He could hear the men closing in—boots stomping, dogs snarling, voices hoarse with hatred. They didn’t know mercy. Not for witches. Not for monsters.

And that’s what they thought he was, wasn’t it? A monster. Just like Y/N. Just like the blood that ran through Emma’s veins.

Dean forced his legs to move again, lungs screaming. Magic buzzed faintly under his skin, a living current begging to be unleashed. He didn’t dare. Not here. Not with so many ears and eyes and traps waiting to feel it.

He ran until the air changed. Until the cold seemed less biting and the light less sharp. A whisper of warmth brushed across his skin like a memory, and he knew. The boundary. The spellwork they’d laid long ago still held. He was home.

Silence fell like snowfall.

Dean collapsed to his knees, choking on exhaustion and relief. His head bowed, forehead nearly touching the forest floor, until—

“Papa!”

That voice.

He lifted his head. A tiny figure raced toward him, all bouncing curls and muddy boots and reckless joy.

“Papa!” she cried again, and he caught her just in time, arms wrapping around her small body as if he could press her into his chest and never let go.

“Emma,” he whispered, burying his face in her hair, inhaling her scent—pine needles, earth, and sweet strawberries. “My sweet girl. My brave girl. My, I've missed you so much.”

She clung to his neck, tiny hands tugging at the silver chains looped around it.

“Benny said bad people took you,” she sniffled, her voice trembling for the first time.

“They did, baby. But I got away. I came back for you.” He kissed her temple, cradling her head with so much love and care. “I’ll always come back.”

She tucked her face under his chin, and for a moment, the world stilled. The hunted witch, the burned village, the loss and blood and fire—it all went quiet.

She took his hand as they walked down the narrow, moss-covered trail, feet rustling through last autumn’s leaves.

“Uncle Benny went to get food. Uncle Cas is milking the cow. And I’ve been very good,” she declared proudly.

Dean smiled, crooked and tired. “Of course you have, lassie.”

They reached the clearing, and there it was—the cottage. The barn. Smoke curling from the chimney. The protective wards shimmered faintly in the sunlight, like dust motes kissed with magic. Home.

Inside the barn, Castiel dropped his pail of milk when he saw them.

“Dean?” he asked, breath caught in his throat, disbelief painting his face pale. “Dean, is it really—?”

“It’s me, Cas,” Dean said softly. “Still got the ugly chickens?”

Cas didn’t answer—just crossed the floor and gripped Dean in a bone-crushing hug.

“You’re alive,” he whispered. “I can’t believe you’re alive.”

“I didn’t think I’d make it out,” Dean admitted, gripping the back of Cas’s worn shirt. “It was hell, Cas. Every day. Every goddamn day.”

When they pulled apart, their hands lingered just a second longer than necessary.

“Emma had nightmares every night,” Cas murmured. “She missed you.”

“I missed her more than I can explain.”

Dean sat beside Cas on the bench outside the barn, both of them watching the chickens peck at frostbitten grass.

“Tell me,” Dean said. “What happened while I was gone?”

Cas’s face darkened. “There were… betrayals. We had to banish some of our own. George disappeared. Hael sold us out—again. We had the wards down for a while. That nearly cost us everything. Jordan never came back from the berry run two moons ago. We think he’s dead.”

Dean let out a long, bitter breath. “That tracks. He was never careful.”

They lapsed into silence.

“I burned a traitor once,” Dean said, barely above a whisper. “Right here. In the square. He gave away our location to the hunters. I couldn’t let it happen again. Emma saw it. I tried to cover her ears.”

Cas looked at him—really looked—and nodded. “Sometimes the monster is the only thing that can protect what’s left.”

Dean closed his eyes as tears filled his vision. “God, I missed her first words. Her first steps. Everything.”

“She never stopped looking for you,” Cas said gently. “Even when we begged her to stop.”

--

The sun was setting, casting the clearing in amber light when the crunch of boots on gravel broke the quiet.

Dean looked up from where he sat sharpening a blade near the fire pit. He stood slowly as a tall figure emerged from the trees, dragging a deer carcass over his shoulder.

“Benny,” Dean breathed.

The man froze. His eyes locked on Dean like he was seeing a ghost.

“No fuckin’ way,” Benny said lowly, dropping the deer. “Dean?”

“Yeah,” Dean said, voice cracking. “It’s me.”

Benny crossed the clearing in seconds and yanked Dean into a fierce embrace, clapping him hard on the back.

“Holy hell, man,” Benny choked out. “We thought you were— You look like hell.”

“Feel like it too,” Dean managed. “But I’m here. I’m home.”

They pulled apart. Benny’s eyes were misty. “Emma’s gonna be glued to your hip now, you know that, right?”

“Good,” Dean said plainly. “That’s where she belongs.”

--

Later that night, the fire crackled inside the small house as Dean sat on a thick rug, wrapped in a wool blanket. Cas poured two cups of elderflower tea and sat beside him, the silence gentle, heavy with shared grief.

“She would’ve loved to see this,” Dean said, staring into the flames.

“Y/N?” Cas asked.

Dean nodded. “Emma chasing chickens. This whole weird-ass farm. You cooking soup with too much rosemary.”

Cas huffed a quiet laugh. “She’d have kept us in line.”

“She would’ve made Emma braids. Taught her how to draw sigils right.”

Dean’s eyes shimmered, and his voice cracked. “I still hear her sometimes. When it’s quiet. Like she’s just in the next room. And then I remember the scream. The fire.”

Cas put a hand on his shoulder.

“She’s still here,” he said. “In Emma. In you.”

Dean blinked, then reached up to squeeze Cas’s wrist, grounding himself.

“She always said if they took her, I had to keep Emma safe. That’s all she cared about. Not justice. Not revenge. Just Emma.”

“And you did,” Cas said firmly. “You came back. That’s everything.”

Dean stared into the fire a moment longer before finally whispering, “I hope she knows.”

“She does.”

--

Oftentimes, when he dreamed, it was about you, your face and your hands wrapped tightly in his as you started behind him on hunts. Thats what he loved about you the most, how much you trusted him to protect you.

So months after he departed, he located you in this dingy motel, where rodents and garbage littered the parking lot, and a few street lamps flickered dangerously in this damned storm. He’d gotten a replacement key to your room, claiming to the sketchy old man at the kiosk that he was your husband and you didn’t leave the key outside for him. So, on the threshold of the hotel room is where he stood, his fight or flight response kicking in the moment he laid eyes on you again.

He hadn’t seen you in months, far too long. But not long enough to forget the way your cheeks puffed out while you were embarrassed or the way your hair always fell into your face when you’d laugh at his stupid jokes. He couldn’t forget the way you would shuffle into his warmth at night, either.

God, did he miss the way you infected all of his clothing with your perfumes. 

He hesitantly stepped into the room, only to stop midway through in almost a panic. What if you moved on? What if you didn’t want to see him? What if you shot him? He wondered at that moment if you held any protection on you, or if you’d thrown all of it away.

But he took the chance anyway and stepped fully into the room, closing the door behind him quietly. He quietly toed out of his shoes and turned around before fully surveying the room. He couldn’t see any other person’s belongings in the room, so he assumed you were indeed alone.

Nervously, he tiptoed to the bed and studied your face for a long moment. He remembered everything about you-- your eyelashes, the dimple on your cheek. He wanted to reach out to you, nearly stopping himself as he felt his arm move without his command. He brushed his fingers against your cheek before he knew what he was doing and stepped back as your eyes had flung open in terror.

“Y/N,Y/N, it’s me, it’s Dean,” he said, reaching behind him for the pistol he always carried with him, though, he would never attempt to hurt you in any sort of way. “Hey, hey.”

“Dean?” you blinked through the darkness of the room. You must have been sleeping. Because you thought you heard Dean’s voice. And you thought you seen him standing mere inches away from where you slept on the bed.

Before he could get the chance to respond, another voice filled the room, a voice you’d come to recognize and acknowledge throughout these last few months.

“She doesn’t need you, Squirrel. She’s doing great without you.” Crowley’s voice echoed in the small room. 

Pulling yourself into a sitting position on the bed, you wiped at your eyes before switching your gaze between the pair in front of you. Crowley had been watching you over the weeks, which you had grown weirdly accustomed to, so it was no surprise that he had appeared out of the blue. What had startle you, was the other man standing mere inches away from you. If you just lifted your arm a few inches, you would be able to clasp your hands together.

“You left her high and dry after Moose had fallen into the depths of Hell, where, mind you, he’s been shacking it up with Lucifer. You should hear the agonies and woes from him.”

You could see the agitated twitch in Dean’s cheekbones, even in the poor excuse of light shining through the cracked window curtains.

“But now, back to the matter at hand, hmm?” Crowley snapped his fingers, and the two-night lamps turned on, casting the room in sudden brightness that none of you was prepared for.

“How’s Lisa and Ben?” Crowley smirked as Dean looked entirely uncomfortable at the jabs. “Didn’t want to be a family man anymore, huh? Did she decide she didn’t want your baggage?”

“It’s none of your business, Crowley,” Dean quipped. He snuck a look towards you and almost melted at the sight of tears in your eyelids. He wanted to erase the heartbreak he had caused you. He wanted to erase the pain away from you.

He only wanted you to forgive him. He wanted you and only you. He wished he hadn’t run off after Sam had gone to Hell, but he was broken and insecure. He was scared that you would leave him as well, so he did the only thing he could think of doing at the time: He ran away.

He begged for Lisa to forgive him, and she did. She took him in immediately, even after he explained all that went down with Lucifer and Adam and Sam. She took care of him. And for a while, he could forget all the pain. He could mourn the loss of his brother in peace. But there had always been a hole in his heart that Lisa nor ben would veer be able to fill.

He hadn’t known it at the time until he had sat up the night before and wallowed in misery after having nothing but dreams and nightmares about you for months.

“No harsh words, Not Moose?” Crowley taunted as he took a step toward you, causing Dean to nearly topple backwards onto the bed you were still sitting on. “No quips? Nothing? What do you have to say for yourself? Because while you were playing house, I was left to pick up the piece of her broken heart! How noble of you.  Leave her behind to wallow in misery, and now what? You expect her to swoon because you're back? Pathetic."”

You never thought you would see the day when the king of hell would be red in the face at the Winchesters. But here he was, pointing a threatening finger in Dean’s direction while the other man looked like a kicked puppy. 

You wanted Crowley to stop the insults at Dean. But the fact that he was protecting you in this way meant so much to you. You never knew how much Crowley actually cared about you. 

"I bet she’s just thrilled to have you back. Nothing says 'I care' like a good old-fashioned abandonment, right?" Crowley scoffed.

“Crowley, enough,” you sighed as you finally pushed the duvet away from your body and stood up, causing Dean to look at you with hope. With your request, Crowley quieted down, though he didn’t cease the glare or scowl on his features. Ignoring him, you took a breath, taking Dean’s height in stride. “So, what? You show up at my doorstep and nearly scare me to death, for what?”

“I was wrong,” Dean swallowed, blinking slowly as tears piled against his eyelids. “I never should have left you the way i had. You were mourning Sam as well, and I was a coward for leaving you. I never once stopped thinking about you. I never once let you out of my mind. Lisa knew it, Ben knew it.’

“I’m not forgiving you, Dean.” you held your ground, even as you had to wipe the tears away from your cheeks. “How could I forgive you? Do you know what the hell I’ve been through? You weren’t the only one to lose a brother, you know? Sam was my family as well.”

He opened his mouth, only for you to cut him off.

“It’s been fourteen months, Dean—fourteen long, terrible months. I celebrated Sam’s birthday without you. I celebrated your birthday without you. Crowley was the only one to check with me. Do you know he saved me from death on numerous occasions? That could have been you.”

He looked utterly defeated at the mention of the birthday celebrations. He could only imagine you singing to yourself with some cheap cake and a gas station lighter, wishing for the family you once held as you blew out the candles.

“Dean, I don’t know whether to hit you, kiss you, or put a bullet in you.” you scowled, pushing past him to walk over to the bathroom to wash your face. Leaving the door open, you heard Dean shuffle around Crowley to get to you again. 

“I can’t leave you, not again. Never again,” he watched your reflection as you grabbed for a hand towel and wiped the water from your face. 

Glaring at him momentarily, you sighed heavily before turning around and leaning against the counter. “Crowley will kill me for this. But I can’t help but think that I’m still in love with you. We can talk more about this in the morning. I had a long few weeks, and I’m absolutely exhausted.” 

Eagerly, Dean followed you out of the bathroom, barely noticing Crowley’s absence as he tucked you into the bed before he climbed in himself.

It was after Lucifer fell that everything seemed to break apart. Sam was gone—dead, you thought. Dean buried himself in the illusion of family, and you… well, you weren’t sure what you had anymore. There was no going back to who you were before the apocalypse, and your heart ached with unspoken feelings, ones that Dean never noticed.

He never loved you the way you loved him.

In the emptiness that followed, Crowley found you. The King of Hell always had impeccable timing. "You look like a stray," Crowley had said the night you crossed paths in some dingy bar in some forgotten town. "Lost your boys, I see. Shame. You were always good at what you do."

You could've walked away, but what was left? With nowhere to go and no one to fight for, you accepted Crowley’s offer—a devil's bargain, becoming a bounty hunter for Hell, tracking down Lucifer loyalists who still believed in the fallen archangel’s cause. It was dark work, but it was work, and it kept your mind from drowning in grief and longing.

The irony wasn’t lost on you. Hunting for Crowley meant betraying everything you’d once stood for, but that world had abandoned you first.

Months later, you stood in the ruins of an old church, blood splattered across the stone walls and broken angelic statues depicting Saints. The demon you’d tracked was a fanatic, a true believer in Lucifer’s return. You wiped your blade clean, not even flinching as the body burned to ash behind you. It was mechanical now—kill, move on. Feel nothing.

Crowley appeared, as he often did after a job well done. He smirked, his eyes gleaming with something close to pride. "Well done, love. Another one bites the dust."

You didn’t respond, just holstered your blade and looked out into the night. The stars were out, a stark reminder of the heaven you couldn’t reach, of the angel who had left without a word.

"You know, I’ve always admired your efficiency," Crowley continued, walking up beside you. "But there’s something hollow in it. Still pining for the good ol' days? For Dean? You haven’t been the same since the Moose and Not Moose fled away from the lifestyle."

The mention of Dean's name sent a wave of cold through you, but you kept your face neutral. Crowley was good at finding cracks in your armor, but you weren’t going to let him in. Not tonight.

"He made his choice," you said flatly. "I made mine."

"Yes, yes, he’s playing house while you do the dirty work. How noble of him," Crowley mocked, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "But you and I both know it’s eating you up inside. It’s killing you that he’s living a life that you so desperately crave with him."

You glanced at Crowley, your jaw tight. "What's your point?"

Crowley chuckled, his smile dark. "My point, darling, is that the past always catches up to us. Dean may think he can run from it, but he can’t. Sooner or later, he’ll come crawling back to this life—and to you. And when he does, what will you do? Welcome him with open arms? Or remind him of what he left behind?"

You stared at Crowley, his words sinking in deeper than you wanted to admit. You could pretend that Dean didn’t matter anymore, that you had moved on. But the truth was, no matter how many demons you killed or how many deals you made, there was still a part of you that longed for the life you had before everything went to hell. The part that still loved him. The piece of yur heart where Dean and Sam would wake you up in the mornings with the scents of breakfast wafting through the morning air.

But the man Dean had become—the one who chose Lisa, who walked away without a word—wasn’t the man you had fallen for. Maybe he never was.

"I don’t owe him anything," you said, though your voice sounded hollow even to you.

Crowley’s grin widened, a glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes. "That’s the spirit. But don’t be too quick to write him off. You never know when an old flame might reignite."

That night, alone in a dingy motel room, you sat on the edge of the bed, staring at your phone. You hadn’t tried calling Dean since the day he left, and you weren’t about to now. But your fingers hovered over Castiel’s number, the angel who had disappeared like smoke as Dean had done so long ago.

You had prayed to him, begged for his help, for some sign that you weren’t completely forsaken. But he, like Dean, was gone.

With a bitter sigh, you tossed the phone aside and laid back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. Maybe Crowley was right. Maybe the past never really stayed buried. But what did it matter? You had made your choice, too. You had become something else—something darker, harder.Something you hardly recognized when you’d glanced at your reflection.

The only thing that lingered was the ache. The unspoken words, the love that was never returned, and the haunting thought that in another life, maybe things could have been different.

But this was the life you had now, and there was no going back.

Outside, the world continued its chaotic dance of light and shadow, of good and evil. And you, standing somewhere in between, were left to hunt in the darkness. Alone.

The wind howled against the motel window, but you barely noticed as sleep finally claimed you, the weight of a broken heart your only companion, not noticing the door opening to see a figure standing in the threshold holding a quickly packed luggage bag.

That stung.

“He’s not the kind of man who wants a child. You know that. He’s never said it, but he’s made it pretty clear. This life doesn’t have room for innocence.”

You were trying to convince yourself as much as you were trying to convince him.

“Dean would never hurt a child,” Sam said firmly.

“No,” you agreed, biting the inside of your cheek. “But he might not want this one. Especially if he thinks it complicates things. He’s paranoid. He’d accuse me of cheating before he ever thought he could be a father. He’d think I stepped out with Benny or someone in the crew.”

Sam raised an eyebrow and smirked faintly. “Well, you are always disappearing with Cas.”

Your glare could have leveled a man.

“Not helping, Samuel.”

He held up his hands in surrender, chuckling. But the worry lingered behind his eyes. “You’re not gonna be able to hide it forever. The second someone else notices, it won’t be you who gets to tell him.”

That fear alone had kept you awake most nights.

--

By the third month, you were vomiting every morning like clockwork. You’d started setting an alarm earlier just so you could throw up, brush your teeth, and crawl back into bed before Dean stirred.

He never questioned it. Thought it was nerves or stomach bugs or stress. He brought you ginger ale. Rubbed your back sometimes, but never pushed.

By the fourth month, the bump was showing under your loose shirts. You swore off fitted clothes entirely, claiming you were bloated, blaming too much diner food. Dean didn’t question it—he kissed your forehead and told you you were beautiful, even when your eyes were ringed with exhaustion.

You’d begged Garth to keep his mouth shut when the test came back positive.

He’d looked like he was going to pass out.

“You need to tell him,” he’d whispered, eyes darting around like Dean would burst through the wall. “Before someone else figures it out.”

--

That “someone else” turned out to be Castiel, two weeks later.

He walked into the auto shop just as you were shoving a wrench back onto the shelf, your shirt lifted over your slightly rounded belly as you tried to tuck it back into your jeans.

He froze. “You’re pregnant.”

You cursed softly and turned away, tugging the shirt down.

“Please,” you whispered. “Don’t say anything.”

His jaw clenched. Then he gave a tight nod. “He deserves to know. But I won’t betray you.”

--

“You think she’s hiding something?” Sam asked, sliding a beer across the bar to Dean later that week.

Dean grunted, eyes fixed on the bottle but not really seeing it. “She’s been different.”

“Different how?”

“Jumpy. Distant. She cries in the shower when she thinks I can’t hear. And she’s been wearing those goddamn hoodies in the middle of June.”

Sam pressed his lips together to hide the flicker of realization. “You think she’s cheating?”

Dean slammed the bottle down a little harder than necessary. “No. I mean—hell, I hope not. But... if it’s not that, then what the hell is it?”

Sam leaned in. “Maybe she’s just scared. She’s been through hell, Dean. We all have. But you—you’re not just a boyfriend. You’re Dean Winchester. You’re the guy who puts bullets in people who talk too loud. She might be afraid of your reaction.”

Dean didn’t answer. But his throat worked, and that said enough.

--

Seven months.

You stood in the bedroom, heart in your throat, hand resting over the curve of your belly. You’d stopped trying to hide it. You couldn’t. And tonight... tonight, you had to tell him.

You heard the familiar sound of the Impala pulling into the garage. Boots. Keys. The soft thud of his leather jacket hitting the hook by the door.

“Dean?” you called, voice thin.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he called back, then stepped into the room—and froze.

His green eyes locked on you. On the rounded swell of your stomach. The unmistakable curve beneath your tank top.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t move.

“There’s something I need to tell you.” Your voice cracked.

Dean’s brows furrowed. “Is it mine?”

The question was sharp, instinctual, and it made your breath catch.

“Yes,” you said without hesitation. “Dean, I swear—I’ve never—I would never—”

He crossed the room in three long strides, falling to his knees in front of you before you could finish the sentence. He didn’t touch you at first. Just looked up at you with a mixture of awe and heartbreak in his eyes.

“Seven months,” he whispered.

You nodded, tears falling freely now. “I was scared. I thought you’d think it was weakness. That it would ruin everything you’ve built. I didn’t want you to look at me and see a liability.”

Dean slowly reached out, resting both hands on your belly like he was afraid you’d disappear. “You should’ve told me.”

“I wanted to. I tried. But the longer I waited, the harder it got. And then I thought... maybe you’d be better off not knowing.”

He looked up, his voice cracking as he spoke. “There is nothing—nothing—that matters more to me than you.” He placed a kiss against the top of your belly, then another. “You think I’d pick blood and bullets over this?”

You were sobbing now, fingers tangled in his hair, holding him close.

“I’ll protect you both with everything I have,” he whispered. “I’ll love this kid the only way I know how—with everything I’ve got.”

Cold Winds Outside || Summary: John drops the boys off at a seedy motel after a hunt, only to abandon them once again, leaving them in the cold. [SAMDEAN]

Comforted in You || Summary: Sam's still having nightmares about his time in hell and finds comfort in his older brother [SAMDEAN]

Drunken Rambles || Summary: Sam gets drunk….and makes dean wish he was sober.

Fast Car || Summary: Sam proposes the idea that they just… leave. ANd start a new life elsewhere, away from hunting, from dad, the monsters. All of it.

Hotel Secrets and Forgotten Families || Summary: Sam’s feeling invisible now that Lisa’s back in the picture. [SAMDEAN]

Pancakes and Proposals || Summary: Dean has the BRILLIANT idea to get free food– a fake proposal! [SAMDEAN]

Poolside || Summary: Dean teaches Sam about the game of pool. [DEANSAM]

Take Me to Church || Summary: Sam dies the final time in Dean's arms while waiting for Castiel to return to save him.

Tell Me It Meant Nothing || Summary: Sam lets it slide at first. He’s used to Dean burying things, locking feelings up tight and throwing away the key. But this? This wasn’t nothing. And he’s done pretending it was. [SAMDEAN]

At first he grinned at his reflection. Your face stared back at him—your eyes, your mouth, the little crease between your brows when you were thinking too hard. “Hm,” he murmured, tilting his head. The voice was yours too. Softer than his. Warmer. Curious, Loki reached down and touched his—your—arm. And paused. “…Soft.”

His brows furrowed slightly as his hands wandered experimentally. The sweater sleeves hung over his hands. The knit was thick and warm, the sort of thing meant for curling up on a couch rather than ruling kingdoms. He rubbed the fabric between his fingers. Comfortable. Then he shifted again, touching his stomach. Your stomach. There was a softness there. Plush, warm, yielding beneath his palm in a way that startled him. He squeezed lightly. “…Oh.” Another squeeze.

Then a thoughtful hum. You had always described yourself with such cruel words. Too soft. Too much. Too plumpy. Yet standing there in your shape, Loki found himself… fascinated. His hands traced over the curve of your hips next. The softness of your thighs. The gentle weight of your body. It was warm. Real. Alive in a way sculpted warriors and statuesque Asgardians rarely were.

“You are built for comfort,” he murmured to the mirror, sounding almost reverent. He shifted his weight and the leggings stretched pleasantly as he moved. Flexible. Soft. Practical.

And suddenly— Suddenly he understood something that had puzzled him for months. Why he loved watching you curl up on the couch. Why your sweaters made him want to wrap his arms around you. Why the sight of you bundled in blankets made something strange and protective stir in his chest.

Because this body— Your body— Was made for warmth. For holding. For softness. His hands rested on the curve of your stomach again, thumbs rubbing lightly. “How have you convinced yourself this is anything but beautiful?” he murmured quietly.

Footsteps approached. Loki didn’t notice until you walked into the hallway and froze. Because standing in front of the mirror… Was you. Except the other you was poking thoughtfully at their stomach.

Your eyes widened. “…Loki?”

He turned. Your own face looked back at you with a slightly guilty expression. “Oh,” he said. Then he looked down at himself again, poked your stomach once more, and added thoughtfully, “I believe I owe you an apology.”

You blinked. “For what??”

“For not realizing sooner how lovely you are.”

You stared.

He gestured vaguely to himself. “This form is extraordinarily comfortable.”

“YOU ARE WEARING MY BODY LIKE A SWEATER.”

“And it is a very nice sweater.”

You marched forward, cheeks burning. “Turn back right now!”

Instead he tilted his head, examining you carefully. Then smiled. Slow. Fond. “Oh no,” Loki said softly. “I rather think I prefer you this way.”

Your brain short-circuited. “…What?”

His magic flickered, dissolving the illusion. Suddenly Loki stood in front of you again—tall, dark-haired, impossibly smug. But his hands moved immediately to your waist. Warm. Firm. Drawing you against him. Exactly where he’d just discovered he liked you most.

His arms wrapped around your soft middle like he had every right to be there. “You are warm,” he murmured against your temple. Your face felt like it might combust. “And soft.”

“…Loki.”

Sitting up in bed, you gasp at the sound of your annoyingly loud alarm clock.  You slam your hand down on your phone to turn off the sound.  Today is the day.  The moon phase is correct, and not only that, the full moon fell on Friday the thirteenth.  You have waited your entire life for this moment. 

It is a right of passage.  It is a birth right.  It is what everyone does at your age.  And it is a stupid tradition.  You had thought about not even going.  They probably wouldn’t even miss you.  

Yawning, you throw your legs out of your bed, and make your way into the kitchen.  Coffee is a necessary thing this morning.  There will be a bunch of giggly women, and a bunch of brooding, huffing men.  Nothing brings out the animalistic qualities of a man more than The Hunt.  

You groan as you stare at your front door.  As if someone had slid it under the door lay a perfectly beautiful envelope.  One that will tell you what your designation is going to be for The Hunt.  Traditionally speaking, nobody has designations anymore.  Your kind has evolved into more human than animal.  The call of the moon didn’t reach anyone’s brains anymore.  There is no shifting.  There is no pull to tell you where you stand in society. 

Thank the gods for that. 

Your grandmother told you stories of abusive alphas, and vulnerable omegas.  Ones that couldn’t deny their alphas.  Through time, evolution took out those pathetic excuses for men.  Omegas and betas could not produce designations.  Hence the dying off of those urges.  And what do you do now?  Create a fun game where all the progression you have made as humans is thrown out the window.  

Tonight you get to revel in the days pass.  Get to have an envelope tell you your fate.  Separate into your designations, and let The Hunt begin.  Alphas can team up with betas.  Betas and omegas can hide away for the night.  Alphas and omegas can choose to “mate” before the bus ever makes it to the “sacred” mountain top.  It’s all a strategy, and you choose how it’s going to go.  There’s no wrong or right answers, only The Hunt and giving into your feral desires.   

Sipping your coffee, you glare at the envelope.  Each year more and more people were withdrawing from The Hunt.  But it’s your year, and you didn’t go through the procedure of refusing to participate.  What would happen?  Would it be so bad?  It’s not like they could take everything away from you.  Just your dignity.

And then it is also one night.  One night to throw caution to the wind, and say fuck it all, let me live deliciously.  Or let me live fighting.  Where exactly did you land?  

Obviously you like having agency over your body.  And then the flip side is if you had an alpha that didn’t abuse his power, how grand would it be to not have to think?  To let him or her decide how the day is going to go. 

Sighing, you place your mug in the dishwasher before walking towards the door.  There’s no turning away now.  You’re in it, so might as well accept your fate.  Lifting up the shiny gold envelope, you miss that the wax seal is not that of The Hunt’s.  You didn’t study up that much on this tradition to even know that the gold of the paper is slightly off as well.  That the ink wasn’t a pure black, but the most blackened navy.  Had you known anything about the traditions of The Hunt and the society that puts it together, you would know all of this. 

You do see what your designation is:

To hide, to hunt, or to be hunted — OMEGA.

Of course.  It’s the designation you both feared and revered.  A designation that was once the pillar of the community to the ones that suffered the most.  Becoming nothing but broodmares for alphas, and punching bags for betas.  

The history is darkened with omega blood.  And now here you are.  Ready to join the caravan.  Gulping, you grab the pin within the envelope.  One that will sit atop your chest, and everyone can easily see what your designation is.  One night couldn’t be too bad.  

The wolf dangling from your driver’s van is the weirdest type of beacon.  But it sure does help with the unsettling in your stomach as a large van winds its way up the mountain.  Away from society, and away from power.  There is going to be nothing to protect you from the alphas and betas than your wits.  

“Not sure how you wound up in a van full of alphas,” he clears his throat as he looks into the rear view mirror.  “Normally the groups are all separated, and designations are evenly given out.  Did you have the right bus number?” 

You shoot him a scathing glance, he saw your invitation.  He knew that you were in the right van.  The point was to go ahead and create differences between the group.  Let people start to form alliances, and come up with plans as you are taken to camp.  This year the alphas decreed that everyone should be separate.  But one omega didn’t fit in the right van.    

“It’s almost like they’re telling us that we all get a piece of you,” you roll your eyes, and keep looking at the dangling wolf on the mirror.  Thankfully the driver felt it important to keep you away from them.  

This is the interesting part of this tradition, you realize that men can easily switch into feral beings.  Already there is someone thinking that you’re nothing more than a body.  The intimidation tactics have already begun.

“Did you do The Hunt?” Another one asks the driver, and he nods.  “How does one win?” 

“There is no winning,” you groan.  “This isn’t a game.  It’s just a way for us to remember days of the past.  For us to see what omegas went through, and to show us who are the types of alphas we should stay away from.  Not all alphas are misogynists, not all omegas are weak, and not all betas are useless.” 

You hear that stupid boy grunt in the back.  He’s coming by his assigned designation honestly.  “So what is your strategy to survive the night?” Survive.  It’s like they intend on murdering you.  And well, you suppose there could be a form of taking away your humanity.  

“My goal is to not have any of you alphas touch me.” 

“Not even if it means that you give one of us pups?” Like you would ever want to give them children.  Judging by their small dick energy you’re going to assume that they’re not near girthy enough to attempt the feel of a knotting.  

“You think you’re too good for us?  Or that being on the mountain won’t trigger something in your brain?” 

“If it was that simple, wouldn’t the lot of you be dragging us up the mountain to live in the past?” Of course they would.  They would force you into servitude.  They would want you submissive without earning it, or without choice.  A blubbering simpering omega that is ready to receive their knot.  And carry their pups. 

Not only are they not attractive, they want it without your choice.  

“Well,” the driver says as he pulls into the parking spot.  Looking towards you with a regretful smile.  “How much of the rules have you read?” 

“I didn’t.  It was just what people have told me.  Why?” 

“This is the seventy-fifth anniversary.  Rules are different,” he says as the alphas start piling out.  Laughing at whatever misfortune you’re unaware of.  “Be safe out there, omega,” and so The Hunt starts.

Annoyed, you get out of the van, and follow the large group of people.  Gulping as the group forms a circle around the men in the center.  They towered over the men here.  Abnormally large, with bulging biceps.  The chilly autumn air is not phasing them at all.  Wild hair that also was perfectly placed.  And on each of their forearms is a face of the wolf.  The animals' eyes oddly matched their own. 

The smiles on their faces both make your stomach flutter around, and also make you feel a nod of impending doom.  “Now that everyone is here,” the blonde looks around the circle.  His friend holds onto a large container full of liquid.  “Seeing how we’re on our seventy-fifth anniversary of our sacred birthright, we’re upping the stakes.” 

That doesn’t sound good.  That sounds terrifying.  “By now, you’re receiving cups,” and sure enough someone is passing out disposable cups.  You didn’t even notice anyone past the two of them.  “Bucky is going to fill each of those cups with a concoction.  That concoction is said to heighten your brain to the point of you becoming the designation that you were in fact born to be.  All inhibitions will be pushed aside.  You will be more animal than human.” 

You notice several people shift around.  Most of the nervous ones were in the omega vans.  Of course omegas will feel uncomfortable.  “While you have on your assigned pin, if you feel as an omega, that’s what you are.  If you feel alpha, that’s what you are.  And who knows what else it enhances.” 

The blonde smiles over at his friend, Bucky, who joins him by his side again, “Even your sense of smell will be enhanced.  So, our natural omegas, be careful.  When your alpha scents you, there will be no escaping.  Obviously, you can do as is natural, and mate.  There’s a reason you’re all tested before coming out here.  Betas are not as useless as you would think.  I’m sure you will soon find out.  Cheers,” Bucky holds up his own cup as does his friend.

You don’t think you’ve ever heard of the hosts joining The Hunt, and there’s a part of you that gets squirmy at the idea.  You follow the crowd, raising the cups, and then swallowing the sweet honey flavored concoction. 

“Now, we wait for it to settle and turn you into the designation that you were born to be.  Enjoy your time around camp,” he gives a wink straight to you as him and Bucky turn perfectly in tune with each other. 

“Do you have a name?” Someone yells behind you.  You don’t like someone else being interested in him, or them.  Even though you don’t know them.  

“It’s Steve.” 

“Did you give the omegas more than the alphas?” 

Steve turns to glare at the same man that was in your van bothering you.  “No, but you did receive more.  Maybe it’ll turn you into an omega.  Remember, alphas are not boastful.  Usually if they are, they’re overcompensating, so maybe you’re not really an alpha at all,” Steve doesn’t further say anything as he spins on his heels.  

Let the games begin.

Hiding behind a tree, you slap both hands over your mouth.  You try to soften the sound of your heavy panting, but it still feels like you’re screaming.  Your body is on fire.  It’s not just the fear you feel about the random screams, howls, and moans in the woods, but the deep rooted ache in your core.  A feeling that is foreign, and you crave it.  

You feel as if you had a big alpha to wrap you up in his arms that everything will be okay.  That just a scent of your alpha would ease your trembling body.  You don’t know what’s going on out there in the woods.  But you hear.  And it sounds like dogs mating.  

Coming up on the mountain is a right of passage.  It calls back to the days of old when your brain didn’t do as much thinking as your body’s urges.  A time when you would give your agency over to a man that vowed to protect you with his dying breath.  A time you loathe, but you yearn for that level of intimacy, longing, and protectiveness.  

It’s this contradiction that has always plagued you.  In the right dynamics this would be a beautiful situation, but only if you wanted it.  In the wrong dynamics this seems like a trap and a lifelong sentence to servitude.  Pledging fealty to someone that only values your body for the pleasure you bring them.  There’s a reason why all designations wanted to end the animal dwelling inside. 

Tonight further proves that it was the right decision.  Too many of the “alphas” want to take.  There is no communication on what’s in it for the omegas and betas.  It is only them and their addiction.  

You only want to climb further up the mountain, and deeper into the woods.  Get as far away from the mayhem as you possibly can, and wait it out.  If you did the math correctly in your head most the alphas, omegas, and betas should be occupied with each other.  Perhaps you have gotten far enough away, and now you just need to stay awake and stay warm.  

You let out a cold breath when you hear the deep inhale from behind you.  Keeping your hands clamped tightly against your mouth.  That didn’t even sound human.  “I know she ran this way, Steve.” 

A long drawn out howl coming from the distance has you tense up, but then an even closer groan of frustration.  That sound has a warmth balloon in your stomach.  It feels inviting, “They’re annoying.” 

“You’re the one that decided to give out the liquid.” 

A snarl too close to you makes you quiver, while your body is ready to run to them.  Body autonomy within omegas is typically nonexistent.  When your alpha is near, you ache for them.  When they’re away, you crave them to the point of delirium.  “How else was I going to get our omega to go into heat?” They’re just as wild as everyone else, maybe more so. 

Another deep inhale mixed with a low growl has your legs shaking, and you try to stand.  You can’t stay here anymore.  You’ve got to get out of here.  Or maybe not.  Confliction feels like lava in your veins.  “She’s here.  I smell her fear.  But I also smell her lust.” 

“Omega,” you know that voice.  It’s Bucky.  “You do not have to fear us.  You belong to us.” 

This isn’t happening.  “Run,” even if your breathing is irregular, and your legs are vibrating, you sprint.  In the twinkle of an eye Steve and Bucky take off towards you.  Your running gave them your exact whereabouts, and there’s two of them.  Two massive bodies of muscle and beauty, hurtling towards you.  

There’s no stopping them, and there’s no outrunning them.  One splits away from the other, and their chuckles lift in the foggy night.  You’re an idiot.  You can’t even believe that you listened to him.  But his words took control of your body. 

A brick wall slams into your body.  The air completely knocks out of you when two thick arms fasten around your waist.  One tanned flesh, while the other is a cold metal, “Do you know why you ran?” The blonde walks in front of you.  He bends low to directly look in your eyes.  You gulp as the fear subsides.  The adrenaline is still heavy.  

“There, there, sweet omega.  You don’t fear us do you?” 

“No,” your voice is that of a mouse, and you can’t look away from him.  His eyes pierce your very center, and you want to be good for him, “What’s happening?” 

“You’re in heat.  Have no fear, neither Bucky and I are in rut.  But this conversation wasn’t going to make much sense to you unless you could feel compelled not to fear.” 

“You’ve compelled me?”

“You ran on command, did you not?” Coincidence.  Bucky’s nose runs up the sensitive column of your neck, simultaneously scenting, and licking the skin.  Your eyes roll into the back of your head, as your back arches.  Pushing your ass into him.  “You’re reacting to a beta scenting and tasting you.  You’re nothing but a bitch in heat.” 

It takes every bit of your will power to scowl at him.  “There are a small group of us left.  We do not live in these woods.  We live amongst everyone else.  We watch, and we wait.  But some things like the scent of you linger in our mind.  Bucky is the one that discovered you first.  He was doing some maintenance work in your apartment.  Later that night you were humping your pillow with the name James rolling off your lips.” 

“No,” Steve smirks, and nods his head.  Okay, the maintenance man was – is extremely attractive, and you were lonely, “But…” 

“The second time, you met me.  I have delivered a package to your house.  I have sold you a car, I have attended a wedding that you were in.  Our sweet Bucky has showed up to your work, and helped you with a flat tire.  He has given you his opinion on a book at the library.  Omega, we have been waiting and watching for you.  And yes, this was unorthodox to offer the drink.  But you have to see that you belong to us.” 

“I don’t get a choice?” Your lip quivers.  Bucky’s grip on you softens, and his primal sniffing turns into ghosting his lips on your skin.  Kissing a boo boo like you’re a child.  His gentleness makes you weak, and you want the two of them to encircle you. 

“You do.  We will give you that.  It will hurt; it will hurt all of us.” 

“And if I tell you to own me?” 

A rumble gathers in both their chests, and your eyes roll into the back of your head once again.  “We will take turns with you.  We will protect you and worship the ground you walk on.  And soon, you will have my pups.  I have no doubt that one day you will be able to grow Bucky’s.  We’ll get into that another time.” 

“The moon is full.” 

“Omega, we’re not werewolves anymore. Not yet anyways. Evolution has changed us. Some of us don't even hear the call anymore,” Bucky whispers on your cheek.  You whimper, and turn to look at him.  Desiring him, and needing him.  Your body is taking over, and you want to claim him.  “We’re not creating mating bonds tonight.  Think of it as pleasure that you have never experienced before.” 

“Promise?” Steve walks away from the two of you, and lowers himself in front of a tree.  Leaning back, he beams up at the two of you.  

“I promise.” 

“And then we mate?” 

“If that’s what you want,” your hands go to your jeans, and you claw at the pants.  Tugging them down while you gaze back at Bucky.  Memories of each of them in and out of your life within the last year.  You remember them.  The pull to them.  The ache to remain single, and turning men away because they didn’t come close to the way that Steve and Bucky always left you feeling.  You didn’t know it was all tied together.  

You step out of a shoe, and slip your leg from the jeans as Bucky frees himself.  He gives your body a bit of a spin, and positions you directly in front of Steve.  Carefully he lifts up your left leg slightly before gripping his cock at the base.  He slaps his length up against your core.  Moaning, your knee starts to give, but Bucky keeps you standing upright.  

“Buck, if you could see just how soaked she is,” you bite on your lip as he presses his tip at your entrance.  “Don’t put on a show.” 

“You like it.” 

“And you know that our omega is going delirious.  Aren’t ya, baby doll?” You nod in response.  Arching and pushing back on Bucky.  “Put her out of her misery,” he rolls his eyes.  

“Beg for it.” 

“Please, give me your cock.  I need to be bred,” you whine, rolling your hips, and searching for Bucky’s cock.  “Bucky!” Steve leans forward in irritated excitement.  Your discomfort seems to edge him into a protective stance.  “It hurts, Bucky.  I need to be knotted.” 

“If you don’t fuck her, I will,” Bucky crashes into your heat, and you screech out in pleasure.  The pain slowly starts to subside as you adjust to his length.  “That’s better.  Omega, Bucky is going to stretch you, and then you’re going to ride my cock, until I come, okay?” You nod your head as you start to rock on Bucky.  “Needy little thing.  Do you know why Bucky gets you first?” 

“Nope,” Bucky chuckles as you work yourself over him.  Nothing has ever felt so good.  Never so right.  You just want to exist to take him.  Them.  You barely hear Steve’s words.  You’re just in a high of euphoria, and didn’t care about much else. 

“Because you’re in need of a knot.  Bucky being beta cannot offer that to you.  So while I’m throbbing, I get to watch my two favorite people start our forever,” you mewl as you look from Steve to Bucky.  Forgetting the journey to here.  Forgetting everything but them. 

“You won’t be mean?” 

“No, omega.  I won’t allow it,” Bucky pushes into you with such a long quick thrust it causes you to see stars.  A funny feeling rises in your belly as his hard thrusts send you into another realm.  Orbiting all new planets.  Opening up a new world that you thought long forgotten.  Once you committed yourself to them, it would be near impossible to leave.  They would have you in a chokehold, and own you.  

You want to.  Desire to?  Maybe there were some choices taken away from you when you met them, but you don’t feel like they’re taking away who you are.  You’re just now part of them.  Part of a bigger picture.  

“Yes,” Steve froths as he leans ever closer.  “Yes, she likes that,” you love whatever Bucky is doing to you.  It’s why nobody else fit with you in the past.  It wasn’t the exes, you can only guess it’s because they weren’t Bucky and Steve.  

“Come on, Buck.  Come on.  Don’t stop.  Keep going.  You’re making her feel so good, beta,” Bucky whines, and hides his face in your neck.  Kissing along your sweaty skin.  “Don’t do it.  It’s not time.” 

“I want to.” 

“I know you do, bubba.  Don’t.  Not.  Yet,” he wraps his free hand around your waist, jackhammering into you at such a speed that you blackout.  Moaning and screaming out his name and nonsensical words.  Clenching your eyes close as your walls grip around him.  “Make her messy, beta.” 

An odd ferocious sound echoes out of Bucky’s mouth, and his seed spurts deep into your womb.  “Hurry.  Bring her here.  Don’t want her to leak any of you.” 

Bucky reacts immediately.  He lifts you up, and carries you over to Steve.  Even places you on top of him.  Coaxing you lower until your cunt swallows his length, and you sigh.  Feeling Bucky’s spend mix in your quivering cunt.  Wetting Steve’s cock.  “Fuck me.” 

His whisper is low and demanding, and you listen.  Working yourself over Steve like a mad woman.  Like having him directly after Bucky is what made things right in the world.  Things shifted so the three of you can be one.  No beginning.  No end.  Just harmony.  It would work out.  You did trust them.  It’s something you know in your gut. 

Your souls fuse together in the most beautiful way.  Mixing and melting into the other one.  There is nothing that can separate the three of you.  Not even your simpering and crying for Bucky, all while you fuck Steve.  Hands on his chest you bounce over him. 

“Next time, I’ll have you two properly.  Preferably with light so I can see everything.  Does this feel good, sweet omega?” 

“Uh huh.  Perfect.” 

“Say it.  Say what you want.” 

“Knot me!  Mate me!” 

“You sure?” Bucky is right behind you, pleading for your answer.  Something feels right.  Is it having the two of them back to back?  Is it having them so close while the other dominates you?  You don’t know. 

“Yes!” Awkwardly you grind on Steve.  Unsure why you’re moving differently, but it still feels so heavenly.  “Yes!” 

“This is gonna hurt!” Steve grits through his teeth.  “Don’t stop, baby.  Don’t.  Stop,” you don’t.  You hunch on him like this is what you were destined to do.  Not stopping until that moment where the skies light up.  Every star shines down on the three of you.  

Overstimulated and overwhelmed, pain stretches out your core to a state it’s never been, and you sob out their name.  Begging them for a different kind of relief when each of their mouths attach to your neck.  A sharp burning pain ignites your skin, and then serenity warms up your body.  You no longer feel the pain at your entrance, but you keep him secure in your cunt.  Stretching to take his knot. 

Bucky grunts, slightly adjusting himself, “This isn’t the most pleasant feeling, Steve.” 

“She’s too fucked out to claim us, too.  That would help you.” 

“We don’t have to do this every time?” 

“No, bubba.  Did you really think that taking my knot while we double penetrated her pussy was going to be the easiest?” Bucky shakes his head no as he grimaces.  “C’mere,” Steve puckers his lips to his beta, and he gives him a gentle kiss.  “We’ll only do this when I’m in rut, and when we want pups.  Otherwise, there’s no need for you to suffer this fate as well.  But our omega loves to be knotted, huh?” 

You did.  You really did.

Masterlist

Taglist: @tis-thedamn-season @marveloustaylortot @rnurse-kole @peaches1958 @seitmai

@smile1318 @andydrysdalerogers @cjand10 @midnightramyeoncravings @kmc1989

@pandaxnienke @kmm-fluv @rogersbarber @theinheriteddutchess @buckybarnesisdaddy

By the fifth night, you stop standing near windows entirely. You keep the curtains drawn. You avoid the living room after sunset.

But the feeling doesn’t stop.

It’s worse when you’re alone in bed. The blinds barely parted, letting in thin silver streetlight from outside of your house. You roll onto your side, facing the wall, because if you don’t look at the window, maybe it can’t look at you.

You almost convince yourself you’re imagining it. Until there’s the faintest sound. Metal against brick. A shift of weight on the fire escape. Your breath catches. Silence. Then gone.

He isn’t there to scare you. Not really. He’s there because HYDRA gave him your face. A target file. Surveillance photos. Routine patterns.

He learned the times you leave for work. The exact minute you turn off your bedside lamp. The way you hum absentmindedly when you’re cooking.

The Winter Soldier does not feel.

But something in him hesitates when he watches you tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. When you laugh at a show alone on your couch. When you pause at the window, looking out — almost like you feel him there.

He stays in the shadows of the fire escape, metal fingers silent against rusted railing. He tells himself it’s reconnaissance. He tells himself it’s timing. He tells himself it’s preparation. But he’s been “preparing” for five nights.

On the seventh night, you don’t close the curtain. You’re tired. Tired of feeling hunted in your own home. You stand in front of the window deliberately. Your hands are shaking, but you push the curtain fully aside.

“Whoever you are,” you whisper, voice barely steady, “just stop.”

Silence.

The city hums below. And for a second — just a second — you see him. A shape across the alley. On the opposite rooftop. Half-hidden in darkness.

Broad shoulders. Long hair. A glint of something silver where a hand should be.

Your stomach drops. Your eyes lock. And something strange happens. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t aim. Doesn’t advance. He just… stares. Not like a predator about to strike. More like someone trying to remember something.

The next night you wake up absolutely freezing, the window is open when you sit up. Just slightly. Cold air drifting in. You know you locked it.

You know you did. Your heart pounds as you sit up.

He’s inside. Not close. Standing in the far corner of your bedroom like a shadow pulled into human shape. You can barely make him out except for the arm — matte metal catching moonlight. Your breath shatters in your lungs. He doesn’t lunge. Doesn’t speak. He just watches you.

And when he finally moves, it isn’t toward you. He steps closer to the window. Guards it. Like something out there is more dangerous than he is.

His voice, when it comes, is low. Rough. Rusted from disuse. “…They’re coming.”

Sitting up in bed, you gasp at the sound of your annoyingly loud alarm clock.  You slam your hand down on your phone to turn off the sound.  Today is the day.  The moon phase is correct, and not only that, the full moon fell on Friday the thirteenth.  You have waited your entire life for this moment. 

It is a right of passage.  It is a birth right.  It is what everyone does at your age.  And it is a stupid tradition.  You had thought about not even going.  They probably wouldn’t even miss you.  

Yawning, you throw your legs out of your bed, and make your way into the kitchen.  Coffee is a necessary thing this morning.  There will be a bunch of giggly women, and a bunch of brooding, huffing men.  Nothing brings out the animalistic qualities of a man more than The Hunt.  

You groan as you stare at your front door.  As if someone had slid it under the door lay a perfectly beautiful envelope.  One that will tell you what your designation is going to be for The Hunt.  Traditionally speaking, nobody has designations anymore.  Your kind has evolved into more human than animal.  The call of the moon didn’t reach anyone’s brains anymore.  There is no shifting.  There is no pull to tell you where you stand in society. 

Thank the gods for that. 

Your grandmother told you stories of abusive alphas, and vulnerable omegas.  Ones that couldn’t deny their alphas.  Through time, evolution took out those pathetic excuses for men.  Omegas and betas could not produce designations.  Hence the dying off of those urges.  And what do you do now?  Create a fun game where all the progression you have made as humans is thrown out the window.  

Tonight you get to revel in the days pass.  Get to have an envelope tell you your fate.  Separate into your designations, and let The Hunt begin.  Alphas can team up with betas.  Betas and omegas can hide away for the night.  Alphas and omegas can choose to “mate” before the bus ever makes it to the “sacred” mountain top.  It’s all a strategy, and you choose how it’s going to go.  There’s no wrong or right answers, only The Hunt and giving into your feral desires.   

Sipping your coffee, you glare at the envelope.  Each year more and more people were withdrawing from The Hunt.  But it’s your year, and you didn’t go through the procedure of refusing to participate.  What would happen?  Would it be so bad?  It’s not like they could take everything away from you.  Just your dignity.

And then it is also one night.  One night to throw caution to the wind, and say fuck it all, let me live deliciously.  Or let me live fighting.  Where exactly did you land?  

Obviously you like having agency over your body.  And then the flip side is if you had an alpha that didn’t abuse his power, how grand would it be to not have to think?  To let him or her decide how the day is going to go. 

Sighing, you place your mug in the dishwasher before walking towards the door.  There’s no turning away now.  You’re in it, so might as well accept your fate.  Lifting up the shiny gold envelope, you miss that the wax seal is not that of The Hunt’s.  You didn’t study up that much on this tradition to even know that the gold of the paper is slightly off as well.  That the ink wasn’t a pure black, but the most blackened navy.  Had you known anything about the traditions of The Hunt and the society that puts it together, you would know all of this. 

You do see what your designation is:

To hide, to hunt, or to be hunted — OMEGA.

Of course.  It’s the designation you both feared and revered.  A designation that was once the pillar of the community to the ones that suffered the most.  Becoming nothing but broodmares for alphas, and punching bags for betas.  

The history is darkened with omega blood.  And now here you are.  Ready to join the caravan.  Gulping, you grab the pin within the envelope.  One that will sit atop your chest, and everyone can easily see what your designation is.  One night couldn’t be too bad.  

The wolf dangling from your driver’s van is the weirdest type of beacon.  But it sure does help with the unsettling in your stomach as a large van winds its way up the mountain.  Away from society, and away from power.  There is going to be nothing to protect you from the alphas and betas than your wits.  

“Not sure how you wound up in a van full of alphas,” he clears his throat as he looks into the rear view mirror.  “Normally the groups are all separated, and designations are evenly given out.  Did you have the right bus number?” 

You shoot him a scathing glance, he saw your invitation.  He knew that you were in the right van.  The point was to go ahead and create differences between the group.  Let people start to form alliances, and come up with plans as you are taken to camp.  This year the alphas decreed that everyone should be separate.  But one omega didn’t fit in the right van.    

“It’s almost like they’re telling us that we all get a piece of you,” you roll your eyes, and keep looking at the dangling wolf on the mirror.  Thankfully the driver felt it important to keep you away from them.  

This is the interesting part of this tradition, you realize that men can easily switch into feral beings.  Already there is someone thinking that you’re nothing more than a body.  The intimidation tactics have already begun.

“Did you do The Hunt?” Another one asks the driver, and he nods.  “How does one win?” 

“There is no winning,” you groan.  “This isn’t a game.  It’s just a way for us to remember days of the past.  For us to see what omegas went through, and to show us who are the types of alphas we should stay away from.  Not all alphas are misogynists, not all omegas are weak, and not all betas are useless.” 

You hear that stupid boy grunt in the back.  He’s coming by his assigned designation honestly.  “So what is your strategy to survive the night?” Survive.  It’s like they intend on murdering you.  And well, you suppose there could be a form of taking away your humanity.  

“My goal is to not have any of you alphas touch me.” 

“Not even if it means that you give one of us pups?” Like you would ever want to give them children.  Judging by their small dick energy you’re going to assume that they’re not near girthy enough to attempt the feel of a knotting.  

“You think you’re too good for us?  Or that being on the mountain won’t trigger something in your brain?” 

“If it was that simple, wouldn’t the lot of you be dragging us up the mountain to live in the past?” Of course they would.  They would force you into servitude.  They would want you submissive without earning it, or without choice.  A blubbering simpering omega that is ready to receive their knot.  And carry their pups. 

Not only are they not attractive, they want it without your choice.  

“Well,” the driver says as he pulls into the parking spot.  Looking towards you with a regretful smile.  “How much of the rules have you read?” 

“I didn’t.  It was just what people have told me.  Why?” 

“This is the seventy-fifth anniversary.  Rules are different,” he says as the alphas start piling out.  Laughing at whatever misfortune you’re unaware of.  “Be safe out there, omega,” and so The Hunt starts.

Annoyed, you get out of the van, and follow the large group of people.  Gulping as the group forms a circle around the men in the center.  They towered over the men here.  Abnormally large, with bulging biceps.  The chilly autumn air is not phasing them at all.  Wild hair that also was perfectly placed.  And on each of their forearms is a face of the wolf.  The animals' eyes oddly matched their own. 

The smiles on their faces both make your stomach flutter around, and also make you feel a nod of impending doom.  “Now that everyone is here,” the blonde looks around the circle.  His friend holds onto a large container full of liquid.  “Seeing how we’re on our seventy-fifth anniversary of our sacred birthright, we’re upping the stakes.” 

That doesn’t sound good.  That sounds terrifying.  “By now, you’re receiving cups,” and sure enough someone is passing out disposable cups.  You didn’t even notice anyone past the two of them.  “Bucky is going to fill each of those cups with a concoction.  That concoction is said to heighten your brain to the point of you becoming the designation that you were in fact born to be.  All inhibitions will be pushed aside.  You will be more animal than human.” 

You notice several people shift around.  Most of the nervous ones were in the omega vans.  Of course omegas will feel uncomfortable.  “While you have on your assigned pin, if you feel as an omega, that’s what you are.  If you feel alpha, that’s what you are.  And who knows what else it enhances.” 

The blonde smiles over at his friend, Bucky, who joins him by his side again, “Even your sense of smell will be enhanced.  So, our natural omegas, be careful.  When your alpha scents you, there will be no escaping.  Obviously, you can do as is natural, and mate.  There’s a reason you’re all tested before coming out here.  Betas are not as useless as you would think.  I’m sure you will soon find out.  Cheers,” Bucky holds up his own cup as does his friend.

You don’t think you’ve ever heard of the hosts joining The Hunt, and there’s a part of you that gets squirmy at the idea.  You follow the crowd, raising the cups, and then swallowing the sweet honey flavored concoction. 

“Now, we wait for it to settle and turn you into the designation that you were born to be.  Enjoy your time around camp,” he gives a wink straight to you as him and Bucky turn perfectly in tune with each other. 

“Do you have a name?” Someone yells behind you.  You don’t like someone else being interested in him, or them.  Even though you don’t know them.  

“It’s Steve.” 

“Did you give the omegas more than the alphas?” 

Steve turns to glare at the same man that was in your van bothering you.  “No, but you did receive more.  Maybe it’ll turn you into an omega.  Remember, alphas are not boastful.  Usually if they are, they’re overcompensating, so maybe you’re not really an alpha at all,” Steve doesn’t further say anything as he spins on his heels.  

Let the games begin.

Hiding behind a tree, you slap both hands over your mouth.  You try to soften the sound of your heavy panting, but it still feels like you’re screaming.  Your body is on fire.  It’s not just the fear you feel about the random screams, howls, and moans in the woods, but the deep rooted ache in your core.  A feeling that is foreign, and you crave it.  

You feel as if you had a big alpha to wrap you up in his arms that everything will be okay.  That just a scent of your alpha would ease your trembling body.  You don’t know what’s going on out there in the woods.  But you hear.  And it sounds like dogs mating.  

Coming up on the mountain is a right of passage.  It calls back to the days of old when your brain didn’t do as much thinking as your body’s urges.  A time when you would give your agency over to a man that vowed to protect you with his dying breath.  A time you loathe, but you yearn for that level of intimacy, longing, and protectiveness.  

It’s this contradiction that has always plagued you.  In the right dynamics this would be a beautiful situation, but only if you wanted it.  In the wrong dynamics this seems like a trap and a lifelong sentence to servitude.  Pledging fealty to someone that only values your body for the pleasure you bring them.  There’s a reason why all designations wanted to end the animal dwelling inside. 

Tonight further proves that it was the right decision.  Too many of the “alphas” want to take.  There is no communication on what’s in it for the omegas and betas.  It is only them and their addiction.  

You only want to climb further up the mountain, and deeper into the woods.  Get as far away from the mayhem as you possibly can, and wait it out.  If you did the math correctly in your head most the alphas, omegas, and betas should be occupied with each other.  Perhaps you have gotten far enough away, and now you just need to stay awake and stay warm.  

You let out a cold breath when you hear the deep inhale from behind you.  Keeping your hands clamped tightly against your mouth.  That didn’t even sound human.  “I know she ran this way, Steve.” 

A long drawn out howl coming from the distance has you tense up, but then an even closer groan of frustration.  That sound has a warmth balloon in your stomach.  It feels inviting, “They’re annoying.” 

“You’re the one that decided to give out the liquid.” 

A snarl too close to you makes you quiver, while your body is ready to run to them.  Body autonomy within omegas is typically nonexistent.  When your alpha is near, you ache for them.  When they’re away, you crave them to the point of delirium.  “How else was I going to get our omega to go into heat?” They’re just as wild as everyone else, maybe more so. 

Another deep inhale mixed with a low growl has your legs shaking, and you try to stand.  You can’t stay here anymore.  You’ve got to get out of here.  Or maybe not.  Confliction feels like lava in your veins.  “She’s here.  I smell her fear.  But I also smell her lust.” 

“Omega,” you know that voice.  It’s Bucky.  “You do not have to fear us.  You belong to us.” 

This isn’t happening.  “Run,” even if your breathing is irregular, and your legs are vibrating, you sprint.  In the twinkle of an eye Steve and Bucky take off towards you.  Your running gave them your exact whereabouts, and there’s two of them.  Two massive bodies of muscle and beauty, hurtling towards you.  

There’s no stopping them, and there’s no outrunning them.  One splits away from the other, and their chuckles lift in the foggy night.  You’re an idiot.  You can’t even believe that you listened to him.  But his words took control of your body. 

A brick wall slams into your body.  The air completely knocks out of you when two thick arms fasten around your waist.  One tanned flesh, while the other is a cold metal, “Do you know why you ran?” The blonde walks in front of you.  He bends low to directly look in your eyes.  You gulp as the fear subsides.  The adrenaline is still heavy.  

“There, there, sweet omega.  You don’t fear us do you?” 

“No,” your voice is that of a mouse, and you can’t look away from him.  His eyes pierce your very center, and you want to be good for him, “What’s happening?” 

“You’re in heat.  Have no fear, neither Bucky and I are in rut.  But this conversation wasn’t going to make much sense to you unless you could feel compelled not to fear.” 

“You’ve compelled me?”

“You ran on command, did you not?” Coincidence.  Bucky’s nose runs up the sensitive column of your neck, simultaneously scenting, and licking the skin.  Your eyes roll into the back of your head, as your back arches.  Pushing your ass into him.  “You’re reacting to a beta scenting and tasting you.  You’re nothing but a bitch in heat.” 

It takes every bit of your will power to scowl at him.  “There are a small group of us left.  We do not live in these woods.  We live amongst everyone else.  We watch, and we wait.  But some things like the scent of you linger in our mind.  Bucky is the one that discovered you first.  He was doing some maintenance work in your apartment.  Later that night you were humping your pillow with the name James rolling off your lips.” 

“No,” Steve smirks, and nods his head.  Okay, the maintenance man was – is extremely attractive, and you were lonely, “But…” 

“The second time, you met me.  I have delivered a package to your house.  I have sold you a car, I have attended a wedding that you were in.  Our sweet Bucky has showed up to your work, and helped you with a flat tire.  He has given you his opinion on a book at the library.  Omega, we have been waiting and watching for you.  And yes, this was unorthodox to offer the drink.  But you have to see that you belong to us.” 

“I don’t get a choice?” Your lip quivers.  Bucky’s grip on you softens, and his primal sniffing turns into ghosting his lips on your skin.  Kissing a boo boo like you’re a child.  His gentleness makes you weak, and you want the two of them to encircle you. 

“You do.  We will give you that.  It will hurt; it will hurt all of us.” 

“And if I tell you to own me?” 

A rumble gathers in both their chests, and your eyes roll into the back of your head once again.  “We will take turns with you.  We will protect you and worship the ground you walk on.  And soon, you will have my pups.  I have no doubt that one day you will be able to grow Bucky’s.  We’ll get into that another time.” 

“The moon is full.” 

“Omega, we’re not werewolves anymore. Not yet anyways. Evolution has changed us. Some of us don't even hear the call anymore,” Bucky whispers on your cheek.  You whimper, and turn to look at him.  Desiring him, and needing him.  Your body is taking over, and you want to claim him.  “We’re not creating mating bonds tonight.  Think of it as pleasure that you have never experienced before.” 

“Promise?” Steve walks away from the two of you, and lowers himself in front of a tree.  Leaning back, he beams up at the two of you.  

“I promise.” 

“And then we mate?” 

“If that’s what you want,” your hands go to your jeans, and you claw at the pants.  Tugging them down while you gaze back at Bucky.  Memories of each of them in and out of your life within the last year.  You remember them.  The pull to them.  The ache to remain single, and turning men away because they didn’t come close to the way that Steve and Bucky always left you feeling.  You didn’t know it was all tied together.  

You step out of a shoe, and slip your leg from the jeans as Bucky frees himself.  He gives your body a bit of a spin, and positions you directly in front of Steve.  Carefully he lifts up your left leg slightly before gripping his cock at the base.  He slaps his length up against your core.  Moaning, your knee starts to give, but Bucky keeps you standing upright.  

“Buck, if you could see just how soaked she is,” you bite on your lip as he presses his tip at your entrance.  “Don’t put on a show.” 

“You like it.” 

“And you know that our omega is going delirious.  Aren’t ya, baby doll?” You nod in response.  Arching and pushing back on Bucky.  “Put her out of her misery,” he rolls his eyes.  

“Beg for it.” 

“Please, give me your cock.  I need to be bred,” you whine, rolling your hips, and searching for Bucky’s cock.  “Bucky!” Steve leans forward in irritated excitement.  Your discomfort seems to edge him into a protective stance.  “It hurts, Bucky.  I need to be knotted.” 

“If you don’t fuck her, I will,” Bucky crashes into your heat, and you screech out in pleasure.  The pain slowly starts to subside as you adjust to his length.  “That’s better.  Omega, Bucky is going to stretch you, and then you’re going to ride my cock, until I come, okay?” You nod your head as you start to rock on Bucky.  “Needy little thing.  Do you know why Bucky gets you first?” 

“Nope,” Bucky chuckles as you work yourself over him.  Nothing has ever felt so good.  Never so right.  You just want to exist to take him.  Them.  You barely hear Steve’s words.  You’re just in a high of euphoria, and didn’t care about much else. 

“Because you’re in need of a knot.  Bucky being beta cannot offer that to you.  So while I’m throbbing, I get to watch my two favorite people start our forever,” you mewl as you look from Steve to Bucky.  Forgetting the journey to here.  Forgetting everything but them. 

“You won’t be mean?” 

“No, omega.  I won’t allow it,” Bucky pushes into you with such a long quick thrust it causes you to see stars.  A funny feeling rises in your belly as his hard thrusts send you into another realm.  Orbiting all new planets.  Opening up a new world that you thought long forgotten.  Once you committed yourself to them, it would be near impossible to leave.  They would have you in a chokehold, and own you.  

You want to.  Desire to?  Maybe there were some choices taken away from you when you met them, but you don’t feel like they’re taking away who you are.  You’re just now part of them.  Part of a bigger picture.  

“Yes,” Steve froths as he leans ever closer.  “Yes, she likes that,” you love whatever Bucky is doing to you.  It’s why nobody else fit with you in the past.  It wasn’t the exes, you can only guess it’s because they weren’t Bucky and Steve.  

“Come on, Buck.  Come on.  Don’t stop.  Keep going.  You’re making her feel so good, beta,” Bucky whines, and hides his face in your neck.  Kissing along your sweaty skin.  “Don’t do it.  It’s not time.” 

“I want to.” 

“I know you do, bubba.  Don’t.  Not.  Yet,” he wraps his free hand around your waist, jackhammering into you at such a speed that you blackout.  Moaning and screaming out his name and nonsensical words.  Clenching your eyes close as your walls grip around him.  “Make her messy, beta.” 

An odd ferocious sound echoes out of Bucky’s mouth, and his seed spurts deep into your womb.  “Hurry.  Bring her here.  Don’t want her to leak any of you.” 

Bucky reacts immediately.  He lifts you up, and carries you over to Steve.  Even places you on top of him.  Coaxing you lower until your cunt swallows his length, and you sigh.  Feeling Bucky’s spend mix in your quivering cunt.  Wetting Steve’s cock.  “Fuck me.” 

His whisper is low and demanding, and you listen.  Working yourself over Steve like a mad woman.  Like having him directly after Bucky is what made things right in the world.  Things shifted so the three of you can be one.  No beginning.  No end.  Just harmony.  It would work out.  You did trust them.  It’s something you know in your gut. 

Your souls fuse together in the most beautiful way.  Mixing and melting into the other one.  There is nothing that can separate the three of you.  Not even your simpering and crying for Bucky, all while you fuck Steve.  Hands on his chest you bounce over him. 

“Next time, I’ll have you two properly.  Preferably with light so I can see everything.  Does this feel good, sweet omega?” 

“Uh huh.  Perfect.” 

“Say it.  Say what you want.” 

“Knot me!  Mate me!” 

“You sure?” Bucky is right behind you, pleading for your answer.  Something feels right.  Is it having the two of them back to back?  Is it having them so close while the other dominates you?  You don’t know. 

“Yes!” Awkwardly you grind on Steve.  Unsure why you’re moving differently, but it still feels so heavenly.  “Yes!” 

“This is gonna hurt!” Steve grits through his teeth.  “Don’t stop, baby.  Don’t.  Stop,” you don’t.  You hunch on him like this is what you were destined to do.  Not stopping until that moment where the skies light up.  Every star shines down on the three of you.  

Overstimulated and overwhelmed, pain stretches out your core to a state it’s never been, and you sob out their name.  Begging them for a different kind of relief when each of their mouths attach to your neck.  A sharp burning pain ignites your skin, and then serenity warms up your body.  You no longer feel the pain at your entrance, but you keep him secure in your cunt.  Stretching to take his knot. 

Bucky grunts, slightly adjusting himself, “This isn’t the most pleasant feeling, Steve.” 

“She’s too fucked out to claim us, too.  That would help you.” 

“We don’t have to do this every time?” 

“No, bubba.  Did you really think that taking my knot while we double penetrated her pussy was going to be the easiest?” Bucky shakes his head no as he grimaces.  “C’mere,” Steve puckers his lips to his beta, and he gives him a gentle kiss.  “We’ll only do this when I’m in rut, and when we want pups.  Otherwise, there’s no need for you to suffer this fate as well.  But our omega loves to be knotted, huh?” 

You did.  You really did.

Masterlist

Taglist: @tis-thedamn-season @marveloustaylortot @rnurse-kole @peaches1958 @seitmai

@smile1318 @andydrysdalerogers @cjand10 @midnightramyeoncravings @kmc1989

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PROMPTS GALORE Alt Universes/Prompts Dialogue Prompts Alternative Universes Massive, Amazing Prompt List

Helpful Writing Resources How to write Thesaurus

dividers by the lovely @saradika-graphics

↠ Bucky Barnes Boreal Forest ↠ Steve Rogers Streamside ↠ Orchard of Other Marvel Characters ↠ Sebastian Stan Savanna ↠ Chris Evans Coppice

↠ I do not interact with minors. It's not safe for anyone under 18 in these woods, and I'm honestly more comfortable knowing folks are over 21 because of the nature of things around here.

↠ I do not consent to having my works translated or posted to other platforms. If I wanted to, I would.

↠ I will block at my own discretion. This is my forest, and I set the boundaries. Underage? Blocked. Pornbot pigeon? Blocked. Bigotted? Blocked. Rude? Blocked. Comments of only "more" or "part two" etc? Blocked. Just be a reasonable human over the age of 18, and you'll be free to roam the woods.

↠ ASKS Always open. I adore asks! Send thoughts, thots, questions, gifs, pics... Asks are NEVER a bother and you can ask about anything - questions about my existing works, stuff I'm working on, fandom things, my life... I'll answer within reason (no spoilers, I'm semi-open about my life but do keep some things private, etc). FULL DISCLOSURE: I'm not always prompt with answering them. Some have inspired fic or drabble ideas, and sometimes that writing goes fast, sometimes it goes slow, and there are a few that are sitting in my box that are "future" parts of current WIPs. But the hope is to always get to everything eventually.

↠ REQUESTS The only thing I'm actively entertaining requests for is my Cedar Trees Royal AU collection - but even these will be fulfilled subjectively and only as I have time and muse cooperation. Periodically I may host a request fest (as I did for my 300 follower celebration or for other occasions in the future).

↠ TAGLIST At the forest of fandom is exceedingly vast, I do not maintaining an official taglist. HOWEVER, you can follow @buckets-and-stories and turn on notifications to know when I post new writing. On this secondary blog, I reblog ONLY the initial posting of my stories (and not the reblogs).

↠ ASPEN'S 2025 BIRTHDAY BASH: 9 works to countdown to turning 39 ↠ BUCKY BOY BINGO 2025: 25 prompts from January 15-July 13th ↠ THE GREAT BUCKY BAKE OFF: a Bucky x Reader episodic story with a Great British Bake Off format (coming fall 2025) ↠ ASPEN'S HOLIDAY EXTRAVAGANZA 2025: eight days of fics followed by one day of many, many fics (coming December 2025)

↠ FOREST NAVIGATION: field guide, masterlists, story collections ↠ AN ASPEN THING: when I post something more to do with me than anything fandom ↠ ASPEN MILESTONES: ONLY YOU CAN CREATE THESE FOREST FIRES ↠ ASKpen: responses to things from my ask box ↠ ASPEN IS WRITING: any commentary, sneak peaks, progress posts ↠ ASPEN WROTE SOMETHING: new writing post (fic, drabble, chapter) ↠ WRITER COMMENTARY: commentary either as a response to an ask or in a reblog ↠ OMG REBLOGGED THANK YOU: responding to or thanking people for reblogging my fics ↠ READING: my reblogs of other people's fics ↠ MY MOOTS: flailing about or responding to one of my mutual friends

↠ HISTORY OF ASPEN I grew up in a family that was steeped in all things stories: grandparents, aunts and uncles always telling stories at family gatherings; parents read to me before bed; watching too many movies and cartoons; staying up way past my bedtime trying to sneakily keep the light on to read and read and read; playing elaborate imagination games after school with my best friends (house, princesses, orphans, dance coaches, etc). I wrote my first story in my eighth grade English class where one day in the computer lab we were assigned to write a mystery that was at least one page. I loved it. My teacher said it was good...

That summer our family moved - mere days before I started my freshman year of high school - so that fall before I made friend friends, I read a lot and I started writing. I was desperate for the next Harry Potter book to come out, so I started writing my own... the next year I learned about fan fiction on the internet and that it was a thing. I was drawn into Lord of the Rings fanfic, then I wrote a Pirates of the Caribbean fanfic, and then I went back to Harry Potter and actively wrote in that fandom for around six years.

In college I majored in English with an emphasis in Creative Writing because while I was writing fan fiction, I was also occasionally dabbling with original fiction... the dream was to be a famous writer.

↠ WHY BUCKETS-AND-TREES Buckets because I thought I'd be writing almost exclusively Bucky and Trees because Aspen. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ 

↠ ASPEN NOW In summer of 2022 I aggressively reclaimed HAVING hobbies in an effort to re-establish Aspen having a life outside of work. I love my career and I've worked incredibly hard to establish myself in the professional world, but... I needed to be more than just my work again.

So, again I write.

Throughout 2023 I started venturing out and participated in A LOT of challenges, which was so much fun in pushing my creative boat out into new waters. In 2024 I wrote nearly 300k and explored many tropes and themes that stretched what I thought I was capable of. So now with few to no excuses left, in 2025 I plan to DO THE DAMN THING and write a novel. I've always intended to, and I've got about five solid ideas I've been stewing on for years, but 2025 will be the year. ↠ MY WORK Primarily I'm writing MCU fan fiction - typically Bucky Barnes or Steve Rogers; I have written some pieces with Sam, Natasha, Matt Murdock, Namor, and Wanda; I have some ideas for Thor, Carol, and M'Baku that I may or may not ever get around to. I've written for a slew of Sebastian Stan and Chris Evans characters and that's mostly where my muse lives.

I write a range of fluff, smut, soft-dark and dark. Nearly all of my work has mature elements whether that's stronger language, sexual situations, or mature themes. HEED THE WARNINGS FOR EACH WORK AND DO NOT READ IT IF IT'S SOMETHING YOU DON'T LIKE. If I miss tagging something properly in the content warnings, please send me a message or an anonymous ask and let me know.

That wasn’t good.

You stopped chewing and, as gracefully as you could, spit it into your napkin. “Nope.” You shoved the plate away with enough force that it almost tipped over. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, but nope. I can’t.”

Bucky frowned when you took a couple of deep breaths and stared at the ceiling. He had to tread carefully. “Did I get the wrong brand?”

“No. This is exactly what I wanted, but now the taste and the smell are making me feel sick.” Your face scrunched up and his heart dropped. You were two seconds from bursting into tears. “I’m so sorry.”

“Sweetheart, you have nothing to apologize for.” Bucky immediately went around the table so he could be beside you. “Hormones?” he asked gently. 

“Hormones,” you confirmed. “And I’d love it if they stopped grabbing me by my non-existant balls.”

“Well, I do know a thing or two about balls since I have them, but I’m sorry to say that I don’t fully understand hormones,” he teased to make you smile. He would forever be in awe of you for carrying his child. “But I have a leg up on Steve because he doesn’t understand women.”

“One could argue that women are meant to be loved, not to be understood,” you teased back.

“I do love you,” he whispered, wishing he could do more.

“I love you, too,” you whispered back. “Think we can order a pizza?”

He kissed your temple. “Whatever will keep you and Sprout happy.”

Bucky’s company and the pizza did just that.

I have been exhausted, and husband!Bucky would be so wonderful. ❤️ Love and thanks for reading. ❤️