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sarahowritesostucky · 11 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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sunnyrosewritesstuff · 6 months ago

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Semi-Finals, Poll 1

A Mother's Curse v. Ambassador to Madness v. To Spoon Feed You Comfort

THE POLL IS AT THE BOTTOM OF THE POST! CLICK “KEEP READING”.

A Mother's Curse: (Reverse Werewolf AU)

Bilbo was becoming increasingly aware of how hungry, thirsty, and tired he was as a low growl built up at the back of his throat. Where were those pesky dwarves?

He was just about to give up and go north to the river when he heard voices coming. Several of them. Bilbo took his place crouched in the tall grass, holding completely still as he listened carefully.

“Well, this was a bust.”

“We can’t force the hobbit to go with us.”

“Maybe Gandalf should have thought of that before telling us to meet him in the Shire!”

“At least the food was good.”

There were several loud guffaws at that, and Bilbo felt his tail sweeping the grass behind him ever so slightly. It was the dwarves. They were just beginning to come into view, and Bilbo realized something crucial that he probably should have thought of before. They were riding ponies. Ponies didn’t particularly like him, and given the number of times he’s nearly gotten kicked by one, he could say the feeling was mutual. He would just keep his distance and hope they didn’t drop their riders because of him.

“Mahal above…Thorin!” The tall, bald dwarf hissed as he nodded in his direction.

Bilbo felt his hair stand up on the back of his neck as a growl developed at the back of his throat. He didn’t like the way he was looking at him. Thorin either didn’t see him or wasn’t about to do anything, but Bilbo didn’t like the sudden quiet from the dwarves at all.

“Kili, notch an arrow.” The same dwarf murmured.

Bilbo laid his ears flat against his head, his chest practically rumbling with the repressed need to warn the dwarves away. He wasn’t about to wait around and get shot. Just as he was about to sprint away, Thorin stepped in swinging down from his pony.

“No! Wait!” He shouted, placing himself between the dwarves and Bilbo.

Thorin turned towards Bilbo, taking a knee and holding his hand out.

“Basnahkhad. Here.” He ordered.

Bilbo’s ears folded back against his head, eyeing the bow in the young dwarf’s hand.

“Kili, put it away.” Thorin ordered, his eyes never leaving Bilbo’s own. “Basnahkhad. It’s okay. Here.”

Slowly, ears twitching and eyes watching the rest of the dwarves, Bilbo made his way to Thorin’s side. When he was close enough, Thorin reached out and scratched behind his ears which did wonders for Bilbo’s nerves as he melted into the gesture.

“This is Basnahkhad. I owe him my life.” Thorin told the dwarves, holding out the bead around Bilbo’s neck for them to see.

“Wow! Look at how big his feet are!” The dwarf with the bow cried out as he slid out of his saddle.

“Is he tame?” The blonde young one asked as he also slid to the ground.

Bilbo backed up, the hairs standing on his neck and teeth bared as they came towards him too quickly. They stopped in their tracks at the same time Thorin got up to intercept them.

“He is not a pet!” He snapped.

“He’s nothing more than a wild beast that would turn on us sooner or later.” The bald dwarf growled, glaring down at Bilbo.

Bilbo’s tail fell between his legs, knowing he was making a bad impression. Luckily, that’s when Gandalf decided to speak up from where he was watching the interaction curiously.

“That is no mere ‘wild beast’, Master Dwalin. He is extremely clever by people standards and understands every word you’re saying. He is also careful, courageous, light on his feet, and has a great deal more to offer than any of you know. Including himself.”

Bilbo cocked his head not quite sure what Gandalf meant by that, but appreciating the glowing recommendation.

“Let’s see how smart he is.” The young dwarf declared. “Sit, boy! Sit!”

Bilbo snapped his jaws at him and gave him a groan. He was not a simple animal to obey demeaning tasks. Several of the dwarves laughed at that, teasing the lad for Bilbo’s lack of obedience.

“If you want to put him to a test, then give him an actual task. See now, Oin, weren’t you just complaining about your lack of stores? Have Bil-our friend sniff it out for you.” Gandalf offered, giving Bilbo a wink.

Bilbo relaxed at Gandalf keeping his secret. He was certain none of the dwarves remembered him from last night with as little as he interacted, but he would rather they think he was a simple wolf with a higher intelligence than what he was.

The dwarf named Oin seemed to have a hearing impairment judging by the horn he kept next to his head, but he called Bilbo over anyways. Letting him sniff the herbs he was looking for. Once Bilbo got a good whiff, he knew exactly where to find them. Down by the Marish, out aways from the riverbank. He shook out his coat, before looking at Gandalf. The wizard had a wide grin on his face.

“He’s got it now. He’ll meet back with us as soon as he has what Oin needs. In the meantime, I believe we can press on.”

Bilbo trotted over to Thorin, purposefully pushing into his hand before leaving the path. He wasn’t gone more than twenty steps before he heard one of the dwarves shout out.

“Twenty says we will never see him again.”

“Forty!” Several responded at once.

Bilbo huffed. Well, he would just have to prove them all wrong now wouldn’t he? He went southeast towards the Woody End. It would give him good cover until he could get to the Brandywine. There was a spot where it was just slow enough for him to swim across south of Rushy, and then it would just be a matter of crossing the Old Forest to get back to the East Road and find the dwarves. The trees of the Old Forest didn’t seem to mind him that much, but he wasn’t sure if that was because he was a wolf or because he was a werewolf.

Ambassador to Madness: (Arranged Marriage AU)

Ori nodded eagerly.

“After that, I showed him to the nearest inn and expected that would be the last I saw of him. So it was rather surprising to me when I found him in the markets the next day, asking after me.”

“Aww, I bet it’s because you’re Ones.” Ori sighed.

“Right, because we’re…hold on.”

It suddenly pricked at Bilbo’s senses that he’s heard this term before. In fact, he’s heard it from Thorin a couple of times and always in the presence of his grandfather. He thought it was some sort of endearment, but Ori made it sound like something else. Could he ask though? Would that make sense if he didn’t know what that was? He sat there staring for so long that Ori almost seemed hesitant when he interrupted Bilbo’s thoughts.

“Your Highness? You were saying?”

“Sweet William.” Bilbo finally mumbled.

“I’m sorry.”

“Thorin, he brought me Sweet William for the flower that represents me.”

“Oh!” Ori grinned. “And what does that mean?”

“Gallantry.” Bilbo answered automatically. “Which is actually the Baggins’ family flower.”

“Each family has their own flower?” Ori questioned.

Bilbo nodded. “It reminds us of our roots. Baggins are meant to be perfect gentle hobbits in every way.”

“That’s nice.” Ori hummed. “So what was his next flower?”

Bilbo’s wits had returned to him as he explained that Thorin then brought him holly to show Thorin was willing to defend him and provide domestic happiness. And then their joint flower was forget-me-nots. So that way even when Thorin left to go back to Erebor, they would not forget each other. They were all flowers Bilbo had daydreamed many times in his youth with the exception of forget-me-nots which he knew would be the best flower for their fabricated story. But now he couldn’t help but wonder. What flowers would Thorin give him if he knew of such things? Would it be much like the gems? Impersonal and obvious? Or would his romantic side show through more?

“Thank you for indulging me, Your Highness. I love a good love story.” Ori hummed happily.

Bilbo gave him a wry grin. “I’m the same way. Remind me to lend you a copy of my favorite book.”

“I would be honored!” Ori exclaimed. “Now, let’s talk about dwarven courting.”

It was very straightforward if Bilbo were being honest. Dwarves also did gifts in three: a gift to Provide, a gift to Protect, and a gift to Cherish. They could be given in any order, but it was a back and forth interaction. So Thorin would give a gift and then Bilbo and then Thorin until they reached their final gifts.

“Those gifts will be given at the same time, usually in front of others. Most dwarves choose their family and friends, but for Prince Thorin, it will probably have to be in front of the entire kingdom. After all, he has to prove himself a good suitor to his people.”

Bilbo felt stopped short. In front of the kingdom? This wasn’t just a private thing then? Oh, what was Thorin thinking? There was no way they could sell this and maintain that they were already a loving married couple. Bilbo was going to have to talk with him later. Tell him that while a sweet idea, it just wasn’t feasible. He listened to Ori give him some ideas on what constituted for each gift, citing texts about couples long dead. It really was charming how knowledgeable Ori was, but before long he had to say goodbye to him. He had a husband to talk to.

Bilbo meandered back to their suite, nodding at the guards in the hallway who grinned back at him. Bilbo felt like he really won them over when he shared his Meema’s Famous Butter Biscuits with them. Thorin swore all the dwarves who served in his wing were completely trustworthy, but it never hurt to ‘butter them up’ just in case. When he walked in, he was greeted by a strange sight. Thorin was lounging on the settee, booted feet kicked up over the arm, reading from a book. Although, it wasn’t just any book. Bilbo crossed his arms with a smirk.

“I thought we were against books with Elvish titles.”

Thorin immediately jumped to his feet, the book hanging down at his side and slightly behind him.

“Oh, yeah. I got…curious. And you never said it was a romance.” He accused.

“I seem to remember not being allowed the chance.” Bilbo smirked.

“Yes, well…” Thorin coughed. “I perhaps reacted rashly.

“Perhaps.” Bilbo teased. “But that’s all behind us now. Let’s circle back to romances. That’s your type?”

If anything the flushed look and fidgeting by the dwarf made the whole scene even more endearing.

“Your mother’s name is in the dedication.” Thorin quickly changed the subject.

Bilbo allowed it as his fingers ghosted over the section fondly. “Yes, she helped the author understand flower language for the story.”

“That’s like our gem language, right?” Thorin asked.

Bilbo nodded.

“Would you translate this part for me then?”

Bilbo’s heart was beating wildly in his chest especially when he could probably guess what part Thorin was at. Sure enough, as soon as the book was passed over to Bilbo, he saw that Thilion had just given the longing bouquet to Linnadis even though she had told him she was accepting Míriedir’s proposal to court. Thorin leaned over Bilbo’s shoulder so he could see the words as well, and as his breath tickled his neck, Bilbo thought he was going to combust.

“A-ah, yes. So the pink camellia means “longing for you”. The edelweiss is “courage in one’s devotion”, and the red salvia…”

Bilbo trailed off as he looked up into Thorin’s uncomfortably close face. Unable to pull away from the encouraging blue of his eyes and wistful smile across his face.

“Forever mine.” Bilbo ended up near whispering.

Thorin hummed in sympathy, but did not pull away or take the book back. He merely continued to stare at Bilbo the same way.

“In gems, we would have used Ruby, Amethyst, and Diamond for such a message. Although it’s not an exact translation. Ruby is strengthening the decision making in passionate displays. Amethyst is about clearing one’s mind, but also being courageous in relationships. And then Diamond is practically indestructible so it’s a symbol of eternal love. Then there’s the matter of where you would place it. Possibly in a bracelet because our hands are our greatest gift from Mahal.”

To Spoon Feed You Comfort: (Accidental Marriage AU)

“Thorin…I’m afraid I must confess something to you…”

Bilbo’s eyes went down to their feet as he started to fiddle in place.

“The thing is…”

Bilbo never got to finish his sentence before a pair of lips was pressing against his own. Bilbo felt like a fire had been lit deep inside him, setting his every nerve off like Gandalf’s fireworks. He couldn’t even begin to form a coherent thought.

“Yes.” Thorin stated, finally pulling back.

“Yes?” Bilbo repeated, dumbfounded.

“Yes, I will lay with you.”

Oh Green Lady, take him now. It was all so much so quickly. Here he was thinking the best he could hope for was an amenable relationship with his husband, but he actually wanted to lay with Bilbo? It was too soon, wasn’t it? And how did Thorin know that they were married?!

“I’ve seen the way you’ve watched me.” Thorin growled as he latched down on the underside of Bilbo’s ear making him gasp. “I wouldn’t normally do this, but I’ve had some interest in you too. And it’ll make it easier to get this out of the way now while we have the time and some privacy.”

So this was just a fuck then? It was hard to be disappointed when Thorin’s large hands were gripping him so, but Bilbo knew he needed to squash this now. At least Thorin needed to know the truth before he had his way with him. Bilbo pulled back, looking deep in Thorin’s darkening eyes, his throat bobbing at such a delicious look aimed at him.

“So here or in your room?” Bilbo murmured.

A smirk spread across Thorin’s face and the sheer desire pooling in his eyes managed to temporarily smother any doubt or self-loathing Bilbo felt at not telling him.

“My room.” Thorin declared as he tugged Bilbo along.

***

Bilbo felt dirty and vile as he trudged along after the dwarves. His one chance to say something, and he blew it. Any chance at catching Thorin alone now was shot as the dwarf kept his distance, almost as if he were afraid Bilbo would want more from him now. Maybe that should have been a sign.

“So you did it then?” Bofur questioned, siding up next to him.

“P-Pardon?” Bilbo spluttered.

Bofur’s eyebrows furrowed together, but his good humor kept as he continued to needle him. “You and Thorin?”

Bilbo knew his face was exploding in color as heat filled his cheeks so quickly he was becoming light-headed.

“Ummm…”

“Your talk?” Bofur pressed.

“OH! YES!” Bilbo exclaimed only to begin laughing nervously as several dwarves turned to stare at him for his outburst.

“That bad then.” Bofur hummed apologetically.

“Yes. I mean no! It was fine. Um, I think we understand each other better now.”

“That a way!” Bofur cheered. “That’s a good step forward. Now if we can just get you guys comfortable around each other. That’ll be good for the company I reckon.”

Comfortable. Interesting word choice. Bilbo would love to be ‘comfortable’ around his husband, but if he’d learned anything from the night before, Thorin didn’t do comfort. Perhaps this would just be a secret he would carry to his grave. With as quickly as Thorin left him last night, Bilbo could see any dream for a happy marriage was just a greener garden out of reach.

He let himself fall back into routine where he stuck with Bofur and Bombur and occasionally Nori and would only watch Thorin from afar. He just wished Thorin would have thought to agree to the same terms. Instead, Thorin was harsh and critical. Everything he did was wrong, and everywhere he was happened to be in Thorin’s way. It was starting to become noticeable as several of the dwarves would whisper to him afterwards asking what he did to piss off their esteemed leader. Bilbo didn’t think Thorin would appreciate it if he answered with ‘bed him’.

By the time Bilbo had reached his limits was exactly the time the decision was taken out of his hands by a storm in the mountains. Although, it wasn’t just any storm. It was a thunder battle. Bilbo lay there, exhausted and heaving after Thorin pulled him from the long drop down the mountainside.

“I thought we had lost our burglar.” Dwalin sighed in relief.

Before Bilbo could step in to assure him, Thorin spat his words with a venomous look.

“He’s been lost ever since he left his home. He should not have come. He has no place among us.”

Bilbo reeled back like he had been slapped. If Thorin noticed, he gave no indication as he turned quickly, giving the order for them to find shelter. Bofur helped him up, trying to reassure him, but Bilbo felt numb. If he had no place among them, what was he doing here? His own husband didn’t want him! Rivendell had clearly just been Thorin scratching an itch, and now he was sick of him. Bilbo felt like he should despair, instead he just got agitated.

He waited until they were safely tucked away in the cave and most of the company was asleep, before he stomped his way over to their esteemed leader. Bilbo shook his shoulder.

“We have to talk.” He hissed.

“I have nothing left to say.” Thorin growled, purposefully not looking at him.

Bilbo spun him around. “Then you will listen!”

Thorin grabbed him by his jacket collar and pulled him down so that Bilbo was practically bent over him as they were nose to nose.

“Don’t get familiar, Halfling.” Thorin growled. “I warned you that night.”

“Before or after you fucked me?”

Thorin shook him a bit as he looked around making sure no one heard. That hurt a bit. That Thorin was so ashamed of what they did.

“I’ve done everything for you.” Bilbo stated calmly even as he felt like throwing up. “I’ve left home for you. I’ve faced dangers for you!”

“Why?” Thorin demanded, aggravation seeping through his tone. “I never asked you to!”

“Because you’re my husband!”

#birthday plot bunnies tournament #follower event #the hobbit #bagginshield #semi finals poll 1 #reverse werewolf au #arranged marriage au #accidental marriage au

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