#to play for 72 hours straight

[mercedesmone]

goodnight to my fellow lando girlies we finally won but at what cost. take care 🧡

[virgo-dream]

I was wondering here; most of us Dreamling stans have assumed Hob lives in a flat above the New Inn, but what does it look like?

Since I have a very visual imagination, to me, it looks kind of like this (be ready for an awful sketch):

I’m thinking of building it on Sims 4 to give you guys a better image (and maybe build the New Inn while I’m at it 👀). In my fics, this is what Hob’s flat always looks like.

[zukkaoru]

i swear the people above us haven’t slept in three days

[faxeysama]

Someone anyone please send me some shiny hunting luck! I've been hunting for a shiny jumbo Applin for what feels like forever, and every single one I've caught is just below the mark 😭

[gutsby]

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.

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, 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

[astrobei]

my take on modern will byers is that i don’t think he would be a music snob/music purist in that he refuses to listen to pop or makes fun of it or whatever but i DO think he is a Spotify Wrapped Curator and turns on a private session every time he listens to something remotely “embarrassing.” which is why, when will proudly displays his top five artists and top five songs at the end of the year, el is very confused as to how she heard jenny by studio killers playing in his room for 72 hours straight without it showing up on his end of year stats.

[itsthegayseason]

✦ YOU BELONG TO ME.

pairing — janis 'imi'ke x reader

word count — 1.6k

content — established relationship, jealous janis, she/her reader, petname (baby + princess + love), SMUT, little bit of praising kink, fingering and little bit of oral (reader receiving)

a/n — not my best work at all i'm so sleep deprived it's not funny anymore i need to sleep for 72 hours straight

18+ only, MDNI ★ my masterlist.

you and janis have been dating for a few months now. she watches impatiently with her arms crossed as you talk to your classmate against the lockers. she takes note of how he looks at you, and she doesn't like it a little bit. damian and cady exchange knowing glances, staying quiet as they watch the scene unfold. janis is practically fuming with anger and jealousy when he steps closer to you, brushing a strand of your hair from your face, his hand lingering against your cheek for way too long — according to janis. you're clueless to the oblivious flirting and the furious gaze of your girlfriend, smiling and laughing at his jokes. it's only when he grabs your waist to pull you closer that you think this might not be what you thought it was.

“uh-oh.” damian says quietly to cady when janis storms over to you, stealing some looks from the students around. you don't notice your angry girlfriend approaching, jumping when she wraps her arm around your waist, gripping you tightly and pulling your body against hers. she glares at your classmate and you're embarrassed to say you got a little turned on by the jealousy on her face. “what the hell is going on here?” her tone is sharp, a tone you're not used to hearing from her.

“oh, nothing. we were just talking.” he responds nonchalantly, looking at you up and down with a predatory grin as if your girlfriend wasn't right there by your side. you tense under the gaze, suddenly feeling embarrassed at your own stupidity, clinging to janis. “didn’t seem like 'just talking' to me. and i swear to god, if you look at her like that one more time i will punch you in the face.”

“baby, it's okay.” you whisper, squeezing her arm in a comforting gesture. she huffs, looking at him up and down before grabbing your hand and pulling you away. she walks in such a hurry that she is practically dragging you around the school - but you don't say anything, following behind and trying to keep up with her pace. you let out a gasp when she pushed you inside the janitor’s closet, locking the door and leaning against it. “who was that?” she questions, her gaze focused on the floor and arms crossed under her chest.

“he’s my classmate… we have like, three classes together. i swear i didn't realize he was flirting with me, baby-” she cuts you off quickly with a shake of her head and wave of her hand. “no, i know, princess. don't worry, it's not you i’m angry at.” she says calmly, her tone not matching the expression on her face at all. she crosses the room slowly, your heart racing as she approaches you; you know that look damn well, like the palm of your hand. you feel the desire pooling between your legs.

she smirks at that, your faces now inches apart as she squeezes your hip teasingly. “turned on already?” she teases you, giving your neck a soft, quick kiss. you whine, letting your head fall to the side. “yeah… but it's your fault for being so damn hot, especially when you're all jealous and angry like that.” you say defensively, eliciting a low chuckle from her that makes your stomach twist.

“well…” janis purrs, playing with the waistband of your shorts lazily. “you’re mine, aren't you?” you let out a shaky breath as you nod. “all mine?” you nod again, moaning softly when she squeezes your butt in response. “use your words, princess. you're all mine, aren't you?” she presses her hand against your clothed pussy, making you whine.

“i’m all yours, baby. please, fuck me..” you beg, leaning your head back against the cold wall and grinding against her hand, desperate for the attention only she can give you. she sucks on your neck, your mouth hanging open in a silent cry of pleasure. “oh, i will. as a little reminder,” she slides your shorts down to your ankles in a smooth motion. “that you belong to me.” she kisses you roughly, brushing your panties to the side and finding your clit easily, rubbing circles on it.

you moan against the kiss, hips bucking in a silent request for more. janis groans when she feels your perfectly manicured hands sliding down her back, scratching her until they reach her waist, where you cling to for dear life. you break the kiss to let out a loud moan as she plunges two fingers deep inside you without a warning. “shhh, you don't want anyone to catch us like this, do you?” you shake your head, biting your lower lip to muffle the needy moans threatening to leave your lips, so hard you feel the taste of blood on your tongue.

janis is relentless, her fingers moving in and out of your dripping pussy in a blur, so fast you feel your head spin with pure bliss. you move your hands from her hips to her shoulders, holding onto her for support and pushing your hips against her hand with desperate, muffled cries. your eyes roll back as her fingers expertly stretch you out, scissoring inside you. “good girl, taking me so well.” she praises, making you mewl pathetically. she lets out a soft laugh at that.

“i love those cute little sounds you make when i praise you, love.” her voice softens as she speaks, kissing the side of your neck lovingly. normally, you would melt at her words, but it's hard to do anything other than moan when she's fingering you so harshly - makes you wonder how she can be so adorable like this, with her fingers deep inside you. your moans become loud and high pitched as you're unable to hold back any longer, your cries of pleasure running freely in the tiny room.

“that's right, princess. let them hear you, let them know you're all mine.” she whispers against your ear before nibbling on your earlobe teasingly. you whine, the breath catching in your throat as she adds a third finger inside your tight heat, hooking them to hit your g-spot. “shit, janis, i’m so close.. so close, baby.. please, don't stop!” you beg, hiding your face against her neck. “i would never.”

you look down to watch her fingers move in and out of you, your cheeks reddening a bit at the sight. she grins smugly, trailing hot kisses down your jaw that makes you whine her name. your legs start to shake as you feel your climax approaching, your nails digging and scratching janis’ shoulders. “you’re so pretty like this, baby. so, so pretty for me.” her sweet voice against your ear sends you over the edge. you come undone under her ministrations, your body trembling as you see stars. she whispers sweet things to you, praising you as wave after wave of pleasure wash through you. you let out a deep, long groan as she finally removes her fingers.

“good girl.” she sinks to her knees in front of you, spreading your legs apart and gripping them. you whine, doing your best not to fall with how weakened your knees were, still shaking after your orgasm. “you really don't have to-” you try to stop her but she cuts you off with a gentle bite on your inner thigh, smirking against your soft skin when you let out an annoyed sigh.

“i’m just being a good girlfriend and cleaning you up, nothing more.” she says innocently, licking a thick stripe up your opening to your clit, the sensation of her wet tongue on your most sensitive spot making you moan softly. you give up, leaning back against the wall and letting her worship you. you fail pathetically at holding back your sweet whimpers, each little sound making janis’ smirk grow bigger and bigger as she eats you out, not a single drop of cum left behind.

she lets out a hum of approval, pulling back to appreciate the view for a second. seeing your girlfriend stare at your pussy like that makes you embarrassed, so you shut your legs under her gaze - though it's nothing new for either of you, you’ll always feel vulnerable afterwards. she shakes her head, chuckling softly as she stands up. she cups your face, pulling you in gently for a sweet kiss. you smile softly against her lips, still light headed from the intense orgasm.

“feeling better now? or are you still being a jealous girl?” you tease her, your arms wrapping around her neck. she glares at you playfully, her beautiful big, brown eyes narrowed. “feeling better, yes. still a jealous girl.” you giggle when she places a quick kiss on your nose, reaching down to pull your shorts up again. as you make sure you look presentable to go back to class like nothing happened, she opens the door to look around, seeing if the principal or any teachers are around. “alright. c'mon, love.”

while you close the door behind you with one hand, fixing your hair with the other, you hear janis chuckle. “hey, look.” she says, her voice filled with amusement. you look over, seeing your classmate that previously flirted with you standing against the wall with an apple on his hand, a slightly shocked expression on his face. you lean closer to janis to whisper, “do you think he knows?” she looks over at you and laughs, your face contorting into confusion. “what?”

“your hair is messy, your face is red and your lips are puffy,” she fixes your shirt. “i think he has an idea.” you pout, looking anywhere but back at your classmate. holding you against her, she looks at him with a smug expression as she mouths, "she's mine."

[heesdreamer]

SILENCED (2)

MASTERLIST

GENRE ➩ enhypen zombie apocalypse au!

SUMMARY ➩ navigating life 1 year post end of the world was already difficult as you avoided rotting corpses with hefty appetites and groups with various bad intentions. things get harder when you run into a group of survivors, 7 boys who make it impossible to run away.

WC ➩ 5k

WARNINGS ➩ everything the zombie apocalypse could bring lol, gore, mentions of death and injuries and lots of talk abt starvation and hunger this time around

AUTHORS NOTE ➩ this is a really short update but it was starting to bug me the longer it sat in my notes so i hope short is better than nothing. not proofread as always

Even small trips weren’t easy in the apocalypse. Runs to grocery stores could be the last thing you ever do and getting a few hours away could take weeks as you navigated rocky terrains and avoided uncrossable areas.

Transportation was something you’d taken for granted back then before the world had fallen apart.

You can remember tapping your foot impatiently against the subway station floor, arms crossed as you huffed and checked your watch for the umpteenth time. Maybe you were running late for school or you had just gotten off of work and wanted to get home fast so you could eat something.

Thinking about this now you felt utterly ridiculous, spoiled and sheltered from how good you truly had things.

But it wasn’t you alone who had these trivial problems and you considered that too as you walked with the group of boys, trailing behind a few feet but never left unattended considering they kept looking back to make sure you hadn’t disappeared into the woods at some point.

You wondered if you’d ever been somewhere at the same time as them. Seoul was big but it wasn’t spacious enough that this was totally an impossible thing to have happened. Maybe they’d been on the same train as you at some point, leaving school together and crowding around each other as they pulled playing cards.

It wasn’t a complete far fetched idea that you could have passed Jungwon on a crowded street when you went to get lunch or narrowly missed Heeseung as he rushed to an appointment he was late too.

You didn’t like to think about them like this, as people who all had lives and families before this all happened. You didn’t even like to think of yourself this way, chest tightening with the reminder of how much you’ve lost as this world changed.

It’d been days now since the camp had gotten overrun and you’d practically spent the last 72 hours straight doing nothing but walking. The straightest route to your destination hadn’t been safe enough to travel through, adding even more time onto the walk.

Most of it had been quiet, only hearing the boys speak in hushed whispers to each other every so often. It was hard to hold a conversation when you were all exhausted and hungry, running on autopilot and the fear filled adrenaline that built up every time the sun started to set.

Heeseung had been the quietest of everybody and he barely looked at the rest of you, his gaze sharp and focused as he continually scanned the surrounding areas. You thought back to your talk, the responsibility he held on his shoulders and you felt troubled for him now that such a major setback had occurred, now that their only home was gone.

He was closest to you as you lagged behind the group, keeping his eye on the boys ahead of him as the trudged along.

You were picking up your pace to catch up to him before you even confirmed within yourself it was a good idea, slowing back to a casual pace once you were side by side and reaching your hand out to gently tug on the sleeve of his long shirt. His eyes were shooting down to the point of contact and then back up at you with a frown.

“Hey.” You breathed out, trying to calm him down before you made your request. His eyes softened just slightly at the sound of your voice and he raised an eyebrow. “If we find somewhere safe to stop and rest for a few hours I can go try to get us something to eat.”

He watched you as you spoke and you knew he didn’t like your suggestion judging by the way his face hardened again, his jaw tensing as he scoffed and looked away from you. You figured he thought this was you finally putting your plan into action, leading them into the wilderness just to ditch them.

“I’m serious.” You had kept your hand on his sleeve still as you spoke and only now moved it, wrapping it fully around his arm so he could understand your earnest words. “They can’t go on like this much longer.”

He looked back over at you as you said that and you felt guilty at the sad expression on his face, knowing he had been thinking the same thing.

It must’ve been impossible for him to deal with the past few days, watching his family and the boys he was meant to lead barely make it through the day. The younger boys were stumbling as they walked, holding each others shoulders occasionally in an attempt to keep steady under their own crippling weight.

“Where’s safe?” He was genuinely asking but his voice broke around the word, already hoarse from not using it or having anything to drink. He sounded disbelieving that it was a possibility and he staggered slightly, knocking into your side.

Sunghoon had been lurking a few feet ahead and hearing this conversation he slowed a bit, letting you and Heeseung catch up as he leaned towards the two of you. “There’s a neighborhood or something up the ways a bit.” His tone was low so the other boys couldn’t pick it up.

You gave him a questioning look and he glared at you, eyes shooting down to your hand on Heeseung’s arm and your close proximity. “I saw it on the map.”

Heeseung nodded at his explanation and pat his back a few times in thanks, walking away from the two of you to alert the others you’d be stopping soon for a bit.

You had expected Sunghoon to follow him or at least drift back to his previous position, furthering himself away from you. It surprised you a bit when he continued to stand next to you but the look on his face didn’t, a suspicious glare as he watched you with no sign of care at your uncomfortable shifting.

“Something on your mind Sunghoon?” You were mumbling in irritation. You didn’t expect to become best friends but you hadn’t done anything to warrant him treating you like a criminal.

“Why are you still here?” He was saying it quickly like it had been on the tip of his tongue and you looked at him from the corner of your eye. “What are you planning?”

“I’m not planning anything.” You scoffed and took an offended step away from him, stopping in your slow pace. “And in case you forgot, I wasn’t given a choice in being here.”

He was stopping too and turning to look at you, sparing a glance behind him at the other boys who had continued walking. They weren’t going fast enough to leave you behind and the road was a straight shot surrounded by trees and no connected off paths so you wouldn’t lose them by stopping.

When he was facing you again he looked more angry and if you didn’t know any better you’d consider him a threat right now, a danger to you. However you’d seen the way he interacted with the group, with the dead even, and he wasn’t any issue. He was more gentle than he appeared regardless if he disliked you and was frustrated.

“Don’t bullshit me. You could’ve left if you wanted to, don’t be stupid.” He was shaking his head and you gave him a confused look so he explained further. “You didn’t even try to get away from them, no tears no questions. I can tell you’re smart and good at this world so I know you can tell the difference between a good person and a bad one.”

“Then what’s your problem with me?” You spat at him and cut him off, not wanting him to say more.

You could tell he was the most observant of the group but you didn’t like what he was implying. Your stomach turned at the thought of him seeing how much you didn’t necessarily want to be alone again, despite knowing it was the best option in the long run.

If you were alone you wouldn’t need to worry about things like this. You wouldn’t have to think about feeding them before you fed yourself because there would be no ache in your heart at the thought of them going hungry.

“My problem?” He was sneering but his voice was desperate like he wanted you to understand his point. “My problem is how excited Riki is to have a friend to talk to. My problem is that Sunoo basically thinks he owes you his life for getting you into this situation in the first place and my problem is that you aren’t going to stay.”

You both fell silent after that and he looked away from you, visibly upset and frustrated at the idea of you disappearing before you got to the place you’d showed them.

He flinched when he looked at you and saw your lips opening and closing, parting as you tried to think of something you could tell him that wouldn’t give him false hope but you also didn’t want to lie to him. Despite his wincing he waited patiently to hear what you had to say.

“Tell Heeseung I’ll catch up with you guys.” You muttered back and he watched in bewilderment as you turned and disappeared into the woods.

——

It took you an hour to stop replaying the conversation in your mind and you were glad considering you hadn’t managed to catch anything since leaving the boys on the road.

Part of you was laughing at the fact that, here you were. In the woods with full freedom and capability to disappear and never come back and yet you were sat crouching behind a log as you attempted to get them all something to eat. You quieted the voice with the reminder you could leave whenever you wanted and you would, you just didn’t want to leave them hungry and lost.

That’s all this was, you kept telling yourself over and over as you continued to track whatever animal was leaving small footprints in the dry dirt.

This was simply you being a decent person, not letting the apocalypse shred you of your morals and humanity. It wasn’t because you were starting to grow used to the boys, starting to care about them and their safety as individuals and a whole.

You’d finally caught sight of the animal as you slowed to a stop, a hefty raccoon shifting over some sticks and rocks just off in the distance. It hadn’t noticed you yet and you were glad for this considering you only had a knife to work with.

Before you could make any attempt at approaching in, steadily planning out the right angle to pounce forward, it was falling on its side and hitting the floor with a cry and a thud.

Your eyes widened in surprise, rushing forward to see what had happened to it. It’s face was bloody and you quickly realized it had been shot in the head by something, more accurately someone. You knew who it was before you turned around to check.

“You’re a good shot.” You sighed as you spoke and glanced over your shoulder to see Jungwon stepping out from behind the tree.

He was definitely the most skilled when it came to weapons, especially in accuracy and you’d quickly noted a few days ago that he was the only boy to have a silencer on his gun of choice. You knew it was him considering the fact there’d been little noise as he killed the animal.

“Took archery in highschool.” He shrugged like it was a casual skill to have as he approached you and the raccoon. “Guess I don’t have to tell you about that though do I?”

For a second you weren’t sure what he was referring to before you realized he was alluding to the fact you also shot with a bow typically, looking up at him with widened eyes which caused him to give you a half smile as he shrugged again.

“Can tell by the way you carry yourself I guess. Plus you’re a hunter, can’t imagine your weapon of choice is a knife.” He was explaining and he crouched down next to you, examining the animal for any bites or signs of disease.

“If you see any bow shops around here feel free to let me know.” You were mumbling back and he chuckled a small laugh. “They send you out here to follow me?”

He was shaking his head and you were slightly surprised at this considering you assumed he had been tasked with making sure you didn’t run away, potentially bringing you back if you made any attempt to. You were reminded of what Sunghoon had said about being able to leave whenever you wanted.

“I was looking for food just incase.” He didn’t finish his sentence but it was obvious what he was implying. Incase you didn’t return and they still needed to eat something.

Jungwon offered you a hand so he could pull you up off the ground where you were still crouching, you eyed him hesitantly but took it with an appreciative nod and stood slowly after you grabbed the animal by it’s tail in your free hand.

You followed behind him in silence as you made your way back to the road, back to where the boys had set up camp for the night. You tried not to think about what this meant and how you coming back willingly was going to come across to them. They were going to find out what you’d been trying to deny since running into them and your stomach was turning.

By the time you got there, the sun had nearly finished setting and it was almost too dark to see in front of you.

The fire the boys were sat around made you nervous considering how exposed you were and how near the woods lingered, the light and crackle of the flames potentially drawing the undead out of the woods and giving you all a replay of what had happened earlier this week. Four sets of eyes turned towards you when you and Jungwon popped out from the woods.

Heeseung was standing up and coming over to the two of you, patting Jungwon affectionately when he spotted the animal you’d handed to him at some point during your walk back.

“You okay?” Then he was turning to you and your face flushed as he grabbed you, his hands holding onto both your arms directly underneath your shoulders as he scanned your face for any sign of distress.

You were nodding awkwardly but your hands were instinctively coming up to cup around his elbows, leaving you both holding each other at an awkward distance. The other boys must have thought you were crazy as you touched their friend and leader but a large part of you felt connected to him after the auto shop, him having saved your life so directly.

When you both made your way over to the fire, Heeseung was clearing his throat and catching the attention of the older boys and Jungwon, who began to shake Riki and Sunoo awake at the signal for directions.

“We’re going to clear the house on the corner.” Heeseung was speaking in a low voice and you took the opportunity to observe where you were sitting.

The neighborhood, if you could call it that, was only a few run down houses neatly tucked away outside the main road. You imagined it had homed one or two families of rednecks in its prime, roofs titled and covered in roots and leaves. The boys had set up the fire in the middle of the three buildings, seemingly waiting for you all to be here before they entered.

“Shouldn’t we clear them all? Eliminate any potential surprises?” You were shocking yourself and the others as you voiced your suggestion casually.

Heeseung was looking at you with a bewildered look for a few seconds before glancing back towards the houses and nodding in agreement, realizing your idea was better than his.

It wasn’t the most grueling task and you’d cleared areas must bigger than this with much more active dead, yet you still had a sick feeling in your stomach as Heeseung leaned his shoulder against the first door and prepared to ram into. It only took one corpse to end everything and you tried not to think about this as he was pulling back and slamming forward against the decaying wood.

He was stumbling forward into the house and again, you could smell them before you saw or heard them. There was three inside and it looked to be a family, one significantly smaller than the other as it attempted to get closer to Heeseung and take a bit out of him. Jake was moving forward in a rush and taking out the biggest one, axe swinging over his shoulder and landing directly between its eyes with a loud crack.

The second was on its knees before you even processed it and you knew it must’ve been Jungwon from the doorway judging by the way it simply crumbled onto the floor without any fight or noise.

Riki was inside the house and tasked on the third walker, the smallest one that was clearly just barely older than him if at all. She had a large blood stain on the front of his pajama sweater and you tried not to wonder what had happened here that left them all like this, what measures were mistakenly taken to try and prevent them from turning. You didn’t like to think about the walkers being people similarly to the way you didn’t like to think about survivors in the old world, easier to make the separation and get it over with.

You could immediately tell Riki was struggling with doing this judging by the way he was frozen in the middle of the room, watching the corpse approach him.

He was facing away from you so you couldn’t see his expression but you didn’t need to anyways, knowing from his stiff back and hands fidgeting around his crowbar that he was hesitating and hesitating was one of the deadliest things you could possibly do. He had told you before that he didn’t kill as much as the other boys, being kept away from it all the best they could manage up until more recently when they started to take him out to practice in small intervals.

You were moving before you thought about it, circling in front of him and taking out the small corpse as cleanly as you could. You cupped your back of her head as she dropped, motionless now, and you tried to help lower her body onto the floor so the impact wasn’t as upsetting.

“I could’ve done it.” Riki’s voice was sounding behind you and you turned your head to look at him, standing back to your full height and giving him a confused glance once you noticed how agitated his expression was.

Before you could ask him what was wrong, if you’d done something or if maybe he was just upset you’d stepped in on his kill, he was turning on his heel and leaving the small house. You were fearful for a second watching him leave and then you remembered Sunoo, Sunghoon and Jay were just a few feet away at the other house over.

You almost followed him out the door in confusion, wanting to understand what exactly had made him look at you like that just to storm off but you were stopped by Heeseung stepping in front of you, bringing a hand up to your chest to stop your advances completely as he looked down at you with an apologetic glance.

“What happened?” You whispered to him, eyes wide slightly with confusion. The look the youngest boy had given you was deadly and the energy in the house had shifted drastically now. “What did I do wrong?”

“He’s just sensitive about that stuff.” Heeseung mumbled back, keeping his voice low in case the boy was still able to hear just off in the distance. The other boys in the house with you weren’t saying anything and eventually filed out once they realized your conversation was taking a private turn.

“Because I took his kill?” Your voice was cracking with disbelief, not able to understand what he was attempting to get across to you. Riki didn’t seem like the type to have an ego so large it would be damaged by you stepping in for an assisted kill. “It was about to grab him.”

Heeseung was sighing softly like you were poking a bear, glancing over his shoulder out the open door for a second before taking another step closer to you. You didn’t lose your confused expression, eyebrows furrowing further when he was bringing a hand up to gently touch your cheek before pushing a few loose strands of hair behind your ear.

He was clearly trying to soothe you and help you calm down but if anything it upset you further, solidifying it in your mind that you had done something wrong.

“You’ll have to talk to him about it. It’s not my place.” He was eventually continuing on when he realized what he was doing wasn’t working in taking your mind off of it.

You nodded softly and made a mental note to bring it up after things calmed down and you were certain things were safe for the night, vaguely hearing a sharp whistle outside that you’d learned to understand meant things were clear for now. The other boys must’ve cleared the other two houses while you were talking to Heeseung and now you were able to eat and get some rest finally before talking to Riki.

——

The food wasn’t a lot but it was enough to help everybody feel a bit better, passing each other small portions around the fire before retiring into one of the houses to rest.

You all decided to sleep together on the living room floor to minimize the risk that being spread out would being, somebody always staying awake in different shifts to keep watch outside on the porch. You laid in silence while you waited for your turn, knowing you wouldn’t be able to sleep in such a foreign place.

When it was the youngest turn to take watch, you sat and tracked his shadow as he left the dark room and slipped out the front door, mumbling a small greeting to Sunghoon who was finally coming in and joining the rest of the boys who were already asleep. You got up as slowly as you could and gently stepped over the bodies on the floor so you didn’t wake them up from their much needed rest, following Riki outside.

He whipped his head over when the door creaked up and sighed when he saw it was only you slowly closing it behind you. You glanced at him awkwardly and tried to decide wether to stand weirdly or to take the seat next to him on the small outside porch couch and risk upsetting him further.

“Just sit down.” He was mumbling once he noticed your dilemma and you hesitantly took the offer, sitting as far away from him as you could.

The two of you sat in silence for a while, listening to the sounds of the night and the woods while you ignored each other. You weren’t sure if you should speak first but he clearly knew why you followed him out here in the first place so you bit the bullet and started to talk before his shift ended.

“I have a brother around your age.” He picked his head up when you started to speak but you avoided looking at him for now. “You actually remind me of him sometimes, just the way you joke around. You’re a bit braver than him though but I’m sure he would’ve grown out of that eventually, you know? I didn’t mind it though… it came easy to me to take care of him.”

Riki wasn’t saying anything just yet but you could hear his breathing increase and you didn’t feel him looking at you anymore and he slowly understood what point you were trying to get across by opening up to him about this. You wanted him to understand why you did what you had for him and why it was second nature for you to step in like that once you thought he was in danger.

“I never though he was childish or a coward for needing my help sometimes, that’s what big sisters are for.” You took a pause so you could breathe, playing with your hands nervously. “It took him a long time to want to ever ask for it though… just too long I guess.”

You didn’t need to finish or directly say out loud what had happened to your brother, he picked it up as soon as you started talking about him.

He was scooting closer to you on the bench and you felt him grab your hand that was in your lap, stopping you from picking at your skin anxiously. You turned your head to look at him with a sad smile, biting your lip to try and stop from crying when you noticed how equally teary his expression was.

“You could’ve killed that walker.” You stated firmly and he nodded along with you, now fully understanding why you had. “Maybe I just didn’t want you to have to.”

Riki was still nodding and you felt slightly guilty now as you watched tears run down his face, avoiding looking at you again out of embarrassment. You wanted to tell him that it was okay if he wanted to cry, it was okay to still feel things in this world that weren’t fear and hunger but you weren’t sure that was even true so you didn’t dare voice it.

You stayed with him for the rest of his shift and when he eventually started to yawn and lose focus on your surroundings, you reassured him it was okay to go to bed and that you weren’t tired.

He hesitantly was leaving you out there and you although you were glad things were patched up between the two of you for the most part, you also felt a wave of relief over having a moment alone. It wasn’t lost on you that you were being trusted as part of the watch shift cycles, despite the fact you could easily disappear in the night and leave them with no warning if something stumbled upon the sleeping boys.

It was getting harder to deny what you were feeling more and more every passing hour the eight of you survived together.

It had bothered you when Riki was upset with you, deeply bothered you to the point of your skin crawling in nerves that you had done something wrong. You were distraught watching them all face hunger earlier this week and you felt deep sadness when they lost their camp and their home.

You especially didn’t want to consider what it meant that you liked listening to their stories around the fire. You thought Sunghoon was funny even when he didn’t seem like he realized he was telling a joke and it made your heart warm when Sunoo and Jungwon covered the sleeping older boys with blankets.

Heeseung was the worst of all, the most confusing part to all of this. You’d been most fearful of him at the beginning but the more you thought about him and his resolve, his brave heart taking leadership and treating the boys like they were more important than his own safety and survival, the more you liked being in his company.

He made you feel seen and human whenever he turned to ask for your opinion on something and he was surprisingly gentle whenever he spoke to you in hushed whispers or helped you over bits of debris in your pathway.

You liked these boys and you liked their hearts and love for each other that this world was slowly running out of.

Yet you couldn’t stop hearing the screams of your family and others you’d encountered, people you knew for months all the way to people you’d simply passed by on one of your runs. People didn’t last long in this world and it was a miracle that all seven of these boys were still together, still without major injury or setbacks.

Maybe that was the secret trick to it all, maybe their care and love for each other above all else was helping them survive and manage without facing the reality of your loved ones being tore away from you and ripped apart limb by limb.

It still made your stomach hurt to think about any of it though, it was never apart of your plan to care about somebody again after everything you’d lost and you were only feeling more and more certain in your decision to leave as fast as you could.

No matter what it takes.

[steddieasitgoes]

@steddiemas Day 12 Prompt: Hallmark Movie Tropes

Tags: Pre-Relationship, Dual POV, Getting Trapped In A Small Town, Stobin Owns A B&B, Rockstar Eddie Munson, Inspired By Hallmark Christmas Movies, Meet Cute,

wc: 3188 | Rating: G

Read on ao3 | ao3 collection

Eddie doesn’t know how luck works, but he’s pretty sure he’s used up his lifetime allotment.

It’s the only way he can explain the last 72 hours without launching himself into a multi-day meltdown. Honestly, who the fuck did he piss off? How did he go from landing in New York after the biggest and most successful Corroded Coffin world tour yet, only to be thrust into the nearest recording studio because somehow the entire third album they recorded on the road is, ironically, corroded and unable to be played?

Eddie and the rest of the guys holed up in that dimly lit studio for 48 hours recreating only half the magic they’d manage to create on the road. If he’s straight with himself, he’s not even sure the songs they churned out are even close to the original. It would be easy to go back and check if he had his trusty laptop and notebook full of lyrics and chords and the like. Unfortunately, they’re a victim of his bad luck too — having been left and lost on the bus ride from the airport to the secluded studio in upstate New York. after their private car no-showed.

Naively, Eddie had thought nothing could get any worse when they finally saw daylight and handed over the second draft of their third album. But then disaster struck again in the form of a blown engine and a fucking snowstorm to end all snowstorms that has him stranded, alone, and cold in middle of nowhere New York.

All he wants is to get home to Wayne and drink his sorrows away with the famous Munson spiked hot chocolate, but no. Life has other plans for him, apparently.

Fresh off the Australian leg of the tour where the sun was shining, Eddie’s not dressed or prepared for this winter weather. Already shivering in the dead van, he bundles himself up in his leather jacket and ratty blanket he hasn’t washed in god-knows how many years and gets to walking.

On one hand, the fact that the snow is still falling is a massive pain in the ass. Eddie’s boots are quickly filling up with liquid and he’s pretty sure his face is going to be frozen if he has to stay out here for more than five minutes. On the other hand, the bright white shines in the evening light, making it so that he’s not tricking through bumfuck New York in the pitch black.

Unfortunately, there’s no pay phone in sight (his cell went dead hours ago) and most of the small shops Eddie passes on his trudge through town have their lights shut off and doors locked. He’s about to cut his losses and accept the fact he’s going to be sleeping (and dying) in his van when he spots a sign for a Bed and Breakfast up ahead.

Eddie’s senses are flooded the minute he pushes the heavy, Victorian-style door open. The air wafts over him like a warm blanket, heating up his frozen fingers and nose in a way that would make him cry if he could even produce tears right now. There’s a cacophony of noise coming from a nearby room — a piano and singing, plus tons of laughter. And don’t even get him started on the smell. Pine and apple cinnamon, hints of vanilla, maybe even fresh gingerbread. His stomach growls on cue.

There’s a small desk stationed in the center of the foyer, a golden bell sits beside a foot-tall Christmas tree decorated to the nines. A small welcome plaque sits in front of it. Brushing off his soaking shoes on the festive welcome rug, Eddie makes his way to the desk and rings the bell.

A second or two later, a similarly aged man appears. A Santa hat sits askew on his head, cheeks flushed from the warmth inside, and a smile so bright he’s pretty sure it could be used as a homing beacon. He’s beautiful.

“Hi there,” the man greets, mossing his way over to the desk. “Welcome to Buckington B&B. How can I help you?”

🎄 🏠 🎄🎄 🏠 🎄🎄 🏠 🎄

“Robs,” Steve whisper shouts, pushing his way past the swinging doors that separate the dining room from their private kitchen. He tries again, a little louder this time but still nothing. He can hear the piano in the other room, the hoard of guests singing along to whatever Christmas song is being plucked out by the five-year-old piano genius on vacation with her parents.

“Robin!” he shouts louder this time, pocking his head out into the backyard that’s currently two feet deep in powder, fresh snow. “Dammit, Robin. Where are you?”

“What’s all the yelling for?” she asks, appearing behind him.

“There’s a guy out front looking for a place to stay. Says his car broke down like a block or two away.”

“Okay, well, that sucks for him, majorly. But we’re already at capacity. You’re going to have to tell him to try Elaine’s or something.”

Steve knows Robin is right. They’re already at max capacity. Max-max capacity if he wants to get technical considering he gave up his room yesterday to the newlyweds who got stranded trying to get to the airport. It’s just well… Well, Steve’s always had a thing for unlucky people, especially when they’ve got a pretty face and a warm smile.

“See, the thing is,” he pauses, scratching nervously at his chin while trying to avoid Robin’s steadfast gaze. “I sort of already told him he could stay.”

“Steve!” Robin scolds, rolling her eyes. “We have no room!”

“I mean, yeah, you’re right. We don’t technically have any visitor rooms left. But, we still have your room.”

“Absolutely not,” she growls, crossing her arms. “No. Not gonna happen. I can’t believe you’re even asking me to give up my personal bed to a stranger! Nope.”

“Oh, come on, Robs!” Steve groans, throwing his hands on her shoulders to stop her vicious shaking. “Remember two summers ago when you made me give up my room for those best friends who fought the entire trip? You know the one you ended up hooking up with? I didn’t complain once!”

“That was different.”

Steve snorts, shaking his head. Definitely not different, but he’s not going to get what he wants if he argues with Robin. It’s not how their friendship turned business partnership works. “You owe me. I never cashed it on it, but now I am.”

Robin huffs and Steve knows she’s mentally stomping her foot like a child. If they weren’t overflowing with paying guests, he knows he’d be getting a long-winded lecture right now.

“Fine.”

He doesn’t wait to hear the list of conditions he knows Robin is going to have. She can’t even call him rude when he rushes out. After all, a freezing cold guest is waiting to be taken care of in the lobby.

🎄 🏠 🎄🎄 🏠 🎄🎄 🏠 🎄

It’s been a long time since Eddie’s been in a quirky room like the one he’s ushered into by Steve’s warm touch. Gone are the days of sleeping in motels on the side of the road on good nights, and shoved into the back of the van between equipment on bad days. Corroded’s management loves to book them the swankiest of hotels. Always looking for ways to send the label a massive bill — one that always ends up coming out of their own paychecks.

If it was up to Eddie, they’d be staying in places like this instead of the godawful monochromatic luxury prisons they get shoved into night after night. As an artist, he doesn’t get a say though. At least, that’s what he’s been told.

Glancing around, he takes in the bright-colored wallpaper. The dresser is cluttered with frames and other tchotchkes. A burnt orange rug takes up most of the floor and there’s an overflowing box of records perched in the corner by a small record player.

Eddie knows this isn’t a normal guest room — Steve had told him as much while guiding him up the stairs — and yet, he feels more at home in this quirky room than he has in months. Probably since the last time he visited Wayne.

Shit. He needs to call Wayne.

That unlucky string rears its head again as Eddie is met with dead silence when he picks up the pale blue landline. Of fucking course the phone lines would be down. The snow is dropping in sheets now. The telephone poles didn’t stand a chance.

At least he was lucky enough to land a place to sleep tonight, now all he needs is a —

“Hi, sorry to bother,” Steve says, pocking his head in. “I noticed you didn’t have any luggage with you when you checked in. It’s probably best to get out of those wet clothes. Hopefully, these will do.”

Eddie watches as Steve enters the room with a stack of clothes in hand. A pair of jeans and sweatpants sits at the bottom. Various shirts and sweaters stacked neatly on top. He’s pretty sure he spots a fluffy pair of socks at the top of the pile too. He might cry at the generous hospitality. After all, it’s a bed and breakfast not a fucking clothing store which means the clothes folded neatly must belong to Steve.

“You can leave the wet clothes outside the door when you’re done and me or Robin will come get them and throw them in the wash for you,” Steve says, setting the stack of clothes down. Then he’s moving again, hand reaching behind him before pulling out a laminated piece of paper from his back pocket. “I also brought you our itinerary for the evening. There are a few activities and tonight’s dinner menu. No pressure to join us. We also deliver food to rooms.”

“Damn,” Eddie whistles, glancing at the itinerary. “You guys really know how to take care of people around here, don’t you?”

“We try our best,” Steve smiles. “If you need anything else, just give us a shout.”

🎄 🏠 🎄🎄 🏠 🎄🎄 🏠 🎄

Steve doesn’t expect to see Eddie for the rest of the night. Especially not after a freakout from one of the teenagers vacationing tips him off on just who he’s agreed to let stay in Robin’s bedroom. He knew Eddie looked familiar. Wait until he tells Dustin about this — the shithead is going to be so mad he passed up a Christmas at Buckington B&B with Eddie Munson for some cruise.

Color him pleasantly surprised when he walks into the main room a few hours later to find Eddie behind the keys of the baby grand piano. The excited teenager from earlier sits to his left, a few of the ladies circle the edge of the piano as they wait for their cue to start singing “Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas.”

He’s caught in a trance, watching Eddie in the soft maroon sweater he’s borrowed from Steve professionally stroke the keys of the piano. It only gets worse when he starts singing himself. Rich baritone cutting through the breathy singing of the ladies, carrying the tune in a way Steve’s never heard before.

Usually, Steve hates Christmas carols, but maybe he’s just never heard them sung right before.

He’s the first to break into applause when the song ends. Hands coming together before he even registers he’s the one responsible for the thundering noise. Thankfully, he’s quickly joined by the rest of the guests of the B&B. It makes the embarrassment wane inside for a moment until his eyes scan the room and discover that Eddie’s only looking at him.

“Well, then,” Robin says, sauntering over to him from the kitchen. “Now I see why you couldn’t turn him away.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he says and deliberately looks anywhere but in the direction of Eddie and the grand baby piano. Not that it really matters. He can feel Eddie’s warm gaze on him without even looking.

Robin hums, shaking her head. “Sure you don’t.”

“I don’t!”

“Just remember that he’s staying in my bed and payback is one of the only dishes I know how to serve,” she says, winking before she’s whisked away by one of the young children looking for a game to play.

🎄 🏠 🎄🎄 🏠 🎄🎄 🏠 🎄

The quiet of the early morning should be a welcome reprieve from the cacophony of sound from last night. He had started as a gentle observer in the celebration, but when the young child holding court at the piano was sent to bed, well, Eddie stepped up as the piano player of the evening. It wasn’t long before he had everyone putting a rock and roll twist on those stuffy Christmas carols.

Maybe Corroded Coffin’s fourth album should be a holiday one.

Drinks were poured and ready before he even had to ask and his stomach was treated to a delicious spread of meats and cheese. The gooiest brownies he’s ever experienced and a perfect Gingerbread recipe that would have put his Nana to shame.

It was nice. Existing with others. Reminding himself that life doesn’t always have to be moving at 100 miles an hour like it does when he’s on tour. Sure, he still wished he was home with Wayne, but a call to his uncle when the phone lines came back washed away any of the guilt he felt.

Now, though, alone in his room as the sun begins to rise over the mountains of snow outside. Well, now, he feels that same sense of restlessness he always feels when he’s in one place for too long.

Sliding into a pair of slippers Steve dropped off last night, Eddie carefully pulls open the door and sticks his head out into the hallway. It’s quiet aside from a few muffled snores coming from down the hall. With the coast clear, Eddie tip-toes his way down the hall and to the stairs.

He didn’t get a formal tour when he arrived, but he’s pretty sure Steve mentioned something about a stocked coffee bar on the first floor that was available to them whenever they needed. The first two doors he opens reveal a closet and a bathroom and a wrong turn has him standing amongst cluttered laundry. Not ready to give up, Eddie pushes his way through a swinging door and finds himself face-to-face with Steve himself.

“Oh, hi,” Steve says, voice thick with sleep though his appearance makes it look like he’s been up for hours.

He’s in a yellow sweater and jeans. Hair tousled in a way that definitely doesn’t look like he just rolled out of bed like that. His eyes are bright and shining, just like they were last night. Eddie really has to squint to notice the subtle bags under Steve’s eyes.

“Shit, sorry. M’not supposed to be here, am I?” Eddie asks as he looks around the room. It’s a standard kitchen, except for the two pale yellow fridges that take up an entire wall. A window hangs over the sink just like it does at his uncle’s place and he’s pretty sure they have the same green stove too.

“You’re not,” Steve smiles. “But it’s okay. Robin’s not up yet and I don’t mind the company. Can I get you a cup of coffee? Orange juice? Hot chocolate?”

“Are you sure you’re not running a coffee bar here instead of a bed and breakfast?” Eddie teases, leaning against the kitchen island. “Hot chocolate sounds delightful, thanks.”

“We strive too please,” Steve says before fumbling through the cabinets for a mug. “So, what has you awake at this hour? Was the room not to your standard?”

“The room is great! I’m honestly just not used to the quiet,” Eddie says, eyes trained on Steve as he flits around the kitchen preparing their drinks. It’s weird to find someone so attractive when they’re doing nothing out of the ordinary. But he can’t help it. Steve is beautiful in a way Eddie can’t really comprehend. “What about you? Are you always an early riser?”

“Robin and I usually take turns on the morning shit. Technically it’s her turn, but I told her I’d handle it,” he pauses, shaking his head as he looks out the kitchen window to the snow-covered backyard. “Definitely regretting it now. There’s no way m’shoveling all that snow today.”

Pushing up from the island, Eddie crosses the small distance and joins Steve at the window. Steve isn’t exaggerating in the slightest. The entire yard is covered in at least three feet of snow. Some parts even deeper judging by the absence of a fence he knows should be there.

“Guess m’staying another night.”

Steve hums, sidestepping away from Eddie to finish making the hot chocolate. When he turns back around, his cheeks are the slightest bit pink and Eddie can’t help but wonder if it was the steam of the hot chocolates doing or his own words.

“One cup of hot chocolate,” Steve says, handing him a pipping hot mug.

It’s decent. Not legendary like last night's brownies, but then again hot chocolate never is. Nothing ever stands up to the famous Munson spiked hot chocolate. There’s too much chocolate and not enough milk. And it’s severely lacking in the alcohol department. Though, he supposes, five am is a bit too early for liquor.

It would be easy to ask Steve for a shot of whisky to add, he knows they’ve got a stocked bar around here somewhere judging by last night's festivities. But he’s not about to impose more. Nor does he want to risk giving away his and Wayne’s hot chocolate secrets. At least, not to a guy he’s known for less than 24 hours. No matter how cute he is.

“So, Eddie, where were you headed before you got trapped here?”

“Well, I don’t know that I’d call it trapped,” Eddie says, hiding his smile behind the mug. “I actually think this is the nicest place I’ve stayed in a long time.”

🎄 🏠 🎄🎄 🏠 🎄🎄 🏠 🎄

Steve’s never been one to believe in luck.

He got dealt a shitty card right out of the gate, born to parents who could provide for him financially but never emotionally. Throw in falling into the wrong crowd and struggling through school, and well, Steve’s the poster child for privileged unluckiness.

Some might say luck found him in the form of Robin, but he thinks that a copout. Luck had nothing to do with bringing them together, nor did it have anything to do with the success they’ve found. That was all them. Blood, sweat, and tears.

Wishing on stars and believing in luck only happened in fairytales.

At least, that’s what he’s always told himself.

But now, standing in the kitchen listening to Eddie ramble on and on and on about how great the bed and breakfast is without ever breaking eye contact with him.

Well, maybe luck has finally found its way to him in the form of one stranded rockstar.

[sunshine-on-my-mind]

Oh goodie..

I was wondering like if there is a situation when Lloyd has been away for few days..not so willingly..couldn’t leave his wifey..but has to go..wifey has to practically push him out of house..

And meanwhile back home she falls a bit sick..so she avoids video call with him ..only audio calls becoz she doesn’t wants to worry him and makes an excuse that her phone is not working properly..

But hey Lloyd hansen is a smart man..he gets to know..come on you can’t lie to Lloyd Hansen 😎

What follows after.?.

#the mobster’s wife

#lloyd hansen

#plus size reader

Mob!Lloyd Hansen x Plus Size Reader

latest chapter: The Mobster’s Wife (2)

warnings: fluff, being sick, fever, cold, sneezing, sniffling, mentions of medicine. A little angsty (but not really) soft!Lloyd.

a/n: Loved the concept, and this was supposed to be short lol but I couldn’t control. Hope you like it.

Your dear husband was supposed to go out of town for his business. He tried to get out it in every way possible, some of which involved harsh language and minor threats which he didn’t like to use in front of you hence those calls took place in his office room. Still no use.

That was an important deal and it could have been risky if the head, that is Lloyd Hansen wasn’t present. And you understood that very well which was why you told, requested, pleaded, almost forced Lloyd to go.

“Fine. I’ll go.” Lloyd let out, after a heavy sigh and it was followed by a pout. His pouts and adorable facial expressions worked on you most of the time but you clearly understood the importance of the task that was at hand, and honestly so did Lloyd, even then, he didn’t want to leave you alone, he didn’t want to go.

“Good.” You kissed his cheek which made it very difficult for Lloyd to hold the smile that tried to slip up on his face. No your husband was determined to put on a dramatic and slightly hurt expression. That made you smile and gave him a kiss on the lips which finally made Lloyd break character and he smiled.

“I’ll miss you wifey.”

“I’ll miss you too hubby. It’s just three days, it’ll pass pretty quickly don’t worry.”

“Three Days!! 72 hours, that’s pretty long.”

“Oh my dramatic husband.” You chuckled.

Lloyd wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you close. He pressed a soft kiss on your forehead.

“I love you princess.”

“I love you too Lloyd.”

After Lloyd left, you decided to spend the afternoon by relaxing and ended up taking a nap. When you woke up, it was raining.

Suddenly you wanted to go out in the rain. So you did. It had been a long time and it was so fun. You went to the terrace. The raindrops felt cold yet so refreshing against your skin. You giggled but also missed Lloyd very much.

Different scenarios played in your mind about what the two of you might have done in the rain. Some were very romantic like dancing in the rain, and others made you feel warm and shy.

A big sneeze interrupted your thoughts. You immediately went inside.

It was just a sneeze right? Nothing major, you thought to yourself.

Well you were wrong. By evening you came down with a cold.

Meanwhile Lloyd was done with his work for the day and decided to call you.

You were sneezing and sniffling, sitting on the bed with boxes of tissues, and made yourself a cup of tea. When your phone started ringing, you saw your husband’s nam. He was attempting a video call.

If Lloyd found out you got sick, he would definitely come back home, and probably even blame himself for leaning you alone.

You let the phone ring until it stopped and then immediately called him back but it was a voice call.

“Hey baby, you okay? why didn’t you pick up?”

“Hi, sorry I just came out of the bathroom after taking a shower. And I um, I was changing and that’s why I didn’t pick up the video call.” Lloyd’s mind straight went to how you might be looking at that moment, where you in a towel, in your night dress or perhaps… Lloyd shook his head trying to stop his thoughts and focused on talking.

“How are you doing wifey? Missing me?” A sneeze was about to ruin your act, you somehow controlled it.

“Baby? You there?” Lloyd asked when he didn’t receive a reply. You were too busy suppressing the sneeze.

“Sorry yeah I’m h-here. Missing you so much.”

“Miss you more. But wifey, you know your voice sounds different everything alright?”

“Hey I’ll go eat something, talk to you later okay?” You hung up.

Lloyd was taken aback for a moment. Why did you hang up so quick? Didn’t even say “I love you”. Also why did your voice sound different? Were you hiding something?

It made you sad to hang up on Lloyd but you didn’t want him to worry too much. It’s just a cold. You’ll take a medicine and you’ll be fine.

Next day Lloyd tried to video call again. You realised if you don’t pick up he may understand something was wrong. So you picked up while preparing answers to some expected questions.

“Hey wifey h- wait what happened? are you sick?” Your face looked tired, you couldn’t sleep properly last night and you were sniffling.

“No no hubby, I was just seeing a sad movie and crying. And now I’m sniffling.”

Lloyd nodded but somehow he wasn’t fully convinced. Lloyd Hansen was a smart and attentive man, but his senses heightened even more when it came to you.

“What movie is it?” And just like that you could see your act slipping.

“Um, The Lion King. Yeah, always makes me cry.” You said in between sniffles and a sneeze.

“Alright I have some things to attend. Just wanted to make sure you’re alright. After last night’s call something felt off. I guess I was just overthinking.” Lloyd admitted, more to himself than to you.

“I’m alright my love. Take care. I love you.” You smiled. Lloyd’s face showed that he was genuinely worried. Made you feel sad, but you also realised how much he truly cared for you.

“Love you too, wifey.” You both hung up.

You didn’t feel like eating anything or moving from the bed. Your head started aching and you curled up in a ball. Maybe you should have told Lloyd- No no, you could manage on your own.

Lloyd’s gut feeling told him it wasn’t the movie that caused your sniffles. Luckily he managed to complete everything he needed to in less than two days so he could quickly go back home to you.

The whole day you kept lying on the bed, turning and tossing, you touched your forehead and it was warm. You dragged yourself up and had a medicine before plopping down on the bed again. You wrapped a blanket when you felt too cold then again pushed it away when you started feeling hot.

It continued for sometime. You were too tired and sleep deprived to hear the noises downstairs. As Lloyd was making his way up the stairs, loud sneezes and coughs from the bedroom made him speed up.

“Wifey?” The door opened with a bang and made up jump. You sat up and looked at your husband.

“What are-“ Another sneeze, you couldn’t complete.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were sick. Oh my god, look at you.” Lloyd rushed beside you.

“No wait, you’ll get sick too.”

“I don’t care.”

You told him everything and Lloyd just shook his head. You gulped. Was he angry? Disappointed?

“You should have told me. I could have come back sooner.”

“That’s exactly why I didn’t tell you. I didn’t want you to compromise with your work.” Lloyd never thought someone could actually care about him so much.

“Nothing is more important than you and your well-being my love.”

“I’m sorry.” Lloyd smiled softly, moving some hair from your face which was stuck on your forehead due to sweating.

“H-how are you back early?”

“I finished my work early.” Well you were relieved that you didn’t hamper his work anyway.

Lloyd pampered you even more than usual. He fed you some warm soup, which he made. Changed your clothes, without looking at you. And gave you some medicine.

You insisted him to stay away so that he didn’t fall sick as well but he didn’t listen. Instead he wrapped you up with a blanket like a burrito and pulled you closer.

“See? I’m not touching you. So now we can cuddle.” He smiled. “Come on princess, you need to sleep.”

The next day you were feeling much better. Lloyd still didn’t let you move from the bed much. Taking very good care of you.

And that made you realise, as dramatic as it might sound, Lloyd’s presence beside you was the major reason you got well quickly.

——————

taglist: @pono-pura-vida @moonstruckbirdie @onmykneesforrafe @elle14-blog1 @nana1000night @alicedopey @00cmh @madscape @seitmai

if anyone wishes to be included or removed from the taglist let me know.

[universeofdreams]

Stupid Sunshine

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Shuri Udaku x Fem!Reader

Genre: Angst, Fluff and also kind romantic

Warnings: Mention of T'Challa's death, slight depression, anxiety and panic

Wordcount: 1470

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Summary: At T'Challa's funeral Shuri realized how serious it was and it gave you a ton of flashbacks. You take care of her during her panic and a mental breakdown PLUS you do her hair.

A/n: Be prepared for a little pain, hrhr. Idk, I'm a sucker for Shuri lately and I'm so grateful that I know at least a little that is needed for stories about her, thanks to my girlfriend atp.

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She cried her heart out, one hand of her mother on her right arm and another hand on her left arm which belonged to her dear lover. 

Neither Ramonda nor you were able to speak and so you had to guide Shuri through this mental breakdown without words. Tears rolled over her cheeks like the rivers flow through Wakanda and they weren’t stopping. 

Heavy sobs came from her mouth and her hands were folded in front of her, crying for her brother and for dear Bast. 

Her sobs were heart-breaking, you couldn’t deny it. 

Even though you had a hand on her, she felt her knees buckle and while the casket of T’Challa got lifted up into a jet, her legs went numb and she fell to the ground, heavily crying and burying her face in the dirt beneath her. 

Today was the day she was finally able to show people how much she’s hurting without her brother, that something took him from her and her heart is breaking every day a little more. 

Until this day her nights were full of bad dreams, nightmares and sleep paralysis and every time she closed her eyes, she saw him. 

His wide smile and how he called her Sisi all the time, his voice echoed through her head all the time. 

There were nights where she would rip her hair out in fear of falling asleep. 

Or nights where she would stay in the lab for 72 hours straight, only caffein, even no food. 

You were worried, the hell were you worried. 

You clenched your jaw when thinking of that memory, months ago. 

She was on her way to her room, told everyone that she would go to sleep. That she tried to choke herself during a paralysis right in the moment you walked through the door of her quarters wasn’t a plan. 

You had those dreams once too and yet you didn’t know how to wake her. The only idea was sitting next to her, gripping her hand tightly and putting it on your thigh and away from her own throat. 

You gently stroke her hair, played with the coils that hung slightly in her face, slightly wet from her excessive sweating.

A silent “No. No.” escaped from her lips while she tugged on your thigh and gasped for air. 

“I’m sorry!” she whispered, started crying and that was the moment you knew- 

“Shuri.” 

You called out and grabbed her by the waist to turn her around. 

Didn’t wake her up. 

“Hey Shuri, I’m here.” 

You shook her. 

Didn’t wake her up. 

The last idea contained a splash of water so you hurried to the bathroom, drenched a washing cloth in the cold wetness, returned to the princess and wrung out the cloth just above her face. The contact with the cold water woke her up and she shot up from laying into a sitting position. 

Those tears were still in her eyes and the dried streaks of the ones she shed reflected the light off of her gorgeous skin. 

The way she held eye-contact with you, so intense, so right in front of her safety-wall crumbling that you had goosebumps. 

She’s broken right now and in this moment, there was no energy left for her to hide it. You offered a hug and she gladly took it, snuggling close to you and wrapping her arms around you. 

“I’m here. It’s okay usana, I’m here.” 

She only sniffled and shifted closer to you. 

And now she was laying in front of you, crying her heart out while everyone around her celebrated. You kneeled down next to her and did the exact same thing you did back then, that night. 

Gentle strokes over her head and her face while she could feel your knee on her back. 

“Sthandwa sami, I’m here. Look at me.” 

Your words slowly sunk into her mind and she turned around to take a look at you, almost the same expression on her face like back then. 

Slow nods. 

You held out your hand for her to take and once again she gladly took it and sat back up, thanks to your support. 

“Let us go home, please” she pleaded and didn’t let go of your hand with which you pulled her up, into your arms. “You able to walk, love?” Your voice wasn’t more than a whisper and if she wouldn’t be next to you, she probably would’ve missed it but you didn’t want others to really hear your conversations. 

She didn’t like it when others saw her “weak side”, that’s what she told you long ago. Another nod and a tight grip on your arm showed you that she indeed was ready to walk back to the palace, avoiding bigger crowds. 

When the two of you arrived you pulled her up into you and carried her the few steps up into her rooms. After arriving there, you searched for some more comfortable clothes than the formal dress she was wearing right now. 

When you were done looking into her closet you decided on a loose top and some shorts which you placed on her bed and helped her out of the white fabric. 

You could’ve taken a look at her beautiful, naked skin but in that state you didn’t. Placing a soft kiss on Shuri’s shoulder and rubbing her arms, you brought her into the bathroom and prepared a cozy and warm bath for her with bubbles and a nice massage. 

She leaned back and started feeling at ease when you undid her cornrows, started shampooing and massaging her scalp and detangling her hair as those words slipped past her lips. 

“Am I being too sensitive?” 

You were shook, once again. 

“No, you’re not. I know your heart hurts and there’s nothing to make this feeling go away.” 

You tried to reassure her to which she nodded. 

“Now everyone always belittles me after he left.” 

“I don’t think it’s because they want to be rude, I just think that people want to give you the time to heal, show you they’re okay with you not always being happy.” 

She sighed. “Sounds logical.”

The conversation ended and you rinsed her hair, applied some leave-in conditioner and twisted it, you passed her the shorts and top for her to hop into. After searching and finding her bonnet you grabbed some water from the nightstand and passed her the glass. 

“You cried, your body needs hydration, usana.” You explained and for the first time this evening – she chuckled. 

“You’re right.” And drank the entire glass in one sip. 

While you took the glass and went to set it aside on a dresser, Shuri started talking, more than then whole entire day. 

“Why don’t you think I’m weak? You took care of me the whole time, I think if I were in your position I’d be so damn annoyed-“ 

And you laughed at her words. 

“Shuri-“ You cupped her face. 

“You’re so- so, so stupid, sunshine.” 

And then a look of confusion plastered her face. 

“What?” 

“You always think the worst of yourself. But the fact that you couldn’t stand all these things without at least a bit of mental support stands stronger than your opinion.” You laughed so hard that your hair bounced from side to side. 

“You’re so precious. Also I promised your mother and your brother to take good care of you.” 

Redness appeared on Shuri’s face due to the compliment when she admired her hair in the mirror. 

“Ngiyakuthanda” she said and touched her hair curiously. (I love you) 

“But I’m tired.” The girl smiled and her back touched the soft mattress but also looked at you desperately. 

“Join me, sthandwa. Please.” 

And those beautiful brown eyes shone bright, those eyes that you could never deny the even smallest wish. So you went and lay down next to her while she cuddle up to your side, resting her face in the crook of your neck. 

With heavy breathes she took in your scent and played with the brim of your shirt until she

- for the first time – 

drifted off into a peaceful slumber and her snoring later on made you fall asleep too. 

It was the first night for Shuri without any nightmares. 

You loved the genius and there was yet nothing that would make you care less for her. Every day and every night she fights her own demons and still keeps her head up most of the time, there was no way you couldn’t love her. She is everything people look for in partners and here you were, having the most amazing girl by your side that could exist. You pecked her forehead for the last time that night, wrapped your arms around her and let her take a full cycle of sleep.

[hajimeshoe]

Hey, if you don‘t mind, could you do Leona, the Octatrio, Jamil, Vil & Lilia, if it isn’t too much, with an s/o who fails all their exams on purpose just to retake them and then have a very high score and basically being at the top of their class?

So, does anyone play Dragon Age? I haven’t slept in 72 hours, I am running off of Energy Drinks, sarcasm and anxiety just because I wanted to beat all 3 games…Also, I am back to playing twst so I should hopefully be writing more 😅

Azul

Boy is PROUD

But only a little

Like, he can just help you study???

You know that way, you’re guaranteed to get a high score on the first try

Jade

Is also proud

He’s a sketchy boy after all

Unlike Azul, he won't try to offer to teach you everything, he'll just let you do your thing

Honestly doesn't care

You're passing now, aren't you? What's the issue?

Floyd

That’s so boring though???

Like, fishie, that’s a good plan but also boring 😭

If you pass the first time instead of trying to get perfect grades then you'd have more time to spend with him

He loves you and literally gives no shits about your grades (or his own, for that matter)

Jamil

He’s just irritated

But, like, he gets questions wrong on purpose so he gets an average score, and keeps his grade lower than Kalim’s, so he can’t talk

“You should just study!”

“And you shouldn’t keep your grades lower than Kalim’s on purpose, but here we are”

He tries to make you study

At least, when he has a break from being overprotective of Kalim

Vil

He cursed your test paper

That’s how over you failing your tests the first time he was

The rule? “If whoever writes on this paper answers a question wrong, they will hear Baby Shark in their head on repeat until they answer all correct”

Congrats!! You finally passed and he is happy now

Lilia

He’s a little pissed

Lilia is literally the oldest person at the school, he knows this stuff, he can teach it to you??? He already did with Malleus, Silver and Sebek after all.

He straight up ignores you now if you fail any tests

Lilia is just petty now

Leona

You think he cares? He literally has the worst grades in the school

At most, he'll whine about how your retakes take away from time you could be spending napping with him

He'll prolly just roll his eyes when you fail your tests the first time

100% will abduct you for naps the second you finish your test retakes

[acepalindrome]

I’m hoping the 1.6 SDV update has more content for the Joja route, because I have big plans for a Joja playthrough if there’s a little more meat added to it.

I want to play a robot called JOJAI (Joja Corp Original™ Joja Artificial Intelligence,) built to be the Ultimate Employee! …except that she had several serious malfunctions the first time she was sent out for real world testing. She was supposed to be able to run for 72 straight hours without recharging, but her battery promptly dies at 2:00am every day and takes 4 hours to recharge! And she’s showing signs that she might be developing, like, morals? Emotions other than Enthusiastic About Being A Mindless Cog In The Machine? That just won’t do.

So she was promptly thrown away and Joja did a lot of careful media coverup so everyone would forget about their failed robot.

But then her Joja Original™ Solar Powered Battery recharged from laying in the sun at the garbage dump she was left at, so she woke up. And without a programmed purpose to follow, she started walking along the highway until she arrived at Pelican Town. And wouldn’t you know, this place has a JojaMart!

The sight of the logo reactivates her core programming to Be Loyal to Joja, Create Profit for Joja, Nothing Matters But Making Money for Joja.

And then she like, learns about friendship and that there’s more to life than being a drone or whatever.

[foxtrot-broadcasts]

Limbus Company Sinners, but it’s just all the stupid things/nicknames I like to call them/came up rn-

Might update this in the future, but don’t hold me on that

Yi Sang: Emo boy, wet beast, bird guy, crow guy, guy who needs sleep to sleep for 72 hours, sleepy guy, strangely sweet and nice, sweet fella, the most sopping wet beast in all the land, autistic creature

Faust: Fau, Faufau, Faustie, mystery lady, holder of all the secrets, mad scientist, scientist who would probably play god if she could, pale white creature

Don Quixote: Don, Don Don, Donny Boy, Donqui, happy little fella, squishable, autistic beast, adhd creature, audhd creature, gal who’s hiding so much, honorary part of the boys, friend

Ryoshu: Shu, Shushu, Ryo, Arsonist, problem child, artist who did nothing wrong, fellow artist, artist that was just feeling a bit silly, walking smoke cloud, Sinclair’s new art teacher(probably not a good thing)

Meursault: Mr.Salt, salt man, brick wall of a man, brick shithouse, dorito, reverse triangle, square man, nothing but simple shapes

Hong Lu: Lulu, Lucy, happy blue fella, pretty boy, rich boy, boy who will probably wreck me emotionally when his chapter comes, boy who is probably holding so much family trauma

Heathcliff: Heath, Heathy, cliff bar, purple, purple guy, bnuuy, bunbun, rabbit man, Peter Cottontail, romantic, secret brain cell holder, touch starved probably, unexpected favorite

Ishmael: Ishy, Ish, Fish, Fishmael, Yuri warrior, yuri supplier, fakeout brain cell holder, girl who thinks she’s the straight man (absolutely not in any sense of the word), gal who needs a 72 hour fishing trip with no issues, sea creature, buoyant, sailor, orange glob of hair and anger

Rodion/Rodya: Ro, Rody, girlie, girlfailure, fellow commie, girl who deserves to kill capitalists with axes, girl who did nothing and everything wrong, holder of so much potential and emotions

Sinclair: Sin, Sinny Boy, Clair, eclair, egg, egg boy, eggy, birdie, bird guy 2, angry chihuahua, polite man with so much rage, man who deserves to rip and tear things with his bare teeth, tired college student who doesn’t get paid enough, muffin

Outis: Oat, Oats, Oatmeal, Oatmeal Raisin, old hag (affectionate), old man (also affectionate), meemaw, Judas, strangely handsome, military gal, suck up (suspicious)

Gregor: Greg, Greggy, Greg guy, good guy, nice guy, walking smoke cloud 2, old man (still affectionate) guy that makes me sad when thinking for too long, Cappuccino Cookie, guy I would hang out and listen to, guy I would give a blanket to (when feeling nice), guy I would chuck apples at (when feeling evil)

[aeirithgainsborough]

i just finished playing parts 1 and 2 of tlou for the first time and, as someone who has grown to love joel and ellie very much within the span of 72 hours and found their characterization in pt 2 to be straight up bizarre, your takes on the game are a godsend. the rage in my heart cannot be extinguished but it can be soothed. thank u for ur service 🫡

you’re welcome!! it’s baffling to me how many people seem to have mindlessly taken it all in, just letting themselves be force fed some bullshit morality tale with no thought cus… yeah it’s bad ajsjjs. the gameplay is good although a little repetitive since it’s more open, the graphics are stunning, and as a disabled person who can struggle with games sometimes the accessibility is next level. they definitely get credit for that!

but the narrative is terrible. for a start it’s chock full of contrivances. abby happens to find tommy and then when she’s looking for him after making a FOURTEEN DAY JOURNEY across a dangerous world she gets into trouble and who should save her but joel! who then runs into a lodge unarmed with a group of strangers after 20 years of being on his guard. and then ellie runs into the room too unarmed despite the noises she can hear coming from it, even though she took on david and his cronies at 14 and got the better of them lol? then they all travel another FOURTEEN DAYS no problems, they find who they need in a huge city, ellie leaves a handy map for abby to find her. it’s absurd. one or two contrivances i can ignore but when you’re that reliant on them for your plot it’s not good writing!

then there’s ellie ‘im scared to end up alone’ ‘you’re the only person to never leave me and id be more scared without you’ williams. a girl who lost her best friend/first love traumatically and had a whole ‘let’s make the most of the time we have left’ thing with her… and she doesn’t speak to the most important person in her life for 2 years?? not my ellie lmao. i can see her being mad. i can see her being cold to him. I can see that relationship being different bcus of joel’s lie. i can’t see her going cold turkey whilst living on the same property as him for that long. i can’t see her never asking him for a proper explanation in that time. she leaves everything behind eventually despite her fears and how important the notion of family is to her. bye dina and jj. and then at the end… it’s pointless! she didn’t even get her revenge after becoming unrecognisable, leaving her loved ones behind, and killing a slew of people to get there. nor does she develop lol AT ALL. at 14 she had survivors’s guilt and was ready to sacrifice her life bcus of that and a belief her life doesn’t matter and then at 19 she’s the same! there’s no lightbulb moment where she’s like OH my life does matter it does have value none of my friends’ deaths were my fault and i don’t need to die for absolution. there’s no moment she realises why joel saved her. she’s stagnant. it’s so miserable. and it haunts me what we could have had if joel hadn’t been killed off for torture porn shock value. if they’d had to go on some journey with their relationship cold and not As It Was and along the way ellie has that understanding that her life DOES matter. ‘no one wants the same story they played in tlou blah blah boring’ LOL YES?? ellie and joel are why ppl loved part 1 and that’s why they had to lie so much in the lead up to the game and marketing. ‘this is a story about joel and ellie that’s why we decided not to have it about new characters’ lie ‘we love joel and ellie and we’re going to treat them with respect’ lie, plus aging joel and ellie up in the trailers and inserting joel into the trailer in a way that made ppl think they were going on a journey. it was a deliberate lie to make ppl who wanted more joel and ellie buy the game and they told it for a reason. and besides there’s a difference between ‘i just met you and i don’t like you rn but slowly im gonna love you’ and ‘i love you but i don’t much like you’ and that difference is actually fascinating and could have been used to rlly good effect instead of… all those stupid contrivances and torture porn!

and then there’s joel lmao. even the opening when he says ‘i saved her’ is so funny his expression his tone it’s literally disney/marvel villain sjsjsjd i cannot take it seriously. beyond that there’s such a dissonance between a) what actually happens in part 1 and what they say in part 2 and b) the violent world they’ve put him/us in and then asked us to get across in one piece with a kid in part 1 and how he’s then judged for that in part 2. ‘get this kid across the country but when WE make it so you’re attacked in every chapter and have to defend yourself/ellie we are going to say joel is a cruelly violent man’ ‘get this kid across the county without letting her die when you’re attacked pls and btw in part 2 we are going to say you taught her violence and corrupted her’ never mind that it’s impossible joel could have done the job in the world THEY created and then punished us for acting accordingly in, but also that he doesn’t even give her a gun until using one makes her sick and it’s not a fun toy to her. and even then it’s for emergencies. he never attacks first, he only defends. and they made it that way! that specific world is useless in moralising to us about violence bcus of that dissonance. none? of? us? can? help? it? ‘be violent when ur attacked or you’ll die and can’t progress the story but we are gonna punish and villainise and demonise you for it in part 2’ ‘kill hundreds of people and dogs, torture people, but did you know violence is bad actually??’. ABSURD. and in that hospital joel was NOT the aggressor. honestly the whole thing would have worked better if abby’s revenge had been for pointless violence. but from the point we know him joel is never violent until they are attacked first. that’s inarguable fact. even tommy in part 2 tells ellie joel wouldn’t have gone to seattle for revenge if it had been one of them! it’s been a long time since he did terrible things and im not saying that makes it ok (except he’s hot and not real so idc) BUT that aside the point is, he doesn’t go looking for it, and it’s never pointless anymore. but he’s the Big Bad Evil who deserves to die like a dog and we know you all love joel but we’re gonna make you hear it and watch it and also in the whole game we are gonna make him the punching bag we are not even going to ONCE let him open his mouth and explain what really happened in that hospital and why he saved ellie (yeah he’s so terrible for not letting a suicidal 14yr old kill herself)! which rlly brings us back round to the dissonance cus they’ve ALL done shitty stuff to survive including abby but she’s gonna be the one to ‘stop horrible evil villain joel in his tracks’ when he’s been living quietly in jackson for 5 years and she’s gonna get her revenge and then after get a happy hopeful ending all to show us violence and revenge is bad which a) falls flat bcus what? revenge makes you lose everything and end up alone except not for abby! and b) she’s objectively just as awful if not more so than joel but she’s the one who has to stop him and gets a nice redemption arc with a hopeful happy ending and joel has to die! abby:

shows great pleasure in slowly torturing joel and then killing him brutally

does the above in front of his screaming kid who’s being held down and forced to watch even though just finding her dad’s body is traumatising for her

is in an authoritarian militia who is intent on wiping out anyone else out in seattle lol?

kills people for that militia including kids

after torturing joel and killing him is so deeply unaffected by it she laments the fact she hasn’t got time to torture some seraphites who are chained up in cells

kills jessie when he’s unarmed cus she rlly learnt violence and revenge was so awful and took everything from you. wait, no, only ellie had to learn that lesson and end up alone. she also shoots and injured tommy!

once again shows sadistic pleasure in the idea of killing when she’s about to slit dina’s throat. this pleasure is bcus she’s pregnant so again yeah she rlly was so affected by her violence and revenge lmao.

never shows any great remorse beyond a throwaway line, meanwhile ellie loses absolutely everything including her fingers and joel, peacefully minding his business in jackson is the villain who deserves to brutally die and even after he’s dead he’s further villanised by the narrative lol even tho he was right to kill jerry fuck that man!

it’s just completely nonsensical! not only are they moralising to us in a world that doesn’t suit it, but they can’t even do it well!

it’s also just relentless misery and torture porn. kill all these ppl kill these dogs watch joel die horribly beat ellie up as the person who killed him even though you love her and are attached to her (really struggle to understand where im meant to find empathy for abby during this, esp after jessie and then the whole dina bit) watch ellie lose her family lose her fingers and end up alone which was her greatest fear. don’t even get me started on the section that posits ellie as a david figure down to gameplay mechanics and the theatre set up which is beyond vile when he tormented her when she was a fucking kid and the voice actor has talked about how he was going to r*** her. it’s vile enough that they took the first lesbian protagonist of an AAA game and tortured her for 25 hours straight and turned her into the villain but to also position her as her own fucking predator is straight up horrific. cus that’s not a stereotype in the lgbt community… as an aside, troy saying joel is the same as david is the stupidest thing ive ever heard and he should shut up forever.

on top of all that the game is homophobic, transphobic and racist. neil got the idea when he fantasised about killing palestinians in revenge… yikes. you can even see how the conflict between the wlf and the seraphites mirrors what’s going on in palestine. it’s actually a plot that’s very similar to an early iteration of tlou1 that was stopped cus... it didn’t make sense for anyone in that world to travel when it’s so dangerous just to get revenge ajsjsjs come back bruce! (ppl like to forget he was integral to part 1)

this game doesn’t respect the characters, it doesn’t respect the world, and it sure as heck doesn’t respect us. it takes the ambiguity from the end of part 1 which made it SO great and rips it to shreds. instead of being allowed to make our own minds up they ram down our throats that joel was completely wrong in the way they punish him through the narrative and ellie (the ellie part just makes it worse :/). goodbye nuance goodbye grey area. the reaction to it from gamers who hail it as a narrative masterpiece and love abby whilst arguing joel is a villain who deserved to die show what propaganda was invented for actually! and then ppl have the audacity to say if you don’t like the game you’re a homophobic woman hater with no depth or nuance ITS LAUGHABLE.

i found the experience of playing the game so genuinely traumatic it was that full of torture porn but the good news is the further out i get from playing the game the better it gets. i haven’t cried for days and days about it which is a record!! and at that point it gets so much easier to disengage from part 2 and just enjoy the actual masterpiece part 1 was.

[felixcloud6288]

The first time I ever saw the Iron Giant was when Cartoon Network got the broadcasting rights to the movie and decided to play it nonstop for 72 hours straight. And now I have a knee-jerk dislike reaction whenever I see anything about it because of that.

It kinda sucks cause I'm sure I would have liked it if I had been exposed to it in a more normal way.