#shoulder holster carry

[theroguebanshee]

The Falco Roto Shoulder Holster is an amazing new take on a old design

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[echidnana]

just started watching higurashi and erm. what the fuck is going on

[weirdfishy]

rewatching the last dam job n rlly, don’t ask me how many times i’ve rewatched the eliot-recruits-quinn scene. don’t.

(huckleberry scene 🥰🥰🥰)

[itsxarien]

my hero | dante x reader

(dante sparda x reader | can be set in DMC'S game universe or anime! inspired by re4.)

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

When Dante was hired to rescue the daughter of a powerful, fortune-telling family, he expected someone pristine. Proper. Maybe soft-spoken, mysterious, and grateful to be saved.

Not... this.

He had slayed demons—multiple demons, mind you, just to reach the creepy, crumbling church where you were kept. Solved a ridiculously hard puzzle, nearly got impaled by a swinging axe trap, and had to put up with the scent of brimstone and rotting pews the whole way.

And this is how you  greeted him?

With a candlestick. To the chest.

Dante staggered slightly, looking down at the now-bent bronze stick protruding from his jacket. His eyes flicked up to the girl standing in front of him, panting, your expression twisted in panic. Her eyes were wide. He could practically hear your heart racing.

“Not the hello I was expecting,” he muttered, yanking the candlestick out of his chest and tossing it aside with a clatter. The wound was already closing.

Honestly, you were kind of a sight, even if your first impression was... intense. He glanced between you and the photo your had given him. Same eyes. Same pouty lips.

Definitely her.

“Who... the hell are you?!” you snapped, stumbling back and dropping to the floor, scurrying away like a terrified cat.

He placed a hand on his hip, unimpressed.

“I’m Dante. I’m here to save you.”

“No, you’re not! You’re-you're one of those things! You’re here to finish the job!”

Dante sighed. “Your father hired me to save you, princess. You can chill.”

But you weren’t having it. You grabbed a piece of broken wood like a sword and aimed it at him, still shaking.

“That’s it.”

Before you could react, he darted forward with lightning speed, hoisted you up like you weighed nothing, and threw you over his shoulder.

“Put me down! I swear to God - let go of me! This is kidnapping! You animal!”

“Yeah, yeah. Screaming won’t help your case.”

You flailed and kicked and pounded your fists against his back.

“I’m going to curse you! I’m going to curse your entire bloodline!”

“Aw, that’s cute,” he said with a smirk. “You think I haven’t already been cursed.”

And with that, Dante walked out of the church, the echo of your outraged shrieking following behind him as he carried you straight into your unwanted rescue.

He already knew this mission was going to be a pain.

But hell if it wasn’t going to be entertaining.

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

Okay... maybe you weren’tthat bad.

After he explained the situation to you—albeit while covering your mouth mid-scream—you started to calm down. A little. And after he saved you from, oh, multiple demon attacks, you finally stopped stabbing him with random objects.

Now, you followed his lead like a wary cat, tiptoeing behind him through the ruins of a quiet village. At first glance, it looked abandoned. Peaceful. But you knew better. Dante had warned you, some of the villagers weren’t villagers at all.

Demons. Disguised. Watching.

You stuck close, barely breathing.

Suddenly, Dante stopped and motioned toward a metal trash can.

You blinked. Confused. “What?”

He kept his voice low. “Hide.”

You looked from him… to the trash can… then back again.

“Seriously?” you hissed.

He turned to face you, clearly baffled. “Yes. Seriously. No choice, princess.”

You groaned and dragged your feet toward the bin like it was your destiny.

“This is so disgusting,” you muttered under your breath. “Ew. Ew. Ew.”

Dante smirked as he heard the faint, pitiful complaints from within. Then, without missing a beat, he drew Ebony and Ivory from his holsters.

“It’s showtime, baby.”

Gunfire erupted just as you hunkered down. Inside the trash can, you flinched at every bang, every crack, every roaring screech from the demon horde. Then you heard it:

“WOOHOO!”

You couldn’t help it,you laughed. A wacky wohoo pizza man saving your life? Not exactly what your cards had predicted. But fate clearly had a wild sense of humor.

The noise outside started to fade. Silence crept back in. Your heartbeat rose.

What if it wasn’t Dante who opened the lid next?

But a moment later, the top popped open and there he was—grinning like a devil who just cleaned house.

“You good there, princess?” he teased, but there was something softer in his tone now. A flicker of concern.

You sighed, brushing your hair from your face.

“Not the best, but it can do.”

He chuckled and offered a hand, easily lifting you out and carrying you from the filth like a damn knight in blood-stained leather.

“You don’t have to worry,” he said over his shoulder. “We’re near the castle. We’re almost out. I’ll have you back to your pops in no time.”

You looked up at him, something warm blooming in your chest. You clasped your hands together.

“Dante?”

He glanced back. “Hmm?”

“Thank you. For saving my life.”

He paused. Just for a moment.

“No need,” he said casually, turning away again. “It’s my job. Come on now—time’s valuable.”

And off you went.

You, the trash-can princess.

And him, the demon-slaying, woohoo-yelling knight.

Yeah… maybe you guys were a nice team.

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

You were cursed, a demon’s blood was injected inside you while you were unconscious.

One moment, you were walking beside Dante through the castle’s silent halls, chatting about exit plans and the next, your feet froze.

Your body stilled.

“Hey,” Dante called casually from ahead. “You good there, Princess?”

He turned, eyebrow raised. But when he took a step toward you, your hand shot up, swift and deadly. Before either of you could react, your fingers wrapped tightly around his throat.

The grip was monstrous. Not yours. Not truly.

“The girl… is mine,” a voice growled through your lips. Hollow. Unrecognizable. You watched in horror, unable to scream, to cry, to stop.

Dante choked beneath your hold, eyes never leaving yours even as he struggled. He could’ve fought back. He should’ve. But he didn’t. He was afraid of hurting you.

Then just as suddenly, the grip loosened. Your knees buckled and you collapsed, only to be caught by warm, steady arms.

“W-What… happened?” you gasped, blinking rapidly.

Dante smiled at you gently. “Nothin’ much, princess. It’s good to have you back.”

Now, the two of you were in the underground levels, taking a breather in one of the rare safe zones. A “save point” you called it, after one of the video games you played. A friendly mercenary from above had set up a dummy shooting range and Dante took to it like a kid at an arcade, blasting each target with confident ease.

And your cheers? They only made him better.

“Woo! Ten in a row!” “Nice shot, cowboy!” “Is this your secret stress relief?”

Your laughter echoed off the stone walls and Dante couldn’t stop the smirk tugging at his lips. He never thought babysitting a rich girl would be this… fun.

He wasn’t gonna lie, it felt nice, having you around.

But behind your claps and witty quips… something was stirring.

As he reloaded for another round, he noticed the silence. No clapping. No teasing remarks.

He turned, and there you were, staring at your hands. Your expression was distant. Haunted. The veins beneath your skin looked darker. Angrier. Your smile was gone.

“Hey,” Dante called softly, walking toward you. “You good, princess?”

You looked up at him, guilt swimming in your eyes.

“I hurt you,” you whispered.

“You had no control over that.”

“But still!” you snapped, frustration breaking through. “What if I do lose control? What then?”

You looked around the area, eyes glassy. Tears were beginning to pool, and you hated it.

“I’m sorry, Dante…” Your voice cracked. “I’m just… so scared.”

His eyes softened instantly.

“When that happened… I was there. Inside my body. Screaming, but no one could hear me. It was like… like a nightmare I couldn’t wake up from!”

You stumbled forward, leaning into his chest. He didn’t hesitate—his arms wrapped around you, holding you tightly, protectively.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. Just the sound of your quiet sobs, and the steady beat of his heart.

Then he smiled into your hair and whispered:

“You’re the strongest girl I’ve known, (Y/N). What you did back in the castle while I was trapped and unable to reach you? You handled yourself like a damn pro. You’re gonna beat this. I know you will.”

He gently pulled back to look at you, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

“I’m gonna bring you home safe.”

Your eyes met his.

For once, the fear inside you faded just a little, replaced by something warm. Trust. Hope. Maybe even something more.

“Now come on, don’t you wanna try this shooting game?”

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

It had taken over.

Veronica. It was the name of the demon that had fully consumed your body, turning you into a twisted mirror of yourself. Black veins streaked across your face, eyes glowing an unnatural red, your voice dripping with venom as she mocked Dante with every word.

But the hardest part wasn’t the speed of her attacks. It wasn’t the razor-sharp accuracy or the maddening, taunting laugh echoing in the chamber.

It was you.

You,whose body Veronica now wore like a trophy, was why Dante hesitated. Each bullet, each strike, each blow brought him closer to ending the fight… and possibly hurting the one person he didn’t want to lose.

You, who had laughed with him in the darkest of places. You, who was the clear representation of why he saves humans. You, who made even a devil feel a little more human.

Then came the moment.

Veronica, grinning wickedly, spotted the flicker of hesitation.

“Jackpot,” she hissed. “So this is the weakness of Sparda’s son…”

She lunged for him—fangs bared, blade raised—but she stopped.

She froze.

From inside the shell, you fought. Screaming in silence. Pushing against the darkness. Your hands trembled mid-strike, and your knees gave out. Her control faltered.

“No… no!!” Veronica howled in rage.

As Dante effortlessly slices through the demons, his eyes never leave you. He could feel it, too, the pull, the connection, even though you were trapped inside that monster. But now, he had you back. You were fighting for control, resisting the demon’s urges to hurt him, and damn, if that didn’t make him proud.

The demon smirked, but it faltered when it realized you weren’t backing down. Dante grinned, his confidence returning like a wave crashing over him. "That’s my girl," he muttered under his breath. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he entered his Devil Trigger, the power surging through him.

The demon howled in defiance. “NO! I am the queen of everything! I WILL NOT FALL!”

Dante shot a look full of cocky confidence. "Yeah? Well, guess what? You’re about to get dethroned."

With one final slash, the demon’s body was sliced in half. You fell, but before you could hit the ground, Dante was already there, catching you in his arms. You blinked, your vision blurry, then you smiled up at him, warmth flooding your chest.

“D-Dante…?”

He smiled. “Gotcha.”

You blinked at him, dazed, but safe. Then you grinned weakly. “My hero.”

“Good to have you back, princess. I missed you.”

You looked up at him with a teasing smile. “Yeah?”

Before he could answer, static crackled through his comm. Lady’s voice cut in.

“You’ve got exactly five minutes before this place goes boom. Underground tunnel. Vehicle’s waiting. Move your asses.”

Dante rolled his eyes. “Buzzkill.”

He looked down at you again, cocky grin back in place.

“Well, what do you say, princess? Care for one last ride?”

You smirked, brushing hair from your face. “I’d be honored.”

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

The jet ski roared across the water, moonlight shimmering off the waves. You screamed in exhilaration, clinging to Dante’s back as the wind whipped through your hair.

Finally, he slowed, stopping right in the middle of the vast, open sea. The stars above were glittering. Everything was still.

Dante leaned back slightly, looking over his shoulder.

“Not bad, huh?” he said with that familiar cocky lilt.

You chuckled breathlessly, cheeks flushed.

“What a crazy first date.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You consider this a date?”

You hummed. “Mm… yeah. I mean, you picked me up, saved my life, took me for a ride—kinda romantic.”

Dante chuckled, low and smooth. “Damn. Guess I’ve still got it.”

Then you leaned forward, close to his ear.

“You’ve been putting in work all day, Dante. How about some overtime? I’m sure you’ll enjoy this shift a lot more.”

He tilted his head slightly, that cocky smirk growing.

“I don’t think that’s in the company handbook... but to hell with it.” His eyes sparkled with mischief as he twisted the throttle, sending the jet ski speeding ahead. “Hang on tight, princess.”

The engine roared, and the two of you shot forward, the water crashing around you as your arm found its way on his waist. Dante’s grin widened, his satisfaction palpable, especially when he glanced at you, a loving look in his eyes.

So this is what his father felt when he fell in love with his mother, Eva.

And Dante knew it all too well..

He hit the jackpot with you.

[madewithsilk]

— ꜰᴜᴛɪʟᴇ ᴅᴇᴠɪᴄᴇꜱ 𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚

synopsis; outlaw cowboy sevika takes a detour and ends up lost at night with nowhere to stay. stumbling over to your house, she hopes it's not an old husband with a rifle and luckily, it's not.

pairing; outlaw cowboy sevika x widow farm-girl reader

cw; age gap, inexperienced (w/ women) reader, experienced sevika, sub!reader, dom!sevika, oral (r!receiving), tribbing

The sun blared down relentlessly on the farm, a scorching sunset that felt more suited to the height of summer than the gentle welcome of spring. The air shimmered with heat and humidity, and the horses stood restlessly, needing constant relief, their flanks fanned with hastily created gusts and cool buckets of water at the ready, providing brief moments of respite from the sweltering heat. It was that time of year again when the pace quickened and the workload surged, a stark reminder of the solitude that had settled over the farm. You shouldered the immense responsibility alone, grappling with the demands of each day, marking the second year since your husband had passed. Yet, the absence was not necessarily what left you scarred, but the loneliness.

As Sevika’s horse trotted along the parched dirt path, it kicked up a swirling cloud of dust that danced in the golden light of the setting sun. The outlines of a quaint village began to emerge, revealing a tapestry of little houses nestled amid patches of vibrant green grass and fields dotted with diligent farmers. The warm hues of dusk cast long shadows, and Sevika squinted against the sun's glare, readjusting her wide-brimmed hat to shield her eyes. Her sense of direction wavered, adding a hint of uncertainty to her journey as she moved toward a barn.

The sundress draped over your boots, its delicate fabric gathering at the hem as you hiked it up to avoid the mud that threatened to cling to the ruffles at the bottom. Your hand shielded your features from the harsh sun, refilling the buckets of water constantly at the horse's disposal. Once the job was done, you rushed towards the steps into your home. Sitting on one of the steps, you removed your boots with grace and kept them on the stairs before wandering into your house.

Sevika had no choice but to ask for hospitality from a stranger. Her best bet was to find someone's wife on a good day instead of an old man with a rifle and in the know about her crimes. It was unlikely such a situation would conclude in her demise, but rather another dilemma to cover up. A clueless woman she could butter up with a charming gaze and the seducing threat of her strap carried on her hip.

Sevika dismounted from her horse, the leather saddle creaking softly as she slid to the ground. With a practiced motion, she looped the reins around a sturdy post. As she strolled toward the imposing wooden doors of the largest barn, her hat threatened to slip from her head, catching the afternoon breeze. She ascended the worn steps, her boots clicking evenly against the weathered wood, and caught sight of a pair of feminine boots resting by the entrance. With a mix of curiosity and caution, she lifted her hand, her knuckles rapping sharply against the door, her expression unyielding just in case.

Your eyes shot open at the thudding coming from your front door, putting down the heavy load of laundry with a lavender aroma to go towards your lock. Your hands trembled as you twisted the lock, reminding yourself of where your late husband's gun was. With a swift motion, the door creaked open to reveal the intimidating and broad figure of a woman with a familiar face. Your lips parted in an O shape, scars painted through out Sevika’s arms and the holster around her hips. You couldn't tear your eyes away from the bulging muscles and mean expression, words stuck on the tip of your tongue.

Sevika’s jaw unclenched at the pure sight of a tender woman, floral pattern sundress reaching down to her toes. Sevika palmed the hat, removing it out of manners and respect. Her expression now turned sickeningly sweet, a smirk plastered across her lips. “Good day, ma’am.” Sevika spoke with a bourbon-smooth voice. Your hands formed into fists around the fabric of your dress, unsure of what this woman wanted. “Please.. I'm not old enough for such a title,” You joked in response, a humorless chuckle leaving your mouth.

Sevika winked, eyeing you up and down like a piece of meat. “Well, me and my horse are unfortunately a lost cause. Been on my travels and it seems I took the wrong turn.” She shifted to the side, allowing you the sight of a nearly dehydrated horse. Pity overwhelmed you, a pout gracing your face. Animals always were your soft spot. “Oh goodness, that's terrible,” Even now with the information given to you, it confirmed your suspicions. This woman had a large bounty on her head, her face established in every newspaper. But Lord, how could you deny the willing and attractive face, especially in times of loneliness?

“Do you think I could spend the night here, miss?” Sevika’s voice carries a subtle urgency, a plea veiled in the softness of her words. You pause, biting your glossy bottom lip as a swirl of thoughts dances through your mind. She’s not just armed with a weapon; there’s a strength about her that draws you in, making the prospect of her company seem less daunting.

With a gentle nod, you agree, your heart racing slightly at the unexpected invitation. You swiftly maneuver your boots back onto your feet, readying yourself to tend to the horse. A sigh of relief escapes Sevika, though behind her calm demeanor lurks a myriad of unanswered questions about your innocence.

Following your lead, she grasps the rope with a firm yet careful grip, guiding the horse alongside you. The air is thick with the earthy scent of the stable as you move in harmonious silence, your hands deftly lifting the hem of your dress to prepare food and water. You attend to the animals with polish, filling separate buckets with food and water.

It wasn't long before you both headed inside, Sevika removing her boots outside your home and hanging the hat up on a rack. Your home was picturesque and tidy, with no physical stench of a husband or a man left behind. You stood behind the counter of your kitchen, holding a damp rag in nervousness. “I'm sure you must be parched,” You broke the silence, gazing up at Sevika. She cocks a brow at your fidgety behavior but thinks nothing of it, nodding and leaning against your counter. “Is iced tea to your liking?” You mumble and Sevika nods once again.

You got to work, the citrus scent and taste of iced tea beginning to fill the crevices of your home, the laundry completely forgotten as your mind was fixed on the woman. You kept your gaze averted, squeezing the lemons, and then stuttering out a question. “Will you continue to flaunt the harness around your hips or would you prefer a place to store them?” Sevika chuckles at how observing you were, the sound of metal clacking at bay while she lays it on the counter. “I'm sure you're curious,“ She daunts. You giggle sweetly and pour two glasses for you and the older woman. “There is quite much to be curious about.” You state as the icy beverage slips down your dry throat. “Yeah, likewise.” She hums out and mimics your gestures.

“You can ask away, Sevika.” You slip up, her name stumbling off your tongue with such ease. You could only possibly know from the name in bold on every daily newspaper. Your fingers crossed anxiously hoping she didn't catch that. All Sevika did was raise a brow, noticeably troubled. She shrugs it off, walking closer to you and strumming a hand on your waist. “You're not married.” She stated, her hand grazing over yours, fingers tracing the spot on where a ring was supposed to be.

You jerked your hand away, “He passed.” She hurls at the words, hand moving towards your face. Your solitude left you in an utmost desperate and pathetic state, leaning into her touch. She hid her resentment as she spoke, “Pity,” Her hands tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear, keeping eye contact with you as your lashes fluttered at her. “You shoulder the responsibility of both man and woman.” Sevika pities, nearly coming into your ear. You shake your head thoughtlessly.

Sevika observed the way you shuddered, each subtle twitch betraying the vulnerability you felt whenever her hands brushed your skin. You were inexperienced in the realm of intimacy with women, particularly with someone as seasoned and older as she was, whose presence both intrigued and intimidated you. Each gentle touch sent ripples of uncertainty through you, awakening sensations you had never encountered before. Her past of crime alongside the thoughts that worried you clouded your mind. “Do I make you nervous, doll?” She mumbled, her lips hovering over your ear and cheek, leaving you breathless. “Have you ever been with a woman?”

You shake your head, observing how she pressed her body flush against yours with no care. “Have you?” Your little whisper of intrigue made Sevika chuckle, ghosting kisses down your neck. You felt dirty and guilty for making such a mockery of your late husband. So close to making love in his own home. You simply wanted to be kind and shelter a woman for a day or two. “Oh, darling.” She humored you, tongue soaking the sides of your jawline, eyebrows knitting together. “I've had many— younger, older, meaner.” Her laundry list could potentially go on. “I don't think any have been as sweet as you, could bite into you and it’d be pure sugarcane.” Her teasing seemed like mocking yet she truly meant most of it. Nonetheless, he enjoyed your little gasps.

Your lips hovered just inches apart, poised for connection, yet she could see the reluctance flickering in your eyes, a hint of shame casting a shadow over the moment. It was a feeling she didn’t want to linger. With a soft sigh, Sevika stepped back, arching an eyebrow as she distanced herself from the counter. "Is there anywhere I can freshen up? The sun has set below the horizon; it feels like it’s finally time for some rest," she remarked, her tone blending curiosity with a hint of playfulness.

You break out of the trance, guiding her softly toward the bathroom. As she navigates the living room, her gaze catches on the open newspaper sprawled across the coffee table, featuring a prominent image of her face that commands attention. A small laugh escapes her lips, and she quickens her pace to follow after you, a spark of entertainment in her eyes. It seems you held less unknowingness than she initially thought.

Her shower lasted 20 minutes, granting you a rare moment of silence to collect yourself. You took the time to light candles scattered throughout your home, their warm flickering flames casting a soft, ambient glow that filled the space with clarity. Leaning back on the sofa with cozy, off-white blankets, you folded the freshly washed clothes, the fabric soft and fragrant, as you savored the comforting atmosphere that surrounded you. You could hardly focus on the repetitive movements, leg bouncing with anticipation for her to hurry out. As the water began to drain, avid footsteps on the wooden clad floor making herself known.

The light presented her with a more in-depth portrayal than simple sunlight, a black, cropped wife-pleaser decorating her expansive shoulders and back, the lack of a bra letting you stare at her hardened nipples. You tried to avoid that, staring down towards her mid-rise pants that exposed the trail of hair leading up towards her navel. A throaty whimper escaped you, crossing your legs scandalously. “Am I sleeping on a couch or a bed? Anything of the sort is fine,” Sevika was consciously avoiding the elephant in the room, her previous suggestive touch. You cleared your throat, eyeing her face instead which had damp, face-framing strands of hair covering some features.

“You could take the guest room,” You mumbled, pinching the flame in the living room and walking toward the end of the hallway. An untouched room was opened, perfectly set up for any potential or unwarranted guests. She towered over you when beside you, leaning against the doorframe while observing the spare room. She walks in, hand flat on the cotton sheets. You let out a long breath while turning around.

Your steps were interrupted by Sevika’s voice and arm reaching out for you. Her larger hand on your shoulder sent a shiver down your spine, goosebumps trailing up your body. “Yes?” You whispered, the crack in your voice betraying your attempted indifference. “Tell me,” Sevika began, turning you completely around while shutting the door with her heel. She could smell the fear from you. “How did you know my name? Why didn't you fear the guns I carried?” Sevika knew the answer to all of this, she enjoyed the way you scurried for excuses. Yet, you fell silent.

Her laugh echoed, holding you against her and guiding your figure towards the bed. “You act so unassuming, nearly fooled me, dollface.” You whined, hands already flooding towards her and groping the parts you wished to touch. She had caught you, there was no purpose in hiding your core emotions. “You knew who I was, what I’m guilty of.” She murmured against your virgin neck, finally nibbling on it while she pushed you down on the bed and straddled your hips.

“Answer me this, dear,” She started up, kissing your neck and cheek while squeezing your sensitive tits. You had already lost all will of resistance, arms circling her neck and legs wrapped around her torso. “Did you just want me to fuck you?” Her vulgarity took you by surprise, pulling your head away and staring into her eyes. Something about how unapologetic she was made you want to be the same back. “Ye-yea.” Sevika shook her head and forcefully came to your clothes, working them off of your frame.

You both end up completely nude, your sopping cunt begging for some friction. You had no clue how to do this nor how to pleasure her, you were squeamish, stuttering while asking for instructions. “Woman, relax.” She huffed out, pushing you onto your back and kissing down to your pussy. “Just let me take care of everything.” You were holding your breath till her tongue came down flat on your sensitive cunt, an exhaled moan shakily leaving you. She latched onto your clit, suckling on it till your hands tugged at her hair.

Her fervor when pumping her tongue inside of your entrance had your back arching off the mattress, squirming away from her touch. “Don’t run, doll,” She said muffled, holding you down with a firm arm as you babble softly. “Think— think i’m, ngh-” She chuckles as you clench around her tongue, pulling away and not giving you enough relief to suffice for an orgasm. Your whimpers increased, tugging harsher on her hair to try and bring her back but failing. “So damn spoiled. Be patient.”

You nodded with built-up patience, watching her hover above you. She manhandled your legs, forcing them into an easier access position. Your pretty cunt was on display, perfect for her to grind against. It wasn't too long of staring before she placed her own pussy against yours. Your clit catches on hers, her much larger one fucking against yours. You couldn't resist the relentless babbles, eyes rolling back in immense pleasure.

Your own clit wasn't as large as hers, it caught you by surprise. Your hand shot up to her hips, trying to guide her to right spots but she seemingly knew more than you. Her palms used your tits as leverage, fucking against your frantically. “Sev’, goddd, can’t take it!” you ramble, head thrown back along with your eyes going completely white. The ego boost from how sensitive you were was so good, forcing her to groan and keep rubbing her sensitive and swollen pussy quicker against yours. “Dirty girl, been begging for this relief huh?” She mocked.

She reached her lips down against yours and finally kissed you, slipping her tongue past your lips and exploring every inch of your mouth. You moaned into the kiss, lips eventually giving out as her wet cunt dripped onto yours harshly. “Fucking husband– shittt— o-of yours couldn't make you cum this hard,” She boasted, reducing you to tears and moans.

The room had a stench of sex and sweat, nasty squelching and wet noises bouncing off the walls. A knot formed in both of your tummies, her hips stuttering against yours as she neared her orgasm. Her cum was creamy, dripping down onto your asshole. You followed quickly after, scratching at her back with your manicured nails as the orgasm crashed into you. “Just love knowing you’re fucking someone who could blow your head off, babygirl?” You whimpered and nodded, humping her and rutting up against her. She kissed your forehead, beads of sweat forcing your hair to stick to it.

“Sweet girl,” Sevika grumbled and kisses down your neck, not disconnecting her cunt from yours yet as you held her closer. The rest of the night was spent among giggles and cleaning up, limbs tangled as the moonlight seeped through the sheer curtains. You were unsure if you'd ever see her again for months going on by, she was an outlaw, you were well aware. Regardless, she promised to write you before mounting her horse again early in the morning.

[nerdygirlramblings]

cw: poorly executed accents, technological inaccuracies

previous

Over the week between Laswell requesting you go off your scent blockers and the charity event, the barracks slowly carries lingering traces of sun-ripened berries and arid soil, your natural scent. The team is entranced. It hasn't escaped any of them how well your scent compliments theirs. You and Gaz smell like all the best parts of springtime. Simon's sharp acidic scent is tempered by your sweetness. When you and Soap are together, it's hard not to picture seaside picnics. And when Price is in the room with you, the others are remembering crisp, cozy autumn days.

Your natural scent grows as the blockers work their way out of your system, as does your control over it. "How'd ya learn that, Ren?" Price asks one night, back to you as he stirs his tea. As soon as you picked up on his steps, the strawberry sweetness in the air decreased.

The couch creaks as you shift to face him, turning away from the dossiers on the low table in front of you. "After I presented, Dad used ta pull me inta the kitchen for lessons. He told me ta picture my scent like the dials on an equalizer. Taught me how I could ground myself ta turn the volume down on any particular smell. Especially how I could dampen things like fear. And, of course, how to project certain scents."

Your eyes leave his face, looking at the wall instead. "Being an omega in the service is hard, so I used the blockers because conscious scent manipulation takes a bunch of energy, and I wanted ta focus my energy on the job." You drop your voice and whisper, "And I didn't want ta spend all my energy on something that essentially soothed an alpha's ego."

He comes over and sits with you. "Well, if ya choose, after this op, ya don't need ta go back on 'em. Ya don't gotta protect me and Ghost." He grins and bumps your shoulder, and if he's hoping that you off your blockers means the pack can have a proper scenting, he gives nothing away.

The night of the op finds you in a fancy hotel room somewhere in St. James, several floors above the charity event. You're set up into adjoining rooms: one for you and one for the rest of the team. The other room will serve as the communication hub while you and Gaz - because Price saw how your scent was affecting Soap, the doe eyes he turned on you when you weren't paying attention, and didn't trust him to be able to focus on the op if he were at your side - go to the auction to find Arella.

You'd gone shopping with Adam several days before, under Kate's orders to get appropriate attire. The dress he put you in is more extravagant than anything you would ever have selected, but after a few quick photos to Kate who deemed it perfect, it was off the rack and in your hands. Strapless with a fitted bodice with enough structure to hold you and a skirt that flowed like water, except because it's steel grey, it moves more like liquid metal. There's a sizable slit, up to your thigh but is mostly hidden in the folds of silky fabric, which allows you quick access to the tiny holster you strapped there.

Fashion was never something you were interested in, so Adam took it upon himself to find some simple YouTube makeup tutorials, then made sure you had all the necessary products. You were annoyed about the hassle with the makeup, so Adam made sure the hair tutorial was simple yet elegant and didn't require a mountain of products to pull off.

Though you were going in without scent blockers, Kate didn't plan to risk you, even with the support of a beta, to an alpha's teeth. She had Adam buy the most intricate collar necklace you'd ever seen. Geometrically structured with metal rods, it seemed more like a piece of art than a piece of jewelry. When you draped it across your neck and collarbone, it prevented an alpha from getting his teeth on your scent gland but still allowed you to project your scent unencumbered.

Being undercover didn't allow for the traditional communication hardware, so the boys had come up with an ingenious pair of earrings whose large geometric wrap both matched the necklace and served as an earpiece. They also fitted a mic into the structure of your necklace. The whole task force would be with you all night.

When you finish getting dressed and fixing both hair and makeup to the best of your ability to follow Adam's selected videos, you knock on the door between the room you'd been assigned and where the rest of your pack task force is preparing. You need both your escort and your comms before you head for the lift.

An hour later and you're on your second circuit of the room, Gaz at your elbow, holding your drink. There will be some expectation to drink while you're here, but Price had taught you ways to make it look like you were drinking or as though you did not need a refill during those trainings at the pubs around base. Static crackles in your ear and you hear Price's baritone come through as if he were standing beside you. You've practiced not reacting when the comms go off, but you're still a little startled. "No sign of Arella yet, but Spinner's on the far side a' the room, left a' the bar but looking out on the dance floor."

Neither you nor Gaz is in a position to see him, so Gaz lightly takes your hand and guides you toward the balcony door with a hand low on your back. It allows you both to get quick glimpses of the man, older, polished, and with a petite blonde dressed in ice white standing very close. Though you're too far to see any potential mating mark, she's wearing a collar necklace not dissimilar to yours.

"I think Spinner's got an omega with him," you say. "I might be able ta get information from her if I get her alone. "

"Appreciate the initiative, Ren," price rumbles, "but she's not our priority. Technically, neither's Spinner, but it's good ta keep eyes on 'im just in case." He pauses momentarily before coming over the comms again with, "Not going ta tell ya not to talk ta her if the situation arises, but stay on mission."

"Copy that, Captain," you respond.

Waiting for Arella gets frustrating especially as you watch people continually approach Spinner, who's taken up residence at a high top table on the outskirts of the party. You snatch the champagne flute from Gaz's hand and quickly tip the contents back. Squaring your shoulders, you look at him and say, "Dance wi' me." For a moment all he does is look at you, and you can't read the emotion in his eyes. You power through and tell him, "If we're dancing, we can get closer ta Spinner's table and pick up snatches of conversation. "

Pulling back, you search his face. "I know ya've got the hardware on yer phone ta clone Arella's device with some prolonged exposure, but is it possible fer it ta pick up short bursts a' data off other phones it's near?"

Gaz looks at you in awe. "Ren, that's brilliant! Cap, ya hear that suggestion?"

"Affirmative," Price replies, "but I'll be damned if I understand it."

"Just get the systems on yer end ready fer a massive data dump. It's gunna be fragmentary. Laswell's analysts are gunna have a hell of a time going through it. We may need ta send them some whiskey and good cigars, but honestly, if this pans out even a little bit, we'll be able to get a ton a' information on the kinds of people Spinner's meeting with. Maybe Arella's is not the only one who's dirty."

Once they get to go ahead from Price, Gaz pulls you close and takes to the dance floor. You'd learned how to dance once, long ago, but it's clear this man is trained. He waltzes you through the crowd near to the edge where Spinner's settled, and you hope to hell this idea works.

next

an: this is sort of what I envisioned for Ren's necklace, but more modernist straight lines

series masterlist | main masterlist

~~

taglist: @sirbonesly @z-wantstowrite @thriving-n-jiving @cecelia97 @theycallmevalen @boogeysmoth @cryingpages @riley13 @luxylucylou @lucienofthelakes @ilyztwo @chaosundcoffee @lostintransist @thegreyjoyed @honestlymassivetrash @thebumbqueen @maliamaiden @mordacioust @bina-passion-fruit @kittygonap @wanderingoperator @ghost-is-my-bbg @wolfbc97

[roseandxanderfics]

“Stay With Me” — Tim Bradford x Single Mom Reader

Summary: A routine call turns personal when Tim responds to a terrified 4-year-old reporting their mom collapsed. He finds you barely conscious—and realizes you’ve been fighting alone far too long.

————————

The 911 call came in just after seven. Late enough that most emergencies were winding down, but not so late that anyone relaxed. Tim Bradford had been running paperwork, thinking about grabbing dinner, when the dispatcher’s voice clipped through the radio.

“Child caller. Four years old. Mother unresponsive. Possible medical.”

That was all it took. One word—“four”—and Tim’s blood turned cold. He barely heard the rest before snatching up his radio.

“1-Adam-07, patch me through. I’m on it.”

⸻

The kid’s voice was barely a whisper when it crackled through.

“H-hello?”

Tim inhaled sharply. “Hey, buddy… This is Officer Tim. Can you hear me?”

“Uh-huh.”

That tiny sound hit him harder than it should’ve. “Good job, Eli. I’m coming to help you and your mom right now, okay? Real fast. Can you tell me… is she breathing?”

“I dunno… I scared.”

Tim forced his voice steady. “It’s okay to be scared, kid. You’re really brave. Can you touch her? Tell me if she feels warm or cold?”

Rustling. Sniffles. Then a small, broken sound. “Cold… Tim, s’cold.”

Tim’s knuckles whitened on the steering wheel as he flipped the sirens on. God, please…

“I’m almost there, Eli. Can you unlock the door for me?”

“I try.”

⸻

By the time he screeched to the curb, his heart was hammering. The neighborhood was quiet—too quiet. Dim porch lights. Empty driveways.

The front door creaked open a sliver. A tiny face peeked out—tears streaked, cheeks blotchy.

“There you are, buddy,” Tim murmured, crouching low. “You did so good. Where’s Mom?”

Eli didn’t answer. Just… pointed.

Tim pushed the door wide and stepped inside—one hand instinctively hovering over his holster, the other reaching back for the kid. “Stay close, okay?”

The house was small. Lived-in. Crayon drawings taped to the fridge, a stuffed bunny abandoned on the couch. And there—on the kitchen tile—was you.

You were pale. Too still.

“Shit,” Tim breathed, rushing forward. He pressed two fingers to your neck, searching—there—a faint, thready pulse.

He grabbed his radio. “Dispatch, I’ve got the subject. Female, early thirties. Pulse is weak. Roll EMS, now.”

“Copy, 1-Adam-07. EMS en route.”

Eli whimpered behind him. “Mommy?”

Tim glanced back, softening. “Hey, buddy. She’s okay. She’s breathing. I need you to be my big helper now, alright?”

The kid nodded, lip trembling.

“Can you grab me that blanket?” Tim pointed. Eli scrambled, dragging it over with tiny hands. Tim tucked it around you, jaw tight.

“Okay, sweetheart,” he murmured—half to you, half to the kid. “Just stay with me.”

⸻

Minutes felt like hours. Tim didn’t leave your side, one hand checking your pulse over and over, the other resting protectively over Eli’s shoulder.

EMS burst through the door—young, efficient. They worked fast, lifting you onto the stretcher. Tim stayed kneeling until they moved past.

Eli’s eyes filled again. “I come?”

Tim didn’t even hesitate. “Yeah, kid. You’re with me.”

⸻

The ride to the hospital was quiet. Eli sat curled in Tim’s lap, face buried in his chest, fists gripping the dark fabric of his uniform.

“She okay?” the little voice finally asked.

Tim swallowed hard. “She’s gonna be. You did good, Eli. You saved your mom.”

⸻

The ER was bright. Too bright. Tim hated hospitals. Hated the smell, the noise. But he stayed. Watched as nurses buzzed around you, checked monitors, whispered words like “dehydration” and “exhaustion” like they were medical diagnoses and not just proof that life had beaten you down.

⸻

You woke slowly. Blinking against the light, brow furrowing.

“Easy,” a deep voice murmured. “You’re okay.”

You turned your head—and saw him.

The cop. Tall. Broad. Blue eyes way too gentle for a man who probably carried a gun for a living.

“Your son’s right here,” he added, voice soft. “He’s… he’s been really brave.”

Eli popped his head up, face blotchy. “Mommy!”

Your eyes welled instantly. “Eli… oh god…”

Tim helped him onto the bed, watching as tiny arms wrapped around your neck.

“I… I’m sorry,” you rasped. “I didn’t mean—”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Tim cut in. “You’ve been running on empty. Doc says exhaustion, dehydration… You’ve been doing too much on your own.”

You blinked at him. “I don’t… even know your name.”

“Tim.” He smiled faintly. “Tim Bradford.”

A beat of silence.

“You stayed.”

“Yeah,” he exhaled. “Didn’t feel right to leave.”

⸻

They discharged you hours later. Tim was still there—Eli wouldn’t let go of him.

“I’ll drive you,” he said gruffly, like it wasn’t a question. “You shouldn’t be alone tonight.”

⸻

Your house felt colder when you returned. Tim helped you in, set Eli on the couch, and knelt in front of you one last time.

“I meant what I said. You’ve been doing too much alone.”

You stared at him, exhausted tears threatening. “That’s… just how it is.”

“Doesn’t have to be,” he muttered. “I’ll… check in tomorrow. Groceries. Whatever you need.”

You tried to argue—but Eli’s head flopped onto Tim’s shoulder mid-yawn.

Tim smiled, slow and soft. “You good if I hang around until he’s out?”

You nodded, too tired to fight it.

⸻

And just like that… Tim Bradford became the first safe thing you’d known in a long, long time

[siriussimon]

no warnings: kinda a prompt i’m working on. 141 x reader, price x reader. john’s controlling and has a raging daddy kink.

john price always knows. of course, he knows what’s best for his team. he oozes authority, carries himself with ease, all tasks made with precision. everything’s calculated in his head, he knows exactly what he wants— what you need. can see it as clear as day. ever since you joined his brigade, he could see it written over your face. you needed guidance and he gave you just that.

you’re different than everyone else but that doesn’t take away from the fact that you’re an astounding addition to the team, the missing piece to their puzzle, the cherry on top.

you’re quite like simon. quiet, trouble with social cues, sensitivity to certain textures or noises. just like his simon, he knows exactly what you need to ease your anxious mind. he’s just gotta take it slow, ease his way into your space, not only as your captain— but more.

john has to know the whereabouts of his team so he makes it a happen of learning your schedule to a t. right about this time when hours were winding down he’d see you in the mess hall. a snack set off to the side untouched as you fiddled with a hand gun, dismantling it piece by piece to clean it throughly.

“It’s late, sergeant. PT is at 0500.” His voice echoed throughout the empty room. You flinched a bit but your shoulders relaxed when you registered who was speaking to you.

“I’m almost done..” You murmured, lost in thought, fingers connecting pieces together now.

Hm. That won’t do.

He takes a couple steps forward, peering over your shoulder, hands still at work. You’d never disobey him but sometimes your mind gets fixated on one thing— he understands, you have no idea how much. Sometimes you need a little nudge in the right direction. That’s what he’s for, right?

His right hand comes up to gently grasp the nape of your neck, almost like scuffing a dog, and you instantly halted.

“Do I need to repeat myself?” His thumb gently caressing your pulse point, a shiver running up your spine. You looked at the table, realizing you got so caught up on cleaning your hand gun you never ate like you were supposed to. Making it so tedious that you completely forgot about the time. It’s like your brain woke up from his touch. Your face felt warm and you thanked the low lighting in the cafeteria.

“N-No, Captain.”

Still a shy thing. He’ll break you in, just like he did with the rest of the boys. Make you his at last. Make it known that you belong here, that you deserve to feel taken care of. That you’re right where you’re supposed to be. And he’ll lead you just as he’s done these past couple of months. He’ll make it stick.

His hand released your neck, fingers lightly grazing down your pony tail, before it backs in his front pocket. You immediately stand, holstering your gun, and bagging away your uneaten food. Now fully turned, facing him, his eyes trained on your every move. You stood still for a moment, waiting for dismal, waiting for another command. Something you always relied on, deep down, your body buzzed with every order given to you,

“You’re dismissed, love. And good job on your field strip.” He said, a small smirk gracing his face, eyes crinkling, the pit of your stomach felt warm at the praise.

“Yes, Captain. Thank you..” Voice perked up, a curt nod and you were on your way.

One of these days he’d like to finally hear you say John. But he knows he’s got to take his time with you.

When you got back to your room, Johnny was up still, the light of his phone illuminating his face.

You sighed, feeling your body relax as you sat down on your bed. Your hands clasping to your face, the palms of your hands feeling cool on top of your cheeks. You body couldn’t help reacting this way with him. It always happened—

“Yer blushin’ like a wee school girl, dove.” Johnny laughed, which made you throw a pillow at his face.

“If you say a word to anyone I’ll stab you.” You grumble, which only made him chuckle again.

“Och Relax. Yer naught the first person to git the hots for the Captain. Trust meh.” He smiled, and you don’t know if that’s supposed to make you feel better or just intrigued on who else feels the same about him the way you do.

[luveline]

Idk if you've ever written it, but like, hotch having to save bau!r after she's been kidnapped and tourtered and shit and when hotch finds them, babes is BLEEDING and shit and like barely coherent but spewing the absolute most random bullshit to hotch bc their panicking and whatnot?

thank you for requesting 💌 fem, 1.2k

Hotch has felt sick for three days. 

He stands with his ear pressed to his shoulder, as though holding the ear piece further in will bring news of you quicker. His hands are up and ready, torch and firearm held aloft, wrists crossed. 

Morgan has to go in first. Morgan, because if you’re dead, Hotch will take actions that will disbar him from being Unit Chief. He can’t keep his head, not if you’re gone. His anger will swallow him whole, and he will do things that can’t be forgiven. 

His stomach churns, waiting, waiting, waiting. The sky is dark as pitch and the house they surround doesn’t stir for a time. 

Then, low and long, carrying heavy through the air like a sledgehammer to his chest, is the reed of your screaming. It’s a strangled sound, sobbing to begin with, begging as it ends. Hotch hears your, “No, no, please! Please! Please.” Your third please fractures into a writhing scream as the pain begins again. 

Hotch’s arms twitch, threatening to fall to his sides. You’re alive, but… 

“Okay, we’re going in,” Morgan says through the ear piece, clearly having heard the same agony as Hotch. “Right now. Team two with Hotch. Everyone ready?” 

You must have screamed so loudly for it to get through walls. That’s all Hotch can think as he follows behind the second team, the sounds of cracking wood and tight footsteps ahead.

He’s not in the room, but he’s down the hall, he can hear the fuss as he hurries forward. “Drop the weapon!” Morgan shouts, evidence of his own anger in the sheer booming volume of his voice. “Drop the weapon now! Drop it!” 

A sharper crack as a bullet hits something and a thud. Hotch forces himself into the room just in time to see a large, short-haired figure fall to the floor. 

You’re covered in red and purple and brown, blood in long lines and gushing from deep wounds, a mess of it. He doesn’t even know where to start, your gutted, exhausted sobbing like a knife in his stomach, your limp hands hanging either side of the strange chair you’ve been strapped to. “Morgan,” you say, audibly relieved and yet your pain obvious and electric as you gasp for air, “Morgan, you have to get me out.” 

“I’ve got you,” Hotch says, holstering his gun in one breath and by your side the next.

A SWAT agent begins to saw through your binds with a serrated knife. Hotch’s hands stutter on the metal ends of the chair, wanting to touch you but terrified he’ll put a hand in a wound he hasn’t noticed. 

“Hotch,” you say, and your relief is worse now. Like you aren’t covered in your own blood, like his being there has fixed everything. 

“Y/N,” he says back, holding your elbow carefully, “it’s okay, it’s all right.” 

“You have to get the straps off of me. I need to go home-”

“I know, that’s what we’re doing. We’ll get them off of you–”

“–I have to go home, Hotch. You have to take me home.” 

He knows that medical are close behind them, they’re coming in just as soon as the building has been cleared, and there’s more than enough agents to have it done in the next thirty seconds. He has to assess you in that time. He can take care of you. 

The SWAT agent cuts your last bindings and you immediately attempt to get up, gasping in pain when four hands push you down at the same time. “Sit down,” Hotch says, “Y/N, just stay there, just for a second.”

“No, no, let me down, I need to go home, I haven’t looked after anything and– and the laundry’s piled up, and–”

“Honey,” he says firmly, “I’m gonna take you home. I am.” He meets your eyes, panic and tears and concerning bloodshot clouding your vision. “I’m gonna take you home, but please stay still. Just until the EMS is here. Just so they can look at you.” 

“I want to go home now,” you say, nearly shrieking, grasping at his arm. It’s so loud in the room with so many people speaking that he’s almost glad for it. 

Your fingers slide down his sleeve and leave streaks of gore in their wake. Your hands are caked in your own blood. Done with his bargaining, you push up into his arms and get onto one of your feet, an incredible amount of force behind you as you get your way. Your knees buckle immediately —Hotch scoops you up and dumps you back in your chair, even as you cry and cry into his chest. 

“No, I need to go home, I have so much to do, I can’t stay here,” you whine, pain eating at your voice, your fingers weakening where they’re pressed to his stomach. 

“I promise I’m going to take you home,” he says, ducking to speak directly into your ear. “Do you trust me? I promise I’m going to take you back home. Please, please, sweetheart, trust me.” 

You hiccup, tears thick running down your cheeks, and orange where they collect at your chin, chest heaving as you border incoherency. “I do trust you. I– I trust you, I just–”

He takes a showful breath. “Deep breath. I’ll bring you home soon.” 

“All my plants are dead,” you mumble, blood smudging over your eyelids as you rub them harshly. 

Hotch holds your wrists. 

— <3 

He keeps his promise (though you don’t remember him making it, not beyond what Morgan recounts). Hotch takes you home when you’re well enough to be there, and he, done with pretences, stays for a while as you recover. 

“What are you doing?” you ask, more tired than you’ve ever been in your life, peering at him through sticky lashes where you lay in bed. 

He’s odd to see without shoes. “Nothing,” he says, misting the leaves of your window plant with a frown. “Just hoping I can bring this one back to life.” 

You’re not sure why he’s so worried about the plants. It can’t be judgement; he knows exactly why they died. 

Well. Whatever professionalism was between you is well and truly gone. You wonder what it is you said to him that made him finally snap, but it was nice to wake up with his hand in yours, and it’s nicer still to see him each morning. When you clear your throat and look at him longingly, you know without asking that he’s going to find his way back to your side, and kiss your cheek, hands smelling of fresh soil. He does it all with ease. 

“You brought me back to life,” you joke weakly. 

“I had much more help than the plants.” He’s been panicky around you sometimes since he found you again, but not scared. He tilts your face gently one way and then another. “You look pretty, but very tired. Why don’t you sleep some more, hm?” 

“Can I… I mean, do you think you could…” 

He takes your arm as he settles in to comfort beside you. His fingers begin to trace a gentle line down your arm, meandering around cuts and bruises. 

You close your eyes, hesitant of the darkness. “Are you sure I’m okay?” you ask quietly. 

“You’re home, honey. Safe and sound.” 

[clockwayswrites]

Danny is a minx and I am not responsible for him.

Okay, so, you all voted and I, um, failed? We didn't get to cuddling. There should be cuddling coming? Idk, darlings, this was my third start on this and Danny took over. I've got no say in this anymore. Canon-typical violence, crude language, cross dressing, discussions of prostitution

---

“You think you can fucking play us like that?!”

The shout carried easily through the crisp fall air. Red Hood sighed and changed direction away from his safe house and towards the noise.

“—fuck you up for that! Give us our fucking money back!”

“Fuck you,” snapped back a voice that Jason had come to recognize over the last several months. Right then the words dripped in fake, but damn convincing, heavy Crime Alley drawl, but Jason knew it all the same. “If yous don’t got it, don’t bet it. If yous don’t got game, don’t play it.”

“Yeah, no, I don’t think a little girl like you gets to say how this goes,” a third voice growled.

Hood clung to the edge of the roof just long enough to drop silently into the alleyway next to the dive bar. From the quick glance sent his way he was only noticed by the damn minx, so he leaned casually back against the grimy brick wall and unholstered his gun.

“Right? Yeah! Yeah, bitch! You don’t get to say how this goes!” the first voice shouted again. The guy’s shoulders were squared up as if he was some sort of threat in his overpriced, knock off bomber jacket and ill fitting jeans.

It almost made Jason want to sigh.

Actually, fuck it, Jason gave in and sighed loudly, knowing how it sounded through the modulation of his helmet. Bomber Jacket and his buddy, I Swear This is Real Italian Leather, spun around and then cowered so quick Jason swore they gave themselves whiplash.

“So,” Jason said with every ounce of disinterest he could put in his tone, “how does this go? Because right now, I’m thinking that it’s you two who are gonna be going before I put bullets between your eyes.”

“Right, um, yes Red Hood,” Bomber Jacket cowered and grabbed desperately at his friend’s pleather jacket to pull them out of there.

“And gentleman,” Jason said, making them freeze in their steps, “next time you lose your money to a pretty lady, you leave her the fuck alone about it.”

They nodded frantically as they backed the rest of the way out of alley and then took of running.

“I think you made one of ‘em piss himself,” the minx said, looking from the alley way to Jason with those striking aqua eyes.

Jason just shrugged and holstered his gun. “Probably.”

The short, tight skirt clung to the minx’s legs, pulling up enough with the sashaying steps that Jason had to wonder how everything stayed hidden. He kept still as fingers tipped in bright pink nails walked their way up his chest to the red bat. Aqua peered up from below thick, dark lashes. “And did I hear right? You think I’m a pretty lady?”

“Hair is nice like this,” Jason said brushing a gloved finger through the black strands that just brushed the edges of the chin. “But surprised your cock isn’t hanging out of that skirt with how short it is.”

Danny let out a started laugh, resting his forehead against Jason’s chest for a moment before he patted it and backed up to a more respectable distance.

“Duct tape and body shapers works miracles.” The fake Gotham accent was gone and replaced with the faint Midwestern drawl that Danny only seemed to let out around Red Hood. “And don’t make that face, the duct tape is outside of the panties.”

“You can’t see my face,” Jason pointed out, a bit grumpily because he had been grimacing at the thought.

“I was still right though,” Danny said with a smug little smiling pulling on his cherry red lips. It was a good color on him. He leaned back against the wall and spread his legs in a way that Jason couldn’t help but follow with this gaze. “Everything is fine down there, Boss, just a little squished. Offer’s still on the table if you want to check out the good. No charge for my darlin’ knight.”

Jason snorted at the continued offer from Danny; it was practically as good as ‘bye’ between them at this point since Danny seemed to offer it every time. “I’m not going to be one of your Johns, Danny.”

“Told you no charge. Could just be two people who like sex,” he offered with a little shrug, but pushed himself off the wall to leave. No, Danny pushed himself up off the wall with a wince.

Jason was at his side in an instant. “One of those fuckers get you?”

“No, so no hunting them down,” Danny said. His voice was confident, but the way he actually leaned on Jason’s offered arm was worrying. “Just a bad John— ex John. That’s why I’m sharking pool instead of working the corner.”

As if Danny had to work an actual corner anymore. He appealed to a very specific type of client that could pay to have something pretty and convincing on their arm and still get what they wanted between the legs and in the sheets.

“You taking anything for it?” Jason asked.

Danny just shrugged. “Nah, Boss, nothing over the counter works on me really.”

“Clinic?”

Danny snorted. “As if. They can test for STDs and that’s about as much as I want a clinic near me.”

Jason resisted the urge to cuss at Danny. He got it. After all, he only trusted Leslie or Alfred really— or a family member in a pinch.

Maybe he could just bluster Danny into getting some help. “Right, come on.”

“What?” Danny asked, digging his heels (and fuck those were some heels) into the ground.

Not willing to put with that right then, Jason just swung his arm under Danny’s legs and scooped him up like he was nothing. Fuck the Johns really had to be able to throw Danny around if they wanted that sort of thing.

“Boss, Hood, what the fuck?!” Danny hissed.

“Safe fucking house is what the fuck so I can check you over.”

“Boss, if you wanted in the skirt—”

“Danny, shut the fuck up and let me make sure you’re alright, alright?” Jason asked, looking down at him.

Danny stared back with a frown. Then his sighed, like it was the biggest concession in the world to make. Finally he rested his head against Jason’s chest. “Fine, Boss, whatever you say.”

“Thank you,” Jason said, more gently than he meant to.

-

Jason had to suck in several careful breaths as he took in the wound splashed across Danny’s ribs. “No fucking John did that to you and if they did—” if they took some sort of hot poker to Danny’s side— “I’ll kill them if they did.”

[kikixreverie]

It's called: freefall

Bucky x Female reader

Summary - Things get heated between you and your closest friend Bucky, when you're made to play a married couple on an important mission. Neither of you can help yourselves when you end up stuck in a hotel room together, with sexual tension you could cut with a knife.

Word count - 10k

Warnings - (18+) smut, fingering, p in v, friends to lovers, fake marriage, gross misogynistic man (not Bucko), borderline sexual harassment (not too intense, just gross words, and also not Bucky ofc), fluff, kinda angst, more misogyny.

A/N - Hi, this took me weeks to edit for some reason, sorry, and apologies if it's too long/wordy, i got carried away again. I'm not a big fan of the first half ngl, maybe that's because it's bad, or maybe it's because I've read it about a hundred times. The smut is good though, and that's what really matters.

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"It's just a quick job, I promise. It'll be easy."

Steve gave you a smile of encouragement, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed in front of him, before politely averting his gaze to the floor when you lifted your dress slightly to slide your usual dagger into the holster on your thigh.

"Then what's with the getup?" You asked, lifting your head to catch sight of yourself in the mirror opposite you, looking at the dress you had been made to wear.

It was a pretty dress, beautiful actually, the colour beautiful against your skin-tone, perfectly fitted in all the right places, and it flowed down to the floor, a slit travelling up the length of your left leg, ending at your upper thigh.

You felt confident in it, and it was certainly a boost to your ego when Natasha wolf-whistled at the sight of you and Steve turned an impressive shade of red, but it wasn't something you were used to, having spent the past few years of your life dodging and refusing Tony's party invites, sticking to the comfiest clothes you owned when walking about the compound. It was a beautiful dress, but you couldn't help but feel like an imposter wearing it.

Natasha strode over to you and slightly adjusted the placement of your knife, ensuring it wasn't visible through the dress. "Daniel Kozlov. He's been on Shield's hit list for years now, fucker keeps catching and killing our agents on the inside."

You scoffed amusedly and shook your head, "What, so you send me in to get killed too?"

"Don't underestimate yourself, I've seen you take down four armed men with a screwdriver; you'll be fine, plus, you'll have Bucky and he knows how to stay undetected." Steve reassured you and you smiled at him, nodding to his words.

You heard footsteps behind you only moments before another voice spoke up, and you turned to the door, your breath catching in your throat as you did.

"That I do," Bucky nodded to Steve as he entered the room, eyes focused on his hands, adjusting his cuff links with a furrowed brow, before he finally tilted his gaze up, meeting your wide eyes with his own.

You barely noticed him looking you up and down, as you were too busy doing the exact same thing to him, no doubt probably being incredibly obvious as you stared with your lips parted. He looked like pure fucking sin.

Unadulterated and unfiltered sin.

His suit was all black and his pale, blue eyes contrasted against the colour, somehow making them stand out even more than usual. His already incredibly muscular arms and legs were accentuated, the expensive fabric tight against his skin, without it looking strange and uncomfortable, it only drew your attention to how broad his shoulders were compared to his narrow waist, or how thick his thighs looked in the black dress pants.

Multiple silver rings graced his fingers, matching with the silver, designer watch on his left wrist and you did a double-take when you noticed that his watch was wrapped around skin, not vibranium.

"Your arm." You said, sounding more like a statement than a question and Bucky forced himself to tear his gaze from your exposed thigh and tried to hide his pink dusted cheeks and breathless intake of air as his eyes followed yours to his metal arm, now concealed by what looked to be skin.

"Yeah." His voice came out as a sigh. He didn't know why, most amputees like him he was sure would be over the moon with the impressive technology, but it just made him uncomfortable, seeing his arm how he did 70 years ago. I felt inherently wrong. "Tony."

You nodded, looking away from his hand. A part of you was annoyed Tony had given it to him, knowing that it took Bucky years to accept that part of himself, and this seemed like it would be a setback in that department, though you still understood why it was necessary, Bucky was the best for the job, and chances are a criminal as 'highbrow' as Kozlov, would recognise the arm.

You wanted to change the subject, and you could tell Bucky did too, so you huffed a laugh and met his eyes, jokingly poking his chest with your finger, "You look like a mobster."

He nodded and chuckled, "Thanks, I guess. You look like a mobster's wife."

"Wife huh? Is that what we're doing?" You ask, turning your head to look down at Nat questioningly as she finished with your dress.

"Did they not tell you?" Bucky asked and you shook your head.

"I missed the briefing but Steve here thought he'd sign me up anyway." You gave the blonde a jokey, reprimanding look and he sighed, picking up two folders from the table and handing them to you.

"Blue one is about Kozlov, and the black is about who you and Bucky are going to be playing."

You take the folders from Steve, handing the blue one to Natasha as you open the black one, "James and Lucille Walter. Hey, how come he gets to keep his name and I get Lucille?"

"That's just a coincidence and I'm sure Bucky isn't too happy about it either. You're pretending to be a real couple, James Walter is one of Kozlov's newest buyers, he doesn't know him very well though, that's why you two shouldn't be caught out by anyone."

Nodding to Steve's words, you quickly skim over the rest of the folder, memorising as much as you can, before swapping with Nat and reading the other one, "And where are the real James and Lucille Walter?"

"Dead."

You stop your reading and turn to Natasha at the sound of her voice, giving her a look when she tried to hide her smirk.

"Ah, yes. Courtesy of Natasha Romanoff herself, Mr and Mrs Walter are in fact, dead" Steve spoke dramatically, causing you to scoff and wink at the redhead beside you.

"We should leave now. I'll explain further in the car and give you a rundown of the plan. Should be an easy job." Bucky takes the folders from you and tucks them under his arm, signalling for you to walk out the door and you give Steve and Natasha a smirk before you leave.

"Wish me luck guys."

_______________________________________

You were picked up from the compound by one of Stark's trusted drivers and Bucky described the plan in detail to you on the way there, but as you arrived closer and closer to your destination, you felt the nerves come on.

Usually, you were behind a computer screen on missions, hacking security cameras and breaking into encrypted files, you had no doubt of your fighting skills, you've been training almost your whole life, and the few missions you've done where you've had to fight were smooth sailing, but you had never done undercover before.

You started nibbling on your lower lip as soon as the car pulled up, doubting yourself again despite the amount of times Natasha has given you a whole speech about why you had no reason to ever do that.

The door on Bucky's side opened and when he offered you his arm to help you out of the car, meeting your eyes and giving you a gentle smile, you felt the nerves calm slightly.

You and Bucky were close in a way that no one had expected, considering he had the tendency to keep himself away from people and stay quiet when he was forced to socialise. You were slow-paced and gentle with him, a huge contrast to the way Sam would constantly be on Bucky about his lack of social skills, or Tony dragging him to parties he had no interest in. Sam always has the best intentions, but sometimes can be a little too enthusiastic for Bucky, and Tony, well sometimes Tony's just a dick with full knowledge of the fact that he's being one, and not a single care in the world about it.

You and Bucky both had an understanding, you had confided in him about your fears, your anxiety, and he had managed to do the same.

You just couldn't help but develop a teeny tiny crush on him over the past few months.

"Don't work yourself up, stay in character, stay alert, and remember the plan."

Nodding to him, you took a deep breath and put yourself into character, reminding yourself of yours and Bucky's new names, keeping your head up as you entered the party, an expensive diamond wrapped around your left ring finger with a similar pattern to the silver band Bucky had on his.

The hall was beautiful, gold detailing adorned the large doors and walls, reaching up to the ceiling to create beautiful patterns against the pristine white of the building. The party-goers were even more beautiful, hundreds of gowns and suits worth more than your life, probably bought and worn for a single night, before they're discarded and forgotten in the back of their walk-in closets.

You felt like you didn't fit in at all, but you watched as party guests eyed the two of you, and they seemed to be approving.

It didn't take you and Bucky long to get situated, stood in the corner of the extravagant hall with a glass of champagne now in your hand as you surveyed the exits and bodyguards, and Bucky looked for the target.

The mission was just a small lead in a huge investigation. You and Bucky were just here to buy something from Kozlov and then get out.

"Got him, 4 o-clock. He's surrounded but he should be expecting us so it shouldn't be an issue." Bucky had leant down to whisper in your ear, his breath tickling against your neck and causing a shiver to rake over your shoulders.

Fuck, he smelled like sin too.

It made you want to take a deeper breath, made you want to pull him even closer, close enough to close that small gap between your lips and kiss him till you run out of breath, and as much as that would be inconspicuous and normal for James and Lucille Walter, it would be completely inappropriate for Bucky and Y/n.

"We shouldn't go over yet. Let's just mingle a bit, get more of a feel of this place and blend into the background as much as we can." You add, and Bucky nods, surveying the room again before meeting your eyes.

"Good idea, but when we do go over, don't make eye contact with him and don't say anything," said Bucky. You couldn't help but roll your eyes, giving him a slightly annoyed, but understanding smile, and he smiled back apologetically, "I know, it's stupid, but that's what these guys are like. If he so much as thinks that you're either, on the table or threatening his masculinity, we're in trouble. Okay?"

You understood what Bucky was saying, men like Kozlov, they see women as property, or in some cases, currency. It's best to stay off their radar as best you can, which includes not threatening his masculinity by daring to look him in the eyes.

Women were to keep their heads down.

Which was bullshit.

"Okay."

He gives you a final nod and you think he's finally about to pull away and have mercy on your heart, but before he does, he pauses and presses his soft, warm lips to your cheek in a gentle kiss.

Air gets caught in your throat as it happens, but you try not to make an audible noise, quickly pulling yourself together and reminding yourself that you and Bucky are pretending to be a couple and he's just trying to sell it better. It makes sense.

It's just pretend.

You spend the whole evening with your hand wrapped around Bucky's bicep, neither of you breaking apart for anything as random people come up to you and try to start conversations. Usually, one of you will take one for the team and has to stand there talking about money and beach houses for five minutes, plus the occasional question about kids, which seemed to make Bucky blush every time, as the other keeps an eye on Kozlov.

"So how long have you two been married?" A seemingly kind lady asks, her red dress matching her lips as they stretch into an awkward smile.

"A year in June," You respond, well-rehearsed at this point as you smile up at your pretend husband, "Can't believe how quickly it's going."

Bucky is quick thinking with the act, and he smiles down at you, his arm wrapping gently around your waist and squeezing you to his side. Your heart probably stopped beating for a moment, and you wondered how he got so good at this, before brushing the thought away and looking back to the woman in the red dress, smiling warmly at her too.

"Ah, bet you two are still in the honeymoon phase. You look completely smitten with each other, it's adorable." She scrunched her nose up on the word 'adorable', her gaze flicking between the two of you before she glanced at her own husband, standing a few feet away as he laughed with a larger group of men, a big glass of whiskey in his hand. She sighed.

You tried to keep your face neutral, smiling and nodding along, but something about what she had said had caught in your chest, and you wished you could see just for a moment from someone else's eyes, just how 'smitten' you both look.

You felt bad for the woman, who stood in the middle of the huge ballroom completely alone and abandoned by her husband, but there wasn't anything you could do for her, and Bucky was subtly hinting to you that you were to go speak with Kozlov soon, so you kissed her cheek and bid her goodbye.

You spared Bucky a quick glance and he was focused on Kozlov, his face stoic as he glanced in his direction discreetly, scanning the exits too, checking for close-by security cameras and windows again, just in case.

"I think it's time, doll." He murmured.

You quickly lift your head to meet his eyes, the pet-name he usually only used when you were tipsy and would brush it off casually, slipping off his tongue, though it had the same effect sober or not, you blushed and nodded.

He smiled at you, almost looking fond, though you were pretty sure he was just offering you a break from the stoic, mission orientated Bucky, before he took a deep breath and reached for your hand on his bicep to hold it with his own, gently squeezing before guiding you towards the target.

As you walked Kozlov's way, who was surrounded by burly, most definitely armed bodyguards, you noticed the women surrounding him too, some with their husbands and all of them looking beyond uncomfortable, staring out at the party with bored, or even nervous expressions.

"James Walter," Bucky nodded to one of the bodyguards, who had stopped you both from passing, and the bodyguard shared a look with another, before nodding and letting you walk on.

Daniel Kozlov was sat comfortably in a velvet armchair as he swirled a glass of whiskey in his hand, seemingly stuck in a boring conversation as he stared at the wall before him, completely uninterested in what the man talking to him had to say.

"Mr Kozlov, I'm James Walter, It's a pleasure to finally meet you in person."

Kozlov perked up at the sound of a new voice and a wide, Cheshire cat grin formed on his lips as he regarded you and Bucky, though you kept your eyes to the floor, or seemingly 'admiring' the expensive decorations as the men spoke.

"Ah, my new friend! I was hoping you'd show up, had a few men flake out on me recently," The man spoke dramatically, his thick European accent prevalent and images of his file flashed in your head, remembering that Shield had been taking down his buyers one by one, either arresting them on other charges or putting a bullet between their eyes as Natasha had done with the real Mr and Mrs Walter.

They weren't particularly very nice people, so you didn't hold much guilt for their deaths, or stealing their identity after the fact.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world, sir. Heard you've got something I have my interests set on." Bucky's voice was smooth and charismatic, matching Kozlov's energy as best he could, and you couldn't lie, it made your blood run warmer, heat spreading to certain parts of your body you were ashamed to admit were reacting to the confidence he exuded tonight.

"Hm... I suppose I do. Do you always allow your wife to be a part of your deals?" Your looked up slightly at his mention of you, and Kozlov smirked wickedly at the expression on your face, "Women can be god-awful gossips sometimes."

This fucking guy-

Bucky squeezed your hand tightly, forcing the words from his tongue, "I assure you, sir. She is nothing to worry about."

He was just as pissed as you were.

"I don't know, she doesn't really seem like the quiet type, I reckon she's a loud-mouth once she's on her back, although I'm sure having her on her knees will shut her up nice and quiet." He chuckled darkly and Bucky's hand was holding yours so tight, his jaw clenching and unclenching, measured breaths exhaled through his nose, he still managed to keep his face blank though, as did you, quietly seething as you put on the frightened baby deer look that men seemed to love, staring down at the floor.

He needed to think you were in the same position as the other poor, frightened women here, that he'd get bored with you all the same.

You swallowed your tongue though, wanting nothing more than to speak up and put the bastard in his place, right before beating the absolute shit out of him, though you knew that would come in due time, for now all you could do was finish this fucking mission.

"She won't be a problem."

Kozlov laughed, knowing he was getting under James' skin. He stood from the armchair and nodded towards Bucky, the smile sinking, trying to look intimidating, despite the fact that he was practically less than half the size of Bucky, "Make your payment."

Bucky pulled a phone from his pocket, sending a single word in a text and waiting for the confirmation only seconds later, before tucking it away again, "Payment made."

Daniel looked over at a man sat in the corner with a laptop and when he nodded, he turned back to look at Bucky, his hand sneaking into his own pocket and pulling out a hard drive, handing it to Bucky before taking a step back and looking you up and down.

"What's your name, sweetheart?"

You swallowed your irritation, narrowly avoiding the urge to roll your eyes at the way he was eyeing you like a piece of meat, Bucky opened his mouth to speak but was quickly cut off by a glare.

"I asked the wife, not you. Name?" He spoke through gritted teeth, obviously quick to anger, and you fought back the urge to fucking bitch slap him, take the dagger from your thigh and press it to his neck, but you were sticking to the deer in headlights act.

"Lucille."

A smirk overtook his face, a healed scar on his cheek stretching as he did so, "Pretty name for a pretty thing."

At this point, Bucky was squeezing your hand so hard again, your fingers were starting to go numb, the rings he was wearing digging uncomfortably into your skin, but you didn't pull away, instead, you returned the tight grip to try to reassure him.

Taking a step closer to you, Daniel Kozlov lifted his hand to your cheek, making you flinch slightly and you clenched your jaw when the back of his hand caressed your cheek, his skin ice-cold against yours.

"I happen to collect pretty things."

Bucky felt sick to his stomach, knowing that he couldn't do anything besides stand there and watch, stepping out of line in any way would end in a fight, and he knew he couldn't risk lives, or the mission.

A part of you was expecting him to backhand you, but he never did Instead, he touched your cheek for a while longer, glancing over at Bucky with a smile before he took a step away from you and laughed at the murderous look Bucky was trying to hide, he knew that Bucky was in a position where there wasn't much he could do to stop him, and he openly mocked him for it, "I could take her off your hands for the night for you, teach her some manners. Maybe she'll learn to answer her superiors quickly, when they ask her a question."

"Not necessary." Bucky's voice was scarily even, but his jaw was aching from how hard he was grinding his teeth together and he started pulling you closer to him, shooting Kozlov a dangerous glare, "I think it's time we leave."

"Of course, of course. No doubt you need to get her to bed."

Bucky ignored his words and turned, pushing his way past the bodyguards and pulling you along by your hand, making you stumble in your heels.

"James." You called out as you tried to catch up with him. His grip on your hand was starting to hurt again but he kept walking with intent, pulling you out of the grand doors at the entrance to the hall and towards the expensive car you had arrived in.

He handed the driver a wad of cash and told him to leave, giving him a silent glare which obviously meant 'fuck off' when the guy hesitated.

As Bucky pulled open the passenger seat door and helped you into the car, you glared at him, though when he ducked his head into the car and leant over you to put your seatbelt on for you, the intensity behind the glare faded and you were left just staring wide eyed at him, and instead of yelling at him and telling him that you were perfectly capable of doing your own seatbelt, you were lost for words with how close his body was to yours, his breath fanning against your bare shoulder.

You could only breathe when he pulled away and slammed the door shut, rounding the car to get into the driver's seat, not sparing you another glance as he turned on the engine and put the car into gear, speeding off into the city.

his frustration and anger filled the space with tension.

"Bucky, you need to calm down," You tried but he continued to ignore you, one hand on the gear stick and the other gripping the steering wheel so tight that his knuckles turned white. You sighed, his frustration and anger filled the space with tension, and you concluded that he was a grown man who could calm himself down.

You dropped your head against the seat as you focused on the view outside your window, the lights of the city burning bright against the night sky.

You glanced at the side-view mirror, and rolled your eyes when you realised it was the same car that was behind you when you left the party, "We're being followed."

Bucky's hearing was obviously working. When he heard what you said, his eyes lifted to the rear-view mirror and he sighed heavily, "Fuck."

"Where are we gonna go? None of the safehouses are fancy enough for Mr and Mrs Walter."

"We'll have to go to a hotel, they shouldn't give us any trouble unless we seem suspicious. There's no way Kozlov would have us killed immediately after a sale, too risky," You nod at his words, knowing that Bucky was an expert at things like this due to his past with Hydra, he knew how men like Kozlov worked, how their brains ticked, and you trusted him completely. "Okay, I know where to go." He said as you kept an eye on the car, taking note of the plate number and trying to get a view of the person driving it, "Text Nat with the burner in my pocket, tell her we'll be at The Pierre, tell her to bring backup just in case but keep them minimally armed, it's just a precaution."

You sigh again, looking away from the car behind you and back to Bucky, "Which pocket?"

"Inside pocket, left side."

You nibbled on your lower lip as you reached over to him, and he tilted his body to you slightly in assistance. Bucky gulped, and you blushed as your hands brushed against his shirt when you reached into his suit jacket, searching for the pocket.

His body was incredibly warm and it only made you want to draw out the situation even longer as Bucky fought to keep his concentration on the road and the car behind, but eventually, your fingers brushed against the phone and you hesitantly pulled it out and sat back in your seat, a long exhale coming from him as you did so and he readjusted his grip on the steering wheel, shooting you a quick glance, his gaze falling to how exposed your thigh had become with the movement, though he tore his eyes away quickly.

You slipped the phone back into Bucky's pocket once you had received Natasha's quick response, and Bucky pulled up to the hotel. You watched in quiet amusement as the man following parked not-so-discreetly, a bit further down the street.

"Remember who your playing." Bucky shot you a final glance as he turned off the ignition and got out of the car, straightening out his suit jacket as he walked to the passenger side and pulled open the door, offering his arm to you and helping you out of the car.

You hated how real it all felt, him doting on you when you were trying desperately hard to convince yourself it was an act, but you still wrapped both your hands around his arm, draping yourself against his side as you walked towards the entrance, telling yourself that you did it only for the upkeep of the ruse.

The tension between you was undeniable as Bucky looked down at you, his expression serious, but not stern, only intense.

"James? Are we going in?" You asked, using his fake yet real name and it seemed to wake him from his daze, nodding as he reminded himself of his surroundings and the man now wandering closer to them, his phone to his ear, though he didn't speak into it.

"Course, doll. Just admiring my wife's beauty in the city lights."

Your mouth fell open slightly at his words but he didn't give you much time to react before he was walking you into the hotel, and you were thankful that he wasn't dragging you this time.

Bucky didn't waste any time, quickly moving to one of the people running the front desk and glaring down at him.

"Name?"

"James Walter," He spoke and the man nodded, typing something out on his computer before handing Bucky a black key-card, giving him a fearful smile.

Stepping away from the front desk, Bucky moved to your left as he discreetly put his hand into his pocket and slipped the burner phone into your hand, and you switched the phone into your right hand once you realised his plan, tossing the phone into the garbage bag on the back of a janitors cart before walking into the elevator.

You sighed heavily as you both finally entered the hotel room, trudging to the bed in the middle of the giant room and collapsing on it as Bucky started scoping out the room, quickly checking the bathroom and shutting all the curtains.

"We're going to have to stay here all night, aren't we? That guy isn't gonna go anywhere." You sighed, closing your eyes as you sunk into the mattress.

"One bed." Bucky said, and you peaked your eyes open one at a time, moving your gaze to the man now slouched in the armchair tucked into the corner of the large room, still looking beyond annoyed.

"Huh?"

His jaw ticked in annoyance as his head fell back against the chair, "There's only one bed."

Oh.

"Oh," You sat up on the bed, looking around the room awkwardly.

You didn't really want to think about what that could mean, it either formed butterflies in your stomach, or disappointment.

He didn't have to act so upset about it.

"Is it that bad?" You scoffed, half joking, half serious, and Bucky lifted his head, his eyes widening, lips parted.

"No, that's not what I-" He cut himself off, sighing and furrowing his eyebrows, looking guilty, "Sorry. I'm just so fucking annoyed."

You smiled and nodded, "I know, me too. We're one step closer to getting this guy though, Buck."

He nodded too, eyes closing again, his jaw unclenching, finding some kind of relief in your words.

"We don't have to share if you don't want, but I'm okay with it if you are. I trust you. Plus, we've fallen asleep on the couch together before, can't be that much different." You shrugged, acting nonchalant, although you felt extremely not, as you stood up, sick of the feeling of your knife's handle digging uncomfortably in your skin.

You pulled your skirt up to expose your other thigh, lifting your right foot to rest on the bed, while making sure not to flash Bucky in the process as you pull the dagger out, throwing it back on the bed, leaving the garter on for now.

His breath caught in his throat at the sight, watching as your dagger glided against the skin of your thigh as you removed it from yourself, tossing it onto the white bed sheets before dropping your foot back to the floor.

"No it's... I don't- uh." He trailed off, losing his train of thought, obviously distracted.

You looked at him, eyes dropping to follow the movement of his tongue wetting his lips, and you knew you'd never get the sight of him right now out of your mind. His legs were spread, sitting comfortably in the chair, one of his arms draped over the arm of the chair, while he rested his elbow with the other one, holding his head up with his thumb and index finger on the side of his tilted head.

He regarded you silently, his eyes dazed, and you wondered if it could possibly be because he was feeling the same exact way as you right now.

Bucky was struggling to think straight, scrunching his face up in frustration when he finally snapped out of his daze, the frustration completely different to what he was feeling before, now he just couldn't get the image of your thighs out of his mind, or the black thigh garter you still wore under your dress.

God, you drive him fucking crazy.

You chewed the inside of your cheek when he sighed again, "Buck, you need to chill out. I know Kozlov is a fucking asshole, but we expected that. We got the mission done with no big issues."

He stared up at the ceiling, feeling so guilty that he was looking at you that way, thinking about you in that way, especially after the reminder of Kozlov and how undoubtedly uncomfortable he must've made you feel.

"I know, I just hate feeling powerless. That prick was touching you and saying horrible shit and I just stood there-"

"Bucky."

He huffed a breath and opened his eyes, only to be met with the beautiful sight of you stood before him, only a few feet away, your dress clinging to all the right places and your eyes locked to his and he felt a familiar heat stirring up inside him again. He stared up at you as if you were a heaven-sent angel.

The tension in the room was so thick, and you both knew why, though neither of you had the guts to admit, nor say anything about it.

Your intentions were pure at first, and for some reason, on the way towards where he was sitting, you never thought about the very un-pure version of your actions until you were stood in front of him, barely thinking about it when you sunk to your knees before him, your hands resting just above his knees on his spread legs.

At first, you told yourself it was because you wanted to talk to him properly, make sure he was okay, and that included you being on his level physically, but now you realised it was mostly because you so desperately wanted to see him like this, his gaze heated, looking down at you between his thighs with parted lips.

It didn't matter that you were the one on your knees, you'd never felt more powerful.

His gaze was unwavering, the intense, lustful look in his eyes alone had you clenching your thighs together as you thought about your next move, and Bucky lifted one of his hands towards your face, brushing the back of his fingers down your cheek, just as Kozlov had done earlier, though this touch was completely different, and your eyes fluttered shut, a sigh escaping you as his fingers caressed your cheek, ridding the memory of Kozlov's cold skin against yours with his soft, warm touch, and you pulled your eyes open to meet his again, lifting your hand to take hold of his.

You looked down at the rings he was wearing, one on almost each finger, apparently it was a common style choice from James Walter, and it wasn't the first time tonight that you'd silently thanked the dead mobster for that fact.

They'd been catching your eye all night, and you lifted his knuckles to your lips, placing a kiss against the smooth metal of the first one on his index finger, and then the next one, and the next.

Bucky watched you kiss his rings, his eyes darkening with every touch of your soft lips to his knuckles, so entranced by you, slowly sinking further into the seat, melting with each touch.

He couldn't think of any repercussions right now, couldn't think of a single reason to stop you, all he could think about was what you were doing to him right now, and where these actions could lead you, and his pants were getting tighter by the second.

You met his eyes with your lips still on his knuckles, and you both immediately knew what this was, where this could be going, and that the thick tension between you, was sexual tension like no other.

Bucky's heart must've stopped when you opened his fist and slipped his index and middle finger past your lips, enveloping them in the hot, wetness of your mouth, your soft tongue circling over his digits, sucking on them, He couldn't help but groan, leaning his head back, though still keeping his half-lidded eyes on you.

"Fuck, doll. So fuckin' gorgeous."

You weren't thinking straight, you must not've been, because why the hell would you be doing this, why was it something you didn't even have to question, why did it feel so natural, and so fucking right.

The words that slipped past his lips were doing things to you, and the way that his fingers pressed down on your tongue slightly, but weren't nearly as heavy against it as something else you wanted on your tongue would be, you were a goner, and your underwear was already soaked.

You pulled his fingers from your mouth but kept hold of them as you crawled onto his lap, his arm immediately wrapped around your waist, holding you to him, his lips so close to yours you were sharing breath.

Slowly, you guided his fingers down, sliding them under the slit in your dress to bring them to your covered core, watching his facial expression intently, watching for any sign of discomfort.

There was none, and his breath caught in his throat when his fingers made contact, the heat of you radiating against his hand, he could already feel how wet you are.

"Fuck." He breathed, eyebrows furrowing, forehead resting on yours, "You sure about this sweetheart? You want me to touch you?"

You nodded immediately, biting your lower lip, pressing his hand against you harder, "Yes. Are you sure?"

He nodded back, "Never been more sure about anything in my fuckin' life."

You moaned when he finally started moving his fingers, circling your clit gently over your underwear, though with enough pressure to give some sort of relief, but it was when he pulled your panties aside, and dipped his fingers into your wetness, spreading your folds and gathering your slick, before pressing his fingers against your clit and rubbing you in tighter circles, that you were a mess in his lap.

"Bucky-" You whimpered, rolling your hips slightly, and he licked his lips again, nudging his nose against yours, wanting so desperately to kiss you, but also not wanting to miss a single expression you made, he wanted to watch you fall apart under his touch, again, and again, and again.

"You know something, sweetheart?" He asked, waiting for confirmation that you were paying attention to him before continuing.

You rolled your hips again, staring into his eyes, moaning out in pleasure, "What?"

"You drove me fucking crazy tonight, every time you touched me, every time you looked at me- God, whenever you said my name- I'd never heard you call me that before, my first name, fuck I don't ever want to stop hearin' you callin' me that."

His words made you dizzy, the confirmation that he'd felt the same as you all night, the confession that he loved it when you called him 'James' just as much as you loved calling him it, you were sinking deeper and deeper into this feeling, that this moment couldn't be more right, more necessary, like you'd both been needing this for months now.

By the time he had finished talking, he had slowed his touch to a complete stop, and dipped his fingers lower, pushing them inside you.

You gasped, he groaned, and when he curled them, finding that sweet spot inside you and pushing against it perfectly, you cried out, dropping your forehead to his shoulder and tucking your face in his neck.

He didn't let up with his gentle thrusting, and the insistent rubbing against that spongy spot inside of your cunt. He used his free hand to move your head from his shoulder, leaning himself forward slightly, holding you closer, and finally kissing you.

You whimpered and moaned against his lips, though returned the kiss passionately, both of your hands in his hair, your tongue gliding against his own.

This was unlike any experience you'd ever had, every touch dialled up to 100.

He used his thumb to rub your clit, still curling and rubbing his fingers against your walls, and when you started to clench down on him, he pulled back from the kiss.

"C'mon, kitten, cum on my fingers like a good girl." He purred, and your head tilted back, moaning as you came, your orgasm only spurred on quicker by his words.

"James-" You whimpered, his touch not letting up as he pleasured you through your orgasm, though when you were through most of it, you crashed your lips to his.

You kissed until you ran out of breath, doing exactly what you had wanted to do earlier, what you had wanted to do for months. Bucky gently eased his fingers out of you, and when you tucked your face in his neck again, catching your breath, you could tell he was sucking them clean, moaning at the taste of you.

It was quiet for a moment between you, only the gentle sound of your slightly laboured breath filling the space, Bucky held you close to him, his fingers gently tracing up and down your spine through the fabric of your dress, you gave a pleased hum and kissed his neck, just above his collar.

It didn't matter that you'd just barely come down from an orgasm, you needed more, you needed him.

"James." You whispered against his neck, just below his ear and he just about melted into the chair beneath you, humming to let you know he was listening, though you didn't say anything else, a part of you just wanted to say his name again, and to feel his pleased reaction to it.

His body was so warm under yours, but there were far too many layers of fabric between you and him and you desperately wanted to fix that, 'adjusting' yourself on his lap just so you could provide some friction between you, biting your lip and sighing into his ear when you felt how hard he was beneath you, he groaned and gripped your hips tightly.

"I wanna feel you inside me, James." Your voice was as sweet as sugar, breath warm against his skin, and your heated core was seated just above where his hard cock was pressing tightly against his pants, throbbing with every small movement you made.

"Fuck, sweetheart." He husked, no doubt sounding like a broken record, though he didn't care much about that, not when you were pressing yourself against him like that, slowly rocking in his lap, not when he could still faintly taste you in his mouth from where he had sucked his fingers clean, not with your mouth on his neck, whispering dirty things.

You kissed the hinge of his jaw, then ghosted your lips lower, pressing a kiss just below his ear, before making your way to the other side, leaving sweet kisses as you went.

You met his eye as you traced your hand up his black shirt, watching his expression as you slowly loosened his tie, and popped the top button open, and then the next, giving yourself better access to the skin there, kissing below his Adam's apple.

"C'mon, Buck. You wanna fuck me?" You asked, looking up at him through your lashes this time, teasing him with a smirk.

He bit his lip, holding your cheek in his palm, thumb swiping across your cheekbone, his eyes darting across your face, taking in every detail he could while he was so close to you.

So pretty.

"I do, of course I do, doll." He said back, his eyes following the movement of his thumb against soft skin. You could sense the 'but' coming, "But... I don't think we should-"

"Bucky." You interrupted, stopping what you know would've become this huge, self-doubting, self-sabotaging speech, and he met your eyes again, sighing slightly, his head tilted, "If we both want this, then why can't we have it?"

He didn't know what to say, he couldn't imagine a world were someone would really want him, as he was, much less a smart, loving and kind, beautiful girl like yourself. He believed you when you said you wanted this, but was still unsure if you would really want him, want him beyond this moment.

"If we go further, I'll never be able to get enough of you." He spoke quietly, this moment between you was so intimate, which was something he'd not experienced in decades. It was terrifying, but so perfect, so right. 

"You have all of me, Bucky. I want you, not just tonight. I've wanted you for months, honey, and if you want me too then what have we got to lose? You can have me whenever you need me, whenever you want me, I'm yours, yours now, yours tomorrow. If you need a hug," You wrapped your arms around his neck as you spoke and held him tighter, "If you need a kiss," You pressed your lips to his, "If you need a release; I'll be there, because you have me, always have."

By the time you were just halfway into your speech, Bucky was a puddle, his brain short-circuiting, his heart beating much faster than it should be with him just sitting, and his whole world view collapsing.

You were his.

You wanted to be his.

He was yours completely.

He surged forward to press his lips to yours, and kissed you for a long moment, using his tongue to memorise the feel of your mouth, the heat of your own tongue against his, and he stood as he kissed you, holding you in his arms as you wrapped your legs around his waist.

He carried you with such ease and sat down on the edge of the huge bed, not once breaking the kiss, or putting an ounce space between your bodies.

You helped him to shrug off his suit jacket, tossing it to the floor as if it didn't probably cost hundreds of dollars, and deft fingers quickly reached to undo his tie.

The tie was silky and smooth, and your imagination was bright with ideas, the image of Bucky fucking you, with your hands tied above your head, or maybe tying Bucky up just the same, kissing his cock teasingly, without letting him touch you.

You tabled the ideas for now, tossing the tie aside.

You could experiment with him in due time, for now you just wanted to be able to touch him as much as possible.

You were both still enraptured in the kiss when Bucky stood again, this time turning around, and laying you down on the mattress, pressing himself against you as he placed one last kiss on your lips, and pulled back to admire the sight of you, blushing with kiss-bitten lips as you lay beneath him.

He traced his hands down your body and stood at the end of the bed, his shirt almost halfway undone.

His fingers glided down your legs, and ended at your ankles as he eyed the strappy heals you wore, admiring how beautiful you looked in them. He imagined keeping them on you, stripping you down and bending you over the closest surface, whilst still wearing the heels, maybe keeping on the thigh-garter too, but he wanted you comfortable, and he wanted you naked.

Gently, he undid the strap on one of your heels, and slowly pulled it off, before doing the same to the other one.

He kept glancing up at you as he did so, watching you so intently, he didn't dare miss a single moment, a single change in your expression.

His hands traced back up your legs, this time, he kissed his way up too, kissing you ankle, your shin, just below the garter.

He stopped himself though, and looked you in the eyes, that serious look returning, "Are you sure you want this?"

"Yes. Please, James."

He smirked, he couldn't not, and his hand drifted to your hip, squeezing there, before using both his hands to flip you over, leaning over you and pressing his hand against your back.

You gasped in surprise, and then felt his fingers against the zip of the dress, his breath against the nape of your neck.

"Should we take this off?" He asked sweetly, and you nodded silently, your voice trapped in your throat, that cocky, dominant persona you had taken on earlier apparently about to be fucked out of you. You couldn't wait.

He flipped you back over to help ease the dress off, leaving you only in a lacy pair of underwear, your chest exposed to him, and once the dress was on the floor, and Bucky allowed himself the chance to finally look at you, he groaned roughly, draping his body over yours and reaching up to caress your breasts, watching as his thumb traced over the hardened peaks of your nipples, "So fucking gorgeous."

Your hands were in his hair, back arching into his touch when he took your nipple into his mouth, paying attention to the other one with his fingers, and as much as you were enjoying it, he was still wearing way too much, and you put your fingers under his chin, pulling his mouth away from you.

He kissed you as you unbuttoned the rest of his shirt and pulled it off, quickly followed by his pants and soon you were both left in your underwear.

You pushed at his shoulder, and he eventually got the memo, and rolled aside, letting you sit on top of him, carefully moving the dagger you had left on the bed onto the bedside table.

When you pulled back from the kiss, he continued to kiss down your chest, but your eyes drifted to the hand he had on your waist, the left one, that still looked like skin even though it wasn't.

You had almost completely forgotten about it, it felt just like skin, was warm like skin, and looked unbelievably life-like, but there was something about it that you really didn't like, it wasn't him, it might've been once, but as Bucky has told you before, he's not been the man he was back in the 40s in over seventy years, and he probably wouldn't ever be him again, which you reminded him was okay, that he didn't owe Steve the version of himself that Bucky thought he would need.

You knew about the struggles Bucky has had with his metal arm, the history that there is behind it, and the hatred he had for it when he was first rehabilitated. You didn't want this impressive Stark invention to become something he used to hide this part of himself, against the needs of his own healing.

You started at his left shoulder, and traced your fingers down the arm, stopping at the silver watch on his wrist, and Bucky stopped kissing you, watching you, waiting.

"Is it the watch?" You asked, and he hesitated, before nodding.

"You don't have to take it off."

You paused, looking down at him, he looked slightly uncomfortable, and you needed to change that.

"I'd like to take it off. Do you want to leave it on?"

He was quiet for a moment, thinking about your question. It made him uncomfortable, seeing the uncanny, flesh arm in place of the metal one he knew was there, and to see a human arm, yet not be able to really feel the touch of your skin against it, only pressure and heat. He didn't like it.

He shook his head, and you smiled, kissing him again as you carefully undid the watch with your mouth still on his, pulling back to see his metal arm visible again, and you intertwined your fingers with his, metal against skin.

You did the same with his other hand, intertwining your fingers, before lifting them both above his head, pressing them into the mattress. You knew he could very easily break out of your grasp, but that didn't make the sight any less pleasing.

You rocked your hips against his, just as you did before, and he groaned, lifting his own hips, seeking more friction.

Reluctantly, you released his hands, and quickly took off your underwear, leaving you naked above him, before you took his off too.

You couldn't possibly be any wetter, your inner thighs a mess of slick as you watched his cock slap against his stomach, painfully hard and leaking at the tip.

"Fuck, James. D'you know how beautiful you are?" You asked, slowly touching the underside of his cock, tracing an enticing vein, before gripping him in your hand and squeezing him.

A moan slipped past his lips, hips lifting from the bed again.

He shook his head in response to you, smiling, "Do you know how beautiful you are?"

He flipped you both over again, his hands tracing your body, lingering in certain areas, squeezing your breasts, caressing your stomach, lifting your thigh to rest on his hip, dipping between your legs to press down on your clit, "You're fuckin' breathtaking, doll, and so fucking wet."

He gathered some of your wetness on his fingers, and dipped them back into his mouth again for a taste, moaning around them.

"I wanna eat you so bad, kitten." He lowered himself to you, resting on his elbows on either side of your head, kissing your neck.

"Later. I need you inside me, James." You pressed your core against him, and he nodded, reaching between the two of you to line himself up, slowly easing inside.

You both moaned as he slid inside you, Bucky's eyes fluttering shut, savouring the sensation whilst trying desperately hard not to give in to the urge to immediately bury himself at the hilt, and fuck you without a moments hesitation.

His hips twitched, cock throbbing inside of you, both of you were so desperate for this, and when he finally pulled his hips back, and rolled them back to yours, it was relief like no other.

His first few thrusts were slower, so enraptured by how you felt around him, hot and wet, and fucking perfect. Eventually, he started to speed up, but favoured fucking you harder, rather than faster. He didn't want this to end too quickly.

You were sprawled beneath him, biting your lower lip and moaning with every stroke of his cock against your walls, his body completely draped over yours so with every roll of his hips, his pelvis stimulated your clit. When he started to fuck you harder, repeatedly hitting a spot deep inside you that made you see stars, you were crying out in pleasure, already feeling close to another orgasm.

"Fuck, sweetheart, you feel so good, y'know that? I'm never gonna get enough of this, gonna want to fuck you all the time, 'm never gonna think of anything else." His forehead was resting on your shoulder, one of his hands on your stomach as his other held him up on the bed, "I want you to be mine. Mine to fuck, mine to kiss, mine every minute of the day. God, I want everyone to know, sweetheart, want them to know you're James' girl."

You were moaning with every word, nodding along, whining when his hand drifted lower, his thumb hovering over your clit, but staying completely still, teasing you.

Your heart was so full, just like your cunt, and you hoped to god he'd follow through on his promises, you needed to be his, just as much as you needed him to be yours.

"James, please." You begged, arching your back into him, and he lifted his head from your shoulder to look at you, smiling with a shake of his head.

"You beg real pretty, doll, but you can do better than that. Tell me what you want, and I'll give it to you."

Your eyes practically rolled back, fuck, you loved hearing him talk like this, "I want to cum, please."

He nodded, leaning in close to you, "You want to cum? I'll let you cum, princess."

He began to rub your clit in steady circles, keeping up a steady rhythm that dragged you so close to release.

"C'mon, come for me, sweetheart."

Your eyes fluttered shut as your orgasm rushed over you, and you gripped Bucky's hair tighter, your cunt clenching around him sending him head first into his own orgasm, his hips stuttering against yours as he came inside you, filling you up with his seed.

His forehead was pressed to yours, both of you slowly coming down from your high, and Bucky waited till you'd caught your breath to lean down and kiss you, slower this time, savouring the taste of you as best he could.

You kissed him back eagerly, aftershocks of your orgasm washing over you and making you clench down on him, still inside of you. Bucky groaned into your mouth, before he hesitantly broke the kiss, and leaned back to slide out of you.

"Fuck, sweetheart, such a fucking mess we made." He breathed roughly, glancing down between your legs, watching his cum seep out of you, so turned on by the filthy sight, before looking up at you again, tracing his eyes up your body, completely bared to him. He took in every detail, and smiled at your flushed cheeks, "You're so fucking beautiful."

You smiled back at him, shaking your head as you wrapped your legs around him and reached out, pulling him back down to you to nudge your nose against his, watching the way his nose scrunched up when he smiled, "So are you."

He huffed a laugh and kissed you, before burying his face into the crook of your neck, wrapping his arms around you and holding you as close to him as possible, practically laying completely on top of you, though he held most of his own weight. As much as you would completely, happily welcome the weight of him on top of you, you also know that breathing is kind of a necessary thing to survive... sadly.

"We need to shower." He murmured against your skin, rubbing his stubbly jaw against your shoulder.

You hummed and nodded, raking your nails across the surface of his back.

"We should probably talk too." He followed, keeping his face hidden from your sight.

"We should, but I don't think there's much to talk about that we haven't already. We both want each other, and not just physically."

He lifted his head and gazed down at you, his expression vulnerable, more vulnerable than you'd ever seen him, even with him naked above you, "So... like lovers?"

You smiled at the old-fashioned term, much preferring it to boyfriend and girlfriend, and you nodded, gently brushing hair from his face, "I'd love that, Buck, if you want that too?"

"Yes, I want that, so much."

"Good, let's make it official then."

He nodded smiling down at you, before he stood from the bed, and he picked you up, wrapping your legs around his waist and carrying you to the hotel en-suite like he had carried you to the bed earlier.

"You're my girl now, sweetheart." He whispered to your ear, loving the way it sounded on his lips.

"And you're my guy." You replied, kissing his nose.

"Sure am." He smiled proudly, setting you down on the bathroom sink as he turned the shower on, before he turned back to you, leaning on his hands, which rested either side of you, "I will be taking you out on a date when we get back, just so you know."

"I can't wait, baby."

[greedyhoneyz]

Judgement Day

.ೃ࿔* pairing: armando aretas x reader .ೃ࿔* synopsis: the aretas name carried weight in miami. it was a name which symbolised power and carried a notion of fear. to mess with an aretas, was a call to an early death. .ೃ࿔* wc: 3k words. .ೃ࿔* cw: angst. assault. violence. blood. harrassment. threats. .ೃ࿔* authors note: another fanfic for a piece of media i have yet to watch. this is long but i hope it doesn't come off juvenile.

The hot Miami heat bared the warmth of a deep-emotion smile at dawn but as night fell, it raged into an inferno, chaotic and wild. It charred and blistered the abode floor, once chilled by seasonal rains and engulfed the city with a tragic blaze.

Even in the heatwave, Miami bustled with life, men and women toiled across the dancefloor, their bodies weary and scorched beneath yards of thin fabric. They jived and boogied to the setlist with as much passion as their drunken states could emote and drank to their hearts' content. At the end of the night, they busted through the doors into the artificial glow of street lamps, staggering, failing to hail an Uber or move on to the next attraction. In the charcoal night, Miami Beach weaved together crowds of partygoers and workers alike, as the early morning sunshine threatened to peek through the sky.

(name) hissed and hollered her way out of the nightclub as her heels clicked onto the pavement.

She had worn them for the sake of fashion. The open-toed stilettos were to die for; they matched perfectly with her mini dress and petite shoulder bag. But now as she waddled, her feet were paying the price. The four-inch stilettos were not meant for walking, the leather straps dug into her skin and the arch pinned tiny knives into her feet. Each step she took sent a shockwave of pain through her feet.

Adjusting her stride, (name) attempted to distribute her weight more evenly into the shoe. It made little difference but she would make it work– the night was young and she had a couple more hours in her.

Straightening her shoulders, (name) fixed her bag and quickened her pace, walking in conjunction with her friend.

“Where are we going?” She had spoken out between anxious breaths, inwardly wincing at the pressure dented into her toes.

“Um…..” Kayla stared into her phone. “Nightingale, Candace said she’ll meet us there.”

“How far is it?”

“Just a couple blocks down. We’ve been there before, remember?”

“I do,” (name) huffed. “It's just– my feet are killing me. I don’t know how much longer I can take this Kayla. I’m tired.”

Kayla stopped, causing (name) to falter in haste as she slowly turned. She faced her friend, boring her eyes into hers, her lips forming into a hard line. She gripped her friend’s arm, holstering her close and darted her pointer finger to her.

“You,” She began slowly, her voice was low at first but grew louder and more boisterous as she glared into (name). “Are not going anyway, do you understand? Today is our night, our night to go out, get drunk and do something stupid, okay? No shoe and no bitch is ruining our night, comprende?”

“Sí. Sí. I understand.” (name) replied shortly, hiding a smile between her teeth.

“Good.” Kayla nodded, tucking her arm around (name’s).

The pair beelined across the strip, accustoming themselves amongst the crowds of partygoers pulling and pushing their way across South Beach. They found Candace waiting by the entrance, looking radiant in a yellow, mini-dress, her wind-tousled hair fell over her shoulders.

“Hey!” She exclaimed, giving them each a hug. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

The bouncer let them in without hesitation, ushering the trio past the long, ascending line trickling across the street, and they made their way towards the bar. The music blared and pulsated from wall to wall and the stage lights flared and spun above them.

“So….where’s this boyfriend of yours at?” Candace asked inquisitively, sipping on her margarita. She wriggled her eyebrows playfully and passed a simple glance at (name’s) phone as she placed it on the bar, a picture of her boyfriend printed on her lock screen.

“Somewhere,” (name) shrugged. “He wasn’t home when I left for Kayla’s place.”

“So you snuck out?” Kayla jeered, propping her chin atop her hand. “You never told me that.”

(name) shook her head. “Nah, it's nothing like that–”

“Wait— this means you can stay out!” Candace bellowed happily.

“Of course I can–”

“No more talking, let’s dance!”

Candace shot up from her seat, slamming her drink on the bar counter, and reigned her hands around Kayla and (name). She wrung them out from their seats with the strength of a colossal giant and tugged the two towards the dancefloor, declaring the two move to the rhythm of the song.

It took a while – a couple of short seconds before Kayla and (name) joined Candace in dance. The three danced in conjunction with each other, keeping close to their circle with a light bounce from side to side and trigger fingers.

As the night wore on, the air grew thicker and (name) and her friends were tipsier. The club music had grown louder and more intense as the DJ turned to play Sexyy Red and the crowd had begun to surge forward in retort to the sharp change in tempo and pitch. The crowd was like a tide, rolling in and out, its rhythm intermittent to the beat.

No more did the throbbing of her feet cloud (name’s) mind; the blend of a rhubarb fizz and vitality was a deterrent. With her closest friends surrounding her, (name) felt at ease, her smile so wide and bright, that she feared it would become permanent.

She rocked her hips, her hands travelling across her thighs and slowly craned forward. She held onto her legs, shaking her thighs as motion rippled across her calves and ascended towards her ass. (name) shook her bottom with a smize, moving her cheeks with such fluid, curvaceous motions it left nothing to disguise that the skirt of her dress began to hike. Undaunted, she continued to move, placing a careful hand between her cheeks as the other tugged her dress down.

So young and so free, (name) craned herself upwards and placed her hands against her chest. She bopped from side to side, twirling her hips gingerly and scored her hands across her breasts and middle. She looked heavenward at the ceiling, the club roof clouded by bright, neon lights and flashes, she squeezed her eyes shut in retort. She dropped her head and opened her eyes, bouncing on the balls of her feet before letting out a raring shrill.

The night flew by in a blur of music, laughter and good company. And by 2 am, the club slowed and the crowd began to disperse. Exhausted but exhilarated, they left the club and amidst themselves between the sea of bodies flooding out from the club.

Letting out a refreshed sigh, (name) turned to her friends. Her hair was dampened, her hot-rod curls once full of life and shine, had dropped, now frizzy and weightless. The fabric of her dress had clung to her sticky skin and her bag was hung at the edge of her shoulder.

“I’m so lit right now,” she moaned, closing her eyes. She wobbled on her two feet, swaying from side to side, pressing her weight onto one shoe and when she threatened to stumble to the side, hauling her weight onto the other.

“Me too,” Kayla replied, stumbling over Candace. She clung onto the woman, grasping onto her dress and pressed herself against the wall.

“I….I think–” Candace couldn't help but giggle to herself, dropping her head.

(name) smacked her lips, her eyes slowly peeling open and peered at the two women. She swallowed deeply, curling her lips in practice before she spoke. “You girls….wanna head off to Oasis?”

“Yeah.”

Both Kayla and Candace hummed in agreement and staggered to height. They adjusted themselves, sheepishly picking at each other, one fixing the other’s hair and the other fixing her dress as (name) collected her belongings into her bag.

“Aye!” A voice began. It was deep and hoarse, breathy as his mouth approached a few more words. “Aye miss!”

Though inebriated, (name) couldn’t mask her quickening discomfort as his heavy footsteps rattled behind her.

She tensed, hiking her shoulders and carefully turned. She wore a tight smile on her face, a mask of politeness.

“Yes?”

The man was tall, handsome, and smelt good. And yet, he failed to strike (name). As she stood before him, swaying from left to right, he grinned, bewitched by her charming features and supple figure.

He smiled at her, his eyes never leaving hers. “I just wanted to tell you that you looked good.”

(name) shook her head and waved her hand, feigning appreciation. “Thank you.”

“You know, I was watching you, inside, dancin’ and shit,” He laughed, tossing his head back. “You can shake that ass pretty good.”

“Thank you–”

“And I– lemme get your number.” His words were quick and sharp; his intent was clear.

“Oh,” she tittered, throwing a glance at her friends. “Well…I’m sorry but I’ve got a boyfriend–”

“You’ve got a boyfriend….” He repeated sullenly. He laughed heartily as if (name) had said the funniest thing ever and shook his head.

“Listen,” He began, swiping his tongue across his bottom lip. “I know it doesn’t seem like it, but I promise you I ain’t no weirdo. No bear here.”

Kayla was prompt in grabbing (name’s) hand, making no effort to hide her disgust. She moved from behind her, Candace following in tow, and attempted to pull the girl along. “C’mon (name) let's go.”

Like a colossal giant, both the man and his voice grew towers tall. He gripped (name’s) arm and jerked her back. “Aye, I wasn’t done talkin’!”

(name) yelped, stumbling over her feet and sharply jeered her head at the man. “What the fuck are you doing?!”

“Just give me your number.” He demanded, digging his nails into her skin.

(name) profusely shook her head, quickly sobering up and attempted to pull away. “Let go!”

No more did the nice guy act continue, the man once cheerful and hopeful, sneered at (name), puffing out her chest and flaring his nostrils. He was quick to insult her, hurling a hail of curses aimed at her figure as he fiercely yanked her backwards, swinging her frame towards him.

“Fucking bitch!” He cursed at the top of his lungs, splatters of spit flailing out from his mouth. “You bitches are always too full of yourselves! Wanna act all uppity when a man wants to talk to you!”

“Then fucking let me go! The fuck!” By then, amidst the chaos, a crowd had gathered. Like a mob of meerkats, they gawked, gasped and videoed in disbelief at the rage pelting from the colossal of a man. They watched, uttering words of discomfort and dismay as (name) attempted to rear herself away from the man, thrusting herself against Kayla as she pulled her forward.

“I didn't even want to holler at your ugly ass anyways!” He roared, his voice loud and menacing.

“Oh my fucking god! Let me go! I don’t want to fucking talk to your stupid ass!” (name) shrieked back. Her eyebrows furrowed together and her lips pulled into an irritated scowl.

“Nah you fucking listen to me, bitch!” His voice erupted out from the vessels of his throat like a disgorging volcano, propelling a warcry in the wake of a lava-filled avalanche, in the form of a fist.

In a few short seconds, the colossal revolved free his arm, balling his into a fist and drew it back. He reigned his fists forward, fuelled with fury and humiliation, and swung at (name), striking her in the jaw.

She staggered to her floor with a loud yelp, the contents of her purse pooling across the floor. Both Kayla and Candace circled (name) in protest, pulling into their embrace as the colossal hovered above, jeering.

Candace gasped, her eyes were wide, her mouth agape as she held (name’s) face between her palms. “(name)!” She cried, fretting her fingers across her face. “Are you okay?”

Sore but unharmed, (name) could manage a nod, nursing a hand to her swelling jaw. “I’m…I’m okay.”

Candace shot her head up and leered up at the colossal begrudgingly, shrieking. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

Rapidly, she climbed onto her feet, jumping between the colossal and her friend’s dazed figure, and glowering, waving her pointer finger and screeching like a banshee. “Do you like putting your hands on fucking defenceless women?! Huh! Do you think that’s okay?!”

“Aye, shut the fuck up! That bitch got what she fucking deserved—”

The neigh of engines and the screeching of hot tyres hailed across the strip, and the sound had bequeathed a play of silence across the beach.

The once vivacious party strip, nestled with drunk partygoers and deafening music, had quickly shimmered into silence. And all that sounded was the row of heavy footsteps mounting from the street onto the sidewalk. The footsteps marched into the crowd, dispersing the tide and began to section off each corner one by one as the clatter of a single pair of boots trotted forward.

Armando stared at (name), his face firm, and carefully crouched to his knees. It was a while before he spoke, his voice deep and guttural, his eyes boring into hers. “Are you okay?” Slowly, he brought his hands to her face and brushed his thumb against her jaw, the surface of her wound spreading purple with yellow blotches, and when she cowered back his expression darkened.

(name) could only utter a wary whisper, her eyes darting between him and the colossal behind him. “…yes.”

Inhaling deeply, Armando rose to height, hauling his girlfriend up to her feet. He held her hand in his, offering a forgiving glance and turned.

He clambered away from (name), his shoulders taunt and chin heavenward. Armando was angry– enraged. He did a good job of hiding it, but (name) knew the signs.

He wired his neck, rearing it from side to side and heaved slowly, his chest rising and falling. Every muscle on his face tightened, his eyes narrowed, and his chin jutted outward.

He approached the colossal, his arms pinned behind his back and gave him a once-over, sizing him up.

He blinked, parting his lips slowly, and then blinked again. “Do we have a problem?”

The colossal shook his head and feigned a hearty laugh, his pupils flared and mouth twisted. “Nah man, we’re cool–”

“Let me ask you again,” Armando snarled slowly, gritting his teeth together. “Do we have a problem?”

“Listen, man, I can assure you there’s no problem here–”

Armando sucked at the air like it had suddenly become thick and shut his eyes. He’d become deaf to his galling words, his rapid chatter professing a tale of ignorance and regard, a rapid back-tracking to his previously tough stance. And by then, his anger was irreversible.

He lunged at him; pummelling, hitting. Each hit landed with a sickening thud, the blow between skin and fist astounding. The man had swung back, wailing his fists in the air, but succumbed to the force of Armando’s blows. His movements were swift and silent, spectral. The pivot of his feet from place to place was incorporeal. He was impenetrable evading each wild blow before he swung again.

Armando flitted around the man, his movements a blur of speed and precision and winded his knee upwards. It prodded into his middle, driving into his chest, and sent him stumbling backwards, off-balance. His tumble left an opening, a gap between his face and Armando’s revolving leg.

He took the opening, rearing his leg upwards and swung it forward, striking. A rapid combination of punches and kicks followed, each came and landed with more precision and power till the colossal succumbed to near-coming death. He crumbled to the ground, in a grotesque mess of blood. His eyes were swollen over and bloody spit drooled from his slack jaws. He was now as revolting as he should be, finally, the outside reflected the spoiled man within.

Armando stood victorious over the bloody mess that was his adversary and sneered at him with such venom and disdain. He crouched down, his knuckles wounded with welts and stained with blood, not of his own, and grabbed his shirt, his grip like a vice.

He pulled him towards him, his face taut with rage and displeasure, and glowered over him. Under his grip, the man hung like cattle, his limbs astray as blood sputtered from out his mouth.

Armando rubbed his lips, swivelling on the balls of his feet, and gnashed his teeth together, chiding grimly. “You see..” he shook his head, his nostrils flared. “If it wasn’t for her…”

He turned to (name), lugging the man along and pointed. He leaned into his ear, his voice began small as a whisper and bubbled into a rue of senile and ghastly distaste. “…I’d kill you….”

“Consider this a warning–” Armando released his grip, the man flailing back onto the ground, and stood back on his feet. “You fuck with her, you fuck with me.”

He scowled, whipping his hands and leered at the crowd before him. In a stop-start fashion, one by one, the crowd fizzled out in groups of threes, fours, and fives. Song and chatter fizzled back across the strip in small bites and vivid hues flashed across the beach.

Armando turned to (name), his face closed up and extended his arm. He reached for her, placing her hand in his palm and grasped it tenderly. He held her hand to her face and wrapped her wound beneath her hand. He looked at her as her gaze trembled, her shoulders shivering and tugged her towards him. He held her in his arms, his tight embrace swelled around her middle and carefully coaxed (name) away.

Despite the return of vibrance and euphoria flooding across the party strip, an unsettling mist hung over. A monochrome of silver glanced over the black night. There was an uncharacteristically grim line etched across the faces of those among the dispersing crowd, a sense of sadness, remorse, dismay and dread.

Armando Aretas was not to be toyed with— and neither was she.

[zae-heeyyy]

Piquancy- II

Summary: You wake up in Arthur's room. Pairing: Arthur Morgan X Female Reader Word Count: 1,486 Tags: High honor Arthur, developing relationship, alcohol and intoxication, fluff, before the Blackwater Massacre

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A/n: Well, I got carried away with the story, and now I don't know how many parts there'll be. I split some things to give you about 1,500 words instead of 5,000. I'm having a great time writing again, and I hope you enjoy!

piquancy: a sharp or stimulating quality that provokes a strong, often intriguing reaction.

For six seconds, waking up felt weightless. You'd forgotten where and who you were, your mind mercifully blank of heartache, running, and lawlessness. In that tenth of a minute, your lifestyle of living out of tents, squatting in abandoned houses, and sleeping under the stars felt far away, like some other poor girl's life and not yours. The logical, constantly worried part of your brain stayed asleep, and only half your senses stirred.

Despite the fireplace long gone cold, warmth enveloped you from all around. Sunlight beamed through the window, illuminating dancing dust particles and kissing your skin while plush blankets shielded you from the lingering morning chill. Most of the warmth, however, emanated from the colossus of a man beside you. Arthur's heavy arm anchored you close. You were spooned against him, his chest molded perfectly into your back, and his long legs loosely tangled in yours. And at seven seconds, you were fully conscious. Heaven's floodgates opened, and you were swept away in the deluge of your life.

Getting out of the bed was like breaking through the surface after being plunged deep into the ocean; you didn't even realize you were holding your breath until you surfaced and both feet landed on the dry land of floorboards. Standing now, you glanced back at Arthur, still sleepily adrift in the sea of blankets.

Cognizant of every creek and groan of the worn wooden planks beneath your feet, you walked nimbly across the room. The ark to save you from the flood, the door, was just within reach. Before boarding, you looked back at the sleeping man with a crinkle in his brow. Worry always seemed to plague him, even in his sleep. Part of you wondered what would happen if you stayed, how he'd react to waking with you in his arms, but you didn't even get to finish the thought.

Distracted by your own yearning, you got swept away in the debris of cowboy left by the previous night's tsunami of liquor. The heel of your boot caught on his gun belt, dragging the damn thing–– and everything attached to– it across the floor. 

The rouse was up then, the room filling with the racket of scrapping metal. Arthur's cattleman fell from its holster, striking the floor with a jarring clatter. The gunslinger jolted awake, and his hand instinctively shot to his side, searching for the very weapon that caused the racket in the first place.

His shoulders relaxed when it dawned on him that he wasn't in danger and was, in fact, looking at the one person who brought him a semblance of peace. He rubbed his face with both hands, wiping away the sleep and keeping out the morning sun. The room was silent now as the two of you marveled at each other.

"You stayed?" Disbelief and hangover thickened his already deep voice. 

"You asked me to," you answered quickly, "said you didn't want to do anything stupid."

Your words hung in the air, and you cursed yourself for acting so frantic. Arthur pretended not to notice, throwing the blankets off himself and walking around to your side of the bed. You didn't realize you were frozen all that time, an iceberg finally being thawed by the heat of him next to you. 

"Hope I didn't say anything more stupid than usual," he said, bending to retrieve his revolver. Seeing his belt still tangled around your feet, he offered a supporting hand while you fished yourself free.

"Youu get touchy and when you're drunk," you mused, feeling the awakeness dissipate with his hand in yours. "And sentimental." Upright again, you dangled the belt in front of him.

He chuckled nervously, buckled himself back in, and put the gun back in its holster, "Yeah, that sounds about right. M'sorry if I– "he scratched at his beard, frowning and internally fighting to find the right words.

"Whiskey does that to a man," You joked, trying to ease the new tension between you. Arthur nodded slowly, then shook his head and turned his back to you as the memories of last night came crashing back. 

"Ain't an excuse." Shame cast a dark veil over his handsome face. "Ain't an excuse for me to do what I did. Say what I said. I mean––talkin' like that, actin' like that—" he settled back down onto the bed, clasping his hands in front of him. His jaw was clenched like you'd seen after a job gone wrong or a disagreement with Dutch. "You're too good— too sweet for me to treat you like some —"

"Arthur..." you cut in on his self-deprecating monologue, sat beside him, and laid a hand on his knee. He seized that opportunity to lace his fingers in yours.

And his gorgeous blue eyes sucked you in. You were swimming again, more like floating away in them. His eyes were water, and his voice lulled you like waves.

"Want you to know I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable or self-impose, I just—" Then he stopped himself and tore his ocean eyes away from yours again. "I just let the liquor get the best of me."

Your face fell despite you willing it not to, and you started to retreat into yourself, a lump swelling in your throat. Of course, everything had been taken out of context with the effects of the liquor. You should've known better, should've known that's just how he is. He'd have danced with anybody; would've said the same things to the next woman helping him up the stairs. He didn't mean it; he never did when he was drunk.

And then his grip tightened a desperate urgency to keep your hands in his. He shook his head as if reading your mind and dispelled everything you'd thought to yourself.

"Wasn' too far gone though. Not gone enough that I don'tremember what I said—what I meant—it wasn't just the whiskey talkin'." How his rugged man could soften himself so much and take your breath away would remain beyond you. His thumb stroked your knuckles tenderly, his eyes bore into you, and he swallowed.

"I know better. If I want a lady, I gotta court her right. I might've been raised rough, but I got enough sense to know that much."

Your four hands seemed to have minds of their own, twisting together as if trying to close the distance between you.

"Oh, Arthur," it was barely a whisper. You didn't know what to say, but you scooted in closer to him.

"Ain't good at this kind of talk," he confessed, "but whatever I said, I meant it."

There was a look in his eyes, almost pleading, like he couldn't bear the thought of holding it in anymore, couldn't bear you not knowing how he felt. You placed your hand soft on his cheek.

"You are stupid," you teased, pressing your forehead to his. He returned a chuckle and locked his fingers around your wrist, needing desperately to feel your skin under the tips of his fingers. He had to make sure this was real––that you were real— that this was happening, and he wasn't still trapped in some drunken hallucination from the night before. Blood rushed to his head, turning his ears a bright vermilion. With his other hand, he caressed your cheek despite the self-doubt pumping through him. 

And then you were submerged again, his lips an undertow, dragging you beneath the waves as they cut the air from your mouth. Drowning wasn't so bad as long as you were drowning in him. 

And the kiss lingered, both of your hearts pounding in your chest. You could've just about melted into him, but you pulled away as the town clock struck eight, its chimes slicing through the moment. Your hand dropped from his face heavily into your lap.

"Should get back," you sighed. "Got chores to do and all. Don't want Grimshaw to lose her head. She ain't exactly a fairy godmother."

Arthur's shoulders lifted with amusement, and he brushed a piece of your hair out of your face with a contained smile.

"I'm sure they're handling things just fine without you. Take yer time getting back; get a meal, have bath, wash the night away. I'm sure that weren't too pleasent––sleeping beside me and all."

It was all too pleasant, and you wanted to do it again soon. But you were on your way. Arthur put his boots back on and walked you down the stairs to the hitching post. You tried not to squeal as he gripped your hips tight and lifted you onto your house.

"Come back tonight," he said, stroking the animal's muzzle. An edge of nervousness scratched at his voice once more. "Spend the night with me, for real this time."

You departed, the lingering warmth of a kiss he'd left on your hand still tracing your skin. And, of course, you'd return.

next

[homunculus-argument]

look up shoulder holsters. you could probably diy something similar but just put a bunch of spikes and stuff on the straps.

When I first started talking about getting shoulder pads, my boyfriend was baffled by what the ever-loving fuck would I need those for, and explaining that they emphasise the shoulder was not sufficient explanation. A little bit of back-and-forth was had, before it turned out that he had never heard of shoulder pads as a fashion item, and I in return had never heard the term "shoulder pad" being used on tactical armour (illustrated below presumably in its natural habitat, on a cop:)

And that being said, my anonymous advisor, even I do not know what shoulder holsters are in non-weapon-carrying context.

[sunschay]

The Anger of the Soul | Natasha Romanoff! x Gender Neutral Rogers Reader.

After an unsuccessful mission, the reader ends up having trouble controlling their own anger and injures their hands. Natasha takes care of their injuries and feelings, and everything ends up going beyond what she planned.

Note: This is my first oneshot so forgive me for any spelling mistakes below, I hope you enjoy this.

Warnings: None.

Fluff, soft angst.

Word count: 1,4 K

The shrill sound of ambulance sirens was too much for their ears. All that blood, that dirty earth, building debris and rubble on the ground, it was too much. The mission had failed. An excruciating pain spreading through their wrist brought them back to reality, staring at the empty gym ahead. They had failed and the guilt would consume them until it corroded their nervous system, until it drove them to the limit. But Y/n already felt at the deepest limit. 

“Ugh!” They growled, landing blow after blow on the poor punching bag in front of them. 

There was something deep down in Y/n's mind that told them that the failure of the mission was their own fault, that everything there had resulted from their incompetence and misery. A strong kick knocked the bag to the floor, previously hanging by a thin sports rope under the gray ceiling of the gym, and they began to remove the bandages from their hands quickly. 

Their knuckles were raw, not only from the combat on their mission, but also from their little conflict with their own punching bag. Y/n sat down exhaustedly on the nearest bench, broad shoulders rising and falling along with their tired chest, their forehead sweaty and their once hopeful eyes now staring at a fixed point in the darkness of their own twisted mind. Footsteps sounded down the center hallway and they looked up furiously to see a red-haired female figure enter the gym. 

“You shouldn't take this out on yourself, Rogers.” Natasha scolded seriously, approaching to help them remove the bandages and holding their wrists. 

Natasha stood there, small bruises on her face, almost nonexistent. She was wearing a simple black tank top, tight uniform pants, boots, and still had her holster on, a revolver tucked into her waistband. Her red hair was impeccable as always, her green eyes worried and confused. 

The cuts on their hands and knuckles were deep, dried blood marking their pale skin like some of the many battle scars they carried with them. Y/n shook her head, lowering her gaze from them and trying to avoid Romanoff's gaze on their faces, she intimidated them and she knew it. 

“We could have done better. I failed at everything ” They groaned, getting up from the bench to go to the nearby bathroom and stick their hands under the cold water, trying their best to ignore the excruciating pain of every tiny cut and bruise. 

“We all fail, that doesn't mean the weight of the world has to be on your shoulders alone. You are my friend. Let me help.” The redhead asked as she approached again, carefully grabbing her friend's wrists. 

No words came out of Rogers' mouth. They went back to the gym and sat under the bench while they allowed Natasha to clean the rest of the dried blood with a damp cloth, using a small tweezer to catch small shards of glass lost in the mission. Her eyes were beautiful and Y/N hated to think about it, they were friends. But they felt for her, things that friends shouldn't feel, and they would suppress it as soon as possible.

“I know you hurt the rest of your body, take off your shirt so I can take a look.” Natasha asked calmly and politely, placing the blood-soaked cloth in a pot of water, watching the clear water turn bright red. 

They took off their shirts, their eyes going anywhere and in any direction other than Natasha's. It seemed unusual in a way. Natasha was very respectful and skeptical, of course, but they still weren't used to simply taking off their shirts in front of her. It was somehow exposed. Romanoff noticed some bruises on Y/n's body, moving away to get some ice packs and some painkiller. 

“You don't have to do this, I don't want to be a burden, Nat.” She heard them speak again, her red eyebrows arching before looking at them deeply.  

“If you say you're a burden again, I'll give you a black eye myself.” The redhead whispered, her serious green eyes staring into theirs and then she sat down on the bench too. 

Natasha applied some of the cold ointment to her hands, carefully working it into Rogers' skin, massaging their tense shoulders and squeezing, hearing a few exhausted sighs in response. She subtly pressed the muscle in their bicep, biting her lip to keep the unprofessional thoughts from entering her mind. 

“Your hands are divine.” Natasha heard Rogers' soft whisper and smiled mentally, continuing the little massage. 

“Focus, Rogers.” She teased, her fingers trailing down the middle of their back. 

She felt them tense and then she quickly removed her fingers, seeing a cluster of deep scars in the middle of their spines. She already knew that S/n had those scars. War scars. Some were old, some they had earned during all their missions as the Avengers.  Natasha swallowed hard, pressing the ice pack to one of the deep, violent bruises on their arm, trying to breathe calmly as she helped her friend. 

“I feel so angry that even breathing feels wrong.” They whisper, their voices deep and hoarse with so much fury kept inside and stored inside themselves.

“..I don't want to feel like this anymore, but all I want most of the time is to break things. Without fear of the consequences, just break and smash anything that dares to move, Sam got hurt today because of me. ” They shook their heads, jaw clenching tightly. 

“No, he didn't! He got hurt because we were too far away to catch him and you carried him to the safest spot yourself. Y/n, you saved him.” Natasha corrected them, her warm hand cupping their faces with a simple, subtle touch. 

Y/n felt a small shiver at Romanoff's touch, their faces softening little by little and they slowly moistened their lips. Natasha's touch was like being on the edge of paradise. It was like a pure feeling, the purest and sweetest feeling in the world, an inevitable cliché that not even the redhead knew the power she had. 

“This anger consumes you. This anger makes you sick. We need to take care of it.” Natasha slid her hand over the middle of their chests, the sound of rapid heartbeats making her eyes close quickly. 

“I know exactly what destroys my anger, what calms and numbs my fury. I don't need anything else.” Rogers stated, their dark eyes flicking between Natasha's eyes and her lips. 

Natasha blinked in confusion, not taking a single step away from them. She watched Rogers lean closer, their now soft breath landing on Romanoff's porcelain face. And then, with a firm, slow movement, their fingers gripped her slender waist, pulling her close before pressing their lips to hers. 

Natasha's lips were full, soft as lying on a lawn full of fresh roses. The feel of her skin on theirs sent a shock through both their bodies, which were in a state of deep frenzy. Romanoff closed her eyes, her hand instinctively grabbing their shoulder, squeezing gently before returning the kiss with passion, her body starting to burn in flames. 

Y/n kept one hand on her waist, the other long hand snaking down the agent's body until it sank into her red hair, her fingers getting lost in the fiery, red softness. Natasha let out a small gasp when their tongues met for the first time, the innocence of the first kiss slowly escaping between silent lines. 

“You are the solution. You are the cure for my rage, Nat.” Rogers whispered, their lower lip being slowly bitten by Natasha. 

“Before I thought we shouldn't rush so much... now all I need is you, no matter how long it takes.” Romanoff sighed, feeling a small trickle of saliva leave their lips.

They turned as soon as they heard footsteps, still glued to each other when a Steve entered the room, half in uniform, stained with blood and with cuts on his face. He looked suspiciously between the two, his mouth slightly open in an 'O' and then took a deep breath.

“I think I'd better come back later.” Their brother announced, his face slightly red and his blond hair completely disheveled.

“Great idea, Steve.” Y/n shook her head, hearing an embarrassed laugh from Natasha.

They felt Natasha's arms snake around their shoulders, her sweet yet mysterious scent filling their senses, their body that was once tense and completely filled with anger now softened. Calm. Tranquil. A well of tranquility, literally. All Y/n really needed was Natasha with them. They needed her, not just to control their anger. They needed her because their souls were destined for each other, and that would never change.

“Okay. You can relax now.” Natasha murmured, tightening her embrace around them.

[wingedjellyfishflight]

Hands Off

You tell Ghost that you're pregnant. He is ecstatic and wants to shout to the world. When you say you want to keep it quiet for a bit, he agrees and understands. Anything for you. Unfortunately, he can not curb his protective tendencies that have now ramped up to a 15/10. You're honestly surprised that he allows either of you to leave the house or for you to be away from him from any length of time. While he has always carried a pistol holstered at his waist, now he carries a minimum of two and an assortment of knives, first aid supplies, and anything else he thinks you might possibly need. This includes ginger in a minimum of two forms just in case you start feeling sick.

It takes less than a week for everyone to find out. Not because Ghost can't keep his mouth shut, but because he. Can. Not. Shut. It. Off. The moment any of the men crowd you, he is inserting himself between you and them, becoming a solid wall with a glare that could immolate a weaker person on the spot. You have to send him on errands to get any space at all, making for some concerned glances and raised eyebrows. When König pushes you playfully while he is across the room, Ghost explodes. Knocking König to the ground and pinning him there with a knife to his throat. König holds his hands up in surrender, confused as to what happened. It is your hand curling around his shoulder and your pleading voice in his ear that redirects him. He whips around, one boot planted firmly on König's chest and caresses your belly carefully, asking over and over if you are both ok.

You smile weakly at the room at large as they stand in shock. "Surprise! I'm pregnant." You could hear a mouse fart in the silence that follows. Then, weakly, "Congrats, Bubu" from the floor. "Oh, no. Ghost, let him up." Ghost moves his boot reluctantly, dragging it across König's chest. You punch his arm for being such a brat, but his face shows zero remorse. As König stands, the room breaks out into whispers. Your face flushes in embarrassment, and Ghost starts digging in his pockets. "Ginger chew? Hard candy? Emesis bag? Are you sure the baby is ok?" He is nearly feral trying to care for you. It starts with a quiet snicker from Soap, then the team begins laughing in full force.

"Never thought I'd see Ghost panic."

"Is he like this all the time now?"

"Ghost, you know we will keep her safe." The last is earnestly said by Captain Price.

"Then keep yer bloody mitts off! God damn touchy-feely pricks." You wrap an arm around his waist. "Our touchy-feely pricks, Ghost. Our friends."