sleep with the devil, go dance with her (1/3)
Dark!Alpha!Yelena x Omega!Fem!Reader (ao3) (part 2) (part 3)
Synopsis: You see something you shouldn't, Yelena chases you down.
tags; Dubious consent, rough sex, vaginal penetration (reader receiving), choking, hair pulling
word count: 3,939
masterlist
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You aren’t supposed to be here. You’re supposed to be home, curled up in bed, scrolling on your phone, or cuddled up with a book or something. You certainly aren’t supposed to be out in the woods well past dark, alone. If it wasn’t for your stupid boss. You can imagine his smug smile now.
Ah, I must have misplaced those documents out in the woods when I was collecting data. Can you go get them for me?
Despite all your protests, he insisted you go out to retrieve them. Why couldn’t we just reprint them? Too much of a hassle to get all the signatures again. Why you? Because I’m terribly busy and have meetings until late. How about in the morning? I need them early, I’m afraid.
So, now you are out in the woods, an omega, all alone. Or so you thought.
The tree bark presses roughly into your palm, the back of your hand presses between your lips, teeth leaving indents in your skin as you try to quiet your breath. In front of you, a man on his knees pleads for his life. His face is bloodied and swollen, making his words come out muffled.
“I can pay you double- triple even!” he says, whimpering, breath coming out unevenly and wheezing.
The woman he speaks to stands above him, holding a gun out like a toy. She’s lithe, blonde, and dressed in dark tactical gear. She circles him like a predator, movements fluid and controlled.
“I can prove it,” the man says. He tries to fumble for something, but the sound of the woman’s hand tightening around the gun stops him. “Whatever you’re being paid, it can’t be worth it. I can pay so much more. I have a family-”
“You know,” she says, her head tilting in curiosity. She has a Russian accent. “I do believe that you could pay me. But this isn’t about money.”
She pulls the trigger; the shot is silenced enough that the only indication you get is the jerk of his head back and the spray of blood. Your breath hitches, an almost imperceptible sound, but in the quiet of the night, it’s like a gunshot of its own. Her head snaps in your direction, eyes narrow.
You duck back behind the tree, heart pounding in your throat. You stay as still as possible, ears straining for any hint of her approach. Slowly, you lower yourself, hiding in the foliage, and creep forward, trying to put space between the two of you. If you ran now, there is no doubt she would hear you, and you would join that man in death. So, you wait, hiding, one breath then two, and finally, you risk a look back. The clearing is empty, only the body of the man. You take your chance, sprinting from your hiding spot. You’re not that deep in the forest; if you can only make it back to a path, maybe other people will be around.
Something snags your ankle, a low branch, and sends you tumbling to the ground. You skid across the ground. Your palms and knees smart, and a cursory glance at your hands reveals raw, reddened skin.
“Leaving so soon?” the voice comes from above you, dripping like honey and twice as sweet. It’s the assassin, standing above you, peering down at you. Her hair is short, tousled, and this close, you can see her eyes, analyzing you. They’re green, rimmed with dark mascara that only sharpens her gaze on you. Predator’s eyes. There is blood splattered across her face, and yet, she looks pleased, mouth curved up in a half smile.
You don’t think, you stand and sprint the other way. You know you’re going deeper into the forest, but what can you do? She’s killed that man. She seems like she’ll kill you.
“Oh, good!” the woman calls out cheerfully from behind you. “I was hoping you’d run.”
Your lungs burn as you push yourself harder, and the cold air hurts like fire down your throat. The forest floor blurs beneath your feet as you weave between trees, desperate to put some space between you and that murderer. A low-hanging branch appears suddenly from the darkness, smacking you in the face. You veer, stumble against a tree, and catch yourself. It costs you precious seconds.
“Run faster, little mouse. It makes it more fun for me.” She sounds much closer and to your left. A tree explodes in a shower of splinters close to your head, you yelp and duck. “That was a warning,” the woman says, her voice carried by the wind. “If I wanted, you’d be dead.”
You turn away into denser foliage, ignoring the scratch of branches against your skin. You can hardly see, it’s so dark. All you can focus on is keeping one foot in front of the other, left then right then left then- The forest floor disappears beneath your feet, you only have the insight to keep quiet as you fall.
You hit the ground hard, and the air escapes from your body in a gasp that you barely choke back. You lie there in the dirty, stifling every breath and hope that maybe she passes over you and leaves you here. A moment passes, then another, still there is no sound around you but the sound of the forest.
You wait until your rapid heartbeat slows to a normal thud in your chest. Then, you roll on to your back and let out a breath. Are you safe?
“Peek-a-boo,” the woman says, and then her face is hovering above yours. “You’re very lucky you didn’t break any bones with that fall.”
You scream.
“I won’t tell anyone, I swear! I’ll keep my mouth shut, I didn’t see anything!” you babble desperately until her hand closes over your mouth.
She leans in until her eyes are boring into yours. You can see her in frightening detail, the curve of her cheekbones, the way the blood flecks across her face like freckles. This close, you notice something else. Her scent, strong and heady, an alpha. You’re not surprised, yet still it seems to make your head spin.
“Get a good look, little mouse,” she whispers, practically croons. Her breath tickles your nose. “Now you’ve seen my face, you’ve witnessed my crime. I can’t possibly let you go.”
“No!” you try to scream, its muffled by her glove. She shoves her hand harder against your mouth, forcing her way between your teeth. You taste leather. “Someone help!”
That makes her laugh. “There’s no one out here. You just ran deeper into the forest. We’re all alone,” she sounds almost singsong as she says this last sentence, it sends a chill down your spine.
You bite down hard on the palm of her hand; you try to hurt her, if you do, she doesn’t show it. She tchs at you, lets you go just long enough for you to catch a breath. Then, she slaps you across the face fast enough that your head snaps to the side. You’re stunned more than hurt, and then her hand closes around your neck; she tugs you close until the two of you are eye to eye again.
“That wasn’t very nice,” she says, coolly. “I was going to make it quick.” She pouts, and the sight is so ridiculous you almost forget you’re fighting for your life.
She slams you back against the ground, the air is forced from your lungs, and you see stars explode beneath your eyelids. An involuntary whimper escapes your mouth, something high-pitched and distressed.
She freezes, her nostrils flare. You see her eyes dilate in real time, black swallowing the green.
“Well, well,” she says, voice low in her throat. “This changes things.”
She leans in, and you stiffen; her hand tightens on your throat in warning. It’s not until her nose brushes against your scent gland, at the crook of your neck, that your fractured mind finally pieces together what she’s learned. But how? You’re on suppressants.
“Tried to hide from me, didn’t you, little omega,” she says, as if reading your mind. “But I’m no ordinary woman; no suppressant could fool me.”
Her fingers twitch against your neck, her thumb strokes against the length of your neck, pausing over the fluttering pulse of your carotid. “Your heart is racing,” she observes, eyeing you with darkened eyes.
You can’t help it; a sob finally breaks through your lips. “A-are you going to kill me?”
“That would be the sensible thing to do,” she says, studying you. “However... I’m not feeling sensible.”
You make a confused noise.
“Shh,” she soothes you. She strokes your face with a surprising gentleness, her thumb brushing away the tear that threatens to fall. Her hand is cold against your cheek, and she follows when you flinch away. “I could be nice. Would you like that? If I were gentle?”
Something in her tone scares you. Still, hope flares in your chest. You nod desperately.
Her smile widens, a flash of white teeth. She leans down as if to kiss you and then, at the last moment, diverts to the side of your neck. Her breath is warm against your skin. “Too bad, I don’t feel like being gentle.”
She bites down on that sensitive juncture where your shoulder meets your neck. The pain is sharp, and you cry out. You flail beneath her, the pain making you desperate. Her hand moves from your face to close around your throat, just tight enough to make breathing difficult. Your cry devolves into choked gasps and whimpers as you fight for a breath
“That’s better,” she purrs. “Let me hear how frightened you are, little mouse.”
She kisses you as you still gasp for air. It’s messy, wet, her tongue delves past your lips, and you try to keep up; something in your air-deprived brain reasons that if you please her, maybe you’ll live. When she pulls back a string of saliva follows her, pulling taut and breaking midair. Her eyes are blown black with arousal.
“Yelena,” she says. You blink in confusion, the word taking a moment to register. Her name. “When you beg. I want to hear my name on your lips. Not please, or mercy, those are so boring.” Her hand moves from your throat, her thumb pressing against your bottom lip until it parts. “Say it.”
“Yelena,” you say, hating how your voice trembles.
Yelena rewards you with a predatory smile. “Good girl.” Her other hand slides under your shirt, splaying over your ribcage, and one finger slips under the strap of your bra. She toys with it, her fingers cold against your skin. You’re still scared, your breaths are still shallow, but your body betrays you, responding to that overwhelming alpha presence above you. There is an uncomfortable heat building between your legs.
Yelena undoes your bra and then slowly lifts your shirt. “Arms up,” she says. You do as she says, she tosses your shirt to the side, and just as easily peels your bra from your body. When you’re finally topless, she stops and stares as if caught in a trance. You can feel her gaze like a touch, dragging across your body. You fight the urge to cover yourself.
“Beautiful,” she says, the word filled with a hunger that makes your stomach clench. “I knew you would be.” Yelena finally touches you again, her hand mapping a trail down from your sternum, between your breasts, over your stomach, before pausing at the waistband of your pants.
She pauses, and your body burns. “Yelena,” you whimper her name, unsure if you’re begging for mercy or for more at this point. Who are you kidding? You’re begging for more. “Please.”
“Please, what?” she asks, her smile becomes cruel.
“Please touch me,” you say, all caution thrown to the wind. “Yelena,” you add her name in a breathless whimper.
That does the trick. She sucks in a breath, and in one smooth motion, her hand slides beneath your waistband. Her fingers find where you need her most and you tense, a soft whine escaping your lips.
“You’re soaked,” she says, and your cheeks flush in response. Her thumb rubs against your clit in a way that makes you keen. Her voice drops to a husky whisper. “How long has it been since someone took care of you properly?”
“I- It’s been a while,” you admit, flushing warmer.
Yelena hums in response. She withdraws her hand, and as she undoes the button of your pants, she says. “It’s been a while for me, too. This job... it gets lonely.” She hooks her fingers in the top edge of your pants.
“Lift your hips,” she says. You hesitate a moment too long, and her eyes narrow. “I won’t ask twice.” You do as she orders, and in one swift tug, she drags down both your pants and underwear, exposing your heated core to the cold air.
Yelena sits back, watching you with hooded eyes, and it's only then that you notice the bulge in her pants. The physical evidence of her arousal sends a throb of want through you.
“See what you do to me? And I’ve barely touched you,” she says. The rasp of her zipper seems impossibly loud in the forest's quiet. She tugs herself free, and your breath catches in your throat. She’s big, thick, and for a moment, you’re unsure if you can take it.
“You’re... big,” you say, your mouth feels dry.
“Not too big,” she says.
Her fingers slide across your skin like the caress of a gentle lover, though the dark hunger in her eyes foresees a different future for you. She coaxes your knees apart, hands against the soft skin of your inner thighs.
She doesn’t waste any more time; she guides herself to your entrance and presses forward. It’s embarrassingly easy for her to fill you, your arousal paving the way. She sinks deeper and your body yields.
“Fuck,” she hisses in pleasure. Her hips still once she’s fully seated, giving you a moment to adjust but the gleam in her eyes promises that mercy won’t last long. Your fingers dig into her still clothed shoulders, needing something to ground you. You’re suddenly hyperaware of her scent, her pheromones, and you feel like you’re drowning in her.
“Move,” you gasp, the word torn from your throat like a prayer.
“Is that how you beg, little mouse?”
“Please, I need-”
She cuts you off with a slow, deliberate thrust that has you whimpering. Her fingers dig into your thighs for leverage. Leaves crackle beneath you as she sets a devastating rhythm, conquering your body.
One of her hands finds your wrists, and she pushes them up, over your head, pinning them there. The other encircles your throat, applying just enough pressure for your vision to swim, darkening at the edges. It intensifies every sensation you feel. Every thrust feels sharper, more defined, reality narrows to the points where your bodies connect. It’s too much, you mewl, your eyes fluttering shut.
“Look at me,” she demands of you. You open your eyes to meet hers. Her eyes are dark, the green swallowed by dark arousal. “Look,” she says, her fingers find your chin and she guides your gaze down until you see where you are joined. Her cock disappears inside you again and again with each steady thrust. You’re so wet, practically drooling slick for her. It’s obscene, your body burns in embarrassment and arousal. “Look how easily you take me. You were made for this, made for me.” Her voice is a rasp of a growl against the side of your neck. “Isn’t that right, little mouse?”
All you can manage is a desperate whimper, pressing your forehead against her shoulder.
“I asked you a question,” she says. She lets go of your wrists to fist a hand in your hair, tugging so that you can’t hide.
“Yes-” you choke out and then desperately, “Yelena.”
This satisfies her; she presses another kiss against the hollow of your throat.
“I’m gonna fill you up,” she says, breathy, and it’s like a bucket of cold water has been doused over you. You have a brief, terrifying moment of clarity. You squirm beneath her, and she looks at you sharply, confused and irritated.
“Not inside,” you plead, your voice trembles, you can’t help it you’re scared. You’re not on any type of birth control; it’s not like you’re seeing anyone right not and most don’t work well for omegas. You know the chance for pregnancy outside of heat is low, but still... “I’m not- I can’t-” You can’t seem to get the words out, but Yelena gets the idea, and an amused half smile flickers to life on her face. She slows, sliding forward until she’s fully seated inside you.
“You don’t want a present to remember me by?” Her hand splays over your tummy, pressing down just slightly. Her fingers burn like a brand over your skin. “Right here. A permanent reminder of me?” The possessive growl in her voice makes that primal omega instinct in you keen.
“No,” you say truthfully, tears blurring in your eyes. You study her face for any sign of mercy, knowing full well that a woman like her could take anything she wanted regardless. It’s not like you can stop her, and she just as easily could have killed you.
Something shifts in Yelena’s expression. “I won’t,” she says, her voice just a little strained. “Just, let me-” She braces herself above you, and your breath hitches as she begins to move again, slow thrusts that fill you completely. Each thrust builds a wave of pleasure that crests and crests. Yelena reaches between you, and her thumb finds your swollen clit, rolling in firm circles that make you gasp, and your hips buck up. Her gaze on you is intense, her eyes drinking you in as if memorizing you. The tension coils tight in your belly. “Come for me,” she says, no, commands.
You come apart for her, vision whiting out as you cry out her name. Her fingers continue their merciless rhythm, wringing every tremor from your body until you’re nothing but sensation and surrender, until it becomes too much and you’re whining against her.
She pulls free from you, grunting like the act of leaving your warmth was a herculean effort. Her hand wraps around herself with an urgency, stroking until she comes too, across your stomach. For a moment, everything is still, silent, save for the sound of your breaths as both of you come back down. She leans over you, nuzzles into your neck, and you feel the warm puff of her breath against you. You reach for her, almost on instinct, your fingers curling into the fabric of the tactical vest she still wears.
The silence stretches longer, and you lie awkwardly beneath her, unsure what to say or do. Yelena’s breathing gradually evens out, and she lifts herself to hover above you, her weight supported on trembling arms. She reaches into her vest pocket, procuring a soft cloth.
“Stay still,” she murmurs, the command carries less bite now. She wipes you off; it really only smears across your skin, but you can appreciate the effort.
“Thank you,” you say dumbly.
She regards you, folds away the cloth, and then an amused smile flickers across her face. “You know, I couldn’t get you pregnant anyway. They made sure of that, no little assassins for me, running around as distractions.”
“Then why did you...?”
“You begged me so desperately, how could I ever refuse? That fear, those precious tears in your eyes,” she says. You flush in embarrassment, and she chuckles low. “Get dressed,” she says, she reaches over you to fetch your shirt. “I’ll guide you out of here.”
She watches you hastily gather and don your clothing. “What were you doing out here anyway? Didn’t your mother teach you it’s dangerous for little omegas past dark?”
“I was looking for something,” you confess. “Documents with important signatures. It seems stupid now...”
Something changes in her expression, she reaches into her vest again and pulls out a crumpled piece of paper. “This? I thought it was his,” she says, referring to the man you had watched her kill.
You take the paper from her and uncrumple it, relief floods through you. You’ve found the documents; your job is saved. The signatures are dirtied but still legible. “Thank you!”
She gives you a look of bemusement. “You came out here for this? You’re a strange person.”
“Says you,” you counter, she gasps as if taking offense. The response is so theatrical it pulls a laugh from you, and for a moment, this moment feels normal. You catch yourself, the laugh dying as you remember that Yelena just killed a man.
“Come along now. Before you freeze to death out here.” She offers you a hand that you take. You expect her to let go once you’re standing, but she doesn’t; her thumb caresses the back of your hand. She guides you through the forest, the two of you silent.
Yelena leaves you at the path with a final statement. “Go to the police if you want, they’ll never find me. When they find the body, they’ll call it suicide.” Then she turns and leaves, disappearing into the dark of the forest.
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The next morning, you wonder if you’ve imagined the whole ordeal. It seems so unlikely, a run-in with an assassin, your life spared only because she was horny. The dull ache in your body and the dirtied clothing in your laundry hamper prove to you that it was real. You spot the news story about the murdered man a few days later. He is a scientist, apparently, a government researcher, though clearly researching something in a different field from you, given you don’t recognize him. The news anchor calls it a suicide, but you know differently.
For the most part, your life returns to normal. Your boss is happy you found the documents, and your research can proceed unimpeded. You hardly even think of that encounter in the woods, save for lonely nights when a memory of green eyes will flash through your mind, and your body stirs with need.
You are just horny, you convince yourself, and so you download dating apps. But woman after woman, match after match, go unanswered in your phone, each one missing something vital.
It surely was not healthy to let one encounter in the woods ruin your dating life forever, especially when you are sure that you will never see her again (or if you even want to see her again, she is an assassin after all). Still, you seem to have no interest in trying to move on. Until, of course, your friend can convince you to go out to the bars with her.
You spot a woman across the bar, blonde but with grey eyes instead of green. She is alpha in the way she moves, dominant in the way she approaches you. For a moment, you have hope. It isn’t until she kisses you that the spell breaks. She is decidedly not Yelena, and you can’t quite put a finger on what is missing. You make up an excuse to get away, disappointment curdling in your stomach.
It isn’t until later that night, after a long, hot shower to clear your head, that a text lights up on your phone. An unknown number.
Trying to replace me, little mouse?
