#stretch those Art Muscles or somethin like that

[pikkish]

🌧 with Doom Guy?

When d'you suppose he last had time to stop n feel the rain?

[leaderoffestivals]

CROSS FIRE: Strength and Strength Ch 2

Kuro: Oi oi, what the hell’s that? Yer ain’t a Mama, yer just ‘playin’ house’, aren’t ya? What’s more, Tetsu’s pride won’t ever allow him to ask fer help like—

Tetora: Mama, please~!

Kuro: that—OI!

Scenario Writer: Kino Seitarou (with Akira) Season: Summer Characters: Kiryu Kuro, Mikejima Madara, Nagumo Tetora, Sazanami Jun, Tomoe Hiyori Proofed by: @ryuseipuka​, Skyress

< The next day. In Ensemble Square, the Dojo.> 

Kuro: 1, 2, 3, 4… …

… … Whoops. I started countin’ out loud outta habit. 

I just can’t get over the feelin’ of bein’ Captain and soundin’ out the count during warm-up, even when I’m doin’ stretches by myself, huh~ ♪

5, 6, 7, 8… …

(Sound of the door opening.)

Madara: Yo~, Kuro-san. You’re going aaall out for practice today~ ♪

Kuro: Oh, Mikejima, huh? This is rare. Are you here fer a workout, too? 

Madara: Yup. The scope of my idol activities have been reduced enough as it is. If I don’t show up for Circle activities every once in a while, my existence would really be forgotten, riiight? 

Besides, I don’t have anything better to do right now~. It’s not a bad idea to play to my heart’s content while I still can. 

… … That’s how it is, Kuro-san. Since you’re stretching right now, how about pairing up with me? 

We’ve been training buddies for quite a while now. It must’ve been especially lonely for you when I wasn’t around, right? ♪

Kuro: It’s not like I particularly missed ya or anythin’, but whatever. I’ll accept yer offer of some easy company. 

Would ya mind stickin’ close to my back? I want to give my back muscles a real good stretch. 

Madara: I don’t mind at aaall. Ready, and go… …

Kuro: Ohhhh~, that feels terrific as hell. Just as one would expect from a big guy, like, yer real stable. I’m able to stretch without havin’ to worry. 

Alright, it’s my turn next—

(Sound of door opening again.)

Tetora: This is terrible, this is just SO TERRIBLE!

Kuro: Hm, Tetsu?

Tetora: AH! Taisho, Mikejima-senpai! It’s great that the both of you are here!

Have you seen this flyer that’s been posted outside the dojo? 

Kuro: Nope, I didn’t notice anythin’ like that… … What’s gotten you so upset about it? 

It can’t be anythin’ that bad, even if it says the Circle’s about to be shut down or somethin’. You don’t have to go gettin’ upset over somethin’ as trivial as a flyer. 

Tetora: Th-that’s true, but errrm… Please take a look at this!

Madara: What’s this… …? [Recruiting Those With Pride In Their Strength! A Search For The Strongest Man In ES]... …?

The P-Association should be the ones in charge of putting up this ad. It seems to be a job offer of some sort.

Tetora: Yes, that’s right! And the content of this job recruitment is obviously aimed at us from SHIN; in other words, it’s a letter of challenge! We have no choice but to accept it, right?!

Madara: U~mmm. I’m not feeling any attraction whatsoever towards the title of ‘The Strongest Man’, though. 

Tetora: Please don’t say such a thing! The entire pride of SHIN is at stake here, you know~!?

The martial arts Circle SHIN must definitely be the one to win the title of ‘The Strongest Man’! Taisho, you must think so too, right?

Kuro: Me? I ain’t particularly interested either, but… …

Well. Since Tetsu feels so strongly about it, it wouldn’t hurt to go and just hear ‘em out, I guess?

Tetora: Hooray! As expected of Taisho, you have such an open mind! ☆ And, if you don’t mind, Mikejima-senpai, you definitely have to come join us, please!

I’ve been hearing so much about you from Morisawa-senpai for ages now, but we’ve never had much opportunity to work together. I’d absolutely love to have a chance to do that now!

Madara: Hmm? Aren’t you being unusually pushy about this?

But since you’ve gone and put it like that, I guess there’s just no helping it. If you were to ask me again by saying, “Mama, please~!” in a reeeally sweet voice, perhaps I’ll respond favourably to your request after all?

Kuro: Oi oi, what the hell’s that? Yer ain’t a Mama, yer just ‘playin’ house’, aren’t ya? What’s more, Tetsu’s pride won’t ever allow him to ask fer help like—

Tetora: Mama, please~!

Kuro: that—OI!

Tetora: Fu~fu~fu~. For the sake of discovering ES’ Strongest Man, I’ll grin and endure doing this much at least!

(Besides, if it happens that this flyer is really aiming to decide who the strongest man in ES is—

Then the truth behind last year’s Dragon King Competition and the real strength of Mysterious Fighter M will also be revealed! Haha!) 

<Meanwhile, in the Training Room…>

Hiyori: Jun-kun, Jun-kun, come take a look at this! 

Jun: Hmm? “Recruiting Those With Pride in Their Strength”~?

Ohiisan, did you really come all this way to the Training Room just to show this to me?

Hiyori: Yes, yes! I would never be caught dead doing anything as stinky and sweaty as muscle training. I’m already fit enough from normal lessons as is! 

Jun: That’s easy for you to say, but Ohiisan’s actually a pretty chubby guy, you know?

Hiyori: Seriously? How rude of you to use the word ‘chubby’ to describe me! A more appropriate way of expressing it would be ‘possessing moderate muscle tone’; but you don’t know anything about being polite with your words at all, do you, Jun-kun?

Jun: Well, if Ohiisan says so, I guess. 

But then~, ‘Those with pride in their strength’, hu~h… I don’t know what this project is about, but it smells pretty darn fishy. 

Hiyori: Haha! You’re worrying way too much about it, don’t you think? This isn’t the Reimei Academy of old, after all. This job is offered by the P-Association, so isn’t it likely that Anzu-chan will be in charge of this?

Jun: Ah~... … I get it now. So, this project is Anzu-san’s doing, huh? 

It’s kinda surprising, but that girl’s into well-built bodies and stuff like that for some reason. She says and does pretty weird things sometimes, too. 

When we bumped into each other here the other day, she actually said that she wanted to feel my muscles. 

Hiyori: Hmm? She must definitely have been very tired. 

Anyway. How about it, Jun-kun? Do you have what it takes to become ‘The Strongest Man in ES’?

Jun: Huh? Why are you talking as if it’s already decided that I’m gonna be part of this?

Hiyori: Because it’s interesting, that’s why! And I would also like to see Jun-kun’s muscles actually be useful for something for once ♪

Jun: Man! This guy’s honestly always making unreasonable demands of me… …

How do you plan on explaining this to Ibara in the first place? 

You know how he is; He’ll probably say, “You’ll ruin the image of Eden,” or “Don’t go working for Anzu-san as you please,” and stuff like that. 

Hiyori: Oh, there’s absolutely no need to explain anything at all! We’re blessed with the tools of modernity after all, so we can check in with each other on our smartphones instantly ♪

And so you see, I’m going to use ‘HoldHands’ to send a message to Ibara! And I’m going to say, “Jun-kun is interested in this flyer!”... … like this~ ♪

Jun: AH~! Wait a damned minute, Ohiisan! What are you doing—

(Phone buzzes.)

Hiyori: Ohhh. Just as one would expect from Ibara, he’s always so quick to reply! What does he say… …?

“It seems interesting, so you may proceed as you wish. It has been my long-cherished wish that Jun’s useless muscles be useful for some kind of work too.” There you go~ ♪

Jun: That bastaaard~... …!

GODDAMN! This conversation’s progressing way too smoothly, dammit! There’s nothing more annoying than two people who’re in cahoots with each other… …!

Hiyori: Fufu~! Are you going to protest this decision that’s been sanctioned by both Ibara and myself? If you think you can do it, then go ahead and try!

Jun: Really? This guy is just too stubborn, that’s why… … 

Since there’s nothing I can do about it, I’ll approach this job offer with an open mind. I’ve only worked with Anzu-san a few times before this, and there’s probably still a lot I can learn from her. 

Hiyori: Yes, yes! Very good! I'm not too fond of the expression ‘approach with an open mind’ because it sounds too much like something that Ibara would say, but—

—It would be a good experience to work beyond the boundaries of the agency and the unit every once in a while, don’t you think? That’s what I call fine weather… …! ☆

—————-To be continued——————-

Chapter 1   /  Chapter 3

Translator’s Notes:

[ddarker-dreams]

Sweet Talkin’. Yan Dabi x Reader [COMM]

There’s been an abnormal amount of sirens tonight.

It should be unnerving -- and to an extent it is -- but this isn’t what keeps you awake. Not that, or even the dogs barking outside accompanied with an occasional derogatory yell. With a heavy heart, you can say that you’ve gotten used to all of that noise. No, it’s something different that steals you from the welcoming comfort of a deep slumber. 

The thing that truly keeps you up is the anticipation of what is to come. Or more precisely, who. 

The bright glow of your phone strains your tired eyes, but it’s your best shot at finding entertainment. Squinting at the blinding light, exhaustion seeps into your being despite your best efforts to ward it off. No matter how much caffeine you drink later on in the day, it’s not enough to to thwart your natural inclinations to sleep.

For most, nighttime is a relaxing time of day that’s coveted. It brings a time of solitude, to reflect and rest up for the next day. While you wish you could return to the days where you felt like that, it’s long behind you now. Instead, you evade sleep, in fear of what could occur when you’re in the defenseless state. 

An illusion of control is better than none at all.

“You’re gonna get dark circles under those pretty eyes if you keep staying up this late.” 

A deep voice rumbles from the entrance to your shared room, one that you instantly recognize. Even in your groggy state, your emotions heighten in his presence. Turning off your phone and placing it down, you stretch your arms out, a yawn leaving your lips in the process.  

So he’s back. 

“Yeah, yeah…” you grumble back, caring little for the teasing comment. After feeling around your nightstand, a click resonates, light illuminating your room. Once your eyes adjust, you spot your unwelcome visitor, who makes himself at home. Dabi walks towards you, your bed creaking under his added weight as he sits down. Untying his shoes, he throws them carelessly in the corner.

Sensing your staring, he looks over his shoulder and grins at you. “Awe, you miss me or somethin’? How cute.” 

A groan leaves your lips, and you reach to throw a pillow at him. He easily deflects it with a snicker, working on taking his shirt off next. At least now that he’s back you feel more inclined to sleep, knowing that he can’t sneak up on you. Splatters of dark vermilion catch your attention, mouth curling downwards into a frown. 

If there’s anything you’ve learned in your time with Dabi, it’s that you shouldn’t ask where the blood stains come from. Ignorance is bliss, right? It’s still an unnerving sight, especially since you know it isn’t his. 

The relationship you two share is nothing if not unconventional. His occupation -- if you can even call it that -- has him coming and going at unholy times at night. Sleep is difficult to come by, not knowing when he might make an appearance. It’s what leads you to stay up some nights, a preferable experience to tossing and turning with anxious thoughts plaguing you.

As long as you stay in your designated place, Dabi holds true to his promise of doing you no harm. Thinly veiled threats under the pretense of being your “roommate” lead you to the current day, an awkward routine settling in. For all it’s worth, it could be worse. You’re acutely aware of what Dabi is capable of, having seen the ashes of corpses blurred out in the news. 

Why he’s taken a liken to you is beyond you. It still beats dying, only by a sliver. 

“There are some leftovers in the fridge,” you tap your phone, reading the time. Three in the morning. Great, and you have work tomorrow too. “I think I’ll give sleeping a shot now that you’re back.” 

Dabi raises an eyebrow at this, a fresh shirt without blood stains now on. “You always sleep when I get back. It hurts my feelings. What, am I not good enough company?”  

‘If I’m being honest, not really.’

He grins at how you shiver, lazily crawling over to be by your side. His sudden presence fills your nose with unknown scents, ranging from smoke to burnt leather. Underneath is hints of his cologne, all mixing together to disorient you further. Dabi loves riling you up, testing the limits of what you can handle. 

You take a deep breath, hugging your knees to your chest. As long as you don’t let it get to you, it’ll be fine. He always gets bored eventually, leaving you to do as you please. That’s what you’ll aim for.

“It’s not that. I just have stuff to do tomorrow, and I don’t like being exhausted. It’s my long shift.” 

His trademark grin melts away, furrowing eyebrows and a grimace taking its place. Mentioning your life outside of him is a tricky battle, and you can’t help but regret mentioning it. Being in a sleep deprived state is a major disadvantage in your interactions with him.

“This again? I thought I told you to quit. Rent or whatever won’t be an issue, I’ll handle it.” Dabi scoots closer to you, wrapping an arm around your bare shoulder. His skin feels rough against yours, coarse hands rubbing circles into  you. You bite your lip at the sensation, hair on the back of your neck standing. 

“I... I like my job. Sure, it can be irritating at times, but it gives me something to do during the day. I’d go stir crazy without something concrete to focus on.” The words are heartfelt, unfiltered. When he responds in silence you worry you’ve made a mistake, upsetting him with your defiance.

He huffs against your neck, lifting his head and shooting you a displeased look.  His voice is a low murmur, one that reverberates into the core of your very being. “Always making trouble for me..." 

Dabi’s grip around you tightens, and you gulp thickly. With how casual he speaks to you, it can be easy to forget the major power imbalance. Instead of greeting you with insults, or worse, he lightly flicks your forehead.

You blink, baffled.

“Don’t most people hate their jobs? I figured you’d be jumping at the idea of having more free time, or whatever. So you can focus on other things.” 

It’s not a confession you were expecting, your cheeks flushing at the considerate nature of his words. While it’s true quitting your job is an appealing thought, it creates a semblance of balance within your now chaotic life. Helping you stick to a schedule, in the same way school used to. 

Now feeling confident in expressing yourself, your taut muscles relax into his touch. “I’m too tired to think about it properly, if I’m being honest. I don’t know how you can stay up this late all the time without losing it.” 

Deflecting from the previous topic makes you feel better. If Dabi notices your intentions he doesn’t point them out, allowing you to take control of the conversation without complaint. He must prefer it over when you’d just shake and cry in his presence.

“You get used to it, sweetheart,” he drums his fingers against you, smirking. “I’ll make a night owl outta you yet.” 

Any implications in his words go straight over your head.

“As tempting an offer as that is, I think I’ll pass. ” 

He shrugs at your indifference, removing his arms from your frame. The lack of enveloping warmth causes you to shiver, Dabi searching through his bag. You peak over his shoulder out of curiosity, his scarred hands settling on an object which he pulls out. 

It’s a copy of Animal Crossing, in all of its beautiful glory. You wipe your eyes, unsure if what you’re seeing is reality.

“W-what?” you guffaw before your brain has the chance to stop you, jaw agape and head tilted. Dabi places it on your lap, and returns to his previous position of holding you. There’s clear amusement in his eyes at your stunned state, relishing in your every reaction.

“Did I get the wrong thing? This is that game you wanted, isn’t it?” 

It had to have been a week or so ago. You lamented to him about not being able to afford this, not even realizing he was giving it any attention. To think he remembered, and acted on it for your sake... is a touching sensation. Maybe he is capable of selflessness after all.

The cute box art puts a smile on your face, one that Dabi stares at. 

“I have to say, I’m surprised,” you pick it up, looking at the back with wide eyes. “Did the cashier give you a funny look when you picked this out?” 

‘I really need to start thinking before I speak.’

He shakes his head at your blunt comment, not taking any offense. “I didn’t get it that way.”

‘Oh, well... better not ask more than necessary. There’s no blood on it so at least that’s a good sign.’

Wiggling free from his grip, you rotate your legs over the side of the bed, intent on getting your switch. An opportunity like this must be taken advantage of, and you’ve wanted to play this game for some time now. Dabi must’ve read your mind, and pulls you back to him with little effort before you get the chance. 

“If I remember correctly, you said you were tired just a few minutes ago.” 

He plucks the game from your fingers, and places it on the side furthest from you. What a cruel world this is, to have paradise so close and yet so far. You can’t help the pout that forms at his actions.

“The situation changed, I’m wide awake now.” you explain to an unmoved Dabi, launching over his lap to get your coveted game back. He picks it up, lifting it over your head with a chuckle. So that’s how it’s going to be. 

Defeat settling in, you retreat for now. A sigh leaves your lips, arms crossing over your chest. You should’ve known better, Dabi has made it clear to you that he wants your attention. Looks like you’ll have to wait until after work to get a taste of Animal Crossing. 

There’s a glint of mischievous in his azure eyes, one that you’ve seen more often than you wish. Dabi sighs in mock hurt, placing a hand over his heart. “Not even so much as a thank you for my efforts. That’s cold, babe. Real cold.” 

“I’m sorry, you’re right. Thank you, it means a lot.” 

He shakes his head, clicking his tongue. “That’s not what I was looking for. Try again, sweetheart.” 

A flurry of thoughts fly through your mind, all competing with one another to offer a solution. Does he want money for it? He should know that you’re not capable of producing that amount, or you would’ve bought the game for yourself. Dabi gives you a moment to think, before offering the answer to you.

He puts his pointer finger on your lip, maintaining eye contact while doing so. 

“Oh, t-that.”

“So glad to see that you’re finally catching on.” 

It could be the summer heat winning over your AC, the room suddenly feeling warmer than it did a few moments prior. You look down at your blankets, focusing on anything other than the person in front of you. This level of teasing is nothing new with Dabi, he always manages to fluster you. 

He sits, relaxed, waiting for you to make a move. There aren’t any other options that you can think of, so you give into what he wants. Moving closer to his face, you feel his warm breath fanning against your skin. Your hand twitches, pressing against his chest to offer balance.

Squeezing your eyes closed, you tilt your head, soft lips brushing over his own. All of your movements are hesitant, your entire body feeling like it’s on fire. Heart pounding violently against your chest, you move to pull back. Only to discover his hand on the back of your head is stopping you from doing so.

Dabi slants his lips back over your own, nibbling your bottom lip. You freeze, the unexpected affection leaving you incapable of reacting. It’s when you squeak that he finally loosens his grip, opening his eyes to take in your embarrassed countenance. 

All things considered, it wasn’t an unpleasant experience. 

You cover your burning face with your shaking hands, feeling the warmth emanating off of you. He makes it even worse by chuckling, the low rumble filling you with indignation. There never is hope of catching a break with Dabi. 

“You might be the one with a fire quirk after all,” he leans forward, placing a hand against your hot forehead. “Mm... that look you’re giving me is too much. You have to be doing it on purpose at this point.” 

Fed up with his relentless teasing, you smack his hand away and purse your lips. He props his arms behind his head, letting you glare at him to your heart’s content. From his lack of reaction, you get the feeling he isn’t too intimidated by you. 

“Whatever, I’m going to bed,” you huff, returning to your side and pulling up the blankets. He doesn’t make a move to stop you, and you take the opportunity to lay down on your side. Refusing to look at him, you focus on the wall. 

Dabi pokes your cheek, which you ignore. 

He lets out a long sigh at your antics, joining you underneath the covers. You hear shuffling behind you, and can’t help but wonder what it is that he’s up to. Maybe he’s succumbing to his own exhaustion, and will let you sleep in peace? What a perfect world it’d be if that’s the case.

The thought is entertained for three seconds before you’re pulled against his firm chest from behind, toned arms snaking around your torso and staying there. His body is always so warm. It doesn’t help that you’re already embarrassed from before. Dabi grumbles something incoherent, placing his head in the crook of your neck. 

Accepting the situation for what it is, you stop moving. He reaches over you to turn off the light, and darkness surrounds you once more. All you can hear are your own labored breaths, and rapidly pounding heart. It might be impossible to sleep like this. 

You’ll call out of work for tomorrow. 

“... Dabi?” you whisper, voice soft and barely audible. He grunts in response, nuzzling further into your neck. For the past few months, there’s been a thought that haunts you at every turn. One that you can never find an answer to, and have been too frightened to investigate beyond your own musings.

It’d be easy to play this off as sexual attraction alone, yet a voice in the back of your head says otherwise. That what Dabi feels for you goes beyond that, into a sinister territory that you want desperately to avoid. Why is it he’s patient -- borderline kind -- with you, yet cruel to everyone else? None of it makes logical sense, his actions erratic and seemingly without reason.

Maybe you shouldn’t know. Still, you ask, against your better judgement. 

“Why do you like me so much?” 

You feel how he smiles against the skin of your neck, the sensation stirring up unknown emotions within. He squeezes you against him once, letting out a low hum as he considers your words. While waiting for him to speak, you hold in a breath. 

“Dunno. Just do,” Dabi offers a noncommittal response, one that leaves you greatly unsatisfied. It seems he’s not even aware of it himself, the effect you have on him unlike anything he’s ever experienced. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it.” 

“... Alright, I won’t.” 

“Good. Now get some sleep, before I ask you to kiss me again.” 

[gorochanfanclub]

Sentiment

Majima x Unnamed Female Character

Summary: Majima and his girlfriend are watching a movie on the floor in their living room. When he reaches out to hold her, she is overcome with a feeling she can’t name. 

Contains: fluff, a bit of angst (maybe), hinted depression, Majima being the secret softie he is

A/N: My first time writing a fic for Majima. Hope you guys like it! Wrote this with a specific person in mind (one of my OCs lmao) but left it purposefully extremely vague who the woman was so anyone reading this can imagine whatever they want. Comment below if you figure out what movie they’re watching!! It is indeed a real movie and I made sure to hint at it pretty hard lol, it’s one of my own personal favorites I think Majima actually would like. Also think it’s worth noting I wrote this entire thing while listening to 1984 by Junko Yagami on loop lmao. Was inspired by an edit on Instagram using this song. (edit was by eyeglassez on there)

She nearly had drifted off to sleep when it happened. The comfortable weight of him on top of her, his heat warming her, the feeling of his hannya patterned ink under her sleep heavy hand, even the low, humming voices on the TV illuminating the dark room, all threatened to carry her away to a land of peaceful dreams. 

As she lay on the bedroll in the living room, the soft cotton sheets cradling her like an infant, her left hand rest on Majima’s shoulder blade, the other next to her face. His right hand rest under her head, beneath the plush pillow she placed it on. His other rest dangerously close to her right, fingers mere millimeters apart. 

This wasn’t an uncommon position for the two to be in. She enjoyed his warmth, the cold of this world being soothed by his soft body heat. He reveled in the feeling of a body pressed to his, often coming up with the excuse, ‘fat tits like yers are better ‘n any pillow out there.’

She couldn’t even remember what was happening in the film Majima had insisted they watch together. It was a Hong Kong made film, one of those kung fu type movies Majima couldn’t seem to get enough of. Her eyelids get heavy as she tries to stay lucid enough to listen, knowing Majima would want to talk about it later, probably referencing lines from the movie for weeks to come. 

Straining them open, she sees a little girl on the screen, getting harassed by a group of boys just a few years older than her. They tug at the rainbow lollipop in her hand, attempting to rip it from her small hands. Suddenly, another boy, much too small to fight even one of the bullies, comes running in her defense, leaving the group to abandon the girl and fight the young hero instead. 

The screen then flashes to the same couple, grown adults now, yet the same hero and the same girl who never go to thank her savior. From a small box, the girl produces the swirly confectionary, handing it to the now adult man who had rescued her all those years ago.

She wasn’t sure what was going to happen next after that. Her drowsiness clouded her mind too much to even think about the intimacy of such a scene on the television. 

Perhaps Majima had felt touched by the story that unfolded before him, or perhaps he just wanted more to feel. Gently, his fingers stretch to hers, lacing their hands together next to her head. His usually gloved thumb, now lying naked in an embrace with another hand, gracefully rubbed the back of her palm. 

It was so soft, so feather light, she might not have noticed it had she been anyone else. Yet, she was her, and in an instant, all sleep that threatened to take her over was gone, full lucidity coming back to her as she nearly gasped. 

She stayed as still as a statue, hoping Majima wouldn’t notice the change in her breathing. Luckily he didn’t, his eye stayed glued to the screen, mindlessly holding onto her as he continued his action. 

Heart beating in her chest, she didn’t know how to react. He was being so… gentle. What did she do to be deserving of any of this kindness? 

Her eyes dilate, losing focus of the television and staring at nothing in particular. She feels her mind wander, the feeling of his warm skin on hers flooding her thoughts, the voices on the screen just in front of her being replaced with his. 

***

The night air breezed past them as they walked. It whipped through his bowl cut, blowing delicate strands into his one good eye, shielding it from her view. 

She could watch him forever. He was like a piece of fine art to her; all rigid and strong with the softest curves on his face. The neon lights seemed to illuminate his skin, making it shine with a heavenly glow from within. The snakeskin leather on his shoulder glittered in the night, each scale gleaming in turn. 

When he noticed her eyes boring holes into him, he turned his head with a smirk, “Ya keep staring like that, I got somethin’ on my face?” 

His eye twinkled as he joked, the brown of it turning to blue, then green, then purple as the street passed him by, its light forming a colorful kaleidoscope on his features. 

She was completely starstruck, the ability to form words long gone from her, her entire brain focused on taking him in. Her lips parted, trying to muster a response to his question, only awed breaths falling from them. 

As he smiled back, chuckling at her silence, she felt the heat rise to her cheeks, warming her face in the cold. The blush on her skin made his heart swell, though she would never know that. His smile falls for a second, his typically harsh features softening as they walk side by side, eyes never leaving one another. 

Not looking where she was going, her foot catches on something sticking up from the ground. She wasn’t sure what it could have been; perhaps it was an uneven paving stone, a discarded paper coffee cup, or even just her own clumsiness. Though, whatever it was, it had her falling to the ground fast. 

Long before she could recognize what was happening to her, a warm, leather gloved hand was gripping her forearm, halting her descent to the concrete beneath her feet. 

If she had been starstruck before, her head was spinning now, every nerve in her body feeling fuzzy in the proximity of the man looking down at her. At this angle, he looked ethereal, the moon above glowing on the back of his head like a halo. For just a moment, she felt he might sprout wings and fly her up to heaven. 

Swallowing, she feels him pull her up, standing her flush against him. The open hem of her jacket tickled his chest, sending a fluttering inside him. They were so close, almost close enough to feel his heart beat against hers. 

He scoffed cockily, his breath creating a misty cloud around him. When the fog cleared, he spoke, “Better watch where yer goin’, missy. Can’t have ya getting hurt on me, now can I?” 

The tenderness in his tone said more than his words had. What he meant to say was, ‘Please be careful, I want you safe,’ but the meaning got lost in translation from heartbeat to Japanese. 

Yet, she felt herself nodding, understanding perfectly what his original intention had been. 

***

His stirring on her chest brought her to the present. Hopefully he wasn’t getting up, she needed him there, weighing her down, keeping her grounded while her thoughts were anywhere but this Earth. 

Fortunately, Majima only sighs, his torso rising then falling under her still hand. He shifts slightly, his long legs moving against hers as he finds a new position atop her to lay. His head even shifts, hair rubbing against her chest, and nose gracing her night shirt. 

Staying still became harder and harder the more Majima moved. Every muscle in her body wanted to both tense and melt at the same time. Her heart beat so loudly against her chest, she could hear it in her ears. 

Looking down to the hand inside his, she bites her lip, trying to keep the quivering of it to a minimum. His grip on it tightens ever so slightly, and she is sure he knows she was staring at him. However, when she looks back to the screen, she sees fists flying and tensions rising, a sign that his grasp was only due to the suspense on screen.

At this she relaxes, feeling safe from his teasing for even just a moment. The last thing she wanted was for him to notice her nerves and have this moment end. 

Rotating her head gently, she looks up. The darkness of the ceiling seemed to reflect on her, reminding her that that was life before Majima; dark, bleak, flat, and devoid of all color and warmth. 

***

On days like these, she wanted nothing more than to just crawl up into a ball and fade away, her own existence crushing her like the heaviest burden there could be. It felt even hard to breathe, her lungs squeezing with sorrow. 

Yet, she trugged the streets, walking to the place she had promised to meet him. He wasn’t one for planning things but today was an exception he had said. Nishida told her he was feeling ‘uncharacteristically structured.’ So despite her aching being, she marched to meet him. 

He sat in the cafe, idly scrolling through his phone when she arrived. Meekly, she walked up to his table, feeling like being around him might be enough to soothe her soul. 

It wasn’t until she sat down that he looked up. All it took was that one glance from his right eye to bring light to her vision. Like stepping out of a tunnel, he showered her in sunlight. 

His lips turned up into a smile when he noticed her presence in front of him. He winked, shoving his phone into his pocket absentmindedly, right now, his only focus was on her. “Hey, darlin’,” he flirted, “it took ya long enough. Thought I might have t’ go lookin’ fer ya.” 

She mustered the strongest grin she could, forcing all her energy into imitating him, hiding whatever pain lingered just beneath the surface. Her own face felt so heavy though, and even just that simple action hurt, exhausting her to the bone. 

Even the most subtle change on her face was noticed by Majima. A lot of the time, she felt he could read her mind, see her soul. He always seemed to know what she was feeling, even when she didn’t know it herself. 

Her whole life, people only ever bothered to take her at face value, none dared to look beyond her mask; until him. He seemed to be the only person who could feel her, see her, and hear her the way she so desperately wanted to be felt, seen, and heard. 

Catching the pained expression she held, his smile fell, being replaced with one of almost shocking concern. “Wait, what’s wrong with ya? Ya look like half dead, sweetheart.” His brows furrowed as he studied her, eyes pushing back the veil to take a closer look. 

She only shakes her head, looking down in embarrassment. She never wanted to make him worry, to take away that smile she loved seeing. The guilt of his emotion pressed on her. 

He sighs, smacking the table with both gloved hands. “Well I can’t have ya sittin’ around all mopey like this,” he teases, sing song in his voice being exaggerated more than usual, like hands trying to lift her up. 

“Let’s get outta here,” he gestures with a thumb over his back. He takes a look around, scrunching up his face, “This place is a dump anyway.” 

He stands, looking down to her with soft eyes and a half smile. The sympathy in his features nearly broke her. He was so tender in the way he looked at her, trying to tell her ‘You’ll be okay, I’m right here,’ without speaking. 

A black hand extends to her, fingers spread wide open, awaiting her to place her own inside it. Shaking with anticipation and anxiety, she gives the hand what it wants. Gently, his glove closes around her skin, leading her to follow him into the street. 

Alone on the sidewalk and away from prying eyes and eavesdropping ears, his voice lowers, losing all semblance of its usual insincerity, “How about I treat you to some takoyaki? You like yours with extra sauce, don’t you?” 

***

The loud music of the film’s end credits snap her from her thoughts. Glancing back to the television, she watches the white letters roll up on a black screen. The names of the actors and production team stare back at her, reminding her she hadn’t been paying attention. 

As the music fades, and the credits finish out, the screen goes black, casting the room in a peaceful darkness. Only peaceful because he was here with her, shielding her from its harsh cold and uncertainty. 

She feels him chuckle on her chest, muttering more to himself than her, “Shit, that was pretty damn good. Can’t believe that punk was some natural born kung fu master, never saw that one coming.”

With a sigh, he goes to unwrap his hand from hers and grab the remote to turn the TV off. He removes his arm from under her pillow to push off her and get up. Feeling his grasp on her hand loosen, she instinctively tightens her own, her other hand pushing his shoulder back down onto her chest. 

Majima huffs, falling back onto her. Craning his head to try and look at her, he grumbles, “Jeez, lady, what’re you doin’?” 

Her grip on him only tightens more, fingers digging into him, scared he might leave her grasp and disappear into the night. Not able to contain herself anymore, her muscles tense under him. 

Her skin felt like it was on fire, every sensation of him on her burning hot with a feeling she couldn’t describe. Feeling her heart swelling to almost burst, she breathes deep, a stinging in her eyes becoming more and more prevalent. 

She wasn’t sure what was happening to her, why all of the sudden she felt like a dam had broken inside her, emotion gushing through the cracks and drowning her on dry land. 

Yet, of course he could tell. He always did. Squeezing her hand in his, he mutters to her, voice barely above a whisper. “You okay?” he asks tenderly, “I know it kinda got sappy there fer a minute but that ain’t no reason t’ cry.” Repeating his action from earlier, his thumb ghosts across her knuckles. 

It could have been his physical touch or the way his words touched her soul but either way, that was the last crack in the dam. A sob erupted from her throat- hot, almost steamy tears cascading down her cheeks and onto the pillow. 

She only grips him tighter, near to drawing blood with her nails on his back. Her head finds itself leaning against his silky black hair, cheek pressing firmly onto his skull. Nose buried in his dark locks, she chokes, tears still flowing like a waterfall, “I love you, Goro…”

The words fell from her lips like a prayer. Like it was the only important thing she would ever say. It felt like a confession, though the time for all that had long gone by. 

In her moment of frail weakness, Majima is finally able to push off her, just enough to look her in the eye. Her vision of him was not as clear as usual, the water blurring him and barring her from seeking refuge in his eye. Had she not been crying, she would have seen the change in his face. It faded slowly from concern to ardor, plush lips pressing together. 

Lifting his hand, he reaches it to touch her cheek, hot and wet from her overflow. Wiping some of the tears off her, he whispers, “I love you too, babe. More than ya know…” 

Leaning in and capturing her lips on his, he seals his promise.

[catsnkooks]

Beach Craze

Hardcase x reader x Jesse

summary: The Clone Wars had finally ended. The Republic had won. The whole galaxy was filled with the same exhilaration of victory, and everyone seemed to be celebrating. To celebrate, you were on a girl’s getaway with your two best friends. The three of you had planned it many years ago, as your office job on Coruscant could get boring at times, but travel was dangerous during the war. But now that it was over, you could enjoy the sultry beaches and open bar that the hotel you were staying at on Scarif boasted.

rating: PG-13

warnings: some mentions of Sexy Times but thats abt it, mostly fluff

word count: 4,187

a/n: this was meant to be out a month ago but here it is!! canon never happened, nope, everyone lived (except sheev). inspired by @notreallybeccab and @suddenly-clones beach fics and @suja-janee beach times art :’)

here it is on ao3!

The warm winds that made Scarif famous blew through your hair as you sat on your colorful beach towel, the soft sound of the waves of the calm water echoing beside you. You buried your feet in the soft, warm sand. You laughed along with your beautiful Twi’lek friend, Torva’ris, as your other friend, Narei, told you the story of her latest romantic escapade.

“So as I'm talking to her,” Narei continued, flipping one of her twin braids across her shoulder, “some guy comes up to us and says, ‘No need to fight ladies, I can share.’ And she says, ‘I'm a lesbian, jackass.’”

The three of you burst into laughter again. You lifted your head, your mouth and heart singing with the exhilaration of being happy and free and at peace.

The Clone Wars had finally ended. The Republic had won. The whole galaxy was filled with the same exhilaration of victory, and everyone seemed to be celebrating. To celebrate, you were on a girl’s getaway with your two best friends. The three of you had planned it many years ago, as your office job on Coruscant could get boring at times, but travel was dangerous during the war. But now that it was over, you could enjoy the sultry beaches and open bar that the hotel you were staying at on Scarif boasted.

Torva rolled her eyes beside you, wearing a white two-piece that accentuated the deep blue hue of her skin. “Ugh, men.”

Narei snorted on your other side, sheltered underneath her large umbrella, and you knew she was rolling her eyes under her dark sunglasses. She had already applied sunscreen to her pale skin liberally, but she said she wasn’t taking any chances. Her natural green, high-waisted bikini showed off her petite frame. “Tell me about it. I don’t know why I'm still attracted to them.”

You laughed at Narei’s frustrated comment. You leaned back on your own beach towel, admiring the way it complemented the color of your swimsuit—your favorite color. Your eyes traveled up the stretch of the beach to where another large group of people rested. You noticed a group of six men looking in your direction, nudging and laughing at each other.

“Don’t look now,” you began, nodding your head in the direction of the men, “but I think we might have attracted some more of them.”

Torva and Narei turned to look in the direction you indicated. Narei peered over the rims of her sunglasses. “Hm, looks like clones.”

“Oh?” Torva asked, raising her eyebrows appreciatively.

Narei studied them closer. “Looks like the 501st, 212th, and 104th from their colors.” You then remembered Narei worked as a secretary in one of the GAR offices. “I had a night with a guy from the 327th once. I hope he’s not here.” She paused. “Actually, I do, because General Secura is kinda hot.”

“Well, I guess we’ll find out,” you said, settling back on your elbows as you also studied the men coming towards you.

They were made for fighting, that much you could tell. Toned, defined muscles lined their torsos and arms. Bronzed skin tanned even deeper by a short time in the sun. Your eyes traced the V of their stomachs as it disappeared below the band of their swim trunks, colored to what you presume were their battalion colors: blue, gray, and yellow. They all had different hairstyles and facial markings, which, you supposed, was the only way you could tell them apart.

“Why didn’t you hook me up with one of them sooner?” you muttered to Narei, still letting your eyes wander appreciatively over the six men who were almost at your spot.

“You never asked,” Narei huffed.

“You ladies mind if we join you?” said the one with the Republic symbol over his face.

You shook your head and patted the sand beside you. “No, we don’t mind.”

They all seemed to grin at your words and sat down beside the each of you, introducing themselves. Beside Narei sat Boost and Sinker from the 104th, beside you, Jesse and Hardcase from the 501st, and finally, Boil and Waxer from the 212th beside Torva.

“Did you see Tup brought a metal detector with him?” Hardcase said to you left, grinning at Jesse who sat to your right. You also noticed the way his eyes subtly roamed over your figure before coming up to wink at his brother.

Jesse rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I did. I'm surprised Dogma didn’t chew him out for bringing it.” He picked up your hand and rubbed small circles into your palm with his thumb, looking into your eyes and smirking. “He’s a big stickler on illegal contraband and everything.”

“I agree with Tup,” said Boost. Sinker was too busy checking Narei out to contribute to the conversation, his fingers dancing over her thigh. “You can find some interesting things with a metal detector.”

“Well, the only thing I'm interested in is getting some sun,” Torva said, flipping one of her lekku over her shoulder. Waxer reached up to smooth it along her back.

You nodded emphatically and groaned. “Ugh, yes. I missed it after being in an office for so long.” You lifted your arms, not missing the way Jesse and Hardcase’s eyes followed them. You let them fall back down with a sigh, laying one back in Jesse’s grasp. “It’s been way too long.”

Narei snorted. “Speak for yourself.”

Sinker finally looked up from where his eyes were trained on her thigh. “You allergic to the sun or somethin’?”

���You could say that,” she replied, gesturing to all of her protective measures. “I don’t tan, I burn.”

Boil let out a bark of laughter and grinned at Waxer. “Do you remember when we were on Ryloth and General Kenobi got that awful sunburn?”

Waxer laughed. “Yeah, I remember how Cody gave him so much shit for that.”

Torva perked up at the mention of her home world. “You’ve been to Ryloth?”

“Oh, I’ve been all over the galaxy, baby,” Waxer murmured, brushing a finger over her jaw.

Boil puffed out his chest. “Yeah, we were there for the Battle of Ryloth. Took out a whole battalion of droids there.”

Hardcase scoffed. “Those are rookie numbers.” He positioned his arm behind you and leaned in so his breath tickled your shoulder. “I couldn’t tell you how many of those clankers I’ve blown up.”

You giggled at his claim and the way his breath on your shoulder combined with Jesse’s incessant touch sent a rush of giddiness through you, leaving you feeling breathless. “Oh, really?”

“Oh, yeah?” Sinker snorted. “I bet I took out three battalions of clankers on Cato Neimoidia and that damn Viceroy’s personal ship.”

Narei ran her fingers through Sinker’s stark white hair, who leaned into her touch. “Oh, that sounds scary.”

“Nah, me and Sinker are the best shots in the 104th,” Boost said, sitting up straighter and grinning at her.

“You know you shouldn’t tell lies, Boost.”

Your group turned to look at the two men who had walked up to your spot. Narei detangled her fingers from Sinker’s hair and waved at them.

“Hi Master Kenobi, Master Plo,” she said. “Enjoying your visit?”

The two Jedi masters nodded.

“Yes, it has been quite relaxing,” said Master Kenobi.

“Though I think some of us might be enjoying it too much,” said Master Plo, who had spoken earlier. “Eh, Boost?”

Boost rubbed the back of his neck, his cheeks tinged a little pink. “I wasn’t lyin’, sir, just…ah….”

“Embellishing?” teased Jesse. Boost glared at him as you and Torva stifled your giggles.

The two generals chuckled at their trooper’s antics.

“Anyway,” Master Kenobi continued, turning to Narei, “the reason why we are here is because Padmé wanted to know if you wanted to meet the twins. She brought them down where we are stationed.” He motioned farther down the beach where you could see more people sitting.

“Oh!” Narei gasped, standing and disentangling herself from Boost and Sinker’s grasp. “Oh my goodness, yes! I would love to see them!” She pulled on your and Torva’s arms, pulling the both of you up. “You have to come see them! They're so cute!”

You didn’t notice the audible protests from your group of admirers as the three of you rushed off to see the babies. Boost and Sinker pouted, putting their heads on their hands, while Boil, Waxer, and Hardcase glared at their generals for interrupting their flirting. Jesse huffed and kicked at the sand.

“Beat by a kid that can't even walk yet,” he muttered, crossing his arms.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Obi-Wan teased, patting Jesse’s shoulder. “You’ll all have your chance soon enough.”

---

The babbling of the two infants mixed with the sound of the wind and the waves. You held a giggling Leia on your hip with Torva beside you making faces at her. Narei was cooing at Luke who was in Padmé’s arms.

“I'm sorry I couldn’t come see them sooner,” Narei said to the former senator. “You know how it gets at work sometimes, especially now that we’re at the end of everything.”

Padmé laughed. “Oh, yes I understand. Sometimes I do miss being in the Senate, but it is nice to come home and relax.”

“I bet these two are a handful,” Torva said, taking Leia from you and bouncing her on her hip.

“Oh, Anakin is worse than the both of them,” Padmé sighed, rolling her eyes. She looked over her shoulder where her husband was playing in the water with two others. “I suppose it’s a good thing he cares so much, but I didn’t think he was going to leave their sides.”

The three of you laughed at the image of the tall Jedi master worrying over the more than capable senator.

“Well, I’d say he’s got his work cut out for him,” you laughed, squeezing Leia’s plump baby cheeks.

---

You, Torva, and Narei finally said your goodbyes to Padmé, promising to come visit again some time. Your group of admirers met you halfway to your spot, and asked if you three wanted to play in the water, now that the sun was at its hottest and highest peak. You and Torva agreed while Narei declined, opting to sit and relax in the shallows. Hardcase waved over the togruta that was with Anakin earlier, Ahsoka, so you all could have a three-way chicken fight.

“You guys are gonna get destroyed!” Ahsoka threatened from Hardcase’s shoulders, the both of them grinning.

“I don’t think so!” you threatened back from atop Jesse’s shoulders. You felt the rush of giddiness again as Jesse’s warm hands encircled your thighs and you grasped at his broad shoulders.

Torva laughed from Boil’s shoulders, flipping her lekku behind her back. Waxer remained off to the side as the referee.

“Ready?” he asked. All of you nodded. “Alright. On your marks, get set, go!”

Jesse charged directly at Boil and Torva. You and Torva locked hands, squealing and laughing while trying to push each other off-balance. You pushed her back a little hard, causing her to sway off balance and Boil to take a few steps back, but then they came right back for you. This time, instead of grasping hands, you went right for the roots of her lekku, where you knew she was ticklish.

Torva squealed. “No fair!” Caught off guard, you pushed her again, this time causing her to fall down into the water, pulling a startled Boil with her.

Too caught up in your victory, you didn’t notice Ahsoka and Hardcase sneaking up behind you until you felt her hands on your back.

“Whoa! Sneak attack!” Jesse exclaimed, turning you around to grapple with Ahsoka.

You locked hands with her and tried to match her, but with her Jedi training, she was too strong for her. Soon you found yourself falling backwards, yelling, holding onto Jesse’s shoulders, and dragging him down in the water with you.

The salty water rushed around your ears as you bobbed up to the surface, gasping and laughing. Jesse surfaced beside you, and you swam over to him, wrapping your arms around his neck to keep you floating.

“Looks like they were right, huh?” Jesse chuckled, nodding to Hardcase and Ahsoka who were celebrating their victory by hooting and splashing in the water.

You sighed, setting your chin on his shoulder. “Yeah, we never stood a chance against a Jedi.” You looked in the opposite direction to find where Torva, Boil, and Waxer went.

“Well, there is something that I know that a Jedi couldn’t do,” Jesse murmured.

You turned back around to find that Jesse had turned himself to face you in the water, one arm supporting you by your waist. He raised his eyes from where he was looking at the way the cold water lapped at the tops of your breast and gave you a crooked grin. You raised an eyebrow, your lips curling up in a sultry smile, and caressed his cheek.

“Oh, really?” you asked. “You’ll have to catch me first!” You pushed off from his leg with a laugh and swam away, headed for Torva, who had acquired a donut floaty. You could hear Jesse splashing behind you to catch up.

You swam up to Torva’s floaty, wrapping your arms around it opposite of her. When you settled, she motioned behind you with a nod of her head. You looked behind you where Narei was sitting in the shallows with Boost and Sinker. One of her hands played with Sinker’s hair, who was asleep in her lap, while the other stood at a right angle on her knee, supporting her chin. She was listening to Boost talk, who had placed an arm behind her, leaning in close to her, a flirtatious smile on her face.

You sighed. “She’s really good at that.”

“Yeah,” Torva sighed also. Then she grinned at you. “At least there’s lots of them to go around, huh? We might still have a chance.”

You rolled your eyes at her, but you had to admit she was right. “At least we got separate rooms at the hotel.” And you hoped Jesse and Hardcase would see yours tonight.

---

You and Torva swam with the boys from the 501st and 212th and Ahsoka for a while after that. Jesse and Hardcase had a contest to see who could hold their breath the longest. (Hardcase won, but only after you pulled him up a minute after Jesse resurfaced). Then they tried for a splashing contest against you girls, until Ahsoka almost washed them away with a wave she created with the Force. (Which they called cheating, but it was four against three, so you thought it was fair.) Now, you held Jesse’s shoulders, giggling, as he lazily dragged you around in the water, with Hardcase swimming behind you, trying to grasp gently at your legs, a playful look in his eyes. Torva floated on her donut floaty somewhere beside you, her lekku dangling and swaying in the water, Boil and Waxer floating beside her. Ahsoka had rejoined Padmé with the twins.

You made Jesse pause when you heard your name being called from the shore. Narei was standing in the shallows, waving at you to come to her.

“I wonder what she wants,” you mused, mostly to yourself. Torva was already headed that way, Boil and Waxer following along.

“I’ll race you there,” Hardcase said, still grinning at you. He dove under the water, quickly heading for the shore.

You yelped when Jesse took off after him, clutching at his shoulders tighter as he raced through the water. You made it to the shore just a few moments after Hardcase.

“I don’t know about you two, but I'm pretty hungry,” Narei said.

You placed a hand over your stomach as you felt the familiar pang of hunger as well. You hadn’t noticed it with all the excitement.

“Ooh, yeah, I want to check out that sushi place by the hotel,” Torva said. She and Narei started walking back to your stuff still lying in the sand.

“I’ll be there in a minute!” you called after them. You turned back to Jesse and Hardcase, still in the shallows, grinning and jabbing at each other.

“What's up?” Hardcase asked.

“We’re going to get something to eat,” you replied, jerking your thumb to where Torva and Narei were packing up their things. “We’re pretty hungry after a long day at the beach.”

“So, you’re leaving for the day?” Jesse asked. If you didn’t know any better, you would almost say he looked like a sad puppy.

“Yeah, but we’ll be back tomorrow probably,” you said. You thought for a moment, the crossed your arms over your chest, sauntering toward them. “You know…there is a bar in the hotel....” You uncrossed your arms and placed a hand on both of their chests. “Meet me there later?”

Both of the men looked at each other, sharing a lopsided grin before turning back to face you. “Sounds like a plan,” Hardcase said, winking at you as they left.

A thrill ran up your spine as you watched them walk away. You turned to grab your things further up the beach with Torva and Narei. Now you had something else to look forward to tonight.

---

The bar was packed. Everyone was celebrating, as you had anticipated. Lights and music pulsed all around you, and it would almost be too much if not for the liquor already coursing through your veins. The three of you were sitting at the bar counter, drinks in hand, and waiting for the boys to show.

“Do you think they’ll come?” you asked, biting your lip and glancing again at the door.

Narei rolled her eyes and downed her drink in one gulp. “Not if you keep looking like a lost puppy.”

You sighed and glanced down at your drink, taking a sip of it. The sweet liquid burned its way down your throat, giving you a little boost of confidence. You looked back up and straightened your shoulders.

Torva laughed on your other side. “See? We don’t need them to have fun. It’s our girl’s vacay anyway!” She slid off of her stool and tugged at you hand. “C’mon! Dance with me!”

You laughed with her, letting her tug you off your stool and drag you to the dancefloor. You held her hand and swayed to the music with her, laughing and letting the giddy feeling of the alcohol and the music flow through you. She held your hand up and you twirled around her, letting your feet slide you out of her grasp. You bumped into someone and you gasped, turning around to apologize. “Oh! I'm sorry—!” You gasped again when you realized it was the two clones you were waiting for. “Jesse! ‘Case!”

“Havin’ fun without us, princess?” Hardcase asked, his hands sliding to your waist.

The strong liquor running through your bloodstream made you feel braver than usual. Your hands went to his cheeks and you leaned up to give him a quick kiss on his lips. You giggled at the surprised look on his face.

“What took you so long?” you giggled, turning to Jesse behind you.

“’Case had to make sure he looked good,” Jesse said. He put his thumb on your chin and pulled you to his lips.

You hummed and leaned into his touch. You rested a hand on his chest, leaning up slightly on your tiptoes to reach him, and broke away from him with a smile. You looked down to observe their outfits and hummed appreciatively again. “You dressed all fancy for me?” They were wearing, what you could assume, their gray military uniforms.

Hardcase tugged on the hand you left resting on his cheek and grinned. “Dress to impress, baby.”

You turned to face him completely, placing your hands on his shoulders. You liked the way their uniforms accentuated their broad chests and shoulders. Theirs had blue stripes, just like their swim trunks had.

“How much have you had to drink, baby?” Hardcase asked, pulling you closer to him. You noted the slight tinge of concern to his voice.

You rolled your eyes. “Just one! Narei was buying!”

“How ‘bout we buy you all the drinks you want?” Jesse murmured into your ear, pulling you toward the bar.

“No!” you exclaimed, pouting. “I want to dance! Dance with me!” You pulled both of them further onto the dance floor, laughing.

You didn’t know how long you danced with them. You could have danced all night with them, with the pulsing lights and music, with the alcohol coursing through your veins. It was only until Hardcase’s grip on your hips and sides became tighter, pulling you in for more heated kisses, and Jesse’s gaze became more intense and his mouth twitched up into an even cockier smile that you thought you might want to take things to your room.

“I think it’s time for a change of scenery, don’t you ‘Case?” Jesse asked. He nodded in the direction of the bar’s exit.

“Wait! I need to tell my friends!” You turned around to find Torva and Narei within the packed bar. You saw Torva in a booth sitting in Boil’s lap with Waxer’s lips attached to her neck. Narei sat at the bar with Boost and Sinker’s rapt attention. You huffed slightly in annoyance.

“I think they’re in good company,” Hardcase said behind you.

You turned back around to face them, a grin on your face. “I’d like some good company for myself.” You took both of their hands and led them out of the bar and up to your room, giggling with anticipation.

---

Soft breaths tickled your nose. You scrunched and wiggled it, squinting your eyes open. Your eyes were met with the rich brown skin of Hardcase, sleeping next to you. You smiled and traced the blue geometric lines down his face. His lips twitched and he let out a small puff of breath.

“G’mornin’,” he muttered, not opening his eyes.

You giggled and placed a kiss to his lips. “Good morning.” You tried shifting to face him, but then realized Jesse was still sleeping on your chest, his soft snores tickling the skin of your neck. You bent your head to give a quick kiss on his forehead and traced the tattoo covering the left side of his face.

Hardcase yawned and peeked his eyes open, stretching slightly. “How much did I drink last night?”

You laughed softly, so as not to wake Jesse. “I think I was the only one who drank last night.” You stretched your arms up and over your head, trying to wriggle out from underneath Jesse. “And now I have to go to the ‘fresher.”

“It’s alright if you’re a little rough,” Hardcase said, chuckling. “Jess’ don’t wake up for nothin’.” He shifted over and up slightly to let you wriggle out from underneath Jesse. Jesse just grunted and snuggled deeper into the blankets.

You stood up and grabbed your phone off the bedside table. You turned back around to give another quick kiss to Hardcase, who had flopped over to the other side of the bed. “I’ll be right back.”

You padded into the refresher. The hotel soaps were still in their packaging with your tooth cleanser and other toiletries stacked with them. You turned on the tap and splashed some warm water on your face, scrubbing it with a cloth. You grimaced at the marks on your neck and around your collarbone. That was going to be hard to explain.

Once you were done, you checked your phone. You bit your lip to stop smirking. Two unread messages on your group chat with Torva and Narei. This was gonna be good, you thought.

torva 🤘: so uhh

torva 🤘: wild night huh guys 😂 😂

You snickered. Yeah definitely 😂, you texted back. I'm gonna have to go out in a turtleneck now 😂 😂

torva 🤘: same 😂 😂

You sighed and rooted through your makeup bag that you had brought with you. You could probably cover it up with some foundation and concealer, as long as you didn’t stay too long in the water.

You looked back at your phone when you heard it ping again. Narei had sent a photo. You opened it and gasped, covering you mouth to control your laughter. She had taken it from the neck up; her hair was wild and she had a hand covering her forehead. The thing that stood out the most was the large bite mark on her neck, where you noticed Sinker’s platinum hair peeking in at the corner.

narei 😏: do either of you know how to cover a bite mark?

torva 🤘: YOU DIDN’T

torva 🤘: MOTHER OF MOONS 😂 😂

narei 😏: they're not called the wolfpack for nothing

You leaned against the refresher sink, your body almost collapsing from holding in your laughter. It seemed all three of you had some explaining to do today.

[scapegrace74-blog]

Saorsa, Chapter 27

A/N  Here is the next installment of Saorsa.  Jamie finally acknowledges what we knew all along, and Claire takes a bath.

Rather than link to all previously posted chapters, I’ll just direct those of you wanting to catch up on your Saorsa-reading to my AO3 page, where the fic is posted in its entirety.

Thank you to each of you liking and reblogging!  It does my little fanfic writer’s heart good.

Shearing sheep hadn’t changed much in two hundred years, Jamie thought as he hefted another startled ewe from the shearing pen and pinned her to the ground with a well-placed knee.   Murtagh mentioned that some of the larger farms used a mechanical trimmer, but they both preferred the time-honoured method of metal shears, sharp as daggers.   Today was their third day.   Jamie’s shoulders and arms were throbbing from the constant effort, but they were almost done.

“Tis good fortune we’re having a bonnie spring,” Murtagh commented as they broke for a drink of fresh water from the well.

“Aye.  I need tae be on the road wi’in the week, if I’m tae be back a’fore the bairn arrives.”

“I’m surprised the mistress is allowin’ ye tae go at all, wi’ the way she fusses o’er ye like a wee whelp.”

Jamie’s mouth opened and closed, trying to find words to defend his masculine honour against the truth in the old man’s claim.  He caught the twitch of Murtagh’s lips through his heavy beard.  He cuffed him on the shoulder, laughing at himself.

“She’s lining ‘er nest, ye ken.  I reckon she needs me tae practice upon, a’fore the we’un gets here,” he quipped.

“Oh, aye.  I’m sure tha’s it.”  Murtagh’s sarcasm was so thick, you could serve it on toast.

**

Jamie groaned as he lowered himself into the armchair in their bedchamber, trying to reach down to untie his laces and failing miserably.

“Here, let me,” Claire offered, before realizing she couldn’t bend over the growing bulk of her belly.

“We’re a fine pair.  I’m too lame and ye’re too big a’bout the middle.”

“Speak for yourself,” his wife retorted as she carefully lowered herself to the floor.   She gently eased off each boot, then proceeded to unbutton and draw his trews down as well.  He sighed and cupped her jaw as she began to gently knead the bunched muscles of his thighs.

“Careful, Sassenach.  Ye wouldna want tae start somethin’ ne’er of us is in fit condition tae finish,” he warned, feeling himself stir despite his bone-deep exhaustion.

“Wouldn’t I?”  Warm eyes gleamed up at him.  And then, more gently, “Lean back.”

Unsure what was being asked of him, he complied by letting his back fall against the cushions, his long legs stretched on either side of where Claire knelt on the floor.  Having never accustomed himself to the modern notion of underclothing, he was naked from the waist down and hardening quickly below the flimsy hem of his linen top.

Leaning forward so that her moist breath seeped between the buttons of his shirt and over the fine hairs of his belly, Claire began to run her hands languorously up and down his legs, reaching higher with each pass.

“Sassenach,” he warned, and then more urgently, “Claire.”

“Shhhh,” she whispered, before her fingertips brushed against his baws.

“Christ!”

“I’ve never done this before,” she murmured, as though speaking to herself.  “Tell me if… well… if it doesn’t feel good.”

And before he could wonder what she meant, she was lifting his shirt, exposing his very emphatic endorsement of whatever she was planning.  A tentative moist swipe against the head, where it lay aching against his quivering belly, and then a sensation unlike anything he’d ever experienced.  It was the humid welcome of her sex combined with the nimble manipulation of her fine-boned hand, and yet so much more than the sum of those parts.  A lightning bolt of sensation shot up his spine, lighting the back of his eyeballs with colourful explosions.  A senseless groan burst from his lungs.

Between the exertions of shearing and the elaborate logistics of making love to a woman almost eight months with child, it had been nearly a week since he’d last lain with his wife.   A lifetime, in the bountiful feast that marked their newborn marriage.  He wasn’t certain it would have made much difference, though.  Anything that felt this absurdly good was certain to be over soon, lest it kill him with pleasure.

As it was, it was mere minutes after first feeling her mouth around him before he knew the end was nigh.

“A dhia.  Sassenach.  Mo nighean donn.  Christ, please, ye must…”

Whatever pleas he was trying to utter were lost to the onrush of his release, racing from his body with the force of a gale, whipping around to slam his head backwards as he groaned in blissful agony.

When he was next able to focus, Claire was carefully unbuttoning his shirt.  She extended her hands so that he could help her to her feet.  He rose as well, naked and blushing to the tips of his ears.  Whatever had just happened, he felt compelled to apologize, if only he could do so without alluding to the actual event.

“Sassenach…” he began.

“Let’s get you washed up, shall we?  It’s been a long day.”

He was still new to the art of reading his wife’s unspoken wishes, but this one was plain enough.  She did not want to discuss or debate the propriety of what they’d just done, probably a bit shy herself.  They would leave it here in the murky shadows of their bedchamber, where it could visit with the other nameless wonders they’d released inside its walls.  He followed her docilely from the room.

One modern amenity Jamie had absolutely no qualms about embracing was indoor plumbing, and the associated boon of having a bath whenever a bath was needed or desired.   Claire lit thick-trunked tapers in the washroom, formerly a servant’s room adjacent to the laird’s quarters.   Bent over the billows of steam that rose from the gushing copper pipes, she reminded him of a painting of a water nymph he’d seen as a boy, all translucent skin and bonnie curls.

He gingerly lifted his legs over the high-backed tub and grimaced as the water seared his skin.

“Too hot?”

“Nah.  Jus’ right.”  He extended his hand gallantly, as though assisting a lady from her carriage.   “Join me?” he offered, before adding, “If ye dinna think it immoral.”

Something about the scene struck them both as a trifle ridiculous, and they snickered.

Claire slipped her nightgown over her shoulders, letting it puddle around her feet, before carefully stepping into the water, holding onto Jamie for balance.

“Now what?” she challenged, eyebrow raised.

“Now I hold onto ye.  Ye and the little one.”  They sunk together into the steaming water.

She found a resting spot between his legs, forehead tucked under his jaw.   Jamie amused himself by scoping up palmfuls of water and letting them loose to roam across the hills and valleys of her torso.  Time slowed, as did the vigilant beating of his heart.  The water cooled and one by one the tapers guttered, and still they did not move.   It was in those peaceful moments, with nothing but the silky stroke of water, the honey whiff of candle wax and the quiet stirrings of a new life beneath the taut skin of her belly, that he realized he loved her.   Not in the demure, fitting way that a man was meant to love his wife.  But in a pivotal, essential way that was as integral to him as breathing and as endless as the tides.

**

“Ye’ll watch o’er her?  Make certain she is no’ rebuildin’ the castle nor tilling the fields by hand, or whate’er stubborn notion settles in her hard heid?”

Murtagh had heard this request, or others very similar, every day for the past fortnight.  It spoke to his forbearance that he produced his standard response without a flicker of exasperation.

“Aye, lad.  I canna promise ye she willna be stubborn, but I’ll see her safe.”

It was the best he could hope for, and the primary reason Murtagh was staying behind at Lallybroch rather than accompanying Jamie on his journey to Galashiels, much to Claire’s vocal displeasure.   She only acquiesced when it was agreed that Rupert would join him as far as Edinburgh, ostensibly to visit relatives.   Jamie had an opinion on the true reason for Rupert’s sudden interest in leaving the Highlands for the first time, but he wouldn’t be sharing it with Murtagh.

Fourteen bales of wool were loaded carefully into the estate’s hay wagon.  Weighing over a tonne, it would take both Clydesdale plow horses to drag the load over two hundred miles to Galashiels, near the border with England.  Rupert would drive the wagon while Jamie rode his favourite horse, Donas.

The smoothest, most direct route southward was available to them only after nightfall, when motorized traffic was forbidden on the roadways on account of the blackout.  That meant they’d do most of their travelling by night, which posed its own challenges.   In addition to a small bag of provisions and spare clothing, Jamie was also armed with a dirk and a pistol, though he longed for the familiar heft of his broad sword.

The whole trip should take two fortnights, a little less than a month.  The plan was to leave immediately after Easter, so he could be home by late April with time to spare before the Duke of Sandringham’s visit and Claire’s confinement.

In the early morning hours the day before his departure, Jamie crept out of the castle while everyone was still abed and walked up the hill to his parents’ graves.  He was pleased to note that the exertion no longer winded him; that he had regained his previous strength.  He owed that to Claire; that and so much more.   She had given him back his freedom when he thought he was trapped in amber.  Offered him a place to stand when every other foothold was lost.  She was his redemption.  Saorsa.

He knelt beside the graves, now cleaned of moss with bluebells sprouting between the stones.  Resting his forehead against the cool stone, he began to pray.  That Claire might be safe.  That the bairn be healthy.   That his voyage be swift and without peril.  And selfishly, that he be the kind of man his parents would be proud of in this strange new world.

[carry-the-sky]

your tongue told me every lie

back on my brio bullshit! this is an old fic that i decided to clean up a bit, and then *ahem* add an e rating to. it’s set in some vague s2 timeline, because i miss s2. :/

inspired by this fantastic piece of art by @lindigo 🔥🔥🔥 also on ao3!!

many thanks to my dear friend @kastlecastles for looking this over. <3

.

The day after the cops almost find Boomer’s body, Annie suggests they take the night off, just the three of them. No work, no family—

“And no extracurricular friends,” Annie emphasizes, side-eyeing Beth as she says it, which Beth does not appreciate. She’s about to say as much, but then Ruby is emerging from the closet, holding a dress Beth has no memory of buying. It’s sleek and cherry-red, and she feels exposed just looking at it. 

“No—” she starts to protest, but Ruby holds up a hand.

“You’re wearing it,” she says, fixing Beth with a stare that chases her rebuttal back down her throat. “Don’t get me wrong, you rock a pantsuit better than Hillary—”

“Way better than Hillary,” Annie interjects, then shrugs when Beth glares at her.

“—but we’re going glam, tonight,” Ruby finishes. She hangs the dress on the door. “You’re wearing it.”

And that’s the end of that.

.

She brings the dress to work. It hangs on the back of the door to Dean’s office—her office, now, her door—and Beth feels a small thrill every time she sees it, anticipation and nerves all blended up in the pit of her stomach.

It’s not that she‘s ashamed of her body, or the way she looks. She knows her curves are sexy. She’s just not sure anyone else does.

(Beth absolutely does not think about Rio. She doesn’t think about his hungry eyes raking up the entire length of her body, or the way his tongue sometimes darts between his teeth when he’s looking at her. She doesn’t think about that night at the bar, how firm his hand was when he grasped her thigh, palmed the curve of her breast—)

Beth keeps her door wide open the rest of the day.

.

She’s utterly exhausted by closing time, but it’s a good feeling. I can do this, she thinks as she packs up, doing one last circuit around the sales floor. I can do this well.

She hasn’t forgotten about the dress, but that light and airy anticipation from earlier has evaporated, leaving her stomach heavy with dread. For a moment, Beth considers telling Annie and Ruby that she forgot it, or that it didn’t fit—but that somehow feels worse than just putting the stupid thing on, so she begrudgingly yanks it off the hanger and goes to the dealership’s bathroom to change.

The sharp fluorescent lights do nothing to lift her mood, and she scrunches her nose at her reflection. The dress itself isn’t bad, it’s just—not her.

She laughs aloud. None of this—robbing a bank, laundering money for a street criminal, sleeping with said criminal, assuming management over her husband’s car dealership—none of this is her, is it? She’s not so sure, anymore.

Be a boss bitch.

Beth sizes up her reflection in the mirror, the sleek dress with its sweetheart neckline.

Yeah. She can do that.

Beth almost doesn’t see him. She’s shoving her work clothes unceremoniously into her bag when movement flashes in her periphery, and she yelps—

“So I guess y’all don’t do casual Fridays,” Rio says, a smile spreading wide across his face as he eyes the dress, her red pumps.

Beth blows out a shaky breath. “You scared the shit out of me. Don’t you ever, I don’t know, use a cell phone?”

“Nah, I’m old-fashioned.” He’s sitting at her desk, a smirk still playing at his lips, and Beth is torn between wanting to slap him or do something else to wipe that expression off his face.

“What do you want?” she says. “We’re closing soon, which for most people would mean come back tomorrow—”

Rio quirks an eyebrow. “I’m not most people.”

“Look,” Beth snaps, “as much fun as your drive-by visits are, I don’t have time for this tonight.”

“What, you got a hot date, or somethin’?”

Beth scoffs. “Maybe I do, yeah.”

Rio just looks at her for a second, his eyes hazy even in the glow of early-evening light filtering in through her office windows. Beth doesn’t like the way it’s stirring something up in her gut, warm and slow like sun-warmed honey.

“What,” she sighs, “do you want?”

Rio shifts in his chair, legs spreading slightly. “Just wanted to see how my business is doin’.”

“Excuse me, your business?”

“Sixty-percent, yeah? Last time I checked, that’s more than half. Which means it’s more mine than yours, sweetheart.”

Anger sparks in her chest, hot and fast. Her cheeks are warm with it. “Get out,” she demands. “Now.”

Rio leans forward. “You gonna make me?”

She’s not sure how it happened, but she’s standing almost directly in front of him. From this angle, she can see the shadow that the collar of his shirt casts across his throat.

From this angle, he has to look up at her.

“You don’t scare me,” she says, her voice a low scrape of sound.

He wants to touch her—she can feel the want radiating off him, can see the lines of his tendons as he clenches his fingers against his knees. But he doesn’t move. When it comes to—this, whatever the hell it is, he’s always let her take the lead.

She should leave, now. She should—

She can’t explain what makes her reach out, what makes her brush the tips of her fingers against his arm. His skin is smoother than she expects, the muscles of his forearm taut beneath her hand.

“Right,” he says, voice hoarse. His eyes are fixed on her. “Right, ‘cause you’re the boss, now.”

And then he’s got a hand on her, his palm curved around the meat of her thigh. His fingers skate upwards, teasing around the dress’s hem. Beth feels each point of contact like a laser, every one of her nerve endings attuned to where he’s touching her.

“Annie and Ruby are waiting for me,” she breathes.

Rio’s eyes are wildfire. “So let ‘em wait.” 

His hand skims higher, and Beth spasms when the pad of his thumb slips beneath her panties. He huffs a laugh, looking so goddamn pleased with himself. “You like that, ma?”

Beth narrows her eyes, but it’s useless—her legs are quivering beneath his hands, and she knows he can feel it. “You are such an asshole,” she hisses. 

“ ‘S one school of thought,” he murmurs, the words slow and husky. His eyes don’t leave her face as his fingers graze her inner thigh, and her breath catches in her throat. She still hasn’t closed up shop, and yeah, it’s the end of the day, but someone could still walk in, someone could see—

It’s dangerous, what she’s doing. It’s bad. 

Pleasure sparks between her legs, and Beth has to resist the urge to clamp her thighs together. Her nails dig into his arm, and something bright flashes behind his eyes, something predatory. He’s looking at her like he wants to open her up, see what comes spilling out. See exactly what she’s made of.

You’re the boss, now. 

She draws herself up slightly, chin jutting out. “You gonna take all day down there?” she says, proud that her voice stays steady. “Like I said, I have somewhere to be.” 

Rio makes a noise in his throat, rumbling low like thunder, and she knows she has him. Satisfaction unfurls in her chest—and then he’s sliding a finger into her, and all coherent thought is driven from her head, lost to the rush of her pulse in her ears, the delicious stretch as he eases his way in.

It’s muscle memory that has her grasping at his shoulder, her pelvis canting into his palm to chase the friction. Rio pushes deeper, and she has to bite her lip to keep quiet. She slants her neck up toward the ceiling, her eyes shuttering.

“Like it when you boss me around,” he’s saying, dragging his finger out before pumping into her again. Beth can’t help it this time—she shudders, a soft whimper breaking past her lips. Slowly, Rio slips his finger out again, teasing lazy circles around her entrance. Beth’s hand jumps to his wrist, tugging emphatically. “Yeah,” Rio laughs, “yeah, just like that.”

“Didn’t—tell you to stop,” Beth gasps.

“Loud ‘n clear, darlin’,” Rio says, adding another finger as he plunges between the slick of her folds. Beth’s nails bite the skin on the underside of his wrist, and her stomach squirms pleasantly at his sharp intake of breath. She would die before admitting it, but the way he makes her feel, strong as steel, the exact fucking opposite of the good little porcelain doll she’s been her entire life—it’s intoxicating. She wants to drown in it, in him.

Rio crooks his fingers, hitting an angle that makes her writhe. His thumb knuckles softly against her clit, and Beth can feel the tension coiling in her belly already, everything shrinking at the edges. His breath is coming faster now, jagged like the edge of a knife, and she could come just like this, but it’s not enough. Her entire body draws taut like a bowstring at the memory of his cock inside of her, filling her up—

Beth rocks forward, rucking her dress up around her thighs as she brackets her knees around him. He tilts his pelvis to meet her, pulling his fingers out, and the sound of protest she starts to make sticks in her throat as the movement grinds her against the hard ridge of his erection. Her blood sings, hazy-hot desire jolting up the column of her spine.

Beth’s hand darts to his pants, grasping at the zipper. Rio laughs softly, both palms sliding around her ass. “I know you’re in a hurry, but damn, baby.” He squeezes, the pads of his fingers kneading into her. “I ain’t a piece of meat.”

“Shut up,” she grits between her teeth.

Rio tsks, head tilting to one side. “Manners, Elizabeth.” His hands splay, fingers caging her hips. His face is inches from hers, so close that she sees the spaces between his lashes, feels his breath when he exhales. He dips his head, mouth ghosting her clavicle. “What would those PTA bitches say,” he murmurs, each word like a brand against her skin. “Huh? You think you’re just like ‘em, but here you are, down in the shit. Rollin’ around in it.” His lips drift higher, to the hollow of her throat. “Think you’re so much better than ‘em, than me. But you ain’t.”

Anger and arousal flush through her in equal parts. He’s always known how to say to rile her up, burrow under her skin like a splinter. She can’t dislodge him, no matter how hard she tries. And the thing is, he’s not wrong. Down in the muck and the shadows, she knows who she is.

He’s shining a light on all her dirty laundry, but Beth isn’t here for that. She doesn’t owe him anything, much less the truth.

So she does the only thing that will shut him up—hooks a hand under his chin, and brings her mouth crashing down to his.

It’s not soft, and she doesn’t want it to be. They trade kisses like punches—she bites his lower lip, and in retaliation his tongue thrusts into her mouth. Her hands are everywhere; sliding around the nape of his neck, curved like claws at his jawline, pressed to his jugular. One of Rio’s hands skates up her sternum, yanking her dress and bra aside so he can tweak a nipple between his fingers. The other hand fumbles with his pants, shucking them down his thighs.

She feels when his cock springs free. He jerks his hips, and Beth gasps as the tip rubs against her cunt.

Rio snags her lower lip between his teeth, biting just hard enough to sting. “You want it?” he rasps, tongue darting out to wet his lips. He brushes her entrance again, but he pulls away slightly as she cants toward him. He’s playing with her, making her work for what she wants. Making her beg. It’s what he’s always done—why should this be any different?

Fuck that. She’s gonna take what she wants.

Beth pulls at her panties so hard she hears the fabric tear. It was a nice pair, expensive, but in this moment she couldn’t give less of a fuck. She pushes against him, swirling around the head of his cock, and she feels a pinch of triumph when he hisses through his teeth.

“You want bossy?” she says, and she almost doesn’t recognize her own voice. “Fuck me. Now.”

She locks eyes with him as he pushes inside, so she sees the moment he breaks. His jaw goes slack, his lower lip plush and jutting out in a way that’s so him, so familiar it makes her chest ache.

She’s dipping into her feelings, too close for comfort. Beth shifts her weight, pushing herself up on her knees before sinking down onto him again, and the pressure in her chest evaporates. He feels so goddamn good, stretching her out the way she remembers. Filling her up, no room for anything else.

Rio thrusts into her, sheathing his cock to the hilt, and the guttural cry that rips from her throat is entirely involuntary. She bears down on him, grinding her hips in a frenetic circle, and then he’s pumping into her harder, fucking her in earnest. The wet slap of skin on skin fills her office, punctuated by the lewd noises each of them is making.

“That’s it, ma, that’s—fuck—” Rio groans. He’s grabbing her waist so hard she’s sure she’ll have bruises tomorrow, but she doesn’t care. All she cares about is chasing the warmth that’s building in the pit of her stomach.

Beth braces her arms on his shoulders and surges up on her knees. His cock slams up into her, right against her clit, and she’s so fucking close, she can almost taste it on her tongue. He rams into her, again and again, and his thumb slips between them, circling just the right spot—

Her orgasm hits like lightning, blinding heat and static. She throws her head back in a wordless cry as all the air swoops from her lungs. She can’t breathe. She can’t—anything. She can’t remember the last time she came this hard.

(Yes, she can. It was in that fucking bathroom, his breath hot on her neck and his name stuck on her tongue).

Rio is still hard, still pumping into her, his arms solid like a wall around her. He’s the only thing holding her up. She’s still coming down, but already she can feel the embers stirring again, stoked by his nails digging half-moons into her torso, his cock inside her.

Will she ever have her fill of him?

“Desk,” she pants, jutting her chin.

His hips stutter, and his brow creases with confusion for a nanosecond before he gets it. In one swift motion, he hooks her legs around him and pivots them so that she’s on her back on the desk. Beth can vaguely feel something digging into her lumbar—a pen, maybe—but she’s too boneless to care.

Rio props himself on his forearms, framing her face. His pupils are blown wide like dinner plates, his chest heaving with how hard he’s breathing. “You cheated, mama,” he pants, fucking into her so hard that something goes crashing from her desk to the floor. “Didn’t—wait for me.”

“C’mon, then,” she breathes, digging the heels of her pumps into his back to urge him on. His eyes flash, and he ruts into her once, twice—

He spills into her with a choked-off grunt, his entire lean frame quivering.

For several moments, the only sound is the two of them breathing. The sun has dipped low in the sky outside, casting long shadows across his face. It makes him look like one of those abstract paintings, something that’s not quite real.

Beth knows what’s real. She suspects that he does, too.

But none of that matters. This will play out the same way it always does—the dust will settle, and they’ll both go back to pretending. Beth thinks they could fill up an ocean with all of the things they aren’t saying to each other.

She could do it. She could break the dam, open her mouth and ask the words that are a thorn inside her, the words she buries deep so he can’t use them against her.

What is this? What are we? Do you feel the same way I do?

What now, her heartbeat says, pounding a cadence against her ribs. What now what now what now—

Rio rolls off her, tucking himself back into his pants. She feels the loss of physical contact like a sucker punch, and it takes every ounce of restraint she has not to reach for him. For a moment, she just lies there, eyes to the ceiling as she wills her jackhammer pulse to settle.

When she pushes herself up from the desk, he’s already halfway to the door. “You got a good gig goin’ here,” he says jerking his head at the sales floor, but his double meaning is transparent as glass. You got a good thing goin’ with me. His eyes dart to hers. “Try not to screw it up, yeah?”

“Speak for yourself,” Beth snarls, and she’s all iron again, tucking away everything soft and vulnerable. 

His lips twitch. “You should wear red more,” he says, deliberately looking her up and down. Even from this distance, his gaze sears against her skin. “It suits you.”

Then he’s gone.

[overwatchworks]

Falling With Style (Winged AU):

I got permission from the lovely @rondoel to write something over their winged au (aka the best concept ever), so here it is at last! I hope you all enjoy, and definitely go check out all their wonderful art!

Jesse had never seen anyone quite like Genji Shimada. There was anger in him that was beyond unsettling. It was terrifying, and Jesse never used that word lightly. There was also the wing situation with Genji. He was the first person Jesse had ever seen that had a cybernetic wing built for him, modified to be a weapon. 

The old one had been cut off along with much of Genji’s body, mauled by his brother, leaving him for dead. 

Inhuman. 

Jesse could understand Genji’s anger. Maybe that’s why he tried to help.

-

The first time Jesse had talked to Genji about his wings, he had been out stretching his own. Gliding smoothly with the help of a thermal current, a light breeze keeping him from needing to spend much energy on keeping himself in the air. 

He loved flying—the sense of freedom, the break from everything Blackwatch required of his body and mind, the time it gave him to think alone. Only this time, he could sense he wasn’t alone. Not quite. Jesse glanced down at the compound, noticing someone sitting on the roof, looking up at him. 

With a sigh, Jesse tipped his body and folded his wings, diving down. It was probably Reyes, coming out to tell him to ‘get his ass back inside’. No one ever denied him his little escapades, but the base was also supposed to be kept a secret. Having someone flying above it wasn’t always a good idea. 

Jesse spread his wings to slow his descent, feet hitting the roof a little too hard, but the fun that came with diving like that was worth it. The gunslinger frowned upon seeing not Reyes, but Genji. 

His eyes were dark, and he looked away quickly.

“Hey. Didn’t expect to find you here. Thought you were the commander.”

Genji didn’t say anything, just curled his knees closer to his chest and set his chin on them. His wings shifted, almost as if they were trying to hide his body. 

Jesse examined the mechanical one, head tilting at all the wires and notches he knew were hiding some deadly weapons. It was definitely a masterpiece of engineering, the type even matching Genji’s organic wing. 

Dragon wings, was what Jesse likened them to.

“Got somethin’ on your mind? We can go for a quick flight if you—”

“No.”

Genji shot him a venomous glare, Jesse’s brow furrowing.

“You don’t want to?”

“I can’t.”

The words filled with muted rage, grit out harshly. Jesse backtracked a bit. The wing was still new, perhaps he just didn’t know what all he could do with it.

“Oh...Well, have you tried flyin’ with it yet?”

It was, apparently, the worst thing he could have said. 

Genji’s eyes flashed dangerously as he stood, stance on the defensive, muscles coiled and taut like he was ready to strike. Jesse took a step back.

“Of course I’ve fucking tried! I’ve tried and I’ve landed on my face every time!”

Jesse pursed his lips, not sure if he should say anymore, but the tense silence was overwhelming. And Genji seemed to be waiting for something more. The gunslinger took a little breath.

“Well, maybe don’t fly, but try...You know, falling with style.”

Again, the wrong thing to say. Genji bristled even more, Jesse regretting bringing anything up.

“It doesn’t fucking work, none of it does! He ruined everything!” Genji screamed, hands balling into fists. They shook slightly. 

Jesse tried to remain as impassive as he could, raising a hand placidly.

“Okay. Okay, I’m sorry...”

“I don’t care! Leave me the fuck alone!!”

Jesse nodded, knowing there was no getting through to Genji when he was like this. Best to just leave him to cool off and come back when he was stable. He backed up slowly, keeping a concerned eye on Genji before stepping of the edge of the roof, flying to a different perch. 

Jesse would have felt sorry for the ninja, but he knew the pity would be abhorred. It did nothing to help him anyways. 

The gunslinger pulled out a cigarillo, chewing on the end of it as he thought. Maybe, if Genji would give him the time of day, he could help teach him to fly again. 

He had done it before; Fareeha with her delicate, weakened wings, struggling to keep up a speed that could lift her from the ground. It took time and plenty of effort from both parties, but Jesse had let go of her hands one day, and she had stayed in the air. This situation was different, but the end result could potentially be the same. 

The sun began to set, and Jesse finally went back inside.

-

Jesse closed one eye, shot six times in quick succession, making a steaming hole in the target’s forehead area. He spun Peacekeeper as he reloaded, eyeing the training area Genji had silently taken up earlier. 

The gunslinger chewed on his lip for a moment, then decided to go over and watch. He had wanted to from the beginning, but he knew Genji would have likely left as soon as he noticed he was being observed. Now, however, he was probably distracted enough to either not know or not care. Hopefully. 

Jesse leaned in the doorway to one of the training rooms that ran simulations with training bots, Genji working hard inside of it. The ninja spun and kicked so fast, Jesse could hardly keep up with it. 

Shruiken were thrown with deadly accuracy, Genji pulling out his katana after taking down a few more bots and hacking away at them viciously. It was all very impressive, though, all the bots were stationed on the ground. Jesse narrowed his eyes, lips pursing. 

Genji may have been deadly on the ground, but hardly any of his opponents would be fighting him there. He could only battle them on his terms, and if they were on the enemy’s...It was a sure loss if he refused to use his wings. 

And Jesse knew for a fact that the one opponent Genji truly wanted to kill was not going to battle on his terms. He already hadn’t. 

The ninja cut down the last bot, breathing heavily, hands curled around his sword tightly. He looked up at Jesse with a glare, sheathing his katana and stepping over the carnage he had made.

“What do you want.”

Jesse grinned and tipped his hat, knowing very well he was blocking Genji’s exit as the ninja came up to him.

“Those bots didn’t stand a chance.”

“They’re just bots. Predictable. It’s not that difficult.” Genji murmured, eyes narrowing as Jesse shifted, shrugging lightly.

“Still. You’re good.”

“Thanks, but I don’t need your approval.”

Genji tried to move past him, form tensing when Jesse put out a hand to stop him. The ninja slowly turned his glare up to Jesse.

“Let me pass.”

“Can I apologize for the other day, first? I didn’t mean to say anythin’ that was offensive. I just...I want to help, is all.”

“I don’t need your help.” Genji growled, shoving past the cowboy and sauntering down the hall. Jesse stared after him, letting out a disappointed sigh after a moment. 

So that approach wasn’t going to work. 

He glanced back at the messy training room, then went inside it. Looked at the control panel, the settings. An idea started to form in Jesse’s mind as he scrolled through the stats. 

If Genji didn’t want to be nice to him, maybe he would want to spar with him. A chance to allow Genji to let off some steam and gain his trust at the same time. Jesse hummed, then left the training room.

The two were breathing heavily, Jesse falling back into a defensive stance as Genji ran at him again. He spun, wings still tucked to his back, still ignoring his most vital weapon. 

Jesse ducked under Genji’s kick, jabbing an elbow into his side, digging into the metal. It was probably more painful for Jesse than it was for Genji. With a grunt, he shifted his weight and slapped the shoulder of his wing against Genji’s face. The ninja spluttered and stumbled back, Jesse taking his chance and advancing. 

He ran and lifted off the ground slightly, gaining just a bit of air and speed before he whipped himself around and snapped his legs out, catching Genji in the chest. He went flying, tumbling a bit as he hit the ground with a muted shout. 

Jesse landed back on his feet, walking over to Genji.

“You cheated!” He hissed, sitting up and slapping the hand Jesse was offering away.

“Last I checked, we both got wings. And there weren’t any rules against using them.”

“I can’t use mine!”

“Says who?”

Genji stood and spread his wings with a glare, pointing venomously at the mechanical one.

“Says the wiring and weight on this fucking thing!”

Jesse tilted his head, then shook it.

“You really believe this is hindering you, don’t you?”

“Because it fucking is!! How do I kill anyone like this? How will I kill him if I can’t reach him?!” Genji yelled, frustration and anger bleeding through his words, giving them even more of a bite. 

Jesse regarded him for a long moment, then stepped closer.

“You know, my old boss used to say: if the enemy is too high,” He held up his hand, two fingers pointing up like a gun, eye slipping shut for just a moment.

“Get him down to your level. And fight on your own terms.”

Genji shifted, gaze falling as his eyes narrowed, brows furrowing. The gunslinger took his mechanical wing, Genji looking back up sharply as he pointed at all the meticulously placed notches and cleverly hidden shruiken and knives.

“It’s not only a wing, it’s your weapon. You just have to learn how to use it.”

Genji’s eyes flickered slightly as he stared at his wing, then back to Jesse.

“I know you don’t want my help, but if you gave me a chance, I got a lil’ somethin’ set up in a training room.” Jesse offered. 

Genji folded his wings again, silent and still otherwise. Thoughts running so fast behind his eyes Jesse could see them. The way little emotions played out in the fine lines around them. 

Finally, Genji looked up once more.

“Alright.”

Jesse grinned, then motioned for Genji to follow him. He went back to the training room the ninja had been in before, moving to the control panel and setting it up. 

Genji watched him curiously as a single bot put itself together about ten feet above the ground, little thrusters keeping it afloat. Jesse stood back, then pointed at it.

“Take it down.”

Genji stared at the bot. Stepped forward, shoulders rolling. He had none of his usual weapons, nothing but his wits and the wing on his left side. It still made him one of the most dangerous people Jesse knew. 

Genji flexed his wings, then turned sharply, his mechanical one extending. A knife impaled itself in the wall a foot below the bot. Genji did it again, and again, still missing, but getting closer. 

He growled, glancing at the wall before crouching and sprinting towards it. The ninja jumped up and climbed the wall as high as he could, then pushed off of it and spun. His legs whipped out, slamming into the bot, making it spark and drop. 

The same move Jesse had just done on him. 

Genji dropped on top of the bot, then stabbed the tip of his wing into its head. He stood and blinked, Jesse gaining a lopsided grin.

“Just like that.”

Genji turned to him, a new kind of fire blazing in his eyes. There was definitely a smile underneath that mask.

“Let’s go again.”

-

Genji crouched, wings spreading as he lept up, using his momentum and height to spin. His wing sliced through a bot, the other tucked to his side to continue the movement back to the ground. 

The ninja whipped himself around again, wing stretching out as three shruiken went flying from it, hitting three bots in quick succession. He deflected Jesse’s shots from above him, running up to a bot an pushing off its head to launch himself up.

 The gunslinger’s eyes widened as Genji grabbed his leg and swung him towards the ground. He couldn’t get any air underneath him in time, Jesse grunting as he slammed into a bot, wings curling around himself protectively. 

Genji’s wing cut through the floor where Jesse’s head had just been, the cowboy rolling to the side and getting back to his feet. Genji came at him in a blink, throwing his wings out along with his punches and kicks, the sharp points on the ends whizzing just past Jesse’s face as he was forced backwards. 

He hit the wall, Genji spinning and pulling out his wakizashi. It was pressed to his throat before Jesse could react, Genji’s eyes narrowed, wings flourished on either side of him. The ninja tilted his chin up, Jesse raising his hands in defeat. 

Those red eyes crinkled just slightly as the knife was removed, and he stepped back.

“That was a damn good display, Shimada. Damn good.” Reyes called, Jesse grinning as he took the hand Genji offered. He pulled himself off the wall, patting the ninja’s shoulder lightly.

“I’d say you’re mission ready.” The commander continued, arms crossing over his chest. 

Genji nodded once, then turned and bowed to Jesse.

“Thank you.” He murmured, soft but sincere. The gunslinger tilted his head, smile gaining a proud edge to it.

“You’ve done real good, Gen.”

The ninja straightened, then turned to Reyes as he spoke again.

“I got something lined up that should be pretty good for a first mission. Come with me, and I’ll give you the details. McCree, good work. You got the rest of the night off.”

“Aye aye, Jefe.” Jesse called with a little salute, turning into a little wave as Genji glanced back at him for a moment. 

The gunslinger grinned as he watched the two walk away, something warm bubbling in his chest. He had done it again. He was able to help someone with their wings not once, but twice now. It felt good. Ana would have been proud.

Jesse stretched leisurely as he left the training grounds, thinking about going for a nice long flight.

-

Missions with Shimada on the team hardly ever failed, now that he was not holding back. Now that he knew what he was capable of, and used it to his every advantage. 

Jesse would sometimes just sit back and watch him work; the way he would slice his way through the enemy with his wings and blades alike, the strength and confidence he held now that he had embraced a new part of himself and used it as it was made to be used. He was deadly, in every sense of the word. 

Nothing got in his way and lived to see him pass, and Jesse was happy to let him have his way at last. Genji could take on anyone and anything, and so he did. 

Missions hardly ever failed, but that didn’t mean they were all easy. 

Jesse shot at the security guards blocking his way to Blackwatch’s latest intel provider. Not that the woman was going to give up the information willingly, no, that only ever happened for the Overwatch crew. The gunslinger cursed as he had to duck back behind cover, reloading with a flick of his wrist.

“Gen, I could use a lil’ back up here.” He griped, wincing as a bullet whizzed dangerously close to his hiding spot. 

There was a static sound in his ear, quickly followed by an equally put-out sounding Genji.

“You say that as if I am not busy enough as it is...”

There was the sound of gunfire over the comm, Jesse hearing it just below his position, on another floor of the building. He muttered a curse, whipping out from his cover and shooting as he ran to another safe spot. Jesse had caught sight of the woman they were after, though. 

They were close. Too close to let her get away. 

Taking a deep breath to calm his adrenaline rush, Jesse reloaded again. It was his last set of bullets, so they needed to be used just right if he wasn’t going to be getting any back up. 

The gunslinger peeked out from the wall he was behind, counting the remaining guards. Eight. 

Six bullets in his chamber. He could make it work. 

Jesse grit his teeth and slung himself out from his cover, letting off two shots. They hit the nearest guards, and he took down the next with a punch to the jaw. He flew just above the ground to gain some speed, barreling into the next guard as he pulled the trigger again and again. 

Only two left. Another shot. One. The final shot was not his. 

Jesse tumbled to the ground with a shout as white hot pain flared through his wing. He rolled, skidding to a stop in front of the woman, feeling a heel dig into his side as blood dripped in the floor. His blood. 

She smirked down at him, golden eyes narrowed as her hair slid over her shoulder. Jesse eyed the sniper rifle in her hand warily; he hadn’t seen it, slipped up in the heat of the moment.

“You are a good shot, but not good enough, I’m afraid.” She hummed, leaning down and grabbing Jesse’s throat. 

He grunted as he was hauled up, feet dangling, hands scrabbling at the woman’s tattooed wrist. Wings spread behind the her, feathers fading from pure white to a sickly purple-black at the ends. She launched forwards, Jesse feeling the glass of the window shattering against his back, cutting into his already damaged wings. 

He flailed as they rose higher and higher into the air, spluttering for breath that wouldn’t come, struggling to no avail. Jesse’s vision started to fade, and just as his writhing began to weaken, he felt their ascent stop.

“Adieu.”

His eyes snapped open as the woman let go of him, air rushing into his lungs and around him as he plummeted. The cowboy tried to flip himself over, only able to flap his wings twice before the pain made him stop. Panic shot through his core, more powerful than any bullet. 

For the first time, his wings were failing him. He was falling with no way to catch himself. 

Jesse cursed and spun through the air, closing his eyes and gritting his teeth, waiting for the ground to hit him. Something certainly hit him, but it wasn’t the ground. 

The gunslinger cracked an eye open, then gasped as he saw the buildings below them zip past. A set of mismatched arms were secured around his waist, Jesse laughing as Genji looked down at him with bright eyes.

“Genji, you’re flyin’!!”

“It’s not flying. It’s falling with style.”

Jesse grinned like a mad man, the ninja tipping his body slightly, catching the wind. They drifted back down to a rooftop after some maneuvering, Genji setting Jesse down before landing on his feet, stumbling a bit. 

He then threw his head back and laughed, jumping up and flapping his wings.

“I did it! I flew! I can fly again!!” He exclaimed, Jesse running over to him and wrapping him in a hug.

“You saved me, Gen! I knew you could do it!”

The ninja had a smile in his eyes when he looked up at Jesse.

“I couldn’t have done it without you, you know.”

“I was just helpin’ you see what was already there in front of you. You did all the work.”

“Still. I wouldn’t have known where to start, much less how to do it if you had not shown me. What I’m trying to say is; thank you, Jesse. Thank you for everything.”

Jesse gave him a lopsided grin, patting the ninja’s shoulder lightly.

“No problem, partner. I’m proud of you.”

Genji dipped his head, then motioned to Jesse’s bleeding wings.

“Might want to call in an evac ship. I’ll take care of the rest of things here.”

“You sure?”

Genji spread his wings, backing up to the edge of the roof.

“Positive.”

Jesse grinned as the ninja tipped backwards, disappearing over the side for a moment before he shot back up in a streak of black and red, a slight breeze catching the him in the face. The gunslinger watched him fly back to where the commotion was, a quiet huff of laughter leaving him. He then tilted his head and pressed his comm. 

Mission complete.

~~

[mrs-hollandstan]

Undercover {4} || Undercover Cop!Reader x Mobster!Bucky

Gif from @sebastiansource

Warnings: cursing, implied smut from the last chapter, PTSD nightmares, character death (nightmare), distance, more slow burn man, talk of Bucky's scars + how he hates them.

Word Count: 4,828

Author's Note: sorry if this chapter sucks. I got a little bit of writers block about halfway through and I started a new job today so stress is through the roof. As always, I hope you enjoy! Lemme know if there's anything you'd like to see in future chapters! 😊💖

⟵Previous || Series Masterlist || Next⟶

You expected Bucky to strip when he walked you to the bathroom, collecting your clothes and tossing them in the hamper minutes after your orgasm, but he just stood in the doorway watching you strut towards the shower. He perked up when you turned, his heart plummeting when you cock an eyebrow,

"What, am I not gonna get any help?" He shakes his head, "Nah, I'm good doll. Thanks for the invite." You tsk, "You got somethin against me seein you naked Barnes? It's not very fair that you're seein me all vulnerable and I gotta leave you to my imagination." When you reach for the top buttons on his shirt, he swallows before covering your hands, "I said no." It sounded more stern than he intended but he was terrified of the reaction to the scars and skin stretched around metal that accompanied the horrible arm he sported. He hated that thing and he wished he still had his other flesh arm, or rather than losing it, he wish he'd lost his life instead. Things would be so much easier for a lot of people. Including you. You cock your head again, your eyes softening at the facade he's putting up again, your hands rested on his broad chest, "What's the matter?" He shakes his head, his jaw clenching. You click your tongue, "Are you... self conscious about something?" He leaves his eyes closed when he blinks again and takes a deep breath, nodding just the slightest, "I got a lot more scarring than you do darlin." You frown, shaking your head, "And just for that comment, I'm not taking no for an answer. You think I'm beautiful with that ugly thing under my breast, I'm sure yours are just as spectacular." He doesn't fight your hands off as you speak. You swiftly undo the first few buttons on his shirt, glancing up at his face every few seconds to make sure he isn't panicking at this point. When he seems fairly calm, you continue until his shirt is completely unbuttoned, running your hands across his now bare, tan chest. His heart thuds out against your palm as you glance across the small, faded scars littering his torso. You trace each of them, but he grows more nervous and you can see now that it's not these particular scars, but one that you haven't unearthed yet. Glancing up at him, you free his flesh arm from its confines, eyes locked on his face as you slowly move to the other. His breath catches in his throat as you start to tug the shirt from his shoulder, "This one?" He nods harsher this time, his breathing growing hard as you draw the rest of his arm from his shirt, tsking and dropping it behind him, your eyes glued to the jagged scarring of skin meeting metal. Placing your hand just above his elbow, you move it to watch the scarring crinkle and see how the metal connects to his firm skin. His eyes are locked on your face, wondering how you're not disgusted like he is and like other women have been. Rather than running and screaming, there's wonder and awe in your eyes. Your index finger traces the asperous skin fused with the bionic prosthetic, genuine curiosity etched across the beautiful face Bucky couldn't get sick of seeing. When your eyes find his again, you smile softly, "I kinda like it. Scars make a person unique and this one... this one definitely adds to your uniqueness." When your smile widens like a giddy child with candy, his heart skips a beat. Watching your hands undo his belt, his eyes are locked on your face. He can't believe you've moved on from his arm as quickly as you did. Paying it no mind, you pull his belt free, unbuttoning his slacks and pushing them down, his briefs collected in them. You gasp when his length springs free, and a shy smile as you help him step out of his bottoms and strut towards the shower tells him you're more focused on his dick than his arm. Bending just the slightest to turn the water on, it warms to your liking rather quickly, Bucky climbing in just before you. You sigh in relief, the water soaking your tense muscles. Closing your eyes, you twist your neck, the heat seeping beneath your skin. You jump slightly when Bucky's hands skimmed up your sides, his lips pressed against your shoulder. You smile and turn, lacing your arms under his, pressing your hands to his shoulder blades and your ear over his heart. His chest rumbles as he speaks up again, quietly, "Why aren't you repulsed by it?" He doesn't have to elaborate for you to know what he means. You look up at him, your body slowly turning to jello as comfort seeps into your body from not only the shower but the man standing before you, "Because if I'm in love with you, I'm in love with all of you. Not just the pretty parts. We all have ugly pieces of ourselves and I'm not going to avoid those. Besides," you say with a shrug, "I don't think its ugly. I think it's rather flattering. And don't get me started about the naughty thoughts I've started having about it." He can't help but smirk down at you, your eyes hooded and he can tell he needs to get you to bed soon. It's been a long few weeks for the both of you and Bucky can see how much it's taken from you. Taking the initiative into his own hands, he gently combs his fingers through your hair as he washes it. He watches you shave your legs as he washes his own hair, his eyes fixed on how effortless it is for you. By the time you've completely washed and stepped out, Bucky can tell that seconds after you hit your pillow, you're done for. So he watches you brush through your hair, his hands on your hips over your towel. His eyes meet yours in the large mirror as he leans in to kiss the back of your neck, the hair standing up, "You're perfect." You tilt your head for him, watching him suck the skin, "I'm surprised I haven't been bent over something. I didn't expect Bucky Barnes to forgo getting himself off." He shrugs, "There's something... different about you. Normally it's a hit it and quit it typa thing but with you..." he pauses to collect your hair in his hands, "it's completely different. I want to savor you." You giggle when he trails his fingers up your sides softly, tickling you. Jerking away from him, you trail into your bedroom, your towel being tugged from your body, "Hey!" "Well the way I see it, you expect me to spend the night, and if I have to be naked, so do you." There's no room for argument as you open your mouth to speak and Bucky takes your face in his hands, his lips meeting  yours, your teeth clashing as you wrap your arms around his shoulders and he careens you back against your creaky bed. He grumbles, pinning your arms above you, his tongue slipping past your lips, "God your apartment sucks." "Hey! It's the first... thing I... bought for... myself." You gasp out between kisses, another growl rattling his chest, "If I fuck you right here we'll break this damn bed." "So don't fuck me." He watches your lips turn up into a smile, brushing his own against them, "I didn't plan on it." You scoot back to the other side as he climbes in your bed, glancing between you and his bionic arm, "Are you really gonna lay on that side?" You nod, a gentle smile crossing your lips, "Yep. I like the way it sparkles and I reckon it'll keep me cool." He shakes his head, refusing to curl it around you until you whine. Glancing down, he tsks, watching you tug on the fingers, "Darlin-" "Buckyyyy!" You whimper, looking up into his steel colored eyes. He looks you over for a moment before rolling them and slowly enfolding you in the divet of his underarm. Resting your hand on his chest, he shakes his head, "So gross. You should be disgusted by it and here you are cuddling with it." "Because it's not gross. It's beautiful. You're like art. Weird and unique and beautiful Bucky. It makes you different from all the other men that I wrangle up and bring into the precinct. You're special and... if I am in love with you, that's why." He tsked, staring up at the ceiling, "Like it's a question if you're in love with me." Grumbling, you roll over, "Goodnight Barnes." He kisses the back of your head, "Goodnight sugar." 

Bucky hadn't had the nightmare in a long while. Most times when he did, he woke almost immediately to an empty bed and sweat drenched. He'd roll over and curl into his pillow and pray that he could get back to sleep before his men burst through his door saying they had a problem like they always did. But having you in bed with him made things difficult. Of course he didn't know that. Yet. It started the same, a dark room and a blurry faced woman that sometimes was his mother or one of his sisters. He knew that the nightmare was god's way of cursing him for his business. He was dangerous and the nightmare was his form of torture. The only difference was, this time your face was transcribed across the body he'd seen slump over and over again as a bullet was lodged in your brain. The tear streaks down your cheeks and the way your hair draped over your shoulders as you begged him to help you. The way you yanked at the restraints at your back, your eyes locked in his. The way when the mystery man rested his hand on your shoulder you glanced up and pleaded for them not to do this. The way when the gun was held to your head, you screamed and cried until the deafening sound rang through the air and your eyes glossed over. Your body going rigid as the life left your normally vibrant irises. The way your blood splattered against the wall beside you and your head toppled forward as you died. Bolting upright, Bucky startled you awake, his skin soaked in sweat and a gasp escaping his lips. Sitting up with him while he gasped for air, you pressed a palm to his chest, the other reaching up for his cheek, "Bucky." He didn't look at you, his skin numb against you, "Buck, hey, what's the matter?" He still didn't reply, his heart pounding out against your palm and his eyes locked on the door before you. He could feel himself dangling over the edge of a cliff of his sanity, a thin line, waiting to be snapped, the only thing holding him up. Hearing your voice through the resolve grounded him, his eyes flooding with tears as he looked at you, the same eyes that, in his nightmare went dark after you were executed, stared back at him with worry and fear, "What's wrong?" He shook his head, reaching up to clutch your shoulder. Just to feel that you were there with him. Reaching up further, he stroked your hair from your clavicle, tears slipping past his eyelashes. You watched the beads slither down his cheeks and disappear beneath his chin, his hand rested at your cheek and his thumb dancing along your temple. Through shaky breathing, he shook his head again, "I had a nightmare." You clicked your tongue as he broke down in sobs, drawing his head to your chest, his ear placed just over your heart. You rubbed his back, laying back against your pillow. His knees drew up against your thigh, tears pooling in the hollows of your body. You kissed his clammy forehead, stroking his long hair from his eyes, "You're alright. You're safe now Bucky." The soft undertones in your voice and the feeling of your skin, soft, supple, alive beneath him had his body halting his emotions in their tracks. He choked back the few sobs left, wrapping his arms tight around you while you stroked his hair. For once since he'd started having the nightmares, you lulled him to sleep in minutes. Just for good measures, you stayed for an hour more, making sure he was in no more distress. But when you woke, Bucky was pulling his slacks up his legs. You stretched, the joints in your knees and elbows, each popping loudly like an old dog. The gentle purr that tumbled from your lips caught Bucky's attention, his heart stuttering. He turned, features going soft at the beautiful smile etched across your dopey, refreshed face. It quickly faded and Bucky watched you rise, scooting closer to him, "How are you feeling?" He found himself longing for your touch, turning his cheek into your soft palm when you placed it there. He could still smell wisps of old perfume mixed with your body wash wafting off your wrist. He nodded, reaching up to hold your much smaller hand in place, "Fine." The corners of your lips perked, but you didn't smile, a sympathetic look written in your eyes. He shook his head, avoiding them for longer than he needed, far too afraid he'd replay the scenes in his head. He swallowed, releasing your hand, "Do you uhh... do you have work today?" You shook your head, your lips turning up as you crawl over on your knees, "Nope, you get me all to yourself. You can do whatever you'd like to me." You coo in his ear, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. He's tense, his shoulders squared as if in defense. You can tell that it's from the previous night's events and when he moves out of your arms its emphasized, "No... I got business deals. I can't stay." Standing to follow him into the bathroom in search of the rest of his clothes, you stand behind him with your sheet wrapped round your body. You swallow the lump in your throat, his eyes meeting yours when he turns, "Buck... what was your nightmare about?" His eyes flash in disgust and sadness and you can see how hard it is for him. Almost as hard as the scars he fights to conceal. He shakes his head, "I don't wanna talk about it." Brushing past you, he heads for the dining room where his coat is, pulling it over his large shoulders as you stand in the doorway with a heavy heart, trying to come up with something to say. You swallow again, praying your voice doesn't betray you, "Do you want me to come down to the club later? Or... you wanna come back here? I can make dinner tonight... as a sort of a payback for last night." He waves his hand in the space between you as if wiping something away, "I think it's best you keep your distance for a little while darlin." As he starts past you again, you catch his elbow, his eyes finding yours sadly. You glance up, fighting back tears. He nods like he knows what you're going to say before he kisses your temple, his lips lingering like they did the night he hurt you. He can't help but feel like he's doing it again. Running his hand down your arm, he pulls away before you can take his hand. He storms towards the door before you can beg him to stay or cry to him. He doesn't want to see you like that and any way to avoid seeing what he's selfishly putting you through, he'll do. The second the door closes behind him, you feel empty. You didn't expect to fall so hard, so fast. It happened and like always, he was leaving and you were left to pick up the pieces. You wondered if the nightmare had anything to do with him turning his back to you. You wondered if he'd been scared away by his own dream. Leaning against the door, you fight back tears, wondering why all of this was happening to you. Why God cursed you with the dark version of a man you craved. Why out of all the people in the world, you believed your soulmate was someone you should legally bring into your department. But you could see why all the other officers kept him from behind bars. As Bucky strut with heavy feet and a heavy heart to the rickety elevator, he desperately wanted to turn back. He wanted to hold you. He wanted to make love to you just to feel that you were there. Just to hear your voice and feel your lips against his skin and your hands wandering his chest. But he needed the distance. He needed to know that you wouldn't die because of him. He needed to know that you wouldn't be collateral against him in the event a business deal went askew. He wanted to protect you and he wanted to be a better man for your safety. For the future he wanted to plan with you. He couldn't just walk away from the mafia, but he would try and find a way out. And it would start with therapy. For the nightmares. For the scars. For him. But mostly for you.

"You're... you're sure about this Buck? You don't really need her. You can talk to me." Bucky waved Steve off, avoiding his eyes, "If I'm gonna get better for Y/N, its gotta be her. There's things I can't tell you. It's not that I'm not comfortable with you, I just need someone that doesn't know me. I need someone who'll sit in that chair and shut up and not tell me I'm overreacting or ask me if I really had those thoughts or those dreams. It's been three days and I haven't returned Y/N's phone calls or her texts, even with the shit I've told you. I have to do this for her. I can't keep running her around like this. She'll leave me." Steve nodded, standing straight, "Alright, alright. I get it." Sucking in a deep breath, he turned when a knock on the hard cedar door rang through the expansive room. Steve glanced back at Bucky, unmoved and waiting for Bucky to give him the go ahead to open the door. When Bucky gave a small, nervous nod, the blonde strut over, opening the door for the small strawberry blonde behind it, dark framed glasses perched on her nose. She was pretty. Ponytail, button up,  pencil skirt. But she wasn't exactly Bucky's type. Steve gave a curt, stoic faced nod before exiting the room and closing the door behind him. Bucky didn't stand, the woman in the door seemingly growing uncomfortable as Bucky sipped more whiskey from his glass, "Mr. Barnes-" "You can sit here. The sooner we get started the faster this'll be over." She furrowed her brow before walking over. "Its nothing against you, I just... I'm not good at this whole communication thing." Bucky justified. She nodded, sitting just before him, "I understand." Sitting in silence for a few moments, Bucky cleared his throat and kicked his feet from the desk, "So... what do I call you?" She smiled, "You don't. Just act as though you're talking to yourself." Bucky smiled, "That's hard to do when you're staring at me." Her lashes fluttered as she crossed one leg over the other, "Call me Lilith." Bucky nodded, running the tip of his index finger over rim of his glass, "Alright... so... where should we begin?" He asked coolly. Meanwhile, back at your apartment, you paced the creaky wooden floors of your living room, your phone held to your ear with Davis on the other end sighing exasperated, "What would you like me to say Y/N? You knew what the risks were when you took them. Go over there... or don't... it's up to you." "That doesn't help Jared. Tell me what you think I should do. What would you do in this situation?" Back at the precinct, Davis kicked his feet up on the desk, running a hand through his carmine colored hair, "Honestly... you're sure him leaving was about the nightmare?" "Well no, but everything was fine until that point. He jumps up in the dead of night and them the next morning won't even maintain eye contact. Is that weird or just me?" Pondering his answer, he nods as if you can see him, "Yeah, it's weird. If I were you... I'd take him a gift or something. Give you an excuse to be in the area. What does he like?" You snort, pausing midstep, "Seriously? He's a mob boss. He likes alcohol and guns. What else?" Davis chuckles on the other end, "Alright, take him some of the Carribbean Jack rum. Its good... he'll like it." Already ten steps ahead of him, you traipse to your closet, pulling out a navy green, a-line dress and put him on speaker, "You're a genius Davis. He'll feel bad for the gift and he'll wanna thank me... we'll go to dinner and he'll-" "Y/N?" You pause, hands smoothing down your dress instinctively as you hear Davis's chair creak, "Yeah?" He swallows before responding nervously, "You don't think... that you're in over your head... do you?" Your heart pounds in your ears, you brain at war with itself. On one shoulder sits the devil, urging you on, telling you Bucky is everything you've wanted and more. The looks, the body, the personality. He's absolute and a living embodiment of perfection. The angel on the other tells you its unethical. You can do better and you should for the sake of your career. She tells you there's others like him that are far better than this thing you've fallen for. She warns you against Bucky, but you like the way the devil makes it sound. "I dunno... I like to think I'm not." You both pause, "But...?" You sigh, slipping into the black solid strap chunky heels, "There's a part of me that knows it's wrong. Liking him... loving him... but... he's flawed like everyone else and I can't blame him for something like that. Yeah... he's a criminal but no one is perfect Davis. You've done illegal things, I've done illegal things. It just... it happens." Pushing dangle earrings through your ear, you stand before the full body mirror, looking yourself over and fidgeting with the pendant resting nonchalantly between your collarbones. You sigh, leaving your hands at your sides. Davis sighs back, "Just... be careful." You nod, shaking your head when you realize he can't see you, "Yeah... I know." Picking your phone up and grabbing a clutch, you shove a few bills from your wallet and your ID into it, walking to the living room again, "Alright... I'll call you. Once I get down there." He clicks a pen against his forehead, not responding for a moment, "Yeah... just... text at some point so I know when to send an officer over." You smile, "Thanks J. Will do." He smiles at the use of his nickname, "Good luck." Nodding you smile and hang up, the line on Davis's end going silent. He picks the receiver up before dropping it against the holder and tipping his head back over his chair. You think up your plan of going to a local liquor store, buying Bucky Davis's suggested booze before heading down to his club. And from there, you'd let nature take its course. But when you arrived at the club with bottle in hand asking for Bucky, the blonde at the door suggested if it was urgent you see him, you'd have to be blindfolded and driven down to his docks where he was. You agreed, closing your eyes as a blindfolded stunted your vision and your hand was pulled through a large, muscular elbow and you were led to a car, being practically lifted up into it. It was a short drive to the docks, the sweet smell of ocean air and salt stinging your nostrils. Your blindfold was ditched the moment a heavy black door closed behind you, the same man leading you down dark corridors and opening a set of double doors. Your heart pounded the deeper you got into Bucky's place at the docks. It was nice, clean white brick walls with low hanging industrial suspension lamps waving back and forth casting shadows along the hallways. Opening one last door, the tall man smiled, "Mr. Barnes will be two rights and a left. Mr. Rogers will let you in." You nod, walking forward and thanking him before he shuts the door. Two rights and a left later, Steve comes into sight, sitting at a dark mahogany desk, the chair behind him looming over his head. He glances up, his eyes scanning your figure before he stands with a genuine, but confused smile, "Hey darlin... what can I... what can I do for you?" He cocks his head, awaiting your answer. You smile, taking a step forward to smooth over the black button up struggling against his biceps. Patting just over his collarbone, you hold up the bottle of alcohol in your hands, "Thought I'd bring Buck a gift. Is he in?" When you step towards the door, he practically yelps as if he's been electrocuted and jumps in front of you, "Uhh... he's with a uhh... he's with a client." You roll your eyes, "Oh come on Steve. You're not so sure of that. If you wanna join you can." He jumps as you take a few more steps further, reaching for your hand as it turns into a battle of you against Steve fighting to get in or keep out of Bucky's office. Of course you win, small enough to wrap your hand around the handle and pop it open, squeezing past him. You stand in the doorway, trying not to drop the rum as you take in the sight before you. A blonde, her hair tied up and her perfectly manicured fingers caressing Bucky's chin as she sits at the corner of his desk. He glances up, eyes dark in anger that he's been interrupted, but they soften when he sees it's you. And he realizes the hurt expression on your face is of his current situation. You close your open, dumbfounded mouth. You should have known this. Bucky wasn't yours. He didn't own you and you didn't own him. He had every right to his new flavor of the week, but the way he treated you was different. It felt like a part of you was being ripped from your chest, like every brick you'd placed on your and Bucky's house around your heart was crumbling down. Swallowing the lump forming in your throat while Steve's distant voice explains the inconvenience to Bucky, he shakes his hand at the blonde, standing and stepping away from the woman who watches the three of you flounder and squirm. When Bucky's eyes land on you, you figure it's your turn to speak. And just like you assumed, your voice betrays you. "I'm... I'm sorry. I didn't... know you had company. But I uhm... I brought you this." Holding the rum up in suddenly limp arms, you look at the drawers beside you through blurry eyes, resorting to setting the now cumbersome carafe on top of it and turning, "I'll uhm... I'll go... sorry." Bucky can see the panic and hurt behind your eyes. He can read in your posture and your tone of voice that you think Lilith is the other woman. He shakes his head as you stumble blindly, but rather expeditiously back where you came. He chases, his feet carrying him after you and his heart pounding as he fears that his strike three has come. He's not ready to give up. He wants to be better for you. For the future he hopes you'll have together. But now... you've caught him with a woman in his office. One that he hadn't intended to let get so close. And you walked in at the worst time, with the worst inclination. Your heart seized up as he called your name. Tears came to your eyes the faster you walked and you knew you shouldn't have come. You knew you should've stayed home. Let him come to you. You should have walked away. There were a million things that could have been done differently. But now here you were, having taken the devil on your shoulder's advice... and watching the angel on the other sweep up the pieces. Storming away from Bucky. Wondering if it would ever change.

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[literallyusuk]

Assets (USUK)

Summary: Arthur and Alfred get into an...interesting argument. They need some help to solve it and prove who comes out on top. USUK + the BTT, because I love their interactions.

Notes: Blame @triruntu for enabling me : D  I regret nothing. Also on AO3.

Warnings: NSFW-ish, some language & sexual references throughout.

“Amazing, you’ve become blind even while wearing your glasses, love. Clearly, you’re mistaken,” Arthur said, examining the mirror before him.

“Funny you say that, I was just gonna comment how your streak of being completely wrong reached a new record. Are you sure we’re looking at the same thing?” Alfred smiled sweetly over at him.

“Can’t miss it,” Arthur muttered.

“Are you calling me fat?”

Arthur fluttered his eyelashes. “Of course not.”

“Ass.”

“Mmm, and mine’s better.”

“Is it?” Alfred made a show of looking around. “I can’t seem to find it anywhere.”

“One, that’s not the tune you were playing last night.” Arthur crossed his arms and popped out a hip. “And two, like I said, blind.”

“That pose isn’t helping, you know. And speaking of last night, you couldn’t keep your hands off mine.” Alfred looked at him through the mirror and slowly ran a hand over the curve of his ass, clad in light blue skinny jeans. “C’mon, you can’t look at this and say it’s not the best.”

“Oh, I’m not denying that it’s good.” Green eyes followed the motions. “But the best? That might be a stretch. It’s basic. Half the city has an ass like that. It’s not always ‘bigger is better’.”

“Literally everyone thinks bigger is better when it comes to asses.” Alfred huffed. “You’re just saying that cuz you have a washboard back there.”

“Wh- Excuse you! It’s not a washboard!” Arthur scowled and turned to the side, showing off the gentle curves. “It’s delicate! Finely proportioned!”

Alfred snickered. “Now you sound like a princess or somethin’. What’ll it be next, ‘well-bred’? So maybe it’s not completely flat, but it’s still all bones and angles. Nothing like this.” Alfred patted his own ass again. “This is nice. Juicy.”

“Oh dear God, never call your ass ‘juicy’ again. I nearly died of second-hand embarrassment just then.”

“We’re alone.”

“That’s even worse, you know.” Arthur examined his reflection critically and tsked. “It’s the trousers- give me a moment.”

He vanished into their closet and rummaged around for a few minutes, giving a soft ‘aha’ of triumph once he’d pulled something from the very back. When he emerged a few minutes after that, slightly ruffled, he was wearing nothing but black leather trousers that hugged him like a second skin. He practically sauntered over to the mirror and crouched down for a moment, stretching the leather over his legs and ass even more. A smirk spread over his lips as he watched Alfred’s reactions.

Alfred had to look away from him after only a few seconds. “I mean it’s a little bit better…” he said, his voice slightly strained.

“A little bit better? Darling, you’re practically drooling. It’s alright to admit you were wrong, you know,” Arthur cooed to him.

Cheeks flushed but refusing to give in, Alfred stomped off into the closet too. He was out in less time than Arthur, and he’d lost his shirt as well so the only thing he had on him was a pair of very ripped booty shorts. He stared smugly at Arthur as he stepped in front of the mirror and flipped a lamp on. Rainbows sparkled against the walls as the light reflected off the holographic sequin ‘NASTY’ sewn onto the back of them.

Arthur raised his eyes skyward. “Really? Those?”

“You can’t knock ‘em; you were the one who made ‘em for me.”

“It’s precisely for that reason that I can knock them. It’s my abomination, so I can rip into it as much as I please.”

Alfred smirked. “Oh please, you’d love to rip into them, eh? Patience, babe, we still haven’t settled this yet.”

Heat shot up into Arthur’s cheeks and he reached out to smack Alfred’s shoulder. “Shut up. And between my sleek black leather and your mistake before God, I think we have a clear winner.”

“Nope.”

“Yes.”

“Naw.”

“Yes, Alfred.”

“Not a chance in hell, sweetheart.” Alfred winked. “Plus, if you take into account thighs too, you lose even more. Look at these babies.” He spread his legs and sank low towards the ground, flexing his thigh muscles.

Arthur snorted and tried to keep his arousal down. “Lose even more? I think not. My legs are far more shapely.”

“…And now you sound like some stuffy lord.”

“You’re more than welcome to be my servant if you wish,” Arthur murmured, an eyebrow rising. “Or perhaps you’d like me to pose for you, like they did for paintings?”

“That’d be one sinful painting, with you in those pants.” Alfred whistled.

“See? I’m glad you agree with me, then.” Arthur preened. “That’s that matter settled.”

“Wait, no, that is not that matter settled! I said it’d be a sinful painting, not that your ass was better than mine! Which. It isn’t.”

They stared each other down for a few moments, arms crossed over their chests. Finally, Arthur sighed and walked over to his phone. “Fine. I suppose it’s time to get a second opinion.”

“BTT?”

Arthur took in a breath. “BTT,” he eventually agreed, sending off a text.

Alfred laughed. “Come on, we’re not going to war.”

“Are you sure about that?” Arthur’s eyebrows shot up.

Instead of replying, Alfred just stalked forward, dragging his eyes slowly over Arthur’s body. A smirk spread over his face as Arthur backed up against the wall, widening when the Brit’s phone dropped from his fingers. Alfred didn’t break eye contact as he placed his hands on the wall on either side of Arthur’s head.

“And just what are you doing?” Arthur asked quietly.

“Just getting a closer look. Who knows, maybe that’ll change my mind.” Alfred grinned as he started sliding his hands down closer to Arthur’s hips.

“Is that so?” Arthur looked amused as he glanced between the inches of empty air between them. “You’re awfully close.”

“Is that a problem?”

“Not at all.”

“Good.” Alfred flipped him, one hand moving to the small of Arthur’s back and pressing him into the wall.

“I didn’t realize this was a hands-on inspection.”

“Mmm, yep.” The hand moved to cup one of Arthur’s cheeks, his fingers digging into the soft flesh there. “Weren’t you wearing these when we first met?”

“I was. I didn’t think you remembered.” Arthur allowed his eyes to close as he leaned into the touch.

“How could I forget this sight? You were so hot. Though getting you out of them took like, forever.”

They both laughed.

“I think you almost dislocated my hip at one point,” Arthur teased, letting out a soft moan as Alfred’s grip tightened.

“I was in a hurry,” Alfred mumbled, glad that Arthur couldn’t see his reddened face. He brought his other hand to Arthur’s ass as well, and moved them both down to trace the line of his thighs.

“Mhm.” Arthur allowed the touches to go on for another few seconds before turning around again. “Now, let me inspect you.”

Alfred grinned as he allowed himself to be positioned. “Be as thorough as you want, Art.”

“I intend to be.”

Arthur didn’t hesitate as he seized Alfred’s ass in his hands and squeezed. He could feel Alfred’s skin in a few places because of the rips in the booty shorts, and the sequins dug into his palms. He smiled when Alfred gasped and let his head fall against the wall, and gently massaged the plump flesh.

“A-Art-”

“Hmm?” Arthur let go and grazed his nails down the back of Alfred’s thighs. He smiled as he watched goosebumps appear in the wake of his touch.

“Feels- ah, nice…”

“I’m glad, love.” Arthur stared at the sequined word and couldn’t help chuckling as he traced it. “You really do like these, don’t you?”

“Hell yeah.” Alfred twisted his upper half around a bit to shoot Arthur a grin. “Best present ever.”

“Shut up.”

“Really. And knowing that you spent hours and hours sewing that on? Aww.” Alfred yelped as his ass was smacked, though he couldn’t help a few snickers escaping; he’d seen the red creeping up Arthur’s ears.

“Since when have the two of you become such exhibitionists?” a voice asked from the doorway. Francis, Antonio, and Gilbert stood in it, all of them with varying degrees of amusement on their faces.

While Alfred jumped and flushed, Arthur didn’t bat an eye. “It’s not exhibitionism if it’s in our flat. You could have knocked, you know.” He gave Alfred’s ass a final squeeze as he up.

“Could have, didn’t bother.” Gilbert waved a hand. His eyes raked up and down Arthur’s body. “Wow, I didn’t know you could still fit into those.”

“It did take longer than I remembered, but well worth the effort, I think.” Arthur smirked and turned around to show them the view. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

The trio nodded appreciatively.

“Yeah, okay, but check mine out.” Alfred pulled away from the wall and spun to display himself.

“Oh my,” Francis said mildly.

Gilbert snorted. “Where the hell did you get those?”

“Arthur made ‘em for me!”

“Oh my God-” The albino held his sides and had to grip onto Antonio’s shoulder to keep upright as he laughed. “Really?”

Arthur sniffed. “It was a gag gift.”

“They’re very nice,” Antonio offered sincerely.

Alfred beamed. “Thanks, man!”

“So uh.” Francis looked between the two of them. “Why exactly are we here? You two seem to be…busy with each other.”

“Not that this trip hasn’t already been worth it just for that,” Gilbert said, gesturing at the booty shorts.

“Alfred and I need you to settle something for us. Come here.” Arthur grabbed Alfred’s shoulder and spun him around so he was facing away from the trio, then moved to stand next to him. “Which one of us has the better ass?”

They held still as the trio started whispering behind them, then stepped forward for a closer look. Arthur caught Alfred’s eye and smirked at him, while Alfred just rolled his eyes in return. Since the pair of them were stood in the centre of the room, after a few minutes Francis, Antonio, and Gilbert stepped around them so they were all face to face.

“Well?” Alfred asked. “It’s me, right?”

“Mmm, nope.” Gilbert grinned.

“Hah!” Arthur turned to Alfred and poked his bicep. “Take that!”

“It’s not you either, Arthur,” Francis cut in.

Confusion bloomed over Arthur and Alfred’s faces. “It’s not?” Arthur asked, blinking. “That’s not possible. You have to pick!”

“Sorry, we don’t make the rules.” Gilbert shrugged. “Neither of you have the best ass. That honour goes to Antonio. Toni, show ‘em.”

Antonio stepped forward, then frowned. “Alfred, may I borrow your shorts? The ones you have on.”

Though he still looked confused, Alfred nodded. “Sure, come with me.”

They vanished into the closet together. Alfred emerged first, in the jeans from earlier and still no shirt. He retook his spot next to Arthur and shot the Brit a curious look, but only received a shrug in return. Antonio stepped out two minutes later, also having taken off his shirt, and when he was level with Francis and Gilbert, spun around. Instantly, Francis and Gilbert each dropped to one knee and gestured to his ass with their hands.

“Ta-da!”

“Oh, I see,” Alfred and Arthur murmured simultaneously.

Gilbert cackled.

“So you see?” Francis said, his voice kind. “There really is no competition. You put up a valiant effort, but Toni puts us all to shame.”

“It’s the dancing,” Antonio put in, looking over his shoulder cheerfully. He then brightened. “Hey, take a picture of me? I want to show Lovi! I bet he’d love this!” He posed while Francis snapped a few pictures. “Arthur, these are fantastic! Do you think you’d be able to make me a pair?”

Still slightly dazed, Arthur only nodded.

“Thank you! I’ll let you decide what to put on the back!” He skipped off back into the closet to change.

Francis and Gilbert turned shark-like smiles onto Arthur. “What about us?”

Shaking himself, Arthur gave them a flat stare in return. “What about you?”

“Make us each a pair too?”

It was scary, sometimes, how in sync any given members of the BTT could be. Arthur sighed. “Might as well, since apparently this is a business now.” He flicked Alfred’s forehead. “Oi. Snap out of it now.”

Alfred blinked a few times and grinned. “I bet if you did make a business out of it, it’d take off.”

“Yeah, no.” Arthur rolled his eyes, but gave him a quick kiss on the forehead.

Alfred’s arms immediately snaked around his neck to hold him close. “Pity. But maybe that’s better, then ours will be special.”

“Heh, is that so?”

“Yeah.” Alfred pulled them flush against each other and pressed his forehead to Arthur’s. His hands started slowly wandering southwards. “You know…”

“Hmm?”

“Even though Toni’s got the best ass outta all of us, I still like yours best,” he whispered as his hands settled over it again.

Arthur crooned and buried his face in the crook of Alfred’s neck as his own hands settled on the American’s hips. “That’s sweet, Al. And lucky for you, I like yours best as well.” His fingertips slid beneath the waist of Alfred’s jeans, but he held himself back from anything else for the moment.

“Really?”

“Really.”

“I’m glad…”

Antonio, who had emerged from the closet again, took one look at the pair of them and grinned. “Mario Kart?” he whispered to the other two.

“Yep. Something tells me they’re gonna get real exhibitionist in a second.” Gilbert snickered and started for the door.

“You know where they keep the system, right?” Francis murmured.

“Yeah, no worries. And we can drag ‘em out for drinks or something when they’re done.” With one last look at the pair, Gilbert shut the door to their bedroom. “Best ass or not, Toni, I’ll whip it on Rainbow Road.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

Months later, for Christmas, the BTT each got a pair of matching embroidered booty shorts. ‘JUICY’ for Antonio, ‘BITCH 1’ for Francis, and ‘BITCH 2’ for Gilbert. Arthur told himself he didn’t regret his decision no matter how many pictures went up on social media.

[romvnova]

Becoming The Raptor Wrangler: Chapter One

Warning: There may be potential triggers littered throughout this chapter. Please read this at your own discretion. Keep in mind, in my headcanon Owen suffers heavily from PTSD and anxiety and it’ll be a key focus of his character for me until he finds a way to cope with it (apropos to “his girls” { aka. the raptor squad } Blue, Charlie, Delta and Echo).

There’s an unrelenting pounding of someone’s fist on the metal of his Airstream’s door. Owen, who was in an uneasy sleep — it’s always uneasy — sets up with a rough gasp, his heart pounding loudly in his ears as the blood rushes from his head.

“Alright. ALRIGHT!” He snarls as he throws his legs over the edge of the bed and stands, planting his hand to the wall for a second before he pushes off of it and goes to the door, unlocking it and pushing it open. The knocking, blissfully, ceases but there’s a fire in his father’s eyes as Owen opens the door and steps aside as Logan Grady invites himself in that makes Owen immediately regret opening the door.

“Come in.” Owen invites as his father turns sharply on his heel and turns to face Owen who lets out a breath and closes the door. His father’s gaze burns through him and Owen can’t help but feel that it was intimidating enough to cause the devil himself to think twice.

“Owen, this has to stop.” His father’s arm shoots out to stop him as Owen makes to brush past him, reaching for the small, orange prescription bottles laying on the RV’s counter.

“What the hell?” Owen demands gruffly, growing more grumpy by the moment as his mood swings. He needs the anti-depressants and anxiety medication to function something close to a normal human being and his father knows it. It isn’t a magical cure all — the flashbacks and the anxiety attacks still happen — but it helps.

“I can’t sit by and just watch this any longer.”

“Watch what?” Owen snaps. He’s taller than his father and his father wasn’t truly the road-block that he thought he was. If Owen really wanted to …he could get past him. But Owen didn’t really want to. There was too much of a risk that he’d seriously hurt his dad in the process and despite his raising annoyance he didn’t want to hurt his old man.

“Watch you waste away in this trailer. Look Owen, it’s been six months since you …retired from the SEALS and in that time you’ve done nothing to help yourself. You just keep taking the medication they prescribe for you. You haven’t put much, if any effort, towards finding a new purpose. You need somethin’, boy. Somethin’ other than these damn medicines and this trailer. You need to find your path. You’ve lost your way.” Owen’s lips mash into a hard, terse line and he rolls his eyes, shifting his position so he leans his hips against the counter.

His father wasn’t wrong.

Still, that goddamn Grady stubbornness rises like a white hot heat in Owen as he feels the urge to defend himself.

“Nobody’s hiring vets, Dad. I’m a liability to them. If I have a PTSD episode while at work …that’s on them. They can’t take that risk.” Owen’s tone is colorfully snide to accent the sharp air quotes he did. He’d only heard that line over a thousand times.

Can you get through a day without the jackhammer triggering a flashback?

No.

Sorry son, I just…I can’t take that risk.

Yeah, I’d gladly hire you as security. Your martial arts repertoire is impressive, man…but there’s a lot of flashing lights and heavy bass. I see that you suffer from PTSD. Can you confidently tell me that it won’t trigger an episode?

Not as confidently as you’d like me to.

I’m real sorry, man. I can’t take the risk. Better luck next time.

Owen understands …to some degree. He gets it but he can only take being kicked to the curb like a prized fighting dog that’s lost it’s value for so long before it takes it’s toll on him. He’s struggling …and it’s only because of sheer stubbornness that he hasn’t taken to alcohol as a suppressant.

“I mean, honestly, Pops. What skills do I have to offer the world? It’s not like there’s exactly a high demand for a black-ops trained killer. And, ok, I could make a few bucks training animals …but people’re too afraid that I’ll train their animals to be weapons.”

Owen watches his father contemplate his words and a long silence stretches between them followed closely by a rise and fall of Logan Grady’s shoulders.

“Listen, Owen. I need an extra pair of hands at the Ranch. I can’t haul an axe like I used to and Rick brought me a particularly rebellious stallion that needs a good trainer. I’ll pay you the same wage I pay everyone else —”

“Pops …,” Owen shakes his head in refusal. “I’m not —”

“Now, don’t argue with me boy …”

“— I’m not takin’ your money.” Owen insists firmly with a bit more passive aggression than he meant to. Realizing he’s stepped boot to boot with his father, staring down at him in the same manner he’d stared down at the men in his platoon when they’d disobeyed him Owen swallows thickly and reels back, reigning himself in. “I’ll work on the Ranch,” Owen agrees, hand gripping the the wood top of the dinette’s bench. He tries to make it look casual but his grip is hard and he feels the wood slowly giving way beneath his fingers that have gone numb from the death grip he exerts. “but I won’t accept your money.”

“Molly Warbeck keeps asking if you’ll be coming back to church anytime soon.”

Molly Warbeck was Owen’s ex from high school. One of those down-home, homegrown, found on good ground girls. Owen joined the Navy the summer of his Junior year in school and their relationship ended a few days after their senior graduation. Owen broke it off with her because it hadn’t seemed fair to him for her to keep holding onto him when he had ambitions to join the SEALS. Holding onto a man who’d became a ghost, never knowing when and where he was going or if he’d make it back.

People in your life were messy.

And now …well, now, the Owen he’d been in high school didn’t exist anymore and it wasn’t fair to either of them to try to ‘pick up where they’d left off’. Maybe for her it was easy, maybe she hadn’t changed at all …but Owen couldn’t be that kid anymore.

“It doesn’t seem right to go to Church when I don’t believe in God.” Owen squints out the window, arms crossed over his chest. He approaches the subject gruffly and close-minded. His decision’s been made on both fronts: God and Molly Warbeck. Surprisingly, his father doesn’t push, for all of Logan Grady’s faults, he tries not to push religion on Owen, and tries to respect his point of view. Molly’s a bit of a different story but Owen’s well adapted to holding his ground.

“That wasn’t exactly what I was gettin’ at…” Logan scratches as his salt and pepper beard.

“— I know what you were getting at.” Owen interrupts, brushing past his father. “Give me a few minutes to get dressed and clean up and I’ll hitch a ride with you up to the ranch.” Logan grunts and heads towards the door, pushing it open and pushing it closed behind him. Owen’s fingers reach for the prescription bottle but he stops just short of tugging it into his grasp.

The anti-depressants and anxiety medications make Owen’s life more tolerable …and he doesn’t remember the last time he tried to make it through a day without them. The goal’d always been to wean himself off of them once he found solid ground beneath his feet again.

Why not start today?

Currently, the ground felt pretty damn solid …but that was a rocky slope. He’d just started up the mountain that seems so damn and impossibly high. One step at a time.

He retracts his hand and goes into the ‘bedroom’ to change into jeans and an old flannel shirt and contemplates shaving off his beard that he’d let grow. He runs his hands over it for a moment, considering his options before he remembers that his father’s outside waiting for him. He exits the RV and hops up into the bed of his father’s rumbling, old Chevy truck, rapping his knuckles against the roof of the cab, snickering at his father when Logan pokes his head out of the window he cranked down.

“Get in the cab of the truck, boy. Like a normal person.”

“Nah, I’m good.” He laughs as his father’s head disappears into the cab and he puts the truck in drive and they rumble down the rough path to the ranch. It was reminiscent of Owen’s time as a kid. He’d always preferred to ride in the bed of the truck as opposed to being wedged in the cab between his parents, or having to share that tiny middle seat with his younger brother ( which couldn’t have been even remotely safe now that he thinks about it ). Besides that, it feels claustrophobic to him.

He ducks and sinks down into the bed to avoid being beheaded by low hanging branches, and props one knee up, resting his hand on his knee, back pressed against the back of the cab as he watches his RV at the very back of their land disappear into the thick trees, his Triumph the last thing he sees glinting in the early morning sun.

The window at the back of the cab unlatches and his dad slides it open. He’s got the news playing on the radio and Owen swallows the lump that forms in his throat as the woman radio personality talks about an armed robbery, a workplace shooting and a kidnapping. The last was the story of how a young girl was raped by her step-dad repeatedly and Owen’s stomach roils with nausea and for a moment his muscles tense as he prepares to hoist himself over the side of the truck to throw up.

“Turn it off.” Owen rasps into the window. “For the love of fuck…turn it off.” He doesn’t want to hear the shit the world’d turned into. This wasn’t what he’d fought for. This wasn’t the America he’d sacrificed damn near everything for.

A few seconds past.

“Are you alright, Owen?” The truck lurches and Owen grabs the side of the truck bed and empties his mostly empty stomach over it.

“Fine.” Owen gasps as he finishes, scrunching up his face at the sour taste that lingers in his mouth. “There’s a reason I don’t own a TV.” He tells his father gruffly.

There’s a long pause and Owen wipes the light sheen of sweat off of his forehead with the grease stained cloth tucked into the back pocket of his jeans. The cool fall air feels good against his heated skin. The news only pisses him off, makes him sick. Makes him feel like everything he and every other service member did was for nothing.

He thought he’d been some damn unsung hero. He thought he’d known who the enemies of mankind were …but the truth was that they lingered everywhere. Monsters hiding in human skin everywhere.

He thought about joining the local police or state trooper force. It seemed like a natural transition: uphold the law, protect the innocent. It’d been his plan, originally. His therapist recommended against it claiming it to be ‘least suitable career choice for him due to his emotional issues from his tours of deployment’.

Emotional issues. That was a nice way of putting it. Candy coated, legal jargon bullshit.

“Have you eaten anything?”

“You woke me up.” Owen replied, fidgeting with a loose string on his jeans as he props his knee back up. He doesn’t say it accusatory. Just tiredly. His father makes a small rumble of disapproval.

“I’ll make you some breakfast. A man needs to eat.”

They drive for a few more minutes, a silence settling between them only for Owen to let out a grunt and grab onto the side of the bed to keep himself from slamming back into the back of the cab as his father slams on the breaks. The tires squeal in protest and the truck engine rumbles it’s own displeasure.

“What the hell?” Owen asks, pushing himself to his feet in the bed to loom over the roof of the cab. Three black cars are parked along the lane. A man looking out of place in jeans and a casual shirt stands leaning against the Mercedes and two men in black uniform flank him, their hands resting on their sidearms. Hardly inconspicuous.

“I thought I told ya to get off my land.” Owen’s father yells as he goes to get out of the truck.

“Stay in the truck, Dad.” Owen warns his father as he hops over the side of the bed, moving around the truck to meet the man who moves forward. Owen watches his lackeys as they mirror his movements.

“Lieutenant Commander Grady.” The man holds a meaty hand out for Owen to shake but Owen doesn’t reciprocate.

“Former Lieutenant Commander.” Owen corrects gruffly. “I’m retired, in case you haven’t heard.”

“Dogs of war like us never retire, Lieutenant Commander.” The man replies with a quirk of his lips into a smile. Owen doesn’t trust him. “I’m Vic Hoskins. Head of Security at InGen on Isla Nublar.”

“I know who you are.” Owen replies curtly.

“You’re a hard man to get ahold of, Mr. Grady.” Vic Hoskins seems adamant on dancing around what Owen really wants to know. Owen recognizes the power-play happening. Hoskins wants to be in control of their conversation and that annoys Owen greatly.

“It’s intentional.” He didn’t want the government or military sniffing him out, he didn’t want to join any support groups. He just wanted to be left alone.

“Want to tell me why you’re harassin’ my Old Man, Mr. Hoskins?”  Owen demands in lieu of asking.

“I’m sure you’re familiar with Jurassic World?” Hoskins inquires with a grin that would put a cat to shame. Except he thinks Owen’s his canary. Big mistake, but for the moment allowing Hoskins to think he’s in charge here works to Owen’s advantage and thus he allows it.

“It’s hard not to be. Advertisements everywhere you look.” Owen doesn’t agree with it. With the de-extinction of the dinosaurs, with exploiting them for money and entertainment. It rubbed him the wrong way on multiple levels …but he knows he has no room to talk. Hadn’t he done the same thing with his animals during his time with the SEALS? Train them to be weapons of war? He’d exploited them for the military, and they’d been used and disposed of in lieu of soldier’s lives.

And it haunted Owen every day of his life.

“You ever been?”

“Nah. Zoos aren’t my thing.” Owen replies cracking a lopsided grin that hides knives beneath it. It’s all a complex mess of feelings for him. He understands with the ‘saving endangered animals from extinction’ prospect of it …but then again wasn’t that what animal sanctuaries were for?

“I have to be honest, Mr. Grady …I’m looking for someone of your particular skill set to join InGen’s team.”

“And what skill set would that be?”

“We’re working on a new project called IBRIS. We’d like for you to research the cognitive abilities and behavior of the Raptors. See if they can bond with the humans, if they can be trained to follow commands. Your file appeared on my desk with a high and shining recommendation.”

The ‘no’ lingers on the very tip of Owen’s tongue. He’s not going to train war machines. Instead of ‘no’, he laughs. He laughs because it sounds so ridiculous. A dinosaur trainer? Training dinosaurs wasn’t like training dogs and horses.

“You want me to train velociraptors?” Owen asks, just to be sure he’s heard Hoskins correctly.

“This isn’t a laughing matter, soldier. It’s a serious offer. It’s a good offer. Misrani is willing to triple your wage you made before you retired.”

Holy shit.

“Full employee benefits. Retirement plans. Everything top of the line. Right at your fingertips.”

It sounds grand but Owen’s not out for money. He gets a nice fat pension from the military as it is. He chooses to live in the old Airstream on his family’s land. It’s quiet. It’s comfortable and he’s never been a man of pomp.

There’s a big question of morality in play. As Owen stares Hoskins down, the other man does the same to him. He doesn’t want to train the velociraptors for monetization and exploitation. Besides that, unleashing velociraptors on a battlefield? Sounds like a massacre waiting to happen. Could he let that happen? Owen gets the feeling that this Project IBRIS was going to happen with or without him spearheading it. If he didn’t accept the job then someone who had no moral compass would come in, in his place. At least if he accepts Owen has a chance to ensure that he’s a valuable piece on the chess board. He can ensure that InGen couldn’t dispose of him when he got in their way because he would get in their way. There was no way that he was going to let them unleash raptors in active war zones. For the sake of both the people and the animals themselves.

“I need some time to think about it.” Owen finally responds. He already knows his answer but he wants InGen to sweat it out for a bit. They want him bad, he can tell by the twitch in Vic Hoskins eye as Owen intentionally displays deliberation.

“You have twenty four hours. There’s a jet waiting at the local airport. It departs at seven hundred hours tomorrow morning. Your name’s on the manifest.” Hoskins tells him before turning sharply on his heel and walking back to the car, his lackeys following after a few prolonged seconds as Owen plants his hands on his hips.

InGen wants him bad enough to assume that he’ll say ‘yes’.

“What’d they want?” Owen looks over his shoulder as the rumbling engine of his father’s truck draws closer, the crunch of gravel under tire slowing as his father pulls the truck to a stop beside Owen.

“To offer me a job.” Owen replies, going around the front of the truck and hopping in the passenger side of the cab.

[geminimoonbeamx]

Bucky Barnes x Plus size reader Fingerpainting

Word Count: 2K+

Warnings: Cursing(as usaual, ya’ll know I gots a potty mouth from hell) and teetH ROTTING COTTON CANDY FLAVORED FLUFF. Daddy! Bucky has my whole heart.

Growing up, your household had been vibrant, drenched in color, music filling every nook and cranny. Your mother had been something of a free spirit; You’d been raised on Fleetwood Mac and Jimmi Hendrix, on dancing in circles and bubbling laughter. Now, as an adult you cherished those memories, they we’re such a big part of who you are. And as a mother yourself, you made sure the tradition had continued on.

Made sure your children grew up with that same magical wonder that you had.

It’s what Bucky had noticed about you first, that sparkle in your (y/c) eyes, the curiosity and mischievousness. Cat like, as he liked to refer to them. You we’re his little cat; playful and full of life. And yeah, you had a vicious set of claws, but mostly you liked to be stroked. Both figuratively and literally.

You had this way about you, one that was like sunshine. That bubbly laughter of your contagious, your dimpled smile blinding.

Falling completely fucking in love with you had been easy, natural. He instinctively sought your light and you were more then willing to share it with him, give it to him. Light him up from the inside in a way that made him get a little awestruck because he’d never thought that he’d ever find something like you. He’d accepted the frigidness that had consumed him and here you came, like an Indian summer. All plump curves and saccharine words and butterfly kisses.

And he assumed that it couldn’t get any better; to have a woman that truly deeply loved him. Despite everything… well, what could top that?

And then you’d gotten pregnant and proceeded to set his universe into technicolor chaos once more. He hadn’t even realized he could still have children, that that was still an option for him.

You gifted him with something he hadn’t even realize he’d been craving; his first child. A daughter.

Faye Rebecca Barnes.

Who had your eyes, same spark and everything. But his pretty little up turned nose and his thick, dark hair. She was a tiny hummingbird of a girl, as soon as she could walk she was off in all directions; and he followed close behind, like he always would. Where there was Faye’s chiming laughter, Bucky was close by. The bond that those two had…was something that you couldn’t even fathom sometimes. It was beautiful, to watch them. To know that you had helped to create something so pure.

…Two somethings so pure. Your stomach had never been flat; had always been plush and jiggly, but at the moment it strained out round and firmly, stretching your skin taught. Like some had stuck a basketball under your shirt.

They say pregnancy the second time around is easier. Fucking hah, who ever said that didn’t have a three year old darting around. But still- you tried to stay positive. Tried to focus more on the beautiful parts of pregnancy…even though the ugly, irritating ones came in spades. Oh, how you desperately fucking missed not having to pee every ten minutes.

Baby Barnes number two had made it a game to tap dance on your bladder.

It’s a stormy Wednesday afternoon, nothing particularly exciting or special going on: you’re sitting on the living room floor because its the only place you can seem o get comfortable with Faye, the large glass coffee table in front of you littered with oil pastes and colored pencils. Discarded papers blotches with swirls of color dispersed all over as the two of you drew idly. Bucky was laying on the couch behind you, the one that you lean against, reading the newspaper as Dumbo played on the flat screen in the background.

“Mommy what’s your favorite animal?” Faye inquires, not looking up from her paper and the long erratic strokes she’s making with a teal colored pencil. She was only three, and she’d seemed to inherit your “artistic nature” as Buck liked to call it.

“Seahorses…Or maybe flamingos. I cant decide” You scrunch your nose, focused on your own art. Sunsets and constellations stare back at you, you use your thumb to blend the smooth pastel colors into one hypnotic shade. “What’s yours, Honeybee?”

“Mermaids” Faye shrugs as though its obvious “I like pink elephants too”

From behind the newspaper, Bucky has a large grin on his face. Shaking his head a little at the two of you.

“Is that why we’ve been watching Dumbo on repeat?” He wonders, his gruff voice amused as he reads an article on ‘Stark Industries new Holliday Season Technology.’

“It’s my favorite” Faye nods. Favorite of the week, that is. Last week had been the Aristocats, the week before that Moana.

Bucky could literally sing “Your Welcome” from start to finish. Faye insisted her father be Maui for the upcoming Halloween because he had “pretty hair” just like him. You’d laughed HARD at that, but whispered to him that you wouldn’t mind seeing him only in a grass skirt, your tone had him grabbing at your plump ass.

“Really? It used to scare me a little bit. Especially the pink elephants on parade part. Super trippy if you ask me” You laugh, looking up from your page at your daughter. Her dark hair was pulled up into a messy knot on the top of her head,

“I like 'em. I think they pretty” The three year old defends.

“It does make my head spin a little. I remember reading somethin’ about Walt Disney being all hopped up on dr-” Bucky stops himself, shooting Faye a look “-…Sugar, when he made a lot of these movies”

You laugh. It’s uncanny how similar it sounds to your daughters.

Bucky thinks that’s part of a reason the little girl has such a tight hold on his heart. Obviously, she was his child, and he would love her regardless of what she looked like. But the fact that she was a mini version of you was really what got him.

Faye laughed like sunshine too.

“Yeah I’ve heard that too! And it makes so much sense, this was a trip gone bad…or good I guess. Since you know, its a classic” You add.

“A trip to where, mommy?”

You snort and Bucky puts the paper down a little bit so that he can not only see your reaction, but your response. One of his eyebrows raise.

“Umm, to a place where only adults go. We’ll talk about it when your in college?” You test the waters. Even after years, this whole parenting thing was still touch and go to you.

You didn’t think you’d ever fully have it down.

Bucky’s little chortle from behind you makes you turn around and shoot him a glare to which his hand, the metal one, comes down and rubs your shoulder in apology; his cool fingers massaging the muscle near your neck in a way that had you leaning into him.

You still love the feeling of his hands on your skin, still makes goosebumps rise. You hope you never loose this feeing.

Faye, as usual, looses interest with what she’s doing before her movies even over.

“I’m bored” She whines dropping her pencil “I wanna go swing”

“No, Faye. It’s raining and you’ll not only get all muddy, but you’ll get sick” You try to explain to her the reason why your such a kill joy. Of course she doesn’t seem to hear any of it.

“Daddy?”

You breathe through your nose. Of course.

Bucky was what people call “the good parent”. What you said no to, she’d usually be able to convince her father into letting her do.

She really was manipulative for a three year old.

“Where do you think she gets that from?” Nat had taunted once, looking at you with laughing eyes and you’d shoved her shoulder.

“No baby, you’re moms right. You’ll get really sick and then you wont get to go play at Uncle Steves this weekend. And you’ve been so excited to see Noah” Bucky sides with you, trying to convince her with the promise of seeing her god brother, Steve and Sharon’s one year old son.

Faye huffs and pushes her paper away from her so hard that it, along with a few pastels, flies off the table. She then lets her head fall to the glass with a hard thunk, one that made Bucky wince.

“I’m so bored” She cries dramatically. You know how people talk about the terrible two’s? Yeah you we’re starting to think the troublesome threes were worse.

“Do you want to watch a different movie?”

“No”

“You could come help mama make lunch? Chicken fingers, you favorite?”

“No”

“We could go find Kit? I think she’s scared of the thunder, she’s probably under your bed-” Bucky offers, he knows how much Faye loves that cat.

“NO DADDY” Faye interrupts him with a snap.

“Faye Rebecca Barnes, you do not talk to any adults that way, much less your dad. You probably hurt his feelings” Your tone is not cutting, but authoritive . She knows better then that. She doesn’t look up but you hear her sniffle as she turns her head, facing away from you.

You purse your lips, before leaning your own head back, enough that it rests on Buckys thigh. Your eyes closed. Did you hate making her cry(even if you knew she was just faking?) Yes. But you also wanted to make sure she grew up to be a decent member of society that other people could stand. And that meant teaching her that she couldn’t snap to get her way.

Bucky knew that too…he also knew you had way more resolve then him. So instead of making it worse, he kept his mouth closed and let you handle it. Smart man, your husband.

…as the minutes ticked by, the silence a little overwhelming you realized that you too, were bored.

Making you empathize with your little one. Boredom, the death of creativity. It had always made you antsy, being idle. You feel Buck’s hand in your hair, the metal one, and you get a passing idea.

Remembering a time when your mother had let you and your siblings finger paint on her back…

“Hey, Faye” You call to her, and she mutters a small “What” without looking at you. She could pout with the best of them.

Something she’d inherited from both of you.

“Wanna do something fun?” Your voice is eager and it makes both Faye and Bucky give you almost identical looks.

“Like what?”

You just grin and manage to heft yourself off of the floor(with Bucky’s arm steadying you) and waddle out of the living room, towards your art closet.

“Where’s she goin?” Faye questions her father and he shrugs but sits up, anticipating your next move.

“I don’t know, but knowin’ your mother- it’ll be something messy” Bucky guesses as he looks down at Faye, taking a minute to bop her on her little bun. She beams up at him, grabbing at her hair.

“Hey!”

“Sorry pumpkin” He chuckles, before bopping her again. He’s ready for her when she launches herself into his lap.

“I’m sorry I hurt your feelings” Faye whispers against his scruffy cheek as he holds her.

“It’s okay” Bucky scratches her back lightly “I’m a big boy, I got over it”

“Okay, lets do this” You announce as you come back in the room and both of their heads turn to meet you. In your arms, resting on your stomach, is your plastic container full of washable paints and glitters. Body paint…

“Told you. Messy” Bucky tells Faye who squeals and makes grabby hands at you.

An hour later, you’ve managed to lay the news paper that Buck was reading out on the floor. Protecting your rugs from the splashes of paint. The three of you sit on the hardwood, Bucky has stripped off the hoodie he was wearing and now sits in just his white singlet, holding his metal arm steady and still as you Faye paint on the surface of it. Both of your fingers covered in multicolor paint as they swirl colors onto the sleek metal.

Faye draws purple clouds and orange seahorses(or at least she tries) and you work on an intricate, realistic looking array of wild flowers with a detailed sunflower in the middle of them.

He squirms a little as your fingers trace the edge where his steel shoulder meets warm flesh.

“Don’t move, daddy!” Faye barks at him and you giggle.

“Yeah, daddy” You stress the word, biting your lip and shooting him a devious little smirk that your daughter misses “Don’t move”

“It tickles!” He protests with an exasperated laugh, but stays still all the same. He cant tear his eyes off of you, so concentrated. Little specks of yellow paint smeared on your soft cheek, your belly swollen with his second baby. He reaches out with his flesh hand to rub at the bump tenderly.

You’d given him everything.

“I love you, sweets” He whispers, watching your short fingers delicately trace details into the flowers. You look up, breaking your concentration to smile at him.

“I love you too, Buck” You reach up and press a kiss to his stubbly jaw, then another to his chin. And finally laying a big one on his cheek.

When he feels another set, of smaller lips, press a quick peck to his other cheek his heart swells.

“Love you, daddy” Faye chirps, as she settles back down. “Momma do seahorses have three eyes or four?”

“Four” You answer with a smile.

-Okay I know this wasn’t smut but this was requested and I felt like I needed to write some Dad! Bucky because I love him so much and he’s such a cinnamon roll and wouldn’t he just make the best dad? I wanted their daughters name to be something old fashioned, but still interesting because this Readers an artist and I just think she’d want her children to have unique sounding names? Idk. Enjoy. Cry. Do what you must💘😂

[dingoes8myrp]

Caught Inside: The Walking Dead Fic Prompt

For @fuckyeahjeffrey-dean-morgan based on the pretty art s/he posted (that I can’t figure out how to link here). Not too show spoilery, I don’t think, but it depends on what you consider a spoiler. You’ve been warned.

Negan rested his head against the wall. He had his legs stretched out in front of him. Lucille was cradled in his lap almost like a child. The dead clawed and snarled outside while he sat in a damn box of a room staring at a creepy priest giving him the stink eye. He frowned, his grip tightening around the grip of his baseball bat. Raising his head, he fixed Gabriel with a cool gaze, brows knit.

“You got somethin’ to say to me, padre?”

His voice came out a bark that made the other man jump. Negan’s lips pulled into a smile and he gave a chuckle.

“We’re stuck in this box together. Can’t do shit about it. Might as well make some conversation.”

Truthfully, he didn’t particularly care about talking to this guy, but he was bored. At least conversation would give him something to do.

Gabriel cleared his throat, sitting up. He’d slumped against the wall a little awkwardly. He curled one knee up toward his chest.

“I was just wondering…” Gabriel began.

He had this slow, quiet way of talking that had its own kind of power. You had to lean in and listen, had to pay attention. Negan did just that, inclining his head and leaning forward a few inches.

“Well, don’t keep me in suspense here, Gabe. You were wondering…?” he prompted.

He gave a little theatrical flare of his wrist, almost Shakespearian, encouraging him to continue. Gabriel glanced at him, then dropped his gaze to the floor.

“Was there ever a time when you felt relaxed?” Gabriel asked.

Negan was taken aback. It wasn’t a question he’d anticipated.

“Relaxed?” he asked.

Gabriel looked at him and nodded.

“Yes. I was trying to remember the last time I felt relaxed. Truly. The last time I could let all my muscles rest, maybe shut my eyes without a sense of anxiety or dread. Do you remember a time when you felt that way? Before… this?”

Gabriel motioned toward the wall across from him, the very wall Negan was leaning against, to indicate the world outside. Negan stroked his chin, feeling a healthy accumulation of stubble there.

“That is a damn good question,” he reasoned. “I didn’t expect a good question out of you!”

Negan grinned genuinely as he pondered his answer.

“You know what the most relaxing, but goddamn exhilarating thing in the world is?”

His eyes gleamed as he waited for Gabriel to reply. Gabriel stiffened, realizing it wasn’t a rhetorical question.

“Oh… Um… I really couldn’t say.”

Negan leaned back against the wall, disappointed, but he drifted off to the past in his mind.

“Surfing,” he said.

Gabriel’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Surfing?”

Negan laughed.

“Didn’t see that comin’, did you?”

Gabriel crossed his legs in front of him to lean forward, interested.

“Did you surf a lot before?”

“When I was a kid,” Negan said. “Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen. Somewhere in there. You know, they tell you not to surf alone. That is a big deal. You could bash your head on a rock or some shit, drown, and nobody’s around to help you. You could get your ass gnawed off by a shark, one of those big Jaws-lookin’ things.”

He chuckled, stroking his chin, his gaze far away.

“So, I’d go with a few guys from the neighborhood most of the time. But, if those guys weren’t around I’d go by myself. Dangerous, but, man, that was the best way to surf. Nobody around. Just you and this big beast of a wave that wants nothin’ more than to clobber you for being in its goddamn way. And you deserve it, too. What business do you have in the middle of the ocean on a board? And I’d get in there and hold my own as best I could, and the ocean, man, she would beat my ass! I’d come home sore and bruised, but the whole time I was out there, you know what I was thinking about?”

He waited for Gabriel, who took a moment to realize he was supposed to respond.

“N-no,” he managed.

Negan kept his annoyance to himself. The priest was one of the more socially awkward members of Team Rick Grimes. Negan smiled wide.

“Not a damn thing,” he said.

He laughed, a low sound deep in his throat.

“That was the best feeling back then,” he continued. “Just floating out there on a board, alone with the ocean, fighting for my life. It shoved all the other bullshit out of my head, all the noise. Cleared everything up. Sharpened my survival instinct, too.”

“Why’d you stop?” Gabriel asked.

Negan shrugged, studying the barbed wire around the business end of the bat.

“Moved away. Nowhere near the beach.”

“That must have been disappointing,” Gabriel said.

Negan nodded.

“Yeah, it was. I looked damn good in those swim trunks.”

Negan’s cackle made Gabriel wince.

[thebuckboibarnes]

Lumberjack

Summery: @captain-winny and I thought it would be a great idea to write a fic based off this gif

Warnings: non just fluff

Notes: this is just a little Drabble honestly

You admired the art in front of you, an absolutely beautiful image laid in front of you, his plaid shirt stretched across his broad shoulders, jeans covered his long legs, his sock covered feet dangled off the bed. He hadn’t even heard you walk in, his bearded face was pressed into the mattress, you let your hand softly brush his calf and he jumped kicked his leg up quickly, he turned on his side looking at you, a smile grew on his lips as he turned the rest of the way to lay on his back. Chris held his arms out to you motioning you towards him, you slipped off your shoes crawling up the bed into your boyfriends arms, you hooked a leg around his and curled into his side. He chuckled feeling your nose poke his ribs from your spot nuzzled next to him. Softly, he wrapped an arm around you the other lay behind his head supporting it up slightly. Your image next to him made his heart bubble smiling softly he brushed some hair behind your ear, you hummed in response.

“Rough day?” He asked quietly, you nodded slowly as the hectic day came hurtling back, rude people and big crowds made your muscles tense as you thought of them.

“Rough day,” you agreed, you could feel his gaze on you watching you intently, if it hadn’t been for your answer he would have thought you had fallen asleep. He smiled softly brushing more hair out of your face.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

“It was just people,” you shrugged looking up at him, taking in his appearance, you giggled crinkling your nose.

“What?” He furrowed his eyebrows letting out a soft chuckle

“You look like a lumberjack,” you smiled bigger letting out a louder laugh, Chris threw his head back letting out that perfect laugh you loved so much, his smile grew wide, and of course, his right hand went to the left side of his chest.

“I look like a lumberjack?” He laughed looking down at you, you smiled nodding at the beautiful man in front of you.

“You’ve got the beard, and the plaid!” You laughed sitting up so you were hovering over him, your eyes crinkled with your laughter.

“If I’m a lumberjack, then what are you?” He laughed grabbing your hips to move you to straddle his waste.

“Well, not a fucking lumberjack!” You laughed, you dropped yourself down onto his chest as he laughed, he let out a hard breath as some of your weight landed on his stomach, he wrapped his muscular arms around you nonetheless engulfing you in his massive form. Burrowing your head into his chest you took a deep breath, his familiar scent filled your lungs giving you a sense of comfort. You had only really been dating Chris for around three months but in those months you became closer to him than anyone else in your life, he was loving and tender and rough when you wanted it. After only three month with him you couldn’t imagine life without his soft forehead kissed and warm loving hugs, the feeling of his bare muscular chest pressed against your back in the early mornings while you made breakfast usually you’d be engulfed in his shirt as well, or the way he played with your hair. His comforting scent was another thing you’d grown too used to, you smiled into his chest.

“What’s on your mind, sweetheart?” His chest rumbled with his words

“You smell good,” you mumbled feeling as though you could suddenly fall asleep.

“What do I smell like?”

“Like Chris,” you muttered into his chest, he chuckled sending a soft vibration through your cheeks from the rumble of his chest. You watched your hand trace little patterns on his plaid shirt, you smiled tilting you head to try to look at him. All you got was the view of his chin, reaching up you let you fingers comb through is facial hair, your stomach growled and you groaned letting your hand fall onto his collar bone.

“Want me to make you somethin’?” Chris asked quietly, his hand moved softly up and down on your skin where your shirt had ridden up.

“No,” you sighed “can we order pizza?”

Chris nodded reaching for his phone to call the pizza place. The night would be spent with pizza, movies, and Chris and you couldn’t be happier.

————————————————-

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[arcanakrp-blog]

KIM CHANSIK – THE WHEEL OF FORTUNE. AGENT 10.

                                                   [   FILE TYPE: CLASSIFIED   ]

//: LOADING PROFILE: KIM CHANSIK ...

international age: 25 birthplace: paju, gyeonggi province, south korea arcana: wheel of fortune team number: 10

//: LOADING MUTATION: WOUND TRANSFERRAL ...

application one: empathic masochism — this ability essentially allows chansik to act as a living voodoo doll; wounds inflicted upon his own body can be instantly mirrored and inflicted upon a target of his choosing, or multiple targets (though the wound’s impact will be divided accordingly). he also has the option of doing much the same with experienced emotional/psychological pain.

application two: healing via transferral — this ability acts as a supplement to chansik’s emphatic masochism as it allows him to transfer physical wounds from his body to a target body, as well as absolve fellow allies from wounds and take the damage for himself. it is a gradual, delicate process—the amount of time taken to transfer wounds varies depending on factors such as proximity, the type of wound inflicted, and the depth/fatality of the wound

application three: accelerated healing — this is yet another supplementary ability—one crucial for survival as his role in combat is that of a punching bag (a formidably passive threat, one could say). accelerated healing grants chansik the ability to rapidly recreate lost or damaged tissues, organs, and limbs, and rebalance chemical and hormonal structure. the ability cannot be applied to bodies other than his own

overall strengths and weaknesses: — he’s always been the very picture of good health.

that’s not bound to change anytime soon.

on any given day, chansik boasts a nigh-inexhaustible stamina that allows him to go about everyday activities with ease. he also lives free of everyday annoyances: muscle soreness? hard-to-reach itchy spots? tingling funny bones? morning neck pains? all relics of the past. his default state is one of perfect health.

unfortunately, his is one of the trickier powers to wield and master; it requires a great deal of concentration and focus to carry out any one of its applications, and easily drains him (even with his impressive stamina). that being the case, chansik is often prone to passivity; he rarely ever gives his all during training sessions, and tends to use his powers if only out of petty spite. he’s already spent most of his young adult life stretching himself thin and breaking his bones—with his power, he now only has to experience the initial impact of any injury.

chansik did happen to make a significant breakthrough in his training a few months ago: pain inflicted on him is now amplified when reflected on others. it’s no longer a strict one-to-one, though the severity of the physical wound returned will remain the same. there is a foil to this, however: his concentration can be broken by large shocks or events that incur severe physical damage to his body. if the experienced pain is excruciatingly bad, chansik is unable to muster up the energy required to transfer wounds between bodies or pass his pain to another individual. his current training regime works at bringing up his pain tolerance index and improving concentration levels in order to get past this drawback.

also worth mentioning is chansik’s naturally logical, intuitive disposition. this works to his benefit in most situations, as he is able to accurately gauge the gravity of a problem, the well-beings of his comrades, and his own mental and/or physical state with cold rationalism. contrary to what his abilities may suggest about his persona, however, chansik is not especially altruistic nor empathetic; his self-absorption makes it difficult to immerse himself fully unless the situation is dire enough (and even then he can hardly be bothered) or if he’s established a worthy bond with another.

the possibilities for his abilities are seemingly endless: the ar collective hopes that it is only a matter of time before further extensions of his ability manifest. among the anticipated extensions are accelerated regeneration (in which the speed of his regenerative power increases for every instance he is wounded) and anti-healing (in which he can magnify the severity of existing wounds on a targeted body). at present, it remains to be seen whether he will acquire these abilities at all

//: LOADING HISTORY ..

PRE-MUTATION

운명의 수레바퀴를 누가 예측하겠습니까.

—

breaking news: chansik’s just been squeezed out of the womb in a hospital in paju. mom looks understandably frazzled. heard she’s been trying to get pregnant for the last five years. heard this is coming some three weeks premature. heard there might have been some complications so they went ahead with the c-section. all that considered, this looks like a successful, healthy delivery. dad’s practically biting his hand off outside, isn’t he? someone do everyone a favor and get him in here to see his brand new baby boy.

—

what is that, a math exam? can’t really tell with all the red pen—teach really didn’t hold back, did she? let’s take a closer look at chansik’s expression…

wow. for a kid with a barely passing grade, chansik seems awful calm. like this is just a fact of life.

—

the rental car’s suffered irreversible damage, but that’s definitely not the worst of it. they’re both losing a lot of blood, need to get to the hospital now if they want any chance of surviving. wonder how mom’s english is? chanbin’s good—he’s oxford-bound, after all—but it doesn’t look like he’ll be waking up for a while. dad, too.

back to mom and chansik. they’re still eating breakfast back at the hotel, unsuspecting. oh, looks like they’re getting the call.

mom’s in shock. ’course she is. bless her heart, she looks like she’s about to faint any second now. now she’s telling him what’s happened. brace for impact. she tip-toes around a few details. chansik doesn’t seem to be taking the news in too well. why, this might be the most distraught we’ve seen him in all his short years of life. she’s pulling him into a close embrace now. so much for a college tour.

—

mom says he has a knack for this. zooming in now. there’s our boy: center stage, hair cropped short (he told us backstage just moments ago he’d cut it only because the school begged him to) but his legs keep going. he’s gonna grow up into a pair of legs at this rate. and look at what those legs can do! amazing. sad to think he’s the butt of all his classmate’s jokes at school—kids are brutal these days—because of this. rumor has it dad’s a bit embarrassed too, but he manages to hide it pretty well, doesn’t he?

wait a second—are those tears? quivering lips and balled up fists, too. dad’s on the verge of somethin’, staring at his son like that. well, who can really blame him. they’ve been through hell and back not too long ago.

—

he’s been rebuffed by two girls in the past two years. they all cite roughly the same line of reasoning. sure you can wager a guess as to what they told him. this isn’t gonna be some pity party though, let’s get that much clear. from the looks of it, chansik’s starting something with jinhyuk. or rather, it was more like the other way arou—

speak of the devil, here they come.

bathroom stalls, eh. here’s to hoping he doesn’t get caught.

—

he calls it the least useful major on earth (the humility is astounding), dubs this “the most terrible life choice but one that [he had] no choice but to take”. went on to say how this is stupid for his life, but wonderful for others, and about how he’s never actually been a very giving soul but maybe this is the one way he can give back while breaking his back. there seems to be a kind of pattern in his method of speech.

that, and he’s quite the cynical nut.

the audience is still. this is chansik’s first performance with korean national ballet as a member of the corps. he’ll be finishing university up next year, good for him. down in the pit, a white-haired man in a dark overcoat conducting the orchestra and from above and stage left from the wings, chansik enters: an arabesque… and… all right! a beautifully executed tour jeté.

wouldn’t expect anything less from him. congratulations on your debut, chansik

POST-MUTATION

운명은 변덕스럽네요.

—

suffer for the art. it’s always been a load of bullshit, but he’s put up with it for the sake of facades.

a hefty lighting boom drops on his leg during rehearsal on a friday. the other dancers rush to his side. one of the soloists presses down on his bleeding calf with gauze while a director calls for an ambulance and everyone else gasps at his knee, a truly horrible sight. chansik is rushed off to the emergency room for proper diagnosis. he’s told they will be operating on his leg that night.

it’s a successful operation and recovery goes as planned—

the first day is bad.

the second day is better.

and then he wakes up the third day feeling like a million bucks.

he wasn’t supposed to be walking properly for another two months.

a nurse catches him outside of his bed, right leg—fully cast and only moments ago raised in traction—now on the cold hospital tiles as he paces around the room in a cold sweat. news makes its way around the building quickly enough. he goes through a few x-rays and examinations, but everything points to the same conclusion: he’s in perfect condition.

by the end of the week, he’s in a different hospital with a stubbed toe and a small slash across his wrist. he cries for a lawyer (are you nuts? pretty sure this is illegal—what kind of shit doctor are you?), but the wounds vanish come the very next morning without even so much as a scar to remember them by.

he’s released from the hospital within the hour, gets an explanation on the car ride to a two michelin-starred restaurant. enjoys a free dinner and is promised many more, sorry about that stubbed toe.

suffer for the art. by now, he can count about a thousand things worse than a stubbed toe or mangled knee.

it’s a fucked art, this one.