#still gets sore while working but it’s not half as bad and i’m better about how i hold pencils now

[why-its-kai]

i drew a funney dragon🐉

[stardust-kenobi]

Nerves

Crosshair x F!Reader

Warnings: SMUT, angst, fluff, friends to lovers, soft and slightly ooc Crosshair (not much though, I think he really is a softy)

Word count: 2.7k

Summary: You'd been helping Crosshair work on his aim after his traumatic experience being held captive by the Empire. After not much progress, you get into a heated discussion when he tries to give up, which turns even more heated after he admits his feelings for you.

Read on AO3

“Try it again” You paced behind his stoic stance, doing your best to encourage him without showing any sign of your very present empathy. The slow-setting Pabu sun would still provide you both with another hour of visibility. The amber glow warmed your skin, which was a welcomed change of environment from being cramped on the ship for days on end. 

“Why?” Crosshair growled, fueled by the burning rage built up by his defeat. The tremble in his fingertips broke your heart, but you could see that he’d made progress from the exercises. It was slow, sure, but there were definitely improvements. T

“Because I said so. You won’t make any progress if you don’t keep trying” You emphasized, doing your best not to express your impatience with his pessimism. 

“It’s useless, Y/N” He lowered his blaster from his shaking hand and let it fall from his grasp before lowering himself to sit on the rock beneath him. You sighed, but this time your breath didn’t hold any frustration, only disappointment in his self-defeat. You couldn’t even begin to imagine what he’d been through, and you still didn’t know the extent of the torture he’d endured. Months had passed since he and Omega escaped. Omega had worked with him a few times, mostly with meditation, but you were better skilled with blasters and aim. 

Crosshair held his head low, focusing his vision on the sand beneath his sore feet. You joined him without another word, sitting next to him on the rocks that scattered the shore. There were no words to comfort him in this moment, so you opted out of a conversation this time. The breeze from the ocean enveloped your frame, almost as if pushing you closer to Crosshair. 

The seconds passed. Then minutes. All the while you soaked in each other’s company, for good or for bad. He was growing annoyed with you lately, despite being one of his closest friends, all because you were insistent upon helping to heal his trauma from his captivity with the Empire. 

As the moments passed, Crosshair never tried to leave his spot next to you. He didn’t push you away this time. This, you decided, was an achievement. 

The half-hidden sun drifted slowly below the horizon, replaced then by a casting a blue-toned light from the rising moon. It was peaceful, sitting together, communicating without saying a word. 

“I’ll probably head back soon. We’ll try again tomorrow” You spoke gently when breaking the silence.

“I’m done” Crosshair spoke softly, his tone was firm and assured. 

“Cross-” You sighed.

“I said I’m done” He reiterated, interrupting your plea. 

“You’re just going to give up?” You scoffed. 

“Seems so” He shrugged. 

You crossed your arms to your chest and stood in front of him now, staring at him in disappointment.

“You can stand there all night if you’d like. I’m not changing my mind” He muttered, finally looking up to meet your gaze. 

You pondered your next breath, but ultimately fell short on your words. With a subtle nod in his direction, you began walking away from your peaceful corner on the beach. 

“I’m sorry for what they did to you, Crosshair. But you can’t punish yourself forever” You spoke calmly as the distance between you grew. 

“What did you say?” He sneered, turning his body toward you, still sitting on the rock. 

You froze in your tracks. You’d struck a nerve. Good. 

“You heard me”

He slowly stood up and turned to you, “You think it’s my fault that I’m not improving?”

“You are improving, Crosshair. But, you’re giving up too easily”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about”

“I care about you, Crosshair. Believe it or not, I do. I know you’re not used to that but…you’re going to have to get used to it because I’m not going anywhere. And I’m not giving up on you”

His eyes grew subtly sorrowful as he stared into you, absorbing your words slowly. His head drifted from your gaze over to the open water that was now glistening in the moonlight.

“It's..my nerves” He said shamefully.

“Okay…” You tried to understand what he meant. Maybe you’d been pushing him too hard “Would it help if we took a break for a few d-”

“You. You make me…nervous” He admitted with a loud sigh trailing the end of his words like he had to force himself to say it. 

As you pondered what he’d just said, your heart fluttered with unexpected excitement. 

“What? How do I make you nervous?” You breathed out with what was almost a chuckle. 

“Forget it” he scoffed, picking up his blaster and turning back toward the island, passing you in the process. You grab his arm to stop him. He doesn’t resist even though your gentle touch should not have stopped him in his tracks, but it did tonight. 

“No. Tell me what you mean.” You demanded. 

Crosshair contemplated it for a second before yanking his arm from your grasp, “You really want to know? Fine”.

He looked toward the island as if to check and make sure you were alone. 

“I can’t…I can’t think around you. I can’t focus” He lowered his head,”I’ve tried to ignore how I feel around you, but it’s been just as useless as you training me”

For the first time in a long time, you were speechless. Crosshair was not a man of many words, nor was he one to express his feelings.

“Crosshair-” You tried to answer but he was uninterested in your counter argument. What he didn’t know was that there was no counter argument to be had. 

“Don’t. Just don’t” He groaned.

“I love you” You hurriedly responded spitting it out like it was stuck on your tongue. You laid  it all out plainly and simply. You loved him. You had for months. 

Crosshair’s expression held a look of pure disbelief that quickly transformed to warmth and content.

Your longing gaze pierced through his tough exterior. Something ignited within you as a tension pulled you into him, leaving hardly any room between the two of you

“I…” You whispered softly, but lost yourself in his eyes.

Without another breath, Crosshair curled his finger beneath your chin, pulling your lips up to meet his.

Nothing this electrifying had ever grazed your skin before. His lips pressed passionately against yours as if he’d waited years to do this. You leaned into him, resting your hands on his shoulders as your mouths became intertwined so rhythmically. 

Every fantasy you’d ever had of a moment like this that had always been shoved to the back of your mind came flooding back. Never did you think he’d feel the same way, but everything about his lips on yours just felt right. His finger beneath your chin trembled, and you were unsure how much it was from the overwhelming nerves of kissing you or the already present shake in his hands. You wrapped your hand around his, intertwining your fingers to calm him. The kiss was deep and raw, devouring each other as the motions intensified. A warmth spread through your body while your heart nearly lept from your chest. 

Slowly and hesitantly, you pulled away from the kiss to look up into his uncertain gaze. 

“You have no idea how long I have wanted to do that” He whispered, and a smile crept upon his face. Something rare and welcome that you never saw too often with him. 

“Me too” You smiled back, holding his hands in yours.

You wasted no more time before pulling him for another kiss. It was heavy and breathless. Your hands wandered from his to the firm muscles on his chest. Crosshair let his hands wander, too, until they hovered gently above your breasts. 

“Touch me” You breathed in between the motions of your lips. 

Your permission was all he needed. His hands explored your body like he was lost in the dark. Like he was starving for you. The boulders on this corner area of the beach kept you hidden in your own oasis, with very little concern of being discovered. Your fingertips found the hem of his black shirt, and tugged at it gently. 

“Here?” He pondered. 

“Why not?” You smirked. He nodded and helped you remove his shirt, revealing his battle scars and perfectly carved muscle. You admired it, trailing your hands down his abdomen. 

Conveniently, you had a blanket in your satchel that you brought with you. Crosshair rushed over to lay it out. He then took your hand in his and guided you to it.

“Lay down,” He instructed. As you did so, he hovered above you, his lips exploring your exposed neck and chest just above the neckline of your dress. You whimpered softly, unable to contain yourself even with the slightest of his touch.

His nervous touch was endearing as he traced up your thigh, searching for your most sensitive area. You shuffled your hips a bit, encouraging him to keep going 

“Are you sure?” He asked, his brows furrowed. It was a look of longing, concern, and desperation all in one. Crosshair needed you, but wouldn’t dare touch you like this without assurance. 

“Yes,” You breathed. 

He pulled your panties down, and you lifted your hips to help him remove them completely. 

He returned his fingers to your aching heat and discovered your arousal for him, which earned a small whimper from his lips. Crosshair knew exactly what he wanted to do to you. He’d surely thought about it enough in his head while he sat alone in his quarters, pumping himself to the fantasy of having you in his grasp like this. But, he was letting his nerves get the better of him now, and felt weary about how he’d perform for you. 

“Cross, please” You begged with a tone of reassurance. His hand rested on your thigh, just beneath where you craved his touch.

You felt his hand tremble subtly against your skin.

“Hey,” You started, pulling his attention to you, “it's just me and you” 

He nodded and kissed you hard, letting himself dive into you again, and found his fingers sliding through the wetness between your legs. He rubbed your clit in delicate circles and you bucked your hips up into his touch. He found a perfect rhythm and responded to your body’s signals as he felt them. 

“Maker…You’re so wet for me” He muttered in total awe of the effect he’d had on you. Looking down to your exposed cunt as the bottom of your dress now rested against your abdomen. Suddenly his middle finger found its way to your entrance and slid inside, pumping slowly and pushing you to the edge while his thumb kept working at your clit. 

Crosshair was propped on his side next to you, and instinctively ground his hips against your body, overcome with his desire to feel friction. He added another finger inside and fucked you as you rolled your hips into his hand. Each thrust of his curled digits grazed your most sensitive spot against your walls. A tingling sensation bundled and tightened in your lower belly, pushing you closer to your climax. 

“Don’t stop” You begged, and he listened.

“Come for me, darling” He instructed, which sent chills down your body. Hearing him say something so arousing was unfamiliar but absolutely intoxicating. 

With his lips at your neck and his fingers working eagerly inside of you, your release was so close now. Your senses were deliciously overwhelmed. 

“Crosshair” You cried his name before rolling your eyes into the back of your head, seeing stars, overwhelmed with the pleasure that flowed through your body as your orgasm overcame you. Your hips rolled up into his body still hovered above you and your back arched in response to the sensational feeling radiating through you. Your fingers dug into his arm but he never slowed his pace. Crosshair was absolutely infatuated with watching you fall apart for him. You came down from your euphoric high slowly, catching your breath in the process. 

“Are you alright?” He whispered. This was a side of him you never expected. You knew he could be caring and kind when he wanted to be, but seeing that translated to handling your body was a pleasant surprise. Your cunt hopelessly clenched around the emptiness as he removed his fingers. 

“Never better. Now, please fuck me” You demanded, chuckling softly. 

“Only because you asked so nicely,” He wasted not another moment before helping you lean up to remove your dress completely. Your breasts fell from the restraint of the fabric and caught his eye immediately. He took them into his hands massaging them gently before bringing his lips to your mounds and kissing them. 

He pulled his pants down just enough to release his length that begged to be touched. You stared in awe of his size. You opened your legs slightly, allowing room for him to adjust himself in between your legs. 

As he lined himself up with your entrance, he looked into your eyes and devoured you with a loving gaze. He kissed you softly before slowly sinking his cock into your wetness.

Crosshair choked on his next breath, your warmth encasing him perfectly as you took his length with ease. Once he bottomed out within you, he whimpered softly and buried his face into your neck. He was slow at first, allowing you to adjust to his size, which you probably needed as he was bigger than you expected. 

“Fuck, Y/N” He cursed, overwhelmed by it all. To be able to take you like this, having you begging for his cock, you writhing beneath him…it was all wonderfully too much, and he loved it. 

“Maker, it feels so good, Cross” You encouraged him. His cock stretched you open with each thrust as he picked up the pace. He fit inside you like you were made for each other, and you felt a closeness and intimacy you’d never experienced before. It was indescribable. 

You held his face in your hands as he thrust into you faster and harder, holding his gaze while you both let profanities and cries of pleasure fly from your lips. If there was anyone nearby, they would have heard you, but it was a remote area, and you could feel safe. Each curl of his hips snapping into you sent your mind and body into a frenzy of pleasure.

“You take me so well, sweetheart” He praised, turning his attention to looking down where he disappeared inside of you. Crosshair was no virgin, but he’d never experienced such intimacy and passion for someone like he did for you in this moment. He wanted this for so long, same as you. The months of lingering glances at one another, your heart racing each time your skin grazed his on the ship, the way you’d cared for him since he’d escaped Tantiss. It was all leading up to this moment of pure desire for one another, and you wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

“I won’t last much longer” He 

You nodded to assure him it was okay. It was then that you felt another orgasm quickly creeping up on you. He could feel you tightening and knew you were close. 

“Come on my cock, that’s it” He spoke softly, his words sending you over the edge. 

It burst open, washing over your entire body, more captivating and intense than the first release. You dug your nails into the rigid muscles of his back, pulling him into you as he kept his pace. You cried out, feeling overtaken by the pleasure that electrified your entire body. His thrust began to falter and his body shook beneath your fingertips. 

Crosshair’s moans were low and rough as he reached his climax, spilling his release deep inside you, his brows furrowed and face twisted in pleasure. 

You both took time to catch your breath, soaking in the highs you were riding and taking in this feeling of closeness with one another. He was careful to remove himself from you, knowing you were both sensitive. 

He lay beside you, wrapping his arms around your body and pulling you into him.

“I love you too” He said suddenly, confusing you for a moment, before realizing that he was finally responding to your declaration of love to him earlier. 

You smiled up at him and laid your head onto his chest. As you listened to a combination of the gentle waves and the beating of his heart, you felt warm and loved for the first time in a long time.

[ovaryacted]

Having the worst period cramps I've had in a while, so may I request a lil bit of period fluff with re2 leon?

Hey there anon! So sorry to hear that your period cramps are especially bad this time around, I really hate when that happens. Even though it's been a while since you sent this in, I hope this little drabble piece will bring you some comfort. Also hoping that your period is a bit better now too, take care. 🩶

1.1k words | cw: fluff, modernized RE2 Leon x reader, mentions of menstrual cycle

It doesn’t matter how often you forgot you had a cycle, the moment the red river of doom appeared every month it still always took you off guard. It was always the same, the cramps, the sickly flow, the soreness, the heat flashes, and the lightheadiness followed by nausea and loss of appetite. It was all too damn much.

You hated it, and it always put a damper on your mood and disrupted your routine. If you were allowed to pause your cycle like a subscription, you absolutely would. Sadly, periods don’t work that way. To make matters worse, this particular cycle seemed to be harsher than the ones you’ve had before. The cramps were more like consistent punches to the gut than the usual pinch that eventually went away.

Currently in bed doubled over with a hand over your heating pad, it was the only position you found to be comfortable. Frankly, you felt like shit, the constant pain in your body was putting you through a whirlwind of emotions that could quickly spiral out of control if you let it. Instinctively, you curled more into yourself, a fresh wave of cramps making your whole body shiver from the strength of it.

What did I do to deserve this treatment?

Before your thoughts could get any more melancholic, you heard the bedroom door creak open. Lifting your head at the noise, your eyes peeled away from the current tiktok on your phone to meet with crystal blues that felt warmer than anything else.

“Hey sweetheart”, Leon said softly, coming towards you on your side of the bed. He already knew what was going on, could tell from the way you were snuggled up and wore his hoodie to comfort yourself.

“Hey”, your voice was rather meek, not fully meeting the blonde in the eye for a moment before your body changed angles, turning so you’d face him on the edge of the bed instead. He had a mug in his hand and placed it down on the bedside table, probably something for you to drink as you huddled up in your bedroom. 

“Brought you some tea and Midol that might help. Are you holding up okay?”, he asked, running a soft hand over your cheek. You accepted the touch, sighing at the gentle contact.

“Trying to, the cramps are beating my ass this time around”, you muttered, groaning in discomfort when your point was proven as you felt the familiar spasms in your gut again. “Can’t believe I’m being punished because I didn’t pop out a damn baby”

That got you a light chuckle from Leon who gave you a sympathetic look. His fingers on your cheek went towards your head, running his digits through your scalp as if he were petting you like a cat. His touch was a mere distraction from the ache you felt, like an intense push and pull in your pelvis that just couldn’t be stopped.

“Is it that bad now? I’m sorry hun”, of course, he was trying to be supportive. He’s only seen your cycle impact you this badly a handful of times, and every time he wishes he could take that pain away so you never had to deal with it again.

“Is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable?”

“Is getting rid of my uterus an option?”, you were joking, but with how you felt, you had half a mind to consider it before your next period hit. 

“I’m just a guy babe, not a board-certified surgeon. If I was, it would be an option”, he could only entertain the thought, ever the considerate guy. At least he made you laugh a bit, even if it hurt to do so.

“How about I go and get you some food? Do you have any specific requests?”, Leon didn’t mind getting stuff for you, hell that was what he enjoyed doing. Whatever it took to make you feel less irritable, he’d do it.

“Maybe a sandwich of some kind? I don’t know, I’m just craving something to munch on”, sometimes you were timid in asking for things, as if you didn’t have a boyfriend who would drop everything to give you the world and more.

“Want me to go get you that burger from your favorite place? With an order of curly fries and a milkshake right?”, Leon saw the way your eyes brightened up at the thought of getting some greasy food you liked, and he only smiled back at you.

“Yeah, that would be nice”

“Burger, fries, and a milkshake coming right up. Take some of the pills and drink your tea, I’ll be back alright?”, you nodded, Leon leaned down to give you a soft kiss on your forehead. He got up from the bed, giving you one more glance before walking out of your shared room. You could hear him grab the keys to his jeep from the trinket bowl in the entryway and close the door behind him, taking a Midol pill and downing it with some tea as you waited for his return.

It was 40 minutes of scrolling on TikTok and trying to find something to watch on Netflix before you heard the door of your apartment open and close again. There was the shuffling of what sounded like multiple bags, Leon coming in to peek his head through the bedroom door with a plastic bag in hand and a milkshake in the other.

“So, I went on a quick shopping trip. Got your food, and some more of what you need for this time so you can be stocked up. I didn’t know if you wanted your chips or anything, so I just got you everything you liked. Oh, and I found those frozen chocolate-covered strawberry treats you liked, just figured you’d want some later”, Leon placed the milkshake down on your bedside table, giving you a sheepish grin as you raised an eyebrow at him.

“You didn’t have to get all of that for me…”, it still surprised you how Leon was willing to give you what you wanted without having to lift a finger.

“Yeah, I did. Wanted you to have what you needed, it’s not a big deal”, he shrugged, kissing you on the lips which you happily received with a hum.

“Besides, I don’t like seeing you cranky. Best to avoid any possibility of a tantrum”, you rolled your eyes at that, shaking your head but your lips curled in a smile.

“I love you”, one of your fingers curled around a blonde strand of hair that fell in front of his face.

“I love you too silly. Now eat so we can watch something, I saw that they just put some new rom-com on Netflix”, Leon said excitedly, finding the remote to the TV as you began to dig in the bag to take a bite out of a curly fry.

Sure, this cycle may be bad, but you’ll be able to get through it so long Leon was there to help.

©️ ovaryacted 2024. Please don’t repost, copy, translate, or feed into any AI. Support your fellow creators by reblogging, commenting, and liking!

[houseofripley]

Can I have pls Rhea Ripley x Fem reader where she compares her hand sizes with readers while putting lotion on her healing back tattoo (Fluff plss)

Tattoo Help

Rhea Ripley x Fem!Reader

WARNINGS: None Really, It's just Comfort/Fluff

WORD COUNT: 715

A/N: sorry it's nothing too crazy just a little thing i threw together this afternoon!

“Urgh! When will my suffering end?!” Rhea complained as she tossed herself face down onto your shared bed. “You have no idea how badly I need a massage right now” She whined, her face buried in her pillow.

“You know…maybe you should have listened to me when I told you getting a full back piece the night after Wrestlemania was a bad idea.” You playfully dissed your girlfriend, grabbing the small bottle of lotion Rhea’s tattoo artist sent her home with. 

Rhea groaned into her pillow, the soreness from Wrestlemania three nights ago started taking its toll on her. She had the marvelous idea of getting a full back tattoo just one night later. Although you repeatedly advised her against it, Rhea was still on a high from her win, she wouldn't take no as an answer.

You pulled Rhea’s bathrobe off and began slowly pulling off the cling wrap placed over her tattoo. “I’m sorry baby.” You apologized as she hissed in pain.

Rhea hummed in relief as you began lathering her chiseled back in the lotion.

“Thank God.” Rhea praised under you, a laugh escaping your mouth. “You’re such a baby! What would you do without me, hm?” You teased, making sure to be gentle as your hands glided over the freshly inked skin.

Rhea laid in silence, listening to you quietly hum the tunes of your favorite songs. Once you had placed a fresh sheet of cling wrap onto Rhea’s back your hands found themselves massaging the knots out of the rear half of Rhea’s legs. 

“You gotta take it easier on yourself Rhea.” You frowned, Rhea had picked up the worry in your voice. She was quick to turn around and sit up, propping herself against the headboard. 

Rhea patted her lap signaling for you to take a seat. Her hands cupped your cheeks as you settled yourself onto her lap. “Baby, I don’t want you worrying about me like that.” Rhea whispered before placing a gentle kiss against your lips. 

“You’ve been so caught up in work and training these past few months, I’m scared you’ll forget to take care of yourself.” You just barely whispered out.

“Sweet girl…I promise I’ll get better at taking care of myself.” Rhea said as her thumb glided across your cheek. “I have Wrestlemania out of the way, you’re my main focus now. I know me being away has been hard for you, you put on such a brave face for me, you take care of me so well.” Rhea gently praised, her baby blue eyes only focused on analyzing your face.

You gave your girlfriend a soft smile, gently biting on your bottom lip as she spoke up again. “You have all my attention darling, I won’t let you out of my sight for the next two weeks.” Rhea assured you, one of her hands reaching down to intertwine her fingers into yours.

You brought your entangled hands to your face before placing a kiss on her fingers. You gave  Rhea’s hand a squeeze before releasing the hold you had on each other.

“Big ass hands.” You laughed out, breaking the shared silence. “Big ass hands? I think you just have disproportionately small hands!” Rhea fake gasped and used her free hand to mess up your hair.��

“Nope! Your hands are just huge.” You confidently stated as Rhea shrugged. “You won’t be complaining when they’re making you scream my name tonight.” Rhea stated with a shit-eating smirk plastered on her face. 

You sarcastically rolled your eyes as you wrapped your arms around Rhea’s neck, “I’m not gonna even acknowledge what you just said.” 

“You know it’s true,” Rhea snarked before redirecting the conversation. “You hungry? I’m hungry.” 

“I’m damn near starving.” You confirmed. You wrapped your legs around Rhea’s hips as she stood up.

Rhea made sure she held you as tightly as she possibly could as she carried you in the direction of the kitchen

“Alright, what are we making, sweet girl?” Your girlfriend questioned.

“Umm-I don’t know, you pick.”

“I picked last time! You have to pick tonight!”

“I don’t wanna pick!” 

Rhea groaned in defeat, “You wont give up until I pick something won’t you?”

“Mhm!” You exclaimed, giving Rhea a kiss on her cheek.

“You’re lucky I love you.”

[brandyllyn]

Silk from their soul (15)

The Ghoul / Cooper Howard x f!reader [no use of y/n]

Rated: E Words: 1.7k Summary: Believe me when I say...

Series Masterlist My Masterlist

It’s dark when you wake up, blinking against the orange glow of the fire. You try to get up but a hand on your shoulder stops you.

“Whoa there, settle down now.”

“What time is it?”

The Cowboy glances out the busted window, “Sun set not too long ago. You were sleeping like a log.”

You press both hands to your face and wince at the tightness in your side. “How bad is it?”

“It was bad,” he tells you, shifting to hand you a canteen. He helps you to sit up slowly, eyeing you the whole time. “But I reckon you’re probably good as new now.”

Oh.

“You noticed?”

“I checked on you, if that’s what you’re asking. And yeah, hard for a fella not to notice you heal faster than a newt with half a tail.”

“If you’re going to make someone, might as well make them a little better, right?”

He frowns and you try not to meet his eye. You remember talking about being a clone, one of the side effects of being who you were was not being able to handle your liquor at all. Then again, even though you couldn’t remember much beyond him patching you up - you weren’t feeling the effects either.

“Might as well make ‘em perfect, I suppose,” he says levelly.

Is… is he calling you perfect? You try to meet his eye but he’s scowling down at the floor. Instead you reach for your stomach, gently touching where the wound is.

“Hurt?”

You shake your head, “No, just… tight. Sore maybe? Whatever it is - it only really works on wounds, not things like aches and pains.”

He must have more questions. He must. Like ‘Why did someone make a clone of Daisy Mae Jackson?’ ‘Why were those men looking for you?’ and ‘Why didn’t you mention any of this before someone shot at me?’ You’d have a dozen questions if you were him.

But he doesn’t ask any. Instead he grunts as he crosses the room, digging through a pack. 

“Cowboy?” you ask softly. “You okay?”

“Lot going on today.”

“Yes,” you say slowly, “but this seems like more than that.”

He only grunts in return and it’s your turn to frown. An idea occurs and you let out a soft ‘oh’ noise, hiding your smile when he whips around.

“You alright, darlin’?”

You let out a small pained noise and reach for your wound. He’s at your side in an instant, crouching by the cot.

Putty in your hands.

It takes no effort at all to pull him onto the cot, to spin so you’re the one crouching over him, legs spread over his waist. He gives you a bemused smile and cocks his head.

“Well now, all you had to do was ask.”

Pressing your hands to his chest you give him a sardonic look. “You’re acting weird.”

“I’m not the one pulling fellas into her sheets.”

“Are you mad at me?”

His mouth gapes for a second, jaw working, before he answers. “Mad at myself.”

“What for?”

“Not looking out better, letting those assholes sneak right up on us.”

“Stuff happens,” you tell him and when he starts to speak you place a hand over his mouth. “As much as I love the sound of your voice I don’t want to hear you berate yourself. These things happen. They’ll happen again. We’ll figure it out.”

A gleam enters his eye and suddenly you’re on your back while he straddles one of your thighs. Your hand is still over his mouth and he snakes his tongue out to caress your palm before gently pulling you away by the wrist. 

“Love the sound of my voice, do you?”

“Don’t let it go to your head, Cowboy.”

He flinches slightly, so fast you almost don’t notice. But his grin is quick to follow, “Any other parts of me you love?”

Pressing your lips together you stifle a grin. “Not a thing.”

“Really?” His hand is under the hem of your skirt and you shift so he can push the entire thing up to your waist. “I seem to recall you having some fond feeling for certain parts of me.”

“Tolerable.”

He tuts at you and you sit up so he can pull your dress over your head. You’re almost naked, just your panties between you and him. A low whistle escapes him and he spreads his fingers wide as he strokes down your chest.

“Statements like that’ll go to a man’s head. Hit him right in the confidence.”

“You do not lack confidence.”

Another grin. “Be that as it may, maybe you need reminding of some things.”

His fingers tuck under the band of your panties and you still him with a hand on his wrist. “Take off your jacket.”

“What?”

“Your jacket,” you insist, “and the shirt too.”

“Darlin’, you don’t want to see all of this.”

“I know what you are,” you tell him, reaching up and undoing one of his buttons. “It’s not going to surprise me.”

“Surprise ain’t what I’m worried about.” But he does slip his jacket off, dropping it to the floor with a loud clank of God only knew what. And he doesn’t stop you while you unbutton his shirt, letting it hang from his shoulders.

He’s covered in radiation burns, deep rivets and ropey flesh. His stomach is bowed out, the edges concave in a way that makes you think something never quite healed right. He watches you watch him, jaw clenched and lips pressed tight.

“You’re beautiful,” you finally say, sitting up to press your lips to his chest. He’s so much warmer without his clothes, probably radiation. Thankfully you’d taken that Rad-X this morning.

“You’re a fine one to talk.”

He lays you back with one arm supporting you, hands immediately going to your panties and letting you kick them off. He shifts his position so your legs are thrown over his thighs, your back bowed off the bed. It’s not comfortable but you barely notice because his fingers are playing with you, flicking over your clit with practiced ease until you shudder under him with a soft cry.

“That nice?” he asks with a grin. He doesn’t wait for a response, pulling at his pants until he can press the head of his cock inside you. It’s exactly as you remember, although somehow even wider in this position. He stares down as he pushes into you, tongue licking out and eyes narrowing at the sight. When you don’t answer he squeezes your side. “What was rule number 1?”

“You don’t read minds,” you gasp out.

He frowns, “Wait, what was ‘tell me if you like it’?”

“The second.”

He grunts, shifting his knees, and you can’t hold back the soft moan. Fingers going back to your clit he nods, “Fine, well then rule number two, tell me what you like. This feel good?”

“Move,” you groan then shake your head when he shifts his fingers. “No, move inside. Please.”

“Oh you sound so pretty with your ‘please’s. You going to thank me later too?”

“I’ll do anything you want,” you whine, fingers digging into his forearms, “just don’t stop.”

“Never, darlin, I ain’t never gonna stop.” He’s on his knees over you, one hand playing with your clit while the other moves up to cup your breast. He’s fucking you long and slow, each thrust touching something inside of you that makes you see stars.

It starts to coil tight and high. Your breath comes in short pants and he’s smiling down at you like you’re made of pure gold. His lips pull back as he tries to stave off his own release.

“Ah darlin’,” he groans, “you’re milking me dry. Maybe one day you’ll let me fuck you full of me, fill you up til you drip with cum.”

It’s probably something in you that makes it happen the way it does, that makes you nearly black out and arch until only your shoulders are on the bed as you come. He talks you through it, gentle praise and filthy words until he pulls out and spurts across your stomach.

You feel frozen in time.

Your eyes are squeezed shut, legs nearly cramping from the position you’re holding but you can’t help it. Every nerve ending feels like it’s on fire. His hands ease at your waist until you’re in his lap once more but even then you’re too strung out to do much else.

God, you’re shaking. You try to cover your face but it only makes things worse. A firm hand slides over your stomach and grips at your ribs a moment before you hear a hesitant question.

“Did I hurt you?”

You quickly shake your head, a breath shuddering through your body. His hands stroke you again, between your breasts and up to your neck before sliding back down.

“Then what the hell is it?”

His abruptness is so sharp, so him, that you can’t help but laugh. Pulling your hands down and giving him a watery smile while you continue to shiver. “I’m sorry, it’s just… that was a lot.” 

He tilts his head quizzically before it seems to dawn on him and he sighs. With one hand he shifts your legs to the side, sliding into the space behind you and wrapping an arm around your waist. He pulls you close, wrapping you in an embrace, and soothes a roving palm across your arm.

“Never come like that, huh?”

Another laugh and you turn to face him, letting him slip an arm under your neck. “You’re the only person I’ve ever been with, Cowboy.”

He studies you, eyes flicking across your face, before he quietly corrects you. “Cooper.”

“What?”

“Cooper.” His hand reaches up and traces your ear, “My name, it’s Cooper.”

“Cooper.” The name rolls off your tongue and you gift him a wide smile. “I like it.”

“It’s just a name.”

“It’s your name,” you correct him. “And I’m allowed to like it.”

“No skin off my nose.”

That strikes you as funny and you’re still softly giggling when sleep overtakes you.

☢ ☢ ☢

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[atinylittlepain]

Over the Hill

dad!steve harrington x f!oc

part of the Girl Boy universe

wordcount | 2.3K

content info | 18+ bc I say so, mostly just domestic fluff though

a/n | feeling kinda weepy and soft tonight and decided to share something from the archives - i have such a soft spot for these two it's criminal :')

................................................................

Everyone warned him about forty. Eddie passed the milestone first with a big dinner in the city, a toast that sounded more like a curse, you next, big boy. But Steve turned forty with little fret, no existential meltdown, no midlife crisis convertible, just a good day, sprinkle toast for breakfast made by his girls, and a little more sophisticated dinner that evening surrounded by good people, loved people. 

Robin had a crisis when she turned forty this year, called him the night before her birthday in a verifiable panic because this is old, we’re old, when did that happen? He had scoffed, it’s not so bad on the other side, Rob, trust me. And he meant that, really, he did. But right now, waking up to forty-one, he feels a little less certain of the truth of that statement. 

“Good morning.” Still sleep-sweet, her palm coming to rest over his heart, index finger skating back and forth along the line of his collarbone. For a moment, taking in her slow simpering smile, it occurs to him that they’ve spent nearly half of their birthdays together now, a strange, weepy heat blooming in his throat at the thought. 

“Hi, honey.” 

“You look perturbed.”

“Perturbed?”

“Mmm, and it’s too early in the morning to look perturbed. What’s wrong?” She sits up a little more, leaning into her arm, chin tilted down to consider him, a look he’s seen her give to the girls when they wake up complaining of headaches and sore throats. Only wearing a t-shirt from last year’s turkey trot fundraiser at the elementary school. He had cut the sides out of it for working out in, but he thinks a bit absently that this is a better use for it, the soft drop of her breasts spilling bare out of the cut-off sides. Even after all this time, she is still a perfect distraction to him. 

“I’m forty-one today.”

“You are, I wasn’t sure if you wanted me to wish you happy birthday. You know, given the perturbed look.”

“Now we’re both forty-one.” Her smile falters, just a little, and he feels guilty, just a little, that he’s still in this fugue state. She recovers quick though, her palm rubbing a nice heat into his chest, leaning down and pressing a kiss to his cheek, another to his lips, beyond used to each other’s morning breath by now, not caring about it either.

“Yeah, we are, good thing we’re gonna live forever, right?” And it’s just enough to loosen something in his chest, to unfurrow his brow with a huff of a laugh, oh, are we? Guess I didn’t get that memo. 

“Are you okay though, seriously?” He hums, his palm coming to rest over hers, and he is okay, tells her as much, and she softens, another kiss, another quiet happy birthday, baby. And there isn’t much more time to allow themselves because it’s a weekday, school day, routines to run through and all. Already out of bed, him putting on sweats and a t-shirt while she gets into the shower because he’s always been on wake up duty. 

Violet is already dressed and brushing her teeth in the jack and jill bathroom she shares with Nora. Nine going on nineteen, she warbles a good morning around toothpaste foam when he squeezes her shoulder in a quiet greeting as he passes through to get to Nora’s room. And he is okay, he thinks, just feeling sentimental. A quick flood of it with the sudden obliterating thought that he blinked, and now they’re here. He still remembers when they brought Violet home to that little one-story in Amherst, still remembers when she fit in the span of his two palms. And now she’s putting on strawberry lip gloss in the mirror, and he’s not sure where she got that strawberry lip gloss, probably from that snitty Jessica H that neither he nor Andy like very much, though they’ve agreed to let Vi figure it out for herself. 

Nora is still asleep, curled up small in her twin bed, pale blue light threading through the curtains and providing just enough guidance for him to not step on the legos strewn on the floor, mercy. Some mornings there’s no time for loveliness, for slow sweet things, everyone running a few minutes late, turning the lights on and calling out hoping it’ll be enough to wake whoever’s still sleeping up. But they can take a little more time this morning, so he sits down on the edge of her bed, a gentle palm between her shoulder blades, soft voice, hey, Nor, good morning. She murmurs, grumbles, small displeased sounds as she curls up tighter into herself. She is the most like Andy out of their girls, he thinks, a bit serious for her six years, but sharp. He’s greeted by her furrowed brow beneath the mussed tangle of her hair, eyes still half-shut and a pursed frown that he can’t help but chuckle at, which of course only makes her frown deepen.  

“It’s time to get up, babe.” He says it, but he’s already softening back into something between asleep and awake as she crawls into his lap, arms wrapped around his neck and her hair getting in his mouth with the way she tucks her head down into his chest, another low grumble as she settles small in his lap. Soon, he thinks, she will be too cool for this, for him. It happened to Margot somewhere between eight and ten, Violet too, sometime last year, and Nora will turn seven in the fall. So soon, but for now, he rubs circles into the small wings of her shoulder blades and asks her to tell him about the fortress she seems to be building out of her legos. She blinks up at him, still a little bleary, it’s your birthday, though the words come out a little garbled, birthday becoming birfday, still young, still trying. He smiles, nods, asks her how she knows that and mommy said, and, happy birthday, daddy. 

“How old are you?” He tells her and her jaw drops, eyes wide, young wonder, like she wasn’t there when he turned forty last year. 

“That’s so old.”

“You know, mom is the same age as me.” 

“Yeah, but she’s mom.” He doesn’t get a chance to ask her to explain the particular logic of her statement, already sliding off his lap and padding into the bathroom, a rather haughty daddy, privacy lobbed over her shoulder at him. She learned that word a few months ago, and it’s quickly become her favorite. He gets the hint, steps out through the door to her room and continues his rounds.

Knocking is requisite when entering Margot’s room, he’s learned. Sometimes she answers, sometimes she doesn’t. Something else he’s learning, how to be okay with it when she doesn’t answer, space, allowing that space that seems to continue to spread. But this time she does answer, a quiet yeah? And when he asks if he can come in, he gets a sure, and he’ll take it. 

“What’s on deck this morning?” 

“Jeff Buckley.”

“Grace?”

“Yeah.”

“Nice choice.” It was Andy’s idea, getting out all those old cassettes and getting Mar a walkman for her twelfth birthday. She’s been inseparable from her headphones ever since, though she’ll share with him from time to time, humor him from time to time. He sits down on the window seat in her room next to where she’s sunken into her bean bag chair, considers the tracklist on the cassette case she left there, like he doesn’t know this string of songs by sheer memory.

“Do you have a favorite off this one?”

“Mmm, last goodbye, probably.” She holds her head in her hand, chipped blue nail polish tapping against her cheek when she asks what his favorite is right back.

“Last goodbye is a good one, but when we saw him live the way he performed eternal life was pretty amazing.” And he knows, he knows, trying to rack up a few points by dropping that one into their conversation. Margot takes the bait, you never told me that, you saw him live? All eager, curled over her knees and waiting for him to continue this story.

“He was playing in New York all the time when mom was living there, we saw him at this little club. You sure I never told you that?” And Margot’s ugh, no, that’s so weird. He’s trying not to grin like a dork, and failing miserably.

“What’s so weird?” 

“That, like, you and mom were cool.” 

“Emphasis on the word were, huh?” 

“I mean, you guys are relatively cooler than other parents, ish.”

“Ish?”

“Yeah, cool-ish.” 

“Thanks, Mar, I appreciate the cool-ish.”

“Yeah, happy birthday, by the way.” And with little fanfare or fuss, she gets up and produces a small package wrapped in what looks like old, cut-up trader joe’s bags from the drawer of her nightstand. 

He had been expecting a joint gift from the girls, something Andy usually organized, always thoughtful, accompanied by three homemade cards that he keeps tucked into a desk drawer at work. But no, not expecting this, unwrapping the gift while Margot looks on, something nervous, he thinks, in the way she’s rocking back and forth on her heels. 

“Uncle Eddie helped, mom too, but, um, yeah.” No, not expecting this, an iPod, dark blue, and she explains to him in a rushed voice that she wanted to share her favorite music with him, because he’s shared all of his with her, and so she downloaded plenty of good stuff to get him started, she says, to get him with the times. And he knows that it would not be cool, or even cool-ish, to cry right now, so he tries hard not to, clears his throat and thanks her for his gift, tells her how much he loves it, and asks for a hug that he’s half-expecting her to balk at. Small miracle when she doesn’t, when she lets him pull her into his chest, quick squeeze. He lets her go before she’s too cool for him again, tells her mom has breakfast going, and they’ll need to leave soon, and all the usual things while his heart continues to melt and warm between his ribs. And that feeling lingers, lovely, while he gets dressed, slacks and shirt and he slides his gift into the pocket of his suit jacket because he’s looking forward to listening to it the very first chance he gets. 

Breakfast is well under way by the time he comes down to the kitchen, oatmeal and peanut butter honey toast and scrambled eggs, and he catches the tail end of Andy telling Margot that she doesn’t care if Allison M is skipping breakfast these days because your brain needs fuel, babe, no ifs, ands, or buts, and you can tell Allison M that I said that.

Coffee for him, coffee for her, they pick at peanut butter toast crusts and the ends of bananas that none of the girls seem interested in eating, leaning at the kitchen counter and doing the usual family rundown, basketball practice and violin lessons and a sleepover this weekend, small chaos that they somehow manage. They’ll do cards and cake, and probably another errant gift or two tonight, he knows, just happy to be getting everyone out the door in matching socks and with packed lunches. He always drives Margot on his way to a quick enough commute into Boston while Andy drops Nora and Violet at the elementary school, closer to the university campus. But while the girls are already out the door and looking for that orange cat they’ve been leaving cans of tuna out for, Andy stops him at the garage door, brows raised, well? And he knows exactly what she’s asking about.

“Was it her idea?”

“All her idea, we just helped. Don’t tell her I told you this, but she was so excited, baby. Had a list written out of all the songs she wanted to put on it for you.” And now he thinks he might cry again, some strange swirl of existential something and love, loving, and being loved in such a complete way. All he can do, pull her in close, a kiss that slips across her mouth and to her cheek and we made really fucking good kids, and, thank you. 

“I have a gift for you too, but it’s gonna have to wait until tonight.”

“Oh? Yeah? Tonight?” His grin going smarmy and sideways, a quick glance out into the yard to make sure there aren’t young eyes watching when he squeezes at a palmful of her ass, little shove, little scoff, and not meaning it at all when her own grin threatens at the corners of her lips. 

“Better get your mind out of the gutter or you're gonna have a very long day ahead of you.” 

“So would now be a bad time to tell you I kinda want a fourth?” Except it doesn’t come out quite like that, the last bit rushed all on one exhale, kindawannafourth? Andy is already rolling her eyes.

“Oh no, no, sorry, ship’s sailed, shop’s closed, not happening. Steve, I don’t know if you noticed, but you and I? We’re kinda old now, babe.”

“Thought you said we were gonna live forever.”

“You’re insane.” They’re going to be a few minutes late now, stopped staring and smiling at each other like fools. He presses another kiss to her lips, a quick smacking thing, just because he can, and then sighs, yeah, we are kinda old, honey. 

“We can still have fun though.” He perks at that, her already slipping away and toward her car as all three girls start to grumble about the time. He follows, feet dragging just a little as Margot gets into the passenger seat of his car, another recent development, another change. 

“Fun, huh?” Her sunglasses on, brow raised, Andy offers him one more smile before she gets into her car.

“See you tonight, birthday boy.”

[whoblewboobear]

We made Jace too cool and shameless. We gotta give him so deep cut nerd shit or a hobby that he’s so protective and secretive about.

The thing is, he is old. Like he’s accepted that shame is indeed a landfill emotion and no amount of judgment could make him care. BUT, I’m thinking something that if Porter or Zara walked in while he was indulging he’d get nervous and try to hide it.

Kinda like the idea of him having a little craft room where he repaints dolls and sews little clothes and things. He wears his glasses and puts his hair up to keep it from getting in his eyes. He has a fancy stool so he doesn’t get sore from sitting for so long.

One day Porter gets home from the gym earlier than usual and finds Jace in like- a room that definitely wasn’t in their house before, definitely enchanted to be hidden or something, with Jace inside humming along to his music as he plucks hairs out of a dolls head from the neck hole so he can reroot it.

And Porter is just silently watching him, completely curious and unjudging. Maybe even a little in awe of how strange it looks. He’s pretty sure there’s a doll head soaking in water, but the whole room really has a pungent nail polish remover smell so maybe it isn’t water-?

By the time that Jace notices him, Porter has barely taken in the shelf of beautiful customs. Rows and rows of dolls. He always found dolls a bit creepy even when his daughter was little he thought they were watching him when he went to pick up her toys.

Jace’s little shriek as he gets up pulls porters focus back to him just as his boyfriend starts ushering him out of the room. Waving a hand the minute the door is closed to hide it again.

“You didn’t see that.” Jace watches Porter, kind of hoping and silently pleading with him to forget it.

Oh but Porter definitely did see that. Or some of it, he’s not really sure why Jace is hiding it all anyway. It’s different but they’ve met enough people and everyone has their interests. He’s pretty sure a student he had about 4 years back would storyboard how she’d crush her enemies. She’d hide her sketchbook away, but would always turn in a panel with her written assignments. It was cool.

“We have a spare room with windows, baby,” is all he offers. The remnants of acetone still singing his nostrils. Jace just rolls his eyes, gets to his toes and pecks Porter’s lips. “You don’t think it’s weird?”

“Nah,” porter grins, leaving a lingering kiss on Jace’s temple. “Why’d you pull the hair out like that tho?”

Jace’s eyes light up a bit only taking a half beat before he starts gushing about the rerooting process and how he found a really gorgeous shade of blue hair online and wants to make a a yeti fashion doll. The more he talks the more relaxed he is, eventually bringing the door to his craft room back and showing Porter all of the moving parts. Custom clothes and redrawn faces meticulously and impeccable in quality. He walks Porter back through his earlier projects and how “bad” they were.

“I like to draw the eyes looking to the left, makes ‘em less creepy,” he offers. Pointing the detail out to Porter, going on about eye shines and the perfect glaze to make them pop.

Porter can’t bring himself to be creeped out by the dolls, Jace made them and he loves Jace. So by extension he thinks they have charm.

Later that weekend he helps Jace move his craft room upstairs where there’s better ventilation. Jace says he’s being overdramatic but Porter smiles to himself when Jace positions his desk in front of a window. He also gets Jace a lil face mask for when he’s working with a lot of acetone. One day over dinner, when the smell of acetone is still lingering on his skin, Jace explains the ‘pickling’ process and says he can make a dolls head shrink in size.

Porter truly doesn’t believe him at first when he says the heads shrink but a week later in the middle of the night Jace’s alarm goes off and he does drag a very groggy Porter out of bed to see the results. The little doll head shrank a decent amount compared to the other. He just kisses Jace on the forehead, calls him “his scientist,” and shuffles back to bed.

[gripefroot]

Crooked Ways [19/22]

“Bulma.”

She moaned, turning her head away from the sound, too deeply entrenched in the soft blackness of slumber to care who was talking or why. 

“Bulma.”

Again? This time a sharp shake of her shoulders sent her head flying up, almost banging it on the lamp of her desk. Cussing, Bulma rubbed her sore head and whirled around in her seat, giving Vegeta’s scowl an even better, blacker scowl. 

“It’s two in the morning,” he said. “Go to bed or I’ll put you to bed.”

Two in the - no, it couldn’t be. It had been ten p.m. just a few minutes ago, when she’d been putting the finishing touches on her giant robot design. She’d had the brilliant inspiration to install some gravity sensors to pull things towards it - a fantastic challenge that Vegeta would no doubt enjoy. 

“It is not,” Bulma protested, her voice thick. She picked up her watch where she’d taken it off to work on her design. Squinting, she gasped aloud when she saw that Vegeta was right. It was two in the morning. “I can’t go,” she said, grabbing at the papers around where she’d rested her head to gather them together. “I wanted to get this done and start working in the morning. I mean, I’m close, but I - ”

Vegeta started spouting off better cuss words than she had. A second later her chair was kicked away from the desk and she was hauled straight out of it, tossed over his shoulder like a sack of flour. 

“This is for your robot!” Bulma fumed, but didn’t bother fighting. She had no chance. 

“If you make me a robot without a proper night’s sleep, you’ll probably end up killing me,” he said. “You are going to bed.” 

“Ha! You want to have sex this bad, don’t you?”

Outside of the lab, the Capsule Corp hallways were dim at the late hour, oppressively silent after their echoing voices. What had Vegeta been doing up, anyway? Training, probably. Or eating. 

“This isn’t about sex, Bulma,” Vegeta intoned. “You are going to bed.” 

“Mine or yours? Because if it’s yours, I’ll know for sure you’re lying.”

“Fine, then. Your bed.”

She grumbled, tempted to kick out her legs to make the journey more difficult for him. He’d probably slap her bum if she did that. Tempting, and she was about to start kicking when Vegeta jostled her violently with a, 

“Don’t squirm.” 

“Hmph!” Bulma wriggled her hips, but half-heartedly. “Are you going to tuck me in, too? Or is that beneath you?” 

He grumbled something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, “Nothing that involves a bed and you beneath me is beneath me,” but she couldn’t be sure. “Only to ensure you don’t get up and start working again,” Vegeta said. 

“Why were you awake, anyway?”

Silence. She heard the whoosh of the door opening to her bedroom, then it closed almost on her head after he stepped inside. 

“You had a delivery,” he told her. 

Bulma found herself lowered to the ground a second later, facing her bedroom in the dark with a frown. The shapes all looked to be their normal, chaotic selves. Then she saw Vegeta’s finger point towards her closet where a dressmaker’s dummy stood with a dark blue gown draped over it. 

“Oh, my gala dress! I’m going to try it on right now - ”

“You absolutely are not!” 

Bulma whirled around, meeting his furious gaze with her own. “I want to and I will!” 

“You need to sleep!” 

“I’ll sleep when I’m dead!” 

Vegeta’s head jerked back, eyes wide with surprise. 

“Hello?” She snapped her fingers. “Remember? Androids? We’re all doomed anyway. Let me try on a pretty dress while I still can.”

“You are not doomed.” His voice went icy-cold, sending shivers up her spine. “I am the one destined to die that day.” 

She hated the reminder. Stomach twisting in miserable knots, Bulma lifted her chin. “Not if I can help it. Why do you think I want to get that robot design finished tonight?” 

Vegeta crossed his arms in front of his chest, armor fully patched over his expression. “Go to bed, Bulma. I’m not leaving until you do.”

She smiled a pretty smile, tugging out some curls from her headband with a twist of her finger. “What if I want you to stay?”

He blinked, mouth twitching. “Then I’ll leave until you go to bed,” he decided. 

“You’re no fun.” 

“I was awake because I was trying to put on those blasted garments.” Vegeta nodded at her gown, implying that his tuxedo had been delivered as well. And that it had been a struggle. 

“Oh,” Bulma said. “Well.” 

“Must I strip you and tie you to the bed?” 

“Yes. Definitely.” 

Even in the dark she could see the shade of his face deepen. “How utterly vulgar,” he said, clearly meaning to be disapproving. 

“You’re the one that said it,” Bulma laughed. “Let’s make a deal. I’ll go to bed but you have to stay with me all night.”

Vegeta waved a hand in agreement. Likely he’d had a mind to stay with her, anyway, if only to keep her horizontal. Smiling, she unzipped her jumpsuit to wriggle down her hips, stepping out of it enough to kick it in the general direction of her dirty clothes. 

“Good enough,” she chirped. “Come on.”

“Woman,” he warned. “If you start this, you will not sleep at all tonight.” 

“I had a nap! I’m ready to go!” 

“It negates the purpose of my forcing you to bed. You may as well work on your robot.” 

“Would you rather I do that?” Bulma asked, hating the squeeze of rejection in her chest. “Go back to the lab and leave you here? You sleep alone and I design your robot?”

Vegeta’s eyes drifted down her body, then back to her face. “You already undressed. It would be impractical.”

“Oh, I can go just like this.” For emphasis she plucked at the front of her tank top. “It’s warm in the lab, anyway.”

“In your undergarments - ”

“Hardly! Besides, these cover way more than swimsuit, anyway, and those are perfectly acceptable to - ”

The air was knocked out of Bulma as his shoulder drove into her gut. Not too hard, though, and she landed on the bed a second later with the striking realization that he must have flown them the fifteen feet to her bed. The look of utter consternation on Vegeta’s face - flaring nostrils, grim mouth and all - broke her into gales of laughter that he clearly didn’t appreciate. 

“What’s the deal to get you to sleep?” he demanded, remaining nestled between her thighs. 

“Hmm.” Bulma tapped her chin in thought, a giggle or two still waiting to come out. “I’ll think of something. But I’ll warn you, I’m a tough negotiator.”

“And I’m a prince with diplomatic experience.” A grin slowly crept over his face, more thrilling than his hands gripping her hips. 

“Like blowing things up?” 

“I didn’t say my experience was nonviolent.” 

She laughed, grabbing him by the shoulders to drag him down for a kiss. To her surprise, he allowed it. “Here’s the deal,” she whispered. “You stay and hold me and I’ll go right to sleep like an obedient human.” 

“I accept your terms.”

Bulma occasionally thought that Vegeta hated this sort of thing. The affection that bubbled naturally out of her when she felt treasured and special. Normal sorts of affection that came with a relationship. She caught him scowling sometimes when she hugged him from behind or she kissed his cheek by surprise or tangled up with him like an octopus after sex. 

But he did it. That stunned her more than anything, and she cherished the weight of his arm around her waist as they settled in for a short night. 

Before sleep claimed her, his voice drifted through her memory: I am the one destined to die that day. She stirred, clutching his arm harder, determined to cherish this moment all the more for the prophesied shortness of it. 

His nose was in her hair, so he couldn’t see her lips form the electrifying, damning declaration I-love-you. It was given to the night where it would be kept hostage from the only ones the words could destroy. 

~

“These blasted clothes!”

The door to her bedroom banged open just after the shout came. If Bulma weren’t used to it, she would have jumped and ruined the line of her lipstick she carefully applied in her bathroom mirror. Even the looming presence of Vegeta in his black suit and black mood standing impatiently in the bathroom doorway didn’t deter her from finishing the job well, smacking her lips together when she was satisfied. 

“Hello to you, too,” she said silkily, leaning away from the mirror to cap the lipstick. “Want to tell me what’s bothering you at a normal volume?” 

Bulma turned, smiling a dazzling smile to detract from her throat going dry at the sight. For an alien, Vegeta was well-suited to tuxedos. The crisp lines of the fabric showed off his broad shoulders, the cut of the trousers making him look taller than he was. Or had he gotten taller? Perhaps it was the shoes, all shined and spiffy. 

He didn’t respond right away, and her eyes traveled back to his face when she realized they were standing in complete silence.

“You,” he said. His eyes had stayed on her body. She couldn’t blame him - her dress was stunning and made to accentuate her figure to perfection. “You…”

“I look amazing,” she finished for him. “What’s wrong with the clothes, Vegeta? You look very handsome.” 

Lips pinched together, he held out three strips of cloth for her to examine. “I figured out most of the items, but these make no logical sense,” Vegeta growled. 

“Ah.” Bulma took them from him. “I understand. Let’s start with the cumberband.”

“The what?”

“Take off the coat and I’ll help.” 

He grumbled the whole time, but he did as she ordered. He even lifted his arms without prompting so she could wind the cumberband around his hips to fasten in the back. “What is the purpose of this?” Vegeta snarled over his shoulder, watching her every move. 

“I don’t know. I’ve never researched the origins of men’s formalwear before.” 

He gave a snort of derision. “And what’s that square? Why is it blue?”

Finished with her task, Bulma wandered around Vegeta to pick up the offending square. “It’s a pocket square,” she said. “It goes in your pocket.” 

“Like a snot rag?”

“Well, it’s one-hundred percent silk, but hey, my family has money to spare so why not.” The blue fabric matched her dress perfectly. When Bulma had ordered their clothes she hadn’t specifically asked that they match. Was this Dad’s doing? After folding the square she tucked it into the suit jacket laying on the bathroom counter. 

“It matches your dress.” Vegeta’s temper must have blown out, because his words were much much quieter than earlier. 

“Yes,” Bulma said. 

“Is that a human custom?”

“I suppose.”

“Does it indicate that you are mine and I am yours?” 

Vegeta and his archaic language! Grabbing the bow tie, she smiled as she planted herself in front of him, ready to do her worst. “I’m guessing most people will get the idea,” she admitted, slinging the bow tie around his neck. The weight of his attentive gaze would have been disconcerting a year ago. Now, it was only cozy. 

“I have wondered,” Vegeta began in a low tone while she looped the bow tie over itself. “How humans discern who is who’s. And how I might ensure that everyone knows that you are mine, even when we are not together.” 

“Possessive little ape, aren’t you?” 

“We Saiyans scent each other,” he continued, ignoring her remark. He didn’t find it offensive, evidently. “During coupling, the individuals lace each other with their scents and it makes a new one. It’s obvious to Saiyans when one is not available for courtship.” 

“I see,” Bulma murmured. One final knot and the tie was complete. She tightened it with a tug, straightening it beneath Vegeta’s chin. 

“Naturally such a thing wouldn’t work among humans, what with your limited olfactory glands. So humans prefer matching clothing?”

“Not usually. The standard practice is that each person in a relationship wears a ring.”

“A ring?” He nodded, as if approving the simplicity. “Wear one.” 

“Excuse me?”

“You own rings, don’t you?”

“It’s not the same!” Bulma stepped back, crossing her arms and unsure why, in the last five seconds, her annoyance rose so quickly. Of course Vegeta wouldn’t know - why was she so offended? “The man has to give the woman a ring!”

His eyes narrowed. 

“It means they’re either married or going to be married! The man wears one too after they get married.” 

Vegeta’s stiff posture broke with a single blink and a sway. As if he’d been about to take a step back and caught himself just in time. At the prospect of marrying her? Why, the - 

“Have you scented me?” Bulma demanded. Her best method of tamping down painful feelings in the quickest way possible: a sour attitude and a solid offense. 

The method sizzled and fizzled. He didn’t answer, only dropping his gaze to his suit coat. When he reached around her to pick it up, she felt the heat of his body leaning in. It made the cool air when he pulled back all the more frigid. 

Of course he hadn’t scented her. They weren’t the same race. There was never any spoken or indicated intention to stay together longer than…longer than the android ordeal. Or until Vegeta left to train somewhere else, just like everyone else always did. He wouldn’t want to bind himself to her, a human. Saiyans were proud, and he was the proudest of all. Hadn’t he said over and over again how disgusting he found female hysterics? No doubt he’d believe she’d fall into hysterics over an honest conversation that he had no lasting intentions with her. That they would part ways and never see each other again. 

Without a word Bulma tugged the lapels over his chest while he stuck his arms through the sleeves. The sharp scent of his soap filled her senses in a painful, overwhelming way, and she had to sniff to keep anything leaking out that would ruin her mascara. 

Of course she’d been stupid enough to fall in love, for the second time, with a man even less likely to stay with her. 

“How long must we stay?” Vegeta asked roughly. His arms dropped to his side while she smoothed down his lapels one more time. The press of ten fingertips into her hips indicated that his hands hadn’t stayed limp. 

“A few hours.” Bulma gnawed on her bottom lip, lipstick forgotten. She kept her eyes on his chin where she wouldn’t have to meet the scrutiny of his gaze. “Really, you don’t have to come. I won’t come home drunk again. I was miserable last time.” 

“I’m going. But I’ll be thinking of peeling this dress off of you the entire time.” 

His comment lightened her mood by a shade, and she was able to smile. “Keep saying things like that, and the time we have to stay will get shorter and shorter,” she said lightly, her palm resting over his heart long enough to make hers squeeze with unspoken longing. “I’ll call the car and tell them we’ll be down in five minutes.”

Vegeta pulled her tightly against him, their hips bumping. The feeling of his erection through his trousers made Bulma squawk in surprise - here? Now? Was he insane? 

“Make it ten,” he said. 

“And ruin all the hard work I did to make you look nice?” she sniffed. “Dream on, Vegeta.” 

He grumbled but released her hips in favor of taking her hand, dragging her towards the door. The lightswitch change between moods had Bulma grabbing for the doorframe. Her weak strength didn’t slow him down. 

“The sooner we get there, the sooner we can leave,” he said over his shoulder. 

She tumbled over her high heels, dragging the train of her gown to rush forward. He could haul her around at Capsule Corp and she wouldn’t mind (too much) but in public? No way. “And here I thought you didn’t want to go,” Bulma teased, winding her arm through his elbow. Vegeta’s eyes glinted as he cast her a sullen look. To no surprise he didn’t deign to respond to that. 

“What perfume are you wearing?” Vegeta asked abruptly. Waiting at the top of the circular driveway for the driver to bring the car around, Bulma tore her eyes away from the darkening blush of sunset to give her plus-one a puzzled look. 

“The only perfume I ever wear,” she said. 

“You smell different.” 

She could only shrug at the approaching crunch of gravel. “Maybe you did your Saiyan scenting ritual by accident,” she suggested. Vegeta’s frown deepened. 

“Then I would know why your scent has changed, wouldn’t I?” he said blithely. Tandem steps down to where the driver held the door open for them. Bulma would have liked to press the point, and the issue, a little further, but after sliding inside the car with Vegeta right after her, she decided in the silence that she’d rather not be overheard. 

“There are three seats,” she told him as finagled a seatbelt over his chest. He sat in the middle seat, practically pushing her into the door. 

“I don’t want you to escape.”

“Hi, Ralph,” Bulma chirped, leaning forward to put her head next to the driver, who adjusted the rear view mirror. “Whatever my date says, I promise I’m here of my own free will. He’s not kidnapping me.”

“Sure, Miss Bulma,” Ralph said. 

She settled back in, shoulder-to-shoulder with Vegeta and, rarely, feeling short next to him. He had a way of looming even when their eyes were level. 

“It’s just one night,” Bulma whispered in reassurance, but couldn’t discern if she was speaking to Vegeta or herself. 

[syncopein3d]

Broken World

4: Bad Night

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

CW: badly injured whumpee, implied past violence, loss of consciousness, fear of death, discussion of death, offensive/ignorant cis questions, blood, bruises, broken ribs, difficulty breathing, stranger caretaker, uncertain fate

Ripper ate the noodles without much interest. They felt like they gouged on their way down, and it couldn’t taste much. It wouldn’t be able to for a couple of days. Mostly they kept an eye on Robert as they sat there, in case he dropped the fat styrofoam cup or threw up. Neither happened. Afterward, he set the cup on the nightstand and sloshed water from the bottle around his mouth before he swallowed.

“So, where do you sleep?” Robert asked.

“I’ve got a couple of things to do. Then I’ll lie on top of the other side. It’s a big bed,” Ripper said.

“Yeah, well, if I die just dump the body in the garage,” Robert said. “In case I get back up.”

“Do I want that?” Ripper asked.

“It’d mean your extra work wasn’t wasted.” He leaned back into the pillow stack, swollen eyes all the way shut now.

“Good point.” They threw away the trash and washed the cup and fork they’d used for the noodles. Then they grabbed the duffel and went to take a hurried shower and brush their teeth. In a few minutes they were cleaned, changed into different sweats, and padding barefoot back into the guest room. Robert was still breathing, the wheeze audible, so Ripper shut off the light and lay down facing him on top of the comforter. Its current cheapish smart phone made a small weight in one pocket. It actually thought he was asleep until he said,

“You sleep in a mask?”

“Nobody knows my face, and I’m not starting with you. Go to sleep.” It was all the Ripper could do to keep its own eyes open. Food eased the stomach cramps even if it didn’t affect the overall raw feeling that came from turning itself inside out to pass through the Other Place. Acetaminophen dulled the pain a little. And they were so very tired…

Ripper woke up with a start, rolling backward off the bed to crouch on the floor behind before they even registered why they were awake.

Then the noise happened again, a small, pained bark, and it realized Robert was trying not to cough and failing. They clawed their way back up onto the bed, stifling a groan. It felt like every raw place inside them had stiffened. A glance at the phone said it was six a.m. They must have slept for about six hours. There had been dreams, a snarl of uncolors and pain.

“You okay?” Robert asked. He was half-curled on his side facing away, so he could stay supported by pillows but keep weight off his left ribs. For a second his misshapen nose was there in silhouette as he tried to look over his shoulder.

“Better off than you are. How long have you been coughing?”

“Few minutes, I guess. Hurts like Hell. Is that normal?” His voice wasn’t any less graveled than yesterday.

“With broken ribs, yes. I’ll make tea.”

“All this time I thought people were really weird about pain,” he muttered. “Turns out I wasn’t feeling most of – kaff – fuck! Feeling most of it.”

“How sad for you,” rasped Ripper, already carrying the kettle away to refill. Robert coughed again twice while it was doing this. When it came back he was lying with his eyes closed, face half-buried in the pillow. Ripper thought he had passed out or gone back to sleep for a minute or so. Then, when it was pouring hot water over the black tea bags, he said,

“Why you doin’ this?”

“Good for a sore throat.”

“You know what – kff – what I meant.”

“You said your blood could heal me, remember?” Even to themselves, they sounded dry.

“It can. But you haven’t gone looking for needles or asked my blood type or nothing. Y’don’t believe me, do you?”

“I believe you’d say anything to stay alive.” Ripper shrugged. “I would, too, if I was you. But you did tell me where the carnite was. That’s worth something. And I can’t do anything with it for another couple of days anyway. I’m not busy.”

“Can’t. Why?” A thin sliver of bloodshot eye appeared to regard them.

“None of your business.”

“You’re sick,” Robert said. “Worse than when you found me. That thing you do, it hurts you.”

“Shut up. You want milk and sugar or not?”

“Nah,” Robert said. He eased himself into a more upright position, gritting his teeth. “Thanks. So you can’t travel to sell this shit until you get better. DO you get better?”

Ripper glared down at him. Robert looked back up at him. Then he grinned, showing a couple of missing teeth.

“You don’t scare me,” he said. Ripper exhaled involuntarily, not quite a laugh.

“Fine, you ass. I get better until I have to tear again. It’s never right any more, but tearing is worse. Can you hold this?”

“Yeah. Gimme it.” He held the mug in both hands, inhaling the steam. “So you think you can find somebody to fix you with the carnite so it doesn’t hurt no more. Who would you even trust to do that?”

“I know someone,” Ripper said. “She’s operated on me. She’ll be honest enough as long as I pay up.”

Robert listened as he drank tea, nodding slightly. Then he said, “You don’t think you’ll wake up strapped down and she’ll cut bits off you until you tell her where the carnite is?”

“I think her reputation is worth more to her than nine hundred fifty million dollars.”

“That’s crazy.”

“She’s a very specific kind of crazy. Do you think you can eat a protein bar?”

“No,” Robert said. “Stomach feels weird.” He set down the mug on the nightstand and would have just flopped backward if Ripper hadn’t caught him by the shoulders to help lower him back down. He didn’t wince at the thumb on the bandaged ball of his shoulder.

“Robert?” There was a clotty mumble, then a cough, no real answer. Ripper wedged him into the pillow pile so he would stay upright. They would swear they heard a crackle to his breathing now, mucus sticking to itself and the walls inside when he breathed. He didn’t fight them.

The wounded man slept fitfully all day. He was never awake enough for a real conversation until evening, when he started to really have trouble breathing. At that point, it decided the risk of suffocation was as bad as the risk of a punctured lung. The Ripper peeled back the covers, put a towel over one shoulder, and straddled his legs, pulling him forward. Then, as he lay with the unbroken side of his ribs against their chest, they thumped his back with their fist to help him cough. The sound was awful, and it could hear the wet sound of tarry mucus and blood hitting the terry cloth. Their arms ached, and that made the ache inside worse, but they didn’t even think of stopping.

Afterward, he breathed a little easier. Ripper could feel him trying to wipe his mouth on the towel before he nudged it aside and rested his forehead on their shoulder. It rubbed his naked back silently for a couple of minutes. His skin still felt hot. The NSAID helped the fever, but had not eliminated it.

“Hey, Ripper,” he said weakly.

“Yeah.”

“I’m afraid to die. I thought I never could.”

“Maybe you won’t,” the Ripper said. “It’s too early to say.” Robert grunted, but he didn’t move, so neither did they.

“Will you tell me one thing?” he whispered.

“Probably,” Ripper said.

“You born flat, or you get ‘em removed?”

It pushed him back into the pillows, ignoring his wheezing laugh. He curled onto his side, but didn’t stop for a while as it stalked away to shove the now-horrible towel into the washer.

“Asshole,” they said, as they came to pull the covers back over him.

“You said you’d tell,” Robert gasped. A weak hand clutched at their wrist. They detached it, but carefully, setting his hand back on the mattress.

“I had top surgery. Why do you care?”

“I never knew an agender type – thing - before. Don’t want to die wondering. One more?”

“It better not be about my genitals again, because I’m not answering that.” The fact that he’d said “thing” tempered its annoyance a little. Usually it didn’t even bother with that, because no one would use it. Robert had.

“What d’you call yourself in your head?” he was asking. “Not he or she.”

“It,” Ripper said. “Sometimes they.”

“Yeah. That makes sense.” The swelling in his eyes might be a little less. It was easier to tell when he closed them. Ripper sat on the edge of the bed beside him for a couple of minutes, elbow resting on his hip. After a minute, he said, “Will you stay? It’s gonna be a bad night. If it’s going to happen, I don’t want to be alone.”

“You won’t be alone. I’ll be here,” Ripper said. “But it’s only fair you know that if you do die, I’m rolling your ass off the balcony.”

“Don’ make me laugh again, damn you.”

He couldn’t even drink broth that night. Ripper finished the cup itself. When they had showered they crawled into bed with him under the covers, wearing boxers and a loose tee shirt with the name of a college they’d never been to on it. They pressed up close to his burning body, arm carefully over his belly so that they could feel him breathe.

“Starting to feel floaty,” Robert said. “I don’t think it’ll be long.”

“Sh,” Ripper said. “You’re not going anywhere. I’ve got you.”

Robert turned his face into their shoulder. He stayed that way for a long time, his labored breathing loud in the dark room. Ripper held onto him, thumb stroking one of the only unbruised parts of his side, listening to each breath get farther apart.

It was sure he would be dead before morning, that it would one moment be holding a living man and the next moment a corpse. That was bad, but it had done that before in a way that had been much worse. This couldn’t pay for that, but it could at least make it easier for Robert than it had been for Blackknife.

But that wasn’t how it happened.

Ripper snapped awake, arm tightening. Something in the sound of the room had changed. It could feel Robert still breathing –

But it could barely hear him. It lay still for a while, listening, but he had stopped wheezing. Under their arm he breathed easily and regularly, without a hint of obstruction. That couldn’t be. They sat up on one elbow. Robert let his cheek be slid onto the pillow with a small mumble of protest, bur he didn’t wake up. That let Ripper turn far enough to grope around for the hoodie with the smartphone in the pocket. Then it turned the dim half-light of the screen on Robert’s face.

His eyelids were a little dark, but they were smooth, barely swollen. His face was no longer swollen at all, the line of his jaw straight and perfect. His nose was still crooked. Ripper tugged the covers down from his chest to look at his ribcage and was staring dumbfounded at the unbroken and unmarked skin when something hit it so hard in the chest it was knocked backward off the bed.

It knew just enough to cover its head with its arms before it hit the rugs. The phone went flying. Ripper curled on its side, gasping, wondering if its sternum had cracked. Spots danced in front of its eyes, blacker against the black.

“Ripper? Ripper?? Shit!” It was a new voice now. Still a little rough, but strong, definite. They heard Robert slide off the bed, and then felt him scoop them up against his body as if they weighed almost nothing, pulling them into the vee of his legs. “Hey, talk to me. Are you okay? Is anything broken?” He patted at their chest, producing a protesting hiss but no shift of cracked bone. “Fuck. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean -”

“Robert,” it panted.

“Yeah.”

“ Are you better?”

“Yeah. It wore off, finally,” he said.

“Oh. Good,” Ripper said. It let its head rest against a more muscular shoulder than it remembered. Robert was saying something else, shaking them a little, but that was all right. Robert was all right. The thing inside that burned felt farther away...

Ripper felt themselves turning into dead weight, heavy and limp, but it didn't feel important. The world had gone soft and dark.

Part 5

[anthrofreshtodeath]

More Crossover Work

Ok so I wanted to play with putting Booth/Brennan and Rizzles conversations side by side, and then added sex in to make it interesting 😂

Still getting a feel for b&b, but I'm feeling a little more comfortable. This is under a cut because it's naughty.

“It’s not the Royal Diner, but I know you have to be hungry,” Brennan carries a greasy paper bag in her hand when she announces her presence in the homicide bullpen.

It’s late, enough for most other detectives to be gone, and a lot of the lights are out. Booth sits slumped in his office chair, his white shirt with two streaks of dirt across the front, the gum soles of his slip-on Vans planted on the linoleum below. He blinks, like if his eyes move quickly enough, his exhaustion will evaporate, but nevertheless, they light up when they see her arrive. She takes the seat next to his desk and he smiles. “Oh hey, Bones, look at that,” he sits up straight when she puts the takeout box in front of him. “Burger and fries.”

Brennan half-smiles at him and then turns to Jane, who is looking at the screen of her phone. “I have it on good authority that The Dirty Robber has some of the best food in the Back Bay,” she says, “I’m sorry, Jane, I didn’t know you were still here; I would have-”

“Don’t worry about it,” Jane, looking just as haggard as Booth, rubs a long hand over her features. She puts her phone down. “I gotta get outta here, anyway. And if that good authority is my mother, you better temper those expectations a bit.”

Booth chuckles, his ribs a little sore from tackling the running suspect they encountered in a truck depot just outside the city only a couple hours prior to now. “Your mom’s a nice lady, Jane,” he tells her around a french fry. “You could stand to give her a break every once in a while.”

“She got to you, too?” Jane stands and throws her blazer over her equally dirty button-up shirt. “Was it the sack lunches she sent in yesterday?”

“That mighta been part of it, yeah,” says Booth. “I love a snack pack.”

“He does. He has quite the affinity for pudding,” Brennan adds, “especially when he’s injured.” She throws her head in his direction and crosses her legs. Then she pops the lid off of her own food and begins to navigate it.

“Not a bad choice,” Jane chimes in when she picks up her keys. “You two have a nice dinner, and a nice night. I’m off.”

“Hot date?” asks Booth. 

“Yeah,” snarks Jane on her way to the elevator, “with the first loves of my life. The Boston Red Sox and my couch. Night!” 

“See ya!” Booth calls out, and then he turns his attention to Brennan as soon as the doors ding shut. “She’s goin’ to go see Maura.”

“What, like sexually? No, Booth, they’re divorced,” Brennan shakes her head to dismiss him, but nevertheless leans in to share the conspiracy with him.

“The secret texts? The get up and go? Seen it all before,” he tells her, elbows on the table while he points a long fry in her direction. “Divorce or no divorce.”

“They don’t seem to like each other very much when we’re all together,” Brennan posits. She picks the fry out from Booth’s fingers and chews it. She shrugs. “Doctor Isles becomes very clinical when she’s angry. Moreso than me,” she observes. “And when Jane is around, she’s very often angry.”

“More than you? That possible?” Booth teases, and he ducks when a blueberry from Brennan’s fruit cup flies toward his forehead.

“Wh- Booth,” Brennan chides in that way that tells him she’s actually a little insecure about it.

“Aw c’mon, you’re not that bad,” he soothes, getting close, patting her wrist, even though he still wears that guilty grin. “But you gotta look beyond the surface. She’s mad because she’s hurt. She’s hurt because she cares. She cares because she’s, y’know, still in love, Bones.”

“I don’t see it that way. Doctor Isles is an empiricist and love is fleeting,” Brennan tells him, and he sits back, moving away from the moment because he’s heard it all before. “It’s fickle and she’s clearly moved on.”

“See, this is the problem,” Booth says, crossing his arms. He is thankful for the emptiness of the bullpen because he feels his ears getting hot. “You think everyone’s thinkin’ with their heads all the time, but those two are thinkin’ with their hearts right now.”

“That’s absurd. The brain is the only organ with which you can think,” Brennan scoffs, “you might be able to argue about the neuronal connection to the gut, but even then, the heart isn’t involved in cognition at all. Beyond, of course, its role as blood supply to-”

“It’s!” Booth starts through gritted teeth, but then he stops himself when his hands come forward and clench. “It’s… not that simple. Rizzoli’s been through hell, and she’s just tryin’ to prove that she’s worthy. That she’s worthy of the risk it would be to take her back, whether either of them see that or not. And them seeing each other is probably the only way they can have that conversation right now.”

Brennan pauses, and then she sighs. Her eyes catalog all of Booth’s signs of arousal, the ones that prove his nervous system is on high alert, and the sexuality that runs deep underneath it, because he’s buried it to move through his day. She drops her mouth open before she speaks, like she is trying to think of exactly the right words to say. “You are… talking about us,” she says. “Or, more accurately, about you. But I’ve already told you… you don’t need to prove yourself worthy. It’s not about that.”

Booth knocks his head back against his seat, and his eyes get glossy, wet. He never cries the tears that coat them, at least, never in her presence, and she doesn’t know if she’s appreciative that he’s spared her the emotion she has no idea how to carry, or disappointed that he doesn’t trust her with it. “It’s not about that,” he echoes lamely. Like he’s not sure he’s heard correctly so he has to assure himself. “Let’s just finish up dinner, a’right? Then we can get back to the hotel and get a decent night's sleep. Remind me to talk to Rizzoli tomorrow about moving the operation out to Amherst permanently.”

“Booth,” Brennan pleads, but she doesn’t know what for, because the conversation they stumbled into is one she’s been dreading since… well, that she has always dreaded. 

“Just eat your sandwich, huh?” He says around a giant bite of his own. He sucks ketchup off his thumb and then he looks anywhere but her eyes. “I’m tired.”

___

“Hey,” Jane calls when she walks through the front door of her little one bedroom about three blocks from the station. She drops her keys on the counter and opens up the gun safe around the corner in the kitchen so that she can lock up her firearms for the evening. She punches in the code, and when she finally faces the living room, the harness holster on her shoulders is empty, her shirt untucked. “You sure whatever I left at the house couldn’t wait? I know-” 

She stops herself, because while she expected to see Maura there, she did not expect to see Maura on her couch, in nothing but what appears to be her underwear and Jane’s very old, very lucky, Jason Varitek jersey. The home white with the Red Sox across the front, even though each word drifts away from the other because the first three buttons are undone and Jane can see the hardest working pushup bra she’s ever encountered beneath. Maura barely turns her head, and by god, the sexiest part about the whole scene is that she might actually be more invested in the Sox/Orioles game on the big screen than whatever performance she originally intended to put on. “Hmm?” she begins, only turning her head once the pitch has been thrown and counted for a strike against Xander Bogaerts. “You cut yourself off.”

Very, very lucky, thinks Jane. “Hmm,” she echoes, but in that way she often does, swallowing and tucking her chin down just before marching into a situation she has no idea how to handle. She marches to her own sofa, the one she had to buy when Maura kicked her out of the house, the one where Maura sits now. “Babe? What uh, what are you doin’ here? In that?”

“Well, I came in my work attire,” Maura answers. She reaches for the remote, turns the TV on a soft mute before she faces Jane completely. “But I’ll admit that when I arrived I wanted to wear something that would put you at ease with me,” she whispers into Jane’s mouth when she pulls Jane forward by the front of her shirt. 

Jane’s gaze flickers to Maura’s wet lips, then lower. The Tek jersey is a men’s medium, and had been a gift. She usually wears it over a hoodie for games like tonight, in mid April when there’s still a chill in the Fenway air. It drapes on Maura now, just enough for Jane to imagine sinking her teeth into the tops of Maura’s breasts - the ones on tasteful display. “At ease?” Jane asks. “Maura, I…”

Maura silences her by dropping to the floor, kneeling between Jane’s long legs, and tugging at Jane’s belt until it pops loose. At the sound, their eyes meet. Jane’s hands squeeze into fists on the tops of her own thighs, because when Maura arches her back forward, the jersey rides up, and an all black, sheer Agent Provocateur thong peeks through. It leaves no ass to the imagination, and Jane squirms - everything’s far away except the pounding of her own heartbeat in her ears. “Sit up,” Maura’s voice brings her to reality again, not some far-off blurry space, but to the thick air of her apartment living room. Maura is still there and yanking the waistband of Jane’s slacks toward her. Jane lifts herself, and the weight of her belt causes her pants to thump to the floor around her ankles. 

She’s exposed. She’s wet, and she knows Maura sees that, and she can’t help but spread her knees at Maura’s insistence. There are teeth on the short patch of hair just between her hips, and then, pressure. A bite. “Agh,” she grimaces, because it feels so good. “At ease isn’t exactly what I’d call this,” she asserts.

Maura looks up then, her tongue out, hovering dangerously low. “Well, I wanted you at ease until I saw that new toy in your nightstand.” She wastes no more time, and dips her head into Jane, waiting for her. “Now I just want to unravel you.”

Jane winces at the first tongue swipe, the one that spreads her and exposes her to Maura’s expert mouth. Her hand grips the armrest and her toes curl and Maura keeps going. Pleasure, wet and writhing, wraps around her waist. “What’re you doin’ goin’ through my things, huh?” she yips, when something hard brushes her clit. Damn Maura for knowing all her weaknesses and rolling them up into one sexual show of force. 

“I was looking for this,” Maura looks up, blinking herself into a pout, kissing Jane as she pinches jersey material between her fingers. “Why do you have it? Who’s it for, Jane?” she demands. “Who are you seeing?”

Her pout transforms into a scowl just before she returns to licking Jane into a frenzy. She mimics Jane’s most devastating slow, deep, encompassing stroke to make her come. Jane gets the other message, too: I know exactly how you fuck, and I’ll use it against you. You better not be fucking anyone else like this. Jane moans, turning her head into her arm, the one clutching the headrest of the sofa behind her. “Jesus,” she croaks. “Nobody. I keep it here for you, a’right? I wanna fuck you. Just you.”

Maura stops. She looks up again, this time her green eyes shining with mischief, and maybe a little sentimental humor. She says nothing in reply, just closes her lips around the apex of Jane’s sex and spends all of the next two minutes there. Sucking, licking, kissing, sending indecent squelching sounds to mingle with Jane’s groaning. 

“Fuck fuck fuck,” Jane chants, because her orgasm has hit her all at once. The tension she carries makes her ribs bark, an injury nearly identical to Booth’s, but she rides through it for all the colors bursting behind her shut eyelids, all the zaps of oxytocin slithering out to her limbs while Maura brings her back down. “Fuck, babe,” she gulps in air as it passes. 

Maura licks her lips, and climbs up to straddle Jane’s wide open lap. “I don’t believe you,” she says into Jane’s parted lips. Jane’s hands slide onto her ass with a barely-there squeeze. “I shouldn’t believe you.”

“Why not?” Jane pants. Her chest heaves and seeing Maura this close, in that Sox home white, revs her up again. She walks two fingers around to Maura’s front, lace scratching against her fingertips, which earns her hand a smack. “Youch!”

“Don’t touch me yet,” Maura orders. When Jane’s brows narrow, confused, Maura gathers her head and pulls it close. “You belong to me only, Jane,” she says in Jane’s ear. When Jane pulls back to argue, Maura pulls the hair at the base of Jane’s neck so that Jane stares up while she stares down. “Divorce or not. You. Belong. To. Me.”

Jane nods slowly, and though Maura’s grip is tight, she shows mercy in the way she scratches Jane’s hairline. Jane shivers and her sex pulses. An elixir of domination and affection? Maura intends to end her. “You… you left me,” she says, moving her hands back to Maura’s thighs, her hips, her waist. 

“Mine,” Maura reiterates. She kisses Jane, all soft lips and tongue, and Jane can’t help but kiss back, pulling Maura close. Her thumbs swipe the bottom of Varitek’s number 33, halfway up Maura’s back. “Come to bed. I’m going to show you,” Maura says.

She rises, puts her feet on the floor all while Jane watches. Jane freezes, stays put, until Maura throws a look over her shoulder right at the mouth of the hallway to the bedroom. Then, Jane jumps up, yanking her boots away and hopping out of her pants. Her shirt takes a little longer because she struggles with the buttons, but soon enough, it flutters to the floor, her undershirt and bra completing the trail to where she meets Maura in the dark hall. “Hey, hey,” she calls, like she has done often since their breakup, and she pulls Maura close to her by the wrist.

Maura whimpers when Jane, naked, with scars and muscle and olive skin exposed to the air, presses her into the wall behind them. Her head knocks against it, and she wraps her arms around Jane’s shoulders for stability when Jane’s hands rub up against her hips again. Fingers entwine with the sexy elastic there, twisting and smoothing and begging to get rid of it. “Jane,” she warns.

Jane keeps it up. She smoothes the skin under that elastic, her thumbs alternating between pressure and delicate touch. “Take ‘em off for me,” she pleads, her voice silky and rough, somehow at the same time. The bottom drops out of her pitch and Maura’s mouth opens, like she wants to swallow it. “I wanna see you. I wanna touch you. I wanna get wet,” Jane pursues her case.

And all the kissing and the touching and the body-to-body moments break Maura’s resolve. She looks down, their legs all tangled, their feet so close together on the carpet, and makes a decision. She lets Jane go so she can pull her underwear away from her body and hold them up.

Jane turns from Maura’s mouth and looks. She leans into the barely-there thong in Maura’s hand, inhales, and then, when she’s found where they’re wettest, she bites them, taking the cocktail on her tongue. She kisses Maura with that new taste - the smacks of it are loud and sweet, and match when she brings her fingers back between Maura’s legs.

This time, Maura opens. She shifts to the balls of her feet and wraps a leg around one of Jane’s when she takes two fingers inside. She and Jane knock against the wall for a few thrusts, Jane’s hot breath tumbling into Maura’s ear and down her neck. Jane’s shoulders flexing under her fingers while she holds on. When the pleasure grows so heavy as to be mind-altering, she drags fingernails through the sweat down Jane’s back. “Stop,” Maura orders, and Jane does pause. “Bed.”

“We throwin’ a wrench in yah plans?” Jane teases, and there’s Boston in her whisper. 

“You are. You’re the one wrenching my plans,” Maura whines, half because Jane slips out, and half because Jane really is turning this thing on its head. 

Jane laughs at the verbiage. “Well, I am a plumber’s daughter, y’know,” she says, but Maura is already halfway through the bedroom’s threshold. So, she jogs the last few steps until she can catch up. “Where you goin’, huh? C’mere,” she beckons as they fall into the bed together. 

They kiss for a few more seconds; Maura can’t resist, but then she pushes Jane back onto the unmade bed. “Stay there,” she says. She shuffles on her knees toward Jane’s side of the bed, opens the nightstand, and pulls out the toy and harness she’d happened upon during execution of plan A. “Put it on.”

Jane licks her lips and does as told. There is a flurry of movement and Jane grunts when the curved end slips into her, and then she tugs at the base to get the feel just right. With that hand still holding it, she nods at Maura. “Come find me, babe.”

Maura rolls her eyes, but mostly so that the unexpected swell of emotion doesn’t spill over. The intimacy in Jane’s demand reminds her of times past, when the only thing between them was love. She shuffles, straddles Jane again, and decides that she won’t hold back. She lowers herself, Jane keeps the toy steady, and as a team, they achieve union between them. “Christ,” Maura adjusts slowly. She settles, lets her weight rest against Jane’s lap. Her hands caress each of Jane’s sides, including the one with the bruise. She is full and she needs something to anchor her to the moment. “This is superficial,” she says. The wound is warm under her palm, and it undulates with the way she rocks her hips. “It should heal quickly.”

Jane has to tell her long legs to still because Maura’s rhythm is a deadly one and if she gives into it too fast, she’ll come again before Maura even gets a chance. Looking up and seeing perfect tits beneath a Boston jersey does the opposite of help. “‘S that what this is all about? I got hurt? Because I wasn’t the only one.” She tries to control the speed of Maura’s fucking, but she gets lost in the feeling of Maura’s ass in her hands, full and soft and pushing silicone into her at the perfect angle. “Agh,” she moans, unable to keep up her tough exterior. 

“No, that’s not it,” Maura yelps when Jane pushes up with her pelvis, going deep. She gathers her long honey hair into her hands, holding it up before letting it go and puffing feminine little moans above her head. Her fingers then go back to Jane, to that one puckermark of a scar just to the right of her abdomen. “I just… I needed this. Without the fighting and the tension. I…”

“Hey, hey, ok,” Jane says through a grimace, because orgasm threatens her again. “I - I’m not complainin’, y’know,” she laughs, and then, finally, finally, Maura does too. “The sportswear was a nice touch.”

Maura winks, and then she picks up the pace of her ride, the fucking now fast, and hard. “Think… oh. Think of it as a ceasefire, my love,” she struggles to reply. Her gaze drops, because Jane is shaking and then tossing her head back against the pillow. Maura can think of nothing better to usher Jane through her climax than the cries bubbling up out of her own mouth from how good Jane feels inside, so she doesn’t hide them.

“Shit,” Jane clenches her teeth as she comes again, her grip tight against Maura’s skin, holding her in place. 

So, Maura slows, bends down, letting every inch of her upper body touch every inch of Jane’s until their lips meet. Each kiss is soft, slow, and sweet. “Hmm,” Maura hums when Jane stills.

“Proud of yourself?” Jane asks hoarsely, and Maura sits up again, resuming the winding of her hips. She shrugs and smirks. Jane licks the length of her own thumb and puts it on Maura’s clit to humble her as much to repay her for the good time.

“Oh, Jane,” Maura breathes out when she feels it. Bolts of electricity speed all the way to her brain, and she spreads her thighs so that Jane can have better access and she can ride faster. 

“Hey, oh,” Jane coos. “It’s not gonna take long,” she says, and Maura glares at the pride she senses in the statement. “It’s not,” Jane insists. “I know you, you know me. I’ll get ya there quick. Just ride it out.”

Maura would never tell Jane, but she’s grateful for Jane’s commitment, her steadfastness. Because true to her word, she gets Maura there quick. Maura accepts the oxytocin bath over her whole body, arching her back and making her cry into her own palm as it slides down her face. The other flattens against Jane’s chest, holding on tight until every jerky motion cycles through her hips and she can gather herself. “That…”

“Was quick,” says Jane. “Told ya. I know this was a you-showin’-me-who’s-boss kinda thing but I couldn’t let ya get me twice without a little bit of fun for yourself.”

Maura hangs her head. She wants to dismount, but her legs are like jelly and the thought of pulling Jane out of her incites grief. Feelings of loss she doesn’t quite want to deal with for at least the next few seconds. “I was going to say that was good,” she admonishes Jane’s humility. 

“We’re good together,” Jane says. “Like I said before: this was never the problem with us. And if I’m hearin’ you right, you don’t want the other problems in the way tonight.”

Maura bites down on her lower lip, hard, her crying tell. She hates it, but Jane is right and Jane has seen her. Has listened. Suddenly she needs nothing more than to lie down. So, she does, moving until she is under the covers and hears Jane divest herself of the toy they’d shared. It falls to the floor, and Jane turns until she can gather Maura up from behind. “Is it ok if I stay here tonight?” Maura asks, her voice quiet and unsure.

“Course,” mumbles Jane into the hair on the back of Maura’s head. Maura moves backwards until most of their skin touches. Jane’s hand slips under the jersey on Maura and then she huffs. “Take this off, would ya? You’ll sleep better without it, trust me.”

Maura undoes the buttons of the jersey with care, and with Jane’s help, unsnaps her bra. Those fall to the floor, too, and Maura lets a little more vulnerability creep in now that they lie naked together. She pulls Jane’s hand up close to her heart, flattening it until it presses on her sternum. “I think…” she wavers, contemplates how much she should say, but who else would she tell? “I think Agent Booth is in love with Doctor Brennan,” she finishes quietly.

Jane smirks because Maura can’t see. “I think so, too,” she agrees, leaving out the fact that Booth has confessed as much to her. “Big time.”

“He should tell her,” Maura says as she snuggles closer. Jane gathers her up with both arms.

“I think he has,” Jane chances, hoping Maura doesn’t ask because she won’t be giving up much more.

“And she rejected him?” Maura is surprised.

Jane kisses Maura’s earlobe to soften what she’s about to say. “Well, you’re the one who always says it’s about more than just love, right? Maybe he’s just tryin’ to prove himself worthy right now.”

Maura is quiet for a bit because she had said that before, it’s true. “I don’t think it’s about being worthy, either. He seems like quite a worthy mate.”

“Hmm, I agree,” Jane burrs, which earns her a pinch on the forearm. “Ow! Not.. not for me, obviously,” she corrects, though if their lives had been different and they’d met under better circumstances... “But you’re right.”

“Maybe her heart just isn’t ready yet,” Maura whispers, curling into herself all while making sure Jane curls around her. 

“That’s not a very you thing to say,” Jane comments, amusement taking her inflection up a bit.

“What do you mean, it’s not a me thing to say?”

“Well, no studies about trauma? Or the neuroscience behind cold feet?” Jane argues. “No cardio-cerebral-blah blah blah?”

Maura pulls Jane’s hand to her face so she can bite down on its index finger. Jane yelps, and Maura soothes with her tongue. Swirls it around, sucks until the pain goes and Jane relaxes. “No, not this time. I want you to hear me.”

“I’m still listenin’, even when you do sound like a textbook,” Jane tells her. “But, for what it’s worth, I agree with you. I don’t think her heart is ready yet. I also just don’t know how long he can wait.”

Maura says nothing. Jane accepts that, snuggles close, and lets herself fall asleep against Maura while the last of the Sox game carries in from the living room. Maura waits until she hears that deep, even breathing to speak. “How long can you wait?” she asks when she knows she won’t get an answer. 

They lay, and Jane sleeps, for over an hour. Maura looks out the window through the crack in the curtains, and the April moon shines brightly. She knows she won’t rest with it there, not as she lies now, and not until she gets up to use the restroom that is attached to Jane’s bedroom. She pats, Jane stirs, but doesn’t free her. “Move, please. I need up,” she says softly. 

Jane wakes enough to move and settles onto her back again, with a huff of sleepy air and a stretch of just her lower half under the sheets. It evokes visceral memories in Maura, of their marriage bed, and she’s glad for the dark on the way into the bathroom and the way out of it, because she can’t hide the emotion on her face. She’s also glad for the way Jane’s eyes flutter with dreams, how her consciousness drifts beyond the here and now. Maura’s hands are cold from having just been washed, and her feet from the spring chill. Her heart is cold with all that they’ve become.

And as if anticipating it, Jane wakes when Maura climbs back into bed. “C’mere,” she says, “it’s cold tonight.” 

Maura frowns, and the tears might win. She burrows into the side that Jane’s offered, and hides her head in the crook of Jane’s shoulder in case they do. She finds Jane’s bruise and rubs on it again. When she speaks, she has to sniffle some moisture away. “What are we doing?” 

“Sleepin’,” Jane deadpans, pulling her close and kissing her temple. “Shh.”

“Not what I mean. I can’t just keep using you; you’re so kind,” the words are muffled against Jane’s skin. 

Jane snorts; she wakes fully. “Wha-?” She asks as her brain catches up. “What do you mean, usin’ me?”

Maura scoffs. “Using you. I can’t just show up whenever I want to be penetrated. It’s not fair to you,” she answers. 

Jane frowns, and then squints. “You gotta be so… clinical?”

“Why shouldn’t I be? I like to be accurate,” Maura says.

“But that’s not accurate,” Jane argues. 

“Of course it is,” Maura responds. It intrigues her, Jane’s line of thought, so she pushes up on her elbows until she can look Jane in the face. Green meets brown and Maura bites her lip again. Oh hell, she thinks, because she can’t stop her hand from smoothing the hair on the top of Jane’s head.

Jane knows the effect she’s had, and so she shuts her eyes and smiles. “I mean, the using, maybe sometimes. You deserve to use me a little bit after everything that went down between us,” she says. Maura pulls back, but Jane’s hand on the small of her back brings her close again. “Plus - I know I’m not just a dick to you.”

This time, Maura’s face scrunches. “Must you be so non-clinical?”

Jane barks out a laugh. “You want me to say, uh, non-biological phallus-shaped object, Doctor?” she prods, and Maura blushes before she shrugs. “Either way, it’s true. No matter what you might say. Sure you’re mad at me, and maybe I’m mad at you, and we’re not together anymore. But we’re never just ships passin’ in the night, here, babe. We’re makin’ love. Every time. Because we miss each other. I miss you.”

Jane is earnest, not desperate. She’s open, but not distraught. And Maura melts into her arms because of it. “Oh, Jane,” she breathes again, just before they kiss and just before Jane shifts on top of her for the first time this evening.

[the-singlest-pringle]

Bruised

For @whumptober 2022 day 4: hidden injury, waking up disoriented, can't pass out

Fandom: My Hero Academia

CW: child abuse, injuries/hiding injuries, passing out

Read it here on AO3

Most of Katsuki’s weekends were spent at the dorms, but Mitsuki had sent a “special note” requesting his presence over the weekend for family business. ‘Family business’ meaning he had a shoot on Saturday and his mother wanted to make sure he didn’t eat so that he was camera ready.

He didn’t know how things got bad so quickly on Sunday. Maybe it started when he got to his house late after losing track of time while studying with Kirishima. Maybe it was the way he talked back to the photographer for being too touchy. Or maybe his mother thought he closed the car door too harshly on their way back home. But now it was 14:00 on Sunday and Mitsuki was breaking down his door.

She yanked the duvet off of his sleeping body and shook him awake. “What the fuck are you still doing in bed?”

Katsuki took a few seconds to get oriented before Mitsuki impatiently slapped the side of his head. He growled. “It’s a fucking Sunday, hag! I was working all day yesterday.” 

Mitsuki crossed her arms and scoffed. “There are no days off when you’re an adult. There’s shit for you to do around the house! You need to clean the kitchen, take out the trash, and scrub the bathroom.”

“Why the fuck can’t you do it?”

“Because I’m busy! Besides, I paid for this house. You’re just living in it.”

“Actually, you only paid for half. Dad paid for the other half. And since it’s ‘your house’, why don’t you clean it then?” He didn’t know why he was talking back. Katsuki knew it would only make things worse. But Sunday was the only day of the week where he allowed himself to sleep in. Maybe not until 14:00, but the shoot had gone until 21:00 the previous night and being around his mother was exhausting without starving himself and posing for an entire day.

“I’m tired of your shit, Katsuki! I will not be disrespected by you in my own home. Get your shit together, got it?” Mitsuki started towards the door.

“Fucking bitch,” he grumbled under his breath.

Mitsuki whipped around again, her eyes looking as if they were on fire. “What did you just say?”

“I said you’re a fucking bitch!”

In a split second, Katsuki was being dragged out of his beds as he was hit with ringed backhands and fists from his mom. He could barely understand her tirade about respect and responsibility and eventually tuned out the world when she became too tired to use her hands and moved to her feet. All he could do was take it. He couldn’t fight back. Hitting his mom would make him no better than she was. But then again, that’s exactly what I did to Deku, wasn’t it?

Katsuki didn’t know how long it went. He lost count of the amount of hits his mother landed. But by the time he woke up, he had a migraine pounding against his skull and his body was sore as if he had just run a marathon. God, what time is it? He slowly picked himself up off the floor, feeling like he weighed two tons, and checked his phone. It was already 18:00. Shit! How was I out for four hours? He would have to leave for the dorms in about ten minutes if he wanted to make it back to UA before Sunday curfew. His mother avoided his face this time, which meant he got to avoid the prying eyes of Kirishima and Deku. 

His mother was holed up in her office again, allowing him to slip out of the house unnoticed. When his mother got this bad, she tended to avoid him for a while afterwards. At least he got out of his “house work.”

The walk to the train station was not that far, but it felt like an eternity with his aching legs, and every slight jostle on the train only reaggravated the injuries. Every time he felt himself nodding off, a particularly harsh turn would jolt him awake with a hiss. The people around him just averted their eyes at his clear discomfort. Even as he limped pathetically back to UA, he could only hear the whispers about the ‘Sports Festival Kid’, but had no faces to connect them to. They probably thought that he had gotten into a fight with some poor, unassuming kid and got his ass handed to him. They would be right about the second part, but would never guess that he was the unassuming kid this time around.

Katsuki arrived at the dorms at 19:25, five minutes before curfew and too late for his liking. He stopped in front of the door, massaging his temples at the seemingly ever-present migraine. He doesn’t know if she managed to land a hit on his head or if the migraine is from the stress of the weekend. Either way, it hurt like a bitch. But he had to suck it up before he got inside and was inevitably surrounded by idiots.

As soon as he opened the door, he was shoved a few steps back by a streak of blond hair bounding into his chest. He barely held in a hiss of pain before his annoyance took over. “Dunce Face, get the fuck off me.”

“Aw come on, Kacchan! We haven’t seen you all weekend!” Kaminari whined. Katsuki just rolled his eyes before shoving the other boy off him. The rest of the idiots were already making their way over. 

“Did you enjoy your weekend, Bakugou?” Kirishima asked.

“Yeah. You could say that. But now I need to fucking sleep for the next twelve hours,” Katsuki grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose. It felt like his migraine was getting worse.

“Sleep? But you promised us you would help us cram for the exam tomorrow!” Ashido cried in a shrill voice. It was as if she wanted his head to explode.

“And didn’t you say last week that you were going to sleep in today so that you could?” Kirishima added.

“You didn’t forget, right?” Sero asked incredulously. Katsuki totally forgot. It must have been obvious on his face because Kaminari was immediately hounding him.

“Holy shit. Bakugou forgot!” Kaminari laughed, slapping Katsuki on the back. This time, he couldn’t suppress his wince. The group immediately stopped laughing, eyes turning towards the sound that sounded unnatural coming from their friend. “Woah, sorry man. I didn’t mean to hit you that hard.”

“It’s fucking fine. You didn’t. I just… I just pulled a muscle training… earlier,” he lied. But it didn’t do anything to stop the looks on his friends’ faces. “Don’t fucking look at me like that.” He pushed his was past the group and started towards the elevator. 

Upon realizing that no one was following him, he turned around and called out, “Am I fucking tutoring you guys or not? Let’s fucking go!” Katsuki rolled his eyes when the rest of the squad started scrambling after him. “Idiots,” he mumbled under his breath.

-

Turns out, tutoring a bunch of loud, extroverted teenagers in a class they were absolutely dreadful in was not the best thing to do while nursing several injuries and a possible concussion. Every time they had their focus on anything other than him, he felt like he was going to pass out. But Katsuki promised he would tutor them, and he didn’t go back on his promises.

When his vision started fading in and out again, he dug his fingernails into his palm. He was startled out of his stupor when a light hand touched his shoulder. He turned his head to the source and was met with red eyes dripping with concern. “You okay, bro? You seem kind of out of it.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. Just tired,” Katsuki mumbled.

“You sure? You’re looking a little pale, Blasty?” Ashido added. Did he look pale? He didn’t know. His whole body felt like it was vibrating, bouncing back and forth between on fire and completely numb. His head felt like it was stuffed with cotton and his mouth felt the same. He was sure if he was going to throw up or completely black out. Water.

Katsuki slowly pushed his seat out and stood up, stumbling in the process. He felt several hands supporting him, adding to his pain, but he was too out of it to react.

“Woah, man. You don’t look to good,” Sero commented. 

“I- I’m fine. I just need-” Katsuki didn’t finish his sentence before everything went black.

“Holy shit!” Sero screamed as all of them dove to catch him. Kirishima, being the closest, ended up with an awkward armful of dead weight.

“What the fuck just happened?!” Ashido said frantically.

“I don’t know! He just fucking collapsed!” Kaminari panicked.

“Obviously! I was asking why!”

“Well I don’t fucking know why! I know just as much as you do!”

“It was a rhetorical question, Kami!”

“Guys! Stop fighting and help me!” Kirishima bellowed.

“Right. Sorry.”

Kirishima lowered him to the floor, resting his head in his lap. He assessed his friend’s condition, taking in the pale, clammy skin and shallow breaths. “There’s something more going on than just exhaustion.

Sero’s brow furrowed and he kneeled next to Bakugou’s head, pulling out his flashlight and opening Bakugou’s eyes. “He has a concussion. We have to try and wake him up.”

Ashido knelt down and shook his shoulder gently. “Blasty, we need you to wake up.” Bakugou stirred, but didn’t open his eyes.

Ashido shook a little harder while still being as careful as she could. “Come on, Bakugou. You have to wake up.”

Slowly, Bakugou opened his eyes. “Th’ fuck? Why ‘m I on th’ floor?”

Kaminari exhaled in relief. “You passed out, bro. You have a concussion.”

“Shit. I was hoping it was just a migraine.” Bakugou slowly sat himself up, head spinning at the change in position. He shoved off any attempts of help from Kirishima.

“You knew about it and didn’t say anything?” Ashido scolded, slapping his shoulder.

“Jesus Christ, Raccoon Eyes. Go easy.”

Ashido huffed in annoyance. “Do you have any other injuries we don’t know about besides the concussion and supposed ‘pulled muscle’?”

“I think I have a few bruises somewhere. I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?” Sero exclaimed.

“I didn’t really check.”

Kirishima pinched his nose bridge in annoyance. “God, Bakugou. Take off your shirt.”

“At least take me out to dinner first, Shitty Hair.” Kirishima leveled him with a deadly glare. “Alright, fine!” Bakugou removed his shirt slowly, partly due to the pain and also to delay as long as possible. Bakugou winced at the gasps from his friends. And he understood why. When he looked down, he was surprised himself. It looked like Jackson Pollock entered his blue period and decided to use him as a canvas.

“Dude. What were you even doing for training? Did you throw yourself into a giant washing machine or something?” Kaminari joked.

“Or something,” was all Bakugou could respond with.

Sero raised an eyebrow. “It looks like you got shoved down several flights of stairs.”

“Not this time,” he muttered.

Ashido squawked. “‘Not this time’?!”

“Where did you get these injuries, Bakugou,” Kirishima asked with a hardened voice. Bakugou just looked away. “Bakugou.”

“Pissed off my mom,” he mumbled, voice barely above a whisper.

Kaminari balked. “Your mom did this? God, I’m gonna punch her. I don’t care that she’s hot.”

“Kami!” Ashido scolded with a slap to Kaminari’s shoulder. “But he’s right. She shouldn’t have done this.”

Bakugou waved them off. “It’s fine. It’s not usually this bad.”

“Not usual- scratch that. I’m gonna fucking murder her,” Kirishima growled darkly.

“Do not kill my mom, Shitty Hair.”

“Fine. But we have to tell someone!”

“No! We can’t!”

What? Is his pride that important to him? “Bakugou! Your mom can’t get away with this!”

“She can and she did! Just let it go!”

“But she hurt you! We have to do somethi-”

“Kirishima! Drop it.” Bakugou closed himself off, turning away from Kirishima.

“But…”

“Please,” Bakugou pleaded, his voice on the edge of breaking.

“Okay… Okay. I’ll let it go. But can you at least let us help you right now?”

“Fine.” Bakugou said nothing as his friends helped him onto his bed. They all stayed silent as they applied bruise cream and bandages to his wounds. They stayed silent every time he winced at a particularly painful bruise. They stayed silent even when the tears started. Even when the tears turned to whimpers, and then choked sobs. They just held their friend, hurt because he was hurt, and because they couldn’t do anything more than they already had.

[slickshoesareyoucrazy]

Patience and Consistency

I know there are an endless series of posts about communication in relationships, particularly in D/s, and maybe this is just one more, but I just wanted to write about this when it’s fresh and new and raw.

Monday mornings, we’re both tired when the alarm goes off. J has to get up really early for work, and after a weekend of sleeping in later, that’s jarring and makes us both probably a little less than our bests. Plus J worked really hard on one of our cars most of the day yesterday, and I know that made him extra tired and sore. All of this culminated this morning in J and me each being more sensitive than we normally are to everything the other does and says. 

This morning’s fluke interaction triggered tears where there normally aren’t any; where there is normally contented security. We still completed our morning routine, J hugged and kissed me before leaving for work, and I’d stopped crying before our son woke up for school, and we both thought everything was fine, but once school drop off was over, all the bad feelings crept back up on me. 

J is My Person. He’s the only person who is regularly in my physical presence that I feel comfortable being my entire self with. The only person around me that knows all of the parts of me. We communicate a lot. Mostly in text, because that’s easiest for me, even though we live together and have been married 18 years now and have a kid together who’s about to finish his freshman year of high school. J knows it’s hard for me to reach out and initiate communication, so he normally does that for me every day when he goes to work, on his break time. It’s rare for me to send him a message while he’s at work, but I did this morning, because my social anxiety gets pretty raging sometimes and now is one of those times. Here are screenshots of our texts from about an hour and a half ago. They aren’t sexy. Not even close. (I’m the blue text, in case that’s not obvious from the content and wordiness.)

I said up there ^^^^, J and I have been together and monogamously committed (almost exclusively happily) for almost 20 years; married for 18; living D/s for almost 17. J’s loyalty and kindness and care for me have never wavered and have always been undeniable from the first time he talked to me (on text) all those years ago. But I can STILL feel THIS insecure. That’s not on J. He didn’t make me that way. That’s damage other people did to me over years. J has always…into his second decade now…reassured me with the calm and loving patience in these texts. These aren’t the only set of texts we have like this. There are probably hundreds of times throughout our time together that I could screenshot something like this.

Me: <rambles on at length about being afraid of losing him; about being unlovable; about not being good enough...all sparked by some goofy, damn near meaningless trigger I feel like I should know better about and be able to control on my own by now>

J: I'm not going anywhere...I'm right here...I love you...You're not <whatever shitty, unkind thing I said about myself> ...I don't feel <whatever shitty, unkind way my anxiety has assigned to him that's not really his feeling at all>

I wanted to share this today, because I’ve seen a lot of D/s writing by and questions from submissives about dealing with feelings of inadequacy and insecurity and feeling like a burden, and getting down on themselves about one failure and finding it hard to trust. And many of the answers to those questions go like, ‘Trust your dominant; your dominant chose YOU; you being down on yourself is being down on your dominant’s judgment/taste/choices/etc.’ I’ve given that advice myself to people. But I get it. I do. Here’s the proof. I’ve been with who I’m going to go ahead and call the BEST dominant out there for almost 20 years, and I still feel it. There are still occasions when I do THIS. ^^^^ Which I’m certainly not sharing because I’m proud of it. And it’s certainly not because I don’t trust J. I’ve never trusted another human more than him. I trust him with my very life. Without doubt or question. There are times (I KNOW! This is so frustrating…) that *because* he’s so great, I feel this insecure. And I am continually working on my own insecurity. The instances where this happens are getting fewer and farther between. 

So I wanted to share this to show people that yeah…people in good, healthy relationships who have been in this a long time can still have bad days. But the MAIN reason I wanted to share this is because of how J handles it when my anxiety goes off the rails. I’m very grateful that he does reassure me every time. Now that my minor freak out this morning is winding down, I’m totally awed by his patience and consistency, and how he believes I’m WORTH that. There really is no one else who’s anywhere near me, physically, who believes and treats me like I am. That’s why I can reach out to J without fear. It’s why I do trust him as much as I do. That’s why I can follow him with confidence, and he’s led me to do some really amazing things with my life. And it’s why we have other text conversations (that I don’t ever share) that are full of kinky fun stuff. It’s because he gifts me THIS, every time I need it. ^^^

[buttered-baguette-writes]

Chaos and Gremlins (2)

A hiss escaped him as his injured arm collided with the fire escape that took up half of the alley’s entrance. The scarf – while useless in blocking the attack – had been a wonderful thing to keep himself from bleeding out.

Shinsō could hear the heavy footsteps behind him. Tired from a harsh fight, he was unable to stop himself from being tackled to the ground. He thrashed about, sore arm sending shockwaves when he used it to hit his opponent.

Frustrated, he unwound his scarf from his arm and instead aimed for his opponent’s neck, tying it to the fire escape.

The hero was thrown back and off the purple-haired man but was quick enough to stop themself from being hung.

Shinsō gripped his bad arm. He shuffled until his back hit the alleyways brick wall before a sigh left his lips, loudened by his somehow still intact mask.

“You’re done for now, Mindjack,” the hero said confidently. They stalked forward, hands on their hips like it was a movie. “Surrender.”

Shinsō rolled his eyes. So confident, so powerful, so… unoriginal. This hero knew that he didn’t have any more tricks up his sleeve so telling him to surrender was just unfairly rubbing it in his face.

Forever the nuisance, Shinsō meddled with the knobs on his mask before responding to the ‘all-mighty’ hero. “Surrender. You are cornered,” he spoke, his voice mimicking the hero’s. He laughed as the hero stalked closer, face furious even in the dim lighting. His joy was cut short as the hero ripped his mask from his face, tossing it behind his shoulder, the impact sound bouncing off the close walls. “Boo –”

The hero’s fist forced Shinsō’s head to the side, an instant pain in the muscle of his jaw.

“Enough,” the hero spat out. Someone was mad. “What are your plans?”

The hero grabbed him by the front of his suit, effectively raising Shinsō’s back off the wall. The latter just stared at him unimpressed for a few solid moments before breaking out into a grin (that was surely a family trait). “I kinda feel like a burrito…”

The hero scowled.

Without warning, Shinsō’s body was raised higher before being all but thrown but into the solid brick wall. Grunting, Shinsō hated to think about how many bruises he would have after this all.

“Your organisation! Their plans!” The hero exclaimed, clearly losing their patience. Trembling with anger, they reached out towards the closest wall, drawing the matter in to create a makeshift weapon. “What are you planning? Thinking?”

Unable to help himself, Shinsō replied with, “Whatever I’m thinking is not for you.”

“What is wrong with you?!” The hero yelled, hitting and effectively denting the metal fire escape.

Shinsō looked thoughtful for a moment. “A lot of things,” he said. “Don’t try to understand – my head is too dark for you.”

As the hero crept closer again, they had a dangerous look in their eye, and for a moment, Shinsō thought that maybe his head was a better place to be. It was that or having to deal with a hero who seemed to want him dead. Or the very angry blonde behind him.

“He’s right,” Bakugō said as he lit up the back of the hero. With a padded knee to the back and an explosion to the head, the hero went tumbling to the ground. They tried to get back up, but the explosive blonde had a lot of things he wanted to punch out – so after a few sparky hits, the hero went down and stayed there. Sadly, he was still breathing. “And you’re a fucking idiot!” He pointed an accusing finger at the purple-head.

Shinsō grinned at him before resting his head against the wall, letting his body relax some. “Not an idiot,” he quipped.

“A fucking dumbass then!” Bakugō replied. He went about detangling the scarf before throwing it at Shinsō’s face, a frown on his own. “Run off on your own with this fucker out for blood!”

“It worked out,” Shinsō huffed out as he dragged himself off the ground. With his arm securely wrapped again, he felt around his jaw and held back a wince as the light touch hurt. In fact, with each second, he felt his entire body groan and ache in pain. “Did you get the –”

Bakugō had picked up the discarded mask and clipped it to his pants. He glared when the other man spoke. “Yes, Deku got the thing. He always gets the thing. You need to stop running off!”

Shinsō rolled his eyes. “You’re one to talk.”

“I don’t run halfway across the city!”

Shinsō was silent as the blonde made his way over, eyes ablaze with emotion. He did nothing as Bakugō reached for his jaw to check for injuries and couldn’t stop his wince that time. The blonde instantly let go. With force, he kicked the hero on the ground once more before throwing them into a dumpster and closing the lid. Satisfied, he looped and arm around Shinsō’s waist, swinging the good arm over his shoulder.

“Sorry,” Shinsō mumbled out.

Bakugō let out a heavy sigh. “At least wait for me next time.” The pair took a couple of steps towards the street, Shinsō put more of his weight on the blonde. “Red’s bringing the car around.”

“Oh, thank fuck,” Shinsō said with a breath of relief. If he had to hobble his way back to where he left the others, he would certainly pass out or just fall over and lie there.

Part 1 // Part 3

Also on ao3

[robinrunsfiction]

OTPTOBER - Modern AU

Author’s Note: They say don’t kill your darlings, but I’ll be honest, this was on death row. This was the origins of the WIP I refer to as “the normal AU” but that has expanded and gone so far from here that this no longer fits the narrative of that story. So I had I marked to be deleted, and then things clicked in my mind, at least partially inspired by @thewordworrier​’s Modern AU for this same challenge. Enjoy!

🖤🖤🖤

Lux blinked her eyes at the bright morning sunshine filling the room. Her head was spinning as she sat up and tried to figure out where she was. But at least her ears weren't ringing. That was oddly nice, she couldn’t remember the last time they weren’t.

As her brain began to settle, she took in her immediate surroundings. She had been laying on a couch, wrapped in a plush blanket, but there wasn't a couch in the diner. Then it dawned on her, she wasn't in the diner. Panic struck through her as she tried to untangle herself from the blanket around her legs, stumbling to her feet. The window was filled with leafy green plants, soaking up the sun, and the room was warm and cozy. She stumbled unsteadily until she found her way to the kitchen, opened a cabinet and grabbed a glass. How did she know where the glasses were? She wondered, looking at the glass in her hand. Something about her hand didn’t look right, not nearly so worn and scarred. Turning to the sink, she poured herself a big glass of water and chugged it down. She noticed then how dry and sore her throat felt. What had BLI given her? Where had they taken her? Lux wracked her brain, but couldn't remember anything. 

Then she spotted a small radio on the counter. Looking it over, she turned it on and a familiar voice came through the speaker. "You're here with me, Doctor D, on 109.1 FM. Checking on the traffic, the usual backups are building on the 405, and there is an accident blocking things out on Vine."

Lux shook her head, turning the radio off. That was Dr. Death Defying's voice, but that wasn't the sort of traffic report he usually gave. There was nothing about dracs or scarecrows unit sightings, killjoys getting dusted, or even a weather report.

"Hey, feeling better?" The voice startled her, making her jump, dropping the radio back onto the counter.

"Kobra!" She gasped. 

He looked at her, confused. "What? Mercy, are you okay?"

She took a step back, her heart rate picking up as her back hit the cool metal of the refrigerator. "What did you just call me?"

"Mercy, are you still running a fever? I can call Gerard and Shelly and tell them we aren't gonna make it over for dinner tonight?"

Shelly…Gerard… The names started to clear the fog in her mind. She shook her head and looked at the man standing across from her. "Mikey?"

"Yea?"

She shook her head again, pressing her hands against her eyes. "Shit, I'm sorry babe. I think I was still half asleep. I had the most vivid, wild dream. You and me and Shell and Gee and Frank and Ray, everyone was there. But we weren’t ourselves, we were like… rebels! And we lived in the desert and everything was so colorful! We fought against these bad guys that wanted everything to be white and sterile. Fuck, I feel like I lived a whole lifetime there.”

"You did crash really hard after you took nyquil last night, I'll make some coffee," he said, with a smile as he walked across the kitchen, and placed a kiss on her forehead. "I think your fever finally broke. You should really write all that down, it sounds like a good idea for something."

"Yea, I suppose you're right," she nodded as she watched him work. She felt herself continue to wake up, the familiar, comfortable feeling of domesticity comforted her. "Did you feed Josie?"

"Yea, while you were still asleep, so she’s probably napping."

Mercy nodded before pacing back into the living room, picking up the blanket she'd left strewn on the floor and grabbed her pillow, taking them back to the bedroom. Josie, their big Maine coon stretched in the patch of sunlight she was napping in. Mercy gave her a quick scratch behind the ears when Mikey walked in with two mugs of coffee. 

"Ohh thank you," Mercy murmured, taking a sip. "That feels good."

"Is your throat still sore?" Mikey asked, sitting on his side of the bed.

Mercy climbed into her side of the bed and pulled up the blankets as best she could without disrupting the large feline at her feet, setting her coffee down on her bedside table. "A little raw. But I'm not very congested anymore."

“You’re sure you’re feeling up to going today?”

“Yea, I feel better than yesterday for sure.”

“Good,” Mikey smiled. "I don’t like having to sleep apart from you.”

“I was in the living room, ya softie,” she laughed. “How are you ever gonna get on with your next tour without me?”

“I’ll just have to bring you along,” he smiled at her. Mercy rolled her eyes before snuggling into his side.

“Good thing I love you,” she mumbled.

“I agree, I’m very lucky,” he laughed lightly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

[lessersole]

The Millican Method

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem Reader

Summary: Reader has a headache, Bucky wants to help

Word count: 1.2k

A/N: One of my new year’s resolutions was to get back into writing fics for the first time in waaaay too long. Posting these mostly to keep myself accountable since they’re likely to be pretty bad, especially at first, but if anyone reads, I hope you enjoy! This was inspired by a recent multi-day migraine and Sarah Millican's comedy bit about getting rid of headaches :)

Warnings: brief non-explicit references to (f)masturbation, headache descriptions (maybe worth a warning?)

You felt it the moment you woke up. A pulsing heat behind your eyes and a pressure that felt like your skull was clamped in a vice. While all you wanted was to stay in the darkness of your bedroom, you knew calling in sick to work the first week back after a vacation wouldn’t look good. With a groan you reluctantly choked down some painkillers and struggled into your office at Avengers headquarters, hoping the headache would fade away.

A few hours later, you knew you’d made the wrong decision. The light from your computer screen felt like shards of glass pushing into your brain, and every noise like a hammer blow to your sensitive head. Squinting under the fluorescent lights, you asked your boss if you could go home, and after pointing out how terrible you looked, she agreed.

Keeping your head as still as possible, and your eyes as closed as you could while still being able to navigate to the exit, you were oblivious to your surroundings until a gentle hand touched your arm just as you stepped into the parking lot.

“Hey,” Bucky’s deep voice was soft, warm and so soothing to your sore head that you couldn’t filter your reaction to the Avenger you were secretly crushing on, and you sighed, closing your eyes and unconsciously leaning into him.

“Hey, Bucky. You’ll have to talk to someone else if you want the report on the Atlanta mission, I’m just going home.”

“I heard - you’re sick,” His face creased with concern. “Should you be driving? It looks like you can barely keep your eyes open.”

You opened your eyes a few millimetres to look up at him.

“I can technically open my eyes, I’m just choosing not to at the moment,” you smiled weakly, “but I’ll drive carefully, don’t worry.”

Bucky frowned, “Look, I’m free for the rest of the day, and you really don’t look well. Let me take you home. I can get you anything you need, and you can just rest and get better.”

Bucky’s concern was touching. You’d worked with him on a few projects and become friends at after-work drinks with the team, which he’d first been dragged to by Sam, but later attending willingly on his own. Normally you’d jump at the chance for some time alone with him - even if it was just a ride home - but that part of you that lit up whenever he was around wanted desperately to impress him, and you knew you weren’t at your best right now.

“Thanks Buck, but you really don’t have to,” you mumbled, eyes closing again.

“What if you get worse?” Bucky asked, “Do you have someone to look after you?”

“I won’t get worse, it’s just a headache - I just need to get home and the Millican method will sort me out.”

“The Millican method?”

You froze. Being ill made you slow, and you hadn’t filtered your words. The fact that you were going to go home, take more painkillers and masturbate really wasn’t something you wanted to explain to Bucky.

“Uh, never mind, forget I said that.”

Bucky was looking at you curiously, a half smile twisting at his lips, “Well either way, you said you just need to get home and I can help with that. I insist.”

With that you gave up on your half-hearted efforts to dissuade him, and sighed contentedly as he took your keys and guided you to your car with a light hand on your lower back.

Bucky drove smoothly and silently, allowing you to just close your eyes and try to ignore the pain. As he parked in front of your building and helped you out of the car, he asked again if you needed anything.

“Let me at least get you some take out, then you don’t have to worry about cooking,” he insisted.

“No, please, you’ve already done more than you need to,” you protest, not wanting to be a burden, “I have some…” you think back to your bleary survey of your near empty kitchen that morning, “An apple?” you finish lamely, too ill to come up with a lie.

Bucky chuckles, “Right, well, that’s not really a meal. Just head inside, I’ll be back soon with something a bit more substantial.”

Knowing you won’t win this one - and not really wanting to - you do as he suggests and head into your apartment.

A while later you’re roused from the blanket nest you’ve settled into on the couch by a soft knock on your door. Opening it, you’re greeted by a smiling Bucky, a pizza box propped between his metal hand and shoulder, and a small gift bag hanging from his right hand.

“So I brought pizza,” he explains, entering your apartment and setting it on your kitchen counter, “I thought ‘everyone likes pizza’ and you can have this hot or cold, so no need to re-heat even if you don’t want it now.” He turns towards you with a shy grin, “And, uh, I Googled the Millican method.”

Your eyes widen and his grin spreads, “So I got you something to make that easier too.” He hands over the gift bag.

The blood that’s been pounding agonisingly in your head rushes to your cheeks, and you bite your lip nervously as you take the bag from him and peek inside. Next to a pack of Advil is a very well-reviewed and very expensive vibrator.

You look back up at Bucky with a shocked half-smile, and huff out a slightly amazed laugh, not knowing what to say to the supersoldier who just bought you a sex toy.

“The woman in the shop said this gets the best, and uh, quickest results,” he tilts his head, still grinning, “Want you to have a speedy recovery, you know. I’m hoping to see you at Friday drinks.”

“This is…Bucky, this is too much -”

“Nope,” he steps towards you, shaking his head, and takes the bag from your hands, setting it on the coffee table next to you, “It is absolutely not too much. Not for you. And I’m not taking it back!”

You can’t help laughing at the idea of Bucky Barnes, a superhero from the 40s, waiting in line for a refund on an unwanted dual action suction vibrator.

“Well, ok - thanks, I guess,” you laugh again, still blushing, “and I guess I owe you.”

Bucky smiles wolfishly at you, “We’ll see.” He leans over and presses a kiss to your cheek before heading for the door. He pauses as he leaves, and before shutting the door behind him, he turns, his eyes glancing down your body before returning to your face. “Feel better,” he winks, “and have fun.”

-

Not long later your headache is gone, but your mind is still full of Bucky. Blissed out and smiling at the device he picked out for you, you start to think that maybe being ill isn’t so bad, as long as he’s around to look after you.

[myriad-ofmuses]

He was lounging in his quarters, half-dozing in his bed with a hand propping his head up, feeling particularly exhausted after finishing with his duties for the day. At least what work he was currently permitted to do, since his tree was still recuperating and his energy and magic in general was limited.

There was more he could be doing.. in fact, Nasrin had bugged him several times over the last week or so that his eldest brother wanted to meet with him, but.. seeing as he could probably definitely guess what the summons were in reference to, he’d thrown out just about every excuse in the book to avoid it.

He didn’t need to be lectured, he knew he was fucking up. What was even remotely new about that?

He’d just about fallen under, when he was startled awake by the sound of stomping footsteps approaching from the outside, before the entryway into his domicile was swung open with force.

Like a spooked cat, the orca had thrown himself back against the wall and cracked his head on it in the process, groaning and clutching the sore spot while staring at his diminutive sibling in apprehension. 

Oh.. Denpo was pissed.

The eldest estri’s red eyes - almost always hidden by his unkept bangs, were glaring directly at him, his energy rolling off of him in waves, and sending a chill down Zura’s spine. Though he hadn’t even moved from the entrance, the younger felt as trapped as a rat, desperate for an escape from what was clearly his pitiless executioner.

“zura. so sorry to barge in, but seeing as you’ve refused to meet with me, i had no choice but to come to you.”

His quiet voice was as measured as ever, but Zura - who had been on the receiving end of the elder’s merciless rage when he’d been even more of a defiant shit in the past.. could definitely hear the bite to it. He was just barely restraining himself.. he needed to proceed with the utmost caution.

Not.. something he was very good at..

“D-Denpo.. you uh.. I.. think you broke my door..”

He cursed when his intrusive thoughts won out over the totally deliberate answer he’d cooked up in response, his mind going blank with fear when the glow of the other estri’s eyes brightened, though he was still left untouched.

It didn’t matter that he’d yet to actually enter the room.. his safety was still very much on the line here.

“the door was an unintended casualty. but there are more pressing matters to discuss.. will you allow me entry?”

Still measured and polite, but Zura knew it was less of a question and more of a veiled command, swallowing thickly, before giving a slow nod in response, pressing his back up against the wall again and curling up some to make himself less of a lanky target, his tail restlessly quivering.

Some of his panic lessened when Denpo entered the room and seated himself in a nearby chair, taking several slow breaths before speaking, as if he were trying to calm himself.

“i’ll not shadow your doorstep long. i just want to remind you that ataru’s been waiting for you. patiently. why haven’t you visited since your apology? and don’t you dare tell me you’ve been too busy when you have less responsibilities now.”

Red eyes flashed dangerously, quelling the rebellious energy that tried to kick up when Ataru was mentioned - even if his knee-jerk reaction was to get defensive, Zura knew better than to disrespect his brother by getting uppity.

..If he did, he would soon be slammed downity.. 

He violently shook his head, both to clear his thoughts and to stop the bubble of irrational laughter that tried to claw its way up his throat, meeting his gaze dead-on, though seeing his baleful eyes still made his scales crawl.

“I don’t-.. have an excuse. You already know that.. that’s why you’re so angry..”

Denpo seemed to bite back a growl, glowering at him with such heat, that he shied even further back on the bed.

“no. i’m angry because you’re being stupid. and you being stupid is hurting ataru. you don’t think that maybe.. just maybe it’s a bad thing for his recovery, to be so distressed and isolated? he’s the astris of positivity. he needs all the support he can get. and you’re withholding that without a reason!”

The tinder had struck its match, and before he knew it, he’d been slammed hard against the wall he’d been seeking refuge against, coughing by the force of which his equivalent of a soul had been seized - all without Denpo even moving from his seat.

“your behavior has been disgraceful. while ataru would give you every chance to disappoint, my patience has reached its limit. i am barring you from your duties until you go and visit your partner. that should eliminate any sliver of excuse you have to keep avoiding him.”

Zura’s tinder had also been struck, and he struggled effortlessly against the other’s ironclad hold, the fear of hurting Ataru again, and seeing the consequences of his neglect making him snarl out.

“YOU CAN’T DO THAT!”

That chilling gaze was turned back to him, his head lightly cocked, while he slowly got up from the chair and approached him, the pressure of his pin to the wall only becoming more suffocating at his proximity.

“oh i can. and i just have. he needs you, you imbecilic cretin. you should consider yourself lucky he’s still here to spurn. do better.. before he reaches his limit with your nonsense too.”

Though he was preoccupied trying to breathe through the pressure, and now the pointed barb figuratively stabbed directly in his soul - Zura could swear he saw raw pain behind the anger in his brother’s eyes, before he turned from him, and he was dropped unceremoniously back onto his own bed, reflexively retreating back into the corner.

With the burn of angry tears in his eyes, he warily watched the entryway long after the other had departed through it, before finally burying his face in his arms, still shaking somewhat from the leftover adrenaline of the encounter, and the impact of which his bitter words had critically struck.