#It's like beating my head against the wall

[bunnys-kisses]

the dnf club (vol. 2)

franco colapinto

tags: smut/pwp, brazil gp '24, rough sex, frustration, rough sex, modified doggy style, semi-public/closet sex, quiet sex

a/n: this is a little series of one shot fics because these poor guys all got dnfs at the brazil gp! this one in particular was inspired by an ask i got in my inbox after the gp! so thank you lovely anon! <3

carlos edition // alex edition // lance edition // nico edition

franco knew that his seat was still hanging in the balance. it felt like formula one was going through drivers faster than anything. one wrong move and they were out, replaced with another hopeful, who may or may not yield the same results.

it left the argentinian in a state of anxiety. after talks with the team you came over to him with a frown on your face. you weren't upset that he had to sit out of the race. but rather upset that he was upset. and when you collided into him and wrapped your arms around him tightly.

he simply held onto you a little tighter.

you ended up in the supply closet close to the williams garage. you ended up up against a wall of shelves with your skirt pushed up to expose the roundness of your ass.

"franco." you swallowed as you heard the unzip of his uniform. you couldn't see him, but you could only imagine the look on his face. you knew he was riled up, beyond upset at his weekend.

you believed he was a future champion, a hopefully for 2025. you knew he beat himself up a little more than more established drivers. he was still a small fish in a big pond. any dnfs could hinder a promise of a career.

"please." he said, "let me." his hand grazed the roundness of your ass before he took your panties and pulled them down to your ankles, "nothing more i need right now than you, my love." he then kissed the center of your clothed back.

you were in a williams t-shirt tucked into your skirt, not to mention the bracelet you made from plastic beads that spelled out his name. you looked like a real fan girl, and in fairness, you were franco's number one fan. (on top of being his girlfriend).

he admired your backside, as much as he would've loved to get you full undressed and admire your naked beauty. you two had to be quick. he could admire you when you got back to the hotel room.

"you're so beautiful." he admired as he ran a hand up the side of your thigh, "i want you so badly. i always want you." he shuddered with want as he sank his cock into you with heated affection. fucking with his driver's suit still on was a bit of a challenge as his fireproofs stuck to his skin as he got hotter.

you replied, "you always have me, franco." you quickly covered your mouth with your hand as to not be too loud. you didn't want the team to find your boyfriend's cock inside of you.

franco felt better when he started to move against you. with the thump of his chest as he battered his cock against your sweet core. he pressed his cheek up against your back as he moved your foot up against a lower shelf to get the best angle of your sticky sweet cunt. he panted heavily against your clothed back as he continued to rut against you.

"you'll win it next time, my love." you said with a bit of strain in your voice as he moved up against you. you felt a swirl of hear in your head as he moved up against you. you loved the feeling and the risk of being caught only added a rush to your system.

he kissed your back before he rested his cheek against your once more, he had you positioned in a way that allowed him to sink his cock into the deepest parts of you. he could feel your racing heartbeat against his back and it made his cock twitch. he needed you, he wanted you, every way he could have you. he was still wound up from the dnf, but being with you alleviated a bit of the emotional pain.

how could he upset when he had his lovely girlfriend's pussy to fuck?

you were trying to hold onto the shelves for some sort of leverage, you felt the hammering in your chest as the sounds of sex filled the small space. you felt heated, your hair stuck to places you didn't want it to. you covered your mouth once more to keep from being too loud. the waves of heat across your skin as the two of you fucked like rabbits in a supply closet.

you squeaked a little when you heard people walking by. their voiced muffled by the door, and you squeezed your eyes shut to keep yourself quiet. franco only fucked you harder, bouncing you up against his cock with a heated want. you felt the pleasure flood your brain and when the people on the other side of the door were further away, a stray moan left your lips.

franco groaned a little bit against your back, "when we get back to the hotel room." he whispered, "i want you screaming with how good i make you feel." and that only made you wetter.

you nodded and held onto the metal shelves a little tighter. you could feel something made of plastic dig into your skin. but there was little time to worry about that. franco decorated your neck with kisses, when his lips grazed the back of your neck you felt your nipples grow hard, they rubbed up against your bra which only fueled your pleasure.

while this wasn't the ideal place to fuck, it was something exciting. which only spurred you both on. franco's pace became brutal as he whispered in your ear, "all mine." he said, "you know that. no one else would let me take out all the anger out on them. all my frustration. that's why you're my number one. i love you more than anything." he wrapped his arms around your middle and bounced you onto his cock, "only you."

a few things clattered around on the shelves and you let out a moan, you almost made you lip bleed as you bit down on it as to not be painfully loud. even though there was more commotion outside, you didn't want to draw attention to your sexual escapade in the supply closet.

you prayed that no one needed an extra rag or a spare wrench while franco's cock was buried into you. at least your lover had the decency to lock the door. allowing a bit more privacy. regardless of it all, you felt the immense pleasure in your core. you felt the heat between you two.

your noises were muffled, and your breathing got heavier. franco's pace staggered and the two of you were rutting against one another with a frantic need for climax. you could find soft intimacy somewhere where curious eyes won't listen in.

his strong arms around you as he thrusted up into you made you feel protected. you felt the swim of pleasure in your core as the two of you continued to move against one another. it was a heated euphoria that soon found its climax.

you clamped a hand over your mouth once more and squeezed your eyes shut, your entire body tensed and you almost lost your balance as you came around his cock. franco could make out you saying his name which only encouraged him to keep fucking you.

his cock was slick with your wetness, sticky to the touch as it dripped down to the base of his cock. he knew the front of his driver's suit was a mess. he'd need to change before he got shoved in front of the press. with a few more heavy strokes he finished inside of you. his jaw tense as he tried to keep himself quiet from the gut punch of pleasure.

you rested further against the shelves and franco against your back. it wasn't long before he pulled out and tucked himself back into his suit. with your panties back on and your skirt straightened out. you turned to your lover and kissed him deeply on the lips.

"all better?" you asked softly.

he held you by the hips, his smiled bright as he said, "of course, you make everything better, my love." then kissed you once more. the frustration had melted off of his skin. he felt almost renewed, that the next race would be better.

you two kissed a little more before you both slinked out of the closet, thankful not to be caught. however franco would overhear later on about the smell in the supply closet. he grinned at the rim of his water bottle as he heard, "yeah, it smells like sex in that." <3

[the-modern-typewriter]

Not an ask, I just wanted to tell you I love, love, LOVE your snippets. It always makes me happy to see a new post by you on my dash, then I know I'm in for a treat. I especially love your villains, they're so much more than just "the bad guy". I always find myself wanting to know more about them, even though they send a chill down my spine and I know I'd be terrified to run into them in a dark alley at night. Thank you for sharing your genius!

"Has anyone ever told you that it's a dangerous idea to walk down dark alleyways alone at night?"

The villain was well-concealed in the crisp evening, leaned slim as a shadow against the wall.

The air stank of a mixture of oncoming snow and the garbage bags piled up and threatening to spill. It wasn't, the hero thought, the sort of place that really suited the villain. They seemed the type best made for pristine conference rooms and expensive penthouse lairs. Spacious. Glittering. Cold, corporate monstrosity.

"Yes," the hero said. "But then I wouldn't have the pleasure of running into you, would I?"

"Is that what this is?"

"You don't think so?"

"I'm always a delight, but few fully recognise that facet of my personality. Most instead, should they choose to see me in a dark alleyway, walk swiftly in the opposite direction."

"Mm." The hero shook their head. "I admit, your general habit of instilling terror in everyone can sometimes overpower other impressions."

"But not with you."

"Oh, I'm crapping myself. Speaking of. If I aim my phone at you so I can see you properly are you going to hiss at me like a feral cat, eyes glinting, and scurry away? Or am I just going to spontaneously combust for daring to look at you? The rumours vary."

"No one would ever dare call me a feral cat, dear."

"Not in as many words. But you are sort of lurking in the shadows and stalking me, so I think its apt."

The villain snapped their fingers. A ball of light appeared shining at the tips, illuminating the few metres between them. None of the usual rats or cockroaches went skittering away from the villain's immaculate shoes, everything was eerily still, so the hero figured they (like most creatures) were smart enough to keep their distance. Vanish somewhere else, if they could. Hold their breath. Hide.

The hero eyed them and resisted the urge to move closer.

The villain offered a soft, mocking, snake-like hiss.

"You wanted to see me," the hero said instead. "At least, I assume that's why you're lurking outside of my workplace and doing the aforementioned stalking routine. You could come inside, you know. I don't bite."

"I do."

"You're not beating the feral cat allegations."

"If I came inside, your colleagues would pass out or start screaming. It would be a whole thing and I'm not working right now."

"Well-" The hero had no good answer to that. 'It would make my shift go faster' was not a good answer. "Anyway. My break is only ten minutes. What do you want?"

"To see you," the villain said. "Talking with you is a debatable experience."

"Wow, rude."

"You followed me out here. I was happy looking."

"Well, I wasn't just going to leave you to it!"

"Most people wouldn't notice."

"Good for most people," the hero huffed. "Do you want an autograph and a picture so you could take it away and maybe the photo would last longer than looking at me?"

"Yes, if you're offering."

The hero stared at them. The villain stared back.

"...I'm not offering," the hero said, after a beat. "God knows what you'd do with my signature."

The villain snorted. Their head tilted as they studied the hero, twirling their fingers idly, making the light shift and cast the world in strange uneasy fragments.

"Come to dinner with me," the villain said, after a long moment. "After your shift."

"I thought talking with me was a debatable experience."

"Yes. And I'm debating."

"Does inviting people to dinner normally work for you after you insult them?"

"Yes."

"Because most people are afraid to say no."

"Yes."

"No."

The villain smiled. At least, in the light, it looked suspiciously like a smile. There and gone in an instant. The hero couldn't tell if it reached the villain's eyes, cast in the alleyway gloom as they still were. It shouldn't have made a thrill run down the hero's spine, but it did.

"Another night," the hero said. "Maybe. When I'm not working."

"You're always working, be it here or in your adorable crime-stopping ways."

"Adorable doesn't win you any points either."

"I'm not trying to win points with you."

"But you're trying to take me to dinner. Why?"

"Novelty. I make a point to invest heavily in my own amusement."

"And I'm amusing you."

"You're...intriguing me. Whether you say yes or no," the villain said. "So entirely up to you if you want the free dinner or not."

"I can afford my own dinner."

"Is that why you're so skinny?"

"Again," the hero said, because the only other option was to be rendered speechless at the villain's audacity. "Rude."

"Politeness is for people too weak to say and do what they like. Dinner on Wednesday then?"

"They say you're horrifying. No one told me you were also insufferable."

"Well, most people are attached to keeping their tongues, so that's not really surprising." The villain continued, waving a dismissive hand, before the hero could possibly respond to that nightmarish gem of a comment. "They say you're generally brave and lovely, but five minutes alone with you already makes it clear that there's something desperately wrong with you or you would never have followed me here."

The hero spluttered.

"Death wish?" The villain asked curiously. "Adrenaline junkie? I didn't think you were especially stupid, but it's hard to tell watching you from the other side of the street."

"You really are something, huh."

The villain flicked the light off their fingers in the hero's direction in response. When the light reached them it didn't hurt, only popped like a bubble against their nose. They were plunged into darkness.

When the hero raised their phone, the villain was off the wall and right there in front of them.

The hero sucked a sharp breath, eyes going wide.

"As are you," the villain said. "Most people would have flinched."

The hero swallowed.

They felt suddenly infinitely aware that the silent darkness was also beneath the villain's power, as much as the light was, swallowing up every inch of space around the two of them one way or another. Who knew what was the villain's and what was just there.

Dangerous to walk down a dark alley indeed, as if it was the dark or the alley that was the real problem.

The hero had never felt so damningly alive.

"Wednesday," the hero said. "Tell me where to meet you."

"It's a date."

The rest of their shift passed in a blur.

[lucyblue101]

All of me, loves all of you

Satoru x reader

Authors note: angst, comfort, happy ending. Satoru needs reassurance

The night had been particularly long for both of them. The familiar weight of exhaustion hung over their shared space, but it wasn’t just the day’s physical toll on their bodies. Something in the air felt different—charged with an emotion that neither of them had put into words. The dim light of the moon filtered through the curtains, casting soft shadows across the room. The gentle hum of the city below was the only sound besides the quiet breathing of two people who had been through more than anyone should.

Satoru Gojo, however, was far from resting. He lay awake, staring at the ceiling, his mind far away from the warm embrace of sleep. He could hear the rhythmic breathing of Y/N beside him, the gentle rise and fall of her chest a soothing contrast to the turmoil inside him. It wasn’t that he didn’t love her—he did, more than anything. But tonight, something was gnawing at him. It wasn’t new; it had been lingering for some time, but it was heavier now, pressing against his chest like a weight he couldn’t shake.

He turned his head, his eyes shifting to her as she slept soundly. The moonlight caught the soft curve of her face, the way her hair fanned out across the pillow, the steady rise and fall of her chest as she dreamed. She was so peaceful, so perfect, and for a moment, he couldn’t help but stare.

His fingers twitched as he reached out, brushing a loose strand of hair away from her face. His heart swelled at the sight of her, but also twisted in a way he couldn’t quite explain. He was her protector, her partner, but sometimes, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he wasn’t enough for her. That maybe, despite everything, he couldn’t give her the life she deserved.

“Gojo?” Y/N’s soft voice broke through the stillness, and he froze, his gaze shifting to her as she stirred, blinking sleepily at him.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” he murmured, a faint smile tugging at his lips, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Just admiring you. You look so peaceful.”

Y/N frowned, her senses kicking in as she noticed the sadness in his eyes. She didn’t speak right away, letting the moment linger as she studied his face. Something wasn’t right. She could feel it.

“Satoru,” she whispered, sitting up and turning to face him. “What’s wrong?”

He sighed deeply, the weight of his emotions seeping into his tone. He wasn’t good at this. Not at all. He had his walls, his own ways of coping with everything the world threw at him. But in that moment, with her soft eyes on him, he couldn’t pretend anymore. “I just... I just feel like I’m not enough for you sometimes. I want to be everything for you, Y/N, but it doesn’t feel like I am. You deserve so much more than what I can give you.”

Her heart skipped a beat. The words he said were so quietly desperate, so vulnerable, that it sent a shockwave through her. He was the mighty Satoru Gojo, the strongest sorcerer—how could he doubt himself, doubt what they had?

“Don’t say that, baby,” she whispered, reaching out to gently cup his face in her hands. “You’re more than enough for me.”

But he shook his head, pulling away slightly. “I don’t want you to just settle for me, Y/N. I want to be the person you need. But sometimes I think I fail you.”

“Stop,” she said, her voice a little more firm, her heart breaking at the sight of him—this man who carried so much on his shoulders. “You don’t fail me. Never. Please don’t think that way.”

He looked at her for a long moment before standing up, running a hand through his messy hair. “I need some air. I think it’ll help clear my mind.”

Y/N sat there for a moment, watching him with concern, her heart pulling in her chest. She couldn’t let him go like this. She couldn’t let him suffer alone. Without saying a word, she stood up and followed him.

“I can come with you, right?” she asked, her voice tentative.

He turned to look at her, his expression unreadable, before nodding slowly. “Yeah. You can.”

They walked to the balcony in silence, the cool night air greeting them as they stepped outside. The city stretched out below them, lights twinkling like a distant galaxy, but everything felt so quiet. So lonely.

Satoru leaned against the railing, his hands gripping it tightly. He looked out at the horizon, the flickering lights, but his mind was still far away. Y/N approached him slowly, wrapping her arms around his waist from behind, pressing her forehead gently against his back. She could feel the tension in his muscles, the weight of his thoughts, the heaviness that he carried.

“I love you, you know?” she whispered, her voice full of certainty. “I love you so much.”

Satoru let out a shaky breath, his fingers curling into the railing as if to hold himself together. “Do you?” His voice was barely a whisper, tinged with doubt. “Are you sure? Because I... I love you more than anything. More than anything in the world.”

Her heart shattered at the question, at the raw vulnerability in his voice. It was as though he was asking for reassurance, something he’d never really done before.

She stepped around to face him, lifting her hands to gently cup his face, guiding him to look at her. His eyes were red-rimmed, the corners wet with unshed tears, and it took everything in her not to fall apart.

“I love you so, so much, Satoru,” she said, her voice steady, though her heart ached. “I love you with everything I have.”

He shook his head, his voice cracking. “But what if I’m not enough? What if you’re just—what if you’re just staying with me out of pity?”

“No!” she gasped, pulling him closer, wrapping her arms around his waist tightly. “No, baby, no. You are everything to me. You’re not just enough. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted and more. Don’t you see that?”

Satoru’s hands trembled as they slid around her, holding her close. The tears that had been building up finally spilled over, his shoulders shaking with emotion. He buried his face in her hair, his voice muffled as he spoke. “I’m afraid you’ll realize one day that you deserve someone better than me.”

Y/N held him tighter, her heart aching as she whispered into his ear. “Satoru... I love the fact that you’re kind. I love that you’re so sweet, even when the world doesn’t deserve it. I love the way you try to protect everyone, even when it tears you apart. I love that what people don’t know about you is that you’re so gentle. I love your heart, the way it cares so deeply. I love the way your eyes look when you’re completely vulnerable... the way you look right now. I love your body, your eyes, your hair, your smile. I love every part of you... even the parts you think are dirty and ugly. Every single part of you. You are enough, Satoru. You are everything.”

As soon as the words left her lips, Satoru’s whole body shook. He gasped as if he had been holding his breath the entire time, his heart racing wildly. His hands clutched at her even tighter, as though afraid she would slip away. His head dropped to her shoulder, tears soaking through her shirt as he let himself break in her arms.

“I don’t deserve you,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I don’t deserve any of this, but I want you... I want to be the man you deserve. Please don’t leave me.”

Y/N cupped his face, pulling him back to look at her. “I’m not going anywhere, Satoru. I’m here. I’m not going to leave you.”

He stared into her eyes for a long moment before, in an almost instinctive motion, he pressed her hand against his chest, right over his heart. “This is yours, Y/N. My heart... it’s yours. I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. You’re everything to me. Please never doubt that.”

She felt the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath her palm, and she smiled through her tears. It was like the weight of the world had lifted off of him, and somehow, it had lifted from her as well.

“I love you so much, Satoru,” she whispered again, her voice full of certainty.

He kissed her forehead softly, then her cheeks, tasting the salt of her tears, before finally pressing his lips to hers, slow and deep. She melted into him, her heart still racing, but this time it was from joy. From the overwhelming sense that they were finally, truly together—no walls, no doubts, no barriers.

They stood there for a long time, kissing, holding each other as if the world had faded away. And when they finally pulled apart, Y/N rested her head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. The night was quiet again, but this time, it was filled with the unspoken promise of love—of a love that was theirs, unbreakable and infinite.

Satoru pressed another kiss to the top of her head, tightening his arms around her

Tag list (let me know if you wanna go on it 🥹)

@canigotosleep--plz

@haruhatake

@hargun-s

@tibibibi123

@itsafairytalekay

@mistymuii

@moonchhu

[juniefruit]

☆ Caught in a Web ☆

☆ Spiderman! Jisung x fem! reader 18+

☆ Summary: Peter Jisung Han lived a double life. One, as your best friend since first grade. Second, as New York's one-and-only Spider-Man. For the past few years, his life has been... well, complicated. It only gets more complicated when you see something you weren't supposed to which, surprisingly, had some pleasurable consequences.

☆ Warnings: Kind of silly, monster encounter, friends to lovers, mutual pining, ji and reader are in college, piv, making out, fast progression, for mature audiences ONLY. MDNI.

☆ Word Count: 3.3k

☆ Notes: this has been a wip for soo long I thought about scrapping it. Posting it now to just finally get it out of my drafts. Couldn't decide on whether to keep the smut or not. But hey it's here so: smut readers, enjoy!

Police sirens.

Cars honking. Incessantly. 

Subway cars screeching to a halt under your feet.

Skyscrapers towering above the crown of your head. 

That was New York. Your humble city, the one that never sleeps. You know who also doesn’t sleep? Jisung. Your best friend you met your first year of Uni. Attached at the hip, you could probably complete each other’s sentences– if the other would ever stop talking. 

University was its own battle, but having Jisung around made things that much easier. He lived in the apartment complex across the street, and sometimes you’d see the lights on in his window way past reasonable hours. But his skin was flawless nonetheless- not a dark circle in sight, not even on bad days. You could go on and on about him, his perfect hair, warm eyes, bubbly laugh. You would gush about him to your best friend- but you can’t, because he is that friend. So, you’re stuck screaming into your pillow from his astronomical charms. 

The news anchor’s voice cuts through the air, the TV against your wall flashing with another breaking news headline. When your eyes scan the title, you grin. Spider-man saves dozens in East Manhattan, it reads. With a sparkle in your eyes, you phone Jisung. He never picks up anyway. But you couldn’t stay mad at him, no– not when he flashes you a lopsided smile and promises to buy you dinner as an apology. 

7:53p.m:

You: Yo r u seeing this?? Spiderman’s on the east side!!

Missed Call

Missed Call

Missed Call

You wouldn’t call yourself a Spiderman fanatic– you just give credit where credit’s due. Try telling that to Jisung– In reality, you were enthralled with the masked man. He was just so cool and personable. He swung so gracefully through the city, catching everything from petty criminals to monsters even your nightmares couldn’t conjure up. You could see the outline of all his hard work under that skin-tight exo-suit, too. He handled news reporters like a champ- always knew what to say and how to leave you breathless. Until he swung off into a dark alley, until the next time his presence was needed. 

You had given up on calling Jisung, knowing he was probably gaming or sleeping and couldn’t reach his phone. It was only until the news had moved on to the next headline that you felt the buzz of your phone, which you threw onto the other side of your bed in annoyance. Of course you picked up.

“Hey, y/n! Wanna tell me all about it?” Jisung spoke, almost too enthusiastic for how out of breath he was.

“Uh, yeah! Did you see that spin kick he did? It was mid-air too! And he totally demolished that one—” Jisung zoned you out, back against the brick wall, hand gripping his mask. A drop of sweat rolled down his temple as he caught his breath, silently. “Where even are you?” Your voice raised in annoyance. “And out of breath too?” Jisung looses a breathy laugh. 

“Just went out on a run, cutie. Don’t you worry, I’ll be back soon.” 

You don’t sound too convinced. “Okay… Just don’t get mugged.”

“I’ll try. Still on for lunch tomorrow?” Your heart skips a beat for no particular reason. You agreed and said your goodbyes, but you didn’t sleep until you saw the lights turn on in Jisung’s apartment. The next morning, the crisp air had a slight chill to it, indicating the beginning of fall. Maybe you were imagining it, but everything had that autumn vibe to it. The streets weren’t overly crowded yet, as you waited in line at the coffee shop on the corner. Class was starting in a few minutes. 

“y/n, wait up!” You recognized Jisung’s voice from behind you. He had a scarf wrapped around his neck and shoulders in a warm brown color that suited him well. “Walk with me?” You nodded, sipping your warm drink. It was too early for this, you thought. You enjoyed the comfortable silence, and so did he. Class was okay… But it was always better when Jisung cracked a joke or two about that one kid who always raised his hand, or the typo in the professor’s slideshow. The day trudged along, until you were back in your brick wall apartment, Jisung splayed across your bed while you sat crisscrossed on your side. Occasionally, you mindlessly glanced over at the various band posters on your walls, or the fairy lights above your desk.

“Do you ever think we’ve walked past spiderman, not knowing it was him?” You spoke whatever came to mind. 

“Uh, I don’t know, probably.” Jisung put on his best unamused voice. 

“I hope he’s hot.” You sigh, dreamily. He chokes on air. “What?” You ask, turning to him, faking annoyance.

“That’d be great, yeah.” He laughed at the absurdity of the situation. 

“I mean, look at him! He’s got sooo many muscles!” You gesture to the TV, going through the daily Spiderman-appreciation segment. Jisung rolled his eyes. He really didn’t get the hype. All he wanted was to stop these dumb monsters and go on with his day. Maybe if the news didn’t blow him up so much, he would’ve told you already. But he can’t risk it. 

“I’ve got muscles too, you know.” He didn’t want you to like Spiderman, he wanted you to like him. God forbid he gets a little jealous sometimes, even if he is technically getting jealous of himself. 

“Yeah, but are you spiderman?” You ask, jokingly. 

“Uh-” Jisung stammers. He was never good with confrontation. His heart was beating too fast and his ears were getting red. Breathing was getting difficult.

“That’s what I thought.” You fold your arms in victory. 

“Goodnight, y/n.” Jisung got up from the bed in a hurry, shuffling over to where his shoes were by the door.

“Eh? Did I say something? Whatever it was, I’m really sorry-!” The sound of the door slamming cut you off. You raced over to your bedroom window, and waited until you saw the lights in his apartment turn on. It might’ve been stupid, but you tore a piece of paper out of your notebook, and in big sharpie ink, wrote, ‘sorry :(‘ and taped it to your window before getting ready for bed. 

The next morning, Jisung had to blow off some steam. Quite the overthinker, he was. He didn’t see your message posted on your window, practically jumping into his suit and pulling his mask on, the rising sun set a golden glow across his form as he swung between stone brick walls and fancy office building glass. Leaves were turning various hues of red, orange and yellow. They fell like confetti from the tree branches that lined the streets. Screw my morning class, he thought, he could always pull an all-nighter to catch up. His superhuman energy meant he rarely felt tired. In the corner of his vision, the neighborhood coffee shop caught his eye. He could really go for a bagel. It’s gonna be one hell of a morning for the people in there, he thought as he swung down, and opened the door with a chime. Walking up to the counter clad in his suit and mask, the barista was too busy writing on a cup to acknowledge him, but he could hear the hushed whispers and surprised gasps of the cafe patrons. 

“Welcome in, what can I get for you?” “Lemme get uhh-” 

Jisung got that sudden feeling across his skin, like a wave of electricity. Something was about to happen. 

BANG! 

A loud explosion right outside, some of the window panes cracked. The ground shook in a deep rumble. So much for that bagel. Sprinting outside, A large crack in the asphalt was billowing steam. A little farther down, A heavy creature made of stone and mud was stomping down the road, laughing maniacally. Attempting an ambush, Spiderman launched a web at its back. Almost instantly the web string got stuck in the mud and was enveloped by the creature. Oh. At that, the monster stopped trodding, and slowly turned around. It had a face of assorted rough stones, kind of like a snowman. Jisung sighed. Alright, plan B. 

“Oh my god!” You shrieked at the TV from your quaint living room, watching the fight go down on the live news broadcast. Sat in your comfy pajamas, you had decided to take today easy. Until now. Spiderman was leaping across building walls, launching strike on strike onto the monster. The cameraman was shaky, but you didn’t seem to care, as your eyes trailed every movement of spiderman’s agile maneuvers. All of a sudden you gasped, an idea striking you faster than a lightning bolt. If I leave now, I might have enough time to get there and meet spiderman in person! Frantically running to your closet, you changed into something lightweight and casual. Booking it down the apartment stairs and onto your bike, you recognized the location of the fight because that’s where you and Jisung would always get bagels after your morning class. The thought made you smile. Approaching the scene, you could hear the buzz of commotion. Right as you rounded the corner, you saw it: masses of mud and stone flying everywhere, shattering windows and denting cars. Steam was rolling off the creature, as if the sun was making it dry up. You abandoned your bike and quietly walked closer. They haven’t noticed you yet. That is, until one hit from the creature caught Jisung off guard and he tumbled onto the cement sidewalk, grunting on impact. You gasped in shock, covering your mouth. His mask scraped against the cement, ripping on the side, exposing his left side completely. The more he tried to fix it, the worse it got, until he angrily shoved the mask off with an annoyed look on his face. 

“Happy now?!” He shouted. There were little scapes littering his cheeks from the rubble. The monster grumbled in response. 

“Jisung?” His head whipped around at the sound of your confused voice. 

“Y/n-” Oh shit. Oh, this was bad. Of all people, he thought. “Y/n, get back-!” His voice was strained as the monster launched another attack. He jumped out of the way, closer to you. “Just- run, please!” He exclaimed. You stood there, staring at eachother for a few seconds to confirm that that was really him and that you were really you. Reluctantly, you stepped back before Jisung ran after the monster. Your knees felt weak and you could feel your lungs running out of oxygen. You heard fire truck sirens quickly approaching, and the rest was a blur. 

When you woke, the first thing your brain acknowledged was the plush feeling of your mattress under your fingertips. It didn’t make sense, but it was comfortable. Slowly opening your eyes, you took a deep breath in, mumbling something incoherent. The blinds in the window were only half closed, letting in the warm glow of the setting sun. Confused and tired, you tried picking yourself up, until a voice to your right interrupted your movement.

“Hey, take it easy,” Instead of making you feel giddy like it usually does, Jisung’s gentle voice made something like anxiety swirl in the pit of your stomach. He got up from his seat by your desk, walking over to lean closer. 

“Do you feel okay?” He asked, eyes cautious. You must have been out for a few hours, because the scratches on his face were cleaned up, and his hair was neatly done. His silver drop earrings dangled in the light. 

“No.” The anger was strating to set in. 

“Alright.” He figured it was better for him to be quiet right now.

“Care to explain?” Or not, Jisung thought. Your voice was slightly hoarse, not an ounce of humor in the tone.

“I’m, uh, I’m… Spiderman?” He shrugged his shoulders and smiled nervously. 

“You’re joking,” You don’t sound amused.

“You saw me yourself! You weren’t supposed to, but you did!” His hands waved in the air to defend himself. You groaned, running a hand along your face.

“Do you even know how embarrassing this is for me? I wanna die.” You whined in annoyance. All the times thirsting over him, screaming over him, and he means to tell you they're the same person? You’ve had a crush on two people, but it’s actually one? “You probably think I’m a major loser.” He loosed a breathless laugh at your confession. 

“You know I would never think that.” He spoke with certainty. And you believed him. Mostly. “You’re my best friend. I think you’re, like, the coolest person ever. And hey, I won't lie, you also give me the biggest ego boost when you talk about how much you loooove Spiderman’s muscles.” 

“Shut up!!” You swatted him away, but he didn’t budge. He snickered at your annoyed state. Teasingly, he pushed even closer, making you giggle. Your arms wrestled against his, until he tumbled onto the bed with you. Reluctantly, he let you catch your breath, laying shoulder to shoulder.

“You’re still my best friend, right?” You confessed. Truth be told, this was a huge reveal on Jisung's part. If he had to cut you off for your sake, it wouldn’t be easy, but you’d manage. You understood how troubling life in the spotlight is. He turned towards you, and you could almost feel his breath on your skin. It sent goosebumps up your spine. 

“Yeah, I am. Of course I am.” His voice was just above a whisper, but he spoke with confidence.

“What if the news thinks I’m your girlfriend? You know how they are,” You rolled your eyes at the melodramatic tendencies of American news media. 

“Would that… be so bad?” Jisung braced himself for the worst. He honestly wasn’t prepared for this, but if not now, when? You knew everything about him. Well, you do now. You were the one person he could truly let his guard down around and really be himself. You knew about all his favorite bands, his order at the corner shop, or even the route he takes to class that specifically avoids the news broadcasting station. He liked you. Like, liked you. There was really no other word for it. 

“I’ll never let anything happen to you, y/n. I’ll make sure of it.” 

He looked down at you with a wide, thoughtful gaze. His heart was racing. You finally let your brain catch up to your heart when you leaned in closer. He let you do so, but not moving an inch himself. Frankly, he was petrified. You carefully pressed your lips against his, measuring his reaction. It was only when you pulled away, your eyes scanning his face hesitantly, that he was thrown back down to earth from the euphoria that was you. He chased your lips as his brows furrowed in concentration, his warm palms coming up to cup your cheeks. You let out a hum in surprise, arching into him to feel his upper body against yours. The front of his body felt firm and defined even over the fuzzy sweater.

Jisung quickly became addicted to your body. He moved one palm lower, swiping over your neck and moving your hair out of the way in the process. He moved down; down your shoulder and to your waist. There, he squeezed you, trying to feel you through the barrier that was your sweater. Moving further down and stilling at your hip, he felt the edge of your jeans, wiggling his hand under the sweater to feel your soft lower waist. He let out a heavy exhale at the touch, and he didn’t even realize how big the tent in his jeans had gotten until you squirmed against him. He shifted your position so you were on your back against the bed, his hands exploring your body until they came to rest right under your bra. Jisung sprawled out above you, his sweater clung to his broad shoulders as he tried to regain his breath for the few short seconds his mouth wasn’t on yours. 

“Still wanna see Spiderman’s muscles?” He grinned above you, out of breath. The desire in his eyes was unmistakeable, but with a hint of playfulness too.  

“You’re insufferable.” You huffed, grabbing handfuls of the fluffy blue sweater and pulling it up and off his head. The planes of his chest overwhelmed your vision, his smooth skin driving you wild. His biceps bulged as he pulled your shirt off, his eyes drinking in your figure, scanning up and down. Impatiently, his fingers thread themselves into the belt loops of your jeans, tugging them down. You did the same to him. His hips were grinding against you in waves, like he couldn’t control himself. Your legs spread as far as possible to hold him closer. Jisung could feel the slow, aching throb spread through his dick, hissing through a clenched jaw. Your core felt his bulge, wetness sticking to your folds almost uncomfortably. Your hand glided against your hip until it reached the gusset of your panties to pull them to the side, holding them there. Pushing his boxers down, he finally slid his length through your lower lips, catching against your clit. One of his hands was balanced against your hip, thumb drawing circles against the skin. He leaned down to press a passionate kiss to your lips before his face moved to the side of your face, his deep breaths right by your ear. Pushing into your hole, he took his time adjusting. He moved slowly, shoulders shaking from the anticipation, whining through sealed lips. 

“Sungie, you don’t have to wait-” You whined, squirming slightly. 

“Shh, just let me have this moment,” He comforted you with a hand on your shoulder, his eyes closing from pleasure- Forcing himself to stay still despite the primal itch to just get on with it. The thrum of anticipation felt shockingly good. After a few moments pass, he drags the heavy weight of his cock out of your walls only to sensually thrust back in. Then, it was like the floodgates opened. Jisung gasped, starting to thrust in and out, his pace gradually speeding up. His hips rhythmically lift upwards to hit your lower belly, thighs slapping against your spread cheeks. Your moans kept him grounded, otherwise he feared he would lose himself in euphoria. His voice grew raspy the longer he groaned and moaned. His pace didn’t falter, even while your arms snaked up to wrap around his shoulders, bringing him closer. Your fingers wrapped around that little silver chain he always wears and tugged lightly. His dick reached deeper as he pressed himself against you, body hitting yours in all the right places. Your thighs lifted up to press against his outer hips, your walls squeezing with each push of pleasure from him. 

“I’m, ah, close y/n-”. He hummed, lips pressed against the column of your neck. When your core squeezed around him, he whimpered at the feeling of his impending release.

“You can let go Sungie,” Your palm reassuringly rubbed against his broad back, feeling up the hard working muscles at the same time. His sounds grew higher in pitch until he eventually snapped, his pleasure triggering yours like a domino. For what seemed like hours, the only thing you could perceive was Jisung’s heaving form above you, and the climbing steps of your orgasm that finally crashed down in one fell swoop. Cum and slick gushed out and coated your joined bodies as you caught your breaths. With a hum, you looked over Jisung’s shoulder to realize the muted TV was still on the local news channel. He gave you a short kiss to your spit slicked lips before rolling to the side.

“Jisung?”

“Yeah?”

“Your face is all over the news.”

“Oh shit.”

Check my masterlist for more!

Warning: Everything I post is 100% my original writing & thoughts. This also includes the moodboards at the beginning, that I create. Please do not plagiarize or copy. Tag for inspiration or add-ons. Reblogs are appreciated! <3

[sanjoongie]

𐌕𐋅𐌄 𐌔𐋅𐌉𐌄𐌋𐌃 𐌌𐌀𐌉𐌃𐌄𐌍 𐌀𐌍𐌃 𐋅𐌄𐌓 𐌁𐌄𐌓𐌔𐌄𐌓𐌊𐌄𐌓

🐺Pairing: Berserker! San x Shield Maiden! Reader (f)

🛡Genre: smut, fluff

🐺Au: Historical Au, Viking Au, parent au

🛡Trope: established relationship (married)

🐺Word Count: 2,755

🛡Warnings: mentions of fighting, killing, blood, battle, {breast feeding}, lactation kink, breeding kink, breast play, knife play, fear kink, oral (f), penetrative sex without a barrier, pull out method, mentions of somnophilia, switch! san, switch! reader, mentions of masturbation

🐺Rated: 18+ MDNI

🛡Summary: when your husband comes back after the long raiding season, he continues his mission to keep you pregnant and away from the battlefield

🐺Author’s Note: this a self indulgent au that i have been dying to write but not finding any time to, so i decided to gift it to myself for my birthday 🥳

🛡Beta’s: @downtoamagicalland & @mejuii

"I'm home!" San bellows as he sweeps aside the sheepskin that covers the door to your home.

"Papa!" Four children's voices ring out.

You watch with amusement as your horde of children practically puppy-pile your husband in an attempt to greet him. 

San lets out his belly laugh, beyond happy. Your Viking husband places his double-handed axe against the wall and sweeps up your children, all four of them, in his arms and squeezes them until they protest. 

"I have missed you," He sighs, kissing them enthusiastically on top of their heads before letting them go.

"Papa, papa!" Your oldest, Sari, pipes up. "Mama is teaching me how to wield a sword and shield!"

San's eyes swipe towards you, grinning. "You're going to be a shield maiden like your mama?"

"I'm going to beat you one day!" Sari swears solemnly.

"I don't doubt it," San nods solemnly back.

A loud wail starts up and you cluck your tongue. “Not even five minutes after your father is home and you cause mischief?”

Your eldest boy, Taewoong, the second oldest child, looks expectedly at San while your second daughter Micha sobs.

“Son.” San takes both of Taewoong’s hands in his own. “Why would you harm your younger sister? She looks up to you to protect her.”

Taewoong shoots a look at you and then looks down at the way his father’s thumb swipes lovingly.

San sighs loudly. “Please take care of Micha. When I'm not here, you're the man of the house.”

Taewoong's lower lip juts out. “Papa!” He wails.

San looks bewildered at the sudden outburst and looks to you for help. 

“He didn't expect you to be gentle with him. I'd have given him a swat by now.”

San kisses the top of Taewoong's head and then begins to tickle Micha's ribs, eyes disappearing at the sound of her laughter, tears forgotten.

“Sari, take your brother and sister to bed now. I've got to greet your mother properly,” San orders.

The three run to their shared bed, quickly shedding their clothes until they were in their bedtime nightgowns. 

“Hello wife,” San says in a low voice. “And who is this piglet in a blanket?”

You twist your lips. “That is the newest baby you left in my stomach, Husband.”

San plucks the slumbering baby from your arms and coos at the round cheeks. “Hello, baby.”

“Will you name him now that he's been born and you're home?” You ask, waiting expectantly for his reaction to the good news.

“A boy?!” He grins. He rocks his new son as if he’s the most precious person in this world. “What’s your name, hmmm?”

“If you’ve any love for me, you’d name this one for a softer life,” You grumble.

“What about Hajoon? Perhaps he’ll take on your storytelling and be a bard or a poet!” San offers.

“Stories?” Sari pipes up from the bed. 

“Stories!” Micha echoes her older sister.

“Please?” Taewoong adds belatedly, knowing he’s already pushed enough this evening.

 San looks at you with wide eyes. You sigh and roll yours. “I always tell them stories before they sleep, you know this, you silly man.”

“My fierce shield maiden wife tells stories to our children?” San pretends to be ignorant.

“You must tell the tale of when you met Papa!” Sari insists.

“You’ve heard that more times than I care to count!’ You protest. “Surely you want a new tale now that Papa is here?”

Micha shakes her head. “No! Want stories about Papa!”

San gently slips the babe back to you. “I’ll tell the story. Mine’s much better.” 

He discards his furs and sits on the bed with his children, in simply his pants, bearing all his tattoos and scars. 

Hajoon shifts after being moved so much and he begins to whimper. “It’s okay, sweet boy,” you whisper. “Mama will feed you.”

San’s voice bounces off your walls as he launches into his version of how you two met.

“Papa was in a large battle, two major armies crashing together, it was glorious. So many men were sent to Valhalla by my axe. The battle lasted all day and all night and when the sun rose, I found myself surrounded by many other warriors still. My berserker blood rage had settled and I began to get tired and weary. Just as I felt my eyes drooping,” San pauses to roar and the children scream in delight. “I heard a battle cry and saw a Valkyrie descend from the heavens. She was heavenly, in both her beauty and her bloodlust. She carried two blades that she swung with accuracy and deadliness. She carved through many warriors until finally she appeared in front of me. I was caught in her spell and there was nothing I could do if she decided to finish me and carry me to Valhalla.”

“Mama,” Sari sends me a dirty look, as if to scold me for attempting to kill her Papa.

San laughs under his breath and then becomes serious again. “She pointed her swords at me and said, ‘you’ll become my husband’. I had no choice!”

Taewoong’s adorable face screws up in confusion. “If Mama is so good, why doesn’t she go on the raids?”

San’s eyes widen as he realizes he’s talked himself into a corner, so to speak. 

“Yes, Papa,” You say Papa as if it’s derogatory. “Tell them why Mama doesn’t fight anymore.”

San begins to pout, his signature way to speak when he knew suddenly the things weren’t going his way. “Your Mama needs to stay here with you! And protect you! What if someone came raiding here? No one is better to keep you safe than Mama.”

Micha’s lips begin to quiver at the realization that she and her siblings are in danger. San has to assure her that there is no need to be afraid and soon all the children are tucked firmly and off to slumberland.

“Papa duties complete,” San says with a proud smile.

“Good. The babe’s fallen asleep as well,” You murmur.

You place Hajoon in the sling that rocks him to sleep and tuck yourself back into your dress. Your eyes meet San’s when you catch him looking at you hungrily. 

“San,” You say his name in warning.

Your husband sweeps you up, carrying you in his capable arms and brings you to your bed, on the opposite side of the house. He keeps himself aloft over you, but his lower half pins you in place. 

“I missed you,” he whispers and then collapses his weight on you. 

His head is tucked in between your shoulder and head and you pat his head reassuringly. “I missed you too, husband.”

“The birth wasn’t too hard?” San wonders, rubbing his cheek against your skin. 

“It was fine, San,” You say, moving your hand down to his back to absentmindedly run your fingers along his spine.

For a moment, you trace his scars from memory. He was acquiring new ones that you hadn't witnessed and it sent a pang to your heart. You missed the days when you used to battle at San’s side and then fuck with the blood of your enemies still wet on your skin. 

“Would you have told our children the true reason I remain at home?” You can’t help but wonder.

San raises his head and you watch an unfamiliar emotion cross his eyes: fear. “I was convinced for the longest time that you would become jealous and think I had found another lover. I dreamt of you slitting my throat with a savage grin while I slept.”

“San, that’s absolutely ridiculous,” You deny. “First of all, if I was going to kill you, I would make sure that you were awake for it, especially if I thought you were cheating on me.”

San puts a finger to your lips to halt whatever you were going to say secondly. “But now it’s because I love our horde of children. But I love it even more when you’re heavy with child and I can just fuck you whenever I want. I love your body when you’re full with a child.”

“San,” you say his name hoarsely. Damn Viking man and his breeding kink. 

His eyes wander down your body to your chest and he cups one of your breasts. “Let me suckle from your breast, love,” he whispers naughtily.

“The babe needs that milk!” 

San smiles mischievously. “He can have the other breast. This one is mine.”

Your viking husband pulls the top of your dress down your arms, effectively both trapping your arms in place and spilling your breasts to him. One leaks with milk, where Hajoon had been feeding, and San moans quietly.

“San, the children!” You protest one more time.

“Shhhh,” San hushes you, “The babes don’t understand. Besides, if you’re quiet enough, they won’t wake.”

You whimper as San takes one breast into his mouth, tongue lapping at the tip, and then begins to suck to pull the milk from it. His blunt fingernail plays with the areola of the other, bringing it to a point as well. After months of being on your own, your back arches as the familiar touch of your husband practically burns into your skin.

“My poor wife,” San chuckles lowly. “You need the touch of your husband to bring you back to life?”

“Please, don’t stop,” You murmur and San doesn’t.

His treatment of your breasts, weighting them in his palm, and squeezing them softly, was almost akin to adoration. He was careful to not be rough, aware of just how sensitive you were now that you were fresh from a birth and breastfeeding. 

With your milk still on his lips, San continues to tease you verbally. “I bet you’re aching and wet for me, aren’t you, love of my life?”

Your thighs clench at his words. “I brought myself with my fingers a few times once you were gone. You know how gooey I am when I’m pregnant.”

San groans, his eyes rolling into the back of his head before he moves down your body, abandoning your breasts at the thought of your wet cunt. On his way down, he pays homage to every piece of skin he passes. Any scar or cellulite or stretch mark gets kisses as well. 

The way San makes love to your body would be the proof that your husband would never cheat on you. Then again, the way San makes love to your body would also be a key motivator to ensure he never did the same with anyone else. 

San peppers your mound and out lips with kisses, murmuring praise against your sensitive skin. “Daddy missed you,” escaping his lips once or twice.

You snicker under your breath which quickly turns into a breathy whine as San places a tender kiss right on your clit. Then his tongue delves into your folds, tracing your inner lips and tasting you. He takes his time, re-learning every crease and dip of your cunt. It’s equal parts coming back home and giving you what you missed.

Your core is aching as San tongues your hole, using it to stretch you a bit, but mostly to wind you up. Just when you think he’s going to climb back up your body and fill you up with his cock, he halts his progress to flick and circle your clit. You growl in frustration and dig your hand into his hair. 

“If you don’t fuck me right this second, I’m going to milk you for all your worth and they will have a husk of a man to send back out when raiding seasons starts again,” You threaten.

A flash of fear permeates San’s eyes. “Yes, wife,” he replies demurely.

You take the lead, flipping the two of you so that you are on top now. San’s hair briefly fans out above his head and his dark eyes take you in. 

“Take your pleasure from me, queen,” San says huskily.

You lift an eyebrow in question as you begin to rub your wet folds against San’s erect cock lying against his stomach. “Don’t you mean valkyrie?”

San’s eyes slid to the side as he witnesses you pull your knife from under the pillow he was on. His eyes widen and he holds himself still. “I’ll call you whatever you want, shield maiden. Take from me what you what, simply leave me alive another day to feel your sweet cunt wrapped around me.”

“This sweet cunt has given you more than enough babies, San,” You say in a low voice. You begin to move your hips only as the flat of your blade is brought against San’s throat. 

San’s Adam’s apple bobs deliciously in anxiousness. “If I keep you pregnant with my babies, you’ll stay off the battlefield. You terrify me, wife of mine. Your bloodlust makes me look like a fawn who does not know danger.”

You lean forward, still tilting your hips in leisure. “Are you saying you fear your wife? The mother of your children?”

“I fear the shield maiden who stole my heart and is just as capable of breaking open my rib cage and stealing it again,” San whispers. 

You felt your inner fire, your warrior’s soul, light up with those words. Your hips began to move with more vigor, a delighted grin opening your lips. “Good, that’s how I prefer you.”

San groans loudly, his eyes rolling into the back of his head with pleasure as you bounce more enthusiastically against his pelvis. He slaps his hand over his mouth, aware that now he might wake the children. His eyes are wide with worry as you continue to ride his pronounced hips. 

With your fervor activity, your short sword makes a line along San’s neck and his pupils blow out. Nothing like enacting the bloodlust during a fuck to get both of your blood going. 

“Dare you come inside me, husband?” You purr quietly. “With my sword against your neck so pretty like?”

San whines behind his hand at your words. You can feel his pelvis muscles flexing with each time your ass meets his hips, so that he can fuck you harder, or at least, give you more. 

Meanwhile, with each stroke of San’s girthy cock inside of you, you can feel your orgasm coming within your grasp. You withdraw your sword from San’s neck just in time as it hits. You arch your back, a silent cry releasing from your lips, your sought after climax finally ripping through you. It’s everything you had dreamed about while your husband had been raiding.

San, fast as lightning, flips you over before the vice grip of your pussy pushes him over the edge inside of you. He comes with his teeth dug into his bottom lip, fisting his cock and his seed spurts over your mound and your lower stomach. He pants as he continues to dirty your body, fist moving slower and slower as his high leaves him.

He grins, shoulders moving with each breath. “Now that was a welcome home fuck.”

You stand up to find the bowl you keep of water and a rag. Often you clean yourself up from the mess of the milk from your breasts so it’s no added labor to wash San’s cum from your body too. 

“You are a debased man, husband of mine,” You murmur under your breath.

“That’s why you married me!” San protests. 

“The breast milk is new,” You throw over your shoulder. 

San scratches the back of his head, still crouching on the bed, his legs under his body. “I love every part of you,” He admits, “Why not that too?”

Once you settle back into bed, San cleans himself up too and then settles behind you pulling your body flush with his. He nuzzles your shoulder and hums contently. “Are you sure I can’t convince you to make another baby with me?”

You sigh, still rolling your eyes at San’s antics. “Why don’t we play a game? If you can fuck me while I sleep without waking me, you can fill me up to your hearts content. And if I wake up then, you better be ready to finish with your mouth.”

You can practically hear the glee in San’s voice when he replies. “And that’s why I married you.”

And then he’s snoring like he doesn’t have a care in the world. You find yourself drifting off to sleep as well, feeling safe and happy in San’s arms.

[amethystarachnid]

OPPOSITES - part II

⤷ JAMES B. “BUCKY” BARNES

ᯓ★ Pairing: James B. “Bucky” Barnes x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, fluff, tiny bit of angst

ᯓ★ Request from: MARVEL multiverse

ᯓ★ Story type: short fanfic

ᯓ★ Part I

ᯓ★ Word count: 9k

ᯓ★ Summary: Bucky was right, your parents don't approve your relationship with him so you run away from home to stay with him, ready for the challenge that is getting used to his world.

ᯓ★ TW(s): mentions of guns,

ᯓ★ AU: 1920s Gangstares

ᯓ★ Request: oh my god i absolutely love this <33 a second part would be amazing (no pressure ofc) ( @one-lengthiness36 )

ᯓ★ Since request didn't spicy reader's gender I'll write it as a fem!reader, as I've said in the post

ᯓ★ Comment if you want to be added to the taglist (specify if you want the everything taglist or for a specific character)

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo (requests open)

ᯓ★ Masterlist

ᯓ★ If you are a Charles Xavier fan click on this link!

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language and this isn’t proof read

The evening is like a scene out of one of the novels you used to read in secret, back before Bucky’s presence filled the empty places in your life. The grand ballroom is swathed in soft lights, crystal chandeliers glinting above like starlight. Your parents, all too eager to show you off, parade you through introductions and polite conversation, proudly displaying their perfect, obedient daughter to the other families in attendance. But tonight, you can’t shake the feeling that everything is only half as bright as it could be. Everything feels dull because your mind is on him.

The moment you spot Bucky across the room, dressed in a dark, well-tailored suit that makes him look every inch the part of a man who could captivate a room, everything else melts away. He’s watching you, his gaze piercing even across the sea of elegantly dressed guests. He looks out of place, dangerous in the way he leans back against a wall, observing the crowd as though he’s assessing each person. You know he doesn’t come from a world like this. He doesn’t belong among these polished smiles and whispered judgments, yet he’s here, somehow making the room feel sharper, alive.

The evening’s polite conversation blurs around you, and as soon as the opportunity presents itself, you excuse yourself, slipping through the crowd and down a side hallway that leads to the garden. You barely reach the edge of the courtyard when you feel a presence behind you. A hand slides around your waist, tugging you into a secluded shadow where the soft glow of garden lights casts a warm halo over you both. Bucky pulls you against him, and the world falls away.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you whisper, though there’s a smile tugging at your lips as you tilt your head to look at him.

“And miss seeing you in that dress?” He smirks, his eyes roving over you with a possessive heat. “Not a chance, doll.”

Your breath catches as his hand slides from your waist up to the small of your back, pressing you closer to him. You glance back at the house, watching for signs of anyone who might interrupt, but Bucky’s fingers tilt your chin back toward him, gently pulling you into his focus.

“Don’t worry about them,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing along your jawline. “They’ve got enough to gossip about for the night without us.”

You smile, heart pounding as his lips brush the corner of your mouth, his hand slipping up to your cheek, cradling your face as though you’re something delicate, precious. The kiss that follows is soft, unhurried, but with a simmering edge of hunger that makes your toes curl. When he pulls back, his thumb traces along your bottom lip.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he says, voice low and rough, as if the words themselves are too heavy to hold back.

Your heart skips, and you smile, placing a hand on his chest, feeling the steady, powerful beat beneath your palm. “You know, you being here is going to make it difficult for me to keep pretending,” you whisper. “I want to tell them, Bucky. I want to tell them about us.”

He stiffens slightly, his hand stilling against your cheek. His face softens as he looks down at you, but there’s a hint of a warning in his eyes. “That’s a terrible idea, sweetheart.”

“Why?” you challenge, the words barely above a whisper as you lift your face toward him. “Because you’re the boss of a gang? Because you think they’ll only see that and never see you for who you really are?”

Bucky’s lips quirk in a half-smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “That’s exactly why.” His hand slips down to your waist, holding you close as he leans in, his lips trailing soft, open-mouthed kisses along the line of your jaw, sending shivers down your spine. “They’d only see the reputation, the danger. Not… this.”

You close your eyes, feeling the warmth of his breath on your skin as he kisses his way to the sensitive spot just below your ear. “But this is what matters,” you murmur, voice breathless. “You’ve shown me who I am, who I can be. It’s not just about who you are, Bucky—it’s about who I am when I’m with you.”

His grip tightens on your waist, and he lets out a quiet groan, pulling you even closer against him. “God, you don’t make it easy, doll,” he murmurs, pressing his forehead to yours. “But they’ll never see it that way. They won’t understand.”

Your fingers drift up to the nape of his neck, threading through his hair as you look up at him. His blue eyes are darkened, focused intently on you as if you’re the only thing that exists in this moment. “Then let me make them understand,” you say, softly but firmly. “Let me show them how much you mean to me.”

Bucky sighs, his hand sliding down to rest on your lower back, his touch possessive as he holds you against him. “You have no idea how much I want that. How much I want to be with you—out in the open. But your father? Your family?” He shakes his head, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. “They’d never forgive you. They’d never forgive us.”

You press a hand against his cheek, feeling the faint stubble under your fingers as you guide his face back to yours. “They don’t control me, Bucky. Not anymore. You taught me that.”

His expression shifts, softening as he studies you, his eyes filled with that raw intensity that never fails to make your heart race. “You’re something else, you know that?” he murmurs, his lips ghosting over yours as he speaks. “You’re everything I didn’t know I needed.”

You smile, feeling warmth spread through your chest as he closes the distance, capturing your lips in a deep, slow kiss. His hands roam over your back, pulling you as close as possible, as though he can’t bear to let even a sliver of space exist between you. The kiss grows heated, his lips moving against yours with an urgency that makes your knees feel weak. You lose yourself in him, in the feel of his touch, the taste of his lips, the way he murmurs your name like it’s a secret he wants to keep.

When he pulls back, you’re both breathless, his hands resting firmly on your hips, keeping you anchored to him. He watches you, his gaze soft but laced with a seriousness that makes you shiver.

“Listen to me, doll,” he says, his thumb tracing slow circles against your hip. “I want this, too. More than you know. But there’s no way your father would ever let us be together. You have a future mapped out, a life that doesn’t involve a man like me.”

You shake your head, pressing a finger to his lips. “But that’s not the life I want. Not anymore.” You look up at him, your voice softening. “You’re what I want, Bucky.”

His jaw clenches, and he seems to be fighting some internal battle. His eyes dart away for a moment, looking out into the garden as though he’s searching for an answer, before he looks back down at you, his gaze conflicted. “And what if I say no?” he challenges, though his voice is barely a whisper. “What if I say it’s too dangerous?”

“Then I’d tell you that you’re worth any danger,” you respond, matching his quiet intensity. “And I’m not afraid of what comes next, as long as I’m with you.”

A low groan escapes him, and he leans down, capturing your mouth in a kiss that’s as much an admission as it is a surrender. His hands slide up your sides, fingers grazing your skin as he holds you close, pouring everything he can’t say into that kiss. It’s a desperate, consuming embrace, one that leaves you breathless and dizzy, and when he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, his breathing heavy.

“I can’t let them hurt you,” he murmurs, his voice rough. “And they would. If they found out about us, if they knew what I do, what I am…”

You touch his face, guiding his gaze back to yours. “Then I’ll tell them in my own way, on my own terms. We’ll figure it out, together.”

He studies you, a flicker of hope mingling with the doubt in his eyes. And slowly, as if unable to resist, he nods, brushing a tender kiss against your forehead. “Alright, sweetheart,” he whispers. “We’ll take it slow. We’ll find a way.”

You smile, leaning into him as his hands settle back around your waist, his touch firm and grounding. And there, in the quiet garden under the cover of night, you hold onto him, feeling the weight of his promises, the warmth of his presence. The world beyond may never understand, but you know in your heart that this is real, that whatever you and Bucky have is worth every risk.

With one last kiss, you turn back toward the lighted house, your heart thrumming with the thrill of what lies ahead.

A few days after the gala, you gather every ounce of courage Bucky has helped you discover and decide it’s time to tell your parents. You’ve been rehearsing the words over and over, trying to find a way to explain, to soften the news for them. But nothing prepares you for the reality of facing them, the tension thick in the air as they sit across from you in the parlor, looking so much like the people they want you to be: poised, elegant, and completely unyielding.

As you start to speak, their expressions quickly shift from polite interest to cold, rigid disapproval. You can barely finish explaining your love for Bucky, and the way he’s made you feel more alive, more yourself, before your father’s face darkens.

“Are you out of your mind?” he spits, his voice a low, simmering anger that makes you flinch. “That man is a criminal. I knew I shouldn’t have let you out of my sight that night.”

Your mother’s expression is no better. She’s silent, but her lips are pursed in a thin line, eyes fixed on you as if you’re someone she no longer recognizes.

“Father,” you say, trying to hold your ground, despite the wavering of your voice, “I know you don’t approve, but Bucky has shown me a side of myself I didn’t know existed. He—he treats me with respect, with kindness. He lets me be who I really am.”

Your father scoffs, his voice laced with disdain. “Who you really are? Who you really are, my dear, is a woman raised in one of the finest families in this city. And you think throwing that away for some… lowlife gangster is worth it?” He leans forward, his eyes dark. “You don’t know the kind of man he is. You’re just a silly girl, and he’s made you believe you’re someone you’re not.”

The words sting, slicing through you with a pain sharper than you imagined. Your vision blurs, and you look to your mother, hoping for a glimmer of support, some sign that she might understand.

But she only shakes her head, her gaze like cold steel. “You are to stop seeing him,” she says quietly but firmly. “Or we will have no choice but to arrange for you to stay with your aunt for the foreseeable future, away from this… corruption.”

The breath catches in your throat, panic rising like a tidal wave. “What? You can’t do that! I’m not a child anymore!”

“To us, you’re behaving like one,” your father snaps. “And you will obey us, or you’ll lose everything you know.”

Tears blur your vision, the realization settling like a stone in your chest. There’s no convincing them, no changing their minds. They’ll never see Bucky for who he is, never accept the person he’s helped you become. You flee from the parlor, your mother’s voice calling after you, but you don’t look back. You run up the grand staircase to your room, slamming the door behind you as the tears spill over, shaking with anger and heartbreak.

You sink down onto the floor, clutching your knees to your chest as sobs wrack your body. It feels like you’re losing everything: the life you thought you could build, the future you’ve just begun to imagine. But through the hurt and disappointment, one thing becomes clear—you can’t stay here, trapped under their rules, pretending to be someone you’re not. Not anymore.

The decision is sudden, fierce, and entirely certain. You wipe your tears, standing up on shaking legs as you grab a small bag from your closet. You pack only a few things—a dress, some undergarments, a handful of your favorite jewelry pieces—and slip a coat over your shoulders. You can still hear your parents’ voices downstairs, discussing you as if you’re a child who’s simply misbehaving, in need of reining in.

With your bag over your shoulder, you slip quietly down the back staircase, heart pounding in your chest as you make your way out the door. You don’t dare breathe until you’re outside, the cool night air hitting your skin and filling you with a strange exhilaration. For the first time in your life, you’re making a choice all on your own.

You head for Bucky’s place, your steps quick and determined. The streets are quieter now, and the dim lights of his neighborhood feel foreign yet somehow welcoming, as if beckoning you into a new life. By the time you reach his building, your cheeks are cold, and you’re trembling, but it’s not from the night air.

You knock softly, anxiety twisting in your gut as you wait. After a moment, the door opens, and there he stands, his face softening in surprise as he takes you in.

“Sweetheart?” His voice is gentle, his hand reaching for yours as he looks down at you, his concern written all over his face. “What happened?”

The moment you see him, the tears you thought you’d left behind return, and you step into his arms, clinging to him as the weight of the night finally catches up with you. Bucky’s arms wrap around you protectively, his hand stroking your back as he murmurs comforting words, letting you cry until the sobs turn into quiet sniffles.

You pull back slightly, meeting his gaze. “I… I told them, Bucky. I told them about us.”

His face tightens, and he sighs, pressing his forehead to yours. “I told you, doll. I knew they wouldn’t understand.”

You nod, swallowing hard. “They said… they said they’d send me away, keep me away from you. I couldn’t stay there, Bucky. I couldn’t pretend anymore.”

He watches you carefully, his hands coming up to cradle your face, his thumbs brushing away the tears that linger on your cheeks. “So you came here?”

You nod again, your voice barely above a whisper. “I couldn’t think of anywhere else I’d rather be. I want to be with you, Bucky. They don’t understand, but I do.”

His expression softens, something close to pride flickering in his eyes as he brushes a strand of hair behind your ear. “You’re here because you want to be?” he asks, his voice soft but thick with emotion.

“Yes,” you say firmly, your hand resting over his on your cheek. “This is where I belong.”

He leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there as though anchoring himself to you. “You’re sure, doll? This isn’t an easy life, and it’s not what you’re used to. You know that, don’t you?”

You nod, looking up at him with conviction. “I don’t want easy. I want real. I want you.”

A small, soft smile tugs at the corners of his lips as he pulls you closer, his arms wrapped around you protectively. “Then stay with me,” he murmurs. “Stay as long as you need. As long as you want.”

You feel a rush of relief as you lean into him, breathing in his familiar scent, feeling the warmth of his embrace. “Thank you,” you whisper, barely able to get the words out as he tightens his hold on you, letting you feel his silent promise to protect you, no matter what comes next.

He kisses you again, soft and lingering, his hands warm on your cheeks, grounding you. “We’ll figure this out, sweetheart. Together.”

And with that, you feel the weight of the past slipping away, the future opening up before you. You’re no longer bound by their rules, no longer caged by expectations. You’re free, here with Bucky, ready to carve out a life that’s truly yours.

Living with Bucky is an adventure—an unpredictable, exhilarating departure from the perfectly orchestrated life you’ve always known. The first few days are an intoxicating mix of quiet mornings with coffee shared over soft laughter and long, lingering evenings where you fall asleep wrapped in his arms, feeling as though you’ve finally found your place. It’s your first taste of real freedom, and the thrill of it is liberating.

But you soon discover that sharing a life with Bucky means confronting a world that’s nothing like the one you grew up in. The second week, you wake up one morning to the sound of deep voices drifting from Bucky’s office down the hall. Pulling on one of his old shirts, which falls almost to your knees, you pad softly down the hall, stopping just outside the office door, where it’s slightly ajar.

Bucky’s voice is unmistakable, calm and controlled as he speaks, “That shipment better be on time, understood? I’m not going to tolerate any delays.”

There’s a low murmur of assent from the men gathered inside, their voices respectful but wary. Curiosity piques as you lean a little closer, catching a glimpse of Bucky behind his desk, his usual warmth gone, replaced with an air of authority that’s almost intimidating. You realize that these men look at him the way others looked at your father—with respect, but also a hint of fear. It strikes you how different this is from the world you knew.

Before you can pull away, Bucky looks up, his sharp gaze softening immediately as he spots you. He nods, and the men around him quickly follow his line of sight, their eyes shifting to you with expressions that range from curious to wary. You straighten, suddenly feeling the weight of their stares. You’re not used to these kinds of men—rough around the edges, hardened by a life of survival and loyalty to Bucky.

Bucky stands, moving to the door, and the men’s gazes shift downward as he opens it wider. “Morning, doll,” he says with a small, reassuring smile, his hand slipping around your waist as he pulls you in for a quick kiss. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

You shake your head, offering him a soft smile. “It’s alright. I just… heard voices.”

His gaze flicks over his shoulder at his men, his tone turning firm. “This is my girl. I want it understood that she’s off-limits to all of you, got it?”

A few murmurs of “Yes, sir,” echo from around the room, followed by respectful nods. One man, who you’ve only seen a few times in passing, speaks up, his voice low and respectful, “Anything happens, she’s got our protection, boss. You have our word.”

Bucky’s eyes flicker with something close to pride as he nods in approval. “Good. That’s exactly what I expect.”

Once they’re gone, you feel a weight lift, but a small unease lingers, a new awareness of the life Bucky leads. You glance back at him as he closes the office door, his hand slipping back around your waist, drawing you closer.

“Are you alright?” he asks softly, his thumb tracing gentle circles against your hip.

You nod slowly, glancing around at the office now empty of his men. The heavy scent of smoke and the distinct aroma of leather fill the room, along with a faint trace of cologne that reminds you of him. “It’s… different,” you admit quietly, looking down as you search for the words. “I’m still getting used to it, I guess.”

Bucky’s hand moves up to cup your face, tilting it so you’re looking at him. There’s a gentleness in his gaze, a contrast to the hard edge you just saw him display with his men. “I know it’s different,” he murmurs, his eyes softening as he brushes a thumb along your cheek. “This world isn’t what you’re used to. It’s rough, messy… but you have me. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

You place your hand over his, smiling faintly as you lean into his touch. “It’s not that I’m afraid,” you say quietly. “I just… I never realized just how much of a life you built outside of me. I think maybe I was… naive about it.”

He sighs, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Maybe you were, but you’re adjusting faster than you think. You don’t flinch, don’t back down. You’re tougher than you give yourself credit for.”

That quiet confidence in his words warms you, and you give a small smile, letting him pull you closer. Life with Bucky might not be the fairytale romance of the novels you once read, but there’s something far richer in the intensity of it, in the way he makes you feel alive and protected in a way that no one else ever has.

Over the next few weeks, you settle into a rhythm. Bucky’s hours are unpredictable, often interrupted by meetings or calls at odd hours, and more than once, you wake in the middle of the night to find his side of the bed empty. But no matter how late he comes back, he’s always there by morning, slipping back under the covers to hold you close, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he murmurs, “Go back to sleep, doll. I’m here now.”

Some mornings, you watch him as he shaves, noting the quiet, focused way he moves, the small scars along his jawline that tell stories you haven’t heard yet. You help him button his shirt, fingers grazing over his skin as he watches you with a tender smile, his hand slipping around your waist to hold you close even in those small, stolen moments.

But one evening, as he walks through the door, his brow furrowed and jaw tight, you sense something is wrong. He doesn’t give you his usual greeting kiss, just strides to the bar in the corner, pouring himself a whiskey in silence. You approach him slowly, worry gnawing at you.

“Bucky?” you ask softly, touching his arm. “Is everything alright?”

He nods, but his eyes are distant, his jaw clenched as he takes a long sip of his drink. “Just some business. It’s… complicated.” He sighs, his hand rubbing at the back of his neck. “I’ve been dealing with some trouble in the city. A rival family’s stepping on our territory.”

You feel a shiver at his words, but you don’t let it show. Instead, you place a hand over his, squeezing gently. “Is there anything I can do?”

He glances down at you, his expression softening as he brushes a thumb along your knuckles. “You’re doing it already,” he murmurs, pulling you close. “Just… keep being here. You’re the only thing that keeps all this from feeling like it’s gonna swallow me whole.”

As the days pass, you begin to understand Bucky’s world a little better. You learn to accept the constant presence of his men, the tension that sometimes fills the house when they discuss matters you don’t entirely understand. But through it all, Bucky is steadfast, grounding you with gentle touches, soft murmurs, and stolen moments of laughter that make the weight of his world seem almost bearable.

One evening, after dinner, he pulls you into his arms, swaying slowly to the soft hum of a jazz tune from the record player. His hand rests on your waist, his eyes warm as he looks down at you.

“Think you’re still up for this?” he asks quietly, searching your face.

You smile, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I’m right where I want to be,” you whisper, feeling the truth of those words settle deep in your chest. No matter how unfamiliar, how dangerous this life may seem, Bucky’s presence makes it feel like home.

Living with Bucky brings a cascade of new experiences, each a lesson in how to navigate his world. His men regard you with a mix of respect and wariness, giving you wide berth, yet always keeping a careful watch. As weeks turn into months, Bucky shows you the ropes of his world in small, deliberate steps. He insists on teaching you skills he says every woman in his life should know—things that make you feel stronger, more independent, and, if you’re honest, a little daring.

One evening, he leads you to a room in the back of the house that he keeps locked, and as he opens the door, you’re struck by the cold steel of the weapons glinting from the shelves. Handguns, revolvers, rifles—they’re all there, neatly organized. Your eyes widen, and you look up at him with a mix of surprise and nervous excitement.

“Bucky… you think I need to know how to use these?” you ask, your voice wavering as you step inside.

He nods, his face serious but warm, as he wraps his arm around your waist. “Yes, doll. This life, it’s unpredictable. I need to know you can defend yourself if something ever happens. I’d never forgive myself if you got hurt.”

His hand trails to a revolver on the nearest shelf, lifting it with practiced ease and placing it gently in your hands. It’s surprisingly heavy, cold against your palm. “It’s a .38 Special,” he explains, his voice a low rumble as he stands behind you, guiding your hands to hold it steady. “Good for close range, packs a punch without much kickback.”

Under his patient instruction, you learn how to load the revolver, align the sights, and control your breath as you pull the trigger. He takes you out to a private spot on the edge of town where you can practice firing without drawing attention, setting up makeshift targets and coaching you on how to aim. His arms are warm around you, his words a low, steady cadence in your ear as he whispers pointers and praises your progress.

The first time you hit a target square in the middle, he lets out a low whistle and wraps his arms around you, lifting you off your feet with pride. “Look at you,” he says, beaming. “Sharp as a tack, just like I knew you’d be.”

The next week, he starts showing you hand-to-hand defense moves, teaching you how to break a hold, how to twist out of a grasp, and where to strike in case you ever need to incapacitate an attacker. “You’re stronger than you think,” he murmurs after you manage to push him off balance, grinning as you catch your breath. “Keep that up, and no one will dare lay a hand on you.”

It’s during these lessons that you realize just how deep his care for you runs. He watches you carefully, keeping you close, his focus unwavering. To him, this isn’t just training; it’s a promise that he’s arming you with the tools to thrive in his world, to share in his life not just as his love but as his equal.

One evening, as he’s teaching you how to tuck a small pistol into the folds of a dress without making it obvious, he turns to you, his face lit with a mischievous grin. “What do you say we work on making a mark somewhere a little more… public?”

You tilt your head in curiosity, and he chuckles, gesturing toward the coat rack where his hat and coat are draped. “How would you like to redesign the bar?”

You laugh, but his face is serious, his eyes warm. “I mean it. That bar has seen the same wallpaper and fixtures for far too long. Do what you like. I’ll handle the finances.”

The idea lights a spark within you, and in the following days, you dive into plans for the bar’s transformation. Armed with Bucky’s unwavering support, you work with a designer to bring a fresh, sophisticated flair to the bar, capturing both elegance and subtle mystery, a reflection of his complex world. You choose sleek, dark wood for the bar counter, deep crimson velvet booths, and warm, ambient lighting that gives the place an intimate feel. Chandeliers cast a soft glow, adding a touch of glamor to the smoky atmosphere.

Bucky watches with a mixture of pride and amusement as you negotiate with suppliers, debate over wallpaper samples, and insist on the exact shade of red for the booths. He’s there with you every step of the way, his hand on your waist, whispering words of encouragement as you bring your vision to life. And when the renovation is finally complete, you both stand back, surveying the new look with a shared sense of accomplishment.

“This place has never looked so good,” he murmurs, pulling you close as he surveys the bar, his gaze soft. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

The bar becomes more than just his place of business; it’s now a part of you, a symbol of the life you’re building together. You visit often, and each time, Bucky’s men nod in recognition and respect, their murmurs of “Good evening, ma’am” making you feel as though you’re finally part of his world.

As the weeks pass, Bucky’s men begin to notice the change in you. You hold yourself with more confidence, unafraid to meet their eyes, and they, in turn, begin to look at you with a mix of respect and a bit of awe. They know you’re Bucky’s woman, and they also know that Bucky’s trust in you means they can trust you too.

One evening, as you’re seated at the bar, sipping a gin fizz while Bucky tends to a business discussion in his office, a young, scrappy-looking man approaches, tipping his hat with a shy nod. “Ma’am,” he says, his tone reverent. “Boss says you did a fine job with the place. Just wanted to say it looks real nice.”

The compliment catches you off guard, but you offer him a warm smile, nodding graciously. “Thank you,” you reply, feeling a sense of pride swell within you. “I’m glad you think so.”

Bucky joins you a little later, his hand possessive and reassuring as he places it on the small of your back, signaling to his men that you’re his. When you’re together, he’s never far, his gaze constantly checking for any sign of trouble, his fingers lightly grazing yours as though grounding himself in your presence.

One night, as you’re locking up after closing hours, he takes your hand, guiding you to one of the newly installed booths. “You know,” he begins, his voice low as he leans in, “watching you work on this place, the way you took charge… I’ve never felt more sure that you’re meant to be in my life.”

You smile, tracing the outline of his jaw with your fingers, savoring the way he leans into your touch. “I think I was always meant to be here,” you whisper, your voice soft. “Just took me a while to find my way.”

Bucky’s hand comes up, cupping your cheek as his eyes search yours, dark and intense. “And you’re not afraid?” he asks, his voice thick with emotion. “Not of me, or this life?”

You shake your head, lacing your fingers with his. “Not when I’m with you.”

He smiles, pressing his lips softly to yours, his hand cradling the back of your head as he kisses you, deeply and thoroughly. When he pulls away, his voice is a soft, reverent murmur against your skin. “Then you’re my queen, now and always.”

Together, you sit in the dim glow of the bar you’ve crafted, feeling more like partners than ever. You know this world isn’t easy, and you understand that there’s danger in every corner. But Bucky has taught you to stand tall, to defend yourself, and most importantly, to embrace who you are—brave, strong, and forever his.

The proposal comes in the most unassuming way, wrapped in a quiet evening as you and Bucky walk through the city under the soft glow of streetlights. You’re tucked under his arm, your fingers laced with his, listening to him talk about everything and nothing when he pauses, turning to face you.

“Doll,” he murmurs, his eyes intent, holding an edge of something you haven’t seen before. He takes your hand, his thumb brushing softly over your knuckles as he speaks, “You’ve changed my life more than you know. I want you with me for all of it—for the long haul.”

Before you can respond, he reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a small ring—a simple, understated band with a single diamond that catches the light just so, elegant and timeless. You gasp, feeling your heart hammer in your chest as he goes on, his voice quiet but firm. “Will you marry me, sweetheart? Just you and me, no fuss, no big to-do. Just us.”

The answer is a breathless, tearful “Yes,” and within a few days, the two of you find yourselves in a small chapel at the edge of town, where only the preacher and a few witnesses look on as you exchange vows. The simplicity of it all feels intimate, beautiful—just as you both wanted it. Bucky looks at you like you’re his whole world, his hand never letting go of yours as he speaks, each word holding the depth of his love and loyalty.

When he leans in to kiss you, sealing the vows you’ve made, his hands cradle your face, his touch soft and reverent. It’s the start of something that feels profound, and as you walk out of the chapel hand in hand, you know you’ve found a home with him that you’d never leave.

Married life with Bucky is as wild and beautiful as you expected, with Bucky’s fierce protection and deep loyalty extending now to you in every possible way. His men, though hardened and somewhat rough around the edges, respect the shift that comes with you now being their boss’s wife. Some of them even seem taken aback, perhaps not having expected Bucky to settle down, but they adjust quickly, understanding that you’re a part of their world now.

Your presence doesn’t go unnoticed, and you catch them watching you from the corner of their eyes, their expressions a mixture of admiration and curiosity. Bucky has made it clear that you’re his, but he’s also drilled it into them that you’re off-limits. Not only are they to respect you, but they’re to protect you with their lives, should anything happen.

One evening, you’re sitting in Bucky’s office, sorting through some paperwork to help him keep his records organized—a task that started as something you could do together but eventually became your little project. One of his lieutenants, a man named Red, comes to the door and knocks, glancing in with an air of hesitation. He’s got a few years on Bucky, graying hair and a hardened face marked by the years he’s spent in the trade.

“Ma’am,” he says with a respectful nod. “Boss around?”

You smile, nodding toward the main room. “He’s handling a few details out front, but he’ll be back in just a bit.”

Red shifts uncomfortably, but his gaze is sincere as he speaks, “Just wanted to thank you for the new setup in the bar. Been working here since it was falling apart. Nice to see it’s finally had a woman’s touch.”

There’s a roughness to his voice that’s softened by the genuine compliment, and you feel a small, pleased flush at his words. “Thank you, Red. I’m glad it’s been good for business.”

Red nods, glancing away as he adds, “Boss always did well by us, but since you came around, he’s… different. Happier, I’d say. Gives the rest of us some hope.”

The words linger, warm and honest, and you realize that Bucky’s men may be as loyal to him as they are because he’s given them more than just orders; he’s given them respect, a family, and maybe even a little hope. You nod back at Red, giving him a warm smile. “He’s done the same for me.”

A few of the younger men, though more rough-hewn than Red, begin to warm up to you as well, quickly growing protective of you in a way that surprises you. One afternoon, a few of them return to the house after a particularly rough day, bruised and tired but in good spirits, their banter filling the hall. You’re in the kitchen when you overhear them.

“Boss’s wife made some tea for us last time,” one of them—Jimmy—mutters with a half-smile. “Think she might be up for it again?”

You chuckle to yourself, preparing a tray of tea and a few snacks for them. When you bring it into the room, their eyes go wide with surprise and maybe a little embarrassment, but they’re grateful all the same, mumbling thanks and compliments as they tuck into the food. Their guarded attitudes soften gradually, each interaction building a bridge between you and them.

As the months go on, Bucky decides to show you more about his business dealings, explaining the basics of the operation, from shipments to negotiation tactics. He wants you to know the essentials, to understand what’s at stake if anything were to go wrong. Though you’re initially overwhelmed, Bucky’s calm and thorough explanations ground you, and soon, you’re able to follow along, asking questions and even offering ideas.

One night, as he’s going over the logistics of a particularly tricky deal, you suggest a more discreet route for his shipments, one that would minimize the chances of a police raid. He pauses, regarding you with admiration.

“That’s… clever,” he says, grinning as he pulls you closer. “You’re catching on fast.”

You smile, feeling a little thrill at the idea that you can help him. “Well, I figured if I’m going to be part of this life, I should understand it as best as I can.”

He chuckles, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Smart and beautiful. I’ve got myself a hell of a wife.”

Living in Bucky’s world isn’t easy, but with him by your side, you find yourself adapting more every day. His men, once guarded and wary, now greet you with warm smiles and friendly nods. They even start calling you “Mrs. Barnes,” a title that sends a thrill through you each time you hear it. They respect you, not just as their boss’s wife, but as someone who’s proven herself resilient and unafraid, willing to stand by Bucky’s side in every sense.

One evening, as you and Bucky sit by the fire after a particularly busy day, he takes your hand, his gaze warm and full of pride.

“You’ve done more than just fit in,” he murmurs, tracing circles on the back of your hand. “You’re making this life better—for me, and for them. They’d walk through fire for you, you know.”

You smile, leaning into his embrace as you whisper, “I’d do the same for them. And for you.”

Bucky pulls you close, kissing you deeply, his touch filled with all the love and respect you’ve come to know. In this life, he’s given you a place, a purpose, and a family of sorts. And though it may be rough around the edges, it’s everything you never knew you wanted.

It’s a quiet evening in your home when you decide to tell Bucky. You’ve known for a few days now, caught between excitement and nervousness, wondering how he’ll take the news. The idea of Bucky, this fierce man with so much fire in him, as a father—it fills you with a kind of joy you can barely put into words. You can already picture him holding a little one with his protective grip and soft touch.

You find him in his office, going over some paperwork, his brow furrowed in that familiar way. When he sees you standing in the doorway, he smiles, putting his pen down and beckoning you over.

“Hey, doll. Everything all right?” he asks, his gaze warm.

You nod, a little flutter in your stomach as you sit down beside him. “More than all right,” you say, taking his hands in yours. “I have some news.”

He raises an eyebrow, his thumb brushing over your fingers. “News, huh? What’s got that look on your face?”

Taking a breath, you let the words tumble out. “I’m pregnant, Bucky. We’re going to have a baby.”

For a moment, he just stares at you, his mouth parted slightly, as if he’s trying to comprehend what you’ve just said. Then, his face breaks into the biggest grin you’ve ever seen, and before you can react, he’s lifting you up off the chair, spinning you around as he lets out a loud, joyous laugh.

“You’re kidding,” he says, his voice thick with emotion as he pulls you into a tight embrace. “You’re not kidding, are you? We’re really going to have a baby?”

You laugh, tears in your eyes as you nod. “I’m not kidding, Bucky. You’re going to be a dad.”

He pulls back, cupping your face in his hands as he looks at you with a tenderness that makes your heart ache. “You’ve made me the happiest man in the world, you know that?” he whispers, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “My girl… carrying our little one.”

From that moment on, Bucky is even more protective, if that’s even possible. He insists on accompanying you everywhere—walking you to the bar, the market, even down the street to visit friends. His arm stays wrapped around you, and he keeps a vigilant eye on everyone and everything, always hyper-aware of your surroundings.

His men catch wind of the news almost immediately—Bucky’s excitement is hard to contain, and soon it’s the talk of the whole operation. The older men, like Red, take on a near-brotherly protectiveness, fussing over you every time they see you. When you enter the bar, Red is the first to pull out a chair for you, insisting you sit down, rest your feet, and have a drink of water. He’ll even bring snacks, going on about how “a growing baby needs the right nourishment.”

“It’s just some crackers, Red,” you say with a chuckle one afternoon as he hands you a napkin with a few biscuits on it.

He huffs, shaking his head. “Crackers or not, it’s something. Boss says you need looking after, and by God, we’re all here to do it.”

The younger men, though, are even more amusing. They look at you now with a reverence that borders on idolization, like they’re seeing a saint. For them, the news of your pregnancy somehow cements you as a maternal figure—half of them treat you like a mother already, despite being barely younger than you.

One evening, you catch Jimmy and a couple of the other young guys following you at a short distance as you walk from the bar back to the house. When you turn around, hands on your hips, they come to a halt, shuffling their feet awkwardly.

“Are you… following me?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

Jimmy scratches the back of his head, looking sheepish. “Uh, just, you know, keeping an eye out, ma’am. Making sure you’re safe.”

You bite back a smile, crossing your arms. “Bucky put you up to this?”

“Well,” Jimmy shrugs, looking to his buddies for help, “kinda. But we’re, uh, happy to do it. After all, you’re carrying the boss’s kid.”

The other young men nod earnestly, and you can’t help but laugh, touched by their earnest protectiveness. “You boys are something else,” you say, shaking your head. “I’ll be fine for the two blocks back to the house. Go on and get back to your posts.”

They look reluctant, but eventually they nod, tipping their hats before scurrying back down the street, casting looks over their shoulders just to be sure you’re all right.

But the most amusing situation happens one evening at the bar when you’re seated at your usual table, nursing a glass of water while Bucky wraps up a meeting. You see a group of young men hanging back by the door, glancing at you as if they’re unsure whether they should approach. Finally, one of them, a lanky kid named Tommy, gets a nudge from his friends and steps forward, clearing his throat.

“Mrs. Barnes?” he says, his face a little red.

“Yes, Tommy?”

“We… well, we just wanted to, uh, say that we’re here for you, you know? Anything you need, even if it’s something small, you can call on us.”

You smile warmly, touched by the sentiment. “Thank you, Tommy. I appreciate it.”

He nods, looking relieved, then turns back to his friends, giving them a thumbs-up. They all visibly relax, one of them even muttering, “Told you she wouldn’t bite.”

When Bucky returns and notices the young men lingering, he chuckles, throwing an arm around your shoulder. “What’s going on here? You boys causing trouble for my wife?”

Tommy quickly shakes his head. “No, Boss! We were just… making sure she’s taken care of.”

Bucky laughs, looking at you with pride. “Hear that, doll? You’ve got your own little entourage now.”

The protectiveness doesn’t end there. As your pregnancy progresses, Bucky’s men make it their mission to see you have everything you need. They show up with all sorts of things: blankets, pillows, snacks, even a few old baby trinkets from their own childhoods that they insist might bring you luck. Bucky can’t hide his amusement, shaking his head as each new offering arrives.

One afternoon, Red shows up with a hand-carved wooden cradle, rough around the edges but lovingly made. He clears his throat, looking a little embarrassed. “Made it myself, ma’am. Thought the little one might need it.”

You gasp, tears filling your eyes as you take in the beautiful, rustic cradle. “Red, this is incredible. Thank you.”

He grunts, shuffling his feet as he glances away. “Ah, well. Figured it’d be sturdy enough for the boss’s kid.”

Bucky squeezes your hand, beaming. “Look at that, doll. Already got a nursery started.”

By the time your due date draws near, you feel almost invincible, surrounded by Bucky and his fierce band of loyal men who’d go to the ends of the earth for you and the little life you’re carrying. And as you sit back one night, Bucky’s hand resting on your growing belly, you can’t help but feel grateful for this strange, wonderful family you’ve found yourself part of—rough around the edges but bound by a love as fierce as Bucky’s world itself.

The night your daughter is born is one of the most intense yet beautiful moments of your life. Labor stretches on through the evening, the pain fierce and unrelenting, but Bucky is right there, holding your hand, whispering words of encouragement. He’s a rock, his presence grounding you, his words calm and steady even when you can see the worry etched on his face.

When, finally, your daughter enters the world, she lets out a strong, piercing cry that fills the room. You’re exhausted, but as soon as she’s placed in your arms, a wave of overwhelming love washes over you, and nothing else matters. She’s tiny, with soft, dark hair and Bucky’s nose—a perfect blend of you both.

Bucky, watching from beside you, looks at her as if he’s seeing a miracle. He stares, his expression softened and filled with awe. He’s practically holding his breath as he takes in every detail, and then his hand reaches out, trembling slightly, to gently stroke her tiny fingers.

“Look at her,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “She’s… she’s perfect.”

You look up at him, tears in your eyes, and ask, “What should we call her?”

After a moment of thought, he murmurs, “Rosie. I think… she looks like a Rosie.”

You smile, looking down at the beautiful little girl in your arms. “Rosie Barnes,” you whisper, kissing her forehead. “It’s perfect.”

As the hours pass, Bucky holds her close, absolutely smitten. He’s careful and tender, his large hands dwarfing her tiny body as he cradles her against his chest. She settles there, soothed by the steady beat of his heart, and Bucky doesn’t take his eyes off her, as if afraid she might disappear if he does.

The next day, word of Rosie’s arrival spreads quickly, and before long, Bucky’s men begin arriving in groups, each eager to get a glimpse of the boss’s baby girl. They linger outside the house, trying to act casual, but their anticipation is obvious. When Bucky finally steps out, holding Rosie bundled in a soft blanket, they all fall silent, eyes wide as they take in the tiny baby nestled in his arms.

Red is the first to step forward, glancing between Bucky and you with an almost shy smile. He’s seen his fair share of the world, but the sight of his boss holding his newborn daughter seems to bring a sparkle to his eyes.

“Boss,” Red says, clearing his throat, “she’s… well, she’s just beautiful.”

Bucky beams with pride, his gaze flicking down to Rosie. “Yeah, isn’t she? Strong little thing, too. Just like her mom.”

The men gather around, each taking turns to offer congratulations and quietly marvel at Rosie. Jimmy, one of the youngest, looks utterly awestruck, his face softening as he whispers, “She’s so small. Boss, how’re you even holding her without breaking her?”

Bucky chuckles, shaking his head. “Carefully, Jimmy. You’d be surprised how tough she is.”

The men crowd around, the tougher among them looking a bit like kids as they lean in, captivated by the tiny face and the faint coos that escape her lips. One of the older men, Bruno, a giant of a guy with hands as big as dinner plates, seems almost afraid to look too closely. But when you offer to let him hold her, he stammers a bit before reluctantly accepting. His large hands are surprisingly gentle, and his face softens as he holds her, muttering, “Well, ain’t she just a little rosebud.”

Each of the men takes their turn holding Rosie, and as they do, their faces transform, hardened lines replaced by wide smiles and soft expressions. They each offer their own brand of affection, quietly promising to look after her and keep her safe.

“Boss, you can bet your life she’s got an army looking out for her,” Red says, his voice gruff with emotion. “Anybody even thinks about messing with Rosie, they’ll have us to answer to.”

Bucky’s face fills with gratitude, his arm wrapped protectively around your shoulders. “She’s got one hell of a family, that’s for sure.”

In the days that follow, Rosie becomes the unofficial darling of Bucky’s men. They treat her with a fierce loyalty, doting on her in ways that surprise even themselves. On nights when Bucky’s busy with business, some of the men stay at the house, watching over you and Rosie, always willing to lend a hand or sing a lullaby in gruff, off-key voices. It’s a strange sight—a group of hardened men cooing over a newborn—but they take to it naturally, each of them feeling a fierce need to protect this tiny life.

And as Rosie grows, you see how much she’s loved by this unlikely family. By the time she’s old enough to toddle around, she’s got each of Bucky’s men wrapped around her little finger. She even develops her own nicknames for them, each title bringing a proud smile to their faces.

“Uncle Red,” she chirps one day, tugging at Red’s sleeve to show him a flower she’s found in the garden. Red, whose heart might as well be on his sleeve when it comes to Rosie, kneels down and lets her place the flower in his graying hair.

“That’s a good look, kid,” Bucky teases, watching as Red, entirely unbothered, adjusts the flower to make sure it stays put.

Jimmy becomes “Jimmie-boy,” a nickname that sticks even when she’s older, and he loves it, wearing the title like a badge of honor. And every one of them takes her antics in stride, always willing to let her “play boss” when she totters around the bar or “inspects” the back office, clutching Bucky’s hand.

Rosie is a little sunshine in their world, a reminder of what they’re protecting, and they become even more devoted to their boss because of her. Each of them, from the youngest to the oldest, would lay down their life for her without a second thought.

But Bucky’s protection is something else entirely. He never lets her out of his sight if he can help it, always watching with a proud, fierce smile. And each night, as you watch Bucky tuck Rosie into bed, his touch gentle, his voice a soft murmur of love, you know that you and Rosie are his whole world.

As he closes the door to Rosie’s room one night, he turns to you, his eyes filled with emotion.

“You gave me a family I never thought I’d have,” he whispers, pulling you close. “Every day with you two… it’s more than I ever dreamed of.”

And as you rest in his embrace, listening to the quiet peace of your home, you know that you’ve built a life together that’s both beautiful and fierce—a life filled with love, loyalty, and the strength to face whatever may come.

me when soft men. if you liked the story don't forget to leave a like and a reblog, drop a follow if you want to read more! <3

[fxckn-sxck-fr]

❗❗ HEY ❗❗ I SAUR YEW ADD BUCKY BARNES TO YOUR MLIST 🫵🫵🫵 YOU AINT SLICK ❗❗

anywayssss would you be willing to rank your comic book men on least to most willing to kill for their darling? i know we got your opinion on dick but i wanna see how it compares to everyone else

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐂 𝐁𝐎𝐎𝐊 𝐌𝐄𝐍 𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐌𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄𝐋𝐘 𝐓𝐎 𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋…

!!! gn reader, mentions of death/murder, violence, breaking bones, intimidation, threats, manipulation, general mental issues, biochemical attack (how the fuck did we get here), mutilation, self-harm, can be translated as either romantic or platonic.

Help, why did the beginning of this ask trigger my fight or flight for 0.2 seconds, LMAO. I dropped my phone like I was caught red-handed or some shit.

So, I initially made an oath to not answer any more asks until I either finish Life With Older Brother IV or my secret side project, but then I got this ask and figured I could use a little creative break. I’m hitting some brick walls right now with all of my writing projects, sobs.

So!! Here we go. Remember, this is in the order of least to most likely in a general sense. Featuring some new faces because I’m finally confident in depicting their comic book counterparts, yippee!!

Jaime Reyes: Obviously, if the scarab had its way, anyone who poses as a threat to Jaime’s beloved would be neutralized. But we’re talking about Jaime. As long as he’s in full control, he’d probably do everything in his power to not kill anyone, even if it’s for you. He knows he’s fucked in the head. No matter how hard he tries to convince himself it’s still just the scarab preying on his anxieties, it’s getting harder and harder to distinguish Khaji Da’s thoughts from his own. This spiral into insanity around his own morality and guilt would have him cling oh-so desperately to the idea that he’s still a hero. To him, the no-kill role is the only way to know for sure he’s still (kind of) himself.

Bruce Wayne: He’s The Batman. Of course he doesn’t kill. Sure, he may be a bit more violent towards potential threats when it comes to you, but he still doesn’t kill. It’s a core belief that he’ll stick to for as long as evil lurks in the shadows of Gotham. Besides, why would he need to kill when cracking a few ribs gets the message across just fine? Most people don’t even want to fuck with him in the first place; both as Bruce Wayne and especially The Batman. In many cases, simple intimidation will do the trick. It’s much neater than violence. Though violence is definitely still on the table when he’s in a mood (Alfred, for the last time, he does not need a therapist. He’s perfectly functional).

Clark Kent: Whereas Batman doesn’t kill, Superman can’t kill. Meaning, Clark is well aware of the image he has to uphold as the ever-so hopeful Man of Tomorrow. Which is actually fine by him. Due to his strong sense of morals, the thought of blood on his hands makes him sick to his stomach. But there are some cases where that dark voice in the back of his mind whispers he could easily snap the neck of that weirdo talking to you. Of course, this is clearly just a strange intrusive thought, and he guiltily shakes it out of his head the moment it appears. He’s Superman, for heaven’s sake! He’s better than that! Stooping to that level is simply not an option. But you know what is an option? Gripping people hard enough that their bones shatter. Accidents do happen, after all…

Wally West: The chances of him killing are very slim. Believe it or not, he’s not against the idea or anything (only when it comes to you), it’s just he doesn’t see the need to get his hands dirty. There are enough tactics in his arsenal that the thought won’t even cross his mind. A silver tongue can work miracles on its own, and standing at 6 feet tall, Wally can be surprisingly intimidating in his own right. Should there be any threat agains you, he’s more focused on getting you out of harm’s way than beating the shit out of anyone (that comes later, away from your prying eyes). At worst, anyone who pushes their luck will get fractures and road rashes as a result. Killing just isn’t an impulse Wally has. But if it absolutely has to happen… well, wouldn’t that be a shame?

Dick Grayson: As mentioned before in a previous ask, killing is off the table. Dick’s still a hero, and heroes don’t kill. It’s just that he miiiight accidentally lose control if he sees you in a critical state. The ask goes into much deeper detail than this, but to sum it up, he would feel devastated afterwards but eventually justify it to himself. It was to protect you… if he didn’t do it, god only knows what would’ve happened. Otherwise, he’s not one to get his hands dirty like that. The most he’ll do is deliver a very ominous threat that doesn’t outright mean he’s going to kill anyone, but the implications aren’t very pretty. And, if he can help it, he’d rather if you’re not in earshot. Unless if he somehow sees it as a good manipulation tactic. Then sure, you can hear all about how he’s going to drown someone in their own bathroom.

Peter Parker: He has a strong aversion to killing. Now, is that an outright no? As much as he’d like to think so, there are situations where no-kill is optional. Most of them involve you being in active danger. While he doesn’t go out of his way to kill anyone, he sure as hell isn’t thinking about the survivability of his rampage to make sure you’re safe. Causalities would be collateral damage; unfortunate, but possibly necessary. He also has a habit of threatening people’s lives when he’s particularly pissed off. As long as you’re not in some sort of critical state, he usually doesn’t follow through with them (and may even feel guilty afterwards). That being said, hearing your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man deliver a cold one-liner about wanting someone dead is still hella scary.

Steve Rogers: Listen, it’s not at all what he wants. He wouldn’t advocate for murdering your problems away both with or without the shield. But sometimes — just sometimes — it’s necessary. Of course he’d kill someone that posed as a threat to your personal safety. That doesn’t make him a terrible person or anything; most people would do that for their loved ones. Where the line starts to blur, however, is when there isn’t any immediate danger. Does that weirdo who was looking at you for too long count? God— no, Rogers. What is wrong with you?! But… then again, there was this look in their eyes… something’s just so off about them. Ultimately, Steve wouldn’t go through with it, but the thought does cross his mind. Not that he’d ever admit it, of course.

Hal Jordan: The answer is yes, but mostly because he’s a Lantern. Sometimes, neutralizing the threat is necessary. He would absolutely kill if it meant saving your life. Is it ideal? Absolutely not. Is it cathartic?… Lowkey. Hal’s not afraid to abuse his right as a Lantern to “neutralize the threat.” But keep in mind that this is a rare occurrence that depends on his mood. Really, he only considers it for situations you’re extremely distressed by, like some piece of shit giving you the creeps. He wouldn’t kill for his own personal gain, as much as he sometimes wants to; this is all about you, not him. I also don’t really see him having regrets. If he wants someone dead, he absolutely means it.

Remy LeBeau: It’s simple; if he’s gotta do it, he’s gotta do it. He’s got not moral hang-ups when it comes to killing. He doesn’t do it often, but he’s willing to clean up a mess or two if needed. The need to kill ranges from your personal safety to just not liking someone’s vibe. If that were the case, he’d give the poor sucker more than enough hints to leave you alone. Murder would be a last resort should they not listen; which is totally on them, by the way. Gambit can’t help it if they’re not the sharpest tool in the shed. Is kinetically charging someone’s car to explode not enough of a warning or something? Man, what is wrong with people these days…

Tim Drake: Okay. Tim is just so versatile. Yes, he’s absolutely morally opposed to killing. Yes, it’s a necessary evil. Yes, the thought of it makes him want to throw up. Yes, he’d do it in a heartbeat for you. Somehow, all of these thoughts coexist in his sick little head. What makes Tim a threat is the fact he’s extremely unstable. One day, he’s got himself in check; god, he would never kill anyone, why would he do that?! Then the next day, he seems to have a change of heart; if anyone even looks your way, he’s dumping anthrax in their cereal. His preferred method is something clean, but if he’s in a particularly bad mood, he may revert to some mutilation with his nails. On those particularly violent days, he’d much rather harm himself than others, but there is something cathartic about scratching at someone else while sobbing about minute problems. Though that’s one hell of a “did I do that” moment when it’s over.

Scott Summers: Yes. And he’ll fucking do it again, too. When it comes to you, this man has killed people by accident before. Did he give a shit? Absolutely not. Why would he care if someone doesn’t know how to protect their spinal column when taking a blow; especially if it’s someone who dared to lay a hand on you? And, yeah, he’s supposed to be a good role model for mutants all over the globe, but a good leader knows how to take calculated risks when needed. Your safety is his top priority, meaning he’ll do whatever he deems necessary to keep danger away. Man, is it just absolutely brutal watching someone’s skin melt away from the friction of one continuous optic blast. Who knew he could cave in skulls with that shit?

Bucky Barnes: Let’s be honest, is anyone surprised? Yeah, that’s what I thought. You could simply point to someone you hate and they’d be gone within the next 24 hours. Bucky isn’t here to fuck around. While he may regret any kills he was forced to carry out, he sure as hell doesn’t regret the ones he’s actively choosing to do. If anything, his conditioning has left him no other way to show his total devotion to you. Yes, this means you he leaves fresh human hearts at your doorstep. Yes, this means he strings up the remains of your annoying colleagues where you can see them outside. Yes, this means he watches you sleep while caked in blood and guts after every nightly kill. Some small part of him knows it’s wrong, but he really could not give less of a shit. So much for trying to reform him…

[skyloftian-nutcase]

Does anybody have any requests for what Fluffvember prompts should go with what blorbos/AUs of mine? I wrote day 1 already and want to write other days, but my brain has been... quite dead. For like. A week.

[tadpole-apocalypse]

Wild Magic Tavs/Durges, what were some of your favorite wild magic surges in terms of role play?

[petrichor-reminiscence]

my restoration thots

everything is gonna be under the cut just incase people havent seen it yet, so uh spoiler warning under the cut!

there were a lot of things that bothered me. enough that tbh i don't remember them all, but i wanna start this off with the positives and things i liked ^^

first of all, my favourite thing ever, TEX AND CHURCH FINALLY GOT THE ENDING THEY DESERVED! i actually screamed when caboose brought back tex instead of church actually, and the whole thing also about her being brought back in their memory instead of the directors? their memory of her always kicking their ass and winning and being strong and brave and oaisjdgoasg all of that? screaming actually screaming. and her and church walking away in the memory unit thingy into the distance and jsiogjasdgiojadsgiosdg they got their happy ending that i've always wanted for them and that makes me very happy.

also, the va for caboose, let's talk about him rq. ofc it sounded wrong to me, he wasn't the og caboose, it wasn't joel, but the guy tried his best and i absolutely love that for him. i think he did a pretty good job, especially since the poor guy had 17 fuckin seasons of iconic caboose to live up to so ofc no one is going to actually live up to that. he did pretty damn good and if i see any hate about him i will cry thank you.

now, onto things that i enjoyed kinda but also were just oaijdsgioasdjg ahhhh y'know?

first, sarge's death. ouch. owie ouch ouchies ow. that shit hurt man. i think they did it pretty well though, and the fact that he died protecting a blue?! gave simmons his shotgun and told him he was proud of him?! told grif he never gave up on him even when grif himself had?! oasjdgisadjgs. he's their dad, their dad fr. it broke my fucking heart, but i like how it was handled, i was decently satisfied with it. i like how they buried him back in blood gulch, where it all started. it felt really fitting.

also, the fact that they kept church dead. tbh i'm glad they did. i was thinking with their whole talking about memories around the campfire, like if it were to bring back church, tbh i wouldn't have liked it. his death in 13 wouldn't have been as meaningful, as impactful. plus, them bringing back tex who we haven't really seen since season 10? iconic i loved it they brought my wife back and i loved every fuckin second of it.

next, something i have big big big thoughts on that i don't know how to organise: wash's ptsd and everything. first off, finding out he'd been hallucinating doc the entire time?! fucking OWCHIES :( and like at the end when lina was talking to him and reminding him that these things weren't his fault and how it came across in visions of his other beloved freelancers showing up and talking to him? screaming actually. watching wash and his mental state and how everything unfolded hit particularly close to home for me, as a ptsd-havin bitch myself ^^; the way he was treated like he was fuckin crazy in the hospital made me sick to my stomach, and then finding out oh hey wait he actually is a bit crazy he's hallucinating doc because he blames himself for his death i'm like welp okay that's oaisdjgosadjgoisgj. just seeing how they handled that reminded me so much of things i've gone through myself, and idk if i'd say it was handled well or not but it was certainly handled in a way that's for sure ^^; might just be some of my internal biases because topics like this make me feel sick for personal reasons ofc, but uh yeehaw lol yeehaw.

also, meta tucker. screaming. the flashes of him pulling through while being controlled and him like apologizing to caboose and caboose being like 'i've already forgiven you for whatever you'll do' AOIGSDAIG YEOWZERS :( my brain hurts man. and with sigma too, sadly it wasn't elijah wood, but miles luna did a phenomenal job imo, it really sounded like og sigma to me and had me convinced they got elijah for the final season up until i saw the credits lol. also, the fact that there was such a lack of meta/tucker and wash interactions??? heresy. blasphemy. illegal. i will be beating my head against the wall thank you.

ALSO. LACK OF DONUT WAS FUCKING TRAGIC. but, ADMIRAL donut? proud of our boy for working through the ranks! but i'm so upset we didn't get to see him other than a simmons flashback/vision of him in a fuckin cheerleader outfit - which honestly? iconic. at least we got something.

and the last thought of the post, fuckin grimmons. grif and simmons. i'm gonna put my head through the wall osaidjgsioadjgsdiogjsdag. the way that the first thing simmons did as red team leader was set grif free because he's always known about how much he wanted to leave, 'if you love something let it go' or whatever oiasdgjdsoiagjsd. grif deciding to stay for the fight before heading out, their goodbyes and grif inviting him to visit even though he knows it's probably never going to happen but he had to try anyways, aiojsdgoisjgoisdjg i'm screaming crying throwing up actually. they should've made out though so rip for that missed opportunity :( i enjoyed the moments we got but i also wish we got more if that makes sense, y'know?

anyways that's all i have the mental energy to blab about for now, because oaisdgjodsiag agh y'know? drained from fuckin sobbing so much all day lmao i'm just a lil guy ^^;

might post a pt 2 to this though, copy-pasting the notes i took on my phone like while i was watching lmao. fair warning though it's a MESS because i was typing without looking plus a lot of autocorrect haha. i'll probably post it anyways though because i find it really funny tbh lol

[commsroom]

I'm really glad for all the love you've put into w359 fanworks. every time I see you post about it, my heart glows a little.

I'd originally felt that way while listening to the show, and your interpretation & vision feels so tightly knit to the source material. you even go farther in your explicit discussions about hera, her autonomy, her emotional depth, her treatment by other characters, and her arc as a trans allegory

totally understand why you might feel embarrassed, but I wanted you to know: thank you 💜

oh, that's so sweet of you to say!! i'm honored you think so.

i genuinely think there's a case to be made that eiffel/hera is as canon as the parameters for romance in wolf 359 allow it to be. like: gabriel urbina's policy was always "never confirm or deny 'on-screen' romance unless absolutely necessary" and from the AMAs we know they at least discussed it with regard to eiffel and hera, though we'll never know how that conversation went. it's not really a secret that sarah shachat and zach valenti, at least, viewed it that way. i still think about zach saying (paraphrased) that he thinks his non-answer is an answer, because if he didn't ship them, he could just say so.

and that's kind of how i feel about eiffel/hera within canon. like. anybody at all familiar with shows the wolf 359 writers like (especially things like btvs and farscape) can tell you there are plenty of scenes that mirror and meta-textually reference scenes from other shows. both gabriel urbina and sarah shachat were huge fans of the new doctor who, and whatever you believe the intent was, i find it hard to believe they didn't at least know they were evoking "if it's my last chance to say it, rose tyler, i-" with "and hera. hera, i-" it's what isn't said, the fact it has to be left unsaid, that speaks the loudest.

and anyway, talking about hera and romance / sexuality is especially interesting to me because it's not a given for her. it's not assumed to be something she should want or can have, and the way that intersects with her canon disability and with readings of her as a trans woman re: autonomy and desirability is very interesting (and very personal) to me, especially in the broader context of stories about AI women. but that's a topic for another post.

it's not a new observation by any means, but i think there can be a tendency to treat romance as separate from character analysis, and that's always sat poorly with me. romance isn't unique in either a good or a bad way, it's just... one type of relationship people can have. i think a lot about the unique approach wolf 359 has to romance because, while i understand why a lot of people would find the lack of romantic subplots refreshing, the characters aren't written to be intentionally disinterested in sex or romance (in some cases, textually... the opposite, even), so much as the writing carefully skirts around it. and... i don't know! there's something fascinating there.

obviously, i think you can recognize what's important about eiffel and hera's relationship (that it's the most equal one hera has ever had, that he has no real hierarchy over her or expectations for her other than companionship, how they share values and mutually support each other, etc.) without needing that to be romantic. and i think you can even acknowledge there's some degree of romantic intent without being invested like i am or "shipping" them. but i do think there's some intent there, and i think the the themes of the show can be expanded in some interesting ways to explore that beyond the intentional ambiguity of it. if you want to.

i would also never deny having an emotional bias here!! complete objectivity is never possible because we always bring parts of ourselves to our interpretations of art, and that's only amplified by how close to my heart wolf 359 is as a story. but i do really want to communicate, to the best of my ability, how much love i have for the show and how much thought i put into it. and i definitely don't mind being known for my love of eiffel/hera; they're my favorite characters from anything ever, both individually and together. but i do get kinda embarrassed when i talk about them too much, because it's not that i don't have plenty of thoughts about every other character and aspect of the show, it's just... that they are close to my heart in a particular way. anyway. i really appreciate it, thank you!!

[sirenium]

'He treated his bloody Kaithes better than he treated me, his own executioner!'

ID: a drawing of Lodun, a character from Warframe. He wears a grey mask with a cross expression and harsh, pointed features. His headdress is lined with gold, maroon with three golden beams, one in the center and the other two mirroring each other on each side. two pieces that look like rolled up hair hang from each pointed side of the headdress, golden ringed. His outfit features more golden adornments (one of which also features the same maroon of his headdress), and is red. His skin, visible by his arms, is blue. The background is red, and features a pattern that was supposed to resemble a curtain. End ID

So yeah, Lodun, am I right. I am very normal about him (I'm lying). I'm also fucking around with shading and stuff, and quite like how this turned out so I'm posting it here. If anyone wants to provide a better image description go ahead, I just wanted to attempt to describe this since it's my own creation.

[nametakensff]

Haha....my sister didn't go in to work 🤪 jacking off tonight. it must be done. I can't keep waiting like this

[adhdo5]

I do think that the "Foundation just throws away thousands of staff" thing is stupid. Have you seen how they treat their staff they just cannot have that many guys

[lith-myathar]

Very fucking annoyed that all the solutions meant to help you feel better still just seem to boil down to "just fucking do it" when my primary problem is and always has been the inability to start or maintain things

[transxfiles]

glaringly obvious that professors want me to submit a mini bio about my summer theatre work so that they can feature me on the schools page about the things its arts student and alumni are doing over the summer but also. im fighting such an uphill battle against dysphoria trying to find a good photo.