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darkdemeter · 1 day

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(2𝐍𝐃) 𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄𝐑 "𝐒𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐍, 𝐁𝐄 𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐌𝐄 𝐈𝐕 (𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐄)"

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Content is subject to potential changes. 18+ content below - minors DNI, male receiving, dom Bucky x sub siren reader

He knows you near your orgasm. Your impatience to reach it noticeable and just when at the ridge of your climatic bliss, he withdraws his fingers from your cunt. It takes everything you have to not mewl and cry in protest. He turns you to lay on the flat of your spine, up into the glower of his piercing stare, and without so much as blinking, his flesh hand weaves to unfasten the buckle of his belt and tosses the leather strap to the floor with a metallic thunk. Meanwhile, he invades your mouth with the numerous digits coated in your juices. You moan lowly at the taste that sizzles on your tongue, washing your buds with your sweet nectar.

With a simple rustle and tug, his pants fall loosely to gather below his strongly built waist, fabric bunching together to hold fast from falling to the floor too quickly. Free from the tight constraints now, his cock brushes over the navel of his abdomen, the long under-vein pulsing with heated pools of blood and his thick, pink tip oozing with need in the form of pebbling drops of pre-cum. Pushing his hips forward and tearing his metal fingers from your mouth, ignoring the connecting thread of saliva, he pulls your head until your lips bump plushly to his weeping head. His flesh hand traces the contour of your jawline with ghosting touch, your hair becomes ravelled tightly in the locked grip of his other.

“Let’s see how well you sing when my cock is fucking your throat,” he says beneath a wheezing chuckle. He growls then, still humoured by his remark, “Open.”

Your defiance to obey his command is futile. Somehow, you know this, though you believe you’ve never tried. Contact locked between your eyes, your pliant lips part and sink around his enormous girth, barely able to tolerate far before you’re already caught gagging. He laughs at your attempt to take him whole, always amused at the sighted struggle written into every inch and crevice of your face. Now that he thinks about it, it has been some time since he’s taken you down the throat, his flesh hand rolls from your jaw and down the side columns of your neck with the continuation to submerge his cock further in. Beneath his calloused fingers, your neck swells and the skin protrudes as his cock intrudes until finally, your nose brushes the dark curls of his base.

Your lashes are darkened and wet by the stream of tears lining the brim of your eyes, nose flaring aggressively for even a morsel of air.

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Hope you enjoyed the teasers, I'm working hard on this finale and it will be with you all soon!

𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄𝐑 "𝐒𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐍, 𝐁𝐄 𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐌𝐄 𝐈𝐕 (𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐄)"

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Content is subject to potential changes

@identity2212 @sebastianstansqueen @openup-yourmind @kandis-mom @calwitch @cjand10 @ashdoctor @missmarvelophilic @mostlymarvelgirl @daddy-bucky @thegirlwholoveslivesfanfiction @armystay89 @oscarissac2099 @boobsbeesbongos @wallacewillow0773638

18+ stuff below the cut Minors DNI. Read below the cut at your own risk.

“You test the bounds of my tolerance and kindness, Siren,” he warns behind a bar of gritted teeth, he hisses without remorse for your shedded tears that follow, “You are bound to ME!”

With fear all-consuming, you fall to your knees, hands press to the scuffed boards’ lining and your chin bows low to levels of his preference.

You cry out, the profuse outpour of tears that line your face does little to quell the raging tide of his anger. “I-I’m sorry!”

“Quiet!” he barks and you reply with naught but a trembling nod. “I’ve been merciful to you. I’ve given you belonging, shelter and security, and this is how you repay all that? With this insult!”

His height that towers over you like a commanding shadow sinks to kneel before you, the musk of his scent wafts in lingering cascades upon you, encasing you in times that once were; without this consistent turmoil of your curious nature.

But that’s what you were: curious. Why your captain holds guardianship over this particular necklace, its mystery undeniable to lure in your want to know, its attention and the way it glimmers and shines in the sunlight’s light. And the now fading voices. This necklace is yours, at least it was at some point in time, a piece of you that now your captain harbours as his own. Through it, somehow, it binds you to him. The key to your imprisonment… but also your freedom.

“You’ve to be punished now.” His words bring a chill to wisp down your spine and needle through your skin, sewing anguish into the faint glamour of your receded, softened scales, and your pupils are blown dark and wide with terror. Punishment is never struck on a whim when it comes to your captain. No, punishment is served at the wrong doings, and in performing poorly to his orders, that punishment can vary. But for you, it falls under the same cloth, a figment garment that never holds to you for long. For it is stripped from you as you enact yourself in service until he sees your crimes duly paid in full. And usually, it is after he has pumped you full, until your cunt is sorely abused and leaking with his seed.

Cool metal dances under your chin and before you can find a surmisable amount of courage to fight, he sharply upturns the tilted axis of your eyes to meet his. Ferocious as the battles he orchestrates at sea, and piercingly cold as the wintry peninsula of the arctic that your skin and muscle is butchered until your bones ache. Yet in the delicately lightened pools of his oceanic eyes, lies a strange tenderness. But it is one that never smiles. Never softens. Not in the way Mina implied. For your captain’s heart is a black one, guarded in the fortress of his cruelty. That which he holds you to the level of his eye is not a testament of love.

Captain James Barnes, the White Wolf, cannot love. Much to the naivety of your own heart, that soon after broke at this revelation of truth some time ago, you came to accept that in his darkened heart, yearns the ever hungry curse of lust. A hunger you must now feed or forever be enslaved, and mind erased at the coming of his witch’s scarlet magic.

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#bucky x reader smut #bucky barnes #siren reader #pirate bucky #pirate au #bucky x reader #teaser #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes x reader #female reader #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes smut #bucky smut #bucky barnes x fem!reader #dom bucky barnes #sub reader

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darkdemeter · 1 day

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𝑾𝑨𝑻𝑪𝑯 𝑰𝑵 𝑺𝑰𝑳𝑬𝑵𝑪𝑬

— 𝑺𝒕𝒓𝒊𝒇𝒆 𝒙 (𝑭) 𝑾𝒂𝒕𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒓! 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 —

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The Horseman is eager with gauntlet fingers plucking and squeezing at the triggers of his unrested spirit, a whirlwind of timeless spiralling. And by far, the more accepting - or at least resigning - to his fate at the tether of a watcher. He doesn’t exactly let his hesitation be known through the crack whip of his protesting joke, only for the Charred Council to be unamused by his antics.

Upon the moment of linking with you, Strife greeted you with an ounce of fondness, though his expression lay hidden beneath his mask, his tone is the only representation of his mood. And he seemed… happy, and rather amused to meet you.

All you do is blink with utter surprise, eyes aglow with your stun, he rumbles out a faint chuckle, “Not much of a talker, ey?”

Thus begins your journey across the realms of the universe with the gunslinging Horseman, his travels taking him far and wide within the stretch of a shortened window of time. Thankful that your bindings allow you to slink into the chasm of his vessel, you however, find it a little saddening that you miss out on so much.

For a Horseman who rides heavily on the winds, chasing adventure and anything that strikes his fancy, he also entertains your fascination and soon enough, he slows a little in his travels so that you may actually take in the surroundings.

A youngling amongst the watchers that far exceed your age and experience, you’re very keen to inspect every crook and cranny of whatever world you inhabit. You had thought that he’d hold so little time and tolerance for your curious nature; but you’re proven wrong when he too takes the time to explore with you. From turning up every rock to find what lies under it, to becoming mesmerised to the fluttery fields of flowery pastures and intriguing bugs that dance in the dark sky like stars. Not only have the many sights been a joyous experience, no less with the Horseman to grant you nothing less than equitable and uplifting company, but the massing of collected trinkets is something of a newly-formed tradition.

His siblings, in their scrutiny and judgement of this odd habit, find a level of distaste within it. The many collected odds and bits and bobs a tidal wave of obsession that they can’t fathom who started. But it matters little to the trigger happy brother. “What? It’s our thing!” he’ll claim loudly and without shame, only for you to hide behind him and away from their casted glares. “Aw, now look, you guys are scaring her!”

An impressive and still growing collection to this day, you now begin to find more personalised and thoughtful gifts to present to your rider, ones that you wish for him to hold onto. At first, he didn’t understand and would add them to your other found treasures, only for you to rapidly shake your head and gesture to him, holding your gift in hand, you move about like a frenzied ghost.

Laughing, he questions, “What’re you saying, little Watcher?... you want me to hold onto it?” With a far enthusiastic nod, he laughs and agrees to keep your small artefacts on him at all times. Pleased with this, he takes notice of the shy glimmer that thins the dark lids of your eyes, how your darkened shaped head will bow and your hands curl in together aggressively. If he didn’t know any better, he’d assume you had a little crush on him.

Not too soon after, you are presented with small presents of his own. Ones he’s gathered in some far corner of the desolated chamber you’re investigating together, or a funny shaped piece that in your eyes, is a prized possession; and what’s more, it comes from your rider. He takes great pride, his chest puffed out and helmed chin held high when he sees how these small gifts entrance you, and you gesture in thanks with a smile unmade with a mouth.

Your silence, however, irks him greatly. He loses focus and rest over it, it drives him that mad. Dealing with the edge of his siblings can be a trouble all its own, all he wants is to talk to someone, to hold a conversation. His disappointment is more noticeable than it was upon your first meeting him, seeing that you are indeed not a talker; much to his masked grimace.

He tries everything to get you to talk. Just one word. That’s all he wants from you. And then he promises himself he’ll be satisfied. For some time…

Not that you’re distant and cold and quick to brush off his jokes and witty banter with a scoff or furrowed brow. You actually appear to be consumed with a heightened level of interest in what he says, the stories he tells you when taking short respites.

From the wide, unblinking gaze your eyes hold to him, he sees you hang to every word and he cherishes that. In fact, he does tend to over-dramatise his stories just a little - if only to see the wonderment flutter in your eyes. For a face void of many features that are reminiscent of his own, he can only count on the motion of your eyes and the glow they have when something excites or scares you.

And Heaven and Hell forbid if anything scares you, because that is a day of reckoning. Be it any fiend or beast, he’ll slay it. He goes above and beyond to keep you, his little watcher, safe and out of harm’s reach. When something makes you excited, Strife is one to note it down and repeat it later, and if that pattern continues then he’ll continue.

Each time he catches your gaze on him, silent, yet eyes pooled in your amazement for his prowess on the battlefield, he smirks under the protection of his mask. He feels empowered when you look at him like that. It imbues him with the strength and mindset that he can accomplish anything, though he already knows this, it’s different when it’s you who watches him.

Still making one-sided conversation, he eventually tries his luck again with another joke. “Alright, alright, little Watcher. Why is my brother, War, so serious all the time?”

With a kitten-like tilt of your head, you remain silent though he sees the cogs in your mind toil the answer. With a bow of your chin, you give in.

“Because he has no funny bone!” Strife finds himself in awe of the sound that emanates from you. A chorus of reverberating giggles and after what feels like an eternity, he cherishes the angelic hue and bounce of your voice.

“You’re so funny…”

#female reader #darksiders fanfiction #strife #darksiders #nephilim #darksiders 2 #darksiders strife #darksiders strife x reader #x reader #fanfiction #darksiders genesis #darksiders 3 #darksiders x reader #Strife/Reader

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darkdemeter · 2 days

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𝑾𝑨𝑻𝑪𝑯 𝑰𝑵 𝑺𝑰𝑳𝑬𝑵𝑪𝑬

— 𝑾𝒂𝒓 𝒙 (𝑭) 𝑾𝒂𝒕𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒓! 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 —

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A cantankerous behemoth that treads the path of destruction and chaos in his wake. A rider adorned in the banner of red, his trademark hood, and beneath the darkness of his cowl is the war-enamoured glare of whitened blue. A hue far too complicated for any mortal to comprehend. This bringer of all things conflict, and pursuer of vengeance to a fiery engine that can never be sated, his reluctance towards trusting you is to be expected.

For a Watcher bound to the plating of his gauntlet and deeper into his very soul, can only mean that the Charred Council questions his loyalty to them. Untrusted to go about his tasks, to serve the balance, he is now at the tether of a parasite that will feed and revel in the status of your power over him.

But he learns quickly that you do no such thing. Intend nothing of the sort. You just follow behind him as if it is you who is at his leash. He contemplates your motives in his mind, and you do nothing to invade him there, for that is not yours to pry into. There is much silence to be found between you both and he finds appreciation in the beginning of it all. But there comes a time that his appreciation begins to fester into worry.

Why do you not speak? Why is it that you just watch him?

It is a matter that you’re fascinated by him. A juggernaut of all things chaos, destruction and desolation, in contrast to the vow of his honour; his duty to serve balance and the level of dedication he strives for to make peace for the realms. For one of the four that is known to be fuelled by tempering vengeance and bloodlust, he has a strict code to which he conducts himself to uphold. Duty-bound to his role. You find him a very intriguing rider of the steed known as Ruin. A fitting comrade to his master.

He senses something about you that sets you apart from other watchers, unlike the more obvious telltale signs and oddities, but within the pulsing energy of your shaded body; he feels that there is a sense of commonality between you both.

Yes, much like himself, you are not as ancient as the others. No, you are young. And so, that commonality forges a bond between. You understand the struggles he goes through in being the youngest of his siblings. At times, not taken seriously, and other times he is teased and taunted relentlessly with only Death being the main mediator to rid his youngest from such torment. You too struggle with this ordeal within the spiralling, ethereal pool of the watchers. But by no means do any come to your valiant rescue.

So when you are chosen to be bound to the red cowled Horsemen, you do well to ignore his scornful glare and allow your eyes to crinkle with a mouthless smile. Finally, you are given reprieve from your own torment and what’s more, you get a chance to explore the many worlds.

At first, he’d been confronted by this… unique behaviour of exploration. The way you gravitate towards the smallest and most mundane articles in your path, you found there to be something entrancing about a single, white petalled flower that remains fighting against the rubble and corruption around it. Or from the wayward cast of your gaze that appeared to become lost in the intricate layout of the realms you travel to. No matter where you are, you always manage to find something that piques your peculiar interest.

And in meeting Vulgrim, the demon trader who bargains boons and goods in exchange for souls, who’s hunger knows no bounds, is allured by that younger scent of yours. The fiend is salivating in his thoughts and lipless grin, you force yourself to hide behind War, whether as an act of cowardice or self-preservation, but it spurns the Horseman into action. That of defense. To protect you, the baritone of his voice warns Vulgrim off. That by the Charred Council - and by him - you are protected.

War is silent about his intrigue of your gentle, silent nature. You are often out and about, lingering on the horizon of his watch and never straying too far from him.

"What is it, little Watcher?" he grumbles to you eagerly pounding on the plate of his pauldron to gain his attention, glancing to where you enthusiastically indicate towards a point of interest. In reply, he gives a stern nod of his head. The closest sentiment of thanks you can get from the near-silent rider. But adventurous voyages are cut short to retreat into the crypt of his body and soul when danger lurks near. Despite the inward haven, you find it hard to simply wait out the carnage and a strange sorrow fills the void where a heart should be when you see him falter, inflicted with wounds wrought from battle.

Because of this need to see him unharmed, you will yourself to be brave. Fighting against the demonic forces of Hell’s army, War finds himself becoming overpowered. In your determination to aid the youngest Horsemen, you put yourself in the league of danger, and drive a sharpened point of a broken blade into the beast’s side with a shrill battle-cry.

At the cost of being grappled and tossed into a wall of torn and reformed rock, War is given the opportunity he needs to gain the upper hand.

After that particular fight, War notices the slumped form you take and despite his limited expertise, he attends any injury you sustained in the attack.

“This should help, little Watcher,” he says, uncertainty evident in the way he scowls, his low-silken voice drawls with faded hope of helping you. But it matters little, you’re gladdened by the tenderness of his actions. The four are not exactly known to be courteous. And Watchers are despised by them, and any other spiritual being for that matter, so to be taken under his care despite any reservations of loathing he may hold for you; it creates the illusion of a smile in your glowing eyes.

War doesn’t smile in turn. Nor did you expect him to. But the bevel between his ashen brows ceases just a little and the glaring mask of his stoicism wavers that tiny bit more. Lowering the blackened limb of your bound arm, he stands to his full height before you after having bandaged your wound. The sound of your voice after all this time visibly shakes him, his fangs bared and eyes growing wide.

“Thank you, War…”

#darksiders #female reader #darksiders fanfiction #darksiders war #horsemen of the apocalypse #nephilim #fanfiction #darksiders x reader #darksiders war x reader #war x reader #x reader #War/Reader

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darkdemeter · 3 days

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𝑾𝑨𝑻𝑪𝑯 𝑰𝑵 𝑺𝑰𝑳𝑬𝑵𝑪𝑬

— 𝑫𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒉 𝒙 (𝑭) 𝑾𝒂𝒕𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒓! 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 —

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To the eldest as your charge, Death remained a permanently perplexing sort. This, from the wit of his banter and blunted sass, often leaves you fixated on the nature of his estranged and cold personality, however much you see the confliction of his inner turmoil within. But that is a personal affair you dare not intrude upon.

Most curious for a Watcher, Death often scowls in the closeted nest of his deepest thoughts. More so than not, Watchers tend to make a grand show of their power over the Horsemens’ leash, whichever sibling they hold to, it is but a taming of a trophy. A display, that in comparison to the feared Horsemen, the Watchers are the ones in power.

Darkened, boastful entities. Infectious, shadowy wisps that are bound and loyal to the Charred Council. Yet compared to the likes of your other wrist-shackled counterparts, you remain out of the way of his carnage-paved path. You don’t conduct yourself as a mouthpiece of sarcasm and venomous snark. Death already covers that trait and far more fittingly if you’re forced to confess. But no, you allow him his way without the threat of restraint, and maybe because he is the eldest of his siblings, he is granted that right.

But for you… well, the reason is not like that at all. At least, not entirely. You revere his strength and might, but in fact, you are also rather ‘young’. By this, you have very little experience amassed when chosen to govern a Horsemen; moreso that this is your first venture in doing so. You could also say you’re an admirer of Death. How precise he is in the midst of his outward battles, the radiance of his exuded power, it’s of little use to convince yourself otherwise by accompanying him as his so-called Watcher that you feel safe in his company.

And that is why you remain to that of a voiceless shadow. Quite literally. Upon first bindings to the one known as Kin-slayer, he has not so much as heard you utter a single word. And he knows not if he should be grateful or reserved. A Watcher that is silent?

He tries to not let it overcome his mind. But it's hard when he takes time of momentary rest such as this, to contemplate the path he treads and his next course of action, and then to lift his burning amber eyes to find you. Either staring at him or providing a level of cared attendance to Dust, adoring the crow’s purring chirps as his dark, crisp feathers quiver and fluff out.

When involving the former, all he can do is glare in return but that does little to deter you, gaze almost dream-like, as if you marvel at the sight of him in your muted presence. Though you may harbour a surmised amount of fear for Death, the dangers of other creatures scare you, and that fear only drives you closer to his side. Nights like this there crawls something sinister in the dark. It lingers there like a beast on the prowl. The wispy form of your blackened silhouette dances in hunched uncertainty, perhaps cowardly to the likes of his perspective, before a simple clutter of rubble ignites the last of your incited panic and you huddle to his side. Who better to protect you than Death? His scythes ring the song of victory without so much as a breath, the task of delivering those unto their demise one he is born and created to do.

Has been for many aeons. But he is still and undisturbed by the shifting of pebbles. He scowls, that much you can tell by the thinning of his amber eyes that burn with a thousand blazes of molten and fire.

“It’s nothing, little Watcher.” His voice is strung by the hoarseness of his remark, reprimanding you and your swiftness to scare easily. How often he’s marked you with such belittlement but you find yourself yearning for it. You interpret it as his term of endearment beneath that coarse exterior of his. Head fluttering in the direction of any miniscule note that sounds in the distance around you, you finally come from your hiding place, tucked close to his ribcage with a curious tilt of your head. Glancing from him to where you’d heard the noise, the trail of black at the end of your torso dances over his lap, stirring him with a chill that leaves a disgruntled noise to rise from his chest.

As ever the curious thing you were and that he’d come to know, your arms raise to bend at the elbows, nervously your tinged fingers ring together within your silent inquiry, Death takes an unseemly approach this time around; that of thoughtful gentleness.

“Nothing will come and harm you.”

This answer calms you. He tells by the fall of your shoulders that ease at his promise, and the way your head turns to view him with your eyes, glowing brightly as if you share with him a kind, thankful smile.

“So long as you don’t draw attention,” he quickly snips and that crinkle of your eyes wears away, that once illuminated smile within your gaze dims.

He’s not entirely sure if that was a necessity to add. By what logic would you draw attention to them? Half the time, your presence is invisible to the masked Horseman. Only made known in times where you guide him through his journey, a suggestive wave or push of his body to indicate a point of interest that may be of some use in his quest.

But other than quick outings to help him, watch over him, you don’t exactly serenade him with a chorus of banter he can combat with his own, and thus, enemies don’t take notice of your being there until you show yourself.

But nevertheless, he watches you hover towards him before coming to curl against him. Though he means to protest and brush you aside, you make yourself comfortable at his side and he’s forced to concede that this is where you plan to stay until you both are on the move again.

You sigh, the sound quiet and echoes faintly in the chamber of your enclosed, unmade mouth. Yet your jaw grows down in length as if to copy the motion to yawn and you rest your head against his shoulder.

“You know, you’re a very odd sort of Watcher,” he says to you, yet your eyes dwindle, slowly closing as you remain untainted by his words. They are not new to you. He’s commented a few times about your oddities. And you’re inclined to agree with a sluggish nod.

Still, he watches you, eyes cast upon you with a glare meant to intimidate you. But seeing the serenity of your peace when pressed to him, it comes to soften his gaze. Unexpectedly, something in his heart… beats. Blooms. A strange force threatens to dominate.

The blackened outline of your form fits to the line of his body, the fading tail at the end of your torso rests over in his lap.

Once certain that you’ve somehow drifted into some realm of slumber, his hand comes to rest along the ridge of your spine, he feels the pulse of energy within your shadowed, ethereal body.

The framing curtain of blackness that shrouds your head moves timidly like hair taken softly to the breeze. Much like a human, it is another quality that sets you far apart from the other watchers to relish in their power below the Charred Council’s will.

What Death finds himself now evermore torn and confused by, is the utterance of one word as you drift off into the sleeping abyss.

The quietness disturbed by a tune harmonic - angelic - that it fits not the occupation you find yourself in servitude under.

It is a word he often claims is in the interest of the balance only. That nothing else restrains him to such an esteemed and honourable title.

“Protector…”

#female reader #darksiders #darksiders fanfiction #death x watcher reader #darksiders death #x reader #death x reader #death x female reader #purely self indulgent #*cough* anyways #darksiders 2 #darksiders x reader #imagine darksiders #Death/Reader

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darkdemeter · 4 days

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Sorry (not sorry), I had to stop writing TGOW to read this HEHEHEEEEEH!!!🤭

Omega retreat : chapter 4

Pairing : Alpha Bucky x Omega reader

Warnings : R18, Eventual Smut, General Discomfort, nothing is what it seems, fluff, heart ache

Word count : 2131

Masterlist

He was very understanding when you asked him to give you time to think about his invitation. It was the turning point you hoped to avoid just a little longer, appreciating instead that you could be just like any other normal girl. Yet, some things couldn't be left on the back burner.

The untouched notification continued to light up your inbox, no doubt just being the website’s way of ensuring their reservation went through and they would be paid.

You turned over to look at your phone and the little banner still sitting at the top that said, “You’ve been invited to reserve a cabin by JAMES BARNES.”

It was fitting that he’d picked the Gold Package, and you had to admit, a sexy getaway was incredibly tantalizing.

Yet, everything felt rushed, and you knew exactly why. You knew you were always going to give in, but ever since that conversation at the hospital, you wanted so badly for every choice to at least be your own. Something you wanted to do, not be coerced by circumstances.

You told yourself every second after you’d logged into your computer, your eyes still heavy with broken sleep, that this was still your decision. Accepting the invite would be your decision, no matter what reason you had to make it.

With one simple click, it was done, a cascade of hearts flooding the screen as their little mascot hopped around with joy. It was cute, yet still a little cheesy.

You set the computer aside before laying back on the bed and letting the small streaks of sun coming in from the window warm your skin. You felt so oddly relieved, yet still so anxious. It was a good start, better than what you had before.

A small ding sang through the peaceful morning, and once again you emerged from your little sheet cocoon to grab your phone from the nightstand. It was a message from Bucky, and he seemed as excited as ever to have gotten your confirmation.

‘Good morning :D’

You smiled at the message, feeling more relief spread through your tired body as you typed back.

‘Morning. I take it you got the notification.’

You watched as those three dots jumped inside the prospective chat bubble before two popped up at once.

‘I did indeed.’

‘You have no idea how happy this makes me.’

Everything he said always seemed to make your heart blossom with a new feeling of warmth. It really put into perspective how tiring all that stress and anxiety really was when it finally started to disappear.

Expressing his eagerness through text must not have been enough for him, as the phone buzzed to life in your hand before you could type another reply.

You didn’t hesitate to answer it, and your belly fluttered at the low rumble of his voice as it sang through the speaker.

“Hey, doll”

“Hi. You miss me already?”

You heard him chuckle softly, probably smiling at the bashful tone in your voice. “I hope I’m not coming on too strong.”

“No! I think it’s really sweet.”

It was nice to have someone care this much about your needs, especially above their own. It was someone who wanted to take care of you at what may well be your weakest.

You hear him clear his throat for a second, shaking the sweet and sugary vibe that the conversation had started on. “Do I have the date right? If not, then I can fix the reservation..”

“No, you remembered very well. I’m actually surprised.”

“I guess I’m just excited.”

“That makes two of us; I’m practically shaking in my boots.”

He laughed back at your goofy little retort, and you giggled nervously along with him.

“I was kind of afraid you’d say no.” His voice seemed to fall again as he spoke, giving you a glimpse of a few insecurities of his own. “Like, maybe I scared you away.”

“As if.” You laughed it off immediately, bemused at the thought that he’d consider himself anything more than the teddy bear he’d shown you.

“I needed some time to take it in for a second. I just felt so much in the moment, ya-know.” You smiled down at the phone as you spoke, hoping you could melt his fears just as he did yours. “Believe me, you're not scary one bit.”

You swear you could feel the laugh he’d let out as you chuckled with him.

He’d talked to you for hours, showering you with compliments as he finalized the details of your trip.

“Are you sure you’ll be able to take that time off? It is pretty soon.” You stepped around your kitchen, looking for a mug to pour some coffee into. Bucky watched your shapely form as it moved across his screen, smiling to himself before you turned back to the phone and caught his eyes wondering.

The conversation had since evolved into a video call, letting you see the actual smile on his face. There would be glimpses of the rough grain in his facial hair and the deepening blue of his eyes, but there were finer details that you couldn’t see.

You wanted to see so much more, and soon you will. That thought alone made you feel so much happier.

He brushed his hair back with his fingers, leaving a thick lock behind his ear and a few strands to fall back across his forehead and cheek.

“I’ll be just fine; help to be your own boss.”

“Oh? Big boss, man, huh?”

He huffed a chuckle before he spoke back, “A story for another time, but I’ll tell you now it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”

You gave him a little pout.

“What about you?” He asked, in a clear attempt to redirect the conversation back to the original question.

“Oh, I always get my heat off. It’s kinda like that for Omega’s.”

You were more than lucky to work in an environment that was so welcoming to people like you, and you were sure that your supervisor would understand.

“Makes sense..” You watched his eyes wander from the screen as he pulled his phone from the pocket of his sweatpants. It looked so out of date that it was no wonder why he only used the webcam on his computer.

“Nice flip phone, grandpa.”

He laughed back at you with “gee thanks, doll” before tossing down the bad news. “I gotta go.”

“Awe, already.”

“Yeah, nothing like a work emergency on a Saturday.” You watched him toss the phone on his desk offscreen before turning back to you. “I can’t wait to see you, Omega.”

“I can’t wait either, Alpha.” You felt his eyes shift as you spoke, as if finally hearing you say his denomination so diffidently.

You tapped the red button on the phone screen, ending the call before you turned it off and set it aside.

By mid-afternoon, you’d since decided to knock out a few of your household chores. You were already elbow deep in some soapy dishwater when you heard another familiar ringtone. You fumbled for the dish towel nearby to dry your pruney fingers before grappling with your phone.

You accepted the call and called back a sweet greeting to one of your favorite people.

“Hi, mom.”

“Hi sweetie. I haven’t heard from you in a few days..” Her concern was sweet, but you were quick to cut her short, not wanting another reminder of the previous incident.

“I’m fine, mom.”

She sighed back, “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I know.”

“Any news?” Her voice lightened, truly hoping there would have been an update on your condition and even more so that it was promising.

There was plenty of news, wonderful news that you weren’t ready to break to your worrisome mothers just yet.

Better now than never, it seemed, “I met someone.”

“Oh?”

She didn’t sound happy, and every second afterward that she left you in silence made your once-airy mood deflate.

"He's uh...He’s an alpha.” Your jaw only tightens further as you wait for an answer back. Anything would be better than another ‘oh?’

“Well, that’s nice. W-where did you two..meet?” Her discomfort was never easily hidden, but at least she was trying.

“We met on this dating site, and we’ll be spending some time together soon.”

“I see. So is it a date to a cafe or dinner?”

“We’re going away for...." You struggled to find the words, "...it’s just this vacation rental somewhere quiet and calm.”

“Oh, a getaway. Sounds nice, but... you know your cycle will be coming soon. It’s probably best to be careful.”

“I-I'll be taken care of..."

“Are you sure? I can always be there to take care of you in case of another emergency.”

You felt your stomach tighten a little as she spoke.

“That’s actually why we’ll be out of town.” Your toes shifted along the floor, carting you to the fridge so you could grip the handle to better hold yourself upright.

She didn’t answer back right away, only giving you a weak “you can’t do that.”

It made the blood freeze in your veins, leaving your body tense against the refrigerator. “Mom..”

“Do you have any idea what might happen to you all that way from home?”

“I know what I’m doing.”

“The hell you do. You can’t do this. I can’t lose you.”

She seemed to spiral nearly as badly as you did.

“If I go through another heat without a partner, you fucking will lose me.” You nearly wailed as you yelled back into the phone, only to be met with a few moments of dead air.

It made the frantic beat of your heart seem louder and louder. Proof that no matter how calm the waters felt, you couldn’t escape the truth that swam beneath them.

“Sweetheart, I only want you to be safe.”

You knock your head back against the fridge before letting your body slide along the side of it, letting the newly mounting anxieties drag you down to the floor. “I’m not safe alone, mom.”

“I’m sorry. I know you wanted to wait for all this, and it’s not fair.” Her voice was just as weak as yours was now.

“It’s fine; I need to grow up sometime.” You said back, pulling your knees to your chest. You didn’t want to wallow in this disparity anymore; you were so sick of it all. It takes a single thought—a glimmer of hope shining through the dark clouds that have begun to circle around you.

You thought of Bucky.

“B..James’ is nice; I think you’d like him.” You had to quickly correct yourself, knowing his nickname had been sweet to you but could seem silly to others. You still remember the abashed laugh you gave when he first told you.

“Iâ€¦good, that’s good.”

You knew that wasn’t what she wanted to say, and now you weren’t afraid to say it instead.

“You think you’d like him more if you’d gotten to meet him.”

“I didn’t say that, but yes.” You hear her voice wavering as she speaks. “I’m glad, though, that he’s nice. I hope you have fun on your trip.”

“Thank you, mom.”

“Please be safe, sweetheart. I love you.”

You sighed for a second before telling her you loved her too, and the call came to an end. You were still hugging your knees, nearly curling in on yourself in your kitchen. The floor was uncomfortable, and you finally unfolded yourself and pushed off of it. You missed the careless feeling you’d had while talking to Bucky, lamenting how easily your mood had dipped like a sinking ship.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fucking fair at all. Just when you thought you could escape the anxiety, it rounded its ugly head around each corner. Well, this time you wouldn’t be taking it lying down anymore.

You used this new momentum to spur yourself through the house and towards your bedroom. You bolted for your closet, determined now only to look ahead to your chance to get away from it all. You tore through your hung clothes, wanting to find anything that could impress your perspective, Alpha.

You found yourself leafing through more khaki shorts than you’d realized you’d owned. Faded sundresses and worn-out old sandals littered the pile, along with plain cotton panties in contrast to any lacy lingerie.

You still had a long way to go before you truly felt comfortable in your own skin. But certainly, a little shopping could do some good too.

There was a fire in your belly, burning you forward like an angry locomotive.

It will be a cold day in hell before anyone takes this opportunity away from you.

Tag list : @bethyruth @scott-loki-barnes @wintrsoldrluvr @buckysdoll85 @lendeluxe @meowmeowyoongles @heletsmelovehim @mcira @buckysbaby-doll @serendipitouslife90 @unicornicopia1 @animegirlgeeky @matchat3a @darkdemeter @onyxwolf @thebuckybarnesvault

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #alpha bucky #alpha bucky barnes #bucky x you #alpha bucky x omega reader #bucky fanfic #alpha bucky x reader #bucky x reader fic rec #this anomaly raccoon loooooooves this #so you should read it to!#please ^-^ it's so gooooood!#a/b/o dynamics #omega reader

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darkdemeter · 5 days

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𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄𝐑 "𝐒𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐍, 𝐁𝐄 𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐌𝐄 𝐈𝐕 (𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐄)"

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Content is subject to potential changes

18+ stuff below the cut Minors DNI. Read below the cut at your own risk.

“You test the bounds of my tolerance and kindness, Siren,” he warns behind a bar of gritted teeth, he hisses without remorse for your shedded tears that follow, “You are bound to ME!”

With fear all-consuming, you fall to your knees, hands press to the scuffed boards’ lining and your chin bows low to levels of his preference.

You cry out, the profuse outpour of tears that line your face does little to quell the raging tide of his anger. “I-I’m sorry!”

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#female reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #siren reader #pirate bucky #pirate au #bucky x reader #teaser #bucky x female reader #bucky fic #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes au #james bucky barnes #the winter soldier

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darkdemeter · 7 days

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Thank you for the tag, @mostlymarvelgirl ♡!

5 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐓𝐚𝐥𝐤, 𝐃𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐩 ────────────────

𝐈: Tattoo related stuff

𝐈𝐈: Fanfic recs ...and Books (cause why not? I wanna branch out)

𝐈𝐈𝐈: Anything. Historical. Period. (You're fucked, because there is ALOT to go through)

𝐈𝐕: Webtoon comics, Atnomen & Midnight Poppy Land

𝐕: Voice acting

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I dunno how I did with this, it took a little while to think about, not gonna lie, but this is what I ended up with (albeit, some with varying difficulty 😂)

|| No pressure tags: (if you've already been tagged then I'm sorry and just ignore it, ha)

@ellemj @shamrockqueen @alexawynters @hollyseb @ anyone else who wants to join in on the fun!

i was tagged by @svintsandghosts

I saw this meme going around on twitter and I think it'll be perfect for this account.

List 5 topics you can talk on for an hour without preparing any material.

bloodborne

horror media

art [depends on era] & architecture

jay and jake

ateez

ill tag my usual hotties but y'all ain't gotta do it: @drunkhazed @yeonzzzn @alvojake

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darkdemeter · 7 days

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ZOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMIES!

ahhhhhhh, this pacing, I fuckin LOVE when reader's given a pace in the story, it makes the pay off so much more sweeter in series like this

and it's so relatable! *happy noms*

Omega Retreat : Chapter 3

Pairing : Alpha Bucky x Omega reader

Warnings : R18, Eventual Smut, reference to physical ailments

Word count : 2083

Masterlist

Summary : As an unmarked and lonely omega you find a flyer for a service called The Omega Retreat.

You are paired with a compatible alpha to spend your heat or just a week at a luxurious cabin at a forest resort. Amenities and Utilities included. Enjoy the beautiful scenery, fresh air, as well as the company of an alpha of your choosing. What could possibly go wrong?

You tried to focus on your work, but you found yourself losing focus time and time again. Your eyes kept leaving the dull glow of your computer monitor to steal glances at your phone.

“You seem distracted.”

Her tone was playful, but the abrupt interruption still had you jumping in your seat. Your boss had snuck up behind you easily as you were rechecking your email on your phone.

“Geez, we’ll have to string a bell around you if you're going to sneak up on people.” You laughed back, reassured by her coy smile.

“Something’s got you in a good mood.” She hummed behind you.

“Oh, yeah I guess.” You try to hide your pink cheeks, too embarrassed over getting caught texting a new flame like a love-struck teenager.

“All the girls can smell the change. Even the betas, dear.” She sang back.

“Who is he?” She tried to hide her beaming smile behind the back of her hand as she leaned over on the wall of your cubicle.

You scoff, trying to cover your warm cheeks as you answer. “You sound more excited than my mother was.”

She gasped with a wide smile, like a schoolgirl getting gossip from a friend. Omega’s always connected more closely, and it warmed your heart that she could be equally happy for you. So, when she leaned in for a hint of another scent that may have been left to linger on your skin, you quickly answered the anticipation in her eyes.

“We haven’t met in person yet; you're not going to catch a whiff of him, so don’t bother trying.” You laughed up at her before she pulled away.

“No fun. You could at least tell me what he is.” You knew it had to be the question bugging her the most.

You hesitated for a second, biting back on your lip before whispering back, “An alpha.”

“I knew it!” She nearly jumped with delight, leading you to try and shush her before the other cubicles were privy to your personal business.

It made you happy that you could feel like you had bonds even at work, and we’re thankful for her gentle omega nature.

“Keep your voice down.”

“I’m sorry; I’m just so happy for you. After everything, I just..”

You didn’t want her to finish that sentence. Luckily for you, she wouldn’t, looking back into your saddened eyes instead. “I’m just so happy for you.”

“Thank you.”

“You think you’ll meet him soon?”

You chuckled alongside her, glad to have the conversation shift back to a lighter tone.

“We’ll see. We’ll see.” You shoo at her, hoping to get some of the work she’d given you done today.

She gets the message, realizing she’d been gushing for too long and had work of her own.

“Fine, but I expect an invite to that wedding.”

It was the last you heard of her before she walked back to her office.

You smiled back at your computer, a drab Excel sheet still painted over its background. You sighed back at it until a telltale ding rang across your previously ignored phone.

A relationship with an alpha was still scary, but Bucky seemed to dampen those worries every time you looked at his photo blipping over your screen.

You pulled the phone towards you to glance over the notification of Bucky’s message.

“I wait to see you tonight.” You read along with the small message box.

You ran your fingernail along the power button before pressing on it, letting the passcode window light up the screen before tapping on a handful of numbers.

You looked back at the few cubicles behind you, making sure you had a moment to answer.

“Me either. I can’t focus on work,” you typed fervently.

“I’d rather meet you in person, Omega." The message pops up in the next second.

You let out a breathy chuckle with a smile, still in disbelief that you could be his omega even in text.

“I know. Hopefully soon, but I’m excited about our video date.”

You were more than excited; it was all you could think about as the hours ticked away slower than they normally would. When 5 p.m. finally rolled around, you nearly lept from your seat. You nearly forgot to shut off your computer before grabbing your stuff and rushing away.

A giddy drive home was a delightful change of pace, spurring you to drive just a tick above the speed limit as you neared your little house.

You fly through the house, letting the door slam behind you before tossing your purse over the couch. You stumbled past the mirror, only to twist back towards it after catching sight of your messy hair.

Your fingers only tangle into it as you fight to take it out of its messy bun. You only tied it up halfway through the day for a little comfort, only to ruin all the work you put into it that morning.

You didn’t have any time to fuck with it now, yet you continue to burn through the few seconds you have left trying to tame your tired looks. Could each flyaway be seen through your laptop's webcam?

You stopped for a second, closing your eyes and sucking in an uneven breath before looking back up at your reflection.

You looked red—nothing new, of course—but not a face you wanted him to see, and yet there wasn’t anything you could do to fight it except to finally calm down.

Your hair wasn’t bad, and your reflection wasn’t meant to scare you, and as you continued to breathe, that red blush began to fade. You can do this.

You leave the mirror, setting your eyes on the laptop still sitting on the coffee table. You lowered yourself to the sofa to sit as comfortably as possible before pulling the computer to your lap and switching it on.

A brief photo of you with your arm wrapped around your mother’s shoulder flashed in the background of your screen before you set up the video call.

It was just more of those bouncing dots with a different ring as it all danced along a blue screen. You held your breath, waiting patiently for his image to take over. Yet, when the square zoomed over the page and movement took over your screen, every ounce of air seemed to force its way from your lungs.

He was there, tucking his hair behind his ear and smiling at his own screen as you gave a shocked smile.

“Hi!”

You mouthed back an overwhelmed ‘hi’ as you watched him intently. Your mouth moved in an attempt to form words, but you were far too mesmerized by the real alpha on your screen. That is, until his smile fell.

“Is your sound on? I can’t hear you.”

“Yes!” You were quick to reassure him, wanting desperately to see that smile set upon you again.

Just as you hoped, it was back in an instant after hearing your voice.

“Sorry, I was just a little speechless for a second.” You blinked at his image, wanting to make sure it was real as you spoke to it. “It’s amazing to finally see the real you. Not that I thought your photos were fake..uh it’s just.” You fought your way through your ramblings as he chuckled at your giddy and nervous demeanor.

“No, I know what you mean. It’s so exciting to finally see you, Omega.”

It was like a dream, finally laughing and talking where you could see one another and study each of his expressions as he took each word that left your stuttering lips. Hours pass, and the conversation continues to burn through the night as it’s carried happily between the two of you.

It was so much better, but not nearly enough. A frustration shared by both you and him began to show as the veneer hiding it broke away.

“But, I wanna bury my face in your neck.” His voice deepens, showing a glimpse at a small possessive side. It was something you’d initially feared from an alpha.

“I gotta see you for real.”

It’s so sudden, you could hardly believe it would always be like this for omegas, but how could someone who had shut themselves away for so long really know?

You think back on what others spoke of during their tales of pleasure and even the more harrowing words from your physician only a few weeks prior. They’d cut off your suppressants ‘for your own safety’, and urged you to seek a sexual partner in the most blatant terms. But, they weren’t wrong, and with another possibly fatal heat on the horizon, you had to make a very difficult choice.

“Maybe we should. It's just...” You stopped for a second to calm yourself. “It hasn’t been very long, and you're already..so smitten.”

“Can you blame me?” His voice rang low over the speaker yet still sang through your worries so melodically.

His tone drops, becoming more serious and heavy, so much so that it only echos the ever-grave voice that bounced around the back of your mind. “What are you scared of?”

It hit close to home, like he could be looking right through you and seeing every mounting fear you tried so hard to bottle up.

“It's just, with a heat coming in a couple weeks..” you tried to ignore the breaking of your own voice as you spoke. You didn’t want this to be the reason why, and you didn’t want it to be so soon that you two had to meet or finally be intimate. “...and I just don’t want to rush things. But I agree; maybe we should consider meeting in person soon."

You fought not to let your true emotions show and not to let your true fears come to light in front of him. It was a relief when his face lit up with so much joy. He just stared back at you, his eyes beaming through the screen.

You could nearly cry. After ripping off this first bandage, it was such a relief that you finally felt you could breathe properly. You chuckled happily together, taking in each other's joyous reaction when he finally spoke again.

“I can send you an invitation right away. I can be there for you.” He spoke so passionately, looking at you with big, wet blue eyes before typing away at the keys on his keyboard.

“W-what invitation?” You nearly coughed on the words as they left your throat.

You do think back on the vacation packages on the original website and how they boasted about safety as well as elegance. The thought of having that kind of special getaway with the Alpha often, finally seeing Bucky where the sun could hit his skin instead of in the glow of your laptop monitor.

But, he was still technically a stranger, in spite of the two of you consistently sharing messages over the course of several weeks. Running away with him seemed, in the most juvenile sense, stupid. Yet, a twinge in your stomach urged you to leap at his offer.

“It is such a beautiful resort.” You chuckled nervously. You recalled all the photos you’d scrolled through before he’d matched you on the website.

“I’ll meet you anywhere you want me to, Omega. I just want to feel you so bad.” The low drag of his voice wasn’t unfamiliar by now, after having heard similar sentiments during a steamier exchange over a phone call. You felt a little embarrassed as your skin started to flush again.

“I don’t want to make you spend that much money on me.”

"This is not about money. I just want everything to be perfect for you.”

You try to force yourself to speak, but each word falls flat on your tongue. He was offering you what felt like a lifeline with open arms. You never wanted something like this to progress so damn quickly, but maybe you were really that desperate. Maybe you were really that scared.

It was so nice to be wanted, and by him especially, an alpha unlike any other you’d ever met. You still wanted time to think about it, but what time do you have left before a possible disaster? The date of your heat was growing closer, but you had to afford at least a night to ponder something like this.

“C-can I have a few days to think about it?”

Tag list : @serendipitouslife90 @unicornicopia1 @bethyruth @scott-loki-barnes @wintrsoldrluvr @buckysdoll85 @lendeluxe @meowmeowyoongles @heletsmelovehim @mcira @buckysbaby-doll

#bucky x reader #fanfiction #alpha bucky x omega reader #alpha bucky x reader #alpha Bucky #abo dynamics #omega reader #alpha bucky barnes #james bucky barnes #bucky x reader fic rec #nommed and loved by this anomaly raccoon <3 #fic rec #bucky barnes x reader

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darkdemeter · 7 days

Text

just fuckin─ *NOM! fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck I love reader and this series so far!!

Omega retreat : chapter 1

Pairing : Alpha Bucky x Omega Reader

Warnings : R18, Eventual Smut, Not what it seems, talk of medical issues/illness, dating site, ABO dynamics

Word count : 2038

Bucky Masterlist

Summary : As an unmarked and lonely omega you find a flyer for a service called The Omega Retreat. You are paired with a compatible alpha to spend your heat or just a week at a luxurious cabin at a forest resort. Amenities and Utilities included. Enjoy the beautiful scenery, fresh air, as well as the company of an alpha of your choosing. What could possibly go wrong?

You almost stared through her as she spoke to you. Her tight bun of gray hair and her white coat match the sterile esthetic of the cold exam room you both sat in.

You never thought for even a moment that you would be having this kind of conversation, not at your age. You're young, you're healthy, and you should have plenty of time to make a family with the man of your choosing. Yet, there would always be this one thing that sat in the way.

Other women could plan out their lives however they wanted, marry, and even have children with anyone they chose. You were not so lucky. As an omega, you were bound by a biological law brought on by both your local government and your own body. You could fight it with medication at first, but over time everything would stop working, even the bodily system keeping you alive would eventually crash.

This heat had been so bad that you were barely able to move, let alone crawl as far as you had once you’d let yourself fall out of bed. You made it as far as the couch before everything blurred over and your vision turned black. You didn’t hear the phone ringing when work called regarding your absence, and you didn’t hear the banging at the door after they reached out to your family.

Your boss was one in a million, an omega who knew your plight and had the forethought to call your mother when you didn’t show up to work. Your dear mother was quick to call 911 when you didn’t pick up her calls. At least when the EMTs showed up, you were still breathing, but it was far too close of a call this time. If it weren’t for the people who cared about you, this story would have a far different ending.

After this last conversation with the doctor, you’ll be discharged, but you almost didn’t want to listen as she talked about how ‘it’s dangerous for omegas to go so long without having their heats satiated properly’ and that “suppressants can only go so far.”

You just didn’t want to believe it. You were still so young, and it felt like your whole life could come to a screeching halt in just one more month. Of course, all you needed was the real thing. No suppressants and no toys, just a living, breathing man to satiate your screaming inner omega. But, you’d never been with an alpha before; you’ve barely been with anyone, and you were scared.

One of your lesser qualities has always been your extensive social anxieties. Every time it seemed your boundary had to be pushed, you found a way to weasel out of it. You always chose avoidance over confrontation, until now. There was no avoidance anymore, and you knew that for your well-being something had to change.

“I’m just not sure if I’m ready.” You blotted away some fresh tears that tried to drip down your reddened cheek, with a little piece of tissue you had wadded up in your curled hand.

“I understand that for some, it can be a little scary, and we know you’ve done what you could to buy yourself just a little more time. But, this has become something that can’t be made to wait any longer.” Her voice was soothing, and it calmed you just a little, but the overwhelming realization that your bubble of comfort needed to be popped weighed just a little too heavily on you.

She reached behind her for a little blue pamphlet and handed it to you as she spoke. “I think it would be best to consider your options.”

You weren’t sure what that meant until you looked at the leaflet and saw a young woman on the cover looking just as confused as you with the words ‘how to practice safe sex’ sitting below her image.

Then it became very clear that you, in fact, had no other options; you only had one.

She got up to leave so you could get dressed for your discharge. You felt so juvenile as you stared daggers at the girl on the front page of the pamphlet. You wanted to crumple it up in your hand, throw the damn thing away, or maybe just toss it out the window. Yet, you just stared at it as the tears began to spill down your chin.

By the time you’d collected yourself enough to get your clothes on and grab the few things you’d brought with you, that stupid pamphlet was still in your hand. All the way to the check-out desk, you carried it.

It wasn’t until you were next in line to settle your copay that something else caught your eye and happily derail your pitiable thoughts.

It was a little red slip of paper tacked up to a cork board next to the discharge window. You weren’t able to read too much of it as the nurse handed you back your card, but the big, bold words ‘Omega retreat’ caught your attention, along with the image of a big, comfy bed in a cabin-esce setting.

You couldn’t help yourself when you grabbed one of the fliers off the wall before tucking your receipt and other paperwork in your purse. The nurse even smiled a little, as if she knew it was a good find too, as you left the doctor's office.

You forgot all about that blue nightmare of a paper booklet as you walked away with it still on the nurse’s desk. She didn’t think anything of it either as she picked it up and tossed it into the bin.

The idea of a dream getaway outranked a pamphlet for a budding omega's start to a pathetic sex life, much like yours. Maybe that would change, but for your well-being, it had to.

You didn’t stop to read the red flier just yet, and instead folded the paper in your hands as you walked back out to the parking lot. You finally drove away, absentmindedly listening to the grit of your tires rolling around the uneven road of your small town. You didn’t want to think; you didn’t want the distraction of music; you wanted your mind empty, as the numbness was the only thing keeping you from crying again.

With the aid of muscle memory, the drive home blew by quickly. Yet, as you parked in your spot at the duplex, you just slumped back in your seat and stared at the house. It was as if you’d find the answers to all your burning questions ingrained in the wood of the front door, but you knew there’d be none there.

It wasn’t long before the intrusive thoughts came creeping back in as the doctor's words echoed through each of your ears.

You were blessed with the ringing of your cellphone before you could start to break down again.

You unceremoniously sniffed back a flood of ugly tears before scrambling to dig your phone out of your bag.

You click the green button to answer, and the sweet sound of your mother’s voice fills your ear.

“Hi sweetie, did you leave the hospital already?”

“Uh, yeah. I was able to get discharged a while ago; sorry, I hadn’t called you yet.” You felt your hand shake as you gripped the phone.

“That’s ok, dear, as long as you feel better. Did the doctor say anything about how to fix this?”

“She told me what they’ve all told me, mom.”

She sighed for a second before speaking. “And it wasn’t an answer you wanted to hear, I’m sure.”

“They told me to explore my ‘options’.” The second that word spilled from your lips, you thought back about that blue eyesore the doctor had handed you. Though it wasn’t with any of your possessions anymore, You must have left it behind by accident, but you weren’t very heartbroken about it. In its place, of course, was the red flier you’d since folded up, and your eyes were once again caught on its deep and vibrant color as it poked through your purse.

“I want you to do what you think is best, but I don’t ever want to find you like that again.” Your mother’s tone became more serious.

You felt a stray tear leave a warm streak down your cheek to drip off your chin. Your stomach twisted at the thought of perishing in a fog of heat just to leave behind a pitiable corpse.

“I want things to get better, you know I do.”

“I know, dear; I’m just worried. It’s my job to worry after you.”

You chuckled a little before ending the call with a small sentiment. “I love you, mom.”

“I love you too, dear.”

“Bye.” You clicked the call off and sat in your car to wait out a rush of anxiety. You grabbed your bag and pushed out of the car, tossing the door closed as you approached the house.

Once inside, you dropped your purse at the door and just kept walking. The flier, however, sat in your hand after you absentmindedly pinched it between your fingers, waiting to entice you further once you sat back and sunk into your soft couch.

You finally unfolded it, looking over the larger, bolder letters first. ‘Omega retreat. Book your tickets today for a match made in heaven.’

It was a vacation package? Or was it a dating site? It looked like a strange combination of both, and what was even stranger was that it was tacked up in a doctor's office in the first place. Stuff like this usually wouldn’t be allowed in clinics, instead finding their home tacked up in grocery stores or small businesses.

It wasn’t anything to dwell on anymore as you held the slip of paper closer to read it.

“Forget me knot…stud of your choosing." It may be more than just a ‘dating’ service. The premise of being matched with an Alpha ‘Stud’ for a ‘forget me knot’ getaway made a burst of heat rise up in your belly and made your fingers shake just a little.

You’d never been with an alpha before, and although the premise sounds nice, it was still a little scary. The alpha breed had its own rumored behavior of aggression, but it was often accompanied by stories regarding sexual prowess. There were a few omegas from your old school that got their marks before graduating, and a couple others that bounced around from knot to knot comparing girth, roughness, and strength.

Then there was little old you, turning red at the corner of the table as you tried not to draw attention to yourself as you eavesdropped on every juicy moment. You can still remember choking on your sandwich, as one girl described what it was like popping her first knot.

You stared down at your coffee table for a moment, flier now crushed in your tightening little fist as a wave of embarrassment hit you square in the face, lighting your skin in a sharp wave of warmth.

The times have changed, haven’t they? You weren’t the scared little Omega from high school who turned pink at the drop of a hat; you were a beautifully bloomed woman. Yet, sometimes, when you catch sight of your peachy face in the reflection of a mirror, you're not sure anything has changed at all.

The only change that was certain was that many things were much more complicated than when you were younger, namely your body’s natural cycle. That rosy face could heat up and completely boil over the next time your heat rolled around, and with no one to take the pain away, it could lead to your early demise.

Maybe the doctor was right, maybe you needed to find some options, but on your terms.

You look back at the flier, spotting a website listed at the bottom of the page. You chewed at your lower lip before looking over at where your phone still sat by your purse. It wouldn’t hurt to just get a little more information; it would be just a little look, and maybe for the better.

Chapter 2

#fanfic #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #james bucky buchanan barnes #eventual smut #abo dynamics #alpha bucky x reader #alpha bucky barnes #alpha bucky x omega reader #omega reader #fic rec #bucky x reader fic rec #READ IT YES YES #DO IT!!!!!

256 notes · View notes

darkdemeter · 7 days

Text

*EEP EEP!!!!

I adore this, it’s so fun, and bouncy, aaaaand I’m gonna nom on it with anomaly raccoon love!! 🖤🖤🖤

Omega retreat : Chapter 2

Pairing: Alpha Bucky × Omega Reader

Warnings: R18, Eventual Smut, Not what it seems, talk of medical issues/illness, dating site, ABO dynamics

Word count: 2477

Chapter 1

Bucky masterlist

Summary: As an unmarked and lonely omega you find a flyer for a service called The Omega Retreat.

The blue screen of your laptop lit up the dark and gloomy room as you booted it up and set your sights on the internet explorer icon.

Your eyes shift back and forth from the slightly crunched flier to the keyboard as you type up the website in the search bar.

Upon clicking enter, there is a cascade of red and pink hearts across the screen before the main page comes into view.

From the photos, it seems kind of like a glamping thing, with each couple or pairing having their own semi-remote cabin.

Singles retreats weren’t a new concept—not that you’ve ever been to one, but this would be a whole week alone with a stranger, a man, an alpha.

That familiar twang of anxiety twisted in your chest at the thought, only for it to be snuffed out by another.

‘We all have to grow up at some point’.

You eyed the two packages listed on the screen, one labeled as Silver and the other Gold. The silver package went by, Forget me knot.” and you felt yourself chuckle a little at how cheesy it sounded. It was a 4-day stay at one of the cabins with an alpha provided by the website's dating algorithm.

The Gold package had another cheesy line listed as “Heat of the Night." It listed a full-week stay for the duration of the omega’s heat with your new Alpha.

The prospect was, of course, very tantalizing, but it still didn’t fail to make you nervous. You had never spent a heat with someone before, and it seemed a little scary. Was a week with a stranger worth seeing what you were missing out on?

You clicked the icon for the Gold package without thinking further, blinking at the screen as it shifted to the sign-up page. You’d only wanted further info but it looked like only members could access it. It was, however, free to sign up, a claim made by many websites and apps before it. Yet, even at the free level, it seemed you could at least get to look at the Alpha bachelors they had in their database. Just another step to pull you in closer to spending the big bucks.

It asked for a photo at first, making you hesitate before finally deciding on one simple photo of yourself. It had been your birthday, and your mother was by your side, hugging your shoulder. You had to crop out most of your mom, but your big smile still beamed just as brightly across the screen. You typed in a shortened version of your name for your little profile, along with your age, before clicking the next button.

The page flipped to a quick questionnaire, asking about your likes and dislikes—everything from your bedtime routine to your bedroom habits. It barely toed the line of TMI, but you supposed it had to be thorough to find you a match. You clicked through each question, making sure every answer felt right. Before you could tell, it had been half an hour and you were only almost finished. You snuggled yourself into your plush couch as you finally clicked the submit button.

A little spinning heart pops up on the scream alongside ‘finding your perfect match’ underneath it. The heart spun around on the screen until the loading bar hit 100 and the page shifted over to show your results.

Your eyes widen at the selection of handsome men flooding the screen. There are more Alphas flashing over your computer than you’ve ever seen in one small space, and already there are too many to choose from.

Part of you figured that to a seasoned romantic, it would seem like small potatoes, but to you, it was more men than you knew what to do with. The only distraction that could tear your eyes away was a heart-shaped character at the corner of the screen babbling away in a little text box. His happy little demeanor reminds you of a certain talking paperclip from old office software. Only you found this little guy less irritating.

‘We have selected 20 of your most suitable partners. Please choose from the profiles below to chat and find your match.’

You clicked the speech bubble away, only for another to pop up.

‘Don’t forget to check out our selection of getaways for your official meetup’ popped up across the page.

You clicked again, and another bubble came after.

‘If for any reason you are unsatisfied with your matches, please take the quiz again.’

You take the little heart man’s words into consideration before clicking back towards the alpha profiles.

The first was a rough-looking man named Brock. Too macho for your type, and you shied away from his profile immediately.

The next one was a sweet, gentle-looking man named Steve. He seemed really interested in a lifetime mate, but as romantic as it seemed, you just weren’t too sure that was what you wanted just yet.

It was a little overwhelming. All these men were stunning, and yet the scared little omega inside of you kept turning tail at the gleam of each of their smiles, leading you to click at the next button again and again.

You’d gone through 12 profiles until you stopped on his picture. His brown hair sat at the base of his neck, looking soft and supple enough to tangle your fingers through, and his smile was immediately infectious.

The name James ‘Bucky’ Barnes sat below the photo in bold, but you barely noticed as your gaze locked on his light, smiling blue eyes.

You feel both your heart and your core flutter, leading to a wave of warmth and a bit of unearned embarrassment. You didn’t think any further before clicking his profile, showing you more about this ‘Bucky’.

It gave a broad list of hobbies, his likes and dislikes, as well as so many more dreamy photos.

His profiles stated he was interested in a mate but “wanted to test the waters first." Not interested in being too serious, but not scared of a commitment.

Even though this man seemed like an absolute dream, you couldn’t help but second-guess yourself. Yet, the butterflies in your stomach overpowered the worries in the back of your mind. You let your cursor hover over the match button on his profile before slowly clicking down on the mouse and watching with bated breath as the screen changed again.

That little heart man, now less animated, was the last sight you saw after you clicked. He was accompanied by a few speech bubbles saying, “The alpha you have chosen will be notified; please feel free to browse our events as you wait.”

The word ‘events’ was lit up in another color separate from the text and clearly a link to the rest of the website. At the end of the day, they WERE trying to sell you something, but curiosity got the better of you, and you clicked the link without another thought.

You looked over the two packages they offered and let your cursor hover over the gold package. You stared at its short description, comparing it with the smaller vacation bundle that sat beside it on the screen. You think it over and cautiously click on the icon.

The prices were the first thing that struck you, as none of them were very expensive for what they were advertising. Saving a few bucks always seemed to sweeten the deal, but it really made it all seem too good to be true.

The resort has a full staff available in case of an emergency and are simply a call away. All meals would come in the form of meal kits or ready-made gourmet dinners, as well as a selection of wine and spirits for those 21 and over.

There was a little policy note at the bottom, in smaller letters.

“All reservations are refundable upon cancellation 7 days before the date of the reservation. If you cancel your stay after 7 days, you will be charged a cancellation fee. In the event that your desired partner declines your match, you will be prompted to choose another alpha from the list given to you.”

The idea of being rejected by a stranger online made some of the appeal wear thin. You x-ed out of the pop-up, only to notice a notification lighting up your screen.

He had matched with you immediately, causing another flutter of hearts to pulse over the computer for one moment. On the little message icon sat the number one to indicate somebody had reached out to you, and you clicked on it right away.

The chat room opens up on your screen to show a little chat box bubble saying, “Hi beautiful ;)". The old-style winky face gave his age away and made some of the insecurities in your belly melt.

This 'James' had matched you so soon, and to have him reach out to you on your screen still made you nervous.

The bouncing dots popped up below the first message to indicate he was still typing. You're frozen on the spot as the messages just keep popping up.

“Hello?”

It seemed a bit impatient, but you didn’t think to care; you were too thrilled by this new encounter.

“Hi, sorry, I was..” Oh god, what could you say? “…away from the phone.” Not true, but telling your possible new beau that you were frozen with fear upon seeing his message seemed, well, lame.

“That’s ok.”

“You new here? I haven’t seen your profile before.”

“Yeah. I just signed up.”

“Does that mean I was your first choice? ;)”

You felt you should be honest after your previous fib, and answered immediately.

“ I just saw your profile and clicked it right away. I didn’t expect you to get back to me so soon.”

“Leave a beautiful Omega like you waiting? Not a chance, doll.”

Every word made the air grow thinner, making your head just swim in the rising heat that started to subtly overtake your body. It was such a new feeling to have warmth in your body feel so good.

Those three dots danced across his next speech bubble, and you waited every second for his next word.

“Have you ever been with an alpha before? I’d hate to come on too strong and scare you away.”

Your breath felt shallow before you answered truthfully. “No, I haven’t.”

There have only ever been two people you’ve given yourself to like that. Two particularly nice betas who just couldn’t help you as you needed, but tried anyway. Being with an Alpha seemed like so much more of a big deal, but the idea of a big, horny monster sinking their teeth into your flesh makes you start to hyperventilate. It was permanent, and you didn’t want to just throw away your forever to someone who could be cruel to you.

But something about this felt different. He looked so soft and kind, you could nearly feel his finger gently caressing your cheek as each word popped up on your screen. Something about this encounter felt safe.

You typed without thinking, letting the question fill the screen as anxiety ate away at the warmth that once sat in your belly. “Does that bother you?”

You waited for a response, watching those little dots until they disappeared without a new message. A solid minute felt like an eternity, and your heart sank further as each one ticked by.

You typed out a quick “I’m sorry," hoping you weren’t the one scaring him off instead with your lack of experience.

You breathed a sigh of relief as his response popped up. “Do not be sorry. There is no problem with wanting to wait.” Followed by another “I feel like a lucky guy.”

“I guess I’m just a little embarrassed; I’m glad it doesn’t bother you.” You typed away, fully engrossed in his attention.

“Don’t be; that kind of thing means more than you’d think in this day in age.”

It popped across your screen, giving you much-needed relief, only for the next message to set your nerves ablaze all over again.

“What made you decide to join the site?”

It popped over your screen faster than you could shoo it away. The reason for you was obvious after dragging yourself through that doctor's office. You needed help, and somehow that simple red flier had shown out to you like a beacon on a stormy shore.

You wanted to be honest, but some things felt better kept close to yourself than within the reach of others. You answered with the shallow truth.

“Dating can be difficult. I found the advertisement today and decided to check things out.” You tapped the enter button and sent the message, but your fingers continued to type. Maybe it was an attempt to keep his questions from probing into your answer even further, as you sent him an inquiry of your own.

“What about you? What made you decide to join the website?”

The laptop sat silently, aside from the whirring of its little fan. No bouncing dots, no indication of his response. Maybe his reasons were somehow more personal than your own.

You began to lose a little faith as the chat room continued to sit empty until his chat bubble finally popped up. Each second it took for the words to show was a second too long.

“I’d say it’s about the same. I guess I just wanted to try something different.”

“And how’s it working out so far?”

“I’d say, far better since you popped up.”

It was such a cliche line, but you loved it. You even laughed a little as you typed back.

“That fast, huh? It’s been less than a day "

“But you’ve already made my whole week.”

It brought an immediate smile to your rosy face. It was so fun—almost a fantasy. No danger, no recourse, no fear. You looked back at his little picture on the screen, his smiling face; it was a far cry from any other alpha already, and you hadn’t even seen him in the very flesh.

But it had been less than a day, and it was an obvious blow to this little oasis that had built around you in the matter of minutes. You didn’t want this moment to end, not when reality was waiting for you afterward.

The hours passed as you did each playful word with this ‘James’.

“I can’t wait to meet you, Omega.”

Your heart fluttered to an unnatural rhythm the moment it popped onto your screen.

"Omego,” you repeated his use of your denomination.

For a whole week, you could be the omega to his Alpha. You thought about the glamorous getaways your matchmaker had advertised. So you thought that, just maybe, that could be you.

Tag List : @bethyruth-deactivated20231124 @scott-loki-barnes @wintrsoldrluvr

#bucky barnes #alpha!bucky #bucky x reader #james bucky buchanan barnes #bucky barnes fic rec #bucky barnes fanfic #omega!reader #eventual smut #omegaverse #bucky barnes fic #james barnes #james buchanan barnes

267 notes · View notes

darkdemeter · 9 days

Text

𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑮𝑶𝑳𝑫 𝑶𝑭 𝑾𝑰𝑵𝑻𝑬𝑹 𝑷𝒓𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒆𝒘 (+ notes)

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Mafia! Bucky x Female reader series

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official series side blog @thegoldofwinter

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| NOTES

> Old variants of tgow have been phased out/deleted > Tgow's side blog will have its own separate taglist for the series, so if you want to be a part of that, let me know

Paradise is your home. Luxury, and all things glamourous, are right at your fingertips. It only takes a snap of your fingers and all that is your heart’s desire is yours for the taking.

You see a gorgeous, studded-diamond necklace and guarantee it, your father will have it laid on the white and gold embroidered pillow next to your head for when you next awaken. Wrapped up nice and tight. A man guilty of harassing - or so much as giving you a look you don’t fancy - and he’ll be silenced. Never heard from again.

As the darling princess and sole heir to the most powerful mob family, you are entitled to these dark grandeurs without restraint. Anything for the daughter of the man known as King.

But how has such power and influence come to your family, and surely willed into your birthright?

Revered. Established. The top dog of the criminal realm, your father has poisoned the weaker-to-resist governments and nations, affording blind eyes to his dealings. An inner circle of Made Men loyal to him prosper in his looming shadow. He is feared with great reason. He pulls strings to make ends meet and severs those who serve no purpose to him. And he does a damn good job at it. But you and your mother are the king’s pride and joy. The centre of his empire that he works hard to maintain with an iron grip.

Of course, you’re not blind. You see the bruised knuckles of men dressed finely in their suits and bloodstains on their collars. You see the black car parked out front as a captive with a sack over his head is escorted into the trunk. You overhear the commanding voice of the king - your father - bark at his troop to keep them in line.

The work your father and his underlings specialise in is known to you because it’s your duty to marry further into his expertly woven web. You live a life of great privilege that so many are not fortunate to have. All that your father asks of you in return is that you are loyal in your duties to him, and when the time comes, to your future king. Your husband.

Tradition, call it old fashioned, from his father and his before him, dictates that you cannot rule alone. By your side, you’re required to have a husband. One that captains, crews, friends and associates can call a leader. Decades measured by forefathers, ages spent climbing the ranks to reach the crown many below you vie for, he would not see it crumble for any man less than born to bear such prestige.

Your father has nothing against you, your mother herself is such radiant power alone. Men tremble beneath her sharpened stare, like daggers ready to stab them in the back the moment they step out of line. Your mother has always exuded ruthlessness despite the challenges. And you strive to be just the same. But even the strongest of women are challenged here and often far more brutally and head on than any of the men.

Your father says that with a husband at your side, none shall stamp you out, that your position will only be stabilised. And you're his dutiful daughter, are you not?

And that is why you must look exceptionally presentable tonight at this party. Undoubtedly, you could ask anyone, you always looked your best. A spitting image of perfection in anyone’s right mind. But tonight was not another one of your father’s business parties. No, tonight was a night dedicated to you. Your 22nd birthday.

You stand on the landing as you enter Paradise’s grand hall. Held to awing eyes that turn to your stature, regal and elegant. Gold. That is how you are known. For gold is the materialistic entity you covet, warm in its powerful glow, it is your pet. Your accessory. Your signature.

Hair styled in a way that frames your features, the marble carved sculptures could enviously weep. Your dress hugs to your form, curling around your waist to accentuate your curves. The illusion that the gold embroidery crafts, shimmering beneath the exotic chandeliers and interior lights, is clung to your body.

Down each step, the approach is calm and well versed in practice, hand running down the carved and sleek surface of the railing. Your father waits for you in the middle of the hall. Silver-streaked hair slick back and his face wearing a look of pride. Adoration.

The valued prize that now walks to him with a hand stretching out to take his own. Tradition meant all to your father, as did you, and thus this particular celebration calls for a dance between father and daughter.

And it's this evening you catch sight of his shadow, lurking in the background for the last time. It feels like history is repeating itself. Only on your 21st did you see his shadow for the first time during this same dance. But no more would he hide amidst the shadows, his piercing blue eyes being the only tell that he watches you from afar. Those eyes that captured yours since your first meeting in the reflective surface of your vanity that same night.

Tonight, a shift in the balance for your family’s crown would occur as you dance with your father across the floors of Paradise. The mask known as the Winter Soldier would rule. The very same man who has been your entrusted bodyguard, would not be used as a means to an end anymore.

You should have known the moment his eyes bore into your own right there in that moment. A gaze hellbent on dominating you beneath it. To say he achieved such a feat is an understatement, for no other man has ever held your prisoner like that before.

That should have been your warning. For all the seeing and the overhearing and the knowing, the wool was pulled far over your eyes this time.

On the eve of your 22nd birthday, the shadow who speaks announces himself as the new korol'; and you as his koroleva. As his promised bride...

#female reader #bucky barnes x reader #preview #mafia bucky au #winter soldier #mob boss bucky barnes #mob bucky barnes #mob bucky x reader #mob bucky au

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darkdemeter · 9 days

Text

𝑺𝑶𝑼𝑳'𝑺 𝑹𝑬𝑸𝑼𝑰𝑬𝑴, 𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑶𝒏𝒆

— BUCKY BARNES COLUMN

Executioner! Bucky Barnes x Nun! Female Reader

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; || 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑’𝐒 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄 : 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑’𝐒 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 || ;

𝑶𝒉 𝑰 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒂 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒌 𝒉𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒂𝒍 𝒇𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒂𝒔𝒚, 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒅𝒚-𝒅𝒓𝒂𝒎𝒂 𝒇𝒆𝒂𝒕. 𝒃𝒆𝒆𝒇𝒚, 𝒃𝒓𝒐𝒐𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒆𝒙𝒆𝒄𝒖𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒓 𝑩𝒖𝒄𝒌𝒚 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒆𝒅 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒂 𝒓𝒂𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒔𝒖𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒆 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓.

𝑴𝒊𝒏𝒐𝒓 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒇𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒕𝒚 — 𝒓𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒈𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒓𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐𝒑𝒊𝒄𝒔 — 𝒔𝒍𝒐𝒘 𝒃𝒖𝒓𝒏 — 𝒐𝒑𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔 𝒂𝒕𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕, 𝒆𝒏𝒆𝒎𝒊𝒆𝒔/𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒔 — "𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒅𝒚" (𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑰 𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒅 𝒇𝒖𝒏𝒏𝒚 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒂𝒎𝒖𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐 𝒎𝒚𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇) — 𝑺𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒐𝒏'𝒔 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒂 𝒃𝒊𝒕𝒄𝒉 — 𝒉𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒂𝒍 (𝒍𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕) 𝒇𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒂𝒔𝒚 𝒂𝒖 — 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒐𝒓 𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒐𝒇 𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒅/𝒎𝒖𝒓𝒅𝒆𝒓 — 𝑰 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒌 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕'𝒔 𝒊𝒕?

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; || 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑'𝐒 𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐏𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄 || ;

𝑭𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑽𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒂𝒏, 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒔𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒂 𝒇𝒂𝒓 𝒄𝒐𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒓 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒎 𝒐𝒏 𝒂 ��𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒊𝒎𝒑𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏. 𝑼𝒑𝒐𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒂𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒗𝒂𝒍, 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒎𝒆𝒆𝒕 𝒂 𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏 𝒈𝒍𝒂𝒅𝒅𝒆𝒏𝒆𝒅 𝒑𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒂 𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆, 𝒃𝒓𝒐𝒐𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒂��𝒈𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒉𝒐'𝒔 𝒔𝒐𝒖𝒍 𝒊𝒔 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒅 𝒃𝒚 𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒅𝒔𝒉𝒆𝒅. 𝑨𝒏𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒇𝒂𝒄𝒆𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒎𝒆𝒆𝒕 𝒔𝒐𝒐𝒏 𝒆𝒏𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉.

|| 2.5K ; words ────────────────

◤𝐌-𝐂𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐗 : 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐃◢

@mostlymarvelgirl @hollyseb @sebastianstansqueen @openup-yourmind @kandis-mom @calwitch @cjand10 @identity2212 @ashdoctor @missmarvelophilic @boobsbeesbongos

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For where there is desolation, there is room for God. This is the belief you cling to in a gaze held to Fort Solitude and its surrounding lands. As its name suggests, the keep has stood lonesome and sullen over some decades, the village at its feet yearns for the same aid of repair. God’s aid. That which you are sent to provide.

“This is as far as I will go. The Lord’s infinite gift for strength that I do not wrangle Father Fury’s neck with a noose is futile.” Abbess Maria shuns the reclusive settlement with a look of irritation. You swallow thickly at the boldness of her confession. Tongue held in silence, your gloved hands squeeze the reins of your horse, you turn to blindness in favour of the growing anticipation that swells inside your chest and blooms brightly with your unshaken faith.

“I must venture forward now, alone,” you conclude, voice lilted behind a fleeting stream of breath that mists past your lips. She nods firmly, her jaw clenched.

You accept this. Understanding her position and that personal ties lay as opposing obstacles tend to entrap, you take no part in trying to sway her decision. “Shall Ser John escort you?”

“No, I can manage from here,” you answer evenly, eyes cast down to instead count the woven threads of the saddle’s pommel. Your lungs expand and your shoulders push with a deep inhale, the smell of rain lingering in the valley. Raising your focus back to Fort Solitude, you are swept in the renewing grace of God’s spirit.

He guides you now. You feel it.

“I am here for a purpose, it is God’s will that I go forth now, and with his light I will prevail. I promise, Abbess Maria, I will not— and they’re gone…” Only a cloud of dust resides where your escorts once were, long since vanished are the thundering applause of their escape.

‘Alone then, but with the Lord.’

“Very well, let us be off!” Lips folding out into a brimming smile and with chirpy tone, you sit a little straighter in your saddle and nudge your heel inward, riding down the spiraling dirt road as you take in the rolling hillside. From what you have been told by the higher council of the Vatican, the settlement has been absent in its presence, cut off from the rest of the world. Tucked into this darkened corner of the realm, your superiors wish to see its return to the fold, to become a beacon of hope and refuge once more.

Many of the sisters back home spoke in hushed tones when news spread of your newly elected station. That the residents of Fort Solitude were beyond saving, that their souls were condemned for eternity’s hellfire. And to that, you very much disagreed with. Because they spoke with spirits of fear and faith that wavered like a flame to a breeze. The abbey sang a chorus of sighing relief when their names were not summoned.

It makes you smile that this opportunity has been given to you. That this great task, no matter how bigger it may seem for someone of your inexperienced caliber, it can only mean that the Lord has set this plan for you. With a light-hearted hum on your tongue, you continue with a merry bounce in your saddled approach.

“What the fuck is that?” A woman of blonde hair sneers, lips screwed into a thinned line in her scrutinising glare. Joining her at the wooden fence, two other women also study the approaching form.

“Maybe she got lost?” suggests Wanda, her tone light with benefited doubt. Not that that swayed the mind of either woman beside her, their eyes still bearing the weight of their prowling judgment.

“Do you think Father Fury knows of this?”

“We’re at time to find out,” snorts the blonde haired, sauntering out past the fenced gate, the two women not too far behind. “Maybe she’s a gifted lamb for the headsman’s axe.”

“Sharon!” hisses both Wanda and Natasha, ignoring the way she practically moaned the words.

Sharon laughs, the sound a clouded abyss of sickness that hangs like an ominous storm. Not too long until the priest joins the growing community outside, his untaken eye spying your approach, your horse slowing to a trot at your gentle command.

“Greetings, Sister.”

“Father Fury,” you say in return, still adorning that bright and thoughtful smile, you take a moment to dismount. Your struggle, however, provides a much amusing sight for the villagers who snicker quietly amongst themselves.

Fury arches a brow and clears his throat, bringing a dismissing silence. Stumbling back a little, you turn to face the settlement’s priest with a victorious grin.

“Abbess Maria didn’t accompany you?”

“Hm? Oh, no, she erm… well, she was, but I uh…” Your move to gesture up towards the opening juncture of the valley where you’d come from, your grin falling into a grimace as each word became utterly futile.

“I thought it best to carry on alone.” You refrain from gulping too loudly.

“Of course. Come.” He beckons you forward with a wave of his hand and with a staggering attempt to bow, in courtesy of the mud trampling your resolve, you tug the reins and follow alongside him.

“Father, I’ve come to understand that there was an… incident involving the previous sister.” In the company of Fury, you believe there is no reason to hide the relation of fear you have regarding that particular detail.

“Yes, there was. Unfortunate in loss, rest her soul, now we’ve moved on.”

“Oh, I see…” The lax nature of his response leaves the beginnings of a bad taste on your tongue, dry and tart, but you push forward. You must look ahead if you are to get anywhere here.

“I’ve this letter from the Vatican, Father,” you begin with slight pause, procuring the sealed document from your safekeeping, you hand it to him. His eye glares down at you, a brow coiled up in his unspoken anguish, his suspicion of the Vatican all present in a single look.

He thanks you quietly under his breath and breaks the wax seal with a muffled pop and unfurls it, reading over its contents. For a moment you each stop and you take the opportunity to come to know what will be your supposed home now.

You cannot exactly say for sure how long you’ll be present at Fort Solitude. Only God knows. Casting the land in a graying gloom, the village is not the sight you’d heard in gossip. Much rather, it stands relatively still and otherwise, together, but the feel of it is… wrong. Tainted by darkness.

Colour appears to be washed out. A dull palette that grieves an aura of forsaken-hood.

‘Blue!’

Striking, the grandest and highest majesty of blue you’ve ever seen, and you’ve seen a lot of colour. But nothing like the marvellous hue of his eyes. And unblinking to a degree so unnerving you find it impossible to release a single ounce of breath, now held prisoner in your chest until the ripened bubble of explosion is upon you - ready to break you - but his penetrative gaze commands you to not give in.

A man with a powerful stride to his walk, a path carved by purpose, each step as lethal as the next and last; as everything that is him.

Your voice is suddenly lost. Incapable to bring yourself to question the priest of who the man dressed in dark clothing, and a heavy leather coat that flows at the muddy hem and dirtied boots. A clinking of leather straps and buckles looping this way and that over his broad form as he saunters alongside the keep’s walls, dark brown hair cascading down in framing locks, haphazardly pulled into a bun with no trace of neatness. A mask covers the lower of his face, concealing the remainder of his features and leaving you to the idea of imagination. A man of rugged charm.

Of sinful charm. A forbidden combination of feelings riles within you, stirring your skin to become reddened with blooming heat. You only pray to the Lord above that the overdrape of your cowl hides your manner of impropriety.

However, your entranced stare turns widened, the fast repetition of your heartbeat forces you to gasp, finally allowing your stilled breath free. In the weight of his fisted palm is the balancing beam of wood, anchored at its end a sharpened tool of bloodshed. A curved and very sharp blade. And freshly blooded. Need you ask, that is no longer necessary, to only realise that this man is an executioner.

“I see that Bishop Alexander is insistent on your work here,” Father Fury says, beckoning your attention.

With a shake of your head you rid away the impure thoughts that threaten you, repelling them with a clearance of mind and throat. You must focus. You are here to help, to offer yourself as a vessel for God’s help. You cannot simply be distracted by a pair of beautiful eyes - no matter how enchanting - you are a sworn sister of the church.

“Very well. By this letter, it appears that you are one of astute read, and willed strongly in your duties.”

“Words spoken kindly… but yes, that is what defines my repute, Father.” A deflection of the praise, your tone reserved and soft.

Yes, Bishop Alexander spoke highly of your work and commitment to the order, and your unwavering faith and loyalty. For each struggle is a mere trial you are meant to overcome. An admirable quality. Amongst many things, your tendency to lend help to the city’s streets, at times from dawn to dusk, captured the attention of the Vatican’s council. And thus, it was brought to attention that Fort Solitude remained an outskirted fortress, unyielding to rejoin the outer community. And you would be sent to do what you do best.

“Indeed, kind. But I’d wager flattery first and foremost.” The plainness of his comment rears its ugly head. You sputter over your words that come out as a series of contorted starters and ends, noises he assumes will be frequent.

“W-why would the Bishop - or anyone - need to flatter me?”

His hand waves in gesture to dismiss your ensuing shock. “Don’t take to it, Sister, perhaps to get closer to God through you.”

Your lips pinch and purse together, your eyes rolling over the mystery of the executioner's sudden disappearance and Father Fury. “I-I don’t… understand your meaning.”

All it took was a simple glance of his good eye and bow of his head, and a sudden chill creeps into your skin like claws. Your body involuntarily shivers, an unsettled grimace upon your visage. “Ew…”

You dare not dwell on such paths of thought. To cure the churning disease that is that concept, you tilt your chin high to take in the fort, its walls old and worn, but still bearing strength in its foundations. A once respectable court and haven for the old knights brotherhood, the Templars, the fort’s survival for all these years is remarkable.

God hasn't given up on this refuge. No matter the trying of the enemy, His will would not be defeated. This line of thought that distracts you brings you to smile, forcing away any disturbed topic prior.

“It is getting late.” He draws your attention to the sun that levels low over the mountain ridge, though its presence is masked by the thick smog of overcasting clouds. “I’ll have James show you to your quarters.”

Akin to the innocence of a pup, your head cocks to the side, voice inflecting with keen curiosity. “James?”

The older man answers your inquiry with a summon, calling over the man you presume is this ‘James’, your jaw slackens the moment you come to see those alluring pools of heaven’s blue.

‘Grant me your strength, Heavenly Father, for this man is dangerous.’

He discards his mask as he walks towards you, eyes shifting from yours to Fury, brows pressed firm into a furrowing glare. “James, this is Sister L/N, I ask that you show her to her respective room.”

James chuffs a haughty breath through his nose, as if to snicker in his contemplative annoyance, he nods obediently to the now retreating priest and then looks to you. For a moment, he just stares, the affect of it is potent, it begins to play your mind in ways you did not think capable of a mortal man.

You’re unsure what exactly it is that traverses the process of his mind, his expression impenetrable to reading, all you can do is give him a wide smile, but otherwise that feels like it��s too much. For a moment you think you see something move beneath the placidity of this man, a startled view in the reflection of his hues, like he’s never seen anyone smile at him before; at least not like you.

“So the Vatican sent another one.”

A rather interesting first impression but you would take it. You nod, perhaps a bit too much with enthusiasm, you answer with a definite and pronounced, “Yes.”

His gloved hand wrestles the reins from your own and he walks without so much as another glance or word. Fisting the skirt fabric of your long, black grown to hop over a puddle, you’re at his heel as he leads you through the iron gates and into the large courtyard.

“I am sure Father Fury has spoken of my arr—”

His interjection comes bluntly and swiftly, “Not really.”

‘Uh…’

His hair dances the line of his heightened collar to peer over his shoulder and down at you. Quickly, you cast your eyes down to the ground, inspecting the water-lined footprints and minute details, he only hums in what you either calculate to be in amusement or relief. As to what personalised goal, you cannot fathom. Willing to remain in control of yourself, you puff the contouring of your mouth with air and continue.

“I see. Well, as evidently as it is, I am here to provide solace and comfort to those of Fort Solitude.”

“As was the last,” he whistles aloud over the gust of wind that howls downwards from the mountains, the power of it forces the tresses of your clothing to flutter about madly. Harbouring your horse in the nearby stables, he passes the duty of her care onto the stable-hand, before he unstraps your bag from the saddle.

When you try to reach for it, he swings it over his shoulder, cocking a brow at you with a bout of skepticism over your actions. You huff shortly in reply, “You needn’t carry my belongings, I can— and he’s gone…” the last of which is muttered under your breath.

‘What is it with this man?’

You have to lift the skirts of your gown again to hurry after him towards the keep, a small yelp catches in your throat from almost tripping through a puddle, he eyes you warily once at the heavy, wooden doors. Smoothing down the fabric of your gown and regaining your composure, you motion for him to continue with an eager and bright smile.

The only thing he can think in that moment as he pushes the doors open with a howling bellow of its aged hinges, is that you smile at him too much, with far too much hope in those eyes of yours.

“Welcome to Fort Solitude, Sister.”

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#bucky barnes column #the demeadery #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #female reader #executioner bucky barnes #historical fantasy au #bucky barnes au #nun reader #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x female reader #beefy bucky #dark bucky barnes #dark bucky x reader

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darkdemeter · 11 days

Text

KNOW YOUR RHYTHM

IMAGINE… CAPTURING THE ATTENTION OF NEW YORK’S MOST POWERFUL MOB BOSS; AND HE PLANS TO MAKE YOU HIS

Mob boss! Bucky Barnes x Dance choreo! Female Reader

—- gifs/images found on pinterest, credit to original posters -—

While preparations are being made for tgow’s soon to be posted prelude and side blog launch. May or may not be turned into a full one shot later on, this idea's been on my mind for a while now. ────────────────

| TAGLIST

@mostlymarvelgirl @hollyseb @sebastianstansqueen @openup-yourmind @kandis-mom @calwitch @cjand10 @identity2212 @ashdoctor @missmarvelophilic @boobsbeesbongos

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(18+ intended content) Read below the cut at your own risk!

It’s cruel to watch you, knowing that this is your last rehearsal with the girls. After this, the doors will promise an opening night to remember. But if you’ve given any hints, you don’t exactly intend on seeing it.

And for Bucky, that is just plain torture for him. Over the past three months, you have been working your pretty arse off creating a whole show routine, expertly weaving the backbone of the club’s entertainment and allocating the playlist to fit the atmosphere Bucky and his club managers wanted.

Lounging in the VIP section, a raised loft that oversaw the club’s dance floor, stage and regulars bar, Bucky still cannot take his eyes off of you. Why of all nights did you have to go racing off to another job so soon? He had paid you generously, far more than any hired choreographer could ever dream of, and yet that still didn’t seem enough to convince you. He hovers like a shadow, leaning to the dark steel railing, his ring-lined fingers drum against the dark steel as he contemplates his next move.

He barely pays any mind to his captains who take their place in the sleek, refined office that are the booths, sipping at their drinks and chatting about the club’s interests and rates. Shit that he tunes out. He can’t focus on anything when you move like that, your body arching this way and that; sinful and cause for impossible. But you prove him wrong. There are many positions he’s fantasised taking you in mid rehearsal.

Your body is pulled into the music itself. A process many seem to struggle with, but for you, it’s as easy as breathing. At first, it’d been a gamble of who to hire for the job, and now Bucky cannot dream of regretting choosing you. Renowned as a star dancer, you’re credited with awards from around the globe, in solos, duos and exceeding the numbers. Competition after competition, your name became well known.

But there is a line in your record, as Bucky had his men find, and though the exact details are still unknown to him, it’s given him an indicator that something hit rock bottom. Some time afterwards, however, you resurfaced as a dance choreographer.

And if you were still the best of the best, then he’d take you for the job. But now, he wants you for good. Dressed to the nines in outfits he’s spent on all his cards, riding to events together and having the envy of every man and woman’s eyes upon you. Hell, he’s already contemplated the venue and diamond ring.

“Chins forward, eyes open,” you call in correction, gaze set straight ahead of you in the midst of a spinning twirl before planting your heeled stiletto hard into the stage floor with a resounding boom.

Bucky’s eyes trail then upwards, the dark colour of your pantyhose hiding your skin that he’s desperate to bruise and leave his fingerprints on. His fingers curl harshly into the railing while his eyes continue to admire while simultaneously undress you, your body hugged in a very form-admiring bodysuit.

Dropping down low with the girls following suit, your hips move on beat with the music, grinding into the floor. That, of all moves, is when you make the grave mistake in glancing up at a striking pair of blue eyes, dark in their passionate longing and so bright you’re quick to force your eyes away.

But not before you flashed him a toothy smile. A smile that kills him every time. Heat rushes through your veins and rises higher into the surface of your skin, in your core it feels electric with pulsating need, but you carry on with the routine, to save face from what Bucky Barnes did to you. Unbeknownst to you at this moment of what you did to the mob boss, he groans at the tightness surrounding his clothed cock as you rock your hips back and forth, suggestive in your choreographed manner. But so dismissive in how it affects him greatly and his ability to conduct business.

No. You can’t let yourself fall into that sort of mess again. Focus. Rolling onto your back, your back arches so beautifully off the floor, it almost has Bucky gasping. The pointed pink of his tongue’s tip darts out to wet his lips.

Completely and utterly mesmerised by your rhythm, he growls like a feral animal when Steve’s voice interjects his still continuing list of how he plans to ruin you and save you.

Now at the end of your routine, you wave for Torres to cut the music and your shoulders fall heavily with an exerted sigh. “Good work, girls,” you applaud with your friendly smile, clapping for their efforts. The girls in turn repay your praise with bashful smiles and compliments of your mentorship.

You had this way with people, and especially those under your study, you were kind and playful but remained an air of professionalism to ensure your students or your time wasn’t wasted.

Bucky feels his skin crawl and his heart drop a thousand yards into his stomach. From the lavish watch strapped to his wrist, he inspects the time. End of rehearsal. End of your contract with him.

“Well, they learnt from the best.” Your head turns fast, vision momentarily blurred, there again is that feeling - that spell - he has you under as he saunters down the stairs and towards the stage where you stood, hands pressed idly into your hips.

His tongue runs over his teeth, groaning inwardly as his eyes sink and rise in study of your entire form. He could see you being his queen. You’ve a powerful stance, that much he can see, and you possess a quality that has the attention of anyone and everyone on you. A commanding presence.

“You’re too kind, Mr. Barnes.” Your cheeks redden more. Praise from your clients always makes your heart flutter with adoration and joy. For them to express their gratitude in the ways they do, it’s good to know you have succeeded in your job.

But when Bucky praises you, you become a giddy girl that gushes and yearns to hear more. He sees the way your face shifts to reflect that professionalism, all to hide the reality of what he does to you; what he could do to you if you just gave him the chance.

“I could be much kinder, Doll.” His voice has lowered into a velvety purr, the callous massage of his fingers shoot a blaze of electricity through the thin fabric of your pantyhose and into your skin like ice, a simple touch over your calf, teasing you further as his palm encloses around you as well, sliding up and down gently. Despite your position above him, a sight he’ll never grow tired off, his up-tilted chin reaches level with your stomach. He sees the inner turmoil of conflict flash in your eyes, a battle he’s sure he can win if he plays his cards just right.

“VIP access tonight to start?”

You scoff, shaking your head. But the furrow in your brows betrays your true, raw disappointment. You can’t hide it. Not from him. “I can’t. I have an early flight tomorrow.”

Thanks for reading!

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#female reader #bucky barnes x reader #mob bucky au #bucky barnes #mob bucky x reader #mob boss bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky fic #bucky barnes oneshot #mafia bucky barnes #mafia bucky x reader #mob bucky barnes x reader

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darkdemeter · 14 days

Note

I keep thinking about hate sex between Wanda and wolf!R

Just an absolutely vicious battle for dominance with no real victor lol (in the morning they both look like they fought an army of feral cats, the whole room looks like a bomb went off, and the bed is just torn to shreds)

*𝑨𝒏𝒐𝒏'𝒔 𝑻𝒂𝒃, 𝑳𝑰𝑲𝑬 𝑨𝑵𝑰𝑴𝑨𝑳𝑺

WANDA MAXIMOFF COLUMN GN/Female/Male Werewolf! Reader | 1.2K(words)

Depictions of (aggressive) SMUT, minors DNI — hate sex — marking — enemies (with benefits) — angst — dominance and power struggle — profanity — minor monster fucking — undisclosed smut variants — overstim — I think that's it?

Enjoy, lovely reader! ────────────────┘

Hate is a very strong word. But it’s the most accurate depiction of yours and Wanda’s relationship. No, you weren’t a couple. Not by a long shot. You hate each other too much to let anything else intervene with what you have.

For starters, Wanda hates how much you bite. It gets to a level that she’s beginning to run out of excuses and ways to hide the many, many marks. At first, it started small with a few here and there, but now it’s grown into a full possessive display.

She hates how smug you are the following morning when she stumbles into the common area, no less with an audience, she has to make her way about as normal as she can; all the while, you adorn the largest, triumphant smirk.

She moans louder, the friction of your mound rubbing against her clit elicits a dirty sound passed her lips. Her legs wrap around your waist tighter as she pulls you closer, her fingers rake through the length of your hair and pull on your roots, whispering in your ear each and every little thing she hates about you. All the while, you mark her skin with darkened bites that fester with your conquest.

Your body pins her against the wall with nowhere to go, your claws tear streaks into the once unscathed wall, flakes of creamy white paint and drywall are discarded in a trail that follows you as you each bear into the other.

It’s an entertaining fight. It always is. You push and she pushes back, and the rhythm of that never vanishes. She shoves her shoulder up to keep you from laying another victory bite on her, and you in kind don’t take a liking to that, your teeth bare into a snarl.

“You asked for this,” you growl.

She ignores the flare of amber in your eyes as she uses her magic against you, pushing you away.

You hate how she expects you to be something you’re not. Never can be. She tries to force submission into you, to train you into her little pet, when that is not what you intend to be. You’ve had enough of someone being the dictator. You’re done with letting someone else be the one in control.

You hate how she uses her magic to strip you down, hold you down, and have her fun with you. The games she plays with the scarlet figment dancing at her fingertips, tendrils of tainted unfairness that go against any law of nature, that take away any inhibition to fight back.

When she tries to storm away from you, your hand moves forward and latches hold of her, entangling your fingers in her hair. She cries out, back and neck arching, and you sweep in close to mark the column along her neck.

You chuckle at her resolve to fight back. Your other hand loops around her, trapping her to your front and grinding your hips into the curve of her arse that fits oh so right against you.

“Not so fun when you’re trapped, is it?” you rasp to the shell of her ear, breath hot and laced with the wolf’s longing hunger.

“Not really,” she admits, “but it is when you are.”

She catches you off your guard, turning herself, she forces you backwards some feet away. Before you can close distance, her hands articulate just how she wants you; on your knees.

She hates the way you hold her down on any surface and make her scream and writhe in pleasure. Everything gets destroyed the moment you both become engrossed in winning this game. The couch is torn to bits, the coffee table is tilted off its even axis and supporting one unbroken leg. The walls never mend completely from their scars, and the trail of destruction follows you into the bedroom.

You’re ruthless at this point. Your skin is clawed up, the angry paths of her nails leave red streaks like tattoos, only the fur can hide them when you let the wolf go. Her body grows hot with each orgasm you pull from her. In your hatred for each other, there is a give and take. One that you don’t particularly acknowledge or thank.

It’s a muted exchange.

You hate the challenge in her voice. “Is that all you got, Dog? I thought wolves were feral animals in the bed—”

The unhinged roll of your hips against hers catches the rest of her words before she has a chance to bury herself six feet under.

Not that such a remark should faze you. She begs for more and then cries she can’t give you another one. That it’s too much. You hate the way she lies through her bliss, her clenched teeth biting down those moans you want to hear her scream until the compound’s foundations quiver and shake.

The headboard of the bed raps fast and hard, the wall behind it bleeding with crumbling drywall and the sheets are shorn into threads of fabric, bodies melded together, slapping in combined unison.

“Right there, Wolf,” she mewls, hands flying to grasp the bars of the headboard the moment she has you on your back. She hates how you try to lay claim to her time in control and you fucking hate how she moves like a goddess. Her hair sticks to her forehead and down the bend of her back, her skin riddled coldly with sweat that is only curable with the heat of your body and being close to you.

“Come on, baby, cum for me,” you groan, right on the precipice of your high. Her knuckles turn white from her hold on the headboard but its stripped away from her at the moment you flip her over, pinning her on her stomach and pulling her hips to you and her legs open.

“Y-you’re selfish!” she shrieks into the mauled pillow, panting with each motion. You pay little to the way she squirms beneath you, to get away from you. “So are you.”

With a bellowing cry of your name, she cums. She’s been exhausted but even you don’t let your own exertions end things just there. The list is endless.

In the morning, the room still lingers with the scent of sex. She moans softly, lulled by the relaxation of sleep, unknowing of the thoughts that race through your mind. The only time your mind is safe from her is when she’s asleep.

Her skin is sinfully warm as it rubs against you, muscles contracting at the intimate contact.

Far too intimate. And you hate it.

Nothing more can come of this arrangement. It would ruin everything. You shuffle back, leaving her naked back as a lovely sight as you dress, your clothes tinged by the smell of last night’s affair. But it’s either to suffer with that or have everyone see the still present traces of Wanda’s handiwork marked into your skin.

Maybe you spare a final glance at Wanda before you promptly leave.

By no time long after, Wanda stirs and finds the ruined bed vacant of you. Only the memory of last night to be her company as she assesses the damage, mind able to still envision what transpired.

She can still feel what you’ve done to her. Slipping into a pair of shorts and an oversized top, she slumps against the couch’s arm with a dreaded sigh. There are a plethora of reasons from day one you and Wanda can both count on. But one recent addition is that you both hate that you’re falling in love with each other.

#happyfic hour answers #happyfic hour tab #anon's tab #the demeadery #wanda x werewolf! reader smut #wanda x werewolf reader #wanda maximoff #the scarlet witch

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darkdemeter · 14 days

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Pls let Bucky keep his siren I love them together 🥲

You guys are making the finale harder to write with your love, I cannot cope! 😭

I'm over the moon that you love bucky and siren in my pirate au! 🖤 I do have plans for them in the final chapter, buuuuut, there may be a little chance that their story can be expanded upon....

#demeadery answers #happyfic hour answers #pirate au #pirate bucky #siren reader #as bucky says “let me just walk you through a hypothetical”

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darkdemeter · 16 days

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Just... wow, where do I even begin— AHHHHHHHHH!!!!! Mafia Bucky is just so— it does things for the soul 🖤 and reading this just fuels my love for the writer and inspires me!

Whatever It Takes

Summary: Bucky is willing to do whatever it takes to get you back. “But I know what I want, and I’ll do anything to get you back. You want me to beg, I’ll beg, you want me down on my knees, I’ll get down on my knees”

Pairing: Mafia!Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 2.2K

Warnings: Smut, implied violence, bad dates, overstimulation, choking kink, praise kink, fingering, mirror sex. Exes to lovers.

A/N: Sinday drabble #1. Beta’d by the wonderful @cwbucky and @lunarbuck. Line dividers by @maysdigitalarts

This is, without a doubt, the worst date you’ve been on. The restaurant itself is stunning, the romantic family-owned spot is only a few miles from your home, and you’ve been dying for a chance to eat here again.

The waiter, Peter, has been fantastic. You can’t remember the last time you’ve had such delicious, decadent food, you’re amazed to see the menu has all your favorite foods. The music coming from the live band is phenomenal, you almost want to join the other couples on the dance floor.

Almost.

Everything should be perfect, your first date at your dream restaurant. It would be if you weren’t sitting across from the most obnoxious, self-centered man you’ve ever met. Lance.

You should have known when he walked in ahead of you, leaving you to pay for the cab he used to pick you up. Then he was short with the hostess, and the way he’s been treating poor Peter is embarrassing. You’ve already made a mental note to leave him a huge tip as an apology.

Keep reading

#bucky barns x reader #bucky barnes x reader smut #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fic rec #mob bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes au #come onnnnnn read it you know you wanna!#mob bucky x reader #bucky x reader

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darkdemeter · 18 days

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𝐒𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐍, 𝐁𝐄 𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐌𝐄 𝐈𝐈𝐈

— BUCKY BARNES COLUMN (ONESHOT)

Dark Pirate! Bucky Barnes x Siren! Female Reader

—- gifs/images found on pinterest, credit to original posters -—

| A/N | DISCRETION |

Not going to lie, this part was really kicking my arse to the writer's block gutter. Roll post!

SMUT 18+ MINORS DNI — some profanity — oral (female) receiving — submissive reader — possessive/dark Bucky — usage of pet name "Siren"/"my little Siren" — mention of breeding (kink) — very minor fluff moment — depiction of violence — I think that's it?

| SUMMARY |

He is your captain. You should want for nothing more and yet you do. You play this game of allure, and you're sure he knows it, but still you must try; ignore what could have been. However, as his siren, you'll learn that your curiosity has consequences.

*4.3𝐤 ────────────────┘

| M-LIST | TAGLIST:

────────────────┘

The thin line of your slitted pupils blow outward, crafted into the circular shape humans find familiar. Hair now dry and groomed, you style it in a way you know Bucky can’t resist. Your goal to ensnare him purposefully, to conduct yourself properly as a siren, finally takes its mark. The task itself foreign and yet like you’ve done it before. The dark thrill of the hunt, the pleasurable anticipation to allow the song to lure in your prey, but it’s a song you cannot recall. It’s all a hefty risk that you fear outweighs the gain. Bucky is not one to be so easily fooled, always several steps ahead at every turn.

Your eyes take in the small details of your face, each curve, line and mark that define your features. You’d been resigned to taking shelter in your captain’s cabin until the festivities, the crew ordered to perform double time to meet their deadline, they too were also very eager to enjoy the night’s fun.

From your lap, the pure white feline purrs, eyes thinned as you delicately stroke her chin. Alpine meows, stealing your gaze from the nervous reflection and you feel the corners of your lips pull into a smile.

“Beautiful girl…,” you coo, voice barely above a whisper, “Who is a beautiful girl?”

“Mrrow.” Alpine’s answer is louder this time, ears twitching at the sound of heavy, leather boots striking the wooden boards beneath his feet.

“Both my girls are beautiful.” He emerges from the near darkness behind you, candlelight stroking across his features, sharp and dangerously handsome. Blinking, you lower your head as you swallow, hand now faltering from Alpine.

Bucky’s flesh hand extends over your shoulder and with ease, lifts Alpine up from your lap, she meows lowly as he rests her over the massive territory of his chest, his tongue tuts soothingly, hand running up and down her back, the feline rubs her head against his stubbled jaw. How tender your captain could be always manages to astound you, these moments that allow him to show something soft lingering below the surface. His smile is infectious, leaving you burning in your core, both in nerves and desire. With his sights now set on you, he places Alpine aside, her sleek and elegant saunter moves out of the mirror’s perimeter, no doubt finding a small space to curl up into.

A dark and foreboding structure from behind, his lower half is pressed against your back, your lungs jump at the contact, lips parting with a startled gasp that now tremble slightly. Your eyes become wide, held captive by his lustful glare. The song plays quietly, tickling the back of your mind, its presence more ghostly than before, slowly succumbing to silence. Its tune haunts you with longing to be found before time escapes it.

His flesh hand runs over the column of your throat, able to feel every gulped breath and the quickened pulse of your heartbeat under his touch.

“I have something for you,” he says deeply, stirring you. “Been meaning to have my name on you for some time.”

Your brows form into a puzzled arch. From the leather strap of his belt, your captain’s metal fingers meet a cord of silver. The matching metal coin adorning the chain sways as he lifts it into view, and obediently, you sweep aside any lingering locks of hair and angle your chin. It’s cold against your skin, and in comparison to size, the coin nestles low between the valley of your breasts and down against the bottom of your sternum, covered barely by your robe that loosely sits around your shoulders.

“Fuck, you look so beautiful with my name ‘round your neck,” he groans, hand returning to caress your throat. His eyes admire the way your chest rises and falls, the engraved head of a snarling wolf reflecting in the soft candlelight.

You stare, eyes wide in your admirable study of the piece yourself, seeing how it… fits you, coldly and harshly and yet so rightly. “I do?”

“Aye,” he says with a grin. “And since I got a piece of you, may as well match.”

Your fingers toy with the medallion, thumb rolling over the engraved markings on the side that kisses your skin.

J. A. M. E. S.

B. A. R. N. E. S

Each letter is one taught and now known to you. One by one, you pronounce them internally, spelling the name of your beloved captain, a man whose name you’ve never once said aloud. Nor has he ever said yours. Does he even know yours?

The tone of his growl betrays the cool of his demeanour, giving away the hunger of seeing you with your hair like it is, it has an unruly affect on him only he can understand. Could you do it now? Lure him in, satiate his carnal desires and take the necklace?

Not likely. Not with his crew up and about with nothing to distract them enough, enabling you a given window to find Mina and have her appraise the necklace. Hell, you doubt you’d actually make it to the door before Bucky would have you back in his grasp. Those rare times he wouldn’t stir the moment you left the bed were saving graces.

“You do things to me, my little Siren,” he purrs, lips leaving a trail of hot, wet kisses in their wake along the side of your neck and down over your exposed shoulders. With each laden caress to your skin, methodical and underlying in lust, he perverts your mind with needs only satiable by him, leaving you under the spell of no other choice.

Bound to him, you serve him. You need him. Nearing the curve of your jaw, your head turns until your lips ghost in the proximity of one another, every single breath mingling as if for the first time again. Enchanting. Hypnotic. It’s him who provokes with the first move, flecks of his stubbled jaw tickle your skin in the meeting of his hungering kiss, at first moving slowly as he draws you in.

And like many times before, you fall for him. You fall into his inescapable web. You moan quietly, softly just as the necklace’s fading song.

“Like what?” Your voice dances with the invisible, soft ribbon of a whisper, a gentle request in rise to a challenge he has no capability to fail nor deny.

How aware you very much are of his sexual prowess. An undeniable magnetism. The pinkish contour of his mouth creases, moulded into a darkened smirk as his brighter eyes shine. Lit aflame as they only saw you.

Time has ways to fool. It can feel that the single hour of a day extends over the course of a thousand years before the sun’s slumber. But it can also move faster than you can blink. Your captain turns you to face him in the span of the latter and pushes you, now quivering legs knock the vanity against the wooden panels of the wall with a clunky thud, glass vials and exotic elixirs clatter together a dangerous symphony in warning to the haste of both your actions.

For in the tinted and crystallised fragments of each one of those bottles, you are just as guilty for their shaking by seduction. As per what a siren does. What a siren is.

He moves with his tongue, mouth and teeth, gnawing and biting and reclaiming you, guided by the fever of his longing, hard against you do you feel his endowment pulse ragingly and your walls clamp tight around nothingness. Painful, it makes your voice shrink with softened, pathetic whimpers. Each one more needy than the last in tandem with the bloom of your core.

He groans behind a flurry of stringed curses, each one tying the noose of his sensual demise, his loss of demeanour with every moment he finds himself delving lower. From the base of your neck to the arching bridge of your collarbone, down further and over the mounds of your now exposed breasts that expand with quickened breath, your robe hides from him none that he has not seen before. Bare before him and following his lacing kisses that descend, your spine curls forward, arching under his command.

He channels his authority to dominate you until your will is naught but a broken form of submission, ready and eager to be used by him. By the time he reaches just above where you need him, he hikes you up until you're nestled atop the small, wooden slat of the vanity. Seated there on a makeshift throne.

“C-Captain,” you squeak, voice knotted and pleading.

He’s perched, a man dropped down to his knees in his reverie of aroused worship, he inhales the scent lingering between your thighs, folds slick and dripping into the wooden oak. He tuts his tongue teasingly. “Siren, Siren, my little Siren…”

You feel the rasping growl of his drawled timbre right before his tongue lashes your folds, an attack so abrupt and astoundingly chilling to your core that lights you in shock, your legs jolt in surprise. Your left hand slides into the tousles of his brown locks, scrunched between your fingers to his roots, your other hand struggles to capture a hold of anything else.

“Captain Barnes…”

You moan under a gasping breath. Out of sheer desperation to ground yourself as your captain more than happily grounds himself in your cunt, your struggles end when you gain hold of the dangling pendant at your chest. Thumb toying with it, tracing the letters as if you were performing the act on your own sensitive pearl.

Each stroke is rewarded with a tune of euphoria, poured from the graces of your parted lips, akin to the pure waters of the falls nestled deep in the Caribbean jungles. He moves your legs to spread further for him and you obey, lost in the swelling passion of his heated tongue and breath spoiling you with the sweetened promise of release.

You don’t forget the way he teased you back at the tavern, the encouragement that raised roars and cheers from his crew, meanwhile his fingers were at play. However much you’d grown bashfully compliant with the idea your captain would take you whenever it suited him, be it in private confinement or in the view of those around him, you believe you’d have pathetically begged him in front of his crew to take you right there and then.

That is what the man between your legs did to you. Like stained blood to the watered cloth, he washed away all sense of reason. There was only him. Left behind were the stains to be recognised at a later time, to reflect what it was you put aside for your captain and his affections.

His stubble gently prickles and tickles your skin delightfully, a soothing massage to the intensity of his tongue now delving deep into the walls of your clenching cunt, mewling quietly for more. Your fingers, grasping both silver medallion and locks of hair, tug and tighten in your fight to keep your ever rising orgasm at bay. Not until he gives his command.

He makes a baritone sound that inflicts upon you a dangerous reverberation. Your spine is rattled by the onslaught to your core, your skin aflame and consumed wholly as your captain sucks on the sensitive bulb of your clit, teeth gentle yet primal with need; his declaration.

“C-Captain!” you all but sob quietly as the flat of his tongue presses firm to your clit, “Please! Let–let me cum…”

Like the twisting of a rope, you fear the cord will snap any moment. He groans and buries himself furthermore between your thighs that threaten to constrict around him, muscles quivering with a painful, straining ache. But Bucky cares not for that, he wants you begging as a blabbering and moaning mess like every other time he has his way with you.

His tongue withdraws much to your verbal dismay. “My little Siren wants to cum?”

“Y-yes! Yes!” The soft, slick-ridden form of his lips curl into a grin against your inner thigh. He lays a kiss to your pulsing clit, you gasp out of fear that he’d made you cum right there.

“Then answer me…” He growls and rises, his shoulders feel to cage you. His hands travel the natural bend of your legs until he grapples you towards him. Your hands fly forward to lay flat to his expanding chest, spanning over the dark printing of ink, your slickened cunt pitched right on the contour of his clothed, hardened cock.

“Who’s bastard will you carry in your belly?”

The golden coin drops loudly, your walls clench hard around nothing and your chest holds the weight of burdened air. Captain James Barnes, the most infamously renowned pirate to ever sail these waters, desired to breed you.

The syllable of your response stutters on the tip of your tied tongue.

Over his eyes is the shroud of his growing and darkening impatience. He remains to hold you against him, grip sure in its resolution to keep you captive.

“Siren,” he growls, voice low and venomous with a rumble.

“I—” Words are stolen from you at the rapturing knock on the cabin’s door, stirring the attention of yourself and your captain. Through the wooden barrier, Roger’s voice is the grace that rescues you from answering Bucky.

“All is done for the voyage, Captain.” Bucky’s wintery gaze slides away, glaring. “Shall we head off?”

“Aye,” comes the swift succession of your captain. He looks to you again, fingers of flesh, bone and dominating power clutch you in his grasp by your hair.

“When we return after, you’d better have the right answer on that tongue of yours.”

You nod stiffly. Obediently. Only then does he release his hold.

Your hair unravels from its styled form, falling back into its natural state. But that pales in comparison now that you’re aware of your captain’s new obsession.

A crack of powder and a flaming spark ignites an eruption of cheers, silhouettes dance and gather around the bonfires lining the beach, acting as enlarged beacons in the night, from the old and famed forefathers of the code to the spry and fresh-faced lad who leapt off his officer’s ship in search of adventure.

Oh yes, you’d seen it happen. And only one young lad had lived to tell his tale. Innocently charming and boyish Peter recounts the details of his recently taken resume around the fire to the few elders of stranger crews who’d asked if he was too green to drink them under the table.

A young man who chose to make his fortune on the sea, a member of the royal navy if he was lucky, and only three months he’d been aboard before your captain descended upon the brig with a howling explosion and cloud of sabotage.

Callous and black hearted, the White Wolf had intended to leave no survivors; until you intervened on the boy’s behalf. Suffice to say, your captain was very well convinced that night. A few of the man huffed in laughter, one jabbing at Peter roughly and tossing the bottle into his hands, urging him to drink with a yellow and copper stained shout.

Cliques of your crew were formed, either in familiar groups or with other estranged faces you can barely remember. Other than Mina, those unfamiliar faces remained as such, you didn’t take the time to interact with those not of your captain’s crew. The gathering is quite large - an unlawful ball - you often call these sorts of events.

Glancing around, you don’t find Mina anywhere close to the bonfire, and you turn your eyes to the terrain beyond the fire’s glow, at the sandy bank’s seam between light and darkness. Still, you don’t see her.

“Siren,” his voice beckons your wayward attention. Turning your head, he sees the unsure nature of your thoughts, able to read you like an open book. His flesh hand is held out, silent in his request, you step towards him and allow your smaller hand to meet his. His fingers are strong and sure as they curl around you and usher you inwards to him.

To his chest, he embraces you, hand in hand. Skin to skin and skin to metal. His forehead leans to press against yours and you’re absorbed by the magnetism of his charm, a siren beaten at her own game and by no less, your beloved captain.

He tilts the axis of his form and drives action to his left, taking you with him as he leads you, bodies swaying together to the instrumental play of strings and wind and song.

You come to forget yourself and your initial purpose to be so close to him. He moves back to twirl you before you’re returned to his closeness, a musical chord of a giggle erupts in the chamber of your chest, a feeling of giddiness fills you and makes your eyes seemingly brighten like stars. His grin infectiously rouses you in a sense that smothers all reason beyond that is not him; your love and adoration for him.

As you move with him, following his rhythm with a grin that forms from ear to ear, your bare foot bumps into the leather of his boot and you giggle again. “Drunk, Love?”

“No!” you laugh from the heart and Bucky cannot contain his own amused enjoyment. Overtaken, he’s smitten by your eagerness to dance.

To be in his arms like this reminds you of your first dance with Bucky, on board The Avenger, after a particular raid. Spirits were high, roaringly so, and the crew were in a celebrating mood after such a feat. You’d not been on the ship for no more than two months and were still very much on the shy end in terms of engaging with the crew, Natasha being the only one you confided in.

However, sitting on the sidelines with your back pressed to the wooden panelling of the ship served no pleasing sight for Captain Barnes from across the way, situated on a barrel with a bottle lazed in his lap. With a haughty and smug swig, he swaggered on over and stood before you proudly, a chest of inked muscle puffed out and extended his hand down to you.

“Come on,” he had cooed, much to your astounded horror. He’d spied you admiring the way the others danced about on the deck. Mesmerised by your morbid curiosity.

Man’s tongue still new to you, you of course fumbled over your excuses with muted mumbles and dialled expression that told of your reluctance. But he was adamant you accompanied him in the next dance. His hand took yours and hoisted you, up on your bare feet, he carried you on over the deck close to him.

“It’s easy, Lass,” he chuckled as he looped your fingers with his own. “Like this. One, two, three… one, two, three…”

Your eyes veered down to his feet to see whatever pattern he conducted and you followed suit. Or at least tried. Many times you hobbled and stumbled over his own feet. The water was all you’d known.

You would giggle and laugh, filled with an embarrassment that Bucky found charming, he accepted your apologies without so much as a desire to reprimand you.

It was rather exciting. Humans could be funny with how they danced and moved about, some able to glide so seamlessly; much like your captain. The grace of his strong physique unmatched prowess with the governing of his skill and technique. A sight one truly worthy to admire. Overall, your wonderment shone in your eyes brightly that night. And Bucky was struck by it.

Continuing, he guided you and you came to learn how he moved - how to move with him. Spinning you in a circle, tilting you back until a surge erupted in your stomach, and being in close proximity to him. Forehead heated from his exertions, he pressed it to yours as he swayed with you, chest to chest. His soft lips took a chance to ghost over yours.

A hand of metal ran down to hold your hip and fingers of warm flesh coasted your jawline, tilting your gaze just that bit higher to meet his eyes you’d regarded with a fearsome glare. But they smiled, the blue in them inviting, a connection that felt so right.

That was the night Captain Barnes made you his siren.

Alas, a cherished memory that is tainted within a moment. Eyes flickering over, you see a form loom in the shadows behind the rocky formation further down the beach. Mina.

It comes back to you. What it is you must do. The betrayal you have to enact to find the truth which Bucky guards from you. Tears brim in the line of your eyes and they glisten in the fire light at the thought that this may very well be your last dance with your beloved captain. Your captor, but no less, the one man you’ve come to believe possesses the power to mend and break your heart.

Capturing the expressive nature of your sorrow, Bucky looks to peer behind him. But before he has any possible chance to discover anything of your scheme, knowing that Mina’s tendencies oftentimes mean nothing but give cause of strife, your fingers catch the dark stubble of his chin.

“Kiss me.” It’s not common that you’re bravely forward in your demands. Yet from his throaty hum, you can safely assume he holds no qualms about it.

So long as he believes the portrayal of devotion you display, he is none the wiser. That is your hope as you submit yourself to him, allowing his tongue to run its dominating course and melting into the sweetened poison that beckons you to crave more. He pulls you impossibly closer to him.

It is your sole and waning hope as with one hand, you brace it to his muscular chest, whilst the other ghosts over the flesh of his hand and the gilded circlet of gold around it.

Almost. The chain slides quickly down the back of his hand and you flinch. A gasp jostles from the back of your throat in quiet alarm, which you act quickly, feigning a whimper he recalls as a plea for merciful breath. His mouth pulls away with a sigh, drinking in your essence like a drug he vies for without restraint. Your lips stretch into a bashful, toothy grin, one that Bucky endearingly smirks at.

Just in the motion Bucky intended to sweep you off your feet in lead to dance, a hand slaps the firm muscle of his broad shoulder.

“Fortune ahead, Cap’n!” hiccups Tony with a slight drunken slur, eyes hazed in his stupor. Bucky’s steely gaze falls from you to glare at his master of navigation’ hand, sneering like a disturbed wolf.

Your window. Fleeting as a sleek shadow, you cast your steps backwards until you near the further end of the gathering and away from prying eyes. Ducking into the darkness you chase after Mina who leads you along the beachside, the trickling cold of the water’s edge tickles your feet.

“Here,” she directs swiftly and pulls you into the ankle deep water right in a small enclave of rocks. You hold up the prize in your hand in show and she nods, gaze firm in its admiration.

“In the water. Quickly, now.”

You do as she instructs and with your hands cupped, you plunge the pearl into its mother waters, letting the small waves lap and roll it over your fingers. With a hasteful gesture, Mina urges you and you give it to her. She inspects it with an occasional glance over her shoulder and you do much the same.

“The voices… grow silent still,” you sigh, eyes cast with tears of defeat. But she lays a hand to your shoulder in comfort.

“The water is not enough, but there is another way, though one that shall ask for more risk.”

Your eyes implore her to continue. You’ve come this far…

“Blood is the only remedy to revive the song.” She watches you, eyes wide as you all but lay your palm flat to the caressing wind that sweeps up the sandy embankment, your other hand bearing your elongated claws.

But she stops you. “A hex consumes the pearl, young one. Your blood alone won’t suffice. The blood of Captain Barnes is also required.”

“His blood?” you hiss. Your shoulders fall to a slump and your neck cranes forward, hair loosely falling over to hide your fearful dismay. Were you to resign to your fate, never to know the truth?

The thought to draw his blood chills you just as much as the husky thrum of his voice behind you, summoning your fear and obedience to turn and look at him.

In sync, both you and Mina turn swiftly to meet the gaze of your captain, eyes silently taunting your next move. Behind him, the barrier of scornful glares cut into you with the worth of a thousand daggers.

“What is your next move, Siren?”

He stalks you into the water now. The ocean wraps around your waist, his form an apparition of terrorising beauty, waves thrusting into him as though to push him back towards shore. He scoffs at the defiance before him, arms held out in mockery that he contains no ill-mannered intent.

“Come, Siren, you know me,” he purrs lowly.

Mina pushes you behind her as the blinded allure in your eyes takes hold from his words, she utters under the harshness of her breath, “Go.”

You move to turn and dive but Mina’s shriek stops you. Finding her trapped in your captain’s arms, her back pressed to him, his flesh hand brandishes a knife to her exposed throat, the shine of metal blinks carnivorously against the juncture between her neck and jawline; her face sprawled into a defeated wince.

His lips pull back into a menacing snarl. “The necklace or her life.”

Clenching the necklace in the basin of your palms, amidst your frantic, tearful gaze, you take a moment to study its worth.

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