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#and my now husband used to make fun of how into it i would get

tender-rosiey · 6 months

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slip up — gojo satoru x f!reader

satoru is a good dad, a great one even, but every great dad has a great slip up.

your husband’s happened when he was preparing a dinner surprise for you. he had his little missy help him out through the process, and everything was going according to plan until the batch of fresh cookie batter fell from his hands.

“oh fuck!” he had said, in panic, and scrambled to sweep them off the floor.

his little girl was standing there the whole time, staring at her papa. he quickly looks at her, “don’t say what papa said, okay? it’s a bad word.”

she frowned lightly, “then why did you say it, papa?”

“because—,” he took a deep breath, “papa made a mistake, but you have to be better than papa, please?”

your husband was worried the little devil wouldn’t let it slide and would hold it against him like she did with many other things; fortunately for him, though, she simply narrowed her eyes at him then quickly smiled with a nod, “okay!”

with a grin, he pulled her into his arms, “that’s papa’s girl!”

and so it was put behind them, never to be talked about. unbeknownst to your husband, however, the little girl has been practicing the word before she slept, muttering small little ‘fuck’s over and over again.

it was simple knowledge, only to be used in the far future, but how far?

anyway.

you guys are now on a family grocery trip, and your little daughter is more than ecstatic. she is running through the aisles, pointing and gaping at every product she sees—with occasional ew’s over others.

it was a fun time, but you had to actually get some of the necessities.

so you and satoru agreed to split up to make the search faster, and that’s why he and his little girl are roaming the store together.

d/n is seated comfortably in the cart as satoru pushes it, “okay, so mama said we need chicken strip, nuggets, milk, and butter—"

"yum!"

"—and frozen vegetables and peas.”

“ew.”

satoru nods, "ew, indeed," before planting a kiss on her cheek. "you really are my daughter!"

“yay!” she giggles, and politely asks to be picked up. the dramatic girl squeals until her feet touch the ground, and she bolts into the section of the frozen food. she points up, excited, “papa, there!”

your husband grins, “that’s right, smart girl!” he pats her head, and reaches for two bags of frozen vegetables, but, unfortunately, one slips out of his hand, “oh god—“

he bends down to pick it up, but he notices his daughter frowning at him, “what’s up, d/n?”

“papa, what the fuck.”

satoru’s eyes widen instantly as he gently holds her by the shoulders, “d-d/n, don’t say that,” he sweat-drops, “mama will get mad—“

“mad at what?” you smile at your family, finally back with your share of groceries.

your husband nervously chuckles, picking your little girl up and rocking her gently in his arms, “oh nothing! she was just playing with the bags, right, sweetie?”

d/n points at the bag on the ground, “papa dropped the fucking peas.”

the smile on your face tightens, “he did; didn’t he?” you step closer, and your husband freezes in place. you look sweetly at your daughter, “d/n, where did you hear that word?”

she tilted her head lightly, “which one?”

you’re gripping your husband’s hand tightly, preventing him from escaping. he will be facing your wrath today whether he likes it not. you hum, applying more pressure on his fingers and responding to your daughter, “the one that starts with the letter f, honey.”

she beams, “oh! I heard papa say it before!”

“really now?” your grip tightens and satoru swears that might pee himself right then and there. he also is fighting the need to scream. so you, for a moment, divert your attention to glare at him so he can compose himself.

and everyone knows that gojo satoru is a man weak, very weak, when it comes to his wife.

you look back at your daughter, “but seriously, don’t say that word again; it’s a bad word,” you pat her head, “good big girls don’t say bad words, right?”

she looks down at her feet and fidgets with her fingers, “yeah…but papa is big too!”

you pull your husband beside you, hand sliding around his waist, gripping him tightly, “papa can be a bad boy sometimes, but you are a good big girl,” you smile, “so you can do much better!”

you let go of your husband to hug your daughter, “promise me you won’t say it,” you stick your pinky finger out, and your daughter happily seals the deal.

“I promise, mama!”

"good girl; now, can you go to that nice lady and ask her where the tissues are?" you say as you plant a kiss on her cheek.

your little girl salutes you and immediately runs towards the woman, leaving you to deal with your other baby. you stand up to look at satoru. he takes a breath, “babe, you see—“

“you better pick your words correctly, ‘toru.”

he deflates and dejectedly wraps his arms around you, “I am sorry,” he grumbles, “I did tell her that it was a bad word though! I promise!”

you sigh and cup his face, “I know, I know, but you have to control your vocab around her as much as possible,” you turn your head to the cart full of a variety of candy. you frown, “why the fuck did you get so much candy, though? you know she would try to eat them all day—“

you hear a tiny gasp, “mama said a bad word!”

then you hear your husband using a high-pitched voice to mock you, “’ but you have to control your vocab around her as much as possible’.”

you stare at the both of them, before smiling, “both of you are grounded.”

“what?!”

satoru pouts, “you can’t ground me! I am your husband!”

“grounded,” you repeat, emphasizing each syllable.

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do not copy or plagiarize or you will be reported

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pucksandpower · 5 months

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Your Friend Steve

Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: it’s finally me and you, and you and me … just us, and your friend Charles

r/relationshipadvice

u/yourusername · 9h

My boyfriend (26M) and I (22F) cannot get a second alone!

The two of us have been together for a few years now. We met through mutual friends and really hit it off. He’s caring, thoughtful, and we have the best time together.

The issue is ... his best friend (26M) is ALWAYS around. And I mean always. We’ll be out to dinner and bestie will show up and pull up a chair. We’ll be cuddling on the couch watching Netflix and he’ll let himself in with the spare key and wedge between us. I swear this guy is like an overeager puppy sometimes.

The other day I came home with my boyfriend and bestie was there ... sleeping on MY side of the bed because he “got lonely” at his place. And don’t get me started on trying to plan a vacation for just the two of us. Without fail, bestie always finds out where we are and shows up.

I’m happy they’re so close and I’d never want to get between them or ask my boyfriend to pick. But his best friend is starting to feel like a third wheel in our relationship. I jokingly said to my boyfriend that at this rate, bestie will be part of our engagement and marriage too!

I could really use some outside advice. How do I kindly set some boundaries with my boyfriend’s overly-attached best friend? I want all of us to still be friends but the constant third-wheeling is getting to be a bit much.

u/relationshipguru123 · 8h

Wow, this sounds really annoying and awkward! Hate to say it but your boyfriend needs to step up and set some better boundaries with his friend. As close as they may be, it’s not ok for him to let his friend crash your alone time constantly. It’s disrespectful to you and your relationship. If your bf won’t address it, you’ll have to be the “bad guy” and talk to the friend directly to give him a reality check.

u/NeedMoreSpace · 7h

I feel you, OP! My sister deals with this with her husband’s best friend too. They even joked that the friend would be IN the delivery room when they have kids one day 😳 She finally sat down with her husband and told him that while she cares about the friend, she needs some lines drawn for their marriage’s sake. Maybe suggest setting one or two date nights a week that are just for you two? And no dropping in unannounced! Compromise is key.

u/BFFboundaries · 5h

This behavior would drive me CRAZY! You need to put your foot down with your bf and tell him his friend’s constant presence is affecting your relationship. Then talk to the friend together to make it clear you just need some alone time as a couple sometimes. If they don’t respect reasonable space, it will breed resentment.

r/relationships

u/DutchLion · 5h

Help! My best friend (26M) is cockblocking me without even realizing it!

I (26M) have been together with my girlfriend (22F) for a few years. She’s awesome — fun, hilarious, and crazy sexy. She puts up with my quirks and even likes watching sports with me. Absolute keeper!

The problem is, my best friend has NO boundaries. I love him like a brother but he has zero concept of personal space or alone time.

Just last night, my girl and I were enjoying some long overdue freaky time together, when who bursts through the bedroom door unannounced? Yep, my best friend. Turns out he “accidentally” made copies of my keys ages ago.

Before I can react, he’s jumped onto the bed between us asking what we’re up to. My girlfriend was mortified and hurried to cover up. There went the mood for the rest of the night thanks to Captain Cockblock!

That’s just the latest in a long string of intrusions. Double dates, surprise sleepovers in OUR bed, you name it. I’m going to have to lock down the apartment Fort Knox style to get any intimacy!

Don’t get me wrong, I would take a bullet for my best friend. But how do I politely tell him that constant third-wheeling is killing my game and giving me the most painful blue balls known to man? Is there a tactful way to set some boundaries so we BOTH stay sane and satisfied?

u/CantUnseeThat · 4h

Dude, I felt awkward just READING this! Major props to your girlfriend for being so chill. You gotta have a talk with your boy and set some hard lines. A real best friend would respect that your relationship needs privacy too.

u/Locks4aReason · 3h

Your friend needs better boundaries yesterday. Sit him down, tell him you get he’s lonely but he can’t just walk in whenever, especially when sexy times are happening! Maybe suggest setting him up on some dates so he finds fulfillments elsewhere.

u/needabroboundary · 3h

As much as you love your best friend, your personal life with your lady should be a priority over letting him run wild! Have a man-to-man talk and make it clear you just need some couple time a few days a week. Offer to schedule some designated bro time to keep that bond too. Gotta compromise.

u/needspace321 · 2h

Don’t feel bad about setting some hard boundaries, even if it bruises his ego at first. True friends will understand. Explain you just need some regular alone time with your gf. Offer a standing weekly bro night to keep the friendship intact too. You need to have that balance!

r/AmItheAsshole

u/PrinceOfMonaco · 3h

AITA for wanting to spend time with my best friend and his girlfriend?

Some background — my friend (let’s call him M) and I go way back to childhood. We’re basically as close as brothers. A few years ago he started dating his now serious girlfriend (we’ll call her Y).

Initially, I’ll admit I was worried M would drift away and our bromance would fade. But much to my delight, Y is awesome! She likes the same sports, laughs at my jokes, and comes to watch our competitions. Honestly it feels like I gained a sister!

Naturally, the three of us started hanging out constantly. I know me and M have always valued bro time together. But now Y joins our gaming sessions, I ride along on their date nights often, and I will even crash in their guest room after late nights! It’s been pretty great.

Or so I thought? Lately I’ve noticed them acting strange and tense around me. They barely react when I barge into their room or surprise them by their cars after work. Sometimes they pretend to be “busy” if I try making plans last minute.

I can’t figure out why though? Just the other day, I popped by to say hi only to have M rather sternly tell me I should “call before visiting from now on.” And I could swear I heard Y whisper about needing “boundaries” … whatever that means!

I’m starting to feel hurt they suddenly seem fed up with me! AITA here? Am I missing something? Someone help me decode these mixed signals!

u/needboundaries101 · 3h

YTA. I know you value your friendship but your total lack of boundaries is overbearing. Your friend is trying to set reasonable limits without damaging the friendship but you’re oblivious to all hints. Surprising them and inviting yourself along all the time is inconsiderate. Give them space!

u/respectrelationships · 3h

Soft YTA. I get you cherish the bromance and her friendship too. But constantly crashing date nights, unannounced visits, etc is cockblocking to the max! They likely feel too awkward to bluntly tell you that they need alone time too sometimes. Tone down the clinginess before you do permanent damage!

u/flying_solo · 2h

NAH but only because you seem genuinely unaware your behavior is an issue! Most people would have picked up on the hints by now. You should DEFINITELY be calling ahead before visits or tagging along to closed plans. Give them a chance to say no thanks. Gotta let your bro spread his wings too.

u/threesacrowd · 2h

YTA. You would lose your mind if your best friend was this invasive during your dates! When they make excuses or leave early, that’s NOT an invitation to join them unasked and uninvited next time! They’re just too polite to be harsh so I’ll spell it out — you have to give them personal alone time without taking offense.

charles_leclerc

Liked by maxverstappen1, yourusername, and 1,273,948 others

charles_leclerc happy third anniversary to my favorite couple ❤️

View all 3,085 comments

maxverstappen1 thanks, mate!

charles_leclerc i’m going to pick up some dinner from that italian place we all like and i should be at your place in around 20 minutes

yourusername we really appreciate that, charlie. but you know … it’s our anniversary and we would like to celebrate alone

charles_leclerc i totally understand! that’s why i’m taking the food to go so we can celebrate alone with just the three of us

maxverstappen1 yeah but we want to ✨celebrate✨ you get me?

charles_leclerc you want me to stop and buy some sparklers?

yourusername what we’re trying to say is that we want to celebrate … in bed

charles_leclerc even better! your mattress is so comfortable and we can put some netflix on while we have a sleepover together

landonorris they’re literally spelling it out for you in black and white 💀

pierregasly mon ami, they’re trying to say they need some adult time tonight 😏 maybe skip the visit this once

danielricciardo how do i say this nicely … max and y/n are clearly desperate for uh, anniversary cuddles without you as the little spoon!

lewishamilton someone rescue my man charles from himself before it’s too late. praying the two lovebirds to get to celebrate properly tonight 😉

charles_leclerc of course we will all celebrate properly! i have champagne

roscoelovescoco read’s the room’s 🙄

f1wagupdates i can’t tell if charles is trolling them or if he genuinely doesn’t get it 😭

charles_leclerc what is there to get?

yourusername i give up 🤦‍♀️

yourusername … what flavor popcorn do you want for our sleepover?

charles_leclerc white cheddar, please!

3K notes · View notes

pholla-jm · 22 days

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Heir

IMAGINE: HEIR ~ SUKUNA X WIFE!READER GENRE: FLUFF cw: sukuna is a bit ooc. fem!reader. not proof read. set in the heian era. true form sukuna. ***************

If someone were to tell Sukuna that in some years that he would have a wife, he would laugh at them… and then kill them.

But here he was, thinking about how his beautiful wife looked with a small bump on her tummy. It’s all he could think about really. Ever since he found out his wife is pregnant, his view of the world changed.

Sure, he still thinks that humans were lowly disgusting vile, but the world seemed like a better place with you and his future child in it.

His every day activities seemed a little less fun now, and all he thought about was getting back home to his wife.

After a day full of people worshiping him and some killing, he made his way back to his castle. Where his wife should be patiently waiting for him.

********

“What do you think you’re doing?” You hear the deep voice of your husband call out causing you to jump a little.

He had found you in a different room. It was bare at first, but you were starting to add things to the room.

You were working on a traditional crib for the baby, having different silks laid out in front of you to choose.

It was a bit early to start getting ready for the baby, but you were too excited.

You turn to look at him. He towered over you, with his four arms crossed as he looked at you with a disappointed look.

“I just want to make sure that the baby’s room is going to be perfect.” You say turning back to the silks.

Sukuna hums, sitting down next to you while observing the objects in front of you.

“How long have you been doing this?” You shrug, “not that long.”

“You could always have the servants do this, you know? You shouldn’t be working so hard.”

“Yeah, I know. I just feel like if I do this myself, it feels more special.”

Sukuna breathes out a happy breath, leaning his chin on one of his fists. He knew that you would make a great mother. Someone that is nurturing, and he knows that his future son will be loved and taken care of.

“Still, you should be taking care of yourself. It’s important that you and our son are completely healthy.”

You perk up hearing the word ‘son’. “Son? It’s a bit too early to know the gender.”

Sukuna just smirks, eyeing you up and down. “Trust me, I know it’s going to be a boy.” You laugh, “oh yeah? How so?”

He points at your belly, “It’s lower. A low stomach means it’s going to be a boy.”

Your eyes widen and you look away from him in disbelief. “Where did you even hear that? I didn’t know you believed in old wives tales anyway.”

“It’s not an old wives tale if it’s the current talk.” “The current talk? What, are you gossiping with the local ladies now?” You laugh at the idea of Sukuna gossiping causing him to frown. “Whatever woman. What they say is true.” “Okay, we’ll see.”

"I don't want you working on this room by yourself anymore. I have to be here to help you, okay?" You nod your head, a bit happy that Sukuna came up with a quick compromise. "Sound good to me. You can do all the heavy lifting."

Sukuna nods, then points at one of the silks that are laid out in front of you. It was a darker colored one, something that you knew he would like. “This one. It’ll be great for our son.”

You decide not to comment on the son thing again. With a smile, you pick it out and put it to the side.

Pushing your hands on the ground, you start to get up from the ground. “What are you doing?” “I have to use the bathroom.” You say. However, Sukuna gets up faster than you. He gently picks you up, carrying you bridal style. “I can walk by myself.” You tell him with a small smile.

You appreciate that Sukuna doted on you like this, but you don’t know how long you would be able to babied like this.

“When I’m around, you’re not doing a single thing. You understand?”

With a content sigh, you relax in his arms. Head resting on his shoulder, hearing the faint sound of his heartbeat.

“Yes, my beloved, I understand.”

#jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #oneshot #jjk fluff #jjk #sukuna x y/n #sukuna x you #sukuna x reader #sukuna fluff

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gutsby · 2 months

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Trigger Tease

Pairing: Mob!Bucky x Reader

Summary: Your honeymoon from hell takes you straight to a strip club south of Madripoor, where Bucky teaches you how to give a lap dance, shoot a gun, and kill a man all in one night—and maybe agree to have his baby, too.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected piv. Oral (m! & f!receiving). Sex in a sauna. Sex in a strip club. Praise & degradation. Breeding kink. Daddy kink. Double homicide. Dickriding. Beefy, mob boss Bucky hates birth control and bad men—loves babies and killing HYDRA operatives for his wife.

Descriptions of violence throughout

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 4

Roleplay was fun—even vital for a marriage like yours.

Only instead of assuming the role of sexy masseuse, strong and strapping CEO, hands-on handyman, or some naughty professor with a knack for after-class punishment, Bucky got to play a bloodlusting assassin.

‘Winter Soldier’ didn’t have quite the same ring as most pornographic tropes, but that was no matter. What counted now was making the shot, and getting it right.

You sincerely hoped you wouldn’t fuck this up.

It was no secret that the Barnes’ bloodline was steeped in dealing, stealing, gunslinging, and laundering cash. Staggering privilege, too. From the sandy shores of Curaçao to Luxembourg and Guinea-Bissau, any living heir to the dynasty could have expected to find safe refuge and respect just about anywhere that they went. It was all but engrained in their DNA at this point.

All that is to say, Bucky had no trouble finding a foreign hideaway in a pinch. He liked the Swiss Alps the best.

After your short and sweet conversation with ‘Joey’ over the phone—HYDRA hijacking the intercom system—he and Sam and Steve had made the split-second decision to reroute the plane to Zürich, and now you were here.

72 hours into a four-day ticking time bomb and totally clueless as to how you might stave off impending death, and mitigate other casualties, the best that you could.

The stress fucking with Bucky made it worth it, though.

In between breakfast and the start of your husband’s early briefing that day, you’d found yourself situated in much the same way you’d been spending a lot of time lately: pinned against the wall of a wood-paneled sauna, Bucky’s broad shoulders supporting both of your legs as he buried his face deep between your thighs. You sighed.

“Hold still,” Bucky grunted, voice muffled as he tried to keep your slick, squirming body in place above him.

You yelped and seized a fistful of his hair when he wedged his tongue even further inside you, nudging your clit with his nose almost too teasingly and deliberate.

“I can’t…help it,” you bit back, ignoring the brief glare you earned from your husband as soon as you said it, “Your tongue’s just so— s— James!”

This time, Bucky let out a full-throated groan when you yanked on those poor wet locks of his—‘Gonna make me bald by next Christmas if you keep doin’ that, honey’—and he pried his head from your legs just long enough to knock you flat on the sauna bench close by.

The western red cedar seared hot on your skin, already flushed from the exhaustion wrought by Bucky’s tongue; you hardly had the strength to hold yourself up when he pushed you onto your back and crawled over your body.

“How ‘bout my fingers, doll? Can you take a couple’a those for me?” Bucky crooned above you as he stroked your hair, bathed in pure sunlight pouring in from the windows. His voice was a touch more sympathetic now.

After all, this was your third orgasm of the morning. It really wasn’t fair for him to use that biological weapon of mass destruction he liked to call his tongue when he knew how sensitive your clit would get from just one ‘O’. Even his hands might be too much in your current state.

Bucky was busy peppering your skin with kisses, working his way from the base of your neck to the crown of your head, when you whimpered and tried to fight a smile.

“Finger,” you corrected him, “Just one finger, Barnes.”

You would’ve thought you’d just thrown your wedding ring in his face and told him to eat shit. Just one?

“How’s one finger s’posed to stretch you out for my cock, huh? Practically had you screamin’ when I stuck it in last night,” Bucky wasn’t one to hide his amusement, grinning even bigger when you swatted him on the arm.

“Who said anything about your cock?” You tried to keep cool as Bucky’s fingers trailed right back down to the place you felt yourself throbbing, aching for his touch, “You have a meeting in ten minutes.”

“Meeting doesn’t start until I say so, my love,” Bucky reminded you just as his index ghosted over your folds.

In truth, he was willing to play this game any way, and for however long, you wanted it done, so long as he was the one bringing you pleasure all the while. Be that his cock, his finger, or all fucking five on one hand, Bucky just wanted to get you off. It was far better sustenance to him than the whole fucking meal he’d eaten that morning.

Bucky kept it down to one digit and lightly circled your bundle of nerves when he sensed you were ready.

You gripped his forearm and shot a quick look between your legs, still in disbelief as to how he could make you feel this good so soon after you’d cum twice before. You felt his lips drift over to yours and steal a few kisses.

“Always doin’ so good for me,” Bucky praised, moving his finger in circles. When you whined against his mouth, he pressed it even harder, “Such a good girl for daddy.”

“James,” you breathed, clenching your legs together.

“Everything OK?”

“Uh-huh.”

More than OK, in fact. That delectable coil of sweet, euphoric release was already swelling gently in your tummy. Bucky moved his finger even faster.

“Tell me how it feels,” he murmured low in your ear.

Bucky loved seeing you try to articulate your feelings—relatively fresh and new to your world, still—while he was giving you pleasure. Adored the way you winced and whined and arched your back into his touch as a whole blustering hailstorm of sensations crashed over you.

He sank his tongue in your mouth as he kissed you, as if trying to extract the words from between your lips. Your response, in consequence, came somewhat stifled.

“Mm— feels so, oh—” Your voice broke off in a moan when Bucky tightened his circles, “—so good, daddy.”

“Wanna show daddy how good and cum for me?”

Bucky knew by the way you were whimpering under his hand that the tendril in your stomach had almost tripled in size. It wouldn’t take much to tip you over the edge.

“My sweet girl,” he said, rubbing your cunt at the same time he was stroking the back of your head, gently, “Feels so nice down there, doesn’t it?”

You rolled your hips against the bench and nodded. Your breaths were short and ragged, panting helplessly into Bucky’s mouth when he adjusted his hand just a little: pressing the pad of his thumb to your clit, with his index moving down to your entrance. Pushing inside you.

“Another,” you choked, not thinking.

Bucky met your desperate gaze and nodded, knowing this was exactly what you needed to make it over the precipice.

Still, he wouldn’t be Bucky if he didn’t tease just a bit.

“I thought my wife wanted one finger,” he hummed, brow pinching inward.

“No, no.” You could’ve shrieked when he curled the digit, “Want more— Bucky, please, please, I need more.”

Again, your husband appeared to nod in understanding, but his fingers didn’t budge. He worked his thumb a little faster and watched you writhe on the seat beneath him.

“How many, honey? Don’t wanna hurt my baby.” His words were all kindness, it seemed, but his tone laced with shameless condescension—the kind that said, yes, I know you need this, and no, I won’t indulge you just yet. Bucky was the worst when he wanted to prove a point. You could’ve ripped at his clothes and torn them in two if you weren’t both stark naked and shrouded in steam.

You opted to pull at his hair instead.

Bucky winced, but the smirk never left.

“I said how many?” he pressed again.

“Three. Four.” Fuck if you knew.

Your husband raised both eyebrows and hummed, a single finger still plunging in and out of your cunt at a rapid-fire pace. He teased the tip of another at your entrance and smiled even more when you whined.

“Needy little thing, isn’t she?”

“Bucky—”

“Just wants to fuck daddy’s hand to get herself off, hm?”

Bucky didn’t bother to mask his sweet, degrading tone any longer as he talked down and teased you to no end. It drove him half-insane to see you squirm around, rut your hips, let him say the filthiest fucking words he could conjure up, and just bob your head to whatever he said. His impeccant wife and her insatiable needs—Bucky couldn’t even begin to express how turned on the sheer dichotomy got him. He stared in your eyes, all glossy and soft, and felt his cock stand even more rigid on his belly.

He didn’t give a shit if he’d taunted you enough or not; he just shoved his middle and ring fingers alongside the first and clenched his jaw to start fucking you hard with all three.

Your whole face contorted with pleasure, tinged with the faintest shade of discomfort at the tail end of it. You’d forgotten how big his fingers felt all together.

“Bucky,” you whined, mindlessly clawing at the wrist that was moving back and forth, fast, between your legs, “B-Baby, slow— slow down a little.”

But Bucky was deep in the zone. He knew you wanted it too—sensed that you liked to play it safe when it came to your pleasure and grew a little timid at times it got to feel too much—and he needed to talk you through it.

Rather than turn his head and keep to himself as he got you up to your peak, Bucky pressed his face down to yours and nodded again—this time with a tender sincerity.

“Feel a little stretch down there, huh?”

You didn’t have to say anything, just whimpering in time. Bucky kissed your forehead and let you fold into him as his fingers wreaked havoc down below. He kissed you again, and again, and in between kisses, mumbled,

“That’s daddy’s sweet, needy little slut.”

“My perfect fucking wife, so good at taking my fingers.”

“Gonna be nice and stretched out for my cock, hm?”

Every syllable spoken aloud was like a brand new catalyst for your impending release. You barely nodded your head, opened your mouth and whined pathetically, but that’s exactly how Bucky wanted you. Exactly how you needed to be, bucking your hips in time with the cadence of his fingers fucking inside you, and soon, those whimpers were turning to moans as that soft little helix inside you reached its breaking point.

Bucky brushed once or twice more against your sensitive spot, and suddenly you were coming undone all over him—crying his name, clawing his skin, squeezing your legs so tight around his wrist you feared you might snap it in two, and then getting kissed again, over and over. Bucky soaked in your every sound, and the few tears that would inevitably spring to your eyes, like sweet nectar.

You were still moaning, curling your tongue feebly against his own and leaning into him as far as you could, when your husband slipped three fingers up between your mouth and his and pushed them past your parted lips.

“Suck,” Bucky said, clenching his jaw as he watched you, “C’mere, honey, taste your cunt on my fingers.”

You took him in and sucked your arousal off his fingers just like he asked. Took him by surprise and dragged a mindless, lazy, half-crazed and careless tongue all over his hand, where your juices had no doubt collected too.

That slutty, fucked-out look you gave him—like your brain had all but fallen out of your head with the orgasm he’d given you—was everything Bucky could’ve wanted.

He climbed on top of you and took the base of his cock, rock-hard and weeping tears of precum from the tip, almost drunk from the feeling himself. His mouth hung open as he dragged himself over the seam of your cunt.

“I need to fuck you now.”

Bucky’s words couldn’t have hung in the fog-infested air for more than a millisecond or two before he had you back in his arms and carried to the far end of the sauna.

At the door—or, rather, on it—with your back flush against the wood, you felt Bucky pin you in place with his hips and press his erection to that soft, cramped space between your bodies. You tightened your legs around his middle and sucked in a breath when you felt him pulse.

Then the head of his cock was circling that slick, taut ring of muscles like all hope for his future happiness lay there: right between your legs in the softest and sweetest recesses of your body he could reach. His eyes could’ve been engulfed in flames and still not betrayed a fraction of the smouldering desire that lay behind them now—he drank you in with a single look and sighed.

“Can I— do it, now?” The term ‘fucking’ swiftly lost all lustre when he was an inch from your heat and ready to press in; he just needed to be in you, a part of you, now.

“Yeah,” you breathed. You pressed your forehead to his.

Bucky ran his tip once more down your slit and had just begun to ease his hips forward when a moan snagged in his throat. He braced you firmer against the door, letting your arms drape over his shoulders, and was just about to slide his length inside of you, then—

Thump, thump, thump.

Three knocks in quick succession.

You jumped, the sudden raps reverberating up the door.

Bucky held you to him, tight, and planted a hand beside your head as if to hold the whole frame still. Then, through gritted teeth,

“What the fuck do you want?”

“Need you downstairs. Now.”

It was Sam.

“Can it wait?”

“No.”

Bucky frowned. Scratched the wood surface reflexively.

“Can it…wait?” he tried again, tone laden with a silent but pointed, ‘Is it urgent enough to drag me away from my wife when I’m less than an inch away from being seven inside her?’ Evidently, Sam got the gist, or was just keen to get him out, because he returned, quick:

“Yeah. Legal’s here.”

‘Shit’ was Bucky’s wordless expression below you.

Then a ‘Shit, shit, shit, just shoot me now’ kind of look that raised an eyebrow on your own frazzled face.

Wasn’t the arrival of Bucky’s legal team a good thing? He’d been agonizing for days, badgering Sam and Steve to no end over when they’d hear back from his retinue, and here they were. You couldn’t ask just yet, as your husband was lowering you to the floor and stepping back from the door, chest racked with a shuddering breath, but you wanted to know. You reached for a towel.

“Fine. Fuck. I’ll be right out.” As it was, Bucky had chosen to forgo the dry-off altogether and just started chucking clothes on his body, eyes roaming all over.

You turned from the sound of Sam’s retreating steps and found him moving fast, graceless—shoulders hunched, head bowed, pants wrestled almost angrily up his legs. He found his balance, barely, bracing his weight against the sink, then nearly tore the porcelain fixture off the wall with how hard he kicked it trying to get his left shoe on.

He muscled into his dress shirt and flushed bright red.

In a second, you had either side of the crisp white button-up between your hands, frowning.

“Any reason why we’re so upset?” you asked after a beat.

Bucky puffed a short breath over your head as you secured the first button. Then the next. Then the next.

“What? Apart from the fact I’m not balls deep and about to give you your fourth orgasm?” he grumbled.

You shot him a look.

“I mean it’s— not ideal, getting a visit at a time like this,” Bucky continued once he’d sufficiently contained half a smirk and could don a more serious look, “If we were getting any good news they would’ve just called.”

Hell, great news could’ve made it in an email. The whole aggregate of his legal team taking the trip from Brooklyn to Zürich meant that shit had most likely hit the fan in a big way. Bucky wasn’t thrilled to learn the ‘how’ just yet.

Instead, he cupped your cheek in one hand and brushed his thumb along its curve once you’d made it to the last button of his shirt. He started to lean in, hoping to delay the briefing downstairs with a quick diversion to your lips, but he stopped about an inch away from your face.

You’d lowered your touch, slipping it under the band of his boxers. He was still as hard as you’d felt him last.

Bucky let out a grunt when your fingertips grazed the soft tufts of hair adorning that part of his abdomen. He sucked in a breath when they sank even further.

“I’m sure we’ll be fine,” you said, voice dulcet and slow as you wrapped your hand around the base of his shaft.

Again, a sound rumbled deep inside Bucky’s chest, and the thumb resting on your cheek stirred. In fact, it had no other choice—your head was starting to move.

Descending, slowly. Sinking to the floor in front of him. Positioning yourself right above the bulge in his pants.

Now Bucky’s palm was laying flat on your head, resting light as it ever had while you drew him even closer.

“Baby—”

“Yeah?” you hummed, just then tugging him out and bringing your mouth to the swollen, leaking head. Bucky gripped a good handful of your hair and rutted his hips without meaning to, and you smiled, “Can’t have my husband showing up hard as a rock to his meeting.”

You were right. There was no way Bucky was getting rid of this wood without the help of his hand or one of your holes. And, under any set of circumstances, he would’ve much preferred the latter to the former. He groaned when you took his tip to your lips and stroked him softly.

You made remarkably quick work of the man with just a minute or two, your mouth, your hand, and a tiny bit of spit—a record-breaking feat, Bucky had thought to himself with some embarrassment. But you weren’t concerned with his stamina in the slightest, focusing instead on the ways in which you might maximize his pleasure in the same way he’d done for you. Stretching your lips, loosening your jaw, and taking him down as far and as frequently as you could manage without gagging around him, you had him good. Deep. All but aching for release as he took a firm hold of the sink behind him.

“That’s a—fuck, that’s a good…fuckin’ girl.”

You bobbed your head once or twice more, flitting your gaze to his face, and felt the warmth unload in ropes—glazing your throat and every soft, square inch of your mouth as he did. Practically flooding your tongue with his cum. Bucky groaned and made a fist in your hair.

“Baby…shit,” came the sound of disbelief under his breath when you pulled off just enough to breathe.

You were careful how you took in air; flaring your nostrils the slightest bit, feeling a twitch at the corners of your lips as you tried not to smirk. Then, with an obscene sort of precision and purpose, you gave something else a try.

You stuck your tongue out at Bucky to show him the warm, oozing load he’d just left in your mouth.

Your husband’s response was immediate: evidently, he loved nothing more than a show of himself inside you, displayed like a prize between your two rows of teeth. You watched him grit his own to suppress a moan.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he seethed. Still reeling from his high.

Then he paused, in awe for a second, before dropping one finger to your mouth and swirling his touch along the sticky, opaque puddle resting over your tongue.

You closed your lips around him, snug, and held his gaze.

A weaker man might have come undone. Bucky just let out a breath and smiled.

“If you wanna play show-and-tell with my cum I can find someplace to put that, doll,” he said, low as ever, then,

“C’mere.”

You didn’t need the powers of telepathy to understand what he’d meant. Should’ve known better than to dip your toe in the cumplay game with a man who arguably harbored the world’s biggest breeding kink and really wanted to knock you up. The realization had you back on your feet in an instant. Having swallowed fast, pried your lips off his digit with a pop, and licked the corners of your mouth, you rose without the threat of a second thought.

Your pale yellow dress was the first thing you grabbed—the first thing Bucky tried to yank off of your body when you’d slipped it up your legs and staggered backward.

“Not happening, Barnes,” you giggled, pretending not to see him advance when you stepped back.

But Bucky had never been big on civility in times like these. He lunged forward and nearly tore the barely-zipped frock off your frame, eliciting a shriek and another arch look from you as you started toward the door.

You were amazed you made it through—your husband had had to stop to tuck his dick back in his pants before stumbling after you—but when you took off down the hall, you knew it was only a matter of time before you heard his footsteps thundering fast after your own.

The tips of your toes had just barely grazed the first step down the stairs when hands seized your hips. You yelped.

“BUCKY!”

Whether on account of your own practiced agility, or the fact that Bucky’s palms were still sticky and slick with his sweat, you managed to wrest yourself out of his grip just long enough to get a start down the stairs.

“COME HERE!” Bucky boomed loud, trying his hardest not to laugh as he chased after you.

You screamed without meaning to. Yanked your wrist out of his reach when you’d made it to the bottom of the stairs and felt your husband close the distance in quick. You tried to be firm, insistent, primed with the kind of fine and unfuckwithable attitude that signaled you meant business. You didn’t, though—the series of giggles bubbling up in your chest said as much.

You descended the last step with a hitch, almost losing your shit within a foot of the landing, when Bucky scooped you up in his arms and held on tight. His lips were at your ear in a second, breaths coming in quick.

“Hell, I’ll give you one right here, honey,” he sneered before flipping you back around to face him.

He pressed you flush to the wrought iron railing, then over it, pushing you back bit-by-bit until you had no choice but to jump and latch your legs around his hips.

“James Buchanan Barnes, if you don’t—”

“Give you a baby right now?”

“—get off of me!” You were laughing now, squirming when he nipped at the space just below your ear.

One more second and he might’ve convinced you. Your Bucky was persuasive like that, too smug and self-assured for his own good but one hell of an advocate when he wanted to be. At length, he opened his mouth to take an even bigger, teasing bite, when a voice cut in,

“Barnes.”

He stopped. You froze. Together, you reluctantly turned your heads in the direction of the sound and found a keystone conference table situated at the far end of the room—seating a dozen-odd faces with identical, muted expressions of surprise. Mild discomfort, for some.

Wild discomfort for your mother and father, you saw.

Bucky set you down and simultaneously yanked the hem of your dress back into place. Flashed a smile for the ages and snaked an arm around your waist as he started to lead you over.

“Nat! Hi,” he tried, far too casual, “Long time no see.”

You bit the inside of your cheek hard and hoped like hell your husband had remembered to zip up his pants.

The woman at the head of the table—the source of the voice you’d heard—raised a brow. One cherry-red curl from her sleek, cropped bob threatened to fall out of place as she tilted her face to regard you both. The smile Bucky proffered had done nothing to repair her glare.

Some wordless exchange passed between the two of them, and next, you felt a hand directing you to a seat across the way—Steve. Smug as ever. Smirking just then.

The empty chair beside your mother. The horror.

You were dimly aware of some introductions being made on your behalf and a round of awkward, disjointed congratulations around the table. Greetings from Nat, Sam, Steve—conceited little shit—a few you knew as Bucky’s groomsmen, a couple members of the security detail, and several more friendly, unfamiliar faces, including a smartly dressed blond named Sharon. Your husband had taken a seat by the latter at the end of the table.

“Momma.” You weren’t sure why you felt the need to whisper when the attention had turned back to Natasha and other matters, but you did, “Where have you been?”

Your mother and father were perched in their chairs like prisoners. There were no shackles to be seen but an air of discomfiture and compulsion bound to their every feature. You couldn’t be sure if it was humiliation on your behalf—they had just witnessed their son-in-law promise to put a baby in you for all present to hear—or something more.

For once in your life, you hoped it was just the prudish, sex-averse tendencies of the two rendering them silent.

You tried your mother again when she hadn’t responded.

“Momma.”

“Now is not the time.”

Her voice was clipped. Abrasive.

You knew better than to test that tone another time. You sank back in your seat and let your gaze roam the table, flitting between your father and Bucky a few more times than it probably should have. Surely, your dad, who had screwed Bucky over to hell and back, obliterated your wedding, and jeopardized your lives for a few more million in his pocket would have warranted some sidelong, hateful look from your husband. A glance or a stare, certainly something to show that he knew, and hadn’t forgotten.

No—Bucky was occupied with Sharon at the moment.

You watched your father twist his signet ring on his pinky, jerking the gold back and forth as if hoping for it to break, or save him. He didn’t look at Bucky, either.

“Natasha Romanoff is the Barnes’ retained legal talent for all things maritime crime and narcotics trade-related. Some estate planning, too,” a voice rumbled beside you.

You made a low ‘Hm’ to feign understanding of whatever the fuck Steve had just said, and nodded.

Then, when your eyes wandered left again,

“Sharon Carter, criminal liaison and kingpin informant. Been in bed with the Barnes’ as long as I can remember.”

He really couldn’t have used a worse string of words if he had tried. You cocked your head just slightly and stared at the pair. You considered holding your tongue.

“And she’s been in bed with Bucky how often before?” You’d decided against self-restraint for the time being.

Steve blinked a little harder.

“What do y—”

“I’m not asking if, but when, they fucked,” you interrupted.

Steve blinked again, as if to clear a string of cobwebs from his eyes, and couldn’t quite find the words to answer your question. Either the truth or some half-baked crock of bullshit—there was no in between.

“Once,” he answered, at length. Honest.

You figured as much.

In any other situation where you were faced with one of Bucky’s former fuckbuddies, you probably would’ve felt more than a twinge of jealousy. Might’ve even cast a dark look in the girl’s direction and willed her not to even breathe the same air as him. Then you remembered you weren’t fourteen years old and could behave with some modicum of maturity when it came to some old flame of your husband. They weren’t even sitting that close.

You winced when Bucky gave her shoulder a playful squeeze, though. That facial tic you couldn’t control.

“So to recap,” Natasha announced, having just plodded through a few dull formalities up front, “Barnes got the intercom call from Schröder at 1500 hours, Friday.”

Every head nodded.

“Schröder gave Barnes exactly ninety-six hours to recover the $90 million lost in the…mishap, in Brooklyn—” Natasha’s eyes flickered to your father no longer than a second, “—and today is Monday. We have twenty-four hours to come up with the funds, or face the…penalties of Schröder’s exploding offer. Whatever those may be.”

You knew what ‘those’ were. Ms. Romanoff was either too kind or too diplomatic to say it, you reckoned, but the threat Joey Schröder had made to Bucky had been patently clear: procure the cash or your wife’s family dies.

That was why you’d been so surprised to see your mother and father seated at the table that morning—Schröder had further stipulated that there was to be no contact between you and your parents in the time it took to come up with the money. You’d been completely cut off, in the Alps, since the day of the attack, left to wonder without reprieve whether HYDRA’s bloodless henchmen had taken hostages of your parents, let them abscond to Brooklyn, or simply killed them both and sent the rest of you all on a wild goose chase to get hold of the money.

Now if they’d only had sex once, why was she looking at him like that?—The intruding thought couldn’t be helped when you peered over again—Surely the most platonic and professional working relationships didn’t call for looks like that.

Shut the fuck up. Shut the entire fuck up, please.

The lives of those closest to you were on the line and all you could think now was how well you compared to this random woman in giving Bucky head? Brain fucking rot.

You scrunched your nose and turned back to Natasha.

“…and up until this morning, Schröder’s whereabouts were unknown,” she continued, careful as she spoke.

It seemed that part had caught Bucky’s attention, too, because he was tilting his head away from Sharon and shifting his gaze to the woman at the head of the table.

“And now?” he cut in.

“I’m getting there, James.”

Sharon smiled a little at that, tracing her nail on the notepad in front of her. She muttered something to Bucky, who disregarded her remark entirely.

“Do we know where Schröder is?” he barked.

Across the table, Sam shifted in his seat. He glanced to Natasha, then Sharon.

“I believe we have modestly reliable intel—” he began, only to have his speech mowed over by an impatient, increasingly irate Bucky.

“No. No— we don’t do ‘modestly reliable’ for this, Sam. We either know where the fuck the guy is or we don’t.”

That last fragment seemed to hang in the air a couple seconds longer than needed, and a tense silence fell over the table. It took a new voice—one you hadn’t heard much at all yourself—to reignite the conversation.

“I know it,” Sharon said, “I know he’s in Madripoor.”

Madripoor? The make-believe safe haven for terrorists? You couldn’t tell if she was kidding at first. Then Bucky flitted a look to the side, and his expression was grave. Natasha’s, too. Maybe there was a Madripoor after all.

“Or he will be there, most likely, tomorrow night,” Steve interjected. The hands that had been folded neatly in front of him were now tapping a light and mindless beat on the table, “He’s got the Foxy Den rented out for a…thing.”

Bucky rolled his eyes.

“Where else but a titty bar would Joey host his ‘things’?” he muttered just loud enough for everyone to hear.

So Madripoor was real, and it had strip clubs. Wonderful.

It seemed Natasha was keen to regain control of the conversation, because she presently broke in,

“Keep in mind that time is of the essence—a private flight from here to the Indonesian archipelago is sixteen hours minimum. We most likely can’t afford to fly private, b—”

“Since when the fuck can’t I afford to fly private?” Bucky spat.

You hated how short and plainly nasty he was being to all those around him. If you hadn’t known any better, you might’ve thought these folks were at fault somehow, but they weren’t. Your father, the real culprit, was sitting right under Bucky’s nose, and he wouldn’t even look in his general direction. Your husband flared his nostrils with a new surge of indignation, and Sharon patted his hand.

“She’s not talking finances, bub,” the blond started, “She’s saying your jet is on a no-fly list, we don’t have time to charter a new plane, and there’s a hefty fucking bounty on your head if you ever set foot in Madripoor. We need to get you on a commercial flight, undercover.”

“Fuck that.” Bucky’s response was reflexive. He rose fast.

If your parents could have appeared any more stiff and uncomfortable you might have mistaken them for two charming, thoroughly terrified wax figures. Your father continued to fiddle with his ring as he watched Bucky.

Natasha tensed as well. As soon as Bucky was up on his feet, pacing around at the end of the table, she was urging him to relax, Buck, this isn’t anything we haven’t done before—sit down, please. Bucky didn’t sit, and he most certainly didn’t relax, but he did kick a stool across the room.

“I am not going back to that shithole.”

The stool tumbled onto its side, one leg splintered in half. You made a mental note to look into some anger management classes. Your parents, along with most of the table, flinched at the crashing sound, while your husband stood, supremely agitated, and did not even regard the broken chair. He turned away from Natasha.

“Yeah, well, that ‘shithole’ is our only hope of getting Schröder behind bars and you out of custody, Bucky,” Natasha called as he started to pace away.

“The fuck’s that supposed to mean?”

Bucky tilted his head to the side. He contemplated snagging a bottle of Macallan 25 off the bar cart by the window but decided against it.

“Have you been listening to a word of what I’ve said all weekend?” Natasha returned, almost as biting, “Turned on MSNBC or CNN or any other news outlet in the last forty-eighty hours?”

She dropped her own notepad on the table and scanned the area in search of something else. Sam and Steve took that as their opportunity to jump in.

“Bucky,” Sam started, calmly, “There were over a dozen foreign attachés and two heads of State at your wedding, half of whom are now being hospitalized for injuries they sustained in the attack.”

“So?” Bucky snapped.

His eyes were already trailing back to the cart.

“So you think the U.N. Security Council was just gonna let that slide?”

“Two-thirds of its members have been up in arms, practically chomping at the bit to get someone pinned for the fucking thing—that leaves you or Schröder on the chopping block,” Steve chimed in.

“So one more federal probe. What’s the big deal?” Bucky hardly realized he’d taken a tumbler in his hands.

Just as he’d turned to pour himself a drink, guided more by bare muscle memory than anything else, Natasha raised a manila folder—the item she’d been looking for. He’d filled his glass half full when the folder was flung his way like a frisbee. He narrowly saved himself a papercut—or ten—by ducking his head, almost spilling his drink.

“The fuck, Nat?!” he bellowed.

“Extradition, Bucky. Search warrants for your Brooklyn residence, all your money service businesses up the Eastern Seaboard, and a whole hell of a lot of other financial records that we do not need dredged up in this mess.” Natasha pointed to the folder on the floor, which had just spilled a litany of documents at his feet.

“Let them.” Bucky wasn’t fazed by the warrants, walking over them as he drank, “I’m not going to Madripoor."

This time, it was Sharon's turn to roll her eyes as she swiveled in her chair to face Bucky. She was turned from you now, but you could almost smell the smug, knowing look she raked over your husband as she uncrossed her legs and leaned back.

"We don't have time for this," she said, coolly, "If you have any hopes of getting the Counter-Terrorism Committee off your ass and Schröder in custody, you'll listen to Nat."

Bucky paused, weighing her words in his mind before meeting her gaze again. He brought his glass to his lips and drained it.

Then, perhaps feeling a bit emboldened by the idea that she was the only one to have shut Bucky up—to have made him listen, as it were—Sharon piped up again. You didn't need to see her face to know for certain there was a smirk etched across it,

"Don't look so glum, honey. We have no choice here."

It startled every last soul at that table, yourself included and Sharon especially, when the cup in Bucky's hand sailed across the room and shattered on the edge of a cabinet close by. Before the glass had so much as splintered and scattered half of its jagged shards along the floor, your husband was stalking, then stopping, then looming over Sharon with an implacably dour look. And a jaw set tight as you'd ever seen it.

"My choice," he seethed, so low the words almost came out in a murmur, "is to protect my wife. Whatever you, or Natasha, or anyone else has in mind comes second to that. Do you understand?"

Sharon nodded that she did.

A hushed silence fell over the room once more, only now its duration was greater, and the cause of it—your red-faced, fuming husband—had turned his back to the group and was retrieving from the bar cart another glass. Another drink. Natasha followed his path with a vigilant eye.

"Bucky," she said.

Bucky didn't answer. Filled his new glass to the brim.

"Bucky," Natasha tried with a little more volume and vigor.

Your husband lifted the cup to his mouth and started to guzzle, against every shrill and helpless plea from his liver, you guessed. You wanted to object, to take leave of your seat as quick as you could and knock the thing out of his hand before he could finish, but Natasha had you beat—not with any physical act but a word to slow him down: "Barnes."

Then, a few more to get him to stop entirely:

"Look. Over there."

She pointed to a slip of paper somewhere at the top of the shuffle.

Bucky shifted his gaze to the floor. You saw him lick both corners of his mouth, bathed in whiskey residuum and a light, nascent spatter of stubble. He looked almost menacing in spite of the grin that kicked up.

"What's this?" he murmured.

"The terms of Schröder's newest offer. The one he made this morning."

Bucky's second glass was discarded in an instant.

He dropped to his knees, seized the paper in his hands and pored over the bare, 11-point Times New Roman typeface like it was the single most precious set of words in the world to him. There were several mountains of text, and you sensed he couldn't begin to under the legal jargon with just one cursory look.

"What? What's'it mean?" Bucky wouldn't tear his gaze away, even as he shouted to Natasha.

Your own eyes probably should've been fixed on Bucky, or in your lap, or out the window, reflecting in silence on what the fuck could be going on and why it felt as though things were suddenly coming to a perilous head. Instead, you pivoted to Natasha. Her face was tilted to you.

Then she spoke to Bucky, still crouched on the floor a few feet away from her, but she kept her focus on you. She spoke carefully.

"Schröder won't take the money, Bucky."

"What?"

Bucky's gaze combed over the page, desperate to make sense of what was printed in front of him—"The hell's this all mean, Nat, tell me what it means and what he wants, for fuck's sake."—and he flipped the document. Read some more. His eyes flitted from line to line in a full-blown terror.

Then the eyes stopped in one spot.

Bucky stood.

Fisting the letter in one hand and making a wild, inarticulate gesture with the other, he probably could've seared a hole in Natasha's head with the force of his stare. She refused to meet it.

"This is a joke, isn't it?"

All of a sudden, your father leaned over your mother to you,

"We can make it work. We can keep you—"

"Hey. Don't talk to her. Don't fuckin' look at her. Is this—"

"—safe. We'll keep you safe, darling, I swear."

"—some kind of sick fucking joke?!"

You stared at your dad in disbelief. Bewilderment. Then you chanced a look at Bucky, who had all but gone blue in the face as he approached your father from the opposite end of the table, letter still crushed in his hand.

Your father averted his gaze.

He knew.

You saw him flick the gold signet on his pinky once more, and for reasons you didn't yet understand yourself, you couldn't look away from it, or him.

Surely this scared-shitless son of a bitch could speak to you now. He'd have to. There was no way he wouldn't when the problem was staring him right in the face and his son-in-law was practically apoplectic with rage in front of him.

Something clicked in Bucky's brain.

He knew.

Your husband’s breath caught with the full weight of the realization, and he blinked. He didn’t hesitate; he simply sidestepped Sam and Steve—who had stood as soon as they saw the look of understanding cross over his face—and he seized your father. You heard a scream, most likely from your mother, and you saw Bucky swing, but the act barely registered as real until his fist first cracked against your dad’s skull. Again. And again. And again.

Somewhere in the raucous din and sounds of punches, kicks, and muffled groans, a discharge of blood, and the dim recognition that some of the stuff was dousing you, too, you managed to make out several words, disjointed:

“—FUCKING KILL YOU—SOLD HER—SOLD HER?!”

Roleplay was fun—even vital for a marriage like yours.

‘Winter Soldier’ didn’t have quite the same ring as most pornographic tropes, it was true, but it was an alter-ego he’d been given from his earliest days as a made man. A caricature of himself that was to represent everything he did and was capable of doing in places like Madripoor.

You didn’t know that side. You didn’t like that side.

It was Bucky, and it wasn’t—pummeling your father’s face in the ground after learning that he had offered you up, again, in satisfaction of a debt. Sparing no feelings when he spoke to Natasha, Sam, Steve, Sharon, or anyone, making clear his wife’s safety was paramount.

Maybe you were meant to feel proud. Or flattered. Or safe. But oddly, the longer you’d stared at the bloodied, bruised fist he held above your father’s face and the half-deranged look of anger on his own, the more you began to wonder if the fury was for your protection, or simply a knee-jerk response to the thought of losing a possession. A mere object that he couldn’t bear to part ways with.

You had thought long and hard about where the Soldier stopped and Bucky began. No matter where you landed, you were far from comfortable with the conclusion.

Now, even as you stood two feet away from the man in an upper-level lounge of the Foxy Den, roughly half a day removed from the whirlwind turn of events that almost sent your father to hospital, you hardly knew what to say.

“Zip me up?”

The closest thing you’d had to conversation in hours. Bucky obliged.

You viewed your new dress in the mirror from the side and made a face. Pretended to examine the tight black number but were really just zeroing in on the sight of Bucky’s knuckles as he dragged the zip up your back. He hadn’t bothered to mend his hands, and you hadn’t thought to offer to bandage them up. You tried not to stare.

The hands paused at the top of your dress and froze.

Then crept back slowly, taking the zip along with it.

“Wanna—?”

“Bucky!”

One low groan, followed by a palm to his worn and wearied face. When you spun around, he didn’t move.

“Are you serious?” you bit.

“Will you talk to me now?” Bucky retorted.

To be fair, neither he nor his Winter Soldier persona knew how to solve the silent treatment from a pissed-off wife. This was brand new territory—being ignored for hours on end—and frankly, he had thought a playful request for sex might make you more amenable to conversation.

He had thought wrong.

You stared daggers at his handsome face and raised a finger as though to warn him, then stopped. Opened your mouth as if to speak, then appeared to decide against it. A steady, pulsing bass from the floors below was all that could be heard, and momentarily, you were reminded of why you were all here in the first place:

Locate Schröder. Corner Schröder. Capture Schröder. Bring the bad man to justice—or else just pump the motherfucker’s head full of lead and be done with it.

You weren’t too familiar with the particulars of the plan, but that had seemed to be the heart of it. Bucky never intended for you to stray from the safety of the lounge upstairs, where half of his team were casing the club through dozens of surveillance cameras, and he would likely take off with Sam and Steve the second you’d finished dressing. Now would be the time to talk.

And you planned to. Eventually.

For now, though, you’d let him sweat it out.

You had long envied women with effortless sex appeal and charisma. The kind that seemed to be made for the stage, capable of transfixing any audience, or individual, with little more than their aura alone. You’d never felt a fraction of that allure emanate from yourself before, personally, but looking at Bucky now brought you as close as you’d ever been. He was enthralled by your every move, he was intrigued at all times, you could see.

He was visibly aroused before you had even touched him. You knew it was cruel and unkind before you were even fully conscious of what you were doing, but you did it.

Someone had to teach this man how to control his anger—and his urges—somehow. Who better than you?

You drew closer to Bucky until your fronts almost touched.

“Baby,” you murmured. Simple, nearly plaintive.

Bucky blanched. Could it be? Had his bullshit gambit actually paid off and made you want to talk, or possibly do more? His hands immediately went for your hips, but you were quick to shove them off. You poked one finger to his chest and shook your head.

“We can talk,” you said, measured.

You pressed into his sternum and pretended not to see a short-lived look of defeat, followed by confusion, cross Bucky’s features. He let you walk him back a step or two.

“Okay. What about?”

Where the hell could you even begin?

“Sit first,” you urged him.

It was then that he realized you’d been walking him toward the plush sectional couch behind him—a cozy little touch to the VIP room only marginally diminished by the fact that it was coated in liquor, coke, and glitter. Bucky sat down anyway.

You didn’t follow, choosing instead to stand as you appeared to…scratch something on your back? Your husband looked on in muted curiosity as you reached behind yourself and tilted your torso just slightly.

Then he heard a zip. A hitch. Another, longer drag.

Bucky knew he was fucked before you ever slipped the dress off your body. You were to make quick work of it, eyes never leaving the man in front of you as you peeled the fabric down your legs and off of your frame entirely. When you were down to just your underwear, you hadn’t even needed to see his face to know exactly where his gaze was likely to land—this part was new to him. You kicked the dress aside and let him stare.

To be fair, it wasn’t every day he got to see a Ruger LC9 strapped to your thigh. Hidden in plain sight now that you were stripped bare before him in just your bra, panties, and garter-like holster across the top of your leg.

“Where’d you get that?” Bucky nearly choked, eyes wide.

“TJ Maxx,” you huffed, “Where the fuck do you think?”

“I never said you could— And Sam and Steve—”

Bucky paused, suddenly aware of how indignant and stupid he was starting to sound. He had given orders to the rest of his team not to let you carry a gun under any circumstances, but here you were. If he weren’t so violently aroused by the sight of you wearing the thing, he probably would’ve been fuming.

“A couple guys from your security detail were kind enough to make an exception,” you smiled, words verging on smug, “And who’s to say what I ‘can’ and ‘can’t’ do, hm?”

Bucky looked as though he were priming himself to stand when you lifted one stiletto to rest between his legs on the seat. A silent and quasi-sweet threat in one gesture.

“I didn’t say you can’t— well—” Bucky faltered at the last.

“You just said you never gave me permission!” You threw your hands up in exasperation, “That doesn’t sound very equitable to me, James.”

Bucky let out a frustrated sigh of his own.

“C’mon. You know what I mean, honey…I just…want to keep you safe. You know that.”

“Self-defense is a pretty integral part of safety.”

“No one’s ever taught you to shoot!”

“You never bothered to ask!”

This was getting a little too aggressive and Jerry Springer-eqsue for your liking. Not nearly sexy or seductive enough to be heading in the direction you wanted. Bucky always brought the bickering out of you, but you had to stay strong. Slow and steady and all that bullshit.

So, before he could respond to your last remark, you lowered yourself over him. Brought both legs to bracket his hips and hovered carefully in place above the bulge in his tactical pants. When he swallowed beneath you and raked his gaze over your body, you felt a twinge of relief.

You sank further down. Dragged your lower half over his own and earned a groan from deep within his throat. Again, his hands flew to your waist to get a good grip, but you pried them off before they could ever fully sink into the flesh.

“What?” Impatience palpable in Bucky’s tone.

“No,” you answered simply.

“No?”

“No, you don’t get to touch me. You don’t own me.”

Your husband shifted under your body, hands helpless at his sides and masseter muscle visibly clenching beneath the skin as he gritted his teeth. He shook his head.

“I never said that I did,” he managed, after a pause, “Baby, I love you.”

“And beating the shit out of my dad was your special way of showing that?”

“That wasn’t—”

“Or snapping at Natasha. And Sam. Steve. Sharon,” you added emphasis to the last name without really meaning to, and Bucky raised an eyebrow.

“Yes. I…lost my temper, I—”

“Couldn’t control your anger. Or wouldn’t. All because my dad made some stupid deal with a man and offered me up as collateral.”

“Because Joey wants you for himself!” Bucky snapped, voice suddenly raised to a near-deafening pitch. He shifted his hips and inadvertently grazed the heat between your legs, drawing a subtle pinch in his brow at the friction, “The deal your dad made was to give you over to Schröder in satisfaction of his own fucking debt—you think I was just gonna sit by and let that happen?!”

In spite of the animosity, you pressed your body to his even harder and watched him fold—if only slightly. He breathed a sharp inhale through his nose and flexed both his hands, as if wanting to make fists. However, he knew better than to move himself around at a time like this.

“What? Like the deal you made with him?”

Your words were clipped, almost cruel. You knew it would hit a nerve in Bucky, and sure enough, he met you right where you wanted him: enraged.

“That’s fucking different,” he seethed, “I would’ve paid your father’s debt without— without anything in it for me.”

“But you didn’t, and you got me.”

“And I love you. I don’t wanna lose you.”

The abrupt vulnerability in his voice was all but agony to hear. For a second, it seemed the anger had fled—or at least been eclipsed by some softer, sweeter shade—only for Bucky to blink again, shake his head, and wear that stupid, hardened look that said, ‘I am not losing this.’ Your hands reached for his belt and started in on the zip.

“You have a real fucked up way of showing love, James.”

To your surprise, Bucky let you continue, unhindered. Blue eyes meeting yours in a cold look.

“Makes two of us,” he mumbled, shrugging his boxers and trousers out of the way anyway.

That was probably true. No person in their right mind would think fucking their husband was the safest, most surefire way to let him know they were pissed at him, but both you and Bucky were working on communication skills, still. You’d get to healthy, non-sex-fueled fights at some point.

As it was, Bucky was fumbling around your thighs, trying to pry them open even wider for better access through your panties. That you allowed, but the second he tried manhandling you over his crotch, you pushed back.

“I wanna do this— without your help,” you said, firm.

Somewhat begrudgingly, Bucky agreed. He let you line yourself up with his length, brace your weight against his shoulders, and when you paused, he made a soft, ‘Hm?’ and glanced down where you looked. Before you could remove the pistol from its holster, he set his palm atop the cool metal.

“Leave it,” he murmured.

His eyes flashed with desire. It was almost more than you could bear, despite the plain fact that riding someone with a firearm strapped to your thigh probably violated every NRA gun safety rule known to man. Whatever.

You lowered yourself onto Bucky, slow, and sucked in a quick breath as he filled you. Your husband groaned.

“Fuck,” followed shortly thereafter, almost timid to crawl out of his mouth as you sank to a fully-seated position on top of him. He gripped the armrest beside him.

When your hips first stirred, you thought the man might burst a blood vessel trying not to move right along with you. You pressed a hand to his chest and reminded him, gently but with purpose: let me fucking do this, Bucky, and he relented. Fisting the couch cushion in something close to a death grip, he nodded his head and heaved a short breath and watched you all the while, grinding on him.

“My pretty…pretty girl,” he managed through his teeth.

He was doing better than you expected. You watched his face contort with pleasure when you lifted yourself up to the tip of his cock and slide back down. You squeezed his shoulders, and you let out a low whimper yourself, and dammit all, you felt that pesky fucking knot already forming in the pit of your stomach. You glanced down and frowned, wanting this to last so much longer.

Fortunately, when your eyes found Bucky’s again, you got the sense that he was in the same boat as you: brow furrowed tight in concentration and lips parted slightly, panting in time with each one of your movements.

“Baby,” he said, the single word treading close to a plea. He paused, dropped a glance to the spot where your bodies were coupled, and swallowed. He cursed aloud, then continued, quietly, “Baby…’m’sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” You bounced a bit faster.

“For— fuckin’ hell, honey— for being a…dick.” The last part of his sentence was pierced by a grunt and a moan, but you heard it just the same.

You clenched around him and tried to keep steady. Manage a small, shit-eating grin above him, even.

“Being a dick?” you repeated, pretending not to know what he meant. When his cock grazed over a particularly sensitive place inside you, you just swallowed the moan and kept going, fingers taking hold of some short tufts of hair at the back of Bucky’s head as you rode him.

“Possessive. Controlling. Kind of a—” Bucky paused to grunt when he bottomed out inside, hands aching to hold you, “—piece of shit.”

Finally, you were getting somewhere. Not nearly close enough to cure the rage or the dark, grating impulses churning inside of him, but good enough, for now.

You reached for his hands and set them over your hips.

The next most natural thing was to lean down and kiss him—let his tongue invade your mouth as soon as he’d caught your lips and show you, with a wordless and fast-moving show of affection, that he missed you. And meant what he’d said. With his hands moving quick to cup your cheeks, hold you to him while he kissed you and stroked deep inside your walls, he gripped you tighter than he had in a while. You could feel strips of tension and desperation bleed through his every fingertip.

“Wanna…fuckin’ kill anyone who even thinks…of— fuck,” Bucky’s words were almost slurred at this point, so close to the point of release it seemed every wild and wanton thought that crossed his mind was likely to dance off his tongue, unchecked. You loved to see him in it this deep.

You also had to remind the murderous alter ego that violence was not the answer…always. You let him pull you closer, bodies pressed flush against each other while you fucked, but you made sure to tilt his chin up to yours so he could see the expression on your face as you spoke.

“Hey,” you pinned him with one stern look, “No murder.”

Bucky frowned.

“Yes murder,” he retorted.

You sighed.

This shit was worse than teaching a dog not to bite.

Instead of pulling back or being strict this time, though, you decided you’d give positive reinforcement a try. You squeezed his short locks of hair, gently, and rolled your hips even tighter to his, eliciting a stuttered groan. You bounced up and down on his cock, pulled him into your chest, and brought your face within an inch of his.

“Promise to be good, and I’ll let you cum inside me,” you murmured into his lips. Not the wisest offer you’d made to date, but one that Bucky seemed to want more than the air in his lungs the second the words escaped you. He pulled you in for a kiss, immediately.

“Fuck, you mean it?” he breathed, in between each sloppy, frenzied movement of his mouth.

“Yeah,” you tried not to grin at how eager he seemed, “You’re gonna apologize to everyone, right?”

“Uh-huh.”

Bucky barely seemed to register anyone or anything but you and your pussy at the moment, yearning for the go-ahead to let himself free inside you. With a nod of your head, you’d let him start meeting your motions with gentle thrusts of his own, and both of you were teetering precariously close to the edge with that added pressure. In spite of both your hot and heady, near-anoetic states, you endeavored to hold out a little longer, legs aching.

“Gonna try and talk to Schröder first?” you panted.

Bucky rutted into you hard, lips twitching into a frown.

“Doesn’t…deserve it,” he grunted, barely able to get the words out as he grabbed your hips and thrusted harder, “A fucking bullet between the eyes is what he needs.”

You eyed him soberly, or as serious as you could manage with the force of his strokes nearly sending you into a spiral. You fought back a moan and gripped him tighter.

“Bucky.”

“Bunny.”

Damn, that name.

“Promise me you won’t kill him—or anyone—tonight.”

“Baby—”

“Promise.”

His thrusts were getting sloppier; with his hands hoisting you just above him and his cock practically drilling into you now, speech and coherent thought were some of the toughest things to accomplish, but he tried it, anyway. Bucky would swallow his pride and accede to his wife, no matter how fucking badly he wanted to cum—and kill that Russian mob boss with both his bare, bloody hands.

He could be better than the Winter Soldier. He would.

With a rough, labored breath, Bucky pulled you in for a kiss and felt you squeeze around his cock like a vice. Still thrusting, clutching you, kissing you hard, he saw both of your releases coming in fast and had to act even quicker.

“I— I promise,” he stammered.

That was all either of you needed, or could bear, quite frankly. In the next second or two, you felt a cord snap in your lower half and a deep, punchy flurry of pleasure follow shortly thereafter, fingers sinking deep in Bucky’s shoulders as he bounced you on his cock and held you close. With your walls still pulsing around him, you felt him chase his own high at a breakneck pace, shooting his load inside you a moment later. It was bad, it was brash, it was a really fucking dumb idea to be playing around with the odds of making babies at a time like this, but it also felt good. Exhilarating, even, feeling him empty his balls in that space between your wet, aching walls and filling you up with his seed.

Maybe just one little mini-Bucky wouldn’t—

STOP.

You barely had the energy to acknowledge, much less arbitrate that bone-crushing conflict between your brain and reproductive organs, so you shut the thoughts up with a quick, messy kiss to Bucky, whose chest was still heaving from the peak of his release, holding you to him.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Maybe even two—

FUCK YOU.

The internal war wouldn’t go away that easy, it seemed.

You kissed Bucky long and hard regardless, hoping the shit would sort itself out before you really had to think. Or worry. Or plan. It was dumb and a bit short-sighted, but feeling that hot, erratic pulse between your legs did a pretty good job of making it seem just fine for right now.

Bucky’s expression was lax. Soaking in the feel of your cum-painted insides still squeezing around him, gently. Had he been anywhere but the heart of Low Town on a covert mission in a strip club, hunting down the head of HYDRA with a whole troupe of trained assassins, he probably would’ve liked to stay that way a little longer. But, as it was, he could already hear folks filing in and out of the lounge, footfalls growing heavier as his team loaded up with guns, grenades, and whatever other weapons they could fit beneath their formal attire.

“Don’t look so sad,” you said as you lifted off of Bucky. Carefully pulling your panties back into place as your husband watched you do it, practically forlorn.

“Too late,” he returned in half a groan, yanking his own clothes where they needed to be and trailing a look up your legs, “Might feel better if we tried it again, though.”

“I bet.” You pulled your dress over your head.

Your husband had just tightened his belt and was rolling his shoulders to get a knot out of his neck, it seemed.

“What are your thoughts on ‘Bucky Jr.’?” he asked casually.

“Don’t start with this shit.”

“Jamie for a girl, maybe?”

“I’ll kill you.”

Your baby talk and death threat tête-à-tête continued for quite some time—just a couple minutes, but they felt like years to you—and before long, you were rubbing the gun under your dress and casting a glare in Bucky’s direction, and he got the sense that it was time to head back to the group. He looped an arm around your waist and led you out into the main space.

The living room was little more than a makeshift headquarters at that point. You’d been expecting to see more faces, but the only ones you found were Sam, Natasha, and a few silent, beefy individuals you assumed were part of security. Where Sharon and your parents had gotten off to was anyone’s guess. You took a seat on the couch.

“Anything yet?” Bucky questioned, approaching the panel of surveillance screens with a wary eye.

“We’ve had intermittent visuals on the second floor for forty minutes or so—” Sam motioned to one screen on the left, “—but Schröder hasn’t moved. Hasn’t done anything but bullshit and booze and buy rounds for his group. Won’t even talk to the dancers, which is weird.”

From what you’d been told, the goal was to get Schröder off the second floor, up to one particular private suite on fourth, then send in an agent dressed as a bottle girl to make entry as soon as the rest of the party had arrived, keeping in contact with HQ, and Sam, via PTT earpiece all the while. The details from that point were hazy, but you’d gotten the sense that someone—or, more likely, a sizable and duly-equipped group of someones—was lying in wait somewhere in the suites surrounding them. Steve had been tasked with leading the incursion, though where he could be found, or whom he was with, remained largely a mystery to you. Recon in a bustling, crowded area with music blaring on all four sides was a formidable undertaking, and you could tell both Sam and Natasha had been having trouble keeping tabs on every player. They seemed on edge, monitoring the screens.

“Won’t talk to the dancers?” Bucky’s brow pinched in.

“Won’t talk to anyone outside of his inner circle,” Natasha said, grim, “Which leads me to think he’s not staying here long. Probably called his associates in for a speedy-quick deal because he knows he’s being tailed.”

“Hasn’t engaged with any of our undercovers?” Bucky pressed.

Natasha and Sam shook their heads. Your husband groaned.

“Then how the hell are we getting him upstairs to the champagne room? If he hasn’t budged and doesn’t look like he’s planning to stay?”

The looks on the faces in front of him said there wasn’t one readily available answer—or any answer at all. Bucky turned back to the screens and seemed to survey the whole panel, gaze cooling with the first inkling that this operation may be classed a failure in the very near future.

He barked some half-coherent babble about strategy, security, and failsafes, then barked for Steve.

And, as if on cue, Steve appeared at the threshold of the room a moment later, breathless and slightly flushed.

“Rogers, you’re suppos—” Sam started, eyes widening at something you couldn’t quite discern from his arrival.

“I know, I know,” Steve cut in, fast, “Want the good news or bad news fir—”

“Just spit it out,” Natasha said, preemptively unnerved.

“Schröder’s headed to the suite right now—”

Bucky raised both eyebrows at Steve as he continued.

“—but they won’t let Wanda in.”

‘Fuck’ was the first audible word from your husband, then Sam, in short order. Wanda must have been the agent playing bottle girl upstairs. This didn’t sound good.

“Why the fuck won’t they let her in?” Bucky snapped.

“Someone might’ve tipped his security off. Or else they’re just being extra cautious about who’s let in.”

Steve fiddled with one cufflink on his suit and tried not to appear too despondent, but the implications of this single event were huge, you could read on every face in the room. Wanda had been meant to do something important before the rest of the brigade mobilized—take some key step that couldn’t be omitted from the plan.

“So we retreat.” Natasha was not one to mince her words, per usual, “Get your guys out of the suites now.”

Bucky’s fingers twitched at his sides.

“No,” he said, sharply, “We’re not doing that.”

“Bucky.”

“We’ll get someone in there. We’ll find another way.”

Your husband was already pacing the space in front of you, and you looked on with uncertain eyes. You chanced a look to Natasha, Sam, and Steve, all of whom shared similar, albeit slightly more wearied, expressions as they watched and murmured among themselves.

“None of our people are getting up there, Barnes. Schröder’s got a goddamn sixth sense about our agents or something,” Steve said, at length.

“They’re all in masks—for a fucking masquerade—and we can’t get one person in?! In-and-out, that’s all it needs to be,” Bucky growled.

“We can’t get in there, that’s the point,” Sam sighed, “Masks or no masks, they know our people too well and won’t let us through.”

“We can at least try, for Christ’s sake. That’s what we came this whole fuckin’ way to do, right?”

When no one said a word in response, Bucky scowled,

“Right?”

There was a lull in the conversation that seemed to last for minutes, when, in reality, couldn’t have been more than ten or fifteen seconds. Tensions were high. You could tell from the look in Bucky’s eye he was trying not to lash out as he normally would, but in no time at all, you saw a fractional break in his resolve. You feared he might fly off the handle, or else compromise something that couldn’t be spared at a time like this. You swallowed.

“I’ll go.”

It was stupid.

Every face turned to regard you as if you were stupid, you assumed as soon as the words had left your mouth.

But then, much to your surprise, Steve was perking up, eyes suddenly brighter as his gaze tilted to you.

“She could,” he said, shortly.

“Should she?” Sam seemed to murmur at once.

“Sure, why not?”

“I can think of plenty reasons why not,” Natasha was quick to counter, but beneath that pensive expression, you could’ve sworn you saw the smallest degree of contemplation. Even hope, from the looks of it.

‘NO’ was Bucky’s wordless, immediate, and resounding answer as he kicked whatever furniture—a footstool, this time—was closest to him and sent it flying toward the door. It seemed that self-control of his had worn off fast.

“No,” he affirmed in a word a second later, jaw clenched, “She is going nowhere near that suite.”

He didn’t even spare you a glance while he spoke. He was too busy eyeing the others, Steve specifically, as his chest rose and fell in uneven breaths and a light, blooming tinge of pink rose the length of his neck. If it weren’t for that staunch and menacing look on his face, he would’ve almost looked cute, you mused to yourself.

But, pretty man be damned, you wouldn’t stand for being ignored. Fuck that noise.

“I will,” you returned, a little more resolute this time.

Now Bucky had no choice but to pivot to you. His expression softened some, but not by much.

“No,” he said, again.

“Yes.”

“Baby—”

“Don’t fucking ‘baby’ me, Barnes. You said someone who wasn’t an agent could make it up there, and I can do it. Or try, at least, like you just said.”

If your attention hadn’t been fixed on your husband, you probably would’ve caught sight of more than one thinly veiled smile from the group around you. Natasha, in particular, all but tickled to see someone stand up to Bucky and give him a taste of his own shit—and live to tell the tale. The sight of her boss’s eyes almost glossy in the first tender look she’d seen from him in years was almost too much to bear. Steve stood grinning beside her, and Sam narrowly stifled an exhale of amusement. Neither you nor Bucky flinched from your positions.

“We can’t risk you being around him. They’re already all on high-alert,” your husband said after a calming breath.

“As are all your trigger-happy comrades waiting just ten feet outside the door, right?” you replied, “What is it, like, five, ten of them in total?”

“Twenty,” Steve interjected. Bucky shot him a look.

“I don’t care. I don’t want you up there when that fucker was just trying to— to kidnap you last week. I’m not—”

“Right. Right. Trying to kidnap me, not kill me. If Schröder wanted me dead, he would’ve made pretty quick work of that before,” you cut in, tone a touch more deliberate, “Even if he sniffs me out, he’s not gonna screw this whole deal by hurting me now.”

But the mere suggestion of harm to you had seemed to raise every hair on its end for Bucky, and then he was shaking his head, evidently more stubborn than ever.

“No, fuck. Don’t start,” he snapped with his newfound indignation, then, quieter, “Please…don’t, honey.”

You wouldn’t bow that easily.

“Why not?”

Truly, Bucky couldn’t be certain if it was the lilt in your voice, the pinch at the sides of your lips, or simply the sincerity consuming your eyes as you spoke to him, but the man could not stomach the thought of you, his own wife, being a stone’s throw from mortal danger and beyond his protection—or control, he wasn’t sure which one of the two was more dominating. Some cruel and unforgiving knot inside him came to tighten, and twist, and, nauseating as it was set on escape, the white-hot surge rose like bile in his throat. Before he could stop it, the words were spilling out through his teeth like froth:

“Cause I fuckin’ said so, that’s why. That’s it. It’s settled. You’re not allowed anywhere near him, you hear me?”

What Bucky hadn’t expected was the swift ascent back to your feet. The cool and almost careless expression as you rose, as though his words hadn’t registered at all.

He certainly hadn’t expected you to check him with your shoulder as you passed, knocking him slightly off-balance as he turned, in shock, and watched you give him one manicured middle finger over your left shoulder.

“Rogers, I’d like you to escort me upstairs.”

Worst of all, Bucky hadn’t expected Steve to listen.

Fortunately for him, the night was still young and with it, more than ample opportunity to be proven wrong again. And again.

“And again,” Steve murmured low in your ear as you walked side-by-side down the corridor on fourth floor, “If you get even the slightest bad feeling, you leave.”

“Might as well dip right now,” you muttered, adjusting your mask. Your attempt at humor fell flat with the man.

“I’m serious. We’ll be right outside and listening in from headquarters, but HYDRA is not a faction to fuck around with, or underestimate—as I assume you know by now.”

You did. Or would, eventually.

After the mask, you were busy trying to yank the back of your cocktail waitress dress to cover the full swell of your ass, not just the upper two-thirds. Unsurprisingly, it was a tougher task than you had been prepared to handle. Your new heels were tight and impossibly high, your new dress a mere scrap of pink fabric riddled with sequins and glitter, and your mask—holy fuck, were you glad Mardi Gras was not a year-round affair. Bucky had insisted on the fluffiest, stuffiest, full-face covering to ensure that no one would be able to recognize you, but in exchange for your anonymity, you had had to give up breathing, it seemed.

And then there was that vial of poison between your tits.

Sam had assured you that it was a nonlethal dose before handing it over; Steve had urged you, discreetly, to pour Schröder two for good measure. Natasha had overheard the latter and threatened legal action if he ever tried killing a target without her permission. You hadn’t spent much longer getting ready in the bathroom after that. Then you’d brushed past your husband the second you’d stepped out and strapped that last, semi-lethal ‘accessory’ to your bra before taking the lift upstairs.

As it turned out, you weren’t able to escape him entirely.

While you walked with Steve, Bucky was in your ear.

Literally—the man was talking nonstop through your earpiece and clearly had no intention of shutting the fuck up anytime soon. You silently wondered if there was a way to adjust the volume on the gadget as you ambled along.

“Honey.” There was a slightly more mechanical buzz to Bucky’s voice over your private line. You ignored it.

“So just find the cup he’s drinking from and pour the serum in?” you reiterated to Steve for the third time in the last ten minutes.

Your companion nodded, rattling off a few extra precautions while Bucky’s tone rang out a bit louder:

“Honey? You there?”

At last, you stuck your finger to the tiny flesh-colored device in your ear and snapped, “What?!”

“I love you.”

This fucker.

“I love you too. You’re still high on my shit list, though,” you answered, low and begrudgingly.

“Did I hear ‘hit list’? You’re gonna let me tap that later?”

If you didn’t have about fifteen different reasons to hate the man’s guts, you almost would’ve chuckled. At length, you muttered a quiet, ‘Kiss my ass, Barnes,’ and turned back to Steve, who was just then leading you closer to a room roped off and marked ‘EXECUTIVE SUITE.’ Your stomach did a flip as you paused around the corner.

“Right there. All you gotta do is knock and say a guy named Zemo sent you,” Steve spoke slowly, as if he were teaching arts and crafts to a five-year-old and not a woman about to embark on a high-risk sedation mission.

You nodded and took the silver tray from him carefully.

All the platter contained was an oversized bottle of Brut and a silver bucket, but damn if it didn’t feel like you were carrying the world and some change on that thing. You shifted your weight from foot to foot and turned in the direction of the door just a few yards away.

The time for painstakingly descriptive instructions and pep talks was long past you now. You nodded to Steve one last time and started to wobble over.

The entryway was flanked by two muscle-bound men. You approached with a smile.

“Hi. Zemo sent me.”

You didn’t know who the fuck Zemo was.

You hoped they wouldn’t ask, or notice how stilted and awkward you’d sounded just then. You swallowed a peach-sized lump in your throat and smiled again.

The one on the left grunted. The one on the right gave a nod. Without a word spoken between them, the former opened the door and made way for you to step over the threshold. You couldn’t help but notice both with their eyes trained straight on your tits as you passed by.

There was no way that had just worked. No pat-downs or harrowing threats? Not a single, searing interrogation into your identity or what you might be there to do?

Men were dumb, you decided, far too easily deceived by a decent pair of tits—HYDRA security personnel or not.

But you already knew that. You stepped inside.

The fetid stench of half a dozen blazing cigars and booze spilled on every surface were the first to greet you. A wave of smoke, then a bone-jostling bum bum bum to the beat of what sounded like a Don Toliver song came next. You almost couldn’t bear to make your feet move.

But then, shortly, you had to because a shrill, shimmer-doused beauty was waving you over toward the kitchen.

“Ba-by!” she shrieked, gesture growing frantic, “Bring it over!”

You walked with the tray out in front of you, careful with your steps across the sticky floor. When you made it over, where one other girl was stirring wildly at some concoction on the counter, you stopped, and had only to stand for a second longer, because the redhead that had beckoned you was taking the tray, setting it down, and grabbing something thin and pointy. You’d barely even registered it as an ice pick until the thing was thrust in your face.

“Crush it up,” she ordered, one curt nod toward a block of ice nearby. Evidently not giving a shit who you were or where you’d come from either. You guessed Wanda had just gotten unlucky, or they’d all stopped giving a fuck once Schröder’s men had really started drinking.

And drinking they had been, as your eyes surveyed the scene. Half-naked women with fully-clothed men, dressed head to toe in the finest of suits that were probably soaked through to the bone with sweat and Stolichnaya. You almost shivered at the sight of all the masked, wildly gyrating pricks, fumbling desperately through one verse of ‘After Party.’ You could vomit.

But where was your prick? That grimy little shit, Joey.

“Back of the room by the couch,” Bucky said, as if he’d read your mind.

Then a beat.

“Wait. Shit. That isn’t him. Schröder’s over by the door.”

How many tall, lanky blonds could there be in this place? You cast a sweeping look across the room and received your answer in less than two shakes of a lamb’s tail—there were a shit ton of Joey lookalikes all around.

“Careful. Mr. Schröder’s been on edge all night. Might bite your head off if you stare too long.”

The girl that was stirring had apparently caught you looking. She set the spoon aside and turned, but not before chancing a quick glance at the man Bucky had identified to you as your target. The man lifted his gaze.

You chipped away at the ice even faster.

Crush the shit, make a drink, pour the serum, and get it in him. Now. Don’t draw his attention just yet, though.

Something in your head told you to steal another look. You knew it was a bad idea, but you went on and did it anyway—and fortunately, felt a wave of relief at seeing that he’d retreated somewhere back with his friends. The ice pick in your hands made it through the last block.

“I’ll serve the shots, you bring the bottle to Mr. Pierce.”

Mr. Who?

“One of Schröder’s associates. Roll with it.”

It was Natasha’s voice now. Measured, but tense.

“He’s the older gentlemen straight ahead. He probably ordered the champagne for him and the others.”

That was Sam. You could only imagine how all of them looked huddled around the surveillance panel with the transmitter to your earpiece being passed about from person to person. The grip Bucky must’ve had on his gun, or his switchblade, or whatever weapon he could seize to make himself feel a little less helpless. But he was—as were you. And truthfully, there was nothing either one of you could do about that until Schröder was in custody. This was the first step toward reaching that goal.

So you walked with the bottle, now bathed in a tub of ice. You tried to keep steady, but the staggering drunks all around were making that tough, to say the least.

When one man struck you straight in the chest, elbows jutting out as he danced, you stumbled back a step. Nearly lost the tray for half a second, then recovered.

Until the dipshit hit you again.

This time you truly almost sent the bottle sailing for the floor, grip slipping on the tray and knees buckling underneath you as the force of the blow set you back. You bit a quick, ‘Fuck!’ in the air, seized the platter twice as hard and braced your weight against something firm behind you. A shelf, a TV stand, or something. Maybe a half-wall if you were lucky enough not to have careened against some expensive piece of furniture. You sighed.

“Everything alright?” a voice rumbled behind you.

Or a person. Yeah, a person would be pretty fucking bad to bump into at a time like this. Your whole body froze.

You turned.

“Ye-es sir. Yes, sir.” You quickly righted your tone the second you realized it was someone important.

Not Schröder, but someone who seemed to be big-name enough; you just weren’t sure who. The man smiled down at you from under his Venetian mask.

“Is this for me?” he nodded toward the tray, half-teasing.

You swallowed.

“Are you Mr. Pierce?” you asked.

The man’s grin stretched even wider.

“Nope, I’m Ward. but I can take you to Pierce.”

For the first time that night, your heart swelled with some promise. You thanked him quietly, gratefully, then made as if to follow him back through the crowd, when all of a sudden, you stopped. That heartfelt swelling in your chest halted right along with it. You almost dropped the tray.

“Schröder!” Ward bellowed.

No, no, now you were actually going to lose your shit. There was no way in hell you were keeping a grip on this silver little plate any longer without crying or screaming or shitting your pretty, pink, sequin minidress right there. You almost shrieked when a hand reached for the tray.

“Pierce got you doing all the heavy lifting, huh, honey? The bastard.” Even through his own ornate mask, you could tell Joey was grinning—glinting with conceit, as was his prerogative. He took the load off your hands.

“Take it easy now, he’s just—”

“Staring at your rack. Pull your top up, baby, please.”

The chatter in your ear had switched from Sam to Bucky at nearly lightning speed. You glanced down at your cleavage and tugged the fabric up quick, heart beating even faster underneath it.

In front of you, Joey Schröder was all teeth. A gruesome spectacle in spite of its seemingly benevolent intentions, one smile could have turned your stomach sideways. And it did—you wanted to throw up again—but you knew you had bigger fish to fry, and evil mobsters to poison. You didn’t flinch when Schröder nudged you in the shoulder and made his way ahead, coaxing you to follow.

You didn’t tense and didn’t protest. Didn’t blink when he led you straight through the party, around a few topless performers on poles, and into a backroom lounge.

In fact, your mind practically sang as he led you inside.

It was just every other nerve, muscle, and trembling tendon not under the immediate control of your brain that needed soothing. You could’ve sworn the men on the couches would see your legs shaking as soon as you trudged into the room and sniff you out on sight.

But if they had, they didn’t show it.

No one moved when you entered, save for a few lopsided grins and tilts of happy, masked faces. Sizing you up. Drinking you in. Far too easily mistakable for a band of apex predators that had just caught wind of their next meal, and not a room full of sleazy Russian mobsters. You bit back your grating disgust with a smile.

“Got a present for ya, Pierce,” Schröder announced.

A honey-blond head flecked with silver and white sat up from the sofa. Presumably the one who’d ordered the champagne.

“Oh yeah? What’d ya pay for her?” he returned, mouth curling up in a wicked smile.

Even above the booming music, you could make out peals of laughter as the men around you shared in some lewd, crude comments and several whispers exchanged between them. You would’ve liked to grab your bottle by the neck and break it over the nearest patron’s head, but then you remembered yourself, and your mission. You stilled beside Schröder and let them crack a few more tasteless jokes at your expense. Schröder chuckled and set the tray down in front of a thoroughly amused Pierce.

Then he grabbed you by the waist.

“Right. I forgot to ask—what is your price, sweetheart?” he said, swiftly pulling you up to his front.

Your hands flew to his chest reflexively. Your nose scrunched in a wince at the sound of an electric shout:

“GET HIM OFF OF HER!”

“Bucky, hey, hey, we can’t just—”

“NO! THAT’S NOT PART OF THE FUCKING PL—”

The line went silent. You scratched at the space behind your ear, trying hard not to betray any pain on your face, or the fear for what might be going on downstairs.

Clearly, you failed on both fronts, because Joey’s grip only tightened. He peered down at you, curious.

“You deaf or somethin’, sugar? What’s your price?”

You batted your eyes, momentarily struggling for words.

But then, somehow, you managed to choke out, stomach churning with bile:

“Whatever you want, sir.”

You felt your soul drain out through the soles of your shoes as you’d said it. Something fell from your face—most likely a light behind your eyes and any semblance of self-worth as you stood before the man who had tried to buy you, drug you, and kill half your family, and then pretend like you wanted to dance for him, or do more.

It wasn’t real.

It wasn’t right by any means, but it was all just roleplay.

Roleplay.

You had to keep telling yourself that as you let Schröder’s hand glide up your spine and grip the back of your neck, tilting your head up to his. It was just like your husband and his cold-blooded Winter Soldier persona, you tried to convince the increasingly frightened voice in your mind. Just like him, just like your sweet and soft and sadistic—

“Bucky,” you whispered unconsciously.

You knew he couldn’t hear you now. It was almost insane to think anyone could save you now but yourself.

“What?” Joey exhaled sharply.

You froze in fear.

“Five hundred bucks,” you corrected your error quickly.

You weren’t sure Schröder was convinced.

“Five hundred bucks for one lap dance and some fun?” he scoffed. Then he squeezed your neck a little tighter and drew your face within an inch of his own. You could feel the hot puffs of breath, smell the rancid liquor on his tongue, but you stayed where he held you in place and tried not to grimace when he said, “That’s a damn steal.”

Your lips were shaking something awful under your mask. You couldn’t even begin to imagine what kissing this vile, soulless bastard would taste like, but you feared it might come sooner than you knew, because Joey was drawing you even more rough and tight into his chest.

Just when your mouth was less than a hair’s breadth away from his, though, you heard a woman’s scream.

Then another. And another. And another.

Before long, almost half the suite had erupted in shrieks, it seemed, and the sounds of their horror were shortly supplanted by a series of explosions. And gunfire.

Johann Schröder dropped your body like the worst habit known to man and went bounding away from the turmoil as fast as he could. This time, you did trip over your heels and took a nasty little nosedive to the ground. Fumbling, crawling, then sliding across the shag carpet on your belly with your eyes in wild search of somewhere to hide.

You spotted a coffee table and muscled your way over.

“SCHRÖDER!” a voice roared from somewhere behind.

Again, you knew better than to look, but the fear of not knowing who, or what, might be barreling your direction at any second outweighed more sensible considerations. You stole a look over your shoulder and nearly screamed.

A man with a pitch black balaclava stormed into the lounge and wasted no time setting sights on his intended target—raising a Heckler & Koch MP7A1 submachine gun to his face and firing the second the impulse struck.

You watched a once-handsome, lively, and drunk man turn to shredded, fleshy carnage in less than an instant and fall right beside your head with a thud. Your hand was your only defense to keep the shriek inside your chest, but even that blockade was crumbling fast as the blood-soaked assassin wrenched the body in the air.

The gunman tore the mask from his victim’s head and inspected the face—or what was left of it. He cursed.

You could tell from your close proximity to the blues of his eyes, and that sigh, you wouldn’t need to ask at all. You just sat there and stared, knees hugged to your chest as Bucky threw the body back down as hard as he could.

“FUCK!” he bellowed, voice flooded with rage.

Steve stumbled in with his gun at the ready. He eyed the man on the floor, then you, then a dozen other flailing, desperate partygoers trying to escape the suite all around you. You just drew in even tighter to the table.

“What happened?! Where’d he go?”

Rogers, like you, seemed unable to look away from the carcass, but for entirely different reasons. He appeared to be studying it just as your husband had been.

“It’s not Schröder!” Bucky yelled.

“Where the fuck’s he— shit.”

Suddenly, an unknown assailant opened fire on the two men from the opposite end of the room. Both dove for cover, but not before Bucky grabbed you and dragged you, full-force, behind the sofa. It didn’t seem there was time for sweet words or consolations, his eyes wide and half-crazed as they bore into yours just in front of you.

“Don’t move,” he barked, readjusting his grip on his gun in one hand and feeling around all over your sides with the other. On seeing and feeling no trauma, he nodded his head and moved his hand to your cheek, just briefly.

“Honey, I need you here—right here for me, alright? Don’t move a muscle,” he spoke low as Steve covered from above, rapid-fire shots ringing out on both sides.

Rushed and furious as he was, he couldn’t help but linger on that face a half-second longer than he intended. You were shaking your head and hugging your knees, meeting his eyes with what seemed to be reproach.

“You promised, Bucky,” you hissed through gritted teeth.

You were in shock, that was what it was, he kept telling himself. You didn’t know what you were saying, and he needed to turn away to help Steve, but then you were eyeing that body—that man he could’ve sworn was Schröder when he’d pumped him full of bullets—and you were turning back to him with unmistakable disgust.

He would’ve fallen to his knees and begged his wife for forgiveness if there weren’t more pressing matters at hand. Like your life and his, and Steve’s—and Sam’s, now, bursting onto the scene with a semi-automatic rifle of his own as he helped his friend gun down the last of the stragglers. Bucky knew he had to help them, too.

So he’d stumbled back on his feet, less conscious than acting on pure impulse, and he joined in on the gunfire.

He reckoned he liked it. However long it lasted. He just rolled his shoulders once and sent the rounds flying; he ducked and he moved and he stood and he crouched and he fired every shot as if it were as easy to him as breathing. He didn’t think. When the three of them had cleared the lounge, and Sam and Steve tore off toward the two or three remaining rooms at the rear of the suite, Bucky still wasn’t fully present in his body. All he knew was that his clip was near-empty and his side was in pain—and the room they had emptied was safe. For you.

For you—where the fuck had you gone?!

Bucky barreled past the spot behind the couch where you were supposed to have been, but weren’t, and made a beeline for the closest room over. And nothing. More empty, threadbare, and bloody rooms filled with bodies that didn’t belong to you, and shortly he was yelling for Sam or Steve or anyone in that massacred suite to help him find his wife. The breaths in his chest were heaving.

He turned once, twice, eyes roaming wildly and hand grabbing fast for more ammo. He couldn’t find any more. Beads of sweat began to collect on his brow, and just when he turned to call for backup once more, he paused.

In his periphery, he saw two forms.

He stopped fully and turned to the side.

If it was fear he had felt just then, he wasn’t aware of it. Instead, it seemed a white-hot and blinding ire had taken over, and rather than grow timid, or afraid, he went cold.

“Bucky…don’t,” you managed in a strangled, hoarse tone, throat visibly contained by a blade being held to it.

Behind you, a man stood masked and unflinchingly calm.

Bucky knew that wouldn’t do—no matter how hard or helplessly you pleaded with him then not to do it, please don’t do it, Bucky, please. All he heard in his head was the throb of his pulse, and all he saw before him was red.

He fired without a second thought.

The round just grazed the edge of the man’s cheek.

Bucky swore. Tried to fire his gun again. It was empty.

Still not thinking, much less hearing his wife’s desperate cries for him to spare the man’s life, he grabbed the smallest, sharpest object that was closest to him and charged your would-be attacker head on.

Both men fell to the floor, but only Bucky was mobile.

Only Bucky held the weapon now, as his opponent’s knife had been lost somewhere in the skirmish, and he was wielding it now faster than he ever had before, he thought—an ice pick, of all fucking things—driving it into the man’s face and neck and chest without the slightest regard for anything else.

Somewhere far outside his mind, he heard you scream. Felt you claw at his arm, grip at his shirt, make some wild, shrill, and vehement pleas that he couldn’t begin to understand in this state, and he continued. Hadn’t even considered slowing down until the man’s carotid was shredded in two and spewing blood all over his front.

Bucky couldn’t be sure how long it lasted like that; all he remembered was stumbling back, energy spent, fist still holding the pick and eyes duly glued to the body he’d just stabbed through and maimed until no life was left.

He saw you crawl over the body.

He wanted to warn you not to touch it. Lifted a hand and tried his best to form words, but nothing came out.

He watched you lift the mask.

From that point on, he was certain he had to have been seeing things that weren’t really there. Trauma-induced psychosis, he tried to assuage himself silently—that was the only explanation for the scene unfolding before him. Surely it couldn’t be you cupping that face, pinching that skin, shaking that cold and lifeless, blood-drenched frame beneath you as a sob racked through your own.

That signet ring on a pinky couldn’t have been real.

Bucky didn’t want to believe that gruesome discovery made manifest before him—in many ways, he couldn’t—but then it was painted clear as day as the cries endured, nothing changed, and a helpless, frantic wail rang out:

“DAD!”

—

Taglist: (If I missed anyone please lmk!!) @vicmc624, @she-could-never, @mcira, @kentokaze, @identity2212, @unaxv, @buchi91, @ordelixx @stinkerbelle007, @opibarnes @wilsons-striped-ties @desigirlxx, @pono-pura-vida, @geminiflanagansblog, @buggy14, @sky-full-0f-fl0wers, @buckysdoll1520, @armystay89, @minimarvelingmarvel, @kunakizen, @ghostiebby06, @blackhawkfanatic @dameron-grant-spector @sushiseoks @deansapplepie @mrsjoequinn @gyokujyn @lunaroserites @first-edition @kaybaby2494, @jaggedsi @excusememrbarnes @daisychainsoflove, @mostlymarvelgirl @diannana @shawnberry @yujyujj @urmomsalex @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @athenabarnes @christinabae @sluttylittlewaistenthusiast @wintrsoldrluvr @bethbunnyy @i-heart-smut @dixsond @aagn360 @dahliawolfe @fantasyfootballchampion @lilyevanstan1325 @kandis-mom @thealyrs

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x you #marvel #mcu #mob bucky barnes #marvel smut #marvel x reader #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #mob!bucky #mob!bucky barnes #mob bucky #mafia!bucky #mafia bucky barnes

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2hightocare · 3 months

Text

UNEXPECTED NEWS!

Synopsis: Pregnant with your first child, how do you plan on dropping the news to your husband?

Genre: married au! KUWTB!

Warnings: whole lotta fluff.. cussing, mentions of sex, playful banter, found family… just fucking fluff bye.

a/n: well long awaited drabble.. I honestly adore all of them so much… Jungkook and oc were being extra cutesy (they usually play fighting all the time) in this.. enjoy🤍 ps I’m high as fuck so ignore all mistakes.

ask! KUWTB💌

“You’re fucking pregnant?” Your best friend whispers, Eunbi stares at you with wide eyes and mouth hanging open.

You had been feeling weird these past few days, from your emotions being all over the place to throwing up whenever you ate something. Jungkook was worried about what was wrong, but you just told him that you were on your period, which was a lie since you hadn’t had it in some time now.

So, here you are, sitting against the wall in the bathroom of Eunbi’s house with a positive pregnancy test in your hand. “I’m going to be an auntie!” Eunbi dances in front of you, her blonde hair coming undone from her bun.

“Oh my god, I’m pregnant.” It finally clicks in your brain that a small human is forming in your belly at this very moment, tears start streaming down your face.

You and Jungkook have been married for five years now. When you first got married, you both said you would enjoy your marriage and have fun. And that’s exactly what you did; you traveled a lot, went out to parties until five in the morning, did spontaneous stuff all the time.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Eunbi rushes to your side, kneeling down in front of you, lifting your face up. “Are these happy tears or sad tears?” She asks, her thumbs wiping your tears away, ruining your makeup.

“Both.” You sniffle, your eyes finally meeting her hazel eyes.

“Wanna talk about it?” Eunbi asks slowly, trying to read your expression.

Eunbi has been your best friend since college days; she was your dorm roommate. You both majored in the same thing, meaning you guys had almost every class together.

“It’s just that..” you pout, as the tears continue to fall.

“I’m happy, I’m really happy. But Kook and I haven’t talked about having a baby anytime soon. I don’t know how he’ll react.” You explain, as Eunbi only nods her head.

“Y/n, that man loves you so much, it’s even absurd what he would do for you. Knowing him, he would literally jump off a cliff for you. I don’t think he’ll react badly, but if he does, I’ll have the guys throw him off the cliff. Anyways, he loves you a lot with a baby or without a baby.” Eunbi says, helping you stand up before hugging.

“How do you think I should tell him?” You sniffle, as Eunbi chuckles, letting go of you.

“Pregnancy reveal plan in the making!” Eunbi says.

“And can we get out of here, this is where Yoongi takes his shits, it kinda smells bad,” Eunbi scrambles to the door, which has you laughing, following her lead out of the bathroom.

…

It’s been two days since you found out you were pregnant, but you haven’t told Jungkook anything yet. Eunbi and you planned a way of telling him the day you found out, so here you are, nervous as hell in Jungkook's car, trying to calm your nerves.

After a couple of minutes, you step out of the car with your shoulder bag and some shopping bags. You lock the car behind you and make your way to the main door.

“Hi baby, how did it go?” Your husband greets you the minute you walk in from the couch. “What did you buy?” Jungkook pauses the show he was just watching, putting all his attention on you, making grabby hands for you to go to him.

“Want a haul?” You giggle, making your way to him who pats his lap for you to sit on, which you do after dropping the bags beside him.

“Better have used my card,” he gives you a glare which you only roll your eyes playfully, reaching for your Prada bag before pulling out his black card and handing it to him. “Keep it, you use it more than me,” waves you off, giving your neck a wet kiss.

“Did the girls not go? I was on the phone with Taehyung, and he said Ari was making dinner.” Jungkook gives your thigh a squeeze, helping you adjust in his lap. “Ari said she was really busy with work, and Lora was taking care of Jiho since Jin is working.” You explain, running your fingers through his messy curls.

“You went by yourself? I could’ve gone with you, baby.” Jungkook pouts at you, which you shake your head with a smile. “Eunbi went with me, plus you had work,” You squeeze his cheeks.

“Tsk, I missed you,” He smiles, pulling your face closer to his before connecting his lips to yours. Your eyes immediately flutter closed, mirroring his smile against your lips.

“I have to show you something.” You bring up, your stomach doing a turn. “Show me,” He smiles, patting your thigh, before you climb off his lap, reaching for the shopping bags.

“Are you going to give me a haul?” Jungkook raises an eyebrow at you, which you only wink back as a response.

“So, I got a lot of makeup,” you say, showing him every product you got, which he listened to carefully even though he had no clue what half of the stuff you bought is used for. “I got us these, so we can all match,” you pull out the biggest Nike shoe box first, passing it to your husband.

“These are sick as fuck,” Jungkook holds up the black and white high tops. “Let me see yours.” He motions to the other box in the bag; you hand him your shoe box. Instead of high tops, they’re low instead.

“Super cute, they match your outfit right now,” He says about your pink long sleeve bodysuit. “They do, don't they,” You say, cracking your fingers nervously to show him the much smaller box in the bag.

“Oh, who’s this one for?” Jungkook reached for the small box, opening it to be met with tiny matching shoes. “Are these for Jiho? I don’t think they would fit him,” Your husband brings up the only child in the family as he holds the tiny shoe in his palm.

“They’re not for Jiho..” You nervously say, as you dig into your bag, pulling out the positive pregnancy test.

“You’re fucking kidding,” Jungkook's mouth hangs open as he stares at your teary eyes. You shake your head, tears start falling down your eyes watching your husband that’s stuck in place with wide eyes.

“I’m going to pass out, baby, are you serious?” Jungkook's face scrunches up as tears fill his eyes, “baby, you’re pregnant?” He drops the shoes and moves closer to you, his hands holding your face waiting for you to say something.

“Yes, I’m pregnant,” You sniffle with a smile, reaching to wipe your husband's tears. Before you know it, he jumps up, fist bumps the air, and starts screaming.

“Fuck yes!” He shouts to the air as he runs around the house as you burst out laughing, “I’m going to be a dad, oh my fucking god!” He runs back to pick you up from the carpet, smashing his lips on yours, spinning around.

“You’re going to be a mommy, you’re going to be such an amazing mom,” Jungkook says between each kiss he leaves all over your face, making you giggle. You felt stupid for even worrying in the first place how he would react.

“I think it’s going to be a boy,” Jungkook sets you down, “Baby, it’s been two days since I found out,” You say,

“You knew for two days and you didn’t tell me?” He gasps dramatically, “I was thinking about how to tell you,” you reassure him, which he only nods, giving you a big fat kiss.

“Do you think it’s too soon to buy his crib right now?” Jungkook asks enthusiastically.

“Jeon..” you give him a look, “yes it’s too early and don’t call it ‘he,’ we don’t know what it might be,” you say, before getting on your tiptoes, leaving a kiss on his lips, leaving him in the living room making your way to the kitchen.

“You just called him and ‘it,’ that's so much worse!” Jungkook argues, following behind you.

…

“Your handwriting is shit, to say the least,” you say as your husband writes on the small index card. “You have a way to flirt with me, baby, thank you so much, I love you too,” he says as he glares up at you before returning to writing on the card.

“Do you even think they’ll open the cookies?” You pop your hip out, watching your husband. “You know they only come to our house for the cookies, right? They don’t give a fuck about us,” Jungkook bites a laugh as you pout. “Well, now I don’t want to tell them shit,” you joke, staring at the words on the card.

“Do you even think they’ll understand that? They’re a little slow,” Jungkook wraps his hand over your shoulder, messing up your perfectly curled hair. “Um, they'll figure it out, they got a Joonie to help them,” you shrug before stealing a cookie from the packet and running off.

“I’m so hungry,” Lora says, her hand on her stomach as if that would silence the growling happening inside.

“There are cookies on the counter,” you point to the kitchen, which Jungkook smirks at you.

With that, everyone stands up, dashing to the kitchen, acting like they never had a cookie in their life. You truly had no idea how all of you became obsessed with chocolate chip cookies; all of your guys' houses have a bunch of packages lying everywhere to eat. It was common and normal for all of you; for others, it might seem bizarre seeing grown adults fight over cookies.

“I swear cookies taste so much better in Kook's house,” Jimin rants as he watches Hoseok open the bag, stopping in his tracks as he reads the note. Lora and Ari try reaching in for a cookie, completely ignoring the note but getting swatted away by Namjoon.

“Y/n is pregnant!” Namjoon shouts, which sends everyone's mouths hanging open. “You’re fucking joking!” Seokjin gasps as he runs towards you and Jungkook, embracing you in a tight hug.

“Oh my god, they really got down to business,” Taehyung says, getting a swat from Lora who’s glaring at him before pointing her eyes at Jiho beside her. “Am I the only one who doesn’t get the note?” Jimin says as he reads the card, as everyone congratulates and hugs you and Jungkook.

“Eat up, mommy Y/n doesn’t want to be the only one with a belly, love baby!” Jimin reads the card, holding it up in the air after he’s done reading it.

“I told you someone was not going to know what it meant,” Jungkook whispers into your ear, only for you to hear, which makes you chuckle under your breath.

“You’re just mad I had to explain it to you,” you whisper back, which gets you a kiss on your cheek.

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strangersmunsons · 3 months

Text

Eddie, My Love! eddie munson x reader // valentine's day special series Day 2 Prompt: Chocolates 🍫 ~ 2,000 words Eddie's grumpy until he sees a familiar face in the candy aisle.

“This is a fake holiday,” mumbles Eddie as he pushes the cart past the pink and red aisle of Bradley’s Big Buy.

His uncle chuckles. “When you have someone to spend it with, you’ll feel differently.”

“Wayne,” Eddie deadpans, “this is just some bullshit that Hallmark made up so they could take more of our money.”

“I’m not sayin’ you need to go all commercial,” Wayne clarifies. “I just mean that when there’s someone special in your life, boy, you might be in a better mood during this month.”

Eddie’s mouth sets bitterly. He’d rather not get the ‘you’ll find someone someday’ talk right now — the last thing he needs is another reminder of how lonely he is.

Wayne senses his nephew’s reluctance to discuss the matter, and so bites his tongue. Instead, he points at a row of cans on the shelf beside them. “Do you need more tomato soup, or are you set for a while?”

Back at home, Eddie lays on the floor of his bedroom, staring at the ceiling. Yeah, okay, maybe Wayne had a point. Maybe he’d hate all this stupid cutesy shit less if he didn’t have to watch everyone around him enjoy it while he spent yet another Valentine’s Day alone in his uncle’s trailer, with no one to keep him company, save for a six-pack of Pabst Blue Ribbon.

The worst part of it is — and Eddie would rather die than admit this — that deep down, he thinks he really could be…romantic.

Sure, he’s rough around the edges. He tends to be prickly, wary of others’ intentions, but it’s necessary in order for him to survive in Hawkins. The Munson name was already notorious, and his reputation preceded him; the incident with poor Chrissy Cunningham three years prior, despite his innocence, had sealed his fate as the town pariah.

But if someone could just give him a chance, a real chance, he thinks that he could make that person really happy.

He’d help around the house. Cleaning, laundry, anything you — whoever you are — needed a hand with. He’d learn to cook better so he could keep you eatin’ good. He’d plan fun dates. He’d play your favorite songs on guitar, maybe write you new ones, if he was feeling inspired…anytime you needed him, he’d be there. He’d be the most reliable, affectionate, loving —

“Ed?” There’s a light knock on his door.

“Come in,” he calls back.

Wayne pokes his head into the room. “I’ve got to head to the plant in a few,” he says. “While I’m gone, can you do me a favor?”

Eddie sits halfway up, propped on his elbows. “Yeah, what’s up?”

Wayne fidgets, looking apologetic. “I know we were just there, but d’you mind going back to the Big Buy to pick up some candy? It’s Mrs. Johnson’s first Valentine’s Day since her husband passed, and I meant to get her something sweet, but I forgot.”

Eddie hauls himself up off the floor. “No problem. Want anything specific?”

Wayne shakes his head. “Don’t need nothin’ fancy, just get whatever’s cheapest that still looks nice.”

“That’s the Munson way,” Eddie muses, smiling in spite of himself.

Eddie reluctantly makes a turn down the seasonal aisle he had so pointedly avoided earlier, feeling depressed. Cherubs and teddy bears seem to mock him from where they sit, and he heaves a dramatic sigh.

His eyes roam the line of cards, plush toys, endless boxes of chocolates and candies, when they finally land on you, also perusing the rows of heart-shaped packages.

Recognition flickers instantly. Eddie suddenly finds that his heart is beating very quickly in his chest.

You.

You had still been a year behind him when he finally graduated, and though he didn’t really know you-know you, he was friends with people who did. You weren’t bullied like he and the guys were, but you weren’t exactly popular, either — and so more often than not, you ran in similar circles. Gareth and Harry used to swear up and down that you were the nicest girl in Hawkins.

Because of them, he had spent brief moments with you from time to time. He thought you had been very pretty, in your own unique way, but you were also rather shy. Your exchanges were always polite and charming, even if they never broke deeper than surface-level; overall, he’d found you incredibly endearing.

He never kept in touch, but as the years went by, he had often wondered about you.

Back then, it was hard to see past his own preoccupations: he was so focused on not failing his classes, Corroded Coffin, Hellfire, his dealing gig with Rick. But in retrospect, it always seemed to him like he had missed out on something special in not taking the time to properly befriend you.

Now, against all odds, you’re right here in front of him. And he had found you attractive back then, but now? Holy shit. You’re striking to look at.

As he studies your side profile, he thinks, it’s not that your appearance has really changed much, but rather the way you seem to be holding yourself.

You used to walk quickly through the hallways with your shoulders hunched and your head down, like you were trying to make yourself as small as possible. But now your posture is relaxed, your stance casual; your head is held high and a slight smile turns up the corners of your lips. And your clothes seem different too, like maybe you’d finally found your personal style, and were dressing in the way that you truly liked.

Is this what they call kismet? Fate, destiny, whatever, maybe Eddie’s fantasy-oriented brain was jumping to conclusions, but he thinks of the floor-misery he’d been wallowing in not even an hour ago — had his internal bitching been an unintentional prayer, which was now being answered?

He takes a few cautious steps forward, trying to act natural.

You glance at him when he comes nearer and offer him a quick smile before turning back to the sweet assortment before you.

Eddie stands next to you awkwardly, pretending to browse, hoping to see you make some gesture of familiarity, any confirmation that you might remember him as well as he remembers you.

But nothing. The seconds tick by.

You reach for a box of chocolates and Eddie’s overwhelmed with a sense of impending doom. He starts sweating. Any second now, you would pluck a shiny, ribbon-adorned package and twirl away from him, vanishing into thin air, and the moment would be gone. His opportunity would be over, and he’d never, ever see you again.

“I’m so sorry,” he blurts out. His face turns crimson, but he blunders on anyway. “I don’t wanna bother you, but did you graduate from Hawkins High in ‘87?”

You turn to him, eyebrows raised in surprise, one arm still outstretched. A breathy laugh escapes you. “Yeah, I did.” You give him the tiniest wave. “Hi, Eddie.”

He could almost cry in relief. You do remember him.

“Hi.” He returns your wave, dopey grin unfurling on his face.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to ignore you just now. I didn’t think you would remember me,” you explain apologetically.

Forget you? Absurd. “Of course I remember you. How’ve you been?”

Your voice is bright, cheerful. “I’ve been good! Busy with school.”

College, of course. You had definitely been an honor roll kid. “If you’re in school, then you don’t still live in town, do you?”

“Nah, my university’s too far. I got a place near campus, but I come home every now and then.” You smile, and motion towards yourself. “Obviously.”

“Oh. Nice.” Eddie twiddles his thumbs nervously. “Are your classes going good?”

“For the most part. They’re stressful sometimes, but that’s to be expected, I guess.”

“Yeah, but you’re super smart. I’m sure you’re killin’ it up there.”

“I’m trying my best,” you reply with a modest shrug. “What about you? What have you been up to lately?” You look at him with genuine interest, like you’re truly eager to hear about how he’s doing.

Oh, what to say. He opts for simplicity. “Bartending. At the moment I’m between The Hideout and The Attic. Although, I’m thinkin’ about trying to get a job at the garage instead.”

“You should!” Your voice is sincere, full of warmth. “I bet you’d be great there — I know you did a lot of work on your van.”

A bolt of pleasure runs through him. You didn’t just remember his name and face, but you recalled some minor details about him as well. He stands a little taller. “Thank you. We’ll see if it works out, I suppose.”

There’s a brief pause. Eddie moistens his chapped lips with his tongue. “Listen…”

Do it, you coward. If she says no, she says no, and you’ll get over it. Eventually.

“Um, if you’re ever home for the weekend, would you maybe wanna hang out? Grab a coffee or something?”

You look taken aback, but not displeased. Eddie counts that as a win.

“Sure. That would be really fun.”

He flashes you a grin. “Sick.” Then it occurs to him: you came home for Valentine’s Day weekend. Surely you’re in Hawkins because you have a date lined up with some former classmate who swooped in and asked you out after he had gone, and that’s who you were buying candy for and —

“I’m assuming you’re busy this weekend, though?” You point at the treats in front of you. “‘Cause I see you’re here to pick up the goods,” you tease him cheerfully.

“Oh, n-not really,” he stammers. “Wayne asked me to pick up something for our neighbor. I’m just an errand boy.” He swallows. “Do you have any big plans?”

“Nope,” you reply casually, lips popping the p-sound. You pull the candy you’d be aiming for before he interrupted, a pack of Hershey’s cream-filled chocolate hearts. You nod at him sagely. “I am my own Valentine this year.”

You don’t need to be. I’ll volunteer.

Eddie musters up all his courage, rocking slightly on his feet. “Actually, if you don’t have plans…like, if you’re not seeing anybody…would you wanna go out on a date with me tomorrow?” Nerves get the better of him and he starts pouring out word-vomit, totally oblivious to the way your expression is getting softer and softer the longer he rambles. “I get that it’s Valentine’s Day, I don’t know if you think that’s really…weird for a first date, or…if you even wanna go on a date with me at all, which if you don’t, that’s totally fine and I understand —”

“I don’t think that would be weird at all,” you cut in, giving him a smile that could melt an iceberg. “Eddie, I would love to go on a date with you.”

He feels like he’s having a fever dream. This can’t be real. Is this what manifesting is?

From now on, when he wants something, he’s gonna go cry on his bedroom floor about it.

Painfully aware of how clumsy his proposition came out, Eddie tries to put at least one suave move on you. “Well, if we really have a date tomorrow,” he says, swiping the Hershey’s from you, “then there’s no reason for you to be buyin’ your own chocolates. Allow me.”

Ten minutes later, both of you armed with candies and a phone number apiece, Eddie escorts you across the icy parking lot to your car. You grip his arm tightly crossing over a slippery patch of asphalt, and his stomach flutters in a way it hasn’t in years.

Okay, okay.

Maybe there is something to be said for this stupid, fake holiday.

thank you for reading!! xoxo Valentine's Day Special Masterlist

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson reader insert #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson comfort #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x fem!reader

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bahrtofane · 2 months

Text

husband Jude headcannons

jude just really really enjoys married life

Word count - 2.3K+

Watch it - i got carried away sorry guys, proposal lore?? insanely sappy, even by my standards

—--

He's not a fan of you being known as his, rather he's your husband. Always correcting people during interviews and giving you the spotlight. Even when you shy away, not knowing where to look or what to say. He's always there, a gentle hand on your knee rubbing circles as he nods for you to continue.

Every red carpet he wants to match, doesn’t care how big or small the event is. Gotta be a way you two look look a pair

His fav is when you wear exactly the same thing so there’s no way to confuse anything for what it really is hehe

Bouncing around while you get ready together, helping you get your shoes on while he tries his best to stand still while you fix his tie

“Look okay?” he asks, head tilted

You rub his arm, “you look great.”

And he smiles wide, giving you pecks all over while you giggle, trying to shoo him away from you and closer to the door. your ride is waiting, but he doesn’t care. pouting for just one more kiss. please ?

All his socials turn into your personal fan page, a big fat married in every bio, ring and all

He has more posts about you then his actual job

His teammates poke fun at it, “when are you gonna post us huh?”

He just rolls his eyes,”when I marry you i’ll think about it”

And that’s that

You're the first he runs to post a match, greeting you with the silly hand shake you perfected years ago. You think you could do it in your sleep at this rate. You came up with it ages ago when you kissed him after practice, playing with his fingers till he came up with the idea, and you with the actual hand shake.

You're his biggest supporter, and him likewise. In every and anything you do, give him pompoms and he'd be your personal cheerleader at this point.

He just likes to have you at games. Waving obnoxiously while you tell him to pose. And he does, every time, sending hearts your way. He dedicates his goals your way. The kisses he would send the crowd in his youth now only go your way where you catch them like a teenager.

You see complications of it everywhere, he thinks it's endearing. He makes you watch them together on the living room tv while you grimace

“My face looks so weird there, oh my god.”

He flicks your arm, “you look great shush. Ha that was during el clasico, ah good times.”

You roll your eyes but snuggle up against him anyway.

One of your favorite past times btw, nothing he loves better than a lazy morning in with you in his arms while he hits snooze on every alarm.

He tries to cook, with his stupid kiss the chef apron he got just for you. but he will need help, which you gladly give. You end up eating on the couch, covered in pillows watching cheesy shows. You've watched keeping up with the kardashians too many times to count and he still laughs out loud every time.

Jude is soft and sweet when he's not forced into a picture perfect smile and self 24/7. He's a silly guy, always trying to make you laugh. Teasing is his love language by the way.

But he's still sweet, leaving notes around your house for you to find when he has to leave for away games. Hearts and smiley faces littering every inch of the paper. Some frowny faces when he knows he'll miss you extra.

He likes bringing you to family events and bragging about how cool you are, but everyone already loves you as is, he just likes to brag. Look at how cool the love of my life is everyone, I am sooo lucky you guys look look.

Jobe has rolled his eyes far too many times, but he's happy to see his brother so happy. Plus you guys threw a fantastic wedding. A win is a win.

When you can't be there he facetimes you every second he possibly can. Blowing kisses when he has to go.

“Judes been complaining all day I hope you know,” Aurélien pops his head into the screen.

You snort, “ hello to you too Aurélien.”

He gives you a wave before ruffling the top of Judes hair as he pouts, fixing it just how he likes again, “they just don't get it,” he sighs dramatically.

You laugh, “sure baby, sure.”

You make sure to keep up with the match the best you can, texting him live reactions, even if you know he won't see them till later. He likes them all the same.

Your name on his phone is a simple "mine" with a bunch of heart emojis, the contact pic is one of the two of you together on vacation, smiling with your faces squished together while laying in the sand

It makes him smile every time. he thinks you’re the cutest

He's a big fan of nicknames, weather its a version of your first name, or just a good ole fashion baby. He rarely uses your actual name. He called you something so insane like pooki bear in public once and you have yet to let him live it down.

"in a restaurant was crazy," you squint at him.

He only giggles, "but it was soo funny baby come on."

Speaking of restaurants, this guy loves a good date night

Gigdy as he comes down the hall in his pjs, grinning while showing you the new reservations, it’s your fav place !

Every anniversary he somehow finds a way to outdo himself, don't ask, because in truth he doesn't even know how he pulls it off, but anything for you. Anything.

Even if it means hunting down the stuffed animal you had as a kid and couldn't find after you lost it in your couch cushions. He finds it, after months and months of searching, making Jobe help him look, it comes in the mail and he has to get creative to get you out of the house and away from the mail the day it's supposed to come.

It gets neatly wrapped and placed on your shared bed the morning of, surrounded by a collection of other gifts, your favorite flowers, and a cheesy note that you always end up crying at.

The look on your face makes it all worth it, when you tackle him in a bone crushing hug, tumbling into the covers in a tangle of legs while you laugh in between sniffles, he loves you. Oh how he loves you

It's been a tradition to end the night with the very place he proposed, his home, now yours.

He doesnt think he could forget it even if he tried. It was a whirlwind of a day. Picture this:

He's lost all his black socks, his (and your) favorite body wash just spilled all over the shower, his hair looks awful ( he got a haircut that morning), his cologne isn't where he left it, and the private chef he hired isnt replying. All while you're not even awake yet.

He calls his mom because what else are you supposed to do when you're set to propose and everything is going wrong.

She only chuckles softly over the phone, “calm down jude, just breathe. You'll find your things, just take a breather and come back to things with a clear head okay?”

So he does. Sitting on his bed, towel still on, frowning. He chooses to instead pat himself dry, get dressed, and give himself a pep talk in the floor length mirror at the corner of his room.

Turns out his mom was right, things fix themself for the most part, his socks are stuck at the bottom of the dryer, his hair isn't as bad as he thought, he finds a better cologne in his collection, and a perfect body cream. It's gonna be a good day.

He finishes the last of the day of prep, getting fancy candles, a lighter, and greeting the decorator. Yes he hired a decorator.

It's nothing over the top, just little changes to make his home look a little softer, changing out the curtains, placing lace table cloth with details in your favorite color. The main event is his second living room that gets covered in an arch of your favorite flowers, gentle curling to just kiss the top of the new antique chandelier that will be holding the fancy candles too. He hopes you like it. He really really hopes you like it.

He's had this planned for ages, since the moment he first met you he thinks.

When you greet him with a silly good morning text he only grows oh so fond of you, excited to see you. He told you it was a fancy dinner at his place. A change of pace from the resurates. Both of you prefer a much more intimate night in then cameras shoved into your face while a hundred people all yell a hundred things while you're trying to chew your food.

So you get ready, dress up and make it for dinner. When you see the familiar face of the chef, Karlos, you give him a wave and get seated. Noticing the new table cloth but you don't say anything. You don't want to be wrong so early into the night.

Jude comes in, nervous as a school boy as he takes your hand for a quick peek, running around like a maniac back and forth. He looks nice, in a signature all black suit, and smelling amazing per usual.

Dinner is amazing, full of your favorite courses and Jude is jittery in his seat.

“You okay?”

He nods, a little too fast, “oh yeah. I am. Don't worry.”

You raise a brow but dont push, thanking Karlos for the amazing meal as he cleans up and heads out for the night.

Jude gets up, telling you to stay put while he'll be righttt back. Don't worry, remember!

He comes back, unable to meet your eyes while he gives you his hand. You take it, sliding out of your seat and following him down the hall. There's flower petals on the floor now, you look at him, but he looks anywhere but at you, chewing his cheek.

He leads you to the second living room, where the furniture has been cleared out. Replaced by a walkway of flowers and candles, leading up to where an arch of your favorite flowers hugs the curtain, new ones.

Gently pulled back to reveal the floor to ceiling windows that give way to his yard. And the most gorgeous sunset you have ever seen. A chandelier hangs above you, decorated with more flowers, and the most ornate candles and bulbs you have ever seen.

Your eyes begin to water before he even gets down on one knee, his lip wobbles, holding your hand the whole time as he confesses every little moment and reason for his love.

He loves you, he adores you. You're- youre everything. Truly and fully. You're the sunlight that kisses his skin, the stars he wishes to touch, to know, he yearns for you. Years to know you in your entirety, till he knows nothing else but you. For your name to only fully know his lips, for only he will fully know you. He sees no other, he knows no other. He wants- no needs, to give himself as he is.

You see him, see him as more than just Jude Belingham. You see what others can not, will not. You see him, you know him. You know him better than he knows himself most days. You've seen all there is to see, all that makes him who he is. You know his stupid sandwich order at the place you hate but keep going to because you know how much he loves it.

You sit in freezing weather for the full game just to make sure you don't miss a second of him. The first to congratulate him, the first to mourn with him, the first to sooth his aches and pains. You're the face he looks for in a crowd, you're the first person he calls when anything happens.

And you love him with such ferocity it amazes him.

You're full crying at this point, fat tears rolling down your cheeks till you can barely see him, and he finally gets down on one knee, fishing out a small velvet box from his inner pocket, opening it with shaky hands.

And he whispers, “will you marry me?”

You fall next to him, sobbing into his shoulder while you repeat yes over and over. He cries with you, till you're both laughing from pure joy.

Who better to spend the rest of your life with then the man who loves you so?

Telling his family is the best part. You have them over for what was supposed to be a quick lunch, turned dinner, and you break the news at dessert, showing off your ring while they all gasp.

They pile you into the biggest hug, smiles so wide they hurt and you laugh, you're going to get married! You think they just might be more excited than you are.

Wedding planning comes and goes both so fast and so slow. Youre so excited you can't wait, and yet every step of the way seems like it takes excruciatingly long.

Your wedding planner tries her best, bless her soul, but you want it to be completely and utterly perfect. Down to the types of chairs at the venue.

Jude lets you have your way for the most part, chiming in now and again, he trusts you fully. Knowing you're going to make it the best regardless.

Leading up to the big day you think you just might pass out from stress and never be seen again, but the almost year of planning pays off, and you're married!

The honeymoon is spent traveling all over while jude is wide-eyed, unable to believe he's married to you of all people.

The press catches on soon after, even if your wedding was small and intimate. News comes out one way or another.

Jude only responds with a picture of you two slow dancing among your family and friends, captioned, “all you need to know.” and he pins it to every social media page.

What a man huh?

#jude x reader #jude bellingham #jude x you #jude fluff #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham x you #jude x y/n #jude bellingham one shot #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham fanfic #jude bellingham fluff #football fanfic #bahr footy #footy fic #footballer fic

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inupibaldspot · 9 days

Text

Let’s Give it One More Try

pairing: gojo satoru x reader

Note ₊˚⊹♡ : you and gojo are getting a divorce :((

Your fingers tighten at the edge of the papers and then slammed it onto a fancy desk, designed by a famous architect; a name you had forgotten. I mean… if you were to remember every designer of the furniture inside the house, your brain would probably explode.

Your lawyer beside you shivers as he suddenly feels the air around him grow cold, at a very rapid pace. His eyes wander to see the air conditioning still working, and his eyes the trail towards his side. He gulps as he takes on his clients appearance, you.

Your face was cold and actions were merciless. “These are my part of the agreement.” You spat viciously.

“Dealing with these is a hassle so let’s get over this quickly.” Your eyes trail to your lawyer, who quickly straightens under your gaze as he nods in agreement. “But I slept well without you. The morning is also very peaceful; I didn’t have my ears bleeding while I ate my breakfast.”

“Thank god you’ve been eating well. Back when we first met I remember you’d never eat properly.” To your dismay, Gojo beams at you full of affection with makes your resolve waver. “I almost fainted when you told me you forget to eat then-“

“— I said we’ll keep this short, Gojo-san.” You says as you lean back, crossing your hands. There was a brief second where you could see Gojo’s eyes half-opens and his eye brows furrowed slightly,a thing he does when he feels hurt.

You bite your lips before you give in and sigh. “I haven’t skipped a meal.…”

Your face twitches with annoyance when you see your now ex-husband with still a melted look, eyes slightly dazed and flowers blooming in the background as he focuses on only you. You are annoyed because satoru makes you waver.

Your lawyer clears his throat as he hands over another stack of paper over. “My client wants to do a 50-50 and—“

“Are you crazy?” Gojo’s lawyer jumps out of his seats as his face pulls into a frown. “You want 50 percent of THE Gojo Satoru’s property?”

“Yeah!” Gojo also jumps out of his seat, a nerve pops on his forehead in annoying. “How could you ever think of that?!”

Your lawyer smalls at the sudden outburst.

“That’s too much!”

“That’s too little! Take all of it, babe.”

“Huh?” The duo sitting at the other side of the table looks at each other at confusion as they give slow dumb blinks. His lawyer clears his throat. “No gojo-san, what your saying is your going to give the entirety of Gojo estate to your now ex-wife.”

“Yup.” Gojo gives his answer a bit too quickly.

“That’s fucking dumb.”

“Woah— you’re my lawyer! You can’t be saying that.” Gojo shouts back as his lawyer massages his temple taking a seat.

“Take it all babe.” Gojo turns to you and smiles, it was a simple boyish smile, taking on the look of a man who was simply and all in love. “Become the head of the Gojo clan.” He adds with a laugh.

But you didn’t take that lightly as your eyebrow furrowed. “Are you making fun of me?”

“Of course not.” Gojo leans back, on arms over his seat and other on his lap, legs spread apart. Your ex-husband was so attractive. “Just—“

He tilts his head as his smile is softening. “Just before all this…let’s give it one more try.” His voice was strained taking on a tone one would make when they beg. “But this time, I promise I’ll be by your side. Let’s live alone in an apartment, just two of us?”

Your breath hitched.

You knew what Gojo was implying. Being wed to Gojo Satoru meant you were always under watchful eyes. Every breath you take, every step, every strand of hair that was messed up would be judged; and you collapsed under the pressure of those watching eyes.

And now Gojo was proposing you what you’ve always wanted. Memories made by newly wed lovers in a small yet affordable apartment where we could just cook and dine amongst ourselves, take afternoon naps on the sofa on lazy sundays and breathy soft kisses as he could pick you and place you on the counter top.

That’s was all you wanted.

“I realized how you were feeling about everything…”Gojo’s voice was unusually soft, and raspy as if he was struggling to speak. “so I actually wanted to surprise you with an apartment but…”

But before that you slammed the divorce paper on his face.

“Please y/n… just one final chance.” His slightly teary blue eyes looking into yours, makes your breathing stop. “Can you let me be yours again…?”

You swallow, the busy world now contains simply two of you in your vision as fingers play nervously with eachother as your finally open your mouth to speak.

“—“

Note ₊˚⊹♡ : so now the question is do you say yes or no? ✧

Reblogs, like and comment are appreciated! Love this work? Check out other here

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen imagine #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojou satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo imagine #gojo imagines #gojo satoru imagine #gojo satoru x reader #gojo angst #jjk gojo #gojo saturo #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #gojo fluff #jjk imagine #jjk fanfic

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sleep-0-deprived · 7 months

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Step dad Toji . F x bottom male reader

Female aligned Dni 18+ only content below, all ageless blogs will be blocked and I hope you all enjoy ;}

Warning daddy kink, breeding kink, overstimulation if you squint, sub/dom dynamic,age gap the reader is over 18 but you can choose the exact age

Today was a perfectly normal day beside the fact that I am being forced to have dinner with my moms new husband, “honey come down stairs” I heard my mom yell “be right their” I responded while hurriedly putting some body spray and deodorant on “honey I want you to meet your new step dad Toji” mom said pointing to a tall muscular man in a tight black shirt “nice to meet you, I’ve heard great things about you” toji spoke with a grin looking the other male up and down “I bet” I said feeling disinterest in the whole situation. I follow mom and my new step dad into the kitchen, sitting down at the table while mom walks off into the kitchen to start dinner “so what do you like to do in your free time?” Toji ask me “nothing much mainly f/h” I said while being blunt “oh that seems fun” Toji said grinning at me “it is” just as I said that my mom walked through the dinning room doors “dinner is ready” she said smiling I just want to get this over with and get back to my room but I can’t deny that Toji looks good I thought as I ate my food while listening to my mom make small talk with me. Finally dinner was over and I go to my room and lay on my bed while scrolling through my phone for a little while or so I thought I look over at the clock seeing the time “it’s already 11:00” I say shocked at how long it’s been, well I guess it’s going to be a late night shower tonight I think while walking into my bathroom “god it’s cold in here” I whisper while turning the shower on and letting it get hot. I slowly take my clothes off and look at myself in the foggy mirror before I get into the hot shower “this feels nice” I grumble as I let the water run down my back “I bet” I heard Toji say “what are you doing in here?” I feel my heart start beating faster and faster “just enjoying the show baby” the man said while licking his scar “what aren’t you supposed to be with mom right now” I gasp out while seeing him start taking his clothes off “well she fell asleep and I thought I could use a shower” he spoke while getting in the shower with me “and just what are you planning?” I say trying to pretend I don’t like this “I’m getting a shower” the larger man spoke teasing me. Toji took his large hands and ran them over my body only stopping at my thighs “god your so fucking pretty, you have no idea how much I wanted to bend you over the table and fuck you at dinner, especially when you were being bratty” the older man groaned while lifting me up with ease and pushing me against the shower walls “ahh~” I groaned as I felt the pleasure of Toji sucking my nipples until they become red and puffy

“just like that~” I moaned wanting more “your so desperate already and for your step dad, what a sick little boy you are” Toji spoke while I tried to grind myself onto him but to no avail Toji gripped my hips tightly and held them in place while not letting me move “god your so fucking desperate like a damn whore” he degraded me while rapping one hand around my head and passionately kissing me, only leaving bite marks and bruises on my body while he takes the hand from around my waist and starts stroking my dick “hahh~” I yelp out in pleasure “your so naughty, letting your step dad give you a handjob in the shower? Oh what would your mom think of you if she knew you wanted your step dad” Toji whispered in my ear while nibbling on my neck “I know it’s wrong but it all feels so damn good” I think, feeling my thoughts cloud over with Haley bliss “I’m so close toji~” I moan out while bucking my hip into his hands “since I’m your step dad you better start calling me daddy” The much older man said with a demanding voice while speeding up his pace and stroking my dick faster than before with more pressure behind it “I’m gonna cum~” I scream out while thick white strings of my semen shoot on toji’s chest and stomach but quickly getting washed off by the now cold water “how about we continue this in your room since the water is cold now?” Toji grunted out “yes please” I spoke with a broken voice. Without hesitating Toji swiftly turned the shower off and carried me to my bed

Toji soon laid me down onto my bed and snapped me out of my trance “face down ass up baby” Toji shot me his signature grin while licking his scar, I waist no time in rolling on my stomach and I soon feel on finger coated in saliva prod into my hole “god your so tight, are yo a virgin?”he asks me “yes” I whispered, my face feeling flush with embarrassment “oh well I guess I’m lucky aren’t I?” And before I could say anything he swiftly shoved two mor fingers in “hahh~” I scream at the three large fingers fucking into my virgin hole. soon I become used to the feeling and it soon turning into pleasure “right there~” I groan feeling Toji hit my prostate “looks like I found it” toji grunted while pulling his fingers out and earning a needy whine from me “don’t worry I’ll be filling that pretty little hole of yours very soon with something better” before I could speak Toji bottomed out “ngh~” I scream in pain “don’t worry it will all turn into pleasure soon baby” Toji grunted out while starting to move his hips and slowly thrusting into me “yes please right there~” I groaned out as Toji nailed into my prostate “damn your such a fucking slut I’ve just started and your already cock drunk” Toji said in a stern voice while snapping his hips har against mine “yes please I’m your slut daddy~” I moaned in my pillows and gripping my sheets while he railed me from behind “your taking daddy’s cock so well, I just my have to turn you into my personal cock sleeve~” Toji groaned out “yes please turn me in to your cock sleeve daddy~” I moan out as Toji pounds into me, nailing my prostate head on with every thrust “ahh~” I scream out as Toji starts stroking my dick in rhythm to his thrusts almost like he is milking me dry “hahh I’m soo close daddy~” I scream “I’m close too baby boy just hold out a little longer~” Toji groans out with his thrusts becoming faster and harder, fucking me so hard all I see is stars “I’m gonna cu~” before the moans left my lips I came all over my sheets and my cum pumps onto them with a few more thrusts Toji cums inside me, letting his hot seed fill me up. Soon I collapse on my bed “what are you doing I’m no where near done yet it’s only 12:50 I’m no where near done breeding that hole of yours yet pretty boy” Toji groans as he flips me on my back and shoved his dick back into my burning hole and starts thrusting again “oh god faasterr~” I moaned out as my dick started to get hard again “such a fucking slut aren’t you baby?” Toji asks as he rams into me over and over again hitting my prostate head on every time “yes yes I’m your slut daddy please fill me with your cum~” I beg the older man as he continues to relentlessly pound my burning hole “I’m close please~” I moaned out while feeling my third orgasm approach “I’m almost there too just hold on baby~” Toji grunted out as he picked the pace up and started fucking me at an inhuman pace, gripping my hips hard enough for bruises and rearranging my guts “I’m cumming~” I shout as my cum shot on toji’s muscular chest “I’m going to breed your hole so full of my cum that you’ll be filled for a week~” Toji groaned with a final thrust, letting his cum fill me up for the second time tonight.

#x male reader #sub male reader #x male reader smut #bottom male reader #jjk smut #jjk x male reader #toji fushiguro x male reader #toji x male reader #toji x reader #toji fushiguro

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ilys00ga · 20 days

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𝗲𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗻𝗮𝗹 𝘀𝘂𝗻𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗲.

➞ pair: yoongi x female reader.

➞ word count: 1k

➞ synopsis: "yoongi and reader making a meal together for yoongi's parents" with a little bit of a domestic twist.

➞ genre: established relationship, husband!yoongi, dad!yoongi, just fluffy fluff fluff, they cook together, dad!yoongi, nothing goes wrong, dad!yoongi, just pure happiness, they also call it tooth-rotting fluff lol, did I mention: DAD!YOONGI ???, they have a babygirl uwu <33

➞ A/N: first off, thank u anon for sending me this super cute prompt, I loved it and had sm fun writing it!! second, EID MUBARAK TO MY FELLOW MUSLIMS OUT THEREEE <3 this is my lil gift for yall on this eid. it wasn't supposed to be this long tbh, and I haven't written anything for over a month, so, sorry if this is kind of messy and all over the place??? im trying to get my sht together again. but I really liked the prompt and!!! had to write it!!!! kkk enjoy bbys <3

ps. any form of feedback is reallyyyy appreciated. I live for compliments :) !

★ MASTERLIST.

ᵎᵎ 𖦹彡⋆｡˚・ ─ ・ ⋯ ・ ─ ⊹ ♡₊˚๑

It was one warm spring morning.

Yoongi was back from a long series of concerts just a couple of days ago. Grateful to be finally home with the two people that mean the absolute world to him. Your cat was purring on his chest as the two of you laid on the bed, enjoying the quiet of Saturday that had just begun, when his mother called to announce that, later that evening, she and his father would be coming over.

One thing led to another, and there you stood with your husband in the kitchen. One was chopping ingredients up by the stove, the other handling a mixer. Your two years old baby girl, Nara, was sitting in her high chair somewhere away from the oven and any other harmful thing. What used to be your favorite playlists playing ever so softly in the background as you fixed yourselves your favorite meals, together, was replaced with the mindless blabbering of your sweet baby girl instead, playing with the wooden spoon you had given her to play with some minutes before.

“Is this good?” Yoongi dipped the tip of his finger into the mixture he’s been working on, and carefully brought it up to your lips. You hummed in satisfaction as soon as the flavors hit your taste buds, a little bit taken aback at how he nailed your mother’s secret recipe only in the first try, “Great. You’re getting so good at this, Yoonie. I think you should take over kitchen duties very soon.”

He snorted, “If that means I’ll never have to do the laundry ever again, then sure.”

Feigning annoyance, you hissed at him, “You’re so lazy.”

“No one likes doing laundry, honey. Not even you.”

"You're so annoying."

Your daily bickering banters were disturbed by the sound of his phone ringing from the other room. He left to take the call, leaving you with your noisy little baby. The chef hat she had on her head–Yoongi's idea, by the way, along with the tiny apron she wore as well–was almost too big on her. It made her look a thousand times more adorable that you immediately started grinning and cooing when she looked up at you.

"And what about you chef? Are you having fun?"

She balled her fists up and raised them in the air, wiggling in her seat to let you know that she wanted to be picked up. Being the ever so whipped mom that you were, you scooped her up in your arms right away, and peppered kisses all over her chubby face. Her giggles seeped through your skin and locked into your bones, aching with a sickeningly utmost adoration.

“Mom said they’re almost here.” Said Yoongi upon entering the kitchen, putting his phone atop the table and smiling as soon as his eyes fell on the two of you—his girls.

“Are you being a good chef assistant, baby?” He cooed, kissing her cheek, then leaning in to leave a peck on your lips.

“She’s been blabbering her life off the whole time you were gone." you hummed.

“Mom is going to have a good time conversing with her this evening.”

“We’re almost done cooking now.” You reminded him, “Honey, check on the oven please.”

“Right.”

A wave of heat hit his face as soon as he opened the oven, but he smiled once he checked on the muffins, “they are done.”

When he took the tray out and swiftly put it on the counter, Nara erupted in a fit of loud blabber, flailing the arm that clutched on the wooden spoon in the air and almost smacking your face in the process.

It had your husband giggling, of course. He couldn’t help but join in and engage with her blather, how could he not when he got such an adorable chatterbox for a child? “Huh, Nini? The muffins are done! Yeah!”

He took her into his arms, allowing you to go check on the stewpot that was still boiling on the stove, before bringing her to have a look at the tray of the mouth watering muffins, and cheered, “look!”

Your heart, yet again, swooned, almost oozing out of your ribs with how tight your chest grew to be at the sound of your baby’s joyful squeals. She was all excited as her daddy showed her around the process of cooking the dinner for her grandparents.

Nara was having the time of her life. For some reason, she's always loved being in the kitchen. Yoongi once made a comment about her becoming a successful chef, which then turned into a long, heartwarming talk about your daughter and her future. The gentle smile Yoongi had on his face throughout that was one to die for, especially when he sulked about not wanting your babygirl to grow up. His pout was so intense, you ended up engulfing him in a bone crushing hug for almost half an hour.

It was moments like this one that you wished were pictures so you could cut them up and hide them. Somewhere deep inside your heart. Forever. That's how you often found yourself observing and admiring every single interaction your husband made with your baby, and that’s how you ended up listening attentively as he continued to talk so passionately and earnestly with her, while simultaneously attempting to work with his free arm to the best of his abilities.

She, at one point, got so ecstatic that she accidentally thrusted her arm forward and hit him in the face with that spoon. But he only turned to look at you with an affectionate smile.

Struggling through a fit of giggles, you slipped the wooden object from her grasp and gave her a big kiss; making sure to squish her doughy cheeks—a trait that she definitely got from her father, “No more hitting mama and papa for you!”

The little girl’s squeaks only got louder as she reached out with her arms towards you, addressing you with more words of her very own and special language.

“Family hug?” you asked, glancing at a grinning Yoongi.

“Family hug!” He wrapped his free arm around you, bringing your body closer so that Nara could get a hold of you as well, then added, “but let’s make it a short one or else my parents are going to come to a burnt dinner.”

#yoongi #bts #yoongi scenarios #yoongi x reader #yoongi fluff #yoongi drabble #bts yoongi #bts scenarios #yoongi gif #min yoongi #yoongi icons #suga fluff #suga fic #bts suga #suga #bts fic #bts gifs #bts army

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justagalwhowrites · 1 month

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Stranger in a Bar - Part One

A DBF!Joel Fic

You meet a stranger in a bar, one who is fun and sexy and makes you wonder if the single life is all it's cracked up to be. But there's one big problem: you probably shouldn't be fucking your dad's best friend.

Pairing: DBF!Joel Miller x Female Reader

Warnings: This is smut, OK? Just a lot of smut. Protected P in V sex. Oral sex (m and f receiving). Age gap of 20 years. No use of Y/N. Minors DNI, 18+ only.

Length: 6.8k

A/N: So this was supposed to be a one shot and then it started getting out of hand. It's going to just be two parts for the moment, this is going to be a very little baby fic, OK? Small. Lil baby story. Also. there's a hefty age gap and it comes up because logistics but no power imbalance. Thanks for always putting up with my shit, y'all are the best ❤️

Bar None, Present day

One of your friends had just put Single Ladies on the jukebox when you saw him across the bar. Bar None, the place you’d picked for the night, had one of those stupid app-powered ones and the three girls you had kept in touch with from high school had been abusing it all night long. But the man across the bar was so distracting that you hardly noticed. His eyes were locked on you, so tight and hot that it would send a chill up your spine if it was from the wrong set of eyes. But they were his eyes. Dark and molten and set into a sculpted face with patchy scruff and shaggy curl streaked with gray.

No, you thought, he couldn’t spark anything but desire.

“We should do the dance!” Your friend Emily slurred, tugging your arm. “C’mon! Now that you’re a single lady again, you have to own it.”

She flashed her empty ring finger as Beyonce sang, a cocky - if half drunk - look on her face as she did.

You smiled at her.

“He did put a ring on it,” you twisted the stem of your martini glass. “That’s why there was a problem when he put his dick in someone else. I think I’ll pass on the Beyonce. But thank you.”

“Come on drunky,” your friend Dana looped her arm around Emily’s waist. “Let’s go dance.”

“Woooo!” Emily threw her arms in the air and Dana gave you an exasperated but happy smile over her shoulder as she guided her to the dance floor.

“Jesus, is it that late?” Parker looked at her Apple watch. You half smiled and took a small sip of your drink as she rifled through her clutch for her phone and let out a relieved sigh. “Thank God, Kevin hasn’t been texting with a ton of stupid questions. Why did I think letting a baby get totally attached to me was a good idea? The fact that she only said mama for two weeks was great at first but now that she refuses to do bedtime without me, I’m having regrets…”

“Do you need to go?” You asked, brows raised.

She winced.

“Would you hate me if I left you with the party animals?”

You laughed.

“No,” you said. “Go home, see your husband and kid. I really do appreciate the warm welcome back, you have no idea.”

“See?” She reached across the small table and gave your arm a squeeze. “I told you, just like old times.”

“Did you go back home at 10:30 to make sure a baby was properly put to bed when we were 18?” You teased. “I forgot that part…”

She rolled her eyes.

“Almost old times,” she said. “Besides, you love Bella.”

“I do love Bella,” you said. “And I love you. Go home, I’m good.”

“You’re sure?”

“Positive. Text me when you get there?”

“Of course,” she slipped off the bar stool and came around to give you a hug and kiss your cheek. “I really am glad you’re back. Even if it’s because Reid was a dumbass.”

You just smiled a little and watched her leave, Parker pausing to wave to Dana on her way out the door.

“This seat open?”

The man from across the bar stood beside you, nodding to the seat Parker had just vacated. You smiled a little and nodded once.

“You have very convenient timing.”

“Well,” he shrugged. “Leaving a pretty girl all alone at the bar seems like a crime. Trying my damndest to stay on the right side of the law.”

“And how’s that going for you these days?”

He smirked a little. His cheek dimpled.

“Well enough.”

You looked at him, tracing the creases in his face with your eyes, the streaks of gray catching the low light of the bar. He was probably the oldest man there but damn, did he wear it well.

“You in town for a visit?” He asked, turning his beer bottle in his fingers and nodding to your friends on the dance floor. “Seeing friends?”

You cocked a little smile at him.

“No, actually. Just moved back.”

He raised his eyebrows, a look you couldn’t quite place passing over his warm features. His eyes drifted to your ring finger before he seemed to catch himself and look back at your face. You saved him the trouble, lifting your bare left hand and turning it so he could see. The indentation from your three carat engagement ring was still on your finger but your hand was empty.

“I think we should talk, Joel.”

Bar None, 10 years earlier

The man across the bar had no damn business being that good looking.

It was almost pissing you off how good looking he was. Tall, broad, with golden skin and thick, dark hair, he had the kind of face you wanted to explore intimately, in the way you could only do when someone was inside of you. The way men couldn’t control their expressions then was almost addicting. The way their eyes would roll back and their mouths would fall open, the way they stopped fucking around with pretense and just let themselves feel something - even if it was just your cunt - was beautiful and fascinating and almost elemental. It was like you could look into the very core of them for a moment, the way they always seemed to be able to look into you with just a glance. You wanted that with this man, whoever he was, this man who you caught glancing at you out of the corner of his eye.

“Aww,” Parker pouted happily at her phone. “Kevin misses me!”

“Misses you?” Emily snatched the phone from her grasp, gaping at the screen. “You’ve been gone like two hours!”

“Will you just…” Parker snatched the phone back and looked at the text again. “And I think it’s sweet.”

“You’re ditching us, aren’t you?” Emily sighed.

“I think so,” Parker winced. “Is that OK?”

You just smiled a little.

“Go see the guy who’s got you all crazy,” you said. “But I’ll see you again before I leave town, yeah?”

“Course!” She came and gave you a hug. “Good luck getting rid of me. Have fun at that thing tomorrow!”

“Yeah,” you laughed. “I’ll try.”

Emily rolled her eyes and judged Parker for a bit but it was less than an hour before she was leaving, too, with a man who’d asked her to dance and bought her a beer.

“You sure you’re alright?” She asked as she went to leave.

“Babes, I know how to be at a bar on my own. And my hotel is two doors down. I think I can figure it out.”

She kissed your cheek.

“Love you,” she said. “Try to have some fun!”

You watched her go, thinking about just how long you wanted to be sitting by yourself at a bar versus in a Holiday Inn Express standard room when a voice appeared beside you.

“This seat open?”

The man from across the bar nodded to the seat Emily had just abandoned. You smiled a little and nodded once.

“You have very convenient timing.”

“Well,” he shrugged. “Leaving a pretty girl all alone at the bar seems like a crime. Trying my damndest to stay on the right side of the law.”

“And how’s that going for you?”

He smirked a little. His cheek dimpled.

“Well enough.”

You smiled and introduced yourself before holding out your hand. He took it.

“Joel,” he said. “Don’t think I’ve seen you here before.”

“Because I’ve never been here before,” you smiled. “I’m in from out of town, my hotel is a few doors down. This was convenient and hey, the Yelp reviews weren’t the worst.”

“What brings you to the great city of Austin, Texas?” He asked, settling in on the seat beside you. He was older than you but you kind of liked men that way now that you were in your mid 20s and exhausted by every man you’d dated in college. You liked them a little older, more established, men who knew how to cook their own damn food and give you your own damn orgasm. “Business or pleasure?”

“Neither,” you smiled a little, taking a sip of your drink. “Family event.”

“That’s not pleasure?”

You laughed once.

“Not the way my family does it.”

“That why you’re in a hotel and not stayin’ with them?” He asked, brows raised.

“Bingo,” you replied. “I get in, I get drunk, I get out.”

He nodded slowly.

“Good system.”

“Worked well enough for me over the years.”

The two of you ended up talking about music and books and UT football until last call - far later than you’d intended to stay out.

“Mind if I walk you back to your hotel?” Joel asked. “Not tryin’ to be a creep but… I’d sleep a lot better tonight knowin’ you got back safe. Promise it’s not a ploy.”

“Damn, it’s not?” You asked, tucking your purse on your arm and heading for the door. “Because I was going to ask you to come up to my room if it was.”

“Well shit,” he said, catching up with you. “Maybe it is a ploy then.”

You found yourselves drawing out the walk back all the same, pace more of an amble than a brisk walk, but the hotel was so close that it really only added a few minutes to your walk all the same.

“Well,” you smiled at the door to the lobby. “This is me.”

“Yeah,” he nodded once, looking inside for a moment before looking back at you. “Look… you don’t owe me anything, alright? I’m not the kind of guy who wants to force something. I can just head on back to my truck, no hard feelings…”

“Well maybe none for you,” you teased a little. “But I might have some. Unless you really don’t want to fuck me.”

“Oh, I want to,” he said. “Trust me on that…”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” he laughed. “Been at the top of my list since you first walked in that place, baby, lemme tell you.”

“Well then,” you jerked your head toward the door. “Why don’t we cross it off the list?”

You took his hand in the elevator, his palm so broad, his fingers thick and long and callused in yours. You pressed your back against the wall and pulled him onto you so his hips were on yours and his nose brushed your own. His eyes ranged over your face, hungry and soft and open.

“You sure about this?” He asked, looking down at the rest of your body for a moment before going back to your face. “Sure you don’t have something better to do than some old man?”

“I’m sure,” you smiled at him, draping your arms over his shoulders. “Besides, I like old men. How old are you, anyway?”

“Forty-five,” he said. “How old are you?”

You snorted.

“I’m not sure I should say,” you said, holding him a little closer all the same. “Since you’re all hung up on age…”

“Not hung up on it,” he rolled his eyes. “Just… don’t need to be some youthful mistake is all. Wait, Jesus, please tell me you’re at least out of college, tell me you’re not a teenager…”

You laughed.

“No,” you shook your head. “Not a teenager. And I’ve been out of college a few years, I’m 25.”

“God,” he closed his eyes and shook his head once, like he was trying to shake the idea of you loose. “Still, that’s… you’re…”

You pressed your lips ever so slightly against his, more a quick brush than anything else, giving him every opportunity to pull back.

He didn’t take it.

Instead, he pressed his lips to yours, his hands going to your waist and tugging you tightly to his body while he pushed you back against the wall. Your arms got tighter to him and you opened your mouth, his tongue licking into you almost immediately. Joel didn’t need an engraved invitation, all he needed was a sign that you wanted him and fuck, you wanted him. More and more, each passing second, you wanted him. There was heat in you that was starting to flare so molten and hot that you pulled at his clothes, forgetting that you weren’t alone, not really.

The elevator dinged and he all but sprang back from you, both of you panting for breath.

“Fuck,” he breathed, looking you up and down, pupils blown.

“C’mon,” you took his hand. “I’m down the hall.”

You pulled him along behind you and fumbled to get your room key out of your bag. Joel’s wide, thick hands slipped around your waist as you did, tugging your ass back against his growing bulge and fuck, but he was huge. Thick and long and you knew his zipper had to be fucking killing him, cock that big and hard restrained by mere fabric and a slip of metal. His lips found the hinge of your jaw, your neck, down to your shoulder and you groaned a little as you clumsily forced the keycard in the door, the little beep the mechanism gave one of the best damn sounds you’d heard all night.

The two of you practically fell into your hotel room. You dropped your purse on the first table inside the door and started stepping out of your heels as Joel turned you around to face him, manipulating your body to put you right where he wanted you and the fire in you sparked higher, brighter as he manhandled you. Every touch he gave was loaded with need, the air thick and heavy with it as he pawed at your clothes and skin, licking into your mouth at every opportunity, taking your chin firmly in his heady grip to tug you open further for him, all but forcing you to give him everything.

You were as rough with his clothes as he was with your body, pulling so hard and fast at the buttons of his shirt that two popped free, pinging off the glass of the mass produced art that hung on the wall.

“Shit,” you panted, looking around the dark of your room for the buttons.

“Don’t give a fuck,” Joel replied, breathless, clutching you close and tight before you could pull away. “Didn’t really like this shirt, anyway.”

You shoved it down and off as he tugged your dress down your body, leaving it in a pile on the floor before turning you so the backs of your legs were against the bed. He deftly unhooked your bra with one hand then, ripping the straps down your arms but almost reverently lowering the cups, panting for breath as he exposed your breasts to his gaze. Joel tossed your bra to the side before taking the soft weight of your tits in his hands, cupping them, brushing his thumbs over your hardening nipples as he looked down at you with a look of near awe on his face. You half expected him to shove you back down onto the bed after his race to get you undressed but instead, his arm went around your waist, his hand splaying wide over the smooth skin of your back and he pulled you tight against him, making you gasp.

He moaned, deep and low, and dropped his head to your bared shoulder before trailing his nose over you to your neck, the wet heat of his breath on your skin.

“Fuck, you’re so goddamn soft,” he groaned, almost pained, and pressed his lips to your throat, making your breath catch. You clung to the broad expanse of his back, fingertips pressing into him, trying to get at every inch of his skin that you could find.

His mouth found yours and he gently, delicately, lowered you back onto the bed. He cradled your body against his own, keeping the firm line of him taut to you as he kissed you. Joel rested you on the mattress and you let your legs fall open so he could settle between your thighs, the heady weight of him pressing against your clit and making you moan.

“You got a problem if I explore this pretty body of yours?” He asked, his lips still brushing yours when he spoke. “Because fuck, baby, seems like a sin to not touch every goddamn inch of you.”

He rocked his thick, hard, still clothed cock against your core, as if to make his point, and took your responding moan as the yes it was. He trailed his lips slowly over your body, down your throat, your breast bone, your stomach, your navel. His nose brushed against you, his breath covering you in warm and needy pants. When he reached your underwear - the last thing still on your body - his fingers looped through the band before he paused, looking up at you over your stomach and between your breasts.

“You still with me, pretty girl?” He asked, mouth so close to your skin that the wetness of his lower lip had caught on your stomach. “Still good with this?”

“Yes, Joel, please,” you were practically squirming. He was so close to precisely where you needed him it seemed like you might melt with the want of him. “Fuck, please…”

“Fuck, you’re even prettier when you beg,” he said and started to pull your panties down over your hips. You lifted yourself up off the bed to help and it wasn’t long before you were naked below him. He knelt in front of you and took your knees in his hands, parting your thighs for him and groaning when he did.

“Goddamn,” he breathed, so quiet you weren’t sure you were meant to hear it or if he’d meant to say it out loud at all. “Just… fuck.”

He opened your legs enough to lay between them, settling with your thighs over his shoulders. His thumb traced a slow, tender path over your slit, brushing your clit and making you gasp when he did.

“Swear you’ve got the prettiest fucking pussy I’ve ever seen,” he said before he pressed his lips to your leaking hole. He moaned as he did and you couldn’t help but thrust against him once. He pulled back from you just a little, his nose barely touching your clit as he did. “Needy little pussy, too, huh?”

Your fingers knotted in the bedspread and Joel’s mouth found your clit, softly sucking the sensitive nub between his teeth to tease with his tongue. You fought the urge to rock your hips against his face, trying to remember that this man was practically a stranger, not a lover whose tastes you knew intimately. But that was hard to remember as he worked his way lower, his tongue slipping inside of you with a deep groan.

Joel ate you like you were a delicacy he longed to savor. He started slow, tasting and teasing you open, before delving deep like he couldn’t resist it, his thick tongue exploring and finding the soft and tender places inside you. His thumbs spread you open wide to him, his nose against your clit and you couldn’t stop yourself, you rolled your hips against him. He moaned into you and you forced your hips down on the bed, trying to clear your head enough to be still.

“Sorry,” you panted. “I didn’t mean to do that, you’re just… really fucking good at that.”

He stopped and pulled back from you enough to look up your body again, a frown on his face, your slick glistening on his beard in the light from the parking lot outside.

“You think I don’t want you fucking my face?” He asked. “Fuck, baby, I want nothing more than for you to take exactly what you need. Want you to make yourself come on my face, you understand?”

You swallowed and nodded.

“What are you going to do?” He asked, voice almost stern.

“Make myself come on your face?” You more asked than answered.

“Better sound more sure than that,” he said, fingers moving to your clit. You gasped and moaned at the contact. “Come on baby, what are you going to do? Say it. Own it.”

“Come on your face,” you panted. “Fuck, Joel… I’m going to come on your face, I’m going to make myself come on your face, please…”

“Good,” he said, going back to eating your pussy.

It was like he’d been holding back before but had nothing stopping him now. His tongue pressed deep, his nose nestled in your slit to nudge your clit, his arms looped over the thickness of your thighs to keep you open for him while also pressing the softness of you to the sides of his head. Your orgasm built quickly, the heat in you sinking to your core, everything inside you there going taut and tense. You were just on the edge of it, whimpering below his tongue and his touch when one hand left the warmth of your thigh and moved to your slit, his finger sliding inside you alongside his tongue. He pressed into the soft, tender place inside you that seemed to elude other men, finding it with an almost practiced ease and moaning when he did, sending the sparks of your climax shooting through you.

He groaned, needy, as he ate you through it, not letting up, not even for a second until your orgasm had subsided and your head was swimming.

“Fuck you feel amazing,” he pulled himself from you, sucking the finger that was inside you clean before wiping your slick from his beard while his other hand traced over the smooth softness of your inner thigh. “Should’ve asked this sooner but… please tell me you’ve got a damn condom. I wasn’t exactly lookin’ for this tonight, not until I saw you, so I’m not exactly prepared.”

“I do,” you propped yourself up on your elbows, trying to remember where the hell you left your suitcase in the dark. You spotted it on the dresser, thankfully still mostly organized since you’d arrived that afternoon. You nodded to it. “Suitcase, top zipper pouch inside the lid.”

He got one, the crinkle of foil strangely loud in the silence of the room.

“Here,” you sat up and reached for him as he came to stand between your legs at the edge of the bed. “Let me do it…”

He gave you the packet and you opened it before palming the condom, holding it tight in one hand while slipping the other into the open zipper of his jeans and into his underwear to find his thick, heavy cock.

You moaned as you wrapped your fingers around his length, hard as steel wrapped in silken skin, and you stroked him, just half way up his cock at first before going from root to tip. He was dripping there, his arousal making his head slick and wet. You brushed your thumb over his leaking tip, the smooth skin making your mouth water. You looked up at him through your eyelashes as you leaned forward to lick him before taking just the very end of his cock between your lips. You suckled at him gently, lapping up his precome, Joel’s breaths getting heavier and faster as you did, before you took him into your mouth. He moaned as you sucked him, his hand going to the back of your head and holding you against him, your nose brushing against the base of his stomach. You took his head into your throat and moaned around him as you sucked him, making him hiss in pleasure, his grip on your skull tightening.

“Fuck, woman,” he managed as you kept sucking him. “Gonna make me come if you keep doin’ that…”

You pulled back from him slowly, his hold on you easing as you did, until he slipped from your mouth, still slick with your spit.

“Should probably stop then,” you said, a little breathless. You took the condom - warm now from the heat of your hand - and put it over his head before rolling it over his thick shaft. You stroked him once, twice and leaned forward again, sucking his tip for a moment when it was in place and his head tipped back, staring at the ceiling as he groaned.

“Jesus,” he panted. “Fuck, you gonna let me inside that soft little pussy of yours or make me come in your mouth?”

You laughed once, needy and low, before pulling yourself backwards on the bed, Joel’s eyes hungry on your body as you went. He shucked his jeans and underwear off before crawling, finally naked, between your thighs. His head brushed against your sex and he took the base of his cock in his hand, trailing his tip up and down your dripping slit before spreading you open for him, your pussy swollen and tender as he did. He put his tip against your dripping entrance, pressed just the very end of him inside, barely opening you to him. His hands moved to your thighs, brushing over them to your knees before trailing back toward your center, his fingers splayed wide over you soft flesh.

“You ready, baby?” He asked, needy.

“Yes,” you breathed. You’d passed ready a long time ago. You were desperate now, aching and all but begging for him to take up every empty space inside your body.

“Good,” he pressed forward until his head was fully inside your tight channel and you both moaned with it, one of your hands finding the smooth skin of your breast and squeezing it. He groaned at the sight as he started fucking just the tip of him into you, rocking in and out of you in short, sharp bursts. “Fuck, there you go baby. Just like that.”

He started feeding you more of his cock then, driving further into you with each stroke until he fucked all the way into you, his hips flush to yours, his thick length stretching you open, the burn of him meshing with the heady pleasure of being so utterly full.

“Goddamn,” he breathed, his cock buried inside you totally. “This pussy… fuck me.”

One of his hands went from your thigh to over your hip coming to rest and the soft swell of the base of your stomach. He spread wide over your skin, his palm swallowing the space over where he was inside of you and pressing down, making you moan as the tight fullness inside you got more intense. His thumb stretched down toward your clit and he started working you there as he just held himself within you, making your cunt throb once around him. He groaned at the feeling.

“That’s right,” he said. “So full of this cock ain’t you baby? Taking me so damn well…”

He kept working your clit for a minute, not moving inside you, just pressing into your skin until you were practically writhing below his touch. He was so big, you were so full, the pleasure in your body so tight. It made your head spin.

“Joel,” your fingers scratched at the blankets. “I need you to move, please, please, please…”

“Please what, pretty girl?” His voice was dark, low.

“Please fuck me,” you begged. “Please, please fuck me, please…”

He drew back then, achingly slow at first, watching where his cock was pressing into you with a hungry look on his face, before thrusting back in, deep and firm.

This, you thought, was why you liked fucking older men. Joel knew what he was doing. He worked your body with expert skill, grinding his cock deep inside so his head pressed against the most sensitive parts of you, the thick drag of him making your back arch and toes curl. He kept rubbing your clit with his thumb, the pressure and pace keeping your pleasure building and building but never quite cascading over the edge.

He kept fucking into you that way until you were desperate, your whole being drawn tight and achy around his cock. He’d stopped watching where your bodies were joined and had moved to your face, his gaze drinking in your desperate little moans and the way your eyes would scrunch closed as you got so close to coming but didn’t quite make it, whimpering as your climax fell just out of reach yet again.

“Got you so tight and needy, hm?” He said, breathless. You just nodded, trying to rock your hips up against him but held in place by his hand on your stomach. “Why don’t you tell me what you need? Tell me exactly what it is you need.”

“To come,” you whimpered. “Fuck, I need to come, you need to let me come, please let me come…”

“Think I’ve been keepin’ you on the edge too long?” He asked. “Think I should let this little pussy come? Let her just milk me dry?”

“Fuck, please,” you begged, not caring if you sounded pathetic. It’s not like you’d see this man again after tonight, anyway.

He took his thumb off your clit but before you had a chance to whimper in protest, he adjusted your legs to drive somehow deeper and leaned over you, pressing his bare skin to yours before kissing your neck, sucking and licking at the tender skin there as he fucked into you, making you whimper, your nails scrabbling over his back. His lips moved from your neck to your ear, his large hand coming to cup the crown of your head, his pace never relenting.

“Come for me,” he whispered, low and needy. “You can come, want you to come, want to feel you come. Just let go for me, just give in to me.”

His hips rocked against your clit, his cock buried so deep and you saw stars for a moment before you cried out, your orgasm hitting you hard after being on the edge of it for so long. It broke your whole body down, muscle clenching desperately, blood rushing, fingers clinging. You felt it everywhere, starting at your core and radiating out in hot, aching waves.

“Goddamn, that’s it,” he fucked you through it as your core fluttered over him. “Just keep comin’ for me, just like that, feeling so damn good baby just…”

He pressed deep as your orgasm started to fade and moaned, the sound going straight to your raw, fucked out cunt. The pulsing of his cock, in you to the root, rolled you into another orgasm, this one less intense but still making your pussy grip him close and tight as he spilled into the condom.

He collapsed on you for a moment as both of your climaxes eased, his chest heaving. Before his weight became too much, he adjusted, rising up enough to kiss you as he slid his softening cock from your body and falling flat on his back on the bed beside you.

“Damn,” you panted after a moment, staring up at the ceiling.

He laughed lightly beside you.

“Know the feelin’.”

You lay there next to each other, listening to each other as your breaths came back into a normal, steady cadence. Goosebumps started to pebble over your skin, the air cold as you were naked without his body on yours, the air conditioner below the window humming along.

You turned your head to look at him and he did the same.

“Should probably go…” his voice trailed off but he sounded reluctant. Or maybe you just hoped he did.

“You don’t have to,” you said, probably a little too quickly for a man you’d just met. Even in the dim light of the moon and the parking lot lights out your window, you could tell he raised his eyebrows. “I’m just… you can stay, if you want. It’s a big bed. Think we can manage it.”

“Wouldn’t want to impose…”

“You’re not,” you said. “You can leave, too, if you’d rather but… don’t feel like you have to rush out.”

He smiled a little.

“Then I’ll stay. I’d like to stay.”

You smiled back, that blissed out and relaxed feeling you had after you came settling over you.

“Good.”

The two of you settled far across the bed from each other at first but drifted quickly, until your head was on his chest and you were curved around his side as his arm wrapped around your shoulders, his fingers trailing up and down your arm until you fell asleep.

He was somehow even more beautiful in the light of day.

You realized it as the two of you went about the strange intimacy of getting ready for the day side by side with someone you didn’t know. He blinked sleep from his eyes when first woke up and stretched his back before getting out of bed, his curls haphazard and messy and his body soft and warm. He got dressed and ran his fingers through his hair, trying to tame it. You offered him your travel toothbrush as you got dressed and he watched you pull on your jeans as he leaned against the bathroom doorframe.

“Been a while since I’ve done this,” he said, a little hesitant.

“Just how long?” You asked, teasing as you pulled on your shirt.

“Longer than I want to admit,” he said, small smile making his cheek dimple. “Long enough that I don’t remember exactly how this is supposed to work but… I’d like to take you to breakfast. If you want.”

You smiled.

“Sure,” you said. “I’d like that.”

Joel walked back to the bar and picked up his truck before taking you to a diner not too far from your hotel. You laughed with him about menu typos and the questionable song choices coming from the speakers over greasy eggs and toast soaked in butter.

“Know we just met,” he said as you were on your fourth cup of coffee and you were both avoiding the fact that you’d have to leave this table and go your separate ways soon. The remains of your hashbrowns had long gone cold, ketchup smeared across the plate and you weren’t ready to say goodbye to him yet. “And that you’re in town for some family thing but… if you’re not busy tonight, would you want to come with me to this party? Buddy of mine is throwin’ in, supposed to be nice. Think he gave me a plus one in hopes I’d actually use it.”

“Damn,” you winced a bit. “I really wish I could but the thing I’m in town for is tonight.”

“Damn’s right,” he smiled a little. “Think you’d be my best shot for a good time at that thing.”

“Yeah, back at you for my thing,” you laughed.

“Here,” he pulled his phone from his pocket and unlocked it before handing it over. “Put your number in. Maybe we could still get together later…”

You took it but hesitated, thumb tapping on the side of his phone case.

He frowned.

“What?”

“I live hours away,” you said. “Is this really smart?”

He shrugged.

“Don’t really care if it’s smart or not. Just want to see you again. If you’ll let me.”

You smiled a little and shook your head before putting your number in his phone.

“There,” you said, handing it back over. “Let me know when you’re done with your thing. I can think of a few more ways to get some good use out of my hotel room.”

Two more cups of coffee later, Joel dropped you off at your hotel. You kissed him goodbye in the cabin of his truck, moaning against his mouth before pulling away.

“Alright, go before I come back in with you,” he said playfully, reaching across you to open your door.

You laughed.

“Don’t tempt me,” you got out and paused before closing your door, taking one last chance to look him over. “If we don’t see each other again… It was good meeting you.”

“Good meeting you, too,” he said. “But don’t worry. I’ll see you again.”

You went inside, looking back over your shoulder once you were in the lobby, Joel’s truck still sitting near the doors as he waited to make sure you were safely inside.

There was an odd sense of loss in you as you got ready for your parents’ big anniversary party. You hadn’t expected to meet anyone when on your trip back to your hometown, let alone someone you liked so much. You’d been single for a while, doing things alone didn’t really bother you. But now, you felt this tug of desire to have him getting ready beside you where you could help him with his tie and he could zip you into your dress.

But that was stupid. You knew it was stupid. Your job had taken you to Memphis and you liked it there. You weren’t in a rush to move back to your hometown. And Joel had a business here. It wasn’t going to happen. It’d be a lot easier in the long run if you just accepted that now.

You showed up early to the party, your older sister wanting help to get things set up in the tents outside.

“Who all is coming to this shindig anyway?” You asked as you put pictures of your parents out around a guest book near the entrance of the tent.

“Oh, you know,” your sister waved you off.

“Not really,” you said. She gave you a look. “What! I haven’t been home for a family party in… well, it’s been a minute.”

“Yeah, and I’ve been the one doing all the work to help with those for a while,” she said.

“And you’re definitely not bitter about that…”

“Not one bit,” she teased. “But the usual people. The closest neighbors, the aunts and uncles, Mom’s book club, church people, Dad’s friends…”

“Dad has friends?” You gaped at her. “Since when?”

“He’s had friends for years!”

“OK, he’s never had friends,” you said. “Where is he finding friends? Shit’s unnatural…”

“Don’t let them catch you saying shit,” she said. “And there are a few from work, one from this basketball league he joined…”

“Ew,” you crinkled your nose. Your sister laughed.

“Definitely not ew,” she said. “At least not the basketball friend one, he’s weirdly hot, it’s disturbing…”

“Well, there’s no accounting for taste, is there?” You teased.

“You’ll eat those words when you meet the guy,” she said. “Just wait.”

“Whatever you say,” you rolled your eyes, skeptical. You and your sister had never had the same taste in men, you didn’t see any reason for that to have changed.

But still, you were keeping an eye out for this mysterious hot friend of your father’s as people started to arrive for the party. Or trying to, anyway. You kept getting pulled away by distant relatives you hadn’t seen since your cousin’s wedding or to do a favor for your mom as she frantically rushed around trying to take care of everyone while also trying to have fun at the party that was being thrown in her honor.

Everything was in full swing when you heard your father call your name from across the large, increasingly full tent. He waved you over, leaning around a man he was talking to, and you worked your way around the dance floor, trying not to think about how much you’d like to have a date at this damn thing - how much you’d like to have Joel as your date at this damn thing - when you froze beside your dad. The man standing next to him was devastatingly familiar, even from behind. Tallest man in the room, broad shoulders, thick curls. Your heart beat faster.

“Hey honey,” your dad said, tugging you closer. “Want you to meet my friend. Joel, this is my youngest that I’ve told you so much about.”

He turned around, a beer bottle in his hand a smile on his face that fell the moment he saw you. Your dad was saying something else but you didn’t hear it, too busy staring at the man who had been inside you less than 24 hours earlier.

The man who had you thinking about what life alongside another person would be like.

The man who was apparently your father’s friend.

“Hi,” he said after your dad had stopped talking. You hadn’t noticed.

“Hi,” you said, still staring at him.

Fuck, you were in trouble.

A/N: Here's whatever this is. He's unhinged, I don't know what's happening to the Joels who live in my head lately but they're just going crazy up there. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it! Love you!

#fanfic #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x oc #smut fic #dbf!joel x reader

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gay-dorito-dust · 29 days

Note

Hello! Can I request smt with Luocha, Dan Heng, Argenti and Boothill? (Separate, and dw if u don’t write for boothill ^^)

You’re dating them and randomly call them husband just to see their reaction. You just say it so casually too during a convo with maybe a friend or a family member

Argenti: ‘Argenti might as well be my husband at this point.’ You said to your friend after retelling a story regarding yourself and Argenti.

‘Awww! I wish Royland was more like Argenti.’ Your friend groaned, glaring daggers at the back of their boyfriend’s head.

Argenti visibly perked up at this, his eyes and smile were practically glowing. Did he hear you right, you consider him as a potential Husband? The gods have answered his prayers and quelled any worries that he might’ve had beforehand. For Argenti fully intends to be your husband one day and until then will commit himself to proving to you why he would make an excellent husband.

The moment he met you, to the moment you begun dating, all Argenti could think of was what it would be like being your devoted husband, your soul partner for the rest of your lives. No one else will do for Argenti but you, and he’s so loyal and extremely devoted to being your partner that the thought of looking at anyone else was so blasphemous; so much so that he’d rather hand you his eyes on a gold platter then ever be tempted by any other.

Argenti has had many dreams about your domestic life as a happily married couple, a happily married couple who were very much still in their honeymoon phase, but when he’s your husband that honeymoon phase would never fade away and die. He would make every day feel just as unique and special as the last few.

He might as well have ‘y/n’s husband’ as his name instead of Argenti because of how much he would use it when introducing himself to anyone new.

Needless to say by the end of the month to the day you and Argenti were officially married and more happy than ever.

Luocha: ‘Luocha would make an amazing husband, don’t you agree?’ You asked your friend, eyeing your boyfriend across the room for his reaction.

‘I thought Luocha was already your husband.’ Your friend asked, genuinely confused.

the moment Luocha hears his name being spoken he doesn’t think much of it, but when it was in the same sentence of as the word husband, that well and truly caught his attention. However it doesn’t take him long to realise what you were doing, but once he realised what was going on it was already too late, as the reaction you pulled out of him was very much a genuine one.

Neither of you had talked about it but according to your friend, you must’ve came across as to others a married couple anyways. So much so that even if you were to ever make it a reality nothing much would change at all for anyone other then himself and you; Yet that didn’t change the fact that the seed was planted and has taken ahold inside of Luocha’s mind as he walked towards you and your friend, placing a hand to the small of your back as he politely greeted your friend, acting none the wiser.

Well your friend might not pick up the hidden cues that told you that he knew, but you did, you could pick up his cues as easily as breathing which makes attempts at teasing one another all the more fun and interesting; Luocha could read you like the back of his hand and you were only starting to get the hang of reading him.

So the look he gives you may not seem like much to other people but to you, it was him telling you that he knew what you were doing, and you couldn’t help but smile back at him in victory because he took the bait you had put in place for him. You didn’t need to hear him to know that the first thing he’d ask once you took your leave would be:

‘I don’t think it’s wise of you to tease your husband. Do you?’

Boothill: ‘you and Boothill? Now that I didn’t see coming.’ Your friend joked as if you hadn’t openly said the most outrageous, thirsty shit about your now boyfriend.

‘Watch it because sooner or later he’ll become my husband.’ You joked back as you and your fiend shared a laugh.

Boothill flashes his sharp teeth in a wicked smirk upon hearing you call him your husband.

Oh now you’ve done it. He’s not going to let you live down the fact that you had called him your husband. He refuses to because he wants to see how you’d react to it. So he’ll make his presence know by confidently striding up to you and resting his hand on your waist, squeezing it, before smashing his sharp teeth once more but this time in a Cheshire grin.

‘Husband?’ He’d ask. ‘Have I secretly been promoted from being your boyfriend without my knowledge? I’m honoured sweetheart, but warn a fella next time before you go and pull this sort of stunt off. Oh wait,’ he pauses before continuing. ‘There’s not going to be a next time because you ain’t gonna be getting rid of me anytime soon. You’re stuck with me forever sugar.’ He cackles as he shamelessly swats you on the ass -hard- for good measure.

Yeah your plan kind of back fired on you because now your the one with the extremely flustered face, and now an sore ass that’ll become a bruise on top of that.

Boothill loved the idea of you belonging to him and only him and vice versa. He’s a possessive prick who’ll gladly put a bullet of two between the eyes of any bastard stupid enough to look at you for longer than a second.

He’s not one to share his treasure and never will be. You’re his now unto forever. Also he’d probably jokingly call himself your husband whenever you meet new people along your journey, and or scaring suitors off by screaming that you/him were married. (You very much weren’t but it works in keeping creeps away, so that’s a bonus.)

He plays on it so much that it’s an inside joke between the two of you and the two of you alone.

Dan Heng: ‘my husband Dan Heng, is just outside getting fresh air, he’s not fond of overcrowded social gatherings.’ You explained to your parents who shared a look of understanding.

Dan Heng, who had finally came back into the house, overheard this conversation and immediately his face burst into flames as his palms became sweaty all of a sudden and his breath hitched in his throat.

Husband?

Him?

Is that why he’s been invited for your family vacations with your parents, grandparents and relatives with their spouses of their own? All because they thought he was your husband? Dan Heng thought he was going to faint then and there from how many times he’s mentioned himself as your husband.

You’ve been together for a while now, but the fact that you were calling him your husband had him feeling some type of way that went beyond comprehension. He likes the idea of being your husband and has had a couple of shameless dreams where you very much were married and had a small family of your own, living a peaceful and loving life together and growing old together, still very much in love. However he always seemed to be at a loss for words when wondering whether in an alternate reality his dreams were your lived reality.

Dan Heng has so many thoughts on being your husband, one of them being that he’d be grateful in being chosen to be your life partner, while the other had still yet to find the words to voice his desire in being your husband aloud without being overcome by his own emotions. So until then he’ll have to suffer you freely calling him your husband in the presence of your parents, not that he’s complaining but he’d rather not be asked why his face still went so red when being called your husband, especially after so long of being assumedly married by your parents.

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strawberrystepmom · 3 months

Text

gojo x f!reader. reader and gojo are married, reader is wearing heels and earrings. a little bitty love note for my valentine. wc 1.3k | divider thanks to cafekitsune 💓

Tuesday nights have long been decreed to be designated date nights in the Gojo household.

Bearing in mind how busy the two of you tend to be, this standing appointment doesn’t always work out the way it was planned when you started the tradition and there have been several occasions where you and Satoru have had “dates” in the form of sharing meals from miles away via video chat but tonight, he is all yours. In the flesh, a day ahead of what is widely viewed as a romantic holiday, and wearing your favorite dress shirt with a smirk across his face.

“So, I’ve been thinkin’.” He announces from across your walk-in closet, fastening the buttons on either side of his wrists and walking in your direction. Raising your eyebrows while you fasten in your favorite pair of earrings, you hum at him, concealing a smile to the best of your ability.

“That can be a dangerous thing.”

Your husband chuckles and joins your side, leaning down to press his face against yours. He steals a glance at your reflections in the small mirror atop your standing jewelry box and puckers his lips, turning his head enough that he can kiss you before suggesting what is on his mind.

“Remember how we used to pretend to get engaged to get free dessert?”

Snorting, you nod, attempting to secure the back of your earring onto the post keeping it in your lobe. Satoru grabs the small piece of metal from you and takes over, leaning down as close as he can to you to get the job done.

“I recall.”

Of course you remember all of the times he pulled a fake ring out of his pocket for attention, applause, and a celebratory slice of cake he didn’t have to purchase despite absolutely being able to afford it. The first time you were mortified, hot cheeked and taken aback by the possibility he may have actually been proposing to you, but each time it became easier to react the way that would make people happiest for you. Keeping the absolute lack of romance in his actual proposal in mind, you’ve always held these fake ones close to your heart.

It feels like he spent years proposing to you culminating in the real thing - how romantic is that? Both of you insist that you aren’t romantics yet the way you love each other speaks for itself.

“Let’s do it again.”

“Oh you’re dastardly,” you tease with a half smile, your palms smoothing out any wrinkles in his dress shirt while fiddling with the buttons keeping it closed. “You really want to?”

“Duh, it’ll be fun.”

Despite yourself, you laugh at your husband’s antics and remove your palms from his chest to slip your ring off. Your lower lip dips out in a pout with each inch the golden band moves and Satoru’s heart squeezes in his chest watching it. Maybe he shouldn’t have suggested such a silly stunt, no matter the laughs that would be shared over it later.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

Nodding, you grab his hand and face his palm upward, depositing your band in the smooth center of it, followed by the engagement ring you wear stacked with it. Your left finger is bare for the first time in years and you wiggle it with a giggle, shoving it upward in the direction of his face.

“For old times sake.”

It’s a very good thing the two of you picked a restaurant that deviates from your usual plans otherwise this entire little plot would fail spectacularly. Tadashi, the chef at your favorite place close to your home, would have spotted the two of you in a second and given you a wry smile and tutted at your dishonesty.

“Are you sure this is gonna work? We seem pretty, I dunno…married?” You question everything happening right now, unexpectedly feeling a little insecure about lying. The click of your heels on the sidewalk perfectly mingles with Satoru’s footsteps that he intentionally shortens when the two of you are together. There are so many subtleties that will give you away including the mere fact you are obsessively in love with each other and fail to hide it.

Your husband simply chuckles and shakes his head.

“Hopefully they’re giving out the good desserts tonight,” your husband mutters while weaving his fingers in between yours and swinging your joined hands between your bodies. He’s so effortlessly boyish sometimes you want to be annoyed but find it difficult to be when the stars are twinkling just right and the cool air nipping at his cheeks makes them a rosy pink.

If you loved him less, you’d be more frustrated. Adoration is a balm that soothes most of your frustration with him at any given time so you’re happily preparing to go along with all of this, smiling at the hostess standing at the front of the restaurant when you enter.

“Two for Gojo,” he proudly states to the woman who whisks the two of you off toward your reserved table. You smile at her the entire time but you notice her smile dim after she catches sight of your joined hands. With a nod, she moves so you can slide into your chair and he does the same and you hum to yourself.

“That was weird, right?”

Satoru just shrugs and you roll your eyes, picking up the menu and scanning over it once. Your waiter arrives with a polite half bow and immediately, your husband’s face lights up. It’s too late to tell him to stop whatever he’s planning now, his right hand dipping under the table to fish around in his pocket for your engagement ring.

“Are we celebrating anything tonight?”

The server’s words immediately make you panic and your eyes widen when Satoru pushes his chair out and stands, presenting a very familiar ring in his palm. Taking a deep breath, you gasp and do your best to feign shock and surprise, noticing the same horrified look on the server’s face when he glances at Gojo’s hands.

“Yes, we are. We are getting married!”

Glancing at his left hand, you immediately notice what the shock is about. Rather than fuss at him you rush to cover your mouth with your right hand and nod rapidly as though you are totally taken aback. Holding your left hand out, he slips your ring back onto its home finger. He beams at you with every movement, practically bursting with joy, and seats him back at the table across from you.

“You forgot to take your ring off,” you whisper-hiss out of the side of your mouth and your husband looks down at his left hand that grips the edge of the dinner table. Sure as anything, the golden band you slipped on the digit years ago glistens under the low restaurant lighting and you fight the urge to giggle and blow the entire operation wide open. The clearly uncomfortable server bows his head at each of you, filling your empty water glasses for the sake of having something to do, before scurrying away with his head pointed firmly toward the ground.

“He probably thinks I’m your mistress now.”

Satoru shrugs in response, tilting his head to the side.

“You are my wife, my mistress, and the love of my life, what can I say? The plan worked perfectly if he believed it.”

Rolling your eyes, you reach across the table and run your thumb over his fingers and the gold band adorning his ring finger.

“You’re such a romantic.”

He smirks and wraps your hand in his.

“But I’m your romantic.”

The two of you are so lost in your own little world you don’t realize the server and hostess off to the side discussing the married man proposing to another woman, gesturing wildly at each other. Fake proposal aside, you are excited to have an evening to enjoy with the man who shakes your world up at every opportunity and he glances at the menu for a scant moment before turning to look up at you, blue eyes narrowed.

“Do you think they’ll still give us dessert?”

Laughing, you shrug and squeeze his hand.

“I think we should probably plan on just buying one this time.”

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jjk x reader #kendall writes #be nice I haven’t written him since before my hiatus 😔#satoken

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hotpinkstars · 1 month

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WE NEED THE COMFORTT FOR THE BLIND READER FUN YOU CAN’T LEAVE US HANGING LIKE THIS?????? (can’t do angst no comfort 😔)

-> blinded mistakes - happy ending

synopsis -> your husband feels bad for the way he snapped the other day. how does he make it up to you?

a/n -> approximately 28 people have asked for a part 2. this is insane i have so many people to tag (who aren't anons, obviously) BUT THANKS FOR ALL THE LOVE ON MY OTHER ONE OMGGGGG!!!! i love u all sm

warnings -> crying, but that's kinda all lol. this ones mostly just fluff!

w/c -> 951

-> kamisato ayato

it’s been a few days since the argument.

ayato had been given an extension due to his circumstances, and didn’t have to worry about the ruined papers due to the kindness from the city's higher-ups who assigned him such papers in the first place. a lot of them were salvageable, too.

once he finished them, he leaned back, smiling from the stress relief. he got up, grabbed a cup of tea from the kitchen, and realized something.

you weren’t in the main room, waiting for him to leave his office so you two could spend some time together.

he then thought back about the events that took place. his chest immediately fills with regret at the words spoken to you. coincidentally, ayaka walked into the room.

“ayaka, have you seen y/n?” he hurried to his sister, who simply sighed.

“they’ve been in their room. they’ve been beating themselves up about the incident, so now they’re afriad of moving incase they bother you more,” she brushed past him. “good luck making amends. they’re incredibly hurt.”

he nodded, processing the information. he pacewalked to your shared bedroom, where he opened the door to see your sleeping form.

he sat next to you, stroking your hair until you woke up. when you felt a hand on top of your head, you flinched a little bit.

“who’s there?” you said in a soft voice, unwilling to cause more issues by lashing out or showing aggression.

“ayato,” he took his hand off your head. “i’ve come to say i’m sorry.”

you got up and found the headboard, slowly resting yourself up on it. “why all of the sudden? i hope you understand that you really hurt me, ayato. i’ve been too scared to get up these last few days because of the way you made me feel. the only times i’ve gotten up were to go to the restroom, bathe, and eat, but thoma would bring me something here. i still think about the words you said and your gestures.”

he looked down, sighing. he didn’t realize how much of an effect his words and actions had on you, but now that he’s hearing it from you, it seems like two more tons added to his shoulders. “don’t worry about it. it was salvageable, and you hadn’t ruined anything.”

“i wish you told me that when it happened, ayato,” you started to tear up. “i forgive you, but i don’t want to hear that again. it made me feel like shit.”

he nodded, hugging you tight, letting you cry into his shoulder. you felt around his body to realize he was wearing his white and blue suit, the one he usually goes out to fight in.

“i’m not ruining this suit, right…?” you brought your face off his shoulder, but he immediately shoved it back in the same spot, silently telling you the obvious answer.

he was glad he was able to resolve things. he couldn’t imagine a life without you.

-> wriothesley

it’s been about a week since wriothesley has seen you. he figured you went out of the fortress, staying over at a hotel or with a friend, like navia or chlorinde. he pretty much figured it would be chlorinde, considering she hasn’t come down to the fortress or has tried to initiate contact with him since the incident.

he figured he’d try knocking on both doors, starting with navia. once navia told him everything he needed to know; that you were with chlorinde, he rushed over to her place.

“what are you doing here?” she scoffs as she opened the door, leaning against the doorframe. “your wife told me everything. i hope to trust that you didn’t embarrass her in front of the people who work for the palais mermonia, especially monsieur neuvillette himself.”

he shook his head, rubbing at his temples. “just let me see her, would you? i want to apologize.”

she nodded, clearing the doorway, allowing him to rush into the spare bedroom.

you knew he was the one coming towards your room, considering his footsteps were a lot heavier than anyone you’ve ever known. his were tough, threatening.

“wriothesley! w-what are you-” you started, your heart beating a little faster.

“i want to apologize for the things i said. i didn’t have to completely redo all my papers, and neuvillette understood the situation, and i was able to get an extent.”

you shook your head. “so you embarrassed me then, huh? you told them everything? that your stupid blind wife who is not even near good enough for you ruined your work?”

he was speechless. he didn’t know how to respond to that sentence, so he put his hands on your shoulders, asking for silent permission to take you into a hug. once you nodded, he embraced you tightly.

“no, i didn’t tell them that. i told him it was just a spill, and that i was able to save some of the papers. neuvillette is a very understanding man, and this never happens. i never need new copies or need extents, so he was willing to do it this time. nothing about you came up in our conversation,” he swallowed a lump in his throat before going on. “and you’re not stupid. you’re also the perfect choice for me, not good enough my ass. no matter what i have to do to make you see that, just because you have a disability doesn’t mean you’re unworthy.”

you started to cry, letting the tears spill into his chest, creating a damp spot on his tie.

“so you don’t hate me then?” you sniffed.

“no, not at all. i couldn’t bring myself to hate you for something as dumb as that.”

#genshin impact #genshin #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin fluff #genshin x reader fluff #wriothesley #wriothesley x reader #ayato #kamisato #kamisato ayato #ayato kamisato #ayato kamisato x reader #kamisato ayato x reader #ayato x reader #kamisato x reader

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l3monlem0n · 1 month

Text

Some Murder Drones Episode 7 screenshots I thought were interesting and my thoughts on them :>

SPOILER WARNING!!!! is spoilering

Nori, despite being a middle aged woman with a child, appears to be an Otaku or otherwise likes "edgy" and "scene" stuff, as well as listening to nightcore, very much like her daughter. Good for her tbh you're never too old to have fun

She also has a photo of Khan and what I can only assume is baby Uzi, though it appears to have blue eyes, but maybe it's just the lighting. Still very cute she has a pic of her husband

As well as all the previously mentioned Otaku stuff, she also drew herself as an anime character. She has a skinsona. Phenomenal (pos)

Nothing much here, just Uzi coughing up blood. Girl got the goop (gore) inside of her already

Lab Space. Apparently the Church was just down there and not even the humans know why. The canonicity of this is questionable; it could just be a joke

OT, as per google, stands for "Occupational Therapy". Makes sense for the context, and makes the bottom text funnier

"Fun Time To Universe Big Crunch: 87". The Big Crunch is a hypothetical way the Universe could end, where the universe folds on itself and shrinks into a single point. 87 "what" I don't know. If it's months, that 7 years and 3 months

Honestly the Murder Drones lore is super confusing. I think what this is trying to say is that every other Zombie Drone is doing poorly, (Except for Yeva), they are trying to reactivate 002 (Nori) via the USB. I'm not sure what this means. Maybe they only got the results they wanted from the two of them, and are trying again with Nori since she was the only other one that worked (also why they got Yeva when she failed; this may all be referring to how the episode opened up) Also, the date says SER. As revealed in the episode Cabin Fever, Copper-9 has months that Earth does not. SER most likely stands for Seramorris, the month revealed in that episode

Looks like the "bad event" wasn't the first one. Certainly was the last one though lol

Just a good pic of ghost/hologram V with the scary stuff. Might use this as a wallpaper

You can literally see the hole in his neck where N bit him in...

...And it's to the point his HEAD FALLS OFF. (including because I didn't notice the first time around)

Yup, the idea that Uzi became the Admin for N and V is completely true. I wonder what would've happened if she didn't, since Cyn didn't react whatsoever

friggin bug (very pos)

You would not believe how difficult it was to get a good pic of this (I'm using snipping tool lmao). Always a pleasure to see Uzi's doodles. Things her gun can do (upper right):

NOT judge her

Forced prom date (?)

Allows her to say she had friends before she frickin murdered them with sci-fi machinery

The cut off text at the bottom: Plan B: Normal gun + Shoot really fast

This is while Tessa is looking for something in the lockers. Claws, chains, magnets, Wings, and scribbled "HELP". Looks like the lockers were all specifically to hold the infected worker drones. Oof

We are in the future now baby. We have rererererereCAPTCHA. Funnily enough, it still couldn't stop a robot

There is a message board where someone who doesn't like robots is talking. They also are scared. Also no one else is using this system, which is unsurprising. "Ur aight ;)" Wait is the winky face intentional foreshadowing? Or unintentional?

We get the names of a bunch of other Worker Drones. Unfortunately for all 029 fans, her name was not visible. (also can someone tell me what "JWEB" could be short for?) And Yeva is said to have a patch. That may be the crucible thing idk

Cyn (which I will be calling this version Skyn [Skin + Cyn]) apparently took of the space suit just to give Doll the Withered Foxy jumpscare. Honestly really terrifying. If this photo was teased before release I think the fandom would've exploded

Just N being a good boy :3

The MDs, Cyn's pets. Nori refers to them as "Nerfed" so the "Entity" can ensure control, and says they were made to destroy other hosts. I don't know why Cyn would want them dead, but I'm not the loremaster here. YouTube line is there because I couldn't be bothered after the Railgun image

Probably already confirmed, but doubly confirmed that a symptom of the Solver is giving Drones organic insides. A Worker Drone body with a rib cage and guts. I wonder what would happen if the infection continued uninterrupted (also R.I.P. Doll I loved you :frown:)

I'm sure everyone noticed, but when Uzi tried to manipulate Tessa, the ERROR noticed appeared. Already hinting Tessa is not all she says she is

Apparently the Solver can create Black Hole Saws. Interesting development (Blackhole Blitz)

I know most people (I think) see this as a joke and N just being a bit of goofball. But honestly, I think he did it intentionally to shock Cynuzi and give Nori a chance. In the Pilot, he licked V's sword to surprise her too, which means he isn't unfamiliar with doing something weird and surprising for the advantage

Skyn eating Doll's core. R.I.P. Doll again. Seriously, was that Doll in Core Form like Nori was? Or was Nori a fringe case because she was "Exorcised" and this is just a regular core? Questions, questions. Also yeah the Solver also gives you a Core. Fun

This tag makes me think that this body is Cyn's actual body. Not longer a hologram, but her actual body from the mansion. The reason Tessa gave N, J, and V their names was because that was the first letter of their Serial Designation (she's very uncreative). However, Cyn's tag was slightly faded, which meant her SD couldn't be seen, so Tessa gave her the name "Cyn" after her P/N, even though the other 3 already have the same P/N as Cyn (Tessa, again, is very uncreative)...

...and for some reason, Cyn or the Solver, which ever theory you subscribe to, decided to wear Tessa as a skin suit for some twisted reason. It did help her with the Captcha. Also scary because this doesn't have the right proportions for an adult (unless Cyn really forced that skin on), which leads me to believe that this is a Younger Tessa, and she faked having an older voice. Maybe I shouldn't call her my wife... I'm sure Eldritch J is still available :^)

(Seriously, the eyes are burnt out, leaving two eye holes over the visor, so she gives herself two X eyes so it looks better. Also yeah we found out what that thing on the "It Came From Copper-9" poster came from. It really was Cyn or Skyn)

Just a frame of the final...frame... for coolness. I'm probably also going to use this for a background. Also, this is definitely Copper-9. You can see the ring and ringless moon together on the right. Uzi somehow got sent to orbit after falling in the meat hole

Well that was all for now. This series has consumed me entirely, body and soul, and I wouldn't have it any other way. Goodbye and goodnight

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