#dark steve rogers

[evansbby]

𝐆𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐢𝐧𝐝

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: alpha!Steve Rogers x omega!reader, alpha!Bucky Barnes x omega!reader

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: dubcon, noncon, graphic depictions of depression/suicidal thoughts/ideation/attempts, graphic thoughts of self-harm, mentions of blood, extreme angst, a/b/o dynamics, smut, bullying, misogyny, dark characters, men being assholes, 18+ minors dni.

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Steve ruthlessly made you his, but what happens when your boyfriend Bucky finds out? (This is chapter 2, read chapter 1 here)

𝐀/𝐍: Here it is, the sequel to Drifting Further Away. Thank you all for being so patient with me. This is 21.5K words and I hope you enjoy. One last warning - this chapter is pretty graphic in terms of the angst. Please read the warnings above. And don't click read-more unless you've read them. Final warning. Apart from that, enjoy.

“Stop, Steve… please stop.”

But you don’t want him to stop. Not in the least. Not even a little bit. Not from the moment his teeth had sunk into your skin and the world had stopped moving. His heartbeat, in perfect sync with yours, is all you can hear. And all you can see is twin blue oceans, staring at you with such intensity, such darkness, such power. 

Almost like you’re drowning in him, and yet it feels like you can breathe properly for the first time since… since ever. 

“I love you,” Steve says quietly against your poor, broken skin. He licks and nips at the mark he’s made, kissing softly along it before his lips find yours again. “I love you more than anything else in the whole world.”

“No, no, please…” Oh, you sound so faint…

“Yes. And it’s just us now. Just me and you. But don’t worry, omega. I’ll take care of you. You don’t have to worry about anything ever again. I’m here now. And I’m not leaving.”

He kisses you, clutching your face tightly in his hands. And oh, there it is again! That feeling that you’ve never ever felt before. Like a blast of sunshine transporting you back to a gorgeous summer day. Like the type of summer day you’d see in the movies, where the saturation’s amped up and everything’s golden and hazy like a dream. Where the sun warms your skin from the inside out, where the grass rustles against the gentle summer breeze. The type of summer day you’d snap a polaroid of and keep safe against your heart forever and ever. 

How could Steve of all people make you feel like that?

And then the animal awakens. Like a rubber band inside you snaps and the dam breaks free. You feel your body buzzing – from the tips of your fingers straight down to your core. And the omega inside you takes over your brain, chanting over and over again: Steve. Alpha. Steve. Steve. Steve.

And so you don’t fight against it when he pulls you over the console and into his lap. You don’t complain when the steering wheel hits your back uncomfortably before he scoots his seat back, holding you snug against him. In fact, it’s the opposite. There’s a ferality to your every move, and you find yourself with a one-track mind as you clamber to rip his shirt off and touch his warm skin that feels like it’s buzzing too. 

Must please alpha. Must have him. Need him. Nobody else. Just him. Just Steve.

There’s a tiny part of you – the sane part of you – that’s in shock. In mourning. In absolute dismay over what’s just happened. How Steve – your boyfriend’s best friend and the man who hated you – has just marked you without even asking, without even a warning! And Bucky… oh, how could you have done this to him? When all he’d ever been was good to you? When all he’d ever been was the perfect boyfriend? 

But the feral omega inside you drowns all the other thoughts out. So freshly mated that all you can think about is Steve – touching him, pleasing him. Letting him fuck you. Like a plague in your mind, it’s all you can think about. 

That’s why you don’t stop him when he rips your clothes off with the raw power of an incensed and freshly mated alpha. There’s fire in the oceans of his eyes now, determined and feral just like how you’re feeling. Underneath you, it feels like he’s humming and vibrating with anticipation, and you match him move for move. Like both of you are parched, you paw each other’s clothes off. And you’re naked before you even realise it. 

Steve fucks you right there in the driver’s seat of his car, bouncing you on top of his dick while you clutch on to him tightly, whilst tears of relief, confusion, fear and heartbreak well in your eyes. It’s all a blur, a heated, passionate, incensed blur full of desperate rutting and even more desperate kisses. 

And you’d never felt this way with James. That’s what breaks your heart the most.

 “You’re perfect for me,” Steve breathes against your lips between kisses, all the while desperately pushing you up and down on his dick. And he’s so big, so fucking big that it hurts but it hurts so good. And you haven’t had sex in so long, not since Peter. You’d never done it with Bucky, and a fresh wave of guilt washes over you before the pure, animalistic lust for Steve pushes it aside once more. 

“Steve,” you cry softly, “Please, please harder. Faster, please!”

You’ve never experienced sex like this. So raw, so desperate. With Peter it had been awkward but sweet – the first time for both of you and so there’d been a lot of fumbling and a few giggles. With Bucky, the furthest you’d gone was him fingering you and that had been good. It had been hot and he’d known exactly what to do to make you feel good. But this. Oh, this…

It’s insane how your body was reacting to Steve’s. Almost like you’d been parched your whole life and he’d not only quenched your thirst but also lit a fire in you straight from within. Each time his fat dick forced its way into your tight hole, you felt like heaven was exploding inside of you. Never before had you ever thought that sex could feel like this. And it’s with animalistic vigour that you grind down to meet his thrusts, letting him take control of you, contort you, use you, as he fucks you harder and harder. 

You lose track of how many times you guys do it. Everything’s whirling up like a tornado, time’s running away from you. All you feel and see are sweaty limbs and heavy breathing, and a part of you feels like you could go on like this forever. He makes you cum so many times, and he himself spills his load so many times inside you. And yet he remains so hard, fucking you like he can’t ever stop, and you feel all faint and dizzy and yet the feral omega inside you still wants to please him, and your greedy pussy swallows his dick up again and again and that’s when you reach the insane realisation:

I want him to get me pregnant.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Steve whispers as he reaches down to rub your poor, raw clit while he fucks you. “I want it too. And I promise I’ll give you what you want. Soon.”

Your walls squeeze around him and you cum once more. And it’s so earth-shattering, despite the fact you’ve lost count of how many orgasms you’ve had. Your mind is frenzied with thoughts of carrying your alpha’s babies, letting him knock you up, pleasing him by giving him a family, then making him knock you up again, and –

It’s after hours that you two finally stop fucking. And slowly, the fog in your brain begins to lift. The feral omega inside you purrs, as if satiated if only for the time being. You move to get off Steve, but he growls, holding on to you tightly. He’s still got his dick lodged inside you, and you feel him half hard as if he’s still not done. But you whine, sore and sensitive, and so he begrudgingly lets you go, placing you back on the passenger seat. 

It’s with trembling guilt that you put your clothes back on, the action sobering you up some as if you’d been wildly drunk just moments before. But it’s only when you reach up to gingerly touch the fresh bite mark on your neck, that your heart lurches and the stone-cold realisation sets in. 

“What did you do…?” You utter slowly, dread seeping its way across your entire being. 

Steve sighs, “Omega, look–”

“WHAT DID YOU DO!?” 

The panic sets in pretty quickly after the dread. Your first instinct is to run, run, run as far away as you can. But two desperate tugs at the door handle confirm that the car is still locked. And that’s when your horror and anxiety maxes out to about a hundred. 

“I–No, let me out! Let me out right now, I can’t breathe, I can’t– oh my God, WHAT DID YOU DO!? LET ME OUT!”

“Listen to me–”

“No, just let me out! I need to get out, I can’t breathe! Let me out, just let me–”

Steve presses his fingers against your mark, and you go lax. The feel of his warm skin against your throbbing mating gland does things to you that you’ve never felt before. A different type of calm washes over you, like the cloud of chaos that was making your chest tighten slowly dissipates – all because of his touch! Oh god, oh god, oh god, what had he done to you?!

“You’re okay.” Steve affirms, his tone steady and clear. “I marked you, omega. We’re bonded now and you’re my mate, that’s all. Don’t panic.”

THAT’S ALL!? DON’T PANIC!? You feel like your entire world has just flipped over your head. And it plays in your head once more, his unforgiving bite. How savagely he’d torn into your skin, left his mark and drew blood in the process. How he’d declared that you were his, how he was never going to let you go. And you remember how badly it had hurt, how scared you’d felt in those few moments before the animalistic, carnal lust had taken over. 

With one single bite, he’d stripped away your autonomy. Violated you and stolen your independence, your body, your life. 

You roll your window down, the sudden urge to throw up rocking you down to the core. Your body’s shaking from head to toe, and it’s like your mind still hadn’t completely caught all the way up to what’s just happened. Like a part of you is still in denial, unable to really see what’s just happened. What he’s just done to you.

“H-How could you do it?” Your voice comes out hoarse, quiet.

“I did what was inevitable. It was going to happen anyways, because of the way we feel about each other.”

 He sounds so… normal. And that’s what scares you the most. 

“The way we…? What are you talking about?” You moan softly, the panic still not subsiding. In fact, it’s swirling around your bloodstream along with the dread, mixing together to create the most disgusting self-loathing that you haven’t felt in forever.

“We’re in love.” Steve says confidently, “And it was only a matter of time before we got together naturally. I just sped up the process a little bit.” 

It’s his matter-of-fact tone that gets you the most, and your head snaps in his direction, jaw dropping in pure shock over what he’s just said.

“Steve we… we’re not in love. I don’t love you.” You say slowly. 

He blinks, “Yes, you do. Of course you do. You feel the same way about me as I feel about you. I felt it.”

“What are you saying–?”

“I felt it multiple times, omega. Like the night of our date, that moment we shared. Not to mention how you reacted to my gift.”

You think back to the cute little stuffed teddy with the shiny coal black eyes and blue bow tie that had shown up at your doorstep the night of your double date. How your heart had lifted instantly when you’d held it in your arms, when you’d cuddled it close and it felt like all the dark clouds had disappeared. Replaced by the intense feel and smell of a hot summer’s day, one that had calmed you from the inside out and lulled you into a perfect slumber where not one single nightmare had touched your mind…

“No, no, no…”

“Yes. You knew that bear was from me. I knew you felt troubled that night, and I knew it was because you were confused after you had that moment with me, after I saved you from that bowling ball. I believe that’s the night your realised Bucky could never give you what I can, and you’d never feel for him what you feel for me.”

“You’re crazy!”

“Am I?” He grabs your wrist and tugs you closer, as if he can’t stand not touching you in some way or form, and the omega inside you purrs at the contact. But the rational part of your brain is horrified by your reaction, and by his next words: “Am I crazy, omega? Am I really? When you’re the one who wanted me to break up with Sharon! You’re the one who got angry every time you saw me with her!”

“Th-That’s not true!”

“It is!” Steve looks crazed, incensed, his blue eyes flashing as he leans forward over the console and the grip he has on your wrist tightens. “It is true, omega! Don’t try to deny how we feel for each other. You don’t think Bucky told me about all those times you’d come to him, all upset because you’d seen me kissing her, or touching her? It bothered you, just like how it bothered me to see you with Bucky.”

“No, Steve, that’s not true!” You shake your head desperately, trying to tug your hand out of his grip but to no avail. “I-I was upset because you treated Sharon horribly, and she deserved better, and I hated seeing you cheat on her!” 

“No. You hated that I was still with her and not with you. And you can deny it all you want, but I’ll always know the truth when it comes to you. Because unlike Bucky, I actually know you, omega. I know you from the inside out because we’re meant to be together.”

Again, he kisses you. And for the life of you, you can’t understand why you just let him do it. Why your body shudders before melting into him, and why your shoulders sag in relief. 

“Wh-What are we going to tell him?” You ask when the two of you break apart. “How could we possibly face him after this? He’ll be so hurt and mad, and rightfully so!”

“I’ll speak to him,” Steve straightens his sweater before placing his hand on your leg, like he can’t go a few seconds without touching you. Which is exactly how you feel too, no matter how hard you try to swallow it away. “I don’t want you worrying about that. And I also don’t want you speaking to him at all from now on, so just let me handle it. 

Your jaw drops, “I’m not allowed to speak to him?”

“That’s what I just said, yes.”

“You’re insane if you think you can tell me who I can or can’t speak to.” 

Steve has always intimidated you, but lately your confidence has grown. And yet, you regret the words as soon as they leave your mouth. Almost like every cell in your body is repulsed by the very idea of you talking to your alpha like that. But mentally, you’re at war with yourself – because he was well and truly acting insane right now! How could he possibly think he could tell you what to do? How could he possibly expect you not to explain things to Bucky after you’d essentially just cheated on him?! 

“You won’t speak to Bucky,” Steve repeats, surprisingly unperturbed by your words. “The mark on your neck means that you’re mine, and marked omegas don’t go around talking to alphas who aren’t their mate. Besides, his reaction won’t be pretty, and I don’t want you anywhere near that.”

You sit back against your seat and try your hardest to block his words out. You don’t care what Steve says, you don’t care, don’t care, don’t care! It almost doesn’t register to you, when he refers to the mark on your neck. Oh, you haven’t even gotten a look at it yet and you never want to! It doesn’t feel real, being marked, being owned by someone. Especially someone like Steve Rogers. This was all one terrible, messed up mistake. It had to be! 

And I’ll fix it, you decide once and for all as you put your seatbelt back on and Steve starts the car again. You’d explain everything to Bucky, and knowing him – he’d understand! He’d understand how you’d been trapped in Steve’s car, coerced by him, how you’d begged him to stop and he’d ignored you and bit you anyways. Oh, of course Bucky would understand! He was the most caring, thoughtful and calmest alpha you knew! He was your boyfriend, not Steve! NEVER STEVE!

Your mind works itself into overdrive, a million frenzied thoughts flurrying in and out of your head. You were sure there were some pills you could order that would dull the bond. You’d read about them in one of your biology textbooks back in high school. It wasn’t a complete solution but it was something, and perhaps with the effects of the bond dulled, you’d be able to think clearly, and form a better plan, and–

“I’m so happy we’re together now.” Steve interrupts your thoughts, one hand on the steering wheel as he drives back out towards the highway, his other hand still on your thigh, stroking softly and leaving goosebumps in its wake. “I wanted you since the moment I saw you, the moment you walked in that first day and I could smell that fucking addictive scent of yours. I knew from that day that we were meant to be. Bucky couldn’t smell you, but I could. It’s like you were made for me, sent to that class especially for me.”

Your eyes widen at his delusions, and you gulp, too stunned to really say anything. Why was he acting like he didn’t hate your guts since the moment he’d seen you? Oh, he was well and truly insane! 

So then why was there a part of you, deep down inside, that was glowing, almost purring at his words?

You keep your eyes glued out the window, deliberately turning away from him as much as you can. Once this car ride was over and you were at Bucky’s house, you’d never, ever be alone with Steve Rogers again. And you’d get yourself out of this mess. And Bucky would help you. 

He would definitely help you, wouldn’t he?

***

“Why are we stopping here?”

Not twenty minutes later, Steve pulls into a parking lot of what looks to be a four-star hotel, and definitely not Bucky’s house.

“It’s late. We need to rest.”

Panic rises up to your chest, “N-No, we need to get to James’ house! We need to explain what happened, and– Oh, he’ll be waiting for us! We can’t make him wait a whole extra day!”

“Relax. I already texted him and told him we got stuck in traffic and decided to stay at a hotel for the night. We’ll see him tomorrow morning. Now come on.”

You stare at him as he gets out of the car and starts unloading your bag and his own. How could he possibly be so calm? It was almost eery. He’d betrayed his own best friend! His childhood best friend! Did that mean nothing to him?

“I-I should text him. Or call,” You get out of the car too, scrambling to get your phone out of your purse. In your frenzy, you’d completely forgotten you could do those things too. 

“Omega, no.” Steve’s voice is stern and authoritative as he comes around the car and grabs your wrist. And oh, he’s so much bigger than you! And so frighteningly formidable that it makes you shrink back. His muscles bulge and you gulp, averting your gaze down to the ground, feeling an aura of authority around him that you hadn’t ever really felt before, and it makes the mark on your neck prickle. “You will not tell him what happened, not even over call or text. I’ve told him you’re already asleep. Now come on.”

It was crazy, how Steve thought he could make every single one of your decisions for you. What’s even crazier is when he grabs your hand and starts pulling you towards the hotel entrance. 

“Please let go of my hand.”

He ignores you. 

“Steve, please! We’re not a couple, I don’t want you to think that–”

“You’ve got my mark on your neck and I just fucked you multiple times in the front seat of my car. But you draw the line at holding my fucking hand?” His grip tightens. 

“I draw the line at all of it!” 

“Well, just give it a rest.”

The hotel room is big and spacious. But your heart sinks when you see there’s only one bed. Oh no, he didn’t expect for the two of you to share, did he?

“Go wash up and change and then get into bed,” Steve orders the moment the two of you step inside. “We’ll head out early tomorrow.”

“I-I can’t share a bed with you!”

Steve sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as he drops the bags on the floor. “I don’t fucking care what you can or can’t do, omega. Now go wash up and change.” 

Your heart starts pitter-pattering like crazy in your chest. You eye your duffel bag, knowing full well that you can’t wear your pyjama shorts in front of Steve, not when he’s already looking at you with those dark, blown out blue eyes. 

And what about yourself? Could you even trust yourself being in such close vicinity to him all night? You’d so easily spread your legs for him once he’d marked you, but you couldn’t let it happen again. No. Not ever again.

Ten minutes later, you timidly emerge from the bathroom wearing your baggiest hoodie and a pair of loose jeans. Not the most comfortable sleeping attire by any means, but there was no way you were going to bare your skin in front of Steve Rogers again. 

No matter how much the mark on your neck prickled or the omega inside you screeched at you to do the exact opposite. 

Steve frowns, “I thought I told you to change.”

“I have changed. This is what I always sleep in.”

“No, it’s definitely not.”

“Yes, it is! I swear!”

“You’re cute when you lie, omega.” He collapses down on one of the armchairs adjacent to the bed, looking nonchalant as he texts someone on his phone. “But I know what you sleep in, and it’s not that.”

It’s your turn to frown, “How do you–?”

There’s a pause, and then he throws his phone aside before looking up at you with dark eyes, “You would never draw your curtains.”

“Huh?”

He smirks, leaning forward with a wolfish look, “You heard me. You’d never draw your curtains when you changed.”

Your jaw drops at what he’s insinuating, “Steve! Th-That’s so wrong, how could you–”

“I’d watch you slip on the sexiest little shorts that made your ass look insane,” he sits up straighter, licking his lips and running his hand through his hair. “And I could see every fucking thing those goddamned hoodies hid from me during the day. Who knew you were hiding all that.”

Suddenly, the air around you feels thick and hot. You instinctively take a step back at the same moment Steve stands up and takes a step towards you. 

“And then I’d go home and think of your hot little body while I jacked off.” He takes another step forward, “And I’d think of you while I fucked my girlfriend. Think of the sexy little private show you put on for me every night I watched you. Almost like you knew I was watching, and you were doing it just for me. Because God knows you never let Bucky see you like that.”

You swallow, taking another step back, “You’re scaring me, Steve…”

“Good. It’s hot when you’re scared.”

Another step back, and now the backs of your knees are touching the bed. “Y-You should stay over there, please, and I’ll stay over here.”

Steve chuckles lowly, “Now why would I do that?”

He lunges at you. You scream, try to run but he’s too big to dodge. Easily, he grabs you and pushes you down on the bed. You land on your back, and he’s on top of you instantly, his hard crotch pressing obscenely against your core. 

“Let me fuck you again,” he whispers beguilingly against the mark on your neck, and your eyes almost pop out of your head when you feel his teeth graze against it. “You know you want it as bad as I do.”

“W-We can’t,” you swallow thickly, suppressing the urge to thrust back up against his hard, covered cock. The omega inside you is practically screaming at the proximity, begging you to rip his clothes off and spread your legs for him again just like you did in the car. But the rational part of your brain cuts through all the noise, “Steve, please, we can’t do this. It’s not right. Bucky–”

Steve presses his forehead against yours, his hands grabbing your wrists and pinning them on either side of you. “It’s okay, we’ve already fucked so it’s not a big deal if we do it again. He’ll understand…”

“No, he won’t,” you moan, unable to stop yourself. Weakly, your legs kick against him in a bid to get him off of you but it’s almost like your body’s given up before even trying. Like every cell in your body is just screaming at you to just give in. “I-I can’t hurt him like this, Steve. We can’t do this.”

“Just let me put the tip in,” Steve breathes, his chest pressed so hard against yours, you can feel his heartbeat in sync with your own. “Just the tip, baby. It’ll calm me down and then we can just go to sleep.”

“Noooo,”

“Shhh, yes. Just say yes,” he urges, thrusting his clothed cock against you and oh fuck, he’s so hard. “Just the tip, I promise. It’ll feel so fucking good.”

Your mind is screaming at you to let him do it, let him fill you up because you’re just an omega and you need your alpha to fill you up because that’s what you were made for, wasn’t it? This is what your purpose was, to fulfil your alpha’s desires and this is what he wanted and you wanted it too! You wanted it so fucking bad, like your whole soul was itching for it.

“J-Just the tip? You promise?” Your brain feels fried with lust and desire, and not a single rational thought.

“I promise, sweetheart. Just the tip. Don’t you trust me?”

It’s past midnight before the two of you finally stop fucking and fall asleep. Overcome with carnal desire, you let Steve take you so many times, you lose count. And he’s so much bigger than you, overpowering your pleas which grow weaker as your lust grows stronger and stronger. And you feel like you’re drowning in a haze of sunshine, like you can’t breathe but in the best way possible. Like you can’t think but it’s alright because you don’t need to think. It’s like your mind and soul leave your body altogether, and the only thing that’s left is the purring omega inside you, the one that’s crying with joy because your alpha is inside you, filling you up again and again as if he can’t stop. Because he doesn’t want to stop. And neither do you. 

You were well and truly fucked.

***

The morning is sombre and grey - both the weather and your mood. Mind now somewhat clearer, you refuse to even look at Steve, let alone speak to him. You can hardly look at yourself either, not after what you’d done yesterday. Because it was plain as day - you had cheated on your boyfriend. Multiple times. 

But it wasn’t your fault! The rational part of your mind screams, Steve forced you! 

And the proof is right there in the mark on your neck. The mark you refuse to look at or even acknowledge. All you do want to acknowledge right now is that you need to get far, far away from Steve, so you can think clearly enough to figure out how to get yourself out of this mess. 

Luckily, Steve is in no mood to talk either, and the two of you silently set off. You wonder to yourself whether he finally feels the guilt too. The same guilt for betraying Bucky that’s been eating you from the inside out. And your stomach churns at the thought of finally facing him. 

He’s standing in his driveway when Steve finally pulls up. Looking so devastatingly handsome, a smile lighting up his face when he catches your eye. You sit in the front seat of Steve’s care, shaking with nervous anticipation and dread, fingers itching to take the seatbelt off and jump out of the car as soon as Steve parks it.

“You stay in the car,” Steve murmurs, “Let me talk to him first.”

It takes everything in you not to obey him, and so when he finally does stop the car, you jump out before he can stop you. Before the chemistry of your own body cells can stop you. And you run up to Bucky, feeling like the worst person alive when you see his smiling face.

“There you are, princess,” Bucky laughs, catching you in a tight hug, “I thought you guys would never make it.” 

You shiver in his arms, burying your face in his chest, digging your nose around as if to smell his familiar wintery, woody scent. But all you can smell is the hot summer’s day that sticks to your skin, and you savour your boyfriend’s embrace, but it does nothing to calm your beating heart. 

“What’s wrong? Are you cold? Why are you shivering?” He cups your face in his hands, and you look up at him with eyes already wet, lips downturned and wondering if he can see the ugly betrayal on your face. 

There’s a shuffling somewhere behind you, and Steve clears his throat, “Bucky. We need to talk.”

Bucky doesn’t look at him. No, his gaze is fixed on you. Light, pretty blue eyes blink as they drink in your drained, tired face. Take in how your lower lip quivers, the shame painted so plain as day on your features. 

His nostrils twitch, his body going rigid against yours.

“James,” you whisper, “I’m so sorry, I–”

“Why? Why would you be sorry?” The smile is frozen on his face, and there’s curiosity mixed with something else in his eyes. Like dread for what you might say next.

All morning, you’d played this moment again and again in your head. Gone through millions of different scenarios, practiced a thousand different explanations. But there was no way to spin the truth in a way that wouldn’t hurt him. And it’s like everything you’d thought you’d say in this moment goes flying out the window, and you feel your throat close up, and a shiver runs down your spine.

“Sweetheart? I asked you a question.” Bucky’s grip on you is firm. It doesn’t hurt, but it does keep you planted to reality, and you know you need to start talking now, and explain everything. And tell him that you didn’t mean it, that you didn’t want to be bonded to Steve! That you wanted James and no one else. And that this didn’t mean anything, and…

“Let her go. I’ll explain everything.” Steve comes up beside you, and you wish you didn’t feel the comfort that comes in waves the moment you feel his presence next to you. Like a warm ray of sunshine on a cold, bleak day. 

And yet, Bucky still doesn’t look at Steve. Only you. And the look on his face in that moment is one you don’t think you’ll ever forget. It’s like his features turn ghost-like in a handful of long, painful seconds. His eyes narrow down to slits, the sparkle snuffed away like a candle. He pales, taking the sharpest intake of breath, he takes a step back as realisation dawns slowly on his face.

“You didn’t…”

“I’m so sorry, James,” again, you try to find your voice, try to launch into the explanation that’s stuck inside your goddamned throat. “I didn’t… I didn’t mean for this to happen, I–”

Bucky’s movements are like a whip, and in a flash, he reaches out and moves your hair aside. And there it is, plain as day. The big, jagged mark on your neck, the one that you’d tried so desperately to ignore and forget. The one that belonged to Steve. 

The whole world stands still. And you see it all flash across Bucky’s face. Disbelief, hurt, pain, betrayal. He reaches out as if to touch you, but his hand turns into a fist instead. In slow motion, he looks from you to Steve then back at you.

That’s when Steve steps in front of you, “Leave her out of this. We can discuss it without involving her.”

CRACK.

It’s sickening, the sound you hear. Steve falls to the ground with a thud, the force of Bucky’s fist laying into his face so hard that it knocks him off his feet. And Bucky looks livid, standing above him with a look of such reverence on his face, it chills you down to the bone. And then he looks at you, and his eye twitches. You flinch – he’s never look at you like that before. With such hatred and disbelief.

“OK, fine, I deserved that,” Steve staggers to his feet, wiping his jaw. You gape – Bucky’s got him cleanly on the side of his face. The black eye already forming, and there’s blood everywhere. “But if you just let me–”

Bucky disregards him, instead making a beeline towards you. Your eyes widen when he grabs your shoulders, his eyes wild with angry hurt, “How the fuck could you? How could you just…”

He’s thrown off you before you can even form an answer.

“Don’t touch her. I told you; we should discuss this. In private.”

“Don’t touch…? She’s my girlfriend, you fucking son of a bitch!” It’s almost like Bucky still doesn’t believe it, and again he looks at you with such an unreadable expression you don’t know what to even think! And your throat’s chosen the worst moment to close up, and you watch him helplessly, wishing you weren’t like this. Wishing you could just explain it all calmly and clearly like how you’d practiced in your head.

“Tell me you didn’t fucking do this,” Bucky lowers his tone, speaking only to you as if Steve just isn’t there anymore. “Tell me you didn’t go behind my back with my best fucking friend.”

“I didn’t mean for this to happen!” You burst out, “I didn’t want this, James! Please believe me–”

“How long has this been going on?” He looks… disgusted. Still in disbelief. Oh, didn’t he believe you?!

“It hasn’t! I want you, not him. I don’t want this, I didn’t ask for this, I didn’t–”

“THEN WHY THE FUCK WOULD YOU LET HIM MARK YOU?” Bucky explodes, and the hurt is so evident in the way his voice breaks slightly at the end, “How could you…”

You swallow and step forward, trying to grab his hand but he shrugs you off coldly, “I didn’t want him to–”

“Bucky, it’s done now. It’s happened, and we can talk about it when you’re in the proper state to talk, but–”

CRACK.

 He punches Steve again. This time, Steve spits out blood, the entire left side of his face swelling up. Your hands go up to your face in horror.

“I can’t fucking believe you,” he whispers, his gaze solely locked on you, as if Steve doesn’t exist and it’s just you and James in a whirlwind of betrayal that you had created.

“Please believe me,” you plead. Oh, he had to! Your bond with Bucky was stronger than anything Steve had done to you. You knew it! Oh, he had to believe you! “Let me explain, James. It’s me, OK? I’m still the same person; I’m still your girlfriend. I just–”

“Save it.” His face hardens, and then he’s no longer looking at you. No, it’s like you’ve disappeared, like you’re not even there anymore. Like he’s just looking through you. He swallows, running a hand through his hair, “I can’t… I can’t fucking be here right now.”

“James–”

You try to grab his hand again, but he shoves you. Hard. The force of it has you falling back, and Steve is the one who catches you before you can hit the ground. And you start crying in earnest, calling out his name over and over again as he walks away. You try to run after him, but Steve’s got a death grip on you despite how much you struggle against him.

Bucky ignores your cries, and in a determined daze he makes a beeline for his car. And Steve just lets him go, and you scream for him to stop, to just hear you out, to let you explain. But it’s like he can no longer hear you, or hear anyone for that matter. He’s got a glazed over look on his face, like he can’t quite believe what’s just happened.

He drives off, and you cry till your voice is hoarse and your throat hurts so bad. And everything hurts, you hurt from the inside out. Like you’ve just lost something that you can never ever get back no matter how hard you’d tried to persuade yourself that you could fix things.

Oh, this couldn’t be how things ended!

In the end, Steve has to carry you inside. It’s all a blur of salty tears, but he takes you into his own house across the street from Bucky’s. And it’s huge, but you take none of it in. You feel like a baby, a helpless and stupid baby. Pathetic. A cheater. Oh, the hurt in Bucky’s eyes! You don’t think you’ll ever forget it.

“It’s okay, omega,” Steve presses a kiss to your forehead, holding you close to his chest, “It’ll be okay, I promise.”

You hate how right the reassurance feels. Especially coming from the completely wrong person.

***

Steve’s home is like a castle. At least in your naïve eyes. A big, empty, sprawling castle with acres and acres of land around it. It may as well have had a moat too, with how big it is. All the houses in the area are massive. But you still haven’t registered it or really taken it in or properly observed your surroundings, despite spending the night in his bed again.

“My parents are away,” he says, sitting on his desk chair all nonchalantly as if the two of you hadn’t just collectively betrayed his best friend yesterday. His best friend who still hadn’t returned, because his car was missing from his driveway. You knew because you’d keep looking out the window to check. “They’re busy, but once they’re home, I’d love for you to meet them. They’d like you, especially my mother.”

“When do you think he’ll be back?” You ask distractedly.

“I just told you, they’re busy so I don’t know. My mom is… Well, she’s…”

“I mean Bucky,” you interrupt, taking another glance out the window. Still no car. “He’s been gone since yesterday; he won’t answer his phone. I hope he’s OK…”

“Could you stop?” Steve looks irritated, “He’s not your concern anymore, omega.”

You lock eyes with him incredulously, “How could you care so little? Did you see how hurt he looked? I need to explain everything to him, I just –”

“You don’t need to do shit. I don’t know how many times I need to say this to you, but he’s not your boyfriend anymore. I am. He’s just someone from your past. And that’s why I didn’t want you out there yesterday. I knew it’d get physical, and that’s how it is with us alphas. We work it out our own way.”

“I’m his girlfriend and I betrayed him–”

In a flash, he’s on his feet. He crosses the room in a second, grabbing you by the chin so you look straight at him, “Don’t fucking say that again if you know what’s good for you.”

Oh, how could you ever begin to understand Steve?! Steve and his one thousand different moods which he seemed to keep switching in between? From horrible to nice to protective to scary and threatening all over again? Which one was truly him? What were you supposed to believe?!

He sighs, his grip loosening some, “Fuck, I’m sorry. Look, I’m not stupid, OK? I know it wasn’t the smartest thing to do, marking you like that. I know I’ve put you in a terrible position, but I’m trying to protect you when I tell you to just stay out of it and stay away from him from now on. I know him, I know he’ll be fine.”

“Would you be fine?” You whisper, heart thudding because his mood swings scare you, “Would you be fine if your best friend marked your girlfriend behind your back?”

“If I was in love with my girlfriend, I would have marked her up the moment I knew she was the one,” Steve says without missing a beat, “That’s the part you’re refusing to understand. You seem to think he’s the one and if it weren’t for me, you’d have had your happily ever after with him. Ignoring the fact that he didn’t make you happy, and eventually both of you would’ve realised that and gone your separate ways.”

“Stop acting like you knew what we had between us!”

“Don’t fucking raise your voice at me. And I do know what you had with him. Or the lack of what you had with him. I know it doesn’t hold a candle to what you have with me.”

He kisses you, and no matter how hard you pound at his chest, how desperately you try to push him away, you end up in his arms anyways. His scent too alluring, too addicting. His lips even more so. Like two puzzles pieces, you slot together so perfectly it’s almost like the universe is playing a cruel joke on you. Because Steve couldn’t be your soulmate, he just couldn’t!

And yet… And yet your hands go to cup his face to deepen the kiss, and he winces. You pull back, biting your lip at his swollen jaw and black eye.

“It doesn’t hurt,” he answers your silent question, shooting you a wink and a lop-sided smile, “And I’d happily take a hundred more punches in the face for you, baby. That’s how you know I love you.”

Why does it make your heart skip a beat and butterflies crowd in your stomach when he says that? Why does it make you feel all warm inside, like you want to giggle and kick your feet? Why were you designed like this? Why did he make you feel like this? When nobody else ever had…

He kisses you some more, and your heart’s breaking and you’re so fucking confused but you let him. You want him to, and that’s what disgusts you the most. The omega inside you is purring, basking in the sunlight of his glow, never wanting him to stop.

But his phone rings and he pulls away, a frown etching his features when he sees who it is.

“What do you mean – is she okay?” He goes to the other side of the room and turns his back. You can still hear him, but the lack of his scent immediately around you makes your head clear a bit, and you look out the window again. Still no sign of Bucky.

Steve clears his throat, “Just… Okay, I’ll be there, I just need to– I’ll be there, okay?! Goodbye.”

He turns back to face you and sighs, “I have to go.”

You rip your gaze away from the window, “What?”

“I need to… My mom– Uh, something came up so I need to go deal with it.” He runs a hand through his hair, “You need to stay put here. There’s a library, a pool, a cinema. The chef’s made food and he can bring it to you whenever you want it. Just don’t… Just don’t leave the house, okay?”

You frown, “Is everything okay?”

“Yes. Or it will be.” He hugs you suddenly, hugs you so hard that you’re taken aback and can barely breathe. “Omega. Please don’t leave the house. I’ll be back soon, okay baby?”

“Okay,” you say automatically, because he’s your alpha and you’re supposed to agree with whatever he says and listen to him.

He leaves, and then you’re alone with your thoughts. And once more, the cloud of haze clears once he’s not in your presence. Oh, the effect he had on you was insane! He made you feel like, like… Oh, like nothing you’d ever felt before and you hated it!

Didn’t you?

***

You don’t know how long you sit there. By Steve’s bedroom window, staring listlessly at the rich suburbia outside. Nothing about your situation seems real at all, and yet you keep catching glimpses of Steve’s mark on your neck every time you look at his bedroom mirror. It makes your mind bubble with panic each time. Oh God, what could you do?!

In a frenzy, you turn to your phone. You know there are some special pills you can take, you’d heard of other omegas taking them. They help to dull unwanted bonds. After some desperately intense googling, you find some for purchase on a random website. They’d have to do, and so you order them to your dorm address hastily, without a second though

And it makes you feel slightly better, as if you’ve finally taken a little bit of control of your situation. A tiny bit of hope that lightens your otherwise bleak reality.

That’s when you see it. Or him. His car pulling into the driveway. James.

You remember Steve’s words. Don’t leave the house.

But Steve wasn’t here right now, and therefore his words don’t have that much of an effect on you. It still feels wrong, leaving the room and quietly darting down the grand staircase, despite no one being at home except you. You let yourself out, running across the street without even looking both ways.

“James! James, wait!”

He turns around at the sound of his name. And it’s crazy how different he looks in just twenty-four hours. Scruffy, gaunt, empty. He watches as you run over to him, his hands remaining by his side. Looking at you almost as if you were a stranger, and not his girlfriend.

Promptly, he turns his back on you, hurrying towards his front door. You catch up to him, grabbing his arm except he coldly shrugs you off.  

“James, please, just give me a chance to explain.”

“There’s nothing left to explain so don’t bother.”

You bite your lip at how cold he sounds, and yet continue following him up his front steps. “Yes there is. I need you to understand that I didn’t want this, OK? I don’t want to be with Steve, and I didn’t want this mark.”

He stops, hand hovering over the doorhandle.

“I don’t want him,” you repeat, despite the omega stirring inside you, yelling in your head that you’re lying, lying, lying!

He sighs, unlocking the door and twisting it open, but now he turns to look at you. “I don’t know why I don’t believe you.”

“It’s you I want,” you say, hoping you sound confident, assured, like you know exactly what you’re saying without a single doubt in your mind. “Not Steve, okay? You.”

Bucky’s dark eyes flash with a semblance of… something. But his jaw remains clenched, his lips pressed together in a thin line. His gaze flits over to Steve’s mark on your neck, and oh how you wish it wasn’t there! How you wish it would just disappear, and take away all your confused, muddled emotions along with it!

“Why did you let him mark you?” His voice is hoarse, raspy almost. Like there’s so much bottled up hurt and anger inside him, and he’s not sure how to let it out. But all you want is for him to believe you.

Or is that just you wanting to believe yourself?

“I didn’t get a choice,” your voice catches, and you step forward. You don’t expect it, but he moves aside, allows you into his home before following you. The temperature’s dropping outside as dark clouds begin to form, and you welcome the warmth of his foyer as he mechanically shuts the door behind you. You take it as your chance to continue: “James, he didn’t give me a choice. You have to believe that, okay? He didn’t ask me if I wanted him to mark me, he just did it. And I… I didn’t want to, okay? He…He just did it… He just, he just…”

Your voice breaks in earnest as you stutter over your words, thinking back to the pain you’d felt when Steve had bit you. How callously he’d made that life decision for you both, without even asking you, without even informing you, without even a single warning.

There’s something else you feel, something deep in the recesses of your mind. Almost a sense of shame, a sense that you’re betraying him, betraying Steve by speaking against him to another alpha. Like a nagging feeling that tugs at your heart, that warns you to stop. That makes you feel unnatural for going against all of Steve’s orders, for being here right now, for retelling the story of how it happened.

Because you’d let him fuck you right after that, hadn’t you? Over and over and over again?

“He just did it,” you repeat, shame numbing you from the inside out. “He just did it. He just, he just…”

Bucky draws you into his arms. It’s hesitant at first, and his nose twitches as if trying to resist the scent of another alpha – his best friend – which is stuck to you like a second layer of skin. But he pulls you into an embrace anyways, and your whole body shudders in relief, and you break down, sobbing against his chest for everything you’d lost yesterday. Yourself. Your body. Your shame. Him.

“I’m sorry,” you want to hide your face in his chest forever, like the shame is too much, almost swallowing you up whole, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

Flashes in your mind, going back to it all. That feeling after Steve had bit you, that feeling of utter relief when he’d kissed you, that feeling you’d never felt before. Like you’d been incomplete all your life but suddenly you weren’t anymore. What about all that? Shouldn’t you come clean about all that too?

No, that wasn’t me! Your mind screams desperately, so loud it makes your head hurt. That wasn’t me! That was his mark on my neck, his scent all around me, confusing me! Making me think things I should never think! Making me feel things I don’t actually feel! No, I couldn’t feel those things, I couldn’t, I couldn’t, I couldn’t!

“It’s me that you want?” Bucky asks, slowly drawing back and cupping your face in his hands. And you find that you can barely smell him at all. That smell of powdery winter snow, of smoky firewood on a cold winter morning. It feels like a distant memory because you can hardly smell it now, no matter how hard you try.

You nod desperately, “Yes, yes, it’s you! James, you’re the one I always wanted. You’re the one I fell for. You were nice to me when he was only ever mean and awful. And I wish so bad that we could just go back to how we were before he… before he just… he…”

Do you ever get that yearning feeling? Steve’s voice forces its way inside your head once more, do you ever get that feeling? Of wanting something so bad but you can’t seem to figure out what it is?

No! You hug Bucky harder, wanting to erase the memory of Steve from your mind. And more importantly, erase anything you may have felt when under the influence of his darned scent and his mark on your neck. Like how you’d felt when he’d kissed you…

“I want you, James,” you repeat, as if you’re trying to persuade yourself as much as you’re trying to persuade him. “I… I don’t want him. He didn’t give me a choice. If he had, I would’ve picked you.”

He takes your trembling hands in his, and his blue eyes bore into yours. As if trying to detect even a sliver of dishonesty. But you look back at him squarely, heart beating like crazy and dangerous feelings, distressed emotions bubbling inside you. Oh, you’re confused, you’re so confused! You feel like you’re betraying Steve, yet at the same time you have betrayed Bucky. But it was Bucky who you wanted in the first place, right? You’d been happy with him, hadn’t you? Nothing Steve had done could ever change that! Right?

“Prove it,” Bucky’s blue eyes are dark with a new kind of intensity you’ve never seen before. He presses his forehead against yours, “Prove that it’s me you want. That he means nothing to you.”

You nod, “It is you, James. I’ll do anything to get you to believe me. Anything, I’ll–”

He kisses you. And oh, it feels wrong! It feels so wrong but you cling to it, cling to him. Willing the universe to just give you a break, to just let you have this. Let it feel right for his sake if not your own, because you just want him to stop hurting. You’d do anything to stop him from hurting.

You kiss him back fervently, passionately. You put everything into it, carding your fingers through his hair. He kisses you fiercely, desperately, like you’ll turn to dust in his arms if he doesn’t. And all the while, the shame monster in your heart grows bigger, mocking you for not feeling like how it felt with Steve, how it felt like the whole world had stopped and he’d scorched your whole being from the inside out in the best way possible.

Bucky picks you up easily, his lips not leaving yours. Your heart lurches as you feel him moving, but you keep kissing him. Up the stairs he takes you, and a feeling of dread pools in your stomach, his words echoing in your head: Prove it.

Into his bedroom now, and his scent faintly tingles your nostrils. It’s still so faint, as compared to the hot summer’s day that’s stuck to your skin. He drops you on his bed, his huge frame covering yours like a dark shadow. He presses his front against yours, and you know what he wants. Prove it, prove it, prove it.

“You’ll do anything won’t you?” He murmurs between kisses, his lips moving down your cheek, your neck, your collarbones. Thumbs hooking the waistband of your leggings. “To prove that it’s me and not him?”

You nod, desperation making you surge up into his kiss, letting his hands roam your body, trying to ignore how freezing cold he feels.

Bucky pulls back, a peculiar look in his eyes. Almost like he’s trying to read you. And then he slowly slips your leggings down but looks at you before he does. “You’ll prove it to me?”

Prove it, prove it, prove it. You could do this. You were choosing to do this. It would show him, show yourself, that Bucky was the one for you. That Steve’s mark didn’t mean anything when it truly came down to it.

You take a deep breath and nod. A smile touches his lips, and he kisses you again, gentler this time. You scrunch your eyes shut so hard it hurts, try to imagine a princess finally reunited with her prince charming after he saved her from the beast who’d taken her when she didn’t want to be taken. This was how it was supposed to be, right? Right? Back in the arms of the man you were supposed to be with?

“I wanted this so bad,” Bucky murmurs, caressing the skin of your bare legs as your leggings pool by your ankles. “I thought it was over, you and me… I thought I’d lost you.”

“No, never,” you cup his face, “Never, James… You’ll always have me.”

Your chest hurts, feels heavy. Like there’s a pool of dread inside that’s getting bigger and bigger, threatening to burst. You will it away, fight against it, but you can feel the stinging in your eyes, the wobble of your lips, your mind screaming: no, please don’t… please stop…

It’s okay, you can get through this, you coach yourself. It’ll make him happy, and he deserves to be happy. And it’ll make you happy too, because this is what you’re supposed to want.

“You’ll prove it to me, won’t you?” He repeats against your lips, “Prove that you don’t feel anything for him? Just me?”

There’s a lump in your throat which you ignore, nodding, “O-Okay, James.”

It’s all a big blur as he shoves his jeans off, and you try to focus only on his face. His eyes look dark, far away. There’s none of that familiarity you once knew, that you’d seen just a few days ago. Now, he looks determined, forlorn, but apart from that you can’t read him at all.

You press your lips together and clutch his shoulders tightly as he enters you. Kissing him harder to ease yourself through the feeling of dread. The feeling that you’re doing something so wrong. The feeling that you don’t want this at all. The feeling that the more he presses into you, the more you feel like you’re floating. Like you’re out of your body. Like you don’t know what’s happening anymore. Like you’re losing yourself.

It's a peculiar feeling. Almost like homesickness. But for a person rather than a place. Like your whole world had turned upside down in the past twenty-four hours and the man who’d stolen your life with a single bite to your neck was the one you were yearning for. Like he was your home. And you needed him so bad, you feel sick.

You don’t know when the tears start welling up in your eyes, or when you first feel the streams of salty wetness on your cheeks. But you try to swallow it up, breathe, hold it back. THIS IS WHAT YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO WANT! Your mind screams. Please, please, please just get through it. Get through it for James. He needs this. He’s your boyfriend and he needs this.

“Sweetheart,” he murmurs, and it’s a pet name he’s called you a thousand times and yet it sounds so alien in this moment. So alien that you let out a soft sob. But you swallow before another one can escape. No, pull it together. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.

His hair brushes against your forehead, and you focus hard on the brunette strand, so hard it blurs. Or was that just your tears? And then he pushes into you harder, and you feel like running, running, running away!

Another sob. And then in a choked whisper:

“Stop, please.”

But it’s drowned out by his soft grunts and kisses, and the unmistakable sound of sex. The headboard thuds dully against the wall. He whispers sweet nothings in your ear. Your chest heaves up and down in panic. The clock on the wall ticks steadily. One tick. Two ticks. Three, four, five, six, seven…

A wracked sob leaves your throat before you can stop it. Then another one, and another. And then the tears start flowing, and you’re crying in earnest. Sobbing like you’ve lost everything, like you’ve lost yourself, your identity, everything you ever knew about yourself and what you wanted. You cry and cry and cry underneath him, and the bubble of panic in your chest explodes.

“Are you crying?” Bucky stills, his blue eyes incredulous.

You shake your head, “I’m sorry, I…I just… I’m sorry, I’ll try, I’ll…”But you can barely get your words out, and you’re crying so hard that he sits up, shocked and aghast.

“Is the thought of having sex with me really that disgusting?”

“No!” You try to grab his hand but he snatches it away as if you’re diseased. And you feel like you’re on a foreign planet, lost and alone and confused and so fucking sad that you can’t think straight. And you don’t know what the right thing to do is. You take a deep breath, “James, please, I’ll try. I’m sorry, please, let’s just try again…”

You try to grab his hand again, try to pull him back. But at the same time, the panic bubble in your chest explodes at the thought of having him, anyone, inside you again at this moment. And you’re crying again, and you can’t breathe, and it’s like the walls are closing in on you.

And Bucky just watches, his face set in stone. Watches you cry on his bed, naked and vulnerable and feeling like a stranger in your own skin. A stranger with a mark on your neck that’s damned you for all eternity. And he feels like a stranger too. A stranger who just watches you.

Until he doesn’t.

“Get up.”

In a blur, he’s off the bed. Putting his clothes on before throwing yours at you. Hard.

“Didn’t you hear me? I said get the fuck up.”

His words pierce through you like a sword. “J-James, I’m sorry! I’m sorry, OK? Please, let’s try again. I promise I’ll be better, I promise I won’t cry, I–”

“GET. UP.”

He yanks you up by your arm so hard it hurts. And his eyes look grey and stormy, like you’ve never seen them before. He looks far away and hurt and disgusted, and it’s all because of you.

“James, please, I swear I won’t cry, I’m so sorry that I did. I just felt overwhelmed, and I’m sorry – please let’s try again. I want this, I promise I want this!”

“You think I’m some sort of charity case that you have to fuck in order to make yourself feel better?” He sneers, and in that moment, you don’t know who it is that’s spoken because how could this possibly be James?

“Get the fuck up and get out.”

“No! James, please listen – I want to try again, okay? I’ll do better, I want this to work, I want us –”

“–You want him.”

“No!”

“Did you let him fuck you?”

It comes out of nowhere, the hostile question. The look of pure reverence. And then there’s pin drop silence. Several beats of it. Your heart’s racing. You want to gulp for air but you can’t. Feels like you’re drowning and there’s no escape.

You don’t think you’ll ever forget the look on his face as realisation dawns.

“You’re a fucking stranger,” he spits out, and it’s accusatory yet at the same time void of any emotion. Like your silence has sucked it all out of him and there’s nothing left. Your boyfriend’s gone. Like the wind. Like he never was. “Get out.”

“I didn’t mean for it to happ–”

“GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE, YOU FUCKING WHORE!”

His booming voice is like a whip cracking across your face. He could have physically slapped you and it would have hurt less. It’s all slipping away now. The golden memories in your head. Him asking you out, all the dates, all the kisses. His crinkling smile, his reassurances, his affirmations, his patience. Slipping through your fingers. Going, going, gone.

It’s like a nightmare sequence after that. You’re half naked as he roughly yanks you to your feet. You beg, cry, beg some more but he’s a statue. A statue made up of pure hatred. Nobody’s ever hated you like this. Except for your father who had left you, but you never let yourself think about that.

You’ve barely pulled your leggings up before he’s shoving you out of his room. And you sputter, cry, beg, you do everything. It’s not even that you don’t want him to hate you. Oh, you deserve to be hated! You deserve it all! You just don’t want him to hurt. And you can’t fathom how it’s come to this, when just yesterday morning everything was perfect.

Oh, you hate Steve! You hate him, hate him, hate him!

“James, please listen–”

He’s a robot. Doesn’t even look at you. And you’ve never felt the roughness as you do now, never felt it as he shoves you out the door. On the landing now, and he’s pushing you down the stairs. And still you fight against it, and it’s like you’re fighting against your goddamned fate because this can’t be how yours and Bucky’s story ends! It just couldn’t.

“I won’t speak to him again, I promise–” You babble, hoping he’ll listen, or even just look at you, “I-I’ve ordered these pills I found online, they’re supposed to dull the bond. And I’ll stay away from him, I promise I won’t even look at him. I want to fix this, James, please don’t shut me out. Please!”

Down the stairs, past the foyer. He’s determined to get you out of the house. You’re begging, pleading, saying anything you think might reassure him. And yourself. But Bucky looks like he’s long gone. Like all the feelings he may have once felt for you have been snuffed out. Gone. Gone like the wind.

“I’m a fucking fool for trusting you, for thinking you were different,” he mutters, looking straight ahead as he pushes you toward the front door. “You’re nothing more than a trashy omega slut.”

Another harsh slap to the face, and the tears stream down your cheeks. Tears of hurt, betrayal, anger at yourself, sadness, confusion – all of it! Just a huge muddle that you couldn’t make sense of and you hated yourself for it!

“I’m not! Please let me explain–”

“Get fucked,” he sneers, and you can’t find the old James anywhere on his face, and it’s the last thing you see before he forcefully pushes you out the door. “It’s what you’re best at doing anyways.”

The door slams in your face with a finality you’ve never quite felt before. But you don’t have time to ponder over it, because the frigid cold of the outside hits you like a freight train. Freezing splashes of rain descend down from the skies as if to mock you, punish you, let you know that this was what you deserved.

“James! Please let me back in!” You pound on the door, but the rain is so loud, you doubt he could ever hear you.

And would he even care if he could?

“I promise I won’t speak to him again,” you sound broken, beaten down, yet still hanging on to that tiny thread of hope that the old James would come back, open the door and take you in his arms and promise you that he understands, that he always understands, “I won’t speak to him again, James! I want to be with you – please open the door! Please!”

You feel parts of yourself breaking off, withering away as you beg and plead and pound on the unforgiving door that wouldn’t open no matter how much hope you put in him. Losing yourself, bit by bit. Parts of you that you thought you knew, falling off like apples from a tree. Till you feel like a ghost floating outside of the body of a stranger.

Who even were you anymore? When all he saw was the mark on your neck?

“I’m sorry,” you whisper to the wood, pressing your cold cheek against it, “I’m sorry for all of it.”

Lightning strikes overhead, the rain pelting down like rocks. Your fingers are numb, and the feeling’s slowly spreading. Along with the dark realisation that Bucky wasn’t going to let you back in no matter how much you begged.

You feel like nothing as you slowly trudge back to Steve’s house. You don’t belong there, and yet… where else could you go? You want the rain to swallow you up whole, or the rushing water to suck you down a drain and take you far, far away. Away from everyone, to eternal darkness. To a place where no one could see the mark on your neck, where you didn’t feel like you’d forever lost yourself.

Instead, the water just descends upon you cruelly, soaking you through your clothes and down to the bone and yet you can’t bring yourself to care.

It’s when you reach Steve’s house that you realise you don’t have a key.

You don’t belong anywhere, the dark voice inside you mocks. Nobody wants you, nobody needs you. All you do is cause hurt and despair wherever you go, and–

You sink down on the marble steps in front of the Rogers’ mansion, trying to will yourself not to feel the freezing cold of the wind and rain, or the numbness, or the hopelessness. But it’s no use, it all consumes you anyways. Till you’re positive you’re not there anymore. Just a ghost of someone who used to be someone, before she was claimed in one unforgiving bite and her world crumbled around her.

The car headlights don’t even register to you. Neither does the silhouette of Steve until he’s right up in front of you. Saying words that you can’t make out, grabbing you by the arm but you’re too cold so you can’t quite feel it.

“What the hell were you doing out there in the rain?” He says the moment he’s unlocked the door and pushed you inside, the instant warmth enveloping you like a hug except it brings you no joy.

You shrug, not having it in you to answer. Instead, you stare at a speck on the floor. The pristine, cream-coloured marble floor and yet there’s a singular speck on it. Was it designed like that? Or could it perhaps be scrubbed off? Removed forever? You feel the urge to remove it, numb fingers twitching. Determinedly focusing on only that speck as Steve shakes your shoulders.

“Did you hear me, omega? Why were you out there in the freezing cold? Do you have a death wish?”

Yes.

“He doesn’t see me anymore.”

Steve squints, “What?”

“The mark. That’s all he sees.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“He’s forgotten that I’m still me.” Or am I?

Steve runs his hand through his hair in frustration, “What the hell are you–”

He stops short. Nose twitches. And you look away from the speck in time to see the most peculiar expression cross his face. Like blank shock and disbelief, like trepidation.

“Where were you?” He asks, this time in a voice so quiet yet so loaded. Like he knows the answer yet he’s hoping you won’t say it.

“With James.”

Steve sucks in his breath, and then you’re being yanked straight into him. He sniffs at you desperately, and then you feel it. A peculiar kind of thudding pain. Dull, yet so precise. Like a heart breaking in the distance. Not your own, but it may as well be. Because you feel it.

He cups your face in his, forcing you to look at him. But you don’t need to, because you feel it. A heart shattering feeling of despair. Was that him feeling that?

“You didn’t.” He says it firmly, and yet that confidence doesn’t reach his eyes. He searches your face as if trying to find the answer that he wants to hear. “Tell me you didn’t. Just please… please tell me you didn’t, and I’ll believe you.”

“I had to prove it to him,” you feel like a robot, and it comes out in a broken, faraway whisper. “I had to prove to him that I still cared about him.”

There’s a tremor in his hands, and yet he shakes his head as if he doesn’t quite want to believe it.

“You wouldn’t.” He swallows harshly, “You love me, so you wouldn’t–”

A lone tear runs down your cheek. “He said I had to prove it to him...”

Pin drop silence. And then…

“FUCK!” He shoves you away and you thud into the wall. Not too hard. Or maybe you’re just too numb to feel anything anymore.

He turns to the nearest object he can find – a heavy decorative crystal bowl. You flinch when he throws it to the floor with so much force, it shatters on impact. Shards of glass fly everywhere. Then he grabs something else, throwing that too. The noise of it breaking makes your ears ring. And then he throws something else – a vase this time. The expensive China explodes on the marble, flowers and water sliding across the floor dejectedly.

And it’s like you’re five years old again. Snap your fingers and you can see it. Drunken screaming and fighting, objects flying, things breaking. Your mother yelling, her drunken boyfriends charging at her. The ghost of a little girl cowering in the shadows, wanting it all to just stop, stop, stop.

You slide down to the floor, cupping your ears because he won’t stop throwing things. He won’t stop yelling. You feel this bone-chilling fear, and you wish you were gone. That you didn’t exist. You scrunch your eyes shut, but you can still hear him:

“FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK!” He knocks over an ornate wooden table. One of the legs gives out.

“Please stop,” you whisper, but when had anyone ever stopped when you asked them to?

He gets louder. Angrier. You cover your ears desperately, and you stare at your speck. Focus on it real hard till it blurs. A shard of glass slides over it, and you get the urge to pocket it. Maybe you could use it later.

You grab it, the sharp, jagged edge grazing against your palm. That you can feel. And you’re so scared, so scared of how angry he is. Terrified of him and the ghosts of your past that scream inside your head, revving back to life when you’d tried so hard to bury them.

You don’t know where to go. Back out into the rain? What if he dragged you back and hurt you? He was scaring you so bad. Your chest feels like it’s about to explode. All you can think to do is run up the stairs, up to the only room in this house that you know how to get to. His room.

He’s still breaking things behind you when you take off, up the grand staircase that feels like a giant tongue that could swallow you whole. That mocks you for even being here. You don’t belong here. You don’t belong anywhere.

Into his bedroom, and then you stand there, frozen, the shard of glass still in your hand. The jagged edge is sharp and enticing, like it’s egging you on. Quick, the voice inside your head screams, before he follows you up here. Do it.

Not here, you tell it, it’ll stain his carpet if I do it here.

You glance at his bathroom, at the porcelain bathtub inside. It’s massive, like you could drown in it if you really tried to. The glass presses into your palm. Now. Do it now. Do it, do it, do it, do it–

 Steve crashes into the room, grabbing you by the shoulders. You flinch, gasp dying in your throat. His eyes are fiery and crazed, jaw clenched, breathing erratic.

“You’re mine,” he seethes, his face inches from yours, “No matter what you may think, or who you decide to spread your legs for. I’m not letting up on you. You’re mine, and I’ll fucking kill him if he gets between you and me.”

“It’s all your fault!” You burst, not realising your anger has overridden your fear until it explodes out of you. And your hands are shaking as your grip hardens on the shard of glass, but you manage to meet his wild eyes, all your grief turning into a momentary spark of rage. “He hates me and it’s all your fault!”

“I don’t give a fuck,” he sneers, gripping your jaw roughly, “I don’t give a fuck if he hates you. All I care about is that you’re my fucking property and I’m done being nice about it. Clearly that shit doesn’t work on you.”

“I HATE YOU!” You try to square up to him, but he’s so big, so frightening. It makes you tremble, shrink back, and yet you’re still so overcome with emotion: “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!”

“It doesn’t matter what you think,” his grip on you doesn’t let up. In fact, it’s unforgiving, “And I don’t care if you hate me. In fact, you don’t even know what I’m capable of. From here on out, I’ll give you a fucking reason to hate me.”

“I hate you,” you repeat, again and again till the words lost their meaning, and you sag in his arms because your rage and sadness has sapped all the energy from your body. “I hate you, Steve. I wish I’d never met you. I hate you and you ruined everything.”

“You ruined everything,” he spits out, venom laced through his each and every word. And then he throws you roughly on the bed. For a wild moment, you think the worst. And you ready yourself for it, knowing you won’t be able to overpower him no matter how hard you tried.

But he just stares at you. Long and hard. His gaze both fiery red with rage and yet so icy cold at the same time. His navy eyes switching between fire and ice too, looking broken and far away one second, and then frenzied and wild the next. Like he was going through a whirlpool of emotions and didn’t know how to get a grip on himself.

And it made him look so dangerous that it chills you down to the bone.

He opens his mouth to say something, and a clap of thunder booms outside and a flash lights up the whole room for a few beats. You watch him. He watches you. Silence, except for the storm.

He turns and leaves, slamming the door shut behind him and plunging you in darkness. A weakness overtakes you almost instantly. A peculiar kind, like a mental exhaustion as much as a physical one. You can still feel the glass in your hand. But you can’t find the will to go to the bathtub to use it. All you can do is lie there. On his bed. In his room. Smelling of him. Surrounded by him. Him. Him. Him.

Did you even exist anymore?

*

You leave the next day. Waking up alone on Steve’s bed, you robotically gather your things and go. You find him passed out on an armchair downstairs. The mess he’d made has been cleaned up as if by magic. The floors gleam once more, and even the crystal bowl has been replaced. Like yesterday never happened. Like you’d imagined it all. But your shard of glass tells you otherwise.

He’s surrounded by bottles of alcohol, and you can smell it on him. It makes you want to leave even more. And you try to be quiet, but as you cross him you sense his eyes on you. He’s awake. Unmoving.

You clear your throat.

“I’m going to get the bus back to campus.”

No answer. He just watches you. But he does not stop you. And so you leave without another word.

***

The familiarity of your dorm room brings you no relief. Neither does your desk or your textbooks or any of your other things. Luckily, classes would resume from tomorrow, but that still meant the rest of today and all of tonight to get through surrounded by silence. Silence and fear. Your mind screams with thoughts of everything that had gone down in the past few days, and oh how you wish you could just mute it all!

You itch for a friend – but who could you possibly call? All the friends you’d made were Bucky’s friends first. Maybe Peter? No, you couldn’t burden him with this. Your mother? Oh, she wouldn’t even answer! And that was it. You had no one else.

You stare hard at the shard of glass that you’ve brought along with you. Stare at it so hard that your vision blurs, and you swallow thickly. Desperation suddenly rising, you quickly log into the university’s website, looking up the resident student counsellor. She looks friendly enough in her picture, maybe you could call her? Maybe she’d know what to do?

You catch a glimpse of the mark on your neck in your mirror, and feel a strong urge to burst into tears again. Limply, you hold your phone up, ready to type in her number. But then the screen goes black. Battery dead. Your face crumples, and you throw your phone on your bed in frustration. What was the point? She’d never understand! Nobody could understand!

I’ll just wait for the pills, you think to yourself as you curl up on your bed in defeat, they’ll dull the bond and everything’s gonna go back to how it was before. It will, it will, it will!

You hold your teddy close and scrunch your eyes shut, hoping the voice in the back of your head doesn’t say anything. And it doesn’t this time, and you snuggle into the warm fur of your bear, and fall into a fitful sleep.

*

It feels like the first day of college all over again. But you’d done it once and survived, so you could most definitely do it again. That’s what you keep telling yourself as you make your way into the lecture theatre for World Politics the following Monday morning.

You hadn’t heard from Steve since the last time you’d seen him the morning you’d left his house. And you doubt he’d be in class today. But you don’t care! Not in the least. Not even a little bit. He was scary and you hated him for everything he’d done. And now he hated you too, you know he did. You couldn’t forget the look in his eye when he’d found out you’d been with Bucky. Oh, he definitely hated you too!

Maybe the distance will help weaken the bond, you think to yourself. At least until the pills arrive.

There’s an immediate hush when you enter the lecture hall. At first, you think nothing of it. But then the whispers begin. A soft hum that turns into a tidal wave in mere seconds. You frown as you make your way to the front row where you usually sit.

“Well, if it isn’t the campus slut.”

Your head snaps up. A group of alphas are sat two rows behind you. Steve and Bucky’s friends. You recognise them– Ransom, Andy, Curtis. All three of them sit there guffawing at you.

“Excuse me?”

“Careful Andy, she might just fall on your dick if you hold eye contact with her for too long. And who knows what diseases she’s carrying.”

What the–

“That’s true. She clearly doesn’t care about who she’s fucking – seeing as she hopped from Bucky to Steve in less than a day.”

Your eyes widen, and you feel winded. Like you haven’t quite heard them right. They couldn’t possibly…

“Who’s next in line, huh?” Curtis leers at you in a way he never has before. You’d never been particularly close to any of them in the past, but they’d never spoken a disrespectful word to you before now. “You gonna run through our whole friend group? Should I stock up on condoms or do you carry a pack around with you wherever you go?”

Your jaw drops, and yet no sound comes out.

Ransom laughs, “She’s definitely got a pack in her purse. Which is just as well, ‘cause I’ve got the rest of the day free. What do you say, omega? You taking any appointments?”

“And how much do you charge?”

“Wh-What are you–”

You’ve barely gotten your words out when someone slams their book down next to the three alphas.

“Nah, she’s all booked up for today,” Bucky takes a seat next to his friends, his face void of any emotion except for an empty smile. He nods to the front of the room where the professor is setting up his PowerPoint. “How do you think she got into this class in the first place?”

The betrayal is like a slap in your face. Bucky looks rough, tired. His cheeks hollow, his eyes blank. Stubble grown out, bags under his eyes. And that empty smile, one that you’ve never seen on him before. One that’s not familiar at all. He’s like a statue, one that doesn’t meet your gaze.

“James,” you whisper, “How could you–”

“I had to get tested after I fucked her,” he’s acting like you’re not even there. And it’s like he’s been brainwashed because how could this possibly be the man who’d never once been anything but sweet, nice and charming to you? How could this possibly be the man who was your boyfriend just last week? “She hid it from me, you know? The fact she was fucking the professor. But I’d steer clear of her now that I know. Hell, she’s probably fucking half the faculty, can’t think of any other way she’d get have gotten into this college.”

Curtis snickers, “Half the faculty huh? I thought she was with Steve now.”

Bucky acts like he hasn’t heard him, although you see a flicker of emotion in his eyes when Steve’s name is mentioned. Like hurt, anger. But then it’s gone. Like a candle being snuffed out, and he’s back to looking empty again.

“Steve’s probably just using her for a good time,” Andy says, “We know what he’s like, and we know what girls like her are good for.”

“A pump and dump,” Ransom elbows Bucky, “C’mon bro, you’re lucky you escaped her. We can only hope Steve does too.”

“Stop it!” You break, a surge of embarrassment mixed with anger coursing through you, “H-How dare you speak about me like that!”

All four of them burst out laughing, but the only one you can focus on is Bucky. His laughter sounds strange. Forced. Programmed. Empty. You look at him and only him.

“James, I know I hurt you but how could you–”

“Why the fuck is she talking to me?” Bucky’s looking at you and yet not quite at you. Like his gaze is just going through you, beyond you. “Look at her, trying to psychoanalyse me as if she’s some psychiatrist and not just a hick-town omega slut who spread her legs to get into school for free.”

The gasp dies in your throat, and you feel your lower lip wobble. How could he?! Oh, how could he say all these terrible things without batting an eye?! The same man who’d held you so tenderly, who’d been so patient with you. Who’d built up your confidence, told you that you were different, that you were the girl he wanted to change for, the one he wanted to settle down with. The same man who’d stood up for you in the past, who’d comforted you, complimented you, longed for you. The same man you’d had endless conversations with, the same man who’d held you in his arms in your bed at night.

Gone, gone, gone like the wind.

“I can’t believe you,” you utter, trying to be strong but you feel a wave of tears on the brink of overtaking you, “H-How could you say all this, after everything we’ve –”

“Now she’s about to turn on the waterworks. Just watch.” Oh, James was gone. Utterly and completely gone. And a stranger had stolen his face and his body and his voice and everything else because this wasn’t your James. This was a monster.

You stand up, accidentally knocking your textbooks to the ground. More cruel snickers. Slowly you look around, suddenly hyper-aware of the multiple pairs of eyes looking your way. Oh, it wasn’t just them! Everyone was looking at you! Everyone was laughing!

Your cheeks feel hot, and your eyes well with tears. What rumours had Bucky spread about you? What lies had he convinced the whole world to be true?! You can’t quite wrap your head around his betrayal. Oh, you can barely even look at him! Which is just as well, because he can’t look at you either.

“I’d never do this to you,” you whisper, picking your books up and hugging them close to your chest as some form of pathetic comfort, “I-I’d never…never do this to you.”

He still doesn’t look at you, and yet everyone else is. And you don’t care that the class has begun, that the professor is already talking. All you can feel is everyone’s burning gaze on you, and the sting of Bucky’s betrayal and his cruel words. Oh, you can’t take it! And you know you should be strong; be the confident woman you’d grown to become these past few months. But all you can think to do in this moment is run.

You thud down the stairs, and it’s like the laughter grows louder and yet the silence is deafening. Like there’s a spotlight on you. And everyone can see your tears as they threaten to spill. And a sob breaks through your lips as you reach the door of the lecture theatre and throw it open, escaping the cruel stares and yet feeling like you haven’t escaped anything at all. Like this is just the beginning.

You burst into tears before you can stop yourself, chest heaving as you feel a panic attack coming. Leaning against the wall, you pray the hallway remains empty. Sinking down, you can’t help but cry. Hot tears of embarrassment, sadness, hurt and betrayal all mixed into one. Tears of frustration because you were so pathetic that you couldn’t even defend yourself. Tears of helplessness because was this how it would be from now on?

The mark on your neck throbs, and you feel an inexplicable need for Steve. But would things have been any different had he been here? No, because he hated you too.

You’re unlovable, the cruel voice inside your head taunts. It hasn’t made an appearance in a while but it’s back in full force now. You’re unlovable and that’s why everyone hurts you. And you deserve it. You deserve it, you deserve it, you deserve it!

***

The days all start blending into one after that. You’re a pariah on campus, treated almost like a disease. It hurts so bad at first. So, so bad. You can’t quite wrap your head around how Bucky’s managed to turn everyone against you. He’d been your one true friend here but everyone else you’d spoken to had somewhat liked or respected you. Now, all you get is jeers, laughs or straight-up dirty looks.

Just ignore them, you coach yourself after a week of it. You’re here to learn. You can take it. You’ve taken much worse back home. And you don’t wanna go back. You worked so hard to get here and you CAN’T go back.

And yet it doesn’t get easier. It’s like you’ve got a sign on your back saying campus slut, and everyone taunts you like they can’t get enough. Especially the alphas. And often you find yourself back in your dorm room, hugging your teddy and crying your eyes out and trying not to think about the piece of glass you’ve stashed carefully in your bathroom cabinet. Sniffling into your teddy’s warm fur that smells like the man who was the cause of all of this.

 And Steve still doesn’t show up to any of his classes. Not that you care, because you hate him and he most definitely hates you too. And a part of you is still so terrified of him since that fateful rainy night, when everything had crashed and burned. When you’d seen the hatred in his eyes with your very own, inches away from your face.

And then, after weeks of no showing all his classes… he comes to your dorm room one night. He thinks you’re sleeping, but you’re awake when he gets into bed next to you. And then he comes again the next night, and the next. And then it’s almost like you can’t sleep unless he’s there, and he comes almost every night. Gets into bed with you, even though it’s tiny and the two of you barely fit.

And he holds you close, tucks you in against his chest and sometimes you think it’s all a dream. Because your days are so nightmarish, that your mind has conjured up a dreamlike fantasy as soon as the sun sets. And you finally relax, and your heart finally stops hurting, and you welcome the tenderness. Not knowing why he comes, but knowing it calms you, and you can finally escape the torment of the bullying during the day.

Once you even hear him on the phone. You’re half asleep but you feel the weight of your bed shift, see him sitting on the edge of it.

“I don’t care what that that doctor says. He’s an idiot and we need to find another one. And dad’s gonna do that, he’ll find someone competent. And you’re gonna be OK, we just need to–”

But he’s gone each morning when you wake up, almost like he wasn’t there at all. Like a shadow, slipping away as the sun rises.

Your pills finally arrive, and you take them without a second thought. At first, you feel no difference. But after a few days, a certain numbness hits. You don’t know if the pills are a dud, and it’s just you disassociating due to all the heckles and taunts and harassment. But you take them nonetheless, as if swallowing them diligently day after day might one day solve all your problems. As if one day you’d wake up and your mark would be gone, and Bucky would be nice again, and you’d find your confidence again. And Steve would be gone, gone, gone forever.

Except that’s not what you want at all, the voice in your head sings. It’s always there now. Always putting you down. But you deserve it, don’t you?

One day, you’re walking across the field on your way home after classes when you feel a slight breeze. And then you smell it. That inexplicable scent of burning firewood and a hot summer’s day. Except it’s not summer, which meant–

Your head whips up the same time his does. And for a split second, your eyes meet. Steve. With the rest of the football team – minus Bucky, thankfully. He holds your gaze, and it’s the first time you’ve looked at him in what feels like weeks. And you feel an odd comfort, despite the fact that you hate him and he probably hates you too.

There’s a group of cheerleaders hanging around him, it looks to be some sort of joint practice session. And Steve just stares at you, and you can’t help but stare back. Like he’s got you in some captivating hold that you can’t break free from. Like you’re both encased in a bubble where it’s just you two, despite the numerous people milling around.

And then, out of nowhere, the bubble pops when Steve pointedly turns his attention to a girl near him. You vaguely recognise her from around campus. A cheerleader. Beautiful, with long flowing hair. He puts his arm around her waist, and just like that you feel your heart plummet like an anchor. He watches you over her head, watches while the girl giggles at whatever he’s said. Watches you as she scrapes her nails against his chest, moves closer to him. He runs his hand up and down her back, his eyes boring through yours the entire time, almost like he’s waiting for a reaction.

It feels like a ton of bricks have dropped inside your stomach, alongside a whirlpool of emotions ranging from anger to disbelief. You want to rip the girl’s hair out, and at the same time want to curl up into a ball and cry. Oh, you hate him, you hate him, you hate him! Hate him for making you feel like this, hate him for confusing you so much, for making you yearn for him and yet stomping all over your heart at the same time! And you hate your pills for not working at all in this moment, when you’d hoped and prayed that they were and would.

You stand there, heart breaking over and over again. But it’s when the girl stands up on her tiptoes and kisses Steve’s cheek that you forcibly tear your gaze away and turn. Determinedly marching off, tears blurring your vision. Oh, you hated him so bad! You hated him and you hated Bucky too! And most of all, you hated yourself, and–

“Hey, hey, hey – watch where you’re going!”

“Sorry,” you mumble, peaking up at the person whose chest you’ve just banged into.

To your horror, Curtis’ face relaxes once he recognises you, “Oh, it’s just the campus slut. Ready to finally give me my appointment?”

“L-Leave me alone,” you avert your eyes, staring hard at the grass. Panic rises in your chest – an instinctive response that you’ve grown used to now. And you hate how your stutter has returned, and how scared you sound. You wish you were a different person, a more confident person. But daily torment has beaten that out of you, and you cower like a sorry, pathetic loser, hoping he’ll grow bored and let you off easy and allow you to just leave.

“Now why would I do that?” He chuckles, grabbing your shoulders to stop you from scurrying away, “Tell me, you interested in a two-for-one special? Me and Ransom were talking about it, we could show you a good time.”

“Please, j-just stop, I just wanna go back to my dorm room.”

“Please, j-just stop!” He mimics, making his voice all comically high-pitched. But then his eyes grow dark, and he looks down at you with a lecherous kind of hunger that scares you. “It’s too bad you’re just a trashy omega slut, because you’re such a fucking hot piece of ass. C’mon, just come back to my dorm room with me, we could have some fun–”

It happens quickly. His hand snakes down and you let out a quiet squeak when he squeezes your ass. A burning hot anger courses through you, along with a paralysing sense of fear. You bat his hand away and jump backwards. He looks unperturbed, closing the gap between you instantly, a hungry grin on his face.

And then he’s yanked away from you, and there’s a blur of movement. Your eyes widen as Steve tackles Curtis to the ground, his fists pummelling into his face over and over again. You hear several sickening cracking sounds, Curtis screaming, everyone else yelling and forming a crowd around them. And then just Steve’s fists, crack after crack. Spurts of blood.

And Steve looks furious, like he’s a man possessed. Veins popping, face red. Landing punch after punch on Curtis’ face which is quickly growing unrecognisable. Your mouth falls open but no sound comes out.

Several others try to pry Steve off. First Sam, then Thor joins in. But they can’t, and he easily fights them off. Another fist to Curtis’ jaw, and another one straight to his eye. You hide your face, too scared to watch yet at the same time too paralysed to do anything else.

“Don’t fucking touch her again!”

It takes five guys from the football team plus their coach to finally get Steve off. And he’s breathing hard, his eyes crazed like he’s frenzied like a wolf. And his gaze meets yours, and you’re so fucking terrified that you have to look away.

“You’re fucking in for it now, Rogers,” the football coach is livid, “I don’t care how much money you come from or whatever the fuck you’re going through at home with your mother–”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” Steve snaps in fury, and several of them have to hold him back as he lunges for the coach too.

That’s when it all gets too much for you, and you turn on your heel and run, run, run away. Heart thudding and feeling like you need to scrub yourself clean ten times over because of how he touched you when you didn’t want him to. Violated you.

Back in your dorm room, you collapse on your bed and cry. Hugging your teddy close and hating everything about life. You think back to a million years ago, when you’d first started college. How optimistic you’d been to leave all the sadness of home behind. But sorrow seemed to follow you wherever you went. Everything was a mess and it was all your fault! Oh, if only you’d been stronger, somehow hadn’t let Steve bite you, if you’d have been smart enough to escape. Then none of this would be happening! Oh, it was all your fault!

You cry and cry, dragging yourself into the shower and scrubbing yourself raw over and over again. Maybe you could wash it off? Wash off Curtis’ touch? Wash off Steve’s bite mark? Wash off whatever it was written on your face that made everyone treat you like crap?

You itch for the shard of glass. You still haven’t thrown it away, and the voice in your head urges you to use it. To do it, just do it. Just do it.

Your body hurts by the time you finally get out of the shower. In a tearful rage, you’d rubbed the sponge so hard at your mark that it’s opened up and bleeding once more. You’d wanted it to disappear but you’ve made it more apparent than ever, and it hurts. Everything hurts.

You’re still hurting as you drag yourself under your covers and fall into a fitful sleep.

*

“Fuck, stupid fucking shoes. Fuck you!”

You wake up with a jolt, and yet self-preservation has you instinctively stay still, and your eyes shut while your heart thuds. But then you smell Steve’s familiar scent, and your body can’t help but relax. He noisily makes his way across your dorm room, kicking anything in his way before collapsing on your bed. You lay determinedly still, making sure your breathing remains shallow.

“Hi,” Steve sighs, and you can immediately smell the liquor on him. But his hand is so warm as it strokes your back. He lowers the blanket so he can touch the bare skin of your arm, and his warmth sears you from the inside out. And it’s a calming effect that you welcome despite everything. Oh, he confused you so much!

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he says after a short pause, and you can hear him slurring his words, and it makes your blood freeze. How much had he drank? Would he get violent, mean, scary, horrible? How could someone calm you yet scare you so much at the same time?

“And they all know it. They all want you, baby. I wish I could protect you from everyone. Take you back home and keep you safe and sound. Away from all these assholes who can’t wait to take advantage of you.” He sighs, and it’s such a stark contrast, this gentle tone he’s using. So different from that rainy night where he’d crashed and broken everything and you’d been scared for your life. It’s funny, because you associate alcohol with violence, and yet this is the gentlest Steve has ever spoken to you.

“Y-You were scary today,” you speak, voice still croaky from sleep.

He jumps, “You’re awake…”

“Yes.” Would he leave now? He only stayed when he thought you were asleep.

But Steve stays put, “I got suspended.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. But I got Curtis expelled, so he won’t bother you anymore. And that’ll teach that stupid fuck not to mess with what’s mine.”

Relief floods your body. But it’s fleeting. Curtis was gone, but the other alphas still remained. And they’d be even more ruthless now that you were the reason Curtis was expelled. Not to mention Bucky, who was still on a warpath to ruin your life. You gulp, feeling the urge to cry again.

The two of you lie there in silence, with him just stroking your back, both of you lost in a million racing thoughts.

“You didn’t care,” he breaks the silence.

“Huh?”

“When I was talking to that other girl. When she kissed me. You didn’t care at all.”

You think back. Well, you had cared. Hadn’t you? But what could you possibly have done about it?

“I wish you loved me like how I love you.” He sighs, stroking your hair now, playing with it and twining it around his finger. “I wish… I wish you’d just see what I see, and let yourself be happy with me instead of fighting against it.”

“I don’t think I’m ever gonna be happy,” you say softly.

“Why not?”

“I don’t think I’m supposed to be,” your voice catches, the lump in your throat getting bigger, “I think I just… I just try to find happiness wherever I can, but whenever I do it’s always a matter of time before I ruin everything. I ruined it with my dad, and so he left and that’s why my mom hates me now, so I’ve ruined it with her too. And I ruined it with Peter, and then with James.”

“But what about me?” He sounds so… so innocent.

“What we have isn’t love,” you do anything but look at him, focusing on the loose thread of your duvet cover instead. “You just took what you wanted and you didn’t even ask. And you don’t love me, Steve. You’re never there, every day when they…” you sniffle, “Soon you’ll realise how unhappiness follows me wherever I go, and you’ll leave me too.”

“Never,” he buries his face in your hair, inhaling deeply and hugging you close till all you can smell is him. “I’ve never been in love before but I promise I love you. You’re all I think about, day and night. Even when there’s other shit I should be focusing on, it’s always just you. I think I loved you from the moment I saw you. And I wish to God I could go back and do it all differently. Take you out and make you my girlfriend properly. Then you’d have loved me back, and none of this other shit would’ve happened.”

Oh, his words painted the prettiest picture! But could you believe him? Or should you believe the facts? Which were that he’d been horrid to you when he’d first seen you, and Bucky was the one who’d been nice. It’s like Steve’s whole personality has changed overnight – from the ruthless, stoic and mean alpha to now this hot and cold man who goes from scary one day to in love with you the next.

“I don’t believe you,” it comes out in the faintest whisper, and yet you know he’s heard you because he stiffens, “All you’ve ever done is hurt me and I don’t believe you about anything… Thank you for standing up for me today, but…”

Your voice trails off, but you know what you want to say: but I’m just so miserable, so miserable all the time and it’s all because of you!

“But what? Why won’t you let yourself love me?” In his drunkenness, he sounds almost like a petulant child, like he’s used to getting everything he’s ever wanted and he can’t fathom why he can’t have this.

“Y-You scare me,” you whisper, scrunching your eyes shut and shrinking into yourself under the covers lest you make him mad. “Not just today but… last time, at your house, when you were throwing and breaking things, and I was so scared. H-How could I love someone who makes me feel so scared?”

There’s such a long pause, you think he’s dozed off. But he hasn’t, because he tries to pull you closer, clumsily embrace you. Except you remain stiff, cowering under the covers and not knowing what to think, especially now since you’ve reminded him of the night you slept with Bucky.

“I was so angry that night, I thought I’d explode,” he says softly into your hair, “and I’ve never felt anything like it. If any one of my exes told me they’d slept with my best friend, I wouldn’t have cared. But you,” he pauses, exhaling deeply, “it felt like you’d ripped my world apart from underneath me. I was so angry, and I knew if I went to see him then, I would’ve murdered him. Slit his fucking throat. Instead, I took it out on you. But it wasn’t your fault that he took advantage of you.”

You swallow back tears, “I was so scared,” I still am. All the time.

“I know, baby. I’m sorry. I won’t scare you like that ever again.”

“You will.” All of you scare me.

“I won’t. I’ll be better for you, I promise.” He tries to hold your face, tries to kiss you but you turn away, not accepting his embrace despite every cell in your body screaming at you to give in. “Baby, please. I know everything sucks right now but soon, I’ll fix everything. I’ll take you away from here and I’ll fix everything.”

What?

“Mmhm,” he’s this weird mix of drunk and half asleep, and he presses his face against your cheek, nuzzling you while you remain still in his arms. “I’ll take you back to my house and keep you safe there. We’ll have our little girl and my mom’s gonna be there to see her, and everything’s gonna be just fine.”

Oh, he was drunker than you thought!

You swallow harshly, “I don’t want that.”

“Yes, you do. You want what I want. I can feel it.” Again, he tries to kiss you. This time, you let him. You don’t know why, but it’s almost like it’s muscle memory kissing him. It comes so easily, so naturally. And he’s such a good kisser, even when he’s drunk. He holds your face so carefully, like you’re made of glass and you’ll break if he goes too rough. And he tastes like alcohol but surprisingly, you don’t mind.

“I love you so much…”

You shake your head, try one last time to fight him, “No, you don’t…”

“Yes, I do.”

“No, Steve. You don’t. You know nothing about me, none of my interests or my quirks because you never asked.” Not like how James did. “All you know is that you want to own me and control me. But that’s not love. What we have isn’t love.”

“You’re wrong. Completely wrong. I do know you. I know you better than he does. I know you more than anyone else in this world.”

You don’t know how or when he slips inside you, but he does and it feels like a dream sequence. Like two puzzle pieces that were lost on two separate ends of the attic until someone finally found them and put them together again. HOW?! HE DIDN’T LOVE YOU AND YOU DIDN’T LOVE HIM! SO HOW?!

And how could this be the same Steve? The one who’d looked so mad with rage the last time you’d come face to face with him? The one who’d screamed and yelled and thrown and broken things, and yet here he was, holding you so tenderly as if none of that had ever happened? And here you were, accepting his touch and spreading your legs for him as if none of that had ever happened.

“You’re so good for me,” Steve whispers, his teeth grazing against your neck, “so soft and small and fucking perfect for me. Fuck, I needed this.”

You feel his tongue lap at your mark, and it’s so different from the first time. When he’d ruthlessly sunk his teeth into you, leaving his stamp of ownership on you without a second thought. Without caring what you wanted. Now, he seems so soft, so gentle.

What would he be like tomorrow?

You quiver, feeling so small in his arms. He shifts till he’s on top of you, his strokes gentle yet precise, his tip touching where you need him so badly. Building you up in a way you’ve learnt that only he can. You pant, pulling him closer, wanting him to kiss you again. Needing him, yet hating him, yet needing him all the same. Like you’ll die without him. Like he completes you, no matter how hard you wish it wasn’t true.

“Promise you’ll love me one day,” he says softly while you clutch at his t-shirt, your shaking legs wrapping around his waist as he holds you close. “Promise you’ll try to love me. That you’ll forget about him and love me like how I love you.”

Your answer is lost in a sea of breathless moans and desperate ruts. The sound of kissing, the dull thud of your cheap bed frame against the wall. The beat of his heart and your own. So in sync, almost like they’d been like that since the day you were born.

He falls asleep soon after you both climax. Still holding you tight, as if he thinks you might slip away. You try to follow suit, but your mind can’t keep quiet. Not even for a second. Despite his inviting warmth that radiates from his body and envelopes you into an enticing hug. The voices in your head scream so loudly, it’s like they’re at war with each other. And you lie there for ages, trying to get them to quieten down, but they don’t. And your heart beats so hard it almost hurts, and you feel sick. And wrong. And used.

You stumble into your bathroom, and it’s when you look at your reflection in the mirror that the dark voice in your head speaks up.

You really are a slut, it accuses. Spreading your legs for him again, and enjoying it again. You’re everything they make fun of you for being. In fact, you’re worse. You say you don’t want him, that you don’t love him, and yet you give in to him every time.

The dark, mocking words spread through your bloodstream like poisonous ink. Your vision blurs. You hardly recognise the girl in front of you. Who was she? Who were you? What had you become?

Get fucked, you remember Bucky’s venomous words. It’s all you’re good for.

In a frenzy, you throw open the cabinet under the sink. Carefully pick up your glass shard, the one you’ve kept so safe for all this time. Maybe for this moment.

Do it, do it, do it. You know you want to. It’ll be best for everyone if you just do it now.

The glass feels cool against your palm. You trace it lightly against your skin, daring yourself to bring it upwards. Slowly. Very, very slowly. It’s sharp and jagged, glinting under the cheap bathroom light. You scrunch your eyes shut, try to ignore the thudding of your heart.

Do it, do it, do it. Now.

You hear a stirring in the distance. The sound of your name. Footsteps. Your name again. Louder this time. The doorknob rattles.

“Open the door!” Steve shakes the door again, calling out your name. Oh, how long had you been in here for? And how did he know to come find you? “Omega, did you hear me? Open the door.”

The glass falls from your hand, and you roughly wipe the tears from your face. Tears you didn’t even realise you’d shed. You open the door and he grabs you the moment you do, pulling you out and staring at you hard.

“What were you doing in there?”

“Nothing.”

He regards you carefully, so carefully you fear he can read your mind and see right through you. And you think that perhaps he can, when he gently peels back the sleeves of your sweater and looks. Just looks. Long and hard, as if searching for something. Something you still couldn’t bring yourself to do. And then he wraps his arms around you, lifting you up and carrying you back to bed without another word.

You fall asleep in his arms, and it’s the strangest sensation – feeling troubled and at peace at the same time. Because being in Steve’s arms brings you peace, and yet he’s the very person who’s caused your whole life to turn into a mess. Oh, how could such a terrible person make you feel so safe, so at home like nobody else could? Did it make you a terrible person? Feeling so at ease with him? And not feeling like that with good people like Peter and James?

Did it even matter? It’s not like he’d even be there long enough for you to wrap your head around the complicated ways in which he made you feel. Because of course, in the morning he’s gone once more. And you’re left alone once more. Gone with the wind. Like a fleeting dream. Almost like you imagined it all. Almost like he never was.

Your teddy’s coal black eyes stare at you profoundly, and you feel the sudden urge to throw your glass shard in the garbage. Instead, you methodically get ready for the day, swallowing a bunch of your pills like you do every morning. Life was slowly losing all meaning, but the pills still made you feel like you had a bit of control. And so you take them, and yet you don’t dare hope for anything.

***

“Congratulations, another top tier research paper,” The professor smiles as he hands you back your work at the end of class later that day. “You really are a star pupil.”

You feel a small burst of pride, but it’s snuffed out quickly when the inevitable wave of snickers sound from behind you.

“More like star of taking it up the ass,” an alpha mutters under his breath. More laughs. You duck your head, shoving your paper into your bookbag without a second glance.

The professor, having not heard anything, looks unperturbed, “It’s a pleasure to have a student like you.”

More laughs and jeers and jokes made quietly. The professor moves on, slamming a research paper down on the desk behind you while you quietly pack your bag.

“Not your best work, Mr. Drysdale,” he says, “Although perhaps you should be commended for actually turning something in this time. And Mr. Barnes – I see you’ve taken a page out of Mr. Drysdale’s old playbook because you didn’t turn anything in at all. You do realise this paper contributes to your final grade?”

Bucky laughs as if it doesn’t even mean anything. And to the likes of alphas like them, it didn’t. Just like how it didn’t matter to Steve that he’d gotten suspended. You suppose when you had that much wealth, things like this just weren’t something to worry about.

“Hey, omega – what kind of magic pussy have you got that’s making the professor simp so hard?” Ransom jabs your shoulder hard.

You’re numb to it now. It’s just another day. You zip your bookbag shut and stand up, about to make a hasty exit like you always do but the alphas block your path.

“What’s the hurry? Thought you’d stay back to show the professor a good time after all that ass kissing he just did for you.”

You swallow harshly, not having it in you to even plead or beg with them anymore. You’d just stay quiet, wait for them to get bored and leave you alone off their own accord. That, and the fact that they scared you beyond belief.

“God, just look at her, Bucky. She’s fuckin’ terrified like a little mouse.” Ransom guffaws, “Should be. She got Curtis expelled.”

Your hands shake so bad that your book bag drops to the ground, the contents spilling out everywhere. You hastily get on your knees to pick everything up, hating how they just stand there and watch instead of just leaving.

“Jeez, you’re not even gonna wait till everyone leaves before you get on your knees?” Ransom elbows Bucky, “Did her parents raise her to be slut or what?”

It’s only when you stand back up, that you hear him. Bucky, in the most detached tone you’ve ever heard him speak in:

“Her father was probably disgusted by her. She’s probably the reason why he left.”

Something breaks inside you. The tiny sliver of thread that was barely holding you together since last night. It breaks. Just like that. You feel cold all over. Freezing. Like anything keep you warm on the inside has decayed and died, withered away along with your spirit and your will to live.

Through all the laughing and mocking, you look straight into his cold, dead blue eyes and see a flickering semblance of something. Horror? Regret? Now, his mouth clamps shut. But it doesn’t matter. He’s said it. The one thing you never spoke about, the one thing you didn’t ever want to even think about. How did he even know? And now everyone knew!

You back away in slow motion, your whole body shaking violently. And then you break into a run, not caring that you’re indoors, not caring that every single person is staring at you. Not caring that you’re crying, or that your throat is closing up, or that your chest is hurting, or that your stomach feels like it’s on fire. You wish you weren’t there, you wish you’d never even come here. Maybe everyone was right – this was no place for an omega, especially you.

Oh, you wish you were dead! You wish it would all be over and you’d just be dead and unable to feel anything! Anything at all!

Out into the courtyard you run, and even more eyes gawk at you as tears stream down your cheeks. You wish you’d just disappear! Just die and it would be like you never existed. Deep down in the ground where nobody could hurt you anymore, where words meant nothing because you’d be dead and unable to feel a single thing!

In the distance, you can hear someone calling out your name. But you don’t look back. You feel like prey, like they’re all out to get you and you need to run, run, run. More calls of your name. You run faster, despite the growing pain in your stomach.

A hand grabs yours and stops you, yanking you back. That’s when you realise you’re heaving with tears, and you can barely breathe.

“I didn’t mean to say that!” Bucky keeps hold of your hand, as if scared you’ll run away the moment he lets go. “I didn’t… I didn’t mean to take it that far–”

“YOU WIN, OKAY!?” You burst out, yanking your hand back with such force that it hurts, and you can still feel his searing touch on your skin. “You win, now just leave me alone!”

“I’m sorry!” He tries to grab your arm again, “I’m sorry, it should never have gone that far. I was just so angry, and I–”

“I’m leaving,” you say quietly, “I can’t take it anymore, James. You were my first friend here but now it’s like you’re a stranger and I’m so miserable all the time.”

“You’re the one who–”

“I would never treat anyone the way you’ve treated me these past few weeks. Not even if they were my worst enemy, James!” You fiercely wipe your eyes, and it’s almost like your hurt is so deep that it’s translated into physical pain, and you can feel it deep in your stomach. “So you win, okay? I can’t stay here anymore. I’m gonna go home tonight and never come back! And maybe then you’ll be happy because I don’t know how else to say that I’M SORRY! I’M SORRY FOR GETTING MARKED AGAINST MY WILL, OKAY!”

He opens his mouth to say something, but you beat him to it:

“I’m sorry that you hate me now, hate me so much that you treat me like I’m the dirt at the bottom of your shoe!” You shove him. Hard. You’ve never been physical like this with anyone before but all the animosity and hurt and anger building up inside you has broken loose. “I’m sorry that Steve took me from you. He never gave me an option but you don’t care about that at all! And now I’m stuck with someone I never chose to begin with, but you don’t care at all about that! You only care about yourself and how all of this made you feel!”

“It’s not worth it!” You cry, more to yourself than to him, “None of it’s worth being this miserable. Not college, not my scholarship, none of it! So you win, James! I’ll leave tonight, and you can forget all about me, and maybe that’ll make you happy because I tried so hard, but I don’t know what else will!”

“Leave?” Bucky repeats, spitting the word out as if he can’t quite believe it, “You can’t leave–”

“It’s like none of it meant anything to you!” A sob escapes your throat, and you don’t even hold it back. “Like what we had meant nothing, like I meant nothing. You couldn’t even give me the benefit of the doubt, you couldn’t fathom that I’d never, ever hurt you on purpose! Or go behind your back on purpose! I’d never do that to you, James! But it happened and I tried to apologise, and you didn’t accept it, but why can’t you just LEAVE ME ALONE!?”

“I can’t,” he says quietly, “I don’t fucking know why, but I just can’t leave you alone.”

“Well, I guess it doesn’t matter, does it?” You whisper, “I’ll do you a favour and leave on my own.”

You turn to go, and that’s when you’re hit with another piercing pain. A squeak leaves your throat, and yet you remain determined as you walk away from him. But you don’t get very far before you feel it again, stronger this time. It almost winds you. Oh god, what was happening?

“Hey, are you OK?”

His voice barely registers. You clutch your stomach before taking another step forward. Oh, god please. Please just let me get back to my room.

Another pang. It feels like red hot knives twisting inside your abdomen. Your legs falter, face twisting up. What was happening to you?

You hear Bucky call out your name before your ears start ringing. You feel hot all over, and then it hits you again. And it’s so painful, you feel like you’re going to throw up. Instead, a wracked cough escapes your throat. Almost like a dry heave. And with horror, you look at the palm of your hand which is now covered in droplets of red.

It almost doesn’t feel real.

Another pang of shooting pain, and this time your knees buckle from underneath you. You collapse, but Bucky’s there to catch you. He hoists you in his arms, and you see the look of confusion and fearful concern on his face.

“Let go,” you whisper through the excruciating pain, weakly pushing against him. “I don’t want your help, I just… I need to go home. Just let me go, let me go, let me–”

Your stomach twists up as you’re hit with another stabbing pain, red hot waves of it that just won’t stop. Again and again, till you feel faint. And everything starts fading, darkness beckoning you. And it hurts so bad, so, so bad.

“Oh fuck,” Bucky sounds like he’s far away, and yet you can hear the panic in his voice, “Sweetheart? Please… Oh god, oh god…”

And then, mercifully, you pass out and everything goes black.

Well... OMG THERE IT IS. Here we go. I'm not sure what to say. To those who made it till the end - thank you for being patient with me whilst I worked on this. Please do let me know what you think - your feedback, reblogs, comments, asks - they mean the world to me more than you'll ever know. I will say, I've developed this sort of super-anxiety when it comes to posting fics now. I never had it before but now it's crazy haha - I keep second-guessing my work. I know the characters may be a bit different, but the story has an effect on how they act! And I wanted to explore a more yandere-ish Steve, a more outspoken Omega, and a more ... well... whatever Bucky was in this chapter, haha. But enough of me yapping...

I did come up with some questions (but you don't have to answer them ofc, but just in case you do...)

What do you think happened to omega at the end? :((

If you were omega, would you forgive Bucky?

Does Steve truly love Omega like how he says he does?

Who should she end up with?

Anyways. That's it I guess. Please, please let me know what you think. I'm genuinely dying to know! And let me know what you think will happen next ;)) AND THANK YOU AGAIN, I love you guys for sticking with me. I hope you enjoyed this.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Not the Type to Ask 9

Part 1 💍Part 2 💍 Part 3 💍 Part 4 💍Part 5 💍 Part 6 💍 Part 7 💍Part 8

Warning: dub/noncon, entrapment, control.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Mob!Steve x wedding guest reader

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. Please let me know what you enjoyed and what you think could happen next! I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You stare at Steve’s thick knuckles. You examine every inch of his hand as it grips your knee; the veins beneath the skin, the ruby ring on his pinky, and the way his fingers curl every now and then as if making sure you’re still trapped in his grasp. There’s nowhere for you to go; not as he steers with his other hand along the city streets you don’t know.

If you weren’t such a coward, you’d ask where you’re going. Questions don’t get you answers, just a lecture… often more than. You flip open your clutch and pull out your phone. It’s close to noon already.

“What’s going on?” Steve glances at you in the mirror.

“Just… checking the time.” You say.

“Oh? You got somewhere else to be?” He challenges.

You cough and shove your phone away. “No, I was just… curious.” You feel around the silk lining and panic. You squirm and search, finding nothing but your lip gloss and folding mirror. “Oh no…”

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” He runs his hand up your thigh.

“I think maybe I dropped my wallet back at the hotel.” You gulp.

“Nah,” he hums softly. “You’re good, doll. I got you.”

“You…”

“I had to look into a few things. That’s all.” He flicks his finger along your skirt. “I got you all tucked up in my pocket.”

You peek at him. You don’t know if he means your wallet or if it's a metaphor. You feel like you are in his pocket.

“Oh, okay.” You utter softly.

“Figured I’d need your car brought around mine. And I got my guys headed down to your place on Miranda…”

“You know where I live?”

“Lived.” He taps your leg with his palm. “I told you, didn’t I? I’m gonna take care of you. I’m home now, sweetheart.”

Your throat is so tight it hurts. You brush your fingers up and down and chew your lip. You don’t know how to get out of this. He’s just some guy, right? He can’t make you do all this.

“Steve,” You say cautiously. “We just met last night.”

“Love at first sight.” He grins, squeezing your leg. “Isn’t it a dream?”

“Steve,” you repeat, softer. “Please, I don’t think I’m ready–”

“You’re scared.” He interrupts. “You don’t gotta be. You’re thinking too much. I got you, doll. You just need to relax.” His fingers crawl down your skirt. “Alright?”

He edges under the hem and pushes it up little by little. You clamp your legs together as your whole body goes stiff. You catch his wrist with both hands.

“Now, sweetheart, I’m driving.” He pinches you.

“Steve, stop. I can’t. I… we barely know each other. You’re– you’re scaring me.”

He huffs. “You’re scaring yourself. I told ya, don’t overthink it. I mean, we work so good together.” He growls. “I know you felt what I felt last night. I felt it. Around me.” His voice trembles and he sucks in a gritty breath. “The way I didn’t wanna get out of you, the way you didn’t want me to neither.”

“Steve…”

He bends his fingers and digs his nails into your skin. You whimper and twitch. He growls and rips his hand away, leaving scratches across your thigh.

“I know you feel it,” He grips the wheel with both hands and turns suddenly without signalling. “I know, baby. Thing is, you’re too good. You can’t let yourself just feel how you feel. I saw it last night. You were so shy…” He clucks and turns again, steering behind an old industrial building. “You can’t hide from me. No, you stuck right out. The only one I could look at.”

He veers into the lot and twists the wheel, stopping sharply by the back wall of the abandoned warehouse. He inhales so his chest puffs out and cracks his neck. He clicks free his seat belt then leans forward and pulls the lever under his seat, sliding it back to its limit.

“I just gotta remind you,” he unbuckles his belt as his jaw clenches around his words. “You gotta remember.” He reaches into his pants and pulls himself out through his fly. He pumps himself a few times before he’s hard.

“What are you–” You reach blindly for the door but the handle does nothing.

“Get on.” He snarls.

“What?” You squeak.

“Get on me now, sweetheart.” He grits. “Cause you’re getting me all worked up and it’s your job to calm me down.”

“I… I don’t want to, Steve.” You twist around and pull at the door handle, fumbling to find the lock. “I want to go–”

He grabs your arm and wrenches you back. Your elbow hits the shifter and you yipe. You writhe around and clutch at his fingers as you try to get free. “Please, I’m scared of you–”

“You’re scared of yourself. Of how good it feels cause baby I know no one else makes you cum the way I do,” he sneers as he pushes himself out of his seat. He reaches under you and slides your seat back too. 

“Steve!” You exclaim and he clings to your wrist. “Please.”

“Shhhh,” he hushes you as he climbs across, so big that his movement is awkward and stunted. 

He kicks the glove box as he angles over you. You push your knees up against him, fighting to keep him over you. He let go of your wrist and stretches his hand around your jaw. He rests his forehead against yours, his nose aligned to yours.

“Let me in, baby.” He growls. “I don’t wanna hurt you. I haven’t, have I?”

“You are… now—”

“Open up, doll.” He slithers and tilts his head to kiss you. His tongue glides across your lips and you turn your head. He smears a line of saliva across your cheek.

“Steve, please.” you beg and push on his chest.

“You don’t get it, doll,” he drops his hand down and jams his thick fingers between your thighs. “I don’t do one night. You’re mine. For good.” He pushes his fingertips into the inside of your leg until you yelp. “So put me inside you before I do.”

[mickimoo1409]

Insane

Pairing - Insane Asylum Patient Bucky Barnes x Reader x Steve Rogers

Summary - Your new job is going well. Your colleague Steve is sweet, but one of the patients, Bucky, keeps staring at you. You're not sure you want to find out why.

Warnings - DARK - NONCON Sex, Dubcon, Bondage. 18+ Only! My warnings are not extensive so enter at your own risk!

Word Count - 5k

You'd been at your new job for a couple of weeks now and had settled in relatively easily, despite the issues the job brought with it.

You walked through the pristine white halls, heels clicking loudly and the distinct smell of cleaning supplies filled your nose, so strong it blocked out anything else.

The term insane asylum had been boycotted years ago, but that's what it was, home to some of the most criminally insane, long abandoned within these walls. The state says it aims to 'help', yet most of these patients are here for the long haul, lucky if they ever get to see freedom again, although its hard to find sympathy when some of them are guilty of the most obscene crimes.

You entered the rec room where a handful of patients were spread out joining in with activites. The centre only allowed a maximum of 10 patients in a communal space at any one time to reduce "accidents", some patients were never allowed to be in the room together at all.

As always there were 4 guards stationed around the room just in case of incident whilst you and two other colleagues interacted with the patients if they needed you.

You were loitering around, checking on the three patients engaged in a large puzzle together to make sure they were okay when Steve walked in with James Barnes.

James immediately looked your way and you averted your gaze. You didn't know why but he always made you feel nervous. You didn't know whether it was the way he always stared at you or the fact he wouldn't speak a single word to anyone except steve, even then it was usually mutterings or whispers. Or maybe it was the fact that he had been reprimanded for killing over a hundred people, apparently blacking out with each kill.

Steve was by far your favourite colleague, always offering you a hand or advice and generally being a gentleman, not to mention how good looking he was. You wondered why James would speak to him, how long it took Steve to build that rapport with him, despite James unnerving you you still wanted to be able to help him.

He was doing it again, staring at you relentlessly with his brows furrowed and his jaw clenched. When you looked his way and caught his gaze, offering him a small smile, he looked disturbed, turning to Steve and beginning to mutter as Steve placed a calming hand on his shoulder to placate him.

Despite the stares and an elderly patient tossing the puzzle in frustration, it was a fairly calm day and you went home without having to fill in any incident reports, which was always a plus.

A few days later you were supervising lunch time for some patients. James was amongst them, sat on his own at a table with his head down as he ate his food.

Lunchtimes were the most peaceful part of the day and so it was only you and one other colleague, though you had panic buttons available should you need assistance. It had never worried you, as there were only 4 or 5 patients in and out of the lunch hall at once in a steady flow and there hadn't been an incident during this period in over 20 years (or so the director told you when you got the job). So far you had no reason to doubt him.

The next patient filters in as one leaves, Brock Rumlow. You knew this one well, he was an outrageous flirt though you never feared he would ever act on anything, it was his way of coping with his situation you figured.

He collected his lunch on the plastic plates and made his way towards the seating, surprising you by making his way to James' table and sitting across from him. You were immediately on alert, knowing James didn't like being disturbed.

Within seconds it all went to shit. James swiped his own food and Brocks off the table before standing and glaring at him while Brock laughed maniacly.

James lost it, flipping the table over and beginning a rampage through the room, tossing tables and chairs, plates and cups went flying. The other three patients were screaming and Brock was still laughing away.

You had already pressed the panic button on the wall and two guards rushed into the room, making their way straight for James, making him look like a deer caught in headlights.

"Wait!" You yelled suddenly, making the guards and James all stop at once.

"Get the other patients out, I'll deal with James." You said calmly as James' eyes locked with yours, turning dark.

"You sure?" John, one of the guards said in concern, but you nodded quickly, waving your hands at them and watching as they quickly ushered the others out of the room to safety.

James' chest was rising and falling rapidly, nostrils flaring as he watched you.

You placed your hands in front of your chest placatingly before lowering your voice.

"It's okay James, you're okay." You began.

His jaw ticked and you swallowed harshly, trying to ignore the way your heart was beating faster than a hummingbird.

"He's gone james," You continued, "Did he upset you?"

You dared to take a slow step forward, immediately jumping back when James growled audibly, sending a shiver down your spine.

"Okay okay." You said quickly, trying to placate him, "I'll stay back here okay? I just want to make sure you're okay, that's all."

He tilted his head inquisitvely and all of a sudden he marched towards you at speed. You barely had time to react before he had you backed up into the wall, looming over you with a dark expression in his eyes.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." You whispered as you placed your hands flat against the wall by your sides, "I didn't mean to upset you."

James brought both of his hands up and slammed them onto the wall besides your head, caging you under his enormous body and you let out a loud squeak as you attempted to cower away from him, angling your head to the side.

He brought his face down closer to yours, pressing his nose into the crook of your neck and inhaling with a satisfied grunt.

He kept his face buried there as you quivered in fear and pushed his core towards you, alerting you to his obvious arousal as it pushed into your abdomen.

A tear slipped free as the fear overcame you, you realised what a huge mistake you'd made thinking you could get through to him.

"Buck." Came Steve's stern voice suddenly and Bucky's head finally separated from your neck, tilting to the side.

"Step away Bucky, you don't wanna do this." Steve ordered.

Bucky's nostrils flared once more and he let out a rumble from his chest.

"Come on Buck," Steve said, placing a hand on James' shoulder and you watched as his body relaxed in front of you, "It's me, it's Steve, step away buddy."

You let out a shaky breath as James' body heat finally released you and he turned to Steve with his head lowered in submission.

"Come on Buck, let's get you to your room." Steve said softly.

James didn't reply, only stepping forward and beginning to follow Steve away from you, head still lowered like a kicked puppy.

As they reached the door Steve turned to you, offering you a reassuring smile.

"Go wait for me in the break room, I'll be there soon." He offered and you simply nodded in return, taking deep breaths as you tried to settle your heart rate.

Your hands were still trembling around your coffee cup when Steve finally entered the break room and sat down across from you with a sigh, rubbing his palms over his face.

"Is he okay?" You asked quietly.

Steve raised a curious brow at you before settling his hands on the table, curling one around the other.

"Are YOU okay?" He countered.

"Yeah, I mean.. I.. I think so.. Sorry." You muttered.

"You don't need to be sorry." Steve smiled reassuringly, "Bucky can be a lot, I'm sorry he did that."

"It's okay, he was worked up." You said shyly, though part of you wondered if that was all because of Brock or something else.

"I feel like I owe you an explanation." Steve said nervously and you gazed back at him curiously.

"What do you mean?" You asked.

"I'm sure you've noticed that Buck will talk to me," He began as you nodded, "We know each other, knew each other. we grew up together."

"Oh..wow.." You stuttered in surprise.

"Yeah," Steve sighed, "He wasn't always like this. He was an average kid 'til we joined the army. After we served, Bucky just...fuck..he didn't cope well, he was drinking, doing drugs and then he went off the rails. A few years later the police found out he'd been..."

Steve swallowed deeply like he couldn't finish the sentence.

"It's okay." You whispered, reaching across the table to put your hand on his and you saw his shoulders relax.

"I couldn't believe it," He muttered, "I did my best to be there for him through the trial and all the psych evals and such. Is it wrong that I'm glad he wasn't in his right mind when he did it?"

You raised a brow as you pondered the question. You supposed knowing your best friend did these things on purpose was a lot worse than this alternative, so you shook your head.

Steve let out a loud sigh.

"When they sentenced him to serve his time here.. I just couldn't abandon him.." Steve said as a tear slipped down his cheek, "I had to help, so I applied immediately and I've been here the whole time, watching over him."

"You're a good friend Steve." You whispered with a soft smile, as you ran your thumb over his knuckles.

"Thanks." Steve sighed

You pulled your hand back and placed it in your lap when the contact started to tingle in your core.

"Why do you call him Bucky?" You asked.

"Oh," Steve smiled, "He prefers that name. It's his nickname, short for buchanan, his middle name."

"Ahhh makes sense." You smiled.

You both just looked at one another for a moment before Steve began to rub the back of his neck shyly.

"So listen," He began, "I know the timing of this sucks, but I was wondering...well I wanted to know...if maybe...you wanna get dinner with me? Sometime?"

Your smile widened as a blush spread to your cheeks.

"Yeah. I'd like that." You grinned back.

"It's a date." Steve smiled and you felt a flutter in your heart.

The next day work returned to normal, despite the fact that you had a constant blush to your cheeks every time you were in Steve's proximity. He would constantly send you flirty winks or make flirty comments, clearly feeling a little bolder now he knew you were interested, but you didn't mind one bit.

You had a skip in your step that wasn't present before, as heat bloomed under your skin from Steve's attention. A permanent smile had made its way to your face.

You made your way to the rec room, finding it almost empty besides Bucky and two of the others. Bucky was in the corner looking through the bookshelf and with the added confidence in you that day you decided to approach him, you didn't want him to think you were afraid of him after yesterday. Besides there were four guards and two other staff members, so that chance of something happening in that room was unlikely.

"Hey James." You smiled softly as you approached.

His eyes flickered to you, lips pressed in a flat line and he quickly diverted his attention back to the book shelf.

"You looking for anything specific?" You asked, looking to where his fingers were drifting over the spines.

You heard him grunt before stopping and pulling out a copy of The Hobbit. It was weathered with wrinkled pages but then, most books on the shelf were.

"Ahh good choice," you smiled, clasping your hands together behind your back, "That's my favourite."

Bucky's eyes flickered back to yours, seeming to soften and the corner of his lip twitched.

"Me too." He mumbled and you had to fight hard not to jump up and down and scream with joy that he'd spoken to you.

"Well you have good taste." You said instead, keeping your voice soft and steady.

"Mmm." He hummed simply as he crossed the room towards the arm chairs in the corner, slumping down into one.

He looked up at you expectantly before looking at the chair next to him and you swallowed down the pride as you strutted over to sit next to him, smiling when your colleagues began to notice and raise impressed brows in your direction.

"So what's your favourite part?" You asked as you sat.

Bucky flipped the book over in his palms, looking down with furrowed brows, like he was fighting an internal battle as he thought.

"Smaug." He said with a nod.

One word, simple yet you'd learnt more about him in the last five minutes than any one except Steve had in his entire incarceration.

"Hey, you okay?" Came Steve's voice as he joined you in the room, looking concerned when he saw you sat next to Bucky.

"Yeah we're okay." You smiled with a gleam in your eyes. "James and I were just discussing the hobbit."

Steve raised a brow as a smile spread across his lips, looking over at his old friend with pride.

"Bucky." Bucky murmured lowly. "Call me Bucky."

You breath caught in your throat at the offer and you looked up at Steve with a smile, seeing him smile back at you happily.

"Okay. I will. Bucky." You said back.

Bucky hummed once more with a nod before opening the book and settling in to the story.

You were on cloud nine. First Steve asked you on a date, now Bucky was talking to you. The bad parts of the previous day were now completely forgotten.

The next few days were amazing. Work was great. Bucky continued to make progress with you, offering more than just one word answers though still keeping his answers short and clipped. He continued to stare regularly but it wasn't unnerving you as much as it did before.

You and Steve went on your date and it was a dream. He was such a gentleman, picking you up with flowers, holding doors. His hand would stay respectfully on the base of your spine.

At the end of the night you even offered for him to go inside for a coffee, but he politely declined saying he shouldn't but that he'd love to go out again and he gave you a soft kiss on the cheek.

You really did feel like you were walking on cloud nine, everything was perfect.

Everything had been normal at work one day during the next week, there were no incidents, the evening shift was smooth and quiet.

You had assisted making sure everyone got to their rooms to settle for bed and sat yourself in the floors security room with the night guard, Lee, watching the monitors while you had a coffee to keep you going.

There were a couple other guards stationed around the large building and a few colleagues, but in general the night shift was quiet and boring. You knew Steve was working so he was around somewhere. You were sure you'd find him and pass the time talking with him at some point.

Suddenly everything went dark and the guard muttered a low "shit" before fumbling on his belt for a torch while you sat in shock, not knowing what to do.

"What's going on?" You said nervously.

Lee stood and flashed the light at the control panel.

"Powers gone. Gonna have to do a manual reset from the breaker room." He grunted.

"What about the patient doors?" You asked, standing and looking over the control panel with him, though you had no idea what you were looking at.

"Shit." He grunted again. "If the powers out the locks won't engage but they were all asleep, so I wouldn't panic."

Don't panic? The doors to all the patients guilty of severe crimes and with serious mental illnesses weren't locked in, while you had limited staff and guards on duty. But yeah, don't panic.

"You're gonna need to go check the rooms while I reset the breaker." He suggested and your eyes widened in fear.

"Me?" You whispered while your hands shook.

"Yes. You. You don't know how to reset the breaker and I've got no way of calling on anyone else so I need you to check." He began with an annoyed huff, "Just this floor, in the event of a power cut the doors to the stairs manually lock so no one can leave the floor they are on. We're bloody lucky we're on the ground floor, I can get to the breaker through the service tunnels."

"Okay I can do it." You agreed feebly.

"Here," Lee said passing you another torch from a nearby cabinet, "Take this and these cuffs, just in case."

"Cuffs?" You whispered shakily.

"You'll be fine." He continued, "They are sleeping."

You nodded and walked off towards the corridor where the patients from this floor slept, light on your feet as you flicked the light around the hallways, making the place look even more eery than it already did.

When you reached the correct corridor, the row of doors seemed to look over you. Each one presented a danger that you couldn't even comprehend. Sure you were with these people on a daily basis, but now, at night with no support, they presented a real and present threat.

You walked to the first door, carefully shining your flashlight through the small observation window, breathing a sigh of relief when you saw the patient asleep in bed.

The same happened on doors two and three and you finally began to feel more confident as you continued down the hall.

You checked on all five out of six patients before cautiously moving along to Bucky's door, flashing the light through his window.

You swallowed harshly as you observed the bed, noting that he wasn't there and you moved the beam of light slowly around the room until you landed on his figure, stood staring out of his barred window with his back to you.

As the beam of light reached him, his head tilted towards the door and you quickly flicked the switch off and backed away.

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself. This was Bucky, he was coming around to you, he liked you, he wasn't a threat, this would be okay. At least you hoped it would be.

You flashed the light back through the window, jumping back and hitting the far wall as his face appeared in the window.

Your heart was hammering, hands shaking around the torch while he stared out at you.

The door slid open slowly and you had to make a decision. Run or stay put and hope it was still Bucky, that you could placate him.

As the door hit its hilt, you gasped loudly, accidentally dropping the torch from your sweaty hands. Bucky's body filled the door frame easily, the shadows casting over him dangerously.

You didn't move, he didn't move. It felt like time stood still while you decided which move to make.

You inhaled deeply, steeling your shoulders in preparation and placing your hand tightly around the cuffs.

"Bucky..." You stuttered.

All of a sudden he was charging towards you, clamping his hand over your mouth and grabbing the cuffs with the other, easily pulling them from your grasp as you attempted to push at his chest, eyes widening in fear.

The next thing you knew he was pulling you away from the wall and easily dragging you back into his room where he tossed you onto his bed.

You attempted to sit up but were pushed back down immediately by a strong palm.

Bucky grabbed the cuffs, quickly opening one end and attaching it to your wrist before attaching the other end to the cuff loop that the patients had near their beds. Supposed to be for them if needed, now being used to hold you hostage.

You began to scratch at the cuff manically with your free hand as Bucky stepped back from the bed, flaring his nostrils.

"Bucky. Let me go." You whimpered, but he didn't move. He just stood by the side of the bed, breathing heavily as he looked at you.

"Bucky. Please." You pleaded in desperation.

"No." He grunted before he lowered himself to his knees at the side of the single bed.

He looked over your body, licking at his lips with a pant before he reached out and placed his palm over your breast.

You gripped his wrist and attempted to pull his hand away but he slapped you away with his free hand.

"No." He grunted in annoyance.

He began massaging your breast, squeezing the flesh with a tense jaw before moving onto the second and giving it the same treatment.

You could only lay silently in horror as he continued to grope you, wondering how the hell you were going to get out of this.

Bucky pulled both his hands up to your top, gripping it firmly before ripping it straight down the middle. It splayed out either side of you revealing your lacy bra and you heard him growl while tears began slipping from your eyes.

A loud bang on the door had Bucky jumping up and the door swung open.

Steve stepped through, looking around with his torch until he saw you laid on the bed, cuffed to the wall with tear stains on your cheeks.

The door slammed shut behind him and he moved his gaze to Bucky who was standing hanging his head.

"Bucky."Steve said softly. "What are you doing?"

Bucky began to mutter incoherently as Steve carefully crossed the space, leaning over you and brushing your hair from your face.

"Are you okay?" He asked, glancing down at your uncovered breasts and back up at your face.

"I'm okay." You whimpered softly. "He took the key."

"Okay. You're gonna be okay." Steve assured you before returning to Bucky.

He set the torch on the window sill, allowing it to gently bask the room in a little light and approached Bucky, placing his hand on his shoulder.

"Buck. Explain yourself." Steve said more sternly as you watched on from where you lay.

"I want her." Bucky whispered, but the admission seemed to echo in the space.

"Buck. You can't take her buddy. You know this." Steve scolded.

"Please stevie." Bucky whimpered, placing his hands in front of his body and rubbing them together nervously.

"Buck." Steve sighed.

Bucky finally raised his head, making eye contact with Steve.

"Please stevie. Let me have her. I need her." He began pleading, "I love her Stevie."

Steve glanced over at you with a strange look on his face before looking back at his friend.

"Buck. You can't do this." Steve scolded once more. "I won't let you hurt her."

Your heart rate was sky rocketing as you glanced between the two men, praying that Steve could talk sense into him.

"I won't hurt her Stevie." Bucky pleaded. "I promise I won't. I just wanna love on her. Please."

"Fuck Bucky." Steve sighed shaking his head. "What am I gonna do with you?"

"Please." Bucky whined once more and Steve looked at you, exhaling heavily through his nose.

"Steve." You whimpered as you tugged on the cuff.

Steve looked back at Bucky with a soft adoration. He patted his shoulder and released him, stepping back.

"Okay Bucky." He relented, "But don't hurt her okay?"

Bucky nodded as you began to panic. Steve stepped to the corner of the room sitting down in Bucky's armchair as Bucky moved back towards you.

"Steve." You yelled as more tears trickled over your skin, "Please. You can't let him."

"I'm sorry sweetheart. He needs this." Steve sighed.

"What the fuck Steve." You spat, glancing at Bucky with a shiver as he began taking off his clothes.

"I told you. We have history." Steve said calmly.

"I can't...I don't...you can't do this..." You cried.

"I'll do whatever he needs." Steve replied. "I always have. When he'd come to me after another episode, if he needed help getting rid of another body, I've always done what I needed to do to look after him and I always will. He's my best friend."

You began to sob harshly as the reality of your situation sank in.

Bucky stepped in front of you and you had to hold back a gasp at the size of his cock as it bobbed prone in front of you.

You tilted your head to the side and looked away as Bucky stepped around you and began to tug down your trousers and panties in one swoop.

"Please don't do this." You whimpered once more, though you knew it was useless.

"Spread her legs Buck. Let me see." Steve said suddenly and you looked back to glare at him, only to find him with his trousers down and his own cock in hand as he watched.

"Sure Stevie." Bucky said softly, grabbing your thighs in his strong palms and pushing them apart with a low groan.

"Fuck." Steve moaned as he stroked himself.

"Can I fuck her now Stevie?" Bucky whispered, staring between your legs and poking his tongue out to wet his lips. "Please?"

"Go for it Buck." Steve agreed, "Make it count."

He quickly shifted over the top of you, staring down at you with his mouth agape as you shook. You knew there was no point in fighting him, he was strong, too strong and dangerous. 

Bucky nudged his cock at your entrance with a loud groan as the head slipped between your lips.

You did your best to suppress the spark it sent to your groin, refusing to admit your body found the action pleasurable, but it didn't last long as your body began to dampen the more he pushed at your clit. 

Bucky pushed the head past your entrance, letting out an animalistic growl as he did, bracing himself on his arms at either side of your head.

"She's getting wet Stevie." He moaned loudly while you whimpered.

"Course she is Buck, you're a good boy, you'll fuck her good.' Steve grunted from the other side of the room.

"I'm a good boy." Bucky repeated in a whisper before thrusting harshly through your walls and burying himself to the hilt, causing you to let out a loud gasp at the obscene stretch. 

He dropped his weight on top of you, burying his face in your neck as he began to fuck his cock into you with no remorse, hitting your cervix with each thrust. 

You couldn't hold the moans in any longer as you felt the signs of an orgasm building at speed. His cock dragged along your special spot with each pull of his hips before hitting deep inside your cunt with each push.

"That's it Buck," Steve rasped, "She likes it, keep goin'."

"Feels so good Stevie." Bucky groaned into your skin, hips slamming against your pelvis.

Your free hand fisted at the bed sheets harshly, bunching them up as you got closer and closer to the edge.

"Gonna cum Stevie," Bucky whined, "Need to cum."

"No." Steve grunted, "Ladies first Buck, you know that."

Bucky responded to this with a low groan before assaulting your cunt with even faster, harder thrusts, plummeting you towards bliss.

You fell over the edge, letting out a loud moan as your pussy clenched around Bucky's cock, gripping him tightly.

"Fuck, go on Buck," Steve moaned, "Fill 'er up."

Bucky groaned against your neck, pushing his cock as deep as it could go. You felt his release, warm and wet flooding your pussy as Bucky stilled and your mind began to clear in the post orgasmic haze.

"Fuck, fuck." Steve muttered from the chair and you looked up just in time to see him spilling over his hand.

Bucky slipped out of you and carefully pulled your pants back up while you breathed heavily, trying to recover.

Steve tucked himself away and stepped towards you cautiously.

"Key Buck." He ordered, holding his palm out as Bucky collected the cuff key and passed it to him.

Steve hovered over you, holding the key by the cuff lock.

"Now I think this goes without saying," He said sternly, 'But this stays in this room, you tell no one."

You nodded furiously, pressing your lips together.

"I mean it sweetheart." Steve said sternly, "I won't hesitate to protect Bucky if I need too, you say nothing."

"Okay." You whispered.

He sighed before slipping the key in the lock and freeing you finally. You gripped your wrist as you sat up, rubbing it gently.

"Here." Bucky said, head now back to hanging low as he held out his t shirt for you.

You quickly slipped it on, removing your damaged shirt and then followed Steve out of the room, clutching your arms around yourself protectively as Steve shut the door behind him.

Just then, as though you were living in some kind of written fiction, the power came back on, mocking you.

Steve looked up at the lights with a smirk.

"Well then sweetheart," He said as you both began walking towards the security office, "What do you wanna do for our date this week?"

The End

SS Tag - @late-to-the-party-81 @the-wandering-wonder

[charliesinbox]

dirtbag older brother!bucky ft. dirtbag!steve - caught on camera cw: incest, noncon + dubcon sex tape, spitroasting, blackmail, degradation

bucky's getting much too used to having you on your knees in front of him, keeping his cock warm in your warm mouth. then, the first time he sank his cock into your aching, leaking pussy, he thinks he's finally reached nirvana.

good things like this are meant to last — especially if it means he gets to have you, his darling little sister, over and over again. that is, as long as nobody finds out.

you're still the same as always. you avoid bucky like the plague in public, you pretend like he doesn't exist. you go through the motions of the day in your heels and pretty pink skirts. you talk smack about dirtbags like bucky and his friends to your friends.

none of them have to know that you're crying on your brother's cock nearly every night when you tell them you're off to study at the library.

it's one of those nights bucky's taking you from behind — he's rough, he's hungry, he's stupidly high. you should've known better than to respond to his text, to come running when he beckons you. however, bucky's too hard to resist especially when he sends you a picture of his hard cock with a promise to stretch out your tight pussy until you can't walk straight.

"fuck, you feel so good wrapped around my fat cock, little sis. princess like you on all fours like a bitch in heat. your brother's cock filling you up. you're such a fucking slut."

"s-stop being mean, buck," you slur, but the words hold no weight. you're too busy relishing in the heat that twists inside your guts. arousal that leaks between your legs as bucky slides in all too easily.

"you're getting too loose. maybe we're fucking too much," bucky grunts with a click of his tongue.

your heart falls. for some reason, the idea of remotely disappointing your brother now has your heart hammering in your chest. you don't care what he thinks in all other aspects of your life — but he's always called your pussy perfect. he has always loved the tightness of your cunt, appreciated how he has molded it to the shape of him.

you bite down your protest, saying that you don't think he even fucks you enough. after the first time, you keep coming back to him to get your fill. you've tried this with other boys but all of them leave you drier than the sahara.

only your loser big brother gets you this wet. something about someone as perfect as you, someone so untouchable and pristine, being defiled by a pothead, bottom-of-the-ladder man like your brother has you squeezing your legs.

there’s also the fact that he’s your brother.

"squeeze your pussy. come on. tighten it up. i want to feel you squeeze me."

and you do, core clenching tight to make sure you're wrapped around bucky in a vice grip.

"atta girl. that's my good little sister. tell me you like your big brother fucking you."

"n-no, that's embarrassing," you whine as bucky slams back into you, the plap plap plap of his skin against yours bouncing off the four walls.

you don't even know if his roommates are home. bucky's gotten a lot more careless lately — kissing your cunt in the kitchen, bending you over the living room couch, and sometimes even making you ride his cock while he's on his drum set.

unfortunately, you also can't bring yourself to care. not when bucky fills you up so good. not when the words that leave his mouth has hellfire burning bright in your guts.

"come on," bucky coaxes smugly, "tell me or i won't let you cum."

"bucky," you argue again.

he growls, hand wrapping around your hair as he yanks it back. "come on. say it."

"i-i like my big brother fucking me."

a groan leaves his chest. "tell me you like my big brother cock. fucking incest slut. tell me you want my cum."

your brain resists the request but your pussy is leading your decision-making at this point, and you know bucky won't give you what you want unless you do what he says.

"i like your big brother c-cock. i want your cum. please, buck. please."

"gonna breed you, little sis. gonna fill you up with so much cum i knock you up. what's mommy and daddy gonna say when they see their perfect little girl all knocked up? let alone by her brother."

your vision goes spotty afterwards. bucky rails into you harder and faster, so much so that you come undone with stars before your eyes. you try to muffle your moans into his sheets but bucky's groan ricochets off the walls.

"a-are your roommates home?" you ask afterwards, chest heaving with every breath.

bucky toys with your nipples lazily, twirling his finger in your hair. "dunno. don't care."

"buck," you warn with a frown, "you can't let them find out."

bucky merely waves you off then. little does he know, the two of you have had a fly on the wall — one with his hand down his pants and the other on his phone capturing the two of you.

this reality sinks in when steve confronts bucky.

"come on, buck. you've been distracted. you haven't hooked up with any groupies recently. who is it?"

"shut up, steve. i don't know what you're talking about," bucky grumbles as he jots down more lyrics for a potential song.

he's been more inspired lately. fucking you has done wonders for his music. he feels his pants tighten again at the thought of you, he wonders what you're doing now. if you're touching yourself to the memory of the two of you.

i like your big brother cock.

christ, bucky's trained you well.

"what about your sister then?"

bucky freezes. "what about her?"

"she's hot."

"she's a fucking princess," bucky hisses.

steve smirks, "think she'll agree to me asking her out?"

"you're not taking her out."

"why not?"

"because she's my sister," bucky snaps right back.

"didn't stop you from fucking her."

bucky's blood runs cold, blue eyes blowing up the size of saucers at steve's accusation. his lips tremble slightly. it's one thing for steve to know he's been fucking someone in secret, it's another thing for him to know that he's been fucking his sister.

"what the fuck are you on about?"

steve slides his phone out of his pocket, pulls out the little sex tape he has saved in his phone. bucky doesn't need to know how many times steve has jacked off to this video, how many times he's dribbled cum splatters on it.

the lump in bucky's throat only grows. "why the hell do you have that?"

"why the hell are you fucking your sister?"

"that's none of your business."

"kinda wanna make it my business."

bucky's jaw clenches. "what's that supposed to mean?"

"means i want in. let me get a taste of her pussy and i won't tell anyone."

"some fucking friend you are."

steve laughs, "a good friend would share good pussy. clearly she's got great pussy if you haven't fucked anyone but her in months."

he's not wrong. you've got grade-a, prime pussy. a reformed virgin. bucky can't get enough of it. he can imagine steve will be the same.

now he just has to figure out how to convince you to let steve in.

you're already so paranoid, so careful. you only come in in the dead of night or ass crack of dawn to make sure nobody sees. sometimes bucky can't help himself and he indulges in you when the sun is out and people are wandering around the house.

this time, he has you planted on his cock while you're working on your homework. he can tell you're partially distracted, you're squirming incessantly, trying to get more friction from his cock buried deep inside your pussy.

"hey, sis," bucky starts, brushing your hair off to the side.

you don't turn, instead your pen keeps moving across your page. "hm?"

"what do you think of stevie?"

your pen stops. you turn around to raise a brow at him. "your friend steve?" he nods. "he's fine, i guess," you frown, "don't really think about him. why?"

"kinda want him to join us."

bucky predicts your reaction before you slowly unravel. the widening of your eyes, the icing over of your gaze, your entire body going taut. "no, absolutely not." bucky opens his mouth but you beat him to it, "don't even think about asking me why because that's a stupid question. what we're doing—" you pause, swallowing, "—it's wrong. can't have anyone else finding out."

"not wrong if it feels so right," bucky smirks, hand reaching up to cup your jaw and draw you to him.

the kiss is hot and messy, he draws out whimpers from your throat as you grind yourself down on his cock.

"he has a video of us."

you go completely stock still. "what?" you whisper.

"he filmed us fucking once. now he wants a taste of you."

"bucky! i fucking told you we should be more careful. we shouldn't—"

"it's done," bucky cuts you off sternly, "now, i'd rather just give him what he wants instead of him leaking that i've been cumming inside my dear little sister. you don't want that either, do you?"

your reputation would never survive it. perfect golden girl getting railed by her own brother? taking her brother's seed? it would be the school's biggest scandal.

"what do you wanna do with him? suck his cock? want him to eat you out? because i'm not letting him stick his filthy dick in your pussy. that's mine."

your chest stirs with an odd warmth. the snark of possessiveness in bucky's voice has you biting your lip, pussy clenching around him.

before you can answer, the door slams open to reveal steve. you're immediately scrambling to tug your skirt lower to hide bucky's cock buried inside you.

"jesus, stevie, i told you to wait," bucky snaps.

steve clicks the door closed behind him. "getting impatient. couldn't stop thinking about what the two of you were doing in here." his gaze drops to where you're planted on bucky's lap. "you really are the perfect slut for your brother."

heat floods your cheeks at his words and you try to extract yourself from bucky but your brother is faster, arm fastening around your waist to keep you there.

"i don't want to do this, please," you plead to steve.

"you're okay taking your brother's cock but you won't even look at mine?" steve snorts, "come on, princess. i want to see those tits. maybe use them to jerk off a little. i can't get the idea out of my head since i saw them bouncing when bucky fucked you."

you turn to bucky for help but he only shrugs. "better your tits than your pussy."

steve's tongue darts out to wet his lips. "i can't wait to feel that pussy around my cock too."

"no," bucky interrupts with a glare, "you can do whatever you want but you're not fucking her. that pussy's mine."

"damn, you were never this protective of your other cunts, buck. this one must be special."

he doesn't answer, which speaks volumes already. instead, he redirects his attention to you. his lips on your neck. "tell me, baby, where do you want him?"

"i-i don't know." your eyes dart between the two of them — bucky who's looking at you with a firm gaze and steve who hasn't stopped palming his cock through his pants since he came in.

and that looks like a massive cock.

"you fuck her then. i'll take her mouth. i'll stretch out that pretty throat around my cock," steve grins.

bucky keeps his gaze fixated on you. "you okay with that, baby?"

do you really have a choice? your teeth catch your bottom lip as you nod slowly. bucky kisses your forehead once more before he's lifting you up by your legs, drawing a squeal out of you as he keeps you impaled on his thick cock.

he carries you over to the bed and positions the two of you on it. you on your hands and knees and bucky right behind you, pushing his cock back in with a groan. "alright, steve. you've got her mouth."

steve looks too pleased for a man who's blackmailing his best friend and his sister. however, bucky is pleasantly surprised to find your cunt squeezing tighter around him in anticipation.

he grabs a fistful of your hair and jerks your head back before steve could hold you. "are you getting turned on right now? are you really fucking choking my cock at the thought of getting spitroasted by two losers like us?"

a whimper is all you manage.

"fuck, you're such a slut, sis. no wonder stevie knew you'd want this. he didn't even need to threaten me, did he? all he needed to do was show you a peek at his cock and you'd be drooling all over that."

on cue, steve tugs out his cock as his sweats get shoved to his knees. it's long, longer than bucky's. he's got blonde curls at the base, the tip glaring red as it leaks a pearl of precum. light blue veins run along the length of it like rivers on a map. it's beautiful.

his hand reaches down and cups your jaw, fingers digging in until your lips part. your jaw aches with his grip but your whine only eggs him on, his thumb sliding into your mouth to press down on your tongue.

"fuck, buck, she really is drooling." saliva pools on your tongue as he keeps your mouth open and he pushes it around with his finger. "such a wet mouthpussy, you've got, sweetheart."

while bucky keeps your pussy plugged with his cock, steve slowly pushes the tip of his cock into your mouth. you groan as he enters you, precum salty on the scrape of your tongue.

he's less thick than bucky but your lips can still barely wrap around him. not to mention his length. he touches the back of your throat easily and he isn't even all the way in.

"gonna stretch out this throat, sweetheart. i'm gonna make sure you're going to be able to swallow all of me by the end of tonight."

bucky snorts, "stevie comes a lot, baby. you better be ready."

"and i want you to swallow every last drop. do you understand?"

tears prick your eyes as steve nudges his cock a little deeper. you nod.

"good girl. fuck. this mouth of yours is still so hot and tight. feels like a pussy of its own. i can't believe bucky's kept you all too himself. that's right, sweetheart. hollow out your cheeks. suck on my cock."

bucky continues a steady pace from behind, hips stuttering every time he buries himself to the hilt. he can't seem to ever get tired of you. this pussy's clenching around him so tight. something about having steve here has you more desperate, your ass bumping back in search of him. your pussy's leaking all over his cock, juices soaking his length like he's never seen before.

"you're such a pretty little slut, sis. if only the entire campus could see you spread your legs and mouth open for two dirtbags like us. soiling your expensive skirts with our cum."

your needy sound is muffled around steve's cock, he nudges another centimeter deeper. steve groans as he threads his fingers through your hair, tightening his fist.

"can't believe this is real. i can't believe this pretty princess is sucking my cock while her brother's taking up her cunt. you're a filthy brother fucker, sweetheart. if only everyone could see you now," steve moans as he begins to move your head back and forth on his cock.

his cock slides along your tongue, tip kissing the top of your mouth and drags to the back of your throat. then he slides it out and repeats it again and again.

bucky feels irritation prickle his skin. he can sense that you're more focused on steve, the way you're suckling on his cock, how you're slobbering and gargling around his length. you're cockdrunk on his best friend.

he doesn't like that.

so he grips your hips harder as he rocks into you faster, deeper. his cock hits the deepest parts of you. "baby, i'm getting a little hurt here. i thought my cock's your favorite."

steve chuckles and bucky dismisses him with a withering glare. "go on, answer your big brother." steve yanks your mouth off his cock with a pop, a string of saliva keeping you connected to him. "wish you could see her, buck. mouth of a whore. my cock's wet as fuck."

"take a picture for me," bucky grunts.

"what— no!" you yelp then squeal when buck thrusts particularly hard into you. "no, please. i don't want another pic—"

your voice is buried again when steve pushes you back onto his cock. steve watches as you mouth hungrily at his cock again, licking up the sides and around. bucky watches as steve pulls out his phone, he can see his thumb move to press the record button and steve groan as he pushes his cock into your desperate mouth again.

"don't worry, buck. i'll share this with you later. video of your princess sister sucking my cock."

you try to whine, you try to pull off him but bucky drives forward to send you gagging around steve's cock. he opens up his own phone and keeps one hand on your back as he fucks into your tight pussy. the camera captures everything — how your folds stretch around him, tight channel sucking in his cock greedily, how it tightens and clenches around his girth.

"you're gorgeous, sis. i could stare at how your cunt swallows me up for hours. i'm the only one who's been in this beautiful pussy. i'm the only one that gets to cum in it. isn't that right?"

when you can only give a stifled whine, bucky jerks his hips harder.

"isn't that right?" he grits out.

"she can't talk with a mouthful, buck," steve laughs, which stutters off into a moan when he fucks deeper into your throat. "we'll trade videos later. you can watch me fuck your sister's tight little mouthpussy. i can watch you defile your pretty sister's cunt. make sure to record every drop of your cum filling her up. i want to see that creampie in her used pussy."

your pussy squeezes around him again, pulsing twice. bucky grins, "oh that got you going, didn't it? she's gonna cum, stevie. i can feel this pussy tightening up."

"you've got the perfect slut for you, buck. your own sister, shit, you really trained her to be such a good cock sucker," steve grunts as he pumps faster and harder into your mouth.

bucky can hear you gagging, crying around steve's cock. the muffled whines. the squelching of his cock inside your pussy. he feels your vice grip around him, getting tighter and tighter.

"shit, 'm gonna cum, baby. gonna cum inside you," bucky stammers as he pounds into you, casting his phone aside so he can dig his fingers into your hips.

"that's right, cum in your little sister's cunt. let her milk your cock, buck." steve groans as he also sets aside his phone to grab hold of your face as he begins to fuck your mouth in earnest. "i'm gonna cream all over this pretty mouth. i want to see it on your tongue, sweetheart. i want to see both of your holes filled. maybe next time, we'll get sam in on this and fill all three."

bucky growls, snapping his lethal look at his best friend. "don't even fucking think about it."

"guess your big brother's possessive about your ass too," steve grins before his lips part in a guttural groan. "okay, sweetheart, gonna cum in your mouth. don't s-swallow yet, okay. i wanna see it in there."

bucky thrusts repeatedly until he's painting your insides a bright shade of white, a lewd sound pouring from his throat. he feels you spasm around him as you reach your own orgasm, but he can't hear your needy whines with steve still stuffing your mouth with his own cum.

a few last spurts fill your cunt before bucky pulls out and watches it dribble down your pretty legs. he flattens his palm on your ass, thumb opening up your pussy to let it leak out more. he uses two fingers to fuck it back inside you.

at the same time, steve is pulling out of your mouth, fingers in your cheeks to pry your mouth open. "lemme see it, sweetheart."

you let your jaw hang open, tongue curling to keep all of his cum on your tongue.

steve curses. "shit, buck, you should look at this. so fucking pretty with all my cum in her mouth." a smile stretches across his lips.

"if i see a fucking drop of it by the time i get there, i'm cutting off your balls, rogers."

"alright, swallow now. think i'd like to keep my dick," he smiles down at you.

dazed and cockdrunk, you can only do as you're told. your head is a jumbled mess. a puddle. by the time you manage to pull your eyes up, bucky and steve are staring down at you.

"good job, baby," bucky hums. "will you say thank you to stevie too?"

"t-thank you," you gurgle.

"now, shall we watch your new feature?"

requested by anon: can u do a spin off of dirtbag brother!Bucky, Steve finds out about him and reader and takes a photo of them fucking without them knowing. He shows Bucky and threatens to tell everyone on campus if he doesn’t let him join in 👀

a/n: thoroughly enjoyed writing this one even if it did take me a while. i hope that you like it too! if you enjoyed this, please like/reblog/comment. kisses! — divider by @/strangergraphics

[biglychee]

Last Night of Freedom

$ log - during his bachelor's party, cpt rogers is pushed to his limits by manipulative teasing of his two best friends. he always knew you liked to dance, and that sgt. barnes loves to rough-house with him — so he can't really blame you two for planning this special night. $ warn --nsfw --dubcon(heavy) --dom!afab!reader --dom!top!bucky --sub!bot!steve --1940s-brooklyn --flappers --lap-dance --intox(alc, cigs) --cheating(implied) --groping --positions(cowgirl) --p-in-v --orgasm-control(overstim) --frotting --praise --degradation --humiliation --exhibitionism(light) --handjob --grinding --dry-humping --mocking --corruption --loss-of-innocence --possessive-bsfs $ wc -w 5.3k $ from 1940s!marvel

The Gilded Lily was a far cry from the clean, crisp air of the barracks, but Bucky had insisted. He’d spent a week’s worth of pay just to secure this little corner of sin for Steve’s final night of freedom.

Steve sat on the edge of the velvet sofa, looking entirely out of place in his best Sunday shirt, his shoulders hunched as if trying to make himself smaller.

"Buck, really," He muttered, his eyes darting toward the door as a group of loud flappers laughed in the main hall. "A place like this? Peggy’s gonna think I’ve gone soft in the head.”

"Soft? Please," Bucky chuckled, leaning back in his chair with a lazy, predatory grin.

He swirled the amber liquid in his glass, the ice clinking like a countdown. "You’re getting married, Steve. A man’s gotta celebrate the end of an era before he settles down into being a saint."

"It’s just — a bit much, isn't it?" Steve gestured vaguely to the dim, smoky atmosphere. He looked like he wanted to bolt, but the heavy, sweet scent of the whiskey Bucky had poured for him was already starting to settle in his chest.

"Nonsense," you chimed in, leaning against the doorframe of the private booth, watching him with a sly, hungry glint in your eyes.

You let your gaze linger on the way his collar strained against his neck. "You deserve a little indulgence, Stevie. One last night where you don't have to be the hero or the perfect gentleman. Just let us take care of you for once."

Steve let out a huff of a laugh, though his cheeks were already tinged with a faint, bashful pink. He reached for the glass Bucky had set in front of him. "I suppose. But don't tell Peggy about the venue, alright? She thinks I spent the evening at the library."

"Your secret's safe with us," Bucky promised, his voice dropping an octave as he caught your eye, a silent, knowing smirk passing between you. 

Steve took a long, heavy swallow of the whiskey. He didn’t feel the warmth of the bourbon hit his stomach, a heavy, spreading heat that seemed to loosen the tight knot of nerves in his chest. He leaned back into the velvet, his eyes growing a little hazy as the room began to tilt just a fraction.

"There he is," Bucky murmured, watching the way Steve's eyelids fluttered. "The man of the hour."

You stepped away from the door, the silk of your skirt rustling softly against your thighs as you moved toward him.

You could see the way his gaze followed you, wide and uncertain — caught between the urge to look away and the magnetic pull of the mischief dancing in your eyes.

"Drink up, Stevie," you teased, leaning down so your breath brushed against his ear. "We've got a long night ahead of us, and you're going to need all the courage you can muster."

Steve let out a shaky breath, his hand trembling slightly as he reached for the next glass. "I think I might need a second one," he admitted, his voice sounding thicker, more unmoored than it had moments ago.

Bucky didn't miss a beat, leaning forward to refill the glass, his eyes never leaving Steve's face. "That's the spirit. Don't hold back now. You've spent your whole life holding back, Steve. Tonight, you just let go."

The whiskey in Steve’s glass wasn't just bourbon; it was a heavy, amber colored trap.

He’d asked Howard for a little something to ensure he could hold his liquor at the wedding, a way to keep up with the toasts and the celebrations without losing his dignity. He didn't realise that Howard’s "medicine" was a potent, euphoric cocktail designed to melt the very foundations of a man's willpower. 

As the liquid slid down his throat, it settled into his bones like a thick, golden fog, blurring the sharp edges of the very foundations of his willpower.

You stepped into the center of the small, dimly lit space, the fringe of your flapper dress shimmying with every deliberate step. The silk was thin, barely a suggestion of a garment, and as you moved, the light caught the curves of your hips and the smooth expanse of your legs.

You prowled, your eyes locked onto Steve’s with a heavy, unblinking intensity that demanded he look.

Steve’s breath hitched. He tried to fix his gaze on the glass in his hand, but his eyes kept sliding back to you, drawn like a moth to a flame. "You — you look different in this light," he stammered, his voice thick and unmoored.

"Do I?" you purred, stepping closer until the hem of your skirt brushed against his knees.

You didn't wait for an answer. You sank onto his lap, the thin silk of your dress sliding over his heavy thighs. Steve let out a choked sound, half gasp and half groan, his large hands hovering uncertainly in the air as if he were afraid that touching you would break the spell or worse, confirm it was real.

"Darlin', what are you — " he started, his blue eyes wide and swimming with a mix of bashful panic and a hunger he couldn't quite suppress.

"Relax, Steve," Bucky’s voice cut through the haze, smooth as velvet and twice as dangerous. He was lounging on the opposite sofa, a smirk playing on his lips as he watched the way Steve’s chest heaved.

He took a slow sip of his own drink, his eyes dark with amusement. "You always knew she liked to dance. Don't go getting all stiff on us now. It's your night, isn't it? Just enjoy it."

"But Bucky, she's —" Steve trailed off, his hands finally descending to rest tentatively on your waist.

The contact was electric; even through the thin silk of your dress, the heat of his palms felt like branding irons against your skin. He was trembling, the super soldier strength in his fingers fighting against the overwhelming urge to pull you closer.

"She's what, Steve?" you whispered, leaning in until your lips were a mere breath away from his.

"She's just being friendly, Steve. Don't make it weird," Bucky added, though the predatory glint in his eyes told a completely different story.

He leaned forward, his gaze dropping to where your hips were grinding slowly, rhythmically against Steve's lap. "Besides, you've spent enough years being the soldier. Let someone else take the lead for once."

Steve let out a ragged, broken sound, his head falling back against the velvet cushion as you began to move in earnest. 

You leaned back, arching your spine so the light caught the sweat glistening on your collarbone, and began to move with a slow, punishing rhythm. You ground your hips in heavy, circular motions against his groin, the friction of your silk fringe teasing the sensitive skin of his thighs through his trousers.

You reached up, your fingers tangling in his hair to pull his head back, forcing him to watch as you swayed, your breasts brushing against his chest with every deliberate tilt of your torso.

Steve’s hands, once tentative, were now clenching the fabric of your dress, his knuckles white as he fought the urge to rip the silk away.

He was caught in a fever dream of scent and sensation — the smell of your perfume, the heat of your skin, and the low, rhythmic thrum of the jazz that seemed to pulse in time with his own racing heart.

Every time you pressed down, harder and more insistent, a low, guttural groan escaped his throat, a sound that was stripped of all his usual polite composure.

He was drowning in the sensation, his senses overwhelmed by the friction of your body against his and the heavy, intoxicating fog of the whiskey that made every touch feel like a lightning strike. 

You leaned in, your lips brushing against his muddled, trembling ones in a kiss that was more of a claim than a greeting.

You began to grind your hips into him with a slow, punishing pressure, the flimsy silk of your outfit offering almost zero protection between your groin and his growing ache.

Steve let out a broken, high pitched whine, his eyes fluttering as he tried to find some shred of his old self. "Doll, wait — Peggy — we shouldn't — "

Before the protest could even leave his throat, Bucky was there.

He leaned in from the side, his hand sliding firmly under Steve’s jaw to tilt his head back, forcing him to meet a gaze that was dark and entirely devoid of mercy.

The kiss was a mean bruise, with a hard, possessive pressure that stole the very air from his lungs.

As Steve gasped, Bucky’s other hand slid down to grope Steve’s chest, his fingers digging into the muscle through the thin fabric of his shirt, anchoring him in place.

"Shh," Bucky murmured against his lips, his voice a low, commanding vibration that brooked no argument. "Stop thinking, Steve. Where's that good man now? The one who always does what he's told? This is the last time, pal. The last time the three of us are like this before you're a married man. Don't ruin it by being a saint."

Steve’s head lolled back, his eyes rolling as you pressed even harder against him, your hips rolling in a way that made his entire body jerk. He was caught in a movement of sensation, your soft, insistent heat below and Bucky’s rough, demanding hands.

Every time he tried to pull back, to find some semblance of the righteous soldier, Bucky’s fingers would tighten on his chest or his mouth would descend again, effectively drowning out his conscience with pure, unadulterated sensation.

You could feel the tension in his thighs, the way his muscles coiled and strained under your weight as he finally stopped fighting and started responding, his hands moving from hesitant touches to desperate, bruising grips on your hips.

The "good man" was drowning, and as you leaned down to bite softly at his earlobe, you knew he was finally ready to let himself sink.

The friction was absolute, a searing, rhythmic heat that made your vision swim. That super soldier body of his was fucking delicious all hard, unyielding muscle and radiating warmth.

The sheer, heavy weight of his cock filling you up was enough to make your toes curl into the velvet. But it wasn't just the physical fullness that had your pussy pulsing with every downward thrust; it was the sound. 

Steve was a mess of broken, high pitched whimpers, his head tossing back and forth as you rode him with a predatory, relentless pace. He looked so goddamn helpless, like a poor, lost puppy caught in a storm of pleasure he wasn't prepared for.

"There you go, Stevie," you cooed, your voice dripping with a condescending sweetness as you leaned down to brush your hair against his sweaty skin. "Such a good boy for us, aren't you?" 

He tried to find a moment of stability, his gaze flickering desperately to the side, searching for any kind of anchor in the madness. He found Bucky, but there was no salvation there.

Bucky was leaning over him, his expression a mix of predatory amusement and rough, boyish derision. He reached out, roughly ruffling Steve’s hair before his hand slid down to squeeze the back of his neck, pinning him into the cushions.

"Look at you," Bucky chuckled, the sound low and mocking as he watched Steve’s hips jerk under your weight. "The great Captain America, reduced to a whimpering little mess just because a lady’s sitting on ‘im. You're pathetic, Steve.”

Steve’s eyes were glazed, unfocused, as he struggled to keep his head straight. 

"You're just a big, soft target for her, aren't you?" Bucky continued, his voice a rough, teasing growl that cut through Steve's haze.

He reached out and gave Steve’s cheek a playful, stinging slap, the kind of boyish roughhousing they’d done since they were kids in Brooklyn, but now it felt heavy with a new intent. "Look at him, darlin’. He’s practically begging for it. The big hero, shaking like a leaf because he can't handle a little bit of fun."

Steve let out a choked, humiliated sound, half sob and half moan, as he tried to hide his face in the crook of your neck. He was caught between the two of you, the shame of Bucky's mockery clashing violently with the overwhelming, primal need to just sink into you.

You felt the moment his control snapped. You tightened your internal muscles, a slow, rhythmic clenching of your walls that gripped his thick cock with punishing precision.

Steve’s eyes rolled back into his head, his breath hitching in a way that sounded almost like a sob. He was so close, his entire body vibrating with the effort of not just exploding inside you.

You leaned forward, your damp skin pressing against his, and whispered directly into his ear, your voice a sharp, teasing blade. "You going to orgasm early, Stevie? What an eager puppy. How are you going to please Peggy if you can't even keep it together now? You gotta make a dame orgasm first, remember?"

The words hit him like a physical blow.

He let out a long, broken whine, his head nodding frantically against the cushion as if your command was a holy scripture he had to obey. He was desperate to be the man you wanted him to be, even if it was the man you demanded.

His large, trembling hands finally found their way to your clit, his touch clumsy and uncoordinated as he struggled to find the rhythm you needed. You took pity on your poor best buddy; he was trying his goddamn best, and he was getting there, his movements growing more insistent even as he fought his own instincts.

"Look at him fumbling," Bucky’s voice cut through the heat, dripping with a cruel, playful mockery.

He reached out, his hand sliding from Steve’s neck to roughly shove his shoulder, making Steve stagger slightly against you. "Can't even find her clit without looking like he's trying to defuse a bomb. You're a real natural, Steve. A real smooth operator."

Bucky leaned closer, his eyes dancing with a predatory glint, his gaze dropping to where Steve’s clumsy fingers were working against you. 

He reached out, his hand catching Steve’s wrist to guide it, his touch both a help and a humiliation. "Come on, Stevie, don't be shy. Show her you can actually handle it, or are you gonna cry for us to finish it for you?"

As Bucky’s hand guided Steve’s wrist, forcing his clumsy fingers to find the mark, you felt the sudden, frantic shift in his rhythm. The clumsiness vanished, replaced by a desperate, uncoordinated strength as he finally found the center of your pleasure.

He was working with the frantic energy of a man trying to survive a shipwreck, his large thumb pressing hard against your clit in a way that sent jolts of white hot electricity straight to your brain. 

"There he is," Bucky purred, his voice a low, dark vibration as he watched the transformation. He leaned in even closer, his breath hot against Steve's ear, his hand moving from Steve's wrist to grip the back of his head, forcing him to stay focused on the task.

"Look at that. The soldier finally found his aim. Don't stop now, Stevie. You're almost there. Don't you dare go soft on her now."

Steve didn't even respond with words — he was beyond words, his entire existence narrowed down to the frantic, heavy friction of his thumb against you and the desperate need to satisfy the woman riding him. 

The sheer force of his release left him completely undone. As the heavy, thick flood of his super soldier load continued to pulse deep inside you, Steve’s strength finally failed him.

He collapsed forward, his massive chest heaving against yours as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. His large, trembling hands clutched at your back, his fingers digging into your skin with a desperate, clinging intensity, as if he were a drowning man finally finding land.

He was a wreck of a man, trembling with the aftershocks of a climax that had been far too fast and far too intense. Small, broken whimpers escaped him, muffled against your damp skin, as he rode the waves of his own exhaustion. He was so sensitive, so completely unraveled by the pleasure and the shame of his premature surrender.

Then, in a voice that was startlingly clear amidst the haze of lust and the heavy scent of sex, he spoke. It was a low, breathless murmur, stripped of all the grit and the soldier's bravado.

"Thank you," he whispered. The words came out in that sweet, earnest pastor voice that always made him sound so damnably pure — even when he was covered in sweat and sin.

It was a soft, reverent sound, a humble offering of gratitude that felt almost out of place in the wreckage of the room, yet it was so quintessentially Steve that it made your heart ache with a cruel sort of affection.

He clung to you, his breath hot and ragged against your skin, a man who had been completely conquered by pleasure and was now simply resting in the grace of your afterglow.

You let out a long, shaky exhale, the pleasure still humming through your nerves like a live wire.

You leaned back just enough to look down at him, your voice a low, sultry rasp. "Fuck, Steve," you breathed, a lazy, satisfied smirk playing on your lips. "I could stay on this cock all day long."

"Hello? Earth to yoo-hoo," Bucky’s voice cut through the heavy, post coital haze, sharp and impatient. He was leaning back, watching the two of you with a look of amused hunger. "You had your turn, sweetheart. Slide off already and take your cigar. You're hogging the view."

You rolled your eyes, letting out a soft huff of laughter as you playfully shoved Bucky’s shoulder. "Always so impatient, Buck," you teased.

With a loud, uninhibited moan that echoed in the quiet room, you pushed yourself off Steve, the sensation of sliding off his thick, spent length making your breath hitch one last time.

You moved with a lazy, feline grace, plumping yourself down on a nearby velvet couch and reaching for a cigar. You lit it, the first plume of smoke curling around your face as you settled in to watch the show.

Bucky didn't waste a second.

With a predatory grin, he unbuckled his trousers and pulled his own cock free, thick and eager. He didn't go for you, though; instead, he crawled back toward the still recovering Steve, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

"Don't think you're getting out of this that easy, Stevie," Bucky teased, his voice dropping into that rough, playful growl. He grabbed Steve’s hand, guiding it to his own length, before pulling Steve closer until their hips were nearly touching.

"Since you were so eager to finish, you can spend the rest of the night making up for that little performance. Now, rub 'em together. Let's see if you can actually handle a real man's pace."

Bucky forced Steve to sit up, his movements rough but not unkind, as he pressed their bodies together.

He grabbed Steve’s hand and forced it to wrap around his own cock, then pulled Steve’s hips flush against his own, guiding the friction so their slick, heavy lengths began to slide against one another.

The sound of skin slapping against skin, wet and rhythmic, filled the space between your exhales of cigar smoke.

"There you go," Bucky purred, his eyes fixed on Steve’s flushed, embarrassed face as he began to drive their cocks together in a steady, grinding motion. "Don't be shy, Stevie. Feel how much harder he is than you. Just follow my lead. Rub it good."

Steve let out a shaky breath, his eyes squeezed shut as the friction of Bucky’s cock against his own sent fresh jolts of electricity through his sensitive, post orgasm skin. He was so raw, so vulnerable, caught in the middle of this intense, rhythmic grinding that made his breath hitch with every slide.

"Look at him, honey," Bucky called out to you, his voice thick with his own rising heat as he increased the pressure, forcing their slick lengths to dance together in a wet, slapping rhythm. "He's still shaking. The big hero can't even handle a little bit of skin on skin without turning into a puddle. You seeing this?"

Steve let out a low, humiliated moan, his head dropping forward as he tried to hide his face, but Bucky wouldn't let him.

He reached up, gripping Steve's chin to force him to look up, to look at you, to witness his own undoing. "Don't be shy now, Stevie. Look at her. Show her how much of a man you can be when you're not just a whimpering mess."

Steve’s eyes flickered to yours, wide and swimming with a mixture of pure, unadulterated lust and a deep, soul crushing embarrassment.

He looked like he wanted to disappear into the floor, yet he couldn't stop the way his hips instinctively chased the friction Bucky was providing.

The wet, slapping sound of their cocks sliding against each other grew faster, more frantic, as Bucky leaned into the movement, his own breath hitching.

"That's it," Bucky growled, his voice dropping into a dark, commanding register as he increased the speed, his hips driving against Steve's with punishing intent.

"Rub it against me, Steve. Feel how much you want it like a cheap sleaze. Feel how much you need to keep up."

You leaned back, exhaling a long, slow plume of thick, grey smoke. As Steve’s eyes drifted toward you, wide and pleading, you leaned forward just enough to blow a cloud of fragrant smoke directly past his parted, trembling lips.

He inhaled it sharply, a soft, startled huff escaping him as the smoke curled around his mouth.

"There you go, Stevie," you cooed, reaching out to pat his flushed cheek with a condescending, affectionate touch. "Such a good boy, taking it all so well."

Steve let out a broken, breathless sound, his voice cracking as he tried to find some semblance of dignity.

"Darlin', please," he whimpered, his eyes searching yours for a reprieve, but all he found was your amused, predatory gaze. "It's too much — Bucky, please, just a second —"

"A second? You've had plenty of seconds, pal," Bucky barked, his voice a rough, teasing growl. "You're already turning red again, Stevie. Don't tell me you're already losing it after just one round?"

Bucky’s hand tightened on Steve’s jaw, his fingers firm as he forced the soldier's chin back up, directing his gaze away from your teasing smirk and straight into Bucky's hungry, mocking eyes.

Steve’s head lolled slightly, his breath coming in shallow, frantic hitches. He was so goddamn sensitive!

The mere friction of Bucky’s cock sliding against his own, combined with the humiliating weight of Bucky's hand on his face, was enough to send him spiralling right back toward the edge.

"Bucky —  wait, it's — it's too much," Steve gasped, his voice a high, strained thread of sound. His hips gave a desperate, involuntary jerk, trying to both escape and lean into the sensation both escape and lean into the sensation.

He was so raw that even the slight shift in Bucky’s grip felt like a lightning strike to his nerves. His eyes were blown wide, swimming with a desperate, frantic kind of lust that made him look completely unraveled.

"Don't you dare pull away now, Stevie," Bucky growled, his voice dropping into a dark, commanding register as he increased the speed, his hips driving against Steve's with punishing intent.

"You're right on the edge, aren't you? I can feel you shaking. Just take it. Rub it against me until you can't take it anymore."

Steve let out a choked, high pitched moan, his head tossing back as he surrendered to the friction. "God, Bucky, Doll — m’cumming again, fuck, m’gonna cum."

The tension finally snapped with a violent, uncoordinated shudder.

Steve let out a high, strangled cry, his entire body arching so hard his spine nearly left the cushions as he hit his second peak. He came hard and fast, a frantic, desperate spray that coated both his own length and Bucky’s as he bucked helplessly against the friction.

Bucky didn't let up, grunting low in his throat as he drove through Steve's tremors, his own orgasm following a second later in a heavy, pulsing surge that left them both panting and slick with a mess of shared heat.

Bucky leaned in, his eyes darkening with a predatory intent as he reached out to grab a handful of Steve’s golden locks, intending to tilt his head back and angle those whining, parted lips directly over his cock.

But before he could make the move, you lazily flicked the glowing butt of your cigar toward him, a playful warning. "Don't," you said, rolling your eyes with a smirk. "We can wait till the honeymoon."

You shared a knowing, silent look with Bucky — a brief truce in the midst of the chaos before you reached over and nudged a glass toward Steve’s lips, helping him take a much needed sip.

"Plus, I love his little sounds," you added, watching him tremble. "He’s like a puppy. It’s cute."

Bucky rolled his eyes at your teasing, but he didn't pull away. Instead, he shifted, plopping himself down on Steve's other side, effectively sandwiching him between the two of you.

He reached down, his hand finding Steve’s trembling fingers and guiding them firmly to his own cock.

"C'mon then, Stevie," Bucky urged, a devilish grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Help your best mate out. Don't just sit there looking pretty."

You leaned in from the other side, your lips finding Steve's plump, swollen ones in a deep, lingering kiss that tasted of whiskey and heat.

As you pulled back, you took his other hand, guiding it upward until his palm was cupping the weight of your breast, his fingers clumsily kneading the soft flesh.

"C'mon, Stevie," you whispered against his mouth, your voice a sultry, commanding purr. "You've always been so good at multitasking."

Poor, sweet Steve.

He was caught in a delicious, overwhelming pincer maneuver, his senses completely besieged by the two of you. He let out a whimper so high and sweet it was practically a trill, a sound of pure, overwhelmed devotion that made your chest tighten with amusement.

His eyes were swimming with a mixture of exhaustion and a desperate, frantic need to please both of you at once. He was caught in a sensory storm — the taste of your lips, the weight of your breast in his hand, and the demanding, slick friction of Bucky’s cock against his palm.

"I am," he gasped, his voice trembling so violently it was barely a whisper. He swallowed hard, trying to steady his breathing as he squeezed your breast with a clumsy, reverent grip. 

"I'm listening, sweetheart, Bucky — I swear, I'm listening to you both." He let out another soft, pathetic whine as Bucky nudged him harder, forcing his hand to move in a more rhythmic, insistent stroke. "Just — give me a second to catch my breath.”

He was a man of iron, a legend of war, but here, pinned between his best friends, he was nothing but a beautiful, shivering mess of nerves. "I'll be the best," he promised, a desperate, breathless vow that sounded more like a prayer. "I'll do everything you want — just — don't stop. Please, don't stop." 

His fingers tightened on your breast, his touch becoming more purposeful even as his eyes remained unfocused and heavy with lust.

He was trying so hard to find his rhythm, to balance the demanding pressure of Bucky's hand and the intoxicating sensation of your mouth, all while his own body continued to thrum with the aftershocks of his previous release.

He was truly, hopelessly, trying his absolute best to be the perfect, obedient puppy you both wanted him to be.

Steve groaned as he blinked his eyes open, the morning light feeling far too bright for his pounding head. He sat up slowly, a sharp wince escaping him as his entire body protested the movement.

His muscles ached with a deep, heavy soreness, and as he caught his reflection in the mirror across the room, he saw the evidence of the night's intensity: dark bite marks on his shoulders and angry red scratches tracing the line of his neck.

His memory was a fragmented, hazy mess. He could vividly recall the sultry heat of your lap dance and the way the smoke from your cigar had curled around his face, but everything after that was a blur of sensation and overwhelming pleasure. 

His gaze drifted to the nightstand, which was cluttered with the gifts you and Bucky had left for him as part of his bachelor party celebration. There were fresh flowers, a few bottles of high end whiskey, and a stack of good luck cards. 

He reached for the top one, his fingers trembling slightly as he unfolded the heavy cardstock. His eyes scanned the elegant, teasing handwriting, and a deep flush crept up his neck, clashing with the marks left there by your teeth and Bucky's nails.

To our favourite soldier, May your new life be as intense and uninhibited as your bachelor party. We wish you all the happiness in the world, but we also wish we could be the ones to give it to you every single night.

He swallowed hard, his heart thudding against his ribs as he read the final line, which was signed with a playful, possessive flourish: 

Signed, by your two best friends, the only ones who can truly fulfil your needs.

Steve let out a long, shaky breath, leaning back against the pillows as the sheer weight of the implication settled over him.

The ache in his hips and the lingering sensitivity between his thighs made him realise that the "honeymoon" might have to be a much more private, much more intense affair than he had originally planned.

If the bachelor party was any indication, the trip abroad was going to be less about sightseeing and more about finally letting his two best friends fulfil every single one of those "needs" they had so boldly promised.

$ tag @twentytomidnight @i-gotta-go-so-much-bigger @froggibus

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[semper-nox]

Smile for the Camera

Summary: Your roommate has been slipping into your bedroom at night with his phone. You know. You've known since the first click of the shutter – and every night since, you've given him a little more to photograph.

Wordcount: 4k

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Female Reader

Warnings: MDNI, roommates to lovers, modern AU, no powers AU, dark! Steve Rogers, possessive Steve Rogers, dubcon, somnophilia, sleep play, pretending to be asleep, voyeurism, non-consensual photography, consent issues, obsessive behavior, masturbation, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, come marking, come play, rough sex, dirty talk, filming sex tape, power play, praise kink, smut, porn with feelings

A/N: Just trying my hand at something.

Masterlist

The first time it happened, you thought it was the wind. A soft click, the whisper of a door handle turning in the dead of night. Your eyelids remained sealed, but your senses sharpened to a razor's edge, cataloguing every minute disturbance in the still air of your bedroom. The floorboards, ancient and weary, gave a faint groan under a weight they knew well. You held your breath, your heart a frantic drum against your ribs, a wild creature caught in the snare of your own making.

A sliver of pale moonlight cut through a gap in your curtains, painting a stark rectangle on the opposite wall. Within that silvery glow, you discerned a silhouette. Steve. Of course, it was Steve. Your roommate. The man who helped you carry groceries, who fixed the leaky faucet in your bathroom, who now stood in your room like a thief in the night, with an object that glinted faintly in his hand.

A soft chime echoed in the silence. The unmistakable sound of a phone's camera shutter, muted but not silenced.

Click.

Heat, sharp and sudden, bloomed in your chest. It was not entirely fear. A tangled knot of outrage and something else, something dark and thrilling, tightened in your stomach. He stood there for a long moment, a voyeur statuesque in the gloom, his shadow stretching long and distorted across your floor. Then, just as quietly as he had entered, he was gone. The door clicked shut, and you were left with the phantom echo of his presence and the chilling evidence of his obsession.

The next night, you prepared.

Your usual flannel pajamas, practical and modest, lay discarded on a chair. Instead, you slipped into a pair of thin cotton shorts and a worn camisole, the fabric barely a second skin over your body. The cool air kissed your bare thighs, a constant, tingling reminder of your exposed state. You lay on your side, facing away from the door, a perfect canvas bathed in the moonlight. You feigned sleep, your breath slow and even, every muscle screaming with a delicious tension.

Again, the click of the door. The telltale groan of the floorboards.

You could almost feel his eyes on you, a palpable weight sweeping down the length of your legs, lingering on the curve of your hip. You heard the faint chime, this time twice in quick succession. Click. Click. There was a choked, barely audible sound from the doorway, a gasp swiftly swallowed. You imagined him, phone trembling in his hand, his knuckles white as he struggled to contain whatever it was that possessed him. A thrill, potent and intoxicating, washed over you. You were the artist, and your sleeping body was the provocation. He was merely the audience, captivated and controlled.

Nights bled into a week, a silent, nightly ritual. Your attire dwindled with each performance. The cotton shorts were replaced by a pair of panties, high-cut and black, leaving the smooth globes of your ass almost entirely bare. The camisole was forsaken entirely, leaving your back uncovered from the curve of your shoulders down to the dimples above your waist. You slept on your stomach, arms folded under the pillow, arching your back just enough to present yourself as an offering.

His visits became more brazen. The creak of the floor was closer tonight. The digital click of the camera seemed louder, more insistent in the quiet room. You heard another sound, a rustle of fabric, the zip of a hoodie. Then, a soft, sticky rhythm began to fill the silence. A sharp, hitching breath. The slick, rhythmic slap of skin on skin.

The filth of it, the sheer unvarnished perversion, sent a jolt directly between your legs. Your own breathing hitched, and you had to consciously force it back into the slow cadence of sleep. Your nipples, already hard from the cool air, tightened into almost painful points against the mattress. A warmth began to pool in your lower belly, a slow, molten ache.

He was closer now. You could feel the heat radiating from his body, just a few feet from the edge of your bed. The air grew thick with the scent of him – clean soap, masculine sweat, and the salty, musky aroma of his arousal. The rhythmic sounds grew faster, more erratic, punctuated by soft grunts he tried to muffle in the crook of his elbow. He was watching your bare ass, imagining himself inside you as he worked himself to completion with a desperate, furious energy.

Your fingers clenched in the sheets, your knuckles pressing into your own flesh. You squeezed your thighs together, trying to quell the burgeoning throb, the desperate need to relieve the pressure he had unknowingly created. A faint, almost imperceptible moan escaped your lips before you could bite it back. The noise in the doorway stopped abruptly.

A sudden, terrifying silence descended. It was heavier than the previous sounds. Your breath caught in your throat. Had you given yourself away? You lay perfectly still, a statue of terror and want, every nerve ending screaming. You heard the soft thud of a phone being placed on the bedside table. Then, the mattress dipped beside you.

He was on the bed.

You froze, every muscle seized with a primal panic that warred with the illicit excitement coursing through you. His presence was an overwhelming force, a comet of heat and gravity sucking the air from the room. You felt a warm, shaky breath on the back of your neck. You didn't dare move, didn't dare even to breathe too deeply.

A single finger traced the line of your spine, so lightly you almost thought you’d imagined it. A whisper of a touch that sent a jolt of electricity straight to your core. His knuckles grazed the swell of your buttock. The touch was hesitant, reverent, and utterly depraved. He was testing the boundaries, breaking one final, sacred rule. The line between secret observer and active participant had been erased by your own silent invitation.

His fingers grew bolder, dipping between the cheeks of your ass, tracing the edge of the black lace where it met your skin. His breath was harsh in your ear now, no longer quiet or controlled. The scent of his desire was a palpable thing, a drug that made your head spin. You could feel the vibration of his chest as he fought to keep from making another sound, to keep from shattering the fragile illusion of your slumber.

And you, in the hollow dark, reveled in it.

This was the pinnacle, the terrifying, exquisite peak of the game you had instigated. The hunter had become the hunted, the predator now cornered by your stillness, teetering on the edge of a precipice you had pushed him towards. Your body lay quiet, but your soul screamed, not for him to stop, but for him to finally, truly, begin. His thumb pressed against the damp fabric covering your entrance, a question asked in silence. He held it there, the pressure a maddening, teasing promise, waiting for a sign, any sign, that this wasn't just a figment of his warped desires.

But you remained motionless.

A tremor ran through him, a shudder of pure, unadulterated want that was so violent you felt it through the mattress. With a soft curse, so quiet it was merely a puff of air, he withdrew his hand. The loss was a physical ache. He stood up, the mattress sighing in relief. You risked cracking one eyelid the barest fraction. You saw his silhouette, a powerful, broad-shouldered form against the window. He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture of frustrated, agonized restraint. He snatched his phone from the table. Then he was gone, and the click of the door shutting sounded like the crack of a whip in the unnerving silence.

But the game had changed. The line, once crossed, could not be uncrossed.

The next night, anticipation was a living thing beneath your skin. You lay on your back, an invitation spelled out in the language of exposed skin. You had purchased new lingerie. A deep crimson set of delicate silk and lace, the bra a mere wisp of fabric struggling to contain your breasts, leaving the soft skin above them bare. The panties were smaller still, a triangle of crimson silk that barely covered the soft mound of your sex, tied at the hips with flimsy little bows. You left the curtains open wider, allowing the moon to bathe your body in an ethereal, almost holy light. Your own hands rested on your stomach, fingers splayed, the picture of innocence.

The door opened. This time, it was not quiet. He didn't even try to hide it.

No camera clicks. Just the heavy thud of his footsteps on the floor. He stopped at the foot of your bed. You could feel his gaze like a physical touch, a slow, lascivious survey of every inch of your exposed flesh. It started at your painted toenails, traveled up your shapely calves, lingered on the delicate bows at your hips. It burned over the flat plane of your stomach, paused at the rapid rise and fall of your chest, and finally settled on your face, hidden in the shadow of sleep.

You heard the distinct sound of a belt buckle being undone. The metallic scrape was deafening. The rasp of a zipper. The soft thud of denim hitting the floor.

Your entire body clenched. This was it. The final move in this wicked chess game. A fine sheen of sweat broke out over your skin. You could feel the frantic beat of your own heart, a wild bird trapped in the cage of your ribs. Every instinct screamed at you to open your eyes, to put a stop to the monstrous thing you had set in motion. But the thrill, the absolute corruption of it all, held you captive in your feigned slumber.

The mattress dipped dramatically as he knelt on the bed, one knee on either side of your ankles. His hands, large and warm, settled on your knees. His thumbs stroked the sensitive skin there, sending shockwaves of need higher and higher. Slowly, torturously, he began to slide his hands up your thighs, his fingers pressing into your flesh, mapping the path to the place you now desperately needed him to go. Higher and higher, over the silk ties of your panties, pushing your thighs gently but firmly apart.

He stopped, his hands bracketing your hips, the heat of him a searing brand. His breath came in ragged pants, hot and heavy against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. He was so close. All you had to do was open your eyes. All you had to do was give him the word. But you had relinquished control, surrendered it in the dark, in exchange for this terrifying, glorious power to be wanted so completely, so wrongly.

You felt the coarse texture of the sheets as he lowered his head. Then, a hot, wet tongue swiped a broad, deliberate stroke over the crimson silk that covered your clit. A strangled cry escaped you before you could swallow it, your body arching off the bed involuntarily. This was not a gasp. This was the death rattle of the pretense. You were awake. The truth hung in the air, thick and suffocating.

He froze.

For a heartbeat, the world held its breath. Then, with a guttural groan, he gave in to the abyss. He pulled the flimsy fabric of your panties aside, baring you to his gaze. His hands gripped your hips, holding you in place as he buried his face against you. There was nothing tentative now. This was a conquering. He lapped at your folds, greedy and insistent, his tongue finding your clit and circling it with a pressure that made your vision blur. The obscene sounds of him tasting you, sucking at your flesh, filled the room, a wet, slurping cacophony that was the anthem of your shared descent.

One of his hands released your hip. You heard another metallic chime, a sound now so intimately connected to your pleasure. Click. He had taken a picture of you like this, legs spread, face buried in your cunt, utterly debauched. The audacity of it, the sheer filth, sent a tidal wave of arousal crashing through you. Your hands, which had been lying limp at your sides, flew to his hair, your fingers tangling in the soft strands, pulling him closer.

“That's right, Steve,” you breathed, the words feeling foreign and holy on your tongue. “Taste it. Taste what you've been fucking dreaming of.”

He growled against your flesh, the vibration shooting straight through you. He redoubled his efforts, fucking you with his tongue, then sealing his lips around your clit and sucking hard. The pressure built, a dizzying, explosive spiral in your core. Your thighs trembled, the muscles screaming as you fought to hold back the climax that was threatening to tear you apart.

“Not yet,” you gasped, tugging on his hair. “I want to see you. I want to watch you fuck yourself with me.”

He obeyed instantly, lifting his head from between your legs. His face was glistening with your arousal in the pale moonlight, his eyes black holes of pure, naked need. He knelt between your spread thighs, one hand wrapping around his thick, heavy cock. The sight was better than you had imagined. Perfect. Steve, your good, noble roommate, was gone. In his place was this beautiful, desperate creature.

He began to stroke himself, his gaze locked on the glistening pink flesh he had just been feasting on. You propped yourself up on your elbows, giving him a better view, watching as his hand moved faster and faster, his knuckles almost brushing against your entrance with every upward stroke. You heard the click, click, click of the camera phone, discarded on the bed beside him, capturing the debaucherous scene from every lewd angle.

“Show me,” you commanded, your voice a husky whisper. “Show me what you think about when you're in the dark.”

With a pained groan, he angled the phone down with one hand, the other still working his slick, rigid shaft. He held the screen so you could see. The picture was obscene. A close-up of your spread, weeping cunt, with the swollen, purple head of his cock hovering just an inch away, poised to enter. He stroked himself, pre-cum beading at the tip, and it smeared over your folds, a promise of what was to come.

“I think about it every fucking second,” he rasped, his voice breaking. “Since the first night I saw you. I can't stop.”

“I know,” you moaned. “Now do it. Paint me with it. Mark me as yours.”

Your words were his undoing. With a strangled roar, he came. Thick, hot ropes of cum shot from him, splattering across your stomach, your breasts, the red lace of your bra. He milked himself dry, shuddering, gasping your name like a prayer. The warmth of his seed spread over your skin, a shocking, primal claim. When he was spent, he collapsed beside you, his chest heaving, his body a trembling mass of satisfaction and shame.

But you were not finished. You pushed yourself up, heedless of the mess coating your torso. You straddled his waist, the evidence of his orgasm smearing between your bodies. You leaned down, your lips brushing against his ear, your voice a silken, wicked thread.

“Did you take a picture of that, too?” you whispered. “Your cum all over me?”

He could only nod, his eyes glazed, lost in a world of pure sensation.

“Good,” you purred. “Because we're going to need it as inspiration for round two.”

You ground your hips down, feeling him, even in his sated state, begin to stir against you.

“The phone, Steve. Give it to me.”

He complied, his movements clumsy, mindless. You took the device, the screen still slick from his fingers. You swiped through the gallery, your breath catching in your throat at the evidence of his obsession. Week after week of you. Sleeping, curled, exposed. Each photo was a page in the gospel of your forbidden fruit. You stopped at the last one. Him, stroking himself over you. A work of art.

You deleted it. Then, you switched the camera to video mode. You positioned the phone carefully against the pillows, angled down to capture every inch of where your bodies met. You looked at him, your eyes burning with a fire that was new to him, a fire he had lit himself.

“Tonight,” you said, your voice clear and strong in the quiet room, “I don't want you to pretend I'm asleep.”

He understood. A low growl rumbled in his chest as his hands came up to grip your hips, pulling you down onto him with bruising force. He was hard again, impossibly hard, his cock a thick, demanding heat against your core. He shifted, and the thick, blunt head of him notched at your entrance. He did not ease into you. He drove into you in one powerful, relentless thrust, filling you so completely, so suddenly, that a sharp, ragged cry was torn from your lungs. It was a feeling of violent, blissful invasion.

This was not the tentative Steve who crept into your room. This was a new creature born of darkness and longing. His every movement was a command. He pulled out almost completely, only to slam back into you, setting a punishing, primal rhythm. The headboard began to slap against the wall, a frantic percussion for the desperate concert of your panting breaths and moans.

He was watching you. Truly watching you. Not as a sleeping object of fantasy, but as a living, gasping, writhing partner in this depravity. His eyes, which had been filled with shame, were now black with possession. He was claiming you, marking you from the inside out, while the phone recorded it all for a private, future collection.

“Look at me,” he grunted, his voice a raw, guttural thing.

“Look at me while I fuck you.”

You forced your heavy eyelids open, your gaze locking with his. The connection was electric, a feedback loop of pure, unfiltered lust. You saw the raw, aching need in the depths of his eyes, and you met it with your own. This was the truth of you both, laid bare in the moonlight.

Your hands splayed on his chest, your nails digging into the hard muscle as he drove into you again and again. The knot of pleasure in your core was tightening, winding higher and higher with every powerful thrust. You could feel it building, an inevitable crescendo.

“I'm going to cum,” you sobbed, the words tearing from your throat.

“Don't stop. God, Steve, don't you dare stop.”

“Never,” he snarled, and with a final, brutal twist of his hips, he slammed deep inside you and held there. The pressure was enough to shatter you. Your orgasm ripped through you, a white-hot explosion that stole your breath and seized your body in a devastating series of convulsions. Your inner walls clamped down on him, milking him, pulling him with you over the edge. He followed with a hoarse shout, pulsing within you, filling you with a flooding heat that felt infinite.

You collapsed onto his chest, your bodies slick with sweat and sex, trembling in the aftershocks. The room was silent save for the frantic beating of your hearts, slowly beginning to settle into a new, shared rhythm. The red light of the video camera continued to blink, a silent, watchful eye. The hunter was no more. And in the quiet dark, entangled with your roommate, you had never felt more safe.

The next morning, the sunlight felt like an intrusion. It sliced through the window, harsh and unforgiving, illuminating the wreckage of the night. The discarded lingerie. The clothes pooled on the floor. Steve, asleep beside you, one arm thrown possessively over your waist, his face untroubled in the morning light.

You slipped out of bed, your body a pleasant, dull ache. You pulled on a silk robe and padded into the kitchen. The familiarity of the room was jarring. The coffee mugs, one with a chip from when he'd dropped it. The grocery list on the fridge, written in his neat, blocky script. It was the same space, but it had been utterly transformed.

You were making coffee when he appeared in the doorway. He'd pulled on a pair of sweatpants, riding low on his hips, leaving his chest bare. There was a mark on his shoulder, a red half-moon from your nail. A fresh thrill shot through you at the sight of it, a tiny brand on your perfect soldier. He hesitated, his expression a turbulent mix of awe and apprehension.

He took a tentative step closer.

“Morning.”

The word was rough, scraped from a throat still hoarse from shouting your name.

You turned, leaning against the counter. You held his gaze, letting a slow, deliberate smile spread across your lips. “Morning, soldier.”

That one word was a key. It unlocked the last of the night's defenses. He crossed the space between you in two long strides, his hands coming to rest on the counter on either side of you, caging you in. He didn't kiss you. He just looked, as if he were memorizing your face, cataloging the changes the sun revealed.

“You're real,” he murmured, his breath warm on your cheek. “Last night...”

“Was real,” you finished for him. You reached up, tracing the line of his jaw with your finger. His eyes fluttered closed. A simple touch, yet he shuddered as if you'd branded him.

Then, you leaned in. But not for a kiss. You caught the thumb of his other hand, bringing it to your lips. Your gaze never left his as you deliberately, slowly, pressed your teeth into the pad of his thumb, just hard enough to indent the flesh. A sharp gasp. His pupils dilated, the dark blue of his irises swallowed by a starless night of want. You soothed the bite with your tongue, then took the entire digit into your mouth, sucking on it lightly, your cheeks hollowing. You looked up at him from under your lashes, the picture of innocence corrupted.

His control snapped. With a groan that was pure, unadulterated agony, he fumbled for your free hand. His grip was almost painful, his movements clumsy with desperation. He dragged your palm down, down the taut plane of his stomach, and pressed it hard against the rigid, denim-covered heat of his erection.

“Look at what you do to me, baby.” The words were a raw, ragged whisper. They were an accusation, a confession, and a prayer.

You smiled around his thumb, a slow, predatory curve of your lips. You could feel the urgent, heavy throb of him through the soft fleece, a living thing straining for release. This was the truth of it, the raw, pulsating reality that had been hidden behind secret photos and quiet desperation in the dark.

You released his thumb with a wet pop.

“Poor Steve,” you cooed, your voice a silken taunt. “Does it hurt?”

Your fingers curled, stroking him through the thin fabric, a firm, deliberate pressure that made his hips jerk forward.

He growled, a deep, dangerous sound from deep in his chest. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his teeth grazing your skin. “You have no fucking idea.”

“Oh, I think I do,” you purred, your other hand coming up to thread through the hair at the nape of his neck, holding him to you.

“I think I have a very, very good idea.” You could feel the frantic, unsteady beat of his heart against your chest.

“Show me again, Steve. No camera this time. Just you. Just me.”

He lifted his head, his eyes blazing. He didn't need to be told twice. In one fluid motion, he hooked an arm under your knees and another around your back, lifting you as if you weighed nothing. He carried you back toward the bedroom, away from the sunlight, back into the welcoming darkness where the real game had only just begun.

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[krirebr]

Rogers Academy: Term Kickoff Faculty Meeting

Summary: It's the start of a new term at The Rogers Academy for Exceptional Wives and the faculty is meeting to take a look at the new class.

Word Count: ~2.7k

Warnings: Dark fic, patriarchal dystopia, intense sexism and mysoginy, non-con oggling, explicit language All of my work is 18+ - Minors DNI

Dividers by me

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

A/N: Welp! Here it is! 😂 This is the one where the pairings are decided, but we won't actually meet any of our readers until the individual sessions.

This is usually where I thank the mutuals who let me ramble in their DMs until an actual story was born, but this time I have a gigantic thank you for every single one of you! Everyone who got excited about this idea, left comments or reblogs on the many posts about it, sent me asks about aspects I hadn't even considered yet. All of you who's enthusiasm was so contagious and who really inspired me to build this world. Thank you thank you thank you! It's been so fun hoeing out with you all about this!!

Any comment, reblog, or ask to let me know what you think will be greatly appreciated. As always, thank you so much for reading! 💜

     The conference room was buzzing. This was Steve’s favorite meeting of the term. It was everyone’s favorite meeting. New Term Faculty Kickoff. There’d be another meeting this week for the rest of the Academy’s staff. But this one, this one was always the most fun.

Jake and Curtis had brought snacks. People were helping themselves and chatting, catching up after having been off for the last month. He usually ran his meetings with a lot more structure than this, but hell, if they couldn’t have fun during this one, when could they??

“Alright, guys,” he finally called out. “Let’s get started.” They’d moved the tables to the side to hold the snacks, so now everyone took a seat in the chairs that were gathered in the center. There wasn’t much formality in this meeting. The only thing that really mattered was that everyone could see the screen.

“Okay, I only have a few items to go over before we get to the good part. So, if you let me get through this quickly, than we can deal with the reason you all showed up today.” That got the laugh he was looking for. Everyone was in great spirits.

“I hope you all had a great break and are rested and ready to dive into a new term. First, as I’m sure you’ve all noticed, Johnny isn’t here. He’s snowboarding in the Alps, apparently.” Steve suppressed an eye roll. He had the best staff in the country, but it was still like wrangling cats sometimes. “So for this term, Ari will be teaching morning yoga, while Lloyd will take over the rest of physical fitness, rolling that into his usual personal grooming curriculum.”

Curtis scoffed. “You just want to be able to walk around them all when they’re in Lycra and bark orders,” he said to Lloyd.

Lloyd preened. “You bet your ass, I do. Best term ever.”

Steve continued. “Otherwise, there haven’t been any staffing changes, so all of your admins and monitors will be the same.”

He glanced down at the notes on his tablet. “I wanted to highlight a couple new initiatives we’ve started. Ransom and his marketing team have broken into job fairs, specifically the ones targeted at women.” At the sound of laughter, Steve chuckled himself. “I know, I know, what do they need job fairs for? But the idea payed off. We had a record number of self-enroll applicants, and our wait list is now bursting. So, great job, Ransom!” There was a brief round of applause and Ransom gave a quick nod, looking characteristically self-satisfied.

“On the other end of the spectrum, I’m very excited to announce that thanks to Andy diligently working his connections in the DA’s office, we are now an official alternative to prison for all sentencing and plea deals of adult female defendants. At our own discretion, of course,” he added with a grin. They obviously wouldn’t take just anyone. “This is great news because for every enrollee we take from the county, we’ll get a large stipend, and we’ll still get to collect their full bride-price at the end of year auction. So a huge congratulations to Andy for this deal!” There was more applause and Steve let himself feel all of the immense pride that filled his chest looking at the team he’d assembled.

He was the fourth generation of Rogers men to run this school. Started by his great-grandfather almost a hundred years ago, it’d grown into one of the most prestigious wife-training institutions in the country. Definitely the most prestigious on the East Coast. It’d survived economic depression, world wars, political upheaval. It was even widely credited with helping found the movement that had turned the tide against the growing threat of women’s liberation fifty years ago. Steve took his place in that history extremely seriously. The work they did here was important. He’d worked hard to modernize their curriculum and recruiting strategies, never forgetting that the most important lesson they taught here, no matter the subject, was obedience. That was what led to happy lives, happy families, for all involved. And it was that belief that was threaded through every decision he made here. And all the people he’s brought together to help this school meet it’s full potential.

“Alright, now that that’s done. We can get to why we’re all here.” Steve paused as everyone cheered. He could already tell this was going to be an especially rowdy kickoff. “Thanks to Ransom’s impressive recruitment efforts in all areas, we’ve got a full slate of private training sessions booked, so that means our group class is a little smaller this year. There will be just one advisee for each of us.” As he expected, there were grumbles, but he was quick to cut them off, “As most of us will be juggling multiple one-on-ones, I didn’t want to give anyone more than they could focus on in the group class. Plus, we have a few special cases here that I think might require some extra attention.

“As usual, any conflicts here as we make our selections will be decided by seniority-“

“Damn it! That isn’t fair!” Jake predictably called out. He was by far the newest instructor here and as such, complained loudly about their system every term. “I always just get stuck with the last one.”

“Stop whining,” Lloyd said with an eye roll that moved his whole body. “It’s never stopped you from falling in love with every single one you’ve gotten.”

“I don’t do that!” Jake objected. “I-“

“Oh my god,” Ransom interrupted. “Can you just shut up so we can get to the good part?”

Steve saw Jake’s chest puff up and the beginning of movement to get out of his chair, so he quickly brought the big screen at the front of the room to life, already on his first slide, containing a collection of pictures of a young woman with big eyes, blown wide with fear, that couldn’t quite make contact with the camera. There was a closeup of her face, along with a few full body photos in which she was clad only in her underwear. With her hands and posture, she tried to cover up as much of herself as she could, but her figure was clear, as were the sweet little blue flowers that dotted her cotton panties. “Alright,” Steve said, slightly louder than necessary to put an end to all the chatter. “First we have Sugar. She enrolled herself, thanks to Ransom’s new job fair gambit, so she’ll take part in the auction at the end of the term. As you can see, she’s very shy and fragile.” He paused. Ari was already leaning forward, just like he’d expected. “She’ll need a gentle hand,” he added with a mean smirk.

“Yeah, I’ll take her,” Ari called out the moment Steve finished speaking.

Curtis snorted. “Of course, you will. You love the shy ones.”

“They’re never shy for long with me,” Ari answered. “She’ll be a slobbering whore by the time I’m done with her.”

“No one else even had a chance to say anything,” Jake grumbled but went ignored as everyone else hooted at Ari.

As Ari had seniority over everyone but Steve, Steve moved on. “Next we have Baby Doll.” The pictures that filled the screen were of a woman with exhausted eyes, mouth in a thin line. She didn’t try to cover herself, but it was obvious that all of her muscles were tensed, desperate to run, especially her hands which were curled into tight fists. Her bra and panties were plain and cheap, worn out. “She’s the first in our new partnership with the county judicial system. Convicted of larceny and assault, we’re her last chance to avoid serious jail time. Andy, as you’re the one who put this program together, I doubt anyone would mind if you jumped the line and claimed her.”

Most everyone nodded their assent, except for Jake, of course, who opened his mouth to object. Steve cut that off with the harshest glare he could muster. Jake, thankfully, sat back in his chair with a scowl.

Andy leaned forward, carefully examining the pictures. After a long pause, he nodded with excitement in his eyes. “Yeah, I think I can do something with her. Get her back on the straight and narrow.”

“Excellent,” Steve said, making note of that on his tablet. Then he braced himself for what was about to happen as he clicked over to the next slide.

The room erupted immediately. Mostly mean-spirited cackling only broken up by Lloyd’s very loud booing. Steve sighed. “Yes, as you can see, Pumpkin is back.” He had to raise his voice to be heard above the din. The screen showed a woman with eyes demurely cast down, pretty lingerie framing her body, arms at her side, not even twitching to cover herself up. Her posture was… okay, but there were several things Steve would correct just at first glance. That was the thing about Pumpkin. Even after going through the program once, she was fine, but she wasn’t perfect.

“That bitch completely tanked my stats!” Lloyd yelled, throwing an arm at the screen. “All because Barber found a speck of dust during her final.“

“It was more than a speck,” Andy responded calmly. “And the meal she made was atrocious. I’d fail her again without significant improvement. No question.”

“Well, I’m not getting saddled with her again! No fucking way.”

Steve sighed. This was going about as well as he expected. “Anyone else interested?”

“Make Jensen take her,” Ransom sneered.

“What?” Jake threw his hands up in outrage. “No way! I want one of the shiny new ones!”

Just as Steve was about to try to force the issue, Curtis spoke up, with a sigh and an eye roll. “I’ll fucking do it.” He acted put-upon, but there was something gleeful in his eyes, something mean. It was why Steve was relieved it’d turned out this way. Curtis wouldn’t let her get away with anything. Not this time.

“Thank you, Curtis,” Steve said sincerely, while Ari clapped Curtis on the back.

Curtis responded with a shrug, but Steve could tell he was excited, underneath everything else.

“Okay, moving on,” Steve called out, and the room fortunately calmed down. He clicked over to the next slide. “This is Honeybun.” The pictures on the screen left so much to be desired, even for an initial intake. Her bra and panties were mismatched. Her eyebrows were overgrown. She looked at the camera head-on, no deference at all, and her smile was crooked. One of her bra straps had slipped off her shoulder. And she was slouching. Steve’s hand itched to reach through the screen and make her straighten up himself. “As you can see, we have a lot of work to do. If we assume her house-management matches her appearance, which I think it is safe to do, it’s no surprise her husband has come to us for help.”

“Jesus Christ,” Andy muttered, swiping a hand over his mouth.

“Anyone interested in straightening her out?”

Lloyd tilted his head from side to side in thought, but Steve knew this one wasn’t really his style. No, that one was next, so he was glad when Lloyd ended up shaking his head.

“I’ll do it!” Jake called out, too fucking eager, and Steve could already see the hearts in his eyes.

Goddamnit, the absolute last thing Steve or this school needed was Jake swanning over a student who already had a perfectly good husband paying the tuition fees. There was a decades in the making reputation to maintain. “No,” he said, loud and clear. “I’ll do this one myself.”

Jake threw his head back in irritation. “Then why did you even ask?” he whined. God, he was such a child. Maybe that was why he was so good at teaching the motherhood classes.

As he was about to return to his presentation, Ari caught his eye with a knowing smirk. Okay. Maybe keeping Jake out of a scandal wasn’t the only reason he’d jumped for this one. Maybe, seeing chaos like that had something thrumming inside him to impose his own order. To take a mess and turn it into perfection. And do it with his own two hands.

He swallowed roughly and cleared his throat, which just made Ari’s smirk get bigger. Steve ignored him and moved onto the next slide, which immediately caught everyone’s attention.

Lloyd threw his head back and laughed. “That one’s definitely mine,” he crowed.

“Princess,” Steve said, gesturing to the pictures of a woman in expensive lingerie snarling at the camera, blocking the view of her body with both middle fingers. Pure rage swirled in her eyes. “She’s obviously here because her husband’s at his wit’s end.”

“He have any limits for us?” Lloyd asked.

“None at all,” Steve shook his head. “He just wants results, doesn’t care how we get them.”

A cruel smile crept onto Lloyd’s face. “Excellent,” Lloyd said, and Steve could already see all the deviant ideas forming in his mind.

As Lloyd had seniority over the only two that were left, Steve moved on without anymore conversation. A sweet smile and bright eyes came on the screen. “This is Kitten.” She wore a an adorable matching set of pink cotton underwear. She stood a little awkwardly, like she was embarrassed but still trying to do what she was told. “She enrolled herself and is so excited to have been chosen. All she wants is to learn how to be the best wife and mother she can possibly be.”

“Mine!” Jake’s hand violently shot up into the air. “Mine. That one’s mine!! I’ll take her!”

Steve sighed. “Ransom, any objections?”

Ransom just shrugged. “No, that’s fine.” He barely even glanced at Jake, drumming his fingers on his leg impatiently.

“Yes!” cried Jake, pumping his fist in the air.

But Steve didn’t pay any attention to that. He was stuck on Ransom, whom he now realized had been uncharacteristically quiet this whole meeting. His posture was stiff, coiled tight, like he was waiting for something.

“Well. Okay, then. That means Ransom, you’ve got our last one. Sweet Pea.” Steve pulled up the last slide. A young woman stood in a gorgeous, expensive set of lingerie. Her posture was perfect, her eyes downcast. Her arms were relaxed next to her side. “She comes to us from an old money family of excellent standing. They’ve sent her here to ensure the best match she can possibly get.”

Ransom didn’t say anything, just nodded. But the expression on his face was that of a man who’d won something.

Steve turned off the screen and pushed a few final buttons on his tablet. “Alright, the complete files for each of your selections should now be in your inboxes. With that, I’ll let you all go. Let’s have a great term!”

Things broke up quickly. Everyone milling out, chatting amongst themselves, leaving the mess for the cleaning women who’d come after hours.

Steve caught Ransom before he could leave. “You knew she was enrolled this year.” It was a statement, not a question.

Ransom shrugged, smug. “Our grandfathers are friends. And her brother is such an asshole. Thought it might be fun to crush his beloved little sister and rub his face in it.”

“As long as you remember that we need to return her in one, marriageable piece.”

Ransom nodded. “I know what the goal is.” As he left the room, Steve made a mental note to keep an eye on that situation.

Ari was the last one left and strode over to Steve with an easy grin. “Good crop this year,” he said.

Steve nodded. “You’ve got a fun one.”

Ari smirked. “Yeah, you too. You’re excited. I can tell.”

“Well,” Steve smiled, “what’s the point of a job like this if we don’t get to have a little fun?”

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