Summary: Thanks to Bucky, during a game of truth or dare the reader is put into a compromising position..which may or may not lead to more funpositions with a certain super soldier later on.
Word Count: 6028
Author’s note: Guys…SMUTT SO MUCH SMUTT! The reader also has a past with Wade Wilson..so this is kinda a dead pool imagine too? ( but not in the way you guys will think;)~ the reader also has powers!!)
Sam laughed, “ And that was how I lost my virginity..but if that story leaves this room y’all are cold”. The entire room laughed along with him, even though there was only five other people in it.
You all had been bored in between missions and decided to play a game of truth or dare. When alcohol was thrown into the equation, things got dirty real fast. Steve laughed, “ God after hearing that story I don’t think being a virgin is too bad”.
Bucky and Natasha threw you knowing glances, but the blush on your cheeks made things pretty obvious anyways. How could you not have a crush on the most well liked man in all of America?
The garden behind your house was breathtaking, you’d spent years planting, weeding and watering it. You pushed your working gloves further down your hands and continued digging through the loose earth.
“Beautiful garden you’ve got goin’ on.” A voice said.
You gasped, turning around. “Damon! What the hell are you doing here?” You said, rising from your knees.
“Oh, sweet cheeks, don’t act like you’re not happy to see me.” Damon frinned, pearly whites shining.
“I-I-I didn’t say that. I’m just surprised to see you. That’s all.” You flushed, pulling the dirt ridden gloves of your hands.
“Hmm.” Damon hummed, studying you. You shifted slightly. “You look pretty today.” He spoke softly, stepping closer to you.
Your heart pounded, blood rushing to the tip of your ears. “Thank you.”
“Do you want me?” Damon smirked slightly.
“W-What?” You flustered.
“You want me.” Damon said simply, leaning towards you. “Don’t lie.”
Harry had always been surprised at just how friendly and
sweet Y/N was. It never failed to amaze him just how perfect she was, she was
perfect for him. Harry loved how aware she was of others, their feelings, their
emotions. She always made sure that everyone was having a great time, that
everyone was comfortable, and he had quickly fallen in love with her. Harry
knew by the end of the first date that she was the one, he had called his
mother to tell her.
Anne remembered getting the call, Harry had been all
flustered and excited, “she’s it mum, she’s the one,” he said. Anne couldn’t
have been happier, but also worried. But al worries left when she met Y/N, she
was just as lovely, if not more, as Harry had said. Anne said it was her smile,
but Gemma said it was the eyes.
Y/N just had a way of making people feel loved. She always
smiled at them, her eyes were always soft, watching the person she was talking
to. She would nod, hum along, encouraging them to keep going, even if she could
care less about the subject. She was a female version of him, she was
everything sweet and cute bottled up into a person, and he loved it, he loved
Harry thought of her as ray of sunshine. Whenever he found
himself in a dark place he knew he needed her, and she didn’t even have to try
to fix him. She would lay there, holding him as he told her about his day. She
would listen, offering advice, and kissing his back. He wasn’t sure why, but it
never failed to work. Everyone could see how happy he made her. At the mention
of her name Harry’s eyes would light up, a smile tugging on his lips, and he
just seemed to glow.
“Harry,” Y/N says softly, kissing his cheek as she wrapped
her arms around him from behind, she rested her forehead on his back.
Harry stood in his swimming shorts, talking to Anne. Anne
smiled seeing the smile form on her son’s lips, his hand coming on top of
Y/N’s, “you okay there, sweetheart,” he chuckled.
Y/N was hardly one to get upset, she was always a ray of
sunshine. Harry had of course seen her cry over movies, seen her cry over their
little fights, and in the years of their relationship he had seen her become
upset over things. Harry had learned what each cry meant and how to handle
Y/N doesn’t respond as she presses her cheek to his back,
looking over the boat. Harry assumes she’s okay and turns back to his mother,
“but yeah, sweet creature, was in fact written about this one,” he says.
My brain keeps trying to sing Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This), but it made the lyrics like this instead:
“Sweet dreams are made of bees
Who am I to diss a bee
Travel the world and save the bees
Everybody’s looking for these bees”.
Thank you, brain.
A name like the smoothness of milk.
Skin of the same.
Cheeks that can be like pink carnations,
Or the color of a man without skin.’
You read the letter with a furrowed brow. Was this a joke? A cruel joke to trick you into thinking he loved you?
You folded it back and looked to him.
“Well?” He asked with a big smile, his hands clasped behind his back. “Do you like it?”
You nodded slowly, scared.
He gritted his teeth, not happy with your response. He grabbed your chin with his fingers. “I worked very hard on that, (Y/N).” He said in a low voice, his breath hot on your face.
“I loved it.” You forced out, trying not to show how nervous you were.
He smiled, letting go of your face and stepping back. “Good.” He kissed you with what would be fierce passion if anyone else. “Now, were is my anniversary present?” You had been married three months, you didn’t know it was your “anniversary”.
You swallowed hard. “Anniversary…?”
He laughed. “Yes, sweet bird. Why else would I write you a poem?”
You were doomed. He was going to beat you. He was going to cut you and bruise you. “I didn’t… it’s…” You thought of something. “It’s not ready yet. Later tonight.” You sighed.
He knew you didn’t have anything. He made the whole thing up. He grinned at you with amusement. “I look forward to it then.” He left your room, shutting the door behind him.
You needed help.
You got help from your reluctant hand maidens and went in the woods. You set up lanterns, strung up red ribbons for his house colors. You had flowers picked, red as well, and had many fur skins put on the cold ground.
You knew Ramsay didn’t love you. You also knew he would have liked something sexual better, but he couldnt find any flaws in this. The lanterns provided warmth, and you had brought out food. A loaf of bread, aged cheese, wine, grapes, and a little bit of roasted rabbit meat.
You had went back to the castle, changed into a red dress, and found Ramsay. He was in the hall, on the way to your room.
“Ramsay.” You smiled. “May I lead you to your gift?”
He looked surprised. “Yes…” He said slowly, wary of what you were doing. You led him to the spot, relieved to see the hand maidens were gone.
He looked at the skins on the ground, the food laid out in a basket, the wine glass, the lanterns in the tree limbs and on the ground, the red flowers and ribbons. He looked at you and your lips parted. He actually looked surprised.
He didn’t say anything as you led him to the blanket and you sat down, serving him a glass. You got him relaxed with wine before he started talking.
“This is beautiful.” He said as he ate some. “You put my poem to shame.”
Your heart dropped. “I did not intend…”
He leaned across the blanket and kissed you, moving the food off the blanket so he could lay you down. He parted from the kiss to whisper in your ear. “Do you know what happens to people who shame me?” He bit down on your earlobe with force. You jumped and winced at the pain, and he grabbed a fistful of your hair. His other hand went straight to between your legs, pulling your dress skirt up to your hips. He yanked your head to the side. “I asked you a question.” He said in a low voice before biting down firmly on your neck.
You let out a help and he let out a sigh. He got pleasure from that pain.
“Punishment…” You whined.
“Smart girl.” He grinned into your skin and bit you again. You threw your head back and groaned. He grabbed your legs and slid you down the blanket towards him, so your hips were pressed against his crotch. “Smart girls get rewards.” He sat up on his knees and looked down at you. “So do beautiful girls.” He unbuckled his pants, and pulled them to his knees. “And sweet girls.” His trousers followed.
You swallowed hard, looking up at the sky. It was dark.
He pulled off your small clothes, and tossed them off the blanket. “Do you want a reward?” He asked darkly, looking into your eyes.
You nodded slowly, and he narrowed his eyes. He reached his hand to your face and you flinched. He slipped his thumb in your mouth, forcing it open. “I want words from you.”
“Yes… I do…” You said softly. He smiled.
“You do what?”
“I want a reward…” You said again.
He grinned. “I thought you had better manners.”
“Please, please. I want a reward. Please.” You felt lust for the first time in forever. You wanted him to hurt you.
He let a smile spread across his face. “Good girl.” He let a finger touch the inside of your thigh and you tried not to make noise. You propped yourself up on your elbows and kept your eyes locked with his as he suddenly forced a finger in you. You gasped and tilted your head back.
He suddenly grabbed your hair, forcing you to look at him. “Dont fucking look away from me.” He laughed dangerously. He kept his hand in your hair as he put two fingers in and curled them. Your instincts wanted you to close your eyes. But you didn’t. Ramsay wouldn’t like that.
He curled his fingers hard, making you gasp sharply. He did it again, grinning wickedly. “You’re making me very hard, (Y/N). Would you like to see?”
“Yes, please.” You panted. He stopped his movements. He looked at you in genuine confusion.
“Are you serious?” He laughed. “You haven’t fucking deserved that.” He flipped you over quickly, on your stomach. He lifted your dress and pushed your face into the blanket. Without warning he shoved himself in you, forcing a scream of surprise out of you. It was muffled, but he still heard it.
“Keep screaming.” He said and pulled you to your hands and knees. “It’ll make me cum faster.” He got a grip on your thighs and started fucking you roughly. Little surprised noises came out every time he went fully inside, then they turned into loud grunts. “I want screams.” He growled, furrowing his brows. “Fucking scream, (Y/N)!”
You screamed, most of it coming from the force of his thrusts.
Ramsay was very talented with pleasing women, even though he didn’t care to. But your screams and moans were so pleasing to him. He tore off your dress and threw it aside, along with his shoes, pants and trousers. He took more time to take his leather tops off, then when you were both naked in the cold winter he laid on is back.
You took the hint and climbed on him, his warm skin feeling so good to you. You slipped his huge thick member inside you, groaning. You looked down at him, his face and skin orange from the lanterns. It complemented him greatly. You decided to be brave. And you put your hands on his neck
He started to protest, laughing a bit, but you cut him off by tightening your grip on his neck. He couldn’t breathe, or speak. You began moving on him, slowly. You grinned down and removed one hand. He gasped for air, his hands gripping on your sides, in preparation to throw you off. You shook your head. “I want to hear you scream.” You moved faster, slamming down on him. “Fucking scream.” You spit.
He had never let anyone do this but Myranda. But with you, it was so much better. He groaned, and you slapped him. “Scream, Ramsay.” You slapped him again, harder. He let out a growl, a deep growl. Like he was frustrated. You rolled your eyes back in your head and bounced. You were close. “Scream and come inside me.” You grabbed his face. “Make us an heir. Make us a king.”
He tossed his head back and screamed, coming inside you. You choked him and came. You fell off him, and you both caught your breath.
“I’ll have to think of a reward for you, my good girl.”
it’s 10 PM and i’m drowning.
drowning in my own thoughts
pictures places people phrases things whirling within me – and they sting my soul like sharp seawater sliding softly over an almost invisible cut on my leg, my arm, my heart
it’s 11 PM and i’m choking.
choking on the words i could’ve should’ve would’ve said didn’t say
they rise up like slimy bile in my mouth but never come at the right time the right place the right person. twenty two years of life stuck in my throat. twenty two years of death, and after a while it burns
it’s midnight and i’m hurting.
hurting you hurting them hurting me
inside and out upside and down. pain sears through my brain, your veins, his bones. no more, no more, no, more. i don’t want it to stop
it’s 1 AM and i’m praying.
praying for sweet salvation
on my knees in a chapel in my bedroom in my mind. whispering the Lord’s Prayer while i pull a two year old bottle of cheap vodka from the back of my closet. stringing pills together and they’re rosary beads and maybe they will save me if i shut my eyes and praypraypray
it’s 2 AM and i’m dying.
hey, sweetheart, do you have the time? [ 31st march 2017 ]