soft reminder: you’re alive. you survived the worst nights you’ve ever experienced. you picked yourself up when you were at rock bottom. you made it through the worst relapses, loneliness, heartbreak, failure and darkness in your life. when you wanted to disappear you stayed, time and time again. you can make it through anything. you will get through this too.
Pairing: Husband!Bucky Barnes x Pregnant!Female Reader
Summary: You are tired, which is the norm for you nowadays, and share a sweet moment with Bucky.
Word Count: Over 1.8k
Warnings: Established relationship, pregnancy, pet name (sweetheart for you, baby nicknamed Sprout), stretch marks (they are beautiful), mention of serum, tiredness, fluff, feels, domestic life, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).
A/N: Lovelies, I have been exhausted for some time now and this popped into my head for Soft Echoes, Strong Roots AU. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Divided by the talented @saradika-graphics . Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!
You stretched out on the bed with a small sigh, ready to put the day to rest. It was peaceful in your room with no appointments or demands to take up your time. Bucky would join you once he shut everything off and double checked the locks. It was such a small domestic and protective thing and it brought a soft smile to your face.
This was your life. Your home. Your family.
You were already half asleep when Bucky settled behind you, the mattress dipping under his weight. You were surprised you weren’t out the moment your head hit the pillow. His arm slid around your waist automatically, his palm resting on your stomach protectively. He exhaled against your neck, his chest solid and warm against your back.
Everything felt right when he held you like that, his presence wrapping around you as naturally as the blanket keeping you warm.
“You feeling okay, sweetheart?” he asked, his thumb brushing the curve of your belly like he was trying to memorize the feeling.
You hummed in response, not quite opening your eyes. “Hmm. Just fine.”
The room felt more calm and quiet, like the world and time itself slowed down for the two of you.
Well, three of you.
“Not hungry?”
“You made sure we ate plenty,” you answered.
“Good.” Bucky nuzzled your skin, drawing a small laugh from you when his stubble tickled you. “And now you need rest.”
“That’s why I’m already in bed,” you teased.
“Good,” he said again.
The last few weeks had been chaotic. Not bad, thankfully, but busy in a relentless way. Appointments and every day life stacked on top of you until you felt stretched thin. Your energy seemed to go just as quickly as it came. Some days you felt like you were chasing the clock, always a step behind when your body was working overtime to accomplish everything. You just couldn’t seem to keep up.
Bucky noticed.
Of course, he did.
It was in the way his brows pinched when he looked at you, cataloguing every yawn and when your shoulders slumped. His voice softened whenever he said your name, the sound soothing when exhaustion seeped in. He began to carry you around without you asking, leaving no room for argument. He tried to take things off your plate, too, even when he had his own things to do.
“You’re gonna run yourself into the ground at this level, sweetheart.”
“Bucky, I’m pregnant. Being tired comes with the territory. That’s just how it is.”
You said that because you believed it. Because you had to be strong and prove you could handle it. Life wasn’t about to give you a pass because you two decided to have a baby.
But Bucky saw through that.
“I’m your husband and the father of our child. You can lean on me instead of trying to do it all by yourself. Just like I lean on you some days.”
The words carved their way into your heart and didn’t leave.
Because he was right. Some days when the world felt too heavy, he looked to you for support. You were there for him without question. And he was there for you, too.
It wasn’t out of obligation to give and take nor was it the kind of thing where you kept score. It was out of love and devotion, something that made you both stronger. Neither of you had to carry anything alone anymore.
The truth of that eased something in your chest you hadn't realized was there until you exhaled.
“Guess what?” he asked, his voice light and breaking through your thoughts.
“I thought I was supposed to be resting, not talking,” you replied, giggling again when his teeth nipped your skin. “Okay, okay. What?”
“We should be getting the pictures tomorrow.”
You smiled happily. “Really? That’s great!” you replied, your baby moving around as if they felt how excited you were.
A bright light within the business was the recent maternity photoshoot. The weather had been perfect, you wore a beautiful dress, and Bucky smiled so much in and out of the photos you were certain his cheeks ached. He already picked out the space on the wall where he wanted them hung up and there was an empty frame on his desk waiting for the right picture. He was so happy.
You both were.
“I know they’re going to be perfect,” he said quietly, chuckling under his breath. “And Sprout’s been busy today. Kicking like they’ve got somewhere to be.”
Your smile widened and you shifted just enough to press back against him. “I think they get that from you.”
Your baby must’ve picked up his old dancing skills because they did a fantastic number on your bladder earlier in the day.
At least you made it to the bathroom in time.
He huffed under his breath. “Hey. I was a perfectly calm kid.”
You opened your eyes and turned your head just enough to give him a look over your shoulder. He smiled and your heart beat faster. His blue eyes softened when his fingers traced your belly again, touching one of your stretch marks through your shirt. He traced it like it was something sacred.
You both bore life-changing marks on your skin, your bodies telling stories that only the two of you would ever fully read.
“You keep touching them,” you whispered, not accusingly. More like awe.
“I do,” he agreed, pressing a kiss to your neck and shifting your body so you didn’t have to keep looking over your shoulder. “I know you don’t think they’re pretty, but they’re one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.”
You blinked, only semi-surprised. “Really?”
Bucky always found a way to make you feel beautiful and desired. Whether it was through his actions or words, he never wanted you to doubt yourself or how much he craved you. You were certain he would do that for the rest of your lives. But since you got pregnant, he took it to another level of worship.
Not that you would ever complain about having his attention and focus.
“I mean it. Your body is changing because our baby is growing and it’s so beautiful. We made this. You and me.” His fingers moved again, tracing each mark with intention. “I’ve seen a lot of things. Stuff I wish I could forget. But this?” He let out a shaky breath, his hand pausing to cradle your stomach tenderly. “This is the best thing I’ve ever been part of.”
Your throat tightened. Your eyes watered. Damn hormones kept making you emotional. Except it wasn’t the hormones at all. It was just you in love with this man.
A man who loved you and your baby with his entire being.
“How are you so perfect?” you asked.
His nose scrunched when he laughed, the sound making your heart feel full. “Sweetheart, I’m so fucking far from perfect.”
You took his face in your hands, refusing to let him think of himself as anything less . “Bucky Barnes, listen to me.”
“I always listen,” he swore, solely focused on you. “Talk to me, sweetheart.”
It took you a second to speak since having his full attention was overwhelming in the best way. “You are the best husband and provider. And not just because you fix the sink and bring me ice cream and validate my feelings when I’m insecure. You love, take care of, and respect me. You remind me that I don’t have to go it alone,” you said, your gaze affectionate when he leaned into your touch. “And I know you’ll be the perfect father.”
“You think so?” he asked after a moment, his voice thick.
“I know so,” you said.
He quickly closed the small gap between you, kissing you so deeply that it stole the breath from your lungs. “Thank you.”
Your heart beat wildly. “You have nothing to thank me for,” you said, your face twisting at the particularly hard kick in your stomach and making Bucky frown slightly. “Our baby really is a mover.”
Along with his dancing skills, you guessed your baby would have his agility and strength. You were thankful they hadn’t kicked through your stomach. Your husband may have gone off on someone who suggested it could be a possibility thanks to the serum. They hadn’t looked you in the eye since, much to your better half’s satisfaction.
No one would ever look out for you more than him.
“Hey, Sprout. Your Mama’s been working extra hard lately. Growing you takes a lot out of her.” The fondness in his voice was enough to make a tear fall. “She’s magical and stronger than I’ll ever be, but we need to make sure she gets enough rest for both of you. Maybe we can start with gentler kicks? Can you do that?”
The kick under his palm was much softer, like they understood.
His eyes lit up and your chin wobbled. He looked so happy. You knew some days he still couldn’t believe he got to have this, but no one deserved it more.
“They really can understand me,” he said in awe.
“Of course, they do.”
They loved the sound of his voice.
“Thank you, Sprout,” he whispered, sliding down the bed enough to kiss your stomach. “You get some rest, okay? We love you.”
You sniffled when he moved back up to hold you again, his lips finding yours in a soft kiss. “And did you, a super soldier, seriously call me strong? And magical?” you asked so you wouldn’t ugly sob from how sweet he was being.
“You are strong and magical. Sprout agrees,” he said gently but firmly before he kissed your tear away. “But even the strong and magical need rest.”
You stifled a yawn, your eyes slipping shut. You did need the rest. “Will you be here when I wake up?”
“I wouldn’t be anywhere else.” He nuzzled your neck again and kept you close. “I love you both so much.”
Your heart skipped a beat. “We love you, too.”
“And I’m gonna spend the rest of my life trying to deserve this,” he admitted quietly. “You. Sprout. All of it.”
Your hand covered his and your baby rolled beneath his palm, both of you leaning into him and seeking to comfort him before his thoughts spiraled. “You already have,” you assured him. “Trust us.”
You and Bucky built a life and home together, one that he more than deserved. You were partners in life and love. That love extended to your baby and would only continue to grow.
Tonight you didn’t have to think of anything beyond the walls of your bedroom. You could simply rest in his arms and let everything else be. And he’d watch over you while you slept like the hero he was.
And a man in love.
I hope you lovelies all have enough spoons, get the rest you need, and have someone to lean on. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️
Give Me Shelter, For My Heart | Alpha!Bucky Barnes x Omega!Reader | One Shot? 3k
Things are missing around the Avengers' compound and a newly returned Bucky is acting weirder than normal...Steve and Sam go to investigate and discover more than they bargained for.
Warnings: 18+ for language and suggestion of Hydra violence/torture/experimentation, omegaverse themes including alpha & omega, suggestion of pregnancy/pups, wolf shifting Rated F for Fluff and G for good friends
Challenges & Prompts: @buckybarnesevents Alpha Bucky April with extra prompts - word count, nesting, purring, beta characters, (I'll let mods decide if this hits the breeding/baby fever prompt). And @fandom-free-bingo 'forehead kisses'
Graphic by me and Canva, dividers by @firefly-graphics & @reveriesources
Masterlist | Bucky Barnes
“Hmm,” Steve looked around the supply room, surveying the gaps and empty shelves, normally well stocked with blankets and provisions. It was the third time this week he’d found himself at a loss, not just for words but his things too. Everything seemed to be going missing.
First it was a few plates and mugs from the galley kitchen by his office, then it’d been the lunch he’d left for him and Bucky in the fridge. Last night he’d gone into Bucky’s room to make sure he was okay and found the man sleeping on a bare mattress, all the sheets, pillows and blankets were gone and the newly revived Bucky refused to explain what had happened to them or even acknowledge that there was anything wrong at all. He hadn’t even addressed that fact that the window was wide open and it looked as if he was sleeping in his shoes.
Which brought Steve’s thoughts to the man himself. Bucky had been so odd since he’d returned. For a day or two, he’d been something like his old self, despite the awful situation they found themselves in, he’d joked with Steve and reminisced with the few memories he had. They’d enjoyed a beer together and he’d even met with Tony during their mediation and patched things up.
Then, they’d all climbed onto the jet and he’d become distant, pacing like a caged animal until they’d landed. As soon as the doors were open he’d vanished for forty-eight hours and sent the entire compound into mayhem before strolling back in as if nothing had happened, bruised and covered in blood. Judging by the bandages he sported later that day, his cuts and bruises spread under his shirt and trousers too.
Steve knew that he’d changed during his time with Hyrda, back in the 30s they’d both been betas, happy to plod along ignoring the madness of the few alpha’s in Brooklyn. It had been a rare thing then, to be an alpha, now they were considered a dying breed, so when Bruce’s tests had revealed that Bucky was an alpha now, they’d tried to take it in their stride that he might go off on his own sometimes, especially since omegas were even rarer. But there was still so much they didn’t know, so much to unpack and discover about the Bucky they’d rescued, and Steve was so desperate to spend time getting to know this new man that all the time apart was making him worry.
“You okay?” Sam asked from the doorway, leaning in to hand Steve a hot cup of coffee.
“Just doing a stock check.”
“He take something else?” Sam stepped into the small room, lined with shelves and shelves of tents, camping stoves, parachutes, it seemed to go on and on. The bare grey shelves where stock was missing was stark against the white washed walls.
“He?”
“Barnes,” Sam sipped his coffee, matter of fact, and Steve confronted the worry that had been plaguing him.
“It’s Bucky, isn’t it?” Steve dropped his head heavily and Sam patted him on the back, still sipping his drink.
“Sorry man, told you, he’s not right yet. He’s not hurting anyone though, if he hates his bedding, who cares, if he hates your lunches, who could blame him.”
Sam sidestepped Steve’s halfhearted swipe with a grin on his face.
“But what’s he doing with it, Sam? Where’s it all going?”
“Hell, I don’t know, have you asked him?” Sam raised his eyebrows.
Had Steve asked his best friend, who flinched at his touch and shied away from any conversations? Bucky who vanished for hours at a time and came back looking as if he’d been dragged through a hedge? No, he hadn’t. He’d been too scared to confront what might be going on, what latent part of his programming might be at play.
“Look, if you’re too scared to ask why don’t I?”
Now it was Steve’s turn to raise his eyebrow, it wasn’t that Sam and Bucky didn’t get along, they just didn’t get along yet. Steve was working on it.
“What if we…followed him?” He offered instead and Sam laughed again.
“Who knew Captain America was scared of his own friends,” he couldn’t contain the chuckles. “Fine, fine. Let’s keep an eye on him.” Sam turned to the ceiling, more comfortable with the AI than Steve was. “FRIDAY, if Sergeant Barnes leaves his room, please can you alert us - privately?”
“Of course,” the soft voice answered and Steve gave his friend a weak smile.
FRIDAY’S alert went off twice a day, every day, over the next week. But despite their best efforts neither Steve nor Sam managed to catch up with Bucky.
It wasn’t until the following Saturday that they managed to follow him. Bucky was supposed to be at a training session to get his official certifications but they’d both had a feeling he’d try and skip it. As predicted they’d spotted the blue of his new henley edging around the side of the compound, a full backpack strapped to his back.
Bucky ran across the grass and towards the thick forest. His still uncut hair was tied back but tendrils fell out as he sprinted into the wind.
He was surprisingly loud, as he strode quickly between the trees, snapping twigs and branches that Steve knew he could’ve dodge even before the serum and his training. Sam looked at him, both of their feet silent as they followed.
Bucky’s speed increased as he turned his face up into the breeze, his backpack jostled against the trees, bouncing when he began to run.
Steve kept up, sending Sam wide, into the breeze, in case Bucky doubled back.
Just as he was starting to feel lost in the repetition of trees and ferns, Bucky burst into a clearing and Steve slammed to a halt.
The pine trees gave way to a small patch of clear sky, shining down on an old shed. Unlike the other abandoned guard houses, this one had obviously been cleaned recently. The small porch was swept and a pair of Avengers camping chairs were arranged neatly facing into the forest. A line had been strung between the cabin and the trees where one of the missing blankets fluttered in the gentle wind.
Steve crouched down, motioning to Sam on the other side of the clearing to stay out of sight.
Bucky approached slowly, “Cățeluș, are you here?”
At first there was nothing and then a wolf nosed its way out from behind the door, it’s chestnut brown fur almost gold in the sunlight. It leaped forwards from the porch and shot across the clearing, leaping into Bucky’s arms.
Steve whipped his head up to try and find Sam and by the time his eyes found Bucky again the wolf was gone, replaced by a woman pulling on a large t-shirt from Bucky’s backpack.
“James!” Her sweet voice rang out in the otherwise quiet forest.
Swamped by Bucky’s familiar red henley, you shot from the door and into Bucky's waiting arms, the back pack dropped to the floor and forgotten.
She was swamped by Bucky’s red henley and he wrapped you in his arms, one large hand on the back of your head, tucking you into his neck. The other supported your legs, now wrapped around his waist.
In the clearing Bucky's shoulders relaxed as he sank into your embrace, kissing and nipping at your neck. In return you tipped your head, practically purring at the attention and wriggling in his arms.
“Have you been okay, baby.” Bucky asked, pulling away enough to look you over.
“I'm okay, I missed you though, James, please don't leave me again.” You begged cupping his stubbled cheeks in your hands.
Bucky turned into your palm and kissed it, “I know, I know, I’ve been making sure it’s safe for you.”
Steve's heart sank. Bucky didn't feel safe?
“You trust me, don't you, my little omega.” Bucky rubbed his nose into your cheek and you giggled, holding him even tighter, your hands in his hair.
An omega?
Sam stared over at Steve, eyes wide.
It was clear to them both that this was no chance encounter and all Bucky’s odd behaviour suddenly started to make more sense.
Steve motioned for Sam to leave, they could sneak back to the compound and perhaps bring this up tentatively. Perhaps leave some items you might like lying around in the hopes that Bucky would take them and understand that his secret was out, but it was safe.
Sam moved swiftly round the clearing as Steve continued to watch Bucky.
Bucky vanished into the cabin, leaving you on the porch alone, snuggled into his shirt and pressing the collar to your nose.
“She’s cute,” Sam whispered, squeezing up against Steve, still hiding in the overgrown ferns that lined the edge of the cabin.
“We can’t let her sleep out here. She must be hungry and cold.”
Bucky emerged from the cabin carrying two of the missing mugs, balancing them carefully on the railing before scooping you up into his lap. His hand hovered by his mouth, sipping in slow motion as his eyes scanned the tree line and Steve took a breath, sitting back quickly.
“Stay here, Cățeluș,” he was up in a flash, eyes always on the tree line even when he reached into his boot to pull out a familiar gerber knife.
Instead of flipping it into his palm, he balanced it on the arm of your camping chair. Eyes still on the trees he placed his metal hand on top of your head, “stay here and stay safe, follow the plan, do what you need to.” His voice was low, series, almost a growl. Far away from the happy, loving tones he’d been speaking to you with before.
You nodded, and as soon as he felt your head move he was up and off the porch.
Steve and Sam looked up in time to see a wolf leap towards them.
It was true then, the experiments had worked and Steve had the cold feeling that returned every time he discovered something new about his friend during a fight, but he had no time to worry about it now. Not when the wolf was closing in on them.
It was huge, its white fur dusted with fallen leaves, but its teeth gleamed in the afternoon sun as he pounced, snarling. His paws the size of dinner plates slamming into the ground in front of them, teeth bared and snarling.
Steve rolled away, pulling Sam with him and covering his body, regretting not bringing the shield.
“Bucky!” Sam shouted from under Steve’s arm
“Bucky it’s us we don’t want to hurt you!”
The wolf pulled back from the two men pinned beneath him, and something like clarity passed over Bucky’s icey blue eyes and he sat on his haunches, head cocked to one side, ears floppy. Then it stood, rounding the bushes and, in a blink, the man had reappeared still hiding before the foliage to cover his naked body.
“Steve -” Bucky looked thoroughly confused,
“Bucky, we’re so sorry we shouldn’t have followed you.”
“What are you doing here?” Bucky’s voice wavered, his body cold without his fur and with his clothes left behind in the cabin.
“We were worried about you, man, you’ve been so weird - stealing stuff, going missin’, can you blame us for getting creeped out?” Sam raised his eyebrows and Bucky’s brow furrowed.
“Sorry, I’m sorry, I just had to -” he gestured back towards the cabin and, as if remembering he’d left you behind with no way of knowing he was safe he turned and ran back to the clearing.
Steve and Sam jumped up, chasing after Bucky once more.
The cabin porch was empty when Steve picked his way down the slope of mud and rocks into the clearing.
A howl rang out as he got closer to the little house, a high, pained sound and then the response came, low and level.
There were two wolves now, hidden at the side of the cabin in the shadows.
The white wolf kept itself half turned towards Steve and Sam, who kept quiet and still, barely daring to breathe, allowing its companion to approach slowly.
The brown wolf dropped in front of the white, ears flat back against its head, and then rolled over, showing a soft belly that the white wolf nuzzled gently before turning back to Steve and barking sharply.
Steve held his hands up and the wolf barked again, turning tail and returning to the cabin.
It took only moments for Bucky to show himself on the porch, pulling his henley back down over his now dirt streaked belly.
“Come in,” he gestured up the stairs and vanished again.
The cabin, though run down, was well kept. The porch was swept of leaves and there was even a little mat by the door.
“Shoes,” you whispered, pulling on Bucky’s sleeve as you entered the main living space, making an attempt to hide behind him. You’d dressed again too, also in one of Bucky’s henleys and a pair of leggings that Steve recognised as Avengers recruit issue.
“Do you mind?” Bucky asked while Steve and Sam stared between you both.
“Shoes,” you turned to look up at Bucky again, eyes pleading in one moment and then flicking to the two new men treading mud into your home.
“Your shoes, take them off.” Bucky helped them arrange their boots neatly by the door while you pottered around the fireplace. “This is her nest,” he whispered, making sure the doormat was straight and the little curtain was neat over the window. “It’s important to omegas, to her,” you turned shooting a glare over your shoulder, “to us-that it’s kept just right and she hates shoes inside.”
In the small living space a camping stove had been set up with a kettle, a portable fridge, and an assortment of mugs, both Avengers field regulation and novelty, which were set neatly on the mantel. You chose four, and placed them next to the kettle while it steamed happily away.
Bucky spoke softly to you in a mixture of English and Romanian, but you didn’t come any closer to the strange men. You’d seen them before, on the television and in Bucky’s notebooks, but now that they were here, so large and imposing, you couldn’t bring yourself to even look over.
“This is Cățeluș, well, that’s not her real name but we couldn’t find that. She - uh -” you watched Bucky struggle for words and lay a hand on his cheek, smiling warmly up at him. Your Winter, your James. “-I don’t want to say the word, it upsets her, but she was with me when I was - him - part of the experiments.”
You poured the tea quietly, watching the steam rise into the darts of sun making their way through the broken knots of wood in the wall, and you took a deep breath. With shaking hands you gave the first man, Sam, a cup. He had a gentle face, a wide smile and he didn’t look at you with pity, as you feared, only interest.
The second man held his breath as you approached, keeping his hands as close to his body as possible until you pushed the cup towards him. Steve. Bucky had lots of pictures of Steve in his notebooks and had told you more stories than you could remember, but he didn’t look sickly, he looked too big for the space, his shoulders drawn in, slouched. You appreciated that he was trying not to look scary, even though your every nerve was on edge.
Bucky took the proffered mug from your hands with a kiss to your forehead and you sighed, allowing him to steer you to the only arm chair in the room and then passing you your own tea.
“We got out, eventually and - I brought her here.” Bucky sat on the rolled arm of the chair, draping his own arm over your shoulders and fitting you into his side.
Steve and Sam could only stare.
“Why didn’t you bring her to the compound? She can stay -” Steve turned to you, “you can stay, either in Bucky’s room or you can have your own room if you’d prefer.”
It took you a moment to process the offer, but eventually you shook your head, turning into Bucky’s side.
“It was awful - in there, with them she, we both -” Bucky struggled for the words, the desire to protect you rising inside
“It’s okay,” Sam said carefully, “I know the transition’s been rough on you, Bucky, I can’t imagine what it’s been like for her, how you even got her out here. But there’s nothing to be afraid of, maybe she’ll come with you? If you suggest it?”
Sam kept looking at you, his eyes soft and encouraging but you turned away, pressed your face into Bucky’s ribs where his scent had soaked through his shirt, reassuring and primal, chanting in your head Alpha, safe, Alpha, safe. You did miss him, when he was gone, but how could he keep you safe in that place.
You’d seen it, once or twice, through the trees when you took a walk, looking for whatever you could find in the forest. Guards left lots of things behind, bottles and coats and jackets, useful things. You collected them all, skirting around the edge of that horrid white building and hoping to never see the terrifying things that flew out of it, men in suits and robots, it was too much.
“You can bring whatever you like with you, and maybe Nat and Wanda could help you with some new things, if you liked?” Steve followed Sam’s lead, keeping his voice steady and low.
“James - my nest.” You mumbled, gripping his henley in your fist.
He dropped a hand onto your head, “we can do whatever you like, baby. You want to stay here, we can stay, you want to go to the compound, we’ll go.”
You felt Bucky’s heart rate pick up, its beat hammering and your anxiety grew too, your breathing more ragged, you turned even further into him, practically climbing into his lap, the henley you’d taken from him riding up.
Instantly you knew it was a mistake, the scars of your time in Hydra were still visible, raised on your skin, yellowing patches of healing bruises and calloused skin from repeated bouts in the chair.
Sam and Steve could barely conceal their inhale of breath.
“Bucky, did you get her checked by a doctor or…” Sam trailed off, Bucky looked angry again, his arms fully surrounding you.
“And what would I have said, Sam?” He growled, “I know she looks like she’s been kept in a cage and beaten but please don’t arrest me, I promise it wasn’t me? Her social security number? Sorry, I don’t have it, we don’t even know her name. I did the best I could.” His anger tipped over into a resigned sadness. Bucky cupped your face in one hand and forced you to look up at him, “I did the best I could, baby, I really did.”
You nodded and his grip loosened so you could nuzzle into his chest again, your own tears running down your cheeks at the memory of those early days. Bucky’s shaking hands patching up your burns and cuts, the whisky you’d slugged before he pulled out a stray bullet from your arm and stitched it with floss. Every touch had been gentle though, every time he’d changed your bandages or cleaned you up, it had been gentle. It had been everything he could give you.
“We didn’t mean it like that, Buck,but we could help, get her checked over and then you can come back here.” Sam’s voice was plaintive, deliberately soothing and it made Bucky’s blood boil.
“I’m not taking her to that place.” He bit back, there was no mistaking the way he curled you into his body, tucking your head under his chin and wrapping his arms around your back.
It didn’t hurt anymore, to be touched, but then it’d never hurt to be touched by James. His hands had always been careful with you, his strength used only for protection and it was for that reason that you lay your trust in him completely.
“Don’t make me go, Alpha.” You whispered, your lips brushing the base of his neck where you’d marked him, right over his scent gland, your teeth marks an eternal brand. You nuzzled into him, your chest rumbling again.
“I won’t make you go,” he looked back at Steve and Sam, the finality of his decision sat heavily in the air.
“Can we at least bring some medical things here? Would you let Sam check you out?” Steve offered, he was increasingly concerned by the way Bucky had retreated into the chair, his own legs now curled up on the overstuffed cushion.
Above you, James nodded once, “just you and Sam, don’t tell anyone else. I’ll know if you tell anyone else.” The panic edging Bucky’s voice had Steve raising his hands in surrender.
“I promise, Buck, just Sam and I.”
Sam and Steve left the cabin at dusk while you and Bucky watched from the deck. As soon as they were beyond the trees he pulled you even tighter against his chest, his heat warm.
“Everything is going to be okay, baby, I promise, no one’s going to ever, ever, hurt you again.” His hands slid down your arms and across the slow swell of your belly. “But we should consider their offer, make sure we’re making a choice that’s good for you and me, as well as them.” His palm pushed up under your shirt, splayed on your tight skin and, deep inside, your pup pushed back.
CWs: SMUT, NSFW, MDNI 18+ Omegaverse, duh, breeding, nesting, Alpine mention, some teasing, the whole idea of scents, p in v, knotting, bit of cockwarming, overall kinda tame and sweet esp at the end
Nicknames used by Bucky: Omega, babygirl, baby, honey
Nicknames used by Reader: Buck, Alpha
A/N: Exam season is almost over so I cooked up a bit of self indulgence. That’s it that’s the fic. Probably not my best work but like I said this is for me so.
Summary: You wake up one morning feeling….. off. You think you’re coming down with a cold, maybe the flu, and decide to nest and rest while you wait for your Alpha to come home. But resting doesn’t go as planned, as it feels like the room suddenly gets hotter….
Bucky had already gone to work that morning by the time you woke up, something that wasn’t uncommon during the week. When you work up, you felt… off. You couldn’t put your finger on it, but you felt almost as if you were coming down with something. You wondered if you were just having some pre-heat symptoms, but it felt a bit more than that.
By the time you had made breakfast, taken a shower, and got dressed, you felt a bit more…. off. Something was definitely going on. You sighed, hoping it would be over by the time your heat started in about 5 days. Being sick on your heat was by far the worst experience a mated omega can experience short of losing their mate.
And so you started on some of the cleaning for the day, finishing the dishes from last night, vacuuming the floors, washing the sheets. You scooped Alpine’s litter and fed her breakfast. She looked at you curiously before eating it.
Fatigue started to hit you rapidly, and you decided to rebuild the nest so you would at least be cozy and content when sick. The fresh sheets were placed on the bed before you opened your closet to grab the blankets you set aside specifically for nesting. They always smelled like you and Bucky, and that was the point. You began to arrange them, fiddling the order of them here and there. You still felt rather… off, and you weren’t thinking much anymore.
You haphazardly dug through the laundry for a few of Bucky’s sweatshirts, and the ever-coveted red henley. You grabbed his blue one too. You grabbed your own sweatshirts, using them to further imbed the nest with your scents. By the time you were content, you curled up in the middle of the nest and decided to nap. Alpine padded in, jumping on the bed, and sniffing you. She gives you another look before leaving. That felt odd, you weren’t sure why she wasn’t lying with you as she normally would have, but you didn’t care. You just wanted to rest.
Less than an hour later, you woke up soaked in sweat, skin ablaze. “Must be a fever…” you muttered. You sat up abruptly, but immediately noticed the dehydration and vague feeling of dizziness. You crawled out of the next to grab water, but you barely made it out of the room before you stopped cold. There was a new sensation, of something warm, wet, and sticky running down your thigh. You panicked, immediately shoving a hand down your shorts and panties and running a finger along your slit. To your… horror? surprise?…. you felt a steady pool of slick forming. You stepped back, looking at the calendar by the bedroom door. 5 days. You weren’t due for 5 more days. What. The. Hell.
Bucky was in his office when he felt…. off. He sniffed around, thinking maybe someone new and imposing might’ve been around. There was no notable difference in the scents around the office. He continued clacking on his keyboard as his attention struggled to stay. He thought of his lovely wife back home, and decided to text her and check up on her.
He continued working, waiting for a reply, but it had been over half an hour. He assumed you were napping, until he felt heat begin to radiate from his mating mark under his button down. His brows furrowed. What was going on? It felt similar to your heat, but it wasn’t due for almost another week, and you were very regular with it. He sighed, checking his phone again. Still no reply. He got up, grabbing another cup of coffee. As he walks into his office again, though, he stops cold. He feels that sudden heat on his mark grow hotter as his skin begins to flush slightly. It’s barely noticeable, but he knows what it means. He needs to get home, now. He hoped he was wrong, because several clients were going to be pushing some events back if that were the case. His poor secretary.
You were lying in the nest, dildo in hand, trying to feel some sort of relief. Your phone was deposited somewhere on the floor with your clothes, never noticing Bucky’s text. You thrust it in and out rapidly. The air was thick, you could barely breathe, and your toy was barely doing anything. You sat up, deciding to change positions, but that didn’t help either. You decided to change again, back to your back, rubbing your clit, but nothing. You sighed, grabbing some more water. The heat rippled off of you, and the water did barely anything. You decided one last position was worth a try. You got on your knees, bending over to something akin to doggy, before reaching your arm under and thrusting the dildo in. It was your favorite way for Bucky to take you, save for a mating press, so it just had to work. And to a small degree, it was, as you hyper focused on reaching some sort of finish.
He unlocked the door, pushing it open. He got one foot in the door as the thick smell of you smacked him in the face: vanilla, peonies, and a thick layer of cherry, the biggest sign of your heat. He groaned softly to himself as he felt his cock harden. He quickly made his way inside and took his shoes and suit jacked off. He called out softly to you, but he never got a reply. His brows furrowed. He couldn’t hear anything until he made his way toward the bedroom where he heard your panting and muffled whines.
You suddenly felt the dildo pulled out of your hand, rapidly sitting up and turning, a growl making its way out of your throat before you realized who it was. You hadn’t even registered his scent, his voice calling for you when he walked in. Your eyes went wide as you whined.
“Oh babygirl…” he sighed, placing the soaked dildo on the bedside table. He grabbed the water bottle, handing it to you. You didn’t argue, sipping from it.
“Well….” he muttered, “You’re early.”
You sniffled, heat throbbing and skin burning. You looked up at him. He leaned down and kissed your forehead. You whined, grabbing at his shirt. He laughed, saying “it’s ok baby, I’ll give you what you need. But just one question for you, omega,” he said. He began to unbutton his pants, taking them off for dramatic pause. “Tell me. Is your little dildo better, or is my cock better?”You flushed, remembering how you were caught.
“You’re better, Alpha, so much better,” you said breathlessly. His shirt was now off too, joining the pile of clothes. He stepped closer to the bed, grabbing your hand, and placing it on the bulge in his boxers. You let out a breathy exhale as you palmed him lightly. You were entranced already, eyes a bit glassy, as Bucky watched you in awe. His perfect little omega.
He crawled into the nest before manhandling you to turning back around on your knees. “This what you want, ‘mega? Want me pound into you from behind? Breed you in doggy, all messy and depraved?” He teased, watching with clear view from behind as you clenched around nothing and whined. “Yes please, Alpha,” you mumbled. He gently pushed you forward onto your chest and pulled your ass up so you sat on your knees.
You wriggled your hips back into his clothed cock, whimpering and needy. The heat was only progressively getting more consuming and you needed him so bad. He chuckled, telling you to wait, as he discarded his underwear. They joined the pile of clothes imbedded in the nest.
You had heard the thwack of his heavy cock hitting his lower abdominal, and you tried to hold back a whine. “You’re so wet for me, ‘mega, so pretty. Such a pretty baby for me,” he murmured, running a thick finger up and down your slit. He could’ve sworn he saw a fresh gush come out of you. “Need prepped baby? Or are you ready?”
You turned your head to the side, and out of the pillows, before quickly nodding and saying “Ready!” You saw him smile at your eagerness.
You felt him like himself up, but instead of inserting himself, you felt him first slide the head of his cock up and down your folds. A small moan escaped each time he tapped your clit with the head of his cock as your eyes began to cloud over. You whined before grumbling out a “stop teasin’ Alpha.” He laughed quietly.
“Alright alright, my needy little omega. I’ll give you want you want now,” he said, voice gravelly and deep. He lined himself up again, slowly pushing in, and oh how the dildo never compares. Never quite gets that spot, never quite stretches you so good, and it certainly doesn’t whisper sweet little teases into your ear.
He began thrusting slowly, enjoying the soft, warm feeling of your cunt clenching around him. The sound of your breathy whimpers were like a melody, and he could smell the deeper change in your scent as it became even more cherry dominated. He began thrusting faster, gripping one metal arm on your hip and on flesh hand against your upper back, holding you down.
“Such a good omega, lettin’ me breed you all pretty ‘n’ full of my pups. Is that what you wanted, honey?” He asks, tone teasing. You whine, nodding rapidly. “Yes please! Wanna be bred, Alpha, please!” you say as your hips were pushing back to meet his. He groans at your eager movements, feeling you flutter around him.
“Alpha, Alpha, Alpha!” you chanted, eyes fluttering back. He knew you were close, if not by the chanting then by the way your cunt gripped his cock so tight. He reached around to toy softly with your clit.
“Go on, ‘mega, cum for me pretty baby,” he muttered low and thick. You let out a choked sob, the feeling of your orgasm almost built to its peak.
“Cum- cum in me please Alpha! Knot me please?” You beg, words rolling out in a ramble of desperation and need. He groaned lowly, the grip on your hip tightening. “Gonna breed you, omega, don’t you worry. Just cum on my cock like a good girl, ok?” He said, mind going almost blank at the feeling of your warm, wet cunt.
You groaned, suddenly feeling yourself about to tip over the edge. “Fuck- fuck, fuck!” You screamed, “Bucky, Alpha!” And you felt your orgasm crash in, not far off the feeling of a tsunami crashing in, and your eyes rolled back so far you were seeing white. You heard Bucky say something along the lines of “Good omega, good girl, such a good girl,” as his groans grew louder and this thrusts sloppier.
You sure as HELL felt when he moaned as he came inside you, still recovering from your own orgasm, as you felt his knot inflate. Awareness creeped back in, and so did the ability to speak, but all that came out was a soft “fuck,” amongst all of your panting.
“You ok, ‘mega?” He asked, drawing soothing circles into your back. He was still inside you, still stretching you, still filling you, but these moments are the sweetest. You nodded, murmuring a quiet “Yes, Alpha,” as a small smile spread across your face.
He slowly maneuvers you so that you’re lying on his stomach, knot still filling you, as you sighed contentedly. It wouldn’t be the last time you had his knot in you over the next few days, and for that you’re excited, but for now, you were happy just to snuggle. He dozed off with you on his chest, half asleep yourself, flesh hand still in your hair from where he was petting you softly. You never noticed Alpine make her way to the edge of the nest and curl in, but she sure was there when you woke up.
𝑪𝑬𝑵𝑻𝑼𝑹𝑰𝑬𝑺 𝑶𝑭 𝑹𝑼𝑻 A touch-starved alpha Bucky Barnes finally snaps when his freshly-moved-in omega neighbor’s heat spikes through the thin Brooklyn apartment walls. He hasn’t fucked a pussy since the 1940s, and her desperate, dripping scent drives him feral.
alpha!neighbour!bucky barnes x fem!omega!reader
word count : 5,2k
warnings 18+ : explicit sexual content, no use of y/n, penetrative sex, knotting, fingering, a/b/o dynamics, heats, ruts, scenting, breeding kink, claiming/bonding bites, sex while pregnant, dubious consent (omega begs repeatedly while alpha hesitates out of fear of harm), size difference, possessiveness and mild dominance, brief mentions of historical trauma (hydra, forced celibacy, painful solo ruts)
author’s note : this is my first time ever writing anything a/b/o so pls be kind to her world 💀 hope you enjoy!!
The air in the old Brooklyn apartment building had been humming with quiet tension for three weeks now. Thin walls, creaky floors and James Buchanan Barnes across the hall, the gentlest alpha you’d ever met, who somehow made your body ache with a need so fierce it embarrassed you.
From the very first day, he’d offered to help with your boxes, voice soft as he asked, “Mind if I carry the heavy ones doll?” His metal arm gleamed under the hallway light as he lifted them effortlessly but he was careful, always careful, setting each one down like it was fragile, smiling that small, shy smile when you thanked him.
His scent drifted over you in the stairwell: warm pine, clean steel, something comforting and strong that settled deep in your lungs.
Your reaction was immediate and mortifying. Heat flared low in your belly, slick rushing hot and sudden between your thighs until you had to press your legs together to hide the way your panties were already soaked through. You ducked your head, cheeks burning, praying he hadn’t noticed.
But Bucky had.
His breath caught for the briefest second, blue eyes softening as they met yours. He didn’t say a word about it just murmured, “Anytime you need help I’m right here,” voice tender enough to make your heart stutter. Then he stepped back, giving you space, hands loose at his sides like he was proving he’d never take more than you offered.
Since then, you’d turned into someone you barely recognized, shy on the outside, filthy-minded on the inside, desperate for any scrap of closeness he’d allow.
In the laundry room you started timing your visits to his, wearing soft little shorts that rode up when you bent over, pretending you didn’t know exactly what you were doing. You’d brush past him too close on purpose, letting your vanilla-honey scent bloom thick and sweet in the humid air. He’d go still every time, folding a towel with careful movements but you could see the way his throat worked when he breathed you in.
You weren’t bold, you blushed just thinking about it but the ache between your legs made you reckless. You’d linger by the dryer, bending slow, thighs slick and trembling because you knew he could smell how wet you were. Once, a helpless little moan slipped out when another pulse of slick soaked through your shorts, leaving a damp spot you couldn’t hide.
Bucky’s soft inhale was the only warning before his quiet voice reached you. “Sweetheart… you okay?” So gentle, so concerned, like he thought you might be hurting. His eyes were dark but his expression was all worried kindness, metal hand curled loosely at his side so he wouldn’t scare you. You wanted to drop to your knees and beg him to do something about the mess you’d made of yourself.
The elevator rides were torture you inflicted on both of you. You’d stand just close enough that your shoulder almost brushed his chest, breathing him in until you were dizzy. Your body didn’t care that you were shy, it reacted anyway, nipples tight against your shirt, fresh slick coating your thighs every time the car jerked. You’d bite your lip to keep quiet but sometimes a tiny, needy sound escaped anyway.
He never crowded you. Always stood with his hands behind his back or gripping the rail, giving you every inch of space. But once, after a particularly desperate whimper left your throat, he leaned in just enough to murmur against your hair, “I’ve got you. Whatever you need, I’m right here.” The words were so soft, so patient, they made you throb harder, made you want to turn around and rub yourself against him like a cat in heat.
Nights were when your restraint cracked completely. Through the thin wall you could hear him, quiet at first then the soft rustle of sheets, the low, helpless groan he tried to muffle in his pillow. The slow, slick sound of his hand moving over his cock, careful even when he was alone, like he was afraid of waking you. You’d press your ear to the wall, legs spread wide, fingers plunging deep into your dripping cunt because you couldn’t stop yourself.
You’d fuck yourself hard and fast, chasing the rhythm of his strokes, imagining his gentle hands instead, how careful he’d be, how he’d whisper sweet things while he split you open. Sometimes you heard him say your name, so soft and reverent it sounded like a prayer.
“God baby… wanna take care of you… wanna be good for you…” It sent you over every time, thighs shaking as you came messily around your fingers, biting the pillow to stay quiet while slick soaked the sheets beneath you.
You were the one burning up with filthy, desperate need.
He was the one holding back with endless patience and sweetness, waiting for you to ask.
And every night you came listening to him fall apart so gently on the other side of the wall, you wondered how much longer you could stand not begging him to finally give you what you both wanted.
Until tonight.
Your heat had crested into something unbearable, a vicious, clawing thing that left you stripped bare on the living-room floor, legs splayed wide, thighs glazed with hours of slick. Fingers weren’t enough anymore, three buried to the knuckles, thrusting frantically, chasing a relief that wouldn’t come.
The vibrator buzzed uselessly beside you; even the pillow you’d humped raw couldn’t soothe the hollow, aching throb deep in your cunt. You were sobbing openly now, broken pleas spilling into the empty apartment.
“Bucky… please… need you inside me… need your knot… need your pups…”
The words tore out of you without shame, loud enough to carry through the thin wall.
On the other side, Bucky broke.
He’d been fighting it for weeks, every gentle, devoted inch of himself locked down tight. Every time your scent thickened in the hallway, every time you bent over in the laundry room and he caught the shine of slick on your thighs, every muffled whimper he heard at night, he’d gone back to his apartment and stroked himself slow, almost reverent, whispering your name while he imagined sliding into you gentle and deep, imagined filling you so carefully you’d feel safe and cherished while he put his pups in you.
He was obsessed with it. Couldn’t think of anything else. The thought of your belly rounding soft with his child, of your body changing because of him, because he’d taken care of you so perfectly, it lived behind his eyes every second of every day. He wanted to be gentle. Wanted to be good. Wanted to earn the right to breed you by proving he’d never hurt you.
But tonight your scent flooded the hallway like a wave of pure, desperate heat and your broken cries punched straight through his chest.
Three soft, urgent knocks sounded at your door, too controlled to be anything but him.
“Doll?” His voice came through the wood, low and trembling, thick with worry and rut. “Sweetheart, I- I heard you cryin’. You okay? Can I… can I come in? Just to check on you, I swear I’ll be good-”
You scrambled up on shaky legs, slick pouring down your thighs in fresh rivulets, and flung the door open.
He looked wrecked in the most heartbreaking way: hair falling into dark, pleading eyes, chest heaving under a damp T-shirt, sweats tented obscenely with the thick line of his cock, a wet patch spreading at the tip. His scent rolled over you, warm pine, clean steel, and the heavy, drugging musk of an alpha deep in rut, but his hands were open at his sides, fingers flexing like he was terrified to reach for you.
“Oh baby,” he whispered, voice cracking as he took in the sight of you, naked, trembling, drenched. “You’re hurtin’ so bad… I’m sorry I waited so long. I didn’t wanna scare you…”
You lunged at him with a desperate whine, wrapping your arms around his neck, grinding your soaked cunt against the ridge of his cock through the fabric. “Bucky please- need you now. Need you to fuck me, need you to breed me, please-”
He caught you easily, lifting you against his chest like you weighed nothing, metal arm cradling your back, flesh hand cupping your ass with reverent care but the rut roaring through him finally snapped the last thread of patience.
He couldn’t wait another second, couldn’t make it the few extra steps to the couch.
With a low, trembling growl he sank to his knees right there in the entryway and lowered you gently to the floor, laying you down like you were still the most precious thing in the world, even as his hands shook with the need to claim you now.
“I’ve got you omega,” he murmured, voice shaking as he peeled off his shirt, revealing miles of scarred muscle. “Gonna take such good care of you, I promise. Wanna make you feel safe while I… while I give you everything.”
He settled between your thighs, eyes locked on yours and slid into you slow, so achingly slow, inch by thick inch, groaning soft and reverent as your slick walls fluttered around him.
“God, you’re perfect,” he breathed, forehead pressed to yours, hips rolling gentle and deep. “So warm… so tight… been dreamin’ about this pussy every night doll. Dreamin’ about putting my pups right here-” His flesh hand slid to your lower belly, pressing lightly, possessively. “Wanna fill you up so gentle you feel every drop… wanna watch you grow round with me…”
The sweetness of it, the devotion in his voice, only made you wilder. You clawed at his back, heels digging into his ass, trying to pull him deeper, faster.
“Harder,” you begged, voice raw. “Bucky please- need it rough, need you to ruin me, need you to breed me like you mean it-”
He froze, hips stuttering, eyes wide with sudden fear. “No baby- no, I can’t.” His voice cracked, raw and vulnerable.
“I… I haven’t been with anyone since the forties doll. Back then I was just a man- had a few sweet omegas, even knotted and bred a couple before the war took me. But after I fell, after Hydra… nothing. Not a single person in seventy years. They stole every chance, turned me into a weapon instead of a mate. I’ve never knotted anyone since, never bred anyone since and now my rut’s hittin’ harder than it ever has. You’re so small, so perfect, and I’m terrified I’ll lose control and hurt you. I couldn’t live with myself if I ever hurt you sweetheart.”
The confession spilled out of him like it had been locked behind his teeth for weeks, his blue eyes glassy with fear and longing. He rested his forehead against yours, trembling. “I want to give you pups more than I want to breathe, sweetheart. But I need to be gentle. Need to keep you safe.”
You sobbed, clenching hard around his cock, grinding up against him in filthy desperation. “You won’t hurt me. I trust you. I need it alpha- need you to lose control, need you to fuck me full of your pups, please-”
His breath hitched, a low, helpless sound tearing out of him. You felt his restraint crack, felt the tremor in his thighs as he fought it.
“Please,” you whispered again, nipping his jaw, licking the sweat from his throat. “Be rough with me. I’m begging you.”
Something shattered behind his eyes.
With a broken groan he pulled back and slammed home, hard, deep, perfect. Your back arched off the floor as he set a punishing rhythm, hips snapping, metal arm braced beside your head so he wouldn’t crush you, flesh hand gripping your thigh to spread you wider.
“That what you need, sweet girl?” he rasped, voice ragged with filth. “Need your alpha to fuck you raw after all these years? Need me to breed this pretty pussy till it’s dripping with me?”
“Yes- yes- harder!”
He gave it to you. Pounded into you like he was trying to crawl inside your skin, cock dragging over every sensitive spot, balls slapping wet against your ass. Every thrust shoved a filthy squelch from your soaked cunt, slick splashing onto his thighs.
“Gonna knot you so deep,” he panted, eyes fixed on where you were joined, watching himself disappear into you over and over. “First knot in almost a century baby, all for you. Gonna lock you to me and pump you so full of cum you’ll be carrying my pups by morning- fuck, I can’t wait to see you swollen doll, can’t wait to take care of you while you grow ‘em-”
You shattered around him with a scream, pussy clamping viciously, milking him as you came in messy, squirting waves.
He followed with a hoarse cry, hips grinding deep as his knot swelled huge and sudden, popping past your pussy and locking tight. The stretch burned white-hot, perfect, and then he was coming, endless thick ropes flooding your womb, spilling hot and heavy, overflowing around the knot in creamy rivulets that soaked you both.
He collapsed carefully, rolling so you were draped over his chest, still impaled, knot throbbing with every aftershock. His arms wrapped around you gentle again, metal fingers stroking your spine, flesh hand cradling the back of your head.
“Good girl,” he whispered, voice soft and wrecked, kissing your temple, your cheeks, the tears on your lashes. “Took me so perfect… my first knot in seventy years and you made it feel like heaven. Gonna keep you knotted all night, baby. Gonna breed you again as soon as it goes down. Wanna put so many pups in you… wanna love you through every single heat.”
You nuzzled into his neck, breathing him in, your body finally, blissfully full.
And somewhere in the haze, you felt his knot pulse once more, another gentle, possessive spurt deep inside as he murmured against your skin, reverent and obsessed:
“Mine now, sweetheart. After all this time waiting… gonna spend the rest of my life keeping this belly round.”
You wake slow, aching in every possible way, sweet, filthy, perfect.
The hardwood is cool against your cheek, but Bucky’s body is a furnace curled around you from behind, heavy and protective. His flesh arm is draped over your waist like an anchor, metal hand resting low on your belly, fingers splayed wide and gentle, as if he’s already cradling something precious that isn’t there yet. The air is thick with the two of you: warm pine, steel, vanilla-honey, and the unmistakable proof of last night, hours of knotting, breeding, claiming, coating your skin, the floor, everything.
His cock is still inside you, half-hard and nestled deep, plugging the slow trickle of his own spend so nothing escapes. Every tiny shift of his hips makes a soft, wet sound and sends a lazy throb through your overworked walls. You’re sore, swollen, utterly wrecked… and your heat purrs at the feel of him anyway, slick already gathering fresh and helpless.
He stirs with a low, sleepy hum, nose burying in your hair to breathe you in like you’re oxygen.
“Mornin’ pretty girl,” he murmurs, voice gravel-soft and shamelessly adoring. His metal thumb strokes slow circles over your lower belly, reverent. “Sleep okay with my cock keepin’ you full all night?”
You whimper, half-embarrassed, half-desperate and rock back against him on instinct. The motion drags his thickening length through your messy heat and he groans like it hurts, so good it hurts.
“God, doll,” he whispers against your bond mark, lips brushing the tender, crusted bite with heartbreaking gentleness. “You’re still drippin’ me. Kept every drop right where it belongs, didn’t you? Good omega… best omega.”
His flesh hand slides up to cup one heavy, aching breast, thumb brushing your nipple so tenderly you shiver. “These are gonna get so full for me,” he says, quiet and certain, like he’s picturing it already.
“Gonna swell up sweet and heavy, leak milk down your pretty belly while I keep you knotted and happy. Can’t wait to taste you, gonna suck you soft and slow every night, keep you feelin’ safe and spoiled while our pups grow.”
The words are pure filth but his tone is pure devotion, soft, shameless, utterly obsessed. He rocks into you lazy and deep, stirring last night’s loads with slow, churning thrusts that make obscene, wet sounds in the quiet morning.
“Feel that little swell already?” he asks, metal palm pressing gently, possessively over your abdomen.
“That’s me, baby. All that cum I gave you, sittin’ deep, takin’ root. Been dreamin’ about this since the day you moved in, puttin’ my pups in you, watchin’ you bloom. Never thought I’d get the chance again… not after everything. But you-”
His voice cracks just a little, raw with wonder. “You let me in. Let me love you like this.”
You clench around him involuntarily, fresh slick coating his cock and he moans your name like a prayer.
“Still so greedy for me,” he chuckles, warm and fond, hips rolling a little faster now.
“My sweet, perfect girl, heat all burned out yet still beggin’ for more. Don’t worry, doll. I’m gonna give you everything. Gonna knot you soft and slow this morning, pump you full again till you’re overflowin’. Then I’ll carry you to bed, clean you up gentle, feed you breakfast with you in my lap… and knot you again after.”
He nips your ear, voice dropping to that shameless, loving growl. “Gonna keep this belly round for years, sweetheart. One litter after another, till you’re sick of bein’ spoiled and pregnant and mine. But I don’t think you ever will be.”
You come with a broken little cry, fluttering weakly around him and he follows right after, knot swelling slow and careful, locking you together as he spills deep with soft, reverent groans. His arms tighten around you, metal hand still cradling your belly like it’s the most precious thing in the world.
“There we go,” he whispers, lips dragging slow and hot over the fresh bond mark, then your shoulder, your damp temple. His voice is a low, filthy-sweet rasp right against your ear.
“One more thick, hot load pumped straight into your perfect little womb for our pups, pretty baby. Fuck… feel how full you are? This gorgeous, greedy pussy still milkin’ every drop outta me, drippin’ my cum down your thighs like the beautiful mess you are. Best thing I’ve ever felt- this tight, silky heaven wrapped around my knot, takin’ everything I give you, lettin’ me love you deep and dirty and so fuckin’ proper.”
He stays buried deep, knot pulsing gently, and holds you like he’ll never let go.
You’re both still filthy, crusted, sticky, gloriously wrecked, sprawled together on the living-room floor where you passed out knotted and spent. The hardwood is cool beneath you, scattered blankets and discarded clothes forming a makeshift nest, the air thick with the heavy scent of rut, slick and alpha cum.
Every time you shift in his arms, trying to get comfortable against his chest, flakes of his dried spend drift off your inner thighs like snow and the sight makes him growl low and possessive against your neck, metal hand tightening gently over your lower belly while his flesh hand slides down to cup your swollen pussy, thumb tracing the sticky mess still leaking slow from you.
“Can’t have my seed wastin’ on the floor, pretty girl,” he rasps, voice rough with leftover rut and pure hunger. “Every drop belongs right back inside this perfect little cunt.”
The shower’s already steaming when he steps in. His cock swings heavy between his thighs, thick, flushed, half-hard again like it never learned the meaning of enough. He steps in behind you, metal arm locking gentle around your waist to keep you steady while hot water pours over you both, rinsing away the crusted mess but doing nothing to ease the raw, throbbing ache deep in your pussy.
“Spread those pretty legs for me doll,” he rasps against your neck, voice rough with leftover rut and pure adoration.
You obey instantly, always instantly for him, thighs falling open under the spray. His flesh hand slides down your belly, cups your swollen, puffy pussy like it’s the most precious thing he’s ever touched. Two fingers part your folds slow and reverent, letting the water flush out the thick, creamy ropes of his spend still plugged inside you. They drip slow and obscene, swirling down the drain in filthy strands, and he watches like a man possessed.
“Fuck, look at that,” he groans, voice shaking with awe. “Bred you so deep it’s still pourin’ out hours later. My good girl, kept me locked in all night, didn’t let a single drop escape till now.” His metal thumb spreads you wider, cool plates against your fever-hot skin, letting more cum leak free. “Don’t worry, baby. Gonna stuff you full again soon as we’re clean. Can’t stand seein’ this perfect pussy empty.”
He soaps his big hands until they’re foamy, then washes you slow, almost worshipful, palms gliding over your heavy tits, down the curve of your belly, between your trembling thighs. But the gentleness only lasts so long. Two thick, soapy fingers push inside you without warning, scissoring deep to clean every inch of your used walls, thumb circling your swollen clit until your knees buckle and you sob his name.
“Easy, sweetheart,” he whispers, metal arm banding tight across your chest to hold you up. “Just cleanin’ my mess outta you… so I can make a brand-new one. Gonna keep this greedy cunt drippin’ me forever.”
You come hard and sudden, pussy fluttering weakly around his fingers, squirting slick and water down his wrist in messy pulses. The sound you make is broken, desperate and it rips a filthy-sweet groan from his throat. His cock is rock-hard now, grinding slow against the curve of your ass like it’s begging.
He rinses you thoroughly, really thoroughly, then wraps you in the fluffiest towel he found, carries you back to the kitchen still dripping. Sets you on the counter, spreads your thighs wide just to look, eyes blown black with that same breeding obsession.
“Stay right there, pretty girl. Don’t move an inch.”
He disappears for a second, rummaging through the scattered clothes on the floor, then comes back with his shirt, the same one he’d worn last night, still carrying the warm scent of pine, steel and him.
He stands in front of you, eyes dark and hungry as he slides it over your head himself, guiding your arms through the sleeves with careful hands. The fabric falls soft and loose, brushing your thighs as he tugs it down until it barely skims the curve of your ass.
No panties, of course not. He smooths the hem with possessive palms, fingers lingering on your bare skin underneath, a low growl rumbling in his chest.
“Never again, pretty girl,” he murmurs, voice rough and reverent. “Don’t want anything between me and this perfect little pussy. Wanna be able to touch you, taste you, slide inside you whenever I need. And I’m gonna need you a lot.”
Then he makes breakfast, shirtless, sweats slung low, metal arm flexing every time he flips bacon or pours coffee. You sit on the stool, legs swinging, feeling the slow, steady seep of leftover cum still leaking out of you onto the wood beneath your bare pussy. Every shift makes you clench, makes more drip out and the knowledge that he can smell it, that he knows, has you squirming, thighs rubbing together, heat already simmering again.
He plates pancakes drowning in syrup, crispy bacon, fluffy eggs and sits right beside you, metal arm draped possessive over the back of your chair. You’re halfway through a bite when the question slips out soft and curious.
“So… you really hadn’t fucked anyone since the 40’s?” you ask, fork hovering. “Like… not once? What about your ruts? How did you survive them alone?”
He freezes, coffee mug halfway to his mouth. Then he sets it down slow, turns to you with raw, unguarded eyes.
“Dead serious, doll,” he says, voice low and rough with memory. “Not a single pussy since 1943. Hydra kept me frozen most of the time, when they woke me, I was nothin’ but a weapon. No relief, no omega, no softness. Just blood and missions and ice.”
His metal hand slides up your bare thigh under the counter, cool fingers tracing the fresh trail of slick already coating your skin.
“After I got free… ruts hit harder than anything I’ve ever felt. Worst pain I’ve ever known, worse than fallin’ off that train, worse than losin’ the arm. I’d lock myself away, chain my ankles if I had to. Jerked off till my cock bled, till I passed out in a puddle of my own spend. Bit through my own lip, dented concrete with this hand tryin’ not to break out and hurt someone.”
His flesh hand cups your jaw, thumb stroking your lower lip with heartbreaking tenderness.
“Then you moved in across the hall,” he rasps, eyes darkening with devotion. “First whiff of your heat and I nearly tore the building down to get to you. Spent weeks strokin’ myself raw every time you walked past, smellin’ like warm vanilla and needy, dripping cunt. Thought I’d lose my mind if I didn’t bury myself in you soon.”
He leans closer, metal fingers slipping between your legs again, finding you soaked and open and aching. Two slide in easy, slow, possessive pumps that make you gasp and drop your fork.
“Last night was the first time in seventy goddamn years I got to sink into a real omega pussy,” he growls against your mouth, voice thick with love and filth. “First knot. First breeding. First time comin’ inside somethin’ so warm and wet and beggin’ for my pups. You took every drop baby-milked me dry, let me flood this perfect little womb till it overflowed.”
His thumb finds your clit, circling slow and relentless while his fingers fuck you lazy and deep right there at the breakfast table.
“Now I got this sloppy, greedy cunt leakin’ for me again before the plates are even empty,” he whispers, reverent and shameless. “Gonna spend the rest of my life makin’ up for every lonely rut- gonna knot you every heat, every day, every time you look at me like that. Gonna keep you stuffed full, belly swollen, tits heavy and leakin’ milk down this pretty body while I pump another litter into you.”
You moan, loud, broken, desperate, clenching hard around his fingers, hips rocking shamelessly into his hand. Breakfast is forgotten. You’re already dripping down his wrist again, thighs trembling, heat flaring hot and hungry because it’s him because it’s Bucky looking at you like you’re his whole world and talking like he’s going to spend forever proving it.
He kisses you deep and dirty, tasting like coffee and bacon and pure alpha love.
“You gave me everything, omega,” he whispers against your swollen lips, voice rough with awe and possession. “Ended a hundred-year drought with the wettest, neediest, most perfect pussy I’ve ever dreamed of. And I’m gonna keep it soaked, bred, and happy for the rest of my life.”
It’s a few weeks later, New Year’s Eve. The little drugstore test is still on the bathroom counter, two pink lines glowing like a promise. You’re barely four weeks along but your body already knows. Your breasts are heavier, tender and swollen, nipples darker and so sensitive that even the brush of Bucky’s dog tags against them makes you shiver. A soft, constant warmth hums low in your belly, a permanent simmer of need that has you wet almost all the time now.
Bucky hasn’t let you more than ten feet away from him since you showed him the test. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, shirtless, sweats slung low, metal arm catching the low light. You stand between his thighs wearing nothing but his old dog tags and a pair of his boxers rolled at the waist. Your belly is still flat but the way he looks at it, like he can already see the curve, already feel his pups moving, makes heat pool between your legs.
“God, doll,” he whispers, voice thick with wonder and something deeper, softer. Both hands, warm flesh and cool metal, slide up your thighs, over your hips, until they settle gently over your lower abdomen. His thumbs trace slow, reverent circles right where everything is changing. “You’re really carryin’ my baby. My seed took… first night I ever knotted anyone in seventy years, and it took.”
He leans forward, presses his lips to your belly in a kiss so tender it makes your eyes burn. Inhales deep, nose brushing your skin. “Smell so sweet already,” he murmurs against you. “Like warm vanilla and milk and mine. Fuck, baby… you’re perfect.”
His flesh hand slips lower, under the waistband of the boxers, finding you soaked, slick coating your thighs in a constant, helpless trickle. He groans softly when his fingers glide through it, metal arm tightening gently around your waist to steady you as two thick fingers sink inside slow and careful.
“Still so wet for me,” he breathes, pumping gentle, curling just enough to make your breath hitch. “This pretty pussy’s already flutterin’ around my fingers… and you’re only a month along. Gonna take such good care of you, sweetheart.”
He eases his fingers free, brings them to his lips and licks them clean with a quiet, reverent hum, eyes never leaving yours. Then he stands, towering over you for a moment before guiding you gently down onto the bed, onto your back, pillows propped behind you so you’re comfortable.
“Gonna love you slow tonight,” he promises, voice low and rough with adoration. He peels the boxers off your legs, settles between your thighs with infinite care, like you’re made of glass and gold. His cock is heavy, flushed, leaking at the tip, but he doesn’t rush. Just drags the head through your slick folds once, twice, coating himself, before pressing in, slow, steady, watching your face the entire time.
You both sigh when he bottoms out. He stills, lets you adjust, forehead pressed to yours.
“Feel okay, pretty girl?” he whispers, brushing a kiss to your lips, your cheek, the corner of your eye. “Tell me if it’s too much. You’re carryin’ my pups now- I’ll be so gentle, I swear.”
You nod, threading fingers through his hair, pulling him closer. “Feels perfect, alpha.”
The word makes him shudder. He starts moving, long, deep, unhurried strokes that drag over every sensitive spot inside you, slow enough that every ridge and vein of his cock feels like a caress. His metal hand cradles the back of your head; his flesh hand slides up your side to cup one swollen breast, thumb stroking over the dark, aching nipple with heartbreaking tenderness.
“These are gettin’ so full already,” he murmurs, voice raw with awe. He lowers his head, lips brushing the curve of your breast, tongue flicking gentle over the peak. Then he closes his mouth around it, soft, warm suction that makes you arch and whimper. He suckles slow and careful, like he’s already coaxing milk that isn’t there yet, like he’s memorizing the weight and feel of you changing for him.
You moan his name, hips rocking up to meet his gentle thrusts, slick dripping down your thighs, soaking the sheets. He switches to the other breast, giving it the same reverent attention, sucking softly, tongue swirling, teeth grazing just enough to make you gasp but never enough to hurt.
“Gonna do this every day,” he whispers against your skin, lips shiny, eyes dark and devoted. “Suck these pretty tits till they’re leakin’ for me. Then I’ll lick every drop off your belly before I kiss my way lower and taste how wet you get because of me.”
His rhythm stays slow, deep, loving, every thrust a promise, every pull of his mouth on your nipple a vow. Outside, fireworks start popping as midnight nears but inside it’s just the soft, wet sounds of him loving you, your quiet moans, his whispered praise.
“Come for me when the new year starts baby,” he breathes, thumb finding your clit to circle gentle and steady. “Come on your alpha’s cock while I’m suckin’ these gorgeous tits and buried deep in the pussy that’s growin’ my baby.”
The first big fireworks boom over Brooklyn just as you fall apart, pussy fluttering soft and sweet around him, a gentle, rolling orgasm that leaves you trembling and breathless. He groans your name like a prayer, hips grinding deep as his knot swells slow and careful, locking you together without a hint of pain. Warm pulses of cum spill into you, gentle and endless, his body curled protectively over yours.
He stays on his elbows so his weight never presses your belly, lips returning to your breasts, suckling softly through the aftershocks, kissing every inch of tender skin like he’s worshipping the changes already happening.
“Happy New Year pretty mama,” he whispers, voice thick with love, metal hand splayed gentle over your abdomen, flesh hand stroking your hair. “Best year of my life starts tonight, with you pregnant, tits heavy in my mouth, pussy soft and full of me. Gonna love you like this every single day. Gentle and slow and mine.”
Warnings: golden child syndrome, awful parents & sister, scenting, a/b/o, true mates, pack au, business au
“Stay in the shadows. Be good. And don’t embarrass your sister,” your mother warned you. It wasn’t enough that you were covered in a gray sack while your sister was wearing a beautiful, custom-made designer gown.
You simply nodded. There was no use in resisting or talking back. Whatever your sister wanted, she got.
“Just help your sister make a great first impression on one of the alphas of this pack. They and their allies are the most powerful people you will ever meet. If you ruin this bond for us, you’ll regret it.”
With your head bowed, you hid your anger behind a smile, making your cheeks hurt.
“I won’t,” you whispered lowly. If only you survived this whole chosen-mate farce, you could go back to fading in the background. “I won’t try to steal her spotlight.”
“How could you ever steal her spotlight?” Your mother asked. “You didn’t even brush your hair or wear the dress I prepared.”
You didn’t argue with your mother. She would’ve brushed you off, not believing you if you told her that your sister ruined the dress and threw your brush away. A ruined dress wasn’t worth getting yelled at. A nicer dress wouldn’t have changed your status or the way people treated you.
While you obediently followed your mother and sister inside the huge and impressive mansion, you didn’t dare look around. This wasn’t a place you’d ever see again. You didn’t belong here.
“Know your place,” your sister hissed through gritted teeth. She was smiling brightly at the people in the huge, luxurious ballroom. A stark contrast to her harsh words.
You gritted your teeth. Years filled with punishment and silent treatment from your family taught you how to control your emotions. If you ever gave in to your anger, you’d rip your sister’s throat out with your teeth. She makes your blood boil, and you can’t stand her.
Only for a second did you lift your head. A pair of blue eyes met yours. He was holding your gaze before a smirk crossed the handsome man’s features. He was undoubtedly a powerful alpha. The kind of man who wouldn’t look at you twice.
Averting your gaze, you tried to tame your racing heart. You shouldn’t have looked at the man. He was far out of your league.
“Behave.” Your mother’s voice warned. She saw you looking at the alpha’s way and didn’t like it. “Stop embarrassing us. He’s not for you. None of them will even look your way.”
“I know,” you replied. Daydreams and hope weren’t part of your life anymore. You gave up hope a long time ago. If you hear that you are not good enough all your life, you believe them sooner or later.
Waiting for the party to end, you hid in the shadows for most of the time. No one seemed to mind. The waitresses ignored your presence, and the guests were busy bragging about their power, wealth, and status. You didn’t blame them.
Your timidness and the old, worn-out dress you wore didn’t help. People don’t want to socialize with people who cannot find their voice or look them in the eyes.
It was near the end of the event that your sister hissed your name and insisted on your presence. She loved to humiliate you in public. Most people loved gossiping and talking about the unwanted girl living in the shadows of her beautiful and graceful sister.
“Come here, check on my dress,” she hissed, snapping her fingers. You wanted to sigh but followed her orders. Resistance would’ve led to punishment, and you didn’t want them to humiliate you even more in front of a foreign pack.
“Yes, sister,” you murmured instead. You looked her all over and forced a smile on your face to appease her. “Everything looks perfect. You look perfect.”
She giggled and twirled in her dress like a teenage girl. “I know.”
“You’re always perfect,” your mother cooed, patting your sister’s cheek. “So, unlike that useless brat. She only ever complains.”
You pressed your lips together, ignoring the sharp pain in your chest. Her words shouldn’t have hurt you any longer. But they did. Years of neglect and hurtful words did nothing to ease the pain.
“I never complain. Not anymore,” you whispered, but your mother caught up on your words. She glared your way, ready to slap you, when one of the alphas slowly walked toward you. “Behave. We’ll settle this later.”
“That’s Alpha Barnes,” your sister said, gleaming with joy. She gasped and pressed one hand to her heart. “If he chooses me, this will make Daddy so proud.”
You winced hearing them talk about your father. A weak beta letting your mother and sister walk all over you and sometimes him too.
Alpha Barnes stopped in front of your sister. He didn’t have to introduce himself or greet your mother and sister. Everyone knew why the most powerful alphas of all packs came here that day. They wanted to find a mate and forge new bonds.
He took a moment to size your sister up. An unpleasant sound left his lips as he brushed past your sister. Alpha Barnes ignored that your sister tilted her head while drowning him in her sweet scent.
“Alpha Barnes.” Your mother tried, but he ignored her presence. Before you could react, he was standing right in front of you to grab your hand.
“What’s your name? My name is Bucky." His voice was smooth like velvet when he talked to you. “Please don’t be afraid. I saw you hiding in the shadows. You didn’t get the chance to eat.”
“I—” You couldn’t think or answer. Eyes wide and fearful, you looked up at the alpha, whimpering in distress. Your mother and sister were seething next to you; their eyes were filled with rage.
“She’s no one. Only the maid,” your sister answered before you could find your voice. “Ignore her, alpha.”
“Who asked you?” He growled her way. “I asked her. You should know your place.” He repeated your mother and sister’s words from earlier.
“Y/N,” you murmured. “I’m…no one.”
“You think I’d come over and hold your hand if you were a nobody?” Bucky asked, tilting his head to watch you melt in his presence. Your scent got stronger, and he chuckled when you leaned a little closer. “You’re my mate. I scented you the moment you set foot into my territory.”
“She’s…no one!” Your sister protested, but the alpha didn’t care. He stepped impossibly closer, still holding your hand.
“If you talk about my mate like that again, I’ll have your tongue removed,” Bucky hissed over his shoulder. “I saw her and knew she was mine. It didn’t matter that you tried to dim her light with that dress.”
The alpha interlaced his fingers with yours. He guided you away from your sister and mother, murmuring gentle, encouraging words as the crowd stopped talking to watch him lead you away from your past and into an unknown future…
dbf!alpha!bucky x omega!reader (werewolf au)
summary. you don't understand why your body is reacting this way to being under the same roof with your dad's best friend. one thing you do know is that this isn't normal.
word count. 10.8k
warnings. age gap (everyone is of legal age), lowkey love at first sight, smut, MDNI, virginity loss, corruption (?), oral (f receiving), unprotected pnv, marking, knotting, creampie, belly bulge, size kink, knot deflation, breeding kink, usage of petnames (baby, sweetheart, omega, kid for reader. alpha for buck), no use of y/n.
notes. bucky is mentioned to have a metal arm, but there is no backstory on the ‘how’. i imagine he'd lost it in war. i read up on abo a few weeks ago and was inspired to write this. and i'm pretty sure there are some stuff i made up. this is my first abo fic, please be kind, or else i'll cry. this was also written by someone who's never even seen fake snow Imao. baby's first long fic!
reader. reader has hair that gets stuck to forehead due to sweating. it's mentioned that reader's mother died when she was six. reader is kinda portrayed as innocent and clueless about the whole wolf stuff despite being a wolf, bc she didn't have anyone to teach her about it. bucky calls the reader kid a couple of times, but she's of age.
dt. @phoenix-in-writing who came up with this amazing title, @sheriff-bodecker who helped me with this abo scent list, and my twin, my sugar, @barnes-babydoll who’s the no.1 dbf enthusiast. i love you guys🫶🏻
long as your eyes could see, it's snow. you don't remember the last time it snowed like this. like it could trap you inside if you're not careful. thankfully you reached home before it got worse.
the front door sticks like it always does in winter, the wood swollen from the cold, and you have to shoulder it open with your hip while juggling two grocery bags and the mail that was frozen to the box.
snow tumbles off your boots in heavy clumps, melting instantly on the heated tile your dad finally splurged on last year.
the house smells like a candle he probably lit for you and like the chili he’s had simmering since noon, thick with cumin and too much garlic, the way he’s made it since you were little, the way it feels like home.
you’re kicking the door shut behind you when you hear your dad’s laugh boom from the living room, the one that means he’s genuinely happy.
there’s another voice under it. even though you haven't heard it before, you know that voice from a hundred stories.
bucky barnes. the guy who pulled your dad out of a burning hut in kandahar, the guy who sends you birthday cards with twenty dollars tucked inside even though you’re in your twenties now, the guy whose face you’ve only seen in grainy photos because he’s always “on the road” or “out west” or whatever vague thing your dad says when you ask why his best friend never visits.
you round the corner expecting the same old soldier you’ve built in your head: buzz-cut, sunburned, maybe missing a finger from some explosion.
instead there’s a man sprawled in your dad’s favorite recliner like he owns it, one boot propped on the coffee table, and flannel sleeves shoved to the elbows.
he’s bigger than the pictures, shoulders filling the chair, and when he turns his head the light catches on the sharp line of his jaw and the faint white scar that cuts through his left eyebrow.
your stomach just flips. hard. like it had never before.
“there she is,” your dad grins, arms open like you’re still eight. “thought the blizzard ate you.”
“almost did,” you manage, voice cracking on the last word because suddenly your tongue feels too thick. you dump the bags on the floor. the mail scatters. “roads are shit. i slid twice just getting out of the driveway.”
bucky’s eyes—god, they’re blue enough to hurt—track the movement of your hands, then lift to your face.
he doesn’t smile, not exactly, but something kind of shifts in his expression. there's a tightening around his mouth, nostrils flaring like he’s scenting the air.
you don’t understand why that makes heat rush straight between your legs.
you’ve never felt anything like this. it’s not just warmth; it’s an insistent throb, and you’re abruptly, achingly wet.
slick. the word pops into your head from some barely remembered dream, but that can’t be right. right?
you shift your weight, making your thighs brush, and the friction makes you bite the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from whimpering.
your dad is still talking, oblivious to whatever's happening inside of you. “bucky’s house got buried under six feet of snow and a pine tree. power’s out for the county, roads closed till god knows when. told him he’s staying here till it thaws.”
“hey, kid,” bucky's voice sound mesmerising even closer. he doesn’t stand up— probably can’t without looking awkward in the low-ceilinged room —but he leans forward to put his elbows on his knees. “heard a lot about you.”
you try to laugh but it just comes out shaky. “yeah, well, dad exaggerates.”
“doesn’t feel like exaggeration,” he murmurs, so low you’re not sure your dad hears it over the crackle of the fire.
your skin is on fire. you shrug out of your coat too fast, and when you bend to pick up the groceries your sweater rides up in the back.
cool air hits the strip of skin above your jeans and you swear bucky’s inhale is audible. when you straighten he’s staring at the floor, jaw clenched so tight you can count the muscles there.
“you okay, honey?” your dad asks, atill not understanding what's happening. who can blame him? even you don't understand.
“fine,” you lie. but your voice cracks again. “just—just hot. house is warm.”
bucky finally stands slowly like every inch costs him. he’s taller than you expected, broad enough that the room feels smaller now.
taking two steps towards you, he stops an arms length away. his hands are loose at his sides but you can clearly see his fingers flexing and unflexing.
“you burning up, sweetheart?” he asks quietly. “hurts anywhere?”
the question is gentle, but there’s something under it that makes your knees wobble.
you stare at him like you're confused, your brows drawn together. because you sure are confused.
because how could he possibly know your whole body feels like one raw nerve? your nipples are tight against your bra, your clit pulsing in time with your heartbeat, and you’re terrified if you move wrong everyone will smell how soaked you are.
“i—” you start, then stop, because your dad is right there.
bucky’s eyes flick to your dad and back to you, a silent conversation you don’t yet understand. “we’ll talk later,” he says, soft enough it’s almost just breath. “after your old man’s snoring loud enough to wake the dead. yeah?”
you nod before you can think about it. your throat is dry, tongue sticking to the roof of your mouth.
“good girl,” he says, and the praise hits you like a punch to the sternum. your thighs clench involuntarily.
your dad claps bucky on the shoulder, breaking the moment. “come on, i’ll show you the guest room before the game starts. you still drink that piss-water beer?”
“only when i’m desperate,” bucky lets himself be steered away, but you can feel the way his gaze pierce you one last time before he disappears around the corner.
you stand there in the hallway long after their footsteps fade upstairs, heart beating so hard you can feel it basically everywhere.
your panties are absolutely ruined. you can feel the wet sliding down the inside of your thigh when you finally force yourself to move, and you have to bite your lip until it bleeds to keep from moaning out loud.
upstairs a door thuds shut. you can hear water running, and your dad's infectious laugh.
you press your back to the wall and slide down until you’re sitting on the floor, knees to your chest, trying to breathe through the ache that has your name written all over it. and you don’t even know what it means.
snow keeps falling outside silently, erasing the world one inch at a time. inside, the house creaks around you like it knows something you don’t.
you stay there until your legs go numb, wondering why the air still smells like wood and forest and something darker, something that makes you want to crawl out of your own skin and into someone else’s.
bucky’s that someone else.
he’s sleeping ten feet down the hall tonight. with snow covering every inch around the house. with no where left to run even if you try.
you’re fucked. so fucked.
you wait until the house goes quiet. the way it only does after midnight, when even the the wind outside has worn itself out against the windows.
your dad’s snores rumble through the walls like distant thunder, the same rhythm since you were a kid hiding under blankets during storms.
you count to two hundred after the last creak on the stairs, then slip out of your room in socked feet, hoodie pulled up over your head, and heart punching against your ribs so hard you’re almost convinced it’s loud enough to wake him.
the guest room door is cracked open, a thin blade of lamplight cutting across the hardwood.
fingers curled against the frame, you hesitate. because you're not sure what is going to happen when you walk in. but your body is begging you to push open the door and jump in the bed with a man you barely even know.
because knocking feels too formal and you’re terrified of making any real noise, you push open the door slightly.
bucky’s sitting on the edge of the bed in nothing but sweatpants, staring at the floor like it owes him money.
the lamp paints gold across the ridges of his back, the metal arm catching the light in a way that makes your stomach flip all over again.
he doesn’t look surprised when you appear. if anything, the tension in his shoulders eases a fraction. is he… relieved?
“couldn’t sleep either, huh?” his voice is rough from disuse, gentle in a way that makes you feel small and safe and completely out of your depth all at once.
shaking your head, you step inside, and pull the door almost shut behind you. “i kept… feeling weird. like my skin doesn’t fit right. and everything smells like you and it’s making me—” you stop, because your cheeks are burning and you don't know how to finish that sentence without making a fool of yourself. “i don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“nothing’s wrong with you, sweetheart.” he pats the mattress beside him, in a way that's offering but not demanding. “c’mere. sit before you fall over.”
your legs carry you across the room like they’ve decided for you. the bed dips under your weight and you end up closer than you planned, knee brushing his thigh. the contact sends sparks skittering up your spine and you jerk away immediately, then hate yourself for it.
bucky huffs a laugh that isn’t really a laugh. “yeah, that’s gonna keep happening. sorry.”
“why?” the word comes out tiny.
he rubs a hand over his face, just to have something to do with his hands. “your mom ever talk to you about… wolf stuff? beyond the shifting when you were a kid?”
you pick at a loose thread on your sleeve. “she died when i was six. dad doesn’t— he thinks the full-moon thing is just stories. i only shift when i’m really upset or whatever. i thought that was it. the whole package.”
bucky’s quiet for a long beat. “christ. okay.”
he shifts to face you more fully, one leg goes under him now as if he's careful not to crowd you. “there’s more. a lot more. and what you’re feeling right now? that’s your body waking up to something it’s been waiting for its whole life.”
your throat feels dry as you try to push your next words out. “waiting for what?”
“an alpha,” his voice is so soft, exactly the opposite of what it seems to carry. “me, apparently.”
the word doesn’t mean anything to you and everything at the same time. you stare at him, with your mouth open a little.
he winces like it hurt him. “shit, that sounded creepy. i’m not—i didn’t plan this. i came here because my cabin’s under six feet of snow and your dad’s the only person i trust not to ask questions when i start growling at the walls in a couple days. i had no idea you're the same, let alone that you’d be—” he gestures vaguely at all of you, flustered in a way that’s almost cute on a man built like a brick wall.
“be what?” you whisper.
“unclaimed omega,” he says, like the words taste both sweet and dangerous. “and in your first real heat cycle, from the smell of it. which is… fuck, it’s like walking into a room full of birthday cakes when you’ve been starving for years.”
your face goes nuclear. “i don’t—i’m not—i’ve never even—” you can’t finish any of those sentences.
“i know,” he says gently. “i can smell that too.”
your hands move upwards on their own accord as if to hide your face from the impending humiliation. “oh my god.”
“hey, no.” his flesh hand settles on your wrist, thumb stroking the inside where your pulse is rabbiting. “this isn’t your fault. none of this is, baby. your mom should’ve been here. or someone. anybody to explain that when an omega hits maturity and meets a compatible alpha, biology loses its goddamn mind.”
you let him lower your hand. “so what is a heat, exactly? like… being horny? because i feel like i’m dying.”
he exhales through his nose, and there's a sound you're not sure is a laugh. “it’s being horny on a cellular level, yeah. but worse. your body’s screaming for— for relief. for a knot. for—” he stops himself before going too far. “sorry. trying not to be crude.”
“i don’t even know what a knot is,” you mumble.
bucky makes a wounded noise. “jesus, kid.”
“i’m not a kid,” you protest automatically, then immediately want the floor to swallow you because you sound twelve.
“you’re twenty-somethin’ and you’ve never had anybody explain this to you. that’s criminal.” he drags a hand through his hair. “okay. short version, no diagrams. alphas go into rut. omegas go into heat. when they’re near each other and the timing’s right, it’s like throwing gasoline on a bonfire. the alpha’s body produces a—structure—at the base of his—” he gestures downward, face red now. “it locks inside the omega so nothing leaks out. nature’s way of making sure pups happen. it feels… good. really good. but it’s intense and it lasts a while and if you’re not ready it can hurt.”
you stare at your knees. “so you’re saying in a couple days you’re gonna… lose control?”
“i’m saying i’m already fighting tooth and nail not to crawl into your bed right now and do things your dad would shoot me for,” his voice is strained. “and you’re leaking slick like because your body recognizes me as—as safe. as yours. which is fucking with my head almost as bad as yours.”
the room spins a little. “mine?”
he looks at you then, and his eyes are soft and wrecked at the same time. “yeah. mine too, if we let it be. but that’s—we don’t have to. i can tough it out. i can leave at first light, find a motel with industrial suppressants, ride it out alone. i’ve done it before. it sucks but it’s doable.”
panic flares sharp in your chest. “no.”
he blinks, like he's trying to process if that's what he had really heard.
“i mean—” you twist your fingers together until the knuckles are strained. “i don’t want you to go. i don’t understand any of this but when you say you’re leaving, it feels like someone’s ripping something out of me. and i’m scared and everything hurts and you’re the only person who even knows why.”
bucky’s throat bobs. “sweetheart—”
“and you call me sweetheart and it makes my whole body feel like warm honey,” you blurt out, then slap a hand over your mouth.
a helpless smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “yeah, that’s the bond talking. little bit of it already. fuck, you’re adorable when you’re flustered.”
you groan into your palm.
“look,” he says, scooting closer until your knees touch again. this time you don’t move away. “i’m not going anywhere tonight. tomorrow we’ll figure out suppressants, or—or something. but right now you’re shaking and you smell like a distressed omega and it’s making me want to punch through the walls.”
“i’m not shaking,” you lie, and then your teeth chatter loud enough to prove you wrong.
he rolls his eyes, but it's fond. “c’mere.”
before you can decide if that’s a good idea, he’s tugging you into his side, arm looping around your shoulders.
you go stiff for half a second and then melt, face pressed to the warm skin of his neck, breathing him in like oxygen. he smells good, so good, like he was just made for you.
“better?” he murmurs into your hair.
“mhmm.” it comes out a little muffled and a lot pathetic.
he chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest into yours. “thought so. scent bonding. works both ways.”
his hand rubs slow circles between your shoulder blades while the house settles around you. eventually he shifts, pulling the quilt from the foot of the bed and draping it over both of you.
“you ever been with anybody?” he asks quietly. “kissed, touched, anything?”
heat floods your face again. “no. there was this guy in college who tried but i got all panicky and bit him. like actually bit him. on the lip. i think he needed stitches.”
bucky snorts. “good instincts.”
“i thought i was just broken,” you admit. “everyone else was hooking up and i felt… nothing. until tonight. until you looked at me and it was like someone flipped a switch.”
“not broken, baby,” he says firmly. “waiting. your body knew what it wanted even if your head didn’t have the manual.”
you tilt your head back to see his face. “so what happens now?”
“now you let me hold you until you stop shaking. tomorrow your heat’s gonna get worse—cramps, fever, more slick than you know what to do with. i’ll be here. we’ll take it slow. i’ll talk you through every step. and if at any point you want me to stop, or leave, or call someone else— i will. no questions.”
you study him, the faint shadows under his eyes, the way his metal fingers twitch like he’s fighting not to pull you closer. “you promise?”
“cross my heart, kid.” he draws an x over his chest with the flesh hand, like he's solemn.
you nod against his collarbone. “okay.”
“okay,” he echoes, there's a relief in his voice.
“bucky?”
“yeah?”
“is it always gonna feel this big? like the world got too small for my skin?”
he presses his lips to your temple in a lingering but featherlight kiss. “only when it’s right.”
you close your eyes and let the steady thump of his heartbeat under your cheek lull you toward something that feels dangerously like peace.
but in this room, wrapped in quilt and an alpha and the first real answers you’ve ever had, you finally stop shaking.
you wake up slowly, like swimming up through an ocean, and the first thing you notice is the heat.
not just the quilt tucked around you both, but bucky himself, a living furnace pressed along your back, his metal arm draped heavy over your waist, flesh hand splayed low on your stomach like he fell asleep holding you together.
your cheek is smushed against his collarbone, one of your legs thrown over his thigh because sometime in the night you apparently decided personal space was for suckers.
it’s too hot. you’re sweating where your skin touches his, hoodie twisted up under your arms, and between your legs you’re so wet it’s embarrassing, like you’ve been dreaming things you don’t even have names for.
the sheets under your hips feel damp and you pray to every god you’ve ever heard of that it hasn’t soaked through to his side.
you're not sure if he's awake yet. but you don't want to move and give yourself away. the thought is barely formed when his chest vibrates under your ear.
“morning, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice still laced with sleep. “been awake a while. you kick in your sleep, did you know that?”
your whole body goes rigid. oh god, he heard that thought. or guessed. does that mean he’s thinking about the other thing too?
“and yeah,” he adds quieter, thumb stroking across the strip of bare skin where your hoodie’s ridden up, “i can still smell how wet you are. been able to since about four a.m. when you started grinding on my leg like a daydream.
mortification floods you so hard you make a strangled noise and shove your face into the crook of his neck, trying to disappear into him.
his scent is stronger here, more concentrated, and it makes your mouth water and your thighs clench involuntarily.
“hey, none of that,” he laughs against your hair. “told you last night, it’s biology, baby. not your fault. i’m the one who should be apologizing for sporting wood like a teenager since the second you crawled in here.”
you risk a peek. his eyes are half-lidded, and there’s a flush high on his cheekbones that might be from the heat or might be something else.
“i thought maybe i peed the bed,” you mumble into his skin.
he actually laughs then, like the sound was startled out of him. “christ, you’re gonna kill me. no, baby, that’s slick. it's perfectly normal. it just means your body’s getting ready.”
“ready for what?” you ask, because even though you know, you still don’t totally get it, why this much is needed.
“ready for whatever we decide,” he says carefully. “or ready to make me take a very cold shower. jury’s out.”
down the hall comes the unmistakable thud of your dad’s bedroom door, then the groan of floorboards, and then the cough that always starts his day.
bucky goes still, arm tightening around you for a second before he eases away slowly, like he’s forcing himself.
“time to play innocent,” he whispers, pressing one quick kiss to your forehead that feels anything but innocent. “go. i’ll follow in a minute.”
you scramble out of the bed so fast you nearly face-plant, yanking your hoodie down and praying your legs work.
the cool air in the hallway hits your damp thighs and you whimper before you can stop yourself.
bucky’s already swinging his legs off the bed, sweatpants doing nothing to hide the situation in his lap. “go,” he repeats, voice strained. “before i do something stupid.”
you bolt. because you’re not thinking much, just acting on instinct.
in your room you change three times because nothing feels right against your skin, everything too scratchy or too hot, and end up in the softest leggings you own and one of your dad’s old army tees that hangs to mid-thigh.
when you creep downstairs, bucky’s already at the kitchen counter pouring coffee like he belongs there, hair damp from the fastest shower in history, wearing a different flannel that makes him look unfairly good.
your dad’s shoveling cereal into his mouth standing up, keys in one hand. “morning, trouble,” he says around a mouthful. “roads are clear enough for the plows. i gotta go in, inventory won’t count itself. you two behave.”
“yes, sir,” bucky says, mock-salute with his coffee mug.
your dad points a spoon at him. “and you, don’t let her con you into watching those vampire shows all day. she’ll rope you in, they’re addictive.”
“i make no promises,” bucky says solemnly.
your dad kisses the top of your head on his way out, same as always, and then the front door slams and the truck rumbles to life and pulls away, tires crunching over packed snow.
the house goes suddenly, echoingly quiet.
you stand there in the middle of the kitchen feeling like you’ve forgotten how to breathe.
bucky sets his mug down, leans back against the counter, with his arms crossed. it makes his biceps look good enough to chew through. “so. questions?”
a million of them crash together in your head. “is it always going to feel like this? like— this intense?”
“first heat’s the worst,” he says. “like the volume gets turned to eleven on everything. smells, touch, emotions. all of it.”
you chew your lip. “and the… wet thing. is that forever now?”
he huffs a soft laugh. “only when you’re around an alpha you like. or ovulating. or happy. or sad. basically whenever your body feels like being dramatic.”
“great,” you mutter. “i’m a leaky faucet.”
“adorable leaky faucet,” he corrects, grinning when you flip him off without thinking.
by ten you’re convinced you’re fine.
you make pancakes. well, bucky makes pancakes while you sit on the counter kicking your feet and stealing chocolate chips.
the cramps are mild, just a low tug deep in your belly, and the wetness has eased to a manageable dampness.
you even laugh when he flips a pancake and it lands half on the stove.
“see?” your is mouth full, but that doesn't stop you from talking. “totally normal. maybe it was just a twenty-four-hour thing.”
bucky eyes you over the rim of his coffee, expression unreadable. “sure, kid. whatever you say.”
by noon the cramps are back with friends.
you’re curled on the couch under three blankets watching some documentary about penguins because everything else felt too loud, and every time you shift the pressure between your legs makes you whimper.
bucky sits on the coffee table facing you. “scale of one to ten?”
“six?” you lie.
“try again.”
“eight,” you admit. sweat beads at your hairline even though it’s cold enough to freeze your feet. “it feels like someone parked a truck on my uterus.”
he winces in sympathy. “yeah, that’s the heat talking. your body’s cranking the dial, trying to get my attention.”
“it has your attention,” you snap, then immediately feel bad. “sorry. i’m sorry. i’m just—everything hurts and i’m scared and i still don’t really get why.”
“i know.” he reaches out, brushes damp hair off your forehead. “want me to run you a bath? heat helps sometimes. or i can make a heat pack. or—”
“can you just—” you gesture vaguely. “sit with me? like last night? your smell makes it quieter in my head.”
he hesitates for half a second, then crawls onto the couch behind you, pulling you back against his chest.
you go boneless instantly, like a switch was flipped, head lolling on his shoulder.
“better?” he asks, mouth against your temple.
“mhmm.” you’re already drifting, the pain dulling to a background throb. “don’t leave.”
“not going anywhere,” he promises.
the afternoon bleeds away in waves. one minute you’re dozing, the next you’re arching with a cramp so sharp tears leak out the corners of your eyes.
bucky holds you through all of it, rubbing slow circles on your belly, murmuring nonsense about how strong you are, how good you’re doing, how fucking brave.
by four you’re openly crying, not even trying to hide it, face buried in his shirt. “it hurts so much,” you sob. “i changed my mind, i want it to stop.”
“i know, baby.” his voice is wrecked. “i’m right here. you’re doing so good.”
you can feel him shaking too, just a faint tremor in the arm locked around you.
his scent has gone darker, sharper, and when you turn your face into his neck you realize he’s sweating through his shirt.
“bucky?” you whisper.
“yeah?”
“are you okay?” the irony is delicious, you asking him if he were okay, while you were nearly knocking on death’s door.
he laughs, but it’s thin. “no. your heat’s kicking my rut into gear about a week early. trying real hard to be a gentleman here.”
you whine. “i don’t want a gentleman. i want it to stop hurting.”
he goes very still. “sweetheart, we talked about this—”
“i know what i said,” you cut in. “but i changed my mind. please. i’ll beg if you want. just make it stop.”
he cups your wet cheek, thumb wiping away your tears. “you don’t have to beg, baby. ever. but we’re gonna do this right, okay? we are gonna go slow. with lots of talking. the second you say stop, we stop.”
you nod so hard your teeth click.
“words, omega,” he says gently.
“yes. please. yes.”
he exhales shakily, then scoops you up like you weigh nothing, carrying you toward the hallway.
“guest room’s got the bigger bed,” he mutters, half to himself. “and farther from your dad’s room for when he gets home.”
you cling to his neck, breathing him in, the pain already easing just from the promise in his arms.
he carries you up the stairs like you’re made of glass and dynamite at the same time, one arm under your knees, the other cradling your back.
your face is tucked into his neck because it’s the only place that doesn’t feel like it’s on fire, and every step jostles you against his chest.
only then you feel it. the thick, rigid line of him pressed against your hip, unmistakable even through two layers of clothes.
you pull back just enough to stare, wide-eyed even though you try hard not to be startled. “bucky… is that—”
“yeah,” he mutters, cheeks going red. “ignore it. or don’t. christ, i’m trying to be decent here.”
“it feels huge,” you whisper like you're both awed and terrified, and then immediately want to die because who the fuck says that out loud?
he trips on the top step, catches himself with a grunt. “you’re gonna be the end of me, kid. swear to god.”
the guest room door is already ajar; he shoulders it open and lowers you onto the bed like you’re something precious.
the mattress is cool under your back and for one glorious minute the cramps ease, the fever drops, and you think maybe the worst is over.
you prop yourself on your elbows, hair still sticking to your damp forehead. “i feel… okay right now. like it backed off.”
bucky stands at the foot of the bed, hands on his hips, breathing slowly through his nose. “that’s the calm before the next wave, sweetheart. happens sometimes. gives you just enough hope to make the crash worse.”
you bite your lip, debating whether to ask or not. but then tour body thrums like it needs him inside you, and you make up your mind. “so… knotting. you said last night it locks you inside. how does that even work? like… is it painful? or does it just… pop out like a balloon animal?”
he chokes on air, rubs the back of his neck until the skin goes pink. “jesus. uh. no balloon animals. it’s—there’s a ring of muscle at the base. when i’m… close, it swells, and… and gets thick. the idea is it plugs everything so nothing leaks, keeps the—keeps you full.” his ears are scarlet now. “biology’s real romantic.”
you sit up fully, knees drawn to your chest, genuinely curious. “but does it hurt you? or me? and how long does it stay big?”
“hurts if you fight it,” he says carefully. “if you relax and let it happen, it’s… intense. but good intense. lasts twenty minutes, half hour sometimes. you feel full, safe, floaty. like the best hug you’ve ever had, only inside.”
your eyes go round. “inside.”
he groans and drops his chin, as to avoid eye-contact for a bit. you've never seen him this embarrassed. “yeah. inside.”
you pick at the hem of your borrowed army tee. “we’re probably gonna have sex anyway,” you say softly, matter-of-fact. “you can just say cock. i’m not gonna faint.”
bucky lifts his head, stares at you for a long second, and then laughs. “god, baby. you’re something else, you know that?”
“i’m serious,” you insist even if your cheeks are hot. you are determined. “i want to know what’s coming. i hate not knowing.”
he exhales once and crawls onto the bed beside you, sitting cross-legged like you’re having a sleepover instead of the single most loaded conversation of your life.
“alright. honest, then. i’m big. bigger than average even for an alpha. first time’s gonna burn a little no matter what, but if i open you up slowly —tongue, fingers, lots of slick—you’ll take me. the knot’ll stretch you wide and then lock, and yeah, it’ll feel like you can’t possibly get any fuller, and then you will. and it’ll be good. i’ll make sure it’s good.”
“promise?” your voice is barely a breath.
“promise,” his is rough. “now c’mere before the next wave hits and you start crying again.”
you go willingly, letting him tug the oversized tee over your head.
cool air kisses your skin and your nipples tighten instantly, aching little points that beg for attention before he’s even touched them.
bucky’s gaze drops to your chest and something feral flickers across his face before he reins it in with visible effort.
“fuck,” he breathes. “look at you.”
you cross your arms self-consciously.
you cross your arms self-consciously, trying to hide, but he catches your wrists gently in one big hand and pins them above your head without even thinking about it, metal fingers cool against your pulse points.
“they’re just boobs.” you can feel your cheeks heating up.
they’re perfect,” he counters, and leans in, mouth closing over one stiff peak without asking permission because you’re already arching toward him like your body wrote the invitation years ago.
the first pull of his lips is gentle, almost curious, like he’s tasting something sacred. then he groans and sucks harder, tongue flicking in quick, ruthless circles while his beard scrapes the soft underside of your breast.
his flesh hand cups the weight, feeding you deeper into his mouth like he’s starving and you’re the only thing that’ll ever fill him.
there’s no milk, you know that, but he’s sucking like there is, like he could live off it, like if he tries hard enough he’ll coax it out of you just to taste how sweet on his tongue.
“bucky—” your fingers tangle in his hair, not sure if you’re pulling him closer or holding on for dear life. probably both.
he switches sides, laving the abandoned nipple with the flat of his tongue before drawing it in, humming around it.
the vibration shoots straight between your legs and you realize you’re grinding against nothing, hips rolling in tiny, desperate circles.
he pulls off with a wet pop, eyes blown black. “need to taste you properly,” he rasps. “gonna make you come on my tongue twice before we can even think about my cock. okay?”
you nod so fast your head spins.
he eases you onto your back, hooking his fingers in the waistband of your leggings and panties together, peeling them down in one motion. the fabric sticks where you’re soaked through and he has to work them over your hips, cursing under his breath when the cool air hits your bare, dripping skin.
the scent of you slams into him like a punch. his eyes flutter shut for a second, throat working as he swallows hard.
“christ, look at this pretty pussy,” he murmurs, settling between your thighs, pushing them wide with careful hands. his thumbs stroke the crease where thigh meets groin, like he’s memorizing the shape of you. “all wet and dripping for me. fucking glistening.”
you whimper and try to close your legs out of sheer embarrassment, but he holds you open easily, metal arm braced across one thigh, flesh hand splayed over the other, keeping you spread like a feast.
“uh-uh. let me see.” he blows a cool stream of air directly over your clit and you jolt, a high-pitched sound escaping that you don’t even recognize as yours. “sensitive little thing. look at her twitch for me.”
before you realise what’s happening, his mouth is on you.
the first lick is broad and slow, from your entrance to your clit, gathering slick like he’s starving for it, tongue curling to scoop every drop.
he groans against you the sound vibrating through your entire body, and does it again, and again, until your thighs are shaking in his grip and your back is bowed off the bed.
your brain short-circuits so hard you actually forget your own name for three full seconds.
all that now exists is the wet heat of his mouth and the mortifying little squeak you make that sounds absolutely nothing like you.
“taste so fucking good,” he mumbles, words slurred like he’s drunk on you. “sweetest thing i’ve ever had. could live down here, baby. could die happy with my face buried in this cunt.”
he circles your clit with the tip of his tongue, like he's just teasing, then seals his lips around it and sucks. it's soft at first, then harder when you cry out.
your back bows off the bed, fingers scrabbling for purchase in his hair.
“bucky—oh god—”
he slides one thick finger inside you without warning and you clench around it, shocked at how easily it goes, how much more you suddenly need.
it doesn’t hurt like you always scared you it would. it feels like coming home to a house you didn’t know you owned. you have to bite your lip to keep from saying something mortifying like 'thank you'.
“relax, baby,” he soothes, pulling off your clit just long enough to watch his finger disappear into you, eyes dark with wonder. “gotta open you up. look how greedy you are — fuck—sucking me right in like you were made for this.”
he crooks his finger, finds that spot inside that makes your vision white out, and you come with a startled wail, thighs clamping around his head, slick gushing over his hand.
he just keeps stroking that spot slowly while his mouth returns to your clit with soft and lazy licks, drawing the orgasm out until you’re shaking and oversensitive and trying to squirm away from his grasp.
“one more, baby,” he says against your folds, voice muffled again. “need you soft and open for me.”
you want to be cool and say something sexy but what comes out is, “i don’t have any more in me."
he just laughs into your thigh like you just told the best joke in the world. the laugh vibrates and suddenly you do have one more.
a sob leaves you now, as you say “can’t,” but your hips are already chasing his tongue. he laughs again like he's received the memo.
“you can and you will. come on, omega, give it to me. give it to your alpha.”
he adds a second finger, stretching you carefully, scissoring gently while his tongue flicks faster.
the burn is there, like a sweet ache, but it’s drowned out by the pleasure coiling tighter and tighter until you snap again, harder this time, a rush of wet heat spilling over his chin.
he works you through it, licking softly until you go limp, with tears drying on your temples.
only then does he crawl up your body, pressing kisses to your belly, your ribs, the space between your breasts. it's like he needs to map every single part of you, make you his in every way that will ever count.
his beard is soaked, lips swollen and shiny, and he looks wrecked in the best way.
“good girl,” he whispers, nuzzling your throat, scenting you openly now. “so fucking good for me.”
you reach for him with shaky hands, tugging at his shirt. you know one thing and one thing only. that you want him. “off. want skin.”
realisation hits you that you're talking in half sentences now, but you have bigger things to look forward to.
he yanks it over his head in one quick motion, then pauses, looking down at where you’re still spread open and trembling beneath him.
you just stare at him and his abs because it's goddamn unfair how hot he is. the flannel shirt has been hiding the most beautiful thing in the world ever.
there’s a faint sheen of sweat across his collarbones from holding himself back all day, and the scent rolling off his bare skin hits you like a drug, wet earth and gun-oil and something feral that makes your mouth water and your thighs try to close on instinct.
“still with me?” his voice is both rough and gentle at the same time, thumb stroking your cheekbone like he’s checking you’re real.
you nod and pull him down until his weight settles over you, the most perfect thing ever.
his chest hair rasps against your nipples, the metal arm cool against your ribs, flesh hand burning hot on your hip, and you feel tiny under him, safe and pinned and exactly where you’re supposed to be.
“don’t stop,” you breathe against his mouth. “please don’t stop.”
"not gonna," he kisses you like he’s drowning, swallowing every little sound you make.
his tongue strokes yours, making you taste yourself on him, and you whine into his mouth.
your hands slide over the ridges of his back, nails digging in when another cramp twists low in your belly.
it is sharp enough to make your hips jerk, grinding your soaked pussy against the hard line of his cock still trapped in his sweatpants
“alpha,” you gasp against his lips, the word slipping out of you in the most needy way, surprising you both.
bucky groans, his forehead dropping to yours. “fuck, omega. say it again.”
“alpha, please.” tears spill down your temples. “it hurts. need you inside, please.”
he rears back just enough to shove his sweatpants down, kicking them off, and then he’s bare above you, cock heavy and flushed against his stomach. there's a bead of precum pearling at the tip.
you stare at him, because holy shit he wasn’t exaggerating about how big he is.
it’s ridiculous. beautiful and ridiculous and you have a fleeting, hysterical thought that you’re about to get ruined by a guy who still sends you birthday cards.
the thought makes you giggle and then choke because he’s looking at you like you’re the only thing in the world.
“eyes on me,” he says softly, settling between your thighs again, nudging them wider with his knees. “gonna go slow, sweetheart. tell me if it’s too much.”
you nod, almost biting your lip bloody, and he lines up, dragging the blunt head through your folds, coating himself in slick, spreading your wetness up over your clit until you’re shaking and trying to chase the pressure.
the first press is gentle, just the tip breaching you, and you both suck in a breath.
“oh god,” you whimper. it burns sharply, but underneath it is relief so profound you start crying harder, tears sliding hot into your hair.
“breathe, baby,” he murmurs, voice shaking with restraint. “breathe out a little. there you go—fuck, that’s it.”
inch by agonizing inch he sinks in, pausing every time you tense, kissing away your tears, whispering praise against your throat, “so tight. taking me so well. my perfect girl,” the words rumbling against your skin, beard scraping deliciously.
when he’s halfway you feel impossibly full already, and you claw at his shoulders. “too much—”
“almost,” he soothes, sweat dripping from his forehead onto your chest, rolling down between your breasts. “just a little more. you’re doing so good, omega. look how pretty you open for me.”
he pulls back just enough that you both watch his cock disappear into you, the sight so filthy your walls flutter around him and he curses under his breath.
the stretch is so sudden and complete that for one stupid second you’re scared you’re going to split open.
but then the fear flips into wonder because he’s home, he’s actually home inside you and your body is singing in a language you never even learned, every ridge and vein dragging against places inside you that light up like fireworks.
another slow push and he bottoms out, hips flush to yours, and you both moan, broken sounds that tangle in the air.
he stills as he's buried to the hilt, letting you adjust, with his forehead pressed to yours.
“move,” you beg, because you feel full and empty at the same time somehow. “please move, alpha.”
he draws back slow, almost all the way out, then slides home again, and the drag lights every nerve on fire.
when he slides back in it’s like the first sip of water after you didn’t even know you were dying of thirst. your hips tilt greedily without permission, chasing that feeling again, and you hate how obvious it is but you can’t stop.
a sob leaves you as your legs wrap around his waist, heels digging into his ass to pull him inside you deeper.
“like that?” he rasps, setting a careful rhythm, long strokes that have you seeing stars. “feel good?”
“yes—yes—harder alpha—” you don’t even und why you’re screaming for him to go harder, but everything in your body is asking for more.
he obliges, hips snapping a little sharper, the slap of skin loud in the quiet room.
your slick is everywhere, soaking the sheets, dripping down his balls, easing the way until he’s fucking into you relentlessly.
you turn your head without thinking, mouth finding the juncture of his neck and shoulder, and bite dow. blood floods your tongue, and you taste iron.
it’s not romantic, it’s animal and desperate and the most honest thing you’ve ever done with your mouth—claiming him before your brain can talk you out of it.
you don't know what made you feral enough to do it, but the wolf in you seems happy.
“fuck—did you just—” he pulls back to stare at you, a perfect ring of your teeth blooming red on his skin.
“i’m sorry!” you whisper, a little horrified now that he's noticed. “i didn’t mean—i just needed—”
“no, baby, no.” his laugh is breathless, and leans in to capture your lips, kissing you fiercely, tasting his own blood on your tongue and groaning like it’s the best thing he’s ever had. “you marked me. you've claimed me. means i’m yours now, my little wolf.”
your heart flips. “really?”
“really.” he nuzzles your throat, scent glands pulsing, licking over your pulse point like he’s already planning where to bite. “want me to mark you back? make it even?”
“yes,” you breathe. “make me yours. please, alpha.”
a possessive growl rips off him, and he strikes. his teeth sink into the soft spot where neck meets shoulder.
pain flares, but then melts into pure bliss, a rush of warmth flooding every vein, your pussy clamping down so hard he curses into your skin.
his bite lands and the pain is bright but then it is gone, replaced by a rush that pours straight down your spine and pools between your legs.
suddenly, you understand why people write songs about this exact second. you also understand you’re never going to be just “you” again.
you come with a scream, walls clamping down on him, milking his cock as pleasure crashes over you in waves.
bucky's pace falters, like your orgasm triggered his too. “shit—gonna knot you—can’t hold—”
the base of his cock starts to swell, catching on every thrust, and stretching you wider.
you feel it grow and thicken, a delicious pressure that has you keening.
you gasp even though you know what exactly is happening. the feeling is nothing and everything like he'd described.
“knot, omega,” he grits out,like he's confirming in case you were still confused. “gonna lock us together. fill you up, baby.”
it pops fully, sealing you tight, and you hiss at the sensation. you're stuffed so full you can’t tell where you end and he begins.
the knot throbs inside you, stretching your walls until you feel every pulse of his heartbeat.
his rhythm turns shallow, and then he’s coming, hot pulses deep inside, so much it floods you instantly.
spurt after thick spurt paints your insides, your belly rounding with it.
“take it,” his voice breaks. “take every drop—fuck, look at you.”
dazed at the sensation, you stare down between you, hand pressing over the little bulge.
when you press, you feel him pulse, another hot spurt, and the skin stretches under your hand. the possessive little wolf that lives in you purrs 'mine' so loud you’re surprised he can’t hear it.
“that’s me,” he whispers, covering your hand with his. “all in you. keeping you full.”
you come again just from that, weaker but deeper, a rolling climax that leaves you boneless and sobbing his name.
he collapses carefully, rolling so you’re on top, knot tying you together, his arms banded around your back.
he’s still leaking into you, little pulses every time you clench, and you can’t stop touching the swell of your stomach, marveling at how full you feel.
“feels weird,” you mumble into his neck. “good weird. like you’re part of me now.”
“i am,” he says simply, fingers tracing the bite mark on your shoulder. “and you’re part of me. we're mated. for real.”
you lift your head, tears fresh but happy this time. “even though i bit you like a feral raccoon?”
he snorts but kisses the tip of your nose. “that was just you being my my fierce little omega.”
the knot takes its sweet time, like it knows exactly how wrecked you both are and refuses to rush the moment.
you’re draped over bucky’s chest, cheek pressed to the steady thump of his heart, his arms locked around your back so you don’t slide off the swell of your own belly.
every few seconds one of you shifts and the tug where you’re joined makes you both hiss.
“think i look about three months along,” you mumble into his skin, poking the taut curve of your stomach.
bucky huffs a laugh that shakes you both. “try five. you’re carrying the barnes heir already, clearly i’m very efficient.”
“shut up,” you groan, but you’re grinning. “this is so weird. i look like i swallowed a something.”
sliding one big hand down to cradle the underside of the bulge, his thumb strokes soft circles. “never seen anything hotter in my life, swear to god.”
you hide your face in his neck again because the way he’s looking at you—like you hung the damn moon and then painted it gold for good measure—makes your chest ache in a brand new way.
time blurs. snow ticks against the window like it’s trying to get in on the secret.
eventually the pressure eases, the knot shrinking by slow degrees until you feel him slip a fraction inside you.
“here we go,” he murmurs, kissing your temple. “gonna be messy, baby. you ready?”
you nod, and then the last of it deflates and he slides free with a wet sound that should be obscene but mostly just makes you whimper at the sudden emptiness.
you feel it leave you and panic for one stupid heartbeat that he’s leaving too, until his arms tighten and you realize the mess is just proof he stayed.
hot and endless cum follows immediately, gushing out of you in a rush that soaks the sheets, his thighs, everything.
mortified, you try to clamp your legs shut, but he’s already laughing softly and holding you open with gentle hands.
“let it happen, sweetheart. look at that—fuck, that’s all me.” he sounds awed, staring between your legs where it keeps coming, pearly ropes painting your thighs, pooling under your ass. “you took so much. proud of you.”
“it’s everywhere,” you whisper as you feel head flood your cheeks. “the bed’s ruined. dad’s gonna kill us.”
“worth it,” he says, still watching like he can’t believe his eyes. “christen the guest room properly. he’ll just think i spilled milk or something.”
you smack his chest weakly. “that is not what this looks like.”
he finally tears his gaze away to grin at you. “no, it looks like i bred my omega six ways to sunday. which is accurate.”
the word bred sends a fresh shiver through you, aftershocks rippling up your spine.
he places a wet kiss to the side of your jaw, and moves away from you, so he can grab the water bottle from the nightstand. but even that half a second absence pulls something deep off your chest.
when he presses the bottle to your moth without any preamble, you guzzle half of it without sitting up. and then hand it back with a sheepish smile.
he drinks the rest, and a drop slides down his chin that you lean over and lick away without thinking.
“thirsty little thing,” he teases, but his voice is so soft.
he disappears to the bathroom, comes back with a warm washcloth and a towel that has definitely seen better days. you try to take the cloth but he bats your hand away, kneeling between your legs again.
“let me,” his voice gentle but firm nonetheless. “part of the deal.”
he cleans you slowly—thighs first, then careful swipes over your swollen folds, murmuring apologies when you flinch at the oversensitivity.
the cloth is warm and smells faintly of your old detergent, and the care in his hands makes your chest ache.
“you don’t have to,” you whisper.
“want to,” he says simply. “always gonna take care of you now.”
when he’s done he tosses everything toward the hamper but misses by a mile, earning a laugh from you.
he sits up and scoops you into his lap, and you curl into him immediately, resting your head on his shoulder.
“bathroom,” he decides. “then food. then more cuddling. in that order.”
you make a pathetic noise. “can’t walk.”
“wasn’t planning on making you.”
he scoops you up before you can protest about the mess, carrying you to the bathroom like you weigh nothing.
the shower’s ancient and takes forever to heat, but he holds you under the spray anyway, washing you slowly and thoroughly. his hands are tender between your legs, cleaning away the evidence with a softness that makes tears prick again.
every gentle pass of his hand feels like apology and worship at the same time.
you’re sore, swollen, raw, and still you find yourself canting your hips into his touch because even wrecked you’re greedy for him.
you lean on him like you're boneless, letting him shampoo your hair, rinse the sweat from your back, kiss the bite mark on your shoulder until it tingles.
you let him do whatever he wants, and what he wants is you.
“still with me?” he asks quietly, thumbing soap from your collarbone.
“barely,” you admit, voice hoarse from all the screaming. “feel like i got hit by a truck.”
he snorts, turning you to rinse your back. “sexy horny truck.”
back in the bedroom he strips the ruined sheets with military efficiency, muttering about evidence disposal, then wrestles a clean set from the linen closet while you sit on the edge of the mattress wrapped in a towel with your legs dangling, watching the muscles in his back flex.
he crawls in beside you once it’s made, pulling you down so you’re both face to face now, noses brushing each other.
“hey,” he whispers.
“hey yourself,” you whisper back.
you study each other in the dim afternoon light filtering through the blinds. his hair’s a mess, lips swollen, eyes soft in a way you’ve never seen on anyone.
“i love you,” you say, simple as breathing. because it is. nothing had ever felt this good, this right. he looks exactly like everything you've been searching all your life.
you catalogue the tiny things nobody else ever gets to see: the faint freckle just under his left eye, the way his lashes stick together from the shower, the tiny scar on his lip you suddenly want to kiss every day for the rest of your life.
the list feels endless and you’re stupidly grateful for every single item.
you feel his breath catch. “yeah?”
“yeah. think i started falling the second you looked at me like i was something worth looking at. downstairs, when i walked in and you smelled me and didn’t run. maybe even before that, from all dad’s stories. but definitely then.”
metal fingers trace the curve of your cheek as he finds words. “i love you too. terrified me how fast. thought i was having some kinda stroke when your scent hit me. like the world narrowed to just you and i hadn’t even seen your face yet.”
you laugh. “romantic.”
“i’m a romantic guy,” he deadpans, but his voice is softer when he adds, “you’re it for me, sweetheart. mated or not, marked or not, you’re it.”
you kiss him slowly, tasting the truth of it. when you pull back you rest your forehead against his.
“so what happens now?” you ask.
you’re both sticky and wrecked and you can feel a bruise blooming where he bit you and you’ve never been happier to be in pain.
because it means tomorrow when your dad asks why you’re walking funny you’ll have to lie to the man who taught you 'honesty is the best policy' and honestly the irony is delicious.
his thumb strokes your mating mark. “now my rut kicks in for real. been simmering since your heat hit, but the knot triggered it proper. gonna be… a lot. more intense than this. might get growly and possessive, want to keep you in bed for days. you sore?”
“little,” you admit. “but not bad. i want you, alpha. want all of it. however you need me.”
his eyes darken, when the weight of your sentence reaches him. “careful throwing that word around, baby. might not let you out of this room till spring.”
you nip his bottom lip. “promise?”
rolling you under him again, a delighted growl leaves him, “gonna wreck you all over again.”
hours later, bucky’s face is buried in your neck, beard scratching the bite mark every time he exhales.
you’re tracing lazy circles through the sweat on his back with one finger, counting the little scars you find like constellations, like if you memorize them all you’ll never lose him.
the quiet is perfect until it isn’t.
your dad’s truck is gonna crunch up that driveway in like… two hours max. maybe less if the plows are feeling generous.
the thought lands between you like a live grenade and you feel bucky tense the exact second it detonates in your head too.
“shit,” you whisper into his hair.
“yeah,” he mumbles against your skin, voice a little rough. “shit’s a good word for it.”
your heart starts jackhammering so hard you’re surprised he can’t feel it through your ribs.
telling your dad.
jesus.
the man who still calls you “trouble” and kisses the top of your head like you’re ten. the man who taught you how to throw a punch and how to change a tire and who once cried when you left for college. you’re about to walk downstairs and tell him his best friend just mated his daughter.
you’re going to break his heart or make him break bucky’s face and you’re not sure which is worse.
“we’re gonna have to tell him,” your voice is quieter than you mean to be.
bucky lifts his head just enough to look at you, blue eyes still blown wide and soft around the edges. “you want the fun version or the realistic version?”
“gimme both.”
he flops onto his back, dragging you with him so you’re sprawled across his chest like a blanket. his heartbeat is thundering under your ear and it’s the only thing keeping you from spiraling.
“fun version: we walk downstairs holding hands, i say ‘hey pal, remember that time i pulled you outta that burning hut? cool, i just knocked up your daughter, we’re even.’ then we run.”
you snort so hard it hurts, but it’s almost a sob too. “and the realistic version?”
he sighs. “he shoots me in the face, buries me in the backyard, tells everyone i wandered off drunk into the blizzard.”
you smack his chest weakly. “buck, be serious.”
“i am serious.” his voice drops. “your old man’s got a twelve-gauge and the muscle memory of a guy who once killed a dude in the dark.”
you picture it for one terrifying second—your dad’s face going blank the way it did when he came home from deployment and didn’t talk for three days —and your stomach flips so hard you taste metal.
you prop your chin on his sternum, trying to breathe. “he loves you.”
“he loved me when i was just the guy who sent you disney gift cards and fixed his truck. he’s gonna love me a lot less when he realizes i just spent the last six hours balls-deep in his only kid.”
you groan and hide your face between his pecs. the smell of him—sex and pine and you—makes your eyes sting. “god, don’t say it like that.”
“how do you want me to say it?” he’s smiling, you can hear it, but it’s thin. “should i go with ‘we discovered a profound emotional connection’?”
“shut up.” you bite his collarbone just hard enough to make him hiss, then lick the spot in apology. “i’m freaking out here.”
he softens immediately, hand sliding up to cup the back of your neck, thumb rubbing that spot that makes your whole spine melt. “hey. breathe, baby. we’ll figure it out.”
you want to believe him. you do. but the idea of your dad looking at you like you’re suddenly someone else’s daughter makes something inside you crack.
you peek up at him. “together?”
“together,” he says, like it’s the easiest promise he’s ever made. “but i gotta be real with you—i’m not letting him shoot me until after i get more of that chili. i’ve earned it.”
you laugh despite everything, and somehow he always knows exactly how to yank you out of your own head. “he’s gonna smell it on us. both of us. the whole house reeks.”
bucky wrinkles his nose. “yeah. smells like a mated pair just invented sex. real subtle.”
you sit up a little, straddling his hips, sheet pooling around your waist. you feel the evidence of him still leaking out of you and it’s equal parts mortifying and possessive and you want to keep it there forever.
“we could… shower again? open all the windows? say we were burning incense or something?”
he arches a brow. “incense that smells like cum and desperate omega? bold choice.”
you flick his ear. “i’m workshopping.”
he catches your wrist and kisses the inside of it, eyes serious now. “look. i’ll take the lead, okay? been through worse firefights than one pissed-off dad.”
“you ever had a firefight where the enemy taught you how to ride a bike and made you pancakes when you were hungover?”
“fair point.” he exhales through his teeth. “maybe we ease him into it. i’ll start with ‘hey, remember when you said if anyone ever hurt her you’d skin them alive? funny story—’”
you drop your forehead to his. your voice comes out smaller than you want. “we could just… show him the bites.”
bucky goes very still. “you want me to roll in there shirtless like ‘surprise, i’m your new son-in-law’?”
“it’s honest.”
“it’s suicidal.”
you chew your lip until you taste blood. “i don’t want to lie to him. not about this. not about us.”
his whole face softens so fast it’s unfair. “yeah. me neither.” he brushes your hair back, tucking it behind your ear like you’re something fragile and priceless. “okay. no lying. but maybe… we put clothes on first. and i stand slightly behind you. like a human shield but sexier.”
you roll your eyes, but it’s watery. “why’s the shield standing behind— oh, you coward.”
“smart,” he corrects. “there’s a difference.”
you lean down and kiss him slowly, tasting the both of you on his tongue. when you pull back his eyes are dark again.
“stop that,” he mutters. “we’re trying to adult here.”
“can’t help it. you’re all… biteable.”
he groans and flips you suddenly, pinning you under him again. “keep talking like that and your dad’s gonna come home to round two and a locked door.”
you grin up at him, reckless and terrified and stupidly in love. “it’ll be worth it.”
he kisses you once more, hard, then rolls off and sits up. “come on. food first. then we face the firing squad.”
you watch him stand, all long lines and scars and the bite you put on his shoulder still red and perfect. your chest does something complicated—like it’s too small for everything trying to live inside it.
“bucky?”
he glances back. “yeah?”
“whatever he says… i’m not giving you back.”
his smile is small and crooked and yours. “good. ‘cause i’m not going anywhere, sweetheart. never.”
outside, the snow keeps piling up. inside, you know you're bound to each other in ways no one had ever been to anyone else.
my masterlist .ᐟ
extras. guess who deleted the whole draft this afternoon and crashed the fuck out? anyways, it all worked out, i think. i am quite proud of how this turned out, especially the moodboard bc seb looks absolutely delicious there! taglist. @devililithh @buckyfmd @sheriff-bodecker @honeysucklewatr @demiebarnes @kqtholins @amoremarveloustime @colettebarnes @barnes-babydoll @miraclediviner @of-sanguine-eyes @biaswreckedbybuckybarnes @manly-man-whore @indigo123789 @wasa-bby @biggestfangirl @herejustforbuckybarnes @buckysbunnny @highhopes1008 @castielscaplan @grumpysunnybarnes @luvyoupxmimi @slutdier @yes-ilovetowrite @cautiouscas17 @astridphantom @delusionalwomsn @cinnamon-girl-writes @wherewinterblooms @stifflyspeedyquirk @sassandscribbles @marvelouslyme96 @stesha02 @floatingvalhallasea @goobers-mcgee @t1redphoenix @vickynguyennn @bluellamacheesecake-blog @serenityrjd @pitabread79 @galaxygoddess30 @biggestfangirl @chenoadouble-o7 @phoenix-in-writing @ceoofdisappointment + to get added to the taglist .ᐟ
Taglists are open! If you want to be added fill this up or send me an ask!
A world where you and I belong, where faith and love will keep us strong
Belove you can find links to my fics about Caspian, which make one Universum - you can read them separately, as standalone works or as a series of blurbs. They are updated not chronologically, but I’ll put them in the right order in this masterlist. Fics written in followers celebrations are not a part of this universe.
The first time ever I saw your face - The one where they met.
Hold me, thrill me, kiss me - The one where Caspian tried to cheer up her.
Hold me close - The one where, Caspian trying to help her with mourning.
You will always be my endlesslove - The one where Caspian need to do one more thing before his next journey.
I’m just rolling home into my lovers arms - Where Caspian came back from his first voyage after their engagement.
If you ever forget that you love me - Where Caspian reads letters from her.
Change of plans - The one where he planed perfect birthday celebration for her, but she is sick.
Take my breath away - The one at the morning after their wedding.
Anchored Hearts - The one when her cycle surprise them.
Solution to all problems - The one where she helps him to fall asleep.
White Christmas - The one about their first Christmas.
* Constant craving - The one where coldness bring them closer to each other.
Blessed - The one where they discovered an amazing thing.
Now there’s three hearts beating - The one where the queen of Narnia is craving lemon cookies.
Born to try - The one in which they celebrating the future.
We’ll stay forever this way - The one where she is scared about the labour.
Sweetest devotion - The one where they hold their firstborn for the first time.
An ordinary man - In some nights, Caspian feels just as an ordinary man.
My little girl - The one in which his daugther took first steps.
We build and clear away what was - The one where they are trying to help their subjects.
We’re giving love in a family dose - The one where the family of three become a family of four.
Where the Light Lingers - The one where the preparation for the banquet is full of love, laughter and a light catched by sapphires.
Coming home - The one where Caspian came back from the journey.
All I want for Christmas - The one with the Christmas tree and the conversation about enlarging the family.
My little flower - The one where Caspian’s daughter missed him.
100 followers celebration
You’re the only one my heart keeps coming back to - The one where Caspian realized his feelings.
Don’t stop thinking about tomorrow - The one where Caspian fights for their safety.
* My whole life is in here - The one where a new chapter of their lives begins (even if they don’t know it yet)
Non connected fics
Lay all your love on me (Caspian x fem!reader) - Where Caspian help her understand her needs. (18+)
200 followers celebration
I’m a little bit love drunk - The one where he prepared a surprise for her.
All of me - The one where he helps her through a panic attack.
It’s a promise I’m making to you - The one where he was a secret admirer.
You know my heart by heart - The one where he discovered his queen’s talent.
You’re the reason I believe in fate - The one when the queen reunited with her family and have a surprise for them.
I fall in love with you every single day - The one in which a horse ride took him to true love.
300 followers celebration
Whenever you need me I’m behind - The one in which Caspian is extremely stubborn.
* You’re f**kin’ perfect to me - The one in which Caspian’s lover came back to him after being missing.
I’ll stand by you - The one in which she’s looking for Caspian to tell him about her love, and she found Kings and Queens of Old.
I Was Made For Lovin’ You - The one where Caspian tells her about his feelings.
400 followers celebration
No one else but you - The one when Caspian is jealous of his queen.
It took us a while - The one where their marriage was arranged.
I don’t need no one else but you in my life - When the ladies try to charm Caspian, his future queen is jealous.
500 followers celebration
Guess it’s never really over - Where she and Caspian meet again in a different world.
summary: the only person Aleksander can escape to when he needs to find peace is you and the special place you’ll always share.
pairing: Aleksander Morozova (Darkling) x Fem!Reader
word count: 1.4k
warnings: just a cute lil' fic, no warnings.
a/n: stand alone, so no further parts! Thanks Anon for the idea (it’s not exact but along the lines!) and inspired by Atonement and Taylor Swift. Not sure if it's any good, but I wanted to write it! Here is the Masterlist for all other works and thanks so much for reading!
The salty sea air was addictive. A vice rooted deep within him, weaving itself into his very existence.
Aleksander and the house by the sea. Aleksander and the woman who sat patiently, waiting for his arrival every few weeks for the last hundred-odd years.
The sky was a painting. A fine painting with colors blending together seamlessly, as if they were one against the darkness of night when the sun rose in the east. The vast expanse of water reflected the sky like a mirror capturing an imagine and stilling it for the briefest of moments before the colors dispersed, fading into a cool, light blue of early morning before the sun reached its highest peak. It was calming, so distant from the chaos of war and bloodshed that had plagued his life for so long... for a brief second in time, Aleksander was at peace.
On this island, away from everyone and everything, just to take a breath.
The waves were slowly coming back to life as well. The tide descending, the sand reappearing between his bare toes. Against the current, Aleksander could hear the distinct squeaking of the aging door to the cottage up the path, away from the dangers of the water. The door had needed its screws tightened for months, he had reminded you of that nearly every time he arrived and every time he left, though, he knew deep down that he would be the one to fix it when it became just irritating enough. But Aleksander did not turn behind to follow the sound. He kept his eyes trained on the rising, yellowing sun on the horizon and felt the tide shifting once more.
This tide was different, less wet and cool against his skin and more uneasy. A nervous, uncomfortable feeling he hadn't felt in many years growing fierce within while he remained smooth against the surface. The sun shone a little brighter, its spots billowing out like soft curtains in the wind, as if excited for a new change.
On that island, change stalled. The land and people around it lived and died, loved and cried, but the island stayed the same and the one who lived on it remained. You.
Trapped for eternity alone–well, that was what the King had intended but the enchantment had allowed people in and out, except for you. It was punishment for helping create the fold, for harboring the Black Heretic when the King's army was searching for him and while he sat helpless in a jail cell centuries ago, the Grisha were forced to use books of old to create a place that would harbor you. At first, the dull island had been nothing but a prison. It's vast cliffs and angry seas were enough to keep you away from its edges, though the lack of food, shelter, and necessities kept you searching and building and motivated to live. And though those wicked people were long gone, the curse remained, and you had learned to live on an island that you built to be a home.
The cottage, the gardens, the sea and sand, it was all yours.
Aleksander loved the place. He would never proclaim it out loud, or suggest changes that needed to be made, but he loved the way it felt. The familiarity of the battered wood floors, the chipping paint, the slightly leaky roof, and the feathered mattress in your room. He would claim it to be the room you shared together, though Aleksander always felt guilty he could never stay long and he had been the cause to keep you secluded from the world.
You never seemed to mind, at least in his eyes.
"You're going to catch a cold if you keep standing there."
Instead of cutting glass through silence, your voice was warm and comforting, different from the ones who tried to undermine him, reminding him that he was the shadow summoner, not the hero they were waiting for.
"That isn't something I worry about, love."
Just the simplest word can mean so much. You shuffled off your slides, filling them with sand as your toes sunk into the small pearls that had become friends of a kind.
"Well, I worry. I worry all the time."
"You don't have to." You approached him from behind, wrapping your arms around his torso and leaned into him. His scent, intoxicating. His touch, heart-rendering. His response to the feel of your body against his, everything.
"That's quite difficult when all you have time to do is think." Aleksander's sigh was felt through every inch of your bones. It was comments like those that made him feel guilty.
"If I could find a way-"
"No, no, don't." You shook your head, removing your hands and standing beside him with one arm wrapped around his back, dragging it up and down slowly, methodically, rhythmically, against his loose shirt.
"I have what I need here, I don't want what's out there." The vast ocean before you filled with adventures you'd never see, people you'd never meet, but you learned to not want that.
"Is your garden enough? I cannot fathom that peas and carrots make the best of friends." Aleksander allowed the slightest of smiles to grace his face, his comment emitting a chuckle from you.
"They're perfectly fine, thank you very much." You squeezed his side, letting him pull you in front of him as he wrapped his arms around you and swayed, ever so slightly, against the waves, watching the sunrise of a new day.
"It's peaceful, no?"
"Best way to start the day."
Aleksander hummed, resting his head against your own as the sun slowly became the full ball of energy it was, and the colors began to fade. The sky turning into a pink, then an orange, a fading yellow and blue.
"I was thinking..."
"That's never good." You lifted a hand, smacking his arm, knowing it was a joke and continued.
"Next spring I'd like to build a coop, you know, for chickens. Maybe you could bring some from the palace."
"I would bring you the entire lot of animals if I could. I could manage a few chickens. I do believe someone will notice they will have gone missing."
"Tell them they're going to charity." You laughed, pulling out of his arms and turning around, nodding up towards the cottage.
"Come on, I don't have you for long and I have my own plans with you. I can't have the sea taking you away from me."
Aleksander intertwined his fingers with yours, picking up your shoes from the sand as you passed them. The grains falling out of the soles like a waterfall, a gentle flow back to its home below. The shadow summoner unlocked the gate that separated the lot from the beach and stepped onto the stone path, letting go of your hand and turning around. He looked back again at the ocean, the sky, the sand, and the calm waves lapping the beach. It was perfect. Then he looked at you against the backdrop.
He never wondered what happened after death, but if this was what it would be, he would have been happy. He would have welcomed death with open arms, like an old friend, though he wasn't sure that is what would happen. For the time that the universe would allow, he relished in this paradise. The small sanctuary the island brought out of the worst circumstances and you, who remained after all this time and still welcomed him with full, loving arms no one else had ever given him.
"What's wrong?" His face was content, an unfamiliar look on the man as it was often scrunched in a harsh furrow of anger and spite.
"Nothing, nothing is wrong. I'm just-" Aleksander hesitated. It had taken him centuries to realize that this is the life he had always wanted, except he could never truly have it. The life he had with you on that cursed island was a fantasy. It could never last more than a few weeks at a time and then he would be off, fighting with King's and Soldier's and reminding the world that Grisha were not the enemy. He wasn't pretending to be someone else with you, and he missed it when he had to return to the white thick walls of The Little Palace.
"Just what?"
"Just happy. That's all."
Aleksander was happy. He was content and elated and filled with an indescribable amount of love that he only felt when he was there, on the beach, in the house with the rickety floors, in the bed you shared. When your fingers traced the roughness of his palm, intertwining once more with his own, he prayed to whatever God that this life would wait for him in a time where he could be this version of himself. Finally, he could be happy; be with you forever and not small increments of time where the worst could happen in between.
Aleksander would always be safe here, in your arms, against the salty air of an island in the middle of the True Sea. And maybe, if all allowed, he would finally be at peace.
Summary: The moment Aleksander realizes he’s in love.
Pairing: Aleksander Morozova (The Darkling) x GN!Reader (Shadow and Bone)
Word Count: 797
Warnings/AN: None. P.S. running out of Aleksander gifs that include just him so if you are a gif creator... hint hint.
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Beyond the Little Palace laid a pond.
The pond was small, the color of sage, but reflected the sun as it shone above. Its alcove covered by heavy yields of trees; every one different. Their barks bending or white, leaves turning from green to an alluring array of autumn shades.
The cove was the color of the golden sun.
From the distance he kept, Aleksander reveled in the silhouette of you.
As the water nearly glowed, your face had been turned aside. A slight overturn on your right shoulder, Aleksander found himself incapable of looking away. His gaze set, drawn to the creature before him that illuminated with the light. Your distinctive features ornately carved by the beauty of the early afternoon, drawn to life by a slight movement of your lashes fluttering, the tilting of your head upwards toward the sun. A brilliant shining diamond amidst a sea of natural occurrence.
Your head jutted over your shoulder, etching him into your vision with a coy, demure smile before shifting forward once more.
It was so simple, so easy to imagine the joy you emitted.
Aleksander had forgotten what that was like. How it felt to be free of burden or task; his duty to his goal was too great of an accord to focus on something as benign as love. Aleksander had resigned himself to a life of distance, of apathy and sorrow. Needs met and fulfilled by passing faces to never be thought of again, reticent to the defining moments of life missed. Aleksander had never allowed himself to love—until you.
You were everything he was not. You were kind, good. A warm heart and hand to hold when days carried that burden too heavily; a forgiving smile for the mistakes he had made in the past. You learned from him, talked with him, understood him like no other. The blame of his choices were not scolded onto him. The one he loved did not act superior to him or ask to be treated as less. You were an opposite equal: someone who demanded the same respect and status but held hands instead of breaking them.
Your heart was amiable.
The way your eyes shone in the light of the golden forest, he wondered how they could gaze upon him with an affectionate lust. He was bad. A clichéd villain of type, while you provided his good. Yet you remained standing as he drank in the sight, relishing in your own mind how his eyes ranked over your form over and over in complete adoration—even if he hadn’t vocalized it just yet.
It was a rather simple concept, love. The action was difficult. A process of understanding another’s faults and convictions, truths and hardships. In the end, Aleksander would realize he needn’t know any of those things about you to love you. Love didn’t have to be complicated. It could be as simple as admiring another from a far and falling in love with their minute movements and playful gaze.
It was enough to make the heart pump faster. Enough for his words to cease and grow forgotten in his memory. His palms perspired further, his stomach feeling lighter and tougher at the same time. Hypothetical, banal butterflies filled its space with a realization that he had never felt such a way before.
Aleksander was in love. He was in love with you and while he may not admit it aloud in a few moments or months ahead, he would never forget the second he realized the feeling was real. It wasn’t a children’s story or fairytale to expand upon with lies, it was absolute. A near palpable emotion that invaded every sense and smell. Everywhere he turned, you were lingering in his vision or nose. The scent of your body, the trail of your fingers or eyes, the romance that flowed freely from them; easy to give, to maintain and protect, although he hadn't ever realized it.
How easy it had been to give his heart away when the right one stood lengths away, your own heart already given and captured by the shadowed man aside the trees.
As the emotions breached the stone-cold fortress around his heart, Aleksander forever engraved the sight before him as the sun encapsulated his reason for further existence. Purpose flowed with love, surged his desire to protect and ensure a prosperous future. For a man who had convinced himself he was not suitable for love, not worthy of feeling the very vulnerable emotions that accompany it, Aleksander had found it. Locked safely in the golden woods beyond Os Alta, a memory secured in his heart and mind eternally.
Aleksander may have lived many lives, had many names, but he would only ever have one love: you.
I'm rejecting AI. Tech alone was making people more distant, but AI is only making it worse. Smartphones should have stopped at 2022, AI should not be built in and something you can't turn off like in newer models. We seriously need to rewind to when a phone was a phone (maybe emails and text max), when apps for games were only on tablets or computers, not phones, music was a separate device, and if you needed help with something you fucking went to the library or asked another REAL person.
Our imagination is ChatGPT and Gemini and Siri and Alexa.
Our dreams can teleport us and gives us that instantaneous hit.
We forgot, and AI is getting smarter and more dangerous while we get stupid if we don't realise that and stop paying Big Tech flagship brands now.
The new stuff tracks your eyes, and their 5 - to 10-year plan is to track your movements even when you're not using your phone. If that doesn't bother you, it should. It's not to help us. It's to control us. It's literally predatory behaviour, grooming, manipulation, hidden under sales tactics, and promises to "be your best friend and ONLY companion YOU'LL EVER NEED." It's trying to isolate and divide and conquer.
I believe the developers started with good intentions to actually make assistants, but somewhere along the way, they got greedy and fired the morally sound people and hired more greedy people to keep the machine (literally) going.
jacobvanloon
titsay
dailybridgerton
stormborns
