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Come Away With Me

Come Away With Me

Story Rating: Explicit, 18+ only

Kink: Anasteemaphilia - a sexual preference for partners of a vastly different height than oneself. It can present as a preference for partners who are significantly shorter or partners who are significantly taller.

Warnings: Yandere, stalking, murder, blood, gore, kidnapping, noncon (like for real dark shit), dirty talk, light praise

Relationships: Troll!Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2162

A/N: Troll - a dwarf or giant in Scandinavian folklore inhabiting caves or hills. We have gone with LARGE for this one pals... an uh he makes it fit. You can thank my 2am stomach ache for this one.

This work has Adult Content. By clicking “Keep Reading” you have agreed that you are over the age of 18 and are willing to view such content. My work is not to be copied or translated onto any other platform. I have discontinued my taglist - follow @slothspaghettilibrary to be notified of when I post new fics.

You crossed the bridge every day. A song quietly falling from your lips as you pushed your small cart to the market and then home again in the evening. It was tiring work; the load was heavy, and the coin never truly enough, but you didn’t quit. It was too safe a job for someone like you to give up on. The stories you’d heard about women working outside the market always sent a shiver down your spine. You were safer out in the open than you would in a pub or a dark bookstore.

You would also miss your friend.

He’s shy, doesn’t really say much of anything, but he’s sweet. Well, you assume it’s a he, and that he is real and not just some coyotes in the woods or local kids being mean. You leave small amounts of fruits and vegetables and flowers for him, nothing special. The bridge between the village and your cottage is old and magic, or so your grandmother told you. It just became a habit when you took over the cart to leave an offering of sorts on the bridge.

Each evening you'd leave what you could afford and each morning it would be gone. Sometimes certain vegetables were left behind, carrots in particular. Your friend seemed to really enjoy when you left plums. Though the tree was still young, it bore small amounts of fruit this season. When you left one behind, a little bruised and misshapen, the next morning you found an old hat where you always left your offering.

The cap was battered and worn, a small emblem on it had been ripped off and there was a hole in it, but the plum pit that sat on top told you it was the bridge, or the spirit of the bridge thanking you for your offering. You didn't want to question it, didn't think about it, because suddenly the long days and early mornings were just a little better. You wore the old hat from that day on.

But the villagers they didn't like that. When you explained to the fishmonger how you came across it, one morning after he'd asked, he sneered and turned up his nose. The cobbler did the same, as did the entire market thereafter. Rumors spread that you were some heretic, not to be spoken to or to have dealings with. On the busiest day of the week, you sold barely anything. And that pattern continued, your cart just as heavy as it had been at the start of the day.

Your offering grew smaller, unable to afford to give any more. But still you weren’t making ends meet. So you did something you promised your grandmother you wouldn’t do. You got a job at the pub as a barmaid. Guilt swirled in your belly that first evening when you had nothing to offer the bridge. The handful of coins you had earned were carefully stashed in the lining of your coat since it was so late at night. There were no lovely plums or flowers to be offered. You stood in the middle of it, trying to decide what to do. Did you leave a coin and risk it being stolen, or do you leave nothing and hope that misfortune doesn’t befall you further?

“Oi, bridge bitch,” someone shouted in the darkness, their voice slurring into the cool night air. “Y-ou wanna give me an off-erring?”

You clutched your coat tighter around your chest, frozen in fear as the burly man stepped out of the shadows and into the moonlight. You pressed yourself into the stone railing as he approached you, a breath trapped in your chest. He plucked your hat off your head and tossed it over the side. You felt the tears burn your eyes, your voice lost on your tongue.

“You wanna offer me-me that-”

The sentence was never finished. A giant, scarred hand grabbed his head, crushing his skull with a simple squeeze. Blood and visceral spewed from between the meaty fingers, spraying across your front. Every part of you shook, a heavy breath nearly blowing you over as the hand released the lifeless body. The hand shook off the bits carelessly, flinging chunks across the bridge and making bile ride in your throat.

A rush of cool air behind you and suddenly you were standing face to face with… with a…

"T-tr-troll," you squeaked, head tilted all the way back to look at his scarred features. "I-I-I-I-"

You were caught in a loop, unable to scream in terror, unable to run, just a stuttering mess standing before one of the most feared creatures in the world. You dropped your gaze when his piercing blue eyes became too much. In his clean hand, your cap was pinched between two fingers.

"Here, plum," he set the hat back on your head. "Hafta make sure everyone knows you're Bucky's."

"Bucky?" Your lips trembled as the large fingers caressed your face, tracing your cheek and sliding down to your throat. His big thumb pulled at your bottom lip.

"Yeah, me, this is my bridge and you are my precious… tiny… plum."

Fat tears slipped down your cheek. Your body trembled under the immense weight of his stare, blue eyes being swallowed up by his pupils. The heat radiating from his tarnish body caused sweat to form under your thick coat. Every part of him was built to stomp and crush and kill.

What had you done?

"No, no, no little plum, no tears. I've been dreaming about this night." He tried to smile, revealing slightly crooked teeth, but all you could think of was how they'd feel ripping your flesh from the bones. A sob rattled your chest. "I rescued you, l-like a knight, and I'm gonna take you away from all of this. I used all your gifts, I planted a garden for-for us and-and-”

He yanked you into his chest, crushing your cheek into the worn and sweaty material of his shirt. Hands, terrifyingly large and strong, roamed over your body, felt your body tremble under him, but they didn’t stop. Bucky lifted you into the air until your face nearly touched his, more hiccuped cries pouring from your mouth.

“P-puh-please,” you sobbed. "I just wanna go home."

"Shh, it's okay, plum, we'll go home," he whispered, rubbing his nose against yours, like he was trying to soothe you.

You didn't fight as the troll carried you away, leaping over the bridge and causing you to shriek in terror. Whatever life you had before was dead, either because of your own doings leading up to this point or from the monster now taking control. If you survived, made it back to the village somehow, you would no doubt be blamed for murder. Your luck had truly soured. The gods had turned their backs on you. You’d never see your grandmother again.

Bucky’s barbarous steps shook the trees and made the ground quake as he crouched under the bridge.

“Watch this,” he murmured, shrugging his shoulder to force your head up.

Your weak sniffle echoed around the arch. You stared at the dry stone wall, rubbing the heel of your hand into your eyes to try and stop the tears. A nervous smile spread across his barrelled towards the wall. Before the choked sound could pass your lips, the wall shimmered into nothing, revealing a lush valley that practically glowed in the moonlight. Your heart leapt into your throat.

At the center of the valley was a stone hut, a blazing fire crackled and crickets chirped. Bucky walked down the short hill talking the whole way about plans he had for you, for him, for both of you. He kicked open the door, and you were struck by how massive everything was. It was all troll size, of course, from the pans that hung over the fireplace to the washbasin to the bed that was tucked into the far corner of the room. Dried flowers and sprigs of herbs you had left as offerings hung on one fall, as did a ribbon you’d lost on a windy day a few weeks ago. Though it was stained with something now, the satin ruined.

He was still holding you.

“I-I-I had a lots a plans, was going to add more to the house, this wasn’t h-how I wanted it to look when you got here, but I couldn’t not save you. Nobody hurts my plum.” He squeezed you, forcing the air from your lungs when his fingered curled so tightly together they almost touched.

“Bucky,” you said, gasping for air and clawing at his hands.

He looked down at you. Your pleading gaze meeting the same strange one from the bridge. His eyes dilated as they flicked from his hold around your waist to your face. A tight knot formed in your chest as the hunger you saw in his gaze. The harder you tried to breathe, the more your vision blurred.

“Lotta plans, little plum, but they-they don’t really matter anymore.”

Just when you thought you might explode or pass out, his grip released. You collapsed onto the bed and ragged, quaking breaths tearing your throat apart. The sheet smelled surprisingly fresh, like roses and violets you’d grow at home. A hand wrapped around your leg, pulled you to the edge harshly. Bucky snapped and tore at your clothes, tossing the shreds to the far side of the room until you were left naked and shivering below him. You begged him to stop, but he refused to listen.

"Every part of you is so… tiny." He breathed, hands dragging up your legs, your hips, all the way to your face. "I could crush you, rip you right in half."

He brought his weight down to your pelvis when you tried to squirm away, heavy cock pressed against your tummy

"No," you sobbed, fresh tears burning your eyes. "Please, I haven't-"

"Plum," he groaned, biting off the end of your confession. His lips crashed down on yours, devoured and consumed your cries. "Knew you were going to be the one, knew you'd be so sweet and ripe for me."

With your body still pinned beneath him, he removed his clothes. More scars were revealed, old jagged marks that had long since healed but looked so angry, showed what damage he could do and take. You refused to look lower than his chest, terrified of what you'd find. The trembling returned to your body as you tried to hold back your tears. Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip and you squeezed your eyes shut.

It felt bigger, hotter, harder outside of his trousers. He rubbed his cock against your stomach, whimpering at the friction against your soft skin. Precum flowed from his cock, soaking your skin in his slimy essence.

"S-s-so beautiful, little plum. Just like I dreamed about. So perfect. Fuck, g-gon-na fill you up so good. Promise I'll be as gentle."

His hands easily wrapped around your thighs, spreading them to the point of pain until he could fit his hips between them.

A scream, filled with anguish and defeat, tore through your throat when he prodded at your dry cunt. He stopped almost instantly, not removing what little of himself he'd shoved into you, but not going any further. You couldn't see his face, couldn't tell if he was enjoying your pain or taking greater pleasure in it. His monstrous thumb traced patterns against the inside of your thighs, moving higher and higher until he was stroking your clit.

"Stay still plum, this will m-make it better, easier. Just let me take care of you."

He forced pleasure on to you. Bucky pressed kisses against your tear-stained cheeks, licked and sucked at the skin around your neck and shoulder. Shocks and shivers rained down your spine, the tension building in the base of your neck made your muscles shake. His thumbs kept toying with your body, swirling and rubbing and pinching. Your hands twisted the sheets beside you, heat rolled through your body. His cock eased deeper into you, your traitorous body sucking him the slicker your pussy got.

"That's it, plum, doing so good. Kn-knew you could take it, fit my cock in your b-b-bitty body. Just need to c-cum and I'll be able to slide right in."

You shook your head, even as your body seemed to agree with his words. The tension inside you wound tighter and tighter, forcing your back off the bed until it snapped. Your vision swam as your pussy fluttered around the tip of his cock. Bucky bit down hard into your shoulder, his hips trying to pulse forward to fully enjoy your wet heat.

"I can't," you whimpered as he pushed in deeper. "I can't, I can't. Please, Bucky, no more."

"Plum, don't fight, promi-ise it'll fit. Promise, I'm gonna make it fit. Cause you're my little, tiny precious plum."