Summary: you were always so proud to show off your mafia boyfriend
WC: 214
Warnings: mafia au, not much else, fluff?, bucky wanting to show off his car?, reader is a college student
Read on Ao3!
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“Does he always need to show up in expensive cars?” As Bucky’s engine echoed from the visitor’s parking lot, Wanda rolled her eyes.
“He likes to show off.” you giggled, pushing her with your elbow as the pair of you followed the sound of the engine. “I love it.”
“It’s obnoxious, in my opinion.” She grumbled.
“That’s why you’re single.” you teased as she threw a glare in your direction.
As you approached Bucky’s car, you noticed three girls flirting with him and grumbled low under your breath as you approached the car. Even though he seemed disinterested in the girls, it always bothered you whenever they tried to flirt with him. Yeah, he never once gave another female attention. But it still annoyed you when girls fawned all over him.
“Hey honey.” you greeted as you approached him, much to the disgust of the three girls surrounding Bucky and his car. He kissed you deeply and smiled snarkily at the females as he opened the driver’s side for you before offering a ride to Wanda.
“No thanks, Bucky.” She denied it with a smile. “I’m riding with Pietro today. But the offer is certainly appreciated, as always. Thank you.”
“Suit yourself.” He chuckled and sat in the passenger seat before you drove home.
Summary: Even after all of his winnings, the fame and the glory, Lance only wants a woman to love him for his true being.
Warnings: none? maybe swearing? but it's Lance Tucker ffs.
WC: 400ish
A/N: I've been relocating a lot of my older works from tumblr/GDocs. Didn't think i actually still had this saved lol.
Read on ao3
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Punch after punch, Lance landed with ease at tow. He was virtually undefeated, winning tournaments and cash from all over the states. People cheered him on from all corners of the country. He could hardly peek out of his front door to grab the newspaper without a fan of his fainting.
He loved it, truly; the glitz and glamour, the glory of it all. He could have whatever he wanted in life. Hell, he practically had it all. The one thing he missed, however, the one thing he never seemed to be able to keep a firm grasp on, however, was a woman to love properly.
Sure, the man had one-night stands and gave women from all over the place a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity with him. Hell, he ever held auctions for a chance with him at least twice a year. But he knew he was lonely.
There were times, such as after a win from a fight, that he would look into the crowd around him and wish beyond everything that he could see a beautiful woman running to him and being in love with him as a person and not for the fame and fortune that he held tightly.
“Stop your mopin’, old man.” Hope snapped him out of his thoughts as she slapped a palm on the bar's surface before her.
“Hope, you’ve known me for a long time, right?” Lance asked quietly, running a finger around the rim of the beer glass before him. At her nod, he leaned forward slightly. “Then why can’t I find a girl worthy enough of my time? One that doesn’t just want me for fame?”
“Ask yourself, Tucker.” She shrugged. “Maybe people are scared of your talent, and maybe they’re scared of a scandal.”
“Who could love a violent machine like me?” He frowned, mainly speaking to himself, though Hope heard him loud and clear.
“I have a friend that’s not from around here.” She announced. “She’s coming to visit me tomorrow morning. She’s staying for a while. Maybe I can talk to her about hanging out with you. She doesn’t watch boxing, so she doesn’t know much about you.”
“Much?” he asked, brow lifted.
“She’s also been lonely, and I told her some things about you. She seems interested. Try not to fuck it up.”
He chuckled despite the loneliness in the pit of his stomach. He knew he could trust Hope’s judgement in character, and he knew the girl would be good for him.
I dig it. My interest is piqued. It's funny how I never struggle to enjoy your writing, even when I have like zero idea what they're from. I just like what I like ✨️
Characters/Pairings: James Buchanan Barnes/Bucky x curvy Millennial Female!Reader
Word Count: 7k
Summary: Bound to the fallen angel, he sweeps you away for one more ritual on this full moon.
Content Warnings: skin marking/branding by cutting/use of dagger; explicit smut: oral (female receiving), vaginal intercourse; supernatural binding; human transformation to supernatural being; terato/monster fucking
Notes: FINAL CHAPTER! Lots of smut and lots of information! Given the length, I could have split this chapter in two, and there was a spot I could have broken it off at, but this really felt more cohesive to me and I wanted to give it to you as one final installment of this long and winding tale.
Additional Notes: To anyone who has not read from the beginning, I have determined that one could reasonably start with Part 7: Offering and read only the final third of the saga. Think Doctor Who when there's a new Doctor and/or companion and it's built to be a sufficient entry point for anyone new to the story. You'll miss copious backstory, but should be able to drop in and follow without any real problem.
Previous: Binding | Series List
↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest
James' powerful wings beat steadily as he carries you through the night sky. The cool night air rushes past, a stark contrast to the heat of his body pressed against yours. You cling to him tightly, your mind reeling from everything that has transpired, heart pounding with a mix of exhilaration and lingering pleasure.
As you soar higher, the clearing and the assembled crowd fade into the distance below. The full moon bathes everything in its ethereal glow, casting long shadows across the landscape. You've never seen the world from this vantage point before, and it takes your breath away.
"Where are we going?" you manage to ask, your voice barely audible over the rush of wind.
James looks down at you, his eyes gleaming with an otherworldly light. "To a place where we can complete your transformation in private," he replies. "What comes next is sacred, meant only for us."
You nod, nestling closer to his chest.
After what feels like both an eternity and no time at all, James begins to descend, and you turn your head to see the towering walls of the estate. With a graceful landing, he alights on a terrace teeming with ivy, jasmine, and more of the Luna’s Tears. As he steps through a set of grand French doors, you’re enveloped in the soft and warm lighting of a luxurious room. From plush rugs to the rich velvet curtains billowing in the gentle breeze from outside to the mahogany furnishings, it’s designed for comfort. But another word comes to mind as well as he gently sets you down and you look around - sanctuary. This is his sanctuary, a place where he can escape the chaos of the world and find peace in its lavish surroundings.
“How are you feeling?” he asks, pulling you into his arms so you’re standing face to face. His eyes are earnestly studying your expression, and his arms circle around your lower back. Your hands come to rest instinctively on his chest.
You take a moment to assess yourself, still marveling at the changes you feel coursing through your body. "I feel different," you say softly. "More alive than I've ever been." Your skin tingles where it touches his, as if an electric current is passing between you. "But also... incomplete? Like there's something more waiting to happen."
James nods, a small smile playing at his lips. "That's to be expected. The binding ritual in the clearing was just the beginning of your transformation. There's still more you could become, and I think the essence of Luna’s Tears in your blood is calling for it."
His hand comes up to cup your cheek, his thumb tracing your lower lip. The simple touch sends a jolt of pleasure through you, igniting the embers of desire that still smolder in your core.
“What do you feel through this?” you ask tentatively. “Anything?”
James' eyes darken as he gazes at you intently. "I feel everything," he says, his voice low and husky. "Your essence, intertwining with mine. The potential for what you could become. The hunger in your body, calling out to be fulfilled."
His hand slides from your cheek down your neck, leaving a trail of tingling sensations in its wake. "But more than that, I feel a connection to you that goes beyond the physical. A bond that transcends mere mortal understanding."
You shiver at his touch and his words, feeling that same connection humming between you. "What happens now?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.
James leans in, his lips brushing against your ear as he speaks. "Now, we complete your transformation. If you're willing."
You nod without hesitation, surprising yourself with how eager you are to continue this journey.
“Come with me,” he says, and takes your hand.
He leads you into the bathroom, as spacious and exquisite as his chambers. The moonlight streams in through a large skylight, casting an otherworldly glow on the tiled floor. He turns on the faucet, and water gushes out, filling a deep clawfoot tub with steamy warmth. You raise an eyebrow, and he explains, “Bathing in the light of the full moon is one of the elements for the transformation ritual.”
He reaches for a simple glass bottle, removes a cork from its seal, and begins to pour the liquid into the bath. You’re met with a strong and fresh scent of a smell that’s growing not only familiar but recognizable to you - Luna’s Tears. It’s been faintly surrounding you due to the flower crown that’s still on your head, but the essence being added to the bath is more potent.
A small wave of nerves threatens to wash over you. “Do I have to be unconscious for the next part? Won’t the essence of Luna’s Tears put me to sleep?”
James' eyes soften as he hears the concern in your voice. He reaches out, gently cupping your face in his hands. "No, my dear," he says softly, his thumbs caressing your cheeks. "You won't be put to sleep by this."
He guides you closer to the tub, the steam rising from the water carrying the intoxicating scent of Luna's Tears. "What you experienced earlier - the deep sleep - was caused by a different concoction. A blend of herbs and other elements designed to prepare your body and mind for the initial stages of the ritual."
James' wings rustle softly behind him. He reaches out and gently removes the flower crown from your head as he continues, "For you, the essence of Luna's Tears will now provide strength and healing. It will fortify your body and spirit for the transformation." He places the crown on a nearby shelf, then takes your hand to help you step into the tub.
The warm water envelops you as you sink into the tub, and you feel the essence of Luna's Tears immediately seeping into your skin. It's invigorating, awakening every nerve ending in your body.
James kneels beside the tub, folding his wings neatly behind him. His eyes never leave you as he begins to gently wash your body with a soft cloth. His touch is reverent, almost worshipful, as he cleanses away the remnants of the earlier ritual, blood and earth and sweat.
You shiver despite the warmth of the water, both from his touch and the implications of what he’s said.
As his hand moves with the cloth over every part of your body, it’s an intimate study for him, memorizing you inch by inch. You still feel somewhat exposed, but also treasured, and still slightly overwhelmed by all of this. But as his hands move over you, with no way to hide the soft, round parts of your body that you typically dread, he shows nothing but unabashed wonder and appreciation. It’s something you’ve rarely felt with any previous partner.
Seeking distraction from thinking only of his touch and what it means, you decide to test the waters of what he will tell you. “How exactly do you see this working? You’ve bound me to you through ritual and through contract, but am I to you?”
James pauses his ministrations, his hand stilling on your shoulder. His eyes meet yours, intense and searching. "You are my elim," he says, his voice low and reverent. "It's a sacred bond, one that goes beyond mere mortal understanding."
He resumes washing you, his touch gentle yet purposeful. "Your essence is intertwined with mine, your very being attuned to me in ways that transcend the physical realm."
James' hand moves lower, skimming over your collarbone and down to your breast. You inhale sharply at the contact, feeling a spark of desire ignite within you. "In the most basic sense, it means you are mine. But it's so much more than simple possession."
He resumes washing you, his touch gentle yet purposeful. "You are my chosen one, selected to stand by my side. You will be my partner, my confidante, my source of strength and renewal."
James' hand moves to cup your cheek, his thumb tracing your lower lip. "In time, as your transformation completes, you will gain abilities beyond those of mortals. Longevity to match my own lifespan, enhanced strength and healing, a deeper connection to the natural world."
His eyes search yours, gauging your reaction. "In addition to that, you will be integral to my mission.”
Your mind reels at the implications of James' words. Enhanced abilities, longevity, a deeper connection to nature - it all sounds like something out of a fantasy novel. And yet, after everything you've witnessed tonight, you find yourself believing him.
"Your mission?" you ask, curiosity piqued. "What exactly is it that you're trying to accomplish?"
James' hand continues its gentle ministrations, moving down your arm as he speaks. “That,” he says, “is a discussion for another time.”
You make an impatient sound and bat his hand away. “I’m tired of information being withheld from me! I want answers, and I deserve them!”
He reaches out and firmly takes your hand. “I will tell you everything, I swear it on our bond, but not now. There is more to the transformation ritual, and I want your mind and body to be completely rested and refreshed, and there are charts and maps and books I will want to show you in the archives.”
“Oh,” is your simple reply.
“Soon, just not now.”
“Okay,” you agree. You believe he’s being sincere. You feel it, actually, and not just in the metaphorical sense, you realize you feel some kind of resonance between the two of you.
He resumes washing you.
Your eyes roam over him. He’s the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen, body sculpted as if by the gods, and you’d almost believe it, given that he’s an angel. He’s still naked as well, but now that you have time and feel comfortable enough to simply look at him, you notice he’s wearing a gold pinky ring and a pendant on a chain around his neck.
“What’s that symbol on the pendant around your neck?”
“It’s for protection,” he answers simply.
You cock your head. “Protection? But you’re an angel.”
“That’s part of the soon-not-now story you will eventually learn.”
You sigh, and he laughs softly. “Your keen mind will not be wasted, elim. Your desire to know is something I look forward to in a partner.”
Your chest swells a little at this admission. But it spurs another thought - one you think he should be able to answer.
“With all of the ritual, the destiny,” you start, “why bother with an employment contract? Why go through the ruse of it all?”
He chuckles. “It’s not a ruse. Everyone has a place and a purpose here, and if you’re going to work, you should be compensated. Nat was insistent that whether or not I bound myself to you, I needed some kind of assistant working with me on my projects.”
You almost laugh, but his face tells you he’s serious.
“Wait, so the foundation is… it’s real?”
He tilts his head, scrutinizing you. “You saw it all today. You met with so many of my people. Did you think it was all an act?”
“I,” you start, then stop. “I guess not, it’s just a lot to take in. I suppose now that I know what and who you truly are, I’ll be able to have a lot more of the questions answered today that I got denied full transparency on?”
He nods. “I imagine so.”
“Hmm,” you hum. After another moment, you ask, “What do I call you? You’re an angel, but bound to me, and also my boss?”
He chuckles. “Bucky. You can call me Bucky.”
“Bucky?”
“Supernatural beings are either assigned or choose a sacred name for their transformed state, but only certain designations are allowed to use the name,” he explains. “An elim can use the name.”
“And Bucky?”
“It’s what most people called me when I was still human. I wanted a moniker to remind me of my humanity - who I wanted to serve and protect.”
Bucky's revelation that he’d once been human sparks a flurry of questions in your mind, but before you can voice any of them, he places a finger gently on your lips.
"I know you have many more questions," he says softly. "And I promise, we will have time for all of them. But for now, we need to focus on completing your transformation."
You nod, realizing he's right. There's still an unfamiliar energy thrumming through your body, an anticipation for something more.
The water around you has cooled slightly, and you notice the moon's position has shifted in the skylight above. Bucky helps you stand and step out of the tub, wrapping you in a plush towel. As he dries your skin, you notice the way his touch lingers, sending little sparks of pleasure through you. The bond between you pulses with energy, and you find yourself leaning into his caresses.
“Is it always like this for an offering? For elim being selected, the binding, and this transformation? Do they all feel like this?”
He brings his head back to look at you. “Oh, my elim,” he says, voice dropping low, and smoother than any words he’s spoken to you up to this point. “I can not say. I’ve taken many offerings for the moonlight ritual, but I’ve never bound someone to me as elim. I invoked a transformation in Steve and Natasha, but not the transformation I have intended for you.”
He cups your face in both of his hands. “You are the first. The only.”
His words send a shiver through you, both thrilling and terrifying. You're entering uncharted territory, blazing a trail no one else has walked before. The weight of this revelation settles over you, but instead of feeling burdened, you feel empowered.
"The next ritual will be more intense than the binding," he explains, his voice low and intimate. "It will require complete trust in me.”
Bucky's hands slide down from your face, tracing the curves of your body. His touch reignites a fire within you, desire coursing through your veins. The bond between you pulses with energy, amplifying every sensation.
"Are you ready?" he asks, his voice low and husky.
Bucky leads you back out onto the terrace fully bathed in the moonlight. On a table near the edge of the terrace, there’s a wooden chest and a clear pitcher of water - though you would guess it’s more than mere water. He opens a the case as you reach it. It’s velvet inside, and there’s an empty spot, but you instantly know what’s missing, because next to it is a dagger that looks exactly like the one that he’d used in the clearing to initiate the blood bond. They’re clearly a pair.
Bucky takes the dagger from the case, its silver blade gleaming in the moonlight. He turns to you, his eyes intense and filled with an otherworldly light, and his wings unfurl behind him. "This is the first part of what will complete your transformation from elim in name to elim in being."
You nod, unable to form words as anticipation builds within you.
He guides you to the edge of the balcony. “Place your hands here,” he says, motioning to the stone parapet. “You’ll need to brace yourself.”
You feel the coolness of the smooth stone beneath your palms as you look out over the grounds. You must be on the fourth level of the mansion, standing naked in the moonlight. Bucky moves in behind you, standing so close you can feel the heat radiating from his equally naked body.
“I’m going to carve a sigil into your body,” he murmurs next to your ear. Your body tenses up, and he runs his hand down your back. “It will be painful, but should be less so given the transition your body is already making, the essence of Luna’s Tears in your system, as well as the oils from the bath, and the sustaining energy you’ll pull from the full moon.”
“Bucky…” your voice is hesitant.
Bucky's hand traces back up your spine, coming to rest on your left shoulder blade. "The sigil will be here," he says softly. "It will mark you as mine, and as a being transformed. The placement of a sigil is instrumental in the transfiguration, and an elim receives their mark here because it’s so close to the heart."
Bucky presses a kiss to your shoulder, his lips warm against your skin. "Are you ready?" he asks softly.
You take a deep breath, steeling yourself. "Yes," you whisper.
You feel the weight of his hand come to rest again on your lower back, warm and reassuring. "Remember, I'm here with you. Our bond will help you through this."
You nod, closing your eyes and focusing on the connection between you. You can feel it thrumming with energy, and you try to ground yourself in it.
You feel the cool touch of the blade against your skin, and then a sharp, burning pain as Bucky begins to carve the sigil. You grit your teeth, your fingers gripping the stone parapet tightly. The pain is intense, but not unbearable. As Bucky promised, there's an underlying current of energy flowing through you, dulling the worst of it.
As he works, Bucky murmurs words in a language you don't understand. The air around you seems to thicken, charged with an otherworldly power. You can feel the bond between you pulsing, growing stronger with each stroke of the blade.
As Bucky continues carving the sigil, you feel a strange tingling sensation spreading from the point of the blade. It's as if tendrils of energy are snaking through your body, igniting every nerve ending. The pain is still there, but it's overshadowed by a growing sense of power and connection.
You gasp as a particularly intricate part of the sigil is carved, your body arching involuntarily. Bucky's free hand moves to your hip, steadying you. "Almost done," he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear.
With a final, decisive stroke, Bucky completes the sigil, then places his palm flat against the marking and murmurs a few more words. The moment he's finished, a surge of energy courses through you, so intense it nearly brings you to your knees. Bucky's strong arms wrap around you, holding you upright as wave after wave of sensation washes over you.
You're dimly aware of what’s going on as he sweeps you into his arms. He carries you back into the bedroom and places you softly on the large four-poster bed. The sheets are soft and cool against your skin as you lie down. Bucky stands next to the bed, his wings unfurling to their full span, but he rustles them in clear agitation.
"The ritual of the sigil is complete," Bucky explains, “and now your body will undergo transfiguration over the next few hours.”
There’s a sudden spasm that shoots down your right side, and you wince.
He puts a hand on your torso, and it radiates out a calming energy that allows you to breathe easy again. You put your hand over his, holding it there.
"You’ve seen that I have some power, but the strongest energy - to generate, to transfer, and to consume - is sexual energy.”
A strained laugh erupts from your lips. “Of course it is.”
Despite the lingering pain from the sigil, you feel a surge of arousal at his words. The bond between you pulses with anticipation.
"Are you willing?" Bucky asks softly, his hand still resting on your torso.
You nod, unable to form words as another wave of sensation washes over you. Bucky leans down, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. The moment your lips meet, energy courses between you, amplifying every touch, every sensation.
Bucky's hands roam your body, leaving trails of fire in their wake. You arch into his touch, craving more. Your own hands explore the planes of his muscular chest and back, marveling at the softness of his skin contrasted with the hardness of his body. When your fingers brush the base of his wings, he lets out a low groan that sends shivers down your spine.
His lips leave yours to trail down your neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin. Each touch sends jolts of pleasure through you, amplified by the bond between you. You can feel his desire, his need, as if it were your own.
Bucky's hand slides down your body, coming to rest between your plush thighs. You gasp as he strokes you, your hips bucking involuntarily. "So wet for me," he murmurs against your skin.
You whine and spread your legs.
“It’s good that you’re so eager now, my elim, because I’ve wanted to taste your nectar from the source since the instant I smelled you in the clearing tonight.”
Bucky's words send a shiver of anticipation through you. He moves down your body, trailing kisses along your skin. When he reaches your thighs, he spreads them wider, settling his broad shoulders between them.
"Bucky, please," you gasp, your hands tangling in his hair.
His breath ghosts over your sensitive flesh, making you squirm. "Be good for me," he murmurs, placing a hand on your hip to steady you.
The first swipe of his tongue has you arching off the bed, a cry of pleasure escaping your lips. Bucky holds your hips down as he continues his ministrations, alternating between long, slow licks and quick flicks of his tongue.
The mounting pleasure distracts from the pain, but you’re feeling other sensations throughout your body that you can’t ignore. At one point you’re aware of your bones, heating up, then resonating for a moment, and then those sensations subside. Most of the other changes in your body, though, fall into the background against the canvas of what Bucky’s doing to your sex with his mouth.
Bucky's skilled tongue works you into a frenzy, building your pleasure higher and higher. The bond between you pulses with energy, amplifying every sensation. You can feel his desire, his hunger for you, as if it were your own.
Your hands tangle in his hair, holding him close as your hips buck against his face. The pleasure is almost overwhelming, blurring the lines between pain and ecstasy as your body continues its transformation.
"Bucky," you gasp, feeling yourself teetering on the edge. "I'm close!"
He redoubles his efforts, sucking your sensitive bud between his lips as he slides two fingers inside you. The dual stimulation is your undoing. You cry out as your orgasm washes over you, waves of pleasure crashing through your body.
As you come down from your high, you feel the air literally moving through your lungs, hyperaware of every sensation in your body.
But Bucky is only idle for a moment. He pushes up to kneel above you, tracing his fingers down your thighs, causing you to shiver with pleasure. Then he grips your hips and flips you over and maneuvers you onto your hands and knees.
Bucky's strong hands grip your hips as he positions himself behind you. You can feel the heat radiating from his body, his desire palpable in the air between you. The bond pulses with anticipation, your bodies already in tune with each other's needs.
"Are you ready for me, my elim?" Bucky's voice is low and husky, sending goosebumps over your skin.
You nod, words failing you as another wave of sensation washes through your body. The transformation is still ongoing, every nerve ending hypersensitive.
Bucky slowly pushes into you, stretching and filling you in the most delicious way. You gasp at the intensity of it, the pleasure almost overwhelming. He pauses once he's fully seated, giving you time to adjust.
"You feel incredible," he murmurs, leaning over to press a kiss between your shoulder blades, then right over your sigil. There’s a pulse of energy that radiates through it, and you feel like it’s healing.
Bucky begins to move, setting a slow, deep rhythm that has you gasping with each thrust. The pleasure is intense, amplified by the bond between you and the ongoing changes in your body. You can feel every inch of him as he slides in and out, your bodies moving together in perfect synchronicity.
His hands roam your body, caressing your curves and sending shivers of delight through you. When he reaches around to cup your breasts, you arch into his touch, craving more.
"That's it," Bucky murmurs, his voice low and husky. "Let go for me, my elim. Let me feel your pleasure."
His words spur you on, and you begin to move your hips back to meet his thrusts. The new angle has him hitting a spot deep inside you that makes you see stars. You cry out, your fingers clutching the sheets as the waves of pleasure and pain begin to mount higher.
As your climax approaches, you feel a surge of energy coursing through your body. It's different from before - wilder, more primal. Your spine tingles with an otherworldly power, and for a moment, it’s like you can’t breathe.
"Bucky," you gasp, your voice strained. "Something's happening..."
"Let it happen," he says, his voice low and commanding. "Don't fight it."
He repositions himself behind you, planting one foot on the bed to give him more leverage to thrust into your cunt. He forces your chest down, pushing your face into the soft sheets, hand planted between your shoulder blades, and he redoubles his efforts, slamming his thick cock into your weeping pussy. You moan and keen, and it mixes with his own groans and grunts of desperate pleasure.
the bond between you heightening everything, you climax at the same time, accompanied by another blinding burst of light as happened before on the altar. But in the next moment, there’s a searing pain that rips through your ecstasy. Your back feels like it’s exploding, and there’s a cacophony of sounds - ripping, ruffling, rustling, and your own anguished scream.
The pain is overwhelming, and you feel like your body is being ripped apart from the inside out. You crawl away from Bucky, desperately trying to escape the searing agony.
But as you move, you realize that something is off. Your body feels foreign, and when you reach back to touch your back, you feel something there that shouldn't be - a pair of wings.
As you turn to face Bucky, he holds a cautious stance, but his face is full of wonder and awe. You, on the other hand, can only stare at him in mute horror as you try to understand what has just happened.
You were so focused on fulfilling the bonding ritual that you didn't consider the consequences. And now it seems as though those consequences have caught up with you.
Tears stream down your face as panic sets in. You don't know what to do or how to control this new form that has taken over your body. You never thought the transformation would lead all the way to this - to your own set of wings.
Bucky speaks your name softly, moving slowly toward you.
You’re trembling, and your chest heaves with sobs. You didn’t even realize your tears had turned to crying.
Bucky approaches you cautiously, his hands outstretched in a calming gesture. "It's alright," he says softly, his voice soothing. "I know this is overwhelming, but you're safe. I'm here with you."
You try to speak, but only a choked sob comes out. Your new wings flutter involuntarily, causing you to flinch.
"Breathe," Bucky instructs gently. "Focus on my voice. In and out, slowly."
You follow his guidance, taking deep breaths to calm yourself. As your panic subsides, you become more aware of the wings on your back. They feel strange, yet somehow natural, as if they've always been a part of you.
"That's it," Bucky encourages. "You're doing wonderfully." He moves closer, reaching out to touch your arm. "May I?"
You nod.
Bucky's touch is gentle as he runs his hand down your arm, grounding you. The sensation helps calm your racing heart.
"Your wings are beautiful," he says softly.
You take a shaky breath, trying to process his words. "I... I didn't expect this," you manage to say.
Bucky nods understandingly. "I know. The full extent of an elim's transformation isn't always predictable. But this... this is extraordinary."
Slowly, carefully, he guides you to turn around so he can examine your wings. You feel his fingers gently tracing along the new appendages, sending shivers down your spine.
You take another shaky breath. "What... what am I now?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.
Bucky turns you back around and cups your face in his hands, his eyes meeting yours. "You're still you," he says firmly. "But now you're also something more. You're an elim, my elim, one of the pantheon of angelic creatures."
His thumbs wipe away your tears as he continues, "Your wings are a physical manifestation of the power you now possess. They're a gift, not a curse."
You nod slowly, trying to process his words. The initial shock is less overwhelming, but not gone. “And I’ll have these wings forever?” you ask, thinking suddenly of how you never saw this man before the midnight ritual, which makes sense as there’s no way to hide his large wings. Your heart constricts thinking of all the people you will never see again.
"Yes, but you’ll be able to retract and conceal them most of the time.”
“I-” your voice breaks, “I will?”
“Yes,” he says emphatically, and you know he must feel your enormous worry through the bond, “it’s only the day before and the day after a full moon when an angel can not conceal their true nature.”
Relief washes over you, and you sink forward against his chest, and his arms wrap around your lower back beneath your wings.
“I suppose that’s not the worst,” you say, already starting to see how you could build your life around that. Work will certainly never be a problem, as you won’t have to explain to your boss since he’s the one who triggered your transformation. You imagine it won’t be strange for you to go about as normal here on the estate, either. “I’ll just have to stay out of the public eye for two days a month.”
Bucky chuckles. “‘Not the worst?’ Oh, my elim, you won’t want to be anywhere but here those two days. I’m certain we’ll always have good sex,” he says, trailing moving one of his hands up your spine, and causing you to shiver, “but the unbelievable heights of sensation we’ve felt tonight? That intensity will only accompany the full moon.”
Your eyes widen at Bucky's words, a mix of anticipation and nervousness fluttering in your stomach. The memory of the intense pleasure you just experienced is still fresh in your mind, and the thought of experiencing it again and again, amplified by the full moon, is both thrilling and slightly overwhelming.
"So, this happens every month?" you ask, your voice a mix of curiosity and awe.
Bucky nods, a small smile playing on his lips. "The full moon amplifies our powers and our connection. It's a sacred time for our kind."
You take a deep breath, trying to process all this new information. Your wings flutter slightly behind you, and you realize you can feel the air moving through them, a strange but not unpleasant sensation.
"How do I... how do I control them?" you ask, gesturing vaguely behind you.
Bucky's smile widens. “It will come. You’ll develop mastery over your wings as you have the rest of your body. It will take concentration at first, and then it will be like breathing.”
Bucky guides you to stand up, his hands steadying you as you wobble slightly, still adjusting to your new center of gravity.
Bucky leads you over to stand in front of a full-length mirror. For the first time, you see your transformed self - your body still familiar, but now adorned with a pair of magnificent wings. They're smaller than Bucky's, but no less beautiful, with feathers that shimmer in shades of pearl and pale gold. You note that the coloring is not that different from Bucky’s lighter wing.
"Let's start with something simple," he says. "Try to stretch them out fully."
You take a deep breath, focusing on the new appendages. At first, nothing happens, and you feel a flicker of frustration. But then, slowly, you feel the muscles in your back engage, and your wings begin to unfurl.
The sensation is strange but exhilarating. As your wings extend to their full span, you gasp in awe. They're larger than you expected, easily reaching several feet on either side of you.
"Beautiful," Bucky murmurs, his eyes filled with pride and admiration. "Now, try to fold them back in."
This proves to be a bit more challenging, but with Bucky's gentle guidance and encouragement, you manage to tuck them nicely behind you - though not as tightly as you remember Bucky had initially in the clearing. You furl them back out a little, in what feels like a more natural position - at least for now.
"That's it," Bucky says, pride evident in his voice. "You're a natural."
You stare at your reflection, mesmerized by the sight. It's far too surreal, yet somehow feels right. Bucky steps closer and strokes along the bone of your wing from base to tip, and you fight between a whimper and a sigh escaping your lips, the feeling exquisite as he touches your wing.
"Sensitive, aren't they?" Bucky says with a knowing smile. "Wings are one of the most erogenous zones for our kind."
You nod, unable to form words as he continues to stroke your wing. The sensation is unlike anything you've ever felt before, pleasure radiating from the point of contact throughout your entire body.
Bucky's hand moves to the juncture where your wing meets your back, massaging gently. You lean into his touch, an unrestrained moan escaping your lips. The bond between you pulses with renewed energy, and you can feel Bucky's desire rising to match your own.
"There's so much more for you to learn," Bucky murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear. "About your new body, your new abilities, the world you're now a part of.
Bucky's hands move to your shoulders, turning you to face him. His eyes are dark with desire as he looks at you. “So many new sensations to explore."
His wings unfurl behind him, and you're struck again by their beauty and power. He takes your hand and guides it to the base of his wing. "Touch me," he encourages.
Hesitantly, you run your fingers along the strong bone structure of his wing, marveling at the softness of the feathers. Bucky's eyes flutter closed, a low groan escaping his lips. Encouraged by his reaction, you grow bolder, stroking and exploring the expanse of his wing.
As you caress him, you feel an echo of the pleasure through your bond. It's as if you can sense what he's feeling, amplifying your own arousal. Your other hand moves to his chest, tracing the defined muscles there.
Bucky's hands aren't idle either. They roam your body, learning your curves and newly sensitive areas. When he reaches the base of your wings, mirroring your actions on his own, you gasp at the intensity of the sensation. It's pleasure unlike anything you've ever experienced before, radiating from your wings throughout your entire body.
His wings twitch and flutter under your ministrations, and you can feel his arousal building through your bond - and pressing against your stomach.
Suddenly, Bucky's eyes snap open, dark with need. In one fluid motion, he lifts you up, your legs instinctively wrap around him, and he carries you back to the bed. He tosses you into the middle of the mattress, joining you immediately. He lays back and pulls you on top of him.
“Ride me, elim,” he says, his eyes hungry for you.
You straddle Bucky's hips, your new wings fluttering slightly as you position yourself above him. The bond between you pulses with anticipation and desire. As you slowly lower yourself onto his hard length, you both groan in unison at the exquisite sensation.
Bucky's hands grip your wide hips, guiding your movements as you begin to rock against him. The angle allows him to hit deep inside you, sending waves of pleasure through your body. Your wings seem to have a mind of their own, stretching and folding with each roll of your hips.
"That's it," Bucky encourages, his voice low and husky. "Let yourself feel everything."
You lean forward, bracing your hands on his chest as you increase your pace. The new position causes your wings to spread wide, and you feel a rush of cool air against the sensitive feathers. The sensation sends shots of pleasure straight to your core.
Bucky’s hands move from your hips up your back questing for your wings again.
As Bucky's fingers caress the sensitive juncture where the feathers meet your back, you cry out in ecstasy. The dual stimulation of his touch on your wings and his cock deep inside you is overwhelming. Your movements become more frantic as you chase your pleasure.
Bucky's own wings unfurl beneath him, the feathers rustling against the sheets. The sight of him, powerful and angelic beneath you, only fuels your desire further.
"You're so beautiful like this," Bucky murmurs, his eyes locked on yours. "My perfect elim."
His words send a shiver down your spine, and you feel your climax building rapidly. Your wings flutter and stretch with each roll of your hips, seeming to respond to your mounting pleasure.
Bucky's wings curl forward to touch your wings, and a jolt of intense pleasure courses through you. You cry out, your movements faltering for a moment as you adjust to the new sensation. Bucky uses the opportunity to thrust up into you, setting a faster pace.
You can only moan, words escaping you as waves of pleasure wash over you. As you ride him, you become aware of a building energy between you. It's similar to what you felt during the ritual, but more intense, more focused.
The energy between you and Bucky builds to a crescendo, pulsing in time with your movements. Your wings are fully extended now, quivering with each thrust. One of Bucky's hands moves to cup your face, his eyes locked on yours.
"Let go," Bucky commands, his voice rough with need. "Come for me, my elim."
His words, combined with a particularly deep thrust, send you over the edge. You cry out as your orgasm crashes over you, more intense than anything you've ever experienced. Your wings beat powerfully, sending gusts of air through the room as pleasure courses through every fiber of your being.
Bucky follows you moments later, his own wings unfurling fully as he reaches his climax. You feel his seed filling you up, and it fills you with an added element of satisfaction.
You collapse against his chest, and his arms draw around you tightly. You rest your forehead against his, and then he kisses you. Slow but passionate - not with a drive for more sex, but more of an earnest need to connect with you on a deeper level.
As your breathing slowly returns to normal, you become aware of a warmth spreading through your body. It's different from the heat of arousal - this feels more like a gentle, comforting glow emanating from within. Your wings, now relaxed, drape over you both like a feathered blanket.
Bucky's hand strokes gently along your spine, his touch soothing and grounding. "How do you feel?" he asks softly, his voice filled with tenderness.
You take a moment to assess yourself. The initial shock and fear of your transformation have faded, replaced by a sense of wonder and, surprisingly, contentment.
"Different," you reply honestly. "But... good different. Like I've finally become who I was always meant to be.”
Bucky smiles, his eyes shining with pride and affection. "That's exactly it," he says, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "We’ve awakened your true nature, what was buried beneath the surface."
You shift slightly, marveling at how natural your wings already feel. "There's still so much I don't understand," you admit. "So much to learn."
"And we have all the time in the world for that," Bucky assures you. His hand moves to caress your wing, sending a pleasant shiver through you. "I'll be here to guide you every step of the way."
You nod, feeling a surge of gratitude and affection for him. The bond between you pulses warmly, a constant reminder of your connection.
"What happens now?" you ask, curious about what this new life holds for you.
Bucky's hand moves back to its soothing motion along your spine. "Now, we rest. Your body has undergone a significant change, and you need time to recover and adjust."
He shifts slightly, adjusting your position so you're lying more comfortably against his chest. Your wings naturally fold around you both, creating a cocoon of soft feathers.
"In the coming days, I'll teach you more about your new abilities," Bucky continues. "How to control your wings, how to harness the energy that now flows through you, and,” he presses his hand meaningfully to the small of your back at the same time he presses a kiss to your forehead, “answer all of your questions.”
“All of them?” you ask.
“All of them,” he promises.
THIRTY-FOUR THOUSAND WORDS TOTAL! Can you believe it?!
If you've come with me this far... I literally can't thank you enough for reading this. It really pushed my creativity as it's an AU area I'd never explored before. I hope it was full of delicious details, tantalizing mysteries, and I know I still didn't answer all of the burning questions... 🤭 Maybe if anyone is really dying to know, then someday we'll learn more?
But THIS is the end of this story at least. A nice, smutty end. 😏
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I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!
We're having full moon. A bloody full moon. Is it a night for the brutal Alpha warrior Steve to snatch you? Or perhaps a night when the fallen angel James binds your soul to his?
Eva, you left this ask for me on October 28, 2023. At the time, it stumped me but intrigued me. Every month when we got to the full moon, it'd pop back up onto my radar, and I wanted to do something really worthy of the prompt - it just compelled me, but I kept waiting patiently for something to ignite my imagination. The idea finally revealed itself to me near the end of the summer, and I let it start to build. Then, when I actually started writing it, I got so immersed in building up everything, I realized it was a much bigger epic than I anticipated, and so I got more diligent on my plotting and planning, and so HERE WE ARE with the reveal ON a full moon - and a super moon to real seal the fate of this story/this reader! I have been dying keeping this surprise from you for months!
Chosen, Part 8: Binding
Characters/Pairings: James Buchanan Barnes/Bucky x curvy Millennial Female!Reader
Word Count: 2.9k
Summary: Consecrated and deemed worthy, the ritual will begin.
SERIES Content Warnings: SOFT!DARK STORY, cult themes, explicit smut, dubious consent and enthusiastic consent, veiled truths, gaslighting, sleeping drugs
CHAPTER Content Warnings: cult elements - human offering for a ritual, blood bond via dagger; explicit smut: blood play, vaginal fingering, forced orgasm, vaginal intercourse, consent is still mildly dubious; exhibitionism; supernatural binding; terato/monster fucking
Notes: To anyone who has not read from the beginning, I have determined that one could reasonably start with Part 7: Offering and just read these two parts.
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You gasp, jaw dropping, and eyes widening as you take in the scene before you. You’re overcome with awe and wonder, and maybe just an element of fear.
Jame stands before you as more than a man. Arms outstretched, he has also unfurled a set of enormous, feathered wings - one white, gleaming as brightly under the light of the full moon and matching its glow and aura. Extending from his left shoulder is another massive wing, jet black with an iridescent blue sheen in the moonlight. It’s the flash of black that had caught your eye over his shoulder when you first laid eyes on him. You realize now he’d masterfully hidden both wings behind his back, only ever circling you until this moment when he revealed himself in all his glory.
A literal angel, mighty and fearsome, in the flesh.
Your mind reels. Angels were the stuff of religious tradition or fantasy or folklore. Yet here was this man - more than a mere human - before your very eyes. As you’ve been shocked and surprised numerous times over today, this revelation - though unexpected - does not jar you the way it would have… maybe even the way it still should.
In no way are your myriad of questions answered, but some threads and pieces start to weave a picture together. Much of the imagery in the tapestries and paintings, some of the research avenues you learned about, The Winged Heritage Foundation name itself, and even the mere organization of a cult.
It’s all surreal, but given the context suddenly makes sense.
The rest of the followers fall to their knees in reverence as James spreads his wings wide, filling the clearing with an otherworldly presence. The energy shifts around you, crackling with pure power that makes every hair on your body stand on end.
"This is my true form," James says, his voice echoing around you. "I am not like any being you have encountered before."
You can only nod wordlessly in response.
"But do not be afraid," he continues, lowering his arms and folding his wings back against his back. "I have no wish to harm or frighten you."
You feel a sense of calm wash over you at his words despite everything that has happened so far tonight. There is something about him that makes it difficult for you to be afraid or angry at him. Is it a supernatural power? His words? Or some intuitive sense you seem to have to want to trust him?
"As I said before," James continues. "You have been chosen for a special purpose."
He takes a step towards you, his eyes locking onto yours and holding your gaze yet again.
As James approaches, his wings rustle softly behind him. The moonlight catches on his feathers, creating an ethereal glow that surrounds him. Your breath catches in your throat as he reaches out to cup your face in his hands.
"You are destined for greatness," he murmurs, his voice low and hypnotic, meant only for you. "Through our union, you will ascend beyond the limitations of mortality."
His thumbs stroke your cheeks gently, and you feel a warmth spreading through your body from his touch. It's as if his very essence is seeping into you, igniting something deep within your core.
"Shall we begin?" he asks, this time loud enough for those assembled to hear, his eyes searching yours.
You nod, unable to form words. The energy between you is palpable, electric. James leans in, his lips hovering just above yours. His thumb traces your lower lip, and you part them slightly, your breath coming in short, shallow gasps.
"The ritual will bind us together," James continues. "Your essence will become intertwined with mine. You will gain strength and longevity - strength to endure my needs, longevity to align with my own preternatural lifespan.”
Without warning, he reaches out and grasps the fabric of your chemise, tearing it down the middle with a swift, powerful motion. The sound of ripping silk echoes in the clearing, and you gasp as the cool night air hits your exposed skin.
James' eyes roam over your body, drinking in every curve and dip. You feel exposed, vulnerable, but also strangely empowered under his appreciative gaze. After all, you’re naked and exposed with him, no one else chosen to be on this altar with an angel.
"Perfect," he breathes, and you feel a flush of heat spread across your cheeks and down your neck.
“Are you ready to embrace the destiny chosen for you? Deemed worthy by the witnesses, by me?”
You hesitate for a moment before nodding again, and willing yourself to utter an unmistakable, “Yes.”
You have no idea what this destiny entails, but something inside of you is urging you forward - the ever-evolving curiosity, the inexplicable pull towards this strange ritual, to the soul of this inhuman man.
His hand reaches out to caress your cheek, his touch both gentle and electric, a momentary reassurance.
“Steve,” he calls out, “bring the knife.”
Your heart pounds as Steve approaches with a gleaming ceremonial dagger. The blade catches the moonlight, its surface is etched intricate symbols you don’t recognize, and the edge of the blade wickedly sharp. James takes the knife, his eyes never leaving yours.
"Remember, I will never harm you. This part may hurt," he warns softly, "but it is necessary for the binding."
You tense instinctively, but force yourself to remain still as James brings the blade to your palm. With swift precision, he makes a shallow cut across your skin. You hiss at the sting, watching as crimson beads well up along the line.
James then turns the knife on himself, slicing his own palm without hesitation. His blood is darker than yours, almost black in the moonlight.
"With this mingling of our blood," he intones, "we begin the joining of our essences."
He presses his bleeding palm to yours, entwining your fingers. The contact initiates something you’ve never experienced in your life. As your blood mingles with James', a strange tingling sensation spreads from your joined hands. It's as if lightning is coursing through your veins, igniting every nerve ending in your body, rewriting each one. The sensation grows stronger, more intense, until it feels like your very cells are vibrating with energy.
James' eyes lock onto yours, his gaze so intense it's almost painful to maintain. "Do you feel the power of our union beginning to take hold?" he asks, his voice low and husky.
You can only nod, words escaping you as the sensations overwhelm you. The world around you seems to fade away, leaving only you and James in this moment of profound connection.
Without breaking eye contact or releasing your hand, James moves closer. His free hand comes up to cup the back of your neck, pulling you towards him. When his lips finally meet yours, it's like a supernova exploding.
The kiss is unlike anything you've ever experienced. It's as if James is pouring his very essence into you through the connection of your lips. The sensation is overwhelming, electric, and intoxicating all at once. You feel yourself melting into him, your body responding with a hunger you've never known before.
His tongue traces the seam of your lips, seeking entrance, and you part them willingly. As your tongues meet, the tingling sensation that started in your joined hands intensifies, spreading through your entire body. It's as if every nerve ending is infused with something ancient and powerful.
James' free hand roams your body, caressing your curves with reverence. His touch leaves trails of heat on your skin, igniting a desperate need within you. You arch into him, craving more contact, more of this intoxicating sensation. Your joined hands remain pressed together, the mingling of your blood creating a bond that feels unbreakable. He gently pulls you closer, guiding you to lie back on the altar.
As James lowers you onto the altar, his wings unfurl behind him. The sight of them spreading wide, one pure white and one midnight black, takes your breath away. Moonlight filters through the feathers, casting an otherworldly glow over your joined bodies. The stone is cool against your heated skin, a stark contrast to the warmth emanating from James' body as he leans over you.
James lowers his head to your neck, his lips brushing against your pulse point. You gasp as he nips at the sensitive skin, then soothes it with his tongue.
"So responsive," he murmurs, his breath hot against your neck. "You were truly made for this, for me."
His hand, the one not still joined with yours in the blood bond, traces down your body. He cups your breast, thumb brushing over your nipple, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. You arch into his touch, craving more.
James' hand continues its journey downward, tracing the curves of your body with reverent touches. His fingers skim over your stomach, making the muscles there quiver in anticipation.
"Open for me," he commands softly, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through your entire being.
You comply without hesitation, parting your thighs for him. The cool night air hits your most intimate parts, making you acutely aware of how exposed you are - not just to James, but to all those gathered around the altar. Yet, strangely, you feel no shame, only a burning desire for more. The cool night air hits your most intimate parts, making you shiver.
James' fingers finally reach the apex of your thighs, and you gasp as he runs them through your folds. You're wetter than you've ever been in your life, your arousal weeping out of your cunt, you feel the drip.
Without warning, James plunges two fingers deep inside you. You cry out at the sudden intrusion, your back arching off the altar. The pleasure is intense, almost overwhelming, as he begins to move his fingers in and out of you at a steady pace.
James' fingers move within you with expert precision, curling and stroking in a way that has you seeing stars as you’re bathed in the moonlight. Your hips buck against his hand, seeking more friction, more of that exquisite pleasure. With each thrust of his fingers, you feel yourself climbing higher and higher towards some unknown peak.
"That's it," James murmurs, his voice low and husky. "Let yourself feel everything. Open yourself to me completely."
His thumb finds your clit, circling the sensitive bud in time with the thrusts of his fingers. The dual stimulation is almost too much to bear. You writhe beneath him, gasping and moaning, lost in the sea of sensations he's creating within you.
All the while, your hands remain joined, the blood bond pulsing with energy. You can feel James' essence flowing into you through this connection, intertwining with your own.
The pleasure builds to an almost unbearable intensity as James works your body with expert precision. Your hips rock against his hand, chasing the exquisite sensations. The dual stimulation of his fingers inside you and his thumb on your clit has you climbing higher and higher towards release.
"Let go," James commands softly. "Surrender yourself to me completely."
His words seem to unlock something deep within you. With a cry that echoes through the clearing, you shatter. Waves of ecstasy crash over you, more intense than anything you've ever experienced. Your body arches off the altar, trembling uncontrollably as the orgasm washes through you.
But James doesn't stop. He continues his ministrations, drawing out your pleasure until you're gasping and writhing beneath him. Just when you think you can't take anymore, a second orgasm hits you, even more powerful than the first, and there’s a flash of light.
As the waves of your second orgasm crash over you, you realize the flash of light you saw isn't just in your mind - it was a visible pulse of energy emanating from your body. The assembled crowd gasps in awe.
James' eyes lock onto yours, blazing with an otherworldly intensity. "Yes," he growls, his voice deep and primal. "It’s working."
In one fluid motion, he positions himself between your thighs. You feel the thick head of his cock pressing against your entrance, and your body quivers in anticipation. Despite your recent orgasms, you find yourself craving more, needing to feel him inside you.
"This is the moment of true union," James calls out, his voice carrying clearly through the clearing.
You’re eager, aching, but he moves your joined hands, letting go to press your bloody palm to his chest over your heart, and he does the same with his own, smearing his blood across your chest. You feel the wet warmth on your skin, but you also feel it seem to seep below the surface.
Then he positions the blunt head of a truly enormous cock at the dripping entrance of your pussy.
"As I enter her body,” he announces, “our essences will fully merge."
With that, he begins to push into you, slowly but steadily. The stretch is intense, bordering on painful, as your body struggles to accommodate his considerable girth. Without the stretching Steve had given to you earlier, you would be in true pain now. Even so, you mewl softly, your fingers digging into his shoulders as he continues to fill you.
"Breathe," James murmurs, his voice soothing despite the strain evident in his tone. "Let your body open for me."
You force yourself to take deep breaths, willing your muscles to relax. As you do, you feel a strange warmth spreading from where your hands are pressed to each other's chests. It's as if the blood is sinking into your skin, carrying with it a surge of energy that courses through your veins.
Inch by inch, James sinks deeper into you until he's fully sheathed. The feeling of fullness is overwhelming, like nothing you've ever experienced before. For a moment, both of you are still, and you can feel the way the air moves through your lungs, more aware of your body than you’ve ever been, and everything but him falling away.
He begins to move, setting a slow, deep rhythm that has you seeing stars. Each thrust sends waves of pleasure coursing through your body. The blood bond between you pulses with energy, intensifying every sensation.
James' wings unfurl fully, creating a canopy over you both. Feathers brush against your skin, soft as silk yet crackling with power. The dual sensations of his thrusts and the ethereal touch of his wings overwhelm your senses.
He reaches for your hand again, pressing your bloody palms back together. He licks up some of the blood, and then he captures your mouth in another mighty kiss. The tang of blood is shared from his tongue to yours, and your primal urges surge even more.
James' wings unfurl fully, creating a canopy over you both. Feathers brush against your skin, soft as silk yet crackling with power. The dual sensations of his thrusts and the ethereal touch of his wings overwhelm your senses.
As James continues to move within you, the energy between you intensifies. Each thrust sends shockwaves of pleasure through your body, building towards something greater than a mere physical climax. The blood bond pulses with power, and you can feel James' essence merging with your own.
James' pace increases, his thrusts becoming more forceful. You match his rhythm, your hips rising to meet each powerful drive. The pleasure builds to an almost unbearable intensity, and you feel yourself teetering on the edge of something monumental.
"Let go," James commands, his voice a low growl. "Surrender yourself to me completely."
With those words, you shatter once more. Your back arches off the altar as waves of ecstasy crash over you. But this orgasm is different from any you've experienced before. As the pleasure courses through your body, you feel a surge of energy exploding from your core. It's as if your very essence is expanding, reaching out to intertwine with James's.
James throws his head back with a primal roar, and his wings spreading wide. You feel him pulse inside you as he reaches his own climax. As he does, another burst of energy emanates from him, and he declares, “Mine!” in triumph.
As James roars his claim, a blinding light erupts between your joined bodies. The energy that has been building explodes outward in a shockwave, rippling through the clearing.
Through the haze of pleasure and transformation, you're dimly aware of the cries of awe and wonder from the assembled crowd. But your focus remains entirely on James, on the incredible sensations coursing through you as your bond is sealed.
The light slowly fades, leaving you panting and trembling beneath James. His wings fold around you both, creating a cocoon of soft feathers. You feel different, changed in ways you can't fully comprehend yet.
“Mine,” he says again, but this time softly into your ear.
Then James scoops you up in his arms, and there’s a collective gasp as the two of you rise from the altar, James’ wings flapping powerfully, and taking you both away from the clearing. You’re sure seeing the central figure, the leader, the reason for the Winged Heritage Foundation in flight must be a true marvel to behold.
“What comes next for you, my elim, is not for the eyes of anyone but me. There is more yet for your transformation,” he proclaims.
FINAL PART: TRANSFORMATION
One more part, lovelies!
Elim, by the way, is a term I found amongst a lot of research I did on the religious and folklore traditions around the ideas and concepts of angels. There are vast similarities and differences across the many worldviews out there, and so elim is NOT used in every tradition/hierarchy, but is one of many that I found.
For inquiring minds: I did not at any point intend to utilize any concrete concept of angels shown or documented in religion, folklore, or fiction, only to borrow from the pantheon of ideas in general.
↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest
I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!
Characters/Pairings: James Buchanan Barnes/Bucky x curvy Millennial Female!Reader
Word Count: 3.2k
Summary: You have arrived at the altar, it is time for the offering, and you finally come face to face with James Buchanan Barnes.
SERIES Content Warnings: SOFT!DARK STORY, cult themes, explicit smut, dubious consent and enthusiastic consent, veiled truths, gaslighting, sleeping drugs
CHAPTER Content Warnings: cult elements - human offering for a ritual; light smut: intimate touching, teasing, breastplay, cum swapping/tasting, consent is mildly dubious; public nudity/on display for others; exhibitionism; herbal enhancement/explanation of herbal enhancement in the system
Notes: You might get some answers to some questions in this part... but I make no promises!
Previous: Procession | Series List
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In your final approach to the altar, you notice someone standing behind it, shrouded in shadows.
As you reach the dais, he steps forward into the moonlight. Your breath catches in your throat as you take him in.
Standing tall and commanding attention, his powerful build is cloaked in flowing black robes that only enhance the sense of strength emanating from him. He’s the only one in black. His longer, dark hair frames a face that can only be described as painfully handsome, with chiseled cheekbones and a strong jawline, covered with rugged stubble. But it's his eyes that truly captivate you. Piercing blue orbs locked onto yours, sending an electric current through your body. With his intense gaze, he seems to see right through you, leaving you feeling exposed and vulnerable in his presence.
This is James Buchanan Barnes, the enigmatic founder you've heard so many whispers of and have so many questions about.
James' eyes never leave yours, but as you draw closer, you notice something glinting behind him in the moonlight. Just over his left shoulder, there’s a gleam of blue-ish black that pulls your focus for a brief instant, eyes departing from his, before going right back. He tilts his chin slightly, and you sense he’s interpreting your momentary distraction.
The stone altar, though simple, is intimidating by virtue of its purpose. It sits on a raised dais, bathed in moonlight. You start to see that the dais and altar are both adorned with intricate carvings and inlaid with what looks like moonstone. Candles flicker around its base, casting dancing light and shadows that intermingle with the glowing orbs Steve and others have brought with them.
Steve and Natasha guide you to stand at the foot of the dais before the altar, facing James. The circle of masked figures presses closer behind you, their soft humming growing in intensity, the air thick with anticipation.
James raises his hands, and silence falls over the gathering.
“Welcome,” he announces simply. His voice is deep and resonant, carrying easily through the clearing as he commands the attention of everyone assembled. His eyes sweep meaningfully over everyone, before they lock back on you, and the energy in your body surges again. You wonder if everyone else is so affected by his stare.
He’s nothing short of captivating.
"Step forward," he commands softly, eyes fixed only on you.
Steve and Natasha gently direct you to stand before the altar. Your legs feel timid as you ascend the few steps to the dais. As you draw closer, so does he, his robes trailing behind him. He looks down at you, his intense gaze never waver, and you can see his eyes more clearly - a swirling mix of blue and gray that seems to shift in the moonlight.
"Do you understand why you are here?"
You give a single, slow nod, not ready to test your voice in this moment.
"You have been brought here by my envoys to participate in an ancient ritual," he continues.
“Envoys,” he says, briefly looking past you to Steve and Natasha, “you may present this human oblation.”
Natasha and Steve swiftly ascend the steps behind you, coming to stand on either side of you once more.
“We bring this soul as an offering for the ritual,” Steve says, loud enough for everyone in the clearing to hear, “an offering to celebrate your power and glory, an offering to further your noble pursuit to reclaim your destiny.”
The two then move with practiced grace, their hands reaching for the ties of your cloak, and together they loosen it.
“She has been chosen and prepared with diligent care,” Natasha speaks, “and we, the appointed envoys among your devotees, present her not only as an offering for the traditional ritual of this full moon, but believe her a worthy oblation for the rites of elim, at your discretion.”
As they speak, a knot forms in your stomach, tightening with each word, your trepidation flaring back up.
In a swift motion, they pull the cloak away from your shoulders, leaving you exposed and vulnerable.
But now in only the delicate chemise, it’s not the rest of the crowd assembled that you worry about seeing you like this, only him.
Your heart pounds in your chest as his eyes roam over you, especially knowing there's nothing underneath the midnight blue silk and lace, and the slits feel dangerously higher than they did before. His gaze lingers over the curves of your body, and you swear a small smile plays at the corner of his lips.
“What say those assembled? Could she be elim?”
That word again - elim.
Behind you there are murmurs of assent.
“Then place your oblation on the altar,” he says.
Your envoys step closer. Natasha leans in close and lightly touches your elbow. “Step out of your sandals,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper.
Steve extends his hand to help you onto the immaculate surface of the table. The surface is smooth and cool to the touch. It’s a masterpiece of craftsmanship, with intricate designs of gold and moonstone adorning its surface. It gleams in the bright light of the full moon, and you feel a sense of awe wash over you as you climb up onto its surface. Instinctively, you sense that should kneel and sit back on your heels. You fold your hands softly in your lap, then lift your gaze once again to the founder.
“Are there eleven among you who will seal their witness on her behalf?”
Your pulse races.
What does that mean?
Why eleven?
And what does it entail?
But grace and confidence, Natasha steps forward and says, “I present this offering and seal my witness for her ascent to elim.” Tenderly, she places a finger below your chin and gently turns your head towards hers. Her warm lips press against your right cheek in a soft, lingering kiss. The moment feels sacred and powerful, as if the entire world has stopped to bear witness to this act. You can feel the weight of her act, solidifying your journey down this unknown path.
Steve moves to your other side as Natasha steps back. Steve takes a deep breath and says, “I, too, present this offering and seal my witness for her ascent to elim,” before turning your head and leaning in to press a his kiss to your left cheek. His lips feel slightly chapped against your skin, and you can smell the mint of his breath as he pulls away.
Then others step forward, one by one, alternating between the right or left cheek - right for the women, left for the men, but their words are slightly different, each of them saying, “I affirm the offering and seal my witness for her ascent to elim.”
Yelena, Thor, Sam, Bruce, Wanda, Scott… These are all people you met at some point through this process.
Their witnessing vows happen steadily, without pause, but you can’t stave off the next worry that enters your mind…
What if eleven people don’t seal their witness?
As the witnessing continues, you find yourself overwhelmed by the sensations and emotions coursing through you. Each kiss, though chaste, feels intensely intimate in this charged atmosphere. The warmth of their lips against your skin, the softness of some and the roughness of others, touches on your arm or shoulder or back as they seal their witness, the subtle scents of each person as they lean in close - it all blends together in a heady mix that leaves you dizzy.
The one thing you grasp onto is counting the witnesses, and after the eleventh, you hold your breath, and look back to James.
During the witnessing, you realize, Steve and Natasha have taken up positions at James' sides. Steve stands to his right, his posture straight and proud, while Natasha flanks his left, her stance graceful yet alert. They form a striking trio, their energy palpable even from where you kneel on the altar. The moonlight and the orbs cast an ethereal glow around the trio, making them appear almost otherworldly.
The clearing has fallen into an expectant hush, the only sounds the soft rustling of leaves in the breeze.
James steps forward, his eyes never leaving yours. The intensity of his gaze is relentless, and you feel heat rise up your neck. He reaches out, his hand hovering just above your cheek where the last witness sealed their kiss. You can feel the warmth radiating from his palm.
"The witnesses have spoken," he speaks, his voice low and resonant. "You have been deemed worthy of the rites of elim."
Your breath catches in your throat as his hand finally makes contact with your skin. His touch is electric, sending sparks coursing through your body. You lean into it instinctively, craving more of that intoxicating connection.
"Do you accept this honor?" he asks, his thumb tracing your cheekbone.
You swallow hard, your voice barely above a whisper as you reply, "Yes."
A small smile plays at the corners of his lips. "Then let us truly begin."
He draws away from you and begins to circle the altar, and begins to speak, louder for everyone assembled to hear every word. “You kneel on this alter, chosen and prepared, deemed worthy by eleven witnesses of my devotees.”
His voice is rich and warm and alluring. There are echoes of thoughts you think you should be having, wondering what you’ve gotten yourself into, whether or not you’ll be safe - or alive - come sunrise, what the ritual will entail - but they’re all so muted and fleeting, unable to compete with his oratory prowess.
“But now it is now mine to determine whether you are to be elim or only an offering. Regardless of my judgement, the ritual demands your body as a willing sacrifice to me in the light of the full moon. As an offering I will consume energy from your pleasure and then send you away with no memory of this night; but if I deem you to be worthy to the elevation of elim, you will be bound to me for eternity.”
He’s circled you twice while he spoke, and stands in front of you now.
“Are you ready?”
He’s larger than most men, his stature tall, shoulders broad, chest colossal, and arms and what you can see of his legs thick with corded muscle. He would be dangerous given his mere physical presence, but coupled with his enigmatic charisma, and the power radiating off him? Impossible, unthinkable to resist.
And a growing part of you does not want to.
You nod.
He leans forward, placing his palms on the altar, coming closer to you. “Spread your legs for me,” he commands.
You bite your lip, but slowly, you obey.
As you part your knees, the chemise slides up your thighs, revealing more of your soft skin to James' intense gaze. His eyes flicker down, taking in the sight of you, before locking back onto your face. A small, pleased smile plays at his lips.
"Good," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that shoots heat through your veins.
Without breaking eye contact, James reaches out and trails his fingers along the inside of your thigh. His touch is feather-light, barely there, but it leaves a trail of fire in its wake. You can't help the small gasp that escapes your lips.
"Sensitive," he observes, his smile widening slightly. "That's very good."
His hand continues its journey upward, pushing the chemise higher as he goes. When he reaches the apex of your thighs, he pauses, his fingers caressing the crease at the juncture of your hip, but not going to the spot where you’re aching to be touched, and you whimper.
He chuckles. “Not yet.”
James' fingers continue to tease along your inner thighs, never reaching where you desperately want him to. The anticipation builds with each caress, and your body starts to tremble. You struggle to keep still, your breath coming in short gasps.
"Patience," he murmurs, his voice low and hypnotic. "We have a little time yet before the full moon reaches its apex."
He leans in closer, his lips barely brushing your ear as he speaks, and these words are only for you. "Tell me, do you want this? Do you want me?"
The heat of his breath against your skin makes you weak. You can only manage a breathy "Yes" in response.
James pulls back slightly, his piercing gaze locking with yours once more. There's a hunger in his eyes that makes your heart race. Slowly, deliberately, he brings his hand up to cup your face, his thumb tracing your bottom lip.
“Put your hand between your legs and show us all what’s there. I can smell it,” he assures you, “but I want everyone to see how ripe you are with desire - especially you.”
Your pulse quickens at his instruction. Though part of you feels exposed and vulnerable, another part thrills at the idea of obeying him, of showing him just how affected you are. With trembling fingers, you reach down between your legs.
The moment your fingers make contact with your slick folds, a soft moan escapes your lips. You're wetter than you realized, your arousal coating your fingers as you part your labia. The cool night air hits your exposed flesh, making you shiver.
James' eyes darken as he watches you, his gaze intense and hungry. "That's it," he murmurs approvingly. "Show me how ready you are."
With trembling fingers, you raise your hand, presenting it to him. The assembled crowd murmurs in appreciation, but you barely notice them. Your focus is entirely on James, on the way his eyes devour you. He catches your wrist gently but firmly, bringing your fingers to his lips. His tongue darts out, tasting your essence, and a jolt of electricity courses through you.
"Exquisite," he murmurs, releasing your wrist. “Now taste yourself.”
Your heart races as you bring your fingers to your lips, hesitating for just a moment before parting them. The scent of your own arousal fills your nostrils, musky and sweet. Slowly, you extend your tongue, tasting yourself. The flavor blooms across your taste buds - tangy, slightly salty, with an underlying sweetness that surprises you. You close your eyes, savoring the sensation as you suck your fingers clean.
“Have you tasted yourself before?” he asks, and you give a small nod. “But tonight your nectar tastes different, doesn’t it?”
“Yes,” you whisper.
“Your system has taken well to the essence of the Luna’s Tears,” he explains, tracing one of the blooms in your flower crown. “It was in your water at lunch, in your tea, in the oils of your bath.”
Your jaw drops slightly, a rush of thoughts barraging your mind at this revelation.
“It soothes and primes those offered up for the ritual. But your body has become attuned to it in a potency we’ve never seen before. I’ve smelled it in the pheromones of others, but never in the slick dripping from a cunt.”
James's eyes burn with intensity as he continues, his voice low and husky. "Your body craves it now. Craves me. The Luna's Tears have awakened something primal within you."
You feel a rush of heat course through your body at his words. Part of you wants to deny it, to resist this pull, but you can't. Your body is humming with need, every nerve ending alive and tingling.
"Now, let's see just how responsive you've become," he says, his voice low and commanding.
James' hand descends to your chest. His touch is feather-light at first, tracing the delicate curve of your collarbone. Then, with agonizing slowness, he trails his fingers down to the swell of your breasts. The thin silk of your chemise does little to dull the sensation of his calloused fingertips against your soft skin.
James' hand cups the gentle curve of your breast, his thumb brushing over your nipple through the thin fabric. The sensation sends a jolt of pleasure through you, and you can't help but arch into his touch, seeking more.
"So responsive," he murmurs approvingly. "Let's see how you react to this."
With a swift motion, he pulls down the top of your chemise, exposing your breasts to the cool night air. Your nipples harden instantly, and you shiver, from the chill, from knowing you’re exposed for many in the clearing to see, but most of all from the intensity of James' gaze.
He leans in, his breath hot against your skin, and takes one nipple into his mouth. The warmth of his tongue contrasts sharply with the cool air, and you gasp at the sensation. His teeth graze lightly over the sensitive bud, sending sparks of pleasure coursing through your body.
Suddenly James retreats, and you can't help but feel a mix of relief and disappointment. He steps back, his eyes still locked on yours, and begins to slowly undo the fastenings of his robe. Your breath catches as more of his sculpted chest is revealed with each movement.
“True and noble followers,” he says, tone loud and resonant, “my judgement aligns with those who bore witness, and she will be elevated to elim.”
The few dozen around you begin to hum and murmur again, the words of a song in an ancient tongue.
You bite your lip, and he inclines his head, scrutinizing you.
“A question burns in your mind,” he assesses. “Ask it.”
You wonder if he can he read your mind by some supernatural power, or if has he learned to read you already. You put all your effort into keeping your voice even as the the words, “What is elim?” fall from your mouth.
"Oh, sweet girl," James says, his voice a low, rich timbre that sends a shiver down your spine. "Elim is a sacred bond, an eternal connection between myself and a chosen few. It's a destiny reserved for those who prove themselves worthy, those whose essence resonates with mine in a way that transcends the physical realm."
As he speaks, the others continue their song, and he continues to disrobe, revealing more of his chiseled physique. Your eyes are drawn to the play of muscles under his skin, the way the moonlight casts shadows across his broad chest and defined abdomen.
"Through this ritual, you will become more than just an offering," he continues. "You will be transformed, elevated to a higher state of being. Your body, your mind, your very soul will be attuned to me in ways you cannot yet comprehend."
The robe falls away completely now, pooling at his feet. He stands for another moment, the song of his followers crescendoing, and when they reach the climax of the refrain, he claps his hands together, there’s a streak of lightning across the sky, and the blue light of the orbs extinguishes completely. A hush falls over the clearing, now bathed only in the bright moonlight and the scattered groups of candles around the dais.
“It is time,” he proclaims, extending his arms wide, and your heart truly stops as he finally reveals himself.
NEXT PART: BINDING
MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
I mean... oh, sorry to leave you hanging there!
Thoughts? Threats? Theories?
SEE YOU THURSDAY! go to the chapter
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Outcome 3 x GN!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • Kinktober 2024 Masterlist • Day 3: Drinking Game
Summary: Truth or dare?
A/N: Opps, this is basically fluff. Thank you @thexsanctuaryx for saving my butt and beta-ing again!
Warnings: fluff, teasing, drinking, please let me know if I have missed a warning!
Word Count: 649
You take a shot, the whiskey burns your throat. You can’t remember if it’s your fourth or fifth, your tolerance having been consistently burned down during the course of the evening.
There’s a pleasant buzz at the back of your head.
He chuckles, his dark eyes twinkling. “I can’t believe you didn’t want to answer that one.”
It’s the first time you’ve seen him so relaxed, without every single muscle tensed, posed and ready to strike.
You pull a face, “I have my reasons.”
“Which are?” Amusement dances in his expression.
You pause then shake your head. “Nope.”
“That’s unfair.”
“Is not.”
He shifts a little closer to you on the floor, pressing his arm against yours, “Is too.”
Outside the wind is howling, the night dark and cold.
The light from the fire plays across his skin dreamily.
“I took my shot.” You gesture to yourself. “I’m playing by the rules.”
He tuts playfully, “How is, ‘Are you interested in anyone right now?’ so difficult to answer?”
“You can’t trick me, mister. I’m still not gonna tell you, besides it’s your turn.”
“Fine.” He gives you an eyebrow raise and then pretends to think. “Truth.”
You pout at him for a second and then grin wickedly. “Are you interested in anyone right now?”
He snorts.
“See?” You gloat. “Not so chatty now are you?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“The answer’s yes.” He gives you a smug smile. “Your turn.”
“What?” You splutter. “Who?”
“It’s your turn.”
“Hey-”
“Rules are rules,” he nudges your shoulder again, “and it’s your turn.”
You sigh dramatically. “Alright…” You know he’s going to ask something similar again, and again if you say truth until you’re too tipsy not to answer honestly. You swallow.
Part of you wishes he wasn’t so beautiful, wasn’t so charming. That you weren’t hopelessly head over heels in love with him.
But he obviously had someone he had eyes on. You tried not to let the disappointment that was tearing at your insides show.
“Dare.” You finally say.
“A kiss.” He speaks so softly you think you must have misheard.
“Sorry?” Your voice comes out quieter than you intended, breathless.
“A kiss,” he repeats, leaning closer until he can brush his nose against yours.
“I…” You don’t know what to do, what to say, your mind racing and also unhelpfully blank.
He reaches up slowly and lightly touches your cheek in a silky sweet contact. Your skin buzzes, practically hums where his fingers brush against you.
“A kiss.” He says a third time, barely moving his lips this time as he tilts his head to the side and closes the gap.
He kisses you softly, gentle and sweet like he doesn’t want to break you, but he groans when your lips move against his. His touch on your cheek grows firmer, his fingers slide down to cradle the back of your neck as he flicks his tongue along your bottom lip.
This can’t be real, can’t be happening. You’d had too much to drink and passed out on the stupidly plush carpet.
He hums against you, his kisses growing bolder, more demanding as he licks into your mouth, teasing your tongue with his own. He tastes like the whiskey and that stupid lemon you’d dared him to eat six rounds ago.
His lips are softer than you expected, but as skilled and firm as you’d daydreamed of.
When he finally pulls back he keeps his eyes closed, a soft lovesick smile on his face.
You swallow nervously, all words empty from your mind.
“You can ask me that truth now.” He says softly, his hand still on your neck, tracing soft circles along your skin that makes you shiver deliciously and ache with want.
“I…who are you interested in?” You finally stammer out, getting lost in his dark eyes.
He kisses you again, lightly and whispers against your lips. “You, dummy.”
Cecil Dennis x AFAB!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals• masterlist • ao3• want to be tagged? • request info • ko-fi •
Series Masterlist
Summary: Cecil forgets he invited you over.
A/N: The biggest thank you to @thexsanctuaryx for beta reading this and fixing some of my British-isms <3 I owe you my life!
Warnings: mentions of alcohol, mentions of weed, weed use, fleshlights, Cecil talking about 'Catcher In The Rye', fingering, Cecil coming in his pants, please let me know if I've missed a warning!
Word Count: 3404
You Sit and Talk to Me on the Floor
You lean back against the sofa, getting comfortable as your high pleasantly buzzes in the back of your head.
You’d been pretty pissed when you’d got here and Harry was nowhere to be found. (You, him and Cecil and Harry’s new girlfriend Mary-Ann, who you hadn’t met yet, had plans to hang out and watch a film. Or at least that’s what Cecil had told you.) He’d grinned when he’d opened the door, “What are you doing here?”
Turns out he’d been high (unsurprising) when he’d messaged and asked you. And had promptly forgotten all about it without letting Harry or Mary-Ann know.
And now Harry was ‘working’. Or something. Cecil wasn’t exactly clear.
Ever since he’d been dumped by his girlfriend Cecil had been staying with his cousin to ‘get back on his feet’, or more correctly, ‘make a mess, panic, tidy the house in a crazy rush to a standard that would put a professional kitchen to shame and then repeat’.
He’d apologised for a good fifteen minutes when he realised his mistake, and had offered you a brownie as he ushered you inside.
“Is there weed in this?”
He stared at you like you’d grown an extra head. “It’s a brownie.”
“You know pot isn’t a standard ingredient, right?”
He’d pulled a face that made you laugh. “What’s the point in that?”
.
Cecil sits on the floor, leaning against the sofa and lolling his head back as he talks to you, “I’m really glad you came actually, sorry again,” he smiles shyly, “I was kinda lonely.”
“You can hire people for that.” You tease and he snorts.
“No, that’s not what I mean. Besides,” he shrugs, “I’m broke.”
You giggle, finding it far funnier than you normally would.
He grins and takes a swig of his beer before another hit from his bong.
“How many brownies did you have?” You ask, interested, you’d only had one.
“Two… and a half.”
“And you’re smoking too?”
“Yeah? I mean,” he puffs up his chest proudly, “I got a high tolerance.”
“If there were an olympics in getting high you’d probably get a gold.”
“I definitely would get a gold, I bet they used to have that, weed consuming, in the olympics I mean. They used to have poetry and people competing naked and everything, and then it got ruined.”
“With clothes or lack of poems?” You smile.
“Both.” He nods confidently. “Though maybe some clothes is a good idea…” He ponders for a moment, “I bet if you run and you got no pants on your dick just,” he flops his hand around like crazy and you giggle, “I mean, that would hurt. And boobs!”
“Boobs?” You wheeze out.
“Yeah, I bet some boobs would hurt too, you need those high impact bras and all that.”
“How do you know about that?” You run your hand through his hair absentmindedly, he always did have such soft, rich curls.
“I’m a guy of knowledge, you know. I know many things.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Like what then?”
He leans a little into your touch, smiling as you stroke his hair. “Erm, I know that this,” he taps the part of the sofa he’s leaning against, “is called a sofa skirt.”
“Is not.”
“Is too.” He grins at you when you poke out your tongue. “I know the sky’s blue because of Rayleigh scattering-”
“What’s Rayleigh scattering?”
“Why the sky is blue.”
“Cecil…” You roll your eyes playfully and he giggles.
“Okay, okay, it’s to do with light particles and how they,” he waves his hand to the side making a buzzing noise, “move about when they’re in a wavelength.”
“How do you know that?”
He shrugs, “I dunno. Just do. Something stuck once I guess.”
You nod, “Pretty impressive skill.”
“Nah,” he shakes his head, “I don’t control what sticks, I’ve literally read every single math book I ever could on how to do algebra when I was in high school and nothing.” He pauses and then smiles, “I can quote Catcher in the Rye to you though.”
“What?” You shift a little, leaning closer. “Like the whole thing?”
“Mostly,” he shrugs again but he puffs his chest out, obviously pleased at your interest. “But I guess I could just be making it up if you don’t know it word for word and don’t have a copy in front of you.”
“I trust you.” You say kindly and he beams.
“Well, okay, look, first paragraph, because it’s easy,” he swallows and clears his throat.
“If you really want to hear about it, the first thing you'll probably want to know is where I was born, and what my lousy childhood was like, and how my parents were occupied and all before they had me, and all that David Copperfield kind of crap, but I don't feel like going into it, if you want to know the truth.” He puts on a voice as he speaks, at first it’s jokey as he tries to poke a little fun at himself, but as he continues it relaxes, becomes more like he’s inhabiting the voice of the character.
“That’s very, very cool.” You grin and he smiles shyly, looking down at his hands before taking another hit. “Yeah, well, doesn’t help much.”
“You like Catcher in the Rye?”
He nods. “Got an A+ on that report.” He grins, “I always thought it was sad, you know? The story I mean. Just a kid trying to be an adult because that’s what society implies, when really he just wants to be… you know… enjoy his childhood.” He nods a little. “I like that his little sister is more mature than him, that he has this innocence to him. That even though the story is about a loss of that, in the end, I dunno, I don’t think it fully happened.”
You incline your head, staying quiet so he’ll continue.
“I mean, I think he’s still innocent. Still playing at being an adult. Like everyone is.” He shrugs, shaking his head. “But whatever.”
You give his shoulder a light shove, “But whatever? Cec,” you lean forward, your hand still in his hair, “that’s so good, like insightful.” You say sincerely.
He gives you a bashful smile, his eyelashes fluttering a little as you compliment him. “Yeah, you know, thanks.” There’s the smallest flush to his cheeks. “You’re so smart and everything so that means a lot.”
“Cec,” you say softly, shaking your head, “you gotta think better of yourself.”
He nods halfheartedly.
“Really, you got to, you…” You pause, trailing off as something catches the light and inadvertently, your eye. It’s shoved to the side, on the floor between the right hand side of the sofa and the wall.
Cecil looks around to where you’re staring, mildly interested for a moment before his eyes widen. “Oh, shit, sorry!” He goes to push it further under the couch and out of sight but doesn’t reach far enough and ends up falling onto his side and flailing about.
“Is that what I think it is?” You giggle, unable to stop yourself.
“Erm…” He looks up at you, trying his best to give you a winning smile from the floor. “That depends on what you think it is?” His voice is hopeful.
“A flesh light?”
He groans and puts his hand dramatically over his face.
You laugh harder.
“Ugh.”
“It is?” You ask excitedly, unsure why this is amusing you quite so much.
“Mhmmm.”
“Yours?”
“Yes.”
“Oh my goooooood,” you lean down and ruffle his hair until he has to take his hand off his face to bat you away and starts laughing, “Cecil getting it on in the living rooooooom.”
“No!” He lies.
“Ohhhhh, is that what you were doing before I got here?” The glee in your voice is palpable. “Is that why it took you so long to answer the door?”
“Stop.” He tries to pout but keeps laughing. “I hadn’t got that far yet.”
“Yet?”
“You came over! That’s more important than jacking off.”
You snort loudly. “I’m honoured.”
He pulls a playful face and lightly smacks your calf.
“I wouldn’t have stopped having a wank just because you came over.” You joke and Cecil bursts into hysterics.
He manages to calm down long enough to spit out his next words, “I wouldn’t ask you to stop.”
“What?”
“If you wanted to get down and whatever, that’s fine, I’d just hang in the kitchen.”
It’s your turn to have a laughing fit. “Oh, you’re so slimy.” You tease, adjusting your skirt as you move.
“No, no,” he sits up, still giggling, his cheeks flush. “I wouldn’t watch or listen, I’m not being a perv.”
“Sure, sure.”
“Hey! I don’t need to spy on people, I can, you know.”
“What?” You grin.
“See it on the TV whenever.”
You start laughing again. You had been expecting a bit of macho, ‘I can pick up willing partners whenever I want to’, not ‘I’ll watch some porn’.
“Yeah?” You prod him in the arm playfully.
“Yeah.” He nods, “that’s what I was doing before you came over.”
“Oh, good to know.” You chuckle. Part of you knows it’s the weed that’s making you a little less guarded than you usually were, but you can’t help yourself. “What were you watching then?”
“Well, I hadn’t decided yet.” He shrugs, but he’s grinning, obviously quite happy to talk with you about this. “I was having a look.”
“On what?”
“PornHub,” he shuffles towards the TV on his knees and grabs the remote and then his phone. “I cast it, see,” the screen mirrors his phone as he scrolls through. “I was just browsing.”
“You say that so casually.” You goad him playfully.
“Yeah, well, I mean why not? Most people look at porn.”
You nod.
“Don’t you?” He asks, quite innocently as he cocks his head to the side.
Heat rushes under your skin. “Well, erm, yeah, I mean.”
He grins, but not in a gloating way, more pleased that you’re both sharing something.
“What, erm,” you squirm a little, feeling foolish and trying to push the focus back to him. “What do you normally watch?”
“Like porn wise?”
“Mmhmmm.”
He grins, “lots actually, my tastes are very varied.” He says like he’s talking about wine. “Sometimes two girls, sometimes a guy and a girl, sometimes two guys, sometimes a group. Sometimes just someone by themselves.” He shrugs and looks up at you, when he sees you’re still listening he swallows and continues, “I got a favourite.”
You nod, your mouth dry.
“It’s two girls, erm, it’s not even like, that,” he waves his hands, “it’s just, it’s quieter, I guess? They sound more… natural. Like it’s not being put on for show, and they got like, these suits. It’s not like latex or anything, not that there’s a problem with that, it’s sort of like body suits, skin tight, but hands are free, and boobs, and,” he motions to his crotch, “down there, and… they sort of… like just…” his face reddens a little more. “They, rub together in like missionary and come and… and it just sounds so nice. They look like they’re really enjoying it.”
He looks up at you again and fidgets, his eyes dark.
The nervous expression, the flush to his cheeks shouldn’t be endearing, shouldn’t make you feel a twist of heat in your stomach.
“I could… show you?” He says quietly, like he’s trying to tiptoe around something else.
You find yourself nodding once, saying, “Okay.” before you even realise it.
He finds it quickly on his phone and sits down next to you on the sofa, a hands width away.
You stare at the TV while looking at him from the corner of your eye.
“This reminds me of high school.” He says quietly, biting his lips together. “A group of us used to, when porn was harder to get hold of, used to like, watch it together and smoke.”
You nod, a quick reply simply not coming.
The video starts, the two women posing for the camera before they make their way to the bed.
“I used to worry,” he continues, “because sometimes weed makes me really horny.” He shrugs, flinching inwardly at why he said that.
“I get that.” You swallow.
One woman climbs on top of the other.
“You do?” He asks.
“Yeah,” why are you speaking, why can’t you just shut up? “The horny thing.”
“From smoking or watching porn?” He asks innocently.
“Both, I guess.”
He hums, nodding. “Me too.”
You both continue to watch for a moment in an odd silence, the air is thick with an oppressive weight. You want to look at him again, want to see his soft eyes and plump lips.
Cecil shifts a little, fidgeting once before he pushes the heel of his hand against his leg and… wait… not his leg.
His erection is straining against his jeans.
You can’t help but look, going over the shape and outline and- You freeze. He’s looking right at you.
“Sorry.” He gives you a sheepish smile as if he was the one that had been caught perving. “Guess it’s a bit more obvious on me.” He jokes, but the tips of his ears still flush.
“No, yeah, I mean…” you stumble over your words, trying to fill the gaps as the moans from the TV grow louder and… they did sound like they were having fun. “I mean,” you swallow and start again, “I, if I had a dick, you’d see it,” you motion your hand upright.
“Yeah?”
You nod.
“Not just saying that to make me feel better?” He asks, gently nudging you in the shoulder.
“No… I would.”
He gives you a sweet look, but it’s still disbelieving.
“Cecil, I’m not lying.”
“I don’t know…”
“Why would I lie?”
“You’re too nice all the time, it’s not lying it’s ‘sparing my feelings’.” He motions with his hands.
“Well, I’m not,” you fold your arms. “I’m being truthful.”
“Okay.”
“Cecil.”
“I said okay,” he teases. “I’m agreeing with you.”
“But you don’t believe me.”
He nods. “That’s true.”
You huff air through your nose, exasperated. “I’m not lying.”
“Sure.”
“There’s no point to me lying.” Your voice raises a little at the end, which only makes it sound more like you are lying.
“Okay.”
“Oh, fuck you.”
He laughs, “just because you’re a dirty and bad liar, doesn’t mean-”
You don’t know why you do it, but you grab a hold of his hand and press it forcefully between your legs. “See?” Your voice sounds sure of itself, like a gloat. But your mind is just only catching up with your actions. And the sensation of Cecil’s warm, thick fingers against your core.
You’re wearing a skirt, the only thing separating your skin from his is the thin material of your panties which are undoubtedly damp.
“Oh,” he breathes, his cock twitches. “Yeah, you’re…”
You freeze, still holding his hand against you. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.
His fingers brush a little against the cotton. The action takes you by surprise and much to your dismay a weak gasp leaves your lips.
He glances up to your face as you keep your eyes closed, screwing them shut to avoid his gaze. But seemingly he finds what he was looking for.
He moves his fingers again, a little firmer this time, tracing a soft circle against your clit and you shudder.
There’s a pause, a fraction of a second as he waits for you to stop him, to tell him no.
You don’t.
So he does it again, and again, and again until you’re squirming. Your breath is coming out fast as your hips shallowly move in time with his fingers.
He inches closer to you, pressing his chest against your shoulder and resting his forehead on your temple.
Cecil moans softly in your ear as you whine, your lip between your bottom teeth as you watch the two women fuck on screen without really seeing.
He slowly presses on the damp patch, rubs along your core before he slips your underwear to the side and touches you lightly.
You jolt, gasping, turning your head to press your forehead to his.
He groans as he traces his forefinger along your slit, marvelling at the slick that coats the tip of his finger before he lightly pinches your clit.
“Cecil,” you breathe.
“It’s okay,” he mutters, kissing your cheek and then your lips gently, “it’s okay, it’s just a friend helping another one out. Just helping…” He drapes his free arm around your shoulders, his fingers mirroring the pattern of his other hand on your arm.
He kisses you again, soft and sweet as he lightly teases you with the tip of his tongue.
The second you part your lips he inhales deeply, angling his hand and pushing two fingers deep inside while flicking your clit with his thumb.
You gasp, your moans music to his ears as he kisses you wantonly as he curls and strokes your walls.
“Oh, god, you’re really wet,” he bites his lip, grunting as he presses closer, curls deeper until you’re bucking and practically sobbing. “Really tight, mmm, feel so nice inside.” He mumbles, not really registering what he’s saying as he pants in your ear. “Thank you for letting me, oh,” he shivers as you whine, grabbing hold of any part of him you can reach and clinging on, silently begging him to continue.
“Is that good? Is that where it’s nice?” He swallows, stroking the same spongy spot again and groaning when your thighs quiver.
You nod rapidly and he coos, “oh good, good, mmm,” he kisses your neck, breathing deeply to fill his lungs with your scent. “God, so nice and warm, bet you got the cutest little pussy? Fuck.” He groans, moving so he can rub his crotch against your thigh, “you’ll let me look sometime? I would love to see it, bet it’s so sweet.”
Your eyes roll back, your muscles tensing as he keeps moving, keeps pulling you closer to that edge. Your moans are overshadowing the sounds of the TV, the squelch of his fingers fucking you relentlessly bouncing around the room.
You can hardly think, hardly form words, your mind obsessed with the reaction that all consuming pleasure that is so, so near.
“Bet it’s the prettiest pussy I’ll ever see,” he groans, the friction of his jeans burning deliciously against his cock as he rubs himself over your thigh, making him lightheaded. Being near you is making him lightheaded. The fact that you’ve let him touch you, and be in you is dizzying and those sounds you’re making are enough to make him come on the spot. Right now, so close. Just a tiny little more friction and-
You clench around his fingers, crying out as your orgasm is pulled expertly from you. Cecil whines, keeps moving his thick fingers in that blinding pattern and pressure, as he follows you instantly. Your blissed out expression driving him clean over the edge.
You shiver, your thighs shaking as you come, as the pleasure seems to stretch onwards and as Cecil moans softly in your ear.
You both breathe, Cecil’s fingers still inside you as you stroke a hand through his hair. A wet patch starts to bleed into his boxers, but he doesn’t care. Not when you’re so close and he feels so happy.
He opens his mouth to speak and-
There’s a key in the lock, and the front door opens. You both jump, moving away from each other to the opposite ends of the sofa as Harry comes back.
You feel oddly empty without his touch, without his fingers buried inside.
Harry pokes his head around before he comes into the room, he looks at the bong and beer and porn still playing on the TV. “You guys started the party without me?” He kids.
You laugh, not entirely convincing.
“Cecil, man, what’re you doing showing off your porn playlist huh?” Harry jokes and Cecil shrugs.
He’s using his forearm to cover any signs of his softening erection and wet patch, while he dangles his other hand off the arm of the sofa, out of Harry’s sight. Where his cousin can’t see how he rubs his slick covered fingers together.
Marc Spector X F!ReaderRating: 18+ pals Masterlist | ao3 | want to be tagged?
Steven's Part Jake's Part
A/N: For @loonymagizoologist's ask!
I have a fever (that only cowbell can solve), so I’ve written this. I'm so sorry, this is just filth. NSFW. (No 'tad' about it. I don't know what happened, it just got away from me.)
Summary: Marc can't take without giving in turn.
Warnings: ahhhh, kinda sub!marc?, begging, love bites, hand jobs, oral (both m & f receiving), hair pulling, typos
( @romanarose & @melodygatesauthor I've tagged you both too, because I thought you might like, I hope you don't mind!)
_________________________________________
Marc shifted against you, pressing his back closer to your chest. As if he could push away the very last molecules of air that were separating you.
You smiled against the back of his neck.
You were both lying in bed on your sides. Marc was the little spoon. Your phone was propped up on Marc’s pillow by a bamboo holder you had bought from IKEA on a wim, it was playing a compilation video from a let’s player you both enjoyed. Though you could tell by Marc’s subtle squirming that he wasn’t giving it his full attention.
He nuzzled against your left arm that was squeezed in the gap between his neck, shoulder and the pillow. Leaning down and pressing his lips against your skin before sighing softly.
He thought he was being inconspicuous. Discreet in his need to touch you.
Part of you was sure that his actions weren’t even fully conscious. The subliminal need to self soothe with skin to skin contact.
You shifted your right leg, moving it to rest your knee on his hip and calf on his thigh.
Marc hummed quietly in satisfaction, breathing in deeply as he laid his right hand on your arm under his neck. Drawing circles on your skin with his thumb as he placed the occasional kiss.
There was a soft drag of the stubble along his jaw as he moved, like fine sandpaper. It sent a little shiver along your spine.
He shifted again. Pressing his ass against your pelvis.
You moved slowly as the video distracted him. Running your right hand along his waist, just dipping under the loose material of his night top to trail your fingers along his warm skin.
Marc shivered a little, the echo of the movement vibrating against your chest.
His breath hitched as you pressed firmly against his lower abdomen, his muscles twitching at the contact.
He opened his mouth to speak just as you slipped your fingers under the waistband of his pyjamas and boxers and grazed over the tip of his semi-hard cock.
Whatever Marc was going to say was lost in the low moan that escaped his lips and rumbled deep in his chest. He bucked against your touch without thinking, twisting his hips to chase the pressure of your hand.
Your smile widened.
You moved all at once; wrapping your right hand around his cock as you slid your left up and into his hair. His head fell back against your shoulder as you eased him back closer to you.
“Baby…” He managed to whimper just before you pressed your lips against his neck, just under his ear, Marc’s weak spot.
“Fuuuck.” He swallowed, eyes tight shut as he screwed up the bedcovers in his hands.
You placed feather light kisses along his skin, far off from being the pressure you knew Marc craved, as you languidly pumped your hand.
His breath hitched, his legs squirmed as he thrusted and tried to get you to increase your tempo. But you tutted to hide the giggles that threatened to bubble up and relaxed your grip every time he tried.
He let out a frustrated moan as his plan, once again, failed. “Baby, please…”
“Hmmm?” You kissed the shell of his ear lightly, almost completely letting go of him.
“Nooo, pleasepleaseplease-”
You ran your thumb over the very tip of him, smearing precome around the head of his cock.
“Please what?” You ask innocently, still peppering kisses along his neck.
He groans as you trace the large vein that runs down the length of him, burying his face into the pillow. “Harder.”
“Sorry Marc?”
He whines a little, lifting his head slightly, “harder, please.”
For a second you consider continuing to tease him.
His breathing is a little shaky, his speech a little quick as he rushes to get the words out. “Please, baby, Ineedyoupleas-”
He cuts himself off with a low moan as you sink your teeth into his neck and tighten your grip. You jerk him off quickly, long strokes with a twist of your wrist at the end that you know he likes. While you continue to bite and suck and kiss dark bruises into his skin.
He never used to be so vocal. Used to clench his jaw and swallow down every sound he wanted to make, as if the lovely noises that escaped him were off putting.
It had taken a long time to coax those sighs and moans out of him. To stop Marc from being quite as wrapped up in his own head.
Pleasure began to coil in the base of his stomach, to pinch at the bottom of his spine and make his thighs shake.
Marc shifted his legs, digging his heels into the mattress as his hips chased the strokes of your hand.
He couldn’t stop the shudder that shook his limbs as you traced your teeth down the long column of his throat.
“Fuck, I’m going to, fuck,” his hips stuttered. His vision whiting out as the pleasure overtook him completely.
You moved away from his neck, and, even though the angle was a little awkward, managed to sit up and bend over him, swallowing his cock and release as he came down your throat.
Marc cried out, grabbing hold of your arm as he rode out his high, before falling back into the mattress. All tension leaving his body all at once.
He breathed deeply as you swallowed around him, making sure you had every last drop before you tucked him back into his pyjamas and patted his thigh.
“You okay?”
You smiled when he hummed an affirmative.
“Good.”
You bend forward, kissing his forehead lightly before leaning over him and half out of the bed, trying to find the phone and stand that you knew had ended up on the floor somewhere.
Marc let out a little whine of distress. The sound of it alone was enough to strike terror into your bones. You moved back quickly, panicking that you had accidentally hurt him as you leant over.
But his arms wrap around you as you come back to a sitting up position, your thighs on either side of his chest.
He nuzzles into your hips, nipping at the slither of skin that isn’t covered by your pyjamas.
You can see the love bites you’ve littered along his neck much clearer from his angle. The dark purples that are deepening in colour before your eyes.
“I think I might have got a bit carried away there,” you gently brush the tips of your fingers over the bruises.
“Good.” Marc growls against you when he hears the concern in your voice. His breath is hot and wet, his skin scorching every place you touch.
He pulls at your waistband, trying to manoeuvre you out of your clothes without loosening his grip around your waist. And not doing the worst job all things considered.
“Marc,” you laugh a little as his fingers dig in and tickle just under your ribs.
He ignores you.
“Marc,” you try again, pulling softly at his hair so that he has to look up at you.
He scowls, his eyes dark and fixing you with a glare before continuing in his task.
“Marc,” you dip down a little, trying to escape his grip and look him in the eyes.
He snarls, a sound that really shouldn’t send a wave of heat to your core. And in a practised judo move flips you over.
It’s so quick that you don’t even get a chance to yelp in surprise. One second you are sitting on top of him, the next your back is pressed into the bed with Marc looming over you.
He silences the words that start to form on your lips with a kiss, sliding his tongue into your mouth with a practised ease.
You can’t stop the little moan that escapes your chest as his tongue strokes against yours, as he leans his weight down on you ever so slightly, pushing his thigh between your legs to press against your centre.
He hums in appreciation as your fingers instinctively tangle in his top and try to pull him closer.
You swallow and move your head just enough so that you can get out, “Marc, I,”
But he tuts. Sits up quickly and hooks his fingers into the waistband of your pyjama bottoms. “I was going to let you ride my face,” he gives you an offhand disappointed look that for some reason reminds you of a police officer in some cheesy drama.
‘Exactly how fast do you think you were going back there?’
“But since you’re not behaving…” He raises his eyebrows at you and begins to pull your trousers down.
You lean up and kiss him quickly, distracting him only momentarily and placing both of your hands on his face. “You don’t have to do anything you know? If you don’t want to?” You breathe against his mouth.
Marc gives you a slightly lopsided smile and kisses you gently, before trailing his lips down to your neck and slowly pushing you back against the mattress.
“Want you to come,” he whispers between kisses. “Need to make you come,” he presses his lips to your sternum and stomach through the soft material of your top, before nuzzling at your skin just above your trousers.
He looks up at you for permission, there’s a dopey, love sick look on his face that you never grow tired of seeing.
It’s only when you nod, running your hand through his hair once more before trailing your fingers down to his chin, that he begins to take off your trousers.
You raise your hips up to help, shimmying back a little to assist in getting the offending things off.
You barely have time to register the cool air of the flat before Marc is on you, pulling your legs over his shoulders and diving at your centre.
He places a chaste kiss on your clit and you can feel him grin against you as you let out a shaky breath. Before he begins to slowly kiss lower and lower, until he can dip his tongue between your folds and into you.
His groan reverberates through your core, sending small sparks of pleasure through you.
“Fuck,” you grab at his hair instinctively and he groans again, pressing his face into you.
He grabs hold of your right hand that is in his hair as he licks a trail back up to your clit and threads his fingers tightly over yours for a second. You know what he’s asking. Harder.
You hum an affirmative and scrap your fingernails along his scalp. Drawing out the movement so that he moans against you again, before seizing tight fistfuls of his hair.
The kisses he places against you are sloppier this time, teasing your entrance with his tongue before placing long, flat licks against your clit that has you bucking into his touch and seeing stars.
“Fuckfuckfuckfuck!”
He swirls his tongue around your bundle of nerves, running his teeth softly over the tip of it as he slowly presses a finger into you. The pace is agonising, drawn out to almost the point of pain. You can’t muffle the cry that rises from your throat.
“Fuck Marc, please!” You shift your hips, tug at his hair, trying to ride his face and drag him further inside you. He’ll do anything for you, anything to hear you moan his name again.
He pulls on your hips, shifting your position slightly so that he can continue to lap at you, sliding his tongue over you with a practised ease that makes your toes curl. He slips another finger into you, his saliva and your wetness making sure there is zero resistance, and pressed up against your walls. He keeps his fingers still as he sucks on your clit, allowing you to buck and writhe underneath him.
“Marc!” Your voice goes straight to his cock.
He feels light headed, lost in the taste of you and burn of your hands in his hair. Marc can’t help but rut against the mattress as works you closer to your release, anything to ease the quickly building ache between his own legs.
Sparks of pleasure run along your thighs as Marc flicks his tongue against your clit, once, twice and then you're gone, hit all at once. Your back aches off the bed as your orgasm strikes you hard, stealing your breath.
Marc follows you, not letting up on his movements as he moans into you as you come.
He only slows when he feels your muscles start to relax, your grip in his hair loosen. His dick throbs, echoing his rapidly beating heart.
“Marc,” you whisper, your voice a little horse.
He looks up, taking his mouth away from you but not removing his fingers. The bottom of his face is soaked with your release.
He smiles again, that sweet love sick smile before kissing your inner thigh and gently biting at your skin.
Warnings: semi-dubcon, pussy eating, fingering, cussing, power imbalance, corruption kink
𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫-𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭
Ray had you pinned under him with a harsh grip, his finger nails digging into your skin as he ravaged your pussy like it was the last meal he’ll get.
You were sheepishly walking towards your office when you felt a tight grip on your arm yank you into another office.
Lo and behold Ray, your boss was the one yanking you into his office. Within seconds he was throwing you onto his desk and lifting your legs up onto his shoulder.
Ray loved that everyone saw you as an innocent intern. He still remembers the day he interviewed you. He remembers the way you played with your fingers and bit your lip as you grew anxious at his stern demeanor.
The first time either of you slept together was in his bed, he asked you to come over and help him with some papers and before you could blink you were riding him on his couch. He learned rather quickly the little innocent act you had on was just a façade.
Now, he had you sitting in front of his desk as he kneeled and yanked your lace panties down. The second your panties hit the ground he was lapping at your soaked pussy. “Pl- please Ra- not here” you gasped as he hummed in protest.
Loud moans threatened to spill out of you as his tongue circled your swollen clit “remember the deal? I get what I want and you get what you want. This is what I want so let me have it” Ray hissed.
You moaned as he shoved two fingers into you, his digits pumping your slick in and out of you slowly. His hair began to fall in front of his face as he watched your pussy swallow his fingers.
He was pumping faster into you as his slacks grew tight around his legs “gushing all over my damn fingers honey, you’ve been thinking of me haven’t you?” He cooed.
You nodded dizzily as your stomach began to tighten “fu- fuck” you cried, your teeth sunk into your bottom lip as his thumb began to circle your clit softly.
“Of course you have. Couldn’t help but think about your boss fucking you huh? You love that I can shove you into my office whenever I want and do as a please” Ray hummed.
Your walls squeezed his fingers as you gushed all over his hand. Your slick dripped down his hand as he smiled down at you in accomplishment.
He cleaned his fingers with a single lick, his eyes glued to yours as he did. You finally caught your breath as he fixed your panties back up.
summary: after finding him wounded in an empty alleyway, against your better judgment, you decide to patch him up in your apartment. you expect that to be the end of it, never to see him again, that is, until you do.
warnings: piv, rough sex, dirty talking, biting, claws make a brief appearance, mild degradation (he calls you slut once), mention of female masturbation
You live in a world without heroes. Yet, the villains roam free.
You’re used to it by now, walking through the damp alleyways. You hear a shout here and there, always keeping your head bowed as you walk past whatever might be going on. Once upon a time, this bothered you. But after a knife to your stomach and a punch to the cheek, you learned to look the other way around, no matter how painful it might be. Sometimes you find yourself wondering why this might be. You always assumed some type of ying yang situation should be in place, making everything right, but you seem to be living in a world without good. Without light.
You don’t know what prompts you to do it. You’re walking back from work, the scent of rain and the stench of exhaust thick in the air. All you want to do is get to your cramped apartment before the downpour.
You think it’s the wind that makes you turn your head, you hate when your eyes water and dry out. When you do turn, you stare into the familiar abyss of the alleyway behind your apartment. It’s truly pitch black. Despite the darkness, you see a faint movement in shadows, a loud sound, a crash. You see a flash of red, blue. Your eyes narrow—what the?
You know well that you shouldn’t, that whatever was lurking in the shadows would be bad news, but you do it anyway. With a grunt, you open the flashlight of your phone and take a step closer. There’s a man laying on the cold ground, he doesn’t seem to be moving.
“Hello?” you call out. No answer. “Um, are you drunk or high? Should I call an ambulance?”
The broad figure groans and your heart nearly lurches. “No,” he mumbles. “No doctors.”
With a slight tremor in your step, you come closer. You shine the light into his face, his brows furrow, an annoyed scowl etching into his handsome features. Your lips part with a soft exhale. He’s so handsome.
Then you get a good look at the rest of him—what the hell is he wearing?
“Do you need help?” you ask, unsure. He doesn’t seem to be bleeding, his eye looks a bit swollen though. Wait, scratch that, you think you spot some blood on his lips. “Should I get you anything?”
Maybe you sound foolish, but you know better than to just call 911 for a random person. Everyone is a criminal these days. Fuck, if he was a criminal you should call the cops, this city is seriously starting to cloud your better judgment.
“No cops,” he chokes and coughs, as if he can read your thoughts. “Go away, I’ll be fine.”
No, he won’t.
He knows it. You know it.
“I live right next door,” you answer against your better judgment. “I have a first aid kit. I can patch you up if you want? I don’t wanna brag, but I am a nurse in training.”
He makes a sound that is similar to a chuckle but the sound quickly fades into a vicious cough. You tuck the phone into your pocket and lean over, “Alright big guy, you’re coming with me,” you attempt to throw his arm over your shoulder but that proves to be more difficult. “Can you stand? Even a little.”
He nods and straightens up a bit. You’re still carrying most of his weight but you manage to get him past the door and onto your couch.
You must’ve thrown him a little too hard because he lets out a loud grunt, teeth sinking into his bottom lip to stifle the sound.
“Sorry,” you mutter. “Just wait for me here, I’ll come back with water and the first aid kit.”
The man makes another sound. You’re starting to think this is his only form of communication.
When you come back, he’s still where you left him. Albeit looking a bit more alert now, eyes constantly scanning your humble apartment. You can’t really blame him though, you would do the same thing. You eye him warily, then place the glass of water on the coffee table. He glares at it like it’s poison.
“I’m not going to hurt you.”
He scoffs, “I don’t think you could even if you tried,” he answers, tongue moving over his bloody bottom lip. He points at the table. “And there’s a coaster right there.”
“Who are you, my mother?”
Despite your sharp tone, you place the glass on the coaster and sit on the coffee table, the small first aid kit in hand. “Does that thing have a zipper, or. . . ?”
His right brow and lip cock up simultaneously. You’re acutely aware that no matter what you do, you’ll never be able to understand what’s going on in that head of his—Not that you want to. He’s a stranger. A man that looks strong enough to hold you by the neck before you can reach the pepper spray nestled in your bag.
The silence makes you uneasy, and when you finally open your mouth to speak, he leans forward. “Don’t freak out,” he grunts.
“Why would I freak out—” The rest of the sentence dies in your throat, his suit glitches—glitches—like a damn video game. It blinks once, twice and you swear you can see little particles glimmering on his skin, fading away from reality. Panic flaring in your gut, you look down.
Pants still on. And here your thought that the entire thing was a one-piece suit.
“I said don’t freak out,” he repeats, eyebrow raised and head tilted to the side. You snap your mouth shut.
“I’m not freaking out,” you say, voice shrill. “Who’s freaking out? Not me.”
His shoulders are broad, arms muscular with thick veins meandering down. You’ve never been a fan of veins popping out but whoever this man was made it look good. You swallow over and over in a weak attempt to wet the inside of your mouth. You fail helplessly. You’re not even aware that you’re holding the first aid kit with an iron grip, knuckles aching from the pressure. His torso is completely bare now.
“I don’t have a zipper,” he says unhelpfully, unaware of you behaving straight out of a 1950s cartoon.
“I can see that.”
God, he is the weirdest stray you ever brought over.
He points at the box, “So do you actually know how to use what’s inside or were you just bluffing when you said you were a nurse?”
“A nurse in training,” you quip. “And no, I wasn’t bluffing.”
With great strength, you finally drag your eyes down his torso. There’s a splatter of blood, some of the drops rubbed into his skin and the crimson trail is followed up by a giant slash across his stomach. The bleeding had stopped which was a good sign. You lean closer, your fingers fiddling with the box at the same time, narrowing your gaze you notice the wound is deeper than you had initially thought.
“Whoever it was that attacked you got you good,” you murmur. Without a second thought, you slide off the coffee table and kneel in front of him, you miss the glint in his eyes as he looks down, miss the way he spreads his legs so you can fit better.
“How do you know it wasn’t me who attacked them?”
The rough tone of his voice prompts you to look up. For someone who’s been stabbed, he’s eerily calm. His arms are spread over the backrest, chest slowly rising up and down as his eyes flit across your face, searching. The muscle in his jaw twitches, lips stretching into something resembling a snarl. Suddenly you’re hyper-aware of where you are, the position you’re in. The sound of danger rings in your ears—you don’t even know this man’s name. Your breath catches in your throat, stomach jumping. You don’t know why you initially felt so comfortable with him, as if you were long-lost friends, but you aren’t. You were being reckless.
“Scared?” he asks, venomous, hunching over your frame, caging you in. Heat radiates from his thighs, a stark contrast to the cold fear gripping your insides. He hooks two fingers under your chin, lifts your head up. Your bottom lip quivers. “You should be. You live in a dangerous world.”
“And you don’t?” you counter, your voice barely above a whisper, your words hanging in the air, challenging his assertion. The question slips out before you can fully comprehend its weight, and you see his jaw tighten as he ponders for an answer.
You meticulously cleanse the wound, removing dirt and debris with steady hands. The sting of antiseptic fills the air, intermingling with the charged atmosphere. You’re not shy with the way you touch him, a simmering annoyance warming your gut. He can take it, you think applying further pressure. He doesn’t make a sound.
The dim light of the room accentuates the harsh contours of his face, and his piercing gaze feels like it's cutting through your soul. You drag your teth against the smooth surface of the inside of your cheek. You’ve never had a patient stand this still.
Finally, just as you complete the final wrap of the bandage, he gives you an answer.
“Not the same one as you do.”
Miguel O’hara was his name. He told you just before disappearing into the neon lights of the dark and cold city. You didn’t think much of it, you were sure you wouldn’t be seeing him again, which meant remembering his name was useless.
But your mind wouldn’t let him go. You tasted his name in the dark hours of the night, hand between your legs, coming as you thought of scenarios where instead of dousing his wound in antiseptic, you took his cock into his mouth, helping him in a different way. His suit left little to the imagination and now that your imagination roamed free, you’re glad that it was.
Convinced that he’ll never show up again, you continue on normally, half in fear due to the chaos around you, trying to do your best.
That was until he did show up.
You step out of the shower, water trickling down your skin, softened by the warm steam. The towel hangs loosely around your chest, on the verge of slipping off. You never quite mastered the art of securing it tightly, but living alone means you don't have to worry about walking around naked if it happens to fall off.
The window cracks open, cold air seeping through, chilling your freshly warmed body. Tension instantly builds in your body, your eyes slowly moving to the window. You see him then. Miguel. He pushes the window open and climbs in, not saying a word. You hold the towel tightly around you—a dream, you think, it has to be.
With quick, large steps, he crowds your space, forcing your back against the wall. The air is knocked from your lungs, your throat convulsing with a sudden panic. He’s not touching you.
“M-Miguel,” you whisper. “I didn’t—I didn’t think I would see you again.”
“Neither did I,” he answers, large hands cupping your waist and pinning you to the wall. “I’m tired,” he adds, words dropping from his lips more like a punch than a plea. Like someone is squeezing the words out of him.
“What do you need?”
His eyes drop to your lips, a hungry gaze that sends shivers up your spine. You hold your breath. He’s so close, close enough that you feel his breath on your damp skin. He tilts his head to the side, eyes closing.
“I need to not think,” he answers painfully slow, tasting every word. “I need to not feel. I need to not worry. I need to disappear for a while.”
Miguel takes a long, languid breath. Filling his lungs with the scent of your watermelon body wash. His tongue pokes from between his lips, moving over the bottom one. “Can you give me that?”
His fingers tighten, the soft fabric of your towel bunching in his palm, you swear you feel the bite of nails despite the fluffy exterior. Your eyes search his. You know nothing of him. Only his name that he’d begrudgingly given you. Your pulse quickens, the rush of blood loud in your ears. He’s not here for you, that’s something you need to keep in mind before going any further. He’s here for the release, for the simple act of having another’s warmth surrounding him. You’re an escape. Something simple and easy he doesn’t have to think about when he runs off to deal with whatever he deals with.
After seconds that feel like hours, you decide you want to give that to him. You don’t mind the hurt you’ll feel after. Letting him take what he wants knowing that’ll affect you more than him. Something about him makes you not care.
“I can,” you breathe, instinctively searching for his lips with your own. “Do your worst Miguel O’hara.”
You drop the towel, damp fabric pooling at your ankles. His eyes widen briefly before smiling something wicked. His forehead touches yours, nose brushing your own as his lips ghost an inch away. Your breath catches in your throat, the need growing between your legs. A chuckle drops from his lips reminding you of gravel. You don’t share his humor, you just want to feel him.
“You don’t want my worst,” he grunts. “You’ll break.”
“I won’t.”
He scoffs but doesn’t argue. Miguel doesn’t attempt to probe you wrong, breaking things is meant to have consequences. You either try to fix it or ponder over what you’ve done, he wants none of that. Instead, he presses flush against you, body firm in contrast with the soft swell of your chest and stomach. Your nipples tighten. He crashes into you, tongue hungrily slipping between your lips as his mouth moves greedily. You feel hands on your chest, kneading, squeezing, pinching. You moan into his mouth, he swallows the sounds, grinding himself hard into you. You’re shaking, his body suffocating.
“If I touch you,” he says into your mouth, fingers skimming the outside of your thighs. “Will you be soaked for me?” With a whimper, you nod. He grins, canines looking sharper compared to what they did before, “Such a good little slut,” he growls.
Contrary to what he’d said, he doesn’t slip his fingers between your legs to see if you’re telling the truth. Instead, he slots his thick thigh between your bare legs, pushing the muscle up until you’re left gasping, your hands flailing as you wrap them around his broad shoulders. The pressure makes you dizzy, the fabric of his suit softer than what you expected, a delicious friction over your aching clit. You moan openly into his neck, teeth scraping against the vein.
“I’m going to fuck you like this,” he murmurs. “Up against the wall,” his suit fades away, cock hard against the soft planes of your stomach. You shudder as precome smears over the skin. He continues, licking your lips. “Then up against the window, want you to be loud. Want you to scream and tell me to take. . .”
The emphasis on the “t” sends a million tiny needles biting into your skin. Your chest heaves with the brush of his lips, you want to feel it again, the plush feeling of faux softness on your mouth. But he doesn’t give you that. He smiles a cruel smile, one that chills your skin but lights a fire in the pit of your stomach. He tilts his head.
“And take. . .”
You chase his lips, he refuses to give you what you want.
“And take. . .”
Your frustration grows, a desperate sound twists through you, and your fingers curl around his neck, knitting through his hair as you give the curls a warning tug. He doesn’t seem to be affected in the slightest. He drags his lips down your neck, hitches your one thigh up his hip, and positions his length against you. He doesn’t look at you, nor say another word. He fills you with one hard thrust, knocking you back against the wall, your body sliding up the rough interior. The stretch of him lingers on the line of being painful. There’s a bite to it, but also a deep pleasure that makes your legs shake.
“So fucking wet,” he rasps, sinking his teeth into your neck. It feels sharp enough that you think he breaks the skin, blood filling his mouth, but that’s not the case. The feeling quickly passes when his mouth crashes into yours in a messy kiss. He doesn’t wait for you to adjust, he doesn’t care. He takes what you give him and he does so violently, splitting you into two with every thrust.
He grabs handfuls of your hips, lifting you off the wall before slamming you back down with renewed fervor. He angles each thrust to the point of almost pain. You cry out, a long, desperate noise that almost drowns out his own, panting gruffly. You can feel the heat in your veins coursing through you as pleasure builds, the almost unbearable sensation sending you into overload. Your toes curl, your nails dig into his skin as his name leaves your lips in a plea for him to not stop. His hands grip you tighter as his movements become more violent, eyes locked together as they both reach the brink of ecstasy.
The look in his eyes, the furrow of his brows, the parting of his lips, the damp curls at the base of his scalp—it does something indescribable to you. You arch your back to give more for him. All your focus narrowing on the feeling of him.
Suddenly your body strains as he stills, the thunderous rumbling of your orgasm hitting you full force as you feel yourself tighten around his shaft in an attempt to prolong the blissful pleasure. His grip slackens and you fall forward against him, boneless as you feel the last throes of your orgasm lingering in your veins. You lick the salt off his skin, your body grinding sloppily against him.
“Fuck,” he hisses between gritted teeth, still achingly hard inside of you. “Already?”
“I—I never came that quick before. . .” you answer with a slight slur of speech, you’re tingling all over.
You’re not sure but you think you see a hint of pride in those dark smug eyes, “Don’t think you’re off the hook,” he says. “You’re mine until the sun comes up.”
Miguel is a man of his word.
He fucks you up against the window, just like he said. Your breasts pressed up against the cold smooth surface as he takes you from behind. It burns. It burns yet you can only beg for more. You scream his name, fog up the window, the rough drag of his cock forcing the roll of your eyes every goddamn time. The feeling of being stretched wide never passes, each thrust like the first time.
He holds you by the nape, pushes you forward, the pressure only adding to the fire. You figure out soon he likes holding you like that. He enjoys shoving you up against things, adding to the idea that you’re just a fleeting moment and nothing more. When he pulls out you instinctively search for him with your hips. His cock lays heavy over the curve of your ass, he spreads you and presses his cock between the globes, rocking until thick ropes of come land on your back. You shudder, breathless, your vocabulary reduced to only his name.
You feel a grip on your chin and he turns you enough so that he can slot his lips against yours. Your neck aches but your part for him anyway, allowing the taste of him to flood all your senses. When he parts only a string of saliva connects you, your breathing coming in heavy pants.
A second later the world around you blurs and you quickly find yourself straddling him above the bed. The old furniture creaking in protest. You forget how nervous you would be if it were someone else, how self-conscience you would be riding a man but Miguel doesn’t give you a chance to think about it. His feet planted firmly on the bedding, he snaps his hips, burying himself deep into the tight fist of your cunt, over and over, until you’re stupid for him.
His name rips from your throat, you can’t even think of saying anything else. You attempt to muffle yourself with the back of your hand but he’s quick to yank it back down.
“No” he utters a low, guttural sound, hands coming up your back. “I said I wanted you to scream.”
He sounds unhinged, like something snapped inside of him. You feel teeth on your collarbone, nails dragging down your back, sharp, leaving long lines of irritated skin. A pleasurable pain blossoming over your skin.
You begin to unravel as you thrust your hips against him, his movements setting off white-hot sparks of pleasure like incandescent lightning. Moans rush from your lips as his name is repeated in a mantra and you cling to him desperately, your hands clawing at his back and your nails digging into his skin as you spiral ever faster into oblivion.
Miguel is relentless in the way he drives into you. You can feel him swell inside you, every thrust pushing you closer and closer to the edge. He moves his hands to your hips, pushing and grinding against you as every muscle in his body strains.
His breathing is quick and harsh against your ear, his voice a hungry growl, “That’s it, take it. You were waiting for this, weren’t you? Hungry for a cock no matter who it belongs to.”
You can’t answer.
Miguel’s hips thrust harder, faster—his orgasm crashes through him, his hands gripping your hips painfully as he spills his hot seed deep within you. You find yourself trembling as aftershocks of pleasure ripple through you, your body feeling like electricity as you come down from the high. You clench tightly around him, your own overwhelming orgasm ripping through you, overstimulation making you cry out.
He spins you both, bringing you to lay underneath him. Miguel collapses against you, breathing heavy as his grip on you slowly relaxes. He holds you for a moment, your heart thrumming as his forehead briefly rests against yours, breaths mingling. Then, with a satisfied groan, he pulls away. You let out a hiss. It feels achingly empty.
You’re surprised when he starts pushing your legs apart, watching his spend trickling down your folds and making a mess on the sheets. He pushes globs of cum back into you with thick fingers. Your head falls, back arching into his touch. “You made such a mess,” he says, sounding almost transfixed. Cramming fingers inside of you and curling them, your body seizes.
After that, you’re not sure when he leaves. Sleep takes you and when you wake, he’s gone. No note, no message left behind. The only evidence that he was here is the ache between your legs, and the taces of him still lingering on your thighs.
You’re sure you won’t be seeing him again. He got what he came for.
The next night he’s back, climbing through the window for more.
gif sen to me by @krirebr back in october, just now going through my inbox full of gifs, sorry my love <3
Summary: overhearing an argument from Steve & Tony, you grow worried and with awe at the pure strength Steve possesses.
Warnings: none?
WC: 1K
A/N: there's no pairing in this and i honestly debated on posting this as is, or rewrite it a million more times lol.
Read On Ao3!
--
The farm was a welcome sight after everything that had happened. After the chaos, the battles, and the tension of saving the world yet again, Clint Barton’s peaceful farmhouse felt like a sanctuary—a place to breathe and maybe, for once, pretend things were normal.
You sat on the porch, your legs curled beneath you, watching the others as they scattered around the property. Natasha was keeping an eye on the kids while Clint and Thor discussed something about farming techniques—likely for a laugh, given Thor's complete lack of experience with Earth crops. Bruce was in the barn, tinkering with gadgets, and Vision was seated nearby, reading.
But your attention was drawn to the tension rising between two men who seemed to clash constantly: Steve Rogers and Tony Stark.
You could hear them before you saw them—loud, angry voices. Steve, usually so calm, was pacing, hands running through his short blonde hair in frustration. Tony was standing a few feet away, arms crossed, his expression tight with annoyance. The words were muffled from the porch, but the intensity between them was unmistakable.
"He's just not listening," Tony grumbled, rubbing his temple. “I’m trying to save everyone, Steve! But you keep acting like I’m the enemy here.”
Steve’s jaw was tight as he shook his head. “You think I don’t want to protect people? You’re not seeing the bigger picture here, Tony. If we keep going down this road, we’ll have no choice but to fight against ourselves.”
“Yeah, and how long until we’re fighting for our lives, huh?” Tony shot back, clearly exasperated. "You’re just blind to the fact that the rest of the world isn’t always going to play nice.”
You could feel the tension rising from where you sat. The last few days had been a whirlwind of emotions, battles with no real winners, and personal grievances that were still being worked out. But watching Tony and Steve argue like this... it was different. The anger was raw, not just from the situation, but from something deeper, something that neither of them was willing to admit.
You sighed, turning your gaze back to them, uncertain whether you should intervene. But before you could make a move, something unexpected happened.
Steve had stopped pacing, his face flushed with frustration, and Tony was busy running his hands through his hair, his back turned. That’s when Steve walked over to a large, thick log lying near the edge of the property, one that looked almost too heavy to move. Without saying a word, Steve dropped to one knee, grabbed hold of the log, and—without any visible hesitation—ripped it in half with his bare hands.
You blinked, certain you had imagined it, but when you saw Steve’s arms straining, his muscles tensing with the force of the action, you realized it was real. He wasn’t using any tools or anything to help him. No tech. No super-soldier serum enhancement. Just pure, raw strength. The snap of the log cracking in half was deafening in the stillness of the farm, and for a moment, you were sure even Tony had frozen in place.
For a long second, there was only the sound of Steve breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling as he stood over the splintered wood, his eyes unwavering. His gaze locked with Tony’s, and the tension between them suddenly felt different—more grounded, more purposeful.
Tony’s jaw dropped, his usual sarcastic wit faltering for a moment. “Jesus, Cap. You trying to kill me or just make me feel inadequate?”
Steve didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he straightened up, wiping his hands on his pants as though the task had been as simple as pulling a thread from his sleeve. His face was set, but there was a softness behind his eyes, something you recognized as tiredness—not from age, but from the weight of the responsibility that he carried.
“You can’t fix everything, Tony,” Steve said, his voice quieter now, though it still held that unshakeable determination. “But you can try to do the right thing. I need you to understand that.”
Tony didn’t say anything at first, still staring at the broken log, clearly in shock at what he had just witnessed. Slowly, his expression softened, and he nodded, though you could see the struggle in his eyes.
“I know,” Tony replied after a moment, his voice rough. “I just… I don’t know how to stop screwing up.”
The vulnerability in his voice was something you rarely heard from Tony Stark, and it made your heart ache for him. But then, to your surprise, Steve stepped closer, clapping Tony lightly on the shoulder.
“You don’t have to be perfect, Tony,” Steve said, the warmth in his voice unmistakable now. “None of us do. Just don’t give up on trying.”
You couldn’t help but smile softly, watching the interaction unfold. In that moment, you realized just how strong Steve Rogers truly was—not just in his physical strength, but in his unwavering belief in people, in their ability to change, to do better.
You knew that strength now extended beyond just his shield. It was in his words, in the way he carried the weight of responsibility on his shoulders, and in how, no matter how many times Tony fell short of his own expectations, Steve would always be there to pull him up again.
You stood up quietly, unsure if they even realized you were there. The argument had defused, and now, Tony and Steve were standing side by side, silently processing everything that had just happened. The tension between them was still there, but you could see the cracks beginning to heal, just a little.
With a quiet breath, you stepped back inside the house, letting the door swing closed behind you. There was still a lot of work to be done before the world would feel right again, but for now, you felt a flicker of hope. Steve Rogers, in all his strength, had proven once again that the world wasn’t just saved by punches or tech. It was saved by the quiet power of believing in each other.
And maybe, just maybe, that was the kind of strength that would carry them all through the rest of the storm.
Oh, I love this. It really does feel like silently watching two people you care about from afar. That holding your breath, waiting to see what happens feeling. Hoping it won't tip into something they or you can't come back from. That release of tension, the breaking of the log was palpable.
Summary: you'd thought you would have been safe after all this time.
WC: 796
Warnings: nightmares, angst
Pairing: sam wilson x reader, past! tws!bucky (handler) x reader
Read on Ao3!
--
A child’s laughter in the distance catches your attention from where you were leaning over your garden planting rose bushes. The skies were clear, and the sun was bright in the midsummer afternoon. Looking over your shoulder, you noticed your daughter swinging on the swing hanging from the apple tree branch in front of your house.
Smiling at her as she called for you, you stood up, brushed the dirt away from your dress, and clapped your hands together to remove the stray dirt you’d picked up between your fingernails.
“Mommy, mommy, look! Look at how high I can swing!” your daughter squeals with excitement for several seconds as she swings higher and higher as you watch her. “Mommy, are you watching? Mommy, are you watching?” As you walk over to your daughter’s joyful antics, you notice a man in a black military uniform watching the pair of you.
Panic sets in, and you hastily grab the swingg rope to halt, causing your daughter to pout with defiance. Ignoring herplease, you usher her into your home, where youfeelt the presence of the man quickly gaining speed with his stride to you.
“Stay inside, baby,” you plead as you shut the door on her, turning to face the masked man who stood in front of you. “What do you want?”
“The commander wants you back in,” his Russian voice deep with demand. You know the man standing in front of you. But you’d left that life behind you over a decade ago. You’d escaped and had a happy life now. You have a family now. You couldn’t risk going back under.
“If you refuse, I have orders to kill your family,” the man says. “Do you want me to kill your family?”
“I—” you stuttered for a moment before the man sighs heavily and walks around you, pushing you out of the way of the door and swinging it open. You could see your daughter’s face, bright eyes, and smile as you caught her eye right before a gunshot echoed through the air.
“Wake up, baby,” a voice comes to your ears as your eyes fling open in fright. “Wake up.” With a start, you sit up in the bed, rapidly moving your hands around until you feel the presence of the man lying beside you. “Are you okay?”
You turned to look at him, fear and relief clouding your chest as you saw the small child sleeping peacefully between the pair of you. “Sam,” you breathed out, gently reaching to graze your fingers through your child’s hair, sighing in relief as your fingers got tangled in their curls. “Sam, I’m sorry for waking you up.”
“It’s okay,” he nodded, reaching behind him for the glass of water sitting on his bedside table before handing it to you. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“The nightmares are coming back,” you frowned, leaning your head. “God, Sam, I’m so sorry.”
Sam sat up, careful not to wake the sleeping child between you. “Want to talk about them?”
“There’s no point,” you frowned, flinging the blankets away from your body, aware that your daughter had begun to shift in her sleep. “I need a shower to calm down. I’ll be back in a minute.” Walking into the hallway, you felt tears filling your eyelids before pouring down your face.
You’d walked away from that life over a decade ago. Steve, Tony, and the rest of the Avengers kept you protected. But you knew your handler would eventually find you. You only hoped you still had time before HYDRA had caught up with you. It’s been a little over two years since the last nightmare had happened. It was only as you splashed water on your face and glanced at the reflection in the mirror that you took a frightened step back as the reflection staring back at you wasn’t your own, but the man who had been your Handler all those years ago; known as The Winter Soldier himself. The black mask covers the lower portion of his face, with thick goggles covering his eyes, essentially making him faceless. His deep voice haunted your nightmares for years, even as you were planted underneath him.
But that part of your life was over. You were safe with Sam Wilson and your daughter. It’s been too long—way too long. He wouldn’t still be chasing after you. He couldn’t be.
Little had you known, however... Even after all this time being protected and living with your husband Sam, did you know that The Winter Soldier had been tracking your every move, every breath?
He stood on a rooftop just outside of your bedroom window, motionless, following you as you moved through the bedroom before sliding back into bed with your husband.
Summary: After an intense fight between you and Bucky, you vow to get your revenge on him. He thinks your kidding around until he wakes up with an arm made of metal. Will he forever have the metallic limb? Or will you both resolve your issues and cause his arm to become human like once more?
Warnings: readers a witch of sorts, this would take place in an AU where bucky *doesnt* have a metal attachment
WC: 600
Read on ao3!
--
Bucky didn’t usually slam doors. But tonight, the door to your shared apartment rattled on its hinges as he stormed out of the room, leaving you standing in the middle of the kitchen, seething.
He’d crossed a line. You weren’t even sure how the fight had started—something small that spiraled out of control, words sharpening like blades until you both drew blood. But what stung the most was how dismissive he’d been.
“Do whatever you want,” he’d snapped. “It’s not like I care.”
Those words echoed in your mind long after he’d disappeared into the other room. Your hands trembled, but not from sadness—oh no. This was anger, white-hot and unrelenting. Fine. If he thought you were bluffing when you said you’d get your revenge, he was in for a surprise.
Bucky had no idea what you were capable of.
When Bucky woke the next morning, the sunlight streaming through the window felt... off. Something about his arm felt heavier than usual, the weight pulling awkwardly at his shoulder. Groaning, he sat up, running his hand through his hair—except it wasn’t his hand.
“Holy—” Bucky stared down at his left arm. The sleek vibranium he was used to was gone, replaced by something disturbingly familiar: the exact same metallic construction as his right arm.
“What the hell?” His voice was hoarse as he flexed his fingers, the joints moving with unsettling ease. It felt real—too real.
He scrambled out of bed, nearly tripping over himself as he stumbled into the living room. You were there, sitting cross-legged on the couch with a cup of coffee in hand, your expression as nonchalant as ever.
“Morning,” you said sweetly, taking a sip.
“What did you do?” Bucky demanded, holding up his new metallic arm.
You tilted your head, feigning innocence. “Oh, that? Just a little reminder to be nicer during fights. Thought you could use a taste of your own medicine.”
Bucky’s jaw dropped. “A taste of my own medicine? Are you kidding me? This is permanent!”
“Only if you keep being an ass,” you shot back, setting your coffee down.
He stared at you, a mix of disbelief and frustration written all over his face. “You can’t be serious.”
“Dead serious,” you replied, crossing your arms. “Maybe next time you won’t storm out in the middle of a fight. Or, I don’t know, tell me you don’t care?”
Bucky flinched, guilt flickering in his eyes. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Well, it sure felt like you did.”
For a moment, silence stretched between you, broken only by the faint hum of the fridge. Bucky sighed, running his flesh hand over his face. “I shouldn’t have said that. I was mad, but that’s no excuse. I’m sorry.”
You raised a brow. “Go on.”
He exhaled, his shoulders sagging. “I care about you. More than I should’ve let on last night. I was out of line, and... I deserved this.” He gestured at his arm, his lips twitching into a faint smirk. “Even if it’s kind of overkill.”
You huffed, but a small smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. “Apology accepted. And maybe it was a little overkill.”
“Only a little?” he teased, stepping closer.
You reached out, brushing your fingers against the metal, and with a whispered incantation, the metallic surface shimmered, melting away to reveal his human arm underneath. He flexed his fingers, marveling at the change.
“You’re not just scary,” he murmured, meeting your gaze. “You’re terrifying.”
“Good,” you said, smirking. “Maybe next time you’ll think twice before pissing me off.”
Bucky chuckled, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close. “Lesson learned.”
New York City’s nighttime hum surrounded the two of you, the faint glow of streetlights casting long shadows down the alley. The chill in the air was a stark contrast to the warmth radiating between you and Matt Murdock as you stood close enough to hear his steady, controlled breathing.
You glanced up at him, his features softened by the dim light. Despite his blindness, Matt’s presence was always so focused, like he could see you better than anyone else ever had. His sharp senses must have picked up on your accelerated heartbeat or the way you shifted from one foot to the other, nervous energy buzzing between you.
The fight with the latest gang causing havoc in Hell’s Kitchen was over, but the tension between you and Matt still lingered, thick and palpable. For months now, the two of you had danced around this unspoken thing, working side by side to protect the city while never quite acknowledging the pull that drew you together.
Tonight, though, something was different. He had gotten closer during the fight, his body brushing against yours more often than necessary, his hands lingering just a second longer when he pulled you back from harm. And now, here you were, standing so close, his chest rising and falling just inches from your own.
Matt tilted his head slightly, lips parting as if he were about to say something, but the words never came. Instead, there was that silence again—the silence that made your heart race faster than the fiercest battle.
“I know you want to kiss me,” you said suddenly, the words leaving your lips before you could stop them. It wasn’t a challenge, but a simple statement. The tension had built too much, and you were done pretending that you didn’t feel the same way.
Matt’s lips twitched into a small, surprised smile, and for a moment, he said nothing. His fingers flexed at his sides, almost as if he was contemplating reaching for you, but he held back.
“I do,” he admitted softly, his voice rough but sincere, as if he had been holding back those words for longer than you could imagine. His face tilted towards yours, his lips hovering dangerously close, and you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin.
The city noise seemed to fade, leaving just the two of you in this small, intimate moment. The world might have been falling apart outside this alley, but here, with Matt, it was quiet.
"Then what are you waiting for?" you whispered, leaning in just enough to close the distance.
A barely audible laugh escaped him, the smile fading as he closed the gap between you, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was at once soft and intense. The electricity that had been building for so long finally surged through you, and the world around you disappeared completely.
For once, Matt didn’t hold back. His hands found your waist, pulling you closer, and you could feel his heart beating just as wildly as yours. Every touch, every gentle press of his lips against yours, spoke the words neither of you had dared to say until now.
When you finally pulled away, breathless and flushed, Matt rested his forehead against yours. He smiled softly, a contentment in his expression that you hadn’t seen before.
“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he whispered.
With a grin, you brushed a strand of hair from his face. “I think I do.”
You are worth exceedingly more than anything as silly as "commercial output." Who ever said their mother 'was great except she should have spent more time creating economic growth' ?
my 2nd tumblr era @blushingrn - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
