There is no reason for this. No one asked for it. I have a ton of other things to work on. This is just self indulgent and I hope you all enjoy it!
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Female Reader
Summary: Bucky tried his best not to lose control, but a man can only take so much.
Word Count: 2,277
Warnings: Possessive behavior, it’s really just porn.
18+ Please!!!
This is not beta-read, so any and all mistakes are my own!
Bucky always tried his best to stay in control. After suffering for so long at the hands of HYDRA, losing himself was something he never wanted to experience again. It wasn’t good for him or anyone else. Meeting you tested that and more.
Characters/Pairings: eventual Bucky Barnes x female!Reader
Word Count: 943
Summary: Of all the book shops in all of Brooklyn, that guy from the bench happens to walk into this one.
Warnings: Slow burn, potential paper cuts, questionable taste in books
Additional Notes: Follow up to Bucky and the Bench.
Your fingers skim quickly over the spines of the books on your cart as you double check that you have all the volumes authored by G through J last names. With a satisfied nod, you turn around, round the corner, then round the next corner to head down the appropriate aisle. Shelving was not your job, but you relished escaping from the business side of the bookshop into the methodical that was returning books to their proper place.
You’re returning A Soldier of the Great War by Mark Herplin to the shelf, only two more volumes in your hand, when a customer joins you in the aisle, and you turn to ask, “Can I help you find any–“
You stop.
“Well, hello again.”
It’s the man from the bench a few weeks ago.
“Ah, hello.”
At least he looks a little sheepish.
“Hello.”
Damn, you already said that.
The corners of his lips tilt up, thinking the same thing.
You click your tongue nervously and ask. “So are you looking for anything in particular?”
He nods. “Lord of the Flies by–“
“–by Golding,” you finish, grimacing.
His face splits into a mischievous grin. “You hate it.”
You shrug. “I don’t hate it.”
“Yes, you do.”
You sigh. “I do.”
“Alright, what do you suggest instead?”
Those cerulean blue eyes are locked on you. You bite your lip for a moment, considering him. “What are you looking for?”
“Anything, I suppose. I still want Lord of the Flies because I’m reading my way through a list, but if you think you can do better…”
“A completionist, fine,” you respond, turning back to the shelves and pulling a copy off the shelf and hand it to him. “When I saw you before, you were reading To Kill a Mockingbird, right?”
He nods. “You noticed.”
“I own a bookshop; I can’t help noticing the books people have with them.”
“You own this bookshop?” he asks, arching an eyebrow.
“I do,” you respond, unable to help the serene but proud grin on your face.
“It’s well-stocked.”
“An essential element.”
He chuckles. “Of course.”
“So, To Kill a Mockingbird,” you pick up the thread where you left off. “You liked it?”
“Absolutely.”
“But you mentioned you’re reading off a list?”
He nods. “Best 80 books of the last 80 years.”
When you’d encountered him in the park, you hadn’t really seen much of who the stranger with the audacity to be particular about a park bench was, only enough to recognize him now that you’d encountered him again. But now with him standing only a few feet away, you know full well who he is, and a glance down at his left arm – he flexes the black metal hand – confirms it.
“You’re catching up on lost time.”
“I – yes.”
“Sorry, that wasn’t the right thing to say.”
“No, it’s fine actually. Almost no one talks to me about being over 100 years old, and I do have a lot of reading to make up for. So, go on, give me your recommendations.”
“What have you liked so far from that list?”
He shakes his head. “No, that would be cheating.”
You catch the sparkle of a challenge in his eyes, and you incline your chin just slightly, accepting it. “Alright then, Barnes, follow me.”
You guide him through the shelves, pulling a few books into your arms without showing him. He looks skeptical when you enter the children's section. You pull the first Harry Potter book from the shelf in the R’s, and this one you do hold up to him. “Have you read Harry Potter?”
“No.”
“Get through the first part of the first chapter, and then keep reading.”
“Okay,” he agrees, taking the volume from you.
At that point, you lead him to the front. One of your employees is helping another customer at the main register, but no one else is in line, so you slip behind the counter and open the second register. In addition to Lord of the Flies and The Sorcerer’s Stone, you ring him up for The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas, Stardust by Neil Gaiman, and Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier.
“And these are your favorites?” he asks.
“Some of them, but not all, of course. It’s a good starter pack, so I can see what your tastes are.”
He furrows his brow and leans forward over the counter. “You haven’t given me even one of your top five favorite books, have you?”
You shrug, running his card. “Nope. Now To Kill a Mockingbird is one of my very favorites, so you’ve already read that; Gaiman and Dumas are two of my favorite authors; and the Harry Potter series is seven books, so you’ve just got the kick off.”
“I’ll be back for more.”
“I’ll be ready for you, Barnes.”
He takes the bag of his new books from the counter. “You can call me Bucky.”
After the opening and closing of the door accompanied by the telltale ring of its bell, you hear someone clear their throat next to you.
You look to your left and see Greg, your assistant manager for the bookshop, watching you, his arms crossed.
“What?”
“I see that smile on your face.”
“No, there’s no smile, not like that. It’s just satisfying when we get a customer who comes in and you can tell they’re really into reading the way we are.”
“Of course, of course,” he says and turns back to his register just as someone else approaches the counter.
You roll your eyes and head off to return to the book cart and the books you’d abandoned to help a reader in need.
next part | series list
↠ 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!
Pairing: eventual Bucky x female!Reader
Word Count: 802
Summary: It’s not enemies to lovers, but it definitely doesn’t start out well.
Warnings: Slow burn
Additional Notes: Well, here’s my first post here… This will not strictly be a WIP, but it is a series of drabbles with a plan, if you will. Or if you won’t. I still will be drabbling…
“You’re on my bench.”
You look up, so shocked at this stranger’s audacity that you couldn’t hide the look of harsh scrutiny on your face. “I – this is a public park.”
He nods. “And you’re sitting on my bench.”
Your scrutiny turns to a glare. “You can’t have a bench at a public park.”
“Fine, it’s my favorite bench in the park. It has the best view.”
Your face softens slightly. “You’re not wrong.” Two things are working to disarm you. You don’t glare often, but when provoked, whoever receives it usually backs down immediately, and the fact that he hasn’t is intriguing. But he’s probably not because he’s likely never had to back down from anything in his life, the imposing hulk of a man that he is, well over six feet, built frame, and a piercing blue stare. He’s more than the definition of tall, dark, and handsome, and that doesn’t go unnoticed by you.
“Fine,” he sighs. “Can I?” he gestures to the right side of the bench.
You weren’t sitting in the middle of the bench, already slightly favoring the left side, so you shrug and scoot to the other end of the bench, moving your things along with you. He sits without another word. Out of the corner of your eye, you see him pull a book out of an inner pocket of his jacket, and he becomes immediately engrossed.
It’s only after another few moments that you realize the look out of the corner of your eye had turned into a full-on study of the man at the other end of the bench, and then you quickly move to rummage in your bag. You weren’t staring at him.
Except you had been, because how could he really have had the audacity to disturb you about, and then insist on sitting on, this bench? There were plenty of good benches here, and he could have sat at any one of them. And then he just sat there, reading To Kill a Mockingbird as if nothing had happened to get his handsome frame in that spot. And this may be his favorite bench (it was yours, too), but that was one of your favorite books, and you couldn’t tell if you were annoyed that he had it in his hands, or if you were curious. It was a classic, to be sure, but had he read it before? What did he think?
You glance up from your bag to look at him again. He was still reading with rapt attention.
Back in your bag, you settle on just pulling a mint out of a small tin, then settle back to reading your own book. For your lunch break today, you’d opted for a fluffy new romance recommendation alongside your sandwich. You aren’t embarrassed to be reading a fluffy, trendy romance book, but you did hope the stranger hadn’t noticed how vibrantly pink the cover is. You move the book to rest in your lap, pressing the pages open across your legs, effectively hiding the cover from any eyes that may judge.
Once you are back into your book, you only have eyes for the pages until your phone’s alarm blares, which is only a moment of interruption to you, but causes the man at the other end of the bench to jerk violently, nearly drop his book, and glare at you angrily when he realizes it is only your phone.
You give him a half-apologetic grimace as you slip your book and your phone into your bag before slipping it over your shoulder. He settles back into the bench, but this time hunching over his book, elbows resting on his knees, clearly attempting to block out all his surroundings, including you.
You stand and walk away. As you begin your journey back to work, you can’t help thinking how awful a meet cute that was, if your life was a romance novel or rom-com film. Maybe it could be worked into an enemies-to-lovers plot, but even that was a stretch.
Those brooding blue eyes though…
You laugh to yourself, exiting the park and truly getting back to normal life.
Normal, standard life, void of meet cutes, but a life you are generally content with, no need to worry about the man with the impossibly blue eyes or his strong jawline.
Because, honestly, what kind of man was so particular about a public park bench anyway?
So strange.
You don’t go back to the park and the bench the next day, but the day after that you do go and reclaim your bench. You’d been to that park and sat at that bench during your lunch many times – not every day, but two or three times a week, and you’d never seen him there before, and you don’t see him there again.
next part
↠ 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!
Gentle - Steve Rogers x Established Relationship Reader 🍆🪶🥰
Summary: What better way to spend a warm June afternoon in Brooklyn, but underneath Steve Rogers as he softly rails you while a hand-picked playlist plays in the background and the scent of New York street food wafts through an open window.
Contains/Warnings: Fluffy smut, love making, intense eye contact. Steve being a super sensual super soldier and a Taurus man who loves pleasure. Slightly dominant. Faithful boyfriend vibes.
Words: 1,400
A/N: The song is Luxurious by Gwen Stefani. Inspired by a TikTok edit to the same song. Credit to @simplyholl for the headcannon, “He would have you in missionary and be like, ‘keep your eyes on me’ while talking you through it.”
A/N #2: If the cover image makes you uncomfortable, this ain't the fic for you. 😂😂
Sugar…. honey…. sexy baby….
When we touch it turns to gold...
Sensitive and delicate…. kinda like a tuber rose….
A gentle hand traced down your arm, his lips silently speaking to you through soft kisses. Loving whispers asked if you were okay.
If the pace was alright.
If you were too hot.
If you were comfortable with the window open.
Your clothes formed a path leading back to the living room where the afternoon had started with simple kissing on the sofa. From your vantage point on the bed, you could see his jeans. Your sundress. His white t-shirt. Your knickers. You couldn’t see your bra.
He lay on top of you, propping himself up on his forearms. The heat from his body was like the sun, searing into your skin and warming you to the very core of your being.
The window was cracked just enough to let cool air in and not enough to waft your moans down to the busy Brooklyn streets below. The sound of traffic filtered up and the scent of hot dogs and ice cream joined the mix. June in New York was pleasantly hot. Just like the man on top of you. Your mind tuned away from your thoughts and tuned into the music drifting in from the living room.
The songs were a love note in themselves. Despite his lack of knowledge of modern technology and the fact he was frozen in time during the release of music over the past 70 years, he took the time to learn how to create an account on the music app and hand-pick the best soundtrack for your love making.
“God, honey.”
Simple affirmations of pleasure punctuated the warm air of Steve’s apartment like stars on an inky black night.
You had no passage of time. But knowing Steve, it had been at least an hour. Sixty minutes since your clothing fell to the floor and he began exploring every inch of you with his fingers, his lips, his sweet words.
He felt it. He felt everything. The scent of your perfume, the softness of your skin, the tiny creases in your forehead as his teeth grazed your shoulder. Every one of his senses was heightened. A side-effect of the serum and a sure-fire guarantee during alone time with you.
Increased sensitivity wasn’t torture during sex. For Steve, he savoured it. He enjoyed the feelings. He lived for the delayed gratification, the moment when finally, eventually, he felt he had worshipped you enough to deserve the feeling of your warmth around him.
He was hard. He had been for quite some time. You could feel his length pressing into your thigh. It was only when you whispered to him that he removed his boxers and tossed them to the floor.
“Steve. I need you. Please.”
“Okay honey.” His forearms were either side of you, his face above yours. “Keep your eyes on me.”
His blue eyes pulled you in, drawing you into a hypnotic calm. You watched his mouth subtly open and his eyelids flutter shut for a fleeting moment as the feeling of entering you washed over him. Within the beating of a butterfly’s wings, his eyes were back on yours. They remained there as he slowly thrusted, the intensity of his eye contact making your limbs go weak.
“Is it okay, honey? The pace?”
Yesterday, he had thrown an adversary from a roof. Last week he left a hole in the wall when he turned a corner at pace, chasing down a rogue agent, thrusting his shield into concrete and making it crumble like drywall. Shattering glass as he jumped through windows was a regular occurrence. He was durable. Sturdy. You weren’t. He used all of his concentration to use only a fraction of his strength on you. None, if possible. You were a civilian. He had to be gentle.
Dumbly, you nodded your response. The languid pace was perfect.
He continued to slowly rail you. He broke eye contact only to lean down and kiss your lips. He closed his eyes, the softness of your lips coaxing a moan from his. Whispers and sweet words replaced soft kisses, his voice low and raspy in your ear.
You’re so beautiful.
I love you so much, honey.
You feel so good.
He cycled through rounds of kisses, whispers and intense eye contact, his thrusting gratuitously slow. Indulgent, even. The deepest kisses gave you shivers. The ones where his tongue did the talking, where it felt as though he was attempting to kiss your soul. The whispers following these deep ministrations were simple.
I’m lost for words, honey. God.
It wasn’t about climax for either of you. Steve figured the longer it took to fall over the edge into bliss, the better. He wanted to draw it out. Make it last as long as possible. It was the same reason he ate slowly. Why it took him weeks to finish a book he loved. He didn’t want the pleasure to end. His life hadn’t always been filled with so much tenderness. Maybe that’s why he savoured it.
He couldn’t be selfish. It wasn’t in his DNA. The very moment he saw a flicker of frustration, a sense he was taking too long, his fingers would cease their faithful trail over your skin and inch their way down to your inner thigh, writing love letters in their wake as he reached your most sensitive spot. His fingers applied gentle pressure, slow circles, picking up his thrusting slightly, bringing you towards climax safely. Less like a freight train hurtling past an abandoned Midwest station. More like a passenger carriage coming to a gentle, rolling stop. If he thought about it too much, even he had to admit it was incredibly on-brand.
The soft moans from your lips and the way your mouth opened, your neck arching back into the pillow, your hands gripping fistfuls of Egyptian cotton.... the mere sight of your pleasure was enough to tip him over the edge. He would climax slowly, the pleasure coursing through his arteries like the serum did all those years ago. Your eyes were on him, watching him press upright onto his palms, arching backwards, the hard lines of his face softening into pleasure.
He bathed in the ecstasy. But he never allowed himself to become lost to it. He remained in control enough to lower himself down gently. He couldn’t afford to lose it and collide his body into yours. He could hurt you.
His face would nuzzle into your neck post-coital, sweet kisses peppering your shoulder as your hands tangled in his hair. He was soon back on his forearms, intense in his gaze, brow creased as he checked you were alright. His expression softened, the tense muscles in his jaw relaxing when he realised you were safe. Of course you were. You were underneath him. It was the safest place to be.
“That was… wow.”
He chuckled, cheeks flushing just slightly. He said the same thing every time but it never got old. He was here, fully present and absolutely entranced by you and unable to connect words together. He was articulate. He gave commands. You rendered him dumb-struck.
Aftershocks of his pleasure varied. Sometimes he would offer his hand and pull you up, inviting you into the shower with him. Other times you would stay just like that, kissing and starting up another round. Often you would remain wrapped in each other and fall into a brief slumber, napping for half an hour before a particularly loud truck honked its horn on the streets below and jolted you awake. In these moments, Steve rarely slept. He would lay awake, his arm around you as you snoozed on his chest. His hands ran through your hair. He smiled, his gaze soft and focusing on nothing in particular.
Today, you simply put your clothes back on and talked about food.
Steve looked towards the window. “I don’t know about you but I could really go for a hot dog.”
At a leisurely pace, you picked up the street food, glancing up at Steve’s apartment five floors up and wondering just how much was audible at street level. You walked around the local park hand-in-hand, connecting with an elderly couple sat together eating ice cream. They gave you a nod before their gaze returned to each other.
Steve felt a warm sensation in his chest. Some days, he wasn’t sure if he trusted the gifts he had been given. In his cloudier frames of mind, he imagined losing it all again and facing the prospect of processing immeasurable grief. Thankfully, those days were becoming passing storm clouds in an otherwise sunny disposition.
He glanced over at you and smiled. It might be the height of June, but every day with you made him feel like it was summer.
Pairing: Husband!Bucky Barnes x f!reader (Free form, non descripted)
WORD COUNT: 1700+
WARNINGS: Panic attack, pregnancy, Bucky being a cool dad, a fantastic teen. Read it 'till the end!
WRITTEN BY: PomeloVillano
A/N: One night, during a storm, I woke up and thought about this...
~✯~
The night had begun with its usual calm; Early Dinner, a movie that only served as background noise while Bucky and Dave played with their new NERFs and you knitting a new pair of slippers sitting in your favorite spot on the couch.
"Don't run away, coward!" Dave said as he chased after Bucky.
The brunette hid behind the couch and laughed.
"You are now in a neutral zone! Any projectile launched will be considered a crime..."
"Boys, enough playing, it's almost bedtime." Your voice sounded calm as usual. "Dave, go brush your teeth."
David, suppressing his displeasure, set his gun down on the couch before leaning toward his mother. He placed a short kiss on your cheek and then a longer one on your belly.
"Good night, Simone, this time let mom sleep a little bit more." He said in a calm tone. "No parkour until 10 in the morning..."
His words were interrupted by the ringing of Bucky's phone.
The brunette did not hesitate to answer the call, so he left the living room. Dave placed a few kisses on his mother's cheeks before retreating to his room.
"Good night, honey"
"Good night, mom." Dave said before retire to his room.
Moments later, Bucky returned with an expression that was hard to read on his face.
"Everything in order?"
Bucky sat down next to you and nodded.
"Steve needs my help with something," He admitted.
You set your knitting aside and nodded.
"When are you leaving?" You asked in a calm tone.
"In half an hour Sam will pick me up." He said.
You shook your head before picking up the needles and continuing with your task.
"I thought you would keep your promise,"
Bucky placed his right hand on your belly and sighed slowly.
"I know it's last minute, but I promise to return as soon as possible," he assured. "In fact, I promise to come back in the morning for breakfast... Maybe on my way back, I'll stop by that cafeteria that has those pastries you like so much." He added.
A smile formed on your face.
"What about what the doctor said about sugar consumption? I'm not a teen anymore..."
"You're still younger than me... 70 years difference is even scandalous if you ask me." He said in an accomplice tone.
"The good thing is that nobody asked you, Grandpa Barnes." You said in the same tone. "Go get ready, I don't want Sam honking like a madman, much less at this hour."
"Yes, ma'am." Bucky placed a short kiss on your lips and smiled. "Will two dozen make up for my sudden departure?" he questioned.
You pursed your lips for a moment.
"No, but it will be a start."
✯
Bucky tapped twice on the door frame, catching Dave's attention. The teen looked up from his phone and looked at his father.
"Champ, I need to ask you a favor." He said in a calm tone.
Dave nodded vigorously.
"I have to leave for a few hours, so you are in charge of taking care of the fort until I return; If your mother needs something, you should be the one to help her, okay?" The super-soldier's voice sounded calm and confident.
"Okay, old man," Dave said.
Bucky rolled his eyes.
"Old, but wise and sexy according to your mother." He pointed out getting a laugh from the teenager.
~✯~
The weather guys are always wrong. Currently, even more.
That unexpected thunder shook the windows and made the whole house vibrate, abruptly waking you up. Finding yourself in the dark, you instinctively reached for Bucky. But coming across the vacant side of the bed, you remembered that you were alone in the room.
You inhaled slowly, deeply, trying to get the air to fill your lungs and calm your heaving chest.
Something was wrong.
You felt the air coming out of your body, but not enter it; You took several deep breaths until your chest began to ache. You placed your hands on your belly and, once again, breathed. A slow sob escaped as you felt like you couldn't do something as simple as keep your lungs working.
The bedroom door opened slowly. Dave entered cautiously, lighting his way with a flashlight.
"The power went out, but the generators don't take long to..." The teenager stopped when he saw his mother.
He quickly walked over to the bed, sat next to her mother and wrapped his arms around her.
"Relax, you're not alone." He said in a calm tone. "It's just a storm, it'll pass,"
You clung to your son and let out a choked sob.
"I can't... breathe," You muttered between gasps.
Dave released his mother from his arms. He took her face in his hands and met her gaze.
"Do you remember what's the first thing you thought when you first saw me?" Dave asked.
You frowned at those words. You looked at your son and blinked a few times.
"I thought... I thought it was amazing to finally meet the love of my life."
Dave smiled at those words.
"How did you come up with my name?"
Seeing that his mother's breathing began to normalize, he sighed in relief.
"You bear the name of the most brilliant musician in the world; David Eric Grohl." You assured.
Dave rolled his eyes playfully.
"Who is that David Eric who thinks he's so great?"
You placed your hands on your son's and smiled.
"You. You are the coolest David Eric in this world... And the next one too." You closed your eyes and inhaled slowly before exhaling. "You are my greatest love and one of the reasons why I smile, laugh and I'm happy... You are the sun in my life, the air in my lungs and every beat of my heart."
David smiled.
"You are the most cheesy mother ever." Dave said in an animated tone.
"For you, for your sister and for your father," You admitted. "More for you and your sister, but keep it a secret."
A laugh escaped the teen.
"It's not a competition, but I win... At least until Hurricane Simone Barnes outshines me with her cuteness and has everyone enchanted." He said. "That will be the ideal moment to start my 'rebellious' phase, with ugly piercings and tattoos that I will regret in the future." He added, getting a laugh from his mother.
You wrapped your arms around your son and sighed happily.
"Over my dead body," You murmured.
~✯~
Bucky dusted his feet on the welcome mat before gently opening the door. Putting aside his backpack, jacket, and boots, he walked to the kitchen carrying a box. Walking in, he couldn't help but smile seeing you dancing slowly; With your eyes closed, a wide and joyous smile on your face and your hands on your belly, you danced happily.
"Good morning, honey." You said without opening your eyes.
Bucky circled your waist and placed his hands on top of yours.
"Good morning, doll." He said. "It's still early for you to be dancing in the kitchen,"
The brunette rested his chin on your shoulder and began to move alongside with you.
"Simone fell asleep on my bladder and started dancing early," You assured. "Besides, I hate sleeping without you,"
A wide smile spread across Bucky's face.
"I also hate sleeping without you; My punishment was to stay the trip back listening to Sam's snoring."
You carefully removed Bucky's hands and turned to face him; You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and smiled.
"It was a long night, I'm dying from lack of sleeping." You admitted. "We can sleep for a while like you said, it's still early,"
Bucky frowned.
"Why was it a long night?"
"Panic attack; The storm woke me up and, when I couldn't find you, I felt like the darkness was crushing my chest."
Bucky wrapped his arms around you and gave her a little squeeze.
"I'm sorry I wasn't here when you needed me, honey," he said.
You smiled.
"Don't worry, I'm lucky you're not my only hero," You assured. "Dave stayed with me... in fact he's sleeping in our bed,"
Bucky smiled.
"Remind me to reward that boy with whatever he wants; That car he likes so much? It's his!" The brunette said enthusiastically.
You rolled your eyes.
"Honey, he's 14, not old enough to drive yet," You pointed out.
"Doll, we live in a rural area; Out of the 10 habitants in this town, 2 are our cats." He joked. "No one is going to arrest our son for making donuts in the field without a driver's license, I can assure you that."
You shook your head.
"Fine! But only on one condition." You said. Bucky nodded vigorously. "Steve will be the instructor,"
Bucky rolled his eyes dramatically.
"It's not fair! That bored old man won't let us go over the speed limit." He protested.
"And he seems perfect to me. You are teaching to drive, not imitating Vin Diesel and his cronies."
"You're such a mom." He said.
"And you are a very bad influence for our son... But you also teach him the best of you." You assured before placing a short kiss on his lips. "Let's go to sleep, I need a some more." You said as you began to walk towards the living room followed by Bucky.
~✯~
Bucky and Dave's infectious laughter woke you from your deep sleep. A sigh of relief escaped at the sight before you; Sitting on the living room floor, making ridiculous faces and gestures, your husband and your eldest son tried to entertain Simone.
"Why it doesn't work?" Bucky questioned.
Simone frowned. The annoyed face was rather adorable.
"Simone reminds me of you when I met you." You said catching their attention. "You didn't laugh, didn't smile, only bitterness and oldness."
Bucky rolled his eyes playfully.
"Lucky that with your sweetness, your bad jokes, addiction to low-budget movies and many tickles on my sides, you managed to fill my life with joy." He commented while tickling his daughter's feet.
Simone pursed her lips at the sensation. Then she looked away and focused on her mother; Seeing you, a smile formed on her face.
Dave shook his head.
"It's not fair! You show your face and she smiles, I show my face and she ignores me." The teenager protested.
"It's just that she can't resist her mother." Bucky assured.
"It's because she has everything she wants: love, many kisses and a pair of boobs full of milk just for her."
Dave and Bucky started making sounds of disgust. Then a giggle stopped them; Simone waved her little arms and legs as she laughed.
Eva, my dear, you left this ask in my box aaaaaaages ago, and I thought your birthday would be an apt time to finally answer. To the queen of doms/the Ruby Garden, I hope this is a worthy birthday present!
Feel
Characters/Pairings: Pleasure Dom!Bucky x curvy!female reader
Word Count: 2.3k
Summary: After your first time visiting Pleasure Dom Bucky Barnes, you have returned to see him again a few times. Tonight you have a particular need, and he's always happy to meet your needs. (One could reasonably read this without reading its origin story Talk, but it will lose some flavor without the context.)
Content Warnings: modern AU, BDSM AU, smut, vaginal fingering, bondage, dom/sub dynamics, safe word in place (but not used), aftercare
Logistical Notes: More smutty fun for my impromptu Deliciously Debauched Labor Day Weekend! This ticks off week 11 of @buckybarnesevents Hot Bucky Summer -dialogue prompt in bold, kink prompt: tied down.
↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest
You almost cancelled, but you needed this.
It was your fourth appointment with Bucky, and with the week from hell you’d been having, you knew you could use the distraction, so you’d kept the booking.
Coming in in a rush, you’d told him to surprise you, and hastened to the bedroom, immediately disrobing and climbing up on the bed.
He followed your lead, not quite matching your speed, but was just as attentive as he always had been with you.
“Why are you in such a hurry?” he asked, slowly folding the shirt he’d pulled over his head as he watched you perch completely naked on the end of the bed.
You huffed and shook your head, closing your eyes briefly. “Sorry, work has just been insane, and my mom has been calling a lot about the holidays coming up, and my car is making a weird noise, and I’m just trying to survive until my trip next week.”
Bucky nodded, his expression softening as he took in your frazzled state. He approached you slowly, his movements deliberate and calming.
"I see," he murmured, reaching out to gently cup your cheek. "Well, we're going to slow things down a bit. Tonight is about letting go of all that stress."
His thumb stroked your cheekbone as his other hand came to rest on your shoulder. You felt some of the tension begin to ebb away under his touch.
"Lie back for me," Bucky instructed softly.
You complied, sinking onto the plush bedding. Bucky moved to a nearby drawer, retrieving several lengths of soft rope. Your breath caught as you watched him, anticipation building.
"Tonight, we're going to focus on the relationship between control surrender," he explained, returning to the bed. "I'm going to bind you, but not too tightly. You'll be able to move a little, but not much. The goal is for you to feel secure, held in place, so you can let your mind drift and relax."
Bucky's voice was low and soothing as he began to wind the rope around your wrists, securing them above your head to the railings of the headboard. The soft fibers felt pleasant against your skin, not abrasive at all.
"How does that feel?" he asked, checking the tension.
"Good," you murmured, already feeling some of your anxiety melting away as you focused on the sensation of being bound.
He moved down to your ankles next, gently spreading your legs and tying each one to a bedpost. The position left you open and exposed, but you trusted Bucky completely.
“Reminders. What do you call me in here?” he asked, his hand on your ankle.
“Sir,” you replied, a rush of pleasure rippling through you at just saying the word.
He smiled as if he knew. “And your safe word?”
“Brazil.”
He nodded, pleased.
"Now," he said, trailing his fingers lightly up your calf, "I want you to close your eyes and focus on your breathing. Take deep, slow breaths."
You did as he instructed, letting your eyes flutter shut. The room fell silent except for the sound of your breathing and the rustle of Bucky moving around the bed. You felt the mattress dip as he settled beside you.
"That's it," he murmured encouragingly. "With each exhale, I want you to imagine all that tension and stress leaving your body."
His hands began to roam your body, touch feather-light and teasing. Fingertips skimmed along your arms, traced the curve of your breasts, danced across your stomach. The gentle exploration sent pleasant tingles across your skin.
"You're doing so well," Bucky praised softly. "Just keep breathing and let yourself feel. You don't need to do anything else right now."
Your focused on his deep, warm voice, surrendering even more to the sensations. The soft ropes held you securely, removing any need to think about what to do with your limbs. Bucky's hands roamed freely, alternating between soothing strokes and more focused attention to your sensitive areas.
He leaned down, his breath warm against your ear as he whispered, "You look good like this. Completely relaxed and open for me."
His lips brushed against your neck, trailing soft kisses down to your collarbone. You let out a contented sigh, melting further into the mattress. Bucky's touch was electric, sending little sparks of pleasure through your body with each caress.
“I'm going to touch you now, but I want you to hold back. Don't let yourself climax until I give you permission. Can you do that for me?"
You nodded, a soft whimper escaping your lips as his hand trailed lower, fingers ghosting over your inner thighs. Your body trembled slightly in anticipation.
"Good girl," Bucky murmured approvingly.
His touch grew more purposeful as he began to explore your most sensitive areas. Skilled fingers stroked and teased, building your arousal slowly but steadily. You gasped and squirmed against your bonds, the ropes holding you firmly in place.
"Remember, breathe," Bucky reminded you gently. "Focus on the sensations. Let the pleasure wash over you, but don't let go until I give you permission."
His lips brushed against your neck, trailing soft kisses down to your collarbone. You let out a contented sigh, melting further into the mattress. Bucky's touch was electric, sending little sparks of pleasure through your body with each caress.
He took his time, mapping every inch of your skin with his hands and mouth. When his lips finally closed around your nipple, you gasped softly, arching into the sensation as much as your bonds would allow. Bucky lavished attention on your breasts, alternating between gentle sucking and teasing flicks of his tongue.
"That's it," he murmured against your skin. "Feel. Focus only on this."
His hand slid down your stomach, fingers dancing along your inner thighs. His touch grew more purposeful as he began to explore your most sensitive areas. Skilled fingers stroked and teased, building your arousal slowly but steadily. You gasped and squirmed against your bonds, the ropes holding you firmly in place.
Bucky's ministrations continued, his touch alternating between feather-light teases and more insistent pressure. Your breathing quickened as the pleasure built, your hips straining against the ropes in an attempt to increase the friction.
"Ah ah," Bucky chided gently, easing back slightly. "Remember, control. Breathe through it. Focus on the sensation without chasing the release."
You whimpered softly but forced yourself to relax back into the mattress. You took a shuddering breath, trying to center yourself. Bucky hummed approvingly. His free hand stroked soothingly along your side, helping to ground you, and then he rewarded you with a deep, languid kiss that left you breathless.
"Good girl," he murmured against your lips. "You're doing so well."
His fingers resumed their exploration, circling your clit with maddening precision. The tension in your body continued to build, coiling tighter and tighter in your core. You bit your lip, fighting against the urge to chase your release.
"Sir," you gasped, tugging slightly at your restraints. "Please..."
"Shh," he soothed, pressing a kiss to your temple. "Not yet. You're so beautiful like this. Completely under my control. Just a little longer."
He increased the pressure and speed of his ministrations, bringing you right to the edge. Your whole body trembled with the effort of holding back. Sweat beaded on your forehead as you panted, desperately trying to maintain control.
"That's it," Bucky encouraged, his voice low and husky. "Feel how your body responds. Notice every sensation."
You focused on his words, on the feelings of pleasure, but they were flirting with torture, that desire, that need of unsatisfied release.
Bucky's skilled fingers continued their relentless assault on your senses, keeping you balanced on that knife's edge of pleasure. Your entire body quivered with the effort of holding back, muscles tensing against the soft ropes that held you in place. Soft whimpers and gasps escaped your lips as you struggled to maintain control.
"You're doing so well," he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. "Show me how much control you have."
You whined, turning your head to press your face against his neck. His scent enveloped you – a mix of clean soap and something uniquely Bucky – grounding you even as the sensations threatened to overwhelm you.
"Please," you gasped, your voice barely more than a whisper. "I can't... I need..."
"Shh," Bucky soothed, his free hand stroking your hair. "You can. I know what you need. Breathe. Focus.”
He leaned down, trailing open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone and down to your breasts. His tongue swirled around your nipple before he took it gently between his teeth, sending a jolt of pleasure straight to your core. You arched into his touch as much as your bonds would allow, a needy moan escaping your lips.
Bucky's ministrations continued, his fingers moving with expert precision as his mouth lavished attention on your breasts. The dual sensations had you teetering on the brink, your body trembling with the effort of holding back. Your breath came in short, desperate pants as you fought against the overwhelming urge to let go.
He increased the pressure and speed of his fingers, bringing you right to the edge. Your whole body tensed, muscles straining against the soft ropes. Sweat beaded on your forehead as you whimpered, desperately trying to maintain control.
"Sir," you gasped, your voice breaking. "Please... I can't... I need..."
He lifted his head, his intense gaze meeting yours. "Now,” he commanded.
With that single word, the floodgates opened. The tension that had been building in your body released in a powerful wave of pleasure. Your back arched off the bed as far as your bonds would allow, a cry of ecstasy escaping your lips. Bucky continued his ministrations, drawing out your orgasm with skilled precision.
"That's it," he murmured encouragingly, his voice low and husky. "Let it all go. You've earned this."
Wave after wave of pleasure washed over you, each one seeming to build on the last. Your body trembled uncontrollably, muscles tensing and relaxing in rapid succession. The soft ropes held you securely as you writhed in ecstasy, grounding you even as you felt like you might float away on the tide of sensation.
Bucky's touch remained steady, guiding you through the intense release, drawing out your orgasm until you were trembling and oversensitive.
"That's it," he murmured, his voice low and soothing. "You've done so well."
As the aftershocks subsided, you collapsed back onto the bed, breathing heavily. Your mind felt blissfully blank, all the stress and worries from earlier washed away by the intensity of your release. Bucky's hands moved to gently massage your thighs, helping to ease the tension from your muscles.
Once your breathing evened out, Bucky gently untied your wrists and ankles. He massaged each limb carefully, easing any stiffness from being bound. You lay boneless against the mattress, completely spent and utterly relaxed.
Bucky gathered you into his arms, pulling you against his chest. His hand stroked soothingly up and down your back as you caught your breath.
"How do you feel?" he asked softly, leaning down to press a tender kiss against your neck.
"Incredible," you murmured, your voice slightly hoarse. "I feel... lighter somehow. Like all the tension just melted away."
Bucky hummed approvingly, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your skin. "That's exactly what we were aiming for. You did beautifully, following my instructions and maintaining control until the very end.”
You nestled closer to him, enjoying the warmth of his body against yours. The stress and anxiety that had been plaguing you earlier seemed distant now, replaced by a deep sense of calm and contentment.
"Thank you," you whispered, pressing a soft kiss to his chest. "I needed that more than I realized."
"You're welcome," Bucky replied, his voice warm with affection. That's why I chose this scene for tonight. Sometimes we all need a little help letting go."
You lay together in comfortable silence for a while, basking in the afterglow. Bucky's hand continued its soothing motions, tracing patterns on your skin and lulling you into a state of complete relaxation. You couldn't remember the last time you felt so at ease, so content with just being present in the moment.
Eventually, Bucky broke the silence by pressing a kiss to your forehead and pulling back slightly to look at you. His eyes were warm and tender as he brushed a lock of hair away from your face.
"You have the rest of the night with me. There’s no need for you to worry or rush away. I’m going to run you a bath, order in some dinner, and then we'll spend the rest of the evening taking care of you," Bucky said softly. "How does that sound?"
You smiled, feeling a warm glow of appreciation spread through you. "That sounds perfect," you murmured.
Bucky pressed another gentle kiss to your forehead before carefully disentangling himself from you. "I'll be right back," he promised, heading towards the en-suite bathroom.
You heard the sound of running water as Bucky prepared the bath. The mattress was incredibly comfortable, and you found yourself drifting in a pleasant haze, your body blissed out, and leaning into the contentment provided by your dom from the scene and the aftercare he’d already given to this point.
There was a whisper of a thought that had you wondering what it might be like if this man wasn’t merely the dom you paid to spend time with, but you quickly hushed it away. This was the way it was because there were no variables, no worries, just the clear circumstances that bound you to this time together, and you didn’t want to unbalance that.
This was good. This was enough.
Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest
Read more stories from the Deliciously Debauched Labor Day Weekend!
It's been over a year since we met Pleasure!Dom Bucky, and he was wildly popular at the time, so I've always been a little nervous to write him again. I've taken a stab a couple of times, and it didn't feel quite right before. Hell, this may not be right, either, but I felt good writing it! So here's hoping I did him justice!
I can’t remember where I got the information now, but apparently if you stare silently for at least 4 seconds it triggers a feeling of rejection which I don’t have to tell you is uncomfortable and makes most people backpedal pretty quickly and awkwardly.
The silent stare is so effective. I learned about it in social psychology in undergrad, and have often used it to great effect. Probably the best example is when I went to sign the papers on the car I was buying—I had already worked out a price and my trade-in with the salesmen the day before—and they decided they were going to take $1000 off the value of my trade-in. (I want to emphasize that I was buying a 10+ year old car; I ended up paying $8k total.)
"No," I said. "That doesn't work for me. If you're unwilling to honor the deal we made, I'm not buying a car from you."
Well, they talk for a living. So they talked. Here I am, a young woman on my own, and these two men at the dealership are giving me all the reasons they couldn't possibly honor the deal we made yesterday.
So I sat. I didn't say a word. I just stared at them.
They kept talking, trying to get a reaction out of me. After about 10 seconds, they abandoned all pretense of logical arguments and started hammering pathos. They weren't even buying my old car from me for the dealership; it was a personal favor for which they were using their own hard-earned money to help this poor guy at church who just got out of rehab and his house burned down and his children exploded and his dog left him for another man, etc etc
I didn't say a word. I just stared at them.
They began falling apart. They continued trying to hustle me, but their confidence left them. I think they might have been sweating.
Within five minutes they caved and signed the papers for our original deal.
I have been told for years I am intimidating, and by people who had never even seen me angry. Just in general, intimidating. This absolutely baffled me until a friend one day pointed at me and said — “This! Right now! You’re being intimidating!”
Friends, I was staring silently at someone while inwardly flailing desperately to come up with a response to something they’d said that wasn’t overly rude but also was holding my ground. In my mind, I was being hellishly awkward. I couldn’t summon any charm, I couldn’t figure out a sentence to string together. Silence spooled out horrifyingly between us as I got farther and farther away from being articulate and became more and more flustered by this failure to respond. From the outside, I guess, I just looked like a stone cold bitch waiting for them to get their shit together, lol.
I still don’t think I’m intimidating but you know I’ll take it.
Characters/Pairings: soft!dark Alpha!Ari x curvy Female!Omega!Reader
Word Count: 7.5k
Summary: Ari Levinson receives a visit and a gift from Governor Barnes. (part of the Fine Line collection but can be read fully on its own)
Content/Warnings: omegaverse (alpha-omega dynamics, scenting, etc); power dynamics; loss of virginity; explicit smut: thigh riding, oral (female receiving), vaginal fingering, unprotected vaginal intercourse and insemination, cum appreciation; omega trafficking
Author Notes: I said there would be more alphas in this verse, and HERE'S THE FIRST OF THEM! It is not necessary to read anything else in this story. Relevant information is relayed directly and/or insinuated in the narrative for this piece. But for anyone who has followed the Bucky parts of the story, this takes place immediately after the council scene in No Way Out.
Additional Note: I need to give credit where it's due to @stargazingfangirl18 for helping me figure out how to best approach sharing this storyline for new characters/a new reader into an existing verse!
Fine Line Collection
↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest
Five years ago, Ari would have been pacing impatiently across the floor of this opulent living room in the penthouse of Skyline Tower, but now he’s learned how to control the impatience, to cage it, let it undulate deep inside of himself to be used to launch into action at the right moment.
And so he sits in a comfortable armchair with a view of the mountains in the distance out to the west of the city, studying the view, reading on his phone, and looking out into the distance again.
Twenty-seven hours ago he’d received a summons from the Governor’s executive aide, told he was expected in the capital by sundown and to pack for an indefinite stay. The order had not been entirely unusual - he’d been instructed to move to different locations many times given the nature of his work, and many of those reassignments had been with unknown expectations for how long he would need to be there.
Ari arrived in the capital the night before and had been escorted to this penthouse in the city’s tallest building, and thathad been unusual. Typically his assignments were fulfilled in ordinary, unremarkable areas, not the a place like this.
The space balances luxury with functionality – sleek lines and modern fixtures softened by plush seating and warm lighting. Floor-to-ceiling windows showcase the sprawling city below, but automated privacy screens can be adjusted for comfort. The leather couch looked genuinely used, not merely decorative. Books lined built-in shelves, their spines showing wear. The kitchen gleams with high-end appliances, yet remains approachable with its open layout. Even the temperature is perfectly calibrated – cool enough to remain comfortable, but not so cold as to require additional layers.
This attention to livability rather than mere display speaks volumes about its owner. Bucky Barnes may be Hydra's conquering fist, but he clearly values practical comfort over ostentatious wealth. It's an unexpected insight into the man who seized control of the territory mere weeks ago in a swift, brutal campaign that left the previous government broken, but not obliterated left with just enough strength and infrastructure to remain viable and powerful on the continent.
His phone buzzes, and there’s a message indicating that Governor Barnes has just arrived at Skyline Tower and will be with him presently.
Ari frowns.
Having been summoned, he expected to be called to the Governor’s office or his mansion.
A personal visit was yet another anomaly.
Only a few minutes later, there’s a brief knock and a man enters the penthouse, making way for a tall, imposing alpha, and his omega.
Ari man rises from the leather armchair. "Governor Barnes," he greets Bucky with a slight inclination of his head.
"Levinson," Bucky responds, stepping forward to clasp his hand firmly. "I trust the accommodations are satisfactory."
"More than," Ari replies, gesturing around. His gaze shifts to the female at Bucky’s side, curiosity evident in his expression. "And this must be your new omega. The former governor's daughter."
Bucky's hand moves to the small of her back, a possessive gesture that doesn't go unnoticed by anyone in the room. "Yes. She's mine now."
Bucky steers his omega and gestures for her to sit on the plush leather couch with him. She settles beside him, and he drapes his metal arm possessively across her shoulders. Ari can see it’s not a demonstration for his benefit, but for hers.
Ari takes his seat again in armchair opposite the couch and waits, deferring to the governor to speak first.
"Your work in the eastern territories has been exceptional," Bucky begins, his tone matter-of-fact. "The intelligence you've gathered over the past three years has been invaluable to our acquisition of the territory."
"Just doing my job," Ari responds with a modest shrug, though there's a hint of pride he can’t hold back in his tone.
"Which is precisely why I've called you here to the capital," Bucky continues. "Every weakness, every vulnerability you identified in the territory's defenses proved accurate. The takeover was executed with minimal resistance, just as you predicted."
"Minimal resistance is generous," Ari remarks with a slight smile. He heard every report, saw footage online and on television. "Your tactics were... thorough."
And in line with many of the intel and suggestions Ari himself had supplied to Barnes and the others in the Hydra network for this very purpose.
Bucky leans forward, his posture shifting subtly from casual to intent. "Which brings me to my proposition. I need someone to lead my military forces—someone with your strategic mind and field experience."
Ari keeps his expression carefully neutral, though he is more than intrigued if Barnes means what he think he means.
Still, he doesn’t want to misstep by assuming or betraying any eagerness.
So he waits half a moment before saying evenly, "You have STRIKE teams already in place. Rumlow seems capable enough."
"Rumlow is a blunt instrument," Bucky replies dismissively. "Useful for specific tasks, but lacking the vision required for what I have planned." He pauses, studying Ari with calculating eyes. "I'm offering you the position of General of my armed forces.”
Ari raises his eyebrows slightly. "General?"
"Yes," Bucky confirms without hesitation. "The current military leadership lacks vision. They're competent at maintaining order, but we need more than that to secure our borders and expand our influence. You understand the larger picture."
He assumed there would be a special assignment, but he hadn’t anticipated this. Though his pulse has accelerated, he keeps his voice even. "What exactly would this entail?"
Like himself, Bucky is a man who respects cool heads.
"Authority over all military operations, reporting directly to me," Bucky explains. "A seat on the territory council, but also a member of my personal cabinet.”
Ari considers the Governor’s words, drumming his fingers lightly against the armrest. His gaze flicks between the alpha and his omega - a woman who has remained stoic, silent, and still through all of the exchange, though certainly studying every word and action, thoroughly paying attention.
"Think about it,” Bucky continues, “this territory has resources, manpower, and strategic positioning. What we lack is someone with vision to utilize them properly."
Ari weighs his options, calculating the benefits against potential risks.
Bucky shifts, squeezing the back of his omega’s neck before standing. "I don't expect an immediate answer. Consider the offer." He gestures toward the door where the man who entered with them has remained, clearly waiting for this signal. "In the meantime, I've brought something to mark your acceptance."
To mark your acceptance… So this is an edict, no room for negotiation, refusal an impossibility.
The man - a beta, Ari can tell - nods and opens the door. A moment later, an older looking beta female enters, leading five omega women in behind her.
"Alphas like us have... certain needs," Bucky says, his tone casual but his eyes sharp, watching for Ari’s reaction.
Ari stands, and something in his chest rumbles unbidden. He’s enjoyed an omega here and there, though they’re difficult to find. To have five in a room together is rare. Five unmated? Unheard of.
Bucky steps forward, his hand gesturing toward the line of omegas with practiced smoothness. "These fine specimen come from Whitecrest," he explains, voice carrying an unmistakable note of pride. "Perhaps the most prestigious omega training facility in the northern hemisphere."
All five are dressed modestly in cream-colored, simple yet exquisite dresses - each cut and tailored to show off the omegas in the best way possible. They appear to range in age from twenties to thirties. Their hair is neatly styled, their postures submissive but dignified, eyes downcast.
The beta male - Marcus, according to his silver name badge - steps forward with a slight bow. His suit is impeccably pressed, his manner formal yet approachable.
"Whitecrest is an institution with over a century of tradition. Interested families who are interested contact us when they have a child who identifies as an omega within days of their presentation, usually between thirteen and fifteen years of age," Marcus elaborates. "Only those with exceptional potential are selected. From that moment, their education becomes comprehensive. We identify their natural aptitudes and enhance them through rigorous education."
One of the omegas lifts their gaze momentarily before lowering it again. The brief glimpse reveals intelligent eyes that seem to assess the room.
"Our curriculum for all our omegas is comprehensive—multiple languages, of course, with each omega mastering a minimum of four. They study diplomatic companion relations, learning to navigate even the most complex international negotiations at their alpha's side. Our political training ensures they understand governance structures worldwide, while our history program contextualizes modern power dynamics."
Marcus's voice takes on a reverent quality as he continues, "And naturally, we provide thorough instruction on what an omega's role should be—how to anticipate an alpha's needs before they're expressed, how to manage a household of any size, how to present themselves in society. They learn to navigate hierarchies with grace and dignity."
Ari's eyes travel down the line of omegas, each one a testament to careful cultivation. "And their families simply... give them up?"
"They entrust them to us," Marcus corrects smoothly. "Most come from prominent families who understand the value of proper training. Others are discovered through our scholarship program, which identifies exceptional potential regardless of background. In either case, the families are generously compensated."
Bucky watches Ari's reaction carefully. "Each of these omegas represents years of investment. Their training costs more than most people earn in a lifetime.”
Ari feels a primal hunger growing within him as he studies the five women. His alpha instincts, normally kept under tight control, rise to the surface. He hasn't had the luxury of an omega companion during a rut in years, though he had been able to find sufficient satisfaction with betas to get him through.
"And now, one of them will be yours," Bucky says.
The implication hangs in the air, heavy with expectation. Ari feels his pulse quicken despite his practiced control.
"You're offering me one of these omegas?" he asks, careful to keep his tone measured despite the sudden rush of alpha interest surging through him.
"Consider it a signing bonus," Bucky replies with a slight smile. "A general requires a proper companion. Someone who can manage your household, accompany you to diplomatic functions, and of course," his voice drops slightly, "satisfy your more... primal needs."
The older beta female steps forward. "If I may, Governor Barnes?”
Barnes nods, “Certainly. Levinson, I’ll leave you to your selection. Marcus and Elsie, send the final contract to my assistant.” Then he turns to his own omega, and reaches a hand out.
The Governor’s wife rises from the couch with her own grace, and follows her husband out of the penthouse.
The older woman speaks again. "Each omega has been specifically selected based on compatibility with your profile, sir," she explains, her voice crisp and professional. "We've studied your background, preferences, and needs extensively to ensure an optimal match."
Ari's brow furrows slightly. "You've been researching me?"
"Of course," she replies without hesitation. "Whitecrest prides itself on creating perfect matches, not merely providing bodies. These five were hand-selected from our entire cohort as potential matches for your specific temperament, career demands, and genetic compatibility. Governor Barnes provided us with your dossier months ago. We've analyzed your service record, psychological assessments, even your dietary preferences to identify the most compatible candidates."
Ari shoots a glance toward the door where Bucky has just exited. Months ago. Before the territory was even conquered. The realization that Barnes had been planning this role for him all along settles like a weight in his stomach – both flattering and unsettling.
"And what exactly did your analysis determine about me?" Ari asks, unable to resist his curiosity.
Elsie - Ari notes her own silver nametag - smiles politely. "That you're disciplined, methodical, and intensely private. You value competence above all else. You require an omega who can anticipate needs without constant direction, who can function independently when your duties demand your attention, yet submit completely when you require it."
Her assessment is uncomfortably accurate, even identifying elements he may not have thought to consider for himself but sound satisfying to him.
Ari walks slowly along the line of omegas, studying each one with careful consideration. They remain perfectly still under his scrutiny, spaced out evenly approximately a meter apart from each other, enough room for him to circle them physically and assess their smells somewhat individually.
As Ari approaches the fourth omega, he catches a subtle shift in demeanor – not defiance, exactly, but a certain alertness that distinguishes you from the others. While the rest remain perfectly still, your head tilts almost imperceptibly, but he does catch it. He recalls that you’re the he noticed looking up before, during Marcus’s thorough explanation about the education omegas of your kind receive.
He steps directly in front of you, drawn by that subtle difference. "You," he addresses you directly, his voice low.
Your eyes remain downcast respectfully, but your posture straightens a fraction more. Unlike the others who remained unmoved around him, you appear to become more present.
"May I?" He extends his hand, palm up, an invitation rather than a demand. The gesture reveals more about him than perhaps he intends – a preference for consent, even in a situation where he holds all the power.
You lift your gaze to meet his, just for a moment, before lowering your eyes again in practiced deference. With fluid grace, you extend your wrist, turning it upward to expose the delicate skin where your scent is strongest.
Ari's fingers close gently around your offered wrist, bringing it to his nose. The first inhale is cautious, analytical – but the moment your scent fills his lungs, something shifts fundamentally in his gut.
Your scent hits him with unexpected force. It's not merely pleasant; it’s complex and resonates with him on a primal level, setting off a cascade of reactions he hasn't experienced before. His pupils dilate slightly, and he finds himself drawing a second, deeper breath.
"What's your name?" he asks, still holding your wrist, his thumb unconsciously tracing small circles against your pulse point.
You respond, answering in a calm, controlled tone, but he can feel the way your pulse races beneath his thumb.
Elsie steps forward. "A fine choice, General Levinson. This omega has excelled particularly in languages – fluent in seven, including Mandarin and Russian – and has specialized training in military history and strategic analysis. We believed these skills would complement your new position admirably."
Ari barely notices her words, as he's entirely absorbed in the scent that envelops him. However, his keen sense of movement and awareness of those around him ensures he catches Marcus signaling the other omegas to leave the penthouse.
Marcus approaches with a sleek digital tablet in hand, clearing his throat discreetly. "If you're satisfied with your selection, sir, we have just a few formalities to complete."
Ari reluctantly releases your wrist, though his eyes linger on you for a moment longer before turning to Marcus. "Of course."
"Standard transfer of guardianship documentation," he explains, gesturing toward the tablet. "It confirms your acceptance of this omega and outlines your rights and responsibilities."
Ari scans the document quickly but thoroughly, his years of intelligence work having trained him never to sign anything without reading it first. The legal language is precise, transferring all rights to him while acknowledging Whitecrest's continued interest in your wellbeing – a formality more than an actual limitation on his authority.
"Everything appears to be in order," he murmurs, pressing his thumb to the digital pad in the appropriate spot.
Elsie, who has guided you to stand slightly apart while the men handle the paperwork. "The omega comes with a complete wardrobe and personal effects," she explains, her tone businesslike. "All items have been selected to complement your lifestyle and preferences."
Ari nods.
“They will delivered to the concierge downstairs within the hour. Whitecrest provides a six-month adjustment period," Elsie explains, “should you wish to make any changes or find any incompatibility or unwanted behavior from or with the omega.”
"And we'll need your signature here as well, confirming receipt of the omega's medical records and maintenance instructions," Marcus says, swiping to another screen on the tablet.
Ari raises an eyebrow. "Maintenance instructions?"
"Just a formality," Elsie interjects smoothly. "Dietary preferences, exercise regimens, heat suppressant schedules as long as you wish to suppress them. Nothing you wouldn't expect."
Marcus taps several more fields on the tablet before sliding it toward Ari once more. "Just your signature on the final acceptance form, General. This confirms receipt of the omega and acknowledges Whitecrest's fulfillment of our contract with Governor Barnes."
Ari signs with a practiced motion, his eyes flicking toward you. Marcus taps a few more buttons before the tablet emits a soft chime.
"Congratulations, General Levinson. She is officially yours," Marcus says with a practiced smile.
Elsie straightens her jacket. "The omega has been thoroughly briefed on her duties and expectations. She'll serve you well." She gives you a final appraising look, a nearly imperceptible nod that seems to convey some private message, before turning back to Ari. "Should you require any assistance during the adjustment period, our support staff is available at any hour."
"That won't be necessary," Ari replies, his tone making it clear the conversation is concluded.
With a final nod, Marcus and Elsie depart, leaving Ari alone with you for the first time. The door closes with a soft click, and the sudden silence feels weighted with possibility.
Ari studies you, still standing precisely as you had undoubtedly been trained to do, hands folded neatly before you, eyes downcast. The perfect picture of omega submission—yet he hasn't forgotten that brief moment of alertness that drew him to you initially.
"You can look at me," he says, his voice neither harsh nor particularly gentle. "I prefer direct communication."
You raise your eyes to meet his, and he's struck again by what he sees there—intelligence, assessment, and something else he can't quite define. Not fear, which is interesting. Perhaps caution. Certainly awareness.
"I imagine this is... unexpected for you as well," he says.
“On the contrary, General Levinson, I’ve known for two decades I was being held in reserve, training and preparing for the alpha who would claim me.”
Ari notes that your tone doesn’t seem to harbor any resentment towards that statement or the reality of it either.
"Two decades is a long time to prepare for something without knowing when it will happen," Ari observes, moving to the kitchen area. He pours himself a glass of water, then, after a moment's consideration, pours a second. "Would you like one?"
"Thank you, Alpha," you respond, joining him in the kitchen and accepting the glass with graceful movements. Your fingers brush against his, and he notes the controlled steadiness of your hand.
"You can call me Ari when we're alone," he says, watching your reaction carefully.
You take a small sip of water before responding. "As you wish... Ari." The name sounds intimate on your lips, a privilege you understand the significance of.
"I should inform you," you continue, your voice measured and practical, "that I'm currently on a regimen of heat suppressants, as is standard protocol before a Whitecrest omega is transferred to the care of an alpha." Your voice is measured, professional. "However, I can discontinue them immediately if you prefer. The medication will clear my system within seventy-two hours."
Ari's expression remains neutral, though his scent shifts subtly with interest.
"That won't be necessary just yet," he replies, studying your face. "We have time."
You nod once, acknowledging his decision. "Regardless of my suppressed state, I am fully capable of satisfying any and all intimate requirements you may have." Your tone remains matter-of-fact, neither coy nor embarrassed. "While I am a certified virgin omega, Whitecrest's curriculum includes comprehensive training in all aspects of physical intimacy."
Ari's lips twitch beneath his mustache. He told you he appreciates direct communication, and he likes that you seem to fall into it naturally with him. “How does that work? A virgin but with comprehensive training?”
At this, you do drop your eyes for a moment shift slightly from one foot to the other.
"Whitecrest, as explained, always adopts a thorough and methodical approach to educating their omegas," you explain, your voice remaining professional despite the intimate subject matter. "My physical training included extensive work with beta partners—men and women both—to master techniques of oral gratification. I can pleasure with my mouth, hands, and body in a myriad of distinct ways."
You take another small sip of water before continuing, "We were also thoroughly schooled in self-pleasure, to understand our own bodies' responses. This knowledge helps us better anticipate and accommodate an alpha's needs."
Ari watches your face as you speak, the blood in his veins pumping more heatedly as you speak.
"There were practical vaginal applications too," you add. "Specialized stretching exercises to gradually stretch and prepare our bodies to accommodate an alpha's... dimensions."
You meet his eyes directly now. "However, nothing has ever penetrated my vaginal canal deeply enough to break my hymen. That honor is reserved exclusively for my alpha. For you."
“Fuck,” he says.
The word escapes his mouth before he can stop it, his careful control slipping for just a moment. Your eyes widen slightly at his reaction, and he sees a flash of something—satisfaction, perhaps—cross your features before you compose yourself again.
"I apologize if I was too forward," you say, though your tone suggests you don't believe you've overstepped.
"No," Ari says, setting his glass down on the counter with measured precision. "I said I wanted direct communication. You're giving me exactly that."
He moves closer to you, close enough that you can feel the heat radiating from his body. Your scent shifts subtly in response to his proximity, and he catches it immediately—a sweetening, an unconscious response that makes his alpha instincts stir with primal satisfaction.
"I want to be clear about something," he says, his voice dropping to a lower register. "You were trained to be what Whitecrest believed an alpha would want. But I'm interested in what lies beneath that training."
Your eyes meet his, and for a moment, your carefully constructed demeanor wavers. "Whitecrest doesn't encourage individuality," you admit, tone laced with wariness.
You’re incredibly intelligent, strategic. He likes that.
"I consider it essential," Ari counters. “I want to know who you are beneath the training."
You tilt your head slightly, a gesture that seems less practiced and more natural. "What would you like to know, Ari?"
He steps back, creating space between you again, regaining his composure. "Let's sit," he suggests, gesturing toward the living area. You follow him, moving with elegant efficiency, and take a seat on the couch while he chooses the armchair opposite you.
He studies you for a long moment, taking in the details of your face, your posture, the way you hold yourself. There's a precision to your movements that speaks of years of training, but underneath it, he senses something more—a natural grace that couldn't have been taught.
"Tell me something that isn't in your file," he says. "Something Whitecrest doesn't know about you."
Your eyes widen slightly at this unexpected request. For a moment, you seem to wrestle with it, your training having conditioned you to present only what would please an alpha. But he sees the moment you let go and relax from that expectation.
"I steal moments," you admit finally, voice softer than before. "When I'm supposed to be meditating during quiet hours, I sometimes watch the stars instead." Your hands rest in your lap, perfectly still, but he notices the slight tension in your fingers. "There's a constellation that as visible from my dormitory window that wasn't in any of our astronomy texts. I named it myself."
Ari leans forward slightly, genuinely intrigued. "What did you name it?"
The question seems to surprise you, you’re clearly not expecting his curiosity to extend beyond a surface level. "Libera," you answer after a moment. "It means—"
"Freedom," Ari finishes for you, his expression thoughtful. "I speak Latin too."
Something shifts in your eyes—a flicker of deeper interest in him, the man, not the alpha.
A current seems to pass between you both at that moment. Ari's eyes darken slightly, and the air in the penthouse grows heavier with unspoken tension.
"Come here," Ari says, his voice low as he extends his hand toward you. His command is gentle but unmistakable.
You hesitate for just a fraction of a second—another glimpse of the real person beneath the training—before rising gracefully from the couch. You cross the short distance between you and place your hand in his.
With a smooth, deliberate motion, he guides you onto his lap, your body naturally finding position across his thighs. Without a word, Ari's hand comes up to cup your cheek, his thumb tracing the outline of your lower lip. His eyes search yours, seeking something beyond the polished veneer of your training.
His eyes never leaving yours, Ari leans forward, closing the distance between you. His lips brush against yours—tentative at first, almost questioning. But when you respond, parting your lips slightly, his restraint crumbles.
Ari deepens the kiss, hungry for more of you, exploring your mouth, the way you taste. His hand slides from your cheek to the back of your neck, fingers threading through your hair to hold you in place as he tastes you thoroughly. You taste of mint and something else—something uniquely you that makes his alpha instincts surge with possessive pleasure.
You respond with the technical precision of your training, but there's something more authentic beneath it—a genuine response to him that makes his blood heat. He can sense it in the air as your scent shifts to something more heady. His tongue sweeps into your mouth, claiming, exploring, and you match him movement for movement.
When he finally pulls back, both of you are breathing harder. Your eyes have darkened, pupils blown with a desire he believes matches his own.
His hand travels from your neck down your spine, pressing you closer as he leans in again. This time his lips find the sensitive spot just below your ear, and you shiver involuntarily at the contact. He grins against your heated skin, and continues his exploration, trailing kisses along your jawline, down your neck, lingering at the junction where your neck meets your shoulder.
"Your scent is..." he murmurs against your skin, inhaling deeply. "Intoxicating."
Ari shifts beneath you, adjusting his position in the armchair. He slides his hands to grip your waist, then guides you to straddle his muscular thigh, positioning you so his quad presses directly against your core, the fabric of your dress forced up around your hips.
His eyes, dark with desire but still observant, study your face. His hand slides to your hip, fingers applying gentle pressure.
"Ride my thigh," Ari commands softly, his thumb stroking your hip. "Show me what brings you pleasure."
You hesitate, confusion flickering across your features. "I don't understand. My purpose is to—"
"Your purpose right now," he interrupts, his voice firm, "is to give me what I want, and what I want is to see you please yourself."
The concept seems foreign to you, and Ari can see the conflict in your eyes—your training has conditioned you to focus exclusively on an alpha's pleasure, not your own. This slight deviation from your programming fascinates him.
"I..." you begin, uncertainty coloring your voice.
"This isn't a test," Ari says, and he moves from your hip to cup your face, his touch gentle but commanding. "I want to see what feels good to you. I always study my subject, that’s my expertise. I want to watch you come apart, know what your body craves so I can meet out pleasure to you like you’ve never experienced before."
Something in his words seems to unlock something in you. Your body responds to his reasoning, beginning to move slowly against his thigh. The friction sends visible shivers through you, and your eyes widen slightly at the sensation.
"That's it," Ari encourages, his gaze intense as he watches your face. "Don't hold back."
Your movements grow more confident, planting your hands on his shoulders and finding a rhythm. Your breathing quickens as you grind against his muscular thigh, the rhythmic movement causes your dress to ride up further, exposing more of your thighs. Ari's hands move to grip your hips, not to guide but to feel your movements, to learn your rhythm.
"Look at me," he commands, and your eyes lock with his. The vulnerability in your gaze is intoxicating—this isn't the practiced performance of a Whitecrest omega, but something raw and genuine.
A small moan escapes your lips before you can stop it, and you immediately tense, as if surprised by your own loss of inhibition so quickly.
"Don't," Ari says, his voice husky with desire. "Don't hide those sounds from me. I want to hear every one of them."
Your movements become more urgent, more desperate as pleasure builds within you. Your body trembles against him, and Ari can feel the dampness growing between your legs, seeping through the thin fabric of your underwear and onto his pants. He finds the evidence of your arousal deeply satisfying.
"That's it," he murmurs, one hand leaving your hip to slide up your back, pressing you closer. "Show me what you need."
Your movements become less controlled, more instinctual as pleasure builds. Your head falls back slightly, exposing the elegant line of your throat. Ari can't resist—he leans forward to press his lips against your pulse point, feeling it race beneath his mouth. His teeth graze the sensitive skin there. Not a claiming bite—not yet—but the promise of one.
"A-Alpha," you gasp, forgetting his instruction to use his name in the haze of your building climax.
Ari doesn't correct you. There's something primal and satisfying about hearing his designation on your lips in this moment of abandon. His own arousal is painful against the confines of his pants, but he ignores it, focused entirely on your pleasure.
His hand tightens on your hip, urging you on, his other hand sliding from your back to slip beneath the neckline of your dress, exploring the soft skin he finds there.
Your movements become frantic, chasing the release that hovers just out of reach. Ari slides one hand between your bodies, pressing his thumb against the exact spot where you need it most, even through the fabric of your underwear.
"Let go," he commands, his voice a low growl. "Show me."
Your rhythm falters as pleasure overtakes you. Your thighs tighten around his, your fingers digging into his shoulders as your body shudders with release. A broken cry escapes your lips, raw and unfiltered.
Ari watches, transfixed, as you come apart for him. The sight of your genuine pleasure, the sounds you make, the scent of your arousal—it all combines to stoke his own desire to nearly unbearable levels. His hardness presses insistently against his pants, but he makes no move to seek his own release. Not yet.
As the aftershocks subside, you slump slightly against him, your breathing ragged, your forehead resting against his shoulder as your body continues to tremble with aftershocks.
"Beautiful," he murmurs against your hair, his hands still gripping your hips.
In one fluid motion, Ari lifts you from his lap. His movements are controlled yet urgent as he lowers you to the plush carpet. Your dress has ridden up around your waist, and he takes a moment to appreciate the sight of you—flushed, disheveled, still trembling slightly from your release.
"That was just the beginning," he murmurs, his voice deep with promise as he positions himself between your thighs.
His fingers hook into the waistband of your underwear, sliding them down your legs with deliberate slowness. The garment is damp with evidence of your arousal, and Ari inhales deeply, his pupils dilating at your scent.
"Perfect," he whispers, mostly to himself.
He spreads your thighs wider, exposing you completely to his gaze. He can see the mixture of anticipation and interest as Ari lowers himself, planting his shoulders between your legs. He senses his intentions are in no way unwelcome, but not what you were told to expect. His breath ghosts over your sensitive flesh, already swollen and slick from your previous climax. The first touch of his tongue against you sends a jolt through your entire body, your back arching involuntarily off the carpet.
"Ari," you gasp, forgetting formality as sensations overwhelm you.
He hums against you, the vibration adding another layer to the pleasure coursing through your body. His technique is methodical yet intuitive – exploring, learning, cataloging every response. When his tongue circles your clit and your thighs tremble, he takes note. When he flattens his tongue against you in a broad stroke and you whimper, he files that information away too.
"You taste even better than you smell," he murmurs against you, his voice rough with desire.
Your hands flutter uncertainly before settling on the carpet beside you, fingers curling against the plush rug.
Ari shifts his approach, abandoning the methodical exploration in favor of something more primal. His movements become unhurried, indulgent—almost worshipful as he parts your folds with his fingers and drags his tongue through your wetness with deliberate slowness. The meticulous pace makes every sensation more acute, more overwhelming.
You gasp as he laps at you with broad, leisurely strokes, and he knows his beard is creating a delicious friction against your sensitive skin - he’s looking forward to seeing the evidence later. His technique is less precise now, messier. He's savoring a feast rather than executing a strategy. Slickness gathers at the corners of his mouth, but he’s unconcerned, focused entirely on drawing out your pleasure.
"Please," you whisper, the word escaping before you can contain it.
He glances up, meeting your eyes over the landscape of your body. His mustache is slick with your arousal, his eyes dark with desire. "Please what?" he murmurs against your inner thigh, his hot breath teasing you.
You struggle to articulate what you need, your training suddenly inadequate for this unexpected experience. "More," is all you manage.
A low chuckle rumbles through him, vibrating against your core. "Like this?" He seals his lips around your clit and sucks gently, his tongue flicking against the sensitive bundle of nerves with precision.
Your back arches off the carpet, a strangled cry escaping your throat. Your hands move instinctively to his head, fingers threading through his dark hair. For a moment, you freeze, but Ari responds by pressing closer, encouraging your touch.
He slips one finger inside you, careful to maintain the barrier of your virginity while still providing the pressure and fullness he knows your body craves.
"That's it," he murmurs against you, feeling your inner walls begin to flutter around his finger. "So responsive.”
He adds a second digit, and his fingers continue their teasing exploration, never quite breaching you but applying just enough pressure to make you ache for more. All the while, his tongue works against your sensitive bundle of nerves with deliberate, focused attention.
Your hips begin to rock against his face, seeking more pressure, more friction, more of everything he's giving you. He responds by increasing the intensity, his tongue circling your clit with relentless precision while his fingers press deeper, stretching you without breaching that final barrier.
"Ari," you gasp, your voice breaking as the tension coils tighter. "I can't—"
"You can," he growls against your sensitive flesh. "Come apart for your alpha again."
His tongue flattens against your clit, applying firm, consistent pressure while his fingers curl inside you, finding that perfect spot. The dual sensation shatters you completely. Your release crashes down, your body convulsing beneath him as waves of pleasure radiate outward. Your cry echoes through the penthouse, uninhibited and raw.
As you tremble through the aftershocks, Ari's control finally shatters. With a fluid movement born of years of military training, he flips your limp body over, and he hoists your hips up with powerful hands, positioning you on your knees.
"Present for me," he growls, his voice barely recognizable even to himself, thick with primal need.
Your body responds instinctively to his command, your back arching, hips raising to offer yourself to him. The position is vulnerable, submissive—exactly what your alpha demands.
Ari's hands caress your exposed flesh, appreciating the curve of your spine, the perfect roundness of your ass, the sight of you ready and waiting for him. He quickly unfastens his pants, freeing his straining erection. The cool air of the penthouse against his heated flesh makes him throb with anticipation. He positions himself at your entrance, the blunt head of his cock pressing against and then parting your slick, swollen folds.
"Mine," he growls, the single word laden with possession and promise.
Without further warning, Ari drives forward in one powerful thrust, breaking through your virgin barrier and burying himself to the hilt inside you. The sensation is overwhelming—your tight heat enveloping him completely as your virginity yields to his claiming.
Your cry echoes through the penthouse, a mixture of pain and pleasure. Your body, still limp and sated from your previous releases, offers little resistance to his invasion. Your inner walls stretch to accommodate his considerable size, pulsing around him as your body adjusts to this new intrusion.
Ari remains still for just a moment, his hands gripping your hips with bruising force as he fights for control. The primal part of him wants to rut into you with abandon, to claim and mark and own. But the more controlled part of him—the strategist, the soldier—knows to temper that instinct.
"Breathe," he commands, his voice strained with the effort of restraint. His hand slides up your back to grip the nape of your neck, applying gentle pressure—a steadying, grounding touch.
You whimper beneath him, your body trembling as it adjusts to the unfamiliar fullness. Your inner walls flutter and contract around his length, instinctively trying to accommodate him. The sensation nearly makes Ari lose his hard-won control.
"So tight," he groans, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hip. "So perfect for me."
You whimper beneath him, your body trembling as it stretches to accommodate his invasion. Your inner walls flutter around him, adjusting to his girth, your body producing more slickness to ease his passage.
"Good omega," he murmurs, the praise falling from his lips unbidden. His hands return to your hips, gripping firmly as he begins to withdraw slowly, almost completely, before driving back. Each thrust is measured, calculated to stretch you perfectly while minimizing discomfort. The warrior in him wants to claim you roughly, but the strategist wins out, conquering your body with deliberate precision.
"Alpha," you moan, your fingers curling into the plush carpet beneath you. Your voice carries a note of surrender that satisfies something primal in Ari's core.
His pace increases gradually as your body yields to him completely, your initial discomfort giving way to unmistakable pleasure. Your scent changes, sweetening with arousal, and Ari inhales deeply, letting it fuel his desire.
"You were made for this," Ari growls, his rhythm increasing as he feels your body responding, accepting him deeper, your inner walls gripping him like a silken vice. "Made for me."
Your gasps and whimpers spur him on, each sound a testament to your pleasure. He shifts his angle slightly, searching for that spot inside you that will make you shatter again. When your back arches sharply and a broken cry escapes your lips, he knows he's found it.
"There," he murmurs, satisfaction evident in his voice. "Right there."
He maintains that angle, hitting that perfect spot with each powerful thrust. His hand slides around your body to find your sensitive bundle of nerves, circling it with his thumb in time with his movements. The dual stimulation has you trembling again, your breath coming in short, desperate pants.
"Let go for me again, omega," Ari commands, his voice rough with exertion and desire. "I want to feel you come apart around my cock."
The pressure of his skilled fingers combined with the relentless stimulation of that perfect spot inside you push you over the edge. Your entire body convulses as pleasure crashes through you, more intense than before. Your inner walls clamp down around him in rhythmic pulses, drawing a guttural groan from deep in his chest. Your cries are uninhibited now, echoing through the penthouse as your body surrenders to him entirely.
With a final, powerful thrust, Ari buries himself completely inside you, his body going rigid as his climax overtakes him. His release floods your insides, hot and abundant, marking you from within. His fingers dig into your hips as he holds you firmly in place, ensuring every drop remains inside you.
As the waves of pleasure gradually subside, Ari remains buried deep inside you, leaning forward. His breath comes in harsh pants against your neck, his chest pressed to your back as he covers you completely with his larger frame. The position is intensely intimate, possessive in a way that satisfies something primal in his bones.
For several long moments, neither of you moves, your bodies joined and slick with exertion. Ari's hand slides from your hip to your stomach, splaying his fingers across your abdomen where he can almost feel the evidence of his claiming deep inside you. The thought sends another pulse of satisfaction through him.
"Mine," he murmurs against the shell of your ear, the single word carrying weight beyond its simplicity.
You shiver beneath him, your body responding to his declaration with another small aftershock that ripples around his still-hard length.
With utmost care, he eases out of you, his cock still semi-hard and slick with the evidence of your joining. Satisfaction courses through him as he watches his release begin to seep from your entrance, marking you in the most ancient way.
He will clean you soon, but for now he wants your thighs sticky with his seed, your slickness, and traces of your claimed virginity.
He helps you collapse gently onto the plush carpet. You fold your arms together and rest your head on them, turning your face to your alpha, your body still trembling with aftershocks.
Ari stretches out beside you, propping himself up on one elbow to study your face. His other hand traces lazy patterns on your back, unwilling to break physical contact. Your eyes are half-lidded, your breathing still uneven.
"Are you alright?" he asks, his voice softer now.
You nod, meeting his gaze with a new openness. "Yes, Alpha... Ari," you correct yourself, reconditioning yourself from the instruction you’d surely been given to only call him Alpha. He imagines he will always find satisfaction from both falling from your sweet lips.
He reaches out to brush some hair from your face.
"You're remarkable," he murmurs, his eyes studying your features with newfound appreciation. "I didn't expect..."
You wait for him to finish, but he merely shakes his head slightly, surprised by his own thoughts.
"What didn't you expect?" you press, your voice still slightly breathless.
Ari's thumb traces the outline of your lower lip, his expression thoughtful. "To feel this... connection. This quickly."
The admission is wholly unexpected. He didn’t expect the feeling or to be ready and willing to share it with you, but you seem to be an element weaving itself into his inner alpha.
Your eyes soften at his words, a warmth spreading through them as he continues to hold your gaze. Your hand lifts hesitantly to touch his face, fingers tracing the edge of his beard with unexpected tenderness.
"I feel it too," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. "They taught us to expect... many things. But not this."
Ari turns his face slightly to press his lips against your palm, a gesture that feels more intimate than the joining of your bodies moments before. His alpha instincts purr with satisfaction at your admission, at the vulnerability you're willing to show him in return.
The silence between you stretches, comfortable rather than awkward. In this quiet moment, Ari feels something settling into place inside him—a certainty he hasn't experienced before. Outside these walls, he will still become General Levinson, the calculating strategist who helped Barnes conquer a territory, the ruthlessly efficient military leader who will shape and command armies. The world will see the same disciplined, controlled alpha who has built his reputation on precision and detachment.
But here, with you, something different exists. Something private and separate from that external identity.
I know I was just writing a very different Alpha!Ari last week, but IT'S ALPHA APRIL! And I've had this idea swirling in my head or about six weeks. I hope he was satisfying... 😏 There's at least one other alpha I'm going to introduce to this verse very soon.
↠ 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: 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
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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.
Previous: Offering | Series List
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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.
James 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
↠ 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: eventual Bucky x curvy Millennial Female!Reader, Natasha Romanoff x reader x Steve Rogers, Natasha x Steve, Thor
Word Count: 4.2k
Summary: Steve and Natasha have primed you, and now it's time for final preparations and then making your way to the event.
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; explicit smut: touching, groping, kissing, couple having sex specifically to arouse you, edging, vaginal sex but not for you, teasing, vaginal fingering, grinding/humping, exhibitionism, dirty/provocative talk, orgasm denial
Notes: There's a little bit more than just smut this time, haha.
Previous: Preparation | Series List
↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest
"It's almost time,” Natasha affirms. “We need to get you dressed."
She sits up and slides gracefully off the bed.
You blink, trying to clear more the haze of arousal from your mind. "Dressed? But I thought..."
"The ritual has specific requirements," Steve explains, his deep voice sending another shiver through you. "What you wear is part of it."
There was no question in your mind that sexual acts - intercourse specifically, after their preparation of your body - would be part of the ritual, so you had assumed that meant nakedness for you. There’s some blessed relief that you will have at least some covering, even if it’s minimal – unlike the experience you just endured where you were the only one naked in the room.
Natasha smoothes out her dress, adjusts her hair, retouches her lipstick, and then looks at her watch. “We have just enough time, but we don’t want to keep our founder waiting,” she sayd as she moves towards the closet room.
At the mention of the founder, a shiver of anticipation - or is it fear? - runs through you. The reality of the situation you find yourself in seems like it can’t be real, and yet it is, and there’s a thread drawing you in, a thread that’s been there from the beginning and woven itself into you.
Steve helps you sit up, your body still trembling slightly from their ministrations. You feel almost boneless, weak with unfulfilled desire. As you swing your legs over the side of the bed, you're acutely aware of how open and sensitive you feel.
Natasha returns from the closet clutching a garment bag in one hand and a pair of leather sandals in the other.
"Stand up," Natasha instructs gently.
You obey, your legs a bit shaky. Steve's steady hand on your lower back helps you maintain your balance.
Natasha lays the garment bag across the foot of the bed. She unzips it to reveal a deep midnight blue chemise, the color so rich and dark it looks almost black. The silk fabric shimmers under the light, and intricate lace adorns the bustline and hem, adding a touch of decadence. Natasha slips it off the hanger and hands it to Steve. He helps you slip it on over your head, his hands grazing your sides, sending little tremors down your spine, every nerve ending in your body still sensitive and wanting.
The fabric is cool against your heated skin, so light it feels like you're wearing nothing at all. Delicate shoulder straps hold the neckline in place, revealing in a way that straddles the line between modest and salacious. The dress falls halfway down your thighs, but the high slits on each side reach to nearly the top of your hips. You can’t help but feel incredible in this somehow perfectly tailored piece, clinging to your curves in all the right places and draping gracefully over the imperfections you typically worry over.
If you were staying here in the bedroom, wearing this for only your partner (or in this case partners), you would feel gorgeous and unquestionably confident.
But the thought of wearing this in front of who knows how many others? Your pulse jumps.
Natasha didn’t retrieve underwear for you. You don’t question that the exclusion was intentional.
She takes your hand and leads you back over to stand next to the vanity. Steve follows right behind, shoes in hand, and kneels to help you slip your feet into the sandals while Natasha begins to touch you up. She takes you from looking completely wrecked to only slightly mussed. You’re sure that’s intentional, too. She applies a rich color to your lip, perfect for your skin tone.
Steve brings over one more item from the bag, a full-length cloak to match the chemise, and drapes it over your shoulders. He carefully ties it at the neck. Natasha then retrieves the flower crown made of Luna's Tears and places it on your head, making sure it sits just right.
You stand between Steve and Natasha, their reflections flanking yours in the mirror. The midnight blue cloak drapes to the floor, adding an air of mystery and elegance. The flower crown rests delicately on your head, the iridescent blue petals seeming to glow in the soft light of the room.
"Beautiful," Natasha murmurs, her hand resting on your lower back.
Steve nods in agreement, his blue eyes intense as they meet yours in the mirror. "Perfect," he adds, his deep voice sending a thrill down your spine.
You barely recognize yourself in the reflection. The woman staring back at you looks ethereal, alluring, and undeniably primed for something momentous. Your skin seems to glow, your eyes bright and intense. The contrast between your polished appearance and the aching, unfulfilled desire still thrumming through your body is stark.
Steve’s hand trails down your arm, sending goosebumps across your skin. "It's time," he says softly.
Natasha nods, moving to open the door. "We'll escort you to the ritual site."
Your heart races as you follow them out of the room and down the hallway. The sounds of the party below have faded, replaced by an eerie quiet. As you descend the grand staircase, you notice the mansion seems deserted.
They lead you through the back of the house and out onto the grounds, and you can hear the music and voices of the party again. The full moon hangs low and heavy in the sky, bathing everything in silvery light. The air is thick with the scent of night-blooming flowers and something else - something heady and primal that makes your pulse quicken.
You walk in silence, but the party sounds grow as you progress. This path is nearly the same one you took in the daylight with Natasha, though that tour seems laughably long ago.
Steve and Natasha are holding hands as they walk ahead of you, and it’s so easy and natural between them it’s clear that it’s nothing new. They had given no hint of intimate involvement during the day, but it doesn’t surprise you now, given the time spent with them in your room. You’re not surprised but impressed by their professionalism and intrigued by what kind of relationship they have. But you will ask questions later. Sometimes you get chatty and ramble when your nervous, other times you grow quiet. In this case, it’s the latter, nerves mounting the closer you get to the gathering.
As you approach the event, the soft glow of lanterns illuminates the scene. The party is set in the garden the borders the hedge maze. Dozens and dozens of strings of twinkling lights are woven across the garden, creating a magical canopy overhead. The music, a haunting melody played by a double string quartet, seems to pulse in time with your heartbeat.
The three of you enter the clearing and a few heads turn in your direction. You feel their eyes on you, appraising and curious. There are soft murmurs and appreciative glances, but for the most part, the party continues uninterrupted. Your arrival was expected, anticipated.
Steve and Natasha lead you through the clusters of guests. The guests are an eclectic mix of people, all dressed in various shades of midnight blue and black. To your left, a group of women in flowing gowns adorned with constellations of sparkling crystals sway to the music, their movements fluid and hypnotic. Their faces are painted with swirling patterns of silver and gold that catch the moonlight, making them look otherworldly.
On your right, a man in an elaborate mask shaped like a raven's head is engaged in an animated conversation with a woman whose dress seems to be made entirely of peacock feathers. The feathers rustle softly as she moves, creating an illusion of constant motion.
You pass by a table laden with exotic fruits and delicacies. Your eyes dart from face to face, searching for the one you've yet to meet - James Barnes, the enigmatic founder. But he's nowhere to be seen among this gathering.
As you weave through the crowd, Steve's posture suddenly light shifts, more purposeful as he’s spotted whoever he was looking for. He guides you and Natasha towards a towering figure standing near the edge of the gathering. When you draw close enough, you realize it's Thor, the Nordic god of thunder himself. His golden hair is pulled back in intricate braids, and he's dressed in a midnight blue suit that seems to shimmer with an otherworldly energy. A cape of deep crimson drapes over one shoulder, the only red among those gathered.
Steve and Thor clasp forearms in greeting, their smiles warm and familiar. "Steven," Thor declares, his voice rich and resonant. "It's good to see you."
Thor's piercing blue eyes then land on you, and his smile widens. "Ah, and this must be the elim. I’ve been hearing the whispers from the others about you.”
You feel a flutter of nerves at Thor's words. The term "elim" is unfamiliar, but the way he says it makes it clear it refers to you and your role in tonight's events.
Natasha's hand rests reassuringly on your lower back as she addresses Thor. "Yes, this is her. We've been preparing her for the ritual."
Thor's gaze is intense as he looks you over, but there's also a warmth in his blue eyes that puts you slightly at ease. He takes your hand in his massive one, bowing slightly to brush his lips against your knuckles. "It is an honor to meet you, little one. You have been chosen for a great purpose."
Even though you’re unsure of that, you somehow manage a small smile, heart in your throat, your voice barely above a whisper as you reply, "Thank you."
You feel warmth creep up your cheeks as Thor's intense appraisal continues. His eyes linger on the flower crown adorning your head, and his smile deepens.
"The Luna's Tears suit you well," he says, his voice warm and approving. "They only shimmer for those who are worthy."
"Thor, we're honored you could join us tonight," Natasha says, her tone respectful but familiar.
Thor inclines his head slightly. "I wouldn't miss it. It's been far too long since I've attended one of James' rituals." His eyes twinkle with mischief as he adds, "And I must say, he's outdone himself this time."
You swallow hard, unsure if you should feel flattered or terrified by his words.
Thor finally releases your hand and looks between Steve and Natasha. "Is everything ready?" he asks.
Steve looks toward the entrance of the hedge maze and apparently finds what he’s looking for because he answers, “Yes. Let’s go.”
Thor pulls out a silver knife with a gleaming golden handle set with rubies and uses it to clink the glass in his hands, calling for everyone’s attention. A hush immediately falls over the gathering. The music fades away, replaced by an expectant silence. You feel the energy in the air shift, becoming charged with anticipation.
A sudden gust of wind whips through the grounds, causing the trees to rustle.
"The time has come," Thor announces.
Thor begins to stride toward the hedge maze. Your heart races as Steve and Natasha each take one of your arms, gently guiding you through the parting crowd.
As you move through the garden, you notice a path has formed, lined with guests holding glowing orbs of soft blue light. The orbs pulse gently, like heartbeats, casting an ethereal glow over the proceedings.
Once you reach the entrance to the maze, Thor stops and turns around, and the three of you stop as well.
“The full moon is nearing its ascent to its highest point. We now send the elim and her guardians through the labyrinth for ritual presentation, and all those who gather here are invited to follow in that procession to pay respect and witness the might and wonder of him who fell.”
You stiffen at his words, and Natasha’s eyes dart to your face, registering the resurgence of your reticence. Steve touches your arm, trying to calm you. Thor holds out an orb for your party.
Steve takes the glowing orb from Thor, its soft blue light illuminating his chiseled features. He nods to Natasha, and they gently guide you forward into the entrance of the maze. The hedges loom high on either side, their leaves rustling softly in the night breeze. The path before you is narrow, barely wide enough for the three of you to walk abreast.
As you take your first steps into the maze, you’re enveloped in a different kind of quiet, an eerie silence broken only by the soft crunch of gravel beneath your feet and the rustling of clothing as the three of you move. The scent of night-blooming jasmine and moonflowers wafts around you, intoxicatingly sweet.
The maze seems to come alive as you progress deeper. Fireflies dance among the hedges, their gentle glow adding to the otherworldly atmosphere. The maze twists and turns, each corner revealing new wonders as you move through it, the hedges rustling and whispering secrets you can't quite understand. You feel as though you're walking further and further from reality into a mystical space carved out of time. With each step, you feel a strange energy building, as if the very air is charged with anticipation.
It’s only when Steve and Natasha guide you around a corner only to be met with a wall of hedge that you realize their knowledge of the pathways is impressive since you had not hit any dead ends up until that moment.
And yet as they both stop and release your arms, you sense this is no mistake.
“We’ll wait here until the procession goes past,” Steve explains. “You enter the maze first, but you arrive at the ceremony last.”
“How are you feeling?” Natasha asks, studying your face in the faint luminescence from the orb as Steve pitches it on its spike into the ground.
You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. The question feels loaded, impossible to answer fully. Your emotions are a swirling tempest of fear, anticipation, lingering arousal, and something else you can't quite name.
"I'm... overwhelmed," you admit softly. "Everything feels surreal, like a dream I can't wake up from."
Natasha nods, her hand coming to rest on your cheek. "That's normal," she assures you. "The first time is always intense."
Steve steps closer, his presence both comforting and intimidating. "Remember," he says, his voice low and soothing, "you were chosen for a reason."
You nod, not trusting yourself to speak. Their words calm you slightly, but your heart still races.
The sound of approaching footsteps and hushed voices reaches your ears. The procession is getting closer.
Natasha's hand moves to your neck, her thumb tracing soothing circles over your pulse point. "Breathe," she murmurs.
The approaching footsteps grow louder, and you can make out snippets of hushed conversation as the procession starts to pass by your hidden alcove. The soft glow of the orbs they carry casts dancing shadows on the hedge walls.
Steve steps closer and lifts your chin to look into his eyes. “Don’t focus on them.”
“She’s getting worked up,” Natasha says, a frown on her face.
It only jars you further. “What am I supposed to focus on?” you hiss.
Steve's eyes lock with yours, intense and unwavering. "Focus on us," he says softly. "On what we did. How we made you feel."
Natasha's hand slides down your neck to your collarbone, her touch feather-light. "Remember how it felt when we touched you," she murmurs, her lips brushing your ear. "How your body responded to us."
Their words and touches send a shiver through you, reigniting the embers of arousal that had been smoldering since your time in the bedroom. Steve's hand cups your face, his thumb tracing your bottom lip. Natasha's fingers dance along your clavicle then dip beneath the neckline of your chemise.
"That's it," Steve encourages as your breathing quickens. "Let yourself feel it again."
Natasha's free hand slides down your side, coming to rest on your hip. She squeezes gently, the pressure grounding and thrilling you. Steve kisses you for a brief moment, and your eyes slip closed. His tongue teases the seam of your lips, and you open for him. He licks into your mouth and draws a moan from you, but then he’s turning your chin and Natasha’s lips take over, continuing the kiss.
The sounds of the procession begin to fade into the background as you lose yourself in the sensations Steve and Natasha are creating. Their hands roam your body, reawakening the desire they had stoked earlier. Natasha's lips move from your mouth to your neck, nipping and sucking at your pulse point. Steve's large hand cups your breast through the thin fabric of your chemise, his thumb brushing over your nipple.
You gasp, arching into their touches. The fear and anxiety that had been building dissipates, replaced by a heady mix of arousal and anticipation. Your body thrums with renewed need, the ache between your thighs intensifying.
"That's it," Steve murmurs, his voice low and husky.
Natasha's hand slips beneath the high slit of your dress, her fingers tracing teasing patterns on your inner thigh. You shiver at her touch, your breath coming in short gasps.
Steve's lips replace Natasha's on your neck, his beard scraping deliciously against your sensitive skin. His hand moves from your breast to your lower back, pulling you flush against him. You can feel his arousal pressing against your hip, and it sends a jolt of heat straight to your core.
"Remember how it felt when we opened you up," Natasha whispers, her fingers inching higher. "How desperate you were for more."
You whimper softly, your hips rocking involuntarily, seeking friction. Steve's hand slides down to cup your ass, squeezing firmly.
"Just like that," he encourages. "Let yourself want it. Crave it.”
Then he’s withdrawing and Natasha moves in, pressing deliciously into you, cupping your face in her hands, and re-capturing your lips in fiery kisses.
The thin silks of your chemise and her dress leave very little barrier between your chests, and the way your breasts press together is tantalizing, and you clutch at her shoulders.
When she throws her head back and groans, breaking off your kiss, your eyes flutter open slowly at first, then widen as you register why she’s had such a strong reaction.
Natasha's moan of pleasure rings in the small alcove as Steve presses up behind her, his large hands gripping her hips. You watch, transfixed, as Steve slowly pushes into her from behind, his muscular body caging both of you against the hedge. Natasha's silk dress is bunched around her waist, leaving her lower half exposed.
Steve's eyes lock with yours over Natasha's shoulder, dark with desire. He begins to move, his hips rolling in a slow, deliberate rhythm. Each thrust pushes Natasha further against you, her breasts pressing into yours through the thin fabric of your chemise and her dress.
Natasha's hands move down to clutch at your hips, her nails digging in slightly as she braces herself. Her breath comes in short, sharp gasps against your neck. You can feel the vibrations of her soft moans against your belly. Then Steve’s hands join hers on your hips, and they’re both holding you while he fucks her, the grinding and friction maddening.
Your body thrums with renewed arousal as you watch Steve and Natasha, feeling the echoes of their pleasure through their shared contact with you.
Natasha's lips find yours again, her kiss hungry and demanding. You taste her soft moans as Steve's thrusts grow more forceful. His large hands grip your hips tighter, pulling you closer, sandwiching Natasha between your bodies.
"Please," you whimper against Natasha's mouth, unclear yourself of what would truly satisfy you. Release? To join them fully? For this exquisite torture to never end?
Steve's deep chuckle sends shivers down your spine. "Not yet," he growls, his voice rough with exertion.
Natasha’s lips leave yours abruptly, but it’s clearly to keep control as Steve continues fucking her, curling her head into the crook of your neck, panting and moaning as Steve picks up the tempo of his thrusts.
Once she seems to harness the moment again, her lips trail along your jaw to your ear. "Remember how it felt when Steve's fingers were inside you," she whispers, her breath hot against your skin. "How full you were, how desperately you wanted more."
You whimper at her words, fingers curling against the two lovers in front of you.
“You want to be filled, don’t you?” she taunts, and you gasp as her fingers slip inside you.
Her head is still nestled against your neck, her hot breath tickling your skin.
“You want to explode with pleasure,” she continues, her voice husky and raw with desire.
You nod eagerly, craving any kind of relief.
Her fingers slip inside your slick channel and don’t thrust, but she curls them against the spot at the front of your walls that makes you keen, stroking in time with Steve’s thrusts. Steve has hands on both of you now, one on Natasha’s hip as he continues to fuck her from behind, the other on your waist as he guides you impossibly closer.
“How wet is she?” he asks Natasha, though his eyes are locked on yours.
“She’s dripping and desperate,” she murmurs against your neck, then presses an open-mouthed kiss there.
Your eyes flutter closed, and you can only clutch at Natasha’s waist, at Steve’s forearm, legs unsteady, as the elements - their words, her fingers, his grip, the forceful rocking of her body against yours, her lips, his eyes on you - pitch you higher and higher.
“You’re ready to experience the satisfaction of becoming one with a mate, aren’t you?” she whispers.
You stop breathing at those words.
Mate?
They’ve said nothing about mates.
Your eyes tear up at the assertion, and you stiffen, heart constricting.
But instantly Natasha throws her head back in a silent scream, shuddering in the ecstasy of her orgasm. It’s good that you aren’t expected to move, because you can’t, still reeling from her last statement. But you’re not wholly unaffected as you watch her come apart for Steve. He holds her hips with both hands now and ruts furiously into her, biting against her shoulder as he cums with a groan. You swear they seem to glow in their orgasmic state, but your own sight is tinged with so much desperate haze, you’re sure it’s only a trick of the moonlight.
They indulge for another moment in the wake of each other, but then they are quick to recompose themselves, Natasha withdrawing her fingers from your cunt, Steve thumbing away a tear from your cheek that you didn’t know had escaped.
As Steve and Natasha readjust their clothing, you stand there trembling, overwhelmed by what you've just witnessed and experienced. Your body still thrums with unfulfilled desire as your mind races with questions and uncertainties.
Natasha notices your trembling even before you do. She reaches out, her hand gently cupping your cheek. "Shh, it's alright," she soothes, her thumb brushing away another tear.
Steve steps closer, his large hand coming to rest on your lower back. "The wait is over," he says softly, his deep voice rumbling through you. "It's time."
Steve retrieves the delicate glass orb, and then they guide you forward, out of the alcove and back onto the main path of the maze. Steve and Natasha flank you on either side, their presence the one constant in all of this, though it’s been both comforting and disconcerting. The air feels different now, charged with an energy that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. The scent of night-blooming flowers is ever-present. Your heart races as you take in the subtle changes around you. The hedges seem taller, more imposing. The path stretches before you, lit by the soft glow of scattered orbs.
The sound of humming grows with each step that brings you closer. As you round the final corner of the maze, a clearing comes into view. The space is circular, enclosed by towering hedges that seem to reach towards the starry sky. In the center stands a large stone altar, bathed in moonlight.
Surrounding the altar are dozens of people, all dressed in shades of midnight blue and black. They form a tight circle, standing shoulder to shoulder, all their faces now hidden behind ornate masks.
Your heart races as Steve and Natasha guide you towards the altar. With each step, the inevitability of what’s coming presses in around you, though you still have so little of the scope of what to expect. All eyes are on you.
NEXT PART: OFFERING
Well... I told you there was a little more than just smut this chapter, but *wipes brow* I don't know about you, but I'm a bit 🥴 after the way Steve and Natasha just
well
yeah
*takes a cold shower*
SEE YOU NEXT CHAPTER!
↠ 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: eventual Bucky x curvy Millennial Female!Reader, Natasha Romanoff x reader, Natasha Romanoff x reader x Steve Rogers
Word Count: 3.2k
Summary: The cards are out on the table - they intend for you to be the offering tonight. Natasha promised she would get you ready, and she may have evaded giving you all the information you wanted leading up to this moment, but she hasn't lied to you at any point...
SERIES Content Warnings: SOFT!DARK STORY, cult themes, explicit smut, dubious consent and enthusiastic consent, veiled truths, gaslighting, sleeping drugs
↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest
You take in a deep, shaky breath. You know you’re clearly out of your depth on this. The only thought you can grip to in your mind to keep you from screaming or crying or throwing up is that Natasha wouldn’t be so insistent about the contractually bound agreement you signed if there wasn’t some sort of reality to the situation she got you to sign your name to.
Right?
"Now will you let me finish preparing you for the ritual?" Natasha asks as her hand glides softly from your shoulder up your neck. She brushes her thumb over your cheek.
You hesitate but know there’s nothing that will come of delaying this. “Yes,” you whisper.
“Good girl,” she says.
Natasha's thumb moves from your cheek to your mouth. Her touch is feather-light as she runs the pad of her thumb across your bottom lip, the gesture both intimate and possessive. You feel a shiver run through you, a mix of fear and something else you can't name.
"Breathe," she murmurs, her voice low and soothing.
You inhale deeply, the scent of her perfume - something floral and spicy - filling your senses. The room seems to fade away around you, narrowing down to just this moment, the sounds of the party down below providing a strange undercurrent to the intensity of what’s happening.
Natasha's thumb continues its slow exploration of your lips, applying just enough pressure to part them slightly. Her eyes are fixed on your mouth, her gaze almost hypnotic. You find yourself leaning into her touch, your body operating on pulls and urges because you can’t think, don’t want to think.
Natasha's thumb presses gently against your parted lips, and without thinking, you allow it to slip into your mouth. Your tongue instinctively curls around it, tasting the faint salt of her skin. A soft gasp escapes you as you realize what you're doing, but you don't pull away. Instead, you find yourself sucking gently, your eyes locked with Natasha's.
Her pupils dilate, her breath quickening almost imperceptibly. The air between you feels charged, electric. Time seems to slow, each second stretching out like honey dripping from a spoon.
You're acutely aware of every sensation - the silky texture of Natasha's skin against your tongue, the faint scent of her perfume, the warmth radiating from her body so close
Slowly, so slowly, she leans in, her lips hovering just millimeters from your own. She withdraws her thumb from your mouth, and then her lips brush against yours, soft as a whisper. Your eyes flutter closed as she deepens the kiss, her hand moving to cradle the back of your neck. Your towel slips further, forgotten.
The kiss grows more heated, more urgent. You're lost in the sensation, your mind hazy. Natasha's other hand traces down your bare arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake. She pulls you closer, her body pressing against yours.
Your hands find purchase on her hips, fingers digging into the fabric of her dress. She nips at your bottom lip, drawing a soft moan from you. Natasha finds the edge of your towel and tugs gently, forcing it to finally fall away, leaving you bare and vulnerable. But before you can feel self-conscious, Natasha's hands are on your skin, leaving trails of fire in their wake.
"Beautiful," she murmurs against your lips.
Her words send a shiver down your spine. Part of you still wants to resist, to push her away and run. But she steps closer, easing herself between your thighs, opening your core to her.
Natasha's lips trace a path along your jawline and down your neck. Her teeth graze your pulse point, eliciting a gasp. Your head falls back, giving her better access. Her hands roam your body, exploring every curve and plane her touch fueled with what feels like curiosity.
You're lost in a haze of sensation, your body responding to her touch despite your reticence. Natasha's fingers trail lower, skimming across your stomach, dipping between your thighs. You moan softly, your hips rocking against the palm of her hand.
"So responsive," Natasha purrs, her fingers teasing your folds with feather-light touches. "You're going to do so well tonight."
Your breath catches in your throat as Natasha's words cut through the haze of desire. The ritual. The sacrifice. Reality comes flooding back, and you stiffen in her arms.
Natasha senses the change immediately. She pulls back slightly, her green eyes searching your face. There's a flash of something - disappointment? frustration? - before her expression smooths into neutral concern. "What's wrong?" she asks, her voice gentle.
You shake your head, trying to clear the fog of arousal. "I can't… we shouldn't…" you hedge, acutely aware of your nakedness, of how exposed you are.
Natasha takes a small step back, giving you space, but her hands remain on your hips. "It's okay," she soothes. "This is all part of the preparation. Your body needs to be ready for tonight."
A chill runs through you at her words. "Ready for what?”
Instead of answering with words, she reaches for your hand and pulls you across the room, away from the vanity.
Natasha guides you to the bed, her touch gentle but insistent. The plush mattress gives beneath your weight as you sink onto it, your skin prickling with a mix of anticipation and trepidation. Natasha follows, her movements fluid and graceful as she settles on the bed next to you.
Her eyes, green and intense, lock with yours. For a moment, you're frozen, caught in her gaze like a deer in headlights.
She leans in, her lips brushing against yours once more. This kiss is different from before - slower, more deliberate. Her tongue traces the seam of your lips, seeking entry, and you part them with a soft sigh. As her tongue slides against yours, her hand cups your cheek, thumb stroking your skin in soothing circles.
Time seems to stretch and warp as Natasha explores your mouth with languid thoroughness. Her lips are soft but insistent, alternating between deep, probing kisses and lighter, teasing nips. The taste of her - a hint of spice and something uniquely Natasha - seeps into you.
Natasha's kisses grow more insistent, her hand sliding down your neck to your chest. She cups your breast, thumb brushing over your nipple. A soft moan escapes you at the sensation.
Her lips leave yours, trailing along your jaw and down your neck. She nips at your pulse point, soothing the sting with her tongue. Her mouth continues its journey downward, leaving a trail of heat in its wake.
You arch into her touch as she takes your nipple into her mouth, her tongue swirling around the sensitive bud. Her hand kneads your other breast, fingers teasing and pinching.
"Natasha," you gasp, your fingers tangling in her red hair.
She hums against your skin, the vibration sending shockwaves through you. Her free hand strokes down your side, over your hip.
Natasha shifts, pushing you onto your back and hovering over you. Her red hair falls like a curtain around your faces as she looks down at you, her eyes dark with desire. "You're so beautiful," she whispers, her voice husky.
Before you can respond, you hear the soft click of a door softly closing and whip your head up to look around.
Steve Rogers stands there, his imposing figure framed by the doorway. His blue eyes sweep over the scene before him - you, naked and flushed on the bed, with Natasha poised above you.
You instinctively try to cover yourself, but Natasha gently stops you, her hand on your wrist.
"It's alright," she murmurs, her breath warm against your ear. "Steve is here to help prepare you."
Steve approaches the bed, his movements slow and deliberate. He's dressed impeccably in a tailored black suit, his blonde hair neatly combed back. His expression is unreadable as he looks down at you and Natasha.
"How are things progressing?" he asks, his deep voice sending a shiver down your spine.
Natasha leans up, her hand resting on your hip. "We could use your assistance," she replies, and pats the space next to you on the bed.
Steve nods, his eyes zeroing in on you alone as he joins you both. His gaze is intense, predatory as it roams over your exposed body.
Natasha moves so she’s only dominating your right side, propped on one elbow, her body pressed up against yours, her leg resting over your leg. Her finger traces your jaw before she angles your face toward her so she can kiss you again. A whine escapes your throat as you feel Steve settle in on your left side, his large frame dwarfing you. The silk of Natasha’s dress and the wool of Steve’s suit teasing and torturing your skin in contrast, the power dynamic clear as you’re the only one exposed.
Steve’s hand, calloused and warm, comes to rest on your stomach.
Natasha breaks the kiss, her lips trailing down your neck. "Just feel," she murmurs against your skin. She turns your head to Steve, and he takes over plying your mouth with kisses.
Steve's hand begins to move, sliding up to cup your breast. His thumb brushes over your nipple, drawing a soft gasp from you. Then Natasha’s hand moves to claim the other breast, teasing and kneading it, her touch firm but gentle. The contrast between his rough palm and Natasha's soft touch sends a shiver through you. You feel overwhelmed, caught between these two powerful figures.
You’ve never been intimate with more than one partner before, and it’s overwhelming and intoxicating. Steve's lips are demanding against yours, his tongue exploring your mouth with practiced skill. His large hand kneads your breast, thumb circling your nipple until it pebbles under his touch. Meanwhile, Natasha's soft lips trail fire down your neck, nipping and sucking at your pulse point. Her fingers dance across your other breast, featherlight, until she’s suddenly pinching your nipple, and you cry out, the sound swallowed by Steve.
You're lost in a haze of pleasure, your body responding eagerly despite your lingering reservations. A soft moan escapes you as Steve breaks the kiss, his blue eyes dark with desire as he looks down at you.
"So responsive," he murmurs, his deep voice sending shivers down your spine.
Natasha hums in agreement, her breath hot against your ear. "She's perfect, isn't she?"
Steve nods, his hand sliding down your stomach. He doesn’t stop. His fingers trail through the hair between your legs, and then he’s parting your folds, finding you abundantly slick with arousal.
"So wet already," he murmurs against your lips. His finger searches then finds your puffy clit and circles it slowly, teasingly.
You whimper, hips rocking up into his touch.
And then your breath hitches as Natasha's slender fingers join Steve's, both of them exploring your most intimate area. They move in tandem, teasing and stroking, furthering your frenzied state.
Steve's continues circling your clit with deliberate pressure while Natasha's fingers trace your entrance. You moan and writhe beneath them for many deliciously torturous minutes, and then Steve slides a thick finger inside you as well. He begins pumping in and out, while Natasha’s two fingers curl to hit the sensitive spongy spot against the front of your walls. She strokes there insistently while Steve fucks you with his fingers. Your breaths start coming faster and faster, needing more air to stay afloat.
The cries of, “More, more, more,” are insistent, and you realize it’s you who’s asking for it. Your muscles are tightening, your core twisting, just a few more strokes.
You gasp and tremble, teetering on the edge of release. And then you cry out, your body aching with unfulfilled need as Steve and Natasha abruptly pull their hands away, leaving you bereft. A whimper escapes your lips, your hips lifting involuntarily, seeking the friction that's suddenly gone.
"Please," you breathe, barely recognizing your own voice, husky with desire.
Steve and Natasha exchange a look over you, a silent communication passing between them. Then Natasha's cool hand is on your flushed cheek, turning your face towards her.
"Not yet," she soothes, her thumb tracing your bottom lip. "We can’t let you peak too soon.”
Steve nods in agreement. “We need you primed, but not sated. The ritual requires you to be on the edge, eager."
You shudder at their words, a mix of frustration and anticipation coursing through you. Steve places his large hand on your sternum, between your breasts, and it quells you slightly.
You bite your lip, frustration and need warring within you. But another part of your mind, a growing part, is intrigued by this careful orchestration of peaking your pleasure.
Natasha leans down, her lips brushing your ear. "You're doing so well," Natasha murmurs, her breath hot against your ear. "Just a little longer now."
You shiver at her words, your body still thrumming with unfulfilled desire. Steve's hand remains on your sternum, a steady pressure that both grounds you and heightens your awareness of every sensation.
“She’s too tight,” Steve says.
Natasha hums in agreement, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on your hip. "We need to open her up more. She needs to be ready to receive him."
A riple runs through you at their clinical discussion of your body. You feel exposed, vulnerable, yet impossibly aroused.
Steve's hand moves from your sternum to your thigh, gently but firmly spreading your legs wider. "I'll take care of her," he says, his voice low and authoritative.
Before you can process what's happening, Steve shifts down the bed. His broad shoulders settle between your thighs, his breath hot against your most sensitive areas. You gasp as his tongue makes contact, licking a long, slow stripe up your slit.
Natasha's hand cups your cheek, turning your face towards her. "Look at me," she commands softly.
Steve kisses your swollen clit as he eases two fingers into your tight cunt. You moan at the renewed pleasure. Natasha’s lips press against yours again, and you welcome it. Her kisses are intense, passionate, tongue exploring your mouth. Steve establishes a steady rhythm, pumping his fingers in and out, in and out, in and out. When Steve slips a third finger in, you groan, and Natasha releases your mouth, lips trailing down your body, stopping at one of your nipples, which she eagerly begins to suck. As Steve continues to work your cunt, after he pushes those three fingers in, he’s now applying firm pressure as he drags them out, pulling at your walls, stretching you open deftly, deliberately.
Your body trembles under their combined ministrations. Steve's fingers stretch and fill you, his mouth working your clit with expert precision, not escalating there, simply providing a steady stimulation. Natasha's mouth on your breast sends jolts of pleasure through you. It's overwhelming, intense, almost too much to bear.
You're climbing higher and higher, teetering on the edge of release once more. Your hips buck against Steve's face, chasing that elusive peak. But just as you're about to tumble over, Steve slows his movements, easing you back from the brink.
A frustrated whine escapes your throat. Natasha lifts her head, her green eyes meeting yours. "Not yet," she murmurs, her voice husky. "We need you desperate, aching, ready to be filled."
Steve's fingers continue their slow, deliberate movements inside you. He spreads them, stretching you further, preparing you for what's to come. The pressure is intense, bordering on discomfort, but pleasure still thrums through you. Steve's lips alternate between kissing and sucking your clit, keeping you on edge but never giving enough to push you over.
Natasha's hand trails down your body, tracing light patterns over your hip bones and lower stomach that have your nerve endings dialed up even more. "You're doing so well," she murmurs against your shoulder. "It won’t be much longer." Then she starts to lave at your other breast, teasing the nipple with her tongue.
You whimper, your body trembling with need. You feel stretched, open, exposed. Steve's fingers twist inside you, touching places that have never been touched. But it's never quite enough to bring you release.
"Please," you gasp.
Natasha shushes you gently, her hand moving to stroke your head.
Steve slips in a fourth finger, and your back arches, all the breath leaving your lungs. Steve throws his forearm over your hips, banding you back down to the bed, but it doesn’t stop him in his endeavors. His full hand now inside you, he continues the slow, deliberate movements pumping inside you. Once you begin to breathe again, he pushes his ministrations more, spreading his fingers while they’re engulfed in your cunt, stretching you further. You moan openly, your right hand tangling in Natasha’s hair, your left grasping at Steve’s wrist over your hip.
Steve removes his lips from your throbbing clit and presses a kiss to your fleshy inner thigh. "So good," Steve murmurs against your thigh.
Your body trembles uncontrollably as Steve works you open even more, his fingers stretching you wider than you've ever been. The sensation teeters on the edge between pleasure and pain, overwhelming in its intensity. Natasha's mouth on your breast and her soothing hand stroking your head grounds you, keeping you from floating away entirely.
"That's it," Steve says, his breath hot on your sensitive skin. "You're taking it so well."
His praise sends a shiver through you, stoking the fire burning low in your belly. You feel impossibly full, stretched to your limits, yet still aching for more. Your hips rock against Steve's hand, seeking that last bit of friction to push you over the edge.
But Steve keeps you balanced there, right on the precipice. His movements are careful, deliberate, designed to open you up without allowing release. You whine, and Natasha chuckles.
"Please," you rasp again, not even sure what you're begging for anymore. Release? For them to stop? For more?
Natasha lifts her head from your breast, her green eyes meeting yours. "Just a little more," she whispers. There's a mix of sympathy and something darker in her gaze.
Steve continues to play with your pussy while you whimper and moan, until finally his movements slow, his fingers still buried deep inside you. "I think she's ready," he says, his voice low and husky.
Natasha nods, her eyes never leaving yours. "She's perfectly primed."
Steve slowly withdraws his fingers, leaving you feeling achingly empty. You whimper at the loss, your hips lifting involuntarily, seeking that fullness again.
Natasha strokes your cheek soothingly. "Shh, it's alright," she murmurs. "You've done so well. It's almost time now."
Steve moves up the bed, his large frame looming over you. He cups your face gently, his blue eyes intense as they search yours. "How do you feel?" he asks, his voice low and gentle.
You struggle to find words, your mind hazy with unfulfilled desire. "I... I don't know," you manage to whisper. "Empty. Aching. I need..."
"We know," Natasha coos. She plants soft kisses to the swells of your breasts.
“That’s just how we want you,” Steve affirms.
They continue to kiss and touch you, gentle and soothing, but still with hints of heat.
"What happens next?" you finally manage to ask, almost no tremble in your voice.
Steve's blue eyes lock with yours, intense and unreadable. "Now, we get you ready for the ritual."
NEXT PART: PROCESSION
Well. I said this chapter was all smut. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
But what comes next?? And are you anywhere close to ready? (Reader and/or you mwahaha.)
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