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padfootagain · 2 days ago

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Love in Verses (XLIV)

Chapter 44 : ‘I go up to the stone wall for a friendly visit.’

Hi! Here is a new chapter! Some best friend shenanigans!

I hope you like this chapter! Tell me what you think!

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Pairing: Hozier x fem!reader (professor!AU)

Warnings: slow burn, angst, hurt, hurt/comfort, tooth-rotting fluff in later chapters, some scenes in later chapters will have heavy sexual themes even if it’s not explicit nsfw description, so no minors here

Summary: Your life seems perfect. You're engaged, your career is thriving as you become an assistant professor at Trinity College, and this Andrew Hozier-Byrne you're sharing an office with seems to be a nice guy you hope to call a friend soon. Life seems to be smiling at you... until everything goes sour. When your fiancé breaks up with you, your perfect world shatters. And when your colleague also gets his heart broken soon after, your shared office seems to be a curse rather than a blessing. But Andrew seems determined to mend your broken hearts... Will things finally go according to plan?

Word Count: 3618

Masterlist for the series – Hozier’s masterlist – Main masterlist

A Time to Talk

When a friend calls to me from the road And slows his horse to a meaning walk, I don’t stand still and look around On all the hills I haven’t hoed, And shout from where I am, What is it? No, not as there is a time to talk. I thrust my hoe in the mellow ground, Blade-end up and five feet tall, And plod: I go up to the stone wall For a friendly visit.

Robert Frost

Being back in Belfast felt strange. To be fair, you should have travelled back to this town sooner to visit Siobhán, but you had missed the couple of opportunities that had risen along the past year.

Now you were back in the town where your academic career had begun. Tomorrow, you would go back to visit the university where you had started teaching, where you completed your PhD, where you met your best friend…

… speaking of the devil…

“Y/N!”

You huffed, almost falling over the impact of Siobhán running into your arms. In the busy train station, you noticed a few strangers passing by with an amused look on their faces.

“I’m so happy you’re here!”

“I’m happy too!”

“Oh, and the tree is here too!”

Andrew laughed, giving your friend a hug as well, and your heart grew heavy with warmth at the sight. Andrew fitted so well in your life, with the people you loved most…

“Alright, let’s head to your hotel then… although you two could have stayed at my place…” Siobhán argued, while Andrew was already picking up the suitcase where you had gathered your clothes and his. You were only staying for four days, but they promised to be… eventful, knowing your best friend.

“I wasn’t coming alone, it was easier for us to get a hotel.”

“I mean… if that’s because you’re planning to get laid… perhaps that’s for the best, indeed,” she nodded, giving you and Andrew a disgusted wince that made you laugh. “It’s already quite late though… we should grab something to eat.”

You followed her plan, headed to your hotel so you could check in and leave your suitcase there. Siobhán had come to pick you and Andrew up at the train station, and would be driving you around during your stay, whenever she could. You let Andrew climb in the passenger seat so he could fit his legs somehow better than in the tiny backseat of your friend’s old car.

“I hope you won’t mind giving up your girlfriend for a few hours, Andy,” she joked as she stopped at a red light. “But I need some alone time with her. We have so many things to talk about… we need a proper girls night!”

Andrew merely laughed.

“Of course, I don’t mind. I’ll keep busy while you take my partner from me…”

Partner… that word was kind of new. You had been girlfriend and boyfriend for a long time, but ever since the two of you had moved under the same roof, Andrew had started calling you his partner. There was something so special about the title, something serious, too… something that echoed with equality in your relationship, with the two of you being a team. You loved it. Whenever he used that title, your heart melted.

It felt a little overwhelming though. As you watched the sunset reflect its colours over old buildings and glistening windows, you were worried. You had so much love for him… sometimes you weren’t sure what to do with it. How to show him. How to tell him. How not to fear the strength of it all.

“Only for a few hours. Will you survive?”

“Can’t be sure…” he joked, but it still made you stupidly giggle.

“Tomorrow!” you promised. “Tomorrow we have lunch with The Boss…”

“Christ, don’t I know about that… he’s overexcited, I swear… He couldn’t stop yapping around your lunch the entire week.”

“Cillian is a sweetheart,” you nodded, smiling at the mere thought of seeing your former boss again.

He had been your mentor as a PhD student, had hired you again post-graduation as a post-doc. He was saddened by your decision to leave for Trinity.

“Yes, but tonight, we celebrate you finally coming to visit, and we’re getting fantastically wasted!”

You could only laugh at that, but you didn’t fight your friend’s idea. You wanted to let loose indeed, to enjoy your time spent in your best friend’s company.

And that was exactly what you did. You spent your dinner catching up with her life, joking around with Andrew, who was being the responsible drinker this evening. Siobhán had already given him her car keys, so you and your best friend could enjoy yourselves fully, while your boyfriend would make sure both of you were safe.

Which led to the three of you being lost in a wave of laughter that didn’t seem to ever end, somewhere in some random pub you had stumbled upon.

“Just so you know…” you warned your boyfriend, who dried his wet cheeks on his sleeves, your words slurred by your intoxication, “if they do a lock-in… I’m volunteering you to sing so we can stay… this pub is grand!”

“It’s not the pub that’s grand, it’s just the whosk… the whisk…ey…” Siobhán staggered on her words before drinking another large gulp of the burning liquor.

“I am not singing tonight, darling,” Andrew shook his head. “If they’re kicking everybody out, we’re leaving. Actually, we should soon head out, it’s pretty late, and you’re both very drunk.”

“You’re no craic!” Siobhán complained, before turning to you. “Why did you get a man that’s not craic!”

“Andy’s funny! He’s silly! Very silly,” you defended your man, before being interrupted by a hiccup.

He laughed, kissing your cheek.

“I’m gonna head to the bathroom, and then we’re leaving. Okay? Be good, you two! I won’t be long.”

“Yes, mom!” Siobhán stuck her tongue out.

Andrew stood up, walked towards the bathroom. You watched him as he walked away, towering everyone in the bar, his long curls let loose over his broad shoulders…

You rested your cheek in the palm of your hand and your elbow on the greasy table, heaving a dreamy sigh.

“You’re disgusting looking at him with heart eyes like that,” Siobhán complained, nudging you playfully in the arm.

You stupidly giggled in response.

“Yeah… but look at him… he’s so pretty.”

You lost sight of him, heaved a dramatic sigh as you turned to your friend.

“Don’t get all romantic and sappy on me!” your friend admonished.

“I can’t help it.”

“You’re head-over-heels!”

“I am!” you admitted. “I can’t help it!”

“I must admit, that… Andy’s… kind of… amazing. But! But! But! But he’s…”

“Perfect,” you answered for her, making her wince.

“Of course not! No one’s perfect! What kind of nonsensically nonsensic… nonsense… sensicality are you talking about?”

“Of course… you’re right… he’s not perfect. Sometimes, he gets on my nerves. He’s stubborn sometimes. And he doesn’t fold his socks properly. And last week he ate the last piece of my favourite chocolate. And he doesn’t sleep enough, and it worries me a lot, and sometimes it wakes me up too. And he’s always late, although I don’t really mind that all that much, I like teasing him about that. And when he’s annoyed, he hides stuff very high on shelves so I won’t be able to reach them, although… he does that sometimes just to rile me up, he doesn’t have to be annoyed. And that drives me craaaaazzzyyyyy! But Siobhán… He’s so sweet… He reads the books I like, and he sends me songs he thinks I’ll enjoy. And last month, I twisted my wrist, and it was nothing, but it was painful for a few days, and do you know what he did? He brushed my hair for me every morning for a week, and he helped me wash my hair, and he cooked all the time, and he carried stuff for me… And he makes me laugh sooooo muuuuuch! And he’s so smart, we spend hours talking about politics, and art, and just… anything, really. And he listens to me. And he’s interested in me, and he thinks I’m interesting and that I say interesting things… And you know what else he does? He asks me about my day. Every day!”

Siobhán had grown quiet, listening to you. You were getting more and more emotional through what could have seemed like a silly ramble.

“I love him so much. Like… sometimes it’s overwhelming how much I love him. And I keep on loving him more and more, and I don’t even know how that’s possible, because… it’s like there’s no end to it. When I think I couldn’t love him more, I still do. That’s scary. Sometimes I worry, because… what if he doesn’t feel the same? Like… he’s the real deal, Siobhán. He’s… he’s everything. He’s the one. I think… I think he’s the love of my life.”

You blinked tears away, heaving a sigh. Your friend reached for your hand.

“There is one last thing we need to question before we can state whether or not he’s the one for you.”

“What is it?”

“How good is he in bed?”

You both exploded with laughter, but your answer was earnest nonetheless.

“Oh… All I will say is… I’m never disappointed.”

You were lost in a new fit of giggles.

“Really? That good?”

You nodded.

“Oh, yeah…”

You struggled to calm down, quieten your laughter. Meanwhile, Siobhán seemed to be gathering her courage now.

“Actually… I wanted to tell you… I think I have a crush…” she mumbled before covering her mouth with both her hands.

“A CRUSH!?”

“Shhhhhh! It’s a secret! Secret… like… in secrecy!”

“Who is it?”

“You can’t tell anyone!”

“I won’t!”

You swore an unbreakable pinky promise.

“I… like… Andy’s friend.”

“What? Which one?”

“His best friend!”

“ALEX?!”

“SHHHHHHH!”

“Sorry…” you whispered. “But, Alex?!”

“Yeah… after we helped you moving together, we bumped into each other again in a pub. And he was super nice! But I didn’t really think much about it. He gave me his number, because as you and Prince Charming are glued to the hip, we were doomed to cross path again. But then, he asked me if I wanted to go for a pint, and I said yes. And we talked, a lot. And we did it again, and again… And two weeks ago, he invited me to one of his gigs, cause it was here in Belfast, and mamma mia, Y/N. MAMMA MIA!”

She moved her hands in the air, looking up at the heavens.

“He was so fucking hot!”

You hummed, nodding your head, picturing Andrew singing in your mind… sweating, throwing his head back, closing his eyes, his fingers moving across guitar strings…

“Yeah… it’s hot.”

“He’s a bassist, Y/N! I can’t fight against that!”

“Hmmm… I get it. But… did you tell him?”

She bit her lip.

“Maybe, after that gig, we… hooked up?”

“WHAT?! YOU SLEPT WITH ALEX?!”

“SHHHHHHHHHHH!”

“You slept with Alex?!”

“Yes! And it was… amazing!”

She couldn’t refrain a grin. But you knew her like the back of your hand. You narrowed your eyes at her.

“But?”

She bit on her thumb.

“But… then I kind of… panicked… I left in the morning, and I’ve kind of… ghosted him.”

“Why would you do that?! Alex is nice! He’s a good lad!”

“I know! That’s what scares me! Like… I could… properly fall for him! And I don’t want that! I’m strong and independent!”

“You can be strong, independent, and in love!”

“Can I?”

“Of course! Look at me! I’m all of that!”

She gave you a tender smile.

“Yes, you are. But… I don’t know… the past few years, I’ve really enjoyed having fun, and just… enjoying being a woman without any attach, and having one-night stands and exploring sex. I… I don’t think I’d like not being exclusive with Alex, I really care about him.”

“Then… be exclusive. You can keep exploring and having fun… just with him.”

“Do you do that with Andy? Can you do that with just one person?”

“Yeah! Of course!”

She heaved a sigh, burying her face in her hands

“But it’s scary.”

“Loving someone is scary. But it’s worth it, I think. I’m scared all the time with Andy. But then I look at him, or I kiss him, or I talk with him… and I just… know that this is right. That he’s right for me. I can’t explain it. But he makes it worth the fear of losing him and being vulnerable before him.”

You were the one to reach for her hand now.

“I think that… tomorrow, once you’ve sobered up… you should call him. He’s a nice lad. I’m sure you two could be happy together.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah… yeah, I think so,” you nodded.

“Alright, I will.”

You exchanged a smile, and then Andrew was standing next to you again. He gave you a tender smile.

“Shall we go, love?”

You nodded, and he helped you to your feet. He drove Siobhán home, made sure she was safely in her flat before he called a uber and went back to the hotel with you. He helped you reach your shared room, started to help you undress so you could go to bed.

“Honey…”

He knew what that tone meant, but he threw you a cautious look while he helped you step out of your jeans.

“Baby?” he asked in a careful tone.

“I…”

You stared right into his eyes, and it was hard to deny that he wanted you while you stared at him like that, with that determined glint in your eyes, standing there, looking glorious in nothing but your underwear…

But you were drunk.

“I want you,” you huskily whispered, reaching for the buttons of his shirt, but he stopped your hands immediately.

“You’re drunk, hun,” he stated flatly.

“But I want you.”

“No, you don’t. You don’t know what you’re doing.”

“I do!”

“Babe… let’s go to bed. Come on. Tomorrow.”

You pouted, but didn’t argue. You took off your bra without a care for Andrew standing before you, and he helped you put on his old Thin Lizzy t-shirt.

You rubbed at your tired eyes.

“You need to drink some water, baby,” he instructed, walking to the bathroom to pour you a glass. “Then, we can go to bed.”

“Okay.”

You soon joined him in the bathroom though, and you reached for your toothbrush in the small bag by the sink.

“Do you need help with that?” Andrew asked as you struggled with the toothpaste.

“No, I can do it. I’m a strong, independent woman… and I am all that while being in love.”

He chuckled, something tender in his gaze.

“That you are. But you’re sure you don’t want some help with that toothpaste?”

“Nope!”

He nodded, kissed your hair.

“You call me if you need anything, okay? I’m gonna get changed too.”

“Okay.”

A few minutes later, you were both in bed, you in his arms and already almost asleep.

You let his warmth relax your tired muscles; his peaceful breathing lulled you to sleep, his scent blurred your senses…

“I love you, baby,” you whispered in his shirt.

You felt his smile against your hair as he kissed you goodnight.

“I love you too, darling.”

Seeing you wearing his clothes was Andrew’s favourite thing in the world.

Although, now that he came to think of it, he loved kissing you an awful lot too.

And having sex with you.

And talking with you.

Well, let’s say that it was one of his favourite things…

“Ouch… my head… I’m too old for this…”

Your groan made him laugh, he watched as you stretched across the bed like a cat, watched the fabric of his shirt moving over your chest.

“How drunk was I last night?” you asked, rubbing at your eyes to gather the strength to finally open them.

“Hammered.”

“Yeah, I can believe that.”

You looked at him, reached for his hand across the bed.

“I hope I wasn’t too much trouble.”

“Of course not. You had fun, that’s all.”

“Did I do anything stupid? It’s very messy in here… I need to think.”

You furrowed your brow as you tried to collect your thoughts, Andrew guessed that your memories of the previous night were a little messy.

He hesitated for a moment. He wasn’t particularly proud of how he had behaved, he knew he should have stepped back, but he hadn’t…

When you and Siobhán were talking, he walked back to the table merely a couple of minutes after disappearing. But instead of seating next to you again, he stopped and listened while you were unaware of his presence. It wasn’t spying, or at least he hoped it wasn’t. But you were having a private conversation with your friend, and he listened when he should have given you some time alone. But you were talking of him, and… he wanted to know. He needed to know what you thought of him.

Despite feeling bad about listening to your conversation, Andrew felt more at peace thanks to it. Because he felt the same about you. If you had made these drunken confessions to your friend, it had to be because you meant them. It had to mean that you loved him as much you said you did.

“So… I have the pub… oh… I’ll have to tell you something Siobhán told me last night, but you have to promise not to tell a soul, cause it’s a secret! And then… we took her home.”

Your frown deepened.

“I remember… wait… did we…?”

You raised a suggestive eyebrow, but Andrew merely rolled his eyes.

“You were drunk,” was his only answer, and you gave him a grateful smile.

“Right, so nothing happened.”

“You’ve covered half the bathroom with toothpaste trying to brush your teeth, but beside that… not much happened, no.”

“Did I?”

“A little bit.”

“Sorry,” you winced, making him laugh, bright and loud.

“Don’t apologise, it wasn’t that bad. I’ve been worse when out with Alex and the rest of the gang.”

You laughed at the memory.

“You were so out of it…”

You noticed then that something was off. Despite his tender caress over your knuckles, despite his tender smile, you knew there was something on his mind. He tried to hide it, but he could never hide anything from you, you knew him too well for that.

“Is everything okay, honey? Did I do something stupid last night?” you asked, your frown back on your lovely features, and he kissed the crease across your brow to soothe it.

He heaved a sigh.

“I… You did nothing wrong, I did. I’m really sorry.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing.”

“No… no, I did something… I feel bad about it. I’m sorry.”

“What did you do?”

He bit on his lower lip, went to rub at his collarbone, but you held both his hands instead.

“You remember talking with Siobhán? Just the two of you? Right before we left the pub?”

You nodded.

“I… I came back from the bathroom before… what I said. I just… I planned on walking away and keeping an eye on you while you finished your conversation, but I didn’t. I listened to the conversation, even though you were confiding with her, and I knew it. I knew I wasn’t supposed to hear what you were saying. I’m sorry. I just… you were talking about us, and I… I got too curious. I’m sorry.”

You averted your eyes, sat up, seemingly upset.

He followed your movements, chased after you. You didn’t push him away when he rested his head on your shoulder. Good. You weren’t too mad…

“What did you hear?”

“Quite a lot. Too much.”

“Are you… are you freaked out?”

He shook his head.

“No, I’m not. I’m… relieved.”

“Relieved?”

“That you feel the same as I do.”

He heard your sharp intake of breath, tried to soothe it with a sweet kiss on your shoulder.

“You do? Feel like that?”

“Yeah… I do.”

You reached for his cheek, held his face in the palm of your hand so he would look at you. Did you know how much of him you held in this palm of yours? How much of his heart, of his love, of his life…?

“Baby… I…”

“I love you. More than anything in this world,” he interrupted you, tone firm yet tender, trying to make you believe his words.

You smiled.

“I love you too.”

There wasn’t much else to say. He was starting to believe that you would stay, that you did love him as much as he loved you, that this could work for a long, long time… that maybe you could love him for a lifetime, without any regret…

He was about to kiss you when your phone rang, breaking the fragile silence of the room. You cursed under your breath, but it was Siobhán’s name shining over your screen, so you picked up despite Andrew reaching to keep you close.

“Hello?”

“Y/N! I’VE FUCKED UP!”

You pulled the phone away from your ear because of your friend’s shout. She was panicking… wait, was she crying? Andrew had never seen or heard her crying before.

“What happened? Are you okay?” you asked, clearly concerned.

“You remember what I told you last night, right? Wait… is Andy with you?”

You exchanged a glance, but he nodded. Yeah, he had heard that part of the conversation too…

“Yeah, he’s with me, but that’s okay.”

“This is none of his business.”

“Siobhán… Andy and I have no secrets for each other.”

“Oh, you and your bloody romanticism!”

“Is it about Alex?” you asked, and Siobhán wailed over the phone.

“I DRUNK DIALED HIM! Y/N! AND I WAS FUCKING PATHETIC! WHAT DO I FUCKING DO?!”

“Erm… wait, we’ll think of something…”

But right at that moment, Andrew’s phone rang, and Alex’s name appeared on his screen.

You exchanged a worried glance.

“Shit!”

#hozier #andrew hozier byrne #the hoziest #hozier x reader #hozier x you #hozier x y/n #hozier x fem!reader #hozier fanfiction #hozier fic #hozier series #hozier au #hozier professor au #professor au #writing #fanfiction #fanfic #series

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buckets-and-trees · 1 year ago

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

Collection: Warm Shadows Characters/Pairings: Alpha!Steve x f!Omega!Reader, existing Alpha!Bucky x f!Omega!Reader Word Count: 7.5k Summary: Now that he's claimed you, Captain Hydra takes you back to his new base of operations, his little omega bait for the Soldat. But the bond between an alpha and an omega is a powerful thing that shouldn't be trifled with. [sequel to When You Fall On Me Like Night]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Overpowering you had been easy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t want it.”

“You will,” he responds.

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

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

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

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

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

An omega, he reminds himself.

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

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

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

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

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

It had.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

One request could lead to another request, and another.

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

“I’ll see it done.”

“Oh,” your response is small, surprised.

“Now sleep,” he says, not a command.

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

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

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

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

“A Hydra research and development facility.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was the object of the game, after all.

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

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

Because at this point?

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

His mission is quick and successful.

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

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

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

“Intruders?” he growls.

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

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

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

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

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

Steve frowns. “Identity?”

“Confirmed as the Soldat.”

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

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

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

“Status of the omega?”

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

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

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

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

“The logical call,” he agrees.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Where are we?”

“A new facility.”

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

He nods.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Your heat, Omega.”

“My heat, not yours.”

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

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

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

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

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

It’s masterful.

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

It’s effective.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He leaves a beat of silence between you.

“Do you understand?”

You nod.

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

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

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

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

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

“Undress,” he commands.

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

“Spread your legs,” he issues another command.

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

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

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

You whimper.

He knows he has you now.

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

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

“Do it,” he barks, and you flinch.

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

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

You huff.

“Is that what you want?”

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

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

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

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

But he won’t relent yet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He furrows his brow.

“Please,” you implore.

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

“Then present,” he says simply.

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

He climbs up behind you.

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

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

He did not know it would be like this.

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

“Yes, Alpha.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes,” you moan, “more, Alpha.”

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

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

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

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

You remain quiet.

“Omega?”

“And go where?”

“You don’t need to know that.”

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

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

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

“Why?”

“I need him.”

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

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

“Omega?”

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

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

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

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

go immediately to part three: Carving Through the Dark

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