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moonchildlov · 1 year

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your white wolf

pairing: mafia!bucky barnes x mafia princess!fem reader

summary: james buchanan barnes—the feared white wolf—storms your wedding and kills your fiancé, taking you for himself. despite yourself, you give in to him.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), dark themes and elements, enemies to lovers, non-con (it becomes consensual but definitely starts off as non-con so be warned!), gun violence, death, character (not bucky) threatening sexual assault against reader, reader slaps bucky a couple times, smut, piv sex, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, sex in a church, knife kink, choking, dry humping, multiple orgasms, degradation, praise kink, pet names (printsessa), a bit of corruption kink, a lot of dirty talk. i think that's it but please let me know if i missed something!!!

word count: 11.7k

a/n: it's been a minute since i've written some mob au so i decided to join @the-slumberparty's april challenge!! i ended up using three of the dark prompts because i just liked them—and also this fic ended up being way longer than i expected 😅 it's very dark but also very sweet i think!? i just love a soft!dark bucky barnes (or any character really). anyway! i had a lot of fun writing this one so i hope y'all enjoy!!!

You met James Buchanan Barnes on your wedding day.

You’d heard of him before then, of course. He was the White Wolf—the most feared man of the Russian mob, having come from obscurity and helped re-establish the Romanoff family as a force to be reckoned with in the city. The White Wolf was known for being ruthlessly violent, leading a pack of enforcers who left no prisoners and no witnesses. You’d only heard tales of his violence whispered in the halls of your father’s mansion.

You’d paid the stories little mind, though, since it wasn’t your place to worry about such things. Your role as your father’s daughter was to look pretty and do as he told. And you were a good daughter. So when your father told you to get engaged and secure an alliance with another of the city’s powerful families, you did. You dedicated yourself to planning your wedding, making sure it would be an event worthy of your family’s name and reputation.

You were halfway down the aisle when you realized something was wrong. It had never been the plan for your father to walk you down the aisle. Though it had confused you when he’d told you as much, you’d brushed it off. But your father wasn’t anywhere to be seen in the church, not even sitting in the pews. You couldn’t find your mother either, or your older brother or other key members of your family.

Instead, your side of the church was filled with the lower dregs of your family’s organization. So many of your father’s enforcers stood watching you walk down the aisle, tension in their faces, that it almost gave you pause. You glanced worriedly to your fiancé, but he didn’t look concerned. No, he only looked greedy to get his hands on your body.

A shiver raced down your spine, but you couldn’t be sure if it was disgust at the way your fiancé was looking at you like you were a prize to be owned or if it was a warning against whatever your family knew and didn’t see fit to fill you in on. If nothing else, though, you knew how to play your role—so you kept walking, your step never faltering. Until the church doors behind you slammed open and the first shots rang out.

Ever your father’s daughter, you didn’t scream or cry for help; you broke out in a sprint, running up the rest of the aisle, staying as low to the ground as you could manage in your high heels. You bypassed your fiancé and the priest who had been meant to lead the wedding ceremony. The man of the church lay on the ground, struck by one of the first bullets, a pool of blood spilling from his head. Your fiancé had dropped to his knees and pulled out two guns, returning fire on whoever had stormed the church.

But you didn’t have time to look because you were focused on diving behind the church altar and covering your head, shielding yourself as bullets continued whizzing past, clipping the wood and sending shards flying everywhere. The church was filled with a cacophony of screams and gunshots. It was almost overwhelming, but you drew on the strength your father had cultivated in you, making sure you’d stay strong in any situation.

You huddled there for what seemed like forever, your whole body tense and shaking, curled into a ball with your voluminous wedding dress billowed around you. But no matter how terrified you were, your face stayed dry, your makeup perfect. You refused to shed a tear or show weakness. Even though all signs pointed to your father abandoning you to this fate—why else wouldn’t he have attended your wedding—his teachings were drilled into your head and they were all you had to cling to in that moment.

As time went on, the constant sound of gunfire was reduced to intermittent shots, the screams replaced by men shouting in Russian. You realized, with a sickening lurch of your stomach, why exactly that was. You didn’t dare stick your head out to see who of your father’s men might be left alive, and instead started looking for an exit. No one was going to save you, so if you were going to make it out alive, you’d have to save yourself. But before you could work up the nerve to try to flee, you heard heavy footsteps on the other side of the altar, where you’d last seen your fiancé.

A thump and a wet gurgle met your ears as you strained to listen.

“You’ll never take our families’ power,” came a strained voice you recognized as belonging to your fiancé. He coughed, the sound wet and foreboding. You hadn’t been around much violence, but you’d seen enough of your father’s men die to know your fiancé wasn’t long for this world.

“I’ve already wiped out most of your family, kozyol,” said a smooth, deep voice. There was no inflection or emotion to the man’s tone, only endless coldness. “Now, where is your printsessa hiding? I know her father’s men didn’t get her out of here.”

The coldness and the hint of a Russian accent told you everything you needed to know about the man—he was none other than the White Wolf. Fear trickled down through your heart and settled heavily in your stomach. Instinctively, you pressed yourself harder against the wooden alter at your back, like if you tried hard enough, you might be able to hide within the grain.

“Fuck you,” your fiancé spit out. His breathing was growing more ragged even as his anger notched higher. In truth, you knew his rage was likely quickening his death, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care much about him—not when you were in so much danger. “She’s mine.”

A cruel laugh sounded. “You’re in no place to make such declarations, kozyol,” the White Wolf said. Then, a gunshot rang out and you had to stifle a scream against your knees at the sudden sound. Your fiancé didn’t speak again.

As quietly as you could manage, you curled up into a tighter ball, trying to make yourself as small as possible. You forced yourself to breathe silently, which was no small feat when terror was flooding your bloodstream. You considered your options. The White Wolf was too close to try to run—there was no way you could outrun him or his bullets even if you kicked off your heels.

But you couldn’t continue hiding either, it was only a matter of time before he found you. You didn’t know what exactly the White Wolf wanted with you, but you were fairly certain it ended in your death. So the question was whether you wanted to meet your fate cowering like an animal or stand up and face it head on. The strength in your soul prompted you to stand, but before you could get your feet underneath you and rise up with your head held high to meet the White Wolf, you heard another voice.

“Can’t wait to find this bitch—gonna make that whore scream when it’s my turn with her,” said an oily, Russian-accented voice. The new man laughed, the sound grating and unpleasant. An even colder fear had you frozen in place while you listened, understanding the implications of the man’s words and no longer wanting to accept your fate. Death was one thing, this was another.

“Your turn?” the White Wolf asked, his tone deceptively calm as he spoke the two words.

The other man stuttered, clearly hearing the fury that lay beneath the White Wolf’s placid demeanor. “Well, Rumlow said…” he started to say, but was cut off on a choked sound. It wasn’t difficult to imagine the White Wolf had grabbed the other man by the throat, choking him and cutting off his words.

“Is Rumlow your boss?” the White Wolf asked in that cruelly cold voice of his. The other man made some choked, panicked sounds that even you knew meant he was begging and pleading for forgiveness. “I didn’t think so,” the White Wolf went on. He must’ve released the other man because you heard him gasping for breath. “The printsessa is mine—make sure the others know it,” the White Wolf growled. The other man scrambled down the stairs to the aisle and scurried off, still wheezing.

A sick sense of relief swept over you. For a few horrific moments, you’d thought the White Wolf meant to pass you around to his men, so learning he had no intention of letting anyone else touch you was a comfort. You didn’t know what it meant to have the White Wolf lay claim to you. Though you suspected you wouldn’t like whatever he had planned for you, it couldn’t be so bad as what the other man had in mind.

You knew you should stand and meet the White Wolf on your own terms, but your knees shook so fiercely, you didn’t know if they could hold you. Before you could gather your courage enough to try, you heard the White Wolf speak again.

“Hear that, printsessa?” he called softly, his voice quiet but close, like he was just on the other side of the altar. Cold realization washed over you. The White Wolf knew exactly where you were, and he was speaking directly to you. “You’re safe enough with me, so why don’t you come out?”

His statement didn’t soothe you in the way he clearly meant it to, and you looked down at your legs, willing them to work. You wanted them to carry you away, to carry you to safety the same way they had when bullets had started flying. But they were still wobbling too much. Tears of frustration pricked at your eyes, but you furiously blinked them away.

“Don’t run from me, printsessa,” the White Wolf went on, his voice a low rumble, almost a growl. He didn’t sound angry, though, only eager. “You won’t like what I do to you if you run and I catch you.” The White Wolf rounded the altar, his sharp blue eyes falling on your huddled form, surrounded by the fabric of your wedding dress.

Instantly, your body shifted, shoulders moving back and chin rising up, your expression morphing into one of haughty defiance. Your shaking legs hadn’t allowed you to stand and face him, but you could manage to hide your weakness. You refused to show the White Wolf fear. He was just a man—albeit an extremely handsome man, you realized begrudgingly. Even still, you were your father’s daughter and you would project as much strength as you could muster.

“There’s my printsessa,” the White Wolf said, a merciless grin spreading across his face. He was all sharp angles, his jaw looking like it was carved from steel, his smile a dangerous slash. Even his eyes, so intent and focused on you, looked unyielding as he stared down at you.

A shiver threatened to wrack your body at the way his lips wrapped around the pet name, the barest hint of warmth seeping into his tone with that possessive two-word phrase. It was enough to have sparks flaring to life in your core, but you tamped them down immediately, your face remaining still as stone. You refused to show he had any affect on you at all.

The White Wolf’s grin ticked up higher, like he could somehow read your thoughts, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he held a hand out to you, almost like he knew how to play the gentleman. “Up you go,” he murmured, the snap of a command in his tone.

Reluctantly, you slid your fingers into his grasp, feeling the callouses of his palm rub against the smoothness of your own. Another shiver threatened, but then his fingers closed around yours and he yanked you up off the floor. Your legs felt weak beneath your weight and before you could stop yourself, you stumbled into the White Wolf’s chest. Your hands pressed against the front of his suit, feeling the firm muscles beneath the soft fabric of his shirt and jacket. His arms went around your waist, steadying you and drawing you in closer.

Looking up into the White Wolf’s face, you caught him staring down at you with hunger written plainly across his features. The craving in his blue eyes was so all-consuming, you felt as though you could drown in it. Against your will, heat began pooling in your core, your body betraying your mind and leaning further against his chest. You were enraptured by the White Wolf’s eyes, but a moment later, his voice interrupted your staring.

“Didn’t think a woman who ran like you did in those heels would be so unsteady on her feet,” the White Wolf, murmured, a teasing smirk curling the corner of his mouth.

At his comment, you stiffened, remembering yourself and who exactly was holding you. Locking your knees to make sure you didn’t stumble again, you pushed off from your enemy’s chest. His arms fell away and you refused to acknowledge the thought that you might have lost something as you stepped back from the man that had stormed your wedding.

Squaring your shoulders, you turned your nose up at the White Wolf. “My father will kill you for what you’ve done today,” you declared haughtily.

Steeling yourself, you looked out over the carnage of the church. Bodies littered the pews and aisle, blood spattered everywhere. Men that presumably worked for the White Wolf were stationed at the doors of the church, most also covered in blood. Your forced yourself not to react to the violent ends of the White Wolf’s attack, wanting him to think you weren’t phased by the realities of the world you lived in. You took a long, steady look—your stomach churning and wanting to rebel against the meager breakfast you’d had—before turning back to the White Wolf.

His sharp eyes were watching you closely and you had the unnerving thought he might very well see through your act. You were certain it wouldn’t end well for you if the White Wolf was the only one who looked close enough to see you for what you were, a scared girl completely out of her depth. So you gathered the strength your father had instilled in you and held steady, fighting against the urge to raise your chin higher, knowing it would only give away your insecurity. Instead, you stared back at the White Wolf as impassively as you could manage.

A smile so cold it reminded you of the winter wind chilling you to the bone spread across the White Wolf’s face, his white teeth flashing amid the dark stubble decorating his jaw. The expression made you want to shiver, but you held it off. “Your father was tipped off about my plans today,” he said, confirming what you’d already suspected. “And he left you here to die, printsessa—do you really want to put your faith in a man like that?”

“Whether I’m dead or alive, he won’t stand for the insult,” you said, your voice filled with false bravado. It broke your heart a little to say the words even though you knew they were true, so you soldiered on. “He will come for you.”

“Are you saying I should kill you, printsessa?” the White Wolf asked, something like interest sparking in his cold blue eyes.

“Death would be preferable to whatever you have planned for me, White Wolf,” you sneered. Your hands were fisted at your sides, nails biting into your palms. “You may not be letting your men take turns with me now, but who knows about tomorrow.”

Without meaning to, you seemed to hit a nerve because your words enraged him, fury contorting his handsome face. “You are mine, printsessa,” he snarled, letting emotion get the best of him for the first time. He caught himself, though, and took a breath. Before your eyes, he visibly calmed, smoothing his hands down over his suit jacket. His white shirt and dark jacket were both dotted with blood, though he wasn’t as covered as some of his men. “No one else will touch you but me, you have my word.”

A mocking laugh erupted from you before you could control yourself. “I don’t know how much I trust your word, White Wolf.”

Your enemy’s eyes flashed. “Then trust that your father was willing to let you die today, and it serves me well to make sure he doesn’t get what he wants,” he said, his voice calm, though you could detect barely leashed emotion beneath it. A muscle in his jaw popped as he looked out over the church in an approximation of disinterest. “So for now, you get to live.”

“I get to live,” you scoffed, your voice caustic and loud with your frustration. “As what, a toy—a doll for you to play with? What kind of existence is that?” You didn’t know why you were trying to rile up your enemy, but it worked. The White Wolf’s attention returned to you, his sharp blue eyes reading the expression on your face and you, once again, had the feeling he was seeing more than you wanted him to.

“I think you’ll enjoy being my little doll, printsessa,” the White Wolf said, a dark promise in his tone. Then he grabbed you suddenly, pulling you into his arms again. You fell into him, pressing flush against his body and feeling the bulge of his erection against your stomach. “Should I show you now—spread you out and make you cum on my cock on the altar where you were meant to marry another?”

You gasped in indignation, spitting out, “Don’t you dare.” Jerking a hand free from where he’d pinned them to your sides, you slapped the White Wolf across the face. The loud cracking sound echoed in the church, and it gave you some satisfaction—but only for a moment.

The White Wolf smiled slowly, his expression all teeth and hunger as need sparked in his blue eyes. It seemed he intended to take your words as a challenge because in the next breath, he was walking you backwards to the church’s altar. You fought against him, even as your body heated at the lust in his face. Wetness pooled between your thighs while you beat against his muscled chest, your own desire growing when you realized your fighting had no affect on the White Wolf.

“Is it not enough that you’ve turned my wedding into a massacre?” you raged furiously, a good portion of your anger directed at yourself. Your body was betraying you, wanting to let this man have his way with you, to satisfy the ache in the depths of your core, despite what he’d done to your father’s men—to your wedding. “Haven’t you desecrated this church enough, White Wolf?”

Your enemy reached behind you, pressing his chest to you, his eyes drilling into yours, and cleared off the altar with one clean sweep of his arm. “If your god wished me to stop, he could smite me right where I stand,” he said, his words rumbling in his chest, the vibration teasing through your body.

The White Wolf stepped back, raising his arms up and looking to the sky, as if challenging the whole of heaven. He had a determined look on his face and, in that moment, you thought he looked a bit like a god himself. It occurred to you that if he were to challenge any god or man, he would come out the winner. You’d never stood a chance.

After a moment, the White Wolf looked back at you. “Guess he doesn’t mind.” His gaze swept down your body, hunger etched into his face and burning in his eyes. “Let your god watch as I defile your body so thoroughly you’ll be begging me for more of my cock, printsessa.”

“I will never,” you spit viciously, using your rage to mask the way your body was throbbing for him. You slapped him again, but he grabbed your wrist.

The White Wolf only laughed at your protests, the cold sound sliding down your spine and stoking more heat to life in your core. Before you could start to squirm, he pushed you down on the altar, covering your body with his own, pressing you into the hard wood. He pinned your hands above your head, his hips settling against yours, his hardness flushing against your softness.

“Just wait and see, printsessa—I always keep my word.” With that, he slanted his cruel mouth against yours, taking your lips in a fierce kiss.

You tried to remain stiff and unyielding beneath your enemy, keeping your mouth closed in a firm like. You tried to fight him off, your hands pushing against his grip on your wrists and your hips trying to buck him off. All of it was worthless against the strength and determination of the White Wolf.

His lips pressed and tugged on your own, coaxing you with a brutal persistence. His teeth nipped at your bottom lip and sucked it into his mouth, working you slowly but surely open. Finally, your resistance waned and you gave in to him, opening for the White Wolf. Distantly, you hoped to lull him into your mouth and bite his tongue like the evil snake that he was, but the thought flitted away as he delved between your lips.

Your legs shifted, your knees widening as you tried to throw him off you, and he slid between them, settling heavily into the cradle of your thighs. The White Wolf’s hard, thick bulge pressed to your heated core and a breathy moan tumbled from your lips before you could stop it. You were lost to sensation, pleasure overwhelming your mind as you melted beneath your enemy.

The corners of the White Wolf’s mouth tipped up as he pressed his advantage, grinding his hips into the juncture of your thighs, wrenching more gasps and moans from your mouth. He slid his hands up from your wrists, tangling with your fingers even as he kept you pinned to the altar, his lips working against yours relentlessly. He fucked your mouth with his tongue and rocked his bulge against your clit, taking possession of your body as surely and he and his men had taken possession of the church.

It felt as though your mind had lost control of your body, the tethers of your anger drifting away on a sea of lust and pleasure until your own hunger for the White Wolf was all that was left. Your thighs spread wider and your knees climbed your enemy’s sides, opening yourself up for him willingly. Your fingers squeezed his, clinging to him and no longer trying to fight him off. You were lost, lost, lost—your tongue twined with his, your hips rising off the altar to meet his grinding thrusts. Your bodies came together in a mimicry of man’s most primal dance. Until you were interrupted.

“Boss!”

The shouted word pierced the cloud of desire that had fallen over your mind and your whole body tensed. The White Wolf pulled away a mere second before you could sink your teeth into his tongue like you’d originally planned. He lifted his chest off you, but kept you pinned to the altar with his hands and hips. You watched as his heavy-lidded eyes sharpened and turned to the man who had yelled.

“What is it,” the White Wolf ground out, his jaw clenched in frustration. Your lipstick was smeared all over his mouth, but he looked no less fierce for it. You didn’t know if he didn’t wipe it away because he didn’t care or because he didn’t want to risk letting you have a free hand.

Either way, something in your chest warmed at the sight of seeing the big, bad White Wolf marked with your lipstick. It gave you a feeling of power unlike anything you’d felt before. Nothing had ever truly been yours—your heart, your future, your entire self had belonged to your father. You were stunned to realize that the thought of marking the White Wolf as yours, of him letting his men see your lipstick on him, felt really fucking good. Confusion warred in your mind at the realization and you forced yourself to avoid those thoughts and pay attention to the conversation.

“The patriarch hasn’t left his stronghold, nor has he sent any more men,” the man reported. “We don’t believe he’s planning a rescue.” He cut himself off, and when you dragged your eyes from the White Wolf to look at the other man, you saw pity in his eyes. You turned your head away, refusing to see such a contemptible emotion directed your way. “At least, not yet,” the man added as an afterthought. You flinched.

Though the man couldn’t have seen your reaction, the White Wolf’s sharp eyes missed nothing. “Good,” he said in his cold, commanding voice. Your eyes flicked to his face. His expression was blank and impassive, but a fire had been set alight in his eyes.

You realized the cold cruelty was a mask the White Wolf wore around his men, and he’d all but shed it entirely in the short time he’d been around you. That treacherous warmth in your heart threatened again and you forced yourself to look away from your enemy. You focused your gaze on the wall of the church and tamped down on the flame in your chest.

“Clear the men from this room, kill any survivors and hold a perimeter,” the White Wolf said, issuing his orders in a sharp tone like he was cracking a whip.

The henchman muttered, “Yes, boss,” and stepped away from the altar, shouting as he passed on the commands to his brethren. As quickly as they’d stormed the church, the White Wolf’s men retreated, drawing back to leave you with their boss. You didn’t know whether to be relieved or frightened.

When you were alone, with only the dead left in the church, the White Wolf let his mask fall and he grinned down at you. The expression was just as sharp and cruel as the rest of him, and the effect nearly stole your breath from your lungs. Your body warred with itself, a shiver of anticipation trickling down your spine and heat pooling in your core even as your brain told you to be wary of him. You could think of only one reason the White Wolf would want to have you alone, and you couldn’t yet admit to yourself it was something you wanted desperately.

“Looks like you’ve been left to the mercy of the White Wolf, printsessa,” your enemy commented, his voice light and emotionless. He caught your wrists in one hand so he could smooth the edge of his thumb down the side of your face, still holding you pinned to the altar.

As you stared up into your enemy’s hard eyes, you could’ve sworn you saw something almost soft in his gaze. It sent your heart thudding in your chest. It was hard enough to resist him when he was being cold and ruthless. If he went soft and tender on you, you knew you’d be lost to him—not just your body, but your heart.

“When you’re mine, you can trust I’ll never be so callous with your safety,” the White Wolf said in a quiet voice, the words hushed and sacred. A promise.

Ignoring the heavy thump of your heart and the longing taking root in your chest, you gathered your anger around you like armor. Deliberately twisting your face into a snarl, you stared back at him with as much defiance as you could muster. “I’ll never be yours, White Wolf.”

The softness you thought you’d seen in the White Wolf’s eyes was gone, replaced so thoroughly with hunger, you were sure you’d imagined it. A cocky smirk swept across your enemy’s face as he tsked at you. “You say ‘never’ a lot, printsessa,” he mocked. With his free hand, he procured a knife from somewhere in his suit, the soft snick as it released sending a spike of fear and a thrill of excitement through you. “One of these days, you’re going to find you’ve made yourself a liar.”

An outraged, indignant sound burst from your mouth, but before you could retort, the White Wolf was slicing through the bodice of your dress, baring the lingerie you’d worn beneath. It was white and lacy, with intricate silk ribbons holding the delicate filigree together to hide your most intimate places. Bucky ripped your wedding dress down to your navel, his blue eyes sparkling with an insatiable greed at the sight of your body on display for him.

“Oh, printsessa,” he murmured in a low rumbling that went straight to your core, making you throb. When his eyes had taken a long perusal of your soft breasts and curved waist, the White Wolf’s gaze returned to yours. “Did you wear this pretty little getup for your would-be husband?” he asked in a taunting, cruel tone. He traced the flat tip of his knife around the edges of your lingerie, your body rioting at the feel of the cold steel against your skin. “Were you excited for him to peel it off you?”

Your expression hardened into a glare at his question, not wanting to think about what would have happened if you’d gone through with the wedding your father had wanted. Your fiancé had always coveted you like a prize, and you were certain he would have treated you with as much respect in the bedroom. It was no small part of you that was relieved you no longer had to marry that man, but you knew you shouldn’t say as much to your enemy—lest he get the wrong idea that you might be grateful.

“I wore it for myself,” you spit out indignantly, finding yourself telling the truth. You bit your lip against more words that wanted to tumble out. But that was answer enough for the White Wolf’s sharp eyes. He chuckled, the sound teasing through your body and making your core dampen further.

“Did I save you from an unpleasant marriage bed, printsessa?” he asked in a fake pitying voice, flicking his knife and slicing through the lace covering one of your breasts. He didn’t wait for an answer, just leaned down and took your nipple into his warm mouth. Your gasp was seemingly answer enough for him as he growled appreciatively at the feel of you. He teased your nipple into a tight, hardened peak with his tongue and teeth, laving it and nibbling on your sensitive flesh until you were breathing heavily.

When the White Wolf had tortured your nipple to his satisfaction, he let it fall from his mouth and blew across it, the feel of his warm breath on your wet, sensitive skin making you shiver in his hold. You wanted to squeeze your thighs together against the devastating ache in your core, but the White Wolf’s hips were still wedged between your legs, his bulge twitching against your slit through the layers of your dress.

The White Wolf noticed your body’s reaction to him and he grinned, catching your eye so you could see the spark of amusement in his gaze. He trailed his soft lips across your chest, his stubble rasping over your skin, and used his knife to push away the lace covering your other breast.

“Tell me you’re wetter for me right now than you ever were for him,” the White Wolf growled, his blue eyes darkening with intensity as he stared at you. “And don’t lie to me, printsessa.”

With your hands pinned above your head and your enemy wielding a knife, you knew you should have cowered, but instead you defiantly pressed your lips closed and glared at the White Wolf, letting him know you weren’t so easily conquered. It didn’t matter that he was right—that your fiancé had never gotten you even a little bit wet.

If you were honest with yourself, there had always been something about your fiancé that set you on edge, like you needed to be on high alert around him. You were glad he was dead, but that didn’t mean you were just going to easily spread your legs for the man who’d murdered him. No matter that you were so turned on, your desire was drenching the lace covering your slit.

You held the White Wolf’s gaze, refusing to think too hard about the fact that your enemy was pinning you down and holding a knife to your skin, and yet you felt less in danger than any moment you’d spent in the presence of your fiancé. The White Wolf was still the man who had stormed your wedding and killed so many of your father’s men the church would forever be stained in blood. You could not give in to him—even if an ever-growing part of you wanted to.

But your defiance didn’t have the intended effect. The White Wolf only laughed more, chuckling as he ducked his head and took your nipple into his mouth, delivering the same sinful torture upon it as he had your other. It wrenched a sharp gasp from your lips and your head fell back against the wooden altar with a thud. He attacked your soft tits with a relentlessness you’d never known before, licking and sucking on your nipples as if he could wring all the defiance from your body with his mouth. All you could do was lay there at his mercy, trying to stifle the breathy moans and lusty gasps that wanted to escape your lips.

So slowly you didn’t realize it was happening, your body loosened for the White Wolf, the tension fleeing your limbs as he inflicted blissful pleasure on you. By the time he pulled away, a satisfied grin on his face, you were nothing more than a puddle of desire on the church’s altar. Your body was soft and pliant beneath his large frame and it took all your restraint not to roll your hips against his, seeking the friction from his bulge that your weeping slit so desperately needed.

“Mmm that’s it, printsessa,” he rumbled, his deliciously deep voice settling low in your heated core. “Just needed someone to take care of your properly, didn’t you?” The White Wolf lavished your chest with kisses, the drag of his stubbled jaw sending a delightful shiver skating down your spine. You couldn’t help yourself, a wanton moan fell from your lips. “Such a filthy little slut for the right man, aren’t you?”

“And you think you’re that man?” you shot back, your voice breathier than you would’ve liked it to be as you still tried to defy the lust filling your head. “You don’t know the first thing about me, White Wolf,” you said, his name mocking as it passed your lips.

You didn’t fear any real retaliation for your defiance, and you refused to look too closely at that. For as long as you could remember, you were afraid of the men in your life, whether it was your father, his men or your fiancé. But you didn’t fear the White Wolf and, though you didn’t want to admit it, you knew it was because you felt safe with him. It was too unfathomable to consider, so you clung to your defiance, jutting out your chin as you looked up at your enemy.

“I know more than you think, printsessa,” the White Wolf challenged in a low voice, rising up so he hovered above you. “I know you are your father’s forgotten daughter, I know you are stronger than anyone around you believes you to be,” he said, his voice shaking with anger, though you somehow knew it wasn’t directed at you. “I know you’ll marry a man who disgusts you to earn the love of the family who would leave you to die.” His blue eyes blazed with an emotion you couldn’t name, but its intensity made you squirm. “I know they don’t deserve you.”

“And you do?” you countered. Anger, frustration and something else—something like hope—swirled in your stomach.

“I know I don’t deserve you,” the White Wolf murmured before pressing a kiss to your lips. It was such a sweet gesture, your hope sprouted wings and fluttered to life, soaring through your chest. When he pulled away, his expression was earnest, vulnerable. “But I’m not stupid enough to let that stop me from taking you and keeping you.”

A sound halfway between a scoff and a sob fell from your mouth as you clung to the anger that was quickly deserting you. You forced yourself to roll your eyes. “As if you could keep me,” you started to say, but it seemed the White Wolf was tired of letting you lie to him. He rocked his hips into yours, making your words dissolve into a moan. He ground his hard length against your dripping slit through the layers of your clothes, stoking your desire into a blazing heat that consumed your body.

“What was that, printsessa?” he asked teasingly, something like affection in his tone. Once you’d gotten control of yourself, you glared up at him, but he looked unrepentant about playing dirty. Before your eyes, his expression turned serious. “You will be mine,” he said, so much confidence in his tone you found yourself believing him.

You had to stop yourself from nodding and agreeing with him, but you were almost certain your defeat was written across your face. Despite your protests and defiance, the White Wolf had won you over. His relentlessness had penetrated the walls around your heart and, though it was still such a new and tentative feeling, you already knew deep inside that you were his.

Your pride didn’t allow you to admit any of your defeat to your enemy, but it didn’t escape the White Wolf’s sharp gaze because his expression morphed again. A self-satisfied smirk curled the edges of his mouth, the expression so sinful you didn’t know if you wanted to slap him again or pull him down for a kiss.

“Now show me what a good little slut you can be for your White Wolf,” he growled the command, rolling his hips against yours again. Your eyelids fluttered and a soft, gasping moan fell from your lips as pleasure rocked through you.

The White Wolf knew too well how to work your body up into a frenzy, his hips grinding his hard cock into your dripping pussy while his mouth lavished your nipples with kisses and bites that sent pleasure shooting straight to your core. As the White Wolf toyed with one of your nipples, he circled the other with the sharp tip of his knife, sending excited thrills through your body.

Your pleasure was rising higher and higher, coiling tight in your body as your legs clung to your enemy’s waist and your own hips rose to meet his hard, grinding thrusts. When he rubbed his hard cock against your clit and sank his teeth into the soft flesh of your breast, your eyes flew open as the tension in your body suddenly snapped. A sharp cry escaped your mouth and your body trembled as you came.

Your whole being unraveled, your soul laid bare beneath the White Wolf and his attentions, your body quaking and your lips moaning his name as your orgasm ripped through you. “Wolf!” A sob tore from your throat and tears spilled from your eyes as shame and pleasure overwhelmed your mind. It was too much to comprehend that you had come so hard for him and you both still had most of your clothes on.

“That’s it, such a good girl, coming so well,” he murmured the soft praise as his grinding hips worked you through the aftershocks of your release. “Such a good little slut for your White Wolf.” He kissed away your tears. “My printsessa,” he said, his voice a low rumble. The possessiveness in his tone washed over you, making your heart thump in agreement.

It was undeniable, even as you fought against it, but in your heart you knew you were his. What was worse, you found you wanted to belong to the White Wolf. You wanted more of the safety and pleasure he offered you so freely. Love was something you’d always had to fight for, compete for, set aside all your wants and needs for. That was how your family had taught you to love.

But here was a man who offered it without asking for anything in return except to be his. It seemed too easy, and maybe it said something about you that you didn’t chafe at the idea of belonging to such a ruthless man as the White Wolf, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care anymore. You knew, in that moment, that you’d be a fool to pass up on what your enemy offered. So you spoke, responding to his last words.

“My White Wolf,” you whispered through lips swollen from his kisses and your crying. The words and the admission in them came easier than you would’ve expected. Your eyes were open as you stared at the man who was no longer your enemy, watching for his reaction. He didn’t disappoint.

The man above you froze, shifting up so he could see you properly. You knew your absolute surrender was written all over your face because you let him see it, you wanted him to know that you were giving yourself to him. With your eyes, you pleaded with him to keep your heart safe.

His expression softened into a look so pure and vulnerable, it almost seemed out of place on the face of a man you knew had murdered countless. Instinctively, you knew you were the only one who had ever seen this man without his shields, and you cherished it for the gift it was.

You wiggled your hands against his hold until he let you free. Slowly, you brought your arms down and reached for him, cupping his face in both your hands. “Mine,” you said fiercely, telling him again that you were choosing him.

A gentle, genuine smile curved the White Wolf’s mouth. “Yours,” he growled before ducking down and slanting his lips to yours in a searing kiss. It was short, but it felt like you had both sealed your fate with it. The punctuation at the end of your vows.

When the White Wolf pulled away, his voice was gruff with emotion. “I’ll make you my wife one day soon, printsessa,” he promised, his eyes darkening as they raked down your body. “After we burn this dress you wore for another man.” Before you could respond, he began tearing the garment from your body, using his knife to rip it to shreds while being careful not to hurt you.

Happiness and excitement bubbled up in your chest, freed from someplace so deep in your heart you couldn’t remember the last time you’d felt that part of yourself. You giggled before you could stop yourself, delight sizzling through you at the eagerness with which your White Wolf tore your dress from you. “Gonna make me Mrs. White Wolf?” you asked teasingly, affection warming your tone.

The man who was no longer your enemy paused in his destruction of your white wedding gown and cocked his head to the side, almost looking like a wolf in that moment. His blue eyes focused in on your face. “Do you not know my real name, printsessa?”

Your laughter died on your lips and your face screwed up as you thought, but you realized you didn’t. Shaking your head, you stared up at the man who had made you cum hard enough your whole world had realigned and were forced to admit you didn’t know his name. “No, I—I guess I don’t.”

“My name is James Buchanan Barnes,” he said, ripping through the last of your skirts with a flourish and pushing the offending fabric from your body. He paused as he dragged his gaze up your body, blue eyes sparkling with hunger and happiness when they met yours. “So you’ll become Mrs. James Buchanan Barnes—Mrs. Barnes for short.”

Something warm and overwhelming filled your heart and you smiled up at your man. “Jamie,” you murmured, reaching your hands out to him. He shed his jacket, tossing it onto the altar above your head, then climbed back up your body.

“Most of my friends—what few I have—call me Bucky,” he said, a grin on his face and fondness in his eyes as he stroked your cheek with his thumb.

You tilted your head into his soothing touch, but were quickly distracted by his white dress shirt, running your hands up his chest to his collar. Your fingers made quick work of the buttons as you responded to him. “I want to call you Jamie,” you said, looking up at him with a pout as you pushed his shirt open and let your fingers start to explore his chest. He was all cut muscle and golden skin. There were scars dotted across his pecs and abdomen from old wounds, and you traced those delicately wishing you could kiss each of them.

“You can call me anything you like, my printsessa,” Bucky said, smiling down at you with affection written plainly across his face as he shed his shirt and discarded it on top of his jacket. “So Jamie it is.”

Ducking down, Bucky dragged his lip slightly over yours in a ghost of a kiss. Grumbling through a smile of your own, you tilted your head, capturing his mouth in a proper kiss. He lips curled in a smile before he devoured you with his kiss, his mouth demanding and possessive as it moved against yours. When he finally pulled away, you were both breathless.

“Ready for my cock, printsessa?” Bucky rumbled, grinding his hardness against your dripping slit through his pants and your lingerie. “Ready for me to claim you on the altar where you would have wed another man?”

Heat and need coursed through you, your wet folds rubbing against the drenched lace between your legs and the hot, hard length of him. But it wasn’t enough, you needed more. Before you could think better of it, your lips were moving and you were begging your White Wolf for what you wanted so desperately. “Please, Jamie—need you inside me, please!”

Bucky chuckled, the sound so self-satisfied you might have glared at him if you weren’t half mindless with lust. “Told you you’d be begging for my cock, printsessa,” he murmured, pushing up onto his knees and staring down at your bared body. The ruins of your wedding dress lay in tatters around you, framing your body for his eyes only. “I’ve already made a liar out of you and I haven’t even buried my cock in that sweet cunt of yours.” He trailed the edge of his knife down your body, digging into your soft skin but never piercing your flesh.

The delicious drag of the blade made you shiver, but the loss of contact against your pussy had your mind clearing somewhat and you bit out a response. “I’m not a liar,” you huffed indignantly, shooting him a half-hearted glare. Bucky only looked amused, so you tossed your head and lifted your chin defiantly as best you could in your position. “I just changed my mind.”

At that moment, Bucky pressed the flat edge of his knife against your clit and the feel of the cold steel against your heated flesh had you whimpering. Bucky grinned down at you. “You’re a liar and a slut, printsessa,” he said, bending down and planting a hand beside your head, watching as pleasure contorted your face. He dragged his knife against your clit, watching as your hips twitched in response. “But it’s alright—you were only lying to yourself,” he said distractedly, too caught up by the sight of his knife dragging through your folds. “And you’re my slut, aren’t you?”

“Uh huh,” you said, nodding while you gasped and writhed beneath Bucky’s knife. He was being so careful, and you were trying not to move too much so you didn’t hurt yourself, but it was too much of a tease. You needed more. “Jamie,” you whined, hands fisting in your tattered dress at your sides.

With a flick of his wrist, Bucky caught the lace of your lingerie on the tip of his knife and he sliced through it, baring you finally. You whimpered as the cool air of the church brushed against your heated core. Bucky tore the remnants of your lingerie from your body and tossed it aside, letting his eyes roam over you unhindered.

“So beautiful, printsessa,” he murmured, his tone reverent as he worshiped you with his eyes. When he’d looked his fill, he began dragging his knife along your body, tracing your soft curves with its sharp edge. Shivers wracked your body, but Bucky was careful, deliberate. He circled your nipples with the tip of the blade, making you gasp as excitement thrilled through you, shooting directly to your slit and making you throb desperately.

“Jamie, please,” you begged in a soft, hoarse voice. Your words broke off on a moan when Bucky trailed his knife back to your core, teasing your clit with the blunt edge of the knife. He slide it through your dripping folds and you fought to hold yourself still when all you wanted was relief. It was blissful torture, and Bucky’s eyes sparkled with delight as he watched you struggle beneath him. “Ple-ease,” you moaned brokenly, sobs heaving in your chest.

Chuckling, Bucky pulled the steel blade away from your throbbing core, holding your gaze as he licked your arousal from the silver edge. The breath froze in your lungs at the dangerously sinful picture he painted. For a moment, you were stunned by the knowledge that this man—this violent, ruthless, cruel man—was all yours. Your heart warmed at the thought. He hummed in delight, the sound a low, deep rumble in his chest that went straight to your clit, and you were spurred into motion.

Your fingers shaking in their eagerness, you reached for Bucky’s belt, undoing it and reaching into his slacks to pull out the cock you’d felt pressed against your most sensitive place. He was thick and hot in your hands, feeling like steel wrapped in velvet, and so big your pussy got wetter at the sight of him.

You circled your fingers around his girth while he twitched in your hands, making saliva pool in your mouth as you ached to take him down your throat. While you stroked his cock loosely, Bucky hastily threw his knife down beside you and pushed his slacks and boxer briefs down his legs, your focus getting distracted when his muscular thighs were revealed to you. You took a moment to appreciate the sight of him, his thick thighs bracketing his big, hard cock. It made you want to sit between his legs and worship his cock, but Bucky had other ideas.

He leaned down over you, bracing himself on a forearm beside your head. His lips found yours in a kiss while you continued stroking his length, twisting your hand around his tip and smearing his precum down his length until he pulled away with a groan. “Let me inside that sweet pussy, printsessa,” he rasped, an almost desperate pleading note in his voice. “Gonna stuff you full and fuck you just like my good little slut deserves.”

Moaning and nodding your head, you guided his hard length to your slick folds, rubbing the tip of him through your wetness and teasing your clit until you were both panting against each others’ lips. Finally, when you couldn’t take it anymore, you notched the head of his dick at your entrance and his hips pressed forward until the crown of his cock pushed into your tight heat. You both moaned raggedly, staring into each others’ eyes.

“So fucking tight, printsessa, so perfect,” Bucky rasped, dragging his lips across your jaw and planting kisses down the column of your throat. “Feels like you were made for my cock.”

Nodding distractedly, you wrapped your arms around Bucky’s shoulders and held on, moaning loudly when he pushed deeper into your fluttering channel. He was so hot and hard, but he was moving too slow and you needed more. Your knees climbed the sides of Bucky’s chest, opening yourself for him as your legs wrapped around his waist so you could urge him deeper. “Please, Jamie,” you whimpered, arching your back and writhing beneath him, trying to take him faster. “Need all of you inside me, need you to fill me up with your big cock, please,” you begged, whining the last word.

A growl tore from Bucky’s throat and he shoved his cock deep, burying himself in your pussy and making you cry out sharply as your tight hole stretched to accommodate his thick length. “Fuck—fuck! Now I know you were always meant to be mine,” he snarled as he filled you up, pausing for a moment to give you time to adjust. When you huffed a confused sound, he went on. “If it wasn’t meant to be, you wouldn’t fit me so perfectly,” he rumbled before sucking the skin of your neck between his teeth hard enough to leave his mark on your body.

Your heart thumped in your chest and you let yourself believe Bucky’s words—it was meant to be. He filled you up so perfectly and you felt so safe and cherished in his arms. “Jamie,” you whispered, threading your fingers through his soft brown hair. You chose to believe him, it was meant to be. You were meant to be his and he was meant to be yours. But you had both chosen each other too; you had chosen your fate and met it together.

It only took a moment for that feeling of rightness to sink in and then your body was begging for more of your White Wolf. You rolled your hips in an effort to get him moving, unsure if you could get your lips to work enough to form words. Your walls clasped desperately around Bucky’s thick cock, needing the friction that would drive your pleasure higher.

Bucky recognized your body’s pleas and began moving his hips, at first only rolling in small thrusts, grinding the base of himself against your clit as the tip of him brushed the entrance of your womb. It felt so good, nearly taking your breath away, and yet it wasn’t enough. You wanted him to fill you up and fuck you hard.

“Jamie, please, I need more—fuck me harder, fuck me like your little slut, please,” you begged, your voice raspy with desire.

“Mm,” Bucky hummed, rising up so he hung above you. His darkened gaze roved over your face, taking in the way your expression was twisted with pleasure and need. “You beg so sweetly, printsessa,” he murmured, a smirk curling the edge of his mouth as warm affection shone in his eyes. He pulled his hips back until only the tip of his dick was still inside you before slamming deep into your waiting heat, wrenching a lusty cry from your lips. “Such a gorgeous little slut for my cock.”

All you could do was moan in response as he set a brutal pace, fucking you so thoroughly your mind went blank but for the pleasure that consumed you. You clung to your White Wolf with your arms around his shoulders and your legs circling his waist, your hips rising to meet his with every thrust. You moaned with abandon, unafraid of letting the man who was no longer your enemy hear how good he made you feel.

“That’s it, printsessa, such a good little slut,” Bucky growled out through gritted teeth, his cock plowing into your wet pussy over and over, driving your pleasure higher and higher. “Taking my cock so well,” he murmured in your ear, nipping at the lobe and making you gasp. “Only sluts take it this good.” He dragged his face up to look you in the eye, his gaze intense. “You’re my perfect little slut, aren’t you, printsessa?”

Bucky’s question did obscene things to your body, making your heart riot in your chest and your pussy gush as you gasped for the air you’d need to answer him. “Yes, yes, yes, yes,” you chanted, nodding your head for good measure in time to the rhythm of his fucking. “Your slut, Jamie.”

“My slut, my printsessa,” he murmured affectionately, stealing a kiss from your lips. Then he shifted the angle of his body, pushing your thighs up and wider for him, pinning you to the wooden altar with his heavy weight. “Gonna fill you up with my cum, printsessa,” Bucky muttered, his eyes fixed on the spot where your bodies joined. “And then you’re gonna walk out of here with my cum leaking down your thighs—d’you hear me?”

“Fuck yes, please Jamie—cum inside me,” you said on a filthy moan, your head thrashing as your pleasure ratcheted higher. You clung to Bucky’s shoulders, nails digging into his skin to ground you as your mind threatened to float away on a wave of bliss. “Please, Jamie, ‘m so close, I need—please,” you sobbed, not entirely sure what you needed but knowing he was the only one who could give it to you.

“Shh,” Bucky murmured, pressing kisses to your face before shifting his weight onto his knees. His hand circled your throat, pinning you to the altar. His fingers squeezed the sides of your neck lightly.

Your body settled. Bucky didn’t grip you too hard, but you found it was exactly what you needed. Your eyes opened into slits and you stared up at him, feeling devotion in your heart and knowing it was written plainly across your face. There was nothing you could do to hide it, the White Wolf had you thoroughly undone and vulnerable for him, your soul bared in your eyes. A look of surprise flitted across Bucky’s face before his expression softened and he smiled down at you. Quickly, though, lust overtook him.

“Cum for me,” he rumbled, his free hand finding your clit as he kept pounding into your cunt. His cock hit a spot deep inside you on every thrust and that, along with his fingers mercilessly rubbing your clit, had sparks flaring all over your body. “Cum on my cock like a good little slut, printsessa,” he growled the command. He pressed deep, bullying your clit and squeezing your throat until you were lost.

You came with a choked scream, your body going taut and your hips rising up off the altar to take Bucky’s cock further inside you, as deep as it would go. Pleasure overwhelmed your mind until you were staring mindlessly up at him, consumed by wave after wave of ecstasy sweeping through your body. When your awareness returned, the first thing you saw was the awe on Bucky’s face. You grabbed him and dragged him down for a messy kiss, his cock still pounding into your clenching pussy.

“Cum inside me, Jamie,” you murmured when you pulled away, letting him see your eyes and how desperate you were for him. “Please, cum inside me.”

Bucky squeezed his eyes shut for a moment like he needed to gather himself, and when he opened them again, they were sparking with determination and lust and something deeper—something you weren’t quite ready to name. “You’re mine, printsessa,” he gritted out, his hips moving faster as he rutted into your still pulsing channel. “Mine.”

“Yours,” you replied, crying out as he slammed into your oversensitive pussy, reveling in the feeling of him using your body to get off. “Always yours, my White Wolf.”

“Your White Wolf,” he growled in affirmation. He shoved his cock inside you, plunging as deep as he could go, his thrusts turning sloppy as he chased his release. After a few more strokes, he came with a loud groan, pressing the tip of his cock against the end of you. His dick twitched as he spilled his seed in your pussy and you moaned softly at the feel of him filling you up, some of his cum leaking out of your hole.

When he was spent, Bucky collapsed on top of you, letting your legs fall around his waist as he lay his head on your still heaving chest. His arms wrapped around you, holding you tight to him. You threaded your fingers through his hair, enjoying its softness as you both caught your breath.

After a short while, Bucky picked his head up and looked at you, satisfaction written plainly in the grin on his face. You couldn’t help but smile in return, drawing him in for a kiss. Your White Wolf kissed you tenderly, though it still had a possessive edge you didn’t expect him to ever lose. That was fine with you, it made you feel cherished in a way you never had before.

He pressed one last kiss to your lips before he moved away enough to speak. “We’ve lingered long enough, printsessa,” he said, nuzzling your cheek like he was reluctant to let you get too far away. “Your father deserves to come and collect his dead.”

It was then that you were reminded of the bloodshed in the church and you startled a little, making the mistake of glancing around. Immediately, you were overwhelmed by the carnage and you buried your face in Bucky’s chest. He chuckled, but petted your head soothingly for a moment. Then, he sat up and pulled himself carefully from your body, though you still hissed at the loss of him.

Bucky helped you to sit up, your back to the rest of the church so you didn’t have to look at the evidence of his violence again. The last of your ruined wedding dress fell around you in tatters and your lingerie was discarded, so you were left in nothing but your heels. Bucky eyed your destroyed dress with no small amount of contempt. “Hope you weren’t partial to that dress, printsessa,” he muttered, though his tone held no remorse.

You hopped off the altar with as much bravado as you could muster, pride surging when you landed on your feet and your knees didn’t give out. Although you were confident Bucky would’ve caught you if they had, it was nice to remember you could stand on your own even after he’d made you cum so hard.

“Let my father find it and wonder what you did to me,” you said flippantly, tossing your messy hair over your shoulder, resisting the urge to smooth it down. You knew you looked a sight, standing as bare as the day you were born in the church where you were supposed to be wed, looking freshly fucked, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care overmuch.

Catching your eye, Bucky grinned, seemingly enjoying the sight of you naked and defiant. “That’s my girl,” he murmured, bending to steal a kiss. Then he gathered his white shirt from where it had fallen and helped you into it.

You quickly buttoned up the shirt and when you looked back to Bucky, he had his suit jacket thrown over his bare chest, his pants sitting low on his hips. He looked so sexy, you wanted to drop to your knees right there behind the church’s altar and take his cock in your mouth in your own form of worship. You’d clean him up properly and see how deep into your throat you could take him before he came on your tongue.

Bucky let out an appreciative hum, drawing your attention back to his face in time to see him rake his eyes down over your body, barely hidden beneath the sheath of his shirt. “You look like you just got fucked, printsessa,” he commented, possessiveness tinging his tone and a smirk curling the edge of his mouth.

You stepped up to him, running your hands up his chest beneath his jacket, feeling him suck in a breath at your touch, and grinned shamelessly. “That’s because you so thoroughly defiled me, White Wolf,” you murmured, repeating his words back to him. Pressing up on your tiptoes, your lips brushed against his stubbled jaw as you spoke in his ear. “Now get me out of here before I beg you to fuck my face with your fat cock.”

A surprised sound escaped Bucky’s mouth and he dragged you in for a kiss with his hand buried in your hair. It was short and hot, leaving you panting for more, but before you could say anything, Bucky grabbed your hand and led you toward the side door of the church.

The bright sunshine hit your face and you blinked against it, somehow disbelieving it was still daytime. So much had happened in the church, it felt like the outside world should reflect the fact that your entire life had changed—and not in the way you’d thought when you’d entered the building that morning. It took you a moment of blinking to adjust to the bright light of the day and take in your surroundings.

Bucky’s men stood around, watching the area closely with guns in hand. They all stiffened to attention when they realized who had exited the church. When you looked to Bucky, the cruel mask of the White Wolf was back in place. Something about the barely leashed violence in his expression had your core throbbing with need.

“Update,” your White Wolf growled.

A tall man with broad shoulders, black hair and a mean-looking face stepped forward. “No movement yet, but we’ve picked off a few spies,” he reported in a raspy voice. “The old man’s waiting and seeing what we do next.”

“Good,” Bucky said, nodding decisively. “Let’s clear out.” He began to walk toward a bank of SUVs, his fingers still tangled in yours, tugging you along behind him.

You could feel the moment the White Wolf’s men noticed your joined hands, their gazes following your arm to your body, clad only in Bucky’s white dress shirt and your heels. You didn’t know if they could see his cum trickling down your thighs, but you could certainly feel it. You gathered your strength and held your chin high, squaring your shoulders and meeting the gazes of the men around you.

Bucky must’ve noticed the shift in his men too because he stopped and looked around. His eyes fixed on the mean-looking man who had spoken. “There a problem, Rumlow?”

The man called Rumlow didn’t show any emotion, but he paused before speaking like he was deciding if he should. “She’s his daughter,” he said after a moment.

You had to hand it to Rumlow, it wasn’t outright defiance, which you were certain the White Wolf would’ve punished the man for. It didn’t even sound like he was questioning his boss, only pointing out a fact that had clearly given him and the other men pause. You looked to Bucky to see how he’d respond.

The White Wolf was staring at his man with a thoughtful expression, then he turned to you. Your insides lit up at the attention, but you didn’t let it show on your face. “Who do you belong to?” Bucky asked, his voice harsh, though you didn’t flinch.

You almost smiled at the question, but stifled the urge, knowing it was neither the time nor the place to show the affection and happiness bubbling up in your heart. There was a certain amount of theatricality to the world your family and the White Wolf inhabited, and since you’d grown up in it, you could easily play the part Bucky wanted.

So you looked back to Rumlow, then met the eyes of the other men facing you, your chin held high. “I belong to the White Wolf,” you declared. Your voice was loud and clear, ringing out down the street so as many of Bucky’s men could hear you.

Rumlow’s expression shifted somewhat, understanding and a bit of respect in his eyes. He nodded and stepped back, falling in line with the other men. He and the others started to move to follow the White Wolf’s earlier order, but Bucky’s loud voice stopped them.

“Make sure it’s known throughout the city—the princess is mine,” he barked, glaring around at his men. You weren’t sure if it was meant to taunt your father or ensure no one tried to take you as their own prize, but you felt the ripple of fear that went through the crowd of men. It satisfied something in your heart to be claimed so publicly and you finally let a small smile slip out.

A second later, they jumped into action and Bucky smirked with gratification. He turned to you. “Ready to go home, printsessa?” he asked in a quiet voice, too low for anyone else to hear.

You nodded, giving him a small smile, a ghost of the one you wanted to show him. “I’m ready, Jamie—take me home.” You looked at him with nothing but trust and devotion in your eyes and Bucky grinned, the expression appropriately wolfish. He bent and gave you a quick kiss.

Letting Bucky lead you to an SUV, you allowed your mind to wander to what lay ahead for the two of you. Your father would no doubt be unhappy with the fact that you hadn’t been killed in the attack on your wedding since you being alive and in the possession of the White Wolf would only complicate things. He’d be even more furious when he learned you’d declared your loyalty to the enemy.

But you knew Bucky would keep you safe. He was too much a force of nature to be taken down by someone as weak and ill-prepared as your father. So you weren’t worried. You were only excited to start your life with your new man. Your future was finally one you were happy to meet, because you had James Buchanan Barnes at your side. Your White Wolf.

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moonchildlov · 1 year

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🛥️I hope I did this right

Boyfriend

Marvel

Name is Drea

I’m a cancer ♋️

I love to write, like to read, I can be a extrovert and introvert lol hope this makes sense i don’t think I put the character I think you do right? Haha hopefully this makes sense 😂☺️

Hi Drea! ✨️

Thank you for sending in an ask! I would ship you wiiiith Bucky Barnes! 💕

Being a Cancer, you are someone who is naturally kind and compassionate. And since Bucky has been through lots of trauma, he needs someone gentle and caring to tend to his emotional needs and triggers! He would also strive for a quiet, simple life, being able to settle down with a long term partner. This man is tired, he doesn't have the time or energy left for short term flings! So, being both introverted and extroverted, you would be able to provide both a calm home life, and fun when needs be. And due to his introverted nature, he would absolutely adore and join you in a quiet appreciation of reading and literature!

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moonchildlov · 1 year

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Hands down one of the best Seggs pollen fics I have read haha 😂 😌

I Need You To Listen - Steve Rogers

Summary: For @the-slumberparty 's Week 3 Something New Challenge, I went with the medium mode - sex pollen but with exes to lovers. This took alot of work I ended up rewriting it entirely, I hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 7.4k || Dividers: @firefly-graphics

Pairing: Nomad!Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+ minors dni, smut, angst, smut, fluff, sex pollen, p in v, fingering, dirty talk, love bites, steve rogers dirty talking (this man), swearing, nipple play, past is in italics, sort of a post civil war rewrite so we're going completely off canon

Main Masterlist || AO3

Fate works in the most hilarious of ways, a stubbed toe over here and a broken heart still being nursed over there.

Tony Stark stands in front of your cell, staring at you through the glass. You don’t hold back your tears from him. Disappointment colours his features.

Broken pieces of trust lay scattered on the floor. The damage by him was done. Leaving you to bear the brunt. Leaving you to walk on the jagged edges of the broken family.

A family that shared jokes, laughed, drank and protected each other.

Won together.

Lost together.

In the past few days died together.

“How are you holding up?” His arc reactor gleams as he takes a seat on the stool. Unzipping the jacket he wears his arm in a sling. You close your eyes, more tears fall at the memory of the fight. An involuntary shiver as the chiling bite of the cold manifests itself from your memory.

The cell isn’t uncomfortable. There is a cot in the corner, the bathroom has a door. The sterile scent of the cleaning agent stopped giving you a headache hours ago.

“Why are you asking me?” You look at him, he should be mad, he should yell, call you a traitor.

“Contrary to what you all think and did to me, I trust you.” He shrugs, left eye twitching, he rolls his shoulder.

“How is the arm?” Your gaze falls to it.

“Seen better days. You know, heart troubles.” He looks at Wanda’s cell, “Kid, Vis is asking about you.”

She looks up at him, “Is Rhodes alright?”

Tony presses his lips into a thin line, shaking his head.

Wanda looks down at her hands.

“He tore us apart. That Baron Zemo. I know you have a lot to learn, alot to grieve. The accords may be dissolved. I’m working on it. At SI we’re preparing the bail documents.” He informs you all.

Sam scoffs, “What about Cap and Barnes?”

“James is in recovery as per my last conversation with T’Challa. Where Cap and Nat are I do not know nor does he.” Tony gazes back at you.

“I trusted him.” Is all you can say to him. You stare at your palms, you couldn’t get the blood off.

“I know, I did too.”

“Tony.” Your lips quiver another sob at the heartbreak Steve left you with to deal. All alone.

Bucky fights Tony, you don’t want to see your best friend hurt. The man who took you under his wing when you joined in, your steps halted by the blonde haired man who harbours your heart.

“Sign the accords.” Steve orders, you gape at him.

“Steve, do you fucking realise? We’re here because I didn’t sign them because I am siding with you?” You almost yell. The tempreture drops as the snow cascades into the facility from the now broken windows.

Bucky lands on the floor, a pained groan, his arm blasted off. He kneels, eyes widened at the implication. At the man he hurt irreparablely being the one to take away one of the curses HYDRA bestowed upon him.

“Shit!” Your eyes move to Tony, slowly he rises from the floor. The suit broken in several places.

“Y/N, you need to listen. You cannot go rogue with me.”

“Steve,” You push his arm away you had to intervene.

“It was good while it lasted.” He says and everything turns to static.

“Wh-what?”

“Look, I, we had a good run but I know your stance on the accords you’re just with me for the sole reason we’re together.” Steve says to you.

“Are you serious right now?” Anger courses through you, your grip on your pistol tightens.

“It's not even the accords. I, I didn’t think we would make it beyond this month. Look, I have to think about Bucky. Its all of this, it doesn’t, priorities.” He lunges over to defend Bucky leaving you defenceless. Your ears ringing, you watch as they fight, you can’t hear any of the clangs the groans.

You stand there dumbfounded.

As Steve throws Tony down the beam reflects off of his shield and hits you on the shoulder you’re thrown against the wall. Bucky meets your eyes, at least he seems apologetic.

Tony tries to get up to help you, “Rogers, she’s hurt—,” The shield slams against the arc reactor.

“I don’t care.” He says so easily.

You pant as the pain increases, both the burn and sting of his words as well as the physical injuries manifesting across you.

Steve helps Bucky up, you try to push yourself to your knees, crawling to Tony while keeping your arm close to your body.

Bucky looks back at you, his eyes convey his remorse. Tony breathes hard, you blink back tears at the glance Steve doesn’t spare towards you.

Eight months down the drain.

The morning kisses, cuddles, the random sketches of you he left as gifts all lose their importance. Remembrance only causes pain.

“Mr. Stark, you need to leave.”

Tony sighs, “I’ll visit, or I’ll have you guys out before that. Work some arrangement.”

“I’m so sorry, Tony.” You look at his arm and back at his face.

He gives you one of those sad smiles of his, the one where he pretends it's just another day, another common thing.

“Aren’t you foolish to trust us again?” Sam questions him as Tony passes by his cell.

“I just have to do my job. It’s the people who have to trust us.” Tony turns to face Sam.

“So the people trust the missile maker millionaire Stark?” Sam knows the jab is stinging, Tony hated

that about the company’s past.

The rift was ever present, your friend looks towards you.

“Y/N, let him know not to insult me, I’m a billionaire.” He grabs his glasses and moves away.

You resist the urge to laugh, everyone would resort to their coping mechanisms. You’d have to bide your time here. Usually getting black out drunk was how you solved your own problems.

True to his word Tony has you all released on various conditions. You, Scott and Wanda are released together.

When you reach the tower it isn’t surprising that there was a break in, you’d scoff that Steve didn’t come to break you out but he made his decision in Siberia.

The faint scent of his cologne lingers in your room. Hints of Patchouli and Bergamot. You stare at the box on your bed.

Opening it reveals a burner phone.

“I got a burner too, one number loaded upon it.” Tony stands at the door holding a glass of scotch for himself and your favourite Vodka in a bottle.

“Surprised he bothered.” You open the phone and it chimes an unread text upon it.

“I didn’t get that.” He observes, you take the bottle from him.

Opening the text.

SGR: I want to talk to you. Please let me explain.

You laugh bitterly, unscrewing the cap and taking a long sip. At least you can blame these tears on the alcohol.

“Are you going to? Call him I mean.” Tony settles on your desk chair.

“Nope.” You set your bottle down after three more sips, grabbing the edges of the opened flip phone you press. The phone snaps from its hinges and you place it back down in the box, “Did you track it?”

“Fake return address.” He twirls the ice in his drink.

The two of you bask in the silence. Drinking in tandem and out of sync.

“Were you going to sign the Accords?” You ask after a while staring at the setting sun.

“Nope,” He reaches for your bottle, pouring himself a peg, “I was having them redrafted. Steve only had to agree for them to shut up. My draft would have gotten approved.”

“So confident.” You raise your brows.

“Comes with the job title.” He rolls his eyes.

“Do you think anyone will trust anyone?” You tap the bottle neck.

Steve’s laughter reverberates against your chest. He reaches up to cup your face.

“Why is it so amusing?” You ask, not meeting his eyes.

“Because it is, Poppet. I wouldn’t break your heart.” He assures yet again.

You gnaw at your bottom lip trust was difficult to come by for you.

“You want to know why?” He whispers, making you meet his gaze. His nose brushing against your own.

“Because I have your heart and it's what is keeping me alive.”

You lean closer, pressing your lips to his, Steve kisses you back. Hands pulling you closer. You feel his smile between the kisses and you begin to retract knowing what he was upto but it’s too late.

Steve tickles your sides and laughter blubbers from your chest. He grins, cheeks flushed as you press against him. The thin sheet hides nothing from the way you feel.

“I love you.” He says, you stroke his cheek with your thumb.

“I loved him with everything in me.” You blubber out, tears falling down.

Tony sits next to you, your head rests on his good shoulder, “I know you did. It's a hard road ahead, kid. Not an undoable one.”

“I hate him.” You declare, “I hate him, he just, how could he be so selfish?”

“Sometimes we all are, he is in the wrong. He didn’t exactly reciprocate the trust.” Tony sighs, you look up at him.

“I’m sorry about your parents.” You watch him give you those sad smiles, he flexes and extends the fingers of his left hand.

“He could have told me, I trusted him enough that he could.” He whispers then shakes his head.

“Steve Rogers is an asshole.” You declare raising your bottle to his assholery. Then you giggle.

“You just thought of the word assholery didn’t you?” Tony giggles as well.

Both of you burst out laughing.

“Hey Tone?” You ask mid laughter.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you for being here, also can I get a box?”

“Sure.” He stands, FRIDAY has the box led by one of his tinkered bots to the room.

“I need to check on Rhodey.” He says, “I’m a call away okay?”

You nod, he leaves. The box stays on your bed and then you stare at the sketches hung around your room. With a delicateness that Steve didn’t spare towards you, you pack up the papers. Sealing the box with plastic wrap and head down to the safety deposit lockers.

Your steps are misjudged and you drop your box of trinkets several times. The stupid ceramic mug from that couples pottery class probably shattered.

You giggle thinking how it resembles your heart.

Locking the box leaves you in silence. Your room is void of all things Steve except the one shirt he gave you on your first mission together where the two of you fell into the muddled waters that left the two of you in need to change out of clothes.

The shirt smells like him, you curl up with it on your pillow.

“This is the last time you gave your heart away.” You tell yourself.

“This is the last time you cry over him.” You promise yourself.

Eight months pass and you all sit in the conference room. The accords are abolished. They reinstate Natasha, Sharon, James, Sam and him. Tony holds his flip phone. Resorting to texting rather than speaking to him.

A reply comes when you all are back at the tower. They’d be there tomorrow. Rooms are prepared with favourite foods stocked up. You had requested your room be shifted away to another level.

Heart ache didn’t manifest beyond those few nights.

Your walls that Steve Rogers broke down were built back stronger. Impenetrable. His shirt was placed in his room by you a month into getting over him.

You don’t pass by the floor, you’re a level above. Thankfully the elevators divide the levels they service and you won’t ever be on the same floor as him.

The night is restless despite your indifference to all of them. They were the family you chose and yet you were abandoned by them.

Dreams are but a loop of memories you have buried.

After your morning laps you head to Tony’s lab.

“They will be dropping in at SHIELD first. Fury wants to discuss some things and then they come back here.” He stifles a yawn.

“You need caffeine my friend.” You hold up the coffees, “Luckily I come bearing gifts.”

“I love you.” He whispers gingerly while taking the cup.

“Are you talking to the coffee or me?” You ask, taking a sip of your own.

“I can love both.” He defends, whispering to the coffee he loves it more.

You throw one of his discarded paper balls on him. It doesn’t phase him.

“Are you sure you want to come along?” He asks for the umpteenth time on the drive to SHIELD.

“Tony, I will leave you behind if you ask me again.” You glare at him.

“I think you will be fine.” Vision assures a gentle smile on his face and he laces his fingers with Wanda. She smiles at him, her own mind filled with thoughts.

“See we’ll be okay.” You declare.

Minutes later you’re seated on one side of the conference room. Tony on the first seat, you on the second. Vision opts to stand behind Wanda as she sits.

Fury sits at the head of the table. The door opens and Natasha, Sam and Steve step into the room. A thick silence settles over. You look at each of them and then back at Fury.

Natasha’s hair is shorter and blond, Sam seems to have gotten leaner. Steve was sporting a beard and longer hair.

You wondered if the post break up look was something you should have gone for, maybe dyed your hair blue.

“Well, as you know you all have been reinstated. The Avengers operate without any Accords binding them but they must be mindful of their poweress and the possible damage they may cause. A country has full discretion to forbid the Avengers from subduing threats that may lead them there and you must honour that no matter the cost.” Fury gazes at you all.

“What if they need help?” Steve questions, you scoff.

Cold blues flash to you. You roll your eyes.

“The dissolution of the Accords was done keeping this one rule in mind. I suggest you make peace with it. You will not be able to save everyone from damage and hurt, it is better than causing it.” Tony adds.

Steve’s jaw tightens. He nods.

“Now since this is done and dusted. Official missions may resume.” Fury places down a manila folder.

“Official?” Sam questions, raising a brow.

“Agent Y/L/N here was liasoning with us for recon purposes. Kept under wraps. We have identified HYRA bases. Once the plans are sanctioned you all will be back on duty.” Nick sighs, “I suggest you all train together to get a sense of your skill sets and moves again.”

No one nods.

Nick shakes his head leaving the room.

“Your old rooms have been cleaned at the tower. Access is via FRIDAY, food is stocked. Layout’s almost the same. Few changes here and there. Oh and there are new succulents in the living room.” Tony fiddles with the folder.

“We can conduct a meeting about these missions tonight or tomorrow. You all settle in, there is a car outside and your vehicles are in pristine condition at the garage.” He informs them further.

“No welcome back party?” Nat muses, you laugh.

“I drank all the liquor so unfortunately no parties.” You deadpan.

Nat and Sam stare at you.

“It has been a difficult few months. I understand everyone will take time to return to a semblance of previous normalcy.” Vision’s words are both reassuring but also farfetched.

Wanda grasps his hand and gives it a squeeze.

Steve’s brows furrow in worry. He observes you trying to find any hints but you give him none. You learned to school yourself. An agent well versed in hiding her intent, emotions and aim. Your skillset is what brought you to the team and it is what you have. It's what you could trust.

Sam nods, “Well best we head back.”

“Yes we could use some sleep.” Natasha says, you flash her a smile.

“Yep, well I have a few things to discuss with Fury.” You push away from the table first. Tony follows your lead.

“Should you not include us in the conversation?” Steve says in his authoritative baritone.

“Unfortunately, Captain, it isn’t an Avengers matter but a personal one. Which you aren’t entitled to know.” You spit back.

His mouth opens again to speak.

Tony beats him to it, “Where’s our Manchurian candidate?”

“Bucky’s in the UK for a bit, after Wakanda we were there for a while. He stayed back for personal reasons.” Steve explains and you slip out.

Steve stares at your room door, knocking on it yet again. Two weeks since his return and you had avoided him in every capacity.

He had worked up the courage to knock on your door today. But there was no response as it was over the past fifteen minutes. He requests FRIDAY to check in and all the AI says is that you’re fine.

You had gotten back from a mission yesterday morning. You had to have been resting.

“Why won’t she open her door then?” He mutters, pressing his forehead to your door, “Poppet, I just want to speak to you. Please.”

“Captain.” Vision greets floating out of Wanda’s room.

“Vision.” He acknowledges.

“Why are you knocking on an empty room’s door?” Vision tilts his head.

Steve blinks at him, “This is Y/N’s room.” he states as if obvious.

“It isn’t, she switched rooms about three months ago.” Vision says

Before Steve can ask anything further, Wanda opens her door, “Vis.” She gestures with her hand for him to return.

“Wanda.” He walks to her this time.

“FRIDAY, where is Y/N’s new room?” Steve questions walking to the elevators.

“She’s on the twenty-fifth floor.” The AI responds, he switches to the other elevator.

“Captain, you will have to go to the ground floor to switch elevators.” FRIDAY informs him.

Steve sighs moving back in front of the original elevator. It stops at every single floor; he almost misses the elevator as you’re getting on, luckily a Stark Industries employee holds the door for him.

You bite the inside of your cheek. Looking away.

“I want to talk.” He says over the all too silent but crowded elevator.

Everyone looks at him except you. They follow his gaze to you.

“I don’t.” You answer while staring at the numbers.

“Poppet.” He says and you shoot him a glare before looking away again.

People trickle in and out.

Steve’s gaze is trained upon you. He nods politely at those greeting him but his gaze nerver strays from you.

You look into your phone pulling up a forgotten game loaded into the device. Anything. Any stupid thing to avoid him.

Finally it's just the two of you.

The automated air freshener hisses filling the space with the scent of lavender.

“Poppet I just want to explain—,” Steve steps closer, his hand outstretched.

“No. I don’t fucking want to hear a word.” You seethe, you move forward pressing the button to your floor if it makes you reach quicker.

“Poppet.” He grabs your hand, turning you towards him.

“Y/N. Use my damn name.” You spit out, finally meeting his eyes.

There is a tick in his jaw, he nods, “Y/N. Just five minutes. I know I don’t deserve it—,”

“You don’t deserve to even ask for a minute of my time. You never saw us work beyond that month correct? Well guess what? We don’t.” You push at his chest, he doesn’t budge.

“I lied. I said those things so you wouldn’t follow. I could not have you living rogue with me.” Steve admits, you stare at him.

“You lied?” You repeat.

“I didn’t want to break things off but that was the only way I could ensure you wouldn’t follow behind me. It was dangerous. Poppet—Y/N,” he corrects, “I told you your heart kept me alive, I love you—,”

Steve’s head snaps to the side, cheek turning red at the impact of your slap. You breathe hard, eyes tearing up.

“That was not for you to fucking decide, you do not get to come back here and make your sorry excuses for being a horrible human being. Betraying my trust. Leaving me and your friend injured. You picked Bucky over us. You picked Bucky over me and I understand I would pick him too if I were you. But I would not fucking lie or leave my girlfriend and best friend behind injured horribly. You’re welcome back to the compound Steve. Even back to your glorious Captain America title. However,”

The doors open to your floor, you step out.

“I don’t know how you say you’re alive because I took my fucking heart back from your undeserving self. I don’t care if you lied, I don’t care if it was all fun and games. I don't care about you. I don’t want to care about you. You are a teammate because I am forced to consider you one. I don’t need to listen to you to provide you closure or a second chance. You fucking liar!”

“Poppet,” Steve reaches for you again, you take off running to your door.

“FRIDAY, deny access. Override only with Tony.” You order, the locks on your doors bolt and Steve keeps knocking and pleading.

He sinks to his knees outside your door apologising over and over.

Natasha is pinned to the floor by Wanda as the latter grins triumphantly. Natasha praises her and they break apart. You take Wanda’s place and Sam takes Natasha’s place.

Mixed training was now mandatory.

You had almost burned Nick Fury with your glare. Steve hadn’t shown up to any, in fact he hardly was in the same room as you.

Sam goes full offence, you block the blows. Defending yourself you had worked hard over the time away from official duties.

Minutes pass by, neither of you yields. Panting you stare at Sam waiting for an opening to take him down.

“Come on, that's all you got, little spy?” Sam teases, you laugh.

“You wish birdy.” You stick your tongue out childishly. Wanda and Nat laugh.

“Come on Wilson.” Nat prompts, “We’re bored here.”

“Alright,” Sam moves, pulling a fake. You catch it a moment too late, as he’s about to tackle you to the ground you turn. Tugging on his arm as Sam’s eyes widen.

The momentum thrown off both of you land on your sides, recovering swiftly he’s pinned to the ground by you.

You grin at him.

“How's that birdy?” You laugh at his irritation. Sam rolls his eyes.

“Y/N.”

Everyone’s heads snap to the door, Steve and Tony stand there.

You help Sam up. Sam keeps an arm around your shoulder. Steve’s eyes linger and his fists clench.

Sam takes his arm away.

You roll your eyes, they land on Tony as he bites his cheek, oh this can’t be good you deem.

“Wheels up in an hour for Rogers and you.” He delivers the news.

“Sam, Nat, Vis and Wanda are needed to take on a bigger base with Tony.” Steve looks at you, “Fury’s orders before you try to whine your way out if it.”

You glare at him, “Alright.”

An hour later you’re on the jet with Steve. He doesn’t talk. The last conversation between the two of you was enough.

“We won’t be splitting up.” Steve informs you. You nod, studying the layout.

You frown in recognition.

“I was here on recon. This is supposed to be a dead base.” You look up at him.

“Fury said they detected activity.” He looks back ahead.

“Hopefully it's just random people looking for shelter.” You look back at the plans.

Steve hums, observing you again. Wishing it would be like before where the two of you would be holding hands.

Cobwebs litter the walls, plaster cracked. The scent of something decaying permeates through the space.

Walking into the HYDRA base is carefully crafted, Steve leads with his shield. You keep a double check on the back trail. Something was not sitting right with you.

The hallway diverges, you stand next to Steve, “Left side first then we can go right.” You whisper.

He nods, “Stay close, I don’t know why something feels wrong.”

You don’t verbalise your own feelings, following in his footsteps.

The hallway leads to an abandoned lab, the computers torn down and broken apart. Steve relaxes his defensive stance looking around the area.

You move carefully through the edge of the room, “Something should be of value here.”

“I don’t think there is anything.” Steve declares, “Let's clear the other pathway.”

You give another once over and then follow him back down the path.

Your boot catches on the uneven flooring, “Shit!” You whisper yell as you fall forward.

Steve turns, breaking your fall. You land against his chest and his arm encircles your waist. For a moment that echoes a broken promise of eternity he holds you close to him.

Steve sneaks a moment he lost over a stupid decision. He takes what crumbs he’s given by fate.

Your palm is against his chest, your head tucked against the crook of his neck.

Why can't you move away?

Why do you want more of him?

Why do you miss him?

He hurt you.

He lied.

He hurt you.

You break the eternity Steve was living as you pull away, silence stretches between the two of you as you head down the other hallway.

It's empty yet again, you shake your head at the waste of time. Steve steps closer to the vials on the shelf. The liquid in them gleams a certain way.

You hear a pneumatic hiss from your left. You turn quietly making your way to the wall.

Steve studies the shelf again. There was no dust on it. No pattern on it. These were fresh vials. Then his eyes widened, “Y/N don’t!”

You turn to face him when the hiss is louder and the slits of the vent open. A dust like substance pours over floating around you.

A coughing fit grips you, you place your hand against the wall to steady yourself the gun falls as you clutch your chest wheezing.

Steve pads over to you, trying to rub your back to ease the coughing fit. He asks FRIDAY to scan the micro dust to see if it is anything dangerous.

The coughing fit subsides over a few minutes, your breathing shallow. You look up at Steve blinking away the tears. He cups your cheek.

“Are you okay? Do you feel anything?” He questions, gaze running over every aspect of you. Glove clad large palms moving over your form. You nod, but then your stomach cramps.

“What is it?” Steve takes not of your discomfort.

“I, it's my stomach—,” Your words are cut off by a whimper as the cramp gains severity. You lean more against the wall as the cramp travels across.

Steve rummages through his mind to know what this substance could be, he had been to HYDRA bases before. He spoke to Bucky all about them, their experiments which he knew.

He watches as your skin flushes, you squirm in his grasp. He steps closer to support you.

“Poppet?” Steve makes you look up at him, your eyes have a dazed look almost glazed over. You feel his warmth through your tactical suit. His thigh between your legs and the ache the needy ache is all you know and you need to get rid of it.

“Please,” You plead to him gazing at his slightly blurred blue eyes, your hips moving out of their own accord against his thigh you moan as your core makes contact with him.

Steve pushes your hips away, “Poppet what—,”

“Steve, it hurts so badly. Please,” You cry out wiggling against his hold. His fingers dig into your hips to keep you in place.

Your palms cover his, you look up at him.

You lean up, he shifts back. You use the distraction to guide his palm to grind down on it. Your choked moan has his cock harden further. He can’t help but watch as you use him.

Logic hits him then when he feels just how wet you’ve gotten, before he can pull away there is a prick in the side of his neck. You begin to blur from his view.

“Poppet, something is wrong.”

You look up at him, why did his words sound garbled?

Why was he falling to his knees?

You look behind him, people standing and watching.

The need clouding your mind clears in the slightest, “Steve,” you kneel next to him.

“It’s okay,” he assures you, reaching for the shield.

The cramp hits you again harder; you cry out in pain, doubling over and sinking against the wall to curl up.

“FRIDAY, dis-distress signal.” Steve orders as his vision begins to blacken, he reaches for you with the last of his strength covering your curled up form with his body.

Steve keeps his eyes closed.

Enhanced hearing picking up the dripping pipes from the left. To his right he hears your pained whimpers.

How long was he out?

Chains bind his arms above him, the uneven concrete digs into his knees and shins. He would search for the shield in the aftermath.

He counts four people by their rhythmic footfall. They were in the same facility. It couldn’t have been easy to move them.

Lolling his head to right he watches you through hooded eyes, chained like him kept on your knees but you’re struggling. Squirming on the ground trying to find respite and crying out of frustration.

“Sex pollen.” Bucky spoke, with a shake of his head in disgust.

“Sex pollen?” Steve repeated as if to confirm.

Bucky gives him a look, Steve’s eyebrows shot up higher.

“What does that do? Did they use it on you?” Steve questioned his best friend.

Bucky shook his head, “It basically sets the libido up to the maximum, forces the person in contact to orgasm but basically they need to have sex, self pleasure seldom works. The intensity is higher to combat the inevitable effect.”

A dark expression crossed Bucky’s features, he sighed sadly. Looking out at the view from his home in Wakanda. The house, though borrowed, was Bucky’s own.

Steve had placed a few sketches of Brooklyn around. The place he used to consider home now changed. Steve stares at the more recent sketch of his home city.

Two men out of time in a place decades ahead of the world outside.

“How long?” Steve clutches his charcoal tighter as he forms the curve of soft lips on the paper. A stray tendril of hair.

Bucky looks down at the half done sketch of your face. His heart aches for Steve and you.

“Two hours, it gets progressively maddening. At first one can try to speak or answer what is asked. After that it is variable how long it takes for the need to become the sole focus. If nothing is done in two hours then its too far gone and well...”

He had limited time, he could not gamble any further. Steve opens his eyes, tugging at the restraints to catch the attention of the captors.

You hear the rattling, you look up at Steve another pang through your core.

“Steve—,”

“Ah, Captain. Welcome to the land of the waking, you were out for just under an hour. Now who is this sweet little needy thing with you?” The man asks, stepping closer to you.

Steve growls, “Stay away from her.” he warns.

The man raises his hands in defence, “She’s a little needy Captain,” he walks back toward Steve away from you, “Why so possessive?”

Steve bites his tongue, “She’s mine.” he grits out.

“I see and why is she yours?”

He can’t tell them, they would exploit you but his will is crumbling swiftly and his mind is compelling him to speak, “I love her.”

“Hm, it seems she needs you, Captain.” The man grins, walking back to you. His palm touches your scalp as he pulls your hair back. You want to recoil but the touch is soothing some of the ache. You look at Steve, pleading.

“I could fill in.” He says suggestively.

You try to shuffle away but the grip on your hair tightens.

“Don’t you fucking dare touch her!” Steve bellows as his thumb approaches your lips, “What the fuck do you want?” He pulls against the restraints, almost snarling.

“I want to know where my Soldat is, tell me.” The man demands, leaving you. The words register as does the scent of cigarettes you recoil. You feel your mind working again, clearing the need to be fucked.

“Steve don’t,” you warn him, he couldn’t sell out Bucky whatever this was, it wasn't worth ruining his life again, “I’ll deal with this…” you bite back the pained whimper.

Steve stares at you, eyes wide and with an emotion you can’t place.

“Oh but you know what is wrong with her don’t you Captain?” The man demands and you look to Steve, “Tell her the truth that burns your veins, Captain.”

Steve wants to lie, wants to cushion you, “Truth serum?” He looks at the man who nods.

“Brilliant isn’t it? You’re compelled to tell me whether or not she chooses to be saved. You’re on a time limit.” The man taps his watch.

“It’s a sex pollen.” Steve informs you, you stare at him.

“That, that's why I need?” Your insides churn and your clit pulses as you watch Steve lick his dry lips before he continues to speak. The small insignificant action has your body wanting to be devoured.

“Yes, and if you don’t get release, it’s fatal.”

Silence stretches on the footfall of the three others has stopped, they watch the show play out. The consequences and the outcomes weighed.

“Fight it, don’t tell them. It's not worth it.” You whisper.

“Poppet you cannot say that. I am not risking your life!” Steve yells, pulling at the restraints again.

“You can’t have him at risk again!”

“I won’t let you die!”

“You already left me for the dead once! You chose him once. Just fucking do it again!” You seethe, your skin clammy and you just want this suit gone. The material irritates you.

Steve gapes at you, “I, I didn’t—,”

“Save it.”

“As much as I enjoy a lover’s quarrel. Where is Soldat?” The man interrupts.

“Gone.” Steve answers, “Poppet, please,”

“Don’t fucking tell them!” You demand, “Consider it my last wish! Fight the damn truth serum.”

“You are not dying.” Steve grits out.

“Where is he, where is Bucky Barnes?” The man lands a punch to Steve’s face. His hair falls forward, slowly Steve looks up at the man. Rage colouring all his features.

“I will let you help her. Just tell me where Bucky is, Captain.” The man promises. Steve considers, you begin to yell no at him.

“He’s in the United Kingdom.”

“Are you insane?!” You slump to the ground, “Do you have any fucking idea what have you done?”

The man walks over and slaps you, “Shut the fuck up! You want a cock so fucking bad you fucking bitch in heat, I’ll give you one!”

Steve snarls, wrapping the chain around his own palm and tugging hard until it breaks away from the wall. The man turns, gun cocked and ready, it's grabbed out of his hand by Steve. He looks at the man dead in his eyes before delivering the fatal shot.

You look up at Steve, as the man drops to the floor between the two of you.

Steve watches the other three scramble about, he quickly fires the shots, he keeps one person alive.

He grabs the other chain, yanking it with all his strength. It gives way.

“Where is the shield?” He walks over to the man on the ground, pleading in pain.

A shaking hand rises, pointing to the vault.

“Access code?” Steve picks him up and takes him to the keypad.

The man enters it crying when Steve presses on the open wound, “Don’t fucking pull any stunts.”

You watch as the doors part and the shield stays there as a momento.

You blink when everything goes out of focus. You blink again. Heat spreads over your body goosebumps raise across.

Your thighs clench and you squirm trying to get some friction to release the ache. Tugging at the restraints is maddening. They don’t relent when you try to manoeuvre but no position provides any respite and you sob out as the frustration grows.

“Poppet.” A warm voice calls out, you whimper. The hold on your right arm loosens and your hand reaches for the tactical suit. You had to get it off. You needed to get it off.

You blink and watch as Steve’s hand stops yours, you push at him.

“Please,” you whimper as another cramp takes over.

“You smell so sweet baby.” He groans, the sound urges you on, you guide his hand to where you need him.

His warm palm cups you the fabric of your suit soaked Steve hears your sigh of relief.

“Going to take care of you Poppet, but you need to hold on for me okay?” Steve assures, breaking out your left arm as well.

“Steve please,” you beg again, your mind screaming at your body, your hips move making you grind onto his palm. Your smaller palm wrapped around his wrist not letting him pull away.

“Fuck,” He groans, pushing you against the corner and undoing your suit’s zipper, you don’t face him palms braced against the wall. Steve’s warm calloused palm is as though cold respite to your heated skin.

He doesn’t waste time, fingers running over your folds, palm pressing against your clit. Your head tilts back resting against his shoulder, mouth parted moans leaving you.

Steve presses his fingers into you, two thick digits and your walls clench around him he almost wishes he’d fuck you right there.

“Fuck this pussy remembers who she belongs to doesn’t she?” Fingers curve finding the spot he very well could have placed. Stars line your vision as he hits the spot over and over, fingers curving.

“Right there Steve!” You cry out your ass rocking against him, pressing onto his cock. He keeps his thrusts hard and fast, palm rubbing your clit in the most delicious of ways. His grunts fill your senses.

Pleasure thrums from his touch to your body, your back arching as his fingers drive deeper and deeper into you. Your walls are gripping them back in not wanting him to stop.

“I know sweet Poppet. I know what makes her weep for me. I’m going to taste you. But first you’re going to make a mess on my hand alright?” He instructs filthy words offset by the sweet kisses placed against your forehead and cheek.

His other hand cups your breast playing with your nipple. Your hands fall from the wall, gripping onto his nails leaving indents on his skin. Steve watches your chest constrict, your voice choke off, eyes rolling back as your orgasm crashes into you.

His fingers keep moving, riding your orgasm out, your walls quivering around him the sensitivity of your clit as it pulses. Some of the haze clears but the need just returns tenfold.

“Steve, please, I can’t, can’t wait—,”

His lips are on yours, cutting you off, your suit pushed down further without breaking away from the kiss.

The shield clatters to the floor, his suit haphazardly discarded. Steve’s hands explore your body, remembering the planes he explored before. The love he whispered across your skin. Marking you with his touch, his lips, his seed.

“Wanna see you,” You want to turn, he grabs your hands pinning them to the wall.

“No one gets to see you this way but me.” He growls, you feel his hard cock move between your thighs. His larger body covers yours, shielding you, watching over you.

When your thighs clench around him, Steve hisses, “Going to fill you up, sweet girl.” he coos.

Inch by inch Steve’s length stretches you, your back arches. The relief the stretch of his cock brings is unlike anything else you’ve felt before.

“You can take it, made for my cock aren't you?” He stills inside you, throbbing as your walls clench around him. He moans biting down on your shoulder the feel of you decadent, unable to be given justice by his mind.

“Heaven. Pussy feels so good, baby. Missed you so much.” He grunts, you push back against him needing him to move, “hands around my neck.” He orders, leaving your hands.

You wrap them around him, holding onto his now longer hair, soft between your fingers. Your mind remains you of the soft moments when he laid in your lap and your fingers combed through these locks.

Steve pulls you out of your thoughts with the snap of his hips. His palms gripping your waist anchoring you to him. Skin slapping against skin, his cock feels so good you could sob, the need turns into embers, your thirst being quenched.

Each delicious, deep stroke moves you towards sweet bliss. You hear your name in an echo of his name. Steve watches the wall you mould against him, as countless times before. Your heart may have put up walls but your body left no space.

The way he sees the telltale signs of your orgasm he brings his right hand towards your apex, timing his rough circles on your clit to his thrusts. The sensations blooming become too much, your body alit with flames of pleasure, Steve moans as your walls begin to milk him just as your orgasm shatters through you.

He keeps his thrusts going, pumping into you. The arousal that spills onto your thighs, the mix of you and him.

“One more.” He demands, fingers coated with the mix of the two of you, his marked fingers brought back to your clit, you cry out in ecstasy.

The blissful haze clears, everything returning to you. The mission, the power, you can’t, you can’t, Steve, Steve, Steve, Steve–,

“Right here my sweet poppet, you will give me one more. You know I'm greedy.” He reasons, only increasing his pace, you thrash in his hold. Lips find the sweet spot of your neck.

It’s your undoing, you cum around him yet again. Crying out his name, tugging on his hair. Aftershocks moving through you. He holds you up, pressing kisses to your forehead, temple, cheek, jaw and shoulders.

Grounding you, palms moving over you after he brings his coated fingers to taste them. Your head lols against his shoulder, you reach for his jaw, placing a soft kiss. Steve smiles at the familiar gesture.

Helping you get dressed he follows as well. You’re lifted into his arms and carried to the quinjet.

As it had turned out Bucky wasn’t in UK it was a precautionary measure they came up with to secure Bucky from any life threatening attempts. The guilt you had harboured lessened.

Steve had stayed away from you, once Tony and Bruce cleared you of any remnant pollen he took his leave. Avoiding you as he had after the elevator confrontation. It left a bitter taste in your mouth.

As much as you felt as if you were an emotional fool for considering the thought of wanting to approach him, you missed him. Terribly.

You knew your walls were useless against the one man who you had given your jagged heart to, the blue eyes you had drowned yourself in multiple times. Whether it was when he found your gaze across the room or when you were pressed against him.

Your feet carried you after three days to his door. Your hand shook when you knocked. Thoughts swirling through your mind insecurities gaining fleet.

The door opens, Steve’s eyes widen then his brows furrowed with worry, then fall to the still fading love bite that he placed on your collarbone. You shift your weight to either side. Hands fiddling with the hem of your top.

You look down at your feet, Steve’s palm cups your cheek.

Your eyes meet their old home of blue.

“I want to listen.” You manage to say, his pink lips stretch into a familiar smile.

He steps to the side inviting you further into his room.

-x-x-x-x-

#reblog #captain america #steve rogers smut #steve rogers fanfiction

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Reblog if you're grateful for your internet friends

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napping on the couch together if you feel so inclined 🥺💖

I'm here

bucky x f!reader (gif not indicative of reader description)

w.c: 2.5k

a/n: Col, this strayed far from what it was originally meant to be, but I couldn't help myself. I hope you enjoy it<3

𝐢 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞, 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲, 𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤.

Bucky’s never been one to be overbearing, in any way.

Protective and doting, certainly– never so that his attentive means of care made you feel anything but cherished, supported, grounded.

Your Bucky.

Meeting you, loving you, allowing something so priceless into his world, has changed everything for him. There’s a burning need to be the one constant in your life that knows you. To be the man who can take the pressures of the world from off of your shoulders with ease, weaving himself around every twinge of sadness, eclipsing all murmurs of insignificance and unrest, until all you know is the weight of his breath shouldering your heart.

“You listenin’ to me?” it’s not a question he ever finds himself asking, but tonight, his girl’s exhausted. Completely drained. And she came home with the wind knocked out of her lungs and harrowing sobs strangling her light.

Those familiar knuckles, vibranium and oh-so purposeful, stroked along your cheeks while rosy concern emanated from the swells of his own. Bucky finds it necessary now– their delicate dance of outlining the shape of your nose, smoothing the lines of distress and the tremble of your lips resting against his muscles– they’re the culprit of what coaxed your eyes shut in mere seconds.

His hands wield so much power– fragile, firm, thrilling tenderness you weren’t sure existed anywhere else outside of his touch. Impossible not to surrender to, falling deeper and deeper under his protection. But it’s purely selfish now how desperate Bucky is to touch you, to quell every fiber of worry or unease with the brush of his palm. He lives for the moment your body relaxes under his care, all tension and pain evaporating within the caress of his love. “Someone ready for bed?”

His voice is a whisper, a warm and honeyed heaven blanketing every inch of you. How a man of his size embodies the breeze of gentle winds rustling through blades of grass, well. You never have to wonder.

A fearsome beauty to behold, otherworldly– Bucky shines, burnished and ethereal; all of the terrifying Angel you know him to be.

The patter of freezing rain and rough winds plaguing the windows reminded you of how safe you were inside the life you shared. After all the isolating thoughts, after all the feelings of restless insignificance swimming round and round between your ears– Bucky’s here, soothing it all. Erasing any lingering struggle to find your footing, leaving nothing but the ghost of worshiping lips with husky whispers of how proud he is of you, how desperately he loves you with indescribable devotion rushing from his soul.

Each stroke, each breath, each kiss that danced along your skin echoes the sentiment of words Bucky’d shower you with until the day his heart stopped “Oh my sweet girl, I’m here.”

Crying had never felt so safe than while enveloped in his arms, strong hands soothing long paths along your tense back, lips falling protectively against your temple. He touches you as if you're the very thing that lights the sky; his words are hardly enough to prove how much of a miracle you are. Because to him, you are.

His miracle.

His pink lips barely leave your skin as his words sink in– a devastating touch each inch and scar of your being knows; Bucky’s kiss is final. And it lives within each curve, each insecurity, each smile, each ugly secret he knows took all the trust in the world to let him see, loving them enough for the both of you and then some– “I’m here, I’m here, I’m here.”

Bucky’s lips brand the words permanently, in absolution with tremors of his vigorous desire to be everything for you. “I got you. Whatever you need, let me,”– you need him, always.

Tonight hadn’t been any different. After what felt like hours of being shielded by his unwavering tenderness, of sobbing into his chest so rawly Bucky swore he felt his heart shredding in two, trying his hardest to catch all of you and never let go– resting your eyes for a moment against his stomach seemed to be just what you needed. Your head shook against thick muscle, his relaxing fingers slowed at your hairline, “N’am not, not tired. Just keep talking.”

Cool metal etched silent promises down to your hip, his piercing gaze staring at you with that look– the one that says he’s perfectly intent on staying like this, loving you, holding you until the messy and unforgiving world made a bit more sense. He needs it more than you most of the time. And then he’d get to hold you some more; knowing the overwhelming emotion he felt every time he looked at you was at peace within your veins.

“Really?” that deep voice crooned, playful, “‘Cause I think, you’re fallin’ asleep on me.”

Work had been hell the past few weeks while feelings of being alone were at an all-time high. Between wrestling with self-doubt, a workload that had somehow weaseled its way into your life and into the nightmares that kept you tossing and turning, all of the yelling and berating that shook you to your core because of mistakes that were entirely out of your control– of course. It was impossible not to.

You were falling asleep on the gentle thing you could never, ever, get enough of immersing yourself in. The one thing that proved time and time again, you could never be alone while Bucky still had air filling his lungs.

And maybe that’s why it’s so effortless to do so. The one thing that saw all of your broken pieces, the sharp edges you felt would threaten even the strongest– Bucky saw them, could paint them all by name like the scars marring his own body. He held them so tenderly, cherished each piece of you that you deemed burdensome so fiercely; nothing about you was a burden. Bucky admired all of you, desired all of you with a fervent need. It made your head spin, it made you feel whole.

“I’m not, just wanna hear your voice. Promise, I’m awake.” Bucky could hardly find it in himself to blink, not when your lips spread in a sweet smile he hadn’t seen in weeks. So small, so muted compared to the brilliance that nearly brought him to his knees every damn time he was in the presence of one. But it’s yours. “Please…”.

It’s weakening, mesmerizing, the bruise you leave with every display of your love. The serum only makes a man so strong; he’d never get enough of the way you wounded him.

Bucky gleams, and if you weren’t so spent, you’d see the air of ease filling his chest, the expanse of his shoulders quaking with reprieve.

Just when you thought you’d known everything there was to know about being seen, guarded by your very own earth angel, his hand closed around yours, tugging it gently to rest against his sternum. Bucky closed his eyes, leaning down to rest his nose within your knuckles. Inhaling, pulling you apart by the very seams and mending all at once– it seemed almost silly, how necessary his lips feel claiming the skin of your fingers, but your body felt the sensitive accusation of his kiss tenfold, “Even here. I’m here, too.”

You couldn’t stop the tears that blurred your vision if you tried.

There’s a lilt, always, pleasant and solid in his sigh when his eyes meet yours, your nerves buzzing from the way he always breathes you in vying for more. Vibranium tickles the tears under your eyes with adoration, a confirmation, he’d let you pretend you’re not falling asleep, that you really wanted to listen to him ramble on and on– so long as he gets to wound you, too.

That’s all you’ll ever need.

Your body knows, even on the cusp of sleep it craves him. More him, always more. His warmth, his support, the irresistible smell of his skin that always comes before relief. It slowly shifts, uncurling itself from the dip of the couch and closer to where Bucky’s fingers concealed your own.

His hands revel in that, it’s all they itch for; guiding your frame closer until your body collapses with deliverance, lashes teasing against his skin while your breathing slowed even more.

His eyes certainly never risk closing when you burrow further into his chest, hiding that exhausted pout within the shadows of his neck just above rough scar tissue. How could he miss even a second?

The echo of your heart mirrored the air puffing down his neck with every exhale sighed and it’s a revelation. Bucky revels in how perfect it feels to be wanted, to be trusted so deeply by the person who fills every color of his life with undying affection. He takes none of it for granted, especially not the soft hums the most distracting lips fall to adorn his throat with.

And then they melt on his skin, the featherlight promise of Bucky’s miracle resting against his pulse, again and again and again– it’s hardly his fault a shiver eases down his spine. Those damn lips. He’ll never be able to find language to express to you how good it feels, how addicting you are.

He’d do anything for you, be anything for you.

“Alright, sweet girl,” those strong hands wrap around your waist, plush lips greeting your eyelids with a dynamic song that sings I’m here. It’s okay to let go, let go, sweet girl. Let me love you. You’ve heard it countless times– have felt it endlessly since the first moment you invited him in behind those towering, frightening walls of your heart. But it’s soft, orchestrated with vulnerable direction, scruff-laced harmonies whispered against every inch of you, ostinato declarations of desire with a certain timbre only you know the key of “I’ll take care of you, just let me love you.”

“You’re gonna have to hear all about my perfect girl, but I can do that. Jus’let me hold you right.” The couch pillows already share the imprint of your body pressed up against his, of countless hours of entwined limbs and thick muscles sheltered within your arms. Yet, it always feels new, a different welcome each time, somehow more familiar than the last.

Bucky rearranged you both lying with his back nestled in the cushions, cradling you right atop his heart. “She’s so bright, the smartest.” Long fingers lifted under your chin, catching your eyes in their fight to stay open.

“And she’s the kindest soul, swear she’s made of stars.” He couldn’t help himself; that breathtaking glimmer washing so peacefully over your face, the trying lift of your mouth; he smoothed the pad of his thumb across your bottom lip before placing a kiss just under your nose, “beautiful,” on the plump of your cheek, “so, so beautiful,” on the corner of your mouth, “precious”. Bucky’s lips meld so softly with your own, your breath tasting of surrender, of bliss.

A sniffle slipped out, once then twice. “Strong. So damn strong,” a third time is when your body followed through with its fate, shaking slightly against him.

The way he holds you, knows you, worships you, leaving no room for questioning the torrents of emotion he treads– it’s maddening. Bucky walks with the years of his own pain, yet bleeds with the certainty of just how easy it is to love you, to devour you whole with the joyous bruise of being loved in return.

“Shh hey, hey…what?” he worried, rubbing a calloused thumb from your quivering lip all the way to your creased forehead.

“What what?”

Forced bemusement of his concern rumbled delightedly beneath you, “You’re okay,” his nose bumped against yours, lips following, “but what’s goin’ on in that pretty head of yours, hm?” Bucky’s nose wiggled down to behind your ear, peppering quick pecks on the skin there until you were squirming.

You giggled– oh god you fucking giggle and Bucky’s ruined. It erupted, and he felt it everywhere; goosebumps, swirling until they bled so potent beneath his skin. Nothing else could matter more than the promising sound of the home he’s allowed himself to live in.

“I don’t know,” he feels it in your eyes– so telling of the devotion Bucky deserves– honest, and they can’t seem to get enough of the curve of his nose, the freckles that dance along the high points of his concerned features. Those serene, startling blue eyes. Always seeing you, always longing for you.

Home. Your Bucky.

“I’m just so tired.”

Bucky would relive every moment he’s endured to always know what it feels like to be loved by you, to be clung to in your most vulnerable of states, with glazed-over eyes tormented and drowsy, to know of the rapture that exists in holding you tight until the air drowning your lungs is full of his love, of soothing breaths. To nurture you, accept your feelings and emotions with open hands, however they may present themselves.

He wants it all. Just you.

Bucky could only pull you closer, breathing you in as plump lips gently lay on your forehead, resolute arms embracing you with reverence.

He clears his throat, ready for you to listen, “Sometimes, I wonder how I got here. You know how special this is to me? The light of my dreams, so damn comfortable in my arms. Did’ya know that? Used to dream of you,” his knuckles swiped away the remaining wet trails from your face, calloused fingers softly spidering along your shoulders.

“Really? My Bucky?”

My Bucky– god he could burst.

The flush spreading along his cheeks hardly phased him, he nestled his nose against you further, nodding.

“Didn’t ever get to see you, but I know it. Had to be you, watching over me. Better than I could have even imagined. Sweetest damn eyes, hurts my chest a little just thinking about going a whole lifetime without ever knowing them. Prettiest heart in the whole world, you save me a little more every time I look at ya. When I get to hold you. You have no idea what you are to me.”

Me? your tongue attempted. It comes out as more of a yawn, already asleep.

“All I ever needed. Lucky bastard I am, huh?” Bucky hates how the world seems to take your compassion for granted, walking all over your kindness as if it’s expendable. It’s not. Not even a little bit. God only knows the serenity it’s granted him, of the fresh air it’s offered Bucky to live within each day.

“You’re the first thing I’ve had in a long time. And you make me feel whole, capable. I could be myself, learn to, at least. Not… disappear. Could never do that, not now. I have years to make up for, a whole life to live. A home to get back to at the end of the day. And I got the sweetest thing in the whole damn universe to love. You got no idea…”

A questioning whimper of his name rumbles against his throat, safe and asleep in the soundness of his chest.

“M’right here, sweet girl. I got you.” Your Bucky, he thought.

The rain kept pouring, the night remained dark and chilled, but all Bucky could focus on was the heart beating warmly against his own. He counted your breaths as they landed safely within his black and gold shoulder– the only metal that would ever know the enormity of what a miracle you were– just as his eyelids drift closed.

“M’right here, sweet girl. I got you.” Your Bucky, he thought.

The rain kept pouring down, the night remained dark and chilled, but all Bucky could focus on was the heart beating warmly against his own. He counted your breaths as they landed safely within his black and gold shoulder; the only metal that truly knew the enormity of what a miracle you were; just as his eyelids drift closed.

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Unbreakable Vows 💚🐍✨🪄

Chapter 4: Confessions

Just imagine you weren’t supposed to fall for him…it was forbidden, after what the dark lord has did to your family…but yet someone seems to change that. Bucky is full of secrets but this one secret he can’t keep hidden forever and you will both pay a price to hide it.

Death eater bucky x Witch! Reader

NFSW series 18+ no minors!

Mentions: Angst, brief mention of alcohol, injury, blood, slight fluff, bit of smut (wet dreams),

Series masterlist

(Hey everyone! Been a hot minute since I posted another chapter I’m so sorry have a lot going on but good news this one is a bit longer sorry for the cliff hanger haha! Just me there is more to come and it’s going to get real intense just wait😅 hope you like it 😘)

“You are constantly making it hard for me to behave when I’m with you,” - (freaky humor 69 Pinterest quote)

You hadn't seen or spoken to Bucky as another week close to two passes by. Draco and them would now be in school. Only George and them to keep you occupied you talked to George more vented a lot. Today you were with narcassia as she drank tea silently by the window you knew she was in pain. She was alone when you think about it, her son in school only owls for now would suffice. Lucius still locked away as far as you know…but there was a plan forming to get him out that would be something to see. All the death eaters just told to lay low until the dedicated times arose for recruiting. Those few handful times you visited Arthur and Molly he would talk about that night at the banquet you had to do everything not to indulge in the conversation. Had you not been wearing the mask he would’ve found out. He just was glad the key remain tightly locked away in his attic. Oh you were gonna have that key soon you needed to still do everything to make you trustworthy. It was becoming more difficult each passing day though…whose side were you really on.

“How about some music?” You suggested to her playing a record on the turntable help her mind at ease. “Ugh how quaint,” Bellatrix twirled a curl sitting on the couch legs on the table laying back not a care in the world. “Don’t worry sissy they will be back with him in no time…i should’ve gone but too boring,” she sighs out.

“What are you referring to…” you turn to her quite puzzled. “Lucius of course…didn’t Barnes tell you…” she rolls her eyes as if it was an inconvenience to tell her.

“No I haven’t spoken to him…” you shrug. “Lovebirds having trouble in paradise…” she pouts which sends a middle finger in her face. “As fucking if…”

*chime breaking* you jump at the sound before seeing three men Lucius on one looking drain barely alive. Ferdink blood residue on his mouth and in the middle barely concuious Bucky. “He needs medical…” Lucius sounds out of breath

You responded quickly “get him to the bedroom I got it.” You grab a first aid heading to nearest room where they laid him down, you never worked so fast everyone just watched. You could hear Bucky’s groans him hissing or wincing why did it bother you like you didn’t want him to feel pain he was so fragile to touch you felt you tended accordingly on him. He had a cut on his side it was deep but fortunately it would just need stitching and wrapped, whoever he went to toe to toe with it was a lot for him to come out with more than a bruise or scratch. “That should do it,” you say hands covered in blood quickly going to wash. “Everyone out…” you ordered they didn’t seem to question. You felt he needed to space. You take slow strides to the side of the bed watching how his bare chest rises and falls breathing heavy asleep.

The sight makes you flustered part of that wet dream you had that night of him looking at him now. You feel your head some shaking the thought away wrong time to be thinking like that. Then you feel guilty, you should’ve been there. You could’ve stopped this, protected him. Though you both can’t seem to be in the same room with arguing. Course he made your teeth grin and irritated the hell out of you. It’s just…something about him there is someone deep down who wants to be let out. You shake your head again noticing a strand of that brunette hair sticking out tucking it behind his ear you lingered there probably more than you should before leaving out the room.

———

“B-Bucky…please,” you stuttered breathing hard hovering over him riding him. “Fuck babydoll don’t stop…so good,” Bucky grips your hips tight holding you steady. “God I wanna cum baby I don’t know if I can last this time…” you whine. “A few more baby let me fill you up be a good girl hang on…” he groans in your ear biting on your neck. “I…Bucky I’m cumming!!” You cry out.

“Mmmm,” Bucky feels himself jolt up instinctively grabbing his side a sharp pain rippling through his body. “Fuck what-“ he looks down seeing feeling cloth on his skin. His side is wrapped. He looks around the room some light coming through the dark forest green curtains. He breathes hard struggling but manages to sit up his mouth dry…really dry head pounding. Everything of before starts to come back the prison breakout, guards in every direction. His tactics were off…he was sloppy, not focused. That is what got him all fucked up now. Too busy remembering the fight between you two…the dreams like this one now…fuck why was he dreaming you this way. The way you could unfold for him…he closes his eyes pushing the thought away before jumping again at the sound of the door turning grabbing his wand next to him pointing it at the potential target.

“Oh shoot ya not gonna put me out my misery…” you come in a glass of water in your hands closing the door behind you. He breathes out relieved it was you but then a little rage pent up in him. “You need to learn to fucking knock…I could’ve hurt you…” he warns setting down his wand. “Too bad,” you tease before he turns to you like he isn’t in a joking mood. You hand him the water. “You guys managed to make it on every wanted poster there throughout the town…” you sit down at a distance on the edge of the bed. “What else is new?” He shrugs.

“You need to be careful you know how these times are, the ministry and the order work fast and silent. They will come after you buck…” you inform your tone seems desperate and concerned. “After you tell them right? Why don’t you just say where we are, your great at that,” he scoffs drinking the rest of the water.

“That’s a low blow, everything I do is to-“ he cuts you off throwing the glass at the wall making you jump.“To what?! You think I give a shit, your on their side…you pretend like you have everything under control but you don’t, you think your so fucking innocent and that you can play double agent forever doll…you will get your way,” something about his words is a low blow.

“No I don’t have this under control…I never did. I just want people safe, I want this damn war to be over…I’m well aware no one cares if I live or die,” your voice rises a bit of a crack in your voice. “No i never said I didn’t-“ he tries to interject but your words overpower him. “No you want revenge and I’m sorry that you lost…but I fucking did too…you have any idea what my life has been like James! I have to please everyone and be perfect or everyone dies and I don’t know what to do…” you say tears start falling. “Y/N please let me-“ you still cut him off. “No! You don’t get it cause if I fail it’s over…if I mess up I don’t get no redos…I would do everything to protect everyone and anything…including you!” You shout. Bucky’s eyes widened some “why me…” he stood up holding his side. “I…just forget it…” you turn to the door, turning the knob before a hand pushes it shut. “Turn around..” his deep voice makes you shiver and you do so facing me with no choice but your eyes red and puffy.

“I asked you a question…why me?” He places his hands on both sides cornering you. Course you could escape easily but yet here you were vulnerable to the scent of fresh balsam filling your nose. “I…James please leave me alone-“ you instinctively try to push on his chest but he grabs your wrist pinning it to the wall something intense forms in his eyes possible anger…confusion. You breathe hard his chest against yours looking at him and his lips. Fuck…you crash your lips into his. “Mm,” he groans, caught off guard at first but gives in, kissing you back. There is an intensity of fire building up between you two. You don’t stop him nor the other way around. It’s sloppy and needy the way his tongue entangled in yours. You pull back for a moment looking into those ice blue eyes. “James…” you say out of breath and he takes a moment too. “That’s one way to shut that mouth…” he jokes you can’t help but laugh a little “fuck off…” you groan, leaning your head back. “Or we could just fuck…” a devious smirk forms. “Buck…let’s just take a minute here…” you say, still tryna process what happened.

———

A couple weeks pass by every meeting that goes on or gathering is followed by a hot make out session in a corner or room where you can’t seem to stay away and he can’t keep his hands off you. Those wet dreams seem to make it’s way to a reality and the thought of letting him fuck your senseless was exhilarating. Though you didn’t let it happen yet.

Today you were in the shop working on some brews and some more medicine. You left your window open when your barred Owl made her way in dropping a letter on your table. “Hey moony…” you smile, taking the letter from Padfoot. Harry. You made sure he could contact you when he needed to. He ended up using sirus’s cover name as his own. It was too dangerous for anyone to use their actual names to send letters these days. You open it up reading it. He talked about the incident he had with Draco on the train, what Dumbledore had him doing with slughorn. You breathed out heavily rubbing your head. This wasn’t good. A possible horox at play. You continue to read on before the door opens and you slip the letter away. “Hello how can I- oh George hey,” you half smile. He looks down and then at you not in his usual mood where he whistles or tells a joke. “George, what's wrong?” You walk over to him concerned, placing a hand on his shoulder he pulls it off quickly. “Woah George…what’s wrong…” you say feeling a wave of guilt roll through you.

“How could you y/n….” He looks at you with a pain in his eyes. “What are you talking about…” you ask. “You know exactly what the bloody hell I’m talking about don’t act innocent!” He snaps. You breathe out “No I don’t…” you say. “Oh so you deny it…that you are one of them…” he clenches his fist. “No I'm not,” you can tell where this is going. “George you already know what i'm doing that isn’t no secret,” you step closer but he steps back. “No don’t even, you even are fucking one of them! I knew Barnes was brainwashing you,” his yell ripples through the air you suck in a breath. “What I’m not…what are you playing at here…” you get defensive. “I saw you two…the other night…i thought you cared about us y/n! About me!” His voice cracks you didn’t realize that you affected him this way. “George I do care, you're my bestfriend why wouldn’t I? I'm trying to keep everyone safe. I would do anything-“ he stops you. “I don’t wanna hear it, I’m even shocked my mother and father still have faith in you…time for you to decide what side you are princess…” His words hit you hard. You never saw George this way and he leaves. You can’t help but let tears fall, folding your arms like you're cradling yourself or shielding your body from any more pain.

You would have to make a choice. But not tonight…instead you would do something else. To take away the pain.

——

Bucky was reading in one of the guest rooms at the manor glad to have a night of not being the one to deal with all this mess. Lucius was too busy downstairs drinking that man has probably gone through the liquor cabinet as long as he didn’t touch bourbon Bucky could care less. Bellatrix and Nacrassia were out doing who knows what. Fine with him, all he could think about was you. Your lips…how you grinded on his lap, your hands tugging and pulling on his hair. Your scent was overwhelming and intoxicating. He wanted to unravel you. Let the whole fucking manor hear how you scream his name he needed you. He would wait till you wanted, no begged he would be ready. Just little did he know that would be sooner that he thought.

*knocking*

He still read while the door unlocked and open on its own. “I wondered when you would come back…” he says, closing the book sitting up, seeing you a complete wreck. “Doll what’s the puffy eyes for?” He pouted he hated when you cried. You closed the door behind you leaning against it. You moved your hands to your top starting to unbutton it. He gets up grabbing your hands but tenderly leaning his head against yours “What are you doing…” he asks. “I need you…all of you…” you breathe out. He looks at you then down at your shirt pulling the last few buttons down. “Then have me…”

To be continued hehe…

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