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[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Grey Skies 1

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as power imbalance, violence, criminal activity, noncon/dubcon, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your husband starts working for Tommy Shelby but when he goes missing, you find yourself drawn into the shady business of Birmingham's most dangerous.

Characters: Tommy Shelby

Note: I think this will be a short series. three parts ish.

I welcome and appreciate all feedback. This means replies, reblogs, and asks. I do prefer if you can reblog and share my work along with your thoughts. <3

Please check my pinned post for more information on my blog, stories, and asks!

Do one kind thing for yourself today and take care.💖

"Oi, big boss is comin' tonight." Stuart hollers from the front door as he clamours in.

You grab the cloth from your apron belt and dry your hands as you cross the small kitchen. You peek out onto the entryway as he takes out his pocket watch, the old thing dented on the back. Your father gave it to him on your wedding day. It was still shiny then.

"The boss? Mr. Dugin?" You wonder.

"Ah, lamb, I told ya, Fyodor ain't need me no more. 'sides, this new job's gonna get us outta this old cave. Promise. We'll have a whole second floor and tub you can lay in."

The mud on his boots crumbles off as he steps over the mat.

"Stu," you cross your arms. "I mopped t'day."

He looks down. "Mop again, lamb. What else ya got to do, then?"

"Make an extra plate for your boss, so ya says." You retort with a sigh as he tramps toward you.

You turn away and wave him off as you sense his pursuit. Stuart thinks it's funny to dismiss all you do to keep him comfortable, though you suppose he never thought once if you were comfortable. As you go back to the kitchen, he catches your arm and spins you back.

"C'mon, lamb, give ya husband a kiss." He pulls you toward him.

"Stuart," you chide. "I've got to get the mop."

"Now, then, you gotta pay the dues," he puckers at you, smooching loudly.

You wriggle. He's not letting up and you're not stronger than him. You stare above his head and quickly kiss him. 

"Ah, you can do better," he taunts.

You furrow your brow and look him on the face. "Stuart, really, if your boss is comin', we can't have a dirty floor."

He squeezes you and you squeak. He keeps on until you can't breathe and your ribs are ready to crack. You whimper and quickly press your mouth to his. He growls and bites your lip so you recoil.

"Don't ya be uppity when the man's 'round. He don't stand for it. He a rough man. Serious." Stuart warns and gives you one last cruel squeeze. "I married a nice girl. Sometimes I miss her.”

He lets you go. You resist the urge to rub your middle and cautiously back away. Your husband is a crafty man in his way. Charming, but behind these walls, he morphs into another man.

“I suppose he’ll be by soon, then. I’ll get everything ready,” you say and turn back to the kitchen.

“Make sure ya change ya dress. Man’s got taste.” Stuart adds.

You breathe out your agitation. “I’ll do that too.”

You’ve enough mincemeat for the extra plate. You don’t need too much yourself. You’ve a new tin of tea leaves as well, you hope that will help tide over hungry bellies. With that sorted, you set off to find a different dress.

You wouldn’t say a better dress. You don’t have any of those. Stuart doesn’t splurge on dresses and stockings. You’ve acquired quite a few from neighbours or ladies down at the church. You’re still mending the clothes you had when you got married to keep yourself dressed.

The deep blue cotton dress has a delicate collar. It was Lucille’s. You put it on and grab your apron. You go back to the kitchen and tie it on. You can smell Stuart smoking before you see the puff near the front window.

“Ach, there he be,” he tamps out the cigarette in the tray you just emptied that morning. He left it overflowing with stubs and ashes.

The kettle quakes and you turn off the burner before it can whistle. Your nerves flurry. You wouldn’t say people make you nervous, it’s only that you don’t get out much more than visits to the grocer or the church. Stuart didn’t like it when you went to the socials; even if you were just sewing and chattering.

The door opens as you pull out the faded china cups. The creaky frame groans. Your husband claps.

“Mista Shelby!” He greets emphatically. “Wife’s got dinner on.”

There’s a sniff and hum. You can hear the derision with just that. You realise it’s upon you to act hostess. You’ve not done that in years.

You go to the entry way.

“Good evening, sir,” you say as you enter. “Er…” You look at Stuart.

“Mr. Shelby, this is the wife.” Your husband explains.

You get barely a flick of the blue eyes of the man in his cap and finely tailored coat. You fold your hands and slowly near.

“Might I take your jacket and hat? Tea’s almost ready, Mr. Shelby.” You offer.

That’s when the man really looks at you. He tilts his head and his eyes skim over to your husband. He nods and removes his hat, tidying the dark strands beneath, the silver catching yellow tinge of the aged bulbs.

He hands over his coat and cap and you hang them on the rack. Your husband's coat is on the rickety stool next to the tall rack. You pick it up and hang it too.

“Right then, I’ll get that tea.” You back up. “Milk? Sugar?”

Mr. Shelby runs his hand down his lapel. “A touch of milk, ma’am. Thanks.”

“Ah, ain’t she nice?” Stuart chirps. “Come, Mr. Shelby. I’ve got a grand idea. Grand indeed. I told yer brotha ‘bout it.”

“Mm, I believe he was deep in his bottle.” Mr. Shelby remarks.

You retreat and your husband leads your guest into the house. You swelter in doubt and self-awareness. You keep the place tidy and yet, it’s hard to make the ripply wall paper and splintering old boards anything but ratty. Well, it’s not on you. Stuart gave you no warning.

You pour the tea. Sugar and milk for Stuart, just a splash of milk for Mr. Shelby, and you’ll be too busy for any of your own. You bring out the cups on saucers you have to wipe the dust from. 

You clink them down on the round tables next to the rigid back chair Shelby claimed and the sofa where your husband perches on the edge. The former thanks you, the latter ignores you. You nod and once more disappear back into domesticity.

“I already take a cut down that row,” Shelby’s voice comes firm.

“Yes, Mr. Shelby, but ya see, there’s things they’re hidin’ from ya. Things I know about.” Stuart insists. You know those things; the card tables where he loses the money you could use to fill the larder. “Ain’t you got a right to gamblings and all?”

“Gambling?” Mr. Shelby echoes warily. There’s a lull, the concentrated force of breath through tight lips, then a slow sip.

“I’m tellin’ ya, sir. You’re the boss and there’s people out there don’t be actin’ like y’are,” Stuart continues. You cringe. You don’t condone the men gaming in backrooms but you know better than to rat them out.

“Hm.” Mr. Shelby drones. He’s quiet a moment. “Ma’am,” his voice grits. You turn as you hold a knife above the mincemeat. “Tea’s lovely. But please,” he stands. “Save the pie. I’ve got business elsewhere.”

He nears with the cup and saucer in hand. It’s empty to your surprise. He steps close and sets it on the counter.

“Forgive my intrusion. I don’t often a chance to sit for supper.” He dips his chin. “I do wish I could stay and indulge. It does look tasty.”

“I could send you off with a piece,” you offer.

His cheek dimples and his brows ease above his bottomless blue eyes. “You’re a fine woman. That’s very kind of ya. Perhaps another day I’ll have a bite.”

He offers what could be a smile, a twitch of the lips, and turns away. He clears his throat and nods at your husband. “Stuart. Meet me down the row, tomorrow. We’ll figure it out.”

“Sir,” your husband’s hand shakes, as if he might salute.

“Good evening,” Mr. Shelby glances over his shoulder at you then promptly twists around to stride out.

You don’t move as you listen to his footsteps. He stops to gather his coat and cap. The door grinds open and closed. Your husband sighs.

“Man like him don’t like mincemeat, you old hen.” He chides. “He eats them French tartars and the like.”

You frown. “I’m sorry, husband, I didn’t have time–”

“I’ve not time or energy for you, eh, lamb. I’ve got business. Big business.” He rubs his palms together. “And when’s I get the money, you’ll be cooking me more’n your bloody pies.”

🖤

As any day, you see Stuart out in the morning. He has his breakfast of rye, eggs, and peameal. He leaves a mess around his plate and only wipes his chin when you offer him a handkerchief. You get his coat and his boots. He yammers on about Mr. Shelby as he ties them.

You watch him go out the door and shut it after him. He should’ve never left the factory. Ever since, he’s been floating around, convinced he’ll find some trove of good fortune. You thought of getting a job but the suggestion alone had him stomping your foot ‘by accident’.

You go about your day. Sweeping up cigarette ash, airing out the stale smell of tobacco, plumping the flattened cushions. You clean up after his breakfast and have a bowl of porridge to yourself.

You work at fixing the seam in his trousers as the time sifts by. You go out the yard to scour and wring out the laundry and hang it on the line. You sit out under the gloomy sky for a while then go back inside.

Stuart should be home soon. You’ll finish the mincemeat with some potatoes. You ready the food in the fussy old stove. You wait and wait and wait. He’s late. It’s not unusual.

He doesn’t return before you take the laundry down and fold it away. You leave the entryway light on and retire to the bedroom. Alone. Without him snoring, you fall asleep quickly.

You wake up the same. By yourself. In silence.

You get up and search the small one-floor townhome. He’s not there. You even call his name despite the fact there’s nowhere to hide. He’s not on the steps out front nor in the shared back lot with laundry lines and rubbish bins.

You’re sure he only had more business than he intended. This Mr. Shelby seems the important type. Surely, he must’ve been kept at his insistence.

You have your tea and porridge. The house is eerie without your husband stomping around. Usually you long for him to leave but this is… different.

You’ve less to do without him there. You will have the rest of the mincemeat yourself but be sure to have something fresh for him when he comes in. A hearty stew will do for the week.

You watch the rain through the window as the sky churns. The day is as dark as the evening. The only marker of the change are the hands on the clock. Your husband still doesn’t return. Now you worry.

You wait for the rain to slow. You go out in an old wool coat to knock on the door three down from your own. Harry’s in but he hasn’t seen Stuart. Same with Danny. Stu’s not been around.

The next day, you venture down to the river where Fyodor Dugin runs his business. He shakes his head when you ask about Stuart and mutters in Russian. You don’t linger as you sense his irritation.

You set off back home but stop halfway. You turn off and count the handful of pence in your purse. It’s meant for milk and butter. You pay the street trolley to take you down to the place called the Row.

The people there are grey and reticent. The women hide behind their doors and the children eye you like a hawk would a mouse. A man in a cap similar to Mr. Shelby’s spits tobacco onto the dirt.

You shiver and cross your arms. You address him. “Pardon me, erm, you wouldn’t happen to know a Mr. Shelby?”

The man scoffs. “Which one?”

You hesitate. “Um, black hair… er…”

“Tommy?” The man cackles and shakes his head. “Go home, lady.”

You sigh as the man waves you off and saunters away. A kid tossing pebbles at a broken barrel pipes up. 

“Miss? You looking for Tommy Shelby?”

You turn and nod. His socks are pulled to his knees, stains down the left one, and his cap is just like the man who told you to go home.

“You got money?” He asks.

“Not much.” You frown.

“Two pence and I’ll tell ya where to find the man.”

You look around. You curl your shoulders and cautiously reach into your purse. You use two fingers to open your coin purse and pluck out the coins blindly. You hand it over.

“Down at the Garrison,” the boy says. “He’ll be around sometime.”

“Thank you,” you back up and sense something behind you.

You turn as three other boys approach. The one who helped you tosses a handful of rocks at them.

“Oi, git on!” He hops up and comes up beside you.

The boys scramble away. You turn to the boy as he hollers at them not to look back.

“Thank you,” you say.

“That’ll be two more pence.” He rubs his fingers together.

[biteofcherry]

Pit of Hell

dark Alpha!Ari Levinson x omega female reader

summary: You only wanted to go one level deeper into the circles of Inferno. Just one step to secure yourself a stable life. But you're unexpectedly thrown into the lowest level. The pit of hell itself. Where a beast awaits.

warnings: dark!Ari; A/B/O; secret society; semi-dystopian; heavy dub-con; coercion; entrapment; power imbalance; breeding kink; virginity kink; rough sex; dacryphilia; branding; light exhibitionism (forced); degradation; very light blood kink (in reference to virginal blood); oral (m receiving); forced deep throating; dirty talk; no knotting

word count: 7k

Author's Note: I gave you some options in the polls and the results were... meh? Lol, I mean I always love Alpha Ari and breeding is forever my on brand kink, but honestly it was just a little disappointing, because I already have alpha Ari with a breeding kink. So I had to come up with something new. Something interesting. And it steered me toward really dark waters 🫢 What you should be aware of, is that I made it a different kind of Alpha/Beta/Omega universe. I made it semi-dystopian, where the dynamics and physiological details usually associated with the omegaverse are extinct. Or are they...? 👀

As I was writing it, thoughts of making it into a series and introducing more dark Alphas appeared. So it's officially the first installment in the universe called Inferno. Aaand I may have already decided on who the other animals are and how depraved they will be 👀

Special shout out and thanks to @buckets-and-trees for dancing with me around the fire of secret society trope and to @stargazingfangirl18 for whoreheartedly supporting the most unhinged list of warnings

Ari Levinson Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Heart pattering, you looked at the glass case filled with rows of colorful cards. Most were gone already, but the one you waited for at the moment was still there. And was about to end up in your hand. 

Magenta. 

While colours used to be rather indifferent to you, being accepted into Inferno taught you to crave certain shades. Not for their pretty looks, but because each was a key.

Inferno was officially named a private club, but was in fact the only place Omegas were able to earn exorbitant sums of money. Well, not exorbitant if seen from the Alphas point of view, but considering how the crumbled society worked it was the best an Omega could make in the broken world. 

Different kinds of service were expected of Omegas at each level of the Inferno. The first circle of the so-called hell was for simple waitressing and it paid the lowest. If an Omega was accepted by the Inferno, they started at that level and had to prove themselves to be allowed into another floor. 

For the past eight months you rolled your hips in the third circle where Omegas were dancing on platforms and in cages, while the Alphas carried their business meetings, or leered at them without being allowed to touch. 

You were about to exchange your blue key card for the magenta one, descending into another level where the dances would be private, with some touching allowed. It meant the standard paycheck would be higher, plus the tips you might earn from any Alpha who asked for a dance from you. And those tips wouldn’t be in money only, but also certain passes or favors that were incredibly valuable in the cold, harsh world. 

Days of cushioned lives that Omegas led once upon a time were long forgotten. They sounded like fairytales when compared to the harsh reality of the past century. Omegas were at the bottom of the food chain now. Not even coveted as much by the Alphas as they used to be. Very few were swooped up and mated, most going through their lives scrambling to stay afloat and perhaps meet a nice, hardworking beta to form a relationship with. 

As you waited for Astoria (the woman who was possibly the most powerful Omega in the city, since she was the one managing Inferno and the Omegas working in it), your eyes scanned the colourful cards behind a reinforced glass case. 

Magenta was your goal from the very first time you were explained the rules of this place. For now, any colour assigned to deeper levers was too scary, because they meant less control over what happened to you. For example, the red that was appointed for the fifth level meant limited sexual acts. 

You didn’t want that. Even if the paycheck would make your life so much more comfortable. 

As much as you recoiled from the prospect of deeper circles of hell, you couldn’t help your gaze zeroing in on the single golden keycard. It was displayed in that glass cage at the very top, purposely making the lowest circle of hell appear as the highest advance. 

Neither the introduction to the club rules, nor the rumour mill among the Omegas gave away what happened on that level. 

Since from levels six to eight Omegas were giving their bodies for all sorts of sexual play, each more debauched and scary, you couldn’t even imagine what happened in the darkest pit. It was too terrifying to even think about. 

“It’s best you not consider earning it.” Astoria’s smooth, tinkling voice startled your attention away from the glass cage. 

The look she gave you wasn’t a reprimand, but rather a warning. From one Omega to another. 

While Astoria was a strict employer, a stickler for rules, she truly looked out for the Omegas. When you were developing a cold two months ago, she slipped you a package of meds which you wouldn’t be able to get yourself.

“Has anyone ever gotten it?” You asked, nodding toward the golden card. 

“No.” Astoria shook her head, then paused. “Though… There was an incident a year ago.”

“An incident?” You’ve been working at the Inferno for about a year and a half and you haven’t heard of any incident. They had to keep it secret, if there wasn’t even the briefest rumour about it.

“Someone stole it.” Astoria’s voice lowered into a hush. “Reckless girl was too curious for her own good. She wanted to see…”

Your stomach tightened in dread. The complete unknown was more terrifying than if you had an inkling on what could’ve happened to her down there. 

The golden card glimmered enticingly, undoubtedly luring many of the Omegas (especially those who already worked the lowest levels and their boundaries were partially blurred), but your interest in it disappeared immediately. 

“What happened to her?” You asked, nervously picking at the fringes of your white, short dress. 

Astoria opened her mouth, but before she could say anything another voice interrupted.

“She bore the consequences of her actions.”

It was a male voice. Deep, low and smooth in a way that felt like a thick drop of something sweet, like honey, slowly sliding down your body. It licked you with its timbre from your sternum to the valley below your belly button. 

As pleasant as it was, it also scared you with its dangerous potency.

Beside you, Astoria straightened like a string in a violin, her earlier open softness disappearing behind a well practiced mask of professionalism. And obedience, which you never saw in her posture at any other time. 

The man who walked in wasn’t only an Alpha. No, Astoria dealt with those without flinching. But there were Alphas and then there were Alphas. 

The true apex predators. 

There were very few of them, but they were rumored to be able to dominate other Alphas without much effort, as if they were meager Betas. 

“I’d say that her curiosity served Rogers well.” He added with a dark sort of amusement.

Your instincts shook in alarm. Any Alpha insinuating an Omega served them well was repulsive, but when it came from a predator like this one it evoked thoughts of complete ruin, of being forever broken. 

“Mr Levinson.” Astoria politely bowed her head. 

You knew you should drop your gaze down, too, but couldn’t help yourself but look at the Alpha that strode in. 

His big, beefy body was fitting for an Alpha of his power. Everything about him looked thick and imposing, even with the seemingly relaxed stance he presented. Golden rings glinted on his fingers as he combed them through his lush hair. As he swiped his hand over his beard, you saw a glimpse of a bleeding sun tattoo on the back of his hand, ink dripping onto his knuckles. 

When he moved forward, you tensed in fear, finally tilting your chin down and staring at the floor. 

Levinson. It finally ringed in your head with recognition. 

One of the four men owning the Inferno. 

Perhaps, it was more fitting to name them the four horsemen, considering they created this hell. 

“What’s in store for this sweet Snowdrop, Astoria?” Ari asked, circling your shivering form. 

You didn’t dare to ask if the unexpected petname came from your white dress, or because he deemed you so fragile and crushable. 

“She’s worked blue level for the past eight months.” Astoria’s voice was back to her unwavering, professional tone. Detached from any protectiveness or sympathy she might’ve felt for you. “She’s been promoted to magenta, supposed to start tonight.”

Levinson hummed behind you. Though he didn’t lean over, nor touched you, a jolt of unwanted caress slid down your spine. If that Alpha chose to really touch you, not only you wouldn’t be able to fight him off, but your body would give in at the snap of his fingers; that’s how powerful his Alpha aura was to your Omega hindbrain. 

Slowly, Ari circled you again. His gaze swiped over every inch of you, mapping out your curves, each dip and roll. 

When he tucked a finger beneath your chin a hot jolt started your heart into a frenzy. The merest touch, but it filled you with terror. He tilted your chin up, forcing your head to lift and give him a full, unobscured view of your face. 

“No.” He said unexpectedly, releasing you. 

Taking a step back, he turned to Astoria and declared: “She stays on the blue level.” 

Without waiting for any counterargument, he walked out of the office. He knew there would be no arguing. Astoria wouldn’t plead for you. Hell, you wouldn’t plead for yourself. 

Well, inside of you there was this fussy, outraged voice demanding you be given the opportunity, but you also knew that clashing with this Alpha would be like scratching at a wall. If he didn’t find you annoying to the point of breaking your neck, he’d be at least completely unbothered. Merciless. 

Heartless. 

Astoria muttered a quiet sorry, which you welcomed with a small, sad smile. Clutching your blue keycard in your hand, you returned to your former level, telling yourself it was at least something you knew well and felt comfortable with. Besides, you were still employed. That was a big win every day. 

By the time you returned to your home in the early morning hours, you felt calm and content. Yes, there was still the lingering disappointment at being denied promotion, but you anchored yourself to the stability you still had. 

As you walked into your apartment building, you reminded yourself it was the blue level at the Inferno that allowed you to move out of the shitty, very dangerous block you used to live in and into this place. Which still was on the poorer side, but at least the entrance doors were locked and the intendant living on the ground floor was a very sweet, protective Beta who looked out for his tenants. 

You paused, after walking into your small apartment and closing the door. Something felt slightly shifted, as if a streak of something not quite familiar lingered in the air. 

You gulped, clutching your keyes between your fingers as you moved further inside. 

Nothing was moved, not even an inch. There was no one lurking inside as you turned on the lights. Even a few tiny leaves that dropped from your fern were drying on the same spot on the floor. 

You shook your head, accepting that your exhaustion and the unexpected interaction with the most powerful Alpha have simply made you more jumpy. 

Besides, you told yourself as you started taking off your clothes, Jake - the Beta intendant - wouldn’t let anyone break in. He was a sweetheart, but he once kicked the ass of a piece of shit wet cat Alpha who came drunk to harass his ex-girlfriend.

Placated by self-reassurance, you continued your usual routine. Snack, shower, sleep. 

For the next few weeks your life continued the same. At some point you even stopped longingly thinking of the magenta level, though it still popped occasionally into your mind when your knee acted up and reminded you that a doctor’s appointment or physiotherapy would be wonderful, if you could afford it.

Nothing suggested your life was about to change. Not in a big way. 

Until the evening two guards intercepted you at the employees entrance to the Inferno to relay the request that you go into Astoria’s office. Which in itself wouldn’t be much alarming, if they didn’t insist you give them your blue keycard. 

Were you being fired?

With your heart in your throat, you stepped into the office. Into an empty office. Astoria wasn’t inside. However, there was an envelope on her desk propped against a vase with a single white flower, with your name written on the back of the stationary. 

Inside was a simple direction to get into the private elevator. 

Surely, you wouldn’t be given permission and code to that elevator, if she wanted to fire you. Inferno had three elevators to take participants to each level - one was for employees, you included, a second one for the patrons, and the third one was for Astoria and possibly the four owners. 

With trembling fingers, you hit the provided code on the lock and walked into the elevator. The door slid shut behind you silently. Ominous semi-darkness engulfed you. Inside, there were no buttons, no panel to control where the elevator went, no way to stop it, or open it yourself.

There was, however, another envelope with your name on it attached to the wall. 

When you opened it and looked inside, your knees nearly gave away. 

The golden keycard glinted at you.

That one mysterious card, which you learned two months ago was best to never be given. To never desire it. 

“Oh God!” You cried quietly, dropping it onto the floor and huddling in the corner of the small space. 

The elevator was still going down. It felt like being dragged to the literal pit of hell. 

When it finally stopped and the door slid open, you stayed plastered with your back to the elevator wall. Perhaps, if you pretended you weren’t there, if you didn’t step outside, you’d be taken back upstairs. 

But the elevator remained open. Soft, dimmed light of the bottom floor didn’t feel inviting at all. Not to you. 

Long minutes passed and nothing happened. The elevator didn’t close, but also no one barged in to drag you outside. Restlessness increased, pumped by your growing nervousness and fear. You were scared of the rage that could greet you the longer you stayed hidden. And you became more convinced that the elevator wouldn’t be your return to safety. 

Maybe that floor would provide you a different route of escape?

After all, each level had three elevator shafts - private, for guests, and for employees. 

Swallowing nervously, you tried to remember at what angle the other two elevators should be once you entered the floor. If you ran fast towards one of them, you could get yourself to the ground floor and run the fuck outside. 

Your steps were hesitant as you shuffled to the exit and took first glimpses inside the lowest level of the Inferno. What you saw made your heart drop.

It wasn’t a grand, wide space like it was with all the other levels. 

It was a round chamber, with marble floor, stone walls reaching high to an intricate ceiling from which dropped a huge iron chandelier. There was a large round table in the middle of the chamber. Four chairs stood at it like four points on a compass, directing north, south, east and west.

Each chair had a different crest carved on it. 

Lion. Wolf. Bull. Serpent.

No other elevator shafts were visible. Only a closed double door above which a sign ominously warned:

Lasciate ogni speranza, voi ch’entrate.

Abandon all hope, you who enter.

Though you thought your own hope to have evaporated as the elevator descended, the last remnants of it died this very moment. As you stared at the chamber with no visible escape route and the famous words of final doom. 

“Don’t worry, Snowdrop. You won’t be pushed through that door.” 

Your head turned to the side, only now noticing the familiar, imposing silhouette of the Alpha. Ari Levinson was leaning against the wall right next to the elevator, with his arms crossed over his chest and his head tilted to the side as he watched you tether on the edge of the floor. 

“The darkness behind it is not in my tastes,” he explained casually, like he was talking about not being a fan of whiskey compared to red wine. 

“Wh- why am I here?” You asked, twisting your fingers in front of you and eyeing him warily. 

“I didn’t apply for the golden card!” You rushed to express.

“No one does.” Ari shrugged. “Or, well, those who apply don’t ever get it. Only one person before got it, as you know, but that was because she dared to steal it.”

“So why?” You feared hearing horrifying promises of spilled blood in slow, painful murder. 

“Because you lured the beast.” His eyes ignited with dark hunger and you felt the lick of it between your thighs. 

Ari moved and you took an instant step back, slamming your back against the edge of the elevator door frame. But he wasn't prowling your way. Instead, he lazily walked towards one of the chairs. 

The one with the lion crest.

He draped his forearms against the backrest of the chair, intertwining his inked fingers in a loose grip. That's when you noticed the golden glint of his rings, from which one presented a lion's head.

“Four beasts rule this world.” His words could be a fascinating tale, if he wasn't speaking the dark, ugly truth of what laid beneath your reality.

“In Inferno we provide the opportunity for some to sate their desires, but we don't participate. Meetings in this chamber aren't focused on our personal lust, but on deciding whose blood to spill and which power to snatch.”

“However-” he paused to lick his lips and you couldn't help but chase that micromovement. “Each of us has cravings that we know would demand satiating at one point. Hence the golden card. It was never going to be earned. It's decided individually by each of us when to play that card, because it's a game that won't be repeated.”

“Won't be repeated?” You echoed, trembling as the terrifying vision of death loomed over you.

“Meaning, my innocent Snowdrop, that once one of us gets someone down here they never return to their previous life.” 

Tears welled in your eyes, your breath choking on a sob. Your life wasn’t grand, but you still liked it. You wanted it to continue, despite the hardships you endured.

“It means you're mine now.” Ari's voice deepened into a hungry growl. “Your virginity is mine to take and your womb mine to fill with seed.”

His words tipped your world on its axis. A hot wave of shame that his crude words evoked dropped into ice cold dread as you realized the fate he spun for you.

He wasn't going to murder you. But he was about to break you and bind you to him forever. 

“No!” You shook your head, clenching your hands into fists. 

Ari wasn't bothered by your reaction, like he knew it didn’t matter because he'd get what he wanted anyway.

“If it's your poor attempt to lie to me about your innocent state, I'll remind you I have free access to your medical file.” He sent you a knowing look.

Inferno provided Omegas with an annual check up that included gynecological examination. It wasn't because they cared for Omegas, it was to provide clients with the best quality entertainment. If Omega's results turned out bad, they were dropped immediately and left to fend for themselves. 

“If you're fighting the inevitable,” a dangerous smirk curved his lips, “I could give you a good, scary chase and fight. But, honestly, that's not my taste.” 

Slowly, Ari straightened to his full height. He rolled his shoulders and clenched his fingers around the corners of the sturdy, carved chair.

“I want you to give yourself to me. You're going to splay yourself on that table and welcome my fat cock into your tight, virgin cunt.”

Another spike of heat unfurled in your belly and chest, shocking and scaring you more than the Alpha's words did. 

Was his Alpha power influencing you so much, or was there a part of you that wanted his brutal promise to become reality?

“You wanted to get onto magenta level because it pays better.” Ari pointed out. “It's also why a golden card is a mad dream for many. ‘Cause they imagine the paycheck and comfort it could provide for them and their families.”

“But there won't be a one time pay for this. No more paychecks anymore. Instead, you'll have all the care and comforts daily. You'll have that knee of yours checked. Regular physio. Stocked fridge, nice clothes, your sister and her Beta husband's molded apartment dried.”

“All of that for being my good Omega, taking my cock and bearing me children.” 

Your core filled with heat as your mind bent under the weight of filthy images. Trying to shake it away didn’t work. Your usual numbness to Alpha’s presence and your own basic instincts was frayed at the edges, crumbling the more time you stood there trapped with the Alpha. 

What he promised for the doom couldn’t be overlooked, either. If not for your own health, then for your sister. They had a baby who was constantly sick, because of the moldy walls and malfunctioning heat. Levinson had near limitless resources, so fixing someone’s apartment would for him be like spending pocket change.

Unrushed, he moved from behind the chair to stand next to the table. He tapped his fingertips against the painted wooden surface. 

And waited, watching you with all the patience in the world. 

“It’ll happen, Snowdrop.” He said it with no malice, but there was an unyielding force behind it. As calm and soft he appeared to treat you, his darkness wouldn’t recede. No mercy awaited.

“And yes, it will hurt your virgin pussy when I split it on my dick.” You didn’t take your eyes off his face, so you didn’t see how his cock twitched in his pants at the mere thought of breaking you. “But if you make me go there for you and take what I already declared mine, it will hurt more. So be a good Omega and come here.”

You never liked pain. All your struggles, while you dealt with them, never honed you into someone immune to suffering. No, you were still very human and fragile, and if there were ways to limit your pain, you were going to take it. 

So despite sniffling on another sob, you shuffled your feet forward. Tiny step after another. Ari didn’t rush you. Quite the opposite, watching you walk to him heightened his hunger. It was like a foreplay increasing his arousal close to the tipping point. 

“ ‘Atta girl,” he praised when your toes touched his boots. 

Then big, strong hands were gripping your hips and hoisting you onto the table. One gasp of surprise transformed into a yelp when Ari gripped the fabric of your dress and ripped it apart with his bare hands. Your bra followed. Then your underwear. 

You were bared to him completely. Breath quickened and body trembling as he towered over you. 

“Lie back.” Ari ordered.

Your heart pounded in your chest, echo of it resounded in your ears and fingertips, pulsing wilder and wilder. The table beneath you didn’t feel that bad, but it was the Alpha in front of you, devouring you with his gaze that promised bad things happening. 

Bad, scary things, yet still some deep, primitive part of you roused at the prospect. There was an ache low in your belly, making your pussy walls clench as you watched Ari loom over you. 

A jolt made your body spasm when his fingers brushed your naked skin. A tender brush over your knees teasing upwards, along your thighs, over your belly, across your breasts. He skimmed them down again and back up, rousing your body into response beyond your control. 

“Spread your legs.” He growled another command, landing a slap to your thigh when you didn’t comply immediately. 

It was so humiliating. Baring your most intimate part to a ruthless Alpha. 

“Such a pretty pussy,” he splayed his hands on the inside of your thighs and rubbed his thumbs along the outline of your folds. “It’s going to look even prettier hugging my dick.” 

He didn’t outright stimulate your folds or clit, just teased the nerves around. Then his palms smoother upwards, fingers spread wide over the curve of your belly.

“You’ll be so full of me. Grow round with our children.” 

As he looked at your naked body in dark victory and hunger, you trembled at the image of his face glowing in malicious triumph when he stared at your pregnant form. 

Reduced to the object of an Alpha’s wicked desire, yet some deeply hidden satisfaction, almost rusted like a forgotten, ancient treasure, stirred from the shadows. 

Through the past century the designations have crumbled from the once admirable and coveted. As the world turned cold, jaded and brutal, certain traits started disappearing. Like the DNA of the people itself had receded, instead of evolving. Though, perhaps, it was an evolution towards the harsh reality you now lived in. 

Legends of Alphas’ instinct to protect and provide seemed laughable, since you hadn’t met a single Alpha who would even be kind. There were no alluring scents, unless someone soaked themselves in perfume. Ruts and heats have devolved - which was praised as something that rooted out primal behaviors, but on the other hand seemed to turn everyone unresponsive. 

You didn’t need to worry about going into an unexpected heat, or having to splurge on suppressants, but you never felt desired. Nor felt a craving so deep it messed with your own mind.

However, as you laid spread on the table like a sacrifice for the lion, a lick of something heady and scorching hot stirred the latent Omega inside of you. 

As terrifying Ari’s plan for your future sounded, a part of you snuggled into that prospect as if it was a safe cushion in the most luxurious bed. 

“Suck.” Ari tapped your lips with two of his fingers.

Your mouth opened instantly and his digits slid in, pressing against your tongue. Your pupils widened when a shot of intense pleasure zapped through your body and hardened your nipples as Ari’s purred, pleased that you started sucking instinctively.

“Such a good Omega.” He praised. “Keep sucking. You better get them really wet, since it’s going to be the only prep that you get before I give you my cock.” 

With his whole frame being so massive, you could only imagine how proportionate his dick was going to be. It would be a struggle if you were dripping, but with just a brief preparation he was going to tear you. 

“Don’t worry, Snowdrop.” Ari chuckled darkly, slipping his fingers out of your mouth and pressing them against your clit. “I can’t wait to turn you into a soaked mess with my mouth and fingers, but for our first time I want those sweet whines and cries as you stretch painfully around every inch.” 

Circling your clit a few times, to heighten the first stirring of fire, Ari used his other hand to unbuckle his belt and lower the zipper in his pants. He thrust a single digit into your channel, groaning obscenely at the tight resistance. 

“You’re going to feel so fucking good.” He growled, pumping his finger in and out of your pussy a few times.

He withdrew much too soon. You were wet, but definitely not enough for that first slide of cock to be easy. Which Ari evidently loved. His grin was predatory when he pressed the head of his dick at your opening and you couldn’t suppress the sharp whimper at the first inch opening you wide. 

Bracing one hand on your hip, Ari reached his other arm to curl his ringed fingers around the front of your neck. 

Then he began sliding in. 

A firm, languid stroke; merciless against the physical resistance of your inner walls. 

You tensed as the pain increased. It was confusing, too, because you expected excruciating pain. Instead, it was a new kind of suffering that ignited overwhelming, heavy pleasure. Nothing similar to the light, bubbly pleasure you felt when touching yourself. No, this was powerful and scary, but made you crave more. 

Still, tears welled in your eyes as Ari broke into you and rooted himself deeply. Your mouth opened on a helpless cry.

His gaze was hungrily focused on your face, delighted in the shimmer of your tears. But then, as he slowly withdrew, his eyes flicked down to where his cock was easing out of your pussy. 

“Fucking perfect.” He groaned in pleasure at the sight of dark pink smears - your virginal blood mixed with strings of your wetness.

“Your sweet cunt got a first taste of the cock that owns her now.” He pushed back in. “No one else will ever fuck it, or fill it. Only your Alpha.”

“Say it!” The hand on your throat tightened and he snapped his hips into you in a harsh thrust, causing your body to jerk.

“O-” you gasped, tears trickling from the corners of your eyes as pain and pleasure flared low in your belly- “Only you!” 

More tears flew with the next rough thrusts, but they began drying as sensations blurred into something intense and unrecognizable. Ari’s cock was splitting you with each slide, your pussy unable to adjust fully to his size, yet it was becoming addictive. A part of you hoped it would never end, chanting prayers for more torment. More pleasure. More dominance. 

For his cum.

Your pupils blew wide as your pussy clenched around Ari’s cock when that thought unexpectedly echoed in your head. 

“That’s it, Snowdrop.” Ari grunted, fucking you ruthlessly. “Show me how greedy that cunt is for my cock and seed.”

Ari’s sharp bark of laugh resounded at your pitiful whimper when you spasmed around his dick again. Shaking your head side to side (as much as Ari’s grip on your throat allowed), you scratched your fingers against the table. You shouldn’t be feeling like this! There should only be fear and disgust, not a warm fluttering of something soft and vulnerable beneath the primal arousal. 

Was Levinson’s Alpha power truly so apex that it drew out a response from a stagnant, latent particle of your Omega designation? 

On a particular rough thrust, Ari pressed against a spot that had stars bursting under your eyelids. Your body tensed and arched then suddenly the coil was snapping and you were coming with a hoarse cry. 

He fucked you through it, his pace never easing. The hand on your hip moved to splay low on your abdomen, thumb wedging between your folds to torment your clit. The zap of stimulation was borderline painful as you were still quivering in the remnants of climax and it brought more tears. It was too much!

You shook your head. Your fingertips barely reached Ari’s abdomen, your touch more of a caress to him then your attempted fight against the onslaught. 

“Fuck!” Ari groaned, moving his hand away from your clit. But only to use his hands to reposition your legs - placing both of your ankles on his shoulders as he bore more weight onto you.

His fat cock seemed to plunge even deeper and an unexpectedly lewd moan spilled out of your mouth. 

“Your pretty tears turn me on as much as your virgin blood staining my cock.” 

Ari swiped a streak off your temple before wedging his hand between your tightly pressed thighs, again aiming for your swollen clit. His low chuckle at your hitched cry when he started rubbing it anew transformed into grunts of pleasure when your pussy clenched around him so hard he could barely move. 

You thought he was unrestrained before, but your body’s reaction provoked the truly primal, unhinged side of the Alpha.

He snarled, teeth bared, as his hips snapped into you so hard you felt the jolt of it reverberate up your ribs. The table in the chamber was exceptionally sturdy, but it moved as the animal ravaged you. 

The growl he let out when he reached his own peak seemed to sink into your very bones, binding your cells to him on some incomprehensible level. 

And when the hot flood of cum filled you, a deepest, darkest particle in your brain ignited with a thousand lights. 

It was a new sensation. Not because you were a virgin who was never fucked and filled. As much as that filthy side had you embarrassingly turned on, that feeling regarded something else. As if there was a second entity beneath your skin and it was finally stirred awake. 

For over a century it was believed that designations have regressed so much there was nothing left of the former reactions, or even former physical traits like knots, yet you sensed (and feared) that somehow this Alpha has broken through the iceberg of latency and found the ruins of ancient civilization; stirring some curses to life. 

Your breath was ragged, each gulp intermixed with tiny gasps and whimpers as you felt Ari’s cock throb inside of you, spilling more and more. You never thought that a man could cum so much. It felt endless. And the longer it lasted the more it had your core tingling with need for more. 

Slowly, Ari eased your legs down. They hung limply over the edge of the table, bracketing Ari’s hips that were still pressed against you. Your arms dropped down, too. One onto the table, the other across your belly, a mere inch above where Ari’s hand was still resting on your lower abdomen. 

His hand on your throat loosened its grip. He swept his fingers through the remnants of the tears drying on your face, then down across your body.

“I stake claim.” Ari’s voice resounded firm and unyielding, sending a chill down your spine. 

His blue eyes were on you. His face slightly flushed, a vein in his neck protruding and pulsing from the pleasant strain. But his words sounded like they were directed at somebody else, not just at you.

Long seconds passed before you sensed the change in the air. A gentle current, as if a draft got in. You tensed, head turning to the side as you felt another presence in the chamber. 

Ari pressed his hand over your sternum and pushed you down when you made a move to get up. He pressed on your belly with his other hand, as well. Which not only served to keep you in place, but also reminded you that his softening dick was still inside you and his cum was overfilling your pussy. 

Your heart rate increased as you watched three silhouettes emerge from who the fuck knows where. Big, intimidating, undoubtedly Alphas. 

Probably the other three horsemen. Owners of hell itself. 

They were wearing dark silver masks. Each depicting an animal. Each matching the crests carved into the chairs at the table. A wolf. A bull. A serpent.

They took their places at the table and looked down at you. Then, as if you weren’t interesting, they lifted their heads to look at Ari. 

“What bond do you choose?” Asked the wolf. 

His voice was as cold as it was smooth; like a chill one might feel when walking into the woods late in the evening - comforted by it, but sensing impending danger creeping in to strike.  

“A brand,” came Ari’s swift reply. “My crest.”

They all gave their nods. Then the bull moved closer to where Ari stood between your spread legs. A flicker of blue flame from a lighter made you whimper in fear, but none of them reacted. The bull held the lighter in his tattooed hand, his wrist encompassed in a thick leather bracelet. Ari lifted one of his hands, closed it into a fist, and brought it to the flame.

They were heating up his ring with the lion’s head. 

His crest. 

“No,” a weak sound left your lips when you understood the intention. 

There was no fight left in you. Besides, you had no chances against Ari alone, much less against four Alphas. 

“Shh.” Ari cooed, keeping the hand on your chest in place and rocking his hips into you gently. “You’re already mine, Snowdrop. This will merely be a short sting. Just like your virgin cunt breaking on my cock.” 

His blue eyes returned to yours, holding your gaze as he pressed the hot ring to your abdomen. You cried out in pain as it seared your skin, burning a permanent brand on the belly that was marked from the inside with his seed. 

“Claim witnessed.” 

It was repeated three times, by three different voices, but it barely reached your consciousness as your mind fumbled with processing pain and sinking in unfamiliar contentment. 

Ari kept touching you, stroking your sides and your thighs softly as he continued to coo. There was an additional vibration to his tone every few shushing words, comforting in a way that had your body truly relaxing despite the terror it was just put through. 

Once you settled down, only looking up at Ari with tear-brimmed eyes, he leaned down. And kissed you. 

It wasn’t as soothing as the last few touches and sounds, but brand nearly as hot as the ring burned into your skin. 

He straightened, staring down at you as conqueror at the empire he just crushed and obtained. His gaze traveled down your body to where his mark scorched over your mound, then lower, to where your bodies were joined. 

Slowly, he pulled out and watched as your glistening pussy gaped and pulsed. A heartbeat later his cum trickled out. Dark hunger was still alight in his eyes. Perhaps, it would never leave. Not when it came to you and owning your body. 

You trembled, covering your face with your hands as you felt the mess leak out of you. You saw the sticky combination of your juices, his spend and your blood coating Ari’s cock, and couldn’t comprehend why that unnerving part of you was thrilled about the sight. It made no sense and warred with the appalled and terrified part of your brain. 

“Don’t worry, Snowdrop.” Ari sounded amused as he watched you. “I don’t mind the mess. I’ll fuck you so often and thorough that my seed takes no matter how much of my cum leaks out of your poor, little cunt.” 

He gripped your wrists and forced your hands away from your face, then placed them on his shoulders. He felt warm and secure under your trembling fingers. 

You hated how he anchored you while being the one to break you. 

Ari lifted you off the table and set you onto your feet to the floor. His hold remained on your waist for long enough moment that you didn’t topple down on your weakened legs. 

Yet, as soon as he was sure you wouldn’t drop down, he guided you onto your knees himself. Making you kneel in the sticky mess that dropped from between your thighs onto the marble floor. 

A hand slid into your hair, tangling it in a tight grip. He tilted your head back. 

“Clean your Alpha’s cock, Omega.” He ordered. “Open your pretty mouth and taste us.” 

You tried to keep your lips pressed, refusing to do something so lewd. There was a flash of displeasure at your defiance and you expected Ari to force your jaw open, or to pinch your nose closed so you had to gulp for breath. 

Perhaps he would do that, if your mouth didn’t open on its own volition when he tapped the head of his cock against your lips. Musky saltiness smeared on your bottom lip, somehow provoking an instant reaction beyond your control. It was that new part of you, unearthed by the brutal Alpha. 

She made you open eagerly, tonguing the underside of Ari’s thick cock as he pushed into your mouth. 

“Good girl, Snowdrop.” He praised, rubbing against your tongue in shallow thrusts. “Get it clean of all the mess you made. Do you like how your Alpha tastes?”

He wasn’t really waiting for your reply, but he enjoyed the garbled sound you made as you tried to deny it and he pushed deep in your throat, cutting off your denial. 

He held you there, staring down at you struggling and choking. He delighted in the tears reappearing in your eyes. 

“Swallow around it.” He was merciless. “Oh, I know it’s hard and scary, but be a good girl and swallow down my cock. Close that little throat around it, so I can come down it like I did your pussy.” 

Tears poured down your cheeks as you finally managed to swallow and it caused your throat to constrict so tight you nearly blacked out. 

Ari grunted loudly in pleasure. 

With his free hand he tugged one of your hands that was resting against his thigh and guided it under his cock. He made you cup his heavy balls, forced your fingers to tighten and massage them.

Spurts of thick, salty warmth trickled down your throat. You panicked, fearing you’re going to choke to death as you hurriedly gulped it down. 

“Fuuuuck.” Ari was watching you with his own lips parted and glistening with saliva. “I’d love to fuck your sweet mouth for hours, teach you how to suck and tongue, but having you just simply choke and cry on my cock might be my new favorite version of a blowjob.”

When he finally let you go, after making sure the very last spurt went down your throat, you were coughing and wheezing. Your hands clutched Ari’s thighs as you slumped forward, resting your head against his leg and breathing heavily. 

Naked, filthy and broken, you rested at his feet. Leaning into him like he was your lifeline. 

Ari caressed the top of your head then stepped away for a moment. You fell forward, bracing yourself on your hands on the marble floor. A few seconds later something very soft, very warm, and surprisingly heavy, was draped over your naked form. 

In your peripheral you saw a glimpse of white with streaks of silver. 

Ari covered you with it, then effortlessly picked you up into his arms. Defenseless, exhausted and confused, you simply sank into his embrace. Resting your cheek against his chest, you glanced at the softness wrapped around you. A white fur. 

Because you were his Snowdrop.  

[fanfictiontrash9]

[mrs-barnes-rogers-writes]

A Second Chance Is A Better Chance Masterlist

Marvel AU

Pairing: Alpha Steve Rogers x Omega Witch Reader, eventual ? x Omega Witch Reader and Alpha Steve Rogers X Omega Witch Reader

Summary: Rejected by your true mate at 21, you’ve given up on the Fates and the Moon Goddesses giving you a second chance. Being a Roamer for the last 9 years, you’re an Omega hardened by the world. You’re safe on your own because of your witchcraft, but it doesn’t stop Alphas and plenty of others sniffing around, especially when you’re an unmated Omega witch, who’s wolf also happens to be white, the rarest kind. You don’t need anyone, but why do you keep coming back to Brookville and why do you keep walking into trouble and helping people that you don’t know but for some strange reason feel like family. And where is that smell of apple pie coming from?

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Drabble - The start of an unusual friendship (a further look at the friendship between Frank, Billy and Y/N)

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

The Christmas stories can be skipped BUT they share reader’s journey as a Roamer, gives her back story and an understanding of her character and life experiences.

Christmas As A Roamer - The First Christmas

Christmas As A Roamer - The Second Christmas

Christmas As A Roamer - The Third Christmas

Christmas As A Roamer - The Fourth Christmas

Christmas As A Roamer - The Fifth Christmas

Christmas As A Roamer - The Sixth Christmas

Christmas As A Roamer - The Seventh Christmas

Christmas As A Roamer - The Eighth Christmas

Christmas As A Roamer - The Ninth Christmas

A V Day Dream

Part 10

Part 11

Part 12

Part 13

Part 14

Part 15

Part 16

Part 17

Part 18

Part 19

Part 20

Part 21

Part 22

Part 23

Part 24

Part 25

Part 26

Part 27

Part 28

Part 29

Part 30

[biteofcherry]

Equinox

god!Ari Levinson x god!Curtis Everett x female reader x god!Steve Rogers

summary: Perhaps it's pitiful to pray for the gods' mercy when they've been deaf to all the sacrifices made for them by the anointed zhrets, but you wanted to try.

warnings: Consensual. Gangbang (but a soft one). Inexperienced Reader. Loss of virginity. Oral (both m and f receiving). Unprotected sex. Spitroast. Multiple creampies. Praise kink. A bit of coercion. Very light D/s undertones. Feels and softness are here too.

word count: 7k

Author's Note: The gods in this story are the result of these three polls (1, 2, 3), so you can only blame yourself and other voters. But I believe you will like them and their hoe ways anyway 😆 Honestly, I'm surprised how soft this story turned out, despite being also kinda filthy. It's been a while since you got from me something that's not dark. Happy spring, I guess! 😂

It's very vaguely inspired by Slavic paganism and folklore, but it serves only as the background.

*zhrets is a pagan high priest

Main Masterlist

It wasn’t unusual for the weather in March to sway like a tide - flowing with waves of sunshine warmth only to pull back and leave freezing cold instead. Sometimes the frost and harsh rains dominated the whole span of the month, not the least bothered by the supposed burst of spring. 

However, unusual was the year-long devastation that tore your region. 

Seasons seemed to warp, folding in on themselves and changing into unexpected harshness. Droughts that burnt the soil and crops, leading to some fires as well. Hail that roughened softer plants. Then blessed rain turned into floods, which ruined more fields and preserves. 

People starved. Animals fled the woods for more suitable areas. Prayers to the gods brought nothing, no matter how much blood was spilled to appease the deities. 

Just last week the zhrets killed one of the last lambs at the altar, so the gods would see devotion in giving up what’s most precious. 

But not even the slightest change came. The earth remained frozen cold, hard and unyielding. No seed would take root in it. The sun stayed hidden behind the gray heaviness of clouds that seemed endless in the sky. Not a single plant in the gardens and woods blushed with the first bud. 

A full year without fresh crops, without safety and balance. A few families already left the villages, taking a risk in wandering far away in search of better conditions. If change didn’t come this spring, it would be the end for most of you. 

So you wrapped the worn-out pelt around yourself and shuffled across the frost-covered fields and up the hill. At this time of year it used to be already covered in patches of crocuses and snowdrops. It remained a dark, lifeless peak. 

The basket in your hand wasn’t heavy, since you didn’t have much to give. You didn’t fool yourself thinking that your pitiful begging would be any better than that of the anointed zhrets, but you felt desperate. 

Maybe if the sacrifices and prayers came not only from the delegate of the village, but from every person separately, the number of voices calling out to the gods would catch their attention. 

At the top of the hill a circle of stones, with runes painted on them, wrapped around three vertical slates of stone. 

Pristine white, with a single crack that shimmered gold - for the god of sun and fire. 

A grey one, with strokes of blueish and white - for the god of air and rain. 

Reddish overgrown with moss - for the god of earth and fertility. 

Dark spots still marred the bottom of the stones from where the blood sacrifice was spilled. No other marks of worship were left, though in the past it wasn’t uncommon to find bouquets, sweet buns, or nuts placed at the gods’ altars. 

Especially on the spring equinox.

It was the moment when winter was supposed to recede, so the new life could begin. Celebrated with happiness, food and laughter. But people were too hungry, too angry, to bother with customs. They didn’t even have the plants to make bouquets with. Last of the nuts were saved for the kids to munch on. 

With hands trembling from the cold, you placed the basket on the ground and knelt down. Slowly, you took out your modest offerings. Since your garden was barren, you weaved bouquets of what you could gather. 

Anise stars tied to thin twigs with a thread and clumsily painted yellow to resemble marigolds. All tied together with a red ribbon, which you ripped off the hemline of your best dress. For the god of sun and fire. 

For the god of air and rain: bird feathers stuck in a chipped, glass vial in which, once upon a time, your mother had perfumed water that your father bought from a southern merchant as a gift for giving birth to you.  

Last living sprigs of raspberry bush that grew in your garden and a handful of mistletoe. A drop of your blood sank into the strap of linen with which you tied them, from prickling yourself on the raspberry’s thorn. For the god of earth and fertility. 

Perhaps they looked laughable. Perhaps, as some of the people whispered in bitterness, the gods didn’t care for offerings like that and were laughing at your misery. If they even paid attention to the region they decided to decimate. But it was all you got. Along with your determination to try. 

You placed each bouquet on the ground, holding each for a few seconds in place in case the wind decided to swipe them right away. 

“But wouldn’t that be the sign from the god of air that he finds the offerings disrespectful?” You muttered to yourself as your fingertips sank in the harsh frost coating the ground.

The wind didn’t strengthen. In fact, the air felt warmer and lighter as you knelt there at the altar. Considering it was the top of the hill, with no trees surrounding the clearing to form a shield, the gods had to keep the place in some protection. 

A swipe of warmth enveloped your fingers and for a fleeting moment you considered staying there on your knees, prostrated on the ground, just to soak up the warmth and lack of wind; and less to pray to the gods. 

“Nah, Curtis can be a cold bastard, but he wouldn’t diminish such a cute offering.”

An unexpected voice made your head snap up. It was masculine, low, but somehow light and pleasant. And as your gaze settled on its source you found yourself blinking away what had to surely be a mesmer. 

It was a man. Unlike any you ever saw. Tall and broad. All golden skin that seemed to shine from within. He was bare-chested, his lower half clad in pristine white, linen pants. Across his pectorals, as well trailing down from his navel, thick thatch of dark blonde hair curled in soft temptation. His beard had all shades of gold. His eyes were a sparkling blue, vibrant and enticing like a summer sky. 

Even if you convinced yourself a human male could be as reckless as walking around half-naked when it was freezing cold, the tendrils of flames licking his skin betrayed him as something beyond human. 

Your eyes widened, mouth parting in silent astonishment. 

Were you so starved and cold that your mind created illusions? Was it an edge of death when you witnessed a god take you over to the fields of the underworld?

But wouldn’t that be a god of night and death then, who comes for you? You didn’t think he’d look so radiant and carefree, so much like the sun and fire personified. 

“It’s a genuine offering, I never scoff at those.” Sounded another voice, somewhere from behind you. “It’s the reckless spill of resources that annoys me.” 

Still on your knees, you turned. So fast you lost balance and landed on your butt. Your gaze traveled up from his bare feet, up long legs and thick thighs that strained the dark fabric of his pants, and over the wide chest marred with scars. 

His skin was paler, appearing colder, yet had something refreshing to it that called out to lick and taste if it would provide a fresh sip of a spring rain. His beard was trimmed; dark, with spots of grey. His hair was cropped short, close to the scalp. The blue of his eyes was an ongoing storm - changing from light blue to inky darkness, flashes of lightning cutting the irises. 

Everything in you screamed in terrified recognition. No one ever saw the gods. Not even zhrets who was the direct line to them, though he claimed that sometimes they came to him in his dreams. But with every fiber of your being you felt the crushing power surrounding you, as well fascination stronger than any desire you experienced before, and you knew who they were. 

As quickly as you could, you rolled onto your front and pressed your hands and face to the ground.

“My gods! I apologize for daring to look at you!” You expressed. 

“If we didn’t want you seeing us, we wouldn’t show ourselves to you.” A third voice resounded somewhere to your left. Deep and soft. 

“Sit up and look at us, Swallow.”

Comparing you to a small, nimble bird associated with incoming spring evoked a flash of heated shyness. It was almost sweet. A pet name. No man has ever referred to you using one. 

Gulping nervously, you slowly lifted your upper body. Your gaze traced the ground which was covered in frost when you first stepped onto the hill, but now bared the inner softness of soil readying itself for first seeding. It landed at the feet of the third god, and cautiously moved upward.

He wore pelts, like hunters often did. Sculpted hip lines low on his abdomen disappeared beneath the fabric in a shape of V, arrowing your attention to the bulging curve beneath tight leather. His waist was narrow, especially compared to how wide his shoulders were. Each muscle of his abdomen and biceps appeared carved by a sculptor. He could carry the whole world on his shoulders, you thought. 

He was sitting atop the stone altar in his name, so his face was closer to your line of vision. You noticed speckles of green in the blue of his eyes. His curved eyelashes seemed tipped with green, as well. 

“It’s been a while since anyone gave us thoughtful, sweet offerings.” He smiled at you and something bloomed within your chest; like the joy at the sight of the first flowers in your garden. 

“They’re nothing,” you whispered, feeling embarrassed that the gods themselves looked at the pitiful bouquets you made. 

“Most certainly not.” The god of sun stepped closer to your right. 

Warm fingers curled beneath your chin, turning your face to him. When you looked up at him it felt as if the sun was caressing your cheeks, even though you didn’t have to squint your eyes to stand it. 

Gently, he urged you to stand up. A big hand slid beneath the pelts wrapped around you, resting on your waist. Where he touched you, your skin tingled with sunkissed heat that chased away all the cold you suffered for months. 

If only for that comforting, warm feeling, you were ready to die at the hands of the gods.

“You’re most honest and precious,” he said softly, tracing his fingers up from your chin and over your cheek, “a most valuable offering.” 

“I-” your eyes couldn’t shift away from the brilliant blue of his eyes, even as a gasp ripped from your chest when another set of hands slithered beneath your cloak and pulled it off of you in an unrushed but swift move. 

A tickle of air teased the shell of your ear. Both ears. At the same time. The same ghost of breath evoked goosebumps across your chest. 

“We’ll be good to you, Swallow.” Curtis rumbled softly, his hands squeezing your hips as he pressed his chest to your back. 

When his lips pressed to the hollow where neck curved into shoulder, it felt like a splash of summer drizzle. Slightly cool, but refreshing rather than freezing. Paired with the sunlit warmth wrapping around you, it brought the sense of awakening after a year of hanging in dark limbo.

“We promise, don’t we Ari?” A chuckle tickled your skin, rushing your pulse into a wicked response. 

“So good.” The god of sun and fire - Ari - confirmed with a wicked grin. “Over and over and over again.” 

He dipped his head, lips nearing yours. His body inched closer, too. His heat at your front combined with the excitingly thunderous presence of the other god at your back made your head spin. 

You weren’t naive to not realize what they wanted. They didn’t just imply, they acted on it right away. Honest and direct in their approach. A grip of fear clenched around your heart. Partly of them, because you had no idea if a mortal woman could survive being taken by a god. By three! But also because - just like your material offerings - you weren’t sure if you’d be a satisfying lover. What if you disappointed them and thus angered them further? 

“I just- I have never-” you blurted out, eyes closing at the shiver of pleasure as a warm hand brushed under the swell of your breast.

Ari paused, sunlit sky encapsulated in his eyes staring back at you. Then he bowed his head with a groan, as if in defeat. 

Curtis’ chuckle seeped beneath the collar of your shift. He didn’t pause in his ministrations, working his hands at your sides to release the bindings of your outer layer.  

“I’m sorry. Is it bad that I’m, um, inexperienced?” Regret that you felt had less to do with potential repercussions for the crops and more with the prospect of not being touched by them anymore. 

“No, Swallow.” From the side, the god of earth sounded amused. “Ari’s just disappointed that he has to wait his turn. You’re a virgin. That means your first breaking belongs to me.” 

“Oh!” You turned your head to the side, eyes wide in surprise at the revelation. 

The god of earth and fertility was sitting there calmly, watching you caged between the other gods. He didn’t rush to rip your clothes off and ravage you, to take what was supposedly his by some incomprehensible laws. Yet the hunger in his eyes was prominent. 

A dark glint of a predator that has already picked his prey and knew it wouldn’t stand a chance fleeing from him. 

The swirl of heat low in your abdomen suggested you wouldn’t want to run away from his claim.

A hand gripped your chin, turning you to face the god of sun again. 

“Steve’s a lucky bastard like that, but I get to have the first taste.” Ari grinned. Then surged forward. 

Heat erupted in your veins as his mouth took yours. He didn’t kiss you like a first time lover might their shy partner, but a man who owned you. You had no doubt that was exactly the passion you occasionally dreamed about. Better even. 

There was no particular taste to Ari’s lips, but still it reminded you of ripest strawberries, sunkissed earth, honey, and burning wood. 

Ari licked between your lips, opening your mouth to plunge deeper. One hand on your cheek moved to grip the back of your head, while the other tugged your loosened dress down. Curtis’ hands were helping along, or rather leading the undressing part in which Ari marginally helped. 

Then all of your clothes were gone. Instead of cold biting into your skin, you were surrounded by warmth and the softest breeze. Two pairs of hands moved over your naked body, exploring and memorising. Unfamiliar touch that roused your body, yet made it shiver with thrill of unknown and anticipation. 

A strong hand gripped your thigh and pulled it to the side, making you spread your legs wider. Soft, tickling blow of wind brushed your inner thighs then licked along the juncture of your thighs. A gasp escaped your lips, your hips rocking against the invisible touch. 

At the same time, strokes of heat swiped down your chest and kissed the swell of your breasts. Right after that sensation, Ari’s mouth trailed down your neck and lower, toward one of puckered nipples. 

“Such a pretty, delicious offering.” Steve hummed in appreciation. 

Somehow, the fact he was watching you being ravaged - being prepared for him - made you moan louder. Your core fluttered, wetness pearling between your thighs. 

“You’re going to be so good to us, won’t you?” 

Though hands and mouths were distracting, you still felt the very soft tickling beneath and around your feet. With your eyes half-closed and head thrown back, resting on Curtis’ shoulder, you didn’t see the grass sprouting nor the bloom of tiny flowers around you. A soft cushion on which you were going to be splayed. 

“Yesss,” you gasped as Ari sucked harder on your nipple.

“Good girl.” Steve’s praise washed over you in a ripple that dripped more welcome where Curtis’ fingers were inching closer. 

Suddenly you were falling backwards. Steady hands eased you onto the green carpet of grass these lands haven’t seen for years. Your back barely met the ground when Curtis’ lips were stealing your breath. Your little cry of surprise at the brush of Ari’s breath on your pussy  was swallowed by Curtis. 

Your toes curled, calves tensing, yet your legs eagerly spread wider for the god that settled between them. Your fingers clawed at the fresh grass before you couldn’t stop yourself anymore and reached your arms to touch Curtis. 

His tongue teased yours just as Ari’s made the first lick between your folds. 

It was overwhelming, and scary in a way, and you wanted more more more of it. 

Ari’s fingers were digging into your thighs as he feasted on your pussy, Curtis kept cupping and kneading your breast, all the while kissing your breath away. 

You let out a whimper when Curtis pulled away for a moment. Then the air was truly constricting in your chest, your heart pounding with a new kind of fear, as you saw him undo his pants and take out his cock. 

He knelt beside you, fingers gently combing through your hair but taking a firm grip at the roots. With his other hand, he stroked his dick. It wasn’t his own fist over it, but the sight of your widened eyes and sweet, glistening mouth that made him so hard. 

Then Ari sucked on your clit and thrust a single finger into your tight hole, and your face reflected an even more beautiful ruin. 

Your lips parted wide to let out a cry and Curtis surged forward.

He pushed his cock between your lips, pressing its velvety weight down on your tongue. He groaned in pleasure when your muffled sounds vibrated along his length and your tongue desperately wiggled beneath it. 

“You can take it, Swallow,” he looked down at you. “Breathe through your nose and suck on me. Hollow your cheeks. That’s it, you’re doing so good.”

You tried to follow instinct and Curtis instructions, even if your throat constricted and saliva pooled into your mouth when he pushed forward. He fucked your mouth in a steady, merciful rhythm, watching you the whole time as if it brought him more pleasure than your mouth enveloping his cock. 

But it became harder to focus on that when your body was tensing and shivering from the sensations stirred by Ari’s mouth. He switched from sucking to licking again, then back to sucking. One, thick finger inside of you pumping faster and faster. 

You’ve never- 

The thought didn’t manage to form fully before your brain switched off. 

Eyes rolled to the back of your head, your whole body cinched in pleasure so hard it was almost painful. 

Your moans reverberated along Curtis’ cock, and he pushed in deeper to feel your throat constrict. More wetness spilled out with each spasm of your pussy, coating Ari’s finger and beard as he kept slowly pumping into you. 

“Pull out of her for the next one,” Ari grunted, lifting his head from between your legs, “I want to hear her screams.” 

You didn’t register there was mention of another orgasm, you were too floaty. A state all too soon pierced by intensity as a second finger was added to the one already stretching you and the cock in your mouth forced to the back of your throat.

They sped up; your untried body unable to catch up with the ferociousness. Curtis held your head in place as he fucked your face, drool seeping past the corners of your mouth and trickling down your chin. Ari’s fingers crooked, pressing against a spot that burst the heart of the sun beneath your eyelids. 

Strings of saliva stuck in pearly strings between your chin and Curtis’ balls which hit your chin with each thrust. Then, suddenly, he was pushing deep and stilling with a loud grunt. Salty warmth filled your mouth, your throat barely able to swallow all of it. 

A god has cum down your throat. The thought was so surreal, the taste of him somehow sating and refreshing, that your body ignited into another climax. 

Curtis pulled out, dragging his cock along your sticky chin. Your shiny lips remained open, the tip of your tongue flicking out to chase him. It took a heartbeat for your vocal chords to reclaim their ability, and a string of cries growing in volume followed. 

Ari was mercilessly pressing on that spot, his tongue lashed your sensitive nub and you felt your walls tightening. Then his lips closed around your clit, sucking hard. You gave him the scream he wished to hear. Along with a flood of wetness staining his beard. 

“Just like I thought,” his raspy voice rumbled through the cloudy buzzing in your head, “delicious.” 

“I want a taste.” Curtis grumbled. 

Your body laid boneless, tingling and heavy in the most pleasant way. Not fully controlling your movements, your head rolled to the side and you blinked away the blurry lightness. Steve’s eyes were burning into you, so bright with vibrancy yet dark with primal intent. 

The sight of him got obscured when Ari straddled your chest. His massive thighs bracketed your shoulders, but he kept most of his weight off your ribcage. The girth of his cock right in front of your face made you gulp. Just as he tapped the crown against your wet chin, Curtis’ groan vibrated right against your drippy pussy. 

He was harsher than Ari, but not brutal. The way he mouthed on you made it feel as if he was thirsty for your flavor as the source of his pleasure, rather than turning into a sexual torment for you. Curtis didn’t shy from licking and nibbling all over, chasing every creamy drop - even if it slithered down to your asshole. 

Above you, Ari fisted his cock and tapped it against your lips. He put it between them for a moment then withdrew again. Until your own tongue started peeking out and eagerly chasing his cock. 

“Ask him for it.” Steve’s voice lowered to a growl. And it sounded much nearer than before. 

But you didn’t twist to seek his presence, your focus on the god of sun and the beautiful dick he was keeping away from you.

“Please,” you obeyed instantly. “Please, Ari, feed me your cock. Let me suck it.” 

“Fuck, you beg so prettily.” Ari groaned. “So prettily I don’t even care if it’s because you’re so hungry for my cock, or because you’re such an obedient, good girl for Steve.” 

“Nghh- both!” You whined, stretching your neck to bring your lips closer to Ari’s length.

He chuckled, his gorgeous face turning more radiant and glowy as a grin stretched his mouth. Finally, he eased the tip into your mouth. Eyes fluttering close as you hollowed your cheeks and sucked. His hips rocked forward, helping you swallow more of him where you couldn’t bob your head further. 

He let it slip out when another orgasm shook your body; your wet moans tickling his throbbing cock. Curtis’ tongue drove into your clenching hole, lapping and prolonging the aftershocks in the gentlest way he was capable of. 

Ari wrapped his fingers around his dick. He nudged the head against your bottom lip. You opened wider, tongue out and flat. He stroked himself faster. When he spilled, you tried swallowing without closing your mouth, so he saw it go down your throat. 

“So innocent, yet knows how to please a god,” Ari hummed softly. “You know why you’re so good for us and why your offering lured us?” He touched your cheek tenderly. “Because it’s not about performance but about eagerness and trust.”

When Ari stood up, your gaze fell to Curtis who was kneeling between your spread thighs. He wore the shine of your click on his beard like a warrior might the symbols of victory. 

“He speaks the truth.” Curtis squeezed your thighs. “Despite what your lands went through, you still came here with trust and thoughtful gifts.”

Your chest seemed to expand with exquisite lightness. For the first time since your parents death, you felt seen and appreciated for who you were. 

“Let us reward you, Swallow.” Steve stepped into your line of vision, towering over your splayed form. 

Curtis stood up and moved to the side as the god of earth filled the space between your legs. Holding your gaze, he undressed. It was both a signal for what was about to happen and a show just for you. A god disrobing for a mere human. 

Your pussy was already oversensitive and pulsing from the previous orgasms, yet it clenched in anticipation when Steve’s cock sprung free against his belly. 

When he knelt down between your thighs you wanted to close them out of instinct, but without a single word from Steve you kept yourself open. Heat scorched your face in shyness and embarrassment as his gaze slowly traveled the whole length of your soft body, down to your puffy, glistening folds. 

“So pretty,” he cooed, placing both palms on the junctures of your thighs and spreading your folds with his thumbs. “So wet and ready.”

Your hips bucked up, a tiny moan bubbling on your lips as he circled your clit. 

“So ready for the taking,” Steve chuckled at your body’s eager response. 

He gripped your hips tighter and yanked you toward him. Your legs went over his thighs, your butt resting right against him, and his cock slid between your pussy lips. 

“Do you want to watch, Swallow?” Steve’s voice held an undertone of teasing, but there was undeniable need in it, too. “Do you want to watch your virgin cunt take a cock for the very first time? Want to watch it disappear inside you?” 

Your pupils were blown so wide that black seemed to swallow all the color of your irises. Your breath quickened as you stared at the beautiful god and his dirty words sank into your consciousness. 

“Or-” he used a hand to guide the head of his cock right against your entrance- “do you want to just feel how your pussy stretches around a god’s dick?” 

You couldn’t decide. You couldn’t make a single coherent thought. Your gaze was trapped in those blue eyes, in the green and gold speckles in them. All awareness narrowed down to the burning pleasure that stung as he slowly filled you. 

It was a stretch. Gods, it was a stretch! 

Not hurtful beyond what you could take, but more than the two fingers Ari had inside you. You panted, clawing at the grass, as the arousal grew with every breaching inch. It was too much, yet you didn’t want it to stop. Didn’t want it to pause before you felt full right to your womb. 

Steve’s gaze remained on your face, but yours finally snapped away to stare at where his pelvis pressed between your splayed thighs. Where his big cock was disappearing between your puffy folds. 

“Oh!” Your brain suddenly connected all the sensations, immediately seizing from the overwhelming intensity of it. 

You dropped down, head thrown back as you let out a string of cries at the fulness. It wasn’t pain. You didn’t even think there was any virginal blood some said to appear during the first coupling. It was pleasure and pure insanity. 

“That’s it, Swallow. You’re taking me so well.” Steve praised. “You’re going to take all of it so well.” 

When it felt as if you would burst at the seams, he stilled. Bottomed out. He held you there, rubbing his thumbs up and down the creases where your abdomen met your thigh. When he withdrew a little, you mewled an objection. Only to welcome his surge forward with a lewd moan. 

“Fuck! It’s like she was made to take it.” You weren’t sure which god said that, but you wanted to nod along - yes, yes you were and you wanted more, now, please, more more.

You didn’t voice it out loud, yet it seemed Steve had heard you. Or maybe he read your mind, because a heartbeat later he snapped his hips forward. Wet readiness welcomed each thrust, accompanied by your moans and gasps. 

At some point it stopped being enough for both of you, the deep gentleness and a stretched-out display of conquest. Steve’s grip tightened. He yanked your body harder, fucking into you faster. Rougher. 

When your body arched in a shot of abrupt climax, your walls clenching around him in eager worship, Steve cursed aloud. Then he dropped forward, crushing your body to the ground with his weight. But it felt so good, hot and safe and dominating. He fucked you more savagely now, kissing you as hungrily and groaning his pleasure against your lips. 

You had your legs wrapped tightly around his hips, desperate to keep him inside of you as long as possible. Your sweaty palms mapped the wide span of Steve’s back, ecstatic at every ripple of muscle as he moved above you. 

The constant pleasure was addictive, sating in a way that you didn’t need another spike of climax to feel blissed out. 

But it came. A second after Steve drove into you with a rough thrust and stilled with a deep groan. His cum flooded your belly, bringing with it a new kind of heat. Your toes curled, your core throbbed, and you succumbed to waves of ecstasy. 

“Breathe, Swallow.” Steve’s eyes twinkled as he pushed up a while later. “Can’t have you falling unconscious when we’ve barely begun.” 

He chuckled at you when you just stared back, still panting and a little out of it. His fingers drummed down your body, until settling right atop your tingling clit. Then he pressed, starting slow, tight circles. 

Your pussy clenched in response. A trickle of white cum slipping out and down the curve of your ass. 

“Spring equinox lasts until night takes over. Besides, you take cock and cum so well, it would be rude to not give more of it to you.” He gripped one of your knees when your legs moved to close. “Ari and Curtis await their turn. It’s only fair. And I want you again already, too.” 

It’s not that you didn’t want it. You felt drunk on the new world of sensations they showed you. But it felt too much. You didn’t think you’d be able to take it. 

Soft coos, praises, and seductive coercion kept you compliant. 

With just a little whimper you let Ari rest your calves on his shoulders and push his thick cock into your sore cunt. He folded you almost in half, surging deep with each thrust. 

Curtis rolled you onto your front. Then helped you up onto your hands and knees. When he filled you from behind, your elbows nearly gave out and toppled you face first into the ground. But a hand gripping a fistful of your hair held you up. 

Your mouth was in the perfect position to fill it with cock, an opportunity Steve didn’t miss. 

From then it turned into a dizzying blur of wicked, filthy pleasure. Your body felt exhausted, yet responded to every touch, every kiss, every bite. Your muscles turned into cotton, but the gods didn’t need them functioning to manhandle you into any position they wanted. 

Their cum was dripping out of you. Your thighs were sticky with your own juices and their spend. When one was done filling you, another cock slid inside right after. Your mouth and hands were used in intervals. Sometimes a thumb was pressed into your tightest hole. A shower of praises and dirty words messed with your mind and enchanted your body, keeping your arousal at boiling point. 

They were still taking you when the dusk settled in. Your was voice raspy and choked from all the sounds they ripped from you, but you still made those tiny whimpers as Steve fucked you prone bone, with your cheek pressed to the grass. 

It was the feeling of his cock throbbing inside you, warm cum adding to the mess filling your belly, that your eyes closed and consciousness left you. 

When you stirred from deep sleep your body was sore and tired all over, but a sense of rest and comfort made it into a satisfying kind of exhaustion. You turned and stretched, suddenly freezing as an unusual sense of toasty warmth and softness registered. You blinked your eyes open. 

You were back in your small cottage. But the pillows you rested on weren’t filled with hay. No, they were fluffier, softer. As you groped the one right under your head, you felt the lightness of feathers filling the cotton pillowcase. On top of you, two new layers of pelts provided warmth. Buttery soft and trimmed with fur. 

A crackling sound from the side shifted your attention to the hearth. Where fire was dancing contained, spreading warmth through the house. 

Shock boosted your movements as you sat up right away, throwing away the covers and planting your bare feet on the wooden floor. The boards creaked as you stood up. Your muscles protested, still carrying exhaustion from what clearly wasn’t a fever dream.

It couldn’t be. Not when you still felt them.  

Slight throbbing in your sore core reminded you of the debauchery. A thought that you should look more of a sticky ruin came to you. But your body was clean. Not only void of any remnants of cum, but freshened up in a luxurious way. 

The gods had to clean you, you realized. It stirred warmth and joy in your chest. 

They could’ve just fucked you and leave you there on the hill, not care for what happened with you after they were done. Instead, they cared for you; washed you and brought you home. 

Moreover, they started the fire in the hearth. Well, considering one of them was a god of fire it probably wasn’t a hardship. 

You plopped down on the bed. As you did, your eyes fell onto a stool placed next to your bed. It didn’t stand here before, someone had to move it from the other side of the room. On it was a tin cup filled with fresh water, and a jar in which a bouquet of brightly colored wildflowers bloomed proudly. 

A smile curved your lips, your heart fluttering like a swallow swaying in the sky. It’s been so long since you felt happiness. The gods may have used you, but they gave you back the sense of joy and safety. 

In weeks after the equinox nature returned to the right course. Frost receded, allowing the soil to soften and accept seeds. Plants sprouted buds and flowers bloomed. Rain clouds disappeared from the sky. The sun caressed the earth and people turned their faces toward the sky to soak up the warmth they’ve been deprived of. 

You looked up at it, too. Always with a smile in the corners of your lips. 

That smile was present when you worked in your garden, digging your fingers into the soil and touching the plants. 

If it rained, you would slip outside to let the drops cascade over your face and hands, smiling at the sensation, as well. 

You never spoke of the equinox and your encounter with the three gods to anyone. Not even when people patted the sheets and thanked him for the sacrificial ceremony he performed, which in their eyes bought the gods’ mercy and brought back spring. 

No one knew that the fire in your hearth never died out. You brought logs just to appear you needed it, but the fire simply continued without using up wood. Warmth never ceased. The flowers in the vase remained alive and you doubted it was because you changed water frequently. 

Plants in your garden grew a little faster. When it rained, soil soaked it up, but didn’t form heavy mud in which you’d get stuck and dirty. 

You would never reveal your secret. Not only in fear of people’s reaction. You just wanted to keep it as your private treasure. Your own source of happiness to remember and smile about as you settled into bed in the evening.

But you would have to come up with something. Soon. 

Because your monthly blood has been gone for three cycles now.

Placing your hand on the slight curve of your belly became a habit as you cooked something over the hearth, or looked at the flowers. You tried controlling yourself when you were outside, to not draw the curious attention of a few gossipy hens in the settlement. 

You were stirring soup, thinking up some ridiculous story about a hunter you passed in the woods when looking for nuts, who made you swoon but then left you - that bastard! - when you sensed a particular change in the air.

Somehow, you knew one of the gods was here. 

You licked your lips before slowly turning around. By the open window that looked right onto your thriving garden stood Steve. Relaxed in his posture, he watched you with easy affection. 

“Hi.” You squeaked out.

Your face heated up with embarrassment, but you had no idea how you were supposed to greet a god. A god who took your virginity and participated in a carnal ruin of your body. Who also showed you care and protection. 

“Hello, Swallow.” Steve smiled, his blue eyes twinkling. 

He moved towards you, taking steady, unrushed steps. Nothing changed about him. He was still tall and impressively built. Solid comfort and lively energy pulsed from him, tempting you to simply lean against him and feel like you belonged. 

Steve traced your cheek with the back of his hand, which then slid down your side. When he splayed it over your belly your breath hitched in your chest.

“Hello, tiny chick.” His gaze flicked down for a moment, before returning to your face. 

“How do you know?” You asked.

Steve tilted his head to the side slightly, giving you a pointed look. Right. God of fertility.

“Is it a general godly power, or is it because you’re the god of fertility?” You weren’t certain yet if your nervousness increased because of his presence, or because you feared what he might make of your state. 

“It’s mine.” He replied, moving both of his hands to hold your waist and pull you a little closer to him. 

Heart paused in your chest then restarted with a wild flutter. Your own hands rested on Steve’s chest, and the god made no indication of displeasure at the contact. 

“You mean the power is yours, or-”

“Both.” He said with certainty, pulling you so close that your belly touched his. 

You were about to ask how he could be sure of that - after all, two other gods filled you aplenty that day - but you remembered who Steve was. Though it made you a little curious if he would have to not fuck you at all to give the other gods a chance to breed you.

“Are you going to take away my baby?” Your gaze dropped down as you asked him, fear clutching at your throat. 

While you were anxious how the community would take your pregnancy out of wedlock (out of any relationship), you didn’t even consider not having that baby. Maybe it wasn't the creation of love, but still came from a day full of intimacy and happiness. It wasn’t a regret. 

A frown marred Steve’s forehead, eyes narrowing as he looked at you in confusion. After a moment his face cleared into understanding. Your heart would call it affection, even. 

“No, pretty Swallow.” He smiled. “I’m taking you both home.” 

“What?” You stared up at him, not sure if you heard him right.  

“You’re growing a little god. Even the most supportive community won’t be able to care for you, or help you enough when he grows into his powers.” Steve explained calmly. 

“Besides-” corner of his mouth curved in a cheeky smirk- “I wouldn’t miss the opportunity of watching you grow with my child. Or filling you more.”

Somehow you knew Steve wouldn’t hurt or punish you in any way if you protested, though you weren’t certain he would honor your refusal. He was a god, he got what he wanted at all times. However, his words pulled on a string of longing that stretched from your ribcage ever since you lost your parents. 

Steve said he wanted to take you home. Not to his domain, but a place where you could belong and build a connection with someone who would care for you and for your child. 

The prospect of spending nights in the arms of the god wasn’t repulsive either. 

“Will I survive it?” You asked quietly. 

The question was loaded with layers of worries; from the basic wariness about human carrying a god in her womb, to potential heartbreak if Steve discarded you after a while. 

“No harm, no sadness, no cold will ever reach you again.” He vowed. “You will grow children and gardens. And mercy in gods’ cynical hearts.” 

Tears stung beneath your eyelids. You curled into his embrace, wrapping your arms around him and pressing your face into his chest. A single tear slid down your cheek as you felt Steve press a kiss to the crown of your head. 

A smell of moss and sun-warmed earth filled the air. Beneath you the floorboards creaked and dissolved. On your next blink your surroundings were completely different. No longer the walls of your cottage, no view at the small garden, no sounds of the chickens clucking. 

You were in your new home. With someone to build an infinity with. 

[fanfictiontrash9]

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The False Bride 7

Warning: stealing, vagrancy, food sparcity, and some other elements to come.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Geralt of Rivia, short reader

Summary: you lie to get some food, but get more than you bargain as the Witcher comes to collect his debt.

Note: I hate being this way but couldn’t get this one out of my head.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You wake to a grinding noise. You sit up, ready to defend yourself. You only find your reluctant cave mate, snoring on his back. He should really sort that out.

You feel pretty lively yourself. It’s early but you’re renewed. Still, you don’t like that noise. It makes your ears crawl.

You get up and approach him. You poke his thick arm. The Witcher doesn’t react. You frown and jab harder. You look over at Roach as she clicks her tongue under her teeth.

“Loud, isn’t he?” You scoff.

You grab his shoulder and try to turn him onto his side. He still doesn’t rouse. Doesn’t move either. He’s built like a boulder and just as heavy. Ugh, fine. You’ll be best off to enjoy the morning before he wakes.

You pack away your bedroll and grab your pack. The sky is slowly softening outside the cave. The rains have cleared and you can hear birds singing. As you step out, the air is balmy but welcoming. You take a deep chestful and sigh.

You head for the river, following the noise of the trickle. It’s clearer than the night before. The water flows lazily and all that murk has dissipated. You set your things down as you peer around the small forest nook.

You could do with a good wash before you set off. You do your best not to let your clothes get as grimy as the last set. You even have a spare in your pack. Once you’re all fresh and dewy like the morning glories, you’ll find yourself a new stick. You’re still upset about that. Darn Witcher owes you a new one.

You undress and lay your clothes over a large flat rock. You stretch as you approach the river’s edge. Minnows scatter as you dip your toes and slowly wade through the chilly ripples. You shiver but ease into the temperature.

You listen to the wild. The critters creaking up in the trees, the birds pecking at the brush for food. It’s so peaceful. You don’t see no drowner lurking around.

You take your time. It’s not often you get a moment like this. You close your eyes and lean back to soak yourself completely, keeping your nose above the surface.

You hum out a tune you heard back in the inn. You turn yourself upright and scratch away the dirt on your skin. This place reminds you of another. There was a brook behind your father’s home growing up and there were these glowing flowers he kept. The smell of their pollen always made you feel strange.

You slowly stride off the riverbed, the water slaking down your figure. The warm sun greets you as it rises behind the trees. You swipe your hands over your hair and stretch, sticking your chest and rear out as you contort your spine. Your eyes roll back as you let out a moan of content.

You drop your arms and flick your lashes. You nearly scream at the figure standing half behind a tree, watching you. The golden eyes betray the lurker and you scowl. 

“Ah! What in the world?” You wave The Witcher off. “Stop looking!”

His eyes narrow and he flinches. He clears his throat. “Sorry, I–” His voice is gristly with fatigue. “I thought you’d left. I was only–”

A long, squelching groan comes from behind you. You whip around and face the same beast that accosted you the day before. Dripping and dreadful. Ugh. he’s worse in the daylight!

He staggers through the water as you stare agog. He claws at his own body. “Goddess…” he drones in his bristly voice. “I heed your song…”

You grimace and snort. What the bug is he talking about? You step back and look around. You see a stick. A nice stick. Almost as nice as the last one.

“Witcher!” You holler and dodge abruptly to snatch up the stick.

“Urgh.” The Witcher growls. “My sword…”

“Pigeons, must I do everything!?” You swing the stick around as the drowner stumbles toward you, feeling all over his body strangely. “Get back!”

You strike his head and he grunts. He winces and staggers back. “Goddess, why do you punish me?”

“Ugh! Stop calling me that!” You swipe again and the stick thwaps against his neck. He tips over onto his side as gurgles.

“I plea…sure… in your… gift, goddess….” He slithers.

You lift the stick and snap it down again, the crack of his skull turning your stomach. Ew. You really didn’t want to do that but the thing was acting so odd. Not to mention the attempted murder the night before. Oh, and you’re still naked!

You turn and throw the stick down. The Witcher gapes at you. What’s wrong with him?

“Would you stop staring!? Ever hear of privacy?” You stomp over and snatch up your clothes.

He coughs and turns his back to you. He hangs his head. “Apologies, I…”

“So much for Witchering or whatever it is you do. That guy was being so weird.” You quickly dress.

You look up as you sense him move. He’s silent as he peeks over his shoulder. You bend and grab a stone to toss at him.

“Rude.” You chide.

“I wasn’t…” he begins.

“I caught you. You sure got an eyeful already.” You growl and tie up your belt. “What were you doing just standing there?”

“I left my sword in the cave,” he drawls.

“You forgot your sword? Smart.” You huff as you sit to pull on your stockings. “Well, you owe me that bounty. For the frogman or whatever he is.”

He hums and slowly steps out from between the trees. He goes to the dead creatures, half in and half out of the water. “He wasn’t aggressive. Drowners… kill fast. He was not trying–”

“He was trying something,” you scoff as you shove your feet into your boots.

“He must’ve heard you singing.” He turns and covers a yawn with his fist. “It’s what woke me. That racket.”

“So what? You came to tell me to shut up?” You stand and pin on your cloak.

He shrugs and blinks. “I’m too tired to argue with you.”

“Not too tired to peep–”

“I was not peeping.” He marches across the dirt. “I was looking for the drowner. And I found it.”

“And did nothing.” You retrieve the stick then reach for your pack. He grabs it first. You hesitate. “What are you doing?”

“I…” he pauses and looks down at the strap. “You’re… a lady. I was only being–”

“I can carry my own bag.” You yank it away from him.

“It’s rather heavy.”

“I manage.” You shake your head at him. “So, drowner’s dead. Tell me where I get my money.”

“You didn’t make the deal–”

“You didn’t kill it!”

“Hmm,” he growls and his jaw sets with stone. “I didn’t have my sword.”

“But you have magic, don’t you? Witcher.” You snip.

He huffs and crosses his arms. He stares at you. His brows twitch. “It’s Geralt.”

You squint. “Geralt? Hm. I would’ve guess Tobias or Malvin or something.”

“Malvin?” He echoes dryly.

“I guess Geralt is better than Witcher.” You roll your eyes. “I want that bounty. I don’t work for free.”

He glares. “You’re not a witcher.”

“Nope. I’m cheaper and better. And not as grumpy.”

[fanfictiontrash9]

[buckets-and-trees]

Thinking about Viking King Steve and his Queen. I'm pretty sure he had lovers before. Perhaps even one who is of higher status and thought he might pick her to sit beside his throne.

So what if she visits unannounced, claiming she came to pay respects to the new queen, but obviously she's subtly flaunting herself in front of Steve. After all, she says, it's not uncommon for a Viking to have lovers...

Of all the asks in my inbox, I'm not exaggerating when I say that around 20% of them are for this AU, and half of those ask about what you would do when another woman comes into play, but THIS ASK is the one that finally gave me and the muse a lightning strike of how to specifically attack this eventuality... Thank you for sending, Eva!

It Rises with the Fall [For the King & Conqueror]

Characters/Pairings: Viking King Steven x curvy Female Queen!Reader Word Count: 7.5k Summary: Visitors from other viking shores stretch your bonds and bring new facets to light between you and Steven in the dark.

Content/Warnings: DARK established relationship - kidnapped wife; explicit smut: oral (female receiving), anal play, unprotected vaginal and anal intercourse, insemination; cockwarming; use of pet name (little wife); dare we say some actual feelings?

Author Notes: Bahaha, had y'all known it was our viking king in this poll, I'm sure the results would have been different. But here he is, bringing Valensmut to a close.

Previous Part | Series ↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

Astrid weaves your hair with an almost priestly focus, her long fingers working the intricate braids while she hums an old cradle tune, soothing as you sit as patiently as you can. Strands of bright blue ribbon, the same shade as Steven’s clan, glimmer in the plaits, spiraling through your hair like a frozen river. It is the first feast of the year to welcome outsiders—envoys and traders from the southern coast, men and women who do not know your face or your story, who will judge only by what they see. The knowledge stiffens your shoulders with a tension Astrid mistakes for excitement.

“You look like a goddess of the old stories,” she says, catching your gaze in the silvered glass. “Vidar agrees.” She gestures at the orange cat, who has perched himself upon the window ledge and watches your reflection with the gravity of a child awaiting a bedtime tale.

He hops down and jumps into your lap, clearly knowing his own name. You smile and stroke his ears, then peer up at Astrid as your scalp tingles with each gentle tug. “Remind me not to sway my head too much. I’m afraid your artistry might come undone.”

“It would take a storm at sea to ruin this braid, my queen.” Astrid ties off the end with a precise knot, then leans back to admire her work, face split by a grin too wide for the room. “Though you should know—Helga says there’s trouble in the kitchens. The foreign ships arrived with more mouths than expected.”

Before you can ask what “trouble” means—spoiled meat, missing wine, or some new spat among the bread-maidens—Helga herself enters with her customary briskness, skirts swishing in determined arcs. She is flushed, but not winded, and you know immediately that she is holding onto information, but holding back from immediately tossing it at your feet.

Helga closes the door behind her, not with a bang but with a soft, purposeful click. Her gaze flicks first to Astrid, then to you, but she doesn’t speak right away. Instead, she dusts her hands on her apron, glances out the window, and then reaches to smooth a stray lock of hair at your temple.

You steel yourself for news of some disaster: a fire, a sour barrel, an insult from the southerners that could spark a feud. What you do not expect is for Helga to say, quietly, “There is a woman among the southern guests. She travels with their lord, but she is not his kin. Nor is she a simple companion.” Helga’s voice is even, but her eyes flick up to meet yours, sharp as a kestrel’s. “They say she once belonged to your husband. In ways that matter.”

It’s not the information itself that unmoors you—of course Steven would have had lovers, many of them, maybe a line of them stretching along the spine of the continent. You’d guessed it not only in the way he took you in the beginning, but in how skilled he was, how voracious his appetites were. But this, the fact of a woman from his past making landfall here, clutching an invitation to your table, is different.

And what matter should it be to you? Both of you had lives before he carried you away from your old one and forged you into his.

You raise your eyebrows just enough to suggest curiosity, not concern. You even manage a small smile. “Thank you, Helga,” you say, and you stroke Vidar’s back to steady your hands. “Has the woman caused any concern?”

Astrid, eager to defend your honor, clenches her fists, and you see her glare in the reflection. “Is she here to undermine our queen? To make a spectacle?”

Helga lifts a hand, stilling the younger woman with a look. “No spectacle, not unless someone makes one. She holds herself apart. Wears no clan colors. But she has not taken her eyes off your husband since they arrived.”

Helga is still watching for a reaction, so you ask, “Did she give her name?”

Helga nods. “Inga of Storn.” She says it cautiously, as if delivering the name will levy more of an impact.

You ask the only question that really matters. “Has the king acknowledged her presence?”

“He has not spoken to her publicly,” Helga replies. “He may choose not to. She has withdrawn now, as have the others, to prepare for tonight’s festivities.”

You nod, and preserve as much of your wits as you can. You try manage the slow, spreading heat that comes from knowing you will soon be obliged to share a room, a table, perhaps even the throne, with the shape of the woman who held your husband's heart—or, at least, his body.

Astrid is still fuming. “If she tries to speak to you, my queen, you need only give the smallest glance—”

“No,” you say, not so sharply as to wound, but enough to plant your feet in this moment before it runs away from you. “She is here as a guest. As long as she is so, there will be no pettiness.”

Astrid huffs, as if she wishes she could personally bar the door against any ghost of Steven’s past, but she relents somewhat in her fire. You marvel at her loyalty, but you’re not a child. If there’s any power dynamic to be threatened here, you intend to stay abreast of it, not be held at its mercy.

“I’m grateful, Helga,” you say, pressing a thumb to Vidar’s chin to make him look at you. “We’ll show our guests the courtesy—and strength—of this hall tonight.” You rise, skirts crackling as you straighten them, and the orange cat leaps gracefully from your lap to pad after you.

The final hour before the feast passes in a cloak of anticipation. The sun falls lower until the halls are rimmed in copper, and servants light the torches, fanning the smoke with sprigs of dried sage. In the antechamber, you stand with the other women of the household, conscious of every movement, every tilt of your chin, as if the very air is a lens through which every soul will judge you tonight.

The horns sound, and you file in. The hall is pulsing with voices and color and music. The main table, set up on its dais, is resplendent with silverwork and dressed in the king’s blue. The guest tables are alive with a cheerful chaos of strangers’ laughter, a thousand tiny dramas swirling in the air. Steven stands at the center of it all, hair bound with a leather cord, his tunic blue to match yours. But he is already deep in conversation with the lord of the southerners, and beside him stands a woman, draped in gray and gold, her hair the kind of pale that seems to catch and hold the last of the sun. She is neither beautiful nor plain—her features are sharp, her gaze even sharper.

You allow yourself a single moment to look—the way she turns her face up to him, the quick curve of her mouth, the deliberate way she does not touch his arm but lets her presence fill the space between them like perfume.

You feel Steven’s gaze slide to you a moment later. The cut of him is remarkable. Your king is nearly a head taller than any man in the hall and so broad at the shoulder that even his finest tunic strains to contain him, but tonight it’s the angle of his eyes, the directness of his claim, that makes you catch your breath. He gestures you forward with an imperceptible tilt of his chin.

You cross the main floor of the hall, the clamor dimming as you approach. The southerners bow their heads, the ring of their movement perfectly choreographed—each body turning just enough to show deference, but not servitude. The pale woman, Inga of Storn, nods to you with a correctness so precise it almost scalds.

You keep your chin up, expression schooled into the perfect image of hospitality—welcoming, but not wishing to betray any nerves.

“Queen,” she says, her voice low, clear. “It is an honor.”

You answer carefully, “You honor our hall with your presence.” You smile, enough to be diplomatic, but not enough to offer welcome to someone you must see as rival, remnant, or both.

Steven’s gaze darts between you and Inga, then back to the lord of the southerners, a shrewd man he introduces as Tomas. He looks to be older than Steven by some twenty years, but by no means born down by age, but instead a strong and vibrant force of a man.

Tomas’s eyes crinkle as he bows to you, the movement fluid, practiced, and just the right side of unthreatening. “Your majesty. It is a fine hall and a finer welcome, especially in the dark of the year.”

“Not so dark tonight,” you observe, glancing at the torches and the banners and the armies of candelabra above. “We strive to make it warm for our guests even when the snow stacks to the eaves by sunrise.”

He smiles wider at that, revealing slightly crooked teeth—a flaw that only makes him more approachable. With everyone now present, you take your seats, you and Steven at the head table, though not seated next to each other this night. Tomas sits at his right hand—as is fitting for the highest ranking guest of honor—and to your unease, Inga is placed at his left, but you square your shoulders and determine to put it out of your mind.

Bowls of wild carrot soup are ladled out to begin the feast, warming those who trekked in through the chill outside. Both Tomas and the southern guests seated on your other side are warm and jovial, and full of many stories. The feast unfurls in courses—cured fish, roasted fowl, the first of last year’s turnips and winter apples. Conversation swirls: trade, adventure, discovery and battle stories. Tomas’ expression and manners are warm, almost fatherly, and it strikes a pang of longing for your own father, left behind in your former life.

You do your best to contribute lightness to the conversation, steering the southern guests to delight in the oddities of northern cuisine. The men at your table are charmed by your wit, and you can feel the subtle undertow of approval in the way even the local men listen when you speak. You pay careful attention to Inga’s end of the table, however. She appears to be quiet but captivating, attentive but reserved. She confers with Steven in sparse, low exchanges, always too brief for you to catch more than a murmur. When their eyes meet, Steven’s gaze is unwavering, but if there is emotion in it, you haven’t the skill to name it.

As the feast progresses, the warm haze of mead and full bellies softens the edges of the hall’s tension, and by the time the musicians strike up their first tune of the night, the mood is jubilant.

Steven eventually stands, towering above the crowd. He raises his drinking horn and with a voice that rolls over every torch and table, calls, “Tonight we honor old friends and new! Raise your cups to the bonds that hold us fast, and to the storms that make us stronger.” The hall erupts in a shout, the echo near deafening. He sweeps his gaze over the assembled, and though the words are for all, the message is for you as much as for Tomas, Inga, or anyone else present: This is a show of unity, of mastery, of tradition. There is no room for ghosts here unless Steven himself invites them to the table.

And there is at least one ghost at this table, which, for your own sanity, you can not blow bellows to the tiny flares of envy or jealousy. You must exist beyond the clutches of it.

So you raise your own cup, letting the warm thrum of solidarity pulse through your hand and into your chest, focusing on the other visitors in the hall.

But as you lower your cup from your lips, for the first time in the night you meet Inga’s eye. You think she is about to smile at you—something sly, almost conspiratorial—but the moment is gone before it can fully form. She turns her attention to Steven, saying something that makes him laugh, his baritone booming over the harmonies from the musicians’ corner. You can’t help but study her in the periphery—every tilt of the head, every calculated calm. Is she a threat? An echo of what Steven once needed, or proof that he has changed appetites—for the better or worse, you can’t say. And as the queen, you do not wish to give any obvious behavior for anyone to speculate over.

You notice Inga does not drink heavily, does not indulge in the flirtatious banter that is a currency among the guests. She listens as much as she speaks, and when she does, the table grows quiet, as if all sense recognize the gravity of her voice. Even then, she never once attempts to draw Steven away from conversation, or even to claim his attention. Her very restraint feels like a challenge, and you find yourself equally determined not to betray any agitation, keeping your laughter easy, your conversation nimble.

You are grateful for the music, for the tartness of apple cider that follows and the way the children of the hall begin darting between the tables, snatching sweet buns and giggling, unburdened by the weight of any history. Their laughter is a buffer, and you use it to steady yourself between exchanges.

At the first coaxing notes of the next song—a lively dance tune from the southern coast—Tomas stands and extends a hand to you. “Will the north’s most gracious queen honor an old man with a dance to beckon spring to hurry its speed back to us?” he asks, grinning widely.

You’ve never danced formally in this hall. For a split second, nerves coil in your belly, but then you consider the alternative: remaining at the table, a passive spectator to the silent communication running like a tide beneath Inga and Steven’s every movement. You’d rather risk a stumble on the slick flagstones than be left to chew over every possibility.

You stand and take Tomas’s hand, a ripple of interest moving through the guests as he leads you out into the open before the hearth. A gap opens in the crowd, and the musicians punctuate the moment with a flourish of strings and drum. Tomas bows with exaggerated solemnity, then sweeps you into a measured turn.

You follow his lead, surprised by your own ease. Tomas is a practiced partner, gentle with your hands but confident, never once jerking or crowding your stride. His feet are silent on the stone, but his voice is not. “You’ve the poise of a born queen.”

You tilt your chin, keeping the smile soft at the corner of your mouth. “I was not born for this, but I endeavor to do my part now that I am here.”

You spin across the stones, and as you do, you scan the tables. Steven’s eyes are on you. For a moment the music and the crowd dissolve, and there is only him: his gaze, steady and measuring, tracking your every motion. You do not falter. You let Tomas spin you and cross-step backwards right up to the hearth, recalling the reels of your childhood, the feel of packed dirt and summer wind and the memory of a future you never lived. The steps come back to you, and you find yourself smiling for real, alive in the exertion and the quickening of your own pulse.

“Grace alone is never enough for a court like this,” Tomas murmurs, leaning close during a tight turn. “You have mettle. Not the kind acquired by accident, either.”

You search his face, but his tone is light, his intentions wrapped in courtly ambiguity. “If that’s meant as counsel, my lord, I am ever eager for the wisdom of those who have weathered more storms than I.”

Tomas’s steps never falter, though his grip on your hand tightens a fraction. “That is good. If you ever need a friend at court, or anywhere else, you would do well to keep my confidence.” The dance brings you in close, and you catch the glint of honest intent in Tomas’s eyes. “There will be many storms, and you must endeavor to discern which storms require bolting the doors, and which are best met with open arms.”

Whether it is a warning, an offer, or simply a kindness, you do not know, but you incline your chin in acknowledgment. “Thank you, Tomas of the south. I will remember the counsel.”

“I believe between you and I, we are cut from the same cloth. Perhaps a finer, softer weave than these old bones, but the same resilience deep in the thread.”

The dance ends, and he bows you out with a flourish. There is a round of applause from the assembled guests, followed by a ripple of laughter from you and the others who joined you in dance, and Tomas gently guides you back toward your seat.

But before you make it, Ursa intercepts you, her eyes wide with the thrill of the moment. “My queen, you were glorious,” she whispers, then slips away as quickly as she arrived, swishing back into the tide of party.

The song ends. Tomas bows you out, guiding you back to the table with a flourish that leaves your head slightly spinning. As you sit, Inga of Storn is watching you, chin propped on the backs of her fingers. She offers you a nod, measured and dignified; you answer with the same, nothing more, nothing less.

The courses roll on. Dishes change rapidly as servants whisk away battered platters and empty bowls and refill goblets at a tempo that keeps the feast in perpetual motion until honeyed cakes and dried fruits are brought around at the end.

You’ve barely savored the last morsel when Steven appears at your side, towering, the heat of his body radiating through the cold of the hall. He takes your hand, enveloping it in his, and tugs you gently but inexorably away from the crowd, ignoring any final etiquette or protocol the occasion may actually have called for. Not a single protest is raised. You can feel the tension radiating off him, and you can only imagine the intensity that must be written on his face. No one will challenge this man in this moment.

You expect him to drag you, as he sometimes does, straight to the bed, or to pin you against the wall and ravish you before the echoes of the feast have even faded. Instead, Steven releases your hand the moment you cross the threshold of your chambers and crosses to the hearth, where the fire is guttering low. His movements are restless, unrooted. He throws a handful of pine boughs onto the embers, and the fresh pitch cracks and blooms with the flames and the sweet, sharp scent that you always associate with midwinter.

He neither speaks nor turns, only begins to unlace the collar of his tunic, then pulls it over his head with a movement so forceful you hear the threads strain. He works at the bindings of his arms and wrists, then his belt, and a tremor in his hands betrays the force of his mood. You watch, uncertain—half expecting him to turn on you with that voracious hunger that rarely seems to be quelled. He continues undressing until he’s stripped down to the waist. He is all muscle and shadow, scarred and beautiful in his brutality, but there is something closed off inside him, a storm clouded rather than spent.

Finally, you move further into the room and commence your own nighttime preparations, beginning with removing bracelets from your arms and slipping out of your shoes, still keeping an eye on him.

He seems to sense your scrutiny, shoulders rising in a slow, controlled breath. “You handled yourself well,” he says. The words are measured and strange. “Better than some would have, in the presence of a woman like her.” He can only mean Inga of Storn.

“She is your past, not mine,” you say, and you mean it—or at least, you want to mean it. “Why should I rise or fall for her presence?”

He turns at last, blue eyes catching the full flare of the firelight, and he studies your face like a puzzle he cannot put together. “You should,” he says. The words are hard, unyielding. “It is the nature of things, little wife. Inga is a woman who inspires envy—and not on accident.”

You bristle, the spark of his challenge igniting something that had lain carefully banked all night. “Is that what you wanted? For me to make a scene? Douse the table in your mead and tear her hair out, so the court thinks I am threatened by a pretty ghost?”

His jaw sets, the muscle in his cheek ticking. “Not a scene. I expected you to care.” He spits the last word like a barb, as if it offends him to say it. “You did not flinch, not a blink, when she looked at me with hunger in her eyes.”

It angers him. Truly angers him—not the cold, analytical anger you’ve seen him summon in anger or as a tool of command, but a real, burning, personal need that you see so rarely in him.

“You did not ask me to care. Nor do you seem to require it.”

He stalks forward, bare from the waist up but for the scars that mark him as both king and conqueror. The fire newly lit gives his skin an uncanny glow, as if he’s built from the gods’ own rage and spit. “So that is what it is for you?” he asks, not waiting for response. “A matter of requirement?”

You don’t answer, not directly. You stand your ground and begin to unfasten the heavy belt at your waist, the traditional blue and white sash Astrid had wound and knotted. The silk slips loosely between your hands before you lay it over the back of the chair at your vanity. You undo the laces of your dress, and slip out of it, leaving you in only the simplest of undergarments. “What am I except your conquest? The treasure you brought here? I am scarely more than a trophy fucked and paraded as your queen. I did not know there was an allowance for feeling.”

Steven closes the distance, the air heavy with the pine smoke and the tension you can nearly taste on your tongue. He stands in front of you, massive and imposing, every inch of him radiating heat and intent. “You think that is all you are to me?” he says, voice low and dangerous. “After so many months, you still believe you are just a prize?” He snatches the discarded silk sash and—too fast for you to resist—loops it around your wrists, pulling tight, binding them before your body as if you are a lamb readied for ritual. There’s nothing gentle in the motion, but you drink in the shock and let your body summon the wariness that once governed everything here.

He drags the length of blue over his fist and yanks you forward. You crash against the wall of his chest, the heat of his body a living fire, but his hands do not grope or clutch at you—he holds you at arm’s length, searching your face for something you cannot name.

“I could have any prize, have had many,” he breathes, but it’s fire and not flattery. “I do not keep what I do not want. I have never yearned or sought for more from a woman the way it was from that very first evening.” He leans in so close you smell the salt of his skin, the iron of his mood, and for a moment all you can do is match the wildness in his eyes.

“And even when I have you, I am not satisfied. You become more.” He lets go, not with violence, but in a way that makes the lack of his touch ache.

He circles, pacing almost, the blue silk still twisted around your wrists. "When I look at you," he says, softer now but fiercer too, "I see every dream I have ever had for this hall, this land, my blood. And still it is not enough." He shakes his head, wild with a need that cuts deeper than desire. "That is what you should know, little wife." The last two words rumble from his chest, not dismissive but desperate, as if it is the only truth worth clinging to.

And with that, he drops to his knees—in front of you, not as a servant or a slave but as a king stripped to his hunger. He presses his forehead to your bound hands, inhaling as if scenting your skin might save him. The heat of his breath is humid against your knuckles. For a moment you see the massive hands that have destroyed and built so much now trembling at your command, your body.

But then his hands close around your hips and jerk you forward, so abruptly your knees buckle and you nearly overbalance. He grips you—hard—and rakes both hands up your thighs. The snowy white of your chemise is no hindrance to him: Steven seizes it in both fists and, eyes burning up at you, and rips it from the hem up to your hips with a force that shocks even you, the fibers surrendering in a gasp of threads. The rush of air is cold against your bare skin, but his hands are instantly on the flesh of your thighs, spreading them, and you stagger, almost lose your footing on the rug, except he holds you firmly enough to pursue you poised there as he wishes you to be.

He does not hesitate. He presses his face into the junction of your thighs, beard scraping your bare skin, his mouth finding your cunt with a hunger absent of delicacy but not of skill. He holds you in place by the blue-silked wrists and licks at you, slow and then quick, the heat of his mouth blazing against your skin, beard rough at the crease of your thighs. You gasp, the sound escaping you as a broken little cry, and he drags his tongue up your slit, thumb grinding the bud of your clit until your head tips back and you are moaning, open-mouthed, at the ceiling.

Steven twists you by the hips, turning you, commanding your body how he wants it. He bites your flank, then lower, sharp teeth grazing the swell of your ass, and you yelp, a sound you try to muffle in your own shoulder but which makes him laugh against your skin. He kneads the flesh in handfuls, then thumbs your cheeks apart, spreading you so bluntly you want to disappear into the floor, but you cannot because Steven is behind you, greedy and intent.

The next sensation shocks you: the wet, hot press of his tongue at your tightest opening, circling and probing, and you buck against the sensation, a strangled gasp tearing from your lips. Though Steven has claimed all your holes, he does not torture or pleasure your tightest hole frequently. The shock of his tongue there is always a violation so intimate you might burn to ash beneath from his ministrations.

He sucks at you, his tongue sliding into places ever dared even imagine you would be touched before him. Even now the crudeness of it alone would have made you weep from shame if not for the fact that your knees are shaking with the need to be filled, to have him utterly claim every part of you. Your body responds to him with the swiftness of a summer storm—one touch and you're drenched in need, lightning coursing through nerves that know only him. Months in his bed have carved these pathways of pleasure to flood at his command.

He pulls you down and you end up kneeling on all fours. You whimper—it is all you can do—and Steven holds you steady, his hands bruising your hips as he works his tongue over both your cunt and the tight ring of muscle, switching between them until you’re trembling, the world reduced to blue silk, candlelight, and the raw, obscene wet slickness of your own arousal. You do not have the wherewithal to care if any hear you cry out. There is only your need, the way Steven’s mouth and hands erase everything but the edge you’re teetering on.

He shoves your knees wider, so wide you sway in the joints and nearly collapse—except there is his arm, corded and firm, braced across your hips like you are some wild animal being tamed. He licks at you, fucking his tongue into your cunt, then back to your ass, alternating with a rhythm that leaves you panting, open-mouthed, on the rug. You feel a fresh rush between your legs with each circle of his tongue, and Steven groans as if the taste of you is his favorite mead, his favorite honey, his only holy thing.

Suddenly he stops, and you have just enough time to register the loss, the ache of missing his touch for even a heartbeat, before he’s looming over you, rising to his knees and fitting the wide, hot head of his cock to your entrance.

He doesn’t push in yet. He slides the tip up and down, teasing, painting the slick of your arousal along your cunt and further back to your ass, pressing just enough that you feel the hint of promise, the threat of it, a stretch you both want and dread.

“Steven,” you gasp, your voice gone hoarse, “please—”

He braces one hand at the base of your neck, thumb pressed to your nape, and with the other, guides himself in, slowly, filling you inch by inch until you’re gasping, blinded by the fullness, the impossibility that this act never grows less shocking. He drags it out, slowly, making you feel every notch and ridge, until he bottoms out inside you, hips flush to your ass.

He holds you like this, utterly open and claimed, and rocks his hips forward. The first thrust is slow, almost reverent, but it is a brief moment of gentleness before the pace sharpens. His cock drives in and out of you, using your cunt as an anchor, but every third thrust, you feel the blunt head of him nudge against your other opening, slicked with your own arousal and the wet residue of his mouth. The pressure is relentless, an inexorable stretching, and then—without further warning—he is pushing inside you there too, just the tip at first, but widening you, forcing the tight ring of muscle to yield.

You cry out, the sound raw and wild, and Steven laughs, low and dark, as he works both holes—one with cock, the other with a ruthless finger slicked in spit and your own juices. You can barely process the sensation, pleasure and pain crashing in waves, every nerve in your body tuned to the twin pulses of pain and satisfaction.

He fucks you like this, both cock and fingers filling you, setting a rhythm that is brutal and perfectly pitched to bring you to shattering. The force of his thrusts pitches your body forward, but Steven follows, his hand bracing at your shoulder, yanking you back to impale yourself on him again, again, until you’re wrung out, body bowed, the blue silk biting into your wrists. Your moans are so loud you think you must be heard down the hall, maybe in the kitchens, maybe in the snow fields beyond the fortress walls, but you are past caring.

He leans over you, chest against your back, the scratch of his beard burning your neck, and you hear him snarl into your ear, “Mine. Only mine.” He bites down, hard but not breaking skin, a mark of claim to your own. The heat of his mouth and the iron grip of his arm send you over the edge, your body convulsing, the orgasm crashing through you like a wave ripping a cliffside to ruins. Your cunt milks his cock desperately, and Steven groans, a sound that vibrates through your whole body. He presses further, thrusting as if he could drive his soul into you through pure force of will, matching each spasm of your core with a savage, punishing pace.

He does not let up. Not when your legs collapse under you, not when your cries go ragged and raw, not when you sob for breath and for mercy and for more in the same voice. He ruts your ass until he feels you tremble again, the pain and pleasure indistinguishable now, and then he yanks out, slides his slick length back into your cunt, and fucks you until you scream his name.

Finally, when you are empty of everything but your voice, Steven shoves in hard and stills, cock pulsing as he finally spills into you, a rush of heat so intense you weep from the fullness of it. He slumps forward, folding you beneath him, pinning you to the rug so you cannot move, cannot even think to move, and for a long moment there is nothing but the roar of your heartbeat in your ears and the heat of his breath at your neck.

He doesn’t speak. He stays, spent and trembling against you, his sweat slick at your back, his cock softening but held inside as if to keep you forever tethered to the earth and to him. The pine boughs in the hearth spit and crackle, the only sound in the chamber aside from your twin gasps for breath.

After what feels like an age, Steven rolls you to the side, still bound, and gathers you up before rising himself and carrying you to the bed. He lays you down, then produces a knife from where exactly you know not, and cuts away the remnants of your chemise. Only then does he descend, moving in behind you, pressing your back to his naked, sweat-slicked chest. He slings one burly arm across your belly, cinching you to him, as if he suspects you might unravel and slip away, vanish into the night unless physically anchored. The other hand, still holding the blue silk binding your wrists, brings them to rest at your breastbone, a possessive knot over your heart. He nestles his nose into the braid of your hair, breathing in the sweat and salt and whatever trace the night has left on you. For a long while, he is silent, letting the wet heat of your bodies leach into the linen, letting both your hearts hammer back toward something like peace.

This is not uncommon, a ferocious fucking, and then a decent into slumber, but then he does speak before you’re too far gone.

He speaks as if you are not there, as if he is confessing to the dark, beard rasping your neck. “If it was merely your body I wanted, I could have stolen and kept you as a concubine, a pet for the king and his men.” He draws your bound hands to his mouth, presses a kiss to the ribbon cinching your wrists. “But I saw in you a queen who would have strength and the wits of survival. You proved it through your actions in ushering your women, children, and elderly to flee into the forest and hide. You were only caught because you were the last to leave, the rear of the pack.

“And I think maybe I knew—” He laughs, the sound gruff and incredulous, “—the moment you stared down a blade and spat in the dirt at my men, you had the bone in you that could survive me, could take all I would give and not break."

You want to tell him that’s not what you feel now—not breaking and survival, but the slow, hot flare of something more dangerous and enveloping. But you cannot move your mouth, cannot move your hands. The warmth, the utter exhaustion, pins you like an insect in amber. It’s the truth, though: you can take all Steven gives and more, and even when he breaks you, you reform, sharper and surer than before.

He pulls your braid loose and combs his fingers through your sweat-damp hair, unbraiding it section by section, as if to erase the ribbons and colors the court braided into you and replace it with only his mark. He works methodically, with the patience of a hunter skinning his prize, so slow you feel every drag of his thumb at your nape, every careful untwining.

When his hands have untangled every ribbon, when your hair spills wild and loose as the night he first took you, Steven says, voice raw and unguarded, "Do you want him?" The question is a blade, unexpected, honed to a perfect, silent edge.

It is not the kind of jealousy you expect from him—Steven, the conqueror, the unmoved, the one who’s consumed, enthralled, and conquered you. But there’s a new, black hunger in the way he says it, a need to know if you can be swayed, if Tomas’ gentler words or softer eyes could tempt your loyalty a finger’s breadth from Steven’s grasp.

You twist to look over your shoulder, wrists still bound, and see the truth of it in his expression. He is not angry, but something deeper: haunted. You know then that he could trust you with his life, but not with his terror of being abandoned. “You like the southern lord Tomas.”

His tone is feral, a warning note you know instinctively not to ignore. You lie propped against the iron of his arm, your heart thrumming against the knot of blue silk, and wonder if he will truly believe any answer you give.

You do not play coy. That would only make it worse. “He reminds me of someone,” you say.

A pause. The heat of him presses in at your back, more tense, and you can sense his mind tearing through every possibility, every motive. “Someone you would have preferred to me?” The words are almost spat, but beneath the venom is a tremor—a thread of vulnerability that stuns you.

“My father,” you say quietly. “He was… kind. He asked questions. He listened.” The ache that trembles there in your voice, you know it will not land gently for him or for you. You go on anyway, the words catching like thorns in your throat. “I miss him. I miss my mother, my sisters.” You swallow, hard. “Tomas is nothing like you. He can see through a room and set those around him at ease. It reminds me of how my father was. I don’t want him. I want…” You pause, the word refusing to come, but you force it out, soft as a bruise. “I want not to be alone.”

There’s a long silence. Steven’s breath rasps in your ear, ragged, and you feel the strong pulse of his heart beating. The words hang between you, heavy as the furs that swathe the bed. For a long time, neither of you moves. You expect Steven to snarl, to snap, to claim you again with hands or teeth or cock, but he only tightens his arm around you, pressing you close enough that your breath stutters in your chest.

“Alone,” he finally echoes, as if this is a thing he has never truly named. His chin presses into your shoulder, and the scrape of beard is almost tender. “You have never been alone since the day I brought you here. Not a single night, not a single dawn.” The words rumble out of him, half accusation, half vow.

But you know what he can’t know, what no one here could possibly understand, and you find yourself trembling as you say, “It’s not the same.” The words are small in the dark, nearly swallowed by the thick cocoon of the bedding and the iron of his arms and the weight of him still half inside you.

He stiffens, but you press on, voice hollow with a truth you have never let touch air, have scarcely allowed yourself to acknowledge since the early days of your new life. “You think I am not alone because you are always here, because I have servants and duties and… an entire kingdom to help care for. But every face is new, every wall echoes with the absence of the home that was mine.” You swallow, steeling yourself. “Every kindness here is suspect. Every affection is one I must earn, or keep, or defend.” The words tumble out before you can stop them, raw and truer than anything you’ve ever let him see.

Steven is very still behind you, considering. You feel his hand, slow and careful, splay over your belly. “And me?” he asks. “Am I only… a conqueror to you, even now?”

What can you say? You have wanted, desperately, to hate him, to let yourself be ice and stone, but every night you share this bed, every morning you wake pressed close to him, his heat and his hunger and the unexpected moments of care. “You are a conqueror,” you admit, “and there are days I loathe you for it.” You turn, finally, within the cage of his arms, and this time the blue silk is support, not restraint. “But you are also the root the grows all I have now,” you admit, the words dry as bone, the last of your pride crumbling with them. “Everything I was is gone, except for how you see me, the life I’m building here only because of you and my position as your queen.” The confession is everything you know how to give. You expect him to seize it, to use it as leverage or to brand you with it in the way only Steven can. Instead, he is silent, haunted by the truth of it, and you sense a shift in the air.

He searches your face, eyes dark and wild and unmoored, and then something in him gives. He closes his eyes, a long, shuddering exhale bleeding out of him, and then, with the patience of a stone altered by centuries of wind, he gently unwinds your bound wrists and brings your hands to his lips. He kisses the inside of each palm, one and then the other, callused hands cupped around yours to hold them steady for the ritual. You think he means to claim you again, to turn every declaration of weakness into a demonstration of strength, but instead Steven just holds your hands to his heart, bared and thrumming fast and fragile against your skin.

He presses his brow to yours, the heat of his body incandescent, a lighthouse in the storm. “I see you,” he says. “I saw you from the first, and I will not let you vanish, not even if you wish it.” The words are a cord binding you, not to the palace or the kingdom, but to the man beneath the scarred skin and steel beneath. The admission is not in words, but in the slow pulse of his heartbeat under your palm, the way he curls his hand around your head to keep you there, to keep your face pressed close, as if proximity can substitute for explanation.

You are swept by a wave of exhaustion, not the clean fatigue of sated pleasure, but a deep, marrow-tracing depletion, the kind that comes from exposure more than exertion. For a time neither of you moves, except for the hot, desperate breaths that collapse in your lungs and then shudder out of you both, braided together and matching pace. You close your eyes, feeling the scrape of his thumb over your cheekbone, and tell yourself you don’t care that you cry a little. How many times have you shed tears in his presence? Of fear, of frustration, of pleasure, of longing.

There is nothing left to say this night. You surrender to the thickness of the moment, to Steven’s hands redrawing every line of your body, as if this is the first and last night he will ever have you. You shudder against him, not from cold, but from the slow-mounting realization that love, even the broken, brutal kind, has taken root where only survival grew before.

viking themed divider by @saradika-graphics

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[fanfictiontrash9]

[stargazingfangirl18]

Bittersweet

Pairing: Ari Levinson x Female!Reader Word Count: 3,901 Summary: Sheriff Ari Levinson was more than willing to keep your secret, he only asked for one thing in return–you. Warnings: AU. Explicit language. Explicit sexual content. Soft!dark sheriff!Ari. Curvy!Reader. Dub con. Coercion. Manipulation. Vaginal fingering. Dirty talk. Unprotected sex. Praise kink. Cockwarming. Breeding kink if you squint. Oral sex (m receiving). Cum eating.

A/N: This is for the New year! New town! writing challenge hosted by @thezombieprostitute and @1000plants Thank you so much for hosting such a fun event! As soon as I saw the Sheriff prompt, I knew I wanted to write a soft!dark Sheriff Ari. I hope you enjoy! ❤️

You were lost in your own little world–in your happy place–tucked away in your kitchen, the scent of fresh baked goods filling the air. 

You had already finished prepping the diner’s weekly order–three batches of muffins and half a dozen pies–and now you were working on the custom birthday cake for soon to be 7-year-old Susie Hannigan’s birthday. 

Bending to peek through the glass of your oven’s door, you saw the three cakes nearly done, and according to your trusty oven timer counting down the seconds, they had just over six more minutes to go. 

Just as you turned back to the counter, which was neatly organized with all of your tools and ingredients, intent on starting on the buttercream frosting, there was a sudden knock at your front door.

At the very particular cadence, you went still, a chill running through you as all of your hair stood on end. Because it was him. 

Sheriff Ari Levinson.

Your insides fluttered and wilted at the same time, anxiety instantly buzzing through your body. The urge to cry surged as suddenly as your anxiety, but you tried your best to will it away, taking a shaky breath before you hurried from the kitchen to answer the front door.

Even though you knew him rather intimately at this point–and he had become a daily fixture in your life–Ari still took your breath away each and every time you saw him. Like he did now, as you pulled the front door open to find him leaning against the doorjamb.

He was so tall and broad–the largest man you had ever seen–and he easily towered over your smaller frame as he watched you with dark blue eyes that always smoldered when they were aimed your way. 

“Hey there, sugar,” Ari purred in that deep, lazy drawl of his. “It’s been a helluva day and I sure could use a sweet treat as a pick me up.”

Between his words, and the wolfish grin curling his lips, heat flooded your face as your gaze dropped–unable to hold his–and you stared at his chest. 

The worn denim button up beneath his sheriff’s jacket was undone by at least three buttons, giving a glimpse of the bronze skin and dark chest hair that lay beneath. Your eyes flickered to the gold sheriff’s badge pinned to his jacket, and you had to blink back tears, because growing up, you’d always been taught to respect the lawmen, that they were there to serve and protect. 

But even in this small town, which was warm and welcoming to you when you arrived six months ago, looking for a fresh start, Ari wasn’t here to protect you. 

He was here to use you.

Not long after you arrived, you realized the one downfall of such a small town was the lack of employment opportunities. And then you’d had the brilliant idea to turn your most beloved hobby and passion–baking–into the work you so desperately needed. 

You hadn’t realized you needed a permit to run your small business out of your home, and you certainly didn’t have the funds to rent a commercial space downtown, especially after putting all of your savings into buying your cute little house. 

So when the sheriff showed up at your door one day, letting you know you’d have to close down your business and go through the proper channels of applying for a permit and hope it was approved, you were devastated–desperate. 

And Ari had wasted no time using that to his advantage. 

He acted like he was a real nice guy doing you a favor as he suggested he could keep your little secret just that, as long as you were sure to serve him up a very specific treat any time he wanted it. 

That specific treat? It was you.

And now here you were, a few months down the line, still being used by the most powerful man in town, and praying each night before bed that your business permit would be approved any day now.

The saddest thing about all of this, was that you had noticed Ari soon after you had moved to town. You’d bumped into him a few times, and been so taken by his good looks and charming, easy demeanor. 

Not to mention, it had been a long time since someone had seemed so attracted to you, had so openly flirted with you, and it had been a real boost to your confidence. 

But now, as you stood before Ari, trying not to cry, you didn’t feel confident. You felt small, and not just in the physical sense.

“You look so fucking cute in those little aprons,” Ari hummed, sinking his teeth into his lower lip as he shamelessly eye fucked your outfit of choice.

It was nothing special, just a simple dress and your favorite colorful apron on top, which was already dusted with flour. You glanced down at yourself, feeling naked on the receiving end of Ari’s intent gaze, and hugged yourself tightly, shifting your weight as you avoided his gaze. 

“You gonna invite me in?” There was an edge to his voice that had you instantly alarmed and nearly tripping over yourself to stand back and gesture him inside. 

“I’m sorry, sheriff—“

He tutted, and your anxiety flared at the sound of his displeasure. 

“Ari,” you rushed to correct yourself. 

“No need to be sorry, sugar.” 

Ari shrugged off his jacket, hanging it on the coat rack in your entry way. His sheriff’s hat was next, and then he turned his full attention back to you, lips tilting into a smirk as he spied the way you were nervously wringing your hands before you. 

“You’re such a nervous, fluttery thing, aren’t you?” He cooed. He reached for you, massive hands gripping your arms and gathering you flush against him, making a pleased sound in the back of his throat as he felt your softness press into his firmness. “Even after all these weeks.”

“I’m sorry–" you started, but your words morphed into a gasp as Ari gripped your chin with his fingers and ducked low to kiss you.

He took his time, lips as eager as they were possessive as they pressed against your own. Ari wasted no time in deepening the kiss. His tongue invaded your mouth, conquering you thoroughly, until you showed him you knew who you belonged to with a soft whimper of surrender as you sagged against his chest.

He rumbled as he continued to kiss you, like he was greedily drinking from your sweet lips, determined to get drunk off the taste of you. His hands rounded your hips, groping up your sides, filling with your soft curves before descending so he could grab two handfuls of your ass and make you squeal. 

“You know what those sweet sounds do to me, honey,” Ari panted as he pulled away. He remained close enough to press his erection against your belly, giving another groan as he rocked against you.

You trembled as his grip shifted and he slowly gathered up the hem of your dress until he could touch bare skin. Ari’s fingers squeezed along the backs of your thighs before lifting and dipping into the band of your panties so he could grip your bare ass. 

You could tell he had a bad day by his touch–it was rougher than usual, which just ratcheted up your fear and had you wisping out a quavering, “Please–“

But before you could say more, the oven timer began to beep from the kitchen. 

You tried to pull away, but Ari wouldn’t let you. Tentatively, you met his gaze, shivering at how dark and lustful his eyes were. “Please, I don’t want the cakes to burn.”

Ari’s nostrils flared as he watched you for a long, tense moment. Then he sighed and gave your ass a squeeze, extracting his hands from your panties as he drawled, “Go on then.”

You turned without hesitation, relief rushing through you, but it was short lived as you felt a harsh slap to your ass, that had you squealing and cupping your panging cheeks as you scurried away into the kitchen. 

You could hear Ari’s throaty chuckle, and you could actually feel his presence as he followed you into the kitchen, but you tried your best to ignore him for now as you turned off the oven timer. 

Donning your oven mitts, you carefully pulled the cakes from the oven, setting them on the cooling racks you had set out earlier before turning the oven off and setting about cleaning up the kitchen.

Ari retrieved a beer from the fridge, which you only kept stocked for him, before dropping heavily into one of the chairs at the small dining table across the room. He watched as you fluttered around, keeping yourself busy and your eyes away from him as you worked.

“You hear anything about your permit application?” He asked. 

That gave you pause, but only for a second before you were moving things from the counter to the kitchen sink to be washed. “Every time I call, they say it’s under review, but no movement yet,” you answered glumly.

“Well you know they’re understaffed over there. Mayor Barber has bigger fish to fry.”

“I suppose.”

Ari watched as you cleaned the dishes, sipping at his beer, smirking because he could tell that you were drawing it out to avoid the inevitable. But he could be patient with you, to a degree at least, and he waited until you had finished and dried your hands before speaking up again.

“Come on, sugar, time to serve me my favorite treat.”

It was an odd sensation–your stomach sinking and swooping at the same time. The thing you hated most about this whole arrangement was how a part of you couldn’t help but be attracted to Ari, and like what he did to you.

It made you roil with shame, feeling that way–even if you couldn’t help it. Maybe you weren’t the good person you always tried so hard to be. Maybe you deserved to be used like this. 

But you guessed none of it really mattered. It was what it was, and there was nothing you could do about it. Not until you got your business permit approved anyway. 

So you took a shaky breath, trying to quell your nerves before turning toward Ari. Your fingers trembled as you reached behind you to untie your apron, but stilled at Ari’s directive. 

“No, leave that on, sugar.” He shifted in his seat, hands gripping his thick thighs as he watched you. “Dress too. Just take off your panties.”

You did as he said, that heat rushing to your face once more as you shimmied out of your panties and bent to scoop them up. You tucked them into one of your apron pockets as Ari held out a big hand to you.

When you placed your shaking hand in his, his thumb caressed over your knuckles as he reeled you closer. His hands were quick to frame your waist, fingers digging into your soft flesh through your dress as he guided you down to straddle his thick lap. 

You tried, you really did, but you couldn’t hold back your tears as you settled against Ari’s lap, your dress and apron riding high on your bare thighs as your toes barely touched the floor now. 

“Why you crying?” Ari cooed, gently thumbing away your tears. “I’ve never hurt you, have I?”

“No, but…” you pressed your lips together, knowing it was better to bite your tongue as you stared at the base of Ari’s throat, focusing on the silver chain that peeked out from beneath his shirt.

“But?” he urged, his hands once again settling on your hips and giving a squeeze.

“Physical ain’t the only kind of hurt to be had,” you whispered.

“Christ, you’re the sweetest, most sensitive thing,” Ari chuckled. His hands smoothed up your back in a gentle caress as he touched his lips to your forehead. “We both know you’ve been sweet on me since you first moved to town, sugar. I just nudged us along to what we both want.” 

“I didn’t want it like this.”

Ari was quiet as his hands descended down your back, skimming around your hips before his palms planted on your bare thighs. They smoothed up, pushing your dress and apron to obscene territory, until you felt air touch your bare cunt and shivered in response. 

Ari hummed, pressing another kiss to your forehead as his hands shifted, rising to palm your breasts and give you a firm squeeze.

“Bet that sweet pussy says otherwise.” He smirked. 

Ari’s fingers were between your legs in the blink of an eye, gliding through the wetness coating your folds as you squirmed and felt a new wave of shame wash over you. 

He laughed at how wet you were, his voice a baritone taunt as he purred, “You were saying?”

Fresh tears gathered in your eyes as your humiliation crested, and a sob caught in your chest as you tried to pull away from him, wanting nothing more than to hide. To break down entirely.

But Ari was having none of it. He just shushed you as he wiped away more of your tears. Touching his finger beneath your chin, he lifted your wet gaze to his, his voice stern as he told you, “No more tears or talking. Just feel, sugar. I always make you feel good, and we both know it.”

He kept hold of your chin as he leaned closer, his thumb tugging until your bottom lip dipped and gave him more space to work with as he kissed you. It wasn’t like before–all claiming and conquering–this kiss was gentle, almost like Ari was apologizing without words. 

Or maybe you were just trying to fool yourself, trying to justify the way you gripped his shoulders and sank against him, willingly opening your mouth to the sweep of his tongue and kissing him back.

You were so caught up in Ari’s drugging kisses that you didn’t realize his hand was descending to your cunt until his fingers were at your clit, circling. You gasped, your fingers digging into the thick muscles of his shoulders as you rocked against his touch.

“That’s it,” Ari praised, teeth gently tugging on your lower lip. “Let me get you ready for my cock. I know you always struggle with it, baby, it’s so big and thick and your sweet pussy’s so tight.”

All you could do was gasp and moan as Ari’s fingers worked you over, until his hand was soaked with your juices and your clit was throbbing. Until you were chasing the retreat of his fingers, desperate for more, and whining against the crook of his throat when you didn’t get it. 

“I’ve got you, sugar,” Ari purred against your ear. 

He shifted your body closer, his hands working to undo his belt and jeans. And then you felt the tip of him nudging along your cunt. Your breath caught as he got himself covered in your slick before lining you up just right.

Ari urged your body down, his hard, thick length slowly spearing into you from below. You made a pathetic sound as the thick head of him popped inside before he slowly started to stretch you open.

“You can do it, sweetness, come on, relax for me,” Ari husked against your ear. 

His fingers returned to your clit, rubbing and circling, until you were moaning and so wet you could hear it. Ari gave a sharp rut that had you keening and him groaning as he finally settled deep inside you, to the hilt.

“Good girl,” he hummed, rubbing a big hand up your back and purring as you clenched around him in response to his praise. 

You did what you always did when Ari fucked you–hid your face against the crook of his neck, because you were so embarrassed by how quickly he always made you cum, and you could never look him in the eye when he was doing this to you. 

Even now, you were close, and you couldn’t help it. Something about Ari in particular–the way he stretched you so much and paid lots of attention to your clit–it always had your body turning traitor for him. 

So you hid against the warmth of his neck, shakily breathing in the musky scent of him as his hands grip your waist and he started to rock you over his lap. Once he started to thrust up into you from below–burying his cock inside of you as far as it could go and groaning each time he bottomed out–it was game over. 

You came with a sharp cry that you muffled against Ari’s neck as you clutched at his shirt and trembled from head to toe. 

“Fuck, I love how sensitive you are,” Ari laughed against your shoulder, humming at the way your pussy fluttered and clamped around his cock. “And the way you hide because of it.”

He groaned, his cock throbbing inside of you and making you gasp. You were boneless already as you sagged against Ari, all the anxious noise in your mind starting to fade to white noise as your body trilled and begged for more.

“This sweet pussy’s so greedy, isn’t she?” Ari cooed as you shifted against him, unconsciously seeking more friction. “I’ll give her exactly what she wants, just like I always do.”

Ari’s hands were rougher now as they framed your hips, his fingers digging into your skin as he lifted you enough that his tip barely stretched your hole before he was slamming you back down until you sheathed him to the hilt all over again. 

You gave a ragged cry against his neck, not realizing the way you were teething on his skin until he grunted and started to fuck up into you with enthusiasm. 

And your body–the ultimate betrayer–she loved every second of it. It was like you had no control over yourself as you started to bounce on Ari’s cock, the wet squelch of your pussy being filled with his thick length over and over again ringing throughout the kitchen.

Soon, your wordless cries and pleas to cum, along with Ari’s quiet snarls and throaty moans, joined in on the symphony of ruin. 

The chair creaked beneath the weight and onslaught of your and Ari’s feral fucking, and when his fingers once against snuck between your slick-coated thighs and strummed at your clit, you came so hard you sobbed. 

The pleasure streaked through you–unrelenting–making your thighs shake and your toes curled as you whined against Ari’s shoulder, biting down as your pussy fluttered and clenched and creamed all around his cock. 

“Fuck, you feel so good,” Ari groaned, tucking his face against your throat as he hugged you tight and started to pound up into you, chasing his release. 

Just before he came, his big hands smoothed up your back, clamping around your shoulders and holding you in place. And when he tipped over the edge, he had you right where he wanted you–held securely in his lap, so he could make sure you took every last drop of his cum that he fucked deep into your still fluttering cunt. 

You were still struggling to catch your breath as Ari went still, his big body sagging back in his seat as he kept a tight hold on you. You could feel the warm heaviness of his seed filling you up, and you couldn’t help it as your pussy fluttered some more at the thought of being coated and stuffed full of him. 

At being so thoroughly claimed. 

Ari’s mind seemed to be wandering the same territory. He purred as you warmed his cock, his fingers gentle as they trailed up and down your back before one of his hands wandered down to pet your belly. 

“You’d make such a good mother,” he husked. “Look real pretty round with my baby.”

You gasped, tensing in Ari’s arms. Because having you in a compromising position and using you for sex was one thing. But starting a family…that was another.

That was so much more–and forever. 

“You just wait, sugar,” he chuckled, nosing along your neck and pressing a kiss to your sweaty skin. “It’s only a matter of time before you belong to me in every way. And I’ll take such good care of you, don’t you worry.”

Shivering, you tentatively sat up, not realizing your cheeks were streaked with tears until Ari took a moment to kiss them all away. You could feel his gaze on you, even if you couldn’t meet it, and when you went to move away, Ari grabbed your wrist, holding you captive.

Your eyes shyly lifted to his then, and you were quick to register the expectant look he was giving you. It made your face warm and your insides flutter, which made Ari smirk, since he could feel it on account of you still warming his cock. 

Feeling more warmth seep into your skin, you rose to your feet, your bodies separating before you sank to your knees between Ari’s spread legs. You were gentle as you reached for his soft cock and cleaned it with your mouth–making sure to lick away every last trace of his cum and yours before tucking him away and doing up his jeans. 

“You’re so good to me, sweetheart,” Ari sighed, giving your cheek a gentle caress with his knuckles. He grinned when you got to your feet but wobbled so much he had to catch you by the hip to keep you upright. “Go on and get cleaned up, I know you hate being a mess.” 

Something inside of you twinged over the fact that Ari knew that about you–could read you so well. But he was right, and all you could focus on right now was how much you needed to get clean. 

How dirty you felt. 

Still avoiding Ari’s gaze, you turned and scurried from the kitchen without another word. 

Ari watched you go with a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He reached for his beer, taking a long pull before setting it down just as he heard the upstairs shower kick on. He was imagining that luscious body of yours naked beneath the spray of water when his phone began to buzz from his back pocket. 

Ari shifted, pulling it free and glancing at the screen before answering the call with a warm, “Mayor, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

Mayor Andy Barber got straight to the point, as he often did. “The home baker,” he said. “Am I still burying her business permit application or should I finally put it through?”

“Nah, leave it on ice until I tell you otherwise,” Ari smirked. 

“Will do,” Andy murmured. 

“Thanks, mayor.”

“Sheriff,” Andy returned before ending the call.

Grinning, Ari set his phone down beside his empty beer before rising to his feet. He gave a big stretch, cracking his neck for good measure, then turned and sauntered from the kitchen and up the stairs to join you. 

Just thinking of you in the shower had him getting hard again already, and Ari just couldn’t help but indulge in yet another serving of his favorite, most sinfully addictive treat.

What. The. Fuck. Ever. I’d let this man ride me and breed me ‘til his heart’s content. 😌 Please take a moment to hoe spiral with me, won’t you?!

—

Please take a moment to drop a comment or reblog. Engagement is the fuel that keeps writers writing and sharing their work for your enjoyment, so do your part to keep our fandom alive. Serial likers will be blocked.

I no longer do tag lists, but if you'd like to be notified when I post new writing, follow my side blog @‌sirisshamelesshoelibrary​ and turn on notifications to get pinged when I drop some new hoe fuel 😘

Please note that I do not give permission for my work to be translated, reposted, or published anywhere other than my Tumblr. I also do not give permission for my work to be fed into AI platforms. Reblogs are most welcome and encouraged though! ❤️

[navybrat817]

Hold You Tight Masterlist

Pairing: Club Owner!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Fic Summary: The owner of The 107th wants you to be his girl whether you like it or not.

Fic Warnings: DARK AU, noncon/dubcon, stalking, coercion, threats, gaslighting, inner turmoil, violence, creepy and unhinged behavior, flashback, possessiveness, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?), more warnings to come.

Fic Status: Ongoing with tentative updates every other Sunday.

A/N: Club owner!Bucky obsessed with you wouldn't leave my brain and now we have this! Hope you lovelies enjoy! ❤️ Bucky edit by the beautiful @nixakimbo and divider by the talented @firefly-graphics . Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

Part 10

Part 11

Part 12

Part 13

Part 14

Part 15

Part 16

Part 17

Part 18

Part 19

Part 20

Part 21

Part 22

Part 23

Part 24

Part 25

Part 26

Part 27

Part 28

Part 29

Part 30

Part 31

Part 32

Part 33

Part 34

Part 35

Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

[witchywithwhiskey]

on the clock

pairings: werewolf!CEO!Bucky Barnes x human!assistant!female reader

summary: feeling unfulfilled by your job, you sign up to become a member of the Pleasure Portal network, which allows you to have sex with monsters around the world for money. then, when you connect with an anonymous monster on a boring summer day at the office, it leads to an afternoon delight—and something more.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), smut, unspecified age gap, monsterfucking and teratophilia, werewolf/human sex, knotting, sex work/reader becomes a sex worker, portal sex, piv sex, very rough sex, unprotected sex, anonymous sex, multiple creampies, come inflation, cockwarming, orgasm control/delay, multiple orgasms, big cock, size kink, free use, some objectification, dirty talk, sexting, praise kink, light verbal degradation, bdsm undertones, sir kink, pet names (sweetling, sweet girl), aftercare, feelings

word count: 10.2k

a/n: for week 12 of @buckybarnesevents's Hot Bucky Summer event, i had a pretty good idea of the premise for this fic (and it's based loosely on this post) but i had y'all vote to help decide some of the specifics, like Bucky being a werewolf. since the other two options were so close, i worked them both in 🤭 this ended up being way longer than i expected, but i'm really excited about this particular magical universe, and i hope y'all love it as much as i do!! please enjoy some werewolf CEO Bucky!!! ♡

prompt: "You can’t be real." | [Fantasy Character | Monsterfucking | Dreaming/Daydreaming]

Hot Bucky Summer 2025 masterlist

You didn’t need the money. Not really. 

All your bills were easily covered by your job. You worked 60 hours a week as the senior executive assistant to Bucky Barnes, who, in his early 40s, was the first werewolf to ever become CEO of a Fortune 500 company. 

The role paid well enough that you’d been able to buy your dream apartment in Park Slope, Brooklyn, and still have money leftover for savings and fun things like vacations and going out to brunch. 

So you really didn’t need any extra money from a side hustle, because your career was plenty lucrative. But, frankly, your job as Bucky Barnes’ senior EA was boring.

Over the course of your career, you’d worked hard to rise up the ranks of assistants, taking on new roles at different companies until you’d made it to the top of the ladder. But you found yourself in the odd position of having nowhere else to go, and little to do. 

As Mr. Barnes’ senior EA, your job was to oversee the rest of the CEO’s assistants. At any given time, he had half a dozen, all of whom managed his schedule, fetched his dry-cleaning, and did everything else the busy werewolf didn’t have time to do.

However, after the brief transition period when you first stepped into your role and made some changes so that the fleet of assistants ran more efficiently, and everything was delegated to the others, there was little left for you to do.

All that was expected of you was to sit at your desk in the sparsely decorated antechamber outside Mr. Barnes’ office, with its towering, thick wooden doors that were often closed, leaving you entirely alone. Occasionally, you’d have to greet any visitors who’d arrive for an in-person meeting, but that was rare.

Most days, no one came to Mr. Barnes’ office, since the werewolf preferred virtual meetings and phone calls to in-person sit-downs. So you spent long, arduous days alone at your desk while your boss worked and the fleet of assistants scurried around doing his bidding, which was relayed through you.

It left you with a lot of free time—free time that you spent trying to keep busy, and trying not to daydream about your handsome werewolf boss. 

It had been against your better judgement that your foolish heart had caught feelings for Bucky Barnes, but it turned out you had a soft spot for werewolves with icy blue eyes, sharp canine teeth, and expensive suits. It didn’t help that he had a dry sense of humor and a brusque, no-nonsense way of conducting business that you respected.

Still, you maintained a professional demeanor at work, not allowing your feelings for your boss to show when you greeted him in the morning or spoke to him about his schedule. But if you were honest with yourself, your little crush on the werewolf was the reason you didn’t look for another job.

You’d fallen into a routine of monotony, broken up only by the brief, thrilling moments when you interacted with Bucky Barnes. You didn’t even realize you were looking for something to escape the vicious circle your life had become until it was right in front of your face.

It was on one particularly dreary afternoon when you took the first step down a path that would change everything. 

Cold rain lashed against the floor-to-ceiling windows of the antechamber outside Mr. Barnes’ office, obscuring the view of New York City’s Central Park that lay at the feet of the company’s high-rise in Manhattan. You felt like a princess trapped in a tower, held above and apart from the rest of the world, bitterly alone. 

To remind yourself that you weren’t the last person in the world, living among the gray clouds, you found yourself scrolling through your social media feed, eagerly watching the little windows into other peoples’ lives. 

It was then that you came across a video from a woman who made her living as a “spicy accountant.” Unlike some of the others you’d seen on the app, though, she made her money through something called Pleasure Portal. 

You watched in rapt attention as the woman in the video explained what it was—a network created by the company’s warlock CEO using proprietary portal technology that connected those with willing holes with clients willing to pay to use those holes, even if they were entire continents apart. 

According to the woman, all transactions were completely anonymous and conducted through the app, though there were options for leaving tips and favorable reviews. To ensure everyone’s safety, there was an application process that included health and background checks verified by the Pleasure Portal company. 

And the best part, at least to you, was that it was open to everyone—human and monsters alike.

That had been the most enticing selling point for you, because even if you didn’t need the money, Pleasure Portal offered a safe and anonymous way for you to explore what it would be like to be with a monster, something you’d only ever fantasized about before.

Although you’d developed a crush on him, Bucky Barnes wasn’t the first monster you’d daydreamed about. 

Over the years, you’d wondered endlessly about what it would feel like to be split open by a minotaur, to be put under a lust spell by a warlock, to be tied so intimately by a werewolf’s knot…

You’d been breathless with excitement as you applied to be part of the Pleasure Portal network right then, on that dreary afternoon. You kept oscillating between feeling like it was a dream, too good to be true, and giddy excitement as you filed your paperwork, and gave proof that you tested negative for STIs and were on birth control.

It took surprisingly little time to be approved, the app on your phone unlocking your profile while you were sent the portal device.

As soon as you got the notification that the package had been delivered, in the middle of the afternoon on a hot, summer day, you left your desk, giving Mr. Barnes a ridiculous excuse about needing to go home early to feed your neighbor’s cat. 

Once at you made it back to your apartment in Park Slope, you tore into the box with as much care as you could muster, your eyes widening and lips parting with wonder when you finally got your hands on the portal device.

It was as small as a matchbook and, according to the instructions, should be affixed to your skin above, below or beside the hole you wished to connect to the network. The magic in the device could then be activated only from your app, which required face ID, and it could be shut off using the app or by voicing the safe word you registered with the service.

The app was how you connected with potential Pleasure Patrons, filling out your profile with interests and limits, and setting yourself as available whenever you were open to clients. Anyone looking to use your services as a Pleasure Pocket could send a request, and you had the option to approve or deny based on their profile, which revealed their first name, age and species, and how much money they were offering. 

Although you were almost too excited to read through all the instructions on the portal device and fill out your profile, you forced yourself to pay attention and get through it as quickly and methodically as possible so you could finally get started.

It wasn’t long before you were attaching the device to your mound, just above your pussy, and setting yourself as available on the app. Your profile specified that you were particularly open to monsters—and you were delighted to discover they were all too eager to use your services.

From that night on, you became an active Pleasure Pocket on the Pleasure Portal network. 

At first, you consigned yourself to only using it when you were at home, letting monsters from all over the world rail you while you made dinner or took a shower or lay on your couch watching TV. But work was so boring, and you really didn’t have much to do, so what was the harm in wearing it to the office?

It was breathlessly thrilling to wear the Pleasure Portal device at your desk, alone in the antechamber outside Mr. Barnes’ office, feeling all manner of monster cock fill you while you were on the clock. It got to a point where even if you weren’t stuffed full of cock, you were daydreaming about it. Your idle thoughts constantly wandered back to your favorite Patrons.

The day everything truly changed, was a day like any other.

It was a beautiful sunny afternoon in New York City, the golden summer sun glinting off buildings and giving you a perfect view of Central Park with all its gorgeous green foliage. And it was another boring day at your desk, with nothing for you to do since the assistants were self-sufficient and Bucky was busy behind his closed office doors. 

At that point, you’d been part of the Pleasure Portal network for a few months, and your mind kept straying back to one of your recent clients, a minotaur that had used you the previous week. 

Your fingers toyed idly with the buttons of your silk blouse, which was tucked into a tight black pencil skirt. You bit your lip as you remembered the feeling of the minotaur’s impressive length filling you up for hours one morning, his stamina lasting for what seemed like an eon.

He’d used you for so long, and fucked you so relentlessly, you’d nearly passed out at your desk. It had been glorious.

Once he was done with you, the minotaur had left you a generous tip “for monopolizing your morning,” as well as a favorable review: “5/5 stars, tightest pussy I’ve had in a long time. Would fuck again.”

It was the last part of his review that still stuck with you a week later, and had you daydreaming that he would, in fact, fuck you again. You didn’t often accept repeat clients, but for the minotaur, you’d make an exception. He’d pleasured you well enough that you could see yourself enjoying another session with him.

Unbidden, your thoughts veered sharply away from your minotaur client. Instead, icy blue eyes, sharp canine teeth, and a broad chest clad in an expensive suit flashed through your mind. You tried desperately to halt your thoughts before they could venture further down that path, but your imagination couldn’t be stopped.

Your fantasy shifted, and before you could rein in your mind, you were thinking about being stretched open on a thick werewolf cock while you sat in your boss’s lap. The base of his length, where his knot would inflate, would nudge against your clit and remind you that once he came, you’d be unable to separate. 

Your bodies would be tied together in such an intimate way that couldn’t be ignored. You’d be connected in the most primal, physical way possible…

With a sigh, you blinked the tantalizing image from your mind and returned your focus to the gorgeous sight of the summer sun shining brightly down on New York City, glinting off the water of the lake in Central Park and shimmering off the windows of the other skyscrapers in midtown Manhattan. 

You willed your heart to slow and your breathing to even out in an effort to temper the heat that had begun building in your core. When your fantasy had shifted to Bucky, your slit had flooded with desire, and you could feel the sticky evidence in your panties when you crossed one leg over the other. 

Truthfully, you’d hoped that joining the Pleasure Portal network would distract you from your crush on your boss, but it seemed to have the opposite effect. Letting all manner of monsters use your hole was fun, but it was all anonymous, and it lacked the true connection you thought you could only find in real life. 

And, to be perfectly honest, you weren’t interested in finding a true connection with anyone other than Bucky. Even the minotaur from the previous week paled in comparison to your boss. Though he’d been a good lover and had tipped well, you didn’t want anything more from him than a few more orgasms. 

You were, unfortunately, still hung up on the older werewolf CEO with the icy blue eyes that sent shivers down your spine and the devastatingly handsome face. You wanted the monster who sat in his office just a few dozen feet away from your desk, but might as well have been a whole world away with the thick wooden doors and his inability to see you as anything more than his EA.

A soft chime from your phone pulled you from that train of thought and you picked up the device. A small smile stole across your face when you saw a Pleasure Portal notification: A new Patron was requesting a session!

Eager for something to distract you from your thoughts of Bucky Barnes, you quickly opened up the app and scanned the request.

James, 42, werewolf, was asking for an immediate session, and he was willing to pay an exorbitant amount of money—so much that even your eyes widened at the number of zeros. It was more than you made in an entire week as a senior EA, and all for a few hours of being this monster’s Pleasure Pocket. 

Still, you couldn’t lie and tell yourself the money was really what swayed you. It was this potential client’s profile, particularly the part where he noted he was a werewolf. 

After daydreaming about Bucky, you were feeling more than a little needy. And even though fucking this werewolf named James wouldn’t be the same as finally getting the attention you desired from your boss, you couldn’t deny yourself. You wanted a knot, and if you couldn’t have the one you really wanted, you’d take anything you could get.

So, without any more thought, you hit the button on the app that accepted James’s offer.

As soon as the Pleasure Portal app registered your acceptance, you felt the device hum to life on the mound of your pussy. Delightful tingles erupted in a circle around your hole, the magical current of the portal coming to life and teasing your skin.

You gave a little shiver of anticipation as you leaned back in your expensive, ergonomic desk chair. You closed your eyes, and waited for James to begin using his side of the open portal, arousal already gathering between your thighs as you thought about being used by the anonymous Patron.

Less than a minute later, you felt the pointed tip of the werewolf’s cock nudging carefully against your entrance. The first feel of him made your breath catch in your throat.

James felt big, even just the tip of him spreading your lower lips as he pushed against your entrance. He seemed to be taking it slow, testing out your readiness, being careful not to hurt you with one rough thrust.

When you realized how big he was and the care he was taking with you, your pussy flooded with arousal. It was enough to make your hole slick and ready for his massive cock.

It occurred to you that James might be the biggest monster you’d ever taken, and you were eager to find out if you were right about that. In your chest, your heart raced, but the rest of you remained still as you waited with a breathless excitement for James to feed you more of his cock.

Your prediction was confirmed a moment later when James pressed deeper, the narrow tip of his cock giving way to a thick girth that had you gasping for air and clutching the edge of your desk. Your nails dug into the unyielding wood as your pussy clamped down hard on the werewolf’s penetrating length. 

A soft chime came from your phone, and you picked it up to find James had sent a text through Pleasure Portal’s in-app messaging system. Some clients tried to use it for dirty talk, but more often than not, their attempts at seducing you with words had the opposite effect so you usually ignored them. 

However, James’s message was different. 

Fuck, you’re tight. Even for a human. 

The werewolf sounded grumpy, almost resentful of your pussy, like he could barely believe anyone, even a human, could be so tight. It was a far cry from the effusive flattery most other Patrons tried to woo you with, but the honesty of it charmed you. 

A smile tugged at the corner of your mouth, and your thumbs moved quickly as you typed out a response that you hoped would elicit more delightful grumpiness from the older werewolf. 

Fucked many humans, have you?

The self-satisfied grin on your face slipped when James pushed further into your hole, your mouth forming a perfect ‘o’ and your eyes going wide as your body stretched to accomodate his monster cock. 

He was so big and overwhelming, the velvet-wrapped steel of his girth rubbing deliciously against your inner walls while he pressed deeper, that you momentarily forgot about your phone and it fell with a dull thunk to your desk.

When he was still only partway inside your pussy, James paused, as if giving you time to adjust—and giving himself a moment to send an answer to your question. 

My fair share. How many werewolves have you had?

Picking up your phone to read the message, you huffed a dry laugh at James’s blunt question. It wasn’t really his business—though he must’ve seen on your profile that you had a few positive reviews from past werewolf Patrons—but you found you didn’t mind the intrusive question.

For some reason, you felt a connection to James that had always been lacking in your previous clients, werewolf and other monsters alike. You knew it was likely just because he reminded you of the boss you were crushing on and would never have, but you couldn’t help indulging yourself and gave James an honest response.

A few. None as big as you, though.

The werewolf must’ve shunted his hips forward, burying his cock impossibly deeper in your pussy. The sudden surge of pleasure made you forget yourself, and a desperate squeal slipped from your lips before you could clap a hand over your mouth to muffle the sound.

God, he was so big, the stretch of him burning pleasantly through your core. Your pussy throbbed around the thick girth of his shaft, which was buried so deep, you swore you could feel him in your belly. Pressing a palm to your lower stomach, you stared down at your lap in awe when you could feel the thick steel of him inside your body even while you sat alone in your desk chair. 

The magic of the Pleasure Portal was wild—and you loved it. 

You loved sitting at your desk, in your office above the clouds, stuffed full of werewolf cock where anyone could walk in—where even Bucky could walk in—and talk to you like nothing was out of the ordinary. He’d never know you were full of cock, unless your face gave you away.

That thought made your pussy drip around James’s thick cock, making the slide of his hard length easier as he slipped even deeper. Your moan at the feeling was muffled behind the palm of your hand and you bent over, letting your forehead fall against the cool wood of your desk while you basked in the sensation of being filled so deliciously. 

Even with your thighs trapped tight together by your pencil skirt, the new position opened your body up, and made it easier for James to hilt his monstrous cock in your tight hole. In seconds, he was buried to the base, filling you up more than you even thought possible.

It was all you could do to stifle your blissed-out moans and desperate whimpers in your hand, not wanting to draw your boss’s attention and end your exquisite torment as you writhed in pleasure on James’s cock.

I’m sure you say that to all the monsters on this app.

It took a moment for you to wade through the haze filling your head and grab your phone to read James’s message. 

When you did, you let out an unladylike snort. It was so perfectly grumpy that it made you want to be playful with the older werewolf, an urge you didn’t often care enough about your Patrons to muster.

Gotta earn those tips somehow 🤪

James must’ve let out a low growl at that response, because you could feel the vibration reverberate through his cock where it was buried inside you. 

A soft, pitiful mewl slipped from your lips, and you dropped your head back to your desk with a thunk, your eyes sliding closed as overwhelming pleasure washed through you. 

You’re trouble.

The chime of your phone had you lifting your head back up, your eyes popping open, and you couldn’t bite back the smile at the warm grumpiness of James’s response. 

Something about those two words had your heart doing flips in your chest and the long-dormant butterflies in your stomach taking flight. 

Your inner walls were stretched so perfectly around his hard length, you could practically feel the thrum of his blood pumping in his shaft, and he could feel every throb of your pussy. Your pussy fluttered around the werewolf’s thick cock, and you could feel him twitch in reply. 

It was as if your bodies were conversing in a language all their own.

It was so intimate, the physical connection between you and this anonymous werewolf named James, that you couldn’t stop your mind from wandering to your boss. You wondered if he would be as big, if he’d fill you up as good—if you’d be able to feel every vein and ridge in his cock. 

You wondered if Bucky would be able to make you smile and laugh the way James had. 

And as soon as you had that thought, you realized how unfair you were being to James. It wasn’t his fault you couldn’t get over this ridiculous crush on your boss, and you started to feel bad for thinking about another monster while he was inside you.

So you pushed all thoughts of Bucky aside and refocused on James, picking up your phone to type out another playful response, hoping to get another grumpy reply.

Trouble with a tight pussy, though, right? 😉

Yeah, sweetling, you’ve got a very tight pussy. Feels like you’re strangling my dick.

You huffed a laugh at the vaguely violent description of your pussy, enjoying the blunt way the grumpy werewolf spoke. And if your heart fluttered even more at the sweet nickname and naked praise in James’s message, you ignored the blossoming emotion in your chest. 

The only thing worse than harboring a crush on your unattainable boss was developing a crush on one of your anonymous Pleasure Patrons. That way lay only heartbreak, of that you were certain. So you tried to rein in the feelings developing in your heart.

When you tried to type out another playful message and remain detached, though, your fingers seemed to have a mind of their own, sending a text that was perhaps a little too honest. 

Thank you, sir ☺️ I want to please you.

James’s cock jumped inside you, drawing a low, obscene moan from your lips before you could bite it back, your eyes going hazy as pleasure throbbed through your body. 

Distractedly, you wondered which part of your message had elicited that response from James—whether it was you calling him ‘sir’ or your honest desire to please him. Or perhaps it was both.

Before you could muster up the courage to ask, his next message came through, and your mouth curved into a pleased smile when it answered your unspoken questions.

Keep calling me that and you’ll earn a very generous tip, sweetling. 

A pleased smile bloomed across your face as you read James’s message. You tried to tell yourself it was in response to the prospect of the tip he was offering, and not the sweet nickname, but you weren’t fooling yourself. 

You tried to think of a more playful, detached response, but before you could come up with anything, another message came in.

I have a call soon, I just need some quick stress relief beforehand, but I’ll double your tip every time you cum on my cock.

You breathed a sigh of relief before you could stop yourself, happy to have a break from your flirty exchange with the werewolf to talk about the logistics of your session. Still, you couldn’t stop your pussy from fluttering around James’s cock at his blunt, filthy words. 

He filled you so well, it was almost hard to think, and you blamed your needy distraction for the almost desperate tone of the response you sent him. 

Use me, sir, and I’ll do my best to take it 🫡 That’s what I’m here for.

James didn’t need any more encouragement than that. You could feel the way he groaned at your words, the low rumbling of pleasure reverberating through your sensitive inner walls, and making you gush with even more wetness, like your pussy was drooling for the werewolf cock stuffed deep in your hole to fuck you.

Then he was doing just that, using his side of the Pleasure Portal to fuck you hard and fast, pounding into your pussy like you were nothing more than a fleshlight made solely for his pleasure. It was brutal, ruthless, perfect, the way his cock filled your tight hole, the pointed tip bullying your cervix with every merciless thrust.

All you could do was take it, pleasure swarming through your body and overwhelming your mind, until you were little more than the werewolf’s toy, your body hunched at your desk, your face buried in the crook of your arm to muffle your sounds of enjoyment while you took everything he offered. 

Your inner walls were stretched thin around James’s cock, and though the drag of his thick girth felt devastatingly good, it wasn’t enough to make you cum. With trembling fingers, you slipped your hand beneath your pencil skirt, not caring how high up your thighs you pushed the material, just intent about reaching the juncture of your thighs.

It took only a brief brush of your fingers against your clothed clit to set you off. 

Your mouth fell open and you pressed your blunt teeth into your arm through the silk of your blouse, a high-pitched whine falling from your lips as the pleasure in your body exploded and you were carried away in the relentless rhythm of James’s cock pounding into your cunt.

Your panting breath was loud in your ears, but you could’ve sworn you heard a faint groan as your pussy milked the werewolf’s cock, your inner walls clamping down so hard on his thick length, you felt him twitch deep inside you. 

But you brushed off the sound as a figment of your imagination. It must’ve been your mind playing tricks on you, born of a desire to hear your partner when you were alone in your pleasure, with only your gasps and moans as company. You ached to press against James’s sturdy body, to hear his voice, to feel more than his cock…

Thankfully, a soft chime from your phone dragged you back from the sudden rush of loneliness that filled your heart and threatened to consume all your enjoyment like a black hole. 

Good girl. Cum on this fat werewolf cock like the perfect little slut you are, sweetling.

“Oh fuck,” you whispered to yourself, your eyes sliding closed as another shiver of pleasure skated down your spine at his words and his pumping cock. Already, tension was coiling tight in your core again, and you were rocketing toward another release.

You’d never gotten off to the dirty talk your Patrons had sent in the past, but James’s words did something to you no other monster had managed—they made your pussy gush and flutter. They made you moan, the sounds low and lewd as they bounced off the bare walls of the office antechamber. 

James’s message was the ideal mix of praise and degradation. It tapped into your desires so perfectly, you wondered distractedly if he was also a wizard or a mind-reader. 

And then you realized he hadn’t stopped his ruthless pounding even when he’d been texting you, which meant he was fucking his half of the portal with one hand while typing his filthy messages to you with the other.

It all unraveled something in you, and you scrabbled for your phone on the desk, your fingers clumsy and trembling as you typed out a response, desperate for James to know what he was doing to you. You wanted him to know how good he was making you feel. 

You feel so so good inside my tight cunt, sir. Your fat werewolf cock is splitting me open, breaking me apart. Feels sooo good. 

The act of typing out those words made the tension in your body wind tighter, and just as you hit send, you realized you were on the precipice of another release. Quickly, you sent another message without waiting for a response. 

I’m gonna cum again.

Your fingers, which you’d pulled from beneath your skirt so you could text with two hands, slipped back beneath the tight fabric. They squirmed between your plush thighs, which were already pushing the pencil skirt’s seams to they’re limits, and tugged your panties to the side to rub your clit. 

You were careening toward your second release in just a few seconds, your breaths coming in sharp, desperate pants, and your heart pounding in your chest. You could even hear the faint, obscene wet sound of James’s cock pounding into your gushing pussy. 

But all of it fell away when you heard the chime of another message.

Rub your pretty pearl, sweetling, and cum again on this thick werewolf cock. Show me what a good slut you can be for me, use that tight cunt to milk my fat cock. 

Obediently, your fingertips pressed harder to your clit and you rubbed it roughly, matching the rhythm of James’s fucking, until you were shoved over the edge again. Your entire body seized, every muscle in your body going taut, as the tension in your core wound tight and then, suddenly, snapped. 

Dropping your phone to your desk, you shoved half your fist in your mouth to muffle the high-pitched scream that clawed up your throat and wanted to burst free. 

You couldn’t tell how much noise you were making, but you hoped it wasn’t enough to get Bucky’s attention, because you were lost to the bliss James offered. You were a hopeless, pitiful puddle of pleasure in your ergonomic chair—and you never wanted it to end.

While you were in the throes of your release, you thought you heard another groan, deeper and filthier than the one earlier, a sound that matched the way James’s cock kicked deep in your cunt, like he was on the verge of losing himself in your body. 

But that thought drifted away in the current of pleasure that was carrying you along, dissolving as soon as it had appeared, leaving you to revel in your release. 

Distantly, you heard your phone go off, and you reached for it blindly, gasping for breath as you struggled to open your eyes and read the text.

That’s a good girl, cumming so perfectly for me. You have such a slutty hole, sweetling, cumming all over my werewolf cock and clutching at me like you’re begging for more. Do you want another one, my sweet girl?

A soft, sharp whine slipped from your lips and you had to bite down hard on your plush lower lip to stifle the sound. Even still, it ricocheted off the bare walls in the antechamber, and you hoped the thick wood of Bucky’s office doors muffled it. 

But you barely paid your boss any mind, fingers trembling with need and excitement as you typed out a response to James with one hand.

Yes, please, sir. Please make me cum again, I wanna cum all over your big werewolf cock. You fill me up so so good. I wanna bounce on your huge, perfect cock and take every inch of your fat knot, sir. Please!

James’s reply came back so quickly, even you were stunned with how fast it appeared. All he said was: 

Fuck. You can’t be real.

You had little time to marvel over those words, and the way they made your heart flutter dangerously in your chest, because in the next breath James was pounding into you even harder. 

He used your cunt as his own personal pleasure portal, fucking you like you were the stress relief he deserved, shoving his entire length deep inside your pussy. The narrow tip of his cock battered against your cervix, pushing into it a little more each time, giving every thrust a sharp edge of pain that made the pleasure even more exquisitely devastating.

It was all too good, too perfect, your mind splintering as the world around you fell away entirely. You were no longer the senior EA to werewolf CEO Bucky Barnes, you were a Pleasure Pocket made to be used by every manner of monster for their pleasure. 

No, not just any monster—you were made specifically for James, 42, werewolf. You were his personal sex toy, his pocket pussy, his fuck hole. And all you could do was take it—take his cock, take the brutal pounding he offered, and the bliss that came with it, and let him take his pleasure in your body.

You imagined James on the other end of the magical portal, holding the cylindrical fleshlight-like device in his big hands and yanking it down on his impossibly thick cock. You pictured him fucking the portal toy—and, by extension, your cunt—with everything he had, sweat beading on his face, the muscles in his broad body shifting beneath his fur and skin.

Before you could stop it, the image in your mind shifted, the generic figure of a werewolf morphing into something more familiar, something resembling the daydream you’d had earlier. 

In your mind’s eye, James became Bucky. 

You could so easily picture the way Bucky’s bright blue eyes would flash with hunger and darken with lust as he pounded into your tight cunt, the emotions churning like the sky during a summer thunderstorm. 

It was far too easy to imagine the way his sharp canine teeth would glint in the lights of the office as he bore down on your body, his expensive suit only undone enough to free his cock, the gush of your pussy making a mess of the front of his slacks as he split you open with every thrust.

His inhuman muscles would strain the seams of his suit, making them cling to the bulge of his biceps and the flexing of his thighs as he fucked you on his desk. You’d be entirely at his mercy, which was exactly where you wanted to be more than anywhere else in the world—even with James.

A pang in your chest dragged you out of your fantasy, and you remembered the werewolf who was actually fucking you. You felt a little bit bad for daydreaming about Bucky when you were with James, especially since the latter had quickly become your favorite Patron. But, you reasoned, what he didn’t know couldn’t hurt him.

So you sank deeper into your daydream about your boss, imagining it was Bucky fucking you instead of some random stranger on the other end of the Pleasure Portal. 

The combination of James’s perfect cock and your imagination’s perfect picture of Bucky was too much for your mind and body to take. The werewolf was fucking you too hard and too fast, and you were breathless from the pleasure, unable to stop yourself from speeding toward a devastating release. 

You held on for as long as you could, but James seemed intent on making you cum again before his call began. And the werewolf confirmed as much when your phone chimed with another message.

Do it. Cum on my cock, sweetling. Be a good girl and give it to me so I can fill you up with my knot and stuff your tight pussy full of cum. Then you can sit pretty on my fat werewolf cock like a perfect little knot slut while I take this call.

Those filthy words were all you needed to push you over the edge. 

A breathy, high-pitched cry escaped your lips before you could stop it, but you were too far gone to care. Pleasure overwhelmed you, blackness creeping into the edge of your consciousness as your body shivered and shook with the force of your release.

All the while, your pussy was clamped down on James’s thick cock as he kept fucking you, like your body was begging for his cum. His hard length vibrated with a groan you could’ve sworn you could hear. You swayed perilously in your chair, your eyes closed and your entire being focused on the cock bringing you so much pleasure.

The werewolf lasted only a few more moments, his thrusts turning wild and erratic as he rutted into your too-tight cunt. Then he was shoving his cock deep in your hole, his knot inflating and stretching the edge of your hole a second before his big cock twitched inside you, spilling his cum in your plugged pussy.

Your breath caught in your throat at the sudden stretch of James’s knot, and though there was a brief moment when you worried he might be too big for you to take, your body was loose and relaxed enough from your three orgasms that it adjusted. You were left with a feeling of being blissfully full.

It felt so good, in fact, that you leaned back in your chair with a sigh of contentment. Your fingers trapped between your thighs stroked your clit and your pussy pulsed with one more release. 

Pleasure shivered down your spine as you came again, and your inner walls fluttered weakly around James’s cock, sucking him deeper while his shaft throbbed and he filled you with cum.

Did you just cum for a fourth time, just on my knot?

You dragged your hand from beneath your skirt to grab your phone when it chimed. A sated smile curled the corners of your lips as you read James’s message, your pussy fluttering with happiness. 

The smile bloomed into a full-blown grin when you typed out your response, going for playful but ending up sending something entirely too honest. Again.

Yes, sir 🥴 I wouldn’t have thought of myself as a knot slut, but I think you’ve converted me. 

Haha

James’s dry response had a pleased sense of pride filling your chest. It was the first time he’d shown any kind of emotion outside of his dirty talk, and your heart squeezed, even as you told yourself nothing good could come of the little crush you were developing on your Pleasure Portal client. 

Before you could spiral about how you felt about James, though, another text from the werewolf came through your phone. 

Time for you to rest, sweetling. Be a good girl and keep my cock warm while I take this call. If you’re patient, I’ll use you again and double your tip.

You smiled at James’s message. Of course you could be patient and good, especially for him. You shifted in your seat, trying to get comfortable and accustomed to the feeling of fullness in your core.

It was a little strange, the feeling of James’s thick cock and full knot inside you, mainly because you were still alone at your desk, high above the New York City skyline, but it wasn’t unpleasant. In fact, you thought you might be able to get very used to sitting on a werewolf’s knot, and even enjoy it very much. 

But you would’ve rather been able to do so in the presence of the werewolf whose knot you were tied to.

A pang of loneliness pierced your heart, and you thought of the werewolf whose knot you really wanted to be tied to, but you quickly pushed it away. Instead of thinking about your boss, you focused on the throbbing pulse between your thighs where you were tied to the anonymous werewolf.

Thank you, sir. Knock ‘em dead 😘

As soon as you sent the message, you wanted to take it back. Blowing a kiss felt too…romantic, too intimate for a Pleasure Pocket and their Patron. But the little note had already popped up confirming James had seen it. He didn’t respond, though, and you had to assume his call had started.

You tried to distract yourself by checking on your own work. 

The fleet of assistants were all busy with their tasks, and according to Bucky’s schedule, he was in a meeting for the next couple hours. 

It was a relief to know your boss wouldn’t be interrupting your session with James, and you wondered distractedly if they might happen to be on the same call. But then you snorted and shook your head at the ridiculous thought. Not every werewolf knew each other, you chastised yourself, and it was small-minded to think otherwise.

It was just a coincidence that James was in a call at the same time that Bucky was in a virtual meeting. 

Satisfied that there wasn’t any work to be done, you got comfortable in your chair, and closed your eyes against the bright summer sun filtering in through the windows of the antechamber. You allowed your mind to drift and daydream to your heart’s content.

You wondered what James looked like—what color his eyes were; what shape his canine teeth were, if he left them sharp or had filed them to be blunter and more socially acceptable. You wondered if he was broad-shouldered, like Bucky, or lithe and slim like other werewolves you’d seen.

All the while, you tried to ignore the building restlessness in your body. 

You should’ve been plenty sated after James gave you four orgasms in such a short period of time, but the constant fullness of his cock in your cunt and his knot stretching the rim of your hole was enough to make you needy again.

Still, you remembered James’s last command, and you did your best to sit still, be patient and not bother him. It wasn’t that you cared much about the tip he’d offered, you just wanted to be good for him. 

After a while, James’s knot deflated enough that he could’ve pulled free and ended the sessions, but he kept his cock lodged inside you. His cum was slowly seeping out around his thick girth, soaking your panties and creating a sticky mess between your thighs. 

Unfortunately, that only turned you on more, your renewed desire mixing with the copious amount of James’s cum, and it wasn’t long before you couldn’t stop squirming in your seat. Unable to stop yourself, you slid a hand beneath your skirt, already bunched up around your thighs, and rubbed your clit teasingly.

The touch was enough to make your pussy pulse around James’s cock, and you felt his thick length kick in response. He’d softened a little since unloading his cum in your pussy, but you felt him start to harden again.

A second later, your phone chimed. 

Sweetling.

A shiver of desire slid down your spine at the warning in James’s tone, even through text. 

You knew the message was meant to stop you from distracting him during his call, but you couldn’t help yourself. You stroked your clit, delighting in the feeling of your pussy throbbing and his cock twitching deep in your tight hole, growing to fill you again. 

With one hand, you typed out a reply.

I tried to be good, sir, but I’m just a silly knot slut who needs you to fill me up with your fat werewolf cock again until you’re pumping my tight cunt full of your cum and tying me to your cock with your knot 🤪

James’s response came back a few seconds later.

I knew you’d be trouble.

You gave a soft snort at his words, and though it was difficult to discern someone’s tone over text, you got the impression James’s comment was said with warmth. 

Before you could analyze it any more, the werewolf’s cock began to move inside you. He fucked you in slow, shallow strokes that gave you only a fraction of the friction you needed to get close to cumming again. 

You expected him to pick up speed, but he went on like that for long, torturous minutes, until a pitiful whine was building in the back of your throat and you were scrabbling for your phone. 

In just a few minutes, James had reduced you to a desperate mess, your hips squirming restlessly in your chair, your body uselessly trying to fuck yourself on his cock.

Please, sir. Please fuck me, use my tight pussy to make your cock feel good. You’re tormenting me. I can’t get off like this. Please!

Writhing in your chair, you unbuttoned your blouse down to your bra, brazenly groping your tits and plucking at your nipples while you tried to give yourself the stimulation James seemed determined to withhold.

His next reply seemed to take forever. 

Maybe you should’ve thought about that before you decided to be a naughty knot slut instead of a good, patient girl like I asked.

A frustrated sound wrenched free from your lips and you abandoned your tits to drop your hand between your thighs. You rubbed your clit madly, intent on eking out a release despite James’s torture. 

James must’ve felt the way your pussy spasmed and fluttered around his cock as your pleasure ramped up, because another message came through.

If you cum, you won’t get any of the tip you’ve earned.

Your mouth twisted in a snarl and you rolled your eyes. Of course every man or monster using Pleasure Portal assumed you could be controlled with money. They all assumed that was the only thing you were after. 

You’d never been more grateful for Mr. Barnes’ generous salary than in that moment, because it meant you could care more about your release than James’s threat.

You kept rubbing your clit, rocking your hips on your seat until the ergonomic chair began to squeak. You were desperately clawing your way to the peak of your pleasure, and though you could already tell it wouldn’t be anywhere near the heights you’d reached earlier with James, it would at least take the edge off. 

But then the werewolf’s next message made your fingers go still. 

If you cum, I won’t use your pussy again. 

Your whole body shuddered in protest at the idea of not feeling James’s cock pounding into your cunt again, and a tiny growl slipped from your lips. 

It took a great deal of effort, but you pulled your hand from between your thighs and typed out a reply.

Fine.

You couldn’t help but tack on another message, anger, desire and frustration swirling through your body and making you feel far too comfortable with your client.

You’re a mean werewolf.

Faint vibrations reverberated through James’s cock and you thought he’d chuckled at your message, though you couldn’t be sure. Even more frustration surged, and for the first time since you started using the Pleasure Portal, you wished you were actually with your client. 

You wanted to see James’s reactions, you wanted to hear his voice and feel his strong body beneath yours while his cock filled you up…

That’s ‘You’re a mean werewolf, sir’ to you. 

James’s message brought your attention back to him and, despite yourself, you giggled at his ridiculous joke. Some of the frustration had drained from you as you eased back from the edge of your release, and you were ready to forgive him. 

But before you could, he sent another text.

Don’t worry, sweetling, my call’s almost over. Then I’ll use you the way you want. 

With a happy grin, you settled back into your chair and waited patiently, keeping the werewolf’s cock nice and warm in your dripping pussy. You kept your thoughts on easy things like your plans for the next weekend as you watched the sun slowly descend on New York City, the shadows growing long as they stretched across Central Park.

True to his word, James’s call ended not too long after his last message. You knew the moment it was over because he started fucking you hard and fast again, so suddenly you cried out, careless about whether your boss could overhear you. 

Thankfully, those thick wooden doors to Bucky’s office must’ve swallowed the sounds you made. You shoved your hand under your skirt, rubbing your clit, desperate to reach the crescendo he’d denied you during his call. 

Cum on my cock, sweetling. Gimme all your sweet cream while I fill you up with so much cum, your belly will be bloated, stuffed full with my seed and knot.

As soon as you read James’s message, you were lost to the pleasure of his words and his cock, and your fingers on your clit.

You muffled a piercing scream in the palm of your hand as you came, your mind flooding with pleasure and your pussy clamping down possessively on James’s cock while he rutted into you. You were so far gone in your bliss, you thought you heard a roar over the rush of blood in your ears, but you didn’t think it could be real.

Then all thoughts were pushed from your mind and you could only focus on your own clenching body, the warm waves of bliss surging through your limbs as James’s knot inflated and tied you together. His cock twitched as his cum spilled inside you, filling you beyond what you thought possible. 

You looked down at your belly, watching it swell slightly; your eyes widened, and your pussy gave an excited pulse. The sight was so obscene, you couldn’t help your response, but the werewolf on the other end of the portal didn’t seem to mind.

James’s cock kicked and reverberated like he’d groaned or chuckled, and you softened, relaxing into your seat as you enjoyed the aftershocks of your release. All the while, you lightly stroked your ever-so-slightly distended belly with a sense of pleased satisfaction. 

While you floated in your post-orgasm haze, your phone chimed with a sound like a cash register. Lazily, you picked it up, knowing it wasn’t a text, and read the screen.

Your jaw dropped and your whole body clenched in surprise at the amount of money James had tipped. His cock twitched as if in response in your cunt and you pressed your palm to your lower belly, as if to calm him, while you blinked a few times.

Still, the absurd number remained on your phone’s screen. 

You earned it, sweetling. 

The message popped up in the app and you clicked on it, navigating to your exchange with James. Your fingers were clumsy as you typed out a reply.

Thank you, sir. You’ve been so incredibly generous.

You chewed on your lip, thumbs hovering over the screen as you wondered if you should say more. 

You didn’t want James to think your session was all about the money, but was that a ridiculous thought? Maybe it was all about the money to him. He was using an anonymous sex portal app, after all. Not looking for someone to form a connection with.

But it still seemed like there was something more between you two, right? You felt more comfortable with him than you had any other client, like you knew him already somehow…

Before you could agonize over your exchange with James any more, a new message from the older werewolf came in. 

You were the best stress relief and cockwarmer, sweetling, and I enjoyed our afternoon together. I hope you’ll accept me as a Patron again.

James’s words settled the anxiety brewing in your chest and you let out a sigh of relief. You knew it didn’t mean he’d ever want more than you offered on Pleasure Portal, but at least he wanted to be with you again. It was as simple as that, you didn’t need to overcomplicate it.

He wanted to have another session with you—and you wanted that as well. So you told him as much. 

I had a good time, too. You’re welcome to use me any time you want, sir ☺️

The two of you chatted about unimportant things until James’s knot deflated, and he instructed you to drink plenty of water and have a nutritious snack. You promised him you would and bid him goodbye before ending the session.

Glancing at the time on your phone, you suddenly realized how late it had gotten and you pushed yourself up to your feet.

All the blood rushed to your head and you swayed for a moment, blinking spots from your eyes. Remembering James’s words, you gulped down some water from your reusable water bottle and grabbed a snack from your desk along with a spare set of clothes you kept on hand for messy Pleasure Portal sessions.

In the bathroom, you changed and cleaned yourself up, glad that Bucky was already in his office when you got to your desk that morning so he wouldn’t notice you were wearing something different if you ran into him.

Though that was a big if.

Your heart sank a little at the reminder of your unrequited crush on your boss, but hope filled you again when you thought of your newest Pleasure Patron. It might be another silly crush on an unattainable man, but at least James seemed interested in you.

By the time you made it back to the antechamber outside Bucky’s office, it was time for you to gather your things and head home. 

You were bent over your desk, your hips straining at the seams of the slightly smaller pencil skirt you’d thrown on, having forgotten it had shrunk a little in the wash, when a door opened behind you. You jumped and straightened up, nearly dropping your water bottle and spilling it all over your desk. 

“Oh! Mr. Barnes,” you said, spinning to find your boss towering in the doorway of his office, broad shoulders filling the space. “Heading home early?” you asked in a bright, professional tone, trying to hide the breathlessness from your voice. 

It wasn’t often that you saw your boss. He was always in meetings or coming or going from his office so that you only got cursory glances of the large werewolf. But he was paused for once, and you took a moment to look him over.

He had a mop of dark brown hair, worn just a little bit shaggy so no one could ever accuse him of trying to pass as anything but a werewolf. His blue eyes were bright and sharp in the late afternoon light, and you could see just a hint of his canine teeth as he offered a charming smile.

That expression on Bucky’s face nearly bowled you over. Your eyes skimmed quickly over his broad shoulders, trim waist and thick thighs before returning to the handsame face of the werewolf that haunted your daydreams. He looked every bit the important CEO, but there was also a looseness in his body you’d never seen before.

“I am,” Bucky said, his blunt words drawing you back to the moment. He held a hand out in a gesture for you to precede him to the elevators beyond the antechamber outside his office. “Let me walk you out.”

The offer was so surprising, all you could do was murmur, “Oh, thank you,” before scurrying in front of him. As you began to walk, you felt James’s cum begin to leak from your pussy and you moved faster.

Your belly wasn’t bloated anymore, and you’d cleaned yourself up as well as you could in the bathroom, but your Patron had filled you with so much cum, you expected you’d be leaking for the rest of the day, if not into the morning. 

You hoped desperately that your boss couldn’t smell it, because if he did, you wouldn’t have any explanation if he decided to question why you smelled like another werewolf’s cum when you were meant to be working at your desk outside his office.

When you came to a stop at the elevator bank, Bucky gently laid a hand on the small of your back and leaned around you to press the button. Thankfully, he didn’t show any signs of smelling James on you, and you exhaled a silent sigh of relief. 

The two of you made idle chatter while you waited for the elevator—you asked him how his afternoon meeting had gone and the edge of Bucky’s mouth fluttered like he was holding back a smirk while he told you it went very well. He said he’d gotten everything he wanted. 

Then he asked how your afternoon had gone, and you’d stumbled out a response about being very productive, all while more of James’s cum leaked from your cunt. 

As  you talked, you got the sense that Bucky was in a better mood than usual. He was certainly more talkative and open with you than was typical for the older werewolf CEO. He was polite, of course, but he mostly left you alone to do your job, only communicating via email.

But that particular afternoon, he seemed…happier. His icy blue eyes were warm, crinkling at the sides whenever he chuckled, and his smile was quicker, easier somehow. 

Impossibly, it made Bucky Barnes even more attractive to you. 

He was hot as the brusque and busy werewolf CEO, but this side of him, which was charming and warm, was even hotter. You could feel your heart unfurling in your chest, your feelings for your boss not only returning, but blossoming into something you didn’t know if you’d ever recover from.

When the elevator finally arrived, it was empty, and you gave yourself a subtle shake as you stepped in, reminding yourself that your boss was off-limits and likely didn’t see you as a potential partner. 

Bucky followed you, pressing the button for the lobby and turning to you as if to continue your conversation. But just then, the door whooshed closed and you were alone in a small, enclosed space with your boss—your werewolf boss. 

You were already looking at him, anticipating what he’d been about to say, so you were able to watch the change in his demeanor as it happened. 

Bucky’s nostrils flared, and his shoulders stiffened, his bright blue eyes darkening with something you could only describe as hunger. His gaze raked over your face, and his chest expanded as he took a deep breath, his thick muscles testing the limits of his suit. 

You watched as recognition dawned in his sharp, icy eyes, and if your mind wasn’t so sluggish after your afternoon of orgasms, you might’ve understood what was going on, what he was realizing. 

As it was, you still hadn’t caught up with the shift in Bucky. You stared at him in confusion as he stepped quickly to the side, his thick finger pressing the emergency stop button on the elevator. It shuddered to a halt between floors, leaving you alone with your boss.

Slowly, Bucky turned to you, his eyes flashing with lust and his teeth bared so that you could see the light glinting off his canine teeth. He prowled toward you slowly, like he was trying not to spook you. 

All you felt was intrigued, a thrill of excitement shooting through your body as you allowed Bucky to back you into the corner of the elevator until his chest was a hair’s breadth away from yours. Your chest was heaving in your blouse with excited, panting breaths, and your head was tilted back, watching Bucky’s face closely.

The purr that came from the werewolf CEO was so low and dark, you hardly recognized it as belonging to your boss, even as the sound went straight between your thighs. Your pussy thrummed eagerly in response, like it knew something you didn’t—like it recognized him in a way you didn’t understand yet. 

“Tell me, sweetling,” Bucky Barnes rasped, staring deep into your eyes as his big hand settled possessively on your hip. You swayed into him, watching his pink mouth framed by dark, gray-streaked stubble as he voiced the question that would change everything. “Why do you smell like my cum?”

thank you for reading!! comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

as a reminder of my blog's rules, please do not comment/reblog only to request a part 2! specific questions and comments about the fic, the characters, and the larger universe are entirely welcome!! i just ask that you please engage with my story rather than simply demanding more!!

Hot Bucky Summer 2025 masterlist

[fanfictiontrash9]

[navybrat817]

Partnership

Pairing: Congressman!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: You need Bucky's help and, well, he needs you.

Word Count: 300

Warnings: Oral sex (f. receiving), dirty talk, possessive behavior, power imbalance of sorts, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: Day 3 of the Sexy September Scribbles Challenge. Prompt: Sweetest pussy I’ve ever tasted. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @saradika-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications as I no longer do taglists. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Going to Bucky Barnes for help was difficult and frustrating for you to accept, but you swallowed your pride since you desperately needed public funding for your project. The former Winter Soldier was the key vote, the man who could make your dream a reality or tear it down. It was inevitable that you’d end up in his office.

What you didn’t expect was for Bucky to bend you over his desk and eat you out from behind.

“You always this wet, or is this just for me?” he asked, licking at soft folds and flicking your clit. You were embarassingly wet, practically dripping down your thighs. “Better just be for me.”

His possessiveness surprised you. He hardly knew you, though you always felt his piercing eyes on you the few times you had seen him at events. And what did that say about you, that you let a man you hardly knew spread you out like a feast for him to devour?

“Sweetest pussy I’ve ever tasted,” he praised, your cheeks hot.

Your hands gripped the desk, your mouth falling open when he pushed his tongue inside. It wasn’t long before he added two fingers, making you moan like a bitch in heat. He was taking you to dizzying heights, and all you could do was go along for the overwhelming ride. 

He took his tongue out long enough to say, “This is my pussy now.”

“It’s yours, Bucky,” you moaned. 

“Congressman,” he corrected you, curling his fingers. 

Your eyes rolled back. “Congressman.”

“You’re going to work for me,” he said, chuckling when you tried to push yourself up. Work for him? “Oh, no. I haven’t finished my meal.”

With his tongue back inside you and his name on yours, this was just the beginning of a new partnership.

Would love to explore more of these two. What do we think? Love and thanks for reading. ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ SSS Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[fanfictiontrash9]

[holylulusworld]

Houseguest

Summary: Your houseguest wants it all.

Pairing: Andy Barber x Wife!Reader

Warnings: awful sister, cheating, caught in the act, mentions of anal sex (no description), mentions of past drug abuse, fluff, implied smut, a lil…(I can’t tell…you’ll see.)

A/N: Y/S/N = your sister’s name

It starts with giggles, followed by muffled moans. You blink your eyes open, huffing because your sister must’ve brought a guy home. Your home.

She’s currently staying at your house because, let’s be honest, her last boyfriend kicked her out after she had an affair with some other man.

Andy was quick to offer the guestroom you wanted to turn into a nursery soon to her.

You groan and turn to your side. In a few hours, you must wake up and go to work.

“Andy?” You touch Andy’s side of the bed only to find it empty.

“Fuck,” you curse. Andy is a hard-ass and strict. If he heard your sister fuck a stranger at his home, he’ll freak out. “Andy, please don’t make a scene.” You sigh deeply because now you must get up to save your sister and whoever she brought to your home.

You’re angry but don’t have the energy to get mad. It has always been this way. Unlike your sister, you have always been the responsible one. You had good grades, the right friends, and ambitions.

Y/S/N only ever showed interest in getting the attention of all the boys at school. Including the ones you liked. She didn’t stop there. If you had a boyfriend, she made sure they broke up with you.

While you tried to wait for the right boy, she offered her body to them. Something you didn’t want to offer only to keep a boy.

You ended up being the laughingstock of school. Missy Uptight Virgin. The name stuck thanks to your sister.

Your parents told her to stop. She rebelled even harder, trying drugs and having countless affairs during college.

On your wedding day, she fucked one of Andy’s best friends, drawing all the attention toward her again. You swallowed your anger once again, acting like the well-behaved daughter while you screamed bloody murder in your mind. If not for Andy, you would’ve committed murder that day.

Walking out of the bedroom, you try not to make too much noise. Your mission is to find Andy and stop him from making a scene. First thing after you get home from work, you will give your sister a piece of your mind. There’s no way you’ll allow her to bring strangers into your home.

“Andy?” You whisper your husband’s name in your home, feeling like a fool. “Baby, I know you’re mad, but please come back to bed. We can talk tomorrow.”

While you’re walking around the house in search of your husband, the noises from the guestroom grow louder. You frown. It sounded as if your sister called out your husband’s name.

This can’t be. Your heart pounds in your chest. No. Not him, too. This can’t be. Andy is strict. Nothing can be out of order. That’s what he loves about you. You’re reliable, stable, and organized. Andy could never be with someone like Y/S/N.

Still, his name spills from her lips, and the man’s deep voice sounds like your husband. The same lips kissing you goodnight and telling you that he loves you moan your sister’s name.

You stop in front of the guest room, steeling yourself from what you are about to discover. Tears run down your cheeks when you silently open the door to find your husband and sister in a compromising position. They are lost in their coupling, not even realizing that you stand in the room, frozen to the spot.

“You’re always so wet for me. Every single time,” he groans. “Y/N is always dry. She doesn’t even let me fuck her ass. Not even for my birthday.”

“Uptight virgin,” your sister snickers as you clasp your hand over your mouth. It’s hard to just leave the room and close the door. Throwing a tantrum, screaming, and yelling would’ve been so much easier.

That’s exactly what your sister has been waiting for. You know her modus operandi. She waits for the tears, the screams, and the drama. Well, you won’t give them that. 

The night seemed to be endless. Andy’s words kept replaying in your mind. Every. Single. Time. This wasn’t their first rodeo. For the rest of the night, you wondered when all of this started.

Did it start on your wedding day? Did Andy have a turn, too? At one of the get-togethers or family dinners. Was he ever in love with you? Or were you just the better choice for marriage and helping him build a reputation?

“Reputation,” you hiss the word under your breath. Everything must be in order. No exceptions. Except for the fact that he’s sticking his cock into your sister’s ass. “Reputation.” You repeat, eyes gleaming with danger. “He loves things in order and perfect…”

Andy didn’t come back. While you were wide awake and aware of what was going on only a few rooms away, he was happily fucking your sister, believing he could have it all.

The perfect wife, having his back, and her whorish sister to screw. He was wrong, though.

Andy left early for work. Your sister left to find a new victim to buy her lunch, and maybe more. You left the house to never come back.

Andy returns. He’s in a good mood. Last night’s activities helped him relax, and he got the case he wanted.

He’s whistling a tune, entering the house. Today, he bought you a bouquet of red roses. Deep down inside, he knows his little affair with your sister must end soon. The sex is great, but she’s not his wife and could never compare to you and your qualities in other departments than the bedroom.

“Baby, I have something for you. How about we go and have dinner?” He calls for you, frowning as the house seems a little lonelier and colder today.

“You want to take me out?” Your sister answers, earning a hiss and an angry look from Andy. “How sweet of you.”

“I meant my wife,” he sternly replies. “Your sister.” Andy huffs, frustrated about himself and his damn libido making him cheat on you. “Where is Y/N?”

“I don’t know?” Y/S/N coos, waltzing toward Andy in nothing but one of his shirts. “Maybe she saw me in your shirt and finally left.”

“If,” he snarls at her, “you say one word to her, you will sleep on the streets tonight.” Andy brushes past her, huffing and puffing as he runs upstairs. “Darling? Y/N?”

He enters the bedroom, finding it empty. Andy stops dead in his tracks. Not because of the manila folder lying on top of the neatly made bed. No. It’s your wedding band and engagement ring on top of it, catching his attention.

“What?” He looks around the room, opening the walk-in wardrobe only to find it empty. Only his suits remain. The only item remaining on your side is a forgotten gift bag you didn’t take with you.

“Y/N. Why did you leave me?” Andy screams. “Y/N! Y/N!”

“Y/N. Why did you leave me?” Andy screams. “Y/N! Y/N!”

You wake up, screaming at the top of your voice. “No! Why did you do it?”

“Baby,” Andy jolts up on the bed, rubbing his tired eyes. “What is it? What happened?” He sighs and gently touches your shoulder. “Another nightmare?”

“I…I can’t help it.” You sit up, averting your gaze. How can you tell Andy that you are having nightmares about him and your sister? He invited her to live with you for the next few weeks, and you can’t help but feel uneasy.

“What is it about, baby? Do you want to talk about it?” Andy gently takes your hand, holding it. “You can tell me anything, you know that.”

“I…she…” You take a deep breath before telling Andy everything about the nightmare you had. He listens, nodding while holding your hand.

“I’ll stop you right there, baby,” he says, moving a little closer to kiss your cheek. “I love you. No matter what your sister tries, I’d never do this to you. And, if I remember right, I already had your cute ass.” Andy wiggles his eyebrows, making you giggle. “If you want me to, I’ll tell your sister to leave and—”

An odd noise catches your attention. You both turn your heads toward the door, hearing your sister giggle and someone else grunt. You know that sound. She’s making out with some guy in your home.

“I think that answers my question.” Andy is quick to get out of bed. He squares his shoulders before stepping out of the bedroom. What follows is a lecture, ending with Andy kicking the man out. He tells your sister to get her shit together and leave in the morning.

“Andy!” You gasp, watching your husband walk back inside the bedroom. He’s panting heavily. Andy never gets angry or yells. He’s always sweet and controlled. “You…I mean…that was hot!”

“You think so?” He grins, eyes roaming your body. “How about we show your sister how a real couple makes love?”

“Come here, Mr. Barber,” you purr, crooking your finger to lure him in. Andy eagerly takes his sleep shirt off, flinging it across the room before jumping on the bed to climb on top of you. He kisses you, smiling against your lips.

“No more nightmares, baby. You are the woman I want, no one else.”

“She’s… All men are into her. My sister is sexier, and she can give you…” He presses his index finger to your lips.

“Baby, the only thing that your sister can give me, and you don’t have, is STD.” You both laugh at that. “So…where were we…?”

Your sister won’t get much sleep that night. For once, it’s you keeping her awake with the dirty noises coming from your and Andy’s bedroom.

[fanfictiontrash9]

[fucky-barnes82-deactivated20251]

Little koala

Pairing — Alpha!Curtis Everett x Omega!Fem!Reader

Summary — One night at the bar. One drug in your drink. And you’re clinging to the bouncer of the bar like a koala.

Warnings — mention of drugs, a/b/o, soft Curtis, a lot of fluffy clinginess, nicknames (Koala), some teasing

Wordcount — 7.000 Words

Authors Note — Shoutout to @gremlin-girly for brainstorming and supporting me while writing this fic! And a shoutout to @krirebr and @stargazingfangirl18 for making me obsessed with that guy!☹️😂 @elixirfromthestars thank you so much for proofreading!❤️❤️

The music is a loud thrumming in your ears, the drink burning its way down your throat as you sit at the bar. Your friends dance somewhere or got some guy to take them home.

You're not sure about it. But you don't really care, either.

The bartender, who introduced himself as Nick, smiles at you as he walks toward another person standing a few feet away from where you sit.

Your eyes follow him toward the man who’s leaning against the counter, grinning as he orders another whiskey for himself.

He was at the bar, at least four times before, and always ordered a whiskey.

Either he really had to wash away some sorrow and pain, or he’s one of those guys who can have a dozen drinks and can still walk straight like he only had some water.

The guy smirks at you, plopping down in the seat next to you.

“Evenin’ sweets,” he grins, one of his hands moving to rest on your knee and you wrinkle your nose slightly, turning to look at Nick behind the bar again.

He notices your gaze, giving you all of his attention as he approaches you.

“Need something? Maybe something sweeter with mango or cherry?” He asks, but you shake your head, your eyes moving toward the Alpha next to you for a brief moment before they flicker back to Nick.

He nods, turning his attention to the man next to you.

“Excuse me, but I think the nice lady here doesn’t appreciate your closeness,” Nick says, his voice rough but steady as he watches the man’s hand trail along your thigh.

“She doesn’t, huh? That’s why she doesn't say anything?” He asks with a sick grin on his face. “Gonna make this sweet little thing sing and scream for me. Can’t quite decide, both sounds will sound amazing from those—”

“Sir, I will ask you again to back off the woman or I'm gonna call security over here,” Nick growls this time, his eyes darken as they flicker toward the entrance where one of the thick, handsome bouncers is standing.

His blue eyes roaming over the people at the bar to make sure everyone is following the rules.

“Lemme have some fun with this sweet thing here,” the Alpha rolls his eyes as he lets his hand slide off your leg and turns away from you.

Nick huffs, shaking his head in disbelief as he offers you a soft smile. He pushes another drink over the counter.

“It’s free. If you need anything, you call me,” he says before he turns toward another person to make their order.

You sigh softly, watching the Alpha next to you who keeps grinning into his drink like a weird idiot.

Then you take a sip of yours. It’s delicious just like always. The sweetness of the mango mixed with the burning of the alcohol.

Nick knows exactly how to make that drink, and he even added a small cherry to the edge of your glass — knowing you like to order drinks with some on the edge or ask for them if your drink doesn't include one.

But the sweetness is replaced by some bitterness when you swallow another sip of your drink.

A bitterness that wasn't supposed to be in the drink, it makes your eyes narrow.

Maybe he used some other alcohol this time? But he wouldn’t do it unless you asked for it. And you didn’t ask for another kind of alcohol in there.

Your head feels suddenly way heavier. You’re feeling light headed afterward, groaning softly as you place the glass down on the counter. Or more likely slam it down because everything is spinning.

Your body feels cold. Then hot. And you’re craving something, but you don’t know what it is.

“Aw, look at the little omega trying to be all tough and independent. You know, this little pill here helps to show you what you really need,” the Alpha who’s now turning toward you again grins as he holds up a small package with pills in it.

They look colorful and fun. But they are definitely not as fun as they look. Tiny hearts, or clouds? Maybe circles— you’re not sure as it’s all spinning. And spinning and moving around in a way it shouldn’t.

“W-what did you—” you whine, gripping the counter as you look around with panic rising inside of you.

Where’s Nick? Where’s anyone except that Alpha who has definitely no good intentions? Especially now that you’re at his mercy with the effect of the pills in your system.

“Oh, oh, c’mon, sweets,” the Alpha leans closer, his scent surrounding you, but instead of the wanted effect you wrinkle your nose. Your scent is sour when the panic raises even more to the surface and the Alpha curses under his breath. “What the fuck? You should be addicted to me, bitch.”

You narrow your eyes slightly. You should be addicted to him because of some weird drugs?

“CURTIS OVER HERE!” You hear someone shouting, noticing the voice belongs to Nick who's waving his hands in the air.

Your head whips toward him, it only leads to more dizziness, but you notice his worried look on you and a soft sigh escapes when a scent that warms your insides fills your nostrils.

“Sir, I'll have to ask you to leave now,” a rough voice says, and you look at the source of it.

The bouncer who was standing at the door before stands next to you. His muscular arms bulging as he crosses them in front of his chest and glares at the Alpha who’s sitting next to you.

“I’m not asking again. At least not nicely. I have no problem kicking — literally kicking — your ass out of here,” the bouncer growls and you take a deep breath of his scent.

So soothing and warming. You need more of it. More of him.

And suddenly your instincts take over, your eyes are wide as you lift your hands and wrap them around Curtis's strong arm, whining softly as you can’t cling to him like you want to.

“What the—” Curtis mutters as he turns to look at you.

Your small fingers fidget around his arm when you try to get a better grip of his muscular tattooed arm.

“Hey,” he says softly, waving another bouncer over so he can take care of you.

You ignore him, nails digging into his skin as you claw at him. He smiles softly, shielding you with his big frame from spectators as he holds his arm out for you a bit more.

What he didn’t expect are the arms that curl around his arm and cling to him with a strength that he can’t shake off of him.

“Nick, I-I—” he calls out for the bartender, looking back and forth between you and Nick. “What did he give her? She’s acting like that one a few days back who was addicted to the Alpha that gave her the drugs.”

Nick nods with a slightly amused, but still worried, expression.

“She whined and wrinkled her nose when he tried to get closer. But you walked up here and she's clinging to you — maybe it’s not about the alpha who gave it to her, but her inner omega who has chosen an alpha?” Nick suggests.

“Like some true mate thing?” Curtis wonders as he watches you curling into his side and hugging his arm even closer. “But it’s a drug, not some stuff they offer at every shop.”

“Maybe it’s not completely tried out, yet,” Nick says as Bucky approaches them again.

The broad Alpha is smirking softly as he looks at Curtis and Nick. Then he nods, letting them know the guy is thrown out of the bar.

“You should go to Ari with her, maybe he can help. And he might want to report that,” Bucky suggests as his eyes land on you and soften a bit.

Curtis nods, trying to pull his arm back, but you don't budge or attempt to let go of him. He huffs, shaking softly but you remain where you are.

Nick and Bucky exchange a look before laughing.

“That’s how you find omegas nowadays?” Bucky asks with a laugh, patting Curtis on his shoulder. “Gonna do your work now, Everett.”

Bucky chuckles as he walks past them and back to the entrance to do his job.

“Yeah, gonna ask Ari for some help then,” Curtis mutters.

He turns around, taking a step forward. He hoped you would let go of his arm and walk next to him, but you don’t.

You only hum happily as he lifts his arm and you dangle off it. Nick laughs as he watches the whole interaction.

“Lift your arm,” he mutters more as a joke, but Curtis does it and your legs are lifted off the ground. “Strong Omega."

Curtis nods as he then walks behind the bar to Ari's office. You're humming to yourself as he carries you with his arm.

“You’re not gonna let me shake you off like an annoying fly, huh?” Curtis mutters under his breath before he hisses slightly.

Your nails dig deep into his skin, leaving red marks. As much as you try to hold yourself, your fingers slip a bit.

So you have to move them back in place, clawing at Curtis's arm with a whine.

Only then do you finally manage to get a hold that holds you no matter if he shakes or walks or does jumping jacks—your fingers are tight enough around his arms.

“You’re not planning to let go of my arm, are you?” Curtis asks as he stops in front of Ari’s office and knocks softly.

“Come in,” Ari says from the inside.

He looks up from his desk toward the wooden door where Curtis pushes it open, and pushes his head through the slit.

“Ari, we got a problem,” Curtis mutters when he pushes the door to his boss's office further open.

The other man looks up form his papers on the desk, his eyes moving for a second toward the board that shows all the employees working today, before he looks at the television screen with the ongoing football game.

No one called in sick. And the football team Ari loves has still way more points than the other.

There can’t be a fight at the bar, because Bucky would have called him already.

“What is it, Curtis?” Ari asks, narrowing his eyes as he turns his face toward the door and the man who’s still half hidden by the wooden door of the office.

Curtis pushes the door open further, taking a step into the room as he holds up his arm and presents the dangling Omega to his boss.

You don’t flinch when another pair of eyes settles on you. You don’t even realize it, too mesmerized by the beauty of the strong Alpha that carried you through the bar like you weighed nothing. On one arm!

The corner of Ari's mouth twitches upward as a wide, amused smile forms on his face. A deep rumble vibrating through his chest that makes Curtis even more irritated.

“This isn’t funny!” Curtis mutters, walking into the office so he can close the door.

No one has to get a peak of the dangling Omega on his arm. Nor your state — which is definitely either way too drunken, or truthfully, drugged by some idiotic Alpha.

“Can you help me, this isn’t—” he mutters, shaking his arm with you on it, but you don’t budge. Your fingers curl further around his strong, tattooed arm as he tries to wiggle you off him like an annoying fly or something.

“Why do you need help with her? She looks pretty content on your arm,” Ari says, grinning when he watches your determination to keep stuck where you are. “She likes you. Got yourself a pretty Omega, huh?”

Curtis rolls his eyes slightly, holding his arm out. You keep clinging to him like a koala.

“She’s pretty strong for such a delicate and soft Omega,” Ari mutters as he pushes himself back from the desk he’s sitting at, and takes a few steps closer to where Curtis and you stand.

The bouncer nods, impressed by your strength, but he can’t have you hanging down his arm all night until the drug has faded.

“Help me. please!” Curtis tries again as he shakes his arm once more. “She just doesn’t want to let go. It’s that drug we had awhile back, that one Alpha put it in her drink and now she’s clinging to me.”

Ari grunts in amusement. Not about the drug, but about his thoughts.

“You’re her knight in shining armor, of course she's clinging to you, Prince Charming,” Ari mutters, but stops just a few inches away from Curtis's arm and your frame.

He keeps grinning as he takes another good look at Curtis and his outstretched arm.

“Sure you don’t want that little Omega dangling off your arm?” Ari laughs, earning a low growl from Curtis.

Ari lifts his hands in surrender, then he brings his big palms to your waist and pulls.

Not enough to hurt you, but enough to hopefully have you loosen the grip around Curtis's muscular arm.

But you still don’t budge. You only dig your nails into the bouncer's skin, making him hiss slightly as you almost cut your nails into his arm.

Then a loud whine bubbles up your throat. The sound making both Alphas stop in their tracks immediately.

Ari takes his hands away, looking at you with concern in his eyes.

“What the fuck—” he mutters, taking in your scent. Distress. Panic.

You didn't have this scent before he touched you. Before he tried to pry you off Curtis.

But now your scent is sour, making the big Alphas almost flinch at your sudden unease.

Just a few minutes later, your scent is normal again. At least almost, the drugs change your scent and make it sweeter. Making the scent pretend the omega likes what the alpha could force on them when they took the drugs.

Except — you choose Curtis to cling to.

He didn’t force you to cling to him.

Ari takes a deep breath, looking at Curtis who nods before he reaches out to grasp your hands this time.

Maybe he can peel your fingers off Curtis's arm. But Ari’s fingertips against your wrists are enough for you to growl low in your throat and hiss at him. With a snap of your head toward his hands, you try to bite into his thick fingers.

He pulls his hands back fast enough, so you can’t reach them, but his eyes widen slightly at your defiance. Then he grins once more at Curtis.

“Got a fierce little thing here,” he laughs as he takes a step backwards. His back resting against his desk as he crosses his legs and keeps his blue eyes on Curtis and you.

“It’s getting hard to keep her like that,” Curtis grumbles, unsure of what to do.

Both of them know what the drug does. And they both don’t want to risk anything. But they can’t keep you dangling off Curtis's arm until the drug has faded.

“We can’t let her out of our sight until the drug is out of her system. Other alphas might take advantage of a more or less willing omega,” Ari mutters more to himself than to Curtis.

His free hand reaches out to wrap around your hips so he can pull you closer. And you let him, wrapping your legs around his waist.

Then you let go of his arm to curl yours around his neck, pressing yourself tightly against his firm chest. Your scent filling his nostrils and his eyes darken for a brief moment.

Curtis can feel something shift inside of him, a feeling he never had before. Your scent. Your smaller, warm body pressed to his. It’s like his arms are shaped for your form, like he's shaped to fit with you together.

Curtis growls low in his throat, a protective growl that makes Ari tense immediately.

He has never seen Curtis be so protective around an omega. Though, the broad man is protective in general, that’s why he’s so good at his job. But he has never growled so low.

Even Curtis's eyes widen as he notices the sound he made.

“Protective of that feisty little Omega, huh?” Ari chuckles, but takes another step back.

It was a primal instinct, actually not even directed at Ari, but he doesn’t need to get the wolf in Curtis to lash out.

Maybe the drugs do things to alpha’s, too. Or they don’t, and it’s just Curtis's natural instincts stirred with you cradled in his big arms — a precious, clingy omega.

The door bursts open, slamming against the wall with loud thud. While Ari and Curtis glare with slight surprise on their expression toward the door, you keep clinging to Curtis like the door wasn’t just slammed open.

“Feisty omega?” Someone growls, making Ari grin wide.

Watching his Omega with fire burning in her eyes, her shoulders tense, and clenched jaw make him chuckle softly.

Possessive little thing, he thinks.

“Yeah, just like you, firecracker,” Ari mutters, taking a step closer to the door where his Omega stands and glares at him.

She huffs, looking from Ari to Curtis and to you clinging on Curtis like a koala.

Then she narrows her eyes slightly, titling her head before glaring at Ari once more.

“I’m nothing like your little new toy,” she hisses in rage as she points with her pointer finger at Ari’s chest and presses into his thick muscles. “Having fun with her and Curtis?”

“Omega,” Ari growls low in his throat, his voice leaving no room for argument. And even you tense in Curtis's arms. “You’re not supposed to talk like that. And she’s no toy, she was drugged by someone and clings to Curtis now.”

She keeps glaring at him until Ari's hand shoots out to wrap around her throat, making her yelp.

You whine against Curtis neck, your breath warm against his skin, and he tightens his grip even further around you.

He tries as much as he can to stay professional, but with your scent surrounding him. With your body curled into his arms and so tightly pressed against him, it makes something in him stir. Something primal. A want he never felt before.

“Shh, I've got ya, pretty little koala,” Curtis mutters into your neck, his voice rough, but so soothing that you press your nose with a whine into the crock of his neck. “That’s it, Omega.”

Ari smirks at the interaction between you and Curtis, his eyes still on his Omega, though.

“You gonna behave yourself now, firecracker?” Ari growls with a mischievous grin, as he pulls his omega closer by her neck.

She grins playfully as she shakes her head. Ari curses under his breath.

“You can have the lounge,” Ari mutters, nodding to the door that leads from his office to another room next to it. “Get comfy. If you need anything, you know where the bar is. If you need help or me, just lemme know. But first, I have to teach this firecracker here a little about obedience.”

Curtis hums in appreciation before he turns and walks toward the other room, opening the door to slip in before he closes it.

A heavy breath escapes him as you loosen your grip slightly, finally letting him breath again.

“C’mon, sit down so I can make ya a drink,” he mumbles as he leans over the couch to sit you down.

But you don't let go, your grip only tightens once more as you whine loudly, and dig your nails into his neck.

Curtis chuckles softly, trying to pry you off him, but you keep your grip. Firm and steady around him.

“Koala, c’mon, let go for a second so I can get you some water,” he mutters under his breath, his hands grasping your hips tightly to push you into the soft cushion of the couch.

You whine loudly like an omega in distress when he moves you an inch away from his body.

A sound that wrecks his heart, bursts it into pieces. Your eyes are big and pleading as you keep trying to hold yourself against him — but he’s strong. Way too strong for you.

Not only is he an alpha, but he’s also well trained and has bulging, thick muscles.

“Please, Omega,” he says with a more commanding tone. Not an alpha command, but maybe enough to make you obey him.

You keep whining, scratching along his neck as he pushes you further into the couch until you’re finally seated, and he can take a step backwards.

Tears well up in your eyes, your bottom lip wobbles as they threaten to roll down your cheeks and leave strains of your make up all over them.

“Shh, Omega. Shh, c’mon sweet Koala, lemme grab that bottle over there,” he says, his voice soft and soothing as he points toward the bottle of water that’s standing on the counter at the other side of the room.

You shake your head, reaching out to grab him again, but he moves back so he’s out of your reach.

Curtis sighs, but walks over to the other side of the room to grab the bottle of water. Your whines get louder with every step he takes further through the room, but you don’t move.

“Omega!” Curtis mutters, not wanting to get other alphas attention with your persistent whines.

Your eyes widen, but your noises are quieter now. His voice so rough and commanding it made something inside of you stir and obey him.

“Good girl. Now be quiet for me and let me get you a glass of water,” he says as he takes a glass and walks back to the couch.

You’re sitting there with big doe eyes, your fingers digging into the fabric of your shirt as you watch him intensely.

When he's close enough you reach out for him, wanting to grab him, but your fingertips only brush his shirt and a pitiful cry leaves your lips.

“Shh, tell me what you want, Koala. Be good and stop whining,” he tries to get anything, except a whine, out of you.

But you shake your head, only making grabby hands in his direction. Your fingers curling and uncurling while you brush his shirt over and over again.

Curtis sighs softly and pours a glass of water for you, placing the bottle on the table before he holds out his hand with the full glass.

Except, you don't reach for the glass, instead for his arm. Trying to pull him closer, a tear makes its way down your cheek and you whimper quietly.

You just want his arms around you. His scent surrounding you and his warmth and security. But he just doesn’t want to give you what you ask for.

Curtis has witnessed an omega on the drug before, but he hasn’t been the chosen alpha who had to stay around the omega all night.

And somehow, it looks like omegas who are on the drug need the closeness and protection of the alpha their omega brain has chosen.

But he has to make you drink a bit, and he’s sure that once you cling to him you ignore everything unless he uses an alpha command. Which might not be the best idea in your current state where you’re already lead by your inner omega.

Curtis sighs with a soft smile on his lips, as he pulls his hand back and places the glass on the table in front of you.

“Drink,” he says, motioning to the glass of water.

Your eyes remain on him, never leaving his ocean blue ones when you’re supposed to drink.

“Omega,” Curtis growls slightly with a hint of desperation when you don't do as he says.

You whimper, feeling a rush of sadness and something you can’t quiet put a finger on. But the tone in his voice and his upcoming anger makes your heart clench uncomfortably.

“A-Alpha,” you whisper, holding your hands out toward him.

Curtis sighs. At least it’s something else than the constant whining, you finally said something even though it’s not that much.

“Yes, drink, please,” he tries again, but you don’t move. Once again.

He wants to scream. Wants to slam his hand onto the table. Or he could force the glass to your lips and make you drink, but he doesn’t want to scare you.

You keep staring at him with wide eyes, your bottom lip wobbles as he doesn’t attempt to move closer.

Not even your grabby hands make him do what you ask him for — more or less.

With a sigh he gives in. Curtis sits next to you on the couch, opening his arms for you to crawl onto his lap and cling to him once more.

Your arms curl around his chest, clamping your fingers into his shirt to make sure he can’t change his mind and push you away.

He reaches for the glass before he leans hack. Maybe if you’re thirsty enough you will finally drink a bit. But for now, he lets you curl into him, his free calloused hand rubbing up and down your back softly.

And to his surprise it doesn’t take long until you turn your head a bit, reaching for the glass of water before you bring it to your lips and take a small sip.

VICTORY! It was only a small bit of water, but it’s still more than nothing.

“Good girl,” Curtis whispers into your hair as you give him the glass back and hide your face in his thick chest again. “Such a good little Koala.”

You chirp softly, not even realizing that you made the sound until it already left your lips, causing Curtis to chuckle softly.

“Chirping now, huh?” He teases, watching you hide your face even further.

Your hands wander down his sides and toward the hem of his shirt, slipping underneath the fabric with a soft sigh as you get your hands on his warm skin.

Cold hands, to be exact.

Curtis inhales deeply, shivering slightly as he feels your icy hands against his warm stomach, his muscles tensing for a moment before he relaxes into the couch again.

“You cold, Omega?” Curtis asks softly, but you shake your head.

You're not cold, only your hands are. But Curtis's warm body helps you to warm them up now, too.

The two of you sit in silence for a few more minutes. It’s not uncomfortable, though.

The Alpha hums softly when your breathing evens out, it's less intense and he can feel your smaller body relax more into his muscular chest.

Curtis reaches for the remote control, turning on the television on a low volume while he shifts you slightly, so you’re even more comfortable on his lap.

His thick fingers draw small circles over your back as he watches you, the television only playing for some background noise, but his ocean blue eyes are on you.

He's never felt like this. Content. Protective. His heart beating faster whenever you look deeply into his eyes, and now, with you curled against him and softly snoring, he can’t help but feel his alpha literally whining.

Curtis wants to claim you, wants to make you his so no one can ever hurt you again. Your body so perfectly shaped to fit with his, his scent mixing with yours and creating a warmth that’s settling into his chest.

He remains like that, watching you more than the game on the television. Even when his eyes grow heavy, he tries to keep his eyes steady on you to make sure you’re safe and secure in his arms.

“How’s it going?” Ari asks quietly as he walks in a few hours later.

Curtis is half asleep, you still clinging to him as he turns his head to look at his boss who smiles at the two of you.

It’s not a teasing or mocking smile, but a soft and tender one.

“She’s sleeping. But I got her to drink a tiny bit, guess the drugs do a pretty good job,” Curtis mutters softly, chuckling softly.

Ari nods, leaning into the doorframe as he keeps an eye on his Omega who’s looking through his drinks and snacks behind his desk.

“We're gonna leave now, but you can stay here if you want. Or we can bring her home, maybe she has an ID or something on her?” Ari suggests, not sure what’s the best for you in your current state filled to the brim with drugs.

And knowing less than what Curtis does, who might spend all night with you at the club only to make sure you’re content and happy.

“Gonna stay here for the night. Your couch isn't that bad,” Curtis laughs softly, running his hands through your hair.

You shift slightly, whining into his chest as you curl even more into him and hum softly.

“Oh,” Ari grins. “The couch is amazing—”

“Okay! Stop that, I don't want to know what you did on this couch,” Curtis almost whines when he notices the mischievous expression on Ari’s face.

The other Alpha laughs and nods, pushing himself off the door frame as he looks at his Omega for a moment.

She’s still rummaging through his shelf, placing bottles in their ‘right’ places and stuffing snacks into her mouth.

“Firecracker, if you keep eating all that stuff you’re gonna get sick,” he reminds her, chuckling when he only earns a huff from his Omega. “Feisty one.”

“Could you hand me the blanket and the pillows over there, though?” Curtis interrupts his boss and his Omega's interaction as he points to the other side of the room.

A few blankets and pillows are placed neatly in a shelf, and Ari immediately nods and moves over to the shelf to grab some of the pillows and blankets to hand them to Curtis.

“You need something else? Drink or some food?” He asks as Curtis takes the pillow and places it on one end of the couch.

“No, it’s fine, thank you!” Curtis says, leaning back to make it more comfortable for him too.

Ari nods, watching the other Alpha lean back onto the couch until he’s sprawled all over it. He then pushes you a bit until you’re comfortable on top of him, your side pressing into the backrest of the couch and a content sigh escapes you.

“Goodnight then.If you need anything call me,” Ari says, holding his hand out for his Omega to take it before they leave the bar.

A quietness settles into the room once more, only your soft breaths and snores fill the air as Curtis keeps watching you a while longer.

“Pretty little Koala,” he chuckles before he tightens his arms around you, and kisses the top of your head. “Sleep well, sweet Omega.”

The sun shines softly through the blinds of the room, making you stir awake and shift a bit.

It’s warm underneath you, but soft and yet somehow hard. A lot of muscles, a rising chest, and a warm breath against your neck make you furrow your brows.

Where were you? And how did you get here?

“Morning, Koala,” a rough voice comes from underneath you, and you immediately tense on top of the man. “Slept well?”

You keep your face hidden in the shirt, breathing in his soothing scent, but you don’t move. Maybe you can pretend you’re still asleep and he will push you off him and leave.

Or maybe he won't.

Curtis moves his hands down your back and places his calloused hands on your hips, smirking as you try to stifle the gasp that threatens to escape your lips.

“I know you're awake, Omega,” he mutters with a low chuckle that vibrates through his chest, as he tightens his grip around your hips.

His voice is still laced with a certain sleepiness. And you would love to turn your head to look at him, to see if he’s as beautiful as he sounds.

“Do you remember anything from yesterday?” He asks after a moment, shifting you once more, but you keep trying to ignore him and his questions.

Closing your eyes once more, you try to remember what happened last night. Pictures of the events of the night flash through your mind and you feel your cheeks heating up.

Embarrassing.

“You know I can smell you,” Curtis mutters with another chuckle, pressing a kiss to your head. “You gonna ignore me all day or you gonna talk to me?”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper into his chest, curling further into his side. “I’m not sure what was wrong last night.”

Curtis lifts you up slightly, sitting up to place you back on his lap. This time he has you almost at eye level. His ocean blue eyes bore in yours when you — for a second — look up at him before your face falls again.

“C’mon, Omega, look at me,” he whispers as he brings his hand to your chin. His thumb and forefinger curl around your chin and turn your face to look at him. “I’m not gonna bite, unless you want me to.”

You whimper slightly, lost in the depth of his blue eyes, though there’s a tiny bit of green that makes you smile softly.

“So, you remember what happened yesterday?” Curtis asks and you nod, your cheeks burning by now, but he keeps your chin where he wants it.

“I’m sorry, I-I had a drink and then I felt so dizzy and then I don’t know, I just had no control,” you mutter, craving to lean into him again and take in more of his scent.

Maybe it’s still the drug talking or your inner omega who’s more than content around the broad Alpha.

“The Alpha who was harassing you, he put a drug in your drink. We are not completely sure what kind of drug it is, but it kind of creates an addiction to an Alpha. Most likely to an Alpha who could fit with you,” Curtis explains as he watches your eyes widen with every word he says.

You take in the information with a soft nod.

“You thirsty or hungry? You didn’t let me hand you a drink last night,” Curtis asks as he notices you parting your lips for yet another apology.

You nod your head slightly, your mouth is dry, so are your lips, and your stomach can use some food too. But you only let yourself fall forward against his broad chest, chirping when he wraps his strong arms around you and his scent fills your nose even more.

“You like my scent, pretty Koala?” Curtis asks as his chest vibrates with a low rumble.

You whine as you hide your face in his chest once more.

“Don’t be embarrassed, it's cute. I like your scent a lot too,” Curtis whispers into your ear. “How about we check what the bar has to offer for breakfast, huh?”

You nod softly, wrapping your arms around his neck. Your legs still feel wobbly, and since he carried you all evening last night, he can keep doing just that, right?

“You just keep clinging to me?” He mutters as he heaves himself off the couch, his arms tightly wrapping around your waist. Curtis tries to stretch himself as best as he can while having you cling to him.

“Mhm, you're pretty soft and thick, but most importantly you’re warm, so warm,” you purr as you nose along the side of his throat.

Curtis swallows down a possessive growl that’s about to escape his lips, as he walk out of the room and through Ari’s office. He moves surprisingly quiet for a man his size, as he walks along the hallway to a small kitchen in the back of the bar.

“Welcome to our own little kitchen. You like pancakes with bacon?” Curtis asks as he pulls out some ingredients with you still in his arms.

You hum and nod your head, whining when he places you on the counter. He pulls out more ingredients and places them next to you on the counter.

“You know, I like to sing when I cook,” Curtis confesses, humming softly as he starts swinging his hips playfully.

You watch him with wide eyes, laughing softly. And it’s a sound he adores by now, your sweet laugh is one of his favorite sounds.

Curtis mixes the flour with the other ingredients and scoops a fingertip of the dough. He brings his thick finger to your face and slides his fingers over your nose with a grin.

“Now you have to kiss it away!” You mumble, pouting softly as you lean forward so he can kiss away dough from the tip of your nose.

Curtis smirks and leans toward you to press a soft kiss to your nose, kissing away the dough.

“Better?” He asks, before he kisses your nose once more and turns back to finish the dough. “Sweet little Koala, do you mind mixing that a bit for me so I can heat the pan already?”

You nod and do as he says, keeping your eyes on him as he puts some oil in the pan. Curtis keeps watching you, too, even when he pulls out another pan and some bacon.

“Can you do heart shaped pancakes?” You ask quietly, watching his face light up as he reaches for something in the counter that you can’t see just yet.

He holds a heart shaped mold in front of you, metal. Your eyes light up too as he places it in the pan and nods.

“Put some of it in there,” he says and points at the bowl in your hands.

With a grin, you hold the bowl above the pan and let some of the dough drip into it.

And a few minutes later you don’t have just one heart shaped pancake, but a whole plate of heart shaped pancakes. Curtis keeps grinning as he makes another pancake and puts it on top of the others. The bacon already ready and sitting next to it on another plate.

You keep watching him as he lets you pour the dough into the pan. Curtis always makes sure that he touches you softly, either your knee or your thigh, sometimes your hands.

And he has a smile on his lips, so soft and warm, it makes you heart flutter.

This Alpha really made his way into your heart. Not only with heart shaped pancakes, but with his warmth and love. And with that breathtaking smile of his, and those shining blue orbs.

“You're drooling, Koala,” Curtis chuckles as he wipes, with his thumb, a bit of spit from the corner of your mouth.

You huff, but get interrupted when the scent of another Alpha and an Omega fills your nostrils. You turn your head to look at them, noticing the mischievous glint in the Alpha's eyes as he grins at you and Curtis — and maybe the heart shaped pancakes on the kitchen counter.

“Look who we got here. Prince Charming and his Koala,” Ari smirks as he leans against the doorframe of the kitchen with an amused glint in his eyes. “Gonna have a spare pancake for me and firecracker too?”

Curtis laughs, but nods. “We could feed the whole bar team with the amount of pancakes and bacon we made."

With that, Ari reaches for four plates and places them on the table in the small kitchen of the bar. He adds forks and knifes before he looks at you again.

“I’m Ari, owner of the bar. And this little Omega over here, is my feisty little firecracker,” Ari introduces himself and his Omega, who has her arms tightly wrapped around Ari’s waist from behind, and only sneaks a glance at you from her hidden place. “You feeling better by now or is the drug still in your system?”

“Feeling way better, thank you. And sorry for the embarrassment last night,” you apologize once more.

But Ari shakes his head, stealing a piece of bacon from one of the plates to hold in front of his Omega.

She giggles and squeals as she reaches for it to munch on it. Ari’s expression softens even more when he watches his Omega happily chewing on a piece of bacon.

“Don’t worry about last night. It’s not your fault that some guy put some drugs in your drink. And it looks like Prince Charming finally found a match for himself,” Ari tells you, patting Curtis's shoulder who’s secretly grinning from ear to ear while he makes the pancakes.

Curtis huffs playfully as he turns toward you and pulls you over the counter and closer to him, to stand between your thighs while still turning pancakes.

“Can I kiss you, pretty Koala?” He asks, his voice low and quiet as he asks you. Though, Curtis's eyes are bright and capturing as he holds your gaze.

You giggle softly, nodding your head. It might look like an act of possession or something, but you know it’s way more than that. It’s a bond the two of you slowly formed between the two of you, a bond built with love and softness.

Curtis leans closer, capturing your lips softly with his. His scent changing softly into a sweeter one, and you melt into him as his lips start moving softly and tender against yours.

“Get yourself a room,” Ari laughs as he brings his hands in front of Firecracker's eyes. She squeals and wiggles behind his hands to sneak a glance. “Prince Charming found his princess.”

“Shut up,” Curtis mutters as he presses another peck against your lips with a grin.

taglist — @ballorawan740 @phineas-is-chaos @princesschyanne @sergeantbarnessdoll @thenameswinter99 @carlossainzapologist @multiversefanfics @rogersbarber

[fanfictiontrash9]

[holylulusworld]

An absent mate

Summary: Your mate cares more about a taken omega.

Pairing: Wolverine x Omega!Reader

Warnings: a/b/o, a/b/o dynamics, abandonment, emotional cheating, heavy angst, pregnancy, loneliness, language, shitty friends, shitty alpha, Jean being the worst ever, Jean hate (sorry)

Square filled for the Wolverine bingo @buck-star created for me: Square 23: a/b/o

In the beginning, you believed everything would turn out for the better. Everyone encouraged you to pursue the alpha you fell in love with. You believed their words, their lies, so easily.

Logan wasn’t happy with all the attention you gave him at first. But the more you threw yourself at him, the more he got fond of you. Or so it seemed.

You spent many nights tangled in each other, touching every inch of your bodies, while you got more and more lost in Logan.

His mark soon was on your neck, indicating that he finally settled for an omega and forgot about the one he couldn’t have.

You soon would find out that the passion he showed in the bedroom did not dull the ache whenever he ignored your needs.

Hugs, a no-go. Kissing, only when it was to start something else. Being around you for longer than needed was out of the question.

Day by day, you realized that you got trapped in a loveless bond by no other but your chosen family. The people you trusted the most.

“Logan, where are you going again?” You almost pleaded while grabbing his arm. “I told you I need you today.”

“I told you that Jean needs me. Scott is on a mission, and she’s all alone,” Logan bites back, wincing as you flinch at his harsh tone. “Give me an hour or two, and we can do whatever you want to do.” He tries to charm his way back into your good graces, but you only scoff.

“What if I ever get pregnant? Will you be there for me, too, or just ignore me?” Your questions make Logan stop in his tracks. He considers your words before walking toward the door.

“We shouldn’t have a baby.” His words cut deeper than any knife. “I’m too old to have children.”

“You will outlive all of us. Me…anyone,” you scoff. “You’re not too old. You simply don’t want to have children with me.”

“No…I…” Logan shakes his head. “I’d outlive our child, too, Y/N. I don’t want to see them die like everyone else.”

“You could play with your grandchildren, and their children,” you sniffle. “Anyone would kill for that chance, but you…” You protectively wrap your arms around yourself. “If Jean’s child were yours, you wouldn’t hesitate.”

“That’s not…true.” He tries to argue, but you are too wound tight to give in today. In the past, you endured the pain in silence.

“Forget it,” you sniffle and already turn back around. “I can handle my problems on my own. I’m not a weakling like Jean.” You grab your jacket and bag and storm out of the room, slamming the door shut.

Jean stands in front of your room, running her hand over her visible bump. She smirks, knowing you got into a fight with your mate because of her.

“Get fucked.” You curse and storm past her. In your condition, you shouldn’t stress yourself or always get into fights with your mate. It’s no use. He will not turn toward you, and Jean won’t stop playing the victim.

“I’m so done,” you think in your mind, catching Professor Xavier’s attention. Usually, you guard your mind like a dragon guarding a captured princess. Today, your heart and soul a screaming because you cannot endure more heartbreak. “That’s enough heartbreak for a lifetime.”

After returning from your doctor's appointment, you decided to talk to your fellow X-Men.

You don’t understand why Logan claimed you if his heart was still hung up on Jean.

They all assured you that Logan feels the same, but now you feel like they lied to you.

If you are right, the betrayal cuts even deeper.

Walking along the hallways, you change your mind. If you ask them directly, they’d only lie to you to shelter your feelings.

It’s against the rules, but to get the truth, you are willing to break all the rules.

Closing your eyes, you take a deep breath before using your powers. You focus on everyone telling you to make a move on Logan.

Not only did Logan and Jean underestimate you, but your fellow X-Men did too.

In full control of your powers, you can read their minds all at once.

Your eyes fill with tears, realizing, they knew Logan would never reciprocate your feelings all along. None of them was truly on your side.

“All of you.” You accuse, pointing at Professor Xavier in particular. “Every single one of you told me to give Logan a chance. You told me he’s bad at admitting feelings.”

“We only asked you to give him a chance to make him happy,” Storm tries to save the situation and calm you. No such luck.

You scoff at your stupidity and shake your head. “You didn’t ask me to give him a chance to become his mate, his partner, or the mother of his pups.” You emphasize your last words, running your hand over your swollen bump. “No. You did it, so he got someone to fuck!”

Professor Xavier flinches at your outburst. Not only because your words are true, but also because you screamed in his mind.

“You wanted me to let him fuck me while his whole attention was focused on Jean. A taken woman. A mated omega. Someone else’s wife.” You sniff and look away from them. “You made me believe he’ll reciprocate my feelings one day.”

Professor Xavier wants to say something, but you raise your hand to stop him. “Save it, professor. He doesn’t care for me. Logan is all over Jean all the time because she won’t leave a taken man alone.” You snarl the last line. “She’s nothing but a homewrecker, and all of you decided to look the other way. I’m done.”

Logan finally joins the others, staring at you as if you lost your mind. He heard every word thanks to his higher senses and advanced hearing.

“If you are unhappy, go.” He growls and points at you. “But before, give me my favorite shirt back.”

You can’t believe his cruelty, but you are not surprised either.

“Fine, have it.” You drop your bag and jacket to take off his shirt, throwing it at Logan. Everyone gasps, even your mate, looking at the prominent bump you hid so well over the last few months. You’re five months pregnant and are already showing a big belly.

Logan’s shoulders slump, and he gasps loudly. “You’re pregnant too?” He asks, as if you tried to hide your pregnancy from him.

“Yeah, that,” you run your hand over your bump, “isn’t your problem, right? That’s what you told me last week when I, once again, tried to tell you about my pregnancy. But you were busy rubbing Jean’s back because she was nauseous.”

You laugh loudly at the absurdity. “She’s pregnant with another man, and you do anything to make her feel better while your mate suffers alone, hoping her mate will at least help her with her nest. I was only ever an afterthought to you, nothing else.”

“How did you not know she’s pregnant?” Ororo’s eyes clouded watching you grab your jacket to cover yourself. “Logan? How did you not know?”

“I…” Logan averts his gaze and shakes his head. There’s no excuse for not knowing about his mate’s pregnancy. For months, he took care of another omega.

You look Jean straight in the eyes and say, “Don’t worry Jean, I give my mate free. You should ask Scott to do the same so you and your chosen mate, the one you love, can be together.”

Jean looks anywhere but at you. Her hands tremble when she places them on her belly. Her pup kicks, and she feels bad for you for a moment. She had the attention of two alphas, while you had to do everything on your own.

Your features darken, and you smirk cruelly as she looks flustered.

“Oh, yeah. I forgot you only wanted Logan to give you his full attention out of jealousy. You never wanted him, but seeing him become my mate didn’t sit right with you. Correct me when I’m wrong.”

Jean doesn’t answer. Her silence speaks volumes, though.

In the beginning, she kept her distance and watched you get closer and closer to Logan from afar. Until one day, she decided not to let Logan stop yearning for her. It didn’t matter that you wore his mark, and that he called you his omega at that time.

“I still don’t understand how Logan didn’t know about Y/N’s pregnancy.” Ororo looks at Logan. “Logan?”

“Because he gives a shit about me. I was only good for getting off. I have no worth to him. Not when Jean is all over him most of the day and night. I always wondered if Scott loves being a cuck.”

Gambit snorts at your comment. He shakes his head and shoves people out of his way, holding out his hand. “Do you want me to drive you somewhere?"

“No,” you slap his offered hand away. “I don’t want anything from you or the likes of you.” You walk past him, not sparing Logan a glance as you walk toward the front door. “I hope you all go to hell.”

With that, you slam the door shut behind you, leaving them alone with their regret.

[fanfictiontrash9]

[holylulusworld]

Frenemy

Summary: Your best friend isn’t your friend at all...

Pairing: Ari Levinson x fem!Reader, Y/F/N x fem!Reader (platonic)

Warnings: language, bad friend?, cocky Ari, slow dancing, best friend's brother trope, a tiny plot twist, fluff

This little story was written for @buck-star “Sleepover Event.”

I used the prompt: Best friend’s brother - club/club owner AU - slow dancing

A/N: Y/F/N = your friend's name

“Come on, live a little. I promise, this guy is the one. He’s smart, has a nice home, and his mother lives abroad. So not a monster-in-law ruining your relationship,” your best friend chirps.

She’s more excited than you to meet the guy she wants to set you up with. It’s no wonder. Whenever your friend introduces you to a man, she’s all over him.

You never get to chat with the man or properly introduce yourself to him. Sometimes you wonder why Y/F/N wants to play matchmaker, only to go home with your date.

“Why don’t you go alone?” You sigh and rub your tired eyes. It wasn’t in your plans to watch your friend get cozy with a man she chose for you. “It will only end with me going home alone again.”

“Why—” She puts one hand on her heart. “It’s not my fault you barely talk to the guys I want you to meet. You need to loosen up a little bit, Y/N. Go and get dressed. I’ll be picking you up at eight.”

You look at her, checking on her outfit. She’s wearing jeans, a tight crop top, and natural makeup tonight. Maybe she doesn’t want to be the center of attention this time. If so, you will give her one last chance to play matchmaker for you.

“Fine,” you finally give in, after she gives you her infamous pout. “I’ll be ready at eight.”

“AWESOME!” She squeals and cups your cheeks, smirking. “You will get laid tonight, baby. He’s a hot piece of ass!”

You sigh when she runs off. “I only wanted to enjoy my new book in silence…”

“Babe, you look stunning.” Your friend excitedly taps your ass as you walk into the club in front of her. You huff. Y/F/N didn’t pick you up in jeans and a top. She changed into the shortest dress in the history of short dresses. It’s more of a belt than a dress. Her makeup and hair were perfectly styled, too.

“Yeah, sure…” You mutter under your breath, already knowing how the night will play out. “So, where is the man who won’t go home with me?”

She ignores your jab and pushes you toward a table, almost making you stumble and fall. “There he is!” She waves at the man waiting at the table. He raises his glass and already scans every inch of your friend’s body with his eyes.

“Y/F/N,” he rasps, his eyes glued to her cleavage. “It’s good to see you again. You look, wow.” He almost drools talking to your friend. “You look stunning.”

“Oh, you!” She playfully slaps his chest, making you roll your eyes. It’s the same games as always. “Wait. That’s…”

You hold out your hand, wanting to at least introduce yourself to the man. He ignores your hand and hands your friend her favorite drink.

Why did you come with her to the club again? Oh yeah, so she could dress up to the nines and get laid, while you will once again go home alone.

 Y/F/N giggles at something he says, and you know it’s your cue to leave. You are about to turn on your heels when she puts her hand on your shoulder.

“Where are you going?” She asks in a sultry tone, still in her flirting mode. “I thought we wanted to have fun.”

“No,” you huff, frustrated about her attitude. “You wanted me to play the plain and boring friend so you could stick out in your too-short dress. It always ends with you fucking the guy you wanted me to meet. If you want to be his next notch on his belt, do it without me.”

Storming off, you decide to never go out with Y/F/N again. She didn’t even try to introduce you to the guy. Not that he was exactly your type, but he was cute enough to forget about your loneliness for a night or two.

While running toward the exit, you slip on a drink that one of the guests spilled. You shriek, startled when you lose balance.

“Watch out, sweetness.” You feel two strong hands grab your arm, stopping your fall. “I didn’t take you for a clumsy one.”

“What? I—” You groan as you face Ari Levinson, your friend’s stepbrother. “I didn’t take you for someone grabbing girls just like that.” You sass back. “If you’d excuse me now, I’d love to forget about this night and wash it off my body.”

“I could lend you a hand.” Ari, ever the heartbreaker, flashing you a stunning smile. When you were younger, you dreamed of doing unspeakable things with your friend’s brother. He was off limits, of course. Girl's code and all.

“I bet you would; just like you’d lend every woman at the club a hand. Like sister, like brother,” you’re too tired and frustrated about the stunt Y/F/N pulled to hold back in front of her stepbrother.

“I saw what she did,” Ari states. “I told you for years not to get involved with her. Dad outdid himself spoiling that little brat. She walks into my club, believing she doesn’t have to pay for drinks, only because my father used to stick his dick into her mother.”

“Did anyone ever tell you that you have a way with words, Levinson?” You laugh as he simply shrugs. “I should go now. I’m done being her unwilling wing-woman while she gets laid.”

“How about…” He wraps one arm around your shoulders to guide you toward the dance floor. “You give me that dance you promised me on your last sleepover at my dad’s place?”

“What? I don’t remember such a promise!”

“You did promise me a dance before you let me do unspeakable things to you,” he whispers in your ear. “I will take you home either way. You decide if you want more to happen than a dance.”

You blink at Ari. He nods at someone, and suddenly they play a romantic song only for you. Ari smirks as you let him wrap his arms around you to slow dance with him.

“I know you’d end up in my arms one day,” Ari whispers in your ear. “Now that I have you, I’ll never let you go…”

You can’t see it, but your friend smiles victoriously. She finally pushed Ari far enough to make a move on you. “Mission accomplished…”

[fanfictiontrash9]

[witchywithwhiskey]

a king and his queen

pairing: mafia boss!bucky barnes x mafia princess!female reader

summary: you're still acclimating to life as the wife of the bratva's white wolf, and when your husband buys you some lingerie, it becomes an unexpected tipping point in your relationship.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), arranged marriage, reader demonstrates trauma responses and has anxiety from past familial verbal abuse (not explicitly shown, just implied), smut, piv sex, unprotected sex, dry sex, possessive sex, mirror sex, creampie, bdsm dynamics (gentle dom Bucky Barnes, talk of punishments, consent checks/reassurances), choking, biting, roughness, dirty talk, praise kink, pet names (moya zhena - my wife, moya koroleva - my queen, baby), aftercare, lots of feelings, some angst, some fluff, happy ending

word count: 6.3k

a/n: for week 7 of @buckybarnesevents's Hot Bucky Summer event, y'all voted for me to use the optional prompt of lingerie—and i'm quite happy with how this one turned out! it's a bit...darker and more different in some ways than most of my fics, but it was cathartic to write. there's more build-up to the sex in this fic because the dynamic between these two was so important to establish, but i enjoyed it, so i hope y'all do too! please make sure to read the warnings! enjoy ♡

prompt: “Put this on.” | [Blindfolds | Lingerie | Gag/Collars]

Hot Bucky Summer 2025 masterlist

“Put this on.”

The order pulled your attention from the mirror of your vanity, where you were putting the final touches on your jewelry for the evening. Your makeup was already done, all that was left was to get dressed.

And it seemed your new husband, the notorious head of the Russian mafia in New York City, the feared White Wolf—James “Bucky” Barnes—had opinions on what exactly you’d wear to your cousin’s birthday party. 

You’d tensed at his sudden appearance in your bedroom and, immediately, you tried to parse his tone to determine whether he was angry with you—or frustrated, or irritated, or annoyed, or anything else that might mean you were in for trouble.

It was a habit you’d formed while growing up in your father’s household, where quickly figuring out a man’s tone could be the difference between escape and something much worse. The habit had become so ingrained, you hardly recognized yourself doing it anymore. 

But like every other time Bucky had issued a command for you, you couldn’t quite read his tone. 

Your husband’s voice when he spoke to you wasn’t overly warm, but it wasn’t cold either. He sounded like a man used to people doing what he said, so much so that he was almost…bored of it. 

You didn’t know exactly what that meant, but you’d long ago learned that if a man in the mafia gave you an order, you followed it as fast as possible.

So while you were thinking all this through, you’d grabbed the luxurious paper bag your husband had held out to you and headed toward your walk-in closet. The dress you’d chosen for the party was already hanging up, ready for you to put on, but you’d wear whatever Bucky told you to wear.

It was your job, after all, to keep the peace between your family and Bucky’s Bratva. It was the whole point of your marriage to the White Wolf—and part of keeping that peace meant your husband would accompany you to parties hosted by your father, like the celebration that evening. 

Scurrying inside the closet with the bag, you paused and marveled all over again at the sheer size of the room. 

Like everything else in Bucky’s home, it was opulent and gorgeous, with clean white surfaces and dark brown wooden accents. There were multiple full-length mirrors and, alongside the racks and shelves holding your clothes and shoes, the space was big enough to fit a few ottomans, chairs and benches, all upholstered with the same sumptuous pink velvet. 

Before you could turn and close the door, Bucky’s voice broke through your thoughts.

“Let me see how it looks before you put your dress on.”

You’d assumed the garment he’d given you was a dress, so his words sent a little tremble down your spine when you realized they meant something else was in the bag. Still, you gave your husband a quick nod over your shoulder and shut the door to your closet.

Despite the trepidation you felt, your curiosity was piqued, and you peered into the bag. Under layers of soft tissue paper, you discovered something silky, lacy and beautiful. 

Heat filled your cheeks as you pulled out the expensive lingerie and held it carefully in your hands. The matching set was exquisite, and nicer than anything you’d owned in your entire life—which was saying something since you’d never wanted for anything.

Excited to wear something so beautiful, you put it on quickly. Once done, you had to stop and stare at yourself in one of the full-length mirrors. 

The warm recessed lighting in the closet shone on your body, giving you a perfect view of everywhere the lingerie clung to your skin. The silk and lace hugged your curves lovingly, like the garment was tailor-made to your body, the color complementing your skin tone perfectly.

It suddenly occurred to you that your husband, the Bratva boss you’d been taught to fear, had hand-picked this lingerie for you. He must’ve even given the seamstress your measurements so that it fit you so well. 

The thought of Bucky going to all that trouble and doing all that for you had warmth blooming in your core, a soft throbbing beginning between your thighs.

Your husband didn’t seem much like the mean, cruel man you’d expected when you married him. On your wedding night, when you’d consummated your marriage, Bucky had been patient, gentle even. Until he’d been unable to help himself, and then he’d fucked you like a man possessed.

But you’d enjoyed seeing the tightly controlled mafia man let loose. It had felt like you’d seen a side to him no one else ever had. And, even more, you’d enjoyed the way he’d made you unravel beneath him. He’d worked your body better than you’d ever thought possible, making you feel unspeakable pleasure.

In fact, in the few weeks since that night, you hadn’t been able to stop thinking about your husband, about his handsome face and his skillful hands. 

You had to keep reminding yourself that just because you knew him intimately, it didn’t mean you truly knew him. Or that you could trust that he was what he appeared to be—a kinder, gentler mafia boss than you’d ever known. But he kept surprising you.

After your wedding night, Bucky had gifted you your own suite of rooms within his sprawling mansion, and it was there that you slept, in your own space separate from him. Occasionally, he came to you in the darkest hours of the night, asking for your consent before fucking you just as good as that first time. 

But he never fell asleep with you, which felt like a sign that he wanted nothing more than an alliance with your family and an infrequent bedmate. 

Which meant that on the nights he didn’t come to you, you found yourself tossing and turning, forced to pleasure yourself while only the memories of your husband could get you to completion. 

It occurred to you that you could go to him, but that seemed like too much of a risk. To ask your husband for anything meant trusting him with your honesty, and you’d never dare do that. Not when you still didn’t know for certain how he felt about you.

Much of your time in the weeks since your wedding to the White Wolf had been spent trying to puzzle out his feelings for you, all while you’d been keeping your own emotions buried deep in your heart. It felt too dangerous to admit, even to yourself, that you’d grown…fond of your husband. 

But seeing the beautiful lingerie Bucky had chosen meticulously for you had an effect on the impenetrable walls around your heart. It almost felt like something inside you cracked open a tiny bit, and you found yourself rubbing idly at your chest, a warmth blooming beneath your sternum that scared you a little.

With a jolt of awareness, you realized you’d been lingering in your closet longer than you’d meant to, and you checked the time on your phone. Cursing to yourself, you realized you’d taken too long putting on the lingerie. 

If you didn’t get dressed right away, you and Bucky would be late to the party, and that would not be tolerated by your father.

Forgetting the second order your husband gave you, you grabbed the dress you’d set aside for the party and shimmied into it, quickly zipping it up as much as you could as you stepped into a pair of matching high heels. Walking out of the closet, you were still fiddling with the zipper when you came to an abrupt halt at the look on Bucky’s face.

He was standing closer to the door of the closet than you’d expected, and his blue eyes were bright with an unreadable expression as they swept up your body. You skin warmed at the way he took in your calves and the shape of your thighs, then the way your legs disappeared beneath the hem of your dress.

“I gave you an instruction, moya zhena,” Bucky rumbled, in that same indecipherable tone he always seemed to use with you, though you detected something like curiosity in it. “Why did you not follow it?”

Your heart jumped up into your throat as you recognized your error; your first instinct was to cower away from your husband and beg for forgiveness. But when your eyes flitted frantically across his face and down to his shoulders, you were surprised to find he wasn’t angry. 

Bucky was relaxed, his shoulders loose and sloped, his hands tucked into the pockets of his slacks. His expression held no hint of fury at your disobedience, just a quiet interest as he waited for your answer. 

You were so disarmed by Bucky’s reaction, you blurted out the truth.

“We’re going to be late,” you said, and despite your best efforts, you heard a slight waver in your tone. 

Bucky’s eyes flashed, his gaze darting to your mouth for a moment before returning to yours. You couldn’t read his expression, which didn’t do anything to help the anxiety churning in your belly. 

“My father doesn’t tolerate lateness.” As you spoke, you looked toward the door, and shifted your weight from one foot to the other. 

You knew how your father would act if you and Bucky were late—you’d been on the receiving end of his verbal lashings and punishments enough times to know all too well. So you hoped your husband would take the hint and allow you to leave quickly.

A rumbling sound caught your attention, and your racing thoughts came to a halt as you glanced back at Bucky, who was looking decidedly more deadly, even though nothing in his posture had shifted. 

He still looked calm and at ease, and something about it settled you, even as you picked up on his anger. Instinctively, you knew it wasn’t directed at you.

“You no longer live under his command, moya koroleva,” Bucky said, his voice infinitesimally softer than you’d ever heard it. He prowled closer to you, his gait as slow and careful as a predator stalking some exceptionally skittish prey. “You are my wife, and he cannot touch you—he cannot punish you.”

Something in your belly swooped, warmth blooming between your thighs even as your knees trembled. Bucky’s voice held so much self-assuredness, and possessiveness, that you almost believed him. You almost believed you were free of your father’s rule. 

Then Bucky smirked, the curve of his mouth as sharp as the blade of a knife. “That’s my job.”

Horror rushed through you at his words, since it suddenly occurred to you that you might’ve been wrong about your husband. You’d thought him different from your father, but if he was speaking of punishments—of punishing you—then perhaps they were more alike than you’d thought. 

On instinct, you took a step back. 

Bucky went still, this smirk slipping from his face. He was close enough to reach for you, but his hands remained in his pockets. The only movement was the slight tilting of his head as he studied you closely.

“Do you trust me, moya zhena?” he asked, his voice surprisingly gentle. 

You’d thought you might—one day—but in that moment, you didn’t think so. And for some reason, you couldn’t bring yourself to lie to your husband and tell him you did. So what you settled on was, “‘No’ feels like the wrong answer.”

Bucky’s eyes sparkled with humor and the edges of his mouth flickered as if he wanted to smile but was restraining himself. He took another step toward you, this time moving even slower than he had before, as if trying not to scare you. 

Then, he pulled a hand from his pocket, his movements slow and deliberate as he reached for you. You let his fingers catch your chin in a firm grip and hold you so that you could nothing but stare into his eyes.

Your husband had beautiful blue eyes, and a handsome face that was typically all sharp edges, though in that moment he seemed somehow gentler. Despite your anxiety, you softened slightly into his grip, something instinctual in your body deciding Bucky wasn’t a threat—at least for the moment.

“The truth is never the wrong answer,” he said, his thumb sweeping just below your lower lip. His eyes darkened as he watched the path it traced against your skin, and you could feel him getting distracted by your mouth. 

But his words had you pressing your lips into a thin line. You couldn’t believe a mafia boss as feared as the Bratva’s White Wolf could be so naive as to think lies weren’t the currency of the world you both lived in, even within families—even within marriages. 

“In my experience, it often is,” you said, choosing your words carefully so you didn’t disrespect your husband and add another infraction to your record for that night. 

Bucky’s eyes narrowed fractionally, and he stared at you so intensely, you wanted to shift uncomfortably on your feet. But you knew your husband well enough to know he’d catch the movement and know what it meant. So you kept your expression blank and held yourself still. You’d had enough practice in your life to hide your reactions well.

Still, somehow you sensed that Bucky could read every thought as it passed through your head and every emotion that swept through your heart. It rattled you more than you cared to admit, even to yourself. 

It was almost a relief when, after a moment of charged silence, Bucky spoke.

“How about this, an addendum to our wedding vows,” he said, his voice calculatingly thoughtful as he watched for your reaction. 

He must’ve liked the way your eyes flicked to his, and must’ve seen the curiosity in your gaze, because he went on. “You may lie to anyone—to everyone else, if you so wish. But never to me.”

You blinked in surprise, trying to process his words, trying to root out their hidden meaning. There must be a trick or a trap, but you couldn’t find one. And Bucky kept talking before you could ask any questions that might help you discern his secret agenda.

“If you promise never to lie to me, I vow that I will never punish you for telling the truth.”

You were quiet for a long moment, absorbing Bucky’s words and looking for the trap in them. It took an embarrassingly long moment for you to realize what was right in front of you—it wasn’t a trick. He was asking you to trust him, and he was offering his trust in return.

Even as the thought occurred to you, though, you shoved it aside, believing it impossible. Bratva men like the White Wolf didn’t offer an equal exchange of trust, they ruled with an iron fist. In your life, you’d seen the fear men wielded, especially over the women in their lives. 

There wasn’t much trust in the mafia. There was dominance and submission, fear and power. Loyalty was taken through the threat of violence, or the threat violence upon someone you cared about. 

So, it was with a desire not to be punished that you agreed to Bucky’s offer. 

“OK,” you said simply, meeting your husband’s gaze. When he raised his eyebrow and tilted his head, silently urging you on, you continued, “I promise never to lie to you, husband.”

Bucky nodded, accepting your answer, though his eyes looked stormy and conflicted. Although you’d given him what he’d asked for, he didn’t seem entirely pleased. 

He stepped back, his hand dropping from your face, and you found you missed the warmth of his touch. You missed the spiciness of his cologne, and the way his presence had wrapped around you like a cloak of comfort. 

Before you could examine those thoughts further, Bucky gripped your shoulder and deftly spun you around on your heels, his big hand falling to the small of your back. He propelled you gently, but firmly, into your walk-in closet, stopping you in front of one of the large ottomans in the center of the room. 

It was plush and circular, with a full-length mirror on the wall on the opposite side of the room. In it, you could see the way you stood with your shoulders huddled, your body dwarfed by the broadness of your husband at your back. 

“Do you care about this dress?” Bucky asked, his hands sliding up your shoulders until his thumbs rested against your spine where the zipper was still partially undone. 

The feeling of his fingers on your bare skin sent tingles of pleasure skittering down your spine, and it took all your self-control not to shiver under the delightful weight of your husband’s hands. 

“I—” 

It occurred to you to lie, but when you caught Bucky’s eye in the mirror, you sensed he’d know somehow. And it seemed like such an easy thing to tell the truth about, that you didn’t want to risk angering him so soon. 

“Yes, it’s one of my favorites.” 

Bucky gave another nod, and his fingers squeezed your shoulders lightly, as if rewarding you for your honesty. Then he pulled down the zipper and peeled the dress off your body until it pooled on the plush carpet at your feet.

Instinctively, your arms lifted to cover yourself, forgetting that your husband had seen you naked on plenty enough occasions. But those had all been in your bed under much more forgiving lighting. 

Bucky growled a quick, “Don’t,” and you jerked your arms back to your sides. 

“Good girl.”

His gruff praise slid down your spine and settled heavily between your thighs, but you were too focused on watching what he was doing to question your reaction.

Bucky knelt down and picked up your dress with careful fingers, finding a hanger and hanging it back up before returning his attention to you.

“Turn around,” he said, his voice so low and rough it reminded you of the way he’d speak to you in bed, when he was buried inside you, urging your body to meet his own so that you could both find your pleasure.

Slightly distracted by the faint pulsing between your thighs, you turned to face your husband, your eyes finding his and watching him closely. 

Bucky’s gave swept a slow perusal of your body, lingering on the way the lingerie he’d given you hugged your tits and cupped your mound, accentuating all your curves and swathing your body in luxurious, satiny lace. Your husband’s eyes seemed to darken the longer he looked at you, his pupils blowing wide.

“How does it feel?” he asked, his voice so impossibly gruff, it took you a moment to understand his question.

“It…it feels good,” you answered honestly, still getting used to telling your husband the truth, though it was getting easier. “It makes me feel…pretty.”

“Pretty—fuck that, you’re gorgeous, moya zhena,” Bucky rasped, dragging his eyes up to yours.

Your breath caught in your throat at the sheer intensity in your husband’s gaze. 

“This is all I wanted,” he went on. “I wanted to see you like this, wearing the lingerie I bought for you, before we went to the party.”

He stepped closer and you swayed slightly on your feet, your body yearning for him like a flower longs for the sun. 

“I wanted to have this memory of you in my mind when we went to the party and know I’m the only man who will ever see you like this, looking more beautiful than the moon and stars—looking like mine.”

You sucked in a sharp gasp, the sound loud in the quiet of the walk-in closet, which suddenly felt too small, even as Bucky felt too far away. 

Heat flooded your core at your husband’s words, and the ravenous hunger beneath them. Perhaps because of the tenuous trust between you and Bucky, or because you couldn’t seem to help yourself around your husband, your body responded to his possessiveness with a hungry ache of its own.

“But you tried to deprive me of this vision of beauty,” Bucky continued, prowling toward you, making your heart skip a beat with excitement. “And that I can’t abide.”

When he reached for you, spinning you around again until you faced the mirror and he was holding you gently but firmly, whatever unease you’d felt that evening evaporated entirely. All you could feel was a need thrumming beneath your skin, one you were certain only he could sate.

“I’m not going to hurt you, moya zhena,” he said, holding your gaze unwaveringly in the mirror. He paused, waiting until you nodded your understanding before he went on. “But I am going to make sure you feel me all night—and never forget who you belong to.”

A beat passed, and it took you a long moment to realize Bucky was giving you a chance to escape whatever he planned to do to you. You surprised yourself when you didn’t take it. Instead you nodded, watching Bucky’s eyes darken in his reflection, the corners of his mouth curling into a pleased smirk.

With Bucky’s promise hanging heavy in the air between you, he guided you down onto the ottoman, his touch gentle and firm as he arranged you on your hands and knees. You heard him undo his zipper, and felt his knuckles brush against your ass as he pumped his cock to full hardness. 

Despite everything that had happened that evening, you felt yourself warming for him. Your slit dampened for your husband as if your body knew it belonged to him. It was almost dizzying, the way your heart raced excitedly, and your mind struggled to keep up.

Behind you, Bucky hooked his finger in the gusset of your panties and pulled them aside, then pressed the tip of his bare cock to your tight entrance. You were starting to be ready for him, but you weren’t nearly wet enough to take him comfortably, and it suddenly hit you what your husband planned to do.

You tensed, and looked into the mirror, catching Bucky’s eye. You could see him cataloging the range of emotions as they flitted across your face—doubt, intrigue, hunger, need. He seemed to be reassured when he didn’t see any fear in your eyes.

“I said I wouldn’t hurt you, moya zhena,” he reminded you, his tone almost kind. You swallowed and nodded at his reflection. “But I didn’t say this wouldn’t be uncomfortable.”

He pushed his hips forward, his expression heated as he watched your face go slack at the feel of him. The head of your husband’s cock was blunt and unyielding as it breached your tight hole, and you felt every thick millimeter of his tip sinking into your pussy. 

A gasp caught in your throat, your breath freezing in your lungs. Your body went still as every shred of your being focused on the feeling of your husband’s cock pushing inside you. You were a little wet for him, but not nearly enough to make penetration easy—but that was exactly the point.

Bucky didn’t rush it, and true to his word, he didn’t hurt you. Once the tip of his cock pressed into your pussy, he pulled out and pushed inside again, driving the air from your lungs and forcing you to breathe again. 

You felt yourself relax infinitesimally at the first sparks of pleasure, and you were rewarded by your husband stroking his hand soothingly down your spine, urging you to soften even more.

“That’s it, moya zhena, let me in,” he rumbled above you. 

You lifted your head, not knowing when it had dropped between your shoulders, so you could catch his eye in the mirror. He pinned you with his gaze just as surely as he’d pinned you with his hands. 

“Just breathe and take it, baby, take your husband’s cock.”

Bucky’s words had a soft moan slipping free from your lips and you settled more deeply into your position on the ottoman, your shoulders lowering and your spine arching so your ass was presented to your husband. He rumbled a pleased sound in his throat and refocused on shoving the head of his cock into your pussy. 

He repeated the movement over and over again, fucking you with the tip of his hard length as you gradually opened for him. His cock slid a little bit deeper with every thrust, and you felt every delicious inch of his thick shaft stretching you bit by bit, making your tight hole take him more and more as you grew wetter and wetter for him. 

When he was halfway buried inside you, the pleasurable ache of his cock pushing inside you became too much and your arms gave out. Your upper body slumped to the plush velvet ottoman, your lips falling open in a helpless moan.

Above you, Bucky chuckled, his palm stroking down your spine again before it settled possessively on your hip. You felt your husband curl over your back, his other hand tipping your face toward the mirror so you could still watch him looming over you.

“You’re doing so well for me, baby, keep your eyes on me,” he rumbled encouragingly, rocking his hips so his cock pushed even deeper inside your pussy. 

Your eyes widened as the delicious stinging stretch of him plunging further inside your heat. He felt so big, so impossibly thick, it shorted out something in your mind. All you could do was take him, feel him, submit to him.

“Fuck, you feel so tight like this—you’re taking my cock so well, moya zhena.”

A sudden sob of pleasure bubbled from your lips at Bucky’s praise, your heart feeling like it was cracking open to reveal its soft, tender inside. You didn’t understand what was happening to you as tears sprang to your eyes, but your husband seemingly did.

Bucky wrapped his arms securely around your body, cooing soothing noises in your ear as he stroked your sides and your arms and everywhere he could reach. All the while, he fucked deeper into you, making you feel every solid inch of him until you were nearly overwhelmed with it—with him.

When there was only an inch left to go of his cock pushing into your pussy, Bucky murmured in your ear, “Deep breath, baby.” 

Obediently, you sucked in a deep lungful of air, and Bucky plunged inside you to the hilt.

The sound that wrenched free from your throat was part devastating pleasure, part overwhelming relief. It was as if a dam broke deep in your soul at the feeling of your husband’s cock finally fully seated inside you. 

Tears streamed from your eyes, and small tremors wracked your body, but before you could determine whether you’d come just from Bucky’s cock entering you completely, he was tightening his arms and hauling you up from where you’d been slumped over.

One of your husband’s hands slid around your throat, pinning your shoulders to his chest, while the other lay possessively over your lower belly, holding your body impaled on his hard length. 

The change in position had Bucky’s cock slipping a little out of your tight hole. He raised a knee up onto the ottoman, pulling you back into his lap and allowing gravity to help you sink down on his shaft until he was buried to the root once again.

Then, he stared at your reflection. The image of your bodies connected, the lingerie contrasting with your skin—his cock buried in your cunt. You could feel the prickling awareness of his gaze as it caressed your curves and worshipped every inch of you.

“You are a goddess, moya zhena,” Bucky rumbled in your ear, and you lifted heavy-lidded eyes to meet his in the mirror. You found an endless well of appreciation in your husband’s gaze that would have knocked you over if he wasn’t holding you up. “You are my queen, and the only orders you obey are mine, do you understand?”

You realized, suddenly and with startling clarity, that you’d been right all along. Bucky was truly nothing like what you’d thought or expected him to be. He wasn’t cruel. He didn’t want to gain your loyalty through fear. 

He wanted your trust, but he wanted it freely given. He wanted to build you up, to lend you the power he had fought for, all in exchange for simply being his.

It was almost too much for your mind to process, but your body seemed to understand, and your lips parted, spilling the words you’d learned out of curiosity about your husband and his culture. 

“Yes, moy korol,” you said, holding Bucky’s gaze in the mirror. 

You watched your husband’s eyes darken at your words—“my king”—a rush of pride filling your belly when a pleased smile flickered at the corners of his mouth. 

“You’re learning Russian, moya zhena?” he asked, so much warmth filling his tone, he sounded nothing like the man who’d entered your bedroom earlier that evening. 

“I thought it might be useful,” you dared to quip back, your voice breathless, a tentative smile on your face as you watched your husband’s reflection. 

Bucky’s hand around your throat shifted, his fingertips pressing to your jaw and turning your head so he could look at you properly. He grinned down at you for a moment, affection sparkling in his bright eyes, before brushing a sweet kiss to your mouth. 

It was the first time he’d kissed you that evening, and you sucked in a sharp breath of pleasure as the almost familiar taste of him burst on your lips.

“I’ll help you,” he murmured against your mouth, pressing his smile into your skin. “We’ll start tomorrow.”

You returned his smile, but before you could thank him, Bucky was pulling his hips back and driving his cock into your cunt with such a sharp slam, it had your tits bouncing and a gasp wrenching from your lips.

Both of you turned back to the mirror, watching as he did it again, making you feel every hard inch of his cock in your tight pussy. Bucky’s eyes blazed with heat as he watched your body shift and bounce in the reflection, your lips falling open on a helpless moan as you took every hard thrust.

“Fuck, moya zhena, you’re a divine vision sent from the gods to torment me,” Bucky growled, his fingers tightening around your throat as he fucked you, rumbling filthy words in your ear. “You’ve never looked more gorgeous than impaled on my cock, wearing the lingerie I bought for you—you’ve never looked more mine.”

“Bu-Bucky, oh god,” you cried, your eyes sliding closed from the pleasure of his cock spearing into you, dragging against every sensitive inch of your inner walls. He felt so big, so good, so torturously perfect inside you. 

“Eyes open, baby,” Bucky commanded, biting your jaw in warning. Your eyes flew open and went straight to your husband’s face, watching the pleased smile curve his lips. “Keep those pretty eyes on me, I want to watch you come apart on my cock.”

Your gaze felt tethered to your husband’s, holding his eyes unwaveringly in the mirror as he pounded into you. Vaguely, you were aware of your face contorting with pleasure as Bucky rutted into your tight cunt, but all you could focus on was the feeling of his thick shaft inside you and the dark, feral hunger in his eyes.

It wasn’t long before Bucky’s rhythm turned harder, wilder, as he got close to his peak. Your husband’s hand slid down from your belly to find your clit, and he rubbed the delicate pearl until you were shaking and crying in his arms. Bucky’s hand tightened around your throat, choking you lightly and making your pussy pulse around his hard length.

“Come on my cock, moya koroleva, I want to feel your cunt milking me dry while I fill you with my seed,” Bucky growled, his voice gruff and nearly indiscernible. “You’re going to be dripping with my come all night at this party, feeling me between your thighs until I can get back into this pussy and pump you full again tonight.”

“Bucky!” you screamed your husband’s name as your release crashed over you, spurred by his words and his cock and his fingers on your clit. You shook wildly in his arms, your eyes nearly closing as pleasure overwhelmed you, but you managed to keep them open just enough to watch your husband lose himself in your body. 

Bucky rutted into your cunt a few more times, shoving his cock deeper with every thrust, until he buried himself to the hilt. His hand squeezed your throat reflexively, and his teeth sank into your shoulder, biting down hard as he muffled a load roar against your skin.

You felt him pulse and throb in your pussy, your fluttering walls clenching around his hard length as if greedily milking the seed from his cock. The two of you coming together was a messy, beautiful thing, your sounds of pleasure filling the walk-in closet. 

For a few minutes more, you writhed against each other, eking out every last ounce of pleasure from your releases as your bodies slowly calmed. Before you’d fully caught your breath, Bucky turned your face to his again so he could kiss you, and you sighed happily against your husband’s lips.

Something had shifted between the two of you—you knew it as surely as you knew you were married to the White Wolf. Bucky cared for you, he wanted you to trust him, and you wanted the same. 

For the first time since you’d learned you were to be married to the head of the Bratva, you thought you might actually find some happiness with your husband. You hoped you might even find love with Bucky Barnes. It almost seemed too good to be true.

When you were both finally sated, Bucky eased his cock from your pussy as gently as possible. It still stung a little, your sensitive inner walls raw from the way he’d pushed inside you almost dry, but you welcomed the ache. You knew you’d feel your husband for the entire night, and it delighted you to no end.

“Did you hate your punishment, baby?” Bucky asked, his eyes searching your face as he helped you down from the ottoman, bearing your weight as your knees shook. 

“No, moy korol,” you murmured, grabbing his hand and bringing it up to your lips. You kissed his palm, just beneath his wedding ring, and smiled serenely at him. “I like that I’ll be able to feel you all night,” you said, telling him the truth, just as you’d promised. 

Bucky studied you for a moment, as if making sure you were being honest, and when he realized you were, his eyes darkened. He captured your mouth in a fierce kiss, hauling you against his chest and bending you backward with the ferocity of it, which you met with your own unfettered passion.

Once you finally parted, Bucky helped you back into your dress, and waited patiently as you fixed your makeup and your hair. He watched you with barely concealed heat in his gaze and a ghost of a smile on his lips, affection clear in every line of his face. 

It settled something deep inside you to finally know how your husband felt about you, and when you were ready, you reached for him. Bucky caught your hand and tucked you into his side, holding you in such a way that you felt more safe and secure than you ever had before.

Then, you left for the party.

When you arrived, you knew you were extremely late, and some of the anxiety you’d felt earlier in the night resurfaced. You clung to Bucky’s arm as you watched your father storm over, the expression on his face so furious, it took all your self-control not to flinch. 

The closer your father got, the more tightly you curled yourself around Bucky’s bicep, and your husband silently took note of your reaction. His hand covered one of yours where it was tucked into his elbow, and he gave you a reassuring squeeze that offered you strength. 

“You’re late,” your father began as soon as he was close enough for his hissed words to be heard, but not overheard. Before he could continue, though, Bucky cut him off.

“Moy koroleva is never late,” he said in a voice so icy cold, it nearly sent a shiver down your spine. You’d never heard him speak to you like that, and you were glad for it, because that tone was blisteringly brutal. “We arrive precisely when we mean to.”

With that, Bucky gave your father a scathing look and swept you away into the party, getting you a drink before depositing you with some of your trusted friends and family. Then, he gave you some space to enjoy yourself, though you could always feel him hovering in your periphery. 

It didn’t feel smothering, only comforting, and you were able to finally relax under your husband’s warm, watchful eye while you chatted with your loved ones. 

You ended up enjoying the party, catching up with those you hadn’t seen in a while, and delighting in all the gossip you’d missed while settling into your husband’s home. 

Occasionally throughout the evening, Bucky allowed you to tug him onto the dance floor. Though he dragged his feet a little, he seemed happy to have you in his arms for a little while.

When you arrived home late that night, Bucky unwrapped you like you were a gift from the gods, worshipping your body for hours with his mouth on your pussy. You were so ready when he finally slid his cock inside you, your pussy made obscene wet sounds as he buried himself to the hilt, both of you moaning at how good it felt.

Then, you enjoyed the rest of your night as husband and wife—as a king and his queen. 

thank you for reading!! comments and reblogs are always appreciated ♡

Hot Bucky Summer 2025 masterlist

[fanfictiontrash9]

[navybrat817]

At a Crossroads

Pairing: Mob!Bucky Barnes x Best Friend!Female Reader

Summary: Bucky has lunch with one of his best friends. He wants more than friendship, but is he too late or is there hope?

Word Count: Over 4.7k

Warnings: Friendship, longing, pining, idiots in love (of sorts), tension, bit of angst, thoughts of smut, nicknames, world building, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?)

A/N: Oh, look. Another new AU, and I'm excited. We're calling this one True Love and Loyal Friends. Thanks to the @starlightcrystalline for letting me scream about this. ❤️ Beta read by the wonderful @societyfolklore and @soelstress, but any and all mistakes are my own. Divided by the talented @saradika-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

The diner was quiet as Bucky sat in the booth, only lifting his head to occasionally glance at the door. He could’ve selected a song to play on the jukebox to fill the silence, but he liked the quiet. It gave him time to gather his thoughts without the usual demands and chatter that surrounded him. A couple of his closest men insisted on being in the diner, but he ordered that they keep a reasonable distance. They knew better than to interrupt his time with you, his best friend.

His everything.

He smiled to himself as he checked his phone and saw that you were getting closer, so close he could almost smell your sweet perfume and see your bright smile. Ava was close by too, keeping an eye out. It felt wrong having a tracker on you and people watching you, but it was for your safety. That was what he told himself time and time again since being connected to him meant danger. With the tracker and the security, he or one of his people could reach you quickly if something went wrong, if you were in trouble, or if you needed him.

He couldn’t bear the thought of anything happening to you. If anyone ever tried to lay a hand on you, he’d destroy them. And he'd watch with cold eyes as they turned to ash.

The bell above the door dinged, alerting Bucky of your arrival. He didn’t stand right away since he was too in awe of the way the sun rays behind you cast a soft glow around your body. Solnyshko. Seeing you for the first time was like watching the sun rise, warm, beautiful, and full of hope. And whenever you walked away, it was like the sun set, leaving him in a world of darkness and cursing the moon and stars to bring you back to him.

You spotted him easily since he was the only patron in the place and your smile made the place that much brighter. You were dressed down, but so beautiful and he couldn't help but stare as you walked over. “Hey, Jamie.”

Jamie. Not James, not Bucky, not Buck… Just Jamie. It sounded right coming from you, but not anyone else. One of his men said it in passing once after you left and he threatened to cut his tongue out if he did it again. 

“Hey, Solnyshko,” he replied, standing so he could pull you into a hug once you were close enough. You always greeted him with a hug, and he didn’t let many people touch him. He never felt fear when you were in his embrace, only acceptance and care.

As he wrapped his arms around you and breathed you in, his eyes slipped shut and he imagined dragging you to his car and taking you far away, somewhere where no one would interfere in your lives. It was easier to breathe when you were close, but there was still pain in his chest because you were so far away. Every time you had to say goodbye, he worried it was the last time 

“Are you ever going to stop calling me that?” you teased, your lips dangerously close to his skin. He had to suppress a shiver you’d no doubt feel if he didn’t stay in control.

“Never,” he whispered. You’d always be his sun, even if it was an intimate sort of nickname for a friend. Because Bucky didn't love you the way a best friend should. “Been too long since I’ve seen you.”

“You saw me two days ago,” you said. 

“Still too long,” he half teased. If he had his way he wouldn't be apart from you because you’d be sharing a bed… a home. 

“Please, tell me you didn’t rent out the diner just the two of us could have a meal together,” you said, sliding into the booth once he let you go. He hated letting you go.

“What if I told you I bought the place?” he asked, shrugging at the exasperated look on your face. “What? It’s a good investment, the food is fantastic, and I compensated the owner well.”

That wasn’t a lie. It was a good investment, and the owner had been looking to retire anyway. Bucky just sped up the timeline. And now he could come here with you when he needed an escape.

“All so we could have a quiet meal together?” You shook your head and looked over the menu in front of you. “You flatter me so, even if it is ridiculous.”

Bucky smiled to himself and sipped his water. There were clubs and upscale restaurants all around and he took you there, too, but they were all loud and messy. People around always wanted something from him. Quiet meals with you made him feel like he could truly breathe. And while he could be in his element just about anywhere, this felt better because you were there, steady, calm, and not demanding anything from him. You silenced the chaos around him. 

“Anything for my best friend,” he said, a bittersweet feeling washing over him.

You were a friend first, but loving you was one of the easiest things in the world. It felt natural, like breathing. He needed you like the day needed light. No one else could control or sway him the way you could. The terrifying thing was that it didn’t terrify him at all for someone to have that much power over him. Maybe because you weren’t the type of person to take advantage of that kind of power or him. You were too good for the world, for his world.

“I think Steve would argue that he’s your best friend.”

“You're both my best friends,” he said, except he was completely and utterly in love with you. “You excited for your upcoming show?” he asked to pull himself away from his thoughts.

You giggled, a happy twinkling sound. “Yeah, and nervous as hell,” you answered.

Photography was your passion. You wanted to capture the beauty of the world and see things in different ways. You almost always had some sort of camera on you because you didn’t know when inspiration would strike. Whenever you stopped to take a picture with Bucky around, he watched you, even when you took photos of him. He was looking into your soul, not the lens.

“Nervous? You have nothing to be nervous about because there’s no better photographer out there,” he swore. He wasn’t telling you to blow smoke up your ass. Your work was that good. 

“It’s nerve-wracking to put yourself out there,” you said. 

He understood that because he felt nervous at the thought of confessing how he felt. “It’ll be great, and I’m always right,” he added with a smile.

“You are not always right, but keep telling yourself that,” you teased, your gaze so soft that his heart skipped a beat. “Though your support is greatly appreciated.”

“I’ll always support you,” he promised. He wanted all of your dreams to come true. 

In fact, he offered to pull some strings and get you a showing in the top gallery in the city, to which you smacked his arm. You wanted your work to speak for itself, not have it shown because of his connections. He respectfully backed off, and you showed him that you didn’t need his connections at all since you worked hard and got it all on your own.

It shouldn't have surprised him. He thought you could do anything you put your mind to. Not just because you could be stubborn in the best way, but because you put your heart into everything you did. It was admirable and inspiring. 

“And you’ll be there?” you asked hopefully. 

Bucky was the first person you messaged when you got the news and you told him it would mean the world if he went. “As if I’d be anywhere else,” he told you, making you snort when he playfully rolled his eyes. If you needed or wanted him there or anywhere, he’d find a way to make it happen no matter what. 

“You better or I’ll hunt you down,” you threatened with narrowed eyes before you giggled again. 

He chuckled and leaned forward. “Wouldn't that be a sight, someone as sweet as you hunting me down?”

You crossed your arms with a huff. “You don't scare me, Barnes.”

“Don’t call me Barnes. I’m Jamie to you,” he said. He’d be your Jamie forever and always. “And I’m so fucking proud of you for getting that showing, Solnshko.”

He'd have to buy something special to congratulate you, which you deserved and more.

You bit your lip and looked in your lap with a small smile. “Thanks, Jamie,” you whispered, raising your gaze again with a larger smile. He almost wished he snapped a photo so you could see how beautiful you looked at the moment, in every moment. “Hey, do you remember when John Walker bumped into me at your birthday party?”

Bucky growled at the memory. You were getting ready to snap a photo of him and Steve together and John fucking Walker purposely bumped into you and made you drop your camera. Your eyes teared up instantly because you had bought that camera yourself and the fucker had the nerve to laugh. He would’ve seen red from the laughter alone, but your tears made him snap.

“I remember punching him very hard in the face a couple of times, threatening to cut his throat if he didn’t apologize, and I forced him to buy you a new camera,” he said. Some would call it overkill, but he called it protecting and caring for you. And while his reaction would've rightfully scared some, it didn't bother you at all. All you cared about was making sure his hand wasn't hurt from punching John.

“Except he didn’t buy me the camera. You made him give you money and then you bought the camera for me,” you said, resting your arms on the table with a knowing stare. “A much nicer one than the one I had before.”

“Yeah, I did,” he admitted unashamedly. John owed you a new camera. Bucky had taken it upon himself to buy you the camera and everything else you needed to go with it since he had no problem showering you with gifts. 

“You didn’t want me to see John again, or accept anything from him, did you?” 

Not many could read Bucky, but you could. He wondered if you could read his feelings for you or if he hid them well enough. Bucky didn’t want you accepting any sort of gift from John. “He’s a fucking asshole, so I didn’t want him close to you again,” he said honestly. John may have laughed when you dropped the camera, but Bucky saw him check you out more than once. “What made you think of that?”

“Because I used that camera for some of my photos,” you said softly, something warm just beneath the surface before you smiled. 

The beat of Bucky’s pulse doubled in time. Did you use it because he gave it to you? Did you think of him when you used it? “I’ll bet the photos you took with that camera are the best ones.”

“I guess you’ll see,” you smiled and took a quick look around. “I don’t mean to be rude, but are there any servers here?”

Bucky winced a little and shot Sam a quick text message. “That’s my fault. I said I wanted a few minutes alone, so the server is in the back with Sam.” He should’ve messaged him sooner. All you had was the water in front of you. “I think he likes her.”

“Oh, Sam’s probably working on getting her number. He’s shameless,” you fondly said.

“If he’s lucky,” he chuckled and shook his head. “I don’t know how you put up with us.”

Surrounding himself with people he trusted was key in his world. Steve and Sam were good guys. His entire crew was, despite some of the things they had to do.

“Because I love you guys,” you said. 

His expression was caught between longing and sorrow. “We love you, too,” he said. Except Steve and Sam only loved you like a sister. 

The server came out before he could say more. “So sorry about that,” she said, giving you both a smile. “Have you two decided on what you want or can I give you another minute?”

Bucky hid a grin when she glanced over her shoulder. She wanted to go back to Sam. “Nothing to be sorry for,” he assured her and winked at you. “Don't know why you bothered looking at the menu when I know what you're going to get.”

You smiled because it was true. “I know what you're getting, too,” you countered. Both of you knew each other's favorites. 

The server jotted down the order when Bucky gave it to her and looked between you with hearts in her eyes. “You two make a really cute couple.” 

Your mouth fell open and Bucky knew what was coming. You were going to politely correct her and say you were “just friends”, which was bullshit. So he seized the opportunity and took your hand before nodding to the server. “Thank you. I’m very lucky to have her.”

There was a flicker of sadness in your eyes, but you managed a smile for the server before you two were left alone again. His gaze lingered on you and he didn’t look away even as the sadness faded. It had him wondering if he was blind. Did you see the two of you as only friends or was there more? Did you feel it, too?

“Lucky to have me, huh?” you asked, a wistful smile on your face.

“The luckiest,” he replied. He couldn’t imagine his life without you in it “I still have your letters,” he added. He didn't know why he said it, but he had to let you know. 

You waited a beat and asked, “You do?”

He swallowed and nodded, knowing this was going into intimate territory, something stronger than friendship. “Every single one,” he said. 

You said once that you didn’t understand why people didn’t write letters anymore, why everything was done through email and text. Handwritten letters were special because they took time and care. So Bucky wrote you a letter one day and you wrote him back. The letters were one of his most cherished possessions.

He imagined confessing his feelings in a letter, but it wasn't right. It would be a face-to-face conversation when the time came because you deserved to hear the words from his lips. He wanted to sweep you off your feet and then write you something romantic. 

You blinked a few times, likely not wanting to cry in the middle of the diner. “I have yours, too.”

Bucky’s heart beat faster again. He wanted to ask you why you kept them. He wanted to see your eyes when you answered him. Was it for sentimental value or something more? 

But you didn't elaborate and he didn't ask. 

“You busy this Saturday night? Was thinking we could do a movie night,” he said. He already had your favorite snacks stocked up. He never would've thought to put Reese's Pieces or M&Ms in popcorn, but you could get him to try anything. 

You shifted in your seat. “Oh. I don’t think I can,” you said.

Bucky tried not to feel disappointed. Your life didn't revolve around him. “Why not?”

You bit your lip and looked to the side, making him pay more attention. Everyone had tells for when they were lying, nervous, etc. He learned them well in his line of work, and he learned yours since he knew you so well. You sometimes bit your lip when someone complimented you, but your head usually dipped down with a smile like you had done just a bit ago. You only looked to the side when you were avoiding someone’s gaze, like you were in trouble or scared.  You were avoiding his gaze. Why?  

“Why not?” he asked again, willing you to look at him so he could see your pretty eyes and have your attention.

You took a deep breath and faced him. “I have a date.”

The statement washed over him like a bucket of cold water and he felt a pain in his heart like someone stabbed him. He exhaled slowly and had to put his hands in his lap so you wouldn’t see them curl into fists. “You have a date?” he asked, like was speaking with glass in his throat.

You were a beautiful woman, one of the most stunningly effortlessly beautiful women he had ever seen. He wasn’t lying to himself when he told himself you were his sun because you lit up every room you walked into and made people pay attention without trying. Beyond your beauty, you had a heart of gold, giving and open. Men wanted to ruin and keep you, and he knew that because he was one of them.

“Yeah, I do,” you said.

He wasn’t quick enough to hide his scowl and your flinch let him know you spotted it. His heart sank into his stomach. So many feared him and for good reason, but he never wanted to make you flinch for any reason. “A date. You have a date,” he said as evenly as he could.

You dated here and there and so had he, but you never had anything serious. So why the bad feeling in his gut? Why did this feel like you were slipping through his fingers?

“Yeah. A friend set us up,” you said, his jaw clenching when you pulled your hand away to get your phone. He may have to have a chat with that friend. “I have a photo.”

Bucky’s expression darkened when you showed him. He was admittedly handsome, his confidence oozing from the photo. He had to tamper down the rising rage he felt inside of him because he wanted to wreck his face and tell him exactly why people called him the White Wolf- because he hunted and used a variety of tactics to take down his prey. What right did he have to do that though?

You were his in his heart, but not yet in name.

“What’s his name?” he asked curiously.

You told him without hesitation and he hummed, subtly messaging Steve so he could look into the prick. If there was dirt on him, he wanted it.

Your gaze flickered between him and your phone. “You know, he kind of looks like you if you squint.”

Bucky scoffed. He’d be damned if he was going to be usurped by a knock-off version of him. “I’m way better looking.”

You giggled and put your phone away, making him sigh in relief since he didn’t have to keep looking at the photo. “Very humble, Jamie.”

It was petty and he didn't care. “Bet he tries to rent out the restaurant thinking it'll impress you,” he muttered.

“I'm sorry, but didn't you rent out this diner?” 

“I bought the diner. There's a difference. And this isn't a date,” he said too casually. 

You sat up straight and he regretted saying that when you leveled him with a glare. “What about your fiancé? Would you buy a diner for her?”

Bucky had braced himself for the inevitable topic, but he still felt the blow in his gut and had to take a moment to keep his breathing under control. He didn’t like talking about his fiancé. Hell, he didn’t like his fiancé at all. She was a stuck-up spoiled princess, and she couldn’t stand him either. Hate fucking would never be a thing because she had another thing coming if she thought he was ever going to touch her. 

The arranged marriage was supposed to bring their families together and all it did was tear his heart apart. He got into the biggest fight with his dad when he was informed of the engagement and they still hadn’t recovered from it. Even his mom couldn't sway his dad. The poor woman was stuck between her husband and her son, but she defended Bucky when he delayed the wedding. There were only so many times he could postpone it.

“You know I don't like talking about her,” he said in a low voice.

He couldn't stand breathing the same air as her and hated saying her name. The very few times he made an appearance with her, he wanted to bash his head against the wall. He immediately went to see you after each outing to cool down. You took his mind off her, you always did. 

“I know you don't like talking about her, but…” You swallowed hard. “You're going to marry her.”

He flexed his fingers and exhaled. He would've broken the table if this conversation took place with anyone else, but not you. But over his dead fucking body was he marrying her. He was going to find a way out of this mess. He had to.

“I’d prefer if she just married the bodyguard she’s fucking and stayed out of my life,” he said completely devoid of emotion. 

Bucky wasn't an idiot and she hadn't tried to be discreet about the affair. It didn't bother him. She probably thought he was fucking you, but that hadn't happened.

Bucky thought about it. How could he not when he wanted you so badly? He imagined it so vividly— how soft your lips would feel against his, how you'd tremble under his touch, moan when you took every inch of him, cry his name when you came, beg for him to fill you up. He lost track of how many times he got off to the thought of you. It was enough to fill a lifetime of daydreams. 

He could tell you were trying to think of a response, something witty or to cheer him up, but there was pain all over your face. “I didn't mean to bring her up.”

He nodded. You weren't trying to upset him. You weren't cruel. “I know. It’s okay.”

Silence stretched between you after that, but he offered you a small smile and you reached back over to take his hand. He looked at your joined hands and all the previous anger faded away. You were the only one who could calm the beast inside. He didn't want to let you go. 

“I spoke to your dad,” you said.

His head snapped back to you. “You did? When?” he asked. 

And why?

His parents adored you, always had, and they weren't easy to impress. The fact that his dad liked you and you weren't from a powerful family spoke volumes. His mom wept after the fight he had with his dad and she admitted she would've loved to have you as a daughter-in-law. He wanted to make that happen. 

“A couple of days ago when you were in a meeting,” you said, looking at the tabletop. 

His brows pinched as he repeated the day’s events in his mind. “You mean when you were waiting for me?”

You had been at his family mansion when his meeting ended and he thought nothing of the surprise visit since you frequently surprised each other. He assumed you chatted with his mom or one of the staff while you waited, but not his dad. The man wasn't usually one for casual conversation. 

You nodded. “I don’t want you to be mad at me.”

“I don’t think I could ever be mad at you,” he said. You two argued now and then, like a couple would, but he’d never be angry at you. “But why did you talk to my dad? What did you talk about?”

And why didn't his dad or you tell him? 

You took a breath like you were steeling yourself. “I asked if you had to marry her because I didn’t think she was the right choice for you.” You still wouldn’t look him in the eye, so you didn’t see the stunned look on his face. “I also said that if you had to marry her that there was a chance that he’d lose you as a son. Or at least, he’d lose the son he knew and loved.”

Bucky’s jaw dropped. It took a lot to surprise him and your answer would’ve put him on his ass if he hadn’t already been sitting. Not many had the balls to question his dad on anything, but there you were defending him and his choices and future. He loved you, he had for some time, and knowing you walked into the lion’s den for him made him love you all the more.

“Are you mad?” Your voice shook and he saw tears shimmering in your eyes when you lifted your gaze.

“No. Fuck no,” he whispered, going around to the other side of the booth so he could pull you close. “Not mad at you. I could never be mad at you for sticking up for me.” Some of his bravest soldiers wouldn't have had the guts to do what you did. 

“I just know you don’t want to marry her, and I thought I was helping you,” you said, leaning into him and sniffling. “Your happiness means everything to me.”

“So does yours,” he said, rubbing your back. You were trembling. “What did he say to you?”

“He called me brave, and said the only way you could get out of it was if she betrayed the families in some way,” you replied. He was shocked all over again that his dad told you that. “And affairs don’t count. I asked.”

Bucky wouldn’t be surprised if his dad encouraged him to take a mistress since he knew he couldn’t stand his fiancé. The thought made him sick because he didn’t want a mistress- He wanted you. He wanted his ring on your finger and you by his side. 

“I’m not going to marry her,” he declared. He didn’t just say it for himself, he needed you to hear it, too, in case there was any chance he had a place in your heart.

“Okay,” you said.

A single word and Bucky’s heart slowly cracked. There was no anger or sarcasm in your tone, but there was no hope either. “Do you not believe me?” he asked. 

Thought he wouldn't blame you if you didn't. Hadn't he put his dad's wishes ahead of his own for some time? But if you didn’t have faith in him, what was he to do?

“I believe you can do anything, Jamie,” you said, pulling back to look at him. A single tear slid down your cheek. “I always have.”

He wiped the tear away with his thumb, wishing he could kiss you. “Don’t go on that date,” he whispered.

“Jamie-”

“I mean it, Solnyshko. Don’t go on that date,” he said more fiercely this time.

Bucky felt like a fucking asshole. He had no right to ask that of you. He should let you live your life and give this guy a try, but he couldn’t. 

“Why not?” you asked, looking into his eyes and daring him to open his heart. “Why shouldn't I go on that date?”

Bucky raked a hand through his hair. Your parents were probably thrilled about your date if you told them since they didn't want you to be alone. And the words were there and ready, but he couldn’t tell you until he took care of breaking things off. It was the fair thing for both of you. 

“I just need you to trust me. Please,” he begged. 

You couldn’t hide your disappointment when your eyes searched his, but you nodded. “I’ll consider it,” you said.

He closed his eyes and reminded himself that you didn't owe him anything and that included your feelings. If all you wanted was his friendship he had to accept and respect that. But if there was a chance, he had to cling to that hope. 

“I’ll convince you,” he said, urging you to rest your head on his shoulder. “Somehow.”

And if he couldn’t, he’d have no problem crashing your date.

So, what do we think? Is that date happening or not? And who is he? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

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