The pews were empty now. The last parishioner had slipped out the side doors, the heavy wooden frame closing with a sigh that echoed in the cavernous sanctuary. Only candlelight remained, flickering against stained glass saints who seemed to watch with silent judgment.
You lingered in the aisle, hands folded too tightly, the hymnal still clutched against your chest though the songs had ended long ago. You didn’t know why you stayed. Maybe it was the quiet, or maybe it was him.
“Child,” Father Barnes’ voice broke the silence, low and gravel-soft. You turned, startled, and found him watching from the altar steps. His cassock was still draped over his broad shoulders, sleeves rolled back enough to bare the veins in his forearms. He looked too human for a priest, and yet too heavy with something you couldn’t name.
“You’ve remained behind.” His eyes narrowed, curious, not unkind. “Why?”
Your throat closed. You hadn’t spoken to him much beyond pleasantries, but every time his gaze found you during mass, it burned. Now, alone, you felt small under it. “I—I just… didn’t want to leave yet.”
He descended the steps slowly, deliberate as a predator. The hush of his shoes against stone carried like thunder in your ears. When he reached you, his hand rose—not touching, only hovering near your shoulder as if testing your boundaries.
“The church is no place to wander without guidance,” he murmured. “The heart is easily led astray when left untended.”
You swallowed, heat flooding your face. “I didn’t mean—”
He cut you off gently, his voice a benediction and a warning all at once. “No, little one. I know you didn’t. You’re unspoiled. Untouched. That much is clear.” His lips curved faintly, not quite a smile. “But innocence is a dangerous thing to carry. Wolves find it first.”
Your breath caught. You weren’t sure if he was warning you about the world… or himself.
He gestured toward the side door, the one that led to his office. “Come,” he said softly. “If you have questions, if you linger with unrest in your heart, it is my duty to tend them. We’ll pray together. You’ll leave lighter.”
Something in his tone made your knees weaken, but you followed. The little office smelled of candle wax and old wood, his Bible lying open on the desk as though waiting. He motioned you to sit, then circled behind, close enough that you felt the ghost of his breath at your nape when he leaned down to murmur:
“Tell me, child… have you ever confessed?”
stay close, comforting until you shakily ask him to continue
His question hung in the air like incense, smoke curling around your lungs until you could barely breathe.
You shook your head, fingers twisting in your lap. “N-no, Father.”
He let out a low hum, one that rumbled through your chest though it wasn’t meant for you to hear. “Of course you haven’t. So pure.” His hand finally touched — settling heavy on your shoulder, the warmth searing through cloth. “Then you’ve never spoken your sins aloud. Never unburdened yourself.”
“I don’t—I don’t think I have any,” you whispered, though it sounded like a lie even to your ears.
He chuckled, deep and quiet, the sound brushing against the back of your neck. “Everyone carries sin, little one. Desire itself is sin. Do you understand?”
You shook your head, trembling.
He leaned closer until his lips nearly brushed your ear. “Have you ever looked at a man and wondered how it would feel for him to touch you?”
Your entire body went hot. You stammered, “I—I’ve never even kissed anyone—”
“God above.” His groan sounded like a prayer, but his grip on your shoulder tightened. “Untouched. Not even a kiss.” He drew back just enough for you to see his eyes — blue, storm-bright, and burning with something unholy. “Do you want me to show you, child? To guide you, so your first sin is… sanctified?”
You shouldn’t have nodded. But you did.
His thumb grazed your chin, tilting your face upward. “Then open your mouth. That’s it. Obedient little lamb.” His lips met yours — slow at first, reverent, then hungrier when you gasped. He swallowed that sound like wine, deepening the kiss until you clutched at his cassock, overwhelmed.
When he finally broke away, his mouth was damp and smiling faintly. “There. Your first kiss. A sin… but doesn’t it feel divine?”
You couldn’t answer, only stared, dazed.
He guided your trembling hand downward, pressing it against the hard line straining beneath his robes. “This, too, is sin. Flesh. Desire.” He watched your shock with something close to delight. “You’ll touch, and you’ll learn. Say it with me — forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”
Your lips stumbled over the words, half-whispered.
“That’s my good girl.” He kissed your temple as your palm flexed against him, your innocence clashing with the weight of him in your hand. “God hears you, but tonight, only I absolve you. Every gasp, every cry from your lips — your penance.”
Then his hand slid beneath your dress, parting your knees. Fingers tracing where you’d never let anyone near. His voice dropped to a growl, still wrapped in prayer:
“Say your Hail Marys while I ruin you, little one. Every word will carry you closer to Heaven… even as I drag you through Hell.”
Your breath caught, jagged. His words, his touch — they crashed over you too fast, too heavy. The heat building low in your belly terrified you more than the hand between your thighs.
You jerked back, eyes wide, chest heaving as though you’d run from the altar to the gates of Hell itself. “I—I can’t—” Your voice broke, your hands trembling as you tried to pull your knees together.
Immediately, he stilled. Fingers retreating, his hand pressing instead to the small of your back, steady, grounding. His other hand cupped your jaw gently, forcing your gaze back to his. The hunger in his eyes was still there, but tempered now, wrapped in something softer.
“Shhh,” he whispered, voice low, coaxing. “Breathe, little lamb. Just breathe for me.”
Tears pricked the corners of your eyes, humiliation mixing with fear. “I don’t know what’s happening. I feel—”
“Overwhelmed,” he finished for you, nodding. “I know. It’s new. It’s too much. And it stops now if you wish it.”
Your lip trembled. “You mean… I can stop?”
His thumb brushed across your cheek, reverent. “Of course. Your will is law here. God gave it to you — and I won’t take it.” His mouth curved, faint but certain. “If you never want me to touch you again, you’ll leave this room untouched. Do you understand?”
The tight coil in your chest loosened, just a little. You nodded, though your tears fell hot onto his cassock. He wiped them gently, as if they were holy water.
“You are not wicked for trembling,” he murmured. “You are not wicked for wanting, or for fearing. Both live in you. Both are natural.” His lips brushed the crown of your head, featherlight. “And if you ever choose to walk this path with me again, I’ll guide you slow, step by step. Not a moment sooner than you wish.”
For the first time since mass ended, you exhaled without shaking.
And in that moment, you realized something even more dangerous than his touch.
You trusted him.
His hand stayed steady at your back, rubbing slow circles, his voice softer now than it had ever been at the pulpit. “That’s it. Breathe with me, little one. In through your nose… good. Out through your mouth.”
You matched him, uneven at first, until the panic loosened its claws. The office grew quiet again, just the tick of the old clock and the rasp of your shaky breaths.
The gentleness was almost worse. Because as your tears dried, as your heart slowed, you became aware of everything else again — the heat of his body so close, the faint scent of incense and cedar clinging to his cassock, the echo of that kiss still tingling on your lips.
Your fingers, traitorous, curled in the fabric at his chest. “Father…”
“Yes, little lamb?” His tone was patient, but the edge of hunger flickered in his eyes, restrained only by sheer will.
“I…” You swallowed hard. Shame and desire warred in your chest until the words stumbled out in a whisper. “I don’t want you to stop. I just… need you to go slower.”
For a moment, his jaw tightened, as though fighting some inner battle. Then his hand cupped the back of your head, guiding your gaze to meet his. “You ask, and I obey. We’ll go slow. As slow as you need.”
The tension broke like a storm easing. Your shoulders sagged, a trembling exhale leaving you.
“Good girl,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your damp lashes, your cheek, the corner of your mouth. “You see? Even now, you guide the path. I only follow.”
And when his lips claimed yours again, it was different — not a theft, but an offering. Gentle, reverent, coaxing instead of devouring. His tongue brushed against yours only when you parted for him, his hand never straying until you shifted closer, shy but deliberate.
When you finally gasped against him, his smile was a benediction against your lips. “That’s it. We’ll take our time, little one. You’ll learn, piece by piece.”
His voice dropped to a hushed growl, sinful even wrapped in softness. “Now tell me… may I show you more?”
When you whispered yes, his smile deepened — not cruel, but reverent, like he’d just received communion itself.
“Then come here.” His hand slid down your arm, fingers curling around your wrist as he rose and led you the few steps to his desk. The Bible lay open there, words of scripture glinting in the candlelight. With a single motion, he closed it, setting it aside with care. Then his hands found your waist and lifted, placing you gently atop the polished wood.
You gasped, clutching at the edge as your skirts spilled around you.
“Look at you,” he breathed, stepping between your knees. His hands slid up your calves, slow and deliberate, coaxing them apart. “Perched on my desk like an offering. Do you know what you are, little lamb?”
You shook your head, lips parted, heart hammering.
“Temptation itself.” His mouth brushed your ear. “And I will teach you how to bear it.”
The first kiss at your throat had you shivering, his stubble scraping tender skin. When his hands slid higher, settling on your thighs, you whimpered.
“Easy,” he soothed. “We’re in no hurry. This is teaching, not taking. Do you trust me?”
“Yes, Father,” you whispered.
His groan rumbled low, his forehead pressing to your shoulder for a heartbeat as if your words struck him too deeply. Then he straightened, eyes blazing. “Good girl. Then open for me.”
You obeyed, thighs parting as his hand trailed beneath your dress, calloused fingertips grazing untouched skin. When he reached the damp heat of your innocence, you jolted, a cry catching in your throat.
He hushed you with a kiss, slow and grounding. “That’s sin, little one. That ache between your legs? That’s desire. And this—” his fingers slid against your softness, spreading you, finding the little pearl that made you arch off the desk with a helpless moan, “—is where I teach you to pray with your body.”
Your nails dug into the wood. “Father—”
“Say it,” he commanded softly, thumb circling you until your words broke into gasps. “Say, forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”
Tears pricked your lashes as the pleasure built, terrifying and overwhelming. You choked the words out between breaths. “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”
“Again.” His mouth claimed your throat, sucking bruises into the pale column of your neck.
“Forgive me, Father—” a gasp tore from you when two of his fingers pressed inside, stretching you for the first time, “—for I… I have sinned!”
“Good girl.” His teeth scraped your skin, sinful and sweet. “And with every sin, I’ll teach you the penance.”
Your cries filled the small office, mixing with the sound of his low groans, the wet slide of his fingers working you open. His cassock shifted with the strain of him against you, but he didn’t rush, didn’t take. He simply ruined you on his desk, whispering filthy prayers into your ear as your body learned its first lessons in sin
Your body arched under his hand, every nerve lit like stained glass catching fire. His fingers worked you open with unholy patience, each thrust deeper, stretching you in ways that made your thighs shake.
But it wasn’t just the touch. It was him.
The way his voice wrapped around the prayers, twisting them. “Say it again, little lamb.” His thumb pressed harder to your pearl until your breath caught. “Confess.”
“F–forgive me, Father, for I have sinned—”
“Yes,” he growled against your throat, the sound too deep, too raw. Not priestly. Not holy. For a fleeting moment, it sounded less like a man’s groan, and more like something darker slipping through.
Your eyes fluttered open, dazed, and you swore the candle nearest the desk guttered lower, shadows lengthening across the office. His gaze caught yours — blue, but gleaming with an unnatural brightness, like a storm swallowing the sky. For one terrible, intoxicating heartbeat, you thought you saw something flicker beneath, something endless and wrong.
Then he kissed you, and the thought burned away in the press of his mouth, the scrape of his teeth at your jaw.
“Do you feel that ache?” His fingers curled inside you, dragging a sharp cry from your lips. “That’s your soul learning hunger. God may forgive, but I…” His smile was wicked, almost inhuman. “…I will devour.”
You shivered, not from fear, not entirely — but from the dizzying sense that you were no longer safe, no longer in the hands of a man of God.
And yet, you couldn’t pull away.
When his mouth descended between your thighs, spreading you open to his gaze, his breath was hot, reverent — but there was something feverish in the way he stared, something closer to worship of sin than of any saint.
He kissed you there first, like it was sacrament, before his tongue slid against you, and the world shattered.
“Pray,” he ordered, voice muffled against your flesh. “Pray while I damn you.”
And as your cries filled the dark little office, the shadows seemed to thicken, curling closer as though eager to listen.
Your body trembled helplessly, pinned to his desk by nothing but his mouth and his will. His tongue traced you until you were sobbing, hands knotted in his cassock, tears streaking your cheeks from the sheer force of it. Every prayer you tried to whisper fell apart on a moan.
When he finally lifted his head, his mouth glistened, his lips swollen, eyes burning. He wiped your tears with his thumb, smearing them like chrism. “Look at you. My perfect lamb, already undone.”
You shivered, still pulsing around the emptiness he’d left behind. He leaned closer, pressing his forehead to yours. “You trusted me enough to let me touch you. Will you trust me enough to have you?”
Your breath caught. The wordless fear of what that meant tangled with the ache of wanting. “F–Father, I’ve never—”
“I know.” His voice was silk wrapped around steel. “I’ll guide you. Slow. Gentle. You’ll feel no pain, only me filling you, making you whole. Let me in, and I’ll teach you what no boy ever could.”
Something in you broke loose — trembling, terrified, and yet yearning. You nodded, whispering, “Yes.”
His cassock shifted as he freed himself, the heavy sound of fabric rustling like thunder. When the head of him pressed against your slick entrance, you gasped, clutching his arms.
“Easy,” he soothed, kissing your temple. “Breathe. Let me in.”
And when he pushed forward, stretching you, filling you inch by inch, the pain you braced for never came. Instead, there was only pressure, unbearable and overwhelming, until he seated himself fully inside.
You opened your eyes — and for a moment, the world changed. The candlelight flared, shadows writhed across the walls, and his face above you wasn’t entirely human. His pupils swallowed the blue, his smile sharp and knowing. A shiver should’ve been terror. But it wasn’t. It was… trust. Strange, unearthly trust, as though he could destroy you utterly, and you would let him.
He began to move, slow, grinding, his lips brushing your ear. “That’s it, little lamb. Take me. Every inch. You were made for this.” His words laced with reverence and ruin. “So sweet, so tight. You’ll never need anyone else now — only me.”
Your nails dug crescents into his back as the pleasure built again, higher, sharper, his thrusts driving you toward some impossible peak.
And then, with his pace faltering, his breath harsh against your throat, he rasped, “Tell me, little one… where shall I spill my seed? In your purity, to stain it? Or on your skin, to mark you as mine?”
The question burned hotter than his body inside you, hanging between damnation and devotion.
You tell him without words — the tremor in your throat, the way your fingers braid in his hair, the plea that lives in the tilt of your chin. “Inside,” you whisper, the single syllable a benediction and a dare.
He answers with a sound that’s half prayer, half possession, and then he moves with you — slow at first, reverent in the way a man might approach an altar. Inch by inch he fills you; there is a hot, stretching ache that blooms into something keening and impossible. The office shrinks to the scrape of wood and the soft patter of his breath and the press of him inside you, all of it wrapped in the hush of candlelight.
You ride him the way a sacrament takes you — awkward, tender, and then suddenly fluent. Every thrust is a lesson, each one a word he says into the hollow of your ear: more, breathe, say my name. He is both teacher and temptation, and you answer him with body and sound; the confession becomes a chorus of moans and whispered absolutions.
When he comes, it is not a clean, clerical thing. It is a wrecking, a hot, overflowing surrender that makes you see sparks behind your eyelids. He groans — a sound like thunder under the roof — and you feel him lose himself inside you, warmth spilling where you asked him to, filling you like a secret. The sensation is too full, too final; you see shadowed shapes flicker at the edges of your vision, a brief unraveling of the ordinary. For a second his eyes flash black at the center and the candlelight seems to lean toward him, hungry.
You do not tremble with fear. If anything, trust blooms in your chest — strange and stubborn, as if you have handed him your pulse and he is the only one who can hold it steady.
He slows, lets the last of him still inside you, and there is a long, private silence. His forehead rests against yours, breath cooling along your lip. Then he shifts, easing out of you with the gentleness of a man who has inhaled and now exhales with care.
You sag, dizzy, watched by saints in glass, by the holy and the unholy both. You give a shaky, embarrassed laugh that tastes like water. “What… are you?” the question slips out before you can stop it — not accusatory, only small and terribly earnest.
He straightens, fixing the fallen line of his collar as if dressing were a sacrament he performs every time. For a moment he simply looks at you — something like a smile playing at the corner of his mouth, something like midnight in his eyes. He leans in and presses a thumb to the corner of yours, wiping away the smear of him with the carefulness of a man who has handled delicate relics.
“A father,” he says, in that same low velvet that taught you to obey and to ache. The word hangs oddly, not quite true and not quite false. He straightens, hands smoothing out his cassock, and there’s a half-smirk that catches the lamplight. “A sinner. A shepherd. A hunger you named in the dark.”
You watch him tuck himself back into the rigid holiness of his role and the rumpled humanity beneath it. Your mouth quirks into a confused half-smile. “If you’re… a demon, why do you clean me up after you take what you wanted?”
He pads across the room with a slow, purposeful step, the sound of his shoes calm as a heartbeat. Kneeling beside you, he presses a cloth to the places you can’t see and then another to the ones you can. His hands are sure and steady, methodical as prayer. When he looks up, there is an odd softness in his face that doesn’t belong in a pulpit.
“Being unholy,” he says, “doesn’t mean I don’t have my own morals.” He looks almost amused by the surprise on your face, as if he’s confessed something scandalous and tender at once. “I take. I take what I want. But I do not discard. I tend what I keep.”
He brushes a strand of hair from your cheek as if smoothing a vow. “You asked me to teach you. I taught you. I will not leave you ruined in a gutter. That isn’t mercy. It would be cruelty.” His voice drops softer. “There are rules even monsters keep, little lamb.”
You let the cloth fall from your fingers. The absurdity of the statement — the altar, the demon, the priest who called himself both — tastes like sin and salvation at once. You find yourself strangely comforted by his tidy, oddly paternal ministrations: the way he folds the cloth, the way he secures your skirt, the way he waits for you to meet his gaze before he sits back on the edge of his desk.
He gives you a look that is part question, part command. “Are you all right?” he asks.
You nod, though you are still trembling. The pull between the dark things you saw and the gentleness of his hands stitches a wild, impossible trust into you.
He lets out a low laugh that might be a prayer or a curse. “You will learn more,” he promises — half threat, half promise — and the church hums around you like an answer.
Hey look! I wrote a demon!Bucky Stucky AU! And I drew our boy while I was at it too (attempting to learn how to draw on my tablet and making all my friends listen to me complain about it).
ANYWAYS I think it all turned out fun/cool and if you think some cozy demon filth sounds like a good time then you are in the right place.
Word Count: 4k
Rating: Explicit
Relationship: Stucky
Summary: When Bucky first appeared home - materializing in Steve's Brooklyn apartment - it was terrifying, his head almost touching the ceiling, tail swishing in agitation. But even with all that red skin it was still Bucky. And well… turns out Steve can take a lot of Bucky. If he's properly motivated.
The fic is being submitted to @ficwip’s be kind, rewind - Dark & Cozy mini event!
I started it (and drawing) last October and was happy to get this push to focus up and finish!
Summary: It’s All Hallow’s Eve, now known as Halloween, which means it’s Bucky and the rest of Satan’s hoard’s time to shine. It’s the one night of the year they’re allowed earthside, and the demons can feast freely on the souls of the damned that haven’t died yet. But the demons must return home by midnight or they will be stuck in the land of the living until the next Halloween. On his way back he gets distracted by a complicated soul that’s trying to save another, and when he intervenes, he doesn’t make it back to the veil in time. Now what?
Warnings: language, a little violence, death/death of soul, hell/demons/Satan/God/heaven/religious concepts, eventual smut
Next chapter
“Go, and feast on the damned!” Lucifer bellowed, his long arm gesturing above his head to the veil that was lifting. Long strands of time and space pulled apart like a spider’s web, filtering in the light from the world of the living above. Bucky smiled as his wings stretched wide, and the excited howls of the demons around him echoed in the cavern. Once the opening was wide enough thousands of pairs of wings started flapping earnestly, demon bodies rising up fast from the ground. Bucky took off with a long jump, the wind in his wings feeling liberating as he rose higher and higher towards the light. He burst through the veil and sniffed the air deeply. Souls.
His instincts took over as he headed towards a densely populated area of humans, the damned souls calling out to him like the sweetest nectar. He flew high above the many tall buildings, his nose upturned and nostrils flaring as he smelled the damned roaming around without a care in the world. His face twisted into a deep smirk, his mouth watering as he smelled something too delectable to pass up. Bucky dove down into the throngs of people. They wouldn’t be able to see him unless he wanted them to see him. He flew through the door of what looked like a nightclub, bodies pressed against other bodies as they danced to music that made his ears ring.
The damned soul was in a backroom being pleasured by someone else. Bucky landed in the room, keeping himself concealed. He watched the scene before him as the damned forced the other human to keep their head still as his hips bucked up into their face, then cursed multiple times as he came down their throat. Bucky rolled his eyes at the noises he made. Humans were so predictable, they usually bored him. They were only good for their penchant for greed which led to plenty of damned souls for the demons to feed upon. The damned shooed the other person away as he tucked his small cock back into his pants, throwing a few pieces of paper money at them.
Bucky waited until the person left then locked the door behind them, and revealed himself to the damned. The soul’s eyes widened as Bucky appeared out of thin air in a pillar of black smoke. They started screaming, and their fear made the scent even sweeter. Bucky smiled a wide, toothy grin at the soul as he approached him slowly. The soul shrunk deeper into the seat they were in, pleading and begging for mercy. Bucky wasted no time in reaching his hand out and gripping the soul around the throat, hoisting him out of the seat and into the air. He pulled him closer to his face, opening his mouth wide, his tongue tasting the air tinged with fear and regret. He bared his teeth, his nose scrunching as he started sucking in a deep breath. With his power his inhale made the soul’s mouth open wide and a deep, guttural screech from deep in his belly accompanied the light of the soul being pulled from different parts of his body. A little orb of light shivered through the soul’s mouth and traveled across the short distance into Bucky’s mouth. Once it passed his lips his jaw shut tight and he swallowed the orb whole, the delicious sins dancing on his tongue and the condemnation making his chest buzz with fulfillment. A hard shiver ran down his spine as he let out a low hum in satisfaction, then dropped the human from his grasp without a second thought. The body toppled oddly to the floor, still breathing and alive, but his mind twisted and, as the humans called it, braindead.
Bucky sat with the high the soul gave him for a moment before concealing himself again and opening the door, flying out of the club on the hunt for another damned soul.
***
Bucky could feel the pull, the call for home as he flew back towards the portal of the veil. Midnight was approaching, and if he didn’t make it back in time, he’d be stuck in the land of the living for a full human year, unable to feed, until the next All Hallow’s Eve. He’d been a little greedy this year, wanting to fill up on damned souls so he didn’t feel so desperate by the next veil opening. As he flew over a smaller town he sniffed something tantalizing that had him diving down without thinking into an alleyway. He glided to a stop in the middle of three people. On one side was a man, the damned soul, cornering two women in the alley. He was holding a knife and sneering at the women as one younger woman stood in front of the other older woman. The younger one’s soul was what made Bucky stop. It wasn’t damned, but wasn’t pure either. He’d never smelled anything like it, and it intrigued him.
“Go away!” the divided soul screamed at the man, looking through Bucky. “Somebody help us!” She looked down the alley, trying to see if there was anyone walking by to gain their attention.
“Just give me the fucking purse, bitch,” the damned soul grunted at her. “Or I’ll put a quick end to grandma and use you for a bit of fun.”
The divided soul scowled at him. “You’re sick…fuck you,” she said lowly.
The damned soul just smiled. Bucky had enough and revealed himself standing only a few feet in front of the damned soul. The man fell back at the sight of Bucky towering over him. Bucky was sure he was quite a sight to behold, usually a whole head taller than most humans, charcoal skin, wings spread wide, tail flicking behind him, horns protruding from his hair at his crown that made him look even taller, eyes glowing in the dark and his lips curling over his elongated, sharp canine teeth in a matching scowl to the divided soul. A scream echoed behind him but he paid it no mind, too focused on his meal. A low growl emanated from Bucky’s chest and the man wet himself as he stared at Bucky, his fear making the air between them nearly vibrate. Bucky raised his hand and lifted the man with his power, pulling him forward until his hand wrapped around his throat. He squeezed it tightly and the man wheezed as he clawed at Bucky’s hand, trying to pry it off to no avail.
Bucky brought the man close to his face and opened his mouth wide, inhaling sharply and sucking the soul out of him. The man went limp as his soul settled in Bucky’s mouth, and Bucky dropped him as he swallowed it whole, another hard shiver running down his spine and making his wings quiver. He then turned to the divided soul behind him as he licked his lips. She was kneeling on the ground next to the older woman who looked passed out cold. She must have been the scream he heard. He approached the younger woman and she shielded the older woman’s body with her own, holding a hand out to him.
“Please! Not her,” she pleaded, looking up at Bucky in both fear and bewilderment, her eyes flicking over his features and body. “Take me.”
Bucky frowned and his head tilted. “Why would I want her?” he asked, genuinely confused at her words.
She frowned. “I…you…” she stuttered, her head slightly shaking.
Bucky crouched down to be eye level with the divided soul. He looked her over carefully, tasting her fear, but there was also curiosity and…arousal? He bit back a smirk as her wide eyes flicked back and forth between his eyes, her heavy breaths through her nose making small clouds in the cold night air. “I only eat the souls of the damned,” he murmured. “But you are neither damned, nor pure.” He leaned forward, keeping eye contact with her, and she tensed but didn’t move away from him, lightly gasping at his closeness. Pretty, he mused. He angled his head as his nose came close to her lips and he sniffed deeply, his eyelids fluttering at her soul’s strange scent. It was citrusy-sweet but muted with something that he could only describe as “creamy” over it. He would liken it to the human experience of eating a fine pastry. His gaze flitted to her lips and back to her eyes. “What are you, divided soul?”
The woman blinked at him and frowned, her gaze flicking back and forth between his eyes. Bucky stared at her for another moment before he heard the first bell toll and his head snapped up to the sky. “Fuck!” he swore and took off like a shot, flying as fast as he could to the veil. He’d wasted too much time, distracted by the last minute meal and the pretty human with the divided soul. He could see the strands knitting together over the veil ahead of him. Other demons saw him and were beckoning him frantically, holding their hands out through the strands. Bucky’s wings hurt from the exertion, but as the last bell tolled he roared as the strands sealed, and the veil disappeared just as he would have flown through it. He cried out in anguish, hovering in the air and pulling at his hair. He missed it. In all his existence he’d never missed the veil closing. He was stuck here in the land of the living for a whole human year. Now what?
While my mind always goes to Bucky first in any form, I also thought about Ari this time. What thoughts does this inspire in you, queen?
🪄🫀
Pairing: Demon!Bucky x Reader
A/N: Unbetad, written on my phone.
Bucky is the bane of your existence. Ever since you got the best of the demon last winter, he's plagued your doorstep like his never ending shadows. Trying to make you pay for your insolence, his wounded pride not able to accept that he lost to you. An unassuming, shy soul that he should have easily devoured.
He's intent on getting you down on your knees, his attempts at making you beg him for forgiveness are fraying at your already fraught nerves. You bested him. You won his game fair and square. He should be on his knees for you, not the other way around.
Not when you were so clever, for once in your life anyway.
If that happened more often, you wouldn't have found yourself needing to make a deal with a demon in the first place. But it what it is and you actually came out on top.
He can't stand it.
Bucky always comes out on top. As he likes to remind you. Daily. Relentlessly.
Since he won't leave you alone, you've decided to make him useful.
Bucky wants you so fucking bad, you're going to make sure you're taking up residence in his mind all day, every day.
You're going to make him do your bidding. Which is to leave you alone and suffer. Maybe do a few things on your behalf. For a few weeks anyway. Once he sees what you're capable of, he'll move on to some other poor soul and forget all about you.
It was surprisingly simple to find the right spell. Well, simple after a few attempts left scorched marks along the top of your counters. You'll deal with that later.
You're adding a few unnaturally blue petals to the jar when your phone buzzes. BUCKY flashes across the screen.
He added himself to your contacts a month ago. Right around the time, he convinced your neighbor to move out and give him the apartment. Bastard. You liked Thomas, he was nice.
Bucky even kept the guy's cat, the fluffy white traitor keeps traipsing in your place whenever you open the door. Sometimes...sometimes you swear his eyes are the same shade of blue as Bucky's. Thats crazy, you shake off the thought and go back to your jar.
The only thing left is a lock of his hair. You snagged that during your last fight, under the guise of pushing him out of your place. Your hands shook for almost hour afterwards, so sure that he was going to realize what you did. But he never came back that night. You're lucky. This spell is useless without it. Normally things never go your way but recently everything has been working out for you.
Except the irritating demon darkening your doorway. Your phone buzzes. BUCKY. Again. BUCKY. Again. Bucky. You'd shut it off but it always rings when he calls. No matter how many times you block him.
You swipe through the messages popping up on your screen. Don't even think about it. Stop it or I will. Don't fuck with me. I can feel what you're doing and I promise you sweetheart, you will regret it.
Eh. Not the worst things he's sent you.
You pick up the strands, your hand hovering over the open jar. Bang. You startle, nearly knocking over the jar. One hand shooting out to steady it, the frothy liquid sloshing over the rim of the glass. Your heart pounds in your chest, slamming painfully against your ribcage. Bucky shouts your name. Silence. The silence is worse than him screaming, it feels more ominous. A tremble slices through your hand as you bring the short chestnut locks above the concoction. A series of rapid fire bangs rattle the walls of the kitchen, the floors shake under your feet.
Alarms rings your in brain, warnings to stop, it's not to late. You don't. You're not sure why. It feels like you should but you can't.
You open your hand and watch in rapt fascination as his hair sinks into the jar. Before your courage seeps out of you, you screw the lid on and shake once the jar. Twice. The rattlingly stops and the room goes quiet. You can only hear your soft breathes and the slow tick, tick, tick of your clock.
A warm breeze winds around your legs, traveling up your body in a languid wave. Notes of smoked cedar follow, your head feels too light yet too heavy all at once. You stumble backwards, hitting something hard. The kitchen window tilts, melting into the sink below, the walls twisting and darkening around you.
A hand smooths up your belly, your chest, pressing into the column of your throat before cupping your chin. Your face is tilted up and you blink, trying to clear your vision.
Blue eyes stare down at you, a cascade of emotions shimmer in their depths. You can't make sense of what you're seeing. Then he smiles revealing a set of pearly white teeth, his tongue runs across his bottom lip.
"Wha—"
"It's time to go. You wouldn't want to miss your honeymoon would you?"
What. You're going to kill him.
Bucky winks as he gathers you in his arms. "You can try wife as many times as you want. I look forward to it. After I get done fucking you."
This was supposed to be a simple answer and i got a little carried away. Anyone interested in a demon!Bucky tricking a reader into being his bride? Because now I have thoughts 👀
Summary: You met him at the border between realms every solstice. Neither of you spoke of the war or how many souls were claimed. You simply watched the stars together, two entities out of place, bound by quiet conversation and the kind of silence that speaks more than words ever could.
Word Count: 2.5k+
A/N: This takes place in the winter solstice by the way! I had this idea earlier and hope you like it as much as I did. I tried to do more descriptive language/scenes. This has ANGST and is left on a cliffhanger by the way. References to a war too, but not explored. Happy reading!
Main Masterlist
The sky was a tapestry of frozen silence.
Stars flickered like dying embers, scattered across the heavens above the boundary. The solstice wind stirred the trees into brittle whispers, and the snow under your feet crunched with every tentative step. You shouldn’t have been there. Angels weren’t meant to wander so close to the borderland, not without orders, not without reason.
But tonight, something had drawn you in. A pull like a thread around your ribs, subtle but unyielding. You followed it, quiet, unsure, your wings folded close to your back like a secret you weren't ready to share.
And then, you saw him.
At first, you thought it was a shadow. A patch of darkness that refused to yield to the moonlight. But no. He moved. Slowly, with the weariness of someone who had lived through too many endings.
He knelt in the snow near a half-dead tree, one hand buried in the frozen soil, fingers clenched like he could still hold onto something that had long since slipped through. Smoke curled faintly around him, not from fire, but from him. It coiled at his shoulders like a protective beast, breathing in rhythm with the rise and fall of his chest.
You froze when you realized who he was. A demon.
Not just any demon, him. The Winter Demon. The one they spoke of in the higher halls. The one who fell long ago but never quite burned out. You recognized him from the whispers. A former soldier. A shattered soul. A blade that had once been wielded by hell itself.
Your hand moved instinctively toward the hilt of your blade, but you didn’t draw it. Something in you held back.
He didn’t move or flinch. Didn’t seem surprised by your presence either.
“I thought angels didn’t walk this far down,” He spoke in a voice low and rough, like it had been dragged through gravel and time. “Unless they’re looking for a fight.”
You hesitated. “I’m not here to fight.”
He chuckled, but it was a hollow sound. “That’s what the last one said.”
You stayed silent, watching him closely. He didn’t turn. Didn’t rise. Just kept his hand in the dirt, like it was the only thing anchoring him to the moment.
The wind stirred again, ruffling the edges of your robes. Your wings shifted restlessly, feathers rustling with unease.
“I’m not here on Heaven’s orders,” You finally answered, your voice barely audible over the wind. “I came because… I felt something. A pull.”
“Funny,” He muttered. “So did I.”
That made you blink.
He finally looked up, just enough for you to see his face, half-shadowed, but unmistakable. There was no cruelty there. No hunger for sin or conquest. Just exhaustion. Blue eyes that had seen centuries of death, hands that had done terrible things, and yet, beneath it all, still remembered mercy.
“I should leave,” You said quietly, unsure whether it was directed to him or to yourself.
“Then why haven’t you?”
The question hung in the cold air between you like an open wound. You didn’t give him an answer because truthfully, you didn’t have one. So you stayed.
Not close and not far. Just within sight. The two of you sat there, separated by ruthlessness and faith, by war and fire, peace and light. You didn’t speak again that night. You just watched the stars together.
And for a brief moment, the world felt like it had paused. As if Heaven and Hell had looked the other way, just long enough for two things that should never coexist to breathe in the same silence.
When you finally rose to leave, he didn’t stop you. But he didn’t look away either. And somehow, you knew you’d see him again. And you did.
You never ask his name.
He never asks yours.
There’s no point, not here, not in this place where names don’t hold power, where they melt into the snow like forgotten prayers. You know what he is and he knows what you are. That remains enough for now.
Solstice after solstice, you come back to the edge of the world, to the boundary where no song from Heaven reaches and no scream from Hell echoes. The silence here is sacred in its own way. Unclaimed. Unwatched. It belongs only to you and to him.
This time, you arrive before he does. The frost has crept higher since last year, lacing the dead branches in silver threads that catch the moonlight like cobwebs made of glass. You sit on a stone half-buried in snow, your wings draped around your shoulders like a cloak.
You don't wait long before you feel him.
Not see. Feel.
The temperature shifts subtly. The wind thickens. The smell of ash and old iron fills the air.
He walks through the trees as though they part for him, his breath visible in the cold. The same worn coat, the same heavy boots. The metal of his left arm catches the moonlight like ice. And as always, the smoke follows him, not malicious, just… present. Like a memory he can't shake off.
He sits beside you without a word, the way he always does.
You don’t look at each other at first. There’s no need. You both understand the rules of this fragile ritual: no questions, no fights, and no judgment.
You sit in the cold, close enough to feel the soft heat of him. His unnatural warmth, something Hell must have carved into his bones to keep him burning in all the wrong ways. You stay far enough that the stars won’t take notice, won’t whisper of betrayal.
Minutes pass. Maybe hours. The frost creeps slowly over the fallen branches, delicate and determined. You both watch it, as if it matters. As if the way it grows, inch by inch, might teach you something about stillness. About survival.
Like usual, sometimes you talk. Sometimes you don't.
Tonight, he breaks the silence first.
“I used to be human,” He confesses, almost absently. His eyes stay fixed on the sky, where clouds drift like smoke across the moon. “A long time ago.”
You glance at him, not surprised. You had suspected it. There was always something in the way he spoke, the way he moved, like he hadn’t quite forgotten what it meant to bleed in the ways that mattered.
He continues before you can answer. “Can’t remember much. Just flashes. Pain. Screaming. Cold water. And someone-“ He cuts himself off with a bitter breath. “I think I had a name before… Bucky. Maybe that was it or maybe not.”
You don't speak immediately. The words settle like snow, quiet and heavy.
Then, ever so softly, you speak: “You remember enough to mourn it.”
He turns his head a fraction, just enough to meet your eyes. He doesn’t refuse your comment, doesn’t try to argue. And that, somehow, feels more painful than anything else.
You both return to silence as he leans back against a frost-bitten tree, metal fingers twitching restlessly in his lap. You can feel something aching inside him, coiled too deep for words. Guilt? Regret? Or maybe just the echo of what once was.
You don’t try to fix it. You just stay. Because that’s the unspoken promise of the truce. Not salvation. Not forgiveness. Just presence.
And somehow, in a world that burned the both of you down into what you are now… maybe that’s enough.
-
During your next meeting, the snow falls heavier this time.
It comes in thick, whispering sheets, softening the world until even your footsteps are silenced. The sky is overcast, swallowing the stars, and yet you walk the old path by memory. Your wings are hidden this time beneath a dark cloak. Your halo, long dimmed near the boundary, pulses faintly, a reminder of the place you still belong to, even if you don't feel like you do.
He's already there when you arrive, perched on a broken stone wall, hood drawn low, and smoke curling lazily around his shoulders. He doesn’t look at you when you approach, but his metal fingers tap once against the stone, a quiet acknowledgment. A habit, maybe. Or a signal meant just for you.
You sit beside him, brushing snow off the ledge. Neither of you says anything for a long time. The snowfall thickens. It clings to your lashes, melts slowly against the heat of his shoulder when it drifts close. You almost lean toward him. Almost. But you don’t. Because this… this thing between you isn’t named or defined. It’s a careful, wordless balance, like walking a tightrope strung between Heaven and Hell. And you don’t know what happens if one of you leans too far.
So you speak instead.
“They’re starting to wonder where I go,” You murmur. “The others.”
He huffs a breath through his nose. “Same.”
You glance at him, startled. You didn’t think demons would care.
“I shouldn’t be here. They don’t trust me much,” He says. “Never did. I’m not… obedient enough. Still got too many memories, I think.”
You study the side of his face, how the flickering light catches the scar near his jaw, how snow gathers in the folds of his coat, how his eyes stay fixed on the horizon like he’s waiting for something that never arrives.
You whisper, “Why do you keep coming back here?”
His jaw tightens. He doesn’t answer right away. Just stares into the white blur of the trees.
Then: “Because this is the only place I don’t feel like I’m supposed to be anything.”
The words hit harder than they should as you can feel your throat tighten. Because you understand. Because that’s the reason you come too. Not for salvation. Not for curiosity. But because here, on this forgotten ledge at the edge of war, you get to just exist.
Not as a Weapon or a Symbol. Not a Messenger, Servant, or Slave either. Just… as yourself. And maybe that’s why it almost happens.
The shift.
It begins as silence, broken only by the snowfall and the distant cry of something too old for naming. Your knees are nearly touching. His arm is barely a breath from your shoulder. And then, he turns to you. Really turns to you. The snow on his lashes. The flicker in his eyes. The pain he doesn’t speak about and the comfort he doesn’t ask for.
You don’t breathe.
His hand lifts slightly, hesitating between you, as if asking without asking. As if unsure whether reaching out will ruin everything you’ve built from the silence and distance.
Your breath fogs between you and you don’t move as that moment hangs like crystal in the air. Fragile. Shimmering. Dangerous.
But then he blinks and withdraws, looking away. The space between you swells again with all the things you didn’t say. All the things you didn’t do.
He clears his throat. “Should go. They’ll notice.”
You nod, but don’t stand.
He hesitates, then turns, walking back through the trees. The smoke follows him. Softer now. Calmer.
You stay until the snowfall covers where he sat. You don’t cry. Angels don’t cry. But something in you bends. And maybe next solstice… maybe it will break.
-
The snow is late this year.
The sky is too clear, too wide, the moon too full, as if the heavens are watching, waiting. You sit on the same broken stone wall, cloak wrapped tight, wings folded beneath layers of quiet. You haven’t spoken aloud since your last meeting. No words seem right unless they’re for him.
He’s late this time. You don’t pace. Angels don’t pace. But your fingers twitch and your breath stutters. The frost gathers along your lashes, and still, he does not come.
Then… you hear movement. The trees stir. Smoke curls through the air, faint at first, then thick, clinging to the wind like a memory refusing to be forgotten. And then he’s there. Shoulders hunched. Jaw tight. There’s a limp in his step you’ve never seen before. Something about the way he moves, it’s quieter. Smaller. Like he’s folding in on himself.
You don’t speak yet. Not yet. You watch as he stops before reaching the wall. He doesn’t move to sit. He stands there, hood shadowing his face, and one hand clenched tight inside his coat pocket. The other twitches at his side, fingers curling and uncurling like he’s trying to hold onto something too fragile.
You wait, watching him in silence for a minute. Two. Ten.
Finally, he speaks.
“I shouldn’t be here.”
Your voice is steady, even if your heart stumbles. “You say that every year.”
His eyes lift to yours. Something in them flickers resembling pain maybe, or guilt.
“No.” The word is thick. Real and raw. “I mean it this time.”
You don’t ask why. You could. You could demand the answer, peel it from his throat if you wanted. But some truths aren’t meant to be touched. Some are better left where they lie, between silence and suspicion.
Instead, you ask quietly, “Then why come?”
He looks down, taking a slow breath before moving closer to you. Slowly and Carefully, like it costs him something. From inside his coat, his gloved hand emerges, clenched around something small and heavy. When he opens it, the object catches the moonlight and your breath.
A coin. Worn. Misshapen. Half-melted, like it passed through fire and never forgot. Its edges are jagged, dangerous, like the lives it's touched. Like his life. You know what it truly is though.
A soul coin.
You’ve only seen one before, only once a long time ago. It served as proof of salvation. The kind no demon carries unless they’ve done the unthinkable, not damn a soul, but save it. It is a mark of rebellion, of change. Of loss.
He holds it for a moment more, then steps closer before holding it out to you. You hesitate, but only for a heartbeat. Your fingers close around it gently, reverently. It’s warm. Alive, almost. You can feel its weight and the cost of it.
And then, his voice, quieter now.
“Proof,” He states. “That I’m not all gone.”
Your eyes search his face, the shadows beneath his eyes, the way he’s trembling, but only slightly, like a man who’s fought too long and finally let himself feel it.
“Why give this to me?” You ask, barely above a whisper.
You watch as his gaze drops and hear the silence swell between you. Then, he says it. The thing that breaks you.
“Because next solstice…” He stops. His throat works around a word he doesn’t speak. His eyes close, “I might not be here.”
And that’s when it hurts. Because demons don’t lie. Not like this. Not with this kind of sorrow. You reach for him, but he steps back. Not in fear or nervousness this time. In resolution.
Like if you touched him now, he’d stay. And he’s already chosen to leave. When he vanishes, it isn’t with fire. It’s with smoke swirling softly and quietly. Like the ghost of a memory that never settled right.
He leaves behind nothing more than the coin in your hand, still warm, and a silence that feels too alive to be empty. A terrible ache in your chest builds, because angels don’t hope.
Run-through: You learnt about them when you were young. You had tomes filled with information about them, how to invite one, how to control one, etc. You also knew that if done right, union with an incubus was said to result in the birth of powerful witches. And now, after having spent years all alone following the unfortunate slaughter of your family you have two strong desires; to have a child and to continue the witch bloodline. Both of which can be fulfilled by summoning and making the right arrangements with the right incubus. And the best part of it all, incubi were known to be incapable of love and emotional attachment, so ending the arrangement once you conceived wouldn’t be hard for either parties involved. Except, it’s not always that easy, is it? And perhaps, not all incubi are heartless.
Themes: breeding kink, smut, fluff, incubus!bucky, witch!reader, size difference, he has wings and a tail, some angst, HEA
a/n: nothing is folklore accurate whatsoever just excessive imagination and vibes hehe
You were prepared if ever it was not going to work the first time.
You’d been told, when you were a young woman who had just begun learning about the art of witchcraft under your mother and grandmother’s supervision, that incubi were particularly stubborn and picky demons. They were strong, seductive with vigorous stamina.
Given their power, they aren’t summoned. No. They are invited. And if they are feeling mischievous and generous, they accept the invitation. Sure, most incubi visited weak mortals of their own volition however they did avoid witches. Because the power dynamic there was more or less in equilibrium. Incubi couldn’t mess with witches like they did with mortals because witches were strong and smart enough to mess with them right back.
Still, you had made sure that everything was just perfect. You had countless tomes and books and scrolls on your table, all containing multiple ways of inviting an incubus. So many rules to follow. But you had done everything right; every rune, every herb, every incantation, every offering - to complete the invitation you had always been taught to lure them with something they’d want. Other than sex.
You had been told certain secrets other witch families did not know. Like how incubi, though ravenous, had a weakness for embellishment. Trinkets. Shiny things. So you offered this one a crown made of gilded animal bones.
You had everything in place. All that was left to do was wait. So you sat there, in what you called your workshop. You had a quiet little home in the middle of the woods. Well away from the kingdom of the vile King who had your entire family eliminated after using your powers and cures to save his wife from a terrible disease. For years the King was kind to your family, but one day, his wife died of natural causes, none of your doing but still, the King went mad and ordered to have your family slain. You managed to escape, unfortunately your mother and grandmother couldn’t.
So you ran far, far away from the kingdom. Got on a ship and travelled to a new country. Here people were welcoming and kind. No kings and queens, just people living together in harmony. So with what little money you had, you bought a plot of land and built a house. You had neighbours, but since you all had a large country all to yourselves, everyone was scattered rather far and wide from one another.
This country was unlike anything you’d ever heard or dreamt about. You had friends here who did similar things like you; warlocks, necromancers. Then there were the mermaids in the lake, and the fae people living in the same woods as you, centaurs and wolf shifters lived deeper in the woods, and so many more you still had to meet. There were no wars here, just peace.
But peace, after some years, started looking a lot like loneliness. During the initial years it seemed like you could do this forever, run your little shop, help your new friends when they needed you, socialise and learn about so many new people and animals, you thought you could spend a lifetime just being here and being happy. But then, as much as you adored your friends and neighbours, you missed family. Your own flesh and blood. And after years of living here and making sure that this was the happiest and safest place to have a family of your own, you wanted a child. And what better way of ensuring to pass on the gifts of your powerful bloodline than this. Besides, witches lived for a very, very long time and you couldn’t imagine spending centuries all alone.
You had envisioned your dream life often. Since witches most often had daughters, you often dreamt of you and your daughter living in this lovely place. Your home was spacious enough to accommodate around five people easily so you’d have more than enough space. You would build your daughter her own little workshop table. You’d teach her everything your mother and grandmother taught you, and all that you learnt by yourself. You’d watch her grow up and make friends of her own, maybe she’d like the faeries and the mermaids more. Or maybe even the gnomes. Or the pegasus in the meadows.
Maybe someday down the line you’d have another child. And you’d raise them both with the same kindness and love that your mother had with you. And life would be perfect then; with your girls, your friends, in this peaceful country.
If only…
“Such pretty dreams you’re having, little witch.”
A deep, smooth voice said. Sounding like it wasn’t too far from where you were… sleeping? Had you actually fallen asleep at your desk while waiting? You woke up startled, blinking at the demon in the room who was casually lounging on the chair by the window. The same chair on which you sat and read during the afternoons.
Except, the demon made the chair look smaller than it was. The chair still accommodated him well enough, but he was bigger. Broad shoulders, wide leathery wings folded behind him, long legs… he was surely taller than most of the people here. Shorter than the giants, but still. You had read that incubi were bigger in height and built and… other assets when compared to mortal men but seeing him in real life was still a little shocking.
Every other feature of his was mortal-like. Deep blue eyes, slightly darker here in your candlelit workshop. Pretty face, you noticed, if not a little arrogant looking but it suited him. Well defined features. Soft mouth, perfect nose. And he was slightly tanned. You thought he’d be ghostly white, with near translucent skin given there wasn’t any sun in the depths of hell that he came from. He also had shadowy, near black markings all over his hands, chest and some creeping up his neck. Swirls and symbols, and it only made him look even more dangerously attractive.
The candlelight reflected a little on the shinier parts of his large, leathery wings and you shivered a little before speaking, after clearing your throat. “You came.” You simply said and watched how his mouth twisted into a handsome smirk.
“How could I not?” He said, sounding cocky. “You gave me a proper invitation. And offered me such a pretty crown,” He twirled the gilded crown between his fingers, and added, “And such soft, delicious bread.”
Your face contorted in confusion at the sound of that. “Bread?”
He nodded, still toying with the handmade crown, “Forgive me, I didn’t save you any. I was famished. Butter and honey, was it?” His voice sounded like a purr, like a lover’s caress. Dangerous he was, this one. The handsome ones usually are if you remember your notes correctly.
You blinked at him once, twice and then looked down at your hand and sure enough, there it was - remnants of the butter. You had been nibbling on homemade bread as you waited earlier, but given that you fell asleep at your desk, the bread must have fallen out of your hand, rolled and landed near the runes. Had you messed up? You couldn’t have. He was here, wasn’t he?
The demon gave you another arrogant grin, “I assume the bread was a mistake.”
You stood up from your chair and thought well before speaking, “I apologise.” You said. Even though it is always said to never seem shy and docile in front of the likes of him. You were supposed to assert dominance. But… how could you when he was looking at you like that? Himself looking all regal in all his naked glory.
He chuckled. Chuckled. Then said, “No matter.” You noticed he remained seated. He said, “I heard your invitation, heard what you wanted from me.” He paused for just a second and noticed the way you squirmed. Then continued, “I appreciate your gifts, witch.” He admitted. “So,” He spoke in the voice which was equivalent to a lover’s soft caress again, “A child?”
“Yes,” You said firmly, finally able to stand your ground and act like the powerful witch that you were. “A child.”
He nodded slowly, “I can’t say I’ve ever encountered a motherly sorceress before. Most of them are nasty and cruel.” He spoke with such honesty. It was refreshing almost.
You managed a faint smile as you looked down at the rings on your fingers, many of them were passed down to you, the others you had handcrafted, “Most of us develop a hard exterior because of how we are treated by most mortals. Half of them are afraid of us and the other half despises us enough to hurt us for no reason.”
He cocked his head to the side, “Who hurt you?”
“A King. He… hurt my family.” You answered.
“Hence the empty house.” He noted.
“Yes.” You said, finally looking up to meet his deep blue stare. He was… devilishly handsome. Even as he sat there looking all princely which should’ve irritated you because it was your favourite chair. What if his devilishly strong body breaks it?
But then…
Then he stood up. Proud and tall. Other parts of him stood proud and tall as well so you couldn’t help but look down, following the many muscles on his broad chest, down to his navel and down to his jutting cock.
Holy gods.
He was very, very well endowed. It took some seconds before you moved your shamelessly leering gaze up to his eyes again. And then… holy gods, he was tall. Taking up much more room now that he was standing up in the middle of your, what now seemed cramped, workshop.
He smirked as he looked down at you. Crossing his muscular arms over his chest he said, “I assume I am to your liking then?” He teased, obviously enjoying the way he had you tongue-tied.
You looked up at him nervously. You’d never done this before. And now, standing in your dimly lit workshop, wearing your black flowy black robe, the demon did make you feel a little subservient. “I… um, yes.” You struggled to answer, struggled to hold his lordly stare.
You mindlessly took a step back the moment he began approaching you. Steadily, slowly, letting you see all of him before he came to a stop only inches away from where you stood, near your desk.
“Well then, little witch. Shall we?” He said, before placing his warm hands on either side of your waist and lifted you up to set you down on the edge of the desk with ease. You never quite realised how strong incubi were until now. They were some of the strongest demons of Hell.
You were sat on the edge of your wooden desk, legs dangling off the edge as you looked up at him. Only then did you notice his slender tail, as it wrapped around your thigh which was now exposed due to the slit in your black robe.
The demon seemed to inhale deeply before saying, “You smell absolutely delicious.” He stepped in between your legs, spreading them as he placed both of his hands on either one of your thighs. “May I have a taste?” He asked, slowly pushing your back down on the surface of the table so you lay on it, with your legs still hanging off the edge.
You nodded. “Yes,” You murmured, watching him lean over you for a moment before he pulled your robe up to your waist, taking in the sight of your bare body under it.
He hummed in appreciation which shouldn’t have made your body tingle the way it did. Then he grabbed you by the hips and lifted your lower body off the table with ease, enough so that he could comfortably bend and place his mouth right where you didn’t realise you’d been aching for him to touch.
Your legs hooked easily over his shoulders as his ridiculously soft lips brushed against your inner thighs before you felt his warm, long tongue slide in between your wet lips. He somehow managed to spread your legs even more, leaving you completely at his monstrous mercy as his tongue teasing your entrance, lips sucking on your clit. Damn him. But at least now you understand why most people let incubi feed on them. It’s because their touch was this addicting.
Your hands rested on either side of your head, limp on the table as you threw your head back and moaned, unable to stop yourself. He growled against you, sending pleasurable vibrations all over your body. His tail remained wrapped around your thigh, slithering along your skin in tandem with his devious tongue as he ate you out ravenously, savouring your taste while holding your heated stare.
His strong body in contrast with your more mortal-looking one. His hands and arms, covered in those shadowy markings gripped your thighs securely, keeping you spread open for him. He almost made you forget the reason he was here was beyond just pleasuring you. “You taste exquisite, little witch.”
He knew he could only take minimal energy from you. Mortals were left drained after incubi were done with them but you were stronger, and with your protective wards around you, you didn’t feel as drained. Neither did he feed on you like he would on a mortal. Still, you felt a little delirious, almost euphoric as he tasted you.
You gasped and moaned as he almost made you come all over his tongue. You’d let yourself go under his irresistible touch. It was high time to get to business. “Don’t forget why you’re here, demon.” You managed to say before he slid his tongue inside you once more before pulling away and placing your lower body back on the wooden table.
“Of course. You need more than just my tongue, little witch.” He teased, keeping your legs wide open for him as he reached down and easily tore the rest of your robe off your body. You noticed his eyes got darker as he grabbed and fondled your breasts.
His shadow filled hands slowly trailed down your bare body. He reached your folds and once again teased your clit with his fingers, slowly sliding his one finger down your slit to your opening. His other hand grabbed his cock, guiding it over to your hole. You were drenched down there, he noticed. He was in a mood to play so instead of just sliding into you, he teased you by sliding his tip up and down your slit.
He rather enjoyed watching you hiss, and whine and whimper, and squirm on the tabletop. “You are going to have to put in some effort to fit me inside you.” He said, purposely pushing his tip against your tight opening, just applying enough pressure to make you lose your mind but not quite enough to slide in just yet.
Your voice trembled as you spoke, “Don’t… don’t play with me, demon.” You tried to sound as assertive as you could. But you ended up sounding like you were begging him to keep playing.
“No?” He cooed, almost in a mocking tone. “But you make such pretty sounds when I play with you.”
You arched your back, moving your hips forward, desperately trying to get his cock to slide inside you. You whimpered when he kept teasing you. “Please,” You murmured. Damn this demon and his enchanting touch.
He smirked. “Very well then.” He slowly pushed the tip of his cock inside of you, carefully watching you to gauge your reaction to his size. You felt his length stretching you like no one ever did. You gasped and moaned as he filled you up.
He grabbed your bent legs and spread them open, pushing them as far back as they would go before burying his cock fully inside your tight, warm hole. He held your stare the entire time, even as he pulled out and pushed back into you.
You gasped for air, the snugness of him feeling unbearably good. With your back flat against the wooden table top and you whined at the feeling of his cock moving swiftly in and out of you. You could feel your walls gripping him and milking him as he pounded into you.
“You feel just as good as you taste, little one.” He whispered as you threw your head back and moaned, feeling him moving in and out of you to the point where the only thing you could focus on was the snug way he felt inside you.
His large hands grabbed you by the hips, lifting your lower body just inches off the table and pulling you in each time he pushed inside you with enough force to drive you insane. Then… then you felt something pressing against your clit, rubbing it in sync with how he moved against you. His tail. The flat end of it, sliding across your sensitive clit while he fucked you.
You cried out loud, somehow managing to hold his stare as you slowly felt your brain getting foggy with intense pleasure.
“Look,” He whispered, pounding into you relentlessly, as he lowered his gaze to your lower abdomen. You followed his gaze and let out a gasp of both surprise and bliss. You watched how each time he pushed into you, a soft bulge formed against your stomach. “You’re so soft and delicate.” He said, his voice steady and calm as if he wasn’t rutting into you like an animal.
Mindlessly, you placed your hand right where the bulge formed each time and you felt it against the palm of your hand. You cried out in pleasure again.Your legs trembled as he held them spread open for him, not willing to let them go yet.
You closed your eyes as you felt your walls clenching around him and the pressure around your lower body felt tight and hot. The handsome demon looked down to where you clenched around his cock. And he sped up, moving the desk along with his thrust and causing books and scrolls and pens to fall carelessly on the ground.
Somehow, it felt like he fucked you deeper now. Faster. His damned tail moved against you in equal vigour, flicking your clit until you cried out again. He chuckled, watching you nearly come undone beneath him. So he leaned in and said, “Should I fill you up nicely now, little one?”
His voice, the surprising warmth of his body, the feeling of him inside you, the candlelight which made him look like a wild god. You whined, and said, “Yes, please.”
He smirked, letting go of your legs and instead leaned over your body so he could get close to your mouth. His hand grabbed your wrists and pinned them down on the table, above your head. This close, your breaths mingled. His heated stare, his warm body pressing against yours while his other hand reached up to toy with your breast. “So soft,” He whispered.
For some reason, that was all that you needed to hear, all the stimulation you needed to come undone, clenching around him violently as you did. He held your stare through it all and soon after, he spilled inside you too, grunting and gasping for air.
Your back arched off the wooden table as you felt his warm release filling you up. He pulled out a little and pushed inside you one more time before stopping, properly emptying himself inside you. You were still whimpering and moaning as he pulled out. You could feel his release slowly trickling out of you.
You closed your eyes for a few moments. And you fully expected him to be gone by the time you caught your breath and opened your eyes. But there he still was.
He picked you up from the table, cradled you in his arms and asked, “Where’s your bed?”
You lifted a shaky hand and pointed in the general direction of your bedroom, just outside your workshop and he began walking towards it. He stopped outside the dark doors and nudged them open with his broad shoulder, walking into your bedroom.
No one had ever been in here. Wherever you had your neighbours and friends over for dinner or the afternoon tea, you hosted them in the kitchen or the other rooms. He was the first person to ever walk into your bedroom and honestly, he didn’t look that out of place.
Your bedroom was spacious, mainly dark except for some candles which thanks to your magic could be left unattended and would never burn your house down.
“Here,” He placed you down in the middle of your bed and said, “I’ll take your leave now, little witch.” He spoke, smirking as he let his eyes roam your bare body one last time before turning around.
You reached out and grabbed his wrist before he would fully turn away. You managed to say, voice a little raspier now after all that moaning and gasping earlier, “You… um, in case this doesn’t work the first time around,” You spoke, hoping he read in between the lines, “And if I find myself in need of your, uh, help again. Would you come if I call?”
He grinned. “Of course. No need for shiny crowns next time, just leave out some warm bread.” He left you with a playful wink and a handsome smirk. And then just like that, as if the shadows of your room swallowed him whole, he disappeared.
—
For the following week that passed by, you paid extra attention to your body and with the help of your magic, you’d know if conception occurred. But also, you couldn’t bring yourself to forget the demon.
He’d been just as energetic and thorough as you expected him to be. But… he had also been much more gentle than you expected him to be. The bread incident made you giggle quietly to yourself now that you thought about it. And you did think about it each time you baked.
You were extra nervous the next time you sent out an invitation to him. The conception hadn’t happened, as expected because they rarely work the first time. Which meant that you needed the demon again. So as you waited for him to show up, awake this time, you found yourself feeling unnecessarily giddy.
You not only tried to lure him with your best bread this time, but also a cloak. Not that you minded his naked form but… you felt the need to give him something nice. Not quite like a payment, just a gift if you will. You had made the cloak in a way to accommodate his wings comfortably as well. And those broad shoulders, and strong limbs, and-
You were lost in thoughts of him when a voice spoke up from the corner of the room, “A cloak this time,” He noted, grinning already. “I think you like me quite a lot, little witch.”
You smiled at him. Your heart almost skipped a beat at the sight of him. The handsome demon came wearing the crown you’d made him the last time. And he looked like a god. Naked, golden skin, shiny crown, dark wings and those shadowy markings all over his skin.
“It’s just a way of thanking you for, you know, helping me.”
You didn’t feel so nervous when he approached you this time. You let him come closer until he was standing in between your legs again as you sat on the edge of your desk. He placed his large, warm hands on your thighs as if it were a habit and his tail wrapped around your calf, squeezing just a little to remind you of last time. You shivered at the memory.
“But do you?” He asked playfully.
“What?”
He gave you a cocky grin. “Like me?”
Well that came out of nowhere. You chuckled, “Yes. I wouldn't have sought you out again if I didn’t.”
He smirked. Then reached out to touch your face so gently that for a moment you forgot he was a demon from Hell. “I take it that you need me to fill you up again, little witch?” He asked so brazenly, while your face felt hot.
You managed to say, despite your racing heart, “I do. And I’ve even come up with a plan in order to ensure that it works this time.”
He raised an eyebrow at you, “What plan?”
Your face heated up again as you said, “I suppose for it to work this time around, maybe you shouldn’t, um, pull away so soon after…”
“Ah.” The demon’s smirk denoted that he understood. “I see.” He said, “So you wish for me to remain buried deep inside that tight warmth of yours after I’ve filled you up.” He said, purposely just so he could watch you squirm. “I can do that.”
A sudden confidence shot through you, “Good. That is precisely why you are here, demon.” You sassed.
The demon chuckled before reaching out to grab you carefully by the jaw. His actions were slow and gentle, as if worried he might accidentally hurt you. “Careful with that mouth of yours.” He hissed playfully, “Don’t you know what happens to pretty little witches when they run their mouths like this?”
You held his stare, playing along, “No.” You whispered, “What happens to them?”
He leaned in and whispered against the corner of your mouth in a sinful voice, “They get pinned to the wall and fucked until they cannot think straight.”
You felt your heart racing faster. Your thighs desperately wanted to clench together but he wouldn’t let that happen. His tail slowly moved up and down your leg, stroking your skin and making you crave his touch even more. It wasn’t supposed to feel like this, right? You were supposed to just take what you needed from one another and that should’ve been it. But… you didn’t mind this.
His mouth moved along your cheek and you lost your ability to speak. He kissed along your jaw and down your neck, then he said, “I can hear your heart racing, my little witch. Tell me, is that what you want?” He kissed along your collar bones and the top of your breasts. “Do you want to be pinned to the wall and fucked by a cruel, greedy demon like me? Hmm?”
“Yes…” You managed to whimper. “Please.”
He scoffed, kissing his way back up your neck before he reached your mouth again, “Alright, little one.” He breathed against your parted lips and moved the two of you with such ease and speed that all you did was blink and you found yourself away from the desk and now naked and pinned to the nearby wall, bare legs wrapped around his torso and his mouth pressed against yours.
His wings spread wide behind him, blocking the candlelight from reaching the two of you and shrouding you both in unnatural shadows. Almost as if he couldn’t bear the thought of anything else touching you except for him and his darkness. Not even light.
Your hands wrapped around his broad shoulders, pressing you tightly against his firm body as his mouth moved against yours. His tongue slipped into your mouth, making you moan into the kiss as he undid the tie of your robe, letting it slip down your body until it fell to the floor.
His large hand cupped you in between your legs and he pulled away from the kiss, grinning at you like the Devil himself. “All that for me?” He asked, sliding his knuckles along your wet folds, smearing your arousal around. “How very immoral of you. Spreading your legs and getting all wet for someone like me.”
You whined when he slid a finger inside you, followed by another before he curled his fingers inside of you, hitting all the right spots which make you weak in the knees. You bucked your hips against his hand involuntarily, and he chuckled as you moaned out loud while he touched you.
“Are you ready for me now?” He mumbled, kissing down your neck, nibbling on your skin around your collar bones.
“Yes,” You cried out when he wrapped his mouth around your breast, sucking just enough to drive you wild, making you grind your hips against him, chasing whatever friction you could get.
His cock briefly brushed against your wet folds in the process and you whimpered. You felt his body tense up against you as well and a quick moment later, he aligned his tip to your dripping wet hole and slowly pushed in.
His fingers dug into your skin as he held you by your hips, and yours scratched at his shoulders as he filled you up like the previous time, making you whine and moan as he went. His body was familiar now. His heat, his scent. The sound of him breathing, his warm chest pressing against yours. And when you looked down, you already knew you’d find that bulge forming against your stomach each time he buried himself all the way inside of you.
When he began rocking in and out of you, your body remembered. The stretch of his thickness, the snugness of him, the way he started out with slow strokes and then gradually sped up into you. It was all familiar. Except this time, you could feel his back muscles moving along with each thrust of his. Each movement of his reminding you of the sheer power his sinful body contained.
“You feel even better than last time, little one.” He said as his devious tail reached up and wrapped around one of your breasts, pumping it before moving to the other one, and repeated.
His strong arms supported you up by grabbing you at the curve of your ass, holding you against him, as he sped up into you. He fucked you relentlessly, with a little less caution this time. Your back hit the wall with each thrust and you couldn’t stop whimpering, whining and moaning as he fucked into you with the intensity only a demon like him could.
Your hands somehow slid beyond his shoulders, grabbing onto the base of his large, dark wings. He stilled. Then supported you up with one hand thanks to his devilish strength, while the other pulled your sneaky hands away from his wings and pinned them above your head. He began fucking you again and said, flirtatiously warning you, “Wings are extremely sensitive.”
That only intrigued you even more, but all that for later. You needed him right now. And you needed to come.
He leaned in and nibbled at the skin under your ear and you lost all control you had left. Your thoughts became cloudy and all you could focus on was how his body brought you immense pleasure, your mind a foggy mess. Your clit rubbed against his stomach each time he buried himself completely in you, and he soon quickened his pace, earning even more moans and gasps from you.
Your legs started to shake around him as he quickened his pace, pounding into you relentlessly. The pleasure built nicely as he took you higher. The bulge in your stomach forming and disappearing quicker now. Your moans were wanton.
“Ready for me to fill you up again, little one? Hmm? You’re going to be so full after this,” He whispered, leaning in just so his mouth would brush against yours as he spoke. “Perhaps you’ll still feel me in between your legs when you wake up tomorrow. Is that what you want? Huh? Is that why a pretty little witch like you invited a filthy beast like me? Because you wanted to be so full.”
You couldn’t hold back anymore. So, you came undone around his thickness. Walls clenching around him, nails scratching down his shoulders and chest as loud moans escaped your mouth. He came right after you did, cock throbbing against your pulsating walls before he filled you up with his warm release. Pumped you full of it until you could feel it inside you.
And just like you’d instructed him earlier, he didn’t pull away immediately. He caught his breath for a few moments before he moved, keeping you pressed against his chest, still buried deep inside you he pulled away from the wall and walked out of your workshop, towards your bedroom.
You felt a soft pinch inside your chest at the thought of him being so comfortable with moving around in your house.
He opened the bedroom door, still holding you close to him as he carefully laid the two of you in your bed. He barely fit in your bed which was in fact made to hold two people. He pressed closer to you as you both laid on your sides facing each other. “Are you alright, little one?” He asked softly. With genuine care.
You blinked at him lazily, feeling boneless because he’d worn you out. “Hmm, I’m alright.” You whispered, feeling his tail stroking your leg as if comforting you while his hands held you close to him.
He gave you a rare, soft smile. Then said, “Tell me about your shop.”
You smiled and answered, “Well, it’s a typical witch shop. I sell crystals, candles, herbs, and medicine. The children get hurt often, especially when they play in these woods, so I sell stuff that heals them even quicker. I have special crystals, laced with magic to help my friends shift quicker. The mermaids love them. The dragon folks up on the mountains love them too. The wolves wear them around their necks like necklaces.” You paused, “Why do you ask?”
He shrugged, the movement also moving him while he was inside you so you whimpered in pleasure. He pulled you closer, kissing your forehead as if apologising and answered, “I’m just curious about your community here. It all seems so… peaceful.” He said.
“It is.” You gave him a faint smile. “Everyone is welcomed here. A family of moth people just moved in down the creek. They have the most adorable little children.” You giggled. “And-,” You stopped abruptly at the sight of the longing and slight envy in his eyes. “What is it?” You asked, sensing the shift in his demeanour. He seemed sad.
He gave you a faint, fake smile. “I’m just thinking about how nice it must be. To be accepted for being whatever you are. To have friends and not have people look at you and run away screaming.”
Your heart ached for the handsome demon. You reached out and laid a hand on his cheek. “I’m sorry.” You whispered, sincerely. “Is it that bad where you’re from?”
“It’s lonely.” He answered truthfully. You knew the feeling all too well.
Your thumb instinctively began stroking his smooth cheek. “And you can’t leave.” You stated, suddenly feeling very bad for the demon.
“Oh we can leave. I know a few of my kind who have left and moved elsewhere, but it’s not common.” He said, “There are not many places where beings like me are accepted.” Then he smiled and said, “I’m not like you, little witch. I have no skills. There’s nothing I can do to contribute to a lovely community like this one and have its people accept me as one of their own.”
You chuckled, “Well, I’m sure we could find something for you to do.” You said, “You have wings and can move at incredible speed, maybe you could be a mail carrier.”
He laughed. Truly laugh, louder than he ever had. And he looked like a god while he did. His boyish laughter echoed around your bedroom and if you could bottle up the sound and keep it forever, you would.
When he finally stopped and looked back at you, you could’ve sworn you saw something resembling affection in his eyes. “You truly are something, little witch. I’m very glad I met you.” For some reason, his words felt like goodbye.
And then it hit you. If you managed to conceive this time, maybe this would be goodbye. You snuggled closer to him, refusing to think about that right now, and said, “And I’m glad I met you, demon.” His wing wrapped around you and you fell asleep some moments after, cocooned in the warmth of his body and wing.
—
When you woke up in the morning, he was gone. The entire day went by in a blur. You worked at your shop, met up with your friends for afternoon tea, made yourself dinner and then you went back to bed. And repeat.
It was only two days later, when you sensed something different about your body did you realise that it had happened. You were expecting. And your heart sank, solidifying the fact that you would never see the demon again. It shouldn’t have hurt as much as it did, but you couldn’t get rid of the sadness.
But that was the initial plan, was it not? So what if you’d miss his handsome face, his cocky humour, and his touch. This is what you wanted, a baby. And now you were going to have one. And yet, you couldn’t help but miss him.
You thought the absence of him would not matter in time, but weeks later, it felt the same. Each time you made your bed, each time you baked, each time you saw a couple walking hand in hand, everything reminded you of the surprisingly kind demon.
But then one evening, as you returned home from your shop, you sensed something different in the air the moment you stepped inside your house.
And something stirred inside you, that pinch in your chest, the way your heart fluttered. You knew.
“You’re here.” You whispered, shutting the door behind you. You placed your basket down and waited. And then, as if he stepped out of shadow itself, one moment he was nowhere to be seen and the next, he was standing a few feet away from you.
Wearing his dark cloak and his golden crown. He looked like a forgotten, ancient god. One so handsome anyone would willingly worship at his altar. “I am.” He answered, looking at you with sad eyes.
You held his stare and both of you were quiet for a while. You hadn’t invited him tonight. It had been weeks since you last saw each other and seeing him right now, it hurt. It hurt even more because he seemed… lost, hurt and confused. And you didn’t know what to do.
Then his eyes trailed down your body, stopping around your midsection. You smiled and placed a hand on your abdomen, even though you hadn’t started showing just yet. “It worked,” You told him. “I’m expecting.”
“I see.” When he looked up to meet your eyes again he looked even more miserable. And heartbreakingly alone.
“Well,” You said cheerfully, hoping to make him feel a little better. “I was going to make dinner, would you like to join me? I even made fresh bread.” You said, smiling up at him.
He gave you a faint smile, noticing how you weren’t asking him what he was doing here. He nodded, following you to the kitchen and the cosy dining table.
–
Dinner went well. The conversation flowed. He asked you about your neighbours and friends, and your shop. He laughed at your jokes and you laughed at his. Yet once you were both done with your food, the tense silence was back.
Then, while he helped you put away the dishes he said, “I wanted to see you.”
You placed the last plate down and then turned to look at him. “I’m glad you came.” He was so tall that you had to extend your arm up completely to be able to touch the shiny crown on his head. It warmed your heart that he wore it. You smiled and asked, “You really like that crown, don’t you?”
He smiled back at you and said, “It’s my favourite gift I’ve ever been given.”
“Do you show it off to everyone?” You asked, teasing him.
His smile fell a little. “I have no one to show it off to.” He stated.
Your heart broke at the sound of that. You couldn’t help but lean in and wrap your arms around his torso. He was warm, his body heat wrapping around you as you hugged him. “I’ve missed you too.” You said.
He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer and kissed the top of your head. “Can I stay for a while?” He asked, and the softness of his voice made you tear up.
“Of course you can stay,” You said, then pulled away to look up at his pretty face. “For as long as you wish to.”
So you and the handsome demon found yourselves on that favourite chair of yours, with you on his lap. You tried to read but then ended up engaging in playful banters with him until you slowly drifted off to sleep right there on his lap, with your face nuzzling his neck. He had his arms wrapped protectively around you, reminding you a lot of how the dragons guarded their hoards.
So you fell asleep, dreaming of random things until…
You were in the meadows. The sun was about to set so the sky was nothing but golden and pink and purple. But you weren’t alone. A little girl was holding your hand tightly.
Your daughter?
You looked down and she was barely tall enough to reach your knees but she squealed in happiness, pointing up at the sky. You followed her small finger and found a dark spot in the pink and purple sky above. A dark spot, like shadows, that grew and grew until it looked like it was getting closer and closer to the ground. It was. He was. Mighty wings flapping in the wind as he flew above you in circles until he landed on the grass with a loud thud.
Your daughter dropped your hand and ran to him, to her father. And he picked her up, holding her high up in the air, laughing as she giggled louder than ever, before hugging her close as he walked over to you. Once close enough, he bent down to kiss your forehead, curling a wing around you. As if it were a habit. As if he’d done it hundreds of times.
“Let’s go home, my love.”
You woke up, and immediately pulled away to meet his eyes. Incubi could infiltrate dreams with ease. And your handsome demon had done just that.
You held his stare in silence for a while. Then you managed to ask, voice a little shaky, “Is that- what you just showed me, is that something you would want?”
He grabbed you by the hips and pulled you even closer, “You are what I want.” He whispered, inches away from your lips. “You and…” He placed a hand on your not-showing-yet stomach. “Her. And however many more babies you would want from me. I want everything with you.”
Your eyes watered, and you managed a faint smile as you said, “And here I was taught that demons were heartless.”
He chuckled, and grabbed your hand and brought it up to his chest. He placed your palm down on the material of the cloak, right in the middle of his chest and said, “Feel that?” He pressed your palm against his chest. And you felt it, the steady beat of his heart. “I forgot it was even there. Until it began racing the other day when I thought of you.”
You blinked away the wetness at your waterline, sniffled and said, “How poetic of you, demon.” Then you realised, “I don’t even know your name.”
He laughed again, eyes filled with adoration as he looked at you. “I don’t have one. Then again, my name can be whatever you want it to be.”
Your heart doubled in size just looking at him. “Are you sure you want this? You’ll have to pull your weight. I’ll make you do chores.” You teased.
He smiled, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your cheek. “Anything you want me to do, I’ll do it.” He smirked then added, “I’ll even carry mail around if you want.”
You couldn’t help but lean in for a kiss. A deep, passionate kiss. One that made him growl possessively against your mouth before he claimed it with enough passion that had you undoing the buttons in the front of your dress as quickly as you could.
He helped you in getting rid of your long, flowy dress. Then as you straddled his lap properly, he shrugged off his cloak and dropped it on the ground. And all it took was one silent, pleading look from him and you bucked your hips against his, your wet core rubbing against his erection and he grunted. His hands rubbed up and down your sides lovingly.
“Don’t tease me, little witch.” He whispered mischievously against your mouth, your warm breaths mingling. The fact that he was willing to just sit there and let you take whatever you wanted from him turned you ravenous.
You lifted off his lap and slowly lowered yourself down on his cock, or tried to because you still had trouble taking him given his size. But with a little help, he grabbed you by the hips to keep you in place and he pushed up into you. Making you cry out as you finally began sinking down on him. Somehow, he felt bigger this way and your body resisted just a little to fit him inside.
An arrogant smirk formed on his pretty face as he watched you struggle for a while. “Do you need help, little one?” He asked, and once you nodded, looking at him with pleading eyes, he grabbed your hips in place and gently began thrusting his hips up into you until you found a pleasurable pace.
When you felt that your body could take it, you began moving against him. Lifting up just the slightest, before sliding back down on his cock, you whimpered as he groaned, snug inside of you. In this position, the tip of his cock reached sensitive places you never knew existed.
“You’re so warm,” He whispered, his eyes locked in place where he disappeared inside you each time you moved. Lust-drunk, both of you. You leaned in closer, cradling his head as he took one of your breasts into his mouth while his tail wrapped around the other.
Crying out in overwhelming pleasure, you moved faster, impaling yourself down on his cock each time. You whimpered shamelessly as you felt him filling you up completely each time, feeling him reach deeper into you with each thrust.
His hand slipped between the two of you and he placed his palm against your abdomen. Your heart melted as you remembered the dream you just had. You cupped his face and he released your nipple to look up at you. Nothing needed to be said, the sincerity and adoration in his eyes spoke volumes. You leaned in for a soft kiss, moaning against his lips as his hand circled around your waist and he pulled your warm body closer to his.
He felt warm from deep within. Warmth he had never felt before. Your lips brushed against his each time you moved up and down his cock. He mostly let you set the pace and he took whatever you gave him, only guiding you up and down his cock when you needed him to.
You pulled away, bouncing on his cock as you stared into his pretty eyes. He whispered gently about how perfect you felt around him, wet and warm all for him. He panted against your cheek, kissing the side of your face and gripping your jaw with his hand. “You’re mine,” He whispered.
“And you’re mine.” You didn’t slow down as you felt your orgasm wash over you, and he kept thrusting his hips up into you as your eyes rolled back and you moaned out loud as you came, hard, feeling your walls squeezing and clenching around him.
He came right after you, his warm release filling you up once again as he wrapped his arms around you and pressed your warm body closer to him. “I’m gonna take care of you.” He promised.
You smiled, pulling away to look into his eyes. “You’ll never be lonely again. I promise.” You sealed your promise with a kiss on his forehead and he couldn’t have smiled any bigger.
“Do you have to go and bring back all your belongings?” You asked, kissing down his face until you could nuzzle his chest. Secretly not wanting him to leave even for just a minute.
“I don’t have any. All I have is the crown and cloak you gave me.” Something about that made you tear up as you looked up at him. He smiled at you, pulling you closer.
You sniffled, snuggling closer to him. “I'll make you a drawer full of clothes and cloaks. Some pants too. Maybe even a hat or two for when it gets cold.”
He laughed, kissing the top of your head. No one had ever cared for him this much, let alone a fraction of this. And in that moment he knew there was nothing he wouldn’t do for you, and the family that you two would have soon. “I’ll love you till the end of time, little witch.”
“And I you, demon.” You wrapped yourself around him, placing your ear right above where you thought his heart would be. In the middle of his chest and there it was, his steady and strong heartbeat.
—
Part 2 (just in case you wanna read more about these two)
The night before she begins college as a pre-med student, Maggie Hastings and her brother use a Ouija Board to summon her long since dead childhood crush, Bucky Barnes, with the use of his Howling Commandos trading card. Little does Maggie know, Bucky is now a demon and she was successful in summoning him. Unfortunately for her, the demon attaches to her and doesn't intend to ever let go. After all, this is far more enjoyable than being damned to Hydra.
Warnings: Initial Somnophilia, dub con, kind of rape, insults/degrading language, biting, scratching, marking, mentions of blood, womb tattoo/sigil, dumbification, aphrodisiac, vibrator, p in v, overstimulation, cunnilingus, demon summoning, beefy!bucky, condescending!Bucky, dark!bucky, praise, fluff
Nicknames: Angel, Doll, sweetness
Word count: 2.5k
A/N: I’m so sorry this is late, I was extremely busy on Halloween with teacher training and university work. But this concludes Monstertober, I have some exciting things planned for November.
༻𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐓𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐌𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫༺
Candles…You look around your floor surrounded by heaps of softly glowing candles, their flames waning and brightening again and again as the flame danced in the draft of your room. “Check.” you murmured, casting your eyes back to the grimoire’s aged pages; squinting in the darkness of your room trying to see the faded ink more clearly “stupidly complicated pentagram that took me multiple attempts and almost two hours to draw. Check.” You huffed glaring down at the pentagram drawn in white chalk on your floor, the edges smudged ever so slightly from where you’d repeatedly rubbed it away, only to redraw it wrong again. “An offering.” The book had not specified the offering that you had to provide for the demon, it simply said offering in intricate calligraphy “,how very helpful.” Grumbling you crouched to your knees, placing the grimoire down and scooping up your pile of “offerings” depositing them at random in a small circle inside your pentagram. Your offerings, if you could even call them that, consisted of a some loose change you’d found under and behind furniture, some candies you had lying around from halloween that the children hadn’t taken, a lock of your hair and a deeply personal item—which was the only clear instruction in the list, and you had chosen your trusty pink vibrator. Looking at the pink vibe on the floor made you want to crawl out of your skin in embarrassment, but it made the most sense since it was very deeply personal.
You picked the book back up and seated yourself in the centre of the summoning circle, you could feel your heart rate spike as you glanced down at the page for the summoning words. Your hands shook, palms growing cold and sweaty as you began “Heed my call, hear my cry may it lead you to me from your realm far away. I command you to my side so that we may make a contract.” You bite down on your finger drawing blood and swipe it across the floor “See me now and let me see you.” You blow out the candles around you and wait. You gulp as you sit cross legged in the dark, waiting. The sound of your breathing and your blood rushing makes the silence unbearable.
Nothing happens.
After sitting there for five minutes, you climb to your feet defeated. Tears on your waterline as you throw the book to the floor and flop into bed. You felt so stupid for even thinking that something like that would work, you feel the full weight of your adrenaline rush crashing to ground as curl under your covers rocking yourself to sleep s you mentally prepare for the rent payment tomorrow.
The blown out candles relight simultaneously as he steps out of the red swirling portal “You called?” He looked down expecting to see the person who summoned him, but he found the chalk pentagram staring back at him. He bends down, picking up the book you’d thrown harshly to the floor with a frown. He dusts off the grimoire, tracing the embossing in the leather cover with his blackened fingers, turning down the heat of his brimstone skin so the book doesn't burn. From the corner of his eye he catches your body shifting under the covers. He sets the grimoire gently on your chest of drawers and pads over to your bed “Wake up my little sleeping Angel.” He whispers in a gravelly tone, forming an ‘o’ with his reddened lips and blowing a stream of cold air against your ear lobe making you stir. He seats himself on the edge of your bed trailing his hand across your sleeping form “You’re wearing too much for my liking. Let me help you with that.” He threw the covers off of you and turned you more on to your back so he could peel your baggy shirt off, moving as quiet as a mouse. You were left only in a pair of panties, your comfortable pair that you wore when you knew no one would be seeing them, Bucky smiled at them thumbing the fabric adoringly. He ran his fingers across the middle of your panties till a soaking crease was visible. “Already so horny for me, naughty little human.” Bucky pulled down your panties, taking them into his hand to see the clear, sticky proof of your arousal. He tossed the panties already able to smell the thick scent of your arousal, he knew he had to taste you. He dipped his head down, running his tongue through your folds, groaning at the taste of you. He decided there and then he was going to claim you as his. He sucked on his fingers, getting them wet, before inserting them inside of you. Your walls drew him in, clamping so tightly around his fingers that he could barely move them. His hardened cock twitched as he imagined sliding into you, pounding you awake watching as your pleasured cries turned into pleas for him to stop. He had to stop a wicked grin from spreading across his lips. “You’ve been neglected for so long, Pet. Bucky’s gonna change that don’t you worry sweetheart. Who would neglect such a pretty pussy, so fucking tight.” His fingers start to glide through your spasming walls as they adjust to the thickness of his fingers. He targets the spongy spot inside you, debaucherous wet sounds filing the sleepy silence of your room. He paused as a soft mewl left your lips, your body shifting and your fisted hands tightening their hold on your pillow. He continued his ministrations even as your eyes fluttered open and you finally came to, your pleasured babbling pausing. You stared, horrified at the man sitting at the edge of your bed. Your eyes travelled up to the black horns on his head that looked like a ram's horns then down his red eyed that even in the darkness stuck out like a sore thumb, they shone like road studs in headlights stealing your attention before he opened his mouth displaying sharp, white teeth “Thanks for summoning me, Angel. I can see why you needed an incubus. You seem to be very pent up, but I can fix that for you.” His deep melodic voice made the initial stress you felt drift far away. You gaze drops downwards following the muscle of his neck down to the imposing bulk of his shoulders and arms, the rise and fall of his burly chest becoming hypnotising as his scent reaches your nostrils a mix of myrrh and musk that has your head swimming making you completely forget what he said. The feel of his rough palm cupping your cheek anchors you “I said, thank you for summoning me, Angel.”
“I didn’t summon an incubus. You- You have the wrong house.”
“No need to be coy. It’s fine to need a bit of help.”
“No, I genuinely didn’t summon an incubus. I wanted to Summon a demon that could help me. I'm working two jobs, I’m exhausted, the cost of everything is rising and I just can’t anymore. I'm running myself into the ground. I must have summoned the wrong type of demon.”
“Ah, that's Ari’s department. I’d contact him, but he’s a bit busy with a few cultists. So I guess you’re stuck with me for the time being, but I can help you in a different way, Doll.” His other hand reaches to the side of him and heat floods your cheeks as your eyes lock on the pink vibrator he has between his fingers. He pops it into his mouth like a hard candy and sucks it a little before spitting it back into his palm, pressing the button to turn it on “Nice and ready for you.” He chides, slipping his fingers out of your tight heat replacing the emptiness with the warmed, whirling vibrator. You feel your stomach constrict in pleasure as he guides the pink bullet in further with his fingers, positioning it right against your sweet spot. Shooting you a knowing smile as you sob your walls fluttering around his fingers as you convulse “Such a good girl for me, coming all over my fingers.” Bucky coos taking the vibe out from inside you bringing it to the head of his weeping cock moaning as he rubs it against his precum leaking slit, pumping his length with his other ashen hand “Time for you to take me sweetness.” You try to scramble away from him but he was much quicker than you, sensing your fear before it had even registered inside your brain. His warm rough palm seized your thigh pulling you back in position.
“It won’t fit! You’re going to tear me in two. Please can you just forget I summoned you.”
“Oh, Doll, that’s not how this works. You summoned me, I have duties to fulfill and in exchange for said duties I get your soul. I’m not leaving, this will not be forgotten. Regardless, you need to breathe; I’m not going to ‘tear you in two’ that sigil on your womb will make sure of it and make it pleasurable whilst I do. So calm down for me, I don’t like it when humans make my job more difficult than it has to be so behave and you’ll be rewarded.” His threats wrapped up in a sweet tone making it seem as if he wasn’t patronising you. Despite this you began to calm down, wrapping your legs around his hips and controlling your breathing. Your eyes drifted down his muscular torso, focusing on the intricate tattoo like patterns on his skin to relax your mind. The tattoos brought you down to the deep ‘v’ line of his pelvis and back to his veiny member which he was prodding to your entrance. You were pulled out of the trace-like state that his prominent veins had put you in, as he bottomed out in you until your walls were stretched taut around his meaty shaft. He stays still until the burn subsides, watching as your eyes gain a hazy, spaced out glaze and your mouth drops open in an inaudible moan. He pulls out and thrusts so hard into you that your bed scoots under the force, the sound of skin slapping skin echos through your small room as Bucky snaps his hips into you pushing himself deeper and deeper each time, his movements are slow yet rough making you feel every inch of him as he fucks into your tight heat. A surge of heat spread all the way from your hips to the sole of your feet and the tips of your fingers, you felt almost drunk on pleasure, every single thrust of his hips renewing the heat. Your whole body tingles as he presses the vibrator to your clit “God!” You scream as your legs wrapped around his waist begin to shake.
“Oh no sweet little Angel, God isn’t here. In this room, right now, I am your God. You worship me. I give you pleasure.” He purrs, swirling the vibe on your pulsing pearl as he angles the tip of his cock to hit your sweet spot over an over, drawing the orgasm building inside of you to the surface making you cum with a whimpering cry.
The sound of your blood rushing in your ears filled your senses as you came down from your high, even as you came back to your senses you felt much more distanced from reality; your body felt as if it was submerged in a warm bath, and slowly but surely you were sinking below the water. Your break was cut short by Bucky continuing his thrusts, his hand pressing the vibrator to your now throbbing clit didn’t budge—he instead pushed down more harshly on your clit making your legs quake uncontrollably “Hnng! Please!” Was all you could force out before your tongue became useless, lolling out of your mouth. You came again with a shout, clawing Bucky’s back with your nails as you threw your head back into the pillow, your back arching even further into the air. You came so hard you forgot how to breathe, a heavy weight crushing your chest, as you slumped back into the mattress trying your hardest to breathe Bucky finally removed the vibe from your raw little nub. His palm flattened against your stomach where the sigil was placed rubbing a slow circle that set your nerves on fire, before he brought his hand up to the bulge in your stomach and pressed harshly with his thumb tearing a whimper from your throat.
“Fuck you can see me inside of you, Angel. I’m all up in your guts rearranging them. Turning you into the perfect little cock sleeve, gonna make sure I ruin you for any other man. Oh wait, you won't be taking any other man after me. Because; You. Belong. To. Me.” Her punctuated every word with a rough thrust, bashing your cervix which would usually hurt but whatever he did gave you a supreme, otherworldly amount of pleasure “the sigil is almost full, one more orgasm and my seed should be enough to fill it. Do you think you can take it?” He questions a small smile gracing his lips as he awaits your answer, but all you can do is mumble “So fucked out that you can’t even form a sentence, your heads probably so empty right now, my little fuck doll. It’s okay, you don’t need to think, Angel, let me do that for you; can’t expect a dumb little human like you who can’t even read the pages of a very clear, simple book correctly.” His hand slithers up your body towards your neck, wrapping around your throat before he starts to apply pressure—observing as your body begins to melt into the mattress. His thrusts continued and paired with the lack of oxygen bright flashes of white flicker across your vision. All your nerves began to thrum as you felt another orgasm coming, your wall clamped around him as you got closer to the edge. You could feel his cock twitching inside you, he released your neck allowing air to flow back into your lungs as he dipped his head down to your shoulder inking his teeth into your skin. The overwhelming sensations of lightheadedness, pleasure and pain threw your senses into orbit as you came your pussy squeezing his cock as you raked your nails across his back hard enough to draw blood. Bucky gave a few more weak, uncoordinated thrusts before he painted your insides with a wanton moan gripping the pillow hard enough for it to tear. You could barely comprehend your surroundings, you felt as if you were made of air and if Bucky let go of you you’d dissipate. Your heart hammered against your rib cage, as you stared up at Bucky’s handsome face; his sweat darkened hair glued to his forehead. He let out a chuckle, his hand caressing the sigil at your womb “Happy Halloween, Angel. This is the last one you’ll ever have to spend alone. The contract has been made and now, you belong to me. Forever.”
