Frank uses his friend Matt's abilities to ensure your satisfaction in the bedroom.
Matt’s beautiful, blind eyes saw nothing. But that didn’t mean that he saw nothing; you had no doubt that he could sense the heat on all your exposed skin and “see” how near-naked you were. But then again, if Frank didn’t care, then… did you really care?
No I don't know where this is going but I like the idea of Frank Castle sharing his gf with Matt Murdock so here's a thing I started:
https://archiveofourown.org/works/82704296
Summary:
Frank uses his friend Matt's abilities to ensure your satisfaction in the bedroom.
Chapter 1
You heard the door to your apartment open and the sound of Frank Castle’s heavy boots. You were waiting for him in bed, scrolling aimlessly through your phone to pass the time. But then you heard a second pair of boots… and another man’s voice. That made you pause and listen. Was that his friend Matt’s voice?
You flipped around to face the bedroom door just as Frank came through it. He was carrying a chair from the kitchen and he set it down against the wall.
Matt Murdock followed him into the room. He was wearing his full daredevil armor, minus the headpiece, which he must’ve just taken off when he entered your apartment.
“What the hell is going on?” You made a lame attempt to cover yourself, since you were only wearing skimpy lingerie.
Your boyfriend, Frank, was unhelpfully cryptic, “You’ll know soon enough, sweetheart.”
“Wha- you were supposed to go get condoms, not your friend!?”
Matt just snickered.
Frank took a bunch of condoms out of his back pocket and tossed them on the bed next to you. “Call it two birds. One stone.”
He left the bedroom before you got a chance to question him again.
Matt’s beautiful, blind eyes saw nothing. But that didn’t mean that he saw nothing; you had no doubt that he could sense the heat on all your exposed skin and “see” how near-naked you were. But then again, if Frank didn’t care, then… did you really care?
You looked at Matt incredulously. “What the fuck is this? What is he doing?”
Matt shrugged, and it was just a bit too performative. “I have no idea.”
“Bullshit.”
Matt grinned in that sly way, basically a full admission that yes, that was bullshit.
Frank returned with another chair and set it down in the middle of the bedroom, at the foot of the bed.
“Frank, what are you-”
Your boyfriend pulled you out of bed, and sat you down in that chair, despite some of your half-assed resistance.
Matt, as if expecting this, sat in the first chair directly across from you.
“Okay, now this feels like a fucking intervention...” you complained.
Matt asked curiously, “What did you think it was originally?”
“Uh…honestly? My best guess was that you won a bet and wanted to make Frank a cuck.”
Matt laughed out loud at that.
Frank placed his hands on your shoulders. “Very funny, sweetheart. But you do want him, don’t you? Admit it.”
You felt heat rising to your face. The topic of Matt’s allure came up somewhat frequently between you two. Frank wasn’t jealous when it came to his friend ‘Red’, but he seemed to enjoy getting you all shy and worked up about admitting your attraction to the other vigilante.
You blushed. “...What the fuck is this?!”
“This is my friend Red helping me ask you some questions.”
You looked at each of them, beyond puzzled. “Boss…” You captured Frank’s full attention with the term that you used for him in dom/sub contexts. ‘Boss’ was the only one that didn’t trigger anything from his past. “You don’t need your friend to ask me anything you want.” You tried to get up from the chair, but Frank easily pushed you back down.
“Ah-ah. Sit here. And look at Red for me, sweetheart.”
You crossed your arms poutily.
“Y/N…” Matt began like he was about to ask you a serious question in court.
“Matt…”
“Have you ever faked your orgasm with Frank?”
“....THAT’S what this is?”
“Answer him, sweetheart,” Frank commanded.
“This is fucking stupid. You realize how stupid this is?” Your skin was too hot. You knew that if you answered, Matt would listen to your heartbeat and discern if you were lying. You didn’t think you had ever faked it with Frank… even the first time with him was amazing. It was all amazing. But there were maybe times when you were tired or too deep in your head… fuck… you could vaguely recall a few of those times.
Frank complained, “Don’t try to beat around the bush.”
Matt waited patiently.
Aware that not answering was basically answering in the negative, you decided to just go for it. You scoffed. “No. Of course not.”
Matt’s handsome smile was cryptic for a moment. “You might be onto something, Frank; she’s lying.”
“I knew it!”
“What!?” you shouted at the same time. “No, I’m not- fuck you, Mattie! Boss, do you really believe him over me?”
“Sweetheart… baby, much as I want to take your word, you know Red can tell when people are lyin’.”
“Yeah, and how do we tell if Matt is lying?” You tried to deflect.
Matt just chuckled.
Frank reassured you, or tried to anyway. “I promise I’m not upset, sweetheart. I just want you satisfied.”
“I am satisfied,” you complained.
Frank glanced over at Matt for the ‘lie detector’ read out.
You threw your hands up. “Really!”
Matt gave an intrigued little head tilt and said, “Hm. She told you the truth that time.”
Frank celebrated, “Oh thank fuck!”
“See!” you insisted, “Can we stop this weird interrogation now?” You tried to get up, but your boyfriend held you in place yet again.
He rubbed your shoulders while you pouted. “Relax. Just be a good girl and answer a few more questions.”
Matt asked, “How often do you fake an orgasm with him?”
“Never!”
“Honey, we already established that you’re lying about that,” Matt chided suavely.
“Fuck. You.”
Frank scolded, “Watch your mouth, naughty girl, or I’ll have to stuff somethin’ in it.”
“Good! I’d much rather gag on your cock than have to answer these stupid questions.”
Matt chuckled. “She truthfully means that.”
“My little slut is always happy to get her mouth fucked,” Frank teased.
You felt a dip in your stomach and your pussy clench at that talk. By Matt’s playful grin, you could tell that he could sense those internal clues of arousal.
“Y/N, your boyfriend obviously turns you on, so you have nothing to hide. Just tell me, how often do you fake it?”
You felt Frank’s eyes on you as you looked down at your lap. “Ugh, almost… never!”
“Is it true that you made a promise to Mr. Castle that you would never fake it?”
That one hit you like a sucker punch in the throat, so you stalled, “‘Mr. Castle? What are you gonna call him next? Your ‘client’?”
Matt smirked. “You’re clearly avoiding the question, Miss.”
You sighed exasperatedly. “Yes, I promised him I would never fake it.”
“And you broke this promise, yes?”
You squirmed in your chair. “No! Look, I’ve never faked it with him, okay? Maybe just a few times I… embellished the height of the pleasure a little, but that’s not the same thing.”
At that point, Frank interjected, “I wanna tell the difference, Red.”
Matt just cocked his head curiously.
“I wanna learn the difference between the real deal and the ‘embellishing’,” he explained as he gave you a teasing look.
“Well, I’m sorry old friend, but without my senses you’re unlikely to learn the difference if she’s unwilling to show you. Women can be very talented at faking orgasm, isn’t that right, honey?”
“Ugh, eat a dick, Matthew.”
Matt continued, “It’s not just the vocal acting, no, that part was easy to learn. There’s also the twitching, mastering the subtlety of it, so that it’s not comically overdone…”
Your heart raced.
“...and I’ll bet that she can even clench her pussy on your cock or your fingers voluntarily, in tight little contractions, to imitate the peak of her orgasm.”
You chewed your lip almost shamefully.
“Have you ever done any of that with me, naughty girl?” Your boyfriend asked you.
You rolled your eyes and shook your head.
“Your non-answer is basically an answer, honey,” Matt teased.
“...No,” you answered.
“Lie,” Matt countered simply.
“Damn it!” Frank complained. “Red. Help me out.”
“Uh, how exactly?” Matt asked with a little mischief in his tone.
“Listen to her while I fuck her brains out and tell me if it’s the real deal or not.” Frank was already manhandling you onto the bed and yanking off his shirt.
Matt shrugged. “Okay.”
You were gobsmacked at his easy agreement. “Wait- We’re doing it with Matt watching!?”
“He’s blind, sweetheart. He can’t watch shit.”
Matt chuckled. “Fuck you, asshole.”
You rolled your eyes. “With Matt… hearing?!”
Matt said, “Don’t act like you’re not turned on by it, honey. I can tell you are.”
“Shut the fuck u-!”
Frank cut you off with an eager kiss. He leaned you back flat on the bed.
You moaned.
“This attitude of yours lately…” Frank bent your leg up so he could give your ass a hard smack.
“Oh!” you gasped.
“...makes me think you need to get fucked into the mattress.”
“Ohh yes!” His smack had sent you to a submissive bliss, dying to be used like a fuck toy, and you didn't give a fuck about Matt being right there anymore.
“Yeah? This what you need?” Frank pressed the growing bulge in his pants against your mound so you could feel how hard he was.
“Oh please! I need the big, bad Punisher to fuck me!”
Summary: It all started with a family wedding Ripley Todd would've rather skipped. But in a twist of fate or cosmic humor James Bucky Barnes volunteers to suffer with her. After the wedding, when everything is left to settle government secrets begin to disrupt the peace and quiet he's been trying to preserve as he heals.
Warnings: Eventual NC17, mentions of domestic violence (not by Bucky), military dark humor, vulgar humor, torture.
Tags: (Let me do my best lol) Bucky Barnes, Soft Bucky, Bucky in his healing era, Sam and Bucky Friendship, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Team Dynamics, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Someday maybe happy ending, Ao3 fic
🙏🏻NSFW🙏🏻
The light was too bright to be dawn when Bucky finally stirred. He blinked, squinting at the unfamiliar calm of Ripley’s bedroom. The sheets were losing their warmth beside him— empty. The overhead fan was still spinning lazily. Birds chirped. For a terrifying second, his body kicked into gear—panic first, logic second. He inhaled. Deep and steady.
He could hear the cooking show that she always watched in the mornings. She was downstairs. He'd slept through her getting up. His hand scrubbed over his face. Not in shame. Just… surprise. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d done that. Not post-mission. Not after adrenaline and arguments and the kind of vulnerability that usually kept him wired for days.
It hit him then—he had slept. Like, really slept. He sat up slowly, frowning at the clock beside the bed still playing its nature sounds. Nearly 10. No dream. No sweat. No tensed muscles ready to launch him out of bed. Just a body catching up on the hours it lost while waiting for her to come back. He hit the button on the noise machine to shut it up, and stretched.
And damn it, he felt human. "So that's what sleeping next to a woman who can kill you can do," he muttered to himself, and got out of bed, making it neatly behind him.
He brushed his teeth, ran his fingers through his hair to tame it a little, and padded down the stairs, barefoot, bare chested, his sweatpants low on his hips.
Ripley sat on the couch, hair bundled into a messy bun, wearing one of her oversized hoodies over her sleep shorts and socked feet tucked under her. The cooking channel played while she nursed a mug of something—tea, probably. "Mornin' sleeping beauty." A smile played around her full lips as she said it.
Bucky leaned against the archway, rubbing his eyes again with a dry chuckle. “I slept.”
“Yeah,” Ripley nodded. “You did.”
"Did you?" He asked, moving into the kitchen, eyeing her over the kitchen island as he set his coffee makings up. She didn't answer right away. "Rip?"
"Yeah." She nodded again, mug of tea cradled in her hands, eyes staring at the painting on the wall across from her. Bucky didn't press, merely poured his water into the coffee dripper, watching it bloom, adding more, bloom again. He had found the YouTube video she had watched before she had left. His coffee had been next to perfect ever since.
“Do you remember that recipe we said we were gonna try to make?” Bucky said, lifting his coffee to breathe in the smell. She didn’t respond. “Y’know,” he lifted his voice a little, thinking he had been too soft spoken. “It was that lady who does the ‘how easy is that,’ which is bullshit ‘cuz it doesn’t look easy… it was an oven dish, I mean it might be too hot for that…”
No reaction. Just that same still posture.
Bucky frowned and walked over to the couch. “Hey.”
His voice was right next to her. She jolted, nearly spilling her tea. “Jesus Christ!” She set the mug down, her heart thundering in her ears. "Warn me next time."
“Been talkin’ to you for the last forty seconds,” Bucky said lightly, sitting down beside her. He shifted, laying his bare arm along the back of the couch, fingers brushing the hood of her sweatshirt.
Ripley gave a breathy laugh and scrubbed a hand down her face. “Guess I was in the zone.”
“Yeah,” he murmured. He tapped his fingers against his mug, glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. The cooking show host was cheerfully talking about store bought being fine as if there was anything else, but neither of them were really listening.
"Barefoot Contessa," Ripley told him, pointing her finger at the TV. "I grew up watching her, she's the OG."
"Hmmm." Bucky took a sip of his coffee studying her profile. "You wanna do something?" He asked her casually.
She turned her head toward him, eyebrow arching. “Like?”
“An exercise.”
“Like, sprints? Deadlifts?” Her brows furrowed down, Bucky licked his lips, fighting a smile.
“It’s called soul gazing.”
“That sounds dumb,” Ripley snorted, sliding her hands into the sleeves of her hoodie. “Really dumb.”
“C’mon, Rip.” He set his mug on the coffee table, his tone infuriatingly calm. “Face me.”
“Why?” Ripley watched him with a little sneer as he shifted his body toward her.
“Consider it a trust exercise,” he said, tapping his hand lightly to the side of her bare thigh.
Her eyes narrowed. “What the hell does that mean—?”
“C’mon, get your legs up.”
When she didn’t move fast enough for his liking, he reached out—warm hand sliding under her knees. She yelped as he lifted and turned her, placing her legs over his lap, one on each side. Suddenly much closer than she expected, hoodie riding up a little, thighs snug against his bare side.
“Hey!” she blurted, trying to scramble back. But his hands came to rest firmly on her arms, steady but gentle.
“I trust you,” he said quietly. “Don’t you trust me?”
She scowled, with a look that could’ve peeled paint off the goddamn wall. Her pulse thudded in her throat. She nodded once—tight, restrained.
“Then do this with me,” Bucky said, voice softer now. “And stop squirming around. Look into my eyes.”
Ripley huffed, but shifted enough to plant her elbows on her thighs, leaning forward until their faces were only inches apart. Her hoodie bunched around her hips. Her breath hitched. “For how long?” she muttered, eyes darting between his.
“Until I say stop,” Bucky replied, and locked in.
And holy shit did he lock in.
“What is it even supposed to do—”
“Shut up, Ripley.”
Her mouth closed. Not in offense. Not even defiance. Just something closer to stunned silence. Her brows twitched slightly, like her brain was still scrambling to keep the moment at arm’s length.
But then she saw it—Not just his eyes. What was behind them.
The softness. The war. The quiet ache that never left him. Not pain, exactly. Just that ghost of it. The kind that curled into the corners of a man’s mouth even when he smiled.
She swallowed thickly.
Bucky didn’t blink. Not once.
That blue locked her in like a steady sniper scope, zeroed and patient. His fingers twitched where they rested on her thighs, but otherwise he didn’t move. Just watched her. Drank her in. Let her see him, the way he rarely allowed anyone to. The way he hadn’t, maybe ever.
She wanted to look away. God, she needed to. But she didn’t. Instead, her legs—still folded around him, warm and grounded—tightened just slightly in instinct. Anchoring.
His voice broke the silence again, low. Raw. “I don’t know how to be this,” he said. “Whatever this is.”
Ripley blinked, once. “What?”
He exhaled, chest rising slowly. “Normal. Gentle. Happy.” A pause. Then her hand, almost shy, lifted from the hoodie sleeve and found the edge of his jaw. She didn’t cup it. Didn’t hold him. Just… touched. A whisper of skin-to-skin like she was scared he’d disappear if she pushed too hard.
“You don’t have to be anything,” she murmured. “Not for me. Not for anyone.”
His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. "Rip." His fingers tightened on her thighs, he moved them up an inch or two. "Tell me to stop." He whispered, his breath ghosting across her lips.
She hadn't moved her gaze, hadn't shied from the glacial blue eyes that were now mostly black pupil.
"I did that once," she murmured, her hands went to his forearms—flesh and metal. "I'm not doing that again."
He let out a shaky breath, his flesh hand moved and cupped the side of her face and he closed the distance. It wasn't gentle, it didn't need to be. Bucky’s hand slid from her cheek to the back of her neck, pulling her in.
The kiss was hungry—his tongue sweeping into her mouth before she had a chance to adjust. Her hoodie bunched between them as she leaned into him, lips parting under the weight of him, the want of him. His metal hand gripped her thigh, steady and grounding, while his flesh hand threaded into her hair like he was holding onto the only real thing in the room.
Her legs tightened around his hips in a subtle shift—instinctual, anchoring, dangerous. His breath stuttered when her hips tilted just slightly. With something between a groan and a moan, he dragged her onto his lap.
“Hold on,” he grunted, shoving a pillow out of his way. His hands went back into her hair, pulling her down again like a man starved.
Her mouth left his, lips hot and open against the column of his throat, tongue dragging over his Adam’s apple. He cursed under his breath. His skin burned under her, muscles flexing. She felt it in the way his hips pushed up into her instinctively.
He shoved her hoodie up, his hands gliding over warm, soft flesh. One hand skimmed the underside of her breast, worshipping and possessive all at once, while the other found the curve of her ass and squeezed. In one fluid motion, he flipped them—laying her flat on the couch cushions, the movement so sudden he knocked the coffee table with his foot.
Crash.
A mug hit the hardwood and shattered.
Ripley managed a strangled laugh that ended on a moan as he ducked under her hoodie, his mouth sealing over her breast, his metal hand palming the other with a low rumble in his chest.
“Bucky—” she gasped, half-laughing, half-winded, clinging to his shoulders. Her legs wrapped higher, locking around his hips, and his pelvis dropped into hers with a slow, filthy grind that sent lightning down her spine. Her head dropped back—she could feel the thick, rigid length of him.
His hand slid down between them, pressed his palm to her center—he could feel the wet heat of her, and groaned. His fingers curled into the waistband of her shorts. His free hand shoved her hoodie up beneath her chin, cupped her breast as he feasted on her mouth.
“Hey Rip, do you have tequila?”
Wick’s voice shattered the moment from the foyer. “Your golden boy Captain America is bringing beer, but I want a big, thick marg—JESUS CHRIST!”
"What the fuck!" Ripley jolted against Bucky trying to shove him away as her teammate scrambled to turn away from where he had just seen. She let out a frustrated growl. "Wickwire!"
"Oh my god," Wick turned his back on them. "What the fuck is happening?"
"What's wrong with you?" Bennett looked around him. "Oh my god!" He backed up into the wall. "No, no, no!" He held his his hands as Flea entered the house. "Stay put."
“All of you. Out.” Ripley’s voice was a choked mix of fury and panic. She scrambled to pull her hoodie back down, fingers fumbling. But Bucky was faster—gentler. He brushed her hands aside, smoothed the fabric into place himself, then framed her face in both hands, thumbs brushing her cheeks.
““I’m sorry,” Ripley blurted, breath still shaky. “I’m so sorry—I got carried—”
“Hey. It’s okay.” Bucky’s voice was low and steady, even if his pulse wasn’t. “It’s okay.” He leaned in and kissed her—quick, grounding—like he could freeze time and rewind it all at once.
“Fucking heathens,” Ripley hissed, glaring toward the hallway. Her eyes flicked to the obvious line still visible in his sweatpants. “I’ll kill them.”
Bucky’s lips twitched into a smirk. He ran his thumb along her bottom lip and leaned in again. “We’ve got time.”
“Yeah,” she muttered sulkily, eyes narrowing like a woman plotting war. She watched him disappear into the hallway, heard the collective awkward shuffle as her team made room. Then—
“Permission to enter?” Wick called, poking his head in with a wicked grin. He didn’t wait for an answer. He just strolled in, threw the curtains wide, and gasped. “Oh no. Not the Bruins mug!”
“That was ancient,” Flea added solemnly. “Was it worth it?” he asked, flopping dramatically onto the couch. “Ugh, why is this wet?”
“Shut the fuck up! It is not!” Ripley snapped, scarlet creeping up her neck. “What are you doing here?”
“Gumbo,” Wick said simply. “Team dinner? Ring bells?”
“A phone call, Wickwire! A text! Fuck, a carrier pigeon!” Ripley muttered, grabbing paper towels and sopping up the mess. She heard the front door open again—and Sam’s voice rising in greeting.
“Why you look so pissy, man?” Sam asked, clapping Bucky on the back from where he had come down from changing into jeans and a tee shirt. Sam, Bucky, and Torres moved into the kitchen.
“We interrupted,” Wick said without an ounce of shame, already perched at the island like a smug gargoyle.
“Interrupted what?” Sam asked, setting down the case of beer. Bennett gave him a single, arched brow. Sam whipped his head around to Bucky, who was glowering at Bennett like he was considering war crimes. “Buck… my guy.”
“Okay!” Ripley announced, throwing up her hands. “Figure out the grocery list. Wick—the tequila’s in the freezer.” And with that, she vanished up the stairs, two at a time.
As soon as she was out of earshot, five pairs of eyes zeroed in on Bucky like he was the last man standing in a firing squad.
Bennett exhaled, cracked open a beer, and lifted it in a half-assed toast. “We’re all adults,” he said calmly. “Everyone get a beer.” There was a pause as bottles hissed open. Bennett lifted his again. “So, uh, cheers—and thanks for letting Wick and me get an eyeful of our CO’s amazing rack. No bra. Peak performance.”
“Bucky had his face buried in them,” Wick added helpfully, unbothered as ever. “Pretty sure his hand was down her shorts too.”
Sam snorted into his beer. “Damn.”
“Are they perfect?” Flea asked, voice full of boyish awe. “I bet they’re perfect.”
“I bet one’s mismatched,” Bennett said sagely. “Every woman’s got a rogue boob.”
“I, for one…” Torres leaned over and tapped his bottle against Bucky’s untouched beer, tone sincere as ever. “Commend you. Rip’s a catch.”
Bucky’s jaw twitched. He didn’t lift his eyes from the beer bottle, but his ears were glowing red.
“You look like your cyborg brain’s in overdrive,” Sam said lightly, but his eyes weren’t joking—roving over his best friend’s face. “You okay, Buck?”
"Out," Ripley had reermered, jean shorts and a tank top on. Flea's gaze went directly to her chest as if trying to measure and figure out if Bennett was telling hte truth. "Backyard. Time now!"
"You got it boss," Wick grinned and handed her a beer. Omega hurried out, Ripley closed the door with a snap behind her, and faced the uproarious laughter.
"You're really gonna let her handle that by herself?" Sam asked Bucky as he leaned back comfortably against the granite counter. "That's pretty cold man."
"She can handle her team," said Bucky finally taking a long pull of beer to soothe his raw throat.
Torres studied him for a long moment, and smiled weakly. "Sorry we interrupted."
"Guys, it's fine…" Bucky scoffed a little. "It's fine."
"Hey, where's the bathroom in this place?" Torres caught the pointed look Sam had given him.
"Down the hall on the left," Bucky said absentmindedly, he was watching Omega through the kitchen doors window. His lips thinned as he watched Flea dry hump the air.
Sam waited until Torres was gone, then leaned his elbows on the counter, voice low. “You know, it’s okay to want something for yourself, right?”
Bucky huffed a small laugh. “You saying you’d pick her?”
“Hell no,” Sam said, laughing. “Woman like that? She’d eat me alive. But you?” He pointed the neck of his beer at Bucky. "You have a fighting chance with someone like her, I haven't seen her with anyone since her ex."
"I've met the ex," Bucky reminded him. "Not hard to beat him. Don't hit a woman and don't sleep with her sister."
"Yeah," Sam said with a big sigh. "He's an asshole."
“You’ve met him?” Bucky asked, brows lifting.
“Nah,” Sam said, leaning on the counter. “Rip and I got drunk in Afghanistan once, back when things were messy. She doesn’t talk much about the past, but that night? It just came out. Whole damn thing. How he hit her. How her own sister betrayed her. And how she just…left. Packed up, didn’t even take her dog.”
Bucky was quiet, staring into his beer.
Sam’s voice softened. “She didn’t run ‘cause she was weak. She left ‘cause she was strong enough to stop letting people hurt her.” He let that hang a second, then looked at Bucky. “You get that better than most.”
Bucky’s throat bobbed as he nodded. “She deserves better.”
“She does.” Sam nudged him gently with his shoulder. “But so do you.” That made Bucky glance at him. Sam’s voice was steady now, the kind of tone he used when he needed someone to hear him. “You’re allowed to want something for yourself, Buck. Doesn’t have to make sense to anybody else. Doesn’t have to check boxes or fit into some picture-perfect thing. You just gotta ask if it makes you feel more like yourself… or less.”
Bucky didn’t answer right away. But something in his shoulders relaxed.
Sam grinned then, lightening the mood. “That said… Ripley Mother Fucking Todd? Man, you’ve got guts.”
Bucky finally let out a laugh. “She does scare the hell outta you, huh?”
“Oh, absolutely,” Sam said, raising his beer. “That woman has walked through at least six of the nine circles of Hell. I’m not trying to die.”
Bucky clinked his bottle to Sam’s. “Yeah. Me neither.”
"Real talk," Sam's gaze softened like molten chocolate. "You deserve to be happy—even if it is with a woman who gets waterboarded and still makes a joke about it."
"So, like definitely a high powered dildo," Bennett asked pointing to his left arm. Ripley loosed a deep sigh. "Just asking because that looked like the hand that was down the front of your shorts."
"Don't ask, don't tell," Wick quipped as he tossed a horseshoe down the lawn.
"Uh, you can ask, and you can tell now," Flea reminded him, tossed his own shoe. "Does the serum effect the size of his—oh, hey Bucky."
Bucky didn’t flinch. He just walked past the group with a new beer in hand and a warning in his eyes that could’ve peeled paint. “Nope,” he said flatly, popping the cap and taking a sip. “Not answering that.”
“Oh come on,” Bennett laughed. “You’re telling me the enhanced metabolism, the muscle density, the grip strength—none of that affects—”
“I swear to God,” Ripley warned from her lawn chair, not even looking over from where her head was tipped back, aviators on under her ballcap soaking in the sun. “One more word and I will medically evaluate every single one of you with a knee to the groin.”
Flea clutched an invisible string of pearls. “Why are you so violent?”
“Why are you so horny for your CO?” she shot back, sipping her drink.
Wick grinned. “In Flea’s defense, we all have a power dynamic kink here, am I right?"
"I sure as shit do," Bennett grinned wolfishly at Ripley. Bucky leveled him with a look. "Bucky, man, c'mon, look at her and tell you wouldn't…"
"Enough," said Bucky quietly.
Ripley lowered her glasses, brown eyes unamused. "Hey, if we're done measuring our dicks—"
"No need, we all know who has the biggest one here," Bennett flashed a smile. "Right, Rip?"
"You are correct," She tipped her head back once more. "I tape that bitch to my knee every morning so it doesn't flop around."
"Big Dick Toddy,” Wick drawled, setting his horseshoe flying across the yard. It arced high and dropped clean over the stake with a perfect clang. “Yahtzee!” He grinned at the satisfying sound, but his gaze had already drifted. Not to the game. Not even to the beer in his hand. But to the quiet exchange happening just a few feet away.
Bucky stood behind Ripley’s chair, one hand tucked lazily in the pocket of his jeans, the other reaching down to gently tap the brim of her ballcap with two fingers—like he couldn’t not touch her. Ripley tilted her head up with the kind of smile Wick rarely saw outside of deployment reunions—easy, private, just for him.
Then came the brush of Bucky’s knuckles across her cheekbone. Barely there. But Ripley closed her eyes at the contact, leaning into it slightly. And Wick, for all his bravado, felt something give in his chest. Not jealousy. Just… peace.
She was happy.
“They look good together,” Sam’s voice cut through the moment as he wandered over and plucked a horseshoe from the grass near Wick’s pile. His tone was casual, but his eyes were locked on Ripley and Bucky like a hawk. “Whatcha think, Danny?”
Wick didn’t answer right away. He watched as Bucky crouched beside Ripley’s chair, settling on the balls of his feet like he had nowhere else to be, his mouth moving as he said something that made Ripley laugh.
Wick exhaled through his nose. “I think he’ll wreck her heart when he leaves,” he said simply, tossing his next horseshoe. It missed by a mile. “And we’ll be here to pick up the pieces.”
Sam scoffed, but there was no heat in it. “You think he’s the one who leaves?” he asked, raising a brow. “Nah, man. Buck’s too loyal for that. Ride or die.”
“And Ripley isn’t?” Wick turned fully to face him now, horseshoe game completely forgotten. “You think you understand her because you’ve seen her in the field, but you don’t. You don’t know what she does for the people she loves.”
Sam’s brow lifted with interest. “You tellin’ me she loves him?”
Wick didn’t answer right away. Instead, he motioned subtly toward the pair. Bucky had leaned in closer now, and Ripley was murmuring something low. She reached up to tuck her hair behind her ear, and his hand followed the movement, brushing along the line of her jaw. The touch wasn’t sexual—it was reverent. Familiar. Like he was reminding himself she was real.
“You know anyone else who could walk over to her and touch her like that?” Wick asked, voice low. “I could—you probably could. But no one else here can. And that includes every dumbass in that house.”
Sam’s mouth curved. “Bet,” he said, handing off his beer. “Torres! C’mere!”
Torres jogged over from the shaded porch where he’d been nursing a beer and trying very hard to stay out of everyone’s business. “Yeah?”
“Do me a favor,” Sam said, casual as ever, like he wasn’t about to launch Torres into a social suicide mission. “So I can win a bet. Go touch Rip.”
Torres blinked, confused. “What?”
“Just casual,” Sam shrugged, all nonchalant. “Friendly-like. Hand on the shoulder, pat on the back. You know. Bro stuff.”
Wick folded his arms across his chest, a devilish glint in his eye. “C’mon, Torres. You like to live dangerously, right?”
“I mean… yeah?” Torres hesitated, looking between the two of them. “What happens if she stabs me?”
“She won’t stab you,” Sam said, with the confidence of a man who absolutely could not guarantee that. “I don’t see a knife on her.”
Wick snorted. “She doesn’t need a knife. She is the weapon.”
Still wearing that uncertain but game-for-anything smile, Torres adjusted his shirt and started across the lawn. Ripley had leaned back again, legs stretched out, sunglasses in place, chin tilted toward the sun, sipping her beer. She looked serene—an illusion as fragile as glass.
Torres crouched beside her on the opposite side of Bucky, who sat on the grass with his back to Wick and Sam, arm resting lazily across his knee, watching Bennett and Flea wrestle in the corner. "Lookin' good Flea!" He shouted as Bennett all but launched the smaller man off of him into the dirt. "Real strong!" He added a slow clap.
“Hey, Rip,” Torres said cheerfully, trying to channel maximum non-threatening energy. He dropped a hand casually onto her thigh.
"Oooooo too high," hissed Wick under his breath to Sam.
Torres wasn’t entirely sure what happened first—Bucky’s glacial look and slow rise to his feet, or Ripley’s hand snapping forward with surgical precision, grabbing his wrist, rolling it into a joint lock that dropped him to both knees in the grass as she rose to her feet.
“Ow ow ow— okay, okay!” Torres blurted, frozen like someone had hit pause on his brain. “I just—uh—Sam—uh—bet—”
Ripley's eyes narrowed, dark with annoyance behind her Ray Bans. “What. Are you. Doing.”
Torres pointed weakly with his free hand toward Sam and Wick, who were now absolutely doubled over near the porch, barely able to breathe through their laughter.
Sam hollered, “It was for science!”
Wick wheezed, “You proved my point!”
Ripley exhaled a sharp sigh and let go of Torres’s wrist, shoving him back with a flick. “Joaquin. Don’t ever just walk up and touch a woman like that. You ask. Especially when she’s resting.”
Torres scrambled to his feet, rubbing his wrist, eyes wide with embarrassment. “Yes ma’am.”
“Especially this one,” Bucky added coolly, stepping closer, his stance protective in that barely-contained-ex-assassin way. “And not around me, Joaquin.”
“Noted!” Torres nodded, turning on his heel and beelining back across the lawn like his ass was on fire.
Ripley shook her head and adjusting her ballcap with one hand and raising the other to point directly at Sam and Wick. “You two. Apologize. Now.”
“Sorry, Torres!” Sam called out, not even trying to sound sincere, still half bent over with laughter.
“Yeah, real heartfelt,” Ripley muttered, reclaiming her seat with a huff.
Wick, still chuckling, called after the younger man, “You took it like a champ, Airman! That’s a story for your grandkids.”
“Assuming I can hold my grandkids after she broke my damn wrist,” Torres mumbled, flopping dramatically onto a chair.
"I didn't do it that hard!" Ripley called after him. "Spilled my beer too," she muttered with a pout.
"You want another?" Bucky asked. "I'm going in for one."
Sam made his way over to Ripley, holding up both hands in surrender. “Alright, alright, bad call. But technically, you didn’t stab him, so I was right.”
Ripley gave him a deadpan look over the rim of her sunglasses. “You wanna be next Captain America?"
Sam put a hand to his chest, feigning offense. “Whoa now. You threatening national icons on a Sunday afternoon?”
Ripley leaned back with a lazy shrug. “Only the dumb ones." Wick wandered off. "What?"
"Grocery list." He said. "After all we did cockblock you for a reason."
"It better be the best gumbo I've ever tasted," Bucky said as he got to his feet. He held a hand down to help Ripley out of the chair.
"I don't think anything would compare to what I'm sure the sweetest tasting pu—" Bennett began with a sardonic smirk.
Ripley interupted the moment Bucky's jaw tightened. "Bennett, too soon," she brushed an absentminded hand along Bucky's arm as she and Wick began to create the list.
Get more from Mr. Humble | Blacksite Literature™ on Patreon
Studios keep serving mascots.
Hollow shells in spandex.
Quips instead of scars.
Posters instead of people.
But characters don’t become myth until you give them three things:
🔺 Intimacy -- what they’d protect more than their own skin.
🔺 Contradiction -- the fracture that makes perfection impossible.
🔺 Duty -- a vow larger than ego.
Rey should’ve been the monster.
Finn should’ve been the prophet with blood on his hands.
Carol should’ve carried her dead squadron into every battle.
She-Hulk should’ve been divine law for monsters.
Do that, and even the blandest corporate archetype stops being forgettable.
They bleed.
They scar.
They become scripture.
That’s the Blacksite method:
You don’t sand them down.
You cut them open.
You force myth into the wound.
🧠 Read the full Character Salvage Doctrine here:
👉 https://www.patreon.com/posts/free-writing-how-137189992?utm_medium=clipboard_copy&utm_source=copyLink&utm_campaign=postshare_creator&utm_content=join_link
🛡️ Blacksite Literature™. Scrolltrap psychology.
📖 Characters reborn as myths, not marketing.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
My newest IronDad fic, inspired by the movie 65 and a prompt shared by @idk-bruh-20!
Chapters: 1/10
Fandom: Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, 65 (Movie 2023)
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe) & Tony Stark
Characters: Tony Stark, Peter Parker, Pepper Potts, Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe), James "Rhodey" Rhodes, Happy Hogan (mentioned), Alexander Pierce
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Sick Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe), Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt Tony Stark, Protective Tony Stark, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Found Family, Whump, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Dinosaurs, Outer Space, Irondad, Did i mention dinosaurs, Presumed Dead, Angst with a Happy Ending
Summary:
Provided with the opportunity to get access to life-saving treatment for his ill daughter, Tony Stark accepts the position as pilot for a two-year long delivery across the galaxy. But when an undocumented asteroid causes the ship to crash land on an unknown planet, Tony uncovers a dark secret about his employer.
Now he has to hike miles over uncharted terrain with the only other survivor—a traumatized teenager with strange, spider-like abilities. Danger lurks around every corner, and it’s a fight to survive as the duo faces deadly threats, ranging from rushing rivers to forty-foot predators.
Oh yeah, and the kid he’s with doesn’t even speak the same language as he does.
Not only was she pitifully on time to the party, but it was also painfully obvious just how much attention she had paid to her appearance. The last time she had spent this much time getting ready was for the giant annual SHIELD fundraiser last year.
She stopped just short of the entrance to Tony’s house, letting out a breath and smoothing down the front of her gown — a satin slip dress, rich navy shimmer. Low dip at the neck, tight around her hips before cascading down her legs with a luxurious sheen. Sparkly diamond earrings and necklace to match. Shiny black heels. The whole ensemble had cost her a fortune and a half.
To top it all off, she had managed to create an elaborate updo, spending hours trying to perfect it down to the last curl. Brushing a few strands out of her face, she peered up at the familiar yet still intimidating doors of Tony’s mansion. It stared back down at her with all its grandiosity, polished glass and gleaming gold daring her to enter.
Her staring contest with the door didn’t last long however, as she heard a line of cheerful guests chatting their way to the entrance of the party, sounds of shrill laughter and fancy shoes clicking against the marble pavement ringing through the driveway.
She bit her lip, determined to keep her worries at bay. She was nervous for more reasons than one, but decided not to dwell on them as she trailed behind the loud guests through the heavy glass doors.
As soon as she stepped inside, she was immediately greeted by a gust of live music and expensive perfume. Pepper Potts was quick to spot her at the door, greeting her enthusiastically and looking way too relaxed for her usual self at a Tony Stark party; she normally spent her time making sure that Tony didn’t blow half the house down to entertain the guests. Judging by the way she swayed back and forth, perhaps the champagne in her hand had helped.
“Hi, Pepper, how are you?” She greeted cheerfully as Pepper went in for a tight hug.
“Oh, just fantastic. What about you? I can imagine the recent debacle on Time Square’s been keeping you busy.”
She rolled her eyes, letting out a sigh. “I know. You’d think they’d be able to go one week without causing a ruckus” They both stared resentfully at the group of superheroes crowded around a bar in the far corner, watching Thor attempt to make an overzealous toast before clumsily knocking over a vase and three bottles of wine in the process.
Pepper shook her head and downed the remainder of the champagne in her glass, wincing. “Mm, when that day comes, I am taking a long holiday and never coming back.”
“You and me both Pepper.”
They made eye contact and shared a loud laugh. She remembered the first time she was introduced to Pepper, back when she was promoted to working as Tony’s assistant. Upon minutes of watching her work, she immediately grew to appreciate her tenacity, which was strong enough to handle even the great Tony Stark.
Soon enough, Piper was steering her toward the bar to “introduce her to the rest of the team,” an arm around her shoulders as they made small talk.
“How’s Anne doing? I heard about the tenure award.”
“She’s great, and yeah, the whole office got together for…”
As they approached the rowdy group of superheroes, she eyed them slowly: some sitting, some standing behind the bar. As soon as Tony spotted Pepper, he extended an arm toward her before stumbling tipsily, only to have Pepper lunge forward to catch him.
“Woah, ok, Tony. You might want to slow down on the scotch.” Pepper gave a nervous laugh, patting the front of Tony’s suit down in a familiarly threatening gesture.
Tony was too drunk to notice, however, as he waved her off with a mumbled “no, it’s fine, I’m fine.”
As Tony turned around, she was greeted with a loud “Manhattan!” The rest of the group’s attention fell on her, and she shrunk under their intense gaze.
She recognized everyone gathered there, even though she didn’t know any of them personally: Clint Barton, Natasha Romanoff, Thor Odinson, Bruce Banner, and, most unfamiliar to her, James Buchanan Barnes. The nervous ball in her chest dissipated a bit after spotting Maria Hill sat in the corner, whom she had gotten to know during tedious meetings at HQ.
Tony spent a painfully long time introducing her to each Avenger, giving her information that was basically included in her job title to know top to bottom. It felt strange to meet these people in person, people whose messes she was so used to cleaning up after.
“… and that’s Seargent Barnes, a ruthless Soviet assassin now turned ruthless assassin for us.”
As her eyes trailed down involuntarily to the agent’s metal hand, peeking underneath the tight black shirt he was sporting, Tony bent down to her ear, whispering loud enough for the rest of the group to hear.
“Oh, and try not to bring up the giant shiny metal arm, he gets a lil’ sensitive about it.” He gave her a playful wink, which got an eye roll and a barely-detectable-but-still-there smile from the ‘Winter Soldier’, so she figured it was appropriate for her to smile and give him a small nod. To her surprise, he nodded back.
Tony peered around, frowning. “Where’s Rogers and Wilson?”
“I think you mean Wilson and Rogers.”
A familiar voice sounded from behind her and Tony, making her stomach jump. She whipped around with a wide smile, any remaining tension in her dissolving at the wide grin on the man’s face.
“Sam!” She didn’t know what had compelled her to do it, but she jumped up to give him a hug. Sam, who took a second to recover from shock, hugged her back even tighter.
Aside from the immediate joy of seeing a familiar face, perhaps she was so excited because Sam was a welcome change to everyone else she had met that night. While Tony and Pepper were amazingly welcoming people, and the Avengers seemed friendly enough, they all intimated her one way or another, be it the overbearing wealth, intelligence, or notoriety.
But with Sam, she felt nothing but ease and trust. They had met when she spent the summer of her freshman year of college volunteering at the VA. Over the months, she had become well-acquainted with his warm and playful nature, helping him arrange support group meetings for veterans. She was somewhat disappointed to hear that he had joined the Avengers as Falcon a few years later.
Pulling back from the hug, she got a whiff of his warm spicy perfume, nostalgic notes of cinnamon and sandalwood, and was reminded of much simpler times: picking up extra shifts in barely air-conditioned cubicles in the heat of July, made worth it by late-afternoon strolls around the reflecting pool, as she and Sam munched on half-smokes from Ben’s — ‘best in D.C.’, he had claimed through a mouthful of sausage.
The would partake in heated debates over hotdogs or sandwiches until the summer sun disappeared languidly beneath the horizon, sky bleeding a brilliant shade of orange. At one point, she had even thought that they would have made a good couple, if their friendship had been any less strong.
Now, as she stood in front of him, she couldn’t hide her surprise at how much he had changed since they had last seen each other. Cheekbones more chiseled, biceps twice as big, and shoulders wider, more confident. Plus a brand new fucking beard. The invigorating light in his eyes hadn’t faded, though, and when he smiled, that same endearing gap between his front teeth reminded her that at least a part of him hadn’t changed.
“Wow, how long has it been?” He exclaimed, gesturing toward her as he looked her up and down, incredulous.
“10 years?” She speculated.
Chuckling in disbelief, he shook his head and let out a low whistle. “Crazy.”
Another tight hug that neither of them could help.
“You look good.” He grinned, pulling back, with which she responded with a warm smile and a playful pat on the arm.
“You too, Wil”
“I see you’ve somehow already met Birdman.” Tony stepped between them, scratching his head in confusion.
“Yeah,” she nodded, still in awe at reuniting with the man in front of her, “We worked at the VA together.”
“Fascinating,” Tony responded insipidly, to which she just smiled and rolled her eyes.
Sam gasped, suddenly rushing forward.
“Oh man, my fault, I totally forgot!” He gestured toward the man who had been standing them all along.
A showy wave of his hand, and a small bow for extra dramatic effect. “This is the Steve Rogers”
“Sam.” The man next to him muttered and nudged Sam in his side, embarrassed.
As her attention shifted to him, her breath halted at the gaze that met hers. Soft eyebrows and even kinder eyes that crinkled at the corner, pink lips forming a gentle smile as he reached forward and extended a hand. At the gesture, the thin material of his shirt rippled, stretching against his bulging biceps and dear god, those shoulders.
She’s read plenty of material on America’s hero, but never seen him in person. Now she believed her coworkers when they said he’s more godly than Thor Odinson himself.
“Captain Rogers, it’s a pleasure.” She replied, nodding.
“Please, just Steve.” A deep timber ringing deep in his chest as his warm palm made contact with hers. “And the pleasures all mine.”
She couldn’t believe that this was the first time they were being introduced to each other, considering how much she already knew about him. Now, seeing him in what people in her line of work called ‘civilian attire,’ a tight blue dress shirt and fitted black slacks, she couldn’t help but be intrigued about what kind of man stood behind the red-white-and-blue shield.
Her thoughts were interrupted abruptly by Tony, who made a point in rolling his eyes and snoring noisily next to them.
“God, is this a party or a press conference? Come on! Capsicle -” A tipsy finger pointed at the blonde hero “- I challenge you and Wilson here for a game of…” A pause for dramatic effect, an all-too-familiar mischievous grin on his face.
“…Beer Pong.”
A mixture of groans and bets erupted around the group as Tony shuffled everyone over to the ping pong table.
But as she was pulled aside by her ex-boss to discuss ‘battle strategy,’ she didn’t fail to catch the way Captain America’s eyes lingered on her, meeting her gaze for a brief moment before quickly faltering.
And when he thought she wasn’t looking, those same eyes trailed across her features and down the curves of her dress, in a matter she’s never seen Captain America do before.
12:37 am
Two rounds of beer pong (both of which she and Tony lost), followed by a bonus redemption round that Tony demanded on the account that both of their opponents had “unfair physical advantages.” Since then, Tony had ushered out the rest of his guests (not without introducing her to Brad Pitt first, of course), and organized a ‘SHIELD agents only’ afterparty of sorts.
They sat around in a circle in Tony’s giant living room — her, Maria, and the Avengers — with Thor’s hammer as the center of everyone’s attention.
“Whatever man, it’s a trick!"
“Well please, be my guest.” Thor gestured smugly to his hammer, sitting on the coffee table (which was most definitely not worthy).
Clint Barton rolled his eyes, twirling a stray drumstick in the air as he stood up, being the 1st out of many people that night to try and fail at lifting the mighty Mjolnir.
Next came Tony, who, despite the usage of his fancy mechanic gloves, couldn’t even get the hammer to budge.
“Damn, I really needed that win” He plopped down next to her on the couch with a defeated sigh. After spotting her, he smirked, crossing his leg and throwing an arm around the back of the couch.
“Havin’ fun?”
“Hmm? Oh, yeah.” Her hand slipped away from where it was resting under her chin, and she she sat up straighter, giving him a small smile.
“Manhattan…” Tony frowned, lifting his back off the couch, before he was interrupted by a roar of laughter from the rest of the group — Bruce Banner had almost fell backwards in his futile efforts to lift the hammer.
She bit her lip, glancing down at her dress and fidgeting with the fabric over her knee.
“I just…” She sighed, voice only audible to Tony.
“What am I doing here, Tony?”
He stayed silent, uncharacteristically so, and they both knew why.
“These people, your friends…” She trailed off quietly, though she doubted anyone else was paying attention, busy cheering on the next challenger in their test of worthiness.
Tony let out her name quietly, resting a gentle hand on her shoulder.
“Hating them isn’t gonna change what happened, you know that.”
At that, she visibly flinched, blood turning cold. Deep down she knew he was right, like always — he was never afraid to be straight with her. Nonetheless, she couldn’t help but straighten up, standing abruptly, letting out a small ‘excuse me’ as she squeezed past the couch and Maria Hill, seated on the floor.
As she made her way over in the vague direction of the bathroom, the clicks of her heels and the beating of her heart pounding in her ears, she could faintly catch the distant exchange between Maria and Tony, drowned out by another roar of laugher from the rowdy group of heroes.
“She okay?”
“Yeah, yeah she’s fine…”
The water shut off with a quiet trickle as she stepped back from the marble sink, glancing up at the mirror. Running a wet hand through her hair, she took a deep breath, letting the air fill her lungs until the corners of her chest hurt. She was here at her own will, so she might as well try and enjoy the rest of her night. Plus, Tony was right — blaming any of the people out there wasn’t going to change anything. Maybe she’ll go back out there, apologize to Tony with another glass of whiskey, and play along to polite conversation the rest of the night.
But, there was one thing she needed to do first.
She made her way out of the bathroom and toward the balcony, making sure to take the detour route so as to avoid crossing the living room.
As soon as she reached the glass doors on the northern side of Tony’s house, reaching a small opening on the top floor, she was reminded of why this was her favorite spot in the whole tower, and why she had moved to New York in the first place.
Tony had the best view in the whole city, no doubt. Overlooking midtown Manhattan, she could spot Empire State from here, the Chrysler building, and just feel the busy bustle of city life that shined through during this time of night: flickering lights and honking cars, loud sirens, distant sounds of laughter and bar fights. The cold night air cleared her head as she let it fill her lungs, chasing the loud thoughts away.
“Mind if I join you?”
She perked up, turning around to see who had entered, before shaking her head, letting her eyes return to the city horizon.
“No, go ahead.”
Steve Rogers gently slid the door closed behind him, and stepped out into the balcony, joining her at the edge. She wondered briefly how he knew she’d be here, but figured it made no difference. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him rest his forearms against the glass railing, bottle of beer casually hanging from one hand hand.
He was the first one to break the silence, voice resounding deep in his chest.
“You and Tony… you guys were great back there.” He said, jerking his head in the direction of the rest of the group.
A moment of confusion, before she realized that he was talking about beer pong. She let out a small smile, the lines of her lips too tight to feel genuine.
“Thanks.”
“Have you two known each other long?”
A pause as her eyes flickered over the Chrysler building, so close she could almost touch the glowing yellow triangles adorning the sides.
“Yeah, I… used to work as his assistant.”
“Ah, that explains the teamwork.”
She gave him an inquisitive look, and he added, “During beer pong? Sam and I barely beat you two.”
Eyebrows furrowed, she snorted, shaking her head. “You call 3-0 barely?”
“Well...” He glanced down, shifting the beer in his hand and straightening up a little.
“...you still put up a good fight.”
A small smirk in her direction as he takes a small swig.
She halted, head turning toward him with a raised eyebrow, genuine amusement tugging on the corner of her mouth.
“Did we now?”
A playful but shy glint in his eyes as he cocks his head, shrugging his shoulders, biceps flexing under his shirt. And the night air feels just a tad warmer.
Eyes narrowing with renewed interest, she slowly turns toward him, one hand on the railing, the other resting on her hip.
“And where did Captain America learn to play beer pong?”
He chuckles, cocking his head “Working with Tony you uh… you pick up a few things. Though I guess you don’t need me to tell you that.”
Her eyes trailed down the front of his dress shirt, blue as the lights on the Empire State tonight.
“Damage Control, right?”
She nodded, eyes flitting back up to meet his. Same color as his shirt, except for a hint of green — specks of cool, deep jade amidst all the pensive blue.
“Times Square must’ve been a real hassle. Thought I’d come out here and apologize.”
Ah, was that why he was here? A small smile as she glanced down at the glass of Don Perignon in her hand, tiny bubbles clinging to the sides before fizzing their way to the top.
“It’s alright, I already chewed Tony’s ass off about it.”
“Still, if there’s anything I can do to make up for it, let me know.”
Her fingers halted over the glass of champagne, eyes snapping up to meet his.
Was he really…?
Tinted cheeks and a shy smile, crinkling the corners of eyes that glanced away and fixed their gaze forward.
Yes, he was.
And so she decided to play along, to whatever this was. Whatever game they’re thinking they can handle. Hoping they can handle.
She straightened up, the lights of New York dancing in her eyes as an infinite kaleidoscope of color peered into green-blue.
“Well, I guess I can think of a few things.”
6:01 am, Today
Her feet burn against the hot driveway as she drags herself out of the wretched compound, face still burning with humiliation. Squeezing her eyes shut, she's desperate to punch the nearest wall after the conversation she just had with Steve.
He cleared his throat, scratching the back of his head.
“U-hm, I just wanted to ask if you wanted to join me for breakfast. I know this place just a few blocks away and-”
Her loud wince cut him off, as she squeezed her eyes and took a step back, closer to the direction of the stairs.
She hadn’t mean to reject him with such cruelty, but now that the ice-cold flame was out in the open, all the warmth had dissipated from the air between them.
“I…I don’t understand.” A soft furrow of his eyebrows and even gentler tone.
“Captain Rogers, we were drunk last night.”
She knew it wasn’t a great excuse — she was barely tipsy from that second glass of champagne, and him? Well, Thor’s Asgardian mead might’ve helped, but she remembered reading something somewhere about a super-soldier serum and a ridiculously high metabolism.
“I can’t really get drunk.” He responds instinctively, taking a step toward her in an almost desperate gesture.
She only sighs, because she knows the details of the account aren’t what matter, and pinches the bridge of her nose.
“Captain Rogers, I-"
It was his turn to wince this time, shoulders visibly shrinking into his giant frame.
“Steve, please.”
“Steve, It’s just that I…” Her gaze rises beyond him and scans the rest of the compound. She sighs, incredulous at the circumstance she’s brought upon herself.
“… I just can’t believe I did this.” She said under her breath, more to herself than anything, but that never stopped anyone with super-hearing abilities, did it?
A flash of hurt that flickers across his features, before it dissipates just as quickly, his face molding into the stoic professionalism she was most accustomed to.
“Right. I’ll call you a cab. Do you have everything that you need?”
Fucking unbelievable. Even in a situation like this he’s incapable of abandoning his superhero bravado.
“No, thank you. I’ll call an Uber.”
And that left her here, now, waiting impatiently on some random sidewalk, still barefoot, waiting for a black Toyota to arrive by the name of ‘Jim.’
If it weren’t for her entanglement in this whole thing, she would have laughed into next week at the irony of it all.
Tony was so wrong. About Steve. About all of it. 100-year-old virgin her ass.
As her mind wanders back to the events of last night, she’s reminded of the most minute of details. Goosebumps erupt down her spine at the thought of his lips, his hands, his mouth…
And yet when she spots the black car round the corner and come to a hault, she feels the wave of sickening disappointment move back in her stomach, settling down for good. Out of all of the men she could have slept with in the world, it had to be him. How could she have let this happen? The reckless irresponsibility of it all made her gut churn.
23rd and 5th, please.
As the car drives off, she tries desperately to stifle the remaining spark of guilt flickering in her chest.
But even with her eyes closed, the last impression of his face burns through the back of her mind.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Steve Rogers had done the best bullshit of his life. He had thought it was that he hid the truth from Tony Stark about his parent’s deaths, but he was wrong. He shouldn't even include it in his list of bad deeds because it was so serious. And the consequences that followed were enough not to mention her in her Top 10.
No, really his confrontation in Siberia was out of competition.
The latest ?
He had just committed the act of infidelity.
Marvel's Werewolf by Night fanfic - Survival by Night
I wrote dis for Halloween in 2023. I'm writing somethin' new for this Halloween, but I just wanna keep Jack Russell in our brains too - I love the adorkable wolf boy okay
You sprinted through the forest.
A sickening feeling in your gut had told you to run, that you were in grave danger.
You heard a roar.
It was hard to tell with all your fleeting senses and adrenaline, but that roar didn’t sound like what you wanted to hear. You wanted to hear a canine sort of growl or howl.
Instead, you heard something even more monstrous. Something roaring and snapping against trees in its wake.
You made a sharp turn, leapt over a fallen log, and ran like you never had before.
The full moon was so bright that everything was almost as visible as in daytime. Without it, you were sure that you would be dead by now. You would have stumbled in the dark and been killed by this thing hours ago.
Moving fast was your only lifeline on this freezing, deadly night.
Whatever was chasing you seemed to fade away. You stopped hearing it.
After running so far and so fast, you finally took a second to catch your breath.
After just a moment of being still, your body reawakened to all the growing concerns that it had been ignoring in favor of adrenaline: Your toes being icicles, your lost breath misting into the cruel night, your hunger, your exhaustion, the cut on your ankle that you had barely registered when you sprinted through sharp pine brush.
You checked your ankle and saw that it was bleeding a lot.
“Shit, no…” You whispered and pressed the palm of your hand against the gash. You hissed at the pain that you caused.
Something crunched in the forest.
You straightened up and listened. Your heart pumped like crazy, getting you ready to run again as you waited, frozen in place like a terrified little rabbit. You didn’t even move your head to look around, scanning only with your eyes.
You didn’t breathe.
There was another snap of a branch. Then a low, rumbling sound.
It sounded like it was coming from somewhere in front of you. Like the beast had circled you.
You started shivering in fear.
More low rumbling, accompanied by inhuman, heavy breathing.
Closer now.
You swallowed thickly and tried a shaky whisper, “Jack?”
Silence.
You waited in frightened silence. Seconds felt like hours.
The horrifying waiting game was broken by a growl in a new direction.
A growl.
You let yourself take a breath. “Jack?”
Nothing happened. More eerie silence.
“Please be you…” you whispered to yourself.
You scanned the forest.
A shadow sprinted from one tree trunk to another. You gasped.
Ready to run for your life on a millisecond’s notice, you whispered like a mantra, “Please be you, please be you, please be you. Fuck! Jack, baby, come on!”
Something trampled through the forest and created a big, looming shadow in the moonlight. You thought you were ready to run, but you felt like your feet had frozen to the forest floor, as if frosty tendrils had crept up and latched around your boots.
The monster eclipsed the moon, and your heart sank.
That shape, that thing, was most definitely not your husband, Jack Russell.
It was a wendigo.
A huge, ugly, cannibalistic wendigo emerged in the moonlight.
You wanted to scream, but it was like your voice was muted by some jerk with the TV remote.
The wendigo charged at you.
As your heart pumped adrenaline, all you could think was: dodge between its legs when it lunges.
A wolf-like howl stopped the wendigo’s charge. It looked for the source.
The very werewolf you were hoping for leapt from the shadows and pounced on the wendigo, knocking it down to the ground.
Jack snarled as he fought with the beast twice his size.
You couldn’t make yourself look away from the horrifying display in front of you. Even while you cringed, even while you screamed.
Jack finally got his teeth around that thing’s neck and killed it. He didn’t exactly stop there, however. He kept tearing it to shreds with his claws after it was already dead, as if he had to make damn sure. He finally paused and tested to see if the wendigo would move. He growled and bit its neck a couple more times for good measure.
There was almost disappointment in the way that he walked a few steps away from his kill. Too easy for him. My god, he had shown no mercy.
Jack looked at you and growled.
You didn’t run; running induced chase. Running induced hunt mode.
So you vowed to stay right where you were no matter what.
He pounced on you.
You landed hard. Flat on your back in the sticks and leaves, with all his weight on top of you.
You might as well have been hit by a train, as he knocked the air out of your lungs, and you had to gasp in a breath.
Despite that tremendously rough greeting, you managed to keep looking into his eyes.
Shivering and labored breathing were inevitable. You were still practically gasping, but you tried your very best not to show your teeth. You still felt scared, yes, but not as scared as the first few times that this happened.
He stared into your eyes, challenging you to look away, but you didn’t. He sniffed in your scent a few times. He eased up just a little, not crushing you with all his weight anymore.
You blinked once, slowly and calmly. You stroked his face. He didn’t even flinch this time, and that almost made you want to celebrate.
“Thank you,” you told him softly.
He wouldn’t understand your words in this condition, but he just might understand your sentiment. And if nothing else, your voice was soothing to him.
After a moment, he abruptly got off you.
Jack started to run away, but then looked back at you again.
You were still watching him as you warily stood back up.
“Thank you, Jack.”
He didn’t seem to have any reaction. Finally, he huffed and looked away from you. He ran back into the woods growling and snarling. He was eager to move on, eager to find more prey and rip it to shreds.
You sighed in relief. You hugged yourself to try to warm up, but it was short lived when you felt that your torso was soaked with blood. It took you a moment of shock to register that it wasn’t your blood, it was the wendigo’s blood that Jack had gotten on you. You gagged and shivered like a convulsion.
“Ugh. Fuck…” You desperately wanted to shed your bloody jacket in disgust, but that bloody jacket was still keeping you just a hint above hypothermia.
You forced your mind to focus. Focus now, succumb to exhaustion later, when you were safe. Or safe enough. It was clear to you now that your husband was watching out for you. He may be in a completely feral state, but he had stayed close enough to protect you. So at least there was that.
But with him being in that completely feral werewolf state, that also unfortunately meant that you were still on your own with all the other aspects of your survival. Like not dying from the elements, for example.
You shivered and your teeth chattered.
First priority: A fire.
You needed to build a fire somehow, without any tools or equipment whatsoever.
You eyed all the snapped branches left behind by the wendigo’s path. Some of that firewood was already cut up for you…sort of.
***
Two full hours of shivering and swearing later, you got a fire started with the mangled birch wood, some brush tinder, and vigorous friction.
When you were certain that the fire’s lifespan was good for at least a few hours, you finally sat back against the nearby tree trunk and exhaled. Your body shivered violently as it warmed up. Your fingers were looking red, almost frostbitten. It was like waking up from the dead. You hugged yourself tightly.
You lost some time. Maybe only a few minutes. When you startled awake, you realized that everything was fine, relatively, and the fire was just crackling loudly.
The next priority: The cut on your ankle.
You gladly shed your wendigo bloodied jacket at last. A sharp stick aided you in ripping some of the cloth from the inside pockets to use as a bandage.
There wasn’t exactly any antiseptic lying around. Wrapping your ankle tightly with the make-shift bandage was the best you could do for now.
Third priority: Shelter.
You forced your exhausted legs to carry you again.
As you got to work building a rudimentary shelter in the form of a lean-to, your mind drifted to the traumatizing mystery of how you and Jack had ended up in this fucked situation in the first place.
It felt like weeks ago now, but it was only yesterday.
You were passengers in a helicopter, flying to meet Elsa Bloodstone at a secret location that only Jack had been to before.
Jack said that she was summoning you both for your safety.
You swallowed thickly, remembering how you had asked Jack if he could trust her.
Jack had assured you, “Aside from Ted, she’s the only other person we can trust.”
So you believed him. And you still did now, but after what happened next, you weren’t so sure that you believed Elsa.
The pilot and co-pilot had seemed so friendly. They loaded up your luggage for you. But you were stupid not to suspect something when they insisted that even your small backpack had to go in the storage compartment instead of staying with you. They gave some polite reasoning about the weight distribution on the small craft, and you had just gone with it.
That backpack had a satellite phone in it. It had pepper spray, it had a knife, it had food and water….painkillers. You wanted to go back and time and kick those pilots in the teeth for taking all that away, and yourself for letting them.
Jack had been more subdued than usual, and you knew it was because he was afraid. On top of the unnerving situation, he was afraid of himself, as the full moon was looming.
You knew that he was too hard on himself, that he didn’t need to worry with all his self-control and checks in place, but he didn’t see flying in a tiny, confined helicopter as a great idea at the time. But he trusted Elsa that much, it seemed.
“We’ll be on the ground at Elsa’s mansion before the moon comes up,” you had reassured him a hundred times before the flight. “Then we can lock you in the hunting grounds until morning.”
But the flight seemed to take longer than expected. It became dark out. Tension was clearly building in your husband as he sat very stiff and still in his chair like he was trying not to snap.
The memory was all so hectic, so hard to remember exactly what happened.
One minute you were joking around with those pilots about President Ritson’s cowardly mannerisms, the next, they were commanding you to brace yourself as you hit rocky turbulence. The helicopter seemed to swerve like a car fishtailing on an icy road.
You remembered not being able to see anything at all out the windows. There were no lights from man-made structures on the ground. You weren’t even sure if there was a ground at the time. There was just complete darkness.
You remembered not being able to reach Jack’s hand.
The pilot had said, “Just hold on! We have to do an emergency landing.”
They had landed the helicopter in what felt like the bumpiest ride of your life. You think you blocked most of that out. Jack, despite all that chaos, all that stressful stimulation, had still managed not to turn. And for that, you were so damn proud of him.
When you disembarked the helicopter on shaky legs, the air around you was curiously still. You had expected an epic storm based on what you had just experienced. But no, the air was just freezing, and wet, and still.
You went to open the storage compartment for your luggage, and that was the moment shit went even more wrong.
The pilot pulled a gun on you. On both of you.
You both backed away like good little con victims.
They locked the doors, started the helicopter, and flew away. Leaving you both behind with nothing but the clothes on your backs.
Just thinking about the whole ordeal sent a shiver up your spine.
Last priority before you let yourself pass out: A weapon.
You found a suitable stick and a rock. Your hands got cut and splintered as you figured out how to carve the stick into a basic spear.
The repetitive scraping of the rock against wood allowed you to reflect on the events of earlier in the night once again.
As the helicopter abandoned you, you were busy with your own string of curses, and Jack had hunched over, collapsed on his knees. “No, no, no, nooooo…not now. Not now.”
You had looked at him and instantly knew that he wasn’t complaining about the pilots like you were. He was complaining about the moon.
The full moon was rising above the tops of the trees like a bright yellow omen of doom.
He had clutched and then tore at this body with shaking hands, like he was trying to rip the urge to turn into his werewolf half out of his chest.
“Baby…” you tried.
“Run amor! You should run away from me right now!” He groaned out the words like he was in pain.
“It’s okay, Jack. We know you’re not going to hurt me,” you had tried to reassure him. And god, you didn’t want to be alone. Not after what had just happened. “Baby, you know me. You know you’d never-”
“Damn it mujer! Do what I tell you! Run and hide ahora! C-Can’t- trust myself!” He had interrupted with a loud growl. You recognized his desperation, but it had still cut through you like a knife at the time.
Your husband was a gentle, soft-spoken, often goofy, and almost always submissive man. For him to yell at you like that meant that he was absolutely losing it. His grip on the rational, human half of himself was slipping away, and it terrified him in that moment more than ever before.
You stood there for a second longer, stunned.
He panted as he struggled to hold back for long enough to give you a head start. He managed two more desperate words. “Please amor!”
He began to painfully and loudly transform.
You turned and ran.
You had gotten some distance away, maybe miles, before the wendigo chase happened.
You finished the spear and then added some more wood to the fire. With your most immediate survival priorities taken care of, the worry for your husband settled the most deeply in your heart and sickened your stomach.
He may be a violent force right now, unaffected by the freezing air and able to defend himself with teeth and claws, but the moon was going down.
Soon the sun would rise, and he’d go back to being just as vulnerable as you were. And there was no telling how far away he’d be.
You swallowed a tearful gag in your throat.
More wood on the fire, that was the answer.
He could find you by the smoke.
Otherwise, you’d go looking for him. But right now, you needed to rest and conserve your body heat.
***Part 2***
Early the next morning, you crawled out of your lean-to and noticed that the fire was down to its last embers. “Shit…”
You scrambled to collect more sticks and revive the fire.
A couple hours later, you had managed to craft a water canteen using the leather parts of your jacket and your boot laces. You used it to carefully boil a clump of snow into drinking water over the fire.
The melted water inside was just reaching a boil, when you heard a twig snap in the woods.
You stood up and scanned the forest.
Footsteps crunched in the snowy leaf bed. You hurried over in the direction of the sound.
A few more yards away from your little campsite, Jack’s human form collapsed on the ground. He groaned.
“Jack!” You ran to him.
“Mi amor,” he groaned and tried to lift his head. His black pants were horribly ripped and dirty, the shirt and jacket from his suit were gone, leaving his body cruelly vulnerable to the cold. And you had thought the cut on your ankle was gnarly, but he was crisscrossed with shallow lacerations.
“Oh hell, baby boy…” You tried to lift him, but he didn’t cooperate with that yet and so you only managed to turn him on his back.
“I’m so glad to see you, my love,” he mumbled.
He looked pale and he felt like ice.
“Let’s get you to the fire.” You tried to lift him up again and succeeded this time.
That was the last thing Jack remembered before he passed out. He woke up again under the lean-to on the bed of pine. You were tending to his many cuts with some lichen that you had found and knew to be naturally antiseptic.
He shifted and mumbled. “My sweet, what… what’s happening?”
“Shh, it’s okay.” You kissed his face.
He groaned like every muscle in his body ached. “No…no… what happened?”
“I’m applying some… rough and ready first aid. Do you think you can sit up and drink some water?”
“Thank you…thank you mi amor. But I meant….” He shifted to look down at his body with disdain. “Dios mio…” he groaned.
“Shh baby, what did you mean?”
“I meant what the hell happened last nigh- Are you okay?” His concern for you switched on like a light and suddenly he was more awake and alert.
“I’m okay.”
He hoisted himself onto his side. “Are you sure?”
You laughed humorlessly. “Yes, Jackie! I’m doing a lot better than you right now. You need to rest.”
He noticed your bandaged ankle. “Your leg-” he started.
“-is fine,” you finished. “I’m fine. Stop your worrying.”
He sighed and managed a weak smile. “Yes, my bossy sweet.”
“Good boy.” You helped him sit up.
You lifted the leather canteen to his lips.
“You found water?”
“Yeah, it’s called boiled snow. Drink.”
He nodded and drank with your help.
You made sure that he drank a lot before letting him lie back down and rest again.
He was asleep again in minutes. You used the opportunity to go scope out the area in the daylight.
***
When Jack woke up again, he found that you had covered him up with something to stay warm. It was his own ripped suit-jacket.
You crawled under the lean-to. “Are you feeling better yet, wolf boy?”
He nodded. “You found my jacket?”
“Yeah, your shirt wasn’t salvageable though, sorry.” You dragged him upwards until he helped you by sitting up again.
“I made some tea, it’ll help.” You crawled out to grab the hot canteen by the fire and then rejoined him.
“Tea? How did you-?”
“Shh” you shushed him with a finger to his lips. “Birch bark and rose hips,” you answered his unfinished question. “Don’t worry, it’s only a lot disgusting, drink.”
He scoffed and laughed as you put the canteen to his lips.
“C’mon baby, it’s hot. It’ll help you warm up.”
“Gracias, amor.” He sipped it.
He took the canteen from you carefully. His arms didn’t seem as weak anymore. He took another sip without your help.
“I feel stronger already.”
“Good boy,” you praised softly.
You backed out of the lean-to and sat by the fire.
After a while, Jack emerged from the lean-to with plenty of groaning. He sat down next to you with the steaming canteen ready to sip. You couldn’t help but think about how hot he looked with his salt and pepper hair all ruffled up and that ripped jacket over his shoulders, failing to cover the front of his thin, scarred body. You felt a wave of attraction for him.
He kissed your cheek. “Thank you.”
“For what?” You shrugged.
“For taking care of me.”
“You don’t have to thank me for taking care of you, wolf boy. It’s in our vows, remember?”
“Hmm, oh yes, there was a little something in there about that, something…something…in sickness and in health, right?”
“I’m obligated,” you teased.
He smirked. “You are so amazing.”
You shook your head.
“You survived the night all alone. Look at everything you’ve done. You saved my life. I’d be dead if you hadn’t warmed me up, my love. You’re so amazing,” he repeated.
You couldn’t believe that you were blushing at a time like this. “Yeah, well. You saved me from a fucking wendigo first so…”
He groaned like an ailing hospital patient, “Oh si, verdad, the fucking wendigo!”
You couldn’t help a tiny laugh. He rarely dropped the f-bomb, and when he did, it sounded like a kid trying it for the first time to sound cool on the school bus.
"Do you remember?” you asked.
“Kind of, my love,” he explained reluctantly. “Kind of.”
When he looked back into your eyes, he could see that you wanted more, if he was willing to open up.
He offered a tired sigh and a bit more explanation. “I remember smelling it, wanting to kill it, needing to kill it because of…you.”
You smiled a little to try to reassure him. Killing, despite what his werewolf curse might have one think, was not at all in his human nature. When he came back to his human self, it was the killing that haunted him long afterwards.
He tagged on just to be humorous, “And I remember it fucking bit me!”
You choked back a laugh. “You poor baby.”
“Are you sure you’re okay?” He stroked your arm. “You must have been…so afraid.”
“I was,” you admitted. “But I’m fine now. We need to think about what to do next.”
Jack’s hand froze on your arm as he seemed to suddenly remember something. “I think we’re on an island.”
“Really?”
“I remember that in every direction I ran, I’d reach the smell of salt water sooner or later.”
“Interesting…you wouldn’t happen to remember smelling any human civilizations would you? Or even some abandoned cabin…” you half-joked, half-asked.
He shook his head and exhaled dramatically. “We must be on some little island off of… Canada? Or maybe Alaska?”
You agreed. “Well, that would explain the wendigo… sort of.”
You both fell into a concerned silence for a moment as he sipped the tea, and you gathered your thoughts.
You directed, “When you feel ready, we should try to find the shore. The shore means a better chance of spotting boats or planes, and we could try to catch fish to eat.”
You stood up.
He reached for you. “I’m ready now amor, but I can’t even think about eating ever again.”
You helped him up. “Dare I ask why?”
He recalled like it was a bad dream, “Think I ate a moose…”
“Mm, lovely. Well, that’s another sign pointing to Canada.”
You made him smile with your candor.
That was what was important.
You were stuck in this freezing place fighting for your survival for reasons you didn’t even understand yet, but at least you had each other.
***
Jack, despite claiming earlier that he would never eat again, seemed pretty ravenous as he ate his roasted fish later that day.
You had speared both the fish for yourself and for him. Again, outside of his werewolf curse, your husband was humorously bad at killing anything, even a fish. Though he was happy to praise your skills.
When there was nothing left but a few delicate fish bones to throw back into the fire, Jack got something off his chest, “I’m sorry about…” he sighed, “that… way that I yelled at you.”
“What are you talking about?” You had genuinely forgotten.
He tried to understand, “You don’t remember? Just before I turned?”
“Oh, that? It’s okay. I know you were just trying to protect me.”
“Yes, but…” he hesitated.
“I knew it was coming from a place of love, and fear. I understand.”
He sighed in relief. “Yes, amor. Exactly.”
“Don’t worry about it, baby boy. You have nothing to be sorry about.”
He kissed you like you were an angel sent to lift his curse. Like you were such a relief. He stroked your face afterwards. “I still feel like I should apologize because-”
“Jack! I was pretty distracted getting chased by a wendigo and trying not to die all night. I moved on!” You chuckled.
“Ah si claro… priorities.” He chuckled.
Your next kiss was interrupted by a startling sound coming from the ocean. It was like a creature exhaling hard.
You both scanned the dark water as best as you could, fearful of what you might see.
Then a giant, iconic fin broke the surface.
“It’s okay, it’s just orcas.” You beamed at the sight of more orcas surfacing to breathe.
“Ay dios, I was expecting a sea monster with the way our luck is going.”
You exhaled. “Yeah. Nope, just beautiful whales this time.”
The orcas left the shoreline soon after you had sighted them.
Jack took your hand and urged you to sit back down close to the fire.
You took turns boiling water in the canteen and watching the stars.
Jack seemed less relaxed than you were, and you knew that it was because of all the moonlight. The night sky was gorgeous enough with that, but then came a spectacle.
The sky lit up with long ribbons of green and purple that took your breath away.
“The northern lights?” Jack questioned, “I never thought I’d see that in my life.”
“This place is beautiful.”
“Si…muy bonita.”
“I mean, utterly terrifying and deadly without supplies, but… beautiful.”
“Agreed.”
You held each other’s cold hands and watched the display in the night sky. When it started to fade, you noticed how Jack was shivering.
“I’ll get more firewood before we try to sleep,” you said.
He shivered violently and hugged himself as soon as you let go of him. “Gracias mi amor. I wasn’t built for this cold.”
Anyone could plainly see that neither his thin frame nor his Mexican blood was doing him any favors in this climate.
You built the fire back up to a roaring heat.
Then you coaxed him into lying down with you near the fire to sleep.
Face to face, you hugged each other as close together as possible for maximum warmth.
“Thank you for being so good to me,” he said softly to your ear.
You withdrew just enough to look into his eyes, even though you could hardly see each other by the flickering light of the fire. You stroked his face. “Hm, you don’t have to thank me, handsome.”
“I do,” he said, “How can I show you how grateful I am?”
“You don’t have t- Oh!” Jack kissed your neck, causing you to moan. He opened your jacket.
He teased your ear with his voice, “Actions speak louder than words, don’t they my sweet?” He groped your breasts over your shirt.
You moaned and had to agree. “Yes, Jack. Yes they do.”
Your husband smirked and lifted your shirt up to your neck. He knew that sucking on your tits was a guaranteed way to make you very happy with him.
He pulled one of your bra cups down and took your breast out of its confines. Then he licked his lips and sucked on your sensitive nipple. It felt so good that you thought you could cry.
“Oh! Good boy…” you moaned.
You stroked your fingers through his hair as he sucked.
He pressed his hard cock against your thigh.
A warm cocktail of arousal and oxytocin spread from your head to your toes. It was so powerful, it seemed to protect you from the cold air even better than your jacket ever could.
“Mmm!” you purred and moaned. His suckling had an urgent quality tonight. He writhed against you like he couldn’t possibly stay still, thrusting his hard cock against your thigh more and more vigorously.
The way that he was still inhaling long and slow through his nose as he sucked your tit told you that your scent must be driving him crazy.
You realized that this wasn’t just about thanking you. It was also about his current condition… and yours.
With the moon still almost full tonight, it was enough to give him rather strong instincts. And you had missed enough birth control pills now that you were almost certainly ovulating…
The suction that he was creating around your nipple became a little overwhelming.
“Gentle,” you hissed. “Jackie boy, be gentle.”
He was succumbing to instincts, instincts that you knew from experience made him do everything a bit rougher. And they were difficult for him to ‘wake up’ from. You groped down the back of his pants and used your nails to give his ass a sharp little pinch.
He whined.
You were careful not to break skin, you just needed him to wake up from his instincts a little.
“Gentle, baby,” you repeated now that he was ‘awake’.
That seemed to do the trick.
He rolled you onto your back as he continued, holding your breast with one hand to keep it fully pert in his mouth.
You moaned and spread your legs for him. You had your own instincts after all, and they were also extremely difficult to ‘override’ with rational thought. How Jack controlled any of his much stronger instincts at all was a mystery to you.
He eagerly took his place between your legs and writhed against your crotch.
Then he finally released your breast, giving it a couple final kisses, and then switched to sucking on your neck. He ghosted his teeth over your tender skin a few times.
“I can smell how wet you are, my love,” he growled. “I know you’re ready for me. I know you’re receptive. I can smell that you’re ovulating.” He moaned, “It makes me want to fill you with my cock.”
“Ohh please!” you moaned, already way too into him to have a care in the world.
But he paused for a moment, until you looked at him questioningly, and he pulled back.
“But maybe I shouldn’t… since you are ovulating.”
“Are you really so sure that I am?” you asked. You were desperate for him to say no; he wasn’t sure, or maybe that he was just saying that as part of his kinks and that it wasn’t necessarily true. But you knew it was.
“Trust me, my sweet. I can tell by your scent.”
“Yeah? It’s… it’s really driving you crazy?”
“It’s making me insane.” He panted. “Oh mi vida, stop me before I can’t stop myself.”
“I don’t want you to stop,” you breathed. “Whatever happens to us on this island, or afterwards… I just want this to happen first. Please Jack.”
He shook his head as he pulled off his suit jacket like he was suddenly way too hot. “I don’t want to get too rough.”
“I can take it, baby.”
His breath hitched, and even in the near darkness, you could tell that he was trying to hold back instinct and process rational thought one last time.
“Please?” You prodded him.
He exhaled a shaky breath.
You straddled his lap, grinding your crotch down on his. “Pleaseee baby, I need you.”
He growled against your neck, and it was more wolf than human. It thrilled you in the form of shivers up your spine.
“Damn it, Jack! I want you to fuck me, and I want you to be rough with me! Please!”
He forced you on your back, much to your delight.
“I can give you that, my love.”
He grabbed your shirt.
“But don’t rip off my clothes this time!” You stopped him right before he did exactly that.
“Right, of course amor.” He regained enough sense to remember that these were your only clothes, and you chuckled together for a moment.
When both your clothes were carefully peeled off, he let himself go again, growling against your neck, groping down to your pussy urgently.
“Oh mi vida, you’re so wet.”
He pressed the heel of his palm to your mound, and you begged. “Please!”
You didn’t have to beg for much longer. It was true that he could be a tease during other times of the month, but tonight, he was in no condition to draw this out any longer.
Jack was propped up above you when he notched the head of his stiff cock between your soft folds. You watched him fill your tight channel in one slow thrust.
“Ffffuuuck!” you moaned and let your head fall back.
He gasped. “Ohhh dios….!” His fingers clawed into your hips.
He settled on top of you and started thrusting like mad.
Your every nerve ending felt orgasmic. It felt like you could feel the sensation on every inch of your skin, like just one more brush of his skin on yours would cause a chain reaction of ecstasy.
He moaned and growled. “Aih! Por favor… my sweet…” he gasped in your ear and then sucked on your neck.
You were way too distracted to begin to guess what he was saying ‘please’ for.
He traced the side of your neck with his teeth, gently mocking a bite.
Now you understood, but another thrust of his cock reached you just right, and words failed you.
“Mmh!” He moaned into your neck. “Please amor, I need to bite. Just a little. Please?” He slowed his thrusts to give you the capacity to answer him. “Just a little. I promise. Not too hard, my sweet.”
You moaned impatiently. “Yes, baby! Bite me as hard as you want. Just keep fucking me while you do it, please!”
He growled and increased his pace again. Your moans became screams as he pounded you just the way you needed. He kissed down your neck and chose the place where your neck met your shoulder to leave his love bite.
He started off gentle, but your pleasured cries intoxicated him, and he let himself bite down harder.
With all the bliss he was giving you with his cock, the hint of pain on your neck only served to heighten your arousal. It was a dangerous feeling that you craved when instinct took over, when you needed him to be primal.
Your pussy clenched around him. He slammed you over and over, pounding you through your climax. He pulled animalistic screams from your throat.
He growled against your neck and squeezed your arms tight enough to bruise.
You came down from your own orgasm with a heightened sense of bliss.
You ran your hand through his hair and clutched the back of his neck. You could feel him holding his breath. “Come inside me, baby.”
He exhaled the breath he was holding and came right then. He gripped you even tighter and his cum rocketed against your fluttering walls.
He stayed sheathed inside you even as he let himself rest on top of you.
“Good boy,” you whispered and stroked his hair.
When he caught his breath, he asked, “I hope I didn’t bite too hard, my love?” He touched the mark on your neck, but it was hard to study it in the dark.
“Not at all, wolf boy,” you promised.
He kissed your ear and then inhaled your scent as deeply as possible. “Ohh mi amor, you still smell so good.”
“I love when you get like this, baby,” you moaned.
You felt his cock stiffen and grow inside you all over again.
He groaned. “I’m glad for that mi amor, because I think I’m going to need you again.”
You failed to mask the delight in your voice, “Really?”
He suddenly pulled out. He roughly flipped you over onto your front.
“Oh!” You gasped.
“Yes,” he growled his answer. “Need to take you again.”
He pushed his hard cock inside you from behind this time.
You cried out sinfully.
If his thrusting the first time was like a mad man, this time it was like a mad man possessed.
Jack covered your mouth to muffle your screams. He latched onto you as tightly as possible. It was like he needed to envelope you. The relentless thrusting was a special kind of heaven that you would gladly die for. He humped you like he was in rut.
Like he couldn’t fucking hold back if he tried.
Your voice cracked when you screamed with pleasure into his hand.
Your tight pussy milked his cock on its own accord as you came, a natural process that took over without conscious thought, much like everything he was doing to you.
Jack bit down roughly on the untouched side of your neck as he came inside you.
The pain was sharp, but welcome nonetheless.
When his cock finished subtly twitching inside you, he exhaled against your neck. He gave the bite area so many soft, contrite kisses.
You relaxed fully. “Oh Jack, that felt so amazing.”
“I love you.” His voice nearly broke.
“I love you too.”
He carefully shifted you both onto your sides without withdrawing his cock.
“If you don’t mind my sweet… I’d like to stay inside you for a while.”
You smiled at the return of his normal inclination to ask for things sweetly and submissively, a stark contrast to his instinct haze. “Mmm of course baby. Stay nice and warm inside me.”
***
It had been an enchanting night in an otherwise disastrous scenario, but the next day brought more survival challenges. For one thing, it snowed. The two of you couldn’t do much but stay by the fire and conserve energy.
You posited hopefully, “If this is an island off the west coast of Canada, then we’re likely on the route of bush planes and cruise ships.”
But another day went by, and no planes or boats were seen.
You conceded, “Maybe we should try another side of the island.”
Jack agreed, “I think that’s a good idea, mi amor. If we don’t keep moving, our scents will build up in one place, and it will be easier for a monster to find us.”
You smiled at his werewolf-style reasoning. “Good point.”
You and Jack used your spears as walking sticks and began a long hike along the coast.
The two of you eventually broached the topic of who could be responsible for stranding you on this island, and why.
You both only had vague guesswork to run by each other.
At the risk of an argument, you finally shared your own suspicion, “Baby, I know that you and Elsa have a… history. But can we honestly rule her out?”
“Claro que si!” he practically gasped out.
“How are you so sure? Whatever she did to save your life and Ted’s life went along with her plan to take back her estate at the time. What you might see as selfless could’ve all just been ulterior motives.”
He just shook his head and chuckled under his breath.
“What’s so funny?”
“Ah… how can I say this?”
“What? Just say it,” you demanded, but your tone became playful when you sensed where this was going.
“Well, my sweet, caring wife. You are sometimes…hmm… let’s say…‘mistrusting’…of people I talk to when they just happen to be…”
You stopped walking and waited.
“…a woman.”
“Oh I get it. You’re saying I’m jealous.”
“Well…” Jack hesitated painfully.
“In that case, husband, I have a song for you.”
“…no.”
You started singing the song anyway, “If I had words, to make a day for you…”
“Nooo come on. Not nice!”
“I’d sing you a morning, golden and true.” You kept singing despite his continued protests. “I would make this day…last for all time.”
He waited with an accusing look for the punchline.
“And fill the night deep with moonshine!” You finished and laughed.
“So mean,” he scolded jokingly.
“Fineee, you have a point.” You sighed. “Maybe I am just jealous.”
“You don’t need to be jealous, my love.”
“You can say that all you want, doesn’t make it true.”
“Now you’re just being mean to yourself.”
“Wait Jack, do you hear that?”
You both froze and listened.
The mechanical whirring sound got louder. You both shared a moment of recognition; it sounded like a helicopter.
You both frantically searched the skies as the sound grew louder in your ears, but it wasn’t easy to see around you in this heavily forested area.
Then the helicopter flew directly over you.
“It’s landing! Jack, it’s trying to land!” You yelled over the noise excitedly.
You both ran after the landing helicopter, trying not to lose its trajectory. Suddenly Jack stopped and yanked you back against him.
“What?” You startled.
“I smell danger,” he told you.
The whirring of the helicopter stopped. Silence filled the breeze again. Until you both heard an all too familiar roar.
You sucked in rapid breaths.
A wendigo emerged from behind some trees.
You whispered harshly, “Oh come on, is this fucking ‘Wendigo Island’ or something!
The wendigo had sniffed you out and now homed in on your exact location.
“Jack… any chance you can make yourself turn?”
Jack bit his lip before responding apologetically, “No, I can’t.”
“Okay,” you said simply and readied your spear.
Jack copied you.
The wendigo charged towards you.
Your heart lurched in your chest.
The beast was abruptly halted by a machete through its torso.
It roared and collapsed, revealing the woman with pale skin and dark raven hair that had just skewered it in the back.
She looked at you and Jack like an exasperated sigh.
“Elsa!?” Jack cheered.
“I told you that you and your wife were in danger. Are you ready to get off this shit island or what?”
Just then, Ted emerged from the forest and ran to Elsa’s side.
“Ted!” Jack celebrated.
As Jack and Ted playfully hugged, you debated whether to cover up Jack’s bite marks on your neck with your hair. You realized that Elsa was looking right at you and decided to just let the marks show like badges of honor.
“Thank you so much for finding us! Do you know who stranded us here?” Jack asked her.
Elsa nodded. “That was a group called the Intelligencia, and I think they were rather hoping to watch you tear your wife to shreds.”
Jack looked like she had just knocked the air out of his lungs.
“I’m glad to see that you didn’t. At least not in the way that they expected.” She winked at you.
You blushed, despite yourself. A wonderful surprise.
“Uh… does that mean that there are hidden cameras on this island…?” Jack winced.
“Probably. How about we leave now, and worry about that later?”
“Great idea,” you said with relief.
You and Jack held hands during the entire flight back to the mainland.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
