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alderaani · 3 years ago

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still i find you there

summary: after Rako Hardeen, there are several things that need fixing.

written for @codywanweek and the day 1 prompt fix-it. I fully intended to have more days completed for this, but given that it’s *checks notes* day 5, it’s probably not going to happen. this is very angsty and perhaps a bit melodramatic, but the heart wants what it wants. also catch me forgetting obi-wan was wearing his vambraces when he ‘died’ and having to stretch to make it work for me. warnings for grief, percieved death and all that good stuff.

He’s alive.

It seems impossible. It feels entirely predictable. And yet...Cody can’t make himself believe it. He saw Obi-Wan die, the grainy security-holo footage of slick Coruscant rooftops showing little more than a bolt of red and a lone figure reeling, falling. No sound, no clear faces, and yet...He knew that red hair. He knew that posture, how it could startle like that if timed very, very well.

It had been the only thing that made it real.

It had been a terrible idea to look at the footage, just like Rex (and Fox, and Wolffe, and Boil) had told him, but he couldn’t help himself. He’d needed something to help him break out of the stupor, the long silences, the staring at the door like Obi-Wan was going to walk right through it. The war didn’t stop just because someone had died, and the GAR hadn’t cared about the cataclysmic shockwave it had sent through Cody’s life.

They’d sent the 212th packing to Mimban within a day of the assassination, and Cody had nearly gotten his head blown off after leaving his left flank wide open, expecting the snap-hiss of a lightsaber to cover him. Instead Wooley had been his salvation, yanking him back at the last second and roaring that he needed to get it together. It had been like walking in a dream.

Watching the holo had worked. It had convinced some deep, desperate part of himself that Obi-Wan really wasn’t coming back. That somehow he was going to have to carry on alone, or worse, with another Jedi, whose differences would grate at him like a knife paring into bone.

And in the end, it had all been a lie.

Cody takes a deep breath and leans his forehead against one of the blaster racks in the armoury, the durasteel sharp and cool on his skin. His knees shake and he grips the shelf edges until his fingers hurt, just standing there, just breathing.

His heart feels big and swollen in his chest, gluttoned with relief and anger, paired with a sharp, aching grief that now, more than ever, has nowhere to go. There’s no reason to harbour it; he should know better.

He just can’t help it.

He’d stood through the shuttle landing, through the torturous debrief, through strange, hairless Obi-Wan meeting his eyes and explaining earnestly that ‘if it hadn’t been classified of course he’d have said something…’ without so much as a twitch, but a great yawning chasm in his belly had opened and only kept getting wider the longer they kept making small talk about provisions, and reopening Obi-Wan’s quarters and a million other things that had happened since he’d - gone away. In the end he’d excused himself, planning to retrieve the personal effects he’d personally cleared out of Obi-Wan’s quarters because he’d needed to feel close to him, after, and there hadn’t been any other practical reason to go in there.

Except now he’s standing here, the relevant box at his feet, and he just can’t move.

Eventually the trembling in his legs slows, and he lifts his head from the shelf, turning instead to slide down it, using it for balance until he hits the floor. His knee thunks against the crate as he collapses, the scant things inside clinking against each other.

That had been one of the worst things; Obi-Wan always filled a room. His presence was a gentle, quiet, pervasive thing. Cody had held his small collection of two plants, a meditation mat, a few trinkets from planets visited and a lightsaber maintenance kit and felt nothing.

He swipes ruthlessly at his face with one hand, thumbing under his eyes to scrub away the moisture.

He needs to get moving. They’ll be looking for him soon.

Instead, his knee has dislodged the thin fabric covering the crate, and his eyes catch on the vambrace stacked on top, the straps frayed and snapped. Cody had helped paint this one and its pair, had shown Obi-Wan how to get the colours to take properly to the unwieldy plastoid.

He’d been the one to break it, too. Obi-Wan had just come out of the field medstation, bruised to shit but still smiling, and Cody had crowded him against a powered down holostation in the empty command tent and yanked at his clothes, just needing to feel his pulse under his skin, to feel the warmth of him safe and alive. It had been too much for the worn out armour to bear.

Two cycles later Obi-Wan had been on his way to Coruscant again, and there had been no time to fix them. It’s stupid, but Cody had taken one look at them on the little desk, in the space that had once been Obi-Wan’s room, and all he’d been able to think was that he hadn’t been properly protected. Cody had broken his armour. Cody had left him vulnerable.

Obi-Wan’d taken his spare set, of course, but he’s always complained that they chafe, and if there’s one thing Cody knows, it’s that if your armour isn’t right you aren’t fighting at your best.

He reaches for the broken piece now, thumbing the frayed synthleather and the chipped paint, yellow and red and faint scuffed up grey.

He knows now that it wouldn’t have made a difference to what happened, but he still heaves himself up to his feet after a moment and goes to the supply closet, pulls out a new strap, and sits back down again, committing to unpicking the stitching of the old before he can attach it.

He should’ve done this sooner.

He should’ve been more careful.

He should’ve been there.

He should’ve -

He could have -

He’s crying.

He’s crying, and he doesn’t realise it until the salt is heavy on his cheeks, until his neckline is wet, until his vision blurs so hard he can’t see. Cody makes a low, animal sound and curls over the vambrace, his fingers stilling against the threads.

His throat aches, his face is swollen, his body hot. He feels sick, and disoriented, overwhelmed in a way he can’t name.

“Cody?”

He flinches like he’s wounded, turning his face away from the door, like it will hide the evidence of his weakness. He knows he’s failed when Obi-Wan’s breath sucks in, so loud in the quiet.

“Cody?” His voice comes again, much closer this time. “Will you...will you look at me?”

Through the haze, Cody catches something that does make him turn. Obi-Wan sounds...hesitant, so uncharacteristically tentative that it cuts through the rest.

He wipes quickly at his face, smearing the mess, and gets his eyes just clear enough to find Obi-Wan’s face, so foreign and smooth but so dear for all that. His eyes are still the same, glacier-heart blue, and worried, right now, focused on his face.

“Oh,” Obi-Wan whispers at whatever he finds there, then reaches out, stutters halfway through, and drops his hand. His wrist is bare, and his robe sleeves flop backwards.

“I was trying to fix it,” Cody croaks, shifting to unveil the half-mended vambrace. “Before I brought it back. I broke it, and then you left without it and then you -”

It’s Obi-Wan’s turn to flinch back this time, while Cody greedily drinks him in, taking in the changes to his face, the way the lack of a beard makes his jaw look sharper, his features look younger. The stubbly fuzz of his hair is odd, true enough, but it’s still him.

“I - I never thought,” Obi-Wan says haltingly, and now Cody frowns, because it’s so unlike him to lose his words. Obi-Wan’s eyes flicker away, then back, like he’s steeling himself. Almost like he’s afraid.

“I never imagined you’d feel responsible - Cody - I’m so sorry -”

He reaches out, his fingers loosely catching Cody’s wrist this time. Cody feels it, the warmth of his hand sharp and electric. Tears spring to his eyes all over again; it’s the first time they’ve touched since he walked Obi-Wan to the hangar and he kissed him goodbye behind a LAAT/i. He’s replayed it so many times since, thinking he’d never get another, but the memory does the reality no justice, failing to preserve the way heat floods under his skin.

Obi-Wan moves to take his hand back, and Cody traps it there, anchoring his fingers and dipping his head, just breathing through it.

“If I could have told you,” Obi-Wan continues. “I would have, I swear it, I -”

“I know,” Cody says instantly, because he does, he’d never doubt it. “I know you couldn’t.”

Their fingers curl more securely together, calluses and knuckles finding a home against their pair.

“I didn’t know if you’d be angry,” Obi-Wan says. Cody shakes his head before he even thinks about it.

“It was your duty. I just -,” he squeezes his eyes shut again, voice breaking. The deception had made him angry. He can admit that, but it was never directed between them. The war stops for no-one, after all. “I can’t believe you’re still here.”

“I promise, I always intend to stay,” Obi-Wan murmurs.

Cody’s smiling when he kisses him, so full his cheeks ache with it. It tastes of salt and bitter-sweet and just a hint of desperation, their hands clasped with the vambrace cradled between them.

Then Obi-Wan draws him in, tucking his head under his chin. Cody presses his wet skin to the hollow of neck, listens to his heartbeat, and weeps.

#codywanweek2021 #rako hardeen arc #codywan #obi wan kenobi #commander cody #alderwrites

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honeymoonjin · 5 years ago

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ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ot7 x reader || ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 6.3k || ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: smut - rated 18+

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ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: voyeurism, exhibitionism, filmed sex, praise, anal, oral (f receiving), multiple orgasms, massage sex oh i wonder who it could be, fingering, nipple play, cursing

DAY THREE

You wake up with a pounding headache, faint whispers of a nightmare with long shadows and wounded glares, a familiar face wracked with hurt.

Your heart thuds sickly in your chest as you fumble for the phone on your nightstand, wincing at the sharp light of the screen. Earlier than you would have liked, but you need reassurance of the conversation you’d had the night before.

Not the one in the rec room - you still grimace at the thought of how badly you handled it - but the text conversation held much later, one that had eased your worries then. You hoped it could still provide that relief now that guilt was pooling up inside you again.

When starting the show, you’d been given everybody’s phone numbers but hadn’t really needed to use them. So late last night it had come as a shock to you when your phone buzzed, lighting up with Kim Namjoon on the screen.

Part of you had been worried that he was going to yell at you or be crying on the other end. Biting at your nail, you’d let it go through to voicemail. Less than a minute after your screen went dark again, leaving you in shadow, regret had seized you, and you’d rushed to pull up his contact, sending a text. You look over it now.

He hadn’t replied after that, so instead you send him a quick good morning text now before getting up out of bed.

When you get ready and go downstairs, anxiety easing once more, you see that true to his word, Namjoon’s outside walking again.

If any of the other guys know it’s your fault, they don’t say anything, Yoongi silently smiling in greeting from where he sits at the kitchen bench, hunched over a cup of coffee like it’s a lifeline, scrolling on his phone.

“Morning,” you say with a yawn, gravitating towards the still-steaming electric jug. Past Yoongi, the sight you’re greeted by in the adjacent lounge area gives you pause.

Completely unawares to your entrance, several figures gather around the coffee table, where Hoseok is sitting with eyes closed and mouth hung open, moaning pornographically at the hands that expertly dig into him, massaging his muscles.

Behind him, Taehyung’s dressed in nothing but black boxers and a rosy silk robe, brows furrowed in focus and lips twitching with satisfaction as he rolls his thumbs between Hoseok’s shoulder blades, kneading out the tension.

Yoongi sighs. “They’ve been doing it for over an hour. Hoseok’s only the second person to get a go and Seokjin and I are still waiting. Taehyung just finished Jungkook, that’s why he looks dead.”

True to word, Jungkook’s body is splayed out on the couch beside the action, boneless like a corpse, eyes lidded and hair in a tangled nest. Yoongi calls out to him to confirm he’s still alive, receiving a wordless grunt in response.

“He’s fine,” Yoongi decides. “Do you want a go? Lady of the house, I bet you could skip the line.”

“I think I’d rather check how long it takes Jungkook to recover. I can’t be out of commission for the whole day.”

Yoongi hums thoughtfully, finishing off his coffee. “I guess Jungkook can now that he’s done his prompt. Not really much else for him to do except wait to see if he’s staying or not.” He bites his lip for a minute, jaw working as he mulls it over. “Do you have any thoughts so far? About who’s maybe going, who’s definitely staying?”

You shrug. “Seems pointless to consider before you guys have all finished, you know? Either way the decision is going to suck. I’d rather just enjoy myself for now.”

Yoongi pauses while a moaned curse fills the room, Taehyung’s elbow now running down Hoseok’s spine as he bends over, hands splayed on the table to keep himself steady. The older man huffs out a laugh at their antics. “Hoseok really doesn’t seem bothered, huh? I don’t think I’ve seen him trying to put the moves on you once.”

You grin, side-eying him. “What; have you been watching me? But no, he hasn’t, really. I’m glad to see them comfortable to be here, you know? This could have easily been so awkward for all of us.”

Yoongi hums in thought, nodding eventually. “That’s true. It’s a good bunch of guys they’ve managed to pick.”

“You included,” you add with a nudge to his shoulder. “You aren’t going to whip it out in the middle of the kitchen and get your turn over and done with?”

“Are you wanting me to?” Yoongi raises an eyebrow in contained surprise. “But no; I’m still mulling mine over. Seeing what the others do, what you like. I’m patient.” You stare at him, eyes searching for any signs of deception, but he seems genuine. He turns to you with a droll look and jerks his chin towards the lounge. “Taehyungie on the other hand looks like he’s warming up for the main event.”

“Does he now?” you murmur under your breath, looking over to the lounge area, where Hoseok has replaced Jungkook for most boneless contestant, spread-eagle on the carpet and sighing happily. Seokjin’s now under Taehyung’s grasp, lips not stopping for a second as he instructs Taehyung on where exactly to press and how hard. Taehyung, however, has his eyes on you, and a bolt of shock runs through you when your gazes connect.

“Come on over,” Taehyung calls out with an inviting smile. “Seokjin-hyung is almost finished.”

“Hey, you brat, you only just sta-ow!”

Jin jumps like he's been shocked, rubbing at the base of his neck with an expression like a wounded puppy.

"There," Taehyung announces firmly, "finished. Y/n, come over!"

Yoongi pushes you closer with a fond shove. "Go get 'em, tiger. Preferably in a different location to me."

"Beggars can't be choosers," you quip in a singsong voice.

"Oh, when it comes to it, I won't be the one begging," he answers casually.

You falter, open-mouthed, but Yoongi has already turned back to his phone, the faintest hint of a smirk still tugging at his lips.

Going over to the couches, you step over Hoseok’s splayed-out limbs and throw Jin an apologetic smile. The oldest contestant joins Jungkook on the couch, chatting in a low murmur with the blissed-out boy.

Taehyung waves for you to sit down on the coffee table, and you do, eying up the collection of suspicious and rather wet-looking bottles just beside you.

“Pick your poison,” Taehyung chimes when he sees your dubious glance. “Massage oils. There’s lavender, jasmine, eucalytpus and spearmint, almond oil, calendula and coconut oil - that one doubles up as lube - and jojoba oil.”

You blink, feeling overwhelmed. “Uh… What did the others use?”

“Hoseok got almond oil, Seokjin had the jojoba one, and Jungkook asked for the lubey one.”

“Of course he did,” you murmur. “I’ll have the jasmine one, if that’s okay?”

Though Taehyung seems a little disappointed at your choice, he wipes the oil on his hands off on his pants, leaving glossy smears on the soft black fabric, and reaches for the appropriate bottle. He’s dressed comfortably, just loose black cotton pants and an equally baggy tee, faded green. The thick curls of his hair still hang in his eyes, but it doesn’t seem to bother him as he cracks the lid of the bottle, pouring a generous amount of thin oil in his palm. “You’ll have to take your shirt off,” he points out, capping the bottle again.

You frown, looking over at the other guys around the room. “They didn’t take their shirts off.”

“Hoseok pushes down his sleeves, Jungkook did actually take off his shirt, he just put it back on once he was done, and Seokjin’s- Seokjin had a speedy massage.”

“Speedy, my ass,” Seokjin complains from on the couch, jostling the black-haired boy who’s fallen asleep on his shoulder.

Ignoring him, Taehyung warms the oil between his hands slowly. The sight of glistening skin, thick drops running down his forearms where he’d poured a bit too much, and the lidded look in his eyes has you obeying, and you awkwardly slip out of your shirt, balling it up and holding the fabric in your lap.

Taehyung hums in approval, stepping up behind you and nudging you into position with the backs of his hands, knuckles pressing against the bare skin of your shoulders. You feel awkward, sitting in the middle of a room of guys in your bra, but you suppose it's probably good practice considering the show you're on. At least you still had-

"Could you push the straps down?" Taehyung's voice asks lowly from behind you, already slipping into a sensual drawl, the one he must be used to putting on for clients. "We'll start with a shoulder massage."

Great. With an unsteady breath, you shuffle them down one at a time, jumping when warm, slippery hands rest on your bare skin.

"Relax," he coos, and the more he speaks the more you forget your surroundings, the other people there. "Can you close your eyes for me?" You nod, not trusting your voice. After your eyes have slipped shut, you hear him again, his voice like an anchor in a black, hazy ocean. "Take a big breath in for me. Good, and exhale. That's it."

Somewhere to your right, Jin pipes up. "I didn't get this special treatment," he points out with a petulant whine.

As his hands run up and down your upper arms and shoulders, spreading the oil, Taehyung doesn't miss a beat. "If you don't shut up, Seokjin-hyung," he responds in that same sweet and husky tone, "the only treatment you'll be getting is medical."

Jin huffs, but leaves it at that, murmuring something you can't quite pick up. As you shiver at the feeling of Taehyung's smooth hands on you, dipping in front to lightly coat your collarbones and sternum, you hear what's undoubtedly the muffled groan of Jungkook waking up. After that, a thud, an oof and three sets of footsteps patter away into the distance.

From further away, another voice, this time Yoongi. "I'm assuming I won't be getting my massage, then?"

"Another time," Taehyung calls out, the slightest hint of irritation. "You guys aren't even paying me."

The ceramic scrape of a coffee mug being placed in the sink and Yoongi leaves too, the only sound in the room Taehyung's rich voice, smooth and velvety in your ear.

"Anyways, where were we?"

You crack a smile, eyes still closed. "I'll give you another week's accommodation here if you give me a good massage. Is that payment enough?"

He hums at that, almost like a purr. Slowly, you feel the gliding swoops of his fingers begin to slow, spots of pressure as his thumbs begin to deftly seek out any tension. "Is that so?" As his fingers dig in to the taut muscle just behind your shoulders, you feel yourself sigh, mouth falling slack. "I have to say, the coffee table isn't the best place for a massage. I'd be able to give a better service if we relocate-"

You fight a moan as he targets a spot just to the right of your upper spine, pleasure rushing through your body at such a simple touch. "If you take your hands off me for a fucking second I'm kicking you out right now." Though your voice is lofty with relaxation, the threat is there, and Taehyung presses deeper, triggering a cut-off moan that falls from your lips unbidden.

"Noted," he says simply. "Eyes still closed?" At your subtle nod, he continues. "I want you to picture a meadow. Green grass, gentle sun. You can smell the flowers that bloom around you, carried by a gentle wind."

With every word, and the nimble circling of his thumbs easing the knots of tension, you feel yourself unravelling. No longer is the floral perfume from the oil, but instead from petals of every colour, rising up between blades of soft grass. No longer is the cool moving air on your skin from the air conditioner, but a natural breeze that lifts your spirits. Through it all, his hands and his voice encompass you in a cocoon of bliss, head lolled back with the depth of it.

"It's just the two of us in the meadow. We're alone here. No responsibilities or deadlines or worries. We can be at peace." You gasp, core clenching as his hands lift slightly, sliding over your oiled skin to wrap around your neck. But instead of applying pressure to your throat, his fingers find the nape of your neck, stimulating the muscles at the base of your scalp before they snake upwards through your hair, bold circles and decisive lines that have you sinking deeper into a blissful abyss, textured grass of the meadow in your mind morphing into soft sheets, the sun a warm blanket and Taehyung's hands on yours not in your hair but drifting lower, lower...

You let out a strangled moan when you realise his hands moving downwards isn't just in your dream, but in delicious reality.

"Shall we take this off?" his honeyed voice questions in a murmur, and it takes your fuzzy mind a moment or two to connect his voice to the feeling of a finger tugging at the strap of your bra where it meets the cup, his knuckles brushing against the swell of your breast.

Unable to form words, you nod breathlessly, eyes still clenched shut in pleasure.

Rather than remove it completely, Taehyung pushes the cups down, exposing you to the cool air. You hiss at the feeling on your peaked nipples, panting as his hands sweep down, pressing the flesh on either side of your breasts and cupping them in his hands. He must have stepped forward at some point, because you become aware of the way your back is tucked against his front, head at the level of his lower chest, and a distinctly recognisable hardness pressed to the middle of your spine.

The knowledge that he's getting off on this awakes your nerves even more, and when you feel his fingers come in, rolling your nipples just hard enough to feel, it's electric. You moan, sucking in gasps of air, his hands rising and falling with every shallow breath.

When Taehyung speaks again, his voice has changed; a little darker, fuller. "But you don't want to be in a meadow, do you? I bet you wish you were splayed out on a bed, feeling my hands all over you, touching you, teasing you, fucking you. Because my hands aren't the only thing you want, hm?" Your mouth never closes, an unending stream of moans and whimpers filling the air as he grinds himself slightly against you, hands slowly building up more pressure until he's kneading your breasts and tugging roughly at your sensitive peaks. You realise now why he stepped forward; you're pinned between him and his hands, writhing but unable to shake off the intense pleasure, though you wouldn't want to. He keeps you close as he bends down, hooking a leg over the coffee table so that he's sitting behind you, slipping his arms under yours to continue flicking and scraping your nipples, a new sensation of his teeth on your right earlobe joining the fray. You rock your hips, unable to find an angle that gives you any friction.

"You're such a dirty girl," Taehyung purrs in your ear, evoking a throaty groan in response. "Look at you, grinding at the table. I bet your pussy feels neglected, hm? Must be so wet for me and yet I won't touch it. I'll make you cum from this alone, make you soak your panties just from my hands on your perfect tits, how about that?"

"Please," you whimper, feeling a high begin to build inside you, but one deeper than you've ever felt before, coming from a new source.

Taehyung's fingers speed up, merciless as they wreck you, your nipples on fire even as they sing out in pleasure. He growls in satisfaction as you pant out his name. "That's it. You filthy little thing; getting off to this. Are you going to cum for us?"

You suck in a breath, brows furrowing. Us? As your climax draws unbearably close, you force your eyes open, keening when a cool gaze greets you, the lazy smile and unruffled appearance of Jimin, watching you from the couch.

The sight of him, so calm and collected, fully dressed in his usual formal attire compared to your half-naked debauchery, sends you over the edge unable to break his gaze as your thighs shoot together like you've been shocked, trembling with the force of your orgasm, Taehyung's fingers not letting up as he purrs sweet nothings into your ear, flooding your body with inescapable pleasure.

Jimin watches you intently as you fall apart in front of him, one leg crossed over the other and champagne silk shirt making his eyes seem even blacker in comparison. Though you'd been on camera the past two times you'd engaged in anything sexual, his gaze on you makes you cum harder than you ever have before, his unique quality of making you feel studied, analysed for every minute reaction.

Once you finally come down from your high, thighs shaking as they grind together and core throbbing, Taehyung takes your weight, letting you lean back against him. You tremble as he uncaps the bottle again, this time pouring a glossy streak directly on top of your breasts, the feeling of the cool liquid on your heated skin making you whimper and look down. Finally breaking Jimin's gaze, you watch Taehyung's hands collect the oil, massaging it gently over the tender skin, shushing you softly when you hiss and jump in oversensitivity.

As you gasp for air, the rest of your energy leaves you. Your head lolls back over Taehyung's shoulder weakly, and you sigh as he presses a single soft kiss, right at the base of your neck, past your collarbone.

"Show's over," he says in a low tone, the melodious flow replaced by his usual voice. It takes you a moment of confusion to realise that he isn't talking to you, but to Jimin.

You watch bleary-eyed as the blue-haired man stands up, smoothing out his pants before he steps up to the two of you. You go still in anticipation of him touching you, his eyes heavy as they run up and down your half-naked figure.

A single hand reaches out, fingers laden with silver, and you swear you don't even breathe. Rather than your breasts or your face, however, his fingers find your throat, tightening just slightly as he watches you intently, head cocked to the side.

You can feel the cold metal of his rings digging into your throat, and when he applies enough pressure to restrict your airflow slightly, you let out a thin whimper, hips rocking against the table.

With a cat-like grin, he takes his hand away quicker than it came, stepping back. "Thought so," he surmises with a lilt of satisfaction. His eyes lift up past you, to Taehyung. "Good show."

Before your mind catches up to what just happened, he's gone, the creak of the stairs the only sign that he was ever there.

You try to catch your breath, sitting up as your vision blurs for a moment, still feeling blissed out from the massage and orgasm. "Holy shit," you make out, "what the fuck just happened?"

Taehyung gets up off the table but reaches a hand out to steady you, still slippery with oil on your shoulder. "A good show, apparently," he quips, "though if you let me take you upstairs I can give you an even better one."

Your hair must be a mess, your panties are sticking to you uncomfortably with the evidence of your orgasm, and your bra is still shoved halfway down your chest, but you take one look at the need in his eyes and the tent in his pants and you're nodding. "Please, Tae. I need you."

His eyes fall shut for a moment, like he's savouring the comment, before he opens them again and fixes them on you. "Let's go clean you up. And then we can make an even bigger mess." He grabs the coconut oil, the one that he'd proudly declared had doubled as lube, and flicks you a wink.

Still with shaky legs, you slip your bra back on properly, wincing at the fabric over your sensitive nippes, and hastily slip on your shirt as you follow him up. “My bathroom?” you offer, knowing full well it would be bigger than his.

In front of you, making his way to the foot of the stairs, Taehyung pauses. “...Yeah,” he answers after a moment, “I think that counts.”

You furrow your brows in confusion, but let it slide, content to watch the outline of his ass in the thin cotton as he climbs the stairs. At the top, he turns right and makes his way to your room, opening the door with a bounce in his step.

Once inside, he beelines for the bathroom and curses lowly under his breath in awe. “This is huge,” he gushes. “A shower and a tub?” You watch in bemusement as he whirls around with a boxy grin on his face. “Can we have a bath, Y/n? With bubbles?”

His innocent glee combined with the fact that he was still rock hard in his pants makes you laugh. “Okay, sure, we can do that.” You make your way to the jacuzzi, but just as you’re reaching for the faucet, Taehyung stops you with a tug on your shirt.

“Not now,” he whines. “We haven’t had fun yet. C’mere.”

You let his grip on your shirt pull you back to him, enough momentum for him to dip his head and join his mouth to yours, the hand that grabbed at your shirt snaking around your waist to hold you close, your still-sensitive chest pressed against his. He kisses much like his massage; thorough, not holding back. His tongue runs over the seam of your lips hungrily, making you gasp, and he takes your parted lips as an invitation to devour you further, your head rocking back and force slightly with the depth of his motions. His free hand finds your hair again, winding it in his hand, tugging just enough to draw a moan from you, grinding against the hardness in pants.

“Taehyung,” you gasp as his teeth find your lower lip, nipping teasingly. “Please, I need you.”

He hums against you, licking into your mouth hungrily for one, two, three more moments before he pulls back, chest heaving. His eyes are like two points of black fire, burning into you from behind curls of hair, and the desire in his gaze has you breathless. “I’m gonna make you feel good,” he promises, ducking down to steal one last chaste kiss before he releases you, stepping away to grab a towel from the rack. It’s the same thick white kind of an expensive hotel’s, and he shakes it out, laying it on the floor. Grabbing another one but leaving it folded, he places it at the head of the towel, the side closest to the bathtub. “Let’s get these clothes off,” he guides with a husky voice.

You let him undress you, urgent but not rushed, placing every article of clothing on top of the vanity. You stand, breath hitching as he unhooks your bra, crowning each reddened nipple with a soft, reverent kiss. He kneels to undo the button of your jeans, sliding them and your panties down so smoothly that you don’t have time to be self-conscious before you’re naked. His fingers wind into yours, pulling you down and helping you lie down on your back. Your head is resting on the folded towel, and the feeling of the slightly rough fibres against your back, butt, and calves has you shivering.

“You just relax,” Taehyung murmurs from above you, running a comforting hand up and down your thigh as he kneels and uncaps the bottle of oil with one hand. You bite your lip, looking down your body to where he settles between your legs, spreading them. “Fuck, look at your perfect little pussy,” he swears. “So wet. Should we make it even wetter?”

You swallow and nod, gasping when he turns the bottle upside down, and a stream of glossy oil, slightly thicker than the other one, stripes across your lower abdomen in a broad arc. Taehyung looks so in his element as he caps the bottle and sets it beside him, palms flat as he collects the oil and spreads it, tongue peeking out of his lips in focus.

Due to being in the state of unbelievably turned on, even the feeling of his fingers slipping down the creases of your thighs has your muscles jumping, a jump as he skims past your core.

“Shh,” he soothes, voice dipping back into that sensual chant, “I’ve got you. Just relax. You can close your eyes if you want.”

But you shake your head. For now, you want to look up at him knelt between your legs, the shine of his elegant hands soaked in oils as they run over your inner thighs, stomach and mons pubis, avoiding where he knows you need him most. “It’s not fair,” you mumble, tongue feeling heavy in your mouth. “I’m naked, and you’re still fully dressed.”

He scoffs softly, barely more than a puff of air, but pulls back to lift his shirt over his head, tossing it carelessly away. One of the more tanned men in the house, he’s a bronzed god, hard chest and soft stomach, biceps flexing with every nimble movement as his hands return to your quickly heating body. “Better?”

“Better,” you answer with a pleased smile, eyes roaming over the smooth lines and shallow curves, the dusky brown of his nipples and the trail of baby hairs that lead below his bellybutton to the waistband of his pants, the elastic worn enough to hang low on his hips.

You let out a throaty sound of dissatisfaction as he continues to pass around your dripping core, rocking your hips up with a pout. "Tae," you whine, spreading your legs further apart. "Don't tease."

"But you look so beautiful when you're needy," Taehyung retorts with a smirk.

Just as you're about to protest, though, you feel a single finger slip down between your folds, rubbing against your clit. You moan openly at the sudden pleasure.

"Oh that's it, you're so gorgeous," the masseuse praises, his own chest hitching just from watching your reactions.

You groan, rocking your hips at that single finger as it simply runs straight up and down at a glacial pace.

"So needy, petal," he gushes, voice velveteen, "was the orgasm I gave you downstairs not good enough, hm?"

You pout. "It was good, Tae."

"Then why does my baby still want more?"

You pant, staring at him with pleading eyes. You don't know what he wants to hear, all you can think of is his finger lazily running up and down your core and the smirk on his face.

That same smirk widens into a grin, not boxy like usual, but darker, slightly asymmetrical. "Maybe you're just greedy, petal. Are you greedy, baby?"

You whine, legs tightening on either side of his waist. "I'm greedy, Tae, please just give it to me."

"Fuck," he swears under his breath, leaning over you to capture your mouth again, hot and needy as you finally feel his finger circling your entrance before plunging in in one slick thrust, curling inside you so that you moan into his mouth, keening underneath the pressure of his body on yours.

"Tae, fuck!" you cry as he pulls out to slip a second finger in, immediately crooking and curling them inside you like he's giving you a massage from inside. The thought has you shuddering, letting his mouth, his lips, his tongue swallow your moans of pleasure.

The sounds of his fingers as they fuck into you fill the room, and there's no way of telling what is oil and what is your own arousal, wetter between your legs than you've ever been before.

Expertly, his thumb finds your clit at the same time that he moves up to three fingers inside of you, and you cry out at the added sensation, falling apart under his trained touch.

"You're so beautiful," Taehyung pants in between passionate kisses, licking the inside of your mouth like it's oxygen. "I wanna feel you cum for me again, petal, can you do that for me?"

"Yeah," you make out, voice breaking as his fingers speed up. You can't stop moving, hips rolling and back trying to arch even as his body cages you down to the floor, mouth slack as he takes what he wants from your body, surrendered willingly.

He's so skilled with the hand between your legs that you don't realise he still has one free until you feel fingers close around one of your raw nipples, rolling the bud mercilessly. You scream into his mouth as you cum, vocal cords vibrating violently, vision whiting and body convulsing, pitched to heights as his hands speeds up impossibly, stroking at your g-spot and rubbing your clit. "That's it, you're so perfect, give it to me, Y/n."

You cry out again as his mouth leaves yours and instead ducks lower to nip at your neck, sucking a single point of colour at the base of your throat. Mouth now uncovered, your moans spill out unbidden, raising in pitch as the warm coil of pleasure turns sharp, your nerves overstimulated. "Fuh-fuck, too much," you sob, weak hands pushing at his until he pulls out.

As you fight to catch your breath, still shivering with aftershocks, Taehyung sits up, hands running smoothly up and down your sides, one slick with oil and one slick with you, though your mind is too heavy with pleasure to work out which is which.

"You did so well, deep breaths, baby," he guides in a voice like honey. It anchors you, brings your vision back and your mind back into your body. You blink, dazed, and stare up at him with an exhausted but satisfied smile. "There she is," he chimes warmly, eyes appraising you like he's proud of you. "Do you think you can cum one more time for me, petal? You're doing so well."

You let out a breathy. "Fuck. I don't-"

"I can just clean you up and help you to bed if you don't want to. I can take care of myself. You don't have to."

You bite your lip, gathering the energy it takes to lift your head off the towel, looking down to see him palming at his crotch just enough to relieve the pressure. Though you're sure he wouldn't hold it against you if you took him up on the offer, you can't deny that you want to be the one to make him cum, not his own hand.

"No, I want to go again," you decide, voice still quiet as your heart rate returns to normal. "But I'm still so sensitive."

He hums in thought. "We have options. It didn't say in your limit sheets that you were opposed to anal." Your breath hitches and you find yourself nodding, wanting to feel him inside you so desperately. "Good? Okay then, petal, I'm going to need you to turn over so I can get you ready for me, yeah?"

He helps you up, guiding you onto your knees, facing away from him and gripping the edge of the bathtub for support.

"Is this okay?" he checks one last time, and you nod, arching your back in response. Taehyung chuckles, punctuated by the sound of a cap clicking open. "So you are my greedy girl."

If there was a reply in your head, it dissolves the moment you feel a cold liquid running down your cheeks, cooling your heated core. You sigh, folding your arms on the edge of the bathtub and resting your head, eyes closing as the pressure of a single finger circles your ass, tight muscles fluttering at the contact.

"Relax for me," the masseuse coos as he breaches you, sinking in easily with the aid of the oil even as you clench around the intrusion.

There's something different about the pleasure like this. It feels deeper, primal, dirty as he slowly fucks into you, the tip of his finger crooking inside to ease your muscles.

You only realise that your hips are moving when he lays a forearm on your lower back, stilling you. You groan in frustration, but it just makes him laugh, pulling out of you to press in two fingers instead.

"Two orgasms and baby still wants more," he muses, speeding up his fingers to make you whimper, moans catching in your throat with every thrust.

"Fuck, yes, I need you now, Tae," you babble in a reedy voice, back arched under the pressure of his arm holding you steady. The room is filled with the smell of sex, but it's lifted by the floral tones of the oils he's used, and it makes your head spin, dizzy with arousal.

He pulls out his fingers, smacking your ass lightly. You wait with baited breath as he shucks his pants, letting them pool on the floor around his knees. You crane your head back to look at him, but he's already pressing his head to your entrance, pausing to pour some more oil over his length before he's snapping his hips and fucking into you, bottoming out on a single thrust.

The breath is punched out of your lungs, and your hands scramble to hold you steady against the edge of the bathtub as you cry out brokenly. "So full," you moan, toes curling.

Taehyung lets out a throaty growl as he stays sheathed in you for a moment, grinding his hips against your ass as you adjust. "Oh, fuck," he curses lowly. "So good, baby."

After another moment, you feel him shift inside you, like he's adjusting his stance. Reflexively, you grip onto the side of the bathtub, moments before he pulls out swiftly and thrusts back inside you, your whole body jerking with the force of it.

You let out a long moan, voice jumping every time his hips meet yours, shallow but quick strokes that have you drooling. With every slide of his cock inside you, so unbelievably slick with the excess massage oil, you feel yourself being fucked dumb, incoherent.

"Tae, Tae, yes, god, hngh, please Tae," you chant thoughtlessly as he fills you over and over again.

His growls of response and the slap of skin-on-skin surrounds you, flooding your senses.

"I'm not gonna last long," he warns, but you feel your own high building inside you, only needing a little more to send you over.

"Cum inside me," you gasp, "please, fuck."

He moans at that, not a low growl but a keening moan that's followed by him speeding up inside you, a hand finding your clit and stroking roughly over it with four fingers, desperate.

Your third orgasm hits you like a train, rendering your whole body boneless as he chases his high, cursing when you begin to clench around him. Unlike the other two times, you don't moan or cry out. Instead, the pleasure is so blinding that a single sound doesn't come out at all, your eyes rolling in your head and your limbs going slack.

He spills inside you moments later, hands sliding up to massage your breasts as ropes of cum paint your insides.

When the two of you come down and he pulls out of you, you can't feel your legs. He cleans you up with a towel soaked in warm water, but you're so far gone that you barely feel it, content to let him manipulate your body, eventually picking you up, your vision swirling as the next thing you feel is a mattress below you and a blanket above. You mumble something, not even knowing what, and let the smooth motions of a hand rubbing your back soothe you into sleep.

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jamiemackenziefraser · 4 years ago

Text

All That Was Fair

Chapter 10: Near Misses

Work Summary: Jamie Fraser is hiking near some strange stones when he comes across an unconscious lass. Determined to help her, Jamie’s life is turned completely upside down as he takes her in. The only issue... she’s not human.

Chapter Summary: Claire and Jamie make one last surprise stop in Inverness.

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Chapter 10: Near Misses

***

“Here, put back on yer jacket, lass,” Jamie said to a shivering Claire, extricating it rather clumsily from the pile of clothes on his arm and handing it to her.

The puir lass still hadn’t quite gotten the hang of the whole “weather” thing, and as the sun hid behind the clouds and the air grew cooler, she was beginning to tremble.

Claire took the jacket from him, her fingers brushing his in the process, and he found himself shivering as well— though not from cold.

They were almost back to where the car was parked. Jamie’s plan was to dump the awkward armful of loose clothes, but he was hoping that their outing wouldn’t end quite yet...

“I ken this has been quite the day for ye, a nighean,” Jamie began tentatively as he opened the trunk, “but I had one more thing in mind that I think ye might enjoy. Would ye like to see it or do ye want tae go home?”

Her arms were wrapped around herself as Jamie shoved everything into the trunk and closed it. When he looked up, she was nodding eagerly.

“I would love to.”

A broad smile spread over Jamie’s face. He wasn’t sure she’d say yes, quiet as she’d been since they left the store, but he was delighted by her enthusiasm and hoped she’d like their last stop.

Jamie locked the car with a beep before turning toward Claire again. Spotting her opened jacket, he muttered “ach, ye’ll freeze”, then stepped closer and reached out for the zipper.

She looked up at him with huge whisky eyes and he had no choice but to meet them. He hyper-aware of the proximity to her body as he drew the zipper up very slowly, each tooth coming together inch by inch. The moment seemed to drag on for eternity, but he didn’t want to let go. Once the zipper reached the top, Jamie’s hand lingered, just barely under her chin. He was so close to her that he could feel the puffs of her breath, and his whole body thrummed with the tension that sparked between them.

How easy it’d be to tug her just the tiniest bit closer and—

Claire’s chest rose under his fingers in a shaky inhale, and that was what broke him out of the trance.

Stepping away from her sharply, he shattered the moment of connection like a stone thrown into a placid pond. The forced distance between them tugged at his heart, but he retreated to a safe couple feet away— where his brain could work enough to keep him from acting on his inclinations.

He couldn’t have named the look on Claire’s face, but her usually expressive features seemed to fall into a carefully placed mask of neutrality. He gave her a smile in reassurance, hoping she wasn’t offended by his odd behavior, and offered her his hand. Touch was a comfort to her, and he wouldn’t dream of withholding that just because it turned his head and his heart into mush.

The moment she took it, he began to lead her in the direction of their last stop.

The Inverness Botanical Gardens were only a couple blocks away. As soon as they entered the gates, Claire’s eyes went wide with delight as she took in the expanse of colorful plants and flowers in bloom. She stopped walking abruptly, and simply stood in enrapturement, hand clutching Jamie’s even tighter.

“See. Humans arena sae bad,” he joked.

Either she didn’t hear him or didn’t care to respond, wrapped up in the scenery as she was.

“It’s beautiful,” she breathed reverently.

To his surprise, she let go of his hand, walked a few steps over to the nearest bed of flowers, and promptly dropped to her knees. Jamie’s heart clenched in endearment as he watched his Sassenach reach out and caress the leaves of the various plants. She seemed to want to touch every one, torn between frenzy and delicacy as her hands moved everywhere.

He could have watched her enjoy herself like this for days, completely uncaring of the people passing them by who were likely giving them queer looks. But he only had eyes for Claire.

It struck him once again how fitting the name Sorcha was for her. She was truly becoming his light— brightening his whole world, his very existence. In comparison, his days before her seemed so empty. He felt oddly detached from that time before Claire, as if it was a different lifetime rather than several days ago.

If he was certain of anything, it was that he couldn’t go back to living that minute existence. Not when he knew the joy that was loving her.

Every time Jamie lost himself in such thoughts, he had to spend the next while talking himself off the ledge. This time was no different. As he watched Claire touch the plants (she’d moved on to the next bed by this point), he desperately tried to force his brain back to rationality.

Okay, so ye love her. There’s no helping that. But for Christ’s sake, lad, keep yerself together. Ye’re the one person she has in the world. Ye canna be making declarations of love, that isna fair to her.

It was the same words he told himself over and over.

Ye can be her friend. That’s enough.

But as he watched the awe and delight shining on her face that made his own brighten in answer, he felt like his heart was on his sleeve— on display for the whole world and aching with the yearning.

God, he burned for her.

He was shaken from his besottment by a worker approaching Claire. Protective instinct flaring, he took a few steps toward his faerie, meaning to put himself between them. The moment she noticed the young man beside her, she bolted to her feet, stumbling backward into Jamie.

“Sorry, didna mean to startle ye,” the young man said to her.

Jamie placed both hands on her shoulders, trying to still her and communicate that everything was alright. Sliding one hand down to her back, steadying, Jamie stepped up to her side.

The worker lifted his hand to scratch a little awkwardly at the back of his neck. “It’s just that I couldna help but notice yer enthusiasm. Are ye a botanist yerself then?”

Claire shot Jamie a look over, brows furrowed, and he quickly answered for her. “Nae, but it is a bit of a hobby for her.”

The lad gave a nod. “Oh, very good. Well, I hope you enjoy yer visit. Dinna forget to check out our greenhouse.”

Just as he was turning away to leave, Claire suddenly burst out, “This flower—” The young man turned around, following Claire’s point to a small patch of flowers, “the sobrach albannach…”

He looked a little confused, but simply said, “primula scotia, or Scottish primrose. What of it?”

“It’s getting too much water. It’s choking the life from the plant.”

The poor lad had no idea how to respond, completely taken aback. He stared at her open mouthed for a second, and then looked back at the plants, eyes narrowing in thought. Then, he stooped down to inspect them even closer.

“Ye’re right,” he exclaimed in astonishment. He looked up at her with a smile spreading over his face, “thank ye.”

Claire beamed, looking incredibly proud of herself, and Jamie couldn’t help but swell a little as well.

“My pleasure. Do take care of them,” she said sweetly.

With that, she slipped her hand back into Jamie’s and they walked away, leaving the worker to his Scottish Primrose.

“How did you ken that?” Jamie asked once they were a fair distance away.

“I can feel it, can’t you?” Claire answered matter-of-factly. She looked up at him in question, and Jamie shook his head.

“We canna.”

Claire gave a shrug, not particularly bothered. “Plants are the lifeblood of this earth. You have to care for them, treat them with respect.”

That didn’t do much to answer Jamie’s questions, but he decided to let it go in favor of enjoying Claire’s company. They walked on for a while, Claire absorbed in the various flora. Since not all of it was native to Scotland, she would sometimes let out a squeal of excitement when discovering something new (though now she mostly stayed anchored to his side). It took the depths of Jamie’s botanical knowledge to try to provide her with insights about some of the ones with which she wasn’t familiar, but unfortunately that didn’t extend very far and the lass was left burning with curiosity.

Curiosity was not exclusive to her, though. Jamie had been burning with questions about the faerie ever since he’d met her, and only little-by-little did he come to discover more about her.

One unexpected incident brought an intriguing discovery.

While they walked hand in hand through the gardens, their pace a leisurely stroll, they passed by a family of what appeared to be tourists.

“Ven aquí*,” the mother (or at least that’s who Jamie assumed she was) shouted to her child, a little girl trailing a few feet behind with tears rolling down her face.

“M- me quedo aquí,” the child cried in hitching sobs of agitation. Obviously she was having a bit of a meltdown. Jamie was familiar with the woes of tantrums from his nieces and nephews, and tried to lead Claire away. But his Sassenach remained rooted to the spot.

“No tenemos tiempo para esto,” the mother shot back with exasperation in her weary tone as she waved a beckoning hand.

“No voy a salir,” the girl’s voice was almost a scream now, her parents and siblings getting farther away. It seemed the mother was going to play the “I’ll leave without you” card.

Claire’s eyes had gone wide and disturbed witnessing the exchange. She shot a look at Jamie, then back at the girl. To Jamie’s astonishment, she let go of his hand and walked straight up to the crying child.

Kneeling down, Claire gently asked, “¿Qué pasó, querida? ¿Por qué no quieres ir con tu familia?”

Jamie’s mouth dropped open. What the devil did she say?

His brain was still trying to process Claire’s perfect accent and apparent fluency in Spanish when the girl replied with a hitching, “Se me perdió mi flor.”

“¿Tu flor? Hay muchas flores aquí.” Claire responded gently.

“Sí, p-pero ésta fue especial, y se me perdió y ahora no puedo encontrarla,” the little girl sobbed as she clutched her chest, her words coming out in a jumbled rush.

“No te preocupes, podemos buscar juntas,” Claire replied in a soothing tone.

Jamie was trying desperately to keep up with the situation and wondering how the hell Claire knew Spanish. He had no idea what she’d said, but in the next second, Claire was taking the little girl’s hand and walking toward an offshoot of the path, still speaking back and forth.

Fearing a potential kidnapping scandal and not wanting to lose sight of his displaced faerie, Jamie scampered after her, calling, “Claire!”

She looked back at him, halting, and gave him a smile, as if oblivious to the fact that she was about to run off with a strange child in tow. Apparently sensing his worry, she explained, “it’s alright, Jamie. I’m just helping her find her flower so she can leave with her family.”

His rapid heart rate slowed exponentially. He was still struggling a little to grasp Claire’s apparent Spanish knowledge and wondering if somehow there were varieties of Hispanic fae that had ended up in Scotland, so he simply responded with a daft “oh.”

It was at that moment that Claire’s head swiveled to a spot just behind Jamie and she let out an exclamation. She dropped the girl’s hand and darted toward a nearby flower bed. Jamie turned to watch as— with practiced ease— she plucked a flower from the bush.

“Yo sé que no es la misma, pero esta flor es especial también. Es mi favorita. ¿Le gusta?”

Claire stretched the flower out toward the little girl in offering. There was silence for a moment, then a cry of delight. The little girl suddenly ran forward and launched herself right into Claire’s arms, scooping up the flower from her hand and wrapping Claire’s neck in a hug all at the same time. The faerie laughed happily, giving the girl a pat on the back.

With only a quick, “¡gracias!”, the girl was running after her family.

“De nada,” Claire called after her with a blinding smile that only Jamie was privy to. (He’d take it. He’d take all of her smiles and hold them dear in his heart, even if he wasn’t the recipient.)

Then— looking incredibly nonchalant— she straightened up, walked over to Jamie, and slipped her hand back into his.

Left slightly flabbergasted from the whole situation, Jamie stayed motionless in the spot, looking down at her.

Claire returned his gaze quizzically.

“You— you speak Spanish?” Jamie asked after recovering his tongue.

She nodded, casually, but didn’t expand.

“So you speak English, Gaelic, and Spanish... Do fae speak more languages?”

She looked at him with an indulgent smile, as if— of all the questions he’d asked her during their time together— this was the foolish one. “I speak hundreds of languages.”

He boggled at this, turning a little so he could look at her better.

“Human languages?”

“Of course! And others.”

“You astound me,” he breathed, “in- in the best way,” he hastily added. “Here I was thinkin’ I was impressive speakin’ Gaelic, English, and a wee bit of French.”

She smiled brightly. “You are impressive, Jamie. You know how to do so much— things I could never imagine...”

Jamie warmed all the way through at her praise, and gave her hand a slight squeeze.

Though he was still burning to know more, this wasn’t the place for a 101 course on faeries. He took her hand and continued walking, essentially putting an end to that conversation. The visitors of the park were gradually filtering out, providing nice privacy as they strolled along, but he still didn’t want to risk it. He had to bite his tongue to avoid asking things that might prove problematic should others overhear.

So they walked along, chatting about safer topics. Jamie tried to explain the purpose and function of a botanical garden, and Claire listened with rapt attention. As they strolled, though, she began to grow quiet. Claire drew closer to Jamie, her arm pressed against his, and no longer made moves to touch any of the plants they passed.

The sun was just starting to go down, illuminating the path with a soft, golden light. When he looked down at Claire, he could see it reflecting off her curls, highlighting streaks of varying shades of brown.

“Are ye tired, lass?” He asked after Claire had been particularly quiet for a bit.

She gave a slight bob of the chin, and at her nod, Jamie led them over to a park bench.

They sat down together, Claire pressing herself flush against his side. She wasn’t shivering— thank God— but she seemed particularly clingy.

“Thank you for today, Jamie,” she said softly, “I never could have done it without you. I… I actually had a great time.”

Contentment swelled through Jamie. “I’m glad, mo nighean donn. And dinna mention it, I’m jes’ glad I could be wi’ ye.”

“I mean it,” she looked up at him, eyes wide and earnest, “I don’t know where I’d be without you. Lost and alone…”

A shudder ran through her, and Jamie felt an answering one of his own creep up his spine at the thought of Claire by herself.

“I can’t thank you enough for what you’re doing for me,” she finished.

“Ye dinna even ken….” he murmured, mostly to himself. He shook his head as his own thoughts overwhelmed him.

“What don’t I know?” she prompted, and Jamie realized that he’d actually said it out loud.

The way she was looking at him— those honey eyes soft and empathetic, making his wame twist into knots— he had to tell her the truth.

“I was alone before you. I had my family, of course— my sister and brother-in-law and their children. But I went home to an empty house every night. Went through my routine, slept in the dark alone, and then did it all again the next day. Oh, Claire,” his voice caught in his throat, “ye turned my life upside down in the best way. I didna ken how much I needed you until suddenly I’d found ye. And I canna even imagine life now without ye in it…”

His eyes were brimming with tears by the time he finished, and Sorcha was looking at him with the warmest expression. Almost… loving?

“You have me now,” she whispered. Her wee hand raised up to his face, softly brushing over his jaw in one grounding stroke.

But he didn’t. Lord help him for his greed, but he wanted her forever. As his own.

He looked down at her and her hand stilled on his face, but she made no move to withdraw it. Jamie was breathing raggedly, feeling a pull toward her that took all his willpower to resist. Her face was tilted up toward him— so damn close— and the air felt thick and heavy.

She never broke their locked gaze, just stared up at him warmly. Jamie knew his heart must be in his eyes. Surely she could see it?

He found himself drifting just the slightest bit closer, his face tilting down…

But he loved her too much to bridge the distance.

So he froze there, completely under her spell and happy to be there, yet heartbroken by all the things he couldn’t allow himself to have.

Claire seemed to notice the change in him, because she drew back a bit. She glanced down at her lap, then away from Jamie. If he wasn’t mistaken, there was a hint of pink gracing those high cheekbones.

But surely that couldn’t mean anything…

“It’s getting late,” he stated lamely.

That snapped her attention back to him. “Please, let’s stay a little longer,” she pleaded.

He could never say no to her.

So there they sat, pressed close together. Claire took his hand again as the silence spread between them like a warm blanket— not stifling or awkward, simply the comfort of togetherness. Her hand had been in his all day, yet somehow the electric shock he got when he made contact with her never diminished.

After a while, the sky began to show streaks of colors. The sun had fallen below the horizon, leaving a glow of pink and orange in its wake. From their vantage point on the bench, they could see the river, which reflected the colors in a brilliant display, like a second sky below. It couldn’t have been more perfect if Jamie had planned it himself.

Claire’s head tilted toward him, leaning closer and closer until finally it was nestled on his shoulder. He squeezed her hand gently as his wame did the familiar flip-flop, not wanting to break the stillness but wanting her to know he was glad of her touch. They cuddled on that bench long after the sunset faded and the street lights blinked on.

“Ye’ve had a long day,” Jamie murmured finally. He tilted his head down to look at her, and found her eyes were closed. “Let’s get ye home, lass.”

She raised her head from his shoulder with slow reluctance, blinking her eyes drowsily.

Oh God, he loved her.

“Ready to go, a nighean?” he asked her softly.

She sleepily hummed, but gave no other response. He chuckled at her fondly, a rumble deep in his chest, and tucked an errant curl behind Claire’s ear.

“Dinna fall asleep on me now,” he teased.

Her eyes fluttered open then and regarded him with a look of pure innocence. “I’m not sleeping.”

To prove herself, she got to her feet, but refused to let go of Jamie’s hand in the process. He followed her lead and stood up beside her. With that, he took her from the gardens and back out toward the car, his sweet lass occasionally swaying against him as they walked.

She seemed less drowsy by the time they made it to the parking lot, but the moment they were seated inside the car, she was draping herself over the cupholder and into his lap.

His heart clenched with reminiscence of three days ago when he’d found himself in this exact position. How terrified he’d been then, so excited but bewildered, already entranced by the sweet faerie. He’d been in way over his head then, but now— now he was positively drowning in the intoxication of her.

He never wanted to let her go.

***

(See AO3 for notes and translations)

#all that was fair #update #claire x jamie #outlander fanfiction #fae Claire

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logicaemetus · 5 years ago

Text

dark and stormy.

Summary: Virgil panics during a thunderstorm. Logan helps. Characters: Virgil and Logan (platonic, but read it how you want) Words: 1,765 Content warnings: panic attack, intrusive thoughts, brief mentions / descriptions of impractical death

Notes: guess who hates thunderstorms? me! guess who wrote this to cope while a big ol thunderstorm raged outside and flooded our basement with 3 inches of water? me!!!

---

Irony of ironies, Virgil thought bitterly, burying his face into his knees and flinching as another crash of thunder shuddered through the house. He pulled the drawstrings of his hoodie tighter, trying to be as inside himself as possible. Of course the guy who literally calls himself a stormy night is scared of actual stormy nights. It’s your logo, for goodness’ sake.

He could practically hear Logan’s voice in his head pointing out his inconsistencies. He. is. odd. Virgil was beginning to feel tired of being a walking contradiction.

Rain slapped against the side of the house in waves. He tried not to think about the windows shuddering and shattering under the force of it, rain pouring into the house, flooding the room from floor to ceiling with glass and water and blood, drowning them all. If he’d had his headphones with him, he could try to block everything out with music. But those were in his room, and he couldn’t get himself to move from his huddled-up spot on the living room floor.

Ignoring the incessant beating against the windows -- They can’t break, they’re built for this. Right? When was the last time we checked them? How do we know this house passes safety regulations? -- Virgil tried to breathe and focus on the feeling of his hoodie under his fingers. He pinched at the pattern, scowling at the lightning bolts dimly illuminated by the flickers outside.

He supposed, when he’d first chosen his logo, that maybe he could pull a Batman. Get over his fear by becoming it, in a way.

Clearly, his plan had worked about as well as his attempts to force Remus out of the mindspace. Fat lot of good that did him! his mind offered cheerfully, echoing the possum man himself.

Oh, god. The last thing he needed was to accidentally summon another nightmare in the middle of this one. His stomach roiled.

Another flash and a near-instantaneous boom jammed his thoughts to a halt. Virgil distantly registered a pain in his arm and realized a few moments later that he’d shoved his mouth full of sweater-sleeve to stifle his own yell. That lightning strike couldn’t have been more than half a mile away. Why were there so many things in the world that could kill Thomas!?

“Virgil?”

He almost didn’t hear the voice through the pounding of blood in his ears. He cringed; the thought of any of the others finding him in this state made him want to sink through the floor. He could sink through the floor, if he wasn’t jumpier than a horse at a firecracker convention.

Footsteps approached. Virgil began to pick up his head to see who it was before another bright flash of light made him recoil instinctively and hiss. Great. Now he was frightened, embarrassed, and rude. A package deal.

“Virge?” the voice came again, more gently. “It’s just me, Logan. I came down to ensure any non-vital electronics are unplugged in case there is a power surge.” There was a slight pause, and then Virgil felt the other crouch beside him. “Are you... alright?”

Virgil wanted to bite out a what does it look like, Lo? but his tongue was glued to the roof of his mouth. He settled for gritting out a sound of distress and shaking his head.

Logan’s presence hovered, carefully, just within reach but without making contact. A feeling of gratitude bubbled through Virgil’s frazzled brain; he didn’t think he could handle being touched without warning.

“How may I assist you?”

As if on cue, another crack of thunder set his nerves jumping. He swung a hand out, reaching for Logan and finding purchase on what felt like an arm. To his deep relief, Logan didn’t flinch. He was solid, steady. A much-needed contrast to the thrumming, prickling energy under Virgil’s skin.

“Room,” Virgil choked out. “Need to get to a... a room.”

“Certainly. Your room? Or perhaps Patton’s?”

Virgil hesitated. If he couldn’t calm down here, he wouldn’t fare much better in his own room. Plus Logan wouldn’t be able to stay there, and (he realized, with another jolt of embarrassment) he didn’t want to be alone. And as much as he adored Patton, he would fuss over him, and the last thing he needed was for anyone to make a bigger deal of this than it needed to be.

“Yours.”

“Oh.” A faint note of surprise coloured Logan’s voice. “Alright. Can you stand?”

Another sound of protest left Virgil’s throat.

“Very well. We can sink out together.”

“Can’t. I tried.” Virgil winced at himself. Leave it to me to ask for help and then reject every possible solution.

“I am here to help you try again,” Logan said calmly, his voice nudging aside his negative thoughts. “If you hold onto me, I can provide the grounding you need to sink and rise up. Is that alright with you?”

Virgil took a steadying breath. Ignore the rain. Ignore the wind. Ignore the possibility of being tossed around like a rag doll by the elements, being fried to death, being picked up and flung and crumpled against the wall with a sickening crunch. Ignore ignore ignore. “Sure.”

“Alright. Don’t be alarmed, I am merely repositioning myself.”

Virgil felt Logan move, and he fought back a pathetic whimper attempting to crawl up his throat. Blessedly, the other side didn’t make any attempt to remove his hand from his arm. In a moment, the two were facing one another. Well-- Logan was facing him, cross-legged. Virgil still had his face jammed into his knees.

“Give me your other hand, please.”

Reluctantly, Virgil relinquished his white-knuckled grip on his leg and reached out. A cool hand took his.

“Very good. Now hold onto my arms, like this--” Logan’s hands slid forward and wrapped around Virgil’s elbows, and he mirrored the motion. Self-consciously, he noted the contrast between the warm of the other’s skin and his own clammy hands. He tried not to grip too hard. There was no way Logan couldn’t feel him trembling and flinching, but if he noticed he gave no indication. That bubbling gratitude returned in Virgil’s chest, countering some of the fizz in his lungs.

“Now, you don’t have to look at me. I will speak to you, and you only need to focus on my voice and maintain your hold on me. Can you do that?”

“Mhm.”

“Excellent. Take a deep breath... now out... there we go. Keep that up. Now...”

And Logan began to speak, in a low and steady cadence, about ionization. The intricacies of electrons and how atoms gain or lose them. How it happens during storms, yes, but it is also utilized in fluorescent lamps, scientific equipment, and radiation therapy. As he spoke, his voice seemed to wrap around Virgil’s mind until it came from within, muffling the sounds of the storm. A feeling of calm flowed from Logan’s hands into Virgil’s arms, up into his chest, his stomach, his legs, smoothing out his frayed nerve endings and anchoring him to his own body.

Subatomic particle collision. Heterolytic fission. The formula for quasi-static tunnel ionization. Virgil couldn’t follow a word, but he felt himself carried by the calm of it. His grip on Logan tightened as the ground dissolved from underneath them. They drifted through nothing, and the only thought in his head was that singular voice, weaving a tale of atomic stabilization.

“...where W is the time-dependent energy difference between the two dressed states, and if you open your eyes now, you will see that we have reached our destination.”

Virgil hadn’t even felt them rise. He dared one eye open, and then the other, taking in the blue hues of Logan’s room. “Woah. Just like that, huh?” He took a breath of crisp, dehumidified air, dispelling the last bit of cloying fear that had taken up residence in his lungs. The room seemed to be soundproof; he couldn’t hear a trace of the storm at all.

“Indeed. How are you feeling now, Virgil?”

His eyes met Logan’s for the first time that night, and he realized he was still clinging to him like a vise. He quickly let go and looked away, reaching up to pull his hood off and fix his hair.

“I’m... better. Thanks. I’m, uhm...” He cleared his throat. “Not great with. Loud. Destructive... things. But, I can breathe now, so... thanks for getting me out of there.” A prickle of shame began to creep up his neck at the thought that Logan practically had to play firefighter to get him out of a non-life-threatening situation. Oh, jeez. And he’d hissed at him. He winced. “Sorry for freaking out on you.”

“There is no need to apologize, Virgil. You were experiencing a great deal of alarm. And I am happy to help. Truly.”

Virgil nodded, and the prickle receded a little bit.

“Now that you are in a relative state of calm,” Logan continued, “would you like to return to your room?”

Virgil silently thanked every painted star in Logan’s room that it was him, not Roman or Patton, who’d found him. He was so chill.

“Actually, if you don’t mind,” he began, letting out a breath he wasn’t aware he’d been holding. “Can I stay here for a bit? I could use the company. And... my room isn’t soundproof.”

Logan smiled softly. “I don’t mind in the slightest. Would it help to talk about what just transpired, or is a distraction preferable?”

“A distraction sounds amazing right now. Actually-- I left my headphones in my room. Do you...?”

“I have an extra pair of noise-cancelling headphones you may use. Or, if you prefer, we could--”

“--share a pair of earbuds and listen to that podcast you were telling me about?”

Logan’s eyes lit up, and Virgil smirked at the way he instantly grew more animated. “I-- yes, if that is-- if you are amenable.”

“I’m down.”

---

Irony of ironies, Virgil thought with amusement, an hour later. The one who’d been most excited to get him into Wolf 359 had been the first to fall asleep, head lolling against his shoulder. Not that he minded.

He leaned his head back against the wall, counting the stars on Logan’s ceiling while the episode finished. He knew he’d probably wake up soon and scold him about the dangers of not sleeping in a real bed, but for now... this was fine.

#virgil sanders #logan sanders #ts virgil #ts logan #analogical #as with most things I write this turned out way longer than I intended and I had no idea how to finish it #but uh. yknow. *yeets my fears onto virgil* have this #no editing we die like men #me write #fics #local emo says debate club blows; attends anyway

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joshslater · 4 years ago

Text

Five Step Program

Similar stories and bonus material on my Patreon.

I stared at the contents of the envelope, a blue jockstrap, and a folded piece of paper. I hadn’t put much hope into this “miracle solution” to becoming a jock without any of the work. Of course there was a catch. “First 20 customers get their first shipment free of charge” was enough for me to fill out the form with my information. It wasn’t anything too revealing. Name, address, height, weight, age. A box where you could write what you hoped to achieve with this revolutionary five step program. That’s what they really were after, I guessed. Having people enter their dreams so that they can tailor their next scam better. I was even surprised I got anything in the mail at all, and now having opened it, it made even more sense.

I could see how sending a jockstrap to someone perhaps fulfills some legal requirement that the recipient could now look like a jock. It could be a way to avoid getting a federal fraud charge. But I hadn’t spent a dime on this, so it didn’t make any sense. The jockstrap looked like any other jockstrap, I guessed. I’d never owned one, nor worn one. The pouch was dark blue and made with two layers of some synthetic mesh material. The big waistband was light blue with the letters JOCK repeated in dark blue around it. There was a faint smell of synthetic material and detergent. I did a mental sigh and opened the folded letter.

Congratulation on becoming one of our first customers on the revolutionizing five step Jock Express program. As a thank you for signing up, this first part is totally free of charge. Should you wish to continue the program, as we are confident you will after having successfully completed the first session, simply use the URL at the bottom of this page to enter your credit card information and we’ll send you the next item as soon as the payment is confirmed. I’m happy to inform you that we can offer a reduced price for the entire program, should you chose to start it within five days. The price is only $100 for the next installment, and progressively higher as you advance in the program. There is no commitment to purchase so you can stop the program at any point. We’re confident you will want to complete all the five steps in the Jock Express program.

Fuck that! What morons sign up to this kind of shit?

Instructions: The Jock Express is the easiest and most user friendly fitness program ever developed. Simply drink a lot of water, put on the items included in each program step, as you normally would, and go to sleep.

I was even more confused. Why would that sway anyone to put out $100 for at best another piece of gym clothing? I put it all in my in-tray on my desk and let it slip from my mind. I had dinner, watched TV, answered some late emails and the usual Tuesday stuff. By bedtime I walked past my home office and had the sudden recollection that I had something waiting in the in-tray. Then I remembered what it was, and almost reluctantly decided to go ahead with wearing the damn thing. I was still convinced it was a scam, but was immensely curious to exactly how it would work. If nothing else I would get to feel what wearing a jockstrap feels like. I drank a glass of water, put on the jockstrap, and went to bed. The jockstrap was as comfortable as anything and I quickly went to sleep.

Apparently I slept through the first alarm, and jolted awake on hearing the more incessant buzz from the phone. I jumped out of bed and it wasn’t until halfway to the bathroom I realized I was naked. I wouldn’t say massive, as in cartoonish in any way, but my dick and balls were noticeably bigger than before. It took a few seconds for my still startled brain to put the pieces together. The jockstrap had disappeared and somehow affected the body. It hadn’t replaced any body parts, I could still recognize my dick, but it was for sure altered. Suddenly $100 felt like way too little money. I didn’t even put any pants on as I typed in the URL from the letter. Jock Express step #2 for $100 and express delivery for another $25. Annoyingly no option to order all four remaining steps as a package. I just wanted to have them all in my house as soon as possible.

By the time I had entered all my details, checked all the boxes, and clicked the final webshop button I was rocking a massive hard-on. The biggest one in my life so far, by far. I didn’t care right then if I would come late or call in sick, I just knew that I had to take my pre-cum leaking enhancement for a test drive, and slowly started to move my hand up and down the shaft. It felt better than ever, and lasted longer than I have ever before. I’m not really sure how long, because I zoned out a bit while wanking, and then exploded with an epic load of cum. I managed to tilt the chair back and catch it all on my body, but then I felt really spent and dozed off, only to be brought back with a text message from my boss. Sick day it is, I decided.

A more apt description would be a lewd day. I just cycled between laptop porn, wanking and showers, and combinations thereof. I loved the difference it made when wearing underwear. Even when flaccid you could tell here was action waiting, not just only wearing underwear, but while wearing jeans too. I took photos so I had progress photos to compare with.

The next day was a strange one. I worked all day in the glow of someone with confidence, as if somehow I had done some achievement. I kind of surprised myself with how much of a difference it made when dealing with the pileup of emails from yesterday. Big dick energy. I could make decisions so much faster than I was used to. I don’t know if I really had more confidence, or just didn’t care as much. I was for sure giddy with anticipation of what was yet to come by overnight delivery. I forced myself to stay until official end of office hours and then bolted and drove straight home.

Thank God there was a DHL box in my mailbox, or I don’t know what I would have done. I opened it on my way in, and it’s contents were similar to the first one. A folded letter and some folded cloth. Without opening the letter I unfolded the cloth, which turned out to be a plain, sleeveless, white cotton T-shirt. Had there been someone to high five, I would have done so. I’m not fat, but there is a bit of flabbiness I would love to get rid of, so I couldn’t wait for this part. I felt anticipation in my stomach and something else in my pants. I hadn’t had a wank since this morning.

Evening couldn’t come soon enough. The letter said basically the same as the last one. A new URL for the $400 Jock Express #3, which I immediately ordered, again with overnight shipping. Not really sure what to kill time with, I figured a jock would watch sport, so I just randomly put some football on. I hadn’t really paid any attention to sports before, so I wasn’t sure about who was who, what the series looked like, or really what happened on the field besides the obvious. I ended up masturbating to the football, which in my opinion made it better. By 9:30 I decided to drink a few glasses of water, strip, put on the sleeveless T-shirt, and go to bed. I tossed and turned in anticipation for quite a while. The T-shirt had a very loose fit, and the big holes for the arms made it even more mobile, though it was anchored by the crew neck. Finally at some point I managed to fall asleep.

I woke up before the alarm. It was dark enough that I knew I hadn’t slept through them all. Instead of getting up or turning on the light, I just slowly moved my hand to my chest under the sheet. My chest was about the same size, but felt firmer, I imagined. But more importantly I was naked and the shirt was gone. I moved my hand down and couldn’t contain my joy when I started to feel the faint square of abs. I jumped out of bed and ran into the bathroom to have a look in the mirror. The effect was better than I thought from just touch. My torso not only looked fit as a model, with abs and V and all, but younger and with better skin. Perhaps an illusion, but it almost looked like my dick was bigger as well.

Having woken up early, after a wank and a shower, I was one of the first in at the office and quickly got ahead on my tasks for the day. I still had the anticipation I felt yesterday, but today it was more like I knew what to expect. It wasn’t just a one-off or a fluke, this was legit and it was happening. As I started early I decided to flex out early and rush back home. I spent the drive home fantasizing about different types of clothing. I was kind of wishing for those sleeves they use in basket, to amp up my arms, but there might be some scientific reason why they changed the body parts in a specific order. Who was I kidding? This wasn’t science. This was magic.

I ripped open the familiar package as soon as I was inside the front door. This time it was white under armour legging of some sort, ending just below the knees. I was considering strip down fully naked and put on the leggings right then and there, and wear them until it was time to go to bed, but decided against it. Even though the descriptions were vague and didn’t really say you couldn’t do that, I didn’t want to risk fucking up the process. Instead I found some underwear in the same color as the jockstrap and took a pair of scissors to an old white T-shirt to make it look like the one I put on yesterday. Then I put on those, and nothing but, and sat myself in front of the TV, determined to actually try to follow the game this time, whichever game I happened to see.

It might be I imagined it, perhaps because I’ve never really seen myself in a sleeveless T-shirt before, but it looked to me like my arms were a bit more defined than yesterday. I realized that I had just assumed only the parts under the clothes are affected, but that’s just something I made up. It could be that it just primarily acts under the clothes, or perhaps it was just a coincidence and the clothes really could change anything. In the end I let it go. It didn’t matter, I couldn’t prove it either way, and I couldn’t watch a game, have deep thoughts and masturbate all at the same time anyway. I was so into it I almost forgot to order the next package. A steep $1000 for whatever the next item was, but so far it was fucking worth it.

I really liked how I looked in the 3/4 leggings or whatever the fuck they are called. Just imagining how much better I would look the morning after made me go to bed with a big boner, despite being thoroughly wanked. I tried to calm myself by thinking of the last game I watched, and not give Jock Express a thought, and it kind of worked. I know I fell asleep pretty quickly and dreamt of football until the alarm woke me up.

“Fuck yeah!” was the first I could think when I saw myself. The thighs were about as large as before, but the line going down them made it obvious they were muscles and not jiggle matter. It even felt different just standing. I’m almost positive my dick had grown even more. Who the hell wouldn’t dish out $400 or whatever for this shit?

While the day started great it quickly became frustrating with all the corporate bullshit. I knew how to do my job. There were just so many fucking rules in the way of doing it in the best way. Perhaps the anticipation of the second to last package made me be in a bad mood. Whatever. I bolted as soon as I could, cranked up the volume in the car, trying to not think of anything until I got home. I almost punched something when I opened the mailbox and didn’t find an envelope. Instead it was just a note about DHL attempted to deliver while I wasn’t home. I could either call them to deliver tomorrow or drive to a pickup point. Like fuck I would wait another full fucking day.

I was furious when I got back into the car, blasting music as loud as I could, but I quickly calmed down. Perhaps this was a good thing? It might be a box with shoulder pads from football or hockey or lacrosse or whatever the fuck else looks hot. You know what else is hot? Michael at the DHL pickup point. I mean, I’m not homo or anything, I’m just saying he was a good looking dude.

The packet he gave me was a bit disappointing though. No way it could contain anything as large as shoulder pads. I didn’t want to fuck with my mojo, so I kept the same routine as before and didn’t open it until back home. Fucking cleats and socks. Another fucking leg day. And they smelled bad too, like distilled vinegar or some shit. As I entered the URL from the letter on my phone I got two more shocks. The price of the last package was ten thousand fucking dollars! And even worse, the delivery wouldn’t arrive until Monday. Two fucking days away. “This is bullshit” I shouted at nobody and threw the empty cardboard box into the wall to no damage to either.

I was still furious and went straight to the fridge, pulled out a cold can of beer, opened it, and downed half of it. It felt better, but I was still upset on the world in general. I looked at the phone screen again. $10k is a fuckton of money. There wasn’t a rush to buy it right now either, if they didn’t do overnight delivery during weekends. I emptied the can and crushed it against the countertop. It hurt my hand, which just added to my anger for being such a weakling. I pulled the rest of the six-pack out of the fridge and threw it in the living room couch on my way to the bedroom. I needed to get out of these stuffy office clothes and cool down with a cold one, or four.

I ripped off the tie and started to unbutton the shirt on my way into the bedroom, and once there opened the door to my wardrobe. I felt like a girl, not knowing what to wear. I hated everything my eyes fell on, and I hated feeling like that. I bunched the shirt into a ball and threw it into a corner, together with the tie. I climbed out of the pants as quickly as I could and threw them there as well. Then I stopped myself.

Everything I saw I really liked, I realized. The pecs, the abs, the thighs, and the generous bulge in the boxer briefs.I yanked off my socks and more deliberately lowered my boxers to let the dick and balls loose. I knew what I wanted from this junk selection of clothes, and opened a drawer with my athletic clothes and pulled out a pair of grey sweatpants. It was Friday and my dick and balls deserved some freedom, I thought, as I put on the sweats without any underwear. I picked up the sleeveless T-shirt from the floor by the bed and put that on as well. I felt so much better. A few beers, whatever game was on, and some more wanking, and perhaps this could turn into a good evening after all.

After two more beers, cum stains on sweatpants, T-shirt and the couch, and fuck knows how many games I zapped through I couldn’t wait any longer. Whatever bullshit the cleats and sock did, the sooner it was over with, the sooner I could move on with the final package. $10k was still a lot, but if I sold all shares I could buy it, keeping both house and car.

The socks went almost up to the knees, but weren’t any real soccer socks or anything like that. The looked more like something someone might have to the gym, or something a skater would wear. Skater was perhaps right, because they smelled like that vinegary acidic smell of really sweaty skater shoes. The socks were white with a wide black band around it near the top, and were a bit off-white on contact surfaces around the foot, as if they had been used in black shoes by someone. As if I would fucking care. I pulled up both legs of the sweats over the knees and put on both socks, pulling them as high as possible. The cleats were black and a bit banged up, but fit perfectly on my feet. I didn’t even remember having given out my shoe size. I was unsure how tight to tie them, so I went with comfortable without being loose.

It felt weird walking with them, like the shoes were pushing your forward. Not at all like my much flatter leather shoes. Somehow my test walking ended up by the fridge, so I grabbed another six-pack and returned to the couch for some more ESPN or whatever.

I had no idea what sport it was on the screen, but glancing out the window I could see that it wasn’t evening anymore. I must have fallen asleep, I realized, but I felt way better than I ought to, given the pile of crushed beer cans around me. I walked to the toilet to have a piss, and it wasn’t until I lowered the front of my sweatpants to grab my morning semi-stiff snake I realized I was barefoot. I was pissing for probably a good minute, aiming down with one hand. Holy fuck so much I’ve kept in while sleeping. I was pretty sure I had cleats and socks on when I fell asleep. I did a few bounces on the balls of the feet. It felt fucking great, and shook loose the last drops of piss from my dick. I dropped it back into the sweatpants, and broke into a smile from how fucking huge of a tent it made, despite being just a semi. I did a few more jumps, looking at how the flagpole in my front swung up and down. I really didn’t deserve to feel this great after yesterday, but I’d fucking take it. I felt so full of energy I felt I could do anything. I wanted to run just to see how it would feel.

I dashed into my bedroom and emptied the rest of the athletic clothes drawer on the floor. Some T-shirts, a pair of basket shorts, white socks and wiped down indoor and outdoor shoes. All of it was underwhelming, outright disappointing. And why the fuck did I keep the shoes here and not by the door? I grabbed the outdoor shoes and without bothering with socks started to mash my foot into it. It was clearly at least one size too small, perhaps several. Who the fucks know how shoe sizes work. I threw both shoes into the wall above my pile of office clothes. Fucking hell. Why do all days start out great and then go downhill so fast, I wondered.

I grabbed a pair of flip flops, the car keys, and pulled the credit card out of the wallet and walked out to the car. The car stereo startled me when I turned the ignition key, as it blared out some hip hop at max volume. I reached to turn it down, but changed my mind. It felt like my mood, as I was driving to my closest mall almost below speed limit. There wasn’t much traffic out anyway on a Saturday morning. As I turned into the almost empty parking lot in front of the mall I realized the fucking God damn shit mall would open for another 40-something fucking minutes. I wished I could turn up the music louder.

As I looked down on the cum stains on my shirt and tenting sweats I decided why the fuck not, and started to beat off in sync with the music.

40-something fucking minutes later I entered the sporting goods store in the mall. Johnson’s or Dick’s or Willy’s or whatever, I don’t care. I picked up some proper compression clothes, like the leggings I had earlier with a matching top. I got myself some outdoor Nike’s, a few proper tanks, some jocks, boxer shorts and socks, new flip flops, and a snapback cap. On the way to the cashier I decided to pick up a wooden baseball bat and a regulation size football as well. Back in the car I ripped off all the stickers and shit and put on something I could run in. The sneakers, jockstrap and shorts, a tank top, and the snapback. I left the car and just ran.

It was a revelation. The first time I tasted ice cream or coca cola, or the first time I discovered I could do something else with my dick besides peeing and hitting it too hard. I felt like a good damn terminator. Like as long as I kept the pace below sprinting I could run for hours. Trickles of sweat running down my face, my arms, my back, wetting the fabric of my clothes where it could, cooling the skin with the breeze my motion generated where it couldn’t. I have no fucking idea how long I actually run. When I finally ended up back in the car I was steaming and real fucking hungry.

I felt like a shower was in order, but I was too hungry to do that first. I went by Five Guys and had a bacon cheeseburger with fries and a peanut butter milkshake. As I started eating I realized I wasn’t anywhere near tired. It was probably enough running for today, but I wanted to do more. Halfway through the meal I decided I would visit the gym we had a company membership at. I had only been there a few times since the introduction walkthrough. I wasn’t even sure I had the card in my wallet anymore, or if it was in the bowl of stuff in the kitchen.

I made a quick stop at home, unloaded my car, found the card, and set off to the Pacific Wellness Center. The dude in the lobby had a pissy attitude and asked me if I was wearing indoor shoes. I asked him what they looked like, and he let me in. Such a shame, because he was kind of good looking.

Inside the gym the results were mixed. Squats, lunges, planking, and abductor machine all went excellent. It was fun, even. But everything involving arms went miserably. I could only lift a pathetic load, and after a few reps I would be tired. I even embarrassed myself in front of two massive gym buddies. One of them had amazing arms. You could see how strong they were even when he wasn’t lifting, but fuck me what beautiful ‘ceps when loaded. And tanned too. It was lucky I had the jockstrap on, because that body was smoking hot.

I could only stand a few more failures after that and then sped back home, still with hip hop at max, in a mix of emotions. I got naked on the way to the bathroom, and there I spent perhaps an hour in the shower, getting the grime and sweat off me, and wanking twice, thinking of the arms of the hot dude. As I dried myself on a towel I knew I had to buy the last package. Ten fucking thousand fucking dollars. I had to use the laptop to access my bank, and once I had put in the sell order for my stock portfolio I saw the pornhub tabs I hadn’t looked at since Wednesday.

The big-busted bimbos I had wanked my way through the Wednesday suddenly didn’t seem as interesting. I clicked around a bit until I found a muscle stud fucking a Latino girl. How quickly the taste can change, but except for pathetic arms, I’m was now the muscle stud. I quickly entered the URL from the Jock Express #4 box and ordered the last package. The delivery date was still Monday, so come Tuesday the muscle stud would be me. Only one fucking week.

Since I was out of beer I threw on my old shorts and a T-shirt, and had a walk to my nearest convenience store and bought one six-pack for each hand. I was feeling a bit stiff from the training, but it was much better than it ought to be.

As I opened the door back at home the warm smell of gym clothes, sweat, and feet hit me. I did the responsible thing and threw everything in the washing machine, opened a beer, and started to watch whatever was on.

Sunday was just a boring-ass filler day. I woke up at a decent time, had a long run. I passed through the park, but didn’t engage with any of the groups playing football or beach volley there. I could wait two more days to get my arms sorted. I did some cleaning up and domestic shit back home. Then I went to the gym again, but this time I pretended it was leg day, so I didn’t have to embarrass myself. After dinner I had an evening jog as well, and only had a few beers before bedtime.

Same thing on Monday. Woke up pretty early and went for a long run. When I was almost back home I got a text message from my boss, saying we needed to talk about my performance over the last few days. My answer “Suck my balls” probably summed up the conversation much better than any in-person meeting. I found that the best way to find porn with muscle studs in them was to search in the gay section. Just because you like to watch big arms and strong backs doesn’t make you homo. I jacked off to the videos until it was time to eat lunch. By 2 pm I was climbing on the fucking walls in anticipation, and every minute felt like too long. Perhaps it wouldn’t arrive today at all? I heard the mailman at 2:18 and rushed out wearing only shorts and snapback.

The mailbox was stuffed full with a big, soft envelope. I tore it open on my way back inside, kicked the door shut, and emptied the contents on my kitchen table. A big black something fell out, as well as something small that rattled across the table. Ignoring the letters, as usual, I unfolded the cloth. It was a big, black hoodie in sweatshirt material, with the print “STRONG” on the front. Finally arms! I picked up the small plastic box that almost fell off the table and opened it. It contained some sort of advanced mouthguard mad in blue, white, and transparent plastic of different hardness and flex. The kind that football players use.

Not knowing what to do next, I went to the gym and spent a few hours just randomly doing low weight, high rep stuff. I was trying to catch a glimpse of everyone else who worked out to see what their arms and legs looked like. Once I felt it was too obvious I wasn’t doing anything serious I drove home, but instead of going inside I started to walk and walked for hours just looking. It felt good just to be in motion. I didn’t return back until the sun started to set, and it was almost fully dark when I walked through the door.

I decided to just go ahead with the last piece of transformation. I stepped out of my sneakers and pulled off my damp socks. It didn’t smell of strawberries. I pulled off the T-shirt and stepped out of the basket shorts, but kept the compression shorts on. I grabbed the hoodie from the table and put it over my head. Perhaps it was me, but it smelled of musky sweat inside while I put it on. I poured myself a big glass of water and downed it.

I walked with the small plastic box to the bathroom and had a look in the mirror. I didn’t really look that different. The big hoodie hid my newly athletic front. The legs and feet looked strong, but who ever notices that? My big bulge in the compression pants was however a change from the past week that couldn’t easily be hidden. I opened the box and put the mouthguard into my mouth. It fit snugly and didn’t change my appearance much either. Not knowing what to do with the hoodie I put it up over my head and pulled it tighter with the drawstrings so all but my face was gone. Then I turned off all the lights and went to bed.

It was still dark when I woke up. Instantly I knew it had worked, because I couldn’t feel the mouthguard in my mouth, though it felt different. As if the ghost of the mouthguard was still there, prying my mouth open. I felt some sort of pressure on my head, as if I was wearing a hat or a beanie or something. I was about to feel my head when I realized moving my arm felt different. Not wanting to fuck around any longer I went straight to the bathroom again to have a look in the mirror. I stared at my reflection with open mouth. The difference was breathtaking.

First of all I wasn’t wearing any top, so my abs and pecs were on full display, but they were also bigger than before. Everything was bigger. My shoulders were much bigger, my entire upper body looked wider than before, and everything about the arms were huge. My face was still my face, but there were lots of small changes. “Fucking dope” I said with a much deeper voice than what I had before. I smiled a smirk and flexed the arms in different poses. I couldn't wait to show up at the gym doing an arm day. I just needed to have another shower. My dick needed service, and I felt sluggish, as if I hadn't really wakened up yet.

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merryfortune · 4 years ago

Text

Saving the Best for Last

Relationship: Asuka/Manatsu

Fandom: Tropical Rouge Pretty Cure

Word Count: 2.1k

Tags: Canon Compliant, Missing Scene Fic, Fluff, Pre-Slash, Pining, Coda

Synopsis: Manatsu wants to thank Asuka for inspiring her to try something new with her eating habits.

Manatsu could almost feel her reflexes fighting against her as she moved her chopsticks towards the simmered pumpkins that she had prepared over her usual selection of eating her favourite meat patty first. It was so incredibly tempted to switch back to her normal habits but Manatsu was strong and it was totally worth it. Both for Asuka’s sake, of trying something new, but also for the sake of her mother found it amusing but welcome to see Manatsu change things up.

Her mother delighted to enjoy the simmered pumpkins between them both first. She beamed as she enjoyed them; they were a little wonky regarding flavour and texture but as Manatsu’s mother, Aoi couldn’t have been prouder that her daughter wanted to take up more responsibility around the house and was even taking so much initiative. It made her heart swell and so, she happily ate the simmered pumpkin. Seeing how much hard work Manatsu had put into making it all made it all the tastier.

Very quietly, to herself, Manatsu was aware of the flaws in what she had prepared for herself and her mother, but she ate eagerly regardless. It mightn’t have been her mother’s cooking, but it was her own and she was proud of that. Not to mention, when she had finally eaten through all her side dishes – the cherry tomatoes and the broccoli and even the omelette – the hamburger patty really did taste fantastic at the end of it.

Manatsu couldn’t believe it. Asuka’s advice was unreal. Maybe patience really was a virtue after all. She had been a little bit worried that her meat patty might have cooled down too much but she guess that wasn’t really a problem given how she had devoured her side dishes in preparation of her main course. And it really was worth it. It was a little bit burnt on the underside but Manatsu ate it enthusiastically, nonetheless. It was super tasty with all the other merged flavours of the previous side dishes on her palette.

She just had to thank Asuka later. Her smile permeated the whole of her demeanour as she swallowed down her meat patty.

“You look happy with yourself.” her mother chipperly piped up – and interrupting her reveries.

Manatsu’s eyes went wide and she could have choked on her own spit. She could feel the warm blush in her cheeks and now her ears and it was just getting worse as she realised, she was daydreaming about her friend before her mother had spoken. Aoi, however, only laughed.

“Nothing wrong with enjoying your own food, it’s a good skill to have, believe it or not. Especially when you’re just starting out and experimenting, you don’t want to waste food after all.” Her mother made blithe conversation.

Manatsu giggled awkwardly, pinching tightly onto her chopsticks and tried desperately hard not to think about the fact that she had been thinking about Asuka. She very much wanted to believe the hot blush she felt was because she had been interrupted daydreaming and nothing else. And its not like it was a weird daydream or anything.

She was just thinking about Asuka. Asuka and her pretty, shiny, long, red hair. And her pretty purple eyes which were always so sharp and intense. It was intruging. But enough of that. What Manatsu was really thinking about – and definitely not Asuka’s nimble hands or her tall, fit physique – was that she wanted to practice saying thank you to her very friend. It was kind of important, after all as Manatsu wasn’t exactly the most patient person in the world so Asuka being that anchor of serenity meant a lot to her. She hadn’t enjoyed a meal like this in so long and being so busy, especially with her own family, which was so much bigger than Manatsu’s, she just had to say thank you.

“Thanks for dinner, dear,” her mother said to her – Manatsu blinked, when had her mother cleared the table like that?! – having finished her plates, “I’ll wash up, if you like, it’s only fair.”

“N-No way!” Manatsu rebuked her, rocketing to her feet, making the dinner table tremble and rock in her wake. “You clean up all the time after all the tropica-shining dinners that you make so its only fair that I clean up after tonight!”

Her mother blinked. She hadn’t expected being roared at but given that Manatsu was offering to do chores, she didn’t mind too much. She laughed and let Manatsu go about to the kitchen to do the clean-up.

Manatsu grabbed all the crockery and cutlery off the table to all but immediately dump it in the sink. She all but ripped the faucet out as she tried to turn it on and was incredibly aggressive as she scrubbed them down with hot, soapy water. But at least the job got done quickly and more surprisingly, thoroughly. Her mother was very impressed to see the various plates sparkle once Manatsu was done with them.

“Good job.” she praised her.

Manatsu sighed. She drooped with exhaustion. “Thanks, Mum.”

“Off to bed now, I take it?” she asked.

Manatsu nodded.

She had wanted to do more but scrub the dishes clean, she wanted to scrub her mind of all her over-thinking. It was totally unlike her, but it was really frazzling her. It was bizarre just how thinking about and daydreaming about thanking Asuka for something so cosmically insignificant in the grand scheme of things was doing this to her. So, just as exuberantly as she had marched to the kitchen, Manatsu marched to her room to go to bed.

Even Laura found it strange.

Manatsu tore off her evening clothes and got into her pyjamas, trying to force her head through her sleeve before realising that she had it around the wrong way – and also inside out.

Laura sighed. Humans were a different species to mermaids, and she found them rather incomprehensible and then there was Manatsu. Manatsu, Laura was fairly certain, was another species against compared to the other humans that she had since had the mixed pleasure of observing since emerging from the depths of the ocean in search of the Pretty Cure.

So, rather than flopping out of the Mermaid Aqua Pot to have some quality time with Manatsu who had finally, blessedly, figured out that her head was not supposed to be going into the sleeve of her sleep shirt, Laura settled back down into her own, clam shell-like bed with Kururun who yammered aloud with happy snoring. Laura felt the same. It had been a long day filled with good food and there was nothing better than going to sleep after a day like that.

Even Manatsu, for all her vigour and boundless enthusiasm, had to agree.

Though, she did wrestle with her sheets and her pillow a lot that night as she tried her very best not to think about how she was over thinking something as simple as wanting to say thank you to Asuka.

To no surprise at all, Manatsu woke up the following morning looking like a visible wreck. She had bags under eyes and the usual pep to her step wasn’t quite there. Fortunately, unlike most people who had had a horrid sleep the night before, Manatsu had the advantage of being Manatsu and by the time she had her breakfast, drunk some water, and brushed her teeth, she had more than perked up.

With little resistance, Manatsu was ready for school so she grabbed the Mermaid Aqua Pot from atop her desk and bolted out the door thereafter. She heard Laura shrieking in protest of being manhandled so carelessly Manatsu hardly cared. It was far too important that she arrived at school early so that she could catch Asuka before classes.

With the Mermaid Aqua Pot stuffed in her schoolbag, Manatsu came flying past the school gates and in the blur of the wind and the scenery, she caught a glimpse of red. Shiny, sparkling red. And her heart leapt to her throat. Asuka.

Manatsu smiled a wriggling smile as she cooled off her hot heels. She swerved hard at the tip of how straightforward careening through the quadrangle so she could catch up to Asuka who was still standing by the gates, looking bewildered and gobdmacked at the tornado that had just past her by.

Manatsu smiled wonkily as she ignored Laura’s complaints about her royal chariot was treating her this morning as she approached Asuka. Stiff-legged and eyes wide.

“Okay…. Someone’s acting a little strange this morning,” Asuka said in lieu of a greeting.

Manatsu laughed, straightening up her back and toying with her hair, all shoddily putt up in her usual ponytail but there was bubbles and streaks amid it. “Good morning, Asuka.” Her tone was dragged on.

“Good morning to you to, Manatsu,” Asuka replied, and she folded her arms, her brow quirked, “I have a feeling you want something from me? Something that can’t wait until club activities, it seems.”

“Yep!” Manatsu chirped. “I, er, wanted to say thank you. For yesterday.”

“Oh, yeah, no worries.” Asuka said and she flashed a simmering smile. “I had fun too, teaching everyone to cook.”

“Oh! Um, not that specifically but thank you again for doing it.” Manatsu said. “I tried it last night. Saving the best ‘til last, that is. And it was super-duper delicious. More delicious than usual. Thank you.”

Asuka’s eyelashes fluttered as she was thanked for such an unusual but small thing. She smiled shyly.

“Thanks, Manatsu, and, um, funnily enough…” Her voice trailed off, so she had to clear her throat. “I tried your style of eating last night too.” She confessed quietly.

“No… way…” Manatsu gasped.

“Yes, way.” Asuka laughed awkwardly. “And it turns out, I do prefer my style of eating my favourite things last but its really cute how you put your passions first rather than making them last. I feel like I understand you a bit better now.”

Manatsu blinked. “Really?”

“Really.” Asuka smiled.

“Thanks…” Manatsu smiled too. A big and huge smile that made her eyes truly shine – and that almost detracted from the fact that her cheeks had gone a bit red too.

“Anyways, I was going to help out with the soccer club this morning, they wanted an extra hand to re-pump up some balls and, well, I couldn’t say no for some reason so if you would excuse me but you did catch me at a good time.” Asuka said.

“Yeah, sure go ahead.” Manatsu replied.

Asuka’s arms slipped down from in front of her, she put one hand on her hip and said, “See you later at club activities. I’m looking forward to them more and more.”

“Me too.” Manatsu agreed eagerly. “See you later.”

Asuka smiled and she nodded her head. She sashayed off and Manatsu watched. She felt her heart throb in her chest and was becoming all too aware of just how red her face was getting. Almost as red as Asuka’s hair, she would reckon.

Sighing, Laura poked her head of both Manatsu’s pocket and the dimensional window of the Mermaid Aqua Pot, “You are behaving rather irregularly this morning, Manatsu, just what has…?” Laura’s voice trailed off as she took note of Manatsu’s demeanour. She nodded her head sagely. “Oh, I see now. Someone’s been pinched by the crab.”

“Huh? What crab?” Manatsu asked, all but jumping out of her skin. She didn’t feel pinched by a crab.

Laura just laughed knowingly. “You know… the crab. The one that makes people behave irregularly, even people like you, Manatsu.”

“I don’t get it.” Manatsu whined.

“In due time,” Laura said, “now don’t you have a classroom to get to? Perhaps some homework to do, I don’t recall you doing any last night and didn’t you mention, the day before, there would be a pop quiz today?”

From one extreme – tomato red – to another – white as a piece of paper – Manatsu’s face changed. She had totally forgotten about that pop quiz; she was originally planning to study last night but then things changed because of the Yarane-da and, of course, because she couldn’t stop thinking about Asuka. Manatsu groaned and felt all her energy deflate.

“Let’s go to the library and study there, yeah?” Manatsu suggested.

“It’s your test, not mine.” Laura pointed out before disappearing back into the depths of her mobile home.

Manatsu then wandered off, just hoping she wouldn’t fail if she threw everything that she could at that test but it sure was weird these past couple days. She was happy too though. She had tried Asuka’s way of eating and apparently Asuka had tried her way, even if it did fail her a bit. It still got her heart racing, perking her up even on the brink of scholastic disaster.

She still didn’t get what Laura meant by being pinched as Manatsu most definitely did not feel pinched. Even in a pinch like this one.

#femslash #tropical rouge pretty cure #precure #tropical rouge #cure summer #cure flamingo #asuka x manatsu #manatsu x asuka #manatsu natsumi #natsumi manatsu #asuka takizawa #takizawa asuka #writing tag #saving the best for last

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buckybarnesthehotshot · 4 years ago

Text

Into The Unknown VI: Sokovia (bucky barnes x f!reader)

series masterlist

series summary: y/n and James are to go on a quest together. Will they return? (fantasy au)

word count:

warnings: swearing, a bit of angst, talks of death, crappy writing, I never proofread anything,

taglist is open

a/n: take a shot everytime the word Sokovia is mentioned in this (there’s a lot of it in this chapter 💀) also reblogging this with tags later

It didn’t take too long for Sokovia to get in the sights of the pair. After all, the neighboring kingdom wasn’t too far and the ship they were on moved faster than the usual ships. y/n wondered if it had anything to do with the more mechanical elements to the ship.

“That’s Sokovia?” James questioned as the beautiful plant-filled kingdom of Sokovia came to view; its agriculture seemingly working with the physical structures the Sokovians built on the land. It was as though they’d found the perfect balance between nature and their structures to create the beauty known as Sokovia.

“Indeed, it is. It’s breathtaking, don’t you think?” y/n questioned, a smile on her face as she leaned ever so slightly on the railing on the deck.

“Now, I realize why you would want to run away to this place; New York is inferior to this kingdom’s surroundings,” James chuckled, his baby blues shining with excitement as they neared the kingdom.

“I wouldn’t call New York inferior, though Sokovia is a beautiful place. I’ll just say that New York has its own advantages, and so does Sokovia. We just have different ways of living as opposed to the way Sokovians live their lives,” y/n shrugged.

“Is that why we’re on the brink of cutting off all political ties with them?” James questioned, a curious expression on his face as y/n chuckled softly in response.

“You could say that, but that would be half the story. Despite the close relations between Wanda, Pietro, and I, their father isn’t too fond of my brother. It may be the gap between their generations, though I can never be too sure. You can never tell with royals,” y/n explained, earning a nod from James as the ship began to slow down.

“How are people in Sokovia? Do their morals differ from our own?” James questioned, his curiosity about Sokovia growing with every word that slipped past the girl’s lips.

“Well, the people here are kind and they enjoy draping themselves in colorful fabric; something you wouldn’t see in New York. In New York, our people tend to turn to more neutral or dark colors, with long sleeves, their boots, and such. In Sokovia, the weather isn’t as brutal as it is in New York, so the people are free to wear anything of their choice,” y/n gave a reminiscent smile, seemingly unable to properly explain the joys she experienced in Sokovia.

“So, how exactly does this ship dock?” James questioned, his brows furrowing as the kingdom’s port began to come into their view. y/n’s eyes widened, she knew nothing about the inner workings of the ship nor did she know how to do anything besides get on it and walk around.

“You see, James, I have no idea,” y/n spoke slowly and nervously. James’ eyes widened in panic, “Perhaps we may find something useful in the ship’s control room, though my brother told me not to fiddle with much there.”

“You should go. I’ll stay here and make sure the ship doesn’t crash into anything—somehow,” James gulped as the ship neared land.

y/n bolted to the space below the deck of the ship and headed to the ship’s control room; a series of buttons, all of which she didn’t know the purpose of. Did her brother not think to tell her about how the ship worked? Granted, she would have not been able to retain the information.

Of course, her brother was smarter than to leave them clueless. A piece of yellowed parchment stood out from all the metallic panels around it. y/n made her way towards it, smiling to herself as she read the note; one written by her brother.

“The red button lowers the anchor. If you don’t see this in time, I really do apologize,” the note read as y/n was quick to get her hands on the button, praying to herself that she’d stopped the ship somewhere near the docks. At this point, she thought to herself whether a self-steering ship was really something she’d prefer over one she knew she had control over.

Sure, she knew not how to captain a ship, but it couldn’t have been as complicated to figure out as the one her brother left her with. She rushed to the deck, smiling at the sight of the ship anchored right next to the dock of Sokovia.

“You figured out how to anchor the ship?” James questioned, an amused smile on his face as he began to set up the bridge between the ship and dock.

“That, I did,” y/n nodded in response as she helped him lift the bridge onto the dock.

“We aren’t going to be gunned down the moment we step foot on Sokovian land, are we?” James questioned nervously, as y/n furrowed her brows before an idea popped into her head.

“Of course, not! That would be preposterous,” y/n chuckled, leaning against the railing of the ship as she made her way off the railing, “James, you don’t happen to know a thing or two about how to keep a ship secure, do you?”

“Perhaps your brother implemented a security measure against that too?” James questioned, his brows furrowing as though he were in deep thought.

“Even if he did, I wouldn’t have a clue. So far, my knowledge of how the ship works is limited. Lowering the anchor is the only thing I know to do,” y/n chuckled.

“You claim you have connections here in Sokovia, do you not? Perhaps you could head to the palace while I guard the ship for now,” James smiled sincerely at y/n, who nodded in response.

“I’ll return as soon as I can,” y/n smiled, making her way off the wooden bridge, the waves shaking it ever so slightly.

She rushed through the ever so familiar path of Sokovia, her feet moving against the gray-bricked paths of the kingdom as the bright sun illuminated the colorful homes of the Sokovian people. As much as she wanted to stop and stroll the kingdom as she’d done multiple times before, she figured the quicker she could get to the castle, the quicker she’d be able to share the beauty of Sokovia with James; something she wished she could do with everybody.

To her, New York was too gloomy for her. She wondered about if the New Yorkers would change should they encounter the Sokovians. Would they change their ways for the better? y/n always found that Sokovia had a certain charm to it; almost as though the land was built on a land of magic and optimism.

“y/n, is that you?” a familiar voice came from behind her. She spun around to face Sam Wilson; the Head of Palace Security of Sokovia. A smile was painted on his face as he didn’t expect to see the h/c-haired girl back in Sokovia after he heard she’d gone back to her home kingdom.

“Actually, yeah. I was making my way to the palace to visit the twins,” y/n chuckled, earning a nod from Sam.

“I could take you there. I was on my way back to the palace, anyways,” Sam smiled down at her before asking, “Why are you back so soon?”

“I’ve been informed of the reason I was called back to the kingdom. My trip back to Sokovia is just somewhat a detour from the path I am to take,” y/n shrugged as Sam’s curiosity grew.

“May I know what the task is, or do I not have the clearance for that information?” Sam quipped, earning a chuckle from y/n.

“Well, it’s a matter of security with the kingdoms, but there would be no harm in letting you in on the secret, would there?” y/n quipped before explaining, “I, along with another troop from the kingdom, will be searching for the Eternals’ Gauntlet in an effort to defeating Thanos.”

“Defeating Thanos? That would be difficult,” Sam chimed in, his mouth agape in shock.

“Immensely. That’s why the gauntlet could be the key to ridding all the kingdoms of him,” y/n nodded.

“If you’re searching for something, why are you on Sokovia? Is it in the royal vault?” Sam questioned, his knowledge of the Gauntlet limited to the stories and rumors that have been circulating the kingdoms since the beginning of time. Many believed the gauntlet to be a myth, but one thing was certain; to come for the Gauntlet would be a death wish.

“No, I just came to say goodbye,” y/n explained, a sad smile on her face. Sam’s eyes widened in realization, knowing the meaning behind y/n’s smile.

“You don’t think you’re going to survive this trip, don’t you?” Sam questioned, a nervous expression on his face.

“How could I? There are the dangerous waters surrounding the island, the sea monster lurking in said waters, the thick forest? It’s practically a guaranteed death,” y/n smiled sadly before nodding to herself, “When we arrive at the palace, would you please send a pair of guards to the docks to fetch my travelling companion. Leave one to guard the ship, and one to bring James to the palace, please.”

“I’ll see to it that it’s done,” Sam nodded as they got through the gates of the palace, now walking through the massive garden owned by the royal family of Sokovia.

“y/n!” a voice exclaimed as she found herself being tacked into a bush, a pair of slender arms wrapped around her shoulders. After the impact, she opened her eyes to see Wanda there, a bashful smile on her face.

“Hey, Wanda. I didn’t think you’d be out in the garden,” y/n chuckled, getting up and wiping the dirt and grass off her tunic and trousers.

“Things in the palace have gotten quiet without you around, so I figured I’d take a stroll outside,” Wanda shrugged, “Well, you’ve returned, so there’s no need for me to be outside again!”

y/n knew her friend despised leaving the comforts of the palace. Wanda preferred to spend most of her time indoors, away from the scorching sun.

“Well, I won’t be here long, I just came for a visit,” y/n shrugged, earning a look from Wanda.

“Don’t tell me you actually plan on staying longer in New York! y/n, of all places, why would you choose to stay in that miserable kingdom!” Wanda huffed, pretending to faint at her own mention of New York.

“Wanda, first off, it was the kingdom I was born into and I am, for now, second in line for the throne there. And second, trust me, I’d rather spend my time in Sokovia if I had a choice,” y/n chuckled as Wanda’s brows furrowed in concern.

“Please, don’t tell me Anthony plans to step down from his position as king. You and I both know the crown would weigh heavy on your head as queen,” Wanda chimed in, a worried, but knowing expression on her face.

“y/n? Queen? We should be worried if that ever happens,” a voice chimed in from behind the pair. Pietro, Wanda’s twin brother, stood there, smiling down at the pair.

“I’d make a better ruler than you ever would, Pietro,” y/n chuckled, ruffling his gray hair with her fingers, earning a scowl from the prince.

“Seeing as you already told your people you would never take the crown, there would be no way for us to figure out who the better ruler would be,” Pietro shrugged, earning a chuckle from y/n.

“Unless, of course, you both marry each other in an attempt to stop father from waging war against New York,” Wanda suggested bashfully as both y/n and Pietro shook their heads.

“Me? Marry Pietro? That’s unlikely,” y/n chuckled before her face fell as she got ready to drop the news on the twins, “It’s not like I’ll be living much longer, anyways.”

“y/n, what do you mean?” Wanda questioned, her brows furrowing with concern.

“I was called back to New York so my brother could send me off on a ship to an island near Asgard in search of—” y/n tried to explain slowly and vaguely, only to be interrupted by Pietro.

“The Eternals’ Gauntlet,” Pietro whispered softly, his expression hardening at the thought of the Gauntlet itself.

“Mhm,” y/n hummed lowly in response as confusion grew on Wanda’s face.

“The Eternals’ Gauntlet? Like the one mother used to tell us about in our younger years? I thought that was a myth,” Wanda’s lips pursed together as she couldn’t find the words to express her feelings.

“Well, it exists,” Pietro spoke slowly.

“Why is it that nobody’s come for it yet? Surely, an object so powerful would have many attempt to pursue it,” Wanda’s brows furrowed in confusion.

“Many have tried. They perished,” y/n chuckled nervously as Wanda’s eyes widened in concern.

“y/n, why is it that your brother’s sending you to collect the gauntlet?” Pietro questioned, concern also laced in his features.

“Thanos has been a prominent threat to the kingdoms. My brother fears our troops may not be able to handle the battle that would ensue if he made his way to New York,” y/n explained nervously, earning a nod from Pietro.

“Can we at least discuss this over a meal?” Wanda chimed in, finally figuring out the reasoning behind y/n’s visit.

“I’ll meet you in the palace. I just need to wait for my travelling companion, since I had Sam call for him,” y/n explained, earning a nod of understanding from the twins as they headed into the palace to request for the staff to prepare a table for them to talk.

It didn’t take long for Sam to return with James in tow. The pair seemed to even get along quite swimmingly as they chatted their way into the gates of the palace.

“What are you doing in the grass?” Sam questioned, raising a brow at y/n as he saw the girl sitting there as though in deep thought.

“Waiting for you both,” y/n shrugged, pulling herself off the ground and sending James a smile.

“You could’ve waited inside the palace, you know that, right?” Sam questioned, a chuckle erupting from his throat.

“Well, I guess I’d rather be in this marvelous garden then indoors,” y/n shrugged as she made her way into the palace, the guards and staff greeting her with a slight nod of their heads. They all knew who she was. After all, when she chose to stay in Sokovia, she frequented the palace because Wanda didn’t want to leave to visit the inn she’d stayed in.

“She seems rather familiar with her surroundings here,” James commented, earning a chuckle from Sam as he shrugged.

“An outsider could mistake her for one of the heirs to the Sokovian throne with how often she was in the palace,” Sam explained, earning a nod from James, “I couldn’t blame her, though. Sokovia is far better compared to New York.”

“As a New Yorker, I’d like to disagree, but from what I’ve seen so far, Sokovia is rather impressive,” James smiled, still taking in his surroundings. The royal palace of Sokovia was grand; so grand, in fact, that the chandeliers on the ceiling made it appear as though the ceiling was dripping with diamonds, which he’d never seen in the palace of New York. Not even the Princess’ bedroom (which he’d only seen once) could compare to how lavish the marble hall they were walking in was.

“Princess y/n, Princess Wanda and Prince Pietro requested that I escort you to the private dining area,” a staff member, clad in a blue uniform with her hair tied up in an elegant-looking bun, informed them, earning a smile from y/n.

“Of course. Thank you,” y/n nodded as she followed after the woman, both Sam and James still in tow as they followed her.

“Travelling companion, huh?” Wanda smirked as y/n, James, and Sam entered the room, the unfamiliar brunette immediately catching Wanda’s interest.

“Don’t do that,” y/n chuckled as Wanda motioned for them to take a seat at the lavish marble table, plates of steaming food on the plates set up in front of the seat. James stood frozen in his place, unsure with whether or not he should take a seat or just stand by the door.

“Are you not going to take a seat?” Wanda questioned, turning to face Bucky with her blue eyes studying his expression. Then she turned to y/n who was already settling into the comforts of the plush velvet dining chair, “And are you not going to introduce your travelling companion to us?”

“James, get over here, you’re a guest too,” y/n insisted, motioning for James to take the seat next to her. He hesitated, only really making his way to the table when Sam gave him a small nudge as he motioned towards the seat too, “James, I’d like you to meet Prince Pietro and Princess Wanda of Sokovia.”

“Oh, it’s an honor, your highness,” James’ eyes widened as he rushed to take a bow in front of the pair after he was seated.

“Both of you, please, eat up, we all have a lot to talk about,” Wanda insisted. y/n had no hesitation as she began cutting into the cooked meat she was served on her plate. She found it rather amazing how the kitchen staff managed to pull together a meal within minutes of her arrival to the palace.

“James, are you not hungry? I could always take your food if you don’t have much of an appetite,” Pietro grinned, practically eyeing the plate of food in front of James.

“Oh—” James started to tell Pietro he could have the food before he was cut off by Wanda.

“Pietro, let the man eat,” Wanda rolled her eyes, smacking Pietro’s shoulder before turning to James, “Please, eat. Being stuck on a ship with y/n must have been exhausting.”

“That was rude,” y/n mumbled under her breath before also turning to face James, “Seriously, though, eat. I believe we left rather early, and I’m assuming you didn’t have much time to eat breakfast either.”

And with her words, he timidly took the fork as he began to indulge in the food presented in front of him by the Sokovians.

#bucky #bucky barnes #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes au #winter solider imagine #winter solider x you #winter soldier #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier imagine

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all1e23 · 6 years ago

Text

Swallow [Pt.3]

Chapter: Scorched Hearts

Pairings: Bucky x Reader

Summary: Old feelings can burn you no matter how deep they are buried.

Warnings: Possessive Bucky. Protective Clint. Protective Steve. Angst. Bucky being soft and a little bit of a jerk. He’s a jerk, but a soft jerk.

A/N: The long awaited chapter! Sorry, this took so long, but it’s finally here. Not a whole lot of happiness in this chapter, but I hope you still like! Send me love???

***My fics are not to be saved or posted on any other sites without my written permission. Reblogs are my jam though! Thanks!*

Last night had not gone as anyone had hoped it would.

Clint assumed getting you and Bucky in the same room would have led to some type of resolution, some sort of admission of love or hate. At this point he would take either, he was so tired of seeing you hurt. After you spent the night avoiding Bucky and then bolted out the front door without so much as a goodbye, Clint realized his usual ‘meddling brother’ antics weren’t going to work.

It wasn’t just Clint that was disappointed with how the night played out. Bucky had been confident it would only take seeing each other once to get the two of you on the road to recovery. That the pull between the two of you was still as strong as ever and you wouldn’t need more than one night to realize all the mistakes you both made. He would apologize and everything would right as rain.

Just like always.

This time was different though, and it wasn’t going to be like before.

Before you showed up that night, Natasha had tried to warn him it wouldn’t be that simple. Not with everything the two of you went through and not after the way you ran, determined to get as far away from him as you could. There wasn’t going to be an easy fix this time around. It wasn’t as if you fought over some run he had to go on or missing a date because of club business. If he wanted you back, it would take more than honeyed whispers in your ear.

Knowing all of that, a part of him still hoped when you finally laid eyes on him again, there would have been some indication that you loved him the way he loved you. All he saw was your naked wrist and all the pain you were trying so desperately to hide from him. You’ve never had to hide from him before, and he didn’t want you to start now.

The only person who knew exactly how last night was going to play out, was you. You knew your night was going to end in whiskey and tears the second you laid eyes on him. The headache and nausea you were feeling this morning were a result of not listening to your gut and staying as far away from the club and Bucky Barnes as you could.

Clint eyed you, humor dancing in his baby blues and a soft chuckle slipping from his lips as you stumbled out of your bedroom towards the coffee pot. You glared at him as you poured yourself a cup and attempted to smooth your hair down with your free hand.

“Shut up, or I will disown you, brother.”

The loud rumble of a bike grew louder and came to a stop, from the sounds of it they stopped in your driveway. You quirked a brow at your brother who gave you a tentative smile as he set his own coffee cup down.

“I think this one’s for you.” He quipped.

“Me?” You asked. “What do you mean for me?”

“I don’t know, sis.” He replied, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Maybe something to do with drinking and driving, something like that might piss some people off.” He was still upset about last night, and you were guessing whoever was at the door was too.

You narrowed your eyes at him as a heavy-handed fist rapped against the front door. Clint walked towards the front door, and your eyes fell to your wrist, your tattoo was out in the open this morning, you quickly tugged the sleeves of Clint’s hoodie down and crossed your arms over your chest, grimacing at the state of you. Black leggings and an old Barnes Mechanics hoodie. That will make him regret leaving you. You had set your cup down on the counter and looked up right as Bucky stepped into the house and your heart stuttered just from the sight of him.

Stupid heart.

There were a few seconds of shared whispered between the two men and Bucky even chuckled at something Clint said, but you knew it was forced. You knew him better than anyone. Maybe even better than Steve.

Some parts of you are only meant to be seen by the other half of your heart.

His eyes landed you, and Bucky patted Clint’s shoulder on the blonds' way onto the porch. He stepped around Clint and heading straight towards you as he pulled his gloves off. Bucky always looked good but the way his black jeans were hanging low on his hips, his leather zipped tight around his chest. It was making your body tremble with want, you leaned back against the counter kitchen counter to keep yourself steady.

By the look in his eyes, Bucky wasn’t there because he was happy to see you -- this wouldn’t be a friendly visit.

“To what do I owe the honor of your presence this early morning, vice president?” The venom lacing your words would have cut him, deeply, but he was too pissed to be stung by your callous words. The second he saw you storming out of the clubhouse, Bucky had tried calling you. He spent the rest of his night trying to get you to answer your phone. Clint had tried. Natasha had tried. You refused to answer anyone and when Clint finally got fed up and came home to check on your you were passed out next to a bottle of Jack.

Bucky wasn’t too happy with you this morning.

“What the hell are you doing driving drunk?” Bucky asked, ignoring your dig at his patch. The very same patch he took for you, not that you knew that and maybe you didn’t even care.

“You know better than to drink and drive. If you’re gonna drink, I could have taken you home. Or Peter. Or Tony. How about your brother? Forget about Clint?”

“Oh, for Christ's sake.” You grumbled under your breath. “I wasn’t drunk. I had two shots. I’ve watched you drink a hell of a lot more and drive your bike. With me on the back might I add.”

“That’s different!” Bucky shouted. “I know you're safe then! I called you probably fifty times to make sure you were okay, and you wouldn’t answer your damn phone, Y/n!”

“Of course I didn’t answer! I’m not yours!” You shouted back. “You don’t get to come in here and yell at me because something didn’t go your way. If you wanted a say in my life, you shouldn’t have pushed me away!”

Bucky’s mouth set in a thin line and you knew he was holding back, there was something he wanted to say, but he wasn’t going to say it while Clint was on the front porch possibly listening to every word that the two of you were spewing at each other. He took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair. Bucky needed to calm down. This wasn’t going to be the way he won you back, and he knew that.

“I don’t want to fight with you, Y/n.” He conceded, observing you. Looking for any hint at what you’re feeling.

“Then what are doing here?”

“You left yesterday because…” He sighed and stepped closer to you, shifting from one foot to the other. He wasn’t sure if he should just blurt it out or be delicate. He was having a hard time reading you, and he hated it. He’s never had that problem before. He’s always known what you were thinking, how to talk to you and since you’ve been home, everything has been different.

You’ve been different.

“What’s the matter? Hard to say it to my face?” You asked, jealousy souring your words. “Guess it’s easier when she’s curled up on your lap, and you can’t see my face because your head is buried in her tits, huh?” You could hear how jealous you sounded the more you went on and judging by the smirk on Bucky’s face he heard it too.

Dumb handsome jerk!

“If you would have stuck around instead of letting your jealousy get the best of you, you would have witnessed me pushed her off my lap.” He leaned forward closing the small distance that separated you and bumped his nose against yours, whispering. “I’ve got no interest in anyone curling up on my lap but you, pretty girl.”

“Sure have a funny way of showing it.” You murmured back, voice cracking as you placed your hand on his leather-covered chest.

“Give me a break!” Bucky groaned and took a step back from you, giving you the space you wanted. “I was a kid, and you were asking a lot of a twenty-two-year-old that was just handed a shit ton of responsibility overnight.”

“You asked first if I recall.” You blew out a shaky breath and met his eyes. “Doesn’t matter now, does it?”

“It sure as hell does matter! You’re still hurt and I--” He stopped himself, reminding himself to calm down before he said something he was going to regret. His nerves were getting the best of him again. That’s the way it’s always been with you. The more time he spends wrapped up in you, the more he begins to unravel. How was he supposed to make you see how sorry he was, how right you were for each other if you kept looking at him like you that?

As if you wanted to be around anyone, anything but him.

“I don’t wanna talk about the damn club girl. I’m not interested in her. I’m only interested in you and how to fix us. How to get you back.” He reached out and grabbed your arm tugging you back against him.

“You really need me to say it?” He asked in a soft whisper.

You were so close to him you had to tilt your head back to meet his eyes. You shrug slightly in response, not sure if you wanted to hear what he was about to say or not.

His forehead rested against yours anchoring himself in your eyes and trying to gather some semblance of strength. It didn’t use to be this hard to talk to you, but after everything, it seemed some things were going to take longer to restore.

“You’re still my swallow, pretty girl.” He breathed, his eyes locked on yours, glimmering with his nerves. “I should’ve run after you. I was a fuckin’ dumbass, baby. I knew it was a mistake the second you walked out of the door, but I was a stubborn dick. I thought I was doing what was right by you.”

“What does that mean? Doing right by me?” You asked, confused. That didn’t make any sense at all. How could hurting you the way he did have been doing what was right by you?

“I--” Bucky froze. Regret filling his features as he realized what he let slip. He didn’t want to get into that now. He couldn’t tell you like this, not when Clint was hanging around and who knew where Natasha was spying from.

“We can talk about that another day, babydoll.” Of course, you could. After he had time to fabricate some pathetic tale to try and trick you into forgiving him. There was nothing to talk about, and you knew that. You shook your head and took a step back from him forcing his hands off of you.

It was all just sweet words and utter bullshit.

“You know, I think my schedule is fully booked. I won’t have the time. You should take that little girl of yours out and tell her all your lies. She looked like a good time. I especially liked the ‘biker slut’ stamped on her lower back. Your daddy would be so proud of you.” You hated what everything you were saying. The thought of him touching someone else made you sick but you were angry and hurt, and it fell out of your mouth without a second thought. The flash anger that filled Bucky’s eyes let you know you went too far, bringing his dad into this stupid, pointless fight pushed Bucky over the edge and right into pissed off.

Bucky nodded towards your sweater covered wrist, hiding the pain behind his anger, he snapped. “Since you removed your tattoo I guess I’m free to do what I want, huh? Maybe I will. I wonder what her ass would look like with a swallow on it.”

Silence filled the house as his words hung in the air and settled over both of you. He wanted to take it back. God, did he want to take it back the moment he said it but seeing those tears in your eyes? That was too much for him to take. Damn, he hated making you cry, and it’s happened more often than he would like to admit.

“Y/n--”

“I’m sure you two will be really happy together.” You stuttered as tears spilled over onto your cheeks. “I hope she handles your bullshit better than I could.”

“Darlin’.” He reached out for your wrist, but you pulled away before he ever got close to touching you and he sighed. “You know I didn’t mean that. No one else--”

“Please just leave, James.” You mumbled, bottom lip trembling as you tried to hold back your tears, not wanting him to have the satisfaction of knowing he can still make you cry after all this time.

James. It was like ice in his veins. He hated the way it sounded on your lips. It sounded wrong, and he would do just about anything to take the pain and anger out of your voice. There was no chance to fix what he had done, to apologize. You were gone, hiding away in your room before he could blink.

“Fuck me.” He groaned as he bounded out of the house, avoiding eye contact with Clint on his way out the door. Bucky knew he heard everything that was said the second he saw how tense Clint was leaning against the porch railing. Clint crossed his arms over his chest as Bucky stomped down the front steps towards his bike.

“Way to fuckin’ go man. That how you won her over the first time?” He called after him, his voice was light and full of snark, but Bucky could hear the malice under all of it.

“Shut it, Clint.” He snapped, slipping his gloves on and straddling his bike. He took a chance and looked up to meet Clint’s eyes. He ignored the angry dwelling in them and nodding towards the house. “Go check on her, please. I-- make sure she knows I didn’t mean it. There’s never been anyone but her. Never will be anyone but her.”

Clint’s eyes softened, only a fraction but they did soften.“Yeah, I know man. Everyone knows it’s only ever been Y/n.” He eyed the brunet and finally asked the question everyone has been thinking since you came home. “You thinkin’ she can save your broken ass?”

“She’s the only one that can save me, Clint,” Bucky replied instantly. No hesitation, because he knew without a doubt it was true. He didn’t need to think about it. You were the only one that could bring him back from the shell of a man he’s become.

“Listen, I’ll see you at chapel in a few hours. Steve wants everyone in. We’ve got some shit to talk about.” His wrist flexed slightly, and the bike roared to life under him, ending the interrogation Clint had started only a moment ago.

“Buck?” Clint shouted over the rumble of his bike, waiting till he got the taller man's attention before continuing. “You make her cry like that again, and you and I are gonna have a problem. I won’t be bringing it to the table. We clear?”

He gave a curt nod and pulled out of the driveway without another word. He had no intention of making you cry again, threat or not.

“Bug?” Clint knocked on your door and slowly nudged it open, not waiting for an answer. He had planned on asking if it was okay to come in, making sure you even wanted company, but the second he saw you laying on your bed with tears streaming down your face, he didn’t care if you wanted him there or not. He was by your side in a flash and collapsed next to you in bed, pulling you into his arms and letting you hide your tears in his shirt.

“It’s okay, bug.” He cooed softly in your ear. “I’m right here. Let it all out. It’s gonna be okay.”

“He asked me you know? Five years ago he asked me and now look at us.” Your voice was already hoarse from how raw your throat had gotten, and it only made Clint’s urge to beat Bucky into the ground that much stronger. It took a lot for him to keep his voice neutral, if you thought he was upset with Bucky, it would only add to what you were feeling -- and truthfully, he was worried you would run again. That was the last thing Clint wanted.

He could keep his anger in check for you.

“Asked you what bug?” He pushed gently after you fell silent. He wasn’t sure what you were mumbling through all your tears, but you certainly had his attention.

You sniffled, stuttered and sucked in a trembling breath as you attempted to calm yourself enough to answer. Every time you thought you were relaxed enough to answer another wave of sadness would rush over you, your mind racing to thoughts of who Bucky was with and where he went when he drove off, leaving you behind once again. You choked out another soft sob hiding your face in Clint’s shirt, trying your best to avoid crying all over his leather.

He wouldn’t care if you did, he only wanted to help and if that meant ruining his leather then so be it.

“Talk to me, Y/n,” Clint begged as your silent sobs continued. “I’m freaking out here. I want to help, but I don’t know how, sis.”

A small smile tugged at your lips as you tightened your hold on the fabric that was twisted in your fist, stretching and wrinkling his shirt. It took a few more minutes of stuttering breaths before you were able to stop your tears and put yourself in the right headspace to answer him.

“Right-- right before dad died Bucky asked me to marry him. He told me to take the weekend to think about it because it would be a big deal, being married to the club president and then the accident happened--” You blew out a shaky breath and wiped the few stray tears away.

“--And, well, here we are.”

Clint closed his eyes and leaned his cheek on top of your head. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but he was right to give you time to think bug. You just lost dad, and Buck just took over the club a few months before that. I’m guessing he didn’t like that you said no? Is that why you left? He gave you ‘it’s all or nothin’’ speech, and you ran?”

Oh, how you wished that was how it all happened.

“I said yes.” You whispered so softly Clint wasn’t even sure he heard you right, but the second he saw those tears returning and spilling over onto your cheeks he knew he had. You had said yes to marrying Bucky. That didn’t help explain what happened, it only added to his confusion.

“You said yes? Then why did you leave? Did he -- did he sleep with one of the girls or something?” Clint’s brain was going a thousand miles a minute. He was replaying that night in his head. You were clinging to Buck all night like you had since your dad died. Then you two disappeared. Next thing he knew you had taken off with Nat and Steve sent Clint home to check on you. You could have easily caught him with someone else before you had a chance to tell him yes.

“He’s never cheated on me. Bucky wouldn’t cheat on me.”

Clint blew out a breath and tightened his arms around you as the tension eased out of him. He loved Buck like a brother so it would be a shame if he had to beat the life out of him for cheating on his sister.

“What happened, bug? Did you change your mind after dad?”

You shook your head. It wasn’t the whole story. It was enough for now, and you were too tired to talk anymore today.

--------

Natasha somehow managed to calm Clint down before he went to meet the club for chapel. You hadn’t been in the room, but you had heard her soft, soothing whispers, telling him to calm down and remember that mistakes were made by more than one person and Bucky wasn’t entirely at fault. You weren’t sure if she was referring to you or to Steve, but either way, it didn’t matter who she was blaming. She was right. The things you did, the choices you made that night, all of it was worse than what Bucky did. You let your anger and your pride rule your decisions, and it left you alone and heartbroken.

If you had just taken a few minutes to really think about things and the consequences of your actions, maybe you could have fixed things before they spiraled out of control. Perhaps you wouldn’t have lost Bucky entirely if you had just talked to him instead of listening to all those prideful whispers in your head.

Placing blame and pointing fingers was pointless now and it wouldn’t have made a difference who was more at fault. None of that would change the outcome. It looked as if the two of you were destined to end up here, broken and in love with a reality neither of you could have.

You had spent the afternoon sulking in your room when Natasha had stormed up, yanked you up out of bed and handed you a list of things they needed from the market. She had to get to the club and Clint was out of coffee, if that wasn’t rectified by morning, there would be chaos in the Barton house. You had a feeling Natasha was only forcing you out of the house in an attempt to stop your moping.

It sorta worked not that you would ever tell her that. You had picked up several bottles of wine, grabbed Clint’s coffee and were now staring at the stacks and stacks of baked goods in the bakery. Maybe some chocolate treats will keep Clint calm and prevent him from killing the man you love. Or, loved? Whatever he was to you at that moment.

“Hey.” A deep voice called out to you from across the pile of brownies, stopping your internal debate over fudge covered brownies or cookies and cream, you glanced up and found Eddie Brock smiling at you over the stack of baked goods, no leather this time, but he still looked handsome.

“Y/n, right?” He asked, charming grin in full effect.

“Yeah, Y/n.”

You gave him a small smile in return and gestured to your own face, referencing his split lip and busted nose. You winced when you noticed the deep bruising around his nose and just how deep the cut on his lip was. Bucky had not held back in the slightest by the looks of things.

“I’m sorry about that. I feel like that’s kinda my fault.” You confessed softly. He chuckled and shrugged it off as if it was nothing that his nose probably needed to be reset thanks to her overprotective boyfriend-- or, ex-boyfriend.

“It’s okay.” He said, sporting an easy smile. “I should have known someone as pretty as you wouldn’t be single. Of course, your old man had to be the crazy hothead of the group. Just my luck.”

What is with bikers, hm? Did they all think these stupid lines turned women into a whimpering mess? There was only one man that could turn you into a whimpering mess, and he certainly didn’t need to use a cheesy line to do so.

Still, this one was kind of cute. He was no James Barnes but he was cute.

“He’s not actually mine.” Eddie raised his brow, and you shrugged in response. “It’s a long story, but you should know I’m not really available either.”

Because your heart belonged to someone else even if you didn’t want to admit that out loud and that was not something he needs to know. The fact of the matter was, Bucky still very much occupied your head and your heart. There wasn’t room for anyone else, no matter how cute.

“If it hadn’t of been Buck, my brother would have kicked your ass.”

“Damn. The blonde with the purple bike right?” You nodded, and he grinned playfully as he flexed for you. “I’m pretty tough. You’re counting me out that easy? You think he could kick my ass?”

“I mean, yeah.” You grinned. “My brother is a badass. How do you think I got to be this amazing?”

He dropped his arm and leaned over the table, cocky grin curling up the edge of his lips and whispering only loud enough for you and the baked goods to hear, “Pretty sure you got there on your own. No man helped you get where you are.”

And, that was the first time your heart had flipped for someone that wasn’t Bucky Barnes. You weren’t sure how you felt about that, but you weren’t given a chance to linger on the thought for long.

“Y/n.” Steve’s sharp voice cut through the air and silenced the conversation. He walked over to stand next to you and crossed his arms over his broad chest. “Eddie.” He narrowed his eyes at the shorter man. “I think it’s time you move along. She’s spoken for.”

You meet Eddie’s eyes, your apology was written in them along with an ‘i told you so.’

Eddie’s eyes flicked from yours back to Steve’s, and you knew he was about to say something stupid. “I think she can make her own decisions, Rogers. We aren’t in your clubhouse. You don’t have jurisdiction here.”

You winced at his choice of words. Yep. Something stupid.

That wasn’t going to go over well at all. Steve dropped his arms and pushed you behind him as if he was protecting you from something, he leaned over the stack of packaged muffins and brownies glaring hard at the other man. “Leave. Now.” He growled. “Stay away from Y/n. If I see you around her again, I’ll show you just how far my jurisdiction goes.”

Thankfully Eddie had the good sense to shut his mouth and walk away. No one wanted to cause a scene in the middle of the market. Might have had something to do with that fact that there were three other club members parked right outside ready to jump up and stand by their president’s side.

Odds weren’t exactly in Eddie’s favor.

“What the hell are you doing?” Steve snipped at you once they were alone. He must have lost in damn mind in the last five years if Steve thought he could talk to you like you’re just another club girl. He knew better.

“Excuse me?” You snapped back and lifted up your basket full of food. “I was trying to buy some chocolate chip muffins and brownies because Clint can’t eat anything healthy, but apparently I can’t get away from asshole bikers no matter where I go.”

He looked like he was about to yell at you, but you stepped forward, lowering your voice, “I’d watch what you’re about to say, Steven Grant.” He took a deep breath and ran his hand through his hair, anger flashed in his eyes for just a second before they settled back to their standard, calmer blue.

“Did you forget the rules? What’s expected of you?” He asked, tone gentler than it had been a moment ago, but it was the meaning behind the words, not the tone. You narrowed your eyes at the man before you. He wasn’t Steve right now, he was the club president, and you had no patience for the MC president.

“No. I haven’t forgotten. I’m not trying to date anyone let alone date another biker.” You hissed back at him. “I haven’t forgotten anything, Steven. Have you forgotten? Or are you just planning on hiding your bullshit lies from everyone, Bucky included?”

“Y/n--” He sighed, and his whole frame softened as he pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. It’s more complicated than you realize and you won’t fully understand until you talk to Buck. Actually, sit down and talk to him.”

This wasn’t the first time someone had told you to talk to Bucky since you’ve been home and frankly, you were done with all the secrets and all the bullshit. What the hell was everyone talking about? How could it more complicated than it already was?

“Why don’t you come by and at least listen to him.” Steve nudged you with a sly grin on his face.“Clint said your car was acting up, the guys can work on it for free and the two of you can talk. Clear the air.”

“With everyone watching? No thanks.”

“Well...” He bent down and whispered, “You could let Buck take you for a ride. I know how much you like being on the back of his bike.” Steve grinned as your eyes went wide and you shifted your feet nervously.

“Pretty sure he missed it more.” Added Steve at sight of your nerves.

You had missed it. A lot. More than the bike you just missed being close to Bucky like that, being able to wrap your arms around him as tight as you wanted, the way you could nuzzle your nose into the crook of his neck, and slip one hand into his open shirt so it could rest against his skin right over his heart.

Despite how much your heart ached to go back and have all of that again, you weren’t sure that was even an option anymore. Especially after this morning.

“Look, I’ll think about it okay?” You said as you punched his arm lightly. “But you can’t just scare away every man that dares to talk to me. He was only being friendly, and it’s kind of my fault he’s going to need some rhinoplasty.”

Steve snorted and shook his head. “Bucky would disagree with you. Stay away from Eddie Brock.” He ordered, going serious again. “He’s not a good guy like you think he is and we both know if Buck had seen you two talking, it wouldn’t have ended so civilly.”

You couldn’t argue with that.

“I’ll make sure the club girls are gone this time.” He said with that dumb know it all smirk.

“Jesus.” You breathed in annoyance. “Don’t you two have a club to run instead of spending your days gossiping? Does he tell you everything?”

Steve’s grin widened as he walked past her towards the registers. “Oh,” He shouted back at you. “Nice tattoo.”

You look down at your wrist at the completely visible swallow, flashing like a neon sign on your wrist. You close your eyes at the sound of Steve’s deep chuckle. “Talk to him, Y/n. What the two of you had doesn’t simply go away because you ran away, and I think we both know that.”

Steve was a giant jerk, you’ve officially decided. A giant jerky jerk face. You had no idea why you ever liked him. You open eyes and look back down at the swallow on your wrist. You would never admit it to his smug face, but Steve was right. Feelings like yours don’t just vanish because you begged and pleaded with your heart.

Five years was long enough.

It was time to clear the air and put all of this behind you.

You both deserved the truth, and you were going to get it out of him if it killed you.

Previous // Next

#bucky barnes x reader #biker!bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #james bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #biker!bucky #biker!au #mc!bucky #mc!au #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n

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whirlybirbs · 6 years ago

Note

Arthur teaching miss turner how to shoot. lots of physical contact. please this has been on my brain all day

a/n: here’s some fucking sexual tension between the dorks. arthur shows miss turner how to shoot. there’s touching involved. it’s hard to keep a level head when you’re in deep. wanna read more about these two? here’s the masterlist!

"I dunno about this, Arthur.”

After the robbery in Valentine, Dutch urges everyone to lay low for a week -- long enough for the law to snuff out and long enough for the stacks of money to be put somewhere safe. Seven days of silence should be plenty to keep them on-top of the game and out of the grip of the folks looking for them.

Seven days of nothing, more like it.

No trips, no heists, no nothing -- just a whole lot of heat, complaining and chores.

So, you’re bounding with excitement when Arthur approaches you one evening, cocking back the hammer on his bolt action rifle and asking Miss Grimshaw if he can steal you away for a bit.

“M’ takin’ her shootin’,” Arthur says to Bill as you both wander out to the far side of camp, “So don’t come runnin’ when you hear the shots, got it?”

The sun, still high in the sky for the later hour, has started to cool the land by now -- even in your lightest chemise and cotton skirt, you’d been drenched in sweat all day -- so you’re beyond excited to just... walk and feel the breeze that seems more prevalent in the surrounding woods than at camp.

Arthur’s not far off, sleeves rolled up high on his forearms and hat abandoned back in his tent. The pink glow along his cheeks and nose call to the chores he’d been doing all day -- hauling hay and seed and water pails back and forth for hours at a time in the sun.

(You’d been caught watching twice by Mary-Beth, much to your dismay.)

And now, here you are, measuring the weight of a revolver as Arthur swings his rifle over his back and drops a hand to his belt. The other drags the last of his cigarette from his lips, dropping it to the wet ground and stomping it out.

“Ah, yer alrigh’. Jus’... get used t’ the weight,” he says patiently, stepping closer and nudging your shoulder with his own. He pulls another from his holster, turning it over in his hand and demonstrating where your fingers fall, “Hold it like this.”

You watch, blinking down at his calloused hands, and try and mimic the same hold yourself. The pistol fits oddly in your own hands; you have hands meant more for sewing and piano than gun-slinging. In Arthur’s, it’s like second nature.

“Remind me why we’re doing this...?” you mutter, pulling your lip between your teeth as you try and hold it right.

“Because,” Arthur says warmly, dropping his pistol back into his holster and moving to manually pluck at your fingers, moving them into the right places. It feels better already. He leans in, brows raised and eyes amused, “I may not always be around t’ protect you, Miss High-Society.”

“How kind of you.”

You roll your eyes and Arthur barks out a bit of laughter. It’s softer, lacking his usual dosage of bitterness. He crosses his arms again, moving to prop his boot up on a fallen log. The outlaw gives a little shrug, letting his head loll to the side as you turn to admiring the pistol again.

“M’ serious,” he drawls, “I want you t’ be safe -- an’ that means you gotta learn how t’ protect yerself, especially if yer stickin’ around.”

"Where on Earth do you think I would go?” you ask honestly, eyes catching him with a curious look, “Timbuktu?”

Arthur shrugs again -- this time that fleeting feeling of hopelessness crawls into his chest, burrowing deep into a home it’s already made. He searches for the right words for a beat... Then, exhales long and hard. He throws his hands, moving to toe at the stump’s roots.

“I dunno, back t’ yer high-society ways?”

“Arthur,” you urge gently, “I’m past that.”

He blinks up at you, scratching at the stubble along his cheek. Your expression is set in sincerity, one that he wants so desperately to trust -- but that biting, nagging, hollow feeling (the one that always lasts longer than the promises) doesn’t let him.

"If I wanted to go back home,” you say, moving to step closer among the underbrush, “I would have left with Jenny... you know that, right?”

A nod of his head. “I know -- guess I can’t trust easily is all.”

You watch his face for a moment, watching the way his eyes get a little sad and his gaze drops again. Arthur chews the inside of his cheek, leaving you to anchor yourself in his silence. You wonder, bitterly, if all these walls were built by the same woman he mentioned all those nights ago -- the one who’d left him for something better, only to crawl on back. You wonder if Arthur Morgan, before all this, did trust easy -- if loved hard and true without the kick back.

It makes you angry.

“I hope someday,” you say finally, prodding at his chest, “you will trust me when I say I’m stayin’ for the long haul... Not today, not tomorrow, but... when you’re ready, Mr. Morgan.”

Like a wild horse, he calms -- and comes right back to you.

He smiles, nudging your shoulder gently with his own before swinging his finger in the direction of the crumbling wall by the lakeside. He skirts around the topic at hand, a sore subject no doubt, in favor of the bottles lined up along the stones -- tall ones and round ones and skinny ones.

"In th’ meantime --” he calls out, “M’ gonna teach you how t’ shoot.”

In half a blink, he’s pulled his pistol from his holster, cocked the hammer back and pulled the trigger, sending the nearest bottle to the end off in an explosion of glass. The sound echoes through the trees of the lakeside forest, scaring the ever loving daylights out of you as you yelp and jump in the air.

It’s pure showmanship.

“Show off.”

Arthur laughs, flourishing a bit as he drops his pistol back in it’s holster. He steps forward then, pointing at a spot next to him a few paces. Shaking your head, you step up reluctantly, still gingerly holding the pistol the same way he’d moved your fingers to.

“C’mon, then,” he waves, “Aim.”

You raise your arm.

Immediately, his hand is on your shoulder.

(You suddenly remember the slip of his thumb against your hip-bone the other night at the fire. You remember the burning trail it had left, sparking a wildfire that engulfed you entirely from a touch innocent and honest. This burns just as much, if not worse, without the slickness of brandy to make it seem accidental.)

The hold is gentle as he steps around you, guiding your posture into one that’s upright and confident. For a man who robs and kills, he is nearly delicate with his touch -- not that it isn’t calculated in every way.

In fact, Arthur is overthinking it.

“You, uh,” he rumbles, “You wanna feel solid. Stand yer ground.”

You exhale, trying to relieve some of the tension that builds in your shoulders as his hand passes the expanse of your upper-back -- he lays his hand flat there, right in the center, and the warmth of the gesture nearly swallows you whole.

It feels safe. Protective.

You try to think about something else -- his hold is distracting. If you’re about to make an idiot of yourself with shooting, you’d rather keep it at that and not give away just how desperately you treasure every touch Arthur Morgan spares you. It’s unfair how easily he’s got you under his spell.

“Solid,” you repeat, shuffling a bit, “Right.”

“Watch your feet -- you don’t want ‘em too close.”

Arthur toes the inside of your foot with his boot, one hand falling to your other shoulder as he balances. You obey the request by widening your stance, arm still raised and pistol pointed in the direction of the bottles. You give a shaky exhale.

Arthur swallows, adam’s apple bobbing, as the evening heat is replaced with a different kind -- the kind of a lovesick fool staring straight into the sun. The closeness... he hadn’t anticipated it, but it feels natural to stand so close and direct you in a way that’s more -- hands on.

“How’s this?”

Arthur steps back for a moment, gaze fleeting up and down your stance.

Nervously, he clears his throat. “You, uh, wanna aim with yer hips.”

You blink.

A moment passes.

“My... hips?”

“You know --”

He twists his hips, leaning back and giving his knees a bit of a bounce. He’s trying to demonstrate it -- to show the movement guided by the pelvis. You, on the other hand, are so damn confused it’s all that shows on your face. Your shoulders sag and you drop your aim, nose wrinkling as you try to understand the point of his weird little wiggling.

“Arthur, that’s --” you blanch, “I don’t get it,”

He hauls a tortured, painful sigh before stepping back into your orbit, knowing damn well that this will be it -- this will be the way his heart gives out and he dies. Not happily, but sexually frustrated and terribly foolish.

“Remember the stance.”

You go back to your poised aim, feet apart, stance solid.

And then, without warning, Arthur Morgan takes your hips in his hands and turns them.

Now, the motion itself is small and respectable and genteel in every way. His hold is not rough, nor crude nor demanding -- and his hands don’t wander, don’t grope nor grab. He is, as he always is, a gentleman about the gesture.

You wish, suddenly, that he’d hurry up and be less of a gentleman about the gesture.

(Arthur wishes the same -- wishes he could spin you about and kiss you breathless. He wishes he could drag you to the ground and litter love-bites along the exposed curve of your throat -- everyone would know your his, then. He wishes, desperately, to trust that you won’t break his old, weary heart into a thousand pieces with one well-spoken sigh of his name.)

The thought races in and out your gut like a passing bullet and it leaves your heart on fire and knees wobbly. Years of practiced modesty and tided wants rush to the surface, ready to break free, but it’s fear that pushes them back down -- a new found sense of want blooms at the heat of his touch, however, and you offer a single peep in response to the touch:

"Oh.”

Arthur is locked in your personal space at the sound, hands steady on the rise of your hips as you exhale and lean -- your back finds his chest and he can only stare ahead, mouth gone dry at the burning connection made between you both.

A breeze passes by you both. Another breath. He nods. You’re trying to focus, just like him, on the task at hand.

“Just like that.”

He can see your eyes dart to him for a second.

He wishes he wasn’t such a damn coward.

(He curses Mary Linton, then -- curses her for betraying his love, for shattering his trust. May his resolve and naivete rest in piece, at the bottom of Heartbreak Bay.)

“When you think you’ve got th’ bottle lined up in th’ sight,” he says slower than he means to, “Pull back the hammer --”

You do as he says, thumb pulling it back.

“An’ pull the trigger.”

You fire on an exhale.

A bottle shatters in the night air.

Your jaw drops in shock, spinning on a heel to blink back and forth between the bottle and Arthur -- and then you laugh, high and true and wonderful and Arthur Morgan prays you’ll be the end of him.

You would be a good death.

#simpler said aloud #not my best but #here we are #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan imagine #rdr2 imagine #rdr2 headcanon #arthur morgan x oc #Anonymous

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aurora-the-kunoichi · 5 years ago

Text

A Year Without - Part Two

Warnings: Mention of alleged killings and rape

The back of your skull was throbbing as you slowly became aware of your surroundings. Your hands immobile outstretched and your feet anchored to the floor. By the soft tug of rope against your wrists you had been tied not shackled. A small silver lining to the shit show that was no doubt about to happen. The light was turned down low thankfully, you didn’t know if you could handle anything brighter then what the lights were set at right now.

Testing the strength of your bonds you found them cinch tighter as you struggled. If you worked them too much they would cut off the circulation to your hands and feet, not good. Your mind began to catch up with the rest of your body and the last moments you remembered were blurry at best. Karai had talked about her fun and a reunion. Then like a bolt of lightning it hit you, the green skin and enormous physique of the blurry mass converging on you. It couldn’t be Leonardo, he wouldn’t be helping the foot, wouldn’t be serving Karai. You had to have been hallucinating from the tranquilizer dart you were dosed with.

After what seemed like hours the lights in the room finally snapped on illuminating your prison. The walls were stark white, with one obvious large two way mirror near the door to your left.A hefty arm less grey upholstered chair sat in the far left corner of the room and a large metal table in the center, fucking cozy. The size of the room was rather large, maybe twenty feet by twenty feet and the smell reminded you of a hospital, sterile but sour.

“It’s rude to leave your guest waiting!” you hollered dryly to your captures eyeing the window with contempt. It was true, you had been sitting in this awful room for at least two hours unattended, let’s get this show on the road.

The sound of the handle turning gave way to your host as she sauntered into the space like she was the queen of fucking England. Her hips swung with gusto and her smile was honey sweet. No longer in her kunoichi garb Karai was dressed in dark sapphire skirt that hit just below her knees with a slit on the side that rode up nearly to her cunt. Her white quarter sleeve blouse was partially unbuttoned leaving her small yet perky breasts visible from the low V. The long black tresses of her hair were tied loosely up above her head while the black high heels that adorned her feet clicked sinfully on the cement floor as she made her way over to you. The cherry on top that completed her arrogant demeanor was a blue lollipop stuck playfully in her mouth and a large tablet in her right hand.

“Calm down my sweet, I wanted you fully awake for this next part.” Karai cooed stepping up to you her breasts pressing up against yours. Her breath was sweet from her treat and she leaned in close, “I have something I want you to watch.” Her wet sugary tongue darted out and took a quick lick of your cheek and jumped back as you tried to head butt the offending woman.

“Don’t you fucking touch me.”

“Tsk, tsk, what a dirty mouth you have. I have a gift for you Y/N, a gift of knowledge that only I can give you. Knowledge you’ve been searching for, for a year’s time.”

Your defiance slammed to a halt as Karai’s wicked smile grew to a terrifying level. Popping the treat make in her mouth her slender fingers drummed on the tablet as she leaned in again her lips brushing up against your ear. “Have you been searching for someone, someone special? Someone who went missing abruptly a year ago today?”

Your blood ran cold, she was talking about Leonardo. The foot has had Leo all this time. Anger bubbled quickly to the surface your limbs trembling as it consumed you. You were going to rip her fucking face off. “Where is he?! Where are you keeping Leonardo?!”

“How long did you look for him?” she ignored your question stepping back turning on the tablet. Her fingers flew over the smooth surface searching for something. “How far did you search, the island of Manhattan, New Jersey perhaps? Maine? Either way it wasn’t going to be far enough, after we subdued him, which took quite a few of my men I might add. God he is strong and talented, by the gods is he talented.” You didn’t like the dreamy look in her eyes. “We didn’t keep him here, oh no, we didn’t want you to find him, what fun would that have been? So, the first thing we did was sedate big bad Leonardo and tossed him on a plane to Japan. He was sent to a very special facility where we house some of our most exceptional doctors and people we have acquired over the years with special gifts, gifts of persuasion if you know what I mean? Let me tell you, he was a hard nut to crack. But we knew this from the start so a process had to be started and it began with sociological warfare when poor ol Leo came too.”

Karai flipped the tablet to show you what she had been searching for, a security tape and the main focal point was Leonardo. His battered green body was shackled to the wall covered in blood. You could see the damage they had done to him on the roof. Cuts and gouges littered his once lustrous green skin making your rage boil hotter. His person was stripped of all his belongings except his boxer briefs leaving him unprotected and vulnerable. He was obviously sans his mask with a long deep cut that ran up the back of his skull. He struggled yanking at his metal restraints demanding to know where he was being held and to be released but he was going nowhere.

A man in a grey suit slowly approached the leader in blue and held out a picture. You watched Leo’s eyes widen in shock and shake his head vigorously, “No!” he bellowed. “You’re lying!”

“They’re all dead Leonardo. When they came to save you they were slaughtered by Karai’s men one by one. The orange one, Michelangelo I believe his name was, fell first, he was the easiest to kill, a dagger to the throat was his end. I heard he begged for his life before Karai stomped on his neck effectively finishing him off. The purple, Donatello, was second; a katana between his shell angled up through his ribs did him in. A painful way to go if you ask me drowning in his own blood. Oh how I would have loved to have gotten a hold of his brilliant mind for study. Raphael the red brute was the most difficult to kill, took nearly 20 men to get him to the ground where they slit his throat. You should have heard him gurgle and grunt as he struggled to take his last breath. Your father was the easiest to find once we hacked Donatello’s computer system. It gave us a map right to his location and was slaughtered right in his bed.”

You couldn’t be 100% sure of what the man in grey was showing Leonardo but you were pretty sure it was a photo shopped picture of his dead brothers and father. But you knew it was a lie; all three of his brothers including Splinter were alive and well no doubt oblivious to your disappearance. But the photo must have been convincing enough, even through the poor video feed you could see the tears well up in his blue eyes. You wanted to call out to him, to tell him not to listen but that would be stupid and useless, just like you were feeling right now.

Leo shook his head angrily blinking away the tears the threatened to spill. “No, you couldn’t have. My brothers are well trained and able to defeat your inadequate soldiers. Always have and always will.”

The doctor smiled and flipped another photo forward and the look on Leo’s face made your heart wretch inside your chest. “Your girlfriend was next, of course not before the men had some fun with her. You know when she cums she made the most beautiful sounds, like an angel. She cried out for you of course, but you weren’t there to save her. What a hero you turned out to be, couldn’t save your brothers or your love. Her end was swift if that pleases you, you can tell by the angle of her neck, quick and painless yet effective. Now you’re alone in this facility with no family and no lover. No one to save you, no one who cares.”

Karai’s finger came up and paused the video with Leo mid scream, his face contorted in horror and fury in the last frame.

“Luckily we have a very good photo shop artist on hand that created several rather convincing death photos of all of you. It took a few days but as his body weakened from the lack of food and water he gave in to the plausible story. He was inconsolable for over a month hanging listless from his confines. We let that sink in before we started in on the physical torture.” Karai turned the tablet back around ignoring the horrified look on your face. “He cried out your name for several days after that. It was heart wrenching really, and I took pleasure in each agonizing syllable he cried out.” Her green eyes rose to meet yours and her free hand reached out wiping away the tears that were staining your cheeks.

“I’m going to kill you.” You whispered with venom uncaring that the wretched woman had her hands on you. At this point you didn’t care; you had already killed her three times in your head.

“Oh I would love to see you try my dear.” Karai giggled returning her attention back to the tablet. A few more finger swipes and she turned it back around pressing play once again. The date on the time stamp said it was a month after his abduction, his eyes hollow and uncaring still hanging from his shackles. You could tell he had lost weight, in mass and in muscle. They must not been feeding him much.

Three men came into view all holding tazer sticks, their smiles wild with amusement. The first touched the hot end to the exposed side of Leo’s body between his plastron and carapace but Leo only shifted in his shackles groaning softly. Angered by the lack of his response, the other two men followed suit going in tandem shocking different parts of his skin. This time Leo arched crying out in pain. Over and over they attacked him all at once, Leo’s howls of anguish echoing in the empty room.

You wished the video didn’t have sound; the unnatural bellow of his agony would haunt you for however long they allowed you to live. The sight of his body recoiling from the current made you sick to your stomach. He had been here for a year enduring this torture, day in and day out. You weren’t there to help him, none of you were. He suffered alone with these animals, these heartless demons.

Again Karai stopped the feed and dropped the tablet back to her side and chomped down on the lollipop in her mouth finishing it off quickly. “You get the idea right? We put him through hell and broke him; we broke the legendary Leonardo; the man with the plan, the untouchable mutant. He was ours to mold, to retrain as we sought fit. It took longer than we expected, he was strong willed but no one can resist the charm of Dr. Langston for long. But Leo does hold the record for withstanding his treatments the longest. Dr. Langston was impressed to say the least.” The kunoichi laughed swinging away from you to walk back over to the door and knock twice. “He’s an obedient foot soldier now, and my favorite if I might add. But I’ll let you be the judge of that.” As the last words fell from her cherry red lips the door opened slowly.

Out of the darkened doorway he came, each step he took was of power and arrogance. Gone was his usual wear, replaced with jet black pants and specially made foot wear. Wide black leather wraps encompassed his thick forearms traveling up to intertwine with his three fingered hands. His blue katanas given to him by his father were absent replaced by two loosely hung red twin katana tied to his hip. Each shoulder had metal plates over them stamped with the Foot’s emblem and to complete the sinister look a black mask was worn where the blue once laid.

“Leonardo please don’t be rude, please go greet our new guest.”

As he closed in you saw his once brilliant cerulean blue eyes dulled to a grayish blue, the life once aflame in his stare was gone. There was no honor in his gaze as he looked you over like a piece of meat. No empathy and certainly no love for you. What had they done to him?

The last video you were forced to endure Leo looked frail and broken but that look was long gone. His muscle mass had returned leaving him looking toned and threatening. With each move of his body the muscle flexed and pulsed under his scaled skin making your body start to ache. If you had seen him in any other circumstance you would have though he looked good, good enough to eat.

“Leo?” you called tentatively tugging slightly on your bonds. Would he remember you at all?

As he neared you could tell the change in his smell. The hint of tea and incense was long gone overpowered by the stench of death and steel. His dull eyes narrowed in on you getting too close for comfort. His hand reached up cupping your chin tilting your head to and fro examining your face before his lips parted gifting you with the first sweet sound of his voice in a year.

“What a pretty little toy you’ve got Karai. Is she one of the reasons I was summoned to this country?”

The sound of Karai’s heals echoed throughout the room as she crossed over to the both of you. Her hands ran seductively down the dense muscles in his arms and pressed her lips to the tattoo there.

“Yes my love, she is a gift to you from me. This sweet little creature stole the other three of your kind from our master brainwashing them. And if she knows what’s good for her, she will tell us where they hide. But first I think it would be prudent to play with your gift. After all what good is a toy if you can’t play with it?”

“What do you think we should do first?” Leo clipped sinisterly squeezing your chin painfully tight in his massive grasp.

Karai’s ivory hand snaked up and around his thick neck tilting his head towards hers, “This one will lie and tell you that you once loved her, but let’s show her who you really belong too.” Her fingers twirled around the tails of his black mask and Leo leaned into her, his mouth slanted enthusiastically over hers. She immediately opened her mouth giving his tongue access making a show of it leaving you helpless to watch the love of your life kiss another woman.

Part One

@southernblossoms @blossom-skies @imthegreenfairy88

#tmnt #tmnt leonardo #foot leo #a year without #part two

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concretefilm1 · 4 years ago

Text

How Concrete Fasteners Work

The process used when fastening to concrete has basically remained unchanged over the years. Although there are epoxy/chemical type anchors in use today, the majority of anchors rely on the same principles that were developed many years ago.

Fastening to concrete is unique compared to other fastening applications, such as fastening two pieces of metal together by using a screw or a bolt and nut. Concrete anchors of any type are much more difficult to use and install correctly.

The concept of fastening something to a solid base material is completely different than for almost any other type of fastening application. Concrete is the most widely used base material in the world for the last 2,000 years and probably will remain so for the next 2,000 years due to its simplicity, strength, versatility and the abundance of the ingredients used to make it.

The Process With Which We Fasten To Concrete Is Simple:

1. Make a hole in the concrete

2. Put something in the hole to take up the space created

3. Expand the material in the hole via a nail, screw or setting tool

We are making a hole with a certain amount of volume and then inserting more material into the hole. This increased volume of material that pushes against the interior wall of the hole will create friction. This friction is how most mechanical concrete anchors obtain their holding values.

All the mechanical type concrete anchors work on the same basic principle. Drill a specific size hole, insert the anchor, and expand the anchor larger than the hole in order to make it difficult for the anchor to be pulled out of the hole. Concrete anchors are designed to go into a hole in concrete and not come out.

Wedge Anchors

Wedge anchors are two-piece concrete anchors that are assembled into one unit. The steel rod made from carbon steel or stainless steel is threaded on one end and the opposite end starts out slightly smaller in diameter and tapers out to the full diameter of the rod. A clip is then permanently attached to this end of the rod. The wedge anchor is inserted into a hole in concrete until the threads are below the surface of the concrete. The nut and washer are placed on the threads and tighten until finger tight. Using a wrench, the nut is then turned, which pulls the anchor up to wedge the clip between the stud and the wall of the concrete. When drilling a hole in concrete for a wedge anchor, the hole size is equal to the anchor diameter size.

Sleeve Anchors

The sleeve anchor is made up from four different parts. The stud, which is threaded and flared or cone shaped at one end, the expander sleeve, and the nut and washer. The expander sleeve is assembled over the stud with the nut and washer threaded on to the opposite side of the cone shaped end. The sleeve anchor is inserted into a hole drilled in the base material either concrete, brick or block. The nut is turned, which pulls the stud up through the expander sleeve, expanding it up against the inside wall of the base material. The hole size to be drilled into the concrete for a sleeve anchor is equal to the diameter of the anchor being used.

Concrete Screws

Concrete screws are different than all the rest of the anchors because they do not use expansion to derive their holding values. Concrete screws are a special threaded screw, with hardened notched threads and high-low threads. The notches and the high low threads help to eliminate concrete shavings from the hole as the screw taps threads into the base material. The hole size for concrete screws is smaller than the diameter of the screw. A 3/16" screw requires a 5/32" hole and a 1/4" screw requires a 3/16" hole. The concrete screw is inserted into the hole and turned either by hand or by a rotation drill until the concrete screw is tight against the fixture being fastened.

Drop-In Anchor

Drop-in anchors are a female anchor designed to be placed in concrete and then to have a threaded rod or bolt inserted. The drop-in anchor is made-up of two parts: the expansion shield, made from zinc plated carbon or stainless steel, and a case hardened expander plug that is cone-shaped and made from zinc plated carbon or stainless steel. One end of the shield is tapered, with four cut slots that run a portion of its length. The surface of this end may be smooth or knurled while the other end will be smooth. The expander plug is inside the anchor, placed at the end of the anchor that has the four slots, and the other end is threaded. The anchor is set by placing the anchor into a hole in concrete and by setting the expander plug using a setting tool. Each diameter of drop-in anchor has a specific setting tool. This setting tool is a steel rod with one end being necked down. The necked down portion of the setting tool is inserted into the drop-in anchor and pounded with a hammer until the lip of the anchor meets the lip of the setting tool. This action pushes the expander plug down into the drop-in anchor expanding the anchor where the four cuts are. As with all female type anchors, the size of the designated size of the anchor refers to the bolt size that goes into the anchor; the hole size is larger than the anchor size.

Machine Screw Anchor

Machine screw anchors are a female type anchor into which a threaded item is placed. Machine screw anchors are made up of two parts, the internally threaded cone and the sleeve. The sleeve is place over the threaded cone and inserted into a hole drilled in to the base material of concrete, brick or block, threaded cone first. The machine screw anchor is set by the sleeve being pushed over the expander sleeve wedging the sleeve between the expander sleeve and the inside wall of the concrete. The anchor is properly set when the lip of the setting tool meets the lip of the anchor. Each diameter machine screw anchor has a specific setting tool that is designated by the diameter of anchor being used. The machine screw anchor size is designated by the inside diameter of the bolt to be used with the anchor, the hole size required is larger than the anchor size being used.

Strike Anchor

Strike anchors are for use in solid concrete and are considered an impact expansion type of anchor. The strike anchor is made up of four parts: the body that is made from carbon steel with an interior hole the entire length of the anchor, a drive pin that is hardened, and a nut and washer plated in a yellow zinc. The body of the anchor is threaded on one end with the other end having four slots cut a portion of the length - the surface of this part of the body has ribs around the circumference. The length of the drive pin that is hardened must equal the length of the anchor and is placed inside the interior hole of the anchor body. The anchor is set by placing anchor into a predrilled hole in concrete with the nut and washer attached. The anchor must be tapped lightly until the nut and washer are against the base material or fixture being fastened down. The hardened pin is then driven into the anchor until the head of the pin meets the end of the anchor body, which will provide for the proper setting. As the pin is pushed into the anchor, the anchor is expanded. The hole that is needed to be drilled for the strike anchor is the same diameter as the diameter of the anchor being used.

Hammer Drive Anchor

Hammer drive anchors are made from a Zamac material that is strong and malleable. Hammer drive anchors are a light duty concrete anchor, made up of two parts the body and the zinc plated steel pin. The body of the hammer drive anchor is split from the bottom up for most of its length, with a mushroom head. The anchor body is hollowed out that runs through the head thickness and down into the shank for the entire length. The steel pin is what expands the anchor; it is made of high carbon steel, with a small head on one end and with the other end pointed. The anchor is set by hammering the steel pin into the anchor body. As the nail pushes through the anchor body, the split part expands to push against the interior wall of the hole in the base material. The hole diameter to be drilled for the hammer drive anchor is equal to the diameter of the anchor being used.

Split Drive Anchor

Split drive anchors are made from carbon steel that is heat-treated through, hardened and zinc plated. Split drive anchors are one piece with either a flat countersunk head or a round head. At the base of the anchor, opposite sides of the head the shank is sheared into two pre-expanded parts. These two halves are compressed when the anchor is driven into a predrilled hole in concrete. These two halves continually try to get back to their original shape, pushing against the inside wall of the hole. The split drive anchor requires a hole size that is equal to the diameter of the anchor being used.

Lag Shield

Lag shields are made up of two parts that are assembled into one piece. The lag shield is made from a Zamac material, which is a zinc alloy that is rust-resistant. The inside of the lag shield has internal threads designed to accept lag screw threads and its threads are tapered and run the length of the anchor. The outside body of the anchor has ribs that run the majority of the length of the anchor. The lag shield is set by inserting a lag screw into the anchor. Turning the lag screw into the tapered threads expands the two halves of the anchor and pushes against the base material. Lag shield anchors are designated by the diameter of the bolt that goes into the anchor. It is important that the hole size to be drilled is larger than the designated anchor size.

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dregstrash · 6 years ago

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hi, omg I recently found your blog and I am in love your writing is amazing!!! I was wondering, are you ever willing to co-write a shot fanfic? also, i was wondering if you could write a kanej fanfic where inej wakes up screaming from a nightmare and kaz is like oh shit and panics and runs down to her room like are you getting murdered but it’s just inej hyperventilating because she had a dream she was back at the menagerie and kaz is like oh shit u r crying what do I do and they end up cuddling

Hi!! Thank you!! I would be more than willing to co-write a fanfic with you! Just message me with details or what you have in mind!! And of course I can write this. Soft kanej gives me life.

It became a habit during those early days with Inej hunting slavers for her to take Kaz’s bed. While Inej dearly loved the sea, she also loved to feel the ground solid underneath her. Also, staying at a small inn where she was more exposed to any one of her growing number of enemies was out of the question. And, though she loathed to admit it, she almost felt…comforted with the idea that her and Kaz would be under the same roof.

She had the barest understanding of his aversion to skin-on-skin contact and his need for personal space, so she was rather adamant that she could sleep by the window or maybe his large desk chair. But for once, the Bastard of the Barrel was a gentleman and told her to take the bed, while he curled up in a cot by his desk.

Inej had a half a mind to protest at the ridiculousness about the space between them, but in truth she was partially relieved. After long months at sea sharing tight quarters with her crew and the people they rescued, it was a reprieve to breathe in fresh air and marvel at the complete and utter peace of the night. Even Kaz’s breathing from the other room was a comforting rhythm she’d listen to until it lulled her safely into sleep.

But that small sanctuary was broken– broken when Kaz had been late getting back and Inej’s body demanded her to shut her eyes and recover from the long journey.

Her rescues were sparse this time around. There had been a terrible, terrible battle when they had boarded their latest ship, the slavers using terrified children as shields why they tried to escape The Wraith’s wrath.

And Inej had tried her best– she minimized the amount of casualties on the slaves and on her own crew, but there were still lives lost. Lives that she prayed over as her ship sunk the slaver ship down into the depths of the ocean.

But it seems the ghosts were hungry for the living, because they hung over her mind as a leech sucks at fresh blood.

Inej saw the dark eyes of the Suli girl who had caught a stray bullet to her small chest. She watched as the lifeless girl stare up at her with blaming eyes. Inej blinked and all of a sudden she was that lifeless girl, a bullet wound where her heart should be, but instead of being on the deck of her ship she was back in The Menagerie. Tante Heleen in all her terrible glory standing above her bed with a catlike grin spread across her face.

She laughed looking down at the death wound, “Ah, my little lynx, no matter. You will just have to work hard to get your heart back.”

A thunder of panic raced through Inej as Tante Heleen transformed into a dark shape of a man with horrifying red eyes, and sharp claws. Inej wanted to move away, but her hands and feet were tied with coarse silk. The man grumbled a laugh as he stalked closer, “I’ll be gentle, littly lynx. The dead don’t feel a thing.”

She screamed as his terrible claw hand grasped her ankle and she felt a pressure in her arm. She thrashed and screamed, thrashed and screamed, thrashed and –

“Inej!!” Kaz’s voice pierced through her terror and she gasped awake.

Her face was wet with fresh tears and her throat felt raw. Her heart felt like it was going to burst, and her blood wanted to leap right out of her skin. It was only a dream. Tante Heleen couldn’t get her here. She was a pirate captain. No one would touch her like that again. She was free. She was free. She was free.

Her breaths were not coming in fast enough, and she couldn’t properly remember how to breathe. Her mind continued its chant, but her lungs had trouble finding its own rhythm.

“Inej…” Kaz said hesitantly. His voice was a welcomed rasp. She couldn’t look at him. She couldn’t face the fact that he had caught her in her terrors. But that’s when she realized that his hand was gripping her arm through the sleeve of her borrowed nightshirt. His thumb was unconsciously rubbing back and forth against the fabric and she closed her eyes. She focused on that. She focused on the steadiness of the movement and inhaled and exhaled in time with it.

After a few moments, her breathing steadied and evened out, and it was only then that she opened her eyes and met Kaz’s dark eyes.

“Are–are you crying?” Kaz asked hesitantly. If the vestiges of her nightmare weren’t so stubbornly clinging to her, she would have laughed at how uncomfortable he looked in the face of her distress.

Inej didn’t respond and used her other hand to wipe away at the salted tears that made paths down her face.

“I-I’m sorry for waking you.” She finally croaked, and though she loathed to release herself from the comforting heat of his hand, she pulled away. Inej didn’t miss the slight tension leave Kaz’s shoulders.

Kaz opened his mouth, but then shut it briefly. His hands remained still in his lap, but he also didn’t look like he was ready to leave. He kept casting looks around the dark room, and occasionally looking back at her. Inej regarded him curiously. This was a very unfamiliar sight, because if she didn’t know any better it looked like Kaz wanted to comfort her, but didn’t know how.

That thought sent a flutter of warmth through her.

“Do you-er- want to-um- talk about it?” He finally ground out. His eyes were on his hands, avoiding her gaze.

Inej’s mind flashed to the nightmare and she shook her head adamantly.

“N-no. I’d rather not…” She whispered. Kaz gave an understanding nod, and started getting up from the bed, but before she could lose her nerve, Inej caught the edge of his shirt sleeve. “But…do you think you could sleep in here…with me?” Kaz’s eyes widened as their eyes met and Inej felt a deep flush in her cheeks. “Not that you’d have to stay in the same bed. You could bring your cot in this room or maybe I could just stay outside with you or–”

“I can lay beside you, if you allow,” Kaz said in a rush.

It was Inej’s turn to gape as Kaz held her stare steadily. She watched him carefully, searching for any sign that he might bolt out of his skin as he was wont to do, but besides the tenseness in his jaw he looked very serious with his proposal. She could say no. She could give him this small comfort and try to get another restless night of sleep, but then again she felt the ghost of her past hovering close by, and she wasn’t sure if she could face them by herself.

With a short nod, she moved to make room for him and lifted the blanket. She heard his sharp intake of breath as he settled on the mattress and awkwardly opened his arms towards her. Inej gave the briefest of hesitations before she carefully moved into the circle of his embrace.

Her heart was thundering for an entirely different reason as she placed her head on top of his chest and she caught the fast rhythm of his own heart.

Though they were both fully clothed, this was the most intimate position they had ever been in, and based on the rigidity of Kaz’s body and the stiffness in Inej’s limbs, neither party knew how to handle it.

“Are-are you okay?” Inej whispered, her words mumbled against the soft material of his shirt. His arms which were careful to wrap around her waist tensed.

Kaz’s laugh vibrated through his chest, “I should be asking you that, Wraith, you were the one screaming bloody murder.”

Inej wanted to apologize again, but she held her tongue. She had nothing to apologize for, even if she felt the shame of her vulnerabilities threatening to overwhelm her.

Her eyes were beginning to droop when Kaz finally answered her, “I’m okay, Inej. As long as I can hear you breathing, I’ll be okay.” He said it into her hair and she gave the smallest nod of acknowledgement.

As the night wore on, sleep offered a balm over their hidden wounds. Inch by inch, Kaz’s body became comfortable once more until his hands started tracing patterns against the shirt Inej borrowed from him. He let himself breathe in time with hers, and he held onto the anchor of her warmth to keep him from drowning entirely. Just as Inej was holding onto his solidity as she slipped back into unconsciousness. She was aware at the tightness of his hold on her, and that she would not float away. She would keep this comfort with her even as her nightmares prowled at the edges of her mind.

#kanej #kaz x inej #Kaz Brekker #inej ghafa #dirtyhands #six of crows #soc #crooked kingdom #ck

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didoceaser-blog · 5 years ago

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Mandrel Tube Benders

Take a piece of polyethelene (PE) piping, fill it with concrete, let the concrete bind. My understanding is that underneath compression, a concrete (or different) pillar will 'want' to shear aside in a aircraft 45° to the path of the compression (assuming we do not bend our pillar). This shear drive might be contained by the encompassing pipe, since PE is quite good in rigidity. Othe materials for the pipe may work the identical, I say PE as a result of it's quite corrosion resistant. This video demonstrates how simple the process is, and even shows you tips on how to make multiple bends in the identical pipe.

The electric box and funky space, designated by blue and pink paint, add about two feet to the pvc pipe bending. PVC Bendit instruments are utilized by balloon decorators, stage set designers, swimming pool and spa install and repair shops, contractors, plastic fabrication retailers, producers and electricians. These users inform us how a lot they enjoy the time-saving software for bending half of" to 6" schedule forty or eighty PVC pipe. Lee expanding mandrels on a lathe, use an 8-ounce hammer to frivolously tap the mandrel into place. On an increasing mandrel, the shaft and sleeve have corresponding tapers and are machined from hardened metal.

Lubrication of the mandrel is extremely necessary and the hollow tube would let you feed lubrication up and into the middle of the mandrel then out a couple of small holes within the mandrel itself as you bend. We present you what a mandrel bend is, what a mandrel bend isn't tubing notcher Rogue Fabrication, and how to understand which sort of bend you might be on the lookout for. We also spotlight a number of bender choices that may take your work to the following degree.

Types of mandrels

you want consistancy and a few engineering, not essentially a sewer-drain-pipe with kinks and ID inconsistancies, which will mess with backpressure, scavenging, and so mandrel bender Rogue Fabrication on. 2.5" mandrel bent piping stays 2.5" in diameter through every flip, bend, and twist.

How to Bend 6" PVC Pipe

This means that metal tubes perform higher general in applications that require durability and power. Expanding Mandrels on a lathe are mainly a specialty workholding tool and make sure to follow these ideas when utilizing them with a LeBlond RKL or Regal metal lathe. Expanding mandrels on a lathe are a type of mandrel that grip the interior diameter or ID of a workpiece. Mandrels feature a tapered axle that presses into the bore of the workpiece to support it between centers.

You would use a mandrel on a lathe when the workpiece cannot be gripped for correct machining. An operator would then mount the workpiece on a mandrel and switch between centers on the engine lathe just like the RKL fashions sold by LeBlond.

Give us a call, allow us to stroll you through our product line and help you discover an answer to the problems you might be going through.

To the opposite person; the tube that holds the mandrel is anchored at the different end of the rod so the mandrel truly does not go anyplace previous where it started.

The carriage offers safe, accurate, one-man, powered positioning for distance-between-bends and plane-of-bend actions.

Ercolina’s powered indexing carriage advances and rotates the work piece between bends.

The sand must be utterly dry or it's going to produce steam and stress when the pipe is heated later. Use coarse builder’s sand that has been dried in an oven on low warmth overnight. After the pipe is full, clear any sand away from the threads of the nut and shut it by screwing in the bolt. This technique is ideal for maneuvering PVC around corners and over other pipes, while remaining flush to the wall. Take it sluggish when heating and bending the PVC and you will have a profitable consequence nearly every time.

One of the questions that we get from time to time goes something like this, “What is the difference between a tube and pipe bender? ” Similarly, we sometimes get asked to make clear the difference between tube and pipe in general. i've gone 108mph in the quarter n/a 302 with duel 2 1/four unmandrel bent pipes, tailpipes and no cross pipe. Normal piping will get smaller around turns, bends, and twists, which could be fairly restrictive.

Whether its intakes or exhausts the opportunity is endless with this method. We have tried to make this web site complete and factual. CML USA reserves the best to make adjustments at any time with out notice, to price, colour, materials tools, specifications, fashions, machine operation, tooling requirements and availability. Twenty foot over-mandrel load size and carriage travel out there accepts full pipe lengths in a single steady motion with no hitch feeding.

Clam Shell Material Clamping Advantages

Typically, these mandrels encompass a cylinder that is threaded on one finish. There are many several types of mandrels for specialised applications.

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7-wonders · 6 years ago

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Come Out and Play

Summary: Your boyfriend, Duncan, has a few tricks up his sleeve to help you relax after the stressful day you had.

Word Count: 2078

A/N: NSFW! Story will be under a cut due to the adult content in this story. Smut, fingering, dirty talk, Fox News. This takes place in the same sort of ‘universe’ as Kiss Me Through the Phone, which you can read right here. In case you don’t wanna read it, the premise is simple; you’re liberal, but you’re dating a Republican.

Duncan Shepherd has many little habits, ones that a person wouldn’t notice if they weren’t spending a lot of time with him. In the time that your online friendship had slowly been transitioning into a real-life relationship, you had picked up on many things that you hadn’t previously known about him. He takes his coffee black, having found that adding any sugar or flavoring makes him jittery. When he’s focused on something, he bites the top of his pen in concentration. Duncan hates traditional ways of working out, preferring to play basketball or go running instead. He also enjoys finding little ways to constantly torment and tease you.

It was all in good fun, of course; no matter your differences, you and Duncan had grown incredibly close since the night of the gala, a month ago. He’s the only person that gets you, who you can constantly joke with and also have deep conversations with. He makes you feel like the most beautiful person in the world with a simple glance your way, and he’s the most thoughtful person you’ve ever met. He’s also the most infuriating, still choosing to mess with you on social media and say things to try and rile you up. He claims that you’re even hotter when you’re mad, which you feel is just a lame excuse to finally get in your pants.

You’re traditionally unlucky when it comes to relationships, and had been burned more than enough by guys who just wanted to sleep with you. That’s why, even though you’ve been dating for a few weeks, you’ve said no everytime Duncan tries to take the physical side of things to the next level. He understands and respects your reasoning, but all of the built-up sexual tension is really starting to eat away at him. Although you know that he’s not like the guys you’ve been involved with before, you can’t help but worry that things will turn out the same way they always have.

The elevator ride up to Duncan’s apartment is silent, save for the soft muzak coming from the speakers in the lift. You’ve been to his place a couple of times before, usually to drop something off for him or to see him for a quick moment before one of you has somewhere to be. After Duncan learned of the PR crisis at your work that had absolutely wrecked your Friday, he insisted that you come over so he could cook you dinner. You were about to decline, but the thought of getting to be in the arms of you boyfriend and the knowledge that you have no food at home sends you right to his door.

You let yourself in, knowing that Duncan left the door unlocked for you. His spacious apartment is warm, the sounds of pots and pans being moved emanating from the kitchen. You slip off your coat and heels, flexing your feet in relief, before moving towards the source of the noise. The apartment is an open-concept layout, so Duncan can see you immediately when you turn the corner from the entryway.

“I thought I heard you come in.” He smiles, turning a burner off and shifting the pan to cool. He walks towards you, meeting you with a kiss that has you melting.

“Hi.” You mutter against his lips, pulling back slightly to look at him.

“Hi.” He repeats, leaning back in to kiss you.

“Thanks for inviting me over.” The oven beeping is what forces you apart, Duncan grabbing your hand in his so that he can attend to the food while still being connected with you. You adjust yourself, wrapping your arms around his torso so that both hands can be free to do what he needs to do.

“Thanks for letting me cook for you, I don’t often get the opportunity to utilize this kitchen.” Peering over his shoulder, you can see what looks like pasta and garlic bread.

“How did you know my go-to comfort foods?” You tease, pleased at the foods in front of you.

“Lucky guess. Everybody likes pasta.” He grins cheekily, twisting his head around to peck your cheek. “Did everything get sorted out at work?” You sigh, burying your head against his shoulders.

“Not even close. I swear, everyone was running around like a bunch of chickens with their heads cut off. It felt like I was the only sane one, honestly.”

“But everything’s going to be okay.” It’s not a question that he’s asking, it’s a reassurement.

“It will be, just sucks that this had to happen at the end of the week instead of the beginning.” Duncan gently reaches for your arms, pulling you off of him so that he can turn around to face you.

“Enough of you being stressed, let’s eat.”

The meal is great and fulfilling, everything that you would have expected from the indomitable Duncan Shepherd. He’s such a caring man, entirely different from your first impressions of him. You’ve both shifted from the dining room table to the couch, Duncan carrying you as you giggled and weakly protested. You snatch the remote from his hands, grinning when he hits you with a pillow in retaliation. When the TV clicks on, you immediately groan.

“Of-fucking-course.” Fox News is the channel that pops up, the channel most recently selected. Tucker Carlson’s raving about whatever nonsense he’s come up with today, a guest chiming in whenever the anchor stops to take a breath.

“What’s wrong with the news?” Duncan asks with a smirk, knowing damn well why you’re reacting the way that you are.

“Um, everything. I’d rather watch paint dry than this.” You scoff.

“You sure you don’t wanna leave it on? A little background noise?” He taunts, attitude changing when you huff and try to stand. “Hey, what’s-don’t leave. It was just a joke!” His hands settle on your shoulders, gently pushing you back down to a sitting position.

“Don’t be such a jerk, and maybe I would get this particular ‘joke.’” His fingers dig into the knots that your muscles have tangled themselves into, causing you to groan loudly.

“Jesus, you’re tense. Come here.” He widens his legs, allowing you to slip in between them and lean against his chest. His hands return to your shoulders, massaging your sore body with ease. Your neck rolls when he releases the tension of a particularly painful muscle, your breathing slowing down as everything loosens. “You’re so stressed, baby. Let me help you.” His lips attach to your neck, feathery kisses making you shudder slightly.

“Duncan.” You groan, eyes fluttering closed as he continues his assault on your neck. You turn around to properly kiss him, a smile forming when you notice his hands fumbling for the remote so he can click the TV off. You roll your hips over his, relishing in the noises that escape his lips at the friction.

“God, only you can, ah, only you can make me feel like a horny teen again.” He whines, hands kneading your breasts above your shirt. “You know,” He pulls back from you, making you pout slightly. His lips are already swollen, traces of your lipstick stained on his face. “They say that an orgasm releases a mixture of hormones that get rid of all of your stress. Care to test that theory?”

You hesitate. Your cautious nature makes you want to say no, but your logic is telling you opposite. The man has been so incredibly patient with you, letting you take things at your own pace. He even cooked you dinner just because you had a bad day, and you know that any of the previous guys you had let see your most vulnerable parts would never care for you this way. Bearing this in mind, you nod. Duncan grins at you.

“Really? You’re sure? Because I don’t want you to feel like I’m pressuring you into anyth-”

“Dunc.” You cut him off, laying a hand on his cheek. “I want this.” You start rubbing him through his jeans, but you’re stopped when he grabs your hand.

“No. This is about you, okay? Just lay back and relax.” He lowers you gently down, and your palms grow clammy with anticipation. You lift your hips so that the man in front of you can pull your skirt and tights down your legs. Your eyes screw shut, anxiety coursing through you at the knowledge that this is finally happening. When nothing happens, you slowly open your eyes to see Duncan with a slight smile on his face.

“What?” You question, giggling nervously.

“It’s nothing, I just...you’re incredible, (Y/N). So, so incredible.” He kisses you, hand trailing down your waist. You jolt forwards when his hand makes contact with your clit, a bolt of pleasure running through you. “You’ve never been touched like this before, have you?” Duncan deduces, smirking triumphantly when you nod.

In addition to being major letdowns, every guy you’d ever had sex with only cared about getting themselves off, leaving you alone and unsatisfied after they finished in a matter of minutes.

“I can tell. You’re already so wet.” He holds up his fingers, glistening with your wetness, and groans when he places them in his mouth. “Just as sweet as I thought you’d be.” He grins wickedly at your reaction, fingers diving back down to your cunt.

Just one rough finger has your hand flying to grab at the couch and your back arching as you moan out. Duncan’s thumb expertly teases your clit as he slowly starts to pump in and out.

“Think you can handle another one?” He asks. He’s not satisfied with your mere nod, pulling his hand away from you. You whine in frustration, hand tangling in Duncan’s hair. “You need to answer me with words, sweetheart. Think you can handle another one?”

“Yes, please Duncan!” Your cry turns to a moan as he goes from one finger to three.

“You look so beautiful like this, completely wrapped up in your pleasure.” Duncan compliments, your keens permeating the air as his thrusts become rougher. “I bet you’ve only ever came by getting yourself off, is that right?” Your reply comes out strangled, but it’s good enough for him. “Probably wasn’t as good as this, huh?”

Your walls are fluttering around him as the coil in your belly tightens, proving his point. You’ve had orgasms before, but your techniques are always shaky and inexperienced, nothing like the magic that Duncan’s currently performing on you.

“Duncan, I’m gonna-” Your sentence dies in your throat as you tighten around him almost painfully.

“Let go, (Y/N).” Your vision whites out as you fall off the figurative cliff, body shaking as waves of pleasure roll over you. Duncan doesn’t let up, helping you to ride your orgasm for as long as possible. You come down with a gasp, hand carding through your drenched hair and eyes scanning over Duncan.

“Holy shit.” You breathe out, chest heaving as you try to get some air. Duncan chuckles, licking his hand clean. Your limbs feel heavy, almost boneless. Duncan pulls you against his chest, stroking your hair and whispering sweet nothings into your ear.

“You feeling better?” He asks. You realize that you actually do feel better, the stress having left your body and been replaced by complete and utter euphoria.

“Yes, actually. Thank you for that, and for being so patient with me before this.”

“I may be an asshole sometimes, but I would never push you into doing something that you don’t want to do.” You look up at him with a tired smile on your face, rewarding him with a kiss. “Besides, you’re so fucking beautiful when you cum. I didn’t think anyone could look so angelic with their face screwed up in pleasure, but you’ve proved me wrong.” You blush, rolling your eyes.

“You’re right, you can be an asshole sometimes. But you’re mine, so it’s okay.” Your nose wrinkles in embarrassment when you fully realize your distinct lack of clothes covering your lower body. Duncan notices this and laughs.

“C’mon princess, let’s get you cleaned up. We can do whatever you want after that; watch a movie, get some takeout, go to sleep?” All of those options sound appealing, but you’re hungry for something else.

“Actually, I have a different idea…” Duncan’s eyes light up at your suggestion, and you know that there’s no way you’re getting to sleep anytime soon.

Tag List: @khaleesimel @sammythankyou @sloppy-little-witch-bitch26 @langdonslove @heda-mikaelson @readsalot73 @jimmlangdon @sebastianshoe @let-me-try-mom @trimbooohgodplsnoooo @pastel-cloudz @nana15774 @queencocoakimmie @lichellaw @ultragibbycentralworld @grim-adventures58 @dolceandchalamet @uptosomeseriousfuckshit @dandycandy75 @alexcornerblog @everything-is-awesomesauce @tickled--pinkmoodpoisoning @ccodyfern

#duncan shepherd #Duncan Shepherd imagine #Duncan Shepherd x reader #Duncan Shepherd smut #hoc #hoc imagine #michael langdon imagine #michael langdon

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