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domesticbucky · 1 year

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𝐬𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐚. 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐤𝐲.

--𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: poseidon!bucky barnes x black!grace!reader (thalia - "blooming")

--𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 4986

--𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 18+ ONLY, smut, sex, vaginal fingering, handjob, oral sex (female receiving), multiple orgasms, praise kink, face sitting, biting kink, named reader

--𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭: "don't act so innocent, i heard you" + "those are the moans i love to hear" + "have you never been touched like this before?" + face sitting + praise kink

--𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞: @thanatosfic 1k greek mythology challenge → the charites or graces, Charis, Aglaea, Euphrosyne and Thalia are goddesses of charm, beauty and fertility who are amongst the many children of Zeus. They arrange feasts and dances for the Olympians and attend to them.

--𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: this is the second thing i've finished in six months... i hope it's, ya know, good. in this one, "you" have a name. "you" are thalia, one of the graces that attends to the olympians. please enjoy :)

for my friendo @littleheavensangel2. get well soon babes.

--𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐬: banner by @maysdigitalarts ; quote by Vi Khi Nao via @metamorphesque

Butterflies dance in your stomach as you hurry around the long marble table, tossing flower petals every which way. You stop to straighten an ornate bowl overflowing with fruit and turn one of the many wine bottles a tick to the left to get it just right. Aglaea, Euphrosyne and Charis float around you, their hands full of the finest meats and cheeses and the plumpest, juiciest fruits. The four of you all are suddenly laughing— the excitement of the evening bubbling over as the harpist continues to play from the corner of the patio.

“Thalia,” Euphrosyne calls to you, flicking her fingers towards the edge of the table, “Quick, quick! Straighten the chairs.”

There’s twelve in all. Five on each side, two at each end. They’re all beautiful, the chairs. Hand carved out of the strongest oak in all of Olympia. Each one blessed and prayed over by the high priests and priestesses. Each one slightly different to suit its rightful owner. The two chairs at either end, oh, they are truly magnificent. Both tall and wide. Heavy— cast out of gold and iron, and draped in the finest of silks. Thrones fit for two kings.

There’s a sharp crack through the dark sky— a flash of blinding light followed quick by a loud clap of thunder. A smile breaks onto your face.

“Hurry!” you shout toward your sisters, “They’re close!”

A clatter of plates and golden silverware fills the air, the glup glup glup glup of red wine filling twelve chalices. The hurried pads of three sets of feet against the marble floor as you rush to put the final touches on the table. There’s another sudden crack of lightning that spiders throughout the sky. Another boom of thunder, this time so loud it shakes the ornate table. You snap towards the head of the table and within a blink, the first of the twelve has arrived.

“Zeus,” you smile, dipping your head and eyes to the ground right along with your sisters, paying respect.

“Father,” he corrects warmly, “Come here, girls.”

The four of you sprint towards him, nearly knocking him over with your embrace. His laugh is loud, rolls through his chest much like the thunder he commands as he hugs you all tight. Within minutes, there’s more flashes in the sky, but now a little less grandiose. One by one they start to appear. Aphrodite, Demeter, Ares, Hera. Hephestus, Apollo, Athena, Artemis. Hermes, Dionysus— until eleven of the Olympians stand before you. Chatter fills the air within minutes. Chairs scuff against the floor as they all take their rightful seats.

Aglaea, Euphrosyne and yourself are off, flirting around the table, making sure that there isn’t a want or need among the group. You’re so busy in fact, you don’t notice the large waves that start to break out in the middle of the ocean. The tide starts to rush in, the dark water slapping against the bottom steps of the large staircase that leads up to the sprawling terrace.

It’s the whistles of the dolphins that make you turn to peer out across the Aegean sea. The waves grow larger, roll faster as the dolphins start to jump from the water, slicing through with ease as they advance towards the feast. Something else cuts through the water beside them— something big— a large, dark shadow casting throughout the sea. There’s a strike of gold in the waves, flashing every now and again as it draws closer to the stairs.

You take a breath. Swallow hard as the butterflies return to your stomach. There’s still one empty chair.

The waves break again, this time loudly, a white, bubbly froth rolling off of the water. There’s a white light cutting through the water now, the shine of gold no longer dulled by distance. Three sharp tips of a trident start to emerge as the water rolls back. The neigh of the four hippocampus’ filling the air as they break through the turbulent sea, their wings flapping so hard the air underneath them pushes you back a step or two.

Zeus rolls his eyes, a slight smirk on his lips as he takes a gulp of his wine, “My dear brother loves an entrance, doesn’t he?”

You barely hear the words— your eyes stuck on the glorious chariot that glides over the top of the water. The gold trident glinting underneath the bright stars as the sea-horses come to a skilled halt just at the bottom of the stairs. A loud click rings through the air, the trident stinging the bottom step, and then the ground starts to shake. So hard in fact that the Olympians spring forward in their seats, grabbing chalices and wine bottles before they topple over.

He strikes each step with the trident as he moves up them, sending tremors throughout the ground with each. Brilliant blue eyes find yours as soon as he clears the top step and there’s a deep tremor within you. Your stomach goes tight, breath shallows as you squeeze your thighs together, trying to suppress the sudden ache underneath his trained stare. His long, dark, wavy hair sticks to his wet skin, falling over his shoulders and back. A naked, broad chest, tight abs littered with silvery, old scars— reminders of a long life and many, many feuds for the hot blooded God.

Your eyes continue to venture down, down, downward. Down the little path of his happy trail, through the thick tuft of dark, wiry hair… you swallow again. Lips parting slightly as his cock swings with each graceful step, and you're taken back. Right back to that sunny, warm day. The green grass tickling your back, hot lips on your neck and chest, dirty, slurred words stuffing your ears. Teeth nipping, fingernails scratching and snagging your skin. Your soft flesh in his hands as hips push and pull—

There’s an elbow in your ribs, startling a gasp out of you. You snap your head towards Euphrosyne, blinking wild as the memory fades and try to reorient yourself.

“Poseidon. Nice of you to join us, dear brother.” Zeus booms as his older brother falls into his seat at the other end of the table.

Poseidon only smiles in return, grabbing his glass and gulping it down in three quick swigs before he holds it out aimlessly. Before either of your sisters can move, you have a bottle of wine in your hands— the God needs some attending. He cuts his deep eyes towards you quickly before returning them to his brother as you refill the glass in his hand, tilting his head so the gold crown that sits atop it can glint underneath the stars.

Zeus laughs warm and full, drawing a wider smile and an eyebrow wiggle from Poseidon, “Oh, how I’ve missed you, Poseidon.”

“And I’ve missed you— all of you,” Poseidon smiles, a chorus breaking out as the younger Gods all return the gesture, “Let’s enjoy the evening, hmm? Ladies? How about a song and dance or two.”

The night passes on. Bottle after bottle after bottle of wine is poured and discarded. Bowl and bowls of fruit, tray after tray of meats and cheeses devoured like their nothing. They’re loud and happy, the Gods. A family united for just an evening without interruption, without worry or grief or angst. No problems to solve, no wars to fight. Just laughter, and love. A familiar comfortableness falling over everyone— except you, that is.

Stormy eyes are on you with every move you make, piercing you right to the core. You keep yours averted, on everyone but him as you sing and dance, because if you do so much as glance at him, you’ll dissolve, right then and there. You’re a puddle of nerves, of want, of desire. Warm and fuzzy, brain scattered with static at the dark thoughts of him. Poseidon. On you. In you— stuffing, stifling, consuming every inch of you.

You miss the stretch. The fullness— and he can feel it. He knows it’s been far too long since you’ve been plucked like a fruit. Driven to the very depths of unbridled passion and only to be brought back by him and him alone. He wanted you to have an appetite for him, and he’s succeeded— much to his delight.

“Thalia, darling,” Aphrodite calls, waving you over with a delicate flick of her hand, “We seem to be out of fruit, sweet girl.”

You grab a few empty bowls from the center of the table, “I’m so sorry, I’ll pluck some right away.”

“No hurry, “Ares says cooly, pulling Aphrodite from her chair, “We’re going to dance. She’ll forget all about the fruit.”

Aphrodite winks at you, following it up with a soft smile, “No hurry,” she whispers so only you can hear before placing her finger to her lips.

Their secret is safe with you.

Rushing off all the same, you’re secretly happy to get away for a few minutes to calm down. Once you’re by the stream, under the ripe trees, fingers brushing lightly along the leaves of the full bushes, you start to relax. Close your eyes and take a deep breath, letting the sweet night air fill your lungs. You center yourself for just a moment— mind, spirit, soul— bringing them all together before opening your eyes slowly and pushing a focused breath out between your lips.

The soft rush of the water from the stream before you adds a natural soundtrack as you pick and pluck more fruit. You hum a little, eyeing each peach, every bunch of grapes, each apple, orange, raspberry and blueberry, only the best reaching the basket on your hip. There’s a soft, warm breeze, tickling you and the leaves, a random fish jumping up and plopping back into the cool water of the stream.

A sudden hand around your naked waist startles you, making you jump and gasp, your basket falling to the ground. You’re pulled back, back into a hard chest and stomach, another hand slithering up your bare thigh. Rogue fingertips forging a path from your left hip, across your lower belly, to your right hip. You close your eyes again as your chest heaves, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip as a mammoth hand cups both of your breasts and teeth nip at your exposed neck.

“I still make you nervous, young Thalia?”

The words are slow. Whispered and hot, right up against the shell of your ear. He chuckles real low and it vibrates through you, the sound— the feeling— striking that pesky little nub between your legs. Thick fingers skip along your side, up and down, up and down, grabbing and kneading the soft meat of your waist before pushing along your belly again, gripping and groping all the while. His thumb and index fingers find a piqued nipple, rolls it gently. Pull on the taut, brown nub just until it hurts before he rolls it again.

You whimper, real sweet and helpless, just a puddle of feral emotion in his hands. Your legs instinctively part on their own, stance widening, inviting those wandering fingers to go lower. To find that perfect little—

“Ah—” you moan, your chest arching away from his as he immediately heeds the queues your body is sending, “Poseidon,” your voice hushed, teeth digging into your bottom lip to quiet another moan.

“Don’t act so innocent, I heard you,” he teases, working his fingers along your clit before slapping your warm, sticky skin, sending a jolt of electricity through you.

“They’re gonna catch us—”

“Let them,” he growls, “I’ve been thinking about you all day and now that I have you,” he gives your clit a little pinch, chuckling against your ear again when you squeak, “I’m not letting you go.”

If you had any resolve, any at all, you wouldn’t be able to find it if you tried. Warmth pools in your belly and starts to spread slowly, throughout your arms and legs, right to the tips of your fingers, the top of your head, the bottom of your feet.

His feather light touch sends ripples up and down your spine as your hips start to grind, “Poseidon,” you moan, stretching out his name.

“That’s right,” he purrs, his wet tongue sneaking out to lick your neck and just behind your ear, “Have you never been touched like this before?”

He pulls you back into him, cock twitching against your ass as he massages your clit, soft little circles. He stretches his fingers just a bit, starts to prod at your slit, pushing just inside before he hisses in your ear, “Of course you have. You’re so wet for me, sweet girl. Can anybody else do this to you? Hmm?”

Before you can respond, he shoves two fingers in— all the way in until the heel of his palm cups your hot sex. Your knees buckle, but Poseidon just tightens his grip. Drops his arm from around your tits to your waist, squeezing tight as he starts to fuck his fingers into your cunt. The squelch of your wet muscles is pure filth to the ears— but it's so good. So deep, hitting that little spot that doesn’t even seem real until it’s touched.

“Your fingers feel so good,” you pant, “S-s-so guh-good.”

Poseidon smiles wide before kissing your cheek, “What’s that, little one? Hmm? Let me hear you baby, say it again.”

Unwrapping his arm from around your waist, he grabs your chin. Pushes it with the tips of his fingers until your neck is craned, mouth hanging as a moan whirs in the back of your throat. He kisses you hard, his tongue grazing the roof of your mouth as he groans low and deep. You’ve missed his mouth— his taste. It’s ruined you, that mouth. For all mortals and Gods alike. You are his, and his alone; and it gives you great pleasure to own it.

“Say it again, sweet Thalia. I want to hear it,” Poseidon whispers, hot, swollen lips brushing against yours, “Tell me how good I make you feel.”

He curls his fingers, pets your insides with quick little strokes. You let your head fall back onto his shoulder, and reach back for him, your hand finding and digging into his dark hair as you bare down into his pumping, stroking fingers. He traces your bottom lip with this thumb, shoving the tip inside and then adding his index and middle fingers. Instincts kick in again, your lips wrapping around his thick, warm digits, sucking lightly as he hums in delight.

“I can’t hear you, honey.”

“Your fingers feel so good inside me,” you mumble, mouth full.

He slams his fingers into your achy cunt one good time, then cups your wet, swollen sex real soft, thumb petting your clit. Digs his fingernails into the meat of your hip, a quick sting of pain ripping through you, “Do you want me, little one?”

“Yes—”

“What do you want from me?”

“You know what I—” he pinches your hip a second time, hard enough to make you yelp, “I want you to fuck me, Poseidon. Please.”

He chuckles again, the vibrations from his chest rumbling through your tight body, “That’s a good girl. But, first things first.”

Poseidon pulls his fingers from you, leaving you empty and aching. You turn, and find him a few steps back, head cocked, a smirk on his handsome face, “Well?” he purrs, holding out his hand to you, “Attend to me, sweet Grace.”

You take his hand with no hesitation. Close the gap between the two of your bodies and keep your eyes on his as you sink to your knees in front of him. You can’t take your eyes off of his, really. Even as you grab his hips, skip your nails up and down his sides and then over to his flat, hard stomach. Drag your fingers through the dark hair at his navel and then up to his broad chest, blinking wide, innocent brown eyes at him all the while. His large palms find either side of your face, caressing your cheeks sweetly before rubbing his large thumb over your bottom lip.

A smile tugs at the corners of your mouth. Then, and only then, do you drop your eyes from his, take a deep breath as you curl your hand around his already weeping cock. You use both hands, stroke him slow, twisting them in opposite directions just as you press your lips to his red, wet cockhead. Poseidon exhales slow, lets his lids slip close over those blue eyes, his dark, long lashes spreading out over his cheeks. A giggle slips past your lips before you dig your teeth into your bottom lip, sending your eyes back up to his face and chest, watching the breath hitch when you slide your hands back down his cock.

The pad of your thumb sweeps over his cockhead, collecting the wet that's dribbled from him to push it back down his length. Your right hand slips away from him, down to his heavy sac to palm his most delicate. Squeezing gently, you lean in again, kiss his head again before pulling your thick, pillowy lips away, starting to jerk him faster as his thighs start to tense. A sweet hum sounds in the back of your throat as you encourage him, rolling his balls between your fingers before you start to rub and palm them gently, your other hand still working his cock.

You release your grasp quick— giggle and bite your lip again as his heavy cock bounces up and down. Twitches with anticipation and lust. Your hands find him again, stroke him harder and faster, fingers pushing all the way up— sweeping over his tip before pushing all the way down to his base. Then, you pull away again. All the way back, hands falling to your thighs as his cock sways back and forth, so hard and hot and heavy. You’re wet and warm, fuzzy all over, a string of your arousal stretching from the lips of your cunt to the very inside of your thigh, a little bubbly and clearly in response to how he responds to your touch.

He’s louder now, breath rushing in and out between his lips and teeth. Stomach and chest tightening as his thigh muscles tense and relax at the constant pressure and warmth of your hands. His head rolls back slow, facing the heavens, his long, dark, wet and wavy hair spilling over his shoulders and back. Rough hands, massive and warm find your head. Push around your hair, down your cheeks, salty fingers over your lips. Then down your neck and chest, catching thick nipples just at the tips of his fingers. He palms what he can of your full, jiggling tits, squeezing hard as he mumbles and moans.

His cock jumps in your hand. Balls tighten up as he exhales harder than before. Grabs your shoulder suddenly as he thrusts his hips forward. He tenses again, all over— stomach, chest, thighs— grunts all sweet like just as he always does before he cums.

You slide your hand down his cock one last time, grip his heavy girth tight as he starts to shoot ribbon after ribbon of thick, white hot cum. Can’t help the moans of your own that bubble up in your throat, feeling his cum surging through him and spilling out onto your chest and into the grass. You start pumping him again, coaxing it all out, draining him of his seed as it dribbles down the backs of your fingers.

Poseidon whimpers through his orgasm. Imagine it. One of the three most powerful Gods to walk this earth, whimpers as sweet as one of your songs. Pride swells in your chest as these tiny, honeyed sounds drip from his perfect mouth. You smile again, real big as you blink up at him, wanting and needing— craving— more praise from him.

“Whew, girl,” he finally musters, his large hand cupping your chin as he pushes out another deep breath, “My precious little Thalia sure knows how to please me, doesn’t she?”

“Oh,” you purr, “It gives me great pleasure being able to please you so, Poseidon.”

“Good girl,” he smiles, soft eyes gazing over your face, “Very good girl. On your hands, my sweet. Face the stream.”

You fall to your hands, turning from him as you take a deep, steadying breath. Poseidon shifts behind you, dropping slowly to his knees, dragging his lips down your back as he goes. He squeezes your tits before sliding his hands down your sides, placing his lips right in the small of your back as he settles on his knees in the grass. Those big hands move around to your stomach again as he continues to press kisses against you— along your ass and the backs of your thighs. His tongue sneaks out, licks the crease where your cheek meets your thigh before he bites down lovingly, all while squeezing the soft meat of your belly.

And then he’s gone. Lips, hands, tongue— just gone, leaving your body instantly cold. Panicked even. Your eyes pop open. A sharp, light gasp filling your lungs with the night air as his fingers push through your folds, prodding at your opening before rubbing your clit. A hand finds your hip again, slips up to the base of your spine before it pushes up the length, feeling each bump and groove of your bones until he palms the back of your neck. Wraps his fingers right around.

Your breathing hurries, heavies as you feel his thighs against the backs of yours, his hips against your ass, cock pushing at your wet hole. Another gasp fills your lungs when his thick cockhead breaks your threshold, cock sliding into you slow, filling up all the space your body has to offer him. He falls over you, chest to back, one hand on your hip, the other still around the back of your neck, as soon as he’s bottomed out in you. The two of you both breathe heavy, not moving, just getting accustomed to one another again as if it’s been a lifetime since you’ve connected in this way.

Your cunt squeezes around him instinctively, welcoming the tight fit. Then he moves. Straightens back up and rolls his shoulders before pulling out of you— almost all the way out— before plunging in again. You lunge forward with each thrust, the sound of your bodies slapping against each other, the squelch of his muscle in your wet, filling the night air.

Fingers find their way into the side of your mouth and you suck on them happily, greedily, as you bounce off of his hips and thighs, humming and moaning all sweet and loud. Just for him.

“That’s right girl,” he mumbles, grabbing a handful of your ass just to jiggle your flesh before he slaps it once, twice, three times, “That’s right, those are the moans I love to hear. Let me hear you.”

He forces you down, your belly and tits now in the grass as he slaps your ass again before he’s fucking back into you— resting his big hands and punishing weight into the small of your back. Pinned into the soft grass, you take every rough thrust Poseidon has to give, squeaking and shouting with each, grabbing fistfuls of the fragile grass, strands breaking under the force of your pull.

Poseidon slips a hand into your hair, tugs you up onto your elbows and forces you to look back at him as he hovers just inches from your mouth. He leans in, grabs your chin with his other hand and kisses you hard, eating up the sharp shriek and sob that falls from your lips. His hips don’t stop during the kiss, not for a moment, they just slow a bit. Plunging his cock deep and just holding there for a second before he thrusts again.

He pulls out of you as you flatten back onto the earth below and forces your hips up a little with his hands, laying behind you to sweep his tongue between your folds. Both hands on either side of your ass to jiggle your flesh as he’s nose deep in your cunt before he skips those lips over your asscheek. His white teeth grab your skin in another love bite before he plants a loud, wet kiss at the same spot. You gasp loud and deep as he pulls his tongue along your slit again, right up to your hot rim and back down to your clit. He gives that sensitive little nub a long suck and then a flick or two with the tip of his tongue before he’s lifting your hips up with his hands again, forcing you back onto your knees.

A groan passes through his lips as he pushes back in, his hands grabbing your hips as he rocks into you. Only now, you’re meeting each of his thrusts. Forcing your ass back into his hips as you keep your face in the grass. Thick fingers grab your ass, a thumb circling your fluttering rim before it slips in, sending your octave soaring.

You’re flipped over onto your back without a moment's notice. Legs forced open with two strong hands as his lips and mouth find your pussy again, “This is the sweetest fruit in all the land,” he slurs, sucking your clit back into his mouth as he peeks up at you. You roll your hips into his face, your hands digging into his hair to pull as he sinks one, two, three fingers into your sex, curling them as he pumps.

“Aww,” he chuckles as you start to really lose it. Panting, cursing, mewling as you start to get so overwhelmed. Your body tensing, hips jerking now that you’re so close— you could crawl out of your own skin, “What’s the matter? Hmm?” he slides his tongue along the inside of your thigh, stopping to take another bite of you, “Oh, I know what it is,” he laughs again, “I know what it is, you want to come on this cock, don’t you? Huh? You don’t want my fingers?”

“Yesyesyesyes,” you spit, huffy and hot and rushed, “Yes!”

He crawls over you, knocking your legs open wider with his hands and body, “Okay sweet girl,” he purrs, “I’ll give you what you want.”

Your feet come to rest in the small of his back, your hands around his biceps as he sinks into your cunt again. Mouth to mouth, forehead to forehead, he fucks you good. Hips pounding yours into the soft earth. You feel the pressure building in your belly— the warmth spreading real slow. Rushed, hot words fill your ears but you can’t make them out. A slippery tongue slithers down your neck, teeth nibble at your earlobe as you dig your fingernails into his tough skin, whimpering and screaming to the heavens.

And when it snaps, you’re just… blown. Nothing but sensation and feeling. Your orgasm ripples up and down your spine as you go all fuzzy, brain waves stuck on static. Poseidon forces his way up, resting his weight on his knuckles to watch you come. Tits bouncing, mouth hanging, eyes rolled back as tears leak down your cheeks. He fucks you right through the rush of it all, growing louder and gruffer as your warm cunt spasms around him, gripping him tight as your clit jumps.

As you shout, scream his name for all to hear, grab your tits to tease your nipples while you come, his hips become errant. He grunts hard and loud as he slams into you with everything he has until he can’t hold it any longer. He coats your already hot walls with his white hot silk— pumps you right full. Pulls out of you and strokes his cock, spilling onto your stomach and cunt, all over your pussy lips and thighs to mark you as his as he moans with a deep satisfaction.

He rubs his cockhead against your thigh, smearing his milky seed along your skin. Your breath continues to shudder as you’re hoisted up into two big arms and crushed against a wide chest. Lazy giggles rolling out as a hand slaps your ass again and again and again like a trainer congratulating his prized mare. Forever insatiable, Poseidon lays back in the grass, settles you on your knees again and wiggles down your body, until his face is right underneath your used sex.

You gasp and giggle again as your body jerks with the aftershocks of your orgasm and the warmth of his tongue through your folds again— but you wiggle down into his face anyway. Way too sensitive and squeamish to be able to handle it, but you just want him. Everything he wants to give, you want to take. He sucks your clit back into his mouth, massages it real slow as he sweeps his hands up and down your tensing thighs.

Hot lips find that little space between your leg and ass, planting little sweet kisses before he bites down into sensitive flesh. Then he’s back to your cunt, tongue sliding, pushing in real slow as he moans deep, savoring your taste and the feel of you on his lips. Two mammoth hands moving up your sides to cup your tits, squeezing hard and pinching two thick nipples as your hips roll against his lips and nose.

It’s these moments where you feel one with the earth. The wind, the sky, the water, the grass, the trees. Basking in his attention, in his warmth and protection, cocooned and consumed by all things Poseidon. It’s these moments, these little, tangible moments, where you get a glimpse of what it must feel like to be him— like an absolute God.

#this is incredible #fic rec

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domesticbucky · 1 year

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i need a fucking minute

More content of Seb from The Associated Press

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domesticbucky · 1 year

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“But if you forget to reblog Madame Zeroni, you and your family will be cursed for always and eternity.”

#sorry but I’m not risking it

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domesticbucky · 1 year

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domesticbucky · 1 year

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Reblog In 5 seconds for good luck

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domesticbucky · 1 year

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Oath

Summary: Bucky finally proposes to Y/N.

Pairing: 40s!Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 5.5k

Warnings: a bit of nudity, many emotions, bucky getting scolded by his ma

A/N: Thanks for reading! Please let me know what you think! Part of Sugar, but it can definitely can be read as a stand alone or in whatever order you prefer.

Spring has fully settled over New York when Bucky makes a decision that he always knew he would make. Flowers bud along the sidewalks, the sky is a clear clean blue, and his mother’s hand is warm on the crease of his elbow as he guides her up the steps to the door of her apartment.

“I want to marry Y/N,” Bucky says without preamble, still standing in the open doorway as Winnifred shucks off her light jacket and hangs it on the hook.

He had been coerced into attending church with his mother that morning, who was now insisting on serving him a late lunch before sending him home to Y/N again. And he figured this was a good a time as any to tell her, to ask her if he should, to ask her about the ring situation he would soon be facing.

Bucky had already delayed in asking Y/N to marry him for so long, he saw no reason to continue now, now that he was sure enough time had passed for her to make a decision she could be sure of.

But new fears had a way of finding him, of sinking their claws into the meat of every worry he’s ever had.

He’s still standing in the open doorway to the apartment, warm breeze at his back, coming summer drifting on the wind.

Bucky’s mother turns away, bustling toward the stove. “It’s about time,” she returns in Romanian, knocking the wooden spoon she picks up against the side of the pot on the stove, preparing to reheat a soup she’d made the day before. “And just when I was getting used to hearing rumors about my uncouth son and his girl.” Winnifred scoffs, “Living together before marriage, what could possibly be worse?”

She chuckles under her breath, amused at the outraged whispers of some of their neighbors.

Bucky swallows, nerves cracking up his spine.

“Ma,” he says quietly, sweeping the cap off his head as he sits down at the kitchen table, screen door clattering shut behind him. “Please.”

“Are you asking for my approval? I’ve been waiting for this since the moment I saw her. She looked at you in that worn coat and with that terribly outgrown haircut and decided that she still loved you-,”

“Ma,” Bucky complains gently before glancing up at her, fist against her hip, wooden spoon waving in the air before her, a warning for him to choose his next words carefully. “I - should I? We seem to get on as we are. She’s as much a part of the family as any of us. Maybe asking her now will…upset the life we have.”

Maybe it would remind her of everything he wasn’t, too.

His mother softens, drops her arm and rounds the table. “Are you worried she will say no?” She touches his shoulder carefully. Still so cautious with him, despite the years between him and the war, despite the changes in him.

But Bucky doesn’t want to admit that that is exactly what he’s afraid of. He glances away, fiddling with the edge of yesterday’s newspaper still spread open on the table.

His mother’s voice is tender when she answers, moving to smooth a hand through his hair. “If there’s one thing I know, its that she will not say no to you. She would not say no to you if you proposed moving to the moon. She wouldn’t say no if you proposed to her with a rubber band.”

Bucky licks his lips and looks up at his mother, “Think so?”

“Yes. I know.” She pats his cheek, smiling.

He nods but doesn’t answer, thinking about how he left Y/N that morning. Golden sunshine on her naked skin, sleepy smile, fingers pressed gently to his bicep, telling him he would be late if he didn’t leave soon.

But god, how he hadn’t wanted to go. He’d wanted to sink back down beside her, worship the sun on her skin. He never had to think with her, he could just simply be. She did not judge him, she understood the things that lived inside his skin and accepted them.

How could he ever think to ask her to marry him? How could he ever think he was worth that? How could he ask her to make yet another sacrifice for him?

He remembers asking her if she would wait, in so many words, as was his way. But, of course, Y/N had known, had known exactly what he meant.

“You gettin’ impatient with me?”

“Never,” she murmurs. “I’ll wait. For you, I will.”

Bucky had not wanted to ask her back then, worried that the memories of him before would influence her decision, worried that she would be agreeing to marry the charming, boyish man she met before he was captured and tortured and injected with something horrible, before he became a Howling Commado and almost died on a train.

Before he lost that part of himself.

His ma has returned to the stove, letting him think.

Bucky still worries, even though in practice they’d practically been a married couple for years, that he’s too much for her, that she deserved better.

He worries that he’s too broken, too poor, too little of everything to be what a good husband should be, to be worth the glittering soul of the woman he loves.

“Will she come for lunch? I was surprised she didn’t come with us this morning. I found another Romanian book I think would help her learn that I wanted to give her.”

Winnifred and Y/N had begun trading books, teaching each other their own language. Y/N more often than not went to church with his mother.

“She had a shift at the hospital,” he murmurs, tracing a whorl in the worn wood of the table, reminding him of that niggling thought always at the back of his mind. He’d never properly be able to provide for her. “That’s just it, ma. I can never give her the life she should have.” Y/N worked long hours, they both did. They scrimped and saved for every little thing. He was still broken on the inside sometimes, the fractured fissures that ran straight through the center of him still showing themselves at the oddest times.

Bucky still dreams of needles in his arm, dank labs, and a table with straps. He dreams of train cars and guns and blood. He dreams of a nurse with dark, serious eyes frowning at him as she dies in a muddy field.

The war had ended years ago, his stint as a prisoner of war several years before that.

And yet, his mind would not let him forget. Made him jump with the roll of thunder, sweat through nightmares of times long past.

How was he supposed to saddle Y/N with that permanently? At least now, if she realized, she could go without fanfare.

Not that he would deny her a divorce, but it would make it so much easier for her to leave if she didn’t have to deal with him at all.

She could escape him so much more easily if they weren’t married.

Would he be trapping her? In a life with a poor husband, with nightmares, with wounds that would never heal?

“What makes you think that Y/N wants an easy life?”

He glances up, his mother ladling warmed soup into two bowls. “What?”

Winnifred turns, sets a bowl of ciorba de burta in front of him, and holds out a spoon as she takes a seat across from him with her own bowl. “James Barnes,” she says, “This is the woman who volunteered to be a nurse in a war, who carried papers to the resistance when she was there, who came home and kept working. Who doesn’t take counsel from anyone except herself. Who was so loyal, she waited and looked for you for months, when by all logic she should have assumed you were dead. Who has now waited years for you to be…well enough to ask her and has demanded nothing of you in return. No promises.”

Bucky looks down and away at that, chastised.

He knows its true, knows how dangerous it can be for a woman, that she’d been taking a great chance with him all these years.

The memory of the outline of her shape behind the frosted glass of the bodega flits back to him, the relief he’d felt when she dove into his arms when he found her again after the war. How well she’s loved him since the moment they met in that field tent during the war.

“She loves you, Bucky. Can’t you see that, darling? She puts up with me and Becca. She’s learning Romanian for no good reason other than to talk to me. She’s learning how to cook our favorite dishes. She comes to church with me more often than not, and even though she doesn’t say it I know she’s not religious. She’s not doing these things for fun, she’s doing them because she loves you. If she was going to change her mind, she would have done it years ago. She wouldn’t have made the decision to choose you at all. I’m so glad she chose you when you were…shot,” her voice trembles and wavers around the word.

Bucky hadn’t known Y/N had told his mother that story, didn’t know they had found enough understood English and Romanian between them to convey that much.

“Don’t make her wait anymore,” Winnifred continues. “Don’t make that brave girl keep soldiering on with the way people talk about her, about the pair of you. You deserve her and she certainly deserves you. She already chose you a long time ago, it’s you she’s been waiting on.”

Bucky swallows against the lump in his throat, against the warmth of the sun at his back. He’s still amazed sometimes, that he got to come home. And he’s suddenly overwhelmed, that he’s sitting in his mother’s kitchen, eating homemade food, talking about marrying a girl that should by all accounts be fed up with him by now.

“Could I have your ring?” He asks, voice thick.

His ma pats his hand, “Of course. Of course you can, my son. If you think it's the right ring for her.”

Y/N’s not wearing a shirt when Bucky opens their bedroom door that evening.

He’d toed off his shoes by the front door and crept down the hall on silent feet, catching her at her most natural.

She’s already changed into a pair of his trousers, unbuttoned and cradling the curve of her hips in a way that makes him want to fall to his knees. She’s still wearing her bra, blouse discarded on the armchair in the corner.

As always, somehow, she still looks elegant, even half dressed in men’s clothes, she’s graceful with beauty.

Night has already settled over the city. The curtains and blinds are drawn, only the lamp by his bedside illuminating the room, casting a golden hue against her skin.

She turns from her place standing in front of their dresser where a mirror is propped up, plucking off her earrings, tiny golden hoops that shimmer in her hand. “Hey, sugar,” she smiles at him. “Thought you’d be home well before me.”

“Got ta talkin’ with ma,” he answers, hand on the doorknob, eyes drifting over her shape, at the delicate chain of the necklace he’d gotten her after a year together resting at the hollow of her throat. “Ya know how she can talk.”

“Oh sure,” dark eyes flick over him, lingering on his mouth for a moment before she turns back to the mirror, hip jutting out, all her weight resting on one foot. He feels a fond smile tug at his lips, knows she expected him to cross the room and kiss her, and is annoyed he didn’t. “You Barneses are a chatty bunch. Becca nearly talked my ear off on the phone yesterday.”

Her eyes are coy when she meets his gaze in the mirror briefly, arm twisting behind her back to unhook the clasp of her bra.

Bucky steps forward then, catches her fingers in his, brushing his hand against the line of her shoulders. “Lemme get that for you, honey,” he says, deftly unfastening the catch.

She leans back into him, silently happy, and tilts her head to the side to look back at him, “Missed ya today, kid.” Her eyes are appreciative as they flick over him, teasing.

As always, he fights the urge to duck his head, to blush against her attention, so open with her affection and appreciation of him. Bucky traces his hands down her arms, goosebumps rising in the wake of his touch, curling his fingers around her wrists briefly.

“Mm,” he murmurs, releasing her hands to tuck his arms around her waist, watching her in the mirror. Y/N slides the bra down her arms and tosses it on the same chair her blouse lies on. “Was wondering if you’d like ta go on a date with me next Saturday? Ya don’t have to work, right?”

She tilts her head to the side and closes her eyes when he presses a kiss behind her ear. Bucky watches her in the mirror, eyes flicking over the long column of her throat, the swell of her chest. “What’s in it for me?”

“I’ll fuck you real good after.”

A rare and unexpected laugh bubbles out of her, eyes flashing open to meet his. “Guess ya didn’t learn anything in church today then,” her voice is low, amused.

“Never. I’m past saving. And I already got someplace to worship.”

“And where’s that?”

Bucky kisses her neck, feels his heartbeat in his bones, and lets his hands drift up to cup her breasts. “Right here honey. I pray to you every night.”

“I do think that falls under blasphemy, Barnes,” she says, serious eyes appraising him, but arches into his touch all the same, covering his hands with hers.

“How was work?” He asks against the curve of her ear, inhaling the scent of rose dabbed on the nape of her neck.

She doesn’t immediately answer, and when Bucky glances up at the mirror he finds that her eyes have fallen closed and that she’s basking in the presence of him like a plant in light. Something inside him softens, and he moves his arms to curl around her hips again, holding her close. “Good,” she says, not opening her eyes. “I went to dinner with Peggy after. Did you get to eat?”

Y/N presses her fingers back into his ribs without turning, like she would be able to feel his lie, like she would be able to feel the food he did not eat.

“Had lunch,” he soothes. “Ma sent some leftovers with me for ya. She sent a book for you too. Romanian folk tales, I think.”

She hums with pleasure at the thought of a new book to devour before refocusing on him, “Lemme cook some dinner for you, honey. Then we can have a drink and smoke.”

“Vodka?”

“What else, kid?” She asks, finally opening her eyes to glance into his.

She pauses when she catches his gaze in the mirror, the serious pull of her brows returning, a frown tilting her mouth. “Somethin’ on your mind, Buck?” He shakes his head but she only narrows her eyes at him. “Mhm,” She turns in his arms, the warm length of her pressed against him. She pinches his chin between her forefinger and thumb, angling his head so she can meet his eyes head on. “Somethin’s going on. What is it?”

“Dunno what you’re talkin’ about, dahlin’.”

Y/N trails her hand down his chest, along the buttons of his shirt before stopping at his belt. “What are you hiding from me, James Barnes?” She sounds just a bit hurt.

They did not hide things from each other, not like this.

His heart gives a painful thump, even though he knows she has no reason to worry.

Bucky catches at her other hand, holding it to his chest. “Leave it alone, honey. You’ll know soon enough. Everything is okay.”

She pulls back, hooking her fingers into the belt loops of trousers. A worried crease pulls at her brow, her lips that serious frown that he loves so well. “Promise me this ain’t something bad, kid,” she says sternly.

Y/N moves her hand to cup his cheek, tilt his head down, demanding of him.

And he wants to melt into her, break down right in that moment and just do it. Just ask her the damn question.

But he doesn’t have the ring.

She presses her palm to the base of neck, forces him to keep his eyes on her.

Bucky loves her so bad in that moment, he wants to sink to his knees, absolved of every crime he’s ever committed, healed of every wrong ever done to him. The possessiveness that radiates from her, reminds him of who exactly he belongs to, makes him feel small in the best way, makes him feel safe.

But he must stay quiet for far too long, lost in the dark depths of those serious eyes, because her voice cracks when she says, “Bucky? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he says, must comfort her, must make her feel the same safety that he always feels. “Nothin’, sweetheart, I promise. It’s not bad. Lemme do this thing right, okay?”

She blinks, looking confused but soothed. “Okay. I trust you.”

“Thank god for that, dahlin’,” he knocks his forehead against hers, and then kisses her fingers when she traces his mouth. “Promise ya, doll, everything is okay.”

She nods, and he releases her when she tugs away, so she can find a shirt to slip over her head.

Bucky follows the sway of her hips down the hall, to the kitchen where she demands he sit, that she would fry him some eggs and toast.

Cashmere appears, calling out for a dinner that she had yet to receive, pouncing into his lap with a long purr when he sits at the table.

“Complainer,” Y/N accuses, stopping to scratch the cat behind the ears, before she presses the kiss Bucky never gave her to his mouth, touching the line of his jaw.

She’ll say yes, Bucky thinks. She really already has.

By the time Saturday rolls around, Bucky is anxious with worry.

He barely sleeps, and can’t relax enough to let Y/N lull the tension out of his bones as she usually does.

Of course, she notices the difference in him, but doesn’t comment on it. Trusting him, as he’d asked, knowing that he would share with her eventually.

Saturday afternoon finds him at the market, purchasing ingredients for dinner, flowers for his lady. An elderly woman helps him pick out the flowers, though he’s well seasoned at the task, having bought her many bouquets over the years.

“‘M askin’ my girl to marry me today,” he tells the woman, wrinkled, lined hands pausing in the tying of the ribbon around the stems of the bunch.

He’s not sure why he tells her, but her mouth pulls into a grin and she says, “Lucky lady.” The woman hands him the bouquet and pats his hands gently. “A handsome man like you? She won’t say no.”

Bucky certainly hopes that will be the case, that everything in Y/N’s life won’t come to a sudden terrible culmination in her mind that makes her turn tail and run.

He checks his pocket obsessively on his way home to make sure the ring is still there, hoping the emerald and gold of the family ring that his mother and Becca had convinced him to use, would be perfect for Y/N.

It's not strictly an engagement ring, but a family ring that had been passed down. His mother insisted he take it.

She’s reading when he makes it back to the apartment, propped up in the open living room window, afternoon sunlight bending around her, pooling on the floor where the cat stretches out, warming the hardwood and haloing her head.

Smoke curls away from her fingertips as she reaches for her cup of coffee, black and bitter, when she notices him.

Her eyes trace over him, before the corner of her mouth twitches. “Hey, kid.” She takes a drag on the cigarette, blows smoke out the window.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he smiles.

She stubs out her smoke and drops the bud before she picks the pencil out of the crease of her book and underlines something, folding the book closed with the pencil to mark her page. “Where are we headin’?”

Bucky winces as she ducks back inside, sliding the window shut behind her, before she brushes nonexistent wrinkles from her floral shirtwaist dress. Her hands are adorned with delicate rings, the ever present gold chain is around her neck. She wears a silk scarf over her hair today, secured at the back of her neck, a few loose pieces of hair framing her face.

He’d told her they would go out for their Saturday date, when a better idea had come to him that morning.

“You look beautiful, doll,” Bucky says, holding out the flowers to her. “But, uh, actually, I thought we could stay in instead. I want to cook for you.”

Her fingers pause, pressing into the cover of her book as she looks at him, butter yellow light tracing along her bare calves. “Sure Buck, we can cook somethin’ together. I think we have-,”

“No,” he interrupts. “I - sorry - I already got it all planned out, sweetheart. I wanna cook for you. Do somethin’ for you.”

Her eyes soften and she crosses the room to him, catlike in her grace, deftly stepping over Cashmere before pressing herself into his arm. “You do things for me all the time, sugar,” she plucks the bouquet from his hand, “Thank you for the flowers.”

Bucky doesn’t answer, heart in his throat, wondering if maybe he should have stuck to his original plan, taken her out to the nice Italian place down the road, dropped to one knee during dinner or the walk after.

But no, that isn’t really their way.

Their way is a quiet one, a personal, secluded one.

She’s still pressed against him, holding the flowers to her nose, lashes glowing in the rays of sunlight. He presses a finger under chin and tips her head up, nipping a quick kiss to her lips over the blooms.

Y/N touches the corner of his mouth with the tips of her fingers before pulling away, swaying to the kitchen to search for the much used vase for the flowers.

“Since I can’t help you cook, what should I do?” She asks, filling the glass with water at the sink, carefully arranging the flowers once it's filled.

“Just sit there and look pretty, doll face. Keep me company.” He sets the bag of groceries on the counter, flicks on the radio, and takes her hand in his, pulling her away from the vase to twirl around the kitchen.

She eyes him carefully, but doesn’t comment on his mood. Instead, she circles her arms around him, surreptitiously slipping her hands down his back to squeeze his ass.

Bucky laughs, kisses the tip of her nose, and pulls away, “None a tha’ yet, honey.”

“Later?”

“I promise. Now sit down and let me charm you.”

“You charm me everyday, kid,” she answers, plopping down at the table and unfastening some of the buttons at the top of her dress now that she knew they’d be staying at home.

He leans over her, one arm along the back of her chair, the other braced against the table. “You can go change if you want, baby,” he knocks his forehead against hers. “If ya wanna be more comfortable.”

“I dressed proper for a date,” she says, falsely prim. “I’ll stay this way thank you.”

She tilts her head up, chin jutting out.

Bucky presses his palm to the back of her neck, kisses her softly. “Well I do like that I get to see so much more of you here.”

She reaches out, tugs his shirt out of his trousers so she can graze her fingers along his stomach, nails digging into his skin.

“Quit that, dahlin’, or we’ll never get to eat.”

She doesn’t stop, fingers dancing to his belt. “But this is our date.”

“Yes, and I have somethin’ planned.”

“Fine,” she sits back. “I’ll behave for now.”

“Thank you,” he murmurs, despite feeling just a little disappointed that she hadn’t shoved him down and done what she liked with him anyways. Bucky kisses the side of her head and moves back to the counter.

Y/N speaks lowly to Cashmere behind him as she strikes a match, cigarette smoke drifting toward the ceiling. “I know,” she says as the cat meows at her. “Barnes is being strange today, I agree. I wonder if he brought us some wine though?”

He chuckles and without turning says, “Got it here. C’mere and I’ll pour ya some.”

She pads over on bare feet, curls into his side. “‘M I allowed to watch ya at least?”

“Sure.”

Her fingers drift across his back, head pillowing on his shoulder as he hands her a glass of wine.

Its been hours, and he still hasn’t managed to ask her.

They’ve moved to the fire escape now, the last dying rays of the sunset fading.

He’d meant to ask her once they were eating.

Then he’d told himself he would do it during dessert. Ice cream he had not planned for, but dug out of the freezer anyways.

Then when they had a shot of after dinner vodka.

Then when they were dancing in the living room to the slow tune on the radio.

And now it was the end of the evening, proper night about to set in and still, the ring was burning a hole in his pocket.

She leans back against the iron railing, absently fidgeting with the gold pendant of her necklace, her glass of wine held in one hand.

Bucky is smoking, watching the light dance across her eyes.

Now.

He should ask her now, while she’s sated with food and wine, relaxed and happy.

The radio is still on inside, another slow song drifting on the air.

Just as he’s about to open his mouth, she yawns and stretches. “Thank you for this, kid,” she murmurs, turning to take his hand in hers. “I think this is our best date yet. And now we don’t gotta go anywhere to fool around. We’re already at home.” She reaches out to him, hooking careful fingers into the collar of his shirt, gaze dark and warm.

Bucky resists the hands pulling him forward, feels the words kept inside him all afternoon and evening bubbling to the surface.

“Y/N,” he whispers, watching the breeze ruffle the sleeve of her dress. She pauses at the desperation clear in his voice. “Honey, will you marry me?”

He doesn’t mean to just come out with it.

There were words he wanted to say, things he wanted to tell her, before he asked.

He doesn’t even have the ring in his hand.

He’d wanted to go down on one knee.

Bucky had wanted to do this one thing so right with her, when everything else about them was backwards and mixed up.

He tugs away from her hastily, scrabbling in the pocket of his trousers for the ring, which, come to think of it, isn’t even in a box.

The ring emerges and he shoves it at her, holds it out, where it catches the last rays of the sun before it sinks behind the building across the street. Blue shadows creep over them.

Y/N is staring at him, mouth rounded in surprise, before her eyes blink down to the ring, emerald and gold.

“Oh,” she whispers.

And that’s all she says.

Bucky panics, feels every biting worry swim up the back of his throat. No, she would say yes. He’d believed that she would, and she would.

“Sorry for springing this on you, doll. I had so much I wanted to say to you. I was going to take you ta that Italian place and get down on one knee in the middle of dinner and then I realized that I would hate that and you’d hate it even more.”

He swallows and tries not to panic, tries to keep his voice even and steady. Y/N slowly reaches out and lies a hand against his thigh, curling her fingers into his pant leg. She leans forward to look at the ring, like she’s afraid to touch it. “And then I kept tryin’ ta ask ya all afternoon and it just never came out. But I’m askin’ now. And I guess all I have ta really say is that I love you. And that I’m sorry it took me this long to ask you.”

She meets his eyes then, scooting closer to him on the fire escape until her legs are folded over his lap. “Ask me again please.”

Relief floods through him.

She’s going to say yes.

Bucky reaches out with his other hand, touches her cheek carefully.

“Will you marry me, Y/N?”

“Yeah, kid, I’ll marry you.” She reaches up, cupping his face between her palms to kiss him hard, slipping forward onto her knees to press close to him, and Bucky has to tilt his head up to follow her lips, her tongue urgently prodding into his mouth. “I’ve been ready to marry you since the moment I - you stupid man, yes. Of course I’ll marry you.”

Bucky wraps an arm around her waist and tugs her tight against him. “Thank god for that, sweetheart,” he smiles, relief making him loose with warmth. “Want your ring or not?”

She pulls back just enough to be able to proffer up her hand, watching intently as Bucky slips the ring into place.

Somehow, it fits her perfectly.

“It was a ring ma’s mother gave her. Not her engagement ring but a family one.”

“Did you ask your ma about marrying me?”

“‘Course. Shoulda heard her berate me for even bringin’ it up.”

She holds her hand out, admiring the ring. “Let’s get married tomorrow.”

“Ah, c’mon now hon. Steve’ll cry if he doesn’t get to stand up at my wedding. Ma and Bex’ll kill both of us if we do it without them. You’ll want your folks there too.”

“Just me and you. We can have a proper wedding some other time-,”

Bucky presses a hand to her back, soothes his fingers down her spine. “I promise I won’t make you wait so long to get married, honey. Please let me enjoy the fact that you said yes.”

“Were you worried I wouldn’t?”

“Worried ya’d turn down a wreck like me? No. ‘Course not,” he tries to joke.

She peers into his eyes, a delicate frown tugging at her lips, before she suddenly pulls away, gathering up the wine glasses, the clasp of cigarettes and lighter, before dropping through the window.

Bucky curses, following swiftly, heart in his throat, clattering the window shut behind him so the evening chill doesn't creep in before he closes the blinds.

But when he turns, he finds the love of his life already circling her arms around him, shoving him down on the couch, fingers on the curve of his jaw.

Not upset, not running away, just luring him in where they wouldn’t be seen.

Normally, she would already have her hand down the front of his trousers. But tonight, she just presses her full weight into him and kisses him like he’s her last dying breath, possessive, demanding hands sliding up his chest, pressing into his biceps. Careful and needful and claiming all at once.

“I love you, kid. Don’t ever doubt me.”

“‘S not so much you as me that I doubt sweetheart,” Bucky tugs up her skirt, presses his hands against the bare backs of her thighs. “Thought maybe it would make you realize how permanent this is to me. Make you realize you deserve better.”

“I deserve exactly you. It's never not been permanent to me, honey. I was always goin’ to be right here. I deserve you and you deserve me, kid, I promise that’s always been true.”

Bucky watches her prop her elbows on his chest, admiring the ring on her finger, like she didn’t just tell him something earth shattering. “Feels really right. Like it’s always been there.”

“Was. You just couldn’t see it.”

She doesn’t look at him as she asks quietly, “Could you?”

The question, he knows, is important to her, but it really only has one answer, “Yes. For a very long time. Yes.”

#this is excellent 🤌#I need more 40s bucky on my dash 😩#40s bucky #fic reblog #bucky x reader

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domesticbucky · 2 years

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domesticbucky · 2 years

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𝒘𝒆 𝒇𝒆𝒍𝒍 𝒊𝒏 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒊𝒏 𝒐𝒄𝒕𝒐𝒃𝒆𝒓

🍂 summary ─ autumn knocking your door, it brings freshly brewed coffee smell, baked goods, smell of rain, cozy sweaters and love with itself.

🍂 pairing ─ farmer!bucky barnes x reader

🍂 warnings ─ fluff, autumn themes, coffee dates, bookstore dates, first kiss, softness, like sooo much softness, nothing explicit in this my friends, did i mention, fluFF

🍂 a/n ─ let me explain something: farmer bucky thing is like, it’s a family thing and he picks it up after his father. he grows stuff and sells them, but mostly he’s a handyman? he makes stuff, let it be leather or wood etc. bu i put the farmer bucky tag, alright? hoep you like it!!! i know i have another series to complete, shut up pls

🍂 parts:

1. SIGHT

2. STORE

3. PARK

4. MUFFIN

5. NOTE

6. STRAYS

7. BOOK

8. SWEATER

9. CHASTE

10. LOVING

11. PEACEFUL

12. HANDMADE

13. INTIMATE

14. FIREPLACE

15. TOGETHER

[playlist (not mine)]

#im back and so ready for this!#LOVE the farmer!bucky idea #bucky barnes x reader #fic rec

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domesticbucky · 2 years

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James 'Bucky' Barnes x Reader

Omegaverse Fairytale AU

Summary: Life in the village is simple and calm, except for the monster. There's always been a monster in the woods. When you discover your designation you find yourself hiding in the one place you always feared and the monster truly reveals itself.

Warnings: 18+, omegaverse, A/B/O dynamics, A/B/O & AU expectations (misogyny, enforced gender roles by other characters), missing/runaway teenagers, reader's mother hits her once, mention of domestic violence towards Bucky, minor 'baddie' character deaths, wounds, violence, blood, werewolf/shifter. Monstercuddling but not fucking, kissing, kids giving cheek kisses, sexual content, innocent/naive sex, virginity loss (m&f) including bleeding, unprotected sex, oral sex (m&f), small amount of cum play.

Reader is described as having flowers in her braided hair, the amount of braids and the way they're styled isn't mentioned. Please interpret the kind of braids and the amount however you like.

Credits: Dividers by @firefly-graphics . Beta read by the wonderful @christywantspizza who's been hearing about this fic for ages and has been very patient with me. For some reason I can't @ anyone at the moment so I'm sorry it hasn't linked.

Challenges: For square B1 'Wolf' of @buckybarnesbingo

A/N : I thought a lot about Angela Carter while I was writing this, particularly The Tiger’s Bride, so if you see similarities (mostly in the ending) then that’s why! It’s a short story and you can read it here - https://genius.com/Angela-carter-the-tigers-bride-annotated - if you like alternative fairy tales then I highly recommend The Bloody Chamber and it looks like a lot of it is free online now.

Masterlist | Bucky Bingo

There's been a monster in the woods for as long as you can remember.

Your mother always told you to stay away from the tree line, to stick to the middle of the field and be in before dark.

You toed through the wildflowers, the dry grass, the mud, the snow until the flowers came back. Taking the safe route year after year after year.

It wasn't difficult to stay close. Your village had everything you needed and sprawled across the hillside to the left of your house and the low fields to the right, before it gave way to a harsh line of trees that denoted the start of the fabled woods. In the winter, it filled with glorious, bright white snow and in the summer it radiated with vibrant reds, blues and yellows of the wildflowers. Now it was the end of spring, the yellow daffodils nodding over the mill pond had faded, dropping into the water, ready to be seen again the following year. It was the in-between time, and you loved it.

But it always made you think of the woods.

Whenever anyone strayed too close to the dark trees, your mother would gather all the children around and tell a tale, the tale of a boy who went too close, who explored the shadows and secrets trapped in the branching fingers and never returned.

James had gone to the same school as you, though he was a year older, and his story had followed you ever since. James was destined to be an Alpha, strong willed, fierce, powerful and protective. He held a sway over all of your classmates long before his Presentation year.

Despite the interest of all the children, he had a small group of close friends, classmates that had been by his side for years. James differed any natural authority he had to his best friend, Steven, preferring instead to hide about in the fallow fields, teasing the girls with flowers and mistletoe in turns as much as playing rough with the boys. You were drawn to him from the start, a childish crush flourishing under his bright eyes and cocky smile. Thankfully, your older sister was much the same with Steven, trailing after him with the cakes and pastries she baked with your mother, petting his hair and caring for him when he was sick, which was often in his younger years and taking you with her.

Though they were firm friends, both boys were very different. Where James was calculated and cautious in his actions, Steve was reckless. Believing he wasn’t destined for Alpha status, he decided to prove himself in other ways, allowing himself to be drawn into dangerous situations, helping James to protect the others, even against his friends' wishes. Until, one day, at the end of spring, before the summer began, he was inevitably drawn to the edge of the woods.

You didn’t need to hear your mother’s story to know what happened next, you were there, you saw in slow motion how the older children goaded him. How the boys teased the youngest girls until they cried, throwing their straw dolls and ribbons into the trees. None of the boys could take it, seeing their playmates cry, but they didn’t approach. Not until Steven did.

The summer air was sucked out of the sky when Steven stepped over the threshold into the dark. His hair went from golden shine, to dry straw without the warming sun, his body dipping between the silver trees, searching for the precious lost items. James followed without hesitation, grabbing onto Steven and shoving him back into the light. The girls fell upon Steven, hugging him and taking back their treasures. But you watched the trees, seeing a flash of something deep in the shadows, but James did not reappear. And he never had. But then, neither had the monster.

Rolling your eyes as your mother finished telling the story for the upteenth time, you turned back to the shard of mirror propped against the wall. Tomorrow would be your Presentation, a yearly festival in the liminal space between the fertility fâtes of spring and the celebrations of plenty in the summer. Presentation brought together all the young people coming of age and celebrated their youth and promise, but crucially, their designation. For many their designation was obvious early in their childhood, others were surprised.

Each year, when a villager came of age, they attended the Presentation and discovered whether they'd be a Beta or, for the chosen ones, Alpha or Omega. As adults, they would then be free to ask for a match and, for the higher designation, the chance to leave the village in search of others.

Your sister had always seemed to be a perfect Omega and, last year, you were proved right.

It had been Steven's Presentation too. You had all been shocked to discover that he had been an Alpha all along. The only Omega was your older sister, who you assumed had dutifully followed Steven. Both of them had vanished without a trace, seen at one moment dancing around the bonfire, celebrated by the whole village, and the next they were merely a memory.

Your mother had assured you they’d gone together to be true mates in the world beyond the hills and villages you knew. But you weren’t so sure. Your sister may not have been a close friend, but you loved each other, and she did not write or send word, leaving you with a deep feeling of unease.

Being an Omega could be your only route to adventure, but what would be the cost of leaving?

The Presentation ceremony started with a loud pop, the bonfire bursting into life around you bringing back memories of the year before. Your sister had danced with the other women, dressed in white muslin and coloured ribbons, flowers threaded through their braided hair. Your sister had approached Grandma, the oldest woman in the village and knelt before her, supplicant, showing the back of her neck with its frame of forget-me-nots. Grandma bent over her, pressing her cheek down onto her neck and inhaling.

In a flash of dancing and drums, singing and swaying in the hazy evening light it became your turn. The village watched on, expectant, and you knelt as your sister had. Grandma was seldom seen outside of her low hut at the toll booth by the bridge. She kept watch across all inhabitants and carefully studied the visitors, allowing only those she had chosen to be mated outside and no visitors in. It was her gift that she could smell all scents, even when you couldn’t yourself.

The women before you had smelt of nothing more than lavender soap and straw and you bowed your head hoping you were the same. You didn’t want a mate yet, you wanted love and care, kisses and caresses, but not a mate. Freedom and excitement, not a life of drudgery.

Grandma inhaled and paused, turning to look at your mother, whose hands had been clasped over her heart, praying to the gods for another Omega.

“Strawberries and plums. An Omega.” She declared, shaking petals over you. Your mother cheered, rushing to embrace you. She smelt as the others did, straw, lavender, milk, bread, panic rose inside of you like a tide, pulling you away and distancing you from the light of the bonfire.

No. No. This wasn’t right. It wasn’t what you wanted. You wanted to be a Beta, to be free to live your life quietly in the village. Staggering backwards you tripped away from the commotion your mother was making and towards the permanently fallow field next to the woods. You would hide there for a while, before you had to face the world. But they followed.

Grandma led you mother across the clipped grass of the livestock enclosure and over the style to your hiding place. Between the poppies, you held your breath, backing up slowly, dragging your white dress through the dirt until you felt soft, damp, mulch beneath your feet.

“My darling, we just want to celebrate with you.” Your mother called. “Grandma can help you find the right match!”

No, no, no. You shook the flowers from your hair, glancing up to the night sky, begging the gods to protect you from them. But there were no stars to align, just a canopy of trees.

Beyond the canopy the dark sky rumbled, clouds gathering and hiding the stars away.

With a start you jumped up, unsure whether to run into the woods and risk meeting the monster or to return to your village and the life they seemed to have already planned for you. A howl tore through the air and you yelped, running, unsure of the direction or the destination, but running as fast as you could. The mulch beneath your feet got deeper, slippery without boots or stockings to aid you.

The close, early summer evening felt thick, clouds, stormy in the gaps between the trees, releasing fat, warm raindrops.

Searching for shelter, you aimed for a cluster of smaller trees and bushes. The branches closed in, deeper, deeper, grabbing and tearing your dress until you touched soft fur. Confused, your hands clenched, digging in. Yellow eyes opened, sending you skittering away from the snarling teeth of a huge white wolf, glistening under the full moon. In any other situation, you may have found the creature beautiful.

Then it growled, low and hungry, shoulders and head bowed to the ground as it approached, locking its gaze. The wolf opened its huge jaws, letting out another piercing howl before leaping through the air and knocking you down.

You woke to the sound of humming and the smell of porridge, gentle rain on a slate roof and wind whistling through tin. Bleary eyes focused on your surroundings, taking in the single room with a fire opposite, soft blankets surrounded you in a modest straw bed. But you were not alone.

By the fire, facing the flames, sat a tall, scarred man. His hair hung down to his shoulders, roughly cut and matted in places, on one side was a streak of white, all the brighter for the darkness of the rest of his mane. The man's clothes were faded and worn, but well cared for with neat stitches joining the rips and tears.

He turned, his clear blue eyes a startling contrast to his grubby face and clothes. You blinked again, looking up and meeting his gaze.

“You’re awake.” The man’s voice was rough, but not unkind, as if it’d been a long time since he’d spoken to someone.

You nodded, unable to form any words in the face of a morning so strange.

He regarded you quietly, searching your face, “You must be hungry, there’s porridge in the pot.” His right hand pointed to the small iron cauldron, hung over the open fire and gently bubbling.

Cautiously, you left the snug nest you had slept in and crossed the room, acutely aware of your torn muslin shift.

“I can get you clothes, while you eat.” He stood, motioning to take his place on the single chair. So you sat, eating your porridge in silence and watching the man move around the room. There was something familiar in his gait and the lilt of his voice, although he lent slightly to the right now, favouring that side and that arm, keeping the left to smaller, simple tasks.

When you finished, you rinsed your bowl using a bucket of water by the door and set it back on the shelf by the fireplace. The man met you on the other side of the fire, holding out what looked to be his only other pair of trousers and a large white tunic with a brown leather ribbon laced through the collar.

“Thank you.” He turned, letting you dress and then began to fidget with his left hand, picking at his fingernails. “I hope you don’t think this is impertinent. But I feel that we’ve met before?”

The man nodded, “We have, many years ago I wondered if you'd remember me” He turned back then, and smiled, brushing the hair back from his face and you saw it in the way his nose scrunched and his eyes crinkled.

James.

You reached out, unable to help yourself, and cupped his dirt smudged cheeks. “It can’t really be you, the monster, it took you!”

“The monster and I, we came to an arrangement,” he teased, more open now that he knew you weren’t frightened of him. “It’s not so bad, dealing with the monster, you must know, there are more things to be afraid of than the woods.” With a grin he turned and kissed your palm, making you laugh and pull away.

Now that he had confirmed it, it was impossible not to see James in everything he did. It was a relief, a relief a decade in the making, to know that he was safe and well, mostly unharmed by the monster. He had recognised you almost immediately and was ecstatic that you remembered him at all, concerned that the few childish years you’d spent together had been consigned to memory.

“The monster did get me a little, though,” he admitted, lifting his left arm by the elbow. “But it’s just a battle wound.” The wound in question overtook his whole arm, gnarled in places with teeth marks and badly healed scars, it peeked around the hem of his shirt and made his actions on that side slightly awkward. He fumbled his fingers more, but was otherwise well and healthy.

“What is it, the monster?” You asked, rapt, watching him poke at the small fire.

“The monster? It doesn’t come here anymore, I believe it to be dead, for the most part.”

“For the most part?”

“Worry not.” He bounced up, heading for the door. “Do you want to come with me? It is lonely out here, you can keep me company today.” The wooden door creaked open and you rushed to hide behind the chair.

“You’ll let the monster in!”

“I shan't. Come now, I’ve been here for years and sustained only minor injuries. The monster dare not bother us, we’ll be fine.” He crouched down next to you and pushed you to your feet, guiding you out of the door and into the dappled light of the forest.

Once outside, you wondered how you could ever have thought of the woods as scary, the light caught each leaf and flower perfectly, creating interest everywhere you looked. The morning rain gave way to a bright, sunny, afternoon, highlighting the edges of the trees with tiny drops of light. Splashes of mauve, lilac and lavender appeared between the dried leaves and twigs, making a carpet of colour for you to follow.

James spent the day showing you the woodland around his cottage, a dilapidated and forgotten little thing at the edge of a ring of oaks. It had a roof of slate, overgrown with moss and ivy and a climbing flower with five jolly pink petals that nestled in the rich green and red leaves. The woodland itself was magical, full of animals and surprise, deer darted across hidden clearings, leaving only the fluttering of flowers in their wake and an enraptured smile on your face.

“They’re beautiful,” you whispered, clutching tightly to Bucky’s shirt, still a little worried that the erant monster could come and snatch you away.

“They’re called Deer,” he whispered back. “Do you want to meet one?”

You nodded enthusiastically and he smiled back, indulgent and pleased to entertain you.

“Be very quiet.” Slowly, he stood, letting the young deer acknowledge him before stretching his hand out in greeting. The deer approached slowly and then, as if realising who it was that had greeted him, it leaped forwards and allowed James to pet him. “This is a young deer, it’s called a Buck.”

The buck nuzzled into James’ side and you tentatively reached out to pet it as well. It was soft and warm, its heartbeat wild under your touch and then, as soon as it had arrived, it ran off again into the dense trees.

“You can speak to them, James!” It seemed unnatural that he could gain such a flighty creature’s trust, and yet he had, and so quickly.

“No,” he laughed, “but we are both of the woods and he sees that. We have common ground here, we are friends, not foes. We don’t need speech to say that, we show it with our actions.”

“And what actions gain the friendship of the deer?” you asked, as James led you back through the foliage, searching as he went for berries and mushrooms.

“Protection, care, affection, understanding. I provide them with security and, in return, they give me their friendship. I don’t hunt deer as the others do.”

“Others?”

“From the next village, they hunt them at the edge of the woodland, so I make sure they stay afraid of the monster.”

He stopped, bending down to a wild strawberry plant and gathered a few ripe berries.

You sat down next to the plant, picking a single strawberry for yourself, but he took it from you, rinsing it with some water from his flask and plucking the stray leaves from the top. With shaking fingers he held it out to you and, despite sitting at his feet, you felt a deep sense of security. When you didn't take the fruit, he sat next to you, offering the fruit again, gently and shyly as he had with the deer. With a tip of your head you lent forwards, wrapping your lips around the fruit and biting down, the juices running over your lips and onto his fingers.

Perhaps it was just the fruit, but James felt an overwhelming sense of peace, the scent of the wild strawberry cocooning him when you pulled away, eyes locked to his, and licked the juice from the corners of your mouth.

When you entered the cottage again it had been warmed by the day’s sun and the banked fire, although the night was now drawing in and you were starting to feel worried about leaving the safety of your village home.

“Stay here a little longer.” James suggested, offering his bed and food to share again for the night.

“Where will you sleep?” You looked about the room, but its straw mattress was the only bed available.

“I - I have forgotten my manners, being alone so long. I was going to sleep next to you, as I did last night." You felt the hot rush of embarrassment flood you at his words, he had slept next to you last night and you hadn't even noticed. "But I can sleep on the floor, there is plenty of warmth.” He pointed to the earth. “After we’ve eaten, I’ll arrange the blankets."

“No! No, don’t. I have already run away from my home, I can hardly be more in trouble than I am now. We can share the bed.” He smiled and nodded. “On one condition, though.”

“Anything you wish.” He bowed theatrically, teasing you with his exaggerated manners. “For a lady, so kind as to share my own bed with me.” You swatted at him but returned his laughter.

“We should wash, I have mud for shoes and you…” You trailed off, unsure of how to politely express that it appeared as if he hadn’t washed since you last saw him many years ago.

“Perhaps you’re right, I have no warm water though, just a little from over the fire. There’s a stream, a way back from here…”

“Agreed.”

While he remembered your face, he seemed to have forgotten your taste for adventure, the afternoons you’d spent splashing in the brook that ran through the village, before he had been taken and you were once more tied to your mother’s apron strings.

"Agreed? It's cold." James cooked his head to the side, his hair falling in his face.

"I know it's cold. You think me some sort of princess?"

He stared at you, haloed by the evening light, gleaming on your cheeks and making your hair shine. Your clothes, despite being his and being dirty, gave you a graceful appearance, swathed as you were in the colours of his home. You had even replaced the flowers in your hair, giving a few over to his unruly mop as well.

After years spent mostly alone, yes, he did. Instead of answering he simply left the cottage, unsure of how to explain himself, leading you to a clear stream in viewing distance from the cottage.

James pulled his shirt over his head, used to bathing in the cold waters with no one around to view him, and dropped it on a rock at the edge of the water.

You were more cautious, paddling in to your ankles and splashing water on your exposed skin. When you looked back up, James had stripped out of his trousers too, facing away from you and sat happily rubbing at the dirt on his arms and legs. He looked as if he belonged to the surrounding trees, his hair wild and shaggy, but his countenance relaxed, turning to face the fading sunset when it peeped through the trees.

When he stood and turned you couldn't help your squeak of surprise, quickly averting your gaze.

"Are you okay? I thought you wanted to wash?" He asked. The swirling mud and sloshing of water letting you know he was closer now.

"Yes, I did, it's only that - uhm. I have never seen - I - I'm unmarried, James, I have only sisters - " he caught on to your ramblings quickly and laughed, tugging his shirt on to cover himself. It clung to the damp patches of his chest and did little to curb the feeling of warmth inside of you.

"Is this better, my lady?" He bowed, the neckline of his tunic gaping and letting you see his chest again.

"Y-yes." You'd stuttered.

"You needn't be so worried though," he sat in the shallows, toying with the pebbles he found there, "No one comes in here, you can dress and behave as you like. I have no rules and the animals wish only to be left alone."

He raised his eyebrows, looking at your clean legs, but dirty breasts and hair.

"I could not possibly!" You shouldn't, but the thought of the gentle evening sun on your skin, the water cleansing you of the Presentation, it felt tempting.

"I'll leave you, I promise." James ran a hand over his hair, little leaves settling in the damp strands.

"Let me wash your hair first. Then, perhaps, I will accept your offer of privacy." You sat behind him, scooping the clean water of the brook up and over his injured shoulder into his hair, working the mud and debris out carefully. As you worked on the knots and tangles a soft smell of woodbine and honey surrounded you, it was inviting and fresh, alluring. It made you feel warm again, a strange tingle in your stomach, butterflies taking flight and making you dizzy.

By the time you were finished, James was shivering, but clean and happy, telling you about the other animals he knew in the woods, the rabbits and foxes, the owls at night, how he had gained the trust of some and a begrudging respect from others. Relaxing into the water, you let your hands run up under the tunic, washing the speckles of mud from your chest. James watched you, the gentle movement of your hands and the rise and fall of your body.

As much as you felt the innocent, here in his home where he knew so much, James felt worse. He hadn't truly spent time with a woman since he was a boy, catching only glimpses now that he was a man.

He spent precious little time outside of his woodland home and when he did it was only with the men of the other village. Suddenly he had an ethereal presence in his home, his bed, bathing in front of him and sharing her ways. Neither of you were the children you used to be, pressing chaste kisses on cheeks, you were a woman now. And he was a man. In that moment James believed he was every bit the Alpha his family had hoped he would be. He felt a familiar stirring, deep inside of him, and an unfamiliar need to put his hands and mouth on you in ways that made his cheeks pink. Instead, he looked away, acutely aware of how intimate you'd both been with each other already and ashamed that he'd forgotten so many of his father's words.

When you were done, there was only a hint of pink lingering in the horizon, dark blue taking over the sky and hurrying you back to the cabin. The damp cling of the summer night gave you chills, reminding you of the dangers buried somewhere within the woods.

"James, let's be back in your cottage now, please." He held his left elbow out to you, attempting to show you some of the manners he wished he remembered. Instead of the delicate, feminine glance of your fingertips that he expected, you grabbed at his arm, clinging to him. "What if it gets us, the monster?"

"I told you, the monster never comes here. You're shaking like a little rabbit!" James wriggled his arm free and wrapped it around your shoulders instead, tucking your cheek against his chest. "Are you cold?"

"I'm scared!"

"Oh little rabbit, when did you get so frightened of everything?"

He led you back into the house and began cutting some of the mushrooms you'd found that afternoon, along with an assortment of vegetables from the kitchen garden.

"I watched you vanish, James, why didn't you come back?"

Without turning he answered, quietly, "I could never return to my family after - after - seeing the truth of the woodland. They would marry me off, or send me away."

"I understand." You nodded, lying back on the bed. "My mother wants Grandma to find me a mate."

He stopped then, setting the knife down and facing you.

"You had your presentation?" He swallowed thickly, sure of what you would say next, sure since he smelt you mixed with the wild strawberry.

"Yes, Omega. Everyone is very happy and proud, as if that's worth anything to me."

"I see."

"Did you go to the Presentation in the other village?"

"Oh, no, they don't do that." He went back to chopping in an attempt to dodge your next question.

You didn't really need to ask, it had always been clear what James would be and his scent, despite being that off the woods, was still clearly that of an Alpha.

"Oh. How odd."

James nodded, "It's really our village that is odd, little rabbit, you'll learn that the longer you stay out here."

"I can't stay out here forever, I'll return home tomorrow." Not that you really wanted to, but what could you do? Eventually you'd meet the monster and that would be the end of you.

"I'll show you back to the edge of the woods, but you'll have to go the long way around."

You agreed and settled into companionable silence until dinner, eating your stew by the fire and sharing stories of your childhood together. By the time you finished, it was pitch dark outside, only the glistening moon peeking through the curtains and you were bone tired, yawning and leaning against the warm hearth.

"Time for bed." James announced, standing and dropping his hand for you to take. He took his trousers off, hanging them over the wooden clothes horse he had placed your, now clean, dress on.

You did the same, nervously pulling your tunic down in an attempt to cover yourself, but too tired to be self conscious. You eyed each other, chewing on your bottom lip, then laughed. How silly to be nervous of someone you have known since you were children. Being Alpha and Omega meant nothing, he was still kindly and honourable, despite his slightly rougher manners. There was nothing to be afraid of or embarrassed about.

James held the blankets open for you to crawl into the middle of the bed, curled together like the rabbits he had shown you.

The darkness made you bold and, before you could become nervous again, you asked the question that had burnt inside you since James said he had been to the other village.

"James?"

"Yes."

"Do you know if my sister is safe? Is she with Steven?"

James stayed quiet for a while, thinking, and then from the quiet came the answer you didn't want. "I, I can not know for sure"

"Oh."

James lapsed back into silence, but awkwardly picked at the blankets.

"I saw them, though. With Grandma, it must have been after their Presentation, judging by their dress. They were asleep, they went through the woods and I followed them to - I avoid the place unless, it's, I avoid it - she left them there, Grandma, in the back of her cart."

You turned on your side and gripped James' hand, "Did you wake them?"

"Yes, I woke them and they seemed confused, I walked with them to the far edge of the woods and they ran to the next village. But I haven't seen them since."

You lay in silence again, contemplating what he'd told you.

"Why would she leave them there?"

"She isn't the woman you think she is. You must never go with her." He said seriously, squeezing your hand.

"James, why?"

"I've seen her before, between spring and summer, she comes into the woods and brings a couple. Then she leaves. Please, that truly is all that I know." He turned away, slow tears rolling down his cheeks at the memories of it. Each time Grandma came and left a couple for years, it happened. Until he stopped it.

James twitched his arm, allowing you to snuggle against his back for warmth. Drifting into a dreamless sleep.

The next day brought rain, this time it lashed against the treetops that sheltered you from the worst of the storm. James stood by the door and shook his head when you suggested trying to walk back to the village.

"And let you get sick? No, I'll take you back tomorrow."

You spent the day helping James, never straying far from the cottage during breaks in the rain. He showed you the animals, as he had before, and went out to collect dry wood from a store he had below an exposed rock by the stream.

That night you stayed with James, wrapped in the safety of his bed. Each morning for two weeks you would suggest leaving and James would find a reason for you to stay despite your increasingly weak protests. Then you’d spend the day together. Each night, you climbed into bed, getting closer and closer. It was becoming harder to ignore the innate desire that was taking over you. Determined to quash your Omega traits, you fought it as best you could, allowing yourself to indulge only in your dreams.

Beside you, James fought off his own instincts. You both tossed and turned until the stars had taken over the sky, the moon was gone, hiding for a while before it would return, waxing its sideways smile and illuminating the night again. All you could hear was the babbling of the brook, the animals asleep in their dens save for the owl nesting in the overhanging oak.

James turned to you, inhaling the scent of strawberries and summer, allowing sweet woodbine to wash over you. That feeling was back, deep and aching, making you damp between your thighs and hot all over. James felt much the same, except his arousal was more evident by the hardness now pressed against the back of your thigh.

“James.” You sighed into the night, unsure of how to express these new feelings. No boy in the village had ever made you ache like this, the only emotion that came close was the childish way your heart fluttered when, hiding behind the barn after your tenth birthday, eleven year old James had kissed your cheek as a gift.

“I’m sorry, this is undignified for you and I’m rude. It’s just that, you smell so -” He broke off, nuzzling your neck, inhaling deeply and sighing in response. “You smell perfect and then, it seems to have a mind of its own." He looked down at his body, his cock twitching in response.

You rolled over in his arms and nudged your nose against his cheekbone, past the shell of his ear to the soft spot where his neck and shoulders met. Breathing him in you felt another rush of warmth.

"I feel the same. It's my fault, James. Grandma said I'm an Omega, you must be an Alpha."

James nodded, he didn't need Grandma to tell him about his status, that was clear every new moon. Something wild and deep inside of him howled and clawed to get out. He paused, the night he had found you was the full moon, bright and glowing, lighting his way to the commotion at the edge of the woodland. Counting on his fingers he found his way to day fourteen, the new moon, tonight. The howling inside of him made his ears ring, he could hardly hold himself back from touching you now, his desire a raging fire, devouring him inside out.

"Your heart, it's beating so fast." You sighed, warm palms against his bare chest. This close you could feel the thick scar that ran from his hip to his shoulder, crossing his heart and joining the painful, tight, skin on his left arm.

"So is yours, little rabbit." He huffed, one hand now inside of your tunic, flush between your breasts, heaving with every ragged intake of breath. You felt it too, the earthly pull to each other that you didn't quite understand. "I want," he gasped, "I want to feel you, all of you, if you'll let me."

His hand explored your skin, skimming over your hip and thigh but stopping short of where you truly needed him.

"I want that too, want you to touch, it hurts so deeply, I need you," you pleaded, guiding his hand between your thighs, helped by the slick that so readily appeared each time you thought of him, and he cupped you, his palm soothing against your heated skin.

"You're wet!" he exclaimed. "Are you hurt?"

"It hurts, but it feels good too."

"Good, good." He nodded, "Do you want to feel me?" His tone was hopeful and you snatched your opportunity before he could withdraw it, desperate to feel his body as he had yours.

He took your hand and placed it over his heart, allowing you the time to feel how the years of hard work had sculpted him. Lower and lower, your hand found a dip in his muscles, leading you between his legs to his cock. You had glimpsed it, when you bathed together in the brook, and even then it had been shocking. Now it must be twice the size, rigid yet velveteen, and he too had a wetness leaking from him. You lifted your hand away to look at it, but it was translucent on your fingertips and then you licked it. Salty, but with a sweetness like honey that lingered on your tongue.

James watched you, his eyes flashing in the dark.

"You tasted me, why?" His voice was gravelly again, like he was holding something back.

"I was just curious, I suppose."

He did the same, licking his whole palm and then groaning with joy, "You taste like strawberry and plum and peaches and-" he dived beneath the covers and buried his head between your legs, licking and sucking at the delicate skin on your thighs, brushing his nose against your wet folds.

The sensation was as nothing you had felt before, tingling your skin and making your body jump with surprise.

He slurped as if eating a ripe peach and resurfaced with his face shining in the starlight, surprising you so much you laughed. Launching yourself at him you licked his cheek, overcome with an animal urge to be as close to him as possible, to taste not just his honey but his skin, his mouth. You licked him again and again until he was kissing you, holding you to him, your bodies aligned and coated with your mingled scent.

"I need you, I need you," he chanted, he pawed at your tunic, pushing it over your head so that you could feel each other’s skin.

You had only seen animals behave like this, and their habits didn't seem to be comfortable or to allow for the intimacy you craved with James. But you moved nonetheless, lying on your front and advising him to lay on top of you, you crooked your leg, opening yourself up to him and he understood, sliding into your tight heat. Now the pain was different, sharp and stinging when you stretched around him and you fought against it.

Panicked, James pulled away and looked down at you, touching you gently, his fingers came away bloody.

"You're bleeding! I hurt you, my little rabbit, I knew I'd hurt you eventually." He rambled, backing further from you until he almost tumbled to the floor and you turned over to face him.

"It only hurt a little, but it made the ache go away." You tried to assure him, and touched your lower stomach, fingers brushing the soft curls below and down between your legs. "I - I liked it, I think it's supposed to be like this."

James approached again, leaning over you and your breath caught. You needed him again. As soon as he was close, you couldn't help yourself. He must have felt the same, kissing you fiercely and lowering his weight down until you were once more moulded together.

This time, you remained facing each other and James took his time, easing into you, finding a slow and steady rhythm to satisfy you both. The ache in the pit of your stomach was tamed into a calming glow of satisfaction, tingling in your fingers and toes, then it started again, building in waves and crashing over, snatching the air from your lungs.

James choked above you, his eyes wide in shock, filled with lust. The rhythm he had kept faltered and his thrusts became wild, rutting into you with abandon before going rigid, groaning into your neck, kissing your cheek and ear, panting hard.

When you'd both recovered you used what little water you kept in the cottage to clean yourself. There was only a trickle of blood and it didn't hurt anymore, mostly you were covered in the same translucent substance you'd discovered between each other’s thighs before.

James tucked you back into bed, naked now and less afraid of his urges to touch and caress you. "I didn't realise it was the same for you, for women," he admitted, cupping your breasts, thumbing your nipples as if simply fiddling with a stray thread.

"The same?" You were distracted by the sensation, intimate and teasing, building a soft sense of the same tension you'd felt earlier.

"That you could get that feeling, the release."

"You've felt it before?" You asked, intrigued by the new sensations you'd discovered together and he laughed.

"Yes, when I'm alone, it's…enjoyable. But more so on the new moon, I think it's because of who we are."

"Because we like each other." You blurted out and then went hot and cold, worried that James didn't feel the same.

"A little because we like each other," he pressed a reassuring kiss to your cheek, "but more because we're Alpha and Omega. I think there's something about it, a cycle."

"My mother told me, it's called heat for me and rut for you. Maybe that's it."

"Well, it was my favourite rut." He kissed the back of your neck, rubbing his nose there until your scent filled the room again.

"Have you…with others?"

"No! No, of course not. I have never wanted to be with others."

"I have never wanted to either."

You smiled, snuggling into the blankets and falling into a sleep filled with images of James.

Your bedfellow did not sleep, torn by his instincts to keep you close and the need to send you away for your own protection. As an Alpha, he longed for an Omega, it was his birthright, something he had always been prepared for.

Though his father had embellished the need for control and direction, James had always looked forward to having an Omega of his own to care for and love. He didn’t desire the enforced submission and worship that his father insisted on, there was far more to be gained from having a partner in life. Just as he befriended the herd of deer, he hoped to establish love and trust in his Omega and be loved in return.

Watching you sleep in his bed, he understood that you were all he could ever want, he only wished you didn’t have to return to the village, but he knew that you did, and that tomorrow, he would let you.

The sun rose through the trees in dapples and halos of light, a glorious summer day without a cloud in the sky, yet James was living under a storm cloud.

As usual, you would wake and suggest he walk you back to the village and today he would agree.

“But, James…” you paused, “You said you would need to dig over the next plot of your garden, wouldn’t you sooner have the help?”

Inside he nodded, he shouted, he screamed his agreement, but he shook his head.

“It’s time for you to return, I need you to forget that you saw me out here,” he said seriously.

"What if I can't forget you?" You wrapped your arms around his waist, pressing your nose into his chest, "Did we not share everything with each other?"

"We did." He held you by the shoulders, distancing himself, bile rising when he understood what he'd taken from you. He wasn't naive to the ways of the elders that surrounded you, their understanding of the world aligned with the farmer and his cattle and now he had spoiled you when he was unable to keep you.

"I've already miscounted the days until the new moon and put us both in danger. I can't miscount again."

"There's twenty-eight days until the new moon returns, I'll count, I have other rhythms in the lunar cycle to aid me."

"And I have other concerns about the lunar cycle outside of your comprehension," he snapped, eyes flashing. "You cannot stay here."

You jumped back, angry and hurt. "Fine," you snarled. "I'll go now." Storming through the trees, it occured to you that you didn't know your way home. James hung back, loping after you and coughing when you took the wrong turn and trying to point out easier routes.

"Go away!" Your shout sent the birds flying up through the trees.

James held back, "I'm just trying to protect you."

"Then why didn't you bring me back straight away? Why did you keep me?"

"I was selfish and lonely," he admitted.

"And now?"

"The moon, the full moon, I need you gone by then and I can't risk you distracting me from the count. How do you not see that I am trying to protect you?"

"I thought we were friends, I thought you liked me being with you, you showed me everything and now you're taking it away."

You stomped on the branches under your feet. "You have sent me back to be sold off like cattle, some mate for an Alpha who cares little for me and my feelings. But I suppose you have no love for me either."

You broke through the thick trees to the saplings at the treeline, expecting him to defend his feelings, to show you some of the love you had felt the night before.

The sun was hot, hotter than you remembered and made you feel tired so much faster than the cooling breezes and filtered beams of James' home.

You looked back, but there was nothing but a glimpse of white, fading into the shadows.

Your mother was happy to see you again, parading you back out into the village as soon as you'd crossed the threshold, scrubbing you clean and dressing you up.

"Mama, please." You batted her away when she fussed with your ribbons and patted at your hair. "Really, this is unnecessary."

"You ran away from your ceremony, you should see Grandma again," she insisted, her nails pinching your wrist where she held you tight against her side. “You will be matched and mated and behave like a proud Omega.”

It took her but a week to arrange an audience with Grandma, darning your torn muslin by the fire while she admonished you every night. You were to be matched by the woman, sent away from the village to fulfil your duty, like your sister.

You dwelled on the comparisons your mother made to your sister, perfect even in her absence.

"She vanished, mother, how would you know that she's fulfilling her duty?" Your scathing comments earnt you the back of her hand and a string to your cheek.

"Grandma has told me she's safe, she saw to it herself, you were too young to understand and I will not have you questioning me." She tugged harder, dragging you down the streets, past the shuttered homes of the families that would no longer look at you, through the village square, where the red and white patterns of the maypole remained neatly knotted together in celebration of this year's Presentation. Finally, to the crooked toll booth, overlooking the bridge into the village.

Below the bridge, the stream ran low, revealing the roots of the wild orchids that lined its banks. You couldn't help but wonder if James had bathed in the same water, if he had dipped his pail in and sloshed his way back to his cottage as you had when you were staying with him.

Grandma stood in the doorway, peering out, eyes darting across to the woods and back and then examining you. She squinted, holding a hand to her wrinkled forehead and glared, searching deep in your own eyes for something you tried to hide. Would she know? Could she see what you had done?

“Sit, girl.” She gestured to the quilts on the floor and handed you an earthen cup full of warm, herbal tea. Your mother whispered to her by the single window, glancing back at you only occasionally.

After you had finished your first over sweet cup your mother stepped away, cupping your still stinging cheek. “Behave, I will see you in a few days when Grandma has dealt with you, then she shall find you a match.” She kissed your crown and left without another word.

Grandma poured another cup, sitting opposite you on the dirt floor. “Are you ready to behave now?” She croaked.

Your eyes swam with tears, “No.”

“Shame on you, little fool.” Her gnarled, snarling, teeth separated into a wicked grin, holding her hand under your cup and forcing the hot liquid down your throat. It burned going down, forcing the tears to come faster until you could barely see, groping in front of you to push her away. Even when she backed off you still struggled, slumping to the floor as the room swam in swirls of grey and brown, the light fading.

You drifted in and out of consciousness, aware only of the day ending and beginning with the sweet scent of herbal tea forced into your mouth.

And then she moved you.

The small cart jolted over each bump in the fallow field, drawn by an ageing donkey, past the wildflowers, sprouting and dancing in the twilight, through the silver birches at the edge of the woodland and into the cool shadows of the dense trees.

The familiar call of the owl should have been reassuring, but without James' warm, comforting presence, it only heightened your sense of unease. It followed you for a while and then even its distinct whoo faded away.

Your eyes blinked open for the first time in days, sensitive even with the sun at its lowest, disappearing behind the harsh tree line. The moon shone overhead, lighting the narrow path that you had taken to return to the village, but instead of branching left towards the solace of James’ cottage, Grandma went right, further and further into the woods. Past the clearings and dells that James had showed you, sending the herd of deer skittering away, into the darker, thicker trees that even James had shied away from.

Grandma stopped in a clearing of canopy shy trees, the pattern above disconcerting in its shades of midnight black and inky blue. Without a word, she climbed down from the cart, unhooking the donkey at the front and saddling herself astride it. You tried to sit, to see where she had gone and see if you could follow, perhaps if you recognised the woodland from a different angle you would be able to find your way back to James and he could shelter you for the night again. But, as your senses returned, you realised your arms wouldn’t move, tied to the sides of the cart they were stretched wide above your head. Even your legs had been bound by the ankles making escape impossible.

The leaves around you rustled a hush descended on the clearing until - pat - pat - pat - something paced closer and closer, each placement of its feet calculated and careful, but strained somehow. Craning your neck, you locked eyes with a beast across the clearing, eyes a sickly yellow and grey fur standing on end. It had a scar across its face and walked lamely on its left hind leg, limping closer and closer, dragging its paw.

The wolf lifted its head and bayed to the moon, nose in the air, scenting, then continuing its slow perusal of your situation. At the bottom of the cart it reared, awkwardly jumping onto the cracked boards and rocking the cart from side to side with the sudden movement.

You held your breath, shying away when it bent its head lower and snarled, showing the fresh red stains on its awful teeth, the rancid smell of the wolf’s maw made you gag, heaving away from it. If you didn’t know better, you’d think it was laughing at you, the way it tipped its head to the side and snarled, rumbling deep in its chest before lunging forwards and snapping. Its teeth closed around the neck of your dress and ripped it, exposing your chest and breasts to the chill air and tearing a blood curdling scream from deep in your lungs.

One moment, the grey wolf was rising up to snap again and the next it was knocked sideways by a blur of moonlit white, its claws scratching at your rope bindings and freeing your arms.

At the commotion, a second shuffling reached your ears and the screeching sound of Grandma added to the howls of the battling wolves. You sat up, pulling at the rope on your legs until it unravelled, leaving your ankles sore but otherwise unharmed.

Grandma tore at the wolf. Siding with the haggard dog, smacking the white wolf with her cane and pulling its ears and tail in turns.

The white wolf rounded on her, eyes aglow and howled long and loud before snapping forwards. When it raised its head it’s mouth was red and Grandma lay unmoving at its feet.

The grey wolf was unconcerned with its accomplice, relishing the opportunity to return its attention to you. He wasted no time in limping back to the cart and rocking the edges, forcing you over the side and into the cold mulch by the wheels. With a swipe of its paw, you rolled over, tangled and terrified. Your chest opened, beneath his claws, ribbons of muslin, dyed red with your blood, shredded beneath you.

Before he could strike again the white wolf pounced, wrestling the grey hound to the ground with a single blow of its enormous paw. The wolf lay quiet for a while, its white counterpart standing guard, and then it went limp, the fur dissolving, bones cracking and revealing an old man underneath. His left foot stuck out at an angle as if recently broken, his long hair was matted and greying like the wolf's, his body as scarred as James'.

Satisfied that the wolf, at least, was gone, the white wolf pushed the naked body with his nose, waiting for a movement, but nothing came.

Then it rounded on you.

The white wolf’s eyes were yellow too, his paws at least twice as large as the grey wolf’s had been with a jawline to match. Like the grey wolf it wasn’t without injury, its left paw was slow in its movements, but suited it fine for leaping and landing.

You cowered away, hoping the two kills it had already made would distract it enough for you to escape, but it caught you at the edge of the cart and pinned you beneath its gigantic body. In the gaps from the trees the moon picked out the edges of the wolf’s fur and you considered whether it was a comfort that at least the creature killing you was beautiful. Its jaws fell open and a long, pink tongue lolled out panting in time to its deep breaths.

It looked you over and whined when it saw the pools of blood on your clavicle. In one long movement it bent and licked from your belly to your cheek, cleaning the blood from you and soothing the wounds beneath. It tickled, and the gentle nature of the animal, after you had prepared so keenly for death, made you giggle.

Again, it cocked its head to the side and then dropped its mouth open as if smiling. Its large ears flopped about comically, despite its terrifying size and you allowed it to continue licking you.

Once the wolf was happy you were clean, it walked away and started back into the depth of the woods. When you didn’t follow, it returned, whining again and nudging your side, forcing you to your feet. With weak legs, you followed for a while, clinging to its fur for support, until you reached a familiar cottage, grey stone walls ensconced in clinging ivy and protected by the ancient oaks that circled it.

The wolf sat happily at the door, pawing at the latch but you were reluctant to unlock it, what if James was inside and it hurt him? It had already killed twice. You couldn't see through the small windows, but the room inside was dark and, unlike the nights you'd spent together, there was no banked fire in the grate.

The wolf whined again, sensing your hesitation and licked your hand instead, pressing its huge head into your belly and rumbling low in its chest. It was less a growl and more a hum, its tail wagging, brushing the fallen leaves and stray flowers around with swirls and eddies.

The wolf didn't return to the door, but darted down to the stream and splashed about playfully, bowing its head into the running water until the top layer of its fur was soaked and then bound back, raining droplets over you with a shake of its coat.

But you didn't open the door.

It waited only a second longer, and then launched at you, knocking you into James' vegetable patch where you landed on your back. Crawling slowly, it kept its belly to the ground, snagging twigs and flowers along the way. Carefully the wolf licked at your ankle, your knee and then playfully shoved its snout up under your dress, licking between your thighs. You pushed it away, as if it was as tame as one of the farmer's sheep dogs, and it let you, sticking its tail in the air and wagging again but keeping its head and shoulders lowered to the ground. Before you could stop it, it licked you again, rubbing its nose on yours and snuffling in your hair and ears.

Considering your evening, you were surprised with the sense of peace the wolf brought you. He even smelled of honeysuckle as James did. It was this thought that gave you the courage to open the door, allowing the mammoth dog into the small space.

Concerned that it might break the precious few belongings that James owned, you tried to herd it towards the bed. But you needn't have worried, it jumped straight onto the blankets, turned twice and dropped its not inconsiderable weight down, thumping its tail with joy. When you didn't immediately climb onto the bed too, it stared at you, hackles raised when you aimed for the chair but dropping to the same dopey, open mouth canine grin when you stepped closer.

With a sigh of resignation you tucked yourself into the only spare corner of the blanket and allowed the wolf to surround you. Nuzzling your neck and pawing gently at your arms and legs. You fell asleep together warmed by the comfort of the monster in the bed, your hands deep in its snow white fur.

When you woke the wolf was gone and the cabin was empty save for the smell of porridge and honey, warmed on the hearth. The only clue that the wolf had been there at all was a flurry of white hairs left along the blankets.

Your muslin remained ripped and bloody, the wound on your chest covered with a thin layer of white, clay like, mud and dock leaves. James must have returned in the night and tended to you while you slept. The thought filled you with love and a fierce desire to see him again, to feel his hands on your face and his lips tasting you.

The door swung open, announcing the man himself, laden with more leaves and a small bowl of clay. He was cleaner than you'd seen him before, hair damp and pushed back, cheeks pink with cold. He had what looked to be a new shirt on, a beaming smile that pushed all your fears and doubts away, back into the shadows.

"Little rabbit! You're awake!" He ran over to you, cupping your cheeks and kissing you with abandon.

"I am, I am, though I can not fathom how." You touched a hand to your chest over the mud.

"All is well now, please, think not of that place. Forget."

"James." You pushed him away sternly, "How can I forget?! Where did the wolf go?"

He cocked his head to the side, a movement so family that a terrifying thought made you shiver from head to toe. "James, the Wolf?"

"Please, I told you not to ask too much about the monsters." He was pained hiding his face in his hands, highlighting the streak of white hair at his temple.

"You, you are the monster?" you whispered, and he grimaced.

"No! No, certainly not. I am - the wolf - we are one and the same. But I am not the monster, he is finished now. Not half dead, finished forever." His face contoured in rage. "I should have finished him when I found Steve and your sister."

"The monster was there then, too? Why?"

"You ask too much of me, can we not forget that night and -"

"No!" You stomped your foot on the stone flags, face fixed in a stern glare and James crumbled.

"If you must, let us sit somewhere calm, this is not a happy tale."

You sat together outside of the cabin, hoping the sunshine would protect you from the truth that James would reveal.

"I was taken that night by the monster, he brought me back here to his home and -" James stopped, you clutched his hand, hoping to give him the courage to continue. "I can not be sure when, but soon I was like him, a wild beast, he taught me his ways. The woodland and the garden, hunting and eating, the moon's phases on us. On the full moon, we have no choice, the Wolf howls inside and overtakes us, we become one and it runs free, wild. At other times it is tame and mild as a lapdog. I wanted to leave, but without him, I had no guidance. The village…"

"They would have killed you." He nodded in agreement and you paused, scared to ask your next question. "The man, the other wolf, was going to kill me. Did you ever…?"

"Of course not, I was never taken there. He went alone, on Presentation, and had me guard the cottage. His pet." James grimaced again, as if he could spit his disgust for the other man out if he only tried hard enough. "He was a cruel man, he would beat me until the beast showed itself and sent me hunting. Last year, I had had enough, it should have been my Presentation. I grew tired of acting as a boy and wanted to see where he was going. So I followed."

You knew some of what happened next, James had found Steve and your sister tied to the cart and alone in the woods. But no previous stories could prepare you for James' tale of heroism. He had battled the grey wolf, leaving him lame and limping, wounded and broken, taking his title as true Alpha to the woods and running him. Steve took your sister and never looked back, too frightened to face Grandma and too betrayed to face the parents that had failed to protect them.

Someone must have cared for the grey wolf to allow him to attend Grandma's sacrifice again this year, but he had never returned to the cottage and James had made it his own instead. The animals he so lovingly befriended over many years playing alone helped to protect him as best they could. Warning him of sudden approaches with their silence or cacophony, and leading him to you when you found yourself within the trees. Your village was frightened of the monster, leaving yearly sacrifices to the monstrous man. But the neighbouring village had an understanding with James, they feared his presence but recognised the protection he had given to them by subduing the grey wolf, and they left him tributes. Clothes, firewood, food and useful objects like bowls and knives.

You sat together quietly contemplating the previous evening, the complicit village and the ending of Grandma's tyranny over the inhabitants.

"You said the man changed you, when he took you that night."

James nodded, but refused to make eye contact.

"How?"

He held his hand out to you, pushing the ripped dress aside and showing your wound to the watching trees. "A cut to the heart is the first part."

"And the second?"

"The saliva of another wolf, your creator, must seep in, deep, and then, at the next full moon, the wolf reveals itself. That was my making."

"Your wolf - you, you cleaned me. Do you think that would cause a change? Will it have gone deep enough?" The idea was at once terrifying and thrilling, James had looked so free and happy loping around, giving into his animal nature. But you could never leave the woods as a wolf, the village would make you a pariah, any new habitation would put you at risk of discovery.

"Perhaps," he whispered, smiling and cupping your cheek in his hand, "but the clay should help."

Now you stay in the woods, away from the treeline, in the safety of the darkness.

#im back!#fic rec #cant wait to read

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