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dapandapod · 2 years

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To trust and to hold

For the @thepassifloradiscord a/b/o event, I chose the “I have to bond with you to save your life, sorry.” prompt. MUCH fun was had! Geralt bonds Jaskier to save his life from ouchies.

Warnings: Major character injury, hurt/comfort, Geralt is bad at emotions TM, recovery, angst? i guess? Because they are idiots in love who just doesn’t understand the other’s feelings. Also mostly Jaskier being very hurt, poor boy.

Betaread by my ever bestest @kuripon, whomst deserves all the love on this planet. all of it.

Please enjoy! On Ao3 here

“Fuck, Jaskier, stay with me!”

Jaskier can barely make out the words. His entire body hurts, his blood burning in his veins. The world comes and goes, always dark around the edges.

“We are losing him,” someone says from the side. Jaskier doesn’t understand what that means, but something is hurting like the fucking seven hells in his abdomen. He tries to curl in on himself, but his arms are too heavy, and all he can manage is a weak whimper.

“You have to do it, Geralt. He will die if you don’t.”

Is that what this is? Dying?

Jaskier had always thought dying would be peaceful. He should have known better, living a life on the path, realizing the brutality of life by the side of a witcher.

Death has taken many forms on their travels; sometimes as mercy, sometimes of necessity, sometimes cruelty.

It just never occurred to Jaskier that the cruelty of death would happen to him.

But evidently it was. A spasm passes through him, sending new spikes of pain through his body. Crying out hurts even more, and he gasps for air, fingers curling around nothing.

“Geralt!”

“I’m so sorry, Jaskier.”

Hot hands cradle the side of his face, a breath next to his ear.

“Please forgive me.”

Teeth sink into his neck, and for some reason it hurts more than anything he’s experienced so far.

But soon, the excruciating pain overpowers anything else, making him blissfully numb, and Jaskier falls into darkness.

The first thing he registers is the throbbing pain in his stomach. From there it is only downhill, when every hurt and ache makes itself known and grabs at his attention.

Opening his eyes takes most of what little energy Jaskier has, and the world is blurry around him still. It is hard to concentrate, eyes roving across the room, trying to find something clear or familiar enough to focus on, but it just makes him dizzy.

Jaskier fades again, unconsciousness and blissful numbness calling him away. He imagines he can hear Geralt’s voice, feel his hand against his cheek.

Jaskier smiles faintly at the thought before he passes out again.

Waking up is less terrible this time. Jaskier’s lips feel so dry they could crack at the slightest movement, but breathing doesn’t hurt as much anymore.

Upon opening his eyes, he finds the world is slightly clearer, but not by much.

Jaskier doesn’t recognize the room. The wooden beams have grayed with time, the paintings are unfamiliar, and the rough patchwork blanket around his legs and hips a stranger’s work.

Frowning and smacking his lips, Jaskier flexes his fingers, but the ache is almost gone. He seems to be alone in the room, but a chair is pushed up next to his bed, and on the bedside table is a bowl of water and some clothes. There is blood staining them.

Jaskier finally dares to look down at his chest.

He’s heavily bandaged around his abdomen, angry dark bruises peeking out where the bandages end just under his solar plexus.

Fuck.

His arms are not much better off, but it doesn’t seem as if any bones are broken.

There are some nasty marks on his left bicep, and Jaskier can’t really recall what may have caused them. All he remembers is the stabbing pain, his insides feeling like they’d been torn out, and then the numbing bite-

Oh.

Gingerly, Jaskier raises a hand to his neck.

Bandages block his touch, and when Jaskier presses his fingers into it, he finds the covered skin tender, but surprisingly soothing to touch.

Of course, that is when Geralt enters the room, amber eyes quickly darting over Jaskier’s form, lingering on his hand over the bite.

“You are awake,” he breathes, and then yells over his shoulder, “HE IS AWAKE!” In less than a minute, Jaskier is surrounded by people. He recognizes none of them, but there is a familiar voice in the crowd. A voice belonging to the woman who is currently making him follow her finger with his eyes.

“You were there,” he croaks, and she tuts and helps him sip from a glass of water before letting him speak again. “You were there,” he repeats.

“I was. You almost died. You are very fucking lucky that Geralt was there to bond you.”

Jaskier’s eyes snap to Geralt, who stays back, hovering restlessly by the wall.

“What do you mean?” Jaskier feels dizzy all over again, especially as Geralt looks so damn sad. He senses it too, the guilt and self loathing trickling towards him through their bond. “Geralt, what does she mean?”

Strong hands angle his face towards the woman again, and Jaskier must tear his eyes away from the witcher.

“Look at me. Deep breaths. No, look at me. Breathe through the panic. You are alright, you are safe.”

No, this is not alright.

Geralt bit him, Geralt bonded him, tied them together.

‘I need no one, and the last thing I need is someone needing me.’

Fuck.

Jaskier gasps sharply, tears pricking his eyes, and the woman tries to keep his focus on her. Then her hands are replaced with hot, familiar hands as Geralt takes her place.

Geralt cradles Jaskier’s face, their eyes locked together.

“Slow breaths. Follow me.”

Geralt leans down, knocking their foreheads together. It is hard to force the air to stay in his lungs, but he tries, Jaskier tries so fucking hard for Geralt.

Soothing hums calms him down slowly, worry and guilt and affection still running through the bond.

The fucking bond.

But eventually, Jaskier breathes evenly again, the world coming back to focus. Geralt keeps his hands on Jaskier, but now his hands are resting on his shoulders, inches from where the bandage covering the bite.

“I know this isn’t what you wanted. But I couldn’t let you die, couldn’t let you leave me, Jask. We’ll talk about it later. You need to rest now. Heal.”

Jaskier looks up confused at Geralt, but he says nothing more. The woman moves Geralt to the chair next to the bed, so she can keep examining him, another two women at the edge of the bed returning to the task of changing bandages and checking him over.

Geralt holds his hand, thumb tracing back and forth over the back of his hand.

The woman makes him drink more, but Jaskier belatedly realizes that it’s not water.

It pulls him under, dreams dragging him down, Geralt’s hand in his the only thing anchoring him to reality.

It was an Arachas, they tell him. A big, spider-like creature with pincers, sharp teeth, and venom glands. Jaskier has no recollection of it, but there had been a contract. A temple in dire need of rescue from what apparently was the Arachas.

It had pierced Jaskier’s stomach, the venom killing him in minutes. The woman, who he now knows as Landina, told him he got lucky.

They had found his suppressants and realized what he was, and then the bond burned through everything in its way.

The puncture wound in his stomach aches, a painful reminder of what he cost Geralt.

It feels unreal. Bittersweet.

Jaskier had long accepted Geralt’s need for independence. As soon as it was clear to him that Geralt would not form any bond with any omega for any reasons, Jaskier started taking suppressants. Took efforts to hide who he is.

“They say witchers are unfeeling. But no such bond can form where there are no attachments,” Landina tells him the next day. “You are lucky to be alive.”

When he is alone again, Jaskier touches the bite once more.

Lucky, she says. Tied to a man who wants no one, who doesn’t want him, who despite saving him feels guilt and remorse. It’s there, clear as day. Jaskier is not sure what he is sending through their bond, but Geralt has not returned to his room yet.

The loneliness aches in him, the empty chair mocking him for his hope. Geralt doesn’t want him. Geralt just didn’t want him to die. Geralt is kind and caring and good, and not once has he shown a sign that he wants them to become more.

That’s not entirely true, he admits quietly to himself.

Two years ago, Geralt had kissed him. The memory burns at the back of his mind, a perfect picture of torture when Jaskier is left alone during the winter.

It was just a kiss. They had been at a wedding, the liquor had been flowing and the spirits had been high. Together they had stumbled into the barn wall, laughing and smiling, and then Geralt had pressed himself against Jaskier and captured his lips, slow and searing, his hands on Jaskier’s hips gripping him tightly.

The night had ended and they had never spoken of it since. And Jaskier never pushed. He tries to tamp down the longing, the loneliness, but Jaskier realizes that he has no secrets now. And Geralt is nowhere to be seen.

The fever creeps in during the night.

His body shivers with cold as he burns up, tossing and turning as much as his aching body allows. His skin feels too tight, and he whimpers when Landina lays a hand on his forehead.

“Hurts,” he pants, squirming to get away from her. “Geralt.”

But Geralt isn’t here. Why would he be? Landina was wrong, only the threat to his life got Geralt close to him.

“What’s wrong with him? He was healing.” One of the apprentices asks quietly by the door.

“He is rejecting the bond. It is incomplete, and his body is fighting it.”

Jaskier doesn’t understand what they are saying, but when they say rejection, pain lances through his body, and he gasps sharply.

“Get Geralt,”Landina orders.

Geralt feels it even before the apprentice can depart the room.

The sense of wrongness wracking through him, unsettling him. He is about to burst through the door to Jaskier when he hears Landina.

“He is rejecting the bond. It is incomplete.”

Heart plummeting, Geralt’s hand freezes on the handle.

“Get Geralt.” The head priestess instructs, and the door is flung open to reveal him standing there frozen.

There is a brief pause where the young apprentice stares up at him, and then Geralt’s eyes catch on Jaskier, sickly pale with deep red patches on his chest and cheek.

“Leave us,” Landina tells the others, and they hurry out of the room around him. “Geralt. You have to make a decision.”

“About what?”

“If you want to keep your claim on him, or if you will let it burn away. He thinks your bond is one of duty, not affection, and he is trying to set you free.”

“... He can do that?”

“It is not uncommon in arranged marriages, when one part thinks the other indifferent. Usually caused by a distance between the two newly bonded, and usually mended by proximity. If that is something you want.”

Geralt hesitates. It is selfish of him, wanting to keep the bond. It was a one sided decision born of desperation. Geralt hadn’t even been trusted with the knowledge of Jaskier’s presentation, and the second he had known, he had bit him.

“What happens if it burns out?”

Landine studies his face before replying, hand clasped over her apron.

“Then the fever will run its course. If it doesn’t get worse, he should be fine, but his strength is already depleted. The bond would be severed and you would be free to go your separate ways.”

“We couldn’t be together?”

“You could. But remember, witcher, this is because he thinks you don't want him, not the other way around.”

“If I reinforce the bond, what then?”

Landina tilts her head and smiles up at him.

“That, master witcher, is up to you and your bard. He loves you dearly, that one. I think his heart has been breaking for many years.”

Geralt doesn’t know what to say to that, so he says nothing. The priestess nods her goodbyes, then she leaves him with a feverish Jaskier.

Even from here, Geralt can smell his misery. Through the bond, there is strangely little.

Before he even knows what he is doing, Geralt is moving towards the bed. There is a lonely candle lit by the bedside table, the flickering light deepening the shadows.

“Jask,” he murmurs, sitting down next to him. The bed dips down, and Jaskier’s body presses against his leg.

Jaskier opens his eyes, watery with fever, but they focus on him anyway. Geralt can’t help but reach out, touching his clammy cheek, stroking it soothingly.

“Hi,” Geralt whispers, and Jaskier holds his wrist, looking up at him.

“You came,” Jaskier whispers, and oh. Geralt fucked up, didn’t he?

“I’m sorry. I know it is the wrong time to ask this, Jask, but I can’t decide this on my own, not again.”

“Are you staying?” Jaskier asks, fingers twitching as if he wants to hold on, but he doesn’t hold any tighter.

“If you want the bond, I will.”

“But you don’t want it,” Jaskier says, and he sounds so heartbroken and sure as he pushes Geralt’s hand away.

“What?” Geralt blinks.

“You don’t want a bond, and not with me. I’m sorry I forced you to bond with me.”

“Jaskier, what are you talking about? I was the one who bit you.” Geralt wants to touch him again, but Jaskier is still holding his wrist away from his face, grasping it if he has forgotten he is holding it.

“But I forced your hand. You are so good, so kind. You don’t want this bond.”

“Jaskier. Do you want this bond?”

Jaskier doesn’t respond, and Geralt aches, a trickle of emotion making its way through the bond now that they are touching.

“Jask. Do you?”

With the smallest voice, looking anywhere but at Geralt, Jaskier replies.

“I do.”

Fuck.

Geralt shifts, moving Jaskier so that they both fit in the bed. It is tight, but Geralt arranges them so that Jaskier is tucked under his chin, their legs tangled together.

“What are you doing?” Jaskier whispers, even as he nuzzles closer, seeking comfort where Geralt’s scent is the strongest.

“I didn’t want to force this on you. But if you really want this, we will keep it.”

“You noble idiot,” Jaskier mutters, his eyelids getting heavy. “I will only hold you back.”

“Being with you is not a burden, Jask. I’m sorry I made you feel that way.”

They don’t talk much after that. The fever pulls Jaskier under again, squirming against Geralt’s chest as shivers wrack his body.

Geralt is not sure what he expected would happen, a miraculous recovery or something, but he surely didn’t expect Jaskier to be sweating and whining through the night as fever dreams plague him.

More than once, Jaskier says his name, clinging hard when Geralt reaches for the cloth to wipe Jaskier’s brow. It’s a long night, and come morning, the fever has yet to break.

Landina enters the room, noticing Geralt holding Jaskier and nods. Swiftly she takes control of the situation, ordering her apprentices around, making them fetch ointments and soup and some breakfast for the witcher.

With her bustling around, Jaskier wakes up enough to accept medicine and soup. As soon as he is done, he tucks back in against Geralt, sighing contently as sleep claims him again.

It is… a strange feeling for Geralt. To be trusted like this, for Jaskier to so obviously find comfort in him. The bard has always been tactile, always leaning into Geralt, touching him, smiling at him, but this experience is on another level.

Geralt has a vague memory that tastes more like a dream, where they had danced, and Jaskier had smiled at him so sweetly and Geralt couldn’t help but kiss him.

It replays in his mind now, as he watches Jaskier sleep. It’s not the first time he has done that.

Sleeping always is a fickle thing for him, and to get any rest at all, meditation is what has kept him sane. During those times, it is soothing to listen to Roach chewing, the forest singing its night time song, and Jaskier’s easy breaths.

Geralt tucks a strand of hair behind Jaskier’s ear. Allows himself to think of what Landina said. About how Jaskier’s heart had been breaking for years. About how Jaskier blames himself for them bonding, as if that is not something selfishly wants.

While Geralt is waiting for Jaskier to recover, he plans. There are things he needs to tell his bard.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” Jaskier croaks to Landina, who chuckles when she checks his temperature.

“Someone is feeling better,” she remarks, sending Geralt a look. When Jaskier woke up, Geralt had still been in bed with him, which had been an… experience. For now, the witcher sits next to his bed, but still holding his hand.

Most of his body is very much bruised up still, and his muscles are sore from shivering and cramping through most of the night, but his head feels clearer. He has a feeling Geralt asked him something important last night, but he doesn’t feel like asking with everybody else around them.

It takes almost half an hour before Landina is satisfied, feeding him with more soup and medicine and sitting him up properly in bed.

When the door finally closes behind her, Jaskier sneaks a peek at Geralt, who is already watching him.

“Do you remember what I asked you yesterday?” the witcher asks, always straightforward when he has a goal.

“Not really? I remember you asking something, and that it felt important.”

Geralt grips his hand a little tighter, gathering his thoughts a moment before he speaks.

“I asked if you wanted this bond.”

Ah. Shit.

“And I realize I have not been a very good friend to you.”

This makes Jaskier look up in surprise.

“What do you mean?”

“It seems I have made you think I don’t care about you. That I loathe being bonded to you.”

Jaskier looks down. Wants to pull back his hand. Whatever this is, Jaskier isn’t sure he wants to hear it.

What is strange though, is what he senses through their bond.

“I bit you, because I can’t face a future without you. And it was selfish of me, and I bound you to me because of it.”

Opening and closing his mouth, Jaskier is stunned. He is sure he looks like a gaping fish, but he can’t think of one good thing to say right now. His heart is hammering in his chest, and his mind is racing.

“Why did you ask me if I wanted the bond last night, Geralt?”

“Because your body was rejecting it. Landina said it can happen when part of the bond feels rejected. I bit you once without your consent, Jaskier. I didn’t want to take that choice from you a second time.”

“Oh, you noble idiot,” Jaskier mutters, and for some reason Geralt chuckles and sits a bit closer. Jaskier finds himself leaning forward too, their hands trapped between them, fingers dancing over each other.

“I know we have a long way yet to go, but there is something that I can’t get out of my head.”

“Yes?” Jaskier breathes, eyes caught on the way Geralt’s lips move when he speaks.

“May I kiss you?”

Of all the things, this is not what Jaskier expected.

Meeting Geralt’s eyes again, Jaskier nods. He can’t move forward, the angle is harsh for his bandaged stomach, but Geralt doesn’t mind. He moves so he sits opposite Jaskier on the bed, and with a gentle hand he tilts Jaskier’s jaw up.

Geralt’s lips are dry on his, careful in a way he wasn’t two years ago.

Taking a moment to read Jaskier’s face, Geralt decides to lean in again, guiding Jaskier back towards the mattress, leaning over him to kiss him more, like once wasn’t enough.

There is indeed a long way to go still. Jaskier needs to heal, and Geralt needs to deal with the surviving endrega nest not far from where Jaskier was hurt.

They have time.

And for once, Jaskier feels like Geralt wants to spend that time with him.

#geraskier #hurt/comfort #whump #the witcher #geralt x jaskier #major character injury #recovery #a/b/o #bonding #and geralt is feeling things about that #dapanda writes #getting together #idiots in love

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holylulusworld · 2 years

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Rude attitude (4)

Summary: One step closer to his goal, Steve gives it all.

Pairing: Alpha(Mobster) Steve Rogers x Omega!Reader

Warnings: angst, language, a/b/o, remorse, Steve is persistent, cocky alpha, aggressive omega, the reader likes to slap assholes, true mates, scenting, love-struck Steve, there is a tiny hint of fluff

Rating: Mature

<< Part 3

Rude masterlist

Divider by @firefly-graphics

“Now, that’s just downright rude, doll,” Steve waltzes into your living room as if he belongs. He doesn’t look like the man standing in front of your door, fighting to get the right words out. You can smell his scent get stronger the moment he entered your apartment, and now, you doubt he will leave any time soon. “Don’t you want to offer a beverage or cookies?”

“I didn’t invite you, so no. There will be no drinks or food or shit,” you put your good hand on your hips. “You’re still the man breaking my hand.”

“Uh-it could be worse, Y/N. I could’ve broken your heart,” the cocky alpha retorts. “I’m not here to do so, doll. I want to prove that I can be a good alpha and to ask you to allow me to court you.”

“Right,” you exhale deeply, shaking your head. “You are more the kind of man taking what he wants and leaving afterward. I don’t think you can be a good alpha. Just tell me why you came here and leave.”

“I came to court you,” he insists. “I got presents and stuff in my trunk.” Steve frowns as you shake your head. “We could have dinner at a nice restaurant too.”

“I don’t want to go out with you. No one can see me in public with you,” the alpha nods thoughtfully. “Why would I want to be near you?”

“Why do you want to open a catering firm?” Steve completely ignores you growl at him or that you are close to throwing your shoe at the alpha. “Doll, to communicate you must talk to me.”

“Why do you wanna know?” annoyed you roll your eyes at his antics. “It’s not as if you care about me. A man like you won’t look at me twice. If not for your friend, you would’ve forgotten about me a long time ago.”

“That’s not true,” the mobster argues. “I ran you over, that’s true. The rest is made up of your stubbornness. Let me take you out and we can have a nice dinner.”

“You’re so fucking annoying and pushy,” you sit on your armchair and cross your legs. He smirks as you suck in a breath as he tilts his head to reveal his scent gland. The room smells only like him, and you can barely breathe right. “Stop spreading your stink all over my apartment.”

“No can do so, doll. And I’m not pushy.”

Steve slowly gets up from his seat to walk around your living room like a peacock. He straightens his back, flexes his muscles, and spreads his scent furthermore to impress you.

“Fine, then just leave my home.”

“I’ll leave after you agreed to have dinner with me tonight,” God, how you hate that stupid smirk on his handsome face or the fact his scent is driving you up the wall. “One dinner, Y/N. I promise to behave.”

“One dinner,” you grunt. “If you try to get your dick out or mention it, I’ll castrate you and make it look like an accident, Rogers.”

“Steve,” he steps closer to your armchair, fingertips sliding over one of the armrests. “Please call me Steve. At least for tonight. I’ll be a perfect gentleman. Scouts honor.”

“Scout, right,” voice laced with venom you glare up at Steve. He doesn’t need to know you wish you could rub your face in his chest and that you dream of having his scent all over you. Fucking biology…

“I’ll go and change into a better suit,” confused you look Steve up and down. He wears a dark blue suit, and the same shoes he wore at the party. Steve Rogers looks like he just stepped out of a magazine.

“You look good…I—fuck,” biting your tongue you start to squirm in your seat. “I meant it’s already so late and you are in a suit. We could just go right now, and I can fall into my bed in an hour.”

“More like three, doll,” he cockily states. “I will show you a whole new world, Y/N. Just give me a minute to get a new suit and the dress I bought for you out of the trunk of my limousine.”

“Wait-what? I got dresses you know,” he bops your nose with his index finger, snickering as you give him the dirtiest look he ever saw. “I won’t wear the dress you bought. I’m not some sugar babe!”

“Sweetness,” Steve croons as you slap his hand away, “I got the perfect dress for you. You’ll look so beautiful in red. Trust me.” He nods to himself.

“I—no!”

“Baby doll, I’ll be right back,” he’s gone before you can protest. Steve just snatched the keys from your coffee table and left your apartment.

“What the fuck just happened?”

You sit in your living room in silence, wondering how you ended up agreeing to go out with Steve Rogers. It feels like your omega is ready to give in to the strong alpha.

“You will shut your mouth, purring bitch. No knot for you,” you talk to yourself. “Last time you got me my heart broken. We got lucky it was only a bone this time.”

“I’m back, baby doll. Here’s the dress, Y/N. I will change in the bathroom,” Steve flashes you a smile as he walks back into your living room.

“Yeah, not pushy at all,” you glance at the dress he places on your couch. You get up to have a look at the dress. “This is ridiculous.” He bought you a red maxi dress. Georgette fabric drapes alongside a V-neck and back and lays across a banded waist. The maxi skirt has a sexy side slit too. “Dream on. I won’t wear this shit.”

“It’s a designer dress,” Steve watches you sneer at the dress as if it’s your newest enemy. “You’ll look even more beautiful in it.”

“Thanks, but no thanks. I’ll go for my clothes,” storming out of the living room you grumble under your breath. Steve won’t turn you into an arm candy. “Wait here and don’t touch my shit. I don’t know why I agreed to go out with you.”

“You want to be with your alpha.”

“Like hell.”

It’s half an hour later that you sit in the most expensive restaurant you can imagine. You look at the menu and try to ignore the people walking inside the restaurant.

Everyone entering this place seems to belong here. Everyone but you.

You slowly regret that you decided on wearing one of your sundresses and ballet flats. Your outfit looks cheap. A stark contrast to Steve’s expensive outfit.

“What do you want, doll? You can order everything your heart desires, or rather your stomach,” he lifts his gaze from the menu to meet your eyes. “I know you do not like me much, but at least talk to me.”

“Why did you follow that woman? You know, the one you mentioned.”

“She’s my ex-girlfriend and the omega I wanted to mate,” he clears his throat, ashamed that he ran you over for a woman giving a shit on him. “Her name is Peggy, and she was at the party with some guy.”

Peggy always was his weak spot. Well, at least before he met you. Now his whole life is filled with the need to be close to you and win you over.

“If it’s over, it’s over Rogers,” you huff. “That woman broke up with you for a reason. She’s fucking other guys for how long?”

“A year and a half,” Steve closes the menu as you do the same. “You’re right, it’s over, doll. Maybe if this lovely omega sitting on the same table would give me a chance, she could heal my broken heart.”

“I’m not a therapist nor a love doctor. Look for someone else to heal your heart, Rogers,” he gives you a dirty look. “What?”

“You agreed to call me Steve tonight.”

“I agreed to shit,” a woman passing your table sneers at your words. “What? Got a problem with fecal language, ma’am. Well, welcome to New York City, lady. This is the city of curses, foul language, and dirt.”

Steve snickers as the woman ushers her alpha toward their reserved table. She dares not to look at you again, and ducks her head. “You’re something else. Damn me, you scared the shit out of her.”

“I would rather go home than sit here in this restaurant. It’s no place for me,” you open the menu again. “I don’t speak French and got no clue what to order, Steve. This is just… frustrating. I’m hungry and don’t want to take a French class before I can order food.”

“I can order for you, doll.”

“You speak French?” Steve shrugs as you gape at him. You believed he’s a klutz, but there seems to be more about the tall and bulky alpha than you thought. “I want pasta, but I won’t get pasta at a French restaurant,” you sigh deeply.

“My girl gets everything she wants,” he snaps his fingers at the waiter, mumbling something in the man’s ear as he bows to receive Steve’s order. “What kind of pasta do you want, Y/N? Carl will get it for you, right?”

“Right, Mr. Rogers,” the man swallows thickly. He dares not to tell the kingpin of Brooklyn no. “What can I bring you, miss?”

“I—” you lick your lips. “I’m dying for some good lasagna and dessert, a classic tiramisu. Please.”

“I’ll take the same, Carl. I want the best lasagna and tiramisu for my lady,” the mobster waves the waiter off. He’s used to ordering people around and that people tend to fulfill his every wish.

The waiter is glad he can leave your table to find the best lasagna and tiramisu in New York. Carl knows he’ll lose his job and more if he doesn’t bring you the best lasagna you ever ate.

“How is the lasagna?” while Carl stiffly stands next to your table to refill your glasses, Steve watches you take the first bite. You moan, savoring the different flavors on your tongue. “Carl, you did a good job.”

“My pleasure, Mr. Rogers,” you can see the tension leave the waiter’s body. He relaxes a little and dares to nod at you. “Miss, I hope you’ll enjoy the tiramisu too.”

“Thank you, Carl,” Steve grunts as you pay more attention to the waiter than him. “I’m sure that you chose the best tiramisu.”

“You’re too kind,” the waiter excuses himself, hoping and praying you will love the dessert. He doesn’t want to be at the receiving end of Steve Rogers’ wrath.

“Do you like the food?” the alpha seems to observe you the whole time. “Doll, please talk to me. I’m going crazy over here.”

“It’s good, you should try it too. We came here to have dinner, right?” you softly say.

“I’d rather watch you eat. You look so beautiful tonight. Or, well. Maybe it’s because you don’t try to strangle me for once,” he chuckles nervously.

“Steve, why won’t you leave me alone? We don’t know each other. If this is about my broken hand…it’s better. You don’t have to feel responsible. Tell your friend I’m fine.”

“Girl…No, you’re not a girl. You’re a woman, my true mate, and omega. I know this is not the way you imagined meeting your alpha, your true love, but what’s done is done,” he clears his throat. “I try to fix my stupid mistake.”

“Listen,” you stop eating for a moment to look at Steve, really look at him, “being true mates doesn’t mean we are soulmates or shit. It’s biology telling us to mate. Our hindbrains scream in the back of our minds as our bodies want to unite. That’s all.”

“You make it sound so clinical. What I feel is more than lust, Y/N. I yearn for you, doll. This has nothing to do with my knot.”

“Let’s see how you feel about me when you realize I won’t let you knot me…”

“That was nice, wasn’t it?” Steve walks you back toward your apartment, hoping you’ll invite him in to talk some more. “Uh-can I?”

“No, I won’t let you in tonight,” you turn around to glare up at Steve. “I don’t trust you, Rogers. Not at all.” You point your index finger at him. “You’re still the rude alpha running me over and treating me like shit. If you want a second chance. Prove you are worth my time.”

“I know you will hate me even more but…fuck it,” he cups your face to press his lips to yours. His lips are softer than expected. You kiss him back for a moment but then, you push him away and slap his face hard. “I deserved that one.”

“Yeah, you did,” you lick your lips. “If you pull a stunt like that again, I’ll kick your balls.”

You enter your apartment, smiling to yourself as you try to tame your racing heart.

The alpha stands in front of your door, feeling his heart flutter as you whimper his name. He takes a moment to calm and turns to leave.

Steve is slowly walking along the hallways, licking his lips to taste you a little longer.

“One step closer, Steve. We need to be a little patient. She’s the one…I just know it…”

>> Part 5

Tags in reblog.

#Rude attitude (4)#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #alpha!steve rogers #alpha!steve rogers x omega reader #mobster!steve x reader #a/b/o #true mates #idiots in love

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