Notes: woooooo finally!! i’ve been promising a full length alpha!clark fic for a while and here it is finally :D turned out a bit angsty-er than i originally anticipated but folks this is a two parter!! enjoy !!!!!!!
This might be the most embarrassing moment of your life.
It’s a high bar to clear. There was that period of your life where you openly read old school erotica paperbacks at the lunch table, half-naked alphas on the cover and all. There was your Hamilton phase. The countless times you’ve tripped and fallen in public. But this – being huddled into the nearest supply closet in your workplace, on the cusp of heat – somehow takes the cake.
Your heats have always been consistent, on the dot, every three months, which is why you paid it no mind when the symptoms started to appear early. In hindsight, you should’ve known when Lois left her cardigan at your place after a movie night and you refused to return it, instead adding the piece of clothing to the pile of comforting items on your bed and whining when you had to leave that pile every morning, to get ready for work. But you ignored the glaring signs of pre-heat until it started to hit you, full-force, in the middle of your day in the office. Warmth crept up under your collar until you began to sweat, and then the cramping started, and only then did you cancel your meetings for the day and lock yourself in the supply closet.
And really, barricading yourself in wasn’t the brightest idea you’ve ever had. It felt like a great idea in the moment, compared to walking all the way home on the crowded streets of Metropolis, alone, stinking of pre-heat (horrible). Now you’ll just have to wait till all your colleagues head home for the day, and then take an overpriced taxi home, after dark (slightly less horrible).
Then someone knocks on the door.
“Anybody in there?”
This is the worst-case scenario. You’d know that deep, comforting voice anywhere: your coworker, Clark Kent.
Despite your mutual friendship with one Lois Lane, you don’t cross paths often. Clark prefers to collaborate with Jimmy on his articles, and you’ve never taken that to heart. Honestly, you don’t envy how often Jimmy ends up running around town anyway, getting photos of Superman’s latest heroic exploits to go with Clark’s interviews. Clark never joins the Daily Planet happy hours at the bar across the street. The most you’ve heard him speak is at the monthly staff meetings.
None of that has stopped you from developing a crush on him. It’s no wonder, considering how considerate he is, how tall and broad he is, how smart he is, how he still brings you coffee in the morning despite the fact that you barely know each other. Quite frankly, you wouldn’t be surprised if half the office was in love with him.
“... Clark?” You called out, even though you know it’s him, he always smells so good.
“Yeah, it’s me,” He replies, his tone gentle, like he’s trying to soothe the distress he knows you’re feeling. “Are you alright?”
And now you know for sure that he’s aware of why you’re locked in this supply closet. Humiliation creeps up your throat and your eyes start to sting with tears and shit, you hate the state that pre-heat puts you in, constantly on the verge of crying.
“Did you… smell me?” You ask, your voice quieter than you’d like it to be, but he manages to hear you even through the door.
He pauses for what seems like forever.
“Yes, I-I did.” You groan in response. You’d picked the closet that’s farthest away from any cubicles, hoping the distance and the concrete walls of the Daily Planet building would work in your favor, but of course it wouldn’t. “It’s okay, I’m the only one who can. I-I mean, I think”
“I’m sorry,” You tell him, putting all your effort into holding back your tears, because of course you would end up scandalizing the only man you’ve had a crush on in years.
“Don’t be,” He’s comforting you, because any decent alpha would. “Would it be okay if you let me in?”
You know your judgement is clouded. It must be, if you thought this whole supply closet business was a good idea, but Clark is always so kind. You can tell he wants to be respectful, that he’s just concerned about his colleague.
So you shuffle towards the door and open it just wide enough for him to slide through, in some last-ditch effort to prevent any more coworkers from scenting you in this state.
He looks you up and down, taking in the sweat starting to bead at your forehead and the flush that seems to spread down your chest, and immediately, instinctively, crouches down to your level, reaching a hand out to caress your cheek. “It’s not safe for you to come to work like this.”
“I didn’t know,” You insist, though his tone isn’t accusatory. “It’s early. Weeks early. I panicked when I realized-”
“-And hid in a supply closet?”
“I can’t walk home alone like this!” You practically whine, and Clark hums in agreement, his thumb brushing your cheek soothingly. You lean into his touch while he contemplates the dilemma you’ve gotten yourself into, and you’re suddenly grateful that he’s here out of everyone in the world, because now that you’re close to him you can make out the specific notes of his scent. It’s fiery and comforting and strong, like a fireplace, and you could just lean right into him to get more of it-
“What if- I could scent you?” He says suddenly, uncertain, because he knows you’re prone to his persuasion in this state. “If I cover you with my scent enough, you should- I can get you home. If it’s okay with you?”
“You don’t have to-”
“I want to.” He’s already taking off his jacket, and you’re already nodding, dizzy at the thought of being drenched in him.
His jacket is massive on you, but it’s soft, lined with silk on the inside, and it smells like him, and you want more. When you look back at him, his pupils are already blown wide at the sight of you draped in his clothing, his scent already starting to cover yours.
He leans closer, trailing the hand on your cheek down to your neck, his thumb coming up to stroke your skin, right where your scent gland is.
“Are you sure this is okay?” He asks again, his voice gravelly, restrained.
You nod eagerly, shuffling closer, knee-to-knee on the ground with him. Finally, his head ducks down, and you feel his nose gently nudge your scent gland, and your hand flies to grip his shoulder, already overwhelmed by having him so close to you.
He’s incredibly careful with you, frustratingly so, because your base instincts want him to hold you as tight as possible, if he asked nicely you honestly think you’d let him take you right there on the floor, but you beat back those instincts, trying to remember that he is your coworker and is just doing you a favour. Just being nice, like he always is.
So you try not to get too dizzy when Clark rubs his cheek on your scent gland, try to quell your whimpers when you feel his tongue on your neck, his scent beginning to completely dominate yours, marking you as his for just a few hours.
He brings one of your hands up to his neck, guiding you to rub your wrist against his gland, making sure every inch of you is covered in him. Leaving no room for leering alphas to mistake you for being unclaimed.
He takes a few deep breaths once his work is done, double-checking that your scent is undetectable under his, before helping you stand on your shaky legs and adjusting his jacket on you.
He cups your face in his hands again, forcing your dazed gaze back onto him. “Deep breaths, honey. Are you alright?”
You nod, but he shakes his head.
“Gonna need you to say it for me.”
“Yes,” You breathe out. “‘M okay, w-we can go.”
Clark guides you all the way home, never more than a few inches away, his hand resting gently on the small of your back. You keep stealing glances up at him, but his eyes are always elsewhere, observing everyone around you, daring them to look your way. It’s the most intimidating you’ve ever seen him look, and honestly, you know if you look too long, you’ll start leaking slick long before you make it home, so you determine it’s best to keep your eyes low. But you stick close, his warmth shielding you from the blistering windchill in the air.
He walks you into your building, all the way to your door, and really, there’s no reason for him to come inside, but you invite him up to your apartment anyway, offering hot cocoa to warm him up. Really, you just want to bask in his warmth a bit longer, hoping the smell of him rubs off on one of your pillows or something, so you can shove your face into it as soon as he leaves.
He takes his shoes off at the door before you even ask him to, careful not to spread dirt on the floor. He looks hesitant to even sit on your couch, not wanting to disturb your carefully curated apartment. It’s sweet, the way he looks around your living room, taking in all your decorations, the way your scent covers every inch of the space.
You disappear into the kitchen, finding yourself suddenly fretful over the process of making a Swiss Miss hot chocolate, pouring the nervous energy from having the most attractive man you’ve ever seen in your living room while on the cusp of your heat into measuring out the packet of cocoa sugar. You pray to whatever deity might be up there that he’s not picky over recipes, because you know he won’t complain – hell, you’ve seen him apologise to other people for ramming into him with the mail cart – but you want to make it perfect for him. You balance two mugs of hot chocolate carefully on a wooden tray, laden with random snacks you keep around for whenever a craving might hit you.
You find Clark still perched on your couch, facing the kitchen doorway like all he’d done while you were gone was wait for you to come back, and he smiles fondly when he sees the little set-up you prepared.
He stands, taking the tray from you and setting it down gently on your coffee table.
“Sit with me for a second, sweetheart,” He says, patting the spot next to him on the couch, where you happily perch for him, sitting on your calves.
“Thank you for making sure I got home safe,” You tell him, smiling shyly.
“‘S no problem, honey, I wasn’t gonna leave you like that.” He keeps that tone with you, deep and soothing, and it only makes you want him more. Just him calling you honey has you dripping into your panties again, and you hear him grunt as the scent hits his nose. “D-do you have somebody you want me to call? To help you?”
You shake your head, a bit embarrassed at the admission of your non-existent love life.
“Do you have-” For once, he’s the one blushing. “Do you have… supplies? To get you through your heat?”
Your head tilts, confused. “I have, um, water, and groceries, and plenty of blankets, if that’s what you mean.”
“You don’t have… toys?”
Your mouth parts with a silent “oh”, realising what he means — there are plenty of them out there, special-made dildos with knots at the bottom to help an omega through their heat. You’ve always thought that if you were going to get one, you’d want one of the fancier models, the ones that have a button to inflate the knot on command, or the ones with a thrusting function, or maybe one where you can customize the size. Every time you searched online, you ended up overwhelmed by the options, not to mention the prices, and ended up closing out the tabs before you could make a decision, half-heartedly thinking that you’ll save up enough to buy it one day.
“No, I- I usually just deal with it, um, on my own.” You curl your fingers around the hem of your skirt, tugging on it nervously, feeling yourself dampen further with just the thought of touching yourself.
He glances down at the motion, his eyes fluttering shut for just a moment, dizzy as he takes in your flushed cheeks and heady scent.
“You’re close,” He mutters, almost to himself. ”Sweetheart, if you want… I can- I can stay. I can help you, but if you don’t want me to, I’ll leave now, bring you anything you need, promise, it doesn’t have to b-“
You shake your head vehemently, cutting off his rambling, scooting closer to him.
“Want it to be you, I-” You feel blood rush to your cheeks, your mind becoming a bit hazy at how close his face is getting to yours. “I like you.”
Your confession makes him smile.
“Yeah?” He nudges his nose against yours, playfully affectionate. “I like you, too, baby.”
Then his lips are on yours, deep and wanting, a groan escaping him as soon as he gets a taste of you. He lets you climb into his lap while you slip your tongue past his lips, desperate for him, his hands falling to your hips to encourage you to grind into him for a bit of relief from the burning, feverish desire you feel.
You used to dream about this. On quiet nights after a long day, you’d slip your hand under your pajamas and allow yourself to believee that Clark stole glances at you like you did to him, that some day you’d be stuck together for an assignment, or the last two left after a happy hour with the rest of the Planet crew – you switched up the scenario to keep it interesting, but the result is always the same – he’d reveal his overwhelming attraction to you, take you back to his cozy apartment, and fuck you ‘till your legs felt like jelly and his spend was dripping down your legs, all the while whispering in your ear about how you were the sweetest omega he’d ever touched.
The supply closet was not your idea of a fantasy, but this, being lifted by your thighs when Clark stands and carries to your bedroom, felt eerily similar to what you’d pictured on all those nights, down to his lips never leaving yours, the mass of muscle under your hands as you held onto his biceps, the heated edge to his scent as his arousal became evident.
He lays you on your bed, and even through the haze of desire, you feel a tinge of embarrassment at the state of your bedroom, the collection of soft objects carefully arranged in subconscious preparation for your heat, your cloying scent coating every inch of the room. If Clark minds, he doesn’t show it, exceedingly careful not to disturb your nest when he sets you down. He finally pulls away from spit-slicked lips to press open-mouthed kisses down your jaw, your neck, while he moves to lift your shirt off.
“If at any point, you need me to stop-” He looks back up at you, pressing a kiss just below your navel. “Just tell me, baby, and I’ll stop.”
“‘M not gonna want you to stop,”
He takes his time removing your blouse and simple bra, his eyes fixated on the flush of your skin that goes all the way down your bare chest, long enough to make you squirm under his gaze before he gets his mouth on your nipples, kissing, sucking, kneading your sensitive flesh till you feel slick soak down your thighs. He relieves the discomfort of wet fabric on your skin before you can even voice it, removing your skirt and panties in one tug, soothing your slick, burning skin with his touch.
Then your legs are over his shoulders, kisses trailed up your thighs as he sets his hungry gaze on your sex, a low, rumbling purr forming in his chest at the sight of you bare for him.
“Can’t believe you’re gonna let me taste this sweet cunt,” He mumbles against your skin, not bothering to hide the deep breaths he’s taking, drinking in the smell of you. “You’re gonna send me into a rut, sweetheart, just the taste of you-”
“No, please, alpha,” You beg, tangling your fingers through his curls and trying to tug him up from between your legs. “I need you-”
“Need me inside, baby, hm? I know,” He coos. “Know it hurts, but I have to get you ready for my knot first, need to make sure I don’t hurt you.”
He answers your distressed whines by opening his mouth over your pussy, lapping at you languidly like he’s doing it for himself, not to hear your desperate mewls, just the taste of you making him groan.
You’re sensitive, and completely at his mercy, letting out pleasured whimpers every time he touches you. He has no trouble bringing you to multiple climaxes, closing his lips around your clit and sucking until you’re rocking your hips against his face, knuckles cramping from the strength of your hold on his curls. His strong hands holding you in place are the only thing that stops you from squirming away when it all gets too much, his tongue unrelenting against your clit, his thick fingers slipping inside you easily after two orgasms, stretching you and curling inside you till you’re incapable of forming sentences, only able to cry out his name over and over again. Still, the burning in the pit of your stomach won’t subside, only getting more intense with each high, you can feel yourself getting delirious with your need for him.
And just when you think Clark is done prepping you, torturing you by bringing you to orgasm after orgasm without him deep inside you, he finally lets you see him. You can’t stop yourself from staring once he finally removes his briefs, his fully hard cock so heavy it can’t even stay upright, thick and flushed red and so pretty. Your eyes swim with tears of joy when he settles over you, his shaft resting so perfectly between your folds, parting them, as he smears his still-wet lips against yours and begins to rut against you. His cock slips between your lips, covering it in your slick, the tip nudging against your clit deliciously but never catching against your entrance, never giving you what you need.
You’re practically sobbing for it. “A-alpha, please, please-“
“Be good f’r me, omega,” Clark slurs, drunk on the feeling of your soft skin against his, the smell of your slick in the air, the taste of it on his lips. He can feel it, the creeping fever on the back of his neck, the need to fill you overtaking every instinct he has. He just wants to draw it out a bit longer, make sure you’re really ready to take his size without hurting, just wants to make you feel good over and over again before he stuffs you with his load.
Your orgasm comes suddenly and leaves you breathless, twitching, digging your nails into his back when you finally feel the head of his cock at your entrance. Your legs wrap around his waist, trying to get him to push in just a little bit, but it’s no use — his strength far outweighs yours. His hand comes up to cup your jaw, forcing your eyes open and on him.
His gaze is intense, and forcing you into clarity for a moment, focusing on meeting his eyes as he presses into you, inch by inch, pausing when your breath catches. He waits, every time your brow pinches with the force of the stretch, pausing until you nod for him to keep going.
When he bottoms out, his pelvis flush against yours, he stays there, pressing sweet kisses to your lips despite you rocking your hips up into him. The hand on your jaw moves down in favour of gripping your thigh, hoisting it further up on his waist, forcing you open for him and halting your movements.
“Gotta give me a second, omega, or ‘m gonna- fuck- gonna pop my knot before I’ve even felt you cum around me.” He warns, his jaw clenched tight.
You watch him as you wait, his eyes screwed shut, his glasses slightly fogged, cheeks bright red. You can’t believe you get to see him like this. Fully rooted in you, not an inch of space between you. All pent up, just from getting his mouth on you, giving you exactly what you need, what you’ve wanted for so long, and then-
He’s rocking his hips into you shallowly, just letting you feel his cock drag against your walls, grinding up into that spot that makes you see white while he whispers praise, trying desperately to contain his strength so he doesn’t bruise your thighs. You cum just from that, from feeling so full and raw and satisfied, finally, that your lungs constrict and you feel the gush of slick between you, soaking both of you, but he doesn’t stop for a minute, just mumbles how good you are for him, “Yeah, yeah, that’s it, baby, cum for me, just like that-“
He starts to fuck you in earnest, the hard thrust of his hips knocking moans from both of you, sloppy and slick and unrestrained.
All you can do is cling to him, clenching and whining sweetly for him, the hot clutch of your cunt drawing him in over and over again till you can feel the swell of his knot nudging at your entrance, and then you start to beg again. Pleading for him to fill you, to make you his, telling him yesyesyes when he laps at the curve of your neck, smothering you in his rich scent again.
You can feel him thickening inside you, beginning to lose himself to the feel of you as his hips lose their controlled swing, reduced to groans tight in his throat like he can’t bear to form words anymore. Then his teeth, the sharp ridge of his incisors, scraping at your scent gland, the hint of a claim tips you over the edge again, making a mess of the sheets under you and reducing your limbs and mind to mush. It’s here, in this state, that he can finally push his pulsing, massive knot into you, locking you with him as he spills his seed.
And he cums so much. Filling every inch of you, till you have nothing to want for, finally sated for the time being. Your head is fuzzy with his scent, the hot swell of his knot inside you, the feeling of his lips on yours again, soothing and grounding.
“Omega,” He mumbles, pulling away, a string of spit between your lips and his still connecting you. “How do you feel?”
A pleased chirp leaves your mouth, and you wiggle your hips under him just to feel the tug of his knot inside you, making him grunt in surprise, a fond smile forming on his face.
“‘M so happy,” You tell him, pressing a kiss to his jawline. “So full, alpha, thank you.”
You stay like that for a while, letting him fawn over you, peppering praising kisses anywhere he can reach, asking if you’re hungry or thirsty repeatedly, despite your insistence that all you want is him.
When his knot deflates just enough to slip out, he grabs you water anyways, coaxing you into downing at least two glasses and half a granola bar with several pecks in between sips and bites. Only then does he settle back into bed with you, purring comfortingly as he wraps an arm around you from behind.
For a few minutes, you lay with him, soothed despite the fact that when your heat clears, you’ll go back to being coworkers, this fulfillment of your desires only lasting so long before this favor is done and you return to coffees in the morning and a few words exchanged during meetings.
Then your mind clouds again and you’re reaching for him, moaning sweetly when he lifts your thigh and fills you from behind, promising to spear you on his knot as many times as you need.
You get worse before you get better. Clark takes you more times then you can even make sense of in your delirium, even makes you cum on his knot a few times, grinding into you and swirling his thumb over your clit just to tire you out and soothe your feverish pleas.
And he kisses you. All over, but especially your lips, can’t seem to go long without the taste of your mouth on his, and when he’s not kissing you, he’s telling you how good you are for him, how good you feel, how much he loves filling you. Spends every lucid moment you get making sure you’re both energised, even sweet-talking you into getting a few hours of sleep when he can.
You give yourself over to him. For those few days, you let yourself forget that it’s a fantasy at all.
It’s already been a year since I began this blog! Thank you so much for your support, Bunny. I am so grateful for our beautiful community. To many more years together! For our anniversary, I’ve prepared a pick-a-card reading about what your life will be like a year from now. To pick a reading, don’t overthink it; choose the one that draws you in the most while considering the reading’s intent. Pick multiple if you feel so called to! Always use your discernment & take only what resonates.
Love, Matcha ♡
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1 ₊˚.༄
A year from now, you’ll finally have taken the choices that led you to your dreams. You’ll be further than ever on your highest path, Bunny. Right now, you’ve finally woken up to the fact that some of your habits have been hindering your progress; the lack and victimhood mindsets are no longer allowed to rule your decision-making. This is rewiring your way of navigating life and you’ll largely benefit from it when it comes to your love life and your finances.
You’ll have removed from your life people who are still connected to your old way of viewing the world and embarked on new projects that will make you financially affluent. Not only will you be reconnected to your purpose through your creative or business ventures, but you’ll also be able to repay most or all of the debts you have if it applies to you.
Your self-love will be at an all-time high! You’ll be feeling confident, because you’ll know that you took the power into your own hands and your glow-up is all thanks to your own efforts. You won’t be allowing your dreams to be mere fantasies anymore! If you’ve been feeling low energy or feeling like you regressed in some areas of your life where you once excelled, be certain that in a year from now, you’ll be more vibrant than ever.
In the next year, you’ll hold on tight to everything that matters to you, and all that’s aligned with your success will have remained. You’ll be further on your more long term goals, finally seeing concrete progress that proves your dedication. There’ll still be a lot you want to accomplish, because now that you’ll know what you’re capable of you won’t shy away from adding elements to your vision board and aiming even higher! Money will be flowing in like it never has before, you’ve unblocked powerful manifestation capacities that are allowing you to receive your wishes faster. It’s because you’ll have let go of self-doubt.
You’ll be surrounded by soul companions, and some of you will be reunited with a romantic soulmate. Love will be part of your everyday life. You’ll accept acts of love easily, it’ll be something you’re used to! Being celebrated and cared for will be something you can expect from your circle. True meaningful friendships will create a strong support system for you. People will feel pulled towards you more than ever, and if you’re not in a soul union yet a year from now you’ll at least be receiving a lot of romantic attention from potential prospects. A year from now, you’ll have evolved into someone stronger with unwavering faith surrounded by love and financial abundance!
It’s raining men - the weather girls
Taurus, Leo, Pisces, Gemini
750, 716, 255, 525, 2, 5, 7, 33, 6
April, seashells, bear, dagger, apple, fox, crescent moon, seagull, backpacking, Japan, snake, crow, red dress, red lipstick, Ghibli movies, Kitsune, Angel Sitael, Angel Raphael, Belial, Eve, Athena
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2 ⊹˚˖ ☆
A year from now you’ll be peaceful and in love, Bunny! You could be in a chaotic mental state at the moment, struggling with keeping things in order and organizing your routine. In a year, you’ll have decluttered your life and you’ll have developed healthy habits grounded in self-love. You’ll have accepted the way you naturally go about life and created a system that works based on your own personality rather than trying to fit into a constraining mould. If you’re neurodivergent, it’s a sign that you’ll finally have made peace with how your brain works instead of fighting against it! If you’ve been feeling blue, be certain that this new system will change your life and make space for a more positive vibrant mindset! You’ll have reevaluated your career goals. If they don’t resonate with you anymore, you’ll align with a career path that does. You could change jobs or your field of study. If it’s already in the plans, know that it’ll have been successfully done a year from now!
You could’ve been feeling insecure about your social life, perhaps you’ve been surrounded by people that heighten your social anxiety or you’ve been portraying a personality that doesn’t feel true to you. If so, this will have been dealt with. If right now you’d describe yourself as shy or introverted, that might not be true anymore in a year. If it’s something you’ve been struggling with, you’ll have healed your stage fright! You’ll be able to talk confidently in front of a group of people, even if they don’t have the best intentions or energy, because a year from now you won’t let yourself be frightened by others’ low vibrational energy. If you’re already someone outgoing and comfortable talking in front of big crowds then it will be something you’ll have now mastered and it might be a big part of your job! You won’t feel the need to prove yourself to people who don’t believe in your vision, but you won’t shy away from stating your opinion in front of them if it’s something expected from you in that context. You won’t let any bully have any say in the way you live your life, you won’t let them take away from your vibrant light. It won’t matter to you if people don’t like you, because you’ll have totally understood and integrated the fact that rejection is protection.
You’ll be more grounded in your opinions, perhaps you’ve been swaying between different ways to see the world at the moment, but a year from now your perspective will be more fixed. It’s not because you’re stubborn, it’ll be because you’ll have developed a strong moral compass that guides your decision-making.
If you’ve been in a toxic romantic or platonic relationship, you’ll finally part ways with your person. Looking back on it you’ll feel like the breakup wasn’t as difficult as you expected, because when it happened you strongly knew it was for the better. If you’ve already cut someone out of your life you loved as an act of self-preservation, you may be able to reconcile with them if they’ve done the proper work on themselves to align with your high vibrational love. If not, you’ll just totally be over it! You’ll likely be in a beautiful romantic relationship with a twin flame or a soulmate a year from now. It’ll be everything you’ve wished for and it’ll make everything or everyone you lost before so worth it. The person you’ll be in a union with will break all the negative romantic patterns of your lineage, your relationship with them won’t resemble anything negative you might have seen in your family growing up.
If this applies to you, you may lose your virginity or just try something a bit “scandalous” for the first time. Maybe you’ll drink for the first time, try weed if it’s legal in your country, maybe you’ll be dressing in a sexier way or you’ll be more vulgar (in a tasteful way) in your artistic ventures. You won’t be so uptight as you used to be! This is especially true if the only reason you haven’t tried some things already is because you’ve been feeling the pressure of your family’s opinion, it’s not something that won’t matter as much as your own happiness and life experience in a year.
505 by Nessa Barrett (Arctic Monkeys cover)
Welcome to my island by Caroline Polachek
Pisces, Cancer, Libra, Scorpio, Aries, Leo
315, 955, 501, 555, 5, 1, 2, 8
poodle, pomeranian, ariana grande, Cleopatra, full moon, wind, gold jewelry, red candle, wax, Angel Mihael, Bushwick, New York, Europe, Latin America, Mexico, Freya, Frida Kahlo, koi fish, beta fish, Barbie
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3 ‧₊˚ ♡
You’re going to grow so much in wisdom in the upcoming year, Bunny! You might have been feeling frustrated with aspects of yourself you’ve been seeing as immature lately, it could be related to laziness, procrastination or impulsivity. Either way, you’ll start your growth process by giving yourself a little bit of slack. You’ll realize that being hard on yourself isn’t helping you get better at all, it’s actually just intertwined with childish black-and-white thinking. How can you grow into someone more respectable and grounded if you keep disrespecting yourself through your inner discourse? You’ll realize that your habits are related to your upbringing and past experiences (or lack of experience) and there’s no need to be so self-critical! A year from now, you’ll have taken full responsibility for your mental health and emotional maturity and it’ll have made you blossom into the most independent and self-aware version of yourself.
It’ll make you blossom into a highly lucky individual because you’ll now see opportunities where you used to see challenges! You’ll be confident in your abilities and your natural talents. You’ll understand that being a beginner doesn’t mean you can’t one day excel. You’ll also let go of perfectionism, you don’t need to master all of your hobbies, Bunny, you can simply enjoy them! And you’ll realize this mindset is actually helping you progress faster than ever. It’ll also be thanks to the divine, your guides are glad you finally integrated this lesson and they see that you’re now ready to enter more abundance.
Also, if you’ve been trying to excuse some abusive behaviours done towards you, be certain that a year from now you’ll have stood up for yourself! You’ll have excellent discernment when it comes to manipulative tactics. Perhaps you’ll read some books regarding human behaviours that will open your eyes to certain people’s actions. If you’ve been described as someone naive, this won’t be true anymore in a year, Bunny. Even though you’ll still be someone kind who likes to give the benefit of the doubt, people won’t be able to play games with you like they used to, you’ll catch it as soon as it’s happening. You’ll also have learned that you don’t always need to call it out, you’ll simply take notes and act accordingly!
You’ll educate yourself a lot in the next year, and you will be very impressed by all the knowledge Bunny from a year in the future possesses. You’ll be very adept of a precise subject, you’ll become kind of nerdy, but in a good way you’ll be proud of. Your time alone will become more important because you’ll absolutely need time to research this topic! It’ll be something you plan to use on your career path so you’ll take it very seriously. It won’t be simply entertainment, you’ll actively be working towards your career goals through this process.
You’ll be so sexy in a year, you’ll have a powerful physical glow up that’ll get you compliments left and right. Even though I think you won’t prioritize social settings to focus on your nerdy ventures, I feel like you’ll be more popular than you’ve ever been. Your go-getter energy will be so attractive and everyone around you will be certain you’re destined for immense success. The kind of success most people are frightened to even wish for. I see you having an active sex life if you wish for it but romance won’t be at the forefront of your priorities.
This night has opened my eyes by The Smiths
Capricorn, Leo, Virgo, Sagittarius, Gemini, Libra
200, 666, 514, 10, 7, 6, 8, 369hz
Colorado, colourful socks, bakugan, Golden Dawn, peacock, jaguar, leopard print, India, Haiti, Middle East, sunlight, photosynthesis, photography, mysticism, travel, sunset, wheelchair, golden retriever
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4 ₊˚. 𖤓
Wow, Bunny, you’ll totally turn your life around in the next year in the best way possible! The amount of discipline and drive you’re going to show is astonishing. You’ll be embodying your most persistent and hardworking self. The Universe will greatly reward you for the amount of determination and dedication you’re putting in. If we were to show you a vision of what your life will look like in a year, it would be difficult for you to believe it because the amount of progress you’ll be able to make in such a short amount of time is almost unheard of. However, if you’re doubting the possibility of grandiose success for you, this might not be your reading, this one is for people who won’t shy away from their highest path.
Everything you’re wishing for right now will be integrated in your life a year from now and if it’s not the case then it’ll be on its way to you (but most of your vision board will be accomplished). It’s because you’ve decided to embrace your hidden qualities instead of aiming to please others! As of now, you’ve already understood that whatever you do people are going to have something to say regardless so you might as well go after your dreams. You also know that everything you want is on the other side of discipline! So, there’s no need for anymore stagnation, you’re taking the necessary steps to go towards your success. And you’re choosing yourself every day. Even though at first you might feel a little bit of imposter syndrome while embodying this new attitude, it won’t last long. Actually, you’ll find peace and refuge in hard work. You need to be careful about workaholic tendencies in the upcoming year because burnout would hinder your momentum.
In a year, most of what you know to be part of your daily routine will be gone. You’ll be living a life where you’re actively utilizing all your skills and talents. There’s no way you’ll be stuck at a boring job a year from now. Actually, you’ll likely have made your passions a full-time venture. You’ll also be more confident to learn things on the go, since you’ll now know your limitless potential it won’t be scary to say yes to a project even if you don’t totally know everything about it. Like “No, I never made a website. Yeah, I am going to do the website myself, it’s launching in two months maximum. Oh, you want me to lead a meeting with potential investors for the brand? Fun, I’ve never done that. I’ll gladly do it”. Big dick energy!
Your presence and opinion will be highly respected a year from now. You’ll be seen as an expert in the transformation and transmutation of energy, and people will look up to you as proof that miracles are possible. Extreme good luck is on your side, especially if you’re not scared of totally reinventing yourself. You’ll shine like you never did before. You might even become an influencer in your chosen field if you’re open to it. You’re a leader, a pioneer, a star! Looking fine as hell will be a side effect of this immense progress, not only will you find a style that suits you exceptionally, but your new contacts or financial means will enable you to have access to all the self-care services you wish for. If it’s not through an exchange of money, it’ll be through an exchange of services.
If you’ve chosen this reading you’re advised to pick another one. This one reinforces the meaning of any other pile that resonates with you, it highlights how you’re so aligned with your highest destiny that your progress is inevitable.
horse, mustang, butterfly, owl, Angel Ariel, Kalima, Isis, the oracle of Delphi, Apollo, pink roses, salt lamp, pink quartz, amethyst, lip gloss, leather purse, purple hoodie
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5 ⊹˚˖ ꩜
A year from now you’ll be embarking on a brand new adventure, Bunny! You’ve spent a lot of time envisioning different versions of your future but now the path ahead seems clearer than ever. You’ll have made important decisions when it comes to your social life, deciding to prioritize your mental health and self-love over superficial friendships. This shift will have led you to let go of self-limiting beliefs and negative self-talk. With this new way of experiencing life, you’ve evolved into the most authentic and free-spirited version of yourself.
The relationships in your life will be well established, grounded in love and filled with joy. You’ll feel cherished by your circle, although it may be smaller than it is right now. Every connection you’re in will serve a higher purpose on your spiritual path, they’ll help you achieve your goals and reach success. You’ll have a romantic partner or a best friend who’ll always be there to encourage you in your ventures, helping you to take advantage of your momentum and take meaningful actions towards your ideas.
In a year, you’ll have initiated a project that is at the moment just germinating in your mind. It’ll be a shock to your family and childhood friends to witness you go down this path. You’ll be in a discipline where only the most talented can succeed, but you’ll be able make a name for yourself easily thanks to your determination. Your charisma and physical beauty will give you a great advantage over your peers and you’ll end up receiving more attention than people with more experience than you.
You’ll be in a space emotionally where no challenge can get the best of you. You’ll be astonished by how well-regulated your nervous system is. You no longer have mental breakdowns or crash outs, you’ll be able to handle stressful situations without letting them get the best of you. Things that may use to cause you panic attacks will now just be a walk in the park. You won’t be overthinking about your interactions with others, you’ll show up present and proud. People pleasing isn’t something you’ll be engaging with, Bunny! You’ll have no interest in people who don’t find you interesting, they’re not aligned with you anyway. But most people will be attracted to your energy. At social events, you’ll be the hottest one in the room in the eyes of others!
Someone you’re also romantically interested in will be infatuated by you. It might be a new suitor or the lover you’re actually in a relationship with, either way, they’ll remind you of how much they’re into you every day. Your sexual life is going to be very active and fulfilling. You could go through a kundalini awakening with this person. To them, you’re the most sexy thing on earth. This person will be preparing themselves to ask you to take this relationship to the next step of commitment. They could ask you to be their official partner, ask you to move in with them or ask you to marry them if it’s a long-term relationship… Even if you’ll likely be in a romantic relationship, a lot of people will have a crush on you. You’ve glown up so much in the past year that you’re now at a level of beauty and power that can’t be ignored.
A year from now your professional and love life will have gone through a major glow-up, Bunny! Your life will be so put together. You’ll have a stable and high-paying job and be in a serious romantic relationship. You’ll likely have moved to a new place with your lover, possibly in a new country. In a year, travel will be an important part of your life. You’ll be able to afford going on trips, although they could mostly be work trips! You’ll be in a new social class, enjoying privileges you never knew could be accessible to you. Flying first class, going to high-end restaurants and affording expensive jewelry will be part of your lifestyle.
Your success will have been built on hard work, even though a lot of people will believe you’re an overnight success. Since you’ll be part of the “elite” many will assume you were born wealthy, and you could even be accused of being a nepo baby. At times it may feel dismissive, because you’ve done the work almost all alone, but you’ll know to take it as a compliment. You’ll have an intimidating and powerful presence, an energy that commands respect.
Your prosperity will be built on a venture that brings joy into the world. You’ll go about something in a way that wasn’t explored before, some will be jealous because they wish they had the idea to do it this way earlier than you. You might have a business and the way you’ll be operating it will be especially ethical and your service will be of excellent quality. In the next year, you’ll be working blood sweat and tears to bring it to this height and it’ll be all worth it. Because after this initial intense level of labor, wealth will flow in easily with minimal effort. You’ll have a good work ethic, even though most of your energy will be dedicated to this venture, you’ll find a way to make it sustainable in order to not burn out.
You’ll have developed your divine masculine energy, if you’re a woman you’ll be breaking some gender stereotypes with the way you’re handling your business. If you’re a man, you’ll be respected for your authority as well. In a year, people will refer to you. You could have employees who trust your judgement or people who see you as their mentor. They’ll honour your advice because they’ll know it’s built on experience and spiritual wisdom.
Most of your free time will be dedicated to going on adventures and spending time with your life partner. Although you’ll be highly independent, you’ll be in a relationship with someone dependable you want to build your future with. If you want kids, you’ll be envisioning your life together as parents. You could get proposed to during a beautiful trip! You’ll know this person is your soulmate so the answer will be a no-brainer. For some of the people who chose this reading, it may be in more than a year, but it can still resonate as something further in the future.
Leo, Scorpio, Taurus, Capricorn, Aries
724, 601, 125, 955, 33, 43, 44, 25, 2
dandelion, pearl necklace, yoga, summer solstice, poetry, mountain, chess game, chocolate muffin, matcha, silverware, woodpecker, yin&yang, fur trinkets, blue gel polish
You and Jack don't get along. When a confrontation finally pushes you over the edge, both of you discover that the only thing more intense than your arguments is giving in.
You’d been the charge nurse for three weeks now, filling in for Dana while she was on sabbatical. From the moment you stepped onto the floor, you took the "charge” in your title quite literally, pulling rank over the doctors whenever their egos got in the way of patient care.
Jack hated that it worked. He hated even more that you were genuinely good at keeping the chaotic system of the ER from collapsing.
Your dynamic was a constant collision.
When he tried to snap at you, you’d come back ten times hotter, a habit that infuriated him to no end. Robby often joked that Jack’s irritation stemmed from the fact that no one had ever dared give him back the same energy he doled out.
Jack didn't see it that way. To him, you were simply unprofessional.
To you, bossing him around was the highlight of your shift.
The breaking point came during your shift tonight. Everyone had been betting on when you two would explode.
The ER was drowning in trauma calls and flu season overflow. In the middle of the chaos, Jack raised his voice at you, his frustration boiling over in front of the entire staff.
You froze for a second, eyes blinking as the noise of the ER faded into the background.
Then, a shadow crossed your expression, and Jack’s eyes widened. He knew he fucked up. That he’d crossed some imaginary line that had been drawn between the two of you.
Without a word, you grabbed him by the collar of his scrubs and began dragging him toward the ambulance bay. He was too stunned to resist as you pulled him through the double doors and down the winding exterior path of the hospital, seeking the silence of the concrete walls away from the sirens.
Once you reached a secluded alcove, you shoved him back. He stumbled, catching himself against a stone pillar, and turned toward you with wild, disbelieving eyes. He opened his mouth to bark a protest, but you beat him to it.
“What the fuck did you just say to me?” you demanded, your finger poking hard against the center of his chest. “You don’t speak to me like that. You want something done? You ask nicely. Yelling doesn’t get you anywhere in this hospital, especially with me.”
Jack stood there, momentarily stunned into submission by the sheer force of your fury. Your chest was heaving, and your hair had begun to tumble out of its clip, framing a face that was flushed with adrenaline.
“You’re right,” he finally snapped back, his voice low and frustrated. “But holy fuck you are infuriating. Everything I order or say, you contradict. It’s like you don’t want this ER to run smoothly. You are the bane of my night. Every day I come in here and I cannot even fathom the ways you will try to undermine me.”
He began taking slow, deliberate steps toward you until your back was flush against the cool stone of the wall. He moved until the space between you disappeared.
“No, I don’t!” you stammered, the words losing their edge. The sheer closeness of him, the heat radiating off his body, was breaking you down. It was quickly eroding that cool no nonsense exterior you worked tirelessly to keep.
Up close, he smelled incredibly good, just as he always did.
“Yes, you do. And I think you like it. You like seeing me squirm”. His eyes locked onto yours, challenging you.
Your gaze dropped instinctively to his lips. In that moment, you decided that the only way to end this intense, insane tension that had been building between you for weeks was to finally lean into it. You were out of cares and fucks to give.
You dove in first.
It didn't take long for his hands to find your jaw, gripping you with a desperation that matched your own. The kiss was fiery, intense, and so heated that your teeth bumped, but neither of you cared.
“This is what you wanted, huh? This is what you’ve always wanted,” he panted against your lips.
“Shut the fuck up and kiss me,” you breathed.
He didn't need to be told twice. His hands roamed over your body, pinching at your waist before dropping lower to palm your ass.
Jack’s hands were now frantic as they tangled in your hair, pulling you closer.
When Jack finally moaned your name against your lips, a sound that seemed to go through his entire chest, it was more delicious than any victory you’d ever won over him in the ER.
The way he licked into your mouth sent electric tingles racing down your spine, hitting you right where you needed it most.
The sound of an inhaled gasp cut through the silence. You both froze, breaking apart just enough to see Dr. Mel standing there, her eyes wide and her face pale under the flickering exterior lights. She looked at the two of you, your flushed faces, your disheveled scrubs and then turned away with a swiftness.
"I’m… I’m sorry," Mel stammered, her voice high and tight as she stared fixedly at a distant brick wall. "Dr. Abbot, we… we need you in Trauma 1. Now."
He didn't look at Mel. Instead, he reached out and gave your arm a firm, lingering squeeze before he turned and sprinted back toward the ER doors.
You stood there for a second, trying to steady your breathing and smooth down your hair, but you weren't more than a few paces behind him. As you moved to follow him back into the heat of the hospital, Mel walked back toward the entrance, pausing to give you an unreadable, odd look.
You didn't let her speak.
"Don’t even say a word," you said, brushing past her and back into the chaos of the shift.
……………………………………………….
[07:14 AM] Jack: Just saw you clock out. You didn't wait.
[07:15 AM] Y/N: I’ve been on my feet for twelve hours, Abbot. If I stayed one more minute, I was going to fall asleep standing up in the lobby.
[07:17 AM] Jack: I’m only five minutes behind you. I'm already in my car.
[07:18 AM] Y/N: Good for you. Hope your bed is as comfortable as mine is about to be.
[07:20 AM] Jack: That’s the problem. I don't think I'm going to be able to sleep at my place.
[07:21 AM] Y/N: And whose fault is that?
[07:23 AM] Jack: Yours. Entirely yours.
[07:24 AM] Jack: Look... I'm tired of fighting you. Can I come over?
[07:27 AM] Jack: I’m asking to come over and put you to bed. Properly.
[07:28 AM] Y/N: ...
[07:28 AM] Jack: Please?
[07:30 AM] Y/N: You finally learned how to ask nicely.
[07:31 AM] Y/N: Door’s unlocked. Don’t make me regret it.
18+ - MDNI, established relationship, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, p in v, breeding kink, mentions of pregnancy, bucky's a werewolf so um... talks of having a litter LOL
author's note: part of the bwatober collab - please check out the work of my fellow writers! 💖 now as for this fic, take a journey with me, why don't you? the path is long and meandering, but the weather is nice, and the company's better. there are exactly two people who i know will enjoy this intense exposition... to the rest of you, i'm sorry.
So, your boyfriend was a werewolf.
He told you after three months of dating. Apparently, he had been waiting to see if you were serious about him before telling you the truth. Of course, he had been serious about you since the moment you had met.
Something in him just… steadied. Stilled. His heartbeat evened out when you were around, like it was waiting for permission to relax.
Bucky had heard that some werewolves actually transformed. He didn’t know if that was true, but he himself didn’t. Or hadn’t. Over the years, he'd come to the conclusion that the bite must become less potent over time, the lycanthropy gene diluting more and more with each pass of piercing canines. No, his teeth just got a little sharper. He got a bit aggressive, on edge, his emotions heightened, senses more acute. A few days before the change he’d get really needy. But beneath it all he was still your Bucky, your sweet puppy of a boyfriend.
You had always believed in the supernatural, some force greater than yourself. While it might have been hard to wrap your head around at first, the way Bucky had looked when he'd told you, so earnest, so open, you knew at the very least that he believed it. You had smiled at him gently, taken one of his hands in yours, and asked him to explain. To show you some proof, some way to make sense of everything you had been told. What about werewolves was true? What was a myth?
The fact that you'd been willing to try to understand had meant everything to him. He loved you. He'd known it beforehand, but that had really solidified it, for him. Bucky knew your nature well by now. He hadn't thought you would call him crazy or throw him out of the house, but he had felt an inkling of worry. After all, this was the biggest secret of his life, and he knew how it sounded—you were well within your rights to want nothing to do with him.
But you'd listened patiently while he'd explained. He'd lived abroad one semester in university, over in London. A night in which he'd gotten drinks with some new friends at a pub had led to him stumbling through cobbled streets alone, the lamplight murky and inconsistent, when he'd gotten jumped. Or, he thought he had gotten jumped. Someone had hit him in the head, moved him bodily to an alleyway. He'd lost consciousness for a while, that much he knew. When he came to again, he had been changed, a bite mark bright and aching on his shoulder, the skin ripped and leaving behind the impression of jagged teeth.
Bucky hadn't noticed the effects right away, chalking it up to someone who wasn't well, who had maybe been on something. But the first full moon had put things into focus so clearly, it had been like looking at a still lake, his reflection a harsh outline. Teeth, claws, an insatiable hunger, a soul-sucking emptiness. And beneath that, fear and loneliness.
Wolves were creatures that travelled in packs, after all, and Bucky had no one, forlorn and abandoned by his maker in the streets of London. He was even more isolated after his return at the end of the spring, back to the busy streets of Brooklyn. It was hard to search for other people like him. Sometimes he heard whispers, when he searched hard enough, but no concrete evidence. Maybe he was too scared to really look.
All he knew was that when the moon was full, he yearned to be under it, in the clear air, with nature. A part of him wanted to hunt. Another wanted to tuck tail and find comfort in the arms of someone like him, who understood him. Years of this affliction was what had convinced him to seek out a small fixer-upper cottage in the deep wilds. Hard work and attention, deliberate care and intention—those were the traits needed to make it liveable. And eventually, he did just that. Polished wooden floors. Somewhat clumsily applied wallpaper. Furniture scored at flea markets and thrift stores and yard sales. A little piece of nature, just for him, for when he needed it most. That and fixing the roof, the plumbing, and figuring out electrical, on top of all of the surrounding groundwork, would have taken a normal man much longer, but Bucky was a normal man no more. His endurance and adrenaline had been prolonged, his stamina at an all-time high. It didn't take much time at all for him to pack on the muscle. Months of handiwork had made that easy for him.
Bucky didn't think that he was a danger, not really. His fear of hurting people when he was ravenous was what had spurred him on to creating a safe haven, anyway. His apartment was small, the complex a flood of bodies. He'd bought heavy duty chains and shackled himself to the radiator, and then failing that, the exposed pipes on his ceiling. But he'd known all along that the safest option would be to remove himself from the equation entirely, by seeking solace among the trees.
And then you came along. A shy creature yourself, eyes warm, smile warmer. Like a well-loved sweater, one that was worn in all the right ways, trapped heat and fond memories and safety in its threads.
It had been something called 'Friendsgiving'. Bucky had been invited by Sam, a kid he'd not gotten along with in freshman year, but who had ended up one of his best buddies by graduation. Bucky kept a framed photo of them with their gowns and diplomas on his wall. Above all else, Bucky valued loyalty. He'd been hesitant to go to the pseudo Thanksgiving occasion, but had wanted to be a good friend, someone who showed up for the important moments, so he'd agreed to go. His contribution had been store-bought cookies, handed over sheepishly to Wanda, who had taken over the kitchen without a moment's notice.
You had blown in with the first snow, trailing Joaquin, blowing your hair from your face, your hands struggling to hold onto your plastic shopping bags, rife with tiny cheesecakes that you'd scored from a bakery. Desserts were set, between the pair of you. Bucky, who had been near the door anyway, had scrambled to help you with the bags while you unwound your scarf. You'd been flushed, your nose red from the cold, snowflakes in your eyelashes. You'd thanked him profusely, your words stilted and stammered, like you felt embarrassed for being incapable of such a simple task.
All Bucky could think was that you were the prettiest thing he'd ever seen, prettier still when you'd hung your coat up on the rack and revealed a snug sweater dress over polka-dot tights. Where had you been hiding all this time? He'd helped you carry your offerings to the kitchen, handing them to you one-by-one to be placed in the fridge. Each time your fingers had brushed his, it was like someone had flicked a match against flint, the tiniest of sparks shooting through his nerves, stones skipping on a lake.
Dinner had been a series of elbows brushing, knees knocking, and hands reaching for the same dishes at center of the table, stolen glances and nervous exchanges shared between the two of you, seated beside each other. Somehow, by the grace of a higher power, the night had ended with Bucky bravely asking for your phone number, to which you'd gone pink and nodded, a smile playing at the corner of your lips. He knew if he kissed you then, you would taste of raspberries. He let the idea carry him home that night, floating on the breeze of newfound affection.
The rest, effectively, was history. He'd been bound to you from that first meeting. It was only two weeks of seeing each other before he couldn't take it anymore, asking to be exclusive. He couldn't bear the thought of you, all giggles and blushes, going for coffee or lunch or walks in the park with another man. If he'd had a tail, it would have been wagging furiously when you'd said yes with a delighted laugh and your arms around his neck.
Three months and three full moons were all Bucky could take before he was confessing his true nature to you. And you, smitten and sure, had stayed. No transforming into a literal dog. No going out and mauling people. No eating raw steaks or howling in the dark. You knew Bucky's heart, and you knew that he was responsible with his power, resilient in his desire to protect others. It was a gamble to tell you, to potentially put you in harm's way, but you felt no fear in the face of dormant danger.
It was simple, really. Bucky had told you that leading up to the full moon, he would likely seek your company, your willing embrace and softhearted compassion, more than usual. Staying away from you the last three moons, during a time where all he wanted to do was search for the comfort of your skin and your scent, had been the most difficult challenge of his life. You had smiled, said you had never minded the idea of a clingy boyfriend. You didn't even bat an eye at the idea of chains, of tethering him to a post like a dog, out behind his little getaway spot. No, you'd just been excited to see the place, to see where he'd built a tiny home to love and be loved in. It took no begging or pleading on your part for Bucky to invite you the next time, because the idea of waking up next to you under the patchwork quilt, to see you standing in front of the wood burning stove, or sitting by the fireplace, sounded like a dream come to life.
The first time that you'd come along to the cabin, duffel bag in hand, you'd stopped on the dirt path, its edges lined with smooth stones, and tilted your head towards the sky. You were taking it all in, admiring the fresh air, a lungful of pines and leaves and woodsmoke, rather than pollution and sweat and cigarettes. And a step ahead of you, halfway to the front porch, key in hand, Bucky was admiring you. Your boots left impressions in the snow that had lead to the path, melting slush still clinging to the edges, creating a puddle under your feet. Your jacket was too big—one of his, sturdy and flannel-lined—and it obscured your fingers, which were tucked up under the sleeves. You had that same scarf from Thanksgiving tangled loosely around your neck, one side much longer than the other. It was a lopsided job, because Bucky had been the one to loop it over your shoulders. But of course, the smile on your face was what he was really stuck on.
Your happiness seemed to be an effortless thing, something that you gathered from the air and mist, like your were cleaning cobwebs from a space and spinning them into a feeling. Your joie de vivre was contagious. It only took a glimpse of your face, the scent of your shampoo, the whisper of your voice, to turn Bucky's day around. No longer did he feel loneliness. That was a feeling long since banished from his life, as if you'd simply swept it away with a broom and left gleaming contentment in its wake.
"It's so pretty out here, Buck." you breathed, spinning in a slow circle, your arms extended.
All he could do was smile, because he knew that if he argued and said that you were prettier, you'd get all shy and quiet. Eventually, you stopped spinning and pivoted back towards the front of the cabin, gliding across the rest of the path and onto the porch, before Bucky ushered you in with a hand on your back.
It really was a cozy little place, straight out of a storybook. It had been sparsely furnished up until last month, when Bucky had decided that he'd be bringing you along. He'd been making secret trips out here to decorate the space with things he thought you'd like. He'd never had to shop for a throw blanket in his life before, but now a fluffy gray one was draped over the back of the loveseat that sat in front of the fireplace. A photo of the two of you sat on top of the mantel, next to one of those candles you always liked to burn in your apartment, the scent described as woodsy and crisp, though the great outdoors smelled better to him. He'd even fixed curtains up on the windows, as opposed to hastily tacked sheets to keep out prying eyes that might wander too close.
He did all of those things because he loved you, and if you were willing to stand by him when he was a veritable monster, a creature of the night, then he could fluff up some pillows and pick out a decent coffee table. You took it all in with wide eyes, the doorway leading straight into the humble living room, the lights casting a warm and sunny glow across the furniture. There were hooks next to the door for your keys, a tray for your wet boots to sit on. Your scarf and jacket were tugged off of you with care and draped over one of the chairs in the kitchen, only a few steps to the left of the entrance. It was a small cottage, that was for sure, but it was perfect for a moon-rising-turned-weekend-getaway.
"You know, just when I think you're all done charming me, you prove me wrong." your smile was genuine, your words coy.
You brushed past him into the kitchen, to the counters done up in a pale blue wood, the round, scratched up table, and the retro fridge, scrounged up at an estate sale. Bucky could already picture mornings with you here, a blanket draped over your body, your hair mussed from sleep, a coffee cup clutched in both of your hands. He'd stand beside you and watch the sun rise from the big picture window. Then he'd cook you breakfast and you'd sit at that table, and even though you had your own plates, you'd be stealing bites from each other.
Cupid may have been a divine match maker, but even he had nothing on what an exquisite pairing you made, each edge of your relationship as soft as silk, as easy to cut through as softened butter, as carefully formed as a piece of pottery. Being with you was, simply put, the most uncomplicated thing in Bucky's life, and he would do anything to keep it that way, to keep you, for as long as he could.
"This place is amazing, Buck. I'd say I can't believe you built it up all by yourself, but I can." Your hands were clasped in front of your chest, like you were holding your love between you.
He shrugged, never one to preen in the face of compliments, even when they came from you. "I think I was just waiting for the right person to share it with." He said plainly, hands in his pockets, eyes on you.
And the way you beamed at him then, your cheeks pink, made every splinter, every accidental hammer to the finger, every damaged pipe or shattered window worth it.
You'd both come to the cabin a couple of days early, so that Bucky could ease you into the experience, rather than throw you to the wolves, so to speak. You worked as a product tester for a major makeup brand, so you could theoretically work anywhere, and Bucky only picked up contract work when he needed to, as a man who lived frugally and carefully. It helped that he was the heir to a deceased uncle's modest fortune. Looking at Bucky in his threadbare clothes, jeans worn in at the knees, hoodies with holes in the pockets, one would never know that his bank account contained a decent number of zeroes.
It was easy to settle in. You seemed to already know where everything was, like you'd put it all there yourself. It was like watching a duck take to water. It warmed Bucky's heart to see you placing a few of your things in the dresser in the bedroom. The knobs were shaped like flowers. It was perhaps a bit girlish, for someone like him, but it suited you just fine. It was no difficulty at all to imagine a day in the future where you lived together, your clothes tucked neatly beside his in a shared apartment, matching toothbrushes left in a cup on top of the sink, shoes placed side by side near the door.
And while Bucky conjured up images of possible futures with you, you got to experience a considerably strong case of neediness, growing more powerful by the hour. While you may have been free to explore the cabin and the surrounding land with ease on the first day, by the end of the second, you had a Bucky-shaped shadow trailing behind you at all times. If he wasn't simply sharing the same air as you, he was plastered to you like wet paper, arms around your waist, hands on your face or in your hair, his body draped over yours on the couch. He was very, very lucky that you were crazy about him, because he was certain that anyone else would have run for the hills by now.
The touching was just the tip of the iceberg. Kisses increased in fervor, migrating from subdued pecks to your forehead or nose to long and languid makeouts, where Bucky pressed you so closely to him that it seemed you'd melt into each other. He couldn't get enough of you, but he was doing his best to hold back. He imagined what you'd say if he admitted that he was being reserved, holding himself at bay, keeping himself leashed for your sake. Would you appreciate that, or would you tell him to let loose, to give you everything? He just didn't want to scare you off. This was the big test, the one that would make or break your relationship. Could you handle him at his worst?
Well, Bucky at his worst, to you, was any girl's dream. A man who was attentive and sweet, who just wanted to be with you, who would kneel at your feet if it meant being by your side? What more could you ask for?
Bucky's endearing obsession with you was what made you feel bolstered. You had brought him a gift, something that you'd had handmade with care. You'd researched half a dozen shops in the city, looking for the right one to take your request. When you'd received it from the man behind the counter, laid out in a black box with silk wrapping, you'd let out a tiny gasp, your fingers tracing over the item within with admiration. It was perfect, you thought. You only hoped that Bucky would like it, that it wouldn't be taken as something offensive.
You decided the right time to give it to him was before you were supposed to chain him up for the night. The moon wasn't out yet, the sun still a faint gold strip in the sky, looming low over the distant mountains. You'd already been walked through what you were supposed to do. The idea made your heart squeeze painfully in your chest. You knew that Bucky had been dealing with his lycanism on his own for years, that he knew the best steps for himself, but you almost couldn't bear the idea of leaving him outside overnight, chained up in the cold, while you were snug in the bed, wrapped in blankets that he'd picked out just for you.
You were finishing up dinner, the scent of steak and mashed potatoes still permeating the air. Your wineglass was nearly empty, a pleasant warmth spreading through your chest, your fingers tangled with Bucky's on the table. It was with great reluctance that you let go, retracting your hand in favour of pushing your chair back. "Stay right here, I got you something." You said, darting out of the kitchen before you could second-guess yourself further.
You returned a moment later with the box in your hands, Bucky's eyes curious and searching. He'd cleared the plates while you'd been gone, and you slid the box across the table in his direction, your hands clasping tightly in your lap. "I hope you like it…" You mumbled.
"Baby, you didn't have to get me anything," he started, though he lifted the lid and placed it to the side anyway.
Whatever Bucky was going to say died on his tongue as he looked at the collar, laid flat in the box. It was made of soft black leather, complete with a silver buckle and a metal loop on the front, big enough for you to feed the chains through. It was nestled carefully in its silk confines, the hardware catching the gleam of the light above the table.
Bucky was silent for so long that you began to worry. "I'm sorry—is it not… Did I make a mistake?" Your hands fluttered nervously as you spoke, a part of you itching to pull the box back towards you, to shove it into the bottom of your bag.
You were about to do just that when Bucky finally moved, picking the collar up and holding it flat in both hands. His eyes hadn't strayed from it yet, his gaze holding fast. "Baby, this is…" He stopped, swallowed, then looked up at you. "You got this for me?"
The awe in his tone nearly undid you. "I had it made. For you. I thought that maybe it would be more comfortable for you, when you're out there. See the loop on the front?" You pointed, your voice meek. "That way you don't have to bind yourself to the chains with rope. It's um, it's reinforced, so it shouldn't snap easily. Oh! And it's stainless steel, not silver. I know you said silver makes your skin sensitive."
Bucky ran a finger over the ring carefully, like he was worried he'd tarnish it by touch alone. "I love it. I love you. I can't believe you thought of something like this, for me. Can you help me put it on?"
The 'L' word was still a new development between you. It shot through you like lightning every time you heard it, and you were still waiting for the surreality of it to wear off. Your smile was sweeter than cream as you stood from the table and accepted the collar, moving behind him. You were careful with the clasp, not wanting it to be too tight. The scrape of the metal buckling closed sounded loud to your ears, as loud as your own breathing. You stepped away, allowing for Bucky to turn in the chair and look to you.
Your bones seemed to turn to jelly. The way he was staring at you was nothing short of devout. You could have just delivered a divine miracle to him, for all you knew. It might have been considered shameful that all you could pay attention to was the collar resting against his throat, like it had always belonged there. Something about the dark leather against his skin, his eyes soft, his hair tousled, made you want to drag him not outside, but to the bedroom. Made you want to tug on the loop and have him follow, like the good puppy that he was. Instead, you settled for his arms wrapping you in a hug, his lips a brand on your temple, his voice a litany of sweet nothings through your hair.
That first night with you there had gone better than Bucky had expected. He could admit to himself that he'd been nervous. He didn't know if he'd be anxious that you were there, that you might be in danger so close to him, just a few feet away in the house while he was under the moon's watchful eye. Rather, the entire time he was outside, he'd been straining at the chains to get away from the celestial bodies. Every instinct was telling him to go back inside, to watch over you, protect you, keep you safe from any other fiend that might be lurking in the woods.
The collar held fast, the only thing that seemed to soothe him. He could remind himself, every time he regained a fragment of clarity, that he wasn't alone. That he was wearing a piece of you—because that was what it was, to him—around his neck. It worked almost as well as a caress might. He still came to in the morning with dirt caked under his fingernails, patches of dead grass torn up amidst the thin layer of snow, and a bone deep weariness under his skin, but he also had you, standing a safe distance away in your pajamas with a blanket and a mug in your hands.
You'd approached slowly, until he'd given you the go ahead, and then you'd been on your knees beside him, not caring that the slush was soaking through your pant legs. The blanket was around his shoulders a second later, the mug warm in his hands, your voice a soothing sound as you unchained him and combed your fingers through his hair.
He could get used to this, he thought. He could get used to the feeling of relief instead of grief, when the moon disappeared in place of its more cheerful partner. He could get used to you, with your steady hands, releasing him from his bonds, murmuring praise, sweet words born from love and devotion, bringing him back to himself. He could get used to you peppering kisses all over his face, paying no mind to the dirt and sweat and pine needles that he had become littered with.
Most of all, he could get used to walking back into the cabin, hand in hand, only to be swept into the shower and then into the bed, to be adored and cherished and held tightly, to look into your eyes and know that you accepted him for all of his faults, that you loved him all the more for them.
Though you had intended for the collar to be a simple gift, one that showed that you cared and wanted to make sure that Bucky knew it, it had taken on a much deeper meaning for him.
To Bucky, it was a claim. You were choosing him. Choosing to keep him, to love him. It was a symbol of that, for him, like you'd marked your territory and he was it. Real wolves mated for life, and Bucky believed that this was as close to that as he could get, save for turning you into a wolf, too. Rather than leave the collar at the cabin when he didn't need it, he carted it back and forth, from the wilderness to the city and back. Sometimes he'd open his nightstand at home and touch the leather with his fingertips, more so if you weren't around, like the simplest brush against the material would bring him closer to you.
Occasionally, the thought crossed his mind, sharp and possessive, that he was sad that you weren't a werewolf, too. He had no reason to buy you a collar, to have you chained up beside him in the dark. But he wanted to. Oh, he wanted to. He wanted to clasp it around your neck and make sure you always wore it, to show the world that you were his. He'd tried in vain to find something that might suit you, that might have the same effect, but nothing caught his eye. He settled instead for showering you in kisses, in staying firmly wrapped around your finger and bowing down to your every whim, no matter how inconsequential.
Yes, you were his, Bucky reminded himself, as he tapped an unsteady beat against the metal loop, his room shadowed by clouds, his hand finding the collar in the drawer without having to search. You were his, and he was yours. Always, always, he would be yours. He belonged to you as much as he did the moon.
Time flew faster than a flock of startled birds. You'd been together a year now. Thanksgiving that autumn had been hosted at your tiny apartment, and when it had gotten too raucous, too hot, you and Bucky had ducked out to the fire escape. Woman and wolf man, sitting on the steps, looking at a sky obscured by fog, your head tucked against his shoulder, the smell of leather now familiar to you, the scent of home.
And boy, had Pavlov certainly been onto something. Repeated exposure to you had Bucky developing an instinctual response, one that had become steadily ingrained in him, seeping deep into his bones, burrowing into his psyche and making a nest there. Everything in him fought to be with you on most days. It was infinitely worse when the full moon was approaching. Work was near enough abandoned, plans cancelled, all so he could revolve around you.
You seemed to revel in it, all smiles and soft affirmations when Bucky would whine and hold you close, claiming that the bed was only cozy when you were both in it, that he couldn't possibly stand being alone all day without you. It was safe to say that the puppy eyes worked on you without fail, as did the playful nips at your neck or shoulder. You'd always swat him away before drawing him back, and you'd fall together like you'd been waiting years to reunite, rather than minutes.
It was routine by now, the few days you'd spend at the cabin each month. Bucky would more or less superglue himself to you, intent on staying tethered to your side until he had to be tethered to chains, and you'd always be there as soon as dawn broke to bring him back to himself.
Bucky remembered that the first time he kissed you, the light outside your apartment had been buzzing erratically, your outlines cast on the bricks like a temperamental shadow puppet show. You'd both gone to see a play that evening, and the chill in the air after the theatre had emptied out had been nothing short of biting. It was the perfect excuse to keep you close, snuggled under his arm like you'd been there all along. Your shyness had given way to an excitable, talkative side of you as you raved about the performance, your eyes darting up to his every so often, like you were checking that you weren't boring him.
When you stopped in front of your apartment building, Bucky considered convincing you to take another lap around the block with him instead of putting an end to your time together, but you were already moving to the two steps that led to the lobby's door. Even standing on the uneven slab of concrete, you were still shorter than him, though you were at a much better height for him to cup your cheek and tilt your head up to his. He still remembered the way your eyelashes had fluttered when your lids had closed, the soft sigh that left your mouth when his lips met yours. If he hadn't been a goner before, he was then.
That had been the moment he'd known he had to keep you. Something in him had claimed you, and it wasn't about to let go.
He found himself thinking about that first kiss, the way your mouth had chased his when he'd pulled away, all morning. You'd both come up to the cabin early, trying to avoid driving in the storm that was going to break through the clouds at some point in the day. The sky was dark already, the air charged, the trees a loud rustle. Now, Bucky was watching you from the doorway to the bedroom.
He still didn't understand exactly what you did, even though you'd explained it to him half a dozen times, but he loved the way your eyes lit up every time you talked about it. He'd often find himself watching you play with makeup, your eyes wide when you put on mascara, your lips pouty as you applied gloss. His favourite time had been when you'd insisted on getting him to help you taste test a series of dessert-inspired lip balms. It had resulted in copious amounts of kissing, among other things, not that he had any complaints.
You were standing in front of the dresser now, peering at yourself in the mirror, turning your head this way and that. Your eyelids were dusted with pale shadow, the barest flecks of glitter only noticeable when the light caught your eyes a certain way. He pushed off of the doorframe, taking half a step into the room. "Hey, baby. Are you busy right now?" He asked.
You turned in his direction, a smile breaking out on your face. "No, not really. My review for this eyeshadow's not gonna be very long. To put it bluntly, it's not good. It's so patchy!"
Most of those words flew over Bucky's head completely, but he nodded anyway. The creature in him was itching to grab you, to press you against him and hold you close, makeup review be damned, but he refrained. He had something else in mind, before he attempted to smother you with cuddles. He led you to the bed and got you to sit down, before turning away and reaching into the nightstand. "Can you help me put this on?"
In his hands was his collar. You looked at it, then at him, a puzzled frown on your face. "But you're not going out there for hours. It's barely noon."
He smiled, patient and serene. "I know. But can you?"
Your fingers moved automatically, accepting the collar. The buckle was fastened, the weight welcome around his neck. Muscle memory had you putting it on him like you did it every day. You sat back and admired him for a moment, something you always did once he was wearing it, and he basked in the glow of your attention until you averted your eyes, like even after all this time, you got flustered by his proximity.
Then he was reaching back into the nightstand for a little white box, and turning back to you expectantly. "Now, can I put this on you?"
Your head tilted to the side, a silent question. It was easier to show than to tell, so the lid was plucked off with little ceremony, and a second later, a delicate string of pearls was dangling from Bucky's fingers.
It had taken Bucky months to find something he liked for you. Matching leather just didn't suit you, a dream made real. He wanted something more opulent, more breathtaking, more you. It was pure luck that he'd passed the pearl choker in the display window of a vintage shop. The vision of them resting against your throat seemed to burst into his mind as soon as they caught his eye, and he was negotiating with the attendant mere minutes later. Not only did he think the necklace would suit you, but they also looked like little full moons. If that wasn't enough of a reminder of him, he didn't know what was.
Your eyes were wide, your mouth forming an 'o' as you stared at the strand of pearls. "Oh, Bucky. That's beautiful. You didn't have to—I'm sure that cost a fortune!"
It had, but that was beside the point. "May I?" He asked again, waiting for your approval.
"Oh my God, yes." You gathered your hair up in a messy twist, and soon the pearls were resting against the hollow of your throat, Bucky's fingertips brushing the back of your neck as he hooked the clasp.
It was a veritable staring contest, when you turned to face him again. You'd been drawn to him in that collar, and Bucky finally understood why. The pearls were made for you, or so it seemed, like they'd been placed in that shop window specifically for Bucky to see. The glossy sheen brought out the lustre of your skin, the delicate movements of your throat when you swallowed. More than that, to Bucky, it meant that you really were his, not that he'd had any doubt, but this seemed to prove it further. He ran his fingers down the side of your neck, stopping at the pearls. Your breath hitched like it was the first time he'd ever touched you.
The need to claim you, mark you, remind you that you belonged to him, and he to you, was as potent as a drug. That explained why his mouth descended on yours in a hurried crash, all tongue and teeth, his hands framing the column of your throat before moving up and into your hair. Your head moved because he willed it, the kiss deepening like he was trying to climb inside your soul.
"Love you baby—" the words were punctuated by kisses travelling down your jaw, teeth grazing against your skin in a light tease, "wanna show you how much."
You were easy to push back onto the bed, as if you'd been waiting for it. The pearls were dazzling, but you eclipsed them, your skin flushed, lips kiss swollen and pink. He could hear your quick breaths, your fast heartbeat, but more than that—he could smell you. He could smell your desire like perfume, intoxicating as honeyed wine. The collar around his neck wasn't even remotely tight, but it might as well have been a leash now, drawing him in like you had the other end wrapped around your finger.
The button of your jeans popped open with such force that it came loose from the denim, landing with a light clatter somewhere on the hardwood floor. They were gone from your body in a movement so fluid, it could have been perceived as magic. "Fuck, baby…" he breathed, dragging a hand slowly down your thigh before settling between them. He nudged your knees wider, fingers ghosting over the lace trim of your panties, drinking in every inch of you like you were made of moonlight and myth. Like you were the thing he was supposed to worship, not the space rock thousands of miles away.
You giggled, squirming under the intensity of his gaze, your heel catching on his side to pull him closer. "You're staring."
"How could I not?" His voice had gone hoarse, low and reverent, eyes half-lidded, pupils blown wide with the want that never really left him anymore. "You're so fuckin' pretty. You always are, but now? With those pearls on your neck?" His hand slid up, warm against your belly. "Looks like you're mine."
"I am," you whispered, voice sure. "You know I am."
"Mhm…" His lips pressed to your thigh, stubble catching on your skin as he trailed up, slow and practiced, your body a well-travelled map, planting soft, wet kisses over the inside of your leg. "Say it again."
"I'm yours." The tiniest tremor entered your voice, like the words were an offering to an altar. "Always, Bucky. Always."
The words melted the last of his restraint. You didn't flinch when he buried his face between your legs, pushing the lace aside with little more than a growl in his throat. "Gotta taste you now," he muttered, voice muffled against your skin. "Fuck, you smell so good—baby, I'm losing it."
It was true—his nerves were buzzing with more, more, more. It wasn't enough; it never was. Your fingers tangled in his hair just in time for his tongue to slide through your folds, slow and deliberate. Your whole body arched with a gasp.
"Ah—Bucky!"
His arms locked around your thighs to keep you still, groaning into you like he was starved and you were the only thing he'd ever eat again. He was an unrelenting force, drawing whines and gasps and his name whimpered over and over again, the sound of you coming apart filling the little cabin like the wind through the trees. He mouthed at your clit with a focused frenzy, tongue flat one moment, then flicking lightly the next, until your hips were rolling helplessly, your thighs trembling in his grip. He couldn't help being sloppy. His focus was shot, torn between bringing you to heaven with his mouth, and filling you completely instead. He'd been rutting against the bed almost as soon as he'd tasted you.
"Fuck—oh my God—please," you were panting now, twisting the quilt under your hands as you cried out, eyes locked on the man between your legs like he was a god come to worship.
He pulled back just enough to suck gently on your clit before backing off with a wet pop. "You're so good to me. So sweet." He licked his lips, mouth shiny with your arousal, eyes locked to the pearl choker around your neck. "Don't know what I did to deserve you."
You reached for him, pulling at his collar, your finger curling through the loop with ease, and he followed easily, crawling over you until his weight pressed you into the mattress, grinding down against your core through his jeans. You could feel him, hard and thick and hot, right there, just a thin strip of cotton and denim separating you.
"Need you," you whispered, eyes blown wide, lips parted. It was all you had to say. All you ever had to say.
You could taste yourself on Bucky's tongue when he kissed you. If he thought you tasted of nectar, he may as well have been offering you the cup. His hips rolled once, and you both moaned into the kiss, your back arching, the pearls around your neck catching the light.
The thought struck Bucky like a mallet to the skull, as if presenting you with the pearls and having you accept had solidified a pipe dream far back in his mind. "Let's have a whole litter."
Your breath caught in your chest, your hips twitching in response. Your was voice barely there when you spoke. "Bucky…"
"I mean it," he whispered, rocking his hips, pushing against you. "Let me fuck you full every month, baby. Over and over 'til it takes. I'll knock you up so good. You'll get all round for me…"
His hands slid up to cup your breasts under your shirt, thumbs grazing your nipples until they hardened under his touch. "Fuck. You'd look so pretty with my pups in you."
Your fingers clawed at his shirt, like you needed him closer. "You'll let me, won't you?" he asked, nosing along your jaw, down to your throat. His tongue flicked over the spot where the necklace rested just above your collarbones. "Let me have you like this, baby? 'Til you can't take it anymore?"
You nodded rapidly, clutching at him. "Yes—fuck, yes."
"Good girl." He sat back to strip his shirt off, revealing a body carved from months of work and care. His jeans and boxers were gone in the blink of an eye. You watched, breathless, licking your lips as he dragged your panties down your legs and tossed them aside without ceremony, the fabric forgotten as soon as it had left your sight. Your own shirt had been torn right down the middle, something you couldn't bring yourself to care about. "Lay back, let me see."
You did as he said, always one eager to listen to directions. Your arms stretched over your head, back arched, lips kiss-bitten. Every inch of you was laid bare, like an offering, and Bucky stared like he didn't know whether to worship or devour.
It turned out to be both.
He crawled back over you, settled between your thighs, his cock heavy as he rubbed it against your slick. The first time you'd had sex had taken what had felt like hours. If there was one thing Bucky wasn't lacking in, it was size. He didn't push in yet, settling instead for just teasing you, running the head through your folds, sliding it against your clit, watching you quiver and moan before he even gave you anything substantial.
Bucky was still talking, like now the idea had possessed him, he just couldn't stop. "A whole litter, baby. However many you want. I'll keep you in this bed, stuffed full, glowing, loved. You'll be the best mama." He said it all dreamy-eyed and needy and obsessed.
Your thighs jerked. The heat in your belly was near unbearable. "Bucky—Jesus—"
"I'll be the best dad," he promised, voice thick and breaking with sincerity, hands squeezing your hips, kneading the flesh like he was already imagining the way you'd change, how you'd grow. "I'll take care of everything. You just let me breed you, let me take care of you, yeah?"
The way he said breed—like he was going to perform a blessed rite—ripped a whine from your throat. You tried to move, to reach for him and bury him deep, but he held you there, grinding into the wet mess of your cunt like he wanted you to lose your mind with want before he gave it to you.
"Bucky," you whimpered, hips bucking, fingers scrambling to grip at his arms, his shoulders, his waist. "Please."
He leaned down, biting your bottom lip gently. "Want you to beg for it, baby. Want you to tell me what you need."
You groaned, frustration and heat and need all tangled together. "Need you inside me," you gasped, thighs twitching as he rutted against your core again. "Need you to fuck me, Bucky, please—"
His hands slid down to your belly, fingers splaying wide, right as he pushed the tip of his cock into you. The stretch had your eyes going from half-lidded to wide open, your mouth opening with no sound except a keening whimper. "Right here," he whispered, lips at your ear. "You'll carry them here. All mine, all yours."
He kissed your cheek, tender and trembling, and you shivered under him, trying to suck him in deeper.
"Say yes," he murmured, hips twitching. "Please, baby. Say yes. Let me fill you, make you mine forever."
The answer poured out of you in a broken sob. "Yes—yes, Bucky—fill me up, fuck a baby into me—" and that was all he needed to hear.
With one thrust, he pushed all the way in, stretching you open on a long groan. "Fuck—baby, you're tight—holy shit—" He dropped his head to your shoulder, panting, gripping the pillow beside your head. It would be no surprise if feathers coated the bed by the end of everything; it wouldn't be the first pillow that you'd had to replace.
You gasped his name, nails dragging down his back as he began to move, slow and deep, hips rolling in a steady rhythm. You locked your legs around his waist, heels digging in, and he growled at the feeling, fucking into you harder.
"Ah—Bucky, fuck—so good—"
Your cries echoed in the cabin, sweet and soft and open, your eyes falling shut, mouth slack as he gave you everything he had. Each thrust was a punishing drag against that perfect spot, his pelvis brushing your clit with every movement. Your whole body rocked beneath him, and all you could do was hang on.
You nearly sobbed when he pulled out with no warning, your dazed mind and poor, fluttering cunt searching for where he'd gone. He was rearranging you a second later. He had your legs folded up against your chest, thighs trembling, toes curled. He slid back in with no resistance, his cock pounding into you relentlessly, dragging through your soaked cunt with heavy, slick thrusts that echoed off the walls of the cabin like an anthem. Bucky was flushed from head to toe, sweat dripping down his chest, falling onto yours where your tits bounced with every jolt of his hips. Your hands flew up to his face, and you pulled his mouth down to yours in a kiss so searing you thought you'd feel it for the rest of your life.
It was possible that Bucky was going to fuck your brain right out of your head, because all of your thoughts were blank, your mind only focusing on sensation, on being filled again and again, because Bucky fucked like a man obsessed, a man in love, a man whose instincts were screaming for you to carry his legacy.
And you were going to let him, over and over and over.
"That's it, baby—take it—perfect," he panted, hand slipping down between your bodies to rub tight circles over your clit. "Come on, give it to me—wanna feel you—"
There was no slow build. No gentle crest like a sunrise over the ocean. You felt yourself shatter under him, coming with a cry, thighs squeezing around him, back bowing off the mattress. "Oh God—Buck—Bucky—ah—!"
He didn't stop, chasing his own high as you clenched around him, soaking his cock with your release. "So good, baby—so fuckin' good for me," he muttered, watching your face as you rode the wave, tears gathering in your eyes. "Keep takin' it, sweetheart. You're makin' such a mess—fuckin' milkin' me."
You were. It couldn't be denied. Your drooling pussy was sucking him in like you never wanted him to leave, a second orgasm building off the first with such speed you thought you might black out.
"Fuck, baby, holy shit, you’re squeezin' me so tight—" He snarled through gritted teeth, eyes wild as he rutted harder, faster, grinding your hips into the mattress. His rhythm was lost, his movements erratic. "Gonna come—take it, baby, take it all—"
His thrusts stuttered, cock twitching in your slick heat, and then he was groaning like the animal he was, head thrown back, every muscle pulled taut. Hot, thick ropes of cum spilled into your cunt, and Bucky kept going, like he thought he could push it deeper, plug you up with his cock alone. Your hands were vices on his arms, nails raking down his biceps as your body tried to process the overwhelming fullness—his cum flooding you like an endless tide, hot and heavy and branding. He held still, his whole body fighting a shudder as you kept your legs locked around him. "Mine," he muttered against your throat, where the pearls rested. "You're mine—fuck—"
You stroked his back with weak hands, trembling under him, blissed out and dizzy to anything but him. "Yours," you whispered, "of course I am. I belong to you."
"Look at you," he cooed, still buried to the hilt. He didn't want to leave your warmth yet. He'd stay forever if he could. "So fuckin' full. My good girl. Gonna fill you over and over until I see that little bump start showin’. You gonna let me do it again later?"
You nodded dreamily, tears slipping down your cheeks from the overload, eyes glassy, because how could you deny the man who'd given you everything, showed you the piece of him he hid from the rest of the world, who was as loyal to you as a king to his kingdom? You'd do anything he asked, a willing disciple, as devoted to him as he was to the moon.
It was just the start, you knew. There were hours yet until he had to go outside, a slave to the night again, and he was only getting started with you. But you let him hold you close, his weight an anchor, his lips moving against your neck where he whispered his love on your skin.
The moon could wait just a little longer until it claimed him again. Right now he was yours to touch, yours to hold, yours to keep, yours to love, your mutual devotion laid out in pearls and leather and the interlacing of two souls, all under the roof of a tiny wooden cabin.
Because what was belonging to each other, if not the belief that you would be there at every corner of each other's lives, an immovable force that saw and accepted and cherished without judgment, without fault, whether that came with claws and sharp teeth, or kisses and praise? Maybe the notion should have been daunting, but all you could feel was certainty that you were exactly where you needed to be, as long as you were by Bucky's side, further encouraged by his hands smoothing down your hair, his soft kisses on your forehead, your eyelids, your cheeks.
"Mine, all mine."
"Yours, all yours."
bonus note: fun fact - i really loved the first half of this. i absolutely hate the second half. can you tell what i'm more comfortable writing? thank you to everyone in bwa who witnessed me crashing out about this like i've never crashed out before, i love you guys.
Summary: You´re in an alternate universe where a woman you've never seen before keeps acting like she knows your whole life... It's getting creepy how accurate she is.
A/n: Did I get any better at writing while away? Nope, I got worse! Enjoy my deprived mind.
Warning: Crazy Wanda, kidnapping, stalker behavior, mind manipulation, slipped a tiny bit of mommy Wanda in there, some sweet family feels too, and a happy ending (damn, who am I?)
Wordcount: 3k
Rays of sunlight stream through the sheer curtains of the farm’s bedroom. The early sun warming the sheets as a streak of light glitters against the old alarm clock, the one you insisted Wanda keep, and directly into her eyes. Blinking sleepily, Wanda pats against the weight on top of her until her fingers find their target.
She hides her pleased grin in the head of hair resting against her chest when she feels you stir as her fingers course through the path she’s memorized by heart.
Your hair lies mused and sleep-ruffled, pieces sticking up every which way. She smooths them over with the palm of her hand while she runs her nose through the halo of your hair, breathing you in. The smell of you settles a weight in her chest that she can’t quite place.
Birds chirp and sing just outside of the ajar window, but Wanda pays them little mind, her ears trained to your breathing as you wake. The telltale whine of wakefulness earns a sympathetic chuckle, as it does every morning. Then comes her favorite part of the day, the moment you truly wake up.
She’s never told you this, but you have a pattern.
Every morning, since… well, Wanda can’t exactly remember, but since forever, you always do the same thing. And as your eyes connect to Wanda with a tilt of your head and a disgustingly loving smile, tethering on a smirk, Wanda is pleased to be correct in her prediction yet another day.
However, when you open your mouth, the usual sleepy “hi” doesn’t come. Instead, a wave of nausea settles in the pit of Wanda’s stomach as you speak,
“You’ve given up on me, haven’t you?”
Wanda wants to protest, but the words won’t come. Her tongue is leaden, the surroundings change and morph, it’s all wrong.
She needs to dig her claws into you and make you understand that she’ll never let you leave, but her fingers are cracked and misplaced. You´re flickering, your face obscured as you fade away from her. She tries to piece you together again with the strength of her bare hands, but you’re gone before she can blink.
It’s just the ceiling now, but it’s not the warmly lit cream color of the farm. It’s gray and metallic.
There is no weight on her chest.
There never was.
She knows she’s close. She can feel you here, the pull of you dragging her into this alternate.
She just needs to find you.
She won’t ever let you slip away again.
You’ll understand, she’ll make sure of it.
────୨ৎ────
Pallets of water crash onto the concrete outside of the gas station like the strike of a match. Sizzling with its own weight, exploding into smaller drops, and scurrying along the ground until gathering mass. It’s seeped into the seat of your poor bike, leaving the gray fabric to turn three shades darker out there in the gloom.
You had originally put a bag over it when you turned in for your shift a few hours ago, but the wind had it out for you and swept it away just as the heavy rain that had been brewing over the sky all night picked up in intensity. All you can do now is look at it with sorrow through the gas station´s floor-to-ceiling windows, knowing it will take days for it to dry, and you’re bound to walk around with a damp ass for the foreseeable future.
The obnoxiously loud bell system of the sliding doors snaps you out of your stupor as it rings out inside the small shitbox you have the honor of calling your workplace. You´re halfway through your customary greeting before your eyes land on what could only be described as the humanoid version of a drowned rat. It’s a woman in her early twenties with her dark hair soaked through and dripping onto the floor.
Thicker droplets formed a union on her eyebrows, dividing into ribbons and sliding down her cheeks until finally leaping faithfully from the woman’s chin and joining their fellow droplet soldiers in the puddle beneath her expensive-looking boots.
She’s shivering, her lips an odd shade of purple as her head snaps toward you. She doesn’t return your greeting. Instead, she just stands there. It’s almost inhuman how still she is, her eyes the only sign of life as they dart all over you.
If you looked hard enough, you could almost swear you saw a flicker of something, like a red shadow passing over her iris. The squeak of your shoes as you shift from leg to leg does little to diffuse the tension that settles like a thick blanket between the two of you.
There’s a strange rattling sound. It sounds pained, like an animal before its last breath. It takes you a long time before you realize she’s talking, but it’s as if it’s not her voice. Uneasiness travels down your spine as she just keeps staring, mumbling the same phrase repeatedly.
Then it’s not mumbling anymore. Her body straightens, eyes focused square with your own, and pronunciation clear, “I found you, dekta.” As soon as the words have left her mouth, she's gone again, disappearing into the bursts of rain she came from.
Perfect, a crazy lady is just what you needed at the end of your graveyard shift.
Long after she disappears, you stand there staring at the puddle left behind her. It might be the only evidence that she was ever there to begin with if she comes back and decides you’re public enemy number one.
Your job is too shitty to invest in a proper security system. You’re pretty sure the cameras haven’t worked since you started over three years ago. The puddle seeps against the vinyl flooring, spreading out to the drops leading toward the door. There are two distinct muddy shoe prints in the middle of it, the water dark and murky as it swirls close by.
You have no choice but to shake off the sour, acid-like feeling in your stomach as you watch the clock that's hanging half-hazardly on the wall opposite the counter where you stand. It’s only an hour until you’re free, so all you can do is pray she doesn’t come back before your shift ends as you go to get a bucket. Typical, you even have to clean the only evidence that could catch your killer.
God, you hate your life.
You're halfway home when the feeling of unease returns. Luckily, the woman never came back, and you managed to close up by 3 am without much incident. However, there is this sense of dread that you haven’t been able to shake since you unshackled your bike and took off.
It started as a prickle of aggravation. Sliding against the back of your neck like a kiss of breath. The lampposts slide by, the street changes, the world moves on, yet you can still feel it. Something is wrong. You could swear the sidewalk closes in, the lamps shine brighter, the air thicker. The feeling of eyes is heavier now, too, weighing down on the back of your bike as you can’t seem to pedal fast enough in the crappy weather.
You’re so focused on the feeling of being watched that you don’t even realize that the rattling noise that’s been plaguing you for the past ten minutes was your bike chain. In fact, you have no idea about it until it pops off, leaving you to panic as you swerve into the car lane.
Luckily, the street was empty, or at least it was supposed to be.
All you can see is light, strong, and unrelenting. The small semblance of control you still had of your bike is long gone as you brace for impact, leaving yourself and your bike to tumble to the ground.
You hear tires screech to a halt, the rain drumming against your skin where you lie waiting for the inevitable. Yet, it doesn't come. Instead, you hear a car door, followed by the most soothing voice you could imagine.
“Oh my god! Are you okay?!” Even if she is a little loud.
Steps run toward you, almost imitating the sound of the rain as it continues to pitter-patter against your pathetic frame.
You mule it over for a second, she hadn’t even hit you, but between the lack of control from your chain popping off and the startle of the headlights, you ended up like a flat pancake on the wet pavement.
Water seeps through your clothes, leaving them to stick to your bare skin, sending chills down your body as the cold follows shortly after.
Yeah, you really wish the crazy lady had just killed you right about now.
The woman crouches next to you, helping you to your feet and lifting your bike off the ground. It’s not until you’re standing with both feet firmly planted that you have a chance to get a look at her.
The first thing you notice is that she’s beautiful, like beyond this world type of beauty. Then a much more puzzling thought plagues you: there is something eerily familiar about her. The way her eyes crinkle as she smiles politely, how her hands slide against your arms as she attempts to warm you up, even down to her heady perfume. It’s like a trigger, awakening a feeling of longing you haven’t entertained in years.
It’s not until warm hands take a hold of your face that you realize she’s been talking to you, “Are you okay, honey? That was quite the fall, oh god, I didn’t hit you, did I?”
Genuine distress splashes across the woman’s face as she frowns. Her hands continue their frenzy to warm you up as you both stand there, out in the rain. You split your attention between them. One is back to running up and down the length of your arm. The pressure is on the verge of being too rough, but she seems to understand the delicate balance that would comfort you the most. Her other hand stays rooted to your face, fingers dragging back and forth across the apple of your cheek.
Not wanting to leave her hanging with her worry, you find your voice despite how starstruck she’s left you, “No, no, I'm okay. It’s just my bike,” you gesture over to where your bike is now leaning against her very fancy car. You feel a little bad about it. “The chain jumped off.”
The woman’s eyes never leave your face, even as she hums her understanding.
“God, you’re freezing, what are you doing biking around on a night like this?” You get the feeling that the question is rhetorical as she continues to fuss and gently reprimands you. You don’t have the heart to tell her that not everyone has a fancy car to cruise around in. Instead, you gently apologize under your breath, you don’t know for what exactly, but it feels like you're supposed to.
It seems enough to snap her out of her motherly stress, and she releases you with a hint of regret in her eyes that you don’t notice as she redirects her attention to your bike and then back at you. Seemingly making a choice, she nods with a huff before she has your bike in the back of her car faster than you can blink.
A hand reaches out to the back of your soaked shirt as she gently guides you toward the passenger side of her car, “Come on, darling, let me at least drive you home.”
You want to insist that it’s fine and you can walk home from here, most definitely leaving out the part where it will take you at least an hour to walk, lest she smite you with a glare. However, you don’t even get the chance. The door is already closing on your face as you turn toward her.
The hand you have placed against the door handle goes limp when the woman enters the car on the opposite side. You look down in confusion, your fingers feel like cement as they barely twitch with your mind’s wish to move. Panic builds slowly as you look over to the redhead, her beautiful green eyes now speckled with the same red as that woman at the gas station.
You try to talk, but no sound comes.
Wanda leans over you, fastening your seatbelt as you struggle internally.
Her palms glide against your hair and face, cooing at you the way you would a scared kitten, “Don’t be scared, baby, you know mommy would never hurt you. I just have to make you understand, you know that, don’t you, pretty girl?”
You frown, or try to, but a tiredness seeps into you, leaving you to slump against the car seat as she leans back to her own seat.
Slowly, the world fades to black, the last thing you feel are soft lips against your forehead.
────୨ৎ────
After everything that happened with her boys, Wanda never thought she would get another chance at happiness. But when the walls came crumbling down around her, she had a dream.
It was horrifyingly simplistic in nature.
She saw herself feeding a horse, with a simple farm resting on the outskirts of the field. Yet, Wanda had her doubts that it was this that caused the serene feeling of love and peace that resided in her heart in that moment. Then there was a sound. A sound she would know anywhere. She had turned then, ignoring the horse’s huff of annoyance as she took the carrot she had been holding with her.
There you were, two small giggling boys following you as her twins trailed behind you with glee in their steps while you pretended you couldn’t see them. They were younger, but they were most definitely her boys. They could be no older than five, she was sure of it.
And you, she would never forget you in that moment. How the evening sun glistened against you, your hair gently swaying in the breeze, and a smile you were trying to hide shining brighter than anything else. She knew in that moment that you were her happy ending.
And this time, nothing would stop her from getting it.
So, she went out searching.
It took her two years, every universe just seemingly off, until one day she found you.
Wanda had wanted to wait, to make you understand slowly. Make you fall in love with her as she is now. She couldn’t bare it if you had the same reaction that her boys did. But when she saw you through the eyes of one of her pawns…
Her perfect girl.
You looked miserable at that awful job. You hadn’t even seemed all that surprised by the woman who you must have thought was mad. Wanda dreaded to think of what morons you had to deal with on a daily basis. A beautiful girl like you shouldn’t work in the dead of night with all the dangerous people out and lurking.
So, she replanned. And now, with your presence beside her, your innocent mind open to her. She knew she had made the right choice.
She knows you’re in there. You need a little push, that’s all. And so she does, she pushes and prods, laying the maze of your mind out like a map while she searches. It doesn’t matter what it is: a memory, a dream, a glimpse into an alternate universe. Wanda knows you’re in there, her beautiful girl.
You don’t even struggle against her, merely going limp in the passenger seat. She knew you wouldn’t. Her pretty girl is far too smart for such stupidity.
It doesn’t take long until she finds it. She leans over to you then, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead and ensuring your seatbelt is fastened properly before she starts the car and takes off.
────୨ৎ────
Warmth surrounds you as you wake slowly, a steady heartbeat hammering softly beneath your cheek. You burrow closer with a whine, not yet ready to depart from the comforting hold that belongs to the source of sweet, heady vanilla that wraps around your little bubble.
Your suffering is met with a soft chuckle. It floats somewhere above you, a puff of breath colliding with your forehead. Fingers scratch against the nape of your neck as you blink blearily, finally relenting and ready to start the day.
You can feel someone watching you, but it’s comforting in a sense. Less like a predator watching its prey and more like a protector. There is no telling what exactly they're protecting you from, but it’s nice either way.
When your eyes finally flutter open, you´re met with sleepy green eyes. There are small crowfeet wrinkles at full display as the woman above you smiles so sweetly down to where you rest atop her. You can’t help but copy her smile with a tilt of your head, feeling whole in a way you can’t remember ever having felt before.
You whisper your greeting as if it’s second nature, and maybe it is.
your attempt at a swimming lesson leave you clinging to your boyfriend the entire time.
❛ content 1.6k words, swimmer!anton, male reader, pure fluff, established relationship, m!reader is terrified of deep water, anton is the biggest sweetheart, slightly suggestive near the end, use of nicknames, lots of physical touch.
the community pool was closed for the day, the 'private event' sign a silent blessing. the late afternoon sun cast long, lazy shadows across the turquoise water, making it look deceptively serene.
you stood at the edge, your toes curling over the rough, cool concrete, feeling your stomach do a complicated flip-flop that had nothing to do with acrobatics and everything to do with sheer, unadulterated terror.
anton was already in the shallow end, the water lapping just above his hips. he looked like he was born to be there. which, you supposed, he practically was. as a competitive swimmer, water was his second skin. the droplets clung to his broad shoulders and well-defined chest, catching the sunlight and glittering like tiny diamonds. he was breathtaking.
he was smiling up at you, that soft, patient smile that had been your undoing for years.
"ready, my love?" he asked, his voice a low, calming rumble that was usually your safe harbor.
well, right now, it felt more like a siren's call leading you to a watery demise.
"no," you said, the word coming out as a tight, panicked squeak. "i've changed my mind. i think my destiny is to be a land creature. a very committed, very dry land creature."
anton’s smile didn't falter. he reached a hand out, water dripping from his fingertips.
"we made a deal. you finally said yes. and i promise, i won't let anything happen to you. cross my heart."
anton and you had been together for five years now. he’d seen you through job losses, family drama, that time you tried to assemble ikea furniture and nearly had a mental breakdown. he’d never pushed the swimming thing, even though it was a really huge part of his life. your fear was a solid, immovable boulder in your shared path, and he’d always just gently walked around it.
until last week, when you’d blurted out over dinner, "fine. teach me. just… don't let me drown."
but now, staring at the bobbing, shimmering menace of the pool, you were deeply, enormously regretting your momentary bravery.
"just… come hold my hand first," anton coaxed, wiggling his fingers. "you don't even have to get in all the way. just sit on the edge and put your feet in. i'm right here."
taking a shuddering breath that did nothing to calm your racing heart, you slowly lowered yourself onto the warm concrete, the rough texture biting into your thighs. you dangled your legs over the side, the air feeling cool on your skin.
anton moved closer, his body parting the water effortlessly until he was standing between your knees.
"see? not so bad," he murmured, placing his warm, wet hands on your bare knees.
his thumbs stroked soothing circles on your inner thighs, a familiar, grounding touch. the contrast between anton’s sun-warmed skin and the cool water was strangely anchoring.
"the water's nice. feel."
he gently guided your hands down until your fingertips broke the surface. it was cooler than you expected, sending a fresh jolt of anxiety through you.
"anton…" you started, your voice trembling.
"my love, look at me," he said softly, waiting until your terrified eyes met his warm, steady ones. "i've got you. i will always have you. nothing in this pool is stronger than me when it comes to keeping you safe. okay? trust me."
you did. with your whole life. it was the only reason you were here. so, nodding mutely, you let anton guide your hands deeper, until your palms were flat on the surface.
"okay, now, just slide in. i'm right here, my love. i won't move an inch."
it took a solid five minutes of internal bargaining and anton’s unwavering encouragement before you finally, gingerly, pushed yourself off the edge.
the moment your body submerged, every rational thought fled your brain. the water wasn't even that deep — it only came up to your chest — but the sensation of being surrounded, of the buoyancy tugging at your feet, was utterly alien and terrifying.
a sharp, involuntary gasp ripped from your throat, and you instinctively flailed, your arms shooting out and locking around anton’s neck in a death grip.
"whoa, hey! i've got you, i've got you!" he laughed, a little startled but not at all upset.
his own arms came around you immediately, one circling your lower back, the other a solid band across your shoulder blades. you were pressed flush against him, your bare chest to his, your face buried in the damp hollow of his neck.
you were clinging to him like a koala to its favorite tree, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist under the water.
"see? you're fine. you're standing," he said, his voice a warm vibration against your ear.
you could feel the steady, strong beat of his heart against your own frantic one.
"i am not fine," you mumbled into his skin, your words muffled. "the ground is… wobbly. and wet. and horrible."
he chuckled, and the sound rumbled through his chest into yours.
"that's generally how pools work, my love," his hands were moving slowly up and down your back, a firm, reassuring pressure. "you can let go of my neck a little. you're cutting off my air supply, and i kinda need that to keep you afloat."
reluctantly, you loosened your stranglehold by a fraction, but you didn't unwind your limbs from around him. if anything, you clung tighter, shifting in his hold until you were more securely anchored against him.
the feeling of his slick, solid muscles under your hands and legs was the only thing keeping the panic at bay.
"okay, panda," he teased gently, using the new nickname without a second thought. "this is a good start. you're in the water. that's step one."
"this is the only step," you declared, your voice firm despite its tremor. "we're done. lesson over. A+ for participation. now, how do we get out?"
anton just smiled, that infuriatingly patient smile, and began to slowly walk backward through the water, still holding you securely against him. the movement made the water swirl around you, and you let out a small yelp, tightening your grip again.
"anton! stop moving!"
"just getting us to a better spot. relax, feel the water holding you up. i'm doing all the work."
but relaxing was impossible.
every tiny shift, every lap of water against your skin, sent a fresh jolt of fear through you. you were hyper-aware of everything : the slick slide of your skin against his, the way his swim trunks rubbed against yours, the sheer, overwhelming closeness. in your panic, you’d molded yourself to him completely.
your face was still tucked against his neck, and you could smell the clean scent of his skin mixed with the chlorine. his bicep was a hard pillow under your head, his broad back a solid wall under your hands.
after a few minutes of him just holding you and slowly drifting in the shallow end in silence, your heart rate began to slow from a frantic gallop to a steady canter. the initial, blinding panic was receding, replaced by a low-grade hum of anxiety and a dawning awareness of your… position.
you were literally wrapped around your boyfriend in a deep body of water.
his hands were splayed low on your back, his fingertips just brushing the waistband of your trunks. your own legs were locked around his hips, and with every small adjustment he made to keep you both balanced, there was a shift, a friction that was starting to feel less about safety and more about, well… something else.
you felt a warm flush creep up your neck that had nothing to do with the sun.
anton seemed to feel the shift, too.
his soothing strokes on your back slowed, becoming less about comfort and more about simple, deliberate contact. his breathing had evened out, but it felt deeper.
"you okay?" he murmured, his lips close to your ear.
his voice was even softer now, a little husky.
"mmh," you managed, not trusting yourself at all to form a full word.
you dared to loosen your grip a little more, leaning back just enough to see his face. his eyes were dark, his gaze soft but intensely focused on you. there was a small, knowing smile playing on his lips.
"you know," he said, his voice dropping to that intimate, bedroom-level tone he used when you were alone in the dark. "for someone who's terrified of the water, you're doing a pretty good job of using me as your personal flotation device."
a weak laugh escaped you. "you're the only thing between me and a watery grave. don't get cocky."
"i'm not," he said, his hands sliding down to your hips, holding you more deliberately. "i like it."
the air between you, despite the chlorinated breeze, suddenly felt thick and charged. the chaotic, panicked energy had melted away, leaving behind a heavy, warm intimacy. the pool was silent except for the gentle slosh of water around you.
you were suspended in it, held up by him, completely and utterly surrounded by his presence.
your earlier death-grip had softened into an embrace. your hands, which had been clenched on his shoulders, were now resting there, your thumbs unconsciously stroking the corded muscle of his neck.
of course, the fear was still there, a quiet background noise, but it was being steadily drowned out by the feeling of his skin under your palms, the solid reality of him, the love and trust that was as deep and familiar as this pool was terrifying.
"you're actually really buoyant," he whispered, his nose brushing against yours. "see? the water's not so bad. it's just… holding us."
in that exact moment, you weren't just learning to trust the water. you were rediscovering the profound safety and the quiet, simmering heat of being in your boyfriend’s arms.
the lesson had been a disaster by any practical measure, but as you leaned in, closing the small gap to press a soft, slow kiss against anton’s lips, tasting the faint hint of chlorine and the familiar taste of him, you decided it might just be your most successful failure yet.
The only person who, even after Sukuna’s ascension, still insisted on calling him by his name, his real name, was his wife.
The only one who could speak those cursed syllables and not only be spared, but have him answer—to that name, that call, that scolding—was her.
If even during his golden age, feared and invincible, his name had been forgotten, replaced, erased from every page and every mind beneath a smear of blood, then he assumed that in the time he awakened again—trapped inside that teenager body—no one would know it anymore.
Honestly, he himself no longer remembered how he had been named.
But his body remembered. And it reacted.
Shibuya burned beneath him.
Concrete cracked under his feet like old bones, the bodies that had yet to be consumed by fire were tossed aside like worthless toys, and Sukuna laughed. Loudly. An open, satisfied laugh, unburdened by haste or mercy.
When a presence revealed itself behind him, he assumed it was Uraume—after all, of the living that remained, he doubted any would dare approach him, sorcerer or curse alike.
But the syllables left her lips like an incantation, each one striking him like a blade until his mind processed the full name.
No one alive should have known that name.
No one had called him by it since his first massacre.
No human. No sorcerer. No curse.
No one knew it—and much less had the right to say it.
His smile fell away, his hand lifting on instinct, only to lower again before he could summon any cursed energy. Whoever had spoken that offense survived one second longer—by sheer fortune, because he felt a desire to know who possessed an audacity greater than their own knowledge.
“You always hated crowds. I didn’t imagine you’d choose somewhere so packed.”
The world kept turning, the flames kept devouring more and more buildings, but Sukuna stopped. Frozen. Surprised. Unable to command that borrowed body.
She stood before him. The same face. The same voice he could not understand how he had failed to recognize.
That unworthy name reverberated in her throat once more, slipping past the lips that he had endured centuries of torture of not being able to touch.
His emotions churned so violently inside that confined body that he failed to register the faintly irritated edge in her voice.
She knew the true owner of that face could not hear her, but she could feel his soul reacting along with the body. “He’s always been the cruel type. My apologies, Yuji Itadori.”
Under any other circumstances, Sukuna would have been furious that instead of paying attention to him, she was apologizing to a useless brat whose body he had possessed.
He blinked. His body burned, his blood heated with the urge to move, yet he did not, as if any sudden motion might make her disappear.
“Don’t speak to me like that.” he growled, and still, there was no real threat there. Only surprise.
She raised an eyebrow, the same old gesture, far too domestic for a landscape of ruins. She kicked a chunk of concrete from her path, the debris flying aside with more ease than a body like hers should allow. “I wasn’t talking to you. I was talking to the boy. Be quiet.”
“Woman.” Sukuna smiled faintly. He should have been angry at the command, but it was proof that it was her. His wife. Alive. He watched the chaos below them as one watches rain through a window. “Seems some things never change.”
“Some things never change,” she echoed dryly, stepping closer. “You still choose the worst possible places to make a scene. How childish can you be?”
Sukuna let out a brief huff of laughter. It wasn’t mockery. It was… recognition. “And you,” he replied, his eyes tracking her every movement as if afraid she might vanish if he blinked, “shouldn’t be here.”
She finally stopped in front of him. Close enough that he could feel, if not with the body, then with something deeper, that ancient, familiar presence that had never truly abandoned him.
He narrowed his eyes, unsettled by how easily she crossed centuries of fury and pride as if it were nothing more than another domestic argument.
“I thought you would be next. That day.” His smile dimmed when he mentioned the day of his execution—not because of his sealing, but at the thought of what she might have endured without him.
She tilted her head, assessing him with that old, almost condescending look. Then she smiled. “I lived long enough to get bored,” she said casually. “I was lucky to get a new husband. Quieter. Much more obedient. Imagine the torture of spending centuries alone.”
The air around them seemed to vibrate. The concrete beneath Sukuna’s feet cracked with a sharp snap. “Yeah?” When she merely shrugged, he smiled. “You’re lying.”
“Am I?” She raised an eyebrow, then sighed, deciding to tell the truth. “I killed myself not long after watching the King of Curses die. An eternity without you would have been far too cruel a fate to endure.”
Something twisted inside Sukuna. Something that did not burn. Something that hurt in a way he no longer recognized.
“But you’re here now,” he murmured, almost to himself. “How?”
“Coming back from the dead isn’t your privilege alone.” She watched him lower his head, shoulders stiff, as if he still carried guilt even seeing her standing there, flesh and bone.
But his lips shaped that name again, his body jolting—then relaxing, as if his soul had returned to the quiet state it once knew on any ordinary day, during their domestic moments.
“Alive,” he breathed, as though he truly needed the air to survive. “You’re alive.”
“And you’re using the body of an teenager,” she shot back. “What an extremely poor taste. How am I supposed to touch my husband now?”
The corner of his mouth lifted. “I woke up limited. Be a little more patient, will you?”
She rolled her eyes and he laughed. This time, truly.
The sound was wrong in that place. It didn’t belong among death and destruction. It was the same low laugh he’d had centuries ago, when she corrected him in front of servants or tugged his ear for spilling too much blood on the tatami.
She raised her hand and touched his chest with two fingers, exactly as she used to.
“I don’t want you to think I’m not happy to reunite with my husband,” she said, “but we still have much to discuss about your little act of mass destruction.”
The touch carried no energy, and still, it made the body he occupied tremble. Not in pain. In memory that did not belong to that flesh.
“We’ll have more than enough time,” he leaned forward slightly, as if the body obeyed before he could stop it. “Say it again.”
She didn’t pretend not to understand. She stepped close enough that only he could hear, and then spoke his name—the real one.
The one the world did not deserve to know. The whisper made his lips tremble, his hands gripping her waist.
“Stay.” It was a desperate plea more than an immutable command. “Let me entertain my wife.”
summary: DBF! hotch and you are finally official. He finally takes you out, unfortunately, you run into more ‘friends’ at the bar. hotch cannot hide his, burning, seething jealousy. Suddenly, your back is pressed against his front door and your brain is being fucked out. WE REALLY SHOULDNT PT2. PLEASE REBLOG!!!
You got the text at midday. Not expecting much, just the usual spam email, or selling you something, last week one about a broom and another about all of your money being taken.. But it wasn't.
Wear something black. 8pm. -АН.
You roll your eyes at the initials, he didn't have to be so formal, you did have his number saved as Aaron.
I know who you are, you don't have to sign off.
And short.
You flush at that, heat climbing to your cheeks and mind racing of everything you had in your wardrobe. Five hours, five hours too little to get ready.
You'd turned your entire wardrobe inside out, trying on the insane amount of LBD's you had. How short was too short? Mid thigh, you weren't a nun.
You'd decided on the one that settled right under your ass, and would definitely ride up throughout the night.
Perched on the edge of your couch, nibbing on the ends of your nails. Eyes darting to every notification that lit up the screen of your phone. Finally, it came.
I'm outside.
Trying to not be too eager, you take your sweet time grabbing your bag and putting your ID, card and way too many lip glosses in to the pocket. He was waiting where he always did, right near the door to the parking lot, stood at the passenger door, one of his feet crossed over the other.
"Good Evening." He pops open the car door, motioning for you to get in.
"Hello," You lean into his side, before climbing in and him clicking the door shut behind you, "So what's the occasion?" You ask as he twists the key and the engine roars to life.
"You actually being able to use your real ID." You don't miss the smirk on his face and snicker slightly.
"Ah, a belated birthday outing." Your head hits the rest behind you, watching the city whiz by. "Feeling sorry for missing my actual birthday?"
"I was called away on a case." He states, hands clasping the wheel. "But yes I am sorry, I missed your birthday."
Your hand strokes up his thigh and he clears his throat, eyes darting down to to it. "I don't care that you missed my birthday, you're a very important man. Now spill, where are you taking me."
Your hand was unabashedly stroking his bulge, fingers trailing the seam of his trousers. A deep groan erupting from his chest, shoulders tensing making the veins on his forearms appear.
"You'll find out when we get there." He rolls his eyes at your impatience, head turning to peer out of the window and you swiftly remove your hand from him, leaving it to rest on your own thigh. "You're cruel."
"And you won't tell me where we're going." Your voice ticks up, teasing him and keeping your hands far far away from his dick.
"Stop your whining, we're here."
Unbuckling and stepping out, heels clicking on to the concrete. Arm wrapping around yours and leading you not too far down the street to a bar. The sign on front was lit up neon blue, casting a sheen over the two of you.
"Oh so you're getting me drunk?" You giggle. "I hope you're not planning to take advantage of me."
"I would never do such a thing." His arm wraps around your neck pulling you into the crook of his arm. The both of you flash your ID's to the bouncer, him not even glancing at Aarons but taking a second longer to glance at yours.
"Have a good evening guys." The bouncer is flippant as he waves you in, the heat from the bar hitting immediately same with the wave of loud music enveloping you.
You scan the room, it's very busy. It's packed like sardines, Aaron makes a path up to the bar. "What do you want to drink?" He leans down, hands winding down to your hips, the ghost of his breath fanning over your ear.
"Just a beer." You lean back into him, back pressed into his front, you could feel the hardness of his muscles under his shirt.
He motions to the bartender and two cold, crisp pints slide across the bar and into your hand. The two of you make your way to a corner, its less rammed there, you can hear him speak. Your back hits the wall and its cool on your exposed skin, sticking to the sweat and sending a shiver down your back.
"When I said short." A finger drags up from the crook of your knee to the swell of your ass, meeting the fabric that clung there tightly. "I didn't mean show the whole world your ass." He pinches the fabric in between his fingers and pulling it down slightly.
"I was just following your instructions, maybe you should have been more clear." A mischievous smile creeps up your cheeks. "God knows how you run a team of FBI agents." You take a long, cool sip from your drink.
"Careful."
He pinches your ass this time, it stings and you yelp quietly. The smile never leaving your face.
You finish the rest of your drink, handing him the empty glass. "I'm going for a cigarette. You're welcome to come." You push off of the wall, and snake through the small gap that he'd left between the two of you. You don't miss his disapproving stare.
"I'll get us another drink." He sighs, dropping your hand as you make your way to the side entrance, out to the benches where the smoking area resided.
You'd just lit the thing and put it in your mouth, barely even taking a drag before you heard it, someone calling your name and walking towards you, shrouded in the darkness,
"John." You smile up at him, blowing the smoke away from him. "How are you?"
"I'm doing good, what are you doing in a place like this?" He looks around, sitting down next to you.
"Ah. I'm with someone." You bite your lip.
"So you finally settled down?" He laughs. "Never thought you would, you were very wild."
"Eh, not exactly."
Always with the perfect timing, Aaron steps out with another two pints in hand, almost slipping put of his grip at the sight of you with someone else.
"Aaron!" You call, beckoning him over with a wave of your hand.
You take the drink and motion for him to sit down next to you. He doesn't.
"Who's this?" He asks, glaring daggers at John, eyes darting between the pair of you.
"John. He is- was my friend." You give him a thin lipped smile, sipping from your drink just wanting the ground to swallow you up whole.
"Wild one isn't she?" John snorts, "Can't tie her down, don't let her out of your sight or she might jump ship."
“Shut up.” You roll your eyes so hard you’re sure you see the front of your brain and your shoulder jabs into his ribs.
“What?” He scoffs, “You were having great fun to me, and then someone else caught your fancy.”
You start to chug your pint, the cool liquid sitting heavy in your stomach. Aaron just simply raises an eyebrow, the muscles in his jaw jumping.
“What was his name? Rob, that was it. The accountant.” He wags his finger and your cheeks burn hot. With that his friends call him over and he disappears back into the darkness.
You’d finished your drink quickly, the glass clinking on the bench. He stares at you in silence and you take a long drag of your cigarette, blowing it away from him this time.
“How many… friends, do you have?” His hand his on his hip, his pinky and ring finger dipping into his pocket.
“It sounds worse than it is.” You bite your lip. “I left because he had whiskey dick.”
He doesn’t find that funny, still staring down at you.
“Put that out, we’re leaving.” His statement is one and done, pouring the rest of his pint down the drain, barely sipped the foam from being poured still sitting on the top.
“What! We just got here.” You pout, grasping your knees, the ash falling to the toe of your boot.
“It seems like everyone here knows you.”
“It’s one guy!” You exclaim, throwing your hands up dramatically. Then someone else calls your name from behind again, and you hide behind your hair.
“We are leaving.” He repeats.
You put out your cigarette, stamping it out under your boot and leaving your half drank pint on the bench.
His hand grasps yours, leading you away from the bar and down the street. Heels clicking on the pavement, echoing around the empty streets.
His silence makes you nervous, you squeeze his hand, feeling his knuckles on your fingers. The glint of his car in the night finally appears, he still opens the door. Your brain tries to reason with you, that means he can’t be THAT mad.
“Buckle yourself in.”
The tone, that cool, unbending tone told you that you were dealing with Unit chief Hotchner, not Aaron.
You do as your told and the seatbelt clicks into place. The ride back is so quiet that you can hear the tires rolling across the gravel. You don’t even think about reaching across the console and stroking his cock, well it does cross your mind but you shake it out. Refusing to sit still, squirming in the leather seat and flipping down the small mirror. Reapplying your lipgloss.
The buildings that pass aren’t familiar, this wasn’t the way to your apartment. It was more suburb than city, the tall apartment buildings and the hustle and bustle turned into a quieter, sleepier town houses.
You were going to his place.
He pulled into the driveway, the car screeching to a halt. He throws out the door, not opening yours this time. Marching straight to the front door and you trail behind him, following hot on his heels.
You get in, he kicks off his shoes and so do you.
"Look." You sigh.
You barely get a word out, the rest of the upcoming sentence knocked out of you. Your back hits the door. He cages you in, thick forearms on either side of your head and his lips suck on your neck. Teeth scraping over the sensitive skin making your toes curl into the hardwood floor.
“Aaron!” You cry, your hands grasping the front of his shirt desperately. The fabric wrinkles in between your fingers, ruining the ironing he’d definitely ran over it earlier.
“Shh.” He whispers, his hands fingering the straps of your dress and letting them fall to the sides. “I don’t want to hear it.” The bottom of it gets hiked up, making your ass shake as it clings above your hips.
“But-.” You try, he silences you with a searing kiss, rolling down the top part of the dress and exposing your tits to the cool air of his house.
His foot nudges between yours, spreading your legs and pinning you to the door with the sheer size of him.
Hand shaking down, between the valley of your tits, lightly stroking your stomach and coming to rest on your pelvis. His fingers peek inside the waistband of your thong, sliding in and hovering right above where you so desperately wanted him to stroke.
“Mmph.” You groan into his mouth. Your hips buck upwards to his hand. He smiles into your kiss, teeth reaching out and nipping at your bottom lip.
Then he does it, hands curve all the way down. Two thick fingers press into you, filling you. Simultaneously, his thumb hits your clit with soft, smooth circles as his fingers pump mercilessly.
He pulls away from your mouth with a wet pop, just in time to hear the loud, borderline pornographic moan that pulls from your throat. It echoes in the small space of the entry way as your head leans against his front door. “Aaron fuck!”
The laugh that hits your ears is teasing, your eyes half lidded as you gaze up at him. His fingers make an erotic squelch come from you every time he fucks them deep inside you. You’re pretty sure the only way you’re still upright on your feet is his fingers keeping you in place.
His thumb speeds presses harder into your clit. “Oh my God!” You almost scream, his thumbs precision on your clit and the pads of his fingers has you running to the edge at lightening speed.
“Are you close baby?” He whispers into your ear.
That’s all you needed, his voice vibrating in your ear and sending an ice cold chill down your spine. The muscles in your thighs tremble, toes curled and back so slick with sweat that you’re suctioned to the door. Your pussy clenches around him, squeezing his fingers tightly as he keeps fucking you through your orgasm.
You’re still panting when he’s leading you somewhere else, you don’t catch much of the living room before you’re pushed over the back of the couch. It was blue, and soft, the fabric under your hands.
“You’re so wet.” The head of his cock hits your clit as he shuffles forward and the clink of his belt buckle on the hardwood floor has your stomach turn in anticipation.
It hits the outside of your entrance, barely pushing in. You try to push back, he grabs your hips and pushes you flush with the couch. He clicks his tongue and his fingers tap against your skin.
“Should I fuck you? Hmm?” He presses forward slightly, then stops, then presses forward again just barely sinking into you.
You feel your hair slip to the side as you look back over your shoulder. “Please!” You whine, hips stuttering and pulling your lip into your mouth.
“I’m not sure.”
He slips his cock down and slaps it against your clit, your arms give out slightly. They buckle at the elbows.
“Please fuck me! Aaron.” Your dress is still clinging to your midriff, wet with sweat.
He doesn’t give you an answer with words, he just sinks right in and bottoming out. This time your elbows do buckle and your cheek comes to rest on the blue fabric. Feet tipping off the floor.
Again, he has no mercy. Using you roughly, each pump lurching you - and probably the couch, forward.
Your moans are muffled by the cushion pressing into your cheek, the drool pooling at the corner of your mouth leaving a dark spot on the fabric.
His strong arm wraps around your middle, pulling you back up to your hands and caging you in again. He’s heavy on top of you as he fucks you, his back, still in his shirt, pressing into you.
Puffs of air escape from your lips at each thrust, still so sensitive from your last orgasm, walls fluttering around him.
“Who do you belong to?” His voice is deep and guttural almost a growl.
“You.” Your voice comes out in a whisper, and another loud, high pitched moan comes when his middle finger reaches for your clit again.
“That’s right. This pussy is mine.”
“Fuck! Aaron, Aaron, Aaron!” You say his name like a prayer as you cum again, squeezing his thick cock in a vice like grip.
He whispers your name as his own hips stutter and with one deep thrust he releases inside of you. The two of you stay like that for a moment, his hands holding you to his chest and panting like you’d just ran a marathon.
Pulling you up, cock still inside, he presses a soft kiss to the crown of your head.
“I couldn’t stand him talking to you like that.” Aaron was back, his fingers now brushing your hair from your shoulder. “Sorry if I was too rough.”
“No no, I loved it.” You smile, “I think that was the hardest I came, like ever.”
“I’ll run you a bath.” His fingers stroke your spine and he finally pulls out, his cum running down your legs.
“Be quick, wouldn’t want to stain your newly waxed hardwood floor.” You give him a knowing look.
“Oh shut up.” He rolls his eyes and disappears up the stairs. A couple of seconds later you hear the water run.
a/n: Thanks for this request i had such a good time writing it!!!! also sorry i disappeared. I was supposed to post this but i got spiked and then had like a 4 day hangover.. whoops.
