#military cufflinks

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

𓅨 Sleepy Bitch Syndrome: Chapter Six

Sleepy Bitch Syndrome: You've got narcolepsy and have been visiting the Dreaming daily for years. Then its Lord and King finally return and he doesn't know quite what to think of you.

Warnings: None.

To Note: Morpheus/Dream x Narcoleptic!Reader, for you dear @aralezinspace.

Word Count: ~2.9k

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The scent of grilled burgers and hotdogs drifts through the park, mingling with the laughter of your coworkers. You balance a paper plate loaded with potato salad and coleslaw as you navigate toward a picnic table where a few familiar faces are gathered.

"Hey, look who finally made it," Brian says, grinning as he shifts to make space for you. He’s got mustard on his cheek, which makes his wide smile even more ridiculous.

"Yeah, had to dodge Karen's eternal checklist of picnic rules," you reply, dropping onto the bench. You take a bite of coleslaw, savoring the tangy crunch.

Lucy nudges your shoulder with her own. "You should've seen her earlier. She practically interrogated me about the potato chips."

Brian snorts. "She takes this stuff way too seriously. It's a picnic, not a corporate takeover."

From across the table, Sam raises an eyebrow. "At least she hasn't cornered you about the recycling bins yet."

"Not yet," you say, shaking your head. "But it's still early."

The conversation flows easily, jumping from weekend plans to the latest office gossip. You listen, half-interested, while keeping an eye on Karen. She’s currently directing the setup of a volleyball net with all the intensity of a military operation.

Lucy follows your gaze and smirks. "Volleyball? She roped you in yet?"

"Nope, but I’m sure it’s only a matter of time."

As if on cue, Karen marches over, clipboard in hand. "Alright folks, volleyball match in ten minutes. Hope you're ready!"

Brian groans dramatically. "Guess we’re up."

You all rise reluctantly and follow Karen’s lead to the makeshift court. The game begins with much fumbling and laughter; you aren’t exactly professional athletes here.

“Nice save!” Lucy shouts as you dive for the ball, sending it back over the net.

“Didn’t know you had it in you,” Brian adds with a chuckle.

Sweat beads on your forehead but you’re having more fun than you expected. Even Karen seems less intense as she joins in, her competitive streak softened by genuine smiles.

Afterward, you collapse onto the grass with your friends, breathing heavily but feeling content. The sun is warm on your face, and for once, work feels like a distant concern. After catching your breath, you all wander back to the picnic area where the yard games are set up. Cornhole boards, giant Jenga, and a ring toss beckon. You join a group gathering around the cornhole boards.

"Alright, who's first?" Brian asks, grabbing a bean bag and weighing it in his hand.

You take a step forward. "I'll give it a shot."

You and Brian form a team while Lucy and Sam pair up on the opposite side. The first toss lands short, but you quickly get the hang of it, adjusting your aim with each throw. The bean bags thud against the wooden boards or occasionally swish through the hole, drawing cheers or groans from the small crowd gathered to watch.

"Nice shot!" Lucy calls as you land one right in the hole.

Brian chuckles. "Beginner's luck."

Between throws, the conversation shifts naturally.

"Did you hear about Rachel's new boyfriend?" Lucy asks, aiming her next toss.

You shake your head. "Nope. Spill."

"Apparently he's some big-shot lawyer," she says, landing her bean bag with precision. "Met him at one of those charity galas she’s always going to."

Brian snorts. "Of course she did. Bet he wears cufflinks and everything."

Sam nods thoughtfully. "She did seem happier lately. Maybe this guy's the real deal."

As you take your turn, you notice Karen nearby, involved in a spirited game of giant Jenga with some of the interns. Her clipboard is nowhere in sight.

"What about Jake from IT?" you ask, returning to the conversation as you watch your bean bag soar through the air. "He still dating that barista?"

Lucy laughs. "Nope, they broke up last month. He's back on all the dating apps."

Brian smirks. "He showed me his profile the other day—'lover of cats and coding,' like that's gonna reel 'em in."

Sam arches an eyebrow. "Hey, some people are into that."

The game continues, each toss accompanied by stories and gossip about your coworkers' romantic escapades.

"So who’s next in line for office romance?" Brian asks, his tone teasing as he lands another bean bag.

Lucy grins mischievously. "I’ve got my money on Amy from marketing and Josh from sales."

You raise an eyebrow. "Really? Didn’t think they were each other’s type. They’re polar opposites!"

"They’ve been having lunch together almost every day," she points out.

You laugh as you make another toss. “Guess we’ll see.”

You are half way into the company picnic when the alcohol finally appears. Your boss opens the cooler and distributes the drinks, and regretfully, you have to pass. Alcohol and medication just doesn't mix.

You sit on the grass, a bottle of sparkling water in hand while your coworkers crack open beers and hard seltzers. The sun dips lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the park. The sounds of laughter and playful banter grow louder as the alcohol loosens everyone's inhibitions.

Brian, now sporting a slight flush from the beer, leans back on his elbows and surveys the scene. "Man, this turned out pretty good, huh?"

You nod, taking a sip of your drink. "Yeah, it’s been fun. Way better than being stuck in the office."

Lucy stumbles over, balancing two beers and plops down beside you. "Hey! I brought you a drink!" She holds out one of the bottles.

You shake your head with a smile. "Thanks, but I’m sticking to seltzer."

She shrugs and hands the beer to Brian instead. "More for you then."

As you chat with Lucy and Brian, you notice Matthew perched on a nearby tree. His eyes gleam with a knowing look that makes your eyes narrow. Before you can fully process his presence, he spreads his wings and takes flight. You follow his path, craning your neck to track his movements through the sky.

Your eyes widen when you spot Morpheus standing not far from the picnic area, just beyond the edge of the trees. His tall, imposing figure is unmistakable, even from a distance. The crowd's laughter and chatter fade into the background as you rise to your feet.

"I'll be right back," you mumble, barely acknowledging Lucy's questioning look or Brian’s raised eyebrow.

You walk briskly toward where you saw Morpheus, heart pounding in your chest. The grass crunches softly under your shoes as you step away from the lively gathering. The distance seems to stretch on forever, but finally, you reach the spot.

There he stands, cloaked in shadows that seem to ripple like water around him. Morpheus’ eyes meet yours, dark and deep like an endless night.

"You came," he says, his voice smooth and resonant.

You nod, swallowing hard. "I saw Matthew and then you.”

Morpheus inclines his head slightly. "He is my herald."

The air around you feels charged with an otherworldly energy, making your skin prickle. You can hardly believe he’s here, so close and real in the waking world. Or is this still part of a dream? The lines blur more often than not these days.

You take a breath, steadying yourself. "Why are you here, Morpheus?"

He looks past you to the picnic scene, a faint smile playing at his lips. "I am curious about your day life. The world you inhabit when you're not within the realms of dreams."

You blink, processing his words. "You want to see what my life is like?"

"Indeed," he replies, his voice as smooth as silk.

You glance back at your coworkers, feeling a mix of excitement and apprehension. Introducing the Lord of Dreams to your mundane world seems surreal, but there’s a certain thrill in it.

"Alright," you say, motioning for him to follow you. "Come meet my coworkers."

As you approach the group, Brian is the first to notice. His eyes widen as he takes in Morpheus' imposing figure.

"Whoa, who's your friend?" Brian asks, straightening up from his relaxed position.

"This is... Morpheus," you say, hesitating slightly over the name.

Lucy’s eyes sparkle with curiosity. "Nice to meet you, Morpheus."

Morpheus inclines his head gracefully. "The pleasure is mine."

Karen bustles over, clipboard conspicuously absent for once. Her eyes flicker with interest as she takes in Morpheus' striking appearance.

"And who might this be?" she asks, her tone taking on a flirtatious edge.

"This is Morpheus," you repeat. "He’s visiting from out of town."

Karen’s gaze lingers on him a bit longer than necessary. "Well, any friend of yours is welcome here," she says with a smile that borders on predatory.

Morpheus remains unfazed by her attention. "Thank you for your hospitality."

Karen steps closer, her body language open and inviting. "So, Morpheus, what brings you to our little gathering?"

"I wished to see the world through different eyes," he responds smoothly.

She laughs lightly. "Well, I hope we’re living up to your expectations."

"You have been most welcoming," he replies with a nod.

Karen's flirtation becomes more overt as she continues chatting with Morpheus. She touches his arm lightly and tilts her head in a way that emphasizes her features.

Brian and Lucy exchange amused glances behind her back.

"So," Karen says, leaning in slightly, "how long are you staying?" Morpheus is entirely unfazed by her obvious attempts and turns to you.

Morpheus' gaze locks with yours for a moment before he responds. "That is yet to be determined."

You watch as Karen continues her attempts to engage Morpheus, her body language practically screaming interest. You can’t help but smirk at the situation. If only she knew who she was trying to charm.

Brian elbows you lightly. "Man, where’d you find this guy? He’s got everyone captivated."

"Long story," you reply, eyes still on Morpheus and Karen. How could he possibly be this impervious? You're actually impressed!

Lucy giggles, clearly entertained. "She’s really laying it on thick, isn’t she?"

Before you can respond, Sam joins your little group, eyeing Morpheus with a mix of curiosity and wariness. "Who’s the new guy?"

"Morpheus," you say again, finding it amusing how many times you’ve introduced him already.

Sam nods slowly. "Interesting name."

"Fitting too," Brian adds under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear.

Morpheus finally disentangles himself from Karen’s questions and steps closer to your group. His presence has a way of commanding attention without effort.

"It is refreshing to witness such lively gatherings," he remarks, his gaze sweeping over the park once more.

"You don’t get out much?" Lucy teases lightly.

"Not in this manner," he replies, a hint of amusement in his eyes.

You catch Karen shooting you a glance, clearly wondering why Morpheus seems more interested in your circle than her. You can almost see the gears turning in her head as she tries to figure out a new approach.

"So, Morpheus," Brian starts, leaning forward with genuine interest, "what do you do when you're not... traveling?"

Morpheus’ smile is small, but there. "I have responsibilities that are difficult to explain."

Sam chuckles. "Sounds mysterious."

"It is part of my nature," he responds smoothly.

Karen reappears with two beers in hand, offering one to Morpheus. He accepts it gracefully but doesn’t drink. Instead, he holds it as if it were a prop in some grand play.

You decide to steer the conversation back to safer ground. "We were just talking about office romances before you showed up."

Lucy laughs. "Yeah, we were placing bets on who’ll be the next couple."

Morpheus raises an eyebrow slightly. "And who are the contenders?"

"Amy from marketing and Josh from sales," Lucy says confidently.

Brian chuckles. "Apparently they’ve been having lunch together a lot."

"Interesting dynamic," Morpheus muses, his gaze thoughtful.

Karen tries another angle. "What about you? Any special someone waiting for you back home?"

You bite back a laugh at the thought of someone asking the Lord of Dreams about his love life.

"There are many important figures in my realm," Morpheus says cryptically.

Karen looks slightly deflated by his non-answer but plows on regardless. "Well, maybe you'll find someone special here."

Brian leans over to you and mutters under his breath, "She’s relentless."

You chuckle at Brian's comment, taking another sip of your sparkling water. The sun is starting to dip lower, casting a golden hue over the park. You feel a wave of drowsiness hit you out of nowhere, the familiar sensation that precedes an episode. You try to shake it off, blinking rapidly and straightening your posture.

Morpheus' eyes are on you, a flicker of concern passing through them. You can tell he senses something is wrong.

Before you can excuse yourself, your vision blurs and your legs buckle. The world tilts and you feel yourself falling. Panic surges through you but then, strong arms catch you before you hit the ground.

Morpheus holds you with surprising gentleness, his expression calm but focused. He lowers you carefully to the grass, cradling your head to avoid any impact.

The sounds of the picnic fade into a distant murmur as darkness envelops you. Morpheus’ presence remains a constant anchor in the haze of your mind.

"Rest now," his voice soothes, wrapping around you like a protective cocoon.

In the space between wakefulness and sleep, you sense his power enveloping you, creating a barrier against any potential harm. It’s as if he’s guiding your descent into slumber, ensuring it’s safe and peaceful.

You surrender to the pull of sleep, trusting in Morpheus' care.

You open your eyes to find yourself standing in the familiar yet surreal landscape of the Dreaming. The sky shifts through shades of twilight, and the ground beneath your feet feels both solid and fluid. You take a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. The embarrassment of having an episode in front of Morpheus burns hot in your chest.

You look around, and there he is, standing a few paces away. His presence is as imposing as ever, yet there’s a softness in his gaze that wasn’t there before.

"I'm sorry," you blurt out, your voice echoing slightly in the dreamscape. "I didn't mean for that to happen."

Morpheus steps closer, his movements graceful and assured. "There is no need for apologies," he says, his tone calm and soothing. "It was not something within your control."

You shift uncomfortably, still feeling the weight of your embarrassment. "But it happened in front of everyone... and you."

He regards you with an understanding expression. "I am glad I was there to prevent you from injuring yourself," he states simply.

His words take you by surprise, and you feel a sense of relief wash over you. "Thank you," you manage to say, feeling a bit more at ease. It is still embarrassing though.

Morpheus nods slightly. "Your well-being is important, whether in the waking world or the Dreaming."

You glance around at the dreamscape, noting how it seems to respond to your emotions—colors shifting, shapes morphing subtly. You take another deep breath, trying to calm yourself further.

"It’s just... it’s hard," you admit, meeting his gaze again. "Living with this condition."

Morpheus’ eyes soften even more, if that’s possible. "I understand," he says quietly. "The line between our worlds is thin for some."

You nod slowly, feeling understood in a way you hadn’t expected. The embarrassment starts to fade as you realize that Morpheus doesn’t see your condition as a weakness or something to be ashamed of. Just something that is.

"Thank you," you say again, this time with more confidence.

Morpheus nods at your thanks, his presence a steadying force in the ever-shifting landscape of the Dreaming. You feel the ground beneath your feet firm up slightly, a reflection of your calming nerves.

"Shall we walk?" he suggests, extending a hand towards a path that winds through a forest of glowing trees. Their branches sway gently, emitting soft, pulsating lights.

You nod, falling into step beside him. The path feels both familiar and foreign, like a memory you can’t quite place. The sounds of the picnic are distant now, replaced by the whispers of the trees and the soft crunch of leaves underfoot.

As you walk, you steal glances at Morpheus. His expression is serene, his eyes taking in the dreamscape with an almost paternal pride.

"Does it ever change for you?" you ask suddenly. "Being here, in the Dreaming?"

He looks at you, considering your question. "The Dreaming is always changing," he says thoughtfully. "It reflects the minds and souls of those who inhabit it."

You ponder this as you walk. "And does it reflect your mind too?"

Morpheus smiles faintly. "In ways both subtle and overt," he admits.

You feel a sense of connection to this place, as if your presence here has more meaning than you realize. The trees part to reveal a tranquil lake, its surface like glass reflecting the twilight sky.

Morpheus stops at the water's edge and turns to face you. "This is a place where you can find solace," he says quietly. "A refuge from the chaos of both worlds."

You kneel down and touch the water's surface with your fingertips. It’s cool and soothing, sending ripples across the mirror-like lake. Peace trickles into your body.

"Thank you," you say again, feeling more at ease in his presence.

Morpheus watches you with an unreadable expression before speaking again. "Remember that you are not alone in navigating the spaces between dreams and reality. "

His words make warmth bloom within you. You rise to your feet and meet his gaze with a smile.

"I'll try to remember that," you reply.

The two of you stand there for a moment longer, absorbing the tranquility of the scene.

"Are you ready to return?" he asks softly. You blink at him. He could wake you up this whole time??

Date Published: 8/14/24

Last Edit: 8/14/24

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[raina-at]

Intuition

The journey through my AUs continues, today it's my kind of Unilock boys from Guess Who's Coming for Christmas Dinner, but this stands very well on its own as well.

----

“Stop fidgeting.”

“I can’t help it. I look ridiculous.”

“You do not,” Sherlock says, indignant, reaching over to adjust John’s tie. “The suit is perfect. Now stop fidgeting and keep your eyes open. One of these people is a cat burglar and a jewel thief.”

“Yeah, and the rest are bankers and brokers,” John mutters, adjusting his cufflinks. “Find the thief in a roomful of thieves. Like looking for a needle in a pile of needles.”

“Careful, your class prejudices are showing. Now look around and try to look like you regularly spend a thousand pounds on a bottle of wine.”

John snorts and takes two flutes of champagne from a tray, handing one to Sherlock. He takes a sip and hums appreciatively. “At least the booze is good.”

They make their rounds, chatting with several people, and for the first time, John is glad for the hours and hours he spent trying to make nice with Sherlock’s posh family, because he now knows how to use summer as a verb, and he’s learned to pronounce chalet correctly. 

“What about this chap?” John points at an elegant older man across the room. “He gives me the creeps.”

“What are you basing this deduction on?” Sherlock asks, taking an unobtrusive look at the man John pointed out.

“Dunno. Something about him. Intuition.”

Sherlock huffs an exasperated sigh. “John, there is no such thing as intuition.”

“‘Course there is.”

“No. What you call intuition is your brain making deductions and drawing inferences from a hundred subconscious clues and disseminating the data to you as uneasiness, because you haven’t trained your brain to observe consciously. You need to learn how to separate the context clues and observe them, systematically and consciously.” Sherlock gestures at the man John indicated. “Look at your fellow here. His shoes are bespoke Italian loafers, incredibly expensive, this make and model are only made in Florence, which just happens to be the site of one of our thefts. His watch is British Army issue, meaning he has military training, further fitting our profile. He’s wearing glasses he clearly doesn’t usually wear, given there are no imprints on his nose, and he recently dyed his hair. He fidgets with his tie like you, meaning he’s unused to wearing one, and what banker isn’t used to wearing a tie?”

“So, what you’re saying,” John says, with an amused smile, “is that I’m right?”

Sherlock rolls his eyes. “Yes, John, you are right. But for the wrong reasons.”

“You’re so lucky I love you, you incurable smartarse,” John mutters, depositing his empty champagne glass on a nearby tray.

“If I’m not entirely mistaken,” Sherlock murmurs as he leans closer to speak in John’s ear, “you especially love my smart arse.”

John grins. “Not entirely accurate. I love your smart brain, and I love your spectacular arse.” John leans closer and kisses Sherlock once on the lips, then murmurs, “How about we get out thief and go home, and then I can show you just how much I love your smart arse?”

“You’re right, you know,” Sherlock says, drawing back a little to give John an affectionate smile. “I am lucky.”

John pecks him on the cheek, smiling softly. “So am I. Now let’s get our jewel thief, and go home.” He makes a gesture for Sherlock to precede him and then follows, making no secret out of his appreciation for Sherlock’s truly fine arse.

Lucky indeed, he thinks, as they walk once more into battle.

-----

I think I'm done with my AU journey, I think I hit them all at least once. I'll double-check, and if you can think of one I haven't done, please drop me a line, but I think I've done them all.

Um.... Bingo?

Tags under the cut as usual, please let me know if you want to be tagged or untagged. Also, periodic reminder that I'm posting these on AO3 here.

@calaisreno @totallysilvergirl @jrow @peanitbear @jolieblack @meetinginsamarra @helloliriels @keirgreeneyes @lisbeth-kk @friday411 @givemesherbet-blog-blog @weeesi @thalialunacy @thegildedbee @dapetty @salmonsown

[meetinginsamarra]

mayprompts2024, #21 fire

White Pony Tattoo - Part Two (Fire)

“What? You, how…” John struggled for words. “This is impossible!” He is impossible!

“To a lesser mind maybe. To me, it’s obvious.” Sherlock shrugged, a bored expression on his face.

Now this is unbelievable. How can he be so dismissive and haughty?

John remembered that a lot of people who had rated this shop on the internet had called Sherlock a brilliant tattoo artist but personality-wise a total arsehole.

Guess they have been spot-on, John thought.

“This is terribly rude, you know?” John’s temper rose quickly. Since he had nothing left to lose, having been rejected already, John added for good measure, “Has anybody ever told you that you’re an utter dick?”

John faced Sherlock’s piercing stare with blazing eyes. His mouth was set into a fierce line as if John was about to jump head-first into battle, hands clenched.

John had expected that Sherlock would get insulted and just throw him out, but no, something completely different and unexpected happened.

Sherlock laughed.

Genuinely and heartily and actually enjoying the verbal attack.

“Now and then, yes.”

Sherlock’s bored face transformed into one shining with mirth, laugh lines had formed and his stunning eyes had changed their colour into a sunny blue green hue.

“Ah, yes. Here appears the soldier, finally.” Sherlock nodded appreciatively.

John was dumbfounded by Sherlock’s uncanny knowledge about him. How does he do this?

Sherlock stepped around the wooden counter and circled once around John, evaluating every inch of his body like a predator might scrutinize its prey for suitabilty to be devoured.

Unconsciously, John assumed a military stance and that earned him a raised eye brow by Sherlock.

“You’re not cowed.” Sherlock stated. “Good. I love the feisty clients.”

John’s skin shivered from alternating waves of cold and heat, being under Sherlock’s renewed hyper-attention. Something grew inside of him and reached out like a flower stretching towards the sun.

Yet, John refused to feel intimidated, so he raised his chin and fixed his eyes on Sherlock’s, locking them in a visual chokehold.

“Am I now?” John inquired, voice steady just as his hand. “A client? Not boring anymore?”

“Wrong. Twice.” Sherlock clicked his tongue. “Still not a client and I’m still not covering up your awful Virgin Mary tattoo with a boring soldier in full combat gear.”

John was speechless. Again. And hated it. He cannot know this!

John stared at Sherlock, watching him move with the lithe fluidity and enviable grace of a ballet dancer towards a light switch at the wall. Or was it the hidden strength of a prowling jaguar?

John had the distinctive suspicion that Sherlock did this on purpose. He was putting up a show for him. Anyway, the sight was something to behold.

The cozy dimness disappeared when the shop was bathed in harsh white light from a large panel on the ceiling. It shortly hurt John’s eyes and made him blink. The light left no room for vagueness and painted everything in stark contrast and highlighted every angle.

The planes of Sherlock’s angular face now looked like being carved out of Carrara marble and reminded John of Michelangelo’s famous “David” statue.

For the first time since he met the artist, John realized that Sherlock wore a purple dress shirt in the exact same colour as the curtain behind him. The shirt was very tight and hugged Sherlock’s slim but muscular chest like a second skin. It had to be bespoke since there were no wrinkles marring the expensive silk fabric.

Sherlock had left the upper two buttons undone and John caught a glimpse of white smooth skin and the beginning lines of an intricate black tattoo, beguiling and seductive like a promise to explore more. What image might be hidden under there?

Apart from these lines, John saw no other tattoos but Sherlock wore long sleeves that were held together by silver cufflinks in the form a tattoo gun.

Sherlock’s rumbling voice tore John out of these most pleasant musings.

“I offer you a phoenix, rising from the fire. The mystical bird that dies in the flames only to rise again, renewed and stronger than before. This really befits you and your personal resurrection story, don’t you think?”

John swallowed. Is he a mind reader?

“If you accept my offer come back in two days, 2 PM sharp. Now go, my next client arrives in five minutes.” Sherlock made a shooing motion with slender beringed fingers on his dextrous artist’s hand. “You may leave now.”

Shaken and not quite sure was it was that had just happened to him, John found himself back in the pavement in front of the tattoo shop.

Of course, John would come back. He did not have to think about returning to White Pony Tattoo for one single second.

+++++

tagging some people @calaisreno @totallysilvergirl @peageetibbs @lisbeth-kk @raina-at

[royedismyaesthetic]

Roy & Edward's 1922 Wedding Reception

They're wearing black here, but I really feel like Roy would get married in his military uniform, while Ed would wear something a little more colorful (it’s his wedding, not his funeral). 

Anyway, what’ve we got here? Roy proposes with the ring on the left, which is gold with a little ruby in the center ($2.28), and then they have plain gold wedding bands. We have fancy cufflinks, wedding cake, a fancy pie plate for wedding pie, table setting stuff, handkerchief (to wipe up tears during the ceremony), and Elicia’s camera (she’s old enough to be their wedding photographer).

There’s more stuff I could have added, but… I did not.

[gumnut-logic]

“Hey, Virg, c’mere.”

Virgil nearly lost his drink as Gordon yanked on his arm. “Gordon?!”

His fish brother muttered something that could possibly be considered an apology in some reality, somewhere, but kept pulling, dragging Virgil across the room.

They were at a London function, dressed to the nines, cufflinks and all, and Virgil had been in a very interesting conversation with his plus one. That plus one being Cass McCready and she was dressed in a most appealing manner that had him itching for a paintbrush…among other things.

Instead, he was being dragged across the floor by his fish brother and Cass was fast vanishing behind him in the crowd.

Her amused smile was rather alluring at least.

Gordon and he were going to have words after this.

His brother finally stopped tugging when they reached a group of rather burly looking men and women. All of them were dressed in evening wear, but there was a certain anticipation in all their expressions.

What?

A small table had been set up with two chairs. A particularly large man was sitting in one of them, an air of confidence emanating off of him.

Virgil stared.

“Virg, it is up to you to uphold how Tracy honour.” Gordon straightened beside him.

“What?”

“I need you to arm wrestle this man and prove your heavy lifting muscles to these dunderheads.”

There was a muffle of snorts at that and Virgil suddenly realised he knew a couple of these guys.

This was Blue Squad. Cass’ firefighting team.

A soft sigh of silk and Cass appeared at his elbow. “Looks like you have a challenge there, Tracy.” She was smiling at him.

It was a nice smile.

“C’mon, Virg, Tracy honour is at stake.”

He turned to his brother and glared, only to find Penelope on the fish’s arm.

Oh, honour, definitely.

Shows of masculinity really weren’t his thing. Scott had been known to flex his muscles occasionally for the ladies, even if it wasn’t immediately obvious, but Virgil was quite happy to draw attention in other ways.

Cass placed a hand on his arm and whispered in his ear. “The team need a little encouragement. Show them how it is done.”

He arched an eyebrow at her. This was her squad…and then he saw the sparkle in her eye. His lips curled as he saw the pride in her people shining there.

“Virg…” It was almost a whine as Gordon tugged on his tux again.

“Okay. Fine.”

“Yess!”

Gordon should never play poker.

Or maybe he should. His military brother did know how to play a situation, after all. This was possibly all a show.

Virgil folded himself into the chair opposite and found himself looking up at the firey opposite him. “Hi. Virgil Tracy.”

“Butch Huggins.” His voice was like a rumbling rock fall and his smile ever so confident. This was definitely a guy you wanted on your side when busting into a building on fire. He looked like he could take down a wall even in his tux.

Gordon, what the hell have you gotten me into?

A glance up at the spectators involved and he found himself ringed in eager smiles, Cass’ included.

She did have a lovely smile.

“Are we doing this?” The rock fall was apparently getting impatient.

Virgil swallowed and, unclipping his cufflinks, a present from Scott some time ago, rolled up his sleeve.

Butch did the same, revealing tattoos of flame up the length of well-defined forearm.

Maybe he should have brought his exosuit with him tonight.

The image of his claw and everything it was capable of filled his mind for a moment.

Gordon was dead when they got home tonight.

One dead fish.

And Scott might even grill him. Yes, Virgil was petty enough to bring in big bro on this one.

Where was Scott anyway?

Probably enjoying some female company. This Firey’s Charity Ball was full of very capable women, after all.

Butch slammed his elbow down on the table enough to trigger Virgil’s funny bone from afar.

Okay, well, apparently he was doing this.

Why did he feel so small? He wasn’t used to feeling small.

But confidence wasn’t something he was lacking, it was just the laws of physics didn’t seem to be leaning in his direction at the moment.

Cursing his fish brother from here to Atlantis, Virgil placed his elbow on the table. Butch grabbed his hand.

It was like being grabbed by a gorilla. Honestly, the man’s hand was huge.

If he was injured doing this and off rescues for any time at all, Gordon wasn’t going to be the only Tracy death later on.

Scott would kill both of them.

Cass was watching, though.

Virgil kicked himself for being so stupid.

Could he kill Gordon twice?

“Okay, we ready?” Gordon was flicking his eyes between Virgil and Butch.

“Ready.” Seriously, the man had a crumbling mountain for a voice.

“Let’s get this over with.” Virgil glared at his little brother.

Though something was warm in his stomach that Gordon was proud enough of him to set him up like this.

A little warm.

Very little.

“Ready, set…” Focus. “Go.”

And suddenly the mountain was falling on him.

Butch grunted, obviously throwing himself into this.

But Virgil Tracy had had mountains fall on him before and his shoulders were well trained in catching them.

The force travelled up his arm into his shoulder. His bicep was assisted by a considerable trapezius and deltoid, and while his forearm worked, his well-built pectoral joined in the refusal to move. Virgil pivoted just a little in his seat as practised reflexes took the strain.

And negated it.

Butch yelped as his hand was flexed backwards and slammed elegantly to the table top.

Oh, shit.

Virgil let go immediately. “Are you okay? Let me see that.” He reached for the man’s hand as it was quickly yanked away the moment he released it.

Butch stared at him. “How the hell?”

But Virgil didn’t have the chance to answer as the crowd around them erupted into cheers and hollers. There were hands patting him on the back and grabbing at him.

Someone kissed his cheek.

He blushed as he realised it was Cass.

Suddenly appreciating that he was still sitting down and there was an entire squad of fireman glaring at him…with some respect along with the outrage, Virgil hurriedly clambered to his feet.

“Way to go, Virg, I knew you could do it!” Gordon was bouncing on his feet.

Virgil shot him with his eyes.

The fish ignored him and kept bouncing until Penelope wrapped an elegant hand around his arm and distracted him with a smile.

She winked at Virgil.

A strong hand wrapped around Virgil’s bicep in almost a mirror move. “Smooth, Tracy. Huggins needed to be put in his place. I can use this to up the training regime. You’ve slapped down a benchmark.”

Virgil turned to find that beautiful smile on her face again. Her squad was grumbling behind her, shooting admiring glances mixed with glares in his direction.

Maybe he should join the squad next vacation just to fix that.

Yes, that was the entire reason why that suddenly seemed even more attractive.

Cass’ smile widened as she tugged gently on his arm, letting her head drop to his shoulder as it became a laugh.

Hmm, maybe he should thank the fish after killing him.

-o-o-o-

[ya-zz]

Hi I hope you’re doing well!! I just read through all your fics and just want to say I love your writing 🫶🫶

Do you think you could write something for Genji or Hanzo with a reader that gets flustered when they see them wearing suits? No worries if not ^^

Soo... Feralness has gone down, but I still won't deny the fact that any of these boys in suits will make me act up- Genji suit when, Blizzard?

Hanzo and Genji x Reader (gen)

Word count: 1098

A/N: I wanna clarify before you read that this is not Shimada/cest at all.

There was an event you had been invited to, the invitation being slipped through the crack of your door when you were sleeping. It was a sudden surprise, but one you weren’t going to say no to. In fact, you were waiting for the invitation having already heard rumours about this party. The moment you saw that envelope, the smile that crossed your face hurt. 

You spent the better half of the day mentally preparing. You assumed most of the Overwatch agents were going tonight considering it was being held by them, but you knew that there were some that would rather spend their evening hiding away. 

There were colleagues there that you could hang out with, you knew that, but the anxiety wasn't about who you would be with, but how you would look. You were worried about whether or not you would fit in, or if you would be judged. You were worried about whether you would be able to hold a conversation, or if you would say something stupid and embarrass yourself. Quickly dismissing the thoughts, you head for the bathroom to shower.

The rest of the afternoon was spent getting ready, making sure there were no creases or wrinkles in your outfit and once you were confident enough with yourself, letting out a shaky sigh, you left your room and headed towards the event. 

–

The car stopped outside of the building, armed guards surrounding the area, snipers upon the rooftops. It was normal for you, seeing all these military guards dotted around, that you payed them no mind except from passing a smile when you headed up the stairs. 

Showing the front guards your ID badge that was issued to you when you became an agent at Overwatch, they stepped to the side and let you in, offering a “good evening and have a good night” as you entered. 

The hallway was quiet as you walked through but you could hear the music and chatter on the other side. Upon getting closer, a door not far from your left opened up that made you stop in your tracks. 

Hanzo walks out, hands clasped together as he attempts to warm them back up from the water in the bathroom. He looks elegant as always. Adorned with gold accents, Hanzo Shimada looked so irresistible that it made your cheeks rise in temperature. He catches you, turning and bowing in your direction before heading over to you. Butterflies began to form in your stomach, the nervousness rising within you.

He was speaking, but you couldn’t hear him. Your eyes were glued to his body. His hair was up, as it usually was, but his silk ribbon looked different. It was gold, yes, but the black that gradually faded to the lengths end accentuated his suit more. The white shirt popped against the black suit and tie, small golden accents going up the collar of his blazer. The golden cufflinks glittered in the ambient light. His hands reached up to unbutton the blazer, showing the waist coat he was wearing, tight against his torso. Every part of this man was perfect. 

“Are you even listening to me?” His voice broke through your gaze, eyes darting up to look at him. He chuckles, seeing your flustered face.

“Sorry-” Your breathing catches in your throat as you smile awkwardly. He knew you were gawking at him. 

“Let us greet the others.” He offers his arm out to you, which you take a little too quick and it embarrasses you even more. Hanzo couldn’t help but smile as he escorts you towards the main hall. 

The room was bright, a low chandelier hanging from the centre of the ceiling. A live band played on the stage, Lucio conversing with them as any musician would do. There were many people within the hall, Overwatch officials mixed with corporate humans and omnics alike. Butlers of both types wandered through the area offering a variety of foods and drinks to the guests. 

“Come. The group is over there.” The archer gestures over to the other side of the hall as he continues to walk with you. 

It took whatever strength you had to not faint then and there. Your heartbeat was elevated, especially being this close to this man in particular. You had your eyes on him, of course, but wouldn’t push to make that first move. 

As you approached the group, their eyes turn onto the pair of you and smiles and waves followed after. It felt comfortable being among your colleagues in a non work setting. Everyone was having fun, everyone was talking, telling jokes. It was a night that you were going to remember for multiple reasons. 

“Has anyone seen my brother?” Hanzo asked amidst conversations. Someone responded to him, telling him that he went outside before returning to whatever conversation was happening within their vicinity. 

It wasn’t long later that the other Shimada brother appeared, Zenyatta next to him. It was unnatural seeing the omnic in formal attire that it caught your eyes first, but the moment you look over at the younger Shimada, the feeling that you felt earlier in the pit of your stomach comes back up. 

Dressed just like his brother in a black suit and tie just sent shivers down your spine. Both Shimadas making you feel something you hadn’t felt in a long time. Lust. 

Genji immediately saw the change in your demeanour, a sly chuckle escaping him as he greeted you, but just like before, your eyes couldn’t help but stare. Instead of gold accents it was green, something of which matched his hair, recently dyed too. The temperature was only rising.

“Are you okay?” The ninja asks, cocking his head to the side, but he knew. The flushed face and blown irises was all the indication he needed. 

You nod in response, peeling your eyes off of the ninja’s chest and meeting his. The look he gave you only made you shy away in embarrassment. He smirked, glancing over at his brother who only rolled his eyes in response. 

Both Shimada’s were making you weak, and unnaturally so. Sure, you had feelings for the older brother, but now the younger brother? Oh boy… 

Genji places his hand on your shoulder and turns you back around to face the group. His hand squeezes slightly before letting go, and the lack of feeling made you silently sigh. 

Hanzo, on the other hand, moved to stand next to you, closing you into a possibly troublesome situation if both Shimada's wanted to deal with your flushed stated.

[blurredcolour]

I Wish You Love | Part Six

I Wish You Love Masterlist

Lewis Nixon x Housemaid!Female Reader

The future you and Lewis have longed and planned for finally arrives.

Warnings: Class Divide, Judeo-Christian Blasphemy, Language, Smoking, Alcohol Consumption, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Mature/Explicit Themes [deflowering/virginity loss, fingering, oral sex - f receiving, unprotect vaginal sex, multiple orgasms] - 18+ ONLY.

Author's Note: Reader's nationality is British and liberties have been taken in describing her background and family life for the sake of plot. No physical descriptions or y/n used. A good portion of this fic will be letter-based. This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the HBO series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.

Word Count: 5391

--------------------------

You’d barely made it into the suite before Lewis’s mouth was on yours, kissing you deeply as he pulled you flush against him, much closer than the company you’d had to endure all evening had allowed. You gasped against his lips, startled, which he took full advantage of; his tongue thoroughly reacquainting itself with yours until oxygen necessitated that he pull back slightly.

“I’ve been aching to hold you properly since you stepped into that room hours ago.”

“Oh Lewis…” You murmured breathlessly. “I’ve missed you so much.”

His eyes met yours intensely as he smoothed the hair back from your face. “I promise there will be no need for us to separate like that again.”

You smiled softly and pressed a tender kiss to his forehead. “Would you indulge me, just five minutes, while I change into something more comfortable?”

His eyes twinkled slightly as he raised an eyebrow. “How could I resist a request laced with such potential.” He pecked your lips once more before surrendering his hold on you, watching you make your way into the bedroom where your luggage was waiting, just as Sara had promised.

Fetching the nightgown from the top of your worn suitcase, the very same that had once housed his letters and later assisted you in your flight from Lydiard, you stepped into the ensuite bathroom to begin removing the layers of clothing that covered your body. Coming at last to just your underwear you paused a moment, biting your lip before sliding them off as well. Everything was folded carefully and set on the corner of the counter before you slipped into the thin-strapped rayon nightgown, a very convincing likeness for silk, with lace appliques and a scandalously low back that nearly exposed the cleft of your behind.

Debating a moment about the pins in your hair, you decided to leave them in place so Lewis might have a chance to properly ruin the style as he had promised in the car. The jewelry you left as well, wanting to tuck it away immediately in the storage cases. Stepping out with your stack of clothing balanced expertly on one hand, you swallowed thickly to find Lewis already seated on the end of the bed facing the door. His presence in your private spaces was something you were looking forward to adjusting to.

His jacket was draped over the back of a chair, his bowtie hanging untied around his neck, framing a number of undone buttons that provided a very enticing peek at the hollow of his throat. He had been focusing on one of his cufflinks but at the sound of the door opening, lifted his eyes and froze at the sight of you.

“Christ in heaven…” He breathed, rising to his feet to snatch the pile of folded clothes from your hand, dumping them unceremoniously onto the chair, undoing your careful work.

“Lewis!” You protested in dismay as they landed haphazardly, turning to look at him as he took your hands, lifting them our at your sides gently so he could properly drink you in.

“Forgive me, I could not bear to have anything obstructing my view of you right now.” He swallowed visibly, eyes slightly unfocused as they met yours. “You are indescribably beautiful, darling. Breathtaking. I didn’t buy this one did I…” His fingers caressed the material against the skin of your hip, making you shiver as you shook your head.

“I did. I’m pleased you like it.” You smiled shyly, finding his reaction to it both overwhelming and flattering.

Lewis stepped closer, the fabric of his dress shirt rustling slightly against your nightgown as he dragged his nose along your jaw. “I adore it, particularly on you. Even more so with this necklace.” His fingers trailed along the expensive jewelry still adorning your neck.

“I was going to put it away in the safe…” You exhaled shakily as his hands slid around your body to splay against your back, undoubtedly with the intention to pull you closer, but as they found bare skin, Lewis tensed.

Sinking your teeth into your lower lip, you stayed very still, even though your heart raced as thousands of nerve endings responded to his touch somewhere so very new.

“There’s no back?” His exhale sounded almost anguished before he burrowed his face into the crook of your shoulder.

Your eyes fluttered shut at the feel of him pressed so close with so few layers between you and you gave in to the urge to run your fingers through his hair, marveling at how thick and yet soft it was, such a juxtaposition in textures. “Have I killed you?” You whispered softly after a moment.

“I’m rallying.” He replied, lips brushing against your skin as he spoke, making you tremble in response.

His fingertips slowly began moving in exploratory swirls across the expanse of your back, as if mapping the new territory. Lewis raised his head with a deep inhale before his mouth was suddenly on yours, drawing a mewl of delight and surprise from your throat as you clung to his hair. The fingers of his one hand slipped past the edge of your nightgown to trail up the curve of your waist, along your ribcage as the other buried itself into your hair in turn, a cascade of pins falling to the carpet as he well and truly ruined the style.

Moving higher still, Lewis’s fingers brushed against the side of your breast, making you arch sharply against him. You pulled back from his lips to stutter out a quick apology.

“Does it feel nice?” He asked softly, voice gravelly as though he’d just woken from slumber.

Swallowing thickly, you could feel a wave of heat creeping up your neck and across your face. “Yes.” You replied in a hushed voice, a tiny whimper escaping you as he moved his fingers against your sensitive flesh with more purpose.

“Never apologize for enjoying something, darling.” He kissed you warmly before shifting his lips to trail along your jaw, down your throat, huffing as he suddenly encountered the necklace once more. “As much as I appreciate this on you, it is now more a hindrance than anything.”

Gently unravelling his arms from around your body, he stepped behind you to reach for the clasp, undoing it slowly before removing the weight of it from around your neck. You heard the necklace land on the desk with a soft clatter before his lips were painting a line of kisses down your spine.

“This garment is even better from back here, if that is possible.” He murmured against your kiss-dampened skin, making you reach out for the end of the bed to steady yourself as you found your thighs clenching together once again.

As if sensing your distress, Lewis slung his arm around your waist, pulling you back against him as his lips latched onto the now-bare skin of your neck, nipping and sucking at it as his hands skated higher along your abdomen to cup your breasts slowly. Moaning rather wantonly, in your opinion, you remained very concerned in the ability of your knees to keep you upright as they seemed to be turning to liquid rather than remaining the solid bone they ought to be. Seeking anchor, your arms stretched back and overhead to wrap around Lewis’s neck, clinging to him as his hands seemed to work magic.

“Lewis.” You sighed eagerly, arching into his touch, your behind pressing back against his hips, making you acutely aware of the hard length of him as he grunted against your neck.

“I know…” He whispered heatedly, making you shudder.

His hands reached up to lower your arms to your sides before he began to slide the straps of the nightgown down and off your shoulders, letting gravity do the rest as the fabric cascaded down your body and pooled on the floor, leaving you completely bare.

“I’ve never been more sure that I married the right woman until this very moment.” He nipped your shoulder blade playfully as his hands gripped your hips, walking you toward the bed.

The feel of his shirt and trousers against your bare skin made you swallow. “You are wearing a lot of clothes…” You whispered apprehensively.

“I’ll fix that, I promise.” Turning you in his arms he kissed you warmly, thoroughly, until you felt some of the accumulated tension leave your body. Only then did he part from your mouth to ease you back onto the bedspread. “My wife…” He breathed, tone filled with disbelief.

Feeling exposed, and disproportionately naked, you leaned up to tug the bowtie from his collar insistently, tossing it to the floor. It seemed enough of a signal for him to make good on his promise, for he made quick work of the rest of his clothing, stripping down to his boxers before sliding onto the bed to bestow another warm kiss to your lips. Settling onto his forearm, his mouth journeyed south to your collarbone as his free hand came to rest on your thigh, his thumb rubbing soothing circles into your skin as you jumped slightly at the contact.

Open-mouthed kisses and feather-light touches combined to slowly put you at ease, your hands coming to rest once more in his hair, your thighs gradually parting for him. Lewis’s approach was cautious and yet deliberate, finding each and every sensitive point on your body to tease and stroke and mouth at until you were a trembling mess, every heated exhale laced with a noise of pleading pleasure so that by the time he cupped your core you only moaned raggedly, pressing towards his touch with pure need.

As his fingers circled a sensitive bundle of nerves you were only minorly acquainted with, your hips practically levitated, an eager cry of his name falling from your lips as you tugged at his hair.

“Good?” He whispered hoarsely against your temple, and you nodded frantically as he repeated that motion whilst also beginning to tease the entrance to your warmth, tracing the edges of it, dipping in shallowly until you bucked your hips again, his finger sliding in fully.

Your eyes flew open to meet his dark gaze, pupils having nearing devoured the soft brown of his irises in his lust as he watched your face hungrily. “Oh Lewis…” You sighed, before your throat closed off with another moan as he began to work his digit in and out of your body.

“God darling you look utterly divine.” He groaned in response, bowing his head to suck the skin at the top of your left breast between his teeth, your back arching, your hips bucking, your entire body writhing beneath his ministrations.

A tension was beginning to build inside you, creeping into your muscles staring from your fingers and toes and working inward. A heaviness was blooming in your lower abdomen. As Lewis added a second finger into your wet warmth, you could feel yourself lurching ever closer to some sort of precipice, both alluring and alarming. “Lew I…I’m…” You could barely manage full words let alone a complete sentence as beads of sweat dewed along your skin.

“That’s right darling, just let go, I’ll catch you.” He kissed up your sternum to press his cheek against yours, breath tickling your ear as you whimpered in reply.

His words of reassurance, the insistent thrust of his fingers, combined with the mind melting circling of his thumb against that place of pure pleasure proved to be more than enough to send you hurtling into a shower of stars as your body spasmed, a wail wrenched from your throat. Lewis caught you, as promised, peppering tender kisses across your cheekbones and chin as your eyes fluttered open again in wonder.

“That…that was…”

Lewis grinned and kissed you gently. “Just the beginning.”

He barely gave you a few moments to catch your breath before he was sliding down your body to shoulder his way between your still-wobbly knees, latching his mouth onto your folds to deliver as thorough a kiss as he would to your mouth. Your hands wrenched at the bedding viciously as you moaned helplessly, thighs clenching on either side of his head as he let out an eager moan of his own in response.

Whether Lewis was more skilled with his mouth, or you were simply starting from an already heightened place of pleasure, or perhaps a combination of the two, your second climax was much quicker in the offing. It was also a much noisier affair, your cries of pleasure escalating in frequency and volume, and regularly echoed by Lewis, like some sort of sinful call and refrain.

As he climbed back up your body, grinning like the cat that ate the canary – and really, was he not? – you barely had the wherewithal to remember how to breathe.

“Do you wish to stop for the night, darling?” He asked, smoothing the hair from your forehead tenderly.

Furrowing your brow, you looked to him quizzically. “I may not have done this before, but I know enough to be certain we have yet to address your pleasure, Lewis.”

You watched his tongue slowly drag along his bottom lip in thought.

“I would be alri–” His offer was silenced by the sharp shake of your head before your fingers slid to the back of his neck, pulling him down to kiss him deeply. You were intrigued by the unfamiliar taste on his tongue, belatedly realizing it must be the taste of you.

“You have also been exceedingly patient, Lewis. I am rallying.” You employed his earlier phrase and he grinned fondly, kissing your forehead before rolling onto his back to lift his hips and divest himself of his boxers.

The sight of his hardened length, standing proud between his legs, was the second alluring yet alarming thing that evening.

“Darling?” He prompted gently and you looked to his face, relaxing at his soft smile.

“Yes, Lewis.” You nodded and opened your arms to him.

He carefully slid over your body, his thigh hooking behind your knee to spread your legs wider, making room to settle his hips against yours as he kissed you deeply. Teasing his length against you, the pair of you were sharing sharp pants of longing between open mouthed kisses before long. At last, Lewis shifted his hips back to slowly sink into your well-prepared warmth, putting you in awe of your body’s ability to accept all that he had to offer, and how very good it felt to be stretched around him.

Pressing his forehead to yours, Lewis took slow, steady breaths, staying very still as he watched your face closely. Your eyes shifted to meet his and you smiled softly, arching your neck to kiss him warmly.

“Husband.” You breathed.

“Wife.” He replied before rocking against you, his eyes fluttering shut as the sweet exchange devolved into a pair of lewd moans.

Your mutual need drove the pair of you to seek release in one another’s arms. As delightful as climax at Lewis’s hands or mouth was, you decided you preferred it best like this. To watch him as he struggled to maintain his focus, his descent into the maddening euphoria only pulling you down with him. As he pressed his palm to your lower abdomen, thumb dropping between your bodies to once again pluck at your bundle of nerves like a harp string, you thrashed against him as your release took you, struggling to keep your eyes open at his harsh shout of your name, the foreign yet not unpleasant feeling of his climax inside you following shortly thereafter.

Collapsing atop you briefly, Lewis’s back heaved as he desperately sought to catch his breath, aftershocks trembling through his frame. Rather than suffocating, you found something deeply comforting and welcome in the weight of him upon you, stroking your hands along his spine, filled with a tinge of regret as he carefully rolled onto his back beside you once he seemed to come back to himself.

“I will run us a bath in short order, darling, if you can just indulge me a few minutes more.”

Smiling tenderly, you shifted onto your side to kiss his cheek warmly. “Perhaps I can manage it, let me try.”

Leveraging yourself up to a sitting position, you set your feet onto the plush carpet, giggling a little at your slightly unsteady legs, not unlike a newborn foal, but they still proved somewhat serviceable, conveying you to the bathroom where you drew a warm bath. You were about to turn to check on Lewis when his arms wrapped around you from behind.

“Rallying?” You asked softly.

“Mmmm.” He murmured and kissed your shoulder.

Joining you in the tub, you worked together to see that both of you were cleaned and towelled dry before returning to the bedroom wearing the hotel supplied robes. You turned down the bedding, tucking him in before taking a moment to organize your luggage for the morning.

“Darling, what on earth are you doing?” He muttered drowsily, watching you from his perch on the pillows.

“Just ensuring I have enough to wear for the crossing, I won’t be much longer.”

“Mrs. Nixon, I plan on keeping you naked and in bed as much as possible, you won’t need many clothes at all.”

“Mr. Nixon!” Whirling on him with a scandalized look, he smirked up at you with a bemused expression.

“Now get that delicious behind into this bed immediately.” He patted the mattress invitingly and you rolled your eyes, taking a few more moments to finish up before sliding out of the hotel robe and diving beneath the sheets with him.

Snaking his arms around your waist he pulled you close, reaching back to turn out the light before kissing you gently. “Sleep well.”

“Good night, husband.”

When the phone rang with the wake-up call at seven that morning, Lewis was in much less of a loving mood. Essentially hanging up on the poor desk clerk, he did his best to pin you to the mattress with his body.

“Lewis my father’s train leaves in an hour and a half I really must…even if you can’t manage it…”

He grumbled resentfully, somehow replacing every grip on you as you soon as you managed to free it.

“How many limbs do you have?!” You huffed in exasperation.

“Just the normal five, wife.” He mumbled and you smacked his arm as even in his semi-conscious state he still managed to make lewd jokes.

“If you ever wish to see that nightgown again you will allow me to wish my family farewell.”

As if by magic, you found yourself free to slip from the bed, laughing softly under your breath as you hurried to the washroom to dress and do your hair, even more surprised to find him dressed as well when you emerged.

It was not particularly easy to say goodbye, but Lewis promised it would not be forever, that you would surely be back to visit and often. You bestowed a kiss on the cheeks of your father and brother in the sitting room of their suite, Johnny hauling you in for a crushing hug before aggressively shaking Lewis’s hand until they had to head toward the lift and down to a waiting taxi.

Lewis took you back to your suite to treat you to breakfast before it was time for the pair of you to check out as well, the train to Southampton set to depart shortly after noon.

Moving to take a seat in the lobby as Lewis settled the bill at the front counter, you stopped short as a very familiar face came into view. Flocked by several well-heeled society maidens was one Isobel St John, far too well dressed for eleven o’clock in the morning, though whomever was doing her hair these days was not quite as good at it as you had been. Her icy blue eyes flicked over your face before rolling so hard you were surprised they didn’t pop out of their sockets.

“Seems they’ll allow anyone in here these days. Truly, their standards really have fallen since the war.”

The comforting pressure of Lewis’s hand against your lower back, accompanied by the dizzying scent of his aftershave, straightened your spine and rid you of the desire to make yourself small and slink off in the face of her persistent cruelty.

“Good day, Miss St John. I don’t think you’ve had the pleasure of meeting my wife.” He spoke cooly, formally, but you were too busy examining her left hand to confirm that her ring finger was indeed still bare. Confirming that Lewis had addressed her properly. Just as she was surely staring intently at the set of rings on your hand in kind.

“Mr. Nixon. Glad to see you made it to the other side of the war. Now if you’ll excuse us, we’re quite late.” She turned on her heel sharply and her companions struggled to keep up with her brisk clip out of there.

Pressing your lips together, smothering the laugh that threatened at the back of your throat, you turned to look up at him fondly. “You finished quicker than I expected.”

“Oh, I’m not quite done, but I wasn’t about to abandon you to the wolves.” He murmured, kissing your cheek softy.

You were so overcome with tenderness at his rescue that you rather forgot yourself and turned your head to kiss him firmly in the crowded space. “Thank you.” You murmured against his lips.

“Anytime, Mrs. Nixon.” He grinned warmly, seeing you to an armchair before returning to his previous task.

As promised, Lewis kept you very much undressed and occupied for the majority of your journey across the Atlantic, completely washing away any of the rage you had been planning on unleashing upon him in the rather opulent quarters of your cabin. His efforts persisted in the borrowed house you two occupied for several weeks in the Bahamas and combined with sun, surf, and sand you quite lost track of all time as you awaited your immigration papers.

Unbeknownst to you, their arrival in mid-March was certainly some sort of bureaucratic record and saw the pair of you packing up your luggage and making your way to your new home in New Jersey. As in all things, Lewis had completely ignored your wishes and most definitely purchased a mansion.

“You really don’t have to Lewis…” You protested as he stopped you at the front door, unlocking it as the driver unloaded your luggage from the car.

“I really think I do, though, darling.” He grinned. “It’s bad luck otherwise.” Bending down, he threaded his arm behind your knees, scooping you up against his chest to step over the threshold, gently setting you back down inside.

“Well done.” You laughed softly, patting his shoulder before turning to taking in the wood panelled entryway. “All this for just us two…”

“A library for our books, an office for me, a study for you, rooms for guests and space to entertain. It’s modest, I promise.”

You eyed him skeptically but pressed a kiss to his cheek all the same.

It took some navigating to find a purpose as Lewis headed back to work almost immediately on your arrival in America, having been away for so long. The house needed decorating, which was something you were able to undertake with the assistance and guidance of a professional recommended by Lewis’s mother, but after that it was a matter of accumulating charities and volunteer work to fill your time where domestic service and factory work once had.

As anywhere, some were downright snobbish, Isobel St John had not been an original in her classism by any means, but you found kindness and hard work went a long way to building friendships with the people of your new country. Lewis would also bring his good friend Dick and others from the office over often. It was nice to meet people from his life, particularly ones you had heard so much about, as you’d not previously had the chance.

You were reorganizing your study one afternoon, having quite lost track of the time as you worked to make space for ledgers from a new role you had taken on with the local hospital, not realizing how late it had gotten. Papers and books littered your desk, including the tidy stack of all Lewis’s correspondence – every letter and note he’d ever written to you, whether he’d known it was you or not – tied up with a piece of twine. Lewis’s voice calling from the front hall as he arrived home made you gasp and glance at the clock above the fireplace to see that it had somehow become five o’clock.

“I’m in here!” You called back, darting over to the small couch he liked to occupy when spending time in your space to scoop up the stacks of books you’d been alphabetizing to make a place for him to land.

“Good lord has there been a hurricane?” He teased, sidling into the chaos to press a firm kiss of greeting on your lips before sinking down onto his favourite cushion.

You laughed sheepishly, stepping over to the wall of built-in shelves to put the books back in their new places. “No, dearest, just reorganizing to make room for some things. I completely lost track of time, I’m sorry.”

“No apologies, darling, Mrs. Fisk has dinner underway, I can smell it.” He watched you softly as he spoke of the cook who came on weekdays and special occasions and was helping you expand your skills in the kitchen as well.

“How was work?” You asked as you hurried over to grab another stack of books from the corner of the desk, missing the way his eyes fell on the tied bundle. After several moments with no reply, you turned back to him. “Lewis?”

“Hmm?” He replied, straightening his suit jacket before standing and smiling to you. “Nothing too fascinating nor terrible to report. I think I’ll go tidy myself up, see you in a bit for dinner?”

“Sounds perfect.” You nodded softly, continuing your work until the clock in the hall chimed six and you met Lewis for dinner in the dining room.

The pair of you were just working together to clear the table when the doorbell rang.

“Ah there they are.” He grinned happily and set down the dishes he was carrying before going to answering it.

“Are we expecting someone?” You wiped your hands clean and turned off the faucet, lest the sink overflow, following after him.

“We are indeed. Good evening Mr. Douglas, thank you so much for agreeing to come after dinner.”

“Not at all Mr. Nixon, I’m sure you’re very excited to bring him home at last.”

Stepping up beside your husband your eyes widened at the wriggling Scottish terrier puppy in the man’s arms, its fur as black as ink, eyes bright with mischief. “Lewis!” You gasped.

“Mrs. Nixon will be happy to take him off your hands Mr. Douglas.” He smirked as the gentleman carefully set the small dog into your arms, watching fondly as it craned this way and that trying to lick at your face and hands. “Would you like a cup of coffee or anything before you go?”

“I appreciate the offer, but the missus is waiting at home with some of her coffee cake so I should probably get back.”

“Of course, of course, well thank you again.” Lewis pulled an envelope from his pants pocket, giving it to Mr. Douglas with a firm shake of the hand.

“Thank you very much, sir.” You smiled warmly, trying not to giggle as the puppy’s tongue hit its mark behind your ear.

“You two will have your hands full, I guarantee that.” Mr. Douglas laughed before bidding you both a goodnight.

“How long have you been plotting this?!” You asked as soon as Lewis turned the deadbolt on the door.

“A few months…” He grinned sheepishly, stepping over to pet the energetic bundle in your arms. “Took some time to choose the right breed, then the breeder, and then wait for him to be weened.”

“Just when I think I cannot love you any more than I already do…” You leaned over to kiss him warmly.

Juniper, or Nipper as Lewis affectionately called him, proved to be a lovely addition to your household, though getting him settled superseded your reorganization project in your study. Daily walks, training sessions, acquiring the necessary kit to care for a rambunctious and growing puppy – it took up a great deal of time. Time that you were happy to spend, but it meant that you didn’t return to restore order to your space for over two weeks.

Lewis was busy in the kitchen, concocting one of his French culinary masterpieces for Saturday dinner, with Juniper eagerly helping clean up anything that hit the floor, when you slipped away to resolve the disarray that had nagged at you every time you glimpsed the space. It didn’t take much more than an hour to put it all back as you had initially planned, sliding the ledgers for the veterans’ fund at the local hospital into the new place you had created as a result of your labours. But you realized, to your deep dismay, that had misplaced your bundle of letters from Lewis.

Trying not to fly into a panic, you rifled through the drawers and were in the process of peering beneath the couch when Juniper scampered in to helpfully lick at your face. “Yes, thank you sir, that is extremely helpful.” You laughed softly, corralling him under your arm, rising to your feet with a frown.

“Did you lose something, darling?” Lewis asked from the doorway, and you sighed.

“I hope not.” You replied vaguely, not wanting to admit to it quite yet, hoping it wasn’t true.

“I’m sure it’ll turn up then, come eat while its hot.” He pulled you close to kiss your temple, guiding you to the table where he treated you to a feast.

Once the table was cleared, the dishes washed, Juniper fed and passed out in his bed at the foot of your king-sized bed, you left Lewis reading against the headboard to take one more look, to no avail. Feeling rather frustrated and distraught, you trudged to the bathroom to get ready for sleep, chastising yourself for not finishing the job the day you had begun it. If you hadn’t been so careless you would not have lost something so utterly precious to you. Switching out the light, you changed into your nightgown – a regular, modest affair – and were about to climb into bed when a beautiful, ornate box set in front of your pillow stopped you short.

“What’s this?” You asked softly, sitting beside it carefully to look over the carved surface with images of grouse, thistles, and heather.

“Hmm?” Lewis looked at you innocently over the top of his book and you narrowed your eyes playfully, lifting it from the duvet.

It was about the size of a cigar box, but heavier of course. Lifting the lid, you let out an audible gasp, tears of relief flooding your eyes. “Your letters…” you exhaled. “…oh, thank goodness.”

“Oh, darling I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to upset you I just thought we could do better than some twine…” He sat up to cup your cheeks, thumbs swiping at your tears.

You shook your head quickly and let out a self-deprecating laugh. “It’s beautiful Lewis, thank you.”

He smiled softly and pressed a tender kiss to your forehead. “It was certainly odd to re-read them and find the wrong name in some…”

You sniffed and laughed again. “It’s just our odd story isn’t it, how something so wrong-footed ended up so right.”

“I could fix them for you, if you’d like, put your name in there or just cut hers out like I used to censor the men’s letters.”

Shaking your head, you kissed his cheek softly. “For better or for worse, that’s our story, dearest Lewis.”

“Most certainly for better, darling Mrs. Nixon.”

Grinning warmly, you set the box on your bedside table carefully before sliding beneath the duvet and into his arms. “I wholeheartedly agree.”

--------------------------

I Wish You Love Masterlist

Tag list: @ronsparky, @fuckoffthanos, @bcon24, @gretagerwigsmuse, @phyllisthefirst

[image credit: greenfield puppies]

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖Alpha, Beta (& Omega)

Rated: Explicit

Chapter Rating: Mature

Word Count: 3619

Pairing: Steve x Bucky

Tags: a/b/o, arranged marriage, enemies to lovers, nobility/royalty au, alternate history, dom/sub elements, beta bucky, anal sex, oral sex, hurt/comfort, first time, age gap, domestic discipline, spanking, head of household, wedding night, Edwardian time period, m/f/m poly marriage

Summary: To save House Barnes from scandalous ruin, James must agree to a contracted marriage, accepting Lord Senator Steven Rogers as his Alpha, Husband, and Headship.

To read previous parts of this series first, got to the story's masterlist

9. A Fever

This Chapter: "Every triad needs their omega. Every alpha does.” “And you think I’ll just go ahead and pick someone?” “It’s your right as Headship.”

Bucky wakes the next morning to find Steve still asleep.

He spends a moment appreciating his face. Steve looks younger in his sleep—perhaps because the aging set of responsibility is gone from his features, his face absent the stern countenance expected of a Senator and Headship.

For the first time, it occurs to Bucky that Steve may have been through quite a lot already in his life. He is older than Bucky, after all. And on top of being thrust into the Senate at a young age, he’s also been in the military, A captain. And during wartime, too, Bucky realizes belatedly. It’s been over for a couple of years now, but maybe Steve had seen battle, or even horrible things. Bucky swallows and thinks that he actually knows very little about his husband, in the grand scheme of things.

It’s bizarre to be in bed with a near-stranger, to know that he’s married to, and has now been intimate with, a person he doesn’t know. Bucky takes a deep breath and carefully untangles himself from under the alpha’s heavy arm. Steve doesn’t stir, and Bucky goes into the tiny bathroom of their suite. He removes the only item he’s wearing: the marital wristbands that Steve had told him to keep on last night during their … their lovemaking. 

He fills the tub and washes himself, blushing as he thinks about what they’d done, and feeling unsure about how vulnerable he’d let himself be. Steve seems like an okay man so far, but that could still turn out to be a facade, and Bucky doesn’t like being at anyone’s mercy. By the very nature of him being Steve’s Beta, he’s exactly that. Steve has absolute authority over him in their marriage, and it rankles Bucky’s nerve every time he thinks of it. Just because Steve hasn’t humiliated him yet doesn’t mean he can’t, or won’t.

A soft knock comes from the door. “Bucky?”

Steve’s voice, of course. “What?” Bucky says.

“Are you alright?”

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, Steve. I’m fine.”

There’s a long pause, and then Steve opens the door the tiniest bit. He peeks in at Bucky. 

Bucky scowls. “Hey!” 

“Sorry,” Steve says. “I woke up and you were gone.”

“I’m just bathing.” The response isn’t as nice as it could be, but Bucky pushes his guilt away. “I’m allowed to do that, aren’t I?”

“... Yeah.” Steve’s eyes flick up and down his body in the tub, taking him in. “Are you … are you alright? This morning?”

Bucky grunts and nods, unable to help the heat collecting in his face. He knows that Steve is asking about last night, about whether Bucky is physically okay after their lovemaking. “I’m fine,” he says, wishing that Steve would close the door and leave him alone. “Just … I’ll be out in a few, okay?”

Steve looks at him for another minute, then nods. “Okay. Then we’ll get dressed for breakfast.”

“Sure.”

He shuts the door, and Bucky sighs and dunks his head under the water, feeling at odds with … everything.

As they get dressed, Steve reminds him that he should wear his wristbands. Bucky freezes where he’s doing the cufflinks of his shirt. “I—oh.” He hadn’t thought of it. He glances to the bedside table where he’d laid them after his bath. “I forgot,” he says quietly. He doesn’t want to wear them, is the thing. Pressing his lips together, he goes back to fumbling with his second cufflink. It’s the right one, so he’s been struggling to get it on, the damage to his left hand making the task difficult.

Steve notices and comes over to help, deft fingers closing it with little trouble. Bucky peeks upwards at him as he finishes and smoothes out the sleeve’s cuff. “Thank you,” he says softly.

“You’re welcome.” Steve goes and gets the wristbands, brings them back and slides them on, one and then the other. He clicks them shut in the back, the tiny ‘snick’ of the clasps somehow intimate between them. Bucky stares at them.

They’re simple: matte black, metal, about an inch wide. When Steve had first put them on him at their wedding, Bucky had been surprised that someone as rich and as prominent in Society as Steve would choose bands so simple. Bucky licks his lips and says, “Gold is more in fashion.” It comes out sounding like a question rather than a statement, and Steve chuckles quietly.

“Yes, it is. But I didn’t peg you as a gold sort of guy, or a trend-follower.” He raises an eyebrow at Bucky. “You don’t like them?”

“No, it’s not that. I … I do like them,” Bucky hedges. It’s not that he doesn’t like the way they look. He does. They’re simple and sleek, attractive, even something that Bucky might have chosen for himself one day. But it’s the “one day” part that matters. The bands feel heavier than they really are, weighing his wrists down with the ownership they represent. He knows he has to wear them. Being seen in public with bare wrists would be a huge impropriety on Bucky’s part—and shameful on Steve’s. “They’re fine,” he mutters, not wanting to talk about it anymore.

Steve seems to sense this, as he gives Bucky’s hands a squeeze and lets him go. “Come on,” he says, “Let’s get to breakfast. I’m famished.”

The ship serves first class passengers their breakfast in a different dining room than dinner. It’s on a higher deck, in a room that has lots of windows to let in the light. Bucky likes the room, but he’s felt mildly queasy ever since he got out of the hot bathwater that morning. He’s hopeful that a good meal will fix it. This time, when the server comes to take their order, Bucky doesn’t bother speaking up for himself. Steve orders for the both of them, as is expected.

Henry and Senator Mills are seated at a table not too far away. Bucky nods when Henry smiles at him in greeting. The server arrives and sets food out on the table, and Bucky reaches for the toast rack. It’s as he’s spreading butter and jam that he looks up and catches Steve looking across the room. He follows his gaze and frowns: Steve is looking at a young man who’s seated several tables away.

Bucky deduces the fellow must be an unmarried omega, if his size and attire are anything to go by. There is no collar around his throat, the neckline of his shirt high and modest instead. He’s sitting with a triad who are most likely his parents. Bucky bites his lip, glancing back to Steve, then back to the omega. The young man is … very attractive. He’s delicate, fine boned and sweet-cheeked, blond with blue eyes. Bucky himself would have noticed him in any ballroom, likely asked for space on his card, even.

But something about catching Steve looking at the omega has his stomach tying into knots. Steve’s looked at Bucky with obvious interest like that before. It’s disquieting to see him regard another in the same way. Bucky huffs and goes back to buttering his toast. He can’t keep himself from glancing over to Henry Mills and his husband again, watching the obvious love between the two. An alpha and his happy, pregnant omega.

He averts his eyes. “So, when do you think you’ll start looking for our Third?” he asks, completely aware of how this makes Steve’s attention shoot back to their table and to him.

“What?” He looks surprised. “Our … our Third?”

“Yeah.” Bucky chews a bite of toast, trying to ignore the queasiness in his stomach as he swallows. “That fellow over there is pretty.”

Steve follows his gaze back over to the omega sitting with his parents. He sighs and turns back to Bucky. “I suppose,” he says.

“Well? Are we going to socialize with that in mind while we’re on our trip?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. We just got married.”

Bucky shrugs. “So? Every triad needs their omega. Every alpha does.”

“And you think I’ll just go ahead and pick someone?”

“It’s your right as Headship.”

Steve groans. “Bucky, stop. I’ve got no intention of marrying anyone else any time soon, least of all a European, and certainly not without your consent.” He reaches across the table and takes Bucky’s hand—his lame one. Bucky’s eyes flick up. Steve is smiling wryly at him. “We’ll complete our marriage later,” he drawls. “You’re about all I can handle for right now.”

Bucky scowls and pulls his hand back. “If you say so.”

Steve’s smile slips away, his eyes losing their playfulness. “I do say so,” he says sternly, then sets into eating his breakfast. Bucky forces himself not to say anything else and instead focuses on choking down some fruit and eggs.

Choking down anything turns out to be a mistake. Bucky upchucks all across the breakfast spread not thirty minutes later, and a mortified Steve has to make apologies to the waitstaff before helping Bucky back to their stateroom. Bucky collapses on the drawing room’s settee once they’re alone, feeling cold sweat beading on his brow. “Shit,” he curses. “Do you think it was the smoked salmon? I think it was the salmon.” He’s never eating cold fish for breakfast again.

Steve is coming over from the door and seating himself on a chair near Bucky. He looks concerned. “You barely ate, so no, I don’t. I think you’re seasick, Sweetheart.” He looks him up and down. “You need to rest. I’ll have the servants bring Dramamine.”

“I thought this sort of thing happened on the first day,” Bucky complains. “Shouldn’t I have my sea legs by now?”

Steve laughs. He gets up and walks over to the room’s sideboard and pours a glass of water, bringing it back over for Bucky. “As someone who’s spent more than his fair share of time on naval ships, I can tell you that that is absolutely not true. I think I spent half of my first commission throwing up.”

“Never mind that this is a luxury liner and not some pirate ship.”

The edges of Steve’s mouth twitch up. “I’ve never been called a pirate before.” Bucky scowls and looks away, focusing on drinking the water Steve’s given him. He hadn’t been trying to make him laugh. “Don’t drink it too fast,” Steve warns. Bucky rolls his eyes. He does drink the water more slowly, though.

The fact that it’s a luxury liner they’re traveling on obviously doesn’t make any difference. Despite the fact that Bucky can’t actually feel any waves or motion of the ship, he still spends the next two days being sick as a dog. Hardly anything sounds appealing to eat, and he certainly can’t bring himself to leave the cabin.

It’s as he’s flushing the toilet from his latest bout of sickness that Steve returns to their quarters. He knocks on the doorframe and peeks into the bathroom. Bucky catches his gaze in the mirror where he’s turning on the faucet to splash water on his face. “M’fine,” he mumbles, knowing from the tight, pinched look on Steve’s face that he’s worried. “I’ll be right out.”

When he comes back out into the bedroom, he smells the sour tinge of Steve’s concern filling the room. Bucky wrinkles his nose. “I said I’m fine,” he repeats, though he doesn’t fight it as Steve takes him by the shoulders and leads him back to bed. “Ugh,” he huffs, feeling tired and pathetic. “Some trip this is turning out to be.”

“Sit,” Steve says. He helps him get propped up with some pillows before going to retrieve a steaming bowl of broth that he’s brought into the room.

Bucky eyes it warily. “M’not hungry.”

“The ship’s cook said this should be very easy to keep down. You need to eat something.”

Bucky squeezes his eyes shut. Steve is bringing the bowl over anyway. “I just need to lie down,” he says. The next thing he knows, the bed is dipping and a spoon touches his lips. Bucky inhales and opens his eyes.

Steve is sitting on the edge of the bed, the bowl in his hands and an expectant look aimed at Bucky. “You need to eat,” he says firmly. It’s not his Voice, but it could be. God, it could be. “Buck,” he says, looking plaintively at him. “You’re weak. Just take a few sips for me, alright? Just a bit. I need you to.” Bucky clenches his jaw in obstinance, but then Steve adds quietly, “Please don’t make me make it an order.” Bucky’s eyes must widen, because Steve nods. “Yeah, I know you don’t want that. So do it on your own, okay?” He nudges the spoon forward again. “Just a few sips at a time, c’mon.”

Slowly, Bucky parts his lips. Steve’s shoulders sink in relief and he smiles gratefully as he delivers the spoon to his mouth. “There you go. Good boy.” Bucky flushes, but parts his lips again for the next spoonful, and the next, eyes locked on Steve’s as he feeds him. “How is it?” Steve checks.

“Fine.” Meekly, Bucky asks, “Would you really order me to?”

Steve inhales slowly. “Yes. I would have.”

“You’d use your Voice? Threaten to punish me?”

“Yes.” Steve cants his head. “Does that bother you?”

“Of course it does!” Bucky scoffs. “So, what? Are you just gonna order me around for our whole married life?”

Steve frowns. “Well I hadn’t planned on it, but you know as well as I do that it’s my right as Headship. I have authority in this marriage.” He watches Bucky’s reaction carefully, then adds, “I’ll only ever use it over you if I feel like your well-being is in danger, if you’re going to hurt yourself or someone else, or if you get sick, if I feel that you’re being disrespectful to our union in public, or that you’re making poor decisions for yourself."

"Oh is that all?"

"But I’ll always try to give you leeway. I know you’re coming into your majority, and I know you want independence for yourself.”

Bucky huffs, though he can’t argue against anything Steve’s said. Most Headships would be much stricter, would feel free to structure their spouses’ entire lives. Bucky’s lucky Steve isn’t like that, but he still hates the authority the alpha has over him. “I guess I don’t have any choice,” he mutters. 

Steve just looks sad that that’s his response. “It’s my responsibility, Bucky. Don’t hold that against me.” Bucky grunts and says nothing. He meets Steve’s eyes again, opening his mouth for more soup. Steve sighs, and delivers it.

After the second day of his illness, Bucky spikes a fever and Steve sends for a physician. Bucky isn’t quite delirious, but he’s definitely not in his right mind when the doctor arrives and examines him. He informs them that Bucky isn’t merely seasick, but actually sick, and he prescribes a tonic and strict bed rest until they reach England. 

“Nothing worse than sickness spreading on a ship,” he tells Steve seriously. He’s spoken only to Steve since arriving in their staterooms, dismissing Bucky as subordinate, an invalid, or both. “No exertions for him. If he needs anything, get it yourself or have it delivered. You have servants?”

Steve nods. “Yes.”

“Good.” The physician nods politely at Bucky where he’s lying in the bed. “Get some rest, your Lordship.”

Bucky hums a response at him, his feverish state making him much less annoyed by the doctor’s dismissive attitude than he otherwise would be. “Kay,” he says. He watches as Steve bids the man goodbye, then returns to the bedroom. He sits on the edge of the bed and lays a hand atop Bucky’s.

“I’m sure it’s just a bug,” he says. “Nothing to worry about. We’ll do just as the doctor says. I’ll take care of you.”

Bucky smiles, thinking muzzily that Steve is so sweet. He’s so handsome, and yet he’s kind and cares about Bucky, as if he has no idea that Bucky’s socially inferior and so badly damaged. “Thanks,” Bucky whispers, body shivering in another bout of feverishness. “S’cold,” he complains, trying to sink further into the bed.

Steve snaps to attention and is immediately pulling the blankets up higher to better cover him. He puts a hand to his forehead, frowning as he feels his temperature. “You’re burning up,” he says. “What you really need is ice water.”

Bucky moans pitifully at that idea. “No, Steve. Oh please don’ do that. M’so cold.”

Steve pets his face. “I know, Honey, I know. But we’ve got to get your body temperature down.” When Bucky whimpers, Steve hushes him, promising him treats for his good behavior. “I’ll have Sharon bring you up a piece of cake, after,” he says. “Would you like that?”

Bucky shakes his head, still worried about the prospect of ice water, but he says, “I guess,” after a long minute. “… Chocolate?” he adds hopefully.

Steve smiles. “Of course. Here, let me go ring for what we need.” He leaves the bedroom to ring the little bell that will summon one of their servants. Sharon arrives only moments later. Bucky can hear their conversation through the open doorway.

“Sir?”

“James’ fever has worsened.”

“How can I help?”

“Fetch a basin of cold water and cloths. Fresh sheets as well. And Sharon?”

“Yes?”

“See if you can find a piece of chocolate cake? … It’s important.”

“Of course, Sir.”

Their conversation stops, and Bucky hears the door of the suite snick open and shut as Sharon leaves. The next thing he knows, Steve is returning to the bedside. “Alright,” he says. “Sharon's getting what we need.” He looks Bucky over, frowning at how out of it he seems. “Bucky?”

“Hey,” Bucky slurs, thinking about the conversation he just heard and how Steve had said the cake was ‘important’. The thought makes him smile muzzily. “You’re nice,” he says. “Takin care a’ me.”

Steve smiles down at him, pinched, and reaches to swipe the sweaty hair away from his face. “That’s how I know you’re out of it,” he murmurs. “If you’re saying sweet things like that.”

Bucky whines and presses his cheek into Steve’s palm. “Nn. You’re a’good Alpha,” he slurs, eyes slipping closed. He feels so fuzzy. Having his eyes closed is better. “Hm. You get cake, too.”

Steve chuckles, and the sound is very nice, making Bucky smile with his eyes closed. “Okay,” Steve says tenderly. “Okay Buck, we’ll both have cake. Keep your eyes closed now, okay? Get some rest until Sharon comes back.” His hand is stroking Bucky’s face. It feels nice.

Bucky hums tiredly. “M’kay.” He drifts off, feeling shivery, and sick … and safe.

Steve cares for him for the rest of the trip, and by the time they’re one day from arriving in port, Bucky is feeling much better.

He also feels strange around Steve. His fevered memories aren’t the clearest, but he knows that he was open with Steve in a way he normally wouldn’t have been, when he was in the midst of it. And he remembers how tender Steve had been, taking care of him, bathing him and feeding him and fetching him everything he needed. He feels torn. He’d liked how close they’d been, is the thing. And now that he’s almost back to normal, he doesn’t know how to express his gratitude to Steve, especially since the last coherent thing he'd done to the poor guy was be nasty to him over breakfast. He doesn’t know what to do, now.

“Thank you,” he winds up saying, on their last night on the ship, when he’s lying in the bed and Steve is changing into his night clothes.

His hands pause on the buttons of his shirt and he turns. He looks surprised that Bucky is thanking him. They haven’t spoken much since Bucky’s fever waned and he regained lucidity. “You’re welcome,” he says, smiling a little. “It was hardly a burden to care for you.”

The way that he says it makes Bucky feel warm inside. He lets his eyes draw up and down Steve’s form, admiring the way his body looks in the fine clothes that he’s taking off, the bowtie that’s loose about his collar and the glimpse of his chest that’s already bared from where he’s gotten his shirt half-undone. Bucky licks his lips, feeling another type of heat start to stir in him. “You’re a, um, a very good nursemaid.”

Steve chuckles. “I’m glad you approve. And I’m glad you’re feeling better. … You are, aren’t you?”

“Yes, very.”

“Good, that’s good.” He’s still undressing, undoing the last of his buttons and pushing his suspenders off his shoulders. They hang from his waist as he slides off his shirt, all of the muscles in his back moving enticingly as he twists to drape the shirt on the valet stand. “I was worried there for a moment,” he’s still saying lightheartedly. “Knew it might be serious when you started complimenting me and offering me cake.” 

Bucky’s eyes are glued to him when he turns back around, and the alpha pauses, noticing his flushed cheeks and parted lips. He stills with his hands on his trousers. “Bucky?” His mouth curls knowingly. “What are you thinking?”

“Just …” Bucky licks his lips, eyes dragging over Steve’s chest. “That you look good.”

“Oh you think so?”

“Yes.”

“Hm." Steve takes a step closer to the bed. “Still giving compliments," he murmurs, amused. "Might have to check to make sure that fever’s really gone.”

"Yeah," Bucky breathes. "Yeah maybe you should."

Holding his gaze, Steve undoes his pants and steps out of them, pulling his underwear off as well. He straightens and stands there naked, his eyes going heavy-lidded with interest. “How much better are you feeling?”

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[lopsided-whiskey-grin]

Yo! I’ve read most of your fics on AO3. You’re so talented and I’ve loved all of them so far, so thank u for writing them! But I also have a prompt, want this for ghost x soap. they have to pose as a couple to get intel at a party from a big boss. Both think they have everything (their feelings) under control but clearly they don’t. Haven’t seen this trope yet on ao3 and if u do write it I’ll be ever so grateful. I love your work ❤️

Thank you so much for this amazing prompt! I had a lot of fun with this one! Not as much fun as Ghost and Soap are gonna have with each other but still... ;) enjoyyyy!

Falling Hard

Ghost x Soap

Word count: 5.2k

Summary:  Ghost and Soap have to infiltrate a posh masquerade party, posing as a romantically involved couple to gather important intel. But the charade just might push their feelings for each other a little too far.

Tags:  Fake/Pretend Relationship, Kissing, Fluff and Angst, Mutual Pining, Requited Love, Public Hand Jobs, Frottage, Semi-Public Sex +18 only!

Also on AO3

“This isn’t going to fucking work, Ghost,” Soap groused. He adjusted the black masquerade mask covering the top half of his face with a grimace. He couldn’t believe he’d been talked into this. 

It was dark outside and a gentle summer breeze gusted by them. They were standing on the pavement in front of Dmitriy Vinogradov’s massive townhome in central London, getting ready to join the other party-goers in the oligarch's house. 

"It is going to work," Ghost insisted. He reached forward to fix Soap’s black silk tie. "Besides, it's our only option. We don't really have another choice, now do we?"

“I could blow the place up instead,” Soap countered. He’d been itching to play with some explosives lately, as a matter of fact.

Ghost sighed and rolled his eyes.  "And then how would we explain to Price that the intel we were supposed to gather went up in smoke?"

Soap shrugged. “I dinnea. Didn’t really think that far ahead.” He watched as Ghost smoothed down his own tie. 

He had to admit, they both cleaned up pretty fucking nice -- Ghost especially. He looked quite sharp in that black tux with that crisp white shirt under his jacket. The cherry on top was the black and white filigree mask he wore to cover the top half of his face. Soap had felt a little lightheaded when he saw Ghost put it on in the truck earlier. He couldn’t deny Ghost was a good looking man and, sure, Soap had flirted with him before, but it was never reciprocated in any way that Soap could see. And besides, getting involved with his superior officer would definitely only complicate things. So he ignored those feelings as best he could. It didn’t stop him from dreaming about Ghost almost every night, though. And stealing longing glances at him every chance he got. Other than that, he had it all perfectly under control. 

“And what do you mean, ‘it isn’t going to work’?” Ghost asked, stretching a hand up to smooth a fly-away hair in Soap’s mohawk. “You don’t think we make a believable couple?” 

Soap chuckled, but Ghost didn’t seem amused. The laugh died away on Soap’s lips and he frowned. “Look at us, Ghost. We’re two military grunts playing dress-up. We’re going to stand out like matching sore thumbs. The guards are going to know straight away that we’re not really here for a romantic night out.” And on top of that, Soap had never been to a fancy masquerade party before. He hadn’t been to a fancy party, period. He had no idea what to expect in there and it made him nervous. 

Plus, pretending to be Ghost’s boyfriend at this thing would only make it hurt more at the end of the mission when everything went back to normal. Even though he did a pretty decent job of hiding how he felt around Ghost, he knew that the charade they were going to play out for this job would make it seem all too real to him and he’d be gutted when it was snatched away. He really was considering just blowing the place up. It would be easier, less painful. 

Soap anxiously fiddled with his cufflinks and cast his gaze down to the sidewalk. He couldn’t explain any of that to Ghost though, of course. 

Ghost hooked a finger under Soap’s jaw and lifted his head up to meet his eyes. Soap’s heart tumbled in his chest. Christ, he looked so fucking handsome. Ghost rubbed the pad of his thumb over the scar on Soap’s chin and Soap had to really work to suppress the shiver that threatened to quake through him. 

Smiling devilishly, Ghost then ran his thumb over the swell of Soap’s bottom lip. “See?” he said simply with a half smile. “Believable.” He dropped his hand to his side and turned to walk to the stairs leading to the front door. Soap stood stupefied on the pavement, and after taking a moment to collect himself, slowly followed Ghost up to the entrance. This was going to be one long fucking night. 

Ghost held the door for him, like a perfect gentleman, and when they walked inside to the large open foyer, Ghost guided him across the room with a hand at the small of his back. Oh, god. How was he going to survive this?

Hopefully they could get the intel they needed quickly and just get the hell out of here. Soap went over the mission brief in his mind one more time as they slowly made their way through the crowd of poshly dressed masked people milling about while orchestral music played from somewhere in the house. Vinogradov, a Russian mob boss and close comrade of Vladimir Makarov, was currently in possession of a very important hard drive, which was secured in his office on the second floor of the townhome. There was a guard change every thirty minutes. Price had instructed Ghost and Soap to infiltrate the party, unarmed, and as inconspicuously as possible, break into the office, and make a copy of the hard drive. He had drilled into them that it was to be a quiet job. In and out. Which, at the time, seemed easy-peasy. But now that they were actually inside, with Soap’s feathers all ruffled about by Ghost’s hand on his damn back, it was more like one of the most complicated missions he’d ever been on. 

“I need a fuckin drink,” he murmured suddenly to Ghost beside him. 

Ghost hummed a noise of agreement and they made their way to the bar in the corner. They both ordered a scotch and Soap gulped his down in one go. Ghost watched him over the rim of his glass as he sipped his slowly. His eyes were dark and endless. Soap looked away and ordered another. Why the fuck were his hands shaking so badly? 

The bartender set his fresh drink on the bartop but before Soap could grab it, Ghost was snaking his arm around Soap’s waist and pulling him to his side. Soap’s breath hitched in his chest when he collided gently with the solid wall of Ghost’s body. 

Ghost nuzzled up to the side of Soap’s face, dragging his nose up his jaw until he could whisper into his ear. “Keep it tactical, MacTavish. Now is not the time to get yourself plastered.” He squeezed Soap’s hip then let him go.

Soap wet his lips with his tongue and inclined his head marginally. The first drink was already warming his belly pleasantly. The second would undoubtedly go straight to his head and give him a buzz that would be less than helpful in this situation. So instead of drinking it down like he wanted to, Soap picked up the glass from the bar and swirled it around, hoping he looked pensive and stately. He took a moment to glance furtively around the room, observing like Ghost currently was, the number of guards in the room. It helped to calm him, oddly enough. 

Before he’d had a chance to count them all, Ghost was taking the glass from him and setting it back on the bar. “Dance with me?” he asked, holding his hand out. 

Soap stared at him for a moment then nodded numbly. Settling his hand in Ghost’s, he allowed himself to be led to the dance floor. There were a few other couples there, spinning about to the music. Ghost drew him in close, chest to chest, hand in hand, and Soap flushed profusely.

“I’m not much of a dancer,” he admitted. 

Ghost glanced down at him, then looked over Soap's shoulder. "Neither am I. But this is a good vantage point to scope the guards." 

Soap squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and cursed himself for being so utterly stupid. "'Course," he whispered. 

Ghost moved him smoothly around the dance floor while they both marked the security detail around the room and at the foot of the stairs leading to the second floor. They were easy to spot. Though they all wore a black suit and tie to blend in with the guests, they all had an earpiece, and a stance that just screamed "guard". 

After they had a better idea of what they were dealing with, Ghost slowed them to a stop, pressed Soap a little closer to his chest, then laid a kiss to his stubbled cheek. Soap just about melted into a puddle right then and there on the dance floor. 

"Guard change is in one minute," Ghost murmured against his skin. Then stepped back from him as if he hadn't just turned Soap's world upside down. 

Soap adjusted his suit jacket with jerky movements. Goddammit, Soap, get your head screwed on right. We're here to do a fucking job. He spun on his heel and quickly caught up to Ghost as he walked toward the stairs, slipping their hands together and entwining their fingers. Now it was Ghost's turn to be caught off guard. He paused for a moment and out of the corner of his eye, Soap saw him glance down to their joined hands before leading Soap up the now empty stairs. Soap grinned smugly but said nothing. 

On the second floor landing, Soap let go of Ghost's hand, though he wasn't exactly ready to. He thought he saw Ghost flex then fist his hand at his side, but he couldn't say for sure — he'd been keeping his eyes forward, making sure they were alone up there. 

Miraculously, the way was clear for them of any guards. To anyone that could come across them though, they'd appear as a romantic couple just admiring the art hanging on the walls. Plausible deniability was a hell of a thing and Soap would be sure to take full advantage of it if they needed to. 

It didn't take long for them to find the office door down a quiet hallway. Soap knelt in front of it and pulled his lock pick set from a pocket inside his jacket while Ghost kept watch. Soap could almost feel the heat from Ghost’s body seeping into him from how close he was standing behind him.  

"Three minutes until the guards loop back to their positions," Ghost whispered to him in that deep voice of his. It sent a tremor straight to Soap’s core. 

Soap’s throat felt dry but he nodded and made quick work of the lock. Before long, they were inside the dark office with the door closed behind them. Soap let out a sigh of relief. The first hard part of this job was done. Now if he could just keep his wits about him for the next little bit, he'd be fucking golden. 

Ghost immediately strode to a large mahogany desk in the middle of the room while Soap stayed back by the door to listen for footsteps in the hall. He watched as Ghost, bathed in the electric blue light of the monitor, bent forward to begin hacking the computer. Without any warning, Soap had a sudden, intense desire for Ghost to bend him over that desk and plow his brains out. 

A bizarre strangled noise wheezed out of Soap’s throat and he hooked a finger behind his tie to loosen it a bit. Ghost glanced up at him over the screen, looking concerned and a little annoyed at being distracted from his task. 

“You good there, Johnny?” Ghost asked, focusing back on the computer. 

No, he most definitely was not. “Solid, L.t.” 

He pushed his mask up a little and scrubbed a hand roughly down his cheek, while half-listening to the door behind him. Keep it together. We’re almost done here, he chided himself. 

It took less than a minute for Ghost to finish downloading the information they needed onto a flashdrive. Some of the weight on Soap’s shoulders lifted when he saw Ghost walking back around the desk and dropping the drive into one of his trouser pockets. The second hard part was done. Now all they needed to do was slip back out the front door and they were home free. 

But nothing was ever as easy as it seemed, especially in Soap’s chosen profession. As soon as Ghost reached Soap’s position at the door, they heard footsteps approaching down the hallway…one minute early. Soap nearly groaned in frustration. They both stood silently facing each other, unmoving, watching the shadow from the guard slide into view in the sliver of light under the door. 

Ghost looked at Soap and motioned with his hands that he wanted to take out the guard, but Soap shook his head. Price had specifically ordered this to be a quiet job. And they were currently unarmed, though that hadn’t stopped Ghost in the past, Soap realized. But he knew that as soon as they took one guard out, the rest would come down on them in a heartbeat, and there were far too many in this house for them to fight off without one or both of them ending up dead. 

Soap motioned back to Ghost to wait. If they could just hold for a moment, there was a chance the guard would walk away and they could still slip out unseen. It appeared that luck might be on their side when the shadow did start to move away. Soap let out a long pent-up breath and stepped back a little so they could open the door. But he backed up right into a cabinet behind him, unseen in the dark room. The cabinet was full of glass shelves and crystal vases -- of course it fucking was. Shit. 

Nothing broke, but it did make a goddamn jarring noise. Ghost sucked in sharp breath and Soap froze immediately, his gaze cutting to the shaft of light under the door. The shadow slid back. Soap’s heart thundered in his chest. 

“I heard a sound in the office,” the guard outside said into his radio “Roger. I’m checking it out now.”

Soap closed the distance between him and Ghost quickly. “Kiss me,” he blurted, grabbing onto Ghost’s lapels and tugging him forward. 

“What?” Ghost hissed. 

The knob turned and the door started opening. 

“Just trust me,” Soap insisted.

And without further arguing, Ghost did. He pulled Soap against him and crashed their mouths together so hard their teeth clicked when they collided. Soap thought he might have tasted a hint of blood but he couldn’t be bothered to care. The only thing currently occupying his mind was Ghost.

Then their lips moved and parted and Ghost’s tongue slid inside and Soap transcended to another plane of existence altogether. 

Whatever he had fantasized a kiss to be like between them, this was far, far, better. This was violent, deep, frenzied -- heavy with the burden of anticipation. His hands were up in Ghost’s hair, tangling desperately in the blonde strands, and Ghost’s were at his back, fisting in the fabric of his tuxedo jacket. Soap suckled at Ghost’s tongue and Ghost moaned right into his open mouth. Soap ate up the sound with greed. Fuck, he wished this was real and not just a diversion to get this guard off their backs. 

But it was all over before it had really begun, lasting only the span of a handful of seconds. The spell was broken the moment the door opened all the way and the guard flicked on the overhead light. “Oi!” he shouted. “This room is off limits!”

Soap tore his mouth away from Ghost’s and pulled back to look at the guard, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. Ghost’s mask was all askew and Soap put it back in place with a lopsided grin. 

“Oh, sorry about that, mate. This was just the first empty room we found,” Soap said with a cheeky grin. He swayed a bit and put on his best drunk Scottsman act

The guard stared them down skeptically and Soap glanced at Ghost. His hair was sticking up in all different directions and his lips were already red and swollen. He looked thoroughly debauched and more than a little dazed and it turned Soap on more than he ever thought possible. And when Ghost reached down to adjust the bulge in his trousers, Soap nearly combusted into flames. 

“Just get the fuck outta here,” the guard growled, dropping his hand from the butt of his holstered sidearm. Soap didn't have to be told twice. 

He smiled broadly as they quickly left the room then grabbed for Ghost’s hand without thinking once they were in the hallway. He felt keyed-up, lighter than air, and he could still taste Ghost on his lips. Maybe this mission wasn’t going to be as bad as he’d thought.

As they came to the top of the stairs though, Ghost abruptly tugged his hand from Soap’s grasp. Soap looked at him, but Ghost didn’t meet his gaze. He’d already started down the first few steps. Soap frowned, feeling a bit dejected. He followed along behind Ghost to the foyer, still packed with elegantly dressed party goers. 

He was about to reach for him again to get him to slow down so they could leave through the front door together, like they had planned, but Ghost quickly cut to the left before Soap could make contact. He looked toward the door as he tried to keep up with Ghost’s hurried steps and his heart sank. The security detail at the entrance were perked up, fingers to their earpieces, and eyes actively searching the crowd. Soap looked down quickly and turned his face away. Shit. The guard upstairs must have alerted them that something wasn’t right with the computer. 

Soap finally caught up with Ghost as he wove between groups of people drinking and laughing loudly in a large room that appeared to be a library. Ghost pushed through a door that led to the kitchen. It was bustling with waitstaff and cooks and no one paid them much mind, thankfully. Soap tapped Ghost’s elbow. 

Ghost paused and looked at him then finally. Even with the black and white mask covering half his face, Soap could see that he was exasperated. Soap couldn’t help but feel a little taken aback. They had gotten what they came for, right? He hadn’t meant to bump into the cabinet -- it was an accident for fuck’s sake. And it didn’t matter anyways, since they were almost out of this stupid house with the flashdrive. Sounded like a fucking win to him. 

“What’s the plan here?” he asked, bending toward him so Ghost could hear him over the din of the kitchen.

Ghost’s eyes held his for a moment, then slid away. Soap could see his throat bob as he swallowed. “T-there should be an exit back here somewhere. We need to find it. Now.” 

Nodding his understanding, Soap dropped his hand to his side. He scanned the room then pointed at a door at the back of the kitchen. Ghost nodded and led the way past waiters carrying large trays of hors d'oeuvres and chefs shouting orders to one another until they came to the door that was past a small, shadowy mudroom. They slipped outside as easily and undetected as they had come in just a short time ago and were spilled out into a small, dark garden. It was drizzling lightly as Soap followed Ghost across the postage stamp sized lawn to a gate that opened to an alleyway.  

Taking a deep breath of cool, rainy night air, Soap worked to keep up with Ghost’s long strides, pleased with each step to be further away from that stifling place. It didn’t stop a pang of regret from lancing through him, though, that the brief time he’d had in Ghost’s arms was coming to an end. For the first time that night, Soap wished the mission could have lasted a little longer -- well, the kissing part at least. 

A blush bloomed up his throat and he shook the thought away. Just focus on getting out of here, goddammit. He looked back over his shoulder as Ghost opened the wooden gate, making sure they weren’t followed, then passed through while Ghost held the door for him when he didn’t see any guards rushing at them. They were in the clear. 

He was about to turn to the right to go back toward the street where their truck was parked, relieved beyond belief that this was almost finally over, when he noticed Ghost was going the opposite direction. He jogged to catch up to him, his fancy shoes scraping on the wet pavement.  

“Ghost!” he whispered harshly, his stomach twisting with the concern rising inside him.

Ghost didn’t stop or even slow. His shoulders were hunched against the rain as he strode away. Soap was as baffled as ever. "Ghost, stop. The car's the other way!" He grabbed Ghost's wrist and tugged him back. They were practically home free. What the hell was going on here?

As soon as he grabbed Ghost’s arm he realized it was a mistake. Ghost spun on his heel and Soap was almost certain he was about to be punched square in the jaw. He wouldn’t blame Ghost if he did it though; Soap knew better than to grab a fellow soldier in such a way. But Ghost’s fist never came up. He looked at Soap, his eyes unreadable behind the mask in the darkened alley.  

“Ghost, talk to me. Please.”

"I can't…" he began. He stopped and swallowed hard before trying again. He opened his mouth to speak, but instead of berating Soap on the fuck up in the office like he was bracing himself for, Ghost pulled his hands up to frame Soap’s face and lunged forward, crushing their lips together. The unexpected force of it weakened Soap’s knees immediately and he let out a surprised grunt. 

Ghost pushed Soap back roughly against the brick wall in a shadowed alcove directly behind him, hands sliding up into his hair, tangling in the damp strands. Ghost’s large frame nearly took up all the room in that tiny space. It was intimidating as hell and unspeakably erotic. 

Soap flattened his palms over Ghost’s broad chest, delighted to feel his heart thumping just as wildly as his was. He thrust his tongue against Ghost’s desperately, relishing in the strong, sweet taste of him, underlaid with an earthy hint of the rain slicking his lips.  

Soap’s hands fisted instinctively at his jacket, drawing Ghost toward him, pressing their hips together, gasping when he felt the hard column of Ghost’s erection nudging against his thigh. A warm, delicious ache twisted low in his belly, sparking across each and every nerve ending. His own cock was plumping up more and more with each passing second of Ghost’s mouth moving against his. Fuck. He’d wanted this for so long. He just wasn’t expecting it to happen now. 

Ghost groaned and broke the kiss to draw in short, ragged breaths. He tugged both of their masks off and threw them to the side, then brought his forehead down to rest against Soap’s, settling his hands against his neck. His thumbs brushed lightly against Soap’s stubbled jaw and the sensation prickled goose bumps all up his arms.

"Johnny, I can't," Ghost whispered again, his voice husky and deep.

Soap’s heart squeezed painfully in his chest and he screwed his eyes shut, nudging his forehead against Ghost’s. "Can't what?" he whispered back. Uncertainty gnawed at him as waited for Ghost’s reply.   

“I can't do my job if all I can think about is you.”

Soap blinked his eyes open and pulled away enough to look at him. A tic bunched in Ghost’s jaw and Soap watched as that sliver of vulnerability was shielded quickly by raw determination. Soap sank back against the alley wall, fighting to catch his breath. 

“What…” he tried to say.

But Ghost cut him off, huffing out a sigh and giving Soap a firm shake where his hands still rested at the sides of his neck. “You distracted me in there, Johnny. You always fucking distract me.”

Soap stared at him, stunned. His stomach did an odd little flip.

“I forgot to shut the computer down after I was done transferring the data. I forgot because the only thing on my mind was how well you had fit against me on the dance floor. I fucking forgot because I couldn’t stop looking at you in this fucking suit. I forgot and it is my fault those guards in there are looking for us right now." 

The words seemed to spill out of him, unbidden and unchecked. Soap didn’t know how to begin to respond. He stared wide-eyed at Ghost, standing only inches away from him. How had they both been so stupid to not see what was right in front of them? To not see that what they needed was each other? This whole fucking time?

Ghost swallowed and continued on as the rain fell outside of the shelter of the little alcove, “I compromised our mission, Johnny, and it could have cost us our lives. And all because I can’t think of anything but you. You’re always on my damn mind. We shouldn’t --” 

“Shut up.” It was Soap’s turn to interrupt. 

Ghost's mouth snapped closed and Soap could tell he was surprised. Soap felt pleased as punch for being able to catch him off guard yet again. He tugged at Ghost where his fists were still grasping his lapels.  “Just shut up and fuckin kiss me, you dolt,” he said with a grin. 

A baffled expression swept across Ghost’s face and he blinked. It almost looked like he was going to walk away altogether, but Soap tugged at him once more, and Ghost came forward to close the gap between them willingly. Their lips met again, slower this time but still as desperate. And when Soap rolled his hips against Ghost’s and felt he was still as hard as before, he wasted no time dropping his hands from Ghost’s jacket to the button on his trousers.

Ghost groaned into their kiss and latched his hands on Soap’s shoulders. Soap chuckled breathlessly at the corner of Ghost’s mouth. “I’ll be a distraction to you any day, L.t., if it means I can have you like this.” 

He undid Ghost’s fly and fished out his cock then did the same with his own. Ghost was panting unevenly as Soap brought them together in his hands. Their breaths fogged into the space between them in the chilled night air.  

“Bloody hell, Johnny,” Ghost rasped, bucking his hips forward into Soap’s grip. He pulled his hands from Soap’s shoulders to brace them against the wall on either side of Soap’s head, caging him in.  

Soap’s heart was thundering in his chest as he rubbed their cocks together. Fuckin hell. He’d never fallen this hard for someone before. Normally that thought alone would terrify him, but he knew Ghost would be there to catch him. He always was.

Ghost dipped his head forward to suck a bruise to Soap’s neck and Soap involuntarily squeezed  a little too hard. They both moaned. “Faster,” Ghost murmured. 

Soap, always one to follow a direct order, complied. He stripped their cocks with quick pumps of his hands, feeling his bollocks tighten up closer to his body, on the very verge of exploding already. He’d been waiting so long for this, it didn’t really come as a surprise that he’d be about ready to come after just a few short minutes. He’d be sure to go slow and savor the moment next time.

Next time.

He prayed that Ghost wouldn’t pawn this off as some sort of fluke. He’d said himself he’d wanted Soap just as bad as Soap wanted him. Well, maybe not in so many words, but that was what it really boiled down to, after all.   

Ghost buried his face in the crook of Soap’s neck, thrusting roughly into Soap’s hand, his warm breath puffing against Soap’s skin, sending jolts of pure pleasure straight to Soap’s gut. “Fuck, just like that, Johnny. Don’t stop.”

Soap wouldn’t dream of it. He continued pumping, driving them closer and closer to the edge, until it was finally too much and they both tipped over, one right after another, their combined release coating Soap’s fists. 

Letting out a shuddering sigh, Ghost sunk against him, face still buried against his neck. Soap fought to catch his breath. He held them both in his hands, feeling how the members throbbed against each other as they came down from the high of their orgasm. It was so intimate in a way he couldn’t explain that he had to blink back the threat of tears. Oh, he had fallen. Fallen fucking hard.

“See? The mission wasn’t a complete failure,” Soap chuckled after clearing his throat. He wiped his hand clean with the handkerchief from his breast pocket.

Ghost grunted an agreement and pulled back. “Yeah, we got the flashdrive.”

Soap pushed at his shoulder playfully as Ghost tucked his softening cock back into his trousers. “I meant what just happened, you bastard.” 

A rare grin curved Ghost’s lips momentarily. “Just taking the piss, MacTavish,” he said, watching Soap with an undeniable hunger in his eyes as he put his own cock back in his pants. “Of course, I’d call that a fuckin win.” 

Soap adjusted his suit jacket and smoothed down his tie. “Well, then let’s get the hell out of here so we can get that intel to Price.” He squeezed past Ghost in the alcove and pushed his wet hair up off his forehead after dropping a wink to Ghost who was turning toward him. “And you still owe me a dance, Riley. A proper one.”

Ghost folded his arms over his broad chest and tilted his head to the side. “And I already told you, I can’t dance.” 

Soap bent down to retrieve their sodden masks from the ground. He’d have to save these for later. Maybe he could convince Ghost to wear it again sometime. “Could have fooled me,” he said walking in the direction of their truck. 

He heard Ghost’s footsteps hurry to keep up with him and he couldn’t help but smile. “I can’t dance, Johnny,” he insisted again. 

Soap turned around, walking backward so Ghost could see his face. He gave him an exaggerated shrug, feeling a self-satisfied chuckle rising in his chest. “Then you better damn well figure out how to make it believable if you ever want me to distract you again.”

Ghost paused for a moment in the drizzling rain then shook his head with a soft chuckle. Soap grinned broadly, marveling that he had yet again caught Ghost off guard. This was getting too damn easy. 

“You drive a hard bargain, MacTavish.”

“It’s the only kind of bargaining I know, L.t.,” Soap replied.

[count-alucard-tepes]

Headcanons: The reason they dress the way they do…

Kizaru💫

He wears a pin striped suit because it looks classy and he like the mob-style flare with a fedora. He likes bright and soft colors for his suits, ties, shirts or turtlenecks. He once hurt his eyes with his devil fruit abilities and someone suggested he wears glasses as a joke…next thing you know, he’s wearing sunglasses all the time even though they do nothing to protect his eyes and the younger marines always said he looked cool…swagger for life.

Akainu🌋

He always favored the color red and since wearing suits is kind of a norm for higher ups. He likes a floral shirt because he enjoys growing plants and flowers at his home, the pattern brings joy to him. The pink rose on his jacket is made from fabric to resemble a rose as he doesn’t like to pick flowers from his private garden. He doesn’t like ties or to button up his shirt because it’s constricting and it makes him feel too hot. He did wear gloves before just to make sure he didn’t accidentally burn things or anyone but after he became Fleet Admiral, he didn’t think they were necessary anymore. He tends to always wear a cap when he’s at work or even when he’s away from work…unless he’s at his home, he just likes it and always wore it.

Benn Beckman🔫

He likes loose pants and the military style pants never seem to go out of fashion so he tends to always get tailored clothes in this style which the usual camouflage color for obvious reasons. Benn wears his regular tight black shirt to show off his body even though he’s aged, he still thinks he looks pretty good for the ladies. He didn’t bother to color his hair once he started greying and just let it be. The cloak that he wears is a gift from Shanks and he always treasured it.

Sir Crocodile 🐊

He likes expensive clothes and shoes that are all tailor made with fabrics from all over. He doesn’t like ties because they’re not his style and are not too classy for him. He prefers ascot ties or scarves of various colors and patterns. He likes expensive furs on his coats from various animals too. His shoes are alligator skin and the rings he are gold just like his hook, what can I say? He likes to match his accessories. He never had a lot of luxuries as a child and wanted to make sure he always was well dressed…even if he was a pirate.

Doflamingo Donquixote 🦩

He was born into luxury and is a firm believer of comfortable, sexy and bougie. He lives pretty much on the beach and in hot and humid weather. So there’s no way he’s gonna button up shirt, he needs to show his hot body of course! He wears traditional tragje de luces aka bull fighting inspired pants which are made from rich silks and satin with black flats. The bright colors because they are the color of a flamingo and it does mask the color of blood spatters too. The color pink in Spanish culture is considered good luck and Doffy wants all the luck with his huge feather coat. He has Jolly Roger cufflinks and his sunglasses are more because he doesn’t like brightness too much. It’s probably also because he might be blind in one eye or he is hung over most of the time… or both. (I loved research this btw I’d love to do more character analysis soon).

Katakuri Charlotte 🍡

He always thought he needed to dress up as a biker because people seemed to fear them when he was a child so in his case, judging a book by its cover worked out in his favor. On the inside, we all know Katakuri is a sweet heart…literally and figuratively. He doesn’t like shirts because he thinks they’re too constricting and when he fights, it’s easier to just take off his vest. The scarf was something that was gifted to him by Brûlée so he likes to wear it with pride to cover up his mouth. His tattoos go all the way from his shoulder to his ankle and he also thoughts tattoos make him look badass, they also have significance to him which are jail bars in the front and wings in the back, take it anyway you want to interpret it.

Killer🔪

He tends to favor the color blue when he’s getting his clothes and since he recently got quite muscular, he likes to wear a T-shirt to show his new body. He likes wearing jeans even though it’s not that comfortable but it’s a strong material and lasts for a long time. He painted his helmet by himself and drew the design, he usually gets a few upgrades every now and then but not often. He was once told by a girl that he liked that his hair was beautiful and so he just kept on growing it but he doesn’t really take care of it. He naturally has really pink lips and was teased he looked like a princess with his blonde hair, blue eyes and pink plump lips…so that’s why he covers his face all the time.

Kaido🐉

He doesn’t really care too much about his clothing but he does favor purples or dark colors for the fabric. His theme seems to be quite rustic, badass, not giving any fucks which goes to his style as well. His nio dasuki belt is very much like Oden’s, I guess for admiration of such a great opponent. This belt also said to evoke power and majesty of sacred warriors which Kaido is very much about.

King 👑

He likes wearing leather as it’s fire resistance due to his abilities, he wouldn’t want his clothes burned off (even though we all want this to happen) . He likes the badass look with straps and spikes to make him look more intimidating along with his mask. He doesn’t like to show his face because it’s a constant reminder that he is the last of his race and it hurts him deeply. He wears a float whiter shirt under because it’s classy and he likes that even though he doesn’t really show it. When he’s alone, he usually just wears a dress shirt and leather pants. Queen made fun of him for wearing all leather and that he looks likes a BDSM enthusiast which pissed him off a lot because he’s not like that at all.

Queen 👑

He wears vertical black and white stripped overalls, these colors usually represent prestige and success. Being the star of the beast pirates means he’s got to stand out like his loud personality and his look definitely indicates this. The infinity signs that he has on his overalls symbolize love, beauty and power. The number 8 also means power and success so these are elements that Queen wanted to manifest through his style.

[titanus-horizio]

AIN'T THAT A BITE CHAPTER 3

November 3rd 1954

Sirens jolted Max awake in his quarters, tearing through the calm, velvety embrace of the jazz station that had lulled him to sleep. The smooth, rolling notes of a saxophone were obliterated by a blaring, energetic voice. The dim amber light of his lamp cast uneasy shadows across the room as the message took over the airwaves, drilling a deep chill into his bones.

THIS IS AN EMERGENCY BROADCAST. DO NOT TURN OFF YOUR HOME RADIOS. A GIANT CREATURE HAS BEEN SPOTTED OFF THE COAST OF AMBURY AND IS NOW HEADING TOWARD THE CITY. TO THOSE IN THE IMMEDIATE AREA, FOLLOW THE INSTRUCTIONS OF POLICE AND THE WARDENS OF THE ABYSS AND EVACUATE IMMEDIATELY. THIS IS NOT A HOAX. I REPEAT, THIS IS NOT A HOAX

The voice seemed to claw at the very walls, making them hum with a dread that had grown far too tangible. Max’s eyes darted to the window, where the first hints of dawn painted the horizon in smudged strokes of orange and gray. The jazz, forgotten, sputtered back to life for a fleeting second before dying under the weight of the warning.

Max’s breath caught in his throat, eyes darting to the window where the dark city loomed, seemingly asleep and blissfully unaware of the very same horror that he had encountered all those years ago.

In the heart of Ambury’s media district, under a veil of thin cigarette smoke and the occasional crackle of an old radio, Horizio moved with the urgency of a man driven by fate. The studio hummed with energy, a cacophany of typewriters clacking furiously, the scent of ink and hot coffee hanging in the air.

Thomas stood at the threshold of the studio. His blue scales shimmered dully under the fluorescent lights, and his tail flicked nervously, rustling the papers stacked near the door. The slate-gray briefcase he clutched trembled slightly in his clawed hands.

“You’re really going through with this?” Thomas’s voice, usually steady and rich with warmth, was laced with anxiety. His amber eyes darted toward the narrow window that framed a slice of the starless sky. The city beyond was uneasy, a slumbering beast roused by distant sirens and the low thrum of military convoys.

Horizio was already half-dressed, tugging the lapels of his canary-yellow suit jacket into place. Thomas took a brief note of Horizio's bare chest. His clear skin was dotted with blotches of what appeared to be golden scales. The tungsten lights glinted off the suit’s fine threads as he fastened a pair of polished cufflinks engraved with the station’s logo, a crescent moon flanked by a quill.

“This is the moment we’ve been preparing for,” he said, eyes catching the briefest reflection in the glass. His long wavy hair, dark as a raven’s wing and accented with a bright yellow streak, framed a face both determined and alight with the thrill of the chase. “A creature like this in Ambury? We’re going live before anyone else, Thomas. We need to be the eyes and voice of this city.”

Thomas let out a low hiss of breath, shifting on his feet, the briefcase he handed over was heavy, loaded with coiled cables, backup batteries, and a portable reel-to-reel recorder.

The two men exchanged a final, resolute nod before plunging into the night. The studio doors flew open to reveal a city bathed in the eerie, flickering glow of emergency lights. Shadows leapt and danced across brick facades as newsboys shouted half-panicked updates, cars wizzed by with people fleeing their homes and the air filled with the rattle of radios in open windows. Horizio’s midnight-blue sedan, a sleek model with silver detailing that gleamed like a comet’s tail, awaited them at the curb.

“Come on, Thomas,” Horizio shouted over the noise, sliding into the driver’s seat. The engine grumbled awake, its deep rumble vibrating through the frame as if aware of the monumental task at hand. Thomas, nimble despite his reptilian stature, clambered in beside him, clutching the briefcase to his chest. As the sedan surged forward, it seemed to draw the tension of the streets in its wake.

The cityscape blurred past a parade of neon signs, brick buildings, and lampposts casting shaky light on the cobblestone streets. The scent of rain and the metallic tang of ozone hinted at the coming storm, while overhead, the dark sky cracked with the distant, rolling roar of something ancient.

“Horizio, this could go bad fast,” Thomas warned, his voice a mix of trepidation and anticipation. His scaled fingers dug into the leather of the seat, eyes reflecting the sudden burst of headlights from an approaching convoy.

“Then we’ll be the first to show it,” Horizio said, lips pressing into a defiant line. The Glass Summit loomed ahead, its art deco spire piercing the black sky like a needle. A beacon in Ambury, it was the only place high enough to catch a glimpse of whatever stirred the ocean into a wrathful froth.

The sedan skidded to a stop at the foot of the towering structure, tires squealing and trailing smoke. Horizio jumped out, every nerve alight as he snatched the briefcase and ran. The building’s lobby was deserted save for a night guard, "sir you can't be here-" the guard began before he was blasted by golden electricity that rocketed out of horizio's palm. The guard hit the floor, his unconscious body smoking as the 2 men went into the stairwell, much to thomas' dismay. Up the winding stairs they went, their footfalls echoing in metallic thuds.

When they reached the observation deck, breathless and buzzing with adrenaline, the city unfurled beneath them--a sea of lights punctuated by darkness, where emergency blackouts had already been enforced. On the horizon, the ocean heaved ominously, waves crashing with a roar so deep it resonated through the bones. There, towering above the dark waters, was a silhouette, massive, primordial, and moving steadily toward Ambury.

Thomas fumbled with the gear, setting up the portable recorder as Horizio stepped forward, eyes wide, every instinct on high alert. The night was alive with more than just the wind now; it was charged with the presence of the unknown.

Horizio stood at the edge of the observation deck, the wind snapping at his suit. The distant roar of the ocean carried up to him. A sharp blue glow pulsed from the creature’s dorsal spines, casting eerie shadows that danced over the waves and up the facades of Ambury’s tallest buildings.

Thomas, hands trembling, managed to hook the microphone into the portable reel-to-reel recorder. The machine clicked, whirred, and then emitted the soft hiss of live recording. The kobold’s eyes, wide and reflecting the ominous glow from the horizon, shifted to Horizio as if to ask, Are we ready for this?

Horizio leaned into the microphone, his voice steady but charged with an edge. “This is Horizio Gidras, broadcasting from the highest point in Ambury, bringing you what no other station dares to show. We are on the brink of witnessing a night that may forever change our understanding of the world we live in.”

The prehistoric creature filled the night with a haunting, primal sound rolled through the city, a declaration of its arrival. The water surged and spilled over the docks, dragging ships like toys as waves crashed against them.

Horizio glanced back at Thomas, who was biting his lip, scales around his eyes quivering. “Switch to the spotlight,” Horizio instructed, his voice a thread of command laced with urgency. Thomas reached into the briefcase and pulled out a compact spotlight, cranking it to life with a rattling whir. A beam of harsh white light sliced through the night, catching the creature’s massive, draconic form.

Horizio’s voice crackled over the radio waves, imbued with a mixture of fascination and dread. “The creature is immense, a living monolith from a realm we scarcely understand. This is not some tale from the Abyssal Wardens’ whispered patrol logs, this is real, and it is here.”

Thomas angled the light higher, illuminating what appeared to be the creature’s eye--deep-set, like a tunnel, with a glint that suggested awareness, or worse, intent. The eye shifted, focusing on the light, and for a breathless moment, the deck seemed suspended in a hush so profound that even the city seemed to hold its breath.

The silence shattered as the creature emitted a roar that vibrated through glass and steel, shattering windows in nearby buildings. Horizio stumbled but caught himself, eyes locked on the behemoth. The roar was an orchestra of anger, and centuries of isolation.

“Get that on tape!” Horizio barked, shaking off the wave of vertigo that washed over him. Thomas nodded, fumbling to adjust the recorder as the dials spun wildly.

Somewhere in the distance, the muted rumble of military vehicles and the crackle of loudspeakers announced the arrival of reinforcements. But Horizio knew this was only the beginning. Whatever decisions came next, whatever attempts were made to contain this creature, he had captured the first moments--the raw, unfiltered truth that would keep Ambury awake long after this night had ended.

“Sir, the warden’s have announced that this is the same creature that took out their vessel, they gave it a name, Godzilla” Thomas informed him.

Horizio smirked and nodded, having the time of his life as he brought the radio up to his mouth again, “A prehistoric monster that the warden’s call Godzilla has just walked out of ambury harbor,” he said as golden energy crackled around him “it's easily as tall as a 30 story building”

Max's heart raced as he scrambled out of bed, the emergency broadcast still echoing in his ears. The weight of dread pressed heavily on his chest as he threw on his clothes, each movement laced with urgency. “Ida,” he muttered to himself, grabbing his jacket and bolting for the door.

The sounds of sirens wailed like banshees through the stillness of dawn, blending with the fading echoes of jazz. He sprinted down the narrow hall of the research instillation, his mind a whirl of anxiety and determination. He had to find her before it was too late.

As he pushed through the exit onto the main courtyard, the air filled his lungs, but the fresh breeze offered no solace. Instead, it sent a chill racing down his spine. Panic rippled through the streets; cars darted like startled insects, engines roaring in defiance of the impending doom. The sight made his stomach twist. Memories of past terror clawed at his mind--vivid flashes of that fateful day when Godzilla had brought destruction, and he had felt so powerless.

“Ida!” he called out, voice strained. The crowd surged around him, a chaotic mass of frantic citizens, and he fought against it, searching for her familiar face. He couldn’t lose her now, not when they were so close to discovering the truth about the egg she had been studying.

He glanced back up at the skyline, where shadows danced against the impending dawn, hinting at something monstrous just beyond the horizon. His breathing quickened, and he fought against the tightness in his chest, the haunting memories threatening to overwhelm him.

Max pushed onward, his mind racing with the possibilities of what could happen if he didn’t reach her in time. Finally, he burst into the bustling street of downtown Ambury, his eyes scanning the crowd for any sign of Ida. His heart sank at the chaos unfolding around him; people shouted, some cried out in fear, and others rushed toward the evacuation routes. He had to keep his head, to remain focused on the singular goal of getting her to safety.

Spotting a flicker of red hair in a throng of terrified faces, Max's heart leaped. There she was, standing resolute despite the panic around her, her scientist’s gaze scanning the commotion with a mixture of concern and determination. He wove through the crowd, calling her name again, voice louder this time.

“Ida!” he yelled as he brought her into a tight embrace, as if she was a lifeline

Her eyes met his, a mix of surprise and relief washing over her features. She started to move toward him, but as she did, the ground shook with a low, thunderous roar that seemed to come from the depths of the ocean itself

“Max!” she shouted, her voice edged with urgency. “We need to evacuate now! There’s no time!”

He reached her just as the ground shook violently beneath their feet as they stumbled to find their footing, eyes glued to the scene unfolding before them. A wave of dust and debris surged through the air, stinging their eyes as they stared in horror at the towering figure of best, silhouetted against the twilight sky. His massive form loomed over the city, an embodiment of chaos and destruction, with the monstrous roar echoing through the streets like a death knell.

“Max, we need to move!” Ida shouted, her voice barely audible over the cacophony of panic around them, but Max couldn’t tear his gaze away from the behemoth. Godzilla’s eyes glinted with an unsettling intelligence, and in a heartbeat, they shifted toward the train tracks that ran parallel to the cityscape.

A train, laden with frightened passengers, chugged helplessly along the tracks above them, unaware of the impending doom. Time seemed to slow as the kaiju lunged forward, jaws snapping open with a thunderous clamor. Max’s heart raced, dread pooling in his stomach as he watched the creature grip the train in his massive maw, metal bending and screeching in protest.

“No, no, no!” Max gasped, horror gripping him as he instinctively reached for Ida’s hand. Their eyes locked, and he could see the reflection of sheer terror mirrored in her gaze.

“Get down!” Ida cried, pulling him closer just as Godzilla released the train. It flew through the air, an unstoppable projectile tumbling toward them, twisting and spiraling like a fallen star. The sound of metal clashing against metal filled the air as the train tore away from its tracks, its destination nothing more than a twisted fate of wreckage.

Max felt time stretch painfully as they both dropped to the ground, instinctively shielding themselves from the chaos. The train hurtled closer, its sheer size blocking out the sky, casting an ominous shadow over them. He could hear the screams of the passengers, a horrifying symphony of despair that echoed in his mind, mingling with the memories of the past that clawed at the edges of his consciousness.

With a deafening crash, the train collided with the ground mere yards from where they lay. A shockwave rippled through the air, sending debris flying and dust swirling in a frenzied dance. Max squeezed his eyes shut, his breath caught in his throat as the roar of destruction drowned out everything else. He could feel the vibrations beneath him, the ground shaking as if it too was responding to the calamity above.

“Max!” Ida voice broke through the chaos, urgent and fierce. he opened his eyes to see her struggling to pull herself up amidst the debris, her expression a mix of fear and determination. They had to get out, to move before giant creature turned his wrath upon them once more.

Grabbing her hand, he pulled her to her feet. “We can’t stay here!” he urged. adrenaline surged through max's veins, forcing him into action despite the memories of terror that clawed at his mind.

Together, they sprinted away from the wreckage, weaving through the panicked crowd. The sounds of destruction echoed behind them, a reminder of the nightmare that had come to life in their city. As they ran, Max stole a glance back, his heart heavy with the weight of what they had just witnessed. Godzilla stood amidst the destruction, making direct eye contact with max

As they dashed through the narrowing alleys, Max could hear the booming roar of Godzilla in the distance, mingling with the sound of sirens and the panicked cries of the crowd. His heart raced, but it wasn’t just from the physical exertion; it was the familiar grip of fear tightening around his throat, memories rushing back. The feeling of helplessness, of being at the mercy of something so much bigger than himself, surged through him like a wave.

“Just a little further,” Max urged her as they neared the outskirts of the chaos, the lights of the emergency station glowing like a beacon of hope.

In that moment, Max felt a fierce resolve wash over him. He would protect her, no matter the cost. The panic and uncertainty faded into the background, overshadowed by the clear, undeniable need to keep her safe. “We’re going to make it out of Ambury,” his whispered to himself.

the air crackled with tension as Horizio steadied himself against the railing, eyes wide with a mixture of dread and exhilaration. Below, the chaotic streets of Ambury filled with a cacophony of panic--people running, cars colliding, and sirens blaring. The ominous silhouette of Godzilla continued its lumbering approach, the asphalt cracked under its feet.

“Did you get that?” Horizio shouted over the roar of the crowd and the sound of the crashing waves. Thomas was hunched over the recorder, his fingers flying over the dials. 

“Got it! But Horizio, this isn’t safe!” Godzilla let out another earth-shaking roar that reverberated through the air, sending tremors through the observation deck.

Horizio leaned closer to the microphone, heart racing. “Ambury, you’re witnessing history! This creature is beyond our understanding, ancient, colossal, and filled with fury. It’s coming for us, and we are here to bring you every moment.”

As if sensing the weight of Horizio's words, Godzilla paused, turning its massive head toward the observation deck. Its eyes, vast and deep-set, locked onto Horizio, a predatory glint igniting within. 

Then, with a thunderous crash, Godzilla’s massive claw swung down, smashing into the Glass observation deck and sending glass spraying into the air like a fountain. The creature’s attention was drawn to a train stopped on the tracks nearby, the metallic beast an inconsequential toy in the presence of the ancient titan.

“No, no, no,” Thomas gasped, his heart sinking as he realized Godzilla’s intention. The creature reared back, its jaws unhinging, revealing the cavernous maw as it grabbed the train in its mouth.

Horizio’s instincts kicked in. “Record everything!” he shouted, adrenaline surging. He swung the spotlight toward the train, casting a harsh glare across the metal surface as Godzilla lowered its head. In one swift, terrifying motion, the leviathan snapped its jaws around the train, lifting it effortlessly from the tracks.

Screams echoed through the city as people fled in all directions, their frantic cries swallowed by the roar of Godzilla. The massive creature shook the train like a dog with a ragdoll, the weight of it seemingly nothing in its grasp.

“Can you believe this?” Horizio exclaimed, voice trembling with a mix of terror and exhilaration. 

With a great heave, Godzilla tossed the train aside as if it were a mere toy, the metal crumpling under its own weight as it careened through the air. The train flew across the sky, metal screeching and tearing, before crashing down onto a nearby building, the impact sending a shockwave rippling through the street.

“Get that on tape!” Horizio commanded, eyes wide as the spectacle unfolded before them. He turned the microphone toward the chaos. “Ambury, you’re witnessing pure destruction! A prehistoric monster, Godzilla, has just lifted a train and thrown it across the city!”

Thomas, still fumbling with the recorder, managed to catch the metallic groan of the train's collapse, the echoes of alarmed voices, and the frantic sounds of the city beneath the unfolding chaos. “Horizio, it’s… it’s too dangerous here!” he urged, his voice trembling.

“Dangerous? This is the best thing we’ve ever covered!” Horizio laughed, a wild thrill coursing through him. “We’re the first to capture this! We’re going to change the world!”

But as he spoke, the ground beneath them trembled with a mighty roar.

“Horizio!” Thomas screamed, panic lacing his voice as the reality of their situation crashed down. “We need to get out of here now!”

Horizio hesitated, the thrill of the chase gripping him tightly, but as Godzilla drew closer, he felt the surge of danger. “Okay, fine! But we can’t leave without capturing this!”

They scrambled back from the edge, their hearts pounding as Godzilla’s roar echoed through the night. The spotlight flickered as Thomas wrestled with the equipment, trying to keep the feed live.

“Get ready to run!” Horizio yelled, adrenaline coursing through him. They dashed back toward the stairwell, the sound of Godzilla’s approach sending chills through their spines.

As they flew down the stairs, the roar of the creature mingled with the distant wails of the city in chaos. The night was alive with the throes of terror and destruction, and Horizio felt the pulse of history beating in his chest.

They reached the bottom of the stairwell, breathless and wide-eyed, the world outside an unsettling blend of chaos and firelight.

“Where do we go?” Thomas shouted, glancing back as the rumbling intensified, the air heavy with the scent of smoke and fear.

“Out the back entrance! We can get to the car and head towards the studio!” Horizio urged, his voice sharp with urgency. They rushed toward the exit, the heavy doors swinging open to reveal a scene of utter pandemonium.

Civilians dashed for safety, their faces pale and frantic, while military vehicles sped past, their sirens wailing like banshees in the night. The flickering glow of the emergency lights cast erratic shadows, painting the chaos with an unsettling beauty.

“Get in!” Horizio shouted, flinging open the passenger door of the car. Thomas jumped into the backseat, clutching the briefcase as Horizio slid into the driver’s seat, fingers gripping the steering wheel like a lifeline.

He fired up the engine, the car roaring to life amidst the cacophony outside. With a surge of adrenaline, Horizio slammed the accelerator, the sedan shooting forward into the chaos.

“Where’s Godzilla now?” Thomas gasped, peering through the rear window. His scales gleamed in the dim light, anxiety etched across his features as he watched the chaos unfold behind them.

“Still coming this way!” Horizio yelled, adrenaline fueling his every word.

As they barreled down the street, the sound of Godzilla’s roars echoed behind them, the ground shook beneath the weight of the creature, and every blast of air felt like a warning, a reminder that they were racing against time.

“Look out!” Thomas shouted as a military convoy came into view, armed soldiers rushing into position, a man on horseback leading the charge. Horizio swerved, narrowly avoiding a barricade of overturned cars and debris, the tires screeching against the pavement.

“There! Park over there!” Thomas pointed toward an empty spot near the edge of the gardens, and as he slammed the brakes, they skidded to a halt.

They jumped out of the car, both driven by a singular purpose: to capture the moment of a lifetime. Horizio grabbed the portable recorder and spotlight while Thomas grabbed the microphone, their hearts racing in unison.

The air was electric, charged with fear and excitement. They made their way to the square, "Set up over there!” Horizio shouted, pointing to a spot with a clear line of sight.

As they worked, the sky darkened further, shadows pooling around them. The once bright lights of the harbor flickered ominously, as if they, too, sensed the storm approaching. Thomas’s hands trembled as he plugged in the spotlight, and Horizio set the microphone to broadcast live.

“Godzilla is closing in on us!” Horizio’s voice rang out, authoritative and charged with urgency.

 Godzilla emerged from behind a building with a guttural roar. The creature was even more magnificent and terrifying up close, with glistening scales and those fierce, piercing eyes focused on the convoy.

Tanks rumbled forward, their reinforced armor gleaming ominously under the sporadic flashes of magic-infused weaponry that illuminated the night like distant stars falling to earth. The ground shook beneath their steel tracks, a relentless tremor that echoed the tension in the air. The wardens, clad in purple accented suits adorned with shimmering arcane runes, unleashed a barrage of attacks that lit up the skyline. Maser cannons, augmented with potent mystical energy, glowed ominously as they charged, a herald of the impending storm. The air crackled with raw energy, the magic coursing through the artillery amplifying their destructive potential. A chorus of urgent shouts and the thunderous roars of engines filled the night as the wardens took their positions.

In the midst of the chaos, a striking silhouette cut through the smoke and debris, a figure riding atop a dark steed with fiery red eyes that glimmered with otherworldly intensity. It was Chevy, exuding an aura of authority that commanded respect and admiration. His cowboy hat, tilted low, cast shadows over his determined gaze, which gleamed with the ferocity of a predator. He was a stark contrast against the swirling mayhem, his calm confidence unwavering as he gripped the reins of his spirit horse, Blackjack, whose hooves pounded against the cracked pavement with a rhythmic ferocity.

With a precise motion, Chevy pulled out his rifle, its barrel glinting like a beacon of hope as he took aim at the towering monster. Without a hint of hesitation, he fired; the bullet, infused with a spell of binding, erupted into a brilliant burst of golden light upon impact. The energy collided with Godzilla’s tough hide, causing the creature to stagger, a low growl escaping its throat as it turned its massive head, momentarily diverted from the chaos it had wrought.

Nearby tanks roared to life, their turrets swiveling in unison as they unleashed their magical artillery in a synchronized barrage. Beams of vibrant energy shot forth, exploding against Godzilla’s side with the force of a thunderstorm, sending ripples of power cascading across its formidable form.The dinosaur’s roar filled the air, a bone-chilling sound that reverberated through the very heart of Ambury, harmonizing with the cacophony of the wardens’ assault.

Chevy, unfazed by the chaos surrounding him, expertly maneuvered Blackjack through the tumult. With a swift draw, he fired his pistols, each shot ringing out like a clap of thunder, piercing through the dense haze of smoke and debris. The bullets, charged with potent magic, struck Godzilla with blinding bursts of light, illuminating the night and casting elongated shadows that danced across the shattered streets.

As the creature began to retaliate, thrashing its massive tail with furious intent and unleashing a torrent of destruction, the wardens’ resolve only intensified. Yet, the wardens held their ground, channeling their magic into every weapon fired, their defiance a shimmering shield against the encroaching darkness.

Chevy pressed on, riding alongside the advancing tanks, a lone cowboy amidst a storm of steel and magic. Each shot he fired was a testament to his unwavering spirit, a silent promise to defend Ambury from the threat that loomed over it. He moved with purpose and grace, his presence a calming force amid the storm.

As the wardens unleashed their magical artillery, the air was thick with the scent of ozone and gunpowder, mingling with the acrid stench of smoke. Godzilla, momentarily staggered by the onslaught, regained its composure, its massive form illuminated by the flickering flames. The city around it groaned under the weight of the battle.

With a primal roar, Godzilla straightened, and the low hum that filled the air deepened, reverberating through the very fabric of reality. The ground beneath the creature’s feet cracked, fissures spreading outward like spiderwebs. Wardens and civilians alike felt the tremor.

It's spines slowly began to glow with bright blue energy, Godzilla opened its jaws wide, a gathering vortex of energy swirling within. The spines pulsed with raw power, before erupting forth in a violent torrent. A beam of destructive force shot out, racing toward the wardens with unrelenting speed.

“Take cover!” Chevy shouted silently through gritted teeth, urging Blackjack to veer aside as the atomic breath seared through the battlefield. The world seemed to slow as the beam streaked toward them, a manifestation of annihilation. Tanks exploded in fiery brilliance, their armored hulls melting under the onslaught, leaving only twisted scraps in its wake.

Chevy, heart pounding, held tight to his reins, urging Blackjack to maneuver through the chaos. The Night mare, instinctively sensing danger, galloped faster, deftly dodging the destructive wave. As they surged ahead, Chevy raised his rifle, his expression a mask of focus and determination. He aimed for Godzilla's throat.

“Now!” he silently commanded, and the wardens rallied once more, their resolve igniting like the flames surrounding them. With a coordinated effort, they unleashed another volley of magically charged projectiles. The beams soared through the air, illuminating the darkness as they arced toward Godzilla.

One by one, the blasts struck true, each explosion erupting against Godzilla’s form, lighting it up in bursts of fiery magic. The creature roared in defiance, the sound echoing like thunder across the city as it staggered back, its hide glowing from the impact. the hide slowly regenerated from the magic blasts, causing their hearts to sink

Godzilla let out a deafening roar, a mix of anger and pain, as it twisted its head to confront the source of the assault. The colossal creature unleashed another wave of atomic breath, this time directed at Chevy, its radiant glow casting shadows that danced across the rubble-strewn street.

In a moment that felt suspended in time, Chevy dove to the side as blackjack dematerialized in order to avoid the blast as it seared the ground, leaving a charred scar in its wake. Chevy rolled to his feet, undeterred, determination etched on his face.

As the battle roared on, the city of Ambury teetered on the edge of oblivion. Chevy stood amidst the chaos, his chest rising and falling with rapid, adrenaline-fueled breaths. The echoes of Godzilla’s enraged roars and the magical blasts of the wardens created a symphony of devastation around him. He reloaded his pistols, eyes locked on the towering monster as he prepared for the next phase of the assault.

Suddenly, a subtle vibration hummed through the air, different from the tremors caused by the creature. The sound resonated in his mind, and a cold, familiar voice followed, like the whispers of shadowy corridors.

“Chevy, this is Overseer Nyctos.”

The voice of Nyctos, the enigmatic warden overseer whose power was only whispered about, carried a weight that could not be ignored. Chevy’s eyes narrowed as he listened, his attention momentarily shifting from the titanic beast before him. A dark mist curled in the air, coalescing into the shape of a spectral eye that shimmered above him, glowing with arcane energy.

“You are needed elsewhere. The Egg is vulnerable. Max and Ida are under siege. You must secure them and reinforce the fortifications immediately.”

Chevy’s jaw clenched as he processed the overseer’s words. He cast a quick glance back at Godzilla, the monstrous titan that still rampaged through downtown Ambury, its massive tail swiping through buildings as if they were mere playthings. The thought of leaving the battlefield grated against his warrior’s spirit, but he trusted Nyctos’s judgment implicitly. If the Egg—the powerful artifact that anchored so much of their world’s balance—was at risk, then there was no choice.

“Understood,” he thought, allowing his mind to echo back to the overseer. The spectral eye blinked once, a signal of acknowledgment, and then dissipated into thin, shadowy tendrils that vanished in the wind.

Chevy turned to Blackjack, the spirit horse’s flaming eyes flickering as if sensing the change in their mission. Without hesitation, Chevy vaulted onto the saddle, the air around him crackling with urgency. He turned to the wardens nearest him, signaling for them to continue the fight against Godzilla with grim determination.

“Hold the line,” he barked, his voice low but commanding. The wardens nodded, eyes fierce with understanding as they redirected their attacks, holding Godzilla’s attention and buying their commander the precious moments he needed.

With a sharp command, Blackjack bolted forward, hooves pounding against the shattered pavement as they raced away from the frontline and deeper into the city. The wind whipped past Chevy’s face, carrying the scent of smoke and magic. The streets blurred beneath them, a testament to the supernatural speed of the shadow steed.

The buildings around him gave way to a quieter part of the city, where the tension was less visible but no less pressing. He could feel the thrum of magic in the air, a resonance that led him toward the hidden fortress where Max and Ida held their ground, protecting the Egg. Chevy’s eyes narrowed, his mind set on the task ahead as he prepared to defend his fellow wardens—and, by extension, the very fabric of their world—from whatever dark force sought to breach their sanctum. Chevy’s heart thundered in his chest as he raced through the crumbling streets of Ambury, Blackjack galloping with urgency beneath him. He needed to find Maxwell and Ida before it was too late.

As he rounded a corner, the scene unfolded before him: there they were, Maxwell and Ida, desperately working to fortify the area around the egg. they were clearly out of their depth.

“Max! Ida!” Chevy called out, urgency infusing his voice.

They turned, startled, eyes wide with surprise. “Who are you?” Ida demanded, taking a defensive stance beside Maxwell.

“I’m Chevy, get inside!” he shouted, urgency coloring his tone as he leaped off Blackjack, swiftly guiding them toward the lab. “Godzilla is on the move again, and it’s headed this way!”

Maxwell hesitated but quickly nodded, recognizing the gravity of the situation. “Lead the way!” he said, and without another word, they mounted Blackjack together, Chevy in front, the two of them pressed closely behind him.

As they raced toward the laboratory set up near the shoreline, a low rumble began to build, shaking the ground beneath them. The air crackled with tension, and Chevy felt a chill run down his spine as he turned to glance back at the monster that had brought their city to its knees. Godzilla loomed, a titanic figure against the backdrop of the night sky, its eyes fixed on the egg.

“Get ready!” Chevy shouted over the roar of chaos, urging Blackjack to sprint faster. “We need to fortify that egg before it hatches!”

But just as they reached the laboratory entrance, the world erupted into chaos once more. Godzilla reared back, its massive maw glowing with a fierce blue light, gathering the energy for another catastrophic breath. The unmistakable sound of the charge filled the air, and dread washed over them.

In that moment, Horizio and Thomas, who were watching from the shadows of the ruins, their expressions a mix of horror and awe. “It’s going to fire again!” Thomas shouted, eyes wide with fear.

“Stand back!” Horizio commanded, his heart racing as he braced himself for the inevitable explosion. “We need to find cover!”

But it was too late. Godzilla unleashed its energy in a torrent of destructive power, the beam slicing through the air and striking the city with blinding force. The explosion was immense, a wave of blue light that illuminated the night sky, sending shockwaves through the ground. Buildings crumbled further, debris flying in all directions as the force of the blast rocked the very foundation of Ambury.

Amidst the chaos, Chevy, Maxwell, and Ida held tightly to each other, watching in horror as the devastation unfolded. “Keep your eyes on the egg!” Chevy shouted, trying to maintain focus as the world erupted around them.

Maxwell gritted his teeth as he shielded Ida with his own body. As the dust began to settle, the trio witnessed Godzilla’s form loom ominously over the wreckage, a titan against the backdrop of their ruined city. The creature surveyed the destruction it had wrought, and then, with an earth-shaking roar, it began to retreat, slowly backing into the waves, leaving a scene of devastation in its wake.

Maxwell and Ida exchanged glances, their expressions hardened by the night’s events.

As the breath surged through the air, Horizio and Thomas took cover behind the remnants of a collapsed building, their hearts racing at the sheer scale of the destruction unfolding before them. But before the blinding explosion could reach them, a flash of energy erupted from Horizio’s back. With a crackle of electricity, massive dragon wings unfolded, shimmering with iridescent scales, creating a protective barrier against the impending doom.

“What the—?” Horizio gasped, completely taken by surprise as the wings spread wide, blocking the blast with an electrifying shield. The impact still rattled him to his core, but he could feel the surge of power coursing through him as he instinctively embraced this new ability.

Thomas stared wide-eyed, half in awe, half in terror. “What just happened? You have wings now?”

“Apparently!” Horizio shouted over the chaos, his voice a mix of disbelief and exhilaration. “I didn’t know I could do this!”

The blue explosion illuminated their surroundings, casting flickering shadows as debris rained down around them. The ground trembled violently, and even with the dragon wings shielding them, the sheer force of Godzilla’s attack sent waves of energy that threatened to knock them off their feet. Horizio struggled to maintain his balance, his eyes wide with shock as he turned to see the devastation unfolding.

As the chaos began to subside, the wings absorbed back into Horizio’s back, leaving him breathless and bewildered. “What just happened?” he muttered, trying to wrap his mind around the sudden display of power. Just then, a voice echoed in his mind, chilling yet commanding. "Build kingdom."

The phrase reverberated through him, accompanied by a surge of visions that danced behind his eyes. He saw monstrous shapes looming in the shadows of his thoughts, a spiky, armored creature, known for its icy maw and haunting screams. a massive bird swept across the sky, wings beating with the force of a hurricane, leaving a trail of destruction and embers in its wake as it soared through the air. a mountain of sludge slithered through the debris, leaving a trail of toxic sludge and destruction, its very existence a threat to all life around it..

Each image left an imprint on his mind, and he felt the weight of a herculean labor

“What is it?” Thomas asked, snapping Horizio back to reality, concern etched across his face.

Horizio shook his head, brushing off the overwhelming experience, the weight of the visions lingering in the back of his mind. “Nothing,” he replied, his voice steady but the turmoil within him evident.

[tarrenterror25]

Alfred Pennyworth (Batman 2022) x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit 18+

Word Count: 2.7K

Summary: Part 2 - You and Alfred move things to a more private area.

Tags: MxF, unprotected PiV, slight Dom!Alfred, mention of age-gap, oral (f!receiving), mention of shower sex (don’t try this at home), spanking, slight aftercare

🔥NSFW🔥

Note: I’m rusty at writing smut, but please enjoy! This was inspired mostly by the first conversation we see in the film with Alfred and Bruce; Alfred is really stern, harsh, and a little no-nonsense.

A lamp offers enough illumination for you to make out the details of Alfred’s plain bedroom. Tones of deep browns and red decorate the room with gray accents. It shares the same gothic undertones as the rest of the manor.

There’s not much personality to the room other than some photos on the dresser of a younger Alfred and a few other men posing sternly for the camera. They appear to be in some kind of military uniform.

Some books rest on the nightstand next to a pair of reading glasses. You sit on the bed and observe the titles. There’s a tome on classic American cars that’s been left open next to a stack of books. Alfred’s bookmarked a page with a 1968 Dodge Charger. The top book on the stack is called “Intermediate’s Guide to Keysi”. You open the book and peek at a few pages and now understand Keysi to be a fighting style.

You let the book fall close as Alfred clears his throat and turns to face you. He walks toward the bed, his fingers working on undoing his tie and the buttons to his vest. You bite your lip and watch him. He neatly sets aside the garments on an armchair. “Lay down, love,” he instructs casually, gesturing for you to lay on the bed.

Oh dear.

Somehow you weren’t expecting him to jump right into things, but here he was exceeding all of your expectations. Those three words from him, directing you, were so fucking hot. Your thighs press together tightly to quell the ache of your cunt as you watch him remove his cufflinks and watch. You could feel your panties were already soaked by now.

Your knees feel weak, but you stand and remove your clothes until you’re wearing nothing but your matching lingerie set. Alfred stands at the foot of the bed and watches you lay down. You trail your hands up your sides enticingly until they rest just above your head.

You can see that the sight of you presenting yourself so alluringly to Alfred has had an effect. You can see where his cock strains against his trousers. He undoes the top buttons of his shirt, letting the curls from his chest peek out. God, you just want to run your hands all over him, but he seems to be savoring keeping you in suspense.

“You are a sight, you know that?” he says leaning down so he’s between your legs. He hooks one over his shoulder and presses soft kisses on the inside of your thigh. “Is this what you’ve imagined?” he asks.

“Y-Yes. All the t-time,” you let out shakily, feeling your cunt clench around nothing.

His beard tickles your skin and it makes you squirm. His eyes peek up at you from between your legs. “Let me know if at any point I need to stop,” he says.

Never has he looked more attractive than he does now; between your legs, a hair’s breadth away from where you need him most, and being respectful of your decision should you decide to stop.

“Okay,” you say trying to disguise your wanton pants.

This man that you’ve fantasized about for so long, finally doing what you’ve only dreamed about, has barely touched you and yet your heart was pounding. You could feel it all through your body down to your core that was now pulsing with your arousal. With each of his kisses he gets closer to your center. You throw you head back and release a whining plea.

A soft chuckle rumbles from Alfred as he kisses everywhere but there. His hands hold your thighs apart and takes in the sight of your soaked panties. “I know you probably want me to just fuck you,” he says. “But indulge an old man, sweetheart.”

He removes your panties, revealing your dripping cunt. “You’re fucking soaked, sweetheart. Is that all for me?” he asks positioning himself between your legs again.

“Yes,” you say softly, accepting now that your release is at his mercy.

His tongue is on you, lapping up your essence. His movements are slow and drawn out making you ache for more. You try to move your hips to gain more friction, but he holds your thighs apart and keeps you from moving. Alfred’s tongue licks and sucks all over your cunt, flicking the pearl between your folds making you whimper. You turn your head and bury your face in the pillow trying to muffle your moans lest anyone hears you. “Look at me,” you hear Alfred say. “Let me watch you.”

You meet his gaze, his eyes not leaving yours as he lowers his head again. “Don’t look away,” he says before he returns to pleasuring you with his mouth.

His unwavering and intense stare has you so wound up and the pressure he’s applying to your clit with his nose have your legs starting to shake, but he’s still holding them apart. Your cunt is exposed completely to him and he’s relentless. Your hands grip the pillow by your head as jolts of pleasure rock through you and you come with a loud moan, your eyes never leaving his.

Alfred lets out a deep satisfied moan as he takes his fill of you. He releases your thighs, but wraps his arms around your legs to pull your close to his face and hold your in place. He doesn’t skip a beat in making you come a second and third time. The third time he inserts two fingers inside of you and lets his thumb tease your clit.

“You made such a mess, love,” he says.

“Alfred, please,” you beg. “I need you.”

There’s a sheen of sweat coating you and the sheets are wrinkled from where you’ve twisted them in your hands. You feel your cunt is sensitive and weak from him. “One more,” Alfred says more as an instruction than a request. “One more time and then I’ll fuck you.”

He slowly inserts another finger inside of you and you whine with pleasure at feeling him stretch you open. “Alfred, please,” you beg again with more need. 

“Need to make sure you can take me, sweetheart,” he says. “Just one more time.”

“Oh god,” you moan as his thick digits pump inside of you, stretching you open, and curling against your walls. He knows he’s big and something about that level of confidence makes you even more wet.

Alfred’s eyes are trained on your cunt taking his fingers. “Good girl,” he says.

He hisses through his teeth and lets out a soft curse as the sounds of him finger fucking you fill the room.

You pull Alfred to you and kiss him deeply. Alfred’s always been soft spoken and polite, nothing short of a gentleman, but here he was now, cursing and commanding you in a way you didn’t expect from him. You were fully prepared to take the reins on this one, but now you see you had severely underestimated him.

You come around his fingers. He leaves them stuffed in your for a moment before he removed them and begins cleaning them off with his mouth. You sit up and watch him, his eyes on you the whole time he does it. Most partners just close their eyes during this stuff, but Alfred watches you and his stare insists that you watch him.

Your eyes traverse down his body to where his cock begs to be freed from its confines. You start to undo his belt as he removes his shirt. “Allow me to return the favor?” you ask.

“I’d love that, darling,” he says running his thumb across your bottom lip. “I’d love to see that pretty mouth take me, but I believe I promised that I would fuck you. I’m a man of my word, love”

Hearing him speak this way, so unlike how you’re used to hearing him has your cunt aching for him, needing to be filled by him.

“Do you have...anything?” he asks.

You nod. “I’m clean and I'm taking something,” you say softly, slightly embarrassed that he might suspect you were looking forward to this.

“Good,” he says.

Alfred groans as he frees his cock. He wasn’t kidding when he said he wanted to make sure you could take him. He’s thick with his erection at full attention with a bead of pre-cum dripping from his tip. you make out a thick vein on the underside of his cock as you watch him remove his trousers and neatly set them aside with the rest of his clothes.

He returns to you and you pull him on top of you. He kisses you passionately while he palms your breast; his hand dips past your lace bra to roll your nipple in his fingers. Alfred pulls away from kissing you and lines himself up with your cunt. He looks at you with a look in your eyes asking for your permission to continue. You let out a soft “please” and enters you slowly.

You grip him tightly, your fingers digging into his back. He gradually continues until he’s fully sheathed in you. You cry out loudly as he stretches you open, not caring who hears you. You wrap your legs around him and let out his name with a breathy moan.

He doesn’t move and so you whimper as you rock your hips against his to gain some kind of friction. He chuckles and you can feel it rumble from within his chest. You never expected Alfred Pennyworth to be such a tease. He leans in close until you can feel his hot breath on his ear. Those notes of sage hit your sense again, but much stronger now with him so close. “Indulge me again, love,” he says. “Can you beg for me?”

“Fuck yes!” you whine not ashamed of how you were desperately trying to thrust against him. “Please, Alfred, fuck me, please!”

“As you wish,” he groans as he pulls out from you almost completely before thrusting back in.

You tilt your head up to catch his lips and kiss him while he fucks you. You coax his tongue into your mouth making him moan. Your hands trail from his broad back to his head where your fingers tangle into his hair making it disheveled.

You are unhinged underneath Alfred; no longer the prim and proper lady at the office, but instead the brazen and shameless woman begging to be fucked by him.

Once again, you underestimate Alfred. He hooks his hands behind your knees and pushes them up towards your head. You squeal in surprise at the motion as Alfred sits up and continues pounding into you at this new angle.

“Fuck, sweetheart, look at you taking me so well,” he groans as he watches his cock glide back and forth into your cunt.

Your hand comes down to tease your clit as his strong hands hold your legs up still. Your other hand takes hold of your breast and teases your nipple. Alfred lets out a shaky breath at watching you touch yourself.

You’ve always found Alfred astonishingly handsome with his pressed suits, combed hair, and courteous smile, but he is much more attractive like this; sweat coating his body and glistening off the curls on his chest and the hair on his arms, locks of his usually coiffed hair out of place, and his jaw clenched as he rams into you.

“Where do you want me to finish, love?” he asks. “Shall I come all over those lovely tits or-”

“In me,” you interrupt while having the breath knocked out of you with each of his thrusts. “Please, come inside me.”

He fucks you harder and faster and from his labored breaths you can tell he’s close. Watching him on the brink of coming undone sends you over the edge again. You feel yourself squirt around his cock and hear the loud slick slaps of him fucking you. “Oh, fuck,” he groans unabashedly in that thick accent of his.

He pushes his cock as deep as he can inside you and fills you with his spend. His hips rock against you a few more times making before he pulls out and lays next to you, sweating and panting.

“Are you alright?” you ask quickly turning on your side to tend to him.

He smiles and nods. “Forgive me if I wasn’t up to par, it’s been some time,” he says in between breaths.

“There’s nothing to forgive,” you say with a smile before placing a kiss on his cheek. “You were perfect.”

The two of you shower together where Alfred takes you a second time. Your hands press against the shower walls while your ass pushes out for him. He takes you from behind, surprising you with his stamina. The hot water streams down your back where he leaves even hotter kisses on your shoulder. At some point he smacks your ass a bit making you whimper. Caught up in the euphoria of the moment, you barely realize that you ask him to do it harder. He obliges and brings his hand down on your ass a little harder this time. It stings with the hot water running over where you are sure there is to be a handprint. You cry out his name as you come again and and he follows shortly after.

The two of you proceed to get cleaned up. Alfred puts on a clean set of trousers and retrieves a fresh shirt from his closet. From the bed where you button up your blouse you watch his fingers expertly tie his tie. He doesn’t look down nor does he need a mirror to do it, you can tell it’s a very practiced motion. You follow him to the bathroom where he combs his hair back into place. You stand next to him and throw your own hair up into a ponytail. Alfred smiles your way and reaches for his cologne. You extend your hand to rest on top of his on the bottle. “May I?” you ask.

He nods.

You pick up the dark glass bottle and take off the cap. Alfred clears his throat and faces you. You take one of his wrists and push the sleeve up a bit before spritzing the cologne some inches away from him. You feel his gaze on you. When you look up, your eyes immediately meet his. He doesn’t look away from you while rubbing his wrists together, dispersing the aroma onto his person. “Look up,” you say.

He tilts his head back and you spritz the cologne onto his neck. You replace the cap onto the bottle and set it back down. Alfred is quiet when he begins buttoning his sleeves. You pick up some cufflinks from the jewelry tray and begin fastening them onto him while deciding you want to be the one to break the silence. “I understand if this is just a one time thing,” you say. “I don’t want you to get the wrong impression of me.”

“What?” he asks. “No, gods, no. I hope you don’t have that impression of me?”

You finish and kiss his cheek. “My impression of you has always been nothing but great things. I just don’t want you to feel pressured into anything.”

He chuckles and returns the favor of you sprucing him up. He grabs a brown bottle with some kind of liquid inside. “Rose water,” he says as if reading your mind. “Made with the ones grown in our gardens.”

He clears his throat and spritzes the liquid over your head and helps style a few loose tendrils of your hair. “Is that what you wish, for this to be a stand alone occurrence?” he asks.

“No,” you say softly. “And you?”

Alfred smiles as he sets the bottle down. “If you’d like, I think we both could go for continuing this by starting on a different foot,” he says. “Allow me to at least treat you to dinner if we are to go any further.”

His hand caresses your face as you wrap your arms around him. “I would like that very much,” you reply.

He leans down and kisses you, gently and lovingly.

[fanfiction-butterfree]

THE NANNY NAMED LUIGI

CHAPTER II: Airplanes and Early mornings

Koopa Man: This is your pilot speaking. Thank you for flying Air Goomba. We should be arriving at Shadow City International Airport in just under 5 hours. The skies are relatively clear so we expect only a slight amount of turbulence. 

Luigi sighed as he stared out of the airplane window. In just 7 hours he'd be at Bowser's Castle to act as the nanny for the Koopalings and their brother Bowser Junior. He still didn't know how his brother managed to convince him to take the job. Then again he hadn't managed to get a job since he'd been fired by his fiance, so maybe he was just open to any suggestion.  

Goomba Steward: The emergency exits are located there and there. 

The goomba gestured towards the orange colored emergency exits.

The green dressed Mario brother looked around the cabin. 

There were Toads on their way to vacation. 

Business Koopas on their way home. 

Humans who would transfer to a plane headed to the Luncheon Kingdom for a wedding. 

And a few others whose goals varied from migration to a short vacation. 

As the plane's engines revved up, and the fasten seatbelt sign went on, the emerald clad human closed his eyes, hoping to get some sleep before he arrived at his destination. 

The means people used to travel in this world were as diverse as the beings that inhabited it. 

There were cars, bicycles, motorcycles, and hot air balloons. Trams, buses, trains, and blimps. There were planes, ships, koopa copters, and spaceships. There were things I had yet to mention and that most people of our world had yet to imagine. 

But of all the methods used to traverse distances, the most famous was the warp pipe. A technological marvel that could get you from A to B in a fraction of the time it took all but the fastest commercial planes. 

It was, sadly, also the least comfortable, most expensive to build, and hardest to maintain form of transportation. Which is why it was generally only built when money was no option. Such as in certain government buildings so doctors, politicians, military, aid workers, and refugees could easily get to an allied nation or a nearby province. Or temporarily in the case sporting events, or kidnappings. 

Teenage Male Koopa: GIMME THAT! 

Slightly Younger Male Koopa: NO IT'S MINE! 

Teenage Male Koopa: YOU DON'T EVEN USE IT! 

Much Younger Male Koopa: I'M TELLING DAD!

Bowser woke up like he did every morning to the sound of his children arguing over something. 

Teenage Male Koopa & Slightly Younger Male Koopa: DON'T YOU DARE!! 

Much Younger Male Koopa: DAD! 

In this case the argument was between three of his least favorite kids. 

Even Younger Male Koopa: IGGY AND LEMMY ARE FIGHTING AGAIN! 

Iggy & Lemmy: SHUT UP LARRY!

Larry started crying

Bowser: KNOCK IT OFF OR I'M SENDING YOU ALL TO BOARDING SCHOOL ON THE MOON! 

There was a moment of silence before the three brothers started laughing. 

Bowser sighed. 

He knew he wouldn't send them to boarding school, and they knew he wouldn't send them to boarding school, but at least they stopped fighting and that was all he really wanted. 

Bowser got up and looked in the mirror. After a month without Kamek's help, he looked and felt tired. He'd grown a beard, the same shade of red as his mane. Normally he'd shave it, but he felt too tired to even try to. 

He put on a white dress shirt with french cuffs and a spread collar, silver cufflinks shaped like his logo, a navy blazer with gold buttons with his logo on them , Khaki colored dress pants, white socks, brown leather dress shoes, a red silk tie in a half windsor knot, a gold pocket watch, and a forest green shell with white spikes.

Normally he'd just wear a shell and some spiked wristbands, but he had a conference in two days, so he had to get used to dressing up. 

He didn't mind the clothes, in fact they felt quite good, but in his mind he wasn't the type of guy who would wear them. Or wear a beard, or do a lot of things for that matter. 

He looked at his watch. 

Bowser: Three hours till Mario's brother gets here. I hope he lasts longer than the last one.

The king muttered to himself. 

Somewhere in the skies near the coast of the Darklands an Air Goomba plane was preparing to make its final approach to Shadow City International Airport. 

Shyguy Stewardess: Sir, wake up, we're almost at our final destination. 

Luigi: Wuh huh? 

Luigi slowly got up. 

He'd been able to sleep through most of the flight, only waking once to go to the toilet, once to stretch, and once to eat his breakfast. His breakfast consisted of an omelet with fried mushrooms and fire flower, some somewhat stale bread, an assortment of overripe fruit native to the Mushroom kingdom, and some coffee, which he'd been told was a type popular in the Darklands, and was unfortunately the best part of the meal. While it had been a bit too dark for his taste, he still enjoyed it. 

The landing had been uneventful, some passengers had clapped, but that was nothing out of the ordinary.

The lesser known Mario brother thought of his situation as he made his way through the airport. He'd met Bowser only a few times in his life, and couldn't remember the last time they'd exchanged more than a few words. Even after Bowser's wife died a few years ago, he'd only sent him a short letter offering his condolences, and never gotten a reply. And now he was on his way to babysit the man's children. 

He giggled nervously. 

The only time he'd babysat anything was his neighbor's Yoshi, and even that almost went wrong. 

He made his way to Darklands Customs and Border Protection.

Koopa Woman: Passport? 

Luigi showed his passport

Koopa Woman: Business or Pleasure?

Luigi: Business

Koopa Woman: Staying long? 

Luigi: I hope not! 

Koopa Woman: Haven't heard that in a while. 

Luigi chuckled nervously

Koopa Woman: Luigi … Mario? Huh, same last name as Mario Mario. 

Luigi: He's my brother

He smiled proudly. 

The koopa burst into laughter

Koopa Woman: Yeah right! And I'm the queen of the Darklands! 

She regained her composure

Koopa Woman: Regardless everything checks out. Welcome to the Darklands mister Mario. 

The man in green finished going through security, got his luggage, and walked outside, somewhat disheartened by what happened at customs. 

Shyguy Driver: Linguine Mario? Lugini Mario? I'm here for a Loogy Mario! 

Luigi: It's Luigi. 

Shyguy Driver: Can I see your passport ? 

The shyguy looked at it briefly 

Shyguy Driver: Looks good. Ok, get in the car. 

Luigi nodded, and got in the car. 

Shyguy Driver: Lets hope you don't end like the last ones. 

He muttered to himself. 

Time is a funny thing. Seconds can feel like minutes, minutes can feel like hours, hours can feel like days, and days can feel like years. Or in the case of one unfortunate King Bowser, ruler of the Darklands. Hours can feel like Centuries. 

Bowser looked at his watch. 

Bowser: 3 minutes till he's here. 

His children were all waiting in front of the door. 

He'd told them that he'd send them to the moon if they what they did to the last people that babysat them.

Not that it mattered, he was too tired to do anything, let alone punish them if they did what he feared they were going to do to Mario's brother . 

The doorbell rang.

Teenage Female Koopa: Ready! 

A security guard opened the door remotely

Oldest Teenage Male Koopa: Aim! 

The door opened

Second Oldest Teenage Male Koopa: FIRE! 

Bowser: NO! 

Bowser reacted too late. In unison the Koopalings blew scarlet balls of fire at their unfortunate target. 

Iggy: That was number 39! 

The crimson firestorm which wrapped around the figure in the doorway, gave way to emerald and viridian flames, behind which were intense eyes which seemed to burn with lime green fire. 

The mix of red and green fire dissipated as the man dressed in green dusted himself off. 

As he looked around the room, his composure shifted from intense anger to an equally intense nervousness

Luigi: Hello… I'm…

Bowser: The Nanny. 

[howdoyousleep3]

hi mamaaa 💕

thought i’d give you and everyone a lil update on me and warehouse daddy. SO

warehouse daddy’s love language is acts of service. one of my favorite snacks is apples with peanut butter, HE THINKS THATS WEIRD???? BUT HE LITERALLY EATS COTTAGE CHEESE WITH CELERY?????????? mama help me beat his ass

let’s seeee, mans is obsessed with me wearing white, he claims he has “the urge to ruin it” even my pretty things and he even goes feral for a white graphic t shirt. like bro? STOP RIPPING MY CLOTHES

idk if you posted the ask or not, but i did ask warehouse daddy to go to the military ball with me 🙂 he’s had 3 suit fittings and he’s nervous af bc i keep doing “rich people shit” BUT HIS SUIT NEEDED TAILORING OK 🤌🏾 it had to be uhh.. loosened in certain areas alshfkshd, and he’s very against wearing cuff links which will 🔪 not 🔪 fly. i’m getting him in those stupid cuff links

that’s all i can think of rn but i’m sure i’ll spam you later

-🍑 the simp

There are so many things here that have my brain going brr, but you sugar daddying him and getting his suit tailored is 😵‍💫. Get those cufflinks, bby. 😤

[undercoverpan]

Interstellar project launch, HRI and RDA agreement.

"Hello, I'm Helena Andromeda, and I'm the CEO of the Human Relocation Initiative. I'm coming to you today, to announce an interstellar project."

A young woman stands alone in a white room. She's dressed in a deep blue suit, one with soft shoulders complimented by carefully chosen off-white cufflinks. She's got golden locks of hair hanging around her shoulders in curls, paired with sky blue eyes. She's got a friendly smile on her face as she turns to her side, the camera panning over to reveal Parker from the RDA.

"My good friend Parker, acting CEO of the RDA, and I have come together to announce several projects. The HRI has decided to join the mission to Pandora in order to officially start civilisations there. We start this project with a joint effort to rebuild a stronghold on Pandora, and our own project: New Eden."

Parker nods as she speaks. He's dressed in a deep red suit, hair brushed and gelled to frame his face better.

"Thank you, miss Helena. We're announcing the official re-launch of our space mission to Pandora, re-instating our military outpost and starting construction of the new city, Star city. With the construction of this city, we hope to cement our place on Pandora, and to send a message to the hostiles."

They both step aside, the camera following Helena. She walks a short distance until she's greeted by another figure. This one stands taller than her, dressed in a white lab coat and black pants, with a dark blue turtleneck. She's got curly black hair held back by a white band. Her face is littered with freckles, two brown eyes, a nose and lips. She smiles with this almost frazzled sense of nervousness emitting from her.

"This is one of our first students and head researchers, Miranda Katarina. Miranda, tell us about your research!"

She nods.

"My research details the—" the screen glitches, distorting the video and audio, "--, this would help current humans to enforce—" It spazzes out, "---without triggering the planet's immune system."

"That sounds amazing, Miranda. And if that sounds wonderful to you, sign up for any one of the proje--projects!'

The sounds glitches, her mouth moving but not making any noise. Spider clicks off the video, erasing "Miranda research" from the search bar. He places the soaked tablet in a pot of uncooked rice, huffing. He should just man up and ask her himself.

But something about how she hides things, about the long scratches along her chest, about that crazed, almost angry look she gives to the headmistress when they argue under the guise of privacy.

Something is terribly wrong here. She's terribly wrong. And she's sleeping less than 5 feet from him.

____

Hi hi!!! Being ominous abt my new fic even tho i have like 5 tests coming up

Miranda seems spooky in this but she's actually v v v nice i promise <333

[love-bigboss1fan-me]

Lol even more ramblings about the similarities between MGS and DS. The same warnings apply in spoilers for both games and if you find the dialogue heavy. Enjoy 💜

ID: we start with a scene of Deadman and Sam talking about the cufflinks and how Bridges will monitor his condition, to Die-Hard man and Sam arguing, then to Higgs in his new red, black, and amber cybernetic suit and hold that image for a while then it goes black for a few minutes before showing Higgs in his original military gear and golden mask with the Demens standing behind him, to Fragile’s flashback with Higgs walking her to the edge of the timefall and then we end with a logo of APAC’s and a quote from the DS2 trailer, saying “It wasn’t the UCA that made the final decision, it was APAC. A private organization.” End

Subtitles:

Meryl: “The nanomachines keep track of the soldiers and their real-time personal data 24 hours a day. They monitor each man’s position, movement, speed, firing accuracy… wounds, rations, water intake, and supply… Sweet secreted, heart rate, blood pressure, and sugar levels, oxygen… All the data gathered on the body condition on sensory organ data showing pain and fear… Data on every internal response within the body. All of it is collected by an AI at the system’s core. It was creepy at first, knowing you’re being watched 24/7, but I have gotten used to it. It gives us a lot of advantages in the field too. We get a clearer picture of what’s going on around us, so there is less confusion during missions. And our nanomachines communicate with each other, making teamwork a lot smoother. The nanomachines network inside each member’s body allows us to share each other’s senses. They can see what I see. And it helps control pain.”

Solid Snake: “Is that part of the System, too?”

Meryl: “With SOP, my team can literally operate as one. And that’s not all the System does for us. It is also a security guarantee against the PMCs.”

Solid Snake: “Security guarantee?”

Meryl: “That’s right. The PMCs are combat groups without states or ideologies. They’re not fighting out of nationalism or for a cause. They don’t care why the war is being fought. They are just bodies, fighting on someone else’s behalf. They’re mercenaries. A commodity. So it is easy to imagine them betraying their clients by joining with the enemy, or refusing to fight… Or committing humanitarian atrocities. To keep these things in check… They ensured that no one can use firearms or military vehicles without the proper System ID. It’s true for every piece of equipment out there.”