#hasn’t been taken over. this is consensual. he can’t even not get it out. he doesn’t /want/ it out. it isn’t the one refusing. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

buckets-and-trees · 4 months

Text

Warm Shadows - Carving Through the Dark (3/4)

Fandom: MCU Collection: Warm Shadows [ part one | part two ] Title: Carving Through the Dark Characters/Pairings: established Alpha!Bucky x f!Omega!Reader, Alpha!Steve x f!Omega!Reader Word Count: 14.4k

Summary: Worse than a nightmare because it's real, Bucky has to track down his kidnapped omega and the man - the super soldier - who had been his closest friend turned into the dark, rival alpha, Captain Hydra.

Content Warnings: DARK, a/b/o dynamics, angst, explicit smut, vaginal intercourse, consensual forced orgasm

Logistical Notes: Shhh - yes this was the final story update I had planned for the Dark Forest Fest and it's the first week of January! But. Well. The word count. But we're here now, okay? Title taken from Hozier's Who We Are.

Additional Notes: Okay, I know that I did a poll asking last month if folks wanted the final chapter split into two parts or just one long chapter and - er - I kind of did both. I did not split this chapter, but a couple of days ago I realized we needed a fourth and final part. Lastly, @biteofcherry has been an absolute lifeline during the composition of this chapter - thank you for putting up with my conjectures and letting me piece together some of the elements. And even a little thank you to @rookthorne for cheering and bullying me over how long this got.

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

“I can’t help you,” Shuri states, though there’s the flicker of it almost being one final question of it in her eyes.

“No,” Bucky confirms. “No more than you already have.”

He knows she says it as one last opportunity for him to change his mind, but also in acknowledgment that he must do this on his own. They clasp hands and then he turns to walk up the ramp of the aircraft.

“James,” she says when he’s nearly gone. He turns back to look at his friend, one who has seen him at the best and worst of times. “Whoever he is now, he knows Bucky, he knows the Winter Soldier, he will have learned everything about the Soldat from their archives, so you must truly be the White Wolf. She knows the wolf, but he does not.”

He nods and then walks further into the aircraft, leaving Shuri behind.

After you’d been violated and taken from him, Bucky had lain in anguish until just before dawn, raging over the loss of his world and everything he’d worked for, built, found, cherished. He would find you again – when he’d sworn, “There’s no corner of this earth you can go where I won’t find you,” it had been a promise to you as much as a warning to the monster – but none of you three were the same after that night.

To be the White Wolf…

It will take all the tactics he learned in the army, that he was forced to acquire as Hydra’s finest assassin, and since he escaped and then truly reclaimed his freedom. As angry as he is, as desolate as he feels, he holds the emotions at arms’ length, he needs to be at the eye of the hurricane so he can maneuver the way he needs to.

Bucky hasn’t been able to feel you. His desperate hope is that it’s because you’re sedated and unconscious and not … not anything else.

In Wakanda he and Shuri hadn’t been able to find even a sliver of a trace of the jet that had come and gone for Steve to enact his plan. It was a statement that whoever he was now, Captain Hydra was utilizing every ounce of knowledge Steve had and blending it with whatever Hydra hat put in him.

Bucky won’t leave a trail either.

It will take Steve time to figure out how Bucky left Wakanda – on foot, ground transport, or air transport – if he can figure it out. But Bucky was the untraceable ghost over fifty years of missions for Hydra, and he didn’t have the motivation he does now.

Bucky devised that going on the already-scheduled aircraft to the Wakandan Outreach Center in Oakland gave him the best options. He assumes Steve would have managed to get into the networks used by the Avengers and SWORD, and since he flew an aircraft in and out of Wakanda undetected and Bucky won’t be able to use Wakandan technology to best him either, so landing in Oakland also puts him in proximity to the hardware, software, and network resources he would need to build his own tech. During his convalescence in Wakanda before the Infinity War, it had been days of goats and technology research and development in the most advanced science facility in the world. He is not the expert that Shuri is, but he knows enough. His aversion to much of “modern” technology has always been due to how primitive it was compared to anything from Wakanda.

It takes weeks, but Bucky acquires the hardware he needs, modifies software, creates the network and protocols he needs to start Hydra hunting, and puts it all to work. He knows what to look for – the patterns, the seemingly innocuous inconsistencies – and he knows it because he was running data point for the team of analysts dedicated to Hydra hunting before this. He had taken more responsibility at the base of operations and fewer and fewer field assignments to be home and build his life with you.

Bucky doesn’t hesitate in ignoring any ethical limits whatsoever for his surveillance protocols. When he was working within the system, they had established some lines they weren’t willing to cross.

With seven billion humans in existence and him alone looking for two, lines to cross no longer exist.

He knows he will never get his life back, but he will not let anything prevent him from getting you back.

He puts every piece into play immediately as he builds, sleeps only the bare minimum. Truthfully he had only indulged in more than the minimal sleep a super soldier needed these past years because it was time spent blissfully with you. Without a reason to rest, he didn’t have any problem cutting back to short sleep allotments to keep him operating at peak condition.

In putting his own tap into the Avengers’ database, he studies the work that had gone on while he was gone for his annual retreat away with you. He discovers that Steve and Sam followed leads in Europe.

“Damn you idiots,” he murmurs.

The reports show his two friends go dark after losing comms nearly a month ago. A team went in after them and their debrief says they found only their communication devices. ‘Search ongoing…’

That was a month ago.

He knows the status of Steve.

Sam could be a live asset in play, an asset still being trained and molded by Hydra, their prisoner for torture, or he could have been eliminated already.

It takes him sixteen days from the beginning of his build to finish – he’d been collecting intelligence, but once everything is in play and he continues to hone in on incoming results, things progress systematically, satisfyingly, in a foreign familiarity that evokes memories of this time hunting as the Winter Soldier.

Two more days and he’s got enough evidence in the intelligence to confirm you’re somewhere in Europe. Within two hours Bucky recalibrates calculations based the new findings, conducts new searches, gets confirmation of a face on a traffic camera in Gdańsk that looks like Steve, and when he’s able to piece a clear trail that follows him through the city and then to an aircraft that he’s further able to track until it disappears over northern Italy. He knows this for what it is – a trail tempting him closer to the trap. A challenge, an invitation, but only if he can put together more pieces to find you. How many times did he set beautifully complex traps for some of his prize targets when he was the Winter Soldier? Breadcrumbs to entice, to drive his opponent to work harder, to put their prowess to work, to make them feel confident so he could trick, trap, and kill them in the end.

This monster of a man tricked him in Wakanda. It will be the only time. Expert and intricate traps of this sort are something his opponent has been playing with for a few weeks. Bucky has more practice and expertise, infinitely more motivation, and no distractions.

He travels under cover of transports between Wakandan outreach centers from Oakland to Washington DC, and then from Washington to Bilbao. When he touches down in Bilbao, his information relay device has a new lead based off a visual of Steve in a bookshop in Turin twice in the previous week.

He takes the train to Turin. Within twelve hours he finds the location of the Hydra facility, and Bucky makes enough noise to reveal to Hydra that he’s in the city and trigger the personnel to raise the facility to its red alert security status. He plants a false trail indicating that he’s given up and gone further north, all the while watching every aspect of the base, making plans to infiltrate, and ensuring sure none of the vehicles or teams moving in and out look like they’re transporting you somewhere else. They drop to an orange threat level, and then yellow – standard caution and operating procedures.

Bucky would have been floored that they believed he’d missed them in Turin and moved on to search somewhere else, but it spoke to one of the weaknesses of Hydra’s organization: the arrogance. Instead, Bucky hacks into their base network as well as their external communications channels.

This observation, research, recon, and analysis Bucky does not rush. Everything he cares about is at stake. If he’s going to be successful in getting you back there can be no room for error as he’ll be up against Hydra and the only other super soldier on the planet who could potentially match or outmatch him.

And as the weeks wear on, the other thing he cannot deny, that he’d known from the beginning of this nightmare even if he’d wanted to try to ignore it, it that he isn't in this to rescue only you.

When all is said and done, the reality is he has to get Steve back, too.

Bucky knows the longer it takes, the more dangerously close he gets to your next heat. He knows an omega being in a distressed environment will affect the heat cycle. It could bring it on early, or potentially also push you to the extremes of a dry heat depending on the conditions they are keeping you in, and how you’re feeling. Once he determines he knows enough to start putting together a plan of extraction, he also determines it’s too close to when your heat might hit, and he can’t risk trying to extract you if you’re in heat – it becomes an element he can’t predict and ensure that his plan will still be successful.

His own senses are strained with the tenor of your unease in a way that’s different from before. It’s driving his alpha side mad, and he wants to storm the facility and reclaim you, and that’s one more element contributing to the volatility of the situation. He knows he can’t gamble on so many unpredictable elements.

He must wait.

But when he sees Captain Hydra leave in his jet right when Bucky is certain you are close to your heat, Bucky is stunned.

It might be too damn close to your heat, but clearly you’re not in heat yet or the other alpha would not leave you. This was not his plan, but it is a prime opportunity he can’t ignore – not if he can get to you alone and save you from a heat away from him. His heart can’t deny this unexpected opportunity.

After Bucky had hacked into the Hydra base’s network, he’d discovered that the small jet Captain Hydra had exclusive use of had been excluded from all navigational tracking and that the man only communicated by radio with one individual whenever he left. He’d further discovered that Captain Hydra was a weapon still cloaked from most of Hydra, with nothing about him other than his existence as a new asset available on the network. Even his former identity was not yet disclosed or recorded anywhere digitally.

This means Bucky has no idea where the man is going or when he will be back, but he hears Captain Hydra and his liaison discuss and confirm his time of arrival and his estimated time of return. Bucky must work quickly, but there is a window.

As he had not anticipated infiltrating so soon, he still has to finish putting things together for the actual extraction – like transportation, supplies, and thoroughly planning out three escape routes and destinations – and while he works quickly, he does not rush those final preparations, and so that takes him a significant amount of the window of time he knows he has.

But he only needs long enough to get you out.

He will have that.

He ambushes the delivery truck bringing in the week’s food shipment with no trouble and drives it right into the base as he has all the proper credentials on his person and its still pre-dawn hours, so lack of light works in his favor to get through the first gate.

But of course when he doesn’t follow delivery procedures once he rolls up to the shipping and receiving dock, that’s when his limited time really begins. The first decision he must make is whether or not to take out a man of average height but portly build that approaches the truck – one of the cooks, Bucky has studied the personnel files for everyone registered on this base – and Bucky evaluates as he steps out of the truck. He could kill him, but this man should probably be spared. Bucky doesn’t want unnecessary blood on his hands. So with lightning fast moves and a choke hold, the man goes down. But next are two security personnel, and them Bucky shoots point blank, taking each of them out with single shots. He leans down to lift the comms off one of them, putting the piece in his ear so he can hear everything as it unfolds across the base.

He yanks open the first door and moves down the hallway. And then there’s a frantic message over the comms, “Code Red! Winter Soldier, loading docks, two personnel down, in pursuit!”

Bucky growls and turns back down the hallway and swears when he sees the man putting comms in his ear and squaring up a gun he’d clearly lifted off one of the security guards was the cook he thought he’d put out cold. Apparently the man had more in him than Bucky had accounted for, and so now Bucky takes aim and shoots him once he’s close enough to secure the kill shot, only having to dodge two close but errant bullets himself as the cook had tried to run him down.

Lethal force for everyone it is, he thinks.

He’s irritated he wasted extra time on this man trying to keep down the body count.

He does not make that mistake again, killing everyone who comes across his path. The silver lining working in his favor is that this base in Turin is a science facility, not a military facility, so he has fewer muscle personnel to deal with than other places you could have been kept, and he can hear over the main comms that scientists and researchers are being given orders to shelter in place while there are instructions given over the security comms in Bucky’s ear that prime-level scientists are to be evacuated. It’s the directive he expected, which benefits him as the security personnel are split between pursuing him and evacuating those individuals deemed indispensable.

But dealing with those who are in pursuit of him is simple. When he’s out of ammunition, he makes quick work dealing what should be lethal wounds with his knives. Every man or woman down is one less he will need to contend with while trying to safely get you out, and while he’s reasonably sure he’s dealing death to everyone, there are a few he thinks may survive.

He has studied every aspect of this facility while making his preparations, and he sends a message to Captain Hydra that he was prepared by shooting glances cleanly into every camera he knows he passes.

There’s a flash of fear that ripples through him – it comes from the bond he’s tried to keep dormant between you since you were taken, but this is too powerful, and it’s a barb he can’t ignore. It flares and then dies out, which could be either a good thing or a bad thing. He squares his shoulders and moves more quickly.

As Bucky reaches the quadrant they’ve been keeping you a few moments later, the words, “The Omega is secured, sedated, and ascending to the roof with team Foxtrot, thirty seconds until air evac.”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

He knows he can’t make it in time, but Bucky still races down the hall to the stairwell, launching through the door and then hurtling up the stairs, taking them three and four at a time. His super speed isn’t enough to scale four flights of industrial facility stairs, and he bursts out on the roof to see the coaxial helicopter already twenty meters up in the air and navigating away to the north.

He wants to shout until his lungs bleed because he was so close, but he knows he can’t afford to indulge in emotions that strong in this moment. Instead, he takes huge gulps of the fresh air, pulls the door from its hinges, and hurls it across the roof before going back down the stairs.

He does not engage with anyone but comes across few through his retreat. Instead, his focus now is decimating what he can of the facility without wasting time or going out of his way as he escapes the base, rigging explosives quickly in key areas on his way out.

While he left destruction in his wake, and he leaves alone, he was precise in how much damage he dealt. He left the area of main logistical operations intact because he didn’t want to destroy their network and communications, eliminating his ties to tracking their next moves.

Bucky immerses himself in tracking and monitoring everything the second he’s back in his hideout with his tech. He sees the Captain return. He watches the final evacuations. They send him to Geneva, and Bucky is ready to follow, knowing exactly where the Swiss facility is located since he’s fully infiltrated the Hydra network of information. He can’t travel as quickly since he doesn’t have access to any Hydra aviation, but he makes it there by sundown.

He wouldn’t risk trying to disrupt your heat now, not with everyone moved and on high alert, it would be dangerous for you. Instead, he works on setting up his new undercover observation point in Switzerland. He fine tunes his information tap into the Hydra system. As he works, he notices the rise of an anxious feeling pulling at his hind brain. He’s felt the press of you trying to reach across the bond while you’ve been apart, but this is different – there’s a frantic, wild tug, and while it’s insistent, it’s more erratic, like the flickering of a flame, as if you aren’t even concentrating on the connection to him.

He knows so much of you that he knows you have to be on the brink of your heat but that you must desperately be trying to fight it. The discomfort he can sense continues to ebb and flow. It morphs. It becomes tinged with more discomfort. Then there’s a lick of desire that is almost imperceptible. That’s followed rather quickly be a flare of adrenaline – or is it fear? Another shift a few minutes later, and tone of this is pure arousal, the feeling he’s shared so much of with you, and the thought that you…

He grits his teeth, shuts his eyes, and abruptly stills every muscle in his body. You are his omega. Another alpha bonded you. Your heat is undeniable. His brain knows that – it’s one of the things he’s been focusing on, acknowledging the various scenarios that could play out for this heat, he just did not want this, nor was he prepared for what it might feel like. And so, with forced, measured breaths, he does everything he can to concentrate on shutting down the connection, to put his alpha side to sleep, because he can not bear this. He has suppressed so much of everything since losing you, only holding onto the faintest tether, but he cannot endure this – not and keep his rationality and do what he needs to do now, which is to formulate the next steps, the things he needs to figure out and watch for now that this cruel game has changed. Emotion will distract him, but there’s also the flow that could go the other way and throw you off, and he swore to keep you safe.

Diving into the network databases of this new Hydra facility, Bucky notices something he noticed in Turin: there are no records that contain any of your names on file – not you, not Steve, not Sam. He thought it was strange before, but he had a theory it could have been the nature of secrecy around all the projects at the research facility in Turin – there were very few data files on the science being explored on that base. But in transferring the Turin personnel out, with a contingent of them going to Geneva, he pours over all the documentation and the only he finds is the transfer of a high-level asset referred to only as Waffe SR4718. He easily knows the German word for weapon, and without missing a beat Bucky knows the letters and numbers are supposed to seem random but clearly refer to Steve Rogers whose birthdate is the fourth day of the seventh month in the eighteenth year of the previous century. It’s innocuous to anyone coming across it, but abundantly clear that it’s specific for those who were supposed to know.

With all Bucky knows of his own time with Hydra, how there were always layers within layers, secrets buried, hidden, withheld, he’s certain the acquisition of Steve and metamorphosis into Captain Hydra is as dark and as quiet as his own existence as the Winter Soldier.

There are quarters assigned to Waffe SR4718, and Bucky tags it track all status alerts – comings and goings, services, requests. He also puts the cameras for that hallway up on a constant feed monitoring protocol with the AI he’s adapted to bring up the imagery if there’s any movement in or out of the door.

Knowing you’re in heat, Bucky concentrates on new extraction tactics and mapping out escape options from this new facility.

But at three in the morning during the second night in Geneva – the second night of your heat – the door movement alert goes off, and Bucky immediately turns his attention to watch as Steve slowly emerges.

Why would he have any reason to leave you during your heat? He knows he could order food, clothing, bedding, medical personnel if absolutely necessary…

A quick check of the log shows that there have been no such requests.

And then he sees the unthinkable.

You’re right there behind him, following as he starts to make his way down the hall, dressed in darker clothing as he is. He has a small tactical pack slung across his back.

“What the hell are you doing?”

The question is only uttered out of frustration and disbelief because he could immediately decipher what is happening.

As precarious as it is to interfere with your heat, the two of you are clearly on the move.

The other alpha has no intention of staying at this base.

But why?

His mind begins deciphering even as he’s pulling up security cameras as the pair of you move through the facility, tracking your movements and actions.

The calculated risk is to get out when you’re supposed to be in heat. Bucky did see that status reported on the log – omega in heat. The protocols were to leave alpha and omega Hydra personnel undisturbed unless a priority one situation developed – typically reserved for life or death and rarely anything less urgent or pressing. It meant no one would think to check after the asset immediately. Even if an alpha skipped regular ordering for a meal or two to the living quarters, that wouldn’t be taken as out of the ordinary, merely unnecessary or forgotten due to being otherwise occupied, or deciding to make do with the food already with them.

The movement logically progresses toward the transportation hangar under the building – intending to employ ground transport.

On the way, the two of you duck into a room and close the door. Bucky accesses the schematics to discover it’s a data analytics workspace – cooperative computer sharing area. There weren’t any goons to hide from, so Bucky works quickly, trying to pull up the specific workstations in there. He sees the log in for a science officer. The user accesses the personnel transfer files for everyone from the Turin base submitted due to the evacuation. Four names are brought up on the roster and their locations are changed from Turin to the other the other bases anyone from Turin was reassigned to – a pair of them to Odessa, the other pair to Trondheim.

Subterfuge. He’s displacing security agents – or at least their location statuses.

Bucky frowns.

The rest of your course takes you directly to the vehicle hangar. Moving in the dead of night has capitalized on as few people as possible moving around the base for you to encounter, and it paid off. The other alpha selects a smaller SUV, loads some readily available weapons and supplies from the nearby vicinity into the back and then – faster than lightning – he withdraws something from a pocket near his chest, presses it over your mouth, and Bucky can see you seize up and then slump into his arms. He tucks you in amongst the supplies before throwing a canvas over everything and closing the hatchback.

Clearly you had been cooperating with this escape, so why was it necessary to knock you out?

Then he leaves the vehicle, leaves the hangar, goes back up two floors to the security personnel floor, and knocks on one of the doors.

Bucky accesses the database to see who’s assigned to that room as he watches this man converse briefly with whoever answers the door.

The two names assigned to the room match the two names reassigned to the Trondheim base on the evacuation transfer records.

“What larger game are you playing, Captain Hydra?” Bucky murmurs.

Because it’s back down to the hangar and the SUV with you stashed in the back, but then he waits.

And within five minutes, two men in full tactical gear get in the vehicle as well, and only then does he start up the car and leave. There’s a tracking device on this vehicle, so Bucky starts to pack up his tech, and pulls up the tracking on his smartphone.

He’s about to shut and pack away his laptop when he thinks of doing one more thing. It will take time, and this is why he knows Captain Hydra didn’t do it, but it will be worth it. But after his time in Wakandan labs and building up his own robust systems, within twenty-five minutes, Bucky has gone through the security camera system and successfully removed all footage of you and the captain moving throughout the base, rewriting it with the empty hallways from just before and after, effectively erasing the evidence of your escape. This will buy more time. No one may have thought to look for any movement in and out of Waffe SR4718’s quarters, but now they won’t find it when they ultimately go back and try, extending Bucky’s time to tail you without Hydra in the mix. They will assume the alpha and omega are still in heat seclusion now without any reason to doubt it.

Bucky leaves his temporary Geneva hideout with the essentials he arrived with. He chose this location because it was two streets down from one of the larger private car services in Switzerland. Bucky knows he can pass as a mechanic with his clothing, and the service staff works overnight to keep up maintenance for the large fleet of vehicles that provide VIP transportation, airport pick up and drop off, limousine transfers, corporate chauffeur services, ski transfers, and event chauffeuring. Acquiring a non-descript vehicle is as easy as he hoped, and it’s more than simple to de-activate this car’s GPS tracking system.

Within half an hour, he’s comfortably in pursuit. The vehicle he’s tracking has maintained its course and is an hour out of the city now, but an hour ahead is reasonable.

When the Hydra vehicle is three hours outside of Geneva, it makes its first stop. Bucky presses a button on his phone to pin the location. The stop is for less than five minutes, and then it continues, but Bucky will stop there as well to assess the purpose and glean any information he can.

Bucky is an assertive driver, making up speed, but not at a point to draw attention. When he reaches the pin he’d set on the route for the stop your vehicle had made, it’s on a bridge.

There’s only one reason Bucky can think of to stop on a bridge.

A reason that could make Bucky’s heart stop with devastation, but he must continue to operate under the assumption it wasn’t your body dumped into the river. Anything else wouldn’t make sense.

Unless the other alpha has become completely unhinged and all of this is an elaborate game to drive Bucky beyond all limitations of his own reason.

Within the next two hours, he sees you pass the border into Germany, and then another stop is registered on the GPS tracking near the city of Albstadt. Bucky has made up a significant amount of the head start the other alpha had had. When he arrives in Albstadt, he finds the SUV. It is most likely that this vehicle had been abandoned for another, but Bucky has to stop at this point and tap into security feeds for the city to see whether you’re here or not. He picks a spot that advertises wifi with their sandwiches, refueling his body while setting up his tech in a spot most won’t question him to hunker down for some serious work on a laptop. He gets into the city’s street cameras, sees Steve steal another vehicle, pulls the license plate, and then he programs his algorithm to watch for the number to track the route now. He won’t be able to smoothly follow the route of a GPS-tracked vehicle anymore, but Bucky knew this would grow more difficult. As long as his goal was to draw out the Soldat, Captain Hydra will still leave a trail of breadcrumbs, but it will be scant if he’s trying to evade Hydra.

While Bucky has questions of intent, he has no question that it’s what the Captain is doing now.

Bucky is able to pick up the trail with license plate tracking and route mapping into Stuttgart. All the way to the train station. But this is where the other alpha shows incredible skills for blending in. It’s a busy station. Bucky will have to run thorough security camera assessments of the Stuttgart station, figure out when – or if – they got on a train, and then continue tracking from there. If the alpha and omega got on a train, Bucky can at least narrow his search to that route and its stops for that schedule, but Bucky used train stations to cover his tracks as well, and sometimes that involved never boarding the train but leading anyone tracking him to believe that he had.

With that much information, he writes new coding into his overall system, sends it back to the larger machine he left in Oakland to do the heavy computing so it can start the work he’ll need to fine tune once he can settle in a more permanent stopover, pays for his meal, and then drives to Stuttgart. The hacking into facial recognition has been so enhanced beyond boundaries though – especially because he can tailor it to look for only two faces he knows as well as his own – that he sees the two of your board a train headed west, targets the route, sets up the watch parameters for the schedule, and catches you getting off in Paris.

Another smart move blending into the vibrancy of a large city, but Bucky is sure it’s not the final destination either. But Steve knew enough French to blend into the country, as well.

It takes Bucky and his systems six more days, but he confirms three separate facial recognitions for the other alpha in a town outside of Bordeaux small enough to be off the beaten path but big enough to blend in and go unnoticed by its people.

Bucky travels there as quietly as possible. He does not want to tip his hand. He’s too close now to have you slip through his hands again.

After two more days and with the assistance of satellite imaging, he has found the small house in a forested area outside of the town.

Bucky grips the edge of the small desk he’s been working at, grounding himself. Adrenaline had immediately surged through his veins, but he must keep everything contained. He has practiced so much control and restraint that if his heart betrays him now, he’ll carve it out himself and leave it behind. He cannot compromise this delicate situation.

He drives out to the area and leaves his vehicle well-hidden a kilometer out from the house and approaches on foot, circling at a large perimeter and slowly moving further in, cautiously, taking in everything. He doesn’t want to trip anything the other alpha may have set up to alert him to intruders.

What he discovers is minimal, and all old tactical elements – things they’d done as

Cap and the Howling Commandos back in the old war.

Effectively things that would have worked on anyone from this day and age but that only Bucky would know to look for.

He doesn’t trust it.

This is another trap.

But he has to walk into it and fare as best he can.

That’s what Captain Hydra had said was his plan from the beginning – draw out the Soldat.

The White Wolf would enter the trap but would need to control it and come out on the other side with his omega.

He can’t even think those words without his pulse racing now, and he digs his vibranium fingers into the trunk of the tree under his hand, splintering the wood while he closes his eyes and stamps down everything that wants him to sprint to the house he can see, break down the door, and launch himself into your arms.

He timed his approach when he’d seen the other alpha leave – likely for more food and supplies – but he knew the time alone would be limited.

Bucky takes measured but determined steps to the green wooden front door of what’s essentially a little cottage.

Straining his ears and focusing on his enhanced hearing, he doesn’t pick up anything beyond ambient noises – and your soft, slow breathing.

He takes a deep breath, slowly twists the doorknob, and opens the door.

There you are, curled up in a cozy armchair, dozing, hand pressed up against the spine of a book that has fallen to your chest after you clearly fell asleep reading, and this.

This simple scene nearly knocks him to his knees.

The way you’re there, feet away from him, it’s the most beautiful sight of his entire life.

But still, he is quiet, cautious.

His entire chest aches for you.

He shuts the door softly behind him, then crosses the small living room and kneels next to you. He eases the book out of your hands and puts it on the small side table. He’s done this before so many times. You make a slight hum through your sleep.

Brushing his fingers over your cheek is almost enough to make the nightmare of the last six weeks vanish as if it really had only been a nightmare.

He almost doesn’t dare to breathe.

But the warmth of his hand against your skin evidently reaches in to stir something in your subconscious, because you shift slightly, sigh, and tilt your head into his touch and murmur, “Bucky…”

The stutter of his chest is both painful and euphoric at once, and everything wells up in his chest, everything he’s been holding back.

He drops his hand from your cheek to your shoulder, gently trying to nudge you awake.

Coming back into consciousness, you take in a deep breath before blinking your eyes open. Your gaze drifts to him, and then your body seizes up one moment, and the next you’re scrambling up and away from him, whipping over the back of the armchair you’d been curled up in.

“Bucky?” your voice comes out in a wounded whimper of a tone that pierces him, confounds him.

“Yes, it’s me,” he answers, brow furrowing. He hadn’t allowed himself to think over what this moment was going to be like – he knew the fixation would have been too painful to hope over – but it was not supposed to be this, with you looking at him with caution, with hesitancy, with your guard up.

“Omega?” he questions tentatively, rising from where he’d been crouched on the floor.

You don’t move your position, but you draw yourself up to your full height as well.

Bucky maneuvers around the furniture, wanting to remove the barrier between you, but he changes his position slowly, allowing you time to retreat if you feel compelled to. You hold your ground but do keep yourself squared off facing him as he moves. He does what he hasn’t done since this ordeal began and definitively opens up the gateway of the bond between you, tentatively reaching out, trying to read you.

Your mood is hard, and it doesn’t fluctuate. There’s a steady mix of fear, doubt, and what he thinks is exasperation there.

No, it’s more than that.

“You’re angry with me?”

“I’m more than angry with you!” you hurl the words at him and cross your arms over your chest. “I’m livid.”

“I came to you as fast as I could!” He steps closer, and now you step back. He moves closer again, but with a smaller step.

“It’s not that, I know you worked as hard as you could–“

“Then what else could you possibly be upset about, Omega?” His tone is desperate, earnestly seeking the answer, but also tinged with a warning he can’t help from bleeding into the question.

“I couldn’t feel you.” The anger gives way to let the anguish of your words bleed through, and they sweep over both of you. “You cut yourself off from me. I was desolate and scared and alone, and you withdrew any hint of our connection.”

He steps forward once more, finally close enough to reach for you, and as he continues to close the distance, you unfold one of your arms and backhand slap him. “I needed you!”

Bucky staggers a step back from the raw force you hurled at him, but it only takes him the space of a breath for him to recover enough, and he surges forward and pulls you into his arms, uttering your name the way one pleads in a fraught prayer. You try and push against his chest and squirm out of his arms, but he only secures you more firmly, holding you dearly and desperately to him.

“I needed you,” you sob out. Instead of continuing to try to struggle away from him, to hold your hurt at bay, he feels you stop fighting and the turn as you let everything out. He holds you, soothing you, but not trying to quell any of this yet. He knows everything you’re feeling is warranted, can feel now that you held back as much as he did while you were apart. Endured as much hurt as he did – more in many ways. He won’t tell you to settle down, because the hurt needs to be acknowledged and not minimized.

Once your chest is no longer wracked with sobs, when your crying has abated from steady streams of tears to the small sniffling, he gently wipes the tears from your cheeks. Then Bucky decisively nuzzles his face down into the crook of your neck. Slowly, tentatively, he presses his lips to the place he claimed and bonded you as his omega, his mate. You whimper, but your hands clutch at his shirt, and the immediate flood of relief, of love, of devotion, washes over you both. He can feel it, he knows you feel it.

His large hands are planted firmly on your back, one at the curve of your spine, and one between your shoulder blades, pressing you as close together as he possibly can. He plants a longer, more concentrated kiss to the mark, and your right hand slides up to thread your fingers into his hair and press him closer.

The more he kisses into your neck, the more whole he feels. He had ignored the hollow, empty feeling in his chest, had truly rejected all feeling, as cold and empty as he’d operated while being the Winter Soldier. He’s feeling human again. Himself again – or at least it’s all coming back to him now.

He doesn’t even realize when your body has fully melted into him, too caught up in the mending of the connection, but then you’re urging his face up away from your neck, but only so you can press your forehead to his, and you say, “I need you, Bucky.”

He nods, and then you kiss him. In a movement familiar to you both, his hand moves down, curving over your ass and to the back of your thigh, and he picks you up. Your legs wrap around him as you deepen the kiss, nipping at his lips. He carries you across the big open space to where there’s a bed in the far corner.

He sets you down gently on your feet, and his hands are already reaching for the hem of your shirt, and you readily lift your arms so he can pull it cleanly off your body. You’re reaching for his belt, and he’s pulling his own shirt over his head. Your lips eagerly seek each other as much as they can. You push his dark jeans down, and he huffs and sits down at the foot of the bed so he can hastily unlace and yank his boots off, so he can shuck his pants off all the way. When he raises his head, you stand before him in nothing but your simple underwear, one hand pressed against your torso, biting your lip.

You’re so damn beautiful to him, his heart aches again at the sight of you nearly naked before him again after so long torn apart.

He reaches for you, and though you don’t hesitate to take his hand, as he tugs you into his lap, your thighs straddling either side of his hips, he doesn’t miss the slight tremble of your body, and it kills him but there’s a deep part of him that resonates, recognizes the feeling. The separation had been hell on an alpha and omega level, and this is still too much, overwhelming, and altogether not nearly enough to soothe the deep loneliness he had pushed beneath the surface. His arms wrap around you again. While your left arm wraps around his neck, your right hand roams over his bare skin – shoulder, arms, chest, neck, face – questing to rememorize him.

He wants to be inside you, but having your chest pressed into to his chest, it’s like your heartbeats are syncing back together, and he almost needs this more. The side of your face rests against his, and the way he can hear you breathe in and out right next to his ear, can feel the warmth of every exhale, it’s yet another inimitable balm he didn’t know he longed for.

He murmurs your name softly against your shoulder.

“Mmm?”

He knows you can tell he’s working out something to say. Every season you two had been together had been time you had worked to only continually knit your souls more tightly to each other, not only to love each other more, but to understand each other, to work together, to support and lean into each other as true partners.

It had made the separation all the more painful.

He squeezes you more tightly for a moment, then inhales to speak. “I need to tell you why I put up the walls I did.”

He feels you tense slightly in his arms – of course he does, there’s no way for him to miss it any more than there was any chance for you to try and hide it when this intimately entwined. He bestows a soft, light kiss to your bonding mark, and you whimper, but turn your head to brush your lips over his cheek, and then both of you draw back just enough to look at each other.

“I’ll never know if it was the right or wrong thing to do to you, but it felt like the only way I could hope to survive navigating back to you. Immediately I knew I couldn’t allow the anguish of pain and anger I was feeling to flood to you when I knew you were living your own nightmare. When I held that back, the way Hydra had conditioned me to repress all feelings when I was their fist resurfaced, and I knew shelving the emotions would leave me to focus and be more effective in everything I was doing to track you and find you.”

“Bucky,” you start, but he shakes his head slightly, his eyes pleading for you to let him continue. You give a little huff. “Okay.”

The corner of his mouth lifts, and he pecks your lips before going on. “When I was closing in on where they were keeping you, I didn’t want to alert you and have you have to worry about how to hide that.”

“That’s a fair strategic tactic,” you grudgingly admit.

He grins at your tone, but it abates quickly. “I also…”

He pauses for half a beat and takes a breath to steel his resolve because you deserve his raw honesty as it’s still a concern in play.

“Also what?”

“I didn’t know how much of our bond he would feel. I didn’t want to tip him off, but I – I didn’t want to feel what might go the other way and bleed from him through you either.”

“Oh, Buck,” you bury your head into the crook of his neck now, nuzzling against the bonding mark you’d given him. “Our bond is ours, not his.”

“It’s not?”

“No, no,” you press quick successive kisses against your bonding mark on the juncture of his neck and shoulder. “You might feel the wake of what I feel from his bond to me, but the ties to each of you are very distinct within me. I’m especially sure of it now that ours isn’t dormant anymore.”

He holds you close while he sorts through this revelation from you. “I didn’t know – and I was worried if I felt him it would either devastate or enrage me and either way make me overrule logic and slip up, do something rash.”

“Now I understand,” you speak right into his ear. “Concentrate though, what do you feel right now?”

He breathes in. Breathes out. Another breath in. Out.

“Only you,” he says, no question.

Your lips drift back down his neck, and you press an insistent kiss to your claim on him this time, then you open your lips and suck over the spot.

Bucky shivers and groans, and you wince and laugh when his arms flex around you so tightly it actually hurts. Because he reacts so strongly, it doesn’t shock him in the slightest that you’re spurred on to seek more, but now he’s ready, so when you’ve satisfied with your initial torment and he feels you slot your teeth over the mark, he bares his neck, ready when you bite down to renew your claim on him, and he shouts – euphoric, flooded and overwhelmed with the way everything opens in such a raw way when a bonding mark is refreshed.

It drives you to rock your hips against him. You’re both still in those last pieces of underwear, but the friction of your cunt against his cock is glorious, and he can’t help the satisfied rumble in his chest in answer to the simple action.

His hand clamps on your plump, round ass, and he pushes you hard against him and holds you there – he doesn’t want the rocking, for a moment he just wants the intense pressure, the reality that you’re here with him.

You crash your lips to his desperately. He slants his head and works his tongue along the seam of your mouth, which willingly parts for him, an open moan passing between you both, your tongue inviting him into your mouth, stroking against his. Both of you fiercely hold onto each other, keeping that close chest to chest contact while you kiss more than you breathe. When you ultimately have to break off from each other to get air back in your lungs, the heaving expansion of your ribcages against each other is such a simple but intense intimacy, breaths mingling – another moment that adds to the replenishment for how much his soul had been depleted without you.

“Need you inside me,” you plead.

He nods while turning and tossing you onto the bed.

As he climbs up to join you, you quip, “No more clothes, Alpha.”

“Bossy Omega,” he chuckles, but complies in pushing his boxer briefs down and tossing them away.

You quirk your lips. “Give me what I need, and I won’t need to be so demanding.”

He growls, but it’s teasing, the feeling in his heart is a light one, a feeling he feels echoed in you, lines of it running through the overwhelming need.

Bucky moves up the bed, hooks his fingers beneath the band of your underwear, and you lift your hips so he can remove them immediately. He leans down and presses a broad flat lick of his tongue over your hip bone, causing you to squirm – desire and a sensitive spot of skin he discovered on your years ago. “I know what you need, Omega.”

“Yes, Alpha,” you nod eagerly, and he flips you over onto your stomach

He hears your breath hitch. He knows you love roughness and to be handled as often as you love softness, but the latter isn’t what you need right now. He crawls up over you and plants his left arm up by your shoulder while he slots himself between your legs. Your left hand finds his, twining your fingers together while he lines up his cock with your slick entrance, and the sigh of ecstasy that escapes you as he pushes his length in sings in his ears. The feeling of your warm channel gripping him is better than he remembered – or at least it feels that way – and he tries to push in as slowly as he can to savor coming home to where he belongs inside you, but it’s not nearly as slow as he wants it to be.

Once he’s fully sheathed in you, he kisses your shoulder, then nips along until he’s at the juncture of your neck, and you keen and bare your neck to him. He licks over his bonding mark, then bites down, reclaiming you, and you cry out, body thrumming beneath him. He starts to move behind you, pulling his hips back before thrusting back in. Your right leg hitches back to tangle up and over his, urging him on. He grips your hip, and then he fucks you. It’s the most primal it’s ever felt with you, the force of it rocking the bed to knock against the wall, and he almost worries about whether or not it’s too much, but you rock back against him, meeting his thrusts as much as you can in your prone position, eagerly taking all of him.

“That’s it, darling, take my hard cock inside you,” he urges you both on.

You sob out a breathless, “Yes,” that makes his chest rumble in satisfaction.

He can feel your cunt fluttering around him, can feel you on the edge of ecstasy, but it also feels like you’re refusing to fall over the edge.

“Come on, darling, let go.”

“No.”

That shocks him but doesn’t slow him down.

He maintains his pace and slips his hand down between you and the mattress, cupping your pussy and finding your clit. “Yes.” He starts to rub quick, concentrated circles over your tight bundle of nerves.

You shake your head desperately. “No, I don’t want it to end,” the words tumble out, and he hears the sound of you crying again.

“Omega, I will give you more. I’ll give you as much as you need, but I need you to give in to this, surrender and fall over the edge with me again.”

“Bucky!” you cry out as you’re unreservedly flung over the edge. Your cunt clamping down on him was the last of what he needed to reach his own climax, and so his shout echoes your own, and he exerts those final thrusts to pump his seed deep within you.

He stays sheathed within you but rolls both of you to your sides, brackets his arm around your waist, and keeps you close, nuzzling into your neck. You sink back against him, resting your arm over his and threading your fingers together.

“That was…”

He nudges your chin for you to turn your head back so he can kiss away the tears that escaped during the emotions that came through there at that end.

“Intense?”

“Yes.”

“We both needed it, Omega. I need you as much as you need me. Do not doubt it.” You shiver in his arms, and he swears, “I’ll make sure you never question it again.”

“Never let me go.”

“Never again.”

You shift and turn over to face him. He’s just as content to wrap you in his arms this way. You tangle your legs with his as you have so many times before. This is so familiar.

You brush your fingers over his face, retracing the lines and angles that define him, and he watches your face as your eyes drink in his features.

“I’m yours, Omega,” he says in a quiet, low tone.

A soft smile lifts the curve of your mouth. Your hand cradles his jaw and beckons him in to kiss you, and he is happy to acquiesce. The kisses he shares with you now are slow, solemn promises of lips and tongues, heated but not demanding.

When you eventually come up for air, you tuck yourself more closely into his chest, humming with contentment. He’s half hard again, and the frantic last moments of the sex he shared with you flashes back to the forefront of his mind. “I promised to give you more. What do you need from me? Tell me how I can please you, how I can love you.”

You reach up and press your fingers delicately against his bonding mark. “Just this. Hold me. I only need to be with you.”

He can feel how true it is as your fingers stroke lightly over the place where you claimed him all those years ago, reclaimed him here in this bed, flooding him with more peace. His brushes his lips over your forehead. “Whatever you want, sweetheart.”

There’s a little chirp that bubbles up out of you when he calls you sweetheart again, and it makes him just as happy as it does you. He slowly caresses your back, hand moving up and down, up and down, in a soothing motion, soothing himself as much as you.

There is still so much ahead for you both, but this – your connection to each other – he can feel that again so strongly. He never doubted it, but after being deprived, the return of how powerful it is engulfs him. This will anchor him through what’s coming.

“Buck?” you murmur against his neck.

“Mmm?”

“I can tell your brain is beginning to work away from here.”

He sighs. “Can you blame me?”

“No, but talk to me, take me with you if you’re going to think.”

“There’s so much to think through.”

“Start with one thing.”

You’ve done this with him before – late nights, afternoons, mornings, on a drive, on a walk, sharing a meal – you could always feel when he started to get tied up in his brain with his thoughts, and you’d listen, ask questions, sift through with him. He was perfectly capable of sorting through things on his own, but sharing with you made it altogether different. It was one of the best parts of having you as his mate.

“Why…?” He frowns and trails off. “No, nevermind.”

“No, Buck. I worked hard to soothe and relax my alpha. I want this gift of respite with you, however brief it is, and whatever string you don’t want to tug on first clearly is one that’s important.”

He nips your shoulder. “My gutsy omega.”

“Alpha,” you press, also literally pressing a finger insistently against his chest.

“Alright…” His tone turns serious. “Why didn’t you try to escape – especially here where he leaves you alone sometimes?” From the way he’d found you, it was clear this wasn’t an anomaly.

You cluck your tongue impatiently and roll your eyes. “First, how was I reasonably supposed to outrun him, hide from him, and try to find you? I don’t have any of the tactical skills or training you two do.”

“Fair enough. And second?” The first point is obvious now that he’s asked it and heard you answer, but he wants to hear the rest of what you have to say.

“Second,” you continue, your tone altering to something more somber, “he took me to lure you to him, so the most logical thing was to stay and wait for you.”

“Ah,” Bucky nods, the smallest of smiles taking over his mouth. “My smart omega.”

“And third,” you continue, though your words tone is cautious now, and you drop your eyes to his chest.

“Yes?” he urges you to finish the thought.

“He’s my alpha, too.”

This isn’t news – he’s known it from the second he witnessed that bite to claim you, he thought of it frequently while he was hunting for you both, he knew it would be the new reality, you’d even discussed the two bonds together in this bed – and yet having to think about it yet again in this light is still straining on him.

Clearly you feel his unrest, because your hands come up to cup his face and basically attempt to soothe him with gentle but insistent strokes along his jaw. “Bucky, I’m always going to be yours.”

He sighs and angles his head down to touch his forehead to yours. “I know.”

And it’s not jealousy that drives his unrest – it’s the not knowing what this means, not right now and not for the future. He’s started thinking about possibilities, but he’s limited until he can confront the other alpha. So, he decides to concentrate on what it has meant so far.

He makes sure his tone is soft but serious when he asks, “Did he hurt you?”

You’re quiet for a beat, then say, “I don’t know how to answer that.”

Bucky starts to sit up, but you pull him back down to the mattress, trying earnestly to soothe him. “What he did hurt us both, and it was meant to hurt. It was absolutely calculated. But they broke him, Bucky. They tortured him and tried to make him comply for weeks. They were experimenting on Sam, trying to pull the science they could from old records on you and what they could pull from analyzing Steve’s blood, but they weren’t having success, and so they enacted their last use for Sam – and they killed him in front of Steve. It destroyed him.”

Bucky’s own chest aches as he listens, throbbing painfully at this reveal, and his vibranium hand fists the sheet.

“And when he was at his most devastated and spent emotionally, what I have been able to piece together is that that’s when he couldn’t stand to feel anymore, shut off his emotions – or his humanity more like, and it’s his humanity that made him Steve. That’s when they were able to take over and mold him into the fist they wanted in Captain Hydra.”

Hurt, anger, the horror of his own past life as the Winter Soldier, it’s surging through his veins, but you continue.

“So that night in Wakanda? That was Captain Hydra at his height of cruelty. I haven’t seen that iteration of him since that night. It’s been slow, but he’s different now. He’s not our Steve, but he’s not Captain Hydra.”

It’s a few moments before he registers that you’re done – at least with that piece of sharing.

He cups your jaw and looks into your eyes. “Do you trust him?”

He sees you clearly put thought into your words before answering, worrying your bottom lip. “The heat he and I shared was intense in every way. It changed things fundamentally between us, but since the heat our connection has still been very tenuous. We’ve both been very guarded with each other. I know he’ll keep me safe, but I’m still wary of him.”

He nods.

“Where is he right now?”

A wry laugh tumbles out of your chest. “I don’t even know where we are right now, Bucky. I know we got off a train in Bordeaux, but then he moved us here while I was in one of my heavy end of heat sleeps. From the food, books, and supplies he’s brought for us, I know we’re in France, but that’s it. There’s not a lick of technology kept in here while I’m alone. We don’t even a radio.”

Bucky grunts at this news. He doesn’t like this, but other than being kept here cut off from the rest of the world and having claimed you and separated you in the first place, it seems you’ve been appropriately cared for.

“Wait, no radio?” He growls. Bucky had looked away to consider the new information, but his eyes snap to you again. “Have you had any music?”

“No,” you groan, and he can feel the pained irritation.

“That won’t do.”

He quickly rolls off the bed to a small whine of protest from you, but it was so rare that he’d ever been in a space with you and there hadn’t been music playing – loud for you to sing, or low in the background keeping you company – and this is something he can fix easily.

He fishes the small communications device he had put together out of the pocket of his discarded pants, then comes back to sit on the foot of the bed and begins typing away. You’re quick to crawl up behind him, and you wrap your arms around his chest and settle your chin on his shoulder while he works. You don’t see the smile that breaks across his face as he feels your excited impatience radiate off you, having figured out what he’s doing. It’s so palpable he wouldn’t have needed your emotional bond as alpha and omega to sense it.

Once he’s modified his device to play music, it doesn’t take him much longer to hack into your music account. He pulls up the list of your most-played songs, picks one that he thinks will be perfect for this moment, and hits play.

You croon with joy and then fall back on the bed, arms spread out in pure rapture. He beams and then crawls up next to you, handing you the device. You hold it close to your chest with one hand and pull him in for a kiss with the other.

You break off the kiss so you can sing along to the chorus, and he laughs. He knows exactly the last time he felt this happy: the last day by the river with you in Wakanda. When the chorus is over, you actually kick your feet in delight, grinning at him. You kiss his nose, scoot your body as close to him as possible, then settle back into the mattress and pull his arm to rest over your stomach.

The two of you talk, sing, and continue to hold each other for a while. A string of two or three softer songs play, and you and up drifting into sleep, late afternoon sun pouring over both of you, its warmth too much for you to ignore after the physically and emotionally exhausting afternoon. He watches the rise and fall of your chest, his hand over your heart, no thought for time. He doesn’t want to move, doesn’t want to take his eyes off you. How did he survive without you for all those weeks?

A flare of light across the room pulls his focus though. It’s a repetitive flashing coming through the window to the wall.

Morse code. His blissful mood evaporates.

C-O-M-E O-U-T-S-I-D-E

The other alpha is out there, summoning him.

He identifies which window the light is being directed into, then pads over, and releases the drape to cover the window, pulls it back, covers it again, and then secures it back in its open state. The other alpha will know he’s received the message.

Bucky has referred to him as the other alpha for so long now, but he’s ultimately about to discover who this man is. You say he’s no longer The Captain Hydra that he was, but not yet his Steve either.

He doesn’t hurry getting dressed. The other alpha isn’t going anywhere. He’s waited this long. He can continue to wait.

Bucky takes a long look at you from across the room before he leaves.

He’s relatively sure he will come back to you. There’s only one outcome that will keep him away, and now that he knows the potential danger, he won’t let this man ambush him ever again.

Bucky stalks as carefully to the tree line where the signal had come from as he had when he’d first approached the little house. He can smell the other alpha on the breeze that rustles through the trees. He tracks him in a kilometer or so – not in the direction Bucky had left his vehicle, but that works fine for him because if he needs to cut and run, he’ll be able to get to you in the house and then continue on to get to the getaway without having to double back and without the other alpha being able to cut off the route.

Bucky will think through every possible scenario as each moment of this unfolds.

His brain got him here.

His brain can get him out.

He will keep you safe.

The scent he’s known nearly his whole life grows stronger, and when he reaches a small pocket of the forest devoid of trees – not quite large enough to be called a clearing – instead of slipping silently out of the shadows, the other alpha steps out unabashedly to meet him.

“What took you so long, Buck?” he has the gall to ask, his voice barely covering notes of anger.

Bucky roars and hurls himself at the man standing before him, taking him to the ground easily, and they scramble against each other. They’re so closely matched in skill, prowess, and power, and the energy they’re both exuding is raw, primal, and angry. Bucky is incredulous that the other man is angry with him.

His own rage lands him a punch. He takes a blow to the ribs, and the other alpha gets a hand on the collar of his shirt, resulting in a tear, but it allows Bucky to grab his wrist, twist him around harshly, and pin the arm behind his back as he decisively thumps him into the ground, pinning him there.

The man beneath him only makes two attempts to struggle and shift out from under his hold, but then he sighs and sags into the tall grass they’ve been tussling in.

Is he feinting?

Bucky honestly doesn’t know.

“Who am I talking to?” he asks – the same line of inquiry Steve used on him in an abandoned warehouse outside of Berlin.

He knows it, letting out a guffaw beneath him. “I’m not him anymore.”

“Not who?”

“I’m no longer their Captain Hydra,” he pauses before adding, “but I’m not the kid from Brooklyn either.”

Bucky knows they’re not going to stay like this forever, and he needs to see this man’s face and look into his eyes if he’s going to be able to sort out any of this, so as swiftly as he can, he releases the alpha, pushes himself up, and takes a wary stance a few meters away.

Steve remains on the ground, but rolls over and sits up, planting his feet on the ground, and leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. It’s almost a casual.

Bucky will have the advantage of already being up on his feet if the man before him tries anything.

Bucky needs to know how to read whoever this is, so he decides to go with a different line of questioning – things that are more cut and dry.

“When you left the base in Geneva, there were two Hydra security with you. You stopped over a bridge two hours into your journey, and they weren’t with you when you switched vehicles in Albstadt. Who were they, and why the elaborate ruse only to drop them in a river so quickly?”

Rather than being surprised, it seemed he was satisfied that Bucky knew this much about what had played out. “Alright, we can start there. Leaving under the initial guise of a mission on security footage was supposed to be helpful when they started looking for me.”

“And why move the records of their transfer files to other facilities with two others?”

“I’m glad you picked up on that, too. Buying more time for some missing personnel before it was suspect and they figured out they really didn’t know where they were.”

“And why them?”

“Arbitrary.”

“Bullshit. You’ve gone on solo missions as Captain Hydra and you didn’t buy enough extra time by leaving with a two-man team to make it worth the set up only to drop them in the river without a reason.”

Steve’s brows knit together, and he chewed on the inside of his cheek for a moment before answering. “One was arbitrary. He just happened to be the roommate of my target. The one I was after? He was part of the extraction team who took our omega out of Turin. Specifically, he’s the one who handled her so roughly she had bruises from his casual brute strength. I watched the footage to figure out who hurt her.”

Bucky cocked his head and studied the man before him.

“I had only been an alpha to her for a month and I was willing to kill someone who harmed her. What are you going to do to me, Buck?”

Bucky turned and paced way, running his hands through his hair. He didn’t want to show this much unrest in front of the other alpha, but he was thinking and feeling so much, trying to read and decipher too many pieces.

He lets out a long exhale and just speaks the truth. He can’t try and take any other angle. “I haven’t decided yet.”

Before all of this, if there had ever been a situation in which Bucky would have needed to trust someone else to keep you safe, Steve would have been his immediate answer.

Steve waits silently.

There are so many questions he wants answers to, and so he starts asking them. The answers don’t shock him, and he can see that even when Steve doesn’t tell him the full truth, it’s a cautious guarding of information, but he detects no lies in any of it. That Steve has some guards up also seems tenuous, possibly temporary, like if he can only ask the right question, the tide will turn.

But it couldn’t be that simple with Steve, could it?

And when did he start to think of him as Steve again?

Bucky deals out one of the questions he’s had the longest, since the very beginning of this. “What you said that night in Wakanda – you did all of this to draw me out. Why?”

Steve lets it hang in the air for a moment, but Bucky can see this is a crux for this conversation with him, too.

“I can’t explain everything that went into that plan – I don’t know if the machine of Captain Hydra was fully in control or if part of the old me was trying to grasp at you as a lifeline, but as the weeks wore on, the strategist in me knew he needed either the Soldat to join him or his best friend to save him.”

Those words sink into Bucky, and he can understand that explanation as no one else in this world can.

“What took you so long?” Steve asks again, but this time it’s tinged only with angst, not anger.

The accusation in it unsettles Bucky.

He’s still not sure how to address the question, but he starts with, “The Soldat is gone. The Winter Soldier? Not who I needed to be to get here either.”

Steve pushes up from the ground but maintains the distance Bucky put between them. “Who are you now then?”

Bucky narrows his eyes. “Depends on who’s standing in front of me.”

Steve looks off into the trees for a moment – in the direction of the cottage.

Bucky’s instincts have failed him less than a handful of times.

They’re telling him now that’s where to start, even though he’s not sure exactly where it will end. “I’ve seen a lot of versions of you – my childhood best friend, the punk who couldn’t stay out of trouble, the stars and stripes symbol, Captain America, the target who wouldn’t let me assassinate him and then refused to finish me off in the hellicarrier, the Cap who went against the Accords, Nomad in exile – but always Steve. You’ll never be who you were before – I never was. Doesn’t mean you’re irredeemable.”

Steve scoffs. “It’s not that easy.”

Bucky gives a wry laugh and shakes his head. “I more than know that. But you’re shades of all those men right now in front of me. She sees it, too.”

“God, she…” Steve shakes his head, puts one hand on his hip, and scrubs over his face with the other.

“If you can be you, if you can be Steve, she will have you.” He’s not sure where the words came from, but he himself believes them as he says them.

“I don’t know if I can be.”

“Do you want to be?”

Steve doesn’t answer immediately. Bucky can see him sincerely work over the question in his mind. It’s a simple inquiry, but one that will define everything, and Bucky knows he will be completely behind whatever answer he gives because that is the core of who this man is and always has been – fully committed to his convictions.

When Steve says, “Yes,” Bucky can hear the heaviness in his voice. Bucky nods.

“What about you?” Steve asks.

Bucky shifts his weight from one foot to the other as he digs back into himself and where his head, his heart, and his gut now sit with all of this. But the answer is clear enough. “Till the end of the line,” he answers.

“Even after I–“

“Stop,” Bucky cuts him off. “I’ve had little more to think about over the last six weeks than us – all of us. And it felt like my heart started beating again when I found her, but you… Before this I never fully understood why you fought so hard to get through to me when I was trying to kill you in DC all those years ago, why you searched for me for years, why you were a goddamn pain in the ass who wouldn’t abandon me in Berlin and believed in me without question, but now I get it. We are in each other’s bones.”

He doesn’t move, but Bucky sees the look change in Steve’s eyes, and he can practically feel the air alter between them. They’ve always had an acute awareness of each other, and Bucky can feel the tentative return of it, like déjà vu even though he’s still figuring out who this Steve is or who he will be.

“When did you start giving Captain America speeches?” Steve finally asks.

Bucky shrugs. “One of us had to do it.”

“What now then?”

Bucky has sketched out many scenarios for how things play out from here, but every stage of this, every new revelation shifts the direction they’re heading. Even in the last two minutes things have significantly shifted again.

Bucky licks his lips and stares at Steve for another beat before he decides to head down a path he hopes is the right one. “You’re always a man with a plan, so you tell me. Tell me where this started, when it changed, where you think it ends. I figured out a lot, I have theories, and I still have questions.”

“We went to Italy to investigate a lead that came up on our radar. We thought it was an innocuous enough whisper about a couple of Hydra scientists. And don’t,“ Steve pauses to pointedly look at him because Bucky was already opening his mouth to argue. “I already know you’re going to say we should have involved you, I thought of it every day they were holding us captive. I thought it the second I heard their boots. It was a week after you left for Wakanda, and Sam–“

He pauses again, and his shoulders fall just a fraction.

“Sam and I weren’t gonna bother you.”

“She told me about Sam,” Bucky says.

Steve closes his eyes for a moment, pressing his lips together. “I told her enough about what happened, but I didn’t tell her everything.” He opens his eyes and meets Bucky’s again. His face is truly haunted, and Bucky nods, his own chest tight. He knows more than enough about that. He had still had to face the demons of his past, but when he was ready, and he had fought to find his way to do that. Steve would find a way, but it would take time, and not likely be the same journey.

“After they killed Sam, they got a raw version of me, shut down, and they went to work conditioning me, shaping me into Captain Hydra. I was too lost to fight anything. I couldn’t save him. I failed us. I didn’t want to be me. It was easy too easy for them to get the version of me they wanted when I was like that.”

There’s a full shift in how Steve lays everything out – and as he shares, Bucky knows it’s still not everything, but he can feel that it’s everything Steve can bear to tell him.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

Steve tilts his head and looks off into the forest. “It was and it wasn’t. It will always haunt me.”

“It will, but less and less.”

Bucky walks to the edge of the small clearing and sits on a fallen log. Steve follows him.

“When I was trying to find you after DC and taking down S.H.I.E.L.D. I read everything they had on record about you, how they conditioned you. They used some but not all the same methods on me.”

“I couldn’t find anything on you, and I found more than enough other hidden monstrosities in their networks these past weeks.”

“I think they got smarter after we were hunting them after exposing them – they couldn’t keep everything off the databases, but they have projects now that they keep paper-only, small teams. There was the team that captured us, but after they put us in a holding cell, we were transferred. From that point through the torture, the breaking point, and the conditioning I only saw four faces – three scientists and one officer who became my liaison. When they sent or let me out into the field, I never went with a team of more than four of their men, always the same four. Two of them I ended at that bridge.”

Bucky nods.

Already his mind is calculating – this means they could potentially contain and eliminate all of the people who knew any specifics about Captain Hydra.

“One of the scientists was killed when you stormed the facility in Turin.”

Bucky raises his brows. Even better.

Steve goes on to tell him about how he was sent on a few missions to test his loyalty before he was given the task to bring back the Soldat.

“I didn’t have a chair, and they were very adamant that my point person was my liaison and not a handler, they gave me a fair amount of autonomy. They didn’t want me to drag you in. They wanted you to join me. I think they felt like an asset who had to be controlled could break free as they saw with you the first time around, and this time they wanted operatives who weren’t giving controlled compliance, but allegiance instead.”

Bucky grunted. “A tether rather than a leash.”

“Yeah.”

“But you knew who I was tethered to.”

Steve’s head drops. “Yeah.”

“And you knew I’d be the most vulnerable and off my guard in Wakanda.”

“I did.”

Bucky lets him sit with that discomfort.

Bucky has replayed that night in his mind so many times.

“But your plan changed that night. I didn’t register it in the moment, but everything about you changed the moment you bit into her neck to claim her.”

Steve doesn’t deny it.

“Before you sunk your teeth into her, you were taunting me, dangling her like something to be smashed and discarded, you didn’t even know if it would work, and I think part of you thought it might even kill her.”

Bucky sees Steve’s jaw tick.

“You were in no way prepared for how a bond would change you fundamentally as an alpha.”

“Obviously it didn’t flip a switch immediately, but yes, it altered what I intended to do,” Steve admits.

He goes on to explain some of the things that happened in Turin – missions he went on, how things had developed with you, the clothes, and the books.

“The books were for her?” Bucky breathes. “I saw security footage of you in the bookshop.”

“I wasn’t worried about exposing myself because you were already taking longer than I wanted you to take, but when you didn’t access any of the Avenger networks, bases, or safehouses, I expected you were underground and untraceably hunting for us.”

“What else did you expect?”

“I wanted you to get foolish in your desperation and tip your hand.”

“Not with her on the line.”

“No.” Steve narrows his eyes. “You never left Turin once you showed up on our radar, did you?”

Bucky scoffs. “Course I didn’t.”

Steve nods. “A ploy to see all the defenses of the base.”

“But you left dangerously close to her heat,” Bucky shoots, the disapproving accusation blatant in his tone.

“And that’s when you made your unsuccessful move to get her back. If you’d killed everyone you’d encountered from the beginning, you probably would have made it to her in time.”

“You think I don’t know that?”

“No, I know you do.” Steve sighs. “You know, back in 1945, I thought you were dead when you fell off that train.”

Bucky doesn’t interrupt. He knew Steve knew he knew this. They’d touched on it before. But clearly there was more and a reason for Steve to bring it up again now.

“The thing is, when they found you, I know Zola did what he did to you because of me, your tie to me. When they took me and Sam, they tortured him and killed him because of me, again. You were both people I cared about, and you were hurt for it. I was not going to let it happen to her. The sense of responsibility I felt for her had already been growing and evolving, but when I felt that surge of adrenaline and fear through the bond when you attacked the base and they moved her? It had been a slow melting of ice, what was developing there, but that shattered the ice. When I found out they had moved her, I kept my personal weakness guarded, and I knew I would do everything I could to get her out of their web and keep her safe.”

At this admission, Bucky is quiet. So is Steve. Bucky knows Steve is letting him think. There’s so much to consider there – the guilt Steve has still carried for him for years, the fresh hell of Sam, and the fervent determination to keep you from being another victim by association.

He could think over this for much longer, but there are more pieces he still needs context for, so next Bucky asks, “Why did you leave the Geneva facility during her heat?”

“Best cover for time – alphas are given room to take care of their needs during rut or care for omegas if they’re bonded during their omega’s heat.”

It verifies what Bucky had theorized himself.

“But it’s been eight days since you came here.”

“Yeah,” Steve nods.

“And you’ve just…been here.”

“Yeah.”

This is the piece Bucky has been suspicious of now.

“Explain.”

“When I took her to Turin, yes, it was a trap to lure you. When I brought her here, it was to wait for you to find us. I couldn’t find you when you went underground before, and I couldn’t find you this time, and if I tried too hard, I didn’t want to risk Hydra finding us, but I knew if we stayd in one place and I focused on keeping us hidden from Hydra, you could find us.”

Bucky furrows his brow, frowning.

“Simple as that?”

“Simple as that,” Steve confirms.

Bucky studies him for another quiet few seconds, then says, “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

“So, what now?”

“Her,” Bucky replies simply. “We’ve still got a lot of shit to figure out, but we’ve got to do it with her.”

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

Still with me? This was a lot. I hope I've answered some of your questions, and there are some more that have been brought up, but... we're here. We're this far.

This is the single longest story/chapter I've ever published. You can see where I've left off, and there's clearly more story, but Bucky reuniting with his omega and with Steve were the primary objectives, and both of those elements I didn't want to cheat or shorten as they began to unfold. I hope they've truly done justice to these characters and relationships, and we'll see how they can possibly move forward together in the conclusion. These three still have big things ahead.

read more from the Dark Forest Fest

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #steve rogers #bucky barnes fan fiction #captain hydra #aspen wrote something #bucky barnes x female reader #steve rogers x reader #omegaverse #marvel omegaverse #warm shadows au #aspen's dark forest fest

212 notes · View notes

kiwisbell · 8 months

Text

Security Details: Chapter 1 [frankie morales]

Frankie’s long-time friend enlists his help. He's more than eager to accept the job. The problem is that he's in love with her.

chapter 1 | chapter 2

pairing: francisco "catfish" morales x f!reader

rating: 18+ (mdni)

tags and warnings for entire fic: abusive relationship (not between frankie and reader), murder, violence, BAMF frankie, protective frankie, possessive frankie, soft frankie, mutual pining, yearning, reader is not named but has a call sign (fox), frankie is dumb but he's got the spirit, angst, smut, fluff, partners to friends to lovers, happy ending, frankie spends most of this fic in his feelings, telltale signs of a fic written by a hopeless romantic, unprotected piv, breeding kink, creampie, oral sex, consensual somnophilia, english and spanish dirty talk, frankie going feral to keep his girl safe, possessive sex, blood and injury, undefined age gap

tags and warnings for this chapter: extremely/viscerally/unfathomably dumb frankie, mutual pining, so much yearning that my cup runneth over, foot-in-mouth syndrome, angst, abuse against reader, unrequited love

word count: ~ 10k

shrike is actually my all-time favourite hozier song and was the inspiration for this fic long ago. i still have a huge soft spot for this story; it is the ache of pining and the drive to be good enough for that one person you know will make everything better.

chapter 1: i couldn't whisper when you needed it shouted

Tomorrow is fight night for Benny, which means he’s taken to beating the shit out of his friends as a warm-up.

Frankie lifts his elbows in front of his face to block the next blow before taking a swing at Benny’s exposed stomach. The fighter ducks out of the way and lands his next punch—right to Frankie’s jaw. It’s enough of a hit to sting and throb, knocking his teeth around a little, and Benny immediately loses his gloves and claps Frankie on the shoulders.

“Shit. Shit, Cat, I’m sorry. You good?”

Frankie doesn’t feel any blood welling from his lip, so he considers it a draw. Still, he shakes out his knuckles, preparing for another round. “I’m good. Are you good?” He grins at Benny. “‘Cause I almost had you tapping.”

From outside the ring, Will whoops. “That’s right, Fish. Take his ass down.”

“Nah,” says Benny, sliding onto the floor off the ring and reaching for a towel. “Don’t feel like killing Frankie today.”

“Jackass,” says Frankie, joining the brothers on the floor. “Could’ve won.”

He and Benny slap their palms together, and the three of them silently agree to end Benny’s destructive training for the day. Frankie suspects his face will bruise by dinner tonight.

Will lies down on a bench and looks up at Frankie. “Where's Foxy? I know she could take Benny down.”

Frankie tries not to sound bitter when he grumbles, “Date night,” but fails. Benny and Will lock eyes, and the latter whistles, imitating an explosion with his mouth.

Frankie drops down to the floor, back up against the ring with his knees bent. “She knows her boyfriend’s a piece of shit, right?” asks Benny.

Frankie doesn’t want to talk about this, especially not when his friends know he’s the pathetic asshole who was too afraid to ask her out before someone else cut in. A someone else who has her showing up at the bar on their nights out with red eyes and strained smiles. The someone else who, despite being a well-rounded dickhead with control issues, still managed to get the girl.

He’s been with her through her boyfriends, just as she’s been through his singular attempt (and failure) at settling down. He hasn’t liked a single one of her partners, not even when they seemed to get along with Benny or Will or Pope or—in rare cases—all three. Frankie knows it’s because he can’t stand that every single time she introduces them to someone new, it means another guy who’s braver than he is. Another guy who beat him to the punch. Another few months wasted as his best friend stands within arm’s reach and remains altogether untouchable.

“She’s coming tonight, right?” asks Will.

“She is if it’s date night,” mumbles Benny, but Frankie hears him and bristles.

“Fuck off.”

“Kidding,” he says, lifting his hands in the air. “She probably doesn’t come, anyway. Not with that douchebag.”

“Fuck. Off.”

He has no right to say who she sleeps with, dates, or spends her time around. He has no more claim to her than he does to the throne of England. But shit, he can’t stand the thought of another man’s hands on her body. His hands tremble as he wipes them on his jeans and stands up. “See you dickheads tonight,” he says. “And stop talking about Fox’s sex life, or I’ll bury both your heads in sand.”

He slips his gym bag into the backseat of his truck when it begins to vibrate. He fumbles for his cell phone and looks at her profile picture, blown up large on his screen: a big smile on her face, her eyes glittering with mischief, as Pope’s pie-covered mouth kisses her on the cheek. He gives the camera a thumbs-up. Frankie had taken the picture.

Pope walked into the bar with Will and promptly received a meringue to the face.

“Happy birthday, Santiago!” she whooped, toasting her Cosmopolitan in the air. She loved fruity drinks on special occasions, and had managed to convince Ben and Frankie to order a Shirley Temple and Sex on the Beach, respectively.

“Come here, Foxy,” shouted Pope over the chaos of the bar.

Pope kissed her, sloppy and loudly, on the cheek. Frankie snapped a picture. Later, he would assign it to her contact on his phone.

He wanted to tell her she was beautiful that night, glowing and cheerful in her tight black dress. She was practically on his lap in the booth thanks to the big bodies of Ben and Will sandwiching her between them, spreading their legs. He suspected it was deliberate. Frankie kept his arm secured around her waist all night, never quite touching the soft skin at her back with his fingers. He was hard enough as it was.

“This okay?” she asked him, tentative and pleasantly flushed from her three drinks of the night.

It was loud as hell in the bar, but he could only hear the wash of her voice down his spine. “Yeah, Foxy. Don't worry about me.”

She tugged on a lock of his hair beneath his cap, now long enough to curl at his neck. “That's my job.”

I'm so in love with you.

He never told her. But he went home that night and fucked his hand twice in the shower. The week after, she introduced him to her latest boyfriend.

Frankie answers his phone. “Go for Frankie, Foxy.”

“Hey!” Her honeyed voice is a tonic. “I’m sorry I couldn't watch Benny beat you guys up, but I was out getting groceries for Matt.”

Frankie can't help it. It rears up from inside like a fire-breather. “Matt can't get his own groceries?”

His name leaves her mouth like a tired warning. “Frank…”

He feels like an asshole right away, slinging another arrow at her deadbeat boyfriend and making her upset, but Matt Erickson may truly be Frankie Morales’s archenemy. Not to put too dramatic a point on it.

The worst day of Frankie’s life was when she took that first bullet for him.

She's a good sniper. Damn good. She still smiles like she's never seen a battlefield. She treats it like a job where it counts, and sometimes he catches her kissing the ring on her index finger: silver, a gift from her father. He was killed in battle, and was the reason she joined. And she became deadly as she was sweet, gentle, a good dancer.

She can really dance.

She caught the sniper on the ridge faster than Frankie could register his body dropping just behind him. He whipped around to watch his skull hit the ground, his blood colouring the deadened earth. Frankie lifted a hand to the back of his head absentmindedly. He was untouched, unharmed.

“Shit, Morales,” she said breathlessly, approaching him after she scanned the horizon for more surprises and hopped down from her cover of cliffs. “Almost let him shoot you.”

He shook his head, mildly speechless, and checked her over for injuries. He tugged on her tactical vest the way he always does. She squeezed his arm. “That makes eighty confirmed. You gonna buy me a drink?”

He swallowed. “I’m going to buy every one of your drinks for the rest of your life.”

She grinned up at him.

He remembers the wind whipping her hair about her face, the glimmer in her eye. He doesn’t remember where the shot came from. He only remembers seeing her face fall and her eyes slide over his shoulder. He remembers her shifting them around, diving like a swan to block his body from something.

He heard the crack of the shot, then another as Will took him out with a shout. And he saw the blood blossoming at her hip. She reached out and steadied herself on his shoulder. “Oh, shit,” she gasped. “Oh, fuck, Frank. I wasn’t looking. That was really stupid. Wasn’t… Didn’t see…”

He still feels the panic when he recalls that day.

He slipped his rifle around to his front and scanned the cliffs through the scope, but Will’s cry of “CLEAR!” echoed through the valley. Frankie dropped to his knees in front of her and lifted up her shirt to bear her midriff to him. She clutched the straps of his vest to keep herself upright.

“How’s it look?” she managed to ask, trying to keep her breathing steady and her eyes open. She was handling it beautifully.

“It’s nothing,” he said, though the choked sound of it betrayed him. “Just a scratch.”

It wasn’t. The shot went clean through her hip and was bleeding badly enough to blanch her face. She was turning grey, her body trembling. “Thought so,” she said. “Frankie…”

She didn’t finish. Her eyes fluttered and her foot faltered. He gripped her good hip hard and squeezed. He needed to keep her talking.

“Why did you do that?” he said frantically, watching periodically for Will and Benny as they made their way around the ridge down to the valley. Frankie opened his medkit, but there wouldn’t be much in here that could do her good. He shucked off his extra layer—a thick down jacket that protected him from the wind up here—and pressed it to her wound. “That was stupid, Foxy. Real fucking stupid.”

“Oh, shut up,” she wheezed. “Saved your life, Cat. Don’t be an asshole.”

“Need you to hold onto me,” he said. “I’m going to sit you down, but you need to hold on. It’s going to hurt.”

She panted through her teeth as Frankie lowered her to the ground, sitting upright against a rock. He kneeled over her legs and continued to put pressure on her wound. She blinked hard from the pinching pressure. “Part of the job, right?”

“Shouldn’t be. Not you. Not fuckin’ you.” He kept the pressure, hard and steady, on her wound, but the sight of blood—her blood, the only blood that could send him into a panic—nauseated him.

She laughed, but it sounded nothing like her laugh. Her laugh was bells at noon, the sun high in the sky. This was hollow as a dead tree. “Thought this was an equal-opportunity workplace.”

She can weave stories and poetry from the smoky tendrils of death. By the embers of the fire, when they were the only two left awake, she would give him offerings.

One night, she had lain beside him, and they stared up at the stars between the wispy clouds. Frankie had to let their co-pilot Mickey go that day. He’d been a lost cause, unable to release the seat belt as their helicopter went up in flames. They ran for cover, and all Frankie could think was, You could have done more.

“When people die,” she had told him, “maybe their souls leave them for a reason. Maybe they have to leave because they need to bury themselves in the living. I think you’re keeping his soul safe, Frankie.”

It was the most profound piece of wisdom he’d ever heard, from her sleep-addled voice, next to him as they lay next to one another, barely touching, only watching the sky. It was only days after the team saw her signed on, and Frankie was already in love.

“Frank… Frankie… ” Her blood made things slippery and got on both of their hands. There was a small red heart on her hip when two droplets of blood joined together.

Funny.

“Frankie…” Her eyes begged him. She scrambled to keep holding onto his hand. “Don’t let me die. I really don’t want to die.”

It was so rare, like seeing the bright burning core of a comet. Watching her crumble, desperate, sand between his fingers. She was dying, and they both knew it.

Still, he couldn’t say it. He couldn’t do it the way he’d done with Mickey (“I’m sorry, I can’t get you out, we have to go”). “You’re not gonna die,” he told her, gritting his teeth and keeping pressure, keeping an eye on the pulse point at her sweat- and blood-slick throat. “Not gonna let you fuckin’ die, Foxy. Still need to give us that wisdom of yours, right?”

“Yeah,” she said, her voice slurring as her eyes slipped shut for a moment. Only a moment, and the earth beneath Frankie’s feet shifted. But she blinked them back open. “You’re all idiots, and I need to be there to save your asses.”

“That’s right, baby,” he said softly, weakly.

Neither of them would mention the nickname after that—the first time he’d addressed her by anything but her name or call sign. In that moment, he existed to bring her comfort. He existed to keep her alive. Breathing, for all he cared, didn’t matter one bit.

“Where do you think we go when we die?” asked Frankie one day, stuck on a rooftop adjacent to hers, just the two of them tracking a target through their scopes. An elusive target. They’d been here four hours, bruising their hip bones on concrete and baking in the Colombian sun.

“Oh, Francisco,” crackled her voice in his ear. The sound of his name on her lips always struck his bones like hammers upon rocks. “We don’t die. Not you and me. We just float down the river and crawl out on the other end.”

“I like your wisdom,” he said. The air was hot and stiff, his forehead beading with sweat. “But that sounds awful wet.”

“Bet you could use a drink right now.”

“Damn right I could.”

“Whoever makes the shot buys the round,” she offered.

His heart soared with a hope he’d not yet learned to squash. “Just you and me?”

“That’s the only way to go, Frankie,” she said.

He found a beacon in her. Her heart was—is—a miraculous thing. It beats louder than everything else, hums like a soft melody, and casts its net across the reaches of the world. Her eyes find things nobody else’s can. Her smile reanimates dead things. She became a goddess to him. He wanted to hold that heart in his palms to see how brightly it glowed. He wanted to be the one with the privilege to keep it safe in his hands.

She didn’t die that day. Frankie lay into the evac team for taking so damn long and refused to leave her side even when they insisted there was no room left on the chopper. He didn’t give a fuck, not when her hand kept grasping his in a desperate, half-alive attempt to keep him close. He became a rabid animal, snarling at anyone who came too close or pushed too hard on her wounds or tried to separate them.

In her hospital bed back at their temporary base (this was a shitty covert job in Alberta, so the infirmary was more of a tent filled with stretchers than a state-of-the-art facility), she laughed at his latest joke.

“What’s a pirate’s favourite letter?”

“Frank, I’m in so much pain—”

“You think it would be R, but it be the C they love.”

“Oh, God,” she whispered, her hand covering her mouth. It was quiet in the tent, filled with sleeping and recovering bodies. “Can’t believe I saved your stupid ass. Must be all that love I’ve got.”

He froze. Love. She said love.

She said love, and yet there was a man waiting in her bed when she returned home with a new tale of glory to tell. A man who could never understand the things Frankie did, the things they spoke about under the stars when everyone else slept. She was off-limits. Untouchable. He wanted her more than anything in the world, and he could not have her. Because he could not say love.

“I’ll let you rest.”

He slipped his hand from hers and flexed it all the way back to his tent. It felt cold without her there. He just left her, alone and afraid to fall asleep. Afraid to close her eyes and never wake. He was the real coward.

“Did Matt get you to your appointment yesterday?” asks Frankie, trying for civility. “How did it go?”

She's been in physiotherapy since a bad fall shattered her ankle a few months ago. It's been making her antsy, off the field and stuck at home. “I walked,” she says idly, breezily, like she's trying to rush through it and move on. And she does. “We still on for tonight?”

He freezes.

“You what?”

“I walked,” she repeats.

“You walked.”

Her voice is vaguely amused. “That is what I said, Cat.”

Frankie makes a decision. The next time he sees Matt Erickson, he’s going to punch him in the face. Frankie doesn't like confrontation, but he'll go one-to-a thousand against a Viking army if it means she's happy and safe. Walking half an hour to a physiotherapy appointment with a bum ankle is not happy and safe.

“Frankie, I can hear your ears steaming,” comes her gentle voice in his ear. “I was fine. I didn't trip and the pain wasn't bad.”

“That's not the—” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “That's not the point. He was supposed to take you.”

He can't deny he's happy to hear a touch of bitterness when she says, “He got called into work.”

“Could've called me,” says Frankie, even though it's too late. “I would've taken you.”

“I’m okay,” she coos, patient as ever with him and his sour moods. “I promise you, Frank, I'm fine.”

He drops it for now. But if he sees her limping tonight, he's going to throw her asshole boyfriend into a Dumpster. “How's María?” she asks him.

He huffs out his laughter as he gets into the driver’s seat. His back protests with a pinch of pain. “Misses you like hell. Asked me on Sunday if you can babysit this weekend.”

“Did she ask that, or her daddy?” she says slyly. Frankie closes his eyes and briefly knocks his forehead into the steering wheel, all because she can't see him. The way she speaks is clear and gentle; intelligent. His cock seems to like the sound of daddy passing her lips.

“We collaborated,” he says sheepishly. She makes him so nervous.

“Mmm.” There's sounds of rustling, and he can picture her moving about the kitchen, smiling as she wedges the phone between her ear and shoulder and unpacks her groceries. “Well, I’m available Saturday night if you want to go out, have some fun. You know I’m always happy to spend some time with my favourite girl.”

Frankie has no plans for Saturday, and he isn't particularly keen on making any. He’ll make a last-minute excuse to stay in with his two favourite girls on the planet and he’ll go another night wanting her but refraining from stepping any closer than he should. “Yeah. I’ll think of something,” he says.

“Oh! And I picked up some more baby food since you're running low. I know she's almost eleven months, but she goes through that stuff like a vacuum cleaner.” Frankie’s heart is close to bursting. She treats his daughter like her own most days and thinks of things neither he nor Lisa do half the time. Frankie’s pretty sure Lisa is in love with her, too. She has that effect on people.

“Thanks, Fox,” he chokes out.

“And if your plans miraculously fall through,” she says playfully, “remind me to give you a haircut. Otherwise, I’ll be teaching María how to braid it.”

Self-consciously, he takes off his cap and ruffles his own hair. It is getting long again, curling around his ears and sticking up wildly when it’s humid, which is most days down here. “Yes, ma’am.”

Like everything else in her life, she treats Frankie’s haircuts with the utmost care and attention. She handles scissors as though they’re needles she must perfectly thread. Her haircuts are serviceable, and she asks for nothing in return except her next drink at the bar (he buys her drinks when they’re out together, anyway), but it’s the process he likes most.

“Ow.”

“Don’t be a dummy, Cat. I’m not hurting you.”

Her hands lathered the shampoo in his hair, her long nails (a treat for herself during her temporary leave thanks to a certain gunshot wound) digging deliciously into his scalp, reaching the roots of his head and into his brain and turning him wholly pliable beneath her touch. “No,” he mumbled. “Just keeping you on your toes, Foxy.”

It was an awkward job: sitting up against the bathtub with his head dangling uncomfortably under the detachable shower head while she washed his hair, sidled up next to him on her knees. He kept his eyes closed because if he opened them, his eyes would be level with her tits. She wore an old, ratty sweatshirt from his closet so she didn’t have to worry about getting hair all over her, but his imagination was a real son of a bitch. It liked to run wild with pictures of her body beneath all that fabric, soft and sweet. He would have wet dreams about her if she wore a paper bag every day.

“Lift your head for me, Frankie,” she said softly, cradling the back of his neck to support it as she washed the shampoo from his scalp. When they were finished, he shook out his hair like a wet dog and splattered her with water. “Frankie!”

Her shrieks alerted María, so she picked up the then-four-month-old and bounced her on her hip while the other hand gently blow-dried Frankie’s hair. “Okay, gorgeous,” she said, switching off the dryer.

“You talking to me or my kid?”

“You decide.” She kissed María on the top of her head, which was covered in the same dark brown curls as her father’s. “Let’s go cut daddy’s hair, hmm?”

Frankie tangled himself in each thick thread of yearning that stretched between them as she ventured farther away, downstairs into the kitchen where she would cut his hair over the garbage can. She had done it a hundred times, he felt, but the longing remained. The ache to touch her on the cheek, the waist, draw her in closer and kiss the soul right out of her. He wanted to take it and swallow it and wrap himself in it, keeping her forever with him the way she said they did with each life they took. He wanted that. He wanted to hold her life in his palms and nurture it, let it unfold with his, the lines on their palms intertwining like twin comets’ paths through the sky.

Every day with her felt like that: chasing the sun, only to find out he was chasing a picture. He could never grasp it, never cradle it or sleep next to it or bury himself so deep in it he lost sense of himself altogether. He wanted so much of her that her essence choked him. It filled his lungs like gravel because he could never have her. So he yearned, and let himself die a little more each time she went home to someone else.

“Frankie?” she asked him that night, both of them watching María sleep in his arms as they lounged on the couch, the television muted.

He was drifting off, fighting sleep so he wouldn’t drop his baby girl. The sound of the voice next to him stirred him just enough, and he gained the sense she was about to impart a piece of wisdom he would carry forever.

“I think you’re going to live a long, happy life.” Her head was on the arm of the sofa, and her eyes were drooping, but not quite closed, looking at him through her lashes. They were like shadowy spiderwebs on her cheeks. “I think, of all the people I’ve met in my life, you’re the one who deserves it most. I want you to have it, so I’m telling you right now that you will.”

It occurred to him much later that she thought he was asleep.

The bar itself is a piece of shit in the middle of a highway, barely big enough to even qualify as a truck stop, and it’s called The High Dive. Sounds about right. Frankie gets there last (a routine phone call with his parole officer lasted longer than he would’ve hoped, but at least he’s through with his community service), and Fox is already in the middle of an argument with her boyfriend.

“Invited himself,” says Will, interrupting Frankie’s train of thought before he can even make a stop at a coherent one. The Miller brother has a beer tucked into the crook of his elbow as his arms sit folded over his chest. “Doesn’t seem to trust you very much, Morales.”

“Hmm. Can’t imagine why.” Frankie is hardly listening. His eyes are laser-focused on the movements of Matt Erickson’s flailing arms as he yells at his girlfriend. Frankie’s hackles are up and his vision is beginning to bleed.

“He wouldn’t, Fish,” says Will, nudging him with an elbow. “He wouldn’t take a swing, not here.”

“I never—”

“Yeah, you’re thinkin’ it, man. We’re all fuckin’ thinking it.” Will gestures to their favourite booth in the corner of the bar where Benny, Santiago, and a couple locals they’ve befriended over the years are sitting. Benny and Pope sneak frequent looks across the bar to where the couple is still locked in a heated argument, standing too close in the shadowy hall that leads to the bathroom.

It’s not like Frankie has any evidence that Erickson has laid a hand on her. He knows the guy is volatile, angry at one wrong twitch of a finger. Frankie wouldn’t give a fuck if he decided to take a swing at him or his friends; it would give them all an excuse to deal a few blows in return, which he knows they’ve all been itching to do. No—he’s too close to her, his hands clenching into fists and jerking around as she flinches away from him until she’s backed into the wall, keeping her guard up and placing a hand on his chest to keep him at arm’s length. She’s speaking clearly and firmly, patient even as her boyfriend loses his shit. Frankie cannot hear a word, but he knows she’s in the right.

“Why the fuck is he here?” Frankie just manages to bite his words off.

“My guess?” Will shakes his head. “To keep an eye on you.”

“I’ll give him a fucking eyeful,” says Frankie, surging forward.

“Hey.” Will claps a hand down on his shoulder to stop him. “Come on. Leave them be. He’ll get pissed and leave.”

“I don’t like this, man.” She’s handling it, still, trying to bring Matt’s temper down to a simmer. Frankie can’t look away. His eyes are her shield; if he blinks or moves, it will drop, and Matt will act. He will hurt her. Frankie can’t let it happen.

The knot in his chest begins to loosen when she seems to strike a common ground with Matt. He breathes hard and backs away, nodding and muttering something. She smiles feebly, her shoulders rounded and her eyes dim with exhaustion, and he kisses her on the forehead.

Frankie lets Will guide him to the booth and slides in next to Pope. “Pendejo,” says Santiago. Frankie knows he isn’t speaking to him.

“Don’t get me fuckin’ started.” Pope slips a beer under Frankie’s nose. “Thanks, man.”

“Anyone ever tell her she’s way too hot for that asshole?” says John, a local Army-turned-trucker around the same age as Frankie, who doesn’t trust himself to open his mouth at that comment.

Erickson approaches them without her in tow. That makes Frankie’s internal alarm bells sound. “Hey,” he says, lifting his beer in greeting. “How's everyone holding up?”

There is an awkward sound-off of halfhearted replies from everyone at the table except for Frankie, who won't even indulge. He has tunnel-vision, and he needs to make sure she's all right.

His eyes meet Will’s, and the Miller discretely nods. “Hey, Erickson,” he says loudly. “Mind checking out my hood? My engine light came on halfway through the drive here and I don't want it to explode on the way home.”

Erickson agrees with mild enthusiasm (the prospect of getting paid for a tune-up provides most of his polite response) and follows Will outside. Frankie flees toward the bathroom and knocks on the door.

“Foxy.”

Come in is her soft reply.

The sound of the door unlocking is all Frankie needs to push his way inside and close them both inside. In here, the world pushes in on the two of them, and it feels like sitting in the bathroom together at his home, listening to her quiet humming as she washes his hair. “If he sees you in here, he's going to kill you,” she says. Her voice is utterly defeated. “I don't want to hear a lecture on how I need to leave him, Frank. I can't—” Her breath catches in her throat. “I can’t do this tonight.”

She finally faces him. He can tell that she's been crying, but he still counts to ten when he sees her puffy eyes and rounded shoulders. He's always been terrible at containing his impatience or rage compared to her, but she looks so beat-down and tired that all he can think to do is pull her into his arms.

“He can try,” says Frankie, smoothing down her hair and kissing the top of her head. Her hands find his back, warm and soft, her cheek resting on his chest. She sniffles quietly. Frankie’s entire body feels tight, sandpaper on a wall, catching on every groove of her body against him.

“I really want to kill him first,” he confesses.

She shakes her head. “Not going to jail, Francisco. Can’t survive on this Earth without you.”

His ears are ringing. He barely hears the doorknob jiggle, the knock at the door, the scuffle outside.

“She's in the fuckin’ bathroom, dude,” says Benny on the other side of the door. “Give her some privacy.”

“Oh, you mean her and Morales? You want me to give them privacy? Want me to let them fuck each other in there while I stay right here?”

“Maybe you should leave. You've had a bit too much to drink.” This comes from Pope. Reasonable, but tense.

“Open the fucking door, babe,” shouts Erickson. Frankie puts her behind him instinctively.

“Don't say a word,” she warns him. He bites down on his tongue. Her hand slips around to his arm and squeezes. She raises her voice so Matt can hear her. “I’m coming out, Matthew. We’re going home. Okay?”

Don’t, Frankie wants to say. Don't go home with him. Fuck, baby, come back and never let him touch you again. But she ordered him to stay quiet, and he can't refuse her. He can't do anything.

It always ends like this. He lets her go, and he freezes. He can never be brave where it counts.

She unlocks the door to face down her boyfriend, who's stone-faced and glaring at Frankie. He grabs her arm, tight enough to make her wince, and she shoves him hard in the chest. “Don't fucking touch me,” she says. “We. Are. Leaving.”

And they do. Frankie just lets her go, watching her until she's out of his sight and a bit further than that. He lets her go again.

The next night, Friday, is Benny’s fight. She’s limping when she walks into the locker room.

Frankie leaps to his feet despite the protest from his back. He’s in front of her, probably crowding her, but his head is in overdrive. “What happened? Shit, you're limping. Why the fuck are you limping? Did he fucking hurt you? I swear to God, juro por Dios, if he hurt you—”

“Francisco.” She's firm, jagged-edged, and it startles him into silence. She looks like she hasn’t gotten a wink of sleep in days, and her beautiful optimistic smile is nowhere to be seen. “He was angry with me for last night,” she tells him. Matter-of-fact and emotionless. “He grabbed my ankle and twisted it. I grabbed a bag and left while he was passed out. I slept in my car. It's the first time he's ever laid hands on me.”

Frankie staggers backward. “I—” He rubs his jaw and shakes his head. He’s furious. He's terrified. He's sad and disgusted. “I’m… I’m sorry.”

She hugs herself. “I’m a total idiot. I know I am. I know he's a piece of shit, Francisco. I know it, and then sometimes he would be so kind, so gentle, and I wouldn't know which way was up. I never thought he would—” She breaks off like the words stabbed her, snapping her mouth shut and bringing her hand to it, trembling with tears she refuses to let fall. “I feel so fucking stupid.”

She's the finest sniper on the team. She's a storm on the field and she's the one who speaks the soothing words to them all when they're hurt or tense or just want to fall asleep. She's the reason and the eyes. She's responsible for their lives every time they step foot on the ground, and she never lets a single one go.

He says her name. It’s quiet and weak and almost lost in the ambient noise of distant cheering and air conditioning. It's a name that invokes rain and thunder and sunshine—the kind of sunshine that parts those angry rolling clouds. It's a rare name because it feels sacred. It's the name he reserves when he's about to do something stupid.

“Don't say my name like that, Francisco.”

He rolled his sleeves up to his elbows and grinned, cocksure and tipsy. He squares up with Pope at the table and the two lock hands in preparation for the arm wrestle. “You ready to eat shit, Morales?”

“Nah, pendejo. You're gonna buy a round after this.”

Whoops and jeers lifted from the crowd, but Frankie just turned to her and winked. She stood out with her tight-ass jeans and her wicked glare. Damn, Frankie wanted to impress her. It's probably the only reason he beat Pope.

“So,” he said after he took down both Will and Benny, too. “Believe me now?”

She rolled her eyes and placed her elbow on the table. “Fine, Cat. When I win, I’m getting a shopping spree.”

“Hope you like wearing the same thing every day,” he teased, locking his fingers around her hand. Around them, they cheered for the Fox.

Frankie lost. She got her shopping spree, and she showed off all the pretty dresses she bought with his money while he and María watched the makeshift fashion show. He didn't mind one bit.

Now, Frankie takes a step forward and places his hands on her arms, her skin soft and warm beneath his rough hands.

“I’m a fucking coward,” he tells her. “Every single time I've wanted to tell you, I’ve let you go.”

She frowns at her shoes and whispers his name. “I can't,” she says. “Please don't say it.”

What?

“I…” He grasps at the air for something to say and falters. “I don't understand. Help me understand.”

Another sob leaves her mouth when she meets his eye. “I’ve waited years for you, Francisco,” she says, the words toppling onto him. Demolitions. Smoke. “If you say it now, I won't be able to stop myself from saying it back.”

He's in fragments on the floor. The world shifts from one axis to the other, back and forth, teetering over the blackness of space. “Honey, please just let me—”

“Frankie. I mean it.” She takes a step back, gently brushing him off her. There's nothing malicious in the action, but it tugs Frankie’s heart along with it. She's holding it in her hands, the way he's always wanted to do with hers. “Right now, I feel like I’m about to fall apart, and I don't think I can have that conversation with you.” She swipes her thumb under her eyes.

“No.” It comes out strangled and pathetic, like regurgitating stones. “No. Don’t go. Fucking stay. I—shit, I need you to stay.”

He's being a selfish asshole. His foot is in his mouth. She's hurt and needs space and now he can't let her go. What is wrong with him?

He knows it was the wrong thing to say. Hurt floods her eyes. “I’ve been patient,” she says evenly. “But I thought you wanted nothing to do with me. You married Lisa, you had María, and I tried to move on. Maybe it isn't about what you need right now, Frank.”

He doesn't know why he gets angry, but he suspects he'll realise later that he's mad at himself. Which means he doesn't stop himself from digging deeper. “Are you serious? You've been fucking around with a hundred other guys because you wanted me? Tell me how that makes sense, honey, because it doesn't make a goddamn inch of sense to me.”

He regrets every word right away. Her face falls and her fingers touch her own throat like he threw a sucker-punch to it. Her entire body shrinks in on itself, and she looks like she does when Matt makes her feel small, worthless. But it wasn't Matt. Frankie did that. Frankie, who's supposed to be her friend. He wants to throw up. How could he ever think he could be good to her?

She swallows and gathers all her breath to make herself a bit taller. Frankie begins to shake his head, reaching for her. His stomach plummets when she flinches away. “I’m sorry. Fuck, I’m so sorry. I never should have said that. I didn't mean—”

“You wouldn't have said it if you didn't mean it, Frankie,” she says. Her voice is still collected, if a bit cooler, and it only makes him sink further into despair. “Don't take it back. I know you never liked any of them. That doesn't mean you get to talk to me like I’m just a whore when you were about to tell me you loved me.”

She's right. She's so right and he's so stupid. “Please.” He doesn't move for her, but he can't let her leave. He can't let them go their separate ways like this. “I’m sorry.”

“I know,” she says. “But that really hurt, Frankie. I’m exhausted, and my ankle is killing me, and Benny’s about to fight. I’m going to go find the others now. Okay?”

No . No, it's not okay. None of this is okay. “Don't…” He pulls at his collar. He's burning alive. “Don't leave it like this.”

There's a hollowness in her eyes. “You made that choice for me,” she says. “Just… do me a favour. Stay at Pope’s tonight.”

It's an unspoken code. Frankie can get down on life, on himself. He's been busted for taking things that make him feel lighter, but it only ever lasts as long as the drugs. He's clean, and he wants to stay clean. But he feels that familiar urge, that self-loathing that makes him itch for the powder. He won't do it. It'll make things worse. It'll make her look at him differently, and he's fucked everything up already.

“I will,” he promises.

She limps away to join the madness of the ring. Frankie’s heart goes with her.

“So, you shouted at her.”

“Yeah.”

“After she just ran away from her ex, who had put his hands on her and undid weeks of physiotherapy.”

“Yes, Pope. I did.”

“She practically confessed she's been in love with you since before Lisa, and then you implied she was a whore.”

“I didn't—”

“She's sleeping in her goddamn car, Frank.”

Frankie slams his hands down on the table, enjoying the brief sting of pain. “Jesus Christ. I know it was wrong. I know. Okay?”

Santiago shakes his head. “I don't think you do get it, asshole. I think you wanted to tell her you loved her because she was finally available. It was fucking selfish, Frank, and you know it.”

Frankie runs his hands through his hair. It's been a while since she cut it.

“Fuck.”

Pope is right.

Frankie became a soldier at that moment. A soldier with one goal: tell her the truth before she slipped away. And he neglected everything else. Her feelings, her fear, her uncertainty. And when he couldn't accomplish his mission, he panicked. He kept her close, pressured her, and never gave her room to breathe.

He threw away his friendship with her over a few petty words.

Frankie doesn't hear from her for a week. He asks around, consults her family and friends, but not even Benny, Will, or Pope have seen her. She's still on leave since her physiotherapist sent in a report detailing Erickson’s assault, but she typically makes a habit of checking in with her friends. It's why Frankie stays at Santiago’s, drinking enough to put him to sleep at night but never using. He dreams of his Fox at night. They’re different dreams than he usually finds himself living in. She isn't panting and moaning and screaming his name while he pounds into her. He dreams of her smiling and laughing and lying with him in his bed. She's safe in his dreams. She's with him, and he's good to her.

Frankie sleeps past noon the day she shows up on Santiago’s doorstep.

Santiago is dressed and he's already eaten, but neither he nor Frankie mind him leaving out some cold eggs and bacon for Frankie to munch on when he decides to get his lazy ass out of bed. He wanders downstairs eventually, scratching the back of his neck and grumbling “Good morning” even though it isn't. She's not here. She seems to be nowhere.

The knock at the door is clear but rushed. Santiago opens it to find her standing on his porch, dressed in a pair of ratty (men’s?) jeans, rolled up several times at the ankles, and a sweatshirt for a college she didn't attend. Her hair is tucked into the hood and she smiles grimly. “Hi.”

“Holy shit.” Santiago takes in the dark half-moons beneath her eyes and the tremor in her hands. But he notices the bruises most. Her lip is split, while her left cheekbone is shiny and purple. There's a cut on the slope of her nose and her forehead. He steps out onto the porch so Frankie can't overhear them or see her beat-up face. “Holy shit, Fox.”

“I know.” She brings him into a hug. “I’m so sorry, Santi. I’m in trouble. Couldn't contact you.”

He catches her sharp inhale when his hand brushes her side. He eyes her sternly. “What the fuck is going on?”

“It's Matt.” She rolls her eyes, but he sees tears well in the whites. “He found me the other night. Didn't like that I left. At least he didn't get my ankle again. Handcuffed him to the stove before he could try.”

Santiago pinches the bridge of his nose. Her relentless optimism is often refreshing, but right now, he's really fucking pissed off. “Is he put away?”

“Affirmative. Had to answer a lot of questions, but I sort of found myself asking a lot more.” She sighs. “I think he's into something. I’m being followed.”

Santiago frowns. “Drug pusher?”

“Not sure. All I know is I look like I had a fight with a blender, and I’ve seen a couple vehicles tailing me in the last couple days. Had to ditch my car.” She squeezes his arm. “I’m sorry I didn't reach out, Santiago. You didn't deserve to worry like that. None of you.”

Not even Frankie. It's unspoken, but he heard it in the way her words falter in the end. “You want to talk to him?” offers Santiago.

“Has he been…” She clears her throat. “Is he clean?”

“As a whistle. If you don't count whiskey.”

She smiles, and it's real. “Good. That's good.”

“He's not going to be happy to see you like this.”

“He's seen me take bullets,” she counters. “This is a walk in the park.”

That's not true—Frankie pouts when she gets a papercut—but Santiago nods. “You want something to eat?”

She shakes her head. “I’ve probably stayed too long already. I don't want you wrapped up in this. Whatever this is.”

He ushers her inside and makes sure there aren't any suspicious vehicles nearby before he locks the door. She isn't limping anymore, but the state of her face makes up for it by leaps and bounds.

Santiago squeezes her hand before he leaves to give them privacy. “He's been a total asshole without you around.”

She gives him a wry look. “I’m not going to forgive him, but I’m not going to chew him out, either. He already knows he's an idiot.”

She walks alone into the kitchen. He's sitting at the table and poking some cold eggs with a fork. “Frankie?”

The sound of her voice is something from his dreams. His head jerks up, expecting to find a shadow or a whisper only to wake up alone. But she's there. She's in the kitchen with him, standing just past the doorway. He feels the beat of his heart thrum back to life where it lay in her hands, at the same time his stomach plummets and his meagre breakfast threatens to lurch back up his throat. Frankie bolts to his feet.

She's been beaten.

“Who—”

“I’m okay.”

They speak at the same time, and a rapid silence overtakes the room. Frankie takes a step toward her. She doesn't move away. His fingers flex. He wants to touch her. He wants to tend to her wounds the way he's done so many times in the field.

No. He wants to touch her like a friend, a partner, a lover. He wants to be gentle and crack jokes and make her laugh. He wants to see her eyes scrunch up with joy.

He wants to kill who did this to her, but the urge to care for her overwhelms his tenuous anger.

“It’ll heal,” she says plainly.

He does not say a word.

“You've been my best friend for ten years, Frankie. That doesn't go away with a mistake. But I need your help, and it helps if this isn't painfully awkward.”

He understands the implication. I’m not here to make up.

“What's going on?” he asks. “I—we haven't heard from you.”

“I’m in trouble,” she tells him. It's straightforward as a soldier, but there's something else.

He's fine-tuned to her voice, the way she sounds when she’s angry all the way to jumping for joy. This sounds like fear, and it radiates all the way from his ears to his feet. “What’s happening?” he asks. “I want to help you, Foxy, I swear it. I’ll do anything.”

She smiles. It's coloured with exhaustion, agony, and a little gratefulness. “Thank you.”

The safe house is a little ways outside St. Augustine: an hour or so in Frankie’s truck if he takes the usual route to the coast. But he doesn't. He swerves between freeways, doubles back three times, and stops at four different service centres using three different credit cards and one with cash. It makes for one hell of a confusing trail, and it takes them four hours (and change) to get within a mile of the destination, but it seems to be working so far.

She’s silent for most of the trip, her knees drawn up to her chest and her body tilted toward the passenger’s side window. She watches the trees and roads speed by with her cheek in her palm. It's nighttime now. The lights of other cars illuminate the shiny bruises on her face, making Frankie tighten his grip on the steering wheel.

It's his fault. It’s all his fault that Erickson went back for her.

“How long have you had this place?” she asks. Her voice is raspy from disuse.

Frankie checks his rearview mirror to make sure no one follows him when he turns onto a side street that leads into town. “Me and the guys paid for it. Thought it would be good to have somewhere to go in the state. Just in case.”

She nods thoughtfully. “I like it here. It’s refreshing.”

He has so many things he wants to say. He needs to apologise, to beg for her forgiveness. He's going to get on his knees and plead with her. He won't lose his best friend because he got angry and stupid. But right now, he needs to protect her. He can do at least that.

“It's coastal,” says Frankie. “Should give you a good view.”

“Always thinking of the little guy, Cat,” she says playfully. He doesn't miss the hurt that still lingers in her tone. Neither of them can forget the things they said that day.

She confessed to wanting him before he married Lisa, and he threw it in her face. She will never want him again, but he will be forever damned if he doesn't make things right and earn the privilege of being her friend again.

“You aren't the little guy,” he says, making another turn. Ahead, he sees a familiar white wraparound porch. “War hero, remember?”

She snorts. “War hero who can't put up a fight against her psychotic ex-boyfriend.”

His frown deepens until he's technically pouting. “Fox…”

“Just fucking around, Frank.” She extends her leg and gently prods his thigh with her foot. His heart leaps to his throat. “Been through worse.”

His chest is fluttering from the simple touch alone. He doesn't know what he'd do if she truly touched him. Skin against skin.

“Focus, Catfish. Don’t want you fallin’ down on the job.”

“Eat my cue ball, Ironhead.”

“If you two don't shut up, I will shove this cue down your pants.”

A stranger sidled up behind her where she bent over the billiards table and swigged his beer. “Very nice,” he said, eyes on her ass in those tight jeans as she sunk the 12 ball.

Frankie frowned deeply at him. He had left his friends at the bar to approach her, and all of them were watching as he tried to engage her in conversation. Clearly, a bet had been made. “You from around here?”

“Are you trying to get under my skirt, out-of-towner?” She clicked her tongue. “For shame. Never wear a dress shirt to a bar.”

“C’mon,” he persisted. “We’ll buy your drinks.”

“I’m set,” she said politely. “But I don't want to be passed around.”

The man’s eyes travelled down toward her breasts. “You sure?”

Pope was the first to speak up, shouldering his way into the conversation. “Hey. My eyes are up here, buddy,” he says, more easy-going than Frankie would be if he trusted himself to speak.

Will sunk his next ball and clapped the man on the shoulder. “Try your luck somewhere else. She's taken.”

“What, by you?” scoffed the stranger.

“Nah, dickhead. By him.” Will jerked his head in Frankie’s direction.

Frankie, whose knuckles were white around his cue, didn’t register what's happening until she took a step away from the stranger and wrapped her hand around his bicep. The touch blossomed from the point of contact until it festered like a sore deep within his chest. She was touching him.

“Wanna take a picture, or you wanna fuck off?” said Frankie coolly.

The stranger lifted his hands in the air. “Can see when I’m not winning. Sorry.”

She rolled her eyes when he was gone and stepped away. “I’m sorry, Frank,” she said softly. “I won't tell Lisa or anything. Will shouldn't have…”

Frankie shook his head and kissed her temple in case the men were still watching. “Don't. He was bothering you.”

He didn't wear his wedding ring, and neither did Lisa, unless her parents were around. He should have loved her the way he did the girl in front of him. They both love María, their beautiful little girl, their light. But they never ached for each other the way Frankie does Fox.

Frankie pulls into the driveway. He recalls that night, the way her hand felt so assured around him. He recalls aching for it to be real, for him to stand up for her because he is with her, because he gets to sleep with her every night and love her freely. He's missed every single chance.

Nestled in a small neighbourhood near the highway and surrounded by fields of farmland, the house is quaint and painted a muted grey. The porch slinks around the house, a bench swinging in the gentle breeze. “Frank, the door,” she says. “Only half of it is painted.”

Frankie eyes the front door, dark green from the doorknob to the ground. “Got high with Pope,” he grumbles.

She hums her understanding and he escorts her inside. It's as plain inside as outside, a one-floor home with a small kitchen on the right and a living room to the left. In the hallway ahead lies doors to the bathroom and the bedroom. The singular bedroom.

“I’ll sleep on the couch,” he blurts out when her eyes land on the two doors down the hall. “Have before.”

She frowns up at him. “I brought this down on you, Cat. You take the bed.”

“Don't start. That couch is uncomfortable as shit.”

“Okay, you've convinced me.”

“I’ll get the bags.” He gently lifts her chin to examine her face, all clinical. “Bathroom’s on the left. I’ll meet you in there.”

She lifts a brow. “I can clean myself up.”

He grunts. “I’ve always been the better medic.”

He drops the bags on the floor and digs out the medical supplies from underneath the kitchen sink. She has shed her hoodie and remains in a tight tank top, examining bruises on her throat in the shape of fingers. His eye twitches.

“I know you're pissed,” she says without looking at him. “If it helps, I am, too. Never thought I’d have to fight him off like that. Just… wasn't in my best form.”

Frankie gently touches her side as he moves around her. “Up,” he says gruffly. She knows the drill; a hundred times over they’ve had to patch one another up in the field. This should feel no different. She settles herself on the countertop while he fishes around for a bandage. “You hurt anywhere else?”

It's the question he's been avoiding, but it's necessary. She shrugs. “Mostly just got me in the face.”

“That the truth?”

She breathes slower when he touches her face to clean off the cut on her forehead, and she holds her breath altogether when he gets to her lips. “Frank,” she says. It's a whisper, a leaf tumbling and drifting on a breeze, quiet as night.

He meets her eye after he's secured the bandage to her forehead. “Tell me.”

She lifts her hips and shimmies her too-big jeans down her legs. He's seen her in her underwear before, but it doesn't fail to make him feel like he's drowning. “He cut me here,” she says, showing him a knife slash on her inner thigh near her pelvis, and another just beneath the waistband of her panties. “And here.”

He swallows, seeing red. His hand finds her skin, gravitating to it like it’s an opposite charge, and he’s touching her thigh before he knows it. “Fuck,” he rasps. “Fuckin’ kill him.” The man cut up her perfect, smooth skin. He was supposed to cherish and protect her and make her feel beautiful. He fucking hurt her, and Frankie was not there to stop him. To rip him apart. He wants to feel his knuckles break upon impact.

She releases a shaky breath. He feels it ruffle his hair, so close together in the dim light. “He didn't—”

Frankie just shakes his head. She goes quiet. He doesn't trust himself to talk; it will probably dig the hole deeper. She watches him clean the cuts, fresh enough that this must've happened last night. Saturday night. It's the day she usually babysits.

She hisses suddenly. “Frankie, gentle, please.” She pries his hand from her thigh.

A wave of nauseating guilt wreaks havoc on his body. “Fuck. I’m sorry,” he croaks.

She plays an intricate game with her fingers as he continues to clean her wounds. He applies a worn-out tube of polysporin to the cut on her thigh. “Do you think María hates me now?” she asks, her voice soft and vulnerable as ever when it comes to his daughter. “Y’know, since I missed out on babysitting last week?”

He hums. “She couldn't hate you if you took all her toys away.”

“Don’t say a thing like that, Francisco. She’ll hear you.” Her head falls back and knocks gently against the wall. Her eyes slip shut. “You never told me what happened in Peru.”

“You… really don’t wanna know what happened in Peru, Fox.” Frankie grits his teeth, his hand coming to rest on her hip over that thin scrap of a tank top. “Promise.”

“You’re not giving me enough credit,” she says firmly, pinning him with a stare. “I’ve been your partner for ten years, Francisco. Lisa and I were terrified. She thought she was going to lose her baby’s dad, and I thought I was going to lose my best friend. You were gone for way longer than you said you’d be, and when you came back, none of you would talk about what happened. Redfly was gone, and all of you just—just moved on. You closed up.”

The least Frankie can do is look up and meet her eye. But he can’t. He just keeps his hand on her hip, gently stroking the bone with his thumb.

“You want to know something silly? Even when you and Lisa got married, I thought I still had a chance with you.” At that, his head jerks up at last, and he finds her eyes brimming with tears. “Stupid, right? I thought…” She scoffs, shaking her head. “I could deal with you not loving me, but you not trusting me hurt so much more.”

He squeezes her hip. “Honey…” His teeth clack together with how hard he bites down on his own jaw. “I haven’t trusted any of those guys with a rat shit’s worth of how much I trust you. You’ve taken a bullet for me, for fuck’s sake. It’s just… Losing Tom, killing those people, all for nothing. Jesus, I hate myself for how well I sleep considering everything I’ve done.”

“It wasn’t for nothing,” she says indignantly. “It can’t have been for nothing.”

That just makes him feel more cynical. “Stole about two hundred and fifty million. Came back with what amounted to a million each, and didn’t keep a cent.”

Her lips part in understandable shock, but all she says is, “That’s not what I’m talking about.”

“Nothing good came from it,” says Frankie. “Not a goddamn minute of it. Tom’s dead.”

“Frank.” She steadies her hands on his shoulders as she slips off the vanity and looks up at him. It vaguely occurs to him that she’s still in her panties. “Do you trust me?”

“With my fucking life,” he replies.

“Have I ever steered you wrong?”

“There was that one time when you took a left inside of a right off Madison—”

She repeats her question, and he answers truthfully this time. “No, Fox. You haven’t.”

Even on a roof, scoping the enemy, or in his daughter’s bedroom, singing a gentle lullaby, or in the barracks, trading jokes (Frankie) and wisdom (Fox). Every word that has ever escaped her perfect lips has coiled itself around his heart.

“Then trust me to tell you the truth.” She tugs on the hems of his sleeves with her fingers. “You have the biggest heart I’ve ever seen. Sometimes, I want to rip it out and examine it under a microscope just to watch it work the way it does. And sometimes, I want to beat you over the head with it. I know it’s hard. I’ve had my fair share of shit I had to trudge through in order to just fucking function every day. But you gotta know how good you are, Frank. You have to. Because if you don’t, there isn’t any hope for the rest of us.” She adjusts the cap on his head. “Killing and fighting isn’t who we are. It’s what we do. I’ll make something to eat.”

With that, she’s gone, slipping past him, leaving him cold and stunned and unable to speak. She’s all the wisdom of a prophet, sunshine in a human body, the first crack of a firework and the muffled silence of dipping your head underwater. She’s the serenity of dusk. He doesn’t know how to gather all the love that spills through his fingers.

#kiwisbell's fics #pedro pascal fic #frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x f!reader #triple frontier #francisco catfish morales #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales smut #frankie morales x you #triple frontier fanfiction

391 notes · View notes

asirensrage · 10 months

Note

can you Write a scenario in demon slayer on how each character would react if y/n had the ability to use her rare blood type to fully turn anyone back to human. How would each hashira react in this situation at the hashira meeting by ubuyashiki. And what would be there plans be for her? This is also including muzan as at some point a demon will report of this new finding.

Alright! This is the first kind of ask I've received like this. I'm not sure how well it's going to go, lol, but I'm going to do my best! Thanks for asking and I hope you like it! (I haven't written for them in a while so please lmk what you think)

Rating: T Pairings: None (mention of canon pairings) Warnings: Death threats (from Muzan), slight swearing. Suggested consensual experimentation? Unbeta'd Also, there are references to canon backstories but no major details

Before the Meeting:

You stand to the side, waiting.

You hadn’t entirely planned for your ability to be revealed, you didn’t even know it existed until the attack, but after the demon and its sudden and confusing transformation, you couldn’t ignore what happened. You couldn’t ignore that they needed help.

One of the demon slayers who found you in the aftermath brought you to meet the Ubuyashiki family and the leader of the Slayers. In that meeting, you learned everything and he reveals to you that you had the potential to change the world in their favour. As terrifying as it is, you could save people. The Ubuyashiki’s look at you as if you’re a saviour. Honestly? You have no clue what you’re doing.

That doesn’t stop him from calling a meeting of the Hashira, the strongest slayers of their time. If anyone is going to help you achieve this new goal of theirs, it’s them. So you wait, trying not to fidget in your nervousness as you feel their gazes on you before Ubuyashiki arrives.

The Reactions:

Sanemi

It’s strange for them to be called this soon and he hasn’t taken his eyes off of you. You’re a stranger and despite knowing you could only be here with permission. He doesn’t trust it but he waits. He’ll hear it from the master himself.

You’re introduced and honestly? He’s confused. It’s not possible. It shouldn’t be possible and if it was anyone except the Master, he wouldn’t believe it. He still doesn’t believe it.

“Not that I am doubting you, Master,” he calls out. “But you can’t expect us to believe this without proof.”

“Of course, I wouldn’t, my children, but I do ask that you trust me. Their abilities have been seen by multiple slayers in the incident it was revealed.”

“Tch,” he mutters but he nods.

It’s fine. He’ll keep an eye on them. Maybe if their blood actually works, they can get rid of Muzan and Genya will finally be fucking safe.

Shinobu

Shinobu is aware of the stranger but isn’t concerned. You wouldn’t be here unless you served a purpose and when you’re finally introduced, she’s fascinated.

There’s never been a recorded case of someone with the ability to transform a demon into a human, the complete opposite of Muzan and his creatures' abilities. It’s fascinating and the first thing she’s going to do once this meeting is over is make sure you return with her to the Butterfly Mansion. She needs to compare your blood to a regular human's and see if there is any difference. There has to be a way to measure the ability.

She wonders if Wisteria would have any effect on you and she’s already calculating the tests she can do. As Master Ubuyashiki replies to Sanemi, it occurs to her…could your blood help him? Could it stop the illness or remove it completely? She needs to look into this.

Tengen

“How flashy!”

Tengen has never heard of anything like your ability in his life, but he can’t wait to see it in action. He knows it’s bound to be spectacular. He can hear the way your heartbeat increases the longer you stand there under their speculative gazes and he offers his compliments in order to help ease the stress. It doesn’t seem to work but you nod back to him and smile. Rengoku’s additional praise seems to fluster you further under the attention. Tengen just laughs and tells his friend that the end might actually be in sight.

He knows he’s not wrong. It would be an incredible thing to see and if it’s true, they need to keep you safe. Shinobu will likely figure out some plan to use your ability without putting you in danger and if they can completely eradicate the demons? It’ll be a flamboyant end. Perhaps then he can keep Hinata’s promise and get the chance to live with his wives in peace. The way they deserve.

Kyojuro

It’s unusual for a Hashira meeting to be called so soon. He can admit that his curiosity is piqued at your presence but he can wait until it’s satisfied. Whatever he was expecting, it is not the news that their master presented. An ability to transform a demon back into a human? It seems impossible but if that master agrees, he can only imagine the possibilities. The idea that Senjuro may not feel the need to follow him into this danger is enough to fuel his desire for this to be the truth.

He is unashamed as he gazes at you, taking in your countenance and stance. You’re untrained. He can see it as clearly as he sees the determination in your eyes. It’s admirable. The path ahead of you will be dangerous but you are a spark of hope that he can fan into a blaze. You’re untrained but not for long. He’ll ensure you have the skill to survive. Whatever it takes.

Giyuu

It seems like a dream when Master Ubuyashiki informs them of the reason for your presence. He’s not sure what’s more surprising. The news of your ability or the relief that sets in his chest at the fact that you can turn Nezuko back and save him and Master Urookodaki from needing to fulfill their promise. He doesn’t regret the choice he made but he wants to keep his Master from needing to keep it.

He glances at you out of the corner of his eye and wonders how you came to be here. Who did you lose to find out you were capable of such things? Did you hold the same guilt he has about being too late? He hopes not. It may seem like a cruel thing for the world to give you this, but the potential is worth it. It has to be. He’ll help as much as he can.

Muichiro

Muichiro is listening. He is. But he can’t help his thoughts from wandering as he processes the news. Were you like a demon? It sounds like a blood demon art but you’re standing in the sun so it can’t be that. Maybe something else? What else could do that? His gaze wanders to the clouds as he thinks. One of them looks like a rice ball. Or…a cat?

The Master called them here because of you but you haven’t spoken. He’s not sure if it’s true or not but if that master says it is, it is. He can trust that.

He continues listening, even as he decides that the cloud is more of a frog now.

Obanai

His eyes narrow as he watches you. It seems convenient that you’ve emerged now. First the demon in a box and now this. It’s suspicious in his opinion. Still, he won’t go against Master Ubuyashiki’s orders. If he believes you can help, then Obanai will wait and see. He doesn't believe it, not until he sees it for himself, but he’ll let you be.

That doesn’t mean that he won’t keep an eye on you though. He doesn’t trust you, no matter what the Master says. You’re a stranger and he wouldn’t be surprised if this was some elaborate trap. He knows you can’t always trust humans, even when you want to. So he’ll wait and he’ll make sure you don’t get the chance to spring the trap. He’ll keep his comrades safe. Especially Mitsuri. He already knows that she’s dying to meet you properly. He’ll be right there with her when she does. Just in case.

Mitsuri

The news is a surprise, but Mitsuri can’t help but be excited! This was the best thing she’s heard. She loves being a demon slayer, and she loves her friends that she’s made but this could change everything! People would be saved! It’s the best thing she’s heard at one of these meetings, even with the last one where she met the adorable Tanjiro and his sister. The fact that you want to help? It’s wonderful.

You look a little scared though and it’s enough to make her want to reach out and comfort you. It must be intimidating to be faced with them, even if Mitsuri knows they’re not scary. Not really. Still, she makes up her mind quickly. She’s going to properly introduce herself after the meeting. She’ll even drag Obanai with her. The three of you will be great friends, she just knows it!

Gyomei

He murmurs prayers at the news. It’s fantastic but his heart can’t help but mourn for the tragedy you must have faced in your discovery. His eyes fill with tears that don’t hesitate to fall. It must have terrified you and to think, you have a bright soul that has still made the choice to help others. It’s commendable. It is tragic. And yet, he feels only hope as you are discussed.

He doesn't know how it’s possible, but he prays and gives his thanks that they’ve found you. That they are given this chance to protect you as you help them save people. It is a worthwhile effort and one that he will not waste. He could not save the children under his protection and he holds no grudge against the choices that were made, but he will do better now. He will help you reach your potential and save all that you can.

Plus!

Muzan

When Muzan hears the news of you, he laughs. It cannot be real. There are none but him who can change a being into another. And yet…he feels the disconnection. He knows that he is losing demons as fast as he can replace them. It’s strange. They’re not dead, but they are gone.

There are no recorded incidents about being able to turn demons into humans, but Muazn isn’t stupid. There were none that did the opposite before him. He sets out his demands, giving the orders to his Upper Moons. Bring you to him. He wants to see if it’s true and if it is? Well, he wants to see what else you’re capable of. Maybe you can do more. If your blood can turn a demon into a human, could a diluted form give him the ability to walk in the sun like he wants? Think of the possibilities.

And if not? He’ll satisfy his curiosity and make sure to kill you himself.

demon slayer taglist: @renhoeku

#hashira reactions #hashira x reader #demon slayer fic #kimetsu no yaiba fic #requests #meekermoo #asks #demon slayer

60 notes · View notes

grissomesque · 4 months

Note

I like silent movies

From the csi prompts! J/P maybe 👀✨

Eee, thank you, @regionalpancake! And I'm sorry this has taken so very long - in between the asking for prompts and now I've been sick twice and am in fact still sick, this being the annual punishment for my taking a vacation.

I hope you like it! I tried to keep it short 🤍

The Better Part of Valor g / fluff / 1070 words / ao3

Turbolifts, when they fail, make a uniquely identifiable sound. It is the sound, Kathryn thinks now, of inevitability. The overhead lights flicker, die, and come back online at the one-quarter brightness indicative of backup generators at work, and this, exactly this, is why Kathryn has so far in her career made a point of not drinking on the holodeck while in command, even off-duty. Because in space, there’s no telling when one might become trapped with one’s senior staff.

She wouldn’t say that she is drunk, per se. And Tom seems perfectly at his ease, though she has long since learned that how Tom seems is no indicator of his sobriety. But then she looks to her left, to where Harry, with his wide eyes and his gin and tonic buzz, seems to be regretting every decision he’s made this evening since uttering those fateful words, if you'd care to join us, you'd be welcome.

She doesn’t take this personally. In his place, she, too, would fear what might come out of her mouth while stuck in a turbolift, inebriated, with her commanding officer.

She shoots a dark look at Tom. Careful, it warns.

I’m always careful, his eyes protest.

Praying to the gods of starship malfunctions for serenity, Kathryn slams the palm of her hand against her combadge and barks, “Engineering, report.”

“It’s just the turbolifts, Captain,” B’Elanna responds. “We don’t know what happened, yet, so I don’t have an ETA for you.”

“Just the turbolifts,” Tom mutters.

“I am in a turbolift, Lieutenant, so I would appreciate your urgent attention to this matter,” Kathryn says.

“Yes, ma’am,” B’Elanna answers vaguely, and then the comm line goes dead.

“Well,” Tom says.

“She’s… like that, when she’s focused,” Kathryn offers. “Or so I’m told.”

An awkward silence descends over the group. Until Harry, in what can only be a fit of nervous hysteria, suggests, “How about a game?”

He pitches a ‘getting-acquainted’ game he claims to have played at the Academy. They’ll each take turns asking each other questions, and if the ask-ee refuses to answer… well. Well, if they refuse, then… that’s their prerogative.

“So, Truth or Dare,” Tom says. “Without the dare.”

“No!” Harry protests. “No, no, nothing like that, it’s just a getting to know you game, like, like an orientation game…”

“It’s Truth or Dare,” Kathryn says resignedly. It shouldn’t surprise her that this is what would come to mind, Harry being such a recent graduate. He probably thinks it’s a safe choice. Safer than some others, certainly, though she can’t imagine Harry, of all people, playing—

“That’s not all we played at the Academy,” Tom winks, as though reading her mind.

Serenely, she steps on his foot as hard as she can. “Go ahead, Harry. You go first.”

I’m serious, she tries to reiterate with the force of her stare.

Tom scratches his chin. It’s just Harry. It’ll be fine.

Kathryn, lowering herself to sit cross-legged on the floor, pinches the bridge of her nose at him in sincere disagreement.

By unspoken consensus, they ask the only most absurdly innocuous questions anyone participating in this hallowed tradition has ever posed. For instance: “Um. Favorite color?” Kathryn asks Harry, while Tom smothers a laugh.

“Okay. If you had to bunk with someone, like, say artificial gravity goes out and deck seven’s evacuated for a week, who would you pick?” Harry asks Tom a few turns later. And Tom—either indeed less sober than he appears or else simply in the mood to court danger—glances over at Kathryn, who flushes.

“Please do not speak of such things aloud in a broken turbolift,” she tells Harry. “Our luck out here so far, that’ll be next.”

“It hasn’t been so bad,” Harry objects. Sweet, earnest Harry. Her skepticism must show on her face, because he adds, “Really, Captain. Voyager is—you’ve made this ship our home away from home. We all believe in you.”

She doesn’t know what to say to this. Blames the whiskey for the emotion that wells up inside her, the impulse, which she obeys, to take Harry’s hand and squeeze it lightly. He looks pleased, if a little flustered.

Tom comes to their rescue. “All right, all right. Captain: what’s your favorite movie?”

Harry frowns. “Movie? Don’t you mean holonovel?”

“I certainly do not,” Tom says, scandalized. “But speaking of which, remember that one—”

“I like silent movies,” Kathryn interrupts meaningfully. “Ones that are silent.”

Harry looks between them with more suspicion than she would’ve credited. “O…kay….”

“Movie night!” Tom declares. “A movie night is very definitely in our future. Kids these days and their holosuites, unbelievable.”

Harry continues to stare, and frankly, Kathryn can’t blame him.

“You can tell him,” she sighs.

“Finally!” Tom explodes. “I’ve said all along you’re being too—”

“Wait. Did you two know each other? Before?”

“It’s only been—,” she starts to argue, then pivots, seizing the opportunity not quite reveal everything yet. “Yes, we knew each other before.”

“And you told me not to invite her to sit with us!” Harry accuses Tom.

Wait. What? “Why would you do that?” Kathryn asks, feeling oddly put out by this.

“Okay! That, Harry, I would call that a mischaracterization. What I actually said is that captains don’t sit with the lower deckers. Did I use her name? Did I say: Harry Kim, do not under any circumstance invite Kathryn Janeway to join us?”

“I mean,” Harry says, baffled, “yeah. Basically that’s what you said. You said that if she wanted our company she would ask for it.”

And that, actually, makes sense. Leave it to Tom to hear her request for discretion—just while she sorts out the crew! Many of whom personally object to Tom specifically!—and take it to the absolute limit. “You’re hopeless,” she says, but fondly.

“I would’ve said ‘devoted’,” Tom agrees.

Suddenly, and with an almighty lurch that does not immediately feel like deliverance, the turbolift car heaves itself back into motion. They blink under the full-strength lights.

“Well, that wasn’t so bad,” Tom says.

“Do I still get a ‘movie night’?” Harry asks.

“Of course!” Tom cries, throwing his arm around Harry’s shoulders. “And you know,” he adds for Kathryn’s benefit, dropping his voice to a stage whisper, “people didn't go to the movies just for the movies.”

“What did they go for?” Harry asks. Sweet, earnest Harry.

“Popcorn,” Tom and Kathryn say, together.

#spot the glaring 'bad ensign' reference #prompts #star trek voyager fic #asks #grissomesque writes #janeway x paris

11 notes · View notes

new-berry · 2 months

Note

Thiago Silva and Conor Gallagher? the two people who won’t lose their heads after a shit match but then find themselves the last ones in the dressing room with a lot of pent up feelings (frustration, rage, lust, etc etc) between them

NSFW sort of consensual non con after the carabo cup game

Cole is the hardest. Becuase he’s trying the hardest hard to be brave about it. He’s not used to being in the losing side

Conor tells him flat out it’s better to cry and get it out of your system. Better to feel the loss and move on.

He’s taken players to bed before. Nights like this. Tonight he just dumps them on Misha because he doesn’t drink and will get them all home safe.

Now he motions to Thiago and slides out of the dressing room avoiding the still circling press filing late reports.

There’s an ache that won’t be filled with crying or replaying the game in his mind or calling an old teammate. It won’t even be filled by Thiago except he is deeply and regretfully gets it.

Gets how losing gets in your bones and along your nerve endings. And how sometimes to need to feel

something else instead.

Thiago’s texting Bella as Conor pulls out of the car park and Conor suddenly fiercely loves her as well. He’s been with them both before. A different kind of taking care. But this time it’s just him and Thiago. His hands flex and he can feel the rub of anticipation in his thighs and his mouth.

They don’t make it into the house. Thiago undies his seatbelt and tells Conor to give him a minute. It’s stupid to fall for it. In a better state of mind he wouldn’t. His car door is wrenched open and he hasn’t got his seatbelt off.

Thiago stuffs something into his mouth. His dark eyes look foreign as the light from the garbage door slowly turns off. Conor has left the headlights on but they will turnoff themselves in time. For now the taste of leather gloves in his mouth and the seat shoved back. His hands tangled in a belt or a rope, it’s a little spongy maybe the cords he has left to the side after taking skis off the roof of his car.

Thiago swallows him down, his legs awkwardly splayed pants thrown aside, still half wearing one sock. He struggles because Thiago likes that, he likes it to. Tunes into the cruel things Thiago is saying to him how he’s only good for cock, how they keep him around as a willing slut.

His hands are rough showing Conor’s thighs apart and his teeth make his body twist as Thiago moves his mouth slowly up Conor’s cock. Scraping down harder as he gets to the tip.

Conor’s brain is frothing registering the sensation of teeth as panic and pleasure. He sobs out “please stop I don’t want it.”

Thiago just laughs at him. Shoves two fingers in him up to the first knuckle and says, almost like a conversation, “I’m going to fuck your pretty ass over the front of your car and make you lick it up.”

The headlights cut to half beam as Conor begs and Thiago laughs. He can’t remember what got them here. Let’s his mind empty out.

#fic #also fun #also might to more of this

4 notes · View notes

cyberrat · 2 years

Text

61st Batch Of Fics: 2nd Fill

Angelo/Cole/Lúcio/Genji – Milky AU – Part 72 – consensual; casual fucking – Angelo finds a new aspect of being a cow.

---

Lúcio leans against the side of the fucking machine first but its movements are too unsteady so he awkwardly stands on the soft mats surrounding it, looking like a pirate weathering the sea as he thrusts he taps around on his phone, then smiles brightly and thrusts it at Angelo’s face.

“Here! Look at this! Symmetra has it uploaded to your folder on the farm’s main server. That folder was pretty empty up until then, ya know? But it’s bursting at the seams now.”

What plays on Lúcio’s phone is a video; and while Angelo knows instinctively what it’ll show, it still shocks him to see his own face and body as he crawls over the barn floor of their own farm and begs quite loud and obscene for any and all studs to fuck him, and if that is not possible, would they please just use him as a urinal? He’s been a good cow and would love taking care of their needs?

Heat floods his body again. He would have stopped on the spot but the machine just rocks along, fucking his oversensitive hole while he stares at the clips that Lúcio is showing him; things he’s completely forgotten ever happened or never has processed much in the first place being deep in his head and just drunk on getting fucked.

Lúcio looks… like a proud parent, really. He is bouncing on the spot, though Angelo can’t tell whether that is because he’s excited or because of the wobbly mats he’s standing on.

“Honestly, these are all so good? I did not think that this Symmetra person would be so fun, if I’m hones. She seems super up tight? But these are all awesome – look, here are a few from that time she took you out from the farm? You went to a Milk Bar, how fun is that?! Look at you going, servicing all those civilians.”

Lúcio’s finger moves the video along, letting Angelo watch in fast forward his complete descent into madness. He can watch himself getting covered in cum before he’s taken out behind the bar and someone first hoses him down before sticking that very same hose into his rectum to wash him out from the inside.

Lúcio takes his finger off right then, letting them both watch in real time as Angelo’s belly visibly inflates with water as it rushes into him faster than it can shoot back out past the stopper of the hose.

He kind of remembers the person that is handling the device; they had been a member of the staff. They look polite but still bored as they fill Angelo up like a water balloon and listen to him wailing. He’s fucking the air desperately, obviously more than turned on by even this simple cleaning procedure.

It is insane… especially since Angelo can’t stop staring at their face whenever they’re visible in the video. There is something so captivating about their attitude. Like this is such a normal, everyday occurrence…

“There are so many good moments. If you give the okay, I’d love to put together like a… best of playlist or something. Genji is convinced that we could make you go viral super fast. Honestly, I think so too? Like there’s this video platform for short clips… people’d go nuts for this kind of stuff.”

As he speaks, Lúcio reaches over and pushes a few buttons on the machine, making it go faster and fuck Angelo harder. It’s that kind of… of mundane obscenity that just hits him different. It plucks a cord inside his chest that he hadn’t even known was there.

There is just so much still to learn and so many things he hasn’t put in his paper that he feels now should be absolutely in there. He could write so much more, so many details that have never been talked about in any of the literature because none of those scientists have ever put themselves in the shoes of the cows and let themselves become brainless little fucktoys-

“What do you say? Genji and I could manage the account if you want to…” Lúcio is back at his phone, scrolling through video after video while Angelo is holding on to the fucking machine and tries to focus on the feeling of it methodically moving inside him. It’s just not the same as a real life stud, though; it doesn’t have those unpredictable motions to it that make breeding that much more exciting.

“L-Lúcio-”

Lúcio peers up from the phone and to him. “Hm? What? Hey, you don’t look as happy as I thought you would… hmmm you need some hands-on action. Wait a sec, I’m gonna use the call button, maybe there are some volunteers…”

He pockets his phone and makes his way over to the door of the calf room. His motions are rather unhurried; they have all the time in the world, which is… comforting, in a way. He’s not being rushed and Lúcio does not seem like he’s going to get impatient any time soon.

The others will probably visit them once they have all their snacks gathered, and they’ll sit around and talk while Angelo gets railed by volunteer studs. Just two weeks ago he had gone to more or less great lengths to have his breedings as private as possible, feeling that having an audience would just be too… gauche… but after his time with Symmetra he must admit that his views have changed somewhat.

He does not focus on the ‘watching him’ part as much as he is thinking about the fact that he’ll have company by people that he knows and trusts. Friends.

In the end it comes just as he had predicted that it might: Him on his back, getting his feet held in the air by two completely unfamiliar men while a third is dicking him down to try and get those jitters out of him that had been plaguing him intermittently after the intense week he’s had. They’re just soft aftershocks to what he had experienced, but still more than enough to warrant a treatment such as this.

Genji tries to talk to him about his social media account; he seems to think that Angelo won’t say yes so he keeps badgering him about it to try and convince him when Angelo has already thought that it might be… fun to try but hasn’t had the brain capacity to say as much.

In any case, it is just one more aspect of the mundane obscene; Genji talking to him as if he had any way of replying coherently while he gets railed by stud after stud.

It’s good.

#cyberratting writes stuff #milky au #consensual #fuck hunger

9 notes · View notes

wannabevampire · 3 years

Text

distracted

okay full disclosure i have never written and fic before and words can’t express how nervous i am! i will try my best! obviously this hasn’t been beta read so you guys are just going to have to deal with it 😁

pairings: steve rodgers x bucky barnes x reader, (future natasha romanoff x reader & implied nat x bucky x steve x reader) {yeah guys this is gonna be filthy oops!} ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~dom!steve [hard dom, he’s a lil bit mean] , switch!bucky [very much a soft dom in this!] , sub!reader[very bratty but then very subby!], dom!natasha [need i say more?] (m/m/f - m/f - f/f - m/m <but it’s not very detailed, mostly just implied>) fem!reader btw!!! <3 she/her pronouns are used!

uhhhh warnings? i think this is how it works

nsfw & smut!! ~ 18+ minors do not interact :] 🧁🎧🪐

teasing, orgasm denial, use of sex toys, kissing (idk if that needs a warning), steve being a mean & making us get up early >:^( 🩰 degradation & humiliation & dumbification (oh my!)

this is very tame compared to future chapters lol

(if this gets any love maybe i’ll make a part 2?)

i think that’s it? lmk if i missed something :]

this is the super dirty and pretty kinky! but everything is completely consensual! casual reminder that fanfics and real life sex and kink are very different! this isn’t met to be realistic lol, don’t squirt on your colleagues <333 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~summary 🎧🫖🕊 You don’t want to go to work today. but skipping just isn’t an option when Captain America is your boyfriend. Not even Bucky gives into your pouting lips and batted eyelashes (no matter how hard he wants to). So naturally you decide to make things a little bit more fun! Apparently Steve and Bucky have a very different idea of what fun means. Because before you know it, they’ve taken the liberty of removing your panties filling both of your holes and sending you off to work! The three of you can only hope the rest of the team doesn’t notice….You wouldn’t want to be a distraction. Everything seems to be going well (aside from orgasm denial and prominent submissive head space you’ve been experiencing all day) That is until Natasha Romanoff sees you, and the moment you two lock eyes you know it’s game over. Will she turn the three of you in??? Will she want to help you out??? Is she angry? turned on? read and find out ;) ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~okay let’s do this…hope you enjoys! this is very self indulgent but i hope everyone likes it!!<3 so without further ado…chapter one of distracted!! ☆ 🎧🧁🕊☁️ ☆ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You were having one of those days. You know, the ones when all you want to do is be bossed around and don’t want to make any decisions for yourself? The ones where the last things you want to do is go to work? The ones where you just want to be fucked so hard you forget how to speak english? Yeah you were having THAT kind of day.

6:46am-Tuesday

BEEP BEEP BEEP

“Steven shut that damn clock off you’re ruining my dream.” Bucky Barnes said, his voice muffled from the pillow he was pushing his face into.

“Stevie you’re my boyfriend and I love you dearly but if you don’t turn off that alarm i’m going to hire Wanda to magically throw you into the sun.” You mumbled, burrowing your head into Bucky’s chest.

“Mmmm, it’s cute you think you still think you have a say in things like this. Okay get up, we’ve got several meetings today. Oh and don’t forget about mission planning with Nat at 2pm, she mentioned she’s excited to work with you y/n.” He said softly, almost flirtatiously.

You grumbled incoherently. Trying not to whine when Bucky leaves your side. He climbs out of bed and stands up to meet Steve, kissing him gently in the process. Okay that was the last straw, you whimper. Steve made you get up entirely too early, it’s cold, you hate Tuesdays, it’s really cold, you’re going to have to do all the boring work today, did you mention how cold it was? And on top of that both of your boyfriends were insistent on being the most adorable humans in the world, kissing each other with their messy bed head and sleepy smiles. And here you were alone, watching them kiss and feeling incredibly left out, needy, and cold.

“Jamie,,” you begin.

Giving him your best

-either come over here and eat me out or come over here and cuddle me or so help me god i’m going to be needy and clingy as fuck the entire day-

puppy dog eyes.

Bucky gave you a sympathetic look but just shook his head ever so slightly. Trying to communicate that Steve was very much in a Captain America mood today and that it would best to just do as he says.

“Alright enough of that pathetic puppy dog act, get up. Buck ‘n I will make breakfast.” Steve ordered before turning and walking out the door, Bucky close at his heels. Okay yeah he was definitely not feeling like a Stevie today.

‘Alright’ you thought to yourself. ‘He wants to be Cap today? I can work with that.’

　　　　　　　　　☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

“Holy shit.” Bucky mumbled groggily. Nearly dropping his mug of coffee when he caught a glimpse at your outfit as you bounced into the kitchen.

“Morning Jamie!” You said, seemingly oblivious to the look of absolute lustful shock that played across his features.

After Steve went all ‘mr. dominant-captain america-get out of bed it isn’t that bad- i’m not falling for those puppy eyes- mode’ this morning you took the liberty of playing your own little game.

Quite frankly it wasn’t nearly the dirtiest thing you’d done, but your main priority was to have one of your boys fuck your brains out.

(not that you’d ever tell them but it didn’t take much to wind them up, especially Bucky who had notoriously poor impulse control when it came to his girl).

　　　　　　　 ☆ ☆ J.B.B ☆ ☆

‘Fuck. She’s wearing that goddamn outfit again.’

Bucky thought to himself as he watched you prance into the kitchen. He honestly wished he could say it was just ‘one’ piece of clothing that was making him loose it. But god it was all of it. The barely professional short pleated skirt, the white button up that was dangerously tight around your breasts, the knee high socks, the mary-janes, the little locket that hung innocently from your neck.

Christ when did business attire become so fucking sexy?

Much to his pleasure, this wasn’t the first time you’d worn this specific outfit. It was a biweekly occurrence. But something was different this time…he just could quite place it. maybe it’s a new shirt? maybe you changed your hair? Maybe-

Oh.

Oh christ.

You’re wearing the fucking lingerie. THE matching lingerie set. The one he’d bought you last week. The red lingerie. The lingerie with that ridiculously sexy lace bra, barely there panties, and dainty garters.

He could see the red bra through your white shirt. There was no hiding it. You had undone the first few buttons, meaning if you leaned over it would be game over.

Fuck. How is it possible for someone to look this sexy? You’re incredible, really. But there is absolutely no way he is going to get any work done while you’re all dolled up wearing the fucking lingerie he picked out for you.

He loves you. And he supports you. But there was no way in hell he was letting you out of the house in that. Not today. Not until he gets to fuck you in it first. Then maybe you can wear it out. But that will have to wait. So that leaves only one option.

You’ve gotta change.

　　　　　　　　☆ ☆ S.G.R.☆ ☆

Oh so that’s how it’s gonna be.

It takes Steve about 0.5 seconds to realize what you’re doing. And another 0.5 seconds to come up with a plan.

She looks so damn good though. Shame I’m gonna have to wait to fuck her.

　　　　　　　　　☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

“Baby-”

“You’re not wearing that out.”

Bucky and Steve start at the same time.

You open your mouth to protest, but shut it immediately after seeing the look on Steve’s face.

Bucky looks at the both of you with wide eyes.

Fine. Time for Plan B.

You think to yourself as you stomp dramatically back into your bedroom.

7:52 am

You had outdone yourself this time. Truly.

They didn’t want you to wear the lingerie? Fine.

I mean you weren’t technically breaking any rules…If anything you were following them! They said to take off the lingerie…and you did!

Alright maybe you were being a little bit bratty. They did both have several meetings today. Plus all of you had to work on that mission plan with Natasha. Today was not a good day to act distracting. But a little fun never hurt anyone!

It’s not like they’re even gonna let you out of the house looking like this. Steve is probably just gonna sigh exasperatedly and fuck you mercilessly on the couch while Bucky lays your head in his lap, stroking your hair and whispering words of praise into your ear. Worst case scenario Steve spanks you and then makes you put on some undergarments before driving the three of you to work.

Yeah everything would be fine! You had this situation completely under control.

　　　　　　　　　☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

“Christ Jamie please just let me cum!”

Okay so it as it turns out, you did not have anything under control!

“I’ll be good I swear! I’ll change my outfit! I’ll do all your boring paperwork for the rest of the month-fuck that feels so good-Please just let me come!”

Your begging was useless because according to Steve you were “given the opportunity to act like a professional adult” but instead you chose to, how did it put it? oh yeah-

“let that dumb horny brain of yours control all your actions like the stupid fuck toy you are.”

So that’s how you found yourself in this position. Sitting on Bucky’s lap with your back pressed against his chest and your legs spread wide so Steve could watch as Bucky tortured you.

　　　　　　　 ☆ ☆ J.B.B ☆ ☆

With your head attempting to bury itself in his neck Bucky could smell hints of the vanilla-cinnamon-sugar-whatever perfume you were wearing.

He was turned on by the mere smell of you. His hips grinding, searching for any kind of friction.

　　　　　　　　　☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Cold. You felt cold. And for once…you didn’t hate it.

The cool feeling of his metal arm rubbing against your clit as his other hand pumped in and out of your hole, desperately attempting (and succeeding) to get you wet enough to put in the toys Steve had picked out for you without lube.

The feeling of Bucky’s dog tags brushing against the back of your neck.

Steve’s -if looks could kill- stare. His cold eyes running up and down your body. Christ, the intensity in that mans eyes would be enough to turn anyone into an absolute puddle of arousal.

Not to mention it was still way too early on a Tuesday and the apartment had yet to warm up. You should really call Tony to help get a new heating system—holy shit that feels amazing—

How is it that every time Bucky fingers you it feels like he’s doing it for the first time again?

Maybe it’s the way he twists his wrist as he fucks you with his hand, allowing him to hit that one spot that makes you see stars.

Maybe it’s the fact that he always knows exactly what to do with his other arm. Playing with your tits, twisting and pulling at your sensitive nipples. Wrapping his hand softly around your neck, never enough to fully choke you or restrict your breath but enough to remind you that he was the one in charge. Letting you suck on his fingers, whether it’s to throat train you, reward you, ground you, or shut you the fuck up- it didn’t matter it was just as hot every time & never failed to make both of you horny as hell. It was different every time with him and yet he never disappoints!

Maybe he’s just magic.

Maybe it’s the absolute filth he whispers to you. Often the perfect match for Steve’s dirty talk.

To put it simply:

James liked to praise you, let you know that you were his, and call you his little angel.

Steve liked to degrade you, let you know that you were his, and call you his dumb baby brained little fuck toy.

Put the two of them together? Christ- that’s how you ended up in situations like this.

“Please Bucky i’m begging you i’m so close, just let me come and i’ll never be bad again! I Promise!” You gasp out as you begin to feel your self approaching your peak.

“Hmmm what do you say Captain? Think she deserves it?” Bucky directed his question playfully towards Steve.

“You kiddin’ me? Look at her she’s practically brain dead and she hasn’t even cum yet. No. If we want to get any work done today she can wait until later to make a mess all over your work clothes.”

Steve retorted harshly.

He had his sleeves rolled up and tops three buttons of shirt were undone. The minuscule peaks of his skin were practically sending you into overdrive.

“You sure? She tends to get kinda…dumb? when we don’t let her cum. Makes her all needy and submissive. Plus she did promise to be good…” Bucky trailed off. His gaze breaking away from you to make intense eye contact with Steve. Who’s expression darkened excitedly at his boyfriends decision to push his luck.

Yeah. Today is definitely going to be fun. Steve thought to himself.

“Oh? and what exactly makes you think we can trust a single word that come out of her mouth?”

Bucky Opened his mouth to respond-

Goodness you were so close you could feel it- you were about to cum, and nothing Cap’ had to say about it was gonna stop you. You just needed one last push-

“Shut your mouth Buck’ that was a rhetorical question, God I guess her stupidity is rubbing off on you isn’t it? We can’t trust anything she says because she’s nothing more than a pathetic little bunny, desperate enough that she’ll say anything to get her way. You should know that by now.”

You were almost there. You could feel yourself starting to tip over the edge. You braced yourself, holding onto Bucky’s forearm as his hand continued to pound into your cunt.

Finally…you were about to crash head first into the intense orgasm you’d been chasing throughout this entire ridiculously degrading (and hot) conversation.

Holy fuck- you were right there, it was happening. The knot of pleasure that had been building in your body began to release, as you finally started to-

“Stop. She’s wet enough now. Put in the toys we don’t want to be late for work.”

Steve said as he turned around and walked into the kitchen to grab his jacket.

You didn’t need to see his face to know he was smirking.

What. The. Fuck.

You squirm and whine pathetically as Bucky quickly obeys Steve’s command. Ripping his hand away from your cunt and moving to hold your legs open (knowing if he didn’t you’d just start grinding on him and make yourself cum before he could stop you).

“Sorry lovely…I’ll make it up to you. Pinky promise.” Bucky whispered, grabbing your jaw gently and turning your face to look at him.

He had that stupid adorable smile on his face. His cheeks blushing red as he stuck out his right hand. Offering his pinky to you as a peace offering.

Hmm cute. Steve and Bucky always did love the whole good cop bad cop routine.

“No. No pinky promises. You don’t trust me? I don’t trust you. Now put in the stupid ben wa balls and butt plug so we can get to work.”

You snapped at him, putting on your best intimidating-i’m cross with you right now-scowl.

Much to your dismay his confidence didn’t falter. His eyes darkened slightly and his charming smile turned into more of a mischievous smirk.

“Whatever you say lovely. You know i’d do anything for you.”

James said with a wink, before promptly pushing you off his lap. Causing you to fall the floor with a yelp.

“Alright then, let’s get started shall we?” James said. As he stood over you.

‘Huh’ you thought to yourself ‘I always forget how tall he is. I mean 6’5? God damn! He’s like… if a sky scrapers had incredible sex appeal and really good knife throwing abilities!’

It was at that moment, as he towered over you staring down at you with those heart-stopping gorgeous blue eyes, that you realized…how well and truly fucked you were.

Yeah this was going to be a very interesting day.

　　　　　　　 ☆ 🎧🧁🕊☁️ ☆

to be continued….

AHHH OH MY GOD HOLY COW MY FIRST FIC! FIRST CHAPTER IS OFFICIALLY DONE AND I AM SO EXCITED!!!!

i absolutely could not have done this without the support of the lovely wonderful and talent~

@becca-e-barnes @you-expect-too-much

who inspired me to make this fic! It’s based on this ask <3 that i sent to her ages ago!

She was my first follower and friend on her and i’m so very grateful that she puts up with me! luv ya!

extra shout out to @hungryyeyes for sending me asks ilysm <3

there will absolutely 100% be more chapters to this and possibly a alternate version fic ;)

until next time…

xox allie☆♪

#bucky barnes smut #steve rodgers smut #stucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #steve rodgers x reader #sorry god!! 😁#distracted!wannabevampire #i’m so scared besties #holy shit omg #it’s literally gonna get so much dirtier from here #i’m nervous

681 notes · View notes

valuedabovehoardedgold · 3 years

Text

Friction part 1

Pairing: Karl Heisenberg x Female Reader

Warnings: Blood, Violence, Abduction, Groping, Non-consensual touching, imprisonment, Slight choking, Collar, Dry Humping

Word count: 1,225

Rating: Mature (minors DO NOT INTERACT)

Summary: Your friends and you make a massive mistake in your adventure. Deciding to rest at the inn located in the infamous village, you’re all captured and taken to the four lords. Where you unintentionally capture the attention of Lord Heisenberg. Who has plans for you.

(this is a darker fic, if that isn’t your cup of tea please feel free to ignore)

I want her.

The words that lead to your current predicament. Chained to the dirty factory floor of some backwoods plant, your friends scattered to the wind. Your hope of escaping diminishing second by precious second.

It's the sound of metal grinding against metal that rouses you. Besides a small overhead beam of light that blinds you, you can't make out much. Your throat hurts, and upon further inspection, your fingers brush against the cold rusted surface of a collar. You also find that your wrists are bound as well. A rusted chain reflecting dully in the light shackling you to the floor. It jolts you from your half-awake daze, and panic settles in.

Fuck.

Nothing is familiar, and the last thing you can recall is the musty-smelling bed you were about to sleep in for the night. But that's beside the point; now your focus is on your pounding head and aching body. Memories slowly fade back, going on a trip with friends, stopping at the creepy inn as the sun set behind the snow-capped mountains. Then-then, everything stops after the inn. Though, you're not able to place why.

Shadowing your eyes from light helps with the throbbing and makes the blurred room if only a little more focused. That's when your eyes catch it, movement. Miniscule amongst the darkness but your eyes latch onto it, someone is here with you, and that terrifies you more than the thought of being alone.

"Ah! Our guest is awake," the voice is familiar, and it sends a mixture of fear and curiosity coursing through you. A shadow, hunched over something, on a beat-up desk, the scattering of papers signals that whoever it is has turned to face you.

"What's the matter, sweetie? Bat got your tongue?"

Your tongue refuses to cooperate for a moment; your mouth feels like sandpaper, but you manage to croak out.

"Where am I?"

Your throat burns with every syllable, your lips crack with every word. It's been a while since you've had water.

How long had you been out?

The figure doesn't answer but draws closer to your light. You wish it wouldn't, it's a childish thought, but maybe in the light, you're safe. But no the figure enters the beam and it hits you. The inn, your friends' screams. Rushing out of your room to help, pain, and then darkness. The throb in your head makes sense now.

"Name's Heisenberg. But let's leave the questions to me, alright?"

He's massive standing before you his shadow engulfs you. He looks like some sort of doomsday prepper. Wearing a wrinkled hat the brim shadowing his face, sunglasses, and a tan trench coat. You feel yourself shrinking to the floor terrified of him, he hasn't made a hostile move toward you but he has the power to do whatever he wants with you. That sets your heart racing as he watches you in silence for a moment.

"Now, let's get a better look at you," he states and stands there for a few moments, and you're left confused.

"Do I have to spell it out, sweetheart?"

Again your blink up at the strange man before you, he's deranged, he must be... He huffs throwing his head back, like a child being denied something, before the metal collar around your throat tugs painfully up. The edge of it digs into the soft flesh as you're forced to stand. You panic like a wild dog in a trap, fighting the pull, but it does nothing to stop the collar forcing you to stand.

Your vision swims as the collar forces your head back; you feel like a trussed-up trophy. Left balancing on your tiptoes as he walks around you, appraising the body on display before him. You feel his eyes taking you in, shorts, and a ratty tank top the only barrier between your flesh and his hungry eyes. The clothing leaves nothing to the imagination as he stands behind you. You can feel the skin bruising where the collar cuts into flesh, biting your lip as he closes the distance between you two.

"Now I see why the super-bitch wanted you so badly."

It's rumbled into your ear another shiver races down your limbs, another memory surfaces, after the inn.

Waking up in a chapel the stone foundation freezing against your skin. Your friends bound, and someone--something argues for each of you. A towering woman sitting in a pastor’s chair. Arguing for all the women in the group to go to her. Her yellow eyes shining in the dim lighting as she takes in your whimpering friend.

You lean against your friend in a small attempt at comfort. She hides her face against your arm. Her sobs becoming louder, as the conversation continues. The group before you bickering about you and your friends as if you’re livestock to be doled out to the highest bidder.

I want her.

The memory fades as he presses himself to your back. Your heart stops your fingers grasping at the taunt chain holding you hostage.

How is he doing this?

Your panicked thoughts don't help as hands grasp at your hips, yanking you closer to him. You bite your cheek to stop a yelp from leaving you. You will not give him the satisfaction of hearing your fear. His nose presses into your hair. He takes a deep sniff nuzzling deep into your tresses; the growl he makes sends shivers creeping down your spine.

"Hmmm, it has been...awhile."

He mutters into your hair as his right hand slips forward cradling your abdomen, his left keeping your hips pinned against his. Grinding himself against you, and it feels... fuck it feels good. It had been too long since your last...You are seriously considering this? You got hit hard on the head, this must be some sort of trauma reaction.

It's how you try to rationalize the way your body reacts to him. Your core throbbing as warmth settles into your stomach. You close your eyes and another memory slithers its way to the forefront of your thoughts.

He kneels observing each of you, his scarred lip pulling into a smirk. The friend he's closest to squirms away, pulling on his bindings as he does so. As you feel his gaze land on you, a stupid part of you meets his gaze, daring him to do whatever his fucked up mind could think of. You're bruised, bloodied, and pissed. Right now you're hoping your bravado gets his attention off your friend shivering beside you, barely holding back her sobs. He stands heading back to his makeshift throne, but his gaze lingers on you the rest of the time. As his fingertips stroke along the handle of the wicked-looking hammer beside him. You've made a critical mistake, you just don't realize it yet.

You'd sealed your fate to him the second you'd challenged him. In your naivete, you all but condemned your friends to their demises, each one doled out to the different lords. Each one...mostly likely dead or being tortured in some horrid way. It feels like a sick cosmic joke, and yet here you are forgetting those very friends you tried to save in favor of the man who is dry humping you like a dog in heat...And you're enjoying it.

Heisenberg didn't want to end you though, no he liked the spark behind your eyes. Liked the way you refused to be caught, he'd even witnessed you take down a few of the lycans. You're a fighter.

"You're gonna be fun," he chuckles with a final grind against your backside. The sensation leaving you gasping as the collar goes lax and you drop to the floor. Biting back a whine of pain; knees scraping against the concrete floor, and your hands taking the brunt of the fall.

Heisenberg smirks above you, fingers tilting your chin up to face him.

"Be good now sweetheart, I've got some...things to work on."

With that, he's disappearing into the dark. Leaving you to consider your options...Make nice with him. Or figure a way out.

#karl heisenberg x reader #karl heisenberg imagine #karl heisenberg x you #resident evil 8 #resident evil village #resident evil 8 imagine #resident evil village imagine #karl heisenberg x female reader #this is a dark fic so please feel free to ignore #just trying my hand at writing him #let me know what you think!

690 notes · View notes

jade-parcels · 3 years

Note

If I may kindly ask for an extension to Childe's "dirty secret" where he fights for dominance with us, literally 👀

👀 ask and you shall receive

Extension to this post

- NOTSFW!! Minors don’t interact with this post! -

———————————————

Fighting for dominance with Ajax can go one of two ways. One, it’s a playful fight where there isn’t actually much violence at all. Two…You guys literally fight. It’s consensual fighting and no blows are actually meant to cause extreme harm so you’ve been warned

Playful fighting will usually just be him throwing you on the bed and pinning you down. He’ll allow you to shove him off and rough him up a little as you try to get him to submit

Usually play fights end in him topping, or at least him getting you in whatever position he wanted in the first place. There’s laughing, jokes and playful smacks on the ass. “Now I’ve gotcha~” a deep chuckle followed by loving kisses being pressed all over your face

He will let you win though just to see you smile :) but then he’ll whine when you take your time with it “Aw c’mon baby! Don’t be a tease, you already won! You’re so mean to little old me~” he can’t take anything seriously lmao

Couples play fight a lot, this is pretty much the same thing. If he actually hurt you while doing this, he’s quick to apologize and kiss whatever injury it was. Like if he pushed you a bit too hard and you hit your head on the headboard, he’d be quick to give you kisses and make sure you’re okay

When it comes to actually fighting (again, it’s a scene not him actually ab*sing you)…Most maneuvers are fair game ***If hitting, biting, spitting or name calling is a squick for you, I recommend you stop reading here!!***

A rough day of being scrutinized by the other harbingers, dealing with idiots all day or just not getting to fully unleash his animalistic side on the battlefield, any of these will lead to him wanting to fight you

It’ll always start with you two sparring, working up a sweat, getting some bruises here and there. Ajax loves when you’re sweaty and grimy from a fight. He loves trapping you against the wall and licking the salty sweat off your cheek, whispering obscenities in your ear

Now that he’s all riled up fromt his fight, it’s hard to get him to settle down

When he gets like this he wants to be on top. Of course, you have every right to be on top of him too. Let the hands begin

You can knee him in the gut, taking advantage of how he loosens his grip for just a second to flip him over

He’ll retaliate, shoving at you, shaking you, twisting your arm until you let go. It truly is all fair game unless it’s…well, stabbing or something

One thing Ajax will never do is hit you in the face. That’s off limits even for him. You can hit him in the face if you want, he doesn’t care! But he will never ever hit you in the face….on purpose.

Of course theres 2 outcomes to these fights for dominance. He wins or you do

He’ll snarl at you when he finally ‘wins’, grinning at you animalistically. Blood drips from his split lip, landing on your chest “Finally~ Damn, you put up a good fight baby. Now it’s time for my reward, huh? Lay back and be good for me, maybe I’ll even let you cum”

He won’t be very gentle either, he’ll take you hard and fast, bruising your hips and leaving dark purple hickies all over your neck. Jeez, you can even see teeth marks in some of them

When he’s worn you and himself out he’ll visibly deflate a little, his shoulders will sag and you’ll know he got it out of his system

He’ll be super attentive and cuddly, telling you how good you were for him and that he’s sorry for getting carried away. You don’t mind much but you’ll make him make you breakfast in bed in the morning.

^^ Ajax will have his fair share of marks too, your scratches down his back and arms, his split lip and bites all over his neck and shoulders. These kinds of nights aren’t as common as the playful ones but damn 👀

When you win, he’ll put up a big fight verbally but not so much physically.

Once you beat him, he won’t try to retaliate, he’ll lay there obediently but he’ll talk a big game. He doesn’t know when to shut up

“You may have beaten me this time but I’ll tell you right now, I’m NOT gonna beg. If anything, I’ll have you begging for me within the next twenty minutes, you just wait!”

That, in fact, does not happen. Instead, you’re smiling sweetly down at him as he yanks at his restraints “Please! Oh please babe, you gotta let me cum this time!” How the tables have turned

Tease him as long as you want, put him in his place! He’s gotten a bit too cocky lately hasn’t he? He’s won too much, beaten too many people in fights to the point where he hasn’t lost in awhile. You better make him rememeber that he can’t always win

Tell him how weak he is. A harbinger? Being taken down by a normal person? You just have a vision! No delusion, no Fatui military training. Hell, you don’t even have your vision in your hand and you still beat him! “Tartaglia~ Imagine what the Tsaritsa would say if she saw her strongest harbinger like this~ Whining like a bitch for me” spit in his face, yank his hair “How pathetic~”

Either way…Y’all know how to have fun 👀

#ignore any errors I wrote this in one go half asleep #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin imagines #genshin impact writing #genshin impact smut #Childe x reader #genshin impact childe #series: notsfw #series: smut #night posts #answered requests!

475 notes · View notes

bluejayblueskies · 3 years

Note

for the kiss prompts: how about 22 for jonmartin!

22 - sad kiss

i’ve already done a pre-unknowing jmart fic, but i will never have enough of the idea that they tell each other how they feel before jon leaves, so here we are. takes place right before jon leaves for Great Yarmouth

cw for mentions of jon’s circus kidnapping (including mentions of skinning, non-consensual touching, and being tied up) and mentions of canon-typical worms

Jon’s leg bounces up and down, drumming out a staccato rhythm on the stone floor beneath his desk. His hands shake, ever so slightly.

He looks at his phone, the LED display harsh and grating on his eyes, before locking it again.

One hour.

He waits a few seconds before reflexively checking his phone again, like the time’s somehow changed between then and now and he’ll have missed the bus that will take him to the train that will take him to—

Jon sets his phone down hard on the desk, screen facing down.

He doesn’t want to go. It’s a childish thought—one he tries hard to suppress—but here, alone and waiting and resisting the urge to check his phone again, he can’t quite push it away.

I don’t want to go back.

He remembers the bite of rope against his wrists, turning his fingers numb and leaving him with angry red welts that, even now, haven’t healed quite right. They’d dug into the tender skin of his right hand, covered in fresh burn tissue, and he’d tried to ignore the pain, focusing instead on the sweltering heat that stuck his shirt to his chest and the headache that never quite seemed to go away.

He hadn’t been able to ignore it when hard, unyielding hands had undone the ropes and held him tight and dug pointy, plastic fingers coated with oily lotion into the skin of his palm. He’d cried the first few times, out of pain more than anything. Then, he’d almost grown numb to it. Which he’s pretty sure is worse.

He doesn’t know what he’ll do when he’s inside the museum again. He doesn’t know if he’ll be able to look at it without remembering placidly smiling faces and crooning voices and promises that he wouldn’t miss his skin, not really. That he’d have the perfect voice to sing as the world changed. That he didn’t deserve skin that he’d taken care of so poorly, so irresponsibly.

He’d hated the sensation of lotion on his hands, even before. Now, the thought of it makes him ill. He tries not to think about it.

He can’t stop thinking about it.

His knee bounces quicker and his fingers drum in time with it on the desk. He resists for a moment more before picking up his phone and checking the time.

Fifty-eight minutes.

The clock has reached the forty-minute mark when there’s a soft knock on his door, one that startles him more than he’d care to admit. “Jon?” a voice calls, and Jon feels relief and anxiety overcome him in equal measure. “Are… are you there?”

It takes him a few seconds to get his voice to work. “Yes, I… you can come in.”

After a moment, the door creaks open—I should oil the hinges, he thinks absently—and Martin steps through the doorway, lingering on the threshold for a moment before moving past it and shutting the door behind him. For a moment, they’re both silent; Jon thinks it should feel oppressive, what with… everything, but it doesn’t. It feels almost comfortable, like a hand on the small of his back and a warm cup of tea pressed into his hands and a takeout container of Paneer Shahi Korma on the corner of his desk. Then, haltingly, Martin says, “I… I guess I just wanted to say good luck? For- for what it’s worth.”

Jon doesn’t feel particularly lucky. Still, he gives Martin a tired smile and says, “Thank you, I suppose. Er… you as well? Your plan requires significantly more… strategy.”

Martin laughs, an uncomfortable noise. “Yeah, well. No more so than trying to blow up an eldritch circus during their attempt to end the world, so…”

He trails off, and Jon shifts in his chair. He notes, distantly, that his leg has stopped bouncing, though his fingers still tap tap tap against the desk. “Yes, I- I suppose so.”

Martin’s face twists, his lips parting like he’s about to speak. Then, he seems to think better of it and gives Jon a forced smile. “Well, I- I guess I’ll leave you to- to pack or what have you. Don’t want to make you miss your train, after all, that- that would be quite bad, wouldn’t it?”

Martin takes a step backwards towards the door, and Jon is seized by the sudden, intense thought of no, don’t go.

“No, you- you don’t have to…” Jon’s leg bounces again a few times, and he hesitates only a moment before saying, “Could you stay? I- I don’t particularly… I don’t want to be alone right now.”

It’s vulnerable, the words sticky on his tongue but easier to say than he’d thought they would be. And it’s worth it when Martin’s face relaxes into relief and he says, “Yeah, of- of course. I… I don’t want to be alone either, I suppose.”

He settles in the chair on the other side of Jon’s desk, and Jon’s reminded, ridiculously, of the time Martin had stumbled into his office, slamming a hastily taped-over tin can onto Jon’s desk.

Fresh Peaches, the can had proclaimed cheerily. The things that writhed and squirmed inside were distinctly not peaches.

They make their way through halting conversation for a few minutes before it settles into something easier. Martin talks about the dog he’d seen on his commute the other day and the old lady who lives in the flat next to him who likes to bake him cookies and the plants he’s starting to grow on his kitchen windowsill. Jon talks about America—the parts that weren’t laced with terror—and the newest book he’s somehow found time to read and the stray cat he’s seen near his building a few times, now that he’s not staying with Georgie anymore.

It’s only until Jon thinks to check his phone again that he realizes he has fifteen minutes left. At ten, he’ll have to make the short walk to the bus stop with the bag he’s checked over five times to ensure that he hasn’t forgotten anything and endure Tim’s tense hostility, Basira’s quiet indifference, and Daisy’s sharp eyes and sharper teeth for several hours.

I don’t want to go.

I don’t want to leave.

I don’t want to leave him.

“Jon?” Martin says, forehead creased in concern. “What’s wrong?” He worries his bottom lip between his teeth for a moment before saying, quietly, “Is… is it time?”

Jon nods mutely. His knuckles are white where he’s gripping his phone, and all he can think is I don’t have enough time.

He doesn’t know when, exactly, he started noticing the way Martin’s cheeks dimple when he smiles and the way his jumpers bunch up around his wrists and the way his voice softens whenever he talks about the people he cares about. He doesn’t know when he started thinking about Martin when he wakes up and on his morning commute and while brushing his teeth and every moment in between. He doesn’t know when the thought of Martin smiling at him or bringing him lunch or brushing his hand against Jon’s arm first made his stomach flip and his mouth go dry.

He doesn’t know when, exactly, he realized that he’s a little bit in love with Martin Blackwood. He thinks it might have been around thirty-two minutes, when Martin had laughed at one of Jon’s awkward jokes and he’d tucked the sound away forever in the section of his mind labeled Martin Blackwood and thought, I want to kiss him.

“Jon?” Martin repeats, and Jon realizes he’s been quiet for quite some time. Martin is looking at him with brown eyes wide with concern and his hand is resting on the edge of Jon’s desk and god, Jon wants to kiss him.

He doesn’t know when he’ll get another chance.

Jon stands before he makes the conscious decision to do so, and he makes his way around his desk, his hands shaking and his heart tight in his chest. This might be it, he thinks, even as his hand comes down to gently cup Martin’s cheek before stalling just shy of his skin, fingers curling inward in hesitation. This might be all we get.

“Jon?” Martin says, his voice very small.

“I…” Jon looks away from Martin for a moment, a familiar instinct within him telling him to pull away. To not bare himself like this, to not wear his heart on his sleeve. Then, he looks back and meets Martin’s eyes and pushes past the lump in his throat enough to say, “I… I don’t want to go. Not- not without…” His voice breaks, and he moves his hand the rest of the way until his knuckles brush against the line of Martin’s jaw, feeling Martin’s startled exhalation against the skin of his wrist.

“Is this okay?” Jon says quietly.

Mutely, Martin nods.

“Okay,” Jon whispers. He’s short enough and Martin tall enough that even with Martin sitting, the height difference is small enough that he only has to lean down a bit to press his lips gently against Martin’s. They’re dry, a bit cracked near the middle where Martin has a tendency to bite them, and Jon commits the feeling to memory. His other hand comes up to cup Martin’s face, and Martin sighs against his mouth before moving his hands to Jon’s waist and resting there lightly. It’s so lovely that Jon wants to cry.

When he pulls back, it’s too soon. But he has eleven minutes sitting in the back of his mind, and he needs to leave, and he doesn’t want to go.

Selfishly, he wishes Martin were coming with him. He knows it’s safer here; he doesn’t have any delusions that they’ll all make it out of the Unknowing unscathed. But he wishes it all the same.

“Jon…” Martin says softly, and Jon captures the way Martin says his name—like it’s something delicate, something to be treasured—and holds it close. Martin’s thumbs sweep gently over Jon’s hip bones before his hands move up and settle on the small of Jon’s back. Then, he stands and pulls Jon into a tight hug. “Promise you’ll come back,” he whispers, his hands twisting in the loose fabric of Jon’s shirt. “Please, promise you’ll- you’ll be safe.”

Jon rests his head in the space underneath Martin’s chin and says, “I can’t promise that, Martin. I- I wish I could, but… I can’t.”

Martin’s quiet for a moment. Then, he squeezes Jon a little tighter, buries his nose in Jon’s hair, and says, “Okay.” A pause. Then: “I- I promise I’ll be safe. For what it’s worth.”

Jon lets out a shaky breath. “Thank you. I…”

I love you.

“I’m glad.”

Jon makes it to the bus stop with a minute to spare. Tim barely looks at him before turning his gaze back towards the road. Basira offers a short, perfunctory greeting but nothing more. Jon doesn’t look at Daisy.

He already misses him. It eats an aching hole in his chest as he steps onto the bus, and as the doors close behind him, he tells himself that he’ll be coming back.

He wishes he could find the heart to believe it.

#tma #the magnus archives #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #jonmartin #my fic #my writing #sorry this took so long!#i'm working through the rest of my kiss prompts this weekend

407 notes · View notes

kookingtae · 3 years

Text

in character (m)

pornstar!yoongi

→ scenario: Yoongi is one of the best porn stars in the industry; everyone wants to work with him at least once in their career. But what you don’t expect to feel for your co-star is the desire for something more than what’s written on the script.

alternatively: actor au where yoongi plays a burglar who breaks into your house and has his way with you.

→ word count: 5.7k

→ warnings: dom yoongi, rough consensual noncon, breath play, dirty talk, degradation, a lot of slapping, language, face fucking, choking, size kink, cock warming, predator/prey, sadism, unknowing cuckhold, ur tied up, just pure filth tbh

→ a/n: this was previously posted on a side blog of mine, which i’ve since deactivated and reposted here! so if you’ve seen this before, no u havent ♡

“Take it.” Yoongi hovers over your kneeling form, his member held in his hand as he forces it between your closed lips. “Take my fat fucking cock in your mouth like the little slut that you are.”

“Mmm, can’t,” you mumble a muffled reply, turning your head side to side in an attempt to avoid him. You half heartedly tug at the rope restraining your wrists behind your back even though you know they won’t break loose. “It’s t-too big.”

He lets out a dark chuckle. “Come on. Be a good girl and make it fit.” He finally shoves his way into your mouth, his salty precum coating your taste buds as you welcome the warm, velvety soft flesh of his length against your tongue. He doesn’t stop until he’s buried to the hilt deep within your throat and your face is pressed against his abdomen, the feeling of his happy trail tickling your skin.

“Swallow,” he demands and you do as you’re told. “I want to feel you choking and gagging around my cock.” He tilts his head back with a groan as your throat tightens around his length. “Ah fuck, atta girl.”

You struggle to pull away again before he finally relents this time. A big gulp of air fills your lungs when your mouth is empty, air freely filling your lungs before your windpipes are suddenly constricted again as he wraps his hand around your throat

“Did I say you could stop, bitch?” He hisses before grabbing the base of his shaft and slapping his dick against your cheeks multiple times. The flesh bounces against the supple skin of your lips, leaving a smear of saliva in its wake before his hand then finds your face for a light slap. He backhands the other side for good measure, eyes lighting up in sadistic pleasure when your slack lips give way as a hole for his dick again.

“Cut!”

You’re instantly brought back to reality. Set lights that were once dim now brighten and the sound of idle chatter from stage crew fill the background. Yoongi releases his fist’s firm hold on your hair to step away as if he hadn’t just been abusing your throat mere seconds ago.

“You alright?” He asks softly as he watches you take in a deep breath.

You nod and flash him a weak smile while you try to quell your racing heart. The urge to wipe your tears is overwhelming, though even if your hands were free you couldn’t give in because the mascara streaming down your face would smear. Instead you turn your attention to the director who stopped the scene.

“Yoongi, I’m going to need you to be a little more rough,” the director speaks from his seat behind the camera.

“More rough?” His brows shoot up to his hairline.

“You’re supposed to be a burglar who has broken into this house and taken Y/N hostage—of course more rough.”

Yoongi’s eyes flicker down to you as if silently checking to make sure you‘re okay with this. When you manage to offer him a small smile and nod your head, that seems to be the confirmation he needs.

“Alright,” he replies.

You’re careful not to move so not to cause issues later on when they edit the shot. “Can I get some water?” You call out.

A crew member comes over with a bottle of water, holding the top to your lips and tipping it back so that you’re still able to drink with your hands bound behind your back. The cool liquid is soothing on your strained throat, and when you let out a hum the crew member removes the bottle and ducks back behind the camera.

“How is everything that I’m doing?” Yoongi turns to you once your mouth is free. “Any discomfort? Complaints?”

You gently shake your head. The difference between Yoongi on and off camera is still astounding; this man is a great actor. “Everything’s fine. Please, don’t worry about me. I can take it.”

Yoongi arches his brow, an almost impressed expression adorning his features. “You must be pretty tough then if you can handle all of that.”

You shrug, your eyes finding his with a gleam as you reply, “I like it rough.”

Before he has time to respond, the director is calling for places again. You quickly clear your throat and mentally prepare yourself for the scene ahead while Yoongi gives his dick a few good pumps before an action! fills the room.

It’s fascinating watching him snap back into character; what was once concern in his eyes is now instantly replaced with predatory satisfaction as his hand finds its way back into your hair at the crown of your head, the tip of his still-leaking cock pressing against your slack lips.

“Now fucking take it,” he grits before roughly shoving it into your throat. “Take it like the whore you are.”

A loud gagging noise leaves you at the sudden intrusion, though the sound only seems to urge him forward as his fist tightens its grip to set the pace of your movements while he holds his hips still and roughly tugs your mouth up and down on his length. You let out another lewd noise whenever you feel his tip hit the back of your throat, though you still manage to hug your lips around his shaft with each motion.

“Ah, good girl. You like choking on my cock?” He slaps your hollowed cheek with his free hand and marvels at the way your skin turns red under his touch. “Yeah? Choke on it, slut.” His hand then finds your nose and squeezes so that he’s holding your breath and the only purchase you have is his member fucking your throat.

Your vision ebbs at the edges from the lack of oxygen filling your lungs, tears now fully streaming down your cheeks to purposefully smear the non-waterproof mascara you’re wearing. Your body starts to involuntarily panic as it struggles for air, and it’s only when your knee subtly nudges his ankle three times—the agreed upon number prior to filming which means you’re at your limit—that he finally releases his hold on your nose and lets you fall back with a staggering cough.

Relief floods you as you take in a deep breath of sweet, sweet air. The director hasn’t called cut so he must’ve liked the stunt, which means that Yoongi never leaves character as he watches your display with sadistic pleasure.

“So fucking pathetic. I bet that pretty little mouth of yours has never been fucked like this, hm?” He grips your chin between his fingers and drags his thumb across your bottom lip before forcing it between your lips. “Suck,” he orders.

You have no choice but to obey, wrapping your tongue around the digit and hollowing your cheeks.

Yoongi chuckles darkly. “Look at you. You’re so cock hungry that you’re willing to suck off any part of me. Desperate slut.” One of his hands snakes down to your breasts as he grabs the flesh in a tight grip, groping a couple times before giving them a few slaps and admiring the way they bounce beneath his touch. His thumb then finally slips from your mouth only to find its way around your throat and use the hold to pull you up on your knees again. “If you’re so desperate then you’re going to gag on my dick until I blow my load all over that pretty face of yours, yeah?”

You let out a whimper, playing the facade of a scared hostage as you shake your head pleadingly.

A resounding smack fills the air as his hand finds your cheek again in a harder slap this time, and you can feel the wetness pool between your legs as he manhandles you so that your back is flat against the floor and his hands are holding you down.

“That wasn’t a question. Be a good girl and take what I give to you,” he rasps as he angles his hips over your lifted head and begins fucking your face with quick, precise thrusts. Each assault makes another lewd gagging sound leave your mouth as you have no choice but to take the rough onslaught.

He throws his head back in unabashed pleasure as a loud moan leaves his lips, not even looking at you anymore as his hips continue to buck in chase of his high. He’s using you as a sex toy for his pleasure without a second thought, and you can’t deny the way arousal rolls within you at the sight.

After a few more moments of this your sore throat throbs and your wrists begin to ache as the rope digs into your back, and it’s only when your thigh nudges his three times that he seems to come to and pulls himself out of your mouth.

You cough while struggling a bit to sit up. Yoongi seems to notice this and helps you back to your knees before he’s suddenly picking you up entirely and throwing you on the bed as if you weigh nothing.

“Enough of your mouth. I’ve decided I wanna feel that tight fucking cunt around me instead.” His eyes are dark, dangerous as they watch you like a predator stalking its prey, and you find yourself gulping in equal parts fear and excitement.

“W-wait, please–“ you remember the script enough to whimper, though even you know the acting is a lie as your mouth grows dry when Yoongi crawls over you.

“Shut the fuck up!” He hisses before giving your bare pussy a punishing slap. It’s hard to miss the string of liquid arousal that chases his fingers, and he sneers down at you with a condescending tilt of his head. “I knew you were a fucking slut. Look how turned on you are from a stranger tying you up and having their way with you.” He spreads his fingers apart to show you your wetness before he’s reaching forward and shoving his fingers between your lips. “Taste yourself. Taste what I make your body feel.”

The heady flavor of your juices is peculiar on your tongue, though you take what you’re given with big eyes as you stare up at him, your gaze holding for longer than planned as you find yourself unable to look away.

And it’s after a few moments that he suddenly lurches forward and presses his lips to yours in a hard, passionate kiss. You let out a moan of surprise—you hadn’t been expecting that—before your lids are fluttering shut and you’re completely melting beneath him. His tongue is needy as it pushes past your lips to hungrily lap up the taste of both of your arousal mixed together in the caverns of your mouth.

The sensation has you seeing stars, and you let out another groan of pleasure before your back is involuntarily arching to press your chest against his, wanting to feel more of him.

“Cut!”

You hardly even register the director’s voice through the hazy fog of your mind, and it isn’t until Yoongi pulls away that you open your eyes to see the lights and cameras around you. You blink to adjust your eyesight and almost reluctantly turn your head on the mattress beneath you to look at the man in charge.

“There is no kissing in this script.” He holds up his phone to wave the downloaded file that contains this scene’s directions as if to reiterate his point. You were both emailed a copy of the script before you accepted this job. “It’s too intimate. And Y/N, you can’t act like you like what’s happening to you.”

Your cheeks heat up slightly at him calling out your obvious desire that you were trying but failing to contain. “I got it,” you call back half-heartedly. When you face forward again you‘re met with Yoongi’s eyes gazing down at you.

His expression is unreadable, a mix of emotions you can’t comprehend at the moment. “Sorry,” he mouths apologetically since he had been the one to kiss you in the first place.

You couldn’t find it in yourself to be upset, regardless of the director’s criticism.

“Action!” He calls from his seat to start the scene where Yoongi left off removing his fingers from your mouth.

He gives your pussy another slap if only to get back into the rhythm of the scene’s tone, and your body quivers at the sudden sensation.

“No, don’t–“ you try to squirm away from his touch, though the fight only seems to make him angry as he suddenly grabs your body and throws you forward over his lap.

“I told you good girls take what they’re given!” He scolds before a hand slams down over your bare ass, the sting causing you to yelp in surprise. He continues this a few more times, each slap reverberating through the room and leaving a growing red mark on your skin. “Do you like being punished? Wanna be punished by my cock?”

“No–!” You try to shake your head when he’s suddenly shifting you down so that your face is hovering over his erect member.

“Shut the fuck up and put that mouth to good use,” he growls, gripping the base of his shaft and aligning it with your mouth. Because you’re lying on your stomach your head has nowhere to go but down, and he takes full advantage of that situation as he snaps his hips up so that his cock is being forced down your throat with each thrust.

“Such a good fuck doll. Instead of robbing this house I might just steal you and use you as my personal sex toy,” he groans with a toss of his head, his cock unable to leave your mouth due to the position.

You carefully breathe out of your nose for air as you curl your tongue around his length, inexplicably still wanting to pleasure him despite the situation. Each sound of satisfaction that falls from his lips adds to the growing ache of lust in your core, and when your lower half squirms in an attempt to relieve some of the tension this catches Yoongi’s attention.

His hand finds your ass again in a series of quick slaps, each motion cupping the lower cheek and causing your pussy to quiver in anticipation from his fingers being so close to where you want him most. His palm then smoothes over your reddened skin, admiring his blooming artwork before his touch finally settles between your legs.

“Ah, you put up such a fight but your body responds so well.” A curse escapes under his breath when his middle finger slides between your lower lips.

You let out a muffled whine around him, his hips ceasing their movement to instead explore your body so that you’re now warming his stiff cock with your throat.

“You’re such a good cock warmer,” he muses down at you, swiveling his hips for good measure so that his erection swirls inside you.

The action causes you to gag, a sensation that he likes if the involuntary groan is any tell, but the sore pain in your throat is quickly forgotten when he suddenly pushes two fingers inside you.

“Holy shit, you’re tight!” The words leave his lips in pure surprise that cannot be faked.

You wish you could see the genuine reaction on his facial expression, but instead your eyes squeeze shut at the sexual relief that fills your core from finally having some part of him inside you. Oh, how badly you want to beg him to keep fingering you, to cry for his cock and bask in the pleasure he’s giving your body.

But alas, you can’t. You have a part to play.

And so you rock your hips back and forth in what is meant to look like an effort to force his fingers out of you when really you’re just riding them for relief.

Yoongi seems to be in awe above you, and you don’t even have to nudge him three times to make him lift you up off his dick and onto the bed.

You pathetically gasp for breath once there’s nothing obstructing your airways, not realizing how badly you needed oxygen until you’re finally able to breathe properly.

“Enough of this. I’m fucking that tight little cunt right this second.” His tone is dark, determined as he stands on the floor and drags you to the edge of the bed. “On your knees,” he barks coldly.

You resist the urge to desperately obey him, instead fighting back fearfully until he finally manhandles your body into the position he wants you with your ass in the air and your face pressed into the mattress.

“Stop, y-you’re too big!” You start to protest once you feel his tip breaching your walls.

He instantly smacks your ass as punishment. “Sex dolls can’t talk. I’m gonna stretch you so much you rip in half on my dick if that’s what it fucking takes.” And with that he slams into you full force without a second warning.

Despite the scene at hand, Yoongi is a good, smart guy. He has a reputation in the porn industry for being the man every person wants to fuck at some point in their career. His resume is vast and his experience shows in his technique. You’re assuming that’s how he knows you don’t need anymore prepping when it comes to taking his full length and girth; thankfully he doesn’t comment on it out loud, but you’re embarrassingly wet. Like ‘it feels like you’ve already orgasmed twice’ kind of wet. Which is why there’s no hesitation on his part to bury into you to the hilt, and the fake cry of pain that leaves your lips is actually a very grateful cry of sheer, undeniable pleasure.

“Fuck!” He cries out immediately, his hips stalling as they press flush against the heated skin of your ass. “Shit, you’re squeezing around me like crazy. About to milk my cock dry if you don’t stop.”

His voice is breathless, strained; you can tell from your line of work that he’s trying to hold back from finishing too early. Not that you can blame him, what with the way you spent all of foreplay glued to his dick. Still, this being the wildly popular Min Yoongi and all, you can’t help but feel a sense of pride swell within you at his words.

“Cut!” The director suddenly calls, though neither you nor your co-star move. “Yoongi, do you need a minute? We can cut the footage later if you want to wait until you’re ready to start again.”

“U-uh, yeah, just a sec.” It’s interesting how much his voice wavers now that you have a break without the pressure of the camera filming a continuous take.

You glance at him over your shoulder as best as you can with the side of your face in the sheets and your wrists still restrained behind your back. “Anything I can do to help?” You ask.

“N-no, you—don’t move,” he quickly warns as if any motion whatsoever would cause him to blow his load right then and there.

For some reason it causes your heart to flutter with endearment.

So you simply nod your head and settle back down against the bed, the sensation of him essentially warming his erect cock within your walls not helping any as you can feel your slick arousal now dripping down your thighs.

“And... action. Take your time and whenever you’re ready you can start back up again,” the director calls out to him.

Yoongi briefly nods from behind you, and it’s after a few deep breaths from him that you start to feel movement inside the deepest parts of you. He rubs his hips experimentally against your ass to test the waters before finally rolling them in a slow, meticulous motion.

“Shit, I wouldn’t have wasted time on your mouth if I knew you had a pussy like this,” he curses softly as the repeated action starts to gain momentum.

Your skin is slick with precum and sweat where your bodies meet, though you’re unable to stop the moan that tumbles from your lips as his thrusts speed up and the sound of slapping flesh fills the room.

It isn’t long before what was once caution and hesitation transforms back into the rough tone of the script now that he’s not afraid of finishing early. He gives your ass a few loud, stinging slaps before his hand reaches down to grab a fistful of your hair and yank you up. You cry out, your torso now completely lifted in the air due to the strong grip he has on you.

“That’s right, I knew you could take my fat cock. You were just whining like the little bitch you are, huh?” He grits his teeth and slips his hand from your hair to the knotted rope that binds both of your hands together. Your scalp is thankful when he chooses to hold onto that instead while he steadies your body for his relentless pace.

“Ah! No, fuck, it’s too much–“ you barely remember to scream out your lines through the endless waves of pleasure he’s assaulting your body.

“Did I say you could speak?” He growls before dropping your hands so that your chest falls back against the mattress again. There’s only a beat of silence while he grabs your abandoned panties on the bed before he’s unceremoniously shoving them into your mouth. “Now shut the fuck up. I don’t wanna hear you unless you’re crying over my cock.”

And so loud endless sobs tear through your throat, the sound muffled from the soiled fabric in your mouth as he grips your hips so tightly you‘re sure his fingertips will leave bruises and he yanks your body up and down on his length.

“Fuck, gonna keep your messy cunt as my own personal pocket pussy.” Dirty words tumble from his mouth as he loses himself to the pleasure your walls are giving him. “Gonna fuck you every single day.”

You hear the sound of a door closing from somewhere within the house you’re using as a set, and you know that means the scene where your supposed boyfriend comes home is now happening.

“Mmmm!” Your eyes widen as you attempt to speak, in the middle of spitting the panties out when Yoongi suddenly leans forward against your back and shoves them back into your mouth before slamming a hand over your lips to keep them there.

“Oh, is someone home?” There’s a sadistic, devilish glint in his eye as he speaks against your ear, his hips continuing their rutting. “Let them see. Let them see how much of a pathetic whore you are creaming all over my cock.”

The new angle causes him to hit another spot within you that has you crying out in pure ecstasy, tears steadily streaming from the corners of your eyes as your vocal cords vibrate with every muffled groan against his palm.

You hear the sound of your fake boyfriend walking up the stairs, and that’s Yoongi’s cue to pull out and tug you to your feet by the knotted rope at the juncture of your wrists. He roughly shoves you against the closed door with his chest pressed against your back so that you have nowhere to move.

“Mmmm!” You moan frantically again when you feel his cock push back into you, and it’s all you can do to shake his palm from your mouth and spit out the panties between your lips before your boyfriend stops to knock on the door.

You spare a panicked glance back at Yoongi only to see him smirking sardonically at you. “Answer,” his twisted words curl around the tightening coil in your core.

You frantically shake your head. There’s no way you can do that without getting caught!

At your refusal he shoves you against the wall even harder this time, his free hand wrapping around your throat to hold your gaze on him. “I said, answer. Let him hear how I make you feel.” He pivots his hips up in a particularly heavy thrust that had a cry of pleasure falling from your lips—one that catches the ears of your waiting boyfriend.

“Sweetheart, is everything okay in there?” He calls out in concern before turning the handle.

Your eyes widen as Yoongi tugs on your wrists so that you’re stumbling back a couple steps and the door has enough room to open, though you quickly peek your head out so that your fake boyfriend can’t see that you’re naked or that Yoongi is currently ramming his cock into you from behind.

“H-hey babe,” your words stumble as Yoongi starts back up with a relentless pace, one hand holding onto your knotted wrists for leverage so that he can bounce you back and forth on his dick while the other hand smooths down the bare expanse of your back.

Your boyfriend’s eyes instantly widen in concern. “Are you crying? What happened, are you feeling okay?”

When he starts to step inside, you quickly shake your head. “N-no, no don’t worry. I was just uh—I was taking off my makeup. I feel good.” At that moment Yoongi uses his hand on your back to push down on your spine so that you’re leaning forward even more, the new angle causing him to hit a sweet spot deep within your walls. “I feel so good!” You involuntarily cry out.

There’s no way this stunt would ever look believable in real life. But that’s the beauty of porn.

Yoongi suddenly slaps your ass and you stumble, your hand instinctively trying to fly to your mouth to cover your whimper. Though because your wrists are bound, you’re unable to stop the sound of pleasure that hangs wantonly in the air once it falls from your lips.

Alarm springs to your boyfriend’s features. “What was that?”

“I-I just stubbed my toe,” you lamely fumble for the script’s poor excuse.

He nods and you listen to him ramble about his day, mostly stalling for time so the cameras can catch the glory of this unknowing-cuckold moment. You supply distracted hm’s and uh huh’s until he finally says he’s going to the kitchen.

“I’ll be there in a bit, babe,” you call out as he walks away, and the second the door shuts Yoongi shoves you against it again and holds you there with his body, never missing a beat as he continues to slam his hips into you from behind.

“What’s wrong, babe? Don’t want him to know what a little slut you are?” He snarls into your ear, the pet name falling sarcastically from his lips and making your stomach flutter. His skin is slick with sweat where your bodies meet and the heat from your heavy breathing clouds the air between you with lust. “It took everything in me not to open the door and show him whose cock has been stretching this fucking cunt of yours.”

Yoongi doesn’t waste a second tugging you back to the bed now that your interruption has left, though instead of throwing you face down like before, he positions you on your back this time with your ass at the edge of the bed while he towers over you.

There’s something about this position that feels more intimate—maybe it’s because you can stare straight into his eyes this time when he fucks you. But one slap of your tits as he suddenly thrusts his cock back into your heat and you know he’s still in character.

“Ah!” You cry out, the quick intrusion making you see stars.

He doesn’t waste time building his rhythm as he starts back up at the same frightening pace as before, and the hand that’s groping and abusing your breasts slides up your chest and clamps down around your throat, using his hold to yank you up and down on his length again.

“You finally ready to be a good girl? Done whining about taking my fat cock?” He chuckles darkly as you struggle to breathe, fresh tears starting to prick at the edges of your eyes over the black stains streaking down your cheeks.

Just when you’re about to nudge him three times, he releases his grip on your windpipe to instead travel up your jaw and hook his fingers inside your open mouth. His fingers curl behind the back of your bottom-row teeth, holding you there while he fucks into you and uses your holes as a means to get himself off.

“Look at you, so pathetic and submissive beneath me. The perfect sex doll.” His gaze never wavers from your big eyes while he speaks, and before you can register what’s happening he’s suddenly leaning down and spitting into your mouth that he’s forcing open. “Swallow,” he orders.

It’s embarrassing how quickly you obey. Every second that passes is spent reminding yourself that you need to remember your script rather than act on impulse.

But that’s proving harder and harder to do now that Yoongi’s face is so close to yours.

You resist the urge to lean up and kiss him. Your director already scolded you once today; you don’t need him calling you out again. Though you might not have to endure this facade that much longer, because soon your co-star’s hand is snaking down between your legs and finding the bundle of nerves that instantly sets your body aflame.

You have no choice but to take what he’s giving you, and the onslaught of pleasure mixed with the mental image of everything happening is too much for you to handle.

Which is why his growl of “cum,” in the shell of your ear is all it takes for you to lose it on his cock.

“Fuck,” the word falls from his lips with a low, throaty groan. He stands upright again and tosses his head back, both hands returning to your hips as he drags your pussy even faster on his length so you ride out your high while he desperately chases his. “I didn’t think it was even possible for you to feel any tighter—shit, your pretty pussy is gonna make me cum.”

The sounds of pleasure leaving his lips turn short, breathless, until finally you feel the sudden sensation of milky white cum flooding your insides. It’s warm and leaves your body feeling full, satisfied when he eventually pulls out to admire his seed dripping from your cunt.

He bends down to get a view up close, and without the haze of lust clouding your movements you actually feel embarrassed by his thorough inspection despite everything that just happened. If it wasn’t for the dizzying lethargy that’s starting to settle over your body and a need to end the scene, you might’ve tried to squirm away.

“Clench,” he suddenly orders, his thumb dragging up your inner thigh and entering your abused pussy again as he stuffs his seed back inside of you. “Don’t let it drip out. I want you to remember the feeling of my cum filling you up when you talk to your precious boyfriend.”

You shudder at his touch against your sensitive mound, though thankfully he doesn’t linger as the director calls cut! and the scene ends.

The hum of background chatter fills the room again, and it takes you a moment to blink from your daze and realize what’s happening. You can’t move from the bed even if you wanted to.

Yoongi is instantly at your side untying your wrists, his touch careful and gentle compared to the harsh way he was handling your body just moments prior. “Hey, you okay?” He sits down by your side and runs a soothing hand over your hair, your back. “I’m sorry if I went too far a couple times there. They said they wanted me to be more rough, so I–“

“It’s fine, really,” you hum in reassurance when you eventually find your voice. A sigh of relief leaves your lips once your wrists are finally free of the constricting rope, and you rub and roll them a few times to ease the stiff ache in your bones. “I never nudged you because I was uncomfortable. I just needed to breathe,” you chuckle amiably.

A soft smile finds Yoongi’s lips, and he slowly reaches out to give you enough time to pull away if you want to until the pad of his thumb is tenderly swiping the mascara-stained tears from your cheekbones.

The contrast makes you dizzy. It’s like night and day, his actions not even a minute ago compared to his actions now. His sexual range leaves your heart aflutter and you don’t know why.

“Shit, you have marks on your hips.” He runs a hand over the curvature of your side. A shiver shoots down your spine at his feathery touch. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to get that into it.”

The tantalizing motion of his fingers seem to put you in a trance before you finally find the strength to sit upright, though the sudden movement makes you wobble a little off balance. He quickly wraps his arms around your back to steady you and then leans back against the bed frame.

You let out an exhale, your stomach rolling at the intimacy of the interaction. You’re now cuddling with Yoongi, and the cameras aren’t rolling anymore. Does he do this with all his co-stars after a shoot?

“You don’t have to apologize,” you murmur, swallowing before admitting your next words. “I got into it too. It was so difficult for me to act like I didn’t want it.”

Yoongi leans back in surprise at your words so he can get a good look at your face, though it‘s in that moment while the two of you are gazing at each other that his manager calls his name. You can’t help but notice the reluctance in his movements as he parts from you, eventually getting up and putting on his robe behind the camera.

You sigh, giving your legs a bit more time to rest until your manager calls you over as well. What’s happening? You’ve left a shoot satisfied before, but never yearning for more. Was the sex really just that good? Or is it something more, something that has to do with the boy with dark eyes and fluffy black hair staring back at you from across the room?

Whatever it is, you find yourself suddenly a little too excited to see Min Yoongi again.

671 notes · View notes

lubdubsworld · 3 years

Text

Insatiable ( Jungkook x Oc ) Chapter 8

Pairing : Jeon Jungkook x OC

Rating 18+

Genre : Vampire Au!!!! , DILF! Jungkook ! Bodyguard AU! Babysitter OC! Age difference!!!

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7

Chapter 8

“Heartbreak looks good on you...” My sister commented impishly, watching me slip the teardrop earring into my lobe, the ruby red stone glinting in the dimlight of the bedroom.

It was a couple of weeks since my uncle had come over and today, all the important clan leaders from around the country would be heading over to pay their respects to him. As one of the oldest surviving vampires, he commanded a lot of respect and no one really wanted to be on his bad side.

Which just made me love Jungkook all the more because I couldn’t forget how he’d literally thrown himself in between us that day. I wanted to give him everything in return but apparently, all i was allowed to give him was space.

My father had visited me everyday , giving me a very cryptic, ‘ I’ll make sure the two of you get your happy ending, dearest but you need to trust me and stay away for a while. Just a while. ’.

But it seemed so impossible, so far away and just so unlikely that I was beginning to lose hope.

It didn’t help that I hadn’t actually seen Jungkook in these two weeks . Namjoon took his place and my only connection to him was Joowon , who told me his father was busy ...that he stayed with Hwasa most evenings . I felt jittery and nervous and even more so today because of the lavish party being hosted in the Grand Ball Room, which was easily the biggest room in the entire estate. The last time it had been opened was for my parent’s wedding a whole two centuries ago.

For once I couldn’t hide in the daycare in sweats. My uncle apparently insisted that i be present for the party tonight.

It only made my anxiety skyrocket.

I was a mess when it came to formal parties with century old vampires. I had all the formal training of course, but still the etiquette lessons were long forgotten and lot of those cranky old bats had very archaic ideas about what was allowed and what wasn’t.

I didn’t want some entitled century old vampire pawing at my neck for a drink tonight. I really didn’t.

But i had done my part. Put on a red dress, the backline dipping all the way down to the base of my spine , let one of the make up artists in the clan have a go at my face and even put on blood red lipstick.

I grunted , trying to yank the small lace and leather garter up my thigh. It had a holster for a dagger, the small ornate silver one that all the women in the clan carried. The dagger was crafted with the Hwang crest on its handle and I carefully sheathed it in, patting my thigh to make sure it wouldn’t slip down my limb.

“Don’t make fun of my misery.” I glared at her and she actually laughed.

“Sera, you feel too much too deeply. Jungkook isn’t going anywhere. He’ll come around. “ She said gently.

I shook my head.

“I don’t want to wait though. I... I don’t know why I hate waiting but I do..”

“He looks like a kinky bastard. Tell me, did you guys try anything ...I don’t know..risky?”

Nothing riskier than getting edged in front of a whole hotel full of guests and then getting fucked in the back of a car. Oh, did I tell you he spit in my mouth? And I loved it.

“Not really.” I lied but I could feel my face heating up as I turned around, back to the mirror as i felt my ears burning.

My sister shrieked so loud I jumped, nearly knocking over the bottle of perfume on the dresser.

“Oh my God, Sera, you naughty little bint! Tell me now!!!” She screeched and i flushed.

Like hell i was telling my sister what we had done.

“It’s private!!” I hissed when she tried to yank me and she laughed.

“You’re shy... aww that’s cute. But that’s just because you recently got un-virgined . Bet you can’t wait for him to desecrate your special place again, huh?” She waggled her eyebrows.

“That is the single most disgusting thing you’ve ever said.” I gagged.

She laughed again.

“Relax. He was your first. Happens . But like I said, don’t worry about him being serious about this. I think he is. You guys had sex and dad knows that. And yet somehow he’s still walking around with his had attached to his shoulders. Do you really think father would have let him live if he didn’t have feelings for you?”

I frowned.

“That’s not fair. It was consensual. He didn’t force me into anything or tell me he had feelings ....”

She scoffed at that.

“Please tell me you still don’t think he hasn’t got feelings for you. He went batshit-crazy when you went on that date with Yugyeom. Jimin thought he was having a stroke or something. Dude’s so gone for you it isn’t even funny.”

“ Fat lot of good that does me! ” I snapped. “ If he doesn’t acknowledge those feelings he might as well not have any. And so far he’s made it abundantly clear that he’s not going to act on them. Ever.”

“Because he’s clearly involved in something dangerous.” She said easily, making me blink. “I’m not supposed to be telling you this but I’m kind of sick of you moping around like the world is ending and I’m just going to trust you to be smart about it.”

“What do you mean dangerous?” I whirled around to glare at her, pulse racing.

“I have no clue. Dad and Jungkook are working on something. But they’ve been huddled in the administrative building for three days now and no one has seen them . So i don’t really know what it is they’re planning. But I’ve always wondered if Jungkook was hiding from something. It would explain why he’d work as a bodyguard...with his skills he could be so much more. ”

Frustration bloomed, this time laced with worry. I wanted to know what was going on. God, if i could only see him. A glimpse would be enough. Just to make sure he was okay. Just to hear from him that he was okay. That he was going to be safe.

“Think he’ll be at the party?” I asked softly, feeling a whole lot pathetic at the way my heart lurched hopefully.

My sister gave me a very mischievous smile.

“Maybe . Maybe not. You look ravishing by the way. And everyone out there wants you. Literally. Don’t forget that. Don’t be easy. Make him beg a little. ” She winked.

I frowned.

“He won’t beg. He’ll turn the tables around and make me cry.” I shuddered. . Which really wouldn’t be that hard . I felt like I was always on the verge of tears these days.

The knock on the door made us both look up.

“Who’s escorting you tonight?” My sister asked gently.

I shrugged.

“No one. I’m just gonna walk in there by myself because I hate all of you. ” I grabbed the small bejeweled clutch from the table and hesitated just a second.

God , I had no strength for tonight but there was a possibility that Jungkook could be there tonight. And I wanted to see him, if for no other reason than to kick him in the teeth.

I slipped into the strappy peep toe heels, stumbling a little because i wasn’t used to them.

Swearing at the sharp pain shooting up my heel and shin, I wrenched the door open. Ignoring the simpering man on the other side, i stalked right past him.

It was going to be a long , long night

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The ballroom looked ....for lack of a better word : overwhelming.

Whoever was in charge of the decoration had clearly taken the budget, quadrupled it and then pretty much ordered one of everything. I stared at the sheer overdose of satin and gauze and felt myself shuddering.

Red and black was the theme for the night and I half wished I’d chosen to wear something in turquoise blue just to give my eyes some sort of relief. But there was no denying that it looked especially lavish, the huge hall big enough to fit a dozen foot ball fields, the high ceiling that seemed to stretch right up to the heavens and the million candelabras and chandeliers hung all over the place.

The carpeted floors felt soft under my foot and it was still early, only a few pople flitting about while the ushers and helpers rushed about, tweaking deatils, rechecking placement charts, placing refreshments on the table. Small bottles of blood arranged neatly on the table and I rolled my shoulders, eyes darting around to find someone familiar.

Kim Minjae and Kim Mingyu were just entering the hall and I grimaced. God, no. But i watched as they casually posed in front of the blood red backdrop, while cameras flashed and i frowned. Were supernatural tabloids really that starved for material?

“Sera, go on, you need to get your picture taken too!” My aunt materialized out of nowhere , dressed in a puffy red gown with ruffles and I shook my head.

“Later... i need a drink.” I said quickly, escaping her clingy fingers and rushing away .

As the only human in the entire damn place, I would have to walk all the way to the bar on the far corner of the ballroom to beg for a drink.

I was half way there when a commotion at the door made me look up. My father had arrived with him a majority of his counsel and a bunch of other guests as well. I stared, my eyes zeroing in on a very familiar figure , my father’s arm wrapped around his shoulder.

Jeon Jungkook stood right next to my father dressed to the nines and with a dazzling smile in place.

I gawked at him.

Trying to process what it was that I was seeing.

He was smiling. He had the audacity to smile after ignoring me for two whole weeks.

I took a deep breath.

“You better have a pretty darn good explanation for the radio silence you treated me to the past two weeks. “ I intoned dully to myself , trying to ignore the way he looked, completely at ease in the spotlight.

He turned a little to the left and his gaze caught mine. I watched as he smiled and shook hands with the people around him before whispering something to my father.

I dug my heels into the floor, glaring as he extricated himself from the elite crowd and slowly began walking over. God, i wanted to kick him so bad.

He stopped in front of me, looking expectant and my anger merely doubled in intensity.

“Anything you wanna say, Jeon?” I snapped.

“You’re beautiful. Breathtakingly so. Red is your color, angel. I wanna see you in it more often. “ He answered at once.

My mind went distressingly blank for a whole thirty second.

“ Did i fucking offer? ” I demanded , angry. “ I’m not dressing up for you. Ever. You ignored me for two entire weeks Jungkook! i didn’t know where you were...what you were doing...”

“Sera, I’m sor -” He began but I squawked in disbelief, shoving him away hard. He stumbled, more in surprise than from the impact but he looked surprised .

I felt myself shaking in anger. How dare he?

“Oh, no. No. You do not get to waltz back in with a simple sorry.... not after treating me like shit the past two weeks...Absolutely not.” I snarled, shoving him again but this time he didn’t budge. Ugh.

I made to move past him but he grabbed my elbow , yanking me back till I crashed into his chest. It was humiliating , the way my body practically vibrated with pleasure from being near him. His arms around me felt like heaven and I’d spent two whole weeks in purgatory.

“You need to stay with me Ms. Hwang. I’m your bodyguard, remember?” He whispered, lips pressing against my neck, breathing in my scent and I glared at his arms.

“No you’re not. Namjoon is!! Where is he?” I asked angrily , but he pulled me closer, hands resting on the bare skin of my back as he hugged me tight, lips latching onto my neck, breathing deep and my knees buckled. i had missed this. So much and even if this was all i got, I wanted to savor it. Savor it even if I hated him for the way he treated me all the fucking time.

“Missed you.” He whispered, lips wet and wanting , damp on my skin as he pressed kisses along my shoulder. I loved it but I knew he was going to leave me again and that just made me angrier.

“You’re a liar.” I choked out.

“No. I’ve lied about a lot of things but never about how you’ve made me feel, Sera. You set me on fire.”

I choked, anger and affection flooding my senses, confounding me because it was like being caught in an endless game of push and pull.

I trembled, fists punching his shoulder in protest but he didn’t move. I could feel eyes on us and it made me flush. How dare he... How fucking dare he.

“Let go of me! You said you don’t want me so let me go!” I said petulantly and he made a small noise of protest.

“That’s not true angel...you know it’s not. I want you... Want you so damn bad , i ache with it.” He whispered the words into my skin and I bristled.

“Fucking liar, let go of me!” i was going to cry. Actually burst into tears in the middle of the ballroom.

He didn’t let go of me.

Instead his fingers fluttered down my bare back, feather light and maddening , tracing a path down my bare skin and I gripped is jacket at the electric contact.

i trembled, my thighs shaking but I couldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing how much I wanted him. I swallowed, shaking my head.

There was no music and we weren’t even near the dance floor. I couldn’t imagine how we must look to the people around us. But it was hard to think of that when I could feel him all over my body, could feel his heartbeat pulse right against mine and when his arms felt like an anchor , grounding me .

“You think I need you.” My voice shook a little, “ I really fucking don’t Jungkook and I want you to remember that. I don’t need you. I don’t need to touch you . I’m fine with you never touching me ever again. ” I lied, gripping him harder.

My words didn’t match my actions at all and he seemed to realize it, chuckling lightly and letting me press myself closer into his warm, solid body. He kept his arms around me, waist pressed into mine and thighs hard and solid against mine.

“I know that... i need you far more than you need me.” He said sweetly, kissing my brow and stroking my hair. He slipped his fingers into the strands, running the silky length between his fingertips , his voice brimming with fondness . It hurt, the fact that I couldn’t have this all the time.

That somehow I was only offered glimpses of this Jungkook. Little snapshots of a what our life together could be but when I tried to draw closer, he always pulled away.

I glared at him wanting to demand more answers

. And then my eyes fell on the small dagger sheathed into his belt. My sister’s words floated into my mind. Was Jungkook running from something?

“Are you in danger?” I whispered, softly. “ Darling, i need to know if you’re in trouble. I need to know.”

He trembled a little at the endearment.

“Baby, I’m going to be fine. Don’t worry about me alright. It’s important that you stay safe. “

The words brought no comfort of any kind.

I stared at him.

“What is it with the people around me spewing platitudes in my face without telling me what is going on! Do you just not trust me?” I asked desperately, hurt blooming.

Jungkook swallowed.

“i trust you with my entire life Sera. But, I just don’t want you to get hurt.” He said gently.

I rolled my eyes.

“Please....you’re five centuries old , so can you leave the whole cliché knight in shining armor back in the dark ages and just treat me like your equal? I’m not a helpless damsel in distress Jungkook...!!”

He nodded, reaching for me again but I pulled away, wrapping an arm around myself. He hesitated, hands stretched out to touch but hovering a few inches away .

“you’re right. I was out of line. But to be fair your father was very firm that I had to stay away from you...no contact of any kind till tonight. “

“And what’s so special about tonight.?” I asked , upset at how little i knew about what was going on. Jungkook’s gaze softened, and he pressed a palm to my cheek, thumb tracing circles on my jaw, before pressing a gentle kiss to my lips.

“ You’ll see. “ He smiled, “ And as for the rest of it, we’ll talk about this . I promise. We will....tonight after everything ends. I need to go now. Your father’s waiting for me,”

I clung to him, feeling abandoned all over again.

“What are you guys upto?” I grabbed his arm but he gently pulled my fingers away.

“I’ll come find you. “ Was all he said before moving away and I groaned in disbelief.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Uh oh. I can recognize that look. On a scale of one to ten , how much trouble is Jeon Jungkook in?” Namjoon asked gently, watching me glare daggers at the man in question as he hung around near the front of the hall, surrounded by clan leaders.

He was meeting everyone, apparently a social butterfly and i couldn’t fathom it. The last time we’d had a party he’d sneaked off to get laid with Helena.

Speaking of who,

“She’s going to castrate him. I can feel it.” The sultry eyed vampire, sat next to me, her long nails tapping the scarlet drape of the table as she watched me, eyes heavy and hot, gaze trained on my neck.

I’d never felt more like prey.

“ Nice to meet you Helena.” Namjoon said casually taking the seat next to me. Great. I was caught between two vampires that knew exactly how gone I was for Jungkook and exactly how ....not gone he was for me. The night just kept getting better.

“Always a pleasure daddy.” Helena said , eyes dancing with wicked mischief and Namjoon choked on his wine, spewing it all over the table. I stared at the pair in disgust.

“Disgusting.” I snapped. “Look at him. He hasn’t looked at me in an hour. How am i supposed to believe that he wants me so much I set his skin on fire.” I demanded shrilly.

Both of them went quiet. They looked very uncomfortable and i felt myself flush.

I glared at them , self conscious.

“What?! Jungkook said so himself.” I protested.

Both of them began guffawing.

“I’m never letting him live this down.” Namjoon chuckled and I rolled my eyes. I could feel eyes on me, everywhere. Everyone’s gaze flitted to me every few minutes. Some of the younger vampires hovered a discreet distance away but had their gazes trained on me .

Everyone looked at me except Jungkook. There really was no justice in this god forsaken world, was there?

Did he really think I was weak and harmless? I suddenly felt foolish . I wasn’t weak. I wasn’t powerless.

So , so far from it in fact.

I didn’t use my abilities because of how morally ambiguous they were. My father had drilled it into my head, right from childhood, that I couldn’t use my powers without explicit permission from him and I had listened to him.

Had played the role of the harmless human who just happened to have really intoxicating blood inside her veins.

But somehow that had ended up with me being pushed out of the loop with the man I loved. Jungkook thought I was some kind of helpless damsel he needed to keep safe and it just...it irked me.

It was laughable that he thought something could be dangerous to me.

It was laughable because I was easily the most dangerous creature in this entire room.

i pulled my phone out, texting furiously.

I want to see you.

I stared at Jungkook waiting for him to see. He pulled his phone out read the screen and to my utter chagrin he slipped the phone back in without answering.

All right, That’s it.

I stood up slowly, Namjoon stiffening next to me.

“Where are you going? “ He asked warily.

“To mingle.” I said casually. “ you can stay here, daddy. I’ll be fine by myself. “

He spluttered again and Helena laughed lowly.

“I like her. “ Her voice rang out and i smirked, making a beeline to wards the front of the room, where Jungkook stood with a few other vampires around the same age as him. They all straightened at the sight of me, lust evident in their eyes and I saw Jungkook go a little stiff when he noticed I was alone.

“Where’s Namjoon?” He said shortly.

“With Helena.” i said with a shrug.” Evening gentlemen.” I smiled softly, parting my lips lightly, letting my tongue dart out and wet them before leaving them parted, tongue peeking out.

Jungkook pressed in closer, arm darting to wrap around my waist but he seemed to think better of it, pulling away again.

“Sera...” He began warningly but i cut him off. Jungkook didn’t know what he had.

And I was too fucking beautiful to be ignored tonight.

“Isn’t someone starting the music? What a terrible bore this party has been...” I said loudly and the men scrambled closer, almost tripping over each other.

Pathetic really but at least they served their purpose.

“Should we get you another drink, Sera?” One of them said.

“Let me go find that Dj...” The tallest of the lot wandered off.

“You’re right..are you hungry..? Where’s that waiter?” The one right next to me lifted a hand, waving the nearest uniformed helped and I smirked at Jungkook.

“Having fun?” I asked.

“You need to go stay with Namjoon.” He said stiffly.

“where’s the fun in that? “ I hesitated, locking my eyes with him and lightly lifting my heel up to rest on the chair right next to him. The slit in my dress fell open, exposing the entire length of my leg, especially the red lace of my garter.

Jungkook’s eyes narrowed as he stared at the dagger strapped to my thigh, the red and gold stark against the milky white flesh. I rand a forefinger up from my knee to the top of the garter belt, lightly circling the tip over the sharp edge of the dagger.

“Don’t...” He growled. I smirked.

“Don’t what?” I whispered.

“Don’t fucking do it, baby... I’ll be really , really mad if you do. “ He was almost shaking with the effort to not grab me and i could feel it. Feel the urge to put me in my place, simmering beneath his skin but he was helpless.

Any wrong move on me and he would have a dozen daggers in his heart within the next second.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about .” I feigned ignorance, purposefully pressing the thick of my finger into the edge of the dagger, gasping as it broke skin, tearing my flesh and drawing out my blood.

A collective gasp ran through the crowd around us and it was quite the sight, an entire group of century old Vampires going stiff as boards, nostrils flared pupils blown wide open as they all stared at me .

I smiled wide, trying to inject a note of contrition into my voice.

“Oops. That was clumsy of me. .” I giggled, holding my finger up. the blood beaded over and spilled , trickling down my wrist and I locked my gaze with Jungkook’s, bringing my arm up, licking the scarlet fluid up, tracing its path with my tongue all the way to where the dagger had nicked me before sticking the finger into my mouth with a lewd pop.

A vampire, about three feet away from me was breathing heavily , grabbing the chair next to him and sinking into it. His fangs were out and his breathing was erratic. i watched his eyes flash red and I laughed.

“I’m sorry. “ I said sweetly and he gave me a blank smile.

“That’s alright, my lady . “ He was almost choking from the effort to stay composed. Poor thing. I let my gaze flit back to Jungkook who had a terrifyingly blank look on his face.

“You little whore.” Jungkook whispered softly and i lurched.

“Yours . If you want me. But if you don’t...then anyone’s really.” I shrugged unrepentant.

“Really? You think any of the vampires here’s gonna want you after the stunt you just pulled? No one wants a needy little slut.” He said casually but I could see him shaking a little. There was a teeny tiny crack in that cocky attitude and I’d never wanted to stick my fingers in something so bad.

I felt myself grin in anticipation.

“It’s not about what I think, Jungkook. Its about what I know.”

He stared at me.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“You think I’m helpless, Jungkookie.... But the truth is... I can turn every single person here into my own personal marionette if i wanted to. “ I shrugged.

Jungkook’s eyebrows lifted, lips parting in surprise.

“I’m listening.”

I moved to the table in the corner, patting the chair next to me. He took the seat next to me and I smiled.

“Now watch....” I snapped my fingers, signaling the waiter with the glass jar of lemon soda and vodka in his tray.

“Can you let my father know I want to leave the party early with Jungkook here?” I asked gently. The waiter flushed, but nodded and I casually slipped my finger into the lemonade jar, dipping lightly in the fluid.

Jungkook grimaced .

“That’s disgusting.”

I laughed.

“Now let’s see who gets to drink it.” I followed the waiter as he moved around stopping in front of a group of very young vampires, about four or five of them. Two girls and three guys. They all took glasses of vodka from the waiter and i sighed.

“You know what makes my blood so powerful Jungkookie? “ I said softly. “ It’s the fact that it is sentient.”

Jungkook went stock still still next to me, lips parting in shock.

“What?” He croaked.

I nodded.

“My blood is sentient. It can feel and see and control. If my blood mixes with yours, it will dominate your thoughts and feelings. I will literally take over you. But it also needs my instruction. So it’ll put you in a trance..... Leave you feeling boneless and disoriented , easier to manipulate. People think its because it tastes so good and they enjoy the feeling. They don’t know what the fuck they’re opening themselves up to...by letting me inside. “ I wrapped my arms around myself.

“I’m painted as the beautiful, kind and precious human who needs to be protected....only because I am anything but. In this room, Jungkook....I’m probably the one capable of wrecking the most havoc.”

“Sera...”

“Nobody knows except for my father and I because...well... just the scent of it makes people chase me down. Can you imagine what they’d do to me if they knew the true extent of my powers.” I said bitterly. I let my gaze shift back to the kids with the drinks. The drinks that were tainted with my life essence.

I watched them take sips of their drink and felt the mild tingling in the back of my head. Like a gossamer thread forming and wrapping around me and I swallowed. It was easy to ignore and I never had any trouble ignoring it when I let my family feed from me. Because I trusted them.

But these kids though. My body thrummed, focusing on one person.

The girl in the red halter top.

“See the girl with the red top and black skirt....” I swallowed. “ She slit the throat of an old woman on her way here.”

Jungkook swore next to me.

“I can see the woman... she’s on her knees , begging for her life. She’s really old.”

That wasn’t all. i could feel the grip of the dagger, the push of the blade against skin, the pull as the flesh gave in, the blood spurting out onto my fingers the scent of death as she bled out.

I felt nausea bubble and I severed the connection forcibly. The girl’s pretty face didn’t match her filthy insides. i couldn’t stay in her head. The tendrils began wrapping around my head as the four of them took more sips.

“When I want... i can influence their thoughts. It takes more effort but it’s possible. it’s why my father wanted to make sure you actually wanted to be with me. He thought I’d coerced you . which I can . if I want. But I didn’t. I don’t do that ever. ” I shook my head.

Jungkook’s brows raised.

“By coerce you mean....”

“It can be as simple as influence your decision... but if I really put in the effort, i can make people physically do what I wanted. “

“Physically?”

I smiled.

“Remember the boys from my college ? the ones who nearly drained me out?”

He nodded.

“My father didn’t have them defanged. They did it to themselves. Literally stuck their own hand into their mouth and ripped their fangs out . Because I wanted them too.”

Jungkook looked like he’d stopped breathing.

I swallowed.

“You don’t have to say anything. I just wanted to tell you that if you’re trying to protect me by withholding information, its kind of unnecessary. I can take care of myself.”

“Alright. What do you want to know?”

“Just tell me what’s going on “ I sighed. Jungkook gave me a piercing look.

“Remember Joo Won’s mother?”

“The witch you killed?”

“Her father’s out for my blood. He doesn’t know where I am as of now. Your father thinks one of his lackeys must be in attendance today so he’ll know where I am.... and he’ll come for me. And when he does... I’m going to end it .”

I stared at him.

“ Okay. “ I swallowed. “ How dangerous is he?”

Jungkook laughed without mirth.

“I’m not sure if I’m coming out of this alive.”

Blood rushed to my ears, so fast I felt momentarily lightheaded. My entire body rejected the mere idea of Jungkook getting hurt. And to hear him talk of it so lightly, it messed me up badly. The fragile hold I had on my mind snapped.

“No.” I said angrily.

Across the room, the girl in the red halter stumbled, clutching her head .

Anger and the urge to hurt clawed up inside me and I tried to get it under control.

Fuck, I had to sever the connection fully before i did something terrible to her..

But it wasn’t happening,

In fact the more i tried to get away the more her conscience seemed to be wrapping around mine.,

Distance. I had to put distance between us.

I need to leave now, I pushed the thought in through the connection and i watched her as she stumbled away from her friends, hands buried in her hair.

“Sera what the fuck... “ Jungkook grabbed my arm, eyes wide and panicked and I trembled.

I felt guilty and scared because there was a reason i didn’t do this and the reason was quite simple. This power...or whatever you wanted to call it, It was bigger than me. I couldn’t control it .

My blood was sentient and sometimes it could control me , just as easily as it controlled others.

“She’s just leaving... I just made her leave because I’m not .. I can’t. ...fuck...” My head swam as I tried to get my bearings.

“ okay that’s it...we’re getting out of here.... ” Jungkook stood up, reaching for me and I blinked, disoriented and dizzy. “Come here, baby I got you...”

I let him wrap his hand around my waist, half lifting , half dragging me out of the ballroom and into the hallway. I gripped his chest, stumbling. I wasn’t tired, just struggling to get my head on straight .

But the scent of him calmed me.

“I need you.” I whispered. “ I need you to be safe Jungkook. I’ve spent too long pretending to be something I’m not but with you... I’m.. You... You make me feel human. Truly human. “

“Fuck... hang on. I’m gonna take you to my cottage.”

I blinked

“your what?”

“My cottage. Hang on...”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

By the time Jungkook opened the door to the cottage, I felt a little like myself again. But my body thrummed , my skin on fire, my fingers trembling with adrenaline.

“you look like you need to lie down.” He said gently.

I glared at him.

“The last thing I need is to lie down.” I snapped.

He held his hands up.

“Alright. Calm down, baby..... Why are you so upset?” He asked soothingly and I scoffed.

“ You fucked me in public and the next day you looked like you’d been handed a death sentence, when my father suggested that you court me and then... you disappeared for two whole weeks....and now you turn up and tell me that your life is in danger. You do all this shit and I’m not allowed to be upset? ” I said angrily.

He hesitated.

“I merely meant it would be dangerous. I am not actively trying to die.” He said softly.

“As for the rest of it.... I’m not the same person I was a month ago Sera.... You.. You’ve managed to claw you way into my heart and the only reason I didn’t want to court you was because of what I was involved in. I told you that...the baggage I’m carrying is too much for me to even think about being with you.... That’s the only reason. “

I stared at him.

“Are you telling me you fell for me too?”

Jungkook smirked a little.

“You were fucking me all the time without touching me. How could I not fall for that utterly shameless gaze of yours. You were your heart on your sleeve and your heart is always filled with filthy thoughts about me Sera. You make it way too obvious. “ He said teasingly.

“I don’t want you to die.” I said petulantly.

“That makes two of us. “ He smiled. “ What do you want, Sera?”

“Want you.” I said automatically, too raw and upset to think too much about it.

“You have me.” He stepped closer, hands resting on my shoulder, eyes earnest and i hated how much I wanted to believe him . But heartbreak after heartbreak after heartbreak had taught me that it was all a lie. I didn’t have him and now ....there was a possibility I could never have him.

“No, I don’t.” I shook my head, angry. “ Don’t lie to me. I don’t have you.”

Jungkook made to touch me again but I shoved him away, hard.

“you’re angry. “ He said thoughtfully. “ I understand that. You have every right to be angry. And I’m sorry I can’t tell you what you want to hear right now...Not until this whole debacle ends. But Sera...look at me...”

I bit my lips staring at him.

“I’m here. Now. I’m not going anywhere. It’s just us. You and I. Don’t worry about what happens next. Don’t. Let’s not worry about any of that. I’m here and I’m telling you I’m yours. You have me now.”

I stared at him, tilting my head as I took him in.

He didn’t move , merely staring at me evenly.

“You know.... you aren’t the only one who hates being ignored.” I said softly.

I felt weird.

Different.

None of the usual nervousness or anticipation but instead a sort of burning need to take. To reach out and pin him down , force him to follow through on his promise that I had him.

“ I’ve been giving too much of myself to you, Jungkook ...for way too long. I think it’s time I get something back.” I whispered.

His lips curled in a small, impish smile and he looked a decade younger. His eyes flashed with mischief and anticipation. He looked eager....desperate even and I wondered if this is what I looked like all the time with him.

“And what would that be...my queen?” he whispered meekly.

“You. “ I said simply. “ All of you. Your words... your pain...your pleasure... your moans and your very breath. I want to take all of it.”

I could see his pupils dilating even from the distance between us.

“Its yours, sweetheart” Jungkook bowed his head gently, holding his arms out. “Tell me where you want me...how you want me...”

I glanced around the room. Not the bed. Not yet.

There was a very sturdy looking chair in front of the small table in the corner.

“Put that in the middle of the room and sit down.” I pointed at the chair.

He smiled.

“You want me to stay dressed?” He asked carefully and I nodded.

“Very well.” He moved to get the chair, placing it in front of the bed. He sat down carefully.

“Anything else?” He asked gently.

I narrowed my eyes at him

“Yes. Keep your mouth shut unless I ask you something.” I said with a smile. His eyes widened in surprise. But he didn’t protest.

I took in the sight of him on the chair, dressed in his perfectly fitted tux , legs spread and hands on his knees, eyes wide and alert as he stared at me. Pretty red mouth shut obediently.

I moved closer till I was standing right between his thighs. His hands came up to grip my waists instinctively and I glared.

“Hands’ to yourself Jungkook. You don’t just get to treat me as you fucking like and then touch me without my permission.” I snapped.

He lowered his hands , letting them rest on his knees again.

“Do you want to touch me , baby?” I whispered pressed my palm to his face before letting my fingers trail up to his hair. it was soft and silky to the touch, the strands like fine silk.

“Yes.” He answered simply.

“Then you need to earn it.” I threaded my fingers' into his raven locks, gripping hard and yanking his head back . i stared, fascinated by the ivory length of his neck, the little mole there and i pressed a kiss to his skin. I let my teeth sink in , just a little and then a little bit more. When he shifted, I pulled back, licking the skin to soothe the sting. His breath caught and he gasped, eyes widening a bit and a small, ‘ fuck’ leaving his lips.

I pulled back , keeping my fingers in his hair , gripping lightly, before reaching down with my free hand.

“You have such a pretty neck and it make me wonder what it feels for your kind...sinking your teeth into people and feeding from them. Too bad I don’t have fangs. But you know what I do have?” I winked .

I brought my leg up, the front end of my shoe resting on the small empty space on the chair , right in the V if his legs. If he moved even a little, my toes would brush the straining length of his cock visible even through the black of his slacks. He was so hard I knew it must’ve hurt.

I gripped his hair harder and tilted his head down to he could stare at my thighs, specifically the dagger in my garter.

“I want a taste . Of you. Can I?” I asked gently staring at him, fingers fiddling with the dagger and unsheathing it.

He nodded.

“Words. Please.” I smiled.

“Yes...fuck yes.....please...Sera...”

“Good boy.” I winked, bringing the dagger up to his neck. It was really sharp and I used the tip to lightly draw a small dash, an inch below his ear. I watched the blade tear through the flesh, light and delicate, the skin cleaving and scarlet liquid bubbling up. I chased the flow with my tongue, licking it into my mouth and Jungkook trembled in the chair, jerking forward.

The movement jolted my foot onto his crotch and he grunted, grabbing my ankle when I made to move it away, keeping my heeled foot on his clothed cock. I swallowed, little out of my league but i stared at him, at the sheer intensity of the desperation in his eyes and I inhaled ....before gently bringing my toes down to press into his cock.

He moaned, thighs trembling and I dropped the dagger to the floor.

I slipped both my hands into his hair, holding his head in place as i bent low to capture his lips with mine, sticking my tongue inside his mouth while grinding my foot down into his cock. I licked into his mouth, chasing the warm heady taste of him, my fingers tightening in his hair for leverage and I wondered if he was wet.... If his cock was weeping precum, dribbling into his slacks .

I pulled back to stare into his eyes but he had them shut.

“Look at me.!” i demanded,” wanna see you...”

His eyes fluttered open, doe- like and warm and swimming with pleasure and I’d never felt more powerful in my life. I moved my foot slowly, in small controlled circles for a few seconds.

“You wanna cum in your pants like this? Rutting on my foot like a little mutt? Or do you want to get on the bed and touch me like you wanted to...?” I whispered softly.

Jungkook swallowed and his fingers tightened on my ankle. .

“Wanna cum like this.” He said taking me by surprise. I raised an eyebrow.

“Really... then what about me...? I want to get fucked too Jungkook ..? How’re you gonna do that if you cum so fast.....” I snapped, gripping his hair harder and he groaned.

“I... I’ll fuck you again... i promise.. I’ll fuck you hard and make you feel good... just..let me cum...please.. It fucking hurts...” The way his voice cracked a bit on the last few words made my heart jerk inside my ribs. I found myself fighting the urge to give him everything.

I smiled instead, kissing his lips again.

“Thank God for fast refractory periods huh, my big bad vampire?” I bit his lips, tugging it between my teeth , before reaching between us and slipping the shoe off my foot. Jungkook trembled, gripping me for support when I pulled my foot away and I let him cling to me for a second, before dropping the shoe down and pressing my bare foot on his erection. I spread my toes over the head, pressing down just a little and he inhaled sharply when i circled my toe on the wet patch .

“Go on them. Make yourself cum.” I whispered, leaning down and kissing him again. He grabbed my ankle with both hands, rutting up into the balls of my feet, hips thrusting up and I let him lick into my mouth, messy and wet as he chased his pleasure.

I felt him stiffen underneath me, followed by a wash of dampness under my sole and I wrapped my arms around him, holding him close and letting him bury his face into my neck as he trembled through the aftershocks. He gripped my waist, hands shaking as he held me and i waited, worried if I should take my foot off or not. I could feel my legs beginning to cramp and I swallowed.

“You okay?” i whispered.

“Yeah.” He grunted. “ Fuck..that was...” he laughed a little.

“We’re not done.” I said pressing a kiss to his cheeks and stroking his hair back gently.

He hummed, gently gripping my ankle and lifting my foot off his crotch. I brought my leg down, wincing a bit.

“Should we get on the bed?” He whispered.

I nodded, yelping when he stood up with me still in his arms, he carried me over to the bed, dropping me lightly.

“Strip.” I said quickly. “ All of it. Want you naked and stretched out on this bed for me.”

He moved quickly, stepping out of his clothes with ease and I sat on the edge of the bed, grabbing the black tie he discarded. I took off my panties, leaving my dress and the garter belt on.

Jungkook naked was a sight i could never tire off and I watched as he climbed into the bed, lying down in the center, legs splayed slightly and hands by his side.

“Bring your wrists together up over your head” I said quickly and he moved his wrists up , letting me tie them to the head board with his tie as i sat straddled on his chest. I was wet, sopping wet and I felt the trail of dampness I left on his rock hard abs.

“I’m gonna sit on your face and you’re gonna make me cum. And then , I’m gonna ride you .” I whispered.

“Fuck.”

“That’s the plan.”

I scooted forward, resting one knee close to either shoulder before gripping the head board with one hand and the hair on top of his head with the other. Tugging him closer, I lowered my pussy onto his mouth, groaning when i felt soft pressure of his tongue against my center, licking tentatively.

Jungkook knew what he was doing, and he licked into me with practiced ease tongue slipping into my slit, curling against the walls, before tracing circles around my clit. He used his lips to suckled on the hardened nub , following it up with quick little licks and i slipped a hand between my legs, stuffing three fingers into my cunt to get myself off faster.

“Oh...fuck... I want... “ I could feel myself shaking and he sped up his movement, licking my lit in quick little strokes and my orgasm hit me like a wave, drowning me in pleasure. I scooted down before losing my strength, collapsing on top of him. The orgasm having knocked me right out of my headspace. I was trembling and shaking, lethargic and completely out of it.

”Baby...you okay?” Jungkook’s concerned voice came from above and I whimpered.

“I’m... I’m sorry.... I’m so tired... I...”

“Don’t worry baby .. i got you. “

I heard the sound of wood splintering and blinked, glancing up. Jungkook had tugged his hands free from the restraint, breaking the headboard in the process.

I gawked at the scene in disbelief.

“Did you just....?”

He grabbed the hem of my dress, ripping it up and off me quickly.

“Fuck..... want to pound you into the fucking mattress my little princess... Such a little tiger aren’t you kitten... so fierce and hot... i loved it baby...you were so good to me ...made me feel so fucking good...” He maneuvered me onto my back and i felt myself blushing at the praise, face heating up as i gripped his shoulders.

He grabbed the back of my thigh, spreading my legs before lining himself up against my pussy.

“Fuck...” He slid right in , knocking the breath out of me and i clung to him, whimpering as he pounded into me, hips working so fact I was sure I was going to have trouble walking for a week after this.

I could feel my orgasm build from the sheer intensity of the thrusts, the hard thick length of his cock pounding into my cunt till i felt swollen and bruised and tender and when it finally tore through me , i was drooling a little, eyes damp with tears and fingers numb from gripping him too hard.

Jungkook fucked me through the orgasm and chased his own each push of his hips leaving me battered and I bit my lips to stay conscious . When he finally stilled, his cock throbbing as he came for the second time, filling my insides with the wet warmth of his cum, I felt myself shake like a leaf caught in a storm, my entire body ice cold and trembling. A thin layer of sweat coated my body and I was pretty sure I wouldn’t recover from this for a really long time

“My pretty pretty queen....” He whispered , pressing kisses all over my face as he hugged me closer and I mewled at the warmth of him.

“Don’t leave me .” i whispered, unable to fight the tug of sleep and exhaustion.

“I’m right here, baby.” His voice was soothing against my ear as he held me closer.

Maybe I could have him after all.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author’s note : okay. well. that happened. if you don’t give me feedback this will be the last smut scene.

but please do give me feedback . i love hearing from you guys.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist. : @ladyartemesia @veronawrites @alpaca1612 @bonyg @unseejuice21 @sppvjj @ggukkieland @tae-by-tae @blr1004 @yoongichild @stussyjeon @jellybearo @sumzysworld @carolsummerlove@bunniechoon @unicornbabylover @preciouschimine @baekhyunatthehaunted-house @craztextae@nikkiordonez12

@jiminiscricket @yeotan07

@chimchimmy95bts @jinscharms

@danietoww04

#bts jungkook #jungkook fics #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook #bts smut #bts au #jungkook vampire au #bts vampire au #jungkook vampire #jungkook fanfics

324 notes · View notes