#the seven writing event

[winterarmyy]

Welcome Home, Daddy

The aftermath of when Bucky accidentally relapsed into the Winter Soldier.

Summary: Bucky was over the moon when he discovered that Y/N was pregnant with his child. But, when the danger that lurks in dark threatened to steal his family away, a fellow soldier decided to come home.

Note: Highly recommend to read 《 Welcome Home... Soldat? 》 for backstory. But, you can also read this as a stand alone (though you might miss some call backs on the soldat's behaviour if you skip)

Pairing: winter soldier!bucky x female!reader

Words: 7.1k++ (bare with me, please)

Warnings: graphic violence, torture, blood, gore, deaths, dark undertones, sudden fluff, tiny bit of angst, google translated russian, and just so much detained anger exploding around, soldat is just deadly yet adorable in this one (i can't even handle it, and i'm the author), this event takes place far in the future after what happened in 《 Welcome Home...Soldat? 》

A/N: Looks like we have the winner for the poll 👀 Who's ready for our lovely soldat to make his appearance again? I know I'm not, but here we are. So, strap in and let's do this!

P/S: Also, I might as well make this as my submission for the seven writing event hosted by @nickfowlerrr 💌 Check out the event masterlist and support the writers by reading and reblogging their stories!

Read my other works here: Masterlist

They say the wrath of a fighter may threatened a heinous war but the wrath of a lover will let the earth drenched in bloody gore. And if a fool was daft enough to tore a lover from his other half, then they might just court themselves right into the hands of death.

And this couldn't be more true, especially if we consider the crime that the soldat was currently committing. Surely, the blood pooling on the floor will forever leave a grim mark that'll haunt the people who ever witness it.

"Where is she?" the soldat prompted the frail woman, limping on the chained chair. Despite the horrid situation, he sounded rather calm when he spoke.

How unfortunate it was for Elle to be associated with Hydra yet to also be so exposed to the dangers of the ghost himself, the Winter Soldier. Hydra may have their suspicion about the soldat making a move, but she didn't expect that she would be involved in the mess of this ordeal.

The cold metal of the soldat's vibranium fingers, particularly his index and thumb, latched themselves on another one of her nails. Her mouth slacked open but no sound was able to be formed when the soldat mercilessly ripped her nail right off her finger.

And oh, the pain was beyond any kind of injury that she had ever experienced, not a even a bullet through her flesh could be compared to this agony of a torture.

He harshly grabbed Elle by the back of her neck, forcing her to watch the blood leaking from the reddened flesh of her fingers, "I asked you a simple question, су́ка (bitch). Where the fuck is she?" The soldat's patience had been running thin and rage had clouded his judgements.

He needed to find her. His precious Родная (darling).

No matter whose neck he needed to slay or whose blood that have to be shed dry. He had to bring his darling home; no matter what it takes.

Unfortunately, it had been almost a month since he lost her.

And no one saw it coming.

Who would've thought that the old Hydra compound that the team raided were meant to be a part of a plan to weaken the Avengers. It was just a distraction filled with unexpected traps and triggers. By the time they flew home, the team were already tired and injured as the result of the raid.

So imagine the desperate struggle and utter panic that Bucky had to go through the moment he stepped his foot into the comfort of their home and had to witness Y/N's exhausted figure fighting for her life.

Hers and the baby's inside.

After hitting the 2 months mark of pregnancy, Bucky decided that Y/N shouldn't be involved in any high stake mission anymore. At first, she only laughed to his statement, thinking he was surely joking but when his stern expression didn't flatter, that was when she reliazed Bucky was not open for negotiation.

Y/N knew it was way too early to settle into her maternal leave but after having a long conversation with Bucky, they both agreed to keep her missions strictly on low-risk stakeouts and desk works at the tower.

It was supposedly be some kind of a precaution for her, to keep her and the baby safe, away from any type harm that might come their way. But, that certainly back fired.

When Bucky's burning anger had pumped him full with high stream of adrenaline, it was as if he went into an auto pilot; a murderous one at that. And soon enough he managed to take down half of Hydra's best agents that joined the mission of collecting Y/N from the tower.

For a moment, it seemed like luck was on their side, at least it felt like it.

It lasted only until Bucky saw how harsh the kick of the enemy landed on Y/N's hip, and how she managed to shield her stomach seconds before her body slammed down to the ground.

That was when fear crawled into his pumping nerves and the roots of it ran extremely cold.

And that was all it takes for Hydra to distract Bucky then immobilize him on the spot with a replica of the Sonic Taser developed by Stark Industries a few years back.

Bucky grunted painfully in protest of the high pitched sonic frequency from the device that overloads his nervous system. His body couldn't help but to slowly paralyzed its movements as his skin turned pale and the strain in his blood vessels became visible.

On the opposite side, Y/N could be seen being forcefully dragged away by a few of the Hydra agents that was left. There were couple of nasty injuries torn all over her body yet she was still stubborn on fighting back.

While she was being pulled farther away from him, she shouted his name loud and desprete, "Bucky!" Hot tears broke from the corner of her eyes as she desperately reach out her hand.

It felt as if she was right there when Bucky's hand was reaching back towards her. Like, a little bit of a push would've been enough to catch her but alas fate was not planning to be merciful.

Bucky's menancing eyes never left her wavering ones as Hydra tortured Bucky by stealing a part of his soul from him; and no one really knew how his heart clenched and torn to the fact that he was helplessly useless when Y/N needed him the most.

And when he only managed to scream back Y/N's name, he was forced to watch her wailed as she was unwillingly being taken away.

The moment when Bucky drowned himself in regret and rage, that was when the Winter Soldier took over his consciousness.

Unfortunately for the soldat, his mortal body was already worn out from all the intense fight that happened prior; he was knocked out right after he took over the body.

But in those few seconds before the darkness consumed him, the soldat managed to catch a glimpse of his darling. He saw the image of her; teary and bruised in the hands of those who created him. The very same monsters who uses him for despicable things.

That was all that he needed to see in order to break those chains around the dark pandora residing deep within his being.

The team was absolutely not ready to deal with the soldat again, this time without Y/N to tame him. Especially when his demands were unrealistic for them to fulfill.

It's been nearly 3 weeks since the incident and they had failed to locate Y/N; repeatedly. Even if they did manage to get some kind of an intel, all the of bases they had raided were basically bunch of abandoned spaces that Hydra used to occupy.

So of course the soldat was agitated. He had every right to be, more so when he thought of the increasing risk of his darling getting hurt in the hands of Hydra. And at this point, those scumbags were just messing with their minds. Especially with his.

"Listen, we're doing our best here, soldat." Steve tried to reason with him but it only fueled the burning flames within the soldat, "ты делаешь недостаточно! (You're not doing enough!)" He spat harshly that he didn't even noticed that he uses Russian language. It seemed like the unkempt irritation had conquered the chaos of his mind.

So that very night, the soldat decided to do this on his own; thus he ran away from the tower in search for his darling. He had to. Especially when he knew precisely why the Avenger was not able to find Y/N as quickly as they should be.

It was because they were the good guys. They were the heros, they were the light. And the soldat was not. In fact, he was the very opposite.

Unlike the Avengers, the soldat was not planning to play  nice and soon enough he managed to find a lead.

Which bring us to this very moment in which he successfully snuck into a Hydra agent's home to interrogate her.

But, in contrast of those Hydra troops that attack the Avengers Tower a few weeks ago, Elle was not even involved in the mission of retrieving Y/N. She was actually on a solo mission to infiltrate a certain high school to collect informations on Peter Parker. Hydra suspected that he might be involved with the new hero appearing in Queens.

However, even if she was not a part of the team mission, she knew bits and pieces of the overall plan, especially the whereabout of the main character herself, Y/N.

However, the appearance of the Winter Soldier in her temporary house was completely unexpected.

It felt like it was just few moments ago that the intel on Y/N's location reached her ears. Then, she distinctly remember the glimpse of those murderous eyes glaring into her soul. Next thing she knew was everything went pitch black.

Even if it was temporary, however it felt so surreal.

The darkness surrounding her.

The bone rattling cold.

It felt like death itself.

But unfortunately for her, the soldat was far from stopping.

Elle was fraying at the edges while the soldat crouch to her level. Even if she could barely reconstruct the unclear and blurry images through her dazed eyes, however, that didn't stop the soldat from maiming the dying woman's soul through his unforgiving gaze.

"Wake up..." he growled as he yanked her face upwards, "...we're not done yet."

It took a while for Elle to finally adjust to the light, after being in the dark for – how she felt like – so long.

After the light hits her vision, the striking pain came next. The pulsing pain surrounding of her right eye, her broken nose, her busted lips, her bleeding skin; neck, chest, arms, and almost every part of her limbs.

Everything were – slowly but surely, in each cuts and bruises on her skin – blooming its pain into existence.

How can she skipped all of this when she lost her consciousness?

Perhaps that was how she managed to stay alive as long as she had. By running away from the misery; from her reality.

Elle whined in pain but her voice suggested that she might already torn her throat apart when it sounded more like a broken grunt. Her disoriented gaze fell into her aching fingers, each were missing its nail; the tips of them was where the icky blood trickled from and had shaped a pool of blood on the floor where she rested.

The dim lighting from the room reflected on the surface of the deep-red puddle, revealing the resemblance of it to a mirror. And the blurry image looking back, was the soldat, with a sinister expression on his face.

This game, that they're playing.

It hardly seems fair to one of them. To be tortured if not speaking the truth? That's simply unjust; but if we're talking about fairness, then none of those injuries could ever be compared to the pain Y/N might be going through at this very moment. Every second of Elle's useless stubbornness was costing Y/N's safety.

And the soldat didn't like that. Not one bit.

"You mentioned Spain? Where exactly?" In one swift, harsh motion, the soldat thrust his knife through her thighs, "FUCK!"

The loud scream of pain that tore from Elle's throat was probably the last coherent word that she uttered as the torture continued.

The soldat pulled the knife out and stabbing it into the open wound, he listened to Elle's gasp for a moment, relishing her breathless pleading and the tears now openly streaming down her face.

He stabbed again, twice, each was quick and deep, not caring about the blood that spurted out across his face.

At this point Elle was just a puddle of blabbering mess; streams of saliva pouring out her mouth, sobbing, gasping for air; mixture of grunts, moans and whispers of curses and pleas were all spouted incoherently.

Anger.

Frustration.

Rage.

Wrath.

Even hatred.

The soldat was feeling it all.

It was consuming him, devouring any sanity that was left of Bucky's moral values. The eerie glint in the soldat eyes suggested that he was not planning to stop until she gave him what he wants.

God, if it wasn't for chilling atmosphere around her, Elle might just mistook that she was actually in hell.

"Pyrenees!" She cried out. The soldat instantly stopped when she confessed. He waited for an answer and right on cue, she spoke again, breathless and almost silent as the fear that engulfed her prior refused to release her from its haunting grip. And truthfully she doubt that it will ever let her go, "T-there a secret base n-near the Irati forest."

She exhaled a shaky breath as she pleaded, "S-so please. Please stop this." The was tired of the pain and the numbness that came after. And the soldat knows it.

The room was left silent momentarily, as if he was actually considering her plea but alas he already had plans for her all along, "Shame. You should've killed yourself before I came here."

As he finished the last word, the soldat viciously plunged his knife deep into her neck, digging the sharpness of it through the delicate flesh until it reach the base of the blade.

Elle gasped in response, her hands scrabbling around in effort to break free, to stop all of this. But considering the situation she was in, there was nothing she could do about it other than to take it as it was given to her.

When the motion finally stopped, the soldat simply walked away from the scene as if it was a complete norm for him to behave as he was. He didn't even thought of cleaning the mess he left behind. Or hide the corpse somewhere.

Isn't he afraid that he might leave his tracks for the police to find?

Why would he?

This has been his life for decades on end. His sole purpose of living was to kill. So best believe that the authorities will never be able to link the soldat or Bucky to this crime.

Not today, not ever.

Through the days that Y/N was locked deep within Hydra's base, she hadn't been treated the worst. In fact, the sick and twisted agents and residents in the facility was more than willing to care for her.

This was all because they wanted her baby.

It was always sickening to hear them referring her child as merely a tool for their success. And the way they worship Y/N like she was a gift from God to fulfill their purpose, was beyond insanity.

"Oh, to have the privilage of bearing the offspring of the Winter Soldier. To be able to create the perfect weapon, unlike the father. It is just honorable."

It made her stomach churned with pure disgust whenever she heard those types of comments floating around her.

Besides the eerily digusting behaviour of the agents, there was also the regular check-ups and the lab tests that she needed to attend. Out of all the things she had to endure these past few weeks, the medical check-up has always dreaded her the most.

There was this constant debate within her troubled mind; of the possibility of Hydra manipulating her baby's health and genes by inserting unknown substance into her.

"Come on, mama. On the bed." The doctor said as he patted his rubber gloved hand on the surface of the rigid single bed.

She always found it vile that the people here calling her by that nickname. It tickled her throat in a way that she wanted to puke all the tasteless gunk that they had fed her with.

As she laid on the bed and let the process went on as it usually do, the doctor suddenly stopped everything that he was doing. At first she was weirded out by the irregular act of the man, but when she felt the vibration on the ground and the rushing footsteps from the floor above her, she knew exactly why the doctor suddenly froze on his spot.

And the emergency siren that shortly blared after, had only confirmed her speculation.

But mostly, it was the panic in the doctor's eyes that gave him away; then when Y/N noticed the man scrambled to search the drawers from one of the cabinet, she knew that he was up to no good.

The second that the doctor's hurried his steps towards her with a syringe in his hand, Y/N's body immediately recoiled. She quickly stopped him by grabbing his wrist and twisted it back until the syringe dropped from his hold.

The man cursed under his breath and decided to take her by force when he grabbed a handful of her hair, almost dragging her out of the bed. Y/N shrieked painfully while her hands blindly grabbing the silver tray by the bed next to her.

She then slammed it hard against his head, and watched the contents on the tray fell and scatter onto her. She took quick skim over all the tools and saw a potential weapon for her defence; a scissor.

"Stay still, mama. Or the baby will get hurt." The doctor foolishly threatened.

Maybe it was her defence mechanism or maybe it was just her motherly instinct kicking in but something just snapped inside of her when he said those words. There was this incredibly strong urge to either fight or take flight.

Of course she could easily slipped away and make a run for it but she just couldn't risk it. Especially when her baby's life was currently at stake. So, after a short moment of hesitation, she swiftly grabbed the scissors and surge it through his ribs. The man wailed in pain as he staggered off the bed and fell onto the floor.

You'd thought a single yet firm stab through the guts was enough to quench Y/N's need of fighting back but no. Apparently, the haywire of her nerves had drove her feral and she needed him to be soulless by the time she walk out the room.

That had forced her to nearly jumped on him like a predator pinning on a meek prey and the lack of struggling on the victim's side had only gave her full control to dominate him.

Then all of the sudden, the doctor felt another strike of the pain, digging into the flesh of his chest.

He woefully cried in extreme pain while Y/N did not utter a single word or let out any sound, she stayed silent as she thrusts the scissor in and out his flesh.

Each surge was vicious than the previous. Each stab was gradually speeding up as the motion increases it's number of repetition.

She completely let her emotions took over her sanity.

Until what's left in the room was only the sloshing and splashing sound of blood seeping through every thrust, as she continued to violate the body of the corpse.

Until the calm puddle of blood on floor rippled as the tears that broke from her eyes dropped on it's surface.

And when she realized that the doctor was long dead, that broke Y/N out from her feral state. Realizing what she had done; she shakily loosen her grip on the scissors and scrambled off from the lifeless body.

Her breath was near erratic; it was a chaos of unsteady rhythm as her words was lost at the tip of her tongue. She jolted in shock when the commotion in the facility got louder than before, reminding her that Bucky was there to save her.

Y/N felt a sob choking in her throat as her hands searched her stomach to coax the child in her womb, "It's okay sweet bean, daddy's here for us."

Have you ever heard how ear-ringingly loud it is when it's hailing? How the sounds of the frozen raindrops hitting – the top of your car or the roof of the shades of an outdoor café table – can completely mute your words for anyone to hear?

That has nothing compared to the thundering sounds that echoed throughout the whole facility. The shots were fired from multiple range of stolen guns, all were coming from one moving figure.

The once clean grey and white painted walls of the hallways, were now stained and splattered with the color of crimson. The usually empty hallways, were occupied by the dead bodies of fallen Hydra agents. And the distinct scent of well-kept lair, were effortlessly replaced by the unpleasant and pungent smell; a mixture of blood and sweat.

It was a clear trail of the Winter Soldier's deeds.

This place was supposed to be pristine, but now feels more like how it should be; hell.

While the enemies were roaring into their death, the soldat on the other hand was very much the opposite.

Unlike his foe, it took him very little work from the tips of his tongue and much more on the tips of his gun. When the enemies barked like a dog, the soldat pounced like a wolf; silent and resilient.

By nature, the soldat had never been a patient man, especially when it comes to people harming his darling.

Sure, maybe he can tolerate and play along with people who messed with him, but if one were to touch even a strand of hair of his beloved, then they practically reserving themselves a first class ticket of a one-way trip to hell.

And that unhinged tendencies of his only worsen when wrath was the one reigning his mind while hatred was its ruler. His mind was nothing but a chaos of rampage and vengeance. Seeking nothing but blood and death of his foolish foe.

At this point of time, with the amount of life he had taken from the moment he step foot into the gate of the base, to the very stairs he was currently climbing, one could probably matched his heart rate with the rhythm of the shots formed by the bullets he shot.

Magazine upon magazine he reloaded his gun and waste no less than zero bullet as every shot made was accurately deadly and terrifying fatal to his prey.

As the soldat's feet reached half way up the stairs, a Hydra agent's voice spoke from the lower level, "She's on the LG2, we need a team to come and collect her as soon as poss--" A bullet went straight through the top of his head before he could finish his sentence.

And that was the soldat's last ammo.

While he mentally took note on the intel, his feet was quick to jumped into action and made his way down to LG2. As he entered the hallway, his wild eyes wondered around to steal another gun from a dead man's body.

But he rose into a stand, he felt a tip of a cold steel nudged at the back of his head.

Some would call out the soldat's mistake for letting his guard down in the middle of a battle, but another would definitely ridicule the stupidity of that fool's guts for even thinking that the soldat couldn't counter-attack his weak threats.

However, none of the two man managed to made any move towards each other when there was a faster, more accurate trigger was pulled from someone else, from across the hallway.

And that action left an aftermath of the fool's body to drop flat on the floor, quickly finding it's perfect spot with between the other pile of corpses scattered around.

When the soldat turned around, the sharp of his gaze softened almost immediately.

There she was standing there, in the pastel blue of her 'prison' attire. Her hair was a bit messy even if it was tied, and her complexion looked slightly pale with fatigue but to the soldat, she was glowing like angel; despite the blood on her clothes or the gun in her hand.

She was right there.

His heart.

His love.

His darling.

Her eyes were red and puffy, as if she had been crying for days. Her pouty lips trembled when the soldat stepped closer and closer towards her, tears threatening to fall as if she haven't done that during all the weeks that she had been here.

The soldat's steps grew faster.

So does Y/N's.

Tap taping until they were almost running towards each other.

Until the moment they reunited in the middle.

Catching each other's lips in a desperate and insatiable kiss, the soldat pulled her body tight around the waist as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

Both whimpered in a yearning moan, both still had their guns hanging on one of their hands.

So many feelings at once, relief and grief, with each of them had a different story to tell.

The couple kept breaking and mending the kiss ever-so-passionately as if they weren't in the middle of the grave-less cemetery; as if they weren't in the center of the piling corpses.

Briefly opening his eyes, the soldat could see a shadow running towards them. When Y/N heard the footsteps from her back, she knew they need to pull away, but the soldat was firm and stubborn with his hold.

So instead of letting her break the kiss, he groaned in disapproval and pulled her lips back to his. An angry growl vibrated against her lips as he continued to explore her wet and warm mouth.

Caught off-guard she melted to his silent demand, almost forgot that the enemy was right behind her. But, she should've know better when the soldat loosen one of his arms from the embrace and pointed his gun towards the target.

His finger pulled the trigger almost as easily as his teeth tugging into the bottom of her lips. And suddenly the sound of a body collapsing behind didn't matter anymore.

When the soldat felt that he had enough of the sweetness of her kiss, he finally pulled away, at least for now. He whispered dearly, "Родная (darling)..." he cupped her face in his large hands and rested his forehead on hers.

She thought she heard it wrong, but did he just called her darling? It took her a few second to piece it together and realized that this man was not Bucky, that he had relapsed into the Winter Soldier again, "Soldat?"

The soldat smiled and leaned forward to steal a chaste kiss on her lips, "Yes, it's me, мое Родная (my darling)" he cooed as he swept her by her feet, off the bloody ground and carried her in his arm, "I got you, Куколка (little one). You can rest now."

"We're just wanted make sure she's alright."

"You can follow us if you want so just please--"

"Soldat! You're going to hurt her."

The familiar voices leaked through Y/N's ears as she was drifting through her dreamless slumber. Soon enough, the loud commotion of her surrounding woke her up from the deep sleep.

The words that the Avengers were yelling out became clearer as she gained her consciousness, and the ever-changing movements of the soldat, evading every step the Avengers made to get closer to him, made her aware of the way she was resting in his arms; perfectly cocooned in a form of a bridal carry style.

The soldat halted on his spot when Y/N opened her eyes to see what was going on, "Soldat?" She blinked multiple times as she adjusted to the lights. The menacing frown of the soldat melted into a much softer expression, "Родная(darling), you shouldn't be awake yet." He craddled her closer to him as he cooed.

Where is she? How long was she out? When did she changed her clothes?

"What is happening?" She asked as she peered over his shoulder to see Natasha sighing in relief, "Sweetheart, thank god you're awake."

Y/N then looked over to Steve, "You've been gone for weeks, y/n. We got news about your rescue yesterday, and you guys just arrived home. Now, if we could just to take you to the medbay and get you check-up, that'll be great." He briefly explained.

"Yeah, that's all we want isn't it? But, someone just had to be sappy and refuse to let anyone touch you. You know, how it is with the soldier." Tony quickly intercepted.

The soldat didn't pay them any attention now that his darling was awake. He was merely focusing on whispering the sweetest things as he traces delicate trails of kisses on her forehead, her nose, her cheek, basically all over her face.

Sam took it as opportunity to get closer when the soldat was distracted on suffocating Y/N with kisses. But he should learn by now how alert and agile the soldat can be, especially when he have Y/N close to his proximity.

So, when Sam took a step closer, the soldat recoiled almost immediately, putting quite of a distance between them.

"Man, if Bucky has a staring problem, then the winter soldier over here has a hogging problem." Sam accusingly pointed at the soldat, only getting grunts as a reply.

Looking at the current situation, Y/N pondered for awhile. As much as she wanted to get herself check-up, it was also wise to not pressure the soldat to give her away.

Considering what she witnessed at the Hydra base, Y/N knew the risk that comes when we let the soldat dwell in anger for too long.

So she consulted the rest of the team to back down for now, and let the soldat do what he wants. Y/N promised them that she will conviced the soldat to let her get a check-up as soon as possible. But for now, they really need to trust her words.

At first every one of them was reluctant to let her go but in the end they agreed to her suggestion.

When the team spread out and gave some space for the soldat, he didn't waste any time and marched straight to where their bedroom supposed to be. As soon as they arrived at their safe space, the soldat almost threw Y/N onto the bed and swiftly drew a knife from the holster of his thigh as his predatory eyes searched the room.

He refused to move even an inch away from where he stood and remained close to Y/N; shielding her figure with his own.

It was very faint, but the soldat could sensed that they weren't the only ones in the room.

Y/N eyed him curiously, wondering why the soldat was still on edge when he wasn't supposed to. So, she hopped off from the bed and stood on her feet before reaching out to hug the soldat from behind.

"You can put the knife down, soldat. It's just us here." She coaxed but the soldat refused to believe her. He pulled her by the arms, breaking her hug in the process and hold her close to his chest, "There's someone else here."

His actions was rather rougher than he intended it to be; even Y/N was startled by the sudden movement, "Oooff, careful there, soldat. You might give the little one a fright." She chuckled softly as she give her belly a loving rub.

And suddenly his attention was completely focused on Y/N now. Usually his frown symbolized irritation, but this time there was a clear confusion in his eyes. The amount of appalled blinking of his eyes increases when the puzzle pieces in his head started to merge.

The soldat knew that he heard a third heartbeat in the room; that was why he was on alert for threats but apparently he had been closer to the source than he thought was.

In fact, it was right his arms. Or maybe a little bit lower, somewhere around his torso.

Y/N didn't say anything, she simply nodded and smiled up to him as she continued to rub her belly.

When the conclusion finally hits him, the soldat dropped the knife in his hand at the same time he fell on his knees. His gaze never broke from hers, not even a split second, until he was face to face with her tummy.

The soldat leaned one side of his ear closer to her and the thumping sound of the third heartbeat got louder. The discovery had caused him to jolt away as shock decorated his features. He titled his head upwards to Y/N with the same wide, confused look in his blue eyes.

"It's okay, love." She giggled amusingly when the soldat repeated his previous actions. He leaned in and jolted back again as if he couldn't believe what he just heard was real, "Is it... his?" The soldat asked as he implied his existance to be separated from Bucky.

There was a hint of sadness in Y/N's expression when he said it like that. There's been many long conversations that she and Bucky had about the soldat after his first relapse.

Though Bucky was still unsure of his own dissociating self, Y/N on other hand believed that the soldat, this particular man whose drenched the earth with blood just to save her, the same man whose currently on his knees to hear a heartbeat of an unborn child; he deserved a little kindness in his life.

"Yes..." Y/N answered truthfully before she continued, "...and he's yours too."

And that surely knocked the air out of the soldat's lungs, he couldn't tell if she was telling him the truth or was just trying to kill him; either way the butterflies in his chest was suffocating him from the inside.

The soldat couldn't speak a single word; because he didn't know what to say. But there was this beam on his features, light in his eyes, softness on his smile when he dreamily stared at her growing belly.

Y/N took him by his flesh hand and place his palm on her stomach, then she spoke tenderly to the baby inside her, "Wanna say hi to daddy, sweet bean? Say, 'Welcome home, daddy.' "

She knew it was silly, because obviously the child in her womb shouldn't be able to speak, and he was not yet developed enough to be kicking his feet. Hell, they don't even know his gender yet.

But how could she not say it when the soldat looked so damn happy when she did. He looked so peaceful and has this daze and some of those twinkling hearts in those steel-blue eyes of. The soldat sighed in pure joy before he leaned to kiss her stomach.

And as it turns out that was all she needed to do to persuade the soldat to letting her see the doctors. He was there through the whole process, refusing to let go of her hand. It was such a good news to hear that the baby was healthy and there wasn't any foreign substance that might contaminated her during her times in Hydra.

After getting proper medical care and some food in her system, the soldat immediately carry her back to their room to settle down. While she laid on the bed, making up for the lost time to finally get the mental rest she desperately needed, the soldat on the other hand, had made himself comfortable by lying his head on her stomach.

He just couldn't stop; as if he was hypnotised by the melody of the baby's heartbeat. His hand snuck under her shirt, lifting the fabric up to reveal the belly where their miracle resides.

Y/N's droopy eyes followed his actions as she watched how carefully the soldat approached her. Out of habit, her hands absentmindedly rake through the softness of his hair as she held him by the head.

The soldat dotingly caressed the child's sleeping chambers as he leaned closer to it, "...Hi there, little one." he greeted with a quiet and loving whisper.

Immediately, a smile beamed brightly on Y/N's face when the soldat proceed to pamper her belly with countless of tender kisses, "...it's daddy." he introduced himself, as if the baby was able to understand him.

The silence that came after was so sweet and comfortable. And Y/N knew she wouldn't be able to have this without the soldat. She tucked a piece of his loose strand of hair behind his ear when she spoke gently, "Thank you for saving me, soldat."

He briefly lifted his head and smiled up at her, "You know I can't live without you Родная (darling). I will always need you." He declared a truthful confession before turning his attention away. His lips grazed on the skin of her belly as he mumbled against it, "And you too, little one."

Y/N could burst into tears just from this interaction alone but she try not to. She doesn't want to look back at this moment and remember how much she wept, so she blinked her tears away while she watched the soldat spoiled the little buddle of joy inside her with so much endearments.

Even though it was always a happy memory for the soldat when he spend time with his darling, but this... this was rare. And he wanted to cherish it for as long as he could.

The soldat laid on his ears again when he peered from where he had his head rested, his deep gaze captured her attention, "Has he been taking care of you good, darling?" He asked.

The soldat probably had no idea how Bucky adored her; if anyone paid enough attention they might even caught him worshipping the very ground she stepped on.

A breathy chuckle escaped from her mouth as nodded with a drunken grin, "He's the best." She hummed approvingly, "Best husband, and best daddy too." She exclaimed brightly as she glanced at the ring on her finger; it was barely visible through the thick of the soldat's hair.

Surprisingly, the soldat didn't react negatively to her remarks, instead, a proud smile curved on his lips as the pride in his chest overflowed and leaked all through his very being, "Good." He simply said.

The smile lines on the corner of his eyes didn't flatten even when he closed his eyes. For a moment, he tried to silenced everything else around him and focused on the fluttering sounds of the baby's tiny heart.

It might have been the thick haze of lavender smoke in their head or the swarming butterflies in their chest, that they didn't even notice the fatigue that had been slowly taking over them, until the tenderness of their caresses were barely moving.

When the heaviness of her eyes weighted the lids, she sleepily asked the soldat, "Will you still be here when I wake up?" Truth to be told, she was afraid that all of this was just a dream; an escape from reality of the cruel captivity.

The soldat briefly opened his own tired eyes and cooed softly, "I'm always with you, Родная (darling)." And Y/N took it as a promise for her desprete soul to cling on; a ray of hope for her to hold onto, if she ever wakes up in that cell again.

Not long after, both of them lost to the lure of somnolent and their soul quickly drifted into the peaceful dreamland. Soft snores were filling the quiet of the room as their mortal body continued to entangled themselves with each other.

It was safe to say that if Steve would ever barge into the room, he'd probably maxed the storage of his phone with photos of the soldat smushing his face on Y/N's belly as she perfectly curled around him.

Maybe it was the sunlight leaking through the window or maybe it was the intense gaze she felt burning on the skin of her face. Eitherway, it certainly disturbed her from her sleep.

When her body stirred, Y/N realized that she didn't need to open her eyes to know that last night was not a dream, especially when she can feel a pair of familiar arms wrapping around her waist under her shirt.

Y/N slowly peeled her eyes open to see a recognizable ceiling. Her eyes then trailed to her side and met a pair of blue of eyes staring back at her. Her gaze searched for the soul within him and found the semblance of Bucky reflected in his eyes.

Still dazed from sleep, she continued to watch him blinking at her, slowly and silently, like a cat declaring their love to their human. But even then, he couldn't hide the afterglow of the tears on his face.

"Bucky, honey. Have you been crying?" Her voice rasped from lack of use, yet her tender fingers find themselves crawling across his wet cheeks. 

It was as if her voice was a trigger, and tears quickly reformed in Bucky's eyes again. Y/N gently pulled him to her chest, one hand threading his hair and another rubbing his back as he sobbed in her arms, "It's okay, Bucky. We're okay." She continued to coax him lovingly.

They spend most of the early morning holding each other close and dear. Then when the tears started to lessen, Bucky finally pulled himself away from her. Y/N wiped the excess tears on his cheeks but he caught her hand underneath his; he relished in the relief of her presence when he sighed to her touch.

Bucky's gaze wobbled in the pool of tears in his eyes but he was still determined to speak his mind  "I'm so sorry, doll." He apologized, "I couldn't stop them. Even with this damned serum in me, I still couldn't protect you; both of you." If his defeated voice didn't convey his truth, then the tremble of his touch should be enough.

And Y/N's heart simply shattered for him; what did he meant by that? He did save her though. The winter soldier or Bucky. It didn't matter who but she was here now because of him. She was safe; they both were, "But you saved me, did you not?"

"But, I didn't. The sol--" Before Bucky could even finish his sentence, Y/N quickly cuts in, "The soldat is always going to be a part of you, Bucky. And if he saved me, that means you saved me too." She reassured him.

Seeing the hesitation in his eyes, she continued to persuade him, "And if I could speak for our child, which I absolutely can because I'm his mother, then he would say that he is proud that his strong daddy managed to beat the absolute shit out of those bad guys."

Bucky blurted out a hearty laugh, "I don't think it's good to teach our baby to curse when he is still in your womb, mama." His laugh gradually reduced to a chuckle when he wiped the remaining tears from his eyes.

Y/N simply shrugged to his suggestion, "It's not like he wouldn remember this anyway." She smirked playfully.

Another chuckle managed to slip through Bucky's lips before he lowered his face to her tummy, "And you? How's your play date with Winter, hmm sweet bean?" He mumbled as his lips planted on her skin.

Besides the heartbeat of his child, he could also hear the tiny twitching of the baby's limbs moving ever-so-slightly, "Yeah, I bet he spoiled you with lots of kisses and cuddles, huh? Like he did your mommy?" He continued to coo against her belly, unaware of the shock on his wife's face.

"Winter?" A small smile cracked from the corner of her lips. Yes, she was shocked but that doesn't mean she wasn't pleasantly surprised by it.

Bucky didn't even bother to look up at Y/N's face as he was busy blowing raspberries on her stomach, "If he's going to keep popping up in our lives then we might as well call him something else other than 'soldat', don't you think?" He simply said, marking one last kiss on the small growing bulge on her belly, before working his way back up to her face.

Y/N's heart swelled to his gesture and when he laid his head next to hers, she carefully took him by his cheeks, pulling him in for a gentle kiss, "I think he'd love that, Bucky." She whispered against his lips, feeling his smile in return.

Bucky nudges forward to catch her lips again; kissing her slow and sweet as if his whole world has been waiting for this moment. And when the kiss naturally broke, he tempted her with something he knew she couldn't resist, "Now, how about we grab you both something to bite, hmm?"

End.

Read my other works here: Masterlist

A/N: The use of the title in the fic is suprisingly wholesome despite the insinuation of it, don't you think? Lol. Btw, thank you so much for stopping by and read my work. Leave your thoughts behind for me, I'd love to hear from you!

[buckets-and-trees]

Don't Blame Me

Fandom: MCU Title: Don't Blame Me Characters/Pairings: Bucky x f!Reader Word Count: 960

Summary: A chance encounter in the middle of the night in your kitchen.

Content Warnings: smut, vaginal penetration, some light drinking, tw: cheating/infidelity

Logistical Notes: A humble little offering for @nickfowlerrr's Seven Deadly Sins + Seven Holy Virtues writing event, though certainly no virtues to be seen here - just envy and lust.

Additional Notes: I'd been thinking of Bella's writing event for quite a while, but @biteofcherry tormented me with a very inspirational gif and fed me some naughty thots that I haven't been able to get out of my head. But finally tonight, this demanded to be told. Title taken from the Taylor Swift song of the same name as it's loosely based off some of its feelings/drives.

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

You hadn’t expected to have company in the kitchen when you’d left your room in only the loose tank top and panties you’d worn to bed, but you made no attempt to hide your body when you heard his footsteps quietly treading down the hallway because part of you wanted him to see.

As he rounded the corner, he flicked on the single light that hung lower over the center island counter, the soft glow illuminating you leaned up against it with a pint of ice cream and a spoon, and pouring over his shirtless form, dark sweatpants slung low on his hips.

“Oh, I didn’t – sorry,” he said softly, tugging his pants up a bit more, and averting his gaze sharply away from you.

“You’re fine. Don’t mind me.”

You watched as he turned away to grab a glass from the cupboard, longing to reach out and run your fingers over the muscles moving and stretching along his back.

“I thought you weren’t supposed to be here tonight,” you pressed as he slotted the glass beneath the waterspout on the door of the fridge. “You have that giant presentation for the investors in the morning.”

Bucky sighed.

“Your girlfriend, my roommate, was specifically complaining about how you wouldn’t go out with her tonight because of it – which is perfectly reasonable by the way. You know that, right?”

He didn’t respond, still not looking at you, and then it was you who let out a sigh.

“Bucky, please tell me you didn’t go pick her up when she called.”

“Of course, I did, what else was I supposed to do?”

“You’re such an idiot.”

He finally rounded on you, his face a mixture of anger and hurt. “She was drunk at a bar, she needed me.”

“No, she didn’t! She went out with five of her old college friends – any of them should have taken care of her. She could have gotten an Uber. She could have called me, and I would have grudgingly been annoyed but gone and picked her up, even though I wanted to throw things at her when she left saying not to wait up because she was going to call you to go get her anyway because she knew you’d come because you’re the perfect boyfriend.”

Bucky clenched his jaw. “I’m not the perfect boyfriend.”

You scoffed. “Sure you are.”

“I’m not.”

“Why are you arguing with me about this?”

“Because I’m not the perfect boyfriend.”

You frowned.

He flexed his left hand in agitation, making the black plates quietly whir, but every sound in this nearly silent kitchen was loud. You could even hear the gentle, intermittent snores of your sleeping roommate down the hall, Bucky having left the door open when he came to the kitchen.

You looked from his beautiful vibranium arm back up to his piercing blue eyes.

“I want you to kiss me,” you breathed, barely above a whisper.

But you didn’t need to say it any louder.

His eyes darkened at your words. “I can’t.”

“You can,” you said, taking a step closer to him. “Please just kiss me.”

“Fuck,” he whispered when you placed one hand on his shoulder and one tentatively on his waist.

You closed the space between the two of you and tilted your head up, offering your waiting lips to him.

“Please, please kiss me.”

He didn’t move, which meant he also didn’t move away.

“Bucky, I know how you look at me now. You didn’t at first, but you’re bored of little miss perfect, you want imperfection, you want reality, you want me as much as I crave you.”

He dropped his forehead to yours, shutting his eyes. “Don’t.”

You pressed your chest flush up against his. “Just one kiss.”

“It won’t be just one kiss,” he shot back so quickly your stomach flipped, and you couldn’t hold back.

You surged up and captured his lips. His hands flew up to grip either side of you head, and it would have been tender if not for the heat and rage and longing that fueled it, causing him to hold you a little more firmly. You moaned into the kiss, and he backed your hips up to the counter, then lifted your hips up onto the granite countertop. You leaned back, bracing your hands on the smooth surface behind you. You drew your legs up around the backs of his thighs to pull him close, his legs stopping against the island, and you dragging your pelvis to the very edge, pressing your cunt against the bulge in his sweatpants. He broke off the kiss, his head dropping back on a groan of pleasure.

Desire was desperately coursing through you, you had wanted this man more and more over the past months, every friendly interaction only seeping deeper and deeper into your heart.

But adrenaline and bitterness also fanned the flames of your need.

Because it was likely she’d gotten plastered enough to sleep clean through anything until morning.

But she could wake up and come out here and see you like this as you kissed her boyfriend and pushed his sweats and boxer briefs down to free his cock. She could hear him growl into your mouth, licking against your tongue in an eagerness to taste more of you, pulling your panties off so quickly.

He only broke away from the kiss long enough to line up his cock, and then he shot into you, reclaiming your lips to swallow a sharp cry from you.

You’d been fueled by lust, but sustained by longing.

This was so much more than one kiss.

And as you clutched onto his shoulders – one metal and one flesh – you knew this would not be the end of it.

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

[nickfowlerrr]

for the hope of it all.

pairing: greedy!lee bodecker x curvy!reader

warnings: angst. bit of fluff. mentions of reader x arvin and lee x wife. little flashback to pregnant reader. uhhh, there’s a baby. if i’m missing something important please feel free to let me know.

also lmk if i should tag this as dark!lee please bc i can’t decide if it needs it or not.

words: 3.2k

notes: my first written fic for my writing event. i spun the wheel and got greed and then spun another wheel and got lee and a few hours later here we are lol. please let me know what you think! comments and feedback are so, so appreciated. thank you in advance to everyone who reads and reblogs. 🖤

“Please, Lee. Please,” you whispered, voice breaking on the desperate plea as the stray tear you’d been fighting to keep at bay finally slipped down your cheek.

You were quick to wipe it away, shaking your head and looking away from the gaze of the man before you. The smirk that graced his face was the whole reason you had refused to let yourself cry, despite wanting to break down the moment he’d knocked on your door.

You’d just set Teddy in his crib, watching him a moment as the newborn slept peacefully, his tiny breaths and little movements making your heart clench.

You never knew you could love someone so much until you had him. Despite the pain and all the hardships that you’d faced from the day you met his daddy, as you watched Theodore, you were sure you wouldn’t change any of it if it meant never having had him.

You were pulled from your thoughts when you heard a car pull up the drive. You didn’t check the window, sure you knew who it was already as you went to greet him.

Before you were even halfway down the steps, an unnecessarily loud pounding sounded from the front door.

You were startled for a second, brows furrowing as you rushed down the last few steps to open it before whoever it was could pound again and wake the baby.

You were sure now, though, it definitely wasn’t Arvin. He’d never be so careless to knock that loudly, even if he’d left his key and was locked out.

When you pulled the door open in a bit of a huff, your breath froze in your chest.

As you met the hard blue eyes of the man you’d been avoiding for the past 11 months, you weren’t sure what to do. So, you stayed as you were, blocking his view of the house as you pulled the door more closely to your body and watched him. You wouldn’t speak first. You weren’t sure you could.

“Been a while, darlin’.” He greeted, though his words were cold and stiff, as if he was trying to hold in the anger you could see raging in his eyes.

You swallowed hard. “How can I help you, Sheriff?” you asked, ignoring his comment.

He scoffed as he looked down on you. “That’s how you wanna do this, sugar? Fine,” he said before shoving his way into the house.

You were in shock as he pushed past you, your first instinct to yell at him was held back by the knowledge that your baby was asleep just up the stairs.

“What the hell are you doing? You can’t just barge in here because you’re police,” you nearly seethed as you follow him while he walked further in, going toward the kitchen while he looked around the place.

He spun on you at your words and stopped you in your spot. “Honey, I can do whatever the hell I want. Because I’m the sheriff,” he snarled in your face before he backed up just the slightest. He adjusted his belt as he stood to his full height and licked his teeth, trying to compose himself.

“I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news for you, sweetheart,” he started, your heart dropping instantly. “That boyfriend a’yours seems to have gotten himself into some trouble downtown.”

Your mouth went dry as you stared at him dumbly. “No,” you shook your head. “Arvin wouldn’t do anything to get into any kind of trouble. What are you- what are you talking about?” you tried to stay calm, but the stutter was surely telling enough.

“Down at the shop,” he began, taking his time, seemingly enjoying the sight of your anxiousness written all over your face, “he had some words with Levi. Guess the kid made a comment about his girl. Imagine my surprise to find out that girl was you,” he detoured.

“What happened,” you asked pointedly, all while trying to keep your composure and your voice down.

“Well, Mr. Russell didn’t take too kindly to the things Levi said. Lost his temper. I’ll spare you the details, sweetheart. Long story short, Levi’s up at the hospital. Your little boyfriend is up at the jailhouse, waitin’ for his hearin tomorrow mornin’.”

You felt sick. This wasn’t Arvin’s first time in jail but you remember what he told you last time, the judge said one more strike and he’d be taken to county. Arvin wasn’t a bad man. He was one of the best men you’d ever known. But he did have a bit of a short fuse when it came to defending the people he loved. You’d known that since you were in school together. It was one of the things you’d always admired about him..

The one thing you were confused about right now though, was why in the hell Lee was here telling you this.

“Is he okay?” you asked quietly. The narrowing of Lee’s eyes as he looked at you, and the tick of his jaw at your question had your stomach twisting.

“Aw, ain’t that sweet. Look at you, all worried about him.”

“Lee,” you said.

“He’ll be fine,” he gruffed as he went into your fridge and took one of Arvin’s beers. You were in too much of a stupor to do or say anything about it, though.

As you watched him take a swig, your eyes finally fell on his bloodied knuckles.

You took a step back, as if he’d slapped you, somehow knowing exactly how he'd done that.

“What did you do?” you said, accusingly as you reached out and held onto the wall beside you.

“Told ya' I was surprised to hear the girl he was so concerned with, whose honor he needed to protect so badly, was you. I thought you were long gone, sweetheart. But when your name came up, I knew I’d been wrong. Knew you were somewhere out here. Took a bit to finally get him to tell me where you were, but,” he flexed his hand, “they all break in the end.”

You were seeing red at his words. He'd hurt Arvin, and for what? You couldn't let him do this, couldn't let him get to you so easily.

"You need to leave, Lee. Now. If I wanted you to know where I was, you would've. I told you I wasn't gonna wait around for you. You made your choice. So go," you said firmly as you could manage through your tight throat.

You stayed still as he set the bottle down on the counter, stalking over to you. You only blinked when he was right in front of you as you took a shaky breath in and out.

"My choice was you," he said as he pinned you against the wall, his arms trapping you. But you weren't scared. Just solemn. The hurt that never went away radiating in your soul.

"...No, it wasn't," you refuted, voice quiet as you shook your head, looking him in the eye. "It was the job. It was her. You just wanted me to be your good little whore on the side," you continued, disgusted with him and yourself, thinking about the times you let him touch you. The times you gave yourself to him. You should have known from the beginning. Maybe a part of you always did. The only way you'd get your happily ever after was if Lee chose to give it to you.

Lee Bodecker was a selfish, greedy man. He wanted it all, he didn't want to choose. But he had. Whether he acknowledged it or not, he made his choice. As much as it hurt, you had to accept that it wasn't you.

"You know that ain't fuckin' true," he snarled, holding your chin tightly in his hand as you looked up at him. His voice softened as he looked back at you. "I meant all I said to you, darlin'. I love you," he said as he pressed his forehead to yours. "If you'da just been patient," he breathed hotly, "we'd be together right now. I'da got rid of her, just like I told you I would."

The pain slipping into his voice was like daggers in your heart. You wanted so badly to believe him, but you were always told how gullible you were. Especially with Lee, you'd buy into anything he said if he said it prettily enough.

You had known you had to leave town, get away, or else you'd just run right back to him, or he'd find you and convince you to stay. You told everyone you were leaving, making sure word got around, and it did. He was too preoccupied in his campaign to bother doing anything about it, or maybe he just didn't believe you'd actually go. You weren't sure which it was.

You had enlisted the help of Arvin to assist you in packing, he had always been a good friend to you and wanted to do whatever he could. The last day you were packing away, though, you got another bout of morning sickness in front of him.

It was like Arvin knew before you did that you were pregnant. But he never left. He was there for you. Held you when you cried, assured you everything would be okay as you spilled your heart out to him, telling him everything. Instead of moving out of town like you had planned, you moved in with Arvin.

Time seemed to pass you by so quickly from then on. One day Arvin was holding your hair back for you as you emptied your stomach into his toilet, and the next he was holding your hand as you pushed through tears of pain and heartbreak while you delivered your baby in the next town over.

When the nurse had taken Teddy, you were an inconsolable mess of guilt and heartache. Arvin was right there with you, had been from the very start, but he wasn't Lee.

You were crying because Lee should have been there, should have been the one holding your hand and wiping your tears, you should have told him that you were having his baby. The guilt was crushing. Not only for having kept your pregnancy from him, but because the man who stayed beside you the entire time deserved so much better than a broken girl who was still in love with the man who broke her heart. It wasn't fair to any of you.

And then the nurse came back over, holding a blue swaddled bundle in her arms. You timidly took your baby as she handed him over to you and the second you laid your eyes on him, all thoughts just went away. The only thing you could focus on was this precious little life you held in your arms. And though your tears kept flowing, they were of overwhelming joy as you looked down at your sweet Teddy.

Teddy.

You heard him cry and your eyes went wide as Lee kept his hold on you.

Another cry as you swallowed thickly, sure your face was full of desperation as you surveyed Lee.

His brows furrowed as he looked in the direction of the living room, dropping his hand as he moved closer to the noise.

You scurried past him, stopping him from starting up at the stairs.

"Lee," was all you could manage to say.

He looked at you incredulously. "That a baby cryin' up there?" he asked rigidly.

You couldn't breathe. You didn't know what to do. Your guilt was written clear as day on your face as you pouted at him, watering puppy dog eyes pleading with him, for what you weren't sure.

"I'll say this once, then I'm not gonna be nice about it, darlin'. Either answer me or get outta my way."

Still no words could form on your tongue. When he stepped to get up the stairs, you let him pass you before turning around and quickly following him.

Lee followed the sound of the newborn cries up to the nursery. When he got to the door, you watched as he took a steadying breath before he pushed in, like he was readying himself for the sight he knew he'd be met with.

He walked slowly to the crib where Theodore was laying, crying for attention.

Lee's mouth was agape as he looked down at the baby.

Two pairs of brilliantly blue eyes staring back at one another.

You knew Lee knew instantly, there was no denying it. Teddy was his mini me. He looked exactly like his father.

You watched as Lee carefully reached down and took Teddy in his big arms, holding him safely and smiling down at him as Teddy calmed in his hold.

Your nose was tingling and it took everything in you not to burst into tears at the sight.

"What's his name?" Lee asked in a hushed tone.

"Theodore," you answered just as softly.

Theo's baby garbling had Lee laughing as he cooed down at his son. You swore you could see the gleam in Lee's eyes as he watched him.

After a sniff and a clearing of his throat, Lee's gaze shot back to you. Accusatory and angry, his hurt underlining all of it.

"You had my baby, and were just gonna keep 'im from me?"

"No, no I- I was gonna. Gonna tell you. I wanted to, I just didn't know.." you trailed off, wringing your hands.

"Didn't know what?"

"How," you answered. "Didn't know how to. Didn't know how you'd react. Wasn't entirely sure you'd want to know."

"You think I wouldn't want to know that I have a kid?" he asked harshly. You took a step to him, holding your hand out instinctively to remind him that he had the baby in his arms.

"You're married, Lee. You're holding public office. I know you well enough to know that you don't want anything to mess with that. I don't think having a child with someone other than your wife would be looked on too favorably."

"I told you I'd get rid of her," he said again, lowly. "I will."

"Lee, please," you said, exasperated. "I'm sorry. I am. I should have told you, you had a right to know, but I can't do this with you. That's why I left. I do love you," you said brokenly, "I've never stopped. But I can't live my life just waiting for you to call when you want me. And I won't let you do that to Theo, either. He deserves a father who's around, who puts him as a priority,"

"Oh, and you think he'll have that with Arvin?" he challenged. "I wouldn't be too sure, sweetheart. Those charges really have a way of addin' up. Who knows how long of a sentence he'll be gettin' tomorrow."

You couldn't help but stress at his words. You knew some of what Lee had done before, and you know what he'd be willing to do now, to get his way. If he wanted Arvin put away, there wouldn't be anything you could do to stop it from happening.

You may not have been in love with Arvin, but you did love him. He was your best friend; you don't know what you'd be doing or even where you'd be right now if it weren't for his help and care. He didn't deserve to be punished for your mistakes; you couldn't let that happen.

"Why would you do that?" you asked, hurt lacing your voice. "What do you want from me, Lee?"

"You ain't dumb, honey. You know what I want," he said easily as he rocked Theo lightly while he gripped onto his daddy's finger, his big blue eyes falling closed as he drifted back to his peaceful sleep. Lee's blazing blue orbs met yours once more. "I want you. I want this, all a this with you, and him,” he said, sparing another glance to his baby boy.

“Please, Lee. Please,” you whispered, voice breaking on the desperate plea. "You can’t - He needs something stable. Real."

Lee assessed you for a moment before shaking his head with a slight scoff and a smirk. "This is real, darlin'. I'll give you both what you deserve. I just need a little time, that's all," he said as he set Theo back down in the basinet before turning back to you. "Can't make you my wife while I'm still married, but I'll get that taken care of quick. Then you and the baby can get settled in at home, we can finally be together. Just like we always talked about," he continued, taking your hands in his and pulling you in. "Havin' a family," he brought his hand up to tilt your face up to his, brushing his lips against yours. And you let him.

"And it'll be good for reelection next year, too. People like a family man."

You cringed and pulled away at that. At least you tried to, Lee's hold not let you get far at all.

"Don't be like that, darlin'. Come on, you know it'll be good for all of us. We can be happy," he said as his knuckles brushed your cheek.

The touch reminded you, "What about Arvin?"

"What about 'im?" he asked uninterested.

"You'll let him go," you state, grabbing his hand.

"I will," he agrees, "soon as you two are all moved in with me, I'll make sure he's released. Can't have you trying to run off on me again. I won't let you go so easy this time."

You swallowed back the cry that wanted to be let free as you looked at him. You hated that Arvin would have to suffer while you wait on Lee to keep his word. But what else can you do.

"How long?" you ask brokenly, eyes drifting over to the crib. "I can't do this alone."

"Won't be long, sweetheart. She's already been on her way out. A week, two tops. And you won't be alone. If you think for a minute I'd ever not be around for my child, you're outta your mind. If I’d a known sooner, I,” he cut himself off with a shake of his head. “I'll come over every night, check on ya both. You need somethin', you tell me. I'll show you I can take care'a you two better than that boy ever could."

Sweet words. Always so sweet coming from his lips. Your heart aches, for a million different reasons, as you let Lee come closer, pressing his lips to yours before his arms find their way around your frame.

And just like that, after nearly a year of not giving in to the temptation to see him, he has you once more, so easily. He gets what he wants. Just like he always does. Like he always will. You wonder briefly if it will ever be enough. You're not sure you want to know the answer.

"You've got no idea how much I've missed you, darlin'," he whispers against your lips. "Thought about you every damn day."

You feel the tears as they slip down your cheeks, a wave of relief falling over you under his touch, but the guilt still remains... It's just not enough to make you stop him. Not enough to want him to stop.

And the hope for your promised happily ever after renews in your heart. Because maybe you’ll finally get it, just how you pictured, with Lee by your side, starting your own little family.. It’s all you’ve ever wanted.

Lee Bodecker may be a selfish and greedy man.

But maybe you're no better.

[thornsnvultures]

pride

lee bodecker x wife!reader

cw: 18+ nsft, smut, p in v sex, creampie, lee being a neglectful husband at first, 640 w

a/n: something short and sweet for @nickfowlerrr 's seven deadly sins event. I missed writing for Lee and wanted to write a smutty little fluff piece for him 🖤

-----

"I'm the luckiest man on earth."

At first you weren't sure that you heard him right. Lee didn't talk much when he was fucking you, at least not lately. For a while he would just get his rocks off and roll off you, immediately falling asleep while you laid there and stared at the ceiling until you fell asleep.

God only knows how long it's been since Lee talked to you sweet at all. But it happened in every marriage, the eventual slough off into the mundane, right? No more flowers or date nights. No more Lee taking his sweet time with your body like he used to. You almost didn't want to jinx it by asking him to repeat himself, afraid of breaking whatever spell had been cast that brought the old Lee back to you.

But he broke it for you.

"You know why I'm lucky, sweetheart?" His big hand brushes your cheek, turning your head on your pillow so he could see your face. His hips had stilled as he looked at you, those bright blue eyes roaming your face. He was waiting for you to answer.

"W-why?"

Lee leans over you, draping his big body across your back, his belly pushing into the dip of your arched spine, and kisses your cheek. The angle pushes his cock into your inner walls and you gasp, squeezing a groan out of your man.

"Cause I got a pretty little thing like you in my bed, that's why."

"Oh, Lee."

Your husband presses more kisses along your jaw as he grinds his cock into that same spot. You're on fire, your insides lighting up like a fire doused in gasoline.

"M'sorry I haven't been takin' care of you like I should, darlin'. Not when you take such good care of me." Lee's words whispered in your ear sends shivers down your spine.

"It's alright-"

"It's not-," Lee growls, shooting up straight and drawing his cock out almost all the way only to slam it back in with a harsh slap that makes your teeth rattle in your head. "It's not alright."

Lee grabs your hips, gripping your soft flesh as he pounds into you.

"You're my wife," he growls again as his hips set a punishing pace. You can barely breathe, gasping and whining as you scramble for purchase on soft sheets so he doesn't fuck you into the headboard. "My perfect, sweet little wife. With the sweetest little pussy I've ever known." He punctuates nearly every word with a thrust of his hips, his cock bullying your tight walls in the most delicious way.

"I couldn't be any more proud of you, darlin'," he says as he drops to a hand by your head so he can reach under you, reach that aching bud that'll push you over the edge, the one he's ignored for way too long. "Couldn't be any more proud to call you my wife."

Lee's thick fingers circle your clit and within seconds you're crumbling, crying out and shaking to pieces as you come around his cock. Moments later Lee's right there with you, shouting into the nape of your neck as his balls empty, filling you near to burst with his sticky cum.

"I'm sorry I haven't been treatin' you right, darlin'," Lee tells you again when he comes back to bed later with a warm, wet washcloth. "Been so busy at the station and I got the election coming up," Lee sighs and shakes his head. "But I won't let it happen any more."

"You mean it, Lee?"

Once you're clean he wraps you up in his arms, his big hands rubbing your back as you settle into his chest.

"I said it once and I'll say it again," Lee smiles, "I do. Cause you're the best damn thing that's ever happened to me."

---

--

-

🖤

[sebstan2020]

All Good Girls Go To Heaven

Pairing: Mafia Bucky Barnes x Christian Girl

Warnings: Smut, BDSM, Spanking, Fingering, Dominance, Submission, Bondage, Name Calling, Punishment, Worshipping, Sir Kink, Innocent Girl

Notes: Entry for @nickfowlerrr​ writing contest seven deadly sins contest. I hope you like it, let me know what you think in the comments and hope this fits the rules of the contest

Lust - Strong Sexual Desire

Mary looked over her shoulder, checking the coast was clear. Although she had done this a hundred times, she was still cautious each and every time. Escaping her security had become like second nature to her now and she was so good at it that she didn’t even have to make up silly excuses like she did in the beginning. Being the daughter of the president of the united states of America meant full protection at all hours of the day, even when she was sleeping. Her father was hot on her security and they were tighter than the knots on her sneakers. But she had the knack for escaping them. Being at a Christian boarding school meant she had her own dorm and that meant privacy. Her security never entered unless she permitted it and she could keep them waiting out there all night if she wanted. Her trick was sneaking out the window and making a dash for it, playing her music low as if to create the illusion she was studying.

If they knew where she was running off to, they’d have a heart attack and so would her father. Mary was a sweet girl, a Christian by heart. Growing up in a Christian girl's school, she never had the interaction with boys like some of her other friends did and she never experienced the so-called relationships you had with them. Never had she been kissed, touched or held by a man. Not until she met him.

Mary pulled her cardigan closer around her shirt and skirt, her white sneakers scraping across the concrete and scuffing the ground. There was a slight breeze in the air and she hurried along, feeling a sweat break out as she slowly reached her destination. She couldn’t help the paranoia set in as she jogged up the marble steps of the grand hotel, bright warm lights greeting her as she entered through the revolving door, soft music playing above. It was quiet and dead. She had been here many times and each time she entered, she was just as nervous as the last. Nervous in a good way and a bad way. She looked young, with her brown hair held back by a red headband, her Christian uniform screaming innocence. Often times she’d get stares from the worst kind of people creeps that sat in the bar across from the reception, loudly laughing as they drank liquor till they were stumbling home. This wasn’t any old hotel.

Despite her being here a few times, she couldn’t help the innocence flood through as she reached the desk, peering over the large wooden surface and was greeted by the beautiful Lily. Dressed in a tight latex dress and heels, her hair curled and bouncy, with long nails and smoky eyes. Every time she made her nervous.

“Oh good you’re here, he’s waiting for you” she smirked, leaning on the desk and she blushed, thanking her quietly before making her way to the elevators. Mary waited patiently as the elevator took her to the upper floor, pinging open to the long hallway of rooms and she made her way down to the suite at the end. The biggest room available here and it was all his.

The tingles in her stomach were building and she blushed more, biting her lower lip as she became excited and hot. Remembering her manners, she knocked on the door, waiting for his command and when his soft voice spoke, she entered the room. It was warm, with the soft scent of vanilla and the warmth of the candles lighting the room. The clean smell of polished wood could just be identified through the vanilla. The sickly smell of strong leather was also in the air and the smells brought back memories.

There he was, standing in all his glory, dressed immaculately in a dark suit of black, a double-breasted jacket, tight trousers and polished shoes that cost hundreds of dollars. His cologne could be smelt from the other end of the room, rich and pungent, stabbing through the soft aromas. He turned around, spotting her at the door and smiled, confidently looking towards Mary who couldn’t help the grin on her lips.

“I thought you weren’t coming for a second then” his dark sexy voice broke the silence between them.

“I had to make sure my security was busy” she admitted and he smirked.

“Good girl” he praised and it sent a tingle down her body. Those simple little words could make Mary fall to her knees for him and she just might. After all, he was her master, her owner, dominant and lover. He was the most ruthless mafia boss in the city, the most dangerous man ever to be heard of and she belonged to him… James Barnes.

Christian girls were supposed to be innocent and untouched. But not Mary. Ever since she ran into him that day, she couldn’t get him off her mind and vice versa. He was infatuated with her, couldn’t stop thinking about her and wouldn’t until he had her. Before she was like an untouched flower and now she was used in any way shape or form that he desired and Mary loved it. Craved it. It goes against everything she knew growing up, what she believed in but his lust for her was like an addicting drug, dragging her further into his darkness.

James padded over to her, shoes clicking on the polished floor as they met halfway into the hotel room. Mary looked up at him, eyes wide and lips slightly parted as he towered over her, smirking.

“You know this uniform does things to me” he whispered, running his eyes up and down her beautiful body. Her short skirt was teasing him and her long socks and sneakers proved how innocent she could be. If her father knew of the dirty things she had done, he would send her far away so she would never be touched by another man again. James lusted for her, lusted to put his hands on her, to mark her, to own her and to use her, like a personal sex toy. If there was one thing he enjoyed more than anything it was a girl submitting to his desires.

“Yes Sir” she whispered and James cupped her face, his long fingers curling around her head, bringing her closer as he leaned down. He kissed her hard, biting her bottom lip and dragging it out, letting it pop back. Mary moaned, falling into her own desires, her own fantasies. James immediately began to undress her, long fingers unbuttoning her cardigan, throwing it to the side and moving to her shirt. His hands were warm and soft, his long fingers slightly tickling her as he traced over her arms. Mary stared up at him, infatuated like a spell had been cast upon her. She was must shorter compared to James.

James ripped her shirt off, throwing it across the room, the buttons clattering on the polished floor. She was wearing her lace white bra, just for him and he moaned, running his hands over her breasts, squeezing as he slipped them around her back and unhooked her bra with ease, releasing her small breasts. Mary couldn’t help the moan escaping her as he cupped them, the warmth from his hands radiating onto her. It made her wet down there and she was shaking with pleasure.

“Finish getting undressed” he ordered softly and she nodded quickly, rushing to take her skirt off whilst James padded over to one of the walls of the room. This wasn’t your average hotel. This was a place for men and women to express their fantasies and desires, their pleasures, to explore their sense of pain. A place to safely exercise the practice of pleasure and pain, bondage and discipline, submission and domination. Hanging on the walls of each room were various implements, ropes, leathers, cuffs, metals, chains and belts. Hidden in the draws were toys of every kind, garments of clothing hanging in the wardrobes, and sensory deprivation items to add that little bit of something.

James grabbed a pair of leather cuffs, simple but effective. Dangling them from his finger, he swaggered back over to Mary who was standing in her long socks and sneakers and panties, the white lace ones that matched the bra. She waited patiently, smiling as he came over but with a stern look on his face.

“I said get undressed” he scolded and Mary swallowed, racing to take her panties and shoes off along with her socks. She wasn’t the greatest at listening or taking orders from her master and most likely would receive a punishment, not that she was complaining.

“Sorry Sir” she breathed, standing fully naked now in front of him, completely on a show for him and he grinned.

“That’s better” The cuffs were wrapped around her wrists, tightened and locked. The simple black leather against her pale skin made James harden under his tight trousers and he smirked as he stared down at her, teasing her with his fingers as he trailed them over her body. The feel of the leather made Mary wet and hot and the tingles were flooding her pussy. James grabbed the small chain linking the cuffs together, tugging her over to the sofa opposite the bed. Sinking down, he flung her over his knee, positioning her so her ass was in the air, her body resting on his knee and hands gripping his ankle for support. His hand gently caressed her ass, the skin cold and tender still from a couple of days ago.

“Because you didn’t listen, I’m going to spank you” he informed, a hand gripping into her hair and Mary whimpered, nodding slowly. His hand came down fast, smacking her hard, the sound echoing in the room. Tingles shot through her ass, the skin instantly turning red and she moaned and yelped at the same time.

“Thank you Sir” she answered, an immediate response she learned from her time with James.

Another spank came and she jolted, this time it being harsher.

“Thank you Sir” she whispered, gripping his leg for support. He smelt heavenly and her body resting on his sent a wave of pleasure through her.

“Mmm, good girl… what do you think god would think of you, knowing you were such a little slut” he teased. He loved to tease her, telling her how much of a slut she was for letting him use her like this, letting him take her body any way he liked.

“He wouldn’t like it” she breathed, wincing as the next spank came and she moaned, her pussy dripping.

“What about your father… if he knew you were sneaking away from your security to meet with a man of the mafia” his grip on her hair tightened and another spank came. This one was the worst but the pain was pleasurable and she’d have it again.

“He wouldn’t like it either Sir” She was too distracted by the spanks to think straight and then James lifted her head up by her hair, his lips pressing to her ear.

“Who do you belong to?” He whispered.

“You Sir” she whispered back and he chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to her ear, biting the top of it between his teeth.

“That’s right, you’re all mine, mine to do whatever I like,” he said and she nodded. Her pussy was wetter than a waterfall, cum dripping down her thighs, her clit so sensitive.

His hand dipped between her legs, fingers pushing inside her wet pussy, curling inside her and sending shocks through her body. Mary groaned, her head spinning with pleasure, eyes rolling to the back of her head and she gripped his tights tightly. She wasn’t going to last very long. James had a strict rule of no cumming without his permission and if she broke it, she’d endure more punishment. He rubbed slowly, teasing her, watching her melt in his hands.

“Oh please Sir” she moaned, shaking on top of him. He chuckled darkly, his fingers pumping her pussy. She wasn’t going to be able to hold back but if she came that would be a cane to her ass. James rubbed his thumb over her sensitive clit, the tingles brewing within her, toes curling and legs shaking, the cuffs rattling as she gripped his leg tightly.

“Please Sir can I cum?” She begged at the top of her lungs, praying he would grant her, her wish. But a soft chuckle came and a slap to her dripping pussy meant her chances were nil. James yanked her backwards, arching her back as she kneeled between his legs, parted lips and glossy eyes.

“Not yet, first I want some pleasure” he murmured, dark eyes and a smirk. Mary swallowed and nodded.

“Good, now get on your knees and do what you do best” he ordered, releasing her hair.

“Yes Sir” she answered sweetly and bent down, beginning to worship her master.

[filthycagedsoul]

idle hands are the devil’s playthings🩸🦷

steve kemp!lust demon au drabble(?)

cw: mentions of blood, bondage, teeth marks/biting (if i’m forgetting anything please let me know)

Lust’s passion will be served; it demands, it militates, it tyrannizes. -Marquis de Sade

his warm grip around your neck, the soft ribbons tying your wrists to the bed frame, fresh teeth marks on your freshly washed skin stained with blood (both yours and his), the silk sheets under your writhing, helpless, quivering body. how else did you expect to find yourself once you wholeheartedly summoned a demon, a lust one to be exact, out of boredom on a friday night? “idle hands are the devil’s playthings” was one of the first teachings your holier than thou mother injected into your brain before you could walk. fuck! you can’t help the laugh that comes out of your mouth when you think about how that bitter old woman would climb out of her grave if she saw you and Kemp in all his demonic glory—his black eyes filled with the need to worship you by bringing you pain, a sultry smile full of sharp teeth he wants to dig harder into the meat of your skin, and a honeyed voice that promises to always take care of you…as long you don’t act up.

✨pics and gifs from pinterest✨

PLEASE REBLOG AND COMMENT IF YOU CAN!!!! THANKS FOR YOUR SUPPORT!!!!!! <3

[cloudcountry]

Hey Кролик!!!! I saw you changed your bio, so I think I can still request? Maybe? Idk, tell me if I can't.

I read and reread the rules, so here is what I thought of: absolutely obliterating 707 with snowballs, the poor unsuspecting fool gets hit with way too many snowballs (that's what he gets for being mean to me >:] ) and falls to the ground getting buried for his sins >:))))

Then, he gets a little kiss as an apology because he's my little pookie bear <3

(Make sure to take your time! And eat and drink! I love you! Muah ❤️)

SUMMARY: you take saeyoung completely off guard with a snowball to the back of the head!

WARNINGS: spoilers for seven's route, contemplation of death. ITS FLUFF I PROMISE.

COMMENTS: ignore the fact that i picked the most summer cg ever for him ok HE LOOKED HAPPY. the seven kissers hiveminded you guys are so weird /aff (also abel!!! i love you too!!!!! RAHHHH)

TAGLIST: @haruhar-u since this was also your request <3

It almost seems like the rolling of the snowball in your hands is an absentminded movement, but it's very much intentional. Your eyes are training on the back of your boyfriend’s head—his bright red hair is a beacon in the bright white world around you. It’s so quiet you could hear a pin drop (or, alternatively, Saeyoung’s giggles as he sculpts the little snow Elizabeth the Third next to the snow-you and snow-him.

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t impressed at how quickly he whipped up snowpeople of everyone. Impressed, but not surprised. You think you even see Vanderwood a little ways back, isolated from everyone else, and you feel a stab of pity for the poor guy.

Working with Saeyoung can’t be easy, but he’s always been nice to you. Even up until the two of you ran away, you know deep down Vanderwood cared for Seven.

You shake yourself out of your thoughts, not wanting to get too caught up in the nitty-gritty of the situation when Saeyoung had it handled. You trusted him to protect the two of you, You know he can. You’re incredibly lucky for each and every day you get to spend at his side, even though you’re nearly always aware that each day could be your last.

But you chose this life when you chose him, and you would have it no other way.

And so, you show your love by winding up and throwing your perfectly crafted snowball as hard as you can at Saeyoung.

It hits him square in the back of the head, wetting his vibrant hair and sliding down until it hits the inside of his hood.

“Yikes!” he yelps, flailing his arms around his back as he springs away from snow-Elizabeth, “Enemy attack! God Seven is down!”

You laugh, already scooping up more snow and pelting him with your (much more sloppy) snowballs. Saeyoung makes a big show of gasping for air and pleading for mercy, occasionally playing dead and waiting for you to come over and poke him before smacking you with snow as well.

It doesn’t take long till the two of you are out of breath, your fingers ice cold but intertwined through your gloves.

“Want to head inside?” you murmur, kissing his snowflake-sprinkled brow, “We can have some of your very special hot chocolate.”

Saeyoung’s eyes light up and he gives you that big goofy grin you fell in love with.

“One thing first.” he whispers, the quiet of his voice exaggerated and theatrical.

And for a moment, you expect a snowball to the face, but he kisses you instead. It’s soft and sweet and tastes like an unholy combination of energy drink powder (which...now that you think about it, likely explains how quickly he crafted everyone out of snow.)

“Now we can go inside.” he laughs softly against your lips, scooping you up in his arms and carrying you inside, where you can be warm and comfortable with the one person you love most.

[wavesoutbeingtossed]

Randomly thinking about “tolerate it” (narrator voice: it was not random) and how under the cloak of fiction it is ostensibly inspired by works like “Rebecca” (which Taylor said she read during the 2020 lockdowns I believe?), with the line of “you’re so much older and wiser” indicating that the speaker is significantly younger and inexperienced compared to the person she’s speaking to and a pretty direct reference to the plot of the book.

But I saw something somewhere once that stuck with me about how it might not be referring to relative age between the characters but chronological age as in the passage of time in a relationship. And that made me think about how in a contemporary context, it might not necessarily be referencing an actual age gap between the two characters, but rather a sarcastic or cynical response to the man’s claims that he has matured (“you’re so much older and wiser [than you were before/than you were when we met/etc.]”), which then made me think about that line in relation to the woman. And that it could be taken like, “you act like you’ve matured so much in our time together and like you know everything, while I’m supposedly still stuck as the girl I was when we first met.”

Which then made me think of the “right where you left me” of it all and did you ever hear about the girl who got frozen time went on for everyone else she won’t know it and the bit in Miss Americana where she talks about how celebrities get frozen at the age at which they got famous, and how she’s had to play catch up in a lot of ways not just in her emotional growth but kind of in general. (Which also made me wonder if she’s ever been called out for immaturity/lack of curiosity/lack of education about things in her life…)

Which then made me think about the rest of the song, and @taylortruther’s posts yesterday about “seven” and “Daylight” and the way Taylor idealizes her youth yet contrasts it with an almost sinister reality in its wake, and the line, “I sit by the door like I’m just a kid,” because the discussion raised that her relationship let her recapture some of the childlike joy and wonder she’d lost. So this line is a double-edged sword: the speaker sits by the door with childlike hope that the person will come home and cherish her, but on the darker side, feels like the child dealing with the monsters she doesn’t have names for yet and the feelings of isolation she felt as she aged.

I’m not saying the song is necessarily autobiographical; like most of the songs on folkmore, it’s clearly a fictionalized story based on media she’d consumed and created, but we know a lot of the fictional songs were infused with her own feelings and experiences and… This idea swirling in my head picked up steam and now I kind of can’t stop thinking about it. Sorry but I’m a little obsessed now.

Like maybe it might start to shed light on why she identified so strongly with the novel in the first place…

[exotic-inquiry]

Day seven: Swords

[brighteststar707]

Lollipop 🍭 for Saeyoung (⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠)⁠❤

She/her pronouns. Maybe like mc falls for him not expecting much back but then with time realizes that he might have feelings for her too? I think this would be fun to see in the post SE timeline when Saeyoung can take time falling in love. And MC wasn't pushy or invasive in his route, she was understanding! She helped Saeyoung bring Saeran back and kept supporting him any way she could during Saeran's recovery. As she spends more time with Saeyoung she realizes that she has genuine feelings for him and she notices that he might be feeling the same way. This might be a bit too much backstory for a drabble 😅 do feel free to add or change anything you like! I'm excited to read it ♥️♥️ congrats again for 300 followers!🥳💕💕

Lucy! Thank you for your patience!

This request was a lot of fun to write, though it did take me some time to figure out how best to frame it. Don't apologise for the extra backstory, I love hearing about the ideas you have in mind!

The concept of Saeyoung and his MC falling for each other slowly after the events of his route is one I really enjoy. It's probably a lot healthier than what happens in the route. He needs his time to come to terms with everything else before ever considering love.

I took most of your prompt and changed the perspective a bit, so it's Saeyoung realizing his feelings after everything is said and done. I hope you enjoy <3

✧ Lollipop ~ Having a crush

Today’s outing takes a detour to a little coffee shop. After a few hours of walking around the park and exploring different shops, they’d both like a break. It’s an unremarkable building, the kind of place that’s easy to miss if you’re not paying attention but surprisingly, the inside is warm and welcoming, like a little hideaway from the streets outside. Saeyoung likes it from the moment they enter. How she ever found this place, he doesn’t know.

They pick a good variety of pastries from the case to go with their drinks – they’ve never been the type to do half-measures – and then settle into a booth by the window. He sits opposite her, and the table is small enough that his legs risk bumping into hers. He tucks them under his chair instead.

Since the twins' lives had settled into a new sort of normal in the bunker, Saeyoung had found himself with a lot more free time on his hands. Saeran did not need him in the ways he once did (in fact, his independence is key to his recovery). The agency had imploded and his father had finally been served justice. He wasn’t sure what was left for him to do except stare at the walls of his office. He had never had any ambitions beyond the life he had been previously living. They were never allowed.  

She had caught him in the middle of a crisis where he had spent weeks closed up indoors panicking about the openness of his future. She encouraged him to come outside with her, it had been so long since they had last seen each other, after all. They went for a walk around the empty land surrounding where he lived, talked about life, the little things, and then later the big scary things. 

This gesture of hers had awoken in him a feverish desire to catch up on everything at once, the life he had been missing all this time. They immediately started making plans for when to meet up next, where to go and what to do.

No two outings so far have been the same. Sometimes, they just pick random exits off the highway to go exploring. Other times, they went to the cinema or a museum. The RFA joined them sometimes, like the time they managed to convince Jumin to hold a game night at his penthouse (those shiny new consoles were just begging to be used) and the time they all went together to watch Zen perform in his latest show. Saeran even agreed to join once or twice, like when they got ice cream at the park or when they went to go visit an art gallery. A lot of the time, though, it was just the two of them.

They didn't mind it that way. It was no secret that they had always been closer than the others. Even from the beginning, when they were just strangers in a chatroom, they managed to still joke around in ways the others didn’t understand. There was an understanding between them, a product of their personalities and the things they had been through, that would be difficult to replicate with anyone else.

Even now, as they sit in the café sipping their drinks, the silence is comfortable. He can read the expression on her face as she watches the people walk by from the quirk in her eyebrows and the slight smile that curves the corners of her mouth.

She catches him watching her, though, and quickly locks her eyes on his.

She flashes him a cheeky smile and says, “Something catch your eye?” and his stomach does somersaults. Did she always look like that?

Despite all the time they had spent together, both before Mint Eye and after, sometimes it felt like he was still just noticing things about her he probably should have noticed before this. The smell of her shampoo when she got into his car earlier today. Her arm brushing against his when reaching for a book on a shelf next to him. The proximity of their knees under the table.

If he looks visibly flustered, she doesn't let on. She instead replaces her question with another one. She asks him about how life is going in the bunker. How he is coping, how Saeran is coping.

He tells her that he is looking at houses, that he's trying to find the best way to broach the idea of moving to Saeran. How to involve him in the process, so he has a say in where they end up living. He tells her that it's getting easier on most days to talk to each other.

He doesn't give her the half-answers he's used to giving. How could he? She has seen him in his entirety, at his worst as well as his best. It's no use lying to her even if he wanted to; she has been involved with their reuniting and recovery since day one.

She is the reason he survived the whole ordeal at all. When he was falling to pieces at the apartment, she was the one who brought him food, who didn't try to pry. She stubbornly refused to let him punish himself for things that weren't his fault. Then, when it was time for him to go and rescue Saeran, she agreed to go with him without question.

He remembers waking up at the hospital and finding her curled up asleep on a very uncomfortable looking chair. She hadn’t left, even after they got rescued. No, she remained until he was discharged, bringing with her well-wishes from the others and news on Saeran’s recovery. She is the one who broke the news to him about V and who let him air out his frustrations as well as his grief.

When he was finally discharged, she promised him that she was just a call away. He thanked her (he will likely never stop thanking her) but promised himself that he would not burden her with any more of his troubles.

He went on to focus on Saeran’s care. It was worse than he could have imagined, to see his brother in that state. The anger, he could take. He deserved it. But the emptiness, the apathy he saw from the person he once knew to be so joyful scared him like nothing else. He could rescue Saeran from Rika and the drugs she put him under. He could not force him to keep living if he didn't wan to, however.

That’s how he ended up calling her again. From then on, she often accompanied him to hospital visits. She’d wait for him in the waiting room every time he went in, and on days when he couldn’t, she would go in instead. Afterwards, she’d encourage him to talk about the things on his mind. She was the first person to hear about his plan to break Saeran out of the hospital.

He allowed himself to accept help from her and offered her the same support in return. On more than one occasion he stayed on the phone with her till she fell asleep because memories of the basement cell and gunshots and screams were keeping her up. He understood that some things she’d never be able to explain to anyone else.

As he rebuilt his life, she was an essential part of it. He survived because of her friendship and promise that he would never be alone if he didn't want to be.

The time passes quickly as they share pastries and discuss the pros and cons of the different types of houses he is considering. He isn’t sure when their adventures became more about seeing her than doing whatever activity they had planned. When he started calling her just to ask her what she was doing and to hear the sound of her voice on the other side. He is already dreading dropping her off at home later and returning to the bunker by himself. Without her, things feel off-kilter.

There is a small voice telling him that he knows what he's feeling. That he had felt it once before, in a time when she was just a grainy figure on CCTV footage and a voice over the phone. The spark of something that had been stifled by everything that came after.

He leans forward to show her a listing on his phone, and their legs bump under the table. It doesn't look like she notices but he can feel his heart racing. He must say something funny, because she tips her head back to laugh and the sunlight catches on her hair.

And then all the pieces slot together like the world's most obvious puzzle and he is left dumbfounded by his own obliviousness.

Before he can process his realization, before he can try and figure out what it means, the words tumble out of his mouth.

"I love you."

There it was, out on the table with whatever was left of the pastries.

She immediately straightens up and looks at him with wide eyes.

"What did you say?"

Is he imagining things, or does she sound flustered?

"I... love you." He says it slower this time and it sounds almost inadequate.

"Oh."

He's not imagining things. She fiddles with her sleeves and looks down at the table as if it'd be able to hide the smile that's slowly growing on her (definitely blushing) cheeks. Before he can think of something (anything) else to say, she takes a breath and looks at him. She's smiling shyly, it's a look he has never seen on her before.

"That makes me so happy, Saeyoung."

"Does that mean..."

Her smile widens and she nods. "Me too."

"What- why didn't you say anything?"

"I didn't want to dump my feelings on you after everything. I thought it would ruin things."

"As if you could ruin anything."

They hold eye contact for a second before they both burst into a fit of giggles out of relief and the absurdity of it all.

He reaches for her hand across the table. Their legs bump and cross under the table, and he doesn't mind how much the contact makes his heart race. In fact, he relishes it. He wonders what it would feel like if she were closer, whether it would simply stop beating all together. He can't remember the last time someone was this close to him.

They have spent the last few months catching up on life he has missed. As he squeezes her hand between both of his and digests the certainty of their confessions, he realises that this is only the beginning.

[overobsessedfanboy23]

Non Sevens fans playing Duel Links when we tell them that Mimi is 37:

[threegodkings]

alhaitham/cyno [2.5k]

quick lil warm up for the other fics i gotta finish this weekend (ok this spiralled out of control a little but it's fine it's cruisy LMAO) --- as a general rule, things i write for tumblr on any of my blogs stay here and don't get transferred elsewhere but this is long enough that i will Possibly put it on ao3 later... possibly

edit: ao3 link

/

The Liyue night sky isn’t the overwhelming expanse found in the desert, where the stars are so distinct that they’ve been used for navigation for as long as stories have been told, but the moonlight plays over Cyno’s skin all the same, so Alhaitham will take it.

He watches as Cyno looks over the land. The General Mahamatra is always a pleasure to watch in action, moving with lethal grace and pulling his punches with precision every time.

Once, a week or two after Dehya returned from Fontaine with a samurai who had recited poetry that made Lumine smile and handed her a bag of gifts for mutual friends that was roughly the size of Paimon, the three of them had ended up in the desert. Lumine had offered to join them, but Cyno had sent her on her way with gentle hands and a request to stop by Gandharva Ville to let Collei know he might be a little late for their TCG training session, but he wouldn’t miss it.

He had said it with such steady conviction that Alhaitham felt it, bone-deep. But he hadn’t been able to look away from Cyno’s hands.

That particular trip had ended in Dehya cussing out a group of Eremite-breakaways while she used the hilt of her claymore to knock one out before flinging it to the side to sock someone else in the stomach, Alhaitham translating the runic carvings as fast as he could while flicking dendro shards towards the stray attack that got past Cyno, and Cyno whirling his staff around with such deft precision that Alhaitham wished he could turn around and study him instead.

Everyone survived the ordeal, of course; Dehya said she doesn’t believe in punishing thickheadedness with death, or else the two of them would have ended up at the other end of her weapon that first fateful day in Aaru Village, and Alhaitham had done his part in unlocking the key to spit all of them from the tomb.

And Cyno, well --

It doesn’t need clarification, Alhaitham thinks. The oath of the General Mahamatra is writ in stone and hasn’t changed since its genesis, but Alhaitham doubts anyone has held to it as intently as Cyno. It’s not a slight against his predecessors; it’s just that Cyno’s dedication to justice and his oath is second to none.

The Akademiya looks at the General Mahamatra and sees a punisher, but in truth, he’s always been a protector.

None shall come to harm under his watch.

So -- the General Mahamatra is always a privilege to observe, with his unparalleled tenacity and exacting movements.

But here, tonight, beneath the full force of the Liyue night sky, Alhaitham does not observe the General Mahamatra, but Cyno.

With a swallow, Alhaitham takes a step forward.

“Finally,” Cyno says. Alhaitham raises an eyebrow, but does not speak. It’s not really a surprise. It’s a rare beast indeed that manages to get the drop on the General Mahamatra (or Cyno, or the Wolf of Spantamad, or the Judicator of Secrets, or any of the thousands of things he’s been called over the years, as if to name a thing is to define it), and Alhaitham is nothing so unique. He is but a feeble scholar, after all.

“Your thoughts are so loud,” Cyno adds. Alhaitham looks down at him as he steps closer, closer, all the way until they stand side-by-side. There is a space between them that Alhaitham only knows how to define as the absence of touch; he’s so aware of Cyno’s presence, his skin prickling with Cyno’s errant warmth, that if he could not see the small distance between them, he wouldn’t believe it there at all.

“They only seem loud relative to the dearth found in others,” Alhaitham retorts. There’s a smile glimmering at the edges of Cyno’s lips before he rearranges it into a frown. Alhaitham maps the path of it in his brain.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” Cyno says, and it feels like something else. Alhaitham doesn’t think about that, doesn’t think about anything at all except for the way Cyno’s hands look right now, resting on the railing of Wangshu Inn’s balcony, moonlight spilling over each ridge and groove.

“You weren’t surprised to see me,” Alhaitham points out, and Cyno shrugs.

“That’s not the same thing,” he says.

After a moment, Alhaitham nods, a slow thing. Like honey, or the way Lumine smiles when her eyes are sad, or Cyno’s breathing when it’s late at night and there’s nothing in the world except all the stars to guide them.

“What brings you to Liyue?” Alhaitham asks. He looks at Cyno, drinks him in unabashedly. It’s a recently-discovered benefit to interrogation: a free pass to look directly. Recently-discovered isn’t quite correct. Recently-valued, maybe. It’s not a new thing, after all; it’s just that Alhaitham has never cared about it before.

(Cyno’s gaze is always unflinching. Sometimes Alhaitham thinks about the way Cyno always looks at him, no matter the circumstances. Cyno does not hide behind excuses. Nor does Alhaitham, usually, but there are some honesties easier to swallow when clothed in rationale.

This feeling really is a vexing thing, Alhaitham thinks, to compel him to explain his behaviour, even just to himself. The lack of explanation provided for anything he does unless demanded has always been one of his most charming qualities, in his opinion.

(Okay, so Dehya had laughed in his face when he said as much to her in Lambad’s Tavern once, but he’s decided to ignore it. Peer review is an important part of scholarship, but unfortunately for him, he can count his options (read: people he respects) on one hand, and given that one is a god and another makes his chest ache unintentionally, he ends up with Dehya laughing at him a lot.))

“The pursuit of treasure,” Cyno says, tone completely serious, which --

Alhaitham blinks. What a completely unexp—

Oh. Scratch that. He does know what this is, courtesy of Dehya dragging him and Lumine out to drinks after the Traveller’s return from Mondstadt. Cyno had joined them later, having been in Gandharva Ville with Collei and Tighnari, but he’d been a popular topic of conversation prior to his arrival.

(Alhaitham is not above soaking up all information he can, and certainly not about subjects of interest—if Cyno was such a thing back when all he learned of him was through distant observation and the sages’ record of him, he is something all the more important now. Still, for the record, it wasn’t him who pressed for further details—that was all Dehya. Of course, Paimon was all too happy to oblige, immediately launching into an indignant recounting of a joke about ground nuts. Alhaitham was entirely innocent in the matter, thank you very much.)

He recalibrates. “Makes sense,” he says casually, nodding slowly. Cyno’s eyes flick up, scanning his face, and Alhaitham continues, “Just as I would expect from such a renowned adventurer.”

There’s a smile glimmering on Cyno’s lips, and that makes this whole thing worth it.

“And you?” Cyno the Adventurer asks, looking at Alhaitham like -- like he’s a memory in the process of being made, maybe. Something worth tracking the motion of, worth learning by heart. It makes Alhaitham’s cheeks heat up, just a little. “Are you an adventurer too, to have heard of others?”

“Me?” Alhaitham asks, tilting his head. “Oh, no, nothing so exciting. I am just a feeble scholar.”

Cyno’s expression does something complicated, goes somewhere between wry and -- something just shy of disappointment. It makes Alhaitham’s bones ache.

“I see,” Cyno says.

It’s not born out of rationality, what Alhaitham does next. One might even be forgiven for thinking it uncharacteristic, although they would be incorrect. That’s not their fault, though; Alhaitham suspects that most people in Teyvat would come to the same conclusion.

Increasingly, however, he thinks some of the citizens of Sumeru—mostly those who float around the Akademiya, like a handful of the matra and maybe two or three of the scholars who regularly haunt the (Acting) Grand Sage’s office with their endless paperwork, but also the various people who burrowed their way into his life (despite his best efforts) through camaraderie and a successful coup against the autocratic geniocracy that tried to make a new god—have started to notice these shifts in his behaviour. It’s not that he eschews rationality, exactly; it’s just --

Alhaitham looks at Cyno’s hands again. Recurring theme.

There’s something about Cyno that recalibrates Alhaitham’s worldview. That sounds more dramatic than it is, he thinks. It’s not like he’s changing, or that logic falls wayside; it’s just that if Cyno is in the room, Alhaitham is always aware of it, in a way that feels so much more present than his normal (already stellar) observational skills. It’s not just information he registers to sort and sift through. He wants to know. If Cyno is there, Alhaitham wants to know.

If Cyno is there, Alhaitham wants.

That’s the only reason he can think to provide for why he reaches out and captures Cyno’s hand, sweeping his thumb gently over the back of it. One, two, three.

Cyno sucks in a breath, but he doesn’t pull back, just trains that endless gaze on Alhaitham.

“Yes,” Alhaitham says. “I’ve been contemplating two areas of study in particular for my newest paper.”

“Oh?” Cyno asks. He sounds -- in all honesty, he sounds almost exactly the same as ever, but Alhaitham knows him well enough now to detect the glint of amusement in his voice, the way it wars with a touch of wariness. He thinks there’s affection too, or fondness, at the least, but he’s sent back enough documents for review to overzealous scholars to acknowledge that he’s not an objective enough observer to make draw such a conclusion.

Still, he hopes.

“Mm,” Alhaitham hums. “The usage of the Liyue nightscape for both guiding and illuminative purposes,” he says, eyes dropping back to Cyno’s hands. Years ago, Alhaitham read a book suggesting that the triangulation of stars in Liyue does not obey the same rules of equations as the night sky in Sumeru. The implications of such an argument were fascinating and thorny, the exact sort of thing he likes to muse upon, but right now, in this moment, Alhaitham finds his attention much more occupied with the way the moonlight plays over Cyno’s knuckles, spilling over each ridge and faded scar.

“That’s one,” Cyno says. His eyebrow is arched, but not as dramatically as Dehya’s would be, not like an accusation. It’s something softer. Alhaitham has the stray thought that playacting aside, he could quite easily spend his time studying the rhythms of Cyno, all his minute motions and barest tendencies. It’s perhaps the only similarity Alhaitham can find between himself and the former sages, although their motivations differ drastically.

“So it is,” Alhaitham says. He looks up from Cyno’s hands, lips tugging into something crooked. “Hands, then.”

“Hands,” Cyno repeats, and Alhaitham nods. The look Cyno gives him in response is incredulous. “Well,” Cyno says slowly, like that ajilenakh nut syrup Dunyarzad likes to drizzle on her breakfast, “as it would happen, I possess hands.”

He says it with such a straight face that Alhaitham almost snorts. Coughing lightly into his hand to disguise it, Alhaitham says, “So you do.” A moment later, he adds, “Ones currently illuminated by said nightscape.”

Cyno’s lips turn up at the edges, in that rare kind of smile that used to catch Alhaitham off guard. These days, he chases it.

“That’s two out of three,” Cyno says.

Alhaitham dips his head in agreement. “I’ve heard that a handful of the most experienced adventurers know how to navigate through the stars,” he says, looking directly at Cyno.

He’s looking back.

“Perhaps a renowned adventurer such as yourself…”

Cyno lets out a light huff of laughter. If Alhaitham wasn’t so attuned to his presence, he’d have missed it.

“And if I could?” Cyno asks, too casually.

Alhaitham tilts his head. He commits the sight to memory: Cyno, looking out over Bishui Plain, the night breeze rustling his hair, and moonlight spilling over his skin. He flicks his gaze away from Liyue’s landscape, back to Alhaitham’s face, and leaves it there. There’s a slight smile at his lips. Alhaitham’s heart aches, the way it does when you read something revelatory for the first time, and are immediately aware of the fact that it will never be new again. It’s not a bad thing; it’s just a pressing ache in your chest, the type that was always rare for Alhaitham, dotted only a few times throughout the timeline of his life.

These days, though, it is a recurring theme. Like being around Cyno, sometimes, is too big to hold.

“If you could…” Alhaitham says, drawing it out. He huffs a breath, a little wry. “I may be a mere scholar, but when my interest is piqued, I am quite resourceful, if I do say so myself.” A beat, then, “Once I start something, I always see it through.”

Sometimes that means exploring it to its limits, and then discovering it is not as intriguing as initially thought. In those cases, Alhaitham has no qualms about dropping it and moving on. That’s still seeing it through, in his opinion; he’s taken it to the extent to which it has value to him, and once that has been exhausted, he leaves it be.

There is not a single bone in his body that thinks Cyno will ever be that to him, not even for a moment.

Cyno’s breath hitches. He looks over Alhaitham intently, like he’s decoding all the things he did not say from the knot of his arms, the line of his wrist, the curve of his cheek. Who knows? Maybe he is. If anyone could, it would be him.

“You’re in luck, scholar,” Cyno says finally. He flashes a smile -- small and quick, but so warm and unexpected that Alhaitham’s neck feels hot. “I know how to follow the stars.” He turns his head back towards Bishui Plain, but Alhaitham can still see a glimpse of his profile. There’s something warm and easy in the set of his lips, almost teasing. “Does that pique your interest?”

Yes, Alhaitham wants to say, you always do.

In the back of his head, Dehya scoffs. You academic types have the worst foreplay, she grumbles. Can’t you just be in love like a normal person? ‘I am quite resourceful’ -- Kusanali save us, just ask him to dinner next time, I’m fucking begging.

Ignoring his unfortunately canny projection of her, Alhaitham dips his head again, resting his hand on the railing. They do not touch, but his fingers are close enough to Cyno’s that he can feel the warmth emanating.

“Yes,” he says simply. He exhales, a little teasing. “I do believe I will be seeing this through.”

In the back of his head, Dehya is groaning, banging her head against his skull, but Alhaitham can’t bring himself to care, not with how Cyno looks right now: eyes shining, smile glimmering at his lips, with the full force of the Liyue night sky shining behind him.

[buckets-and-trees]

Warm Shadows - Let All Light Go (2/4)

Fandom: MCU Collection: Warm Shadows Title: Let All Light Go Characters/Pairings: Alpha!Steve x f!Omega!Reader, existing Alpha!Bucky x f!Omega!Reader Word Count: 7.5k

Summary: Now that he's claimed you, Captain Hydra takes you back to his new base of operations, his little omega bait for the Soldat. But the bond between an alpha and an omega is a powerful thing that shouldn't be trifled with. [sequel to When You Fall On Me Like Night]

Content Warnings: DARK, a/b/o dynamics, explicit smut, DUBIOUS CONSENT/omega heat, oral - female receiving, vaginal fingering, breast play, vaginal intercourse

Logistical Notes: We've got a dose of pride for @nickfowlerrr's Seven Deadly Sins + Seven Holy Virtues writing event. Now this second part is too late for the Horror Movie Hoe-a-thon, but I had most of it written before the challenge closed, and so I had plucked another dialogue prompt from her list, so I still want to give @witchywithwhiskey credit where it's due, and you'll find the prompt in bold and italics when it appears.

Additional Notes: I had no intention of making this three times as long as the original, but Steve had other plans. So many other plans. Thanks to @biteofcherry for letting me suss out a couple of the things I had questions on plot-wise. Title from Hozier's De Selby (Part 2).

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

Steve doesn’t smile anymore. He hasn’t smiled in weeks. And yet the frown on his face is more than the non-smile stoicism that had taken over his demeanor since the ambush outside of Turin. He exhales deeply, washing away the frown as he straps your limp body into the jump seat of the stealth jet. Unconscious and sedated, your head falls forward though your torso is held back by the chest harness of the safety belt. Steve angles your head back against the headrest because if you got a crick in your neck, it will be a problem he doesn’t want to hear you try and complain about later.

He had achieved his objective in coming to Wakanda. Though the operation had played out with slight differences from what he had anticipated, it had gone as close as he could have logically projected in almost every aspect. He knew Bucky. No. The Winter soldier, he corrects. And he knew you. As players in this piece of the plan, you had both been reliably predictable.

As a super soldier Steve knew the strengths, the weaknesses, the limitations, and what Barnes would be susceptible to. That’s why he had been so prepared in laying his trap and incapacitating the asset.

Overpowering you had been easy.

Claiming you had split a slow but building tremor to his system. It had changed what he’d intended to do.

A few hours later as he approaches the remote Hydra base, that disconcerting feeling in his brain that he is working to tamp down still smolders with something unsettled that makes him flick his eyes up to the mirror that allows the pilot to check the interior behind him to see that you’re still in the same state of sedation.

His new conditioning will help him to control this irritating itch.

After touching down and rolling into the hangar, Steve unbuckles you from the seat and slings your unconscious body over his shoulder. He doesn’t stop walking but proceeds to give his brief mission report to the ranking officer on base who was waiting to meet him at the base of the small jet’s cargo ramp as he exits. This man is not his handler but his liaison for the time being. He’s competent enough that Steve if rarely frustrated with him. The power dynamics are something Steve is constantly aware of. Hydra wants to know they are in control and yet learned with the Winter Soldier that an asset stripped of complete autonomy was more inflexible to work with – and impossible to pull back when he broke free. They don’t want to make the same mistake with him, but they give him no illusion over who his allegiance is to now. It’s not a leash, but an unmistakable tether that they will let him tenuously control as long as he ultimately complies.

It's why he has tolerable and private living quarters where he deposits you on top the large bed. He leaves a bottle of water next to you and then leaves. The door to his quarters is controlled by a fingerprint recognition, allowing Steve a fair amount of control over who can come in and out, and he has no intention of giving you access.

He goes to the mess to get food. No one approaches him while he eats. He collects two of the meal boxes that are ready to go – one marked for lunch, one marked for dinner – and brings them back for you.

You’re still asleep when he returns. He takes the time to order routine meal delivery to his quarters for you long term as well as a supply of standard issue clothes and laundry service. This base is a hub for research and development, so the standard of living is functional and minimalistic, which suits him fine, and that is all you will require as his omega.

It's mid afternoon before you finally wake, and he can sense the moment you resume consciousness – his heightened senses heard the change in your breathing, but there’s also an innate sense about it. He wasn’t expecting that.

He shifts slightly where he sits in a boxy armchair reading over some new intelligence reports on his tablet to watch you. You slowly sit up causing the water bottle he set on the mattress next to you to roll against your body, and you frown, then look around and see him almost immediately. Fear and anger show immediately in your face, exactly as he expected.

“Your food is on the counter,” he says flatly.

“I don’t want it.”

“You will,” he responds.

You look away from him, scan the single-room quarters, and then look down to the water bottle again. He hears your small sigh before you pick it up, unscrew the top to take a few sips, then close it and shift to one side of the bed and lay back down, curling up, facing away from him. There’s an east-facing window on that side of the room.

None of this behavior is unexpected, and it’s of no matter to him. He has you here, he’s keeping you here as long as necessary. You’re hurt, you will hold onto your pride at the offense for a long while yet, and he expects it. He’s not offended. It will wear away.

He has a few projects he planned to touch base with various research and development teams on the base, and so now that he knows you’re alert and fine, he has no problem resuming his operations and routines.

The single declaration over the food is all you say to him for the first few days.

Not that he is there much either. He has missions, projects, agendas – his own and Hydra’s, and certainly doesn’t exist to coddle his omega.

An omega, he reminds himself.

There is only one bed, and he doesn’t say one word about it to you. The first night when he returns, you are curled in on yourself on the edge of the bed much as you had been earlier when he left (though he notes you had eaten the roll from the dinner box, so you had moved at some point). He wordlessly changes into his sleepwear and slides beneath the sheets. He figures if it bothers you enough, you can choose to sleep on the small couch or the floor, but he isn’t going to give up the bed to accommodate you.

On the third day, you rise when he does. The small bathroom is the only private part of the living quarters, so he is closed off from you while he showers, but as he eats breakfast and finishes the rest of his morning routine, you sit in the armchair, legs curled up, and watch him with a cool storm in your eyes.

When he returns on the fourth night, you smell different. You wear the same clothes, but you’ve clearly showered, and you must have done what you could to clean your clothes in the sink because you're wearing them and not the base-issued garments. You’re already curled up on your side of the bed, still on top of the bedding, barefoot, but not sleeping yet.

Your state of unrest is burdening his thoughts. It’s an imposition he can’t have.

The way you bleed into his consciousness was the only thing he had stupidly forgotten to even account for in this maneuver to draw out the Soldat. Part of it was because he hadn’t been entirely sure he could successfully make the claiming bond – he knew he could get the bite, but it had been a gamble on whether it would work.

It had.

Though it hadn’t been like a clap of lightning but more like an invisible string threaded between the two of you. He had used it to manipulate the situation that night, but the reality of it had also shifted what his original plan for you had been.

Having never bonded with an omega, he had heard varying reports of how the connections could develop between an alpha and an omega. Some said it was strong enough to reach a degree of non-verbal communication, but this seemed to be developing as more of a constant, pressing awareness as the string wove further through him as the days passed, but an awareness that he was learning to read and decipher.

That cool storm that brewed in your eyes any of the few times you looked at him had to be tamed. He didn’t expect it to go away, but he could not have the rage brewing, growing, and pulsing from you to him. He can’t afford the distraction.

In an operations meeting one of the analysts sits down to the table with two unnecessary books in the stack of things they’ve brought with them, and he remembers that you loved to read.

He deposits a linen tote bag with a stack of books on your bedside table that night, returning after you’re already asleep.

He leaves for a mission across the globe before you wake the next morning.

When he returns three days later, it’s mid-afternoon, and he goes to his quarters after the mission debriefing. You’re sitting almost comfortably on the couch with one of the books. You still regard him with cold, guarded eyes, but you’re wearing the base-issued clothing. It’s plain, utilitarian, slate grey.

He remains with you the rest of the evening, the two of you eating dinner together at the small table in one corner of the room when meals are delivered. You don’t look at him, and he doesn’t watch you too much. He thought he had been focused on the mission. He thinks now the focus had come easily again because you were less angry, an icy ache rather than the rampant and enflamed rage that was only further agitated without anything to do.

The next day is unremarkable with this new development. You read, you wear different clothes from the base again, and he is back to his standard on-base routine, returning to his quarters after dinner but before dark. It’s the same the day after, and then the day after that. The only thing that changes at the end of one more day, is that once you’re settled to sleep and he slides into bed a quarter of an hour later, he’s about to drop off to sleep when he hears you take a deep breath.

His own heart stills. What are you about to do?

“Can I have normal clothes?” you ask softly.

One request could lead to another request, and another.

But if they’re as simple as this, easy enough to appease, he could say yes until he needs to refuse you something he’s not willing to entertain.

“I’ll see it done.”

“Oh,” your response is small, surprised.

“Now sleep,” he says, not a command.

Mid-morning he has a break between consultations, and he pulls one of the base caretakers aside and charges them with accommodating your request.

He returns to you before dinner that night. He simply finished his work earlier than usual that day, it’s nothing more than that. You’re in jeans and a lightweight crewneck sweatshirt. Eating dinner is another quiet affair, but the easiest it’s been out of the few times you’ve shared any meals in this place.

Over the next week he eats breakfast with you and most of his dinners. There’s a sadness that’s growing, but he is also melting the glacier of your guarded hostility.

While eating dinner one evening, you ask, “Where are we?”

“A Hydra research and development facility.”

You give it another moment, and then you press further, “And where’s this facility located?”

He looks up at you across the table and gives a dark, wry smirk. “Europe.” His tone is clipped. He can see you know that’s the end of the information he’s going to give you on the matter.

“How are your books?” he ventures after a few minutes. He had gone to the bookshop in the town to purchase a second stock of books for you earlier in the week.

“I appreciate them,” you answer. Without looking back up at him, you say, “The old you liked to read.”

He glowers at you, but he can see there’s almost a warmth in your eyes. It does something to him, so he drops his eyes back to his plate.

He stands abruptly and takes his plate to the counter by the sink, then he leaves. He won’t entertain that line of conversation with you. He paces through the facility for an hour before he returns. When he sees you seem to have been waiting for him, there’s a small warmth in his chest. You just nod at him, and he nods in return. No more words are exchanged between you that night.

When you both finally retire to bed, he doesn’t say a word or give any sign of reacting to you pulling the covers back on your side of the bed for the first time in this space and climbing into them, he simply does the same on his side. You still stay rigidly still and curled up, nearly on the edge of the mattress, but it’s more than he ever expected from you. The nights following, you maintain this step forward in proximity.

He notices your hand going to your bonding mark from Bucky over the following days, and it happens more and more frequently. He almost says something, but as he scrutinizes your actions, he sees you do it without seeming to think about it. It bothers him, but when he sees it’s not intentional, it’s not jealousy or rage that eats at him, it’s something else.

Because why hasn’t the Soldat come for you yet?

That was the object of the game, after all.

He was sure he hadn’t underestimated the Soldat’s skills or Bucky’s devotion to you. Bucky had, in fact, been spotted close enough in the region that the whole base had been on red alert for three days, certain the Winter Soldier would strike, but he hadn’t. Then the reports were he’d gone further north and left Italy altogether, so the alert had gone down from red to orange, and now sat at yellow - standard caution and operating procedures.

It was bothering him further because you were supposed to be Bucky’s beloved omega. How could he abandon you this long? Work so carelessly? Soldat should be desperate and raising hell at this point.

Because at this point?

It’s why Steve decides to embark on one more mission. He doesn’t tell you where he is going. He didn’t tell you even that he is going. He could already feel your unease growing, the questions and uncertainty. He doesn’t need his omega further agitated.

His mission is quick and successful.

As he returns, there is a sudden spike of fear and adrenaline when he is about an hour out from the base. It burns through his system, and he hasn’t felt any emotions overpower him this strongly in weeks and weeks, but after less than a minute it’s snuffs out almost as quickly as it had flared.

Twenty minutes from landing, a call buzzes in over his comms.

“Captain, our base has been attacked, but we are clear from intruders and in active recovery mode now,” his liaison’s voice relays.

“Intruders?” he growls.

“Full report forthcoming and will be ready by the time you arrive. You are cleared for landing but divert to the machine storage facility rather than our standard hangar, we’ve sustained damage there. End communication.”

Steve slams his fist against the arm rest of the seat – the place he knew could sustain the brunt of his impatience – and it breaks off, smashed away completely.

His landing approach gives him a view of the obvious devastation to the base, the entire northwest quadrant still in flames, but with crews working quickly to extinguish the fire.

His liaison is waiting in a truck to drive from the storage on the outskirts back to the main base.

“Twenty-two casualties, six injured, two hundred on evacuation disbursement orders. Only beta essential personnel and the damage control teams remain, prime essential personnel were evacuated as soon as the intruder was reported.”

Steve frowns. “Identity?”

“Confirmed as the Soldat.”

Steve nods. “You said intruders when you contacted me on approach.”

“We’ve since confirmed it was the Winter Soldier and only him.”

He nods again. That news wasn’t surprising. Had he known I would be gone? He was certainly cutting it close, waiting until almost the eleventh hour to come for his omega.

“Status of the omega?”

“We sedated and moved the omega to our facility outside of Geneva.”

Steve’s entire chest seizes in rage – not only moving his omega without consulting him, but to sedate her without any thought? It doesn’t matter that it’s standard protocol for prisoners, you’re his omega. However, every alarm in his head rings immediately that he can not show any ripple of emotion or he may very well never see his omega again. He won’t make the same mistake again – not for a third time.

“Geneva will be the next center of operations for current projects?” he asks.

“Correct. Early calculations project that this base can be functional again in four to five months, and we’ll evaluate whether projects will move back, or continue in Geneva and other bases in the region and clear the way for new initiatives here. We thought you would want to see evidence and damages yourself here first, which is why I didn’t redirect you once we had entered the first recovery stages after clearing all immediate threats, Captain.”

“The logical call,” he agrees.

Four and a half hours later, he touches down in Geneva, but it’s another two hours before he can escape all the protocol and regrouping strategy conversations. Within ten minutes after that, he’s in the new living quarters assigned to him on the Swiss base.

And there you are. Haphazardly deposited on the bed, but there all the same. He lets out a breath as he closes the door behind him. It locks automatically. He drops his pack on the couch and then makes his way to you. He rights your body, laying you fully across the bed and straightening your limbs. He removes your shoes and tucks a pillow beneath your head. He could smell you immediately on entering the quarters, but handling your body now confirms you’re dangerously close to breaking into your heat a day earlier than you were supposed to. He has no doubt it’s due to the distress of the day. That spike of fear and adrenaline he felt earlier had to have been you moments before you were sedated for transport.

He examines your neck, but sees no evidence of an injection, which leaves sedation by inhalation. In a situation where they needed efficiency and couldn’t chance a miscalculation of precision, it was the logical move. It also narrows things down to one of two compounds currently in use for inhaled sedation, which he appreciates.

Then he sees the bloom of a bruise forming already on your arm just above the elbow, and his brow furrows. He will review the footage and he will find out who did this to you.

Satisfied in general over your state – even breathing and no other visible injuries – he turns his attention to the new living quarters. It’s still a studio set up, but moderately larger than the Turin facility. There he’d been assigned quarters for an individual, and this is clearly one of the units designed for Hydra personnel with a partner. A marked difference here is an area that is sectioned off as a study with a desk and a bookshelf. There are already some books there, but empty shelves that can be filled as well.

There’s a decently sized case on the table in the kitchenette area. Inside is a selection of personal effects transported here from Turin, likely collected after the initial evacuation of personnel, but delivered here in those first two hours while he was in the strategy meetings upon arrival. There are a few items of his clothing, a modest selection of the wardrobe he’d arranged for you, toiletries, and even your small accumulation of books.

He has just finished unpacking the case when he can sense you stirring on the bed. A moment later he feels the spike of unease and tension as you register the new surroundings, sitting up on the bed, but he’s already approaching you.

He can feel the diminution of your nerves when your eyes land on him, but he sees the initial wave of relief in your eyes that you also try and stamp away in an instant.

He sits cautiously but with no apology on the edge of the bed next to you.

“Where are we?”

“A new facility.”

Your eyes study him for a moment. He knows you’re assessing that his answer means he won’t give you details. “Still in Europe?”

He nods.

“How long since the former facility was compromised?” you ask.

He smirks. You were always intelligent – not that it would have been difficult to figure out, but he’s proud of how quickly your mind works.

You huff at his hesitation and roll your eyes. “If you think I’ll use the information to try and figure out where we might be, I don’t know where we started, so it won’t be of any use to me, I’m just hungry and want to know how much time I’ve lost.”

“It’s been somewhere between seven to eight hours.”

He reaches for his communications tablet and quickly orders a standard meal for each of you to be delivered as he hasn’t eaten much either.

“It was him, wasn’t it?” you break the silence again. “Bucky found me.”

He hadn’t planned to tell you, but he won’t lie to you. “Yes”

“He’ll find me again. He said that wherever I went, he would find me.”

“Oh, I know.” His stare is back on you. “That’s the entire point. I need the Soldat.”

The silence that builds between you two is full of anger on your side. There’s nothing else for him to explain, but he’s curious to see how long you’ll keep this moment stretching on before ending it or saying something else.

But it grows more and more uncomfortable, and you try not to fidget. You’ve never been one to fidget, and certainly not over these past few weeks at any point around him. Then he notices the beads of perspiration gathering on your brow.

“Your heat, Omega.”

“My heat, not yours.”

“Sure,” he laughs cruelly. He reaches out to touch your cheek, somewhat patronizingly.

“Don’t touch me!” you snarl and snap your jaws at him, causing him to withdraw his hand immediately. “I don’t need you.”

“Fine.” He stands and retreats, not because he fears you in the slightest, but because he won’t fight your petulance, not when he has better things he can do at least for now. “Face your heat alone, Omega.”

He leaves, hearing you let out another impatient huff just as the door closes behind him.

He leaves you in pursuit of one of the data analysis rooms. If you’re going to be difficult and refuse him, he can do better things with his time until you’re ready to bend and keen for him. Once there, he logs into the system and pulls up the footage from Turin. He watches every frame of the Winter Soldier’s attack on the facility. It was shown earlier when he was meeting with the Hydra officers in debriefing the attack, but now he can study it alone in its entirety, moving from camera to camera outside, and then through each hallway and room without commentary from anyone else, able to slow down and rewind each moment as he sees fit.

It’s masterful.

And he looks directly at cameras after many of the kills. Twenty-two casualties and only six injuries? That’s intentional. He knows the Soldat could have executed this more quietly, and that’s evident in how he exits when he realizes you’ve been moved. From that point, his exit strategy has him engaging with almost no one, but setting fires and explosions, leaving enough damage in his wake to send his message.

It’s effective.

Steve narrows the block of time from the incident on the base and watches additional footage from the same ten-minute period. It’s every frame of the footage related to your acquisition, sedation, and transport from the base. He is interested in discovering just how the Soldat knew when to retreat, and he leaves notes in his log and in addition to drafting and sending a memo with some of his theories and observations to his primary liaison and a few of the officers on the taskforce. But his primary objective was to figure out who handled you so roughly, and he does. They will be dealt with later. He can’t expose such a personally driven need to deal out punishment.

While he’s been gone he’s felt the tenor of your emotions tugging at him – not tugging insistently, and with how tightly you’ve tried to control and suppress your emotions over the past few weeks, this must mean you’re battling to keep things at bay, pushed beneath the surface. As soon as he enters, he clocks the spiking fluctuations of your hormones. Since returning with you from Wakanda, he’s read extensively over the heat cycles, and this situation gives all the signs that you’re vacillating precaiously between falling into either a standard heat or a dry heat. You’re trying to stave off the heat as long as possible, but it will come, and if you fight it too hard, it will be a dry heat, which will be physically and mentally painful for you and difficult for him to navigate with you. He needs to edge you carefully from that tipping point of the dry heat.

You’re sitting at the table, having polished off one of the meals already and eating the last bits of the other one. It looks like they were boxes with sandwiches, fruit, and vegetables. You’ve left the celery from both servings. He smirks, but he’s glad you’ve eaten. That’s a good sign.

In another attempt at normalcy, desperate to keep things at bay, you push the chair out across the table from you with your foot, nodding for him to sit. You try and engage him in completely normal lines of conversation. He knows what you’re doing. He’ll entertain it for at least a little while so he can assess more of your state and how he should handle it.

He’s more concerned with watching you than listening to what you’re saying. You stand to refill your cup with water, and he follows you to the sink. He reaches into the cupboard and gets a glass of his own, encroaching somewhat into your space very casually. It doesn’t put you on edge, so he eases even closer, as you continue to talk. He puts a hand on your shoulder and leans in to fill his cup with the tap. There’s a slight hitch in your breathing at his proximity. He pushes the teasing of his closeness even more, moving his hand down your arm and resting it on the counter next to yours.

“I know what you need, Omega,” he whispers against the shell of your ear.

He can feel you do everything you can to remain still.

But then you turn your head ever so slightly toward him. “The last time you touched me, you humiliated me.” Your voice is flat.

He doesn’t respond, but he also doesn’t move.

Finally, you ask, “What did they do to you?” your voice barely above a whisper.

The dangerous question comes out of nowhere, and the surge of emotion it evokes in him is immediate. He growls, whipping away, not even thinking before he slams his fists on the table. It splits in two clean pieces. He grabs one before it even falls to the floor and throws it against the wall, smashing it, splinters flying.

He turns back, advancing on you, and you’re already trembling. He doesn’t relent, forcing you up against the wall, caging you in. He pounds his fist into the wall right above your head, and you close your eyes, afraid to move. He can smell the fear in your scent now, but there can be no confusion here.

“No, Omega,” he speaks low, and his other hand moves lightning fast to grip your chin. He can feel your pulse racing beneath his fingers. “Look at me.” You open your eyes. “We aren’t doing that.”

He leaves a beat of silence between you.

“Do you understand?”

You nod.

He drops your chin, then grips the neck of your shirt and yanks, ripping the fabric down the front and jerking you forward, making you bump into his chest. He picks you up and hauls you across the room with a few furious strides to drop you onto one of the armchairs.

You right yourself in the seat as he steps back, but only an arm’s length away. He doesn’t have to use his alpha voice or say the words. He knows the look he gives you communicates his instruction: stay put, don’t move.

He slowly undresses, unfastening, unbuckling, unzipping. He places each article of his dark tactical suit in an orderly pile on the coffee table. It’s purposeful, this tactic. The onset of your heat is only a moment away. You’ve been doing everything in your power to stave it off. Part of him clocks this enormous show of strength and sees it for more than stubbornness, recognizing the discipline and power within you. But this has gone on long enough, he needs you to finally tumble over the edge, and he will push you if he must.

He watches you watching him as he reveals each expanse of naked flesh – arms and torso, legs, and finally his loins when he slips off his boxer briefs. He’s hard for you, of course he is, the pheromones have been flooding out of you, and he wasn’t tempted to touch you in Turin, but now it’s all he can think about. He wants your body supple and pliant, submissive beneath him. He stands above you, looming, imposing – he knows he is, and he wants you to feel that he can do this – and pumps his cock slowly with his own fist.

He does it a few more times, watching you watch him. He sees the small ripple of a shudder you can’t suppress when your breath hitches.

“Undress,” he commands.

Your jaw ticks up. He knows you don’t like it – he felt it the first time he gave you an alpha command, and he hasn’t again until this moment. You look down as you reach behind your back to unclasp your bra and slide it off, dropping it to the floor. You stubbornly refuse to meet his eye since he’s making you do this – he knows it. You hook your thumbs into your waistband, and you push your leggings and underwear down in a slight huff.

“Spread your legs,” he issues another command.

You do, still refusing to meet his eye. Part of it is the irritation over the commands, but he knows part of it is also the trepidation still pulsing through you. He doesn’t want to make this easy for you, but he doesn’t want you to suffer the agony of a dry heat where you’ll be agitated, devoid of slick, in pain, and distressed.

He sinks to his knees between your parted thighs, but now you can’t help but look at him staking his claim there so close to your exposed core. He can see you have a million questions in your eyes, it’s the most you’ve allowed him to glimpse of you – the real you – these past weeks.

He lowers his head, keeping his eyes on yours, and licks a slow, broad stripe from the side of your knee along the soft flesh of your inner thigh. He can feel you tense and hold your breath. And he stops inches from your warm cunt, pulling back and kneeling back on his heels.

You whimper.

He knows he has you now.

“Touch yourself, Omega,” he doles out the third command. He knows how he wants this to play out.

“Don’t make me,” you plead, but your hands are already slowly moving to your center.

“Do it,” he barks, and you flinch.

There’s a little bit of slick between your pussy lips, and he watches you trace a finger slowly over your folds, up and down. You drop your head down and to the side, refusing once more to look at him.

“Omega, have you ever experienced the pain of a dry heat?”

You huff.

“Is that what you want?”

“I want him!” you blurt, and you certainly must not have meant to say it out loud because your hands immediately fly to cover your mouth and your eyes flash to him in fear. And anger. Both are there.

He growls and surges forward to claim your clit between his lips, clamping his hands at the juncture of your thighs to keep your legs open. He sucks hard and flicks his tongue angrily over the little bundle of nerves, drawing a cry from you immediately. Your hands push at his head, but there’s no match for his strength, and he holds your pelvis firmly to his face.

“No, no, no,” you murmur, starting to cry.

He keeps up the furious sucking and flicking, and it’s less than a minute before he feels your whole body seize up, frozen as the first orgasm crashes down on you. Slick begins to seep out in abundance, and he hums in approval, but he doesn’t relent, only changes his tactics. He flattens his tongue and laps at your cunt, letting his tongue slip between your folds and into your hole every two or three licks. It’s less frenzied, but no less insistent, and he rips a second orgasm from you easily. He hums in approval as this time that blissful wave forces you to throw your head and shoulders back, and you land against the back of the armchair, clutching at the rim of it next to your head.

But he won’t relent yet.

He reaches up to cup one of your breasts in his hand, and you moan and push your chest forward for him, head still thrown back, and he imagines your eyes must be shut. He squeezes your breast, then tweaks your nipple, and your breath hitches. He presses his mouth back to your folds and works his lips over your puffy, engorged clit, working slowly this time. He draws his hand away from your breast, and then he slides the fingers that just tweaked your nipple into your tight heat. He pumps slowly, and your hand moves to the back of his head, applying insistent pressure there. He crooks the fingers and strokes along your front wall, and he knows he finds the spot of your undoing when your legs abruptly shift, the left lengthening out, and your right hitching up over his shoulder to press into his back. He doesn’t change a thing now, sucking, pressing. He knows you’re on your way, but he will not hasten this. He wants you to feel every drawn out moment of this – some but not enough of what you need.

Paying attention to every breath above him, every movement of your body, and especially the way your muscles start to squeeze around the fingers he has inside you, he stops just short of your third orgasm.

You whine in protest, but he pushes himself up to stand above you. He grabs your waist and hauls you easily with his preternatural strength up and over his shoulder. You claw at his back, but it’s only a few quick steps for him to be able to throw you down onto the bed.

Your fear from his outburst is long gone, and the face you turn up at him is angry, and you snarl, quickly kneeling up on the bed.

He grasps your chin in his slick-covered hand and looks into your face. “You will beg for me, and only then will I consider whether or not I will touch you again or let you suffer.”

He drops your chin and is already turning away, but you’re lightning fast in reaching for his wrist.

He stops and only inclines his head part of the way to look back at you.

“Take me,” you plead, voice stronger than he expected.

He furrows his brow.

“Please,” you implore.

He turns fully back to you. Perhaps he shouldn’t be as surprised as he is. You’d always been adaptable and clever, and rarely stubborn to your own detriment. You had been stubbornly trying to hold the heat at bay, dangerously so to tempt the dry heat, but he knows this is an extreme circumstance for you, and with the tide turned yet again, he was almost impressed that you had so quickly determined it was worth it to take what you needed.

“Then present,” he says simply.

You turn, moving up to the middle of the bed, but close to the headboard, and kneel on all fours.

He climbs up behind you.

You drop down to your elbows, subjecting yourself to him, omega to alpha.

He takes his cock in his hand and rubs the angry red tip up and down your slick folds. You whimper, and he sees the small shiver that runs down your spine. He sinks his thick length into your tight heat, and you both groan as he fills you for the first time. He doesn’t move once his hips are finally flush against your ass. He breathes in and out, in and out, and watches your measured breaths as well.

He did not know it would be like this.

He reaches forward, grips your shoulder, and pulls you up and back towards him. Your hands move to reach out to steady yourself on the headboard. He presses his fingers into that juncture at your neck where he claimed you, and you keen, throwing your head back. He leans forward and while his right hand stays anchored at your hip, his left strokes that bite again, then moves to hold the front of your neck as he leans down and forward over you. You look up at him, he looks down at you. “You’re fucking mine, Omega,” he growls, your eyes locked.

“Yes, Alpha.”

Then he feels you rock your hips back against his. He smooths his hand down your neck, then presses his lips to your forehead. “You’re mine,” he says again, imprinting the words against your skin.

Then he pulls back and thrusts into you. A few thrusts like that, but as you begin to keen for him, begging for more, he has to drop back and grip your hips with both hands to fuck you. You both come twice – once quickly, and once more very slowly – before you’re boneless beneath him, and he forces you down to the mattress, shifting you to your side and drawing you up against his chest. You whine, but he strokes your arm and promises he’ll give you more once you sleep.

While you sleep in his arms, sticky and sweaty, his mind goes to work.  

It’s not long before you wake again, and you two truly fuck, carnal bleeding with a few moments that are too tender for either of you to acknowledge. But his stamina outmatches yours and he has you exhausted and sleeping again before long.

He’s never taken care of an omega in heat before, and it’s all-consuming, but he stays focused. When you’re awake, he plies your body with pleasure until you cry, keen, moan, scream aloud and silently, and it goes on and off again between sex and sleep all through the day. He’s prepared for your reluctance during the first high phase of the heat to eat or drink anything, but he slips you bits of fruit and nuts as he can, gets you to greedily gulp water only after he pushes it your way insistently. You want his cock, not hydration or nutrition.

A little before midnight the second night, you stretch and yawn waking from another of your short sleeps, and then you roll out of bed and pad to the bathroom. He’s been rooting through some of the cupboards, taking stock of what’s there, and he finishes quickly and follows you into the bathroom after he hears you flush the toilet and then turn on the showerhead. You’re slipping into the shower when he enters the bathroom, and he’s there in time for you to give the silent invitation for him to join you – the expectation, even.

You’re still in heat, but craving a shower lets him know you’ll have enough of your mind back for what needs to happen now.

Things are tenuous, but there’s no denying that this heat has changed things for both of you. He claimed you in Wakanda, but the two of you have bonded through the first thirty hours of this heat in ways neither of you thought possible.

He takes the lathered-up sponge you place in his hands, and he washes your body carefully. Then you take it back, soap it up again, and run it over his skin with the same kind of attention.

He washes your hair, you rinse away the suds, and then he pulls you flush against him. You take his hardening cock in your hand and pump shamelessly. He groans appreciatively, than pushes your back up against the tiles, moves your hands away, and pulls your leg up around his waist so he can enter you. You clutch at his shoulders for stability and moan. He buries his head into the crook of your neck, but he speaks just loud enough for you to hear, “This is the only place I’m sure no one will hear us, but they also need to have no reason to question what’s happening if they’re monitoring.” He moves his hips back and then pumps slowly into you again. “Do you understand?”

“Yes,” you moan, “more, Alpha.”

The corner of his mouth ticks up slightly, though he knows you can’t see it. He tongues his bite at your neck, and you whimper. He gives you another thrust, and you keen.

“I won’t have you anywhere near these Hydra personnel anymore. I don’t trust them.”

The surprised noise that escapes your throat is slightly distressed, and so he speeds up his thrusts a little. “My heat,” you whisper.

“The heat cycle is the only time no one expects me to be anywhere or respond to anyone unless there’s complete catastrophe, and I already reported the onset of your heat last night. They won’t disturb us for a few more days, and they will not expect us to attempt to leave our quarters let alone the facility. If we can manage to get out unnoticed, we will have enough of a head start on time to lose them completely.”

You remain quiet.

“Omega?”

“And go where?”

“You don’t need to know that.”

You push his face away from your neck and push at his chest. “I’m still nothing more than your bait?”

He growls and turns you around so your chest and face are pressed up against the wall.

“I’m still your alpha, and yes my end game is still to draw out the Soldat.”

“Why?”

“I need him.”

He nudges your legs apart and enters you from behind, and you groan as he fills you.

He pulls back, about to enter you again, but then you turn your head, and gasp, “Wait,” in a tone that’s different enough that he does, brow furrowing as he meets your eyes.

“Omega?”

“Tell me what happened to Sam, to you, and I promise I’ll go with you willingly.”

He didn’t think you knew Sam had been with him.

You reach for his head and urge him back to the cradle of your neck.

With more than your words and the gentle action, you’re also entreating him through the bond, he can feel it. It’s powerful. And so he tells you. It only takes him two sentences to tell you what you need to know. Tears stream down your face, and he fucks you then, the fucking he needs for him, not you, but you allow him to take.

go immediately to part three: Carving Through the Dark

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

read more from the Dark Forest Fest

[nickfowlerrr]

the seven heavenly virtues: charity, chastity, diligence, humility, kindness, patience, and temperance.

the seven deadly sins: envy, gluttony, greed, lust, pride, sloth, and wrath.

info and guidelines below the cut.

the idea is to pick either a sin or a virtue (or both) to use for your fic, or drabble, or moodboard, etc. you're welcome to pick more than one if you'd like and use them as inspo any way you please.

here's a wheel decide for the sins if you want help choosing. and one for the virtues.

submissions are, of course, open to dark and non dark characters/readers, just please make sure to properly tag your posts.

smut, fluff, angst, all is welcome! and any non writers who want to participate are free to.

moodboards, edits, however you’d like to join in, please do!

this is not limited to only characters that i write for. you can use any marvel character, any sebastian stan character, any henry cavill character, or any chris evans character. and if there's someone in particular you have in mind that isn't included in this, just lmk! i’d be more than happy to have this open to other actors/actresses/fandoms, i just request no RPFs, please. :)

i feel like this goes without saying, but i'll say it anyway, no minors allowed.

18+ only (21+ preferred).

really the only hard limits are involving underage characters/readers. i can't stop you from writing what you want to write, but it will not be included in the masterlist and will not be read or reblogged by me.

no word minimums or limits but please add a "keep reading" break on longer works.

feel free to write for more than one character in a fic if you want, and multiple submissions are fine, too.

the deadline for this is going to be a bit far out because i know i take ages to write lol. deadline will be november 14th, 2023.

you of course can start posting anytime! a masterlist will be made once there are five submissions shared and i will add from there as (if) there are more.

and please tag me in your posts and use the hashtags “#the seven writing event” or “#nickfowlerrr’s writing event” when you upload your submissions.

i don't have a wide reach so i don't see this having much traction lol but i'd love to see what people come up with! so please participate if you feel so inclined. 🖤

this is my first writing event and i feel like i’m missing information so if you have any questions please feel free to send me a message! 🩵

[sweetlikehoneystingslikeabee]

Ok ok so in an earlier ask I asked for a penpal situation between Croc and Ivy and I was wondering if a gender neutral/nonconforming reader could receive a romantic letter (with a little bit of spice thrown in) as if they were lovers before the rogues went back to Arkham.

The reader in question is a plant lover, into saving the environment, very kind and sweet and nonjudgmental, and also a little nerdy. No name is preferred (even the placeholder y/n).

Love Letter Double Feature! Killer Croc x Reader and Poison Ivy x Reader

Alright you got it. Since you sent me this in one ask I'll just do them back to back starting with Waylon. As a reminder this is for my Valentines Event for this week! as a note ((text)) is an observation on the letter, not something they wrote out.

TW: suggestive

You've received a letter that the paper is a little beaten up. On close inspection, you can see pen marks that have pressed too hard and almost gone through. There's white-out in a couple places. It's slightly crumpled as though someone kept taking it out and handling it. Maybe to read it over and make sure it was good?

Cher,

I kept writing this over and over. Feels like shit and it's not good enough, you know? And don't give me crap about it not being a big deal. It's gotta be nice. Never had anyone to write to for Valentine's before.

Where do you even start? I love you, you know that part. You give me this joie de vivre that's hard to put into words. like it's worth it to get up in the morning. Even in fucking Arkham. Counting down my days. Bullshit they're only letting me write you for now instead of letting you visit. I think most of the rogues here have somebody trying to visit.

And damn do I got an envie to see you cher, to feel you. You're so warm and cute, even when you're talking about some nerdy thing you got into. Actually, that's when you're cutest. You get so into it. Makes you look tasty. Can't get into too many details, they read our letters. But you know. ((There's a wobbly winky face drawn here.))

Don't deserve you, but I got you. The kindest person I've ever met. But you gotta be careful, babe, you can't save the whole world. So don't do anything crazy while I'm gone, alright?

Love,

Waylon

---

You've received a letter with mossy growth on the envelope. It's not a lot, but even this much tells you exactly who it's from. The letter itself has an almost intoxicating smell. You close your eyes and it's like being in a private secret garden lush with life. With a shaky breath, you open the letter.

Hello lover,

I hope you like my gift. A little experiment I've run in my cell. I've had to assure the guards that crossbreeding moss won't be the grand escape plan of the year. Give it some love and care- you'd enjoy using it for ground cover or even a small terrarium. Seeing what you do with the plants I give you makes me deliriously happy. I can't thank you enough for taking care of my personal collection in my stead.

Not everyone would be brave enough, but I think my babies sense that you're a kind soul. It's what drew myself to you, after all. Someone who genuinely cares about what I do and not just my looks. That's what's always enticed me about you, love. All the men and women that would quake and quiver at my feet and you are the jewel amongst all of them.

I miss you dearly. Between being restricted in how I can grow, and knowing you're going to bed alone- my time here at Arkham seems to move even slower than normal. I just want to see you. To share our moments in our private, intimate grove. Remember the last time we were together and the bedroom turned tropical?

I'm laughing now even thinking about it. Let's aim for our own apartment ecosystem once I'm home.

Love,

Pamela

[sabraeal]

For the writer asks: 💜, ☺️, 💻, 🎀 and 💭!

💜- top 3 favorite lines

God, I have no idea, I've written almost 1.5M words 🤣 But a couple I remember off the top of my head:

Shirayuki is tired of wearing black.

(Not Enough to Stay, from The Wide Florida Bay)

Shirayuki forgets that she is special, that she is different. Until she cannot anymore.

(Creatures of a Brief Season)

Oh, you have received an education, but no one has ever taught you to be an authority.

(The Most Perverse Creature in the World)

☺️- a line that made you feel a fluffy happiness

Impossible to pick a single line out, since fluffy moments really are more of a build, but this bit from The Daisy Chain:

They catch Ryuu at nearly two months, his broken bracelet beside him as he makes a perfect replica. “But yours are so nice!” he protests, color high on his cheeks. “I didn’t want you to think I didn’t – I didn’t mean it.” “Ryuu,” Shirayuki says carefully, kneeling beside him. “How many have you made?” He ducks his head. “This is my fourth.” “My ninth,” Obi admits, pulling back his sleeve. “My third,” Shirayuki adds. Ryuu stares at both of them, wide-eyed, almost uncomprehending. “I think…we all wanted to show just how much we meant to each other.”

💻- three works of yours that are must reads

Seven Suitors for Shirayuki

Lies Save a Man Once (and Truth Saves Him Twice)

Desperate Liaisons

🎀- favorite story

Honestly I don't really have a favorite, but the of the ones I'm looking forward to getting around to again, to all the ghosts still standing in this room

💭- any ideas for a possible wip?

CONSTANTLY

[Writer Ask Meme]