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late-to-the-party-81 · 9 months ago

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Sunshine and Gunsmoke

Chapter 2 - Rain, rain, go away

AN: Thank you and welcome back to those of you who are still here. I hope you enjoyed chapter one and the world building. Just warn that this chapter is darker and more intense. I will put more detailed trigger warnings at the end, but there will be stalking, physical assault and attempted sexual assault. Once again, a bit hug and round of applause to my cheer-reader @kahey2804 who put up with me rambling in DMs at her, and to my lovely beta @zenaidamacrouras1 who fell for me batting my eyelids at them until they said yes.

Catch up on Chapter 1 here

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Summary: Bucky knows he should say no to Steve for his own sake, but he can’t seem to let the feisty Omega go. Eventually his secret will come out, so he wants to savour every moment he can get.

Steve is content. He’s in a better place financially, he has a good friend (?) in Bucky and is basking in his freedom. But why does he have the feeling he is being followed and watched. Could it just be because he works for a mob fronted business, or is there something more sinister happening?

Relationships: Platonic Alpha Bucky & Beta Clint, past Omega Steve x Alpha Stephen, FWB Omega Steve x Alpha Bucky

Chapter WC: 8k (eeek!)

Chapter CW: Omegaverse, Shrinkyclinks, Strip club AU, references to past abusive relationship, references to misogyny, inferred Mafia elements, Alternating POV, flirty Bucky, flirty Steve, Clint Barton is so done with this, non-graphic descriptions of sex, references to rut, Friends to FWB, pining, angst, identity porn, Stalking, anxiety, breaking and entering, vomiting (once), Dark Stephen Strange, deluded behaviour, misogyny, gaslighting, degradation, physical assault, medical assault (drugging), kidnapping, attempted sexual assault, identity reveal.

Bucky’s head hit the pillow as he gulped in deep breaths. Steve was splayed across his chest, breathing just as hard and, for the moment at least, connected to him. He’d been weak, falling sway to Steve’s sweet words and enticing touches and had ended up in his bed. Again. And still, he couldn’t find it within himself to tell Steve the truth as to who he was.

He knew it wasn’t healthy to one, have a relationship based on what was effectively a lie, and two, to have one where one half thought it was a casual ‘friends with benefits’ arrangement and the other knew they were in a lot deeper. Because he couldn’t deny it any longer. Bucky was deeply in love with Steve. He’d suspected it for a while, but three weeks ago, against his better judgement, he’d taken Steve up on his offer to help him through his rut.

Being a coward, he hadn’t invited Steve to his actual home - there was no way he could have kept up the facade of the humble barkeep in his swanky uptown apartment, so instead he’d given Steve the address of one of his family’s safehouses - a slightly dingy apartment across town from Steve’s. And although most of the three days they’d spent holed up together was a blur to Bucky, he did remember how hard he’d had to fight his inner self so he didn’t end up non-consensually claiming Steve during it. At least they’d had time beforehand to properly workout their boundaries and ensure that they had enough supplies in to keep the two of them going.

“Buck?” Steve’s lilting voice brought him back to the present and realising that his knot had gone down, he eased himself from the clutch of Steve’s body. He didn’t move Steve though. He wanted to revel in the feeling of the Omega’s weight on top of him for as long as he could.

“Yeah, Stevie?”

Steve lifted his head, a soft smile on his face, and started to trace invisible patterns across Bucky’s chest with his finger. “Why are you called ‘Bucky’. I can’t work it out.”

Bucky snorted. “It’s short for Buchanan.”

Steve pulled a face. “What sort of person names their child that?”

“It’s not my first name, dumbass.”

“Oh,” Steve replied, his brow furrowing. “What is it then? No…hang-on. Please don’t tell me…”

WIth a roll of his eyes, Bucky nodded the affirmative. “It is…” He was glad they were no longer attached, because not only did Steve start to cackle, he rolled off of Bucky and onto the bed beside him.

“James. Buchanan. Oh god. Did your parents hate you?”

Bucky turned his head to look into Steve’s smiling, happy face. “Now you know why I go by Bucky. Go on, laugh it up.”

“Never have I been happier to be plain, old Steven Grant Rogers.” Steve flipped onto his front and propped himself up on his elbows. “And now, James Buchanan, I’ve got a question for you. Would you do me the honour of assisting me for my next heat? It’s due in about a month by my calculation, and I really don’t think either of us want a repeat of last time.”

“Hey!” Bucky cried with mock outrage, “I remember the bits I was involved in not being so bad.”

“Yeah, yeah. Big, goddamn hero that saved the day. You know what I mean. Being prepared in advance will be better, though. And hopefully I won’t feel as awful this time around.”

Any mention of heat suppressants was obviously being left unspoken, but it was clear what Steve meant.

Bucky knew he should say no, the way he should have said no the last half dozen or so times Steve had taken him to bed, but he just couldn’t deny himself this. If this was all he got of Steve then he would hoard it like a miser hoarding pennies. Also, he told himself in mitigation, this would be different. This was Steve’s heat and his Sunshine needed him to help. He’d be a bad friend if he said no, wouldn’t he?

“No problem, Steve,” he heard himself say. “Send me a text with your estimated dates and I’ll make sure I’ve got bar cover available in advance.”

Steve flashed him another smile and then leant over to give him a brief kiss. “You’re the best, Buck. Now, I’m gonna have a shower before I head to my diner shift. I’ll see you later?”

There it was. The casual dismissal. Bucky schooled his features, not letting his smile slip an inch. It was the way Steve wanted it, so it was the way it was gonna stay. “Absolutely, pal. I’ll have a White Russian waiting with your name on it.”

Steve grinned as he pushed himself up and walked out of the bedroom and into his small bathroom. Bucky counted to twenty under his breath before getting up himself. He rooted around for his clothes and hastily pulled them on, checking for his phone, wallet and keys. Then, with a wistful glance back at the bed, he left the room and then the apartment. As he made his way down the stairs and out of the door, he kept thinking about how he could change the situation without losing his friendship with Steve, which is probably why he didn’t notice the person watching from across the street.

Steve walked home from his diner shift with an air of contentment about him. He couldn’t believe how far he’d come in just a few months. From being virtually penniless, he was now making enough that he could manage to save a bit. It wasn’t a lot, and it wasn’t every month, but something was better than nothing. Speaking of which, he knew that the biggest reason for his positive outlook was down to his friendship - or whatever it was - with Bucky.

It was true to say that Steve was really enjoying their stress-free ‘situationship’. Bucky was funny, and kind and affectionate, but Bucky wanted to keep it casual then Steve could live with it. At least it meant that Bucky wasn’t trying to control him, which Steve didn’t actually think he’d do, but it did mean he could breathe easier. Even if it would be nice to have Buc someone to come home to.

As he went through the main doors of the apartment he raised his hand in greeting to the elderly lady who lived on the first floor, before jogging up the stairs. He stepped through the door and threw his keys in the dish on the sideboard and as he made his way through to the living room, he tipped his head from side to side to work out a kink in his neck. He really ought to invest in better shoes for his diner shifts.

It was cooler than anticipated in the main room of his apartment, and Steve frowned as he noticed the window leading on the fire escape was slightly open. He was sure that he’d closed that before he left for work. He was normally very security conscious. However, he had been in a bit of a daydream after his shower, sniffing at the lingering scent of smoke and oil in the air and imagining what it would be like to wake up every day with that scent surrounding him. Maybe he’d just intended to close it, but then forgotten? Well, he consoled himself, there was no damage done.

He crossed the room and shoved the window down firmly, making sure the latch was securely in place, before heading to his bedroom. He wanted to double check that he had everything packed and ready for his dance this evening. He’d been working on something that he hoped would work well for the patrons, but also give Bucky a bit of a laugh too. He started to hum to himself and the window was soon forgotten.

It was another packed house. Steve peeked out from behind the backstage curtain, seeing for himself that it was a rowdy crowd tonight, just as some of the others had said. However, as the saying goes, the higher the risk, the higher the reward - these Alphas may be a bit more ‘handsy,’ but they’d also be freer with their dollar bills. It was a trade off Steve was willing to make, especially with the number of bouncers around and Bucky behind the bar. It hadn’t escaped him how Bucky always stopped serving to watch him dance, however he stopped his brain from thinking too much about that, lest he tie himself up in knots imagining something there that wasn’t.

With a signal from Clint in the sound booth, the intro to his song started.

Uh, dirrty (dirrty) Filthy (filthy...) Nasty Christina, you nasty (yeah) Too dirrty to clean my act up If you ain't dirrty You ain't here to party (woo!)

Steve couldn’t hold back his grin as stepped out in a pinstripe, mobster-esque outfit, complete with heels and fedora. His pole skills had improved over his time working here, so once his tear-away pants had come away, he was able to show off his physique to its best advantage. Under the vest that had matched the pants, he wore a pair of black, sequin nipple tassels, which matched the sequins on the front part of his thong. The crowd was going wild for his dance, and he’d even had a chance to throw a cheeky wink over their heads when he’d noticed Bucky staring across with his mouth open.

However, as the song got towards the end, and he was strutting his stuff from the left hand catwalk back toward the centre, something unexpected happened. The club was always ‘highly scented’. He and the other Omega’s wore scent enhancers, and randy Alpha’s always created a stink, so it was often very difficult to distinguish one person’s scent from another’s unless you were up close. Therefore, when the smell of lemon, antiseptic and rosemary got caught in his nose, he staggered, almost face planting onto the scratched wooden stage as he tottered in his heels. He just managed to save himself and went into his signature side split just as Christina announced ‘What?’ at the end of the track, but his head was reeling.

The smell had disappeared almost as quickly as it had arrived, but a feeling of apprehension had already taken hold of him. Stephen couldn’t possibly know where he was working? Where he’d moved to after he’d left? It wasn’t as though he’d left a forwarding address for his mail, or told anyone where he was going. He must have been mistaken. Maybe he was just tired? That had to be it.

He exited the stage on auto-pilot, gathering up his tips and giving rehearsed flirty looks to the Alphas right at the front. Backstage, he quickly cleaned up, changed his lingerie and slipped on his silk robe before heading out onto the main floor. He needed his post-dance drink and wanted to drum up some private dances. He had high-hopes for the latter, given the type of crowd that was in. He just needed to get his head back in the game.

Plastering his smile back in place, he headed towards ‘his’ stool at the bar where Bucky had done as promised and had his drink ready and waiting.

“Fuck, Stevie,” Bucky started, with a grin. “You pulled out the stops that time. But I know that ‘mob’ stunt was aimed at me. You’re a little shit, you know that?”

Steve didn’t need to fake his smile now. Seeing Bucky so giddy was like a balm to his soul. “I knew you’d get it. I thought it would be funny and a bit meta, even if only you and I understood.”

“Oh, I think Clint and the girls got it too. I could see Clint trying to hide his giggles in the sound booth and a couple of the girls were hollering and rooting for you as well.”

Steve took a sip of his drink, enjoying the tingle of the alcohol. “You think the Barnes’ would see the funny side?”

“Absolutely,” Bucky assured him. “Some of them have a good sense of humour. Or so I hear.”

Bucky scrubbed at the back of neck as he spoke, looking a bit bashful, but all Steve could think was how cute the Alpha looked when he did that. Like a school-boy with an inappropriate crush - if only, Steve thought, it was a crush on him. Friends with benefits was good, but…

Cutting off that thought by finishing off his drink, Steve placed the glass back on the bar and hopped down from his stool. “Well, that’s good to know. Now, I’m gonna head off and shake this money maker. Baby needs more to eat than Ramen noodles this week.” He wiggled his satin clad hips in Bucky’s direction with a chuckle and headed off into the crowd, his earlier apprehension had dissipated almost as quickly as the offending scent had, and speaking with Bucky had put him back in full spirits.

Three hours later, he was sleepily letting himself back into his apartment, still humming ‘Dirrty’ under his breath and working out what he was going to spend his tips and private dance payments on, when he stopped dead.

Something was off.

Carefully he opened the hall closet and pulled out his mop. It wouldn’t be an effective weapon if there was an intruder in here, but it would be better than nothing. He knew he should just leave and call the police, but the part of him that railed against being seen as weak wanted to find whoever was here and rip their throat out. He crept through to the living room and flipped the light switch.

There was no-one there.

Steve didn’t allow himself to relax. If there was an intruder in either his bathroom or bedroom, they’d be alerted to his presence now, so he needed to be extra careful. He picked up the TV remote, selected a random channel - turning the volume up to mask any of his movements - and crept along to his bathroom. That was empty as well, which only left his bedroom.

Taking a deep breath, he jumped through the door, switching on the light and brandishing his mop.

There was no intruder there to greet him. However it was clear to him that someone had definitely been here. His bed, and its nest of blankets and pillows that had been left in disarray this morning after his overnight visit from Bucky, was now meticulously neat. The bedding had been changed and the coverlet smoothed out with the pillows lined up along the headboard. Using the end of the broom, just in case the intruder was very small and very sneaky, Steve lifted up the lid of his laundry basket. Heaped on top were the blankets and bedding that had been on his bed this morning, and floating in the air was the smell of lemons.

Steve snatched a couple of the blankets out of the hamper and backed out of the room, feeling his hackles rise. He dumped them on the sofa, before going back to the front door and double checking it was fully locked. He did the same with each of the windows. Twice. When he was as satisfied as he was going to get that he was alone and secure, Steve retreated to the sofa, not even bothering to undress as he wrapped himself up in the fabric that smelt of him and Bucky combined. With the lights still on and the TV still blaring, he fell into a fitful sleep, the mop handle still gripped in his hands.

It was with a strong feeling of anxiety that Steve left his apartment the next evening to go to work, and on his return in the early hours, his heart was beating rapidly in his chest. However, this time there was nothing amiss. His bed looked the same as it had this morning when he’d stripped off all the new bedding and left it sitting in a ball on his floor. He felt as if he was going mad. Sunday was the same, and by the time he left for the diner on Monday morning, he’d almost convinced himself that he’d imagined the whole thing.

However, when he got home from his shift, his window was open again, the thin, gauzy curtains blowing around in the breeze. A few times, when out and about, he thought he caught the smell of lemon or antiseptic in unexpected places, or had the feeling that someone was following him, but whenever he turned around, there was no-one there.

His sleep was fractured, and he knew he was getting tetchy with people, something he couldn’t afford to do at either of his jobs when he relied on tips, which in turn relied on him having a congenial manner.

Two weeks after the first hint of lemon creeped back into his life, a new incident almost tipped him over the edge. He arrived home, full of trepidation, but the window was closed and there was no strange smell. Steve let out a breath he didn’t even realise he’d been holding and went through to his bedroom.

There, sitting on the bed was a teddy bear. A teddy bear wearing a doctor’s outfit - a white coat and toy stethoscope. A stuffed toy he definitely didn’t own. He ran into his bathroom, falling to his knees, and emptied his stomach into the toilet.

A few minutes later, feeling rung out and sweaty, Steve returned to his room. He picked up the stuffed toy between finger and thumb and walked through to his kitchen. He placed the poor thing in his trash can, added a load of paper, took the can out onto the fire escape and dumped in a load of matches. Numbly he watched it burn.

He dumped the ashen remains down the apartment garbage shoot, then picked up his phone. It rang once. Then twice, and was picked up. In his sultriest voice said “Hey, Bucky. I’m feeling some kinda way if you are?”

He should have just told the truth, instead of using the pretext of sex to get some company, but for reasons he couldn’t explain, he didn’t want to tell Bucky what had happened. He just wanted him here for the comfort his presence would bring and he wasn’t brave enough to ask for it outright. And as for all of these weird goings on, maybe if he didn’t talk about it, it wouldn’t be real?

This all had to be Stephen. There wasn’t really any other reasonable explanation - the scent, the toy, the precision bed making. He supposed that it could be the Barnes family, letting him know that they always had eyes on their employees, no matter how far down the food chain, but that didn’t seem likely. No, it had to be Stephen trying to get in his head and trying to have power over him again. Well Steve wasn’t going to let him. No matter how hard Stephen pushed, he was going to stand his ground.

There was a knock on the door, and Steve tried to banish his thoughts, determined to lose himself in the joy of being with Bucky. He plastered a smile to his face and went to welcome his friend inside.

[Image description: A moodboard. The background is a grey cityscape and there are two rows of pictures, all with made to look as though they are torn paper. On the first row there is a hand reaching towards a window, a text box which states "But the terror in his eyes? That gets me high." and a streetlight overlooking a building in the dark of the night. On the second row there is a text box which says "You belong to me!", the image of a teddy bear in a doctor's uniform, the image of a pristenly made bed and a text box that states "I will find you!".]

Clint was sitting at the bar, reading down the papers attached to his clipboard when he realised that Bucky was talking to him.

“What? Sorry, man. I was in the zone.”

Bucky huffed, blowing up the hair curling over his brow. “I said, have you noticed anything strange about Steve? He’d been acting kinda… off… and at first I thought it might be because of his heat, but that’s not due for about another two weeks.”

Clint cocked his head and raised an eyebrow. “Do I even want to know why you know when Steve’s heat is due?” A flush ran up Bucky’s neck and Clint sniggered. “You’ve got it bad, my man.”

“Shut up,” the Alpha grumbled.

“Bucky and Steve, sitting in a tree,” Clint started to sing-song, but stopped when a wet, beer soaked rag smacked him in the face. “Eww.” He wrinkled his nose before lobbing the cloth into the sink next to Bucky. “It’s not a bad thing. I think you could be good for each other. You’ve been a lot happier these last months.”

Bucky turned away to empty the glass wash machine. Clint knew it was so Bucky wouldn’t have to look him in the eye. “It’s not like that,” he mumbled. “Steve’s only looking for something casual. And, you know, so am I. No strings. No pressure.”

“Sure…” Clint drawled. “You keep telling yourself that in order to save that Alpha ego of yours. I tell you, it’s much easier being a Beta. None of this extra hormone shit to deal with.”

At that moment the door flew open, banging back on its hinges and Steve scurried in. Clint got up to head to his sound booth, knowing that Steve and Bucky liked to ‘shoot the breeze’ - or whatever they were calling it to kid themselves into thinking that they weren’t actually in a relationship - when he realised that Steve was calling his name and following him across the floor.

Clint turned, confused, as Steve followed him into the sound booth. He looked down at the petite Omega and saw that, maybe, Bucky had a point. Steve was not looking himself. He seemed both tired and wired at the same time. “What is it, Steve? Something bite your ass?”

Steve twisted his hands together in the cuffs of his oversized sweater - a sweater that Clint was certain he’d seen Bucky wearing a few weeks ago, but he wasn’t about to point that out.

“I just wanna check - cos I know what kinda business the owners of this place are in… But there’s no way they would have anyone following me, would they? You know, just to make sure their employees aren’t going to rat them out to the cops or anything?”

Clint’s brow furrowed further. “You sure you shouldn’t be talking to Bucky about this, you know with him being-”

“I don’t want him involved,” Steve interrupted with a hiss. “And you’re my boss, not Bucky. So I’m asking you.”

“Okay…” Clint was still baffled, but as he didn’t really understand what was going on between the Alpha and Omega anyway - besides the obvious - he decided he’d just go with it. “I’ll double check, but I wouldn’t think so. It’s not their style. If they’ve got a problem with you they tell you straight. I am 99% certain that the Barnes’ don’t have any problem with you. I mean you’d know before me, surely?”

He’d expected Steve to look a bit more relieved at that, but for some reason he wasn’t. If anything he looked even more keyed up.

“O-Okay. Thanks, Clint. That’s what I thought. I’d best go get ready, so I’ll see you in a bit. Umm, say hello to Bucky from me, okay?”

Steve hurried out of the booth with the same energy he’d arrived with. Clint shook his head to himself. He’d never fully understand Alphas and Omegas.

“What was that about?”

Clint jumped and whirled around, realising that Bucky had come up beside him on silent feet.

“Oh. Umm, Steve was just worried that someone’s been watching him. He wondered if it was a member of the family, but I told him it probably wasn’t. Cos like the pair of you would know if it was, yeah?”

Bucky opened his mouth, as though he was about to ask Clint a follow up curtain, but at that moment, one of the dancers, a sweet, but dim girl who called herself Kandy - but who’s parents had called her Maureen - appeared in a flurry of satin and shrieks.

��What the fuck now,” Clint let out under his breath, then louder, “Kandy, angel-face! How can I help?” He pushed his way past a pensive looking Bucky and got back to the task at hand - wrangling a flock of diva Omegas.

For the rest of the evening Bucky watched Steve like a hawk. Not that he didn’t normally, but this time it was even more so. He told himself he was just being a good friend and truthfully, his concern was genuine.

When Clint had told him what Steve was worried about, it had taken all of Bucky’s control not to rush backstage and force Steve to tell him everything himself. However, it was just another sign that Steve didn’t see their relationship as serious as Bucky would like it to be, and therefore It was none of Bucky’s business.

It was difficult though, to see Steve so drawn and on edge. All Bucky could do was provide Steve with the opportunity to open up. With that in mind, he lined up two White Russians for when Steve came over after his dance.

Steve clambered up onto his stool with a wan smile. He looked so tired.

“You alright, pal?” Bucky hoped his inquiry came off nonchalant enough.

Steve chewed on his bottom lip and stirred his first cocktail with the little paper umbrella that Bucky had popped in it. “Just something niggling me, Buck. Nothing for you to worry over, though. I’ll get it sorted.”

Bucky wanted to call bullshit, but instead went for levity. “Want me to come over tonight? Work out some of your frustration again?”

Steve’s lips twitched up and Bucky felt a spark of triumph. “Why, are you trying to get into my thong, James?”

“Ppht,” Bucky snorted. “Like it’s hard?”

“Yes you are,” retorted Steve, “but what am I?”

They burst into laughter and for a moment Bucky thought his Sunshine was back. However, when their fit of the giggles faded, Steve just looked balefully up at him, the bags under his eyes showing clearly through his stage make-up.

“It’s okay, Buck. I think I just need a quiet night tonight and a long sleep. But first I ought to go earn those tips. If I don’t see you before I go, I’ll see you tomorrow, alright?”

He slid down from his perch and made his way through the throng. His second White Russian sat gathering condensation on the bar, untouched.

Bucky picked it up, knocked it back and then pulled out his phone. Time to call in a favour and see if his father knew what was going on.

Steve hated the way that he was jumping at every shadow on his way home. He hadn’t slept properly in days and was scared to leave his apartment. If it wasn’t for the fact that he had to leave it in order to keep it, he would probably have become a hermit. A hermit armed with a mop handle and a new, shiny baseball bat.

As he approached his building, he fished his keys from his pocket, wanting to be ready to open the main door. He hated the moments where he was just standing there, turning the lock. He just felt so exposed.

Above him, the streetlight flickered. Steve hitched his bag higher up onto his shoulder and then lifted his keys. He hadn’t even placed the correct one in the lock when movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. A shadow detached from the wall and with every step closer it got more recognisable. Steve tried to push his fear down - his personal demon thrived on it.

“Stephen. How unpleasant to see you.” Steve felt adrenaline surge through him, but he’d been expecting this moment.

Stephen stopped in front of him, invading his personal space and sighed dramatically. “If you’ve quite finished having your tedious Omega tantrum, Steve, I’ve come to take you home.”

Steve cocked his head to the side. “How about you go to hell instead. I’m sure they have a reservation for you - although I hear it’s not as exclusive as you would like. Shame.” He’d been taught to stay calm and non-confrontational in situations like this, but he wouldn’t be Steven Grant Rogers if he held his tongue.

Another sigh left Stephen’s lips. “You haven’t been taking your medication and it’s made you completely hormonal. You must have had a heat by now.” The tall Alpha leaned down and Steve tried not to flinch as Stephen took a good sniff of his neck. “And if I’m not mistaken you’re due one soon. Which is good, because then we can sort this all out. You’ll be better when you quit that embarrassing job as well. Being surrounded by the stink of so many other Alphas must be doing a number on your system. I’m surprised that you haven’t taken more than one of them into your nest.”

Steve ground his teeth together. “It’s none of your business, Stephen. You and I aren’t together any more and Bucky is just a friend.”

A sharp bark of laughter split the night air. “A friend? Oh you naive Omega. He’s not your friend. He’s a horny Alpha and you are just an easy little slut who’s weak nature means you’ll invite anyone into your nest if they offer you affection. And Bucky? Ha! What sort of a name is that anyway? Are you sure he’s not a Beta taking fake pheromones?”

Stephen’s words stung, and it was a struggle not to wince, but there was no way he was letting them go by without comment. “Not if the size of his knot is anything to go by. Never had one so big. Or satisfying.”

Stephen growled at Steve’s taunt, his arm snapping out and he grabbed Steve’s wrist in a painful grip. “You whore,” he spat. “I should have claimed you during that first disgusting heat of yours. Then you wouldn’t have had this silly mental aberration. You’d have known exactly where, and to whom, you belonged.”

Twisting and pulling his arm, Steve broke the hold the angry Alpha had on him, and shoved him hard in the chest. Stephen fell down the step between the sidewalk and the street, landing on his back with a curse, and Steve took the opportunity to unlock the front door and race inside. He continued to run up the stairs, taking them two at a time, until he reached his apartment door. Once inside he engaged the safety chain, grabbed one of his rickety dining chairs from his living room, and wedged the back of it under his door handle.

His heart was thudding in his chest and he felt sick. He should really call someone. His heart was telling him that someone was Bucky, but his head, twisted in knots by Stephen’s words, couldn’t shake the thought that there was some truth to the notion that Bucky was just sleeping with him because he was easy.

He picked up his baseball bat from where it currently rested against his coffee table and perched, full of nerves, on the edge of the couch, facing the door. Waiting.

He waited.

And waited.

The hours ticked by, and the sun started to come up outside. Saturday morning. Which meant no diner shift. He could stay in and rest. He’d speak to Clint later tonight. See if there was any ‘protection’ he could invoke. There had to be an upside to working for a mob controlled business?

He’d just rest his eyes first, though. Just for a moment. That couldn’t hurt, could it?

He blinked slowly…………….

……… and in the next moment, his eyes snapped open. Disorientated, he looked around. How was he in his bedroom? Hadn’t he just been on the sofa? Why did his arm hurt? Why was-

“Stephen! What the fuck?” He pushed himself upright, also realising he was naked. “Get out, you lunatic!”

Stephen grinned sickly at him.

“Come now. No need to be so dramatic.”

“How did you even get in here?” Steve bit out.

Stephen’s grin got even wider. “You know me, Steve. Magic hands and all that.”

He shook them, drawing Steve’s attention. In one he held a used alcohol wipe and in the other was a syringe. Steve scowled. “What the fuck have you just done to me?”

“Just speeding things up, sweetheart. I decided we shouldn’t wait any longer to be bonded and we all know that it’s likely to take better if you’re having your heat. He wrinkled his nose up as he spoke the last word. “Modern medicine is such a marvel,” he said, looking at the syringe in his hand. “One little prick can change so many things.”

“Evidently,” said Steve dryly, watching as his ex threw the syringe and the used wipe into the trash can.

“Acid-tongued as always, Steve. Don’t worry. That will disappear soon enough. When we’re bonded you’ll finally understand your place and appreciate everything I do for you.”

Steve looked at him, incredulous. “You’re totally deluded, you know that? Now you’ve added physical assault to the list. Let me make this clear. I. Don’t. Love. You. If I ever did, you destroyed that feeling quickly and effectively when you showed your true colours. I am not your possession and I want you to get out of my home!”

As his anger rose, Steve started to feel tell-tale prickles make their way down his spine. Stephen just grinned at his outburst, apparently amused by Steve’s resistance.

Eyes flicking around the room, Steve decided it was time for a different tack. He launched himself from the bed, aiming for his bedroom door that was still ajar and offered a chance of freedom. Unfortunately, he only made it a few steps before a wave of dizziness washed over him and he crashed to the floor. With a dark chuckle, Stephen picked him up and re-deposited him on the bed. He was so unconcerned by Steve’s escape effort that he even turned his back and opened Steve’s closet, carelessly rummaging through his neatly organised belongings to find some of the heat blankets.

He dumped an armful on the bed, a look of scorn in his eyes. “Here. I suppose you’ll want to make your silly little nest. Whatever soothes your hormone-addled brain.”

Steve growled at him, bearing his teeth. “I wouldn’t waste the effort on you.”

Apparently nonplussed, Stephen looked down at his watch. “Your fire should make things interesting. Maybe I’ll even change my mind about how disgusting heats are if the bonding doesn’t rid you of it. I’ll come and check-in on you in a bit, see how you’re getting along. You’d best rest, sweetheart. It’s going to get a bit rough I think.”

The sick grin returned as Stephen exited the room, pulling the door shut behind him. Steve scrambled up and pulled on the knob, but it was clear that Stephen had worked out a way to jam it. He ran to the window, but here in his bedroom there was no fire escape outside. Just a drop three stories down. Then, even though he guessed it would be in vain, he searched around for his phone. Given that the clothes he’d had on when he fell asleep weren’t here, he guessed his only form of communication was still in the living room along with them.

Returning to the bed, he glared at the clock. One pm. He must have fallen asleep at some time around six this morning. Bucky and Clint would expect him at work sometime between eight and nine, ready for opening at ten. They’d know something was wrong when he failed to turn up. He just had to hold out until then. He could do that, surely?

The hours passed slowly. Cramps began to wrack Steve’s body, and the prickly sensation intensified. He went through periods of intense fever, followed by chills. In his lucid moments he realised that this was worse than the after-effects of the heat suppressants. True to his word, Stephen came and looked in a few times, even going so far as to place a plastic tumbler of water and a few granola bars on the floor, just inside the door, supplies that Steve took greedily.

Eventually though, the drugs that Stephen had administered did their work. Steve’s body started to produce slick and his sexual urges started to peak. As much as he willed it all away, his chemically enhanced hormones were now running the show. The next time Stephen looked in, it was to find Steve whimpering and humping at one of his pillows, a pathetic attempt at a nest surrounding him.

With a dark smile, Stephen stepped forward.

Bucky looked down at his watch. Nine pm. One hour until opening, and Steve hadn’t yet arrived. Even if he’d overslept after last night, he’d still have been up early enough to get here on time.

“Hey, Clint!” He called out as the beleaguered manager walked past, muttering to himself as he started down at his bent and battered clipboard. “You’ve not heard from Stevie, have you? He’s not here yet.”

Clint gave him a look. “Like Steve would contact me before you,” he said, before continuing on his way.

Bucky picked up another glass, cleaning at an invisible mark. Anything to sooth his nerves. Since that first day, Steve had been nothing but punctual - always here at least ninety minutes before the doors opened so he could negotiate his dance slot and make sure what he had planned didn’t clash with any of the others. And it couldn’t be his heat either. He hadn’t smelt of pre-heat last night and Steve had already confirmed to him that it wasn’t going to appear for another week. They’d both cleared their calendars in preparation.

Throwing down his cleaning cloth in frustration, Bucky dug his phone out from his back pocket, and dialled Steve’s number. It rang and rang, before going to voicemail, Steve’s voice telling him to leave a message if he was a boomer. With a sigh, he shoved his phone away and started to do his opening checks. An hour later and the doors opened, inviting in the Saturday night flood of Alphas. There was still no Steve.

For the next thirty minutes, Bucky checked his phone between each drink service. He sent texts. He tried to phone again. Nothing. A sense of foreboding started to form in the pit of his stomach. His call to his father yesterday had confirmed that there was no Barnes sanctioned surveillance on Steve, and nothing to suggest it was one of their competitors. His father hadn’t known who Steve was, so it was unlikely that the Maximoffs or Starks did.

But Steve had been worried about someone following him. He’d said as much to Clint, and his behaviour over the last few weeks suggested that it was either true or Steve was totally losing the plot.

“Fuck it,” he muttered. “Kate!” The new Beta bartender paused mid-cocktail to look at him. “I’m sorry, I gotta go. Let Clint know, okay?” She nodded and then returned to what she was doing.

Bucky ducked out from behind the bar and made his way to the back office. Opening the safe that was in there, he retrieved his gun, plus an extra clip just in case, and made his way out the back exit towards his car. As his feet crunched over the gravel of the parking lot he called his father again. Twice in two days - it was some kind of record.

Twenty minutes and several traffic violations later, Bucky pulled up outside Steve’s apartment, carelessly abandoning his car at the curb. At the same time a blacked out SUV came to a stop - one of his father’s fleet. Two burley enforcers alighted and gave Bucky a curt nod each.

Bucky walked up to the apartment door and pressed the buzzer for Steve’s apartment. There was no answer, but a quick check around the side of the building showed that his living room lights were on. Returning to the door, Bucky ran his hands down all the buzzers, counting on someone being pissed off enough at this time of night, to just press the door release. He was right, and with ear-screeching noise, the front door unlocked. Bucky yanked it open and then turned to his father’s men. He pointed at the first. “You, go up the fire escape. Third floor. Threadbare red couch. Wait for the two of us to come through the front door, unless you see a small blonde Omega in distress.”

Another curt nod, and then Bucky was racing through the door, the other one of the enforcers following him up the stairs. When he reached Steve’s door he hammered on it loudly and shouted. “Stevie!” Pressing his ear to the wood composite he couldn’t hear anything. If Steve was there, he must be in the back half of the apartment.

Closing his eyes, he took a deep inhale. Sand and sun met his nose. Steve was definitely in there, but something wasn’t right. Steve’s scent was sickly sweet like in his heat, but at the same time not, and that wasn’t all. There was another scent mingled in, an Alpha one that Bucky didn’t recognise. His own Alpha bristled, but he was torn. He and Steve weren’t a couple. Steve was allowed to be with someone else. What if, for some reason his heat had just come early and he’d found another Alpha friend to help him through it?

However, on the flip side of that, Steve had been worried. Anxious even. And he couldn’t believe that Steve wouldn’t at least let Clint know if he wasn’t coming in.

That thought sealed it for Bucky, and raising his foot, he kicked at the door. The lock sprung open under the assault, but the door was then halted by the security chain and then something blocking it. Bucky swore under his breath, preparing to kick again, but then the door swung open. The man he’d sent up the fire escape stood there.

“Looked like you needed a hand, boss. And seems like the window has been tampered with.”

Before Bucky could say anything in reply a cry broke the air, accompanied by a spike of distressed Omega scent.

“Shit!” Bucky ran off toward the bedroom, safe in the knowledge that his backup would follow him. He skidded to a halt outside the open door and took in the scene before him.

Steve was face down, on all fours on his bed, a mess of blankets around him. He was naked, flushed and obviously heavily aroused, at least in body. Behind him, a tall, dark and skeevy looking, half dressed Alpha was holding him down by the back of his neck.

“Bucky!” Steve’s voice, partially muffled, wobbled as he called out.

At the same time the other Alpha opened his own mouth. “Who the fuck are you? Fuck off out of here.”

Trying to remain calm, Bucky addressed his friend, not even looking at the man behind him. “Are you okay here, Stevie? Do you want me to go?”

“Of course he wants you to go!” the other Alpha shouted. “You’re the ones invading an intimate and private moment here. My boyfriend and I were just sorting out a little relationship hiccup.”

“Steve?” Bucky wanted to be certain. If this was Stephen, there was no way in hell Steve wanted to be back with him. Ocean blue eyes full of tears and despair looked up at him.

“Alpha,” he sighed. “Help. Alpha.”

Bucky straightened his spine and directed his attention to Stephen.

“I think,” he growled out, “that it’s you who needs to leave. I know who you are, Stephen. I know what you did to Steve, and it’s taking all my resolve not to beat you into a pulp.”

“Who the fuck do you think you are, Bucky? It is Bucky, isn’t it? Steve isn’t your mate. You might have been getting your knot wet in him, but he’s mine and he’ll agree with me soon enough.” Stephen’s arrogant whine was getting on Bucky’s nerves.

“You’re right,” he said, and for a moment, there was a flash of victory in Stephen’s eyes. “Steve’s not mine. But he’s not yours either. He’s not anyone’s. He’s his own person, free to make his own choices about who to fuck, who to love, who to trust. I know I tick two of those boxes and you tick none of them.” He took a careful step forward, wanting to get within arms reach of either of them. “And it is Bucky, but only to Steve. Not to you. You can call me James. Buchanan. Barnes.”

He pulled his gun out from behind his back and shot the external wall an inch to the side of Stephen’s head. Then, in less than a heartbeat he adjusted his aim to point directly between Stephen’s eyes, a curl of gunsmoke escaping the barrel. “And I never miss.”

Stephen’s eyes went wide and he immediately released his hold on Steve to raise his hands. Bucky motioned with the gun, and Stephen clambered off the bed. Bucky’s enforcers grabbed hold of him roughly.

“M-Mr Barnes,” Stephen stammered. “I didn’t know, I-”

Bucky backhanded Stephen across the face, splitting his lip. “I don’t give a shit about what you have to say.” He said with a snarl and then turned to his men. “Take him to the shop,” he ordered. “You don’t have to be gentle, but I want him conscious and able to talk and listen when I get there. And call the doc - have her come over straight away. I need her to take a look at Stevie.”

As soon as the room was cleared, Bucky placed his gun on top of Steve’s set of drawers and inched back toward the bed, crouching down so he was at eye level with Steve. Gently, he reached out and swept back some of his sweat-soaked hair.

“Hey, Sunshine,” he crooned. “It’s alright. It’s safe now. He’s gone.”

“Bucky,” came the croaked, plaintive reply.

“Ssh-ssh. I’m here. Do you want me to come into your nest?”

Steve sobbed and nodded into the blankets, his hips twitching as he sought out friction. Bucky toe-d off his shoes and settled himself in the middle of the bed. Almost immediately he was wrapped up in Steve, who settled on his lap, arms and legs around his waist and his nose pressed right into Bucky’s neck. Bucky returned the embrace, carefully. Steve felt so small in his arms - like he’d break if Bucky wasn’t gentle enough.

“Alpha. Please.” Steve’s hips bucked and slick started to soak through Bucky’s jeans. Bucky tried to concentrate on putting out a soothing and calming scent and hoped the doc would be here soon. “He drugged me,” Steve continued. “I didn’t want this. But it hurts. Please!”

Bucky was thankful that his men had taken Stephen away. He’d rip the bastards knot off for this. The guy was sick. Steve was humping away in his lap, and it would have been so easy to help ease his discomfort, but he couldn’t. He had to be strong. Hopefully the doc could reverse this or something. Steve wasn’t in any position to give informed consent, so unless there was no other way, his dick was staying firmly inside his pants.

He started to rock side to side, letting out soothing noises as Steve whimpered.

“I know, Sunshine. I know.”

Chapter 3

Tag list:@christywrites, @alexakeyloveloki, @doasyoudesireandlive, @galactusdevourerofworlds, @crayongirl-linz, @mightstill, @nicoline1998enilocin, @km-ffluv, @wheezy-stucky, @kmc1989, @kombatfather1796

Bingo and Challenge fills:

For the whole fic: @buckybarnesevents Into an alternate Juneiverse - Strip Club | April Babb - Pet names

For the Chapter: @Stuckybingo -Stalking | @steverogersbingo - Dark Stephen Strange | @Stuckygeekevents - Careful hug | Alpha Bucky April - Beta Character

#stucky #stucky fanfiction #shrinkyclinks #omegaverse #alpha bucky barnes #omega steve rogers #alpha bucky april #build a bucky bingo 2023 #connect 4 #stucky bingo #steve rogers bingo round 3 #stuckygeekevents

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sarahowritesostucky · 10 months ago

Text

📖"Blood Moon Rising" pt 6

Rated: Explicit

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes

Tags: shrinkyclinks, prison au, werewolf au, omega Steve, Alpha Bucky, dub-con, non-con, werewolf sex, knotting, oral (m!rec), hand jobs, held hostage, age gap (40/26), forced mating, violence, bonding, Dom/sub elements

Summary: Steve gets a lot more than he bargained for when a prison riot breaks out and he becomes the captive of an Alpha werewolf.

Wait! I haven't read a previous chapter! Fic Masterlist

Part 6 - "In Shades of Purple"

After learning so much new information in the Yurt, Steve needed to get some air. He needed time to process, and maybe think of a last minute escape plan (though none was forthcoming).

He went for a walk along the outskirts of the camp, trying to clear his head. At first he thought he was alone, but then he noticed a rustling from the nearby woods. He looked over, thinking that it was probably a squirrel, and was surprised to see a wolf peeking at him through a bush. With all of Steve’s varied escape attempts thus far, by now he knew that werewolves were more than capable of treading silently in the forest and pouncing without ever being noticed by their prey. If Steve had heard this one’s approach, it was because the wolf wanted him to.

The wolf stepped closer, revealing itself from around the foliage, and Steve’s shoulders relaxed. There were only a couple of pack members whom he recognized by sight in their shifted forms. Most of them tended to be a combination of dull grey and brown, black and white, but Wanda’s fur was almost the same color as her actual hair. “Oh,” Steve said as the wolf walked over. “Oh. Hi Wanda.” He felt so weird speaking normally to her, but he’d been told that the wolves could understand speech just fine in their animal forms, so … “Erm, how’s it going?”

The wolf stepped up close and nudged Steve’s hand with her snoot in a silent greeting.

“I was just taking a walk.” He indicated the treeline he’d been following. “To clear my head. Try and figure out what I’m gonna do about … about tonight.”

Wanda chuffed and shot him what could only be interpreted as a look of judgemental incredulity, making Steve feel stupid.

“Yeah,” he agreed glumly, because what could he really do? Run away again? Commit suicide? Kill Bucky? He had zero interest in any of those options. Running away would only mean getting his slippery ass caught in record time (humiliating), offing himself was cowardice and too dramatic for the circumstances besides (lame), and killing Bucky was, well …

Steve bit his lip. Killing Bucky would just be setting himself up for attack from the rest of the pack. It was beyond dangerous. And even if it weren’t, even if he could somehow magically stab Bucky in the neck and not have to worry about 200+ other werewolves coming after him, he still wouldn’t want to do it.

Of course he’d thought about murdering Bucky—numerous times, usually envisioning some scenario involving killing the alpha while he slept. Unfortunately, Steve couldn’t seriously contemplate such things for more than a minute or two before he’d begin to feel awful and discard the idea. Bucky might be a lot of things, but he hadn’t been cruel to Steve. Not once. Not since the Blowjob From Hell, back at the prison, leastways. Even back then, Bucky had only been doing what he felt he had to, in order to protect Steve from the other alphas in the pack.

And sharing a cabin and a bed with someone and letting them jerk you off night after night, week after week sure as shit didn’t make the idea of murder any more palatable. Bucky wasn’t a monster. He hadn’t treated Steve poorly (other than, ya know, kidnapping and holding him hostage), and he’d clearly ordered the other alphas in the pack to leave Steve alone, as nobody had since bothered Steve beyond scooping him up from his various escape attempts and depositing him back at Bucky’s doorstep. Even the men who’d been the scariest, most aggressive, and most challenging of Bucky’s leadership back at the prison—Drax, Batroc, Killmonger—had respected Bucky’s wishes regarding Steve. And Steve was under no delusion that, if it weren’t for the pack Lupului having laid down the law on who was allowed to touch Steve, then a lot more people would’ve been, by now.

Bucky was undeniably dangerous. He could be ruthless and brutal, taciturn and grumpy, and he was hella rough around the edges. But that didn’t mean he was bad. Now Steve had seen him as a provider, a protector, and a leader; and along with his shredded body and his handsome fucking face, all that together was a damned tempting package.

Yes, Steve was attracted to him. And yeah, his body reacted to the alpha in a powerful, instinctual way. He could admit that now, even though he’d been scared shitless of the guy in the beginning. His whole life, Steve had always been a real believe-in-the-system, do-the-right-thing sort of guy; somebody who would’ve never considered getting involved with an ex-felon, or aiding and abetting a bunch of escapees from a federal prison. And yet here he was, fully not intending to alert the authorities even if by some miracle he did escape.

Here he was, considering just how upset he was over the fact that he was about to be forcefully mated to one. The answer was: not as upset as he should be.

He groaned in frustration and looked down at Wanda, who was still walking right by his side. “It doesn’t make sense.”

Wanda blinked her big, wolfy eyes at him and tilted her head curiously.

“It makes no sense that I like him. Or that I’m not trying harder to run away right now.” Steve smacked at a branch of underbrush as they edged along the woods. “He’s awful. It’s awful that I’m even here at all. I don’t belong here.”

Wanda whined and bumped her body into his leg as they walked, and somehow Steve knew what that meant: She was reminding him of all the good times he’d had with the pack since his arrival.

“Well you didn’t see how he treated me at the prison,” Steve defended. “And he hasn’t exactly been invested in obtaining my consent for most things.” He bit his tongue as he thought about how Bucky had never once asked for permission to touch him … but also how Steve himself had almost never said ‘no’ to those advances when they happened. Was it really inevitable that it’d ended up this way? Or had he just not tried hard enough?

Having someone who looked like Bucky and smelled like Bucky and acted like Bucky around him for so long, pressuring him into a relationship, telling him without words that he wanted him as his mate and mother to his pups … well that kind of stuff built up over time. Even the act of running away had been getting harder each time Steve attempted it—not because he didn’t think he deserved to get out of there, but because he hated the hurt that would flash across Bucky’s face each time he was dragged back and dumped in front of him.

Steve smacked another branch, and that was when Wanda became animated, nudging Steve’s leg with her nose. He took it as a cue to give her scritches behind her ears, but she only shook him off and started grabbing at his hand lightly with her teeth. “Hey!” Steve laughed, pulling his hand back. “What’re you doing?”

She nudged up behind his legs, urging him into the woods, and Steve got the picture that she was trying to lead him somewhere. So he started following. “Where are we going?” he asked her, amused, following along for a few minutes until they reached a dense thicket in a part of the woods Steve had never seen before. Wanda yapped at him once, ducking her head as if to say “Are you paying attention?” Then she went to her belly and began to crawl through a small pass at the base of the thicket.

Steve scoffed. “I’m not going in there.”

Wanda whined and kept crawling, so Steve rolled his eyes and got to his elbows and knees and began crawling in her wake. “This better be good,” he huffed as he pushed past a few thorned branches that caught against his hair and his shirt. “Jeez.”

On the other side of the pass, there was a small grassy area, no bigger than one of the cells back at the prison. It was chock full of a tall, purple flowered plant.

Steve stood up and brushed the dirt from the knees of his pants. “What? We’re going flower picking for the big event?” he looked at Wanda peevishly. “No thanks. I’m not a blushing bride. I don’t need a bouquet.”

Wanda chuffed and shook her head in a decidedly un-wolflike way, and Steve paused with a frown. “Well what then?”

She padded to the edge of where the tall flowers grew and pawed at the leafy bases of the plants. She nudged her head at them as if to say, “Here, stupid.”

Steve frowned. “I don’t understand.” He walked over and touched the flowers. They were pretty: purple and bell-shaped. “What is this?” he murmured, reaching out to touch one of the blooms. “Foxglove?” It had that look about it.

But Wanda growled and shook her head again, and she closed her mouth on one of the plants and pulled, tearing the flower stalk off. She immediately dropped it and moved her tongue in her mouth like a dog with peanut butter stuck in its gums, her pointy little front teeth showing as she sneezed in displeasure.

Steve briefly snickered, before he paused as a crazy thought occurred to him. “Wait a minute. Is that …?” He stepped forward and bent to pick up the stalk that Wanda had pulled. He held it up to his face with a frown. There was only one flower in the world he’d ever heard of in reference to werewolves. “Wanda, is this … this isn’t wolfsbane?” he whispered. “Is it?”

Wanda immediately barked and stomped her front feet in enthusiasm, and Steve looked at her in astonishment.

“The fuck? You want me to kill him?”

Again, Wanda huffed and shook her head no.

Steve looked between her and the patch of flowers, and back to her again. “Well what then?”

Once more, Wanda growled impatiently and went up to grab another stalk and rip it clean off the plant. She dropped it, sneezed, and repeated the peanut butter tongue thing. Steve didn’t understand what on earth she intended for him to do with it, but she was definitely telling him to pick it, growling and fake-snapping at him to urge him on so that she didn’t have to pull any more of the flowers with her mouth.

He might not understand the plan, but Steve’s heart leapt as he did realize one thing; and that was that someway, somehow, Wanda was trying to help him escape.

“Are you nuts?” Darcy said, right after she shifted back to skin and Steve’s eyes all but bugged out of his head at seeing his first, full-body werewolf shift.

“Oh.” He averted his eyes, but it was too late. He’d seen, well, everything.

Darcy stomped back to her bedroom—ostensibly to put on some clothes. Steve hoped. A moment later she returned, dressed in leggings and a tee shirt. She pointed at Wanda and said, “You’re nuts.”

“What? What’d she say?” Steve leaned forward anxiously where he was sitting at the kitchen table, right where they’d dumped the large clump of purple flowered stalks. “I already told her I don’t want to murder anybody!”

Darcy scoffed and came over, sitting down on the opposite side of the table from him. “No. She’s got it in her head that you can drug everybody at the bonfire. Put it in the harvest wine and zonk everybody out long enough for you to make a getaway.”

Steve’s breath stuttered in his chest. “I can?” He looked over at Wanda, who was lying by the woodstove and chewing on the entrails of the squirrel she’d caught for herself on their walk back to Darcy’s cabin. “We can? That’s something we can do?!”

Darcy scowled and rapped her knuckles on the table. “Hello, Earth to Steve. No you can’t do that. How would you even get it in the wine? Everybody’s eyes are gonna be on you tonight. You won’t have a second on your own to—”

At the stove, Wanda whined, and Steve looked over at her. She was staring straight at Darcy with a meaningful look. Steve’s heart leapt as he thought the same thing. “Yeah. Darcy: You could do it!”

“What? No!”

“Yes! Yes you can. You have to!” Steve reached across the table and grabbed her hand. “Please? I don’t how much to put in, and like you said: I won’t get the chance. But you could do it when everybody’s distracted by the celebrations!” He looked at her with wide, pleading eyes. “Please, Darce? This is my only chance. Please help me.”

Darcy complained and angsted over it, but Wanda came over and had a non-verbal conversation with her, which culminated in Darcy’s shoulders dropping and Wanda affectionately head-butting her leg. Darcy huffed in defeat, and Steve’s spirits soared. “So you’ll do it?!” he asked. “You’ll help?”

“Help you drug my entire pack on the night of a blood moon.” Darcy groaned. “Fuck. We’ll be in so much trouble if Alpha Barnes ever figures out who did it.”

Steve figured that was as good of a ‘yes’ as he was going to get, and he slapped the tabletop, unable to contain his excitement. “Thank you!”

Darcy glared at him. “Don’t thank me yet. There’s only one person I know who’s got the access we need to the harvest wine. And he could still turn us in.”

“Who?”

“Are you serious?” Peter whispered, wide-eyed as Steve took the lid off the basket and showed him the purple flowers they wanted him to lace the wine with. Darcy had just told him their plan, and now Peter would either turn them in, or help them. “Ohmygod you are. You’re actually friggin’ serious!”

Fuck, Steve thought. He’s gonna turn us in.

“Dude, I’m so in. This is crazy!”

Oh, Steve thought. Okay then. That was easy.

By dusk, the plan was underway. Peter had briefly shifted so he could wolf-talk with Wanda, who told him precisely how much wolfsbane to steep in the wine to knock the pack out but not harm them. Then Peter shifted back and got to work, whilst Steve, Wanda, and Darcy went about their business as usual.

Or, well—as usual as they could manage. Steve was excited, but he felt a creeping sense of dread as the day wore on into late afternoon, and then into early evening; as the village became more and more alive with activity and the pack started to gather in the clearing where the bonfire was being held.

People were bringing out folding chairs and blankets and food like it was the damn fourth of July. Steve would’ve felt more intimidated or embarrassed if he didn’t already know that the excitement wasn’t truly all about him and Bucky. It was a communal sort of excitement, an excitement for the pack Alpha having found his mate, which forebode stability and progress for the pack as a whole. Mating runs were a big deal in this community, warranting late-into-the-night revelry and partying, and with the significance of the blood moon on top of that, the entire village was bound to be out celebrating. Apparently, once Bucky caught Steve and dragged him back (yikes) then the entire pack would shift and run together.

Steve was ushered into the omega yurt, where he was prepared like a lily-white bride on her wedding night. He had to shower with special soaps, then dress in a flimsy white robe that wrapped around and barely reached halfway down his shins. Darcy and Nakia shoved him down into one of the beanbag chairs and rubbed the purple paste all over him. Steve scowled at the robe—a reminder that he was going to have to be naked for this event in front of the entire pack.

Not for long, he consoled himself. By the time the run was announced and Steve sent off with his head start, everyone in the pack should be well on their way to conking out. Even the alphas. Peter was on strict instructions from Wanda to time the bringing out of the wolfsbane-laced wine exactly thirty minutes before the beginning of the mating run. Luckily for Steve, since this was also the night of the blood moon—a night of great cultural significance—they could count on every adult member of the pack drinking the Harvest wine.

The pups of the pack weren’t anything they had to worry about. Wanda, who had the excuse of abstaining due to being pregnant and gestationally shifted, would look after the kids while the others slept off the drugged stupor. And while she wasn't in on the plan, Darcy had assured Steve that Jane - who was also pregnant and wouldn't be drinking - would help contain the pups once everybody started dropping like flies. Darcy and Peter would wait until the alphas started passing out, and then they too would drink the wine for real, to avoid any suspicion that they’d been involved.

It wouldn’t be easy. There would be a lot of terrain for Steve to cross in bare feet, miles to go before he reached the beginnings of civilization. He’d need to move quickly if he wanted to get down the mountain and to the nearest town before the wolves started to stir again. It was a risky plan, but it was the only plan he had.

It was a good plan, he kept trying to reassure himself. There was no way it could go wrong. It would work. It would work. It would.

Fuck, he was nervous.

In the yurt where he was being prepared like a damn sacrificial lamb, Nakia noticed his mood, and seemed to interpret it as the normal nerves of a bride-to-be. “Don’t be afraid,” she encouraged him with a smile, as she worked the Wakandan paste into the soles of his feet and in-between his toes. “This is exciting! It will be fun.”

“Yeah,” Darcy agreed, her smile not quite reaching her eyes every time they flicked up to Steve’s face. “Alpha Barnes is a good man. He’ll make an excellent mate.”

Steve nodded along nervously, aware that she had to pretend to be just as on-board with the run as everybody else was. Even though he knew that they had a plan brewing—literally brewing—to help him escape, he still couldn’t calm himself down from his jitters very well. He’d avoided thinking about the run as much as possible ever since he’d first learned about what would happen: chased naked through the woods, with a purely ceremonial head-start, then tackled by a humongous werewolf, who would fuck him and bite him (hopefully having shifted back to human somewhere in the interim, but Steve hadn’t worked up the nerve to ask anybody about that little detail).

“It’s a big deal when a pack Alpha finds his mate,” Darcy said, where she was sitting beside Steve and rubbing the paste into his palm. “The Lupului of the Haită getting married doesn’t happen often. Once or twice in a generation. Last time was when I was just a pup, when Alpha Batroc came over with his pack from France.”

“Batroc?” Steve frowned. “You mean that asshole who’s always challenging Bucky’s leadership?”

“No, the asshole’s father.” Darcy rolled her eyes and moved around to do his other hand. “Apparently in some European packs, the title of Alpha is passed down hereditarily.”

“But not here,” Steve muttered, because he remembered what little Bucky had told him about being Alpha of this pack. How power was earned; borne of competence, brutality, and natural dominance. “Hard won and hard kept,” he recited, recalling what Bucky had said.

“Yeah.” Darcy met his eyes while Nakia was busying herself down at his feet. “Things weren’t always so nice for us, before Barnes. He challenged for pack Alpha when Batroc Senior died. There were fights, but he won.”

Steve nodded and tried not to worry about what would happen to the pack once they all woke up from being drugged and realized Bucky had lost his omega. Steve hoped it wouldn’t cause conflict, but from what little he knew of wolf nature and pack structure, it very well might. “He’s a good Alpha for you guys?” he asked quietly.

On his hand, Darcy gave a comforting squeeze, and Steve looked up at her. “Yeah,” she said. “But we’ll be fine.”

Steve hoped so.

“Now you must sit until it dries,” Nakia proclaimed, indicating the purple paste as she finished with Steve’s feet and set his heels down onto the floor. Steve glanced worriedly out the tiny windows of the yurt, where he could see that the daylight had fully waned and evening had drawn in. “H-how long will that take?”

“Oh not long. Ten minutes, maybe.” Nakia nodded brightly as she stood and went to the kitchen to wash her hands. “This will help you,” she said. “It will disguise your scent and give you strength.”

“Sure, sure.” Steve wanted to ask if the purple color of it came from wolfsbane, but figured it was probably a bad idea to say anything about wolfsbane at the moment. “What … what makes the color?” he asked instead.

Nakia’s smile turned sly. “Special Wakandan herb,” she said, and would say no more.

Just a plant, then, Steve thought. Just an old superstition from Africa. He thanked her anyway, since it was the polite thing to do. Nakia had spread the paste in lines across his cheeks and down his neck as well, taking extra care to rub it into his bonding glands. Steve hated to think what the people in the nearest town would think of him when they got a look at him running down the street in nothing but the strange markings and his birthday suit. Hopefully someone would recognize that he needed help, and he wouldn’t just be straight up arrested for public indecency or hauled off to the nearest loony bin.

“Good luck, Steve!” Nakia bid him goodbye, Darcy trailing out after her somewhat reluctantly.

“It’ll be okay,” she said back to him at the door.

“Wait!” Steve pleaded at the last second. “What am I supposed to do?”

Darcy just gave him a sympathetic wince and left the yurt without another word, and Steve sat there wondering how the heck he was supposed to know when to go out there.

A few minutes passed, and he started to angst that he’d missed some cue, and that this might mess up the timing of the Harvest wine. Wanda had warned that the wolfsbane would only work for an hour or two, at most. With the distance he had to travel out of the mountains, Steve wouldn’t have any time to waste. He looked down at his purple hands and feet, feeling lame and worried. Then the door opened and Steve blinked at the man who walked in. “... Doctor Banner?”

“Steve, Hi.” Banner came in and walked over to where Steve was sitting, hands in his pockets. He looked somewhat sheepish to be there. "I've seen you around but we've never been introduced. I’m Bruce.”

"I'm ... drying." Steve shifted awkwardly in place and indicated his purple hands and feet. “Not supposed to move for ten minutes."

Banner smiled and sank down into the beanbag across from Steve's. “They sent me in to talk to you.”

“Why?”

“It’s traditional. Before the mating run.”

Steve fought not to blush at the term. To him, "mating run" sounded like it might as well be called "naked werewolf sex chase"—because that's what it was. It was still weird to hear people talk about it so openly, and Steve shifted in discomfort. “Um, no offense or anything, but why’d they send you? You’re not omega.”

Banner’s mouth twitched. “No. No I’m not. But it’s usually someone who can impart a bit of wisdom relevant to your situation.”

“Oh.” Steve waited, unsure what the heck Doctor Banner had to impart. “Um, so …?”

“I wasn’t born into the pack, either.”

Steve’s eyes widened and he leant forward slightly. “I didn’t know that. You weren’t born a werewolf?”

“Mm mn.”

“What happened?”

Banner looked down with a small, self-deprecating smile. “I’m a doctor. One night a patient came into the E.R. in pretty bad shape. I was a mandatory reporter back then, so when his bloodwork came back saying he was infected. I had to alert the authorities.”

“You turned him in?”

He nodded regretfully. “I did. The patient heard about it, and the next blood draw I did, he grabbed the needle. Stuck me. Told me ‘welcome to his world’.”

Steve’s lips parted in shock. “On purpose?!”

“Well yeah. I’d ruined his life. He wanted to ruin mine.”

Steve had heard of cases of healthcare workers being infected on the job, but it was always discussed with an air of tragedy about it—like the AIDS crisis had been, back in the eighties. Banner was sitting there talking about it like it was no big deal, and Steve couldn’t decide whether an “I’m sorry” would be appropriate or offensive, at the moment. He licked his lips and instead asked, “Well, what happened then?”

Banner shrugged. “Lost my job. You can’t practice medicine if you’re infected with lycanthropy. Can’t do a lot of things, as it turns out.”

“No, that’s not true.” Steve shook his head. “There are … anti-discrimination laws. It’s illegal to fire or not hire someone based on infection status.” The quiet snicker he received for that told Steve he was being very naïve, and he squared his shoulders defensively. “Outside of medical jobs, I mean.”

“Yeah, there are laws.” Banner’s flat affect told him just how little that mattered in the real world, and Steve felt his face heat with indignity on the other man’s behalf. Banner continued, “I couldn’t find work, after. Being in the registry and all. Got a taste of my own medicine, so to speak. Karma. I felt so awful for all the years I’d ‘done my duty’ and reported infected patients to the health department. Got to see what the world was really like for people living with lycanthropy.” He shrugged. “That was when I started trying to find others.”

“Oh.” Steve had never once considered what he’d do if he ever contracted it. It’d always seemed like such a far away problem, something that could never touch him. Something for other people to deal with. Embarrassed over his own ignorance, he looked down at his hands. “I guess … I just always thought everybody was born into a pack, for the most part.” Werewolf communities were some of the most disorganized and dysfunctional in the country. Noone liked them because they were trouble: poor, crime-ridden, drug-addicted, violent. Steve had never stopped to wonder why that might be. “You don’t hear of hospital infections much anymore,” he mumbled.

Banner nodded. “Yeah. With safety precautions these days it’s rare. And when it happens, you’re kind of screwed. The packs’ve been marginalized for so long that they’re very insular now. Protective. Most of them won’t just take in strays. There’re too many traditions, rules, suspicions. But then I found this pack, and because of Barnes, they’re different. A lot of physicians won’t treat were patients, you know? Infected or congenital. So the pack needed a doctor. Barnes accepted me in. Gave me home, a family, purpose.” He looked at Steve meaningfully from over the rims of his glasses. “I owe them everything.”

Steve’s heart sank. “You’re trying to tell me I should be glad to be here. Is that it? That I shouldn’t be afraid of getting infected?”

“No.”

He crossed his arms, remembering the purple paste only belatedly and looking down at himself. Luckily, the paste seemed to have dried and hadn’t smeared on the robe. He looked back up at Banner with narrowed eyes. “Well I’m not here by choice. They kidnapped me. I’ve been trying to run away, and they keep dragging me back. So I don’t know what Bucky told you to come in here and say to try and butter me up, but don’t bother.”

Banner’s face pinched sadly. “He didn’t tell me what to say. He thought you might have questions. About what it’s like, what’s gonna happen. He asked me to come talk to you.”

Steve scoffed, unwilling to believe that. Bucky wasn’t trying to be nice, he was trying to be manipulative. He thought sending in a former human outsider to sing his praises would change things, would somehow make Steve happy or ease his fears. Well Steve had news for him: it didn’t. He wished so badly that Bucky was there himself. He’d rip the alpha a new one if he was—

“So do you?”

Steve looked up. Banner was watching him expectantly. “Do I what?”

“Have any questions?”

“Of course I do!” he snapped, frustrated. When the other man just sat there looking regretful and kind, Steve felt bad for having raised his voice. He pursed his lips and looked down. “I dunno,” he said. “I guess I’m still hoping to get away. I guess you think that’s pretty stupid.”

“Naw,” Banner assured. “I went on a cleanse after I got infected—some made up junk I found on the internet. I knew it wouldn’t work, but I spent a thousand bucks to have some purge juice mailed to my house anyway.” Steve shot him a ‘really?’ look, and Banner nodded with a wince. “Yeah. Trust me, nothing sounds stupid when you’re desperate. I'd know.” He inhaled deeply and pushed the bridge of his glasses back up his nose. “But, I guess if you don’t have any questions …” He started to get up, standing from the bean bag chair and heading for the door. “It was nice to officially meet you, Steve.”

“Wait!” Steve blurted, fearful of being left in the dark on something he’d long wondered. “... What’s it like?”

Banner turned back and blinked at him. “Which part?”

Steve swallowed thickly before he worked up the nerve to ask, “The first time. The … shifting. What’s it like? Does it ... ya know, hurt?”

Banner looked like he’d expected the question. “Well, it is painful, but probably not like you’re imagining.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s intense. Overwhelming. Really weird. But it hurts in a way that almost feels good. Satisfying.”

Steve scowled. “That makes no sense.”

Banner shrugged apologetically. “It's its own thing. There's nothing like it. No that I've experienced. The only thing I can compare it to is ... maybe a bit like having a knot or a kink worked out? You know: like a good massage; stretching sore muscles, or popping your knuckles; that prickling feeling you get when you come in out of the cold and your skin starts to warm up. It’s a relief feeling. Does that make sense?”

Steve sighed. “Not really. Kinda. I dunno.”

“Hey.” From the doorway, Bruce sent him a fortifying look. “You’ll be okay, kid. It’s really just a day or two of fever, and then you feel right as rain until the moon comes. That’s when you’ll shift with the whole pack.”

“Yeah,” Steve murmured, thinking about the particular shade of the purple-blue flower petals that'd probably already been strained out of the giant vat of wine by now. “... shift with the whole pack.”

He’d certainly do something with the whole pack, if this plan didn’t pan out. Like get ripped apart by them.

Bruce seemed to take his silent worry for concern over becoming a werewolf, so he added, “And you feel stronger and swifter after, even in your human form. You can smell better, all your senses are enhanced and you feel more in tune with yourself. Especially during and right after a shift. It’s exhilarating.”

Steve nodded, avoiding meeting the other man’s eyes out of the guilt he felt. Soon the entire pack would be drugged up and knocked out because of him—even Banner would be. “Thanks,” he said morosely. “For telling me, I guess.”

“Of course. I’ll tell them you’re ready. Someone will come and get you.”

“Great."

The door to the yurt closed behind Banner, and Steve was left alone again, sitting in silence except for the near-distant sounds of two hundred people kicking off a bonfire party.

He turned his hands over in his lap and stared down at his purple palms. “Great,” he repeated, this time in little more than a whisper. He wasn’t ready for this at all. He was scared, and anxious, and guilty, and not at all sure that he was doing the right thing.

Darcy had explained that everyone would recover, but it certainly wasn’t healthy for them to be ingesting wolfsbane. Steve was low grade poisoning an entire village of people just so that he could get away from Bucky. It made him feel crummy, made him think of the pale rings of scar tissue all the alphas had from the silver collars poisoning their skin, back at the prison. Steve cringed when he thought of how mad Bucky was going to be, once he realized what Steve had done. Darcy had said people might throw up once they regained consciousness, and Steve hated to think of hurting everybody like that. He felt no better than the prison guards, using the wolves' weaknesses against them.

But it was too late to back out now. The plan was already in motion. Outside, people were probably already being served the laced wine in red solo cups (or whatever kinds of cups hillbilly werewolves drank their booze from). And Wanda and Peter had stuck their necks out for Steve, in helping. All he could do now was soldier on with the plan.

Soon he’d be free of this place, and all the wolves would be right as rain, having recovered from the sneaky poisoning of their harvest wine. They'd go back to their lives as usual, minus one pesky human, and so would Steve. And it would be fine.

It would be fine.

Masterlist

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This has been a fill for @steverogersbingo, card SB3088 "stark contrast," square B5: omega Steve

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