothing ma’am, I don’t understand. I thought—”

She raises her hand to silence me, storming from the room. 

Alone, I puzzle over the absence of my suitors. For they had all been eager—if not for our carefully constructed rapport, than for the thought of defiling my body. Surely they could not have all lost their interest in the span of one day.

My teeth sink into my lower lip, worrying over the flesh as dread rises like bile up my throat. To disappoint Aida would be a sentence worse than death—for she would make it so. Hands clasped before my chest, I mutter a prayer to Ari, pleading for my salvation. 

And it comes with the opening of the door. 

The older gentleman, the one with kind words and a penchant for trying to charm me in return, enters my room and sits before my curtain. 

“You must forgive me my tardiness,” he excuses with a good nature. “I was discussing some business with your madam.”  

“Please, sir, uh, do not fret over such matters,” I rush to appease, stumbling over the placation with a huff of relief. “I will wait for you, with pleasure.”

He makes a happy little sound in the back of his throat and eases into his chair, conversing with me freely and distracting me from the lack of other men eager for my company. He stays until Aida collects him at the end of our night, ushering him out with promises of satisfaction. 

And my routine shifts abruptly. When I stand to weave my way back to my bed, the latch on the door will not budge. Locked in the lavish room, I’m once again left waiting with no explanation. 

The door opens again, a delighted Aida waiting for me without. My brow creases with worry, unsure of this abrupt change in temperament.

“My jewel, come with me,” she begs with a gentle hand guiding my elbow. “Master Radcliffe quite enjoys your company and has just this night bid for your maidenhead.” She smiles over at me, brushing her fingers against my cheek.

Everything within me braces so that I do not flinch under her touch. “So he will be my new master, ma’am?” I inquire, keeping my voice steady though it wishes to crack and crumble into sobs. 

She hums an amused sound. “Only for one night.” She tucks my chin with her finger before drawing me toward her personal chambers. “If he wishes to own you, he shall have to pay a much more fine price.” Her fingers pinch at my upper arm. “If you wish for more, you shall have to please him, shan’t you?” 

She chuckles and prods me into her room. Her bed sits pushed into the corner adjacent to the window. Before the window, her desk. Across sits a cabinet—one I know well. 

The box bed waits with its doors open, the bed still small and cramped and lined with soft linens. My childhood spent locked away during the night, to keep me from wandering eyes and hands. It used to make me feel safe and protected. Now, the space sends a bolt of fear up my spine.

“Ma’am?” 

“In you go, my dazzling jewel,” she urges with a tinge of impatience, pushing me toward the door and dipping her hand between her breasts to retrieve an old, iron key. “We must assure your innocence only one day more. I promised Master Radcliffe we would take every precaution.” She smiles, a sinister glee sparkling in her eyes. “I will bring you your meals and allow you to bathe before your formal introduction.”

My feet hesitate, stuck to their spots on the floor before the bed. My lips part on a plea, but there is no time for its utterance. 

“Get in,” Aida insists, a firm hand on my back shoving me inside.

My legs tuck beneath me just as the doors swing shut, the lock clicking into place and leaving me in darkness. 

Her steps retreat and her door latches, though the flame in her room continues to flicker on its wick. The candlelight a sliver between the seam of the bed’s doors. 

My knees fold beneath me, the flat pillow cradled to my chest, face tucking into the cushion. Filling my body with air, I struggle to remain calm. Forgotten memories flash before my eyes, nights spent crying within these sheets, waiting for a kind word or comforting embrace.

Skimming over the wood to my side, my fingers find the small notch of a carving. The two stars well-worn by so many years spent tracing the crude shapes. Sinking into the bed and turning on my side, my shaky breaths calm, legends of the Righteous Captain and the Freed Soldier stirring a gentle warmth within my chest. Years of learning my destined craft accompanied by an overheard story, a whisper of legend, a glimpse of splendorous offerings.

My lips press together. My eyes close. There are no more prayers for me to utter, but still I spend a restless moment with thoughts of them before I drift off to sleep.

The doors rattle. An unsteady hand presses the key into the lock of my bed, the iron clicking several times. I jolt awake, body forced upright.

“Is everything alright?” I ask, fearful of the answer. Despite the fatigue clinging to my limbs, I remain alert, heart pounding as no response returns. “Aida?”

The low light of the early morning greets me when the doors swing open. The grey fog outside Aida’s window tints the room with its dreary presence. Befuddlement strikes me. It is far too early for the girls to be awake and readying for their prayers. And I was sure I would not be permitted for the sake of my intact innocence. But instead of Aida standing before me, Skye’s wide eyes stare back in terror. 

“What’s wrong?” I whisper, foreboding dripping down my throat and pooling in my belly. 

“You,” her voice cracks and she glances away a moment before sniffing and turning back to me, “You have to come with me.”

Her hand reaches toward me in offering, spattered with crimson drops. My head tilts as I accept. Sore bones from the cramped space protest when I stand. But I make no complaint, focused on my friend—her mind wandering on thoughts I cannot comprehend. 

She rushes away, dragging me behind, her steps quick and frantic toward the room I share with her and a few others. Though their beds are disheveled from sleep, they are absent. My lips part in inquiry, but Skye proceeds with urging me to wash and dress, glancing over her shoulder after every move. 

“Wear this,” she insists, helping me don the gown of crystal blue—the one I wore my first night behind the veil—though it sparkles more now, shining incandescent in the dim light. “It is what they want.”

“Aida and Master Radcliffe?” 

Skye’s head shakes in denial, but her quivering lips do not grant me any other crumb of information. So I am left following her, and stuck in bewilderment. The house remains far too quiet as she finishes readying me. Only thoughts of Aida’s endeavor make sense as Skye checks my appearance. No other explanation forms within my mind. Yet she denied it. 

“Hurry,” Skye beckons with urgency. “We can make them wait no longer.” Her voice cracks over the words, eyes shiny with tears. 

I only pause one moment, reaching beneath my pillow to take the gift from the gods and shove it within the pouch of my pocket. Then my hasty steps mirror Skye’s, unsure yet scared for her distress, descending the stairs to find a captive crowd. 

By the time my feet find the middle step, the scene stretches before me in gruesome spectacle. Cowering in fear, my brothers and sister of the brothel remain by the bar—dotted by the same crimson splattered against Skye’s hands. On their faces, their clothes, staining their skin. Before them, lining the floor sit eight heads. Unfamiliar faces filthy and sitting in a pool of blood, their mouths open and eyes bloody and burnt hollows. Flies buzz about the room, landing upon slack lips and tongues, burrowing into the empty sockets. The stench curls in my nose, death and decay striking pungent and vile. Bile rises in my throat and I freeze. The horrific sight, inexplicable and grotesque, stays my step. Even as Skye prods me forward, I cannot force myself to continue. 

Then I hear my name, honey sweet and calm, from a voice I know so well. “Please, join us, my sweet.” 

I comply on trembling legs, swallowing hard and fighting back the urge to heave and scream. 

Steve and James stand in the center of the room, swords brandished and dripping. Pride in their bearing, a confidence borne of their bloodthirst. Just as crimson speckled as the rest, yet faces alight with satisfaction.

Skye scurries toward our siblings, stepping carefully around the congealing substance on the floor. Welcomed into their terrified and protective embrace as all eyes turn to me.

And I’m alone at the foot of the stair, unable to tear my gaze from the two men I once thought my salvation. Our focus does not waver, though mine darts between the two. Trying to fathom the meaning behind their display. Unable to place a name to their face—seeing them for the first time, unprepared for their beauty and their brutality.

“Who,” I croak, clearing my throat in the attempt to speak louder than a whisper, “Who are those men?” My trembling hand gestures toward the macabre sight.

“You do not recognize them?” one asks, brow tilted in skepticism. That voice—James? My head shakes in response, denying any knowledge of the men. He hums, pleased by the response. “They thought themselves worthy of you. To sit beside you and relish in your company.”

My eyes blink, a slow motion that tempers the faint feeling that assaults my head. A hand reaches out, gripping the bannister of the stairs and my other plunges into my pocket through my dress, grasping the pendant in an effort to ground myself. 

Lined up in a row, the men who bid for my maidenhead. Tracing their features with my eyes, sickness assaults my senses. My knees bend beneath me, weakened by the thoughts flurrying through my mind. The meaning of such violence. The cause for such ghastly arrangement. 

And then I see her. Behind the line of dismembered heads, contorted in an unpleasant pose sprawls Aida’s corpse. Her eyes staring blind toward the ceiling and arms splayed to her sides in unnatural angles. A thick, jagged line of red slices across her throat, no longer spurting her blood, but slick with it. It coats down her dress and across the floor—the source of the pool beneath the necks of those unfortunate men. 

I hiccup a sob, the sound stuck in my throat. Crashing around me, the world slips from beneath my feet. My legs collapse. Only the strong grip which wraps about my waist keeps me upright. Not Skye or Melinda or any other from the brothel. No. My head tilts, the sight of my rescuer churning my guts in a nauseous wave. The brown hair that brushes his shoulders, the crystalline gaze which pierces through my very soul. 

He shushes my whimpers, caressing his fingertips across my cheek, a look of awe brightening his features. He smiles. 

“Loyal for all your days,” he murmurs, focus attracted to the parted flesh of my lips. An aborted noise of horror chokes in my throat. “There will be many of them.” The promise rings in my ears as he rights me on my feet and gathers me close, bringing me toward his companion. 

“I believe formal introductions are in order,” the other says, standing tall and stalwart beside the severed heads, triumph straightening his shoulders. “We’ve waited for this moment for so long. Though I will admit, we hoped for more amenable circumstances.” His hand reaches up, scratching at the beard on his cheeks, a sheepish smile pulling at the corner of his lips. 

I’m released by the brunet’s arm, left standing where the pool of blood just grazes the side of my shoe. 

A babble of noise rises from those by the bar, harsh and harried. One swift glance from the blond stops it short, before a single phrase may form. 

He turns back to me, catching my eye and bowing his head. The softness of his expression, the warmth of his stare, before he utters the words, I know. “I’m Steve, little sweet.”

“I’m James,” the brunet intones, a smirk plucking at his upper lip. He holds himself with a bold smugness I do not understand, until he open his mouth to speak again. “Though perhaps, despite our many meetings, you might know us better by a different title.” 

A subtle glow begins to form around them both. Not from the rising of the sun, though it does begin to crest the horizon. It is something innate within them that grows and brightens. Almost until it burns. 

He gestures to Steve with a tilt of his head. “Patron to artists and carrier of justice.” His hand sweeps before himself as he steps forward, snaking his arm back around my waist. “I shoulder free will and aid lost souls.” 

I do not need to speak the words aloud. Though they sit, perched on the tip of my tongue. Instead, the Soldier sees them in my terrified gaze and nudges my chin with one of his fingers. But my head shakes and shakes and shakes, denial coursing through me.

“Will you come with us now?” Steve asks, stepping forward, a hopeful tilt to his brow. He reaches forward and gently grasps my arm, lifting it until my wrist sits within his grasp and he can brush his lips across the skin of my hand.

“Or must we extinguish this whole place?” Bucky inquires, whispering into my ear with a glance sent toward the people standing by the bar.

I swallow, heart stuttering in my chest and heave a deep breath. “I will go with you,” I reply around the lump in my throat.

In the Land Beyond the River, where the gods reside, time moves differently. Every morning I wake to a new day, full of luxury and leisure. Yet every night it is the night of my ruin. 

Wandering hands, whispered words—over and over and over. My innocence taken from me again and again with the same affection and tenderness as the first night when I was stolen from The Broken Beast and found myself in the God’s Domain.

“Here, little blossom,” James coos, pressing a ripe fernberry to my lips, “taste this and let me savor it on your tongue.” 

My teeth pierce the flesh, tears already welling in my eyes—waiting for the moment it comes. When he will brace himself on my thighs and sink into me. Juice dribbles down my chin, tilted back so that Steve might lap at the sweet nectar. 

“You are divine, my sweet,” Steve sighs, fingers cradling my jaw and holding me steady.

Contorted as I am, I never ache—at least not for long. No matter how they may handle my body, my muscles never weaken and never tire. Instead, their ravenous embrace holds me tight until each is satisfied and I might drift away on pleasurable waves of respite. 

“Say it,” James prompts, the same words every night. 

I swallow around them, stuck behind my teeth. Though each night it gets easier and easier to say it, to confess and lay myself upon their mercy, to believe it with my whole heart. “I love you,” I say, repeating it like a chant, captured by Steve’s lips until they’re muffled in his kiss.

My thighs part wide, held by caring hands that smooth over the skin with a devoted reverence. 

“And we love you,” James assures with a soft smile, “more than you will ever know.” 

His member, thick and turgid, brushes against my delicate petals. My breath catches in my throat as it taps upon that sensational bundle of nerves. 

Fingers ease his way, stretching me until my lips parts on a moaning gasp, the very core of me weeping for them both. Then, with a tilt of his hips, James begins the plunge. It stings, as it does every night. No amount of gentleness or preparation readying me for that initial thrust. 

His hips rock against mine, furthering himself into me. Steve holds me secure, cradling me against his chest, keeping my legs wrapped over his, and my arms locked to my sides. He murmurs sweet sentiments into my ear until my mind turns hazy, dripping with their syrupy honey.

“That’s it. I’ve got you,” he coos in my ear, “our most precious girl.” 

“Yes,” I moan as James stills, the sting of his length accompanied by an all-encompassing hunger. The longer he remains dormant within me, the more ravenous it grows. 

James presses a kiss to my cheek, lips drawn in a smile. “Right where you belong.” He grasps my chin with sticky fingers, tongue licking into my mouth and tasting the sweet fruit and passion that coats my palate. He hums and consumes. 

And I let him, reveling in it. Aching for it. 

How many days have passed thus, I cannot count. Each as steady as the way James plunders me. His hips striking against mine in his fervor. He chases our ecstasy and drags me with him until we plummet into bliss. And Steve does the same. Maneuvering my body to his whims. His tender attentions guiding me until I fall again and again. Until no thought lingers in my mind, but of them. Not the slickness of the sweat on our bodies nor the coolness of the silk cushions. Not the brilliant moon lighting the horizon nor the crash of the river upon its shore. 

Just them. Always them.

read more of The Avengers Pantheon at The Undone and the Divine

[navybrat817]

I know i suck at drawing but i couldnt describe it with words

Red one is Steve and blue is bucky

They want you to decide who you will be facing (v) and who will get the back view (a) while you are riding them

Also my internet connection is stable right now, i couldnt be happier, get ready to get spammed

I'm glad the connection is stable right now, lovely! And I love this drawing!❤️

As far as who gets which view, both would be very appreciative no matter which view they get. I feel like 40s!Bucky would love watching your ass bounce as you take them, lightly smacking your cheeks to get a reaction out of you. God, pre-serum!Steve trying to breathe as he pushes his face against your chest. He'd happily go out that way if he could.

The soft part of me after Bucky is free, he craves eye contact with you and would prefer you facing him. Post-serum Steve is fine with that. It gives him a chance to palm your perfect ass, both of them praising you for taking them so well. Who wouldn't want to be the middle of that super soldier sandwich?

Why isn't this my life? 🔥

Love and thanks! ❤️

[imsonick]

Imagine...

You are lady in waiting to queen Sarah in time when the king dies and New Kings Stucky are coming from they provinces to take over the throne. They have mistresses- but the queen dowager does not approve of them.

Suddenly you catch eyes of both of them with a little machination by the queen- she just want you to marry her sons.

But you are not so willing as the Kings would like, so it gets a little darkish...😈

[yanderemcu]

Yandere Bucky Barnes x Steve Rogers: Childhood fate

(Takes place in Captain America: the first Avenger. Stucky. Yandere Bucky Barnes x Steve Rogers: Childhood fate.Let me know if any of you want a part 2 or me to make this into a story because I loved writing it.)

They were childhood best friends. Though Bucky started to get obsessed with Steve. He of course knew it was wrong.He even tried to stop himself. 'Steve's basically your brother. Don't love him like that. It's so wrong' he to!d himself every time. After time the obsession over took him. He didn't see it wrong anymore. They loved each other. It was fate that they met when they were kids. He kidnapped Steve that day. It was really easy since Steve trusted Bucky. Bucky took Steve to a dark alley. So no one would see. "Buck where are we?" Steve asked. Bucky gave Steve a sleepy pill drink before this. Steve passed out. Bucky dragged Steve home. Where they will stay forever togther. When Steve woke up he tried to move. Then realized he was tied down. The last thing he saw was Bucky smiling at him so that was his first thought. Bucky. "Buck......?" Steve asked. "Shh..Steve its ok." Bucky said. "What's going on?" Steve asked. "I love you. Go back to sleep. Everything is okay." Bucky said. "You what? This has to be some joke." Steve said." No its not a joke. My love for you is never a joke. Don't you ever say that to me again. I love you. I love you. I love you. Its not a joke or game,its the truth. We love each other. It was fate. Our childhood was fate." Bucky said. Steve could never believe what his best friend turned into. Their childhoods brought them together. It was fate.

(A/N: This was a Stucky post. Yandere Bucky Barnes x Steve Rogers. Childhood fate. I love writing with all my heart. Before I started writing I loved reading. I still do. Writing and Reading are both my hobbies now. I'm glad I get to write. I loved writing this. I hope you enjoyed reading it. I write Yanderes mostly. If you more like this,want more from me or want more Stucky consider following me. If you don't want more that's ok I understand. Soon I will get my writing degree so better to come. I ship Stucky personally. What about you? I love Bucky Barnes. I love Steve Rogers. Thanks. Goid night. Hope to see you in the next.)

[untitled-writer-013]

Hi ! I wanted to tell you that I love what you write before asking anything, don’t forget to stay healthy too !

So for my request, how would Yandere!Stucky (poly) and Yandere!Loki Laufeyson would react to having a reader that likes hiding their mouth and noses with plushies or any kind of stuff ? For example when they hug reader will move their arm to have the lower part of their face hidden.

Yandere!Stucky, Yandere!Loki Laufeyson x GN!Reader (S/O hides face HCs)

warning(s): yandere themes, mentions of blood, hints of murder / violence, three very loving yanderes, overall wholesome.

- Steve and Bucky had fallen in love with you even more once they noticed just how often you did this. They hugged you after giving you a compliment? You would hide your face against them. They praised you for all of the hard work you had done? You were hiding your face with your sleeves.

- Whenever Steve or Bucky noticed this, they would either tease you for doing it, or they would cover the upper half of your face in kisses while holding you.

- Now, if Bucky or Steve caught someone else teasing you for doing this, you can bet that same person will end up missing. After all, they had disrespected you and your wonderful little quirks.

- These super soldiers wouldn’t let anyone make you feel ashamed for wanting to hide your face, and they would make sure that you weren’t hiding your face because you felt self conscious.

- If that was the case, they would reassure you that you are absolutely perfect in their eyes, and that you have nothing to be ashamed of.

- Loki hadn’t noticed this little behavior of yours at first, sometimes thinking you were wiping something off your face when you hid behind your hands. But eventually, he noticed you did this a lot, almost all of the time.

- He confirmed this common behavior when you hid your face against his chest as he held you, making his heart warm as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

- Now that the mischievous god had this information, he would playfully tease you, just to watch you hide your face in a pillow as it turned a bright red. Sometimes, he would cover your face in kisses until you would try and hide your face, only to quickly move whatever was hiding that pretty face of yours out of the way and press a kiss to your lips.

- He knew that it was a harmless habit of yours, and sometimes you did it in public, which of course he didn’t mind. But if someone were to try and shame you for it, he would quickly make them regret ever daring to look at you. Afterwards, he would be grateful that your face was hidden by your stuffed animal when he got home, not wanting you to spot the blood he was covered in.

- In his more vulnerable moments, while he may be cooking or washing the dishes, he would feel you wrap your arms around him, pressing your face against his back while gently holding him. He would sweetly smile to himself, placing a free hand on top of yours as he continued what he was doing.

~fin~

author’s note: oh my goodness, thank you so much for the sweet note! this warmed my heart and made my day. i’m so glad you enjoy my writing, and i appreciate the love and support from you and the rest of my readers. thank you everyone for supporting me and my writing, and for 339 followers! sincerely, i thank all of you. feel free to send more requests, messages, anything you’d like. interacting with my followers always makes me happy. <33

[ppatricia34me]

"Hello, little girl, what's your rush? You're missing all the flowers The sun won't set for hours" (Ok sooo I've been really into Steve and Bucky lately, I fell in love thanks to some X Readers, Honesty I love tuning heroes into villains, Like they both look great, also I was trying to make it look like I had been crying!) (Also writing my self-indulgent story of these guys is taking longer than I thought it would!)

(Also look at tiny Strange!)

[p3sephone]

No Way Out Masterlist. (Dark! Steve Rogers)

Summary: you are a worker in the Stark Tower, only aiming to grow your career and keep your life simple. Actually, you were the kind of person who admired the avengers but from afar but Steve Rogers didn’t have the same plan once he started talking with you.  

Status: on going. 

Chapter 1. 

Chapter 2. 

Chapter 3. 

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"The Taste of You"

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes

Word Count: 3606

Tags: Fresh AU, dark rom-com, dark!Bucky, pre-serum Steve, cannibalism, kidnapping, yandere/basement wife, meet cute-ish, gay sex n' stuff, dub-con bordering on non-con, ignoring of sexual boundaries

Summary: Just when he's given up on ever finding Mr. Right, Steve meets the - seemingly - perfect guy at the grocery store.

A dark, cute, funny, fucked up, and very tasty love story.

It's a Fresh AU. "If you can't handle the cannibalism, get out of the kitchen"--or something like that

5. Specially Sourced

In the morning, James rises early. The sun’s not even really up yet, the bedroom still cloaked in lingering dimness.

“Time’sit?” Steve slurs, half sitting up in the bed.

But James kisses his eyes closed and tells him gently to go back to bed. “I’m going for a jog. Stay here. I’ll wake you up when I get back.”

Steve mumbles something half heartedly and promptly falls back to sleep.

When he wakes next, James has already showered and is coming out from the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his narrow hips. Steve smirks at the view. “C’mere,” he says, not satisfied until he’s got James in the bed and in his mouth. He sucks him off lazily until James gives this really quiet moan and jerks, spurting against Steve's tongue. He swallows it all down, then crawls back up in the bed and drapes himself along James’ side. “Hey you.”

“Hey.”

“... Hey.”

They smile tenderly at one another, then kiss. James reaches to brush the fringe aside at Steve’s temple. “Who is this in my bed?” he wonders softly. “And what’d I do to deserve him?”

“I’m Morning Steve. And you fucked my brains out last night, Sir.”

James laughs, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Well hello, Morning Steve.” He pulls Steve on top of him and pecks another kiss to his mouth, then another. “I think I like 'Morning Steve',” he rumbles, hands squeezing at Steve’s waist. “Think I’ll chain Morning Steve up in my basement, keep him around.”

Steve giggles while James growls and attacks his neck. "No! Please don't!"

The attack peters out, and then James is placing a series of slow kisses against his throat and collarbones. “Now, tell me how you feel.”

“How I feel?”

"Mm. After last night,” he murmurs. “How are you, physically?”

Oh. Steve blushes as James looks right at him, waiting for an answer. Nobody has ever asked Steve how he is, after a night of sex. It has literally never happened. Half the time he'll be lucky if the guy is even there when he wakes up. Steve smiles, feeling warm and special from James' attention. “Hmm," he pretends to think, then says coyly, "Well, I feel really ... happy,” He pecks a kiss to James’ right cheek. “And really … satisfied,” his left cheek, “and … a little sore.” The tip of his nose.

James' eyes shadow in concern. “Yeah?”

“Hey. Not like, bad sore. Just enough to remind me what I was using my ass for last night.” He chuckles, but when James still looks concerned, Steve kisses him again, this time right on the lips to show him it’s okay. “It’s just been a while for me. I really do prefer to receive but,” he shrugs. “Ya know. Just have to get used to it again. I bet I’ll be all better by tonight.”

James tuts in displeasure. “I’m not fucking you when you’re still feeling it, Honey.”

“But–”

“But nothing. Nobody does anal every day. Your body needs a rest.”

“Hm.” Steve pushes James to lie back, then sinks downs, rubbing his cheek against the hard planes of his incredible body as he goes. He lays his head down on James' stomach and idly traces the lines of his abs. “You’re nice, you know. Caring about me.”

James rumbles low in his chest. “That shouldn’t be a novelty.” He cards his fingers through Steve’s hair. “I don’t think enough people have cared about you the way they should have, Little man. And I don’t like that.”

Little man. Steve kind of likes that one. He kisses back up James’ body, folds his arms atop his pecs and then rests his chin there. “You’re sweet," murmurs. "A real good guy. Y'know that?"

"Mmm. You don't know I'm good. I could be a serial killer for all you know."

Steve giggles. "Naw. You're not. You're nice. I can tell."

James smiles and pinches his chin, soft and affectionate. “If you say so.”

“What’s through there?” Steve asks when they’re in the kitchen and James is gathering things to make breakfast

He looks over and follows Steve’s sightline. “Oh,” he says, immediately going back to digging through the pantry. “That just goes to the basement.”

“What’s in the basement?”

"My secret sex dungeon," James drawls, and Steve snickers.

"No, really."

James doesn’t seem very keen on answering. Eventually when Steve repeats himself, he sighs and recites, “Water heater and electrical. Stuff in storage. It’s pretty dank down there to be honest. I have a little workspace set up, but I always try to disconnect when I'm out here, so I only go down to send the occasional email when I gotta make sure they’re not fucking everything up at the practice while I’m away.”

“Oh.” Steve doesn’t think twice about it. He’s not sure that he would put a home office down in a dank basement, but to each his own. “So … you have a private practice in the city? Are there other doctors there?”

“... Um, yeah a couple.”

“Wow. Cool. So do you see mostly—”

“Aha!” James pulls his head out of the pantry and grins triumphantly. “I knew I had pancake mix!”

Steve abandons his line of questioning. James is probably used to being preyed on in the dating market just because he’s a doctor, after all. Steve doesn’t want him to think he’s interested in him just for his money. “Great!” he chirps. “How can I help?”

They cook a big breakfast of pancakes and eggs and toast. Steve kind of mourns the absence of bacon, but he doesn’t say so. He slices up an avocado from the bowl on the kitchen counter and divides the flesh up between the two of them. “Voila. Avocado toast.”

“Knew you were a hipster,” James teases, pointing the spatula accusingly at Steve and then flipping another pancake. “So, what do you wanna do today?”

Steve hums and thinks about it. They’re only away for the weekend, today and tomorrow. Then it’ll have to be back to the real world. “Honestly? I could just be lazy here all day with you and I’d love it. We could cook dinner and watch something. Do you have Netflix or Hulu or … oh!” Suddenly, he remembers his phone, and Clint. “Shit.”

“What?”

He winces. “I forgot I was supposed to text my friend Clint to tell him we got here safely.”

James snickers. “You mean he wants you to text so he knows you’re not serial murdered yet?”

“Well, that too.” Steve realizes that he hasn’t had his phone on him since yesterday. “Oh wow. Huh.”

“What?”

“Oh, nothing. I just realized that I haven’t used my phone since we got here.” He chuckles. “We just talked so much, and then there was the hot tub,”

“—And then the boning,”

“—that I didn’t even think of reaching for it.” He frowns. “Wow. Weird.”

“Super weird. It’s almost like we enjoy each other or something.”

Steve laughs. “Yeah, I just might be getting attached to you.”

James slides the last pancake off the griddle. “That’s good news, since we decided I’m your boyfriend and all.”

Oh. Steve’s heart does a happy little kick in his chest, and he fights not to squirm. Instead he goes into the living room to dig his phone out of his bag. “... Hm, no bars. Shit.”

“Oh yeah. I forgot to mention that reception is shit out here.” James comes over with their plates, heaped with breakfast food. “It’s kind of hit or miss, unfortunately.”

“Yeah,” Steve mutters. “Hm. Maybe if I step outside …”

“Don’t bother. It’s no better out there.”

“Oh.”

James smiles like a loon and pushes Steve’s plate across the coffee table. “Eat up, while they’re still hot!”

“...I thought you didn’t eat meat?” Steve says, peering into the fridge.

“I don’t. Why—Oh.” James has come up behind him and can see what Steve’s looking at. “Um, you know my sister and her family came up a few weeks ago. I guess they must've left that behind.”

Steve wrinkles his nose. “Gross. Must be rancid by now.”

“Uhm …” James watches him closely as Steve pulls the Tupperware out of the fridge and takes it over to the sink. “What are you doing?”

“You have a garbage disposal, right?”

“... Yeah”

Steve turns the faucet on and opens the tupperware. “What even is this?” he asks. He looks to James for an answer as he’s dumping the meat down the sink, but James’ eyes are fixed solely on the drain. He looks near-pained. “What?” Steve asks. “You said it was old, right?”

James clears his throat and looks away. “Yeah. Old. Worthless.”

There’s something in James’ expression that Steve can’t quite tease out, but he figures it’s just his reaction to seeing raw meat. The man is a vegetarian, after all. “So what are we gonna cook for dinner?” Steve asks.

They decide that they’re going to give The Hunger Games franchise a serious go. (“No I've never seen it either. But how bad can it be if Jennifer Lawrence is in it?”)

First, they cook dinner.

“Put me to work,” Steve insists. “I’m teachable.”

James smirks and points a knife at him. “I’ll be the judge of that.” He gives him a bunch of vegetables and a cutting board, then hands over the knife. “Be careful with that. I keep ‘em super sharp.”

“Right.” Steve chooses a leek to chop first while James starts in on making a ‘bechamel’—whatever the hell that is. “You know, it’s kind of sexy that you can cook,” Steve says.

“Oh yeah?” James shoots him a sly grin. “You should see me workin' a good filet.”

“Filet?”

He shrugs, eyes averted. “I do prepare meat sometimes. I cook for other people from time to time.”

“Oh.” Steve thinks about that. “So … you wouldn’t care if I ate meat around you?”

James snorts and shakes his head. “Absolutely not.”

Steve does wind up cutting himself on the extremely sharp knife.

“Ow! Fuck. Fucking potatoes …” James is at his side immediately. He takes his hand to inspect it. “It’s fine, really,” Steve insists.

James is frowning at the cut though. “It won’t need stitches,” he decides, but he does lift Steve’s hand and sucks his finger into his mouth.

“What the fuck?” Steve gasps. James’ eyes flick up to meet his, and Steve is mesmerized for a second. Then he remembers himself and pulls his hand back, giving a shaky laugh. “Okay, Dr. Lector.”

James stares at him. “You have to be more careful. You could’ve lost a finger.”

“Yeah, well.”

James’ gaze slides over to the cutting board and the half-cut potato. “Come on,” he says. “First aid kit’s in the bathroom.”

When the first Hunger Games movie is over, they return to the kitchen to scoop themselves some ice cream. “You know I actually liked it. The themes were a little heavy handed, but the acting was decent.”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees, pulling open the freezer drawer. “I googled the general premise of the next one. Um, okay. Looks like you’ve got vanilla, Moose Tracks and …” He notices another piece of meat in a plastic bag, sitting right next to the carton of Rocky Road. “... Rocky Road,” he finishes quietly.

“Oh, Vanilla all the way,” James says, coming over with bowls and spoons. “I’m a purist.”

“There’s steak in here, too,” Steve says.

“Really? Oh.” James is peering down into the freezer drawer. “Right. That’s actually a rump roast.”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “You sure you don’t eat meat?” He grabs the containers of vanilla and Moose Tracks, sliding the freezer drawer closed.

“Well … that’s the thing,” James hedges as he starts scooping each of them a bowl. “I kinda do eat meat, only I’m really picky about it.”

“Oh?” Steve takes his bowl with a quiet ‘thank you’, and they go back to sit on the couch. “Picky how? Like organic and no antibiotics and stuff?”

“Yeah, kind of,” James evades. “I guess you could say that I source it from a specialty supplier.”

That makes sense. Steve hadn’t thought the packaging looked like typical grocery store packaging. “Well,” he suggests brightly. “If it’s a roast, why don’t we have it for dinner tomorrow night?”

James looks pained as he shoves a big spoonful of ice cream into his mouth. “I’m not sure it’d be to your taste,” he hedges, eyeing Steve up and down. “It’s kind of my own special thing. And it’s really expensive, so …”

Steve frowns, not understanding James’ reluctance. “Oh,” he says. “Well … okay. I guess.”

“Sorry,” James says quickly. “I’m just not sure you’re ready for it yet.”

“What?”

“Here.” He leans over and grabs the remote to bring up the next Hunger Games movie, then pushes play and shoves more ice cream into his mouth. “I’m actually kind of looking forward to it now, aren’t you?”

“... Yeah,” Steve says, still confused about James feeling the need to lie about something so stupid as being an expensive-meat-atarian. “Yeah. It should be good.”

James is distant for the rest of the night, not engaging in the same easy banter as Steve has gotten used to. They make it through Catching Fire and Mockingjay Part 1, before Steve can’t stop yawning and they both admit defeat. They agree to turn in for the night.

In bed, James snuggles him close but doesn’t make a move to initiate anything, so Steve takes a deep breath and reaches down to fondle him through his pajama pants. “Why aren’t you naked?” he purrs, brushing his lips against the corner of James’ mouth in a light kiss. “You got quiet at the end of the movie.”

“Mm. Sorry. Was just in my thoughts, I guess.” James is lying on his back with Steve draped along his side. He sighs as Steve continues to palm him softly. “That feels nice.”

“Yeah?” Steve asks, stroking a little more purposefully over the fabric. “I want to play with it,” he confesses, “Can I?”

James’ mouth curves up in a lazy smile. “Yeah. Go ahead.”

Steve bites his lip and looks down. “Let’s get these off of you.” He curls his fingers over James’ waistband and pulls. He chucks the pajama pants away and straddles his legs. Slyly, he collects one, and then both of James’ hands and brings them up to rest on the pillow by his head. “Keep ‘em there,” he bosses, giving his wrists a playful squeeze before sitting back again.

“Sir, yessir,” James murmurs, watching him with heated, amused eyes. His cock has filled out more, and it lies, fattened up and half hard, against the taught skin of his lower belly. Steve sighs at how beautiful it all is. “You could do porn,” he tells him dreamily, trailing a finger along the underside of his cock and watching how it makes him twitch. “With a body like this.”

“I only share my body with one person at a time,” James says softly, and when Steve looks up, his eyes are boring into Steve seriously. “And right now? That’s all you, Baby.”

Steve flushes. “Mm. I like that.” James makes a sound of agreement, but it cuts off into a light gasp as Steve suddenly wraps his fingers around his cock and squeezes.

“Steve,”

Steve hums. He gives a few strokes, fist loose around the not-quite-fully-hard length of him. He watches raptly as it gets bigger and the glans starts to peek past the foreskin, pink and shiny with precum. It looks so … delicate, Steve thinks. So sensitive. He spares a glance down at his own dick, which is showing interest by now—and which is also very circumcised. “So … do you use lube when you jerk off?” he wonders aloud, which makes James laugh. Steve huffs and smacks him on his inner thigh. “What? Shuddup! It’s a valid question.”

“Yeah, I know, I know," James snickers. "You’re just cute, is all. And no: I don’t need lube. That’s what this is for.” He takes his dick in hand and strokes at the tip, his foreskin gliding smoothly over the head. “Built-in fleshlight, Honey.”

It really does look like it must feel good. Steve bites his lip as he watches, arousal pooling heavier in his belly at seeing James touch himself. “Hmm.”

“No offense, but nobody shoulda touched yours without asking permission first,” James says, surprising Steve. “There’s no part of our bodies that’s just meant to be chopped off.”

Steve hums, not liking the topic. “Hmm. Maybe don’t say ‘chopped off’ when we’ve got our dicks out, huh?” He knees up higher on James’ body, putting them side by side and comparing. James is bigger by a little, but Steve is nothing to scoff at either, especially compared to his small stature. He taps his dick against James' with a falsely reproachful look. “You saying you don’t like my dick, James?”

“I love every part of you, Honey. You gotta know that by now.”

Steve's heart flutters. There he goes again, he thinks, turning something lighthearted into something meaningful. He's so intense. Steve's gonna be totally gone for him in no time, if he isn't careful. "Every part?"

James’ hands slide over the tops of his thighs, thumbs notching in at his hip bones. “Yes. The things I want to do to this little body.” He exhales slowly and licks his lips. “Baby, you don’t even know.”

Steve squirms, keenly aware of himself. “... Y-you moved your hands,” he says, though it comes out sounding anything but scolding.

“Oh I’m sorry, was that a rule?” James smirks and tucks his arms up above his head again, obedient. “Lube’s in the drawer,” he tells him quietly. “Why don’t you get your hands real wet and stroke us off together, huh? I'd like to see that.”

Steve exhales shakily, more blood rushing south. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, me too.”

Once he’s got the lube all over his hand he can barely hold them both at the same time. He winds up using two hands for awhile, stroking tight and slow, smearing the lube around until they’re both shiny and messy with it.

“Fuck ...” James breathes, watching their cockheads come through the tight grasp of Steve's hands again and again. “Look'it that.”

Steve lets James’ cock fall heavy onto his stomach, and spends a few minutes alternating between them, never giving more than a few strokes before switching again. It’s deliciously frustrating, but James watches with heavy lidded eyes and lets Steve do what he wants for a long while.

“Both hands,” he eventually whispers, and, shakily, Steve obeys. “Jesus wept.”

It’s better this way. He can go harder, faster, can push the heads of their cocks together with more pressure. “F-uck,” he whines, when James’ dick blurts out a bunch of precum and it gets all over both of them. God, it's beautiful. “Fuck, ffuck ...”

“Stevie, c’mere.” James pulls him down into a kiss, doesn’t stop pulling until he’s got Steve lying out flat atop him, their cocks trapped between their bellies. Steve moans into his mouth and ruts down against him, slippery and wet. James groans and grabs at his ass and pulls, rolls his tongue into Steve’s mouth while Steve ruts against him. “Baby,” he breathes. “Fuck, Steve.”

Next thing Steve knows, it’s James’ hand down there, gripping the both of them together. “Shit,” he whimpers, breathing right against James’ mouth.

James is panting up at him, eyes locked on Steve's face. “Sorry I moved my hands.”

Steve laughs shakily. “It’s okay. F-fuck.”

“Go on,” James says, and his fist tightens in place. “Move.”

Steve groans and nods, moving his hips to get his cock pulling through the tight clutch of James’ hand. He squeezes his eyes closed and presses his forehead down against James’ shoulder. “You feel so good,” he breathes, his pleasure ratcheting up higher and higher.

James is moving too, rocking his hips in tandem to Steve. He’s got his other arm wrapped around Steve’s back, holding him close. The feeling of their dicks rubbing together is amazing, squeezed so tight in James’ big hand. It’s fucking erotic as hell, has Steve’s balls pulling up close to his body, wanting to spill. “James,” he gasps. “Oh ... I’m gonna cum. I’m gonna—”

“Me too,” James grunts, working his hand faster, tighter, right at the heads of their dicks. “Ugn, shit.”

Steve comes first. ... He thinks.

It’s kinda hard to tell when it’s all said and done, the both of them left panting against each other, sweaty, their combined release smeared between their bellies. James growls and wraps both arms around him, holding him close as they recover. “Fuck,” he huffs, petting Steve’s back. “Oh. I love you.”

Steve very firmly decides not to worry about it. People say all kinds of shit when their brains are half-melted from orgasm, after all. He only has to worry about it if James starts saying it regularly.

Because Steve is … He’s not ‘in-love’ with James. He loves a lot of things about him, loves spending time with him, loves fucking him, but he's almost 100% positive that he is not in love with him.

It's too soon. He’s only known the guy for a little over two weeks, and Steve has high hopes for where this relationship could go. He’s not about to ruin that by falling in love with the guy on week three. Jeez.

James wakes early in the morning once again, kissing Steve on the shoulder and pressing him back down into the sheets when he stirs, just like before. “Going for my run,” he whispers. “I’ll wake you up when I get back.”

“Mmh, with a blowjob,” Steve agrees, smiling against the pillow.

James chuckles and leaves the room. Steve hears the front door open and close faintly in the distance. “Mm.” He smacks his lips and rolls over, blinking sleepily up at the bedroom ceiling. A glance to the bedside clock tells him that it’s 5:15. “Fuck, no.” He scowls at his boyfriend’s unnatural habits. "He's crazy."

He tries to fall back asleep, but it quickly becomes apparent that that’s not going to happen. He feels wide awake. “Fuck,” he mutters again, then gets up to shuck some boxers and a tee shirt on so he can go putz around in the kitchen, hopefully make coffee.

The early morning makes itself known more readily out in the main living area, a dreary amount of twilight coming in through the kitchen windows and skylights. Steve does indeed find the coffee machine, but it’s far too convoluted for him to figure out. He grumps at it and tells it to fuck off, which is stupid. It’s not the machine’s fault that Steve’s IQ is a legit 15 points lower in the mornings. He finds a kettle instead and puts water on to boil.

It’s as he’s waiting for the water to heat that he notices it: The door just down the hall is open by a crack. Steve squints at it, remembering how Bucky had told him that it went down to the basement. “Huh.” He walks over, intending to close it, but when he wraps his hand around the knob he winds up pulling it open just a bit to take a peek, first.

“... The fuck?” He says softly. There’s this, like, zen, modern staircase that curves down. Stylish, fancy. Definitely not 'dank' like James had described. Big, carved rocks and aesthetic lowlighting line the walls as the staircase descends in an ominous spiral, out of sight.

Frowning, Steve pushes the door all the way open ... and steps through.

Story Masterlist

Masterlist

🍵Consider tipping your friendly neighborhood starving artist smut author!

✍🏻Commissions: reach out via Tumblr DM or contact here